LOVE AT LATTE LANE! ─ a spinoff of TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY!
જ⁀➴ SYNOPSIS .ᐟ You just came back to Seoul after studying abroad—and instead of your famous older brother Jaehyun picking you up, one of the influencers from Myungnyanghakz, he sends Taesan : the blunt, infuriatingly attractive barista from Tré Seoul who you may or may not have developed a secret crush on through his viral online appearances. Wanting a fresh start—and definitely not choosing it because it’s near him—you take a job at a trendy new café, only to discover it’s Tré Seoul’s newest rival. Now, with both cafés banning staff from interacting, your nonstop bickering with Taesan starts feeling dangerously close to flirting. But when the internet begins paying attention, keeping your identity hidden may be harder than resisting him.
⤷ ゛PAIRING ˎˊ˗ barista!taesan x rival barista!reader (jaehyun's little sister) GENRE(S) ˎˊ˗ smau, slow burn, forbidden love, rivals to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, mystery WARNING(S) ˎˊ˗ kys/kms jokes, sexual jokes, gay jokes, random timestamps/timeskips, profanities, mentions of food, manipulation, defamation, blackmail STATUS ˎˊ˗ tbc ~
╰┈➤ AUTHOR'S NOTE ! hihi everyone!! 💕 it's been exactly one year since I first posted Terms and Conditions Apply! and honestly I still can't believe the response it got and how much love you all gave it 😭💔 so what better way to celebrate than bringing you back to this universe?? 😉 ~ Love at Latte Lane! is the official T&Cs spinoff and I'm so excited to finally share it with you all!! Taesan has always been one of my favourite characters to write in T&Cs and I felt like he deserved his own story so this came out of it hehe ~ 🥹
a few things before you start reading : I highly recommend reading Terms and Conditons Apply! before diving into LaLL!! while you can enjoy this as a standalone, there's deeper lore, callbacks and context from the main smau that will make this story so much richer 🥹 you can find T&Cs on my masterlist !! ~ also this smau is dedicated to my beloved moot @hollyoongs who designed the most beautiful header for this 😭 she's incredibly talented and I love her so much MWUAH !! 💋
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latte losers | jaehyun's groping victims (ft. new additions!)
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pairing: OT8!skz (platonic) x f!reader; idol!minho x f!reader; idol!jisung (platonic) x reader
text/social media au, written
slowburn, chaos, humour & soft romance
summary: looking for some extra cash after moving into a new apartment, you answer a flyer looking for a cat sitter. it should've been a simple side job — but between three spoiled cats, one relentlessly chaotic roommate, and one stubborn owner, your new routine quickly becomes anything but.
Synopsis: When your sister tries to steal Seungmin, he makes one thing painfully clear: he only has eyes for you.
A/n: omgg this took so long to edit ive been putting this off for ages but i finally did it! I also couldn’t help but sprinkle in some poly skz x reader lmaooa
Wc: 20.1k
The first warning came when your sister texted you three times that morning to ask exactly when you and Seungmin would be arriving. The second came when she opened the front door wearing a dress you distinctly remembered her describing as far too nice for family things.
You looked at her. She looked at you.
Neither of you said anything for a moment. Then Seungmin appeared behind you, one hand holding a neatly wrapped cake box and the other resting comfortably against the small of your back. “Hi,” he said brightly. Your sister’s entire expression changed.
“Seungmin.” She smiled as though she had been expecting him personally. “Finally.” You glanced over your shoulder at him. He glanced down at you. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Finally? You bit the inside of your cheek. Your sister stepped aside to let you both in, although she somehow managed to position herself so Seungmin had to pass close to her. He murmured a polite thank you and guided you ahead of him with a gentle hand at your waist. You had been dating long enough that the gesture barely registered anymore. Seungmin was always touching you in small, absent-minded ways—his fingers brushing yours as you walked, his palm settling on your knee beneath tables, his hand finding the back of your coat when you crossed a road.
It was rarely dramatic. It was simply constant. Your sister noticed. Her gaze dropped to his hand before moving back to his face.
“You look different in person,” she told him. Seungmin paused while removing his shoes. “Do I?” “Better.”
You turned away before either of them could see your smile. Seungmin placed his shoes neatly beside yours, then leaned closer to whisper, “Am I supposed to say she does too?” “No.” “Good.”
You elbowed him lightly. He caught your arm and squeezed it against his side, looking pleased with himself. Your sister was still watching. “You brought something?” she asked, nodding towards the box in his hand.
“Cake,” Seungmin said. “Your mum said she liked the one from that bakery near our flat.” “That was thoughtful.” “She sent him a photograph of it with the address circled,” you said. Seungmin looked offended.
“She provided helpful guidance.” “She threatened to disown me if we arrived without it.” “Still thoughtful.” “You didn’t even pay for it.”
“I carried it.” “You made me carry it on the train.” “For part of the journey.” “You said your arm hurt.”
“It did.” “Because you spent the entire morning playing games.” Seungmin smiled at your sister. “She has no sympathy for my suffering.” “None,” you confirmed.
Your sister laughed a little too enthusiastically. Not because the conversation had been particularly funny, but because Seungmin was smiling while he said it. You noticed. You also noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear before asking, “Do you want me to take that for you?”
She reached for the cake. Seungmin shifted it away automatically. “No, it’s all right. I’ve been entrusted with it.” “He’ll cry if anything happens to it,” you said.
“I’ll tell your mum it was your fault.” “You see what I live with?” Seungmin bumped his shoulder against yours. “You love it.” You opened your mouth to disagree.
He looked down at you expectantly, the beginnings of a grin already pulling at his lips. You hated how well he knew you. “Whatever,” you said. “There it is.”
He bent and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before following the sound of your mother calling from the kitchen. Your sister remained by the door with you. She watched him leave. Then she looked at you.
“You never said he was that handsome.” You blinked. “You’ve seen photographs.” “Photographs are different.” “I suppose.”
“He’s taller than I thought.” You stared at her. She stared back, seemingly unaware that there was anything strange about the intensity of her assessment. “Do you need his measurements?” you asked. “I can check the label in his coat.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was only saying.” “Right.” “You don’t have to be weird about it.”
“I’m not being weird.” “You’re doing that face.” “What face?” “The face you do when you think you’re funny.”
“I am funny.” “Seungmin clearly thinks so.” There was something strange beneath the words. Something slightly too pointed. Before you could decide whether you had imagined it, she smiled and linked her arm through yours.
“Come on. Mum’s been panicking over lunch for an hour.” She pulled you towards the kitchen as though nothing had happened. You let her. At that point, it was easier.
౨ৎ
Your mum adored Seungmin. That was hardly news. She adored him because he arrived on time, complimented her cooking, remembered details from conversations they had months ago and always insisted on helping clear the table. Your dad liked him because Seungmin could discuss football with convincing enthusiasm and had once spent nearly forty minutes helping him fix a temperamental television.
Even your relatives who had only met Seungmin briefly tended to approve of him. He was polite without seeming rehearsed, funny without demanding attention and attentive in a way that made people feel remembered. Your sister had apparently taken all of these qualities as an invitation. At first, you didn’t think much of it.
She asked him about work. Normal. She asked about the other members. Also normal. She asked whether he enjoyed travelling, what food he liked and whether he preferred going out or staying at home. A little interview-like, perhaps, but not particularly suspicious.
Then she moved from the chair opposite him to the empty one beside him when your mother asked her to fetch another plate. You looked at the abandoned chair. Then at her. She smiled innocently and crossed one leg over the other.
Seungmin glanced towards you. You were sitting on his other side, close enough that your knees touched beneath the table. He nudged your foot. You nudged him back.
His mouth twitched. Your sister leaned towards him. “So,” she said, “what did you think when you first met her?” You nearly inhaled your drink.
Seungmin turned towards you slowly. “Oh, no,” you said. His eyes brightened. “Oh, yes.”
“Don’t.” “I thought she was very strange.” Your mother laughed from the other end of the table. You stared at him. “That isn’t what you said before.”
“You told me not to embarrass you in front of your family.” “And this is you behaving?” “This is me being generous.” Your sister laughed, resting her hand against Seungmin’s arm.
It was light. Brief enough that she could claim it meant nothing. Still, you saw it. Seungmin looked down at her fingers. Your sister removed them a moment later, smiling as though the contact had been accidental.
“What did you actually think?” she asked. Seungmin looked back at you. The teasing softened around the edges. “I thought she was pretty.”
The answer was simple enough to make warmth spread through your chest. Then his smile returned. “Until she spoke.” You kicked his shin beneath the table.
He flinched dramatically. “See?” he told your family. “Violence.” “You deserved that.” “I complimented you.”
“You immediately ruined it.” “I said you were pretty.” “You said I was strange.” “You are strange.”
Your sister tilted her head. “I suppose you must usually date girls who are quite different from her.” The sentence slipped into the conversation so smoothly that it took you a second to understand it. Seungmin frowned slightly. “Different how?”
Your sister shrugged. “You know. More… elegant.” Your father suddenly became very interested in cutting his food. Your mother looked up.
You glanced down at yourself. You were wearing a jumper and trousers. Nothing particularly inelegant, unless your sister was counting the tiny mark on your sleeve from where Seungmin had flicked sauce at you in the kitchen. Seungmin followed your gaze. Then he looked at your sister.
“No,” he said. “I like this one.” You pressed your lips together. “This one?” you repeated. He patted your knee beneath the table.
“My favourite.” “I’m so flattered.” “You should be.” Your sister laughed, but there was something strained about it.
“I only meant that you seem very put together.” “I’m not,” Seungmin said cheerfully. “She found me looking for my phone this morning while I was talking to someone on it.” He looked towards your mother. “You raised a very critical daughter.” Your mum smiled. “She gets it from me.”
“Good to know.” The conversation moved on, but your sister did not return to her original chair. Every few minutes, she found another reason to address Seungmin directly. Did he like the food?
Had he visited the restaurant she mentioned? Did he think her hair looked better dark or light? That one made you turn. She lifted a section of her hair between her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking of changing it,” she explained. “What do you think?” Seungmin blinked. “I don’t know.” “You must have a preference.”
“For your hair?” She laughed as though he had made a joke. “Generally.” He looked at you. You had stopped pretending not to listen.
A hint of mischief appeared in his expression. “I like hers.” You narrowed your eyes. “You said I’d look good bald.” “You would.”
“That doesn’t count.” “It shows versatility.” Your sister’s hand fell from her hair. “You’re lucky,” she told you.
The words sounded pleasant. The way she looked at Seungmin did not. You raised an eyebrow. “I know.” “I mean, you’ve never really cared about things like that.”
“Things like what?” “Your appearance.” Silence settled over the table. It wasn’t complete silence. Your father’s fork scraped faintly against his plate, and the clock in the hallway continued ticking.
But the conversation stopped. Your sister smiled as though she had offered you a compliment. “You’ve always been confident enough not to bother,” she added. You knew this routine.
It had existed long before Seungmin. Your sister would say something cruel with a pleasant expression, and if you reacted, she would insist you had misunderstood. That she admired your confidence. That she wished she could leave the house without making an effort. That you were lucky not to care what people thought. Normally, you could ignore it. Today, the comment felt particularly childish.
You opened your mouth, but Seungmin spoke first. “She spent forty minutes choosing that jumper.” You turned towards him in disbelief. Your sister laughed.
Seungmin continued, “Then she asked me which trousers looked better and ignored my answer.” You nudged his side with your elbow. He caught your hand before you could pull it away and linked your fingers beneath the table. The gesture was concealed from everyone else.
His thumb brushed once over your knuckles. You understood what he was doing. He hadn’t ignored your sister’s comment. He had simply refused to let it settle over you.
“She looks lovely,” your mother said firmly. “She does,” Seungmin agreed. Your sister’s smile tightened. “I never said she didn’t.”
“No one said you did,” you replied. Her gaze met yours. For a moment, something sharp passed between you. Then Seungmin squeezed your hand and leaned close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours.
“You have something on your face,” he whispered. You immediately touched your cheek. “Where?” “The other side.” You touched the other cheek.
“No, lower.” “Seungmin.” “A little lower.” You glared at him. “There’s nothing there, is there?”
He smiled. “You’re so easy.” You tried to pull your hand from his. He tightened his grip.
“Don’t be sulky.” “I hate you.” Your sister watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. You barely noticed.
౨ৎ
After lunch, your mother attempted to stop Seungmin from helping with the dishes. Seungmin ignored her. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, collected the empty plates and followed you into the kitchen. Your sister followed him.
Naturally. “You don’t have to do that,” she told him, taking a plate from his hands. “It’s fine.” “You’re a guest.”
“So is she.” Seungmin nodded towards you. You were leaning against the counter eating a piece of cake. Your sister looked at you.
“She’s family.” “She isn’t helping.” “I’m supervising,” you said. “You’re eating the dessert we haven’t served yet.”
“I’m checking it for poison.” Seungmin set the plates beside the sink. “And?” You took another bite.
“Still collecting evidence.” He reached towards your plate. You moved it out of reach. “Get your own.”
“I bought it.” “I paid for it.” “With our money.” “We don’t have shared finances.”
Your sister laughed again. “You two are funny.” You glanced at her. The compliment sounded genuine enough, but her eyes remained fixed on Seungmin.
He turned on the tap. Your sister stepped beside him. “I’ll wash,” she offered. “I can do it.”
“You dry, then.” You watched her pick up a sponge. Your mother called your name from the living room, asking whether you could help her find something. You pushed yourself away from the counter.
“Don’t eat my cake,” you warned Seungmin. “I would never.” “You absolutely would.” He placed one hand over his heart.
“Your lack of trust is upsetting.” You pointed the fork at him. “I’ll know.” “Go away.” You reluctantly carried the plate with you.
As you left the kitchen, you glanced back. Your sister had moved slightly closer to Seungmin. He was focused on rinsing a plate. You nearly stayed.
Then you caught yourself. It was your sister. Seungmin was your boyfriend. Nothing was going to happen because the two of them spent ninety seconds alone beside a sink.
You found your mother’s glasses on top of her head, endured several minutes of her insisting she had already checked there and returned to the kitchen. Your sister was speaking. “…must get tiring.” Seungmin passed her another plate. “What does?”
“Dating someone so different from you.” You stopped just outside the doorway. Seungmin didn’t appear to notice you. He frowned. “You’ve said that a few times.”
“I don’t mean it badly.” “What do you mean?” Your sister dried the plate slowly. “You’re very disciplined. Ambitious. You take care of yourself.”
He waited. “And she isn’t?” “She’s just more relaxed.” Seungmin looked down at the soapy water.
You knew that expression. He was choosing his words. Your sister mistook his silence for agreement. “I’ve always been more like you,” she continued. “Even when we were younger. People used to say I was the more responsible one.”
“Did they?” “And the more confident one.” Seungmin made a small sound that could have meant anything. Your sister smiled.
“It’s funny, really. Most people usually notice me first.” He glanced at her. “Okay.” You pressed your lips together.
She appeared thrown by the response. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant.” “Then don’t.” The answer was delivered so lightly that for a second, you wondered whether you had heard him correctly.
Your sister laughed uncertainly. “I’m only being honest.” Seungmin rinsed another plate. “About people noticing you?”
“Yes.” “Congratulations.” You had to cover your mouth. Your sister’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You must have noticed that we’re quite different.” “I’ve noticed.” “I’m probably more like your usual type.” Seungmin finally turned off the tap.
He looked at her properly. “What’s my usual type?” Your sister leaned one hip against the counter. “Confident. Sophisticated.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” “I’m guessing.” “You’ve guessed wrong.” She smiled as though he were teasing her.
“Have I?” “Yes.” Something about his tone should have ended the conversation. It didn’t.
Your sister lowered her voice. “She’s always been the sweeter one, I suppose. Men tend to like that.” Seungmin stared at her. Then his gaze moved past her shoulder and found you standing in the doorway.
His expression changed immediately. The irritation disappeared behind a slow, knowing smile. “How long have you been there?” he asked. Your sister turned sharply.
You lifted your plate. “Long enough to know you’ve been having a very interesting discussion about your type.” Seungmin dried his hands. “Apparently, I have one.”
“Do you?” “I’m learning a lot today.” Your sister straightened. “We were only talking.” “I heard.”
“There’s no need to make it strange.” You stepped into the kitchen and placed your half-finished cake on the counter. “I didn’t.” “No, but you’re doing that thing where you act territorial.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You laughed. “Territorial?” “You don’t need to hover every time another woman speaks to your boyfriend.” “I was helping Mum.”
“And then you came straight back.” “Because this is where my cake is.” Seungmin immediately reached for your plate. You slapped his hand away.
“See?” He looked wounded. “You care more about that cake than you care about me.” “The cake has never stolen my crisps.”
“It would if it could.” Your sister sighed. “You’re both impossible.” “Thank you,” Seungmin said.
You picked up your fork again. Your sister gave you a long look before placing the tea towel on the counter. “I’m going to see if Mum needs anything.” “She doesn’t,” you said. “Her glasses were on her head.”
Your sister ignored you and left. You waited until her footsteps had faded down the hall. Then you turned towards Seungmin. He was already looking at you.
A smile pulled at your mouth. “Your usual type?” He groaned and leaned back against the sink. “Please don’t.”
“So much like her.” Seungmin reached for you. You dodged around the kitchen island, laughing when he followed. “I’m only being honest,” you said, mimicking your sister’s voice.
“You’re enjoying this far too much.” “Apparently she’s the woman of your dreams.” “My dreams have better conversational skills.” You gasped. “That was mean.”
“It was accurate.” He moved to one side of the island. You moved in the opposite direction. “I thought you liked confident women.”
“I like you.” “That wasn’t the question.” “It’s my answer.” “You’re only saying that because I caught you.”
“Caught me doing dishes?” “Seductively.” “I was wearing rubber gloves.” “Exactly. Very provocative.”
Seungmin stopped. You stopped too, watching him suspiciously from across the island. His expression softened. “Did that bother you?”
The question was quiet enough to dissolve some of your amusement. You considered it. “Not really.” “Not really?”
“I don’t think you’re secretly going to run away with my sister.” “That’s reassuring.” “I’d give you at least a week before you begged me to take you back.” “A week?”
“Maybe four days.” Seungmin looked offended. “I wouldn’t make it through the first evening.” You smiled. He continued to watch you.
“But?” he prompted. You looked down at your cake. “She does that sometimes.” “Does what?”
“Compares us.” You scraped your fork lightly through the icing. “She always has. She thinks she’s being subtle.” “She isn’t.” “I know.” “She also thinks I’m an idiot.”
You laughed. “Why?” “Because I’ve said I like you at least twelve times today, and she’s decided that means I’m interested in her.” “Maybe you’re sending mixed signals.” “I asked her to move because she was standing on my foot.”
“Very flirtatious.” “She apologised and touched my arm.” “Scandalous.” “She’s touched my arm six times.”
“You counted?” “I started counting when she asked whether I thought she looked better with dark hair.” You laughed again, and Seungmin smiled. Then he walked around the island.
This time, you let him reach you. His hands settled on your waist, drawing you between his knees as he leaned back against the counter. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t think you’re lucky.” “No?”
“No. I think I’m incredibly brave.” You flicked his shoulder. He caught your wrist and kissed your palm. “And lucky,” he added.
“That was nearly sweet.” “Don’t tell anyone.” You rolled your eyes, but your arms slipped around his shoulders. He tilted his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine.” “Your sister’s being strange.” “She thinks she can steal you.”
“Can she?” You pretended to consider it. Seungmin pinched your side. You squealed and tried to twist away, but he trapped you against him.
“Answer carefully,” he warned. “I don’t know. She is very sophisticated.” Another pinch. “And confident!”
He attacked your other side. You dissolved into helpless laughter, nearly dropping your fork as you attempted to escape. “Seungmin!” “Wrong answer.”
“She’s your type!” “Take it back.” “Never!” He caught both your wrists in one hand and used the other to tickle your waist.
You kicked uselessly at his legs. “You’re horrible!” “Take it back.” “Fine!” you gasped. “She isn’t your type.”
“And?” “And you don’t want her.” “And?” You stared at him, breathless.
His hair had fallen over his forehead during the struggle, and his smile was bright and boyish and entirely too pleased. “And you’re obsessed with me.” “There we go.” He released your wrists.
You immediately smacked his chest. Seungmin laughed and caught you against him again, pressing a noisy kiss to your cheek before you could complain. “You’re very annoying,” you told him. “You were laughing.”
“Against my will.” He kissed your other cheek. “Still counts.” Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
You both separated just before your mother entered the kitchen. She looked at Seungmin’s messy hair, your flushed face and the abandoned washing-up. Neither of you spoke. Your mother sighed.
“The dishes, Seungmin.” “I was doing them.” “He attacked me,” you said. “You provoked me.”
Your mother pointed at the sink. “Both of you.” “Yes, Mum,” you said. “Yes, Mum,” Seungmin echoed.
You turned to glare at him. He smiled innocently. Your mother left the room shaking her head. Seungmin bumped his hip against yours as he turned the tap back on.
“Pass me the sponge.” “You pass me the sponge.” “It’s closer to you.” “You’re closer to the sink.”
He looked towards the doorway, then lowered his voice. “Do you think your sister would do it for me?” You stared at him. He managed to hold a serious expression for approximately two seconds.
Then you shoved the sponge directly into his chest.
౨ৎ
When you finally prepared to leave, your mother packed enough food for several days into a bag and made Seungmin promise to visit again soon. Your sister stood in the hallway while you put on your coat. “You’re leaving already?” she asked. “We’ve been here for five hours,” you said.
“It doesn’t feel that long.” Seungmin bent to tie his shoelace. Your sister’s gaze lingered on him. “You should come over more often.”
“We will,” you replied. “I meant Seungmin.” He looked up. Your sister smiled. “You don’t need to wait for her. You’re practically part of the family now.”
There it was. Not quite enough to confront. More than enough to notice. Seungmin straightened.
“I think she’d be upset if I visited without her.” “I wouldn’t,” you said. “I’d enjoy the peace.” He placed one hand on top of your head and pushed down lightly. Your sister laughed.
“You’re very patient with her.” Seungmin looked at you. “No,” he said. “She’s patient with me.” For once, there was no joke attached.
His hand slid from the top of your head to the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly beneath your hair. Your sister’s smile faded for half a second. Then it returned. “Well,” she said, opening the door, “it was lovely seeing you.”
“You too,” Seungmin replied politely. She hugged you first. It was brief. Then she turned towards Seungmin.
You expected her to offer a wave. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. Seungmin froze. His hands hovered uncertainly beside her shoulders.
Your eyes widened. Over your sister’s head, his gaze found yours. His expression was so openly alarmed that a laugh burst out of you. Your sister released him.
“What’s funny?” “Nothing.” Seungmin stepped immediately towards you. You were still laughing as he took the bag of food from your hand and placed his other arm securely around your shoulders.
Your sister glanced between you. “Text me when you’re home.” “I will.” She looked at Seungmin. “You have my number, don’t you?”
“No,” he said. “Oh.” She paused. “I thought you did.” “Why would he?” you asked. “In case of an emergency.”
Seungmin nodded. “I’ll call emergency services.” You choked on another laugh. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “I only meant if something happened with you.”
“He has Mum’s number.” “And her Dad’s,” Seungmin added. “And Chan’s,” you said. “And Minho’s.”
“He doesn’t need your number.” Your sister folded her arms. “You make everything sound strange.” “You asked my boyfriend whether he had your number.”
“For emergencies.” “Right.” Seungmin gently steered you through the doorway before either of you could continue. “Thank you for lunch,” he called politely.
Your mother called goodbye from somewhere inside the house. Your sister remained at the door while the two of you walked down the path. You could feel her watching. Seungmin’s arm stayed around you until you reached the pavement.
Then he leaned close. “Don’t look now.” You immediately looked back. Your sister was still standing in the doorway.
She lifted her hand when she saw you turn. You waved. Seungmin sighed. “I specifically said not to.”
“I don’t take instructions well.” “I know.” The door finally closed. You walked several more steps in silence.
Then Seungmin said, “Your sister wants me.” You stopped. He stopped beside you. The solemn expression on his face lasted less than a second before you both started laughing.
“Your confidence is disgusting,” you told him.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived at your flat on Saturday afternoon wearing heeled boots, a fitted coat and enough perfume to announce her presence before you had even opened the door. You looked at her. Then at the small handbag hanging from her shoulder. Then back at her.
“You said you were coming to borrow my straighteners.” “I am.” “Are you planning to straighten your hair here?” “No.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going somewhere?” She frowned. “I’m meeting someone later.” “You didn’t mention that.” “I didn’t realise I needed to submit an itinerary.”
“You don’t.” “Then why are you interrogating me?” “I asked one question.” “You asked three.”
You stepped aside to let her enter. She walked past you, removing her coat as she went. The outfit beneath it was somehow even more carefully chosen. You watched her smooth the fabric over her waist before checking her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Interesting. Very interesting. “You could have texted,” you said, closing the door. “I would’ve brought the straighteners to Mum’s tomorrow.” “I was nearby.”
She wasn’t. Your sister lived nearly forty minutes in the opposite direction. You decided not to point that out. From the living room, Seungmin called, “Who is it?”
Your sister’s posture changed almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders pulled back. Her expression softened. You stared at her.
She ignored you. “Your favourite person,” you called. There was a pause. Then Seungmin replied, “Felix?”
You gasped. Your sister laughed. You marched into the living room, already preparing several punishments. Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table.
A pale blue fabric headband held his hair away from his face, and there was a thin layer of clay mask drying across his cheeks because you had told him his skin looked tired. He had complained for eleven minutes. Then he had asked whether there was enough left for his forehead. Your left hand rested carefully on top of an old magazine while Seungmin held your right between both of his.
Three of your fingernails were painted. One was half-painted. The fifth had somehow acquired a streak of polish across your skin. Seungmin looked up as you entered.
The smile on his face widened. “There’s my second-favourite person.” You stopped in front of him. “Second?”
“Felix bakes for me.” “I cook for you.” “You once burned instant noodles.” “The packet was confusing.”
“You forgot the water.” “It didn’t say when to add it.” You placed one foot against his thigh and pushed lightly. Seungmin caught your ankle.
“No kicking near the nail polish.” “You deserve worse.” “You asked me to do this.” “And you’re doing a terrible job.”
He looked down at your nails. “They’re beautiful.” “There’s polish on my knuckle.” Your sister appeared behind you.
Seungmin glanced towards her. His expression flickered with surprise before settling into a pleasant smile. “Oh. Hi.” “Hi.”
Your sister looked him over. Her gaze paused at the headband. Then the face mask. Then your hand resting in his.
Her smile faltered, only slightly. “I didn’t know you were here.” You turned your head towards her. She knew.
You had mentioned it the previous evening when she asked what you were doing this weekend. Seungmin did not appear to remember that. “I live here sometimes,” he said. “You don’t,” you replied.
Your sister moved further into the room. “You look comfortable,” she said. Seungmin touched the edge of the headband. “This was forced on me.”
“You asked whether the bow should go in the middle,” you said. Your sister laughed, lowering herself onto the sofa behind him. “It suits you.” Seungmin looked up at her.
“The face mask?” “The headband.” He touched it again. “Thanks.”
Her smile brightened. You watched her tuck one leg elegantly over the other. Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving.” “You’re moving now.” “Because you told me not to.” He tightened his fingers around yours.
“If you smudge this one, I’m starting again.” “You’ve already smudged it.” “That was intentional.” “Was the polish on my skin intentional too?”
“Yes.” “What was the artistic vision?” “Annoying you.” You tried to pull your hand away.
Seungmin held on. “Stay still.” “You’re enjoying the authority.” “I rarely have any in this relationship.”
“Because you can’t be trusted.” Your sister leaned forwards. “You let him paint your nails?” You looked at her.
“He volunteered.” “I was coerced,” Seungmin said. “You said you could do it better than me.” “I can.”
You lifted your hand. He immediately lowered it again before the wet polish could run. “That remains to be seen.” Your sister tilted her head.
“I’d never ask my boyfriend to do something like that.” You glanced at Seungmin. He glanced at you. There it was again.
That tiny shared pause when both of you noticed something and decided, without speaking, whether it was worth reacting to. You smiled. “Good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, then.” Your sister’s expression tightened.
Only for a second. Then she laughed. “I only mean I’d feel bad making him do something so feminine.” Seungmin inspected your thumbnail.
“You think painting nails is feminine?” “Usually.” “Then I’m doing a very poor job of it.” You snorted.
He blew gently across your nail. Your sister watched his lips purse. “It’s sweet,” she said. “I just wouldn’t have expected it from you.” “What did you expect?” Seungmin asked.
“I don’t know.” She did know. You could tell by the way she leaned towards him. “Something more masculine, I suppose.”
Seungmin looked down at himself. He was wearing grey jogging bottoms, an old sweatshirt and your fluffy skincare headband. “I’m devastated.” “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” She smiled as though he were deliberately teasing her. “You seem like someone who’d usually want a very feminine girlfriend.” Seungmin’s brush paused.
You looked at your sister. She was looking at him. Not you. He lifted his eyes slowly.
“I do.” Your sister’s smile widened. Then Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “That’s why I’m dating her.”
You pressed your lips together. Your sister glanced at you. You smiled pleasantly. Seungmin dipped the brush into the polish.
“She isn’t exactly what most people would call feminine,” your sister said. You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin’s hand stopped again. Your sister gestured towards you.
You were wearing one of Seungmin’s old shirts, a pair of shorts and fluffy socks. Your hair was twisted into a loose knot that had begun collapsing an hour ago. There was a faint smudge of clay mask beside your jaw where you had attempted to kiss Seungmin before it dried. You looked extremely comfortable. That had apparently become a flaw.
“I’m not?” you asked. “I didn’t mean it badly.” “Of course not.” “You’ve never cared about being girly.”
“I’m getting my nails painted.” “By your boyfriend.” “Yes.” “So?”
“So that feels relevant.” Your sister rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re not someone who gets dressed up around the house or worries about always looking attractive.” You looked down at yourself.
Then at Seungmin. His gaze had settled on your face. You recognised the slight narrowing of his eyes. Not anger.
Not yet. Attention. Your sister continued, “I just think it’s brave.” “Brave?” you repeated.
“To be that comfortable so early in a relationship.” You and Seungmin had been together for nearly two years. Apparently that remained early enough to maintain a constant state of glamour. “How does she normally dress at home?” Seungmin asked.
Your sister seemed pleased to have his attention again. “Like this.” “Right.” “She’s always been a little careless.”
“With clothes?” “With everything.” You laughed quietly. Your sister looked at you.
“What?” “Nothing.” Seungmin placed the nail brush carefully inside the bottle. Then he lifted your hand and examined his work.
“Perfect.” “It’s uneven.” “So are your fingers.” “My fingers aren’t uneven.”
“One’s shorter.” “They’re supposed to be different lengths.” “Convenient excuse.” He brought your hand towards his mouth.
You frowned. “What are you doing?” “Checking whether it’s dry.” “With your lips?”
“Yes.” “That makes no sense.” Seungmin pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your index finger, avoiding the wet nail. Then he kissed your knuckle.
Then your wrist. A smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself. “Dry,” he announced. “You didn’t touch the polish.”
“I’m an expert.” “You’re an idiot.” He kissed your wrist again. Your sister shifted on the sofa.
“You two are very…” She paused. “Affectionate.” “That sounded judgemental,” you said. “It wasn’t.” “It sounded a little judgemental,” Seungmin agreed.
“I only mean you don’t seem like the clingy type.” She was speaking to him again. Seungmin leaned back against your legs. “I’m not.”
You looked down at him. He looked up at you. “You’re currently using me as a chair.” “You’re comfortable.”
Seungmin smiled lazily, reaching behind himself until his hand found your knee. You threaded your fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb the headband. He immediately tilted his head into your touch. Your sister watched him do it.
Something in her expression hardened. “You always liked being fussed over,” she said to you. You looked at her. “What?”
“When we were younger. You always needed everyone’s attention.” The comment was casual. Almost playful. You knew better.
“I don’t remember that.” “You used to follow Mum around constantly.” “I was six.” “You cried whenever she left the room.”
“I was still six.” “You’ve never liked being alone.” Seungmin’s thumb stroked once over your knee. You shrugged.
“Good thing I don’t have to be.” Your sister’s eyes flicked towards his hand. “That’s what I mean. You need a lot from people.” There was a quietness beneath the words.
An implication she wanted Seungmin to catch. You were needy. Difficult. Exhausting.
The kind of girlfriend who demanded face masks and painted nails and constant affection. Your sister, naturally, would never require so much effort. Seungmin looked up at you. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” “Need a lot from me?” You pretended to consider it. “Well, you could make more tea.”
“I made the last one.” “You drank half of it.” “It became ours when you let me taste it.” “That’s not how sharing works.”
Your sister exhaled through her nose. “You make everything into a joke.” “You make everything very serious,” you replied. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“With my boyfriend?” “With both of you.” “You’ve mostly been looking at him.” The room went still.
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. You hadn’t intended to say it quite so plainly. You weren’t upset.
Not yet. You were mostly curious to see what she would do when someone acknowledged the obvious. She recovered quickly. “I’m looking at whoever’s speaking.”
“He hasn’t been speaking.” “He literally just was.” You smiled. “All right.”
Your sister folded her arms. “You’re being strange again.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You implied something.”
“What did I imply?” “You know exactly what.” Seungmin’s hand slid around the back of your knee. His fingertips squeezed gently.
You looked down at him. He gave you a small, private smile. There was no concern in it. He knew you weren’t jealous.
Mostly, he appeared entertained. “You came for straighteners,” you reminded your sister. “I know.” “They’re in the bedroom.”
“Can you get them?” “You know where they are.” She hesitated. Her gaze moved towards the hallway, then back to Seungmin.
“I haven’t been in your bedroom since you moved things around.” “You’ll survive.” “I don’t want to go through your things.” “You’ve never had an issue before.”
Her mouth tightened. You smiled sweetly. “I’ll show you.” You gently extracted your hand from Seungmin’s grasp, holding your fingers carefully apart.
He immediately caught your wrist. “Where are you going?” “To get the straighteners.” “You’ll ruin your nails.”
“I’m walking, not digging a tunnel.” “You’re very clumsy.” “You painted them five minutes ago. They’re dry.” Seungmin tightened his grip.
“Wait.” “What?” He reached for the bottle of top coat on the table. “You need this.”
“You didn’t mention top coat before.” “I forgot.” “You just don’t want me to leave.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re holding my wrist.” “To protect my work.” “Say you’ll miss me.” “You’ll be gone for thirty seconds.”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult.” Seungmin narrowed his eyes. Your sister watched the exchange. You waited.
He looked away first. “I’ll miss you,” he muttered. You grinned. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” “I don’t think I did.” “I’m not repeating it.” “Then I suppose I’ll have to stay.”
Seungmin looked back at you suspiciously. You lowered yourself onto the floor in front of him. His expression brightened. Then you reached for the top coat.
He held it out of reach. “You said you were staying.” “To do my own nails.” “No.”
“Give it to me.” “You’ll ruin them.” “They’re already ruined.” Seungmin gasped.
You grabbed for the bottle. He leaned away. You lunged across him, careful to keep your painted hand lifted. Seungmin caught you around the waist with his free arm.
“Behave.” “Give it.” “No.” “Seungmin.”
You tried to reach behind him. He shifted again, pulling you further into his lap. Your sister cleared her throat. You both looked towards her.
She was still sitting on the sofa. Watching. You had briefly forgotten she was there. “Sorry,” you said, although you weren’t particularly sorry.
Seungmin rested his chin on your shoulder. He still had one arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Your sister’s gaze dropped to it. “Could you get the straighteners?” she asked.
“You know where they are,” you repeated. “I already told you I don’t.” Seungmin lifted his head. “I can get them.”
Your sister’s face brightened. You turned towards him. He was already beginning to stand, carefully guiding you off his lap. Your sister rose too.
Seungmin paused. He looked at her. Then at you. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.
There was no reason for both of them to go. Your sister apparently believed your bedroom contained an unusually complicated straightener-storage system that required Seungmin’s personal guidance. “I know where they are,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can stay here.” Her smile faltered. “I don’t mind.” “I do.”
The answer was so immediate that you made a small choking sound. Your sister’s patience finally snapped. “Can someone please get them?” You and Seungmin both looked at her.
She smiled tightly. “The straighteners.” “Right,” you said. Seungmin pointed at you.
“Don’t touch anything.” “It’s my flat.” “My nail polish.” He disappeared down the hallway.
Your sister waited until he was out of earshot. Then she looked at you. “You don’t have to perform every time I’m here.” You stared at her.
“Perform?” “The constant touching. The little jokes.” “You think that’s for you?” “I think you’re trying very hard to prove something.”
You looked towards the hallway. Seungmin was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, apparently having forgotten that you kept the straighteners inside your wardrobe. You turned back to her. “I’m sitting in my own living room wearing his shirt while he paints my nails.”
“Exactly.” “What am I proving?” “That you’re comfortable with him.” “I am comfortable with him.”
“You don’t need to make it so obvious.” A laugh escaped you. Your sister’s expression darkened. “What?”
“I genuinely don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.” “You’re acting territorial.” “I haven’t stopped you speaking to him.” “You don’t have to. You just keep interrupting.”
“This is my flat.” “So?” “He’s my boyfriend.” “I know that.”
“Do you?” Her eyes narrowed. You smiled. Still amused.
Mostly. But something sharper had begun pressing beneath your ribs. Your sister had always competed with you. Clothes. Friends. Attention. Compliments.
Anything you possessed became evidence that she deserved something better. You had simply never expected her to become this obvious. “You’re imagining things,” she said. “Am I?”
“Yes.” “Then why did you come dressed like that to borrow straighteners?” Her face changed. Only for an instant.
Then she scoffed. “I told you I’m going out.” “Where?” “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” “You clearly do.” “You’ve travelled forty minutes to borrow something you could buy for twenty pounds.” “I was nearby.”
“No, you weren’t.” She folded her arms. “Seungmin doesn’t seem to mind me being here.” There it was.
You looked at her. She looked pleased with herself. “Why would he mind?” “He’s been friendly.”
“He’s usually friendly.” “Not with everyone.” You nearly smiled. Your sister had known Seungmin for one afternoon.
Apparently she had already developed an extensive understanding of his social habits. “He complimented me last time,” she continued. “When?” “He said my dress was nice.”
“Mum told him to.” “That doesn’t mean he didn’t think it.” “No, I’m sure he has very strong feelings about the dress.” “You don’t have to be jealous.”
You stared at her. Then you laughed. You couldn’t help it. The idea was so completely detached from reality that amusement overwhelmed everything else.
Your sister’s face hardened. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” “Then why are you laughing?”
“Because you think Seungmin complimenting your dress means I should be worried.” “I didn’t say you should be worried.” “You said I was jealous.” “You’re acting like it.”
“Trust me.” You leaned back against the sofa. “I’m not.” Your sister opened her mouth. Seungmin returned before she could answer. He was holding the straighteners in one hand
He handed the straighteners to your sister. She accepted them. “Thank you.” “No problem.”
Her fingers lingered against his for a moment. Seungmin looked down at their hands. Then politely extracted his own. “I should probably go,” your sister said.
You looked at the clock. She had been there for less than twenty minutes. “Your plans?” you asked. “Yes.”
She picked up her coat. Seungmin returned to the floor beside you, already reaching for your hand. Your sister watched him pull you down beside him. Your sister opened the front door.
“I’ll text you,” she said to you. “Okay.” She looked towards Seungmin. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You too.” “You look good, by the way.” Seungmin glanced down at his sweatshirt. “Thanks.”
“The headband especially.” His hand rose to the blue bow. “Right.” She laughed softly.
Then she left. You waited until the door closed. Silence settled over the flat. Seungmin stared at it.
You stared at him. He turned slowly. “What?” You broke first.
Laughter burst out of you so suddenly that you nearly knocked over the nail polish. Seungmin caught the bottle. “Careful!” “The headband especially,” you repeated.
“Stop.” “You look good, by the way.” “I said stop.” You twisted in his arms until you were facing him.
Seungmin was kneeling over you, one hand planted beside your shoulder and the other wrapped securely around your waist. You looked up at him. “I like your headband.” “Thank you. I already have a beautiful girlfriend.”
You nodded. “Very natural.” “You’re ridiculous.” “And you’re obsessed with me.”
“There it is.” “There what is?” “You’ve been waiting to say that all afternoon.” “I haven’t.”
“You have.” “No.” “Yes.” You tried to push him away with your forearm.
Seungmin remained exactly where he was. “Admit it,” he said. “Admit what?” “That you’re jealous.”
“I’m not.” “Just a little?” “No.” “Not even when she touched my hand?”
“I thought about breaking her fingers.” Seungmin’s eyes widened. You hooked one leg around his hips and attempted to roll him onto his back. He anticipated it, shifting his weight before you could gain any leverage.
“You’re cheating,” you complained. “How?” “You’re stronger.” “That isn’t cheating.”
“It is when I’m losing.” He laughed. You used the distraction to push at his shoulder again. Seungmin caught both your wrists.
Your breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else. He pinned them lightly above your head, careful not to let your nails touch the carpet. His hair had begun slipping free from the headband. The clay mask had cracked faintly near the corners of his smile.
He looked completely ridiculous. And unfairly lovely. “Still think I enjoyed it?” he asked. You pretended to consider your answer.
His eyes narrowed. “Choose carefully.” You bit back a smile. “She is very feminine.”
Seungmin lowered his face closer to yours. “Wrong direction.” “And confident.” His grip tightened slightly around your wrists.
You laughed. “And sophisticated.” “Do you want to keep your newly painted nails?” “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.” “You worked so hard on them.” “I can start again.” “You wouldn’t.”
“I have nowhere to be.” You squirmed beneath him. He shifted, trapping you more securely without putting his weight on you. “You’re impossible,” you said.
“You started this.” “She’s your type.” Seungmin stared at you. Then he released one of your wrists.
You immediately tried to escape. His free hand found your side. You squealed. “No!”
“Take it back.” “You can’t keep doing this!” “I can until you learn.” His fingers dug gently into your waist.
You dissolved into laughter, twisting helplessly beneath him. “The mask!” you gasped. “You’ll crack the mask!” “I don’t care.” “You were worried about it two minutes ago!”
“You’ve pushed me too far.” You kicked at the rug. Seungmin caught your leg beneath his knee. “You’re evil!”
“And?” “Controlling!” “And?” “Obsessed with me!”
His fingers stopped. “There we go.” You glared up at him, breathless. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s completely fair.” “I was supposed to say you don’t want her.” “I know I don’t want her.” “You’re supposed to reassure me.”
“Are you worried?” “No.” “Then why do you need reassurance?” “Because I enjoy compliments.”
Seungmin smiled. The teasing faded gently from his expression. He released your other wrist and settled his hand beside your head instead. “You’re very pretty.”
“That was basic.” “You’re especially pretty when you’re wearing my clothes.” “Better.” “You’re funny.”
“I know.” “And irritating.” “That wasn’t a compliment.” “It’s one of my favourite things about you.”
You looked up at him. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. “You’re my favourite person to come home to,” he continued. “My favourite person to annoy. My favourite person to do absolutely nothing with.” Your smile softened.
Seungmin’s did too. “And,” he added, “I’m so obsessed with you that I let you put this stupid thing on my head.” You touched the bow. “You love the headband.”
“I tolerate it.” “You’re avoiding the important part.” “What important part?” “The part where you admit I’m obsessed with you.”
You laughed. “You just admitted it yourself.” “I want to hear you say it.” “You’re obsessed with me.”
“And?” You stared at him. He waited expectantly. “And you don’t want my sister.”
“Obviously.” “And?” A slow grin spread across his face. You realised what he wanted.
“No.” “Say it.” “I’m not saying it.” “You know you want to.”
“I don’t.” Seungmin’s fingers hovered threateningly near your waist. You recoiled. “Don’t.”
“Then say it.” “You’re abusing your power.” “I’m waiting.” You glared at him.
He looked delighted. “And I’m obsessed with you too,” you muttered. “What was that?” “You heard me.”
“The face mask is restricting my hearing.” “That isn’t how masks work.” “Speak clearly.” You tried not to smile.
“I’m obsessed with you too.” “There we go.” He bent and kissed you. It began soft.
A pleased little press of his lips against yours. Then you reached for the back of his neck and accidentally brushed one wet nail against his cheek. Seungmin pulled away. You froze.
A bright streak of polish now cut through the dried clay mask. For one second, neither of you moved. Then you burst out laughing. Seungmin stared at you.
“You ruined it.” “I’m sorry!” “You did that on purpose.” “I didn’t!”
“You attacked me.” “You were on top of me!” “Because you accused me of wanting your sister.” Seungmin touched his cheek.
His fingers came away with polish on them. His mouth dropped open. You laughed even harder. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re sleeping on the sofa.” “It’s my flat.” “Then I’m sleeping in your bed alone.” “You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”
“I’d sleep perfectly.” You grinned. Seungmin tried to maintain his glare. He failed.
A laugh escaped him. Then another. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter on the living-room floor. You wrapped your arms around him.
“Your mask really is ruined.” “I know.” “And the polish is definitely smudged.” “I know.”
౨ৎ
Your sister invited herself shopping with you three days later. Technically, she asked whether you had bought your mum’s birthday present yet. When you told her that you and Seungmin were going into town on Sunday to find something, she replied that she had been planning to go that day too. You had stared at the message for several seconds. Seungmin, lying beside you with his head on your stomach, had tilted his phone away from his face and asked, “Why are you making that expression?”
“My sister wants to come shopping with us.” He had gone silent. You lowered your phone to look at him. “That was a very long pause.” “I was trying to think of something polite.”
“And?” “I couldn’t.” You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We are shopping for her mum too.” “Unfortunately.”
“She’s my mum.” “That’s why I said unfortunately. I like your mum.” “You’re horrible.” Seungmin had turned his head and pressed a kiss to your stomach through your shirt. “Tell her she can come.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.” “I’m thrilled. Maybe she can tell me more about what kind of woman I usually prefer.” You had flicked his forehead. He had bitten your finger.
The matter was settled.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived twenty minutes late. You and Seungmin had already been standing outside the shopping centre long enough for him to complain about the cold four times, steal one of your gloves and attempt to warm his other hand by shoving it beneath the back of your jumper. You had slapped him away. He had waited thirty seconds before trying again.
“Your hand is freezing,” you complained, twisting out of his reach. “That’s why I need your body heat.” “You have pockets.” “They’re not as warm as you.”
“They don’t want you touching them either.” Seungmin smiled and caught the belt loop of your jeans when you tried to step away. “Come back.” “No.” “You’re abandoning me.”
“I’m moving half a metre.” “That’s still too far.” You rolled your eyes, but you let him pull you backwards until your shoulder rested against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and tucked his chin over your shoulder, immediately pleased with himself. “You’re very clingy today,” you said.
“It’s cold.” “You were clingy yesterday too.” “I was tired.” “You fell asleep on top of me. I couldn’t breathe.”
“And yet you let me stay.” His laugh warmed the side of your neck. Your sister found you like that. She slowed as she approached, taking in Seungmin’s arms around your middle and the way your hands rested over his. Then she smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, although she did not sound particularly sorry. “The train was delayed.” “You said you were driving,” you replied. She paused. Seungmin’s face disappeared briefly against your shoulder. You felt the silent shake of his laughter.
“I changed my mind,” your sister said. “Clearly.” She looked at Seungmin. “Have you been waiting long?” “Long enough for her to attack me.”
“I moved your freezing hand away,” you said. Seungmin tightened his arms around your waist. “Exactly.” Your sister laughed, her gaze lingering on him a little too long. “You poor thing.” Your sister looked at you with a small, knowing smile. “You’ve always been like that.”
“Like what?” “Rough.” Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You looked down at your outfit as though you might find evidence of roughness on your coat. “I pushed his hand away.”
“I’m only joking.” “Right.” “She’s very frightening,” Seungmin said solemnly. “I live in constant fear.” Then he kissed your cheek and released you, taking your hand instead. “Can we go inside before I lose feeling in my fingers?”
“You stole my glove.” “It wasn’t enough.” Your sister walked beside him as you entered the shopping centre. You ended up on his other side.
It was not immediately strange. The pavement narrowed near the doors, people moved around you, and your sister had always been skilled at placing herself exactly where she wanted to be without appearing deliberate. But once you were inside, she remained there. She asked Seungmin what he thought you should buy. She asked whether he enjoyed shopping. She asked which shops he liked, whether he cared about clothes and whether he usually chose his own outfits. He answered politely.
Mostly. When she asked whether he had a favourite designer, he said, “Whoever makes comfortable trousers.” When she asked what colours he liked on women, he said, “Normal ones.” Your sister frowned. “I was asking a normal question.”
“I know,” you said. “His answer was stupid.” Seungmin swung your joined hands between you. Your sister glanced down. “I think you’d suit darker colours,” she told him.
“I wear dark colours.” “I know. They make you look more mature.” You looked across him. “What does he look like now?” She ignored you. “You have a very classic face.”
Seungmin turned towards you. “Do I?” “No.” He looked offended. “You didn’t even think about it.” “I look at your face every day.”
“And you’ve never thought it was classic?” “I’ve thought it was annoying.” “That isn’t a facial structure.” “It should be.”
Your sister sighed softly. “You never take compliments seriously.” “She rarely gives them,” Seungmin said. “I complimented you this morning.” “You said my hair looked less strange than usual.”
“That was generous.” “You also said I looked tired.” “You did.” “You make me feel very cherished.”
You stopped in the middle of the walkway and placed both hands around his face. “You are beautiful.” Seungmin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re mocking me.” “Never.” “You’re smiling.”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He stared at you for another second before his mouth betrayed him. A reluctant smile appeared. “There,” you said, squeezing his cheeks. “Pretty.”
Seungmin caught both your wrists and pulled your hands away. “Don’t touch my face in public.” “You love it.” Your sister had gone quiet. You released Seungmin’s face and started walking again. He slipped his hand into yours as though the interruption had never happened.
The first shop was useless. The second was worse. Your mum had said she wanted something for the house, which sounded simple until you were faced with fifteen aisles of objects she might already own. Your sister suggested a decorative vase.
You reminded her that your mum had six. Seungmin picked up a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. You told him to put it down. “She’d love him,” he said.
“She’d ask why we bought her rubbish.” “He’s cute.” “He’s ugly.” “He can hear you.”
Your sister smiled at Seungmin. “I think he’s cute.” You looked at her. She was not looking at the ceramic dog. Seungmin, apparently unaware or pretending to be, placed the ornament carefully in your hands. “Hold him.”
“No.” “He likes you.” “You like him.” “He reminds me of you.”
You stared at the dog. The dog stared back with badly painted eyes. “You’re sleeping alone tonight.” Seungmin smiled. “You say that every week.”
“One day I’ll mean it.” “No, you won’t.” Your sister picked up a sleek glass vase and held it towards Seungmin. “What about this?” He glanced at it. “It’s nice.”
“She already has something similar,” you said. Your sister’s smile tightened. “Not exactly like this.” “It’s almost identical.” “It’s more modern.”
“Mum doesn’t care about modern.” “She might.” Your sister looked at Seungmin. “What do you think?” He looked between you both.
Then at the vase. Then at the ceramic dog still in your hands. “I think we should buy the dog.” You laughed.
Your sister did not. “You’re both impossible,” she said, returning the vase to the shelf. “That keeps coming up,” Seungmin replied. You carried the dog for another two aisles before secretly placing it on a display of cushions.
Seungmin noticed immediately. “Where is he?” “Who?” “The dog.”
“I don’t know.” “You abandoned him.” “He wasn’t ours.” “He could have been.”
“Not everything you like has to come home with us.” “You came home with me.” Your sister laughed. You turned towards Seungmin slowly. “Was that meant to be sweet?”
“Yes.” “It sounded like you found me beside a road.” “I rescued you.” “From what?”
“Yourself.” You shoved him lightly towards a stack of towels. He caught your elbow and pulled you with him, making you stumble against his chest. His free arm wrapped around your waist before you could fall. You tried not to smile.
You failed. Your sister walked ahead.
౨ৎ
After nearly an hour, you found a set of handmade serving bowls that your mum would genuinely like. Your sister thought they were plain. Seungmin thought one of them looked like a hat. You thought both of them needed to stop talking.
You were waiting at the till when your sister announced that she wanted coffee. “There’s a place downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go.” “I’ll come,” you replied. “I need the toilet anyway.” Her expression flickered.
Only slightly. Then she smiled. “You can stay with the bags. Seungmin and I can get them.” Seungmin looked up from the receipt in his hand. You looked at her.
She looked at him. There was a small silence. Then Seungmin said, “She knows my order.” Your sister recovered quickly. “You can tell me.”
“I’ll forget something.” “It’s coffee.” “He’s very demanding,” you said. Seungmin nodded.
Your sister laughed, although her eyes stayed on him. “I think I can manage.” You could have refused. Part of you wanted to, not because you thought anything would happen, but because your sister’s intentions had become so transparent that allowing her to proceed felt almost embarrassing. Then curiosity won.
You handed the shopping bag to Seungmin. “Fine. Get me something sweet.” “What?” “Surprise me.” “That always ends badly.”
“Only because you make poor choices.” Seungmin stared at you. You smiled. He sighed. “Fine.”
Your sister looked pleased. Far too pleased. You kissed Seungmin’s cheek before stepping away. “Don’t let her buy me anything with coconut.”
౨ৎ
Seungmin watched you disappear into the crowd. He knew exactly what you were doing. You had kissed him in front of your sister on purpose. Not because you were worried.
Because you were a menace. A message appeared on his phone before he and your sister had reached the escalator. Don’t fall in love while I’m gone x He smiled despite himself.
Your sister noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “Was that her?”
“Yes.” “What did she say?” Seungmin put his phone away. “Nothing important.” Your sister stepped onto the escalator beside him.
For several seconds, she was silent. Then she said, “She checks on you a lot.” Seungmin looked at her. “Does she?” “She’s always texting you.”
“We text each other.” “I know. I just mean she likes knowing where you are.” He considered the comment. “She sent me a joke.”
“What joke?” “One you wouldn’t find funny.” Your sister’s mouth tightened. “You don’t know that.” “I know her sense of humour.”
“And mine?” “Not really.” The escalator carried them down another floor. Your sister rested one hand on the rail. “You and her are very different.”
Seungmin looked ahead. “You’ve mentioned that.” “I don’t mean it as an insult.” “You keep saying that too.” She laughed softly. “You remember.”
“I have a good memory.” “You do seem observant.” “Sometimes.” “That’s why I’m surprised.”
He turned his head. “By what?” She looked briefly uncertain, as if she had expected him to understand without making her say it aloud. “Nothing.”
Seungmin faced forwards again. The coffee shop was busy. A line curled away from the counter, giving your sister more time than she probably needed. She moved closer to him as they joined it. “I’ve always wondered how she ended up with someone like you.”
Seungmin’s expression did not change. “Someone like me?” “Successful. Disciplined. Mature.” “You think she isn’t those things?”
“I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” Your sister sighed. “You’re very defensive of her.” “She’s my girlfriend.”
“I know.” “Then why are you surprised?” “I’m not surprised. I just think you misunderstand me.” Seungmin shoved one hand into his coat pocket. “Then explain.”
Your sister glanced towards the counter. The line had barely moved. “She’s always been the sweet one,” she said. “The one people feel protective over. I’ve always been more independent.” “Okay.” “She needs more reassurance.”
“Does she?” “You’ve seen how she is.” “I have.” “And that doesn’t get tiring?”
Seungmin looked at her properly. His tone stayed light, but his eyes sharpened. “No.” Your sister held his gaze. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” “I’m not.”
“She can be a lot.” “So can I.” “You’re different.” “You don’t know me.”
The words landed more firmly than anything he had said before. Your sister blinked. Seungmin looked back towards the counter. The line moved forward.
For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she tried again. “She doesn’t tell people this, but she used to get overlooked a lot when we were younger.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened.
“Overlooked by who?” “People.” Your sister exhaled, clearly frustrated by his refusal to fill in the gaps for her. “Boys usually noticed me first.”
Seungmin waited. She smiled faintly. “She never minded. At least, she pretended not to.” He looked at her. “And?”
“And nothing. I’m only saying it’s probably nice for her to be the one someone chose for once.” Seungmin stared at her for a long moment. Your sister interpreted the silence as an opening. “You’re kind,” she continued. “You probably don’t even realise how much that means to her.”
“I noticed her.” The sentence was quiet. Immediate. Your sister’s smile faltered.
“I didn’t say you didn’t.” “You said people didn’t.” “I said they usually noticed me first.” “I didn’t.”
Something sharp passed across her face. Then she laughed. “You hadn’t met me.” Seungmin looked at her.
The confidence in her smile returned. It was not difficult to understand what she meant. If he had seen her first, things might have been different. If he knew her better, he might recognise what he had missed.
If you had not reached him before she did, perhaps he would have made the correct choice. Seungmin almost laughed. Instead, he said, “I’ve met you now.” Your sister’s smile remained fixed.
The line moved again. She stepped closer. “I think we have more in common than you realise.” “Do we?”
“We’re both ambitious.” “So is she.” “We care about how we present ourselves.” “She does too.”
“She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.” “That’s one of the things I like about her.” Your sister’s eyes narrowed. “You turn everything into a compliment about her.” “Yes.”
The answer was so simple that it left nowhere for the conversation to go. Your sister looked away. Seungmin’s phone buzzed again. He checked it.
Is she seducing you yet? A second message appeared. Blink twice if you need rescue Then:
Actually don’t. I can’t see you He laughed under his breath. Your sister glanced towards the phone. “She’s checking again?”
“She’s entertaining herself.” “She doesn’t trust me.” Seungmin looked up. “Should she?” Your sister went still.
He raised his eyebrows slightly. For the first time, she seemed uncertain whether he was joking. Then he smiled. Not warmly.
Not cruelly either. Just enough to make the question impossible to challenge. Your sister looked towards the menu. “What did she want?”
“Something sweet.” “That isn’t very specific.” “She likes trying new things.” “I know.”
“Do you?” Your sister frowned. “She’s my sister.” Seungmin slipped his phone into his pocket. “Then choose.” She looked at the display board.
After a moment, she suggested a coconut latte. Seungmin stared at her. “What?” “She hates coconut.”
Your sister hesitated. “Does she?” “She told you five minutes ago.” “I forgot.” “I didn’t.”
He ordered your favourite instead.
౨ৎ
You returned to find them sitting at a small table near the window. Your sister was speaking. Seungmin was looking at his phone. That alone told you almost everything you needed to know.
He was never rude enough to ignore someone without a reason. When he spotted you, his entire expression changed. His shoulders relaxed. His mouth curved into a smile. He put his phone down and lifted one hand towards you. “There you are.”
You slid into the seat beside him. Seungmin immediately hooked his fingers through the belt loop at the back of your jeans and tugged you closer. “I was gone for fifteen minutes.” “It was difficult.”
“You seemed fine.” Your sister looked between you. You picked up the drink in front of your seat and inspected it. “What did you get me?” “Try it.”
“What is it?” “I’m not telling you.” “Why?” “You said to surprise you.”
“I don’t trust you.” Seungmin pushed the cup closer. “Drink.” You took a cautious sip. It was sweet, creamy and familiar.
Your favourite. You looked at him. He smiled smugly. “You didn’t choose something new.”
“I chose something you’d like.” “That isn’t a surprise.” “You were surprised.” “I was surprised you made a good decision.”
Seungmin leaned towards you. “Say thank you.” “No.” “Say it.” “You’re very demanding.”
“I carried the bowls.” “They’re in one bag.” “A heavy bag.” “They’re ceramic, not concrete.”
Your sister interrupted. “He remembered your order.” You looked at her. There was something brittle in her voice. Seungmin rested his chin briefly on your shoulder and stole a sip of your drink.
You pushed his face away. “Of course he did,” you said. “He orders it more than I do.” “For you,” he corrected. “You steal half.”
“It tastes better when it’s yours.” “That’s because you’re a thief.” He smiled against your cheek. Your sister looked away.
You could practically feel the conversation you had interrupted sitting between them. You waited until Seungmin sat back. Then you asked, “Did you have a nice chat?” Your sister reached for her coffee.
Seungmin looked at you. His eyes were bright with the effort of not laughing. “Very informative.” “Oh?”
“I learned that I’m successful, disciplined and mature.” You nodded solemnly. “One out of three isn’t bad.” Seungmin kicked your foot beneath the table. You kicked him back.
Your sister sighed. “I was complimenting him.” “I know.” “She thinks I’m mature,” Seungmin said. “She doesn’t live with you.”
“I don’t live with you.” Under the table, Seungmin’s knee pressed against yours. You tapped it once with your own. He tapped back.
Your sister watched the movement. “I was only saying that you’re lucky,” she said. You looked at her. “Again?” “You are.”
“I know.” “She thinks you’re lucky someone finally noticed you,” Seungmin added. The words were delivered with deceptive casualness. Your sister’s head snapped towards him.
Your hand stilled around the cup. Seungmin lifted his drink. You looked at your sister. She looked suddenly furious.
“I didn’t say it like that.” “How did you say it?” “I said people usually noticed me first when we were younger.” You raised your eyebrows.
Your sister leaned back. “It was relevant to the conversation.” “What conversation?” “We were talking about relationships.” “You were talking about mine?”
“She asked whether dating you was tiring,” Seungmin said. You stared at him. He took a calm sip. Your sister’s face reddened. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was very close.” “You’re twisting my words.” “I remember them quite clearly.” You looked between them.
The ridiculousness of it arrived before the hurt could. Your sister had finally managed to get Seungmin alone, and she had apparently used the opportunity to explain why being with you must be exhausting. A laugh slipped out. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you had fifteen minutes.” “What?” “You finally got him alone and that was your strategy?” Seungmin choked on his drink.
Your sister stared at you. You turned towards him. “Are you all right?” He held up one hand and coughed into the other. “You’re horrible,” he managed.
“You were thinking it too.” “I was trying to be polite.” Your sister placed her cup on the table more firmly than necessary. “Nothing happened.” You looked at her. “I know.”
“Then stop acting like you caught me doing something.” “I didn’t catch you. He told me.” Your sister stood. The legs of her chair scraped against the floor.
“I’m going to look at another shop.” You glanced at the untouched coffee. “We just sat down.” “I remembered something I need.” She grabbed her handbag.
Seungmin watched her. Your sister looked at him, waiting for something. An offer to come with her, perhaps. An apology.
A private look that confirmed all the things she had decided existed between them. Seungmin lifted his hand. For one hopeful second, she smiled. Then he pointed towards her cup. “Are you taking that?”
Her smile disappeared. “No.” “Can I have it?” You elbowed him.
“What?” he asked. “She isn’t drinking it.” Your sister walked away without answering. You watched her disappear into the crowd. Then you turned slowly towards Seungmin.
He was already reaching for her abandoned coffee. You slapped his hand. “No.” “She said she didn’t want it.”
“You don’t know what’s in it.” “Coffee.” “She might have poisoned it.” “Why would she poison her own drink?”
“She sensed rejection.” Seungmin laughed. You folded your arms. “What did she actually say?” He gave up on the coffee and leaned back in his chair.
“Exactly what I told you.” “She asked whether I was tiring?” “She implied that you need constant reassurance, said you’re a lot and suggested I probably chose you because I’m kind.” Your amusement faded a little.
Seungmin noticed immediately. His foot slid beside yours under the table. “She also told me men usually noticed her first,” he added. You looked at the crowd beyond the window. “She loves saying that.”
“I asked which men.” That made you smile. Seungmin’s knee pressed more firmly against yours. “She couldn’t name them.”
“You interrogated her?” “I asked good questions.” “You never ask good questions.” “That’s unfair.”
You looked back at him. He was watching you closely. Not pushing. Just waiting.
“What else?” you asked. Seungmin hesitated. “She implied I might have chosen differently if I’d met her first.” A strange little ache settled beneath your ribs. Not because you believed it.
The idea of Seungmin choosing your sister felt almost comical. But because she believed your entire relationship could be reduced to timing. That you had simply arrived first and seized something that should have belonged to her. You looked down at your cup. “And what did you say?”
“That I’ve met her now.” Your mouth twitched. “That’s all?” “I thought it was enough.”
“It is.” “She didn’t like it.” “I’m devastated for her.” “I also told her I noticed you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup. Seungmin’s expression softened. “What?” “Nothing.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I noticed you.” You fought a smile. You covered his mouth with your hand. Seungmin kissed your palm.
You pulled it away immediately. “That’s disgusting.” “You liked that too.” “You’re so pleased with yourself.”
“I handled a difficult social situation and bought you the correct drink.” “You want a medal?” “A kiss would be appropriate.” “You’re asking for payment?”
“I did hard labour.” “You stood in a coffee queue.” “With your sister.” You considered that.
Seungmin lifted his eyebrows. You leaned over and kissed his cheek. He turned his head at the last second, catching the corner of your mouth instead. You pulled back.
“That was cheating.” “You’re slow.” “You tricked me.” “You still kissed me.”
“Barely.” “You can try again.” “I’m not rewarding bad behaviour.” Seungmin rested one elbow on the table. “Then I’ll have to live with the memory.”
“You’re dramatic.” “I suffered for fifteen minutes.” “You were texting me.” “That was my lifeline.”
You laughed and nudged his foot beneath the table. Seungmin caught your ankle between his. “You know she’s going to tell herself you only rejected her because you knew I was coming back.” Seungmin’s expression became thoughtful. “Do you want me to say it more directly?”
You looked towards the direction your sister had disappeared. Part of you wanted him to. Part of you knew she would turn even that into evidence of something else. “She hasn’t actually admitted she wants you,” you said.
“She invited herself on our date.” “We’re buying Mum bowls.” “A highly romantic date.” Seungmin reached for your hand across the table.
His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. “If she says something properly,” he said, “I’ll answer properly.” “You have answered.” “I mean without being polite.”
“That sounds frightening.” Seungmin squeezed your hand. “Tell her that when she tries again.” You looked at him. “When?”
He smiled. “You think she’s stopping?” You glanced once more towards the crowd. “No.”
“Neither do I.” There was a pause. Then Seungmin brightened. “Can we go back for the dog?” “No.”
“He could be part of your mum’s present.” “She would hate him.” “She’d learn to love him.” “You only knew him for ten minutes.”
“That was enough.” Seungmin smiled and lifted your hand to his mouth. This time, he kissed your knuckles slowly. You let him.
Your sister returned ten minutes later carrying nothing. Neither of you mentioned it. Seungmin did, however, remain close to you for the rest of the afternoon. His hand at your waist when people passed too close. His fingers laced through yours on the escalator. His chin briefly resting on your shoulder while you examined candles. His mouth near your ear when he whispered that one of them smelled like “an expensive wardrobe”.
Your sister tried to walk beside him. Seungmin kept drifting back towards you. She asked his opinion. He asked yours.
She suggested shops. He followed wherever you went. By the time you left the shopping centre, your sister had stopped speaking unless someone addressed her directly. The three of you stood near the station while she checked the time.
“My train’s in five minutes,” she said. Your sister adjusted her handbag and looked at Seungmin. “It was nice spending time with you.” “You too.” “We should do it again.”
You looked at him. He looked at you. Your sister noticed. “Without making it into a whole family thing,” she added.
You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin slipped his arm around your shoulders. “I think she comes with me.” Your sister laughed. “You’re allowed separate friends.” “I have friends.”
“She means her,” you said. “I know.” Your sister’s cheeks coloured. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” Seungmin asked. She looked at him. He waited. His expression was pleasant.
Curious. Entirely unwilling to rescue her. Your sister’s train arrived with a rush of noise behind her. She glanced towards the platform.
“I have to go.” “You should hurry,” you said. She hugged you briefly. When she turned towards Seungmin, he lifted the shopping bag between them.
Your sister stopped. He smiled politely. “Bye.” For a moment, she looked as though she might push around the bag and hug him anyway.
Then she stepped back. “Bye.” You watched her hurry towards the train. As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungmin lowered the bag.
“You used Mum’s bowls as a shield,” you said. “I panicked.” “You’re very brave.” “She hugged me last time.”
“Terrifying.” “I didn’t know what else to do.” “You could have hugged her.” Seungmin looked horrified. “Why would I do that?”
“She’s confident and sophisticated.” “Stop.” “More your type.” He pointed at you. “We discussed this.”
“She only needs an opportunity.” “You’re becoming annoying.” “Becoming?” “More annoying.”
You smiled. Seungmin stared at you for a second. Then he hooked one arm around your waist and lifted you just enough that your shoes left the ground. You yelped.
“Put me down!” “Take it back.” “We’re in public!” “I don’t care.”
You grabbed his shoulders, laughing as he carried you several steps away from the platform. Seungmin lowered you carefully to the ground. His smile softened. Seungmin took your hand again, swinging it once between you before pulling you towards the station exit.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to go back.” “For what?” “The dog.” “We are not buying the dog.”
“He’s waiting for us.” “He’s ceramic.” “He’ll think we abandoned him.” “You said I was the abandoned animal.”
“I can rescue both of you.” “You already complain that I take up too much space.” “He’s small.” “I hate you.”
Seungmin kissed the side of your head. He smiled and kept walking. You followed, because the station exit was in the same direction as the shop. Not because you had agreed to buy the dog.
Definitely not. When your mum opened her birthday present a week later, she found a beautiful set of handmade serving bowls. And, tucked between them, a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. She stared at it.
You stared at Seungmin. Seungmin looked unbearably pleased.
౨ৎ
By the time you finished getting ready, Seungmin had changed his shirt twice, complained about both options and somehow blamed you for the fact that neither looked right. “You said the black one was nice,” he reminded you from the bedroom doorway. “It was nice.” “And then you told me to wear the blue one.”
“Because the blue one is nicer.” “So the black one was ugly.” “That isn’t what I said.” “It’s what you implied.”
You turned away from the mirror and looked at him. He stood with both shirts hanging from one hand, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and an expression of genuine betrayal on his face. “You’re having a crisis over two nearly identical shirts.” “They aren’t nearly identical.” “One is black and one is very dark blue.”
“Exactly.” You stared at him. Seungmin stared back. Then his gaze drifted slowly down your body.
The offence disappeared from his expression. You had chosen an outfit that made you feel good. You suspected you would regret that decision later, but Seungmin’s reaction made it worth it. He looked at you for long enough that you lifted an eyebrow. “What?” “Nothing.”
You tried not to smile. “Have you not seen me before?” “Not in that.” “You watched me put it on.” “I was distracted.”
“By what?” “The shirt crisis.” You laughed and turned back towards the mirror. Seungmin abandoned both shirts on the bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You look pretty,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Only pretty?” His eyes narrowed at your reflection. “Don’t become demanding.” “You stared at me for thirty seconds. I expected something better.” “You look very pretty.”
“That’s the same thing with an extra word.” “You look so pretty that I’m reconsidering letting you leave the flat.” You smiled. “Better.” “I knew you were fishing.”
“I enjoy compliments.” “I know.” Seungmin kissed the side of your neck, then another spot slightly lower. You tilted your head instinctively before remembering you had spent far too long getting ready. “Don’t ruin my makeup.”
“I’m nowhere near your makeup.” “You’ll work your way up.” “That sounds like encouragement.” You caught his wrists and pulled his arms away. Seungmin resisted just enough to make it difficult, then released you with an exaggerated sigh.
“You don’t love me anymore.” “I’m trying to get us to the party.” “Chan said eight.” “It’s quarter past.”
“Exactly. We’re early.” You looked at him through the mirror. “For what?” “A party.” “That started fifteen minutes ago.”
“Social events have a grace period.” “You invented that because you’re never ready on time.” “I was ready.” “You aren’t wearing a shirt.”
Seungmin looked down at his bare chest, then at the two shirts abandoned on the bed. Your phone buzzed on the dressing table. You picked it up. Your sister had messaged.
Are you there yet? A second message followed before you could reply. Is Seungmin going straight from yours? You turned the screen towards him.
Seungmin read both messages. His face remained blank for one beat, then he placed his chin back on your shoulder. “She misses me.” “She saw you last week.” “A long separation.”
“She didn’t ask whether I was going straight from mine.” “She knows you’ll be there.” “She also knows you’ll be there.” “That must be why she asked to come.”
You laughed and nudged him backwards with your hip. “Put the blue shirt on.” “The black one makes my shoulders look better.” “Then wear the black one.” “You said the blue was nicer.”
“Seungmin.” He smiled and kissed your cheek before finally retrieving the blue shirt. You replied to your sister while he dressed. We’re leaving soon. Bring the drinks you promised Chan.
Her response came almost immediately. What’s Seungmin wearing? You looked up. He was buttoning the blue shirt.
You considered sending her a photograph of the black one lying empty on the bed. Instead, you typed: Clothes x Seungmin glanced over. “What did you say?”
“Nothing important.” “You’re smiling.” “I’m entertaining myself.” “Is she seducing me remotely now?”
“Apparently she needs to prepare.” “For what?” “To be more your type.” Seungmin finished the final button and walked towards you. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“It’s funny.” “Until she touches my arm fifteen times.” “Maybe she thinks that’s where your romantic feelings are stored.” “That would explain why I keep trying to get away.”
You laughed, and Seungmin’s smile softened. He reached out to fix the chain of your necklace where it had twisted, his fingers careful against the back of your neck. “Tell me if it stops being funny,” he said. The words were quiet enough to change the air between you. You turned.
Seungmin let his hands settle at your waist. “I will.” “Promise?” “You already made me promise.”
“I’m making you do it again.” “Very controlling.” “Very caring.” “Debatable.”
He squeezed your waist. “Promise.” You rested both hands against his chest. “I promise.” Satisfied, Seungmin kissed your forehead. Then he leant back and examined his shirt in the mirror. “Do my shoulders look strange?”
You pushed him towards the door.
౨ৎ
The party remained civilised for approximately forty minutes. Then Changbin brought out the shot glasses. Chan saw them from across the room and immediately shook his head. “Take it easy” “You bought the alcohol,” Changbin reminded him.
Jisung appeared beside the kitchen counter as though summoned by the word drinking. “Shots are normal.” “You said that last time and threw up in my shoes.” “That was unrelated.” “It was directly related.”
Felix slid into the space beside Jisung and began examining the bottles. You followed closely behind him, your own drink already mostly gone. Seungmin caught your wrist before you could reach for anything. “You’re not doing shots.” You looked at his hand around your wrist, then at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve already had three drinks.” “So have you.” “I can still walk in a straight line.” “I can walk in a straight line.”
Seungmin released you and pointed towards the hallway. You stared at him. He lifted his eyebrows. “You want me to demonstrate?”
“Yes.” You placed your empty glass on the counter and turned towards the hallway with as much dignity as you could manage. Felix and Jisung watched in complete silence. You took three perfectly respectable steps.
Then your hip struck the edge of the sofa. You stopped. Seungmin smiled. “The sofa moved.”
“It’s been there all night.” “It knew I was trying to prove something.” Jisung nodded seriously. “Furniture can sense weakness.” Minho, sitting nearby with his ankle resting over one knee, looked at him. “That explains why you keep walking into doors.”
Jisung placed a hand over his chest. “Why are you attacking me?” “Because you make it easy.” Jisung abandoned the counter and dropped onto the sofa beside him. Within seconds, his legs were stretched across Minho’s lap. Minho glanced down but made no effort to move them.
You pointed towards them. “He can’t walk straight either.” “He’s sitting,” Seungmin said. “He was walking badly earlier.” Changbin began pouring.
Hyunjin took the bottle from Changbin before he could overfill the glasses. “At least make them even. You’re pouring like you’ve never seen liquid before.” “I’m being generous.” “You’re trying to kill Jisung.” Jisung lifted his head from Minho’s shoulder. “Yes please.”
Minho pressed one hand against his forehead and pushed him back down. “You accept nothing.” You managed to claim a glass before Seungmin could stop you. Felix took one. Jisung reached for another, but Minho lifted it out of reach.
Jisung stared at him. “Give it.” “No.” “You aren’t my father.” “Thank fuck for that.”
“You can’t control me.” Minho looked at the legs still resting across his lap. “Stand up, then.” Jisung considered it. “No.”
“Thought so.” Felix passed Jisung his own glass beneath the edge of the table. Minho saw. He allowed it.
You caught his eye. Minho shrugged and took another drink. “Traitor,” Seungmin told him. “I’m off duty.”
“You were never on duty,” Chan said. “Exactly.” Changbin raised his glass. “To Chan finally letting us have fun.” “This is my party.”
“Then act like it.” Chan swore at him, but lifted his drink anyway. Everyone crowded closer. Your friend remained beside your sister near the end of the counter, amused but still slightly removed from the intimacy of the group. You caught her eye and held up your glass.
She lifted hers back. Your sister barely noticed. She was watching Seungmin. He stood behind you with one hand resting against your hip, his thumb moving absently beneath the hem of your top.
You leaned back into him. “To being hot,” Hyunjin said. Jeongin nodded. “Finally, something relevant.” Chan looked around the group. “Can we toast to something normal?”
“No,” everyone replied. The shot burned on the way down. Felix coughed. You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the first solid thing you found.
It was Changbin’s arm. “Fuck.” Changbin laughed. “You agreed to it.” “That tasted like paint stripper.”
“You’ve never tasted paint stripper.” “Maybe I have.” Seungmin pulled you backwards against his chest. “And this is why you weren’t doing shots.” You turned in his arms. “I did one.”
“You nearly died.” “I recovered.” “You’re still holding Changbin.You could have held me.” You looked down to find your hand still wrapped around Changbin’s bicep and slowly released him. “Come back when you’ve got biceps, bud.”
Seungmin stared at you for a beat before catching you around the waist and pulling you firmly against his chest. “You seemed perfectly happy with mine earlier.” You placed a hand against his arm as though inspecting it. “They’re all right.” His grip tightened. “All right?” You smiled. “Maybe a little better than that.”
౨ৎ
Someone suggested a drinking game. Nobody later remembered who. You all ended up sitting in a loose circle around the living room with bottles, half-empty glasses and bowls of food scattered between you. Your friend sat beside your sister on the sofa. You were on the floor between Felix and Seungmin, with your back against Seungmin’s legs. His hand rested loosely at the base of your throat, occasionally brushing your hair aside.
Jisung had begun the game beside Minho. By the third round, he was mostly sitting on him. “Never have I ever,” Jeongin began, smiling in a way that immediately made Chan suspicious, “lied to get out of plans with someone in this room.” Nearly everyone drank.
Chan stared at the group. “Are you serious?” “You make too many plans,” Seungmin said. “I ask whether you want dinner.” “That’s still a plan.”
You lifted your glass. Seungmin looked down at you. “When did you lie to me?” You took a long sip. His fingers tightened gently at the back of your neck.
“When?” You smiled into your drink. “Next question.” “No. We’re staying here.” Felix laughed. “She said she was ill once because she wanted to watch a film with us.”
Seungmin stared at you. “You exposed me,” you told Felix. “I forgot it was a secret.” “You chose them over me?” Seungmin asked.
“You were working.” “You still lied.” “You would’ve sulked.” “I am sulking now.”
You twisted around to look at him. “Do you need a kiss?” Seungmin considered the offer. “Yes.” You kissed him quickly.
He kept one hand against your jaw and prevented you from moving away. “That was inadequate.” Everyone groaned. You laughed against his mouth before kissing him again, slower this time.
When you finally pulled away, Changbin threw a crisp at Seungmin’s head. “Some of us are single.” “You don’t have to watch,” Seungmin said. “You’re in the middle of the room.”
“Look somewhere else.” Hyunjin placed one hand against Changbin’s cheek and turned his face away. “There. Problem solved.” Changbin bit his palm. Hyunjin screamed.
The game continued. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” Felix said. Silence fell. Then Jeongin drank.
Hyunjin drank. Changbin drank. Jisung lifted his glass, looked around and drank twice. Minho looked at him. “Twice?”
Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “I contain multitudes.” Minho took Jisung’s glass and drank from it. The room erupted. Jisung stared at him, eyes widening. “Was that your answer?”
“It was your drink.” “You have your own.” “I wanted yours.” “That is not an answer.”
Minho smiled into the rim of the glass. You turned towards Felix. He was already looking at you. Both of you burst out laughing.
“Don’t,” Minho warned. You covered your mouth with both hands. Seungmin’s chest shook behind you. Your sister remained completely still.
You could feel her watching. Felix nudged your knee. “You didn’t drink.” “I’m dating someone in the room.” “That doesn’t mean you never had a crush.”
Seungmin’s fingers slid beneath your chin and turned your face towards him. “You had better drink.” You stared at him. “Why?” “Because you had a crush on me.”
“That was never confirmed.” “You asked Chan for my number.” The group laughed. Your sister’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
Seungmin’s eyes flicked towards her, then back to you. Your smile softened despite the alcohol. Felix made an emotional noise. Minho pointed at him. “Don’t fucking start.”
Felix’s eyes had already begun shining. “I’m fine.” “You’re about to cry.” “I just think they’re cute.”
Seungmin felt you sniff. “No.” “I’m not doing anything.” “You’re crying.”
“Felix started it.” Felix wiped beneath one eye. “I’m happy.” “That makes it worse,” Seungmin said. You twisted and threw your arms around him.
He caught you automatically. “I love you.” Seungmin sighed, but his arms tightened around your waist. “I love you too.”
౨ৎ
The music became louder after that. So did everyone. Chan lost control of the playlist when you, Felix and Jisung began shouting over every song until he played something you liked. By then, the coffee table had disappeared beneath bottles, crushed cans and bowls of snacks nobody remembered opening. Somebody had spilt something sticky beside the sofa. Changbin had taken his shirt off for reasons nobody understood, and Hyunjin kept threatening to throw it out of the nearest window. You, Felix and Jisung dragged one another into the middle of the room.
At first, you actually danced. Felix knew what he was doing even while drunk. Jisung knew what he was doing until something distracted him, which happened every ten seconds. You possessed confidence far beyond your ability and therefore believed you looked incredible. Changbin encouraged that delusion by cheering whenever you moved. Hyunjin attempted to correct your posture once.
You told him to fuck off. He looked deeply wounded. “I’m trying to save you.” “I don’t need saving.” “You’re dancing like your limbs have separate plans.”
“They’re expressing themselves.” Felix laughed and caught your waist before you could stumble into the coffee table. Jisung pressed against your back, shouting the lyrics directly beside your ear while the three of you moved with very little coordination and enormous enthusiasm. From the sofa, Seungmin watched you. His blue shirt had come unbuttoned slightly at the throat, his hair had fallen across his forehead and his cheeks were warm from the alcohol. One hand rested around his glass while his eyes remained fixed on you.
Your sister sat only a few feet away. She attempted to speak to him twice. He answered politely, but barely looked in her direction. When you caught his gaze, you smiled and crooked one finger towards him.
Seungmin shook his head. You did it again. He lifted his drink as though that explained why he could not move. You pouted.
That worked. Seungmin put the glass down and crossed the room. Felix released your waist with a grin. Jisung remained attached to you until Minho appeared behind him, hooked an arm around his middle and pulled him backwards. Jisung laughed and twisted in his hold. “Jealous?”
Minho murmured something into his ear. Whatever it was made Jisung’s face turn bright red. Felix screamed. You screamed because Felix did.
Seungmin caught your face between both hands. “Why are you shouting?” You pointed vaguely towards Minho and Jisung. “Something happened.” “Nothing happened,” Minho said without looking at you. Jisung buried his face against his shoulder.
You grinned. “Something definitely happened.” Minho gave you a warning look. You immediately turned back to Seungmin and began adjusting his collar as though that had always been your intention. “Coward,” Seungmin murmured.
“You’re supposed to protect me.” “From the consequences of your own behaviour?” “You’re my boyfriend.” “That isn’t what that means.”
His hands slid to your waist as the song changed. You pulled him closer, and although he continued pretending not to dance, his body fell easily into the rhythm of yours. “There,” you said. “You’re dancing.” “I’m standing near you.” “You’re moving.”
“You keep dragging me around.” “You love it.” Seungmin lowered his mouth beside your ear. “I love you.” The softness of it caught beneath your ribs.
You turned and kissed him. He kissed you back without hesitation, one hand spreading across the small of your back while the party surged around you. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted at them to shut the fuck up. You suspected one of them had been Changbin. When you pulled away, Seungmin followed far enough to steal another brief kiss.
“You’re clingy,” you murmured. “You called me over.” “And you came.” “You pouted.”
“That’s all it takes?” “Unfortunately.” You smiled and kissed the edge of his jaw. His eyes closed.
“Again.” “You’re demanding.” You kissed his jaw again, and Seungmin’s grip tightened around your waist. Across the room, your sister emptied the rest of her glass.
You barely noticed. Seungmin’s attention had already wandered from dancing to pressing lazy kisses against whatever part of you happened to be closest—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. When his lips brushed beneath your ear, you laughed and pushed lightly at his chest. “You’ve completely stopped dancing.” “I never started.”
“You came over.” “You summoned me.” “I moved one finger.” “Very controlling.”
His hand settled lower against your back, holding you close when somebody squeezed past. You reached up and fixed his collar again. “You look messy.” “You made me messy.” “That sounds suggestive.”
“It was meant to.” His smile turned slow and pleased. Before he could say anything worse, Felix collided gently with your side and caught your hand. “I need her.” Seungmin kept one arm around you. “You’ve had her for three songs.”
“The next one’s important.” “They’ve all been important,” you said. Seungmin looked at Felix. “You sound like her.” “That’s why she loves me.”
Felix pulled. Seungmin held on. You found yourself stretched between them. “Don’t make me choose.” Felix smiled. “You’ll choose me.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. “Choose carefully.” You pretended to consider it before twisting out of Seungmin’s arm, kissing him quickly and letting Felix drag you away. “Coward,” Seungmin called after you. “You still got a kiss!”
“Barely.” You laughed as Felix pulled you back into the crowd. The next hour dissolved into heat, noise and flashes of movement. Hyunjin danced as though someone might be filming him. Changbin attempted to copy him with enough force to make the floor shake.
Nearby, Minho took the glass out of Jisung’s hand and drank from it himself. Jisung watched him. “You said I couldn’t have that.” “You can’t.” “But you can?”
“Yes.” “That’s hot.” Minho looked away, but not before you saw him smile. Someone produced two microphones.
The karaoke began badly and deteriorated almost immediately. You, Felix and Jisung chose a song all three of you knew, which would have helped if any of you had agreed on when to start. Jisung came in too early. You missed half the first line. Felix attempted to hold the performance together and ended up laughing so hard that he could no longer sing. Changbin provided backing vocals without a microphone. Hyunjin acted out the lyrics from the sofa.
Chan kept trying to lower the volume and being shouted at whenever the music became even slightly quieter. By the second song, you had abandoned any pretence of performing well. You and Felix shared one microphone while Jisung used the other for increasingly dramatic ad-libs that had nothing to do with the actual song. Halfway through the chorus, you passed close enough to the sofa for Seungmin to hook his fingers around your wrist. He pulled.
You landed sideways across his lap, and the microphone struck his shoulder. “Shit. Sorry.” Seungmin took it from you before you could hit him again. “Ouch.” “I’m performing.”
“You’re screaming into expensive equipment.” He placed the microphone safely on the table. Felix shouted your name. You tried to stand, but Seungmin held your waist.
“I have responsibilities,” you told him. “You have absolutely no responsibilities.” “Felix needs me.” Felix and Jisung had abandoned the song and were arguing with Chan about whether the lyrics on the screen were wrong.
Seungmin looked towards them. “They seem busy.” “Then I need to help.” “You need to stay here for thirty seconds.” “Why?”
“I missed you.” Your expression softened before you could stop it. Seungmin smiled, knowing he had won. “You’re manipulative.”
You settled more comfortably across his thighs, one arm circling his shoulders. Seungmin rested his face against your chest and closed his eyes while your fingers moved through his hair. Across from you, your sister’s gaze remained fixed on his hand resting against your thigh. Your friend was speaking to her. Your sister nodded without listening.
By one in the morning, the party had split between the living room, the kitchen and the balcony. The music remained loud enough to vibrate through the floor. People drifted between conversations with drinks they had not poured and jackets that did not belong to them. Someone had opened a window, but the room was still hot with too many bodies and the sharp mixture of alcohol, perfume and whatever Changbin had sprayed after insisting he smelled fine. Your friend remained mostly with your sister. She laughed whenever the group became loud enough to include everyone, but she never tried to force herself into the easy physical closeness surrounding the boys.
You checked on her whenever you remembered. Each time, she assured you she was fine. Your sister always said the same. The fourth time you approached, your friend caught your wrist. “You are incredibly drunk.”
You looked down at yourself. “I’m standing.” “Barely.” Your friend laughed. Your sister did not. “She’s been throwing herself around for hours. She always gets like this when she drinks.”
There was something dismissive beneath the words. You recognised it even through the alcohol. Your friend did too. “She looks like she’s having fun,” she replied.
“I’m having an incredible time,” you announced. “I can tell.” Your sister glanced across the room towards Seungmin. “He must be exhausted.” You followed her gaze.
Seungmin was beside Chan, listening to Changbin explain something with far too much hand movement. He caught you looking almost immediately and lifted one eyebrow in silent question. You smiled. He smiled back. “Does he look exhausted?” you asked.
“He’s spent the whole night following you around.” “He likes me.” “I’m aware.” Before the conversation could sharpen, Felix appeared behind you and looped an arm around your shoulders. “There you are.”
“I’ve been here.” “You disappeared.” “I was checking on them.” Felix glanced towards your friend and sister. “Everything good?”
Your friend nodded. “We’re fine.” Your sister smiled at him. “We were talking.” “Great. I’m stealing her.” “You always steal her,” your sister said.
Felix laughed as though she had made a joke. “Everyone does.” He pulled you towards the kitchen. You looked back once. Your friend gave you a small, reassuring smile.
Your sister was already watching Seungmin again. In the kitchen, Jisung was sitting on the counter while Minho stood between his knees, holding a glass out of reach. “That’s mine,” Jisung complained. “It was yours.”
“I’m not finished.” “You said the room was spinning.” “It stopped.” “When?”
“When I closed one eye.” Felix immediately took Jisung’s side. “Give it back.” Minho looked at him. “You’re a terrible influence.” “You’re drinking too,” you pointed out.
“I can handle it.” “So can I.” Minho gave up and handed the drink to you instead. Jisung gasped. “That’s mine.”
“You’re too drunk.” “So are you.” “I’m handling it better.” Felix took the glass from you and drank before either of you could protest.
Minho laughed. It was becoming obvious that he was far drunker than he appeared. His movements were still controlled and his words remained clear, but his eyes had softened and he was smiling much too often. You stepped into the space beside him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Minho looked down. “What’s this?”
“I’m appreciating you.” “You’re crushing my shirt.” You rested your cheek against his chest. “You smell nice.” “None of you are getting another drink.”
“You ruined it,” you complained. “He ruins everything,” Jisung agreed. Minho caught Jisung’s chin and tilted his face upwards. “You can barely keep both eyes open.” “I only need one.”
“For what?” “To look at you.” Minho stared at him. You buried your face against Minho’s shoulder to hide your laughter.
Jisung looked unbearably pleased with himself. Minho’s ears turned pink. “You’re a fucking menace.” “You love me.” Seungmin entered the kitchen before anyone could comment.
He looked at Minho’s arm around you and Jisung hanging over his shoulders Then he looked at Minho. “You’ve collected them.” “I didn’t.” Seungmin approached and slid both hands onto your hips. “You keep disappearing.”
“You were talking.” “I can talk while holding you.” “That sounds inconvenient.” “I’m talented.”
Minho nodded towards you. “Take her before she asks for another shot.” You turned in Seungmin’s arms. “He’s trying to get rid of me.” “You’re attached to his shirt.” “I like him.”
“You like everyone tonight.” “I like everyone every night.” Seungmin’s expression softened. The next drinking game began in the kitchen because nobody could be bothered to move.
It was meant to be truth or drink. Within minutes, it became an excuse to ask invasive questions and shout whenever somebody refused to answer. Changbin joined first, followed by Hyunjin and Jeongin. Chan arrived last, realised what was happening and attempted to leave. You caught his wrist. “No.”
“I’m hosting.” “You’re hiding.” “I need to check the living room.” Jeongin looked towards the doorway. “It’s still there.”
Chan appealed silently to Minho for help. Minho poured him a drink. “Traitor.” “You chose to host.”
Everyone crowded around the counter and floor. You ended up sitting between Minho’s legs with your back against his chest because the chairs had disappeared beneath coats and bags. Seungmin sat in front of you, one hand wrapped loosely around your ankle. Jisung remained tucked against Minho’s side, his head on his shoulder and one leg draped over yours. Changbin pointed at you first. “Truth or drink?” “Truth.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done because you were jealous?” Seungmin looked interested. You looked at Changbin. “I’m not jealous.” The entire room laughed.
“That wasn’t the question,” Hyunjin said. You raised your glass. “Then I’m drinking.” Seungmin’s hand tightened around your ankle. “Answer.” “You don’t get to interfere.”
Everyone shouted. “Coward,” Changbin said. “That’s the point of the game.” “The point is to expose yourself.”
“That sounds like a different game,” Jeongin said. You chucked at that The questions became worse from there. Felix refused to reveal who had received a flirtatious message he sent to the wrong person.
Changbin demanded to know whether anybody had ever hooked up somewhere they could have been caught. Half the room drank. Chan stared at everyone with a raised eyebrow. “In my home?” “Not necessarily,” Jeongin said.
“That did not reassure me.” Jisung claimed he had never done anything humiliating because he was horny. The entire group drank on his behalf. “Fuck all of you.”
Minho leant close enough to murmur something beside his ear. Jisung’s face turned red again. You twisted around. “What did he say?” “Nothing.”
Minho looked unbearably pleased. Your sister stood at the edge of the kitchen beside your friend. She watched Seungmin’s hand move slowly over your ankle. Then she watched Minho’s arm settle across your middle when you leant back against him. Perhaps she expected Seungmin to object.
Instead, he reached forward, caught your chin and tilted your face towards his. “My turn,” he said. You kissed him. The kiss was brief, but intimate enough to inspire several dramatic complaints.
When you pulled away, Seungmin’s thumb brushed once beneath your lip. Your sister looked away. The game ended when Chan realised the music in the living room was loud enough to make the glasses vibrate. Everyone returned to dancing.
By then, nobody pretended it was organised. You, Felix and Jisung shouted lyrics you barely knew with your arms around one another. Sometimes you danced. Sometimes you merely jumped during the chorus and trusted somebody to catch you. Changbin joined whenever the song was good. Hyunjin joined whenever he considered the song worthy.
Jeongin joined only to make everyone else look worse. At one point, Minho caught your hand as you passed and spun you beneath his arm. You nearly completed the movement gracefully. Then you lost your balance.
Minho caught you against his chest. Jisung caught you from the other side. The three of you laughed, tangled together. Seungmin appeared behind you and closed both hands around your waist. “You’re stealing my girlfriend,” he told Minho.
Minho shrugged. “She came willingly.” “He spun me.” “You asked,” Minho reminded you. Seungmin looked down at you. “You ask everyone for things.”
“And they give them to me.” “That’s because you’re spoilt.” “By you.” “Mostly.”
He kissed your forehead. You leant into him, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and how much you loved everyone in it. Across the room, your friend smiled at the sight. Your sister finished another drink.
By the time you needed the bathroom, you were far beyond pleasantly drunk. You were still awake, still talking and technically capable of walking, but the room tilted whenever you turned too quickly. Seungmin noticed you heading towards the hallway and followed. You looked over your shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“With you.” “I can piss alone.” “I’m making sure you reach the bathroom.” “That’s insulting.”
Seungmin caught your waist before you walked into the wall. “Exactly.” You allowed him to guide you down the hallway, although you complained the entire way. At the bathroom door, you planted both hands against his chest. “You can’t come in.” “I wasn’t planning to.”
“You looked like you were.” “I was opening the door.” Seungmin smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be here.” “Why?”
“Because you’ll forget where the living room is.” “It’s one hallway.” “And yet.” You narrowed your eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.
When you came back out, your sister was standing in front of him. One hand rested against the wall beside his shoulder. Seungmin was leaning away. “You could come upstairs with me,” she said.
He blinked at her. “Why?” You stopped in the doorway. Even through the alcohol, laughter rose immediately in your chest. Your sister looked at him as though he were deliberately being stupid. “You know why.”
“I genuinely don’t.” She moved closer, forcing Seungmin’s back against the wall. “We could have sex.” For one long second, Seungmin simply stared at her.
Then his gaze found yours over her shoulder. You covered your mouth. The expression on his face made it impossible not to laugh. His eyes widened slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching as though he could not decide whether to be horrified or offended. Your sister followed his gaze and found you standing there.
Her face hardened. “Oh, please. Don’t act like it’s ridiculous.” That made you laugh harder. “I’m sorry. His face.” “You’re not helping,” Seungmin said.
“You asked why.” “It was a reasonable question.” “She invited you upstairs.” “She could’ve needed something.”
“At one in the morning?” “I didn’t know what she meant.” “You did,” your sister snapped. Seungmin looked back at her. “Apparently not.”
She folded her arms. “You haven’t even considered it.” “No.” “Why?” He stared at her.
Then he gave one short, humourless laugh. “Because I don’t want to.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” “You’ve never given me a chance.”
“I’m not required to.” Your laughter faded. Your sister stepped closer and reached for his chest. Seungmin caught her wrist before she could touch him.
“Stop.” The word was calm. Firm. He moved her hand away and released it.
Humiliation sharpened your sister’s expression as she turned towards you. “You think this is funny because you assume he’d never choose me.” “I don’t assume it.” “You should stop speaking for him.” “I’m standing right here,” Seungmin said.
She ignored him. “You’ve always done this. You get something and act smug because you know somebody else deserves it more.” The alcohol inside you turned suddenly heavy. You steadied yourself against the bathroom door. “Somebody else?” “You know what I mean.”
“No. Say it properly.” Her eyes travelled over you. Your clothes had shifted from dancing. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a mess and your balance remained questionable. You had never felt happier.
“Look at you,” she said. “You’re completely wasted. He’s spent all night following you around while you throw yourself over every man in the room.” Seungmin’s expression hardened. You laughed softly. “Is that what this is about?” “I’m saying he could do better.”
“With you?” “Yes.” The certainty would have been impressive if it were not so pathetic. Your smile disappeared.
Your sister noticed and pushed harder. “I’m prettier. I know how to behave. I don’t need eight men constantly touching me and telling me how special I am.” “Nobody is taking care of me.” “You can barely stand.”
“I’m drunk at a party.” “You’ve been climbing into their laps and letting them put their hands all over you. It’s embarrassing.” Seungmin stepped away from the wall and moved to your side. His hand settled securely at the back of your waist.
Your sister watched it. “She hasn’t embarrassed me once,” he said. “She’s been all over Minho. Felix practically had his hands under her clothes earlier.” “So?”
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s thumb moved slowly against your side. “She loves them,” he said. “They love her. I know exactly where I stand.” “You should have more self-respect.”
His eyebrows rose. “You asked me to cheat on her beside a bathroom.” “You’ve spent the whole night trying to fuck my boyfriend,” you said, “and somehow I’m the slut?” Your sister glared at you. Seungmin continued before she could answer. “Don’t talk to either of us about self-respect.”
“You only say that because she’s standing here.” “I rejected you when she wasn’t.” “You knew she’d find out.” “I knew because I was going to tell her.”
“Why?” “Because she’s my girlfriend.” Your sister shook her head. “You don’t have to keep settling because she got to you first.” Seungmin went still.
There it was. The belief beneath every comparison and every attempt. You had simply reached him first. Had she met him earlier, dressed better, tried harder or pushed for long enough, he would eventually recognise that he had chosen the wrong sister.
Seungmin’s arm tightened around you. “I noticed her,” he said. Your sister scoffed. “You hadn’t met me.” “I’ve met you now.”
The hallway became very quiet. Music still thudded beyond it. Someone laughed in the living room. Your friend called your sister’s name once, distant and uncertain. Seungmin looked directly at her. “And I still choose her.”
Your sister’s face changed. For a moment, she appeared almost sober. Then the anger returned. “She isn’t better than me.”
“This isn’t about who’s better.” “It always is.” “No,” you said quietly. “It’s always been that way to you.” She looked at you.
You could feel Seungmin watching your face. At first, it had been funny. Her unnecessary outfits. Her fake excuses. The way she interpreted Seungmin’s basic manners as secret attraction. Even now, the idea that he might accept remained ridiculous.
But the joke had always required you to ignore the part where your sister could not want something without explaining why you deserved it less. “You can want him,” you said. “I don’t care. It’s humiliating for you, but it doesn’t threaten me.” Her mouth twisted. “What pisses me off is that you can’t admit you want him without telling him I’m ugly, exhausting, childish or not good enough. You don’t flirt with him. You campaign against me.”
“I’ve never called you ugly.” “You keep telling everyone you’re prettier.” “I am.” Seungmin made a disbelieving sound.
You glanced at him. “What?” “Nothing. I’m trying very hard to remain polite.” Your sister folded her arms. “See? You’ve turned him against me.”
“I didn’t have to. You did that by ignoring him every time he said no.” The words landed. Your sister looked at Seungmin. His expression did not soften.
“I thought you were being loyal,” she said. “I was being clear.” “You were trying not to hurt her.” “I was trying not to humiliate you.”
Her cheeks flushed. Seungmin’s voice lowered. “You’ve made that impossible.” Your friend appeared at the far end of the hallway. She looked between the three of you, taking in your sister’s expression and Seungmin’s arm around your waist. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” your sister said immediately. You laughed tiredly. “She asked Seungmin to have sex with her.” Your friend’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” your sister snapped.
“How should I say it?” “She’s drunk,” your friend said carefully. “So am I.” “I know.”
Your friend approached and touched your sister’s arm. “Come and sit down.” Your sister pulled away. “Everyone’s acting like I’ve done something terrible.” “You propositioned my boyfriend after he repeatedly told you he wasn’t interested.” “You don’t own him.”
“No,” you said. “I don’t.” That stopped her. You rested more heavily against Seungmin’s side but kept your eyes on her. “He’s a person. He said no. That should have mattered even if I didn’t exist.”
Your friend looked at your sister. “She’s right.” Betrayal flashed across your sister’s face. “You’re supposed to be here with me.” “I’m here because she invited me.” The answer was gentle but firm.
Your sister looked between you. Then she laughed bitterly. “Fine. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic.” Nobody answered. That seemed to hurt more than any denial would have.
Your friend held out her hand. “Come on.” After a moment, your sister accepted it. She allowed herself to be led back towards the living room without looking at either of you again. You remained in the hallway.
Seungmin rubbed one hand slowly over your back. You watched them disappear. Then you looked at him. “You really asked why.” His mouth dropped open.
The laughter returned before you could stop it. Seungmin stared at you. “You’re impossible.” “Your face was so confused.” “She was vague.”
“She had you against a wall.” “She said upstairs.” “At one in the morning.” “That could mean anything.”
“Name one other thing.” Seungmin opened his mouth. Nothing came out. You waited.
His expression grew increasingly offended. “Exactly.” He caught your waist in both hands and pulled you closer. “You’re very annoying.” “You love me.”
“I’m reconsidering.” “No, you aren’t.” “No,” he admitted. Your smile softened.
The alcohol made it difficult to hold on to one emotion for long. Amusement blurred into exhaustion, which blurred into the ache your sister’s words had left behind. Seungmin noticed. He always did. “Hey.”
You looked at him. His expression had gentled, eyes warm despite the alcohol. “Are you okay?” “I’m extremely drunk.” “I know.”
“She’s a bitch.” “She is.” “I can’t believe she said I throw myself over everyone.” “You do,” Seungmin said, completely unbothered. “Luckily, everyone seems very happy to catch you.”
“With all of you.” “I know.” His hand settled more firmly at your waist. “I’ve never complained.” “And you don’t care?” Seungmin looked genuinely confused. “Why would I?”
You shrugged. “Because she said—” “I don’t care what she said.” The answer came quickly enough to interrupt you. Seungmin lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I know you,” he said. “I know them. I know what all of this is.” His free hand gestured towards the living room, where Felix was shouting the chorus to another song while Minho told somebody to turn the music down without making any effort to do it himself. “You’re my girlfriend,” Seungmin continued. “That doesn’t mean you stop belonging with them too.” Something warm tightened in your chest.
“That was disgustingly sweet.” You kissed him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close as the kiss deepened. Nothing frantic. Nothing performed for anybody else. Just familiar affection in a dim hallway while the party continued metres away.
When you pulled back, Seungmin followed for one more kiss. Then another. “You’re doing too many,” you murmured. “I’ve lost count.”
“You always say that.” You laughed and rested your forehead against his. “There she is,” he murmured. Footsteps sounded behind you.
Felix appeared first, followed by Jisung and Minho. Felix’s expression changed when he saw your face. “Are you okay?” You nodded. Jisung looked unusually serious. “Your friend said something happened.”
“My sister asked Seungmin to sleep with her.” Jisung stared at Seungmin. Then at you. Then back at Seungmin.
“Why?” You burst out laughing. Seungmin pointed at him. “See? Reasonable question.” “That isn’t what I meant,” Jisung said quickly. “Why would she think you’d say yes?”
“That sounded better after clarification.” Minho stepped closer and touched the side of your face. “Are you actually all right?” You leant into his palm. “Mostly.” “Mostly isn’t yes.”
“She was being a bitch.” “I gathered.” From the living room, Changbin shouted, “If you lot are done fondling each other, we’re doing another round.” Chan shouted back that nobody was doing another fucking shot.
Jeongin appeared in the hallway holding four. The party carried on around you.
IN WHICH. seungmin's been hired to break up with his client's girlfriend for him, and you've been hired to apologise for your client's mistakes, and two opposite trajectories always end in a collision.
★⋆. ࿐࿔ cw: 18+ / MDNI ! heavy banter, fluff, angst, comfort, explicit smut. minors please do not interact with this series.
[ 💌 ] TAGLIST : OPEN
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N/A: The much-requested part 2 of Black Ink & White Flowers is here, enjoy! ! (I hope it makes sense, it did in my head 😔)
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Taesan × Florist!Reader
Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, awkwardly affectionate Taesan, flower shop AU, first date, lots of pining even after dating, tooth-rotting sweetness
Summary: Three weeks after your first date, Taesan stops pretending he visits the flower shop for the flowers. The only problem? Buying flowers for a florist turns out to be much harder than falling in love with one. 🌸🖤😭
When you asked Taesan out, you honestly had no idea where that courage had come from.
Maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Maybe you'd wanted to do it for much longer than you were willing to admit.
All you knew was that seeing him turn completely red had been worth it.
You exchanged numbers that same day.
Taesan had barely managed to nod while typing his contact into your phone.
He still looked like he hadn't fully processed what had just happened.
The date was set for Saturday.
Eleven in the morning.
And to your surprise, he insisted on picking you up.
At 10:40, your phone buzzed.
"I'm here".
When you stepped out of your apartment building, you found him leaning against the entrance, staring down at his phone.
He was dressed almost entirely in black, almost.
Because for the first time since you'd met him, he was wearing light-wash jeans instead of black pants.
He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps and shoved his phone into his pocket so quickly that it made you smile.
"You look pretty."
The second he said it, his hand found the back of his neck.
"Ready?"
And yes.
He was definitely nervous.
He was nervous the entire drive.
You noticed it in the way he gripped the steering wheel.
The way he took half a second longer than usual to answer your questions.
The way he immediately looked away whenever he caught you looking at him.
And somehow, the more nervous he became, the harder it was to stop smiling.
They ended up at a huge shopping mall.
They watched a movie.
Shared popcorn.
Had lunch together.
Then spent hours wandering around without any real destination.
It happened during one of those walks.
Something brushed against your hand.
You looked down.
Taesan's fingers had barely touched yours.
Like it had been an accident.
But when you looked up, he was suddenly very interested in a store window that clearly wasn't interesting at all.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Because it was obvious and because it was adorable.
The second time wasn't an accident.
His fingers brushed yours again.
And this time, he didn't move away.
When you intertwined your fingers with his, he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"You almost fell."
"I'm fine."
Liar. But he didn't let go of your hand.
And neither did you.
When he dropped you off in front of your apartment building that night, the two of you stood beside his car for a few seconds without really knowing what to say.
"I had fun."
"Me too."
Taesan nodded.
Looked at the entrance.
Looked at you.
Looked back at the entrance.
Then lowered his head slightly.
"We can go out again next week."
It wasn't a question, sounded more like a request.
You smiled.
"Of course."
The relief that immediately appeared on his face made you laugh.
And when you finally made it back to your apartment, you were still smiling.
Three weeks later, Taesan had stopped pretending he came to the flower shop for flowers.
Now he came for you.
Sometimes he'd show up in the morning carrying two coffees.
Sometimes he'd stop by after work.
Sometimes he'd walk into the shop, look around for twenty minutes, and leave without buying a single thing.
"You came here just to see me, didn't you?"
You asked one afternoon.
Taesan, who had been quietly watching you arrange sunflowers, took two whole seconds to answer.
"Yeah."
He didn't even try to lie.
Which somehow made it worse.
Because every day, he seemed less interested in hiding it.
He started leaning against the counter while you worked.
Handing you things when you were busy.
Resting a hand on your waist whenever he walked past you.
Tucking strands of hair behind your ear without even realizing that every single time he did it, you completely forgot what you were doing.
Mrs. Kim was the first one to notice.
She was one of your regular customers.
She came by almost every week.
And she'd been watching Taesan from the very beginning.
"He's getting bolder."
She told you one afternoon while choosing flowers.
"What?"
"Your boyfriend."
You nearly dropped the scissors.
Mrs. Kim subtly pointed behind you.
Taesan was sitting in one of the chairs.
Watching you. Again.
"He's not doing anything."
"He's been staring at you for ten minutes."
You glanced over and sure enough, he was still watching you.
The moment your eyes met, he looked away so fast that it almost made you laugh.
Mrs. Kim burst out laughing.
"Poor thing."
"Why poor thing?"
"Because he's hopelessly in love with you."
🌸🌸
A few days later, Mrs. Kim returned to the flower shop
and found Taesan completely alone.
You were in the back organizing an order.
Taesan had been wandering around the bouquets for nearly five minutes without touching any of them.
Mrs. Kim watched him for a moment.
"Looking for something?"
Yaesan nearly jumped.
"No."
"That's a lie."
Silence.
"I want to buy flowers."
"What a surprise. You're in a flower shop."
Taesan closed his eyes for a second.
As if gathering patience.
"They're for her."
Mrs. Kim smiled immediately.
"I see."
Taesan glanced around.
Then toward the storage room door to make sure you weren't listening.
And lowered his voice.
"I don't know which ones to choose."
Mrs. Kim had to fight very hard not to laugh.
ÑBecause out of everyone in the world, a florist's boyfriend was asking her for help choosing flowers.
"What do you want to tell her?"
"Tell her?"
"With the flowers."
Taesan blinked.
As if he'd never thought about that before.
"I just want her to like them."
And for some reason, that was the most romantic thing Mrs. Kim had heard all week.
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IN WHICH. seungmin's been hired to break up with his client's girlfriend for him, and you've been hired to apologise for your client's mistakes, and two opposite trajectories always end in a collision.
★⋆. ࿐࿔ cw: 18+ / MDNI ! heavy banter, fluff, angst, comfort, explicit smut. minors please do not interact with this series.
[ 💌 ] TAGLIST : OPEN
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ .ᐟ.ᐟ the only rival I never want to lose - 한태산
⋮ ⌗ ┆synopsis: han taesan is the student council president of KOZ’s only boys’ school while you’re the student council president of its rival girls’ school. known throughout the district for your endless competitions and constant bickering, the two of you have spent years trying to outdo each other. and as graduation approaches and your rivalry finally reaches its end, taesan begins to realise that the one person he’s always been chasing might be the one he never wants to let go of.
⋮ ⌗ ┆warnings: rival taesan, headcannons and oneshot, bickering and irritating, skinship, intended lowercase, female reader, fluff, very self indulgent heh
⋮ ⌗ ┆word count: 3.5k (500avg on each headcannon)
⋮ ⌗ ┆authors note: here is my self indulgent fic ever hehe, I had so much fun writing and planning!! I knew this would be one of the first few oneshot/drabbles I wanted to write!! I hope you enjoy reading this!! <33
ᛝ now playing: adios by boynextdoor
back to masterlist | reblogs and comments highly valued!! (please!!)
── rival! taesan : makes every combined school event a competition. charity drive? competition. sports day? competition. school festival? definitely a competition. ˎˊ˗
the annual joint school festival was supposed to bring the male students and female students together and encourage mutual friendship. though, somehow along the way, it turned into a battlefield for both student council presidents.
“why are there so many students at your booths.” taesan clicked his tongue as he stood amidst the huge crowd of people around the girls schools stalls. you smirked as you flipped through the stack of tickets in your hand, counting them flauntingly. “maybe because we actually had a good idea, not our fault.” he scoffed, “you bribed them with free brooches.” you corrected him, “incentives.” “bribes.”
before you could retort him again, a teacher walked past whilst shooting a kind smile, “wonderful job, you two!” the two of you could only shoot her a friendly smile and nod.
once she left, taesan leaned in, “we’re beating your sales by lunchtime, mark my words.” “in your dreams.” you snort.
more below the cut!!;
By noon, the boys were ahead by 30 tickets. By one o’clock, the girls had overtaken them. By two o’clock, taesan had managed to convince people to buy beverages from one of their booths. By three o’clock, you were glaring at him from across the courtyard while making a new promotional poster. neither of you had noticed your respective councils had stopped working and were now finding entertainment in watching the two of you.
“this is getting ridiculous.” sungho muttered, staring at taesans determined back. “they’ve been trying to outdo each other since the charity drive.” riwoo shrugged. “and sports day” “oh don’t forget leadership camp.” “ahh cross country too” leehan, woonhak and jaehyun added.
Across the courtyard, taesan caught your gaze and raised a lazy eyebrow and smirk, silently gesturing for you to throw in the towel. you immediately straightened up, over your dead body.
an hour later, the final numbers were announced. a tie. the entire courtyard erupted in cheers. the two of you stared at the result board in disbelief. then both of you spoke at the same time, “this has to be wrong.” “there’s no way.” the teacher in charge took a deep breath, “just accept the tie.” neither of you looked convinced.
As everyone began packing up, taesan walked over to you with two cans of banana milk in his hands. he handed one to you while saying, “you got lucky.” you grinned while accepting the banana milk, “we tied.” for once he didn’t argue but he did let out a chuckle. he glanced at the fairy lights hanging above the courtyard before his gaze fixed on your face again, “same time next event?” the corners of your lips couldn’t help but twitch upwards, “you’re on.”
and somewhere behind you, both student councils collectively groaned, already knowing the next event would tire them out from endless competition.
── rival! taesan : makes sure to disagree immediately if any of his student council members criticizes you or your council. ˎˊ˗
“her councils’ schedule is kind of a mess isn’t it?” the comment from woonhak slips out casually during the meeting. taesan doesn’t even look up from his paperwork, “no it isn’t.” the room immediately goes silent. woonhak blinks, “well, i mean.. they changed the rehearsal schedule for the play three times..” “because the venue got changed twice.” “oh.”
sungho leans back in his chair, “their publicity poster isn’t that great either.” hearing this, taesan finally looked up from his paperwork, “they’re fine.” “fine?” sungho questions. “they have a high percentage of engagement.” the room falls silent again. “..how do you know that?” jaehyun asks.
taesan freezes. a little too long. “i read the reports.”
all of the student council members looked at each other, not daring to say anything since nobody else bothered to read the reports. “well, the girls’ school only did well during the event because they had better sponsors.” riwoo said, trying to agitate taesan. taesan immediately shakes his head, “they secured the sponsors themselves.” riwoo smirks, “you’re defending them again.” taesan sighs, “i’m correcting you.” “same thing.” “it really isn’t.”
the council members exchanged knowing looks. because this happens every single time. the moment someone criticises you or your council, taesan is suddenly the first person to explain why they’re wrong. the moment someone downplays your achievements, taesan pulls out the statistics and reports. it’s getting.. suspicious. “you know for someone who’s supposed to be her rival.. you spend a lot of time defending her.” taesan’s pen stops moving. “just because i’m her rival, that doesn’t mean i have to lie.” jaehyun flashes his usual teasing smirk, “so you think she’s competent?” “obviously.” “talented?” “yes.” “hardworking?” “of course.” jaehyun’s smirk only widened, wanting to push him further, “and pretty–” “this meeting’s over right?” taesan manages to shoo all of them out his office as the council members erupt in cackles. taesan shuts the door behind them before anyone can point out the pink creeping up his cheeks. meanwhile, in your office, you sneeze, unaware that your biggest rival might just be your biggest fan.
── rival! taesan : becomes irritated when you don’t attend joint meetings (he’s secretly worried) ˎˊ˗
the joint meeting starts sharply at 3.30pm. by 3.27pm, taesan is already in the meeting room. not because he’s waiting for you obviously. maybe. the meeting room doors opened, members from both your student councils streamed in whilst chatting away. the seat across from him remains empty. weird. 3.30pm. the meeting begins. your vice president stands instead, “our president isn’t here today so let’s just start.” “why?” the question slips out of taesan’s mouth before he could process. all heads turn to look at him. your vice president blinks, caught off guard, “oh.. she’s sick.” taesan nods and the meeting starts properly.
but something feels.. off.. every time he shares his proposal, nobody challenges him. every time the budget is discussed, no one argues with him about a stingy budget. every time he suggests something, not a single person shoots back with an even better idea just to annoy him. the meeting moves along twice as smoothly. and somehow, thats exactly the problem. by the halfway point of the meeting, taesan’s forehead is scrunched up. irrationally annoyed. jaehyun notices first, “what’s wrong with you?” “nothing.” jaehyun scoffs softly, “you look grumpier than usual.” taesan rolls his eyes and ignores him. the meeting continues. his pulls up the proposal for the leadership camp. normally this is where you’d interrupt halfway to point out the flaws in his plans. instead, the meeting ends. no interruptions, no retorts, no eye rolls. it’s quiet. far too quiet. and he hated it. the realization hits him before he can stop it. he misses you. the thought itself makes him irritated with himself. everyone is busy packing up their stuff when your vice presidents gathers some documents off the table.
“can you give these to her?” she asks. the question catches taesan off guard, “why me?” the entire room goes silent. because everyone knows exactly why. your vice president smiles, “no reason.” there is always a reason. taesan takes the folder anyways, just to see you– no, just to make things easier. that’s all.
── rival! taesan : teases you with his height when preparing for an event ˎˊ˗
the preparation for the leadership camp had been going relatively smoothly. relatively. which in your case and taesan’s case meant there had only been three arguments, two disagreements, and one debate over the placement of a banner. a new record. now you were decorating the auditorium. you were standing on your tippy toes, trying ,though failing, to pin up some banners. the top corner was just slightly out of reach. you stretched higher, nothing. slightly higher, nothing. a shadow suddenly appeared behind you. before you could react, a hand reached above your head and effortlessly attached the decoration where you’d been struggling for the past 5 minutes. you froze and slowly turned around. taesan was looking down at you with the most annoying smug expression imaginable, “..” “don’t–” the grin on his face immediately widened, “don’t what?” you poked his chest, “whatever you were going to say.” “oh, wasn’t going to say anything.” you narrowed your eyes at him. he looked far too pleased with himself. then, he glanced at the decoration and back at you. his smirk returned, “i can see why that was difficult.” you gasp, “shoo.” “i’m just observing.” he smiles. “leave.” “i mean the top of the board is pretty high.” “HAN TAESAN!!”
several of your council members immediately looked over. he raised both of his hands with faux innocence, “not my fault you’re vertically challenged.” you grabbed the nearest roll of tape and threw it as him. he caught it easily, unfortunately. “you know if you ask nicely, i might just help.” he tossed the tape around. “i would rather climb the wall.” you shot back before he chuckled. a few minutes later, you found yourself trying to hang another decoration on an even higher beam. you stared at the beam and then at the ladder. taesan unfortunately noticed. without word, he places the decoration he was originally doing down and walked towards you. you crossed your arms seeing this. he extended his arm towards you, “give it.” you hesitated but then reluctantly handed over the decoration to him. the stupid thing took him less than ten seconds. ten seconds. you hated him, “show off.” “not my fault i was blessed with height.” you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out.
as he climbed down the ladder, he looks suspiciously pleased with himself. he adjusted his shirt and then leaned down slightly, just enough to be annoying, “need help with anything else?” you smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that took him aback with suspicion. a pause. “actually..” you point to a banner in the corner, “since you’re so tall, can you fix that?” his grin grows, “so you need me.” you ignore his comment. you point to another decoration, “and that one.” then another, “that too.” “...” “hmm that one too.” by the fifth task, his smile was completely gone from his face. the council members stifled their laughter. “you’re making me do all the work.” taesan frowns. you only shrug, patting his head, “not my fault you were blessed with height.” taesan stands there frozen, blush creeping up his cheeks but he immediately turned his head away.
── rival! taesan : purposefully misses the last question on the test if he hears your pushing yourself too hard for first place. ˎˊ˗
the rumour reaches him by accident. he was walking past your school gate and since your schools were beside each other, he notices you talking with a classmate of yours. “i just need to beat him this one time.” you mumble. your classmate sighs, “you’ve been studying for hours on end.” “because if i don’t, he gets first place again.” you shot back. “you got 4 hours of sleep last night–” “i’m fine.” you shut her down. taesan keeps walking but the conversation stays with him all the way. every joint academic ranking by the district turns into another battleground between the two of you. first place. second place. always separated by one or two marks. always. the teachers’ think that it’s healthy competition. the students’ think that it’s cute. taesan, on the other hand, thinks it’s a problem. especially when he notices the heavy eyebags under your eyes. especially when you carry coffee with you everywhere. especially when you start dozing off in joint meetings. “you look terrible..” he mutters as he approaches you after the joint meeting. you immediately glare at him, “mind your own business.” “did you sleep?” he asks. “...” “exactly.” the conversation ends there. but the worry doesn’t.
during the exams, taesan sits at his assigned desk, on the very last question. according to his calculations, he has at least 96 marks secured. his eyes drift to question 50. the one worth two marks. the one he confidently knew how to solve. the one he intentionally left blank. he stares at it for a moment. and then he closes the paper. the district ranking came out a few days later. for the first time all year, you’re first. by two marks. the next joint meeting is chaos. your council members are celebrating while his council members are mourning his loss. and you’re in the middle of it all, looking happier than he has seen in months. the smile on your face is bright. genuine. proud. just happy. and for some reason, that feels worth more than some number next to his name.
“what happened to you?” jaehyun asks later. taesan doesn’t look up from his notes, “what do you mean?” “you never lose.” jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “i didn’t lose.” jaehyun narrows his eyes suspiciously, “did you mess up?” taesan sighs, “no.” “did you–” “just drop it.” jaehyun studies his nonchalant attitude for a moment, and then realization slowly dawns on him, “oh my god..” taesan immediately looks up in surprise, “don’t” “you did.” “i did not.” “you absolutely did. you let her win..” “I DID NOT!!” the denial comes far too quickly. which makes the corners of jaehyun’s lips twitch up.
a week later, you cornered him after a joint meeting. “you left question 50 blank.” you ask. his shoulders freeze. just for a second. you noticed, of course you did. “i didn’t know–” he shrugs. “it was the easiest question on the paper.” “...” the hallways suddenly felt very quiet. “why?” you ask softly. taesan sighs, “you were making yourself miserable. you looked tired all the time. so i figured, being first wasn’t worth watching you run yourself into the ground.” the words leave his mouth before he could stop them. your eyes widen and for once, you didn’t have a comeback.”thank you..” you say. taesan groans immediately, “don’t thank me.” “why?” you question. “because now you’re making it weird. you laugh. and for the first time in a long while, the rivalry feels a little less like a competition and a little more like two people making sure the other doesn’t fall too far behind.
── rival! taesan : first person to clap even when he looks annoyed that you won an award. ˎˊ˗
the district awards ceremony is held a few weeks later but no one thought much of it since everyone has already seen the rankings. you know you’re first, you know taesan’s second. and if you’re being honest, part of you still hasn’t forgiven him for what he did. even after confronting him about question 50, you had spent nights wondering why he thought sacrificing his own score was a good idea. it was stupid. incredibly stupid. and somehow annoyingly sweet. which somehow made it even worse. the principal steps up to the podium, students fill the auditorium, teachers sit along the sides. then the district rankings are announced one by one. then– your names echoes through the hall. for a second, everything blurs. the applause, the cheering, the people around you. because all you can think about is the paper sitting in a folder somewhere, question 50, blank. clap. the first clap comes from the person besides you. you don’t even need to look to know who it is. taesan. of course it’s taesan. he’s clapping before anyone reacts. when you glance over, he looks annoyed, not angry, not bitter. like he’d rather be standing on that stage himself. like losing still bothers him. because it does, but his hands never stop clapping.
after the ceremony, you find him outside. naturally leaning against the wall. “hey.” you say. he immediately groans, “no.” you huff, “you didn’t even hear the question.” “i know where this is going.” you lean against the wall beside him, award still in your hands, district champion, the title you had been chasing for years and yet somehow feels heavier than you expected. “you should have been up there too..” your words come out quieter than intended. “don’t start.” he looks away. “i’m serious. you let me win.” “i didn’t let you do anything.” taesan sighs. “you left the question blank.” “you still answered the other 49 yourself.” and you hate how easily he says it. like it doesn’t matter. a laugh escapes you. small and filled of disbelief. “you would’ve won.” “maybe.” “taesan.” “what?” you stare at him and for the first time since all of this started, he finally takes a long sigh. “you looked happier having the award than i’ve seen you in months and that's enough.” simple, matter of factly even. it was as if that was the end of the conversation, like it was a perfectly normal reason to throw away first place. no don’t know what to say because no comeback comes to mind. no sarcastic remark. no argument. nothing.
the silence stretches, then taesan points at the award, “don’t drop it. it’d be embarrassing.” a laugh escapes you, “there he is.” “who?” “the annoying you.” “i was never gone.” taesan smirks. for a moment, things feel normal again yet something has shifted. because now every time you look at the award sitting on your shelf, you remember two things. the district ranking. and the boy who is always the first person to clap for you.
── rival! taesan : realises he doesn’t know what to do without having a ‘rival’ when graduation comes around. ˎˊ˗
graduation day is loud. students are crying, taking photos, signing uniforms, promising to stay in touch. it feels like everyone’s standing on the edge of something, a beginning and an ending. taesan hates it. yet deep down, he know that’s not the reason, because every time he looks across the courtyard, his eyes finds yours. again, again and again.you’re surrounded by people. friends from your school, juniors asking for signatures. the districts’ top student. the girls’ school president. his rival. his– .. well. that’s the problem. for years, that title had been enough, you had always been there. and now? now graduation is ending. in a few hours, everyone will go home. in a few months, you’ll both be somewhere else. different schools. different schedules. this realization hits him harder than expected. because for the first time since meeting you.. he has absolutely no idea what comes next.
the ceremony ends and without meaning to, taesan finds himself walking towards the joint student council room. the door is already open and you’re sitting inside alone, looking out at the window. he sits next to you and for a moment, neither of you say anything. “it’s weird.” you finally say. “what is?” “no more rivalry.” you said teasingly. but they hit harder than expected. because taesan realizes that’s exactly what has been bothering him all day. the idea that after today, you won’t just be in the school next to him anymore. you won’t be at the next district event. or anywhere he can easily find you. it was never about who wins. not really.
“you know what’s annoying?” taesan exhales. you blink as he looks away then quietly laughs to himself. “the idea of not seeing you anymore.” silence. your expression changes immediately. “oh.” brilliant. now you’ve made it weird. “you don’t mean–” “i do.” your mouth closes. for once, neither of you has a comeback. taesan rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “i thought graduation would feel good.” you stay still, listening. “but every time someone talked about college, or moving on, all i can think about is..” he laughs once, “who’s going to argue with me now?” a small smile appears on your face, “that’s your confession?” his face immediately heats up, “i wasn’t finished.” “sure–” “i like you.” the words leave his mouth. simple. direct. heart fluttering. “i think i’ve liked you for a while.” he repeated. you stare at him, speechless. “say something.” he says softly. you smile, the same smile that has followed him through years of competitions, arguments, victories and losses. the same smile he’d recognize anywhere. “what took you so long to figure that out, rival?”
the laugh that escapes him is helpless. relieved. happy. and he kisses your forehead before he can overthink it. for the first time since graduation started, the future doesn’t seem quite so scary anymore. maybe he wasn’t losing his rival after all. maybe he was finally getting something better.
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NOTICE: Play the song so you can immerse yourself better in the story! And if you didn't know it, I hope you've discovered your next favorite song. Let's support Hyunjin!
PAIRING: Hwang Hyunjin! x F!Reader
CONTENT: Angst, romance, second person, secret relationship, mature breakup.
SUMMARY: After three years of loving each other in fragments of time, drunk hotel calls, and dates hidden beneath staff disguises, you realize once again that love isn't always enough. Your lives run in parallel, and you can no longer sustain a love that makes you wait more than it lets you live. You let him go, not because you don't love him anymore, but because you love him too much to ask him to give up his dreams. He lets you leave, not because he wants to, but because he understands that sometimes love is also accepting that this life didn't give you the version of each other you deserved.
NOTE: Hi! I wrote this story based on Hyunjin's song LOVER. Ever since it came out, it has become one of my absolute favorites, and I knew for a fact that I had to write something about it. It was hard to do, and I actually ended up crying while writing the end... I hope you like it, I always read your comments!
You wake up to the sound of running water in the bathroom.
For a few seconds, you don't really know where you are. You only feel the warmth under the duvet, the scent of laundry detergent mixed with a faint hint of cologne, and the indent in the pillow where he was sleeping just moments ago. You blink a couple of times, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains. It’s early—too early for your liking, but not for him.
You turn toward his side of the bed, which is already growing cold.
The phone vibrates on the nightstand with a new message from the staff group chat; the screen flashes on and off quickly. You don't manage to read it, but you can imagine it: schedules, reminders, last-minute changes. Things that have become the backdrop of the last three years of your life.
You hear the water stop. A few seconds later, the creak of the bathroom door opening.
"Did I wake you up?" his voice is still a bit raspy, as if it hasn't fully emerged from sleep yet.
You sit up slowly, holding the duvet to your chest, and see him appear wrapped in a towel, his damp hair clinging to his neck. His eyes are a little puffy from sleep, but he smiles the moment he sees you're awake.
"No" you lie, with a half-smile. "Well, a little."
He clicks his tongue softly, playfully guilty, and walks over to the bed. He leans over you, still smelling of soap, and plants a quick kiss on your forehead.
"I'm sorry..." he murmurs, and then, a bit softer: "Good morning."
When you look up, you see that familiar spark in his eyes. That spark that hasn't faded in three years, no matter how much the schedules and the distance have tried to wear it down. You wrap one arm around his waist, gently pulling him until he sits on the edge of the bed.
"What time do you have to leave?" you ask, even though you already know the approximate answer.
"The manager is coming in half an hour" he answers, letting the small towel he was using to dry his hair drop onto his knees. "We have practice, then a meeting, then..." He waves his hand in the air, vaguely, "a lot of things."
"How specific" you tease softly.
He laughs, tilting his head toward you.
"I don't want to bore you with the never-ending list" he says, though you know that, deep down, sometimes it also overwhelms him to repeat it out loud.
You notice his fingers absentmindedly playing with the seam of the duvet. You know that gesture well: he’s thinking about something, mentally calculating the time. He doesn't need to say anything for you to know that he is also looking for minutes to steal from the day just to be with you.
"Are you coming back late?" you ask, more out of habit than complaint.
"Probably" he admits. "But I'll try to text you during the breaks. You know how today is..."
You nod, swallowing the slight pang that brings. It’s not new. It’s not, yet, unbearable. It’s just one more part of your routine.
"Bring me something delicious on your way home and I'll forgive you" you joke, lightening the mood.
Hyunjin smiles—that smile that forms more on one side of his mouth than the other—and reaches out to tangle his fingers in your hair.
"Deal." He extends his pinky finger, offering a small vow. "I promise."
You intertwine your pinky with his, as if you could still swear small things to each other in the middle of such a massive life.
The kitchen smells of coffee and toast.
You are wearing one of his hoodies—the grey one that's way too big for you and smells like him more than any other. You place two mugs on the counter, even though you know he won't have time to finish his, and set a piece of toast on a plate for yourself and another for him. The movements are automatic now, a domestic ritual you share in the gaps between tours, recordings, and rehearsals.
He appears minutes later, already dressed, his hair more or less dry, and his face a little more awake. He sits across from you, takes the mug you offer, and with his eyes still fixed on the coffee, searches for your leg under the table until he finds it. He presses it gently with his own—a steady, silent contact.
"Smells good" he says, looking at the toast.
"Don't say that phrase as if you made it" you reply, arching an eyebrow.
"But I'm the one eating it" he retorts, taking an exaggeratedly large bite and making a satisfied face. "So it counts as a shared achievement."
You roll your eyes, but you laugh. You look at the kitchen clock. The ticking mixes with the soft murmur of the radio, playing some random song in the background. He looks up, as if he noticed the silent direction of your thoughts.
"Hey..." he starts, his voice a bit more serious. "Tonight, if I'm not too late, should we watch something? A movie, or... whatever you want."
You look at him for a second, trying to guess if it's a real promise or one of those good intentions that later gets swallowed by the schedule.
"Only if you don't fall asleep after five minutes" you say, propping your chin on your hand.
"I don't fall asleep that fast" he protests, offended. "It's the couch's fault; it's too comfortable."
"Sure, sure. The couch is to blame."
He laughs, but his gaze stays fixed on yours a couple of seconds longer than usual. There’s something in it, a sort of silent plea: believe me, I'm trying. You see it, you know him. And, for now, you grant it to him without a word.
He finishes his coffee in big gulps, checking the watch on his wrist. You dedicate yourself to watching him: the mechanical movements, the fatigue he tries to hide, the way that every time he is with you, he makes a small, conscious effort to be truly present in that moment. As if he knows they are few.
When the building's buzzer rings, you both know it's time to say goodbye.
Hyunjin leaves his mug in the sink with a soft clink. He comes back to you, and this time he doesn't settle for a quick kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for a moment, as if he wants to store your scent in some secret corner to take it with him.
"I’ll text you when I get there" he whispers against your neck.
"Okay" you reply, closing your eyes for a second and gripping the back of his shirt. "And send pictures of the studio, if you can."
"I’ll make a private vlog just for you" he jokes, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes.
He kisses you, slowly, with a softness that contrasts with the rushing clock. The kind of kiss that seems to say more than any words ever could: I'm sorry for leaving, thank you for waiting, I don't want to go but I have to.
When he pulls away, his fingers linger on your cheek, as if they can't quite convince him that it's already time to go.
"I’m coming back home later, yeah?" he asks, though it isn't really a question.
"I’ll be waiting here" you reply.
He nods, once. He grabs his things, slips on his shoes near the door, and before stepping out, gives you one last look. There is exhaustion in his eyes, but also something bright, untouched: love. You know it because you’ve spent three years seeing it, recognizing it, taking refuge in it.
The door closes with a soft click.
The silence left behind in the apartment is familiar, almost intimate. You lean against the kitchen counter for a second and listen to your own thoughts fill the gap his absence has left. It’s a silence that doesn't hurt just yet; it only weighs a little.
You sigh, pour yourself the rest of the coffee, and look at the half-empty mug he left behind.
"I’m coming back home" he told you.
And you, as always, believed him.
The first hours of the day pass by in small tasks. You tidy up the living room a bit, fold a blanket that was left bunched up in a ball on the couch from last night, and reply to backlogged messages. You start a load of laundry with his clothes and yours mixed together, without separating them, as if even there, in something so simple, your lives were one single thing.
Your phone vibrates on the living room table.
Made it safe. Sending an ugly picture as proof.
Seconds later, a photo of him in the rehearsal room pops up—his hair a messy nest, looking like he doesn't want to be awake yet, making a weird face at the camera. You laugh out loud in the empty living room.
The face of a dedicated artist.
Good luck today. Don't forget to eat.
The "typing…" appears almost immediately.
How could I forget, when I have someone who scolds me if I don't?
You don't tell him it's not scolding, that it's actually the only way you have to take care of him from afar. That inside those messages fit all the things you can't do when he's away: tucking his hair behind his ear, making him something warm after a long practice, holding him when he comes home exhausted.
Instead, you reply with something light, a joke, and go on with your day.
For now, everything is fine. For now, everything seems to hold together.
You allow yourself to believe that this routine—made of early goodbyes and intermittent messages, of movie promises that sometimes happen and sometimes don't—can last forever without breaking anything inside.
You don't yet know the exact moment you will start missing him even when he's right by your side.
For now, you just wait for him.
Later, when you hear the passcode and then the front door opening, you already have the table set.
The pasta is still steaming on the plates, the homemade sauce fills the kitchen with the scent of tomato and garlic, and the warm dining room light makes the apartment feel even smaller and cozier. You wipe your hands on the dish towel just as Hyunjin walks in, his backpack hanging off one shoulder and his black cap still on.
"I'm home..." he announces in a low voice, as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.
The moment he sees you, his expression softens. He closes the door with his foot, drops his backpack on the hallway floor, and walks closer, taking off his cap and leaving it on the entryway console.
"Smells amazing" he says, approaching the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"
"I was waiting for you" you reply, turning toward him.
His gaze drops to the two plates served on the table. He furrows his brows with a look of mild, affectionate reproach.
"You could have eaten earlier" he says, stepping closer. "I got back late again."
He raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips are a bit cold.
"I wanted us to eat together" you reply. "It tastes better that way."
Hyunjin sighs very, very softly, and nods. He looks at you with a rare mixture of tenderness and guilt that you already know all too well.
"Come on, sit down" you add, tugging a little at his shirt to pull him toward the table. "Before it gets cold."
He lets himself be dragged along, giving in with a small smile. He sits across from you, but before touching the silverware, he extends his hand across the table and searches for yours. His fingers find yours and squeeze them gently.
"Thank you for waiting for me" he murmurs, sincere.
"As long as you don't leave me stranded with an empty plate..." you reply jokingly, squeezing his fingers back.
He laughs, the sound raspy from exhaustion.
You start to eat, talking about small things. He tells you some funny detail from rehearsal, a joke with one of the guys, the choreographer who got the song wrong, the wardrobe coordinator who showed up with two different shoes. You tell him an absurd anecdote from work, about the printer that decided to die right before an important deadline.
Hyunjin listens to you with his head slightly tilted, his eyes fixed on you more than on his plate. Every now and then he falls silent for a couple of seconds, as if suddenly remembering how much he missed you during the day.
"This is really good" he says suddenly, going back to the dinner. "Seriously."
"You're just saying that because you know I'll make it for you again."
"I'm saying it because it's true." He shrugs. "And because I like it when you cook for me."
And there is something in the way he says it, in that soft "for me," that tightens your chest for a second. Not with pain, not yet; just with that kind of heavy tenderness brought on by seeing him come home so tired and still making an effort to make you feel like you are at his center.
You finish almost at the same time. He gets up to take the plates to the sink, but you block his path.
"Leave it, I'll wash them later" you protest.
"I can wash a couple of plates" he retorts, "I'm not that useless of a star."
"I know, but not today. Today you sit on the couch and do nothing."
"Doctor's orders?"
"My orders."
He laughs, gives in, leaves the plates to one side of the sink, and runs a hand over his neck, massaging away the tension. Your eyes follow him as you walk together into the living room.
The couch has become your sanctuary.
Hyunjin lets himself fall first, letting out a deep sigh, almost a muffled groan of relief. He sinks into the cushions, stretches his legs, and, for the first time all day, his body looks truly loose, without that constant rigidity he carries around when he’s working.
"God..." he murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment. "You don't know how much I thought about this today."
"About the couch?" you ask, sitting down beside him.
"About the couch..." He opens one eye, looks at you, and corrects himself. "And about you."
You laugh, shaking your head slowly, but your heart warms up a little at such a simple confession.
"What do you want to watch?" you ask, picking up the remote.
"Whatever you want. I don't have the brain cells to decide anything."
You start surfing through the channels until you find a movie you had left half-watched a few weeks ago. You play it from the beginning. Hyunjin gets comfortable, sliding down a bit toward you, resting his head on your lap without asking.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs, already half-buried against you.
"Of course" you reply, adjusting the cushion behind your back.
You begin to stroke his hair slowly, tangling your fingers through the soft strands. He exhales a sigh so long you can almost feel the whole day leaving his mouth. He closes his eyes, the expression on his face softening little by little.
There, in your lap, he stops being “Hyunjin of...” and goes back to being just Hyunjin. The boy who laughs too loud when something amuses him, the one who bites his nails when he's nervous, the one who blushes when you say something too direct. Your Hyunjin.
You look at the screen, but you aren't really paying attention to the movie. You are paying attention to him. To every time his breathing slows down a little, to how the muscles in his jaw relax under your hand.
You notice the first nod. His head tilts a bit; his eyelids blink slower.
"If you're sleepy, sleep" you whisper, lowering the TV volume. "It's okay."
He opens his eyes halfway, as if he had to make a massive effort to come back to the surface.
"No..." he protests, his voice low and slurred. "I want to watch the movie with you."
He looks at you, as if he needed you to confirm it: he wants to be here, conscious, sharing this, even if it's something as simple as a random movie on a random Tuesday.
"Hyun, you're falling asleep" you say softly, smiling a little.
"No..." he repeats again, almost childishly, pressing his forehead a little against your stomach. "Just... resting my eyes for a bit."
You know, from experience, that in less than ten minutes he will be fast asleep. And yet, that tiny resistance touches you to the point of aching. You love him like this, so tired and so determined not to let you go, even in the smallest details.
"Okay" you accept. "Just 'resting your eyes'."
You resume stroking his hair, patiently. In a matter of minutes, you notice his breathing become deep and steady. One of his hands, which was resting on your thigh, goes completely limp. He’s asleep.
You lower the volume even more. You stay there, in almost complete silence, with the blueish light from the television bathing the room. You look at his relaxed features, his long eyelashes, the faint frown between his eyebrows that, even in sleep, takes time to fade.
"You are my safe place" he told you once, in one of those moments when his tongue loosened from exhaustion.
You remember it now, with his weight in your lap, feeling that sweet yet bittersweet pride: that he can rest in you. That, at least here, everything stops for a moment.
His day off arrives almost like a miracle.
He tells you about it by sending a euphoric text hours before:
I have nothing tomorrow! DAY OFF. THE WHOLE DAY.I'll pick you up at 10, okey?
The next day, right on time, he appears at the door with a cap, a mask, and that childish excitement shining in his eyes.
"I have plans" he says the moment he steps in, pulling down his mask only after the door closes behind him.
"Sounds dangerous" you reply, crossing your arms, playing along.
"Depends." He steps closer, wraps his hands around your waist, and gives you a quick kiss on the corner of your lips. "Plan number one: there's a new exhibition at the downtown museum. I want to go with you."
You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve seen the pictures on social media, the reviews, the general hype. You also know what it means: cameras, fans, stares, risk.
Your smile stays on your face, but something inside you drops a little.
"Hyunjin..." you start.
He is already shaking his head slowly, as if he knew the answer that was coming.
"I know" he says. "I know." He looks at the floor for a second and then looks back up at you. "I could wear a mask, a cap, a hoodie... but..."
You both finish the sentence in silence: it’s not a good idea.
It’s not just a matter of him getting recognized. It’s a matter of you getting recognized with him. Photos, headlines, rumors. Having to justify a life that you both prefer to keep safe, even if it’s at the cost of hiding it.
"We'll leave it for another time" you say, trying to make it sound light, as if you truly believed that "another time" would come anytime soon.
He nods, swallowing something that doesn't quite turn into a complaint.
"Plan number two, then" he continues, bouncing back quickly. "Eating out. I can request a private room. The manager already knows. He can come with us for a bit and then leave, or wait outside. You go..." he points at your clothes with a small smile, "'staff mode'."
"Staff mode" means discreet clothing, a cap, a mask—moving around as if you were part of the crew and not the person he looks at as if you were his whole world.
"We can do that" you reply.
"We can" he repeats, with a small spark of victory. "Let's go."
The restaurant is quiet, in a high-rise building with huge windows overlooking the city. You are led down a side hallway to a private room with a table for four, even though there are only two of you. A dim screen on the wall, warm light, a closed door.
You step out of the elevator already knowing your part by heart. You walk behind the manager, phone in hand as if you were checking something for work. Hyunjin is up ahead, hoodie up, his posture a bit straighter than usual. You both know how this is done.
Once inside the room, the door closes. The manager looks at you both.
"I'll be right outside" he says, pointing toward the hallway. "There’s security at the entrance. If you need anything, text me."
"Thanks, hyung" Hyunjin replies with a tired but grateful smile.
When you are finally left alone, you notice him let out the breath he’d been holding. He pulls down his hood, fixes his hair, and sinks into the chair as if he had just run a marathon.
"It's always weird, isn't it?" he murmurs, propping his elbows on the table. "Walking into a place as if I were doing something wrong."
"You aren't doing anything wrong" you reply quickly.
He looks at you, his expression softening a bit.
"I know. But sometimes it feels that way."
The food is brought in, you talk about random things, you laugh at small details. It’s easy to forget, for a while, that you are hidden behind walls—that you need permissions and closed doors for something as simple as eating out together.
As you are finishing up, Hyunjin’s phone vibrates on the table. He looks down, sees the name on the screen, and freezes for a second. Then his eyes find yours, silently asking for a permission he shouldn't have to ask for.
“Would it be bad if I answer right now?” his gaze says.
You smile at him, swallowing a small lump in your throat.
"Answer it" you say softly. "It's work."
Hyunjin nods, as if it hurt him a little that you were the one to say it. He swipes the screen and brings the phone to his ear.
"Yes?" he answers, his tone automatically shifting—more professional, more awake.
You sit there, playing with the folded napkin on your lap, catching only fragments: "yes, hyung," "schedule," "I can," "we'll adjust." There is an "it's fine" that sounds like the exact opposite.
When he hangs up, he sets the phone face down on the table. He looks at you, his lips pressed into a tight, halfway line.
"Just... small changes to the schedule" he explains, almost apologetically. "Nothing serious."
"Small changes to the schedule" usually means fewer hours for him. Fewer hours for the two of you. You know how to read between the lines.
"Everything okay?" you ask.
He forces a brief smile.
"Yeah. Everything's fine."
And even though the food was delicious, even though he looked at you the way he always does, this brief moment sticks to your throat like a thorn.
Back in your apartment, it is already dark.
You’ve left your jackets hanging, slipped off your shoes, and the atmosphere becomes yours again. Hyunjin sits on the edge of the bed while you finish putting a few things away on the desk.
"They told me that..." he starts, playing with the chain around his neck. "That I’m going to have three days off in a row next month. Three days. 'Vacation,' according to them."
You look up, surprised. Three days in a row sounds almost unreal.
"Really?"
He nods, with a cautious smile, as if he were afraid of getting his hopes up too much.
"I want to know what you want to do those days" he says. "You and me. Just us. Whatever you want."
You walk over and sit beside him. You pull out your phone, opening your calendar almost out of reflex. He does the same.
You look for the dates. There they are: three blank squares in his digital schedule. Empty. Clean. A rarity.
You look at yours.
Your heart sinks a little the moment you see the hours marked in colors: meetings, shifts. Work. Your own schedule, filling the exact space that he, for once, had free.
"I have to work those days" you say, noticing how the phrase drops from your tongue with the weight of something you’ve already said before, way too many times.
Hyunjin stays silent for a second.
"Can you change them?" he asks, looking at you quickly. "Or ask for them off... I don't know. I can talk to them to move my days if needed."
He shakes his head as soon as he finishes the sentence, as if realizing that it isn't that easy on his side either.
You click your tongue, frustrated with yourself, with everything.
"I already asked for all the days they could give me this month" you explain. "If I ask for more, they’ll dock my pay or deny them. I can't..." you squeeze the phone in your hand. "I can't, even though I'd love to."
He lets out a long sigh, staring at an indefinite spot on the floor.
"Always the same" he murmurs. "When you can, I can't. When I can, you can't."
Neither of you says it out loud, but you’re both thinking the same thing: three years, and this keeps synchronizing by chance, in bits and pieces, never entirely.
"We try" you reply in a low voice. "We always try."
Hyunjin nods, still not looking at you. He knows that truth better than anyone.
"Yeah.." he says simply.
The silence that creeps in afterward isn't hostile, but it's heavy. You both sigh at almost the exact same time. That story you already know by heart: impossible things, always just a bit out of reach.
That night, his exhaustion contrasts with your insomnia.
Hyunjin fell dead asleep the moment he lay down, his hair still a bit damp from the shower. You turned off the light, curled up beside him... but sleep wouldn't come.
Every time you close your eyes, your mind fills with calendars. Marked days, tiny gaps. "If we switch this for that" and "maybe next month."
After tossing and turning for quite a while, you give up.
You get up carefully, without turning on the main light, and walk barefoot to the kitchen. The floor is cold; it embraces you a little, forcing you to be present in that exact moment.
You set water to boil and prepare some tea, hoping the ritual will calm you down. The steam rises in white spirals, clashing with the dimness of the kitchen.
You lean against the counter, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. At first, you only think about practical things: about work, about tomorrow's alarm. But gradually, the train of thought pulls you somewhere else.
Three years.
Three years of comings and goings, of goodbyes in doorways and welcomes at ungodly hours. Three years of late dinners, half-watched movies, plans jotted down in phone notes that could almost never be fulfilled.
You have always been proud of him. Of everything he does, of every step forward, of every achievement. You still are. There is no doubt about that.
But lately, every new announcement, every new collaboration, every new campaign brings a shadow with it. Because you know what it means: more flights, more schedules, more shoots, more phone calls during meals.
More of his life far away from where you are.
You feel a strange anger, which isn't directed at him, nor at you. It’s anger against something abstract: time, schedules, the way the world always seems to want him just a bit more than you can have him.
You notice the warmth in your eyes before you even realize you’re crying. A tear falls, silent, and blends into the rim of the mug. You wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand, almost embarrassed, even though no one is watching.
It hurts for you, for what you feel doesn't get to fully grow. And it hurts for him, because you see how tired he is, how hard he tries to stretch himself in a thousand directions just so he doesn't fail anyone.
And in the middle of all that, you have each other, trying to hold up something that sometimes seems to depend on margins, on gaps, on stolen moments.
“In three years... what has truly changed?” you ask yourself, a lump in your throat. “How much longer are we going to be able to keep going like this, living on crumbs of time?”
You try to cut the thread of thought, almost by force. You don't want to go any further tonight. You don't want to put words to things you only question when you’re alone in a kitchen at three in the morning.
You take one last sip of tea, take several deep breaths, and wipe your tears away thoroughly with your cold hands. You force yourself to compose your face, as if you were the one who had to step out onto a stage.
You turn off the light and go back to the bedroom.
Hyunjin is on his back, occupying the bed as if it were yours alone, his shirt pulled up a bit, one hand on his chest. He snores very softly, almost imperceptibly, his facial expression completely relaxed.
You approach quietly and slip back under the duvet. You turn toward him, because it's the most natural thing you’ve done in three years: searching for his body even when he's asleep.
You press against his side, resting your head on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat—strong, steady, as if it were marking a rhythm of its own, oblivious to schedules and commitments. He smells like soap and something that is uniquely him.
By instinct, even in his sleep, Hyunjin moves. His arm falls over your shoulders and wraps around you, pulling you a bit closer to him. His hand rests on your back, warm and protective.
"Mmm..." he murmurs, in an almost unintelligible whisper. "There you are..."
You don't know if he's awake or talking from his dream. You don't answer. You just close your eyes and cling to that embrace, to that small space where everything still feels possible.
You try not to think about schedules, about impossibles, about everything that made you cry in the kitchen a moment ago. You repeat to yourself, like a mantra, that right now you are here, with him. That, for a few hours, it is enough.
You breathe to the beat of his breathing, letting the warmth of his body lull you to sleep. And, with your cheek pressed against his chest and his fingers resting on your back, sleep finally catches up to you.
Even if, deep down inside, something in you has already started to wonder how much longer you'll be able to keep sustaining this love on nights like this.
The months pass by as if someone had left the clock on fast-forward.
An announcement on social media, a teaser video, a massive poster: a new world tour. The dates begin to appear one after the other, city after city, until the map looks like a board full of red dots. You see it on the internet first, long before he dares to show it to you, phone in hand.
You’ve been through this before. It’s not the first tour you’ve shared, though you’ve never truly shared it entirely.
You know what it means even before looking at the countries: months without him, impossible time zones, video calls in bits and pieces, messages that arrive when you are already asleep or when he is in a van on his way to the venue. The lives of the two of you out of sync, always.
In theory, you are prepared. In practice, something inside you shrinks just like the first time.
The preparation begins long before they board the first plane.
Longer rehearsals, endless meetings, wardrobe fittings, pre-recordings. Hyunjin comes home sweaty, almost always late, his body exhausted and his mind still racing, jumping from one pending task to the next.
"Every time we finish the choreography, they change it a bit" he complains one night, dropping his backpack on the living room floor and letting himself fall onto the couch. "They want it to look perfect on camera, and..."
He massages his temples. You sit beside him, cross your legs, and look at him.
"And you want it to look perfect in every way" you complete softly.
He throws you a look that is half-guilty, half-resigned.
"It’s a big tour" he says. "Bigger than the last one. And..." a quick, proud smile escapes him, almost like a child’s. "We’re selling out all the venues. I want it to go well."
That spark in his eyes—that spark that recognizes what it took to get there—swells your chest with pride. Truly. You’ve seen him break his back in practices; you’ve seen him come back completely wrecked and still keep going. You know what it means to him.
But right behind the pride, like a long shadow, you know what it implies for you.
"How long will you be away this time?" you ask, even though you’d already done the math looking at the tour schedule when it went public.
Hyunjin hesitates for a second, as if thinking about softening the answer.
"Officially..." he starts, pulling out his phone and opening his schedule. "Three and a half months. But with leaving early and things afterward... almost four."
Almost four months.
You’ve already survived tours before. You know how they work: at the beginning, you talk a lot, you send each other pictures, you have long video calls. Then, as the days go by, exhaustion hits him, the schedules get crazier, and the calls get shorter, more spaced out. Not due to a lack of wanting, but a lack of time, of energy, of gaps.
"Four months pass by quickly" you lie, resting your head against the back of the couch.
Hyunjin looks at you for a moment, as if he could read your entire thought process. He knows you don’t believe it. He knows you also remember nights spent checking the world clock on your phone, calculating if it was too late to text him, too early to call.
"They pass" he corrects in a whisper. "I don’t know if quickly. But they pass."
He leans toward you, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You feel him breathe deeply, as if he were trying to keep this moment in a bottle.
"I’m sorry" he says, almost inaudible.
"Don’t apologize for working" you reply instantly, automatically.
"I’m not apologizing for that" he answers, lifting his head to look at you. "I’m apologizing because I know... I’m leaving you alone again."
You don’t have a clear answer. Because it’s not just "again," it’s "one more time" on top of many others. And because, even though you don't want to make him feel guilty, the weariness keeps accumulating in a corner of your chest that grows larger every time.
You just reach out and stroke his cheek.
"You aren’t leaving me alone" you say, even though sometimes it feels exactly like that. "You’re just going away for a little while."
A "little while" that will last nearly a third of the year.
The days leading up to his departure are filled with practical things. Lists, suitcases, meetings. He goes back and forth carrying clothes, hanging garments on hangers, deciding what goes into his hotel room bag and what stays in the checked luggage.
You help him fold t-shirts on the bedroom floor.
"Are you taking this one?" you ask, holding up one you recognize—the one you gave him last winter.
Hyunjin looks at it and smiles.
"Of course." He steps closer, steals the t-shirt from your hands, and brings it to his nose for a second. "It smells like home."
You feel the urge to tell him that when he leaves, home is going to smell like something else. Like emptiness, maybe. Like an echo. You don't say it. You tuck it away along with so many other things you’ve been pushing to the background lately, into a mental drawer that grows heavier by the day.
The night before he leaves, you both pretend it’s just a normal night.
You watch something on TV, eat whatever, try to talk about random things. But every silence, every lingering look at the screen, is filled with what neither of you is saying: in less than twenty-four hours, that alternate version of your life is going to start all over again—the one where you love each other through screens.
When you finally get into bed, he holds you tighter than other nights. He pulls you so close against his chest, as if he wanted to fuse you into him.
"I’m going to text you whenever I can" he promises in a low voice. "And I’m going to call you even if I’m tired. And I’ll send you ugly pictures so you don't forget my face."
"I never forget your face" you reply, with a smile that cracks a little on the inside.
"I'm just saying, just in case."
He laughs a bit, but the laughter doesn't quite reach his eyes. There is a tiny fear there, which isn't even jealousy or doubt, but something more primal: the fear of distance quietly doing its work.
He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. He repeats "I love you" in whispers, as if they were a kind of charm against time.
And you, without fully realizing it yet, find that this time you don't feel strong. Not like during other tours, when you would tell yourself that you’d done it before and could do it again. This time, you feel a sort of weariness beneath your skin—a fatigue that doesn't just come from the fear of the distance, but from everything that was already there before: the impossible hours, the hidden life, the canceled plans.
You don't trust your own resilience as much as you used to.
The tour begins, and the world goes out of sync.
The first week, everything is intense: promotions, airport photos, fancams of the new choreographies, concert clips. Your social media feeds are flooded with his image, with his laughter on stages thousands of miles away from where you are.
Your days follow a completely different rhythm.
You wake up, go to work, eat on your schedule, come home. While you do that, he is sleeping in a hotel room in another city, with the curtains drawn in the middle of the afternoon, or waking up early for soundchecks during your ungodly hours.
"Send me pictures of whatever you have for lunch" he texts you one day, just as you are leaving the office.
You check the time: for him, it’s around three in the morning. He’s probably in the van heading back to the hotel, or already in his room, with the concert's adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
You send him a photo of something as simple as your tupperware in the breakroom. He replies with a heart and a blurry picture from backstage: lights, cables, a tiny glimpse of his shoe in a corner.
Another day, you are about to fall asleep when your phone vibrates with an incoming call: “Hyunjin ♡”. You look at the screen, notice the time. For him, it’s noon; for you, nearly midnight on a workday.
You pick up anyway.
"Hey..." his voice sounds loud, cheerful. In the background, there’s noise—someone calling his name, laughter.
"Hi" you reply, dimming the nightstand light so the exhaustion doesn't show as much.
"Did I wake you?"
"No, no. I was awake" you lie, once again.
He quickly tells you something about the show, how great the crowd sang, a fan who brought a funny sign, how he almost slipped but played it cool. You try to keep up, laughing at the right moments, asking questions to keep him talking.
Halfway through the call, you catch yourself looking at the clock. Your alarm is set to go off in six hours.
"You look tired" he says suddenly, lowering his tone. "I did wake you, didn't I?"
"No..." you start, but he’s already shaking his head, even if you can't see it.
"I’m sorry." He sighs. "I just wanted to hear your voice for a bit."
A wave of tenderness and sadness washes over you at the same time.
"You never bother me" you reply, sincere. "Call me whenever you want."
You hang up after a few more minutes, because they are calling for him, because he has to move on to something else—because his free time is strictly measured there, too. You are left with the phone in your hand, lying in the dark, feeling that strange disconnection: you just spoke, you just laughed together, but deep down, you feel far away. Far from his day-to-day life, from what he sees, from what he lives.
When you are in your routines, he is asleep. When he is in his world, you should be sleeping just to survive yours. Your lives seem like two parallel lines that touch only at small, brilliant, but brief points.
And that is exhausting.
Not in a day. Not in a week. It accumulates in thin layers, like dust.
The messages keep coming. The photos do too. He sends you short videos from the dressing room, his hair half-wet with sweat, telling you he misses you. You send him voice notes when you leave work, telling him about small things, as if you were in the kitchen.
But you don't feel confident anymore.
During other tours, you would tell yourself it was temporary, that he’d be back soon, that the effort was worth it. Now, every time you look at the calendar, you can't help but count all the days that are still left, and at the same time, think about all the ones you’ve already spent feeling this distance—even when he was at home.
Because you realize something you hadn't wanted to look at directly: the hardest part is no longer just the tour. It’s not just having him physically far away. It’s everything before it, everything that comes with him even when he is here: the half-lived life, the half-made plans, the time that is always borrowed.
The tour only magnifies something that was already hurting.
One night, after an especially massive concert, social media explodes with videos of him. You see him everywhere: on stage, radiant, brilliant, happy. The crowd screams his name, chants every part, holds up lights that turn the venue into a universe of its own.
You feel proud. You get emotional seeing him there, so big, so confident.
And at the same time, as you hold your phone in the darkness of your bedroom, you can't help but feel... small. As if the part of him that you have—the one that stays on the couch with his head in your lap—existed in a very tiny corner of a massive life that keeps expanding further and further away from where you are.
You bite your lip, trying to swallow that thought. You don't want to be unfair; you don't want to turn love into a reproach. But you are tired. Tired of the geographical distance and of the other one: that silent distance that appears every time you try to fit your life into his and the gaps don't match.
As the tour moves forward, you start counting the days left... and at the same time, you start wondering, for the first time truly, what is going to happen next. Not just after he comes back this time, but after the next one, and the one after that, and all the ones yet to come.
Because you know it better than anyone: this is not going to get easier. He is only just beginning to climb higher. And you love him enough to want to see him go as far as he can.
The question that begins to grow in a corner of your chest, silent but persistent, is a different one: Are you going to be able to keep enduring the price of accompanying him like this, from a distance, without breaking completely?
You don't have the answer yet. You only have the weariness, the longing for him, and that feeling that something inside you tightens a bit more every time you tell yourself: "we’ve been through this before." As if this time, for the first time, it wasn't enough.
The call comes when you had already resigned yourself to not talking that night.
Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dark room. You see his name: “Hyunjin ♡”.
You blink, confused. You check the time. For you, it’s almost one in the morning. For him... you calculate quickly: new city, new country. It should be night there too, maybe even later.
You pick up before your heart has time to race too fast.
"Hyunjin?" you whisper, your voice raspy with sleep.
There are a few seconds of noise on the other end: distant voices, a door slamming, something that sounds like ice clinking in a glass. Then, his voice.
"...Hey." It sounds low, slurred, as if his words were a bit loose.
You sit up in bed, turning on only the dim light of the nightstand.
"Are you okay?" you ask. "Where are you?"
You hear him breathe, a small, blunt thud, as if he had let himself fall onto a couch.
"At the hotel" he finally answers. "Well, in the hotel room." There’s a brief, messy chuckle. "We had... a thing with the staff. Nothing serious."
He doesn't need to say it: you can smell it in his voice. He’s had a few drinks. He’s not drunk, but he’s not entirely sober either. There’s a soft edge to the way he pronounces his words.
"Have you been drinking?" you ask, your tone more tender than accusing.
"A little" he admits. "Not much." A short silence. "I called you because... I couldn't sleep."
You lean back against the headboard, holding the phone with both hands.
"You could have tried to sleep anyway" you reply, half-joking. "You have three days left. You need to rest."
He exhales something that doesn't quite manage to be a laugh.
"Three days..." he repeats, as if tasting the number. "Sounds like a little and a lot at the same time."
You’ve thought about it too. Three days. Seventy-two hours. After nearly four months, it feels like an eternity and, at the same time, a mere blink of an eye.
"How do you feel?" you ask him.
You hear the rustle of fabric, as if he were turning over in bed.
"Tired" he says. "Happy. Scared. Everything all at once." He pauses. "The crowd tonight was... incredible." His voice lights up for a second. "They sang so loud I could barely hear myself. It was..." he runs out of words for a moment. "It was crazy."
You smile, even from a distance.
"I saw it in the videos" you reply. "You were incredible."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
He goes quiet for a moment. You feel the silence fill with something different, heavier. You know how to recognize when he comes back from the stage and the adrenaline fades: everything he’s been holding back during the day crashes down on him all at once.
"I miss you" he says suddenly, without beating around the bush.
It’s not the first time he’s said it during the tour, but there is something in the way he says it, in his tone, in the night itself, that makes it sound different. More naked.
"I miss you too" you reply.
You hear him swallow. His breathing sounds closer to the microphone, as if he had brought the phone right to his mouth.
"No, but..." he starts, and lets out a small, nervous laugh. "It's just... I miss you so much..." his voice cracks a little, "that it's too much to take sober."
The words pierce right through you. You recognize the cadence—the echo of the song that hasn't officially come out yet, but that you’ve already heard in half-finished versions, in audio snippets he sent you from the studio.
You picture him lying on his back in the hotel bed, the white ceiling, the lights off, the scent of disinfectant and a foreign city. A forgotten glass on the nightstand. And you, on the other side of the world, only in his ear.
"Hyunjin..." you whisper.
He lets out a sort of bitter laugh.
"I’m sorry, it sounds dramatic" he says, slurring his words. "But... it’s just that when I’m sober..." he pauses, as if searching for the right words, "when I’m sober, I see everything too clearly. That you’re not here. That I can’t touch you. That I walk out onto the stage and there are thousands of people screaming for me and..." his voice drops, "when I come back to the room... it’s empty."
You bite your lip, hard, to keep from crying right then and there.
"I don't need you to drink to tell me this" you reply softly. "You can tell me when you're sober, too."
"I know" he answers. "But when I drink... I’m brave enough to dial without thinking about whether I’m going to wake you up, or if you have to work tomorrow, or if..." he chuckles shortly. "I just remember that I want to hear your voice."
You stay silent for a second, holding back the tremble in your own voice.
"I always want to hear your voice" you murmur. "Drunk, sober, tired, happy—whatever it is."
He keeps a silence for a few seconds that feels long.
"I don't want you to get used to this" he says at last. "To only seeing me through a screen, to hearing my voice like this—half-asleep, half-drunk... I don't want this to be the standard of what I can give you."
Your chest tightens. Because you don't want to get used to it either. And yet, in three years... it has become normal.
"I’m not getting used to it" you admit. "I just... endure it. Because I love you."
The phrase settles between the two of you. On the other end, you hear him take a deep breath.
"I love you too" he replies. "Much more than I know how to tell you without sounding ridiculous."
He makes a gentle joke, something about how bad he is at talking without a rhythm or music, and you laugh a little—just enough to make him smile too. The conversation goes on for a while longer: he asks about your day, you keep your answers as simple as possible because you know he's tired, and he describes the city from his hotel window, the lights, the distant noise.
At some point, you notice him growing quieter. His responses get slower.
"Are you falling asleep?" you ask softly.
"No" he lies, with the same sweet stubbornness as always. "I want to keep listening to you."
"You can fall asleep listening to me" you tell him. "I’ll stay right here."
He sighs, defeated.
"Three days..." he repeats, as if he needed to remind himself. "Three days and I’m coming back home. Coming back to you."
"I’ll be waiting for you" you reply.
"Promise me..." his voice is barely a whisper now. "Promise me you’ll be there."
He doesn't know that the phrase stings you in a delicate place. "Being there" is exactly what you question sometimes, on the nights when the weariness gets the best of you. But this time, you only answer what you know you both need to hear.
"I’ll be there" you say.
In the end, sleep defeats him mid-sentence. He falls asleep with the phone still to his ear. You listen to his breathing for a few minutes more, as if that made the distance a little smaller, and you hang up, very slowly.
You stay in bed, in the dark, with the phone against your chest. The words keep repeating in your head: “I miss you so much... that it's too much to take sober.”
You love him. You love him so much that sometimes you, too, would need to numb yourself to endure it all.
But you tell yourself that in three days, he’ll be back. Three days. And that when he returns, all of this will hurt a little less.
For now, you cling to that.
The night of his return, time seems to stretch on purpose.
You know his flight schedule by heart. You’ve followed the updates online; you’ve checked where the plane was a thousand times. You’ve watched it land, picturing the tidal wave of fans and cameras at the airport, the flashes, the screams.
He sent you a quick text upon stepping off the plane:
We landed. Heading straight to you.
Don't fall asleep, okay?
I'll stay awake waiting for you. Promised.
And you keep your word.
It is almost three in the morning when you hear the elevator, then the faint beep of the door recognizing the combination. You were on the couch, no longer even watching what was on the screen; you were only waiting for that sound.
The moment you hear the click of the lock, you stand up.
The door opens slowly. And for a second, everything stops.
Hyunjin is there, in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie, a cap, his mask dangling from one hand. The dark circles under his eyes are deeper than the cameras ever let on, the collar of his hoodie is slightly crooked, and his hair is flattened from the hours of flight.
But when he sees you, it's as if the world stands still. As if the entire distance of the tour compressed into that narrow hallway.
He drops his backpack to the floor without even looking at it. You take a step. He takes another. And then you are running toward each other, as if you were afraid someone might come and pull you apart.
The impact of the embrace almost knocks the breath out of you.
He holds you so tightly that he forces you back half a step. His arms lock around your back, and your face presses against his neck. You can smell the airport, old sweat, disinfectant... and beneath all of it, him. Just him.
Your hands cling to his hoodie, to his back, to whatever they can find. You squeeze him as if you feared he might dissolve if you loosen your grip even a little.
Everything is in that embrace.
The love of three years is there.
The way you’ve missed each other is there.
Every night of video calls dropped by a bad connection, every message written at ungodly hours, every private room where you hid, every half-swallowed "I miss you."
You feel the tremble in his body before realizing that you are trembling too. You don't know who starts crying first.
You notice the first tears slipping down your cheeks—warm, inevitable. You try to hold it in, but the moment you hear his ragged breathing against your ear, your composure breaks.
Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you. He cups your face with both hands, his warm thumbs against your wet cheeks. His eyes are red, shining, just as full as yours.
"Don't cry..." he murmurs, with a broken smile. "Don't cry, because if you cry, I'll cry too..."
The phrase makes no practical sense, because he already is. A tear escapes the corner of his eye and falls onto his own hand.
You laugh through your sobs, as if that mixture were the only thing you both had left.
"You're already crying" you whisper.
He makes a face that tries to be a smile and halfway fails.
"It's your fault" he replies, his voice shaking. "It's always your fault."
He tilts your face toward him. And then, he kisses you.
It isn't a gentle, carefully orchestrated reunion kiss. It’s urgent, clumsy with tears, and rusty from weeks without practice. Your teeth clink a little; you laugh between the kiss and the sobs, but you don't let go.
That kiss carries everything he couldn't give you over the phone.
It carries the hotel nights where he wished he had you within arm's reach.
It carries his "I miss you so much" turned into something physical, real, tangible.
You feel it in the way he clings to you, as if he wanted to memorize every single millimeter of your mouth. In how he breathes against your lips, raggedly, as if he needed you to learn how to inhale something other than recycled airplane air all over again.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. His hands stay on your face—firm, tender. Your fingers are still gripping the fabric of his hoodie, refusing to let go.
"I love you" he says, his voice almost gone. "I love you so much... that sometimes I think I can't hold any more of it."
You close your eyes, because if you keep them open, the tears will fall all over again.
"I love you too" you reply, and it is the greatest truth you know.
For a while, that inner voice that hasn't stopped whispering to you over the last few months—about the weariness, the half-lived life, the fear of the future—falls completely silent.
He is here.
He is truly here, in your doorway, in your arms, on your lips.
The time you waited, the sleepless nights, the drunk phone calls... for a moment, it all seems worth it, just for this embrace, this kiss, this unspoken but undeniable "I'm back home."
Hyunjin wraps his arms around you again and buries his face in your neck. You rest your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes. The apartment—so silent before, and so full of him now—finally feels like what it has been promising to be for months: a sanctuary.
For a while, you don't think about the next tour, or the schedules, or the clock. You don't think about what exhausts you, or what weighs you down. You don't think about whether the wait was truly "worth it" or not, or whether you’ll be able to keep waiting for him like this forever.
You only think about having him here, trembling just like you, kissing you as if the world ended right there in your doorway.
For a while, that is the only truth that matters.
Later... later, you can worry about everything else.
The days after the tour begin on an almost sweet note.
For the first few weeks, everything tastes like a reunion: breakfasts together whenever his schedule allows it, his things scattered across the apartment once again, his laughter filling the living room. Hyunjin seems determined to make up for every single day he was gone.
"I’m leaving the studio early today," he texts you one afternoon. "Movie and ramen?"
You say yes. You always say yes.
But, little by little, life settles back into its usual groove. The schedules stretch out again. The late-night practices return, along with the surprise shoots and the photo sessions.
And something, very slowly, begins to shift inside you.
The first time Hyunjin notices it is because of a tiny detail.
You had promised each other to go out for dinner—nothing fancy, just a small place you both liked. He sends you a text late in the afternoon:
Babe, I'm sorry. The recording ran long.
I'm not going to make it in time for dinner.
Before, you would have answered with a mix of disappointment and teasing—something like, "You're the king of canceling plans," or "You owe me double dessert." You would have sent an exaggerated sticker, a voice note, something.
This time, you look at the text for a few seconds, feeling that same familiar hollow... but the routine has become so well-known that you don't even have the strength to react.
Your fingers type on their own:
Ok, no problem.Work hard.
Sent. Screen off.
When Hyunjin reads the “ok,” something sinks in his stomach. There is no “we'll make up for it later,” no “I’ll be waiting for you.” Just ok. “No problem.” As if it really weren't a problem.
He doesn't reply right away; he’s surrounded by people. But he tucks that feeling into his pocket, right alongside his phone.
It’s not just that day.
He begins to see a pattern. When he calls to tell you he’s arriving later than planned, your “it's fine, I understand” sounds flatter each time. When he apologizes for canceling at the last minute, you respond with short, polite phrases, without complaint... but also without that spark he was used to seeing in you, even when you were upset.
He hugs you in the kitchen, says “I love you” against your neck, and you answer “I love you too” without hesitation, but he sees something different in your eyes: as if your words were coming from an automatic, rehearsed place. As if you no longer knew what to say that you hadn't already said a thousand times before.
Hyunjin is observant. He lives by reading gestures, reactions, details. And in yours, he begins to sense a sort of quiet emptiness.
One night, while you sleep clutching his t-shirt, he stays awake for a long time, watching you. He searches your face for the signs from before: the way your nose crinkled when you were excited, the light in your eyes when he arrived unexpectedly early.
Now, sometimes, he only sees weariness. Something dimmed.
“I don't see myself reflected in your gaze anymore,” he thinks, and the thought frightens him.
The conversation comes one early morning, without warning, but after many nights in the making.
Hyunjin steps into the apartment past two in the morning. The sound of the passcode and the click of the lock echo through the silence.
He is already prepared to find you asleep. His body is wrecked, his neck aches, but he had fantasized about slipping stealthily into bed, wrapping his arms around you, and falling asleep with his face in your hair.
He doesn't expect to see you awake.
You are sitting on the couch, the television off, no music playing. Only the dim light from the living room lamp, your hands clasped in your lap, your gaze lost on some spot on the floor.
The moment he walks in, he notices the shift in the air.
There is no immediate, small smile. You don't jump up to greet him. You don't run toward him. You stay right where you are, still, as if you’ve been there for a very long time.
"Hey" he greets, leaving his keys on the counter. "Couldn't sleep?"
Your voice comes out low, a bit raspy.
"No."
His brow furrows slightly. He takes off his shoes, walks over to the couch, and sits beside you, turning slightly toward you. Your posture is rigid, your shoulders tense.
"Do you feel sick?" he asks. "Does something hurt?"
You swallow hard. For days, weeks, the words have been knotting up in your throat. Tonight they have finally risen to the surface, and you can no longer push them back down.
"We need to talk" you say.
Those three words drop between the two of you with a physical weight. Hyunjin feels a brief, instinctive jolt in his chest. His entire body tenses up.
"Okay..." he answers slowly. "I'm listening."
He lowers his hands, resting them on his knees as if they needed a place to hold onto so they wouldn't tremble. He is looking at you, attentive, with a mixture of fear and caution.
You take a deep breath.
"Hyunjin..." you start, and it’s hard for you to meet his eyes. "I don't think I can do this anymore."
You haven't cried yet, but your voice already sounds as if it hurts to pronounce every syllable.
He blinks once, slowly.
"Do... this?" he repeats, as if he needed to confirm. "Do... us?"
You nod, barely.
"I thought we could" you continue, the words finally pouring out. "Like at the beginning. It seemed easier, you know? We had the excitement, the drive, the plans. We had all that... faith that we could handle anything."
It’s hard to keep going, but you do.
"Over time... everything has become more complicated. Our lives..." you try to find the right image. "Our lives are parallel. They run side by side, but they almost never fully intersect."
Hyunjin squeezes his hands against his knees. His jaw tightens.
"Is it all my fault?" he asks at last, his voice low, cracking. "Is that what you're telling me?"
You shake your head immediately.
"No. No, it’s not that." You lean forward, almost in desperation. "It’s nobody’s fault. Sometimes… that’s just how life is. It’s not that you did something wrong, or that I…" You catch your breath for a second. "It’s just that… who we are… clashes with everything around us."
He swallows hard.
"But…" he starts, trying to find some solid ground. "We thought we could handle it. You always told me you were willing to… to endure it, that…"
"I was" you confirm quickly. "And I did. For three years. I accepted everything that came with being with you." You look down at your hands for a second, balling them into fists. "But… how many more years could I bear pretending to be part of the staff?"
The words come out clearer now, less contained.
"We can't live just on excitement" you add, your voice a mere thread. "Or on the things we promised at the beginning. Or on memories that nobody can rewrite."
Hyunjin sits completely still.
"I’ll fix it" he says, almost all at once, as if clutching the only way out he knows. "I’ll change things. I’ll talk to the agency, adjust schedules—I don't know… I’ll do whatever it takes."
Even as he speaks, there is a part of him that knows it sounds like an impossible promise.
"Tell me what it was that upset you" he insists, his voice charging with urgency. "Tell me how we should have done it. Tell me how…" the question comes out broken, "how do we fix this?"
It hurts to see him like this, holding onto solutions you know don’t exist. You slowly shake your head.
"There’s nothing to fix" you reply, and each word tears at you a little. "I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. It’s not… a fight; it’s not just one specific thing. It’s not you, and it’s not me. It’s… everything."
He looks at you, his vision blurred.
"I accepted everything that came with being with you" you continue. "I did it with all my heart. I knew there would be tours, secrets, hidden dates. I knew there would be nights like the ones we had, with calls from hotels and texts at ungodly hours."
You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to say the thing that hurts the most.
"But… how many more years can I keep being 'just another member of the staff'?" you ask. "When are we ever going to be able to walk hand in hand… without fear? When are we going to be able to go to those museums we could never visit because there were too many people? When will we be able to go out for a meal without having to book a private room, without always bringing the manager, security, everyone along?"
Your eyes begin to fill with tears.
"I can never really dress… the way I want to when we go out" you confess, with a small, bitter laugh. "I always have to wear my disguise—the one that makes it look like I'm part of the team, just to blend in."
Despite the pain, Hyunjin interrupts you:
"You always look beautiful" he says, with brutal conviction.
The phrase breaks you and softens you all at once. You smile, sadly.
"It’s not about that, Hyunjin…" You shake your head. "It’s not about looking pretty or not. It’s about… being able to just be. Without hiding. Without disguises."
He presses his lips together, his eyes glassy.
"There was a time when you loved me, right?" he asks suddenly.
The question comes out like a gunshot—a mix of fear, anger, and desperation. As if, deep down, that were the doubt that scares him the most.
You meet his eyes. You don’t even hesitate.
"I always loved you" you reply, steady. "I love you. And… probably… I always will."
The honesty hits him hard. A tear breaks free and falls onto his hands.
"And that’s why I’m making this decision" you add, your voice completely cracking for the first time. "Because I love you. And I don’t want you to give up your life for me. I don’t want to hold you back. I want you to keep fulfilling your dreams. I’m so proud of you…" you let out a small laugh through your tears. "Of how much you grow, of everything you’ve achieved. And I know you’re going to go even further than where you already are."
Hyunjin had already been crying in silence for a while, but hearing you say this breaks something inside him completely.
"If this is when… I have to let you go…" he manages to say, struggling through the words, "is that what you want? For me to let you go?"
You bite your lip, your chest burning.
"I think it’s for the best" you whisper. "For both of us."
He barely shakes his head, as if his body were rejecting the very idea, but at the same time, his eyes show that he understands, even if he doesn't want to.
"I…" he tries. "I don’t want to lose you."
"I don’t want to lose you either" you answer instantly. "But keeping on like this… is also a way of losing myself. Of losing you. Of losing us."
Tears are running freely down your face now. He looks at them as if each one were a piece of something that is crumbling away.
There is a long silence. Heavy. You both breathe, broken, not knowing how to move in a moment where nothing you’ve rehearsed in your heads actually works.
In the end, Hyunjin leans toward you.
"I can do… at least one thing" he insists, his voice in tatters. "Tell me just one."
You only shake your head again.
"I don't want you to try out of obligation" you say. "I don't want to live waiting for a miracle I know isn't coming. I don't want to make you choose between your world and… this. Because it isn't fair. And because, even if you did, I could never rest easy knowing you gave up something for me."
He covers his mouth with his hand for a second, as if he needed to stifle a sob. His body is trembling.
"I feel you slipping away and…" he swallows hard. "I don't know how to hold onto you without breaking you."
That destroys you a little more.
"You aren't pushing me away" you reply, with a strange calm inside the chaos. "This isn't you throwing me out. It's me… realizing that if I stay here without being completely happy, I’m hurting you too. Because you'll keep blaming yourself for things you cannot change."
Hyunjin leans closer to you, his hands open, as if hesitating whether to touch you or not.
Ultimately, he rests them on your shoulders. He pulls you in slowly. You don't resist. Your forehead rests against his. You are both crying.
"I love you…" he says, almost in a low moan. "I love you so much it hurts to think about letting you go."
"And I love you so much it hurts to see you try to fix something that can't be fixed" you reply.
You stay there for a moment, breathing the same air, holding something invisible between the two of you.
You know you’ve already crossed a point of no return. None of the sentences that come next are going to undo what you’ve just said. The only thing left to decide is how you say goodbye.
Hyunjin takes a deep breath, as if he were about to jump from somewhere very high.
"Then…" he whispers. "I guess this is when I have to learn how to love you… by letting you go."
You close your eyes tight. That phrase pierces right through you.
"I guess so" you manage to say.
There is no explosive breakup. No screaming, no reproaches, no slamming doors. There is something worse: two people who love each other, looking into each other's faces and accepting that love, this time, cannot conquer all.
He holds you.
It isn't a brief or formal embrace. It is a goodbye hug that carries everything that cannot fit into words. He presses you against his chest as if he wanted to memorize your shape. You bury your face in his neck, flooding yourself with his scent for the last time as "us."
You both cry. Without shame, without restraint.
"Thank you for… staying for so long" he murmurs, his voice in pieces. "For enduring what never had to be this hard."
"Thank you for… loving me so much" you reply. "And for letting me love you like this."
At some point, the embrace loosens a little. You pull back just enough to look at each other. You know this is the last space before everything changes.
Hyunjin raises a hand and strokes your cheek with infinite tenderness. You cover it with your own.
"Can I…?" he starts, without finishing the sentence.
You nod, without any need for him to complete it.
He leans in and kisses you.
It isn't a "see you later" kiss. It doesn't promise anything. It doesn't postpone anything. It is a kiss of closure, of gratitude, of grief. It holds within it all the first times and all the last times.
It tastes of salt, of goodbye, of "if only it had been different."
When he pulls away, you rest your foreheads together one last time. Neither wants to be the first to stand up.
In the end, it’s him.
He takes a deep breath, as if he had to gather every single shred of strength he has left. He stands up slowly. You stay seated on the couch, watching his movements as if you were outside your own body.
Hyunjin takes the keys, the backpack he had dropped so many nights before throwing himself into your arms. He stops in the doorway, his hand on the knob. He turns to face you one last time.
Your eyes meet.
There is no reproach. Only love, pain, and a sort of sad respect for what you used to be.
"Take care, okay?" he says, barely audible.
"You too" you reply.
He opens the door. The sound of the hallway creeps in, along with a distant murmur: the rain.
He closes it behind him.
When he steps out of the building, the rain is pouring down—fine but steady, soaking him within seconds. He doesn't pull up his hood. He doesn't run for cover. He runs, simply, toward nowhere, as if physical movement could somehow deal with the crushing pressure in his chest.
Every cold drop hitting his face blends with the tears that were already falling.
The city is almost deserted at this hour. Only the lamplights, the gleaming asphalt, the echo of his footsteps.
Hyunjin squeezes the keys in his fist so tightly that they almost dig into his skin. He feels his heartbeat erratic, out of sync, as if it were marking a rhythm he doesn't recognize.
“There was a time when you loved me, right?”
Your voice answering, crystal clear, echoes in his head:
“I always loved you. I love you. And probably I always will.”
That is what hurts the most. That there is no clear enemy, no betrayal, no easy reason to hate. What broke wasn't the love; it was everything else. Time, the world, the circumstances.
He runs beneath the rain, his heart torn wide open, knowing that he loves you just as much or even more than the first day—and that is precisely why he let you go.
And you, on your living room couch, listening to the rain against the windows, pull your knees to your chest and cry in silence. Not because you don't love him anymore, but because you love him so much that you’ve chosen to lose him rather than keep losing yourself in the waiting.
You don't hate each other. You don't hurt each other on purpose.
You love each other. And yet, you’ve said goodbye.
In another life, you think, as tears blur your vision, maybe we could have gone to all those museums hand in hand, without disguises, without private rooms, without impossible schedules.
In this one, we loved each other as much as we possibly could.
~chan wants you more than any stupid song could ever say~
an: wow first real fic ever 🥹 i’m actually really proud of myself for managing to finish this, so i hope you enjoy!
You and Chan have always been close. You’re the yin to his yang, and Felix likes to joke you’re his soulmate. It’s been so long now neither of you even really remember how you met, just each other’s constant presence in your lives. Where he’s calm and even a little reserved, you shine brightly, filling space with your laugh and a smile.
The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces. You lounge on the couch in his studio and scroll on your phone while he brings songs to life. Other times, like now, he sits on a beanbag, practically melting into the floor, watching the strokes of your paintbrush.
“What are you painting?” You can barely make out his mumbled words. Glancing over, the sight of him takes your breath away and you find yourself at a loss as to why. He’s stretched out now, lounging almost like a cat in the soft rays of the sun. They highlight his bare face and soft, pliant expression. It’s rare to see him this relaxed, but to witness him like this, half asleep under your blanket in your studio, almost makes your heart ache just a little.
“A spot near the Han River, from when I walked with Hyune.” You respond just as softly, words honeyed on your tongue. He hums, a slow rumble as you look back at your painting. The dabs and careful strokes of oil paint swirl into a snapshot of a small bench in a field of wildflowers near the river. You’re planning to add two little figures on the bench, sharing a quiet moment as you and Hyunjin did.
You like your paintings like this, reflecting important moments in your life. Your paintings are important to you, and anyone can tell you leave a little piece of your heart in each. Many of the happiest moments of your life are displayed in your studio, along with the saddest.
Suddenly, you feel a warm presence against your back. Chan is all soft and warm from sleep and the sun, and his hair is messy where it tickles your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“I like the colors in this one. The pinks and blues, it’s kind of..” There’s a short pause as he looks for the right words, and you make a small hum of encouragement. “Relaxing, or comforting.” He finally decides, and you smile.
“That’s what I was hoping. It was a comforting kind of day.” Somehow, Chan is always able to feel the deeper meanings you convey in your art, and you value him all the more for it.
“What happened?” Chan murmured. He shifted against you, nosing into your hair and taking a slow, deep breath.
“Ah, nothin’ really, just catching up with Hyune.” you reply softly, leaning back into him. “Speaking of, it’s been a while since we’ve all hung out.”
“I have to see them every day, can’t we just hang out?” He whined. You almost giggle. You’ve rarely heard him talk like this, unguarded and sleepy. You think you like it.
“Text them, I’ll tell the girls to meet us for dinner.” You tell him anyway, reaching up to squeeze his arm where it’s wrapped around your middle. He groans, grumbling an agreement before letting go of you to look for his phone.
- - -
You end up back at your apartment with Yeji and Sana crammed into your bathroom, surrounded by a sea of makeup and hair products. Yeji is crimping her hair while you curl yours loosely, and Sana leans close to the mirror to apply eyeliner.
“So, Y/nnie, what’s up with you and Chan?” Yeji asks, cat-like eyes finding yours in the mirror as she smirks. You can’t help but roll your eyes.
“Nothing, Yej, I’ve told you a million times.” You snark back. Yeji has been rooting for you and Chan to get together practically since you met him.
“Well if there wasn’t anything before, there definitely will be after tonight!” Sana squeals, reaching for a lipstick. “You look so hot, babe.”
You smile, looking again at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup is sharp, with a touch of a smoky eye and eyeliner to contrast your usual soft look. Your dress is on already, tight in all the right places and just short enough to tease. You’re planning to brush a little body glitter on to accompany the barely-there straps, and your heels are high and strappy. Even you have to admit you look amazing.
“I’m so glad we convinced the guys to go to this new club, I need to get laid,” Yeji says, brushing on another coat of mascara.
“We literally went clubbing like two weeks ago!” Sana playfully retorts. As they bicker, you can’t help but smile at your girls.
You’re broken out of your thoughts by your phone ringing. When you check the caller ID, sunshine! is displayed across the top of your phone. You pick up, cradling your phone on your shoulder.
“Hey, Lix!” Are you and Hyune almost here?” The boys had agreed to pick you up and drive you guys to the club. When Felix answered, his voice crackled through your phone’s small speaker in an excited drawl.
“Y/nniee! We’re on our way!” The Aussie boy was clearly already pregaming, words slurred and overly excited. You hear Hyunjin’s laughter in the background as he drives.
“Yeah, we’re almost there! Five minutes!” Hyunjin shouts, and you can’t help but smile. You know Hyunjin must be elated to be taking care of a drunk Felix. The blond boy was always clingy and loving on him when he was drunk, and Hyunjin was worse at hiding his feelings for Felix than he thought.
“Alright, we’re finishing up! Meet you outside!” You call, shoving your keys, wallet, and lipgloss into a small purse. They hang up and you take a couple last minutes talking with your girls and taking pictures, chatting and squealing as you strut down to your apartment building’s entrance.
The car ride to the club is a crush of noise, bumping shoulders, perfume, and loud music. You laugh until your cheeks hurt and take pictures in the backseat. Some one brought a few bottles of soju, and by the time Hyunjin is parking, you and Felix are giggling and stumbling together over the curb.
Hyunjin catches up to you two, leaving the girls to pick up the rear as he holds the door for you. The soft grin on his face and the way his practically starstruck gaze doesn’t leave Felix tells you he’s not really holding the door for you. You laugh, delighted, and hope he figures out his feelings for the blonde boy who just might reciprocate, judging by the way he drapes himself over Hyunjin as he mumbles into his ear.
Your rowdy group makes its way to a quieter booth in a back corner, and that’s when you spot Chan.
He’s sitting on the outside edge of the table, surrounded by the rest of the guys and talking, but you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over dark baggy jeans, and his hair is messy and a little grown out. His lips look big and pouty and almost biteable, and you know his eyes will have gone dark and wide in this lighting. You figure it must be all that soju clouding your judgement, because why else would you be staring at your best friend like this?
He hasn’t spotted you yet, and as you watch he suddenly throws his head back in a laugh. You’re practically mesmerized, and the rest of the group starts shouting as they greet each other, but you’re stuck on his loud boyish laughter.
Then, he sees you, and having all his attention on you while everyone else talks makes you feel dizzier than the soju. His eyes roam over you in a way that does not feel platonic, and his heavy gaze makes you shiver. You blink, snapping out of the moment as Jisung hops up to greet you.
“Y/nnie! You look soo good!” He hugs you quickly, and you catch a whiff of Minho’s cologne. They really aren’t as slick as they think. You smile and laugh, letting him spin you around to get a look at your outfit. As he lets go of your hand, you give one last little spin, but your heel catches on the floor and you’re a little too tipsy to stop yourself from wobbling.
A warm hand is on your bare arm before you can think, steadying you from the side. You recognize the silver rings pressing into your skin and turn to see Chan there. He gives you a private little smile, dimple coming out and making your heart squeeze.
Everyone settles into the booth, and somehow you’re pressed up against Chan’s side with Yeji on the other side of you. She glances sideways at you, smirk playing across her lips and a suggestive sparkle in her eye as her gaze flicks to Chan. You roll your eyes and shove her shoulder.
The whole dinner, you try your hardest not to look at Chan. You can feel his warm thigh pressed against yours and his breath in your hair every time he laughs. To try and cope, you order drink after drink.
You haven’t let loose like this in a while, leaning into Yeji as you laugh together. She’s just as drunk as you are, and when she hears the bass of one of your favorite songs thumping through the club, she squeals and drags you to the dance floor.
The two of you jump and dance, hips swinging to the beat, bodies pressing together and you scream and sing along. The bass is so loud you feel it vibrating in your chest in the crush of bodies, and a grin spreads across your face as you throw your hands up.
Chan is still sitting at the table. Changbin is talking to him, but all he can give is absentminded agreement and chuckles as he scans the dance floor for you and sips drink after drink. Flashing lights, thumping music, swaying hips. Suddenly, easily, his eyes find you.
God. That dress. He hasn’t seen you wear something like that in a long time, hasn’t seen you let loose like this in a while. He damn near choked on his drink when he saw you strutting in, waist and hips framed so perfect. He watches the way your body moves under the lights, the way you laugh as you bump into Yeji.
Shaking his head, he takes a sharp swig of his drink. You were his best friend. He knew you didn’t have any feelings for him, and he wouldn’t dream of ruining your friendship.
“Chan, are you even listening?” His best friend complains.
“Sorry man, I was just in my head.” Chan winces. He didn’t think he was that obvious.
“Really, ‘cause it looked like you were pretty into Y/n to me.” Chan feels himself flush at Jeongin’s words, the younger boy sporting a fox-like grin.
“Shut up, Innie. You know we’re just friends.” He brings his glass up to his lips to take a sip but finds it empty. Changbin eyes him warily.
“Maybe you should slow down on the drinks there.” Chan puts the glass back down, the clink of the glass on wood barely audible through the music. He knows he’s getting tipsy, but watching you dance without him is making him want to keep drinking. Watching you do anything without him makes him want to keep drinking.
Anything to drown out the fact that you really are just friends, just like he always says. No matter how much he wishes otherwise. But you’ve been best friends for so long, and he knows that’s all it is on your side of things. You let him into your studio, curl up on his couch, even sleep on his shoulder and paint him sometimes. You’ve hugged him close and told him you love him.
He remembers the first time you told him that. It was after a long day together hanging out, and you’d come back to his apartment. You were snuggled into his hoodie, under his blanket, watching a movie. The domesticity of the whole scene had his heart practically aching, and the thing that made it so much worse was that it meant nothing to you.
You’d been leaning on his shoulder, falling asleep, when you said, “Thanks for today, Channie. I had so much fun.”
“Yeah, of course. I had fun too.” He murmured back. He could smell your shampoo and feel the warmth of your body pressed into his.
“Goodnight,” You say, and the next words are quiet and spoken softly into his shoulder, but they were forever burned into his mind. “I love you.”
He froze.
His heart swelled before he could stop it, before he could rationalize. You were already asleep, so he didn’t need to respond, but somehow that silent space to think made things worse.
God, he feels like an idiot. Here he is, sitting with his flushed face and speeding heart, and you’re fast asleep. He can’t believe the first time you’ve said those words to him was like this. He’d thought about it before, how he’d surprise you with some romantic gesture, and you’d confess you’d loved him all along, but now he knew how stupid that’d been.
You said you loved him, and you meant it as a friend. He knew then that’s the only way he’d ever hear those words from you. You’d said it countless times since then, saying thank you or goodbye on your way out the door. But you never meant it, not really. It felt right, but so wrong, and it drove him insane. He’d never admit it, but it broke his heart a little bit every time.
He’s snapped back to the present by the clink of another glass on the table. It seems he didn’t even register downing another drink, and now that he’s thinking about how drunk he probably is, he doesn’t feel so heartbroken anymore. He lets out a sigh as he hauls himself up from the table. Felix sees him getting up and grins at him. Chan grins back, dimples popping, and for a minute it feels good to just share a moment with the other Aussie boy as he gets up too.
They head to the dance floor with Minho and Changbin following close behind. Felix has an arm around his shoulder, shouting into a Chan’s ear as they go. Chan laughs boyishly at Felix’s words and he thinks foggily that this is the funniest he’s ever been.
Chan had lost track of time dancing with his friends, laughing and singing along, when another of your favorite songs starts pumping through the speakers. Somehow, his head snaps to the left to find you in the crowd, and you squeal when you see him.
“Channie! I found youu!” You coo as you throw your arms around his neck. He shudders as he feels your body press to his, the vibrations of the music thrumming through you both. A small part of him just wants to be this close to you all the time, and he can’t help but let a silly grin spread across his face as he dances with you.
You slip away from the rest of the group, jumping and singing and laughing and dancing together. Your hair whips around you, and your makeup glimmers under the flashing lights.
The music transitions to a deeper beat, one that vibrates right into your core. Your arms slide down to rest on Chan’s shoulders as you dance, hips moving with the bass.
Chan has to swallow and avert his gaze from your body. Even as he blushes he feels his body start to move in sync with yours, and you spin in his arms, leaning back into him.
It reminds him of how you leaned into him earlier this morning, except now you’re grinding into him and his head is spinning from the alcohol and you. He feels his head dip towards your ear like he wants to whisper into it (he does) but all he does is smirk, knowing you feel the slow spread of it against your skin.
You keep dancing on him, and slowly, your head tips back until your lips graze his. Chan nearly flinches back, everything in his mind is telling him to back up and get you some water, but he’s too drunk on you to resist. He angles his head once more to capture your lips, and all he can think is finally.
He tastes the alcohol on your tongue, your lip gloss, and something deeper that just tastes like you. You’d think after all this yearning, he’d be satisfied with a kiss, but he can’t stop himself from turning you slowly, big hands dragging over your hips, and deepening the kiss.
You whine, fingers slipping into his hair, and Chan thinks he could die. The way your lips move against his and your bodies press together feels meant to be, and he can’t stop to think about the fact that you’re both drunk, that maybe you won’t even remember this in the morning.
He stumbles back, pulling you with him, rings catching the slightest bit on the silky fabric of your dress. You make your way out the door, fingers tangling in the belt loops of his jeans as he fumbles for his phone to call an Uber.
Soon, the two of you are bundled in the back of a car, and Chan is leaning down to kiss along your jaw and down your neck. He thinks it’s better than really kissing you because when his lips are on you skin instead of your mouth he can’t taste the alcohol on your tongue.
Eventually, he’s tossing cash at the driver and opening your door to slide out of the car. Your heels are in his hand and your lipgloss is smeared across his jaw. You smirk and wipe at it with your thumb, only smearing it more.
You think you like the thought of your mark on him. The alcohol is blurring your thoughts and the only thing you can see is Chan. He leads you up to his apartment with a hand on the small of your back that wanders just enough to tease. In the elevator, you tangle your fingers in his curls and he kisses you silly.
He kicks the door open backwards, lips still sliding over yours. He kisses you like he’s starving, only breaking apart to take off his shirt. His hands are warm as they slip you out of your dress, lingering on your curves. He pulls back for a second, eyes darkening as he takes you in. You shiver under his gaze and pull him back in with an arm around his neck. Your other hand makes its way down, over his abs, lightly scraping your nails over him the whole way down.
He shudders into your touch with a groan as your fingers hook into his belt, fumbling with it until you undo the buckle. You smirk into his kiss as you unzip his jeans, trailing your fingers over the bulge in his boxers. Chan practically growls, a noise low in his throat that sounds almost painful. He walks you back onto his bed, the bed you’ve laid on, watched movies and played games together on so many times.
Your knees hit the mattress and you fall, bouncing lightly onto the soft comforter. He follows you all the way down, and in that moment he knows he’d follow you anywhere.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of breathless gasps and the slide of your skin on his, yet there’s one moment, when he’s deep inside you and you’re arching up into him with a cry, that you can’t help but think, this is wrong.
Chan is your best friend, and here you are sleeping with him. You’re both drunk and even through the haze of alcohol and him, you manage to think that this could ruin the two of you forever.
But then he kisses your neck again and groans into your skin, calls you princess again, and every last coherent thought leaves you.
- - -
You wake up with a pounding headache and groan softly. You stretch out like a cat, squeezing your eyes shut against the morning light, and turn over in the silky sheets. They don’t feel like your sheets, and they don’t smell like your sheets, and suddenly it hits you. This isn’t your bed.
You turn over and see him. He’s laid out, hair messy and pretty features completely relaxed into the pillow. His arm is thrown over your waist, and you think you’ve never seen him this content. God, what have you done?
You can’t even imagine how bad this is going to make things. You just can’t seem to let yourself be happy, you make a mess out of everything. This is the best friendship, the best relationship you’ve ever had with anyone, and you threw it all away in one drunken blur of a night.
You don’t feel the tears rolling down your face when you slip out from under his arm, or when you slip your dress back on and step into your heels. You don’t feel them when you stop at the door and look back at him, still sleeping and relaxed with a soft smile bringing out his dimples.
You don’t feel the tears when looking at him makes your heart hurt even more than your head and you have to close the door and leave.
You only really feel yourself cry when you make it to the curb and realize you have no way to get home. You give a frustrated cry, and it sounds pathetically sad even to you. You take your phone out, and before you can think about it, you dial.
“Felix? I need you to come get me. I ruined everything.” You sob into your phone, finally feeling your tears as you sink to the curb.
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genre: Fluffy, angsty, and if you squint hard enough a sprinkle of smut
tags: emotional themes (grief, abandonment, burnout) slow burn, so much praise, insecurities and self-worth issues, emotional intimacy, single dad au, strangers to lovers
summary: he moves into the house across from yours in the quiet cul-de-sac and you don’t think much of it at first. Just a new neighbor, that’s all. You don’t know much about him, only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to be a problem on purpose, and always looks a little too tired. Should be easy to ignore. Right?
𐙚
Part One
summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more.
preview:
Three days later, Chan learned two very important things.
One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed.
And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment.
“Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.”
He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it.
He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart.
“HI!”
𐙚
Part Two
summary: You didn’t mean to become part of their routine.But somewhere between late dinners, early mornings, and a child who loves loudly without hesitation, the line between helping and staying starts to disappear quietly, without permission.
preview:
For once, Chan didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with that.
His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss.
But for you, impossible to ignore.
Your breath caught, and so did his.
And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.
𐙚
Part Three
summary: By Friday, what was meant to be a simple one-on-one outing starts to feel like something neither of you can easily label. The evening unfolds through small, shifting moments that blur the line between casual conversation and growing connection, leaving both of you more aware of each other than you intended.
preview:
And when the crowd shifted again, neither of you drifted apart until the music began to wind down and the crowds started to thin.
You followed the rest of the stragglers toward the exit, watching them as you went.
A couple holding hands.
A man trying to negotiate with a vendor before closing.
A group of friends going into the photobooth.
Right. Photos.
You stopped walking and Chan quickly followed suit.
“What?”
You smiled mischievously, “We forgot to take pictures.”
He stiffened up, “No.”
p a i r i n g . · · childhood! leehan x childhood! reader
g e n r e · . · oneshot, fluff, non-idol au
s y n o p s i s · · . the lost memory of a little boy that resembled the stars, and the crybaby that stargazed him like he was the moon itself.
< w o r d c o u n t > 2.2k
When you were young, you once met a strange boy.
He had wavy strings for hair and black pearls for eyes. His skin twinkled like the moon and his cheeks were cherries. He also liked fish. Like, really liked fish.
Blinking slowly, you peeped at the boy in front of you.
You were 6 years old.
Your mother had brought you to the park to play, but today, you weren’t in the mood for your usual sandpit retreats, nor the regular swing and slide fest.
Actually, you weren’t in the mood for the park at all.
Your house had run out of your favourite juice box, your dad yelled at you for using his shaving cream as snow on the carpet floor of the living room and to add fuel to the fire, your all time favourite dump truck broke.
Your older brother had accidentally stepped on it, and now you were left sitting on your knees, sad and deflated, in the local park sandpit. Shattered, yellow, truck pieces sprawled out in the sand as you dug a deep crevice to start its funeral service.
It was indeed that serious for you.
A small crunch next to you made you startle. You stopped digging and looked up.
Why was he still here?
You made an angry face, looked him dead in the eyes, and dug even harder.
This random kid had appeared out of nowhere, crouching a mere few inches away from you in the sandbox. He didn’t say anything, simply continued to stare at your brooding form, and munched on hard candy.
You didn’t know what he wanted, but his presence was starting to get on your little nerves.
Standing up abruptly, you huffed impatiently.
“What do you want?” Your small voice came booming down at him. You stood tall, waiting for his answer.
Crunch.
“Why are you so sad?” Came his voice.
“Go away!”
“No.”
You deadpanned.
Then the boy from the stars started spouting absolute nonsense.
“Did you know that zebra fish hide at the bottom of the tank when they’re sad?”
“No. Now leave me alone!”
“Did you know that some fish blow bubbles to look cool? It’s like what you’re doing now.”
Munch.
“You’re trying to act cool, aren’t you?”
The sound of teeth crunching candy muffled his words.
Your scowl deepened, silently crossing your arms over your little chest, you stared at him with a blank look.
The boy didn’t seem to get the message though, because he didn’t stop there.
“You can cry if you’re sad, you know.”
“Did you know that you’re suuuper annoying and I don’t like you?” You finally chirped with unprecedented frustration. Your gaze cold, lips still pulled into a thin line.
The boy went silent.
And then, he burst out crying.
You stilled in panic, watching him wail in despair at your dismissive attitude.
Sensing that you had upset him, you blinked rapidly and took tentative steps closer to him.
Despite being so young, you were already a few centimetres taller than the boy.
“Sorry,” you awkwardly played with your hands as your voice came out meek and careful. You stole glances at his wet face.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry…”
Reaching out your tiny hand, you gently patted his back. You were next to him now, feet sinking in the sand, the granules climbing into the crevice of your small shoes.
Lowering your head to look up at him through his long and dark locks, you hesitantly wiped a tear from his cheek with your miniature, dirty palm.
“I was sad, and because I was sad I made you cry. I’m sorry.” Tears started to well up in your own eyes too.
“And then,” you sniffled. “And then I made daddy sad too!”
Now you were bawling. Both of you held each other tightly in an empathetic hug as you just sat there, crying your absolute eyes out.
A theatrics of tears.
You sniffled, slowly making some space between you but never separating from the hug.
You looked at him.
He had calmed down a little. Evidence of his crying were visibly displayed on his tiny face. Fat streaks of tears, red eyes, puffy cheeks.
The broken truck was long forgotten as you began to pick yourself up, arms still wrapped around his small body. He followed suit.
“What are you doing?” came his little voice. A hiccup graced the end of his sentence.
You wordlessly blinked at him and continued your rather difficult waddle with him against you.
“Where are we going?”
“To my secret hideout.” You said in complete seriousness.
Your little hand was now wrapped around his, departing from the hug for efficiency of travel.
The evening hues started to meld together. The sun continued to lower, and you continued your adventure to your top secret base.
…Hmm
Your secret hideout was not very secret.
The two of you made your way to the cave-like space under the slide.
The air was warm and the ground beneath you remained cooling to the skin.
You sat him down first, patting the top of his head, then took your seat next to him.
Time passed with the both of you rambling about your favourite cartoons and toys.
A few quarrels arose. Some over foods, others over who was cooler, for example the Spider-Man vs Barbie argument. After a heated debate, you both agreed that they were awesome in their own fields.
The sounds of birds chirping had diminished and the children around you started to slowly filter out like distilled water.
“I’m sorry.” The boy said. His eyes were stuck on the ground, but he found courage to raise them to meet your big ones.
You shook your small head.
“It’s okay! I was really mean to you.”
The boy only stared at you.
“What if you say sorry too?” He paused for a moment. “To your dad, I mean.”
The thought itself sent you in an insecure frenzy. “That will never work! He was really angry.”
Grabbing your chubby hands, the boy reassured you with a small smile. A smile that resembled specks of diamonds.
“It will work. My mama said that words have special powers. That’s why she always says to say ‘sorry’, ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ all the time.”
You looked at him, a spark of hope in your eyes.
“When you really really mean it, it changes everything!” He exclaimed with confidence. His hands still held yours for shared support.
You blinked at the highly empathetic child before you, amazed by the knowledge he displayed.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better, dummy!”
Your words projected loudly, yet the small gnawing of hope in your heart was obvious to the naked eye.
He shrugged at you, an ease to him. “You don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to.”
Huffing air into your cheeks, you pouted cutely.
“Fine, I’ll try it. But if it doesn’t work, I’m going to bury you next to my yellow truck!”
How sweet.
The sky had darkened by now, still bright enough to commute without worries, but late enough to deem it the end of the day.
Despite the time, the moon had decided to pop out early.
If you squinted your eye and focused hard enough, you were sure you could even catch a hazy glimpse of the stars.
Your two small backs were now sprawled on the floor, both pair of eyes gazing at the sky with deep reverie.
“You know,” you started. “You look like a star.”
He listened intently.
“You came out of nowhere, like a star when night time comes.” You turned to him. “And you look really shiny too.”
He stayed quiet, closing his eyes as he took in your innocent voice.
“You act like one too. You’re very annoying,”
His eyebrow twitched.
“But you stayed with me, just like stars do.”
Stars.
They’re always there.
They wait patiently for someone to look at them. And once they do, no one can stop the wave of the next morning that sweeps them away.
They disappear to the human eye. Like they were never there in the first place.
Just like he likely will.
“I know you have to leave soon, but it’s okay—”
“—You talk a lot—”
“—because even if you’re really annoying, you’re cute.”
“You speak like a granny.”
“My mama calls it ‘wisdoom!’” You pipped happily, completely mispronouncing the word.
Not like the boy would know what that is anyway.
“You’re just making up words to sound smart.”he giggled at you.
“Am not!”
“Are to!”
“Leehan!” Just as you were about to start fighting again, the sound of his mother’s voice drew the both of you quiet.
Wide brown eyes stared into your glistening ones.
“Leehan! Honey, it’s home time! Where on Earth is he?…”
Oh. Apparently his name was Leehan.
Looking over his shoulder, Leehan watched his mother finally spot him. She approached with that same calmness that he usually exudes. You supposed it ran in the family.
Small Leehan poked his inner cheek with his tongue, not entirely ready to leave the park yet.
Not ready to leave you alone yet.
He faced you, with a quiet look.
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
Nodding your head yes, then immediately shaking it as a no, you began to push him out of secret hideout.
“Your mama is calling you.”
“But I always have my mama. I don’t always have you!”
“Stop being silly and go,” you continued to push him with all your might, experiencing great difficulty despite you being taller. “Woah, why are you so heavy?”
He grinned at you, holding up the small packet of hard candy he had.
You made a sound of realisation.
“Leehan?” His mother stood behind him, a knowing smile on her face. “Who’s this pretty cutie?”
“No one.” Leehan rushed robotically. A shy dust of pink settled on his cheeks.
His mother only hummed. “Well then, No one, it’s nice to meet you.” She reached over to shake your little hand and you giggled at her common joke.
“We have to go, my sweets.” She ruffled Leehan’s hair, grabbing his hands.
Exchanging your goodbyes, you watched as the boy you had just met walked away from you.
Oh.
Never mind.
He was running back.
Quickly making his way back to you as his mother watched nearby, he handed you one small candy—even though he had loads left.
“My name is Leehan. Let’s get married when we’re older!” He landed a sloppy kiss on the back of your palm. Just like in the Princess movies, and ran back to his mother with a blooming smile.
You made a disgusted face, wiping your hand on your frilly shirt. “Ewww, gross!” Having wiped it clean, you began to stare at it, a small seed of longing.
“He didn’t even ask for my name.” You sulked.
Not long after, you heard your own mother calling you.
That day, you ended up apologising to your dad and reconciling with your brother as soon as you got home. They accepted your apology with ease and you even got a new truck and your favourite meal for dinner. You didn’t get your juice though, but that was okay.
Because at the end of the day, Leehan’s advice worked.
Years later, you’re all grown up, and at the town’s open market.
It’s peak afternoon hours. The sun glistens down, sending rays of gold to kiss lightly at your skin.
Vibrant stalls of fresh fruits and veggies. Vintage book sales and farm food galore.
Walking side by side with your mother, you smile down at a load of freshly laid quail eggs.
“How much for a dozen?” You inquire softly, your kind eyes roam over the produce.
The old woman in front of you names her price. You happily accept.
“How about we check out the smoothie stalls?” Your mother asks excitedly, and you laugh lightly beside her.
“Can’t say I’m in the mood for a smoothie right now,” you start up your stroll again, eyeing the stalls on the right whilst your mother eyed the stalls on the left.
“But they look so refreshing!”
Just as you’re passing by the smoothie stall, you catch a glimpse of the person working behind it.
Wavy hair, the appearance of soft wool. Eyes shining like the moon. Skin as clear as the ocean waters. And a smile as precious as a pearl.
Your feet slow down without you realising.
You barely get to see his face when he turns around to work on an order. Nevertheless, it’s like something is pulling you to dig deep into your mind.
Familiarity? Perhaps a memory?
Maybe you’ve seen him before.
You start to linger behind your mother. Eyes unable to move away from the familiar waves of the stranger’s hair.
Someone near him says something and he turns to the side, grinning like his smile shouldn’t be illegal.
Wow, he’s pretty.
Your eyes eagerly follow his obscured movements.
He kind of reminds you of the moon.
Moon…
…Could it be…
Star boy?
The thought is quiet. Much too quiet for the atmosphere that you’re surrounded by. Yet there’s a small persistence. Almost like it travelled the galaxies to find you.
“Fine, how about some pastry!” You jump a little at your mother’s voice from up ahead.
Whipping your head back to her, a small smile forms on your lips.
“That’s more like it.” You say cheekily, jogging a little to catch up with her.
“You’re so fussy.” She teases gently and you can only stick your tongue out in retaliation.
With your arms interlinked, you keep walking further and further away from the smoothie stall.
Unknowingly distancing yourself from your destined one.
summary|| a group gathering reunite you with your ex whom you're trying to forget and while you avoid any interaction with him—he look for any small thing that might get you to talk with him again, what route will he try to reach your heart again? what risks is he willing to take? will your will-power for peace defeat a yearning man?
gener|| smau, college au, yearning, angst, mainly comedy but might change in the future, university drama, fluff, expect toxicity, this is subjected to change as chapters release
STRAY KIDS HYBRIDS AU : OT8 STRAYKIDS X HYBRID RAGDOLL CAT FEM READER
Summary : Hybrids is well known to public, and in the entertainment industry, idols owning hybrids wasn’t unusual. Stray Kids have one, a pure ragdoll cat hybrid. Not as a pet, but more like a family, A Pack for her.
Pairing : Stray Kids OT8 x F!Reader
Tags : Angst ( I love angst), and fluff
A/N : This is my first time writing, so advice, tips and critics are helpful :). English isn't my first language so I used tools to help me write.
The next few days passed like it's supposed to. Not perfect. Not fully healed. But smoother.
The tension that had wrapped so tightly around your chest for weeks finally loosened little by little, enough for you to breathe without constantly feeling like something heavy sat over your ribs. The members became warmer again too, whether because they finally noticed the distance growing between all of you or because schedules lately had forced everyone together longer. Either way, the dorm slowly regained fragments of the warmth it used to hold.
And you clung to those fragments desperately.
Every morning started early, sunlight barely touching the windows before you were already awake in the kitchen, wearing one of your oversized hoodies beneath an apron. Your fluffy cream-colored tail swayed lazily behind you as you moved around preparing breakfast while soft music played from your phone speaker. Eggs sizzling quietly. Rice steaming. The comforting smell of soup filling the dorm little by little.
It became your favorite part of the day again. Because mornings felt honest, sleepy and unfiltered.
The members shuffled in one by one with messy hair and tired eyes, naturally gravitating toward you before they were even fully awake. Lee Know always entered first these days.
Somehow already carrying a warm mug for you.
“Drink this first.”
You turned from the stove with a small blink.
Warm milk. Your ears perked slightly.
“You made it for me?”
Minho only shrugged casually while leaning against the counter.
“You forget to take care of yourself when you’re busy.”
The words settled warmly in your chest.
Quiet affection. The kind Minho gave without making a scene. You accepted the mug with both hands, smiling softly.
“Thank you.” His fingers brushed briefly behind your ear as he passed you.
“You look less dead lately.”
You gasped dramatically.
“I did not look dead!”
“You absolutely did.”
And just like that, your laughter filled the kitchen again.
Soon after, the others began piling in noisily. Felix immediately attached himself to your back while you plated food, wrapping both arms around your waist and pressing his face against your shoulder.
“You’re warm.”
“Lixie, I can't move properly if you cling to me like that.”
“I don't wanna Y/n-ah...”
He mumbled through your shoulder then he kissed your cheek absentmindedly before stealing bacon directly from the pan and ran to quickly sat down.
“Yah!” you protested.
Meanwhile Bang Chan sat at the dining table already sipping coffee, eyes following you around the kitchen quietly. There was something unbearably soft about the way Chan looked at you this morning.
Gentler.
Longer.
Like a lovestruck feelings lingered somewhere beneath his eyes.
“You’re staring,” you stated boldly while setting down plates in front of him. Chan smiled immediately. “Can’t help it.”
“Ugh,” Changbin groaned from beside him. “You sound like someone’s husband.”
Chan only grinned wider. “Maybe I am.”
Your ears instantly flattened in embarrassment while everyone burst out laughing, Changbin pretended to vomit. Then Han appeared dramatically out of nowhere.
“Move.”
Han turned you around and wrapped his hand around your waist from the front, hugging tightly while you whined saying that the breakfast still need to be serve.
“My affection now.”
Changbin immediately protested. “Yah, get off!”
Han ignored him entirely, rubbing his cheek dramatically against your shoulder while pouting. “She likes me more anyway.”
“I literally cooked for all of you,” you laughed.
“Exactly,” Han answered smugly. “Proof of love.”
Changbin looked deeply offended.
And somehow, sitting there listening to everyone bicker over you again felt so painfully domestic your chest almost hurt. Breakfast became slower these days. And longer much to your liking. Nobody rushed to leave immediately anymore.
Seungmin fed you pieces of fruit while pretending he wasn’t.
Jeongin rested his head against your shoulder half-asleep.
Felix complained loudly whenever Minho got more of your attention than him.
At one point, Seungmin suddenly pulled you directly onto his lap while you were trying to clear dishes. You yelped softly in surprise. “Seungmin!”
He only tightened his arms around your waist comfortably.
“You move around too much.”
Felix nearly slammed his spoon down dramatically.
“That’s unfair.”
“She sat on your lap yesterday!”
“And?” Seungmin answered smugly. “Skill issue.”
Your laughter spilled out before you could stop it.
Real laughter.
Not forced.
Not careful.
And hearing it made several members glance toward you instinctively with lightened expressions.
Because they’d missed it too. More than they realized.
Eventually everyone scattered around the dorm preparing for schedules, leaving the kitchen messy with warmth and leftover conversation. Meanwhile you packed essentials carefully into bags while double-checking schedules mentally.
Water bottles.
Medicine.
Extra snacks.
Chargers.
Always prepared.
Always careful.
But when you reached for your tumbler—
It wasn’t there.
You paused.
Blinking slowly.
Weird.
You always carried the same tumbler everywhere. A cream-colored insulated bottle decorated with tiny cat stickers Felix once insisted on buying for you.
You checked your bag again.
Nothing.
The counter.
The sink.
Your room.
Still nothing.
Your brows furrowed deeper the longer you searched.
Because you never lost things.
Especially not daily used things.
And stranger still—
You genuinely couldn’t remember when you last used it. The memory felt blurry somehow. Like trying to grasp smoke. From the hallway Chan’s voice called out. “Baby? What’s taking so long?”
You peeked out from your room.
“I can’t find my tumbler…”
Chan immediately walked over.
“You lost it?”
“I think so…”
Your ears drooped slightly.
“That’s weird.”
Chan stepped inside your room helping you glance around briefly before sighing. “You probably misplaced it at work.”
“I don’t usually forget things…”
“You’ve been busy lately.” Chan gently squeezed your shoulder. “I’ll buy you water later, okay? We gotta go.”
You hesitated. Something about it still bothered you. But eventually you nodded. “Okay.”
The photoshoot studio buzzed with energy all afternoon.
Bright lights.
Music blasting through speakers.
Staff rushing everywhere with makeup kits and clothing racks.
The atmosphere felt exciting rather than stressful though, mostly because the members were in unusually good moods today.
And honestly—
They looked stunning.
Every single one of them.
You sat near the monitors watching the shoot while occasionally snapping photos with your phone whenever the staff got distracted.
Hyunjin looked ethereal beneath the lighting.
Changbin somehow made simple black clothing look devastating.
Felix’s freckles stood out beautifully under soft makeup.
Chan’s smile alone kept making the stylists scream dramatically.
“You guys look too good,” one staff member complained jokingly while reviewing photos.
You nodded immediately. “They really do.”
“Careful,” another stylist teased. “Y/N’s staring too hard.”
Heat instantly crawled into your face.
“Yeah I am...” Too struck with how good looking they are
“You absolutely are.”
The members overheard immediately.
Hyunjin grinned proudly. “Can you blame her?”
“You’re literally flaunting,” Minho sighed. You buried your face behind your phone while everyone laughed.
And for a little while—
Everything felt light again.
“Aren’t you guys looking good today~?”
Your head snapped toward the familiar voice instantly.
Jina.
You hadn’t even noticed her arrive. She stood near the back of the studio smiling pleasantly, coffee cup in hand. But something about her sudden appearance made unease crawl quietly down your spine. Her eyes landed on you almost immediately.
“Oh.” A pause. “You’re here too.” The emphasis on you felt strange.
Subtle.
But noticeable enough your ears twitched slightly. What does she mean by that ?
Still, you smiled politely.
“How’s work going?”
“Good, good.”
Jina approached casually, gaze flickering across you thoughtfully.
“How are you, Y/N?”
Again.
That emphasis.
Like she was testing something invisible.
You laughed awkwardly.
“I’m okay.”
“You’ve looked upset lately.”
The statement caught you off guard.
Not because it was wrong.
But because of the way she said it.
Sweet.
Concerned.
Yet somehow it still made your stomach tighten. Maybe it’s a cat instinct.
“I’m fine,” you answered carefully.
Jina’s brows lifted slightly before she smiled again.
“I’m glad everything’s working out, then.”
Something about the sentence lingered strangely in the air.
You couldn’t explain why.
But suddenly you felt cold.
Jina stood smoothly afterward.
“Well, don’t push yourself too hard.”
Then she walked directly toward the members with effortless familiarity.
Laughing naturally with Chan.
Fixing Hyunjin’s sleeve.
Showing Felix something on her phone.
You watched silently from your seat.
And once again—
That same uneasy feeling settled heavily in your chest.
Because no matter how kind she sounded…
Something always felt wrong around her. Like standing too close to a smile hiding teeth. Maybe it's the cat inside of you, having the instinct and ability to detect bad vibes from people.
“Y/N!”
You startled violently at the sudden voice.
Nearly dropping your phone.
The photoshoot director approached quickly, smiling brightly.
“You scared me…”
“Sorry,” she laughed. “I have an idea. A really great one!”
You blinked. “What idea?”
The director clasped her hands excitedly. “How would you feel about doing your own photoshoot?”
Silence.
Your brain stopped completely.
“…What?”
Several nearby staff members immediately perked up.
“Yes!”
“Oh my god, please say yes.”
“We already have makeup ideas.”
You stared at everyone blankly.
Completely flustered.
“M-Me?”
The director nodded enthusiastically. “The first time I met you, I immediately pictured a concept.”
You blinked again. Still processing nothing.
“You’d fit it perfectly.”
“No, no, I’m not model-like at all—”
“That’s exactly why I want you.”
Your ears flattened shyly.
“What does that even mean…”
The director laughed warmly.
“You have a natural face. Expressive eyes. Soft features. And your hybrid traits make everything visually stunning.” Nearby stylists nodded aggressively in agreement. “We’ve literally talked about this before.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You’d photograph beautifully.”
Your entire face burned hotter with every word.
“No way…”
“It doesn’t even need to be published,” the director reassured gently. “I just really want to bring this concept to life.”
You hesitated.
Nervous excitement fluttered strangely inside your chest.
A photoshoot?
You?
Before you could fully answer, suddenly—
Han appeared beside you at lightning speed.
“DO IT.”
You yelped as he grabbed both your hands dramatically before kneeling in front of you. “Please!”
“Han—”
“You’ll look gorgeous.” He looked genuinely excited now.
“Like actually insane. STAYs would lose their minds over you.”
Nearby members immediately agreed.
“Facts.”
“Absolutely.”
“You’d break the internet.”
Han tightened his grip dramatically.
“And WE would go crazy too.”
Then he hit you with the full pout.
Big bobba eyes.
Whining voice.
The devastating combination he knew you couldn’t resist.
“Pleaseeeee?”
You stared at him helplessly. Then at the excited staff surrounding you. Then at the members smiling expectantly nearby. Your heart pounded nervously. But underneath the anxiety…
There was excitement too.
A tiny spark of confidence you hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Maybe…
Maybe this could be fun.
Slowly—
You nodded.
“…Okay.”
The entire room exploded immediately.
And somewhere across the studio—
Jina watched silently. Her smile never wavering but her eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
The preparation room buzzed with excitement the moment you stepped inside.
It felt completely different from the loud energy of the studio outside. Softer somehow. Warmer. Filled with overlapping conversations, makeup brushes clicking together, steam from curling irons, and the faint scent of perfume and hairspray lingering in the air. The second the door closed behind you, several staff members immediately surrounded you with bright smiles.
“Thank you for agreeing to this.”
“We’ve wanted to style you forever.”
“You’re literally our dream concept.”
Your ears twitched shyly beneath all the attention.
“I’m really not that special…”
A collective groan immediately filled the room.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do not start that.”
You laughed softly despite yourself while being guided carefully toward the vanity chair.
The makeup artists adored you openly. One gently brushed your fluffy ears while cooing dramatically about how soft they were. Another lightly touched your tail with sparkling eyes.
“You’re seriously adorable.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly.
“Thank you…”
And strangely—
For the first time in a while, the attention didn’t feel heavy.
It felt nice.
Safe.
"You are beautiful, you should always embraced your beauty Y/n-ssi." Her encouragement stuck in you that day.
The stylists chatted excitedly while working around you carefully, fixing your hair into soft waves that framed your face beautifully. Makeup remained natural and light, just enough to brighten your features without hiding them. A soft pink tint dusted across your cheeks and lips, making your eyes appear warmer beneath the lighting.
Every few minutes someone would pause dramatically just to admire you.
“You have such pretty eyes.”
“Your skin is glowing today.”
“That dress is going to look insane on her.”
Your confidence slowly bloomed under all the kindness.
Not arrogance. Just pure confidence in yourself.
Like maybe you really could look beautiful too.
Eventually the dress arrived.
And when they helped you step into it—
You genuinely froze staring at yourself.
It was soft white fabric scattered with delicate pink floral patterns, the kind that looked almost painted beneath the light. Thin straps rested gently against your shoulders while a ribbon tied neatly across the chest area. The material hugged your figure just enough to flatter you naturally without feeling tight or uncomfortable.
You didn’t have the dramatic body proportions models usually did.
But somehow—
The dress made you feel pretty anyway.
Soft.
Bright.
Summery.
Like the kind of person someone would want to remember.
One stylist placed both hands dramatically over her heart.
“Oh my god.”
Another sniffled jokingly.
“She’s so cute I’m emotional.”
You burst out laughing.
When you finally stepped out into the studio—
Everything stopped.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just…
Stopped.
Conversations paused.
Cameras lowered.
Several staff members blinked slowly like they genuinely forgot what they were doing.
And the members—
The members looked stunned.
You froze immediately under the sudden silence.
“...What?”
No one answered for a moment.
Then Han whispered faintly—
“Oh, we’re doomed.”
Laughter instantly broke across the studio.
But even then, the members still stared.
Bang Chan looked completely speechless, coffee cup still halfway lifted toward his mouth.
Hyunjin pressed a hand dramatically against his chest like he’d just witnessed something life-changing.
Felix literally looked ready to cry.
And Changbin stared so openly that heat immediately rushed to your face.
One of the stylists giggled proudly behind you.
“Thank you for the reactions.”
The staff surrounding you looked incredibly satisfied, like your appearance alone validated all their hard work.
Meanwhile you could only laugh shyly while smoothing down the dress nervously.
“You’re all exaggerating…”
“We are absolutely not,” Seungmin answered immediately.
“You look insane,” Jeongin added.
Your ears flattened bashfully, giggling from the compliments.
The director clapped happily.
“Okay! Let’s shoot before they start fighting over her.”
The photoshoot theme centered around summer.
Not glamorous luxury summer.
Not dramatic beach magazine summer.
But warmth.
Sunlight.
Soft happiness.
And somehow—
You fit into it naturally.
The set had picnic blankets, flowers, fruit props, warm lighting, and soft pastel backdrops. The director guided you patiently through poses while constantly reassuring you.
“Relax your shoulders.”
“Think soft.”
“Good— yes, exactly like that.”
At first you felt awkward.
But slowly—
You began enjoying yourself.
Laughing naturally.
Holding flowers while sunlight reflected against your skin.
Playing with your own tail absentmindedly between shots.
The staff kept gasping dramatically whenever the preview images appeared on-screen.
Meanwhile the members watched from the side completely invested in every second.
“You guys are staring too hard,” one photographer teased.
“We can’t help it,” Felix complained.
Changbin didn’t even deny it.
Han took approximately eight hundred behind-the-scenes photos.
And somehow their attention didn’t make you anxious this time.
It made you glow.
After nearly an hour, the director finally smiled.
“Ten minute break.”
You immediately bowed politely.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
Then quietly slipped away toward the restroom.
The bathroom felt cool and silent compared to the busy studio.
You washed your hands slowly while staring at your reflection in the mirror.
And honestly—
You looked happy.
Really happy.
Your cheeks still carried a soft pink flush from smiling too much. Your eyes looked brighter than they had in weeks. Even your ears stood higher. A small smile spread across your lips. You actually did it.
Before you could sink too deeply into the moment, the restroom door opened.
Jina walked in.
“Oh, hey!”
You smiled politely.
“Hi.”
She approached beside you naturally, leaning against the sink facing you.
“You look beautiful today.”
Your ears twitched shyly.
“Thank you…”
Jina gently brushed a strand of hair behind your shoulder.
The gesture felt strangely intimate.
Then casually—
“Maybe hold your stomach in a little more though Y/n-ah.”
You blinked.
“What?”
She smiled lightly like she was giving harmless advice.
“Your tummy rolls are showing a little in the dress.”
And before you could process the words—
She playfully pinched lightly at your side where the fabric rested against your waist. " Look at this, so plumpy !" She giggled.
“I just don’t want anyone making fun of it later.”
Still smiling, sounding sweet, like she genuinely cared.
“Oh.. I didn’t notice.”
Jina smiled sympathetically.
“It’s not a huge deal.”
Then she tilted her head slightly.
“You’re not really model-sized after all.”
The air vanished from your lungs.
Your eyes immediately dropped toward your own body.
The dress suddenly felt tighter.
Your stomach suddenly felt bigger.
More visible.
You instinctively wrapped your arms slightly closer around yourself.
Jina continued casually.
“You’re still cute though.”
“I…” you swallowed quietly.
Jina only waved casually while walking toward one of the stalls.
“Just helping.”
The restroom suddenly felt freezing cold.
When you returned to the studio, something inside you had shifted.
Tiny.
But devastating.
Because now you couldn’t stop thinking about your body.
About how the dress hugged your waist.
About whether everyone noticed the softness there.
About whether the photos looked embarrassing.
You became hyper aware of every movement.
Every pose.
Your confidence drained away quietly.
The director noticed first.
“Relax your shoulders again.”
You tried.
But your body felt stiff now.
Awkward.
Wrong.
The members exchanged small glances from the side. Because only twenty minutes ago you’d been glowing. Now you barely looked at the camera. Finally you lowered your hands awkwardly.
“Can we… pause for a second?”
The director blinked gently.
“Of course.”
Immediately Hyunjin approached towering over you. Concern already visible across his face. “What happened?”
You hesitated.
Because saying it aloud sounded ridiculous.
Still—
Quietly, you admitted—
“I think my stomach looks weird in the dress.”
Hyunjin stared at you blankly.
“What?”
“I’m not a model,” you rambled nervously. “And maybe this concept would fit someone prettier or skinnier or—”
Suddenly—
Hyunjin kissed you.
Right on the lips. With his plump pink lips, that every Stays would die for.
Your brain completely stopped functioning.The studio exploded instantly.
“YAH!”
“That’s cheating!”
“UNFAIR!”
Minho eyes got wide.
Han collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
Meanwhile you stood frozen.
Completely stunned.
Your ears burned so hot you thought you might actually combust.
Hyunjin pulled back only slightly, hands cupping your face gently.
“Love...How can you say that,” he murmured softly, “when every single one of us has been completely obsessed with you all day?”
Your breath caught.
Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Seriously. You’ve got everyone falling in love with you all over again.” Nearby, Chan nodded immediately. “True.” Felix groaned dramatically. “She’s been attacking us since she walked out.”
Your entire face flamed deeper.
“Stop—”
“Some of them are literally malfunctioning,” Hyunjin continued teasingly.
“HYUNNIE.”
“What? I’m serious.”
Han pointed aggressively.
“I forgot how to speak earlier!”
The staff burst out laughing.
Meanwhile you buried your face in your hands.
“I’m never coming out there again…”
Hyunjin gently pulled your hands away.
“Hey.”
His voice softened instantly.
“You’re beautiful.”
Not exaggerated.
Not teasing.
Just honest.
“And you looked happiest when you stopped worrying about being perfect. You are literally an art Y/n.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because maybe—
Maybe that was true.
The director approached carefully afterward.
“Everything okay?”
Hyunjin explained briefly while rubbing comforting circles against your waist.
The director blinked once.
Then laughed softly.
“Oh sweetheart.”
You looked up nervously.
“This shoot isn’t about having a perfect body.”
She gestured around the set.
“It’s about summer.”
You stayed quiet.
“The warmth of it. The brightness. The happiness people remember.”
Her expression softened warmly.
“And you embody that perfectly.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“You don’t look like a model,” she admitted gently. “You look real.”
The staff nodded in agreement immediately.
“Comforting.”
“Warm.”
“Pretty in a way people remember.”
“You feel like sunshine.”
Your breath got caught unexpectedly. Because nobody had ever described you that way before. Not beautiful because you were flawless. Beautiful because you felt warm.
The insecurity loosened slightly.
You smiled softly.
Then bowed deeply.
“I’ll do my best.”
The rest of the shoot turned out even better somehow. Once your confidence returned, everything flowed naturally again. The photos captured laughter.
Movement.
Warmth.
Life.
And when the final images were reviewed afterward—
The entire studio collectively lost their minds.
“Oh my god.”
“These are insane.”
“She looks magical.”
Even you stared speechlessly at the screen.
Because somehow—
You looked genuinely beautiful.
Not edited into perfection.
Just… beautiful.
Warm sunlight against soft smiles.
Wind catching your dress.
Your eyes glowing naturally.
Minho immediately pointed at the screen.
“I want every photo.”
Everyone laughed.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m making an album.”
Felix gasped dramatically.
“That’s actually genius.”
“I want copies too.”
“Me too.”
You laughed helplessly while fanning your burning face with your hands.
The director turned toward you with a pleased smile.
“So?”
You blinked.
“Hm?”
“How does it feel?”
You looked back at the photos slowly.
Then at the staff surrounding you.
The members smiling proudly nearby.
And quietly—
“It feels really precious.”
Your voice cracked slightly from sincerity.
“Thank you so much for letting me experience this.”
The director’s expression softened deeply.
Then carefully—
“How would you feel about publishing them yeah?”
Your eyes widened immediately.
“What?!”
Several staff members nodded excitedly.
“You’d do amazing.”
“People would adore these.”
Instinctively you looked toward the members first. Seeking permission.
Reassurance.
Every single one of them nodded aggressively.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“Please.”
Then you turned nervously toward the managers. One of them smiled.
“If the publisher approves it, we’re okay with it.”
The director laughed confidently.
“They’ll approve it immediately.”
Then with a grin—
“And of course you’ll be paid.”
You froze.
“…Paid?”
The thought hit unexpectedly hard.
Because you’d never really had your own income before.
You lived with the members.
Relied on them.
Everything you had came from them somehow.
But this—
This would be yours.
Your own work.
Your own achievement.
Your eyes lit up instantly.
And before anyone could stop you, you bowed deeply toward every staff member repeatedly.
“Thank you so much! You don’t understand how grateful I am!”
The room filled with laughter and applause immediately. Everyone looked happy proud.
Everyone except one person.
From the far corner of the studio, Jina sat quietly with crossed legs and a drink resting in her hand.
Watching.
Smiling faintly.
But irritation burned clearly beneath her expression now.
-> You don't like Han Jisung's girlfriend. He needs a new one.
nerd!jisung x fem!reader
strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, hurt / comfort, college!au, suggestive
warnings: reader has low self worth and a poor self image hidden behind shamelessness, infidelity, cursing, partial nudity, kissing, alcohol, suggestive comments and sexual themes, reader is an unreliable narrator, tba...
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Hi friends! Thanks for visiting me. It's pretty simple around here. I write SKZ fanfiction: sfw, fem!reader, currently all happy endings. I am also open to writing some simple slice of life stuff with just the boys being goofy/platonic!reader. I'm a little newer around here, so we'll see how things progress.
I will gladly take requests, but I can't promise to be speedy about it 😭 I reserve the right to deny any request I don't feel okay with writing for whatever reason. But by all means, shoot your shot. Worst I can do is say no lol
Anyway, working on more individuals, but this is what I got rn. Enjoy!
Content: 🩷 - fluff ❤️🩹 - hurt/comfort 💔 - angst 🩵 - platonic/slice of life
OT8
Error: Brain Not Found 🩷
He Takes You On Tour 🩷 (minus Changbin and I.N.)
Their Kid Cries When They Leave 🩷 (see individuals)
summary: When Minho’s toddler son shows up to the dorm dressed as Leebit for Halloween, the usually composed idol completely falls apart over how deeply and innocently his little boy loves him.
authors note: so sorry for not posting! i’ve been busy the past few weeks, but i am back and i’m going to be posting a lot more. enjoy~ 🫶🏻
fluff, domestic
Masterlist.
Halloween at the dorms was never quiet.
With eight grown men running around in various stages of costume disasters, fake blood smudged across expensive hoodies, and someone—definitely Han—screaming because Hyunjin had hidden plastic spiders in his shoes again, silence was impossible.
But Minho had expected chaos.
What he hadn’t expected was for his entire emotional stability to collapse the second his front door opened.
Because standing there, clutching your hand with tiny fingers, was his son.
Dressed as Leebit.
For a moment, Minho genuinely forgot how to breathe.
The little white bunny hoodie swallowed your son whole, oversized ears flopping sideways as he stared up at his father with wide, sparkling eyes. Tiny whiskers were drawn onto his cheeks in slightly crooked lines, and the fluffy tail attached to the back bounced when he shifted his weight excitedly.
And then—
“Appa!”
Minho made a sound that no one in the history of humanity had ever heard before.
Somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and his soul physically leaving his body.
Behind him, Changbin blinked. “Oh my god.”
“I think he died,” Felix whispered.
“No, seriously, look at his face,” Jeongin said, already laughing.
Minho couldn’t hear any of them.
Because his son was wearing his character. Tiny. Round-cheeked. Looking unbearably proud of himself.
“Surprise,” you said carefully, already grinning because you knew exactly what kind of reaction this would get.
Minho just stared.
Then he slowly crouched down in front of your son like he was approaching a wild animal.
“…Who are you?” he asked softly.
Your son giggled immediately, bouncing on his feet. “Leebit!”
“Leebit?” Minho echoed weakly.
A nod so aggressive the bunny ears flopped into his eyes.
Minho put a hand over his mouth.
“Oh, he’s gone,” Chan muttered from the kitchen.
“Someone catch him.”
Your son grabbed the edge of Minho’s sleeve. “Appa, look!” He turned around in a circle to show off the costume properly, tail bobbing. “Eomma made it!”
Minho looked at you with genuine betrayal.
“You did this to me on purpose.”
You laughed. “Maybe.”
He looked back at your son.
The tiny hoodie sleeves covered half his hands. His little sneakers squeaked against the floor when he moved. The face paint on his nose had smudged slightly from him rubbing at it in the car.
Minho felt his heart physically cave in on itself.
He reached out carefully, almost reverently, and tugged one floppy bunny ear between his fingers.
“…You’re so precious,” he whispered like it personally offended him.
Your son beamed.
That was apparently the final blow.
Minho grabbed him instantly, hauling him into his arms with a dramatic groan and burying his face into the tiny bunny hood.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”
Your son squealed loudly, kicking his feet. “Appa!”
“You can’t do this to me,” Minho mumbled into his shoulder. “You can’t just show up looking like this.”
“Hyung is literally shaking,” Jisung announced from the couch.
And he was.
Minho was actually trembling a little as he held him.
Because it wasn’t just the costume.
It was the way your son had clearly been excited all day. The way he kept patting the bunny ears proudly. The way he looked at Minho like he’d hung the moon itself.
Like dressing up as Leebit was the coolest thing imaginable because it belonged to his dad.
Minho was weak to a lot of things.
Cats.
You.
Late-night fried chicken.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—destroyed him faster than his son loving him openly.
“Take a picture of us,” Minho demanded suddenly.
Felix already had his phone out. “Way ahead of you.”
“No, wait.” Minho adjusted the bunny hood carefully around your son’s face. “Okay. Now.”
Another squeal escaped your son when Minho started nuzzling his cheeks aggressively.
“Too cute,” Minho muttered. “Actually criminal.”
“Appa, breathing is important,” Seungmin said dryly.
Minho ignored him completely.
Your son suddenly grabbed Minho’s cheeks with both hands.
“Appa where your ears?”
The room burst into laughter.
Minho blinked. “My ears?”
“You need bunny ears too.”
“Oh, he’s right,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Hold on.”
Within thirty seconds, someone had shoved a pair of white bunny ears onto Minho’s head. Your son looked absolutely delighted by this development.
“Same!” he shouted excitedly, pointing between them.
Minho looked like he might cry.
Actually cry.
Chan saw it first and started cackling. “He’s emotional!”
“I am not emotional.”
“You absolutely are.”
Minho tightened his hold on your son defensively. “He said we match.”
“That’s your breaking point?” Changbin laughed.
“Yes.”
Honestly, fair enough.
Your son leaned against Minho’s chest comfortably, playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head while Minho looked at him like he’d personally invented happiness.
And maybe it was ridiculous.
Maybe it was just a costume.
But Minho couldn’t stop thinking about how small he still was.
How one day those tiny hands wouldn’t reach for him automatically anymore.
How eventually Halloween costumes would become “embarrassing” and he’d stop asking his parents to match him.
The thought alone made Minho hold him tighter.
Your son noticed immediately.
“Appa?”
Minho kissed the top of the bunny hood softly. “Hmm?”
“You squishing me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Noooo,” your son giggled dramatically.
“Too bad.”
“You’re obsessed with him,” you told Minho knowingly.
Minho looked at you blankly. “Obviously.”
And honestly?
It only got worse from there.
-
By the time the group actually went out for Halloween activities, Minho had fully transformed into one of those unbearable parents who wouldn’t stop showing people pictures of their kid.
Every five minutes:
“Look at him.”
“We know what he looks like, hyung.”
“But look again.”
The pictures got progressively more ridiculous too.
Your son sitting on Minho’s shoulders with bunny ears falling sideways.
Your son holding a tiny pumpkin bucket bigger than his torso.
Your son asleep against Minho’s chest while still wearing the costume.
Minho nearly cried at that one.
“He fell asleep mid-candy,” he whispered emotionally.
Seungmin looked exhausted. “Please stop narrating your feelings.”
“No.”
Outside, Seoul buzzed with Halloween energy. Kids in costumes ran around excitedly while decorated storefronts glowed orange and purple in the evening dark.
Your son, however, only cared about one thing.
“Pudding.”
“Ah,” Minho nodded seriously. “A man of culture.”
Tiny fingers wrapped around Minho’s hand as they walked down the street together, bunny ears bouncing with every step.
And Minho kept glancing down.
Just checking and making sure this was real. Because there was something so absurdly soft about your child waddling around dressed as a mini version of his dad’s character.
At one point, a STAY walking past recognized them.
Her eyes widened immediately.
“Oh my god—is he dressed as Leebit?”
Your son perked up proudly. “Yeah!”
Minho physically puffed up with pride beside him.
“He picked it himself,” Minho informed her immediately.
You snorted because that was technically not true.
Minho had absolutely influenced him by constantly giving him Leebit plushies.
Still, the STAY looked like she was about to melt too.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” Minho replied without hesitation.
You stared at him. “You said that so fast.”
“Because it’s true.”
Your son tugged on Minho’s sleeve then pointed dramatically toward a decorated candy stand where they also sell puddings.
“Appa. Puddings.”
Minho gasped softly. “He even likes the same snacks as me.”
“Please calm down,” Jeongin said.
“No.”
Minho bought him the puddings immediately.
And then a candy bag.
And another.
“Minho,” you warned.
“He’s celebrating.”
“He’s three.”
“Exactly.”
Your son sat on Minho’s shoulders afterward happily eating his pudding while playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head again.
At some point, he leaned down and whispered loudly:
“Appa.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Minho stopped walking.
Completely.
Like someone had pressed pause on him.
Your son blinked innocently. “Appa?”
Minho looked genuinely emotional now.
Chan saw it and immediately lost it laughing again.
“Oh my god, he’s REALLY gone.”
Minho ignored him entirely.
Instead, he reached up carefully to squeeze your son’s tiny hand where it rested on his head.
“I love you too,” he said quietly.
Then after a beat:
“More than pudding.”
Your son gasped dramatically.
That apparently meant everything.
-
Back at the dorm later, things somehow became even more chaotic.
Because now the members had decided your son was the official mascot of the evening.
He was passed around between them constantly while still wearing the Leebit costume.
Felix fed him chocolate carefully.
Changbin let him sit on his shoulders.
Hyunjin kept fixing the bunny ears dramatically like a stylist on a runway shoot.
And Minho?
Minho hovered nearby the entire time like a possessive cat.
“That’s my kid,” he kept saying randomly.
“We know,” Seungmin replied for the fiftieth time.
“No but look at him.”
“We ARE looking at him.”
Your son eventually waddled over to where Minho sat on the couch and climbed directly into his lap with sleepy determination.
The sugar crash had officially arrived.
His tiny body curled automatically against Minho’s chest.
“Mmm sleepy.”
Minho’s entire face softened instantly.
The room quieted a little too because everyone knew this look on him.
The unbearably soft one.
The one reserved only around his family and cats.
He adjusted the bunny hood gently away from your son’s eyes.
“You had fun?”
A sleepy nod.
“Got lots of candy?”
Another nod.
Then, barely audible:
“Best Halloween.”
Minho looked destroyed by the statement.
Absolutely obliterated.
Your son’s eyelashes fluttered sleepily while he played absentmindedly with the zipper on Minho’s hoodie.
And Minho just watched him.
Like he couldn’t believe someone this precious existed.
“You’re staring again,” you murmured fondly from beside him.
“He’s cute.”
“I gathered.”
“No, but you don’t understand.”
You laughed quietly. “I think I do.”
Minho shook his head seriously. “He’s dressed as me.”
“As Leebit.”
“Same thing.”
That made you laugh harder.
But honestly? You understood.
Because Minho loved deeply.
Sometimes too deeply to explain properly. He wasn’t always loud about it. Wasn’t always openly affectionate in front of others. But when it came to the people he loved, he gave them every soft piece of himself without hesitation.
And your son had him wrapped around one tiny finger from the moment he was born.
Maybe even before that.
Your son shifted sleepily again before mumbling, “Appa bunny.”
Minho visibly melted.
“Oh no,” Jisung whispered. “He called him Appa Bunny.”
Minho closed his eyes briefly like he was trying not to combust.
“Yeah,” he whispered back to your son. “Appa bunny.”
That was it.
Hyunjin actually had to turn away because he couldn’t stop smiling.
“This is sickeningly cute.”
“Disgusting,” Seungmin agreed.
Chan pulled his phone out again. “I’m documenting this.”
“No pictures,” Minho said immediately.
Chan blinked. “You’ve taken literally four hundred tonight.”
“Those are different.”
“How?”
“Because I took them.”
“No logic whatsoever,” Changbin muttered.
Your son was almost fully asleep now, warm little body heavy against Minho’s chest.
The bunny ears drooped over his forehead.
Minho brushed them back carefully.
Then softer than anyone expected, he whispered:
“Thank you for loving things connected to me.”
The room went quiet.
Because yeah.
There it was.
The real reason Minho looked so emotional all night.
Your son didn’t care about fame. Didn’t care about popularity or performances or schedules.
He just loved his dad.
Enough to want to become a tiny version of something associated with him for Halloween.
And Minho—who often acted unaffected by everything—was devastatingly weak to that kind of love.
Your son stirred slightly at the sound of Minho’s voice.
Then, without opening his eyes, lifted one tiny hand and patted Minho’s cheek clumsily.
“I love Appa.”
Minho made the tiniest wounded sound.
“Oh he’s DONE done,” Felix whispered.
Minho looked genuinely close to tears now.
Not dramatic crying. Just that quiet, overwhelmed softness sitting visibly in his eyes.
He kissed your son’s forehead slowly.
“I love you more than anything.”
And he meant it with terrifying sincerity.
-
Getting your son out of the costume later that night turned into its own ordeal.
“Noooo,” he whined sleepily, clutching the bunny hoodie. “Wanna wear it.”
“You have to sleep, baby.”
“Leebit sleeps too.”
Minho immediately turned to you. “He’s right.”
You stared at him flatly. “Don’t encourage him.”
“But he made a valid point.”
“He’s stalling.”
Your son looked between both of you before deciding Minho was clearly the weaker parent.
“Appaaaa.”
Minho folded instantly.
You watched in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”
“He can wear it a little longer.”
“He’s covered in chocolate.”
“A little chocolate builds character.”
“That is not how parenting works.”
Minho hugged your son protectively. “You’ll never take us alive.”
Your son giggled deliriously.
Eventually, after much negotiation and promises that the costume would still exist tomorrow, your son finally allowed you to change him into pajamas.
Though not before insisting Minho wear the bunny ears one more time.
So now there sat Lee Minho—kpop idol, terrifyingly sharp dancer, intimidating sarcastic menace—
Wearing fluffy white bunny ears while tucking his son into bed. And somehow it suited him perfectly.
Your son looked so tiny under the blankets.
Still smelling faintly like candy and outside air.
Minho sat beside him carefully, brushing soft hair away from his forehead. “Did you have the best Halloween ever?” he asked quietly.
A sleepy nod.
“And next year?” your son mumbled. “You match me again?”
Minho’s expression cracked instantly.
“Of course I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Your son smiled sleepily.
Then reached for Minho’s hand beneath the blanket.
Minho went still immediately before curling his fingers carefully around the tiny hand holding his.
It hit him suddenly then.
How fast this was all going.
How one day his son wouldn’t need bedtime tucks-ins anymore.
Wouldn’t ask him to match costumes.
Wouldn’t reach for his hand automatically.
And the thought terrified him a little.
Because Minho loved fatherhood more than he’d ever expected to.
Loved every sleepy cuddle.
Every random “Appa look!”
He wanted to freeze moments like this permanently.
Your son blinked slowly up at him.
“Appa?”
“Hmm?”
“You happy?”
Minho smiled softly.
“So happy.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
Within minutes, your son was asleep completely.
One tiny fist still loosely wrapped around Minho’s finger.
Minho didn’t move for a long time.
Just sat there quietly in the dim light of the night lamp.
Looking at him.
Memorizing him.
Eventually, you leaned against the doorway softly.
“He asleep?”
Minho nodded without looking away.
“He was really excited about tonight,” you whispered.
“I could tell.”
“He kept saying he wanted to be like Appa Bunny.”
Minho physically melted at the sentence.
You noticed immediately and smiled knowingly.
“Oh, there it is.”
“He said that?”
“Mhm.”
Minho looked back at your sleeping son again with an expression so unbearably tender it made your chest ache.
Then quietly:
“I don’t deserve him.”
You walked over immediately. “Don’t say that.”
“He’s just…” Minho exhaled shakily. “He’s so good.”
You leaned your head against Minho’s shoulder gently.
And for a moment, neither of you spoke.
The room was peaceful now. Your son’s quiet breathing filled the silence.
Minho finally stood carefully, making sure not to wake him before pulling the blanket higher around his tiny body.
Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead again.
“So cute,” he whispered helplessly.
You laughed under your breath. “You’ve said that at least fifty times today.”
“Still true.”
He switched off the lamp afterward, and the two of you quietly left the room together.
But halfway down the hallway, Minho suddenly stopped walking.
“What?”
He looked at you seriously.
“I think this was the best day of my life.”
You burst into laughter instantly.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m serious.”
“All because he wore a bunny costume?”
“He dressed as MY bunny.”
“That is not different.”
“It is to me.”
You shook your head fondly, reaching up to fix the bunny ears still sitting crookedly on his head.
“You’re completely whipped.”
Minho looked entirely unashamed.
“Yeah,” he admitted easily. “I am.”
And honestly?
Watching him completely melt over your son all day had made you fall in love with him all over again too.
Because beneath the teasing and sarcasm and dramatic complaints, Lee Minho loved with his whole heart.
Especially when it came to his child.
Especially when tiny hands reached for him like he was home.
Minho suddenly pulled out his phone again.
You groaned immediately. “More pictures?”
“I need to look at them again.”
“Minho.”
“He was tiny.”
“He still IS tiny.”
“But emotionally tiny.”
“That sentence made no sense.”
Minho ignored you, already smiling stupidly at another picture of your son in the Leebit costume.
Then quieter this time, almost to himself:
“I hope he still wants to match me when he’s older.”
Your heart softened instantly.
“He will,” you said gently.
Minho looked unconvinced.
“What if he thinks I’m embarrassing?”
You snorted. “You are embarrassing.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“But he’ll still love you.”
Minho looked down at the photo again.
His son’s gummy smile. The floppy bunny ears. The pure excitement in his eyes.
And something warm settled deep in his chest all over again.
Maybe one day things would change.
Maybe his son would grow taller and quieter and too cool for matching costumes.
But tonight?
Tonight, he had tiny bunny ears.
Sticky pudding and candy hands.
And a little boy who looked at him like he was the center of the universe.
That was enough. More than enough.
Minho smiled softly to himself before locking his phone.
Then he looked at you with complete seriousness.
“We’re saving that costume forever.”
You laughed. “Of course we are.”
“No, like forever forever.”
“I know.”
“And if he tries to throw it away someday, I’m stopping him.”
“That feels emotionally manipulative.”
“I don’t care.”
You shook your head fondly before taking his hand.
“Come on, Appa Bunny.”
Minho smiled happily at the nickname.
And as the two of you headed to bed, he glanced back toward your son’s room one last time with the kind of love that felt too big to fit inside a single person.
