Untitled

The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment

“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.

Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.

A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.

Vomiting.

His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”

The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.

You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.

Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.

Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.

You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.

Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.

He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment

Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”

He looked at you “Today?”

You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.

At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.

The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.

You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.

Then the breakup.

Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.

You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.

Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.

Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.

“Rinse first”

You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.

Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.

“You’re freezing”

“I’m fine”

“You say that every day”

“I mean it differently every day”

That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.

“You should’ve called me earlier”

“You were working”

“And?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.

Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”

Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.

“I know”

“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”

He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”

“Very bad design”

“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.

A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.

Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.

This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.

“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”

“I live here now”

“Not tonight”

Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.

“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway

“I can walk”

“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”

“I had balance”

“You were hugging a toilet”

“That counts”

He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.

Concern sharpened into quiet determination.

“Tiny sip,” he instructed

You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.

“Slow”

You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.

Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”

He didn’t even look at you when he answered

“Yes, I do”

“No, you don’t”

That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.

“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”

Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.

Not now. Maybe not yet.

But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured

“For what?”

“For being… like this.”

That answer made his expression harden.

“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.

“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly

You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”

That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.

His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”

Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.

And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.

Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.

=

The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.

Seungcheol barely noticed any of it.   His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.

He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Still nothing from you.

His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately

Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.

You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.

Then the time again.

“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.

Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.

Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”

“It means leave”

“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”

Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.

Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”

“Yes. But this is more interesting”

His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.

“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”

“What face”

“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”

Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”

Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”

“She’s sick”

“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”

“She lives alone”

“And?”

“And she needs help”

Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk

“You know what I enjoy most?”

“I’m not interested.”

“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”

Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.

And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.

No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.

Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.

The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.

“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.

Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”

“He cheated on her.”

“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”

“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.

Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”

“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”

Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.

Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.

You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.

The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.

His fingers were already typing

Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.

Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.

Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“She’s at a clinic.”

“She said she’s okay.”

“She threw up in public.”

Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”

Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”

Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”

Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”

Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message

You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.

Too late. He was already walking.

“Tell HR I left.”

Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”

This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.

Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator 

By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.

He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.

Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.

The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.

He ignored it, already crossing toward you.

Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.

“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately

You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted air”

“You threw up again?”

“A little”

“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.

He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Headache?” “No.”

“Can you stand?”

That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”

Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.

The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.

By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.

He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.

For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.

Then he glanced at you.

“So.”

You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”

“What did the doctor say?”

You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”

He looked over immediately “She said that?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”

His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“That seems poorly designed”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment

“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”

“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”

“Because I’m not at the fluids part”

“You still should’ve said it”

You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”

“I was not panicking”

“You left work in ten minutes”

“That’s efficiency”

That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.

“What else did you do today?”

“Two client meetings”

“You went to both?”

“I’m still employed”

“You looked exhausted yesterday”

“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”

He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.

“It kept your crackers down.”

“Barely.”

You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.

“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”

His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”

“I survived.”

“That is not surviving.”

“I survived enough.”

Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:

“On the way here I passed a street cart.”

“Hm?”

“The egg bread one.”

He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.

“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”

That finally made him turn his head slightly.

“Egg bread?”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”

“Why didn’t you buy some?”

You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”

A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.

Craving.

And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.

He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.

“Why are we turning?” No answer.

“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.

“You’re not—”

He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.

And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.

He parked. Unbuckled.

“You cannot be serious.”

He already had one hand on the door.

“You wanted it.”

“That was not a request.”

“It sounded medically important.”

“It absolutely did not.”

But he was already out.

You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.

Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.

But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.

Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.

And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.

A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.

The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.

“Small bites first"

You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"

“You wanted it"

“I mentioned it”

“You mentioned it twice”

“I did not”

“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.

A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.

You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.

He noticed instantly “Well?”

You chewed slowly “It’s good.”

“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”

You laughed softly through the second bite.

He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

=

By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.

One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.

And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.

At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.

And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.

The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.

By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.

You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.

By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.

By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.

And now here you were.

Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.

Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.

The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.

“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.

And immediately sharper after half a beat 

“What happened?”

Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.

He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.

“No.”

A pause.

“That sounded suspicious.”

You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”

You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.

“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again

“What?”

Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”

Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.

“Yes.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.”

“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”

The shame deepened “Yes.”

Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.

Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You are laughing.”

“I’m failing.”

“You’re horrible.”

That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”

You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.

“You’re really upset.”

“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A pause.

“I tried not to call.”

That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.

He looked at the clock beside his bed.

11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.

Decision made instantly.

“Stay there.”

You frowned “What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m already getting up.”

“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”

“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”

You heard movement already.

“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly

“I’m about to find out.”

“You should sleep.”

“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”

You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.

“Unlock your door.”

“Cheol—”

“Unlock it.”

The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.

The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.

The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.

His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:

You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.

He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.

Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.

Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.

He exhaled through his nose.

This was ridiculous.

Entirely ridiculous.

And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.

One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.

Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.

He checked the time.

12:11 AM.

Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.

Steam rose under a yellow light.

A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.

The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”

“How many do you have left?”

She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”

“I’ll take four.”

That earned him a glance “Four?”

He nodded “Big ones.”

She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.

Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation 

“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.

He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.

“Craving.”

The woman looked up again, smile already forming.

“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”

He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.

“...Yes.”

Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.

“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”

His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.

Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.

Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.

You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.

Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.

And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.

As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.

He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.

“First child?” she asked casually. 

The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.

But what came out was quieter than expected.

“...yes”

He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.

Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.

He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.

The woman’s words still annoyingly present.

The wife won tonight.

And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.

But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.

Too good.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.

You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.

That had not changed, would not change. 

=

By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.

First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.

Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.

Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:

“If you want something, call me.”

You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast

“It was midnight.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was a sweet potato.”

“I still don’t care.”

“You looked personally offended.”

“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”

“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”

That shut you up faster than expected.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.

“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”

Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.

So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.

Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.

Your message was short:

You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.

You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them

Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.

Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.

Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.

Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.

Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”

Seungcheol ignored him.

“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”

“She’s not joking.”

“You answered in under five seconds.”

“She wants grapes.”

“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”

“I said after lunch.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes timing.”

Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:

“That kid is going to look like you.”

Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.

“No.”

“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”

“That is not how biology works.”

“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”

Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.

“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“Or your stubbornness.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Tiny angry eyebrows.”

That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.

Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.

“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled. 

Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”

“You said after lunch.”

“It is after lunch.”

“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.

The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.

He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.

You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.

A complete, absurd one-eighty.

The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.

He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.

By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.

Another quiet hum.

He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.

“It’s good?”

You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.

He chuckled.

Your expression made it impossible not to.

“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.

Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied

“They actually taste like cotton candy.”

“Mm.”

You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.

And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.

He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.

Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.

He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.

“Hey, Cheol.”

Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.

He stayed where he was.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”

He turned fully “What kind?”

“The one where they might tell me the gender.”

Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

That was all it took.

He was moving before you even looked up again.

Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.

Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:

Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.

Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.

He ignored that thought.

“What day?” he asked first

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.

“Thursday.”

“What time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Which clinic? Same one?”

You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.

Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.

“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation

“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.

As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.

Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.

His smile deepened just slightly.

“I can move anything.”

“You don’t even know what you have that day.”

“I know what matters first.”

The words came too naturally. Too honest.

He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.

He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”

You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.

“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”

He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.

Nobody to share the first reaction with.

And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.

Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.

Too easy.

Instead he kept his voice steady.

“You won’t be alone.”

That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.

Slowly.

Then after swallowing, quieter:

“Okay.”

He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.

Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.

It probably was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.

Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:

“Did you buy only one pack?”

He blinked. Then almost laughed.

“Check the kitchen.”

That earned the smallest smile.

A real one.

And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it 

=

By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.

First—you had barely eaten breakfast.

Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.

The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.

You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods. 

But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.

Looking out the window, then away again.

And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.

Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.

One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.

Tiny repeated motions.

He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.

And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.

The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.

Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.

So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.

“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.

Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”

He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.

Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.

At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.

Your knee slowed too.

Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.

From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.

A couple waiting for an appointment.

Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.

At one point you leaned slightly toward him.

Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.

Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.

“Did you check if parking expires?”

He looked down “Two hours.”

“You checked?”

“Before we came in.”

You nodded like that answered something important.

And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:

Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.

The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.

Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.

He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.

Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.

The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.

Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”

“It’s cold”

The technician laughed softly “Always cold”

Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.

For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.

And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.

A tiny shape. Small but real.

His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.

Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.

“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.

A girl.

You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.

“...A girl?”

The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”

And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.

A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.

Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.

Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.

How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.

And before he realized it, he smiled.

You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered

“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.

His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.

Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet 

=

By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.

At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.

But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.

He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.

And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.

Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.

That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.

Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.

Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.

And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.

His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.

You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.

Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.

Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.

Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.

Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.

You had argued, naturally

“I’ll be fine at my apartment”

“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”

“That happened once”

“You threw up twice before noon”

“That is unrelated”

“It is exactly related”

And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.

Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.

You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.

Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room

Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?

You: Are you spying on me?

Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV

You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.

“Creepy”

From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.

You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.

A click. Then footsteps.

Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.

Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.

And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.

Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.

Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.

A very clear: Don’t you dare.

Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”

That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.

“Oh. Hi.”

Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.

“Hi”

Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”

“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all

“You should”

“But then I’d miss whatever this is”

You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”

Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.

“This looks… domestic”

Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.

“It looks like she’s resting”

“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”

You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.

“She didn’t want to stay alone.”

“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again

“Sit down or leave”

You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.

Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.

“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject

“No”

“Tea?” “No”

“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”

Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”

“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you

“Because she forgets to eat”

“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”

Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.

“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”

Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.

Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”

You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.

Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.

You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.

Your breath caught “Wait”

Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide.

“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.

“What?”

“She moved”

His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“Now?” Y

Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.

“Again?”

“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.

For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.

His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.

Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.

Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.

Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.

“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”

Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.

Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.

For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.

“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.

The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.

Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.

Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.

“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”

He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.

Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.

“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved

“A few days ago”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly

“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”

“That sounds valid”

And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.

You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.

And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.

Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.

Dangerously right.

=

If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.

You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.

Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.

And tonight was no different.

You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.

Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.

When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.

He was out of the car immediately

“Why are you carrying those”

“I have hands”

“You also have a back that complained yesterday”

He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.

By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.

The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.

“They bought so much,” you murmured

“What did they get?”

“One bought tiny dresses”

“Mm.”

“And socks. More socks. So many socks”

You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”

A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”

“What kind of music?”

“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”

Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”

Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.

“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”

A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.

“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”

Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.

The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.

And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.

One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.

You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.

His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.

He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.

Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.

Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.

Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.

No. Practical. Only practical.

He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.

“We’re here”

A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.

“My apartment?”

“No. Mine.”

That woke you slightly more “Why”

“You fell asleep”

“I can still go home.”

“You can also sleep first”

You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.

He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.

Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.

“Sit,” he said

He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.

Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach

“She moved”

“Too much?”

“No… just saying hello, maybe.”

And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.

Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.

Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.

Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.

So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.

“Hey” Nothing.

A second softer touch “Wake up”

Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“What…”

“You’ll sleep on the bed”

A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.

“I’m okay here”

“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”

You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.

You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.

By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.

He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.

And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.

You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.

And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.

A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.

That in another life—

another timeline—

this could have been ordinary.

You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.

And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:

He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.

Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.

Never that.

But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.

Because some reckless part of him had thought:

If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.

That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.

So he buried it. Deep.

Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.

Because saying it aloud can change everything.

He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.

The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.

In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.

Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.

You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.

Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”

His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”

Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.

“You’ll feel better like this.”

You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.

“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.

And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.

Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,

Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would 

=

When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.

He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.

The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.

It did not.

Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.

“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”

Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”

“You’re punishing dumb decisions”

And somehow not an hour later,  Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.

“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said

“She sleeps lighter lately”

“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.

Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.

So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.

“Just tell her”

“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”

“She needs help”

“You know what week every appointment is”

“She forgets dates”

Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly

“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”

His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”

“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.

Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”

Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”

That hit harder than expected.

Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”

Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.

Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.

Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”

“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”

Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”

“Now it is”

The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.

That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.

Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.

If I say anything and she pulls away…

Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.

Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?

You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.

And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.

For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.

Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.

Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.

That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.

So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.

By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.

That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”

You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”

His brows pulled together immediately “What?”

“I stayed too long”

“You were sleeping”

“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.

He stepped closer “Did something happen?”

“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.

“I’m taking you home”

That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.

And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.

You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.

“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”

That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.

His voice lowered immediately

“You’re not bothering me”

You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.

But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first. 

The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.

Not even a quick goodbye.

THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.

This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.

It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.

Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.

Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.

Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?

You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.

Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.

Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.

There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.

You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.

Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.

Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.

He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"

"No, stay."

It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.

You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.

It scares you.

"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.

"No, I'm okay."

He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.

Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.

"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.

"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."

"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."

"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"

You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."

"How long have you been up?"

"Maybe an hour?"

"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."

It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.

He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"

"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."

"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."

He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.

You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.

"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."

You blink at him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"

"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."

"And you left."

"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."

Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"

"Three years."

"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."

"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."

"You're doing fine," he says.

"I eat breakfast alone every morning."

"Not this morning, though."

The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.

"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."

He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.

"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."

"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."

He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."

His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.

"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.

My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.

"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.

"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."

You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.

"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."

"Always," he murmurs.

You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.

-

It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.

"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.

"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.

"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."

You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.

"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."

"What?"

"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."

He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"

"I do."

"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"

"Apple and peanut butter."

"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"

You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.

"Good. I've been reading."

"Yeah? What are you reading?"

Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.

You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.

Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.

"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."

"That would be nice."

He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.

-

You've been awake for three hours.

It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.

So you give up on sleep. Again.

The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.

SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?

Your stomach does something complicated.

YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?

SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there

You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.

A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.

"Hey," he croaks.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he lies.

"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."

"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."

He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.

"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.

"Yeah? What for?"

"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."

He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"

"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."

"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"

"Thinking."

"Pack stuff?"

"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.

"Yep."

"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.

"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."

It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.

You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.

It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.

When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"

You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.

Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.

You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."

He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"

"Yes!"

"That's how it works."

"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."

Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.

"You're cute when you panic."

The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.

"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Sure."

"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."

"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.

Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.

He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.

The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.

You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.

Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.

"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."

He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.

Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.

Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.

-

The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.

Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes. 

Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted. 

“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”

Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”

His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist. 

You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks. 

THE HOUSE RULES: 1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL 2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU 3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN 4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA 5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK 6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO 7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU 8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO 9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON 10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK 11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN 12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN 13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI 14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN 15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON 16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG

MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan

🎮

“Not the jellyfish again,” Vernon groans into his mic, thumb flicking the little bug knight back the way he came. “I am so sick of those guys. Nah, we’re not dealing with them today.”

The chat fills with laughter. A few hate comments rip into him for avoiding the tricky parts, but he really couldn’t care less. He just hops his way back out of the cavern, fingers light on the controller.

“I wanna go back and visit the humming guy,” he decides, pulling up the game map. He glances at the webcam for a moment, then the comments. “Yeah, I know I don’t need a map. I just like talking to him, okay? He’s cool. I’ll go fight something after, I promise.”

He starts navigating his way back to the humming map guy, avoiding most of the little bugs that get in his way because it just lets him move faster. A few people in the chat start cheering when he passes the little scraps of paper and the faint sounds of an old bug humming begin to trickle in.

“Cornifer, man, there you are!” Vernon cheers when he finally comes into view. The chat cheers with him, flashing by too fast for him to read. He runs back and forth in front of the older bug, clicking through the familiar dialogue. “How ya doing, buddy? Good to see you again –”

The door creaks open, and he glances over in surprise to find your wide, tired eyes peeking into the room. You start to pull back, but he shakes his head, scrambling to pause the game and pull up his ‘brb’ screen. “Sorry, give me a few minutes, guys,” he says, cutting his mic, and then with a final glance over his setup, he sets his controller down and pushes his chair back.

“Babe.”

The door slowly opens again. You’re standing there, shoulders hunched, jacket still on, a guilty, sheepish expression on your beautiful face.

Vernon holds out his arms. “Come here.”

“You’re streaming,” you whisper, lips slipping into a little pout.

“You’re exhausted. Clearly.”

“But…”

You waver. Vernon beckons with the tips of his fingers.

“Please?” he adds, and maybe he pouts a little bit, too.

You crumble, rushing across the room and into his arms so fast that his chair rolls back as he catches you. You whisper something into his neck that sounds like an apology, but he just wraps his arms around your waist, gently guiding you onto his lap.

“You’re alright, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. “You wanna tell me about it?”

But you shake your head. “Later.” Your voice is quiet, muffled, almost watery, and he frowns but doesn’t comment on it. He just brushes his fingers through your hair.

“You wanna take the jacket off?” Vernon asks, but you shake your head, burrowing further into the crook of his neck. He nods. That’s alright. He doesn’t mind seeing you in his jacket for a little longer. He does slip his hands underneath it, though, to rub up and down your back. He can feel the way you melt into him, and he loves it.

“Comfy?” he murmurs eventually, and you nod for a moment. Then you pause and start to squirm instead, so he loosens his grip as you tug your arms out from against his chest. The loss almost makes him frown, but then your hands curl around his waist, and suddenly he doesn’t mind so much. “Better?” he asks, and you nod. “Alright. I’m gonna keep playing, babes. Let me know if you need anything.” Another nod. He dips his head, almost too far, to drop a kiss against your neck, humming for a moment against the warmth of your skin.

Then, a little reluctantly, he drags himself back to his desk, one hand at the small of your back to make sure you don’t bump into the edge. “Unmuting now,” he murmurs, waiting until he can feel you nod before he flicks his mic on again. “Sorry about that, chat,” he says softly. He cuts the webcam access, but pulls the game back up, glancing briefly at the comments flying past. “We’re gonna do the rest of tonight ASMR-style, yeah. Sorry.”

You huff a quiet laugh against Vernon’s shoulder, and he smiles, nudging your head gently with his chin as a silent response. Your arms tighten around his waist.

A familiar name pops into the chat, and Vernon glances up.

cherrycoup: asmr, huh? sounds like ur trying not to wake someone up.........

Vernon rolls his eyes, but just starts playing, the controller resting against the small of your back. “I’m gonna go mess around in that weird cavern I found earlier, I think.”

wonugamer: You’re avoiding the bosses. You only do that when she’s around so you don’t look like a loser.

cherrycoup: LOL WONU cherrycoup: nah u right tho, shes totally on his lap rn

Vernon snorts. “Guys, shut up. At least I have a girlfriend.”

You laugh out loud for a moment before shoving your face into Vernon’s shoulder, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth that floods into your cheeks. The chat explodes for a moment – wait is that his gf??? – aw dangit he really isn’t single.. – gasp thats so cute – and he just grins.

wonugamer: Wow. Low blow. cherrycoup: I WILL HAVE U KNOW THAT I AM TALKING TO SOMEONE THANK U VERY MUCH wonugamer: You mean you’re in a situationship. cherrycoup: SHUT UP, JEON WONWO cherrycoup: WONWOO

“Losers,” Vernon mutters with a grin. He drops a very loud smack of a kiss on your cheek, dismissing how he has to contort himself to do so because the tiny peck you leave on his collarbone is more than worth it. He clears his throat to whisper softly: “Yeah, my girlfriend is falling asleep on my lap. Yeah, I don’t wanna wake her up. So shut up and watch me play her favorite game, yeah?”

A chorus of awwwwwwwwws swarms the chat as Vernon swaps the audio output, and the soft music of Hollow Knight fills the room. Your lips curl into a smile against the crook of Vernon’s neck, and he has to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

🎮

“Not the jellyfish again,” Vernon groans into his mic, thumb flicking the little bug knight back the way he came. “I am so sick of those guys. Nah, we’re not dealing with them today.”

The chat fills with laughter. A few hate comments rip into him for avoiding the tricky parts, but he really couldn’t care less. He just hops his way back out of the cavern, fingers light on the controller.

“I wanna go back and visit the humming guy,” he decides, pulling up the game map. He glances at the webcam for a moment, then the comments. “Yeah, I know I don’t need a map. I just like talking to him, okay? He’s cool. I’ll go fight something after, I promise.”

He starts navigating his way back to the humming map guy, avoiding most of the little bugs that get in his way because it just lets him move faster. A few people in the chat start cheering when he passes the little scraps of paper and the faint sounds of an old bug humming begin to trickle in.

“Cornifer, man, there you are!” Vernon cheers when he finally comes into view. The chat cheers with him, flashing by too fast for him to read. He runs back and forth in front of the older bug, clicking through the familiar dialogue. “How ya doing, buddy? Good to see you again –”

The door creaks open, and he glances over in surprise to find your wide, tired eyes peeking into the room. You start to pull back, but he shakes his head, scrambling to pause the game and pull up his ‘brb’ screen. “Sorry, give me a few minutes, guys,” he says, cutting his mic, and then with a final glance over his setup, he sets his controller down and pushes his chair back.

“Babe.”

The door slowly opens again. You’re standing there, shoulders hunched, jacket still on, a guilty, sheepish expression on your beautiful face.

Vernon holds out his arms. “Come here.”

“You’re streaming,” you whisper, lips slipping into a little pout.

“You’re exhausted. Clearly.”

“But…”

You waver. Vernon beckons with the tips of his fingers.

“Please?” he adds, and maybe he pouts a little bit, too.

You crumble, rushing across the room and into his arms so fast that his chair rolls back as he catches you. You whisper something into his neck that sounds like an apology, but he just wraps his arms around your waist, gently guiding you onto his lap.

“You’re alright, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. “You wanna tell me about it?”

But you shake your head. “Later.” Your voice is quiet, muffled, almost watery, and he frowns but doesn’t comment on it. He just brushes his fingers through your hair.

“You wanna take the jacket off?” Vernon asks, but you shake your head, burrowing further into the crook of his neck. He nods. That’s alright. He doesn’t mind seeing you in his jacket for a little longer. He does slip his hands underneath it, though, to rub up and down your back. He can feel the way you melt into him, and he loves it.

“Comfy?” he murmurs eventually, and you nod for a moment. Then you pause and start to squirm instead, so he loosens his grip as you tug your arms out from against his chest. The loss almost makes him frown, but then your hands curl around his waist, and suddenly he doesn’t mind so much. “Better?” he asks, and you nod. “Alright. I’m gonna keep playing, babes. Let me know if you need anything.” Another nod. He dips his head, almost too far, to drop a kiss against your neck, humming for a moment against the warmth of your skin.

Then, a little reluctantly, he drags himself back to his desk, one hand at the small of your back to make sure you don’t bump into the edge. “Unmuting now,” he murmurs, waiting until he can feel you nod before he flicks his mic on again. “Sorry about that, chat,” he says softly. He cuts the webcam access, but pulls the game back up, glancing briefly at the comments flying past. “We’re gonna do the rest of tonight ASMR-style, yeah. Sorry.”

You huff a quiet laugh against Vernon’s shoulder, and he smiles, nudging your head gently with his chin as a silent response. Your arms tighten around his waist.

A familiar name pops into the chat, and Vernon glances up.

cherrycoup: asmr, huh? sounds like ur trying not to wake someone up.........

Vernon rolls his eyes, but just starts playing, the controller resting against the small of your back. “I’m gonna go mess around in that weird cavern I found earlier, I think.”

wonugamer: You’re avoiding the bosses. You only do that when she’s around so you don’t look like a loser.

cherrycoup: LOL WONU cherrycoup: nah u right tho, shes totally on his lap rn

Vernon snorts. “Guys, shut up. At least I have a girlfriend.”

You laugh out loud for a moment before shoving your face into Vernon’s shoulder, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth that floods into your cheeks. The chat explodes for a moment – wait is that his gf??? – aw dangit he really isn’t single.. – gasp thats so cute – and he just grins.

wonugamer: Wow. Low blow. cherrycoup: I WILL HAVE U KNOW THAT I AM TALKING TO SOMEONE THANK U VERY MUCH wonugamer: You mean you’re in a situationship. cherrycoup: SHUT UP, JEON WONWO cherrycoup: WONWOO

“Losers,” Vernon mutters with a grin. He drops a very loud smack of a kiss on your cheek, dismissing how he has to contort himself to do so because the tiny peck you leave on his collarbone is more than worth it. He clears his throat to whisper softly: “Yeah, my girlfriend is falling asleep on my lap. Yeah, I don’t wanna wake her up. So shut up and watch me play her favorite game, yeah?”

A chorus of awwwwwwwwws swarms the chat as Vernon swaps the audio output, and the soft music of Hollow Knight fills the room. Your lips curl into a smile against the crook of Vernon’s neck, and he has to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

He left your side first! That meant that later, when he noticed you talking to Soonyoung and laughing at whatever Soonyoung was saying, he had no standing to get possessive. He had no standing to loop an arm around your waist and escort you away, as if Soonyoung had any romantic intent with you. 

He left your side first! That meant that later, when he noticed you talking to Soonyoung and laughing at whatever Soonyoung was saying, he had no standing to get possessive. He had no standing to loop an arm around your waist and escort you away, as if Soonyoung had any romantic intent with you. 

Which brought you to the front room of your house, an hour later. You shoved off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance. “Seriously, Seungcheol. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. He bent over and began working at his laces. 

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Seungcheol. Please. You always act like this when we’re with your friends.”

He glanced up, bangs hanging in his eyes. Seungcheol lifted an eyebrow, lips twisting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”

You shot Seungcheol a look of disbelief as you crossed into the kitchen. Pulling a cup from the dishrack, you made towards the fridge. “You seriously don’t know how you act?” Seungcheol rolled his eyes. He joined you in the kitchen, crossing his arms over his chest and towering beside you. His thick brows were lowered, eyes dark, as if he was warning you. “Tell me. How do I act, baby?” “Well, you act like --” You broke off, pressing the cup underneath the ice dispenser. You glanced at Seungcheol. His mouth had a little twist at the corner, as if he was trying to hide a smirk. You remembered how he had pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck at one point during the night, when you had been talking to Chan for too long. How he had pressed his front against your back and pressed his hips to yours. 

He was standing there, dark and dangerous, like a warning; but you had never been good at being cautious when it came to Choi Seungcheol. 

You shrugged, pulling your cup from the fridge. You leaned against it, your shoulder pressing against cold metal. “Well. To be frank, Cheol, you act a little bit like a desperate slut.”

For a moment there was nothing but silence between the two of you, before either of you had fully understood the words that left your mouth. The moment your words and the weight of them fully settled in Seungcheol, the moment he fully comprehended them, would be a moment you always remember. 

His eyebrows flew up, his large eyes widening in shock. His mouth parted, a little breath leaving him. Seungcheol’s entire body tensed from the thundershock of your words, his hands tightening their grip on his biceps and nails digging into his sleeve. His tongue darted out and ran over his lips before retreating, and you got the urge to reach out and shove your fingers into his mouth to feel his tongue run over your digits. 

He looked anxious, apprehensive, and, if you were reading this right and you hoped you were, turned on. 

Seungcheol glanced at the wall, breaking the stare-down between the two of you in an effort to gather himself. You pushed off the fridge, cup still in your hands, stalking forward with a wicked grin. “Oh? Did that shock you Cheol? Has no one ever called you a desperate little slut before, sweetheart?”

His dark eyes met yours. Seungcheol looked wild. It was as if he was a caged animal being presented with a foreign object, as if you were trapping him between your hands instead of sauntering across the kitchen with honeyed words. 

“Baby --” 

You laughed, shaking your head. You stopped a few steps from him, biting down on your lip. “God. I can’t believe I’ve never realized it before, Cheol. The way you always press against me whenever I talk to Mingyu, how you always have to leave hickies on my neck. How you always have to stick your fingers in my pussy after we meet with your friends; how you always have to shove your cock down my throat after. 

“You’re just a possessive little whore, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shifted the cup in your hand, the sound of ice clinking against the glass drawing Seungcheol’s eyes to the cup. You watched his face as you talked, not missing a single thing. You didn’t miss how his eyelashes fluttered at every crude word that left your lips, how his throat constantly worked in an attempt to swallow. 

Voice low, you cocked your head and let a little grin play at your lips. “Stunned to silence, are you, darling? Not a word to say in your defense?”

He sucked his lip in, worrying at it for a moment. Seungcheol’s dark eyes shined. He shifted, his long curls obscuring his eyes for a moment. You reached into the cup and withdrew a cube of ice. It was cold in your mouth, tongue freezing as it worked against the ice and soothed it. “Seungcheol, if you don’t like this, stop me right now. If you want me to shut up, tell me.”

He was a wild thing, trapped in your hands. So you loosened your grip on him, just enough for him to make a break for it. If he said the words, you would shove this aside and try and forget it ever happened. Try and forget the vulnerability on his face as you called him slut and whore, try to forget the way warm flooded through you and gushed out of your pussy. 

If he asked, you would let him run. 

Seungcheol took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked back at you. “I’ve never . . .”

“If you don’t want to --”

“No!” He shouted, straightening. He immediately looked embarrassed, pink rising and dusting his cheeks. “No, you can. You can continue.”

The cube completely melted in your mouth, and you swallowed. “What a good boy.”

You reached in and grabbed another cube. You moved closer, sliding the cube into your mouth and setting the glass on the counter. “But that doesn’t excuse the way you’ve been acting, baby. What do you think your friends think? Hm? To see you pressing against me constantly, to see their big, strong friend so desperate for his lover to even glance his way?”

Reaching up, you brushed Seungcheol’s curls from his face. His eyes were wide and pupils were dilated as he watched, and you could hear every breath. “Fuck. Do you think they know, sweetheart? Do you think they know how much of a slut you are?”

Seungcheol inhaled through his nose, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand on his face wandered, taking hold of his thick curls and tightening. Your other hand went to his shoulder, smoothing over the broad muscle. “I used to just think you had a high sex drive, you know? Used to think you just were always desperate for my pussy. But now? Now I know you’re just my own whore, so eager for my touch. Isn’t that right, Cheol?”

He slowly nodded, throat working frantically. 

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You tightened your grip on his hair significantly, pulling the curls and ripping a loud gasp from his lips. His eyes flew open, large and startled, wild. “Say it, Seungcheol. I want you to say it.”

He whimpered.

Choi Seungcheol fucking whimpered.

It was a high, sweet noise that sent wetness gushing from your pussy and drenching your underwear. He squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressing into a quivering pout, as if he was being bullied. He looked distraught, eyebrows pressing together and hands reaching out for you, gripping at your shirt. He looked -- he looked like a little desperate slut, and fuck, you wanted to destroy him. 

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned, voice deep and dangerous. “Say it.”

“I’m --” His voice broke, going high and pitchy. Seungcheol cleared his throat, eyelashes fluttering as he opened his eyes to peer at you. “I’m a slut.”

Fuck. Fuck. 

“Whose? Whose slut are you, Choi Seungcheol?”

You tugged his hair again, and another high noise left him. His hands scrambled against you, digging his nails so deeply into your arms that you could feel them through your shirt and against your skin. 

“Yours!” He gasped, pink lips parted. “I’m -- I’m your slut.”

You grinned, triumphant. Releasing your grip on his hair, you smoothed his curls and settled your hand on the back of his neck. “What a good boy. See, sweetheart? That’s all you had to say.”

Hand on his shoulder moving to the cup and retrieving an ice cube, the other used his neck to guide Seungcheol to you. His breath was warm and heavy on your face. You slipped the ice cube into your mouth, talking around it. “All you had to do was tell me how much of a desperate little pussy slut you are, baby boy. All you’ve ever had to do was get on your knees and beg for my pussy like a starving whore and I would’ve given it to you.”

He whined, your name leaving his lips like a plea. When Seungcheol finally spoke, his voice was low and sweet, like a begging man’s. “Can -- can you kiss me?”

“Well, if my slut insists,” you smirked. 

With the ice cube still largely intact, you brought his face down and pressed your mouth to his. It wasn’t a chaste or gentle kiss by any means. As soon as your mouth was against his, you were using your lips to pry his open. His arms surrounded you as you used your tongue to shove the ice cube into his mouth, your cold saliva sliding past your lips and into his mouth. 

Seungcheol gasped against you, the sound high and breathy. He took the ice cube from you, sucking on it.. You could hear nothing but his sharp inhales as you practically drank the ice water from his mouth. His tongue was just as cold as yours, and you couldn’t help but coax it into your mouth and give it a suck. 

He moaned your name, sending another rush of fluid from your pussy. You felt as if your pussy had a heartbeat of its own, with the way it constantly fluttered and clenched. Breathing harshly, you forced the remains of the ice cube and your spit into his mouth before withdrawing. Seungcheol panted against your mouth for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but you were relentless. You pressed him back into the wall. When he couldn’t move back anymore, you attached your lips to his in a filthy kiss, tongue relentless as it mapped his mouth and dragged against his tongue. 

Using your mouth as a distraction, you shifted your weight to your right side. Then you worked your left thigh up between his, knee pressing against the impressive bulge that strained against his jeans. 

Seungcheol moaned, breaking away from the kiss. His brows were furrowed, ees fluttering. “Wait --”

Humming, your hand joined your knee. Your fingers pulled at the button of his jeans. “Color?”

“Green -- but -- baby --”

Your free hand returned to its rightful place in his hair, pulling his face down so you could attack his mouth again. The hand on his button worked quickly, popping it through the hole and forcing the zipper down. 

Seungcheol pulled from you again, your lips sliding against his cheek as he turned his head and leaving a trail of saliva. “Wait, but -- I can’t, I’ll cum too soon.”

Laughing, your hand in his hair joined the one on his jeans. With use of both hands you shoved down his jeans, and once they were around his knees, you settled your hand over his length. You massaged it relentlessly, feeling the wet patch of precum that had leaked through his underwear. 

Just as well, you thought. It was only fair for his underwear to be soaked if yours was. 

“Don’t worry,” you began, still grinning. Seungcheol’s moans were loud in your ear, and you angled your head to capture his lips in a kiss. You then pulled away, just enough to speak, your lips moving against his with every word. “We’ve got all night, baby boy.”

You pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, smeared your lips down his chin and latched them to the spot right underneath the bone of his chin. You sucked, your hand moving in tandem over his dick. 

With your free hand you rucked up his shirt, nails scraping against his smooth muscle. “I’d get on my knees, you know, let you fuck my throat, if it weren’t for your behavior earlier. But I don’t know if sluts get rewarded by getting their dicks wet. In fact, if I remember back, you punished me by refusing to let me cum for hours a few weeks back, didn’t you? Said it was my punishment for wearing that skirt around Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol groaned, his dick twitching through his underwear. You ran your lips over his throat, pressing your tongue against his warm skin. “I should make you get on your knees. Make you beg for my pussy, make you beg so you can taste it.”

Pulling away, your hands went to the hem of his shirt. You tugged at it, Seungcheol’s hands joining yours and pulling it up and off. Immediately you attached your mouth to his collar, biting and licking and sucking. One of your hands went back to his dick, squeezing the head through his underwear before stroking it. The other hand went to his breast; you squeezed once, twice, electing sweet whimpers and whines from his lips. 

“Maybe I’ll sit on your face, hm? Ride your tongue and make a mess of your mouth? Have you use your fingers to work me open, stretch me good and wide. Then maybe I’ll leave you, get that big, thick cock from the drawer and shove it up my pussy and make you watch.”

His hands -- which had gone to your shoulders -- tightened. Then Seungcheol was moving against you, hands shoving you back and against the wall. His chest heaved, littered with dark spots that were quickly beginning to bruise. His thick, black brows were furrowed and his eyes glinted darkly. 

“Like fuck that’ll happen,” he began, voice dangerous. 

Then you shoved one hand down his underwear, grabbed his cock and sqeezed. Your other hand went to his breast, grabbed a hold of his dark nipple and twisted. 

Seungcheol gasped, eyes widening and holding his breath. Then his brow was furrowing and mouth opening, a loud groan leaving his lips as his cock jumped against your hand, cum drenching his underwear and your hand. 

“What a whore,” you said. Your hand left his breast and gripped his hair, wrenching his head back and exposing his neck. “What a pathetic attempt. First of all, you really thought I’d just let you control like that? What? Think I’d let a stupid little slut tell me what to do? Second of all, how fucking pathetic. One squeeze of your dick, a twist of your nipple and you’re cumming in your underwear like a fucking teenager? God. How fucking disappointing.”

He gasped. You paused, and forced your voice into a more gentle tone. “Color?”

Voice high and desperate, Seungcheol replied. “Green!”

You squeezed his dick once more, withdrawing your hand from his underwear. You brought it up to his mouth. “Open.” His blossom pink lips parted, and you shoved your fingers into his mouth. For a moment Seungcheol struggled, eyes wide. You adjusted your hand, withdrawing two fingers and smearing his cum and spit on the side of his mouth. “Clean my hand. Want you to taste and swallow your cum, Cheol.”

Seungcheol swallowed, the force of it pulling your fingers further into his mouth. Then he was thrusting his tongue over your digits, one of his hands moving to hold your wrist and keep your hand in place. He sucked and licked, his mouth frantically working to reach each of your fingers. 

“Good boy,” you hummed. With your free hand you reached down to your own hands, slipping inside your sweats and underwear. As predicted, you were absolutely soaked. The entire seat of your underwear was wet from your fluids. You worked your thumb against your clit, pressing down meanly, running your fingers along your lower lips and collecting your slick. 

Seungcheol made his way down your hand, licking at your palm. His eyes fluttered with every lick, cheeks blushing a pretty pink. Seungcheol glanced up at you, pretty eyes questioning, as his lips traveled from your palm to your wrist. 

You worked at your clit, fingers grazing your entrance. Humming again, you withdrew your hand from your pants. Your hand was drenched and sticky, and you didn’t miss how Seungcheol’s eyes immediately zeroed in on it. 

Reaching forward, you wiped your hand on his chest, smearing your fluids on his chin. You pinched his nipple meanly before withdrawing. “Kneel by the couch, Seungcheol.”

You followed him, hands working at your sweats. Once you had your sweats down to your ankles you kicked them off, the air of the apartment cold against your wet underwear and immediately making you uncomfortable. So your underwear followed, your fluids beginning to coat the insides of your thighs instead. 

Seungcheol, as you had asked, was kneeling beside the couch. His eyes were wide and on you, hands flat on his thighs. His cum had drenched the front of his underwear. You said nothing. 

With a sigh, you moved to sit on the couch. You stretched, shirt riding up and eyes fluttering shut. You looked down at Seungcheol. He was still sitting next to the couch, eyes taking in your every move. His chest glistened from where you had smeared yourself on him, his nipples pebbled against the cold of the room. 

Reclining against the couch, you spread your thighs. Seungcheol was immediately scrambling towards you, wedging himself between them and placing a hand on each of your knees. 

Regardless of the mood he was in, regardless if he was feeling dominant or, apparently like right now, submissive, Seungcheol was a fan of eating pussy. The first time the two of you engaged in any sexual activity was him getting on his knees, spreading you open and devouring your cunt like a man depraved. Over a year later, he did it like a promise. Sometimes it would be the first thing in the morning, and he would be burrowed beneath the blankets with his lips wrapped around your clit. He’d leave you on the bed after eating you out until you orgasmed at least twice, vowing to return later in the day to finish the job and fuck you with his cock. 

He even would eat you out before the two of you went out with his friends, an unspoken promise between the two of you to finish what he had started after. 

And now, with him completely naked on his knees before you, thumbs swiping over the sides of your knees and causing gooseflesh to erupt on your thighs, Seungcheol looked like he couldn’t wait to get his head between your thighs. 

You shifted, leaning your weight on one elbow. “Watch,” you commanded. Your other hand trailed over your breasts, nails scraping against your skin and causing you to shiver. Nails gently trailed around your areola, your nipples quickly hardening. Pinching your nipple, you watched as Seungcheol watched you, his eyes never straying. 

Pausing to bring your fingers to your mouth and get them wet, you returned your hand towards your breast. You took your nipple between your fingers and pinched again, rolling your nipple and sliding, eyes beginning to flutter. 

“Baby,” Seungcheol said, his voice breathy and low. You opened your eyes to see him leaning forward, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. 

Humming, you trailed your hand over your stomach and down to your pussy. As soon as your hand touched your groin you were drenched in your fluid. You molded your hand to your cunt, heel pressed to your clit.

“Look at me,” you demanded. Seungcheol’s eyes focused on the hand covering your cunt, refusing to move. You lightly kicked at him. “Choi Seungcheol. Look at me in my eyes.”

Finally, his dark eyes found yours. It was horrible, really, how beautiful he was. His eyes were what first attracted you to them, especially with his long lashes. His eyes were his weapon, and in moments where he had you eating out of the palm of his hand, they were your undoing. But now, with him on his knees for you, they were large and pleading. 

“Keep looking in my eyes,” you warned. Keeping your hand still, you began to roll your hips up and into your palm. It was a sweet sort of feeling, almost lazy. You didn’t do anything but roll up into your hand, palm grinding down on your clit, effectively teasing yourself. 

But it wasn’t about you. 

It was about Seungcheol; watching him. His lower lip was between his teeth, and you could practically feel how badly he wanted to watch. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, moving your thumb to press and roll your clit. “Feels so good, Cheol. I’m getting so wet, Cheol. My hand is drenched. I bet you could fit your cock right inside. I bet you could fit your entire fucking hand in my cunt right now, and it would go. As a matter of fact --”

You shifted, adjusting your hand to slide two fingers inside, thumb rubbing gently at your clit. Your hand was drenched to your wrist. “Fuck. My pussy is so tight, Cheol, it’s trying to suck my fingers in. Did you see it take my fingers? Slid right in, just like I said.”

He moaned, and his hands clenched against your knees. 

“Don’t look away from my eyes, Choi Seungcheol,” you warned again. “Otherwise you can just sit back and watch me fuck myself until I’m gushing around my fingers. Won’t even let you taste me.”

“Please,” he gasped. “Please, baby, please let me taste you.”

You tossed your head back, breaking eye contact with Seungcheol. “What a slut you are,” you sighed, “begging me like that. So desperate, like a teenager trying to get his first fuck.”

Withdrawing your hand from your cunt, you held it out in front of you. Seungcheol’s eyes immediately went to your hand, watching as you spread your fingers. Strings of your slick stretched between your digits. “Fuck, Cheol, look at that.”

“Looks so good, baby,” he breathed. “Good enough to eat?”

Seungcheol nodded, his nails scratching at your knees. “Fuck, yes, please.”

You leaned forward, offering your hand out. Like a puppet on a string, Seungcheol wrapped his lips around your fingers. He slid his mouth down your digits, tongue moving wickedly over your skin. After licking off your fluids from your forefingers, his mouth traveled to your other fingers and licked off the fluid that had managed to smear on them. Then his tongue ran over your knuckles, and you turned your hand to let him slurp at your palm. 

“What a whore,” you said, “drinking my cunt from the palm of my hand.”

He moaned, eyes fluttering shut. You moved, moving your hand from his mouth and gripping his hair. Seungcheol’s eyes opened, eager. “Well? Are you going to eat out of my hand for the rest of the night or are you going to eat my pussy like a good slut?”

Seungcheol moved so quickly, he was a blur. His hands went to your waist, pushing you back and flat against the couch. His hands then grabbed your love handles and brought you to the edge of the couch so he could have better access to your pussy. He smoothed his hands over your skin, raising himself on his knees to bend over and press his mouth to your hip. 

You couldn’t help but sigh as his mouth pressed hot kisses to your skin, hands massaging your thighs. His mouth traveled, his saliva smearing against your skin as he trailed from your hip to your knee. Seungcheol burrowed his head into your knee, mouthing at the skin there. 

He then his path towards your cunt, pressing feverish kisses to the inside of your knees, each kiss leading him closer and closer. Seungcheol’s hands moved to spread your legs wider, and he leaned forward to press his lisp against the innermost part of your thigh. He nipped at the fat there before taking it into his mouth, sucking. 

Each kiss, each suck at your skin, made your pussy clench. More and more fluid gushed from your cunt, and you knew for a fact you’d have to clean the couch tomorrow. 

Seungcheol pressed a final kiss to your inner thigh, letting his eyes flutter shut as he breathed against your skin. “Fuck,” he sighed, “you smell so fucking good.”

Lightly, you knocked your foot against his side. “Hurry on then, Cheol.”

His eyes opened, and you couldn’t help the little shiver that traveled up your spine at the heat in them. His pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, and then his mouth was right where it belonged. 

Seungcheol adjusted himself so his shoulders were holding open your thighs. His left arm looped underneath and over your thigh, hand coming over to rest on your stomach and hold you down. His other elbow rested on your thigh, bone digging into flesh, and he moved his hand down to open your pussy lips and present your cunt. 

“Beautiful,” he said. 

And that was all the warning you had before his mouth was on you. His tongue was immediately licking broad strikes up your cunt, the noises of his slurps crude to your ears. Seungcheol licked against your pussy, gathering your fluids and drinking them in as if they were the best fucking treat in the world. His hand shifted, his forefinger going to rub gently at your clit. 

A moan left you, and you fought the urge to close your eyes. More and more fluid gushed out of you everytime he licked at you, and when Seungcheol adjusted his head you noticed that his bangs were pressed to his forehead, wet from your slick. 

One hand went to his hair, holding him, while the other went to your nipple. You pinched it in tandem with his rubs at your clit. He adjusted his hand again, two fingers going to rub at your clit. His tongue, hot and far too wicked, began to trace your hole. He was content like that, it seemed, lazily eating at you. 

“Seungcheol,” you moaned, bringing your lip between your teeth. He opened his eyes and looked up at you, and upon seeing your desperation, got to work. 

Seungcheol moved, his lips and fingers trading. His mouth enclosed on your clit, suckling. Two of his fingers, which were longer and thicker than yours, slid into your cunt easily. You couldn’t help but moan, tossing your head back and clenching around his fingers. 

“Cheol,” you breathed. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured against your clit. He began scissoring his fingers, stretching you out. As he stretched you his mouth continued working against your clit, tongue rubbing and playing and rolling. 

When he added his third finger, you hardly noticed. He continued stretching you, however, his three fingers spreading and widening you. 

“Cheol,” you said, your hips bucking. Seungcheol’s hand on your stomach flattened you against the couch again, keeping you still for him. Seungcheol lifted his head, his spit and your fluid covering his mouth and chin and nose and cheek. When he slid his hand out of you, he lifted it up so you could see how your slick coated his hand. “Absolutely drenched,” he murmured. 

“Fucking put them back in,” you commanded, wiggling your hips. “I’ll fuck myself if I have to.”

He smiled, ducking his head. Seungcheol pressed a wet kiss to your knee before resuming his spot. He laved his tongue against your clit, harsh and rough, causing a sharp gasp to escape you. You couldn’t help but arch into him, thighs fighting to close around his head. 

“Hold on, baby,” he said, voice low and thick. His three middle fingers began sliding into your hole, slowly, and when he twisted them you felt the presence of his pinkie beginning to join. Your pussy had no problem with this. You clenched and practically sucked his fingers inside of you, and you couldn’t help but let out a shuddering moan at how full you felt. He was stretching you wide, nearly his entire hand inside of you, and it felt so right. 

“Seungcheol,” you panted. The hand at your breast had long stilled, and your nails began scratching against your breast. “Seungcheol, Seungcheol.”

Slowly, he moved his fingers out. Your pussy protested, clenching. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight, how are you this tight with my entire hand practically inside of you?”

For once, you couldn’t say anything. 

He angled his fingers, and then pressed them back in. Seungcheol adjusted them again, his fingers brushing against that spot inside of you that had your toes curling. “There, yeah?”

And then he was removing his hand; you nearly began whining, but then he was shoving it back inside and hitting your spot with scary accuracy. Seungcheol set a punishing pace, biceps straining and bulging, jaw set as he watched his fingers disappear and reappear from your cunt. 

You were a moaning mess above him, your hands moving to clench at the couch. Your cunt was constantly clenching around him, trying to suck his hand in, but everytime you began to clench he was retreating his hand, never quite letting your pussy capture it. 

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol --”

Seungcheol glanced up at you, eyes sharp. Your chest was heaving, and you took the chance to begin grinding your hips down on his hand. Seungcheol gritted his teeth. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this --”

Then he was standing, withdrawing his hand from you. You let out a loud, pathetic sob, his name leaving your lips. Seungcheol’s hands were on your body, moving you as he climbed onto the couch. He was on his knees, his hands tucked underneath yours. 

“Cheol --”

His eyes met yours. You licked your lips, and with a little grin, wiggled your hips. “What a slut, so eager to fuck --”

He didn’t wait for you to finish. In one move, his grip on your knees tightened and brought you up so you were fully presenting your pussy to him. He spread your thighs out so they were on either side of his hips, and one brutal move that had your back arching and a loud, whorish moan leaving you, impaled you on his dick. 

Immediately he set a harsh pace, hands encompassing your hips and bringing you to meet his every thrust. All you could do is watch as he fucked into you, your pussy eagerly accepting him. His cock glided in and out of you, stretching you and filling you before he was pulling out again. 

“Cheol, Cheol --”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted. His thick brows were furrowed, his jaw set and clenching. He was only looking at the spot where his dick disappeared inside of you, focused. 

He shifted, dragging your body so he could set one foot on the floor. You gasped when he sheathed himself back inside of you, his dick brushing against that spot. Seungcheol glanced up at you before grinning, and then he was slamming back inside of you, his dick hitting your spot. 

Your hands scrambled against the couch, nails digging into the fabric. Something, which you knew from your past experiences with Seungcheol to be an impending orgasm, settled deep in you with a heavy sort of weight. Each hit of his dick against your spot had that feeling growing, your stomach clenching. 

You could feel nothing but Seungcheol. His nails digging into your sides, how tightly he held you. The way his dick was brutally slamming against your spot, as if he had no concern for you, as if he was just chasing after his own finish. 

“Cheol, I’m --”

He growled, the sound sending another rush of fluid from your pussy. Seungcheol released one of your knees, his fingers going to your clit. He began rubbing at it harshly, unforgivingly, the friction of his thumb against your clit combining with the feeling of his dick slamming against your spot, and it was mounting, building, had you curling your lips and arching your back and crying out, and then you peaked. 

A few minutes later, when your soul came back into your body, you opened your eyes. Seungcheol had laid you out on the couch and was hovering over you, his body framing yours. There was a pool of cum on your stomach, the liquid beginning to turn tacky and stick unpleasantly. Seungcheol’s dark eyes were round, glancing over your face, brows furrowed with worry. “Baby?”

Sighing, a little grin appeared on your lips. You stretched out your legs, ignoring the dull ache between your legs. You knew your inner thighs would be bruised for the next few days. “‘m okay, Cheol.”

Seungcheol reached up, one of his hands cupping your cheek. He said nothing, lips pressed in a firm line, eyes taking in every single twitch of your face. You knew he wouldn’t believe you until he did a thorough checking, so you were quiet, the smile on your face growing. 

“Didn’t mean to pass out on you,” you said, reaching up and winding your arms around his neck. Seungcheol fought against you for a moment, and then he was pressing down on top of you. “I feel bad. Was trying to make this good for you.”

Seungcheol huffed, burrowing his face against your neck. “Shut up. It was good for me, idiot.” “Still,” you protested. Your hands went to his hair. It was damp, and when you brushed back his bangs you noticed the stickiness that had come from him eating you out, your fluids somehow finding its way into his hair. “Was trying to, I don’t know. Dominate you until you passed out. But I ended up passing out, like an absolute loser.”

“You are a loser,” Seungcheol agreed. He settled his weight fully on you, heavy and relaxed. “And I enjoyed this. I did.”

“You like being called a slut,” you teased, grinning. Seungcheol frowned against your skin, pulling back and glaring at you. Your hands went to his cheeks, squeezing the flesh. “God. We have to do this again, please. Please. I’ll get on my knees. Do you know what you looked like, all submissive? Fuck.”

Seungcheol’s hand went to your cheek, pinching you and making you yelp. “Not a single word to any of the boys, you understand? They catch wind of this and it’ll be the end of you.”

“Oh no,” you protested, wiggling. “Death by dicking! Whatever shall I do!”

Seungcheol sighed, exasperated. “That’s what I get for not being in control.”

Still grinning, you settled down. You shifted, moving to get up, and Seungcheol backed away, allowing you. “You liked it, Seungcheol. We’re doing this again.”

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe we’re doing this again. I didn’t like it that much.”

“Okay, Choi Seungcheol,” you taunted, standing. Your legs immediately buckled, Seungcheol reaching out to wrap his arms around your waist and bring you back to the couch before you could fall. “Fuck.”

He laughed, smug and lighthearted. “Doesn’t matter how submissive you think I am, I still give it good enough to make you unable to walk.”