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If this isn’t one of the best fics out there, then I don’t know what is..

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER TWO | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

THE MATCHMAKER MEETS HIS MATCH

“Ruin me, please.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, brief mentions of virginity loss, heavy drinking, Hyunjin is delulu, heavy dom/sub dynamics: dom!reader, sub!Han Jisung (yes, there's Jisung smut in a Hyunjin story SUE ME), degradation, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, drunk sex (both are consenting parties), semi-public sex (?) Word Count: 15.1k

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“And now, here’s what we really want to ask you, Dr. Hwang: are you single?” 

The interviewer swivels her head to look at Hyunjin, her Botox-enhanced mouth spreading into a wide, magenta-lipsticked smile. Hyunjin barely registers her question, distracted by her disturbing resemblance to a vulture, with her beady eyes, hooked nose, and razor-sharp nails clutching a microphone like talons grasping prey. Her garish pea-green pantsuit and cat-eye glasses, combined with a frizzy blonde perm, remind him of that creepy reporter from Harry Potter, absolutely not helping his currently depleted Zen levels. 

He can already feel a sweat breaking out on his neck, permeating his satin button-down and threatening to ruin the outfit he had chosen this morning. Usually, picking out what to wear is one of Hyunjin’s favorite parts of the entire day; breathing in the Coco Noir scent of his walk-in closet is like Hyunjin’s own expensive version of aromatherapy. Today, however, it felt like a chore; It took him forever to find the perfect accessories to tie everything together, before he finally settled on his new gold Cartier earrings and the matching Juste un Clou bracelet. Hyunjin knows he looks amazing in his tastefully vintage yet sleek ensemble. He looks every bit the title of a sexy savant, one that he so rightfully carries. He looks ready to slay an interview on California’s most popular talk-show, The L.A. View. But for the first time ever, he doesn’t feel it. 

It could have been the coffee that he had hand-pressed for himself this morning, his usual brew of arabica beans imported from the misty slopes of Guatemala. But then again, the coffee brought a much-needed buzz that Hyunjin needed to drag himself out of bed, no matter how temporary. More likely, it was the margarita that he’d downed in the car that was sent to pick him up and bring him to the studio to tape the interview. Tequila always makes Hyunjin’s stomach turn. Or maybe—

“Dr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin snaps out of his reverie, plastering a charmingly mysterious smile onto his face. One, two, three… work that charm. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sharon?”

The audience oohs beneath the dimmed stage lighting, and Sharon turns red, a shade visible even under the lurid bronzer that’s caked onto her face. Hyunjin would really love to book Sharon an appointment at HWASA Skincare and Cosmetics, his go-to beauty consultant whenever he’s visiting Seoul. The founder and CEO, his old friend Hye-Jin, would personally host her just so that Hyunjin could be relieved of the horrible bout of trypophobia he’s getting right now, staring into Sharon’s cavernous pores.

“Oh, stop it!” Sharon giggles, clapping her hands together. “There definitely must be a lucky lady in your life. You’re the Love Doctor. And not to mention, but very handsome.”

Sharon winks over exaggeratedly at the camera, and Hyunjin has to hold himself back from cringing away when she palms his shoulder, eyeing him hungrily. He can’t blame her, of course; the sleeves of his shirt squeeze his arms in such a way that his toned biceps are shown off— thank you very much, Better Body Pilates. But he needs his personal space. Out of everything, he hates when people treat him like some sort of an animal at the zoo, petting and prodding at him. He sees himself as more of the Mona Lisa, a masterpiece to be marveled at, not touched. His Zen is important, after all. 

Still, Hyunjin just shoots her a disarming smirk, crossing one Valentino-clad leg over the other. “The only lady in my life is Princess Diana. But I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

Both Sharon and the audience members aww, utterly captivated by Hyunjin when he pulls out a small Polaroid of his puppy from his breast pocket, holding it out so that the cameras can zoom in on it. As expected, his answer seems to have satisfied Sharon’s invasiveness, but beneath his beaming expression hides the building tension in his chest. 

What Hyunjin said is the partial truth; he may not currently have a significant other, but did he have someone in mind, when romance is in question? Yes. Is said person completely off-limits? Also yes. And would his reputation be completely tarnished if that very classified information got out? Yes, yes, and yes.

“Thank you so much for sitting down with us, Dr. Hwang,” Sharon says, thrusting out her hand for Hyunjin to shake it. Ever the professional, he accepts it like a champ. “And that’s all for now, folks! Stay tuned to watch my little chat with Meghan Markle about her ex-royal lifestyle. The teapot is boiling!”

The cameras cut and Hyunjin quickly excuses himself, waving to all of the people wistfully gazing after him. He enters the little hallway behind the filming room and breaks into a run very unlike himself, practically having to swerve around crew members and stage equipment. As soon as he’s locked away inside his dressing room, Hyunjin slides off his patent leather loafers and falls back onto the couch.

It’s been exactly three months since he first set eyes on you, kickstarting his unsavory fantasies and therein, digging himself into an early grave. And maybe it would have been okay, because as a male, sometimes he’s inclined to think with his dick. It’s a biological reaction that he can’t control. But it’s not, though, because the constant image of you printed like a tattoo on his mind has been interfering with his life and sense of normalcy. It’s a feeling that’s only grown in magnitude, especially now that with your weekly sessions, you’ve rapidly blossomed into the strong, confident woman that he always knew you were. So it’s not the fact that he’s horny— well, not the only fact— it’s that he might have feelings for you. Feelings that could get him into trouble, bigtime.

And the list that you wrote for him a while back definitely didn’t help. Hyunjin sits up, reaching for his notepad that he left on the little coffee table in front of the couch. He leafs through the pages, before pulling out the small slip of paper that he saved. Reading over the words for what feels like the umpteenth time, Hyunjin involuntarily smiles to himself. This time, it’s genuine.

The first thing that I don’t absolutely hate about myself is my imagination. I’ve been restricting myself a lot, lately, because I hated the thought of coming up with new ideas just to never bring them to life. It’s probably my post-Jisung and ITEM Tech trauma. But I felt kind of inspired by our first meeting today. I have a lot of great ideas, and I think that one day, I have the potential to beat Jisung’s ass and make a better company than his.

My fucking patience. You know, you might think otherwise, because it may seem like I have the patience of a single mom at a birthday party. But today proved differently. My friend/coworker Minho and his wife invited me over for dinner, which would have been fine, except they’re one of the most disgustingly perfect couples ever. They can’t go two minutes without giving each other a sappy ass look or holding hands or singing a song or something. And then Minho’s wife asked me if I wanted some ice cream, like she and her man weren’t just all over each other a millisecond ago. I just smiled and nodded. You can say I have the patience of the saint, now.

I like how I’m perseverant. For example: this. I could have given up after the first two days and ditched this piece of paper. But I didn’t. I want to be better. I’m very perseverent. Okay, my hand hurts. I’m putting down the pen for today.

My resilience. For the billionth time in my life, my boss made me want to drive out of work and jump into a lake. Long story short, Mark Lee is the worst motherfucker to ever exist (well, after his bestie Park Jisung. My boss and ex-boyfriend are friends. FML). But after one of his daily rants about how I’m not up to mark for some random reason, I walked out of his office and into the office kitchen. I got a Sprite from the fridge, crushed the full can with my bare hands, and then proceeded to calmly clean up the spilled soda before going back to work. I deserve a medal for my healthy anger management technique of smashing things and then bouncing back like a friggin’ spring.

The only home cooked meals I can really stomach are the ones that Minho shares with me at work. You know, he’s really such a menace. When I moved into my current apartment, he got me a cutting board as a gift, knowing damn well I don’t cook. But nowadays, I’ve been slowly getting more comfortable in the kitchen. I still don’t think I trust myself in cooking, but I’m kind of a really good baker, I’m realizing. Today, I made brownies. I’m eating one right now, and I guess I don’t hate that.

I am very patient, Part 2. My dumbass cousin, Yeonjun, called me up to hang out. Knowing him, that means me buying him a crap ton of expensive food. And he’s pretty loaded, too. I think he just loves pissing me off. First, he wanted pizza. That would have been fine, if we hit Domino’s or something, but he made me take him to this ridiculously upscale restaurant downtown. Their damn pizzas had caviar and truffles on them! Like, what the fuck happened to good old pepperoni? And as if that wasn’t enough, he then started complaining that he wanted fucking dessert too. So he ordered this fruit charcuterie board that cost another fortune. On the way home, I had to get him an $8 boba because “the cheese made him thirsty.” His metabolism is amazing. I’m kind of jealous. But anyway, I’m practically Mother Teresa at this point, because dealing with Yeonjun is no easy task. He’s lucky I love him.

Fundamentally, I think I’m a good person. And I think I deserve to be happy. There. Seven things, seven days. I’m done now. See you tomorrow.

Hyunjin sighs, sliding the paper back into his book and setting it inside his little Prada bag. This tiny scrap of paper had him seeing stars, when he first read it in the office, in front of you. There’s just something about you that he couldn’t and still can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s how delightfully pugnacious you are, or that comically angry tone you approach the world with, no matter what. And he had to bite his tongue too, because there’s no way you came up with just seven things, not when Hyunjin felt like he could give a whole recitation on your very attractive qualities, just after meeting with you once. You’re unintentionally hilarious. Real. Tough. Inquisitive. Also, you’re simply the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

You’re like an impossible puzzle to him; all the pieces are there, and yet, he can’t seem to put you together. Or rather, he can’t seem to figure out how to get his own shit together and finish the damn puzzle. Because he’s oh-so down bad, and he knows it. 

“Dr. Hwang? Are you in there?”

Hyunjin stands up immediately, locking away his daydreams about you and brushing off his trousers. He quickly smooths back his artfully slicked wolf cut and opens the door for Wonyoung to step inside with her trusty tablet. Momentarily, Hyunjin is sidetracked by her outfit, a stylish mini paired with a silky lilac bomber jacket— because where the fuck are those heels from— before he remembers himself.

“What’s up?” Hyunjin nonchalantly flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes, trying not to seem like he wasn’t just having a panic attack on that stupid couch just five seconds ago.

Wonyoung taps on the screen of the tablet for a few seconds, before looking up. “You have an appointment with your personal trainer in twenty minutes. You’re running late. And then at four, you need to get back to SeoulSpark for a meeting with a client. Here’s your change of clothes. I’ve already called a car for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Hyunjin accepts the gym bag, before jerking back in dreadful realization. “Wait. Which client do I have to meet with today?”

Wonyoung gives him a strange look. “Miss Y/L/N. Hey, are you alright, Dr. Hwang? You always stay on top of all of your engagements, but you haven’t been yourself lately.”

At the mere mention of your name, Hyunjin literally wishes he could melt into a puddle right then and there. Of course he hasn’t been himself, not when you waltzed into the office and wreaked havoc on his very humble life— for example, yesterday, he forgot to wear his Versace pajamas to sleep, and not his Fendi ones. Hyunjin knows that Saturdays are strictly for Versace; he promised Donatella years ago at the Met Gala. This is all your fault— how can it be poor Hyunjin’s, when he’s just a mere mortal cowering in your goddess-like presence? 

“I- I’m okay, Wonyoung. I, uh, just ate some bad sushi.”

“You ate bad sushi every day for the past three months?” Wonyoung suspiciously raises an eyebrow at Hyunjin. She isn’t buying it, unfortunately. 

“Uh-huh. It’s a terrible addiction that I’m trying to break. My raw seafood intake is off the charts. Guess I’m not perfect after all,” Hyunjin babbles, adding onto his already horrendous lie. 

Wonyoung still doesn’t look convinced, but Hyunjin flounces out of the room before she can say anything else and uncover his deep, dark secret: you. Besides, his ride is waiting outside and his quads really need working.

“See you later, Changbin.” Hyunjin waves to his trainer as he grabs his belongings and exits the gym after a grueling workout. Usually, he prefers more low-impact routines, like aerial yoga or cycling around Marina del Rey. But because he’s been skimping out so much these days, Changbin made him do an endless round of jump squats before beating his ass in boxing. 

Hyunjin presses his fingers to his aching back muscles, sore with both exhaustion and worry. The slim hands of his Rolex alert him to the fact that there is only one more hour before he must face you, and he is nowhere near ready. He’ll just have to skip the sauna today. Quickly, he gets into the car standing for him by the curb, slipping on his Gucci shades and sliding down below the window in the backseat, like a celebrity escaping a paparazzi cloud.

As soon as he gets back to Oasis, the opulent complex that houses his beloved penthouse, Hyunjin practically flies into his bathroom and locks the door. Without even bothering to set his eucalyptus shower steamer, Hyunjin cleans himself up as much as he can, scrubbing off the sweat and grit of the gym from his skin. 

Once he’s finished, he gets dressed and sits down in front of his bedroom mirror that’s designed to look like a Hollywood-style vanity. Taking a deep breath, he inspects his face for any signs of something off. Nope. He looks as dewy and fresh as a pink rose petal, minus the slight red rings under his eyes, which are the courtesy of many, many sleepless nights over you.

Hyunjin, however, is incredibly proud of himself for getting to the office with fifteen minutes to spare, therein being able to fit in a little solo pep talk in the car. His third outfit of the day is a show-stopping black Celine suit, practically designed to make heads turn. It definitely isn’t to impress you with his impeccable style— no, he did it for himself, obviously. That’s the only reason. And it’s a little extravagant, even for Hyunjin, but then again, he’s never been known for his subtlety. 

His post-workout clarity gives him hope that everything will go back to normal, before you. All he needs to do is focus on himself. Everything else will pass, eventually. At least, that’s what Hyunjin keeps telling himself to believe, right before he crashes headfirst into you in the hallway outside of his office.

“Hey, Hyunjin!” Grinning, you hold out a small gift box tied with a sunny bow, which is coincidentally the exact same yellow as the dress you wore when Hyunjin first met you. Today, you’re sporting salmon-colored shorts and a cream blouse with an adorable sailor collar, and Hyunjin immediately has to tamp down the urge to whisk you away to go on a private boating vacation on a yacht in St. Barts. God, you really have amazing style.

Hyunjin swallows roughly and takes the box, trying to look more excited about it than how utterly taken with you he is. “Afternoon, darling. What’s this?”

You reach your hand over to where the box rests in Hyunjin’s hands, toying with the bow. Hyunjin automatically feels himself internally hyperventilate at your proximity that’s too close for comfort. 

“Mango cheesecake. I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe for a while now, and I think it finally turned out really well.” You break into a bright smile that makes Hyunjin’s brain short circuit. “I want to thank you for all of your help, besides me being less-than-cooperative sometimes. Coming here has really changed my perspective on things, and for the better.”

Hyunjin clutches the box to his chest. He had always suspected that you are the sweetest, under your stormy exterior, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get a taste and confirm the truth for himself. Nevertheless, he’s both touched and now even more delusional, because you spent time on him, making something to give him. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

You pout in response, and Hyunjin grasps the box even tighter, nearly crushing the contents in an effort to get a grip on himself. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Hyunjin grins, feeling himself relax a little. That’s one more thing about you— you have this contradicting ability to induce both calmness and anxiety into him, another kind of black magic that you definitely harbor in your bewitching eyes. “Well, thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

You look away shyly and gesture towards Hyunjin’s office. “Should we head in?”

Smiling to himself, Hyunjin steps ahead to open the door for you as you duck your head and scramble in, folding yourself onto the sofa that you both are now well-acquainted enough to often share. After setting his velvet tote bag onto his desk, Hyunjin sits down beside you, holding out a glass of mango juice to you, a drink that you now frequent whenever you meet. Plus the cheesecake? You really must love mangoes.

As you sip on your juice, Hyunjin decides to take the reasonable course of action available: ask you about your day, not if you’re available next Friday night at six. “How have you been? I’m sorry I couldn’t see you last week.”

You shrug, waving off Hyunjin’s apology like it’s nothing. It isn’t, though; he would rather have spent time with you than having to fly to Shanghai for some brand endorsement deal that his agent made him take. “Don’t worry about it. And I’ve been good. Evidently, in a much more agreeable mood these days. It’s certainly a step-up from the grumpier me, isn’t it?”

“I like you however you are,” Hyunjin blurts out without thinking, before freezing in realization. In a better world, he would have had the sense to at least clamp his hand over his mouth before he could say something stupid, but unfortunately, he’s stuck here. He wills the stammering, bumbling idiot that he turns into when you’re around to disappear, to be replaced by his usual, suave self. It doesn’t quite work, because he feels a furious blush building on his neck.

You’ve also turned a light shade of pink, and Hyunjin prays to God that you can’t see through his bullshit. “Because I’m your client. You accept me however I am.”

Hyunjin has to mentally stab himself with a fork as a reminder that he cannot, under any circumstances, disagree, although he really, really wants to. You could never be just a client to him. You’re too precious to him for that title. Yet, he keeps a straight face as he nods, disgusted with what he’s about to say. “Exactly. You’re my client.”

You down the rest of your drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Anyway, you emailed me that you had something special planned for today. What is it?”

“Right.” Hyunjin clears his throat, getting up from the sofa to make his way over to his desk. He opens one of the drawers and pulls out the thick binder he’s been dreading using with you for a while now. It weighs his hands down like an unpleasant secret as he sits back down next to you. 

“What’s this?” You inquire, leaning in closer to Hyunjin. The movement allows the sugary scent of your vanilla perfume become even more prominent to Hyunjin, which is definitely not helpful right now. Hyunjin stares down at the binder, adopting a robotic tone that won’t betray his thoughts.

“We’ve worked on just you for the past few months, and now it’s time. You’re finally ready to explore dating.” Hyunjin opens the binder, trying to ignore the sour taste of the words on his tongue. “And as I’ve told you before, SeoulSpark has an incredible matchmaking service that caters to everything you desire in a potential partner.”

“Cool! How does it work?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices your shorts ride up slightly, further exposing the soft skin of your upper thigh. Think of the fork, Hyunjin. Think of the damn fork.

“Well, I’ve already compiled a number of candidates in our database whose profiles complement yours. We’re going to be setting up a time when you can speed date them.” 

You quirk your eyebrow in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is to Hyunjin. “Speed dating? That’s…”

“I know, I know. It might seem weird at first, but that’s why we’re doing it the SeoulSpark way, to reduce awkwardness and make it really worth your time. We’ll go over the candidates briefly, and weed out the ones you really don’t want to see.” Hyunjin opens the binder, going to the profiles. “But I won’t tell you their names, so we can maintain at least a small element of surprise.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the first candidate’s picture, and Hyunjin has to fight the burning jealousy in his chest. “Wow. He’s handsome.”

“Swipe left or right?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” Hyunjin turns to the next page. “What about him?”

“Uh, left. He reminds me of my uncle. No thank you.”

Hyunjin stifles his smile as he continues flipping through the profiles, noting down your answers. He tries to enjoy your unfiltered reactions and not think about the fact that one of these lucky bastards could be your future husband. Finally, he gets to the last candidate.

You frown. “He looks kind of like a chipmunk. A quokka, maybe.”

“So is that a left?”

“I’ll say right. He seems like he’d be interesting.” You shrug, your eyes glittering with mischief. “Actually, I’m kind of excited now. Some of these guys are lookers.”

Hyunjin laughs in spite of himself, shutting the binder and standing up. “I’ll email you the details of the event by next week, when we’ll be holding it. ”

You nod, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear— oh, how Hyunjin wishes he could just casually do that for you. “Got it. I’ll make sure to look dazzling.”

“Darling, you always look dazzling.” Hyunjin smirks in self-satisfaction when you flush at his quip. It’s not exactly a reaction that’s foreign to him, but seeing you like this, all cute and bashful, is new. And it’s a look that’s very attractive on you. Hopefully, you attribute the flirting to Hyunjin’s naturally charming personality, not the fact that he’s impossibly gone for you. Not that the truth would make a difference, however. You’ll never be his.

“Thanks, Hyunjin.” You get up from your seat, letting Hyunjin walk you out, like he always does. “I feel like you have a vision going on for this matchmaking event.”

“Oh, I always have a vision.” Hyunjin chuckles, opening the door for you. “We’re considering a tropical theme, or a garden party, maybe. Or something glamorous. Kind of like prom, but without the bad music and horny teenagers, you know?”

You shrug. “Actually, I never went to my high school senior prom. But all of these ideas sound incredible.”

He pauses, his eyes widening. “You never went to prom?”

“There was this guy.” You look uncomfortable, but before Hyunjin can assure you that you don’t have to tell him about it, you decide to continue. “I wanted to go with him, but long story short, he rejected me. And I didn’t really have any friends I could go with either. I could have gone on my own, but I wasn’t brave enough. It’s one of the things that I did when I was younger that I regret now. I guess it just speaks volumes about how I hold myself back a lot.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

“My first love, apparently. And a bunch of others.” You sigh, fiddling with the little bow on your sleeve. “But whatever. I’m going to find a real man.”

“They’re idiots. And prom isn’t even all that.”

You snort. “Says you. I’ll bet you were the kind of guy who got invited by all of the girls to be their date to prom, even if you weren’t even a senior yet.”

“Exactly. I would know precisely that prom is overrated as fuck.” Hyunjin gives you a smile. “Maybe we’ll just go with the garden party.”

You stay quiet for a moment, as if thinking something over, before looking directly into Hyunjin’s eyes. “Shame. I think I would’ve liked to see you in a tux.”

And with that, you turn around and leave, as Hyunjin just stays rooted on the spot, dumbfounded. Because how can you just so easily shoot an arrow straight into his heart and walk away? You’re a threat to society. You’re a wicked enchantress. You’re the bane of Hyunjin’s existence, and yet, he wants you to come back and string him along like a fucking bow. The dilemma is clear: Hyunjin absolutely cannot just move on from you. This is an extremely deafening cry for help.

“Wonyoung?” Hyunjin croaks, as he steps back inside and collapses onto his chair.

Hyunjin’s loyal secretary sticks her head into the room, her glossy locks tumbling over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial. Hyunjin makes a mental note to ask her later about her hair care routine. “Yes, boss?”

“Call Dr. Kim for me, please. I don’t feel so good.”

“Of course. I guess the bad sushi really got you this time.”

“Strep throat? Negative. Flu swab test? Negative. Every single other test you made me administer for you? Ditto.” 

Hyunjin aggressively rubs his palms over his face. “Is there anything else, Seungmin? Are you sure there is absolutely nothing wrong with me? Should we do anything again?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, setting his clipboard down on the bench space next to him. “It’s Dr. Kim. And I did a Barium Swallow test for you, Hyunjin. You don’t just do those for any idiot who walks in begging to be examined for no apparent ailment. Took thirty minutes and nothing at all. Chief resident would be on my ass if she knew.”

“You’d think we haven’t been best friends since our Stanford days,” Hyunjin says. “There is something wrong with me.”

Hyunjin stares down at the upper right leg of his pants, picking at a small loose thread. He’s never seen one appear in his clothing ever since he was eighteen and quiet being so fashionably challenged, but instead of disgust, he feels a strange sense of solidarity. Just like the thread, he feels out of place; confused and lost, even though he’s standing right in the middle of half of the world’s dream. But wanting someone who he can never have isn’t a dream, surely, and neither is the phantom pain in his abdomen, the one that Dr. Kim claims doesn't exist.

“‘Our Stanford days’ were literally only three years ago. And I was in med school while you were getting a PhD in the study of crazies. I knew there were a couple screws loose up there,” Seungmin scoffs, tapping his temple in flourish punctuated with impudence. “I should have known better than to befriend your ass.”

“Seung-min, you’re lying,” Hyunjin retorts, emphasizing the syllables of his friend’s name. “I swear, I’m sick.”

Seungmin groans, fed up with Hyunjin’s stubborn mindset. “You’re twenty-eight years old and have your own booming practice. Hell, you wear head-to-toe designer, even underwear— yes, I saw the Gucci briefs in your bag, that one time you made me go shopping with you. Meanwhile, I’m a stressed, overworked, and underpaid surgery resident who has to listen to his rich and famous best friend complain that he’s not feeling well. Oh, poor baby. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying! I’m trying, okay?” Hyunjin finally explodes, throwing his hands up in the air. Usually, he maintains that peaceful temperament that puts up with Seungmin’s attitude. Not today, however. “Honestly, Seungmin, you want to know what’s wrong with me? Her. She’s all over me, inside and out! Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of her. Everywhere I go— her. And you know what? It’s not all in my head. It’s not a fucking crazy case. I physically feel myself wanting to throw up every five fucking minutes. I have a horrible headache that won’t go away, no matter how long I rot in my bed. I’m sore all over and I just want to go home!”

Hyunjin’s best friend just glares at him in shock for a good few seconds, watching as he pants from the ferocity of his words. And then he recovers, smoothing his face over into that signature judgemental expression, because he’s Kim Seungmin. “I should’ve known this was about a girl.”

Hyunjin sighs. Thankfully, no one overheard his rant, because this is Seungmin’s lunch break and whenever Hyunjin insists on an emergency meeting, Seungmin brings him over to this empty corridor tucked behind the equipment storage rooms, where no prying eyes wander. 

“It’s not just any girl, Seungmin. It’s the girl. She’s… all I do know is that she’s my client who walked into my life three months ago and proceeded to destroy it. She came in like a tropical storm and now she smiles at me like the fucking sun. She confuses me and makes me forget random shit and she doesn’t even know about any of it. And all I want to be is hers, even though I can’t be.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes his body shake with impact. “You… are… acting… so stupid.”

And this only makes Hyunjin even more frustrated. “Well, that’s the whole damn point! I’m not stupid, but I’m obviously acting it! I don’t know what to do, Seungmin! Help a brother out!”

After he calms himself down, Seungmin sighs loudly and wipes the traces of any tears caused by amusement of Hyunjin’s plight. “I’m not an expert in this, Hyunjin. But to be honest, it seems to me that you’re falling for her, and you’re just in denial.”

Hyunjin feels nothing short of horrified. “But… I can’t be. Are you sure?”

“Aren’t you the friggin’ Love Doctor or some shit? How the fuck am I supposed to be sure?”

But Hyunjin barely hears Seungmin, getting off the bench to pace back and forth in the little hallway. He can’t be falling for you, because— he just can’t! The plethora of problems that would arise from him falling in love with you are fucking endless, the worst being that you could end up negatively impacted. And all because your stupid, idiotic dating coach couldn’t keep his stupid, idiotic feelings in check. He would rather give up his beloved Versace brand deal than ever see you hurt, and that’s really saying something.

Seungmin tries to get to Hyunjin again. “Or maybe you’re not falling for her. Maybe you’re just horny.”

Hyunjin whirls around, side-eyeing Seungmin with disgust. “The hell you mean?”

“When’s the last time you, you know? Got some?”

“You put it so eloquently.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “And it’s been ten months.”

“See? That’s definitely it. You need to get laid, and you’re taking your sexual frustration out like this. You’re always the one lecturing everyone else on having healthy sex and love lives and shit, but really you’re a hypocrite. Tell me, why are you such a hypocrite, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, irritated yet able to see Seungmin’s point. He had his share of relationships, enough to augment his experience and research in the whole field. It’s not like they all ended badly, though— quite the opposite, really. The majority of them were amicable splits, or awkward conversations, at the very most. The only notably sour memory is Hyunjin’s ex-girlfriend from ninth grade, the one who broke up with him in a fit of jealousy when another girl confessed her love for Hyunjin. But then again, all high school relationships are basically doomed to crash and burn.

Hyunjin was careful to never get into anything too serious anyway, because his only love would be his job; he broke up with his last girlfriend— which might be a strong word for someone who merely considered him a wine-and-dine booty call— because he just didn’t feel that same spark with her that he felt when running his business. And he didn’t think he had that capacity to feel it anywhere else, but that was all before you.

“I don’t know, Seungmin.” Hyunjin looks down glumly at the concrete flooring, his body completely exhausted of all of the fight in him

The look in Seungmin’s eyes softens as Hyunjin slumps back into his seat. “Don’t you think that you’ve been so busy thinking about helping other people with their loves that you’ve completely neglected yours? When are you going to stop being so goddamn perfect and care for yourself?”

“But I do care for myself! Why else would I have a fourteen-step skincare routine and Gucci boxers?” Hyunjin protests, stalling more than really arguing. He just doesn’t want to admit to what’s really bothering him.

Seungmin rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. He should get back to rounds; lunch will be over soon. “That’s not self-care, that’s called being fucking weird. And I’m talking about your head. You have this illusion up there that in order to help others, you need to be flawless. Get out of it, man. Whether you want someone to have a one-night stand with or have your freaking children, you need to be open and pursue it. Life is messy and unpredictable, even for neurotic perfectionists like you. It’s okay to be horny. It’s okay to be in love. It’s okay to be you.”

Hyunjin ponders over Seungmin’s advice, before looking up. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t you ‘fine’ me, dumbass. Go put on your Armani shit and get going, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t Mission Impossible. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.” Seungmin shakes his head, dusting off his scrubs. He leans forward to tighten the laces on his special work sneakers; the clock is really ticking down now.

Hyunjin gives Seungmin a withering look. “I wear Versace on my missions.”

“Welcome to SeoulSpark’s third biannual company-wide Matchmaking Event!”

The small crowd of hopeful singles crammed into the gazebo politely claps as the speaker looks down at all of you from his perch on the little elevated platform, like some kind of an all-knowing benefactor. 

“Thank you everyone. You can call me Jin, and I’ll be your emcee and operations director on this fine afternoon.” He beams. “And can I just say, you people look so good today? Obviously not as much as me, but still.’”

A scattered collection of horribly faked laughter ripples throughout the gathering, and you have to resist rolling your eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jin does actually serve as great eye candy, you would’ve already been putting on your sunglasses and trying to fake being awake. 

“Dr. Hwang will be here in a few moments to intro, and then we’ll get on with it!” Jin states, continuing his unnecessary theatrics. “But while we wait, can someone answer this question: what do you call an ice cream that parties too hard?”

Before the inevitable awkward silence can ensue, some bored-looking man who stands a little further away from everyone else pipes up. You recognize him as the very first candidate whose picture Hyunjin had presented to you— the hot one— except now, his short, preppy haircut has grown out into a wavy mullet. “Just say it.”

Jin looks temporarily taken aback by the man’s unfiltered attitude, before correcting his expression back into a winning smile. “It is out of CONE-trol! Get it? Because of the ice cream cone? Isn’t that funny?”

There isn’t a single person in the crowd who looks impressed, least of all mullet-guy. “No. And it still wouldn’t be funny even if I was seven years old and actually liked horrible dad jokes.”

There’s a bite to his tone, and Jin seems to have taken it personally. Jin clears his throat, stuck while clearly trying to think of something to say, when relief comes over his face as he looks directly at you. “There he is! Dr. Hwang: the man of the hour.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly get whiplash, and of course Hyunjin is right there, towering over you like some sort of gorgeous sunflower. Fuck— you knew you smelled that stormy jasmine in the air, but you passed it off as just your imagination. And because there are so many people packed into this tiny pavilion, your bodies are practically pressed together as everyone else cranes their necks to get a load of the Love Doctor. 

“It’s so good to see you, darling. You look stunning,” Hyunjin says to you, in a way that seems so genuine that your baby blue gingham sundress from Target doesn’t feel so childish anymore, like you thought after seeing all of the other ladies’ stylish getups.

“Thanks.” You blush, averting your eyes. The last time you met up with him, your bolder alter-ego possessed you for a second and threw a flirty one-liner at Hyunjin, when you realized yourself and walked the hell away, before you could gauge his reaction. “You look very stunning yourself as well.”

And he truly is, as always, dressed in another quirky yet stylish look: a high-neck jacket and camel cargos, complete with a chain link shoulder leather bag. The thick gold crosses dangling from his ears don’t look gaudy, instead bringing out a youthful glow in Hyunjin’s skin. God, you really love a man who can dress.

“Everything alright, Dr. Hwang?” Jin calls out, breaking you out of your trance.

“Yes, Jin. I’ll be up in a second.” Hyunjin doesn’t take his eyes off of you, just serenely blinking like he has all the time in the world. “I absolutely adored your mango cheesecake, darling. You have to tell me about the recipe later.”

He shoots you one last disarming smile, before heading up to the platform, and you’re left to longingly stare after him like a dessert enthusiast on a sugar-free diet. You watch him take the mic from Jin, who dramatically holds out his hands towards Hyunjin when backing off of the platform. 

“Hello!” Hyunjin chirps, and really, the wind is a paid actor here, breezing in and perfectly tousling his midnight mane. 

This time, the audience’s response is more authentic, everyone responds in their own greetings out loud. You can’t help but feel your heart swell at the sight; your crush really is so charismatic.

“So, we’ve already explained how today’s going to work in the emails that were sent out to all of you a couple days ago. But to debrief: we will be having fifteen six-minute speed dating rounds today, each held at one of the designated tables,” Hyunjin explains, gesturing to the space surrounding the gazebo.

For the matchmaking event, SeoulSpark booked out Cafe Fiorella, a posh little eatery nestled in the heart of Vista Hermosa Natural Park’s dusty garden trails and meadows. Hyunjin and his planners did an outstanding job of organizing everything, and even you can’t help but note how impossibly romantic it is— for a speed-dating gig, at least. There are dainty bistro tables set up in the grassy outdoor dining area and nestled on top of them, multiple tiered platters loaded with hors d'oeuvres and decorative blossoms. You don’t even want to think about how much this would have cost.

“Before each round, you will all get a text providing you with the number of your table, where you will be able to chat with your partner, one of the candidates that corresponded with your profile.” Hyunjin catches your eye, and you feel yourself heat up. Focus. “After every round, take note of who you want to see again, and at the end, we’ll give you a form to fill out and submit. When you have your next appointment with us, we’ll let you know who you’ve matched with. Any questions?”

No one raises any, probably because they’re too self-conscious to ask in front of their potential partners, which leaves Hyunjin to just nod. “My team and I will be present as chaperones, just making sure everything is going smoothly. And I’d also like to thank our Dr. Jeon’s brother, Mr. Kim Seokjin, for volunteering to time and emcee the event!”

“Oh, Hyun. Always so formal. Call me Mr. Worldwide Handsome instead!” Jin calls out from the back. He does an exaggerated little bow and you— along with many other attendees— have to stifle a laugh. What a cheeseball. 

Hyunjin just smiles graciously, eyes crinkling with mischief. “Let’s get the party going!”

The up-tempo, raunchy sound of girl rap blasts out of speakers that you didn’t even know existed, scaring the shit out of you momentarily. You have no doubt at all that the afternoon’s garden party beats were compiled by your eccentric Love Doctor, before you start to subconsciously sway— and mentally twerk— to “Body.”

“Ladies and gents, this is just in with Jin! Make sure to find your seats in the next five minutes, and we’ll start the clock!”

Your phone chimes with your first table assignment of the day, and you make your way over there, dodging the throngs of men and women antsy to discover their matches. You sit down at your table, trying to ignore the nervousness building in your chest. With the presence of Hyunjin, his beautiful self lingering somewhere barely a few feet away from you, you’re not sure you can give today your best. And for the first time— it’s not you. It’s the fact that you have feelings for your unsuspecting charmer, and deep inside, you can’t fight the thought of not being able to get over him. 

But a lively ambiance courtesy of Megan Thee Stallion doesn’t fit the deep, contemplative mood, so you resort to pushing away your qualms and blankly gazing out at the high rise views while waiting for your partner. If this doesn’t work out, at least you can say you had a nice time humming to lovably NSFW music and raiding the appetizers. 

“Beefing with you bitches really getting kinda boring—”

“You know, I kind of vibe with this shit.” Mullet-guy from earlier plops down into the chair across from you. “Don’t tell Mr. Worldwide Handsome that, though. I’ll never give him the satisfaction.”

You giggle at the comically blank expression on mullet-guy’s face. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Jin would’ve added the EDM remix of “Savage” to the playlist.”

Mullet-guy doesn’t smile, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Fair enough. I’m Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” You carefully take a mini slice of flaky herbed pastry off of the stand and place it on the china plate in front of you. Now that everyone has settled down, the music has been turned down to enable better conversation. “Maybe I’m being blunt here, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type of guy to go to a speed-dating event.”

“Well, what kind of guy do I strike you as?” Yoongi asks, settling back comfortably into his chair. If it was anyone else talking, you would have thought they were flirting with you. But not with Yoongi— you can’t quite put your finger on it, but he feels incredibly familiar to you. This could be just another regular talk with a good friend.

You make a show of taking in his beat-up leather jacket and the silver stud in his left ear, all add-ons to his roguishly handsome aesthetic. “Wannabe SoundCloud rapper meets Fuji Kaze, except with an even worse fashion sense.”

Most people would have already shrank away from your sarcastic sense of humor, but Yoongi claps back. “I could say the same for you. Don’t tell me you’re actually going for The Stepford Wives with that dress. You even have the Mary-Jane shoes.”

“These are discounted flats from Old Navy, don’t even. And I’ll bet your emo ass was stuck in Hot Topic since grade school.”

Yoongi bursts out laughing. “Okay, you win. But you’re not wrong though— I am a rapper, of sorts.”

You lean forward. “Really?”

“Of sorts— I haven't had much time to really get into it and improve myself, ever since I started my own record label last year, D-2 Music,” Yoongi says, picking at his peach scone. “Managing other artists is my focus these days. Been writing my whole life, though.”

“What do you like to write about?” You take a bite of your pastry, savoring how it nearly melts in your mouth. Maybe this thing isn’t that bad; good food and good conversation. Besides, this Yoongi is totally intriguing to you.

“Dreams, depression, obsession.” Yoongi steadily holds your gaze, and you don’t look away.

“Refreshing.”

“I get that a lot.” Yoongi takes a sip of his mimosa, before making a face and putting it back down. 

“No, but seriously. I hate pretending, most of all. Perfection doesn’t exist, and a lot of people can’t get a grip on that.” You shrug, wiping your mouth with one of the provided lavender napkins. “It is refreshing that you don’t seem to give a crap about others.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi smiles, and you think it’s a good look on him. It doesn’t fade even after what he says next. “We’re not going to be a match, are we?”

In that moment, you can confidently say that you are both the same exact person, and while it feels so good to finally speak with someone who might remotely understand exactly what you are, you know it can never be a sustainable relationship. The two strong-minded pessimists that you both are would only clash or just further bring each other down, in the end. So you return his smile, not a hint of sorrow in it. 

“Probably not.” Both of you clink your champagne classes together and drink on it, before collectively gagging at the taste.

“Time’s up, people! Please bid your partners adieu and get on to your next table!” Jin’s voice breaks out through his microphone, and immediately, the music resumes as the frenzy starts all over again.

You stand up, smoothing out your skirt and looking over at Yoongi, who stays seated, taking his own time finishing his scone. “Catch you later, Hot Topic.”

“Likewise, Mary-Jane.” Yoongi snickers, tilting his head up in a casual goodbye. 

You make your way to your new assignment, and as you approach, you remember him. The next person sitting there is the final candidate that Hyunjin had shown you, the one with the rather squirrely look to him. You have to admit, however, that he isn’t bad-looking, with wavy brown bangs falling into his eyes and a soft smile painting his features. He looks simple, a pretty boy waiting for a girl. You feel like you’re reading a picture book with a happy ending, because there are no puzzles to stay sleepless over. You see the bistro table becoming a kitchen counter, frequented for coffee talk and family dinners— there is no smoke-cracked glass desk that costs more than your entire salary. And you’re not Pygmalion sculpting Galatea, the gender bended Grecian rendition of the Hyunjin who plagues your thoughts; instead, you can see the elementary construction paper dotted with finger-painted sunny skies.

“Hi,” you greet, dragging out your chair and locking eyes with the stranger. Strangely, you don’t feel that telltale thump of your heartbeat in your panting chest— you sense a steady rhythm, and perhaps you could get used to it. Think: the picture book over the puzzle. You like staying in check and control— Hyunjin doesn’t allow you that power, no matter how unknowingly he keeps it for himself. 

“Hi,” he responds. “I, uh, thought you had a nice smile in your picture. It’s even better in real life.”

You stay unfazed; compliments don’t affect you much— when they come from anyone but Hyunjin. Still, it’s a cute try, and you decide to dig in deeper. To you, directness is key— again, when dealing with anyone but Hyunjin. 

You slide your finger down the damp side of your champagne flute, tracing a haphazard shape in the water drops. The man falls quiet again, and you don’t bother saying anything else, just taking him in. You don’t have much experience with conversation loaded with romantic intent, and this holds true even with your infamous ex-boyfriend.

Park Jisung had spied you at a holiday festival on your college campus, and then proceeded to ask you out. It was pretty unceremonious, to say the least, and thinking in hindsight, you can’t remember a time when he actually tried to get to know you. You were so enamored with him that you didn’t bat an eye, not even when he insisted on having sex with you on your very first date. And it was also your very first time, actually— but you didn’t question it. And the sex? It was over in less than five minutes and he left right after he finished, but it just felt nice to be wanted, for once. 

In the following months, you realized that when he wasn’t sleeping with you, Jisung was in his own world. You barely existed to him, while you memorized his Chipotle order and silently bought new soap for him when it ran out. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he just wanted a warm body in his bed to replace the other ones he’d fucked with all day. 

“You should know that I have asthma, just in case you intend on taking my breath away on a regular basis,” the man blurts out, snapping you out of your depressing Jisung-reverie.

You bite back a snort— looks like Mr. Worldwide Handsome has new competition for the corniest person at this place. “Thank you.” 

He coughs, no doubt embarrassed by his poorly executed pick-up line. “Sorry. I can’t help it. Pretty people make me nervous.”

“You’re pretty too.” You shrug nonchalantly as the man blushes. “What’s your name?”

“Han Jisung.”

You nearly throw the champagne in his face. “Come again?”

“Jisung. My name is Jisung.”

You clench your fists under the table, trying not to break something. Of all the people in this world— of all the fucking names in this world— you just had to get set-up with a guy who shares the same name as a monster who did nothing but hurt you. What the fuck, universe? You glance at your phone screen peeking out of your purse— there are still four minutes left in this stupid round. 

“Hey, is everything good?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You look up, giving him a venomous smile. Screw the picture book. “What do you like to do in your free time, Han Jisung? Don’t tell me you like to day-drink and play beer pong.”

“I’m not really a drinker. And you can just call me Ji-”

“Tell me, Han Jisung, is your zodiac sign Aquarius? And do you work in tech? Do you work for NCT Corp? Do you?” You inquire without a break, gulping down your glass before refilling it with more of that horrendous champagne. The angel on your shoulder implores you not to project your ex-boyfriend’s personality onto the poor sucker sitting in front of you, but the devil whispers a different tune. You decide to follow the latter’s advice; raging hellfire is always more fun.

Han Jisung looks bewildered, but answers your question anyway. “Um, I'm a Virgo. I do work in tech, but with JYP Electronics.”

“Wonderful.” 

“Anyway… I never got your name,” Han Jisung tries, visibly shaken by your suddenly aggressive line of questioning. 

You scowl at him. “That’s because I already made the mistake of trusting someone like you, Han Jisung.”

There’s still a few seconds left in the round timer, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Your social battery has been exhausted, and all of the progress you’ve made in a long time has gone to dust in a mere five-minute parameter. You grab your bag and stalk away from the table, leaving Han Jisung staring after you, openmouthed and utterly perplexed by the unmerited hostility. But screw him— you can’t even live for a day without being reminded by your douchebag ex who traumatized the fuck out of you.

In your fury, you barely notice the rolling cart of lunch items that accidentally rams into your side. Bowls of pesto pasta fly off the cart, the roasted cherry tomatoes arching in the air in perfect semi-circles before splattering onto the pristine grass. The restaurant staff immediately attends to the mess, while the other guests just glance carelessly at the mess before continuing onto the next round. You rub your hip as Hyunjin rushes over to you.

“Darling, are you alright?” Hyunjin drapes his arm around your shoulders, gazing at you with concern. You melt into his touch for a moment, the frustration simmering with the longing inside of you. “Where were you going?”

You back away from him. “This was a bad idea. Maybe I’m not ready for this. I need more time.”

He frowns, stepping closer to you. “But—”

“Han Jisung?” You interrupt, more animosity in your tone than you intend for there to be. “You knew his name when showing me his profile.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen in both remembrance and regret. “Oh my god. I didn’t realize— I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Even taking into account how you feel right now, you don’t want to take it out on Hyunjin. Never. “It’s not your fault. But I’ll be on my way.”

Ducking your head, you turn and walk away, furiously blinking the tears away. A small part of you wishes Hyunjin would call you back, hug you close to him and ask you to stay. But he doesn’t, because he knows his boundaries. It’s you who doesn’t know their place, because regardless of the smarting pain inside of you, you want Hyunjin to bandaid your emotional damage. 

And as you pick up your pace, you realize that maybe you really are doomed to be Pygmalion, yearning for someone who no one else can even compare to, someone who’ll never be yours. No matter what sorts of grotesque demons haunt you, the most sinister of them all is the off-limits adonis who disturbs your heart even when you’re still reeling from the previous break. Han Jisung’s sunny skies woke you up from your dreams— Galatea is a fucking statue, art that will never come alive. 

“Well, that was a colossal disaster.” Hyunjin covers his face with his palms and shrinks into the buttery leather upholstery of his seat. 

Wonyoung glances over at him as the car starts up. “What do you mean? I think it went great. I saw a sickening amount of flirting going on. Pretty soon, you’ll be officiating a bunch of weddings.”

Hyunjin groans, shaking his head. “But did you see the way Y/N left, Wonyoung? The whole Jisung thing? God, I screwed things up colossally.”

“It’s not your job to remember the names of all of your clients’ ex-boyfriends. It was an honest mistake that we both overlooked.”

“Still.”

“Dr. Hwang, I feel like there’s more to this than you’re letting on.” Wonyoung crosses her arms. “Since when did you get so worked up over a client— over anything?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes like a petulant child. “I’m not getting worked up.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Sure.” Wonyoung looks back down at her tablet, tapping away at the screen. “I’m already seeing so many matches.”

“Nice.” Hyunjin looks out the window pointedly. “It’s always fucking raining these days.”

“Dr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin ignores Wonyoung, just leaning forward to instruct the cab driver. “Actually, can you drop me off at The North End? Thanks.”

“Seriously. What is going on?” Wonyoung presses once more. “You can’t just go drinking now, not like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Jang.” Hyunjin doesn’t meet her eyes as he gets out of the car, placing a few bills covering the whole cab fare into her hands. “Get home safe.”

Before she can protest, Hyunjin closes the door and lets the drizzle envelop him, effectively ruining his new logo-motif jacquard set. But he doesn’t give a fuck as he steps into the bar like a shivering stray cat, because the stench of liquor and greasy peanuts is strong enough to incapacitate his inner fashion police. 

“Bourbon, on the rocks,” Hyunjin orders glumly, looking down at his phone screen, a shot of Princess Diana on her birthday last year. She looks absolutely precious in that fluffy pink tutu that he dressed her in, a sight that never fails to make Hyunjin melt. Today, however, not even his adorably stylish puppy can cure him. He downs the whiskey the bartender sets in front of him, wincing at the burn he so rightfully deserved.

When you stormed out of the party just barely two hours ago, it took every fiber of Hyunjin’s being to not run after you. He’d wanted to ditch everyone and just kiss it better for you. He’d take you back to his apartment, run you a bath, cook you a comfort meal, and massage all of your sore spots. And then he’d cuddle with you on the couch, holding you while you fall asleep in his arms. But his stupid common sense held him back, rooting him to the spot like a big, dumb boulder. 

After speaking with Seungmin, he realized how precisely he’s gone for you. And it obviously wouldn’t end well, so he decided that distance— complete professionalism— would be the way to go. Last night, he’d tried a crapload of healthy methods to try and fix himself, from watching porn to reading porn to even listening to porn on some sketchy podcast— anything to distract him from the thought of you. But nothing worked, because he wasn’t horny. No, he had an emotional boner— the worst kind of boners. In the end, he’d realized that the only way to move on from you would be get his ass out there and find someone else,a rebound— which is what he’d been dreading all along.

Therefore, he’d turned around like a fucking moron and went back to the party, listlessly floating around like a trash bag discarded on the highway. And now, he’s at some bar with high end cocktails that are just a pretentious way of saying “fuck me” to strangers.

“Hey there handsome, need company?”

Hyunjin looks to his left, where the sultry voice has originated from: a young woman— a pretty one, too. She’s wearing the kind of tight, black dress and matching coy smile that can only mean she wants one thing. Luckily, Hyunjin’s on the same page as her.

“What’s your name, darling?” Hyunjin asks her, ignoring the guilt inside his chest. That term of endearment was once reserved for you, and only you. He’d have to get over the sting of that too.

She sits down next to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and exposing the smooth skin of her neck. “Lisa.”

“Lisa,” Hyunjin repeats, signaling to the bartender for another round. “Tell me, what do you do?”

“I’m hoping it’ll be you tonight.” Lisa smirks at him, raising an eyebrow seductively.

Well. That was fast.

Hyunjin chuckles, trying not to think of the nausea rising in his stomach. He accepts the drink from the bartender, clinking his glass against Lisa’s, meeting her darkened eyes over the rim.

“I’m Hyunjin. It’s nice to meet you.”

You haven’t watched trashy Youtube videos in months, thinking you’d left that disgusting habit behind, and yet, here you are, watching said trashy Youtube videos. Today, it’s a shotgun wedding getting upstaged by one of the bridesmaids proclaiming her love for the groom. You feel an old chips packet somewhere inside the bedsheet hollow you’ve burrowed yourself into, the crumbs poking into your back like unwanted intruders. However, you just try to ignore the nasty feeling and slump into the mattress, pulling the bedcovers up so they cover your chin. 

It’s been almost a full week since the matchmaking debacle that you absolutely made a spectacle of yourself at. You’ve spent the entire time drifting off to work, getting yelled at by Mark for no reason at all, and then coming home and lazing around. At this point, your gym membership must be a mere accessory, and the nearby 7-Eleven that you frequent for junk food is practically your second home. Fuck— you’re disgusted with yourself.

Resorting to self-destructive yet containable activities has always been your go-to for whenever you’ve been down— you’ll let yourself be fine with the world falling apart as long as it’s inside the confines of your humble abode. For months, however, you’d truly believed that you were past it. Hyunjin’s presence in your life inserted a certain desire inside of you— not to be better for him, but to be better because of him. Hyunjin opened your eyes to the real beauty of living, of having passion for any trade and a lust for happiness. That kind of positive outlook kept you climbing up that hill, no matter how arduous it was to maintain good spirits for the majority of the time. But as soon as a crisis hit, you bailed on your trek and fell back down the cliff.

You feel truly guilty as well, an emotion that usually got lost in the web of pity and hatred that you spun yourself into whenever you know you’ve done something wrong. Han Jisung didn’t deserve to be subjected to your outburst, you know that— that should have been reserved for the person who actually wronged you. You never actually got the chance to confront Park Jisung, not after he walked out like he didn’t just fucking break you. Deep inside, you know that you take out that inky mixture of unresolved frustration and regret on every single person who dares trigger you, even if it’s unintentional. Han Jisung was one such unfortunate target today.

A small chime alerts you to a new message, and you tear your eyes away from your laptop, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. In the notifications on your home screen, you see that it is not an email from Hyunjin like you’d unrealistically hoped for— instead, it’s a text from Yeonjun, your cousin who’s a constant thorn in your fucking side.

Yeonjun: hmm i’m thirsty :P

You: no yeonjun, i will not take you out for drinks.

Yeonjun: pretty pls w a cherry on top

You: fuck off

Yeonjun: u seem upset :(((

You: i’m having adult problems, yeonjun. leave me alone.

Yeonjun: well then i will help you with ur adult problems

Yeonjun: u know, i’m an adult too OMG

Yeonjun: come on, when have i ever not given u great advice?

Yeonjun: i missed my fucking calling in therapy. i woulda been an excellent shrink.

Yeonjun: i’m an amazing cousin who always is there for u. y/n i lysm, u know that?

Yeonjun: u know what else i love? Vodka. 

Yeonjun: but i love u too <3

You: Yeonjun, stop fucking spamming me or I’m not coming.

Yeonjun: YAYY!

With a defeated sigh, you shove the blankets to the side, the cold air conditioning gripping your body like a vice. But begrudgingly, you have to admit that it feels refreshing to get out of your sweaty hideout and step into the shower, cleaning yourself up as much as you can on the outside— the inside issue can be attended to with the drinks.

A half hour later, you find yourself in a skeevy dive bar on the Westside, doing shots with your cousin, because even though he irritates you to the core, he’s all you have. You really could use that drink, anyway. But no amount of alcohol seems to mask the way your heart hangs heavier than the full moon outside. In fact, the liquid courage just manifests your sadness even more, leaving you a sniveling mess on the bar counter.

“And, he was actually really cute, you know? But I could never date him,” you sniffle, after downing your fifth drink. “It’s just, I just can’t deal with any reminders of Jisung.”

Yeonjun knocks back his vodka. “I take it back. If therapy means dealing with saps like you, I’d rather die.”

You frown at him. “It’s better than being a failing TikTok influencer. When’s the last time any of your thirst traps got views?”

Yeonjun shrugs, unbothered by your jab; he’s as used to you as you are to him. “You could’ve at least hooked up with him, if he was that cute.”

You swirl your straw in the melting ice as you get on your phone, pulling up the follow-up email in which Hyunjin had sent you online scans of the candidate profiles. Yeonjun looks over your shoulder and whistles as you zoom-in on Han Jisung’s picture. “But I’ve only ever slept with Jisung before. I may be a scary bitch, but I’m not bold enough for that.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Yeonjun cackles. “Well, it’s only a better reason to have a one-night stand. Do you really want to give your trash ex-boyfriend the power of being the only person to have had sex with you? That’s kind of sad.” 

Yeonjun makes a face, shivering in disgust, and you sock him in the elbow in retaliation. “For someone so bitchless, you really have such strong opinions about me and my love life.”

“Who says I’m bitchless?” Yeonjun grins deviously. “Besides, you’re the one who told me all this crap in the first place.”

You glance up at the ceiling, feeling an indescribable sense of loss. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind a one-night stand, though. I guess getting laid is something I kind of need right now. I need to stop letting Jisung control every aspect of my life.”

“Well, if you’re not averted to the idea, a person of interest just walked in.”

You whip around to look at the door, and of all people, Han Jisung from the matchmaking event walks in. He doesn’t notice you at the counter, just making his way over to one of the booths near the entrance and sitting down in solitude. The waiter takes his order and walks away, leaving him to put on his headphones in wait.

“I think I must be living in a social experiment.” You groan and look over at Yeonjun. “Hell if I’m sleeping with him.”

“Did you or did you not just say that you don’t want to let your ex control your life?”

You stare at Yeonjun. “I can sleep with someone else. He’s probably too scared of me anyway. I kind of verbally-knifed him the other day.”

“Please. Everything about that guy screams ‘degrade me.’ He probably liked that shit. You might as well use him as a punching bag again— this time, more productively.” Yeonjun waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“The fuck do you know about productivity?”

“Nada. But I do know a lot about getting a fix when needed.” Your cousin winks at you, producing a packet of condoms out of nowhere and slapping it into your palm. Before you can react, Yeonjun is already slinking off to go and flirt with a pretty girl sitting by herself on the other end of the counter. And alas, you’re left alone again. With a packet of XL condoms— Yeonjun sure is optimistic.

You glance over at said person of interest, who is currently immersed in whatever song that’s got him bopping his head to the beat, eyes closed as if in a dreamy trance. He’s not your type, for sure. But the thing is, you don’t even know what your damn type is at this point— if it wasn’t for Hyunjin’s ability to make you feel inappropriate things so vividly, you’d have thought you had fucking cobwebs down there. Speaking with Yeonjun really was a reminder that you’re still young, after years of both an emotional and physical dry spell. Emotionally, you might not be ready. Physically, however, there’s an opening, and you know it.

When you were dating Park Jisung, sex was always initiated by him. It was always for himself too, because he never cared about making you feel good. But you didn’t see it as a red flag, since you were so in love with him. You just followed him around like an innocent, lovesick puppy that was eager to please. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.

Your first orgasm— and first experience with a deeper kind of desire— was alone, some time after your relationship ended. It was a quiet night, and you’d just fallen back onto the couch after another long, uneventful day at work. You flipped through the TV channels before settling on a network that was playing The Notebook, and despite its fame and reach, you’d never watched the movie before. Everything was normal until the main characters started kissing each other in the rain, a scene that would remain something you’d download and revisit many, many times when you were locked away in your room.

You’d never seen that level of lust before. You’d never felt it directed towards you or ever even experienced it when you discovered porn in your teenage years. Yet, these two people seemed to want each other on a whole other level, risking everything— their home, their reputation, their love— for something you’d always thought would be over in two minutes. And as your hand undid the button of your jeans and slipped down even lower, you realized just how wrong you were.

In the years that followed, you learned to become so much more comfortable with your sexuality. Hell, you have a drawer dedicated to storing your sex toys and on nights that you’d had too many glasses of wine, you wind up writing filthy erotica just for fun. However, you’d never actually considered having sex outside of a committed relationship, not until now. And in complete honesty, you really are curious about if Han Jisung is as subby as Yeonjun insinuated— if that proves to be true, you wouldn’t mind taking your pent-up Jisung-frustrations out on him. Productivity, and all. 

You slap your payment down on the wooden counter, shaking it slightly, before marching towards Han Jisung’s table. 

“Hey,” you start, but Han Jisung doesn’t notice you. “HEY!”

Han Jisung’s eyes fly open as he jerks in his seat and pulls off his headphones. At the sight of you approaching him so determinedly, he eyes you with both wariness and renewed interest, and you have to keep yourself from sighing exasperatedly at his hesitant desperation. You’re here for a reason, after all.

“Oh, hello. Y/N, right? I asked Hyunjin for your name after you left.” He gives you a nervous smile, brushing the bangs off of his forehead. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to say—”

“I’ll get to the point, Han Jisung.” You cut him off, ignoring the surprised expression on his face. It’s like he’s never in his life encountered a woman who knows what the hell she wants. “I want to have sex with you. What do you say?”

For a good minute, he says nothing, just gaping at you, shocked. And then he does a double-take, looking you up and down as if checking to see if you’re real. 

“Is this a ploy to kidnap me and steal my organs, or something? Because when I last saw you, I got the impression that you severely disliked me.”

“No, I’m not going to steal your organs. The truth is complicated,” you scoff. “But you’re hot, and I’m over everything else, at least for tonight. Are you up for it?” 

You stare Han Jisung down, making him shift in his seat. He scratches his nose and blinks at you like a trembling mouse. “I… wait. You think I’m hot?”

What an idiot. Good thing he’s pretty.

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck yes.”

With no warning at all, you grasp his hand, pulling him out of the booth while he scrambles to grab his belongings and shove them into his pockets. You feel his gaze on the back of your neck as you drag him through the bar, walking with your chin pointed up with purpose. You wind your way between the tables expertly, but this Jisung stumbles, making you glare at him over your shoulder.

“Watch your step,” you snap.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the floor as you barge into the bathroom in the back of the building, tugging him inside with you. “Wait, are we not going to your place, or—”

“Stop asking so many fucking questions, Han Jisung.” You slam the door behind you both and click the metal latch in place, leaving you both locked in the tiny room. It isn’t so cramped that there isn’t any space for movement, but it’s small enough to force you both into facing each other in a charged silence.

You eye Jisung from head to toe, taking in his baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans. He clears his throat, making you raise an eyebrow at him. “So, um, do you really have to call me by full name? Don’t you think that’s a little formal, considering what’s about to happen?”

You roll your eyes, your mind going back to the other Jisung you know. Never— there must be something to differentiate the two. You take an intimidatingly emphasized step towards him, backing him up against the wall. “No. I don’t think that’s too formal, Han Jisung.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up.” You trace your eyes down his body once more, gaze landing on the noticeable bulge in his pants. Bless Yeonjun— how right he was, for once. You look up, giving Jisung a mean smile. “Are you actually getting turned on right now?”

“Uh, wow—” He squeaks, as you reach your hand out and place it on his warm thigh, tracing it up his limb at a painful pace both dedicated to your desire to tease and be cautious.

“I asked you a fucking question.” You retract your hand right before it reaches its destination, glowering at him. “Answer me.”

“Just, um. I…” Jisung stammers, closing his eyes before opening them again, as if preparing himself. The honeyed tone of his skin exposes a light blush and therefore, his answer. “Ruin me, please.”

That’s all the permission you need before you’re placing your hands on Jisung’s surprisingly toned shoulders, roughly turning him around and swapping places with him, so that now you’re the one with their back to the wall. 

“Han Jisung…” You speak slowly, punctuating your words with the kind of loathing that has Jisung panting like a dog waiting for a treat, eyes wide with anticipation tinged with delicious fear. “If you’re a good boy and do as you’re told, I’ll see about giving you a reward.”

“Oh my god.”

“Take off your clothes.” 

Jisung nearly trips over his own two feet trying to wrestle the suddenly irksome swaths of fabric off of his body, tossing the garments onto the gross bathroom floor like he doesn’t give a fuck about getting a staph infection later. When he’s fully stripped, you trace your eyes over him in your own leisure, reveling in the way he shivers when you do. Your gaze washes over his defined abs, dipping even lower until you reach his hardened cock, flushed a pretty pink and glazed with pre-come— the condoms would come in very handy, after all.

Seeing him bared to you and your mercy rouses you up like you never thought it would; you never thought that feeling wanted yet being in control would work you up so much, but it does, and you love it beyond reason. 

“You’re really something else. Getting off on me being so mean to you.” With a sadistic smirk, you cross your arms. “I bet you thought about me even after I ditched your ass at the party, didn’t you?”

“I— I did,” he admits, with a nervous giggle. “You’re so fucking hot, I just couldn’t help it. Seriously. I’m sorry if— mmph.”

You interrupt his rambling by winding your hand into his soft hair and forcing him closer to you, meeting his soft lips in a harsh kiss, one that has him moaning shamelessly into your mouth. You kiss him deeply, like you want to punish him for it, like you want to both hurt him and make him beg for more. Jisung’s lips are small but full, moving against yours in a sloppy yet heated exchange, fighting for more in an unwinnable battle; he tastes like brandy, strawberries, and the promises of a good time, and you’re drunk on it.

“You’re disgusting, Han Jisung,” you spit out, prompting a whimper from Jisung. “Get on your fucking knees.”

He wastes no time dropping to his knees and letting you lead the way, fully submitting to your tantric commands. Quickly, you clutch at his hands and direct them to where they should be, tilting your head back against the wall as Jisung satisfies your wishes. With an eagerness that doesn’t even compare to your own, Jisung loosens the knot on the elastic band of your skirt, not bothering to untie it fully before he’s tugging the skirt up so that it’s bunched around your waist. 

And without you even demanding him to move faster, he’s pushing your panties aside and attaching his greedy mouth to your cunt. You nearly jerk away at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure; your ex-boyfriend never went down on you, and oh, how profoundly you’ve missed out. But you’ve researched enough to know exactly what you want.

Jisung’s eyes flick up to where you’re looking down and showering him with breathy sighs, spurring on his performance. When you shoot him a warning glare, he goes back to completely making-out with your cunt, easily spreading you apart with two of his fingers so he can focus on your throbbing clit. Jisung uses his other hand to squeeze your thigh gently, rubbing circles into the smooth skin as he works.

He delves deeper into your pussy when you run your hands through his silky hair, lapping at your arousal like it’s honey and he’s been starving for days. “You taste so good…”

Immediately, you yank back his hair and hold him in place as you start to grind onto his pretty face. “I don’t remember saying you could fucking talk.”

Jisung groans, taking every insult you hurl at him in such a measured but unbridled way. He makes up for his lack in precision with his enthusiasm, suctioning his mouth around your tender clit and swirling his tongue in patterns that have gotten you seeing the fucking stars. He lets you use him entirely, body going slack as he helps you ride out your high. The obscene sounds of Jisung slurping at your cunt fill the room as you come, gripping his head between your thighs as you feel that beautiful wave of euphoria fall over you. You pat Jisung’s shoulder in silent instruction, and he rises, cupping the sides of your arms and running his hands down them gently, soothing the way you quiver at any touch. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispers, making you open your eyes in surprise. Your ex-boyfriend never once checked up on you, not even when you were clearly in discomfort that first time he made you his own. This complete stranger however, one that you have been anything but gracious with, inspects your face with concern. A strange feeling of warmth spreads throughout your body as you nod your head.

“I’m good. You did well.” You grasp the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head so that all you’re standing in now are your skirt and basically ruined panties. You didn’t bother with putting on a bra before you left the house, and now, you’re thankful for the decision that was ultimately a byproduct of your laziness; Jisung gazes at your body with utter reverence, like just the sight of your tits has blessed his entire life.

“Please…”

“Please what, Han Jisung?” You bite your lip, both amused and flattered by how desperate he is for your pussy. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Jisung whines sadly, clearly on the verge of tears. His cock is now rock-hard, flush against his stomach, and it turns you on so much to know that eating you out has reduced him to such a pathetic mess. 

“Yes, you have…” you murmur, before jutting out your hand to hold his chin tightly. “Spit.”

Without a single protest, he obeys, a single string of saliva connecting his lips to your hand, before you’re reaching down and palming his cock. He lets out a gasp as you wrap your fingers around the base, spreading the dampness and pumping a few times for good measure, as if the mixture of his spit and your own arousal coating your pussy isn’t lubrication enough. 

You take the condoms out and help Jisung slide one onto his cock, chuckling when he places his hand over yours to help quicken the process. And then you’re finally guiding him into your entrance, circling one leg around his body and caging him into your fantasies. 

“Fuck—”

Jisung enters you as you both collectively moan out loud, him at how tightly your cunt clenches around him and you at how wonderfully his dick curves into you, hitting your sweet spot inside each time. Jisung cups your face as he kisses you again, but this time, it’s slower and more drawn-out, a vast juxtaposition to how rigorously he thrusts into you. You drag your nails down his back in a way that’s sure to leave marks for days to come, but he just increases his pace on your aching pussy, lost in pleasure. 

You grip Jisung’s ass and squeeze at the flesh, eliciting a throaty groan from him as your sweat combined creates a sticky layer between your bodies. Your breasts are pressed against Jisung’s chest, and he ducks his head to attend to them, licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples. The heightened attention goes straight to your sweet pussy, making you buck your hips as you hold him even tighter. 

“Oh god— I’m fucking— I’m gonna come—” Jisung chokes out, his movements now erratic and even more rushed, if possible.

“Not yet.” You just laugh cruelly, shaking your head. “You’re going to wait. I’m first.”

“I— I don’t think I can—”

“Suck it up like the little bitch you are, and make me come again,” you snarl, digging your nails into the arch of his ass.

He cries out, and for a brief lapse in time, you think he will not be able to outlast you, but then he slides his hand down, rubbing frantic circles onto your clit. The attempt to get you off a second time works, and the orgasm washes over you like a cool breeze in the summertime. You can’t help what escapes you next.

“HYUNJIN!”

“Did you just—”

You clench your jaw and give Jisung a menacing look, warning him of a topic that should not be broached under any circumstances. Luckily, your harsh expression just seems to spur Jisung on even more, and he follows you into ecstasy not long after, squirming in your hold. When he finally finishes, hot spurts of him coat your pussy and trembling thighs.

For a moment, Jisung slumps against you limply, and you let him, enjoying that blanket of heat and protection against your exposed skin, another gift you’ve never been given before. But then you remember that’s all he is to you— a body that has warmed you up for one night. You don’t feel guilty though, because you never did offer more than you could actually give. 

You pat Jisung’s back, prompting him to draw back and give you a fucked-smile. His bangs are plastered against his forehead in a sweaty mess, and his skin is tinged pink from his great efforts to please you. It’s a sight that you’ll be tucking away in your memories for any future lonely nights. 

After putting your blouse back on, you walk over to the sink as Jisung just stays leaning against the wall. Wetting a paper towel with some water, you run it between your thighs and clean up the remnants of Jisung’s come smeared there. And then you pull your skirt down and help Jisung, because no matter how you don’t see him as more than a fling, he is still significant to you. He’s the first person to make you come and show you that physical care that you’ve been craving for so long, and that amounts to something. Besides, you’d never just toss someone aside after using them so intimately, not like your ex did with you.

You get a fresh towel for Jisung, placing it against his forehead to cool his heated skin while assisting him in putting his clothes back on. When you both are completely dressed, you place a chaste kiss on Jisung’s lips and give him a small smile, before turning for the door.

“I’ll be on my way now, Han Jisung.”

Jisung leaps forward quickly, grabbing your head before it can reach the doorknob. “Hey, I know you said this was just a one-night, but can’t we maybe get dinner or something?”

“Jisung.” The plain name is still sour on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “We aren’t going to work. This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Wait. Are you just, like, crazy edging me right now?”

Shaking your head, you let out a tired laugh. “No, I’m not. Look, I think you’re a really nice guy. I’m sorry for how I treated you at the party last week. You definitely didn’t deserve that, and I definitely still need to resolve my own issues. I’m sure there’s some other sexy lady out there just waiting to dom your pretty face off. You deserve better than me.”

You leave Jisung speechless, finally getting out of the bathroom. You have a very important meeting tomorrow, one that you absolutely cannot miss. Besides, he really does deserve better than you, someone who definitely doesn’t make his whole life an enigma. Someone who doesn’t have the same impact on him as Hyunjin does on you. 

And in your post-coital clarity, you also finally accept that there will be no compromising with your feelings for Hyunjin. You’re falling in love with him, so much that even when another man is balls-deep in you, he’s all you can think of. It’s so profound that it hurts, the thought of never being able to fuck him into oblivion like you just did with Han Jisung. You can never have those nights with him in dirty bathrooms, or the ones tangled up in bedsheets for hours at an end. Late night conversations about the banalities of life and playful interviews about where he buys his amazing clothing will never be yours. You’re playing a dangerous game, ignoring your feelings like they’re a hazy insect that will eventually buzz away. Because you know they won’t. They’ll come back to sting you.

As you beeline for the bar exit, you run straight into Yeonjun, who seems to have been waiting for you all along. And by the looks of the Cheshire grin on his face, he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

“I knew his dick was big.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug, toying with the hem of your dress. It’s green, a new look from the various shades of pinks that you donned whenever visiting Hyunjin. The change doesn’t feel refreshing— really, it’s restricting and strange, somehow. Like it doesn’t belong on you.

Hyunjin sighs, getting up from his fancy chair to sit down next to you. So understanding, so caring, so gentle. Everything you don’t deserve and that you will never have. “Darling, please. Open up to me.”

You snap, looking at him directly. “I had sex with Han Jisung.”

Closing your eyes, you lift your up palm, effectively silencing whatever you know that Hyunjin was about to say. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. You have to mend the cracks before you break completely. Again. It’s now or never, no matter how much it will hurt you to do so.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE Here she is!! We're 2/5 of the way there 💪 Thank you for all of the love for this series! And again, I apologize for the atrocious wait-time. Please leave your thoughts, I don’t really mind if you leave a whole essay ;) -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna ***The users that I could not tag are written in pink***

If you'd like to join the taglist, click here!

NETWORKS @kflixnet @k-films

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

---

This is like 2 months old but why do you gotta make me cry at like 2AM? I can't take it anymore bro, stop writing so well or I might need another box of tissues..

Love Playlist #3: Make It Right (Lee Know)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"It hurts to love you."

Pairing: Lee Know x Fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, exes to lovers Warnings: swearing, messy break-up, mc has a fear of the dark, mild haunted house/Halloween descriptions Word Count: 18.3k

*Written for @skzwritingcafe's July/August event: Summertime Confessions ☀️

Special thanks to @baekhyyun & @simpforyongbokk for beta-reading!! 💘

“I love you.”

You roll your eyes and shove Minho away, trying to suppress the giggles that threaten to spill out. “Stop that. We need to concentrate, or we’ll never find an apartment.”

“I’m definitely concentrating.” Minho grins mischievously. “On you.”

Laughing at his antics, you shake your head, shutting your computer for a brief intermission to tend to Minho’s insatiable appetite for your attention. Your boyfriend never fails to make you smile, no matter what. 

“I love you too, you menace.”

Minho wakes up with a start. He groggily glances over at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. Nearly 3 a.m. Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, Minho just sits in that position for a good twenty minutes, marinating in the pitiful mixture of his sweat and tears.

The night before, he’d attempted to drown away his sorrows at some bar he stumbled upon while aimlessly wandering the city streets. It hadn’t worked, obviously, because his wallet wasn’t bottomless, and the pain was too great. But in true character, Minho had tried anyway, until his savior found him slumped over the counter and led him back to a safe place to sober up.

“Stay here as long as you need to,” Chan had said, tucking Minho’s drowsy form into a bundle of blankets on the couch, like he was a little kid.

Minho had tried to resist, mumbling complaints towards his friend’s retreating back, but fell into a troubled slumber before Chan even reached his own bedroom. Now he’s wide awake and unwilling to be so, praying he can just fall back asleep and forget about everything that had transpired in the previous twenty-four hours. But even sleep can’t save him from the memories of what you both once were: happy.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the rift growing between you two in the past few weeks. You didn’t have as much time for each other anymore, reducing your interactions to quick dinners and text messages. But you both have been together for nearly three years, and Minho had assumed that it was just the stress of senior year taking a toll on you both, nothing more. You both had been browsing apartments together just one month ago, finally planning to take the next big step in your relationship. He loves you more than anything in the world, and he so believed that you felt the same about him.

So when you sat him down yesterday at your favorite café, Morningstar Coffee House, and told him that you had doubts about your future together, he was shocked. Too fearful of what you were going to say next, Minho decided to take an abrupt exit out of the conversation, rushing out of the door by using class as an excuse. And now, he will be forced to confront a brutal reality, wishing he could have just gotten this over with yesterday.

A small chime alerts Minho to a new text message, and before he even reaches over to the coffee table to pick up his phone, he knows it’s you. 

bobaluvrr: we need to finish talking catservant98: do we really need to? bobaluvrr: morningstar at 8. i have class, pls don’t be late.

With an exasperated groan, Minho stands up, tossing his phone onto the couch. At the very least, he could use the coffee.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” Soyeon scrapes the bottom of the pint of ice cream in her hands, frowning when her spoon doesn’t recover as much as she’d like.

“Maybe,” Sunoo answers for you from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, lying on his stomach while scrolling through his cellphone. Soyeon chucks a pillow at him, making him yelp and lift his hands up in defeat.

“This is for the best, Soyeon,” you reply firmly, stabbing your spoon into your own pint of rocky road and digging out a generous chunk. As you lick the spoon, you note that you barely notice the creamy goodness that always succeeds in cheering you up. Not today.

Sunoo sits up and sets his phone aside. “Literally last month, you said you wanted to marry Minho as soon as you graduated.”

You swallow harshly, remembering the exact moment Sunoo is referencing. It’s true that you wanted to marry your boyfriend— no, you still want to marry him, even now. But you meant what you said; breaking up with Minho is necessary to prevent any more heartache. You’ve been feeling this indescribable longing seeping into your heart for weeks now, silently pressing through all of your warning bells. It was a whisper in the wind beneath your lofty wings, telling you that one day, Minho was going to leave you. The last few days had been the final straw, forcing you to grasp your courage and do what had to be done.

“I know.” You hold your tears back. “But the situation has obviously changed.”

Soyeon takes your hand in her own, softly rubbing your palm with her thumb to comfort you, while Sunoo just rolls his eyes. “I still blame that bitch Minju. It’s her fault you’re feeling like this, if anyone’s.”

At the mention of Minju, your expression hardens. After all, you don’t exactly have warm regards for a backstabber like her, especially when she had pretended to be your friend just to get close to Minho. When you found out about her ulterior motive, it made the betrayal hurt ten times worse.

You had befriended Minju nearing the end of the previous year, after she sat next to you at lunch when you were alone in the dining hall. All along your short-lived friendship, you had noticed that she would only ask you questions about Minho or your relationship with him, but you brushed it off as an attempt to just get along with your boyfriend. You had no idea that she wanted to do more than that. 

At the beginning of the next semester, Minho mentioned that he had one class with Minju. Ever the optimist, you were pleasantly surprised, thinking that Minju could become friends with Minho as well. After all, it always took Minho forever to really bond with new people, and this would make everything easier. But the little things you kept overlooking built upon each other, forming a whole dam of distrust. 

First, there were all of the times you hung out with both Minju and Minho. While Minho always engaged in conversation with the both of you, if not more with you, Minju would actively ignore you just to talk to Minho. Once, you three visited an arcade together, and there was a game that involved picking teams. Minju immediately declared that she would partner up with Minho, so you had no option but to team with a stranger. But maybe she just wanted to get to know him.

And then you ran into Heeseung, one of Minju’s old classmates. Heeseung had no malicious intentions; he used to have photography class with Minju before she switched out, and needed Minju’s number to ask her for the pen he had lent her. It looked like Minju had changed her course schedule to share a class with Minho. But maybe that was just a coincidence.

The final piece that made you put together Minju’s puzzle was when Minho was dropping you after a date one night. He had kissed you goodbye, and you went inside, wondering if you should invite Minju over to watch some movies. You called Minju and asked her if she wanted to come over, but she claimed that she was very sick and couldn’t even leave her house, down with a high fever in her bed. Feeling sorry for your friend, you decided to whip up a quick batch of soup for Minju and walk over to her loft. However, you saw two people standing right outside the building. Upon closer look, you realized it was Minju and Minho, talking about something you couldn’t hear. But the sight itself was enough— Minju looked perfectly healthy and fresh. You could give the benefit of doubt to your boyfriend, but Minju had obviously lied to you. You ran away before either of them spotted you.

You shake your head, knowing in your heart that even someone like Minju couldn’t really end one of the most important relationships in your life. “It’s not just her. I’m tired of watching every other couple on campus, wishing Minho and I were like that. Everyone calls us perfect, but really, we’re not. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who cares. I’m just tired of everything, Sunoo.”

And it’s true. You’ve had enough of wondering about whether you love him too much, if you were being naive about everything. You have always been a very bubbly, social person, wearing your heart on your sleeve. You know that Minho is more of an introvert, and that it’s hard for him to express himself to others. However, you believed that with time, he would open up, at least to you. You found it as easy to confide your fears within Minho as it was to laugh when he tickled you. But communicating with Minho about his own feelings remained a difficulty. He still seems like such a mystery to you, and even if he wasn’t entertaining Minju’s whole plot, you feel like he isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. You hadn’t even bothered telling Minho the truth about Minju, because in the end, you doubt Minju would have troubled you so much if your relationship really was so unbreakable. 

Sunoo’s face softens, as he gets up to envelope you in one of his hugs. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong. I just want the best for you.”

Soyeon joins your little huddle, wrapping her arms around the both of you. “You are our best friend, after all. We can’t have our favorite girl being sad.”

A tiny flicker of hope ignites in your stomach. Whatever happens, you know you’ll have Soyeon and Sunoo by your side. You tell yourself over and over again that you don’t need anyone else but them, until you start to believe it.

It hurts Minho’s heart to see that you look more beautiful than ever as you step into Morningstar, even with your downturned lips and the reddened sheen of your sleepless eyes. He busies himself with the menu as you approach the table he’s sitting at, as if he wasn’t just watching you a moment earlier.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Your words feel oddly formal, especially taking into account your usual greeting for Minho was an excited hug and an avalanche of kisses.

Minho shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant and not as scared as he really is. “Yeah, of course.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, clearing your throat. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Unable to help himself, Minho rolls his eyes. “How do you think I slept, Y/N?”

You immediately flush, realizing how obvious the answer must be. “I was just—”

“Checking on me,” Minho interrupts you, sounding more wounded than angry. “Right after you tell me that you think maybe we shouldn’t move-in together and that you aren’t feeling the same about us.”

You reach across the table to take Minho’s hands in yours. He can’t bring himself to wrench them free from your hold. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You did.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I just…” You trail off, gazing out the window. The campus is alive with the buzz of students waking up and going on about their days. It’s a gorgeous day for October, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky— Minho hates it.

He looks away, not wanting to showcase how truly vulnerable he feels right now. “Why? Why this all of a sudden? Did I do something wrong?”

You start. “No!”

“Are you still upset about yesterday? I know everything is stressful right now, but I promise—”

You take a deep breath. “I can no longer trust you. I don't know if I’ll always be the only one. But it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Of course you’re my only one, what are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, the desperation creeping in. “No. I promise I’ll try. I’ll be better. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this together.”

You slam your palms down on the table, making it shake. It shocks both you and Minho into a moment of charged silence. “We’ll only grow to hate each other at this rate. I need to end things with you now.”

“Y/N, please. I- I don’t want to break-up.”

You flash Minho a broken smile. “I don’t want it either. But I need to do this, for both our sakes.”

You stand up from your chair, and Minho finally breaks. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he fell into a ravine while hiking and broke his arm. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he was cut from the line-up for his dream internship in New York City. Minho, who never cries, sits in front of you now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his sweatshirt.

“Don’t go, please.” He makes one last attempt at getting you to stay, grabbing onto the arm of your jacket. 

You gently shake him free, taking your purse. You’re crying now too. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Min.”

Minho lets his arm fall limply to his side as he hopelessly watches you leave as quickly as you came. He always hated saying goodbye after every time you went out, but the thought of being able to see you the next day helped a little bit. Now, there wasn’t even that.

“One… two… three.” 

Minho grunts in effort, sweat slowly dripping down his neck at the arduous pace of each repetition.

“Keep going, Minho. You’re almost there,” Changbin says, leaning over Minho and supporting him on the bench press.

Minho barely hears him, flexing his biceps up and down, exhausted, yet determined to finish a set. He’s done nothing at all for the past few days, strangled with the inevitable grief of being broken up with. Minho sullenly welcomed trudging back and forth to classes. He went to bed early and slept in for as long as possible, and barely ate anything during the meals Chan forced him to have.

However, Chan finally became fed up with Minho’s mopiness, employing Changbin to drag him out to the gym and make him work out his feelings. And so, as he struggles under the backbreaking weight of the barbell, he yearns to feel a sense of accomplishment about something— anything.

“Ten! You’re done.” Changbin gently places a hand on Minho’s arm, willing him to stop, but Minho keeps going without toning down his pace.

Minho feels the excruciating ache burning in his muscles, the slow agony of pain rippling through him. Is this how you feel? Is this how much it hurts to love him? If so, he wants to live it over and over again, atoning for the reason you left him. He blames himself for letting you go, of course, but mostly for making you feel like you had to leave in the first place. He should have been a better man for you. 

“Minho, stop!” Changbin lifts up the weight in his own hands, racking it and staring down accusingly at his charge. “Are you crazy? You could have hurt yourself.”

“You lift more than that, and you’re fine. Give me that.” Minho reaches for the barbell once more, but Changbin places it on an even higher hook, forcing Minho to get off the bench.

“I’ve been doing this for years. You started after your girlfriend dumped you, four days ago.”

Minho rolls his eyes, picking up his towel and dabbing at his dampened skin. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You were already thinking about her anyway.” Changbin pats Minho’s shoulder, grabbing his bottle of green juice and walking over to the rowing machine to start his own workout.

Without further protest, Minho retreats to the locker rooms, wondering if he’s being that obvious. Minho gazes into the clouded mirror, inspecting himself for any signs of sadness, but all he receives is an eyeful of his general look, a guarded expression that reserves smiles only for those who deserve it. Weird. Maybe Changbin is just telepathic.

Minho shoves his belongings into his gym bag and heads out of the gym, back to nowhere else but Chan’s apartment, his temporary home until he finds a better place to stay. After all, he thought you both would be moving in together, but plans change. 

As Minho makes his way down the sidewalk that leads to the university off-campus housing complex, someone throws a soccer ball into his path. Great.

“Hey, can you pass that over here?” 

Clenching his jaw in annoyance, Minho kicks at the ball as hard as he can, not caring about where it lands. He ignores the person’s confused shouts and keeps walking until he reaches his destination, not acknowledging any of the strangers he passed by. What does it matter, anyway?

“Gym go well?” Chan looks up from the cutting board, setting down his knife and wiping his hands on a dishrag.

Minho sighs, neatly fixing his bag next to his current post, the sofa. “It was fine. I’ll go clean up and be right back.”

“Hurry! Dinner’s almost ready,” Chan calls as Minho heads inside the bathroom, locking the door and cranking on the shower. 

Minho feels his body relax as he steps under the steady stream of water, but his mind remains tense. He’d gone to the gym with Changbin today because he thought he’d be able to get some peace of mind and forget about everything, but evidently, that hadn’t worked. All he can think about is you, you, you. He’ll deny it to his friends for as long as he can, but he isn’t sure how long he can keep lying to himself.

As he finishes, Minho steps out of the steamy bathroom and into the bedroom, drying off and quickly changing into his clothes. He walks into the dining area, where Chan has set up two bowls and is ladling pasta into each of them. When he was younger, Minho’s mother used to tell them that a good meal could ease a troubled heart. For her sake and Chan’s, he decides to eat well today, just for living.

Enveloped in a comfortable silence, Minho and Chan dig in, enjoying the spicy, cheesy penne that serves as an instant comfort food. 

“Thanks, Chan,” Minho says, looking up from his bowl.

Chan swallows his bite and pauses, placing down his fork. “For what?”

Minho shrugs awkwardly, trying to find the right words. By now, he knows he’s no good at speaking his heart. “For being there for me. For feeding me. Everything, I guess.”

“And for making Changbin haul your ass to the gym.” Chan grins at Minho, nothing but warmth in his kind eyes. “What are friends for, brother?”

Even though he feels kind of crappy, Minho smiles. “Yeah, man.”

Chan reaches over and smacks Minho’s back, laughing the sentiment off. But deep inside, Minho knows that Chan understands him. Whatever happens, his brother will be by his side. He tells that to himself over and over again, through dinner and the TV show that Chan turns on, until he starts to believe it. 

The next morning, Minho wakes up after finally getting a good night’s sleep. The much needed rest spurs him on to message you, something he’s been putting off for a while now.

catservant98: did you wake up? catservant98: how are you doing? catservant98: ??

You don’t reply to any of his texts. Minho knows that you’re not much of a morning person, but you would never miss class, so you have to be up. Every Thursday and Friday, both of you have Writing Seminar together, a course that is mandatory for every senior student at the university you both attend. When he first received his schedule, he had been elated that he shared a class with his girlfriend. Well now you are his ex-girlfriend, and he doesn’t know that being in the same room and unable to speak with you is a great option.

Nevertheless, Minho tucks his phone into his pocket, opening the door to the lecture hall. The moment he enters, his eyes find yours. You’re sitting in your favorite spot in the middle of the fifth row, but the seat next to you that Minho usually takes is already occupied by some other girl who’s busy reading a book. You didn’t bother saving him a seat, for the very first time.

You tear your eyes away from Minho’s piercing gaze, looking at the grassy lawn beyond the window behind you, leaving Minho to find a new seat. He sets his backpack down in the very back row, where no one else is, and sits alone, a sad new reality setting in. Thankfully, the professor enters and starts talking about some upcoming project, leaving Minho ample leeway to observe you. 

Your head is tilted down and you're focused on the open notebook in front of you. Although he can’t see your hand properly, he knows it’s moving as you sketch a little doodle onto the paper. It’s a habit that he always found enormously endearing, and as you tuck your hair behind your ear, Minho feels another pang in his chest. He will never be able to brush back your hair for you, ever again.

The moment class is over, Minho quits pretending he’s actually paying attention and hurries over to you before you can leave. You’re midway through stuffing your books bag in your bag when you notice Minho hovering over you. With a resigned sigh, you look up at him expectantly.

“I- I just wanted to check on you,” Minho says quietly, looking down at his hands like he’s a kid again, guilty of stealing a candy instead of impinging on your time. “And see how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been better.” You look away and stand up, gesturing towards the door. “I should go. Soyeon’s probably waiting.”

“Okay then.” Minho steps aside, letting you pass. You both had a lot of mutual friends; surely every interaction between you both will not be this awkward, right? 

Before you leave, however, you turn and look at him. “Let’s try to be civil and move on, okay? We’ll still be seeing each other a lot, so.”

Minho just stares at you, for a moment, before remembering himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try.”

You curtly nod and walk out the door. Minho isn’t so sure that moving on is what he wants. Of course he wants to get along with you, because having you in his life and not being romantically involved is better than not being involved with you at all. But he wishes the world— time, you, and even himself— would understand that moving on meant this loss in his life. Shaking his head, Minho heads out of the classroom and towards a hopefully better day.

“Are you sure this isn’t a bad idea?” You worriedly scan the increasing mass of partygoers. Usually, you love a good party; spending time with friends and making new ones is one of your favorite things to do. Tonight, however, you can’t help the bad feeling building inside of you.

Sunoo loops your arm through yours, leading the way for you through the swanky flat, searching for a place to sit. “No, it isn’t. You deserve to have some fun.”

“What if I see Minho?” You ask him, but you already know the answer. Of course Minho is coming to Jihyo’s birthday party; unfortunately, both of you were in the same large friend group, an aspect of your relationship that you used to cherish. Now, not so much.

He looks over at you, a challenge in his eyes. “And so what if you do? You told him you wanted to be civil. So be civil.”

“Right.”

You both find a place by the food tables, where boxes of pizza have already been opened to entice guests and bottles of beer chill in the cooler. After congratulating Jihyo and helping yourself to a few slices, you sit down on the couch next to Sunoo, trying to enjoy your dinner. After boba, pizza is your most favorite food on the whole planet, but even that can’t seem to soothe your nerves. You wish Soyeon were here too, but she’s stuck studying for an exam.

Noticing your restlessness, Sunoo whistles to a few people mingling nearby. “Hey, who wants to play Truth or Dare!”

Although outdated, Truth or Dare is a certified party hit for stressed college students like you all, especially if there’s alcohol involved. You’re just thankful for the distraction. Everyone quickly huddles around, buzzing in anticipation of either a comedy show or secrets being revealed.

“I’ll go first.” Chan says, stepping forward. If he’s here, so must be Minho. “Truth.”

Sunoo rubs his hands together in thought before piping up. “What’s your beef with your Student Council co-president?”

Chan immediately tenses, his cheeks turning red. “Shit. I’ll drink on that.”

Everyone whoops with laughter and cheers as Chan downs his beer, setting the cup down with a sour expression on his face due to the bitterness of the drink. He must really hate his co-president. The game continues, before you’re the only person playing who hasn’t gone yet. Unfortunately, your questioner is Mark Lee, a junior that’s notorious for his nosiness. You brace yourself for whatever invasive question he’ll come up with, but you aren’t as quite prepared as you think.

“Why did you and Y/N break up?” 

“Huh?” You follow Mark’s gaze to see him looking at Minho, who joined the game without you realizing. The question was meant for him, not you.

Minho says nothing, giving Mark the opportunity to keep talking. “I mean, weren’t you guys the golden couple of campus or something?”

Everyone quiets down, zeroing in on you and Minho for all of the wrong reasons. Minho’s eyes dart over to where you sit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You feel your skin prickle and your body heat up, the stress clouding your senses once more.

“This is stupid. Game’s over,” Minho declares while getting up, and everyone disperses, not willing to argue with him.

You stare down at your lap as Sunoo places an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea Mark would ask that. What an asshole.”

“I’m fine.” You stand up, brushing off your skirt. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sunoo offers.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll come back.”

After getting some water, you wind through the impromptu dance floor that has now taken over the living space, everyone jamming to the raging music that thumps through the loud bass speakers that Jihyo had installed into her flat. You dodge a couple grinding up against each other and a pair of best friends swinging to the beat. Before you head back to Sunoo, you’re about to find temporary reprieve out on the balcony, but like a cruel universal joke, you see exactly what you fear most.

Minho leans against the railing, the evening breeze ruffling the chestnut hair that frames his handsome face. And next to him stands Minju, twirling her hair around her fingers while listening to what Minho is murmuring to her. Yours and Minju’s eyes meet, and she gives you the faintest hint of a satisfied smirk. Your heart drops and your feet want to give out right then and there, but you would rather die than fall apart in front of both of them. You turn on your heel and blindly march to wherever will rid you of the side of the person you love the most speaking to the person you hate the most. 

That destination turns out to be the kitchen, as you march in and huff out loud as your body hits the kitchen island. There’s no one else there except for one other person with his upper body hidden by the refrigerator, obviously raiding it. At the sound of someone else entering, he shuts the fridge door and looks over at you. Taking in his faded pink hair and beat-up converse sneakers, you vaguely recognize him from somewhere.

“I was just looking for some carrot juice, that’s all.” The guy shoots you a sheepish smile. “I don’t do booze past 9 p.m.”

“Carrot juice? Don’t tell me you’re a fitness freak.”

He raises his hands in faux surrender. “Guilty. But outside of the gym, I’m Kang Taehyun. Or Terry, if we’re acquainted, and hopefully you and I will be by the end of the night. So call me Terry.”

You’re intrigued by this carrot-loving stranger. “I’m—”

“Y/N, I know. We have Writing Seminar together.” Terry smiles as the recognition hits you.

You slap your palm against your forehead, wondering how you could have missed him. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was always too distracted in that class.”

He waves your apology off with a twist of his wrist. “No worries. Besides, you’re a lot more memorable than me.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

In the brief silence that follows, you gaze up at the pattern of the tiling on the countertops, toying with the hem of your skirt. Once again, your thoughts flit over to Minho, wondering if he’s still talking to Minju. Terry notices you spacing out and speaks up. “Hey, are you okay?”

You look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, everything feels like too much, and you’re overwhelmed with your own emotions. You feel yourself tear up, and you’re immediately mortified for breaking down in front of someone you just met. 

Unfazed, Terry crosses over to you in three quick strides and gently touches your arm, concerned. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You swipe at your eyes, trying to collect yourself. “No, it’s not you. I broke up with my boyfriend recently. And it’s been… bad. God, this is embarrassing.”

Terry dips his head in understanding. “I noticed you weren’t sitting next to him as usual in class earlier today. Minho— that's him, right?”

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Well…” Terry trails off, and you fear you’ve ruined the mood with your depressive recollection, but he smiles at you. “I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me. I have a fear of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

A giggle escapes your mouth at the absurdity of his confession. “What?”

Terry nods solemnly. “Yes. Technically, I have a fear of visiting the dentist, but mint choco is close enough to the taste of toothpaste to give me the chills.”

You grin at Terry, the down atmosphere slowly fading away. “What do you like, then?”

“Water slides. Pleasure reading. And caramel popcorn with extra caramel.” Terry flexes his bicep. “Even a fitness freak needs his sugar fix.”

You roll your eyes in good humor. “You’re really something, aren’t you, Kang Taehyun?”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.” Terry runs his hand through his bubblegum hair, carelessly mussing it up. You find the messiness of his bangs absolutely adorable.

“It is.” You tap your nails against your cup, trying to think of something to say next. Generally, you have no difficulty in keeping a conversation going, but Terry seems to be content with that role in this one.

“Are you an Apple or Android kind of person?” Terry inquires.

You take a sip of your water, raising your eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I was trying to think of a good way to ask you for your number.” Terry shrugs, that playful smile that you’ve now become familiar with coming back.

You return it. “You just did.”

Both of you exchange cell phones and type in each other’s contact information. When finished, Terry slides your phone back into your palm, and you don’t miss the light touch of his fingers against your own.

“I have to go find my friend now, Terry. But I’m glad I met you. Don’t forget to spam me with more weird facts about yourself.”

Terry laughs. “I won’t. Like I said, Y/N, you’re not easily forgettable.”

You hide your smile and leave the kitchen, lost in your own world, even as you run straight into Sunoo, who asks you what took you so long. When you finally get back to the warmth of your own room after the party, you sit down to get some homework done before bed. You notice your favorite keychain, a little cat charm, hanging off your ID card lanyard that’s strewn across your desk. Minho gifted it to you last year, stating that you needed something to remind you of him when he wasn’t there. After a moment’s hesitation, you unclip the charm from the lanyard and tuck it away inside your desk. You don’t need the reminder right now.

terrypotter: hey, good morning!! this is terry from yday btw bobaluvrr: hii!  bobaluvrr: omg ur user <3 i love harry potter too!  terrypotter: this friendship was meant to be.

You throw off your covers, hopping out of bed. Last night was proof that things could start out horrible and end well. You meant what you said to Terry; you’re happy you were able to meet someone like him. Even though you both only hung out for a few minutes, talking to him felt relaxing and uncomplicated, less of a puzzle and more like a game, unlike how it felt with Minho. You were tired of always guessing Minho’s thoughts, and so Terry’s habit of speaking his mind feels incredibly refreshing.

terrypotter: here’s a thought- coffee @ morningstar?  terrypotter: they make a mean breakfast bagel too, if ur up for it

You frown down at your phone, the lighthearted feeling fading into uncertainty. You are glad that Terry named this new acquaintance as a friendship, but still, he’s a boy— and a good looking one at that, too. You aren’t sure if getting coffee entails something potentially romantic down the lane, and if it does, it feels wrong, especially so soon after Minho. You definitely haven’t moved on, yet. After all, you once believed that Minho would be the man you would marry one day, and a tiny part of you still dreams of what could be.

bobaluvrr: i can’t :( promised my roommates breakfast terrypotter: aw that’s too bad

After a moment of thought, however, you text him again. 

bobaluvrr: but i’ll save you a seat in class today! terrypotter: see u then :) 

Strangely buzzed, you make your bed and get ready for the day, trying not to think of the fact that Minho is also in Writing Seminar with you and Terry. You don’t want him to give him the wrong idea, but then again, you both weren’t together anymore, so what does it matter? 

After showering and getting dressed, you stand in the kitchen so that the excuse you gave Terry won’t be a lie, scrambling a few eggs in the frying pan that Minho bought you last year. As the designated chef in your relationship, Minho used to cook for you all the time, whenever you came over to the apartment he shared with Chan and Jisung. Whenever he visited you, however, he complained that there weren’t enough proper cooking supplies for him to create a “proper culinary experience” for you, so he insisted on buying you some. 

When you nearly fainted, looking at the receipts for everything he bought you, he promised that you could make it up to him by bringing everything with you when you moved in with him. That’s how he very smoothly asked you to move in with him, and you accepted by attacking him with kisses. You both planned to find an apartment as soon as possible, since Jisung wanted to move-in with his best friend, and Chan was looking for his own place. The reminiscing smile on your face fades away when you remember that everyone’s plans came to fruition except for yours and Minho’s.

You don’t know if it’s the universe looping Minho into your life again and again, or if your treacherous heart just misses him so much that you can’t help but subconsciously cling to every last remnant you have of him. The sensible side of you knows it’s the latter scenario. 

“I smell food.” Sunoo ambles out of his room, looking like a lovable yet scruffy teddy bear. 

He tries to sneak a piece of fried egg from the pan, but you quickly push his hands away, wrinkling your nose. “Go brush your teeth first. I’m going to throw up.”

Sunoo rolls his eyes sleepily, but obeys, before Soyeon also comes out of her bedroom. Unlike Sunoo, however, she’s all dressed and ready for business, clad in her uniform of baggy jeans and a badass leather jacket that you adore. Soyeon pulls out three glasses and starts juicing a couple oranges to complete your meal, as you start plating the food.

“Thank you, my angel,” Soyeon blows you a kiss as you set the eggs and some slices of buttered toast on the table. You wink back at her as you both take your seats and Sunoo comes out to join you, still wearing his pajamas.

“And you, lazy ass? Wake up earlier so you can help out more. You never do anything.” Soyeon smacks Sunoo’s arm, hard, eliciting a cry out of him.

“Hey! I take on the emotional support role in this house,” Sunoo replies, aggressively biting into his toast.

“This is an apartment.”

Your two roommates trade their usual insults back and forth as you tune them out, picking at your own plate. Maybe it had been a bad idea, asking Terry to sit next to you. And it wasn’t even about how you could already envision your ex-boyfriend’s beautiful eyes full of betrayal, but more of how you’re coming off to Terry. What if he got the wrong idea, that you both were heading into something more than a friendship?

When you’ve escaped Sunoo and Soyeon’s bickering, you plug in your earbuds and walk to the lecture hall. The sound of your morning mix fills your ears as you enter your own world. While you cherish the people in your life more than anything, you treasure the times when you can slow down and just appreciate the fact that you’re alive and healthy. Gratitude isn’t something you feel a lot, especially taking into account recent happenings, but maybe you’ll start now. A new friend is always something to be thankful for—

You hear someone calling out and immediately pull out your headphones to see Terry next to you. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Terry falls into a synchronized step with you. “Did I interrupt any deep contemplation? The look on your face was pretty intense.”

You shake your head, accepting the coffee that Terry hands to you. “Thank you. And no, you didn’t. It’s nice to see you again, Terry.”

Terry smiles, sipping from his own cup. “Likewise. Ready for class?”

You’re about to naturally give him an affirmative answer, before you halt, remembering yet another moment with Minho.

“Who the hell is he?” Minho glowers threateningly at the guy next to you, pulling the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. The man quickly rushes out of the bar and into the rain, without even bothering to open the umbrella in his hands. 

You sigh loudly while Minho sits down on the stool the man was just perched on. “Was that necessary, Min? Poor guy just wanted to ask me about the book I’m reading.”

“That’s the pretense that all guys put up when they’re trying to hit on a girl.” Minho slides his arm around your shoulders, and despite your mild annoyance, you melt into his touch. He smells like a mix of cologne, rain, and fresh cotton sheets.

You look up at Minho through your eyelashes. “Is that what you did when you asked me out?”

Minho smiles lovingly at you. “I didn’t have to. You were down bad for me already.”

You shove him away in mock offense. “You were the down bad one! I remember your whole cheesy speech.”

“I don’t recall anything like that.” The smirk on Minho’s face fades in favor of a deep blush.

Laughing, you press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips, and he quickly reciprocates. The truth is, you both were impossibly down bad for each other. And to be even more honest, you enjoyed it when Minho got like this; the feeling of being Lee Minho’s girl will never not excite you, especially when he was the one keen on enforcing it.

You sigh to yourself. While that was a pleasant memory without the context, you aren’t so sure it’ll be cute this time, when Minho reacts to you and Terry.

Terry holds the door open to the lecture hall, letting you go in first before shutting the door behind him. Most of the class is already assembled there, setting up their desks before the professor starts. You see that Minho’s also sitting, perched in the back again, but he seems busy rifling through his bag, looking for something. As you take your own seat, you don’t know if you feel relief at Minho not saying anything, or disappointment that he didn’t notice you at all.

Throughout the duration of class, you and Terry giggle together over the professor’s infamous random rants, but your mind keeps flitting over to Minho. You can feel his gaze on you and Terry, but when you turn, you see him immersed in his notes like he wasn’t looking at you in the first place, and you end up feeling stupid. Fearful of what Minho— or really, you— might do, as soon as class ends, you grab Terry’s wrist and practically pull him out of the door, ready to get out of there. Terry doesn’t question it, understanding the rationale for your actions. You appreciate that about him.

To make it up to Terry, you take him out to lunch, choosing a restaurant downtown. You love the views of the riverfront there, as well as their renowned spicy food. You block out the memory of all of the times you and Minho walked over here, hand in hand. You are entitled to lunch at your favorite restaurant, you remind yourself. Once you’re seated, the waiter comes over to your table.

“Chef’s special soup, please. Level-three spice,” you tell the waiter.

The waiter writes down your orders and walks away, leaving Terry to look at you with an amused expression. “Level-three? The food here is already spicy.”

You cross your arms. “I have a very high spice tolerance.”

“Alright.”

In no time at all, your waiter is back, setting down the food in front of you both. Terry immediately digs in, shoveling liberal spoonfuls of his mild fried rice into his mouth, leaving you to stare at your soup. You can practically smell the red pepper in the steam rising out of the bowl.

“Here’s my last warning before destruction,” Terry says, squeezing a lemon onto his rice. “Try some rice.”

You sit up, trying to look self-assured. “Nonsense. I can do this.”

Of course, you wish you hadn’t bragged so much, barely a few seconds after your first sip of the spicy broth. Your eyes start to tear up involuntarily, and Terry fills a glass of water from the iced pitcher and hands it over to you. You accept it, clumsily tipping the cool water into your mouth, as Terry gives you a knowing smile.

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

The spoon in your hands nearly falls onto the floor in your shock at Terry’s words. “What did you just say?”

Terry gives you an odd look. “Um, I said, ‘aren’t you overdoing it?’”

You take a deep breath, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. But you know that they’re not completely due to the soup. “Wow.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Terry hands you a napkin, worry written on his face. He signals for the waiter to refill the water pitcher.

You smile ruefully. “Yeah, I will be.”

“I can handle it, Minho.” You give him a glare, placing the napkin on your lap and scooting closer to the table. It’s your first date with Minho, and you want to impress him so bad.

Minho nudges your leg with his own, and you try not to look flustered. “It’s okay if you want to order something else.”

You stubbornly dig your spoon into the bowl, gathering a large helping of broth and noodles onto it. “You like the soup here. So I want to eat it too.”

He just laughs, watching intently as the clear signs of regret manifest on your face. “Told you so.”

"What are you talking about?” You narrow your eyes, unwilling to admit defeat, even though you really, really want to. You drink the soup in careful spoonfuls, pretending it’s too hot, but you struggle to speak even in between tiny sips. “This… is.. so… delicious.”

Minho is now hysterical, losing his mind laughing at the look on your face when you bite straight into a whole jalapeno. “Aren’t you overdoing it?”

“Minho, you’re so mean!” You can’t bear it any longer, the tears gushing down your cheeks while you also laugh in both pain and genuine happiness at being here with Minho, at making him laugh. 

“Alright, alright.” Minho quickly goes and gets a large glass of chilled apple juice from the bar, handing it to you. 

When you’re finally calmed down, you wipe your mouth with your napkin and set the spoon down, metaphorically waving a white flag. You skip straight to dessert, opting to soothe your taste buds with cold ice cream, all while watching Minho in awe as he easily finishes his own bowl of soup. After paying for dinner, Minho takes you to a secluded section of the rocky beach bordering the river that runs straight through the city. You both walk in a comfortable silence, still at that point where your hands slightly touch as you walk, unsure of just holding each other like you so want them to. 

You look over at Minho, suddenly self-conscious. At this point, you see no point in faking anything; he’s seen you literally sob over a bowl of soup. “About the soup… I promise I’m not a braggy show-off. Honestly, I just wanted to impress you. Guess I did the opposite, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, all laughter from before gone. “I’ve never met someone who ate a bowl of soup here just because I like it. Not even Chan would try it, and he’s my best friend.”

You blush, illuminated by the combination of the moonlight and the glittering city surrounding. “Thank you.”

Minho stops walking, turning around to face you. “I know I told you this when I asked you to go out with me, but I suck at using my words, so I’m sorry.”

You copy his movement so you’re looking him directly in the eye. “I understand you, words or not.”

Minho looks down at the rocky ground, secretly fighting his own insecurities. “I’m trying, but I… I admit I’m not great at this.”

You try not to show how utterly charmed you are by his bashfulness. “To be honest, neither am I. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever gone out with. Nobody’s really been into me before.”

“Seriously?” Minho looks shocked. 

You now wonder if divulging that information in him was wise. Definitely not. “Yeah.”

Minho kicks a pebble into the river, watching it sink into the water. “Idiots.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

He scoffs, looking back at you. “I don’t know what kind of idiots you were hanging around before. How could no one be into you?”

You shrug, embarrassed. Your heart feels heavy, thinking of the things people used to say to you, thinking they were being funny but not realizing how much mere words were hurting you. “I’m kind of undateable, I guess. People tend to gravitate towards Soyeon. They say I’m more of the comedic relief. I don’t blame them, though. She’s perfect.”

Minho gives you an unreadable expression. “You have no idea.”

“Of what?”

He crosses that miniscule space between you both, answering you in a different way than you expect. His lips are full and sweet, and he tastes like your coffee ice cream that he stole a few bites from. The surprise you harbor quickly melts away when you shut your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his around your waist. If it took this long to find the right person, then so be it. And you don’t know if you can say that this— your first kiss ever— is like the movies; it feels even better. 

“I may not be good with words, but I can say this: you are perfect.”

“You look kind of stupid,” Hyunjin says, cackling at Minho’s struggle to look over the top of the box in his hands while coordinating his movements. 

Minho gives Hyunjin a sharp look in response. “And you look ready to go into the air fryer.”

Hyunjin immediately tosses his phone aside and scurries over to where Minho is, taking the box out of his hands and transporting it into Minho’s designated bedroom with ease, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he goes. Minho smiles to himself, satisfied. 

He follows Hyunjin into the room, finding the latter boy dramatically smoothing out the bedsheets and straightening the pillows. Hyunjin side-eyes Minho’s entrance, earning him a smack on the backside and a great reason to get out of the room, leaving Minho in peace.

Minho quickly unpacks, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them in the closet, before organizing the rest of his belongings around the room. When he finishes, he falls back onto his new bed, staring up at the ceiling fan and observing it whir. Out of everything that’s happened, he knows he should be thankful; although Hyunjin is the designated comedian of their friend group— along with Jisung, of course— he values his privacy incredibly. So when Hyunjin offered to rent out a room in his apartment to Minho, he couldn’t believe his luck. Then again, he wishes he wasn’t in this position to begin with.

Earlier today, Chan insisted on going out to catch the football game that their university hosted. Minho had agreed, with nothing better to do— besides, he noticed that Chan was also having a rough start to his day, after being locked in the campus library all night with his co-president that he always conflicted with. Chan had stayed quiet for the entire time, staring out the window on the ride to the home game, but at least he had a happy ending. By the end of the game, things had changed for Chan, and for the better: he’d amended things with his co-president, and of everything that could have happened, they even emerged from the stadium as a couple. For Minho, however, things had been quite different.

Namely, there’s a new replacement for Minho. He saw you walk into class with Kang Taehyun yesterday, and he’d been so anxious to not let you see his reaction that he immediately busied himself with his backpack. The entire time, however, he was watching you both whisper to each other during class. He darkly observed Taehyun scribble something onto the corner of your notebook, and it had made you laugh. That was what Minho used to do all the time. By the end of class, Minho considered confronting you right then and there, without caring about anyone else, but you ran out of class with Taehyun before he could even move.

And to make things even worse, he saw you and Taehyun together at the game. Minho had to resist the urge to march down to your section and slap the flirtatious smile off of Taehyun’s face. But more than anything, he wanted to ask you if it was true. Did you really already start to move on with a new man? Is Minho really that replaceable to you?

“Hey, what are you up to?” Hyunjin cautiously sticks his head into the room, snapping Minho out of his reverie.

“Nothing much. What’s up?”

Hyunjin steps into the room, his silky shirt and pressed trousers a stark contrast to Minho’s soft blue t-shirt and gym shorts. “Wanna go to the convenience store with me? I ran out of snacks.”

“You and your snacks,” Minho teases, chasing after Hyunjin when he sticks his tongue in retaliation.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin successfully drags Minho into the convenience store, disappearing into the junk food aisles to get his fix and leaving Minho to wander around the store. Following the twisting row of frozen foodstuffs, Minho turns and crashes straight into you.

“Minho?” Your eyes widen.

Minho clears your throat, trying not to gaze at you like you’re a returned long-lost love. You are indeed lost to him, but he had class with you merely the day before. He needs to get a grip on himself. “You dropped this.”

He kneels down, picking up the tub of ice cream, and hands it to you after inspecting the flavor label. “Strawberry? You hate strawberry.”

You take it back hastily. “Yeah. You always loved it, though.”

That doesn’t satisfy Minho’s rampant irritation. “You wouldn’t even touch strawberry ice cream with a ten-foot pole before. What changed?”

“I just wanted to try something new,” you say, with what Minho observes as guilt.

Before Minho can respond, the person he wants to see the least rounds the corner and interrupts you both. 

“I promise, the strawberry ice cream here is amazing and— oh.” Taehyun walks up to where you are, standing slightly between you and Minho, before he looks down at you, ignoring Minho. “Am I interrupting something? I can go away.”

You shake your head, flaring the rage in Minho. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

“So you’ll eat strawberry ice cream with him, but not me.” Minho rolls his eyes, the humiliation inside him swelling like a balloon.

“Hey man, it’s nothing like that. I know she doesn’t like strawberry ice cream that much, but I practically threatened her to try it. J'adore strawberries,” Taehyun says in a joking tone, but Minho doesn’t miss the protective glint in his eye.

Minho has never been a violent person, but he balls his fists. The nerve. “Who the fuck even are you? You don’t know anything about—”

“What is your problem, Minho?” You cut in angrily. “If you’re mad at me, then be mad at me. Don’t take your frustrations out on Terry.”

What you said is perfectly sensible, Minho knows that. He doesn’t have anything against Taehyun at all; he doesn’t even know the guy. But all logic is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

“Terry?” Minho scoffs at the nickname. “You know what, I am mad at you. Because seriously? Kang Taehyun? He isn’t even your type.”

Before Taehyun can say anything else, you respond to Minho’s jab, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Right, because you were so perfect for me.”

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, and Minho starts in surprise— you’ve never talked to him like that before, ever. And neither has he. The regret is evident on your face as you shake your head, frustrated, like that came out wrong.

“I got the snacks!” Hyunjin announces suddenly, waltzing into the aisle, before he notices you standing there with Taehyun. “What’s going on here?”

You and Taehyun stay quiet, adding onto Minho’s misery. He wants you to say something, anything. He doesn’t even want an apology; he knows he absolutely deserved that insult. Still, Minho can’t help that horrible feeling rising inside of him.

“Let’s just go.” Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the store, before waiting to finish the conversation, Hyunjin following closely behind. He doesn’t bother looking back.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything to Minho, falling silent in the rapidly approaching night. At times like this, Minho prefers to be left alone. But he isn’t, really. Not with the truth leaning over his shoulder, like an angelic superego. He tries not to think of it, however, or the fact that his heart is falling apart so violently in his chest. Although you and Minho are not together anymore, you’ve both now fulfilled a milestone: hurt each other beyond repair.

The convenience store encounter with Minho left you feeling guiltier than ever, even more than when you actually broke up with him. You should have been more understanding towards Minho; after suddenly ending things, you appear out with Terry. Even though you don’t see Terry like that, you are well aware of how it can look to Minho. After all, you’d react similarly if you found out that Minho and Minju are dating. But you hadn’t, because you know that Minho would never do that to you. 

You sigh, shutting the door to your room and collapsing onto your bed. After the whole incident, the air between you and Terry had been pretty awkward. While you still don’t know much about Terry, including his intentions, the topic of a romance had never been broached until Minho did it for you. He’d walked you back to your apartment, before wishing you a goodnight. 

Your phone sounds with a text, and you pick it up, curling into your pillow. It’s Terry.

terrypotter: just checking up on you terrypotter: how are you doing? bobaluvrr: better, thanks for asking terrypotter: glad to hear  terrypotter: and i also want to say that i’m sorry for any role i might have played in what happened today bobaluvrr: you’re good, terry. it wasn’t about you. i’m sorry for bringing you in

There is truth to this. No matter how much it feels like third parties have an avenue in furthering the split between you and Minho, the problem has always been internal. It’s truly between you both, hence, you’re not a couple anymore.

bobaluvrr: let’s change the subject? terrypotter: ofc terrypotter: wanna play would you rather?

You laugh in spite of yourself. It feels good to laugh, to distract yourself, but Minho stays like a stubborn mirage in your mind. Nevertheless—

bobaluvrr: game on. terrypotter: beaches or mountains? bobaluvrr: beaches terrypotter: sweet or salty? bobaluvrr: are u kidding? my username? boba?? terrypotter: LOL sweet then bobaluvrr: yes. terrypotter: spring or autumn? bobaluvrr: spring, duh terrypotter: and lastly, dogs or cats? bobaluvrr: DOGS terrypotter: u are 100% correct terrypotter: all of our answers are the exact same LMFAO

You think back to your first date with Minho. Before the whole soup fiasco, the atmosphere had been so awkward while waiting for the soup to arrive. This was months of tension and pining between you both, and now that the apex had arrived, neither of you were sure of what to say. Without thinking, Minho broke the silence by randomly asking you if you liked dogs or cats better. You were automatically enchanted by the bashful look on his face. From there on, for every single question he asked you, both of you had the exact opposite answers. For the longest time, your differences had felt charming, before they weren’t. 

Terry, on the other hand, shares so many similarities with you, beyond the strawberry ice cream betrayal. Both of you are outgoing, have a similar sense of humor, and like to be unabashedly yourselves. If a romance did ever blossom between you and Terry, if your friendship lasts your current heartbreak, you could be happy with him, maybe. You would never be insecure, worrying about what’s going on in his mind, because he would talk to you directly. You appreciate that so much about him. But whenever you look into his eyes, or whenever your hand accidentally brushes his, you don’t feel that electricity that had always coursed through you when you were with Minho. You’ve been searching for it everywhere since, but that spark just isn’t there; Taehyun’s just not Minho. Your heart calls out to Minho, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t, and you can’t deny it any longer.

If there’s one thing that Minho has learned in the duration of his college years, it’s that work has no tolerance for those special ailments of the heart. His professors don’t give a crap about the fact that his girlfriend dumped him, or that his girlfriend has now apparently moved on with some pink-haired stud. No matter how much he wants to slam his laptop screen down and fall asleep to the rhythm of his shattered heart, he knows he can’t. His term paper will not write itself, and it matters, especially since he’ll be graduating this year.

“What will you do when we graduate?” You set down your iPad, flexing your fingers.

“A job at a good company. And then one day, my own business.” That familiar, dreamy look mists Minho’s eyes. 

You smile at him. “My handsome CEO.”

Minho tapped your nose with his finger, following it with a soft kiss there. “You are so cute.”

“I know.” You peek down at his notebook that’s full of graphs and lengthy strings of numbers. “This looks complicated.”

“Welcome to the life of a business and economics double major,” Minho laughs. “But you’re literally a pre-med student. I’m not going to complain when you have to memorize human anatomy and random proteins.”

“Don’t remind me.” You dramatically shudder, giggling at Minho. “But I don’t care, as long as one day, you’re CEO Lee, and I’m Dr. Lee.”

Your words shock both you and Minho, invoking a moment of charged silence. You both have never talked about getting married before. But before you can backtrack, a slow smile spreads across Minho’s face. “Dr. Lee… has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

You turn a bright red, but lean into Minho, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Definitely.”

Minho clears his throat and shakes yet another memory of you away, trying to concentrate on the email open in front of him. Just minutes ago, he’d received notice that he’d been chosen for a position at Google, following graduation. Fucking Google. Every business major would kill for a job at Google. And not only that, but his employer noted in the message that they usually don’t even extend offers this early in the year, but made an exception for him because they wanted him so much. 

For a moment, he forgot all about the angst of the previous day, giddily jumping off his bed in a rare display of emotion, even if nobody else was around. And then he reached for his phone, opening up your contact and preparing to type in a text to you; for months, you knew Minho was anxious about his application to Google. But then he remembers himself; he’s now someone in your past.

Minho swallows roughly, staring at the blank space where his response accepting the offer should be. A moment later, he decides he’ll respond to the email later. But he doesn’t even have any time to chide himself before he notices someone standing in front of him. 

“Minju?” 

She looks down at him, either oblivious to his confusion or choosing to ignore it. “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Minho nods, waiting for Minju to sit down and get settled into her chair, trying not to let his bewilderment show.

At Jihyo’s party, he had needed some air after that stupid game of Truth or Dare, and even worse, your reaction to the question asked of him. Minho had escaped to the balcony, hoping for a moment alone, when Minju approached him. When she launched into a conversation with him about school, Minho realized that you probably never told Minju about the break-up. So he excused himself as politely as he could, explaining that you and him both broke up. He never really considered Minju as his own friend, and did not expect Minju to pursue a relationship with him any further.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Minho.” Minju exhales, looking him directly in the eye. “I like you.”

Minho sits up immediately, shocked. “What did you just say?”

Minju purses her lips. “I like you, and I always have. Go out with me.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, the confusion fading into anger. “You’re Y/N’s friend. How could you do this to her? How can you even look at yourself?”

“You’re not together anymore, it doesn’t matter,” Minju says, her voice wavering.

He scoffs, packing up his belongings and shoving them carelessly into his bag. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Minju grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket as he turns to leave, desperation in her eyes. “Be with me instead. I’ll make you forget her.”

Minho shakes her free, giving her a look of both pity and disgust. “I still love her, and I always will.”

And with that, Minho leaves without looking back, walking slowly and deliberately in thought. Was this what you meant when you told him that you weren’t sure if you were the only one? Was Minju the reason for the love of his life leaving him? A strange mix of both fury and hope washes over Minho as he exits the library and breaks into a run, barely eight out of his eight-thousand word essay written.

After you broke up with Minho, you forgot one very crucial detail: you didn’t unlink him from your Google calendar. One of the few things you both share in common is your organization, and when you were together, you both loved to plan things together and very ceremoniously add them to your shared online calendar. It became a game, trying to guess where the other was at random times, judging by their schedule. More often than not, the calendar proved to be a very useful tool in pinpointing each other’s locations. It’s why the brief surprise of seeing Minho standing outside your apartment door in the middle of the day on a weekday fades away quickly. You don’t have any classes scheduled today.

“Y/N,” he pants, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Minho. What are you doing here?” You cross your arms, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug him in all of his puffer coat glory. You used to make fun of him for that coat, all the time.

“I needed to see you. Minju told me,” Minho lowers his eyes, as if he’s nervous. “I need you to know that there was nothing going on with her. You have always been my only one. I promise. No one else. I miss you.”

Your heart wrenches in desire and nostalgia at the sincerity of his eyes. Of course you knew that he never cheated on you; this is Minho. But that’s not the reason why you have to remind yourself, once more, that you aren’t right for each other. Not in the long run. “I miss you too. And I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Minho’s eyes fill with what you recognize as a mix of despair and tears, because after all, you’ve felt it in you too, before. “Then why? Why end it?”

“I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you.”

The wheels turning inside of Minho’s mind and searching for possible reasons, immediately crash to a stop. “What?”

You shrug, drawing back your hands to tuck them into your lap, a habit that Minho has observed whenever you are nervous. “Remember when we were at that picnic with all of your friends? And Jisung and his girlfriend were also there? We were playing a question game.”

Minho nods slowly, still confused. “I do.”

“Felix had asked all the guys to think of why they love their girlfriends.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “Changbin had a whole list of reasons. But when it was your turn to speak, you had no answer.”

The recollection comes back to Minho like a tsunami. He hadn’t really ever thought much of that day; he always had trouble talking about personal things in front of other people, and he thought you already knew why he loved you. He didn’t know his inability to share something like that could hurt you so much, especially when he can write a whole book of reasons for why he loves you. Your smile. Your endless generosity. Your never ending patience for Minho’s antics. The way you always see the best in people, and how you light up the whole room when you walk in.

“Baby,” Minho starts, before realizing that he doesn’t have the right to call you that anymore. Reluctantly, he continues, using your name instead. “Y/N, I have trouble talking in front of other people. I love you so much, and if you know that, it’s all that really matters. A stupid game doesn’t change that.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But see, Minho, I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re feeling half the time. Felix’s question was just the icing on the cake. I’m exhausted from wondering. Wondering if you love me. Wondering if I really know you. Just wondering all the time. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

I’ll try harder to be more open. I’ll work on myself. I just— please believe me.”

“I do believe that you’ll try, Min. It’s who you are. But I can’t force you to be someone you’re not, and you can’t force me to want different things. We’ll only end up hurting each other more.” Your eyes fill with tears. “It hurts to love you.”

Minho flinches at your words, and he sees the sorrow in your eyes, but you say nothing to soothe the burn. Nevertheless, he keeps trying, as if he didn’t notice the determination written in your gaze as well. “I know I was senseless. But please— I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t leave, not again.”

You look away from him, a single tear sliding down your cheek, as Minho tries to hold back his own. The whole scene feels disturbingly like a few days ago, when you broke up with him in Morningstar. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. 

“I tried to understand you. I did. But don’t you think that being senseless about everything that was going on also means that you were that indifferent towards me?” You scrub at your face to keep from crying even more.

Minho cringes, hearing the truth in your words. Once upon a time, he cherished the silence you both could share comfortably, working independently in the happy company of each other. Now the quiet hangs in the air like smog, a heavy uneasiness that he never imagined around you. “I really thought I could change. I swear.”

You nod, a brisk movement that doesn’t match the tears glistening on your face. “You should go now. Please.”

And you turn your head, as if you can’t bear to watch him any longer. Minho turns, his head hanging down like he’s a sinner. A small, ugly voice in Minho whispers that he truly is one, for hurting you and letting you go. It implores him to fall at your feet and stay, insisting, breaking at you until you crumble into his arms, taking him back. But the part of him that carries the resolve is stronger by a thread, the one that fuels his despondent retreat from your heart.

Later, holed away in the place he would now have to call his home, Minho is left alone in the bed that he’d once believed to belong to you as much as it did to him. The nights cuddled together and the mornings after, when you woke up to each other in a halo of sunlight, all fade away into the prickling solitude that now constitutes his new reality. There is nothing left for him to do now, except looking out at the sky through his tiny bedroom window, wondering if you were both gazing at the same moon in the separate worlds you both now are in. He’d left you one last message before promising himself that he’d never text you again, and thankfully, you never responded. He didn’t think you would.

catservant98: I’ll always love you.

“The festival will end by the time we get there.” Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of checking the watch on his wrist.

“Shut up. I need to lock this place up properly or my parents will kill me,” Seungmin mutters grumpily, as he carefully turns the key in the lock to Morningstar, taking his time. “It’s not my fault that I’m the owner’s son.”

Jeongin, donned in a Harley Quinn outfit, bounces on his toes in uncontained anticipation. “Hurry up!”

Seungmin tugs at the lock for good measure, before turning and swatting at Jeongin, who yelps and jumps out of the way. His detective hat, which he wore as a part of his Sherlock Holmes costume, falls off, and Jeongin grabs it. Usually, Minho would have laughed at the way Seungmin has started to chase Jeongin around, but he just glumly stares down at his sneakers, having no energy to join in. 

“You okay?” Chan notices Minho’s downcast gaze, slinging his arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Minho shrugs with one shoulder, out of options. “I’m fine. I have nothing else to do anyway.”

Today is Halloween, your favorite holiday of the entire year. It seems especially cruel to him, to have to confront this day without you by his side. It was never much of his scene, and he’d always been reluctant to dress up, but one look from your pleading eyes and he’d fold, decking himself in a cheesy costume and feeding you all the candy you desired. The night would always end in you both binging horror movies together because you were too scared to watch alone. The memory of Minho getting distracted, just watching you hide behind your hands the entire time, used to bring a fond smile to his face. Today, it makes him want to smash something into bits.

“Let me know if you want to leave the festival early, though. Changbin can drive you home later.” Chan juts his chin out at Jeongin and Seungmin, who are now smacking at each other, while Changbin responsibly tries to pull them apart. “I have to make sure those two idiots don’t get in trouble.”

“Thanks. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Minho gives Chan a half-hearted smile. Chan looks hesitant, like he wants to keep talking with him, but he nods, focusing on the moonlit path in front of them. 

The roar of the annual Halloween festival that the university throws resonates throughout campus, drawing stressed students ready to throw aside their homework and party. But Minho is in anything but a celebratory mood; the last few weeks have been absolute agony. Ever since things fell apart. He just wants to go home and curl up into a ball under his covers, ready for this stupid night to be over. He didn’t even bother with a costume, choosing to stuff himself into his hoodie and make himself seem as small as possible. But he’s too tired to tell anyone, so he opts to stay quiet and gloomy on his own.

The gravel of the walkway crunches under their little group’s shoes, barely heard over the deafening sound of “Thriller” blasting on the DJ’s stereo. The entire main lawn of campus has been converted into a party space, crammed with different tents full of attractions, games, and souvenirs for students to indulge themselves in. There’s even a converted frat house that’s now a haunted house, as well as tables of snacks and lightsticks for people to wave around. Jeongin, Seungmin, and Changbin immediately zero in on the haunted house, running off to get tickets for it, leaving Minho and Chan alone. Two boys swaying together at the edge of the dance floor catch Minho’s eyes. He looks closer and notices that they both are dressed in an obvious couples costume, and it makes him think of you again— last year, he was Chucky and you were Tiffany Valentine, and you both won “Best Look” together, at the festival’s costume contest. Minho feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, she’s stunning.” Chan’s eyes are wide, and Minho follows his gaze to a very pretty girl dressed in a white gown that seemed to float above her knees, two trailing pieces of fabric sticking out daintily from the back of her dress. An angel. 

She approaches him with a shy smile on her face, as she not-so-subtly checks out Chan’s own dracula costume. “You look good.”

“I— you’re pretty,” Chan stutters, and they both blush. 

Seriously?

“Thanks, Chris.”

Chan smiles lovingly at her. “You don’t have to call me Chris, you know. My friends call me Chan.”

“Chan,” the girl tests with a beam, before quirking her brow at him. “So I’m just a friend now? Not your girlfriend?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

And then they both start kissing right then and there, which doesn’t seem to faze anyone else around them, considering the fact that they are surrounded by other couples. Minho, however, has to look away, his stomach turning. Is this how everyone else felt when he used to kiss you, whenever and wherever he wanted? 

“Hey guys, I’m going to go find a place to sit,” Minho calls out to Chan, who barely notices in the midst of his make-out session. “You know what? Never mind.”

Cringing to himself, Minho makes his way over to the food tables, dodging at least five witches, seven ghouls, and six zombies on his way. He collapses onto the bench of an empty table with a groan, letting his head rest on the table before lifting it up like he’s been stung; the thump of the DJ’s bass seems to vibrate through the wooden tabletop, worsening his already horrible headache. What was he thinking, coming here?

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Minho looks up, ready to lash out at the intruder, before he notices it’s Hyunjin. He is so out of it that he hadn’t even recognized his voice. “I thought you were staying home and painting tonight?”

“Thought about it, but I kept getting distracted by all of the noise outside, and thought I’d take a snack break.” Hyunjin plops down on the seat across from him, setting a plate loaded with brownies, potato chips, and cookies cut into pumpkin shapes. He’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt to fight the October chill, the only one besides Minho who hasn’t dressed up. “Want some?”

Minho shakes his head, watching Hyunjin dig in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Hyunjin nods, his cheeks stuffed with food. “Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Minho fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, feeling his face heat up. He was never one for sentiments like this, but even though he and Hyunjin have more of a seemingly lighthearted relationship, they’re more alike than they think in how deeply they care about each other. “I mean, you’ve never even had a serious relationship before, but you’re like the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met. How does that even work?”

Hyunjin looks surprised, at first, but quickly smooths it away in understanding. “I do get lonely sometimes. But I just occupy myself with the things I love. Painting, reading. Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I can’t be realistic. And I have been in a serious relationship before, remember?”

Minho frowns. “Oh. Right. What happened?”

He notices Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something— grief, maybe. But the emotion is quickly replaced with indifference. Hyunjin shrugs. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I love a good romance novel, but is it real life? No. I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

Minho stays quiet, unknowing of what to say. He never thought of himself as a huge relationship person either, but then again, that was before he met you. You changed his perspective on a lot of things, and most of the time, he thought it was for the better. Now, he feels empty, alone. He wants to match costumes with someone, and go bobbing for apples together. And he wants that someone to be you, only you.

Hyunjin must have noticed Minho’s melancholic contemplation, because he gives him a sympathetic look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Minho’s chest tightens at the mention of your name. “I don’t know, honestly. I just want to go home.”

“Same. I just came for the free food.” Hyunjin chews on a brownie, before swallowing. “Let’s go after I finish eating.”

Minho hums in response, pulling his hood over his head, as the rest of their group comes to join the table. Chan and his girlfriend, unsurprisingly, are discussing plans about some upcoming event for the Student Council. Jeongin and Seungmin, on the other hand, are immersed in a gleeful recollection about the haunted house with Changbin, who is dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. Everyone seems to have a role except him.

“That was actually wild,” Jeongin says. “If Jisung was with us, he would have fainted when he saw the chainsaw guy!”

Seungmin shudders, while Changbin glances around their table. “Hey, where is Jisung, anyway? And Felix?”

Chan breaks away from his own conversation as his girlfriend pauses to eat her slice of cake. “He’s handing out candy to kids at home. Meanwhile, Felix is Trick-or-Treating.”

Jeongin snickers. “Trick-or-Treating? What is he, ten?”

Seungmin grins evilly at Changbin. “At least he doesn’t have the height of a ten year old.”

Changbin rolls his eyes, but chooses to ignore Seungmin and Jeongin’s high-five at his expense, instead turning to Hyunjin. “Can I have a cookie? There are no more left.”

Hyunjin gives him a judgemental glare, but passes a cookie over anyway. “Where’s your girlfriend, by the way?”

Changbin stuffs half of the entire cookie into his mouth, licking the frosting on his lip. “She has work. But we’re going to meet up later tonight and watch movies. Wanna come?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m good. Minho and I are headed home soon anyway. Right, Minho?”

But Minho isn’t paying attention. His gaze is locked on none other than you and Taehyun, dressed in Hogwarts robes— you in Gryffindor, and Taehyun in Slytherin. He’s seen multiple people tonight sporting similar getups, and so both of you wearing Hogwarts robes doesn’t exactly entail a couples costume, but it makes his heart clench either way. Both of you are standing near the apple bobbing station, laughing and talking animatedly together. It hurts to see you enjoying yourself, while Minho has to struggle to keep himself together, to keep from breaking down on the spot. It hurts that he’s not the one matching with you right now, the one to be making you laugh, holding you on one of your favorite days of the year.

He watches as you and Taehyun walk closer to the haunted house. Your smile has now faded into an unsure expression, skeptical and tinged with fear. Taehyun puts his arm around your shoulders, evidently trying to assure you, before he leads you inside the house. Minho immediately springs up from the bench, fists balled up at his sides. You love everything about Halloween, except for one thing. You hate being in the dark, and so you had always avoided the haunted houses at every Halloween festival or any other event that you and Minho went to. Obviously, Taehyun doesn’t have a clue about your boundaries, and as always, you’re too kind to point them out.

Ignoring Hyunjin’s confused protests, Minho stalks after you and Taehyun, even though he knows that he should sit right back down. He told himself that he’d stay away from you if you didn’t want him, but if he even gets the slight sense that you are afraid, he’ll throw all reason out the window. He won’t let you go inside, not without him.

“Excuse me— you can’t go in right now. The haunted house is at full capacity.” The ticket collector stops Minho even though he shows her the ticket that Jeongin had passed out to everyone before. “Just wait for a few minutes for someone to come out.”

But he can’t. Not if you’re already inside. Minho steps back for a moment, and the collector glances back down at her phone. Before the collector can react, he rushes past her, running inside. She calls after him angrily, but he barely hears her. All he can register is the racing beat of his heart, and the faint screams deeper inside, wondering if one of them could be you. 

He whips past the ax-wielding maniacs and the corpse brides in tattered dresses, pushing past their horrible acting and all of the other props in his way to you. Minho feels his hoodie snagged against a cloud of fake cobwebs, and the fake blood on the walls is enough to make him gag, but he goes on. A desperate search in nearly every nook and corner yields nothing, and Minho curses the haphazard quality of the setup, nearly tripping over a loose wire. As he passes through a room decorated like a murderous hospital room, he hears a small whimper from behind the fake operating table. 

His senses perk up and there you are, sitting down with your knees drawn to your chest. With how his eyes have now adjusted to the dark, he can faintly make out your crouched body and the shine of your flowing tears. Immediately, he gets onto his knees, and envelopes you with his arms, firmly pulling you against his chest.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he murmurs, the scent of your coconut shampoo blocking out the stench of ammonia.

“Terry and I got chased by one of the ghosts and then got separated,” you mumble as you cry, shivering in his arms as he begins to rock you slowly. “I’m so scared, Minho.”

Minho looks at the tears still leaking down the sides of your face, and has to restrain himself from the instinct to kiss them away. Instead, he puts a steady hand to your skin, gently wiping them away. In this moment, you aren’t broken up. He isn’t your ex-boyfriend, and you aren’t his ex-girlfriend. You are the girl he loves, and him the very soul that has so vehemently devoted himself to even at such a ripe age, an inspiration and a shame to the vengeful spirits that govern your favorite holiday.

“I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.” Minho gazes down at you. “Are you still frightened?”

You shake your head no, wide eyes clinging to his comforting presence. Minho gives you a small smile, rubbing your jaw softly with his thumb, a movement that doesn’t feel as inherently romantic as it generally would be. “See? You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re just scared of being alone in it. And that goes away when you realize something. You’re never really alone.” 

Both of you just gaze at each other in the dark for a few minutes, saying both nothing and yet everything to each other. He carefully rests his palm against your heart, gaging the beat until it slows down to its usual calm. Wordlessly, he helps you onto your feet, his arms still wrapped around you as you both navigate the maze of the haunted house. You don’t encounter any other of the actors, but at one point, you jump in Minho’s hold, spooked by the amplified horror sound when passing by a speaker. Steadily, you both make your way out together.

The first thing Minho sees as he steps out of the exit is the array of blinding lights that shine on his face, in addition to the glow of the raging bonfire that has now been set up for students to roast marshmallows. Then he catches that shock of pink hair in the small crowd gathered outside of the haunted house; Taehyun, distress written all over his features as he speaks to the security guards.

You and Minho, however, stay frozen on the spot, just staring at each other with a fresh uncertainty. Realizing himself, Minho lets go of you. Contrary to how you felt, Minho could always read you like a book. He practically memorized all of your expressions, able to tell how you were feeling in an instant. But the indecipherable look you give him is baffling, but before you can open your mouth and say something, Taehyun notices your arrival.

“Y/N!” Taehyun immediately rushes over, his breathing labored from sprinting the distance to you. “I’m so, so sorry; I lost you and tried to come back inside to find you, but they wouldn’t let me!”

Minho steps to the side awkwardly as Taehyun hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Your tears are long gone, and you pat his back softly, giving him the comfort of your safety. “I’m alright, Terry. It’s all good.”

Taehyun pulls back to look at you, before turning to Minho, surprise and confusion on his features as if just registering Minho’s presence. You clear your throat, placing a hand on Taehyun’s arm. “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Of course,” Terry says, the stress on his face softening as he looks down at you. Minho recognizes it— it’s how he always imagined himself to look whenever he saw you.

You turn back to Minho as Terry walks away to a food stand, presumably to get you a warm drink. “Minho, I—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Minho interrupts, unable to bear any more. He chokes back a sob, his eyes trained on your pained expression. “I need to go.”

“Minho, wait!” You grab his arm, and it places you both in the uncomfortable déjà vu of when everything ended. 

He looks back at you, swallowing his dread and pushing away the angsty alert of his brain, the command to let everything go and just take you back, then and there. But he wouldn’t be the man you had always loved, then. Not if he takes advantage of you when you’re like this, vulnerable and exhausted. Not when there’s a perfectly good man standing at a distance, hesitantly holding a cup of hot chocolate for you. Not when he knows that he’s lost his chance of ever getting you back from the moment he gave up on you both. Minho realizes that he doesn’t have the right to call you his anymore, when you’ve finally found a man who prioritizes you over his pride and his insecurities— a man who will treat you right, and will never make you wonder if you’re his only one. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. That has to be enough for him. It will be.

Minho leans down before you can protest, kissing you on your forehead softly. You stay silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive eyes, the very ones he fell in love with. “Stay smiling, always.”

And with that, Minho finally walks away, willing himself not to cry as he tries not to think of his heart breaking.

You watch Minho, dazed, as he walks away for the second and last time. It feels worse, somehow, than when he left your apartment, weeks ago. Minho had spoken to you so gently, inside the haunted house, calming you down in spite of the fact that you had so cruelly broken up with him, and then he proceeded to wish you his best, before leaving. You didn’t miss that note of finality in his voice, the one that told you that he wasn’t going to go back on his word. He had let you go.

You barely notice Terry approaching you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

He hands you a cup of hot chocolate, as you stare at Minho’s retreating back before it finally disappears within the crowd of partygoers. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for this, Terry.”

Terry blinks at you, slightly unfocused. “Yeah of course. But… can I ask you something?”

You nod, sipping the hot chocolate. It’s so warm and sweet, and it feels wrong to be drinking it. It feels like you don’t deserve it. 

He hesitates for a moment, before speaking up. “What happened in there? In the haunted house?”

You bite your lip, still distracted by the thought of Minho; Terry’s question doesn’t pull at you as much as it probably should. “He just found me and helped me back. That’s all.”

Terry looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and you don’t question it. The rest of the night is clouded by an awkward rut that has originated from nowhere at all, one that you never guessed you’d experience with Terry. He walks you back to your apartment early, and waits next to you as you fumble with your keys. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he says softly, as you finally wrestle your door open. 

“Thanks,” you whisper back, too drained of energy to make one of the usual jokes traded when you both say goodbye. He tips his head at you like he always does, albeit in a less jaunty way, and steps into the apartment elevator at the end of the hall, flashing you one last little wave before the doors close. 

You turn back to your apartment, walking inside and locking the door behind you once again. This time, you don’t go straight to your bedroom and drop onto your bed, like you always do after a horrible day. Instead, you stalk over to the kitchen, which is illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb. You tug open the freezer, fishing out a box from your emergency stash of ice cream, the one thing bound to be on stock at all times. When you went grocery shopping some time ago, you didn’t think that a crisis would hit so soon. 

Cracking open the lid of the chocolate ice cream, you take your scooper and place a bowl on the counter. After a second thought, you take out your blender as well, and scrape the ice cream into there instead, throwing in some milk and peanut butter as well. Tonight is a milkshake kind of night, you think, the kind that necessitates butterscotch chips and whipped cream as well, you note, opening the cupboard to get said ingredients. When you finish blending, you pour your icy salvation into a large tumbler and collapse onto the living room couch. You turn on the television, blankly staring at the screen while barely registering the dialogue playing. 

“That’s not a milkshake— that’s diabetes in a glass.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.” You shoot Minho a pointed look as you chug down your shake, savoring the sound of Minho’s laughter even more than a hefty peanut butter and chocolate combo. 

It isn’t until you taste saltiness instead of the sweet milkshake that you realize you’re crying. 

callmeterry: can we meet? bobaluvrr: yes. see u @ morningstar

You stare into the bathroom mirror, checking your face one last time, inspecting it for bloodshot eyes and dry skin, the telltale signs of the tears that have now become a habit over the past few days. Ever since Halloween, things haven’t been the same since you and Terry. Although a fairly new friendship, you both spent a significant amount of time together after meeting at Jihyo’s birthday party. However, you haven’t seen each other at all outside of Writing Seminar nowadays— probably because during class, you’re too busy staring at Minho, who won’t even spare you a single glance. You’re determined to at least save your friendship with Terry, which is why you are so quick to agree to meet him.

“Catch you two later,” you call out to Sunoo and Soyeon, who both are slumped on the couch, watching One Piece over boxes of takeout butter chicken. 

The journey to Morningstar doesn’t take long, especially since the vastly approaching night has gotten you nearly jogging, regardless of how safe your college campus is. Although it’s been nearly a month and a half, you still can’t get used to not having the security and comfort of your boyfriend. Serves you right, you think.

You enter through the glass doorway of Morningstar, the door chime ringing and announcing your entrance to Terry. He stands up from the table he’s sitting at, walking over to you with the  genuine smile that you were fearful of not being able to see again. Terry looks heartbreakingly handsome, dressed in a long brown coat and wool scarf, an ode to the plaid shirt days and hot chocolate nights that you know you could have with him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing his gait when he’s a few feet away from you. Tentative, but still Terry. The bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands, however, isn’t. 

You can literally feel your face fall, as you stare at the certainly expensive arranged red roses and lilies. “I—”

“Don’t.” Terry’s smile doesn’t fade, but the slight sheen of moisture to his eyes is new. “ I know. I’d rather not hear you say it. Please.”

You’re speechless as he hands you the flowers, the refreshingly floral scent wafting up and screaming at you to wake up. You had a feeling, you knew how Terry felt about you. But you didn’t think he’d act on those feelings so soon.

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since August. You walked into the very first day of class late, wearing this gorgeous pink dress— and God, I was so whipped. I even dyed my hair the same color.” Terry laughs lightly, but you can see the heaviness in his eyes, the same thing that you feel in your chest. “I didn’t approach you, though, because I saw the way you were looking at Minho.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Terry…”

“And then you walked into the kitchen at that party; it felt like a sign. But that can’t have been true, because the way you looked at him didn’t change. It never will.” He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. “When you both broke up, I ignored my heart telling me not to dig myself deeper into this, to leave you alone. But I couldn’t, Y/N, because I thought that the risk would be worth it. And it was, you know. You are worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, at a loss for words. You don’t know what else to say, whether it’s a reaction to how your friend is pouring out his heart to you, or the fact that he’s always known that you’d never be his.

The smile on Terry’s face is now a sharp contrast to the strings of tears that mar it. “Don’t be. It’s Minho. It’s always been Minho for you.” 

He turns, but you rush forward and block him. You can’t lose someone else. Not again. “Terry, wait! Can’t we be friends?” 

“Of course we can be. I’d rather have you as a friend than not in my life at all. I’ll move on, eventually. But you have to go fix things with him now.” He flashes you another one of his signature beams. It doesn’t have the same joyful effect on you as it usually does, now that it’s tainted with sadness. “I’ll see you next class. Hold onto him, okay?”

Terry leaves, and you stare after him at the door, dumbfounded, haunting the entryway of the coffee shop nearing closing hours. You never saw this confrontation coming, not today. And you didn’t want it to happen any time soon, not like this. But no matter how much you want to deny Terry’s words, you know they are the truth. You know what you have to do. Because love works in strange ways, you realize, and now yours needs to be made right.

“We shouldn’t be here.” You say, shaking your head. “It’s dangerous.”

Minho just stares at you, his eyebrow skeptically quirked in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s literally just a bridge.”

You glare at him, before looking out at the arched walkway that connects the wooded expanse of the university library to the rest of campus. According to university lore, any pair of lovers that walks over Forsaken Bridge together is doomed to suffer an untimely separation; hence, its ominous name. And you would rather look stupid for believing in superstition rather than risk losing Minho. 

“It can’t be.” You cross your arms stubbornly. “I know so many couples that came here, and they ended up breaking up.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, just pondering your words, and you think he’s about to step back, allowing you to cross the bridge first, before following on his own. But then he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bridge.

Your immediate reaction is to let out a small scream that cuts through the quiet night, and it’s quickly muffled by Minho’s hand gently closing over your mouth. “Trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen.”

You really want to remind Minho of what happened to Hyunjin and his girlfriend— well, ex-girlfriend— but you let him lead you towards your dreaded destination. Because you do trust him, more than anything. 

The balmy summer night sticks to your skin, a feeling that will soon give away to the crisp bite of autumn. You’ve already moved back onto campus to get a headstart on the teaching assistant position for your biology professor, but for the first time ever, you don’t feel sad or apprehensive at the thought of going back to college again. This was the gap in time that you once despised because it signaled the unfortunate trudge of school life: textbooks, homework, and stress. But nowadays, you think it to be a reminder of something better: Minho, Minho, and Minho.

Your boyfriend takes an easy step onto the bridge, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You trail after him more cautiously, hiding behind his broad frame like the bridge will come alive and attack you. “You better not ever break up with me, Lee Minho.”

He turns back to look at you as you both near the center of the supposedly cursed bridge, his lips pressed together in a way that suggests concealed laughter; knowing him, it probably is. “Never. Now close your eyes.”

With a grumpy sigh, you oblige him, shutting your eyes. “For what, Minho?”

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. It’s a new color to him, compared to how assured and confident he always seems to be.

You crack open one eye, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

He frowns, letting go of your hand. “No peeking!”

“Okayy.”

Minho takes a deep breath, right before he turns your world upside down. “I love you.”

Your eyes fly open, and Minho doesn’t complain this time, only gazing at you nervously, clutching his right arm with his left hand like he’s a little kid again. “What did you just say?”

Regardless of his uncertain body language, he looks you directly in the eye. “I love you, Y/N. And I know it’s too soon to say it, but it’s true. I love you, and you don’t have to tell me back, but—”

“I love you too,” you blurt out, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, in mutual shyness and surprise. You can’t believe how good it feels to finally say the words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue for the past few months since you started dating.

Minho’s beautiful face breaks out into a dazzling smile as he steps closer to you. “Then let’s make our own story for this bridge. Two people crossing the bridge together will be lifelong friends. And if they kiss, lifelong lovers.”

Your poor, racing heart can’t take anymore of this; what a man that you have found. “Kiss me, then.” 

Minho gives you a tender look, and in that moment, you wish you had a camera to capture it. You can’t seem to remember your initial fear of coming onto this bridge, not when you have a beautiful boy who gazes at you with nothing short of absolute adoration. You’ll follow him anywhere, if it means you’ll stay together. Always and forever.

From when you were a little girl, your parents painted fairy tales for you in your childhood bedroom, of handsome princes mounted on midnight stallions and towering castles set against sunsets. For the longest time, you thought them to be true, because by the time you might have grown up, you found your own handsome prince, who rode a secondhand bike instead of a horse, and his castle was the sweatshirt-strewn dorm room he shared with two other boys. Nevertheless, you so strongly believed you would get your own happily-ever-after, that it took you a long time to accept the thorns in the rosy brush that constituted your outlook on life. You had a hard time understanding your prince, sometimes, and ended up spinning your own stories to fill in the gaps you thought he created. It never once occurred to you that life would never be perfect, and that your prince could not be exactly who you dreamed him to be.

It’s why you stroll the length of Forsaken Bridge alone, materializing its dreary name with your head bent and hands tucked in your pockets. But you’re not surprised either, when you see your prince, standing on the very place where he made you a promise that you broke yourself. His crown is misplaced and his armor has lost its luster, but he’s your beautiful prince, still beautiful while heartbroken over you.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say softly. 

“I shouldn’t have.” Minho stares at the deteriorating timber planks beneath your feet. “But I can’t say no when it comes to you.”

You shake your head, sniffling lightly. You both hate and love him for being so understanding, so kind, even now. You hate yourself for it, too. “I broke your heart.”

Minho blinks, clasping his hands in front of himself. “There are so many things that I’m sorry and thankful to you for, but you know I’m not good at expressing myself.”

“That’s my line, Min.” You scoff through your tears. “I tried to force you to be someone you're not. And you respond by taking care of me, like you always have. And you listened to me instead of fighting. You walked away.”

“I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted. With or without me in the picture.” Minho shoots you a watery smile. “I love you, you know. I always will.”

You inhale shakily. “And I love you too. I was scared of being hurt because I love you so much. I shouldn’t have been so afraid of what I didn’t know. I should have tried to ask you instead of coming to assumptions on my own.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” Minho steps forward towards you, reaching up to hold your face in his hands. “Remember what I said? You never have to be alone. I’m right here, always.”

Minho rubs his thumbs over your tears, nothing but devotion in his eyes. You touch his arms, pulling him into a hug. “I know I ruined everything, but please come back to me? I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too. And you ruined nothing.” He squeezes you. “We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”

You draw back from the embrace, smiling through your tears— for once, they’re the good kind. “I love you, Lee Minho. Let’s start over?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Minho whispers, a grin slowly spreading on his face. “And I don’t want to ruin the moment, but can we begin by finding an apartment, please? If I accidentally drink Hyunjin’s paint water one more time I think I will literally die.”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him teasingly. “Only because you want to escape Hyunjin? Not because you love me?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, a light blush tinting his pale skin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should show me what you mean.”

“I should.”

Minho obeys your command, leaning down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, before you grasp his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the movement. God, you missed this so much. You missed him, so much. Minho’s hands reach up to cup your neck as you trace endless love letters on each other’s lips, campus curses and bad faith banished from your lovestruck young minds.

“See? Looks like our story came true.” he whispers as you come up for air, nudging your nose sweetly with his own. “Lifelong lovers, we’ll be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Minho kisses you once more and pulls back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This means forever.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It feels so good to get back to Love Playlist <3 This whole series itself was inspired by the cute, college au vibes of the K-drama Love Playlist and its spinoff, Dear M. (starring NCT's Jaehyun, a must-see), but this story especially was heavily based on Dear M.'s second leads. Brownie points if you've noticed which hit superhero TV series I took a piece of dialogue from! I just adore that quote so much. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Minho and this story has a special place in my heart. Can you guess who is next?! And thank you for supporting me, always! -Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

TAGLIST @chansburgah @hamburgers101@ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98@ohish@chizumiyoshi@lilydaisyyy@jetblackbelle @143hyunes @yeahhspider

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

---

NO, BRO, HOW AM I SEEING THIS JUST NOW?!

A fucking masterpiece. I have no words, literally. Been following this series from the beginning, it's been a ride. Just the way you write, all the fancy words you use to push us into the narrative. I love the little details and mentions of expensive brands and stuff that you use to highlight Hyunjin's wealth and the setting in general. Every sentence is so well-worded, literally reminds me of Gustave Flaubert. And the fact that you understand the human psyche well enough to make this so real is unbelievable. The growth of their feelings, the hesitation and the mood swings that we all experience.

And the ending, bro, the ending. You set up pretty high expectations for the ending with all that build-up and you did not disappoint. I am a fan of the sad endings usually but with this fic, I would have been heartbroken if the characters didn't end up together and happy like they deserve.

And how tf is your vocabulary so good?! Like English is not my first language but I speak it pretty well and yet every time I open your account, you surprise me with another dozen words I have yet to learn. You are the reason for all of my advanced English vocab and I couldn't be more grateful. I'm usually not the most self-assured but it gives me confidence in my speaking to know all these words, fucking thank you.

Yeah sorry for the long rant, love ya

Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER THREE | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

DRUNK IN LOVE

“I haven’t been the same since we met.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, switch!Hyunjin, switch!reader, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, sexual fantasy sequence (dom!reader, sub!Hyunjin), cumeating/cumplay, masturbation (f), heavy insecurity and self deprecation, oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, titfucking, pussy slapping, edging/orgasm denial, creampie, unprotected sex, misuse of alcohol (reader is a very sad drunk), both of them are actual idiots that will make you want to to scream ⚠️not beta-read yet, but will be updated with the edits soon⚠️ Word Count: 20.5k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

The first thing Hyunjin understands when he comes to is how disgusting his mouth tastes. The faint, bitter taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue brings the memory of the night prior’s bad decisions; he’s never gone a single day in his life without brushing his teeth at night, in addition to the rest of his extensive pre-bedtime routine. The lack of moisture that pulls at his skin like a scratchy draft has him reaching for his nightstand, from where he’s burrowed in blankets like a corn dog. For a few embarrassing minutes, Hyunjin puts up a valiant effort trying to locate his special night repair face lotion solely with his flailing palm, before he’s rudely interrupted.

“Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty.” 

The strangely familiar, feminine yet husky voice brings him hurtling back into reality. Cautiously, Hyunjin retracts his arm and opens his eyes; the blinding light that meets them does not help his splitting headache that rivals the shaking faultlines of San Andreas. 

When he finally adjusts to the brightness, he realizes that he’s in a room that’s definitely not his. The vast SolarSmart windows that would have already dimmed to match his sleepy blinking have been replaced by an antique bay window. Instead of the aristocratic fragrance of his favorite Le Labo candle, the air is thick with the smell of maple syrup. And his beloved Egyptian cotton sheets are gone in favor of a sherpa set that has him sweating in the year-round heat, which isn’t helped by the fact that this place isn’t humidity controlled.

“I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Rapunzel,” Hyunjin groans, stretching and tilting his head up to meet Lisa’s eyes. “You know, great hair and all.”

“Ha ha.” Lisa rolls her eyes, trying to maintain her expression of annoyance, but Hyunjin catches the hint of a smile on her lips; it’s inevitable, trying to fight the effect of his charms, especially when he’s just woken up all adorable and rumpled by sleep. “It’s almost noon, I thought I’d wake you up.”

“Noon?!” Hyunjin flies into a sitting position, frozen in an unfamiliar panic and unable to think of what to do next. By this time in his usual daily routine, he would have been enjoying a light lunch in his office while journaling in his gratitude notebook. Fuck, his stomach calls out for a nice balsamic arugula salad, maybe with a freshly-squeezed orange juice on the side to help with the regrettable effects of alcohol.

Lisa coughs lightly, bending down to pick up a discarded collection of clothing strewn on the floor, before handing it over to Hyunjin. The nausea rises up in Hyunjin’s stomach as he sifts through the clothes that he recognizes as his own. And then, as if in sudden remembrance, he looks down at himself and realizes that he’s completely naked except for his Gucci boxers. Horrified, he looks over at Lisa, but before he can say anything, she cuts him off.

“No. We didn’t have sex.” Lisa avoids Hyunjin’s eyes, picking at one of her burgundy-painted nails. She seems strangely skittish, in stark comparison to her confident, nearly feline-like mannerisms last night.

“Then what happened last night?” Hyunjin slips on his shirt and slides out of bed to pull his pants on, resolving to get dressed already right there; at this point, there is no more mortifying himself.

Lisa shrugs, an embarrassed blush overtaking her features. “We did some shots at the bar, before I suggested you come over for better drinks, so we could, well, you know. Hook-up. But you really did drink more. A lot more. And just as you took off your clothes, you blacked-out.”

“Blacked-out?” Hyunjin’s whole body feels racked with disbelief. And yet, the memories come fading back in: the botched matchmaking event, him retreating to drink away his sorrows, the handsy taxi ride back to Lisa’s place. “I barely even get tipsy.”

“It seemed like there was a lot on your mind last night. I don’t know what to say to you right now.” Lisa scratches her wrist lightly, as if trying to occupy herself while waiting for Hyunjin to get the hell out of her home. But the movement draws Hyunjin’s attention to her hand, where a fat, glimmering diamond rests on her ring finger, one that wasn’t there the previous night.

Realization flows in, ghastly and unwarranted. He clears his throat, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. “And you’re fucking married.”

Lisa freezes, the blood completely draining out of her face as her lips go paper thin. “I can explain.”

Hyunjin tilts his head with fresh resolve, taking his phone and wallet from where they’re fortunately perched on top of the nightstand. “Nope. I’m getting out of here. Looks like you’ve got some personal things going—” 

“Hyunjin, I’m not married. Please, just—” Lisa quickly crosses in front of him, blocking the doorway, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I’m engaged.”

“Big difference that makes,” Hyunjin mutters, crossing his arms. Nevertheless, he waits for her to speak, softening when he catches the glimpse of pain flash in her eyes.

“My fiancé. He’s… I- I know he’s not working late all those nights, like he says he is.” Lisa exhales shakily, closing her eyes. “I know who you are. The Love Doctor. Initially, I thought I would talk to Hoseok, maybe book us an appointment with you. But then I saw you at the bar, and I don’t know, it felt like a sign.”

“And you wanted to make him hurt like he hurt you,” Hyunjin finishes for her. He’d had clients like Lisa, the vengeful wives looking to bite back at the ones who wronged them— he just never imagined that he would have almost been a part of such a plot. 

She nods guiltily. “And I also just wanted to forget everything, even if it was going to be temporary. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so when you fell asleep, I was kind of relieved.”

Hyunjin snorts and snaps back with no real malice in his words, just a hint of mirth. “Glad me blacking out worked well for you.”

Lisa shoots him a tiny, sheepish grin. “To be fair, I don’t think you really wanted to go through with it. When you were drunk, you kept repeating the same name over and over again.”

He stills at her response, remembering no such event. But of course it makes sense; there’s a certain someone lingering in his thoughts 24/7, and she has no plan of leaving him anytime soon. “I guess.”

If she notices the immediate color in Hyunjin’s cheeks, Lisa says nothing. She just shuffles to the side, letting Hyunjin exit the bedroom before leading him to the main entrance of her apartment. “Again, I’m sorry about everything, Hyunjin. I shouldn’t have tried to use you like that. I really am sorry.”

Hyunjin accepts her apology, a strange mix of sympathy and understanding unfurling in his stomach. After all, he tried doing the same thing, to find someone else to warm his bed and take his mind off of the one person he really wanted. It was a bad night for both of them. “You’re still welcome to find me anytime.”

“Thanks a lot.” Lisa gives him a smile, before it fades into something more playful, one that fits her better than any expression he’s seen on her so far. “If I’m being honest, though, you're not really my type.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Call my secretary and book an appointment if you ever want one. With or without your fiancé.” Hyunjin scoffs, glaring at Lisa over his shoulder as he walks away. “And I’m everyone’s type.”

When his Uber finally pulls up in front of Oasis, Hyunjin hurries up to his penthouse and tries to make the most out of the rest of the cruelly shortened day— after a quick shower to wash off the stench of alcohol and pine air freshener.

Hunched over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at his kitchen island, Hyunjin swipes through all of the pop-ups on his laptop, going through everything that he’s missed in the time during which he’d dissociated from all common sense. Everyday, Wonyoung makes sure Hyunjin stays up-to-date on all of his engagements by adding all of his event invitations to his Google calendar; Hyunjin spends a good few minutes clicking through everything, accepting all of his upcoming meetings. He’s been slacking off at work lately, skipping team lunches and sitting out on evening debriefs— but that’s all about to change, because Hyunjin needs to get his life back together again. And that includes making things right with you. 

“Want to pull up for a quick afternoon appointment?” Hyunjin mouths out loud. He then makes a face and deletes the letter, groaning out loud. “This isn’t a high school date…”

After a few more failed attempts at trying to write a breezy but appropriate check-in email to you, Hyunjin resolves to call his no-nonsense secretary, knowing that the Velma to his Daphne would help him rediscover his suavity again. Maybe she could even catch him up on today’s SeoulSpark gossip that he’d missed, if they had time. But he underestimates her temper when she finally picks up after the fourth ring:

“Where the fuck were you?” Wonyoung screeches into the phone, making Hyunjin wince and pull his iPhone away from his ear. “Do you know how worried sick I was? How many times have I called you? You didn’t even show up to the brunch you had with the Carters! I had to practically beg Beyoncé not to drop us, only after promising her and Jay-Z five free sessions! I hope you’re ready to deal with the company's losses!”

“I’m sorry, I know, I know.” Hyunjin whines. “I know I’ve been really sidetracked, but I promise I’m making things right.”

“You’d better, Hyunjin.” Wonyoung bites, before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. “I want you over at SeoulSpark on Monday at 6 AM, sharp. We will be going over each and every single client, and then making a game plan for the next five months. You have a meeting with Dr. Jeon, and then Mr. Jung. And Ms. Y/L/N requested an appointment last night, and you can most certainly afford it right now, so you’ll also be meeting with her. Respectfully, I suggest you get your ass over here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes— wait.” Hyunjin perks up, dropping his spoon into the soggy bowl of cereal, not minding the tiny droplets of milk that splash up at him. “Did you say Y/N?”

“What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head, dumping the remnants of his meal into the sink. “Nothing. I’ll see you!”

The slow drag of the days until the next week turns into a blur on Monday morning. Hyunjin pulls on a crisp white Celine t-shirt to go with a flowy pair of pleated trousers from the back of his closet, the kind of casual, chic outfit tailored that can always uplift any day. As a final touch, Hyunjin shrugs on a simple yet effective cardigan and dabs some cologne onto his wrists. 

During the drive over to SeoulSpark, Hyunjin reflects on the fact that he’d be seeing you in just a few hours, even though he just saw you a few days ago. When you could barely look Hyunjin in the eye after his colossal blunder. When you’d run away to be far, far away from him, somewhere he couldn’t hurt you again. But he wouldn’t let that happen again, ever. You’re far too precious, and he doesn’t plan on losing you anytime soon, even if you’ll never know what you truly mean to him.

He sighs, parking Cami in her specially reserved spot in the SeoulSpark garage, before taking off his shades and heading inside. As soon as he steps through the sliding glass doors, he can barely muster up a ‘hello’ to his receptionist, Felix, before Wonyoung pounces on him. In the blink of an eye, Wonyoung has dragged him up to his office, where she sits him down at his desk and begins to ferociously rattle off his to-do list for the day.

Luckily, he’s saved by Dr. Jeon, who raps on the open door with a wry smile on his face. “Can I come in, Wonyoung, or are you still busy disciplining Hyunjin?”

Wonyoung huffs at him, before picking up her tablet and making her way out. “He’s all yours. Make it snappy, though. He has a full schedule.”

“Yes, Ms. Jang.” Dr. Jeon says with mock seriousness that makes Wonyoung shoot him a murderous glare, before making himself comfortable on the sofa and turning to Hyunjin. “Damn, where’d you buy this thing? I could take a fat nap here.”

“West Elm.” Hyunjin is unable to keep the smile off of his face. “What’s up, Jungkook?”

“Well, this is kind of an awkward question, if you don’t mind…” Jungkook shoots him a hopeful look, and Hyunjin gives him a nod to continue. “I was just wondering about the company policy about dating clients? It isn’t clear whether we’re allowed to or not, but I know it’s a little iffy.”

Hyunjin sits up in surprise, mind immediately going to you. The SeoulSpark guidelines on dating clients were never explicit to begin with, but it was kind of unsaid that dating clients is out of the question, especially when it could jeopardize business. Of course he’d thought about this before, on the nights when he had been feeling extra delusional over the thought of having you all to himself. But it could never be real.

“What’s this all about, Jungkook?” Hyunjin shifts in his seat warily. “We generally advise against it, even after clients decide to end their memberships. It’s messy territory, one that we try to avoid.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “I mean, she’s not even my client. I think she’s one of yours, actually. She caught my eye at the matchmaking event yesterday— she was wearing this sexy blue sundress. Y/N was her name, I think? I thought, I don't know, that I could maybe ask her out or something? If she didn’t have any matches?”

Oh, hell no.

Hyunjin’s blood immediately goes cold. He likes Jungkook— a lot, actually. He’s a good colleague and friend, and a great drinking buddy when he feels up to it. Jungkook has tagged along with him and Seungmin quite often, whenever they decide to go out to find someone to warm their beds for the night. The topic of women has never been foreign between them, especially in a setting like SeoulSpark. But his woman? Absolutely not. 

Even if you aren’t actually his, Hyunjin would rather break Jungkook’s annoyingly perfect nose than see his hands all over you, and that’s saying something, because Hyunjin hates killing even mosquitos. Jungkook watching you laugh over a plate of pasta. Jungkook helping you into his car. Jungkook kissing you while he brings heaven to you in his bed. All of the things that Hyunjin should get to do.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for SeoulSpark if Jungkook dated you, especially since you aren’t his client— but it would be for Hyunjin. Hell if Jeon Jungkook, the notorious player of SeoulSpark, would have you in his stead.

“No.”

Jungkook frowns. “But—”

“I said no, Dr. Jeon. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Hyunjin snaps coldly, barely fazed by that uncharacteristic iciness in his own tone. “Please see yourself out, and come to me when you have something actually useful to discuss.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “You seem to be in a mood today, Hyunjin. But whatever, I’ll back off. See you later, I guess.”

Hyunjin knows he should feel bad as he watches Jungkook shrink out his view, but all he has is a vicious sense of satisfaction. That’ll teach him— Christ, is he jealous? Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous. The world is an oyster, and you, his shimmering pearl. He really is so screwed.

The next few hours are a blur, as Hyunjin does his best to be attentive as he sits through meetings with his executive team, including the one with his Chief Marketing Officer, Jung Hoseok, to discuss potential brand partnerships that would be good for SeoulSpark. He deserves an award for not falling asleep during the very essential Zoom call to confirm whether he should allow his face to be stamped onto a cat food brand (the answer was no, he’s forever a dog person).

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, Hyunjin has finished meeting with his second-to-last client of the day, Yang Jeongin, that brazen college student who had talked back to him during his TED talk. Poor guy had been through so much, really, with a history of being dumped, the latest offender being a cheating girlfriend who had effectively ruined his outlook on life. But over the past few months, Hyunjin had been able to chip through that broken exterior to find a brilliant young man in need of just a push in the right direction. He reminds Hyunjin of you so much.

“Thanks, Hyun. I’ll see you next week.” Jeongin waves goodbye at Hyunjin, who’s already rifling through his desk drawer for his compact mirror and breath mints.

Hyunjin flashes him a quick smile. “You too, Jeongin.”

As quick as Jeongin has left, the feeling of being alone washes away when you step into the room, knocking the wind out of Hyunjin’s lungs, as always. Today, you’ve foregone those usual pinks, a constant that Hyunjin had loved so much about your outfits. Nevertheless, you’re stunning; the sea-green floral maxi dress floats delicately around your ankles, and Hyunjin has to mentally kick himself to stop staring at the dainty line of buttons crossed along the ruched bust of the bodice.

“There you are!” Hyunjin beams like the sun, the stress of the day’s burdens melting away.

But instead of getting all cute and flustered at his theatrics like you always do, you give him a thin smile and sit down on the couch. “Hey, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin tries not to let the concern flood into his logic, but it’s impossible, when it comes to you. However, he makes a valiant effort in crossing his legs and trying to hide the turbulence of emotions beneath his skin by plastering a placid expression onto his face. “So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug and avoid Hyunjin’s gaze, looking out the window with a forlorn glint in your eyes. 

“Darling, please.” Hyunjin breaks. He gets up from behind his desk and folds himself into the space next to you, failing to maintain his impartiality. He hates to see you like this, like you so steadfastly believe that you’re alone, when he’s been here for you the entire time. “Open up to me.”

You look directly into Hyunjin’s eyes, prompting a shiver to run down his spine. He wishes you could look at him like that while forcing him down onto his knees. “I had sex with Han Jisung.” 

Of everything, hearing that was not on Hyunjin’s 2023 bingo card. For a moment, he just gapes at you in shock. As your dating coach, he never thought you’d be ready to become intimate with someone so soon, especially the guy who made you run off in horror just a few days prior. And as the person who is secretly in love with you, he could never actually imagine you with anyone except for him. Yet, he now has the wonderful, vivid image of you and Han Jisung getting it on. How nice. 

And then comes the complete fury. But before he can act upon it, throwing aside his zen policy to bestow you with an aggressive line of questioning— that he is absolutely not entitled to, at all— you hold up your hand, shutting him up.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

In that moment, nothing but utter horror slashes through every fiber of Hyunjin’s being. Of all of the scenarios he’d gone through in his mind, the worst case is actually happening— goddamnit, universe. What would the point of life be if you weren’t in his, anymore? “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

You give Hyunjin a pitiful smile that makes him want to go crawl into a hole somewhere and die. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. But I’m your client. This is a good sign.”

That’s not all you are. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This can’t be real. 

“You know what I mean!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy for me?” You purse your lips. “I guess I’ve finally moved on from Jisung, now that I’ve slept with someone else. I can finally go forth in the world without his shadow holding me back. I’m completely over it.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes, lightly massaging his temples using the stress-prevention technique that his old masseuse taught him before she moved back to Thailand. It doesn’t work. Fuck, is he sweating? “Well, I think you’re not completely over it. This is a step, not the destination. Having sex with a guy you just met is definitely not what we programmed into your love life GPS— we’re still driving! Besides, you still have a month of sessions left on your contract!”

“Uhhh, okay.” You give Hyunjin a puzzled look that makes him cringe inwardly— fuck his fruity metaphors. “Either way, I just don’t think I need your help anymore, to be honest. But I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head stubbornly, resolve set deep inside of him. If you wanted him to get all technical and make himself sound like a pretentious prick, then fine. Anything to keep you from leaving. “As the person who you have entrusted to provide you with a professional opinion, I do not accept your rationale for ending our contract. It’s sudden, and you’d just be wasting your own money because everything was prepaid. It doesn’t make sense for you to go like this, don’t you think? Talk to me.”

And Hyunjin sees you pause, the doubt written across your gorgeous features. You put on a little eyeliner today, and when your eyes crinkle in doubt, the winged ends of the liner downturn, making you look impossibly cute. Hyunjin wants nothing more than to kiss that pout on your lips— not smooth it away, but make it his, somehow, to watch you look down at him with that same expression when he’s on his knees for you.

He waits with bated breath, until you finally throw your hands up, relenting. “Okay. Alright. But only because I have a month left. After that, I won’t be renewing the contract.”

You grumpily sit back down on the sofa, and Hyunjin has to clench his jaw to keep from grinning like an idiot. “So, tell me. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You sigh, looking away from Hyunjin as you toy with one of the beads on the skirt of your dress. You take your time thinking, and Hyunjin doesn’t rush you, wanting you to be as authentic as possible when providing him with an answer. “There’s this guy…”

Hyunjin then feels all of the blood drain out of face right then. If the abrupt announcement of your departure from SeoulSpark’s services had not sent him into a panic, then this definitely did. He sees that unsure yet determined look in your eye, the kind he’s observed appearing whenever you have a strong opinion to share, the thoughts of other people be damned.

“Who… who is it?” He manages to spit out, thinking back to his go-to metaphoric fork and stabbing himself in the thigh with it, over and over again, to keep himself in place. “Someone from the matchmaking event?”

“It’s not any of those guys, no. You probably don’t even know him. Some guy from work,” you explain quickly, prompting a fresh wave of confusion to wash over Hyunjin. “But that’s not the point. He’s, um, always on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much I don’t want to. Because, for obvious reasons, I can’t be with him. And I don’t want to hurt him, because the pain from the past— from Jisung— is still there, even if I don’t love him anymore. I don’t trust myself with love.”

Love? Is that what this is? Do you love whoever this useless idiot is? 

Hyunjin’s thoughts cower in betrayal, even though you owe him absolutely nothing. He shakes them away, focusing on everything else you’ve just confided in him with. “It’s okay to not be completely over the past. You might never be, and that’s okay, because what you went through was traumatic. That kind of hurt sticks, and you’re strong for trying to move forward. But you can’t let the fear of the unknown stop you.”

You shake your head. “But it’s too significant to ignore, that fear. My worst nightmare is hurting him like Jisung did to me. What if I end up doing that, Hyunjin? What if I leave him, like Jisung left me?”

“Don’t compare yourself to that piece of shit,” Hyunjin says sharply, making you jump a little. Normally, he’d apologize for coming on too strong, but he couldn’t. Not when you talk about yourself like that. “And it’s just a risk you’re going to have to take. And if he’s really worth it, then he’ll stay by your side no matter what.” 

I would. I wouldn’t ever fucking leave you. 

Before you can say anything, Hyunjin keeps going, unable to restrain himself from asking this next question, because he has to know. He has to know if you truly mean it. “So, the question is, do you think he is? Is he worth it?”

“I love who I am because of him,” you state, and with the way your voice doesn’t even waver, Hyunjin knows it to be completely true. “I’m ten times less pessimistic than I usually am. He makes me feel like a morning person, even though I’m not. And I actually want to do more with my life, see everything it has to offer. He makes me a better person, but I never feel forced to do anything for his attention, for the way he cares.”

“He- he sounds wonderful,” Hyunjin responds, and he’s trying— he really is— but he just doesn’t believe he can be genuine, not now. Not when he feels his heart breaking inside, not when he knows he’s a selfish bastard who should be celebrating you. And what did he fucking expect? That someone wouldn’t see a diamond and pick it up, keeping it for themselves? He’s so, so stupid. 

“He is.” You give him a meaningful look that makes his head spin. Now, what does that mean? Hyunjin doesn’t have it in him to be an interpreter today, strolling across the shoreline rocks of your mind, trying to decipher what today’s tides bring. It’s his literal job to know what you’re thinking, and yet, today his mind is completely clear of any sense of logic.

“He makes me feel seen, even if he may never feel the same,” you continue, biting your lip. “He’s the most beautiful person I know.”

“I’m not supposed to say this, but anyone who wouldn’t return your feelings is a total idiot.” Hyunjin smiles at the way you shoot him a skeptical look. He wants to at least try to convey even a single sign that tells you that he’s glad you’ve found someone good, someone that could make you happy— what he could never do for you himself. “And I’m glad, Y/N. It’s a good thing we still have a month, because I can tell that there’s still some unease on your end, because you’re clearly holding yourself back. I just want the best for you.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry if I was making a scene. I just so want to be done with all of this fixing. I just want to be ready to let go of all of that baggage, and I guess I was in a rush to do so.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. Trust me, I get the feeling, more than you know.” Hyunjin reaches across and places his hand on yours, trying to relax you. “It’s okay to want to move on. It’s okay to be frustrated. And it’s okay to want someone. Let yourself be happy, because ultimately, you’re the only one who can control that, no one else.”

For the first time during your meeting today, you break out into a smile, and Hyunjin has to blink to readjust him to the sight. It’s like a rainbow has cut through a stormy sky, joining in a perfect Yin and Yang. Hyunjin loves all of you, both the color and the tempest, because together, they make you who you are. He wouldn’t change you for the world; all he’s ever done for you was try to make you realize that yourself.

“You are such a gift, Hyunjin,” you say fondly, and Hyunjin has to remind himself that it’s because you see him as a friend, as a confidante. It would never be in the way he completely wants it to be, and he’ll have to make his peace with that, for you.

“I know. All I’m missing is a big pink bow,” Hyunjin jokes, plastering a smile onto his face. For the first time ever, he wishes you would walk out of his office, taking with you your infectious laugh and incandescent gaze. You can’t be here when he falls apart like he so badly needs to. 

You laugh, thankfully not sensing his internal turmoil. “Alright, Hyunjin. I have to get going. But I’ll see you next week?”

He nods, rising as you stand and turn for the door. “Of course. Have a good one, darling.”

“Same goes for you.” You reach up and give his shoulder a little squeeze, before you’re walking away, too soon and yet, not fast enough.

From where you touched him over his cardigan, Hyunjin’s skin burns with desire. But it isn’t enough to keep him from clumsily shutting the door closed behind him as he stumbles back inside of his office. He screws his eyes shut and tries to rapidly think of a list of his favorite things. Pink roses. Sequined Versace blazers. Puppies. Monet paintings.

But he should know by now that such sorrow is inevitable. It was written in his fate, the moment he set his eyes and heart upon you, knowing he would never get that happy ending. After all, he’s the Love Doctor, not a miracle worker. He knows this to be true especially when he feels a dampness on his cheeks and thinks it to be some kind of bewitched rain that’s able to fall inside his office. It’s only when he looks into his compact mirror that he realizes that he’s crying, broken and hopelessly gone for you.

That did not go well. You walked into SeoulSpark with a plan and had promptly failed, when Hyunjin decided to persuade you into staying. But you gave in to his pretty eyes and assuaging words, conveniently forgetting about the half-hour long promises you made with yourself in the morning. 

You were supposed to end your contract, regardless of whether you would be wasting your money or not. That would have been a small price to pay for the pain of love. And you know you’re right, because you start to cry during your shameful walk through the parking lot.

You don’t know what it is that made you open up so profoundly to Hyunjin, past the point where it was safe to conceal your feelings for him. But you just had to keep speaking, going so far as to describe Hyunjin as the object of all of your agitation and pretending like it was someone else that he had no idea of. You’re a fraud, and your only consolation is that Hyunjin sees you so platonically that he probably would never catch onto your feelings. After all, in what world would someone like you being with someone of his caliber ever make any sense? And it’s ironic, really, that you’ve fallen for him, the person who is there to help you find someone else to spend lonely nights with.

After unlocking your car, you collapse into the front seat, letting all of your emotions out for a good few minutes into the night. When the sides of your face finally begin to dry, you open your eyes with a groan, turning the key in the ignition and driving back home. 

You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, because that godforsaken networking party was looming sooner in the future than you’d like, and you still had to buy something to wear. Your current wardrobe was much more vibrant than it had been just a few months ago, the jeans and plaid blazers hidden behind fluttery sundresses and silky skirts. However, it was all far too casual for the heightened class that you knew the event would require, and therefore, you’d recruited Yeonjun to help you shop, with the promise of all of his meals being paid for the next day.

As soon as you get home, you toss your keys onto the little side table next to the doorway with a huff, knocking your heels off and not bothering to arrange them neatly back onto your shoe stand. With the efficiency of a carpenter ant on a mission, you march into your bathroom and slip out of that god-awful dress, changing into a pair of soft pink pajamas with a magenta heart pattern printed all over them. The set had caught your eye as you were strolling through Costco the other day, a little more expensive than you’d like, but they reminded you of Hyunjin, so into the cart they went. You could allow yourself this comfort, you tell yourself.

Once freshened up, you head into the kitchen, dumping some leftover pasta into a bowl to heat it up, glowering at the microwave as the seconds tick by far too slowly. And as always, you eat at your crappy dining table, alone. Just this morning, you had been sitting in this same place, brainstorming ways to secure project funding, navigating the path to reviving your old startup, ITEM.

Before Hyunjin, you had ditched the excitement of indulging in work, your passion, for more self-destructive, wasteful behavior. In the past few months, after meeting him, there was this renewed sense of productivity in you— he inspired you, made you ache to find your own success in the world. So even though Mark denied you the opportunity to participate in the upcoming function, you disobeyed him and secretly went through with your own idea anyway, especially after hearing through the office grapevine that a lot of big-name investors would be attending. Somehow, you decided, you would figure out a way to present to them and achieve your dream. It was optimistic, maybe a little foolishly so, but that hadn’t bothered you. 

Today, however, you felt this sense of loss that hadn’t touched you in a while. It was nothing related to work, fortunately, but still, you couldn’t focus, mind wandering to your meeting with Hyunjin at the end of the day. For the first time, the thought of him was hurting you, not motivating you. And it still hurts you, with the way you disinterestedly poke at your fettuccine. 

So when you go to bed that night, touching yourself to the thought of him doesn’t have the same velvety allure to it. No, it’s more of a physiological need that forces its way into your hand that glides down your body. It’s the rabic, animalistic desire that drives the tips of your fingers under the waistband of your shorts. It’s the anguish, the longing, that makes you spread your legs, hips bucking up against the mattress.

You had smiled at him, earlier today, after that short drama you’d exerted, when he calmed you down and placated you with a soft, but commanding tone. You had poured your heart out to him, holding back just his name on the tip of your tongue, and he had listened. And you had feigned being amiable, and he accepted it, when in reality, you were so fucking furious with Hyunjin.

After you paraded into his office like a brat, demanding to end the contract as if you cared nothing as to what he might think, he had still treated you with so much understanding, with a quiet concern. You haven’t lost your temper in a long time now, but Hyunjin never failed to respond so well, so kindly to you. In every way that you were irked, he remained calm and gracious. It makes you inexplicably angry, so much that you just want to scream into the cool Angeles night air, letting the sound reverberate off the crumbling buildings of your shitty neighborhood. You hate how good is to you almost as much as you despise yourself in your absolute lowest moments, moments like these. You don’t want the sensuality of his gaze washing over you, worshiping you. You don’t want to melt into his touch, let him take care of you. You don’t want to fuck him like a lover would— no, you want his tears, you want to ruin him like he has done so easily to you.

You think of Hyunjin and his lovely, lovely mouth. A lip pulled in between his teeth in thought, slightly slick with spit when he licks them before speaking. You want to feel the stretch of them around your fingers as you force them into his mouth, choking him and chasing away his breathy complaints. 

You close your eyes, the image of you working yourself with your fingers fading in favor of imagining Hyunjin doing it for you instead. You, gripping his wrist harshly, pumping Hyunjin’s own fingers into yourself, berating him for not being able to do it well enough on his own. 

Then you’d slap his hands away, pushing him onto your bed and straddle his narrow hips, grinding your dripping pussy onto his thighs while getting off both in the friction and Hyunjin’s pleas for you to ride his cock instead. 

But when you decide to put an end to his torture, it wouldn’t be for his pleasure. You want to fuck Hyunjin hard, fuck him sore, the minuscule gap between your bodies clogged and messy with sweat and a mixture of arousal and saliva, from where you’d spit onto his cock. You want him on his back, staring up at you hopefully as he falls apart, begging you to let him come. You want to refuse him, snap at him and make it mean, but he’ll come anyway, guilt and arousal on his beautiful face. Of course he’ll have to clean up his own mess, sucking obediently on your fingers covered with the come you had retrieved from where it was splattered between your legs. 

And then you’d kiss him, slow and deep, nothing like how you took him apart under the sheets. You’d cup his face and whisper praises, running your hands down his body. Declarations of love would fall from your lips, because no matter how much he worked you up, the truth would never change. 

You finish to that final thought, barely hearing the shameful, wet sounds of you abusing your cunt with your fingers that thrust in and out of yourself wildly. But even though you have already come, you cup your pussy again and run your finger, feather-light, through your folds, imagining it was Hyunjin’s lips placing a kiss there, instead. Imagining that no matter how many spiteful words you spat at him during the time you fucked him, he knew that you would never hate him. You understand, that no matter how enraged you have the potential to be, you will never, ever hate Hyunjin. Because you love him— so much that it hurts.

“You’d think that my body was made for Gucci, but there’s something about Privé that turns me on so bad.”

You fight the urge to gag as Yeonjun brings the ugly sweatshirt up to his chest, holding it up in front of the mirror in an attempt to model it on his scrawny frame. You briskly snatch it out of his hands and shove it back onto its hanger, grasping your cousin’s hand like a mother and her toddler. 

“Stop talking about brands like you want to fuck them,” you scold him. Yeonjun rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation, but doesn’t try to wriggle out of your hold when you drag him to the women’s section. Sometimes, you feel like you’re an exasperated single parent, toting him around and snapping at him to behave, even though he is barely three years younger than you.

As you enter the evening wear end of the department store, you let go of Yeonjun to sift through the variety of fabrics available. He gleefully bounces around, swishing through the dresses you’re both drowning in and nearly knocking a couple of them off of their racks. But you can’t find it in yourself to chide him again, not when he looks so happy to be here with you. Not that you would ever let him know that you have the capacity to be soft when it comes to him.

“This beats working on job applications,” Yeonjun sighs, sticking his arm through an armhole on a particularly gaudy tea gown. You snicker at how the satin pools beneath his underarms, making him look like a child cosplaying in their mother’s old outfits.

“How’s senior year? I haven’t even been asking you about school, lately.” The last part is less of a rationale for your question to him, and more of a surprised self-proclamation on your end. You can’t remember the last time you ever listened to Yeonjun complain about his ancient professors and weird roommate. The thought fills you with a certain sense of regret; you might not have a lot, but Yeonjun has always been there for you. Most of the time, he annoys you to no end, but his constant presence reminds you that you’re never alone.

The playfulness melts out of Yeonjun’s demeanor, a sight to see with someone who is always so easy-going, never taking life seriously. But you see the somber look in his eyes as he turns to gaze at you critically. “You’ve got a lot going on, I know that.”

You flush, mind automatically going to Hyunjin. Outside of the slice of your day in which you are truly focused on work, the rest of your time goes into dreaming about the attainable object of your fantasies. Eat, sleep, work, and think about Hyunjin. “I— yeah. Work’s been crazy. And reopening ITEM, as well. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Yeonjun gives you a wry little smile, foxy and sly. “Work. Sure. Definitely not a certain sexy ass dating coach, right?”

For a guy that presents himself to be so unendingly superficial, Yeonjun has the ability to read people in the snap of a finger. You don’t understand why he tries to act so vapid when he has such a capacity— if you had such a power, you’d use it to no end. 

Your cheeks flush, embarrassingly evident. “Got me there, but I’ve already reached a resolution about him. I’ll go through with the rest of the contract, pull away gradually, and then stop seeing him. Easy.”

Except it is not easy, and both of you know it. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “I just don’t get it. Why are you so down bad for him? He’s pretty, don’t get me wrong, but there are a lot of pretty people. He’s the guy who’s supposed to be setting you up with other people. Like, you’re not supposed to be falling for him.”

“I know, Jun,” you sigh. “But I think we’re more alike than outward perceptions allow. I feel like he never really lets his guard down around other people. I just wish I could have the chance to make him feel as seen as he does for me. He’s like no one I’ve ever met.”

Yeonjun stays quiet for a long moment, scrutinizing the way you lower your eyes and resume haphazardly shuffling through the dresses. “I think you should tell him how you feel.”

You would burst into laughter at how ridiculous his proposition is, except it’s not funny at all. “Now that would be crossing the line. Our relationship is completely platonic. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be, to find out that the client you’re trying to help connect with others falls for you instead? I couldn’t do that to Hyunjin.”

“I think Hyunjin still deserves to know. He’s your dating coach, Y/N. If there’s anyone who can understand you, it’s him, because if he really cares about you, nothing about your relationship will change. And who knows, maybe he reciprocates. You never know.”

Listening to your cousin give you such advice makes you feel strange, but not in an unpleasant way. You truly are thankful for it, even if you might not completely trust in it. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jun.”

Yeonjun looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to notice the note of finality in your voice and decides to move on. “Back to me. Ask me again, about how school’s going, and I’ll tell you all of the tea.”

“How is school going?” 

“Oh, thank God you asked. Beomgyu is still trying to get me to feature on his OnlyFans, but even though he’s a little creepy with it, he’s the only one who agrees to come thrift shopping with me. And he’s a pretty chill roommate overall, so I can’t really complain. Ugh, and it turns out, my evil ex is still obsessed with me…”

You grin and listen to Yeonjun ramble on about his very animated life at UCLA, thankful for the distraction as you comb through the racks. After a few minutes of tuning into Yeonjun’s story about how he walked in on Beomgyu hooking up with some guy named Jeongin, you freeze, because you meet eyes with the one person you wished you would never see again. Yeonjun’s babbling comes to a jarring stop, and you both just stare at the monster who tried to ruin your life.

“Y/N! Is that you?” 

He saunters forward as you stay rooted to where you are, and it’s like he has walked right out of an old photo album carrying the bitter memories of your past. You recognize those round, sparkling doe eyes, the ones that reminded you of the dark pearls in the milk tea drinks you both would always share at night markets. The same choppy, boyish haircut streaked with caramel, the locks you would quietly run your fingers through after every time you forgave him. That delicate, nearly fairy-like face, the one that you could never bring yourself to hate, no matter how much he pushed you. Park Jisung has not changed one bit, except for the space you used to clutch on his arms has now been occupied by someone new. 

The girl is stunning, you can admit, but on closer look, you realize that it’s Kazuha Nakamura, the last girl he cheated on you with, the one that severed the final threads of your relationship. She, on the other hand, looks completely different, with her blonde curls chopped into a dark Brazilian-permed lob that swishes when she tilts her head down derisively, surveying you from head-to-toe. She looks like the epitome of the girl that Jisung was always trying to get you to be, stuck into the mold of a life predetermined for her. And for the first time in a long time, you’re glad you didn’t fit.

You regain your bearings a moment later after the initial shock wears off, when Park Jisung laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that contrasts with the way Kazuha titters next to him. But instead of acknowledging Jisung, you turn to Kazuha first instead.

“Kazuha! What a surprise!” You smile sweetly at her while she just gapes at you blankly, clearly surprised by your absence of hostility. In the periphery of your eye, you can see Jisung ball his fists at his side, ever the narcissist to be irked by even a slight dearth of attention. “You look great, girl!”

“And you look exactly the same, Jisung,” Yeonjun says flatly in a way that obviously conveys insult, before slinging a protective arm around your shoulder. You stifle a snort, and watch the way Jisung rolls his eyes.

“Ever a delight, aren’t you, Yeonjun?” Jisung shoots him a venomous smile, that Yeonjun responds to with a cheesy little salute. This time, you can’t contain the chuckle that escapes your lips. 

Before anyone can say more, you pipe up, determined to have the last word in the conversation you have no intention of repeating. “It was wonderful to see you, Jisung. You and Kazuha make a lovely pair— hope it works out!”

With one last gracious nod of your head, you loop your arm through Yeonjun’s and move past where Jisung and Kazuha stand rooted to the spot, speechless. As you and Yeonjun flounce away, you feel Jisung’s gaze burning into the back of your neck, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“Damn, and I thought I’d get to watch a fight today. I really would have liked to see that dickwad get his just desserts,” Yeonjun grumbles, but you see the impressed look on his face.

You feel an unfamiliar rush of both adrenaline and triumph coursing through your veins; you saved your anger, and yet, you know you’ve won. For months, you told yourself that if you ever got the chance to tell Jisung off, you would use it. But the thought didn’t bring you as much satisfaction as it did before, and besides, you have someone more worth your tears now. Seeing Jisung again didn’t affect you as much as it once would have, because you finally, truly have moved on. And comparably, your current predicament seems much more daunting than some loser who never deserved you. 

“They looked like morons when we didn’t give them the reaction they wanted. Besides, I’m taking the high road.”

“You’re boring when you’re not a bitch.”

“Thanks.” You grin, pausing your gait when you see it. The giddiness drains into something more mournful as you take in the dress, delicate folds of pink chiffon that dissolve into a painstakingly threaded gold-beaded skirt. “This is the one, Jun.”

Yeonjun doesn’t miss the beat of sadness in your voice, the thickness of your words. “Seriously though, you don’t have to talk about Jisung, but I feel like that’s not who you’re upset about. You don’t seem okay.”

“I’ve found my peace with Jisung, but there’s still something else.” You inhale sharply. “I’m in love with Hyunjin.”

He stays quiet for a moment, before taking the dress off of the rack for you. “This is on me.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to—”

“I want to. And if you’re not busy tonight, I have somewhere to be, and I’d like it if you came with me. What do you say?”

You’re not oblivious— you recognize the sympathy, Yeonjun’s clear attempt to cheer you up, a switch-up from the banter you usually trade. Before, you would refuse, retreating home to bury yourself deeper into a hole. But for once, you don’t want to push away the people who care about you. So you accept and look forward, accepting the poignance of it all.

“Hwang Hyunjin, you’d better get your ass over here on time, or else I’ll—”

Hyunjin bursts into a dramatic fit of coughing, cutting off Seungmin’s nagging. “Remind me to take you to one of my yoga sessions. Your chakras are seriously off, but there’s nothing that Dr. Sachet can’t fix.”

“Hyunjin.” 

“I know! I just got here, Seungmin.” Hyunjin sighs, ending the call before Seungmin has the chance to say anything further. He slides his phone into his pocket, already regretting his choice to accept Seungmin’s request— which was actually more of a demand— to be his plus-one at his college reunion. 

Any other day, he would have loved to ditch his introverted activities to accompany his best friend to get tipsy and gossip about everyone’s glow ups. Today, however, all he really wants to do is curl up in his bed with Princess Diana and binge-watch Friends. But alas, his loyalty— and fear— for Seungmin won out, and now here he is, standing in a rounded glass elevator on his way up to Highlight, the upscale rooftop bar venue of the event. 

When the elevator finally reaches the top floor, the telltale bell dings, opening the door into what can only be described as high-end chaos: people decked out in crisp suits and cocktail dresses and jewels, as they crowd around the lighted bar counters, shouting out their drink orders to harried bartenders while trying to brag about how successful they’ve become over the past few years. Waiters walk around, serving hors d'oeuvres to the guests that promptly ignore them, and the orchestral jazz, courtesy of the live band crowded into the corner, is drowned out by the raucous laughter of a group of men situated at a section of tables next to the windows. The whole effect is ridiculously ostentatious, and even Hyunjin has to restrain himself from letting his lip curl with disgust.

“Fuck, there you are.” Hyunjin feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Seungmin staring at him with an overwhelmed look in his eye.

Hyunjin takes in his friend for a moment, admiring his black and white silk polka dot shirt that’s tucked into a pair of belted navy slacks. At least someone at this place had style, and it’s always a pleasure for it to be Seungmin, as by now, Hyunjin has gotten used to seeing him wearing bloodied scrubs. “You look good, man. But why in the world would you want to come here and see all of these jerks?”

Seungmin shrugs, and Hyunjin is surprised to see a slight blush overtake his features. He traces Seungmin’s wandering gaze over to the edge of the open balcony, where a devastatingly handsome man strangely stands on his own, sipping on his cocktail while observing the view of skyscrapers stretching out around the building. Ah. 

“He’s Seungcheol, isn’t he? Your old crush that you never talked to? That’s why we’re here?” Hyunjin teases, remembering those nights when he got Seungmin tipsy enough to confess his unrequited feelings for Choi Seungcheol, the resident heartbreaker of the pre-med student body at UCLA. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Seungmin grumbles, but his complexion betrays him, turning as red as a tomato. 

Hyunjin laughs heartily, thanking a passing waitress before accepting a mango and vanilla parfait from her tray. “Alright.”

And then it’s Seungmin’s turn to check out Hyunjin, who strikes a little pose and preens at the attention. “I don’t know how, but even with all of your designer shit, you never seem like a dick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hyunjin grins. Hyunjin never dresses to appease the dress code— instead, he makes it his bitch, and does it in a way that’s classy, not ostentatious. It’s clear in today’s sophisticated yet roguish ensemble: a crisp white Givenchy suit paired with Nike Air Forces to deflate the grandiose of the former brand. And the sheer black tank top and silver chain-link necklace under his oversized blazer was just enough to add a touch of gender-bending sexiness. 

The corner of Seungmin’s mouth quirks up, and he hooks his arm into Hyunjin’s, steering him towards a high table tucked into a more quiet section of the bar. “Having fun, Hyun?”

Hyunjin fights a smile. “Moresoe now that you’re here with me, babe.”

That is Seungmin’s cue to shove Hyunjin away, who continues to bat his lashes prettily. “I hate you. I should’ve asked Nicholas the hot nurse to be my date instead.”

“But then you couldn’t flirt with our Seungcheol!”

Seungmin groans, head falling onto the table, lolling to the side hopelessly. “I don’t even know how to approach him, though. I mean, did you see him? He just managed to get even more gorgeous! His hair? His height? He’s totally out of my league.”

Hyunjin immediately morphs into wingman mode. “Trust me, I can just tell he has a thing for cute nerds. And, not to be crass, but his body language screams brat tamer.”

“I am not a brat,” Seungmin scowls. 

“Touché.” 

After a few more minutes of hyping Seungmin up, Hyunjin triumphantly sits back and watches his friend slink off in the direction of Seungcheol; he snickers to himself when Seungmin tentatively taps on Seungcheol’s shoulder, shaking like a fangirl about to ask a celebrity for a picture. Seungcheol turns, a friendly beam cutting across his stern features. Seungmin says something indiscernible to Seungcheol that makes him laugh, and that’s Hyunjin’s sign to leave the rest to his friend. 

By this time, the company around him has eased slightly, with everyone digging into the buffet-style dinner that the caterers have set out. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, thinking back to the flimsy cup of ramyun that he had scarfed down earlier. He picks up a plate from one of the long tables and gets in line, mouth already watering at the spread of food. After loading his plate with copious helpings of every dish of carbs in sight, he also makes sure to secure dessert, snagging a couple pastries and slices of cake. The gaggle of ladies behind him shoot him pointed looks, but he ignores them, walking away to find seating; he’s needed this, after the week he’s had.

He winds up sitting next to a giddy couple that just cannot keep their hands off of each other. Most of the time, when he winds up somewhere with people who exhibit excessive public displays of affection, he tries to discreetly slip away or make himself as unknown as possible, the hopeless romantic in him quietly cheering them on. Now, however, he unceremoniously plops onto the farthest end of the loveseat opposite of them, all alone and just grateful that the food is good.

“Earth to Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin looks up, mouth stuffed embarrassingly full of a caprese salad sandwich. “Mrph?”

Seungmin stands there, hands on his knees while he pants a little to catch his breath. “You will not believe what just happened.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Seungcheol and I are going out to dinner tomorrow!” Seungmin huffs, cheeks flushed a bright red as he looks over at Seungcheol where he’s standing by the elevator. Seungcheol gives him a shy smile before quickly looking away. Seungmin smirks and leans down to speak into Hyunjin’s ear. “And he just asked me if I have any plans for the rest of the night.”

He leans back to gauge Hyunjin’s reaction, which, in Hyunjin’s knowledge of his friend, does not disappoint. Hyunjin gasps theatrically and nearly drops his plate in trying to clap him on the back in congratulations. “That’s my man!”

“That’s right!” 

Hyunjin grins. “Even your ship name would be cute. 2Seung. Meant to be.”

“You’re such a dork.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his blush. “Now, I’m gonna go get railed by the man of my dreams.”

Hyunjin bids Seungmin goodbye, remaining enthusiastic up until the moment he sees Seungmin and Seuncheol take their leave. As soon as they do, he lets his smile fall. He’s happy for Seungmin, really. He just wishes it could be him disappearing into that glass elevator with his lover. He would press you up against that heavy gold railing that rounds the inside, kissing you as you begin your descent down the building. Kissing you as fireworks go off in the distance, brighter than the Los Angeles skyline. Kissing you even when the elevator door opens, an irked crowd of people waiting to get in. He wishes he could flaunt you off to everyone in the world, show everyone how perfect you are for him. 

Hyunjin is so lost in his muddled, wistful thoughts that he doesn’t notice the couch dip, someone just as miserable as him occupying the tiny space next to him. 

“Hyunjin?”

He turns his head, slowly, to see you, of all people, glaring at him with a bewildered expression on your face. He remains in a momentary stunned silence, taking in the slight redness of your nose, how watery your eyes are. The space in between your eyebrows that’s painfully scrunched. The way your lips are pressed together tightly. You’ve been crying. Still gorgeous, no matter what.

“Darling?”

For the second time today, you are caught off guard. You have been stewing in your loneliness all evening, ruminating over your hopelessly unrequited love. It surprised you, a little bit, how you were barely affected by the run-in with Jisung, but that faded away when you took your first sip at the absurdly lavish open bar. For others, alcohol can be liquid courage— for you, it’s a depressant that brings out the sad drunk in you.

You shake your head, trying not to let the immediate horror seep into you. But how can it not, when the gorgeous man you are in love with has just become witness to your ugly tears for the second time? And from where did he just appear out of, when you thought you were going to be able to spend your time wallowing in your sorrows alone? Life is truly unfair.

“What- what are you doing here?” You sputter. 

You imagine that Hyunjin looks stunned, for a moment, but his face lights up when he realizes that it is you who is the mess curled up next to him. If he seems put off by the remnants of your crying, he does not show it. “I was here as my friend’s date, but it seems as though he’s ditched me for a better one.”

He gives you a furtive smile that makes you feel like you’re in on a joke, and in spite of your pitiful state, you immediately feel the warmth spread through you. “The Love Doctor always works, doesn’t he?”

“It’s my nine-to-five, as well as my five-to-nine,” Hyunjin jokes, chuckling. “So, you’re a UCLA alum? You didn’t strike me as the sort, I didn’t think.”

You scoff playfully. “Absolutely not. Proud Case Western grad here. Where else would I get my inherent computer geek complex?”

Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle. “Then what brings you here?”

“My cousin.” You jerk your chin in the direction of Yeonjun, who’s currently trying to break up a fight between two men who seem to be arguing about something related to stocks. “He’s trying to fulfill his senior undergraduate community service requirement by volunteering at this thing. But this is barely community service— I think the UCLA Alumni Association just wanted some free labor.”

Hyunjin laughs at your shitty joke, and you nearly feel like your attitude just turns up at that sound, unfurling like petals when touched by sunshine. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Too kitsch.” You tilt your head towards the dizzying display of debauchery currently swarming your little bubble: most of the guests have separated into their own cliques by now, and the one closest to you has set up an uproarious gambling circle on their table. This is a bit much, even if for a swanky college reunion.

“Agreed.” Hyunjin stays quiet for a moment, and you watch him curiously, wondering what he’s thinking of. He relieves you a moment later. “Darling, I don’t want to intrude, but I just wanted to ask if everything’s okay?”

You hesitate to answer, because although you know he genuinely wants to check up on you, given the astronomically considerate person he is, you don’t want to burden him with your problems— especially if the problem is him. So you do what any sensible person would do and deflect. “It’s a long story. How about we check out the bar?”

You expect him to turn you down, but maybe you’re not the only one who needs a drink, because he accepts. “I feel like I’ll regret it, but alright.”

Hyunjin helps you up from where you sit, grabbing your purse for you and handing it to you as you stand, making your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. But you both make your way over to the open bar, snagging two seats at the very end of the counter on one side. 

The teariness made your intoxication a bit more discreet, so you’re openly able to ask for a beer without raising Hyunjin’s eyebrows. Hyunjin, on the other hand, orders a pink champagne on the rocks. He really is so sophisticated. After you both finish speaking with the bartender, he turns to you, placing his elbow on the counter and propping up his chin in his arm. The soft smile on his face fits perfectly as his eyes lock onto yours, and it feels… flirtatious. 

You’re suddenly transported into all of those times you were alone at a bar, men approaching you with a similar demeanor, but with very much different intentions. Therein, with Hyunjin, the aura of respect and boundaries still hangs in the air, so it doesn’t linger, no matter how much you wish it would stay. 

The bartender sets your choices in front of you, and you try to enjoy the drink, but the overwhelming bitterness of it just makes everything come crashing down. You sniffle, and then immediately hope that Hyunjin has not noticed that you are beginning to cry pathetically— again— into your mug of beer.

Hyunjin looks concerned, leaning forward as if to put his arm around you, but after a moment’s hesitation, he retracts his arm and instead, focuses on your face. "Y/N?"

Shit. You try to laugh it off as an extremely severe case of allergies, but even besides the fact that there's barely any pollen in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, you suck at acting. Too bad Hollywood is only a ten-minute commute from your apartment.

"I’m… I’m okay. I'm totally okay." You try to laugh it off, but instead, it sounds like a strange, very unattractive quack. The thick tears that begin to roll down your cheeks are not even necessary for Hyunjin to call you out. He is not buying any of it.

"Darling, please. Don’t lie to me.”

"Hyunjin, I'm fine! God!"

At this point, you're full on sobbing in the middle of the room, and people are shooting you weird looks. Hyunjin should leave. Being seen with a mess like you could taint his spotless, perfect image, and outside of his office, he has absolutely no obligation to you. Fuck, you don’t even know why you’re being such a crybaby— before Hyunjin, you could actually down booze without losing it on the spot, especially surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

But as if he couldn’t tug at you anymore, he doesn’t think this time to cross the miniscule space between you both and pull you into a tight hug. You feel like utter crap, and it’s been so long since someone just held you, assuring you that everything is going to be fine. But you can’t help notice one insignificant detail: Hyunjin smells fucking amazing and expensive and elegant— perhaps Chanel or Tom Ford? And in that glorious suit too, he’s like the real-life, less embarrassing embodiment of the mafia overlords that dominated your questionable high school fanfiction phase. Fuck. This isn’t helping the situation.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, rubs soothing circles on your back, definitely unaware of your inappropriate intrusive thoughts. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay. Do you wanna get out of here?”

You blink up at him tearily, mind frazzled but remembering your engagement. “But, Yeonjun…”

And as if the devil whispers in his ears, your cousin manifests out of thin air, collapsing onto the empty stool next to you. “My dear cuz, smack some sense into me if I ever volunteer again with— wait. Bro, are you crying?”

The shame piles up on you again, heating up your skin in a way that’s too obvious. But before you can muster up a lie, Hyunjin speaks for you, taking the mug away from your hands. “I think it’s best if Y/N gets some rest, she isn’t feeling too well.”

Yeonjun just stares dumbly at Hyunjin for a second, jaw hanging open a little, as it does for anyone when they are first in the presence of Hwang Hyunjin. “I, uh. Yeah. That’s good. You’re Hwang Hyunjin, right? Her dating coach?”

Even through your intoxication, you feel like you see something flicker in Hyunjin’s eyes, but as always, it doesn’t last. “Yes, it’s wonderful to meet you, Yeonjun. Y/N has spoken a lot about you.”

“Same to you.” Yeonjun snickers, before clearing his throat and turning serious. “Listen, man, I hate to ask you this. But can you please help her home? I can text you the address? I really can’t leave this stupid shindig until it’s over, but I don’t wanna leave her alone—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of her.” Hyunjin states firmly, motioning to the bartender to bring you a large class of water. The way he’s looking out for you brings up something hot, aroused in your stomach. 

Yeonjun nods, and to his credit, he really does look as apologetic as you can discern in your drunk haze. Hyunjin helps you finish your water, before buying a water bottle for you to sip from, as he slides his arm around your shoulders and helps you out of that terrible room. In most cases, when sober and thinking straight, you would be as rigid as a bar, humiliated and unsure of what to do with yourself. But you let yourself have this, just once, melting into his side and enjoying your misery more than you should.

Sometimes, Hyunjin really can be such a piece of shit. Like the time he promised Princess Diana extra cuddles before bedtime, but forgot because he had been working late at SeoulSpark on some overdue reports; he had felt like such a horrible father to his baby. Or the time he mentioned a Gucci product during an interview, inadvertently advertising for Versace’s biggest competitor; Donatella wouldn’t reply to his texts for nearly a week. But all of that seems tame in comparison to today.

You’ve had too much to drink and can’t stop crying, and here Hyunjin is, thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. In his defense, you look so adorable, with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, eyes drooping with drowsiness and lips pouted preciously. But it’s still highly inappropriate of Hyunjin to be thinking of you in such a way, so he shoves those treacherous thoughts into the back of his mind and focuses on staring at anything but you.

After a few swipes on the Uber app, your ride pulls up in front of the hotel in which Highlight is located inside. At this point, you’ve become pliant in Hyunjin’s arms, cuddling into his side and clutching at his waist. Hyunjin can barely breathe, and is vastly thankful for the distraction of the car's arrival.

He helps you into the backseat of the car, before getting in from the other side. The drive back to your place is quiet, save for the breezy orchestra music that the driver plays on the low and the soft sounds of your sniffling. Hyunjin clenches his jaw and stares out the window, trying to focus on the green highway signs whizzing by and not the fact that you’re barely centimeters away from him, humming sadly along to the radio. 

Twenty minutes pass, and suddenly, you’re both standing in front of your apartment building, an old but dreamy housing complex tucked away in one of the quieter sectors of the city. Hyunjin walks you up to your door, telling himself that he’ll leave as soon as you’re safe inside. He watches you sway on your feet a little while you take a few extra minutes to fumble with the door lock. Hyunjin wants you to go inside and slam the door in his face, bringing him back to his senses. Instead, you look over at him, a lilt to your voice.

“Wanna come inside?” You slightly slur over your words, giving him a small glance. It’s innocent enough that Hyunjin knows your motives are pure, even if a tiny part of him wishes they weren’t. 

He hesitates, the logical side of his mind screaming at him to politely refuse and bid you a goodnight. But then again, he hasn’t been very logical whenever it comes to you. He now promises himself that this is just a little post-party hangout. You can be friends, can’t you? And besides, you need someone to look after you. And friends look after each other, don’t they?

Hyunjin steps inside, instantly in awe of your apartment. The open floor concept allows him to explore the entire layout with his eyes, from the soft throw blanket lying on your very comfortable-looking couch to the bellowing linen curtains hanging over your windows. The mismatched furniture and nearly overflowing book cases are incredibly charming, the artful dissonance of your decor coming together in a harmony that just makes everything feel so cozy. 

In Hyunjin’s mind, your apartment is so quintessentially you, a feeling of home that his own place never quite felt like. Yes, he loves Oasis more than anything, but there’s this slightly pretentious air to it, this urge to keep it constantly pristine. It feeds into Hyunjin’s obsession over perfection, instead of being the one place where he can truly be himself. Here, however, Hyunjin feels comfortable, secure in his own skin, even when in reality, he probably looks ridiculously out of place in his over-the-top outfit.

“Hm,” you mumble, prompting Hyunjin to whirl around and rush forward to steady you when you lean a little too forward. “Do you wanna drink?”

Hyunjin frowns at you while you just giggle nonsensically. You’re nowhere near sober, but at the very least, at least you’re not distressed anymore. Hyunjin hates to see you upset; your face was made for smiling.

“Absolutely not. We have done enough drinking for today.” Hyunjin chides you sternly. “You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach, though.”

You prop yourself on one of the chairs at your dining table, giving him an anticipating look that Hyunjin takes as permission to rummage through your cupboards. After looking through the fridge as well, Hyunjin settles on cooking you his comfort grilled cheese recipe. He pours you a glass of water and gives you a little pat on your head when you obediently finish the entire thing and accept another.

You quietly watch Hyunjin while he putters around the kitchen; the sheer domesticity of it all makes him yearn for this to be a regular occurrence. He’d cook for you everyday, filling you to the brim with all of the affection you deserve. But that’s not going to happen, so he keeps his head down and concentrates. Hyunjin flips the sourdough bread on the griddle until it’s golden brown, spreading liberal amounts of butter on each side. And the pièce de résistance, he adds one-third white cheddar, one-third yellow cheddar, and one-third American cheese, his favorite combination of cheeses for a rainy day. 

“This is so yummy,” you declare after your first bite, eyes full of delight. “Here, have some. You’re such a good cook, Hyunnie.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know whether to be more shocked at the fact that you’re holding out your own sandwich for Hyunjin to try, or how you just called him such an endearing nickname. “I– it’s okay, darling. I’m not hungry.”

But you don’t accept it, because it looks like you’re just as stubborn even when inebriated. “You need to taste, or else I’ll be sad.”

You flash him a heartbroken set of puppy dog eyes that makes him melt and give in. He reaches across the rickety little table and tries to take the sandwich in his own hands, but you pull away slightly and hold it out to him expectantly. Oh. 

Hyunjin gingerly leans forward and lets you feed him a bite of the grilled cheese. He chews quickly, trying not to blush under the intensity of your gaze. Once he swallows, he watches you finish off the rest of the sandwich, satisfied with his compliance. When you’re done, you look up at him proudly, and he just can’t help but be endeared by you. 

Hyunjin clears the table and washes the dishes, wiping his hands on the fluffy towel hanging from the oven handle. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out to brush a few stray crumbs off of the corner of your mouth, trying not to revel in the sensation of how soft your lips are under his thumb.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a guileless smile while you bite down on an orange-colored candy from the small bowl on the counter. “Let’s do something fun, that party was so boring.”

Hyunjin lets you wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him to the living room and onto the couch. He huffs out a laugh as you clumsily fall onto the sofa, moving to get comfortable. “What are you thinking?”

You tap your chin dramatically, making a show of trying to decide what to do. “How about… karaoke?”

Hyunjin grins and takes the TV remote that you hand him, hopping onto YouTube and flipping through the list of lyrical videos. “Any preference for a song?”

You shake your head vigorously. “Surprise me.”

He settles on “Gone Away,” a ballad by one of his favorite underground rock bands. The slow notes of a love song float out through the speaker, the lovely voice of the lead singer, J.One, filling his ears. He nervously glances over at you, but you give him an encouraging nod, and Hyunjin lets himself go.

“Inside collapsed time, even my hopes for us to be together, no longer matter,” Hyunjin sings along to the lyrics, the song resonating within him more than he wishes it did. “My love, tangled up while looking for you, is gone, gone away, gone away.”

“I don’t think I can stop you from leaving anymore,” you join in softly, and Hyunjin looks over at you in surprise, but you’re staring straight ahead at the TV. He tamps down his nerves and gets through the rest of the song with you, both of you somehow harmonizing together in tune. At some point in the middle, the tears start pouring down his cheeks slowly, in the way he can never control. He just hopes that you don’t notice every time he reaches up to swipe at them, before inevitably fall.

The song doesn’t finish quick enough, and an advertisement begins to run on autoplay, but Hyunjin can’t bring himself to look at you again, terrified of the way his heart beats so deafeningly in his chest.

“Hyunjin.”

Serious, without a single hint of playfulness. Hyunjin clears his throat and lifts his head to see your indecipherable expression. He notices the traces of haziness in your eyes, but there’s undeniable determination written across your face. “Yes?”

“Don’t cry,” You nearly sob out, breath catching in your throat. “It doesn’t suit such a beautiful person to be filled with so much grief.”

Hyunjin covers up his astonishment at your words with denial, trying to push them off as an emotional reaction to the song. But you’ve just called him beautiful, and that cannot be covered up. “I’m sorry, that was a bit much.”

You swallow harshly, the dry sound of it audible. Maybe Hyunjin should excuse himself to bring you some water and escape this conversation. But— “You can never be too much. I want you, all the time. I think of you, all the time.”

This time, Hyunjin is effectively rendered gone. Frozen to the couch, time stopped and his train of rational thought put on hold. He reruns the sentence in his brain, trying to piece them together. You want him. You think of him? You want him? His confused, frantic contemplation is interrupted when you crawl over the couch and lift your palm to cup his jaw, so close that he can nearly feel the soft puff of your breathing against his face. Fuck, you’re still drunk.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you murmur. Hyunjin is sure he has died and gone to some otherworldly dimension— maybe heaven, or hell, depending on how the higher powers have judged his situation to be— when he feels your lips slot against his, reeling him in like a needle through thread. So what else can he do, but accept what you give him and circle his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer so you’re on his lap.

You taste like the mango candy you popped earlier, sweet with a hint of tanginess, and it’s driving Hyunjin absolute nuts. Your eyes flutter shut and so do Hyunjin’s, both of you melting into each other, diving into the dangerous waters that Hyunjin swore that he wouldn’t tread. But he can’t stop, he just can’t, not when you lick into his mouth with a passion to rival the one he’s felt for you since day one. 

“Hyunjin…” You whisper, a long, obscenely drawn-out syllable that’s reminiscent of the noises that Hyunjin imagined eliciting from you. That one sound snaps him out of it. You’re drunk, you’re drunk, and this means nothing. This means nothing to you, and he’s just been here, the unfortunate sap to receive your sweet, empty words just because he’s been here for you once. He doesn’t deserve any of it. You’re not going to remember any of it. You are so fucking drunk.

Before he knows it, he’s shoving you off, and with the way you heavily land on the cushion next to him, he wasn’t gentle at all, in his panic. You just stare at him with a half-dazed, half-dismayed look on your face that makes him cringe away. 

“I am so sorry,” Hyunjin croaks, grabbing his phone and scrambling to stand up. He will pull himself together, eventually, in time to see you for the next appointment. And then he will remind himself that he is a mere service to you, and nothing more. As it should be, and as it always was.

Hyunjin doesn’t even wait for your response before he’s running out the door and into the night.

You come to at around noon, groggily blinking a few times before the memories come flooding back in. You drinking yourself stupid at the bar. Hyunjin leading the way back home. Karaoke while relaxed on your shitty couch from Craig’s List. Kissing like in a movie before the atomic bomb dropped. You kissed Hyunjin. Your drunk, sentimental ass was lucid enough to remember your feelings, but not sober enough to remember to conceal them. You kissed Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin, and you have colossally fucked up. 

You scream about it for a good half hour, ripping at your hair and keeling over on the couch, dry heaving in a failed attempt to let out your guilt. It sticks. You’re mortified. Scared. Disgusted. How, how could you do that to him? Taking advantage of him when he was in your own home? You didn’t even get proper consent from him! You are such a damn asshole, and now, Hyunjin is probably never going to want to see you again. 

All you want to do is jump under your covers and cry yourself to a sleep that you’ll never have to wake up from. But you love Hyunjin too much to do that to him. You owe him an apology and the entire world, which you have no qualms about bringing to him if he asked you.

And that’s why you’re at SeoulSpark, ignoring the fear pulsing in your body as you push open the door, closing your eyes as the cool gust of the air conditioning washes over your skin. But the drop in temperature does nothing to tamp down the nerves boiling under your skin. 

All of the composure that you have carefully curated in the past few minutes shrivels up— charred to a crisp and punted out of Hyunjin’s ridiculously extravagant floor-to-ceiling windows— when you lay eyes on him. Because that’s the effect he’s always had on you, and you feel like an idiot for not already anticipating that familiar cyclone of emotions that hits you whenever he’s in vicinity. 

There he stands, gazing out at the view leisurely spread out at his feet, lax hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers like he has no worries at all. In the perfect world, you could have just an ounce of his self-command, of how assuredly he carries himself. You envy him almost as much as you want him. Almost. 

When he turns away from the glass at the sound of entrance, the sharp angle of his side profile is shadowed by the light pouring in from behind him, portraying him as some magnificent sort of Greek god. And he might as well be, with the way he has directed both torrents of lightning and spelled arrows through your heart. 

You just stand there awkwardly as he steps out of the sun and completely into your vision; you don’t trust that there will ever be a day when you are not so devastatingly floored by his beauty. The buttons of his shirt are haphazardly hooked in a way that seems not so careless, but more effortless, and you have to fight everything in yourself to not stare at the smooth expanse of skin revealed at the top. 

The moment Hyunjin recognizes the intruder of his office as you, his lips erupt into a smile that seems too genuine given the stunt you pulled just a few hours prior. If he carries any disgust towards you as a result of last night’s events, he doesn’t show it. Warmth pools in his eyes like honey, and you find yourself swimming in it, insatiable and begging for more of that lovely taste. You wish you knew how it would feel to have him look at you so sweetly while he harshly fucks into you, a complete juxtaposition to the adoration painting his expression.

“Hey,” you wave your hand lamely, and then immediately mentally punch yourself in the face; you really missed your calling as the awkward main character of a Disney original show. 

“Good morning, darling. I wasn’t expecting you today.” Hyunjin gestures towards the sofa and you hastily sit down on it, whereas Hyunjin elegantly settles himself across from you. 

“I know.” You avert your gaze, feeling the blush creeping up your neck and onto your face. “Last night was, uh, something.”

That’s one fucking way to put it.

Hyunjin lets out a surprised little chuckle, a sound so cute that you have to ponder ways to inconspicuously pinch your arm. “Well, I was talking about how you didn’t have an appointment. But I’m glad that you’re using the walk-in hours.”

“Yeah… so I thought we should maybe talk about what happened,” you stutter out, shifting under Hyunjin’s steady gaze. “I don’t even know where to begin though.”

Hyunjin hums encouragingly. “It’s okay. What do you want to tell me?”

You take a deep breath, thinking back to the previous night. “I’m sorry. I crossed so many lines yesterday and I was too drunk out of my mind to even tell. I must have made you feel so uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”

And you mean every word. You would rather hurtle yourself into the Grand Canyon than hurt Hyunjin, Hyunjin who has been so good to you even when you never deserved it, Hyunjin who you’re hopelessly and utterly in love with. Hyunjin, who you can never have.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything during that miniscule gap in which you pause, so you take it as a sign to keep going. You’d rather get it off your chest all in one go anyway, as you fear you may not be able to finish if you stop. “I get it if this changes things. If you don’t want to see me anymore.” 

You shut your eyes as soon as you finish speaking, too apprehensive to see his reaction. This is it. This is the part where he agrees and so very politely asks you to leave his office and never come back again. It’ll probably take Wonyoung all of five seconds to boot you out of Hyunjin’s Google calendar, and then Hyunjin will go back to charming the next poor sucker to walk into his office. Gosh, you want to continue being that poor sucker, as pathetic as it is.

“Did you mean any of it?”

Against every fiber of your being telling you not to, to stay in blissful ignorance, you pry your eyes open to see Hyunjin waiting with his arms folded. Something about the intensity of his gaze, coupled with the unexpected potency in his usually soft voice, makes you shift uneasily. 

“I know it was inappropriate. I’m sorry—”

Hyunjin cuts you off, shaking his head in exasperation. “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you mean what you said to me last night?”

You tilt your head down so that you get an eyeful of the plush rug spread under the sofa. Of course you meant everything. You might have been drunk, but the intoxication only brought out the deepest, most hidden parts of yourself; it gave you the courage to manifest what you want the most. But to admit anything to Hyunjin— again— when he clearly did not want any part in it would hurt even more, because this time, you didn’t have alcohol in you to numb the pain of rejection. 

“Why did you leave?”

For a moment, you think that Hyunjin will ignore your question and insist on you giving him a hard answer. Instead, he tentatively reaches his hand out and hooks his thumb and index finger under your chin, carefully angling your head up to meet your eyes. That familiar gentleness once again radiates from him, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from melting into it. In spite of how utterly miserable you feel right now, the telltale flutter of your heart betrays you. God, you want to be his. 

“I left because I didn’t know how much of it was real,” Hyunjin rasps. His words are hushed, but you feel the weight of them, soaked and dripping with both tenderness and hesitation. “I didn’t want you holding my heart when you couldn’t fully feel it in your hands.”

You exhale slowly, trying to ignore the false hope rising like bile in your throat. The way his eyes brighten whenever he sees you. The stolen glances you thought you were imagining all this time. Darling. It can’t be. “Hyunjin… what are you saying?” 

“Do you have feelings for me? Because I do.” Hyunjin purses his lips and slides his palm up to caress your cheek. “I have feelings for you, and I’m so tired of pretending that I don’t.”

“You what?” You search his eyes wildly for any sign of a joke, because you’re unwilling to believe that this is really, truly happening. All of your reasoning feels tightened by this nostalgic lavender haze, a dizzying sense of deja vu pulled from your thoughts. The ones in which you get to call Hyunjin yours. They cannot be real, not in this universe.

He nods bashfully, a pretty new color in his cheeks— a shade that both astounds and confounds you. The cherry lips that you’ve endlessly fantasized about shine red and swollen with how he has so anxiously bitten into them. Hyunjin’s eyes shine in the hazy glow of his sunset lamp, full of feeling and twinkling brighter than any high rise. You’ve never seen him like this, vulnerable and laid bare in front of you. You’ve always been the one to fall apart in front of him, and yet, here he is, surprising you once again. And that’s something that will never change, how he remains the warlock of your wildest dreams and unraveling sanity. 

“I haven’t been the same since we met.” Hyunjin murmurs, softly stroking the side of your face. “And- and after last night, I think I actually might be going crazy. Because maybe it’s not all in my head. Maybe you want me as much as I do. Do you?”

You shake your head, heart fluctuating with every emotion that has ever been registered in your mind. Exhilaration. Doubt. Fear. Devotion. You are so overwhelmingly in love with the man in front of you that it hurts, even when he stands in front of you with his heart in his hands. It hurts, because you know that no matter what, there’s no going back now. You know you can’t leave him alone now; you are completely and utterly his. 

“Hyunjin—”

“Y/N.” Hyunjin pleads, and all you can feel is disappointment at the address. Not darling. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Just please—”

“Hyunjin.” You cut him off harshly, and he freezes, his arms dropping back to his side. You immediately feel the magnitude of losing his touch on your skin, and it does nothing to tamp down the mix of frustration and arousal inside of you. “Hwang Hyunjin. You drive me absolutely insane.”

There’s a moment of charged silence, before his lips are on yours. When you were younger, you’d spend hours hunched over romance novels and rereading the parts when the leads finally kissed, their repressed emotions finally amalgamating in one stunning, golden moment. But nothing about kissing Hyunjin feels golden; it never did. 

No, it’s an ardent, burning red, a fire blooming in the hands that you use to yank him closer to you, a distance that will always feel unending whenever it’s him. It’s sin, pouring over hot coals and shimmering ore, enchanting yet raw. It’s so perfectly imperfect, wet and frantic, shameless and desperate. It’s rose vines creeping up crumbling brick and the roll of thunder in the middle of the night. It’s you and him and no inhibitions whatsoever, until… 

“Wait, wait, wait.” To your disappointment, Hyunjin pulls back. Even though he was the one who kissed you, you don’t fail to recognize the uncertainty written on his reddened lips. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to block out the nagging thoughts in which Hyunjin has already regretted you. Moving out of his hold, you give him space by backing away. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to make sure that you are one-hundred percent okay with this. Like, I drive you insane in a good way, right? Not a bad way? Just checking. Consent is key and all,” Hyunjin breathlessly, letting out a nervous giggle. It’s a display that is shockingly similar to how you act whenever you’re agitated, and you never expected it to be put on by Hyunjin, of all people. It’s… cute. 

You give him a small smile, letting your handbag carelessly slip off your shoulder and onto the rug. You take a tiny step towards him, wrapping your arms around Hyunjin’s slender waist and reveling in how Hyunjin’s breathing quickens, pulse jumping with your touch. Drawing him close to you, just until your lips are barely touching, you look up at him through your eyelashes, focusing on that gorgeous beauty mark under his eye. 

“Hyunjin, is the door locked?”

He just stares at you for a good moment, and you let him, enjoying the way his lips part at your husky tone. “No. I didn’t lock it.”

“Good.” You lift your hand and trace the outline of Hyunjin’s bottom lip with your finger, observing the way he shivers at your touch. “Pay attention, because I’m about to prove to you just how much I like you.”

A blush speckled across his features is all that is needed to induce that familiar urge in you, the one that makes you unreasonably aroused. You want to make him yours, to take care of him and demonstrate to him specifically how insane you are for him. You want to make his wildest dreams come alive, just like he has done for you.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter shut, a movement so delicate that it almost makes you cry. “Please… just touch me.”

Talking will come, eventually. Both of you will sit down tomorrow morning and establish what exactly this is, what you have done by that point— what you plan to do to Hyunjin now. You’ll find out what this is for Hyunjin— whether this is lust, a brazen act committed in the heat of the moment, or the complete opposite, what you’re too afraid to even think of. Your heart wishes for the latter to be true, for Hyunjin to want you not only as much as you want him, but in the same way as well. Maybe you can’t put it in words, what you feel for him, but you can show him your sincerity in other ways. It’s all you can imagine doing, after Hyunjin has currently rendered you with no other form of thought. Right now, it’s just you and him and a novel of proofs to be written on each other. 

And so you cup his cheek and draw his body closer to yours; this time, you move slowly, every action deliberate, exploring Hyunjin and his depths. Your lips touch his softly, a ghost of longing on skin. In turn, Hyunjin’s hands clutch at yours, silently asking you for more, and you indulge your prince, because there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

Hwang Hyunjin tastes like a sunrise, if dawn’s dainty fingertips blessing the sky with a brilliant, fiery spectrum of light could be encapsulated in that sense. Coffee ice cream, spearmint, unadulterated eroticism. Finally, you’ve found the end of your questions. You shut your eyes as Hyunjin slips his hands into your hair, pulling it out of its tight hold and deftly sliding the tiny pink elastic around his wrist. You mirror his actions, carding your fingers through his soft, silky strands and holding onto him as he deepens the kiss. Instinctively, almost, you part your lips, allowing for him to slip his tongue inside and have his own answers.

Hyunjin pulls back from you to look at you directly when he starts to run his trembling hands down over the curve of your hips, the way he regards you full of attention and lust. You are sure that the confidence that you might have projected earlier has diffused into something more unfocused, with the way you already feel so high off of Hyunjin. Taking control has always been something that has come to you easily, until Park Jisung subjugated that part of you. But you don’t mind it right now, Hyunjin taking all of you and turning you into a mess, because this is the very comfort that you’ve been craving for so long.

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin whispers, even though there’s no secret to be kept. He leans down so that his forehead touches your own, in a way that feels too intimate, but at the same time, it makes you want it and more. It’s a genuine question ringing with the slightest hint of hesitation, and yet, you can’t believe he has to ask you; you love him, even though you may not be able to say it, yet. 

“This. This is what you do to me.” You take Hyunjin’s hand into yours and lead it to the place between your legs that’s been begging for his touch since you first laid eyes on him, second to only your heart. Hyunjin’s eyes widen in surprise when you guide his hand under your skirt, pupils dilating in want when he realizes how drenched you are just for him. But his reaction is nothing compared to you, to how you suck in a sharp breath and try not to fall apart with just one touch.

That one sound is enough for his gaze to darken, before he’s gripping your hips like a vice and pushing you against his desk. You let out a small gasp at the roughness of the movement, and even more so at how Hyunjin is finally taking what has always belonged to him, and him only. In response, he captures your bottom lip with his teeth, nipping at you slightly, not enough to cause pain but just enough to have your back arching at the sting of it.

“Did that hurt?” Hyunjin asks you, a smirk painting his features as he drags his lips across your cupid bow ever-so-softly.

You try to hide your blush by rolling your eyes defiantly, fisting the collar of his shirt in your hands. “No, it didn’t.”

Hyunjin laughs as he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, before he’s moving to your neck, attentively peppering kisses along it just to garner more proof of the utter pleasure that has pervaded your senses— and he has barely even touched you yet.  

Your hands slide down to the bottom of his shirt and to tug at it, the desperation of the movement mirroring the pulse of your heart. Hyunjin lets you unhook the top few buttons before hastily tearing off the rest of it, the tiny silver knobs scattering across the floor. But you can’t think about the mess now, not when Hyunjin takes your hands in his and runs them down smooth, toned places of his torso. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, easily untying your blouse with just his right hand, something that shouldn’t be as attractive to you as it is. He pushes it off of your body, the material now a nuisance to the way he begins to explore every inch of skin his lips can find purchase on. 

You decide to help him out, unzipping your skirt to step out of it, kicking it away along with your heels to some forgotten corner of the office. Seeing no point in prolonging your mutual misery, you also reach behind your back and unhook your bra to free your breasts to him, shrugging it off with a smile as you meet Hyunjin’s eyes.

“Do you want to touch me?” You give him a teasing grin, loving the way he audibly gulps when taking in how you’re nearly bare, all for him. 

“I want to fucking ravish you.”

You tense with his words and how his gaze hardens with the challenge, trying to maintain your cocky front. “Let’s see how you do, Dr. Hwang.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t reply immediately, the corner of his lips just barely tipping up. His fingers find the band of your panties, hooking under to pull you forward to him as he guides you to sit on the desk. “I can literally smell how wet you are for me, you know.”

And you nearly come to his words, but he doesn’t give you the chance, hands coyly smoothing up your stomach before gripping your panties on either side and ripping them off your body. Before the lace has even touched the floor, his mouth is on your cunt, blazing hot and wet. 

You gasp, sucking in a shattering breath as his lips move against your pussy as if spelling out letters in the filthiest language known to man. He envelops your clit with his lips in a slight kiss before you feel his tongue delve out, adventuring between your folds and getting his first, full taste of you. Hyunjin moans as he dips into you, blessing your ears with the prettiest sound to grace them, and it seems as if eating you out pleases him just as much as it does for you, if not more.

Hyunjin pulls away momentarily to look at your center, hands wrapping around your thighs and encouraging them even farther apart. Trailing kisses along your shin, he lifts your right leg to place it comfortably on the desk, caging himself between your legs. The sight makes you clench and grasp onto his hair, bringing him right back into you. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out as he pressed his mouth against you once more, relentlessly starving and savouring the taste of you at the same time. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You moan, taking fistfuls of his soft, soft hair as he fulfills his sinful promises. You can’t think of any good comeback like you would prefer to do, but this position, while compromising, isn’t anything but ideal at this moment. The worlds have coiled in your throat, coming out as broken sobs, and you have effectively gone crazy for Hyunjin.

“So pretty,” he compliments, eyes drinking in your core before softening as they glance up at you. He slides a lone finger inside of you, and you immediately tighten around it, making him chuckle. “You like that? Like my mouth on your cunt? Like how I’m fucking you like this, so slow yet not enough?”

You just whimper in answer, but Hyunjin remains unbothered by your lack of coherent response. “You taste fucking heavenly, by the way.”

And then he pulls his hand away harshly, leaving a stinging slap directly on your aching pussy, immediately rubbing your clit after to lessen the harshness of it. 

“Oh my God—”

He hooks two of fingers inside of you this time, thrusting in and walking the tips of them along your g-spot, making your head go hazy with pleasure. Your breathing hitches as a pressure starts to build in your lower stomach, your walls shamelessly sucking at Hyunjin’s fingers. 

“Mm, you’re going to drench me, aren’t you? You talk up a big storm, but you’re dripping down my hand already.”

Hyunjin’s talk is almost as dangerous as his touch, and he knows it, with how he grins knowingly at you while he so sweetly puts you in your place. He attaches his mouth to your clit, sucks deftly, and moves his entire arm against that one beautiful place, making your legs give out beneath you. 

“Hyunjin, please,” you sob, amazed with how you were even able to form that sorry excuse for a sentence. “I need—”

“Need what?” Hyunjin mocks you, knowing exactly what you want, but he takes his time, playing with you and drawing out this sublime form of torture on your body. “Can’t wait for me to fill you up, yes? So greedy.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks. Measured and polite when fully clothed, but uninhibited and dirty behind closed doors. Your spine straightens as he starts to pump you so hard that you begin to see stars, or maybe just the lights from the buildings outside. You can’t be sure. You begin to arch your back, trying to lessen the intensity of his movements, but he wraps his arm around your hips to hold you down.

He flicks your clit mercilessly, his tongue winding you close to your climax. You mewl his name softly, rolling your hips up towards his face and on his fingers, clenching impossibly tight around him, but he only responds by fucking you harder. Faster. 

You can feel your orgasm approaching in addition to his heightened attention in your blissful facial expressions, watching the way your brows turn up in the middle. 

“Close, aren’t you?” He murmurs against your clit, and you concentrate on his voice, the sole thing you can comprehend past the obliterating pleasure you’re suspended in. You swear he smiles, before he pulls away from you. 

You cry out pathetically at the loss of contact, feeling that tsunami of ecstasy fail to crest and eventually fade back into the shallows, leaving just an unbearable ripple of disturbance behind. You can feel the tears form in your eyes at your interrupted orgasm that was so cruelly taken from you, and you narrow your gaze at Hyunjin. 

“And you’re such a brat, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Hyunjin responds cheekily, tracing his middle finger slightly against your folds, and you have to grind your teeth to keep from shuddering. “I want you to come on my cock instead.”

You’ve had enough of his games. This is something that you started, and you completely intend to finish it, even if it means not playing by Hyunjin’s twisted rules and making your own board. You dig your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulders, feeling him wince under your touch, and push him back roughly. He collapses onto the couch, looking up at you in wide-eyed surprise. 

“Did you have fun, Hyunjin? I hope you did.” It’s your turn to smirk down at him, all of the explicit thoughts of what you would love to do to him running through your head. “Because we’re going to be doing things my way now.”

Before he can even muster up a retort, you are already straddling him, shifting back to unzip his trousers and shove them down his legs, while he just obediently lifts up his hips to help. All in one go, you get both his pants and boxers off, freeing his length. And he really is so pretty— all of him, down to his cock that’s perfectly hardened for you to use. 

Hyunjin shivers as you experimentally palm his cock, testing how sensitive he is, and you’re pleased with what you discover. “What are you going to do to me?” 

“What do you want me to do to you?” You question him right back, pretending to actually listen to him. Hyunjin takes the bait, relief and desire evident in his features.

“I want you to fuck me with that sweet little pussy,” he responds, the urgency filling his throat making you smile.

“I see.” 

You shrug nonchalantly, gripping him and enjoying the way he gets even harder in your hands. Slowly, you begin to pump him, spitting into your palm and spreading it down his length for better friction. It works, with the way he curses under his breath and looks at you pleadingly. 

“Darling, stop… stop doing that,” he pleads, eyes involuntarily rolling back as you lean forward, pressing your tits together and sliding his dick between them teasingly. 

You cock your head to the side and let your hair fall slightly over your eyes, smiling innocently at him. “Stop doing what, baby?”

“Stop fucking teasing me!” He gasps out, watching you lift yourself just barely onto his cock, holding him at the base and rubbing his tip between your slick folds. Both of you let out soft sighs at the sensation of him nudging your entrance, but you still don’t relent. 

“I don’t know… I kinda like the position we’re in. Think I could get myself off just watching you like this,” you say, lightly circling your hips as you grind your clit on his cock. “Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for months,” he whines— in any other situation, you’d laugh at how adorable he is if you weren’t so damn turned on right now. He places his arms around your waist, squeezing lightly. “I have to have you.”

You take Hyunjin’s hands and bring them up to rest over your breasts, keeping eye contact with him. As if a trying to placate you by seduction, he traces his fingers over your nipples, sending a jolt through your body; he need not know that you have been wrapped around his finger ever since he pushed you against that desk, and that you’re this close to surrendering to his pleas. You need him.

“Say ‘please’,” you giggle, your cocky façade cracking. After all, you’re endlessly weak for him. 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but obliges you anyway. “Please, fuck me.”

You want to have one last word with his attitude, but then his palm cracks hard against your thigh, and your legs give up. Your hips sink fully down onto his lap, and you both cry out at the feeling of being sated in the best possible way. Hyunjin is so deep inside you that you feel like you can barely breathe; yet, your chest rises and falls rapidly, as Hyunjin anchors his hands on your ass, assisting you in riding him.

Hyunjin tilts his head back, the veins along the graceful arch of his neck prominent as your walls pulse around him. Meanwhile, you’re practically shaking at how full he makes you feel, pressed up so deliciously inside of you. You’ll lose your mind if it means you can’t have him like this in every moment for the rest of your life, but it’s an unfortunate truth you’ll have to confront later. For now, you know he’s going to make an absolute mess of you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Use me, take all of what you want from me.” Hyunjin just whispers, guiding the roll of your hips while staring up at you in a way you can’t believe is reserved just for you. Enamored, raptured, and completely captivated. It’s so similar to the way you know you always look at him, that you nearly want to cry at the sight.

You’re breathless, gazing down at the man you love through hazy eyes. Hyunjin always looks beautiful no matter what, but right now, he’s simply breathtaking, with how his hair is so artfully mussed, and how his cheeks are tinged with the blush of pleasure. He’s especially exquisite, knowing that he’s like this just for you.

“F-feel so good, Hyunjin,” you manage, both of you fucking each other at this point— you bouncing on top of him while he fucks into from below with equal energy.

Hyunjin smirks, control coming back to him as you give it up. He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you both to rub slow, firm circles on your clit. “Fuck, are you going to come already?” 

In spite of yourself, you shoot him a look that isn’t nearly as sharp as you intended it to be. “You already got me halfway there.”

“Definitely more than halfway— eighty-percent’s more accurate,” Hyunjin responds with haphazardly feigned indignance, before shaking his head and kissing you. He bows his head down to encase your nipple with his lips, gently sucking at the bud while his hand trails over across your chest to grasp and squeeze at your other breast, eliciting a strangled moan from you. “It’s that nice, right? I know, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. Shattering, fierce, red-hot. You can’t handle the way he’s looking at you, touching you, talking to you. Your toes are numb from how harshly they curl, and your fingers sting from how you dragged them down Hyunjin’s back, hopefully leaving marks for him to smile at later.

“Hyun—” You can’t finish even calling out his name, the attempt fading into something nonsensical. Your eyes water from the intensity of your climax, before nestling into his neck.

But he pulls away to look you in the eye when you come, whimpering hopelessly. “That’s it, let go for me, darling.”

Your vision blurs as your orgasm finally crashes into you, overwhelming and so earth-shatteringly beautiful. Hyunjin’s voice soothes you as he guides you through your high, whispering hushed praises against your skin and doing dangerous things to your heart. A wave of unmatchable euphoria washes over you, but it never passes, like his body is an expert in prolonging the pleasure so intricately. You cannot believe that Hyunjin is real, with the way each time he thrusts into you tips you closer and closer into a never-ending free fall into absolute ecstasy. 

With a soft, drawn out sigh, you finally come, and Hyunjin swears under his breath as you clench around him, your pussy gripping his cock so hard that it almost draws the climax from his body. You find a single ounce of strength in the aftermath, wrapping your arm around Hyunjin’s neck and turning his chin to make him look at you.

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin,” you say, lips quivering against his.

He groans into your mouth, kissing you deeply. “Where, baby? Tell me where.”

“Inside of me.”

Hyunjin throws his head back, moaning desperately before capturing your mouth in a messy kiss. When he breaks away, a string of saliva connects your lips, and it feels so treacherously erotic. Hyunjin comes while calling your name over and over again, pressing your ass down on his lap as his thrusts become shallower, and more erratic. He rolls his hips a final time, pumping his come as deep as he can into you. And then he slumps against you, panting heavily as he gently lays you back down on the couch to fit you comfortably under the crook of his arm.

You hold each other just like that for a long time, hands clasped together while simply existing in the universe that feels like it is all your own. Hyunjin sighs, kissing you deeply in a way that makes your heart flip. He then pulls back to look down and inspect you, both concern and care written deep in his expression. 

“Are you okay, darling? Was that too much?”

You give him a fucked-out grin, cupping his beautiful face with your palms and reveling in how warm his skin is. “No. That was perfect. You are perfect.”

“I… I’m glad.” Hyunjin blushes and looks away like he’s suddenly tongue-tied, as if he wasn’t moaning the dirtiest things into your mouth just minutes earlier. “I don’t even have the words to describe how I feel about you. You’re… everything, and I won’t ever be able to convey that to you completely.”

Something tells you that he isn’t lying, that he means every word, that this isn’t just some kind of lust-filled one-night stand that’ll merit those awkward, unwanted conversations in the future. Maybe it’s the earnesty in his voice, the pure devotion in his eyes, or maybe, you’ll allow this for yourself, just once. You’ll let yourself be happy, let yourself fall and be caught in his arms. 

“I feel the same way,” you say, feeling the tears of something bittersweet form. “You’re gorgeous, Hyunjin. You know that? I just need you to know that.”

Hyunjin wipes the fresh dampness on your cheeks away with his lips, placing a kiss on your forehead when he’s finished. “We have so much time for you to tell me. We’ll talk tomorrow, baby, I promise. Just rest, for now.”

You sniffle, swiping the backs of your hands over your eyes. “I just wish I was completely sober for our first kiss. I remember it perfectly, but it just had to happen when I was a drunk mess.”

He shakes his head, blinking at you like you make no sense to him. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“Hyunjin,” you start, heart aching and wistful for his thoughts. It seems like you would want to know everything going on in his mind, but perhaps, the challenge of not knowing and being vulnerable to the mystery, that’s what makes it truly so special.

“I wouldn’t change our first kiss for anything. You were so cute, I should have taken a picture.” Hyunjin smiles down at you fondly, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger. “But if you really want, we can say our first kiss was today.”

You give him a doubtful but adoring look. “That wouldn’t be real.”

Hyunjin shrugs carelessly, nothing but adoration in his tone. “No one has to know except for us. Our lives. Our rules. Our secret. Don’t you trust me?”

Our. You can’t help but feel giddy at that word, the very one that joins you two in the harmony that you’ve yearned for so long. 

“Always.”

Long after the sun has dipped far below the horizon, after every other SeoulSpark employee has gone home for the day, you and Hyunjin lie together on his sofa in a tangle of sated exhaustion. The many hours of finally acting on long pent-up desires have rightfully ended with you drawn close against his chest as you both silently gaze out at the twinkling cityscape. 

For the years that he has been settled in this office, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge of sadness whenever he looked out at the stretch of towering skyscrapers. After all, he spent all of his time helping others find love, but there he was, left with a great view that he would never be able to share. He told himself that he didn’t mind it, not when his dreams lay solely in working. He would be happy to be the one to bring love to others, if it was never meant to be his. And he repeated it to himself everyday like it was just another mundane step in his cherished daily routine, until he truly started to believe it. 

But how could any of that be true, when he can feel your heartbeat against his own? When the scent of your gardenia shampoo has so gracefully invaded all of his senses? When the moon so delicately traces every single one of your curves, bathing your smooth skin in a silver glow? How could he ever be meant to be alone, when the void in both his heart and arms have finally been filled?

It’s too soon to tell, and it scares the hell out of him to even think about it. But when you look up at him with those starry, radiant eyes, it all seems so worth it, so justified. You are simply the aurora to his night sky— you light him up beyond his own flimsy understanding. Therein lay the words that haven’t strayed from the tip of his tongue ever since he laid his eyes on you. The words he so fervently spelled earlier into your core, joining them with your essence. The words he’ll bite back for as long as he can because he doesn’t want you to leave.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE (& IMPORTANT WRITING UPDATE) Announcement: Jisungsdaydreamer™ has risen from the dead after, like, four months. I apologize, once again, for the terrible wait time. This was my longest gap in posting yet, because it took a while for me to make the adjustment to college. I'm trying to get back to regularly writing, but even when I don't respond/post on here for a while, I just want you to know that I'm still here, and I see you, and I appreciate you! Anyway, I hope you liked the turning point this chapter was (i.e. THEY FINALLY CONFESSED!!!). Cue the fireworks and doves and wedding music!! Also, I just want to mention Yeonjun being a UCLA student- he is sooo Los Angeles coded, and I could totally see him being one of the most popular students at a school like UCLA. And did anyone get my Jane the Virgin reference (hint: it has to do with the grilled cheese recipe)? I used to be obsessed with that show and I have re-watched to the point that I remember almost all of the dialogue... Another thing- for Hyunjin's outfit at the reunion party, I totally was going for what Jungkook was wearing in the 3D music video. I would actually die if Hyunjin dressed up like that IRL. If you know, you know! You can expect the next chapter to come in mid-to-late December, right after my finals (pray for me) finish. Right now, I anticipate finishing Anti-Romantic by the New Year, so I can move onto finishing my other WIPs. Ideally, I'd like to also make a dent on Love Playlist before 2023 is up, but I'm getting ahead of myself! Here's to Dr. Hwang and designer obsessions and being on that sigma grindset. For the next two weeks, I'll be crying over my textbooks in the library while blasting Rock-Star in my headphones. Here's to getting through what I believe is the worst time of year for students! Stay strong and 樂 on 🎸💫 -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna @writingkills @boomfrogg @tyongyuta @levislifeline @hyunzerolv @starlost-andfound @browniebearr @hanniemylovelyquokka @ardef38 @loveemmy08 @anyhow-everything @liillii @sweetpickledjins @insertsomethingaboutanimehere @kylielovesu @moon0fthenight

💕Special mention to @hyunsvngs. You're really cool, and it means a lot to me that you read this series too. I hope you like this chapter 💕

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NETWORK TAG @k-films

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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