mar

Even before crossing the door, you can hear the noise coming from inside the stadium.

With MLB season at the verge of starting, the team's training days have become longer, their passion stronger, and their presence a ton more palpable in the air than before. It's not so different from any other day from the past weeks, but it still requires a deep breath before coming in.

The first time you stepped foot in the stadium, you were mesmerized by the sheer amount of open space, the different rooms, and the large dining area with glass doors going into the field. But, even after so much time working inside those walls, sometimes it's still hard to grasp the concept of getting to spend your afternoons here, watching the players you used to see on TV and being a part of the little league kids' lives before they get big.

Some days are better than others, like any other job, and you might not have the most important job out there, but you've grown fond of the history happening in the stadium.

The glass door opens under the push of your hands, and you're welcomed by the music from the radio coming from the speakers, and of course, more noise. It shouldn't be bad for long though, because you checked on the schedule before coming in and saw the team's practice was cut short due to unforeseen circumstances—whatever that means.

You change in the employees locker-room, the last minutes before setting the previous barista free. For the next 8 hours you'll be serving cold smoothies to whoever is on the clock. With no practice, it will most likely be a boring and slow day. The dream.

"Hey! You look cheerful… ready to clock in?"

Minghao joins you as you sit and wait for the hour to start. You're not clocking in even a minute earlier.

"As ready as I can!" You respond with a clearly fake smile.

When you saw you were on the schedule with him, it was a relief. It's no restaurant during peak dining hours, but the stadium's diner can be an overwhelming place when an entire team of hungry and tired men sit down. A bad or good coworker can change the day drastically. Even a boring one.

"At least it'll be a slow day, huh?" You chat while he changes behind the curtain.

"Slow? Didn't you see?"

"See what? I thought the team's practice was done for today."

Just a few minutes before, you saw their uniforms walking towards the players' locker rooms. You thought you'll serve some of them who'll prefer to eat something before leaving and that's it.

"Yeah, the MLB team's practice is. But they just bumped up the senior little league's for today." He barely pays you attention as he ties his shoelaces.

The news makes your hands feel clammy, but you persist. "I thought they were starting next week."

Kids. Kids you can handle. Sure, this will affect the entirety of the day in a way you didn't think of beforehand, but it's just the kids. You've got to know them all pretty well after spending plenty of seasons serving them during breaks.

"Apparently some of them got injured so they want to start practicing the new plays ASAP."

"That's so unfortunate!"

You've been a close witness to how hard those kids train to be a part of Little League. Each year they come back with more hunger than before, and the new ones that keep joining work twice as hard to keep up.

"Don't act like you won't enjoy it."

"You think that way of me? Kids got hurt!"

"Oh, no!" Minghao dramatizes, "it sucks that coach Boo will spend double the time here!"

You focus on the last part of his mocking instead of giving in. "Double the time?"

"You really don't check your e-mails."

"Just tell me!" You roll your eyes and get up from your seat as the hour's about to start.

"MLB practice is moving to the spring training center for a while and Little League is getting both slots until they come back."

As much as you hate to admit it—and you will never do it out loud, getting extra time to stare at the Little League coach from afar isn't the worst thing in the world.

Prodigy pitcher turned one of the best coaches in the country, Boo Seungkwan is nothing if not an amazing sportsman to idolize and worship from your perfect spot just by the glass windows. It was your love for the sport that drew you into working at the stadium, and interacting with Seungkwan, at least fleetingly, that helped you stay.

As you and Minghao leave the locker room, the field outside starts getting filled with the Little League team. All ages from 13 to 16, the kids talk to their friends while arranging themselves in a circle to pay attention to their coach. When you focus your eyes, you can see one of the girls with a cast on her right arm, and another one with a medical boot around her right ankle.

"I guess it's not going to be a boring day after all," you try to drive the conversation with Minghao back. "The kids will be more hungry than ever."

"And you'll have a view while you're at it." Minghao follows your eyes into the field just as the coach walks out and calls the team's attention. Damn him.

"You better shut up before I—"

"You don't scare me!" Minghao interrupts, and gives you no time to yell back.

He goes out the glass door into the field to help with practice—they need as much help as they can get with the new schedule, while you have to stay back and replace the previous barista.

"You need to tell your work husband to respect me," you tell Soonyoung, who's standing behind the bar, witnessing the whole interaction with a smirk.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He avoids your eyes, grabbing his bag from under the counter, already ready to leave.

Soonyoung never uses the locker room. He probably doesn't know where exactly it is, even after months of working here. You've always thought it was smart of him, because he's always ready to leave the second his shift is over, but today, that excuse won't do.

"Next time, I'll punch him in the nose and you can nurse him back to health."

Even with his back turned to you and walking away, he manages to flip you off. What a great start of the day.

A few MLB team members hang out on the tables while you wipe the rest of them. It's just an excuse to be seen doing something instead of standing behind the bar looking bored. They eventually take off to their homes, leaving your work space empty once and for all.

You don't really mind having nothing to do for a while. Time may run faster when you have a list of chores to check, but watching baseball practice from afar as if it was your TV screen does a good job at it too.

The field outside, a reddish clay color with green grass on the sidelines, endures the stomping of about 12 kids running in big circles while the pitchers do balance exercises. Minghao's back is to you, surveilling the runners with a watch in his hand. You've been trying to get busy with any possible chore, so you don't know how many laps the kids ran already, but they look as tired as if they were on a marathon.

On the other side of the field, the 6 pitchers follow Coach Boo's instructions. They stand on one leg for minutes, then throw a ball to the kid in front of them, a safe 10 meters away. A pretty standard warming session.

Seungkwan gives all of them indications, helps them with the position of the arms and legs, even demonstrating by throwing a ball to Minghao and hitting him on the back.

With everything turning upside down for the day, you haven't registered the weirdly formal attire he's wearing. Usually, the coach wears the team's uniform, plus a baseball hat with his name on it. But today. Today Seungkwan forgo the orange jersey, opting for a black and white button up with loose sleeves that drift up his shoulders every time he demonstrates a throw.

What he didn't opt out of was the white pants, so clean and tight one would think they haven't been worn once. As Seungkwan notices his legs in the wrong position for the throw, he shifts and flexes his muscles before his right arm extends to its full length at an angle.

The blend of polyester and spandex of the lower part of the uniform stretch perfectly over his hips and thighs, leaving little to the imagination. You've never seen a man with such a prominent ass that only accentuates with a change of clothes. You shouldn't be eyeing him so shamelessly, but it's there on your line of sight, and you're only admiring the curves abruptly turning circular then blending into the flesh of his tights.

"Ahem!" A cough way too close to your form takes you out of your thoughts.

Slowly and with fear, you turn around, finding the two girls that can't play for the season staring at you as if they are about to burst out laughing.

"Oh, hi guys!" You straighten your posture with the best polite smile you can master. "Did you want to order something?"

One of the girls, who's name you're pretty sure is Wendy, giggles as she takes out her phone. The other, Alice, pretends to think for a second before deciding.

"Two strawberry smoothies," Alice smiles, but side-eyes her friend.

Right, that's their favorite. You remember that. You know every kids' favorite thing to order during their break.

For the first time in forever, you're grateful the blender makes so much noise when breaking up the ice. You don't know how you'd handle the awkward silence as the girls watch your every move.

Little devils. That's what you and your coworkers call them. Sure, they're sweet girls and play baseball like their lives depend on it. It's when they're bored on breaks that everything changes.

Week after week, they choose a victim to follow around and "learn about their true life," as they put it. You were caught smoking twice, once during your first month, the second time the exact moment after you saw a sliver of Seungkwan's bare back that time you passed by the locker-room. They also discovered Minghao's break-dance shoes two months ago when he left his locker open accidentally, and Soonyoung’s secret Twitter account he was tweeting from while holding the door for them.

It's dangerous, having those two with nothing to do for so much time. Damn Minghao and his task to help Seungkwan train the team. You'll be these girls' focus, and they already caught you in a moment of weakness.

"So, how are you guys feeling? It's a bummer what happened."

You try to play it off, serve them their smoothies and engage in easy small talk to make them forget about the 5 minutes prior. Maybe if you hold your phone to their faces while playing a Subway Surfers video it'll work.

"We learned not to play Baseball in the park without Coach Boo there," Wendy jokes.

His name makes them giggle in unison, and you pretend not to be affected by it as well.

"You got hurt together? Oh, guys, I'm so sorry!" Both girls sip on their smoothies while staring at you. They could be communicating their next torture tactics telepathically, for all you know. "Is there nothing you can do for the team? I'm sure they'll appreciate some cheerleaders."

"The doctors said we're supposed to be resting," it's Alice's turn to explain. "We promised we'll stay put on our visits to the stadium."

Gears start turning behind both girls' pairs of eyes, like warning sirens going off everywhere in the building. Victim searching seems to be done. You put yourself under their spotlight. You and the glass windows allowing you to see everything Seungkwan does outside.

The girls are lovely. Hearing their school's gossip and nodding along with them is fun during your breaks and during the dead times when they're all eating. Maybe, just maybe, you can get through a few days of their attention.

"What are you doing bothering our best server here?" The voice coming in from the field's door freezes you in place.

Seungkwan steps inside your holy peaceful space, disrupting the little control you had over your nervous system. Sweat stains stick the button-up against his chest in a delightful show of his muscles, panting as if he just ran inside, looking at you with that teasing look you half-hate.

"You give me too much credit for serving smoothies, coach."

"No, no, you keep me and the team happy like no one can."

"Just lucky with the blender, I guess." Scrubbing down said piece of plastic, you try to shrink your body down and contain the flushing he always erupts. "The girls were just telling me how much they love you."

"Were they?" Seungkwan asks with the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

"Yes, coach!" They reply together.

You nod with a knowing smile. As it's known those two are the troublemakers, their usual victims—but mostly Seungkwan, tend to tease them back. He even encouraged you and Minghao once, saying that it kept them on their toes.

"Don't think I won't be fooled by those angel faces you put on, I'll be making sure you guys stay resting."

You fetch the little peanut bowl instinctively, setting it on the bar where Seungkwan's seating without him asking for it. He chats with the girls for a second, snacking on what you lay in front of him. He talks so sweetly, so caring of his team that he works so hard for.

The rest of the team stay outside, all sitting on the freshly cut grass, drinking water out of their decorated bottles and laughing together.

Watching them so comfortable with one another, you still remember the first time Seungkwan showed up. You were so excited to see him in person, Boo Seungkwan, the legendary thrower turned coach. Any other starting coach would hate to get thrown to manage the little leagues, but not him. He came in every day with a smile on his face, remembered every worker's name, and worked his way up to get the trust of the most difficult age group: 13 year olds.

"Really? Are you willing to?" A voice asks, pulling you back to earth.

"W-what?" You find three pairs of eyes waiting for a response, two with matching devilish grins.

"We do need someone else to help the kids stretch," Seungkwan thinks out loud, eyeing the team outside.

Time. To. Panic. Helping the team stretch? You can barely touch your toes while standing, and doing the splits is a no-go. A retired woman of 70 years of age probably has a better physical aptitude than you. There's no way you can tell kids that play sports every day what to do!

Your heart races just thinking about it, having to spend time with Seungkwan as he witnesses the least athletic person to ever exist. Your hands grow hot, threatening to start sweating before you even utter a word back.

"Don't go pale! I'm kidding!" Seungkwan's warm chuckle breaches through your panic and into your heart, a very strange mix of emotions that result in a confused stare. "The girls were just complaining about how hot it is today and how you said you could bring out a cold drink cart to the field."

"I said that?" Your eyes fly to the girls by his side as they try to stop their giggles.

"It's okay if you're busy, you don't need to." His voice is soft, understanding, compared to the wicked girls.

At the back of your mind, you crave the safety of your post. The ease of waiting for tired members of each team to slump down in front of you without even asking for their favorite smoothie, because you already know their orders.

But, maybe… Just maybe, doing something different for once doesn't sound as bad. Under the sunlight, the kids' overwhelming screams can dissolve into noise in the background, it can add something to actually do now that the day has become more boring than usual. And is it so bad to want to feel your heart pumping a bit harder? Who needs drugs when you can get the adrenaline going by spending the afternoon with your workplace crush?

"No! Sure! Yeah!" You nod without making eye contact. "I don't mind at all!"

Off your sight, Seungkwan stands up and gets behind the bar counter. So hard. It's so hard not to look his way when you feel his bodily warmth brushing your arm.

"Good, I need your company out there," his voice reaches from your side, accompanying the fridge door unlocking as he takes a bottle of orange juice. "The team does, too."

You catch a glimpse of a wink fading from his face once you gather the guts to look at him. "Yeah, right, I'm sure they do."

"You can come by after individual skill drills are over!" Seungkwan smiles on his way out the door.

"We'll help you, miss Y/N," the girls, still sitting with barely contained giggles, announce in unison.

You grab their empty glasses, taking the chance to get closer to their faces so they can see the real meaning behind your polite smile. "Oh, then I'm definitely helping!"

The beverage cart shades you from the blinding sunlight outside, allowing you to see the practice as it evolves from skill drills eventually to a full on game.

Seungkwan and Minghao had set up a few different stations for the kids to train in groups of six. While Seungkwan focuses on the throwers and hitters, the coach's assistant with base running and Minghao on the fielders, you're left in charge of the hydrating station. Every five minutes, when they rotate the groups and change the exercises—a thought out way to keep them entertained, you hand each kid a cold bottle of water as they take some time to catch their breaths.

It's easier to give every kid the attention they deserve when split up in small groups, and you see Seungkwan taking his time making sure every one of them gets pointers to help get better. From the way every kid looks eager to receive his feedback, it's clear he's earned not only the kids' love, but also their respect.

"Isn't he so nice?" A voice says next to your cart.

Alice and Wendy sit on the benches, with matching sunglasses and team caps to shade their faces from the sun. They've been sitting there watching the practice and whispering to themselves for a while, but they haven't talked to anyone else, until now.

"Yeah, the previous coach barely gave us directions," Wendy replies, pointed.

"Remember when he sat and ate all of Drew's mom's cookies while we ran around?"

"Yeah, and they were for all of us!"

You try to ignore their conversation as best you can. As a new batch of kids rotate your way, the second to last group before the actual gaming practice begins, you bring out a few waters and orange juices from the cooler.

Not much further into the field, but enough that not one single ball has even come closer to your station, Seungkwan welcomes his new batch of kids. One by one, he lets them throw the ball his way, a few meters ahead, and then throws it back and lets them catch it. He's always with a kind smile on his face, doesn't matter if he gets hit in the chest, legs, or even his feet. Somehow, he notices what went wrong with every kid's throw and catch and helps correct it.

"What do you think, Y/N? About Coach Boo?"

Taking in account that the temperatures are already high, and that you're talking to two girls barely beginning their puberty, your face shouldn't be getting as warm as it is from a simple question.

"From what I've seen from your games and practices he seems to be a very good coach," you settle on answering. Simple, not revealing, and true.

"You see another side of him we don't," Alice prods further.

"I guess I do, and—sure he's really nice. "

But, do you? He never seemed different, always with a smile and a compliment to everyone. Though, maybe the few nights the whole staff went out for drinks does count as seeing him differently.

There was one time when you were so drunk, Seungkwan waited outside the bar until your Uber arrived to even order his own. You told him countless times that it wasn't necessary, and that he'd freeze on the sidewalk if you took his jacket. But he wouldn't listen.

"Are you friends?"

"I'm sure he's friends with the entire staff."

"But are you two friends?"

Your mouth opens to answer, but then another voice comes through, not really saving you. "Well, I hope she likes me enough!"

Immediately, the two girls giggle in unison, not bothering to hide what they're trying to do.

"I guess you could say I enjoy your company," you reply as unbothered as you can. He half smiles, and you counter, "sometimes."

Seungkwan chuckles as he always does, not bothering to hide the smirk that comes out every time you tease him. He turns around, grabs one of the cold juices from the icebox and tells the kids on your station something you can't quite hear.

"Hey!" You take the bottle away from him middle-sip. "Don't leave me without customers!"

"Their time was up!" You don't fight him when he takes it back. "I haven't seen that pretty smile all day! Is the sun killing you?"

You could blame the sun now. What other reason could you have for getting so blushed at a few words? "N-no, I'm fine inside this ice box."

"Sure? 'Cause I felt bad asking you out here to work under the sun."

"Please, you didn't force me."

If anyone was to blame, it'd never be him. Could be the girls scheming to make your life impossible. It could be you and your inability to take your eyes off the coach. It's not his fault his kindness enchanted you.

"Good, I think I'm enjoying you eyeing me working with the kids," he pauses for effect, and it works because air has trouble getting into your lungs. "We'd love more eyes on the practice to help the kids!"

"Oh—I,"

"Actually!" Alice speaks up after a while, "she was just telling us she never played baseball before!"

"What? No, guys, I definitely have," you lie through your teeth.

"It's okay miss Y/N, you don't have to be embarrassed in front of Coach Boo! He's the best teacher!" Wendy adds.

The two little devils grin at your wide open eyes. They really don't care to embarrass you in front of Seungkwan.

Maybe you haven't played baseball since that one time in high-school you tried every sport out there because you didn't want to end up in the running team—which you did. The time you've been working at the stadium must've done something. Before you landed your place behind the smoothie bar, you used to be called to do the jobs no one else wanted to: arranging the field for the practice games. You learned more about the field's and play's organization than you could've ever learned by just watching.

"I know how to play Baseball." You glare at Seungkwan for support, but it seems he caught on to your victim status for the day, and doesn't plan to help.

"Do you? Then show me." He's still wearing the pitcher's glove, which he uses to toss the baseball up without taking his eyes off you.

"I can't right now," you huff, "I mean—you're in the middle of practice! And I have kids to hydrate!"

"The kids are taking a bathroom break before we decide teams for the game." He extends his arm to make a show of the nearly empty field behind him.

For once, you realize there are no child-like screams on the background, no sneakers sliding against the sandy ground. That's what he said to the kids before, he was telling them to take a break. And you didn't notice until he pointed it out. Way to pay attention to your job!

You cross your arms. "Well, I haven't played in a long time." It's a stupid excuse, one Seungkwan sees through immediately.

"That's why I'm here, love."

Almost all alone on the field, except for the occasional sighting of Minghao bringing stuff for the game, you might as well be as red as the clay below you. Has it always been so red? Maybe it's the sun starting to hide behind the buildings. Or maybe it's that you're trying to pay attention to anything that isn't Seungkwan standing a few meters in front of you with smugness painting his face.

"I'm going to hurt you!" You shout his way.

You can't throw a ball. You're not the prodigy pitcher he was. Either the ball will fly out of the stadium because you can't manage the force, or hit him, or you'll throw it straight to the ground and embarrass yourself further.

"Just try it!" Seungkwan smiles in a way you haven't seen him ever, not even for the kids. "I've seen too much for you to be that bad that'll surprise me!"

He isn't wearing his coaching hat. That part of his uniform now sits on your head. So you can see where you throw, he said, but you doubt that'll help in any way.

"That's still too high of an expectation for me!" You can't hear him, but you know for sure he chuckles at your resistance.

Seungkwan doesn't move from his spot. He rolls his shoulders back, relaxing into a more comfortable position to catch whatever throw you're about to perform. You mirror his movements, trying to let go of the tension building up from being under his gaze.

You've seen countless practices, countless professional games, a number of coaches directing players and helping them out. Something should have stuck. Your body should be able to reproduce from memory.

A deep breath and a second where your anxiety-filled brain disconnects from your limbs is all you need to do a Twilight style throw. Left knee up. Elbows against your ribs. Your gloved left hand joins your right, holding the ball with much more force than necessary. You straighten your arm back, eyes focused on Seungkwan squatting to receive the throw.

And.

The ball flies from your hand. Straight into Seungkwan’s left thigh.

You knew where the ball would land as soon as you lost its grip. Seungkwan falls on the grassy side of the field, holding onto his, soon to be bruised, thigh as you run to him.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I told you I suck!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Seungkwan struggles to get the words out.

You broke his leg. Okay, you don't have that much strength, but you broke something. He's so in pain he can't breathe for God's sake! What a perfect afternoon with your workplace crush! Now Seungkwan will have a remainder on his leg to look at and remember how the least sporty person he knows attacked him.

You need a new job. How will you ever come back here after this? You had a 50/50 chance and managed to hit him on that leg!

It's fine. This place gave you tons of experience. Maybe you can apply to stadiums nearby. Soonyoung or Minghao can pretend to be your bosses and give excellent recommendations. This isn't the end of the world. You'll just have to say goodbye to the daily eye-candy.

A sweet sounding laughter takes you out of your doom thoughts.

"You're so worried!" Seungkwan stands up in a chuckle, leaving you dumbfounded, kneeling on the ground. "It didn't hit me that hard, I promise."

"But—you,"

"I'm okay!" To prove his point, Seungkwan stands on the one leg you hit and jumps a bunch of times, "see?"

You can't force down the smile he triggers, immediately helping you to feel better.

He stops and extends his hand down for you to take. At least cavalry isn't fully dead, right? You still don't know how to properly talk to him after this. Oh, how embarrassingly worried you just were, and in front of him of all people!

Seungkwan's fingers drape over yours as he pulls you up.

"I'm still sorry," you rush to apologize for one last time.

"I've had kids hit me harder," he teases. How can he be so charming even in these situations?

"I just thought—I didn't want to hurt you right there."

Your eyes dart down his body, losing focus once or twice where his clothes reveal a bit more skin than normal, and set just above his left knee, dangerously close to where the ball hit. Where you know, under the coaching uniform, surgery scars must cover a big patch of skin.

"Oh." Seungkwan follows your head down, finding the cause of your stress. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't completely healed. Especially coaching kids."

That logic, you can't argue.

"I hope you've had worse hits than that one here," you chuckle, one last try at a normal interaction. "Because if not then I won't be able to talk to you again."

"C'mon! It wasn't that bad." Usually, Seungkwan is one of the most trust-worthy men related to the sports world, but you still catch the devious tone. "Your form just needs work."

"I think it's more than that but—okay."

Your words get cut off by Seungkwan positioning himself behind you, his hands on your elbows, ready to be in teacher mode. He's not giving up on teaching just yet. And if he was any closer, he'd feel your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"You put too much force with your arm," he begins, his touch relaxing your tense muscles with care. "Your secret weapon is the wrist. It helps to throw exactly where you want to."

The trail of goosebumps his fingers leave behind in their way to your wrist is unavoidable. His hands are warm, a physical testament of his personality. This is normal for him, being close to whoever he's teaching. You've seen him helping people of all ages, always with thought and care. It isn't different with you, you're the one making it awkward.

You need to get it together.

"So, I need to aim better? Shocking news."

Seungkwan chuckles dangerously close to the back of your neck.

"Do it like this." His left hand ventures down until it finds your waist. He lightly pushes it forward, tilting your lower body to sideways while the throwing arm faces the front. "Throw it with your whole body."

"I tried that." You cringe at the motion you did earlier.

"You didn't do it wrong, you just need to focus on strength, not on moving."

It'd be easier to follow the instructions if your blood didn't boil in every place Seungkwan touches. He isn't doing anything out of the ordinary! It's just a teaching exercise, but here you had to come and get nervous at every little thing he does.

"It's your fault if I do it badly this time."

He chuckles again. You hope he thinks your rebuttals are funny and not a result of nervousness. If he notices, he doesn't show.

Seungkwan's right hand gets a hold of yours, lacing your fingers to grab the baseball together.

"And if it goes well? Do I get a prize?"

"If i throw well you mean?"

"Hmmm." His hum runs from the back of your neck all the way down to turn your legs into jelly. "What's your target?"

He has you facing nothing but air and glass windows you shouldn't really aim at. Is he expecting a real answer? Not hitting the ground would be enough. You couldn't possibly be expected to think properly in these circumstances.

"Forward?" Seungkwan laughs through his nose. You don't know if you want to look back and see his reaction or hide under a rock forever. "I don't know—that light pole over there. I don't want to break anything."

Something moves on the corner of your eye. "I have a better idea." Seungkwan's voice is filled with an undeniable mischief you can't decipher in time.

You move at his will, his arm molding against yours as you try to follow his line of sight.

Seungkwan lets go of the ball, pushing it forward in a straight line so clean you suspect he's more a machine than a man. Even if his muscles tensing due to the force of the throw demonstrate otherwise.

Almost instantly, you understand what happened.

The white and red ball hits the figure that moved earlier: Minghao. He's far ahead and you barely understand the string of curses leaving his mouth, but his insulted face is enough to get the gist.

"He's going to kill me!" Turning your back on your annoyed friend, you find Seungkwan no longer breathing down your neck, but laughing hysterically. "You did it on purpose! Now he's going to kill me!"

"Please, he loves you," he snickers, looking behind you. "He went inside already."

"He tolerates me, there's a difference. And there's only one person he loves here."

It takes less than a second for Seungkwan to register what you said. He doesn't even give you time to feel bad about airing out Minghao's business. "Oh, yeah," he nods.

You chuckle, still struggling to breathe. "They're so obvious!"

"I always catch Soonyoung watching him through the windows."

You freeze. "You can see inside?"

You figured, a long time ago, that the sun's reflection against the glass made it impossible for people to see inside the dining space from outside. Soonyoung works the same position as you. Shifts together with him or alone. If Seungkwan can see him working the bar, he can for sure see you too.

"I have to see what you're up to from time to time."

Right. He always checks up on the staff. He catches if we need anything or if we're free to help out on the field. It's his duty. Kind of.

"Well, we need to do something about those two because—"

"About who?" A small, high voice interrupts your deflection.

Behind you, Wendy runs after Alice, who's standing almost between you and Seungkwan, looking up as innocently as possible.

"You guys should be sitting down," Seungkwan reprimands with a smile.

"We were looking for Miss Y/N and saw her with you outside," Wendy adds.

The girls look at each other and giggle. Never in the history of the world has something been so obvious. If Seungkwan hadn't caught up to the fact that you were today's victim, he has to know by now.

"Why were you looking for me?" You find your voice after the initial shock.

"Nothing!" Both girls say in unison.

Another way to embarrass you, surely.

Your skin still tingles with the memory of Seungkwan's body behind yours, overpowering your every move by simply existing. You want to run away and scream the memory away. You want to be alone with him and feel his touch again.

If it wasn't for your embarrassingly obvious crush, you wouldn't be here in the first place. You'd be alone and bored behind the smoothie bar, looking out into the practice run and wishing you'd had the guts to do something.

"Do you kids want to be the referees for the practice game?"

"There's nothing in the kids' locker-room!" You scream at your phone stuck between your cheek and your shoulder.

You look under every bench and every open locker for anything that isn't supposed to be there. It's surprisingly clean after an afternoon of being used by the messiest age group of kids, even if the benches and plastic chairs were left anywhere but in their place.

"No yellow beanie?" Minghao asks on the other side of the line.

"I think I'd see a yellow anything here!"

The stadium is basically empty at this hour. The practice ran longer than usual, as the team needed to replace Alice and Wendy and, not only practice what a game without them would be like, but also come up with new plays when they realized the older ones only worked with them.

When, usually, then staff tends to have time to close properly, now you're left scrambling in the search for this beanie one of the kids is missing. Why couldn't he wait until the next practice? Beats you.

"I'll tell him to check his bag again," Minghao proposes.

Beside his voice, you hear him mumbling orders to the kids as they get out of the stadium and into the bus.

"We'll find it and take it to the lost & found. I'm sure he can survive until tomorrow without it."

With that, you take your quest as finished. The day is finally over. You can pick your things up from your locker, appreciate not being followed by two bored girls anymore, and not think about Seungkwan until the next day. Some things are easier than others.

"You heading to the lockers?" Minghao asks, almost smug.

He can't see you from the bar/dining space since you took a shortcut from the side of the field.

"Yeah… " Fabric ruffling on his side tells you what he means to say. "And you're leaving already, aren't you?"

"Privileges of working inside! I snuck my stuff to the bar while you were out on the field." You don't miss the teasing tone at the last words.

"Well, you're opening tomorrow and not me, so," you retort.

"Jealousy is a disease," he chuckles.

"One I don't have! Good night Hao!"

With the kids already on the bus taking them home, no one's around the premises, silence embracing you for the first time since stepping foot in the stadium.

A boring day turned into one of the longest in a long time. Practicing anything new, being plays, player arrangements or both in this case, always takes more time and energy than anything else, and it's your duty to stay until the last baseball team member leaves. That means, on days like these, making sure no kid is left behind (job done graciously by Minghao this time) and being the one to turn off the lights at whatever hour that that is completed is your job.

You've grown used to closing. The white led lights from outside illuminate your walk to the lockers, in a silence that is only interrupted by the sound of a bench being moved.

Damn Minghao. He must've forgotten a kid. Great.

You run in the direction of the sound, your phone ready in hand to call the parents and a cab to take you both home. Why would a kid be hiding in the staff rooms? Asking that would get you nowhere. It happens. You fix it.

"Your friends left already, let's get you home kid—"

The tired words halt their way out when you step into the locker-room.

"But you're still here," Seungkwan snickers at your blank face.

The floor. The locker-room floor is so interesting. Certainly more interesting than your shirtless co-worker standing too close and staring and smiling and not putting his shirt on.

"I thought—" you look behind you, at both sides of the room, everywhere but at him. "Everyone already left."

"Yeah, but Hao asked me to look for something a kid missed, so I stayed behind."

"Oh, yeah, I was looking for it too."

You dare to look up. At his face. With a lot of mental willpower. It's not better. Seungkwan smirks like he knows exactly what's going through your mind. Why isn't he putting the shirt on? It's right there in his hand.

"Are you clocking out?" He asks at your silence.

"Yeah, I—I'll let you change and be back after."

You really only need your bag. Waiting for him will only delay your escape home, but you fear if you spend a second longer repressing yourself with Seungkwan in the room, you'll explode.

He gives you no chance to head back to the door. "If you don't mind then I don't."

Do you mind? He's being so nice. He wants both of you to leave the workplace quickly after a hard day. And you… you're starting at his chest. Or it stares at you.

"I'll get my things."

Most times you've seen Seungkwan on the way out were him heading out of the locker-room as you were entering. If you even caught him. Your closing chores take so much time, you're left alone or with your closing mate, Minghao, most of the time.

That's why you didn't know, and you realize at the worst possible moment, that your locker sits exactly opposite to his.

It's okay. Just—unlock it, grab your bag, anything that could've fallen outside of it, and leave.

"You on the schedule tomorrow?"

With your back to him, Seungkwan can't see the series of thinking expressions morphing your face, though you can hear the ruffle of fabric that indicates he's decent enough for you not to want the earth to swallow you whole.

"Same time as today," you answer, pretending to arrange the stuff in your bag.

"Me too." His voice sounds much closer than before, his words breathing down your neck.

You try to keep your tone casual, your stance calm, keep your hand from trembling looking for your phone. You really do. "Are you not doing longer practices?"

The space between the walls is already narrow enough, and Seungkwan rounded around the bench in the middle of it to stand on your side. He invaded your space happily. At least he's clothed.

"Next week," he simply replies, and his smirk bleeds through the words.

You immediately regret turning around in a weak moment of curiosity.

He's so close your knees almost touch. You can't breathe, feeling like if your chest rises, it'll bump against his. Whatever he's doing, for whatever reasons, it's messing with every system in your body.

"Don't stretch it out too much, please, I don't want to go home at the crack of dawn."

"It's not that late," he chuckles. "I do whatever it takes."

He doesn't move, just stares at you as your brain struggles to think a single word.

Why is he doing this? Why is he being like this? You can take normal flirty banter on the daily—hell, he does it with everyone. But he probably isn't pinning every co-worker against their locker and smirking like he knows all their secrets.

"Are you leaving?" Is the only thing that comes out of you.

"Are you?" He counterattacks.

You could.

You could push him away and sprint out of there. You could curse him out and make him back off you. You could do so many things, but, deep down, that workplace crush is fighting back, bubbling over and away from the box you tuck it into every day.

When you don't answer, his smirk grows.

Maybe you're hallucinating. Maybe the thickening air in the room got to your brain and you're dreaming dangerously vividly, because, slowly, Seungkwan's face gets closer and closer, until your eyes can't focus on it anymore.

His breath tickles your cheek, the side of his mouth grazing yours just barely as he merges into your space. In fear of it all dissipating at the faintest move, you stop breathing.

Something moves on the side Seungkwan has chosen to torture you in. Something… vibrating?

Your phone comes into view in his hold as he hands it to you, smirk never fading.

"You should probably answer."

Has it been ringing this whole time? A quick glance at your notifications confirms your suspicions. You have at least 10 texts from Minghao, the latest reading: enjoy your night. You put it back before you blush again.

If Seungkwan stepped away, you'd tell him exactly what the text means, but he doesn't. And now you're sure you don't want him to.

Something takes over you. You sunbathed too close to the sun and the solar radiation has given you a new dose of long-lasting adrenaline. Or the thought that this fleeting moment will be over before you can do something real takes over.

He hasn't stepped away, his awaiting gaze and mouth slightly agape just a breath away from yours, and you take it as a sign.

You grab his face before he has the chance to turn around and lock lips with him. Desperate and hungry for his taste.

Seungkwan reciprocates immediately, as if he's been ready since you stepped into the room. He follows your mouth and takes everything you have to give, hands drifting everywhere he can touch and grab. If this was his plan all along, then you're happy to have fallen into his trap.

Your hands sneak inside the shirt you were so desperately waiting for him to put on, now ready to take off again.

Not even a second is wasted after he's shirtless once more. Seungkwan pins you against a closed, innocent locker, with a hand on the back of your head to shield you from the metal. His other hand shoves your hips together, opening your legs up to make space for him. You can feel every chest muscle you've memorized that hid under his uniform, pressing and flexing against you.

You sigh on his lips at the feeling of him getting hard against your inner thigh. His tongue dances with yours at the chance, taking control of the pace and giving you no choice but to melt against him.

Everything is so overwhelmingly him. His firm arms from years of training tensing under your touch, the taste of orange juice he drank earlier still present, his hair a mess due to the uniform and the wind, and now your fingers going through it.

His sure hands no longer guide your moves like out on the field, but rather sneak under the hem of your shorts to touch even more of you.

"Fuck," Seungkwan grunts without leaving space to breathe. "Is this okay?"

Crossing the line? His tongue leaving no space unknown in your mouth? His hands grabbing your ass? His hard length pressing against your core?

"More than okay," you breathe out and feel him smile against your lips.

He grabs the end of your shirt, already pushed so far up you might as well be without it. "Can I—" Your arms are up and the piece of clothing flies away before he finishes the question.

Seungkwan mutters a string of curses before he's on you again. The steady pace of his lips already on the edge of losing control. He kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving no patch of skin untouched.

Chests flushed together, the merciless warmth of the room is incomparable to the boiling heat growing at your center. Seungkwan's back glistens with sweat as well as you rake your fingers down to find his coaching pants.

“Take these off,” you demand.

He follows with a chuckle that makes your insides mush. You stare shamelessly down his bare legs, his boxers restraining his erection, his thighs that were just pressing you against the locker, the surgery scars above his knee and his feet facing forward. 

A click of his tongue shoots your head back up. “You too,” he orders, shaking his head.

A wave of arousal swims down your spine at the tone of his voice. You follow immediately.

The pile of clothes stares from the side as Seungkwan traps you again. You chase after his lips —now that you tasted him, you never want to be not kissing him— but he moves his head back.

Your skin is hot against Seungkwan’s touch. His hands caress your hips and thighs as he stares in awe down your body.

“This is a dream,” his low voice is music to your ears.

You wrap a leg around his waist, inviting him to feel your pulsing core. Only because of him.

You can’t take it anymore. Months of pining finally erupted in one single day, and you’ll be damned if you don’t keep taking your chances, if you don’t go as far as he’ll let you.

“I want you,” you half-moan in his ear.

The deep breath he takes pushes you both closer as one hand travels over your stomach, teasing you over your panties before tugging them aside.

“Fuck—me too,” He hides on the crook of your neck, licking and moaning on your sensitive skin as his fingers work on your wet folds.

You grind against him, his hand and hips impossibly closer.

This is real, you think as Seungkwan opens you up easily. After his first touch, you were done for. Your walls welcome his thick digits warmly. His pace is steady, slow, so you get used to having him.

He lays open mouthed kisses on your throat. You moan into the air, letting him kiss you and thrust into you as he pleases. But your anticipation stumbles over his carefulness and patience. Every touch of his follows one single goal: having you come undone in his arms. He doesn't know how easy he has it.

“Tell me you have a condom in that big bag of yours.”

He halts his movements, your walls pulsing so hard around his fingers that they're pushed further inside.

“This—I,” your voice echoes in the room. “I need you, Kwannie.”

It's hard to believe you can utter intelligible words with how much Seungkwan's making you feel by just a few touches. There's more you want him to know, but your mind's a haze of kisses and touches and Seungkwan.

Slowly, Seungkwan plunges his fingers out of you, slick with arousal, and filthily cleans them up with his tongue. He gives you a peck before reluctantly stepping away, turning his back on your awed self. Now, the row lockers in front of yours feels kilometers away. 

Your panties uncomfortably stick to your skin, and you take them off. The ghost of his touch stays with you, your thighs, your back, your lips, as he rummages through his things.

You can't avoid looking at his ass when he slips his boxers down. You hear a packet being teared open, and Seungkwan finds his way back between your legs.

Seungkwan bites back a moan as you wrap your hand around his erection. You slide up and down his shaft, followed by deep sighs against the side of your neck Seungkwan can't stop kissing. You never want him to.

“I—” he starts, breathing heavily. “I wanted this for so long.”

Hearing him voice your thoughts as his own, you hide from his gaze, laying your head on his shoulder. There's so little space between your bodies, you work on his length dangerously close to your dripping core.

“Me too,” you gasp.

And even if it's a fleeting moment. Even if you don't know if this will happen again, if it doesn't begin to explain how much he makes you feel, a weight was put off your shoulders.

Seungkwan takes over your hand, dragging his covered length along your wet fold. You sigh on his clavicle.

“Please,” you whisper.

The heat pooling where his core meets yours would be embarrassing if Seungkwan wasn't as desperate to feel you as you are him.

The head of his cock teases your opening and elicits drawn-out moans from both of you. The pressure has you sucking in a breath, anticipation building up the courage to wrap a leg around his waist and connecting your hips until he's all the way in.

“Fuck,” he grunts in your ear. It might be becoming your favorite word.

“I know.”

For a moment, silence envelops you as you take him in, only broken by shagged breaths. You look into Seungkwan’s eyes, trying to burn the memory into your mind.

How many nights have you wondered if you were wasting your time? A crush is just that, a crush, you'd repeat like a mantra, but it never worked. You'd clock in the next day and, as soon as your eyes lay on Seungkwan’s friendly grin, you'd be back at square one.

You smile at the memory and feel his lips against yours in return. His tongue runs over your lower lip, deepening the kiss as he begins thrusting. You both kiss like that, smiling like idiots naked in the locker-room.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning into his mouth as he stretches your walls to his shape.

The slow drag of his cock makes you delirious. Your back slams against the lockers as he snaps his full length inside. A curse leaves your mouth before he does it again, and again and again until your body shivers.

Seungkwan grabs your thigh on his hip and holds you tight. Each slam of his hips pushes you closer to the edge, and he doesn’t show any signs of stopping drilling his hips into you. 

Your teeth find his neck, biting and kissing to muffle your sounds. He hits deeper with every thrust, and you can only take it and moan against him, gripping him to not lose balance. Your limbs cage his body against yours, and he has trouble keeping up with his pace, but that doesn't stop him from hitting every spot needed to make you see stars.

The wall of lockers shakes with each thrust, but neither of you care. With your leg wrapped around his waist and your nails digging into his back, the only thing in your mind is the knot on your lower stomach threatening to explode.

You've given up on kissing, your faces so close you moan into each other's mouths. Any sound you make, he replicates, and each time, your lips graze his.

Seungkwan holds you against the wall, steadying your trembling body as you grind your hips in search of your orgasm. He hardens his pace, chasing his own. Your insides crave every thrust, each getting you closer and closer.

Without warning, your orgasm explodes in burning pieces across your body. Your legs tremble around Seungkwan’s relentless hips, making you see stars in the thick air in the locker-room.

Your body falls limp against him. He holds you up effortlessly, prolonging your high. But before he reaches his own, he stops his hips and holds both your legs tight around him. You stop feeling the wall of lockers digging into your back, your feet up in the air as he walks back.

Seungkwan sits down on the bench. With you on top, the movement thrusts his hard further inside you.

With the most strength you can gather, you plop your knees by both sides of his hips and start grinding on him. Your tired walls hug him tightly, matching your slow pace. He doesn’t care. His hands roam your thighs and back with low grunts. You feel his length twitching inside you, and quickly, he’s cumming into the condom with a groan.

His hand on your jaw guides you to him, molding your lips together in a tender kiss, opposite to everything that just happened. You giggle into the kiss at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Seungkwan asks, matching your smile.

He remains touching you everywhere he can. He’s still inside you, but his fingers feeling your skin lighting up because of him feels more intimate.

“Nothing,” you giggle again. “It’s just—we couldn’t go somewhere else?”

He nods, fighting back a chuckle. “We jumped right at it, didn't we?”

You kiss him again, wrapping your arms around his neck and flushing your chests together. The action makes his softening cock thrust lightly into you. You both moan at the feeling.

“We should—” he hesitates. “Do you want to come to my place?”

“You want another round already?” You joke, but feel his length twitch at the idea.

“Have dinner with me.” He locks eyes with you, the most serious you've ever seen him, even more than when the team doesn't follow his instructions.

“I will have dinner with you, coach Boo Seungkwan.”

At your response, Seungkwan hugs you and peppers kisses across your face. You just giggle and accept it.

When you separate after who knows how long, you both put on your clothes as fast as you can. You're in a rush to get out of the stadium, to go out into real life holding Seungkwan's hand and seeing his apartment and, hopefully, being part of his life.

You walk out the locker-room together in a comfortable silence as you assimilate everything.

“So, what was that with your phone earlier? It seemed urgent.”

You blush at his question. You'd forgotten about Minghao's teasing text to focus on kissing Seungkwan until you didn't feel or know anything else.

“I'm pretty sure he had us searching for that beanie on purpose,” you explain.

“Really? So, there was nothing left behind?”

“Nope.” The empty dining room comes into view, and the glass door to the street looks like a new beginning. “I think the two devils got to him.”

“Oh, I see.” Seungkwan chuckles, opening the door for you and locking it with his key after you're safely outside.

“You know what we should do?” The idea comes to you like an epiphany. “Set—”

“him and Soonyoung up?”

“—him up with Soonyoung.”

You both say at the same time.

On the way to Seungkwan's car and the drive to his apartment, you both plot the plan to get back at Minghao. A taste of his own medicine. Though, as soon as you cross the threshold of Seungkwan's front door, everything is forgotten as he traps you against the wall and kisses you like he hasn't in ages.

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The sun pressed warm against your skin as your arm dangled out the passenger-side window, fingers slicing through the wind like a rhythm you’d practiced a hundred times before. Above, the sky spilled into rolling green hills, the kind of view that belonged in a film. Inside the car, your friends butchered a chart-topper with unholy enthusiasm—oversized sunglasses, wide grins, voices colliding in a harmony so bad it made you laugh anyway.

It was picturesque in its chaos: an aging car that shouldn’t have survived the trip, wildflowers flaring along the roadside, your friends drunk on the freedom of a summer that already felt too short. You wished you could press pause—on the laughter, the music, the sunlight on your skin. Summers had a way of slipping through your fingers before you even realized they’d gone.

Your friends would laugh if they knew you were thinking like that. To them, this wasn’t an ending, just a beach trip before the “real world” began. But you couldn’t shake the tick of the clock in your chest, the whisper that once this summer ended, something larger would too.

And maybe that was why, when your gaze slid to Hansol’s reflection in the side mirror—cap low, fingers drumming, shoulders shaking with secret laughter—you looked longer than you should. You wanted to memorise him in this light, here, now, before time moved again.

Seungkwan’s voice snapped you back, bellowing along to the chorus with all the grace of a dying cat, one hand on the wheel, the other punching the air. He’d always been full of life—that was the thing you loved most about him. You’d met somewhere between first and second year of high school, though the exact day had blurred.

What hadn’t blurred were the years of late-night shows he’d recounted with gleaming eyes, iced americanos in hand, always finding the bright side when your world went dark. He leaned across the console now to shout lyrics at you, his grin so wide you couldn’t help but return it.

In the back, Soonyoung shredded an invisible guitar, bleach-blonde spikes quivering with each headbang. His screeching somehow managed to climb even higher than Seungkwan’s, and you clapped along despite yourself. From the car behind, Hana leaned halfway out the window, hair whipping in the wind while Nari clutched her with mock horror. Their laughter carried easily, joined by Jia’s whooping. Somewhere in there, Joshua was surely trying to impose order—but even he, steady as he was, wouldn’t resist for long.

It had been weeks since you’d all been together like this. Graduation blurred past in a haze of caps, gowns, and congratulations, and beneath it all you’d felt the clock’s hands pushing you forward. Four years vanished in fast motion—one moment, your first assignment, the next, a tassel brushing your shoulder. That night, over half-empty bottles and stale nachos, someone suggested one last hurrah before responsibility caught you. A beach, a rented house, two weeks, and a summer you wanted to stretch longer than time would allow.

Your friends didn’t see the trip as an ending. But you did. And when Hansol shifted behind you, laughter slipping through despite his attempt to stay aloof, it struck you: some moments begged to be kept. You caught yourself staring, trying to trap the sunlight across his face, the easy curve of his mouth. No one else noticed—not yet.

Most people called him Vernon. It fit - The easy nickname, made from his middle name, that rolled off the tongue as naturally as the laugh he tried to hide. But he’d told you once, quietly, whispered like a secret, that his first name was Hansol and he wanted you to use it. No-one else did. Sometimes you wondered if it was his way of giving you something that belonged only to you, though you never asked.

You remembered the first time you met him as clearly as if it had been yesterday. A week into your first year of university, Seungkwan had dragged you to a party you hadn’t wanted to attend, bribing you with coffee for a week. The house was packed, the air thick with beer and sweat, music pounding through the walls. You’d lost Seungkwan and Soonyoung almost immediately and ended up in the kitchen with a red cup and too much hesitation. The drink you’d chosen burned bitter down your throat—until a voice cut in.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend that one,” A boy in denim leaned against the counter, smiling half-hidden under the flickering light. He offered his own cup. “Try this—it’s sweeter.”

You took a sip. He was right, “Thanks,” you said, handing it back, but he shook his head and lifted another cup which was already in his hand.

“You keep it. I’m Vernon.” The hour that followed blurred into laughter and easy talk, the rest of the party falling away. By the time Seungkwan reappeared, flushed and tugging at your arm for a dance, Hansol had already carved out a space in your memory you hadn’t expected.

Now, in the present, the song on the radio switched and Soonyoung’s arm shot out to point at the skyline. The car curved along a bend, and a small village spilled into view, the sea glittering beyond. The second car honked behind you, Hana’s laughter carrying through the air, and Seungkwan whooping in response.

You leaned out the window, wind tangling your hair, as the streets narrowed and the houses grew closer. The air smelled faintly of salt. And when the car finally slowed to a stop, it felt less like arriving somewhere and more like stepping into that clock you already knew would run too fast.

The start of your last summer.

The house stood at the end of a cobbled road, its creamy exterior bold against the bright blue sky as you all clambered out of your cars, staring up in awe. Your nearest neighbours were far enough away (for their own good) that they probably wouldn’t hear the endless nights of karaoke Soonyoung had already planned. The beach was only yards in the other direction, a small wooden fence curving around the property before it tumbled into sand, inviting you to sink your feet in.

There was a rush of bodies and shouts of excitement that helped ease the knot of anxiety in your stomach. You stepped slowly into the sun, letting it soak into your skin, smiling to yourself. Hansol got out next to you, nudging your shoulder.

“You better stop daydreaming if you want a good room,” he teased, nodding toward the scramble of your friends wrestling bags from the cars.

“Lucky for me, Jia already claimed me as a roommate,” you shot back, giving his arm a shove before circling around to grab your bag. You’d never admit how much his presence rattled you—how your heart fluttered when he spoke, how being near him felt like suffocating.

He hummed in response, slinging his own bag over his shoulder as you followed the others up to the front door.

Getting inside took all of two minutes (and one argument between Seungkwan and Soonyoung before Joshua stepped in). You gasped when you crossed the threshold: a wide hallway stretched before you, ocean paintings lining the walls, a grand staircase dominating the space. Open doors tempted you with glimpses of what lay beyond. Hansol brushed your arm, steering you toward the stairs, silently promising to explore the rest later.

Upstairs, all four bedrooms had already been claimed, bursts of laughter spilling from each. You caught sight of the bathroom tucked between Joshua’s room and the chaos of Seungkwan’s. Peeking into another doorway, you finally found Jia already sprawled across the bed nearest the window.

“You snooze, you lose,” she grinned, sticking her tongue out as she pulled herself up, moving to wrap her arms around you in a hug. “This is going to be the best summer ever.”

You smiled at her as you untangled your limbs, dropping your bag on the empty bed beside hers. Across the hall, Hansol disappeared into the room he was sharing with Joshua. For a moment, you looked at him as his gaze found yours, as though he knew you’d be looking. The two of you shared a brief glance before you turned back to unpack.

“I hope so,” you murmured, almost too soft to hear.

But the words lingered anyway, quiet as a tide pulling back, threaded with both promise and doubt—like the summer season itself, caught between holding on and letting go.

The first few days at the beach house blurred together in salt and sunlight. Mornings tumbled into swims, afternoons into laughter so sharp it left your ribs aching. At night, the kitchen turned into a battlefield of drunk board games—Soonyoung standing on a chair to declare himself “undefeated champion” while Hana tried to wrestle the cards from his hands. You’d thrown your arms around her in mock victory when she finally won a round, both of you shrieking while Seungkwan bellowed karaoke from the living room.

You found yourself stepping back in moments like these, letting the noise wash over you, memorising the way your friends leaned into one another as if this summer might stretch on forever. They seemed immune to the thought of endings. You weren’t. Every sunrise left a small ache in your chest, another tick forward on the clock you wished you could still.

You’d always been this way—the careful one, the anxious one. Seungkwan often teased that every friendship group needed a realist, someone to drag the dreamers back to earth. But it wasn’t realism that weighed on you—it was tenderness. You were simply so happy with the now that the thought of it slipping away felt unbearable.

Among all the noise that filtered through the house, you’d found solace in the study: a small room lined with shelves and sunlight. Paintings filled the spaces between rows of worn books, and a dark leather couch sat beneath the window, its surface warm where the afternoon sun touched it. You’d discovered it with Hana on the first evening. She’d squealed over the collection of classics, spinning in delight as she gushed about reading here, of all places. You’d laughed, watching her claim her corner like it was destiny.

But for you, it wasn’t the books that drew you back—it was the quiet. The hush.

Your mind was rarely still; it whirred and worried, stitching new anxieties from nothing. You could be surrounded by laughter and still feel the edge of worry. Sometimes it was exhausting, always needing to question, to pause, to make sure no one else’s chaos tipped too far. And yet, your friends loved you for it. It’s so you, they’d say. Someone has to keep us alive when Soonyoung decides to do something stupid.

Your fingers drifted across the spines of the books, collecting dust on your fingertips. You’d come here on the third afternoon, seeking a breath of calm before another round of laughter. Your mind wandered as you studied a faded cover, lips worrying the skin of your lower lip raw. You didn’t want to ruin anyone’s day by spilling your unease into it. You never did. It was easier to shoulder it yourself—to let Seungkwan offer help and still tell him you’re fine.

A quiet sigh slipped out as you replaced the book and turned. That’s when you saw him.

Hansol leaning against the doorframe, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. You jumped, a laugh bursting out as your pulse spiked.

“Hansol!”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry—I didn’t realise you were so zoned out.” His voice softened. “Got something on your mind?”

You shook your head quickly, folding your arms to steady yourself. “No, just taking a minute.” The smile you gave him felt fragile but familiar.

No one else really called him Hansol. Most used Vernon, the name that sat neatly in public spaces. He’d once told you—quietly, years ago—that he liked the way you said his given name, so you’d never stopped.

You didn’t realise until much later what that meant to you.

You couldn’t remember exactly when your feelings for him had shifted from platonic into something heavier, something that made it hard to breathe. It had crept in gradually—through late-night study sessions, through tired laughter over shared snacks and borrowed hoodies.

After that first meeting in your freshman year, he had simply stayed. First as Seungkwan’s friend, then as Joshua’s shadow, and finally as yours. You’d shared classes, traded notes, survived sleepless nights ranked by caffeine and movie marathons. Somewhere in that blur, the lines blurred too.

Hansol had become the one you trusted most with your fears—the one who didn’t try to fix them, just listened until they softened. That was how you knew you were in trouble. You began waiting for him after shifts even when he told you not to, just to walk home together in the cold. You depended on his presence, his steadiness. The thought of wanting more terrified you.

How could you risk something so vital?

“You sure?” His voice brought you back, gentle as ever. He stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm in quiet reassurance. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind lately.”

You smiled, weakly. “I’m just distracted,” you lied, and he knew it. He always did. But he never pushed. Hansol simply nodded and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him in a hug that made your heart ache with its tenderness.

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time.” he murmured into your hair. His voice was warm, grounding, the kind that could convince you the world wasn’t so scary after all.

You pressed your fingers into his back, soaking in the comfort for as long as you dared before pulling away—afraid he might feel the wild rhythm of your heart. You forced a smile and looped your arm through his, tugging him toward the hallway.

“Come on,” you said, voice lighter than you felt. “Let’s go be the sensible ones.”

He chuckled and followed, matching your pace without question. The moment passed, but its echo stayed—a hum beneath your skin, soft and trembling.

That night, as the sun melted into the horizon and laughter spilled faintly through the walls, you lay awake in the dark. Jia’s quiet snoring filled the room, a comfort and a contrast to the storm still turning in your chest. You thought about Hansol—his voice, his concern, the way his eyes asked questions his mouth never voiced.

And when sleep finally came, it carried the weight of his gaze—the warmth of it, the questions it never asked, and the ache of wanting answers you were too afraid to hear.

By the fifth morning, your body finally betrayed you—sleep holding you longer than you wanted after another restless night. The sun had already carved its way past the curtains when you blinked awake, gold pooling across the floor. Jia snored softly beside you, undisturbed.

You dragged yourself into the hallway, hair mussed, mouth dry, toothbrush in hand. The house was quieter than you expected, only the faintest humming drifting from somewhere downstairs. You were halfway through brushing your teeth when a door creaked open.

Hansol stepped out.

You felt him before you saw him, your pulse stuttering. His plaid shirt hung loose over a white tee, one hand tugging at the hem as if he’d thrown it on in a rush. He caught sight of you, foam crowding your mouth, and his smile curved wider.

“Morning,” he said easily, moving past, voice brushed with laughter. “Looks like you slept well.”

Heat burned your cheeks. You tried to smile back, a strangled sort of gesture around the toothbrush, and waved him on toward the stairs before turning quickly to the sink. Your heart thudded hard enough that you almost forgot to spit.

Downstairs, the smell of something sweet tugged you toward the kitchen. Joshua stood at the sink with yellow gloves, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away at a plate.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted without turning, voice as steady as ever. He tilted his head toward the counter where a plate waited—three pancakes, blueberries scattered like confetti. “Managed to save you a serving from those animals.”

You grinned, sliding into a chair and tucking into the food he had saved for you. The pancakes were soft but cold, still tasting of butter. “Where is everyone?”

“Hana and Nari went for a swim. Vernon’s out front. Seungkwan’s dead to the world. And Soonyoung—” he chuckled, stripping off the gloves—“let’s just say no one knows where he’s vanished this time.”

You laughed with him, shaking your head. “And you thought they’d know how to ration food?”

“Exactly why I’m heading into town. Supplies are running low.” He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and pushed it toward you.

You twisted off the cap, washing down the last bite of pancake. “I’ll come. Could use some air.”

“Perfect,” Joshua said, flashing that easy smile. “I’ll grab the keys.”

He disappeared toward the hall, leaving the kitchen quiet except for the hum of the fridge. You cleaned your plate, slipped your feet into the nearest trainers, and stepped out the front door.

Hansol was there, leaning against the car beside Joshua, sunlight brushing across his face. His hair was uncovered today, brown curls framing him like they’d been placed deliberately by the morning breeze. The two of them talked easily, trading smiles, and for a moment you just stood there, watching. Something about the sight—their laughter caught mid-air—made your chest ache in that familiar, impossible way.

Joshua spotted you first. His grin widened as he twirled the keys around one finger. “Vernon’s coming with us. Easier with three.”

Your eyes flicked to Hansol’s. He met your gaze with a small, unguarded smile, the kind that felt like it belonged only to you.

“Ready?” he asked, stepping aside so you could climb in.

You nodded, moving quickly to cover the fact that you’d been staring too long. Joshua slid into the driver’s seat, Hansol into the back. As the engine hummed to life, you pressed your palm flat against your thigh, willing your heartbeat to steady. But it didn’t. Not with Hansol so close that you could still feel the echo of his smile, lingering in the summer air.

It didn’t take long for Joshua to pull into the car park of the supermarket—you remembered spotting it as you arrived. It sat behind a row of houses, quite large for a town so small. The three of you clambered out of the car, continuing your conversation as you moved towards the building. Joshua grabbed a cart as you pressed through the doors, a wash of cold air greeting you.

He was like a man on a mission. Within minutes, he’d split the list in two, pressing one half into Hansol’s hand before striding off to the other side of the store, shouting a reminder not to overload on sweets.

You and Hansol lingered for a moment, caught in that odd quiet that hums between people who have too much to say. You moved together down the aisle, your arms brushing as he read another item from the list, and you leaned across him to grab a carton from the shelf. His hand came to the small of your back, steadying you. The touch was nothing—casual, ordinary. Except it wasn’t. Heat pricked under your skin. You forced a small laugh, too quick, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath faltered.

The charade continued through the next few aisles—your shoulders bumping, the space between you thinning as if gravity itself were impatient. You filled the air with chatter about cereal and coffee, anything to drown out the uneven rhythm of your heart. Then his hand brushed your arm, stopping you mid-sentence.

When you turned, his fingers rose to your cheek. A featherlight touch, gone too soon, leaving fire in its wake.

“You had an eyelash,” he murmured, as if it were nothing at all.

But it wasn’t. Not to you.

Your breath snagged, caught somewhere between the air and your pulse. And before you could recover, his voice dropped lower—quiet, secret-soft. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

“I know I asked you the other day, but… are you sure you’re okay? You seem different lately. Distant.” His eyes held yours like they were searching for a truth you didn’t know how to give.

You swallowed, wishing the truth didn’t sit so heavy. “I’m okay,” you said—half lie, half prayer. His care made your chest ache. “It’s just… have you ever wanted things to stay the way they are? Because I know when we get home, everything’s going to change. And I…” You inhaled sharply, holding the words together. “I don’t want anything to change.”

Hansol’s gaze deepened, unreadable, then softened. “Nothing has to change. Not if you don’t want it to.”

Something inside you twisted. The words sounded kind, safe—too safe.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. For a heartbeat, you wanted to ask if he meant it—if he really wanted things to stay the same—but the question felt too heavy for the aisle between cereal and bread.

The air between you thickened, quiet and fragile. He shifted his weight, the ghost of a frown passing through his expression, as though he’d already said too much.

You reached for the cart at the same time he did; your fingers brushed, and he pulled away too quickly, muttering a quiet, “Sorry.”

The apology sat sharp in your chest. And then—

“Right! I’ve got enough to feed us for two months, never mind weeks. We’re set.” Joshua’s voice cut through the air like sunlight through glass.

You blinked, startled, the spell snapping. The fluorescent lights felt too bright all of a sudden. You let out a small, unsteady laugh as Joshua steered the overflowing cart toward the checkout.

But when you glanced back at Hansol, he was already looking away, shoulders stiff as he reached for something random from the shelf—something he didn’t need, something to keep his hands busy.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, not looking at you. “I think we’re done here too.”

Joshua pushed ahead, humming to himself, oblivious. You and Hansol trailed behind, a step slower, the silence between you sharp enough to cut.

You told yourself it was nothing—just words in a supermarket. But as the automatic doors slid open and the summer air rushed back in, warm and sticky and impossibly bright, you knew better.

Something had shifted. And you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop it, or hold it still forever.

The drive back began in silence, the air-conditioning humming over the soft thud of tires on tarmac. Joshua’s playlist buzzed faintly through the speakers, some easy summer tune that didn’t quite match the charged quiet filling the car.

You sat in the passenger seat, forehead resting lightly against the glass, watching sunlight break across the hills as the town slipped away behind you. In the rear-view mirror, Hansol sat in the back, gaze fixed out his own window, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his knee.

Joshua glanced between you both once, twice, then let out a small chuckle under his breath. “Did I miss something back there?” he asked lightly, eyes on the road but a grin tugging at his lips.

You turned to him too quickly. “What? No—why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, still smiling. “Just felt like I walked in on… a moment. I thought I should’ve bought popcorn instead of groceries.”

Heat crawled up your neck. “You’re imagining things.”

Joshua laughed softly, raising one hand in mock surrender. “Hey, maybe. But you both went quiet all of a sudden. I thought maybe you were planning to abandon me in aisle six.”

Hansol let out a quiet laugh behind you, low and short — the kind that usually made you smile. But this time it didn’t. It sounded careful, like he was trying not to give anything away.

The car settled back into silence after that, though it wasn’t quite peaceful. The music filled the gaps Joshua didn’t press, a low hum of guitars and metaphors that felt too close to what you couldn’t say. You could feel Hansol’s eyes on the back of your head once, maybe twice, but you didn’t turn. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Joshua’s voice broke through one last time, quieter now, almost gentle. “Whatever’s going on,” he said, eyes still on the road, “You two should probably talk before it eats you alive. Summer’s too short for weird silences.”

Your chest tightened. You managed a small nod he couldn’t see, and out of the corner of your eye, in the rear view mirror, you thought you saw Hansol do the same.

The rest of the drive passed in wordless truce — the rhythm of the road and the soft crash of the waves just beyond the town syncing with the pulse you couldn’t calm.

When Joshua finally turned down the narrow road toward the beach house, sunlight spilled golden through the windshield, catching Hansol's reflection in the mirror. His gaze flicked to yours for the briefest moment before the car slowed to a stop, something unspoken passing between you — fragile, fleeting, and entirely impossible to name.

You kept replaying your conversation with Hansol as the sun sank below the horizon. Dinner had been a mess of chaos and laughter—Seungkwan reaching for his third helping, Nari swatting him away with a groan that she hadn’t even finished her second.

You wanted to laugh with them, to join in. But you couldn’t. A knot sat heavy in your stomach, tightening with every replay of Hansol’s expression: the way his face had fallen, his shoulders gone stiff.

Something unspoken hung between you—a thread you couldn’t stop tugging.

By the time everyone migrated to the living room, you’d almost forgotten where you were. The couches filled quickly—a scramble of elbows and giggles—and you drifted toward the two-seater, a burn crawling across your skin, the uncanny sense of being watched.

You sank into the chair. Jia curled up beside you immediately, looping her arms through yours and pulling you into her warmth. Seungkwan sighed and claimed the floor at your feet, while Nari, Hana, and Joshua piled onto the larger couch. 

Opposite you, Soonyoung dragged Hansol down beside him, despite his half-hearted protests.

Hansol.

He perched uneasily on the edge of the cushion, untangling himself from Soonyoung, gaze skimming everywhere but yours. The noise of your friends debating games swelled around you, but it felt distant—like you were underwater.

“Truth or dare,” Seungkwan announced, grinning. His eyes flicked toward Nari, who flushed pink, remembering too well the last time. “Only if someone promises not to be a sore loser.”

Laughter burst through the room. “Hey, try running barefoot in the snow!” Nari shot back. “I could’ve gotten frostbite!”

You laughed, remembering her tiny figure shuffling across the icy path, hurling curses while the rest of you howled into your coats.

The game spiraled the way it always did—dares growing more absurd as drinks disappeared, truths edged with teasing. You’d caught wind of Jia being dared to skinny dip, her shrieks of glee laced with intoxication.

Through the gaggle of voices, you could’ve sworn you heard Hansol murmur “truth” to Soonyoung, who bellowed for him to admit who his crush was. You thought you saw Hansol’s throat bob, his breath hitch as he shoved Soonyoung playfully, the moment brushed off.

Your mind begging you to stop making things up. You counted yourself lucky: your dare had only been to send a photo of your friends’ wiggling feet, and your truth was the humiliating admission that you still cried every time you watched The Notebook.

As the game lulled, conversations splintered into smaller clusters. Your fingers threaded absently through Seungkwan’s hair, weaving braids while he showed Jia something on his phone. She was still tucked against your side, head on your shoulder.

The room’s noise softened—until one voice caught your ear: Soonyoung leaning toward Hansol.

“So who is it?” he asked lazily, stifling a yawn. “That crush of yours.”

Heat flooded your face. You kept your gaze fixed on Seungkwan’s screen, forcing stillness.

Hansol’s reply came low, rough. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think they feel the same.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted—needed—him to look at you. To mean you. But fear rooted you in place, whispering that his heart belonged to someone else.

The laughter in the room dulled, muffled like sound through water. You pressed your cheek into Jia’s hair so no one would see your mouth twist. Relief only came when she broke the moment with a yawned suggestion for bed.

You didn’t hesitate to leave. You felt Hansol’s presence behind you in the hallway, a weight pressing between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

In the dark of your room, Jia curled beside you in bed, legs tangled in the sheets—a usual routine before she’d slip back to hers. She smelled faintly of sunscreen and salt, the sea still clinging to her skin and you could smell the stale alcohol on her breath.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she murmured into the dark, words brushing your collarbone like a secret. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You sighed, fingers knotting together. Seungkwan might be your best friend, but Jia always had a way of cutting through the murk. Could you trust her with this?

“I’m just thinking too much,” you whispered. “In my head about… everything.”

“Did something happen with Vernon?” Her voice was careful, coaxing.

You hesitated, chewing your lip.

The earlier conversation replayed again, stinging. “No, it’s just… What if things change when we go back? What if once we start working, we’re not as close anymore?” The words left your chest heavy.

“We’ll always be close,” Jia said firmly, tightening her arms around you. “But sometimes change is good, you know? People change. Feelings change. It doesn’t always mean losing something.”

Her fingers brushed through your hair, soothing. You wanted to believe her. “I know you’re right.” you murmured, but the knot in your stomach held fast.

There were a few moments of silence before Jia stirred beside you, tapping your shoulder softly, testing if you were still awake.

“Talking of change… can I tell you something? Promise you won’t make it weird.” She stuck her pinky out in the dark, and you hooked yours with hers, nodding silently. “Okay? Well..” She paused, as if she was waiting for you, ”I think I like Vernon.” 

Her pinky tightened around yours, and though she gave a quick laugh to brush it off, her voice wavered just enough to sound fragile. “I know, it’s kind of ridiculous, but… he’s just—he’s different, you know? He makes things feel lighter. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe… maybe change isn’t so scary if it’s with the right person.”

She exhaled slowly, her eyes searching your face in the dark. The playfulness was gone now, replaced by something quieter, almost raw.

“Promise you won’t let this make things weird between us? I just… I had to tell someone.”

You blinked at her, words crowding your throat but refusing to take shape. Your smile came out small, fragile—stitched together in the dark. You didn’t know if she could see it, but she sighed beside you, as if it wasn’t enough.

“We can talk in the morning,” she murmured, slipping out of your bed and into hers, tugging the sheets up around her shoulders.

Within moments, her breathing evened out, as though her confession had cost her nothing at all. But you lay there wide awake, chest tight, staring into the shadows on the ceiling. The words repeated like a pulse you couldn’t quiet.

Jia likes Hansol.

And no matter how much you tried to push the thought away, it pressed deeper, until you felt the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes.

You rolled onto your back, swallowing them down, afraid of making a sound.

Jia likes Hansol.

The ache settled in your chest, steady and unshakable—a truth too sharp to sleep beside.

You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, Jia’s words sat heavy on your chest, a weight you couldn’t shift. By the time exhaustion finally dragged you under, the sun was already climbing, heat seeping through the room until it felt suffocating.

When Jia stirred beside you, slipping out of bed in that light, careless way she always moved, you pretended to sleep. As if her whispered confession hadn’t cracked your world open only hours earlier. You felt her gaze linger, then the door clicked shut, leaving you alone with the echo.

You lay there too long, her voice overlapping with Hansol’s from the night before: 'They don’t feel the same.' Maybe he hadn’t meant you at all. Maybe it was Jia. Maybe she’d been right — maybe things were already changing. The thought burned, sharp as saltwater in your lungs.

And how could you stand in the way?

By the time you dragged yourself to the bathroom mirror, your reflection betrayed you. Dark circles beneath your eyes, salt tracks dried on your cheeks. You splashed water over your face, as if you could wash the night away.

Downstairs, the house was alive with chatter and the smell of syrup. You slipped into the kitchen with a smile stretched too thin, greeted with a chorus of good mornings. Joshua brushed your shoulder when he passed you a plate, his frown soft but knowing. You shook it off and took the farthest seat you could, away from Jia’s animated voice and Hansol’s quiet presence at her side.

You picked at your food, listening more than eating. Laughter around you sounded muffled, like drowning in shallow water. Out of the corner of your eye, Hansol leaned in, nudging Jia’s fork back to her when she nearly dropped it. She laughed, soft and private, and it cut something sharp in you.

But then his gaze flicked up. Brief. Direct. Right at you.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to still.

Your chest tightened. Then his eyes dropped back to his plate, as if nothing had happened. But it had. Your stomach churned with questions: had he noticed the way you’d been watching? Had he meant for you to see? Or was it just guilt, caught in the middle of something he didn’t want?

The questions clung like seawater, bitter as you pushed your plate away and turned your gaze out the window. The ocean glittered in the morning light, endless and bright.

You decided then: you’d go for a swim. Anything to quiet the noise in your head before it drowned you first.

By the time you came back downstairs, sweater thrown over your bathing suit and hair plaited down your back, plans for the day were already made. Soonyoung and Nari were joining you at the beach, Hana and Joshua headed to town, Seungkwan still asleep (again). Hansol and Jia were nowhere to be found.

It was easy to forget the heaviness for a moment, watching Soonyoung sprint into the waves, carefree as always. Nari laughed beside you as you laid out towels by the shore, pulling her sunglasses into place and mumbling about getting her tan on. Soonyoung collapsed back onto the sand, breathless, and you laughed with him — a sound that felt like borrowed freedom.

You turned toward the water. The ocean’s crash and retreat had always felt like an old friend, and today you needed that comfort. You stripped off your sweater and stepped forward, the cold shiver of the tide wrapping around your ankles before rising higher. When it reached your waist, you let yourself float, the sea carrying you.

For a moment, peace. The water held you, cool and forgiving.

But even the sea couldn’t drown out your thoughts. Summer was ending. Soon you’d scatter back to jobs, cities, routines. And maybe Hansol and Jia would scatter together. Maybe that was how change worked—how it was supposed to work.

You thought of her, whispering into the night without knowing she’d shaken you apart. It wasn’t her fault. How could she have known you carried the same flame? And Hansol — who could blame him? Jia was brilliant. Hansol deserved someone like her. And you— You let yourself sink into the water, let it press against your ears until the world went quiet.

You floated, let the sun burn overhead, let the salt sting your eyes—and still Jia’s whisper and Hansol’s voice twisted together in your head. I like him. They don’t feel the same.

Each wave that broke against your body seemed to press the truth deeper: maybe it was her he wanted, maybe it was her who fit.

When you finally emerged, the shouts of your friends calling you to lunch carried faintly across the sand. You pulled yourself from the waves, skin chilled, decision heavy in your chest.

Jia didn’t deserve coldness. You would never make her feel wrong for who she liked. But Hansol… him, you couldn’t face.

You had to cut the rope before it dragged you under.

And so you began to pull away.

Days blurred. Ocean swims. Sand clinging to your legs. Long evenings filled with laughter. To everyone else, it was the perfect holiday. To you, it was holding your breath.

At meals, you chose the farthest seat. In the hallway, your eyes brushed but no words followed. Once, you caught him slowing — like he might say something — but you kept walking before he could. At the bonfire, you stayed back, watching the flames from a distance, terrified of catching his gaze.

Hansol always seemed to arrive just after you left. Or maybe you left because he arrived. You weren’t sure. But sometimes you thought you felt it — the way his eyes lingered when you stood up, the pause in his laughter when you slipped from the room.

By the time the final evening rolled around, you could feel the ticking clock growing louder.

It was Nari’s idea to have a movie night — one last cozy evening before the trip ended, followed by a full night’s sleep so everyone could face tomorrow without dragging. To you, it felt like a blessing. No whispered confessions, no midnight heart-to-hearts. Just a film, a couch, and the safety of blending into the group. You made a promise to sit as far from Hansol as possible, far enough that there’d be no chance of your hands brushing in the popcorn bowl.

By the time night fell, the air had cooled. You wrapped a blanket tight around yourself and patted the seat beside you for Seungkwan. Somewhere in the room, someone’s gaze lingered—you refused to check if it was Hansol. Nari got the movie playing at last, Joshua passing you a bowl of popcorn with a soft smile you returned too quickly.

Thirty minutes in, you risked a glance. Hansol sat wedged between Soonyoung and Joshua, shoulders stiff, looking just as uncomfortable as you felt. The sight almost made you laugh — almost. You turned back too quickly, pressing your hands together in your lap like they could hold down the knot rising in your chest.

Beside you, Seungkwan shifted. You didn’t have to look to know his eyes were on you, heavy and knowing. You busied yourself by sneaking a glance at Jia on the floor. She lay on her stomach, feet kicking lazily in the air, smile bright and unbothered.

The sting at the back of your eyes came fast. You pictured Hansol looking at her like that — heart racing, lit up from the inside — and nearly pinched yourself just to stay grounded.

A touch on your arm broke the spiral. You turned, startled, to find Seungkwan leaning close. “Come get some popcorn with me,” he whispered, already slipping his hand into yours and tugging you up.

The kitchen light was a shock after the dim living room, making you squint. Seungkwan shut the door behind you, set his empty bowl on the counter, and rummaged until he found another bag. The hum of the microwave filled the silence, a steadying rhythm.

When he turned back, his expression was all focus. “What’s going on?” His tone was soft, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

“Nothing, I’m just struggling to get into the movie.” You smiled, thin and unconvincing.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice held no sharpness, only quiet certainty. He stepped closer, catching your hands in his. “You’ve been miserable this whole trip. And I’m your best friend. You don’t get to shut me out.” 

Your throat tightened, tears threatening again. The microwave hummed louder, filling the silence until your voice finally broke through. “I just… I don’t want things to change when we leave,” you whispered.

“What do you mean?” His eyes softened, locking onto yours.

“Summer’s over. When we go home, it’s back to real life. Jobs, routines… what if it’s never like this again?” The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded, your chest aching with the release. The tears came too quickly to stop. “I just…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t want things to change when we leave.”

His face softened, and in the next breath you were wrapped in his arms, his voice muffled in your hair. “Sweetheart, growing up doesn’t erase us. We’ll be fine. Better than fine. You’ve got me no matter what.” He pulled back, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Besides, weren’t we supposed to move in together? You with your fancy new job, me raiding your fridge?”

The laugh broke through before you could stop it, loosening the ache in your chest.

“See? Change isn’t always bad.” He wiped your cheek with his thumb. “It hurts sometimes, sure. But it’s not the end of us.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe him. The tears slipped free, and you held onto him like he was the only anchor you had. The microwave pinged, snapping the moment in two. He pulled away, grabbed the hot bag of popcorn — but his gaze stayed fixed on you.

“That’s not the whole truth though, is it?” His voice was quieter now, but steady. He crossed his arms, pinning you with that sharp look only he could manage. “What’s going on with you and Vernon?”

Your breath stuttered. You couldn’t hide from him, not like you could from the others. “I—” you faltered, then let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” Your eyes dropped to your fingernails, suddenly fascinating.

You could feel Seungkwan’s gaze urging you on, your throat tightened again. “…I think I like him.” The confession came in a whisper, raw and trembling. “But I can’t—he likes someone else. Jia—she told me she likes him too.”

You braced for his shock. Instead, he… laughed. Not cruelly, but softly, like he couldn’t help himself. “Jia? Vernon?” He shook his head. “I don’t think she’s being straight with you.”

Your head snapped up. “She told me.”

“And what exactly did she say?” he pressed. You repeated her words, each syllable heavy. He listened, his expression tightening, then softening again.

“I don’t think that was the whole truth,” he said gently. “But listen—forget Jia for a second. I’ve seen you and Vernon together. The way he looks at you, the way you look at him. You owe it to yourself to be honest. For heaven’s sake, you’re the only one allowed to call him Hansol besides his mom.”

You started to shake your head, but he caught your arm, steady and warm. “Don’t keep running from it, talk to him - Please - Before it’s too late.”

You nodded, shaky but sincere, and he gave your hand one last squeeze before leading you back toward the living room.

The movie flickered on the screen, shadows dancing over the room. You sank back into the couch, mind buzzing with Seungkwan’s words. 

He was right, this was ending. Tomorrow, the summer would close like a book, and you still hadn’t turned to Hansol and told him the truth. You’d chosen distance instead, and it left you lonelier than ever. Against your better judgment, your eyes sought Hansol.

He was already looking at you.

For a suspended moment, he didn’t look away. Something flickered there — undecipherable, but warm enough to make your breath catch. Even when you forced your gaze back to the screen, you swore you could still feel his eyes, burning softly across the distance.

Maybe — just maybe — Seungkwan wasn’t as wrong as you thought.

By the time the movie had flickered to a close and you’d all hushed goodnight and scrambled to bed, you were exhausted. Your mind was whirling with Seungkwan’s voice, his words echoing as you sought comfort beneath the blanket.

The onyx night sky hid behind the curtains, the darkness only broken by the light of Jia’s phone as she lay in bed, scrolling without a care in the world. You turned your head to look at her, face illuminated by the glow, and you held your breath to find your courage.

Seungkwan was right—before you faced Hansol, before you let yourself hope—you needed to tell Jia the truth.

“Jia…” you whispered into the dark, your voice faltering, but you pressed on.

She sat up, curious, placing her phone aside as you twisted your hands together. “About what you told me the other night—about Han—about Vernon.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you rushed out, “but I have to be honest—” You fumbled with the words, your eyes darting across her face, searching for any trace of betrayal. “I should’ve said something. I don’t want to get in the way, but I—”

Jia reached out, her hands warm as they wrapped around yours, offering comfort. 

“I like Hansol too, Jia.”

The words felt foreign in your mouth—fragile, but true. And suddenly, now that you’d said them, they didn’t feel strange at all.

Your eyes dropped for a moment, waiting for her reaction with bated breath. But she let out a soft laugh, pulling herself up to sit beside you, keeping your hands tightly between hers.

“Oh yeah—I forgot I said that.”

You furrowed your brow, mouth slightly open as she continued.

“For someone so smart, you can be dense,” she teased, holding you tight before leaning back. “I only said that because I thought if you felt a little competition, you’d finally do something about it.”

You blinked at her, stunned. She just giggled, shaking her head. “It wasn’t my best idea, I’ll admit. I think the beer made it seem like a really good one. But we’ve all known it was you two from the start.”

Her words sat in your chest like a stone dropped into water—shock rippling outward, scattering every assumption you’d been drowning in. Jia wasn’t a rival; she’d been holding up a mirror, waiting for you to finally see what everyone else already had. She had only ever wanted the best for you.

For the first time in weeks, the knot in your chest loosened. Tears pricked your eyes as you pulled her into a hug, sighing as the weight of your anxiety began to unravel. You could feel her giggling into you, her arms wrapping tightly around your back.

“I felt awful the next day, I really did. But honestly, I thought it would spur you to run straight to him. I’ve been a terrible friend.”

You shook your head, pulling away to join in her laughter. “Jia—I’m sorry, too. I’ve been so inside my head these past two weeks. I could’ve been a better friend.”

You both laughed again as you held each other, your friendship - which hadn’t even been fractured - mended as she began to beg for the details of your feelings, curling herself against you as you began to open up, feeling freer than you ever have.

Before long, you were both curling up beneath your blankets again. The hush of the house settled around you like a balm. Jia’s breathing evened out, soft and steady.

And for the first time in a long while, your chest didn’t ache with uncertainty. The fear hadn’t vanished—but it no longer felt like a weight you had to carry alone.

Tomorrow, you'll find the words. But tonight, you let yourself rest.

Morning broke for the last time at the house, sunlight slipping softly through the curtains. For once, you woke feeling light—like the weight that had clung to your chest all summer had finally eased. Seungkwan’s words echoed in your mind as you stretched beneath the sheets, turning to find Jia curled on her side, phone glowing in her hands.

She noticed you and smiled—bright, familiar, effortless. “Morning,” she said warmly. You returned it, quieter but sure. Today felt different. Lighter.

“I can’t believe we have to go home,” she sighed, setting her phone aside. “I should’ve packed last night.”

You laughed softly, though nerves still hummed beneath your skin. You lingered upstairs a little longer, the rustle of Jia’s packing a quiet soundtrack behind you. The air felt different—lighter, like a window had finally cracked open inside your chest. Still, the thought of what came next made your stomach twist.

In the bathroom, you splashed cool water on your face and stared into the mirror, as if your reflection might lend you courage.

Talk to him. Please. Seungkwan’s voice echoed steadily in your mind.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with its usual chaos. Nari and Hana folded clothes, Soonyoung banged on the bathroom door while Seungkwan ignored him inside, Joshua scrolled his phone, shaking his head at it all.

You slipped quietly into the study—your solace—shutting the door behind you.

The room welcomed you like an old friend. The familiar rows of books lining the walls, dust dancing in the morning light.

You breathed in deeply and closed your eyes. Memories from the past two weeks flickered through you as you exhaled, the fear slowly unravelling. As always, your mind went to him.

Quiet Hansol, whose eyes had always made you feel like you were the centre of the room. Hansol who always knew exactly how you were feeling—sometimes before you did. You’d been so afraid to let go of the now, so resistant to change, that you nearly lost what you hadn’t yet realised could be yours.

Now you knew what had to be done. You had to be honest—with him, and with yourself.

With a deep breath, you took one last look at the room, smiling softly before opening the door. The chaos around you bloomed loud and familiar as soon as you stepped into the threshold.

And there—quiet at the centre of it all—stood Hansol.

He stood at the counter in the kitchen with a mug in hand, pouring coffee with that unhurried ease only he had, hair falling into his eyes until he brushed it back absently. The golden morning light caught on the curve of his smile when someone called his name.

Your chest tightened. He looked so ordinary, so achingly familiar, and you realised how much you wanted to keep that closeness—even if it meant risking everything.

Before you could lose your nerve, you crossed the room.

“Hansol,” you said, his head lifted immediately. “Do you want to go for a walk with me? Before we leave.”

The pause stretched long enough for regret to creep in—until he nodded, soft and simple.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

You waited on the porch, sweater slouched over your frame, hands twisting together as your thoughts raced. An apology first? A confession? Both? You were still tangled in questions when Hansol joined you, a gentle tap to your shoulder, his wordless hello.

The shoreline was hushed, fog lacing the edges of the sea as the tide breathed in and out. You walked side by side, silence pooling between you, listening to the waves instead of each other. His shoulder brushed yours once, twice, as if he couldn’t quite keep the distance, and each time your heart stumbled harder.

Finally, you found your voice.

“Remember when you asked if everything was okay?”

He hummed in response, eyes fixed on the sand.

“I lied,” you admitted. “I’ve been stuck in my head this whole trip—scared of us all changing, of moving on. I thought if I kept my distance, it would hurt less. But it just hurt more. And I hurt you.”

The words left you in a rush, raw but certain. “I thought I didn’t want things to change, but…” You glanced at him, breath shaky. “I think I do now.”

You stopped walking, courage trembling as you reached for his hand. He looked down at your fingers threaded with his, then back at you, as though memorising the sight.

“Hansol,” you whispered, “I’m sorry—for shutting you out, for acting like I couldn’t trust you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His thumb brushed across your knuckles, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“It’s okay. Apology accepted.”

It was so like him—steady, patient, kind. He had been a constant pillar in your life for four years, and only now did you understand how much that meant. But you weren’t done.

“That’s not all,” you said, chewing your lip. “What I really mean is… I want things to change. I want us to change.”

His brows knit, silence stretching thin. Panic tightened your chest. So you let the words spill free.

“Hansol—I… I like you. I have for so long. I was terrified our friendship wouldn’t survive it, but I can’t hide it anymore. Even if it changes everything, I need you to know.”

The waves roared. Your pulse hammering.

Then—his hand slipped from yours only to lift higher, brushing against your cheek. His fingers trembled as they traced your skin, tender and careful.

“You don’t know how many times I almost said it,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “But then you pulled away, and I thought I’d ruined something before it even began.”

His thumb grazed your cheek, and a shaky smile tugged at his lips. “I never stopped hoping, though.”

There was a pause, like you were both holding your breath, waiting for the crescendo to hit—

“I like you too,” he said at last, voice low but steady. His smile was nervous, but real. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I just thought you wanted to stay friends, when you said you didn’t want things to change - I thought you meant us.”

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shudder, flooding you with relief. A laugh bubbled out, helpless and bright. He liked you back.

Without grace or thought, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging tight. His soft chuckle rumbled against you as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you as though he’d been waiting years for this moment.

The hug was pure release—years of longing and fear melting into warmth.

But when you finally pulled back, his hands lingering at your back, something more charged the air. His gaze was fixed on yours, his dark eyes heavy with meaning.

“Before we go back,” he said softly, like he was afraid to break the spell, “I want to do something. Something I’ve wanted to do for four years.”

Your throat tightened, your pulse leaping. You nodded, breathless.

“Please.”

His warm hands cupped your face, fingers brushing across your skin like fire. Your heart raced, your hands clutched at the plaid shirt draped over his shoulders. And when he leaned in—when his lips finally met yours with the salt of the ocean in the air and the steady roar of the tide in your ears—it didn’t feel like an ending at all.

It felt like the beginning of every season still to come.

By the time the first snow fell, summer felt like another lifetime.

You stood outside a high-rise office, bundled in a red coat, breath clouding in the crisp night. The city around you glittered with lights strung between lampposts, carolers on corner’s, the hum of a season already rushing forward. Months had slipped by since your time at the beach, and yet the sound of waves still echoed inside you—soft and steady like a heartbeat.

Life had kept moving, but you weren’t afraid of it anymore.

You hadn’t been afraid when you and Hansol walked back from the shore that morning, hands linked, both of you grinning like fools. You hadn’t been afraid when you and Seungkwan signed the lease on your first apartment, your boxes stacked high in the living room. And you hadn’t been afraid that first week at your new job—not when Hansol was waiting outside with coffee and a smile.

Now, it was your turn to wait for him.

The glass doors opened, and there he was—scarf wound high on his neck, hair dusted with flakes of snow. He spotted you instantly, his smile tugging wide, and the ache in your chest eased the way it always did.

“Hi,” he said, voice soft as he stepped close, wrapping you in his arms. You smelled coffee and cold air clinging to him, and you melted into the embrace, the city noise dimming.

Your fingers tightened around Hansol’s when you finally took his hand, warmth blooming even in the cold. Summer had ended. Autumn had passed. And now winter wrapped around you like a promise: things would keep changing, as they always did. But this time, the change didn’t scare you.

This time, you wanted it.

That weekend, you and Hansol drove back to the beach.

It was quiet, the tide slow and silver beneath a pale sky. You stood where the waves once roared around your words, boots crunching in the frostbitten sand.

“It’s colder than I remember,” you said, breath fogging the air.

Hansol smiled, slipping his gloved hand into yours. “Yeah – But it’s still ours.”

You leaned into him, heart steady. The sea hadn’t changed—but you had. And somehow, that made it feel even more like home.

The matching promise rings on your fingers certainly ensured they died down significantly, and Chan being nowhere to be found on April Fool's weekend (when his frat usually threw a major rager) — only solidified to all the people who didn't know your history with him that he was definitely not getting back on the market any time soon.

You spent said April Fool's weekend holed up in your childhood home, with Chan nestled into your side and pouting at your every attempt to get out of bed. You'd initially gone back home to celebrate Rosie's birthday — only to arrive home and see both your parents and your little sister sneezing their heads off. Your mother claimed allergies, your father was sure it was death knocking at his door — but your little sister sprawled on the living room carpet with crumpled tissues in her hand and asked for her birthday scoop of chocolate almond ice cream, only to be told by her pediatrician hours later that she had the flu and had to rest up.

Safe to say, she threw an absolute fit and you made her stay at home while you dragged Chan out to the ice cream parlor to pick the ice cream up anyway.

Graduation came and went — the two of you (surprising due to the circumstances) graduated summa cum laude, and your families threw a conjoined party. You went back to campus afterwards to pack up your apartment, snickering to yourself at the barren walls of Chan's bedroom and the crowded walls of yours. He'd promptly slithered his way into your space when you both got back in January, his trinkets and posters migrating little by little until your bedroom was an amalgamation of you and him.

Made you laugh a bit when his Iron Man figurines stood proud next to your Catwoman — the only time Marvel and DC can coexist silently.

Upon your return to town, you and Chan had been pulled in all different directions. Job interviews across the city, only for Chan to end up working at your father's store and for you to take on a temporary managerial position at your mother's restaurant. You looked for apartments together, finding jackshit in the surrounding area and Mrs. Lee kept hinting at the fact that their house was open to house you both — seeing as they were only there during the holiday season, and their apartment in the city was their norm. Chan stayed there, but you found solace in your bedroom…

So that meant you and Chan were living separately for the time being, sleeping together in his room (or yours) only on the weekends.

You met every morning at your dining table, barely changed out of your pajamas and pressing a tired kiss to the other's lips before slumping in your chairs and sharing a cup of coffee before your mother forced breakfast under your noses and made you eat to get your day started. You'd wrinkle your nose at the scent of scrambled eggs, and Chan would steal your extra piece of toast — but you ate silently, quickly, and thanked your lucky stars that your mother's restaurant was only down the road from your father's store.

You carpooled with Chan to save money, your car sat pretty in the driveway as he drove you both around town, to and from work…on dates.

Dates that were few and far between, usually on a Friday and usually ending with you on his lap in his bedroom, his hands up your shirt and yours tugging at his hair. Sometimes the two of you were too tired to do anything, barely making it past the threshold of your bedroom before falling asleep on the mattress next to each other.

Your parents and his agreed that you were just feeling the effects of life after college. You weren't nearly as busy as you used to be, and the lack of stress in your lives seemingly took a toll on you — your mother tried to make everything much more stimulating, as if the clinging of birthday bell every so often and the beeping of POS systems didn't already haunt you in your sleep. Chan was only faring slightly better — his days consumed with the embarrassment of mothers flirting with him and your father's stern eyes. Despite liking him, your father made it no secret that Chan was only there as a favor to you, and he was the only employee that got weekends fully off.

Your lives felt slightly mundane for the summer months, but you silently bowed your head and took everything with appreciation. Mrs. Lee got you and Chan both down to the dance center every few weeks, giving you a chance to get all your frustration out by teaching a class or two. Chan was much better at it than you were, taking the time and energy to perfectly learn a complex choreography and actually teach it — whereas you would spend your four hours in the city showing off all your acrobatic skills you'd learned from years of cheerleading to little kids who ooh'd and ahh'd.

Time went on, decisions were made, money was saved — and it's December again.

Your parents are still excited to have you home, and you actually get a chance to help with the decorating this year — eagerly dusting off twinkle lights and Christmas figurines, and Rosie gets to see you decorate the tree all by yourself. It'd been your favorite thing to do before you left for college, and Rosie had only see your parents do it since then — and she wasn't all that excited to see you anymore, moreso content with your constant prescence and cheering eagerly when you'd take your mother's car and pick her up from school at the end of your shift.

You and Chan are once more squished together in your bedroom when his cousins make the drive into town — this time, actually having time to spend with the two of you and staying until the end of January.

There's a bit of bickering between you and Chan.

He's taking up too much of the bed. He's taking too long in the shower. He's hogging the blanket, he's stealing your socks, he's in your way when you're trying to brush your teeth and wash your face.

He argues that you're practically on top of him in the mornings, that you could easily join him in the shower. He argues that you complain about being hot at night while he runs cold, that your socks were originally his, that you are in his way when he is trying to shave and blow-dry his hair.

Neither of you apologize, only grumbling before one of you pulls the other into a kiss. It's usually him, and he's usually got you pinned against the door telling you to apologize. You never do, only letting him kiss you until your lips are swollen and your mother bangs on your bedroom door asking if everything is okay.

And neither of you know that your parents share worried looks when you're not around, hearing the arguing through your bedroom door. Hearing it through the bathroom door, hearing it up until Chan kisses you stupid with his hands wandering more than they should for a winter morning.

With all the bickering comes less time for intimacy. Not just sex, of course not (even if you haven't had the time to properly mess around since December even started) — but you don't get to have conversations because you're both still angry. You don't talk over breakfast, picking at your food before one of you inevitably gets up and eats alone in the kitchen. You don't get a chance to stand in the same room to get dressed, because you'll be damned if Chan weasles his way out of apologizing by kneeling in front of you and pulling your shorts down. You don't touch, you don't hold hands, nothing — until you're both out the door for the day and he opens the car door for you and helps you in.

The car ride is silent. No music, no talking — just tight jaws until he pulls into the parking lot of your mother's restaurant and leans over the center console. He doesn't apologize, just presses a kiss to your cheek before you (despite the annoyance in your belly) turn your head and kiss him properly. You tell him to have a good day between kisses, he reminds you to eat lunch, his hand squeezing your hip before telling you to run inside. It takes you a moment to stop kissing him, so much so that he has to (rather reluctantly) pull away and give you a pointed look.

You think about him for the rest of the day then. You text him asking if he's eaten lunch. He'll text back a picture of him picking Rosie up from school when you couldn't. He'll ask you if you want something from the gas station, and you'll see Rosie barreling into the restaurant with a bag of M&Ms and he follows behind with her backpack in hand. He greets your mother, he gives you a kiss and catches you both up on what her teachers said — that she has homework, that she was on the green smiley face all week and got a treat to take home, to make sure she stays warm because she's in the winter play and can't be replaced…the like.

Something about it makes your chest warm.

Another thing to note is that you're both waiting on acceptance (or rejection) letters from a couple grad schools in your area, your undergrad campus included — and you're anxious, even if you're only really hoping to get into your undergrad university. You're visibly nervous as you pace back and forth in the office of your mother's restaurant — she had once more roped you into taste-testing her holiday menu. Chan is equally as on-edge, if not more, and you want to attribute all the bickering to said unease about the near future.

But it feels like an excuse.

It feels like an excuse when you argue with him, when he scoffs at you, when he kisses you out of frustration instead of the same sweet sentiment you know you both hold for each other.

When he hasn't called you baby in a while.

And you know, you know you said that the insecurities that make your chest tight weren't going to make a comeback but you can't help but let them fester a bit when you see how easily Chan fits into your life. It scares you, to know that he's been by your side your entire life and yet, he's still choosing you. Despite the flaws and faults, the fighting, fucking and everything in between. You're worried about it, day in and day out — and you want to convince yourself that the 'gut feeling' you have about your relationship is just a jumbled mess of jitters.

You assume that not sharing a bed with him every night is also adding to that. Not getting to hold him close, not being able to breathe him in right after his shower when he smells like eucalyptus and your lavender body wash that you've bitched him out about using but he just smiles in your face. Not getting to kiss him goodnight, even when he ends up with his hand down your pajama shorts and your shirt is somewhere across the room…it's all piling up.

It's all bothering you.

"Honey, you're going to pace a hole in my floor." Your mother says gently, her fingers expertly clicking around a calculator as she holds up some tax form. You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you force yourself to sit in the rolling chair next to her, your hands fiddling with the buttons of your cardigan as you check the clock. Chan would be off in ten minutes, and then he could race home and check the mail. You weren't off for another hour and a half, and your stomach was starting to hurt.

"You'll get in, don't worry." She gives you a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze your knee as you slump against the desk. You know you probably seem childish, you probably seem like you're stressing yourself out about nothing — but your mother understands this feeling all too well. She was also in your shoes once, working in the back of a restaurant after college and waiting on those damn letters.

The difference is, she had no one supporting her the way she can support you. She was freshly married, working a stressful job and struggling to make ends meet. Your father was working two jobs, long hours spent away from the apartment that would become your very first home — because you came along during the part of their lives that was barely starting to settle. Your parents took many risks opening their businesses but taking care of you had to have been their biggest struggle.

And they did it anyway. With all the love they had, all the money they could scrape up, all of it — and eventually, both businesses took off and they never looked back. Sure, it was confusing when a music store and a restaurant within two blocks of each other were named after the same person — but local newspapers and even your town's radio station had interviewed your parents enough over the years that everyone knew the backstory. Newcomers could read about it from newspaper clippings on your mother's restaurant entrance or hear about it from your father's excited conversation — eventually, hearing it from you and Chan whenever people asked who 'Y/N' was.

However, you said 'me.'

Chan said, 'my boss' daughter,' 'my best friend', 'my girlfriend.'

'Mine,' if it was someone around your age.

It made you a bit giddy, biting back your smile like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"What if I don't?" You murmured, letting a frustrated groan fall from your lips as you leaned forward in your chair, covering your face with your hands. She snickers, her hand smoothing over your hair before patting your back, "go home."

"I can't, Chan—" "Walk to your father's shop and go home, Y/N. You can't work in these conditions, maybe the cold air will do you some good."

You do as she says, and she kisses your forehead as you pout, tucking your scarf into your jacket. She pulls her knitted beanie over your head before giving you a careful push out of her office and letting you know she'd clock you out. You opened your mouth to ask about Rosie, only for her to hold a finger to her lips and shoo you away.

The air was prickling against your skin as you made your way outside. There wasn't any snow so far, but the sky was gloomy and so was your mood. You shoved your hands in your pockets, your purse hitched high on your shoulder as you reached the crosswalk. You could see your father's shop sign from where you stood — bold blue lights forming your name and standing out against the white background. If you peek over your shoulder, you'll see your mother's sign, too — recently rebranded to a flickering neon sign, on theme with the retro vibe of the restaurant.

You ignore the pit of inadequency sinking in your stomach as you cross the street, nibbling on your lips and missing the feeling of Chan's warmth.

Despite yourself, you miss him. Even if he makes you angry in the morning and steals your toast, even if he uses up all your body wash when he stays over, even when he merely hogs the blanket and leaves you a shivering mess at two in the morning — you miss him.

Your father sees you coming from halfway down the block, his eyes lighting up through the store windows as you smile inwardly. He stops what he's doing to make his way to the door, and you see Chan holding boxes up to his eyes as he fumbles around to get to the front counter. You speedwalk the rest of the block, your father smiling brightly as you greet him with a hug and a kiss to his cheek.

"It's freezing out there, bud. What're you doing? Did your mother send you down?" He asks, closing the door behind you as you rush over to take one of the boxes off Chan's stack, wiggling your brows at him as he scrunches his nose at you. You stick your tongue out at him, and he just shakes his head, suppressing his smile as he keeps moving towards the counter.

"She sent me home early because I was, in her words, 'going to pace a hole in her floor.'" You roll your eyes, but the waver in the back of your voice is far too evident for your father's keen hearing. He raises a brow, "if this is about grad school—"

"It is, you know it is." You sigh, setting the box down on the counter. You take another and do the same, your boyfriend peering at you through his lashes before tilting his head, "were you checking the Informed Delivery again? I told you to stop doing that."

"I can't! I need to know when the mail is getting here," you slump against the boxes, and your father shares a look with Chan before shaking his head.

"Honey, you're going to get in." "You don't know that!"

"Y/N, it's grad school. I've been there, done that, and I did it with a kid and a wife and two jobs." He says pointedly, making you huff as Chan bites back his smile. You reach over and pinch him gently, earning a scowl as he bats your hand away. Your father pats your shoulder, "it's going to be okay. You're going to get in and you're going to do great and you'll be so proud of yourself."

"What about making you proud?" You mutter, and he just pulls your jacket hood over your head with a soft tap on the box beneath you, "you make me proud just by existing. Go home, Y/N. I'll see you both later."

Chan's eyes widen, and he darts to the back to get his coat as your father begins unpacking one of the boxes. You watch him silently, seeing him pull out a new shipment of vinyls, "anything good?"

"Everything's good," he retorts, holding up an ABBA vinyl that was missing from his collection. "Take this with you, put it on my desk at home."

You grab it, tucking it under your arm as you watch Chan bustle out of the back room with his scarf in his hand. He doesn't bother pulling it over his neck, or zipping up his jacket — and your father gives him a stern look. He pouts, limply zipping up his jacket to the middle of his chest, only for you to roll your eyes and reach over, pulling up to his chin.

"You'll get sick and then we're screwed when your parents get down here." You scold him, and you point at his scarf, "put it on."

"You're my girlfriend, not my mother." "If you want me to keep being your girlfriend—"

"Alright, alright. No need for threats today," he grumbles, wrapping his scarf around his neck loosely before fishing his keys out, "ready? Who is picking Rosie up?"

"No one. She has rehearsal for her play tonight," your father states, peeking over David Bowie and KISS vinyls in his hand. "You guys get home safe, and stay out of the garage."

"Unwrapped gifts?"

He uses the vinyl to point at you, "I mean it, missy. No peeking."

"No peeking, got it." You nod, waving goodbye as Chan bows his head politely. He slips his hand in yours, pulling you towards the door and back into the biting winter wind. "Bet you're glad you put that scarf on, huh?"

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, dropping your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your temple, "did you eat lunch?"

"You just told me to shut up and now you're asking about lunch?" You jest, but wrap your arm around his waist as he guides you both through the vast parking lot. He shrugs, pressing another kiss against your cheekbone, "you're annoying."

"You're worse." "You still love me, though."

"Blah, blah, blah." You mock him with your gloved hand as he smiles against your skin, "I still haven't forgiven you for making our anniversary on Christmas Eve, Lee Chan."

He hums, ducking his head slightly to brush his lips to yours. You roll your eyes at him, giving into his lips as he pulls you into his chest, your lower back hitting the trunk of his car. His hand slides to your face, cupping your jaw as he speaks between kisses, "I'm just the gift that keeps on giving."

"You're so fucking annoying," you snort, and he just smiles into your lips as he cages you between him and the car. "Babe, I'm cold."

"I know a way to warm you up." "You're corny as fuck, get out of my face."

He only laughs, planting a chase kiss to the corner of your mouth before opening your door. You slip inside, quickly grabbing the AUX as he closes your door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver's side. He starts the car with a shiver, rubbing his hands together for warmth as the air vents blast warm air.

"Do we have plans tonight aside from combing through the mail?" He chides, and you huff, pulling your mother's beanie off and tugging at your scarf.

"Mingyu and Soonyoung texted me earlier saying they picked up from Hansol, if we want to join them at our spot." You unzip your jacket as he pulls out of the lot, peeling to the left to head home as he nods. "We're supposed to be getting snow, though, and they want to get up there pretty late so we're not busted like high schoolers."

"We're always supposed to be getting snow," he shakes his head, veering into the left lane as you nibble on your lip. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, holding his hand out for you to take as you rest your head on the window. "Y/N, you can't stress yourself out like this."

"How are you fine? I feel like I'm going to throw up and die," you mutter, tracing circles into his palm before he sighs, simply sliding his fingers into yours and swiping his thumb back and forth on your hand. The car is silent as he drives home, and you hate the way your throat burns as you take a glimpse over your shoulder to look at him.

His eyes are tired, his back sore…mind full of stress and ideas and problems.

Chewing on his cheek as he flicks on the turn signal, your house coming into view as you sit up. Your eyes immediately dart to the mailbox, which is stuffed full (and left open) with overflowing mail. Chan barely has a chance to pull into your driveway before you're opening the door and sliding in front of the mailbox — pulling letter after letter out.

None of them are addressed to you except one, from a university across town that had the highest acceptance rate in the county. Close to home, carried your degree and Chan had applied, too.

You shove the rest of the mail into Chan's chest as he sidles up next to you, ripping the envelope open — and your heart sinks in your chest. The Dear before your name does nothing to soften the blow, and you try not to crumple the piece of paper in your hand as Chan's fingers gently pull it from your grasp. He clicks his tongue, folding the page back up and tucking it into his pocket. He slots the rest of the mail back into the mailbox, looping his arm with yours and pulling you toward the house.

You fall into lockstep silently, the rejection making your eyes burn with tears.

It was so stupid. A university with a seventy-six-percent acceptance rate saying no to you — a summa cum laude graduate with a hefty résumé and strong ties to the community. You knew half the professors there, they were friendly with your parents and Chan's. You knew other students there, Hansol and Seungkwan being two of them — Hansol went at night after his apprenticeship at the tattoo parlor and his sporadic shifts at your mother's restaurant, and Seungkwan went in the morning, leaving the spot open at your father's shop for Chan to fill.

"It's gonna be okay." Chan murmurs as he unlocks the front door, kissing your temple as you make your way inside. You roll your eyes, blinking back the tears as you kick off your boots. He takes your coat off, hanging it in the front closet as you cross your arms on your chest and make your way to your bedroom. He shuffles around in the front of the house for a moment as you slide your jeans off, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants from your drawer and pulling them on. You're pulling your shirt over your head as he appears at the door, your fingers plucking one of his out as he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder.

"Y/N, come on." "It's fine. It's not a big deal." "You can be upset about it, you know."

His fingers unclasp your bra, pulling the straps down your arms and tossing it across the room before he squeezes your sides. You shake your head, tonguing your cheek as you pull the shirt over your head. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "how can I help?"

"I don't need help." "Y/N."

"I don't, it's fine." You twist out of his hold, pulling your duvet out from its tucked position and moving your throw pillows onto the desk chair in the corner. He changes his clothes silently, his fingers fiddling with the remote and pulling up a random rerun of 2 Broke Girls on your television before sliding into bed with you. You're facing the wall, your knees curled to your chest when you feel his arm pull you into him. Your back hits his chest as you let a singular tear spill down your cheek, and he sighs against your neck as you bite back a sob.

"I know you're crying." He whispers, "it's going to be okay. It's just one. You have six others, don't worry."

Something in you wants to say that he doesn't get it, but he does. He does get it, and that's what bothers you — you know he didn't get in, either. His letter arrived a week before yours did, but he took it differently. He'd stared at the letter for a few seconds before shrugging and tossing it into the recycling bin in his kitchen.

He'd taken it in stride.

"It's frustrating," you mutter back, your voice thick as you wipe at your eyes haphazardly. He laughs softly, his hand slipping under your shirt and caressing your skin, "yeah, I know. But we'll never appreciate the easy things in life if other things didn't fuck us over."

"I know." "It'll be okay." "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and you sigh, letting your shoulders sag as you turn in his hold to bury your face in his neck. He wraps his arms around you, peppering kisses along your hairline, "I love you, and I'll always be here."

You nod silently, tears continuing to spill down your cheeks and soak into his shirt. You're not sure when you fall asleep, but you're sure the warmth of Chan's embrace and the soft cadence of his heart were nothing but a lullaby.

Your father had been wrong about Rosie — the rehearsal had been the day before, and the play was that night. The Lees also arrived back in town that night, creating even more of a hectic night as they tried to settle in while still getting ready on time to attend Rosie's play.

You and Chan were barely awake when your father pulled you out of bed, turning on all the lights and thrusting two bouquets of flowers into your hands when he rushedly told you to get dressed and get down to the elemtentary school. Chan haphazardly pulled on a pair of slacks that you'd ironed days in advance for this day, and you shimmied into the dress you'd promised Rosie you'd wear for the night of the play — a deep red with glitter all over it, swiping on a quick layer of lipstick and basically falling out the front door.

You were both half-asleep and sharing a cup of hot chocolate in the back of the school's auditorium, watching your little sister prance around the stage as Rudolph, her nose painted red and her microphone taped to her forehead. You leaned your head on his shoulder then, his hand snaking around your waist as one of the mothers leaned over and asked which kid was yours.

"Oh, she's my sister. She's Rudolph."

The mother, her nametag reading Mrs. Kim, gave you a tight smile. You raised a brow, "which one's yours?"

"Dasher. He'd wanted to be Rudolph but I guess your sister took the part." Her voice was rather grating, and you nodded slowly as your hand on Chan's arm tightened. Chan's brows furrowed, "Rosie earned that spot."

"Sure, of course." She nods, crossing her arms as your sister gave a monologue, "it had nothing to do with your mother being the caterer for the dinner after."

"That's enough, thank you." You snap, turning away from her as your mother leaned over your father to ask if you were alright. You gave her a thumbs up, and Chan's grip on the flowers was deathly as he tongued his cheek. You sat stiffly in your seats until the play ended, cheering loudly as the cast took their bow and the curtain dropped. Mrs. Kim was out of her seat before you or Chan could speak, but the sour taste lingered in your mouths as you both moved with your parents to find Rosie.

"Y/N! Did you see me!? Was I cool!?" Rosie screams your name from the side of the stage, and you smile as you make your way over to her. She wraps her arms around your neck as you nestle her to your hip, kissing her cheek, "you were so cool, babycakes. Come on, Channie's gonna take our picture, okay?"

The night went on smoothly, but you and Chan continued to share glances as the majority of the cast and their parents moved to your mother's restaurant. Mrs. Kim ate with an annoyed look settled in her brows, and you felt Chan hold you back from saying anything one too many times as your mother gave a toast.

She even congratulated Mrs. Kim's son on being casted as Santa's very first reindeer, the boy smiling as your mother mentioned the importance of his character.

"Glad to see someone knows the story," Chan mumbled in your ear, and you bit back your laughter as his phone buzzed against your thigh. You glance down at it, and he covers it quickly, shoving it into his pocket before kissing your cheek, "it's Mingyu. I'll be right back."

You hadn't seen Mingyu's name on the screen.

You'd seen an unsaved number.

You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you nod quietly, his hand squeezing your hip as he slinks away. He makes his way outside, and you can still see him through the window — a grin on his face as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks whoever messaged him. He's flushed, as he scrolls through something, zooming in and tilting his head the way he does when he's intrigued by something. He swipes out of it, his thumbs clicking around the screen and sending off a message.

You don't see anything else because Rosie tugs at your sleeve, asking you if you'll get her a slice of the black forest cake your mother had made. You agree, swallowing the nausea in your throat as you scurry to the back.

"You're looking green, honey." Your mother's voice cuts through the air as you shakily cut the cake for Rosie, giving her a thick slice on a paper plate and making sure she takes it with both hands. She thanks you as she skips back out of the kitchen, and you glance at your mother. Her eyes are expectant, and you nibble on your lip.

"I didn't get into the university across town," you sigh, and her eyes soften. It's not a lie, obviously — but you're not going to bring up your relationship and it's potential problems up to your mother. She gives your shoulder a soft squeeze, "it's okay, honey. You've still got, what, six letters? I'm sure you'll get in somewhere."

"Yeah! Me too," you nod quickly, "I'm just bummed. I hope I at least get back into my undergrad, it would be embarrassing if I didn't."

"You will, honey." She snorts, pinching your cheek, "Now, come on. I need to rub Mrs. Kim's face in the fact that she couldn't buy Rosie's spot in the play. Can you believe she tried to bribe the teacher into letting her son be Rudolph? Despicable."

You gaped as you followed behind her, Chan still standing outside. He was still smiling, but he was speaking on the phone. He was leaning against the building, fingers toying with his lip the way he does when he's excited. His brows move as he speaks, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he nods.

"Actually, Mom, I think I'm gonna cut out early." You clear your throat, and her eyes widen as she looks at you — but something on your face must give you away because her brows furrow.

"Honey, are you okay?" Her voice is hushed as she holds a hand to your cheek, feeling around as your father makes eye contact with you across the room. He excuses himself from his conversation just as Chan makes his way back inside, forcing himself to neutralize his expression before stepping back into the main room.

"Are you alright, Y/N? You look…stressed." Your father's voice is low as he, too, presses his hands to your face, and you bat them both away as you nod.

"Yes, I'm fine! I'm not sick, I'm not pregnant, so don't worry." You assure them, but your voice is thick the way it is before you start crying. Worry flashes across their faces, and you press a kiss to each of their cheeks before you feel Rosie tug at your dress, "are you leaving, Y/N?"

"I don't feel well, babycakes." You pout as you crouch to be eye-level with her, and she frowns as you carefully fix her antlers. "You did so well, though! You're super duper cool, the best Rudolph I ever did see."

She perks up slightly, and you wipe her face of cake crumbs before pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I'll see you at home, yeah? I gotta wrap your presents, too."

You wiggle your brows at her as she hugs you tight, bidding you goodbye excitedly. You wave at your parents, giving Chan a firm look that catches him by surprise. You push the door open, pulling your jacket over your shoulders and storming out of the building. He follows behind you, grabbing your wrist as you round the corner to the back of the parking lot.

"Woah, hey. What's got you in such a rush?"

"I want to go home. I have things to do." You reach into your pocket for the keys, only to remember that Chan drove you both. "Give me the keys, I'll drive."

"Not like that, you won't." He scoffs, and you twist your wrist out of his hand with a huff, "Y/N, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing, I just want to go home. I need to wrap gifts and I need a damn drink." You run your hand over your face, blowing a breath out your lips as you look at him, "what did Mingyu want?"

He stiffens, but recovers quickly as he shrugs, "said he's got prerolls and we should join him and Hosh tomorrow after work. They're going into the city for last minute gift shopping, but they should be back before the snow is supposed to hit tomorrow."

You tongue your cheek, eyeing him before you take a step closer. He raises a brow at you, "what?"

"You giggle while talking on the phone with your cousin?" You ask, crossing your arms on your chest as Chan rolls his eyes. "Do you?"

"You don't laugh with your cousins?" "I don't have cousins, you know that."

"Y/N, what are you trying to get at?" He says flatly, "are you just looking for reasons to fight? Because I'm getting really sick of it lately."

You must look some kind of way because he sighs, running a hand over his face, "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Give me the keys." Your voice is plain, level. You hold your hand out, and he shakes his head, "I'm not letting you drive like this."

You shove your hands into your pockets out of frustration, feeling your mother's dolphin keychain rub your palm. Your eyes widen, and you pull the keys out and click around, your mother's car across the lot. You glance at Chan over your shoulder, before clicking your tongue.

"Might want to ask Soonyoung if he'll fork your bed over tonight." You turn your nose up, your heels clicking against the pavement as Chan moves to block your path. "Move."

"Y/N, I really don't want to do this tonight, okay? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make things more difficult—" "You're not doing anything, Chan. I just want to go home. So move." "You're calling me Chan and you haven't called me that since we got back to campus last year so don't act like you're not upset with me."

"Chan, I'm going home." You state, a finality to your voice that he doesn't like as he shakes his head, "we're going home together."

"You weren't talking to Mingyu on the phone." "So what if I wasn't?"

"Then who was it?" Your voice comes out softer than you intend it to, and you're annoyed at the tears pricking the back of your eyes when you hear your mother yelling your name. You push Chan away slightly, turning around to see your mother looking around for you. You wave your hand, walking away from Chan quickly as she holds up a stack of envelopes.

"Honey, I'm sorry," she's out of breath as she reaches you, holding them out. "The mailman dropped these off here right after you left and I didn't get a chance to get them to you. Good luck!"

She scurries back inside, and your name is stamped across all the envelopes with several university seals. You chew on your lip, shoving the envelopes in your pockets and taking a deep breath.

"Please, let me take you home." Chan's voice is in your ear, and you shake your head, feeling your earrings swing.

"I'll see you later, Chan." You murmur, skirting around him and making your way to the car.

He doesn't follow you this time.

YOU WENT TO BED WITHOUT OPENING ANY OF THE ENVELOPES, AND IT'S BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU'VE SEEN CHAN.

He texted you several times, calling you at least twice a day before you sent him a simple stop. He didn't, and you silently muted your conversation thread, ignoring the flooding messages and fiddling with the ring on your finger that said he was yours.

And you were his, of course.

That wasn't the part you were questioning.

You drove yourself to work — making both sets of parents felt the shift between you and Chan. Your little sister felt it, too, as you hoisted her into your backseat and drove her around with you to run errands for your mother and then drop her off to spend the day with your father at the shop — giving Chan a nod in greeting.

The way he frowned made your heart sink, but he didn't beg. He didn't plead, he didn't force you to speak to him and you were glad he didn't. You were really glad he didn't, because he was giving you the space you wanted even if it was clearly hurting him, too. You saw the way his hands twitched at his sides to touch you, the way he shifted in his seat at dinner — the way his eyes pleaded with his parents not to ask any questions and how they listened.

You went out for breakfast alone to avoid speaking to him, and you took yourself to the shop for your snow tires — the snow starting to layer slowly over the course of the passing days. Mingyu and Soonyoung were finally done with their gift shopping, and Chan hadn't been home until nightfall for the last two days…

"It's Christmas Eve," your mother sang, prancing through the living room with her big dress held against her chest. Yours was a soft pink this year, and you snickered from your spot on the couch as she ruffled your hair, "go get ready!"

"I will, I will." You pushed off the couch, shaking your head as you made your way back into your bedroom. You closed the door behind you, glancing at the envelopes on your vanity. You chewed on your lip, sighing as you grabbed the stack and stood at your desk, picking up a letter opener and taking a deep breath.

"It's not a big deal." You whispered to yourself, slicing through the envelope and unfolding it.

Rejected.

You're on envelope number three when Chan slips into your bedroom. You don't notice him, your vision blurry as you read the same words for the fourth time, after much consideration, we regret to inform you…

"Stupid," your voice is thick as you mutter to yourself, crumpling the paper slightly in your hand when you feel his chin on your shoulder. You don't bother fighting it, leaning into his warmth as a singular tear drops onto the paper. "Hey."

"Hey." He murmurs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he sighs. You don't like the way your heart picks up at his touch, your hands reaching for the next envelope. He pushes them out of your hands, slotting the letter opener back into your cannister of pencils before pulling you away from the desk. He turns you around, caging you against the vanity as he peers down at you.

"Are you still—" "Who were you on the phone with?"

He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, "I don't have to tell you everything I do, Y/N."

"If there's someone else, just end this now."

He looks up immediately, "what? What did you say?"

You breathe out shakily, picking at your nails between your bodies as your lip trembles, "if there's someone else—"

He doesn't let you finish, crashing his lips to yours. The kiss is hungry, angry, even — like he's trying to prove a point. His hands are tight on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest, "never, ever would I do that to you, baby. There is no one else but you. Ever."

"But you—"

"I promise. I'd never step out on you like that. I told you I'd do right by you and I meant that, your honor is mine, too." His eyes are soft as you pout, "seriously? That's what you thought was happening? You think I'd do that to you?"

"No," you admit, covering your teary eyes with your hands, "God, I don't know. I'm just…I'm sorry. Everything fucking sucks and the weather is changing and we are changing, I feel crazy. I think I'm going crazy."

"You're not going crazy," he speaks gently, his hands stupidly comforting as they slide up and down your hips, squeezing lightly. "We are changing. Things are changing, time is passing. You're allowed not to like it."

"Then why is no one else freaking out? Why does it feel like I'm the only one?" You speak behind your hands, and his own wrap around your wrists, moving your arms to wrap around his neck before he presses a kiss to each of your eyebrows, eyelids, cheeks…one to your lips. "Chan."

"We are freaking out. I'm waiting on letters, too. I'm waiting for answers just like you are, just like everyone else. I want to make you proud, too. I want to make my parents proud, your parents, shit, even Rosie. I know you want that too, and knowing that you're doing this with me makes it easier. So what if we don't get into a couple of schools? We're bound to get into one, you know? We're moving down the path we're meant to, at the pace were supposed to. You want all your answers now and that's just not how it works, babe."

"I miss you," you hug him tightly, "I miss sleeping next to you every night."

He sags in your hold, his arms tight around your waist as he trails kisses down your shoulder, "I miss you, too. God, I miss you."

"Sleep here tonight." "I will." "And tomorrow night."

"Okay," he nods as you sniffle, "dumbass."

"Fuck you!" You bury your face in his neck despite yourself, feeling him smile against your skin, "Chan, stop."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." He peppers his lips along your cheeks, kissing the pout on your lips twice before matching your expression. "I haven't seen you in a week because of this shit."

"You still haven't told me who you were on the phone with." "I don't have to."

You must look unimpressed, because he rolls his eyes, pulling his phone out and clicking around before pointing at the unsaved number. He presses the information icon.

Maybe: Diamond Life Apartments.

You tongue your cheek as he kisses it, tossing his phone on your vanity as you huff.

"And the pictures?" "Units that fit our budget. How did you even see that?"

You don't reply, slotting your lips with his. He melts into you, his hips pressing against yours before his hands slip under the waistband of your sweatpants. His thumbs brush the lace of your panties, and he pulls away to pull the sweatpants down — peering down at the white fabric. You shove his hand away, "you're not supposed to see that."

He nods slowly, but his fingertips pluck at the collar of your shirt, and you cover your chest with your hand before he can see the matching white lace of the bra. He nods again, fighting back his smile.

"You're fucking me tonight, aren't you?" "In your dreams."

"Yeah, you're in all of them." He speaks between kisses to your lips, "with the house…the ring…anything you want."

Your cheeks grow hot as he teasing his fingertips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, "it's our anniversary and we're spending it with our parents and getting stoned with my cousins. Isn't that such shit?"

"You asked me to be your girlfriend on Christmas Eve, Chan. You knew it would be this way." "Stop calling me Chan. You're pissing me off."

"Don't care, that's your name," you shrug, your breath hitching in your throat as his hands cup your ass. He kisses down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin, "aren't you supposed to be getting dressed, baby?"

"How come you can call me Y/N for the last three weeks but I call you Chan and I get the paddle to my ass?" You huff, feeling him smile against your neck before he meets your eyes again.

"You told me that you didn't like it when I called you cute names while we were fighting, but we've been fighting everyday so I didn't know when I could or couldn't." He says pointedly, your eyes narrowing as he presses another kiss to your lips, "and if you wanna try a paddle, we can—"

"Shut up." "But you're so pretty bent over my knee…whining for more—" "Lee Chan."

He squeals as you poke his sides, pressing another kiss to your cheek before pulling his hands out of your sweatpants.

"But, seriously. Look at me," his hand grabs your jaw gently, making you meet his eyes, "it's just you and me. Okay? I'd never do that to you. In a million years."

"A million and one?" "It's an imposter. Not me."

"Okay," you mumble, blinking up at him as he cooes, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. "You're so cute, baby. I love you."

"Uh huh." "Say you love me back or I'm keeping your gift for myself."

"Now I sound materialistic if I say it back," you point out, making him huff as you let out a chuckle. "I love you. Get out, I have to get dressed."

"Just a peek?" "You already got your peek." "Is it at least sheer?"

"Chan, get out of my bedroom." You state plainly, jerking your thumb in the direction of the door, and he pouts but moves away slightly. You turn around, your hands moving to grab your hairbrush when you feel his hand on your back. You roll your eyes as it snakes through your hair, tugging gently as he presses his hips against your ass. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his bulge press into you through the thin fabric of your sweatpants.

"Just for good measure, you know I'm only yours, right?" His voice is low against your ear, and you hum in the affirmative as his other hand lightly drags a finger down the column of your throat, wrapping gingerly at the base with a soft squeeze. "And you're mine, right? All of you. Mine."

"Yours," you breathe out, and his fingers in your hair let go gently, soothing your scalp before both hands trail down to your chest, cupping your tits firmly, the rough material of your bra helping the friction against your nipples. You can't help but push your hips back against him, feeling his teeth nip at your earlobe.

"All of you." "All of me."

"Good girl, baby." He kisses the shell of your ear, "I'll see you later, beautiful."

Dinner is even slower than last year.

You're happily surrounded by family, and you can tell your parents noticed you and Chan are back on speaking terms. None of them say anything, simply watching the way he whispers about your mother's dress while unwrapping your silverware, the way you press a kiss to his cheek when he asks you to pass the salt, the way you both blush furiously when Rosie scrunches her nose at you and asks if she can be your flower girl when you get married.

Of course, you both say yes.

The questions you once hated are no longer asked. Your parents (read: your mother) no longer badger you about when you're getting married, when you're having kids, when you're settling down — instead, all four of them turning the focus on Chan. They ask him when he'll be proposing, when he's going to get his act together, when he's going to start thinking about your futures together and apart — and you can't help but smile smugly as he sinks in his chair. You eat your food silently, letting him drown in the questions as he gently nudges your foot under the table every time it's a 'we' question rather than a 'he' question.

"You're cynical," he murmurs as everyone gathers back around the front door, saying their nightly goodbyes and Rosie is leaning against your hip as your mother and Mrs. Lee have a laugh. Your father takes her swiftly, tucking her into her carseat in the back of his car before you and Chan get a chance to say your flurry of goodbyes and kissed cheeks.

"I thought it would never fucking end," you scrunch your nose as you take your coat off in the passenger seat, your dress rustling as you sink into the comfortable felt seats of your car. He snorted, "you? What about me!? You left me to die out there."

"We die like men, Lee Chan. I listened to them for years!" "…Very true, very valid and I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be." You mutter, but he doesn't start the car. You spare a glance his way, seeing him already staring at you. "What now?"

"Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?" He leans over the center console, innocently running his eyes over you. You raise a brow, "yes, Chan. You cried in my bedroom and told me I looked like Ariel if she slayed and had a voice when she met Prince Eric."

"Or Princess Peach." "Both are princesses, are you trying to tell me something?"

"That I know no other characters with pink dresses." He kisses your cheek, "and that—"

"If you call me your princess I'm gonna throw up." "But you are." "Bleugh, next."

"I've called you that before and you've never complained," he snorts, turning the car on as you roll your eyes. You hate the way your cheeks heat, your fingers toying with the pink tulle of your dress before you peer over at him as he peels out of the parking lot.

"What are you giving me this year?" "All my love." "Chan."

"It's true!" He argues as he slows to a stop at the end of the street, preparing to drive up to the spot where Mingyu and Soonyoung said they'd be waiting for you both. It was your spot, technically — Mingyu and Soonyoung just happened to stumble across it when you and Chan snuck up there to get a little touchy-feely in his car during your graduation party with the excuse of buying more chips.

"Babe, come on." You whine, tugging at his suit jacket as he tongues his cheek, pulling forward as the light turns green, "you can't say I'm your princess and not tell me."

"I didn't get to say it, you cut me off. Bleugh, next, if I recall correctly." "I'll suck your dick if you tell me right now."

"Tempting offer," he reaches over, pinching your cheek between his knuckles, "but you'll wanna do that after, anyway. Trust me."

"I don't like you very much right now." You cross your arms on your chest, your fingers toying with the pendant of the little gold necklace you wore today. Your dress was floor-length with long sleeves and a square neckline, and you'd worn your hair down and back at Rosie's instruction. She'd begged you to do her hair like yours, and you'd even slipped a little tiara into the bump of her curls.

The rest of the ride was silent aside from Chan's phone on AUX, She's My Religion by Pale Waves being the last song to play as you made your way up the hill, snow covering the patches of grass and making you scrunch your nose. He slows to a stop, turning the car off before turning to you.

"I need you to open this before we do anything else." He reaches into the glove box, pulling out an envelope. It's addressed to you but the mailbox is that of your father's shop. It's from your old university, and you glance at him as he pushes it into your chest. You take it with a sigh, shaking your head as you hastily rip it open. You slip the letter out, giving him a bored look — but there's a twinkle of something in his eyes.

"What do you know, Lee Chan?" "That I love you."

"Uh huh," you must look unimpressed, because he points at the letter, "read it."

You make a show of undoing the folds of the letter, clearing your throat, "Esteemed Y/N L/N…they're really laying it on thick, aren't they?"

"Read, baby." "I'm reading, I'm reading."

"It is my distinct pleasure to inform you…" You trail off, sitting up abruptly as the words get caught in your throat. Chan is giddy next to you, "It is my distinct pleasure to inform you that you've been granted admission as a graduate student for the P.S.M program in Biotechnology for the upcoming Spring Quarter…"

You feel your lashes wet, Chan's fingers gently wiping your cheeks, "I told you you'd get in."

"I'm gonna throw up," you blurt, your voice thick as he laughs. His arms wrap around you tightly, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks as you cried into his shoulder, "Chan, I'm going to throw up."

"No, you're not. Because this suit was very expensive and you don't want to spend your Christmas cleaning puke out of your car." His teasing tone only makes you cry harder, his hand smoothing back your back in soothing circles, "shh, I know. So stressful, huh? But now I can say I told you so…and who knows, maybe you'll get a doctorate."

"Please," you scoff, sniffling, "I can't wait for an acceptance letter to that, I might die."

"Well, if you put three different mailing addresses you'll certainly drive yourself mad, my love." "Fuck you." "God, I wish you would."

You pinch his arm as he giggles, batting you away lightly as you slump in your seat. You take a deep breath, looking at the letter on the dashboard before looking back at him, "did you get a letter?"

"Nothing yet," he shakes his head, "but that one got to the shop this morning, it would've been there all weekend if I hadn't dropped by to pick up your gift."

"Getting me a gift from my dad's store is a cheap cop-out." "I never said it was from the store, I said I went there to pick it up."

"Well, what is it?" You sniffle, closing your eyes. "And don't tell me it's something expensive, because my stomach already hurts at the money I dropped for your gift earlier."

"You might be upset if I tell you the price." "Then don't, just give it to me and pretend it was cheap." "I don't think I can."

"Why?" You peel open your eyes, only to widen them the moment you see a small velvet box in his hand. He nibbles on his lip, fiddling with the crease of it as you sit up properly, "Chan."

"Don't say my name like that." "Like what—" "Like you're about to break my heart."

"Chan," you cover your face, letting out a frustrated groan as a fresh batch of hot tears simmer in your eyes, "Chan."

"Baby, please. Just listen." He pleads, and you trill your lips to stave off a sob as he pulls your hands from your eyes, his thumb running over the promise ring he'd given you exactly a year ago. "Just listen to me."

You nod silently, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he wipes his knuckles across your cheeks, "baby, stop crying."

"I can't." "You can." "I love you."

"I love you, too." He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before he takes your hands in his. "I don't want to ever take away from your personal achievements. I am infinitely proud of you and I'm incredibly honored to be the one that calls you mine."

"Chan." Your lips tug into a pout, dragging his name out as you bury your face in his neck. He wraps his arms around you gently, kissing the side of your face as he speaks.

"This is not a proposal until you want it to be. I didn't expect this either, but I don't have another gift prepared or properly wrapped for tonight. We can hold off. I can do this another time."

You're silent in his arms, your fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten longer, long enough to tug on as you feel him keep kissing your face.

"…And you won't be upset?" "Never upset with you, my love."

"Can I see it?" You pull back slightly, and he nods, shakily popping the box open. Your pout only grows deeper as you steady his hand, planting a kiss to his temple as he turns on the courtesy lights. A thin gold band with a princess-cut diamond, and three side stones — two sapphire, one emerald. It matches your promise ring, and his. His eyes are scanning your face as he shifts slightly, "do you like it?"

"Did you ask my dad?" "And your mom. And Rosie."

"Give me your speech." You sniffle, resting your head against his. He blinks at you, and you wave him on, "go on. Let's hear it. Question and all."

"I love you." He starts, and you nod quietly, your thumb tracing his nailbeds as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you over the center console and sitting you in his lap. He moves the seat back slightly, and you snuggle into his chest as he takes a shaky deep breath.

"I love you, and I remember when we were in middle school and I told you that for the first time, you told me that it was selfish to say that. That I loved you, because the point of being in love was that there was no I in team. You didn't let me tell you I loved you again without interrupting me and telling me that we loved each other, and that stuck with me for a very long time. I wanted to be in love with you, forever, even if it meant constantly getting interrupted because I knew how you felt about it but I can't help but give in to that selfishness. To love you and want you all to myself, knowing that I'd never get over you if I had even just a taste of what it was like for you to be in love with me. Our relationship has taken the worst times of my life and made them all that much sweeter, and amongst it all, you've made me a better man. I know I have a lot to live up to, and I know I've made you so many promises…and I intend to keep each and every one of them. I will always, always embrace your individuality and I always want things to be as easy as they've always been between you and me. You call my name, and I'll come. If time is the issue, if school is the issue, if I am not man enough for you yet, I will wait. Patiently, and I will be better for you. I will do everything I can to be the man you need, and in turn, I want you to be everything you've ever wanted. I want you to feel fulfilled. My love for you is rooted in selfishness, I will never deny that, and even if you deny me now, or tomorrow, or in ten years time…I'll still love you endlessly, if it means you're happy with yourself, and your honor is mine even if mine is not yours. I know this is a lot of me, me, and me…but I hope you'll have me, anyway. Will you…marry me?"

You nod your head silently, putting up your hand. It trembles slightly as you tap the box with your ring finger. He takes it out quickly, sliding it down your finger with shaky hands as you both hear a car pull up into the snow. You don't give him a chance to speak, pressing your lips to his as his thumb adjusts the ring on your finger before you move to hold his face gently. It's cold against his cheek, you can tell by the way he flinches — until you hear the slam of a car door.

"I love you." You mumble against his lips, "we're going to go up there for an hour, pretend we care about what they have to say, then I'm going to pretend I'm cold and you're going to walk me down here and I'm fucking you in the backseat. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he's breathless as he looks up at you, "yes ma'am."

"Perfect. Let's go get fucking blitzed." You pat his cheek, before turning back, "and yes, by the way. I will marry you."

"Great," he nods, but there's a gloss over his eyes that tells you the feigned nonchalance is not nearly enough to contain his emotions. You press a kiss to his lips again, "I love you, so much."

"I know." "Say it back, dipshit."

"There she is," he smiles, making you huff as he chuckles, wiping his eyes carefully, "I love you, honey."

"Are you still going to cry at our wedding?" "I could cry right now." "No balls."

Tears start to stream freely down his face as you gape, quickly wiping his cheeks as you plant your lips all over his face, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"I love you so much, Y/N." "I know, I know I love you, honey—"

A knock on the window makes you both jump, and you quickly cover Chan's face by holding him to your chest as you crack the window. You raise a brow as you look up at Mingyu, "yes?"

"Are you guys gonna get out or make out, 'cause I got shit to do." Soonyoung interjects from behind him, and the taller man nods and shrugs as he steps back. You roll your eyes, "you never change, Hosh."

"You're still hot, too." He says smugly, and Chan scoffs from against your chest, rolling the window down blindly and pointing a finger at his cousin, "I'll fucking end you, shithead."

"Yeah, because a little guy with lipstick stamps all over his face is going to beat my ass." He teases, and you give him an unamused look as you roll up the window, "we'll be right there."

"Don't get stuck, now." He turns on his heel, whistling as Mingyu shakes his head and follows up the hill.

"I like the lipstick stamps, thank you very much." He mutters, his arm around your waist tightening before he peppers kisses at the base of your throat, "you still want that summer wedding?"

"In the woods? "Like in Breaking Dawn?" "I'm getting déjà vu."

"Mmh." He keeps kissing up your neck, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers as he trails up your jaw, "you smell so fucking good."

"Keep it in your pants. Twenty minutes." You breathe out, but you lean into his lips more. He tugs at your earring, "I'm already hard."

"Not my problem." "It is. Did you know my girl's goin' to grad school?"

"Is she, now?" You run your free hand through his hair as he kisses your cheek repeatedly, but you tug him back, earning a soft whine and a rut against your thigh from his hips. "Get it together, baby."

"Just touch me a little. Spit in my mouth, even." "You're insane." "About you."

You plant a kiss on his lips, reaching into your seat to grab your coat and pulling it over your shoulders as he pouts, kissing up your neck. You hate how easily your underwear sticks to you, but you ignore the throbbing sensation and unlock the door — your hand easily finding his buldge over his pants and giving it a tight squeeze.

"Behave," you mutter sternly, his eyes wide as he nods. His lips part slightly, and you roll your eyes as you lean over slightly. He instinctively opens his mouth for you, sticking his tongue out and letting you spit onto it. He lurches forward to kiss you, and you let him meet your lips as you feel him grinding against your palm greedily. You give him another squeeze, swallowing his gasp before pushing the door open, "don't act up, Lee Chan."

"Tell me you love me." "I love you." "I could literally cum right now."

"Get out of the car, idiot." You roll your eyes again, but don't fight back the smile that graces your lips as you zip up your coat. He slides out shortly after, clearing his throat as he adjusts himself in his pants.

"One hour," he holds up a finger as he grabs your hand, and you raise a brow. "Easy. I've got this."

Not easy, and neither of you got this.

Chan is quietly listening to Mingyu talk about how he's finally got a foot in with Tzuyu from the jewelry shop in town, a long time friend of yours. You're listening to Soonyoung talk about his boyfriend from back home, how he went home with his parents and they've been struggling to communicate.

You can feel his bulge under your thighs as you sit on his lap, the two of you sharing a chair Mingyu brought out from the back of his truck. You can feel him rut against you every few minutes, genuinely trying to get comfortable but failing as the softness of your thighs tightens with every movement — and you're both grateful that Mingyu and Soonyoung are too zonked too notice it. You feel a sharp inhale against your neck about twenty minutes, and you almost think he's finished in his pants — but a strained look tells you he's fine.

"So, we heard you might have some news," Mingyu suddenly says, and you cross your legs on top of Chan's as you raise a brow. He blushes something awful as he looks away, and Mingyu wiggles his brows as he hands the joint over to you. You hold it between your lips, taking a quick drag as you tilt your head, "me? News?"

"Oh, cut the shit." Soonyoung says, a shit-eating grin spreading on his lips as he leans over his knees, resting his elbows on them. "Tell us already. Confirm or perish, Miss Y/N."

You roll your eyes, holding up your left hand. They glance at it, furrowing their brows and looking at each other. Mingyu scoots closer, holding your hand to his face before Chan swats him away and pulls your hand to his chest.

"You're engaged?" Mingyu asks, confusion crossing his features as it does your own.

"Uh, yeah? Is that not what you were talking about?"

"Sure, whatever. Uh, congrats," Soonyoung waves it off, before clasping his hands together, "grad school. You got in, right?!"

Realization crosses your face as both men look giddy for your answer, excitement gleaming in their eyes and warming your chest. You bite back your smile, nodding slowly as they cheer loudly. You cover your ears as Soonyoung smothers you in a bone-crushing hug, and Mingyu smacks the back of Chan's head lightly.

"You should learn from her! She's so smart and cool and you're some frat boy." Mingyu turns his nose up at him, and you manage to free yourself from Soonyoung's embrace to rub the back of Chan's head.

"Hey! He's still waiting on his letters!" You defend him, tucking his head to your chest as Chan sticks his tongue out at them, "yeah! I'm still waiting!"

"Listen, doll." Soonyoung points at Chan, "you can't expect wifey here to carve the pavement for you to drag your nuts. Either you get into grad school or you die trying, and if you're not going to go then you build her a house with your hands."

"I know how to love my girl, thank you very much. I'd build her a palace, so fuck off." Chan smushes his face into your neck, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes, the whites dusted pink from the weed.

"God, I miss Jihoon." He slumps back on his chair. Mingyu scrunches his nose, "then call him, idiot. I'm sure he misses you, too."

"This is why Tzuyu doesn't fuck with you." "First of all, Tzuyu and I are gonna go steady. Just you wait." "She invited you to her New Year's Eve party, Mingyu. She didn't ask you on a date."

"So? She might want a New Year's kiss! I can't risk not taking any chances she might give me!" Mingyu exclaims, and Chan taps his watch quietly.

"Hour and ten, baby." He whispers into your neck, and you sigh, looking over at Mingyu and Soonyoung.

"Fellas, I hate to do this—" "No! C'mon, Y/N! We're only here for a few more days before Soonyoung makes us drive back to smooch his boyfriend!"

"Whine all you want, bud, but I'm practically freezing my toes off." You grimace, gesturing at your open-toed heels with a stiff hand. "I'm just gonna warm up. I'll be back."

"You guys might as well go home," Soonyoung scoffs, nudging Mingyu with his elbow. "I told you they couldn't hang."

"Oh! Okay!" You nod, cueing in malicious compliance as you hold the joint back out to Mingyu. He takes it suspiciously, and you grab Chan's hand and stick your tongue out at Soonyoung, "have fun missing your boyfriend while I fuck my fiancé, shithead."

The boys nearly fall over themselves trying to argue with you, but you hold your head high and pull Chan down the hill to your car. You fish the keys of his pocket, letting him pull you close and kissing your lips messily as you unlock the car.

"I know it's our anniversary," he mumbles, actively trying to pull the zipper of your coat down in the freezing winter air, "and I promise I'll make it up to you but if I'm not in you in the next five minutes, I might die."

"You won't die." "But you can take it for me, right? You're my good girl, right, baby?"

Your cheeks grow warm despite the weather, your hand finally unlocking the doors as he kisses down your neck.

"Trying to knock me up already?" "Fuck, don't say that."

His hips press against you, and you hardly have a chance to open the door fully before he's pushing you inside, the warmth engulfing you both as he slams the door shut and makes quick work of your shoes, tossing them into the front seat. You're not surprised as he kisses the arches of your feet, dragging his lips up your ankles and pushing the skirt of your dress out of the way as you try to pull off your coat.

If Chan is anything when it comes to you, it's needy.

If Chan is anything when he's stoned, it's needy.

His kisses against your thighs are wet and messy, and you hardly have time to pull the zipper of your dress down like some sort of contortionist when you feel his face pressing into the damp fabric of your panties. You hear him inhale deeply as you manage to pull the dress over your head, lazily tossing it into the front seat as you feel his tongue press against your clit through the fabric, your thighs closing around his head before he forces them apart, whining at the taste of you coating his tongue through the fabric.

Your hand pulls at his hair, your skin already slick with sweat as you make him look up. His chin and lips are already covered with your juices, "I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

"I do," he pants out, "but you look so pretty. I have to appreciate it first."

You don't get to speak again because he shoves your hand out of the way, nosing at your pussy before pulling you firmly onto his face. You cover your mouth as you gasp out, his lips sucking your clit perfectly through the soaked underwear and making your skin prickle. Your hands card through his hair, holding him firmly in place as you rock your cunt against his tongue, before you feel his fingers pull your panties to the side and dive back in. He swirls his tongue just the way you like, whines of his name falling from your lips as your thighs tremble. He pulls back, his face covered in spit and arousal when you feel his fingers run through your folds, pressing hard against your clit and tracing tight circles. Your stomach caves in slightly, thighs closing around his hand as he tuts.

"Come on, baby. Can't keep your pretty thighs open for me? Didn't you miss me?" He pries your legs open with one hand, a pout on your lips as he presses a quick kiss to them. "Don't you miss me touching you like this?"

You nod limply as the embarrassment of bringing you so close to the edge already settles in, gasping lightly as he lands a wet slap to your clit. You rut up against his hand, earning another as he kisses up the side of your neck, "always so wet for me. You love me, baby?"

"Love you," you nod frantically as his fingertips tease your entrance, "love you so much."

"Love me so much, right? Wore this cute set for me? Wanted to look so so pretty for me, right?" His whispering only makes you whimper against his neck, your hands pulling at his suit jacket when you realize he's still fully dressed. "Need words, baby."

"Take off your c-clothes," you stammer out, your fingers pawing at his tie as he nips at your neck. He smiles against your skin, "but I want to look good for you."

"I'll touch myself for you," you offer, your voice shaky as he barely dips his fingers inside you. Your own tighten, "wanna earn it. Wanna see you, please…"

"Please?" "Please, daddy."

He kisses down your chest, his free hand unbuckling his belt expertly and pulling it through the loops, tossing it somewhere in the car as he gets back down to your cunt. He sucks your clit into his mouth, pulling you onto his face harder as he slides his fingers inside you. You let a choked moan out, his fingers moving so fast you can almost taste your release on the tip of your tongue, your thighs shaking as his mouth forces you across the finish line with a hard suck. Your fingers tug at his hair, your other hand covering your swollen clit from his mouth. You can feel him pout against your knuckles, kissing them needily when you feel his tongue snake over the ring he'd just given you.

You use your foot to push his shoulders back, his eyes fixed between your thighs like a man starved. His hand wraps around your ankle, and you quickly close your legs, lifting your hips to pull your panties off. His fingers fumble with his tie as you spread your thighs again, resting your ankle on his shoulder as he pulls it off his neck and throws it aside.

"Want you." You mumble, your fingers tracing over your puffy clit with a soft groan, your head falling back against the door as he unbuttons his shirt haphazardly, straining against his pants as he untucks his shirt. You huff as he trails his eyes up, your fingers spreading your cunt open lewdly, "look here. Want you to see how much I missed your cock inside me."

"Don't say that, I won't make it out of these pants," he whines, almost breaking the zipper of his pants as you sink your fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out shallowly before pulling down the cups of your bra and cupping your chest, pinching your nipple between your fingers with soft moans falling from your lips. He fumbles with tugging his shirt off, kissing the side of your foot and up to your knee as he throws it over his shoulder. He yanks you to him as he tugs his hard cock out of his underwear, not bothering to pull them further down before he pulling your fingers out of you and pressing them against his length. He ruts against your palm, letting you smear your cum and arousal all over him before you wrap your fingers around him tightly, tapping his tip against your clit with a whine before grinding yourself against it.

"Put it inside, baby." He orders, his eyes dark as you oblige, biting your lip as you tilt your hips up and guide him into your entrance. Your breath hitches, the stretch familiar and so good as you move to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He groans, holding himself over you, his fingers digging into the seat under you as you try to move your hips against him. His hands pin your hips to the seat, "you do this on purpose, you know."

You peer at him through your lashes, your nails digging into his shoulders as he gives you a hard thrust, your moan choked as he builds a brutal pace, "you do all these things to get me desperate and wonder why you can't fucking walk the next day."

"L-Love it," you try to reply, your thighs tight around his hips, "love it when you fuck me l-like this."

"God, I know…" his head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut as you whimper underneath him, "pussy's so fuckin' wet…feels so good, baby. You're mine, right?"

His hand wraps gently around your throat, squeezing softly as you squeeze your cunt around him, "all of you. You're mine. This pretty mouth that talks all that shit, mine…takes my cock so well, too. Right?"

His hand trails down, pulling at the middle of your bra roughly, and you hear the flimsy fabric tear as he pushes it aside. He pinches your nipple between two fingers, giving the other a soft squeeze with a grunt, "these are mine. Always been mine, gorgeous. Perfect. You love it when I paint these with my cum and you're mine, right?"

Your head is swimming as he picks up the pace, his hands squeezing your thighs in a death grip, "these are mine, too. Press these pretty thighs together and fuck my cock between them when you're not being a good girl, yeah? Make you all messy and clean you up with my tongue after. Wrap these fuckin' beautiful thighs around my head, God…you're mine, right?"

Said thighs are shaking as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, holding them apart almost painfully as his hand snakes down between them and traces circles into your swollen clit. Your hips chase the friction, watching him bite his lip as you clench around him. He lands a sharp slap to your cunt, tears pricking at your eyes at the stimulation.

"Greedy cunt's mine, too, huh?" He mutters, throwing his head back as he gives you another hard thrust of his cock, your jaw falling slack as he hits the perfect spot. "Right there, huh? Right there, baby?"

"Y-Yes," you breathe out, pinching your nipples between your fingers as he sinks into you over and over.

"Perfect fucking pussy…so wet and needy for my cock, right? Always ready for me, whenever I want…gonna fill you up, okay?" He leans forward, biting the lobe of your ear, "I own you, you know that? Bet you did. You're my smart girl, right? So smart…gonna be a grad student and make me proud, right? So proud of you, princess. I'll tell you everyday."

You nod, tears rushing down your cheeks as you feel your thighs tighening around him, feeling him sucking the soft skin under your ear before he speaks softly, "you're mine. Just like I'm yours. You own me, too, baby…be proud of me, too."

You whine loudly as your orgasm rips through you, feeling him chuckle as he quickly follows. You wrap your legs around his hips tight, pulling him into a searing kiss as you keep rolling your hips up. He takes the hint, keeping his pace as you moan into his mouth, "missed your cock so much, missed you. Love you."

"Proud of me?" "So proud of you."

CHAN ALMOST THREW UP RECEIVING HIS ACCEPTANCE LETTER TO GRADUATE SCHOOL.

And he cried. He bawled in your arms in the middle of your bedroom, holding the same letter you'd opened just days prior in his hands. You kissed him all over his face, stamping your lipstick into his skin as he cried quietly. He pulled you close, the letter long forgotten on the ground as he tried to kiss you back, eventually managing to pin you against the carpet.

Your idea of celebration was quiet and private, and your parents excitedly made a nice dinner and had Mingyu and Soonyoung over before they left for the city again. Soonyoung once more inhaled your mother's chocolate cake, but you'd winked and handed Mingyu an extra Tupperware. He thanked you with a kiss to your forehead that earned him a smack from Chan, and you'd laughed until your sides hurt.

The thing about loving Chan was just that.

His devotion to it all. To you, to loving you, to being yours. He'd never known how to be anything else, and he's admitted he never wants to know, either. He makes good on his promises — he practically worships the ground you walk on, he kisses you breathless and keeps it cool in front of your parents. Your graduate school acceptance is the biggest deal you'd known since your first words — and Chan makes it a point to keep it that way. He talks you up to anyone he can, talking about how his girlfriend is a graduate student and she's going to be the best of the best in her field. He talks about how cool and smart you are, how hardworking and sweet.

He still whispers dirty things to you in the corners of your homes, don't get it twisted — something about how pretty you are with his cock in your mouth, how you must love being treated like his 'dirty little slut' so much…but you ignore the flame in your cheeks as he kisses you innocently, slipping away like nothing happened.

You'll be back in the city soon, too. Nestled away in your apartment, walking on campus — hand in hand.

Your engagement ring is nestled beneath your shirt most days, strung on a necklace with the same locket you were wearing last year when he asked you to be his girlfriend. Neither of you said anything, but you'd quickly learned how eager he was to defile the ring and the idea of you as his, eternally — often asking you to wear it when you fooled around, getting off on the idea of calling you his wife and making sure you knew he meant it. He was going to make you his wife — smart, gentle, with a loud mouth and a soft heart, you were his for the taking. Loving, worshipping…all of it.

He owned you, your heart, and he's stuck his claim years ago.

Just like you owned him.

Just like you reassured him.

"You're mine, right? And I'm yours?" "Always. Yours, and mine."

“Why did you decide to hire me again?”

“So I can finally kick you out of my apartment," Jeonghan answers, a playful bite to his voice, and Joshua only rolls his own eyes. “in a non-violent way, of course.”

“You're actually an imbecile, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Oh, but you love me.” Jeonghan smirks, plucking the wet rag from the counter and shoving it in Joshua's hand. “Chop-chop, grasshopper, you got a whole day ahead of you.”

Joshua Hong was never one to detest helping out a friend𑁋his best friend, to be specific. He knew Jeonghan was doing this in order to help him out as he had been living under the man's roof for the past two years, with the promise of finding a new place testing his patience. Even with his nightly gigs at the busking centre in the middle of town, having a day job to earn some extra money seemed like a very good idea. 

But he seriously doesn't understand how Jeonghan managed to open up his own café in the first place. It's remarkable, actually.

The day is surprisingly slow. Even with the café being in the mere heart of the city and amidst the morning and afternoon rush, barely any pastries were taken from the display. The only sounds come from the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall, and the obnoxious screech of the stool that Jeonghan sits on not that far away.

However after some time, the familiar, soft chime of the door echoes throughout the café, announcing the arrival of a customer. Joshua finds his head immediately snapping up after fumbling with the frother, a welcoming smile dawning across his face as he smooths his apron and takes his place at the register. 

The figure in front of him is momentarily enveloped by the sunlight that seeps through the large window panes. He waits for them to step fully into the warm glow of the café, his eyes drawn to the way they hold themselves𑁋shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked deep within the pockets of a lightweight jacket, and seemingly a book tucked under their shoulders. Their steps are slow, soft even as they approach the counter, and a smile, gentle and hesitant, plays on their lips.

“Hi, welcome in," Joshua greets politely. “What can I get for you today?”

You find yourself gazing at the unfamiliar barista in front of you with meticulous curiosity, before letting your eyes drift to the nametag on his shirt: Joshua. His eyes immediately dart down to your hands that you lifted up on instinct, then hesitation gnaws at you, and suddenly you drop your hands back to your sides again.

“Our menu is up here.” Joshua motions above his head. “and our pastries are over here, if you would like to take a look.”

You wave your hand dismissively, then fumble for your phone, showing him an order written on the screen.

hot vanilla latte - extra foam - name is y/n

“Hot vanilla latte, extra foam?” Joshua repeats, confirming the order with a friendly smile, and the response he gets is a pair of thumbs-up. “And the name is... Y/N?”

Your face lights up, feeling some heat threaten up your neck as you offer a small nod to confirm.

There's something endearing that blooms in Joshua's chest as he punches the order down on the register. The moment is stretched with long silence before he watches as you quickly turn around to head to the outdoor sitting of the café. He sees you place yourself down at one of the seats, back turned towards him, and all he could do is let his eyes linger for a beat longer before realising that he actually has to make your order.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as he sets to work. He fumbles slightly, steaming the milk for your latte and carefully (and clumsily) creating a cloud of airy foam.

When he places the mug on the counter, his eyes drift back to where you sat outside, the slight breeze and midday sun casting down on the patio. He notices that you're hunched over, seemingly concentrating on something, and he can't help but wonder what occupies your thoughts. With the latte in hand, he heads towards the door, the bell above the door softly chiming. 

The sun paints the city in dappled gold, and a light breeze sways through the air and catches a strand of your hair that floats like a wisp. It's a picture-perfect scene, and Joshua thinks you fit right into it, all while hunched over a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand flying across the page.

He hesitates right behind you, unsure how to get your attention without startling you. Every option that he mulls over seems intrusive and jarring.

In the end, Joshua decides on a gentle tap on your shoulder. As his fingers make contact with your shoulder, a sudden jolt runs through your body, and you visibly startle, your hand flinching involuntarily and coming in contact with the mug in Joshua's hand.

The glass mug slips from Joshua's grasp, crashing down to the floor in thousands of tiny shards. Hot coffee splashes, hitting the skin of both of your hands and splattering on your sketchbook. Gasps fly from both your lips, echoing throughout the quiet patio. You wince in your seat, nearly causing you to stumble off but you manage to catch yourself.

For a long moment, Joshua could only find himself frozen, yet when he notices the pained look on your face, he instinctively reaches out, grabbing your hand without thinking. Your fingers curl around his in a startled reflex, your skin warm against his own. He cradles your hand in his, pressing his palm against your skin, as if trying to shield you from the worst of the heat and the glass scattered around the two of you.

Adrenaline courses through him as he pulls your hand back, examining it frantically. A thin red line crosses near your thumb, a tiny bead of blood sprouting at its edge. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces himself to stay calm. You're watching him, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pain, and he sees his own fear reflected in your pupils.

“Crap, I-I'm so sorry!” he blurts out, voice rough with regret. “Are you okay? I shouldn't have... I should have been more careful…”

You watch as Joshua's eyes scan your hand, the features of his face noticeably soft and etched with concern. The warmth of his hand cradling yours sends a jolt through you, something unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.

When you look back up at him, he asks if you're okay again, your gaze focusing in on his lips then back up at his eyes. You can tell he's worried𑁋he even seems breathless from all the panic too. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you silently answer with a nod.

The air seems to thicken with awkwardness. Joshua's gaze lingers down on your hand cradled in his trembling ones, the sight of a tiny cut on the flesh between your thumb and index finger sending a fresh wave of shame to come crashing down on him.

When you both lock eyes once again, you feel a flutter in your stomach. Then Joshua clears his throat, a million apologies tumbling over each other in his mind.

“I, uh…” he begins, then stops, unsure how to proceed. “Does it hurt a lot?”

You realise he's asking about you, and you peer down at your hand, the sting of the burn momentarily forgotten in the face of his genuine worry. It's just a small red line, a minor burn that will fade in time, and a tiny cut where the glass had scratched. But the warmth radiating from his hand cupped over yours feels oddly... comforting.

You shake your head, then motion to his own hand, as if asking the same thing.

Joshua blinks in surprise. He examines it, a small line of red just starting to show from a small cut, and a tiny calloused area from the burn of the coffee. It was barely noticeable, and it admittedly stung with a dull ache, but he wouldn't acknowledge that𑁋he didn't want to make you worry. It's not that bad, he thinks, but his thoughts are instantly replaced with concern for you.

“Here, let me... I'll get some bandages for you.” He gently releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and rises to his feet. “And a new drink, of course. On the house.”

Before you can give him a nod or anything, you watch him walk towards the café, the sunlight reflecting off his dark hair. He turns back once inside, and your eyes meet across the wall of glass. You offer a smile, and raise your hand in a small wave. He returns one sheepishly, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes just slightly, before disappearing to the side.

You stand up as well, shooting a glance down at your sketchbook, the brown splatter bleeding across a corner of the paper. It didn't look like a lot of it was damaged luckily𑁋you could probably incorporate it into the drawing somehow. The thought seems to soothe you.

Joshua mutters curses to himself as he struggles to find the first-aid kit underneath the counter in the employee's only restroom. He rummages through a drawer, tossing aside spare toilet paper rolls until he finally lays eyes on the small white box labeled First Aid.

“Knew you wouldn't be a great match for this,” Jeonghan's voice rings out suddenly as Joshua retrieves a few pieces of bandages, the man finally emerging after what seems like a long ass hour of a break.

“You finally regret hiring me now?” Joshua scoffs playfully, waving the bandages in front of Jeonghan's face. “They haven't spoken to me at all, so I have no idea if they're okay or not.”

Jeonghan lifts up an eyebrow. “They aren't speaking?" Some silence passes. "Is their name Y/N?”

Joshua looks back at him. “Yeah, why?”

“They come here a lot, like a regular, usually just drawing and stuff, I think,” Jeonghan points out, pursing his lips together. “and… they’re also deaf.” 

The age of seven was the last time you heard your voice.

You went to bed ill with a high fever that night, only to wake up the next morning in a muted world. The change wasn't a gradual muffling or a sudden pop like a balloon bursting. It was all simply... gone. You didn't hear the pitter-patter of the morning rain against the window, the rumble of the air conditioner, or even your own heart beating in your chest𑁋but you could feel it. 

At first, you thought it was a trick, perhaps a dream that had somehow bled into reality. You screamed, but no sound escaped your lips. You shook your parents awake, but their worried questions were met with your frustrated silence. Tears streamed down your face as they rushed you to the hospital. Then all the tests, scans, diagnoses𑁋they all came to the same the same result: a sudden, inexplicable loss of hearing.

Learning to navigate the world growing up without sound was a slow, exhausting process. You learned to read lips, got used to communicating with sign language, understand the subtle cues of body language, and rely on written words. Your world shrunk, confined to the walls of your home and studio, the familiar faces of your family, the lens of your camera, and the canvases that could speak for you.

You got used to this world of silence. You got used to the fact that you have to live in harmony with those around you, to put in that extra effort to understand them so you could simply be accepted and heard, for once. At a young age, you became adept at expressing yourself through art𑁋capturing the beauty of the silent world you inhabited, the emotions that flowed through your fingertips onto canvases and photographs.

Honestly, the world is so beautiful. Even though you can't hear the bustling city around you, the distant conversations, or the groans of traffic, you've learned to see and appreciate the world in a way others might overlook𑁋finding beauty in the stillness that surrounds you. The way sunlight dances on the leaves, the gentle sway of trees, the vibrant colours that paint the sky during sunset, the look of love between two lovers. 

The city is especially colourful at night. Neon store signs burning bright against the dark canvas of the evening sky, people around you moving in routine patterns, and cars flying down the streets. You've perfected the art of capturing these moments, freezing them in time with your camera, and bringing them to life with just a simple brushstroke.

You can't hear the laughter spilling from a nearby work dinner or the murmured conversation of a couple walking hand-in-hand, but you see it all in the tilt of their heads, the curve of their lips, the spark of their eyes. You watch the way their bodies move, the sway of their hips, the swing of their arms, and their stories unfold before you like a silent movie on a grand screen. And that in itself, is beautiful. 

You click through the photos you've taken throughout the day on your camera carefully, biting your bottom lip in concentration. There's a photo of a child chasing pigeons in the park, a flock of birds flying through the cloudless sky, a cat lounging in a window sill, and a smile breaks across your lips.

However, you find yourself accidentally bumping into something, or someone. Hastily, you bring your head up to the stranger to apologise, yet they walk away before you even could. Letting out a sigh, you bring your attention back to your surroundings, and your eyes widen to the crowd of people gathered in the small square you hadn't noticed before.

Your eyes dart around, trying to scan through the sea of faces while slowly pushing through the crowd as your curiosity gets the best of you. And when you get yourself to nearly the core of the crowd, you could only freeze to the sight in front of you.

There's a man perched on a wooden stool in the middle, a guitar entangled in his grasp and a microphone stand standing idle in front of him. You can hardly make out his face since you're standing to the side, but for some reason, all you can do is watch in awe.

You can't hear his words, of course. But you feel them. You feel them in the way his fingers dance across the strings, in the way his head dips with the melody, in the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. You see them in the way the light catches his hair, in the way the shadows dance on his face, in the way his eyes flutter open for a fleeting moment.

Then a sudden urge makes you reach for your camera, quickly turning it on and bringing it up to your eyes. And with a simple click of the shutter, you capture the moment in a perfect frame, before weaving through the crowd once more and back into the fresh air of the city.

You look down at the photo, and it tugs at your heartstrings. The nearby lighting catches his face just right, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the gentle curve of his smile. He's lost in the music, his skilled fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar, eyes closed as he seems to pour his soul into every note. You zoom in on the photo, admiring the way his dark hair falls across his forehead, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

He looks familiar, somehow. You rack your brain, trying to place him, but your mind draws a blank. You've stumbled into the busking area by accident countless times and captured endless moments through your lens, but this one feels different. 

The vending machine swallowed his dollar. Literally.

Joshua pounds his fist on the lousy machine a few times, wraps his arms around it like a koala hug and attempts to give it a few shakes, hoping that the drink would somehow drop to the bottom, but nothing happens. Letting out a groan, he takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Great.

He glances around the area, scanning to find some sort of alternative solution, and his eyes set on a convenience store just a few blocks down. He takes a few steps in the direction, before something brushes past him and causes him to stop.

“Hey, the vending machine doesn't work…” Yet when he turned his body around, he didn't expect to see you making your way to the machine, tapping on the keypad and inserting a dollar, all for the machine to spit out two cans of sodas.

Joshua watches as you bend down to retrieve the cans, peering down in confusion at the second one in your hand. Then when you straighten and look back up, the two of you suddenly meet eyes. 

There's a brief pause, and you can't really tell if Joshua is staring at you like you've grown a second head or something else. Then you glance down to the extra drink in your hand, and ah, it clicks.

Your lips move in a silent question, and Joshua realises you must be offering him the extra can. He waves his hand, signaling that it's okay, but you insist, gesturing for him to take it. With a grateful smile, he steps up to you and reaches out, accepting the cold can from you, his fingers brushing over yours briefly.

Joshua watches as you click open the can and take a sip. When you glance back at him, his lips part, then close again, his brow furrowing together like his mind is cluttered. You can't hear his thoughts, of course, but the way his eyes dart from your face to your hands and back again seems like he's trying to ask you something.

“Is your…” he starts to ask, pointing to your hand, noticing that your hand appeared bare of the bandages he gave you more than a week ago. “Is your hand feeling better now?”

You catch his words by reading his lips, and you nod with a reassuring smile. Relief washes over Joshua's features, his eyes softening, and he gestures again towards your hand as if to make sure it's healing alright.

“Wait, I... Sorry, let me start this over.” Joshua seems to mentally take a deep breath. “I'm Joshua, by the way. I should've introduced myself properly first.”

You know that already, but hearing him formally introduce himself ever since your little mishap at the café brings a strange flutter to your chest. You notice Joshua shift from foot to foot, the smile to his face faltering just slightly.

“Is it okay if I ask if you're…” Joshua motions to his ear, then shakes his head, seeing that it might come across as insensitive. Instead, he points to his own mouth and then makes a questioning gesture with his eyebrows, hoping you'll understand what he's trying to ask.

You nod, understanding his question perfectly, raising your hand and making a simple sign, tapping your ear and then shaking your head. You've had this conversation countless times before, with strangers and acquaintances alike. But there's something different about the way Joshua asks𑁋something softer, more genuine.

“I should've realised sooner,” Joshua says. "I'm sorry if that came off as rude.”

You wave your hand dismissively and tap your temple, then point to his mouth, conveying that you could read his lips just as you've been doing this entire time, and Joshua could only watch your movements carefully. Though relief mixes with a tinge of embarrassment in his limbs. He hadn't meant to pry, but curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by putting you on the spot like that. He could tell you've probably heard this conversation many times with other people, yet you seem to handle it with such patience.

With a wry smile, you secure your can of soda under your arm before bringing your hands up, signing heartedly, “It's okay,” and Joshua watches your movements with awe and also... a little confusion.

“Can I ask what that means?” he asks slowly, curiously.

You wave a dismissive hand in front of his face, pulling out your phone, quickly typing out something before showing it to him.

It means that it's okay

“Ah, I see,” Joshua responds with a sheepish smile, attempting to clumsily repeat the action with his own hands, but he quickly brings it back to his side. “If I'm speaking too fast, feel free to let me know. I'll try to slow down.”

You shake your head, typing on your phone once more.

Thank you, but you're doing just fine, I promise

A blush creeps onto Joshua's cheeks as he reads your message. He's relieved you're not bothered by his questions, but the awareness that you've been understanding him all along makes him feel a bit silly. In a good way, of course. He takes a hesitant sip of his soda, the silence between you stretching just a bit too long. He wants to talk to you, really talk, but he's unsure where to begin.

As you both stand there, with the city's sounds humming around, Joshua feels the nerves crawling up his skin. He gestures towards the convenience store nearby, silently asking if you need anything. You shake your head, indicating that you're good, but then motion down the road, pointing at something down the street.

“Are you heading somewhere?” Joshua asks, and he feels his heart jump once he sees you nod, feeling proud for understanding what you're trying to say.

You pull out your phone again, typing:

The museum

“The museum?” Joshua repeats, picking his head back up to squint down the street. He feels the hesitation at the tip of his tongue, as if considering something. But then, the intrusive action takes over, and he points in the same direction. “Would it be okay if I walk with you? The café is near there. I was about to head there myself.”

You notice the uncertainty in his eyes. Joshua watches your face for a moment, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. However, you simply offer a warm smile and a nod in response, which makes Joshua feel a surge of relief. A small smile plays on his lips, and he falls into step beside you as you both start walking towards the museum.

The late afternoon sun dips below the city skyline, casting long shadows across the pavement as you and Joshua walk side-by-side, your steps falling into sync. You steal glances at him every now and then, captivated by the way his hair catches the golden rays and how the lines of his face soften. He catches your eyes a few times, which makes you both look away at the same time. It's a bit awkward admittedly, yes, but there's a certain charm to it when he's right next to you.

Joshua tries to find ways to bridge the silence, but his words tangle in his throat.

Instead, he waves a hand in front of you, earning your attention back on him.

“Do you like art?” he asks. “Back at the café, I noticed... you were drawing?” Then he does a scribbling motion with his hand.

The question hangs in the air, and you find yourself pausing to consider it. A thoughtful expression settles on your face, and Joshua watches as you take a pause to grab something from out of your bag𑁋your sketchbook𑁋before handing it to him.

He shoots a brief glance at you, as if asking for permission, but your trusting gaze encourages him. He gently opens the sketchbook. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the first page.

It looks to be a sketch of the beach, capturing the vastness of the ocean, the setting sun in the horizon, and the small details of people walking across the sands. Joshua can almost feel the warm sand beneath his bare feet and the salty tang of the air on his tongue.

He flips through the next few pages. A bustling city street, a lone bird perched on a branch, its feathers so finely detailed they seem to shimmer in the sunlight, a child's laughter echoing through a park, portrayed in a burst of joyful strokes.

Joshua feels a lump rise in his throat. He looks up at you, eyes wide with admiration and something else he can't quite define.

“Wow, these are incredible,” he manages to say. “You're so talented.”

You smile shyly, feeling the heat crawl up your cheeks as Joshua flips to the last page. In an instant, he feels his heart drop, but not in a bad way𑁋it's a page significant with the brown stain at the corner, but it's the way you seem to use the stain as a part of the sketch, blending it into the colours of the sky and the warm tones of the café.

“I was worried about your sketchbook,” he confesses, looking back at you. “I thought I would have to buy you a new one. But... I'm glad it's okay.”

He hands you back the sketchbook, his fingers brushing yours once again as the exchange is made, and you both continue your way down the sidewalk.

And then, you reach the museum.

Joshua turns towards you, and you're already looking at him. Then you pull out your phone once more, typing in a message, before showing it to him.

Thank you for walking with me

“It's𑁋You don't have to thank me,” Joshua acknowledges, his eyes reflecting sincerity. “I enjoyed it. Besides, it's the least I could do after the, uh... incident.”

You both stand a distance away from the museum entrance, knowing that you have to part ways, yet there's some hesitation in there. Joshua peers at the museum building, taking in its appearance, trying to ignore the bubbling reluctance in his chest.

“Maybe I can see you around…” But when Joshua brings his eyes back to you, you're already trailing towards the museum entrance. The embarrassment catches in his throat. He stands there for a moment with his gaze following you, clutching the can of soda, feeling the warmth radiating from it seeping into his palm.

Joshua sees you stop short in front of the entrance, turn back to him, and offer a small wave of your hand, your eyes locked with his for a brief moment. He reciprocates with a reluctant wave of his own, watching as you disappear into the museum.

He lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding as he turns away, drinking the last sips of disappointment down his throat before throwing the empty can into a recycling bin nearby.

And while on his way to the café, the thought of you tugs at the corner of his lips.

Joshua pulls one more time on the door to the café, the keys dangling in his hand clinging loudly together as he makes sure it's all locked. When he does, he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, letting out a deep exhale coming straight from the core of his chest. 

The sounds of fallen, dried-up leaves crunch below with every step he takes. Joshua wearily casts his eyes around, watching as surrounding local shops and other cafés switch their lights off for the night. A bus rushes past him as he continues walking down the street, bringing with it a gust of wind that ruffles his hair. The city is slowly settling into its nighttime rhythm, and Joshua can feel the shift in energy around him.

As he walks, his attention is drawn to a figure up ahead. It appears to be an elderly lady, a large box in her grasp, her movements slow and careful. The box looks heavy, with whatever inside threatening to spill over the top with every wobbling step she takes. Joshua quickens his pace immediately, concern knitting at his brows.

“Wait, ma’am! Let me help you.” Once he arrives at her side, he shifts his backpack down to the ground and reaches out to steady the box. The elderly lady looks up at him with surprise and relief. 

“Ah, thank you, young man,” she says, voice quivering slightly as Joshua hoists a hold of the entire box, a groan leaving him at the unexpected heaviness.

“Where are we heading to?” he asks.

“Just… into there.” The older lady motions with a slender finger to the tiny store tucked between a closed dry cleaner and a flower shop.

He can’t really see where he was going, but he hears the ding of a door opening and the old woman’s voice gently guiding him inside. He carefully navigates through the narrow doorway as the smell of old books, musty paper, and something faintly sweet hits him as soon as he steps inside. When he feels his foot seemingly hit the leg of a table, he cautiously sets the box on top of it, making sure it's stable before straightening back up.

“There we go,” he mutters, huffing out a tired breath. “Is there anything else that you need help with?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” The elderly woman shifts past him to examine the box, before reaching over for a pair of scissors to begin tearing into it. “These old bones can’t do much anymore these days.”

Joshua laughs faintly at that, setting his hands on his hips as he takes a look around the bookstore. It’s noticeably tiny, with only a few tall shelves taking up more than half of the space and a cluttered counter at the front with stacks of books waiting to be set out.

He swipes a random book off the shelf, some dust particles hitting his nose and causing him to sneeze. He chuckles softly, feeling a bit sheepish. The elderly lady looks up at him, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Bless you,” she says kindly. “Not many people find their way here these days. It's nice to see a young face.”

“Really?” he questions. “It’s very vintage. I bet there’s a lot of history here.”

“For sure,” the lady responds wistfully. “You should head home now. Sleeping early is good for your health.”

Joshua places the book back on the shelf before heading his way back to the front. The elderly woman hands him back his backpack, wiping away some grime and dust that may have settled on it in the meantime. She continues to shower him with thanks even after he steps past the door. He bids her a wave and a good night before beginning to head his way back home. 

However, a sudden thought crosses his head, and he doesn’t give the way his feet turn back around much hesitation at all. 

He pushes the door open to the bookstore, swallows a lump in his throat, and lets his eyes meet back with the curious old lady. 

“Actually,” he starts, smiling somewhat bashfully. “Do you happen to have any books on sign language?”

“Did you finish totaling it up?”

“Hmm, yeah. Give me a second.” Joshua quickly flips through the bills in his hand, splitting it up as evenly as he could, before handing the rest to Seokmin. “294 dollars.”

Seokmin chuckles, grabbing the money from Joshua before unplugging the microphone. “Not too bad, to be honest, and it's on the worser days of the week.”

“It did help that you were here today. I owe you for that,” Joshua admits cheekily, packing up his guitar inside the case and zipping it up. “Got time for a meal later? My treat.”

Seokmin clicks his tongue, shaking his head while wrapping the microphone cord around the stand. “Maybe next time? I have plans.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow, picking his head up to look at Seokmin. Oh, he knows what's going on, and Seokmin isn't really the best at hiding his facial expressions, or anything really at all. The older man just rolls his eyes, chucking a small pebble in his direction, making Seokmin let out a loud yelp as he dodges it.

“Alright, alright. I get it. Go enjoy your date.”

Seokmin's face reddens, and he huffs, “It's not a date! We're just getting dinner, that's all.”

“Sure, sure,” Joshua continues to tease, standing up and slinging his guitar case over his shoulder. “Whatever you say, buttercup. Have fun, though.”

Seokmin just shoots him a playful glare, grabbing a bag of his own belongings and the microphone stand before heading off, promising another day to catch up, and leaving Joshua alone in the quiet square.

Letting out a sigh, Joshua glances down at his watch, noticing the late time displayed. He contemplates whether he should head back to the café to help Jeonghan with closing, head straight back to the apartment, or stop by somewhere to grab some food, and the thought of food makes his stomach rumble𑁋he decides on making a quick stop at a convenience store.

The convenience store is a familiar sight, one that he goes to often and tucked away in a quiet corner of the street, its bright lights illuminating the surroundings outside and the wet streets. There's a slight drizzle that starts as Joshua enters inside, the door letting out a soft chime. The cashier welcomes him with a nod as he starts to stroll through the aisles.

Joshua wanders through the narrow aisles, scanning the shelves for a quick bite to eat. His gaze lands on a shelf filled with instant noodles, and he grabs a couple of cup noodles (and a can of beer for good measure), figuring they would be enough for a simple dinner. As he makes his way to the cashier, the door rings once more, and he turns to spot a familiar face entering inside𑁋you.

Your eyes meet in an instant as Joshua fumbles with the stuff in his hands, the cup noodles and can of beer suddenly feeling heavier than a sack of bricks. His guitar nearly slides off his shoulder too.

You stare at him for a moment as if in confusion or contemplation. Joshua thinks he sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes. Then your lips curve into a hesitant smile, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. You hadn't expected to see him again, not so soon, but the sight of him fills you with a sense of... comfort, perhaps.

A bashful look washes over your face, and you offer a small wave, your fingers curling into a silent hello. Joshua returns the gesture, his own smile hesitant but clearly genuine.

The silence hangs between you, awkward but strangely filled with something, both of you seemingly unsure of what to say.

Joshua shuffles the abominable weight in his feet, the cup noodles in his grasp feeling like ridiculous boulders.

“Hey,” he mutters out, struggling for words, mentally slapping himself in the face. “I was just about to grab some dinner.”

You watch him, gaze tracing over the lines of his face, the gentle curve of his lips, the nervous glint in his eyes. You feel a sudden urge to reach out and somehow wipe away the worry engraving his features, but your hands remain clasped at your side. 

He catches your gaze, and his cheeks flush with a faint blush.

“Would you like to join me?”

The offer floats in the air, hanging between the two of you like a question mark. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, and Joshua fidgets nervously, almost regretfully, while waiting for your response.

Yet unusually, there's something about this that feels... right. Perhaps it's the familiarity of his presence, or something else entirely. You've never really been asked this before, and it feels weird and a bit intimidating, but for some reason, you don't exactly want to step away. The thought of sharing a meal with someone𑁋with him𑁋shoots a bullet of curiosity through you.

Whatever it is, you want to trust it. 

Taking a deep breath, you raise your gaze to meet his. Then you give him a shy smile, one not quite reaching your eyes, and nod ever so slightly.

The cashier looks between the two of you as Joshua places the cup noodles and can of beer on the counter. The chime of the cash register rings out as he pays, and you soon follow after with your own food, placing your own items on the counter, then you both head towards a nearby seating area together.

A growing tapping of rain hits the earth outside as the two of you pick a spot in front of the windows. Joshua sets down his leather bag and guitar, and you place your own painter-splattered canvas tote right next to it.

Joshua feels a tap on his shoulder while aimlessly stirring through his ramen, and he watches as you sign him something with your hands. He doesn't entirely understand what you were signing, but he picks up the motion of a guitar, and he brightens up.

“Guitar?” He gestures to the guitar case nestled at his leg, and he watches as you nod and point at him. “Me? Guitar?”

You give a thumbs-up, and Joshua chuckles, feeling proud for picking up on your words.

“Yeah, I... I've been playing since I was young,” he answers, and you read his lips carefully. “Just as a hobby though, not professionally.”

Your mouth opens in awe, then you lift your hands up again, making a swinging motion with one arm and motioning at him, and Joshua tilts his head curiously.

“Book?” he questions, and you shake your head. He thinks again, repeating your movements. “Oh! Music? Do I make music?”

When you nod again, his heart flutters with victory.

“I play and sing sometimes. Just... small gigs and stuff, nothing too fancy,” he admits meekly. “I've written a few songs too. I guess it's a way to express myself, you know?”

You soak in his words, your eyes focusing on his lips and the subtle shifts in his facial expressions. Joshua swears he feels himself shrink under your gaze, but it feels almost relieving to tell this to you.

You bring your hands up, signing something, and Joshua watches intently, attempting to replicate your movements himself while trying to catch the meaning behind the gestures.

“You... like music?” he ventures, and you give him a small nod.

Joshua smiles at this, before it falters slightly. He opens his mouth up to speak, and you perk up, but then he closes it quickly. He feels the anxiety blooming within him, not knowing how to approach the question without making you uncomfortable.

“Can I…” he starts, feeling regretful already. “Can I ask... how do you…”

You notice the hesitation in Joshua's eyes, seeing how he's trying to ask as delicately as possible without crossing a line. But you already know what he's trying to ask, and you feel yourself willing to answer.

You reach for your phone, and Joshua observes as you type out your words, eyes lingering on the features of your side-profile for a few moments. You show him the message:

Sheet music, song lyrics, vibrations, chords, memories of sounds

“Vibrations, chords…” he leisurely reads out aloud to himself, feeling a mix of understanding and admiration course through him. And when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes widen and seem to burn brighter than the city lights outside. He understands. He gets it.

Silence stretches between you again, but it's no longer awkward; it's more comfortable now. Joshua finishes the rest of his ramen, his gaze occasionally darting towards you, and he catches the way you seem to be staring outside as the rain pours down.

He stares outside too, listening to the rain crashing loudly against the window and the occasional burst of thunder that rumbles in the distance. But then when he looks at you, all of those sounds seem to fade away.

He can't tell if you're lost in thought or simply taking in the scene, but there's a quiet comfort in your stillness that seems to draw him in.

As you watch the raindrops dance on the windowpane, a soft smile plays on your lips, and Joshua catches it. He watches you for a moment, then a sudden thought occurs to him. Slowly, he brings his hands up to his ears, covering them completely, and stares back outside. The muffled sounds of the rain and the faint hum of the convenience store fade into the distant background. It's more peaceful this way.

He likes this quietness, especially if it's with you. 

You face him, tapping lightly on his forearm. Joshua brings his arms down and veers his attention back to you as you draw your hands up, separate and curl your fingers like a claw, before doing a downward motion. He finds himself repeating it as well, head tilted slightly, and then it clicks.

“Rain?” he guesses, motioning to the rain outside before signing it again. “This means rain, right?”

Your eyes widen in victory, a grin curving at your lips, giving him an approving nod. Joshua feels something catch in his throat, but you turn back to the window before he can say anything.

“Rain,” he mutters to himself, unconsciously signing the word right next to you. Then he brings his hand up again, shooting a glance toward you𑁋you're still staring out the window, and the look of content on your face makes his heart flutter a bit more𑁋before slowly fanning his hand across his face, as if to sign the word, “Beautiful.”

“I've seen you do better than this.”

The look of disappointment to your art teacher's face is unchanging as he signs to you. You feel your hands mold into each other under the desk, fingers fidgeting as you try to process the criticism. The words bounce off the walls in your mind, and the weight of them settles in your chest. 

It's not that your painting is bad𑁋it's just not living up to the potential he knows you possess. The colours lack vibrancy, the brushstrokes lack emotion. He leans in, his face mere inches from the canvas, inspecting every detail.

“If you're ever going to put your work in an exhibition, it has to tell a story,” he assures sternly while continuing to sign. “Your art should speak, not just visually, but emotionally. I know you can do better.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod in understanding, though the disappointment lingers. You've been wrestling with this painting for weeks, trying to capture a fleeting emotion, a moment in time that you believed would speak to others, yet you realise you don't have a clear answer. He observes your reaction, and though his expression softens just the slightest, the expectation lingers.

“He’s probably just in a mood,” Wheein reassures you, hands flying in the air as she signs. “You know how he is with deadlines.”

“I can beat his ass for you,” Seungkwan chimes in, emphasizing a punching motion with his hands, which makes you let out a quiet laugh. 

Wheein playfully shoves the younger boy in the shoulders, before snatching away the cup of iced coffee in his hands.

Seungkwan pouts in mock disappointment as Wheein steals a sip of his coffee, but the playful banter manages to lighten the mood a bit.

Wheein hands back the coffee to Seungkwan and gives you a few pats on the back. “You'll get it right, you always do. Just take a step back, clear your mind, and try again, okay?”

Her words make you faintly smile. It's not a secret that you've been experiencing a lot of pressure for this upcoming exhibition competition at the museum, an opportunity for you to finally get your art out there in the world. But the thing is that there are plenty of other artists also fighting for the spot as well, and never in your life have you felt so stuck, so drained of inspiration, so dried out of colour. 

You feel a little lighter from the reassurance from your friends, but at the same time, you feel like it isn't quite enough. There's still a part of you that feels heavy inside𑁋what if you're not meant for exhibitions, if your art can't truly convey the emotions you want to express? What if you're just not meant for this? What if your art isn't enough to convey the emotions you want to share with the world?

The thought lingers as Wheein and Seungkwan dismiss themselves for the evening, and you're left alone roaming the quiet streets on your way back home. The city's lights begin to flicker to life, casting a warm glow on the dewy pavement, the streets a bit more barren than what you are used to. You try to shake off the doubt at the back of your mind, but it clings to you like the raindrops on the leaves.

As you stop at the pedestrian crossing, you shoot your eyes across the street.

A figure stands tall under the glow of a streetlamp, his features highlighted by the warm light. He's also looking across too in your direction, though it doesn't take long for his gaze to drift and land on you, and suddenly, he's waving at you.

It takes a moment for recognition to dawn on you, but when it does, time seems to stand still𑁋it's Joshua. He's standing there with his guitar case slung over his shoulder, waving at you. At first you look behind you to see if it was meant for someone else, but when you realise there's no one else around, you feel an odd pull tugging at your heart.

Because he looks... happy to see you. 

Hesitantly, you raise a hand and give him a small wave back. You notice some contemplation wash over his face, and then you observe as he brings his hands up.

“Nice to see you. How are you?” he signs, albeit clumsily and a bit slow, but the effort is cute, and you find yourself lowering your gaze for a moment to bite back a chuckle.

“Tired,” You sign in response, and mimic the gesture of rubbing your eyes, a small grin playing on your lips.

Joshua's eyes crinkle at the corners, and a soft chuckle escapes his mouth as he watches your playful sign. He follows suit, pretending to yawn and miming the act of stretching, exaggerating the movements comically. It's a simple exchange, but it breaks the ice, and you find yourself smiling more genuinely now.

He ushers a hand up to his cheek. “Home?”

When you give a nod, the signal light turns green, you make your way across the street, noticing Joshua waiting for you on the other side. As you approach him, you catch the nerves in his eyes. He shifts his guitar case on his shoulder, seemingly caught between wanting to say something and waiting for your lead.

With a small tilt of your head, you gesture down the road, asking if he's headed in the same direction as you. But he shakes his head apologetically, signaling that he's heading the opposite way. For a moment, you lift a brow in question, but then Joshua points to himself and then in the direction you're heading.

“Can I…” Your eyes focus on his hands and lips. “walk... you home?”

Your breath catches in your throat, but not from any fear or apprehension. A flutter of nerves dances in your stomach, but is quickly overshadowed by a warm feeling that spreads through you.

Hesitation lingers in the air for a moment, a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the uncertainties. You didn't want him to take a detour just to walk you home, especially since he was heading in the opposite direction. But then you see the nervous tremor in his hands that mirrors your own, and how his hopeful and vulnerable gaze holds yours as if afraid he had crossed a boundary, and the doubt seems to melt away.

And so, with a soft smile, you sign, “Okay.”

As the two of you set off, the silence that follows feels different than the heavy weight of earlier. It's comfortable, expectant, like a blank canvas waiting for the first splash of colour. You steal glances at him, admiring the way the dim streetlights play on his features, the gentle twinkle that shines in his eyes, how cutely comfortable he appears wearing an oversized jean jacket that almost seems to swallow him whole. And then your eyes set on his guitar case, and curiosity fills you.

You gesture a hand at his guitar, and Joshua raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I…” He lets out a nervous, airy laugh, fiddling with his hands as he attempts to sign and explain, “I had to get some guitar strings replaced. One of them snapped on me earlier, so I stopped by the repair shop.”

You flash him a worried look, motioning a finger at his skin.

Joshua just shakes his head, signing back comfortingly, “I'm okay.”

He watches as you tilt your head just slightly, as if in amusement, like you had caught him saying something suspicious.

You type out something on your phone before showing it to him.

The way you sign is funny

Joshua giggles quietly, and he playfully pouts, a small laugh escaping his lips. “That's mean.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his reaction, like a tiny seed of affection sprouting. It's almost like he's attempting to paint with his hands, and the shade isn't quite right, yet it blends in perfectly with just a few more strokes.

There are many people you’ve encountered in life who have communicated with you through sign language, and you noticed that they all have their own unique way of signing. Whether it was Seungkwan with his more expressive and sharp gestures, Wheein with her dainty and flowy style, or Joshua with his uncertain yet gentle movements, you liked they were all different. 

Not being able to hear doesn't bother you anymore, not like it used to when you were younger. It used to build walls around you and separate you from the world. Yet now, you've learned to read sounds with your eyes, hear the voices that emit from a simple smile, a frown, an arch of the brow, because there are a lot more people who can hear than those who can’t.

But out of all those people, someone was the one to wave first across the street.

Joshua finds himself staring up at the intimidating brick façade of your apartment building. When you turn back to him, you offer him a tentative smile, and there's something different about it that makes his chest tighten.

Finally, you muster the courage, your fingers slowly dancing in the air.

“Thank you,” You sign to him. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle, eyes softening. “How do I sign ‘goodnight?’”

You nearly hesitate for a second before bringing out both of your hands. You could feel Joshua watching you carefully at the way you bring your right hand up to your chin and then back down to meet the palm of your other hand, signing the word good. Then you flip your left hand so that it’s facing down, and your other hand brushes over it like the sun is setting over the horizon, signing the word night. 

Joshua watches at the way your hands move gracefully. He follows your movements carefully, a faint smile spreading across his face as he tries to mimic your gestures.

“Good... night,” he repeats slowly, the miniscule dust particles whirling around his fingers as he traces the air. His eyes meet yours, and he could possibly see the flicker of proudness in them. It's a simple exchange, but at this moment right now, it feels significant.

As you unlock the door to your apartment, you turn to look back at him, and he shoots you another wave. Joshua stands there for a moment, watching your door close, before taking in a deep breath to relax the racing of his heart.

Three years ago, Joshua Hong moved away from his family in the hopes of pursuing a music career. It most certainly wasn't an easy decision, leaving behind the familiarity of his hometown and the warmth of his loved ones.

Almost three years later, he might have realised how damn stupid of a choice that might have been.

It's a bit lonely, to put it lightly.

The gigs are sparse, the pay is minimal, and the dreams he once held so tightly in his grasp seem to be slowly slipping away as the days pass.

The journey has been anything but smooth, filled with constant rejections, financial struggles, and moments of self-doubt; and lately these lows seem to be overpowering the highs more than ever. Yet, despite all this, he still chooses to cling to this passion as if it's the air he breathes, because it's something that he loves to do.

Music is the voice he uses when his own isn't enough. He's constantly surrounded by noise, whether it's from the strumming of his own guitar, the sounds of the bustling city, or conversations from strangers that he accidentally overhears when crossing the street.

But then there's the silence𑁋the kind that settles in the spaces between chords, in the moments when he puts the instrument down and the world seems to hum a little quieter. It's in these moments that the loneliness can be deafening.

And then there was you.

The melody playing in his mind for the past week is... hesitant, unsure, much like his own feelings. He isn't sure what it is yet𑁋this feeling that tugs at his chest and paints his cheeks with a faint blush. He only knows that it's connected to you, to the way your eyes narrow in focus when your fingers dance so graciously in the air, and the warmth that spread through him when you thanked him for walking you home the other night.

It was just a simple offer to walk you home, why is it playing on repeat in his mind?

A sigh leaves him as he runs a loose hand through his hair. He tosses away the dirty rag in his hand and stores the cafe's cleaning supplies back and under the counter. The colours of the sun setting outside filters through the large windows, casting orange and red hues on the wooden tables and floor of the empty café.

“You look like you need a drink,” Jeonghan's voice rings out teasingly, and Joshua could only scoff. “You still got that gig later this weekend, right?”

Joshua nips at his bottom lip, releasing a sigh. “I've been feeling a little under the weather, honestly, and I don't really have anything prepared.” I feel like I'm losing my touch.

Jeonghan arches a knowing brow. “Since when do you back down from a gig? Just go up there and pour your heart out. It's what you do best.”

“I'm just not feeling it right now, I guess,” Joshua replies with a half-hearted smile, shoulders only taking on a shrug. He pushes himself away from the counter, and just as Jeonghan is about to crawl under his skin, the bell above the door chimes. “Welcome in…”

He should really learn how to control his stomach from flipping when seeing you𑁋the familiar sight of your paint-smudged canvas tote, the comfort you seem to radiate𑁋but it's not just you alone. There's a girl who he doesn't recognise there too, with her arm linked with yours, and another boy he swears he's seen a few times... Seungkyung? Seungwan? Seungkwan?

Joshua lets his gaze drift to you, and there's a gloom to your face that he can't quite decipher, a certain apprehension that he notices when your eyes make the smallest of contact. He attempts to get your attention by bringing one of his hands up, and you catch sight of it.

“Same?” he signs, as if asking if you want to order the usual drink that you get.

You meet his eyes, and despite the lingering doubts that have been plaguing you, there's a sense of comfort in the familiarity of him. You nod, and that's all it takes for him to brighten up, his smile breaking through the clouds that seem to hang in the air. He watches as you exchange a few words in sign language with Wheein and Seungkwan, then Seungkwan comes over to the counter to place the order.

Maybe he's just seeing things, or maybe it's his mind overthinking for him𑁋there's an undeniable shadow around your eyes that he notices when he brings a tray full of fruit smoothies and iced teas to your table. He sets the drinks down carefully, unable to ignore the way your gaze seems to linger on him for a fraction of a second before flitting away again.

You don't seem to be entirely present in conversation, often drifting off before Wheein or Seungkwan would have to nudge you back into reality. Then a ghost of a smile would draw over your lips, attempting to engage in the conversation with your hands, but all the words seem to disintegrate into ashes.

Another tap at your wrist makes you blink, and you turn to see both Seungkwan and Wheein peering at you with worried expressions on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Wheein mouths quietly, signing lightly with her hands.

Seungkwan turns his head slightly, eyeing something behind him, a scowl to his expression before it curves into a slight smirk; his back was facing where Joshua stood behind the counter, taking in orders for another group of people.

“Café boy?” he mouths to you.

You follow Seungkwan's line of sight, and sure enough, Joshua is there behind the counter𑁋mop of dark hair falling in his eyes, a polite smile playing on his lips𑁋taking and preparing orders with casual ease. You feel a gentle tug in your chest, and for a moment, your gaze locks with his. There's a flicker of concern in his eyes as he watches you, before the corners of his mouth tugs upwards, and you quickly avert your gaze, fingers playing with the straw in your drink.

“He's cuter than I thought,” Seungkwan signs jokingly to you, lifting a teasing brow. “I'd have a crush on him too𑁋ow!”

He's met with Wheein's sharp elbow to his side, making him let out a squeaky wince that might have gained the attention of the entire café, and she scolds him with a shake of her head and a finger to her lips, but it manages to crack a small smile to your face. Seungkwan only grins in victory, tapping his wrist against his heart and giving a thumbs-up as if satisfied with the response he got out of you. 

Ah, the benefits of sign language and being friends with two absolute idiots... No one really knows what the hell you're talking about. 

“You do think he's cute though, right?” Wheein scrunches up her face cheekily, and you could only let a finger drift across the icy surface of your cup, the cold offering little comfort against the sudden warmth blooming in your cheeks to her words.

You roll your eyes, though your face seems to betray you even more. 

“You're not denying it,” Seungkwan adds in, narrowing his eyes at you in a smirk. “Just say you have a crush on him.”

You form a mock-scissor gesture with your fingers, and the threat earns a burst of laughter to leave Seungkwan. The playful jab cuts through the tension, but the truth is, your heart aches a little at his words.

Crush? The word felt alien, yet somehow, it fits. The way your heart skips a beat whenever his gaze met yours, the way his smile warms you from the inside out, the way his clumsy attempts at sign language makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time𑁋these were all signs of something, weren't they?

The atmosphere at the table lightens a bit. It feels nice, spending time with your friends and momentarily pushing aside the doubts of your artistic soul and worries of everything else that have been flying in and out of your head. 

Eventually, the rest of the afternoon wears on, and you somehow manage to survive through Seungkwan and Wheein's (mainly Seungkwan though, unsurprisingly) overbearing and teasing attempts to get you to spill your thoughts on café boy. They give up by the end of it, saying their goodbyes with a tight squeeze of a hug and urging you to keep your chin up. Seriously, you wouldn't know where you would be right now if it weren't for them.

At the back, when Joshua steps out of the restroom, a sudden slap at the wall next to his head startles him back.

“So I see.” Jeonghan circles a finger in front of his face. “You're feeling under the weather, aren't you?”

Joshua groans. “Don't you say it𑁋”

“Under the weather of love𑁋”

“You're having more customers than before because of me. Don't ruin that.”

“Then stop looking like a lovesick puppy and ask them out already, idiot.” Jeonghan shoves the boy forward with a not-so-gentle push to the back. “or at least invite them to your gig. Maybe you won't feel under the weather then.”

Joshua opens his mouth to retort. “Dude, I can't just𑁋”

But before he can finish his sentence, Jeonghan has already disappeared in the back, leaving Joshua standing there in a puddle of embarrassment. He glances towards the table where you were sitting earlier, seeing that you and your friends have already left, and panic shoots through him.

He's never been good at taking risks, but maybe, just maybe, it's time to change that.

Racing out the door, the cool evening air greets Joshua as he steps outside, quickly scanning the surroundings for a glimpse of your familiar figure. He spots you not too far away, heading down the sidewalk, before quickening his strides. He doesn't know what's driving him, but there's a sudden urgency to catch up with you𑁋to not let you slip away just this once. 

And when he finally manages to catch up to you approaching the pedestrian light, he finds himself breathless in front of you, heart pounding in his chest and cheeks flushed, still wearing the café apron around his body. When he looks up to you, clearly startled by his sudden appearance, he feels the heat crawl up his neck. 

“I, um…” he starts, voice coming out way more flat to his ears. Then you watch as he brings his hands up to sign. “Question?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace. He ran all the way out here to ask you a question?

“I have a performance…" His face lights up when he signs the right word. Cute. "...this weekend. I was wondering if you’d like to watch it?” 

You swear you can see the city lights blinking in anticipation around you, your own eyes fluttering in surprise to his question. He's... inviting you to watch him perform? He knows you won't be able to fully understand him, to hear him, yet he's offering you anyway?

Part of you wants to immediately say yes. The thought of watching him sends a wave of thrills through you, a glimmer of excitement warming the chill wrapped around your heart since leaving the café. But the other part𑁋the cautious and guarded part that has learned to retreat behind walls of silence𑁋is reluctant.

Hesitation flickers across your features, and Joshua's hands fly in apology.

“You don't𑁋if you're uncomfortable or if you have plans, it's okay," Joshua reassures quickly, speaking almost too fast for you to catch everything tumbling off his lips. “I could give you my number and text the details if you decide to come. Just... think about it, okay?”

The streetlight casts a soft glow on Joshua's features as he waits for your response. You glance up to the pedestrian signal, noticing that time is ticking down before you would have to leave, before bringing your gaze back to him.

You swallow a lump down your throat, and give a nod. A faint grin breaks across his face. Joshua fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his pocket and offering it to you. You swiftly type in your phone number, then hand the phone back to him, and then the pedestrian signal switches to green. It's your time to go. Each footstep you take feels heavier and heavier. 

Joshua watches you go, but not before you both exchange your habitual waves to each other.

He can get used to that, he thinks.

The colours on your palette just look absolutely wrong. 

It may just be the lighting playing tricks on your eyes and the exhaustion hanging on your eyelids, but it all looks slightly off-shade, the teeniest tiniest bit cooler or warmer. You frown, dipping your brush into the paint, attempting to mix them until they match the image you have in your mind. But it's like trying to catch sunlight with your bare hands𑁋the more you try, the more it slips away.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in your chair, and your gaze wanders to the canvas. The painting stares back at you tauntingly. It's like a stranger's work, not your own. A sense of defeat washes over you.

Groaning, you hop to your feet, untangling the apron around your waist and letting it fall to the ground before taking your paint brushes to the sink in your bathroom. You wash off the paint with a bit too much force, the bristles scraping against the porcelain, almost as if you were trying to scrub away your own frustration. The paint swirls down the drain, the colours blending together into an ugly, murky green before ultimately disappearing. 

You chug down an entire glass of water from your kitchen, then shut off the light hanging above your canvas. Sprawling on top of your bed, you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that the walls could cave in and swallow you whole, if only for a moment.

When you reach behind to fish for your phone annoyedly, your eyes nearly bulge out of its skull. 

You don’t even have to read out the entire message for you to jump up from your bed. Your eyes dart from the time displayed at the top of your phone, and to the words jumping at you from the screen.

[06:26PM | joshua hong] Hey it's Joshua! Sorry I know it's a bit last minute, but my performance is supposed to start in about 15 [06:29PM | joshua hong] But I totally understand if you aren't able to attend. It's no problem at all :) 

And perhaps it's the adrenaline from reading the message knowing it’s from Joshua, because you’re suddenly standing up and racing to the bathroom. You don’t understand how you look more disheveled than before, and you can hardly do much to touch yourself up before you’re shrugging, grabbing a jacket, and leaving. 

You nearly trip on the way out the door, and you could already feel the multitude of curses echoing through your head. 

Gosh, you can hardly believe how much time has slipped away from you. The stress coming from painting and deadlines has been gnawing at you day by day. It’s been the only thing pulling you back from doing anything else. Yet with every stroke you bring to the canvas, it feels empty. You feel empty. 

The streets of the city feel busier than usual, the air thick of your already deteriorating patience, and an unnerving anxiety gnaws at your insides. 

You don't have to attend𑁋you know it's a choice you could make, but why does the thought of not seeing him perform make your heart clench? Why does the thought of simply not seeing him make your steps quicken even more?

The doors to the bus ahead slam shut the second you stride up to it, and your hand comes up to pound at the heavy metal surface in anger. With a huff, you step back from the edge of the street, ignoring the stares being shot towards you by passersby while watching as the bus pulls away, leaving you standing uselessly on the sidewalk.

A person almost bumps into you once you turn around. Every taxi that you attempt to grab is immediately taken. You blink back some heat in your eyes, arms wrapping around your body as if trying to mask away the sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. You brush past a sea of shoulders and weave through the bustling streets of the city. Seriously, why the hell is it so busy right now? 

But even as you continue to float your way through the crowded streets, you could feel all the hope at getting to Joshua’s performance deflate. The day really wasn’t all on your side right now, and it all seems to rain down weights at your feet, slowing you down with every step you take. 

Why does it matter? You ask yourself inwardly, skepticism knitting at your brows. Why does his performance matter so much? 

A sharp nudge at your shoulder blade makes you wince. And when you bring your eyes back up, you suddenly realise you’re the only one left standing at the pedestrian light, watching as the sea of people ahead of you cross without any worry. The other side seems so close yet so far. 

Your gaze flickers up at the seconds counting down, your thoughts thinking back to Joshua, and you suddenly find yourself darting across the street.

Joshua's brow twitches faintly when his calloused fingers strum at his guitar strings. 

It’s a bit warmer this evening, the air feeling strangely muggier than usual. The note that leaves his guitar sounds slightly off-tune, but he doesn’t get himself to fix it. Instead, he hunches over to aimlessly grab at his guitar case right at his feet, snatching the coins he may have missed picking up before beginning to pack everything up. 

Joshua glances around the beautifully lit-up busking area, eyes scanning over the dwindling crowd. It’s a relatively small, circular area making up the heart of a tiny social sphere surrounded by local markets and restaurants. Despite that, there’s an emptiness lingering around him, one that feels awfully familiar yet more noticeable than ever before. He gazes back down and pockets the coins with a practiced shrug, a movement that barely hides the disappointment nagging at him.

When a coin slips out of his grasp, he bends down to retrieve it. But as he’s about to come back up, a shadow seems to loom above him, and the outsole of a shoe nearly steps on his fingers. 

Joshua picks his head back up, half-expecting for it to be a complete stranger and totally not half-hoping that it would be… you, hunched over and out of breath.

“Y/N?” he asks, swiftly putting the coin away. “You came.” 

You only give an imperceptible, apologetic nod at his words. Joshua glances around for a moment, before looking down at his guitar, and back to you.

He scratches the back of his neck bashfully. “You just missed it.”

A thin line forms at your lips as you sign, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry.” Joshua waves dismissively with his hands in a slight panic. “You must have been busy, right?”

You smile faintly at that, nodding once more, before taking out your phone to type:

I wanted to come

Once Joshua reads it, you see the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. “You did?”

The curve at your lips lifts even more, but just barely. Joshua’s head falls down for a minute as he peers down at his feet, attempting to hide away a grin threatening at his own face, before looking back up at you and clearing basically nothing in his throat. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“I’m glad you came,” he says, a sweet, appreciative tone to his words. You can’t hear it but you can see it in the way his eyes seem to smile as wide as his lips. “I was… kind of hoping you would show up. Not… not in a weird way or anything! I just𑁋I think I would have felt a little more confident if you were here. A face that I know.” 

Your face scrunches together in a bit of worry and a pinch of surprise, but Joshua just shakes his head and chuckles it off. 

The two of you stand there for a few moments. It’s really your first time being right in the centre of the busking square. Fairy lights hang on the few trees that dot around the area. You could see some small and large groups of people huddling nearby, presumably watching other performers performing, but you and Joshua just stood adrift in your own little bubble, like two stars separate from their own galaxies. 

The fairy lights cast a warm glow on Joshua's face, highlighting his hair that was floofed out in soft wisps around his forehead. You watch the way he runs his hand through it before taking a deep breath and returning to packing up his guitar. You casually wander close, looming over as you observe him in curiosity. 

Once Joshua slings his guitar back over his shoulder, he turns back to you. 

“Are you…” he starts to ask while signing. “...going back home now?”

You glance down at the time on your phone, pursing your lips together lousily. You should probably head home to start back on your painting, but that’s not what your thoughts are telling you to do, nor your heart. Or maybe your entire body, in fact. 

“If you are,” Joshua’s hands catch your attention again, then you focus in on his lips. “can I walk you home again? Like last time? It’s the least I could do since you ran all the way here. I have to give some worth to your effort, right?” 

You almost swear you could read the playfulness on his features, like the way his eyes crinkle subtly at the corners, or even in the way his head is tilted unnoticeably.

You can get used to that side of him, possibly.

You only abruptly turn around, leaving Joshua puzzled for a second, before he’s snatching the rest of his belongings and jogging to catch up to you. Then the two of you are walking side by side just as all the times before, the distance between you closing naturally. 

The world you’re used to is already quiet, silent even, but it’s different now. Joshua’s presence is loud, not in sound, but in the way it seems to comfortably fill the space around you. You don’t really know how to describe it without sounding awfully obvious that… you like when he’s around you; or, you like when you’re around him. 

His guitar case occasionally bumps your hip at his side, and his every attempt to create more space only seems to bring him back to the tiny amount of distance between you two anyway. Then Joshua switches carrying the case from one shoulder to the other, and as he does, his free hand briefly brushes against yours. The touch is fleeting, but enough to send a jump to your stomach. He quickly looks at you with a sheepish grin, muttering an apology that you can't hear but can easily read in his expression. 

The night air is cooler now, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead and causing them to fall to the ground like feathers at your feet. 

Joshua feels a light tap at his arm, and he turns to see you showing him a message on your phone.

Did your performance go well? 

He smiles nimbly at that, but you can tell in the way his eyes seem to cast a shadow over his face that he's not entirely satisfied. He only nods slightly, a noncommittal gesture. 

“It was alright,” he says while signing, fingers moving reluctantly. “The crowd was small, and I wasn’t at my best. But it’s okay.” 

You frown a little, and the way he casts his head down to the ground makes your chest squeeze. 

“Maybe it was good that you didn’t come,” Joshua mumbles under his breath, and you hardly catch what he was saying, but you could sense the diffidence emitting from him. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you either.” 

Both of your footsteps slow down ever so slightly as you approach a familiar street corner, the dim glow of a lamppost shining down on the two of you. Joshua notices the pensive expression to your features as your fingers dance across your phone screen. 

You hesitate for a moment before showing him. 

You tried your best. That’s all that matters

Then you’re abrupt to take your phone away before Joshua could process your words, typing something else again before flipping your phone around for him to read.

You wouldn’t have disappointed me

Joshua stares at the simple message. A hearty sound seems to bubble out of his chest, then another, and another, before it turns into a brief fit of coughs and a mix of laughter altogether. You can’t help but giggle at his reaction. It's light and airy, like wind chimes dancing in the breeze, and it feels like breaking a sound barrier you didn't even know existed between the two of you.

When he returns his gaze to you, he grins again, beaming even, a sliver of teeth expressing relief and a newfound confidence. 

“Thank you,” he tells you. “That means a lot to me.” 

You nod your head coyly, and before Joshua can say anything else, you’re already turning around and beginning to walk. Yet just after the first few steps, a boom of thunder echoes in the distance, and a raindrop lands at the top of your head. 

You stop and turn to see Joshua racing after you, and he stops right next to you. 

“Rain,” he simply signs. “It’s raining.”

And then, the two of you don’t even have to say anything before you’re running through the incoming rain together. You try to run as fast as you can without looking back because you know that Joshua is behind you, the rain beginning to fall down heavier and heavier as you dart through the streets and into the area where your apartment is located. 

Joshua stops right at the entrance, the same place where he had stopped last time. He watches as you continue to dash away from him, before coming to a halt, and turning around to notice him standing there under the pouring rain. 

Raindrops plaster in your hair and clothes as you face Joshua standing at the entrance of your apartment building. His hair is damp and matted to his forehead, damp clothes clinging to his frame as the rain running in rivulets down his face. Despite the downpour, his eyes meet yours with an unwavering gaze.

“Are you alright?” he signs nearly frantically, and you squint your eyes to be able to see him more clearly. 

While catching your breath, you motion for Joshua to come closer, shielding yourself under the small awning of your apartment building. He hesitates for a moment, glancing around as if assessing the situation, but then he’s jogging up to you, joining you under the small shelter of your building that could probably only fit two people. 

Both of you stand there as you watch the rain pour down to the earth in front of you. Then you glance at Joshua, and then at your apartment, then back outside again. He can’t go home in this rain right now without a singular bit of protection.

A tug at Joshua’s sleeves makes him turn to face you, softening at the way you look so concerned yet… cute in your own little way.  

Without any thinking, you gesture towards your apartment, as if silently offering him an invitation.

The surprise on Joshua's face is clear. His eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth falls open slightly. He glances back at the downpouring rain, then back at you with uncertainty. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You nod again, even opening the door for him and waiting for him to step inside. He hesitates again, but the apparent adamancy on your features brings some warmth to blossom through his chest. He fixes his guitar case on his shoulder and steps past you into the dry hallway, water from his hair and clothes dripping down to the ground. 

Joshua follows you down the narrow hallway toward your apartment door, his shoes squeaking slightly on the tiled floor below, a slip of nervousness with every step he takes. The hallway is dimly lit, with a faint aroma of incense lingering in the air. You unlock the door and hold it open for him, gesturing for him to enter first. And as he steps past you, he’s immediately greeted with the warmth of your place.

You take off your own shoes right after him as he stands somewhat awkwardly in the middle of your apartment. It’s smaller than he imagined, but it’s enough for him to recognise glimpses of your personality scattered around. It’s cozy, minimalist, yet it’s home to you, and that’s all that matters to him. 

You appear back in front of him with a towel in your hands, and you hold it out to Joshua, who takes it from your grasp gratefully. He starts to dry his hair and face, the towel absorbing the rainwater and providing some warmth against his skin. As he does so, he steals glances around your apartment, catching sight of an easel holding up a large canvas. 

There are other paintings on your walls too. He smiles to himself as he steps closer towards the canvas, the painting appearing unfinished and a bit weathered with all of its strokes, but nevertheless eye-catching, filling him with wonder about what the finished product may look like. 

You emerge from your bedroom and scan around the room, and when your eyes land on Joshua, you find him peering down at your unfinished painting, a thoughtful expression on his face as he cards through his hair with the towel. He turns to you, eyes widening at the sight of you in a set of new, dry clothes, then shifts his gaze to what you're holding.

It’s an oversized, grey hoodie, and it proudly displays the name of the museum that you frequent. You hold it out to Joshua with a shy look. He sets the towel aside and takes the hoodie from your hands. Immediately, you take a deep breath and face yourself away to let him change, and Joshua watches as you disappear into the small kitchen area, giving him a moment of privacy.

After propping his guitar case next to your easel, he strips off his wet shirt, replacing it with the dry, oversized hoodie. It’s warm and extremely comfortable, smelling like it’s been freshly washed with a scent hinting at lavender, and instantly offers the relief he needed after running through the rain earlier.

Then Joshua gazes around your apartment again. There’s a bookshelf lined with art books and tiny succulents, a small couch with a knitted blanket draped over its arm, and a table with a collection of paintbrushes, unused palettes, and an endless collection of bottles of paint. It’s a different sight than what he’s used to, that’s for certain𑁋he’s used to microphone chords being tangled together, the worn leather of his guitar case at his fingertips, and the hum of music drifting through his life. 

The sound of your footsteps echoes softly from the kitchen, drawing Joshua's attention away from his thoughts. You're holding two mugs in your hands, steam curling up from the brims, and the scent of herbal tea wafts through the air. You carefully hand one to him, before settling on the couch, snugly tucking your legs underneath yourself. Joshua follows suit right after, sitting down right next to you while taking a steady sip from the warm tea. He feels the warmth seep into his fingers as he cradles the mug in his hands. 

He glances at you, noticing how relaxed you seem all curled up on the couch, the soft light casting a gentle glow on your face.

Joshua leans down to set the mug back on the table, catching your attention. 

“Thank you,” he mouths quietly, signing to you. 

You offer a small nod in response, then take out your phone to type:

Is it still raining hard outside? 

Joshua leans back on the couch to listen, narrowing his eyes intently. He still hears the rain outside, but it seems to have calmed down quite a bit. Yet the thought of him staying longer in your place makes his ears burn hotter than the steaming cup of tea in his hands.

He turns back at you and nods his head, knowing it’s a bit of a white lie but deciding that it’s worth staying just a little longer with you. He watches the way your face shifts into a contemplative look. 

Your fingers dance along with your screen once more. 

You can stay until it stops

“Are you sure?” Joshua questions incredulously. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.” 

You shake your head firmly, the smile playing on your lips widening just a touch. It's clear in your eyes that you’re genuinely telling him it’s okay, and that assurance softens something in Joshua's chest. He glances down at his mug on the table, staring at the way the steam curls up into the air like delicate wisps.

It feels almost natural to do this𑁋to sit here under the excuse of sheltering away from the rain, but really, it's a bit more than that, more obvious than what you both assume. For some reason, it’s easier to be around each other than sitting alone in your separate worlds of sound and art. 

When Joshua drinks the rest of his tea, he catches a glimpse of his guitar case standing right next to your easel, and a light flickers on his head. 

“Since you missed my performance,” he starts to say, signing a bit flimsily and unconfidently. “I was wondering if I could… maybe sing for you?” 

You cock your head to the side, curiosity piqued. “Sing?”

“Sing.” Joshua copies right after you. He remembers when you mentioned that even though you can’t hear, you can still feel the vibrations, read the chords and lyrics, and enjoy the music like others.

And while he feels nervous, the way his heart flutters at the thought of you listening to him sing makes him feel a bit… hopeful, confident, like he told you before. He likes to think that your presence alone is much more comforting and reassuring than a group of strangers gathered around him in the busking area. 

Joshua takes a deep breath, before standing up and fetching his guitar gently from its case, resting the instrument on his knee. The rich scent of wood fills the air as he tunes it, deftly plucking each string with practiced fingers until it comes to the correct note. You could only watch in awe, glancing between the guitar and his focused expression. His brows knit together tightly and his eyes come to a close for a few moments𑁋you can’t seem to tear your own gaze off him. 

When he finishes tuning, he opens his eyes, seemingly noticing how attentive you’re to his every move. A faint blush creeps up his neck, and he casts his eyes down for a moment before meeting yours again. He clears his throat awkwardly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder.

“Can I…” he begins to ask, holding out his hand towards you. You peer down at it, noticing how it hovers expectantly between you. 

As your hand is about to brush against his, Joshua gently takes your hand with his own, his calloused fingertips meeting your soft ones briefly. He guides your hand on the body of his guitar. Your fingers rest lightly against the smooth wood, feeling the vibrations as he strums a few chords softly. 

Your eyes widen as you look back up at him, surprised at how vivid the sensation is right at the ends of your fingers. 

“You can read my lips too.” Then he pauses, before continuing, “if you want to, at least.” 

With that, he plays a few chords, the vibrations running through the guitar and to your hand, even down your body. And when his lips start to move, you try to focus on his every word, watching the shape of his mouth as he sings. 

For years, you’re used to reading sound with your eyes. Sure, you’ve touched instruments, like the piano in the music room during elementary school or the drumset you would see backstage before a school concert. But no one ever played them𑁋nobody ever played for you. 

So when you read from your eyes, there’s always that second of disconnect when you blink, and the inner anxiety that you could miss even the tiniest detail of the music. However, everytime you blink now, you could feel Joshua singing and playing right at the ends of your fingertips, as if he was telling you that it’s okay to keep your eyes closed without worrying, simply because he was right there. 

This is what passion looks like on someone else, and for some reason seeing all that unfold before you makes it all more beautiful. 

You notice Joshua closes his eyes or peers down sometimes when he gets more focused, yet it doesn’t take anything away from his singing. The way his fingers effortlessly glide over the strings of his guitar, or the subtle lift to his lips when he’s singing𑁋you know that his heart is completely in it. 

It’s beautiful. He’s… beautiful.

The song ends before you hardly notice. You keep your hand resting on the guitar, the vibrations still buzzing ever so slightly on your fingertips after Joshua strums the final set of chords. 

Joshua shifts uncomfortably for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the guitar in his lap. He scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. 

“Did you... like it?” he asks tentatively while searching your face, signing the words as he speaks.

You merely blink up at him too, as if you’re still stuck processing everything and nothing all at once, before nodding reassuringly. 

Joshua's expression softens with relief, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he lets out a quiet sigh. He glances down at your hand still resting on his guitar, a certain warmth spreading through his chest at the way you're looking at him.

“You felt it, didn't you?” he asks quietly. “The vibrations?”

You consider nodding again, but instead, you reach back for your phone to type.

It was beautiful. I haven’t felt music like that in a long time

Joshua can’t help but smile to himself, and there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore when he does. He likes knowing that he’s happy around you, likes feeling himself be happy around you. It’s a feeling that feels easy, natural, like he doesn't have to try too hard. 

He gently places his guitar back in its case, the soft click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. You notice his fingers linger on the case for a moment, before he turns back to you.

“I think that I was right about what I said earlier,” he affirms, and there seems to be content hinting on his features. “about feeling more confident… when you’re around. I just wanted to thank you for that.”

Of course, he was nervous, anxious if anything𑁋but in between all that nerves was the comfort of someone who listened to him more intently than any audience ever could. 

Joshua clears his throat and peers around after setting his case back down, trying to brush off the fact that you’re sitting way more closer to him than before. You’re typing something on your phone again, the bright screen emitting on your face and making you bat your eyelashes together. 

You lightly tap on his shoulder to get his attention, showing your message:

You can always practice here, if you want

“Practice? Here? You want𑁋I can practice here?” The disbelief in his face makes you purse your lips together endearingly. “I hardly ever have the chance to practice because Jeonghan𑁋my roommate𑁋is sick of me being loud, at this point. I’ve been saving up to move out, but it’s been hard.”

When he realises how fast he spoke and the way you’re watching him closely, all he does is smile faintly.

“I’ll be sure to use the opportunity wisely,” he assures you, and there’s that lightheartedness back on his face again.

Your knee rubs against his when you stand up to put away the empty mugs back in the kitchen. It gives Joshua the chance to look around your place again, and his eyes settle on your unfinished painting on the other side of the room. 

“Could you…” he starts to ask once you’re walking back to the couch, his fingers moving unsurely in the air. “Could you tell me about your paintings?” 

At first, there’s a bit of hesitancy in your movements. But the genuinity you see in his gaze seems to tug at your heartstrings more than ever. You show him a message on your phone:

As long as you tell me about your songs

Joshua’s eyes light up at your message, a grin spreading across his face. 

“It’s a deal,” he says.

You could probably count the individual dust specks floating in the sunbeams pouring inside the classroom. 

Warm water trickles down your hands and into the sink below as you rinse off some paint brushes, before placing them in a discoloured, paint-covered bucket right beside you.

The museum has a variety of art classes, mostly for people who aspire to get their artwork shown in exhibitions. You aren’t any different from them𑁋you all seek the same goal, which is to be heard and recognised for your work; this small inkling to be known or even vaguely known by someone.

Once you finish cleaning up, you dry your hands on a rag and take a moment to look around the desolate classroom. The smell of paint and the sight of easels and canvases everywhere feels like home, but lately you’ve been questioning if it’s actually home, or just a temporary refuge. The question nags at you as you gather your belongings to put in your worn-out tote bag.

Stepping out of the classroom, you start to walk through the nearly empty museum, passing by hallways with art ranging from contemporary, to modern, to as far back as the classics. You’ve probably been through these halls a countless number of times𑁋retaining everything from the title of the piece to the artist’s name and technique𑁋and you would still be in utter awe. 

However, just as you reach the main area of the museum, a figure peering up at a painting catches your eyes. The guitar case that hung on his shoulder stuck out like a sore thumb among every other person in the room, and the sight makes you chuckle to yourself because you recognise Joshua instantly. 

You stand there for a moment, observing him from a distance as he studies the painting with a thoughtful expression. His fingers tap lightly against the strap of his guitar case, and you feel like if you focus even more, you could possibly see the thoughts wrapping around his head. 

Joshua glances at his phone for a millisecond before turning around, abruptly stopping when he sees the sight of you standing not that far away from him. The corners of his lips lift into a gentle smile upon seeing you, or his face seems to almost brighten up entirely, you can hardly tell. He brushes a hand through his hair before offering you a small wave, which you reciprocate back with one of your own without any hesitation. 

There’s a rush of warmth that flows through you as he approaches up to you.

You stare at him quizzically as you lift your hands up to sign, “What are you doing here?” 

Joshua shoots a bashful look down at his own feet before picking himself back up. 

“I wanted to see you,” he says quietly while signing, and his hand movements are as shy as his words. 

His words hardly process for a few moments, and Joshua thinks he might have overstepped. The hopeful glint in his eyes dims subtly, replaced by a shy apology already forming in his hands at the shock to your features. Maybe wanting to see you was a bit too forward of him. 

But it’s the way your hands nearly come in contact with his own to dismiss his worries that stops him mid-apology. You shake your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“I…” You start, then pause, because Joshua’s focused, unwavering, yet patient gaze tugs at something inside of you. Gathering your thoughts, you continue signing slowly, “I thought about seeing you too.” 

A surprised, somewhat choked laugh escapes Joshua's lips, a sound as light and unexpected as what you just said. Relief washes over him, clear as the day outside and the sunlight streaming through the museum windows. He seems to hold his breath for a moment before a grin splits his face apart. 

“Really?” he signs back, and it’s cute seeing how expressive he is when he’s surprised. 

“Yes,” You reply back firmly, hopefully being able to emphasize it enough with your fisted hand.

Joshua rubs at his nose nervously, and even the gesture being so small feels charming somehow. The weight of your art supplies feels lighter in your bag than they have in a while. 

“I have some time before practice though,” he shares, pondering lightly. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat first?”

Your lips lift at the offer, and you scramble a hand in your bag to retrieve your phone. But your fingers fumble, encountering only paint brushes and sketchbooks. Panic starts to rise in your chest as you frantically dig deeper within your bag. Your phone. It's not there. It’s probably back in the classroom.

You shoot an innocent look at Joshua, catching sight of his worried, furrowed brows. You try to explain to him with your hands, but your movements are hurried and you could tell he didn’t entirely understand. So you settle with a helpless shrug and a motion towards a deeper part of the museum, and he seems to catch on. 

Joshua feels the hesitation in his step when he sees you turn around and begin walking away. Considering for a second, he catches up to you quickly, the sounds of his shoes bouncing off the museum floors. 

He follows right next to you quietly, taking in the museum’s atmosphere as you navigate through the familiar halls. When the two of you reach a room, you hold the door open for him, and Joshua swears he hasn’t really seen anything like this before. 

The room is large and very open, the natural lighting from the outside flowing in from the windows. Unused easels and canvases stood at the corners of the room. There’s a long, wooden table perched in the middle of the room, and a whiteboard that takes up a small portion of the wall. Joshua takes the time to look around as you dash to the cleaning station where you were putting up the supplies, and there was your phone𑁋sitting idly with a few drops of water on its screen that you wipe away.

Joshua is standing with his arms crossed at the whiteboard, eyes squinting as if he was trying to discern the faded markings. You stand right next to him once you come up, bringing your gaze also to the whiteboard. 

He turns to you, seemingly inquisitive. “Is this an art class?”

You manage a nod. But you feel like it isn’t enough of an answer and decide to pull out your phone instead. 

It’s an art class for the deaf, and for those who want to show their work in the exhibitions here

Joshua’s mouth opens in awe as he reads the words on your screen. A flicker of understanding lights up his eyes as he processes the information.

“That's amazing,” he tells you while signing back, expression visibly softening. “I had no idea they had classes like this here. How long have you been coming?”

He watches as you look back down to type on your phone, taking the few seconds as a chance for his eyes to drift over your features, silently taking in the concentration etched on your face. When you finish typing, you show him the screen. 

Just for the past year. There’s only a few of us in the class. Sometimes I’m the only person who shows up though

“Ah,” Joshua only hums contemplatively. He glances around once more, as if trying to see the room through your perspective. “That must feel lonely sometimes.”

You nod, letting out a low sigh as you type out your next message:

It can be. But it's also peaceful. Gives me time to think and create without any distractions

“I get it.” Joshua nods with a small smile. “You’re dedicated. I admire that.” 

Your heart swells a little at his words. It's always a vulnerable thing𑁋sharing a piece of your world with someone else, but Joshua’s presence seems to make it all a little less daunting, a little more comfortable. 

Joshua’s eyes settle on a corner where a few canvases lean against the wall, seemingly forgotten or awaiting their turn under someone’s hand. He steps closer to it, running his fingers lightly over the rough edges of one of the frames, then turns back to you.

“Do you have any of your work shown here in the museum?” he asks curiously. 

A rush of emotions floods through you, a frown caressing your face—pride sprinkled with uncertainty, hope clouded by doubt. You've always dreamed of showcasing your work, to be recognised and understood through your art. However, you feel a twinge of self-consciousness creeping in, because the dream of one day having your work displayed alongside the masterpieces lining the museum walls feels both distant and impossibly close at the same time.

Sensing your shift in mood, Joshua raises his eyebrows in question. You fumble with your phone again, typing out a response and showing it to him. 

I’m not sure if my work is good enough for that

Joshua's expression softens even further. “But you wouldn't keep creating it if you didn't believe in it, would you?”

Oh, he’s got you there, you think. A certain warmth starts to spread through you at his perceptiveness, a twitch at your lips from a suppressed smile trying to break free.

“And even if you don’t believe in it right now,” Joshua starts, placing himself right next to you gazing down at the empty canvases waiting to be touched. “I believe in you. I mean it.”

You exhale softly, a weight lifting off your shoulders as you absorb his words. For the first time in a while, you begin to see your art through a different lens—not just as smears on a canvas, but as a reminder that this is something you love.

It’s been a while since someone’s said that they believe in you, and it hits you right in the heart. 

“Is the painting in your place the one you want to finish for the museum?”

You nod in response to that, though the sullen look to your face doesn’t seem to exactly agree. 

There’s an exhibition being held just a few weeks from now, which is also the deadline for submitting your painting, which was being judged. The pressure has been getting to you, admittedly, and it feels like time is slipping away faster than you can paint. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll get back home later today and pick up your paint brush without it feeling like a burden to hold. 

Joshua says something you don’t catch quick enough when you face back to him, and you tilt your head in question.

“I’m not sure if I did the sign right.” And then he brings his hands up, signing to you, “Good luck.” 

Heat crawls up your neck to his words, and a smile fights its way through the lingering uncertainties and stretches shamelessly across your face. 

His hand comes awfully close to yours when he brings them down to the side. 

You draw yourself away when you feel your phone vibrate in your hand, only seeing that it was some useless notification. Joshua fixes himself up as well, turning to you fully, and you both exchange shy grins.

“Food?” He brings his hand up to his mouth, almost mimicking like he was putting a piece of food there. 

You adjust the strap of your bag and double-check to make sure you have your phone with you, before nodding. The two of you head out of the classroom together.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re both basically dating.” 

The way your face scrunches up in visible disgust to Seungkwan’s words has Wheein shoving the younger boy with a daggered stare, nearly making the stick of tanghulu fall from his grasp. 

“You can’t just claim that,” Wheein retorts back.

“He walks Y/N home! He’s been inside their place! He wants to see them! Y/N doesn’t even let us come inside their place these days and yet here’s this guy waltzing his way into their heart!” 

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting him or thanking him,” Wheein points out playfully, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. 

“I'm not doing either,” Seungkwan protests, feigning a snarky look. “I'm just stating the facts. If it walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a duck.”

At this point, your friends are speaking almost too fast for you to catch everything being said, but all you could do is bring your head down and gaze to your footsteps, a subtle, amused grin playing to your lips. They’re arguing about your life, and yet it makes you feel… acknowledged, seen, heard, because your world before seemed to revolve solely around you and your art only for the longest you can recall. 

An adamant tap lands on your shoulder, and you bring your head back up to face Wheein. 

“Isn’t the exhibition next week?” she asks, signing with a sense of urgency in her expression.

Your face falls a little, and the thought of the deadline and exhibition seems to loom over you like a dark storm cloud. It feels like yesterday you were just staring at a blank canvas, and now every inch of it is covered in a mess of colours that is undeniably far from what you can consider a masterpiece.

Wheein and Seungkwan could already tell by the weak nod that you give that you’re feeling the pressure of it all. The two of them exchange a knowing look with each other, and it isn’t long before you feel another tap at your shoulder. Wheein motions to something up ahead, and as you face forward in order to see what it was, a hand grabs at your sleeve and you find yourself being dragged forward by your two best friends.

You can hardly control where your feet are landing in front of you, and the only thing you could catch ahead is a crowd and the familiar sight of what appears to be the busking centre. There must be some kind of performance going on, and it peaks your interest. 

The faces surrounding you are all bleeding out enjoyment, with their wide eyes and mouths blossomed into large grins. Their hands are all clapping in unison, some even mouthing the words to lyrics you can hardly make out.

You don’t recognise the small band that’s performing. But then you imagine Joshua being the one at the centre of the crowd, playing his heart out, captivating the audience just like how he captivated you, and the disappointment melts away. 

You find yourself standing at almost the core of the crowd, with Wheein and Seungkwan clapping and cheering animatedly on either side of you. In an odd way, this position feels familiar, as if you’ve stood from this exact same angle before.

You're close enough to see the raw energy pouring off the musicians, the way their instruments become extensions of themselves𑁋the same as Joshua sitting across from you on the couch with his guitar in lap, eyes closed in concentration, and fingers dancing effortlessly along the strings. The memory of that night floods your mind, and you can almost feel the vibrations of his music under your fingertips once again.

It all brings a smile to your face. 

As the music surrounds you, you can see the passion radiating from each band member’s face, carrying away the weight of the upcoming exhibition and the pressures you've been feeling. In this moment of respite, it's just you, your friends, and the music.

When you get back home to your apartment that night, you find yourself focusing on clicking through the photos on your camera roll, almost like you were searching for a particular one. 

And then you find it𑁋the photo you took at the busking square all those weeks ago, the photo you took of that man singing and strumming along his guitar…

…the photo that you took of Joshua Hong, where you didn’t know his name at the time. And now, he’s standing in the middle of your thoughts, and singing directly to your heart. 

It’s almost suffocating to be sitting in this chair right now. Your posture is stiff as a rock, legs shaking underneath your hands that were folded on your lap, other people𑁋other artists just like you𑁋surrounding you like flies. 

You feel excruciatingly hot in your outfit, a formal one that you picked from the depths of your wardrobe that still somehow fits your body still. It’s been a while since you put this much effort into your appearance𑁋you can hardly remember the last time you dressed up like this, honestly𑁋and the unfamiliarity of it all prickles at your skin. 

The day of the exhibition is more chaotic than you expected for it to be. It’s practically held to the public, where almost anyone can walk in and watch the event for themselves. 

Across the vast room, you catch glimpses of other artists, seeing their diverse styles of clothing. There’s a woman with a shaved head and a tattoo snaking down her arm; at the far end, a man in a crisp suit, frown etched at his face, large glasses, with a neatly trimmed beard.

The walls are covered with various works of art, each piece representing the countless hours of dedication and passion of the artists. It’s a grand showcase, bigger than any small ones you’ve seen. The large hall that you’re standing in has been temporarily transformed into a visual showcase where curators and critics would walk around and judge the pieces. By the end of the night, only about half of the submissions would be considered to be permanently displayed in the museum. The thought makes your stomach churn with anxiety.

Joshua had sent you a simple Good luck! You’ll do amazing :) text before you arrived at the museum. It comforts you a little bit, but not entirely𑁋you feel like you’d feel better if he could be here with you in person. He couldn’t come because he had to look after the café. Wheein was also here somewhere too participating in the exhibition, clearly not anywhere near where you were placed in the vast hall. 

The exhibition begins with a formal speech from the museum's director, who talks about the importance of art in society and how this exhibition aims to bring fresh perspectives to the world. As the speech concludes, curators and critics start moving around the large room, closely examining each piece and approaching all the other artists. 

Your eyes follow a few as they approach your painting. They stand before it, whispering among themselves, their expressions indecipherable. You wish you could hear their thoughts, but instead, you focus on their body language𑁋the subtle nods, the thoughtful gazes. Some of them barely have their lips moving for you to be able to read them, while others are simply not speaking at all. At the corner of your eyes, you’re able to make out a few artists speaking with confidence to the curators, explaining their creative process and the message behind their pieces. Disappointment claws anxiously at your chest. 

The sign language interpreter that is supposed to accompany you doesn’t show up until after a few crucial moments with curators have passed. By the time she arrives, introducing herself and quickly apologising for the long delay, you’re already feeling a sense of defeat settling in, struggling to muster the enthusiasm in your hands as you greet her back.

You have a hard time connecting with some of the visitors who stop by, heart sinking even more when they pass by your painting without pausing. Their attention is clearly drawn elsewhere𑁋that’s all you can think about as you watch them move on; their indifference is practically slicing through the air like a knife. 

It’s like you’re invisible. 

In the back of your mind, you figured this would happen. It wasn’t entirely your best work, or the best you’ve put your efforts in. For some reason painting didn’t come as naturally to you as it did before. If anything, it felt forced. The pressure to create something worthy had left you with a piece that felt uninspiring, meaningless. 

You aren’t meant for this. This grand exhibition hall, the feeling of being judged𑁋it all felt like a journey’s away from the joy you used to find in simply creating. The other artists around you seem to belong in this environment more than you do. They stood proudly beside their work, and all you could do right now was let the lump in your throat tighten even more. 

You aren’t meant for this. 

By the time the big announcement comes, you catch a glimpse of the evening sky outside the large windows of the museum. A hush falls over the room as the museum director steps back forward. Even as you let your eyes drift between the director and your interpreter right next to you, you already knew deep within you that the night wasn’t ending in your favour. 

“We congratulate all the artists whose works have been chosen,” the director says warmly, listing off names that resonate through the hall. Each name being called is met with applause and cheers.

Your name isn't called. You would know if it was if the expression on your interpreter’s face wasn’t so solemn, the meek curve at her lips that she wears doing hardly anything to ease you. Despite the sinking feeling, you send her a small, acknowledging nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. 

Wheein finds you when the evening starts winding down and the museum begins to clear away. She taps lightly at your shoulder as you’re packing your belongings, yet the eager look on her face is quick to fade once she sees the dejection painted all over yours. 

“You’re not going to stay for a while?” Wheein asks, signing with concern, her brows furrowing as she watches you continue to pack your things. “I heard there’s an after dinner event later on, and they’re letting anyone join. Maybe you could meet some of the other artists!”

Letting out a quiet exhale, you shake your head, the movement small and defeated as you sign back, “Going to head home. Tired.”

“Are you sure?” Wheein insists. “I was planning to introduce you to some people𑁋”

“It’s okay,” You sign quickly, interjecting her words. But the pout and puppy-eyes that she gives makes you roll your eyes. “Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.” 

A grin is swift to cross her face, and a few seconds later she’s wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. You return the hug back, feeling a bit of your disappointment melt away in the face of your genuine happiness. 

“I'll text you later,” Wheein signs after pulling back. “Please get home safe, okay? I love you!”

The dramatic kisses she blows in your direction make you laugh despite yourself, and you nod, giving her a small wave as you head out of the museum.

The cool night air nips at your cheek when you step outside, and you feel way less constricted in your clothes than being inside the museum. As you walk briskly down the street, you let the night clear away your muddled thoughts. Your feet seem to guide you, almost on autopilot, not quite ready to head home and face the solitude that’s waiting for you.

You pass by a few late-night cafés, convenience stores, and small shops, their warm lights spilling out onto the pavement. 

The sight reminds you of Joshua. 

And for some reason, that’s all it takes for your feet to pick up its pace. There’s almost determination you can feel in each step that you take, the thoughts of the exhibition pressing farther and farther into the back of your mind. If there’s anything that could make you forget everything that has happened today, it’s just seeing him for a moment. A singular moment. 

The lights of the café switch off when you’re coming up to it. You come to a halt in your tracks, and your gaze lands on a lone figure stepping outside with its back turned towards you.

After a minute or two, the figure turns slowly, and you recognise Joshua's face illuminated by the fading light of the café's sign. There's a moment of hesitation before he notices you standing there just a couple of steps away, and when he does, his features seem to light up even brighter than the flickering stars above. But it’s quick to melt away when he watches the way you’re trudging up to him.

His eyes flicker over your face for a moment. “What happened?” 

You could see the worry in the way he signs to you, his eyes searching your tired ones. He peers at you so softly that it nearly makes your heart ache. But there’s a comfort there that you desperately find yourself wanting to cling to.

Without a word, you simply lean your body forward, letting your head fall onto Joshua’s shoulder. His presence emits a warmth that brings you back from the high of cloudy thoughts and back down to the surface of safety.

Joshua’s eyes widen imperceptibly for a second, before a quiet understanding washes over his face. His arms twitch at the weight of you leaning on him, and then almost hesitantly, he slowly wraps them around you, fingers brushing against the small of your back tentatively, delicately, as if unsure its welcome. 

His warmth seeps through your clothes and settles comfortably within the hollow spaces of your chest. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, against your ribs, and smell the lingering scent of coffee on his shirt. A sigh escapes your lips, a soft exhale that contains the tension and worries accumulated throughout the day.

Joshua doesn’t press you. He can feel everything you feel in his embrace, everything you wish to let out. He can feel your dejection, your disappointment, knowing that your efforts, all the blood, sweat, and tears you put into your art had fallen short of your dreams. But he doesn’t pry or question. He simply holds you, and perhaps that’s all that matters right now𑁋he can’t let you fall apart. Not in his arms, anyway. 

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, right under the dim café light that casts down on your figures. When Joshua feels you shift in his hold, he loosens his grip ever so slightly, gaze caressing over your face for a few moments. His eyes hold a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

There’s a reluctance in your movements as you start to peel yourself away from him. Joshua slowly lets his arms unfold from around you, but his hands linger for a moment, as if hesitant to fully let you go just yet. His expression remains gentle, silently asking if you’re okay; if there’s anything more he can do. 

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Joshua asks warily. “The exhibition?”

All you do is shake your head, and a small resigned sigh tumbles out of you. 

Joshua purses his lips together, brows knitting together in worry. He knows the sting of rejection all too well and how deep it could cut. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, fingers moving with a grace through the air that matches the empathy in his eyes. He’s been getting more confident recently in his signing. “But it doesn’t mean your art isn’t worth anything. You tried your best, and maybe that’s what matters. Remember what I told you before?”

You tilt your head in question, waiting for him to continue. 

Then, all Joshua does is smile faintly, before picking his hands up to sign. He starts by putting his hand in a fist and sticking his pinky finger upward. Then he points his index finger to his forehead, before bringing it down into his open hand. Next he fixes his right hand downward, forming the other one into a cup shape, and dips the fingers of his right hand into it. 

And finally, he points to you. 

“I believe in you.” 

The words fly off his fingers and wrap around you like a blanket. The proud look that he captures on his face is washed away in a fit of timidity, and you can’t help but chuckle, a genuine, warm sound that fills the night air, even if you didn’t notice how loud it is. It's the first real laugh you've had all night. And when Joshua hears it, a blush creeps up his neck, reaching to his cheeks. A relieved smile spreads across his lips. 

When you gaze back up at him, the weight of the day feels a little lighter. Slowly, you lift your hands up to sign, ensuring each movement is clear and deliberate. 

“I missed you.”

Joshua’s expression softens even further. He watches your hands, then meets your eyes, understanding completely. He lifts his hands to respond, fingers moving tenderly through the air, and responding with his voice,

“I missed you too.”

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your coffee. the cup tipped and spilt, liquid soaking through your jeans, spreading sticky and uncomfortable across your thighs. panic hit first, pure and primal, because for a split second all you could think was laptop, everything's gone, hours of work, my entire project. your hands flew out in the darkness, patting frantically at the desk, trying to assess the damage. your chest was so tight you couldn't get a full breath.

then came the anger. fast and hot and overwhelming, rising from somewhere deep in your stomach. you wanted to scream. wanted to grab whoever crashed into you and shake them. wanted to cry from sheer frustration because this was exactly what you didn't need tonight, not when you were already hanging on by a thread.

"oh my god, oh my god, i'm so sorry, i didn't see you, i didn't think anyone else was here, i'm so sorry." the voice came rapid-fire from somewhere to your left. male, young, pitched higher than normal with genuine distress. 

he kept apologising, words tumbling over each other, and there was something in his tone that didn't sound rehearsed. he sounded actually afraid, like he'd just committed some unforgivable sin. 

"i didn't mean to, i couldn't see, the power just went out and i was trying to get to the door and i'm so sorry, did it get on your laptop? please tell me it didn't get on your laptop."

you took a breath, trying to force words past the tightness in your throat, trying to formulate some response that matched the fury still coursing through your veins. your mouth opened, something sharp and cutting right on the edge of your tongue.

the emergency lighting kicked in. not much, just pale green strips along the baseboards casting everything in eerie, insufficient glow. enough to see by. enough to make out shapes, faces.

the guy who'd run into you stood about two feet away, and the first thing you noticed was his hands. hovering in the air between you, trembling visibly even in the dim light, fingers spread like he wanted to help but didn't dare touch anything. he was tall and lean, dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. glasses had slipped down his nose, and behind them his eyes were wide. genuinely panicked in a way that didn't feel performed at all.

"your laptop," he said, voice still shaking with that same desperate concern. "what model is it? did the coffee get on it? the keyboard is the main concern, if liquid got into the keyboard we need to shut it down immediately and flip it over to drain, we need to know if you had everything backed up." 

he was already moving closer, trembling hands reaching toward your desk, and you realised with a start that he hadn't even looked at you properly yet. his entire focus was on your laptop. on the problem he'd created. on fixing it.

"it's fine," you managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. you looked down at your computer. sitting safely to the right of where your coffee had been, completely dry and unharmed. "it didn't get on it."

the relief that washed over his face was so profound you almost felt embarrassed witnessing it. his shoulders sagged. his hands finally dropped to his sides. he let out a long, shaky breath like he'd been holding it since the collision.

 "okay. okay, that's good, that's really good." then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes finally moved to actually look at you. taking in your coffee-soaked lap, your tense posture, your expression which you were sure wasn't friendly. "are you okay? did you get burned? that coffee looked hot, if it was hot we should get you to a sink, run cold water on it."

"it was cold," you said. true, but didn't make the situation better. your jeans were soaked through, fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, coffee starting to seep into your chair. you were sticky and irritated and still running on too much adrenaline. but he looked so genuinely distressed that some of your anger started deflating despite yourself.

"cold coffee is still a problem," he said, already pulling his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it with fumbling fingers. "the sugar content means it'll get sticky when it dries, and it can stain, especially on lighter fabrics. i have napkins, i think, or maybe paper towels, i definitely have something." 

he was rummaging through his bag now, pulling out crumpled papers, a graphing calculator, several pens, tangled earbuds, talking the entire time in that same rapid, anxious way. 

"i'm really sorry, i should have been more careful, i knew the power was out, i should have used my phone flashlight, i just thought i knew the layout well enough to navigate in the dark but obviously i was wrong."

you watched him. something uncomfortable shifted in your chest. you'd been prepared to snap at him, to unleash all your accumulated frustration on whoever had been careless enough to run into you. but he wasn't making excuses. wasn't trying to minimise what he'd done or deflect blame or make some joke to lighten the mood. he was just genuinely, almost painfully concerned about the problem he'd created. the way he kept apologising, kept trying to fix things, made it very hard to stay angry.

"here," he said triumphantly, producing a small pack of tissues from the bottom of his bag. he held them out, then seemed to realise how inadequate they were and let out a frustrated sound. "these aren't going to be enough. we should go to the bathroom, get some actual paper towels. or maybe the kitchen area on the second floor, they have those industrial dispensers that are way more absorbent." 

he paused, finally seeming to register that you hadn't moved, that you were just sitting there watching him. his ears went red, visible even in the dim green emergency lighting. "sorry, i'm sorry, i'm doing it again. my sister always tells me i go into problem-solving mode when i'm anxious and it makes people feel like i'm not actually listening to them. are you okay? like, actually okay, not just physically okay?"

the question caught you off guard. nobody had asked you that in days. maybe weeks. everyone just assumed you were fine because you were handling things, meeting deadlines, showing up to class. but this stranger who'd just spilt coffee all over you was looking at you with genuine concern, waiting for a real answer. something in your chest felt suddenly too tight.

"i'm fine," you said, softer than intended. you took the tissues from him, dabbing uselessly at your jeans. he was right. they weren't nearly enough. but the gesture felt important somehow. "it's been a long night."

"assignments?" he asked. when you nodded he made a sympathetic noise. "yeah, same. i've been here since six. had a project deadline at midnight but then the power went out fifteen minutes before and now i don't know if my submission went through because the wifi died with the electricity." he pushed his glasses up his nose. nervous gesture you got the impression he did frequently. 

"i'm jake, by the way. jake sim. i feel like i should probably introduce myself since i just, like, assaulted you with your own beverage."

despite everything, ruined jeans and exhaustion and broken code, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. not quite a smile, but close. "assaulted me with my own beverage?"

"well, yeah," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "i mean, i weaponised your coffee against you. that's technically assault, right? or maybe battery? i always get those mixed up. my roommate's a poli-sci major, he'd know."

 he was rambling now, words spilling out in that same anxious rush, and there was something almost endearing about how completely lacking in artifice it was. he wasn't trying to be charming. wasn't trying to be funny. just genuinely nervous and dealing with it by talking too much.

you told him your name. he repeated it carefully, like he was committing it to memory. "i really am sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "what were you working on? before i interrupted?"

"data structures project," you said. just thinking about it made your shoulders tense again. "it's due tomorrow and there's a bug i can't figure out and i've been staring at it for hours."

his eyes lit up behind his glasses, spark of interest that transformed his whole face. "what kind of bug? runtime error? logic error? is it a pointer issue? those are always the worst, especially with linked lists."

 he was already moving closer to your laptop, stopping himself at the last second like he'd realised he was being presumptuous. "sorry, i mean, i could take a look if you want? i'm pretty good with data structures. it's kind of my thing. i'm a TA for comp 201 actually, so i see a lot of common bugs. but also totally no pressure, i know i just dumped coffee on you so you probably don't want my help."

you should have said no. didn't know this guy, didn't owe him anything. you'd been managing just fine on your own. except you hadn't been managing fine. you'd been on the verge of a breakdown in an empty lab at midnight. now here was this nervous, rambling stranger offering help without expecting anything in return, looking at you like your problem was genuinely important to him.

it was disorienting. how quickly your anger had evaporated, replaced by something you couldn't quite name. you found yourself noticing details you shouldn't care about. the way he kept pushing his glasses up. the way his hands had finally stopped shaking now that he had something concrete to focus on.

"okay," you heard yourself say. his whole face brightened in a way that made something flutter uncomfortably in your stomach. "yeah, if you don't mind looking at it."

"i don't mind at all," he said quickly, already pulling up a chair. he left careful distance between you though, hyper-aware of not invading your space again. "show me what you've got."

you turned your laptop toward him. he leaned in, eyes scanning the lines with immediate focus. his expression shifted into something concentrated, intense. this was probably what he looked like when he wasn't tripping over people in the dark and panicking about it. he started asking questions about your implementation, your logic, what you'd already tried. his voice had lost that nervous edge. this was clearly where he was comfortable. in the clean logic of code, in problems that had solutions.

you answered his questions. watched as he nodded, occasionally pushing his glasses up, finger tracing lines of code on the screen without quite touching it. the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

you were noticing things you shouldn't notice. but you told yourself it wasn't because you found him attractive. you were just paying attention because he was helping. because he'd disrupted your solitary misery and replaced it with something else. something that felt almost like companionship.

"there," he said suddenly, pointing to a line in the middle of your function. "you're incrementing the counter before you check the condition, but you need to check the condition first. it's causing an off-by-one error. see? you're accessing index n when your array only goes up to n minus one."

you stared at the line he was indicating. slowly, horribly, you realised he was right. such a simple mistake, the kind of thing you should have caught hours ago. but you'd been too tired, too frustrated, too deep in your own head to see it. "oh my god," you said quietly. "that's it. that's the whole problem."

"easy fix," jake said, smiling now. a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "just move that line down two spaces and add the conditional check first. you want me to...?" he gestured at your keyboard, asking permission. you nodded, watched as he made the adjustment with quick, confident keystrokes. "there. try running it now."

you hit compile, holding your breath. for the first time in two days the program ran without errors. the output printed exactly the way it was supposed to. clean and correct and perfect. relief flooded through you so intensely you felt dizzy with it, all the tension you'd been carrying suddenly releasing at once. "thank you," you said, voice more emotional than intended. "seriously, thank you, i've been losing my mind over this."

"it happens to everyone," jake said gently. "sometimes you just need fresh eyes. i've definitely been there." he leaned back in his chair, that nervous energy returning now that the immediate problem was solved. "your code is really clean, by the way. like, really well-structured. that bug was literally the only issue, everything else is solid."

the compliment settled warm in your chest. you realised with a start that you felt calm. actually calm, for the first time all night. your heart rate had slowed. your hands were steady. the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes had eased.

the lab was still too quiet, the emergency lighting still eerie and insufficient, your jeans still soaked with cold coffee. but somehow none of it felt as unbearable as it had fifteen minutes ago. and that was because of him. because jake had crashed into you in the dark and apologised too much and fixed your code and made you feel less alone in this empty building at midnight.

jake was gathering his things, shoving papers and pens back into his backpack with the same energy he'd had while searching for tissues. "i should probably try to find someone about the power situation," he said. "and you should probably change before that coffee stains permanently. there's a campus store in the student centre that's open twenty-four hours, they have overpriced sweatpants but at least they're dry."

"yeah," you said, surprised to find you didn't want him to leave yet. "yeah, i probably should."

he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hesitated. "hey, um. if you ever need help with code stuff again, or if you just want to work in the lab at the same time, i'm here most nights. usually not spilling beverages on people, but, you know. tonight was special." he smiled awkwardly. you found yourself smiling back, a real smile this time.

"i might take you up on that," you said. meant it.

jake's expression brightened again. that same transformation you'd noticed earlier. he nodded. "cool. yeah, that would be cool. okay. i'm gonna go now before i accidentally break something else." he gave you a small wave, started toward the door, then turned back. "your code really is good, by the way. i wasn't just saying that."

then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond the lab. you were alone again. but that realisation, that awareness that a stranger's clumsy kindness had affected you so much, sat uncomfortable and warm in your chest as you saved your work and finally, finally, packed up to leave.

you walked into your lecture the next morning running on four hours of sleep and caffeine-induced alertness that felt vaguely hallucinogenic. your jeans from last night were balled up in your laundry basket, probably stained beyond saving, and you'd thrown on the first clean thing you could find. 

you slid into your usual spot next to yunjin, who was already comparing notes with beomgyu across the aisle. they were your people. your safe zone. the ones you'd suffered through intro courses with, pulled all-nighters with, shared desperate pre-exam breakdowns with.

"you look like death," yunjin said cheerfully, not looking up from her phone.

"thanks. love you too."

"late night?" beomgyu leaned over, stealing one of yunjin's chips. "you missed the group chat meltdown about the algorithms homework."

you hummed noncommittally, pulling out your laptop. your code from last night was still open, that perfect, error-free output staring back at you. you'd submitted it at 12:47 am, seventeen minutes after jake had fixed it. seventeen minutes after he'd disappeared down that dark hallway.

you hadn't told yunjin and beomgyu about any of it. the power outage, the coffee, jake. especially jake. it felt somehow private, like explaining it would cheapen it or make it feel less significant than it had been in the moment.

professor kim walked in, and the room settled into that particular brand of restless attention that morning lectures always had. "alright, alright," she said, pulling up a slide that made half the room groan in unison. "i know you're all thrilled to hear this, but it's time to discuss your semester-long project."

chairs scraped against floors as people twisted around to look at their friends. voices overlapped, people already calling out names, forming pairs out of habit and convenience. you felt yunjin's hand on your arm at the same time beomgyu leaned over.

"partners?" yunjin said.

"obviously we're doing a group," beomgyu added. "the three of us, right?"

you nodded, half-listening, your attention already drifting across the lecture hall. you weren't sure what you were looking for until you found it. him. jake was sitting near the back with a small group of guys you vaguely recognised from other cs classes. he was hunched slightly over his notebook, pen moving across the page, taking notes while everyone else was busy forming alliances. his hair was even messier today, sticking up on one side like he'd rolled out of bed. his glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them back up with his index finger, that same nervous gesture from last night.

he looked small somehow, despite being tall. like he was trying to take up less space. one of his friends said something and laughed, nudging jake's shoulder, but jake just smiled politely without really engaging. his attention stayed on his notebook.

you watched him for a moment longer than necessary. watched the way his shoulders curved inward, the way he held his pen, the concentrated furrow of his brow. something in your chest did an uncomfortable little flip.

"so we're agreed then?" yunjin was saying. "i'll handle the frontend, beomgyu can do the database stuff, and you can—"

you stood up. the decision happened before you'd fully processed it, your body moving on instinct or impulse or something you didn't want to examine too closely. your chair scraped loud enough that a few people glanced over.

"actually," you said, already stepping past beomgyu into the aisle. "i'm gonna partner with someone else."

"what?" yunjin's voice pitched up in genuine confusion. "who?"

but you were already walking. moving up the steps toward the back of the lecture hall, weaving between people who were still negotiating partnerships and arguing about skill distributions. you were aware of people watching. of yunjin and beomgyu's matching expressions of confusion. of the way conversations paused as you passed.

jake's friends noticed you first. one of them, a guy with bleached hair, nudged jake's arm and nodded in your direction. another one went quiet mid-sentence, eyes tracking your approach with unconcealed curiosity. jake looked up last, following their gazes, and when his eyes met yours he froze. actually froze, pen suspended over his notebook, lips slightly parted like he'd been about to say something and forgotten how.

you stopped at the edge of their row. suddenly hyperaware of how many people were definitely watching this interaction. "hey," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. "you have a partner yet?"

jake blinked. once, twice. his friends were staring at him now, then at you, then back at him like they were watching a tennis match. "i—what?"

"for the project," you clarified, gesturing vaguely at professor kim who was still explaining requirements at the front of the room. "do you have a partner?"

"i—" jake's hand came up to push his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't moved. his ears were already turning red. "no? i mean, no, i don't, but—" he glanced at his friends, then back at you, looking genuinely lost. "are you—do you mean—"

"i'm asking if you want to partner up," you said, more directly this time. your heart was doing something weird and arrhythmic in your chest. "for the semester project."

the guy with bleached hair made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. another one of jake's friends just gaped openly. jake himself looked like you'd just spoken to him in a language he only half understood. "you want to—with me?"

"yeah."

"but—" he gestured helplessly toward where yunjin and beomgyu were sitting, both of them now watching with unconcealed shock. "don't you usually work with your friends? i thought—"

"i'm asking you," you said, cutting him off before he could talk himself out of it or before you could overthink what you were doing. "if you already have other plans it's fine, i just thought—" you paused, scrambling for justification that didn't sound insane. "you're good at this stuff. you're a TA. you knew exactly what was wrong with my code last night in like, five seconds. it makes sense. strategically."

strategically. god, you sounded unhinged.

jake stared at you. his friends stared at you. half the lecture hall was probably staring at you at this point. "i—" jake swallowed visibly. "yeah. yes. i mean, if you want to, then—yeah. okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah." he nodded, more firmly this time, though he still looked vaguely shell-shocked. "we can—yeah. that would be—yeah."

his friends exchanged glances that were absolutely loaded with unspoken communication. the bleached hair guy, jungwon you think, was grinning now, looking between you and jake like he'd just witnessed something phenomenal. "well," he said, voice thick with amusement, "this is interesting."

you ignored him. "cool. we should probably meet up sometime this week to go over the requirements?"

"yeah, definitely," jake said quickly, already pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "i can—do you want my number? or i can get yours, or—we could use email if that's easier—"

"number's fine." you rattled it off, watching him type it into his contacts with endearing focus, tongue poking slightly between his teeth. when he looked up his expression was softer, less panicked. almost shy.

"okay," he said. "i'll text you?"

"sounds good."

you turned to head back down to your seat, acutely aware of the weight of multiple stares following your retreat. yunjin grabbed your arm the second you sat down, eyes wide with questions, but professor kim chose that moment to actually start the lecture and yunjin had to settle for furious whisper-hissing "what the hell was that?" while you studiously ignored her.

you pulled up your laptop, pretending to focus on the slides about project requirements and grading rubrics. but your attention kept drifting. you could feel it, that awareness of jake sitting several rows behind you. you wondered if he was taking notes. if his friends were grilling him. if his ears were still red.

you told yourself this was practical. logical. jake was skilled, focused, clearly knew his stuff. working with him made sense from a grades perspective, from an efficiency perspective. it was a smart choice. strategic, like you'd said.

but the justification felt thin even as you repeated it to yourself. because practical partnerships didn't make your pulse spike like this. strategic choices didn't leave you feeling weirdly breathless, or hyperaware of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a text that might come in an hour or a day. smart decisions didn't come with this flutter of satisfaction sitting warm and dangerous in your chest, the kind that felt unearned and a little reckless.

you'd just chosen jake over your actual friends for a semester-long project. you'd walked across the entire lecture hall in front of everyone to ask him specifically. you'd done it without planning it, without fully understanding why, acting on instinct alone.

your phone buzzed. you grabbed it maybe too quickly, ignoring yunjin's pointed look.

unknown number: hi, it's jake. from the lab? and also from just now. obviously. you know who i am. anyway this is my number. unknown number: we can meet whenever works for you btw. i'm pretty flexible. unknown number: sorry i'm rambling over text now apparently. i'll stop.

despite everything, despite the weirdness of the entire situation, you felt yourself smile. properly smile, which made yunjin lean over and whisper, "oh my god, you're blushing," which you absolutely were not.

you saved his number. typed out a response. deleted it. typed it again.

you: library tomorrow at 6?

his reply came almost instantly.

jake: perfect. i'll see you there.

yeah. perfect. that's exactly what this was.

you'd gotten there ten minutes early, which was ridiculous and you knew it, but you'd told yourself it was just to secure a good table. not because you were nervous. definitely not because you'd changed your shirt three times.

jake showed up at 6:02, slightly out of breath like he'd been rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair even messier than usual. 

"sorry, sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from you. "my last class ran over and then i couldn't find my charger and—" he stopped himself, ears going pink. "sorry. you don't need the full explanation. i'm here now."

"you're fine," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i just got here too."

it was a lie, but whatever.

he pulled out his laptop, a slightly battered thing covered in tech company stickers, and immediately opened what looked like a meticulously organised project folder. 

"so i was thinking we could start by breaking down the requirements," he said, already pulling up the assignment sheet. "if we divide it into modules we can work on different parts simultaneously and then integrate everything at the end. i made a rough outline last night, but obviously we can change whatever you want."

you blinked at him. "you made an outline? already?"

"i—yeah?" he looked uncertain suddenly, like he'd done something wrong. "was that—should i not have? i just thought it would be helpful to have a starting point, but if you wanted to plan it together—"

"no, that's—" you leaned closer to look at his screen, close enough that you could smell whatever soap or shampoo he used. something clean and faintly citrusy. "that's really good actually. you're like, super organised."

"oh." he pushed his glasses up, not quite meeting your eyes. "thanks. i just like having things structured, it makes the actual coding part less chaotic."

you shifted your chair around the table, closing the distance between you under the pretence of seeing his screen better. your knees almost touched under the table. jake didn't seem to notice, already walking you through his outline with the kind of focused enthusiasm that made his whole face more animated. he talked with his hands a little, you realised. small gestures that punctuated his explanations.

it was kind of endearing. he was kind of endearing, in this unpolished, genuine way that made you want to keep watching him talk even though you should probably be paying attention to the actual content of what he was saying.

"—so if we use that framework it'll save us a ton of time on the backend. does that make sense?" he glanced at you, expectant.

"yeah, totally," you said, even though you'd caught maybe half of it. "you're really good at this."

"at what?"

"explaining things. breaking stuff down." you let your voice soften deliberately, the kind of tone you'd use on someone you were interested in. testing. "you must be a really good TA."

jake's expression brightened with genuine pleasure, completely innocent. "oh, thanks! i really like teaching actually. it's really satisfying when something clicks for someone, you know?" he turned back to his laptop. "okay so for the first module, i was thinking we could—"

you felt something deflate slightly in your chest. he'd just. moved on. thanked you politely and redirected straight back to work like you'd commented on the weather.

you tried again twenty minutes later, when he'd finished explaining the database architecture. "seriously, how is your brain even wired like this?" you said, letting your hand rest on the table between you, close enough to his that moving a few inches would mean touching. "like, this would've taken me hours to figure out and you just see it."

"i mean, i've been coding since i was like twelve," jake said, smiling in that self-deprecating way that made your stomach flip. "my dad's a software engineer so i kind of grew up around it. you'd be just as good if you'd had the same exposure." 

he grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, completely oblivious to the way you were looking at him. "anyway, should we start on the initial setup? i can handle the repository if you want to draft the pseudocode for the first function?"

"sure," you said, trying not to sound as frustrated as you felt.

it continued like that. you'd find little ways to compliment him, to touch his arm when he said something funny, to lean into his space. and every single time jake would light up with friendly appreciation and then just. keep going. keep working. keep being nice in this utterly platonic way that was starting to drive you slightly insane.

when you suggested taking a break and offered to buy him coffee, he'd said "oh that's so sweet, but i'm good, i don't want to lose momentum." when you'd asked about his hobbies, trying to find some common ground beyond code, he'd given you a genuine answer about gaming and soccer and then immediately asked about your hobbies with the same earnest interest he gave to literally everything.

he wasn't being cold. wasn't being dismissive. he was just. friendly. sincerely friendly in a way that suggested he thought you were also just being friendly and nothing more. the idea that you might be flirting with him clearly hadn't even crossed his mind.

it shouldn't have bothered you. it was one study session. you barely knew him. but there was something about the way he was so completely unaffected that made you want to push harder, try more obviously, make him see you the way you were apparently seeing him.

which was insane. you were being insane.

"okay i think that's a good stopping point," jake said eventually, glancing at his phone. "we got through way more than i expected, honestly. you're really fast at this."

"we work well together," you said, maybe too much emphasis on the together part.

"yeah," he agreed easily, already packing up his stuff. "this is gonna be way less painful than i thought. usually group projects are a nightmare but i think we're pretty compatible."

compatible. he said it like he was talking about software versions.

you packed up your own stuff, trying to shake off whatever weird frustrated feeling had settled in your chest. this was good. you had a competent partner who was easy to work with. that's what mattered. not whether he noticed when you laughed at his jokes or sat closer than strictly necessary.

the library had gotten dark outside while you'd been working, the early winter darkness that feeking too heavy for eight pm. you pushed through the doors together, the cold air immediately biting at your face.

"which way are you headed?" jake asked, adjusting his backpack.

you pointed toward the east side of campus. "miller hall."

jake stopped walking. just fully stopped and stared at you. "wait, seriously?"

"yeah?"

"i'm in miller," he said, and his face did this thing, this open, delighted thing like you'd just told him something genuinely exciting. "i'm on the fourth floor. what floor are you?"

"third," you said, trying to keep your voice normal even though your brain was already racing ahead. same building. same building. you lived in the same building and you hadn't known. "that's—what are the odds?"

"i know, right?" jake fell into step beside you, and he seemed more relaxed now, less formal than he'd been in the library. "i can't believe we haven't run into each other before. though i guess i'm not around that much, i'm usually either in class or the lab or—" he laughed. "okay i'm making myself sound really boring."

"no you're not," you said, maybe too quickly. "i'm the same way. especially during midterms."

"the worst," he agreed. "hey, at least now if we need to meet up for the project it's super convenient. we can literally just knock on each other's doors."

he said it so casually. so normally, like it was just a nice logistical benefit and nothing more. meanwhile your mind was already cataloguing possibilities. you could time your meals to match his schedule. figure out when he usually left for class. find reasons to be in the common areas when he might pass through. it would look natural, coincidental. just friendly neighbors running into each other.

you were already strategising.

the realisation made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach. this was. this was too much maybe. you were thinking about him too much, cataloguing details about him like you were studying for an exam. getting frustrated when he didn't respond to your flirting even though you had no actual reason to expect him to. you'd had one late-night interaction and now one study session and somehow you were already rearranging your mental map of campus to accommodate his presence in it.

"you good?" jake asked, and you realised you'd gone quiet.

"yeah, just tired."

"same." he smiled at you, easy and warm. "thanks for picking me as your partner, by the way. i know you could've worked with your friends and i'm—i'm really glad you asked me instead. i think this is gonna be fun."

fun. he was looking forward to the project because he thought it would be fun. because he liked coding and teaching and he probably thought you were a cool person to work with. he was just. happy to have company. happy to make a new friend.

meanwhile you were over here planning imaginary coincidental run-ins and getting weirdly possessive over someone who didn't even know you liked him.

god, you were pathetic.

"yeah," you managed. "me too."

you reached miller hall, and jake held the door open for you, still talking about some technique he wanted to try for the project. you half-listened, watching the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the animated way he gestured when he got excited about something.

the elevator ride to your floor felt too short. jake got off with you, said he'd just walk up the extra flight of stairs for the exercise. "text me if you think of anything for the project," he said, already heading toward the stairwell. "or honestly just text me whenever. i'm always on my phone."

then he was gone, and you were standing alone in the hallway outside your door, feeling weirdly deflated and wired at the same time.

your phone buzzed before you'd even gotten your key out.

jake: forgot to say this but your idea for the UI was really smart. i think it's gonna make the whole thing way more intuitive. jake: ok NOW i'm done bothering you. have a good night!

you stared at the messages, that dangerous warm feeling spreading through your chest again. he'd texted you immediately to compliment your idea. with absolutely no prompting.

you were smiling at your phone like an idiot.

yeah. you were definitely pathetic.

"i'm just saying, he's clearly not interested," yunjin said, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary. "like, you've tried everything."

you were sitting in the dining hall, picking at your food while yunjin and beomgyu conducted what was essentially an intervention about your jake situation. an intervention you hadn't asked for and definitely didn't want.

"maybe he's just shy," you said, defensive.

beomgyu snorted. "shy guys still notice when someone's flirting with them. they just get weird about it. this guy sounds like he genuinely has no idea."

"which means he's not into you," yunjin added, gentler now. "and that's fine, you know? you can just be project partners. you don't have to keep torturing yourself."

except the thing was, you weren't entirely convinced jake wasn't interested. or maybe you just didn't want to accept it yet. because he texted you unprompted sometimes, sent you memes he thought you'd find funny, always smiled when he saw you in the hallway. that had to mean something, right?

"i'm not torturing myself," you muttered.

"you've mentioned him like fifteen times in the past hour," beomgyu pointed out.

"have not."

"you literally just told us about how he holds his pen. his pen."

okay. maybe you were torturing yourself a little.

you left the dining hall feeling irritated and restless, your friends' words circling in your head. he's not interested. he has no idea. you're torturing yourself. maybe they were right. probably they were right. you should just focus on the project, get a good grade, and move on like a normal person.

you were cutting through the student centre, not really paying attention to where you were going, when you passed the community bulletin board. the usual chaos of flyers and posters, study abroad programs, club meetings, someone selling a barely-used microwave. your eyes skimmed over it automatically, not really looking.

then you saw his name.

TUTORING AVAILABLE - COMP 101, 201, 301

patient, experienced, flexible schedule

contact: jake sim

there was a row of little tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number. several were already missing. the flyer itself was simple, almost plain. you stared at it. people flowed around you, conversations and footsteps and the ambient noise of the student centre, but you just stood there staring at jake's handwritten flyer.

you didn't need tutoring. your grades were fine. good, even. you and jake were in the same advanced class, for god's sake. he'd probably seen your test scores when he was TAing. this would be…obvious. wouldn't it? taking a tab would be transparent and desperate and—

your hand moved before you'd fully decided. the paper tore with a soft sound that felt too loud. you stared at the little strip in your palm, jake's number printed in his neat handwriting even though you already had it saved in your phone.

what were you doing?

you shoved the tab in your pocket and walked away quickly, like someone might have witnessed you doing something incriminating. your heart was beating too fast. this was insane. this was transparent. he was going to see right through it.

but.

but it was also legitimate, wasn't it? people got tutoring all the time, even when their grades were fine. wanting to understand the material better, wanting a different perspective, wanting to be extra prepared. those were all valid reasons. normal reasons. and yeah, maybe you had ulterior motives, but the cover story was solid enough that you could maintain plausible deniability. to him. to yourself.

you made it back to your dorm before you pulled out your phone.

you: hey! i saw your tutoring flyer in the student centre. do you still have availability?

you hit send before you could overthink it. then immediately started overthinking it anyway. he was going to ask why. he was going to point out that you clearly didn't need help. he was going to—

your phone buzzed.

jake<3: oh hey! yeah i have some slots open. but wait, aren't you doing pretty well in class? i've seen your test scores when i'm grading and you're like, consistently in the top range jake<3: not that you CAN'T get tutoring obviously! everyone can benefit from extra help jake<3: i just want to make sure you actually need it and aren't just being nice or something

god, he was even considerate about this. checking in to make sure you weren't wasting your time or money on something you didn't need. being thoughtful and genuine while you were over here manipulating the situation to manufacture more time with him.

you felt a twinge of something uncomfortable. guilt maybe. but you pushed it down.

you: i mean yeah my grades are okay, but i feel like i'm just memorising patterns without really UNDERSTANDING the concepts you know? like i can solve the problems but i couldn't explain WHY you: i just want to make sure i actually get it. especially since the material keeps building on itself

it wasn't entirely a lie. you did sometimes feel like you were pattern-matching your way through assignments. and deeper understanding was always good. these were reasonable concerns. the fact that they weren't your primary motivation didn't make them untrue.

jake<3: oh yeah that makes total sense actually. i see that a lot with students. they can execute but the underlying logic isn't solid jake<3: okay yeah we can definitely work on that! my rate is $20/hour but honestly for you i'd be happy to just do it for free? since we're already working together on the project anyway

you: no way i'm paying you. you're already helping me so much with the project

jake<3: the project is a two person thing, you're helping me just as much jake<3: but okay we can argue about payment later. when works for you?

you felt that warm, dangerous flutter again. he'd offered to tutor you for free. just casually, like it was no big deal. like spending extra time with you was something he actively wanted to do, even without compensation.

you: i'm pretty flexible. whenever you have time

jake<3: thursdays at 7? we could do the library again or somewhere on our floor if you want somewhere quieter jake<3: also i promise i'll actually TEACH and not just fix your code for you like last time lol

you smiled at your phone. somewhere on your floor. which meant his room or yours. which meant private, just the two of you, no other students around.

you: thursdays work for me! 

jake<3: cool! we can switch off. i'll bring snacks jake<3: this'll be fun :)

he'd sent a smiley face. an actual emoticon. it shouldn't have made your heart skip but it did.

you locked your phone and sat on your bed, that satisfaction settling warm in your chest. you'd done it. you'd created a legitimate, recurring excuse to see jake outside of project work. an hour a week, minimum, where you'd have his complete attention. where you could sit close to him in the privacy of a dorm room, help him help you, let those boundaries get just a little bit blurrier.

it was harmless. he was offering tutoring anyway, you were just taking him up on it. and yeah, maybe your motivations weren't entirely pure, but you weren't lying to him. not really. you did want to understand the material better. the fact that you also wanted to be around him more was just. additional context. secondary reasoning.

you were being smart about this, honestly. creating opportunities without being pushy. letting things develop naturally within structures that already existed.

you ignored the small, quiet voice in the back of your mind that whispered this was too much. that you were engineering situations and manufacturing proximity and maybe that wasn't as harmless as you wanted to believe. that jake was offering to help you in good faith while you had an agenda he knew nothing about.

you were good at ignoring that voice.

your phone buzzed again.

jake<3: btw i've been thinking about the database structure and i had an idea

and just like that you were smiling again, typing back, that uncomfortable feeling dissolving into something easier and warmer and more immediately gratifying.

it was fine. everything was fine. this was just tutoring. just spending time with someone you enjoyed being around. there was nothing wrong with that.

nothing wrong with it at all.

you'd been doing the tutoring sessions for three weeks when your roommate officially moved out. well, not officially officially. her stuff was still there, her side of the room still technically occupied. but she'd been spending every night at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment for the past month, and one day she just stopped pretending she was coming back.

"i'm still paying rent," she'd said, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "so like, it's still my room. i'll probably crash here sometimes. but you basically have the place to yourself."

you'd nodded sympathetically while internally celebrating. your own space. privacy. no need to coordinate schedules or deal with her boyfriend's annoying habits. it was perfect.

it took you less than a day to realise it was perfect for other reasons too.

the next tutoring session was supposed to be in the library. thursday at seven, like always. but you'd been sitting in your empty apartment that afternoon, looking at your space with new eyes, and the idea had planted itself so naturally you'd almost convinced yourself it was practical.

you: hey, would you maybe want to do tutoring at my place tonight instead? my roommate moved in with her boyfriend so it's way quieter than the library you: totally fine if you prefer the library though!

the response took longer than usual. long enough that you started second-guessing yourself. maybe this was too much. too obvious. crossing some line from study partner into something else.

jake<3: oh jake<3: um jake<3: yeah that's fine. if you're sure? jake<3: i don't want to like. intrude or anything jake<3: but yeah quieter is definitely better for focusing

you: you're not intruding i literally invited you haha you: i'm in 3B. just come by at 7

jake<3: okay! see you then

you spent the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy you absolutely did not want to examine too closely. you weren't trying to impress him. you just wanted the place to look nice and presentable. the fact that you changed your clothes twice and lit a candle that made the whole apartment smell like vanilla and sandalwood was just. coincidence.

the knock came at exactly seven. jake was annoyingly punctual.

you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway looking uncertain, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of chips. "hi," he said. "i brought snacks. i didn't know what you liked so i just got the variety pack."

"you didn't have to do that."

"i know, but—" he shifted his weight. "i don't know, it felt weird showing up empty-handed."

you stepped back to let him in, watching as he moved into your space with obvious hesitation. he didn't walk in so much as carefully entered, like he was worried about disturbing something. his eyes went immediately to your walls, taking in the art prints you'd hung, the string lights, the bookshelf crammed with novels and textbooks. then to your desk setup, the small kitchen area, the couch that your roommate had left behind.

"wow," he said quietly. "this is. really nice."

"it's just a dorm apartment."

"no, i know, but—" he gestured vaguely at everything. "it's decorated. like, actually decorated. my place looks like a prison cell compared to this." he was still standing near the door, like he hadn't fully committed to being here. "is that an original print?"

you glanced at the framed artwork he was pointing at. "yeah. local artist. i got it at a campus market thing."

"it's really cool." he finally took a few more steps inside, setting his backpack down carefully on the floor like he was afraid it might scuff something. his attention caught on your kitchen counter, where you'd left out the fancy coffee you'd bought yesterday. the expensive cheese and crackers. the fruit you'd pre-cut and arranged in a bowl because apparently you were that person now.

jake went quiet for a second. then he laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. "okay i have to ask. are you like, rich?"

you felt your face heat. "what? no."

"because this—" he gestured at your apartment again, at the candle burning on your coffee table, the throw blanket artfully draped over your couch, the general aesthetic coherence of the space. "this seems like. i don't know. very put together for a college student."

"i just like my space to feel nice," you said, defensive. "there's nothing wrong with that."

"no, definitely not! i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "i just meant. my room has like, a bed and a desk and some clothes on the floor. this looks like an apartment from a magazine. in a good way," he added quickly. "it's impressive. i'm just. you know. mildly intimidated."

"don't be intimidated," you said, softer now. trying for casual. "seriously, make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink? i have coffee, tea, juice, those fancy sparkling waters—"

"you have fancy sparkling water?"

"they were on sale."

they were absolutely not on sale. you'd bought them specifically because you remembered jake mentioning he liked trying different flavours. but he didn't need to know that.

"um, sure. i'll try one." he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, like he couldn't figure out where he was allowed to exist.

you grabbed two cans from the fridge, handing him one and gesturing toward the couch. "we can work there if you want. or the desk. whatever's comfortable."

"couch is good," he said, finally sitting down and immediately looking slightly less tense. he opened the sparkling water, took a sip, and made a surprised noise. "oh this is actually really good."

"told you." you sat next to him, closer than you would have in the library. not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him next to you. close enough that when he leaned forward to pull his laptop out of his backpack, you caught that familiar scent of soap and citrus.

he pulled up the lesson he'd prepared, something about optimisation algorithms, and fell into his teaching rhythm. you'd noticed this about jake before. when he was explaining code, he became more confident. less apologetic. his hands moved as he talked, tracing invisible diagrams in the air, and his whole face became more animated.

you were trying to focus. really, you were. but you kept getting distracted by the fact that he was here, in your space, sitting on your couch. his knee bumped yours at one point and he apologised even though it was barely contact. you told him it was fine. his handwriting was neat when he sketched out examples in your notebook. he had a small scar on his left hand you'd never noticed before.

"are you following?" he asked, glancing over at you.

"yeah," you said, snapping back to attention. "sorry. just thinking."

"it's kind of a dense topic," he said, apologetic again. "we can take a break if you need."

"no, keep going. you're good at this."

something in his expression softened. "thanks. i—i actually really like doing this. the tutoring, i mean. it's nice having someone to talk through concepts with who actually cares about understanding them properly." he paused, looking around your apartment again like he was seeing it with fresh eyes. "and this is. yeah. this is better than the library for sure."

"yeah?"

"the library's always so loud, even in the quiet sections. and people keep interrupting to ask if they can take chairs from our table." he settled back into your couch slightly, his shoulders loosening. "this is way better. i can actually think here."

you felt that dangerous satisfaction bloom in your chest. this is better. i can actually think here. he was comfortable. in your space. comfortable enough to relax, to take up room, to exist without that careful hesitation he'd had when he first arrived.

"we should do all our sessions here," you said, trying to sound casual. "if you're cool with it."

jake glanced at you, then around the apartment again. for a second you thought he might question it. might recognise this for what it was. but then he just smiled, easy and genuine. "yeah, i'd like that. this is really nice."

"cool," you said. your heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing again.

you went back to the lesson, jake's voice steady and patient as he walked you through increasingly complex problems. his knee stayed pressed against yours. he'd stopped apologising for taking up space. he reached for the fancy crackers you'd set out without asking if it was okay first, just casual and comfortable like he belonged here.

and god help you, you liked seeing him like this. liked having him in your space, surrounded by your things, relaxed and focused and entirely unaware of how much thought you'd put into creating this exact scenario.

he was more comfortable here than he should be. settling into your life with an ease that should have alarmed you but instead just made you want to pull him deeper.

you were playing a game he didn't know existed. creating intimacy in careful increments. manufacturing closeness that felt organic to him but was entirely designed by you.

"okay your turn," jake said, pushing your laptop toward you. "try implementing that function we just talked through."

you pulled the computer into your lap, fingers moving over the keys, hyper-aware of jake watching. of his presence next to you, patient and encouraging. of how easy it would be to let this become routine. thursday nights on your couch, just the two of you, the rest of the world locked outside.

professor kim handed back midterms on a wednesday, and the energy in the lecture hall was exactly what you'd expect. nervous shuffling, people immediately comparing scores, that girl in the front row who always cried regardless of her grade already tearing up.

you flipped your exam over and saw the 100 staring back at you. perfect score. you felt a flush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the grade itself and everything to do with the fact that jake would see it.

"holy shit," yunjin whispered, leaning over to look. "you got a perfect score?"

"apparently."

"that's insane. i got an 87 and i thought i did well." she shook her head, impressed and maybe slightly annoyed. "what did jake think? he must be so proud, that's basically a direct result of his tutoring."

speaking of jake, he was two rows behind you, and you could hear his friends' voices carrying.

"dude, you got a 98," one of them said. "that's insane."

"i missed this one question," jake said, and he sounded genuinely disappointed. "i can't believe i mixed up the time complexity."

you turned around without really thinking about it, catching his eye. he was already looking at you, and his face did this thing, this hopeful uncertain thing. "how'd you do?"

you held up your exam. his eyes widened.

"you got a hundred?" he said it loud enough that a few people glanced over. then he was standing up, moving past his friends, coming down to your row with his exam still in his hand. "holy shit, that's—that's amazing. you—" he stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "sorry, i'm like. weirdly excited about this."

"don't apologise," you said, smiling despite yourself. "you sound more excited than i am."

"because i—" he gestured at your exam, then at you. "you understood it. like really understood it. i could tell during our sessions that things were clicking but seeing it actually translate to a perfect score is just—" he ran his hand through his hair, grinning in a way that made your stomach flip. "i'm really proud of you."

the words hit you weird. i'm proud of you. said with such genuine warmth, such unironic sincerity. like your success was somehow his success too. like he was personally invested in your performance because he'd helped you get there.

except you hadn't really needed the help. you'd manufactured the entire situation. you'd been doing fine before the tutoring started and you'd probably have gotten a perfect score regardless. jake's proud smile was based on a false premise. he thought he'd helped you achieve something when really you'd just. used him. used his time and his patience and his genuine desire to help people, all so you could sit close to him once a week.

something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. you shoved it down.

"i couldn't have done it without you," you said, because that's what you were supposed to say. what he expected to hear. even if it made you feel slightly sick.

"i know, i know. it's a good grade. i just hate making careless mistakes." he smiled at you again, softer this time. "but seriously, i'm really happy for you. you worked really hard for this."

"we should celebrate," you said, before you could second-guess it. "both of us. good scores, successful tutoring, whatever. come over tonight? i'll make dinner, we can watch a movie. my treat, as a thank you."

jake hesitated, just for a second. "you don't have to thank me."

"i want to," you said firmly with a smile. "you've been helping me for weeks and not accepting any payment. the least i can do is feed you."

"when you put it that way." he was smiling again, that easy smile that made your heart do stupid things. "yeah, okay. what time?"

"seven?"

"perfect."

...

you went slightly overboard with dinner. not crazy overboard, just. more effort than was strictly necessary for a casual thank-you meal. homemade pasta, the good parmesan, a salad that actually had more than three ingredients. you'd also bought wine, which felt very adult and sophisticated until you remembered you were literally just having your study partner over.

jake showed up at seven on the dot, holding a bag of cookies from the expensive bakery near campus. "i know you said your treat, but i can't show up empty-handed," he explained, handing them over. "it's like, physically impossible for me."

"you're ridiculous."

"i've been told." he stepped inside, immediately more comfortable than he'd been that first time. he knew where to put his shoes now, where to set his bag. he went straight for the couch like he belonged there.

dinner was easy. conversation flowed naturally, jumping from classes to campus gossip to a debate about whether the dining hall pizza was underrated or genuinely terrible. jake argued passionately for underrated, gesturing with his fork, getting sauce on his chin that he didn't notice until you pointed it out. he laughed, embarrassed, wiping it away.

"wine?" you offered, after you'd cleared the plates.

"oh, um. sure?" he looked uncertain. "i'm not really a big drinker."

"me neither. but we're celebrating, right?"

"right." he accepted the glass you poured, taking a small sip and making a face. "god, why do people like this? it tastes like someone made juice go bad on purpose."

you laughed despite yourself. "it's an acquired taste."

"that's what people say about things that are objectively bad." but he took another sip anyway, settling back into the couch as you pulled up netflix.

you ended up on some action movie neither of you had seen, the kind with improbable stunts and a plot that didn't require much attention. which was good, because you weren't really watching it. you were too aware of jake next to you, closer than he needed to be, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. he'd finished his wine faster than you expected and seemed looser now, more animated. he kept making commentary on the movie, pointing out plot holes and questionable physics, his hands moving as he talked.

"—and there's no way that building would still be structurally sound after that explosion," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "like, basic engineering, you know?"

"you're thinking too hard about it."

"i can't help it. my brain won't turn off." he glanced at you, something warm in his expression. "this is nice though. just hanging out. we're always studying or talking about the project, it's cool to just…exist. without an agenda."

without an agenda. the words hit harder than they should have. because you did have an agenda. you'd had one this entire time. this whole evening was carefully constructed, from the homemade dinner to the wine to the deliberately casual intimacy of it all.

"yeah," you managed. "it's nice."

the movie continued. jake shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours. you didn't move away. his arm ended up along the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. neither of you acknowledged it, but neither of you adjusted either.

"can i ask you something?" jake said during a particularly slow part of the movie.

"sure."

"why did you pick me? for the project, i mean." he was looking at you now instead of the screen, his expression curious and open. "you could've worked with your friends. people you already knew. but you walked all the way across the lecture hall to ask me."

your heart kicked up. "i told you. you're good at this stuff."

"yeah, but." he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "it felt like. i don't know. like you went out of your way. and i've been trying to figure out if i'm reading too much into it or if there was something else."

the air felt suddenly thinner. "something else like what?"

"i don't know." he laughed, self-conscious. "i'm probably being weird. forget i said anything."

"jake."

"i just—" he met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your breath catch. "i really like spending time with you. like, more than i probably should for someone who's just a project partner and tutoring student. and sometimes i think maybe you. i don't know, feel the same? but i'm also really bad at reading these things so i'm probably completely wrong."

oh. oh.

"you're not wrong," you said quietly.

his eyes widened slightly. "i'm not?"

instead of answering, you leaned in. gave him enough time to pull back, to stop this, but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. for a second neither of you moved, the kiss chaste and almost careful. then something shifted. his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.

jake made a soft sound against your mouth, surprise or maybe pleasure, and kissed you back with more confidence. his other hand found your waist, tentative at first then firmer, pulling you closer. you ended up in his lap somehow, his hands spanning your back, your fingers threading through his hair. he tasted like wine and something sweet from the cookies he'd brought.

"is this okay?" he whispered against your lips, breathing hard.

"yes," you said, and kissed him again before he could second-guess it.

his hands moved under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you felt him shiver when you rolled your hips experimentally. "god," he breathed, sounding almost pained. "we should—are we really—"

"do you want to stop?"

"no. god, no. i just—" he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "i didn't think this would happen. i'm not. i don't usually."

"it's okay," you said softly, meaning it. "we don't have to do anything you don't want."

jake didn’t stop you. instead, he seemed to melt into the contact, his hands trembling as they slid further up your back, skin hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. when you moved to guide him off the couch and onto the rug, he followed with a sort of dazed compliance, his glasses slightly askew on his face.

you knelt between his legs, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. the movie was still playing—some distant sound of tires screeching—but all you could hear was the ragged, uneven hitch of jake’s breath. when you reached for the button of his jeans, his hand flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but just to steady himself. his knuckles were white.

"are you sure?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "i—i'm not... i don't want to mess this up. our project, the tutoring... i don't want to make things weird for you."

"jake," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "shut up and let me."

he let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh, his head hitting the base of the couch as he let go of your wrist. "okay. okay, yeah. shutting up."

as you eased his jeans down, you realised the lanky, awkward way he carried himself in the halls was a massive deception. he was built with a surprising, heavy sturdiness that the oversized hoodies always hid. his legs were long, his thighs thick with the kind of muscle that suggested he actually did play soccer as more than just a hobby. and when you finally freed him, you couldn't help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped you.

"jake," you breathed, your eyes widening. "holy..."

he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and covered his eyes with his forearm. "don't. don't look at me like that. i know. i'm sorry, is it... is it too much? i can—"

"it's perfect," you cut him off, reaching out to touch him. his skin was searing, and the moment your fingers closed around him, his entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a live wire.

when you leaned forward to take him into your mouth, jake’s reaction was explosive. he arched off the floor, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. he was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed by the sensation that it felt like he was losing his grip on reality.

"oh god," he choked out, his voice high and strained. "wait, wait—that's—you’re so... the pressure, i can't—"

you didn't slow down. you liked the way he lost his composure, the way the articulate, logical TA was reduced to incoherent stutters. you used your hands to keep him steady, your tongue swirling around the head of him, and jake’s hips began to move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. he was trying to keep some semblance of control, trying to stay "polite," but the sheer intensity of it was breaking him.

"i'm gonna... i'm actually gonna..." he gasped, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer until he was practically burying himself in you. "please, don't stop. don't stop, just like that—right there—"

he hit his limit with a loud, guttural shout that was muffled only by the back of his hand as he bit down on his own knuckles to stay quiet. his body went rigid, muscles in his arms and chest standing out in sharp relief as he came, the force of it leaving him limp and shuddering against the couch.

it took him a long time to come back down. for several minutes, the only sound in the room was his heavy, labouring breath and the flickering light of the tv. you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a fierce, glowing sense of triumph. he looked completely wrecked—hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear, chest heaving.

you felt powerful. you’d spent weeks engineering this, calculating every move, and seeing him like this—totally undone by you—was better than any perfect exam score.

"you okay?" you asked, leaning your chin on his knee.

jake let out a long, shaky exhale, finally moving his arm to look at you. his eyes were hazy, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red. "i... think my brain just short-circuited," he whispered, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips. 

"in a good way?"

"in the best way." he reached out, his fingers trembling as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "thank you. seriously. i don't—i don't even know what to say."

you smiled, leaning into his touch. the apartment was warm, the air still smelling of vanilla. "you don't have to say anything. you should just stay."

the words were soft, natural. it felt like the obvious next step. but the second they left your mouth, you felt the shift.

it was subtle at first—the way jake’s fingers went still against your skin. then his pupils, which had been blown wide with pleasure, suddenly constricted. he blinked, the haziness clearing as his internal "problem-solving mode" kicked back in with a vengeance.

"stay?" he repeated, his voice sounding suddenly small.

"yeah. it's late, and it's cold out. just stay over. we can... i don't know, wake up and have coffee. maybe look at the project again."

jake’s eyes darted toward his hands, then to his backpack, then to the door. the relaxation in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a rigid, frantic tension. he looked like he’d just realised he was standing in the middle of a minefield.

"i—" he started, scrambling to pull his jeans up. he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "i can't. i mean, i should... i have that grading to finish. for kim. and i—i didn't bring my toothbrush. or my meds. and my roommate, he—he'll wonder where i am. he gets worried."

"jake, it’s fine, you can borrow—"

"no!" he said, a bit too loudly. he was fumbling with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely loop it through. he wouldn't look at you. his face wasn't flushed with pleasure anymore; it was pale, his expression twisted into something that looked dangerously like panic. "no, i really should go. i’m sorry. i just... i realised the time. i have to go."

you stood up, feeling a cold, hollow pit open in your stomach. "did i do something wrong? was it... was it too much?"

"no! no, it was... it was amazing," he said, finally getting his shoes on, not even bothering to tie the laces. he grabbed his backpack, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "it was too amazing. that's the... that's the problem. i'm—i'm not good at this. i think i need to... i need to think. logically. about the implications."

"the implications?" you asked, your voice rising with a sharp, hurt edge. "it was just a night, jake. it doesn't have to be a 'logical problem' to solve."

"i know, i know. i'm sorry. i’m just... i'm a mess." he backed toward the door, his hand fumbling for the handle behind his back. "i'll text you? about the project? we still have that deadline on tuesday."

"jake—"

"goodnight! thank you for dinner. the pasta was really... the texture was perfect. okay. bye."

he practically fell out of the door, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway as he sprinted toward the stairs.

the click of the door closing felt final. you stood in the centre of your perfectly decorated, candle-lit apartment, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner you’d spent hours on. the half-empty wine glasses, the bag of expensive cookies, the rumpled rug.

you felt a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. you’d done everything right. you’d been strategic, patient, and kind. you’d gotten him to open up, to trust you, to want you. and yet, watching him run away like you were a bug in his code—something to be deleted or fixed—hurt more than any midterm failure ever could.

you sat back down on the couch, the silence of the room suddenly feeling just as oppressive as it had back in the computer lab. you picked up your phone, looking at his last text. this'll be fun :)

you threw the phone onto the cushions and buried your face in your hands, the smell of his citrus shampoo still clinging to your skin, mocking you.

jake didn't text.

you stared at your phone for the entire next day, watching the screen like you could will a message into existence. the "i'll text you" he'd thrown over his shoulder before fleeing felt increasingly like a polite lie. by saturday afternoon you broke first.

you: hey, you okay?

the message sat there. delivered, but no response.

you tried again sunday morning, going for casual.

you: still on for project work this week?

still no response.

by monday you'd moved past confusion into something that felt uncomfortably like panic. this wasn't how things worked. people didn't just. stop responding to you. they didn't ignore you or avoid you or remove you from their orbit like you were some problem to be managed. you were used to being wanted, pursued, the one who had to let people down gently. this reversed dynamic was unfamiliar and honestly humiliating.

you saw him in the dining hall on tuesday. he was with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal. like nothing had happened. like he hadn't been on your couch four days ago falling apart under your touch.

you started walking toward their table before you could think better of it, but jake's eyes flicked up, met yours for a fraction of a second, and then he was standing, gathering his tray, saying something to his friends. they all got up and left. just. left. walked out the side exit while you stood there holding your lunch like an idiot.

yunjin grabbed your arm. "okay, what the hell was that?"

"nothing," you said, but your voice came out wrong. 

"that was not nothing. did something happen with you and jake?"

"no. i don't know. it's complicated."

it wasn't complicated. it was actually pretty simple. you'd pushed too hard and now he wanted nothing to do with you.

wednesday he wasn't in his usual spot in lecture. you spent the entire class scanning the room, finally spotting him in the very back corner, a place he'd never sat before. he kept his eyes on his laptop the entire time, didn't look up once. when class ended he was the first one out the door.

thursday was supposed to be tutoring. seven pm, his room or yours, the standing appointment you'd had for weeks now. you waited in your apartment, laptop open to the half-finished project, telling yourself he'd show up. he was responsible and dedicated. he wouldn't just bail without saying anything.

seven came and went. then seven-thirty. by eight you accepted he wasn't coming.

you: are we still working together on the project? i need to know so i can plan accordingly.

again, no response.

friday morning you were walking to class when you saw him ahead of you on the path. for once he hadn't spotted you first. you sped up, closing the distance, and watched in real time as he seemed to sense your presence. his shoulders tensed. then he took a sharp left turn down a path that definitely wasn't toward any of his classes. he was actively avoiding you. taking different routes. altering his entire routine just to not run into you.

something hot and humiliated burned in your chest.

by next week, you'd had enough. you knew his schedule. knew he had algorithms right before lunch on mondays, in the engineering building, third floor. you positioned yourself outside the classroom before class ended, ignoring the curious looks from other students filing out. you spotted jake immediately when the doors opened. he saw you at the same moment and actually stopped walking, causing someone behind him to bump into his back.

"we need to talk," you said.

"i have—i need to get to—"

"jake." your voice came out sharper than intended. "five minutes. please."

something in his expression shifted. resignation maybe. he nodded once, following you to an empty study room down the hall. you closed the door. the small space suddenly felt suffocating.

"you've been ignoring me," you said.

"i know."

"for a week. you didn't text, you didn't show up to tutoring, you're literally avoiding me on campus."

"i know," he said again, quieter. he wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed somewhere around your shoulder. "i'm sorry. that wasn't— i should have communicated better."

"so communicate now. what's going on?"

jake was quiet for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was careful. measured. "what happened last week. that crossed a line for me."

"we both wanted it."

"did we?" he looked at you now, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach drop. "because i've been thinking about it a lot. about how we got there. and i feel like. i don't know. like maybe i missed something."

"what do you mean?"

"the tutoring," he said. "you didn't actually need it, did you? your grades were already good. and the project. you had friends you could have worked with. people you actually knew. but you picked me." he paused. "why did you pick me?"

the question hung in the air between you. you could lie. deflect. but something about the way he was looking at you, patient and a little sad, made it feel pointless.

"i liked you," you said finally. "i wanted to spend time with you."

"okay." he nodded slowly. "so the tutoring was. what. an excuse? a way to manufacture time together?"

"it wasn't like that."

"wasn't it though?" there was no anger in his voice. just. tiredness. "because from my perspective, i thought i was helping someone who needed help. i thought we were becoming friends. and then suddenly we're… doing that. and i'm trying to figure out when the shift happened and i can't. because maybe there was no shift. maybe that's what you wanted the whole time and i just didn't see it."

"i did want to be your friend," you said, defensive now. "i wasn't. it's not like i was using you."

"weren't you?"

the words hit harder than they should have. because he wasn't wrong. you had used him. used his kindness, his eagerness to help, his complete inability to see through your motivations. you'd engineered situations and manufactured proximity and told yourself it was harmless.

"i like you," jake said, and somehow that made it worse. "i really do. but i feel. god, i don't even know how to explain it. exposed? like you saw something in me that made me an easy target and you just. went for it. and i didn't even realise what was happening until it had already happened."

"that's not—"

"and the thing is," he continued, talking over you gently, "you're so far out of my league. like, objectively. you're smart and pretty and confident and you have your shit together. and i'm just. me. i'm awkward and i ramble and i spend friday nights debugging code for fun. so the fact that you were interested never made sense. i kept waiting for it to click, for me to understand why, and now i think i do. it wasn't about me. it was about. i don't know. the chase? the conquest? i was a project to you."

"no," you said, but your voice came out weak. "jake, that's not true. you weren't a project."

"then what was i?"

you didn't have an answer. or you did, but it was complicated and messy and saying it out loud would mean admitting things you didn't want to admit.

jake sighed. "i'm not trying to be cruel. i'm really not. but being around you right now makes me feel uncomfortable. like i can't trust my own judgement because i didn't see any of this coming. and that's. that's my issue to work through. but i need space to do it."

"what about the class project?"

"we can do it over email. divide up the work, combine it at the end. we don't have to see each other."

"and tutoring?"

"i think we should stop. you don't actually need it anyway."

each sentence felt like a door closing. practical, reasonable, and completely final.

"i'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "i didn't mean to. i wasn't trying to hurt you."

"i know," jake said, and he sounded sincere. "i don't think you set out to do anything malicious. i just think you didn't really consider how it would feel from my side. and now we're here."

"so that's it? we just stop talking?"

"for now, yeah. maybe later we can be normal around each other. but right now i need. distance."

he moved toward the door, his hand on the handle. you wanted to say something, anything that would fix this. some argument that would make him see you differently. but looking at his face, at the quiet certainty there, you knew there was nothing you could say. he'd made up his mind. he'd set a boundary. and you had no choice but to respect it.

"i really am sorry," you said again.

"i know," jake said. "me too."

then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with that same horrible finality. you stood there in the empty study room, staring at the space where he'd been.

you couldn't even argue with his reasoning. everything he'd said was true. you had manufactured situations. you had used his kindness and his obliviousness to get what you wanted. you'd told yourself it was harmless, that your feelings were real even if your methods were questionable.

but intent didn't matter when the impact was someone feeling manipulated and exposed.

you left the study room feeling hollowed out. the campus looked the same. people laughed and talked and went about their days. somewhere out there jake was probably headed to lunch with his friends, relieved to have finally said what he needed to say.

and you were just. alone. with the sharp realisation that you'd ruined something before it even had a chance to be real.

the party was exactly the kind of loud, chaotic mess you needed. bass thrumming through the floors, bodies packed into every available space, the air thick with sweat and cheap alcohol and too many competing perfumes. yunjin had dragged you here, insisting you needed to "get out of your head" after moping around for two weeks straight.

so here you were. red cup in hand, smile fixed in place, laughing at jokes you weren't really hearing. performing normalcy while your brain kept circling the same thoughts on loop. jake's face in that study room. the careful way he'd said i need space. the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in your chest.

"you good?" beomgyu asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.

"yeah, great," you said automatically, taking another drink.

you were on your third. or fourth. you'd stopped counting. the alcohol sat warm in your stomach but hadn't managed to quiet your thoughts yet. maybe if you drank enough you'd stop replaying every conversation with jake, analysing every moment for signs you'd missed, evidence of how thoroughly you'd fucked everything up.

"i'm gonna get another drink," you said to no one in particular, pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen.

that's when you saw him.

jake. standing near the makeshift bar someone had set up on the counter, red cup in hand, talking to a girl you didn't recognise. and he was laughing. actually laughing, head thrown back, completely at ease in a way that made something hot and ugly twist in your chest.

because he never looked like that with you. even before everything went wrong, even during those tutoring sessions in your apartment when you'd thought you were building something real, he'd always been slightly careful and polite, like he was containing himself. but now he was loose and animated, gesturing with his free hand while the girl laughed at whatever he was saying, her hand resting on his arm.

her hand was on his arm.

you watched as she leaned closer, saying something that made jake grin. that specific grin, the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his perfect teeth on display. you'd thought that smile was special. something you'd earned. but apparently he was just like this, with everyone who wasn't you.

the jealousy hit so hard it felt physical. burning through your chest, turning your vision sharp and focused. you were moving before you'd decided to, weaving through people, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

jake saw you coming. his smile faltered, something uncertain crossing his face. "hey—"

"who's this?" you said, gesturing at the girl. your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, heavy with something you couldn't quite name.

the girl looked between you and jake, confused. "i'm mina. jungwon's sister remember? we just met like ten minutes ago."

"oh right." you focused on jake, ignoring her entirely. "you look like you're having fun."

"i—yeah?" jake's eyebrows drew together. "it's a party?"

"funny how you can make time for parties but couldn't respond to any of my texts about the assignment."

"i told you we could do it over email—"

"is that what you're doing right now? project work?" you knew you sounded irrational, accusatory, but you couldn't stop. the words kept spilling out, poisoned by alcohol and jealousy and two weeks of feeling like you'd been the only one affected by any of this. 

"or are you just. moving on? found someone new to—"

"okay, i'm gonna go," mina said, backing away with her hands up. "this seems like. a thing. nice meeting you, jake."

she disappeared into the crowd. jake stared at you, his expression shifting from confused to something harder. "what the hell was that?"

"you tell me. you've been ignoring me for two weeks and now you're here flirting with random girls?"

"flirting?" jake's voice pitched up slightly. "flirting? i was literally just talking to her. she asked where the bathroom was and then we started chatting about the music. that's—that's not flirting, that's called being polite."

"she had her hand on your arm."

"so?" jake looked genuinely baffled now. "people touch arms when they talk. that doesn't mean anything. and even if it did—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "i don't owe you an explanation. you don't get to. we're not together. we're not anything."

the words hit exactly where they were meant to. "right. because you decided we're not."

"no, because you decided we weren't, like a month ago when you started playing games instead of just being honest." his voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "and now you're mad because i'm talking to someone else? you don't get to do that. you don't get to manipulate me into something and then act possessive when i try to move on."

"i'm not—" you started, but stopped. because he was right. you were being possessive and irrational. reading intent into a harmless conversation because you wanted there to be something there. wanted confirmation that jake was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.

but he wasn't. he was just living his life. talking to people at parties. laughing easily with strangers. completely unaffected while you spiralled.

"i wasn't flirting with her," jake said, quieter now. tired. "i was just being friendly. that's what normal people do. they don't engineer entire relationships or manufacture situations. they just exist around each other."

"i know," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. that was out of line."

jake nodded once, already turning away. "yeah. it was."

you watched him disappear back into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the kitchen counter. your hands were shaking. you downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

you'd just proven everything he'd said about you. possessive. manipulative. unable to let go. you'd projected your own feelings onto a completely innocent interaction and made a scene because you couldn't handle seeing him okay when you were so thoroughly not okay.

you'd been so certain. so sure he was flirting, that the girl meant something, that you'd caught him in some kind of lie. but you'd been wrong. completely, embarrassingly wrong. because you didn't actually know what jake was thinking. you never had. you'd just assumed, projected, filled in the gaps with your own narrative.

and now he was probably telling his friends what a psycho you were. probably regretting he'd ever let you into his life in the first place.

you grabbed another drink.

…

the party had devolved into that late-night haze where everything blurred together. people you didn't recognise, conversations you weren't part of, music that had gotten somehow both quieter and more invasive. you'd lost track of yunjin and beomgyu somewhere around drink number six. or seven. the room tilted slightly when you moved too fast.

you were trying to find your jacket, ready to call it a night, when you spotted him. jake. sitting alone on a couch in the corner, looking absolutely exhausted. his head kept drooping forward like he was fighting to stay conscious, then jerking back up. his eyes were half-closed, his usual careful posture completely abandoned.

you should walk past him. nothing good could come from another interaction tonight. you'd already embarrassed yourself once. but your feet carried you closer anyway, some magnetic pull you couldn't quite resist even knowing it was a bad idea.

you were almost past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "don't," he said, not looking at you. his voice was rough, slurred slightly. "don't leave."

you stopped. "jake—"

"been trying," he mumbled, his grip loosening but not releasing. "trying so hard. but you make it impossible."

"what are you talking about?"

he finally looked up at you, and his eyes were unfocused, glassy with alcohol. "you. i'm talking about you. can't stop thinking about you. it's driving me insane."

your heart lurched. "you're drunk."

"i know but so are you," he said, like that explained everything. "that's the only reason i'm saying this. because sober me knows better. sober me has self-control and boundaries and all that shit." he pulled gently on your wrist, making you stumble slightly closer. "but drunk me is tired. so tired of pretending i don't want you."

"you said you needed space."

"i do need space. because when i'm around you i can't think straight. i can't trust myself." his words were coming out uneven, tripping over each other. "you think i was avoiding you because i was mad? i was avoiding you because if i saw you i'd—" he made a frustrated noise. "i'd do something stupid. like this. this is stupid."

you sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. "jake—"

"you're so pretty," he said, almost accusatory. "and you smell good. and you're smart, like actually smart, not just good at school. and when you laugh it's. it does things to me. and i hate it. i hate that you have this much power over me when i don't even know if you actually like me or if i'm just… convenient."

"i do like you," you said quietly. "i've liked you the whole time."

"but do you?" he turned to face you more fully, his eyes searching yours even though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. "or do you like the idea of me? the nerdy guy you can manipulate? your little project?"

"that's not—" you stopped. "it wasn't like that. it's not like that."

"then what is it like?" he was still holding your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "because i've been trying to figure it out for weeks and i can't. i can't understand why you'd want me. what you get out of this. and maybe i'm just stupid but i need you to tell me. plainly. what do you want from me?"

"you," you said, the word coming out more honest than you'd intended. "just. you."

jake laughed, bitter and tired. "that doesn't make sense."

"i know."

"i'm not interesting. i'm not cool or funny or—"

"you are though," you interrupted. "you are all of those things. you just don't see it."

he went quiet for a long moment. then, so quietly you almost missed it: "i've been trying so hard not to want you back. because i knew—i know it's not good for me. but i can't stop. and i'm so tired of trying."

his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours. the touch was so much gentler than you expected, almost reverent. "i deleted your texts without reading them," he admitted. "because if i read them i'd respond. and if i responded i'd end up right back where i started. wanting you. letting you in. getting hurt."

"i don't want to hurt you."

"i know. that's what makes it worse." he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing. "you don't mean to. you just. do."

you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to fix the damage you'd done or convince him that your feelings were real when your actions had been so calculated. so you just sat there, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of him next to you.

"i missed you," jake said, so quiet you barely heard it over the music. "i fucking missed you and i hated myself for it."

"i missed you too."

"yeah?" he opened his eyes, looking at you with something raw and unguarded. "you missed manipulating me?"

"that's not fair."

"isn't it though?" but there was no heat in his words. just exhaustion. "god, i'm so tired. tired of being angry. tired of trying to stay away from you. tired of pretending i don't want you so badly it hurts."

the confession hung in the air between you. jake was looking at you like he was waiting for something, permission or rejection or maybe just confirmation that you'd heard him.

you leaned in. gave him time to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with none of the careful hesitation from before. this was messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. he kissed you like he'd been holding back for too long, like all that careful control had finally snapped.

you shifted closer, practically climbing into his lap, and he made a sound against your mouth that went straight through you. his hands were everywhere, spanning your waist, sliding up your back, gripping like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.

"been thinking about this," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak. "every night. hated myself for it but couldn't stop."

"me too," you admitted, kissing along his jaw. "i couldn't sleep. kept replaying everything."

"i lied about the texts i didn't respond to," he said, tilting his head to give you better access. "i read them. all of them before deleting. at like three am. read them over and over."

"why didn't you answer?"

"because i wanted to say things i shouldn't say. like how much i missed you. how i kept going to the lab hoping you'd be there. how seeing you at the party tonight fucking destroyed me even though i pretended i was fine." his hands tightened on your waist. "how i've been so fucking miserable without you."

you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing his words. he responded immediately, pulling you fully into his lap now, and you could feel how much he wanted this, wanted you. it was overwhelming. intoxicating. the desperation in every touch, every small sound he made.

"we should," he said between kisses, "we should probably stop."

"do you want to stop?"

"no. god no." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips swollen. "but i'm drunk and you're drunk and tomorrow we're gonna regret—"

"i won't," you said firmly. "i won't regret this."

something shifted in his expression. softened. he touched your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "you're gonna break my heart," he said, not quite a question.

"i'm not."

"you will." but he kissed you anyway, softer this time. slower. like he was memorising the feel of you. "and i'm gonna let you. because i'm weak and pathetic and i want you so much i don't even care anymore."

"you're not weak."

"i am though." he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing. "i'm so weak for you. it's embarrassing."

you could feel his exhaustion creeping in, the way his body was getting heavier against yours, his movements slowing. "come on," you said softly, standing and pulling him up with you. "let's get you somewhere you can actually sleep."

"don't wanna sleep," he protested, but let you guide him anyway. "wanna stay with you."

"you will. i'm not going anywhere."

you found an empty bedroom on the second floor, the door unlocked and the bed mercifully unoccupied. jake collapsed onto it immediately, pulling you down with him. he was asleep within minutes, his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. his breathing evened out, deep and steady.

you should probably feel guilty. taking advantage of his drunken honesty, letting him confess things he'd normally keep locked away. but you were too tired, too overwhelmed by everything he'd said. i want you so badly it hurts. i've been so fucking miserable without you. you're gonna break my heart and i'm gonna let you.

you didn't have answers. didn't have promises you could make. didn't know how to fix the fundamental imbalance between you, the manipulation and hurt that had gotten you here.

but for now, in this quiet room with jake's warmth pressed against you, you could pretend tomorrow didn't exist. could pretend this was simple. just two people who wanted each other, tangled together in the dark, nothing more complicated than that.

you fell asleep still wearing your shoes, jake's arms tight around you, his heartbeat steady against your chest.

you woke to pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of jake still wrapped around you. for a disorienting moment you couldn't place where you were. then it came back in pieces. the party. the confrontation. jake's drunken confessions. falling asleep tangled together.

jake stirred against you, his breath catching as he woke. you felt the exact moment awareness returned, the way his body went tense. slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. his glasses sat crooked on the nightstand. his eyes were cautious but clear.

"hi," he said quietly.

"hi."

he didn't let go of you. didn't immediately scramble away or apologise or retreat into panic like last time. he just looked at you, searching your face for something.

"i said a lot of things last night," he finally said.

"yeah."

"i meant them." his voice was serious, steady despite the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "i know i was drunk, and i probably shouldn't have said half of it, but. i meant it. all of it."

your heart kicked up. "jake—"

"i like you," he said, cutting you off gently. "i've liked you since that first night in the lab when you were stressed about your code and i got to actually help you with something. and it's been killing me trying to stay away from you because every time i see you i just. want you. so much that it scares me."

"why does it scare you?"

"because i don't know how to want someone this much and still protect myself." he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. "last time i didn't protect myself at all. i just. gave in. and then i panicked because it felt too big, too fast, and i didn't know how to handle it."

"and now?"

"now i'm still terrified," he admitted. "but i'm more scared of not trying. of walking away and spending the rest of college wondering what could have happened if i'd just. been brave enough to give you a real chance."

you felt something tight in your chest start to loosen. "i want that. a real chance. i want to do this right."

"yeah?"

"yeah." you reached up, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "i'm sorry. for all of it. the manipulation, the games, not being honest about what i wanted. you deserved better than that."

"i know," jake said simply. then, softer: "but i also know you were scared too. just in a different way."

he leaned down, kissing you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. different from last night's desperate intensity. this was slow, careful, almost questioning. you kissed him back, trying to pour everything you couldn't quite say into it. apology and promise and want all tangled together.

when he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. "i want to try again," he said. "properly this time. but i need you to be honest with me. about what you want. about what this is."

"i want you," you said. "not as a project or a conquest or whatever i convinced myself it was before. just you jake."

something in his expression softened. "okay," he said. "okay. we can work with that."

he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt his weight settle more fully over you. "i want to make it up to you," he murmured against your lips. "for running away before. for making you feel like you did something wrong when i was just scared."

"you don't have to—"

"i want to." he was already kissing down your neck, hands sliding under your shirt. "let me. please."

there was something in his voice, almost pleading, that made you nod. he smiled against your skin, helping you out of your clothes with more confidence than he'd had before. when you were bare beneath him he just. looked. taking his time, hands mapping your body like he was memorising every detail.

"you're so pretty," he said, almost reverent. "i thought about this. about you. so many times."

then he was moving lower, pressing kisses down your stomach, your hip bones, the inside of your thighs. when his breath ghosted over where you needed him most you couldn't help the small sound that escaped.

"tell me if anything's too much," he said, glancing up at you. then he lowered his mouth to you and your brain short-circuited.

he started slowly, almost tentatively, like he was learning you. his tongue moved in careful strokes, testing what made you gasp, what made your hips shift toward him. when he found the rhythm that had your fingers tightening in his hair, he made a low, satisfied sound against you that you felt everywhere.

"jake," you breathed, and he looked up at you through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips glistening with your arousal.

"tell me," he said, voice rough. "tell me what feels good."

"that—" your words cut off as he did it again, tongue flicking over your clit with that same perfect pressure. "right there. just like that."

he was a quick learner. always had been. he catalogued every reaction, every sound you made, adjusting and refining. except this wasn't detached or analytical. this was hungry. desperate. he sucked your clit into his mouth and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.

"fuck, jake—"

"god, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy, barely pulling back enough to speak. his chin was wet, his glasses fogged slightly. "been thinking about this. wanted to do this right last time."

he was getting lost in it now, the careful control slipping into something messier, greedier. he alternated between focused attention on your clit and broad, indulgent strokes through your folds, like he couldn't decide between making you fall apart and simply savouring you. his tongue pushed inside you and you keened, your back arching off the bed.

"oh my god," you gasped. "jake, your mouth—"

he moaned against you, the vibration making your thighs clench around his head. he didn't seem to mind, just gripped your hips harder, pulled you closer, like he wanted to suffocate in your pussy. when his fingers joined his mouth, sliding through your wetness before pressing inside, you nearly sobbed.

"so wet," he murmured, almost to himself.

he crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made you cry out, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit. the dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building so fast you couldn't catch your breath. your fingers tightened in his hair, probably painful, but he just groaned and doubled his efforts.

"jake, i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"

"i know," he said against you, his voice wrecked. "i can feel it. let go for me."

his fingers thrust deeper, faster, his mouth sucking hard on your clit, and you shattered. your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your whole body going taut as pleasure whited out your vision. you were dimly aware of the sounds you were making—high, desperate whimpers and moans—but you couldn't stop them.

jake moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he didn't let up. he worked you through it with devastating patience, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like he was starving for it.

"jake," you gasped, trying to push at his head. "too much—"

but he just whined—actually whined—and gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread. "please," he mumbled against your pussy, his words muffled and desperate. "please, just one more. need to feel you come again. please."

"i can't—" but your protest died as he sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking gently, his fingers still working inside you. the overstimulation was almost painful but it was already shifting into something else, something that had you gasping and arching into his mouth instead of away from it.

he was making sounds now—desperate, needy whimpers and moans that vibrated against you. he was rutting against the mattress, you realised dimly, seeking friction while he lost himself in eating you out. his hair was a mess from your fingers, and he looked absolutely wrecked.

"so good," he whined between licks. "taste so good. could do this forever. please let me—need to make you come again—"

he was babbling now, drunk on you, his movements getting messier and more desperate. his tongue worked your clit in frantic circles while his fingers curled inside you, and the pleasure was building again impossibly fast. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming.

"that's it," he gasped, feeling you start to tighten around his fingers. "yeah, give it to me. please, please—"

your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out his name, your thighs clamping around his head. jake moaned like he was the one coming, his hips jerking against the mattress as he worked you through it, tongue lapping up everything, fingers gentling but not stopping until you were actually sobbing from oversensitivity.

only then did he pull back, and when he finally lifted his head he looked completely gone. his face was flushed and wet, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his lips swollen and red. he looked drunk on you, his eyes unfocused and dark.

"fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "you're so hot when you come. the sounds you make—"

you pulled him up into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he groaned into your mouth. his cock was rock hard against your thigh, leaking and desperate.

"your turn," you said, reaching down to wrap your hand around him.

he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. "you don't have to—"

"i want to." you stroked him slowly, base to tip, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm. precum leaked from the slit and you used it to ease the glide. "you're so hard, jake. does eating my pussy turn you on that much?"

"fuck—" his voice broke. "yes. god, yes. you have no idea."

"tell me." you tightened your grip slightly and he whimpered. actually whimpered. "tell me what you were thinking about."

"i was thinking—" he gasped when your thumb swept over the sensitive head. "thinking about how good you taste. how you were shaking. how i could feel you clenching and i wanted—wanted to be inside you—"

"yeah?" you stroked him faster, loving the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs trembled. "you want to fuck me, jake?"

"so bad," he choked out.

you guided him between your legs, not quite inside yet, just letting the head of his cock slide through your wetness. he made a strangled sound, his whole body shuddering.

"we should—do you have—" he was trying to think through the haze of arousal, being responsible even now. "condom?"

"pill," you said. "i'm on the pill. and i'm clean. tested recently."

"me too. clean, i mean." his cock twitched against you, smearing precum through your folds. "can i—fuck, can i feel you bare?"

"yes," you breathed. "want to feel all of you."

he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing against you, and even that felt like too much. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch was intense. you were wet enough that he slid in smoothly at first, but the sheer size of him was overwhelming.

"oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders. "jake, you're so—you're so big—"

"i know, i'm sorry—" he froze, only halfway in. "am i hurting you?"

"no, don't stop," you urged, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "just—go slow. need to adjust."

he sank in another inch and you both moaned. he was splitting you open, stretching you so full you could barely breathe. when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours.

"oh my god," he choked out. "you're so tight. so fucking tight and wet and—i can't—"

"don't move yet," you managed, clenching around him involuntarily. he was so deep you could feel him everywhere, pressing against spots that made your toes curl. "just let me—fuck—"

"you feel incredible," he said, his voice shaking. "i've never—nothing compares to this."

you tightened around him experimentally and he swore, his hips jerking forward. "sorry, sorry," he gasped. "i'm trying to hold still but when you do that i want to—"

"want to what?" you rolled your hips slightly and he groaned, deep and guttural.

"want to move," he admitted, his control clearly fraying. "want to fuck you."

"then do it," you said.

something in him snapped. he pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, the force of it punching a cry from your lips. he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that was deep and relentless. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust.

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "just like that—don't stop—"

"god," he panted, his voice wrecked. "you feel so good."

you looked down between your bodies and moaned at the sight—his thick cock disappearing into you, glistening with your wetness, stretching you obscenely. "jake, oh my god—"

"feel how deep i am?" he thrust particularly hard and you keened.

"yes—fuck yes—"

he wasn't being careful anymore, wasn't being gentle. he fucked into you with abandon, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine. the sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, the wet slide of his cock, his grunts mixing with your moans.

"wanted this," he said against your neck, his breath hot. "wanted you. for so long."

"tell me more," you demanded, loving this unfiltered version of him.

"thought about this constantly," he admitted, his thrusts getting harder. "thought about having you like this. making you feel good. hearing you say my name."

"jake—" you were getting close again, that familiar tension building low in your belly.

"touch yourself," he said. "want to feel you come on my cock. need it. please."

you slid your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. the added stimulation made you clench around him and he swore, his rhythm faltering.

"that's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixed on where your fingers worked. "fuck, that's so hot. you're so hot. make yourself cum. let me feel it."

you worked your clit in tight circles, the pressure building faster with each thrust of his cock. he was so deep, hitting all the right spots, the slide of him inside you absolutely perfect. you were making sounds you'd never made before—high, desperate whines and gasps.

"close," you managed. "so close—"

"come for me," he urged, his voice strained. "squeeze my cock. want to feel your pussy milk me. come on, baby, let me feel it—"

the orgasm hit you like lightning, sudden and intense. you cried out his name, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically. waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense you forgot how to breathe.

"oh fuck," jake choked out, his hips stuttering. "you're—i can feel you—i'm gonna—"

he tried to last, you could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his arms were shaking. but your pussy was still fluttering around him, still clenching in aftershocks, and it was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. you felt the warmth of it, felt him fill you up, and the intimacy of it made something in your chest crack open.

"fuck," he gasped, collapsing on top of you. "oh my god. that was—i've never—"

you wrapped your arms around him, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. he was still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his release leaking out around his cock.

"that was amazing," you said when you could finally speak. "you were amazing."

he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft and vulnerable. "i think i might be falling for you," he said quietly. "is that okay? am i allowed to say that?"

your throat felt tight with emotion. "yeah. that's okay."

"good." he kissed you gently, sweetly. "because i don't think i could stop even if you told me to."

he pulled out carefully and you both hissed at the sensitivity. immediately he was gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest like he couldn't stand not touching you. you fit there perfectly, your head tucked under his chin.

"we should probably talk about this," you said after a while. "about us."

"we will," jake promised, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine. "but can we just stay like this for a bit first?"

"yeah." you pressed closer, breathing in the scent of him. "we can stay like this."

and you did. stayed tangled together as the morning light grew stronger, as the sounds of people leaving the party filtered up through the floor. his cum was still leaking out of you, making a mess on your thighs, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just held each other in this new, tentative peace.

jake changed almost overnight once you started dating. it was like giving him permission to want you openly had flipped some switch in his brain. suddenly he was everywhere.

he'd show up at your door before your 9 am lecture with coffee, your exact order memorised, his hair still messy from sleep because he'd woken up early just to see you. he'd kiss you goodbye and then text you five minutes later with some random thought he forgot to mention. did you know that octopuses have three hearts? just learnt that. thought you should know.

in class he'd sit next to you instead of in his usual back corner spot, his knee always pressed against yours under the desk. sometimes his hand would find its way to your thigh, just resting there, his thumb tracing absent patterns while he tried to focus on the lecture. you'd catch him staring at you instead of his laptop, and when you'd raise an eyebrow he'd just smile, unashamed.

"you're distracting," he'd whisper.

"i'm literally just sitting here."

"i know. it's very distracting."

study sessions became impossible. you'd be explaining a concept and he'd lean over to kiss your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth. "jake, i'm trying to help you."

"i know, keep going," he'd say, already doing it again.

"you're not even listening."

"i am. you were talking about. um." he'd grin sheepishly. "okay i wasn't listening. but you're just so pretty when you're focused."

your friends noticed immediately. yunjin had taken one look at jake's arm slung around your shoulders at lunch, the way he was playing with your hair while talking to beomgyu, and pulled you aside.

"okay so he's like. obsessed with you," she said. "it's actually kind of cute. in a golden retriever kind of way."

"he's not obsessed."

"babe, he just offered to carry your bag even though your apartment is literally three minutes away. and he's been smiling at you for the past ten minutes like you hung the moon. it's obsessed behaviour."

but she said it fondly, and later you caught her telling beomgyu that she'd never seen you this relaxed before. "she's not performing," yunjin had said. "she's just. being."

and she was right. with jake you didn't have to strategise or calculate or perform anything. he wanted you. obviously, openly, without games or subtext. when you showed up to his place in sweats and no makeup, he'd light up like you'd dressed up specifically for him. when you stole his hoodies, he'd just buy more so you could steal those too.

"i like seeing you in my clothes," he'd admitted once, pulling you close. "makes me feel like. i don't know. like you're mine."

"possessive," you'd teased.

"is that bad?"

"no," you'd said, kissing him. "i like it."

jake's friends had their own reactions. you'd been nervous meeting them properly, remembering that disastrous first encounter at the party. but they'd welcomed you easily, even if they did give jake endless shit.

"dude, you're so whipped," his roommate said, watching jake immediately get up to refill your drink without being asked.

"and?" jake had said, completely unbothered.

"and nothing, it's just funny. remember when you said you'd never be that guy who drops everything for someone? and now you're literally—"

"finish that sentence and i'm not helping you with discrete math anymore."

but he was smiling when he said it, and later his roommate told you that jake talked about you constantly. "it's honestly annoying how happy he is."

the thing was, you were happy too. unexpectedly, overwhelmingly happy. jake made you sharper somehow, more focused. when you studied together you actually retained information because he made learning feel collaborative instead of competitive. he celebrated your successes like they were his own, staying up with you before big presentations, bringing you stress-relief snacks, sending you encouraging texts.

and you did the same for him. learnt his patterns, his tells when he was overwhelmed. you'd show up at the lab with dinner when you knew he'd been working for hours. you'd run your fingers through his hair when he was stressed, and he'd melt into your touch, all that tension draining away.

"you make everything easier," he'd told you once, late at night when you were both too tired to filter. "like the world's less heavy when you're around."

"that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."

"i know. i mean it though."

weeks blurred together in the best way. stolen kisses between classes. jake's hand always finding yours. the way he'd kiss you goodbye at your door and then text you goodnight five minutes later even though he lived one floor up. movie nights that turned into makeout sessions on your couch, jake's glasses getting in the way until you carefully removed them, setting them aside so you could kiss him properly.

he got clingy when he was tired, wrapping around you like a koala, mumbling into your neck. "don't leave."

"i'm just going to get water."

"too far. stay."

"jake, i'll be gone thirty seconds."

"thirty seconds too long."

you'd laugh, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and feel something warm and settled in your chest. this was what it was supposed to feel like.

the beach had been jake's idea. "there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he'd said, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "and i know this spot that's perfect for stargazing. barely any light pollution. we could bring blankets, make a whole thing of it?"

so here you were, sitting on a blanket in the sand while the ocean crashed softly in the background. the sky was impossibly clear, stars scattered across it like someone had spilt diamonds. jake lay with his head in your lap, one of your hands playing with his hair while he pointed up at the sky.

"okay, so see those seven stars there?" he traced a pattern with his finger. "that's the big dipper, which is part of ursa major. but if you follow those two stars at the edge, they point directly to polaris. the north star."

you hummed, only half listening to the actual words. you were too busy watching him. the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, how animated his expressions were when he talked about something he loved. the moonlight caught on his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.

"and that one—" he was still going, completely absorbed. "that's cassiopeia. she was a queen in greek mythology who bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so poseidon punished her by placing her in the sky upside down. you can see how the constellation kind of looks like a W? that's her throne."

"jake," you said softly.

"oh, and if you look over there, that really bright one? that's actually venus, not a star. common misconception. planets don't twinkle like stars do because—"

you leaned down and kissed him, cutting off his rambling mid-sentence. he made a surprised sound but responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. when you pulled back he followed your lips automatically, trying to chase another kiss.

"you were saying?" you teased.

"i—" he blinked up at you, slightly dazed. "what was i saying?"

"something about venus."

"right. venus. because of the. um." he lost his train of thought as you leaned down again, kissing him slower this time. "you're distracting me from the meteor shower."

"am i?"

"yeah. very effectively." but he was smiling, pulling you down for another kiss.

you shifted, moving to straddle his lap properly. jake's hands immediately found your waist, sliding under your shirt to rest against bare skin. 

the kissing turned heated quickly. jake made these small, needy sounds that drove you crazy, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, anywhere he could reach. when you rolled your hips experimentally he gasped into your mouth, his grip tightening.

"fuck," he whispered. "you're gonna kill me."

you kissed down his jaw, his neck, feeling his pulse racing under your lips. his hands had moved to your hips now, guiding your movements, and you could feel how affected he was. "still thinking about the stars?" you teased.

"what stars?" he pulled you down for another bruising kiss, one hand tangling in your hair. "can't think about anything except you."

you ground down harder and jake made a sound that was almost a whine, his head falling back against the blanket. "please," he gasped. "please, i need—"

suddenly, the loud, insistent beeping of his watch interrupted the moment.

you both froze.

jake's face went bright red as he fumbled with his wrist. "oh my god. oh my god. it's my fitness watch. it thinks i'm exercising because my heart rate—" another beep. "make it stop."

you couldn't help it. you burst out laughing, burying your face in his shoulder while his watch continued its concerned beeping about his elevated heart rate. "it's not funny," jake groaned, still trying to silence the watch. "this is so embarrassing."

"it's a little funny."

"my watch just cockblocked me. there's nothing funny about that."

you kissed his jaw, still giggling. "i think it's cute. your heart rate got that high just from kissing me?"

"you were not just kissing me, you were—" he made a frustrated noise. "yes. okay. yes. you have that effect on me. are you happy?"

"very." you settled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under your ear. the watch had finally stopped beeping. "for what it's worth, my heart's doing the same thing."

"yeah?" he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"yeah."

you lay there together, the ocean providing a steady soundtrack, the stars scattered above you. jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "i love you," he said softly. "in case that wasn't obvious from the way my watch literally staged an intervention."

you lifted your head to look at him. his eyes were soft, open, vulnerable in the moonlight. "i love you too," you said, meaning it completely.

he smiled, that full, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. then he kissed you again, sweet and unhurried, his hands gentle on your face.

"we should probably head back soon," you murmured eventually. "it's getting late."

"five more minutes," jake said, pulling you closer. "just. let me hold you for five more minutes."

you settled back against him, his arms wrapped securely around you, both of you looking up at the vast sky. you'd come here to watch a meteor shower but you'd been too distracted by each other to notice if any had passed.

somehow, you didn't mind at all.

"hey," jake said softly. "thank you."

"for what?"

"for giving me another chance. for being patient with me while i figured my shit out. for. this. all of it." his arms tightened around you. "i know i was difficult at first."

"you weren't difficult. you were protecting yourself. i get it now."

"still. you could have given up on me. but you didn't."

"of course i didn't," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're worth it. you've always been worth it."

jake made a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face in your hair. "i'm gonna marry you someday," he mumbled. "just so you know."

"jake—"

"not now. obviously not now. but someday. when we've graduated and figured our lives out and i can actually afford a ring. i'm gonna marry you."

you felt your chest go tight with emotion. "okay," you whispered. "someday."

"yeah. someday."

you stayed like that until the cold started seeping in, until you were both shivering despite being pressed together. finally, reluctantly, you packed up the blanket and headed back to campus. jake held your hand the entire walk, occasionally pulling you close to kiss you at random intervals.

"what was that for?" you asked after the third surprise kiss.

"just because," he said, smiling. "because i can. because i love you. do i need more reasons?"

"no," you said, kissing him back. "no more reasons needed."

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

S01E01, THE INVITE 

Jihyo and Joshua were madly in love. Everybody around them could see that. Sooner or later, they would get married. You’d like to think that it was obvious from the start, so why are you so shocked to see an invite to their wedding on your kitchen counter? Jihyo really liked to surprise people, but you didn’t quite think that she would surprise you – her best friend – with incredible news.  

“Jihyo! What the hell!” You screamed through the phone, still in disbelief that this was finally happening. You were quite literally on the verge of tears, being the one who had introduced the pair back in high school.  “I will genuinely sob right now. Don’t even try me”  

“It took so much of me not to say anything about it to you. Actually, at first, we were like ‘huh, wouldn’t it be funny if we just didn’t tell anyone about us being engaged?’ but I just couldn’t keep it a secret. I’m so happy, Y/N” she said, her voice slightly wobbly. 

“I don’t even know what to say, Jihyo. I feel like I’m going to combust from happiness and it’s not even my wedding” 

“We both know that your wedding is not happening anytime soon, babe” 

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not going” you said with a straight face, as if she could see you. 

“Ah, you know I’m just jo-” Jihyo suddenly stopped talking and you could hear her mumbling something to someone – probably Joshua. “Joshua wants to talk to you really quick, is that alright?” you muttered a soft yeah, sure before hearing the man’s voice. “Hey, Y/N. So, you and Vernon got the invitations?” Joshua sounded weird. Like, really weird. As if he had something important to say to you but definitely didn’t want to say it. 

“I mean, yeah, isn’t that obvious? Vernon isn’t home yet though” you laughed softly, curious about Joshua’s behavior. 

 “Okay, that’s good. Alright, I’m just gonna say it, but please do know that I am very, very sorry about this. I didn’t want to invite him, I really didn’t, but you know that I’m kind of a people pleaser, right? So, when I was talking to my mom about not inviting it, she started to say so many things. Like, genuinely, I started freaking out-” 

“Joshua, what the fuck are you talking about?” You were so confused, brows furrowed and all.  

“Jaehyun will be there” 

Oh. 

You see, Jaehyun is your ex, who also happens to be Joshua’s cousin. You broke up with him in September – which was just 4 months ago. The relationship lasted for about 2 years, which you regret so badly. At the beginning, he was perfect – paid for everything, opened every door for you, prepared romantic dates for the two of you – everything that a girl could have ever dreamed of, right? Well, no! After about 8 months, he started acting strange, hardly ever texting or calling you, being weirdly secretive and he would say just the meanest things to you during arguments. Of course, being naive and easily manipulated at the time, you tried talking to him, thinking that maybe he was just going through a hard time. The answer that you received from him? Looking back at it now, it’s the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard. Jaehyun, with a straight face, said that you living with your roommate – Vernon - was making him really insecure, and that he truly doesn’t know what goes on in that apartment when he’s not there. Yeah... 

Foolishly, you believed him, suddenly forgetting all of the time you wasted explaining how Vernon was really just a good friend. You’ve known him since both of you were 5, for God’s sake!  That led to you almost never being in your apartment anymore, spending pretty much all of your time at your boyfriend’s place, even when he wasn’t there (which was a very common occurrence, oh poor you). Jaehyun spent the next year gaslighting you into thinking that his mood switches were a hundred percent your fault. Long story short, the guy was cheating on you. Pretty much since the beginning of your relationship. With multiple women. He even fucked one in your apartment, when neither you nor Vernon were home.  

And now, you were supposed to face him at your best friend’s wedding, in what, six months?  

You weren’t mad at Joshua, though. You’ve known him for such a long time, and you know how his relationship with his mother is like. Sure, some would think that a twenty-seven-year-old man would not care what his mother says. Not Joshua, though. And you’re not even saying this in a bad way – you wish that you and your mom were even half as close as Joshua and his mom. She was also probably the smartest woman that you’ve ever met, so she probably convinced Joshua to invite Jaehyun with some really appealing arguments. You were not about to fight with Mrs. Hong.  

“Y/N, are you there? Is everything okay?” Joshua’s very concerned voice snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Don’t worry about me, I mean, he is your family after all. Doesn’t matter how shitty he treated me” 

“Are you sure? We haven’t sent the invite yet. Just in case”  

“I’m sure Joshua. Don’t worry, go and be excited about the wedding. I have to go, though. Vernon just came home. Bye!” You said quickly after hearing Vernon open the door with his keys. 

“Hey! What’s going on?” Vernon asked, his eyebrows furrowed upon seeing you standing with your face in your hands. His eyes wandered to the kitchen counter, smiling widely after seeing two invites to the wedding of his good friends. “Shouldn’t you be crying from happiness right now?” 

“Jaehyun is going to be there” 

S01E02, THE OFFER 

“You’re joking” 

You’re currently sitting on your couch, 3 wine glasses in. You lay your head on Seulgi’s shoulder, since she’s the only one sitting next to you. The girl is talking to Seungkwan, who’s sitting on the floor in front of her. You can hear Vernon, Sana and Mingyu talking in the kitchen, probably pouring themselves more wine – you really can’t blame them. To be honest, you don’t even know what’s the occasion was for this gathering, or where the rest of your friends went, but you’re way too busy sipping on your fourth glass of wine. The group that was in the kitchen walks back to the living room, and you make eye contact with Mingyu almost immediately.  

It’s not like you and Mingyu are friends. Of course, you know him – he's Vernon’s best friend after all, you’ve met him a handful of times. Neither of you interacted with each other much, except for group hangouts like this. You didn’t really know that much about Mingyu. You knew that he runs his own restaurant, which you had been to with Vernon multiple times. You know that he has a cat, since Vernon took care of it when Mingyu was on vacation. To be completely honest – that might be all of your knowledge when it comes to Kim Mingyu. It does kind of make you jealous – seeing how effortlessly he strikes up a conversation with everyone in the room. Why does he never talk to you?  

You must have had a grimace on your face, because Seungkwan looked at you, concerned. “Are you okay? You’re sulking” he nudged your calf with his foot. “What’s got you so worried?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking about Jihyo’s and Joshua’s wedding” you didn’t completely lie – you were thinking about it, until Mingyu walked into the room. 

“Right, Jaehyun” Sana said in a cold voice. 

No one noticed, but Mingyu visibly perked up at the mention of your ex – if he’d been sober, then he would have tried to be much less obvious about it. Mingyu knew about Jaehyun and his actions, since Vernon had come to him numerous times, hoping that he would give him some advice on how to free you from the monster’s hands – Vernon's words, not his.  

“I just don’t want to see him at all. Also, I’m sure that he will try to talk to me. I’ve had to block his number four times, because he kept messaging me from new ones” you frowned, drinking all the wine left in your glass at once.  

“God, I don’t even have words to describe that filthy fucking-” you stopped Seulgi from continuing by placing your hand on her mouth. 

“Wait! I think I have a good idea!” Seungkwan exclaimed. “How about you and Vernon go to the wedding together and pretend to be a couple? Maybe he’ll leave you alone, since he was so insecure because of him?” He rolled his eyes while the last sentence left his mouth.  

“Aren’t we too old to do that? Besides, he would think that he was right. You know, accusing me of cheating on him with Vernon” 

“Why don’t you take Mingyu instead? He can be scary sometimes!” Vernon exclaimed, definitely proud of his idea. 

“I don’t know about that second thing” you snorted, making the rest of your friends laugh. 

“Hey! I can be scary if I want to! I’m tall and probably more handsome than Jaehyun! I can do it!” Mingyu pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Sure, buddy” Seulgi patted his shoulder.  

“Guys don’t laugh at me! Y/N, I can do it! Seriously! I’ll be the best, scary fake boyfriend on planet earth! He won’t even dare to look at you!” 

“Why do you want to do it so bad anyways?” you asked the man, visibly confused. 

“Because I really want to prove you guys wrong, and all of you will be there. I’m the only one that didn’t get an invite, and I get that it’s because I don’t even know Jihyo and Joshua that well, but I would be very sad if all of you were having fun and I was sitting at home. And obviously, I want to help you, Y/N” Mingyu said with a pout on his face, and after not receiving a response from anyone, he added “Well, also because I really love weddings” 

You could feel everyone’s eyes at you, curious about how you’ll respond to Mingyu. 

“Okay, let’s do it” you sighed. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt muscular arms wrapping you in a hug and lifting you up from the couch. 

“YES! You won’t regret this, Y/N!” Mingyu shrieked, spinning you around. 

S01E03, THE CRASH OUT 

The next two months will definitely be hard. 

You haven’t heard from Mingyu for a whole week. Obviously, you were too embarrassed to ask him for his number, and he also didn’t ask for yours. That really made you think, though. What if he was just really drunk? Or maybe he was just making fun of you and didn’t actually want to go to the wedding with you? All of these thoughts were storming through your head. Wanting to get them out, and preferably get some comfort, you were now talking Vernon’s head off.  

“What do I do?” You sighed dramatically, head falling off the couch while your legs were up in the air. If someone were to ask, in your opinion Vernon was just pretending to listen. “This was all your idea! Why would you even bring this up?” You groaned into one of the pillows that you took from the couch. 

“What do you mean?  Dude, Seungkwan said it first!” 

“Well, why would you suggest taking Mingyu? And him pretending to be my boyfriend? He’s so hot! I’m going to make a fool out of myself” You heard Vernon mumbling something about him just being your type, which you responded to with a yell. “Don’t you have eyes? Ask a random person on the street and they’ll get on their knees for him!” 

“Now you’re just exaggerating. I don’t even know why you’re crashing out, he texted me a few days ago asking for your number”  

“You’re just telling me this now?!” you said in utter disbelief. “Why hasn’t he texted me, then?” You sent Vernon a questioning look. 

“He’s just a shy dude” your best friend shrugged his shoulders, never once looking up from his phone. 

“Mingyu? Shy? Am I living in a different world, because what the fuck?” 

What you didn’t notice, though, was that Vernon was texting someone. 

Vernon  dude can u just text y/n she’s like crashing out rn  actually she’s BEEN crashing out for like 3 days  put me out of my misery pls 

Mingyu  😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this is the motivation that i needed lol 

Vernon  HURRY UPPPPP 

It’s been another three days. 

***

Mingyu did not text you.  

You were slowly, but surely, going insane – acting like a teenager waiting for her crush to text her, and definitely not like a 26-year-old woman. You’re a grown up, for God’s sake! You have a whole ass job and everything! This man is making you crazy, and it’s not even like you know him well.  

Mingyu, all the way in his apartment (which is not far from yours, by the way) is facing the same problems as you are. He’s never been that shy to text a woman before – and that says a lot. ‘I can be scary if I want to’ - Mingyu’s surely regretting his words now. Vernon threatened to take his phone and text you so many times, Mingyu stopped counting after the seventeenth time. He doesn’t want to even think about it – you just make him so nervous, and the thought that he will have to pretend to be your boyfriend? That’s the cherry on top.  

He’s at work when he gets a text from Vernon. 

Vernon  yooo  i'm at ur place rn with seungkwan 

Mingyu  wdym  why are u in my house 

Vernon  lol mb  we're at the restaurant 

Mingyu  ohhhhh  i'll come out in a bit 

Vernon  yessir 

Vernon was in fact not with Seungkwan. That damn traitor. 

Coming out of the kitchen, Mingyu was relieved. I mean, he was just about to see his friends! And it was pretty early, so they were almost the only people in the restaurant. Oh, poor Mingyu. His smile faded so fast. 

“Oh. Hi” he smiled sweetly at you, cheeks red before glaring at Vernon. If looks could kill, Vernon would be long gone. You muttered a quiet hi, and averted your gaze into your hands. Wow, your nails are so gorgeous – the nail tech did a really great job. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? I have to go to the bathroom” Vernon said quickly, a smirk on his face. Let’s just say, both you and Mingyu were calling him various insults in your mind.  

As soon as Vernon left, Mingyu plopped himself on the seat in front of you, immediately speaking up. “I’m sorry” You raised your brows, acting as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. “You know, about not texting you. It’s been hectic and I’ve also been just...uh...” 

“Go on” you teased him, having a feeling that you knew what he was about to say. 

“Hey! I’m here apologizing and you’re being mean!” He frowned. 

“You know I’m just kidding. Also, you don’t have to be sorry or anything. We didn’t agree that one of us would text the other” you shrugged your shoulders, trying to look nonchalant. Let’s put an emphasis on the word ‘trying’, because truly you were about to explode.  

“You don’t have to act all cool, Y/N” Mingyu laughed. “Vernon already exposed you a couple of days ago” You froze. Is it possible for a human to vanish? Disappear? Forever? Make everyone forget that you even existed? 

“Oh. What exactly did he... uh... tell you?” You stuttered, definitely taken aback. “You know that Vernon likes to exaggerate a lot of stuff” 

“Well, I don’t remember it exactly. Does a crash out sound familiar?” that motherfucker was smirking. Smirking!  

“Yeah, well, let’s not talk about it. You’re still on for the wedding?” 

“Yes ma’am” You handed him your phone with the contacts app pulled up. 

“I’ll text you. Can’t really trust you with it now, can I?” You teased him, enjoying that he was going along with it – his hands over his heart and a frown on his face, acting like your words really hurt him. 

“You guys done now?” Both of you jumped up slightly, not noticing when Vernon came back. 

“Yup” 

Mingyu  Hi 

“Yeah” 

***

You  hiiiiii  didn't expect u to text first lol 

Mingyu  ouch  that hurt 

You  yeah yeah  sure 

Mingyu  fr! 

You  no no i believe you  100% 

Mingyu  anyways  i heard vernon talk ab group shopping?  do i also have to go? 

You  you can!!  it's just the bridesmaids and groomsmen choosing their dresses and stuff lol but not only them jihyo and joshua said that anyone who doesnt have smth to wear can join  oh but it would be rlly good if you went because you could find a tie in the exact same color as my dress  pink btw ✨✨✨ 

Mingyu  ill go then  do jihyo and joshua know that youre taking me 

You   yup!!  sent a rsvp yesterday   got a call from jihyo demanding explanation lol 

Mingyu  hahhahahah  did you tell her? 

You  yeah  it would be weird if my best friend didn’t know ab my ‘boyfriend’ 

Mingyu  oh right  didnt think ab that lol  so whens the shopping? 

you   may 5th!!  so in like 3 days lmao  we’re supposed to meet everyone at the store at 1pm 

Mingyu  cool  i'll pick you up? 

You  getting into character asap i see 

Mingyu  always  so? 

You   sure!!  see you mingyu  

Mingyu  see you 😉 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Vernon asked, walking into the living room with a cup of tea. 

You immediately straightened up, putting your phone next to you. “Nothing” you said with a straight face. 

S01E04, THE SHOPPING TRIP 

“Don’t lie. Was it Mingyu?” He was met with silence. “It so was” You threw a pillow at his face, a small smile appearing on your face at the mention of Mingyu. 

Is it acceptable to ghost a man who was supposed to drive you to your destination? Because you might do just that. You woke up later than your alarm, your hair was not looking great, you only had 15 minutes to do your makeup, and you still haven’t even picked out your clothes. Oh, and you were probably going to spend an ungodly amount of money on a fucking dress. You were not happy – to say at least. Vernon could sense it, he hasn’t talked to you once today, but maybe it’s for the better. He didn’t know what to expect – a meltdown, or maybe yelling?  

“Y/N, Mingyu’s here!” Vernon yelled from the hallway, not even daring to walk into your room. 

“I’m going!” You have to admit, your tone was a little bit too aggressive. But, hey! Vernon’s a tough guy. You walked out of your room, seeing him already waiting for you by the entrance door.  

“Stop sulking! It makes me even more unwanted in that car, and I had to convince Mingyu to take me too!” Vernon says with a grimace on his face, almost immediately noticing the smile that was growing on your face. “Stop giggling over Mingyu! He’s my best friend” he rolled his eyes, acting hurt.  

“Don’t be so jealous, Nonie. Let’s go.” 

The two of you walked out of the building, noticing Mingyu’s car straight away. You ran to it, wanting to take the passenger seat – you really do love annoying Vernon. “Hi!” You smiled at the man sitting inside the car. Mingyu looked so good. And you weren’t even exaggerating. You just stared at each other, quietly admiring yourselves – that was until Vernon slammed the backseat door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? I was always the one in the passenger seat!” 

“Well, now my girlfriend is going to be seating here.” Vernon wished he could rip his best friend’s stupid grin off of his face. There’s no way that this worked on you, right? You have to be fighting your laughter right now. 

Wrong. 

Vernon looked at you with so much hope in his eyes – there's no way that both of his best friends are so dumb. All he saw, though, was the blush creeping up onto your cheeks and you trying to look all nonchalant. “I’m so done with you guys. Just drive, man.” He just sighed, not wanting to look at either of you.  

The ride was, surprisingly, very peaceful. The music was quiet, but you could still hear it just fine. The car was filled with light chatter and laughs, everyone just enjoying each other’s company. You were in the middle of chuckling at a stupid joke that Mingyu made when you arrived at the destination. Suddenly, you froze. 

“What’s he doing here?” You could clearly hear the anger in Vernon’s voice upon seeing Jaehyun standing outside of the shop, seemingly waiting for someone. “Seems like Mingyu has to act well today.” 

“Is that...?” Mingyu asked quietly, eyes focused on your face. He could see that you weren’t ready to see the guy, and he could have sworn that he saw tears forming in your eyes. “Mhm.” You just hummed, not wanting to risk your voice cracking.  

You thought that seeing him again wouldn’t be so hard. He was just an asshole. But why were you almost crying over an asshole? That’s the thing, though – you really had a hard time accepting that someone would love you. All kinds of doubts always swam through your head, and when you finally opened your heart up to someone, cherishing the feeling of being cared about, he cheated and manipulated you for months. Seeing the guy just standing there, acting like he didn’t do anything wrong, like he didn’t control your every move. There is a bit of guilt within you – you spent countless nights crying yourself to sleep, cursing yourself out for being so easily manipulated. You know that it wasn’t your fault, but it sure is hard to accept it. A slamming door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you saw Vernon going up to Jaehyun, an angry expression on his face.  

“Hey, we don’t have to go in. Whatever makes you comfortable.” You looked at Mingyu and it just made you want to cry more. He looked like he genuinely cared, eyes soft, a small – barely noticeable – pout on his lips. “No, it’s okay. Let’s just set boundaries. Fuck. I really didn’t know that he’d be here.” 

“Hey, easy. Remember to breathe, okay? Everything’s fine” 

The two of you started to quickly talk about the start of your relationship. It was decided that you started dating in January, being together for six months before the wedding. You had met through Vernon, immediately clicking. Mingyu, of course, was the one who confessed. “What about physical touch?” Mingyu asked softly, continuing when he saw your confused expression. “I mean, we have to sell it somehow. Wouldn’t it be weird if we’ve been dating for a couple of months and there’s no physical contact at all?” Shit. You really didn’t think about that. Why did you agree to do this?  

“Let’s just hold hands, is that okay? Maybe a kiss on the cheek will be fine.” You said clearly nervous. 

“Yeah, of course. If you feel uncomfortable let me know, alright?” Mingyu squeezed your hand for reassurance before coming out of the car and opening the car door for you. You muttered a quick ‘Thanks’, wiping your palms on your jeans. Why were you so nervous? Everything’s fine – you told yourself over and over, kind of wishing that you would just believe it. Suddenly, you felt a warm hand holding yours. You looked up, seeing Mingyu smiling softly at you. Yeah, your heart is definitely not surviving this. 

Vernon and Jaehyun were no longer standing outside, and you were starting to worry about what your best friend had said to the man. Well, Vernon’s a grown man, he’ll be fine. 

As the two of you walked into the store, your eyes wandered around it. Light pink wallpaper accents, beautiful white arches between each section of the shop, flowers adorning each one.  So many mannequins dressed in some of the most gorgeous pieces of clothing you have ever seen. All of the guests were already sitting in the middle of the main room, drinking champagne and laughing. When Jihyo noticed you, her eyes lit up – already waving you and Mingyu over. You greeted everyone, introducing Mingyu as your boyfriend to those who didn’t know him. It had caused quite a commotion, pretty much all of the attention redirected to the man next to you. The aunties circled him, asking about his job, age, and everything else, only turning to you to ask how you managed to find such a catch. You should have known. 

After about 10 minutes, Jihyo showed the bridesmaids the dresses that she thought they would like – each bridesmaid getting a dress in a different style, only the color being the same. When she brought you your dress, you were stunned. A light pink color, silky fabric, the top had thin spaghetti straps and a cowl neckline. The dress was fitted at the torso and waist, cascading down in multiple asymmetrical layers. At the waist there was a draped overlay that gathered on one side, adorned with a flower made out of the fabric. 

“I saw it and it just screamed you! If you don’t like it we can always look for another one”  

“Jihyo, this is the most perfect dress I have ever seen.” You heard a squeal before feeling arms wrapping you in a hug. “You’re going to look so beautiful in it! Now go and try it on. Oh! Show it to Mingyu first!” She winked at you, calling Mingyu over and walking away from both of you. 

“Do you like it?” You couldn’t help but feel awkward. Mingyu looked like he was in a trance, though – and you weren’t even wearing the dress yet. 

“Oh. Uhm. It’s gorgeous. You’re trying it on?” You nodded, grabbing his arm and walking over to the changing rooms. Mingyu sat on the couch in front, waiting (not so) patiently for you to come out. And, oh. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. When you walked out of the changing room, his breath stopped. It was knocked out of his lungs. Mingyu could have died right there, and he would be very happy about how he spent his last moments on earth. What really got him, though, was when an employee walked up to you, clipping the dress in the right places, so that it clung to your body perfectly. Yeah, consider him dead. 

“You forgot to close your mouth.” You teased him, walking up to stand in front of him. 

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me. You look really, really beautiful.” You hit his shoulder playfully, blush creeping up your cheeks. “You’re just saying that” You rolled your eyes, trying to act like he was just joking, but the look on his face said the complete opposite. A small smile on his lips, eyes with visible sparkles lingering on you for just a little too long, blush adorning his ears and slowly making its way to his face.  

“Can you go and get Jihyo? Thank you.” You smiled at him, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. You were so out of it that you didn’t even notice someone coming up to you.  

“You look good.” 

You just froze. 

“What do you want?” You asked through gritted teeth. You knew that all of this was going too smoothly. You should’ve known when you didn’t see him sitting and talking with other people. But of course, stupid, naive you thought that he wasn’t going to bother you.  

“Hey. Chill. I’m just trying to talk.” 

“I think I gave just enough signs for you to figure out that I don’t want to do that.” 

“You see, I don’t think so.” That made your blood boil. Was constantly blocking his number(s) not enough? Changing your lock so that he wouldn’t have the correct key? Ignoring him when he would knock on your door for hours? What more is there to do? 

“What’s going on here?” Mingyu asked, clearly confused. He walked up to you, putting his arm over your shoulders. 

“Just talking, man. Who are you?” If looks could kill, Jaehyun would be long gone.  

“Kim Mingyu, her boyfriend.” The man said with a straight face, hugging you closely. 

“Boyfriend, huh? Moved on already? That’s so not like you” 

“Are you fucking serious? Why can’t you just leave me alone? That’s all I fucking want.” You could feel tears forming in your eyes. Again. All because of Jaehyun. You were just so tired. 

“Just-” 

“That’s enough. Back off man, seriously.” Mingyu said firmly, his fingers moving to intertwine with yours, squeezing the palm of your hand. 

“Typical. Making someone else deal with your shit. You really haven’t changed, have you?” 

You broke. Tears finally escaping, feeling Jaehyun’s words hit you.  

“You do know that what he said isn’t true, right?” Mingyu said carefully while getting into the car. 

“Say one more thing to her, and I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” Mingyu sent him a glare, leading you back into the changing room. “Change back into your clothes, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.” He said softly, wiping your tear-stained cheeks. You nodded, changing out of the dress after Mingyu walked out. He took the dress, telling you to go back to the car. 

***

“It is though. I can’t even stand up for myself.” You sniffled, hiding your face in your hands. Mingyu’s hand made its way into your hair, gently patting while trying to comfort you.  

“You can. You were standing up for yourself. That fucker was just ignoring it. I know that it’s hard, but you can’t let his words get to you, okay?”  You nodded, tears still falling. 

“What about the dress and tie, though?” You said in a small voice, making Mingyu chuckle softly. “I paid for it to be altered. We’ll pick it up in a few days and find a matching tie. You can look at heels, too” 

“You didn’t have to.” You frowned. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

You looked carefully at Mingyu, hesitating a bit before asking him a question. “Do you think that I ruined the day for Jihyo and Joshua? I don’t want them to feel guilty because of me. That they invited him to the wedding, I mean” 

 “We’re really sorry.” Jihyo said while caressing your arm. As soon as she heard about the situation, she drove to your apartment. The woman felt so guilty – she knew how Jaehyun treated you, so why did she agree to invite him to the wedding? She was a part of the rescue group when you were living with him, practically not talking to any of your friends. “I mean that. I don’t know why I agreed. I’m really, really sorry.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything. I’ll text Vernon and drive you home, is that okay?” You just nodded, feeling so tired.  

***

You looked up at her, eyes red from crying. “Jihyo, I really wish that I could be mad at you and Joshua, but I just can’t. Don’t worry about it. I was just shocked seeing him for the first time.” You reassured her, telling her the complete truth. Damn, you really should start being more selfish; it would probably make you feel a hundred times better. You were sick of it. Being so sensitive and fragile. You almost felt weak from all of your friends comforting you – like you can’t handle it on your own. Just like Jaehyun said it. 

Jihyo stayed, insisting to watch a movie together. The two of you haven’t been able to hang out lately, because the wedding is coming up. It almost reminded you of the high school days – walking to the other’s house immediately after class ended and spending the whole evening together. You were so glad that this friendship lasted so long. When you were teenagers, you were so scared of growing up, going to college, worried that you and Jihyo wouldn’t keep in touch anymore. Instead, you always made time to talk to each other and catch up. You smiled at these thoughts, hugging the woman beside you tighter. “I love you.” 

S01E05, THE FLIGHT 

“I love you too.” 

Two months passed way too quickly – it was now 4 days before the wedding and the soon to be married couple was flying you out to the seaside, where the wedding would take place. Yes, they were that rich.  

In those two months, you started getting closer to Mingyu – but only for the act to be convincing, of course! No other reasons. You would come to his restaurant without any of your other friends, simply just to see how he’s doing. He’s your fake boyfriend; you have to check in on him!  

About a week after The Incident™, Mingyu took you to the store again. You made sure that the dress was tailored the right way – the man drooling almost immediately when he saw you in the dress again. Let’s just say, you’re not the only one who’s being delusional. Mingyu picked a tie that matched the color of your dress perfectly, and then he spent almost three hours searching for heels that you could walk in with you. That man was down bad – he didn’t even make fun of you for not being able to walk in high shoes despite you being almost twenty-eight years old. He might just be perfect.  

Mingyu also hung around at your apartment much more under the pretext of hanging out with Vernon. Said hangout almost always ended in him laughing with you, Vernon asleep either on the couch or in his bed. Well, it wasn’t your fault that Vernon couldn’t fight his sleep! And you couldn’t possibly make Mingyu drive for these long ten minutes back to his place – it was so late already! You’re not a monster! Of course, you made him stay the night, one time even falling asleep with him on the couch – let's just say, when you woke up you thought that you were still dreaming. But that’s just because Mingyu’s conventionally attractive, okay?  

You’re at the airport with Vernon, waiting for Seulgi, Sana, Seungkwan and Mingyu. Vernon was looking at the resort where you would be staying, eyes wide at its luxury. How the fuck could Jihyo and Joshua afford that? For almost a hundred people! 

You check the seat number on your ticket comparing it to Vernon’s. Damn it, he’s not sitting next to you.  

When the rest of your friends arrived, you swiftly made your way to the gate, talking about how wonderful the next couple of days would be. You got on the plane, and naturally Mingyu was sitting next to you. Did Jihyo plan this? If she did, you don’t know whether to thank her or crash out. Obviously, Mingyu is fun, and over these two months you started to like him – that's the problem, though. You were starting to like him a little too much, giggling like a schoolgirl whenever he joked around or catching yourself smiling a little bit too hard when messaging him.  

You were falling for Kim Mingyu. 

“You okay?” Mingyu asked, a teasing smirk on his face. His voice snapped you out of your massive realization, eyes wide as you looked at him.  

“Yeah, just a little bit scared of flying.” Lies, lies, lies! You were anything but scared of being on planes. You just couldn’t think of a better lie. 

Mingyu’s eyes softened, his smirk disappeared off of his face, quickly starting to reassure you that everything’s going to be fine and bringing up some statistics which said that planes were way safer than cars. You weren’t really listening to him, though. Mingyu blamed that on your fear, quietly offering you one of his headphones so that you could watch a movie together. You took it, muttering a small ‘thank you’. 

You were out of it for the whole flight – barely paying attention to the movie. You just couldn’t get rid of the thought about falling for Mingyu, suddenly not being able to talk to him at all. Again, the man brushed it off, thinking that you were probably very scared. So, what did Mingyu do? He intertwined your hands, tracing various patterns on your skin. God bless him for being so caring, but oh my you were about to go insane. That’s not even a joke.  

Thankfully, you didn’t have a mental breakdown; the plane landed soon after. Mingyu said something along the lines of ‘see? That wasn’t so bad’ but you couldn’t even bring yourself to answer him, only giving him a tight-lipped smile.  

Your group called two taxis that were supposed to drive you to the hotel, and you literally sprinted away from Mingyu, not wanting to sit next to him again. The drive was peaceful, and you spent it looking at the view – you were riding along the shore, the water looking way too beautiful. There were so many cute small houses and people on the street looked genuinely happy.  

Joshua welcomed you at the reception, handling the room situation. Each one of you got a keycard, Sana sharing a room with Seulgi and Vernon sharing it with Seungkwan. Surely, you weren’t sharing a room with Mingyu. The number on your keycard’s different, right? Jihyo and Joshua wouldn’t do this to you, you introduced them – you were the reason that this wedding was even happening! 

“Oh! Are we sharing a room? I have a 405 on my keycard.” Mingyu said while pointing at the number on your card – 405. You have to be fucking kidding.  

Mingyu’s brows furrowed after seeing the look on your face, his eyes showing his sadness and confusion. “We can switch if you want to. I can room with Vernon or whoever else is willing to change.” He reassured you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Fuck you, Kim Mingyu, for being so thoughtful and not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable.  

“Oh, no! I don’t want to switch! Don’t worry!” Mingyu didn’t look like he believed you, his mouth already opening to say something. “Yes, I’m sure.” You beat him to it, already knowing what he would say. “Let’s go” you said, walking towards the elevator.  

“I’ll take your bags; you can go to the room.” Mingyu said as the elevator reached the fourth floor. You smiled at him, walking to the hotel room. You swiped the keycard, not bothering to close the door since Mingyu would be inside in a minute. You walked deeper into the space, stopping when you saw something.  

“Is something wrong?” You heard Mingyu ask, before you could feel his presence behind you. You turned to look at him, pale, eyes wide. There was only one fucking bed. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but after today’s realization you might just crash out really badly.  

“I can sleep on the floor. Or on the armchair.” He said, already taking a pillow and placing it on the floor. You see, you weren’t cruel. Mingyu wasn’t about to sleep on the floor for five nights. You let out a shaky breath, mentally preparing yourself for what’s about to come out of your mouth, 

“Mingyu, stop. You’re not going to sleep on the floor or in the armchair. We’re adults, we can share a bed without making it weird, right?” Your voice cracked. It literally fucking cracked. There goes your nonchalant persona. 

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” 

“I’m gonna go shower, I’ll be right back.” 

After you almost crashed your head on the shower wall, you came out of the bathroom, seeing Mingyu sitting on the floor, back against the side of the bed. “You can go now.” You let out quietly, making your way to bed, snuggling under the covers. When Mingyu came back, you were fast asleep. He couldn’t help but stare at you – you just looked so beautiful. The sound of his phone snapped him out of his trance. 

Joshua to wedding guests 🎉  We're eating breakfast tomorrow at 10!!  Attendance is mandatory since the family is arriving on the 6th 😉 

S01E06, THE CONFUSION 

Mingyu liked the message, not wanting to respond right now. He slid under the covers, facing you. His hand automatically moved your hair from your face, lingering a bit too long.  

“I think that I’m just going to kill myself.” You said with a straight face, stopping your pacing around Vernon and Seungkwan’s room. You were truly going insane – you texted the group chat demanding a meeting in one of their rooms. 

“You’re not killing yourself. Can you explain what exactly happened? You haven’t even said anything.” Seulgi said, brows raised at your behavior. 

“Basically, we got to the hotel room yesterday evening, right? I walk in and, of fucking course, there’s one bed. And, you know me – that's not a problem at all! Well, it fucking is right now! Why? Because on the plane I realized that I have a fucking crush on Mingyu! Seungkwan don’t you dare say anything.” You pointed a finger at the man who was clearly seconds away from bursting laughing. “Okay, continuing – Mingyu comes to the room, eyes wide and he fucking offers that he could sleep on the floor! On the floor! I’m not that cruel! We’re spending 5 nights here, for fuck’s sake! And what do I do? I told him that it was fine! That we can share a bed without making it weird! I’m the one who’s making it weird! ME!”  

“Hey, Y/N. Calm down, I think you’re overreacting a bit.” Vernon walked up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder for you to relax.  

“Vernon. That’s not even the end.” He sighed, sitting back down on the bed. “So, I showered and went to sleep, right? Fell asleep right away. I wake up, and Kim fucking Mingyu is cuddling me. Like, he’s fully on me! Head in the crook of my neck type of shit! I ran away as fast as I could, but he had to fucking wake up, so I lied to him that Sana stole my charger and my phone is dying.” You were met with silence and judgmental stares.  

“God, you’re so stupid.” 

“What? Sana, I’m going insane!” You hid your face in one of the pillows on the bed. 

“Bro, he also has a crush on you.” Vernon said while patting your back. He heard your muffled response. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” His eyes widened, brows raising at your words. He looked at the rest of your friends with utter disbelief. “Okay, you’re actually just fucking dumb.” His hand still patted your back, a sign of comfort despite his words. 

“Don’t you see how he looks at you? It makes me sick.” Seulgi asked, pretending to gag at the thought. You looked at her with confusion in your eyes. 

“Y/N, I literally had to beg him to drive me to the store when we were buying outfits for the wedding. He didn’t want to agree because he was already picking you up. We’re fucking roommates.” You turned your head towards Vernon, who had a scarily straight face. “Want me to continue? He let you try the food that he was making when we hosted dinner at our place. He never lets anyone try it. More? Okay. When he wanted to hang out with the whole group and I told him that you were sick, he literally dropped off a soup for you. Made it as soon as he heard you weren’t feeling well.” 

Your jaw dropped. “That was from Mingyu?” 

“Did you think that I made it? I can’t cook shit.” 

Okay, maybe there were some signs that Mingyu could potentially like you back. But nothing’s confirmed, right? You’re just going to closely observe his actions and draw your own conclusions – yeah, that’s actually a great idea. 

“Go get ready, we’re meeting everyone for breakfast in 10 minutes.” Seungkwan told you, pushing you towards the door. “What?” You asked, trying to remember agreeing to that. “Didn’t you see the group chat that Joshua made?” Your face fell. You were fast asleep, and you didn’t even bother checking your messages today, wanting to text your friends right away. Seungkwan just sighed, telling you to run to your room. Thankfully, it was just a couple doors away but still, there was no way that you could get ready in just ten minutes. 

You barged into the room, seeing Mingyu sitting on the bed. He was wearing a white linen shirt, with brown pants made of the same material. He looked too fucking good. “Mingyu, I’m going to be late for breakfast, could you save me a seat?” You asked sweetly, already looking through your suitcase. 

“Yeah, of course.” You sent him a smile, rushing to the bathroom to change and do your makeup. 20 minutes later you were checking the way you looked in the mirror – you opted for a light green knee length skirt with a white sleeveless high neck top. You quickly put on your ballet flats and locked the hotel room door.  

After a short ride to the elevator, you arrived at the dining area, quickly spotting your friends sitting on the patio. You made your way to the table, seeing that Mingyu had indeed saved you a seat.  

“There she is!” Jihyo teased you with a smile on her face. You rolled your eyes at her, looking at the people sitting at the table. You were met with the couple’s friends from college, who you haven’t seen in a while – Minghao, Soonyoung and Chan, Jihyo’s good friends from work – Irene and Mina, and some of Joshua’s friends – Seungcheol, Seokmin and Jeonghan. The couple flew out the people that they were the closest to and those who could take a couple of days off work (Jun, Jihoon and Wonwoo could not, so they were arriving the day before the wedding.) 

You greeted everyone, gushing about how you haven’t seen them in a while. While talking with Soonyoung you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“I made you your morning tea.” Mingyu said, bringing the mug closer to you. You looked at him with wide eyes, trying to figure out how he remembered that – you only mentioned it once! A month and a half ago!  

“Thank you.” You smiled at him sweetly, taking a small sip of the drink – and God, Mingyu made it perfectly. Damn you, Kim Mingyu. 

“I’m going to get more food, you coming with me?” He took your hand in his, already dragging you with him. Is it wrong to just pretend that he’s not just acting? Because you might just give in. 

When the two of you left the table, Jihyo and Vernon kept sending each other knowing looks. “Is Y/N dating Mingyu?” Soonyoung asked, brows furrowed. 

“Well-” Joshua opened his mouth to answer his question, but he was brutally cut off by his fiancée and Vernon. 

“Yes” 

“Yeah, dude.” 

Soonyoung just pouted before sighing, “Damn, I missed my chance, then.” Jihyo smacked his arm as soon as he said it. “Stop! They’re really happy together. Don’t you dare ruin that.” The man started to rub his arm to soothe the pain, mumbling something about understanding it now. Seungkwan sent Jihyo a bright smile, happy that she’s making their plan come to life. 

Wait. What plan? 

That’s a wonderful question – your dear friends came up with a brilliant idea, just after you ran out of Vernon’s room. They called your best friend, telling her about the whole situation. Jihyo had a suggestion – they would confirm to everyone (even your friends that you haven’t seen in a while who had nothing to do with Jaehyun) that you were, indeed, dating Mingyu. Why? So that the two of you have to always act like a couple, finally confessing to each other. Damn. Your friends really want you to get laid. 

You walked with Mingyu for a bit, looking at all the food. When you both had full plates, you came back to the table where everyone was laughing and enjoying each other’s company. “So, how long have you two been together?” Chan asked curiously. 

“Oh! Uh...” You were confused, to say the least. How did they know? And why did you suddenly forget all of the details that you had gone over with Mingyu? 

“Since January.” God bless Kim Mingyu. He’s out here saving your ass every single day. You looked at him, eyes meeting his gaze. He had a certain look in his eyes – a warm and sparkly one. You didn’t even notice the smile growing on your face – too focused on the man next to you.  

After breakfast all of you went to hang out by the pool – playing chicken fight (you and Mingyu only lost once!), drinking beer, tanning and talking. You didn’t even realize how much you missed hanging out with Jihyo’s and Joshua’s friends. After drying up you went to a local restaurant for dinner. What made you concerned, though, was Mingyu getting back to the hotel as soon as he finished eating. You quickly ate the rest of your meal, leaving money for your friends to pay for your and Mingyu’s meal. You made your way back to the hotel room, abruptly stopping when you saw the man inside. Mingyu was sitting on the bed, head in his hands, sniffling. You furrowed your brows, making your way to sit next to him. 

“Jihyo, why didn’t you tell us anything? They’re so cute!” Irene said with a smile. The two of you just looked at each other again, giggling at each other. Seulgi observed you from the end of the table, disgust written all over her face. The pair of you was making her believe in love, and she absolutely hated that. 

***

“Hi. Do you want to talk about it?” You asked him softly, placing your hand on his arm. 

“It’s stupid.” He lifted his head up, looking at you with red eyes from tears. 

“Don’t say that. If you’re upset, then it’s definitely not stupid.” You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers. 

“I called Soobin, one of the other chefs in the restaurant. You know – just to check how everything is going. He said that it’s been really hectic and stressful. He also said that it’s just really hard without me. And, I guess that I feel really guilty about leaving them alone. I don’t want them to be mad at me; I could’ve just flown in with the family and worked with them for those two days.” He sniffled, averting his gaze to the ground. 

“Mingyu...” You said quietly, a heavy feeling in your chest. “You also deserve a break. You worked so much recently, I promise they’re not going to be mad at you. Don’t stress it, okay? You want a hug?”  

“Please.” You immediately draped your arms over his neck, feeling his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck. “You probably think that I’m a loser now – crying over something like this.” 

“Mingyu, don’t be silly. It just shows how much you care about other people.” You felt his arms tighten around your waist as your hand made its way into his hair – softly playing with it. “Do you want to take a nap? Rest for a bit?” You heard him agreeing and instantly sliding under the covers. His hand reached out for you, tugging you to lie next to him. His arms draped around your waist, his face coming back to its place in your neck. 

You to wedding guests 🎉  me and mingyu are going to take a nap so don’t be scared if we’re not answering 

Soonyoung  Taking a nap, sure 😉 

You  i'm going to block you 

Today he woke up, and surprisingly, did not cling to you. He turned around to face you, seeing your peaceful expression, your hair all around the pillow. Mingyu smiled to himself, his eyes focusing on the barely visible freckles adoring your cheeks and nose. His hand reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear. You started stirring, clearly waking up. You opened your eyes, immediately met with a pair of brown ones dangerously close to you. None of you said anything, just looked at each other with soft smiles. 

***

Mingyu was starting to think that you’re not the smartest person. And he means it with all due respect – he has the biggest crush on you, for God’s sake! That just seemed to be the problem, though. No matter what he’s doing to try and show you that he likes you, you just don’t get it. Do you really think that he’s pretending to be your boyfriend when you’re alone? He makes your tea every morning, boiling hot with two teaspoons of sugar (even when it’s 30 degrees outside, how can you drink hot tea in this weather?). He always compliments you but only because he really means it - Mingyu thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman on this earth. He’s almost always trying to touch you – an arm draped around your shoulder, hand on your leg, on the small of your back whenever you’re walking somewhere, hand tracing different shapes on your palm, and just so much more! The two of you even cuddle when sleeping, and Mingyu acts like he’s asleep when you wake up, hoping that you’ll get the clue.  

“You snore.” You whispered, breaking the silence. Mingyu groaned, hiding his face in his hands.  

“We were having a moment, and you ruined it.” He muttered, looking over at you after hearing your giggles. “Sorry.” You whispered, trying to contain your laughter.  

“I really don’t want to get up today.”  

“We can stay here all day!” Mingyu exclaimed, throwing his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.  

“We can’t. Today’s the rehearsal dinner, remember?” Your hands made their way into his hair, brushing through it. Mingyu started to mumble protests, tickling your neck, “you’re like a baby.” You huffed out, acting like you were annoyed with the man. 

“I’m your baby, remember?” He lifted up his head, looking up at you with sparkling eyes and a pout. 

“Get out!” You laughed, not believing what he had just said. Mingyu started to apologize, practically laying on top of you. “Mingyu, get off. I’m hungry, we need to go eat.”  

After what felt like an eternity, you finally convinced Mingyu to get up. You both started getting ready together, the act feeling strangely domestic. That’s the thing – everything that you did with Mingyu felt like that. And yeah, you do have a crush on him, but are you ready for a relationship? After Jaehyun you were really scared to get into something serious, scared that once again you would be manipulated and mistreated. You knew that Mingyu wasn’t like that, he was Vernon’s best friend, and they have known each other ever since you can remember. Still, deep inside you were just terrified. Your ex’s presence definitely did not help you in overcoming the fear.  

You and Mingyu arrived at the venue late. Not your finest moment. 

You decided to ignore those thoughts, smiling at Mingyu, who was waiting for you by the hotel room door. 

***

Of course, you sent Jihyo a message explaining the whole situation, making it a bit more complicated when in reality both of you were taking a nap.  

You walked in, taking your seats and greeting Jihyo’s and Joshua’s family. You haven’t seen them, mostly because they only arrived today and Mingyu has been holding you hostage in your hotel room. Literally.  

You were sitting next to Jihyo’s mom, Mingyu sitting next to Vernon on the other side of you. Mrs. Park has always treated you like a daughter, so she threw herself at you the moment that you sat down. 

“Oh, darling! I haven’t seen you in so long!” She spoke, voice wobbly. You hugged her back, tearing up, “I missed you, auntie” you whispered into her hair.  

“You’re doing better, right? That’s why you haven’t called?” She said, placing her hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. You nodded, not wanting her to worry anymore. She smiled softly at you, her eyes drifting to the person behind you, “who’s that?” A teasing smile made its way onto her face, eyebrows raising. 

“Oh, right!” You chuckled awkwardly, grabbing Mingyu’s arm. “Auntie, this is my boyfriend, Mingyu! Mingyu, this is Mrs. Park, Jihyo’s mom.” You were shitting your pants. Mrs. Park would definitely notice that Mingyu isn’t actually your boyfriend – she knows you too well! And of course, you forgot to warn Mingyu about meeting her. Great. 

Mingyu stood up to shake her hand, bowing his head. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Park. Y/N told me so much about you.” He sent her his best smile, and you could immediately tell that Jihyo’s mom was a goner. God bless Kim Mingyu and his ability to woo any woman that he meets. 

“Oh, please just call me auntie! I didn’t know that Y/N had a boyfriend! Is that why you haven’t called?”  

You opened your mouth to answer her, but Mingyu had already started talking, “Well, that might have been my fault. I’ve been bothering her too much, I’m sorry that she couldn’t talk to you.” He smiled sweetly, his hand making its way to your waist. 

“I’m just happy that our Y/N has been busy! Especially after that horrible guy you were dating! You know, I knew that there was something wrong with him. Anyways, enough about him, how did you two meet? How long have you been together? Tell me everything!” She asked excitedly, her eyes glowing with happiness.  

“I’m one of Vernon’s friends, so he introduced us. She was with her ex when we met, so we haven’t really talked much, but I’ve had the biggest crush on her ever since I saw her for the first time. I finally asked her out on a date in December. It took me a month to ask her to be my girlfriend, I was that nervous. Today is exactly six months since we started dating.” Mingyu looked at you with a soft smile and a sparkle in his eyes, and you were speechless to say the least. Just the fact that he came up with it on the spot was insane to you – was he not even a little bit nervous? You can’t lie, though, your heart fluttered when you heard his words. Is it wrong to gaslight yourself into thinking that he’s telling the truth? 

You looked over at Mrs. Park, seeing a wide smile on her face, her eyes looking from Mingyu to you, “oh, I’m so happy for you! You better treat her right, Mingyu! If not, I’ll harass Vernon into telling me where you live.” She pointed her finger at him jokingly before hugging both of you. 

The dinner was filled with laughs, happy tears and so many smiles. Thankfully, you weren’t the only one tipsy from wine – pretty much your whole group of friends was intoxicated, making the way back to the hotel interesting.  

Jihyo’s mom disappeared to talk to her daughter, leaving you and Mingyu alone. The man was staring, you could feel it, but you couldn’t get yourself to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling very awkward around him. You could see his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, the action interrupted by the server bringing you your food. A quiet ‘thank you’ escaped your lips and you immediately started eating, praying that Mrs. Park doesn’t come back for a while. Confusion and anger flooded your mind, not knowing why you were reacting like that. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Mingyu shifting towards you, his hand tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. His eyes finally met yours and feeling his hand brushing through your hair combined with the gentle look on his face instantly made you relax. To be honest, Mingyu probably had no idea what was happening to you – you didn’t even know what was going on – but his facial expression made you feel like he understood. And that was all you needed. 

***

“Ugh, I don’t want to wash my hair.” You mumbled into the pillow, freshly showered Mingyu lying beside you.  

“If you don’t wash it right now, you’ll hate yourself for it tomorrow. It’ll take you like twenty minutes.” 

“Twenty minutes too long.” You grumbled, knowing that Mingyu was right. Was he sobering up already? Why was he actually thinking? His stare made you groan and get up from the bed. Men will never understand the dread that comes with washing your hair. 

After some time, you walked out of the bathroom dressed in pajamas, drying your hair with a towel. The man sitting on the bed looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes, gesturing for you to come closer to him. You sent him a confused look. 

“Come on, I’ll dry your hair for you.” He said, insisting that you sit between his legs, your back against the bed. You slowly made your way to sit on the carpet, making yourself comfortable and handing him the towel. Mingyu took it and started gently drying your hair and playing with it. 

“You don’t have to.” You said quietly, voice slightly cracking. 

“You were so annoyed that you even had to get up from the bed, just let me do this.” He chuckled, playfully tugging a piece of hair, earning a slap on his thigh from you. “Ow! Anyway, why didn’t you tell me that Jihyo asked you to prepare a speech for tomorrow?” 

“I think that she wanted to surprise everyone. She asked me to not tell anyone, which is ironic considering that she was gushing about it with everyone after four glasses of wine.” You could hear Mingyu chuckle, suddenly feeling warmer after hearing the sound.  

“Are you nervous?” You hummed in response, not really wanting to admit it out loud. “You get nervous a lot, don’t you?”  

You were about to kill Kim Mingyu. 

“Yeah, well, isn’t that normal? Don’t you get nervous?” 

“Sometimes.” He muttered, clearly focused on the task that he gave to himself. 

“So, when do you get nervous?” You asked in a teasing tone, not really expecting a serious answer. 

“When I’m around you.” You immediately tense up, eyes going wide. A quiet ‘what?’ left your lips without you even meaning to let it out, shock taking over your whole body. “I get really nervous when I’m around you. I try not to show it, though. You’re so beautiful, funny, kind and just so many other things that it’s impossible for me to not feel nervous around you. I guess I just like you that much.”  

What. The. Fuck. 

You turned around to face him; mouth open in shock. “Mingyu, are you still drunk? How much wine did you drink?” 

Mingyu rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not drunk. I’m not that much of a lightweight. Just decided that it would be better for us both if I told you.” His eyes roamed around your face, slowly starting to worry when you wouldn’t even look at him. “Y/N? I know that you feel the same, Vernon betrayed you” 

You wanted to throw up. For some reason, you just couldn’t believe Mingyu’s words. You’ve been thinking about this for so long. So why, now that it’s actually happening, can’t you just tell him that you do like him?  

“Mingyu, go to sleep. You drank too much.” Your voice shook as you got up from the floor, still not daring to look at him. 

“God, Y/N. Why can’t you just believe that I like you?” He took your hands into his, making you look up at him with teary eyes. “Please, Y/N. I don’t need you to give me an answer right now but just believe me. I know that that fucker hurt you really badly and I’ll do anything to make you trust me.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mingyu. Not right now.” You could feel tears escape your eyes, looking down at the carpet. You just couldn’t do it – you hated yourself for not being able to trust Mingyu fully. You knew that he was a great guy, so why were you so scared? 

He squeezed your hand before letting go of it. “Do you want to be alone for a bit?” He asked, his hand reaching to wipe your tear-stained cheeks. You nodded, trying to stop the tears from falling. Mingyu hugged you, whispering in your ear, “Get some sleep, and don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go sleep with Vernon and Seungkwan.” He moved away from you, gathering some of his things and exiting the room. Once you heard the door shut, you started sobbing. You were so stupid. Why couldn’t you just react normally to a confession from a guy that you have a crush on? You didn’t deserve Mingyu – he should’ve gotten mad. Of course he didn’t. He was too good for you – he understood, even when you couldn’t understand. The worst thing, though, was that you didn’t even realize how much Jaehyun ruined you. You didn’t know who to hate more – him, for being so horrible to you and destroying you mentally – or yourself, for being so weak. 

S01E07, THE WEDDING 

You chose the second option.  

You were already overwhelmed, and it was only 10:00 a.m.  

Before falling asleep yesterday, you were thankful for the hectic nature of a wedding day, thinking that at least you wouldn’t have time to think about Mingyu.  

You were wrong. 

You offered Jihyo to help her with the last touches, wanting to get rid of some of her stress. You were supposed to think only about the wedding, so why were you thinking about him every chance you got? Making sure that the flower bouquets were correct, ironing the bridesmaids’ dresses, driving to the venue to see if everything was perfect – you just couldn’t get him out of your head. 

All of the bridesmaids were getting their makeup and hair done when you returned from your errands. Laughter and chatter filled the room, making you calmer almost instantly. You sat down in one of the chairs next to Seulgi, who was getting her hair done.  

“Don’t worry, Jihyo isn’t making you do more things. She said that everything is taken care of.” She sent a warm smile your way. 

“Oh. Well, I wanted to do them. To take some weight off her shoulders, that’s all.” You said quietly, secretly disappointed. You stared at the floor, feeling Seulgi’s gaze burning through you. You looked at her, her face laced with concern. 

“Seungkwan told me.” 

“Told you what?” 

“That Mingyu slept in their room.” Her hand reached to grab yours, wanting to comfort you. “That’s the only thing we know, though. He wouldn’t tell them what happened.” 

“Can we not talk about this here? This is Jihyo’s day. I want to be happy today.” 

“Of course, honey” She replied, squeezing your hand. “But don’t ignore him later, okay? Everyone thinks that the two of you are dating. If you want to talk, let me know.” 

“I’ll be fine.” A weak smile formed on your face, your eyes barely meeting hers. “I’m good at distracting myself, you know that.” You chuckled, playing with the rings on her fingers. 

Not long after, it was your turn to get ready. You were talking with the girls and the makeup artist, laughing every now and then at their remarks. Your hair was perfectly curled, and the makeup highlighted your features. You decided to change into your dress before taking pictures with the bridesmaids. 

Suddenly, you remembered that you wanted to check your speech one more time. You informed your friends, making your way to your hotel room. When you opened the door, you were met with Mingyu, who was in the middle of tying his tie. He looked at you, smiling softly, letting his eyes roam around your frame. You suddenly stopped, taking the view in. Kim Mingyu looked way too good in a generic black suit. 

“You look beautiful.” His eyes sparkled, almost like he didn’t believe that you were real. “Seriously, I don’t think there are words to describe how wonderful you look.” 

“Thanks.” You lowered your head, not really knowing what to do. Why was he acting like yesterday was fine? Should you be acting like this? You will have to talk to him sooner or later. 

“Y/N...” He stepped closer, hand reaching out to hold yours.  

“Can we not talk about it? At least until after the wedding. I want to be in a good mood today.” Your voice cracked slightly while the second sentence left your mouth.  

The ceremony was breathtaking. Everything looked so beautiful. Your friends’ vows made you cry multiple times. You were just so happy for them, you almost started sobbing.  

“Yeah, of course.” Mingyu replied quietly. “Do you still want to do the whole couple thing?” You nodded in response. “Okay. Let’s just have a great time, yeah?” 

***

You made sure to catch the newlyweds before the reception, squeezing them so hard, that someone would probably think that you’re trying to kill them. All of the guests made their way to the venue, slowly sitting down in their assigned seats. It only meant one thing – you had to give your speech soon. Your hands were shaking, the nerves taking over. 

“Hey.” Mingyu sat in his seat next to you, squeezing your hand. You looked up at him, unconsciously biting your upper lip. “Everything will be fine. You’re gonna do great.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise. Your speech will probably make everyone cry and laugh at the same time, knowing you.” 

You smiled at his words, starting to play with his fingers. “I just want it to be perfect. For Jihyo and Joshua.” you muttered. 

“It’ll be amazing. I just know that they’re going to be so happy.” 

Your gaze met his, looking deeply into his eyes. They were addicting, you almost felt like you were being lured into them. In that moment everything felt right, you suddenly forgot all about your worries, focusing on the man in front of you. The thoughts in your head started to wander in the wrong direction – blaming yourself for being too scared. You mentally sighed. You were doing such a great job distracting yourself today.  

Mingyu’s hands on both of your shoulders woke you up from your trance, making you realize that it’s time for your speech. You looked at the guests, all seated and waiting. You let out a shaky breath, making your way to the small stage. You were handed the microphone, looking over at Jihyo and Joshua. 

“Hi. My name is Y/N, and I’ve been kindly asked to give a speech tonight. I’m really nervous, so bear with me.” The crowd chuckled, giving you a few cheers of encouragement. “I don’t really remember when I met Jihyo. She’s been in my life ever since I can remember, and I couldn’t be grateful enough for that. I don’t think that I can accurately describe our bond – everything that I say will be an understatement. I love this girl so much and have ever since we were little kids. We were grossed out by guys together, then it stopped, and suddenly we were teenagers sitting in front of the other’s house, waiting for her to tell us all about the date she’d just been on. Growing up with her by my side has been one of the best experiences of my life. I always wanted the best for her, not wanting her to go on dates with guys I haven’t approved of. I remember exactly how I met Joshua. We were fifteen, and he and his family were moving into the house next to mine. Joshua brought me a tray of cookies that he made, probably wanting to bribe me into being his friend. I thought to myself ‘hm, I’ve known him for five minutes, and he’s already been nicer to me than half the boys at my school’. That’s when I knew that I had to introduce him to Jihyo. I obviously didn’t tell any of them about my plan – I invited Joshua to come over, and when he was in the bathroom, I quickly called Jihyo, telling her the same thing. I think I’ll always remember her dragging me to another room after she saw him. She shut the door and said, ‘why didn’t you tell me that there’s a hot guy in your living room?!’. Now, who has seen a photo of our dear Joshua in high school?” You chuckled at the amount of people raising their hand. “Okay, so almost all of you know that calling him hot was insane. Soon, they started to hang out without me, and honestly, I was so happy. Seeing how perfect they were for each other made me emotional almost every time we were together. They treated me like their daughter. I still remember when Jihyo sat down with me – she's been dating Joshua for three months. She said to me ‘Y/N, I think this is it. I’m falling in love.’ The next day Joshua told me the same thing – that he’s in love. He started to ask me if I was fine with it, and I just started crying. His face was priceless! Joshua thought that I was upset, but truthfully, I was the happiest person on earth. I still am, just seeing them be so madly in love. I hope that you guys have the best life, I love you both so much. Thank you for letting me be here with you.” 

You were having so much fun. Were. Because, of course, your ex had to throw himself at you again.  

The speech left you with tear-stained cheeks, and after hugging Jihyo and Joshua you made your way to your seat. When you sat down, Mingyu squeezed your hand, looking at you with a certain sparkle in your eyes. He wanted to tell you that you deserve the kind of love that your friends share, and maybe that he could give it to you, but he didn’t.  

***

It was getting late, and you were tipsy (drunk). You were relieved at the thought of Jaehyun not bothering you. Speak of the devil and he shall appear – the moment that you were left by yourself near the bar, he striked.  

“I have to say, you look really good.” 

At that point, you decided that it would be best to ignore him. Maybe then he would go away.  

Well, he did not. 

“You’re not even gonna respond, huh? I’m complimenting you; you should at least thank me.” 

“I don’t want compliments from you.” You grumbled in his direction, praying that he would just leave you alone. 

“We both know that’s a lie, darling.”  

“Look, Jaehyun.” You spat out. “I don’t know why you feel the need to harass me, and I don’t want to know. I have no idea why you keep giving me more attention now than when we were dating, but it’s your problem. And honestly, it’s fucking embarrassing – chasing after a girl that you cheated on, don’t you think? I’m sick of you saying that you just wanna talk! Even if you do, I don’t! You hurt me, made me drift away from my friends because you were jealous and controlling! I never had an issue with you being God knows where half of the time! After all these things, do you really think that I want to even look at you?” Your voice grew louder, gathering the attention of people nearby. 

“Damn, no need to be so pissed off. You had a fight with this boyfriend of yours, or what?” 

“No! Me and Mingyu are fucking amazing! And he’s treating me way better than you ever did. God, I can’t believe that I was ever in love with you.” You huffed, making your way to the balcony.  

You were met with one of Jihyo’s cousins, who had clearly heard the whole situation. 

“Here. Figured that you’d need it.” He said while handing you a cigarette and offering to light it. 

A quiet ‘thanks’ left your mouth, and soon you were left alone, inhaling the smoke slowly. 

“You okay?” The voice made you jump slightly before recognizing the person standing behind you. 

“No, but it’s fine.”  

You felt something on your shoulders – big coat warming you up. 

“Want to talk about it?” Mingyu said quietly, moving to stand behind you, arms on the balcony railing. 

You inhaled the smoke, slowly turning your head to look at Mingyu. You were met with genuine concern adorning his eyes. 

“I don’t know. I’m just so tired. I hate that how he treated me still affects my life.” Mingyu could hear your voice crack, making him immediately pull you in a tight hug. You put down the cigarette, melting in the man’s embrace. “Mingyu.” You looked up at him, tears threatening to fall. “I’m probably only saying this because I’m drunk. But I’m still really scared to tell you this.” His hands made their way to your cheeks, gently caressing them in a soothing manner. “I really like you. But I’m so fucking scared. I know that you’re not like Jaehyun at all, but it’s like my mind automatically assumes that you’re gonna do what he did. And I don’t think that I can fix it.” 

“Hey. You’re not alone, you know that? I will do everything to make you feel better, okay? It’s not impossible and don’t you ever think that. You deserve the best, and I’ll make sure that you’ll get it.” 

“But it will take so long, Mingyu.” 

He wiped the tears off of your cheeks gently. “I’ll wait. I’ll help you. You won’t go through this alone.” He looked deep into your eyes, as if making sure that you understood his words.  

More tears fell from your eyes as you hid your head in his chest. “Thank you.” You muttered with a shaky voice, squeezing Mingyu even harder. He kissed your hair, making you smile slightly. 

“Mingyu! Was it you who punched Jaehyun in the face?” A voice came from the venue. You looked up at him with disbelief in your eyes. 

“...No?” 

a/n: here it is! i honestly dont know if i like this lol. but i spent so much time thinking about everything and overthinking it. i hope that you guys enjoy this and that it isnt too bad lol!!! this is the first thing that i have ever written (so scary to say it) so constructive criticism is highly appreaciated!!! just dont be mean lmao

But with Renjun attending university, there comes a bigger issue that Liu Yangyang didn’t expect to face, and that is the issue of his introverted, short bestie being more sociable than he ever was in high school. Soon enough, the older one had more university friends than Yangyang could count on the fingers of one hand, and while he was happy for him, cheering him on with both his studies and his social skills, he can’t lie, he still feels a bit threatened in the place of Huang Renjun’s best friend.

And that’s exactly why he’s now standing in the same spot at the edge of the neighbourhood for the last 25 minutes– Renjun is going out with all his university friends, and being the nice and considerate pal he is, he invited Yangyang to come with him. And Yangyang, known to have a big fear of missing out mixed with a hint of jealousy whenever his friend had more fun with other people that weren’t him, couldn’t find any other answer in him than to agree and head out with him.

“Of course they are coming! Just… let’s wait for a little more-” the boy cuts himself off when he hears a loud yell somewhere in the distance, making him turn his head around and stare into the space, looking for the source of it, because he’s very familiar with the tones of the voice and the ruckus that’s following each and every one of his friends’ step. 

There’s a group of five that arrive, diverse and interesting to look at. Yangyang assumes he’d be intimidated by them if he was to walk past them in the mall, but when he thinks again, he feels like that in this very moment as well– their gazes are sharp and every person looks like cut-out from a magazine or a coming-of-age movie he’d watch with Renjun when they were fifteen and figuring everything out. 

Looking at the small crowd, Yangyang wonders how Renjun even managed to be friends with them. They don’t seem like the kind that would be easy to approach, and they for sure don’t seem like they share interests with the young male. When he looks at the fairly tall man wearing a leather jacket that came towards the two of them first, it doesn’t seem like he enjoys art or reading in the quiet of his room at dawn like Renjun does. The other one, even taller and more muscular, seems like he enjoys racing more than he enjoys going to university, and so do the other ones– each one of the crowd is unique, but more intimidating than the other. 

Or maybe Yangyang just isn’t used to making friends anymore. Who knows.

“Hi! You must be Yangyang!” one of them announces, smiling and cheerful. His smile makes the ice break, the panic Yangyang felt on his insides stalling for just a minute, before he nods and smiles at him.

“Yeah, it’s me. And you are…?” he trails off, eager to hear the person’s introduction. There’s still faint hesitance in every move he makes, but he figures that he might as well start speaking to the little crowd soon, or he might embarrass himself in front of the cool university kids, and he really doesn’t want that. Three guys and two girls– must be easy. Let’s get it over with.

“Na Jaemin! It’s nice meeting you,” he says, politely smiling at him again and turning around, looking at the rest of the group. The seven of them start walking, the destination not known to the boy, but he follows them nonetheless, okay with not even knowing the rest of their names yet.

“I heard a lot about you,” Jaemin snickers, “Renjun can’t stop mentioning you in conversations. Every time us two are in a Chemistry class, he can’t stop chuckling and saying how you would absolutely despise it.”

Laughing, Yangyang nods. “That’s probably why I didn’t go to university.”

“Good. I regret going, but oh well…” Jaemin shrugs, already getting more comfortable with the conversation. “Anyways, since the rest of the group is totally unhinged and didn’t introduce themselves, I’ll be the nice guy and do it for them,” he grins, pointing to the guy that approached him and Renjun at first, “that is Hyuck. I promise he’s less intimidating than he looks, he just really desperately wants to be cool.”

“Got it,” Yangyang laughs airly, nodding.

“There next to him is Renjun, but I figure you know him… That bloke behind him is Lee Jeno. He’s what Hyuck desires to be, but isn’t. Next to him we have our ladies– to the left, Aeri, and hanging off his right shoulder, finally, Y/N.”

Grateful for the friendly introduction, Yangyang nods with a smile. “Great. Any idea where we’re going?”

Jaemin shrugs, pointing to the convenience store that’s magically appearing in front of them. “My best guess would be there, and then we head off to the skate ramp. It’s empty at this hour of the day, and there's plenty of room for all of us there.”

Yangyang tries his best to pay attention to everything that’s going on around him on his way in and out of the convenience store. He bought himself some Gatorade and Pringles, tagging along with Renjun and Jaemin, yet, he can’t help but ask himself why the rest of the group hasn’t paid any attention to his presence. Perhaps he’s too invisible– not interesting enough to spark a conversation with them, not cool enough to hang out with the rest of the group. 

He’s not quite sure if it’s the insecurities getting to him, or if he’s just right about his assumptions. Sometimes, it’s better to not know, though– reality might make him more hurt in the long run.

Finally getting to the skate park, Yangyang makes sure to stay close to the only people he knows how to talk to. Offering chips to Jaemin and Renjun, he manages to listen to the conversation just enough to know that Hyuck and Jeno are talking about some concert they’re going to over the weekend and that Aeri and you are talking about the project that’s due on Tuesday. Quite normal topics for teenagers to talk about, he thinks– the intimidation seeping off them must be a facade, or maybe his lack of judgement. Maybe he should reach out first and talk to someone, he thinks, but as soon as this thought creeps into his mind, it’s taken out of his head when a girl walks into his point of vision and offers him chewing gum. 

Seeing him turning the offer down with a smile, you shrug at him and kick the rocks under your feet. “You’re Yangyang, right?” 

For the second time that night, he finds himself nodding. The whole scenario looks like it’s cut-out  from a teenage drama, the scenery reminding him of an Avril Lavigne music video that he spent his childhood watching religiously. “Yeah.”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies, wanting to be as polite and as approachable as possible.

Looking at you, he finds himself getting intimidated again. He feels like a kid hanging out with upperclassmen in high school– like someone who’s desperately trying to fit in and be mature about everything, waiting anxiously to be made fun of by the cooler kids around. You’re wearing dark clothing, long black pants and a grey hoodie thrown over your upper body, even though the heat of the summer makes Yangyang sweat in every crevice of his adulting figure. You look bold, not in your appearance, but in your aura– and something about you is dangerously pulling him in, leaving him wanting to get to know you better.

You only hum, seating yourself next to him on the tiny bench. Your thighs are touching as you stretch your legs in front of you, leaning back and supporting your body with your hands pressed into the surface you’re sitting on. “So, Yangyang,” you start, “what do you do in your spare time?”

Surprised by your question, and also acknowledging the way his name rolls off your tongue in a way he likes it the best, he shrugs. What does one reply to a stranger asking about their interests? It sounds like a trick question, when in reality, it truly isn’t. There are no wrong or right answers, yet, Yangyang feels like if he doesn’t choose the right one, he failed, and he can no longer hang out with Renjun’s friends and see you ever again.

“Oh,” he hums, “well, I used to babysit, but I realised that I swear too much to be around children,” he replies, earning himself a chuckle from your side.

“I asked what you do in your spare time, not what you used to do for work,” you repeat, catching the boy off-guard with your insistence. 

“I- well-” he stutters, suddenly ashamed of each and every interest he has, for he thinks they’re not cool enough, or that they’re not interesting enough to mention to someone like you. Short in time, with his imagination not as good to think of something unique, he spills the truth. “I like music, I guess? I play the guitar and I’m actually teaching guitar lessons to get some money so I can start a band one day, or something…” he explains, bashful.

He feels the heat slowly arriving to his cheeks, a pinch of shame behind his teenage dreams, when he’s met with a hum and a pleased tone of your voice when you reply.

“That’s cool,” you say, “Jeno has a band, actually, but they’re kind of shit,” you giggle. “I bet yours would be better, when you’re good enough to teach guitar, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” he mutters, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Jeno’s in uni as well, so he can’t really focus on music. You gotta show me how you play one day,” you say, the lightness in your tone making him feel like he’s imagining everything. He wasn’t expecting this outcome, and he for sure didn’t think you wouldn’t find him embarrassing. With your proposition to show you how he plays, even though it might be just a nice gesture from a stranger, he feels on cloud 9.

“And what do you like doing?” he asks, eager to get to know you better.

Shrugging, you point your gaze towards your shoes. “I dunno. I like art,” you say, reminding him of his best friend. Perhaps you’re the one that attends the art class with him, perhaps you’re the one he met first before he was introduced to the rest of the group. In the light-hearted conversation, Yangyang doesn’t find you as intimidating as before, but looks at you as rather approachable, the least scary of them all.