⤷ Connections 1 2 3 4 5 (ongoing series) - Set in post-revolution Detroit, You've been assigned to the recently developed Android Crimes Division; and it's already off to a rough start.
⤷ A Rom Com Type Romance (drabble) - Connor takes some tips from rom-coms!
⤷ Playful Banter - A friendly sparring session!
Mystic Messenger
Seven (707)
⤷ Round & Round 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 - Always on opposite sides of the room, late night phone calls, and brushing past each other in the hotel lobby. Everything goes unsaid, but you're staring to lose it.
The Arcana
The Apprentice (stand alone/no pairing)
⤷ I've dug two graves for us, my dear - Set in the time of the Red Plague. A crestfallen Mage, who's thrown themselves into their work to escape their sorrows, realizes that their days are numbered.
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Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,130
~
At this rate, he’d have to throw his phone across the room to get any work done.
He had a handful of assignments to catch up on, while also managing the RFA business and trying to find information about Saeran. But his phone was glaring at him from its place on his desk, the black screen practically blinding him– taunting him.
The drive to your hotel was short. And awkward. Tension filled. He sat in the round-about drop off for at least five minutes after you left. Just staring at the revolving door. Debating. Eventually he managed to peel his eyes back to the road and make it home.
He hadn’t decided if he’d thrown himself into work to be productive or to avoid spending all night staring at his phone. The dilemma? Deciding if he could allow himself to call you in this state despite the fact that he’d been a jerk to you for at least a month now, and you’d only kind of sort of made up a few hours ago?
He’d been just absolutely destroyed when Yoosung interrupted the two of you in the closet. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling of your fingers curling in his jacket. Couldn’t stop thinking about how your skin felt against his fingers, the soft scent of you, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in.
Seven’s fingers hover over the keyboard, forcing himself to make an attempt at the code in front of him. He types a few lines before pushing his glasses up, pressing his fingers into his brows.
“Christ, okay.” He murmurs, pushing his chair away from the desk and grabbing his phone in one swoop. He flips the device face up, taps in his passcode, and pulls your contact up. He gives in.
The phone rings once. Twice. He debates hanging up, his thumb hovering over the bright red button. You had to be asleep by now. Should be at least. Maybe you wouldn’t answer.
“Hello?” Your voice comes out groggy, soft, and sleepy. You 100% had been asleep, and he just selfishly woke you up.
“Hey– Sorry, did I wake you?” Seven murmurs, already feeling his chest tighten at the sound of your voice.
You let out a small hum, “No… I just haven’t said much since I got back to my room.”
He swallows hard, blinking at his computer screen as if it would give him the words to say. Every second your voice lingers makes it harder to think.
You manage to break the silence, “It’s a Thursday… So I’m assuming this isn’t a grocery delivery call.”
Seven can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes him, something mixed with humor and guilt.
“You would–Uh, be correct. This is not a grocery call.”
“Oh? So we’re doing this again?” You murmur back, “Distracting late-night phone calls?”
Seven twists in his chair, adjusting himself, using his leg to spin the chair this way and that.
“Distracting…” he echoes, swallowing harshly as he mulls over his next words, “That is certainly one way to put it.”
He hears you shift on the bed, the soft rustle of hotel sheets beneath you. The sound travels straight through the line and settles somewhere in his chest. It’s an uncomfortable warmth that makes him squirm in his seat. Fucking hell.
“Mm, what would you call it then?” You ask, and he can tell you’re smirking. Can hear the slight smugness in your voice, this familiar teasing tone you often used when he would call.
Seven huffs out a breath through his nose, the sound almost a laugh.
“I would call it… A very bad idea.”
You hum in response, and Seven goes quiet on the other end, breath shallow.
The phone is warm against your cheek, a sharp contrast from the coolness of your room. You press your hand to your chest, willing the spike in your heart rate to relax.
You don’t answer right away. Your eyes shift to the ceiling, staring at the shadows that dance across it, listening to the way his breath remains uneven. Your tongue darts out over your lips.
“A bad idea…” You repeat, “You say that like you’ve thought it through.”
His reply is instant, “Several times. Several different outcomes.”
A shiver runs down your spine at that– Not because of what he said, just how fast he said it.
“How… Often. Do you think about those?”
You can hear the way he hesitates. You imagine the look on his face, the way his cheeks are probably flushed, the way he’s probably messing with the strings of his jacket.
“Too often.” He admits. The two words settle heavier than you expect them to.
“Too often.” You repeat, softly, like you’re testing out a new word, “And what exactly do you think about?”
A long pause.
“The heels you wore today.”
You furrow your brows, your lips parting each time you try to find your words. Your cheeks feel hot–Embarrasement or something else, you’re not sure.
“Out of everything today,” You ask quietly, “That’s what stuck with you?”
“Those heels,” He says, “And the way you kept kicking them off and sliding them back on.”
That makes your breath hitch.
Another pause. Longer. Heavier.
“And those sheer tights,” He adds, voice lower now, careful, “The seams. The way they started at your ankles and traced up.” He stops there. Doesn’t dare finish the thought.
Your throat suddenly feels dry, “Okay.” The word comes out breathy and light. And you are wracked with embarrassment.
“I spent the last three hours staring at code. And all I could think about was whether you were lying down, sitting up, if your hair was down, or pulled back.”
You swallow, debating your next words. Your face burns and you reach for your water bottle, pressing the cold metal against your cheeks. It’s a welcomed reprieve.
“My hair…” You repeat. You’re doing a lot of that now. Repeating the things he says, like it's going to make them any less flustering. Your hair was down, falling into your face as you rolled to lay on your stomach.
“My hair is down.” You murmur carefully.
Seven lets out a noise that you truly do not know how to describe. A mix of yearning, disbelief, something oddly sensual. Both of you should go to bed. End this phone call, go take a cold shower, go the fuck to sleep. The party was tomorrow, this was surely NOT THE TIME.
Neither of you hang up.
Silence hangs in the air.
“Are you alive…..” You murmur, “Or did the thought of my hair take you out…”
“I’m alive.” He manages to strangle out, “But on that note–”
Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,683
~
You make it back to the banquet hall before Seven does. You keep your hands pressed to your cheeks the whole walk back, hoping the coolness of your fingers will pull the heat from your cheeks. You should have stopped in a restroom, checked a mirror, made sure you didn’t look like someone who almost did something reckless in a storage room ten minutes ago.
Instead, you do your best to hold your phone camera steady, trying to smooth your hair into something presentable. You look…. Fine. Normal, even. You let out a breath of relief.
You push through the banquet hall doors, taking a moment to scan the room. Noise greets you first– Not loud, a kind of controlled chaos. Zen is on stage, putting down pieces of tape to mark the best places for performers to stand. Jumin and Jaehee have finally returned. You find Jumin by the buffet table, speaking quietly with catering managers. Jaehee moves between tables with her tablet, giving precise directions to staff, adjusting placement by inches–not feet. She was very adamant about her table placement. Yoosung appears to be hauling chairs around the room, helping staff to set the placed tables.
Good. Structure, tasks, everything going as planned.
Everyone looks like they belong here. Jaehee moves with practiced precision, Jumin handles the dinner menu like it’s just another Tuesday. Even Yoosung had a role that he easily fell into, despite half tripping over himself as he carried chairs around the hall. You’re the only one still trying to prove you belong in this room.
You remember how excited everyone was when you first joined the RFA. They were ecstatic at the concept of hosting parties again– Albeit a little apprehensive. You can’t help the way Jumin’s words echo in your head, one of the first things he ever said about you: “If she doesn’t do Rika’s work, then there’s no reason for her to be in this chat room.”
You push down the sharp twist of pain in your chest. You had managed to keep this anxiety down for months, what was a few more days? If this goes perfectly, then there’s no room for doubt. Get it together.
You shake your hands out– Gently though, trying to avoid the small amount of pain in your wrists– And head for Jaehee.
Jaehee notices you before you speak, relief spreading across her face. She adjusts her glasses.
“There you are. Were you able to locate the additional tablecloths and chairs?”
You give her a pleased smile, “Yes, in the east corridor supply closet. Plenty of boxes and chairs.”
“Excellent.” She manages to log the note without looking down, her gaze fixed on you. Observant as ever. You shift awkwardly on your heels.
“You appear slightly flushed. Are you unwell?”
She says it professionally, no teasing, no implication. Thank God.
“I’m fine. Just– A tad overwhelmed.” You say, a touch too quick.
Jaehee studies you another second, then nods, “Very well. Please inform me if you require a brief rest period. We can redistribute tasks.”
You nod, “Yes. I will do that.”
Her gaze shifts past you and you turn to follow. Seven has re-entered the room, taking a seat behind his laptop setup. He looks busy in the way someone does when they’re absolutely not.
“Good work locating the supplies,” Jaehee starts, returning her attention to you, “We are ahead of schedule for the first time today.”
You latch onto that like a plank floating in the ocean, “Great! What’s our next priority?”
“Centerpieces, once the tables are finished. Then putting out the chairs.”
“Got it.”
Jaehee nods, already moving on. Conversation closed. Mercy granted.
You exhale quietly, turning to go help with the tables.
Only to nearly slam into Yoosung.
Yoosung yelps, adjusting the chairs in his arms before they spill across the floor, “Oh!-- Sorry! I didn’t see– Oh, [Name]!” His voice softens, “Are you okay?”
You steady yourself before reaching out to take a chair from Yoosung, “I’m okay. Just busy. Here, let me help.”
The blonde hesitates, searching your face for any hints of uncertainty before he relinquishes a chair to you, “Okay… By the way! Don’t try to carry as many chairs as I am. I’ve almost fallen at least three times.”
You laugh softly, “Noted. I’ll be careful.”
You help Yoosung deliver his chairs before heading off to grab your own stack. You manage to grab at least four, two under each arm. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t at least a little bit of a struggle. You lean them against the table before beginning to unfold them. You’re adjusting the second chair when a voice comes from just over your shoulder.
“Need a hand?”
You hum in response, “I’ve got these.” You say, keeping your eyes on the chairs, “Yoosung may need some help on the far side though. He’s definitely carrying too many.”
There’s a pause. Not a playful one, you can tell he’s calculating, thinking too hard.
“...Okay,” he says. But he doesn’t leave. You feel him there, just inside your space, like gravity tugging at you. It makes your shoulder tense before you can stop them.
Which, of course he notices. Notices the slight shake in your hands, the careful way you set the chairs down, the way you keep scanning the room to find your next task despite still being involved in one. He doesn’t say anything–yet– but the corner of his mouth twitches just enough to tell you that he’s filing it away for later.
You move from table to table, dragging chairs with you, unfolding them and setting them out. Then you move on to tablecloths. Unfold. Spread across table. Smooth wrinkles. Adjust the edges so they hang evenly. Step back. Readjust. Step back again. Readjust once more. Straighten a chair that looks slightly off. Repeat.
Then come the centerpieces. Carefully lift each delicate piece, place it just so, spin it this way, spin it that way, tilt it just a tad this way. Check from every angle. Step back. Adjust again.
By the time you reach the far side of the room, your arms ache, your fingers throb, and your back protests. Unfortunately– there’s no time to pause, no room to be sloppy with the presentation. One table after another demands attention. God forbid a guest notice a crooked napkin, a chair out of place, a center piece that's not in the center. Not on your watch.
And yet, even as you focus on the details, your chest tightens with the familiar sting of inadequacy.
You can feel his eyes on you from behind his setup, occasionally he focuses on his own work, but never for too long.
You choose not to acknowledge it, having utterly thrown yourself into work for today. You were sure that if you looked at him, you’d forget what you were doing. Another hour or so passes as you run around the banquet hall, trying to help anywhere you can.
You’re on your way to ask Zen if he needs help with anything on stage or backstage, when Seven steps directly in front of you. You furrow your brows as you look at him, confusion written all over your face.
“Hey! Move, please. I was about to ask Zen–”
Seven shakes his head, pursing his lips at you, “You have done plenty for today. They have it covered.” He says it with a sort of finality. Like he’s going to stop you from putting your party together. Like he’s decided that arguing about it would just be formality.
You give him a look and step to the side. Only for him to mirror you immediately.
You step to the other side. He does too.
“Luciel,” You say, warningly, “Cut it out.”
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. He crosses his arms over his chest like a disappointed teacher.
“I’m serious, [Name]. You’ve been at this for almost four hours.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes, “It has hardly been four hours–”
“I watched you redo the same table three times.” He deadpans, “And now you’re running to help Zen.”
You open your mouth to argue and Seven exhales, slowly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully.
“If you don’t stop on your own,” he says, quieter now, “I’m going to make this incredibly inconvenient for you.”
You narrow your eyes. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise,” he replies. “I will redirect every task you try to take. I will tell Zen you’re unavailable. I will sit you down myself if I have to.”
A beat.
“…And I won’t leave,” he adds. “So you’re not winning this.”
You let out an annoyed, exhausted breath, letting your arms drop to your side.
“Fine.”
The word is thin, a begrudging agreement.
Seven studies you for a moment, like he’s making sure you won’t bolt for the next task the second he turns around. He glances past you towards the stage, towards Zen, watching the rest of your friends scuttle about.
“I’m driving you home.”
“What?” The look on your face is utterly appalled, “I said fine, I didn’t say I was leaving.” You argue.
His gaze flicks back to you, “Your fault for not reading the fine-print.”
“You are unbelievable…” You murmur, watching him pull his keys out of his pockets. The way they jingle is infuriatingly final. You tap your foot as he goes to collect his laptop and things, debating going to help Zen while the red-head is momentarily distracted.
You don’t even make it three steps.
Seven’s hand is already there, wrapped firmly around your wrist before you even realize you’ve started to move. He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he has this look of smug expectation plastered across his face.
“I’m not trying to be a jerk, [Name]. I’m trying to stop you from running yourself into the ground because you think that’s the only way you belong here.”
That lands harder than it should. You hate that he’s right.
Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,779
~
You brush the dirt off your skirt, smoothing your hands over the fabric. You readjust your pumps, checking the heels. Luckily you didn’t break either of them.
Seven’s still kneeling on the floor, glued to his spot. He watches you straighten up like he’s waiting for some sign that you’re injured. You don’t say anything else.
Yoosung, who’s been awkwardly perched nearby, keeps shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He shoots Seven a look, eyebrows raised, but the red-head doesn’t move. Yet. You see him take quick steps towards Seven as you leave.
You manage to make it out of the banquet hall without tripping over anything else. Your face was hot, cheeks practically burning. You’d get over the fall, that was the least embarrassing thing that just happened.
He’d been watching you all morning. Not that you looked, but you could feel his eyes on you. Only one person in the RFA would be watching you so intently. He sat over there with Yoosung, flitting between pretending to work and eyeing you with Zen. He was anything but subtle.
The embarrassing part was the way Seven intimately examined your arms in front of the entire group. The way he ran over like some valiant knight on a stallion, saving his damsel in distress. Your heels weren’t even that tall, you fell the length of your body. The impact hurt like a bitch, but that’s because you landed on your hands, the way you’re literally not supposed to do.
But then you were too stunned to respond when he tenderly took your hands in his, pressing his fingers along the bones and tendons– Making sure you hadn’t seriously injured yourself. God, he was so close to you too. How were you supposed to be mad at him when you were exactly where you wanted to be? His hands were on you–For the first time since the apartment, which had to have been at least a month ago. He let down his guard, let down that stupid “stay away” act. He was normal.
But then he said you’d scared him. Somehow it absolutely irked you in the moment. Maybe it was the hypocrisy? Yesterday he gave you his whole speech about being dangerous and how you couldn’t understand. It felt unfair that he got to say that and then swoop in and play hero.
You push through the doors into the hallway, the hustle and bustle of the banquet hall disappearing behind them. The quiet should help, but it doesn’t. You can’t shake the feeling of his hands in yours.
You hold your hands out in front of you and curl your fingers. They ache, tender but not injured. The warmth under your skin has nothing to do with the fall. You hated how careful he’d been, how gently he’d looked you over. How his touch trembled like you were something precious.
You leaned back against the wall, letting out a frustrated groan as you pushed your fingers through your hair, “Ohhh my God.” You sighed.
You were fine.
Embarrassed? Yeah. Winded? At least a little. Emotionally wrecked because the boy you’re trying to be mad at is making it very hard to be mad? Yeah…..
You take in a breath, shaking your hands out. Steel your resolve. Party, guests, responsibilities, things you could actually control. Focus on that.
First things first, you pull out your phone and send Zen the photo of the stage. Earlier in the day, Jaehee had asked you to check the supply closet for extra tablecloths and to see if you could find some spare chairs.
You push off the wall and start down the corridor. You hear the faint sounds of Zen testing a microphone. At some point, it sounds like Yoosung has joined the actor on stage. If only you could get them to do a comedy act together, that would be gold.
You make it a few steps down the hall before one of the doors swings open behind you. Jesus Christ, you weren’t going to get any work done today, were you? You choose to ignore whoever’s trailing you down the hallway.
“Hey.”
You 100% knew who it was, but you had the smallest amount of hope that maybe it was someone else. You close your eyes for a moment, then keep walking. His footsteps follow.
“Okay, wow. I’m hurt. ignoring me now?”
You stop short, turning to face the red-head, “What?”
It comes out flatter than you mean for it to. Not loud. Just… Done.
Seven swallows harshly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, “Can we talk…?”
You purse your lips, biting your cheek as you contemplate his offer. On the one hand, you could be spiteful and tell him no. On the other hand, you could be diplomatic and have a civil conversation that might hopefully fix what’s left of your weird relationship.
You sigh, “Yeah, I guess.”
Seven seems to relax at that, his shoulders dropping, “Okay. Cool. Awesome, love talking–”
“Seven.”
“Right.”
You glance down the hallway, “I have to check the supply closet… Walk with me?”
Seven gives a small nod. This time he walks beside you, keeps pace. He doesn’t crowd you but he’s close enough that your arms brush once or twice. You both notice. Neither of you say anything.
The hallway is significantly quieter this far down. The noise of Zen and Yoosung messing around on stage fades away into a dull blur. It’s almost a comfortable kind of quiet… If it wasn’t for the conversation looming on the horizon.
You stop before the closet door, pushing it open. Dim lights flicked overhead. There are chairs stacked against the wall, folded linens, and boxes.
Seven hesitates at the threshold, watching you for a moment before stepping inside. The door swings close with a soft click. You immediately busy yourself, kneeling to check one of the boxes.
“Jaehee wanted to know if we had backup tablecloths, just in case.”
Seven hums in acknowledgement shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, “I won’t keep you from your very important mission.”
You give him a look, “Mm-Mm. You wanted to talk. Talk.”
You hear him exhale.
“...The hacker that broke into the apartment.” He starts.
You pause, turning to give him your attention, “Go on…” You urge softly.
Seven pushes his glasses up, running his hand over his face. He takes a deep breath.
“That hacker… Is my brother.” He murmurs. Your face softens. Now that he’s said it, you did notice some similarities between the two.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed how absent V has been… Years ago, he promised me he would take care of my brother. It’s–It’s a long story, anyway.” he goes on, his voice slightly shaking.
“My point is, my work is dangerous,” He says, “And I thought by staying away, it would keep you safe. I don’t want to drag any of you along while I hunt down Saeran… Especially you.”
You stand, crossing your arms over your torso, “I get that you’re dealing with a lot of heavy stuff… But if you had just talked to me in the first place, we could’ve avoided all of this.”
Seven nods, “Yeah… Yeah, I know. I thought that if I could stop caring, you could stop caring, and you’d be safe… But I’m realizing I’d rather be the one protecting you. Not watching from afar while someone else does it.”
“It really hurt me that you didn’t give me a choice.”
Seven takes a hesitant step towards you, “I know. I’m sorry. “
You tilt your head at him, but you don’t move, letting him close the distance between you.
“I’m bad at wanting things.” he confesses, almost to himself, “I’m even worse when it comes to things that really matter.”
Your throat feels tight. He’s all but backed you into the wall. He glides his hand down your arms, taking your hands delicately in his. Pink rushes to your cheeks.
“I’ve never allowed myself to want something… But I want you. In a very, very selfish way.” He murmurs.
“If you can actually knock on my door the next time you make a delivery… I might consider.” You keep your voice just as soft. He’s leaned in so close now that your noses brush the second anyone even slightly moves.
He huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your skin, “Wow. Setting the bar high, aren’t you?”
“Mm, I could demand that you stay and have dinner with me too.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Baby steps.” He teases, “But noted… I will bravely attempt communication.”
Your noses brush when he shifts, and the joke fades out between you two. His eyes are currently locked onto your wrist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin. Like he’s making sure you’re real.
“Y’know. I’m exhibiting superhuman levels of self-restraint.” He murmurs, voice lower now, resting his forehead against your, “You should be impressed.”
“Oh I’m very impressed.” You giggle.
A pause.
“Don’t disappear again…” Your voice is small, hopeful. And way too much time passes between your words and Sevens.
Seven lets out a small breath, “Okay.”
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him the smallest bit closer without thinking.
He notices. Of course he does.
His breath catches.
“Your self-restraint is slipping,” you whisper.
“Critical failure imminent,” he whispers back.
A door slams somewhere down the hall.
Both of you freeze, tilting your heads back to listen. If it’s Jumin, you’d be fine. Jahee too, they’re not particularly nosy. You’d prefer Zen over Yoosung if anything.
The footsteps are fast approaching and Seven’s giving you a look like he’s very prepared to ignore them.
“Absolutely not–”
The door to the supply closet swings open.
“Oh Seven!--” Yoosung stops in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes going wide.
Yoosung promptly covers his eyes, stumbling his way back down the hallway, “I didn’t see anything! Oh my god– I didn’t see ANYTHING!”
The two of you stood there in shock, both of your cheeks flushed a bright red.
“Maybe he won’t say anything?”
You let out a deep sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as you force yourself out of Seven’s grasp, “Duty calls.”
Seven begrudgingly lets you go and pushes his glasses up, “Yeah. Go save the event. I’ll… try not to emotionally spiral in the IT room.”
You give him a look, furrowing your brows.
He raises his hands. “Light spiraling. Recreational.”
When you walk past him, your shoulder brushes his on purpose.
And just like, for the first time in months, it feels normal again.
i fear writing is 90% me going into other tabs after writing the smallest paragraph known to man and then repeating the cycle till i have a finished fic
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,971
~
Seven knows three things when he walks into the venue that morning.
Zen is going to pitch a fit about the lighting in the banquet hall
Yoosung is 100% going to trip over that extension cord.
You’re already here.
He keeps his head down. He drops his bag on the nearest table and pops open his laptop like he’s on a mission from God and not… Whatever this is. His screen blooms to life, his desktop a gorgeous photo of Elizabeth The Third. Jumin could not see this. By any means. Lest he be put on the C&R Penthouse Watch List again.
Just over the top of his laptop, he can see you.
You’re near that quaint little stage, talking with Jaehee. You’re smiling in that way that means you’re trying. Not forcing a smile, just being a polite host. You even manage to laugh a few times. He wishes he was making you laugh. Wishes he could see the crinkle in your nose when you giggle.
Laughing is good. Great. Ideal, even. Socialising. Morale boosting. Party energy. Exactly what the RFA needs.
Zen suddenly appears on the stage, emerging from a pair of luscious red curtains. Seven watches you turn to look at the actor, giggling as he prances about the stage. Zen does a dramatic turn, feigning as if he’s reciting some kind of sonnet. He doesn’t miss the way the actor winks at you.
Seven adjusts his glasses. Types some more.
He’s doing the hacker equivalent of opening phone apps and immediately closing them, pretending to be busy. The type of shit he did in college when someone managed to drag him to a frat party. It’s probably exactly what he’d be doing during the fundraiser. Sitting in a corner, alternating between security and his gameboy.
Opens the camera feed. Closes it.
Opens the guest list. Stares at it. Closes it.
He already memorized it.
He doesn’t need to check it again.
He checks it anyway. What’re the odds you had someone else confirm in the last ten minutes?
The red-head watches you step closer to the stage as Zen hops down beside you. He says something dramatic with his hands. You lean in to hear him.
Jesus Christ. Seven wasn’t going to get anything done in this state.
Just as he was about to stand and take his work to the far far away security room, Yoosung barrels into his side– Like a yappy golden retriever.
“Seven!”
Seven barely rocks in his chair, “If you unplug anything, I will unplug you.”
Yoosung laughs because he thinks it’s a joke.
It’s not entirely a joke….
“Did you see the catering layout?” Yoosung asks, “Jaehee said– oh! Oh! [Name] is here already? She got here before us? That’s so responsible of her. I can hardly make it to class on time.”
Seven snorts, his eyes glued to his laptop screen, “She’s been here for a while, yeah.”
Yoosung suddenly leans in, “Woah, is that—”
Seven abruptly closes his laptop two-inches and nonchalantly leans back in his chair, “It’s classified.”
“That’s— Jumin’s cat-”
“Classified. You’re seeing things, Yoosung.”
The blonde huffs, turning to face the stage, “Zen’s in such a good mood today.”
“When is he not?” Seven grumbles, pushing his glasses up his nose. A nervous habit, nowadays. He flips his laptop back open.
Yoosung doesn’t answer, too busy ecstatically waving at you. You wave back with just as much excitement. Then your eyes land on Seven, and your face falls. His hand moves on instinct, grabbing a fistful of Yoosung’s hoodie and dragging him down into the chair beside him.
“Sit.”
Yoosung makes a noise of protest mixed with confusion, “?????”
“You’re blocking the router signal.”
“The router is on the ceiling–”
“You’re just that tall, Yoosung.”
Yoosung accepts this answer, but grumbles about how that’s totally not true.
Seven hates that you’re the first thing he thinks about.
Late nights in the chatroom. The two of you relentlessly teasing Yoosung until he got flustered and defensive, and swore he was logging off forever. He adored the way you effortlessly joined in on his games, deftly carrying on the bit.
Seven keeps his eyes on the screen. He doesn’t deserve to look at you.
Absolutely not.
“You could go say hi..?” Yoosung offers, leaning over to nudge Seven’s shoulder.
“I saw her yesterday.”
“Did you say hi?”
“We said plenty of things.”
Yoosung frowns, tilting his head, “You guys are being weird lately.”
“We’re always weird. Nothing if not consistent.”
“No that’s not–” Yoosung lowers his voice, “You’re like weird weird.”
Seven laughs. Too fast, too loud. “Define ‘weird weird’, Yoosung. Is it haunted doll weird? Tax evasion weird? Secret twin weird?”
Yoosung does not laugh. If anything, he gives Seven an even sadder look.
The red-head lets out the deepest sigh known to man.
Across the room, you laugh at something Zen says. A real laugh. One of those laughs that has you clutching your stomach, and laughing even harder when you start snorting. You place your hand on Zen's shoulder, stabilizing yourself in your giggle fit.
Seven’s fingers twitch.
“You’re staring.” Yoosung says gently.
“I am monitoring the room.”
“You’re jealous.”
Seven closes his mouth, pursing his lips.
“Talk to her,” Yoosung urges, “She looked so sad when she saw you.”
“She’s fine.” Seven says. He knows it’s a lie. A bold-faced lie.
“Did you guys have a fight?” Yoosung tilts his head. He’s like a sad puppy, Seven thinks.
“Yoosung, don’t you know the first rule of fight club?”
Yoosung just stares at him. He’s doing that a lot lately. Seven waits for the laugh. It doesn’t come. Seven laughs instead, trying to fill the awkward silence.
Seven presses a random key on the board. Nothing happens. He presses another. He moves his fingers around on the trackpad, watches his mouse icon fly around the screen.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Yoosung says.
“What thing?”
“That thing where you pretend to do computer stuff so you don’t have to feel your feelings.”
Seven slowly turns his head, “I could ruin your GPA in twelve seconds………”
“Yeah, but you won’t.”
Okay. Fair.
Seven exhales, runs a hand down his face. He keeps his fingers over his eyes a second too long, like everything will disappear if he waits.
“Did you say something? Like did you mess up?”
Seven drops his hand, “Yeah. Yeah I did, is that what you wanna hear?”
Yoosung stays quiet, waiting, watching, letting his friend find the words.
As if the divine personally chose to save him: Enter Jumin Han.
Jumin arrives quietly. He never enters a room loudly. He commands a silent respect. He simply arrives like he’s always belonged exactly where he is standing. Chair-Man inline indeed.
Seven doesn’t even need to look up to know it’s him. He can see the way Jaehee straightens, already moving to meet him, tablet in hand.
For a brief moment, you stand alone. And Seven risks it.
His eyes land on you.
You don’t seem to notice, your attention on Jumin. You meet him somewhere in the middle of the room– Your posture softening, your shoulders loosening.
Yoosung watches you too, letting out a soft, “Oh…” as you go to meet Jumin.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Yoosung protests.
“You thought it. Very loudly.”
Jumin inclines his head at you, giving you a smile, “Good morning.”
Seven notes that his voice is softer with you than when he speaks to everyone else.
“Good morning,” You reply, running your hand over your arm, “Thank you again. For everything.”
Jumin raises his hand in an ‘oh stop’ kind of way.
“There’s no need to thank me, [Name]. Your comfort is a priority.”
Seven’s stomach drops.
Priority.
You smile at Jumin in that small, tired way you only do when you feel safe enough to stop performing.
And Jumin— Jumin looks at you like this is simply a fact of the universe. Like of course he would take care of you. Why wouldn’t he?
Seven’s jaw clenches. He looks away. Only too late.
When he glances back, Jumin is looking at him. Not cold, not upset, just… Aware?
Seven forces a grin, gives a lazy two-fingered salute. Jumin nods in response.
Now that Jumin has arrived, everyone stops messing around and gets straight into work. Evidently, you’re overseeing everyone’s tasks. Jumin briefly meets with everyone, tells you one last thing, and disappears to do whatever job he’s got. Jaehee scrambles after him, glued to his side for the rest of the day. Zen meets with one of the sound guys before immediately hopping up on the stage again, you linger there– typing away on your phone.
“Hey, [Name]!” Zen calls, “Can I get you to back up and snap a picture of the stage? So we know what it looks like from out there.”
You give a nod, still tapping away as you start to back up.
Seven spots it before it happens.
That damn cord.
The same one he declared Yoosung would trip and fall over.
He opens his mouth, the words barely leaving his lips. Too Late.
Your pump catches, the cord somehow managing to wrap around the heel.
And you hit the floor hard.
You land on your hands, sharp pain radiating up your arms from the impact.
Seven is out of his chair before you can even process it. Not standing, not reacting, walking towards you.
He drops to his knees in front of you, like gravity demanded he be here.
“Hey– Hey– Don’t move yet.” he rushes out, his hands hovering over you. Like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you.
“Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? That cord has been plotting murder all morning, I swear to God-”
His voice is too fast. He’s entirely dropped the act now. No persona. No filter.
Seven tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at first. It sends a jolt through him.
“I’m okay.” You breathe out, your cheeks flushing a soft pink.
“You are absolutely not okay. You just tried to fight the floor and the floor won.” He says, gently taking your hand in his. He checks your palms, your fingers, runs his fingers along your wrist– Gentle, careful, like he’s handling glass.
It’s only after he’s checked both wrists that he realizes:
He’s touching you.
In front of everyone.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the universe.
Seven stills, just for a second. He gently sets your hand in your lap, pushes his glasses up.
“...Geez… You scared me.” He murmurs. It slips out quietly, unarmored. Not a joke.
He watches you hesitate, watches the way you mull over your next words.
“...You don’t get to act like I’m fragile only when it’s dramatic.”
Yoosung looks between you like he’s watching his parents argue.
Seven blinks. “What?”
“You disappear for days, dodge me in chat, won’t look at me—” your voice lowers, “but the second I fall, suddenly you care? Did you forget your whole ‘stay away I’m dangerous’ spiel.”
He cringes at the way you mock his voice. His pulse is racing, he can hear it rushing in his ears.
“I always care.”
“Then stop pretending you don’t.” You glare up at him. And fuck does that hurt.
Silence.
Even Zen stops talking on stage.
You turn away from him as you push yourself up, before brushing the dust off your skirt, “Now. If you’ll excuse me. I have a party to put together.”
It’s Yoosung’s hand on his shoulder that draws him back to reality.
“Luciel Choi, if you don’t stand up and go talk to her right now, I’ll get Jaehee to yell at you.”
Seven let his head fall forward in defeat, “Okay. Okay…”
Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 2,208
~
You were beginning to notice a pattern.
Twice a week, Monday and Friday. Usually in the evening, a time Seven assumed you would be cozied up in bed; Least likely to be paying attention. Always in a paper bag, always neatly packed, the receipt folded and tucked against the side of an item. Always enough food for a few days.
He never knocks. Always a text– not before or during. A quick “grocery delivery” or “go eat” sent only once he’s far enough away that you can’t follow the sound of his footsteps.
You couldn’t quite peg if he texted ten minutes or two minutes after. You never heard footsteps or shuffling, somehow always missing the sound of the paper bag settling outside the doors.
Luckily, this Monday night, you had no plans. None at all. You were comfy in your pajamas, scrolling on your laptop.
You had spent the day meeting with Jaehee and Jumin, discussing the financial aspects of the party and a bunch of other business jargon. You mostly nodded and signed things.
At around 6:10, you slid your headphones off, and set your phone on the bed.
It was usually 6:30, maybe 6:35 when you received your delivery text.
So you sat and waited. You were utterly determined to catch him.
You waited ten minutes, which was surely far too long.
Your phone sat next to you, Seven’s messages pulled up– anticipating that “Grocery Delivery.”
6:27.
He was never late with his drop off.
But maybe today he’d decide to stop and really close off from you now.
You grabbed your headphones, sliding one of the earmuffs on. Then you paused.
And took them off again. The room was too quiet. You’d turned everything off, even the AC.
You listened.
Nothing.
No muffled footsteps down the hall.
No crumbly paper.
Your chest tightened, a small rush of panic beneath your ribs.
He would NOT text until after he left. You had to be quicker.
You swung your legs off the bed, quickly toeing over to the door, your finger hovering over the handle. You hesitated, expecting to open the door and have to laugh at yourself in embarrassment as you found nothing.
You pulled the door open.
The paper bag was set neatly to the side, receipt peeking out the top.
Down the hall, the elevator chimed.
You didn’t even process the thought before you took off running. If you were fast enough you could catch him, you could talk to him– in person.
You could say everything and he’d have no choice but to listen.
The elevator doors slid closed just as you rounded the corner. For a brief instant, you saw him. That red sweater that fit him nicely, his stupid boots, and orange headphones pulled over his ears. His back to the doors– He didn’t even notice you.
The doors met, sealed, and he was gone.
You sighed in defeat before immediately perking up and scrambling to pull your phone out of your pj pants.
6:28.
A minute passed.
And another.
Two more.
6:33
New Message: Incoming
– 707
* Groceries
Eight minutes.
Eight minutes. You committed it to memory.
Eight minutes were all he had to escape you.
You exhaled through your nose, a laugh caught in your throat. So that’s how long it takes.
On Friday, you were ready. At exactly 6:15, you took your headphones off.
By 6:18 you were standing in front of the door.
At 6:20 you pressed your ear against it. Waiting. Your fingers hovering over the doorknob, twitching with adrenaline.
This time you heard it. The elevator dinging, the soft tap of boots in the hallway.
Your pulse spiked. He didn’t even have a chance to set the bag down.
You swung the door open.
The two of you stood in silence, frozen for a moment, eyes locked, You hadn’t been face to face in at least three weeks. He towered slightly over you, golden eyes fixed on yours. He wore a green button up, his headphones hanging lazily around his neck, that orange cord trailing down to his pocketed phone.
His mouth parted, searching for words that wouldn’t come. His tongue darted out over his lips once, twice. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his gaze.
“[Name]...”
You swallowed hard. It’d been so long since you heard his voice… Even longer since he’d said your name.
“Seven.” You breathed, soft, sharp, and disgustingly loud in the quiet of the hallway.
You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel the fabric of his jacket, breathe in the scent. You wanted to take off his glasses, run your hands through his hair.
He took in a small breath before holding the bag out to you.
You could only stare at him in disbelief, hesitating for a long moment before you took the bag from his hands. His fingers let go before they could brush against yours.
“I uh- I have to go. Left the uh… Car running.”
“Seven please–” You started, but he was already walking away, pulling his headphones over his ears to drown out your pleas.
All that determination you had was suddenly gone. You could only stand there helplessly as you watched him walk away. Fuck.
You stood there for a long moment. Maybe hoping that he’d turn around and come back, that he'd say anything else.
You ate the food alone, your sad little bowl of miso soup. Your phone stayed face down on your bed for the rest of the night. Realistically, you knew he wouldn’t text.
You tossed and turned all night, alternating between closed eyes and staring at the ceiling.
By the time you arrived at the venue the next afternoon, the ache had settled somewhere in your abdomen. Quietly seething. You could work around it.
“[Name]!” Jaehee called, waving you over to where she was talking with some of the decorators. You quickly made your way over.
“I wanted to let you know, tomorrow, we’ll have the entire group here to go over everything. You, as our coordinator, will be checking timelines, approving layouts, answering questions, you know your tasks. I will be confirming contracts, coordinating arrival times, and plenty of other things.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up before flipping a paper on her clipboard.
You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Jumin will be reviewing expenditures, approving last minute upgrades, and probably tasting wine.” Jaehee continued, rolling her eyes.
You couldn’t help but giggle, “Everyone else?”
“Luciel will be on security. Zen will be checking with the audio crew, discussing lights, getting the stage in order… Anddd, Yoosung will just be helping wherever he can.”
“Awesome. Sounds like you’ve got it all sorted out then!”
Jaehee nods, “I do very similar business for C&R. Although, this is much more fun.” She smiled.
“I will say, despite the workload, I’ve had a lot of fun emailing all of the guests.” You gave her a soft smile in return, “And getting to know everyone in the R.F.A.”
Jaehee was about to respond when the doors to the banquet hall opened and a certain red-head took lazy steps inside.
You knew that walk was fake as hell. He was putting on an act.
“Luciel,” You started, your expression hardening, “Nice of you to join us.”
Jaehee also immediately clocked your act, giving you a look before turning her attention to Seven.
Seven gave a small wave, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulder, before giving a slightly dramatic bow.
“I like to keep my entrances memorable. Keeps the other guys on their toes.”
You furrowed your brows, biting the inside of your cheek to keep down a giggle. He did not deserve to be funny right now.
Seven straightened, pushing his glasses up his nose, pointedly not looking at you.
“Soooo…” He started, rocking back on his heels, “Where do you want your resident criminal hacker?”
Jaehee blinked once, “Uhm… [Name] can show you to the security room. My apologies, I have to meet with uh— Someone.”
Damnit Jaehee.
His eyes flicked toward you for just a second — quick, like checking a camera feed — before snapping back to Jaehee.
“Sounds good to me.”
You watched as Jaehee quickly made her way out of the room. You wished you were going with her.
“Well…” You breathed, “It’s this way…”
You turned, leading Seven up at least three flights of stairs, and down too many hallways.
He followed a step behind you.
Not beside you.
His boots echoed in the stairwell, squeaking against the concrete floor. Honestly, he wasn’t very stealthy for a hacker.
“This is far too many steps for a guy who mostly sits for his job.”
You bit your lip, continuing to walk. Debating a response.
You were desperate to talk with him, for things to feel normal. But you were also fuming.
“Is that right? You seem to do a lot of running away. Figured stairs would be easy.” You shot back, almost too quickly– Your voice monotone.
Seven doesn’t respond. You don’t turn to look at him.
You stop at a door, pulling a ring of keys from your side and unlocking it. Seven goes in before you, setting his bag on the desk.
He takes in the walls of screens, each one showing a current view of each room in the venue.
You find on one of the screens that Jaehee is evidently not meeting with someone, but having a well-deserved break.
You closed the door behind you with a soft click; The loudest sound in this room right now.
He slides the laptop out of its sleeve with practiced ease. Cables, flash drives, other things you didn’t recognize. His fingers moved fast, meticulous– The rhythm of someone who’d rather interface with machines than talk to you.
“It’s a nice set-up,” he said, voice easy. He still wouldn’t look at you.
“The camera coverage is actually pretty solid. I was expecting a tragic amount of blind spots.”
You leaned against the door, “Jaehee was adamant that the venue we picked had a good system.”
He hummed in acknowledgement. There was something nice about watching him work. It almost felt normal.
Seven crouched beside a console, plugging cords in, the screens flickering as his system connected. One of the screens glitched. Quickly stabilized.
“There’s two entry points that’ll need monitoring,” He started, “Catering door and the side terrace. People love sneaking out to ‘get some air’ and then coming back in with problems.”
A long pause.
“If Jumin spills wine on this system, I’m legally allowed to fake my own death.”
You didn’t laugh.
His fingers slowed just slightly on the keyboard, “But yeah…” he added, quieter, “You’ll be covered…”
The two of you stood in silence for at least five minutes. Tension hangs heavy in the air.
“...You shouldn’t have run.” You muttered, your voice filled with bitterness.
“You shouldn’t have opened the door.”
The words land flat. Not sharp. Not angry.
It’s even worse than that– Resigned.
You push off the door, “So that’s it?” you ask, “You keep dropping groceries at my door? Like I’m a stray cat you’re trying not to get attached to?”
He exhales through his nose, practically snorts at your comparison.
“I was– Trying to make it easier.”
“For who, Luciel?” You demand.
His jaw tightens, his hands freeze over the keyboard.
“For you, [Name].”
You shake your head, stepping closer, “Mm-mm. Don’t do that.” Your voice is shaking now, anger seeping into something else, “You don’t get to make that decision for me. You didn’t even ask–”
He finally looks at you and your voice catches in your throat.
“You don’t get it,” He says, quietly, “I’m dangerous.”
You roll your eyes, “Don’t give me that bullshi–”
He stands abruptly, caging you in against the desk– It’s anything but smooth. The chair wheels scrape harshly against the floor. His hands hit the desk just slightly too hard. It’s messy and unplanned.
His voice drops. Not seductive, not loud.
Tight.
“Don’t.”
You swallow harshly, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the desk beneath you.
“Please.. Don’t stand here, and act like I didn’t think about this.” He breathes.
Your eyes flick down. His arms bracket you but his hands are curled into fists so tight his knuckles have gone pale– Like he’s holding himself back from something.
His shoulders rise with a slow inhale that doesn’t quite finish.
“You think I didn’t want to stay?” he asks, voice thinner now. Less controlled. “You think I haven't replayed last night over and over in my head at least a hundred times like an idiot?”
His laugh is barely audible.
“The door was open,” he admits. “I was right there.”
That one hurts.
The speed at which his eyes drag up to yours is agonizing. Those piercing, golden eyes, staring straight into yours.
“I’m not allowed to want things.” He says softly.
You can feel the heat radiating off him. His breath tickles your nose. His hands are so close yet so far.
“I don’t get normal,” he says. “I don’t get soft things. I break them.”
Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,352
~
It’d been a week since everything happened– The break in, the bomb, the hotel relocation.
A week since Seven went cold.
You really hadn’t heard from him since the night he left groceries at your door. Your pride kept you from reaching out.
You told yourself that it was fine, everything was fine.
You had bigger things to worry about than if a boy was going to text you back.
It took that entire week to find the perfect venue, but now, finally, you were here; Standing beneath high ceilings and golden chandeliers, Jaehee beside you with her clipboard in hand.
“I’m thinking we can place tables here, here—-”
You really tried to pay attention to Jaehee’s rambling but your mind was elsewhere, trying to piece together where you’d gone wrong. What you’d done wrong.
Back in the apartment, Seven only briefly explained everything. A rival hacker had broken in, the one that’d been targeting the R.F.A Chatroom. You remembered the look on his face when he caught the hacker holding you at gun point, the way his voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. Yet, the tears couldn’t hide that flash of recognition, that look that said ‘I know him.’
He’d become irritable and withdrawn after that. He’d sit in the corner of that apartment, his fingers flying across his laptop, snapping at you over the smallest things.
You were only half awake the night he came into your room, mumbling to himself as he watched you sleep. He said so many things within the walls of that tiny apartment. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what had broken.
“[Name]?”
Jaehee’s voice drew you from your thoughts.
“Sorry– Yes?”
Jaehee gave you a look, her eyes soft, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
You swallowed. Debating.
“I just. I don’t understand what I did wrong.”
Jaehee tilted her head at you, “You didn’t do anything, [Name]. Seven has always been closed off. He doesn’t share with anyone, the rest of us hardly know him. That’s just how he is.”
You frowned, “He wasn’t ever like that with me though. We shared so many words in the apartment, I thought something changed.”
You mulled over the countless phone calls you’d made, sitting feet away from him. It was the only way you could get him to acknowledge you; Calling him or leaving the apartment, that was the only time he said much to you.
The phone calls were fun. Usually it pulled him away from his laptop for a few minutes. After being stuck in the apartment for a few weeks, with no interaction besides the chatroom, you were utterly ecstatic to have a real live human to talk to.
Jaehee continued to walk, scribbling things down on her clipboard, “You are different, that is for certain. I’ve never seen him so… Enthralled with someone.”
You hummed, “He dropped groceries at my hotel room a little ways back.”
Jaehee perked up at that, pausing to look at you, “Oh! Well that’s progress, isn’t it?”
“I supposeeee. I’m just so confused, Jaehee.”
She nodded, “I’m sure it’ll make sense eventually.”
Jaehee continued to let you vent throughout your venue-walk-through. She was really only half listening, but you were grateful regardless.
It was just about evening when you returned to the hotel.
You found yet another paper bag sitting outside your door. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. In a way it was sweet that he wanted to make sure you were eating, but it was entirely infuriating at the same time. What was stopping him from placing the bag directly into your hands? What was keeping him from speaking to you face to face instead of late night calls where he said too much and not enough.
You picked up the bag before quickly swiping your keycard, and pushing the door open. You left the groceries on the counter along with your purse and other things you dragged out to the venue.
Might as well check the chatroom.
You tapped on the app, swiping through notifications and things before going to open the chat.
Chatroom: ZEN, Jaehee Kang, 707
Oh. Interesting.
~ [Name] has joined the chat ~
ZEN: [NAME]!!!!!!
ZEN: Jaehee and I were talking about the venue
ZEN: Is it gorgeous
ZEN: like me………..
Jaehee sends that silly emoji where she’s tilting her glasses down and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. The two of them should just kiss and get it over with.
[Name]: There could never be a venue as pretty as you, Zen
You giggle again when Zen sends his signature winking emoji. You purse your lips, suddenly struck with an idea. A new potential way to get Sevens attention.
Flirt with Zen? You couldn’t. Right? That’s, like, a little fucked up? Right?
Zen was going to flirt with you anyway… What’s a little harmless romantic interaction? You could really turn on the dramatics too, in typical Hyun Ryu fashion.
[Name]: Do you ever get tired of being charming, Zen?
[ZEN]: Only when no one appreciates it
[Name]: Oh, well i appreciate it a lot
[ZEN]: Ah… My heart can’t handle this!
[ZEN]: To be admired by someone like you, [Name]-- It’s almost enough to make me forget the stage
He sends another one of his winking emojis. No turning back now!
[ZEN]: If you keep this up, I might dedicate my next performance to you <3~
You can’t help the evil grin that crosses your face when Seven suddenly butts in.
[707]: HAHAHAAAA this chatroom is suddenly very warm
[Jaehee Kang]: Yes, I agree. May we return to the discussion of the venue?
[ZEN]: ah yes— the venue. Sorry, Jaehee.
[Jaehee Kang]: Seven, I would like for you to come to the venue with us next time.
[707]: ????
You were just as surprised as Seven. Realistically, there was no reason for him to show up. What the hell was Jaehee up to?
[Jaehee Kang]: I am requesting that you run a security check on the servers around the venue. As well as tap into the security footage so that we may monitor the building during the party.
[707]: I can do all of that from my desk Jaehee
[Jaehee Kang]: Yes, but Mr. Han and I would prefer that you do this in person. This way you can understand the layout of the venue and check for anything suspicious. Your expertise is invaluable.
[ZEN]: I agree with Jaehee, I’d feel much safer with Seven there. Given the events at the apartment
[707]: Wow…… You guys sure know how to make a hacker feel wanted
[Jaehee Kang]: This is not flattery, Luciel. This is a professional assessment.
There’s a brief pause in the chat. You let out a deep sigh.
[Name]: I would also feel safer with seven there….
A long pause this time.
[707]: Fine, I’ll show. Do a full sweep– entry points, cams, servers… The whole shebang
[Jaehee Kang]: Wonderful! I will let Mr. Han know. Goodbye everyone.
~ Jaehee Kang has left the chat ~
You went back and forth with Zen for a few minutes, telling him about the hotel and the ramen you made for dinner. You noticed that Seven stayed in the chat the entire time you did, just silent, watching. The chatroom empties out faster than you’d like.
You stare at your phone, waiting for it to light up again. It doesn’t.
You set it down.
Immediately, it buzzes.
New Message: Incoming
– 707
* So.
You freeze.
For a moment, neither of you say anything else. You imagine Seven leaned back in his chair, his fingers hovering aimlessly over the keyboard, jaw tight.
Message: Outgoing
– [Name]
* So…..
New Message: Incoming
– 707
* You really feel safer with me there?
You hesitate, now your fingers are hovering uselessly above your keyboard. You think about the groceries on your counter. The nights he sat just feet away from you and still felt miles away.
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Summary: Always on opposite sides of the room, always narrowly missing one another, always just a second too late.
How many times can two people run in circles before they crash into one another?
Something, something, slow burn.
Pairing: 707 x Reader
Word Count: 1,428
~
You dropped your bags on the lush carpet, resting your hands on the glass of the check in desk. Your palms were hot, they felt like they were burning in comparison to the coolness of the desk.
You’d had an eventful few days, to say the least. Between the break-in at Rika’s apartment, the bomb, Seven showing up, and now being moved across South Korea. The move was honestly more convenient, you were closer to everyone, and the venue for the party. But still! You were tired!
You cleared your throat, gently tapping the bell on the desk– Gaining the attention of the desk agent.
“Good morning! What can I do for you?”
You cleared your throat again, groggy still, “Hi, I’m checking in. Should be under Jumin Han.”
The clerk nodded, typing away on her computer and clicking a few buttons, “Alright, you are in suite 506. Do you need help with your bags?”
“Oh, no, I just have the one, thank you though.”
The clerk gave a warm smile as she passed you the key, “Let us know if you need anything else.”
You swiped the key off the desk before swinging your bag over your shoulder.
“Thank you!” You called back, having already started to walk away. The lobby was massive and bustling. It almost reminded you of something out of a tv show you watched as a kid. Something about a sweet life…? Eh, you’d remember later.
You made it to the elevator just as it opened, allowing people from higher floors to step out into the lobby.
You patiently waited off to the side, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. You heard the familiar ding of the messenger app— Only it echoed? You furrowed your brows, quickly looking up in search of whichever of your friends was in the hotel with you.
Your eyes locked with golden ones, staring you down from the elevator. The two of you said nothing, phones in hand– The afternoon background of the chat reflecting in his glasses.
Seven looked away, blatantly ignoring you as he stepped off the elevator. You pursed your lips, choosing not to say anything. If he wanted to be a dick, who were you to stop him?
You stepped into the elevator, pressed the button to your floor, and immediately pressed the “close doors” button. You let out a deep breath, leaning your head back against the wall. He’d been acting weird since the break-in, but really before that too. You couldn’t place what it was, just that he was… Off.
After the break-in, Seven spent a few days fixing the security system; The two of you were stuck in that tiny apartment together, as he was too scared to let you out of his sight. You thought you had gotten through to him, but once the bomb was secure, he left. It wasn’t long after that, Jumin booked you a hotel and sent a car to pick you up. Seven had barely said anything to you since then, even in the messenger. He’d leave as soon as you joined.
You pushed your hair out of your face, letting your head fall forward to finally read the messages.
Chatroom : ZEN, Yoosung ★, Jumin Han
~ [Name] has joined the chat ~
ZEN: [Name]! Did you make it to the hotel alright?
Jumin Han: I received an email that check-in went smoothly.
[Name Hi Zen, Jumin :) I’m on my way up to the room right now
Yoosung ★: Hi [Name] :D
[Name]: Hey Yoosung <3
[Name]: Was Seven in before I joined?
Jumin Han: He didn’t say much.
ZEN: I think he was just reading the chat
Yoosung ★: Idk, he’s being weird
[Name]: I think he’s just dealing w a lot rn
[Name]: Anyway, I’m gonna go find my room now. Ttyl
~ [Name] has left the chat ~
The elevator dinged as it landed at the fifth floor, the doors opening up into an equally elaborate hallway. Jumin really spared no expense. You meandered down the hall, scanning the room plates for number 506. You finally found it, just before the end of the hall.
You swiped the key card before pushing the door open and stepping into—well basically an apartment. Jumin had booked you one of those “extended stay” rooms. You had a small kitchen, a bathroom complete with the shower/tub combo, and a queen-sized bed. You dropped your bag on a nearby couch, before laying flat out on the bed. You didn’t really have a reason to be this tired, or at least that’s how you felt. You didn’t drive to the hotel or anything, all you did was pack a bag and check in. Maybe it was all the emotional stress– Between your weird relationship with Seven and planning a party.
Whaaaatever.
You rolled onto your stomach and pulled out your phone. Might as well answer some emails! You had 15 confirmed guests for the party, so far. You were in talks with plenty more. Your email time was interrupted though, when a notification popped up in the center of your screen.
New Message: incoming
– 707
* Did you make it to your room all right?
You hesitated, glaring down at the device in your hand. Oh the audacity of this man. He wants to talk now? After ignoring you like that in the lobby? You tossed your phone to the side and buried your face in a pillow.
It wasn’t long before your phone dinged. Once… Twice… Three times!
You groaned and begrudgingly grabbed your device– Swiping at the notification bar with more force than necessary.
New Message: incoming
– 707
* [Name]?
* Just let me know you’re okay
* Please?
You bit your lip, staring down at the messages. You didn’t want to worry him, but you also really didn’t want to talk to him.
Message: outgoing
– [Name]
* yes, seven. I’m fine.
New Message: incoming
– 707
* Good
* I’ll stop hacking the hotel servers now
You blinked. Was that a joke? Probably…. Maybe?
He was talking to you, so that was nice. But it stopped there, he checked on you and that was it. You went back to checking emails, looking at venues, picking out decor, emailing back and forth with Jaehee, all the things.
It was nearly midnight before your phone rang again. This time it wasn’t just a ding, but that overly cheerful ringtone.
You stared at it for a moment, debating picking it up. What else could he possibly have to say?
You let it ring– Once, twice…
“...Hello?”
“[Name]!” his voice was rushed, like he’d been freaking out, “You haven’t been in the chat since this morning.
“Well, hello to you too.” You muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
You could hear the frustrated sigh Seven let out, “I just– I don’t have access to a security camera like I did at the apartment.”
“There’s literally one in the hallway.” You deadpanned, blinking at the door.
“Yes. But it just barely catches your room.”
“..How do you know which room I’m in?”
Silence, a long pause.
You exhaled, “Nevermind. I’m fine.”
“You haven’t left the room either. Have you eaten?”
“Seven–” You sat up, pushing your hair out of your face.
“Here, I just left a bag of groceries at your door. Eat.”
And then he hung up. No goodbye, no explanation, just gone. Typical.
You sat there in your confusion, staring at your phone. Eventually you got yourself together and got up to collect your new groceries.
You found a paper bag sitting outside your door. No note, no knock, just Seven being Seven. Inside the bag you found: eggs, milk, fruit, some miso packets and instant ramen, and a couple of vitamin waters.
You brought it inside and set it on the counter like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t just proven everything.
You chose the ramen. It felt the least personal.
The water boiled in the small kitchen, the kettle whistling to let you know it was ready. You poured the water over your noodles, letting them sit for a while before opening a package of chopsticks.
It was ramen, it wasn’t anything special but it brought you that familiar comfort.
You left your empty bowl in the kitchen– You’d wash it tomorrow, when you weren’t so tired.
You once again fell into the comfort of your hotel bed, pulling the comfort up around your neck– The soft hum of the air conditioner lulling you to sleep.
You had to get as much sleep as possible! Party planning was in full swing tomorrow.
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