Arlo

The sports medicine clinic at Briar somehow always smells the same no matter what time of year it is. Hockey gear, melting ice packs, and disinfectant.

And is technically supposed to close at six.

Technically.

In reality, it closes whenever the hockey team finally stops wandering in with mystery bruises, split knuckles, sore shoulders, or dramatic declarations that they’re "probably dying" before immediately asking for snacks five minutes later.

Which is why you’re still here. Somewhere along the line, what started as a second-year sports medicine placement had turned into unofficial emotional support for the entire Briar hockey team, half the roster had your number for “emergencies,” which unfortunately ranged anywhere from actual injuries to Garrett once texting you a photo of a bruise shaped vaguely like Abraham Lincoln at two in the morning.

The fluorescent lights hum quietly overhead while you reorganise rolls of athletic tape for the third time that evening, one AirPod in, paperwork half-finished beside you, when the clinic door swings open.

You don’t even look up immediately.

“You’re late,” you say automatically.

“Mrs Logaaaan,” Garrett sings back.

Tucker’s voice follows before you can respond. “Oh thank god, my favourite healthcare professional.”

“Can you legally prescribe me a girlfriend?” Dean winks at you, messing with his hair- spraying sweat onto the other players around him. 

That makes you glance up and grimace.

“You need deodorant first,” you reply flatly.

Your comment earns a loud chorus of offended reactions.

“You’re so mean to us.” One of them whines

“You guys make it incredibly easy.”

Hockey players file into the clinic grinning like idiots, damp hair from practice still sticking up in random directions, one drags himself dramatically toward one of the beds clutching his shoulder like he’s been mortally wounded.

“See? I told you guys that Logan’s her favourite. She hates the rest of us.”

“That’s not true,” you say automatically.

It kind of is, though.

You’d known all of them for years at this point - through playoffs and fractured fingers and Dean getting banned from intramural basketball for “excessive dramatics” - but Logan had somehow become something else entirely before you even realised it was happening.

“Logan’s my favourite because he knows how to fill out injury forms without drawing smiley faces.” You snort quietly and reach for a fresh pair of gloves. 

“That was one time,” Dean argues.

“It was four times. It doesn't get funnier the more you do it.”

The boys continue arguing over each other while you start sorting through who actually needs treatment and who’s just here for attention.

And from behind all of them, Logan steps into the room, looking unfairly good for someone who just spent two hours getting bodychecked into plexiglass.

His practice jersey is half untucked, curls damp at the edges from sweat, hockey bag hanging from one shoulder while he watches the entire scene unfold with the long-suffering expression of a man who absolutely could stop his teammates and simply chooses not to.

Your mouth twitches on instinct.

“Not a single one of you knows how to act in medical facilities.”

“We’re athletes,” one of them replies solemnly. “We’re fragile.”

“You’re twenty.”

“Exactly.”

His eyes find you. It’s subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice unless they were specifically looking for it, but you do. The way his expression shifts slightly the second he sees you, shoulders loosening a little like he’s finally somewhere he actually wants to be.

Unfortunately, the team notices too.

“There he goes,” Garrett says loudly to the room. “Looking at her like she personally invented happiness.”

“Actually disgusting,” another adds.

You shake your head under your breath, trying not to smile as you move toward the nearest bed.

“Alright, what happened?”

“Practice injury,” the player says dramatically.

“You got hit with a foam roller.”

“It was aggressive.”

From behind him, Logan laughs quietly.

The sound pulls your attention toward him automatically.

He’s already looking at you.

He always is, it started sometime last winter, subtle enough neither of you acknowledged it at first, until suddenly Logan had become this fixed point in your day without either of you meaning for him to.

And then, because apparently he enjoys making your job harder, he drops onto the stool closest to your station while the rest of the boys continue causing problems in the background.

You narrow your eyes slightly.

“You injured too?”

He shrugs once and glances at your clipboard.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

You look down at him. “No actually, this is all for fun.”

His mouth twitches.

Behind him, one of the guys points accusingly. “See that? Flirting.”

“We’re literally talking,” you say.

Which, admittedly, had become a problem sometime around November. Because Logan looked at you during conversations like every sentence mattered more than it probably did.

“That’s how it starts.”

Logan ignores them entirely.

“You look tired,” he says instead, quieter now.

You blink at him once, slightly thrown by the softness of it in the middle of all the noise, mostly because Logan only really sounded like that with you. Everyone else got easygoing sarcasm and dry one-liners. You got this version of him instead.

“Your team is exhausting.”

“That’s fair.”

“You included.”

“Less than the others.”

“Debatable.”

That finally gets a proper smile out of him, small but real, and it sits annoyingly well on his face.

You gesture toward the treatment beds with your pen. “Okay, which one of you is actually injured and which one of you just wants free medical attention?”

“My knee-”

“My wrist-”

“Emotionally, mostly-”

“Shocking,” you mutter, already beginning to inspect somebody’s wrist.

And through all of it, Logan stays where he is.

Closest to you.

Which, unfortunately, only makes the entire situation infinitely worse.. Because now he’s just sitting there. Watching you work.

You move from player to player while the clinic slowly dissolves into complete nonsense around you, someone stealing gloves from a supply drawer while another dramatically asks if bruising counts as a life-threatening condition.

“You’re literally holding an ice pack shaped like a cartoon penguin,” you deadpan, “meant for the kids who come for weekend lessons by the way.”

“It’s emotionally devastating.”

“You’ll survive.”

“That’s what they said about the Titanic.”

“Get out.”

Laughter breaks across the room in an undignified uproar.

Logan stays focussed on you with that same quiet gaze he always gets whenever you’re concentrating on something. One foot hooked loosely against the stool rung while he  absentmindedly spun the little keychain attached to the back pocket of your scrub bottoms. 

You glance back over your shoulder briefly.

He doesn’t even look guilty.

If anything, the corner of his mouth lifts slightly when he realises you noticed.

“You’re annoying,” you murmur quietly while digging through the drawer for bandages.

“Thought I was hot.”

You try to stay unimpressed, but your mouth still betrays you by twitching slightly while you go back to work, “You can be both.”

That earns the smallest laugh out of him.

Across the room, Garrett notices immediately, pausing mid-sentence and looking between the two of you suspiciously.

“Why are you looking at him like that?”

You don’t even blink.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to put him down.”

“Because he’s touching my keychain.”

“That’s weirdly domestic.”

“It’s literally a keychain.”

“Yeah,” Dean cuts in, grinning now. “A married couple keychain.”

Logan finally speaks again from beside you.

“Pretty sure married people have bigger problems.”

Dean chirps back, “Like taxes and children.”

Garrett points at Logan. “That man would thrive as a girl dad.”

Logan doesn’t even look embarrassed. If anything, he looks mildly annoyed at being interrupted.

You throw a roll of tape at them without looking.

The room erupts instantly.

“Okay,” you say over the noise, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. “Everybody either sit down properly or leave.”

Shockingly, they obey.

You finish checking a plethora of oddly shaped bruises and superficial cuts while the clinic finally settles into a moderate calm around you, the post-practice energy finally starting to wear off.

The entire time, Logan stays close. Close enough that every now and then your thigh brushes his knee when you walk past, close enough that he occasionally reaches out to tug lightly on the edge of your hoodie sleeve just to get your attention for absolutely no reason.

Especially when Dean starts dramatically fake-flirting with you while you’re checking his wrist, only for Logan to look up from where he’s sitting and say,

“Relax.” Which is unfortunately the exact tone he uses whenever he’s jealous but is trying to pretend he isn’t.

Dean sharply bursts out laughing.

“OH MY GOD THERE IT IS, you’re actually possessive!”

“I’m not possessive,” Logan lies.

“You looked ready to fight me.”

“You’re annoying me.”

“That’s even worse!”

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile while Logan leans against the counter behind him, completely unbothered by the fact that the entire room is basically accusing him of being in love.

Eventually, when the bulk of the man-toddlers have left the clinic and you’ve handed out enough ice packs to survive a small natural disaster. You finally make your way back over to Logan, picking up the 100th incident form to fill out for the stragglers left behind, 

“You sure you’re fine?” you ask eventually without looking directly at him.

“Mostly.”

That makes you glance up, you click your pen and drop it into your pocket,

“Mostly?”

He finally shifts slightly on the stool.

“My shoulder’s stiff.”

You stare at him.

“You waited until after I treated everyone else to tell me that?”

A shrug.

“You were busy.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

His mouth twitches again.

“You like me anyway.”

The worst part was that he said things like that with complete certainty now, like somewhere over the past few months he’d stopped questioning whether you’d stay.

One of the teammates gags dramatically somewhere behind him.

“There it is.”

“Shut up,” Logan says immediately.

You’re already moving toward the storage cabinet before the teasing can escalate further, only to realise halfway there that the tape drawer is nearly empty.

You stop.

Then sigh.

“Great.”

“What?” Logan asks.

“Your idiot teammates used the last of my shoulder tape.”

A couple guys cheer from across the room, “LET’S GO.”

Logan rolls his eyes at them, “That sounds like a team problem.”

“That sounds like your problem,” you huff.

He looks entirely unbothered.

“So,” you continue, ignoring them completely, “I need to go grab more from storage.”

Logan nods once.

“You can come back after your shower and I’ll tape it for you properly.”

He pauses.

“You want me to leave?”

“You smell like a locker room.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“And yet,” Garrett says from the hallway without even looking back, “she keeps letting you come over.”

Logan doesn’t miss a beat.

“That’s because she looooves me.”

“Disgusting,” Dean mutters.

You point toward the hallway.

“Go shower or change or whatever the hell you hockey people do after practice and come back in twenty minutes. I’ll restock from the storage room.”

One teammate gasps dramatically.

“She’s asking him to come back.”

“She asks all injured athletes to come back,” you say flatly.

“Yeah, but not like that.”

Logan looks up at you with the faintest grin tugging at his mouth, then he stands, tall enough that suddenly the tiny clinic space feels much smaller than it did thirty seconds ago.

He grabs his bag from the floor without taking his eyes off you properly.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

One of the players makes kissing noises immediately.

You throw a roll of bandage backing at them.

This time Logan laughs properly.

The rest of them filter out behind him in a mess of noise and complaints, leaving the clinic suddenly, almost suspiciously, quiet.

You thank the gods and take advantage of whatever time they've mercifully gifted you. Taking the minutes to do small tasks like restocking tape from the back storage room, reorganising supplies and finishing the paperwork you abandoned earlier.

By the time the clinic door opens again, barely fifteen minutes later, the noise of the team has completely faded into the distance.

You look up from where you’re reorganising a tray of supplies with immediate suspicion.

“You showered fast,” you say lightly.

Logan closes the door behind him with his elbow before answering, hair still damp around the edges like he’d towel-dried it in under thirty seconds and called it a day. He’s swapped into grey sweats and a dark Briar hoodie, duffel bag hanging lazily from one hand, and he looks far too pleased with himself for someone supposedly recovering from an injury.

“Yeah,” he says easily, walking toward you. “Wanted to see you.”

There was a time that line would’ve completely short-circuited your nervous system. Now it just settled warm somewhere beneath your ribs because Logan said things like that all the time.

You roll your eyes automatically even though warmth blooms under your skin anyway.

The corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Romantic.”

“I know.”

“You’re laying it on thick today.”

He drops his bag by the wall with a heavy thud and sits himself up on the treatment bed while you grab the fresh tape you’d dragged out from storage, and hold it out toward him

“There,” you say. “Knock yourself out.”

Logan stares down at the tape for a second like you’ve personally betrayed him, then his mouth pulls into the most ridiculous pout you’ve ever seen on a grown man.

“…Baby.”

“What?” you ask.

“You’re just handing it to me?”

“You have hands.”

“But you do it better.”

The thing about Logan was that he got clingier when he was tired. Post-practice Logan in particular operated almost exclusively on physical contact and opportunistic whining.

You choke out a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“But you do it better,” he complains, looking up at you from where he’s sitting. “You literally study this stuff. It’s like having a personal private healthcare system.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

You fold your arms, trying very hard not to smile while he keeps looking at you like a neglected house cat.

You stare at him for a second, then laugh softly under your breath despite yourself.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m injured.”

“You are literally sitting upright.”

“My shoulder hurts.”

“You survived practice.”

“Barely.”

He says it completely deadpan too, which somehow makes it worse.

You step closer eventually, taking the tape back out of his hand with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe this works on me.”

“It does though.”

You roll your eyes, lean down, and kiss the pout right off his mouth.

It’s quick, barely more than a soft press of your lips against his, but it instantly wipes the smug suffering expression off his face.

“There,” you murmur against him. “Better?”

“Much.”

“you're so manipulative.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately, he isn’t wrong.

Still shaking your head, you begin to pick at the tape, searching for a start, a grin breaks across his face.

“There she is.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

He leans back slightly while you move closer, between his parted knees, 

“Take your shirt off.”

Logan’s eyebrows lift with mock dignity,

“Wow.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, very forward of you.”

You point the tape threateningly.

“I can and will mess this up on purpose.”

That finally earns a laugh out of him before he grabs the bottom of the shirt and peels it up slowly over his stomach and chest before pulling it fully off. The movement flexes the muscles across his shoulders and arms in a way that makes your hands pause for just a second too long before continuing.

The first time you’d seen Logan shirtless, you’d nearly walked face-first into a supply cart. Now you liked to think that you mostly handled it with dignity. 

But even though you have seen him shirtless before, plenty of times, your brain still stalls for a second. Of course he notices, a Cheshire smirk spreading across his face.

“Are you checking me out right now?”

You snap your eyes back up to his. “Relax.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve literally taken your shirt off in front of me like a hundred times.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning back on one hand. “So why are you acting shy now?”

“I’m not acting shy.”

“You stopped moving.”

“I was thinking medically.”

That gets a laugh out of him, low and warm and entirely too satisfied.

“Sure you were.”

You shove lightly at his shoulder. “Sit properly before I ruin your tape on purpose.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He straightens up obediently, but the second you lean closer to inspect the swelling, his hands settle automatically on your hips, warm and familiar through the fabric of your leggings. Logan constantly touched you in ways so absentminded, they almost felt instinctive - a hand at your back, fingers catching your sleeve, knees knocking together under tables. 

You glance down at them while peeling the backing off the tape.

“That’s not very professional of you.”

Logan looks at you innocently. “Neither is ogling your patient.”

You snort despite yourself and press your palm flat against his chest to push him back slightly so you can work properly.

“Shut up unless you want me to tape your arm to your torso.”

“Bit kinky for a medical facility.”

“John.”

You press the tape down slightly harder against his shoulder, he laughs quietly through the wince, shoulders shaking beneath your hands before finally relaxing when you glare at him.

“Abuse of power.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make it asymmetrical.”

That finally shuts him up.

The room settles into something quieter after that, the air hums softly around the two of you, close and warm and familiar in a way that makes the rest of campus feel very far away. You focus on the tape, fingers smoothing it across the curve of his shoulder and down his arm while Logan watches you with that same soft, steady attention he always gets when he thinks you aren’t noticing.

“You concentrate really hard,” he murmurs eventually.

“I’m trying to stop you from destroying your rotator cuff.”

“Hot.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says lightly, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your hips, “you keep me around.”

You finish the final strip and smooth your hand over it one last time, making sure it’s fully adhered before tossing the empty backing aside.

“There,” you murmur, “Done.”

The clinic suddenly feels too quiet without the team in it.

Just the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint smell of your strawberry chapstick, and Logan looking at you like he has absolutely nowhere else he’d rather be.

You don’t step away and his hands tighten slightly at your hips while you’re still leaning forward over him, palms braced against the crinkling paper beside him on the treatment bed. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close your faces are.

You can feel his breathe against your parted lips, warm and steady

“You’re staring again,” he says quietly.

“You’re shirtless in a medical facility.”

“You invited me.”

Your eyes flick down to his mouth first and you lean in to kiss him before he can say something smug about it.

The first kiss is soft, more amused than anything, except Logan enthusiastically kisses you back. It’s not so chaste anymore.

His hand slides from your hip up along your waist while your fingers instinctively catch against the back of his neck, and the second you kiss him deeper, he exhales softly against your mouth like it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

You can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your hands, nails digging into his shoulder.

His mouth stays slow at first, then the kiss deepens steadily until your breathing catches halfway through it, a small involuntary sound escaping you before you can stop it, and Logan takes the opportunity to tilt his head and kiss you deeper like he’s been waiting for permission.

One of his hands slides into your hair, the other stays firm at your waist.

The new angle arches you against him properly now, your chest pressed lightly to his as he kisses you harder this time, slower and warmer and very deliberately not innocent.

His mouth is still curved faintly like he’s enjoying the fact that you started this, but the smugness fades quickly when your fingers slide into the damp hair at the base of his head and tug lightly.

The sound he makes against your mouth is quiet, but enough to make heat rush straight through you.

“Oh, you liked that,” you murmur before kissing him again. Logan’s hand tightens instinctively at your waist like he’s annoyed you noticed, which only makes you want to tease him more.

“Don’t get cocky,” he says, voice lower now.

“You literally started pouting for attention five minutes ago.”

“And it worked.”

He kisses you again before you can answer, his fingers creep below the hem of your scrubs and his palm flattens up on your spine, against your bare skin. The other slides down from your hair to your neck, guiding you harder into his lips, mouth parting to swallow your shallow breaths.

The paper beneath him crinkles loudly when he shifts forward toward the edge of the bed, and you can’t help laughing softly into the kiss at how absurdly obvious the sound is.

“You’re so clingy,” you whisper.

“Mm,” he hums against your mouth. “You love it.”

You pull away from him, chest heaving as you make room for his hands to skate up your sides, your scrub top going with them, "Actually...", his hands pause against you. You grin, going to press hot kisses to his neck, "I love you."

He groans at that, blunt nails digging into your ribs, just below your bra- itching to take it off.

You’re about to help him peel off your layers, when the clinic door suddenly slams open hard enough to hit the stopper behind it.

“YO LOGAN-”

You jerk back just enough to look toward the doorway while complete silence takes over the room.

You and Logan freeze for approximately half a second while the entire hockey team stands in the doorway staring in collective disbelief.

One teammate points aggressively.

“I KNEW IT.”

Another gasps dramatically.

“MRS. LOGAN CONFIRMED IN REAL LIFE.”

You bury your face briefly in Logan’s shoulder, mortified and laughing at the same time, meanwhile, Logan looks ready to commit murder.

He reaches blindly for the tape roll beside him and chucks it directly at them.

“Get out, you perverts.”

The tape bounces uselessly off one guy’s chest and nobody leaves.

If anything, they move further inside.

“HE’S DEFENSIVE!” someone yells.

“BRO WE INTERRUPTED FOREPLAY.”

“You guys are so annoying,” you groan, face burning.

Logan just watches you laugh for a second, despite the fact his teammates are actively ruining his life in real time, something in his expression softens completely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters quietly.

You look back at him with teary eyes.

“You threw tape at them.”

“They interrupted me.”

“That sounded possessive. Maybe Dean was right?”

“It was, can't believe I'm proving him correct.”

"YES MRS. LOGAN" Dean cheers from within the pack.

That makes you laugh all over again.

Logan, meanwhile, tightens an arm around your waist and glares at them with absolutely zero shame. He doesn’t even bother to move away from you anymore, which is probably the most embarrassing part.

“Door,” he says flatly.

The boys finally retreat, still yelling over each other, and the second the door slams shut again, the clinic falls back into silence.

You look down at Logan. He looks up at you.

You’re not stupid. You’re just tired of being the one who laughs a second too late, like you’re trying to catch up to the punchline that’s always aimed at you. Tired of the way your friends say they’re “just messing around” when your cheeks burn and your stomach drops. Tired of telling yourself it’s fine because at least you’re included.

Tonight, you’re included. Technically.

You’re all crowded near a little convenience store on a busy street, the kind with bright fluorescent lights and a poster on the window advertising hot drinks. Your friend group is loud in that casual, careless way. Someone’s got a bag of chips open. Someone’s scrolling with the sound on. Someone keeps bumping your shoulder like you’re furniture.

And then your friend Mina freezes mid-laugh.

Her eyes lock on something behind you.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, like she’s discovered a rare animal in the wild. Her voice goes sharp with excitement. “No way.”

Your other friends turn. Their faces change too, like a switch flips. They suddenly look awake, interested, sparkling with that kind of energy they never use on you.

“What?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

There he is.

He’s across the street near a small store window, wearing a mask and a cap, hands tucked in his coat pockets like he’s trying to disappear into the night. But he’s still unmistakable. Even in plain clothes he has that clean, sharp elegance, like he was born with a spotlight in his bones.

Your friends huddle closer together like they’re conspirators.

“That’s him,” Mina whispers.

“Who?” you ask.

They exchange looks.

Then Mina’s smile spreads, mean at the edges.

“You should go ask him out.”

You blink. “What?”

“Go on,” another friend says, nudging you. “Just do it.”

You laugh because you think it’s a joke.

Then you realize they’re not laughing with you. They’re waiting for you to perform.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you say.

Mina tilts her head, sweet as poison. “He’s famous.”

The words land in your chest like a weight.

“You didn’t tell me,” you say, slower.

“Because it’s funnier this way,” Mina replies, and she grins like she’s proud of herself. “Come on. Go ask. Unless you’re scared.”

Your throat tightens. You can feel your body trying to retreat, trying to do what it always does.

Be small. Be easy. Don’t be embarrassing.

But they’re all looking at you. Phones half-raised. Smiles sharp. Their attention feels like a trap.

If you refuse, you’re boring. If you do it, you’re entertainment.

You swallow. “What if he thinks I’m like… a sasaeng?”

Mina shrugs. “That’s the point.”

Your stomach drops hard.

So that’s what this is.

A dare built to break you.

Your hands go cold. Your face goes hot. You hear yourself say, “Fine.”

Their eyes light up. They crowd closer behind you like a wave pushing you forward.

“Do it,” someone whispers.

“Be cute,” Mina adds, like she’s giving you advice instead of a shove.

You take a step.

Then another.

Your legs feel wrong. Like you’re walking on a moving floor. The street noise swallows your thoughts, but your heartbeat is loud enough to be its own soundtrack.

You can feel their eyes on your back.

You can almost feel their laughter waiting.

Hyunjin looks up right as you reach the curb.

His gaze lands on you and holds.

Not blank. Not annoyed.

Curious.

You step closer, hands clenched around your phone like it can protect you. Your mouth opens and nothing comes out.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to make it easier for you.

You force a sound.

“Hi,” you manage, voice cracking in the middle.

His eyes soften immediately. He gives you a small nod. “Hi.”

You swallow. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to… bother you.”

You don’t know why you’re apologizing. You just do. It’s muscle memory.

Hyunjin’s gaze flicks past you for half a second, toward the cluster of people watching from across the street.

He sees it.

The phones. The posture. The anticipation.

He looks back at you, and something in his expression sharpens into focus. Not anger. Not pity.

Understanding.

You take a breath that shakes on the way out.

“My friends dared me to ask you out,” you blurt, the truth spilling out because lying feels impossible right now. “And they did it to embarrass me. They didn’t tell me you were… you, on purpose.”

You want to disappear the second you finish speaking.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen, just slightly. Then his gaze warms in a way that makes your throat sting.

“That’s… not nice,” he says quietly.

You let out a tiny laugh that sounds awful. “No, it’s not.”

You glance over your shoulder and see your friends watching like they’re waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to laugh.

Waiting for you to crumble.

You turn back to Hyunjin, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to say yes. I just… I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

Hyunjin holds your gaze for a beat. His voice comes gentle, steady.

“I’m going to say yes.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods once, calm like he’s making a simple decision. “Yes. I’d like to go out with you.”

Your brain stalls.

Your friends across the street go still, like their script just got ripped in half.

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. “Are you… sure?”

Hyunjin’s eyes flick toward your friends again. Then back to you.

“I’m sure,” he says. “And I’m also not stupid.”

Your breath catches.

He steps a little closer, but not enough to crowd you. Just enough that you can hear him over the street noise.

“Do you want to leave with me,” he asks softly, “or do you want me to walk over there and make them explain why they thought humiliating you would be funny?”

A laugh punches out of you, startled and half disbelieving.

You wipe your palm on your jacket. “I want to leave.”

Hyunjin nods. “Okay.”

He turns slightly, offering you the safest kind of gesture. Not grabbing you. Not pulling. Just an open path beside him.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll go somewhere public. Somewhere comfortable. You can breathe.”

You take one last look at your friends.

Mina’s expression has gone tight and annoyed, like you ruined her fun.

That’s the first time it really hits you.

If your happiness ruins their fun, they were never on your side.

You step away from them anyway.

You step toward Hyunjin.

And when you pass the streetlight, he glances down at your hands, at the way your fingers are trembling.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

You try to laugh it off. “I’m fine.”

Hyunjin’s gaze slides to you, steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That sentence lands somewhere deep in your chest.

You swallow hard. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’m not fine.”

He nods like that’s allowed.

Like that’s normal.

“Okay,” he says softly. “We’ll fix that first.”

—

The café he chooses is warm and bright, with people everywhere. No corners. No shadows. No audience.

He orders for himself, then looks at you with quiet patience while you decide. He doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t tease you when you stumble over your words. He just waits, like he has nowhere else he’d rather be.

When you sit down, your phone buzzes immediately.

Mina: omg he said yes?? LOL

Mina: come back here we wanna see

Your stomach twists.

Hyunjin sees your face change.

“What is it?” he asks gently.

You turn your phone screen toward him without thinking.

He reads it. His jaw tightens, just a fraction.

Then he looks back at you, voice calm.

“They don’t want to see you,” he says quietly. “They want to see you lose.”

The truth hits so clean and sharp you feel dizzy.

You stare down at your coffee like it might save you.

“I feel stupid,” you whisper.

Hyunjin’s expression softens immediately. “No.”

You look up.

His eyes are kind. Certain.

“You’re not stupid,” he says. “You’re surrounded by people who benefit when you doubt yourself.”

Your throat tightens.

Hyunjin leans back slightly, giving you space, not trapping you in intensity.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he adds. “And you don’t have to go back to it.”

You swallow. “I don’t really have anyone else.”

Hyunjin’s gaze holds yours.

“Then we build you something better,” he says simply.

You blink. “What?”

He gives you the smallest smile, soft and sincere.

“I’m not saying replace your whole life overnight,” he says. “I’m saying… you deserve friends who don’t treat you like a joke.”

Your eyes sting.

You look away fast, embarrassed, but Hyunjin doesn’t act like your tears are inconvenient.

He just lowers his voice, like he’s sharing something private.

“I know what it’s like,” he says. “To be around people and still feel alone.”

You glance back at him, surprised.

He taps his fingers lightly on his cup. “Sometimes people keep you close because you’re useful. Not because they love you.”

Your chest aches.

Hyunjin lifts his eyes again, steady.

“But real support feels different,” he says. “It feels like someone is happy when you’re happy.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because you realize, suddenly, that you can’t remember the last time Mina looked happy for you.

Hyunjin shifts, voice turning lighter on purpose.

“Also,” he says, “I’m still offended they thought I’d say no.”

A small laugh slips out of you.

Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle. “There it is.”

You blink. “What?”

“That sound,” he says gently. “That’s you. Not the version of you they can push around.”

Your breath catches.

Hyunjin sips his drink, then sets it down.

“So,” he says, casual like he’s not changing your life. “Do you want to take a walk after this? Still public. Still bright. I’ll show you a place I like.”

You hesitate.

Then you nod. “Yeah. I want that.”

Hyunjin smiles, warm and real.

“Okay,” he says. “And tomorrow, if you want, I’ll help you figure out what comes next.”

“Next like… what?”

Hyunjin’s tone stays gentle.

“Next like boundaries,” he says. “Next like better people.”

You stare at him.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask quietly. “You don’t even know me.”

Hyunjin’s gaze softens.

“I know enough,” he says. “I know you deserved someone to step in.”

—

Hyunjin doesn’t “save” you like a fairytale.

He just stays consistent.

He texts you the next day. And the next. He doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t make you chase. He checks in like you matter in a way you’re not used to.

When your friends act weird about it, like you owe them credit for pushing you toward him, Hyunjin makes a face so unimpressed it almost makes you laugh.

“They don’t get to claim you,” he says quietly. “You’re not a story they tell.”

The first boundary you set is small.

Mina invites you out like nothing happened. You almost say yes on autopilot. Your fingers hover over the reply, shaking.

Hyunjin is sitting across from you at a quiet table, sketching in a notebook. He looks up and reads your face like it’s a language he’s learned.

“You don’t want to go,” he says.

You swallow. “If I don’t, they’ll be mad.”

Hyunjin’s gaze turns soft and steady.

“Let them,” he says.

Your chest tightens. “That feels… scary.”

He nods like that makes sense. “I know.”

He closes his notebook and leans forward slightly.

“Do you want to practice?” he asks.

“Practice what?”

“Practice saying no,” he says gently. “With me first.”

You stare at him, then huff a small laugh. “Okay.”

Hyunjin’s voice turns playful. “Come to the studio with me tonight.”

You blink. “No.”

His smile brightens. “Perfect.”

You laugh despite yourself, and it feels like something unclenching.

He helps you craft a text that’s short and calm and doesn’t apologize for existing.

You: I’m not coming tonight. Have fun.

When Mina responds with a guilt trip, Hyunjin just raises his eyebrows.

“That’s not friendship,” he says. “That’s control.”

It hurts, hearing it out loud.

It also feels like relief.

A week later, he invites you to a casual group hang with the members. Not a big announcement, not a spotlight moment. Just a normal thing, like you belong in the room.

You try to refuse out of panic.

Hyunjin just looks at you, patient.

“We’ll leave if you want,” he says. “But I think you deserve to see what it feels like when people actually… like you.”

You show up shaking.

Felix is the first one to clock it. He doesn’t stare. He just appears beside you like a golden, smiling safety net.

“Hi,” he says softly. “You’re Hyunjin’s friend, right?”

You blink. “I guess.”

Felix smiles wider. “Cool. You’re our friend too then.”

It’s so simple you almost cry.

Chan offers you a drink like it’s no big deal, then asks about your day in a way that feels real, not performative. Seungmin makes a dry joke that makes you laugh out loud. Changbin is loud in the way that somehow feels protective, like he’ll bite anyone who looks at you wrong.

And Hyunjin watches you slowly relax like he’s quietly proud.

But the best part isn’t even the members.

It’s the two girls you meet through them.

The first is Ji-eun, a staff coordinator who’s always carrying a tote bag full of chaos and snacks. She’s warm, blunt, and immediately clocks you as someone who’s been taught to shrink.

The second is Ara, one of the dancers, all sharp eyeliner and softer eyes than you expect. She has that grounded confidence of someone who’s had to fight for her peace.

Ji-eun hands you a snack without asking questions. Ara nudges your shoulder lightly and says, “You look like you’re bracing for impact. You can stop. You’re safe here.”

Your throat tightens on the spot.

Over the next month, you find yourself in group chats you didn’t have to beg to be included in.

Ji-eun sends you photos of cute things she sees on the street and captions them like they’re inside jokes you already share. Ara drags you to a little dance studio and teaches you a routine for fun, not performance. When you mess up, they don’t laugh at you. They laugh with you.

When you have a bad day and your old friends post something petty, you don’t spiral alone anymore.

You text Ji-eun. She calls you immediately, no hesitation.

Ara shows up with coffee and a face like she’s ready to fight someone on your behalf.

Hyunjin doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t say I told you so.

He just watches you fill out, slowly, like you’re learning how to take up space again.

One night, you’re walking home with Hyunjin after dinner, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. You stop under a streetlight and look at him, words stuck in your throat.

He tilts his head. “What is it?”

You swallow. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

Hyunjin’s expression softens.

“I know,” he says quietly.

You stare at the pavement. “I thought I deserved it.”

Hyunjin steps closer, careful. His voice turns gentle but firm.

“No,” he says. “You didn’t.”

You look up and your eyes burn.

He doesn’t ask you to be brave. He doesn’t rush you to heal.

He just reaches for your hand like it’s the easiest choice in the world, like he’s done it a thousand times.

“You’re not hard to love,” he says softly. “You were just in the wrong hands.”

Your breath catches.

Hyunjin’s thumb rubs your knuckles, slow and grounding.

“And now you’re not,” he adds.

You squeeze his hand back.

—

The first time you don’t answer Mina’s text, it feels like you’re doing something illegal.

Your thumb hovers over the notification while your brain runs through every old script it knows.

If you ignore her, she’ll be mad. If she’s mad, she’ll talk. If she talks, everyone will pick a side. If everyone picks a side, you’ll end up alone again.

That fear used to be enough to make you fold.

But now you’re sitting cross-legged on Hyunjin’s couch with a blanket over your knees and a warm mug in your hands, and there are messages coming in from people who don’t feel like landmines.

Ji-eun: you alive?

Ara: I’m bringing snacks later. Don’t argue.

Your chest tightens in a different way. Soft. Disbelieving.

Hyunjin is across the room, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie on, barefoot, sketchbook open on his lap. He looks up when your face changes.

“What?” he asks gently.

You tilt your phone toward him like you’ve started doing without thinking.

Mina: you’ve been so weird lately

Mina: are you like… too famous for us now?

Mina: answer me

Your stomach flips, that old nausea creeping up, trying to drag you back.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow slightly. Not angry, but focused.

“She’s trying to shame you into responding,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you whisper, but your voice still shakes.

Hyunjin shifts forward, elbows on his knees. His tone stays calm on purpose, like he’s helping your nervous system not panic.

“You don’t owe her access to you,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

That question still surprises you sometimes.

What do you want?

You swallow. “I don’t want to deal with her.”

Hyunjin nods like that’s valid. Like it’s simple.

“Then don’t,” he says. “Put your phone down. Breathe.”

You do, but the anxiety doesn’t vanish. It paces around your ribs like a restless animal.

Hyunjin watches you for a second, then holds his hand out, palm up. No grabbing. No pulling. Just an option.

You take it automatically.

He squeezes once. Grounding. Warm.

“You’ve been trained to think their approval is oxygen,” he says softly. “But you’re breathing fine without it.”

Your throat tightens. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know,” he says, voice gentle. “That’s why you’ve got help now.”

As if summoned by the universe, your phone buzzes again. Not Mina.

Ji-eun: I’m outside. Open up. I have emergency tteokbokki.

You blink, startled.

Hyunjin’s mouth curves. “See?”

You let out a tiny laugh. “She didn’t even ask.”

“She never asks,” he says. “She just shows up with food like a hero.”

He gets up to open the door, and the second it swings inward, Ji-eun storms in like she owns the place, tote bag on one shoulder, hair half up, cheeks pink from the cold.

“I brought peace offerings,” she announces, kicking her shoes off. She pauses when she sees your face. “Oh. You’ve got that look.”

You try to smile. Fail.

Ji-eun drops the tote bag, crosses the room, and plops down beside you with zero hesitation, bumping her shoulder into yours like a solid reminder that you’re not alone.

“Who are we fighting?” she asks.

You snort, watery. “No one.”

Ji-eun squints. “That’s a lie.”

Hyunjin reappears with water bottles, sets one down, then sits nearby, not crowding you but present. Safe.

You glance at your phone again and your stomach drops.

Mina: lol ok

Mina: I guess Hyunjin’s your boyfriend now huh

Mina: don’t forget who was there before him

The old guilt tries to flare. The old voice in your head starts up.

They were there before. You owe them. Don’t be ungrateful. Don’t be dramatic.

Ara’s name pops up immediately, almost like she sensed it.

Ara: Where are you?

Ara: I’m done early. I’m coming over

You stare at the screen, throat tight.

Hyunjin watches your face. “Is it getting worse?”

You nod, barely.

Ji-eun leans in. “Show me.”

You hesitate. Then you hand her the phone.

Ji-eun reads Mina’s messages, and her expression changes so fast it’s almost funny.

It goes from curious to unimpressed to genuinely disgusted.

“Oh,” Ji-eun says flatly. “She’s one of those.”

“One of what?” you ask, small.

“One of the girls who thinks cruelty is the same thing as personality,” Ji-eun replies, and she hands your phone back like it’s contaminated. “She’s not your friend.”

You flinch at how direct it is, even though you already know.

Hyunjin doesn’t contradict her. He just watches you carefully.

Your voice comes out small. “I keep thinking maybe I’m being too sensitive.”

Ji-eun turns to you, eyes sharp but kind. “No.”

Hyunjin nods once. “You’re not.”

You swallow, staring down at your mug. “If I cut them off, they’re going to hate me.”

Ji-eun snorts. “They already don’t like you. They like what they can get from you.”

Your chest aches. “That’s harsh.”

“It’s honest,” Ji-eun says. Then she softens, bumping your shoulder again. “And you’re not doing this alone.”

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, voice calm. “Do you want to handle it quietly or do you want closure?”

You blink. “Closure like… confrontation?”

Hyunjin’s gaze stays steady. “Only if you want it. You don’t owe anyone a speech.”

Your phone buzzes again. Mina, of course.

Mina: we’re all hanging out tomorrow

Mina: come

Mina: unless you’re too good now

Your heart starts racing again. That old panic.

You can already see it. If you don’t go, they’ll post about it. If you do go, they’ll make you small again. Either way, you’ll spend the whole night feeling sick.

Ji-eun watches you freeze and reaches over, gently takes your phone, and sets it facedown on the table.

“No,” she says.

You blink at her. “No what?”

“No more letting them choose your mood for the day,” Ji-eun replies. “We’re going tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen. “We?”

Hyunjin lifts his brows slightly, like he’s curious too.

Ji-eun nods firmly. “Yes. We.”

You swallow. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Good,” Ji-eun says. “We’ll be terrifying together.”

Hyunjin’s mouth curves, but his eyes stay warm. “Ara’s coming too.”

As if on cue, the door knocks.

Ara walks in like a storm in a cute coat, hair down, eyes immediately scanning you like she’s checking your injuries.

She spots your face, then your phone on the table, then Hyunjin’s quiet focus.

“Okay,” Ara says, taking off her shoes. “We’re dealing with it.”

You stare at her. “How do you even know?”

Ara shrugs. “Your vibe was loud.”

Ji-eun points at the phone like evidence. “It’s Mina.”

Ara’s expression turns cold. “Ah. Her.”

Your stomach flips. “You know her?”

Ara nods. “I’ve met her. At that first hangout, remember? She smiled at me like she wanted to swallow my bones.”

Hyunjin exhales a small laugh through his nose. “That’s accurate.”

You look between them, overwhelmed. “I don’t want drama.”

Ara sits across from you, posture relaxed but eyes fierce. “This isn’t drama. This is you defending yourself.”

Ji-eun leans in, voice firm. “They’ve been dramatic. You’ve been surviving.”

Your throat tightens. “What if they record it? Or post it? Or make me look crazy?”

Hyunjin’s gaze sharpens. “If they do, that’s proof.”

“Proof of what?” you whisper.

Hyunjin’s voice stays soft. “Proof they were never your friends.”

Silence settles.

Your heart pounds.

Then Ara reaches over, takes your hand, squeezes.

“You don’t have to be brave,” she says. “You just have to be done.”

Something in your chest shifts at that.

Done.

You swallow. “Okay.”

Ji-eun sits up straighter like a coach. “Good. Here’s the plan. We meet them in a public place. Bright. People around. You say what you need to say. Short. Clear. No apologizing.”

Your stomach flips. “No apologizing is like… hard.”

Ara points at you. “Then we practice.”

Hyunjin shifts closer, not touching you, just there. “We’ll be nearby,” he says. “You won’t be alone.”

Your eyes sting.

You nod, once.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I want to do it.”

Ji-eun smiles like she’s proud of you. “Good. Eat your tteokbokki. Tomorrow we execute.”

Hyunjin looks at you over his mug, voice gentle. “And if you change your mind, you can. You’re in control.”

—

The next day, your stomach is a tight knot from the moment you wake up.

You can’t eat breakfast. You can barely drink water. You keep checking your phone like it’s going to bite you.

Hyunjin doesn’t pressure you. He just texts once.

Hyunjin: I’m here when you’re ready.

Hyunjin: You’re doing really well already.

Already.

You hold onto that like a railing.

By late afternoon, you’re standing outside a café in a busy area, coat zipped up to your chin, hands trembling in your pockets.

Ji-eun is on your left. Ara is on your right.

Hyunjin is a few steps behind, hood up, mask on, quiet and watchful. Not there to intimidate anyone. Just there to make sure you don’t fold.

Ji-eun bumps your shoulder. “Breathe.”

You inhale. Exhale.

Ara whispers, “You say it once. You don’t debate.”

You nod, throat tight.

Your old friends arrive like they own the sidewalk.

Mina spots you first, and her smile is immediate and sharp.

“Finally,” Mina says, loud enough to draw attention. “We were starting to think you forgot us.”

Your other friends smirk. They glance past you like they’re looking for Hyunjin.

Mina’s eyes flicker when she notices Ji-eun and Ara.

“Who are they?” she asks, tone already irritated.

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Your pulse spikes.

Ji-eun slides half a step closer, not speaking, just solid.

Ara squeezes your elbow lightly. Grounding.

Hyunjin doesn’t move forward, but you feel him behind you like a calm wall.

You swallow hard and force the words out.

“They’re my friends,” you say.

Mina laughs like that’s adorable. “Since when?”

Since I stopped letting you hurt me, you want to say.

Instead, you take a breath.

“Since I realized you weren’t acting like one,” you say, voice shaking but clear.

The smirks fade slightly.

Mina blinks, then scoffs. “Oh my God. Are you serious right now?”

Your heart pounds. The old you would panic. Backtrack. Apologize.

Ara murmurs under her breath, “Don’t.”

Ji-eun whispers, “One sentence. That’s all you need.”

You nod to yourself. You keep going.

“I’m not hanging out with you guys anymore,” you say.

Silence hits like a slap.

Mina’s face twists. “Excuse me?”

You swallow. “I’m not doing it. The jokes, the dares, the way you talk to me. The way you treat me like I’m entertainment.”

One of the other girls rolls her eyes. “It was a dare. You’re so dramatic.”

Your stomach clenches.

Hyunjin shifts behind you, and you feel him step half a pace closer. Not to speak. Just to be there.

Ji-eun’s voice cuts in, calm and deadly polite. “If humiliating her is your idea of fun, you need therapy, not friends.”

Mina glares at her. “Who asked you?”

Ara smiles, sharp. “Someone had to, since she’s been alone in this group for years.”

Your friends bristle, like they’re not used to being challenged.

Mina’s gaze snaps back to you, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “So this is because of Hyunjin? You got attention once and now you’re acting like you’re better than us.”

That old guilt tries to spike. The old urge to explain.

You take a breath and remember Ara’s words.

You don’t debate.

You don’t defend.

You just state the truth.

“No,” you say, voice steadier now. “This is because of you.”

Mina’s eyes widen slightly, like she didn’t expect that.

You keep going before you can lose your nerve.

“You dared me to ask him out to embarrass me,” you say. “You didn’t warn me he was famous on purpose. You wanted me to look stupid. That’s not normal.”

Mina scoffs, but it sounds thinner now. “It was funny.”

You nod once. “It was funny to you.”

Your throat tightens, but you push through.

“And when it didn’t go the way you wanted,” you continue, “you got mad. You tried to guilt me. You tried to shame me. You didn’t ask if I was okay. You didn’t care if I was okay. You only cared if you were getting a show.”

Your friend group goes quiet. People nearby slow down, pretending not to listen.

Mina’s face turns red. “You’re making it sound like we’re evil.”

Ji-eun shrugs. “Then stop doing evil shit.”

Ara lets out a quiet laugh. “Easy solution.”

Mina’s eyes flick toward Hyunjin behind you like she’s finally seeing the full picture. Her voice shifts, aiming for humiliation again.

“Hyunjin,” she calls loudly, “are you really dating her? Like for real? Or is this a charity thing?”

Your stomach drops.

Then Hyunjin steps forward.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to be seen.

He doesn’t take his mask off. He doesn’t need to. His voice is calm, controlled, and unmistakable.

“It’s not charity,” he says.

Mina blinks. “Oh my God, it is you.”

Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t even stay on her long. It comes back to you, like you’re the only person he’s talking to.

“You’re doing great,” he says softly, just for you.

Your chest tightens.

Then his tone shifts, still calm, but firm.

“And you,” he says, looking at Mina now, “don’t speak to her like that.”

Mina’s mouth opens. “I was joking.”

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow slightly. “That’s the problem.”

Ara’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.

Ji-eun crosses her arms, satisfied.

Your heart is pounding, but it’s different now. Less panic. More fire.

You lift your chin.

“I’m done,” you say, looking straight at Mina. “Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t invite me. If you see me somewhere, leave me alone.”

Mina’s expression twists into something ugly. “You’re going to regret this.”

The threat is supposed to hook you.

It doesn’t.

You shrug, voice quiet but steady. “Maybe. But I’d rather regret being alone than stay with people who enjoy hurting me.”

Mina stares at you like she doesn’t recognize you.

Maybe she doesn’t.

Because the version of you she liked was the version she could control.

You turn away.

Your legs shake as you walk, but you walk.

Ji-eun falls into step beside you immediately. Ara on your other side.

Hyunjin behind you, silent and steady, like a promise.

You don’t look back.

You hear Mina scoff, hear someone mutter something mean, hear the old group’s laughter trying to salvage their dignity.

But it sounds far away.

Unimportant.

Like background noise in a life you’re leaving.

—

Your breath breaks. Tears spill hot and fast.

“I did it,” you whisper, half laughing through it.

Ji-eun throws her arms around you immediately. “You did it!”

Ara hugs you from the other side, firm and grounding. “I’m proud of you.”

Hyunjin steps closer, hands hovering like he’s asking permission.

You turn into him without thinking.

His arms wrap around you carefully, like you’re something precious and breakable and strong all at once.

He rests his chin lightly on your head.

“You were so brave,” he murmurs.

You shake your head against his chest. “I was terrified.”

Hyunjin’s voice stays gentle. “You can be both.”

That makes you cry harder, but it feels like cleansing.

Ji-eun pulls back first, wiping your face with a napkin she somehow has because she’s always prepared.

“Okay,” she says briskly, voice softening. “Now we celebrate. We’re getting food. Like real food. And dessert. And we’re going to talk about how you just upgraded your entire life.”

Ara nods. “Yes. Also, we’re blocking Mina.”

You sniff-laugh. “Right now?”

Ara holds her hand out. “Phone.”

You hand it over, still shaky.

Ara blocks Mina without hesitation. Blocks two others too, like she’s cleaning your contacts list with surgical precision.

Ji-eun leans in. “And if any of them try to contact you through someone else, you tell us.”

Hyunjin’s hand squeezes yours. “And you tell me.”

You stare at them, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Why are you all being so… intense,” you whisper.

Ji-eun scoffs. “Because you’re ours now.”

You blink. “That sounds like kidnapping.”

Ara shrugs. “It’s friendly kidnapping.”

Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle slightly. “It’s found family.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time it’s warmth.

You wipe your cheeks. “Okay.”

Ji-eun grins. “Good. Now let’s go eat.”

Hyunjin keeps holding your hand as you walk, like he’s making sure you feel the difference between your old life and your new one.

The difference between being dared.

You shifted in your dinning room chair trying you hardest to swallow the nervousness you were feeling. “I may seem a little perverted but I think the curiosity is getting the best of me,” you said. 

Felix laughed again and tilted his head with an overly amused smile. “Oh?” He asked. “What are you curious about, sweetheart?” 

You flushed at the term of endearment. “How does it work?” You blurted. 

“How does what work?” 

“Sex.” 

There was a brief pause before he started to ask. “You don’t know how men have se—“ 

“I know that!” you exclaimed embarrassed, cutting him off. “I meant how… how do you all like… ugh!” You threw you hands up in defeat. 

Felix’s smile turned into a full grown grin and the way his eyes lit up with amusement had you groaning to yourself. 

He was enjoying this. 

The bastard. I should throw my textbook at his ass.

“Relax,” he said. “Take your time.” 

“It’s just…” you said. “There’s eight of you. There’s got to be some differences in preferences.”

“There is,” Felix confirmed.

“So like, how do you all deal with that?” 

“We were all kind of young when we got together,” he admitted, “and most of us were pretty inexperienced. So, we learned a lot as we went. But, we sit down and talk about it. Regularly because preferences can change and things can go ways people didn’t want. It wouldn’t be fair nor safe to not know these things about one another and to set boundaries.”

You nodded. “Is it hard to balance it all?” you asked. “Like making sure no one feels left out when it comes to that?” 

“Maybe a little at first it was,” he said. Felix’s eyes locked onto yours and you caught a glint of something you couldn’t read. “But now? No. No one feels left out. We’re very… active so everyone feels satisfied.” 

You blinked at him, slowly processing his statement. “So, you’re a slut?” 

“Hell yeah I am,” Felix agreed with a grin. “I have seven hot boyfriends.” 

You pouted. “Lucky,” you grumbled. Then your eyes lit up again. “So how do decide who tops and who bottoms? Or is it more of a go with the flow thing?”

“You’re going for the real questions now?” the man asked, even more amused— if  that was even possible.

“Why not?” You asked with a shrug.

Felix bite his lip, obviously in thought. “Most of us are technically switches so yeah,” he said, “it’s more of a ‘go with the flow thing’. Our the three oldest are tops. Especially our oldest. He’s strictly a top. Literally the most naturally dominate man I’ve ever met. The other two will bottom for him. But, when it comes to each other? Well, that’s a whole thing between them.” 

“Sounds interesting?” you pondered.

“I guess you could say whoever is the strongest wins,” Felix said. He grabbed the glass of water you gave him when he first arrived and took a sip. “Minho is older so, I do think Changbin tends to give up easier sometimes.” 

First Jeongin. 

Now Minho and Changbin. 

Slowly you were learning his boyfriends names. 

Only four more.

“What about you?” you asked. 

Felix smirked, setting the glass back down on the table before scooting a little closer. He leaned over the table slightly and tilted his head in a way that had the confidence you were gaining completely vanish. 

“Hmm?” he hummed. “What about me?”

You opened your mouth to speak but promptly shut it. 

“You want to know which if I top or bottom more?” he asked, voice low. “If I’m more submissive or dominant?”

Your throat ran dry at the sound of his voice. Low and smooth. 

God he’d be so good at talking someone through it. 

Fuck no. 

Shut up, Y/N! He’s taken!

“It depends on what the others want,” Felix continued after a moment, his pretty brown eyes locked on you. “I love pleasing others so usually whatever they want from me they get. I liked being used. Simple as that.” 

He likes being used?!

“Y/N you’re blushing,” Felix teased. 

“Shut up!” you grumbled. 

“What about you?” Felix asked. 

“What about me?” You asked. “You mean my preferences?” 

Felix nodded. 

“I don’t really know,” you said lightly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My sex life is non- existent,” you said with a pout.  

Felix blinked at you. His face slowly morphed into something confused? Surprised? You couldn’t tell exactly. 

“Are you a virgin?” He asked, slowly.

“Technically? Yes. I’ve never gone all the way with someone before” You let out a soft sigh. “And the few things that I have done weren’t very… satisfying.”

Felix seemed almost dazed. His eyes darted across your face, lips slightly parted. “So no one has ever made you cum?” He asked. He grabbed the water to take another sip. 

You ignored the way your ears warmed at the question. 

You’re adults and you’re friends. You can talk about this. You started it! 

“Nope,” you answered. “Only my vibrator.” 

Felix nearly choked on the water. “Vi-vibrator?”

© evieskies 2026 | do not copy, repost, or translate my work

Having been a trainee for all of your teenage years, you've seen a lot of the darker sides to the industry and you've trained yourself for practically any situation you could imagine. You've spent hours honing your skills and trying to become more well-rounded, spending time practicing rap, dance, singing, producing, choreographing, acting, and languages.

Yet nothing could have prepared you for when management sits you down and tells you that they're considering for you to debut as a member of the already established, all boys group, Stray Kids.

Honestly, after so many years with nothing to show for it, you had thought that it was more likely that they were dropping you as a trainee. After all, even though you had consistently been praised by instructors, you had never made it to being short-listed for any groups or considered to be a soloist.

So even though you know it’s purely experimental, that practically none of the fans would want this to happen, that this would likely end up to be one of the most controversial debuts ever, you say yes. If this is your one and only chance to become an idol, you’re going to take what you can get and give it your all.

You sign the papers that same day and management organises a time for you to meet the members a couple days later.

You want to meet them as soon as you can so that there’s less of a chance they’ll scrap the idea, but as you stand outside the room that the members are in, you start to doubt yourself. You take a deep breath to steel your nerves, then raise a shaky hand to knock on the door. You overhear Chan’s voice right as your fist is about to make contact and manage to pull back just in time.

“Listen,” he says. “I know this isn’t ideal, but we don’t have much of a choice. Let’s just try to make the best of this and see what happens. As long as the eight of us can stick together, lean on each other, I know that we can get through this. She’ll be coming soon, so let’s try to be nice, okay?”

Well, that definitely answers your question on whether the members were involved in the decision-making process for your addition to the group. Chan framed it perfectly, it’s less than ideal. Of course you’d prefer to join a group that actively wants you, but you have to take what you can get. At your age, you can’t exactly afford to be picky.

It’s disheartening to hear right before you’re about to meet them for the first time, but you hope that once you start working with them, you’ll be able to prove yourself. 

Over the next few weeks, you come to learn that it doesn’t exactly work like that. The boys are nice, but not overly welcoming. Exceedingly polite, but guarded. Helpful, but not going out of their way to get to know you. At the end of the day, they’re coworkers who know they have no other option but to try and get along with you. You wish things were different, but at the same time, you can't blame them.

3Racha work with you the most. You spent enough time as a trainee producing on your own that the company pushes you to spend time in the studio with them. You learn a lot from them, amazed by the ease with which Chan utilises Cubase to create tracks, the unique rhythms that Changbin adds to songs, the speed that Jisung spits out new lyrics, how their talents complement each other.

Knowing that you're an outsider to all of this and not wanting to interrupt, you jot down your thoughts on a tiny notebook that you carry around. On occasion, when you build up enough courage to mention an idea you have, they listen to you, but usually override it later on in the process. They’re not trying to be rude, but after so many years, they’ve already figured out their own flow when it comes to making music and it doesn’t have space for you.

You even move into the dorms with them and Hyunjin. Management has informed you that they considered giving you a place to yourself, but hoped that sharing a living space with them would aid with your integration in the group. 

It's not exactly successful. You almost never see them around even though your schedules are practically identical. At first you think it's just unfortunate timing or even them wanting to give you space to settle in and feel more comfortable. But after a few weeks, you can tell it's more than a coincidence that the common areas are always empty when you're around. They're avoiding you.

You start to spend more time away from the dorms, feeling bad that you're taking away the one space they have to themselves. You always pulled long hours at the company as a trainee, but now you're pretty sure that you're breaking records for time spent in the dance studios. You have a lot to catch up on anyway and by the time you finish practice, it's usually so late that everybody else is already in bed, or you don't even bother to go home.

In the beginning, the boys try to make the effort to invite you along whenever they eat dinner together. But it’s hard to ignore the sense that you don’t quite belong. You don’t understand the inside jokes that they laugh about, aren’t familiar with half the names that they mention, you don’t know when to jump into the conversation versus when to just listen.

But team dinners are far and few between, meaning your opportunities to hang out with the members outside of schedules are also rare. During schedules and practices, you feel like an annoying ninth wheel that they have to drag along with them.

You get one month to prepare and train with the group before the company officially announces your addition to the group. The feedback is generally what you expect.

Some are curious about who you are and what skills you have to offer, but as expected, the vast majority were openly against you joining Stray Kids. 

They wonder what the company was thinking to suddenly add a new member, and a female one at that, and you're honestly wondering the same thing.

The comments pick on your height, weight, hair, skin, anything and everything about your appearance, how strong your voice is, and any slight missteps you make while dancing. They notice all the awkward interactions between you and the members that are caught on cameras, hesitations when answering questions about you or jokes that seem a little too forced.

You do your best to ignore all the criticism, instead throwing yourself headlong into ensuring that you’ve perfected every move and note for upcoming performances. At first it's not too bad, it's easy to stay away from social media when you keep yourself so busy. 

But the fans get creative, they send protest trucks and funeral wreaths to the company building. During the couple performances that you do shortly after debuting, the crowd always goes completely silent when it comes to your part or really any time that you're shown on screen. You get assigned a plain clothed security detail for any time that you have to be out alone in public after fans start following and harassing you. 

It all comes to a head when the comeback finally happens. It's just a digital single, but management has decided to market it almost like a single album, spending time to film a music video, dance practice video, even organising a whole press junket for promotion.

And it's the worst performing comeback Stray Kids has ever had. Numbers and engagement is even lower than when the group had first debuted and were still relatively unknown. You've seen how Stays are rallying together to boycott the comeback and telling others to avoid interacting with posts.

You see how it drains the boys. They've had to work hard in preparation and for it to do so poorly is more than disappointing. To your face, they try to stay polite, but tempers are shorter when you're around and you know that they all, rightfully, blame you for this disastrous comeback.

You can handle the hate when it's directed to you, and while you know it's impossible, you really were hoping that the rest of the group wouldn't be significantly affected. It kills you, knowing that you're the reason for the fans boycotting the group and you consider if it would be best to graciously leave the group. But selfishly, you still don't want to give up.

It's challenging and it's tiring and most of all, it's lonely.

You're surrounded by people all the time, spend most of your days with the same eight boys, and yet you've never felt so alone.

But you knew that. You had hoped that if you ever debuted, you would consider the group to be a second family, of course you had. But at the same time you knew that it was just wishful thinking. You weren't guaranteed to like the other members and they might not like you.

So you don't complain. You bite your tongue and hold back your tears and you dance and sing and continue making songs that you knew 3Racha will never accept. To be on stage, even if the crowd was full of fans that hated you, it was enough.

—

It's hard not to be nervous when you get a text from one of your managers, Daon, late one evening, telling you that you're being excused from morning dance practice to attend a meeting. He says it's a regular check-in, but it's hard to believe when they haven't bothered to have any other meetings in the past.

In fact, you were surprised that there hadn't even been a meeting to inform you when the company was going to announce your debut to the public. Of course, you had been monitored continuously in the month beforehand and you assume the trainers and managers had been at least somewhat satisfied with how you were doing since you continued practicing with the group, but nobody had sat you down and let you know that they had decided to officially make you a member.

All the promotions for the comeback are long finished now and although preparations are starting for the next one, a mini album, you know that everybody has the same question in mind. Will you still be with the group by then?

The uneasy feeling that something terrible is about to happen just intensifies when you arrive at the room and find that along with Daon are a number of faces from different levels of management, many that you've never spoken with before.

“Y/n-ssi, thank you for coming today,” Daon starts, as if you had a choice whether to attend or not.

You murmur a quick greeting in response, still unsure what the purpose of the meeting is.

“As you know, it has been three months since you officially debuted. Based on your compatibility with the rest of the group and the reaction from the fans, the decision has been made to terminate your contract as a member of Stray Kids,” Daon says. His tone is bland and unapologetic, as if he was reading pages from a phonebook rather than telling you that your career as an idol was over after only a few short months.

“Effective immediately,” the man beside Daon adds, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough.

“We would like to get the boys back on track as soon as possible,” Daon explains unnecessarily. “You understand, don't you?”

“Of course,” you reply automatically. But you don't. You have no idea what's happening. How this could be happening so suddenly. Of course, you knew that being dropped was always a looming threat, but you had always assumed that there would be warning signs, that you'd have a chance to fix things.

“Great,” Daon says.

“Did- did you talk to the other members about this?” you ask, finally finding your voice and cutting him off. “Did they agree that they didn’t want me in the group anymore?”

“The other members will be informed of your official removal from the group this evening. Their opinion during the decision-making process was irrelevant.”

“I see,” you say weakly.

Actually, you’re a little grateful that the boys weren’t actually involved in this decision. Although it probably would have been a unanimous vote anyway, if there was anything that could make you hurt any more than you already are, it would be having that confirmed.

“You'll be escorted back to dorms and will have some assistance packing all of your belongings.” Daon continues on. “I understand that you lived in Seoul prior to being a trainee, so I trust that you will be able to find new accommodations on your own. Please ensure that you return your employee ID before you leave the building and any equipment you may have borrowed from the company can be collected by the staff who will help you pack.”

“I understand,” you whisper. “There’s- there’s nothing I can do? To change your minds or-”

“Unfortunately this is not a decision that can be changed. We appreciate your talent, Y/n-ssi, and all the years you have been with the company, but we just don't see you with a future at JYPE. I'm really sorry.” Daon says, sounding anything but.

Before you can say or do anything else, Daon and the rest of the staff in the room stand, bow, and exit the room, leaving you alone.

6 years as a trainee, 4 months as a member of Stray Kids, and all it took was a 5 minute meeting to end it all.

True to Daon’s word, after you give up your employee ID, you're escorted out of the building and to the dorms, where a staff member helps you as you mechanically pack all your belongings.

It only takes you two hours to remove every trace of your existence from the dorm. You suppose that Hyunjin will be glad to get the room back to use for his paintings. He's been storing things in his room while you've been in the group, but has complained that the smell of paint makes it more difficult for him to sleep. Just one more reason it's better for you to leave, you think.

In fact, in the time that you've been packing, you haven't been able to think of any argument against the termination of your contract. Maybe that's the worst part, as much as you hate it, you know the company is making the smarter, better choice to cut you out. You've brought nothing but bad things to the group.

Once you’ve packed everything, the staff member leads you out. You hand over your keys and watch from the sidewalk, surrounded by all your belongings, as he gets into the company car and drives away.

You’re on your own now.

“HONEY, I’M HOME!” chan announces his return in a sing-song voice, strutting onto the office floor as the elevator doors part for him.

giggles bubble from behind computer screens as your colleagues, a third-wheeling audience, watch chan walk his routine path to your cubicle.

chan swings his arms over the panel, tilting his head like a curious dog as you click and clack away on the keyboard; unfazed by him inviting himself into your private space. you finish up the email you were typing and hit send before spinning in your chair to face him.

you smile in tandem at one another, chan’s pretty dimples popping from his cheeks.

“working hard or hardly working, jagi?” he coos, drumming his fingers on the partition to the rhythm of some mental beat. “or perhaps it’s the secret third option: hard while wor—”

he sputters when you playfully throw a crumpled paper note at his face. for someone who is steadfast on living without coffee, you wonder where the hell he pulls this energy from when it’s this late into the work day.

even you’re starting to get snappy from sitting on your ass for too long without a break. anyone whose come to your cubicle seeking help in the last hour has been redirected to chan. he actually just got back from a side quest of escorting an intern to the break room floor.

he’s happy to lift the energy for two, because he knows you’d do the same for him on his off days. you’re in it together after all, as the so-called ‘parents’ of your department floor.

some days you find that you’d spent more time helping others with their work than getting your own done. you’ve grown accustomed to being interrupted while in the middle of a task, to not having more than a minute of silence at your desk before someone’s calling out for you because they locked themselves out of their email.

and chan, your self-proclaimed work husband (his own words), has been there to shoulder half of the responsibility. maybe just a little more so; considering when you turn down a request, your colleagues will seek out ‘dad’ to hear a yes instead.

neither of you are even in charge of them technically. even if you get the workload and responsibilities of a supervisor, you’re not getting paid as one. the actual boss of your department is the tall, brooding mr. choi seunghyun; though he exists mainly in whispered rumours and brief sightings these days. he hasn’t taken too well to his recent divorce…

speaking of marriage, it’s not exactly a secret that neither you nor chan have rings sitting on your fingers. within the monochrome walls and droning days of your job, it’s only natural that your mind begin to wander, when your handsome colleague spends his days brightening yours by playing as a married couple.

referring to you as ‘the wife’ when introducing you to new workers on your floor. making you a coffee the way he remembers you like it even though he doesn’t drink it himself. leaving sticky notes on your computer, sometimes reminders and sometimes just cute little doodles.

your playful banter and fake arguing. his resonant chuckles at all of your jokes. his fond smiles that are for you and only you, even when you’re doing nothing but staring at each other in silence.

when you’re acting like a married couple with someone eight hours a day, five days a week, it’s a little hard to not get in your head about it.

you don’t want to burst this bubble if it’s not the same for him though. chan has made you excited to come to work, and you could happily slave away the rest of your life in this building if it means he’ll be by your side through all of it.

so you keep it to yourself. it’s just a crush… a crush who refers to himself as your husband.

────── ✧ ──────

said bubble bursts the day that your illustrious boss mr. choi has you accompany him to a meeting.

he has to quickly tend to something before it starts, so you’re left waiting for him on the break floor; doodling on your clipboard as you slouch in a lounge chair.

the sound of a very familiar, very welcome laugh has the joints in your neck cracking from how quickly you snapped it in his direction.

lo and behold, your work husband walking down the hallway, his arms interlinked with a guy you’ve never seen before.

chan’s eyes were shut while he was laughing along at whatever the mystery man was saying, so he doesn’t actually see you there until said man takes notice of your staring and taps chan’s forearm.

they both stop before you, and the sight burns into your brain. they’re… really close. chan’s brushed his hand over yours or lead you into a room with a palm on your back, but never anything that could compare to this.

the tanned man at his side stares at you with big, round eyes. between his full cheeks is a full lower lip jutting out almost in a pout. you catch the hand holding onto chan’s arm close around it just a little tighter.

“hey! they let you go on lunch so early?” chan starts, smiling and indifferent to the situation.

he looks between you both, and you only catch a few fragments as he leans in to whisper at the mystery man’s ear: “this is my … remember i told you …”

the man’s eyes light up, his mouth dropping into an ‘o’. he addresses you by your name which startles you, even more so when he stretches his hand out.

“i’m han, from the creative team. it’s nice to finally meet you. chan’s told me a lot.”

he’s actually… really cute.

you arch a brow, reaching out to take his hand. “only good things, i hope?”

you take immediate note of how clammy his palms are, how his grip is a little loose in yours compared to the other hand around chan’s bicep.

he giggles, and if this wasn’t your first impression of him, you could think that maybe he’s flustered.

“well, y.. uh, yes!” he trips on his own tongue, eyes darting back to chan who offers him a small nod in return.

you narrow your eyes — what do you make of that?

chan picks up after han, and he makes a bit of small talk in what you’re doing on the floor if not having a break; in how mr. choi’s doing now that he’s emerged from wherever he was holed up.

han stays quiet at his side, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. it’s not lost on you. you just can’t seem to wrap your head around it as you stay sitting and they just stand there arm-in-arm like this is the most natural thing in the world. like your entire perception of chan hasn’t just been flipped on its ass.

eventually, mr. choi reappears in the hall back from whatever he tended to, and you bid the pair.. couple?.. farewell as you follow behind your boss.

han waves even a little more enthusiastically than your work husband, a startling contrast to how shy he was just a second ago. as you walk off, you spare them a glance over your shoulder — where you catch han doing the same. he trips over his feet a little as your eyes meet.

being mentally present in that meeting was the most difficult task you’ve ever had to fulfil at your job to date. each time you blinked, behind your lids you recalled the way han clung onto chan. the silent look they shared and all the words behind it that you weren’t privy to. how much you found yourself drawn to han despite it all.

you’re stiff at your desk for the rest of the day, but you try to loosen up and not let it get to you. what did you know? it didn’t have to be anything serious. they could be close friends, maybe like brothers.

…then again: what did you know? really? who’s to say you know what they are to each other? you don’t.

sigh. the closest thing to being married that you’ve experienced is an inside joke with a coworker, and still you’ve managed to find out there’s a third party in your marriage. or maybe, you were the third party in theirs.

you tell your brain to shut up before it keeps you up all night ruminating on that very thought.

────── ✧ ──────

well. even with all your rumination, you couldn’t have possibly come close to this conclusion.

this time, you’re actually on break when you run into chan again. he’s stood by the coffee machine, and briefly — stupidly — you feel a little pang of hope that he’s making one for you.

“waiting for mr. choi again?” he quips, pressing the button to fill the styrofoam cup with espresso.

“no, fortunately. i’m about to have my lunch.” you bite your lip, considering inviting him to sit with you while you eat. and you almost get the words out until—

“jagiya,” a low voice calls from around the corner, and the way chan’s head whips to the source tells you everything you need to know.

a man that’s not han appears before you both, halting in the spot when he realises chan’s got company. pretty company.

“don’t let me interrupt,” he murmurs, noticing your mouth was open and probably about to speak.

“changbin,” chan flashes that dimpled smile and hands him the coffee cup, then introduces you to him by name.

changbin is a little shorter than han, but a little wider too. like, you can tell by a glance that he works out wide. toned too, with the way his button-up shirt stretches around his chest. he walks and carries himself with confidence.

he takes a sip from the cup and hums appreciatively before testing your name on his tongue. he smiles like it tastes sweet, even with the bitter coffee staining his palate.

“so this is who you’ve been hiding in your department.” changbin smirks. he bows his head at you in greeting. “i’m from creative.”

what is with chan and having side hoes from the creative team??

chan scoffs. “it’s the opposite, actually. most days i’m trying to drag her away from her desk, if not just fight with everyone else trying to get her attention.”

“i can see why.” changbin’s lip curls, and his eyes… now hold on, did he just check you out? “would you ever give me a tour?”

“hey, that’s my wife you’re talking to.” chan drops his face like he’s serious before laughing it off.

changbin just nods along, though there’s a glint in his eyes that understands whatever you just missed out on.

“i should probably get back to it. our floor might catch on fire soon if one of us aren’t there keeping order.” chan tells you with a tired exhale.

“walk me back to mine first?” changbin asks, smiling triumphantly when chan agrees without missing a beat. he shoots you one last lingering glance, one that knows something you don’t. “i hope i’ll be seeing you around.”

he leaves you with a wink, and then he’s gone after chan. you think you even see him reaching for changbin’s hand before they disappear around a corner.

what the actual hell.

have you found yourself in a marriage with the workplace communal dick? how was it that you’ve met not one but two people who mirrored your dynamic with chan; if not being closer to him than you could only ever wish to be.

chan is still much the same with you, though you can’t help but be a little curt with him now that you’ve come to the conclusion he sleeps around.

some may think it’s a bit dramatic, but you’ve been spending god knows how long pretending to be married parents with your super hot coworker, so you think it’s actually not that unreasonable to be devastated.

why did he have to use couple pet-names on you? why did he have to be so generous and giving? why did you have to think you were special when you only know this man from the job you share?

why did changbin and han have to be so damn attractive?!?

you’d find it easier to hold a grudge if you weren’t so conflicted. your thoughts weren’t consumed by just chan but them, too. if anything, you were upset at yourself for getting in the middle of them. for not picking up that chan might’ve wanted to sleep with you before them but you didn’t consider it soon enough.

alas, there’s four people in your marriage now, and it’s a bit too crowded for your comfort.

────── ✧ ──────

“we need to talk.”

you don’t bother spinning in your chair to face him where he hangs his arms over the cubicle partition.

he uses your name at that, and you’re taken aback since it’s been a hot minute since he referred to you as anything other than a pet-name.

“am i allowed to come in?” his voice is so gentle when he says it.

“we’re having a conversation now.”

“i know. i just need you to look at me.”

well, you can’t argue with that, not when he sounds like he’s close to begging. you nod in his general direction and he doesn’t waste another blink in striding into your cubicle, standing before you at your chair.

you relent and look him in the eye, taking immediate notice of the dark circles under his waterline. seems like his grudge against caffeine has finally caught up to him. or maybe the clipped words and dull tone you’ve been subjecting him to the last two days might have actually stressed him out.

“i haven’t been honest with you, and i’m sorry.”

you hum, indicating that you’re listening but offering no reaction.

chan pulls his phone from his pocket. already, you’re raising your brows, because he always keeps that thing away and on silent mode to focus on the work at hand.

he says nothing as he turns the device on and hands it to you.

it’s just open on his lockscreen, but he really doesn’t have to say anything else.

it’s a photo of him with both changbin and han at either side. they’re pressed close together to fit in the frame, cheeks squishing but faces split in grins.

it dawns on you the split second before he actually confirms it out loud:

“we’re all together.”

your brows draw together. “…as in, you’re dating?”

he hums. “yeah.”

there’s a lot of questions racing in your head, too much for you to just grasp onto one and say it out loud. chan beats you to it though.

“they haven’t stopped asking about you,” he smiles. “it’s not just me, we’re all fond of you. i didn’t know if—”

“woah, woah. hold on.” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “are you swingers? like what does that even…”

not that you’re opposed if they are. you’re actually more than flattered, but erm. this is a lot to take in at the end of a full work day.

he just chuckles, so full of adoration like he always does. “it’s easier if they’re here too. come with me?”

that’s how you find yourself on the creative floor, sat in han’s desk chair while all three of them stand in front of you like offering a business proposal.

“you want me to join your throuple?!” you whisper-yell at the men.

changbin starts, “well yes—”

“i’m so sorry if we’ve misread,” han cuts in. “it’s just that chan’s had a massive crush on you and when i finally met you i saw why and—”

chan eases han’s rambling with a placid hand on his waist. he looks to you, “i know this might be intimidating. you don’t have to give us an answer, we just.. want you to know. the option still stands, whether you want us or not.”

do they think you’re insane?

“duh!” you throw your arms up in the air, and their faces flash with surprise. “of course i want you all. i just assumed i was getting in the way.”

“hell no.” changbin snickers. “had to stop myself from saying something not safe for work back there at the coffee machine..”

han groans at his pun. you actually giggle, and all three mens’ ears perk up, their faces lighting up in soft smiles just over the noise.

“truth be told, it is kinda intimidating but… i’m open minded.” you shrug.

when else are you going to get an opportunity like this in your life, after all?

“shit yes.” han murmurs, covering his mouth dramatically when he realises that wasn’t just an inside thought.

chan doesn’t waste another moment in closing the distance between you and him, bending at the knees to envelop you in a safe for work hug.

his face nuzzles into your shoulder, groaning lightly at the smell of you and the relief over finally being this close. you press a kiss to his exposed neck and he pulls away with a jolt, the tips of his ears burning red. the other two groan from where they’re standing witness, complaining about how chan pulled away and what they’d do if they were him..

“sooo, how does this work?” you say, looking between the men. “are you gonna take turns or is it like 3v1—”

changbin all but shoves chan out of the way, cupping your cheek in his hand. “either way, i’m first.”

“says who?!” han pouts, knocking shoulders with him as his hand comes to rest on the other side of your face.

you giggle, revelling in the attention. ah, who could’ve guessed your work husband was in a package deal with two more who are just as hot and whipped as him.

they both look like they’re about to swoop in for a kiss, so you place a hand on either of their shoulders before they butt heads attempting to do so.

“at least buy me a drink first, damn.” you giggle. “you can’t jump my bones when i just got here.”

chan shakes his head. “ah, sorry. they’re both eager like that.”

you’d be a bad liar if you said you’re any better off though.

burning at the proximity, you lean in to leave a fleeting kiss on changbin’s lips. you move on to kiss a pouting han afterwards.

then, at long last, you tilt your head up to chan: and you meet him halfway as he ducks down to kiss you sweetly.

when you part, the cubicle’s suddenly too cramped for four and buzzing with energy.

chan licks his lips, eyes darting across his two partners that look like they’re just about ready to pounce on you. “so, about those drinks…”

library ✦ taglist ✦ inbox

It’s that glimmer of gratitude you resolve to cling to throughout his inevitable goading. 

No wonder he came to check on you. It’s his room. You’ve been gone far too long to feasibly be “plugging your phone in.” In your defense, you did start charging your phone, but you also happened to get distracted. 

He flops down on his stomach next to you with a force akin to a small earthquake. The mattress dips and jostles you closer until your arm is pressed against his, and you promptly disregard every thought you’ve ever had. Instead of scooting away, he drapes that arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I wasn’t drooling,” you mutter, then mentally kick yourself for it. You pray he can’t hear the blood rushing in your ears. 

To anyone else, anyone who didn’t know the extent of your unrequited love, you two must look like a couple. Cuddled against each other, easy familiarity, so close it hurts in every way possible. 

He’s mere inches away. If he wanted, he could lean in and easily close the gap between you. 

Instead, he just laughs in your face, like the terrible friend he is. Trying to ignore your heart skipping a beat at the sound, you burrow closer into his embrace, reveling in as much of him as he’ll let you have. 

His chest vibrates when he speaks again. “I had a good time last night.” He pairs his kind words with a rude poke to your side. 

A good time is underestimating it, at least for you. Innie claimed that the rest of the guys were always hogging up your free time, and he missed his best friend. He booked a reservation at an Italian restaurant notoriously hard to get into – but he’s an idol, of course he has connections like that. 

If this were a romance movie, one of you would have confessed. Preferably him, to spare you the embarrassment. But it’s not, and at the end of the night, he dropped you off at home with a beaming smile and the memory. 

If this were a romance movie, now would also be a pretty good time for a confession. 

You look up at him. He’s looking back at you. 

The entire world shrinks to only him, and his eyes, staring into yours. “Yeah?” you ask, breathless. 

He grins. “Yeah,” his voice is low. His eyes drop down to your lips, and suddenly his hand is cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. 

Then, he clears his throat, the sound piercing. He shakes his head, as if to snap himself out of a thought, then whispers, “You had something.” He doesn’t remove his thumb. 

As if on cue, Seungmin walks past his open doorway headed towards the kitchen. He peeks inside, and immediately freezes in his tracks while his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the scene before him. 

Cuddled against each other. Easy familiarity. So close it hurts. 

Before he says anything too incriminating – and thus ensuring his death by your hands – he’s interrupted by a wild-eyed Changbin barreling past him and into Jeongin’s room, yelling “Chan’s buying us food! Get up! Hurryhurryhurry!”

An outraged, “The fuck I am!” sounds from the living room. 

Thirty minutes later, Chan buys everyone dumplings from Changbin’s favorite spot. 

At the restaurant, Jeongin steals a dumpling off Changbin’s plate rather unsuccessfully. The plop as it lands on the table alerts Changbin to the attempted thievery, and naturally, Jeongin winds up in a headlock as punishment. They go back and forth exclaiming, “Say you’re sorry!” and “I didn’t even do anything!” until Chan looks like he’s about to start sprouting grey hairs. 

“He’s such an idiot,” Seungmin says beside you. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I want his balls in my mouth.” 

Seungmin freezes with a steamed bun inches away from his lips. “Please,” he deadpans. “Never speak to me again.” 

Hyunjin proves himself nearly useless. However, he’s a lot better than your complete uselessness, so you find yourself taking his advice a few days later. 

“What does painting my feelings even mean?” you ask. Hyunjin sits across from you, concentrating on his own canvas like he’s the one about to confess via acrylic paint. Maybe he is; he and Changbin have been acting particularly married lately. A variety of paint tubes sits on the table between you two. “What color are my feelings?” 

Hyunjin snorts. “I don’t know, what color do you think pabo is?”

“Green?”

With a small grin, Hyunjin slides a pigment labelled Permanent Green closer to you, then subsequently dodges it when you hurl it back at him. Shame. He exclaims something about Changbin killing him if any more paint spills in their dorm, but you’re not listening, instead choosing to stare down at your canvas as if it will unveil its secrets if you simply look at it long enough. 

Hyunjin had sworn on his life that painting your love and gifting it to Jeongin would work, and the boy would swoon in your arms upon receiving it. He claimed there was no possible way he could miss the hint of his obviously-in-love best friend creating art for him. It is romantic, if nothing else. The only problem is you have no idea where to start. Or end. Or anything in between. Both of you, apparently, drastically overestimated your love’s ability to be painted. 

You stare longer, but the canvas unabashedly remains blank. 

“What comes to mind when you first think about him? Any special memories between you, anything you like to do together?” he asks. “If you say something nasty I’m kicking you out.” 

Jeongin brought you to a flower field a few weeks beforehand. He plucked a daisy, tucked it behind your ear, and smiled brighter than the sun. You want to keep being the reason he smiles like that. Back at home, you pressed the daisy as a keepsake. 

It might not be the idyllic, romantic embodiment Hyunjin probably hoped for, but it’s a lovely memory regardless. A flower field is fairly easy to paint, right?

Hyunjin gives his stamp of approval to your idea, as well as a five-minute-straight monologue about how cute you and Jeongin are together, your nerves about your gift heightening with each “you’re made for each other!” 

What if he doesn’t even like it? What if he doesn’t know the meaning behind it? What if he does know the meaning behind it?

As much as Hyunjin woes about his own love life, you feel justified wallowing in his presence a bit longer. 

“Can we please not talk about this? I don’t really want to think about how he’ll probably reject it.”

Hyunjin drops it for all of two minutes – just enough time for you to barely dip your paintbrush into Radiant Blue and cover most of the canvas in broad, sweeping strokes. 

“I think he loves you,” he says, without looking up from his own canvas. 

The paintbrush slips out of your fingers. Blue paint splatters across your jeans, and stains the floor where the brush lands. Hyunjin sees it, purses his lips, but thankfully doesn’t say anything else about his own impending doom. 

“He does not,” you assure him once you stop air from going down the wrong pipe. 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, somehow loudly. “Do you want a list of reasons why I know he is? For one, he wouldn’t shut up about those flowers you picked for him.” The same flowers you chose to paint. He tacks on, “It was gross.” 

Your heart sinks at the implication you wish was true. “That was as friends,” you mutter, like a child who got told no. Hoping Hyunjin would take the hint, you pick up your paintbrush from the floor and continue swiping it across the canvas, trying to fix the parts that are streaky from the fall. 

He either did not get the hint or is flat out ignoring it. “I don’t take just friends to pick flowers,” you bite back the urge to point out Jeongin only knew about it because Changbin took Hyunjin, “and spend the next three hours talking about how pretty she looked.” 

“He did that?” Heat rises to your cheeks. 

He nods. “He only stopped because Minho threatened to tape his mouth closed.” 

The next hours are spent in relative silence as you two paint. As grateful as you are to avoid speaking about Jeongin, you’re unable to stop thinking about him – about if Hyunjin was exaggerating, about Jeongin’s reaction, about either possibility of him accepting or rejecting it. 

A flower field is not fairly easy to paint, as evidenced by Hyunjin’s snorting laughter when you finally show him your canvas. It’s not winning any awards anytime soon, but you thought it was alright, at least. 

“A child could have done a better job!” he exclaims. “An actual child!” He dodges yet another paint tube – when did he get so good at that? Through laughter, he says again, “It’s proof he loves you if he actually displays it anywhere.”

Unfortunately, Hyunjin made sure to be there while you gift it to Jeongin. 

“I love it!” Jeongin looks like you awarded him the moon and stars, rather than – you’ll admit it now – a pretty terrible painting. “Thank you!” 

And he walks away, admiring it. 

Hyunjin will not let this go for a long time. 

You’re staring at Jeongin making downright sinful noises doing pushups and debating when exactly in your life you lost your mind. You must have at some point, as only an insane person would agree to Chan asking you to accompany them to the gym.  

Jeongin does another pushup, grunting, and all rational thoughts leave your brain. 

Down. Up. Grunt.  

Would he make the same sounds if–  

“You know, they say those work better if you actually lift them,” Chan takes the bench next to you, carrying his own dumbbells orders of magnitude heavier than the ones laying abandoned by your feet. 

“Hm?” 

Jeongin finishes his set, and as if in slow motion, strips off his shirt. Sweat glistens on his chest, even in their gym’s terrible lighting. Good god. It would’ve been kinder if Chan punched you in the sternum and called it a day. 

Chan’s laugh breaks through the Jeongin-brain fog clouding your mind. You wrench your eyes away from the, quite frankly, ludicrous display going on to glare at him. 

“You’ve got a bit of drool on your chin there.” He seems more amused than he should. 

“Why does everyone keep saying I drool? It’s gross and I don’t do it.” 

“Yeah, it is gross, isn’t it?” Chan pauses to take in your expression, and lets out a deep sigh. “Look, you should just tell him, rip off the band-aid, you know? Have you tried anything like that?”

“I’ve tried, but I don’t know, something in me freezes up every time I try and I end up gaping at him like a fish.” 

Even before this week, you’ve tried so often, but the words always die in your throat. It’s harder than it seems, confessing your undying love to your best friend. 

Chan’s staring at you like you grew a second mouth, one that said something stupid. 

“What?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing, just remembering similar conversations.” He glances across the room, where Jeongin’s in position to start doing pushups again. God save everyone. “I think you should tell him though. Now.” 

“Are you cra–”

“Now. Re-rack your weights first.” He lifts his dumbbells off the floor and turns his attention towards the wall-to-wall mirror, shutting you out of the conversation and leaving no room for debate. 

Your heartbeat thunders in rhythm with your footsteps. 

Jeongin drops down with a dramatic sigh — seriously, an all-out punch would’ve been kinder, Chan — once he sees you approach. Then, he rolls on his back on the probably grimy, definitely sweaty floor and exclaims “There you are!” with a huge smile. 

“Help me up?” he holds his hands out in the air for you to take. 

Of course you do. 

Of course he doesn’t let go once he’s standing. 

Once again, his intense gaze burns straight through you. You’re all but positive your confession is written on your forehead, with how intently he’s looking at you, as if nobody else exists. 

You can’t tell him. Not here. Not in a gym. Not with Chan watching. 

“Are you finally going to join me? I could use the motivation,” Jeongin winks, still holding your hands in his. Your heart drops to your stomach and your stomach jumps up to your throat. 

He could get you to agree to anything, internal organs all out of balance as they are. 

“Y-yeah. Sure.” Hopefully you could claim the sweat forming is from exercise. 

His resulting smile could blind the dead. “Awesome! I’ll get set up!”

With that, he drops your hands and turns his back to stride towards a machine. Finally, you can breathe normally again. You trail after him, glancing back at Chan on the way. He looks like he expected absolutely nothing less out of that whole situation. 

“I think that’s a biohazard,” Seungmin informs, taking a seat next to where your head so elegantly landed when you flopped face-down on their couch. “I mean, I’ve seen Felix stay in that exact spot for, like, two days straight. And he’s gross, so just imagine what’s still in the cushions.” 

“Can’t move,” your reply is muffled. You’re not even lying this time – your bones are pudding only hours after working through Jeongin’s push day routine with him. 

“Your funeral, I guess.” 

The couch is unfairly comfortable, honestly, and you have half a mind to succumb to the sleep threatening to pull you under. But, you can tell Seungmin is enjoying the silence, which just won’t do. Not on your watch. 

“You ever see Innie working out?” you ask, not bothering to move your face away from the couch in any way to help him understand you. 

“All the time. Hey, can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead.”

“It’s on the coffee table.” Truly, if you could move your arms at all, you would hand it over. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? He’s like a statue.” 

Seungmin releases a sound like he’s dying around the sound of him typing. “Did you come here just so I could suffer with you?” 

“And he has abs!”

Seungmin leans forward, then he gently sets your phone back down. “I will smother you until you stop talking,” he deadpans. 

“I’ll cook dinner for you if I can keep going.”

“You were saying something about his abs?”  

Fifteen minutes and twenty instances of Seungmin asking what you’re making later, you have enough feeling in your arms to begin dinner preparation. 

Your phone pings with a new text once the chicken is almost finished cooking on the stovetop.

Innie: I would hope so :)

Opening your messaging app reveals the answer. The horrible, terrible, no-good answer. 

You: I like you. 

Innie: I would hope so :)

Seungmin. You’re going to kill him. The fanbase will understand. He’s had it coming for a while, anyway. 

Seungmin’s food burns while you’re contemplating revenge. 

He eats it without complaint. 

On screen, Princess Peach cuts in front of Wario inches away from the finish line, and Minho damn near throws his controller at you. Before you can start the typical I’m-the-Best-Bow-at-My-Feet speech, Han steps outside of his room with a guilty expression rarely seen outside courtrooms. 

“I talked to Innie,” he admits. 

Ice forms in your stomach. 

“That’s my cue,” Minho says, gets up, and retreats into his own room. Bastard. 

Han sits beside you, hanging his head so he does not have to look you in the eye. 

“Why,” you croak. 

“I thought I was being helpful! I asked if he was interested in anyone, you know, to get the ball rolling!” At that, he looks up at you, eyes almost comically wide. “But he acted like I was dumb for even asking.” 

“Why.” 

Han steamrolls on with his explanation. “I mean, no offense or anything, but you are pretty obvious about it! I thought he knew already, honestly.” 

The ice transforms into a category 5 winter storm. You had been trying not to think about that, but he’s right. Anyone with eyes can clearly see how you act around Jeongin. He must know. He’s being nice by not outright rejecting you. 

Han only coos “I’m so sorry,” tone as gentle as the hand he places on your knee, in response to your considerations.

Together, you and Han formulate A Plan. It goes like this: Forget about Your Feelings for Innie. Not that you want to, but even you have limits on how far your delusions go. 

It’s a great plan. It will work flawlessly.

The plan goes to shit the next day. 

Felix invites everyone over for a movie night at Chan and Jeongin’s dorm – artfully avoiding Changbin’s question of whether or not he actually had permission to do so. Han assures you Jeongin already has plans, so you won’t have to worry about seeing him or speaking to him or being around him at all, really. 

For some reason, Jeongin had hung up your painting in their living room, and it practically stares you down as you settle into your blankets across from it. Heaviness weighs on your body, but a night with your friends might be the distraction you need to forget about it for a while. 

Unless those friends make you talk about it. 

Halfway through the first movie, Minho, never one to beat around the bush, pauses it and says, “You look sad.” He’s met with noises of agreement from nearly everyone else.  

“I just - I don’t know what to do about Innie,” you say, unwilling to look at anyone’s face for fear of seeing your own patheticness validated. You pick a spot on the carpet and focus all your attention into picking at the fraying fibers. “I think I have to give up on him.” 

Admitting it is a weight off your shoulders and a boulder on your chest. You’ve already had this conversation with Han, but here, speaking it into a room of your closest friends, makes the words real. Too real to take back, to brush off as anything else. 

Nobody’s said anything. Usually, at this point, Hyunjin would be offering unrealistic advice, or Seungmin would be telling you nobody wants to hear it. Something’s wrong. You look up. Half the room is staring at you.

Half the room is staring behind you. 

“Ouch,” sounds from the doorway into Jeongin’s room. “Don’t give up on me yet.” His tone is lighthearted on the surface, but everyone in the room knows him well enough to hear the strain underneath it.

Every muscle in your body freezes. Unable to move, you and Felix are now locked in a horrible staring contest. He looks as scared as you feel. 

No. 

There’s no possible way to get out of this. 

No. 

It’s far too late to try to play it off as anything other than a confession. He would see straight through you. He always does when you’re lying. 

Nononono. 

How do you even explain that you’ve been unashamedly pining to the point everyone else is sick of hearing it, all to no avail? That you know he knows and now you’ve broken the silent “don’t talk about it to let her down easy” strategy he had going on. 

You cannot be here. 

You cannot turn around to face the consequences of your careless speaking. 

You cannot stay in this room, on this street, on this planet with Jeongin. 

Mechanically, on legs you pray aren’t actually shaking even though your cells are vibrating, you get to your feet. Something akin to, “Ihavetogobye,” spills out of your mouth, before you rush out the door without turning around. Without once looking back at Jeongin, or his insisting that you stay. 

Jeongin studies his members, all sitting (or – in Changbin’s case – laying across Hyunjin’s lap), all staring back at him with nearly identical pitiful expressions. After running a hand down his face, as if he could wipe away the memory of what you said, he asks the room, “Does anyone want to tell me what that was about?”

Instead of actually answering his question, Chan just responds, “Dude.” Like dominoes, most everyone echoes the sentiment, dread growing in Jeongin’s stomach after every one. Rarely is nobody willing to outright tell him what he did wrong. Usually they jump at the chance to embarrass him. 

Jeongin flops to the floor, right where you were sitting. “Dude what?,” he groans and tries to ignore the pain sprouting in his butt from his theatrics. “What did I do? Why is my girlfriend giving up on me?”

Han’s jaw audibly pops as it falls open. 

A silence unlike anything Jeongin has ever known descends upon the dorm. 

Even Hyunjin has stopped poking Changbin in the side to get a rise out of him. Jeongin is fairly certain it’s not this quiet even when nobody’s home. Once, when Chan was fed up with them, he had snapped that the next person to make a single sound would be doing everyone’s dishes for a month. This is quieter.

Seven twenty-something men collectively deciding to embody statues cannot mean anything good. They could hear a pin drop outside. 

Until Seungmin starts giggling into his palm. To his credit, he does attempt to stifle it, but his laugh practically echoes in the silence. 

Changbin begins laughing too. He rolls over to muffle the sound by hiding his face in Hyunjin’s stomach. His attempts are useless. Less than useless, because Hyunjin is ticklish and smacks him with a shriek that might be, “Stop it!” Changbin rolls back over, now nothing blocking his increase in volume. His shoulders shake the louder he gets. The whole thing only eggs Seungmin on, and soon enough, Seungmin, Changbin, Han, and Minho are in various stages of laughing at Jeongin. 

Jeongin, baffled, asks, “What is happening?” 

“Girlfriend?” Felix clarifies.

“Yes?” Jeongin feels like he’s missing a crucial piece of information. 

Seungmin’s face is lit up with pure joy. He would give kids on Christmas morning a serious run for their money. “How long,” he pauses to wipe an honest-to-God tear from his cheek. “How long has that been going on?” 

“I don’t know, a week? Maybe two?” 

“Two?” Chan chokes on the word. “Dude.” 

Jeongin has to be on the world’s worst prank show. A camera crew must be incredibly well hidden. “What is happening?” he asks again. 

Hyunjin finds his words first. “Did you ever… tell her you’re dating?” 

“Of course,” comes Jeongin’s easy reply. He bites back, What kind of question is that? 

Hyunjin’s cocked eyebrow causes him to reconsider. The dates, the gifts, the… everything. He can’t recall outright saying, “We are in an exclusive romantic relationship,” but you have to know. He asked you out! Didn’t he? Yes. He did. Weeks ago. You said yes. 

Wait. 

You said yes to him asking, “Do you want to be with me?” over pasta and, admittedly, maybe one too many glasses of wine. There’s room for misinterpretation there. Clearly. 

“Oh.” Jeongin blinks slowly. “A lot of things are starting to make sense.” 

Seungmin guffaws again. Minho mutters, “Yeah, I bet they are.” Chan looks like he’s regretting choosing Jeongin for the group. 

It’s ironic, in a way, that you end up at a familiar walking trail you and Jeongin visit often when either one of you needs fresh air. You didn’t even mean to come here, but you shut their front door behind you, and next thing you knew you’re wiping away tears and settling against a tree a short distance from the path. Wind blows through the trees, its accompanying chill biting at the wetness near your eyes. 

You can’t dodge Jeongin’s calls forever. His contact photo constantly lighting up your screen is making it incredibly hard to forget he – and by extension, your feelings currently lodging themselves squarely in your throat – exists. 

You have no right to be upset, not when you were too much of a coward to actually confess anything to him at all. Not when you willingly let every opportunity to tell him pass you up. Not when you just left. Who gives someone a painting and expects them to read four layers deep into it? Who goes to Han for rational advice?

Hell, Seungmin was the most direct with him. That’s a new low. 

Behind you, footsteps you could pick out of a lineup crunch over leaves. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, almost lost in the breeze. Your refusal to meet his eyes doesn’t deter him, instead he just sits on the dirt across from you, the tongue of his shoe nearly touching yours. “Look at me, please.” 

He looks like he always does, and it’s a twist of the knife. Something should be different, there should be some sign advertising the loss he’s about to hand you. His oversized hoodie, his hair overdue for a trim, same softness in his eyes. So much like your Jeongin, the one you cannot reconcile with the Jeongin who knows and doesn’t love you how you want. 

But he is still your Jeongin, sweet and caring for the hard moments, so his face drops when he sees your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. He takes one of your hands in his, and you let him, because this might be the last time he does. 

“I have been reliably informed that I misread what our relationship is,” he says. 

A single choked laugh escapes your throat. “I know, it’s okay. You don’t have to sugarcoat, I can handle anything you tell me.”  

“That’s not what I meant. I…” he starts, then stops again. His cheeks grow pinker by the second. He looks to the sky, then back at you. “I thought you were already my girlfriend.” 

Well. 

Almost anything. 

What? “You – what?” 

What? 

If he seemed embarrassed ten seconds ago, he does doubly so now. He’s about to start shrinking in on himself. “Please don’t make me say it again,” he groans. 

“Say it again.” You need to make sure you aren’t hearing things before getting your hopes up too much and shattering your emotions twice in a row. 

“Remember that night we went out to dinner at that Italian place?” 

Through your haze, you nod back at him. 

“I asked you to be my girlfriend that night. At least, I thought I did. Now, I don’t think that actually happened.” 

Blood roars in your ears. Your thoughts transform into TV static. “You want to date me even after everything that happened this week?” you ask through a tongue that suddenly feels too big for your mouth.

“Especially after everything that happened this week.” His answer is immediate. 

Jeongin grins tentatively and takes a risk. He scoots closer towards you, and seeing you not make to move away from him, fully commits to sit next to you, wrap his arm around you, and pull you into his side. It’s a position you’ve been in so many times before, familiar and new, but now he’s yours and you’re his, like flowers blooming intertwined.

Warmth blossoms and spreads throughout you. The cold winds don’t seem so bad anymore. You’d stay out here forever, as long as your Innie keeps holding you. As long as he keeps knowing you and loving you because of your flaws, not despite them. 

“Innie?” 

He presses a kiss into the top of your head, and you have to fight not to derail your train of thought. “We’ve been dating for a while and you never tried to kiss me?” 

He groans and lets his head drop onto the top of yours. “I thought you wanted to take it slow, I don’t know. I was trying to respect that.” 

You’ve waited long enough.

“Will you kiss me now?” 

The weight on your head disappears. You look up at him. He’s looking back at you. 

This time he doesn’t pull away or snap himself out of it. 

When he leans in and closes the gap between you, it’s absolutely nothing like you’ve dreamed about. No dream, no fantasy could compare to him, real and yours and kissing you like he won’t ever get another chance. Like he also cannot believe you’re letting him. He moves slowly, savoring your first kiss as long as possible.

Eventually, he has to pull away, keeping his eyes closed for several seconds after. He doesn’t go far, keeps his head inches away, enough to breathe without putting space between you. “D’you want to go back to the dorm?” he sighs against your lips. 

“No,” you whisper back. 

“Me neither.” 

With a relieved grin, he brings you into him again. 

everyone else stays up waiting for you two to stumble giggling back into the dorm, met with thunderous (ha) and noisy (ha ha) applause and several wolf whistles. seungmin leads them in a "jeongin! jeongin!" chant.

ily if you made it this far this was abandoned for a reason

–

In a world where everyone has a soulmate and the markings vary based on each pair, you were stuck with one of the most annoying markings: the unknown.

Some people had their soulmate’s first words to them, some had a countdown. Red string, lost items, colorblindness, shared pain. You had none of the above. You didn’t even have a mental marking, like feeling their emotions or tasting what they ate. No, you had absolutely nothing.

You knew, logically, that many people were the same. It didn’t mean you didn’t have a soulmate, it just meant that your marking was likely something physical. You’d know it when you touched them or when you saw them.

It was frustrating. Sometimes you thought you’d never find your soulmate, since there was nothing actually leading you to them. It was just luck—or, you supposed, fate—if you would meet them.

It turned out that you were wrong. So, so wrong.

When you felt a sudden wave of dizziness and opened your eyes to see that you were definitely not on the couch of your apartment anymore, you thought you were hallucinating. You were exhausted, had been up all night studying; you must’ve passed out on the couch and were having a lucid dream.

You slowly looked around, noting your new surroundings. You were in a living room you’d never seen before, standing behind a large brown couch that faced a flat screen TV. There were a few paintings on the walls, blankets scattered around, and various knick-knacks and trinkets littering the TV stand and tables. It was homey.

You didn’t know why you were dreaming of a room you’d never been in. As you walked around, touching blankets and observing pictures, you thought that this seemed a little too real. You were in grad school for law, not neuro or psych or whatever studied the human brain, but even you knew that lucid dreams weren’t normally this… lucid.

You also felt off. You didn’t know how to describe it. Your body felt different. Taller, maybe. Stronger. As you walked, you felt like you were controlling a body that didn’t belong to you, feeling weirdly uncomfortable in your skin.

(You would soon find out that your description was extremely accurate.)

“Chan?”

You startled, stumbling as you whipped your body around to face the speaker. You hadn’t realized that anyone else was in the room with you or had entered, too caught up in your dream-not-dream.

You now faced a brown-haired man you had no recollection of, but for some reason felt the slightest bit familiar to you. Like you’d seen him before. You briefly remembered something you’d read online—your brain couldn’t come up with new faces—so this must be some random stranger you’d seen on the street or something, here to play a starring role in your incredibly realistic dream.

“Hi?” You asked after a very long pause.

The man—who for some reason reminded you of a squirrel—just stared at you, eyes wide and expressive. He seemed concerned, confused, looking at you like you’d gone crazy. He’d probably seen you earlier, looking at blankets and pictures way too intensely to be normal. Yeah, that made sense.

“Are you– are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“You seem really out of it, Chan. Are you, like, tired or something?”

There was that name again. Why was he calling you that?

“Who’s Chan?”

The man’s face, already concerned, seemed to grow even more worried at that.

“Are you joking? Is this a prank? You’re scaring me, hyung.”

You were starting to get scared, too. Was this actually a dream? It felt way too real. You slowly brought your hand to your arm and pinched yourself as hard as you could. Nothing happened, except for the shock of pain that quickly ran through your arm.

“Wait. This is real? I’m not dreaming?” Your expression mirrored the stranger’s. He stayed silent, apparently too confused or in shock to talk. “What is going on?” You asked again, voice growing louder.

Your conversation drew attention, and soon two more men you didn’t recognize but felt the same familiarity of entered the room.

“Is everything okay?” Asked the one with huge muscles. “We heard you yelling.”

“I think Chan’s gone crazy,” replied the squirrel guy. “That, or he’s playing a really weird prank on me.”

“Who are you? Where am I?” You asked, ignoring their words. You were scared now, very much so, because you were not dreaming which meant somehow you had left your room and ended up in this house being called ‘Chan’ instead of your name.

“You’re at home. In our living room. What the hell is wrong with you, Chan?” Asked the third man, who had the most insane face card you’d ever seen.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice quiet and shaky. “I- I need to use the bathroom.” You quickly rushed past the confused men, down the hallway and through a door, somehow getting to the bathroom on the first try. How did you know this room was the bathroom? It was like your body knew, even though your mind didn’t.

You turned to the mirror, hoping to regain your bearings, but instead let out a yelp of surprise at what greeted you. Looking back at you in the mirror wasn’t you, but a man.

Well, not just a man. The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. Pink lips, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, all combining to form a man who, if you saw on the street, would make you stop walking for a minute just to reconnect with reality, because men should not be allowed to look this good.

But that was besides the point. You were in someone else’s body. In someone else’s house. Talking to their roommates. How the fuck did this happen? What was going on?

A quiet knock sounded on the door, and you opened it after hesitating for a second. All three men were standing, worried, in the doorway.

“I’m not Chan,” you blurted, needing to express the situation to someone, no matter how insane you might sound. When they looked at you with blank faces, you continued. “This isn’t my body. I don’t know what’s happening. I was in my room, in my house, and then I looked up and I was here and I’m so confused and I don’t know what’s going on and–” Your rambling was cut off by hands resting on your shoulders, pulling you out of your panic.

It was the buff man, now looking you in the eyes, trying to calm you down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I think I know what’s happening.”

“You do?” You asked at the same time as the squirrel man and face card man.

“Body switching. It’s a soulmate mark, though it’s really rare. You don’t have some other mark, do you?”

“No.”

“Chan doesn’t either,” face card man chimed in, putting the pieces together. “Oh, that’s crazy! Body, switching, holy shit.”

Well. It seemed your soulmark wasn’t a mystery anymore. And it definitely wasn’t boring, or based on luck—this was all fate.

The boys led you back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. They introduced themselves, and you found out that the squirrel man was Jisung, the face card man was Hyunjin, and the buff man was Changbin. You didn’t know why those names sounded so familiar.

You and the boys talked for a while, growing more comfortable with each other as time went on. Your soulmate’s roommates were really nice, and hilarious. Also, gorgeous. You didn’t understand how all four of these men could be so beautiful. It was unusual.

Not long after, you felt another wave of dizziness wash over you, and you were back on your couch.

–

When Chan suddenly found himself in a stranger's room, alone, he didn’t know what to think. He pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping to check his location or call a friend or do anything to help him get his bearings, but immediately realized that what he held was not his phone.

A quick check in the phone camera revealed a pretty girl he’d never seen before, but then the information registered and he blanched because why was the camera showing him a random girl and not his own face?

After a bit of thinking and a lot of stressing, he finally came to the conclusion that this was his soulmark. It calmed him down, having an answer, but his mind was still reeling. Body switching was an incredibly rare mark, and it was so sparsely documented that he had little idea what it actually entailed. All he knew was that the two of you would keep switching bodies at random until he met you in person.

He didn’t want to invade your privacy, but Chan was also bored and extremely curious, so after a short internal debate, he began looking around your house. It was small, one bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. Not very big, but enough for one person to live comfortably.

It was warmly decorated, with soft rugs, plants on every shelf, ceramic bowls holding random items and various posters brightening the walls. It was very homey. He liked it.

A bit more observation revealed that you were a student—a fact which almost sent Chan into a spiral before he realized, with a wild amount of relief, that you were a grad student—textbooks and notebook paper littered all over your desk and kitchen counter, all heavily annotated.

It was too bad you lived alone. He wished he could talk to someone, a roommate or friend or sibling. He wanted to learn more about you. He sat back down on the couch. Before he could consider doing anything more, the same dizzy feeling came over him and he was back in his own house.

Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jisung were all on the couch with him, looking at him expectantly.

“Are you… back?” asked Jisung.

“Yeah, I’m back.”

His friends broke into exclamations immediately.

“Oh my god-!”

“Can you believe-!”

“-seemed really sweet-!”

“-your soulmate!”

Chan laughed at his friend’s shock. “Yeah,” was all he said. He was happy.

–

“Did you get his number?”

You looked at your friend blankly. It had been a day since your body switching experience, and you were finally able to tell your friend about it. You didn’t feel like it was something to share through text, so you’d forced her out to get coffee with you this morning before class.

She’d freaked out, asked a million questions that you tried your best to answer, and froze. Then, she’d asked this. You stopped. Thought for a second. Then another second.

“Shit.”

“Are you kidding me, [Y/N]? You didn’t get his number? This is your soulmate, for god’s sake, you need his number!” She took a furious sip of her iced latte.

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it. I was so caught up in the moment, at first, and then I was too busy talking with his roommates.”

Yuna looked at you, thinking. “So, just how gorgeous were they?”

You let out a small laugh. You’d only briefly mentioned that part during your retelling, but it seemed she’d come back around to the topic.

“Insanely. Like, they could all be male models. And my soulmate, god, he was just perfect. I can’t believe it.”

“Girl, you’ve got your work cut out for you. If your man really is that gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss the subtle jab at your appearance, but you didn’t take offense. Yuna was right, you really could stand to look a little better. You could be skinnier, put on makeup more often, wear cuter outfits. Your appearance has always been a pretty big insecurity of yours, and this new soulmate thing definitely wasn’t going to help.

You hadn’t told Yuna Chan’s name, some part of you feeling like it was better to keep it secret. You couldn’t ignore the nagging inside you that you recognized it, somehow, so when you got home you looked him up on your computer.

You only had his first name, so it didn’t give you much, but the real shock came when you looked up his and his roommate’s names all at once.

Stray Kids.

Your soulmate was the leader of Stray Kids. The incredibly famous, incredibly talented K-pop group. You didn’t really listen to their music, but you’d heard of them before and seen pictures, which was why all the boys looked so familiar to you.

You spent a lot of time after that researching, finding pictures and reading articles, unable to stop yourself.

Yeah, this was definitely not good for your self-esteem.

–

The second time you switched, it was right before class started. You were sitting near the back of the lecture hall, pulling out your notebook and pens—this teacher didn’t like students using their computers in class—when you felt that same dizziness.

You were in a big, open room, mirrors taking up an entire wall and smooth floors underneath you. It was entirely void of furniture, the only items being various bags and water bottles stuffed against the wall and a single table with a computer and speaker on it.

Also, there were seven boys standing around, staring at you.

You recognized Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin from last time, and the rest of them from the looking online you’d done. You still weren’t sure of their names, though.

“Hey,” you said, drawing out the word. “I’m back.”

Jisung’s face lit up into a smile. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah.”

The four boys you hadn’t met were in shock, all speaking over each other.

“Wait, [Y/N]??”

“Chan’s soulmate?”

“You switched again?”

“Oh my god!”

You let out an awkward laugh. You weren’t used to having so much attention on you. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s nice to meet you all.”

The rest of the boys introduced themselves to you—Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, Minho.

After you’d gotten over the initial shock of switching again and meeting new people, you realized where you were. The lack of furniture, mirrors, and speaker? This was a dance studio.

You turned to the three roommates with a bone to pick. “Hey, you guys didn’t tell me you were idols! I would’ve appreciated the information, y’know.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind!” said Jisung.

“Yeah, I didn’t even think to mention it,” added Hyunjin.

Changbin just shrugged.

You huffed, not actually upset.

“I hate to say this, but we do kind of have to practice our dance while we’re here. We don’t have much time in the studio today,” Minho said.

“[Y/N], you should watch,” Felix exclaimed.

“Well, she’s in Chan’s body. Do you think she knows the choreo?”

“Oh, that would be cool!”

“I kind of doubt it.”

You just listened as the group argued over whether or not you would know the dance if they put the music on. It was cute. They seemed like a really nice group of friends. You wished your friends were like this. You didn’t have many, but even the friends you did have weren’t as lively or as fun.

“Well, let’s just see, shall we?” You joined the conversation, feeling bad that you were stopping them from practicing.

After a series of agreements, everyone got into their positions. Minho showed you where to stand, then moved to start the music.

As soon as it started playing, you felt something take over your body. Muscle memory, but on another level. You immediately started moving, not at all knowing what you were doing or how you were doing it but somehow managing to stay in time with the members and hit the right moves.

It was an amazing feeling. You weren’t a particularly active person, spending much of your time studying or going to class, so dancing like this felt… freeing.

You messed up a few times but fixed yourself and kept going until the song ended. When you finally stopped dancing, the muscle memory no longer overtaking you, you looked around and saw everyone looking at you. They seemed to do that a lot. You didn’t like it.

“What?”

“That was amazing!”

“You knew the whole dance!”

You flushed, embarrassed at the praise. “Well, I did mess up a few times.”

“In the exact spots that Chan always messes up,” Seungmin added quietly, more to himself than the group.

“Wait, really?”

“Body switching is so cool.”

You laughed at the boys’ antics. This was fun.

–

Chan was in a class. In school. God, he did not miss this. The professor had been talking for almost an hour about the most boring and incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. He wanted badly to zone out, or to just leave, but he knew he couldn’t. For your sake, he couldn’t.

When the class finally ended, Chan almost jumped for joy, packing up your bag, very ready to leave. As he exited the lecture hall, he heard a girl yelling your name. He turned, seeing two girls walking up to him.

“[Y/N], hey! How have you been?” One girl asked.

“Yeah, it feels like it’s been forever since we hung out!” The other added.

“Oh, I–” Chan paused. He wanted to talk to your friends, that was true, but he wasn’t sure how close you were to these girls. He didn’t know if you’d told them about the soulmark, or if you even wanted them to know. He figured he wouldn’t risk it. “I’m good. Yeah it’s – it’s been a while. We should make plans soon.” If he couldn’t tell them they’d switched, then he’d just talk to them as you. Easy enough, right?

“Are you free right now? Let’s go to lunch!”

At the question, Chan somehow immediately knew that yes, he was free, and that he didn’t have another class until the next morning. He didn’t know how he knew that. He agreed to lunch, walking with the girls to the dining hall. He felt something else, this time a sense of dread. Weird. He ignored it.

Listening to the girls talk to each other as they walked, he learned that their names were Jiyeon and Nari. They talked mostly to each other, only sometimes asking him questions to let him join in the conversation. Kind of odd, considering they had asked him to lunch.

The three of them bought lunch at the dining hall and found a seat by the windows. Jiyeon and Nari immediately began gossipping about various other people and events that Chan pretended to understand. He couldn’t help but notice how mean they were, though. He really hoped that the girls they were talking about weren’t their friends, because Jiyeon and Nari ripped into them with no remorse, criticizing outfits and new haircuts and talking about situations that they weren’t even a part of.

Chan hoped that you weren’t like this. He didn’t want his soulmate to be as mean as her friends were—if these even were your friends. From how little they included him in the conversation, he was starting to think that maybe you weren’t very close with them. It was an odd dynamic.

When they did say something to Chan, it was usually a poorly-hidden jab or passive aggressive comment that he was beginning to realize wasn’t in good spirit. They made fun of a bad outfit they’d seen, then described it as being similar to a specific piece of clothing you owned. They talked about a difficult class they were taking, then said, “even you wouldn’t be able to get an A.” On the surface it seemed harmless, but the way they said it made Chan feel like they were making fun of you.

Chan was starting to think of these girls as bullies more than friends. He understood now why he felt that sense of dread when he agreed to hang out. That must’ve been a gut feeling from you, who knew how these girls really were.

As much as he hated the way they treated you, it did bring him some relief to know that you weren’t like them. Which he pretty much knew already, from the raving reviews he’d received from his roommates after the first switch.

When he finished his lunch and watched as the girls shared a look with each other about it, he knew it was time to leave.

“Wow, the dining hall food must have been really good today,” Jiyeon said. It would have seemed like an innocent comment if Nari hadn’t snorted quietly in response, clearly at your expense.

Chan put the fakest smile he could on his face. “I actually have to go now. I just remembered I have plans. See you guys later,” he excused himself, quickly throwing out his trash and leaving the premises. He wished he could have defended you more or been a little more direct, but he knew it wasn’t fair of him to do anything in your body that might come back to bite you later. So, he left peacefully. For now.

Chan didn’t like your friends.

–

When you returned to your body, you were in a good mood. You’d had a lot of fun hanging out with the boys. You thought about what Chan might have done in your life today, and immediately your smile dropped. Your class. Shit.

It was an important one—well, they were all important to you, but that was beside the point—so not being actually present in class today to remember anything wasn’t good. This teacher was awful, never posting any notes or reviews online, explaining that it was your fault if you missed class or didn’t pay attention. You could ask someone else for notes, but the only friends you had in that class were Jiyeon and Nari, and there was no way in hell you were asking them for anything. You were not going to open that can of worms.

In the middle of your internal panic, you felt a sudden urge to check your notebook. You didn’t know why, but you listened to it, pulling it from your bag and flipping to the most recent page.

What greeted you was notes, meticulously written, documenting the entire class you’d missed. Well, you hadn’t actually missed it. Chan was there. Chan was there, and he’d taken notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind. Tears welled up in your eyes that you quickly blinked away.

He was so nice. He was gorgeous, and kind, and thoughtful. You didn’t deserve him. Why would the universe pair you with someone so perfect? He was too good for you.

Once you’d gotten over your slight internal breakdown, you noticed something in the top corner of your notes. It was a message from Chan. All it said was ‘text me :)’ with his number written underneath. You broke into a smile. You’d forgotten, yet again, to leave your number for him, but thankfully he hadn’t forgotten.

You added it into your phone, but paused, finger hovering over the keyboard. What were you supposed to say to him? ‘Hi, I’m your soulmate’? Maybe. Simple was probably better. You tried not to overthink it. He was the one who told you to text him, after all.

You typed out a simple ‘hi,’ hitting send before you could regret it. Then, you added, ‘this is [Y/N]!’ Good enough.

You set your phone down, but felt a buzz and immediately picked it back up. Chan sure was a fast texter.

When you looked at the notification, you saw that it wasn’t Chan replying, no, it was someone much worse. It was Jiyeon.

‘Hey girl, you seemed a little off at lunch today. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I hope you feel better! We should definitely do it again soon!’

You stared blankly at your phone. You had lunch today. With Jiyeon. Chan had lunch with Jiyeon. Yeah, that wasn’t good.

The text seemed nice. If anyone else was looking at it, they would think it was sweet, a friend checking in on you. But you knew better. When Jiyeon called you ‘off,’ that meant that you hadn’t done a good enough job at hiding your reactions to her insults. When you were too quiet, your face showed a hint of the hurt you felt, or, god forbid, you actually said something back to her and defended yourself. That was you being ‘off.’

You didn’t know what they’d said to Chan, or how he’d reacted, and honestly you didn’t want to know. You’d rather just forget it happened. You hoped Chan forgot it, too.

So, when he replied to your text a few minutes later with a ‘hey!!’ you didn’t say anything about it.

–

It had been a few weeks since you and Chan had last switched bodies. You’d been texting ever since he left his number, and he had to say, he really enjoyed it.

After the initial period of awkwardness, you’d warmed up to each other, and now texted each other every day. You would text just to talk about random things that happened throughout the day. Chan talked a lot about the kids’ antics, which you enjoyed since you’d met them all. You only really talked about your classes and what you were doing, which was usually just studying or reading.

It made Chan a little sad, that you didn’t seem to do much else. He knew that law school was serious, but that shouldn’t mean that you never got to do anything fun. He hoped that you were doing more fun things than you let on, but you never let a conversation get very far. You seemed like an open book, but the more Chan thought about it, he realized that he actually didn’t know very much about you.

He hoped that you were just shy and still getting to know him; maybe you’d tell him more later. After all, though it had seemed like you’d known each other for a while, you’d only had that first switching experience a little under a month ago.

He would learn more about you soon, anyway. It was hard not to when he was in your body, in your life.

–

You weren’t doing very well. Finals were approaching, and you stayed up late every night to study. You were exhausted, not getting anywhere near enough sleep, and were often so caught up in your tasks that you forgot to eat.

You were also lonely. You didn’t have very many friends, and the ones you did have were just as busy as you. You lived alone, so you didn’t have many interactions throughout the day. The only person you had was Chan. His texts were the only things keeping you going, encouraging you and giving you someone to talk to.

It didn’t help that after finals, you had to visit home for a week. You hated being home. Your eomeoni never got off your back about anything, always finding something to criticize. If you didn’t do well on finals, it would be about your grades. About not being able to make it as a lawyer. Plus, she never let a single visit go by without mentioning that you had gained weight and needed to ‘take care of yourself,’ even if you’d actually lost weight since you’d last seen her. It didn’t matter that you were a full adult in grad school. She was always the same.

So, with all that in mind, you studied even harder, forgot to eat even more, and isolated yourself in your apartment. You wanted to give your eomeoni as little as she could to insult, even though you knew she’d manage to find something anyway.

Still, you made sure to keep your texts to Chan upbeat and happy. He didn’t need to know about this. It was your problem, not his. He probably already didn’t like having you as his soulmate, and this would just solidify that in his mind.

–

Chan was worried about you. You were texting him less often, and although nothing in them implied something was wrong, he just felt… off. Something felt wrong within him, and he thought it had to be traced back to the soulmate bond. Something was wrong with you. He just wished he knew how to fix it.

He was lounging on a couch backstage, waiting for his turn for hair and makeup before an interview, when he felt that familiar dizziness that had eluded him for weeks.

All he could think about before his vision blacked out was that this was not good timing.

He regained his sight to find himself in an entirely unfamiliar location. He was in a bedroom, sitting at a desk with various makeup products in front of him. He assumed you’d been doing your makeup when you’d switched—funny coincidence.

Still, he had no idea where he was. He’d been in every room of your apartment, and this was not it. He noticed some of your items strewn about the room. Were you at a parent’s house, maybe? A friend’s?

As he stood up to get a better look around, a sudden wave of exhaustion and dizziness washed over him, though not the comforting dizziness that accompanied a body switch. No, a terrifying one that had him gripping the desk to stay upright. Why was he so tired, and why did he feel so awful? Were you sick?

A few seconds later, your phone began ringing, violently vibrating against the wooden desk. He picked it up, noticing that it was his number that was calling. Ah, so it was you. He smiled.

“Hey.”

“Chan,” your—his—shaky voice greeted him, quickly dropping his smile.

“[Y/N]? What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Chan, you need to listen to me. Please, this is important,” your stressed tone had him stressed, too, though he still couldn’t help but think how weird it was to hear his own voice over the phone. You two had never called before, only texted, so this was new.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Chan, you’re at my parents’ house right now. I’m home for a week over break.” So he’d guessed right. You continued, “my parents don’t know about the body switching. I didn’t tell them anything. So you can’t say anything, okay? Please, I need you to pretend you’re me.”

Chan froze. It had been a month, and you still hadn’t told your parents? “Why haven’t you told them?” He asked. “Is something else wrong? [Y/N], please, talk to me.”

After a moment’s hesitation and quiet, shaky breath, you responded. “Chan, my eomeoni and my abeoji aren’t– they aren’t nice people. They’re not nice to me, so they won’t be nice to you today. I don’t talk to them very often, so I haven't had a chance yet. I was– I was going to tell them this week.” Your voice grew quieter. “But I don’t want that to fall on you. So you need to pretend, please.”

Chan’s heart ached for you. “Of course, I can pretend.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And, please try not to let them get to you. They’re talking about me, not you. And don’t try to defend me, either. It just makes things worse. Okay?”

Chan was getting nervous. What could they possibly be like to preempt this kind of conversation? “Okay. Oh, by the way, you have your work cut out for you today, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have an interview today. In, like, an hour. I don’t know where you’re calling me from, but you need to go get your hair and makeup done,” Chan explained. When he received no response, he kept going. “And I’m the leader, so they’re going to expect me to talk the most—you to talk the most.”

“What??” You blanched.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipped from his mouth easily. “The boys will help you. Tell them what’s going on, and they’ll cover for you if you need it. It’ll be okay.” He tried his best to sound reassuring, not wanting to add any more stress onto what he knew you were already feeling.

“Oh – okay. Um, I should go, then. Bye,” you said.

“Bye,” Chan replied, hanging up the call.

He tried not to show it on the call, but your words set him on edge. He had no idea what he was about to encounter when he went downstairs. He needed to prepare himself.

He looked in the mirror, making sure he looked okay. You had been in the middle of doing makeup, so he didn’t want to go downstairs with only half his face done or something. When he was sure that the makeup looked fine and he was dressed in a normal outfit, he left the room. Your phone told him it was ten in the morning.

He entered the kitchen, noticing who he assumed was your mother sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. She looked up at his arrival.

“Oh, look who’s finally up. Really, [Y/N], you need to wake up earlier. You won’t get anything done when you sleep in half the day.”

Wow. What a lovely first thing to hear in the morning.

“Uh– sorry, eomeoni,” Chan replied, using the same word you’d used to refer to your mother earlier.

She barely acknowledged the apology, turning back to her newspaper. After a long minute of silence, she started talking again, not looking up from the paper. “Your abeoji and I are going out with friends today for lunch. You’ll have to fend for yourself. We’re having dinner together tonight, though, so be sure you’re home for that.”

“Yes, eomeoni.”

It seemed that that was the end of the conversation. Chan opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. He was starving. There wasn’t much in there, so he settled for cereal and some fruit.

He felt wildly uncomfortable. This was your parents’ home, and he had no idea how to act. What did you normally do when you were here? Where did you sit, what did you talk about, did you even talk at all? He didn’t want to give himself away, but also had no clue what to do. He should’ve asked, but he knew he couldn’t now. You were busy in an interview.

A bit later, your parents left for their lunch plans. Chan let out a sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t have to be under scrutiny anymore. Not that your parents had even glanced his way or said a word to him since breakfast.

He wasn’t used to this. His parents were kind, he loved his siblings, and their home was always a lively one. It was nothing like this.

He decided to go for a walk. He didn’t know where he was, so he figured a little tour of the neighborhood could be a fun way to pass the time.

He quickly learned that you’d grown up in a small, adorable town. The center wasn’t a far walk from your house, so he’d found it soon into his walk. He went in and out of stores, browsing and talking to the workers and townspeople. They all seemed to know you. Almost everyone he walked by waved or said hi, and some even stopped to chat and ask about law school. He tried his best to come up with vague but satisfying answers.

He got lunch in town, finally returning home hours later. He really liked it here. It was quaint, and very homey. Though he couldn’t ignore how an uncomfortable feeling settled over him as soon as he walked back through the threshold of your house.

He was surprised that he was still in your body. The switches had never lasted longer than a few hours, but it seemed that today was different. Your parents hadn’t returned yet, so he went back to your room and opened the computer that was sitting on your desk. He’d been meaning to do some more research on his soulmark, but hadn’t had a chance. Now was as good a time as any.

Though information was scarce due to the rarity of the soulmark, he still found a few good articles and webpages. Soulmates with this mark would switch bodies at random, starting on a random date and not stopping until they met in person. The longer they went without meeting, the more often the switches would occur and the longer they’d last.

Chan thought about this. Things had been okay so far, but with his job, switches were bound to happen at inopportune times if they became a more common occurrence. Today was just the start of that, with you being forced to do an interview for him. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if you switched during an exam. He would definitely fail it, and he would never forgive himself. He hoped it didn’t come to that.

He needed to meet you, and soon. He knew you went to a university in Seoul, so you really couldn’t be very far from each other. He just needed to find a time to meet you. He hoped you would be okay with that—you seemed like the type to want to take things slow.

Some time later, Chan heard your eomeoni calling you down for dinner. Time had flown by, it seemed. He’d hoped that you would’ve switched back by now, because he really wasn’t prepared for a whole dinner with your parents. He didn’t know what to say. He took a second to hope that everything would go well, and then walked downstairs.

Your parents were already sitting at the table, so Chan sat in the only available seat left, across from them. Dinner started silently, no one saying a thing as they served dinner onto their plates. Finally, your eomeoni spoke.

“So, [Y/N]. How did you do on finals?”

The information came to Chan’s brain immediately, words coming out of his mouth before he could even think them. “Good, eomeoni. I passed them all. I emailed you all my scores, remember?” Chan was surprised by his own words, but tried not to show it. This must be muscle memory, or something. He liked it. It would definitely help him get through dinner.

“Yes, I did see them,” she replied, tone dismissive. Chan wondered why she would ask if she already knew what they were. “You passed, but that’s it. Really, [Y/N], an eighty-five on Administrative Law? A ninety on Civil Procedure? You can do better.”

Chan had to stop himself from showing the absolute shock he felt on his face. Those scores were amazing, if you asked him. You were in law school in one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and the lowest scores you received on finals were an eighty-five and a ninety? To him, that made you a genius. He didn’t understand why your eomeoni thought they were so bad.

He tried to take your advice to not defend you, but he couldn’t just let it go. “Those are good scores, eomeoni. Much better than most other people in my classes.”

“I don’t care about the other people in your classes, I care about you. And I know you can do better,” she rebutted immediately. Chan had no idea what to say to that. “Work harder next time.”

After a long moment of inner struggle, Chan replied, “yes, eomeoni.” The words came to him so easily, like he’d said them a million times before in a million conversations just like this. That was probably exactly right, he realized, for you.

The conversation continued after that, your mother reminding him very much of your friends, Jiyeon and Nari—she insulted so many people that Chan assumed were her friends or neighbors, speaking scathing comments about things that didn’t seem very serious to Chan. She soon turned her insults onto you, talking about how a friend’s daughter “really needs to lose some weight, and speaking of that, you seem like you’ve changed since last break too, [Y/N].”

She mentioned it casually, but it was clear by the emphasis she put on ‘changed’ and the tone of her voice that she had been looking for a way to bring the topic up.

“Really, honey, what do I tell you every time? That just because you need to spend so much time studying, that doesn’t give you an excuse to stop eating healthy.”

Chan wasn’t sure what to say. He’d heard many conversations like this before, most of them back as a trainee when he’d overheard managers talking to the female trainees. They were harsh conversations, but it was always direct, to the point, and not as passively cruel as your eomeoni was currently being. Also, you weren’t even an idol! Chan disagreed with the dieting culture as a whole for idols, but your mother didn’t even have that excuse. You were just a regular girl, who, by the way, was absolutely just fine the way you were. Chan didn’t think you needed to change anything about yourself.

Still, Chan didn’t know quite what to say to that, and felt something in his head urging him not to reply. Before he could decide what to do, your eomeoni changed the topic. “But really, honey, if you want to be unhealthy and are fine with the way you look, that’s your choice. Anyway, did you see Mrs. Choi’s daughter in town today? She really needs to fix–” Chan stopped listening, your mother’s words becoming a blur in his head as he fumed in anger. His fists were clenched under the table so hard it almost hurt, and he was sure that if anyone looked at him, his feelings would be made perfectly clear by his expression.

He was going to say something. He was. You didn’t deserve to be spoken about like this. He didn’t care that you said not to defend you, not anymore. He opened his mouth to speak—

—and felt a sudden, familiar wave of dizziness. No. Not right now, not now. He tried to fight it, but Chan was powerless to the will of the universe. He opened his eyes and was back in his own body.

–

You had prayed to not switch bodies with Chan while visiting your parents. You begged, pleaded with the universe, not ready for Chan to see that part of your life. You were not listened to.

When you switched, you almost fell into a full-blown panic attack, painfully aware of what Chan was going to encounter in your life today. You couldn’t, though. Not here. Actually, where were you?

Distracting yourself from your inner panic, you looked around. You were in some sort of dressing room, sitting on a couch with Felix and Jeongin, who were both busy on their phones. Lining the walls were small desks covered in makeup products and mirrors with bright lights hanging on the walls in front of them. The room was bustling, staff members running around, yelling things, calling times that had no meaning to you.

You didn’t care. Wherever you were, whatever was happening, it could wait. You needed to call Chan.

You grabbed your phone, jumping up from the couch and slipping out the door, finding a bathroom to hide yourself in. On your way out, you missed Felix and Jeongin’s surprised glances and confused “where are you going”s.

You sunk down on the bathroom floor and unlocked Chan’s phone, extremely grateful for facial recognition. He picked up immediately.

Voice shaky and holding back tears, you were sure you sounded awful, but you didn’t care as you quickly explained the situation. You were thankful for Chan’s hesitant agreement, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind when he actually met your parents.

You stalled at his mention of the interview. “What??” you said into the phone, already falling back into the panic you’d barely managed to wrench yourself out of. Chan’s assurance that the boys would help you calmed you down a bit, but you ended the call quickly after, not wanting to stress him out too much with your worries.

An interview. That’s why everyone was getting their makeup done and staff was running around like someone was chasing them. You needed to get back.

You returned, relief dawning on Felix and Jeongin’s faces as soon as they saw you.

“Chan! Oh, thank god you’re back. Where did you go? Are you okay?” Felix asked.

“It’s your turn for makeup,” Jeongin said, gesturing to a waiting makeup artist, antsy with impatience.

You felt disconnected from your body, unsure what to do. “Oh, okay,” you said, coming out much calmer than you felt, body on autopilot as you sat down in the empty chair.

As the artist began applying product to your face, you saw realization dawn on Jeongin’s face. “Wait, Chan, did you–”

“Yes,” you cut him off, voice quiet and laced with anxiety.

Felix gasped. “Oh, shit, you swi–”

Minho cut Felix off this time with a harsh glare, apparently having overheard the conversation. “Not here, Felix,” he said, eyes flitting to the various staff members within earshot.

“Right, sorry,” Felix replied. Before he could say anything else, he was ushered away to another chair to get his own makeup done. Minho, seemingly all made-up with nowhere else to be, stayed by your side as you got your own make up done. When your artist left for a minute to find an eyeliner she’d let someone else borrow, Minho immediately began talking to you in a low tone.

“This is an interview about our new album. Have you listened to it?” You nodded, and he continued, “okay, good. Then if someone asks about a song or something, just answer as truthfully as possible. If any of that dance muscle memory works with talking, too, use that. If you look like you need help, we’ll jump in. I’ll tell everyone else. Okay?”

You stared at him for a second, still taking in the barrage of information he’d just relayed to you. Your brain, overwhelmed from everything that had happened in the last ten minutes, was a bit slow on the uptake.

“Okay,” you replied eventually. The make-up artist came back, then, effectively ending your conversation. Minho gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before walking off to inform the others.

The next half hour passed in a blur. You were ushered from room to room, finishing your makeup, changing into your interview outfit, getting your hair done. Before you knew it, you were sitting in a comfy chair with the seven other boys, cameras pointed towards you and lights shining bright in your eyes.

A brief countdown sounded, and the interview began.

As soon as the cameras turned on, you felt something take over your body. An unknown force pushed you out of the driver’s seat and you were left to observe, your body acting on its own, just like in dance practice. You answered questions with words you didn’t even think of before you spoke them, yet as you talked you knew it to be true.

You didn’t want to push the limits of whatever this was that was helping you, so you stayed relatively quiet, letting the other members do most of the talking. Still, when a question was directed toward you, you somehow knew exactly what to say, playing the perfect ‘Bang Chan’ role.

The interview finished, and with the sound of the cameras being turned off, you felt yourself come back to your body. Internally, you mused how Chan must have his idol persona drilled into him for it to be able to overtake you so fully when the cameras were on.

The minute you and the other boys were left alone to get changed back, you were tackled into a hug by multiple members.

“[Y/N], that was amazing!”

“You’re a natural!”

“I would’ve never been able to tell it wasn’t Chan!”

You blushed at the praise, unused to so much attention. “Thanks, guys,” you said softly.

The eight of you got unready and then were taken back to the company for the rest of the day’s schedule, which consisted solely of dance and voice practices—no more public appearances for you today, thank god.

When you finally got a minute to yourself on the car ride back to the dorms, you remembered Chan, and where you’d left him today. Your stomach sank. You’d been so busy that you forgot all about it, but now, you were terrified. You hoped your parents hadn’t done anything crazy or said anything particularly mean to him, though you knew that was highly unlikely.

He hadn’t texted you, but that was probably just because he knew you’d be busy. Now that you thought about it, you’d been switched for quite a long time today—much longer than usual. The universe seemed like it was out to get you, switching you today of all days and having it last for the entire day.

The boys noticed you lost in your thoughts and tried to ask what was wrong, but you just gave a vague answer and changed the subject. There was no reason to involve them in your own issues. It wasn’t fair to them.

Seeing that you weren’t going to give them a real answer, they instead decided to just be very rowdy and energetic, all coming back to Chan’s shared dorm at the end of the day. You played video games and had dinner, and you had to admit, it was fun. Chan was lucky to have such good friends.

Still, when the dizziness took over your vision, you almost felt thankful. You didn’t think you could handle all the happiness anymore. You didn’t deserve it. Chan deserved to be having fun with his friends right now, not stuck in your miserable childhood home with your parents.

Your vision cleared, and you found yourself at your parents’ kitchen table, untouched food in front of you. Your mom was in the middle of one of her usual rants, talking about the latest neighborhood gossip—which girl had found a bad influence of a boyfriend, which old high school acquaintance was currently doing better than you in life, the usual. You weren’t even a little bit surprised that your parents hadn’t noticed the switch. You never talked much at dinner anyways.

–

Chan’s concern for you grew by the day.

It had been a week since the last switch. You were back in your apartment now, and Chan felt a surprising amount of relief at knowing you weren’t at your parents’ place anymore. He’d texted you the day after the switch, but you’d brushed him off. You said it was fine, your eomeoni was always like that, it wasn’t that serious, and so on. Chan didn’t believe you.

Chan was worried about a lot of things. He was worried about your friends, your parents, your over-studying, your eating habits, your sleep schedule (if that exhaustion he felt when he first entered your body was anything to go off). He was worried. But he didn’t want to ask you about it, he didn’t want to seem like an overbearing boyfriend. You weren’t even technically dating, since you hadn’t had that conversation yet, hadn’t even met in person, but Chan wondered if being soulmates allowed him to breach those topics.

Still, even being soulmates, Chan never found a time he felt comfortable bringing any of it up. It didn’t help that you primarily talked through text, with calls being few and far between, and text didn’t seem like the right method of communication for this conversation. So he waited.

Chan did the next best thing: he talked to his friends about it. He hated to share your personal issues with them, but they were basically your friends too, he reasoned, and it was important. He was trying to help you.

“Wow, they sound awful,” Jisung said after Chan told them all about his experience with your parents.

“God, no wonder she ran off so fast to call you. She looked really scared,” Felix added, remembering your panicked eyes as you’d jumped off the couch that day.

“I don’t know what to do. Her parents are awful, and so are her friends. Or, at least, the ones I’ve met. I don’t know if she has anyone to lean on, and she won’t talk to me,” Chan explained, defeated. “I don’t know how to help her.”

“You need to see her. In person. Maybe you’d get through to her then,” Hyunjin suggested.

“I really want to, but you know how busy we are right now. I’d need to plan a whole outing, which wouldn’t be able to happen for weeks, and I don’t even know what I’d tell the company,” Chan replied.

“Ah, right. They don’t know,” Changbin said. Chan had decided not to tell anyone but the boys about the soulmark, worrying about what the company might do. Force you two to see each other so the switching would stop and then ban you from seeing each other again? That seemed most likely. JYPE wasn’t exactly the biggest supporter of idol relationships, even if it was soulmates.

The conversation had continued with more suggestions, but it was fruitless. There was nothing Chan could do for you right now. He felt better that the boys knew, though. Maybe next time you switched, they could talk to you for him.

–

You were spiraling. After the week of the cruel and unusual punishment that is your parents’ house, you were finally back at your apartment. You were supposed to be better now that you were back—that’s what you told yourself every day of last week until it was time to come home—but you were failing even at that.

Being back home meant being back at school, so you were immediately back on your grind, staying late at the library to study, or in your kitchen with the lights on late into the night.

You were eating less, too. Much less. You hated to say it, but your eomeoni had gotten to you. The combination of her comments all throughout the week, your friends’ regular digs, and your stress at having Chan as your soulmate broke you. It wasn’t even very difficult, either. You were always in class or studying, so you’d often forget to eat or not notice your hunger anyway.

You were eating less than you ever had before, skipping most meals but always making sure to have just enough in your system to get you through the day. The last thing you wanted was to collapse in front of someone—it was mortifying even to think about.

What spurred you on even more was the encouragement you were receiving. Jiyeon and Nari had stopped you after class again this week, wanting to walk with you and chat, and they both complimented you, saying “girl, you look good!” It was a genuine comment, which threw you for a loop, because you’d never heard an actual compliment from them the entire time you’d known them. Yuna, your closest friend, had also noticed, telling you quite directly that you looked “so skinny, oh my god.”

You were glad. For the compliments, for one, but also for the fact that they didn’t seem to notice the heavy eye bags you tried so hard to cover or the effort it took for you to walk long distances. You were just so tired lately. It was okay, though. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

Chan texted you a lot, which only increased the guilt you felt for putting this on him. You tried your best to brush it off, change the topic, tell him you were doing fine, but he just wouldn’t let it go. You could tell that he was trying to seem unbothered, but the did you eat yet texts every day and the good night, get some rest texts every night gave him away, especially because you knew Chan wasn’t going to bed when he texted you good night. His workaholic tendencies and insomnia kept him up just as late as you, if not later, you were sure.

Chan was so sweet, so caring, and it was getting harder to ignore the voice in your head that told you you didn’t deserve him. It got louder every day, every time he texted you a reminder to eat and you lied that you’d eaten already, every time he asked how your day was and you told him it was great. You were a burden, an exhausted, ugly burden with too many problems and you couldn’t bear the thought of Chan taking them on for you. It wasn’t his job—his job was to be an idol, and he already had plenty on his plate that came with that. You just needed him to stop worrying about you. You could take care of yourself.

–

Last time you and Chan had switched, Chan complained about the timing. Well, the universe must have heard him and decided to one-up itself, because this had to be the worst timing in the world.

He and the rest of the Stray Kids were backstage at an awards show, waiting to perform. They watched in the wings as another group performed. After that, there would be an award and a speech, and then they would go on to perform.

As he stood, half watching and half listening to his members’ whispered conversations with each other, he felt the all too familiar and in this moment, incredibly awful feeling of dizziness that accompanied a body switch.

As soon as he opened his eyes to his new surroundings—the kitchen table of your apartment—a huge wave of exhaustion and hunger and a different, worse kind of dizziness crashed over him, and he was sure he would’ve collapsed to the ground if he weren’t already sitting down.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hands gripping the table, desperate for something to ground himself while he recovered from and adjusted to the drastic change in feeling. He felt something like this last time you’d switched, but it wasn’t anywhere close to this level. When he’d finally recovered enough for thoughts to get through his head again, he swore. Loud and harsh and unlike him, but he couldn’t help it. He’d messed up.

He tried to get through to you, to talk to you, but you kept brushing him off, saying you were fine. And after a while, he started to believe it. At least a little. He could’ve done more, damn it, he should’ve done more. All he’d done for the past two weeks was ask if you were eating and imply for you to go to bed. And for the past two weeks, you’d clearly been lying to him, sending responses only to placate him, to make him believe that you were okay.

But you weren’t okay. And Chan couldn’t help but think that it was all his fault for not noticing.

He needed to do something. He was in your body, right? So what could he do to help? He got his answer from the loud rumble that sounded through your stomach.

Chan slowly stood up, careful not to fall back down onto the chair, and made his way over to your fridge. He internally wondered how you’d gotten anywhere recently, considering how tiring it was just for him to stand up and walk to the fridge.

The fridge was worryingly empty, only holding some fruit and few, scarce leftovers that he assumed were from meals you didn’t finish. He pulled everything out, heating up some old pasta and washing and cutting the fruit into a bowl. If you wouldn’t eat, then he would have to do it for you.

He ate the pasta quickly, the fruit following soon after. His stomach felt better for a second, glad to finally have some real food in it. Then, it flipped. A sudden but strong wave of nausea shot through him, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was puking out everything he’d just eaten. Fuck.

Of course, he was so fucking stupid. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial in who knows how long, so of course your body wouldn’t react well to a sudden influx of food. He wanted to hit himself for being so dumb.

Once he’d finished emptying his stomach and cleaned himself up, the only thing he had enough energy left to do was stumble to the couch and collapse on it. He didn’t know how long he laid there for until a rush of energy woke his body.

He jerked up, suddenly finding himself standing, back at the awards show (dressing room? he registered sluggishly), surrounded by his friends. He must have been so out of it in your body that he didn’t even feel the dizziness. That wasn’t good.

The complete change in feeling jarred him, again, even though it was a change for the better. His legs wobbled and he pitched forward, managing to catch himself on Changbin’s shoulder. His friend, concerned, quickly moved to help support his weight, letting Chan lean on him until he was able to regain his balance.

“Chan? Are you back? What’s wrong?” Changbin asked.

Chan righted himself, taking a step back to look at everyone. They were all sweaty, out of breath, but glowing—aside from their current worry for him. Chan took stock of his own feelings, finding himself to be a bit tired (though compared to what he’d just felt in your body, he actually felt so energetic he could run a marathon) and adrenaline coursed through him, like it always did after a performance. His eyes widened, remembering.

“Did we perform? Did she perform? How did it go?” He asked instead, in a panic now that he had enough energy to feel anything other than exhaustion.

“Wha- Chan, forget about the performance! What happened to you?”

It was apparently clear that Chan was in a state, but he had no care of how he looked right now. All he cared about was you.

“I’m fine, but [Y/N]’s not. She’s not okay, guys. It’s so much worse than I thought, fuck, it’s bad,” he rambled, unable to stop thinking about how awful he felt for the short time he was in your body, how awful you must have felt for weeks without anyone knowing. “I need to find her, I need to help her. Please, we need to go–”

Seungmin gripped his shoulders. “Chan, calm down. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Take a breath.”

“No, you don’t understand!”

Another hand came to rest on his back, rubbing slow circles. His friends talked to him, but the words didn’t make it through to his head. His breaths came out fast and shallow, and he slightly registered someone trying to get him to follow their breathing. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and what he’d just felt.

Eventually, he came back to himself. Everyone looked extremely worried. For him, his brain supplied, because he’d just had a panic attack.

“I’m okay,” he said, ever the leader, because he absolutely was not okay, but he didn’t want his members worrying for him any more. He heard a chorus of relieved sighs, his friends glad he was finally back and lucid. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Chan,” said Jeongin.

“Yeah, we’re here for you.” Felix.

“Can we do anything to help?” asked Minho. “Tell us what to do and we’ll do it.”

–

You were sitting at your kitchen table trying to study, books and papers spread out in front you, to no avail. You just couldn’t seem to focus, and you knew why. You were tired, dizzy, hungry, and your body protested so much that you couldn’t get anything done. Usually you were okay, you could push through no problem, but today was worse.

You’d had a test this morning, an important one, so last night you’d stayed up studying. You only got an hour of sleep, maybe two, and it was coming back to bite you today. Thankfully, you’d made it through the test and actually thought you did pretty good, but the exhaustion hit you as soon as you stepped out of the classroom. It was probably the relief that did it, the sudden release of tension that allowed all the other feelings you’d pushed away to come back full force.

You pushed the books away from you, giving up. Maybe you should just call it a day and take a nap or something. You could give yourself that, right?

As you decided on what to do, a different kind of dizziness came over you, and your sluggish brain only remembered what that meant just as your vision changed.

You were in a big, dark room, surrounded by people trying to be as quiet as possible. Following the only source of light you could find, you turned to see curtains, and beyond them, a stage.

You weren’t thinking about the connotations of that realization, though, because as soon as the body switch had been completed, a sudden and violent rush of energy crashed into you, feeling more like a bad thing than good with the force of it.

You stumbled but quickly caught yourself, standing still to feel the new energy coursing through your body. It felt amazing. You’d been feeling so bad for the past few weeks that you forgot how it felt to be fully energized, and god, did you miss it. It felt so good that you almost considered stopping your recent habits, but you quickly brushed that thought off. It was working. What you were doing was working, if the compliments you’d received recently had anything to say about it, so you could handle a little tiredness. It was worth it.

You were drawn out of your thoughts as a whispered conversation near you grew louder. You looked back to the stage, finally realizing what that actually meant for you, and paled. You looked down at yourself and found you were wearing very fancy and high-quality clothes. Your hair felt hard, like it had been sprayed in place, and you could feel the makeup on your face.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Your head whipped to look at the people closest to you, which happened to be the ones having the whispered conversation. Seungmin and Jeongin. They saw you looking, and mistook your expression for you being mad at them for being loud. “Sorry, Chan,” Jeongin said, quieting down.

You shook your head. “I’m not Chan,” you whispered, voice barely audible. The boys must have heard you, though, because their eyes immediately widened, surprise and worry clear in their gaze.

“Oh, fuck,” Seungmin said, full volume. That drew the attention of the rest of the members, who came over to see what was going on. “It’s [Y/N],” Seungmin explained quietly once everyone had gathered.

A series of gasps sounded from the group.

“What do I do? What are you even performing?” You asked.

“It’s okay. You have that weird muscle memory thing, right? Won’t you know the dance?” Jisung said, hopeful.

“Oh, yeah! Like in dance practice,” Felix said.

“And the interview,” Hyunjin added.

“Um, yeah, I guess so. I just– I’m not super confident in it.”

The boys tried their best to reassure you, but it was clear they were worried as well.

“Well, there’s nothing else we can do. You have to go on, so just do your best,” Minho told you, ever the voice of reason.

“Yeah. You’re right,” you agreed, taking a deep breath. You could do this. You could do this.

In the background, you heard the voice of someone announcing Stray Kids’ performance. The lights dimmed. You walked on stage with the boys, finding your place, whole body shaking. Fuck, this was scary.

Last time, in dance practice, you’d known the moves but messed up where Chan usually messed up—at least, that’s what the boys said. You only hoped that Chan knew this dance well enough for you to not mess up at all right now.

The lights came up, the music started, and your body moved. You didn’t know what you were doing, but you were moving, dancing, singing, an ‘oh thank god’ ringing in your head as you hit every count. You let yourself get carried away in the dance, ignoring the huge audience that, if you paid full attention to, would probably scare you out of your muscle memory.

When the song finally ended, feeling like it had lasted for years, you quickly excited the stage with the rest of the group, out of breath but glowing. You felt incredible. It probably felt even better than it otherwise might have, given that you felt like exactly the opposite of this constantly in your own body. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t worth it. What you were doing to yourself. You didn’t know.

You followed the group to an empty dressing room, being told that you could change and get ready again before heading back out to sit in the audience. Instead of changing, the boys immediately turned to you, cheering and patting your back at a job well done.

You smiled at their praise, but it faded in your ears, replaced by overwhelming dizziness, and then nothing.

It was quiet. Silent. No one was talking anymore. You lifted your head up, seeing your kitchen table, and winced as your exhaustion slammed back into you. Well, great. You were back now. Yay.

Really though, you were happy to be back, if at least it meant that Chan wasn’t suffering anymore. You didn’t deserve to feel happy and energetic if it meant that he felt like this. You chose to do this to yourself, so you would be the one to deal with it. Not Chan.

You stood up slowly, carefully, and walked to your bedroom. You had done enough today. You’d allow yourself a break, an early bedtime. It was Friday, too, so no classes tomorrow. You collapsed on your covers, falling asleep before you could even crawl under the blankets.

When you woke up, it was to three missed calls and ten messages, all from Chan. Whoops. You scrolled through them, reading them with eyes still bleary from sleep.

Are you okay?

Please call me back

[Y/N], I’m worried about you

Please just answer the phone

Are you sleeping?

Just text me if you’re reading these

I’m here for you

You can tell me if something is wrong

[Y/N]

Please answer

Oh, shit. You checked the time. It was eleven in the morning. Shit, you never slept this late. Thank god it was the weekend.

Chan had called you three times last night and sent half the texts. Then he’d texted the last few at eight in the morning. Fuck, he’d been worried about you all night? You hated that you slept through it all.

You quickly typed out a response, not trusting yourself to be able to keep up the act if you talked to him directly.

I’m fine

I’m sorry, I was asleep. I just saw all of these

I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m okay though

Chan’s response came immediately, like he’d been staring at his phone, waiting for a reply. Honestly, he probably was.

Are you sure?

When we switched yesterday, it just seemed like

Well, I don’t know. You just didn’t seem okay

You almost started crying at how nice he was being. He didn’t need to care this much about you. No one else did. You needed him to stop caring.

I swear I’m fine

You don’t need to worry about me, I can take care of myself

Chan took longer to reply this time. His speech bubble popped up and disappeared multiple times before he finally replied with a simple, okay.

You sighed and set down your phone, feeling relieved but also strangely guilty. You got what you wanted—Chan to stop worrying, stop asking if you were okay, at least for now. But you really didn’t like lying to him. Hopefully if he stopped asking, you’d stop needing to lie.

You crawled out of bed, feeling much better than yesterday after all the sleep you’d gotten. You still felt the ever-present rumble in your stomach, but that wasn’t anything new.

Yesterday was one of your worst days, which was mainly just because of the stress and lack of sleep due to the test you had. You usually were much more functional. You felt bad that Chan had experienced that particular day in your life—it wasn’t a good example to go off of.

You walked to the bathroom, beginning your morning routine. You washed your face, did your skincare, and ate a granola bar for breakfast. You got dressed in comfy clothes, not having the need nor the energy to look cute today. Then, you set off to the library. You needed to find a specific book to help with an essay you were working on.

You brought your laptop to the library with you, thinking that the quiet and calming ambience of the building would help you get some essay writing done after you’d located the book. You were right, and you ended up staying in the library for much longer than you’d planned.

By the time you returned home, bag heavy with your laptop and books—okay, so maybe you’d gotten carried away while looking for that one book—your stomach was growling much louder now, upset at being ignored for so long. You paid no attention to it.

You set your bag down and promptly dropped yourself down on the couch, not quite tired enough to call it a ‘collapse’ but still pretty close. You sunk into the comfort of the fluffy pillows, but your relaxation time was soon ended with a knock at your door.

Your eyebrows furrowed. Who would be knocking on your door right now? Your friends weren’t really the type for spontaneous hang-outs, at least not without texting first. You stood up on shaky legs and padded over to the door, opening it.

You were greeted with a very familiar face.

“Chan?” you asked, eyes raking over his gorgeous frame. Everything you’d seen online and in the mirror when you were him—perfect skin, dreamy eyes, and literally everything else about him because he was perfect, despite the mask and hood he currently wore—was now directly in front of you, and my god was he even more incredible to see in person.

Once you’d finished admiring Chan’s beauty, you started to wonder why he was actually here. He seemed incredibly nervous, his eyes were wide and concerned, and he was here standing in your doorway oh my god what was Chan doing at your apartment? He’d said okay, you thought that meant he’d drop the subject, not find where you live and meet you on a random Saturday!

Chan said nothing, instead stepping forward and engulfing you in the most comforting hug you’d ever felt. You froze for a second, surprised, but quickly melted into it, wrapping your arms around him. He held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You felt the unmistakable feeling of your soulmate bond running through you, especially strong now that you were physically meeting and touching each other. Now that you had met, you two would never switch bodies again.

As you stood in your doorway, wrapping in Chan’s embrace, you allowed yourself a moment of happiness. You felt good in his arms. Safe.

He finally let you go, seemingly less nervous than before. You let him into your apartment, not wanting anyone to walk by and recognize him, or even just wonder why you were hugging a random man outside your door.

When you’d closed the door behind him and stood to face him directly, mask and hood off, he finally spoke.

“[Y/N].” Your name sounded like a prayer on his lips. You stood still, waiting to see what he was going to say. Was something wrong? Did he come find you just to stop switching bodies, because it was such a hassle? Was he going to break up with you, if there was even anything to break? The suspense was killing you. Then, he smiled. “You’re even more gorgeous in person.”

Oh. You were not expecting that.

You let out a startled laugh, a self-deprecating smile forming on your face. “What?” You asked, looking down at the sweatpants and ratty crewneck you’d thrown on this morning. You didn’t have any makeup on, your hair was down but definitely frizzy and tangled, and you were wearing your glasses instead of your regular contacts because, like you’d thought this morning, there was no need to look cute today. You were an insane contrast to the effortlessly beautiful man that stood across from you, so much so that his compliment was literally laughable. You couldn’t keep the disbelief from your voice when you spoke.

Chan’s smile dropped at that, eyebrows furrowing as he stepped closer to you, raising a hand to cup your face. He tilted your head up, making you look at him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “You are.” The look in his eyes as he said it was hard to argue with.

“Oh – Okay,” you stuttered. “You’re also, um. Well. You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen in my life, I think,” you rambled out, your nerves making you spew out every thought in your head, no matter how embarrassing or badly worded. Chan just chuckled, murmuring out a ‘thanks,’ but you could tell by the slight flush of his cheeks that he felt similar to you.

“What are you—I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, because I absolutely am, but—what are you doing here?” You asked.

“I needed to see you,” he replied. “I just – I was worried. About you.” The way he said it made you think there was more to the explanation that he wasn’t saying.

“Chan, that’s so sweet, but I told you. I’m fine, there’s no need to worry,” you told him. “Besides, aren’t you, like, a famous idol? Isn’t there some event or practice you need to be in right now?” You didn’t mean to sound like you were trying to push him out, but you didn’t like him being so worried over you. It was embarrassing, really, that he was so worried about something that was so not serious.

“No,” Chan replied, a tad aggressively. He looked hurt, or like he was hurting for you. “No, [Y/N], I’m supposed to be here right now. I got them to let me come because I’m worried about you. Rightfully. Because you’re not fine,” he said, gaining steam as he talked. You were too shocked at how serious he seemed to be on the matter to interrupt. “[Y/N], what I felt when we switched yesterday—that’s not fine. That’s not normal! I – I’d never felt so bad before, and you – you feel like that all the time? That’s not fine, you’re not fine.”

You stood, frozen, as Chan argued. He was worried, stressed. About you. You felt your heart constrict, some unknown feeling flooding through you. No one had ever cared this much. No one had ever even sent a text to check in when you were sick, much less track you down to find you and help you even after being told you were fine and could handle yourself.

Chan cared about you. The realization hit you like a train. He didn’t think you were ugly, he didn’t loathe the fact that he had a soulmate or that you were his soulmate. He didn’t think you were a burden, he didn’t come find you just so you would stop switching bodies. You’d never even met before, only texted for like a month, and he still cared about you so much that he dropped everything after finding out something was wrong to find and help you.

Tears welled in your eyes, and you didn’t have the energy to try to stop them or blink them away. You didn’t have the energy to do anything. You were so tired, so hungry. You’d been doing such a good job at ignoring all the pain and exhaustion you felt for weeks, but now the floodgates were open and everything was rushing out. All it took was a few sentences from Chan, and everything was coming out.

Chan had been waiting for a response from you, it seemed, because he’d just been staring and looking deep into your expression the entire time you’d stood still, thoughts running rampant in your head. Because of his focus, he noticed the second that tears began rolling down your face. He lurched forward, hands coming up to cup your face and thumbs moving under your glasses to wipe away the tears.

As soon as you felt his skin against yours, you went limp. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. You fell into him, and he caught you, hands shooting down to hold your waist, steadying you. When it was clear that you would not be regaining your balance any time soon, Chan carefully picked you up and carried you to the couch.

“It’s okay, baby,” he reassured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you, you can let it out. It’s okay.” He rubbed circles on your back with one hand, the other brushing your hair from your face as you cried into his shoulder. You were curled into his side on the couch, leaning fully against him with your head buried in between his neck and shoulder.

He held you until your cries stopped and your breath evened out, not saying anything until you lifted your head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. You didn’t know what to say. You looked at his shirt, which was now damp with your tears. “I’m sorry,” you let out, voice hoarse from crying. You weren’t sure if the sorry was for the shirt or for forcing him to comfort you as you sobbed.

“No, baby, don’t apologize,” Chan replied, and you didn’t know when or why he started calling you ‘baby’ but you’d definitely be lying if you said you didn’t like it. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah."

“Good,” he smiled, arm still slung around your back, his hand now rubbing soothingly up and down your arm. You weren’t sure if he even knew he was doing it.

“So you–” you hesitated, unsure. You took a deep breath. “You don’t have anywhere else to be? You can – you can stay?” You weren’t used to being so open, so vulnerable with anyone. But with Chan, you felt like you could be.

Chan hummed in agreement. “Nowhere to be,” he said, “I’m staying right here.”

Not even the fleeting touch of the soft breeze caressing his cheek could make Bang Chan feel human again. He had lost himself long ago. That wasn't who he was anymore. Now, and forever more, he was CB97. Half cyborg, half human, he was a failed experiment abandoned to the hands of nature's unpredictable ways.

The tall, moist blades of grass swayed lazily against the bare skin of his numb legs. Slender willow trees loomed over him, a circle of gracefulness encompassing him in a shaded cloak. Even with the natural entities drawn towards him, CB97 remained in a dreamless sleep, less alive than the plants.

It wasn't his fault that his dreams were stolen away from him.

His youth was stolen away from him. Bang Chan was an aspiring idol, so eager to join JYPE with his talents; singing, rapping, dancing, playing the guitar and playing the piano, that he was quick to get that flight to Seoul from his home Sydney. Why wouldn't he be? He had already attempted to enter the K-pop world at the age of 13, but once he turned 16 his parents finally agreed. Unfortunately, they would come to regret that if they knew of what had transpired.

Sucked into a web of lies, Bang Chan had stumbled into an illegal experimental facility, an organisation attempting to unite all living creatures into one thriving species - or at least that was what he had overheard under the influence of a strong anaesthetic. Really, it was a dangerous test playing on the boundaries between humans, animals and technology. Everything that had happened to him was built into his hard drive, permanently etched into his new and improved working memory. If he was conscious and chose to scan his own database, he would be able to find the audiovisual remnants of how he was treated.

"Welcome to the future, CB97."

Future? He didn't have a future. He had nobody, nothing.

"It's eyes... I told you we needed to insert more circuits into-"

"It's still human!"

"If you hadn't backpedaled on creating an actual robot-"

"This was a much more efficient way! We keep the brain and we rewire it as we see fit. I told the whole team from the beginning of the rules! This is how we run the experiments around here."

Experiments. Ah, yes. Plural.

A cacophony of sounds had awoken CB97 when he was wheeled into a sterile room, three blank white walls and one glass wall. Multiple of these rooms lined the dimly lit corridor, nameplates along with 'EXTERMINATION' were stuck on the windows of each failure. First, he failed to become an idol, and now, he wasn't even good enough to be a test dummy?

In his assigned space there was nothing to stimulate his brain, just a plain, old chair for him to sit on. The days dragged on monotonously, whether it was the slamming of huge beasts throwing their bodies against their enclosures, deep, gravely growls, haunting shrieks or the droning of the execution buzzer. He didn't feel a thing. He didn't even have an ounce of dread hollowing away at the pit of his stomach knowing it would be his turn soon. Maybe, deep down he knew that it would be different for him.

"We can't dispose of CB97 like the others, it's still too humane, they'd be able to trace this all back to us!"

Different alarms had been blaring at that time. Urgent beeping and scientists running back and forth with files and trollies containing test tubes with concerning colours.

"Then we leave it where no one will ever find it."

Deserted. Isolated. Alone. He still remained in the same place he had been left. When he had felt sunlight hit him again for the first time in what felt like centuries, he had awoken. Bang Chan, not CB97. He cried, he sobbed, he screamed in anger at the way fate had led him. His soul had been dealt the cruelest punishment. His nervous breakdown horrified the cruel, cowardly scientists who had to transport him to the middle of nowhere. They had desperately scrambled away at the sight of the tumultuous sparks of electricity emanating from their experiment. They were lucky to escape. He wasn't.

Almost as if the last part of humanity was being drained from within him, cables dug themselves into the dry, cracked soil, intertwining viciously with tree roots and tying him to the same spot for the rest of his life.

Two years. That's how long he had been asleep for. That's how long it had been since his body shut down on him. Never to wake again was the most likely outcome.

"She's not a normal baby, she's this, this horrible thing!" a woman screamed, a bundle in her arms.

"We needed the money!"

"And look where that got us!"

"Then leave her here, already! No one... No one has to know..." a man pleaded desperately with his ex partner.

"I know! I know, what you did, to her... to us! You ruined everything!"

Crying. Sobbing. Screaming. It was a familiar pattern in rare occasions such as this, yet Chan was still unresponsive, until the wails of a baby caused an involuntary jerk of his leg.

Abandoned. Like us. Must analyse.

System rebooting.

As if they had a life of their own, the branches of the trees that cocooned Bang Chan withdrew from his awakening figure. His eyes flickered open, feeling the electricity course through his brains as his programmed instincts went into overdrive.

Scanning surroundings. Being identified.

It was a child. They were just like him, left to rot and succumb to whatever was thrown at them next. CB97 was able to analyse the situation at hand, whereas Bang Chan knew he had to help.

With a loud yell he stood to his feet, dirt exploding into the air when he rigidly took one step forwards.

Move closer for further identification.

Was he fortunate to not feel any tension in his body after not moving for years? Was he lucky to have not felt the aches in his joints and the cracks in his bones as he approached the newborn.

Not a newborn. Estimated age is 1 year. Appears to be a grindylow.

A grindylow? What on earth was that? Vaguely in the back of his mind CB97 saw a memory of reading the Harry Potter series, that same word appearing. So he must have been somewhat knowledgeable on what the creature in front of him was.

Grindylows are water demons with large horns, pale skin, long arms and feet, sharp teeth and scaly skin.

Ah, that must have been the Wikipedia installation.

Bang Chan approached the wailing baby whose cries instantly stopped once they were lifted into the air. Oddly enough, the young grindylow didn't seem to mind the way it was awkwardly held, Chan's arms outstretched in front of him at a 90° angle and his hands supporting the child from under their arms.

Features appear to be undeveloped.

"You have growing to do, little one," Bang Chan blinked at the child in his stiff arms.

Round, shining eyes gazed sweetly at him, tufts of hair messily sticking up in the air. A pout soon faded away at the feeling of contact with another creature, the grindylow feeling safer than ever as they giggled at the stoic expression Bang Chan wore.

Error. Behaviour not processing.

"You can stay."

Were cyborgs able to feel a sense of accomplishment or fulfilment? Was CB97 less present when caring for another? Was Bang Chan allowed to feel content for even a moment? Here he was, aware, raising his own, sort of, child.

---

"I think I'll call you Nelly."

Nelly babbled excitedly, their fangs coming through stronger now as they gnawed on a piece of bark that Chan had retrieved.

Teething stage recognised.

---

Baby is crying. Nelly, upset. Must stop.

"I don't know what you need," Bang Chan fussed, rocking Nelly in his arms as he searched for a reason why they were so distressed.

"Ah. I think you need water," he nodded once, and promptly launched Nelly out of his arms and into the swampy lake nearby.

He had no need to question why he had done what would otherwise be seen as a cruel and unimaginable act. He knew what his child needed.

Nelly, happy. Task complete.

---

In a rundown district of Seoul, a muscly man with glitter sparkling from his skin huffed in frustration.

"He needs healing but I cannot enter his dreams. I don't have enough time to help him myself. I need to check on the communities in our neighbouring district first. I sense a broken soul I can help but I need you two do to this for me."

"I'm in."

"Got you covered, Binnie."

---

Water time is over. Nelly needs feeding.

"Nelly! I have food for you!" Bang Chan called, brows furrowed in concern as he traipsed the edge of the lake, careful not to get too close in case he fatally harmed himself and his system.

Splashes in the lake caught his attention, as well as the sound of delighted snuffing and teeth grinding together. That was his Nelly, alright.

Heat vision on. Nelly detected. One new grindylow detected.

Is that why they were so happy? They found another one of their kind? Bang Chan hadn't seen such strong emotion in Nelly since the time he had reprimanded them over them recklessly luring a poor human boy to the lake. This was a much better sight, better sound to hear them the previous whines when Nelly had lost claw privileges.

"Nelly. You and your friend can come out and eat! I found some- Nelly?" Bang Chan called out again when Nelly popped their head out, breaking through the surface of the water. Why did they have a sad look on their face? Why were they swimming away? The lake was huge it wouldn't be safe.

Why wasn't Nelly coming back?

"Nelly..." Bang Chan looked down, sadness overwhelming him.

System overload. System shutdown.

---

Nelly didn't return. Chan had rebooted a day after their disappearance, having a reason, a purpose to be awake. He searched around the lake everyday, but piles of uneaten food he had gathered stayed neatly in organised stacks in the foliage by the lake. He switched between different settings, both in his surroundings and his vision programmes. Normal vision, thermal detection, movement scanner. He caught nothing.

Flying objects incoming.

Flying objects? But grindylows couldn't fly could they? Unless Nelly had found their way back to him? He could question them once he was reunited with them! Once he sees Nelly again he can-

It wasn't Nelly.

Bat approaching. Fairy approaching.

Right in front of his very eyes, a bat and a fairy landed down on the tree stump opposite him before morphing into more human forms. That was Nelly's seat.

"You must be CB97. I'm Yang Jeongin, head of Oddinary House. This is Felix, my friend. We've been looking for you for a while now."

"You can come with us now, we'll help you."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It worked quite well up until now but one badly hidden tremble of your voice brought your house of lies tumbling down and now you were roped into spending Christmas with your dearest group of friends. And while you were absolute positive that they would never break out into serious fights or make fun of you over nothing, especially now knowing your bad history with Christmas, a lingering anxiety gnawed at your heart when you stood in front of Chan’s apartment.

Already, the volume inside of the apartment was noticeable and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe this kind of noise would settle your heart and distract from the negative experiences. Sighing, you pressed your finger to the doorbell and hoped they could even hear that amongst the yelling.

The door swung open to reveal a very smiley Jeongin.

“You’re here!”

You were immediately ushered into the warmth of the room, a wonderful smell permeating from the kitchen through the entire apartment already. At the sound of the door closing again, several footsteps could be heard padding their way over to you.

The apartment was fully decorated, fairylights that emitted their warm lights everywhere, Christmas trinkets here and there, candles that were ready to be lit and of course a Christmas tree in the middle of the living room, sparkling in beautiful colors.

“Merry Christmas, y/n!”, Felix beamed at the sight of you, coming up to give you a tight hug. Right behind him was Changbin giving you a soft smile and Hyunjin practically vibrating full of excitement beside him. After giving you one last pat on the back, Felix let go of you begrudgingly. If you let him, he’d probably cling onto you the entire night.

“So what have you all been up to already?”, you asked while putting your jacket away.

“Earlier we made some cookies!”, Hyunjin chirped from his place on the couch, already getting cozy beside Changbin, his long limbs cascading everywhere.

“Don’t touch the ones in the blue bowl”, Changbin frowned from his place beside him, shaking his head in horror.

“The hell did you do?”, you laughed and plopped down right beside them, leaning into Changbin’s side.

“Someone can’t read labels and put salt instead of sugar into the batter”, he sighed and his eyebrows pinched together and you’re pretty sure he was the victim who had to find out the hard way.

“Get out of my damn kitchen!”, you heard Minho yell before a giggling Seungmin came jogging out of the door that lead to the kitchen in Chan’s apartment. That mischievous grin on his face as he made his way over to the couch told you everything you needed to know: he was probably annoying Minho while he was busy cooking until he had enough.

“Hey! There’s my favorite person!”

“Saying that like you have so many people to choose from, other than us”, you scoffed playfully and he opened his mouth to quip something back but chose to keep it shut to keep the original objective for tonight on track.

As to where the missing guys were, you assumed Jisung was still in the kitchen with Minho, actually trying to be helpful, Jeongin had disappeared into one of the rooms saying something about ‘preparing it’ and you had absolutely no idea where Chan was, even though he was the one who invited you in the first place.

You decided to not worry about anything, trusting them to make this evening nice and relaxing.

-

“No, fuck you, we said we wouldn’t allow stacking plus fours!”, yelled Felix from one side of the table, clutching his UNO cards in his hands so hard you were afraid he’d destroy them.

“Well, good thing I have never listened to you guys, like, ever”, said Seungmin from the other side of the table, smugly pointing to the stack of cards on the table.

“Now take your 16 cards, sunshine boy.”

If Felix was capable of letting steam come out of his ears, now would be one of those moments for it to happen. He kept insisting he wasn’t really angry, that it’s okay, he’s just having a moment but you could tell he was at least a little frustrated, if not angry. You had to hold back your laughter, clenching your eyes shut and holding yourself steady on Jeongin’s bicep, who was just shaking his head with a fond smile at the scene unfolding at the small coffee table.

Why you all decided to play UNO of all games was a mystery to you. This game brought out the worst sides in everyone. Not being overly competitive yourself, you only got front-row seats to everyone almost wanting to strangle eachother and just barely holding back, a forced smile on their faces that did nothing to hide all the pain of having to draw 8.

It wasn’t even about who was going to win anymore, either. Hyunjin was extremely lucky and won first with you coming in second, followed by Changbin, Han and then finally Jeongin. Minho was still busy in the kitchen and said he’d rather watch the food change color in the oven than get into this game with these animals.

It was just about who was going to be last. And neither Felix nor Seungmin wanted to be the one to have to take home the title of Christmas UNO loser, especially when they were the ones who usually won these games.

“I feel like Yongbok is gonna explode”, Jisung quipped from his place behind you on the couch, his squirrel cheeks full of cookies. You leaned back against his legs as you chuckled, eager to see how this was going to turn out.

Unsurprising to anyone, Seungmin won over Felix, who dramatically threw the rest of his cards onto the table with a screech.

“He probably cheated anyways!”, Felix pointed an accusing finger to Seungmin across the table and with his hair all messy from grabbing it so much, he looked like a disheveled, grumpy kitten.

“If I was cheating, I wouldn’t be second to last!”, Seungmin countered and pointed his own finger back at him

“Maybe you’re just bad at cheating, too!”

Their frowns broke out into big smiles as they finally laughed over their little overdramatic quarrel. Seeing them make up almost immediately pushed some of the rising anxiety back into the furthest corners of your heart, and you sighed contently.

“Now who’s ready for round two?”

A bunch of groans followed.

-

Your games were temporarily interrupted by Chan finally coming back home, a big smile on his face as he saw his friends having fun together. He explained he had to make some last minute runs for the company and you felt kind of bad for him, that he was working even now.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m here now”, he waved your concerns away and after checking on Minho in the kitchen to see if he needed anything and promptly getting shooed out, he took his place near the coffee table to watch the chaos unfold.

Since you were already out anyway, you got up and waddled over to him.

“You feeling alright?”, he immediately offered his hand to you and you gladly took it, his warm hand soothing on yours.

“Yeah, it’s been fun”, you admitted softly and he smiled again.

“I’m glad. This is supposed to be just a fun evening for everyone, if something doesn’t feel right, please tell me or any of the kids, okay?”, he squeezed your hand and you nodded. You knew they were trying to give you a pleasant Christmas memory just because they found out your normally spent it alone after some family issues, and it almost brought you to tears at how soft you were for your friends. You knew they would always have your back, no matter what.

Even if you said, you just wanted to watch a movie, they would try to make it the best experience ever.

The soft smile on Chan’s face shifted into a mischievous one and he tugged at your arm, successfully pulling you into his lap where he hastily put his arms around you while he giggled into your back.

“Now you can’t ever leave!”, he giggled, swaying you two back and forth in the armchair and you lightly slapped his arm playfully. When he stopped moving so much, you relaxed back into his hold, comfortably resting against his shoulder and chest. His chin came to rest on your shoulder to watch the others still battle it out on the coffee table.

Sighing deeply in comfort, you told him, “thank you, Channie. For inviting me, I mean.” He nodded against you and poked your side.

“Always. You’re part of this little family, too, you know.”

Chan meant a lot to you. Whatever happened in your life, he would help you, no questions asked. Once, you showed up at his doorstep, completely silent, voice refusing to come out. And he took you in, worried out of his mind, holding you the entire night until your frozen vocal chords warmed up enough to tell him what happened.

You wouldn’t know what to do without him, so thankful for him being in your life.

-

Silence. Blissful silence.

Only the occasional “mmh!” and clinking of plates could be heard as you all stuffed your faces with the delicious spread of dishes Minho had prepared while you were all busy caving eachother’s heads in because of card games.

You sat between Minho and Jeongin who both kept loading your plate with more food every time they deemed it too empty. Minho kept stealing glances at you that he probably thought you wouldn’t notice. You eventually caved.

“What’s up?”, you asked him and bumped him with your shoulder, earning a playful glare from him with his big boba eyes.

“Wondering if you’re liking the food, that’s all.”

“Are you kidding? This is delicious! You’ve outdone yourself again, Minho!”, you beamed at him and a relieved smile settled on his face, before he put some more of the stew into your bowl and you groaned.

“If you like it so much, you’re gonna help eating all of this. The last few days must have been stressful anyways.”

So that’s what it was. Minho remembered that you ate less during the holidays, overwhelmed by all of the stress your body was going through and suddenly you wanted to tear up again, your heart so tender because of his care for you. He was always so attentive in his own way. The last few years he would nonchalantly bring over food that he’d advise you to eat before they went bad. Even before knowing you never really spent time with your family during the holidays, he had looked out for you.

Sometimes he’d sent pictures to you with no caption whatsoever of Soonie, Doongie and Dori, knowing you loved the three troublemakers to bits and that it would cheer you up at least a little.

Other times he’d show up in front of your door unannounced to drag you out to a café that he always excused with ‘nobody else wanted to go, so I’m forcing you.’ And though you know that’s definitely not true, because you knew for a fact that Hyunjin and Jisung would go with him whenever he wanted to, you appreciated him pulling you out of your day-long depression cave.

A coffee and a pastry at some niche café with a friend could work wonders sometimes.

You nodded at him, digging right back in and he knocked his knee to yours, his thigh now pressing against yours, making sure you knew he was there for you if you needed him. Minho’s presence in your life was steady, like a rock that you could hold onto when things got rough. He would always be there to catch you no matter how bad it got and help you back on track.

-

So full until you couldn’t eat anymore, you told everyone that you wanted to go on a short walk to digest and Seungmin offered to join you, grabbing your jackets.

The cool breeze outside was exactly what you needed, your senses still buzzing from all the food, the laughter and warmth from inside. Seungmin took the hint and kept silent for a good chunk of your walk, just silently keeping you company, his presence comforting and unwavering beside you. Seungmin often offered to beside you when you needed silent comfort, his hand somewhere on you for you to feel the warmth of him and know he was there right beside you. That you weren’t alone and that he would listen if you chose to talk.

“I saw a puppy plush the other day that reminded me of you”, you suddenly said and his head whipped around to look at you.

“Don’t tell me you got it for me”, he sighed and was already ready to whine about it, even though you knew it would make him really happy.

“No”, you laughed, “but I was close to it.”

He put one hand on his chest and breathed out dramatically, as if he dodged a bullet. You bumped into him with your shoulder with a small smile on your face and he bumped right back, careful to not overdo it so that you wouldn’t fall face first into the snow right beside you.

“Should we get a Hotteok?”, Seungmin nodded towards a Hotteok stand in the distance.

“I’m stuffed, Seungmin.”

“So? There’s always room for Hotteok.”

And he had you convinced in no time because you just couldn’t say no to him and those stupid puppy eyes of his. Now you were both munching on your snacks as you went back to Chan’s apartment. You had to make sure that the others couldn’t tell that you went out to get them without them or there would be hell to pay.

But you were ready to face that potential hell because you knew you’d win with Seungmin by your side. If the entire world was against you, Seungmin would find a way to either fight them all off or convince them you were the best thing in the world, no matter what it took.

-

When you and Seungmin came back, everyone was busy with something. Either cleaning up, playing cards again, fiddling with the TV for movie night later or doing whatever else. The only one who had decided to take it easy for the moment was Hyunjin, who was sprawled on the couch again, sleepily watching everyone around him.

You padded over to him and he groggily looked up at you, a slight pout on his lips.

“You sleepy?”, you poked his shoulder, the softness of his sweater heavenly and suddenly you want to touch it more, your hand flattening against the fabric.

“All that food made me tired”, he hummed.

“Wanna join?”, he patted the space next to him where you could fit snugly beside him and the couch.

You looked around for a moment, wondering if it wouldn’t be better if you helped someone around the house, your fingers wringing themselves together nervously. Hyunjin swatted at your hands lazily, forcing them apart.

“I’ll share my sweater with you.”

Now that made you perk up.

“Really?”

“Mhh, now come on.”

Suddenly your nervousness was gone and you climbed over Hyunjin to get comfortable in the space between his body and the backrest of the sofa. Hyunjin’s eyes were barely open when he lifted the hem of his sweater for you to crawl into.

“Are you serious?”

He just hummed again, already half asleep and you shrugged. He was so adorable when sleepy. The sweater was big enough. It was a bit of a struggle but soon enough you were underneath the sweater as well, bathed in both Hyunjin’s body warmth and the warmth of the sweater. You moved your arms around his waist to snuggle further into him. Like he was your personal teddy bear.

Hyunjin was also someone you could always count on. If you needed to go out and clear your head, do something, anything productive, he would find the best way to spend that time with you. Always eager to try out new stuff, he roped you into many crash or one-day courses to learn a new skill. One day you would tell him that you needed to do something with your hands or else you’d go crazy and he found a pottery course nearby that you eagerly tried out with him. If you needed something to fill your head with, Hyunjin would find a small opportunity to learn something more scientific that kept your head busy.

If you just needed someone to talk, he would listen for hours until your words ran out and you both laid exhausted in your bed. Together. Never alone.

Despite all the ruckus around you, you fell asleep fast in Hyunjin’s arms surrounded by his warmth and his scent.

-

When you woke up, sunshine was beaming down on you while you were still tangled together with Hyunjin in his sweater. After blinking a couple times, you realised it was Felix standing above you and smiling.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Figured I’d wake you two up so you don’t sleep through the entire night. Wanna help decorate the cookies?”

You groggily disentangled yourself from Hyunjin, who insisted you keep wearing his sweater, before following Felix into the kitchen where he had already set up all the different cookies to be decorated.

“I wanted to do half of these as elves and the other half as gingerbreadmen”, he explains and you nod, starting to decorate the cookies like Felix instructed you.

The tiredness washed right off as Felix got to talking about random things, the deep timber of his voice so smooth in your ears. He talked a bit about his plans after Christmas and invited you to come along for New Year’s shopping. Apparently, he already had a list of gifts he wanted to give everyone. Obviously, you would have to look away and pretend you don’t see him buying yours if you came along, otherwise he threatened he’d pout. And there was no way you wanted to be the reason that Lee Felix was pouting.

Then suddenly, Felix must have applied too much pressure to the piping bag, the plastic bursting open, red icing flying around the kitchen.

Felix now had an entirely new reason to pout as you laughed hysterically while helping him get all the icing out of his blonde hair.

“You would look really good with red highlights, just saying. Oooh, or go pink next time!”, you giggled while your fingers threaded through his locks one last time, making sure nothing stuck to it.

“Hot pink bitch or pastel pink?”

“Pastel, please!”

Felix nodded wisely, storing your suggestion away in the back of his mind.

He was always there for you if you needed a laugh, even if he had to pull silly faces to do so. Spending a day with Felix always meant that you would be happy and giggly afterwards, his warmth and energy bleeding right into you. He was just such a good person that it was impossible not to feel content with him. Always thinking of everyone else first. You wanted to be there for him as much as he was for you.

-

Changbin was sitting idly at the table when you came out of the kitchen so you decided to hop over to him. He looked so adorable in his red sweater. You plopped into the chair right next to him and immediately leaned your head onto his shoulder.

“Still tired even after napping?”, Changbin chuckled.

“Nooo, it’s just so warm and cozy in here, can’t help but get sleepy”, you pouted up at him after hugging his arm, his bicep was the perfect size for hugging and for abusing it as a makeshift pillow. Much like Felix, you sometimes couldn’t help it but touch his arm or snuggle into it. Maybe that makes you as much as a muscle fan as he is.

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling relaxed”, he said in a softer tone, one that that made sure that you were the only one who could hear him. You sighed against him and snuggled right back into his arm. You kind of didn’t want this evening to end. Even though it was Christmas, you felt good, for once.

“We don’t do this every year, but you know you’re welcome to join any of us at our family’s home when we go away for the holidays”, Changbin’s head came to rest on yours.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, Binnie. I know nobody would mind but it feels… weird.”

“You know almost every mom of us has practically adopted you as an additional kid in their household? They’d love to feed you, if anything”, Changbin slightly wiggled his shoulder to get you to look at him and you do, a pout still prominent on your lips. He rolled his eyes at you.

“I’ll try to keep it in mind… Thank you, Binnie”, you give him a kiss on his cheek and he sheepishly waves you away.

Changbin was like the root that kept you all together. You always knew that if you needed someone to talk, someone to try their best to give you a good solution to your issue, you could come to him. He was incredible at figuring out tricky situations and how to get out of them and his advice was second to none.

You could rely on him for everything. You could hand him your heart and he would protect it with his life, keeping it safe and loved until you were well enough to protect it yourself again.

And if you needed one of the warmest bear hugs, you knew who to go to.

-

It was almost time for movie night and you knew you were most likely going to fall asleep somewhere down the line, so you excused yourself for a quick moment to do your nightly skincare routine in one of the bathrooms.

When you opened the door, Jeongin was already inside rubbing something into his skin. He gave you a foxy smile and made some space for you.

“The other bathroom doesn’t have a mirror”, he explained and you nodded. You didn’t mind doing your routine with him here. Spending time with Jeongin was always pleasant. He was funny and an incredible moodmaker, but you could also always rely on him to give you solid and honest advice whenever you needed it.

Your skincare wasn’t as extensive as his (the amount of products he has at home is quite frankly impressive), but you hopped onto the counter next to the sink just to stay with him for a little longer.

“Who do you think is gonna fall asleep first?”, you asked as you swung your legs in the air.

He hummed, thinking for a moment.

“Probably Jisung or Hyunjin”, he nodded, “Jisung’s always so excited to watch movies with us but then he’s knocked out in the corner by the second one. Hyunjin’s probably going to cry at some point and that’s making him tired.”

You couldn’t even disagree. It was probably going to be these two and just a question of who was folding first.

“You’re probably right. I’ll bet on Hyunjin, we’re watching a fantasy movie first, he’s definitely gonna cry and tucker himself out.”

“I’ll bet on Jisung then. Whoever loses owes the other a meal.”

“Deal!”, you both shook hands on it and the bet was on.

Jeongin was always going to be your partner in crime. If it seemed like you couldn’t do anything right, Jeongin was right there to assure you that you were doing just fine. He had so much love in his heart for his friends and would jump to any opportunity to let you know of his support, lifting you right back up if everything seemed useless.

-

A little while later, it was already time for the first movie of the night. Hyunjin and Minho cleared some of the living room space while Jisung and Chan were busy setting all the electronic stuff up. Now there were a bunch of pillows and blankets set up so everyone had a comfy place to settle into for the night.

You hadn’t seen a whole lot of Jisung today, so when everyone was choosing their space for tonight, you jumped over everyone to sit next to him. Jisung beamed at you and immediately shared his blanket with you.

Beside him in the corner of the couch was Minho, and right behind you was Hyunjin, who in turn was seated next to Jeongin. A perfect setup to observe who falls asleep first.

“If I see just one of you on your phone, it’s on sight”, Jisung called out and everyone grumbled an affirmation.

Chan started the first movie and you made yourself comfortable against Jisung. Something about watching a movie in the comfortable silence amongst your group made you emotional. Maybe it was also thanks to the movie, maybe it was the day itself, maybe it was the warmth you shared today with each of them that finally settled in your heart that made you tear up. It doesn’t matter.

At the first sniff, Jisung’s arm came to rest around you to press you into his side so you could properly cuddle him. You whispered a quiet ‘thanks’ to him as the fuzzy fabric of his cardigan pressed into your cheek and sighed deeply. A big lop-sided smile appeared on his face before his attention turned back to the movie, his hand drawing soft circles on your back as he held you.

With Jisung it was always all silent understanding. He seemed to have an extra sense for these things, being deeply emotional himself. He could always tell when you started feeling uncomfortable in certain situations and always took care of getting you out of it as soon as possible. Sometimes even you couldn’t tell when a panic attack crept up on you, but he somehow always did.

Thinking about how Jisung keeps an eye on you even when you’re not aware makes you tear up even more, so you shook your head and tried to focus back on the movie.

Jisung would always be there for you.

-

You don’t really know when it happened, but most of the guys seemed to have fallen asleep, including you for a short while. Jisung and Minho had curled together while you still laid on Jisung. A weight was pressed into your back that you assumed was Hyunjin and if you squinted, you could see Jeongin pressed into his side too. Further down the couch Changbin and Felix had gotten comfy together, both completely knocked out, while Chan had his arms around Seungmin as they slept.

You almost chuckled at the sight but didn’t want to wake anyone. Instead, you chose to take this opportunity to cuddle back into the two warm bodies surrounding you and closing your eyes.

This definitely wasn’t the most traditional Christmas, but the part of your heart that started freezing over, protecting your vulnerability from your family, started thawing up bit by bit with each moment of warmth you shared. If this was how Christmas was going to be every year, then you think it might turn into your favorite holiday, surrounded by the people you loved most, that did everything in their power to make sure you felt loved, too.

-

ⓒ strrykais

permanent taglist: @hyunestrella @spicy-sawdust @charlieg1rl @gnabnahcbby @totheseok @mystverse @jisungs-iced-americano @kimseungminpabo @bookswillfindyouaway @puppy-minnie @katchowbbie @night-storm7 @auroratiseee @goldenmellow @thisrandombitch @jeonginnieswifey @staytinyluv @sellomaybe @embrr0-0 @skysole @minkieater