Beez ♡

Beomseok x Yeongi

Word count: 3.9K

Weak Hero Class 1 | Beom-seok/Yeong-i | Teen

Warnings: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Soft take on the characters, No major character death

Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, found family, soft beom-seok, yeong-i deserves nice things, group friendship, si-eun & su-ho are there, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, getting to know each other, happy ending, canon divergence

Summary: After everything settles down, Yeong-i stays.

Beom-seok doesn’t mind.

In fact, he starts waiting for her without really noticing he’s doing it.

A quiet slow-burn where nothing goes wrong this time.

Notes: This is a soft AU. The darker canon events don’t happen. Just the four of them existing and Beom-seok slowly falling without realizing it yet.

Part 1.

Yeong-i hadn’t planned on staying.

When Gil-su finally got arrested and his whole operation fell apart, most of the other kids who had been under him scattered within days. Some went back to family. Some just disappeared into different parts of the city. Yeong-i had nowhere particular to go and no one waiting for her, so when Su-ho casually told her she could crash at his place for a few days, she didn’t argue. She just nodded and followed him home that night.

A few days turned into a week.

A week turned into almost two.

Su-ho’s grandmother never made it into a big deal. The first night she simply put an extra blanket and an old towel on the floor of Su-ho’s small room, then told Yeong-i to wash up and eat something before it got cold. After that she started setting aside leftover rice like Yeong-i had always been there. She didn’t ask questions about where Yeong-i had come from or why she wasn’t in school. She just treated her like another person living under her roof.

Su-ho’s aunt, who ran the small restaurant a few streets away, was a little sharper. The first time Yeong-i showed up asking for work, the aunt looked her up and down, raised one eyebrow, and said, “You actually know how to work or are you just going to stand around?”

Yeong-i washed dishes for three hours straight without complaining.

The next day the aunt handed her an apron and told her to come back at the same time.

That was how it started.

Beom-seok met her properly a few days after she began working there.

He and Si-eun had come by after school because Su-ho was doing deliveries and had texted them to wait if they wanted to hang out later. When they arrived, Yeong-i was sitting on one of the plastic chairs outside the restaurant, untying her apron and rolling her shoulders. She looked up when they stopped in front of her, gave a short nod, and went back to stretching.

Su-ho arrived on his scooter a few minutes later, helmet still under his arm.

“This is Yeong-i,” he said casually. “She’s staying at mine for now. Yeong-i, this is Si-eun, you already know him, and this is Beom-seok.”

She looked at them both for a second.

“Hi.”

Beom-seok nodded back. Si-eun gave a quiet greeting of his own. That was all.

At first they didn’t talk much.

The days settled into a quiet rhythm instead.

On the evenings Su-ho had delivery shifts, Yeong-i finished her work earlier and waited outside. Sometimes Si-eun was there with a book open on his lap. Sometimes it was only Beom-seok. When it was just the two of them, the silence never felt forced. She would occasionally comment on a customer who had been particularly annoying, or on how the rice cooker in the kitchen kept burning the bottom layer no matter what they did. He would answer in short sentences. Neither of them tried to fill every pause.

One cooler evening she forgot her jacket inside. Beom-seok ended up walking her back to Su-ho’s building so she wouldn’t freeze. They didn’t talk much on the way. She kept her hands in her pockets and kicked a small rock along the sidewalk. Every time it rolled too far ahead, he stepped on it and sent it back toward her without saying anything. She laughed under her breath the third time he did it.

When they reached the building, Su-ho’s grandmother opened the door before Yeong-i could even knock. The old woman looked at the two of them, then past them for Su-ho.

“He’s still working,” Yeong-i said.

The grandmother nodded and stepped aside. “There’s rice. Eat before it gets cold.”

Yeong-i answered with a soft “yes, grandma,” and went inside. Beom-seok stood there a second longer than necessary before turning to leave.

---

At school the next day the three of them sat at their usual table in the cafeteria.

Su-ho was already eating, still half-asleep from the late shift. Si-eun carefully arranged his side dishes into neat sections. Beom-seok poked at his rice without much interest.

“She’s still staying at yours?” Si-eun asked without looking up.

Su-ho nodded. “Yeah. Grandma doesn’t mind. Aunt neither, as long as she works.”

“She doesn’t go to school?” Beom-seok asked.

“Not right now. She’s figuring things out.”

Si-eun glanced up. “She’s not in any trouble?”

“Nah. Just taking time.” Su-ho shrugged and went back to his food. “She’s fine.”

Beom-seok didn’t say anything else, but the information stayed with him for the rest of the day. He found himself thinking about the way Yeong-i had said “yes, grandma” so easily the night before, like the words already fit in her mouth.

---

A few days later the four of them ended up at the small park near the restaurant after Su-ho finished an early shift.

It was the first time they had all hung out properly together. Yeong-i sat on the low wall that ran along the edge of the park, swinging her legs, while Su-ho complained about a customer who had tipped him entirely in coins. Si-eun listened with his usual quiet focus, occasionally asking precise questions. Beom-seok sat a little to the side, mostly observing.

Yeong-i turned to him at one point.

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet,” he answered.

She tilted her head, studying him. “True. But today you’re quieter.”

Su-ho laughed. “That’s just his face. Don’t take it personally.”

Yeong-i grinned and didn’t push further. Instead she launched into a story about how the restaurant’s rice cooker had burned an entire batch of rice that morning and how the aunt had threatened to throw the whole machine out the window. Su-ho added details, laughing. Si-eun asked one very specific question about the model of the cooker. Beom-seok found himself smiling without meaning to.

When it got darker they walked back together in a loose group. Yeong-i and Su-ho walked slightly ahead, talking easily about nothing important. Beom-seok and Si-eun followed a few steps behind.

“She’s settling in,” Si-eun said quietly.

Beom-seok looked at the two figures ahead of them. “Yeah.”

That was all either of them said.

---

The following week felt even more ordinary.

On Monday Su-ho had a long delivery route, so Beom-seok and Yeong-i ended up waiting together again. She told him about a regular customer who always ordered the same thing and always complained that it was too salty. He told her, briefly, that his house was usually quiet even when people were home. She nodded like she understood.

On Tuesday all four of them met after school and walked to the convenience store near the restaurant. Yeong-i bought banana milk. Beom-seok bought the same thing without thinking about it. Su-ho noticed and smirked but didn’t say anything. Si-eun just raised an eyebrow and went back to reading the label on a bottle of water.

On Wednesday it rained. Yeong-i waited under the restaurant’s small awning. Beom-seok showed up with an extra umbrella he had taken from home. He didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just held it out. She took it, muttered a quiet “thanks,” and they stood under it together until Su-ho’s scooter appeared at the end of the street.

On Thursday the four of them sat on the steps outside Su-ho’s building after closing. Su-ho’s grandmother came out once with a plate of peeled mandarins and told them not to stay out too late. Yeong-i thanked her. The grandmother patted her shoulder before going back inside. Beom-seok watched the whole exchange and said nothing.

On Friday Su-ho had another late shift. Beom-seok walked Yeong-i back again. This time she talked a little more — about how the aunt had started packing extra side dishes for her even when she said she wasn’t hungry, about how the grandmother had left a second pair of house slippers by the door without saying anything, about how strange it still felt to have people waiting for her to come home at night.

Beom-seok listened. He asked a couple of short questions. She answered them. The conversation never felt forced.

When they reached the building she stopped under the streetlight and looked at him.

“You don’t have to walk me every time,” she said.

“I know.”

She smiled a little. “Thanks anyway.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets, and watched her go inside.

He didn’t think much of it at the time.

He just knew that the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, he would probably be there again — sitting on one of those plastic chairs outside the restaurant, waiting, listening, and slowly getting used to the fact that Yeong-i was part of the group now.

And that, for once, nothing about it felt complicated.

---

Si eun x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none. just soft late-night fluff, kissing, and si-eun being exhausted and clingy

notes: exam week. he gets too comfortable. that’s it that’s the fic.

You didn’t even bother texting first.

You just showed up at his place around 9:40 p.m., the hallway light outside his unit buzzing faintly. You knew the code. You’d known it for months. The door clicked open and the familiar quiet of his apartment wrapped around you—lamp on at the desk, the soft blue glow of his laptop screen, the faint smell of instant coffee and highlighter ink.

Si-eun was exactly where you expected him to be.

Hunched over his desk, shoulders tight, one hand buried in his hair, the other flying across a page of notes. Exam week. He always turned into this version of himself during exam week: quiet, focused, almost unreachable. You didn’t announce yourself. You just toed off your shoes, dropped your bag by the wall, and crossed the room.

He glanced up once when your shadow hit the edge of his desk light. His eyes were tired, a little red around the edges, but they softened the second they landed on you.

"...You’re here.”

“Mm.” You didn’t say anything else. Just walked past him, climbed onto his bed like it was yours, and flopped onto your back. The sheets still smelled like his detergent. You kicked one leg over the other and pulled your phone out, scrolling aimlessly, the soft light of the screen painting your face.

He watched you for a second longer than necessary, then turned back to his notes without another word.

That was the thing about the two of you. You didn’t need to fill the silence. You just… existed in the same space. And somehow that had become normal.

An hour passed. Then another. You could hear the scratch of his pen, the occasional soft exhale when he rubbed his eyes, the quiet click of him switching tabs. Every now and then he’d lean back, stretch his neck, and glance over at you like he was making sure you were still there. You always were—sprawled across his bed, one arm under your head, completely at home.

Around midnight he finally closed the laptop. The sound was soft, but final. You looked up from your phone as he stood, rolling his shoulders with a low, exhausted sound. His hair was a mess. The collar of his black hoodie was slightly stretched from how many times he’d tugged at it.

He didn’t go to the kitchen. Didn’t stretch properly. Didn’t even turn off the desk lamp.

He just walked over to the bed.

You shifted a little to make space, expecting him to drop down beside you the way he usually did when he was done studying—side by side, shoulders brushing, maybe his head tilted toward you after a while.

But he didn’t.

He climbed over you instead.

One knee between your legs, then the other, the mattress dipping under his weight. He settled his body over yours carefully, like he was afraid of crushing you, and then just… dropped. Full weight sinking into you as he turned his face and rested his head right on your chest, ear pressed over your heart, arms loosely bracketing your sides.

You froze for half a second.

Then your arms came up on instinct, wrapping around his back. Your fingers found the soft fabric of his hoodie and stayed there.

Si-eun let out a long, quiet breath against your chest. The kind of breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for hours.

"...You’re comfortable,” he mumbled, voice low and rough from disuse. His nose brushed the fabric of your shirt. “Too comfortable.”

You smiled a little, carding your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “Is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer right away. His body was completely relaxed on top of yours now, the tension from hours of studying melting out of him like he was finally allowed to stop holding himself together. One of his hands slid under your side, palm warm against your ribcage. The other stayed by your head, fingers loosely tangled in the pillowcase.

“I didn’t even think about it,” he said after a long moment. Quiet. Almost like he was talking to himself. “I just… finished. And the only place I wanted to be was right here.” His voice dropped even lower. “On you.”

Your heart did something stupid under his ear. You were pretty sure he felt it.

You tilted your head just enough to press your lips to the top of his hair. Soft. Barely there. “Then stay.”

He made a small sound—somewhere between a hum and a sigh—and shifted just enough to nuzzle closer, face pressing more firmly into your chest. His lips brushed once against the soft fabric over your sternum. Not quite a kiss. Not yet. Just the quiet, unthinking way someone touches a person they’ve gotten used to having close.

You felt the exact second he realized what he was doing.

His body stilled. The hand under your side tightened slightly. For a moment you thought he might pull away, that familiar flicker of self-consciousness rising in him like it always did when he let himself be soft for too long.

But he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker in the low light, heavy-lidded and honest in a way he rarely let them be. There was a faint crease between his brows, like he was still catching up to how natural this had become.

“I got too comfortable,” he said again, quieter this time. Almost like a confession. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before coming back up. “With you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to overthink it.

You slid one hand up the back of his neck and pulled him down.

The kiss was slow. Tired. Soft in the way only late-night, exam-week kisses can be. His mouth was warm and a little hesitant at first, like he still wasn’t fully convinced he was allowed to want this. But the second you parted your lips for him, something in him gave. He kissed you deeper, heavier, his weight pressing you further into the mattress as if he couldn’t get close enough.

One of his hands came up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth while he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of it. You could feel the residual tension in his shoulders melting under your palms. Could feel the way his breathing changed—deeper, slower—like your mouth was the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes stayed closed. His lips were a little swollen. A faint flush sat high on his cheeks.

“…Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough. “Definitely too comfortable.”

You smiled against his mouth and kissed him once more—lighter this time. Just a soft press of lips. “Good.”

He let out a quiet huff of something that might have been a laugh, then sank back down onto you completely. His head found its place on your chest again, ear pressed over your heart like it belonged there. One of his legs hooked loosely over yours. The full, solid weight of him settled across your body.

Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, the desk lamp stayed on, casting a warm circle of light over the two of you. His breathing slowly evened out against your chest. Your fingers kept moving through his hair in slow, idle strokes.

And Si-eun—usually so careful, so measured, so aware of every line he crossed—stayed right where he was.

On top of you.

Head on your chest.

Completely, unapologetically comfortable.

Like he’d finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to be.