Yoongi biased.

Kim Seokjin

One of the things your boyfriend loved to do, was ragebait you, you were an angry woman and it was so easy for him to do it, he loved it.

For that he passed a week telling you how clingy and needy you were. Every time was more infuriating than the last.

So here you were, coming back from home at midnight, exhausted, taking your shoes off to go search for your man. The only thing you wanted was to be in his arms and sleep.

Of course, he was in the kitchen, warming dinner for you, that made you smile softly you almost forgot how annoying he was.

And he, seeing how vulnerable you were because of the hunger and sleep you carried, he didn't have a better idea than annoy you ever more.

You came up to him, hugging him from behind and sighing, breathing him in, he probably took a shower not long ago, because he smelled so clean, oh you wanted to go shower too.

"How is my baby today? Work made you needy?" He laughed, turning his body in your embrace to hold you with one arm, the other holding your food.

"don't push my buttons, seokjin." You tried to get away from him, groaning exasperated.

"No, no, don't pull back, I know how much my clingy girlfriend needs the love of WWH." He left the plate on the counter, hugging you tightly and peppering kisses on your face.

"Quit it! Seokjin! Let me eat in peace!" You tried harder to get out of his hold, but he was a strong man, and did nothing else than pick you up and make you sit on the counter, at the side of your food.

"Yes baby, you have to eat." without letting you go, he took a piece of your food and held it in front of you. "Say ahh."

"No, Seokjin, stop." You whined, moving your face to the side and pushed his hand away.

"Come on baby, I know you're hungry, and I can't let my girl go like that to bed" you groaned again, opening your mouth to eat what he was holding. He celebrated as if he won an award.

"Now let me eat in peace." You hopped down the counter, taking the plate and going to eat at the table. "If you want to take care of me why don't you go prepare me a bath? I'm exhausted."

"Yes ma'am." He knew you were already annoyed, so he would let you eat, but he had all night. He kissed your head and turned to go.

"And Jin."

"Yes, baby?"

"Don't fucking call me clingy again. I'm serious." And you gave him such an angry look that he considered obeying you, but oh, how hot you were when angry, he could never stop.

So he just sent you a flying kiss as if he was on stage, and went to the bathroom.

Min Yoongi

You were on the couch when he came back, it was late afternoon, pretty early for him, so you jumped off of the couch, with Tang in your arms and made your way over him.

"Hi handsome, how was your day? Why are you here so early? Not that we complain." you tried to give him a kiss, but he rapidly moved his face the other way and groaned, taking Tang from your arms.

"Can't you see I just stepped inside? Let me fucking breathe woman, you don't need to be clinging to me all the damn time." And he was off to the couch, ignoring your presence completely. He even moved your laptop from the couch to lay down completely.

You watched him put Tang on top of himself, talking sweetly to him.

Completely stunned, you went to the room, changed into something comfortable to walk and called your best friend, telling them you're going to their house to sleep over.

He didn't even ask you where you were going, already asleep.

But when he woke up to Tang and Holly demanding dinner, he called for you.

"Baby? What do you want to eat tonight?" He asked at the air, searching for you and finding the house empty.

He tried calling your number, but it went directly to voicemail, he tried texting, but he was blocked. You were really mad.

He thought then, that you needed time to cool down, that you would come back in a couple of hours, or tomorrow at most.

But you didn't.

And it was a week and a half now and the only sign that you were well was social media. Where your friends posted all the time everything to do with you. You hanging from the neck of your sister, or you in the lap of your best friend, or a repost of a man he didn't know where you were clearly drunk and in his arms, with a text that said "Loving a clingy girl" with girlfriend by Avril Lavigne as the song in that story.

He was fuming.

But it was his own fault, he knows how petty you were when hurt and angry, and still said things that did exactly that, being an idiot and hurting you. he needed to do anything and everything for you to come back to him.

So, he did what he thought was best, to say goodbye to his pride and reputation.

He bought a shirt with your photo on it, and a text that said "get away from me I love my beautiful girlfriend" in the back and "I adore my future wife" in the front. He bought your favourite flowers and made his way to your best friend's house, where he knew you were, from her story where he could see you dolling yourself up.

He texted her, to please ask her to make you open the door, and even paid her when she asked "and why would I do that to her?"

So here he was.

On his knees, in front of the door, waiting for you to open it up.

And you did.

"Oh my god Yoongi-" you started complaining, almost closing the door in his face, but he grabbed your legs to make you step closer to him, so he could hug them, and look up at you, still on his knees.

"Please baby, let me talk." He said, and waited for you to huff, roll your eyes and signal for him to continue. "I'm so sorry for treating you badly, my love, I'm really sorry, I'm not even going to make excuses because nothing can't excuse my behaviour to you. You're the most clingy woman I have ever met, but that's one of the things I love about you, I love having you clinging to me, calling me every hour, texting me non stop, asking me a million questions, being on top of me and letting me have the privilege of your kisses and hugs and the touch of your skin. I'm sorry baby I promise I'm not talking to you like that again." He pressed his face into your tights, kissing them while holding you tighter.

You stayed silent, watching him with your arms crossed, melting inside from the pathetic view of him begging you. But your silence only made him worried.

"please baby say something to me, anything, anything but that you hate me or don't want me anymore, please baby" he looked at you again, almost tearing up.

You hummed, extending your arm to run your hand on his hair, watching how his head followed your touch.

"You know other clingy women?"

"I- uh, baby- I... Kinda? But I swear they're not clingy to me, no other woman touches me or comes near me because I only want you, I swear- they're just the friends or girlfriends of my friends! I promise you baby."

You hummed again, reaching down to catch his shirt and make him stand up, getting close to his face.

"Never talk to me like that again or I will disappear from your life."

He whimpered in response, nodding and watching your lips, wetting his with his tongue before you closed the gap kissing him.

Jung Hoseok

It was so early. Like the sun hasn't risen early. And his stupid alarm was going off.

"Hobi... Shut it up..." You groaned, pushing him slightly, because he wasn't waking up.

"Hobi..."

But no, he wouldn't budge, so you climbed over him, straddling him, and grabbed his phone, turning the alarm off.

You sighed, ready to go back to bed, but before you could come back to your position on the bed, he wrapped his arms around you, smiling sleepily and holding you to his chest.

"Already on top of me? Someone is clingy this morning." He giggled so pretty, looking at you with the most enamoured face on earth.

"I was turning your alarm off, dumb man, you have to go to work." You smiled too, huffing as if you were mad, but not really.

"Baby... No, let's stay like this, forever." He turned into his side, taking you with him and caging you into his body, with one leg on top of you.

"We could... But you have to go, work, provide and be a man baby." You joked, he hated the idea and let you know that by grumbling into your hair, you shook your head, corresponding his hug.

"Don't give me that trad crap, I'm just a little guy who needs his twenty hours of unlimited love from his beautiful girlfriend."

"Yea, me too... Maybe we should quit our jobs and just, stay like this forever." You put your head into the curve of his neck and shoulder, breathing him in and coming back slowly to sleep.

"I would like that, having you cling to me like you want to be part of me... That would be so cool baby..."

And you two fell asleep again, ignoring now the calls and alarms from the rest of the world, staying into eachoother's bodies.

Kim Namjoon

As every day, you were strolling down the hall in Hybe's building, searching for your seven loved boys to deliver the lunch you had prepared for them not so long ago. Today you were extra fast, the food lasted longer than expected to be finished and you didn't have that much time before you needed to go back to your activities.

Namjoon, your boyfriend and favourite of the seven, was almost the last one, so you entered the code to his studio, entering happily.

"Hello baby boy, how is your day going?" You went over to his chair, where he was without his headphones and with a notebook in hand. You kissed the top of his head and started to unpack his lunch. "I was thinking that, you have Friday off, so we could have a sleepover all weekend and-"

But before you could continue your shenanigans you heard him huff and curse.

"What happened? Is everything alright?" You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, but he swated your hand away.

"God, stop being so clingy, can't you see that I'm working? Stop trying to distract me and waste my damn time." He looked at you so annoyed, you never saw him like this "And please, I don't want to see you all weekend, I want to rest, I work and work and work and the last thing I want to do is to be near you and be-"

You cut him off by laughing, and laughing and laughing, so much he looked at you puzzled. You, instead of saying what was funny, took your phone out and started texting your best friend, and ended up calling him and putting him on speaker.

"You aren't going to believe what this loser said to me!" You said, giggling still. Namjoon's jaw fell open by the way you talked about him. "I just brought him home made food, and was asking him to hang out this weekend, and he said that I'm annoying and clingy! That I'm going to bother him!" You sat on the couch taking deep breaths to be able to talk without interrupting yourself. "This damn manchild who doesn't even know how not to lose a passport is going to be bothered by his girlfriend's love! I have never thought I had lowered myself to a loser like that, Hun, why didn't you tell me?"

He was, in fact, stunned. He wasn't able to form a sentence of what he was feeling after hearing you talk like that, and didn't know how to feel about hearing another man laughing at him with the permission of his girlfriend.

"Oh my god, this was really the humor I needed. Okay we're still up for the afternoon right? Yea, I see you there." You finished your call, cleaning some of the tears you had on your eyes for laughing so hard. After that you just, walked away. Didn't even look at him nor close the door after walking out.

And after just a couple of minutes, Taehyung and Jeongguk came up, seeing the door open.

"Hyung! Why do you have the door open? Where's Y/n? We wanted to tell her that she just did amazing food today and-" they were ranting about you. And your amazing cooking skills. And how good you were in general.

"I- She- she just called me a loser." That shut both boys up, that now watched him confused.

"Why? What happened?" Asked Tae, while Jeongguk noticed how Namjoon didn't have your lunch with him.

"I may have told her that she was annoying and clingy..."

Both boys exchanged looks of amusement, starting to laugh, exasperating Namjoon further.

They just walked away too, leaving once again the door open.

Park Jimin

Jimin and Yoongi were in your living room, where you just appeared from the kitchen, balancing cups with coffees that you left on the table before dropping besides your boyfriend and placing your legs on top of his.

He, for whatever reason, shoved them aside with force. Looking at you angrily.

"What are you doing? You don't know the concept of personal space?" The tone he used surprised even Yoongi, who looked up from his phone with a questioning look. You however, were stunned. "Don't look at me like that, I want to be able to exist without you clinging to me and being on top of me all the time." He rolled his eyes, making you scoff.

"Are you like stupid or something?" That made him look at you again, surprised. While you turned around to make yourself comfortable to cuddle up with Yoongi, placing your legs on top of his, like you wanted with Jimin. "If you don't want a woman on top of you giving you affection you should download an AI girlfriend. Man I wonder what army would say if they knew what a bitch you are."

Yoongi was chuckling lightly after hearing you talk, making Jimin feel so embarrassed for what you were saying.

"It's not just affection, you're always so damn needy, I can't be one minute near you that you aren't all over me. I bet even Hyung would be tired of you if you were like that to him." He tried to search for complicity on his friend, but all he got was Yoongi looking at him as if he lost his mind.

"I didn't think I would hear you be angry because your girlfriend is in love with you with how obsessed you were a week ago about her." Yoongi said while you nodded.

"And crazy statements knowing that Yoongi is my best friend since Highschool and he doesn't even care if I go at three a.m to his house just to sleep on his bed and cuddle up because that's what I do to him, and worse, since we were fifteen."

"Yah! Gang up on me now! Just because I want my own space!" He has the tip of his ears red, from the embarrassment and the fury he had inside. He just got up and walked to your room. You just exchanged looks with Yoongi.

"Is he gay? Because I don't have any problem with gays but I'm not up to a lavender relationship." You questioned, Yoongi only chuckled, knowing that that wasn't the problem. Both of you ended up asleep tangled after clicking play to 27 dresses.

Kim Taehyung

Taehyung had a week off, after a month of running around with everything to do on the planet, he could relax for a couple of days.

He went to his living room, being observed by you, and started to sort through his albums of jazz to put for the background.

When it started to play, you realized it was the one that was playing when he asked to be your boyfriend, obviously consumed by nostalgia you went to him and hugged him, smiling up at his face and swaying a little.

"Did you put that one on purpose?" You beamed, but he didn't have the response you expected. He instead detangled you from him and sighed.

"Of course, It relaxes me. You know what doesn't relax me? Having you up my ass all the time being so clingy. I'm trying to rest and you seem to not be able to let me in peace."

You backed up, holding your hands up and scoffing.

"Damn, I just wanted to dance with my man." At that, he seemed to grow angrier.

"I'm not yours, and I fucking work dancing all day long why would I want to dance with you on my free time?" He went to the couch sitting and manspreading.

"Wow. Okay. I hope you don't expect me to be yours after that stupid sentence." You went to the bedroom, locking the door after you.

And with you both angry the pettiness grew, and the week passed with you two ignoring each other.

That was until he didn't hear anything from you for two days straight, to then see you come back to the apartment at three in the morning giggling and holding the hand of a man whom he didn't look at properly.

"The fuck are you doing coming at this hour Nd with another man!?" He yelled, making your giggles double.

"You told me you didn't have a man..." The guy holding your hand said, and he recognised the voice as Felix, from stray kids? What the fuck were you doing with a stray kids guy. What the fuck were you doing in general was his question.

"Don't worry, I don't have one, he told me he wasn't my man, and that he didn't want to dance with me... But you did, right?" You slung your arms over his neck, blinking at him and pouting your lips. Taehyung saw red at that and grabbed you from your shoulders to yank you away from Felix.

You whined, stumbling in your heels away from him.

"What are you doing? You're ruining my night!"

"You're my girlfriend! You can't be like that with another man! You really are fucking whoring around just because I was tired from work?! I didn't know you were such a hoe!"

You stayed silent for a second, your drunk brain trying to make sense of wat it just heard.

"what?"

"whoa man, that's not the way to talk to-"

"you're no one to tell me how to talk to my woman!"

They looked at each other ready to start a fight, both of them annoyed at the other, but, you intervened, your brain finally catching up at what you wanted to do and slapping Taehyung.

"Stop screaming. You're. Fucking little whiny bitch who can't face the consequence of the shit he says. You don't want to be my man, I'm not your woman, you don't like clingy women like me." He didn't know what to say, he never expected you to slap him like that. But you didn't waste time, you turned around to look at Felix, smiling sweetly. "But you don't mind it, right? That I'm a clingy girl and I have a stupid ex..."

Your honey voice and the way you looked at him made it worthy to just shrug off his Hyung, nodding at you.

"Come with me then!" You giggled again, taking his hand and running to your bedroom, closing the door behind both of you.

Taehyung didn't know what the fuck to do actually.

Jeon Jeongguk

You were having lunch with all seven of them, obviously sitting by your boyfriend. He was a little weird today, he was a very touchy man and right now he was so away from you it was almost comical. You didn't mind it, it just meant you could eat more easily and with both of your hands.

While you were laughing at Jin's jokes, you grabbed your phone to see the hour, it was almost late for you to return to work; so you did what was normal, pick up your things to throw the trash and what you had to put again in your bag.

"Guys, I gotta go now, I need to get on time to work." you smiled at them while they just said their round of goodbyes, you leaned down to your boyfriend to kiss his cheek. It was a surprise to you when he pushed you aside.

"Yah! Y/n, you already say goodbye, no need to be that clingy, just go away." He cleaned the mark of your lipstick off of his cheek with his sleeve, the room fell silent even before he finished that sentence.

"what did you just say?" You tried giving him a chance to back up, staring at him with your eyebrows furrowed.

"That you need to stop being so clingy all the time, you're always all over me and it's embarrassing." He didn't hold your gaze, trying to search complicity on his bandmates, but they were as stunned as you.

You weren't taking that he doesn't look at you, so you just grabbed his face without force and moved it to make eye contact. "Jeon. You're the most clingy man I have met in all my life. You sleep inside me because 'if you're not close to me you can't sleep' and you bitch and whine when I go to the bathroom because you fucking miss me in the bed. You're nobody to talk about what is clingy or embarrassing." You took a deep breath, letting go of his face and cleaning the hand that touched him on a napkin.

If the room was silent before, now it was almost deadly silent, with the other boys interchanging looks, wanting to talk about what they just heard.

"And don't you dare to be in the house when I come back, you better give me space of your clingy ass." Then you turned around and got away, now it was late and you were so damn angry.

They just stayed silent after hearing you slam the door, but it didn't pass much time for Taehyung and Jimin to start crackling up.

"You sleep inside!?" One of them said in between giggles.

"It's warm man..." He groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“Stop staring, creeper,” he mumbles, without even cracking an eye open. Your smile is immediate, silly and widespread and involuntary. Nestled in the crook of his elbow, your arms bent up between your front and his side, you wonder if you slept like this all night. If you were so comfortable, so sated, you didn’t move at all.

“But you’re so pretty,” your voice is dreamy, airy with every single shred of joy warming your skin. “I should be allowed to stare.”

His smile forms before his head turns toward you, blinking his eyes open, his other arm coming up to run his long fingers through his hair. “Fine, you’re allowed,” his morning timbre is rough, ragged, and it reminds you of every groan and grunt he uttered last night. “But only if I get to stare back.”

“Not at the same time, weirdo,” you laugh, turning your head, hiding from his eyes by digging your face into his strong, soft bicep. He turns, his other arm wrapping around you, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

You both lay there for what should have been an hour in silence, taking in the feeling of one another, the slow quiet of morning. It’s a Saturday, and you picked up someone’s shift tonight, so you revel in the peace, the stillness, the smell of his skin, refusing to think about what the day will look like, anything outside of what it feels like to be in his arms.

Until he yawns, his body stretching over you, legs and arms extending to the length of your bed, vertically and horizontally. You moan, “No, don’t go. Stretching means you’re getting up.”

He huffs a noise of amusement in the wake of his yawn, “We can’t lay here forever.”

“Yes we can,” you argue, peeking up at him over your brows. His eyes are closed, head tilted, chest on display again. Your fingers move without your mind telling them to, tracing over his skin, his torso, his collarbones. 

His hand closes over yours, sitting as one on the center of his chest. “Let’s get breakfast.”

“If you want to,” you mumble, words embodying a pout.

“Do you want to?” he asks, looking down at you again. “We can make breakfast here, if you’d rather do that.”

You nod, not quite ready to face the rest of the world yet. You want to stay in your perfect, comfortable bubble, away from eyes and questions and thoughts. You don’t want to think at all. Yunho turns again, making a show of tucking your body into his chest, his strong arm wrapping around your back, pulling you into him. You laugh, especially when he throws his leg over yours, like he’s cocooning you, hiding you with his own bare body.

“I can’t breathe,” you try, muffled by his skin against your mouth, laughter that’s still pouring out of you.

You can hear his grin, “Too bad, conserve your air.” Your tongue peeks out from between your lips, licking a swipe along his chest that really just ends up wetting your chin because he squeezes you harder. “Did you think that’d make me let you go? Spit?”

“Yunho,” you laugh, disguised as a whine. “Please?”

He sighs, “Since you asked so nicely.” He loosens his grip, letting you come up for air, his grin stupid as you suck down a breath.

“You tried to kill me,” you point your gaze. “That’s fucked up. I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” he answers simply. “So much that I just had cuteness aggression. Is it fucked up now?”

“Kinda,” you murmur, voice tiny. “What do you like to eat for breakfast? I’m not a great cook but I can definitely try.”

“Cooking is, like, one of my only four skills.” He steals his arm from beneath your head, sliding it under his own, elbow propped up on the mattress. “Let me cook for you.”

Your brows furrow at the argument. “But we’re at my apartment.”

“So?” he asks, his own blonde brows furrowing. 

You don’t really have an argument, so instead you ask, “What are the other three?”

“I can fix shit, I’m a good talker, and I’m a pretty good fuck.” You blink at him for a second before erupting into laughter. His smile grows, “What? They’re all true, no?”

“I’ll call you when I need shelves built,” you start, still giggling. “Then you can stay to fuck me.”

“Don’t forget talking,” he raises a finger between you. “I’m a good mediator, too.”

“So you break up fights in your frat house?”

“We don’t fight,” Yunho answers, certainly. “But if we did, I’d be there making them hug it out.”

“You’re stupid,” you shake your head, still smiling. “Go cook for me.”

“No please?” His brows raise. “We need to work on your manners, sunshine.”

You put an amused emphasis into your following, “Please.” Then you ask, “Sunshine?”

“That’s you.” He rolls away from you, pulling the sheets off, standing beside your bed in all his naked glory. You stare, watching the muscles in his body flex, his back, his arms, his thighs. And between his legs… just as damning in the daytime. Like he can feel your eyes, the corner of his lips tug upward, “Ah, now I see why you didn’t want me to get up.”

“No,” you quickly argue, tugging the sheets back up to cover your body, cheeks suddenly flaming. “I’m just… appreciating.” He laughs as he tugs his sweatpants up his legs, then looks around your bedroom floor, clearly on the hunt for his shirt. “In the living room.”

“Right,” he nods, lips pursing together before he leaves your bedroom. Just like that.

You sigh, turning to lay on your back, staring up at your ceiling. You feel like you haven’t given yourself any time to just be. You had two weeks to mourn Yeonjun, but just two nights ago you were close to yet another heartbreak, this time with yourself. You don’t know who you are anymore, what you want, what you need. Your eyes slide to your open bedroom door, listening to the footsteps in your kitchen, the man who’s already made himself at home. Maybe he’ll know.

You push yourself up off your bed, having to actually go through your drawers for a tee and shorts instead of picking something up from the floor. You ignore him by running to the bathroom, fixing yourself up a bit before meeting him back in the kitchen where he was actually cooking with ingredients and pans and spices you didn’t even know you had.

“Oh,” you mutter in surprise, taking in your full countertops. “You weren’t kidding.”

If he forgot or got sidetracked, you weren’t sure, but his sweats hang low, still shirtless, showing off his torso that makes your thighs twitch without consent. So tall and sculpted, a dream, and he’s cooking for you. For you.

“I’m serious about my skills,” he points toward you with a spatula, making you smile. “Not a jack of all trades, but a master of four.”

“Then I’m in luck,” you say over your shoulder, opening up your fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced coffee and creamer. “I’ll never have to pay to get anything fixed ever again.”

The pan he’s digging the spatula into sizzles as you grab ice from the freezer. “That’s all you’re excited about? Not my cooking or my conversation?”

“I think you’re forgetting one,” you muse as he reaches for eggs beside you on the counter while you stuff the ice into a glass, then pour the coffee, then the creamer.

He comes up behind you, hands on your hips, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I didn't forget,” he whispers into your ear, lips grazing cartilage, making you shiver. “That’s the payment for the cooking, the talking, the fixing.”

Your neck cranes, fingers closing around the glass of coffee on your counter, breath catching as flames erupt beneath your skin. His hand slides up into your hair, moving it off your neck that’s now exposed to him, and he leans in, softly pressing his lips to your jugular. 

“Yunho,” you sigh, like his name itself was a sound of pleasure. “You’re— the stove is on.”

“Payment in advance,” he says against your skin, lips moving downward makes your head tip back, arching as his hands slide up your torso, under your shirt. 

You hiss at the sharp throb between your legs from only his lips on your neck. He fucked you twice last night, leaving your body exhausted, spent; like sleep reset you, you’re ready to do it all over again. 

You turn abruptly, hands flying to the sides of his head to pull him to your lips, kissing him roughly, eagerly. He smiles into you, “That what you want?”

“Yeah,” you barely say the word, needing more, needing his lips, his hands, you need everything all over again. 

He bends, lifting you from under your thighs to sit you on the counter, you waste no time wrapping your legs around him, knotting your fingers in his roots. 

The sizzling on the stove gets louder, you don’t care. His tongue slips between your lips, hands under your shirt, grabbing at your chest, sliding around to your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You moan softly into his mouth, pressing your hips into the counter, body begging for friction. 

The front door swings open and you only hear it because of Yunjin’s laughter, sweet and bubbly. You whip your head around to see her stumble inside, San on her heel. 

You jump down from the counter in a panic, accidentally nudging Yunho out of the way as you turn to face the front door, skin bursting into flames as you look at the two who now notice you’re in the same room, and that they broke you up. 

“Morning,” San says with a smirk. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Yunjin looks like she’s trying incredibly hard to fight her grin. “I’m only here to shower,” she says coolly, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yunho as she throws her bag on the couch. “I need to wash the Penny and San off my body.” 

San’s brows furrow. “You need to wash me off your body? We’re only here so you can use your own body wash before you get me on your body again.” 

She whacks him in the chest. “Shut up, go to my room and wait.” 

He shakes his head, redirecting his attention to Yunho. “You see how she talks to me?” 

Yunho wears a small grin, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s how you like to be spoken to.” 

“Is something burning?” Yunjin turns back around, halfway to the bathroom already, and turning your attention to the stove you jump into action at the realization that the one, singular egg on the pan is burning. 

You curse under your breath, moving the pan to the other burner, shutting off the stove. San giggles where he stands, “So busy you forgot you were cooking?”

“My room,” Yunjin orders from the entrance to the bathroom, pointing to her bedroom. San’s arms raise in defense, quickly backing into her bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

She closes the door to the bathroom, leaving you and Yunho alone with more space between you, and it’s not all physical. 

“You panicked,” he points out. Your heart is beating out of your fucking chest, adrenaline, panic and arousal making your knees feel weak, your gut confused. 

“We almost burnt down the apartment.” You both know he isn’t talking about the egg. 

“Is it because someone saw us, or was it because someone saw us?” He asks bluntly, cutting right to the chase. 

“I just…” your hands find your hips, words caught in your throat. “I just got out of a long-term relationship, Yunho. I feel like it’s a little soon to be moving on.” 

“You think San is gonna judge you?” He leans his hip into the counter, one palm flat against the laminate, arm bent. “I know you aren’t nervous about Yunjin seeing you.” 

“No,” you shake your head quickly. “I’m not nervous about being judged, I’m just—”

“You don’t want anyone to think we’re together,” he finishes your sentence for you, words you were too scared to say, anyhow. “We’re not dating, we don’t even have to be exclusive if you don’t want to be.”

“If we're sleeping together, I want to be exclusive.” You at least know that for sure. 

“Okay,” he answers so quickly it makes you blink. “Then I’m only sleeping with you.” 

Your palm finds your forehead, your other arm gripping the counter behind you. “That doesn’t sound right, either.” 

“I’m not calling the shots, sunshine,” his head tilts, imploring you. “That’s all you.” 

You shift on your feet, lips scrunching to the side. You don’t know what you want. You don’t trust what you want. Not yet. 

Yunho sighs, pushing himself off the counter, taking two steps forward until he reaches you. His hands find your cheeks, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. 

“I’m not your boyfriend, but I’m not sleeping with anyone else. We can leave it at that.” He pulls away, using his hands on your cheeks to make you look at him. “That’s okay, and you’re allowed to want that. You deserve simplicity right now.” 

You nod, swallowing. “You’re okay with that?” 

He grins. “I told you I like you, and I’m patient.” 

His eyes are so clear, so fucking earnest you believe him. 

“Have you ever formed a routine in your life so fucking mundane that you’re just bored with it all? Your morning routine, classes, hanging out with your friends, partying… none of it feels like doing things anymore, it just feels like marking shit off a checklist. I think you guys could tell I was starting to feel that way with my ex bo— situationship. It all felt boring. I was bored.” 

“But I think in my weeks of being fully single, I started to learn that I wasn’t bored, the relationship had just ended a long time before it blew up in my face. I wasn’t bored, I was grieving, mourning because I was single, yet somehow still tied down. Now, I’ve come to learn that it’s really easy to confuse boredom with comfort, and being comfortable isn’t really that fucking boring at all.” 

You smile as Yunho crosses your mind, the past week you’ve spent together after giving your relationship a no-label label. You think you’ve seen him more than Yunjin, and you’re settling into that state of comfort, letting yourself breathe around him. You can feel your insides, what was a mess of weeds a week ago, slowly untangle themselves into something relaxed, open.

“They seem almost identical, right? Routine, predictability, knowing exactly what comes next, no anticipation or second-guessing. People use the word comfort with a bad connotation– like, if someone asked you, ‘why’d you break up?’ and you answered, ‘they got too comfortable’. Everyone seems to understand, but what the fuck does that even mean? Isn’t that what we should want? To be fully, absolutely comfortable with the person we love? Boredom is stagnation, to be without growth. Comfort is just… being yourself around someone, because you feel safe enough to be.”

“You can confuse a lot of things with boredom, when it’s really not boredom at all. Relationships don’t always end with a huge, massive blow up. Sometimes they die way before the eruption starts, sometimes they die while you’re still saying I love you every morning and every night. In that time, while the relationship isn’t breathing or bleeding or functioning at all anymore, that feeling… It feels like boredom. Existing in the same space, kissing, having sex, you don’t even realize you’re in mourning, moping over a loss that hasn’t technically happened yet. You’re lonely, even when you’re sitting beside someone who you think you love, who maybe you do still love.”

You sigh, frowning at your microphone.

“Comfort is… comfort is safety. It’s being able to laugh around someone when they said something stupid, and not being nervous that you’re too loud, or that it’s annoying. Comfort is wearing the same shirt you wore to bed two nights in a row, and not being scared that he’ll think you’re gross for it. Comfort is making a certain… noise during sex, and giggling about it because it’s funny. I still laugh, and if you don’t then you’re not fucking the right people. Comfort is safety to me, it’s stability, it’s laughing and enjoying company and finishing an entire pizza together because neither of you give a fuck.”

You’re smiling again, Yunho on your mind. 

“Two episodes ago, I talked about not being able to open up to anyone again emotionally. And I even said on the episode that the feeling doesn’t last forever, that eventually, you’ll want to open back up. It might be quick, but it’s fucking easy to when the other person makes you comfortable. Makes you feel safe enough to be yourself and not apologize for it.”

“Sorry I got deep for a second, I just… I’m reflecting on it a lot these days. And– ah!”

You scream as Yunjin pushes your door open, a pitched, blood-curling fucking scream. Then she screams too, jumping back a full step, nails clawing onto your door like she might scratch her way through it.

You slam your laptop shut, ripping your headphones off your ears. “What the fuck are you doing here!?”

“I skipped class!” she yells back, full of terror, then her eyes move to your bed. The mic, the headphones, your laptop slammed shut. You feel like you might throw up. She looks back at you, “Do I even want to know?”

“I sing,” you blurt. “I’m a singer. I sing. For fun. And post it on Soundcloud.”

She stares for a second, body uncurling from where it was bent up in fear, and then she laughs. Full-belly, clutching her fucking abdomen, bent over laughter. You still feel vomit clawing its way up your throat.

“You–” she laughs again, snorting. “I’m gonna fucking piss myself.”

“Why is that funny?” You gather your mic, your headphones, your laptop, shoving them all beneath your comforter. “Get out of my room, Jen. Your Friday classes are my time.”

Her knees are pinned together, upper half bent over, hand over her crotch, still laughing. “I’m sorry,” she tries to stand, breathless, laughter still pushing on her lips. “The idea of you– oh my god, I need to go pee before I piss on your floor.”

Quickly, you shove your equipment into your closet as she sprints for the bathroom. You take a deep, grounding breath, forcing the lie to spin in your head. You’re a singer. You sing ballads and post them to Soundcloud under an alias so no one will ever find you. You can still hear her fucking laughing in the bathroom. 

You run out to the hallway, yelling, “You laughing at me is not gonna help my fucking dreams come true, Jennifer!”

“I’m sorry!” she shouts from behind the closed bathroom door. “I cannot imagine it. I’ve heard you sing in the car and that shit is ass!”

You make a show of gasping like she pierced your heart. “I wasn’t trying in the car!” She just laughs harder. “It’s not that fucking funny!”

There’s only crickets until she pulls the bathroom door open again. Her face is stoic, expressionless. “I’m sorry,” she starts, and you can tell she’s using all the strength in her body to keep herself from laughing. “I support you in all your endeavors, and I think you’re an incredible singer. Please, bless my ears by letting me listen to a song.”

“Never,” you cross your arms in the doorway. “You don’t deserve to listen to my music.”

“You’re serious,” she leans into the doorframe of the bathroom, like you’re having a stand-off from one side of the hallway to the other. “Like, actually. You deadass sit in your room and sing into a microphone and post it to Soundcloud.”

“Yes,” you tilt your head, sounding assured. “I do. And I have listeners. Monthly ones.”

Her lips start quivering before she snorts. “I’m sorry,” she turns her head so you can’t see her, releasing her laughter in tiny before turning back around, clearing her throat. “You must be very talented, then. Please let me listen to a song.”

Using her same, sophisticated tone, you respond, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, I won’t laugh anymore. Seriously,” she stands up straight, arms flat at her sides. “Please let me listen.”

“Fuck no.”

“Please,” she begs, crossing the hallway. You quickly back up into your room, closing the door. “Please, please, please.”

“No!” you shout through the door, locking it just before she jiggles the handle. “Don’t try to come in here, you basically just crushed all my hopes and dreams. You’re in time-out.”

She giggles from the other side of the door, then stops abruptly. “I’m sorry! Please let me listen? I swear I won’t laugh. I’ll support you, I’ll even post the link to my story.”

“No!” You shout again, from your bed now. On your back, phone in hand, you cross your legs, scrolling through your texts, opening the thread with Yunho. 

yunho: r u busy yunho: come over  yunho: i have like 3 assignments i need ur brain

“Please! Please, please, please–”

“Stop begging!” you shout, typing back.

you: my brain?? my big smart journalism brain?????

yunho: yes yunho: ill eat u out

you: omw

“I’ll do anything,” she bangs on your door like she’s in a melodramatic musical. “I’ll cut off a limb… I’ll give you my firstborn… Please let me.”

“I’m going to Yunho’s!” you shout, already jumping off your bed to put a bag together. Clothes to sleep in, a hairbrush, your makeup, your laptop, you have assignments you need to finish, too.

There’s such a long period of time before Yunjin answers you think she might’ve finally given up. “I’m coming too!” she says excitedly from the other side, you can hear her smile. “San just said I can.”

Sighing, you reach for the doorhandle, unlocking it before pulling it open. She’s pouting, glossy lips bent, brows upturned, holding her phone open in her hand. “Please?”

“If you say anything about Soundcloud in front of any of them, I’ll kill you.”

“Then let me listen to a song before we go.” Your brows raise. “I won’t, I wouldn’t dare. You know that.”

You smile, satisfied. “Get ready, I’ll drive.”

After packing your toothbrush, you throw your bag and your purse over your shoulder, filling up your water before waiting for Yunjin by the door. She meets you just minutes later without a bag, without anything. You pop a brow. 

“If you’re staying at their house, I’ll bring him back here.”

“Ah,” your head tips back, tugging on your front door, locking it behind Yunjin. 

“You know, I could actually see you being a singer,” she says nonchalantly, walking beside you down the main staircase of your building. “Your talking voice is nice, I bet your singing voice is nice, too.”

“Jen,” you basically groan. “Just drop it already, please.”

“Let me be your number one fan,” she frowns, reaching the bottom step before you. “I feel weird about there being a part of your life I don’t know about.”

“Well, you laughed,” you make a face that says sucks to be you. “If you didn’t piss yourself, maybe I would have shown you.”

“I only peed a little!” she argues from behind you, standing her ground before following you to your car. “It just caught me off guard. You don’t seem like a singer, and it’s weird to me that you live this secret, double-singer-life.”

You sigh again, opening your car door, turning over the engine. “Drop it, Jen.”

“You seriously won’t show me?” she asks from the passenger seat, clicking her seatbelt into place. The emotion in her voice, the disappointment… You swallow down your guilt as you plug your phone in.

“I’ll show you when I’m ready,” you give her a small, comforting smile. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, her answering grin not fully convincing. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

You press play on your phone and turn the volume up.

“That’s you!” you hear San scream from the living room. “Drink, Yeo. You have to fucking drink!”

“Yun, these are still all questions he can answer with yes or no,” you sigh, pushing his laptop back toward him.

The dining room isn’t the most ideal place to do assignments. When there’s parties, this room is always full of people sitting around the table, passing around a bong, laughing, talking. It’s always full, just like the house is. What you didn’t realize is that even when there is no party, there’s still a party. Five frat guys and Jen sit in the living room playing god knows what while you sit with Yunho in the dining room, trying to help him with his final assignment you’ve gotten nowhere with in the hour that you’ve been here.

“I don’t even know what to ask anymore, I know all these answers already,” Yunho frowns, his blonde hair pushed back in a headband, his bottom lip red and swollen from how many times he’s bitten it. “Do you know how hard it is to come up with interview questions for Mingi when I already know everything about him?”

“Then why’d you choose him?” you ask, a grin warming your cheeks. 

“Because I thought he would be the easiest,” Yunho mumbles, leaning his cheek into his open palm. 

“I think the point is literally the opposite,” you try to hide your smile as you say it. “Aren’t these things usually supposed to be about someone you don’t know?”

His lips flatten, gaze falling to the table. “Yes.”

“Can you guys stop being losers and come play with us?” Mingi peeks his head into the dining room, his short, black hair unstyled, choppy over his forehead. “Yeosang is drunk and it’s kinda funny.”

“We’re almost done,” you respond with an affirming nod, even though you haven’t started your own assignment nor have you finished Unscripted for this week. You know you can’t do that here, though.

Mingi’s top lip lifts as he quietly mutters under his breath, “Losers.”

You turn to Yunho who’s staring at you with puppy dog eyes. You immediately laugh, “Oh, you cannot be serious. You asked me to come over here to help.”

“Can’t you just think of questions and I’ll write them down?” he asks, his pout deepening, the sparkle in his eye growing brighter. “I’ll eat you out so good, I swear.”

“You said you’d give me head if I helped,” your brows raise, leaning back into the creaky, wooden dining room chair. “Not if I did your work for you. That costs more.”

You think in the past week, you’ve gotten more head than you have in your twenty-one years of life. Not a complaint.

“Like… eating you out twice?” His voice is playful, teasing, his grin just as much. “Or did you mean fucking you stupid?”

You pretend to think on it, tapping your cheek with your index finger, eyes on the ceiling. “That could definitely be part of the payment.”

“Part?” his brows raise, still playful. “There’s more?”

“I want…” You lean in, whispering, “A new Gojo figure.”

He laughs from his chest, body sinking back into the chair. “Unserious.”

“Unserious?” you reiterate, brows in your hairline, “I’m completely serious, Jeong Yunho. The Dtalon Studios one. The freaky one.”

His face falls, blinking at you as the cogs turn in his mind, no doubt coming to the realization of which figure. “First of all, that figure is like, four hundred bucks. Two grand resold.” You nod. “For an interview assignment?” You nod again. “You’ve gotta be drunk.”

“Stone cold sober, baby.”

“The one where you can take his clothes off and he’s naked as fuck under? The mirror selfie one?”

With a breathy little giggle, you nod, “Yes, sir.”

He runs his hands over his face before facing his laptop again. “There’s gotta be things that I don’t know about Mingi.”

You giggle again, throwing your legs over his lap from your chair. “Interesting that you know so much about that specific figure.”

He doesn’t look up from his laptop screen as he says, “I went down a rabbit hole, don’t even ask.”

So you don’t. You lean into the chair, and watch him as he types, backspaces, and types again. So focused, jaw set, bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed unconsciously. So pretty, even when he’s doing nothing. It's unfair.

“Okay,” he leans back, and turns to you, presenting. “What’s your biggest goal after college?”

You hum, lips scrunching. You bend your knees, pressing your toes into his thigh, reworking his question in your mind. “What’s one thing you hope people will remember you by after college?”

In a split, Yunho answers, “His two-second shotgun record. He’s undefeated.”

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious? Why do you know that?”

“Because that’s his pride and joy,” Yunho shrugs. “If you ask him, that’s what he’ll say.”

“Mingi!” you shout, craning your head backward. When he calls back from the living room, you tell him to come into the dining room. When his thick thighs enter the room before he does, you ask, “What’s one thing you hope people will remember you by after you graduate?”

“My shotgun record,” he answers, right off the bat. “Did you know it’s two seconds?”

“Oh… my god,” you answer in complete disbelief, turning to Yunho. “Do you share one brain cell?”

Yunho laughs, standing, reaching forward to clasp Mingi’s hand, dapping him up. “Good shit.”

Mingi’s grinning, but he doesn’t ask why, or what it’s for. He just leaves. He doesn’t even care. You think you might lose your mind if you stay down here any longer. 

“Guys,” Yeosang enters right behind him, like Mingi passed the baton in the hallway between the two rooms. His blonde hair is more sandy than Yunho’s, longer, curling around his ears, the gray tee on his torso darkened with liquor, his sweatpants baggy. “Come play with us. Please? Pretty please? San keeps making me drink.”

He’s hammered. You cover your mouth with your palm as you laugh, Yunho outright snorting from beside you. Yeosang sighs, laying his palms on the table, his head dipping low between his shoulders. “Please,” he begs, sounding desperate. “I need someone to tell him no. Hongjoong won’t save me anymore ‘cuz he’s winning.”

“What are you playing?” you ask, curious now.

“We were playing Uno,” he stands again, running his hands through his hair, holding the strands taut at his crown. “Now we’re playing Never Have I Ever, and I’ve done a lot of things.”

You can’t hold back your snort this time. Yeosang whines, “Please, I need you both. I need someone else who has done things other than San and Yunjin, Yunho, please.”

“This isn’t due until next week,” Yunho almost whispers, leaning closer to you. “I can spare an hour.” 

“Never Have I Ever at our grown age?” You pop a brow. He shrugs. You sigh. “Okay.”

You grab drinks from the fridge before making your way out to the living room where Yunjin, San, Mingi, Hongjoong, Jongho, and Yeosang are already sitting on the couch. Everyone sits like they have their own space, San on the very end, Yunjin halfway in his lap. Mingi sits beside him, with a space between him and Hongjoong who sits beside Jongho, then Yeosang. You assume the space is for Yunho, who instead sits with you on the opposite side. You wonder where Seonghwa is, the last one you assume is out getting sucked and fucked.

On the coffee table are several, several empty bottles of beer, a tall, half-drank handle of vodka, and about fourteen empty, plastic shot glasses. You take a breath at the sight, and wonder if you’ll come out of the other end of this as sober as you started.

“Are we starting a new round?” Hongjoong asks as soon as you sit down, criss-cross applesauce on the couch, both hands holding onto the beer resting on the couch between his legs. “‘Cuz I was winning the last one, and I’m gonna be pissed if we start a new one and I lose.”

“How do you even win at Never Have I Ever?” Yunjin asks, her ass in the pocket between San’s lap and the armrest, a seltzer in her hands. Her legs over his lap, San just looks happy to be there, resting his arms over her legs, a beer in one hand.

“Not having all your fingers down, obviously,” Hongjoong answers quickly. “How are you just asking this now? We’ve played three rounds already.”

“So you just win if you’re a virgin?” Mingi asks, and suddenly everyone’s eyes besides Yunjin land on you.

Your cheeks flush. “I’m not a virgin.”

Yunho raises his hand, “Can confirm.”

Yunjin giggles loudly from the end of the couch, “Nice.”

“I’m not a virgin either, hello,” Hongjoong interrupts. “You all just ask stupid questions ‘cuz you’re drunk.”

“My questions aren’t stupid,” Jongho sounds offended, brown brows scrunching over his eyes. He’s lying sideways, propped up on his elbow, his knees bent so he doesn’t kick Hongjoong. He points to the older man with his half-drank beer, “I literally said never have I ever farted in front of a girl. That’s a solid question.”

Your lips tighten, trying not to laugh. Hongjoong nods, “Another reason why I was winning.”

“Okay, but that’s unfair,” San throws an arm in Jongho’s direction. “I eat a lot of protein, it’s not my fault.”

You find yourself looking at Yunho, “Would you have put a finger down?”

He’s smiling as he asks, “Do you really want the answer to that question?” 

“I can live without knowing,” you mutter as you turn to the rest of the group, bringing your seltzer up to your lips. It’s a mild flavor, more bubbles than anything, but you think you might need the alcohol if you’re going to participate. 

Yunjin clears her throat, “Never have I ever… been to a strip club.”

San, Mingi, and Yunho put their fingers down. You can only assume they went together. Yunjin kicks at San’s legs, and he shrugs, “It was Wooyoung’s idea.”

That makes sense. Yeosang stands, “Drink! You’re supposed to fucking drink!”

“No, you’re supposed to put a finger down,” Hongjoong reminds him, his voice steady. “You keep letting San bully you into drinking.”

You pout, bottom lip folding over. Leaning into Yunho, you whisper, “No one should bully Yeosang into anything, he’s too sweet.”

“He’s allowing it,” Yunho whispers back before sipping his beer. “He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t be drunk if he didn’t want to be, but you and Yunjin are here, so…”

“Damn,” you mutter, surprised. “Would not expect that from him.”

“Never have I ever,” San speaks up, his voice laying over the room like a blanket. “Hmm… Made out with one of my friends.”

Yunho, Mingi, Hongjoong and Yunjin put their fingers down. Yunjin you know has made out with probably your entire friend group, but your eyes bounce back and forth between Mingi and Yunho. Like he was reading the question in your mind, Yunho nods. 

“Really? Like, in a fruity way?” you question, brows in your hairline.

“He has literally been inside me,” Mingi says much too fucking casually from the other side of the couch before bringing his drink up to his lips. Your jaw touches the floor, you think.

Mingi doesn’t wait to say, “Never have I ever lied to someone in this room.”

Every single person puts a finger down, including you. Then Mingi laughs maniacally like he’s won the entire fucking game. Yunjin stares at you from across the couch, “Liar!”

“You put a finger down, too!” you shout back, pointing at her.

“I lied to San!” she points back, offended. 

San gasps, looking down at Yunjin, “You lied to me?”

“I lied to Yunho.” Frowning, you lean into him, “Sorry, but the last paragraph on your advertisement paper didn’t actually sound great.”

Yunho clutches his heart, his face morphing into heartbreak, “How could you?”

Your grin is silly as you lay your head on his shoulder, “Forgive me.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and for you, that’s forgiveness enough. You keep your head on his shoulder while Jongho announces, “Never have I ever been caught lying.”

“No fair, you just mooched off mine,” Mingi shouts at Jongho, his posture straightening out.

Jongho giggles, drinking his beer, but says nothing. When no one puts down a finger, the youngest man in the room scowls, “You’re all fucking liars.”

Hongjoong snorts, “That was a stupid question, I told you–”

Jongho stretches out one knee, kicking Hongjoong in his side. The older man gasps, whacking his leg with his arm, and Jongho just laughs in response. 

“I’m not playing this round,” Yeosang announces, body already halfway into the couch, eyes at half mast. Drunk and almost asleep, no one pays him any mind. When eyes land on you, you’re nervous, you didn’t think about what you’d say when it was your turn.

“Oh, shit,” you curse under your breath. “Uh, never have I ever… done anal.”

“I told you guys no one’s into anal,” Hongjoong mutters under his breath, completely missing Yunjin and Mingi who both put their fingers down. When he realizes, his jaw drops, “No fucking way.”

Yunjin just giggles, stretching her legs out over San until her toes prod at Mingi’s thigh. Mingi shifts farther away. 

Yunho, lips scrunched, seems to be thinking. “Never have I ever… shit, I’ve done a lot. Never have I ever drunk called an ex.” As soon as he says it, he looks at you. The rest of your fingers stay up. He smiles. 

“Boring,” San drags out from the other side of the couch. “This round was boring. We need another game, you all suck.”

“Let’s play karaoke,” Yunjin’s smile is evil as she stares at you from across the couch. Your body enters fight or flight.

“That’s not even a game,” Mingi mutters, sinking into the couch again, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Yup, not a game,” you quickly redirect your attention to Yunho. “We should go finish your assignment.”

“Boo,” Yunjin calls from across the couch, making your cheeks flush.

“They’re right, it’s not a game, Jen,” you hear from San as you stare at Yunho expectantly.

“I don’t wanna,” Yunho whines, laying back on the couch. 

“Then let’s go get you another drink,” you reach for his almost empty beer bottle, shaking it. Without giving him time to answer, you stand, “Come on.”

He follows you into the kitchen, but doesn’t speak until you’re out of earshot. While you’re opening the fridge for another beer, he wears confusion in his brows as he asks, “What’s up, sunshine?”

“Nothing,” you say breathily, almost satisfied as you watch him down the rest of his beer. Handing him the new one, you shrug, “Just wanted a second alone with you.”

He grins, setting the new, full beer on the counter before he grabs your cheeks, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. “Missed me?”

You lift yourself up on your tippy toes to swing your arms around his neck, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Maybe I’m ready to cash in.”

He laughs, “And the kitchen is where you want me? On my knees, for anyone to see?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” your head tilts, tone dripping in amusement, even if heat starts spreading through your lower half.

He hums, debating, using his hands on your waist to rock you both side to side. “Yes, but only because I don’t want anyone else to see you cum. That’s only for me.”

You kiss him again, with the intention of him bringing you upstairs. Even the dining room. Anywhere except the fucking living room where Yunjin is clearly dying to force you into singing, you’d rather kill two birds with one stone.

Yunho feels the heat, his hands sliding beneath your tee, his palms heavy on your hips. His thumbs tuck under the waistband of your sweats, tongue slipping between your teeth, pushing you backward, into the counter. You gasp when your back hits the laminate, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging at his roots.

He empties a quiet, rough noise into your mouth. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you keep your voice coated in innocence. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Go to my room,” he whispers into your mouth, then lets go of your hips. You pull your arms back down, grinning like you got your cake and you get to fucking eat it, too. You suppose it’s Yunho who would be eating it, actually.

“Woo,” you hear from the living room as soon as you turn to leave the kitchen. An announcement or a greeting, you aren’t sure, but you can feel your blood turn cold like an icy wind swept through the house, stealing all the heat you felt just moments ago.

Then you see him. Walking through the living room, towards the staircase, he’s in jeans, a hoodie, the hood swallowing his head, his hair. His jaw is set, his eyes low, his head down, but he sees you. His dark eyes land on you, then Yunho behind you, and it feels like slow motion, as if the world itself had pressed pause as his eyes rake you bottom to top. 

He walks past, up the stairs. You hear a door open, then close. Someone pressed play.

You still feel it, though, the absence. There was no anger in his eyes, no annoyance, just… silence.

Yunho’s hands land on your hips again, “You okay, sunshine?”

Your head tilts as he presses a kiss above your ear, you barely feel it. “Is he?”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Yunho says, like it’s no big deal. “Best to just leave him alone, he’ll be fine.”

You nod automatically, your eyes lingering on the staircase. You’re not sure you even heard what he said.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who picks you up the instant you run up to him after a full day of not seeing each other. his arms envelope you as you sigh sweetly into his chest.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing you in until he has his fill, until his lungs memorise your scent.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who follows you into the kitchen for a glass of water — not because he’s thirsty — but because the thirty-second walk alone felt too long.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who locks his fingers with yours as soon as you are outside, swinging your hands as you walk to the nearby convenience store.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who purposefully leaves his jacket at home so he has an excuse to huddle under yours — sharing the same fabric as he pulls you flush against his side.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves to rest his head on your shoulder during long car rides — his fingers fiddling with your rings as he hums softly to the radio.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets a tiny, triumphant smirk whenever you subconsciously reach for his hand — loving that your body seeks him out just as much as his seeks yours.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who traces the lines of your palm with his thumb while you're talking to someone else — a quiet, rhythmic grounding technique that keeps him tethered to the moment.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets giddy when you ask him to compare hand sizes — any chance to touch you — his hand standing taller against yours.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who kisses your shoulder whenever he sees you standing in front of the mirror after you put on a new outfit, whispering how beautiful his angel looks.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who sits all smiling and flustered as your hands come up to hold his face. you press soft kisses to his cheeks, nose, and finally his lips.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who gets all shy and heart-eyed when you pull him down by his collar for a surprise kiss — the sudden proximity making his brain short-circuit in the best way.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who peppers your face in kisses when he sees you looking at him with that face — the face you make when you have missed his touch for too long.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who can't resist you, rushing to smother your face with kisses until he has his pretty girl blushing and giggling in his arms.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who laughs when you pout and huff, hands crossed on your chest, when he dodges your hugs just to see that adorable expression on your face.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who pulls you into his lap at every possible opportunity, loving the softness of your body against his — the warm weight calming his soul.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves when you ask him to put his head on your lap. you love playing with his hair, fingers carding through it as his eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who makes a soft, whining sound in the back of his throat if you stop scratching his head for even a second — nudging his head back under your hand.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who has the cutest habit of tracing hearts onto your thighs, pretty fingers roaming as he murmurs sweet praises into your ear.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves the 'leg lock' — hooking his legs over yours while you both work on your laptops — ensuring that even when you're busy, you’re still physically connected.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who insists on 'helping' you wash the dishes just so he can stand right behind you — his arms looped loosely around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who claims he’s 'too cold' just so you’ll wrap your arms around him — sighing in relief as he melts into your warmth.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who knows you love his biceps, so you can't help but blush a pretty pink when he wraps you in his arms, your gaze drifting to his biceps straining against the sleeves.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who loves the idea of bathing together, sighing as you work the shampoo onto his scalp while he holds you by the waist.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who leaves no opportunity to pull you into him whenever you head to bed, your head resting on his chest, your breath subconsciously calming as you feel his warmth.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing softly against your shoulder as he sways you side to side.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who knows when you've turned over in your sleep, so he wakes up, moves to your other side, and snuggles into your chest.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who has to have 'pinky contact' even when you’re sleeping on opposite sides of the bed — just a tiny hook of your smallest fingers to know you’re still there.

clingy bf.ᐟjisung who finally falls asleep with his fingers still curled into the hem of your shirt, a soft smile on his lips because he knows that when he wakes up, you will still be right there in his arms.

kysa's note: my first fluffy post 𖹭 i had so much fun making this — (cuz yes i'm clingy and i love clingy bbs) and you'll be seeing loads of fluffy from me now >.< lemme know your thoughts in the comments below — hope you enjoy .ᐟ xoxo

"²Hija, are you ready!?" Your dad calls out from just outside the front door. "Yeah!" You run into the kitchen and grab the giant bag of food your mom packed, as well as the cooler full of drinks. It's heavy as hell, but you manage to get it to the door before turning back to glare at Jongho, "I know you're not coming with us, but you know, you could at least help load this stuff into the car." Jongho gently massages his shoulder, barely looking up from his phone, "Ah, you know, I would but my shoulder--" "You're so full of it, Jongho, I swear--" You get ready to go in on him, but then you feel the cooler getting tugged out of your hands, and you see a shadow cast across you and Jongho. You turn just in time to see Yunho, who's now got the cooler fully in his hands, staring down at you, "I'll help," He says simply. "Yunho," You say, surprised and suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. You thought you'd have the car ride, at least, to mentally prepare yourself to be around him.

2.) Hija/hijo: daughter/son

He walks out to the truck to load the cooler in, leaving you standing there at the doorway, hesitant to follow. "You know he's single, right?" Jongho smirks, sitting up. You turn to look at him, furrowing your brows, "So?" "Just sayin'," He says, finally standing up to stretch and walking back to his room, "Gonna go get ready for work." You stare at him as he walks away. He's always talking out of his ass. It's annoying. "¡Y/n, ya vamonos!" Let's go already, your dad yells. You quickly close the door behind you, the metal clanking against the frame, to which your mom yells out, "¡No asotes la puerta!" Don't slam the door!

When you round the corner to meet them on the side of the house where the truck is parked, you see your dad is already in the driver's seat, and Yunho is leaning up against the truck; his arms are crossed, and his sombrero is completely blocking his eyes as he looks down at his phone. You approach slowly, fixing your face to not look so nervous. "What are you waiting for?" You ask, tilting your head. "For you," He slowly lifts his head, and it makes your heart flutter. Goddamn him and that fucking hat. "Why me?" You ask. "Because you're in the middle," He nods toward the truck. "We're all in the same truck?" You're trying to fight the feeling but you slowly start to feel yourself turning red at the thought of being sandwiched between your dad and Yunho. "Would you prefer not to?" Yunho asks, looking down at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, "I can always take the ³cuatri." "N-no, don't be silly," You say, avoiding his gaze as you walk past him and slide in.

3.)Cuatri: shortform for "cuatrimoto," which means four-wheeler/ATV.

You try to scoot as close as possible toward your dad, but he makes a face, "¿Eres chicle?" Are you gum? "No?" You say, raising a brow in confusion. "¿Entonces porque tan pegada?" Then why are you so stuck to me? You roll your eyes, letting out a sigh as you scoot away from him-- though when you do, you realize you've miscalculated how far away to scoot, as your thighs are now touching Yunho's; Yunho doesn't say anything, just leans back, crossing his arms on his chest as he looks ahead. You swallow hard, feeling so hyper aware of him next to you. Just fifteen minutes, Y/n. Just last fifteen minutes.

Yunho stares out the window the entire ride down to the ⁴potrero. He keeps his arms crossed the whole way, knowing it'll give you more space. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable...though part of him is kind of enjoying seeing you so flustered. He's not even sure why he likes it so much, but he finds himself wanting to see you like that more and more. "Is San there already?" Your dad asks Yunho. "Yeah, he got there about five minutes ago." "What time does he have to be at the ⁵puesto?" "He's going in the evening; I'm gonna leave before him to help out over there at 12 but I'll be here all day tomorrow." Your dad turns to you, "I'll need you to go with Yunho into town. I ordered some lumber with Don Martin and he said it should be ready by midday." Your eyes widen, "You want me to go?" "Pues si," Well duh, "how else is Yunho gonna get to the puesto? I've gotta stay longer to finish up in the field with San." You remain silent, your mind racing. Sitting in a car, just the two of you...the thought makes your hands sweat.

4.)Potrero: Field 5.)Puesto: a stand of some sort (a taco stand in this case)

The work is so hard and back-breaking, you almost regret having come back. Working a cushy office job is nothing compared to this. You suppose you'll have to appreciate your dad extra hard for doing this kind of work all your life to put you through school. By 11, you're sweating profusely, the neat braids your mom had done for you, now frizzing in all directions. You stand up, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your forearm, as your hands are currently disgusting.

The worst part about being home really isn't the heat, itself; its the humidity. Everything is sweaty and sticky and makes you want to peel your skin off and hang it to dry. Not to mention, all the bugs; you'd been gone all year and forgotten how bad the bugs get. You slap a mosquito that's settled on your shoulder, just in time for it not to bite you. "Y/n, take a break," Your dad calls out from the end of the field. "I'm okay!" You respond. "No, take a break now. I don't need your mom on me because you passed out. Yunho, you take a break too." You roll your eyes and begrudgingly walk over to the giant mango tree in the far corner of the field. You hate how overprotective your dad gets with you; you sometimes feel like you're a child again when you're with your parents.

You sit down on a stool right at the trunk; one that's been there for years, and you lean back against the tree trunk. You then watch as Yunho also comes in this direction. It's so hard to relax when you know he's near by, and you find yourself tensing immediately. The entire time you've been working, he's been on the other end of the field, focused and moving quickly to plant the sugar cane stocks, so you didn't have to interact much this morning after arriving; but now, he's intent on also finding relief in the shade with you.

As soon as be steps under the lush branches, he doesn't say a single word; he immediately grabs the large water he'd left here at the start, unscrewing the top and tilting his head back to drink. He gulps like a man who'd just been wandering the desert; drops of water fall from the gap between his lips and the mouth of the bottle, dripping down his chin, and then slowly down his neck. You stare in awe, utterly hypnotized by the sight. Your mouth waters, and it's not because you want water. When he takes the bottle away from his mouth, he pants lightly, letting out a groan of relief, which ignites a sort of primal part of your brain. Oh God, are you no better than an animal? You look away, turning to look at your dad, who's currently talking with San. Yunho looks at you, fighting his own smile; he hadn't initially noticed you staring, but he definitely caught you looking away.

"Water?" He asks, holding out the one he just drank from. You glance at him, "No, thanks." "You sure? It's nice and cool." "I'm sure, thanks." He nods, and turns to look out onto the field. You squirm a little, uncomfortable with the silence, but still feeling too nervous to say anything. He looks up at the branches of the tree, examining the fruit as he says, "These look delicious." You look up too, "Yeah, they are. Tree's been here since when my dad was little. My grandpa planted it." He examines a little longer, then reaches up for one of them. You don't mean to, but you catch a glimpse of the bottom of his stomach, as well as the waistband of his underwear from the top of his jeans. Your lips hang open, taken aback by the beautiful sight. "This is a good one," He says triumphantly, looking down at the yellow mango in his hand; it's funny, the mango itself is a decent size, but it looks medium sized in his massive hand. You stare as he raises it to his mouth and takes a big bite; the slurping sound he makes when he tries to keep from dripping onto his shirt-- it's sinful, really. "Mm..." He says, snapping you out of your trance, "Sweet." His lips are covered in the sweet mango juice, glistening in the small pockets of sunlight from between the branches, before he wipes it off with the back of his hand.

Who knew eating a mango could be so sexual?

"Las llaves," The keys, your dad says, tossing the keys in the air for Yunho to catch. You furrow your brows, "Why can't I drive? I'm the one running your errands for you," You ask indignantly. Your dad shakes his head, "You can drive back but you're not driving up that hill. Did you already forget how you let the car roll back last time?" "It hardly rolled back," You roll your eyes. "You almost hit Maya." “But I didn’t though,” You cross your arms. “Oh, but you did. She still hasn’t forgiven you for it either,” Your dad say sternly, pointing an accusatory finger at you. Maya's your family cow. It was about two years ago; she’d been grazing at the bottom of the hill when you did, indeed, roll back. You narrowly missed her by about four feet or so.

Yunho stands there, watching the exchange, trying not to laugh as he imagines the entire scenario. Safe to say, he's definitely gonna be the one driving up the hill. He walks to the driver's side door, and you go to the passenger's side, slamming the door behind you, sulking a bit at your dad's lack of faith in you. "Ready?" Yunho asks. "Yeah,” You say with a sigh. He glances at you, a smirk on his face as he turns the car on. “Your dad’s just worried for your safety,” He says, changing the gear, “and Maya’s.” You furrow your brows, glaring at him, “You’re getting comfortable.” “Should I be uncomfortable?” He asks, tilting his head, though he keeps his eyes on the road ahead. You don’t respond; you just sit there, leaning against the door.

By the time you’re up the hill, your annoyance has dissipated, and the reality hits you that you’re in the car alone with him. You casually look over at him. He’s sitting there, relaxed as can be, the lap practically lying in his lap, his legs bent as much as possible to be able to fit in the seat and still be able to drive. “Sorry, I was rude,” You say. He raises his brows, not having expected that to come out of your mouth. “You’re sorry?” He asks, confirming it in case he heard wrong. You sigh, “Yes.” “Okay,” He suddenly pulls over on the side of the road, right next to a small convenience store,⁶Abarrotes Hidalgo. “What are we doing here?” You ask, looking out the car window. “You’re gonna buy me a choco-banana.” “Excuse me?” You say, taken aback. He jumps out of the car and walks around to your side, opening your door. “Why would I buy you a ⁷choco-banana?” “Because you’re sorry for being rude.” He says it like it should be obvious, which makes you all the more confused.

6.) Abarrotes: convenience store 7.)Choco-banana: a frozen, chocolate-dipped banana (sometimes w/ sprinkles). Originally from Central America

You follow him into the store, hesitantly trailing behind him all the way to the counter. “Buenas tardes. Dos choco-bananas, por favor,” Good afternoon. Two choco-bananas, please, says Yunho to the cashier, who is an old woman with two long braids going down her chest. She looks up at him in awe, then down at you, “Wow…que guapo,” Wow, how handsome, she says with a smile. He smiles in return, his ears turning pink, “No señora, la guapa es usted.” No, ma’am; the good-looking one is you. “No me digas eso, tengo esposo,” Don’t say that, I have a husband, she laughs, slowly walking over to the big deep-freezer behind her, grabbing two choco-bananas.

You watch the entire exchange, unable to hold back your own chuckle. She hands you both your frozen treats, with two napkins on the sticks. You stand there for a moment, then realize Yunho’s looking at you expectantly. You look up at him and then roll your eyes, reaching into your pocket for your wallet and taking out 40 ⁸pesos. “Cuánto será?” How much? “Nomas te cobro uno,” I’ll only charge you for one. “No, Señora. Please, let me buy both.” She waves you away, “No, it’s my treat…only because your boyfriend’s so sweet,” She says with a wink. You instantly feel yourself getting red again. Yunho, however, is standing there with a giant grin on his face, “You’re too kind, señora.”

8.) Pesos: Mexican currency

When you walk out of the store, you stand there staring at him. "What?" He asks, unwrapping the plastic wrap from his banana. "Why didn't you say anything to her?" "About?" "She thought we were together." "Why didn't you say anything?" He tilts his head. You shake your head and just get in the car, ignoring his question altogether. He slides in with ease, holding his banana in his mouth as he turns the car back on. "Has anyone ever told you how grumpy you are?" He asks. "I'm not grumpy--" You catch your tone and then bring it down, "I'm not grumpy, I just don't don't want people to get the wrong idea about us." "Why? It's not like you have a boyfriend, right?" He asks. His presumptuous tone irritates you, "What if I do?" "Do you?" He laughs, knowing the answer already. You're quiet for a moment before leaning back in your seat, "You're frustrating." "Hey, it's not that embarrassing to be single in your late twenties," He teases, pulling back off onto the road. "Oh it's embarrassing, is it?" You fully rotate your body to face him better as he drives, "Well what about you? People have told me you're single. Is it embarrassing for you?" "So, you've been asking about me?" He doesn't miss a single beat.

Your cheeks burn, "No, it's just information people have decided to share about you." "Then tell me, Y/n," He glances at you briefly, "What is it about you, that makes them want to talk to you about me?" He smirks. "Don't flatter yourself," You roll your eyes. "How can I not?" He asks, taking another bite, "even the ⁹abuelitas think I'm handsome. Why wouldn't you?" "You're incorrigible," You exhale, finally taking a bite of your own, focusing on the crackle of the sprinkles being mashed between your teeth. You don't even realize that Yunho's fully looking at you, admiring your indignant body language, along with how your lips wrap beautifully around the chocolate banana.

9.)Abuelita: grandma

After another five minutes, you're finally in town, pulling up to the small taco stand, where a lady is already serving a few customers for the lunch rush. It doesn't take a genius to see that this lady is clearly related to Yunho and San, presumably, their mom. Yunho hops out before you, quickly running around to your side and letting you out, despite it being perfectly manageable for you to get out on your own. "Come, get some tacos before you go," He says, nodding for you to follow him. You blink in surprise, but quickly get out and follow behind him right up to the front. "Hi Eomma, how are you doing?" "I'm doing fine, son," The woman looks over and catches sight of you, "and who's this?" "This is Don L/n's daughter, Y/n. She brought me to work." "Wow, que bonita," She says with a big smile; her accent is hardly noticeable as she speaks Spanish-- another indicator they've been in Mexico for a long time.

You smile and bow to her, at least acutely aware of basic Korean manners, "Gracias. Buenas tardes, Señora," Thank you, good afternoon, Ma'am. "She begged me to try some of your bulgogi tacos," He says, motioning toward you with his thumb. You forget he's not Jongho, and instinctively go to lightly shove his shoulder. He laughs, feigning being hurt as he rubs his shoulder. "Of course! They'll be done in a second," She says, urging for you to take a seat. Yunho leads you to a table, and you sit down in the red, plastic chairs. You look over at the stand, admiring the way it's decorated; in many ways, it looks like any other taco stand, except for the various Korean flags sewn together with Mexican ones hanging from the sides of the awning to block out the sun, along with a garland of Korean and Mexican flags hanging along the awning, itself. Yunho sees you staring at the decor, and he chuckles, "San is insistent on making it as obvious as possible that we're Korean." "Real patriotic," You nod slowly.

"Nah, he just wants people to be able to spot us easier so we make more money," He laughs. "Does it work?" "Absolutely. Back in Sinaloa, people would order tacos from her for special events and stuff. San had the idea to just open up a taco stand using her recipes, as well as more traditional Mexican ones." "That's kind of genius," You say in surprise. "Just don't tell him that. We gotta keep him humble," Yunho snorts. You laugh, throwing your head back lightly, which makes Yunho smile wider, "Finally." "What?" "You smiled." You immediately look away, "Well, see? Now you made it weird." He laughs, opening his mouth to say something, but then you hear his mom, "Jeong Yunho, come get the tacos!" He quickly pops up out of his seat and grabs the plate, along with a glass bottle of Pepsi (to match the table, of course). Your eyes light up at the sight of the plate, realizing you'd only eaten two small breakfast burritos right before beginning to work on the field.

"These look so good," You say when he sets the plate down and scoots it over to you. "Will you not have any?" "No, but you eat." You sit there, smile falling slightly. You hate when people just watch you eat. He seems to gather that's what you're thinking, and rolls his eyes, though he's endeared more than annoyed. He reaches over and picks up one of the tacos, careful not to let any of the onions or cilantro fall off. You watch, once again stunned by his level of comfortability, considering he just reached into your plate to take one of the tacos meant for you. He nods toward the plate, urging you to pick one up too. You quickly do so, "Alright, alright." You both take a bite at the same time, and you can't help the slight moan you let out at the flavor. Your eyes go wide, "Woah- this is so good." He smiles, chewing and nodding, "I know, right?"

You grab the Pepsi, then realize it’s not open. “Oh, do you have a bottle opener?” You ask, looking around to see if he brought one. He puts the taco down, his mouth too full of food to reply; he grabs the bottle gently from your hand, then puts it at the edge of the metal table and slams his palm down in it, popping the metal cap off swiftly and then handing it to you. He has done too many attractive things in one day, and it makes you flustered. You put on an unaffected act, and it’s obvious he buys it, considering he doesn’t tease you for it.

You share the rest of the tacos in silence, though it’s not an uncomfortable one; it almost feels like two old friends, sharing a meal. He occasionally grunts in delight as he eats the taco and takes a bite of pickled carrot or a jalapeño. “You gonna eat that?” He asks, pointing to the last red radish on the plate. You shake your head, “Go ahead.” He takes his last bite of taco and then pops the radish into his mouth, leaning back against the plastic chair. You do the same, letting out a deep, tired sigh, “Thanks again for the tacos…how much were they?” You ask, pulling out your wallet, to which he shakes his head, “Free.” “Don’t be silly. How much?” “You sure you wanna know? They’re expensive,” He says, though his coy smile is making you hesitant to ask again. He carefully wipes his lips, “You have to be nice to me from now on.” “Huh?” “That’s the price: being nice to me.”

“And why is that the price?” You snort, playing into his antics a bit. “Because,” He leans in, “‘Tas bonita cuando te portas bien.”

You’re pretty when you behave.

❛ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. ❜ parasocial gc ESP 5MAN this chapter is for us 🫂 (i hope yall laugh when you read this one 😭)( @miseulgaru @kaikaikoi @griinspire @lovhyeon )

❛ 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒+𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ❜ oc (ezra)

❛ 𝓢𝐂. ❜ 24.

original martin art from pinterest! credits to the rightful owner <3

PREV < masterlist > NEXT

☆ an. ambiguous ending ahh,, sorry guys blame the image limit on tumblr bc i was genuinely planning to add the next few ss here but tumblr said 30 only 😂

[⭑] SERIES TL. @r0ckst4rjk @emmaitoshi @soulskiu @written-by-music @stagbarnes @jewelledjju @myuekii @soupysnoopy1 @lowkhyeon @inadazeee @mia-mita @somber-reads

(comment to be added!)

"You may now kiss the bride."

Keonho thought that love probably worked the way songwriting did. You couldn't force it. The second you tried to make something fit before it was ready, it stopped sounding true, and you ended up with a song that technically rhymed and meant absolutely nothing.

He'd believed that since he was maybe sixteen, sitting on the floor of a practice room with a guitar he didn't know how to play yet, some half-finished melody looping in his head that he couldn't get to land no matter how hard he forced the chords underneath it. 

It had taken him weeks to figure out that the problem wasn't the chords. The problem was that he was trying to write something before it existed yet.

He still believed it now, sitting in a pew in a chapel that smelled like candle wax and old wood and, faintly, the lavender someone had tucked into the flower arrangements. James was up at the altar in a suit that fit him a little too well, kissing a woman he'd known for eleven months, and the whole room had gone soft and anticipating the way church halls do at that exact moment, everyone leaning forward without meaning to.

He wasn't against the idea of a soulmate.

In fact, he was fully on board with the concept, actually, had been since he was a kid watching his parents slow dance around the kitchen to nothing. There was no music at all, just the two of them swaying because they felt like it.

He just thought a soulmate should get to exist for a while before you legally attached yourself to them in front of two hundred people and a priest who'd never met either of you before this week. 

He had a rule about it. Nothing official, nothing he'd ever admitted out loud to the guys, but a rule nonetheless, something he'd built for himself the way you build any rule you actually intend to keep.

He wasn't getting married before twenty-four. Twenty-four felt like the age where a person finally figured out what specific kind of idiot they were, the age where you'd made enough mistakes to know your own patterns, could see them coming before they arrived. (It was also the closest thing to his birthday number.)

He'd never bothered explaining the logic to anyone because there wasn't much of one beyond that. It was a number he'd decided to trust as a teenager and never questioned since, the same way some people trusted a lucky pair of socks or refused to walk under ladders, superstition dressed up as strategy.

So he sat there in a chapel on some sprawling ranch property, in a suit that was already too warm for the weather, watching his bandmate promise forever to someone he'd met less than a year ago, feeling some sort of mix of happy-for-him and are-you-actually-out-of-your-mind that he figured most people felt at weddings they were too young to be standing up in as anything other than a witness. 

And then he turned his head, just slightly, meaning to check on James's mom in the front row, who'd been crying since the doors opened. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue his cousin kept handing her, because that felt like the kind of thing a good groomsman should notice and mention later, something to bring up at the reception.

That was the plan, anyway. Instead his eyes caught on you first, three rows back on the bride's side, in a pale yellow dress, laughing quietly at something the kid beside you had whispered, your hand coming up to cover your mouth like you were trying not to be the loud one during someone's vows and failing slightly anyway.

He completely lost the thread of whatever he'd been about to think about James's mom. He didn't look away fast enough.

You caught him looking. Just for a second, your eyes flicking up and landing right on his before he managed to arrange his face into something less obvious, something less like a man who'd just forgotten his own best friend was getting married four feet in front of him.

You didn't smile, not right away. You just held his gaze a moment longer than a stranger indifferent would, like you were deciding whether he was worth being annoyed at for staring, weighing it, and then you looked back toward the altar like nothing had happened, leaving him to sit there with his heart doing something stupid and immediate that he had absolutely no name for yet.

Keonho faced forward too, and thought, with an alarming amount of certainty, that he could get married today. Right now. 

Fuck twenty-four, forget the rule, forget every piece of logic he'd built the last several years of his dating life around. He didn't know James's fiancée, wife now, he supposed, all that well, had met her maybe four times total, but apparently her family had been hiding an angel like that the entire time, tucked away three rows back in a chapel.

Nobody had warned him one of them would look like you did in a pew, laughing quietly at a kid's joke during someone else's vows like the whole ceremony was a secret only the two of you were in on.

He leaned toward Juhoon, who was standing beside him in full groomsman formation, hands folded. He was doing his best impression of a man taking this seriously, which was more than could be said for Keonho at the moment.

"Who is that?" he whispered.

Juhoon didn't even turn his head. "The cousin. Ivy's cousin."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was listening when James went through the whole seating chart, and you were on your phone."

"I was talking to my mom."

"You were sobbing about your dog, dude."

"That's not—okay, fair, but I was also talking to my mom while it happened, so it still counts as listening. Technically."

Juhoon, mercifully, offered nothing else, mostly because the officiant had picked that exact moment to ask James if he took Ivy to be his lawfully wedded whatever, and James's voice cracked so badly on the word "always" that half the chapel made a collective sound like some kind of interactive audience. Someone's grandmother actually sniffled out loud, three pews back, loud enough to make a few people laugh through their own tears.

Keonho tried, genuinely, to focus on his best friend getting married. He really did.

But his eyes kept sliding three rows back, and every single time they did, you were doing something new. Adjusting the flower crown someone had clearly forced onto your head. Whispering to the kid again, some private joke passed back and forth. Catching him looking and this time not bothering to pretend you hadn't noticed, just raising an eyebrow at him like, are you gonna keep doing that the whole ceremony? He absolutely was. 

He thought, watching you, that he was going to marry a stranger's cousin, and then, a second later, that this was genuinely psychotive behavior and he should probably get it together before the reception even started.

Of course, he thought about it anyway for the rest of the ceremony, all the way through the ring exchange and the unity candle and the part where James's little brother dropped the pillow with the rings on it and had to scramble under a pew to retrieve it, and Keonho did not feel even a little bit sorry about any of it.

Three hours earlier, in the room where the groomsmen were getting dressed, Seonghyeon had made an announcement to the whole room while doing up his cufflinks in the mirror, checking his own reflection from three different angles like the room owed him a fourth opinion. The room wasn't just the band, either.

James's actual family had spilled into it too somewhere around the second hour, an uncle helping with someone's tie because apparently nobody under thirty in that family knew how to tie a full Windsor, his younger cousin arguing with his mom about whether the boutonnieres matched the exact shade of the bridesmaids' dresses or just a shade close enough that nobody but her would notice, a cousin filming everything for some group chat back home, narrating in a whisper like he was covering a sporting event.

The whole space was loud in the way rooms get right before something important happens, everyone talking over everyone else. It was all nervous jitters with nowhere to go, cologne and hairspray thick enough in the air that Martin had opened a window twenty minutes in and gotten yelled at for letting the air inside.

"Calling it now," Seonghyeon had announced, loud enough to cut through all of it, still watching himself in the mirror. "Pretty bridesmaids are mine. Whoever gets there first."

"That's not how dibs works," Martin had muttered, not even looking up from his phone.

"Are you slow? It's exactly how dibs works."

"You can't call dibs on a person, you absolute caveman."

"Watch me."

Keonho hadn't looked up either, though for entirely different reasons than Martin, because Keonho had been fully losing it on the phone in the corner, back pressed against the wall like he needed the support, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding his phone so tight his knuckles had gone pale. H

e'd been entirely too consumed by his own personal crisis to register anything Seonghyeon was declaring war on across the room.

"He did WHAT," he'd hissed into the phone, loud enough that James’ uncle, tying his own tie two feet away, had actually paused to look over.

"He peed on your Jordans," his mom had repeated, very calmly, like this was a completely normal Tuesday update and not a war crime committed against his sneaker collection. "The pink ones. I tried to catch him but he was already—"

"Mom. Mom. Those were limited edition. I saved for those. I waited in line for those."

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. He seemed very apologetic about it, if that helps."

"It does not help."

In the background he could hear Cookie panting happily, no remorse whatsoever, a dog fully at peace with his crimes, tags jingling against his collar as he presumably trotted around the kitchen looking for something else to ruin.

Keonho had demanded, with the seriousness of a man twice his age handling actual legal proceedings, that his mom hold the phone up to the dog's ear so he could hiss "you ruined my life" directly into the receiver. Cookie received this with total indifference, maybe even a happier bark, like the whole conversation was a game he was winning.

That was the entire reason he'd missed Seonghyeon's declaration of territory on the bridesmaids. He'd been too busy crashing out over a dog and a pair of shoes to register anything else happening around him, and he hadn't thought about it again until the ceremony ended and he was standing in a reception tent that smelled like hay and candle wax.

Scanning the crowd for no reason he could name yet, and he saw you across the room, and thought, with something close to actual panic, please tell me Seonghyeon didn't see her first.

The reception was outside, past the chapel, under a tent strung with lights someone had clearly spent an entire day getting perfectly even, the sort of lighting job that only happens when somebody's mother has strong feelings about symmetry. 

Beyond the tent sat a barn converted into something with a dance floor and a bar, string lights wrapped around every visible beam. Past that, if you looked far enough into the dark, real stables with real horses shifting occasionally against their stalls, plus a small pen holding two pigs that James's future father-in-law apparently kept as pets, for reasons nobody had bothered explaining to any of the guests, least of all Keonho, who'd spent a solid five minutes earlier just staring at them like they might explain themselves eventually.

“Keonho, those are pigs. P-I-G-S.”

“Martin.”

“Like… bacon. Oink oink– how do you still not kn–”

“Can you shut up, I fucking know they’re pi–” 

Keonho was in the midst of flicking Martin off when he saw the love of his life again. You.

He felt like some ripoff Joe Goldberg with the way he observed every single little thing you did. You, with your contagious smile and your silly way of trying to make someone’s newborn baby laugh and your teaching your uncle how to dance Gangnam style. He was noticing things and he usually didn’t.

You'd taken the flower crown off at some point and it hung off your wrist like a bracelet now, and someone, a little cousin or a sibling, some kid with a marker and zero respect for personal space, had drawn what was either meant to be a horse or a deeply confused dog on the inside of your forearm, along with a few stars and something that could've been a heart or could've been a poorly attempted flower. You kept glancing down at it like you'd forgotten it was there, then remembered, then smiled a little to yourself. It was private in a way that made Keonho feel like he was watching something he wasn't quite supposed to see.

He couldn't stop watching you do it anyway. It was becoming a genuine problem.

"That's her," Martin announced, appearing at Keonho's elbow with two drinks and handing him one without asking, the ice already half melted from however long he'd been carrying it around looking for Keonho. "The one you keep staring at like she owes you rent money or some shit."

"I'm not staring."

"You've looked over there four times in the last minute. I counted."

"You counted my staring? Man, that's worse than the staring itself."

"I'm bored. James's busy being a married man now." Martin took a sip of his drink, watching Keonho over the rim of the glass with the patient, unbothered look of a man who had absolutely nothing better to do all night. "So who is she?"

"Ivy's cousin."

"You gonna talk to her, or keep doing that thing where you look and then look away too fast, like you got caught doing something illegal."

Seonghyeon chose that exact moment to walk over, tie already loosened, jacket somewhere else entirely. He looked far too pleased with himself for a boy who'd just spent forty minutes doing the electric slide with someone's grandmother and, from the state of his hair, possibly lost a bet along the way.

The second his eyes found you across the tent, something in Keonho's chest went instantly, embarrassingly territorial, even though he hadn't said a single word to you yet and you weren't a thing that could be claimed based on who'd noticed you first, regardless of whatever Seonghyeon had shouted into a mirror three hours ago.

"Oh," Seonghyeon crowed. "Called it."

"You didn't call anything. You said a general sentence about bridesmaids."

"I said pretty bridesmaids are mine, and she is, unquestionably, a pretty bridesmaid."

"She's not even a bridesmaid, she's family."

"Even better."

"Seonghyeon." Keonho set his drink down on the nearest table, having apparently decided, somewhere between one breath and the next, that he was doing this now, immediately, before he could talk himself out of it. "I'm gonna go say hi."

"Say hi from me too," Seonghyeon called after him, entirely too pleased with himself, and Keonho didn't even bother turning around to answer, just raised a middle finger over his shoulder as he walked off toward the buffet table, weaving between two of James's aunts who were deep in conversation about the flower arrangements.

He found you there, plate in hand, surveying the food like you were making a real decision instead of picking off a wedding spread, tilting your head slightly at the chafing dishes like one of them spoke to your soul. He came up beside you, grabbed a plate of his own, and did his best to sound casual, which took considerably more effort than it should have for someone who'd once performed in front of thousands of people without breaking a sweat.

"Bride or groom's side?" he asked.

You glanced over, clearly knowing that he already knew the answer, seeing as he'd been standing at the front of a chapel in a matching blazer less than an hour earlier. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Bride," you offered slowly, playing along anyway. "You?"

"Groom. Guess that makes us enemies."

"Guess it does. I'll try not to take it personally."

"Appreciate the maturity." You scooped mac and cheese onto your plate before you even touched the salad, spooning a generous portion without any of the polite hesitation most people performed at weddings, and Keonho silently decided that was correct behavior and possibly a sign, though a sign of what he wasn't entirely sure yet.

"You're one of the guys in the band, right," you said, glancing at his lapel pin like it might confirm something. "Ivy mentioned it. Said James's marrying into some very funny, very loud family band situation."

"That's us. Very funny, very loud. Me, funniest to be specific.” He looked down at his own plate and realized, with some embarrassment, that it currently held three deviled eggs and nothing else, the rest of the buffet apparently forgotten the second he'd spotted you across the tent. “My name’s Keonho."

"Keonho," you repeated back at him, testing it, like you were trying the shape of it in your mouth. "Strong name for a guy currently holding a plate with three deviled eggs and nothing else on it."

"I was gonna get more. I got distracted."

"By the eggs?"

"By you, actually, but I didn't want to say that on our first conversation, so let's go with the eggs."

You laughed. To his surprise, it was a real one, loud enough that a couple people glanced over from the next table, and somewhere in his chest, a feeling like something tugged at his strings settled.

"Bold move for someone you met ten seconds ago," you told him.

"I have my moments."

"You have three deviled eggs."

"I can have moments and deviled eggs. Both things are allowed to be true at once," he offered, and you rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling when you turned back to the buffet, and he counted that as a win worth remembering.

Dinner was assigned seating, apparently, which nobody had bothered to tell Keonho, because he walked straight up to the table you'd sat down at, pulled out the chair across from you, and dropped into it like it belonged to him, setting his plate down with a finality that suggested the matter was already settled.

You looked up, fork halfway to your mouth. "What are you doing? We have assigned tables."

"I don't see anyone here."

"There's a card. Right there. With a name on it."

"I can't read."

"You're in a band. You write lyrics."

"I hum them. Very different skill set."

You stared at him for a second, clearly fighting a smile and losing badly, then reached over and flipped the little place card face-down without breaking eye contact, like you were making an executive decision and daring him to argue with it.

"There," you declared. "Now nobody can prove anything."

"See, this is why I sat here. I could tell you were a problem solver."

"I could tell you were a menace within thirty seconds of meeting you."

"That's the fastest anyone's ever figured me out. Impressive."

The conversation kept easy after that, drifting through the band, your job, a story about the last wedding you'd been a bridesmaid at where the groom's dog had eaten part of the cake before the reception even started and spent the rest of the night refusing to make eye contact with anyone, clearly aware of what he'd done. Keonho told you about the time James had tried to write a song entirely in falsetto to impress a girl in high school and ended up losing his voice for three days right before a talent show. 

You told him about your job in a way that made it sound more interesting than you probably thought it was, and he found himself actually listening, asking follow-up questions he genuinely wanted the answers to instead of just waiting for his turn to talk again.

He found himself laughing more in the space of one dinner course than he usually did in a week, the laughing that made his cheeks hurt in a way he didn't mind at all, and by the time the toasts started, he'd stopped tracking how long you'd been talking, which felt weird in a way he wasn't ready to examine yet.

Keonho lost track of you somewhere around the first dance, pulled onto the floor for a photo James insisted on, then handed a shot by Seonghyeon that he hadn't asked for and drank anyway out of some misplaced sense of obligation, coughing slightly at the burn while Seonghyeon laughed at him. By the time he'd extracted himself from both, you weren't at the table anymore, your chair pushed in neatly like you'd meant to be gone a while.

He found you eventually outside the tent, past the string lights, near the edge of the property where it got dark enough to actually see stars. The phone pressed to your ear, free arm wrapped around yourself against the cold, your voice carrying just far enough for him to catch the tail end of something before he registered what he was hearing.

"—no, I know, but you said you'd be here," you were saying, voice tighter than it had been all night. "You were supposed to be my plus one, that was the whole point of—no. No, I'm not doing this right now, I'm at a wedding."

Keonho slowed, unsure whether to turn back or risk making it worse by staying, but you'd already snapped, "Whatever. Forget it. Have a good fucking night," and hung up before whoever was on the other end could respond, standing there for a second with the phone still pressed to your ear like you were bracing for it to ring again anyway, your shoulders drawn up around your ears.

He cleared his throat quietly, enough to give you a second before he actually approached. "You good?" he asked, and you turned, and for a moment there was something in your face you were trying to smooth over before he could catch it clearly, but you weren't fast enough.

"Fine," you murmured. "Just a whole thing. Doesn't matter."

He didn't push. He'd learned a long time ago that pushing rarely helped and mostly just taught people to hide better next time, so instead he reached behind his back, having had the foresight somewhere around the third toast to swipe a bottle off the drinks table and stash it near the stables for later, telling himself at the time it was for the guys, for some after-party moment that hadn't materialized yet and, he suspected now, had never really been the plan at all.

"Pretty sure you need this more than I do," he offered, holding it out.

"Where the hell did you even get that?"

"Stole it. Don't tell James's father-in-law."

"You stole a bottle of champagne from a wedding."

"It was gonna be for the guys, but honestly, they've had enough tonight. This feels like a better use of it."

You studied him for a second, deciding whether to let the moment be lighter than it currently was, and something in your shoulders finally dropped as you took the bottle from him, your fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

"Fine," you muttered. "But you're drinking it with me. I'm not doing this alone in a field like an alcoholic loner."

"That's the least alcoholic loner way I've ever heard someone describe drinking stolen champagne in a field."

"Low bar," you shot back, and led the way toward the stables without waiting to see if he'd follow, which he did, immediately, without a second of hesitation, matching his stride to yours in the dark.

You ended up on an overturned crate near the stables, close enough to hear the horses shifting around inside, the occasional soft huff of breath through their noses, close enough that you had to sit with your shoulders pressed together to both fit, which neither of you mentioned or moved to fix. Passing the bottle back and forth since neither of you had bothered finding glasses, your hand found his every time without either of you really looking, fingers grazing over fingers in the handoff, lingering a half second longer each time like the two of you were testing how long you could get away with it. 

The reception noise carried faintly behind you, string lights and laughter and someone's aunt winning an argument about karaoke, but out here it was quieter, just the two of you, a couple of horses, and the occasional deeply unbothered grunt from the pigs somewhere off to the left, entirely unconcerned with anyone's romantic evening.

The bottle emptied slowly between you, and somewhere around the halfway mark, both of you a little looser than you'd been an hour ago, your filters worn thin enough to say things you might not have said sober, the conversation turned real without either of you quite deciding to let it.

"Can I say something and you not repeat it to anyone?" you burped, lowering your voice even though there was nobody around to hear it but the horses.

"Depends what it is."

"This whole thing is freaking insane. Like, rubber room full of rats insane." You gestured with the bottle, a loose sweep that took in the tent, the lights, the whole glowing shape of the property behind you, and nearly lost your grip on it entirely, which set off a fit of giggling that took you a solid few seconds to recover from.

"She's twenty-one, Keonho. Twenty-one. I love her, she's my favorite cousin, we grew up two houses apart, I've known her my whole life, but she's known him less than a year and she's up there in a dress that costs more than my car, promising forever to a guy she met at a coffee shop."

"They met at a soundcheck, actually, but I take your point."

"Even worse. That's not romantic, that's like the workplace."

He laughed at that, properly, loud enough that one of the horses shifted at the sound, a hoof scraping against the stall floor, and you laughed too, harder than the joke probably deserved, leaning sideways into his shoulder like you needed somewhere to put the laughter.

He didn't move away. He watched you instead, the way your whole face changed when you actually meant a laugh instead of just being polite, the little crease that showed up near your eyes, the way you had to press your lips together afterward to stop yourself from starting all over again, and he thought, not for the first time tonight, that he could probably watch you do that for hours and not get bored of it.

"Okay, I'm with you. I've thought the exact same thing since he told me he was proposing. I sat him down, I was like, brother, are you sure, and he looked at me like I'd insulted his entire existence."

"Did it work? Clearly not, given the whole," you gestured again, vaguer this time, the champagne clearly starting to catch up with your coordination, "situation."

"Didn't work at all. He said when you know, you know."

"That's not an answer, that's a bumper sticker."

"That's exactly what I told him. He didn't appreciate it."

"I love her, I do," you went on, tipping your head back against the stable wall, staring up at whatever stars were visible past the string lights, your knee coming to rest against his without either of you commenting on it, "but I've been sitting here all night doing math in my head. Like, is this actually going to last, are they gonna make it to twenty-five without one of them having some kind of quarter-life crisis about everything they gave up so young, the whole life they didn't get to have because they signed up for this one at twenty-one."

Keonho considered that for a second, turning the bottle in his hands, watching the last of the liquid catch the light from the tent behind you. Then he watched you instead, the way the same light caught the side of your face and made you look softer than you probably felt, all that champagne warmth still sitting in your cheeks. It was not adorable. Definitely not.

"To be honest? No idea. Genuinely no idea. But I've decided I'm not allowed to get married before twenty-four, so at least I'll never end up in this exact situation myself."

"Why twenty-four specifically?"

"No real reason. I decided it a long time ago and never had a good enough reason to change my mind since."

"That's either the most mature thing you've said all night or the least mature. I genuinely can't tell which."

"Probably both," he admitted, and then, quieter, almost to himself, something else nearly slipped out with it, something that felt too big and too soon to actually say out loud, and he caught it just in time. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing. I almost said something corny."

"Now you have to say it." You nudged him with your shoulder, insistent, your whole body tipping into the nudge with more force than you probably meant, another giggle escaping before you could stop it.

"Absolutely not. It's gone. Lost to the void."

You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly filing that away to bring up later, and he made a mental note that he'd have to be more careful around you, because you were already better at reading him than he'd expected anyone to be after one bottle of stolen champagne.

"For what my opinion's worth," you said instead, letting him off the hook for now, "I don't think James is a bad guy at all. I just think twenty-one is young to sign your whole life away to anyone, even a good one, even someone you're sure about."

"Yep. Agreed. Completely agreed. He's my best friend and I'd take a bullet for him, but I also think he's out of his mind right now, and I'm allowed to think both those things at the same time."

"So what happens if it doesn't work out."

"Then I write the divorce album," Keonho said immediately, without a shred of hesitation, like he'd been waiting all night for someone to ask.

"You have not."

"I do. I've been planning it since he proposed. The second things go south, I step up, I take over lead songwriting duties, I turn his whole heartbreak into our best record yet. Every great band needs a devastating breakup album eventually. It's basically already written in my head. It’s gonna be Radiohead inspired. You know how depressing that shit is."

"Oh my god, stop." You reached over and swatted his arm, then left your hand there afterward, resting just above his elbow like you'd forgotten to take it back, still laughing while you did it, which undercut the whole thing completely. "You cannot be planning your best friend's divorce album at his own wedding, that's genuinely deranged behavior."

"I'm not planning it! I'm just… prepared for it. There's a difference."

"There is not a difference."

"There's a small difference."

"You're a horrible person."

"I'm a realist. Someone has to think ahead while the rest of you are all busy crying like babies at the vows."

You hit him again, lighter this time, still laughing, your hand staying on his arm afterward instead of pulling back, and he decided he could get used to being hit like that on a semi-regular basis if it meant getting that exact laugh out of you every single time, and getting to feel your hand stay where it landed.

The conversation drifted looser after that, the way conversations do once two people have decided they like each other and stopped trying quite so hard to prove it. Your giggling came easier now, quicker to arrive and slower to fade, the two of you tipping toward each other more than either of you probably noticed.

"What's your sign," you asked out of nowhere, swirling what was left of the champagne in the bottle, your words starting to blur softly at their edges.

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters completely. It's basically the only real information about a person."

"Fine. Aquarius."

You made a small, considering sound, taking note without much commentary at first, taking another sip like the conversation might be over already, your eyes still on him over the top of the bottle in a way that made it hard for him to look anywhere else.

"That's it? No commentary?"

"I'm thinking."

"Think faster, you're killing me."

"Fine. It tracks. Slightly unpredictable, thinks he's smarter than everyone in the room, probably says something weird and then acts like he didn't say anything at all."

"That's oddly specific for someone who's known me two hours."

"I have a system," you offered. "What's yours?"

"Libra."

"Oh," he said, grinning slow, watching the way you sat up a little straighter, clearly proud of whatever was coming next. "That explains it."

"Explains what? You don’t know shit about astrology."

"Why you're so sure you're right about everything."

You gasped. "It's not being sure, I’m just correct. It's a Libra thing. We're just morally superior." You said it with total seriousness, chin lifted, and then completely ruined the effect by dissolving into giggles halfway through the sentence, which made him laugh too, mostly at you rather than with you, though you didn't seem to mind the distinction.

"That's not a real astrological trait, you made that up."

"I didn't make it up, it's common knowledge."

"According to who?"

"According to me. I'm a very credible source."

"You're really not."

"I'm the most credible source at this table."

He looked around. "There's no table, we're on a crate."

"And I'm still winning."

"For the record," he said, "my birthday's on Valentine's Day."

You raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of the bottle, and he watched your mouth curve before the rest of your face caught up to it, that half-second where he could tell exactly what you were about to say before you said it. "Does that make you any more romantic than any other guy?"

"Statistically? Probably not."

"Then why'd you bring it up like it should impress me?"

"Habit. It usually gets a reaction. Why do you not care?"

"It got a reaction. The reaction is that I think it's a little sad you're leading with your birthday as a personality trait."

"Brutal." He made a pfft noise with his mouth and pressed his lips together. You were so honest. And perfect.

"I'm a Libra. We're balanced. Brutal and fair, at the same time."

"That's not what balanced means."

"It is if I say it is," you told him, with total conviction and zero evidence to back it up. He decided, watching you say it like it was simply a fact of the universe, your knee still pressed warm against his, your shoulder still tucked into the space beside him like it had always belonged there, that he might genuinely be in trouble here.

"You're not what I expected," you said eventually, once the champagne was nearly gone and the night had gone soft and slow around you both, the string lights blurring slightly at the edges of your vision the way they do after a few drinks, your head tipping toward his shoulder like it had gotten too heavy to hold up on its own.

"What'd you expect."

"I don't know. Guy in a band, more, like," you gestured vaguely, nearly tipping the bottle, "broody. Mysterious. Guitar-face energy."

"I can do guitar-face if you want it."

"Please don't."

"I have a whole face for it. Very attractive. Lots of squinting." He demonstrated, badly, and you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm to steady yourself, your fingers curling around his sleeve, and he stayed very still, very aware of exactly where your hand was and how little he wanted it to move.

"Stop, oh my god."

"I could write a whole song about this exact moment right now. Girl, stables, questionable champagne, pigs actively ruining the mood."

"The pigs aren't ruining the mood."

"They're really not helping it."

You laughed again, winding down into something softer, and he watched you do it, watched the way your smile stayed even after the laugh had faded. Keonho watched the small movement of you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had nothing to do with the wind, and thought, not for the first time that night but with more certainty than before, that he might be in real, actual trouble here, the trouble that didn't go away in the morning along with the champagne headache.

Back near the tent, Seonghyeon had clearly been watching for you both to return, because he intercepted you the second you stepped back into the light, arms crossed, grinning like he'd already decided how this story was going to go and just needed you both to catch up to it.

"There she is," he announced. "I was starting to think Keonho scared you off."

"He didn't scare me off," you giggled. "He stole champagne and made me sit near pigs."

"Sounds about right." Seonghyeon looked between the two of you, something a little too knowing in his face. "So, are we still doing the dibs thing, or?"

"There was never a dibs thing," Keonho said. "You made that up three hours ago and no one agreed with you."

"No one disagreed either. I stand by it."

"Well, now you've got no chance with her," Keonho offered, more confident than he had any real right to be.

"You don't know that," Seonghyeon shot back.

"Oh, I don't?" Keonho turned to you, eyebrow raised, already fairly sure of the answer. "You wanna go share a bottle of champagne with him instead?"

You looked between the two of them for a long, deliberately drawn-out second, clearly enjoying making them both wait for it.

"I already used up my one bottle of stolen champagne tonight," you said finally. "Budget's tight."

"See," Keonho gloated and stuck his tongue out at Seonghyeon. "No chance."

Seonghyeon threw up his hands like he'd been personally wronged and wandered off toward the bar, muttering something about betrayal that neither of you bothered chasing down.

"Well, thank you," you murmured, once he was gone, quieter now, the teasing edge from a moment ago softening into something more sincere, your hand finding his arm again like it had a habit of ending up there. "For the champagne. And for not asking about the phone call."

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to."

"I know. I might, later. Just not tonight."

"Later works for me. I'm not going anywhere."

You looked at him for a second like you were deciding whether to believe that, then smiled. You bumped your shoulder against his as you both started walking back toward the tent, close enough that your arms brushed with every other step, your hand finding his without much fanfare, like it had already decided to be there before either of you agreed to it. 

Holy shit. 

Neither of you moved to close the last few inches. Neither of you moved away either.

"Aquarius," you said, testing it out loud, like you were still deciding what to do with the information, your thumb moving absently over the back of his hand.

"Libra," he said back. "The one who's infinitely better than everyone, apparently."

"Now you're getting it."

Keonho glanced at you as you walked, at the string lights catching the side of your face, at the flower crown still hooked around your wrist and the faded marker drawings underneath it, at the small, private smile you were wearing like it belonged to both of you now. He thought that twenty-four suddenly felt like a very long way off, and, for the first time since he'd made that rule up as a teenager with absolutely no evidence behind it, like it might genuinely be worth the wait.

You had already been studying constantly, and if they were to send you to cram school, then that means you wouldn’t be able to visit the comic store after school anymore.

Faced with that realisation, you now stand in front of your mother as she cooks dinner.

Or tries to anyway. It's kind of hard to do that when a 15 year old keeps complaining in your ear.

“But mummmm,” you bemoan. “It’s only the electives! They don’t even matter!”

She shakes her head, her knife hitting the chopping board with a light thump. She was making another one of her ‘famous stews’, although you were pretty sure she just got it from another cooking website. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be getting less than 95% in art and digital technologies.”

“But–“ you tried to interject, only for your mother to interrupt immediately.

“No buts! I know you think they don’t matter, but excelling at everything in school will get you to every college there is,” she walks to the sink, washing the knife under cold water. “If you really put your mind to it, you’ll get into Tsinghua university, just like your father and I.”

But you dropped out because it was too hard. You bitterly thought, but immediately regretted it and mentally slapped your forehead.

“I know you think it’s unfair, but we just want the best for you.” She puts the knife into the rack before walking over to the freezer and pulling out the best dessert in the entire world–a full tub of mango-apple ice cream.

Every negative thought you had disappeared immediately.

You had enjoyed that delicious dessert after dinner, reaching about halfway until your dad took it away from you.

At school, you thought about skipping the two hour session until Wonhee had told you they did a roll-call at the start and if you weren’t there, they would call your parents.

You showed up right on time, putting your bag on the desk’s hook.

You weren’t really sure what ‘cram school’ was supposed to teach you.

For some reason, your parents had decided to send you to a prestigious one, one where mostly private school students who couldn’t afford a private tutor would go to.

Sure, it was probably a really good school with nice enough teachers, but the only reason why you were scoring lower in those subjects was because you couldn’t give less of a crap about them!

As soon as you entered the room, you felt stares from everyone, suddenly making you notice how out of place you looked there.

All of the kids had fancy uniforms, a few even wearing fancy brands. Whether it be their jewellery or shoes, it was clear there was a gap in wealth between you and them.

Wonhee couldn’t come that day because her parents had forced her to come work at their family restaurant, so you sat all alone at the back while everyone else seemed to have their own little friend groups.

You were pulling out stuff from your bag when you make eye contact with another girl, giving her a small smile. Instead of giving you one back, her expression turns into one of disgust, scoffing and turning around to face her friends.

Tough crowd.

You were about to pull out your pencil case when someone accidentally bumped into your desk, knocking off your newly bought comic.

In a quick flash, you snatched the comic up before it could even touch the ground, making you feel proud of your quick reflexes.

You turn to face the assailant, ready for an apology only to see a boy staring blankly right back at you. 

You almost froze in your spot.

To describe the boy standing in front of you would be like describing a model.

His hair fell perfectly over his face, a small fringe just above his long eyelashes. He was fair, with skin so smooth and shiny you swore you grew a pimple or two staring at it in envy. He looked relaxed and almost uncareful, almost like he didn’t just cause half your books to fall.

“What?” He says roughly, his tone completely snapping you back to reality.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess.

You take a deep breath before responding, reminding yourself to try to be polite. “You’re supposed to say sorry.”

The boy narrowed his eyes, looking over your appearance. Suddenly you felt very conscious of your clothes–your beat up sneakers and dirty skirt that still had an orange juice spill feeling very obvious.

“I don’t say sorry to idiots. Especially ones that go to a public school.” He walks off immediately, leaving you stunned.

His words echo through your brain, leaving you more and more annoyed as he walks over to his seat, laughing with his friends about something.

What. The. Fuck.

Did he seriously call you an idiot to your face?

You don’t realise that you had your fists clenched until you hear the small squeak of the comic against your fingernails.

You panicked for a quick second, seeing the crescent shaped dents on the comics cover.

You looked over at the boy, his face suddenly starting to look uglier and uglier.

Later that night, you recalled that interaction while washing the dishes, feeling angrier and angrier as you thought about it more.

“Stupid asshole… also what the fuck is even that accent of his? ‘Oh I don’t say sorry to idiots because my ego is so inflated!’ Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you have to treat people rudely!” You cursed under your breath. Recalling the horrid memory had aggravated you so much that you ended up using much more force on a cup than you intended and accidentally dropping it onto the ground.

You could basically see it falling in slow motion, every hope of being able to buy another comic disappearing with each centimetre it got closer to the ground.

It shatters loudly, your parents immediately running in to assess the damage.

You couldn’t do anything but nervously look up at your dad, who was stroking his chin as if he was already thinking of a punishment for you.

The last time you did something like this, he had banned you from going to the comic store for about a month. What was he going to do now?

“Two weeks grounded.”

You accepted it without complaint.

The next day you awoke quite energised.

You walked to school with Wonhee, talking about some new drama. Just as you were about to cross the street, two boys suddenly ran out from the left, almost running right into you.

It had surprised Wonhee, her arms that were previously filled with snacks and drinks had now fallen to the ground.

Their uniforms looked awfully familiar, but you couldn’t quite recall where you had seen them before.

Your friend had cursed them under her breath, clenching her first behind their backs like she was some old lady.

“Reckless jerks! They think they’re so much better than everyone just because they go to a private school.” She said as you both picked up her fallen items.

“I can’t believe their school had to be right next to ours.”

“..Wait, what?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Even though we’re a public school, there’s a fancy boys private school right next to it.” She says almost casually, kicking at some pebble on the pathway. “It’s called Hwimun academy. Apparently the principals were in love once, so that’s why their school is so close to ours. But because that was so long ago, everything between our school and theirs just turned into a mess.”

As she explained it all to you, you suddenly remembered bits and pieces about the private school during your first few weeks.

“How do you not know this though? You’ve been here for a full year.”

You shrug, letting her continue.

The private school was way bigger than your school, and definitely got ten times more funding than anyone else’s.

Despite that, she told you that while their school would beat you at sports, your school would beat them at academics, which was quite surprising.

“The guys there are ruder than anyone else though. They don’t even try to be nice–it’s like if they do, they’ll uncontrollably barf up their guts.” She says, gagging at the thought of any of them.

As you reach the end of an underpass, you both spot a crowd of people hanging around the end of a road.

You both look at each other in curiosity before approaching the end of the crowd, noticing how the people that stopped were only kids from your school.

Both you and Wonhee stand on your tiptoes to see what was stopping them, only to see a whole crowd of Hwimun uniforms on the other side.

Two boys, one from each school standing right in the middle of everyone.

Phones were already pulled out, and a few kids were already looking excited for some reason.

You recognise the one standing in your uniform.

Kang Seomun was the school’s student council president, a smiley guy who was strict about a lot of things, but was always kind enough to give everyone a second chance. So, it was a big surprise to see him right in the middle of the encircled crowd, his expression dark and fists clenched.

“What did you say about our school?” He suddenly asks.

Kang Seomun was also very proud to be the school’s president–you remember that he was always very excited when he talked at the morning assembly’s.

The guy from the other school chuckles, shaking his head.

“I said that you were all poor and dirty pigs. Did you hear that?” He mocks, cocking his head to this side as the guys from his school behind him start snickering.

Before he can say anything else, Seomun rushes in and punches him in the face. He falls to the ground immediately, gasps and shouts falling around the crowd. Everyone starts to back up, but then Seomun grabs him by his shirt, punching him once again. Before he could land another one, the other guy grabs Seomun’s collar and headbutts him, hard.

The boys in front of you started cheering, yelling out ‘ohhs’ and ‘ahhs’ as the two stood up, both holding their arms out like it was a boxing match.

The sounds of their fight silence the entire crowd before kids from the older grades start pulling them apart, shouts and yells echoing through the street.

The street was close to the school, so both you and Wonhee walked off before teachers started running in and talking to everyone who saw it.

Fights like that obviously weren’t common, but everybody knew that if you were even remotely involved in one, the principal would get you in big trouble.

Both of you couldn’t risk your parents getting angry again, so walking away was an easy decision.

“I can’t believe Seomun would be so stupid to fight. I mean, I knew he was always so passionate about our school, but it’s not even eight!” Wonhee sighs, walking into the classroom with you.

She sits just next to you, dumping her snacks all over the table. She hands you a gummy bear packet before tearing into a bag of chips.

“Do you think the teachers have caught them yet?”

She shrugs, shoving a handful of chips into her mouth before loudly crunching on them. “Probably. They were all crowding around it like it was some pop star's show.”

The six hours go by quickly, dread sitting in fast as you both walk to the cram school. The school was surrounded by fun activities, clearly targeting the teens who went there. There were karaoke rooms, arcades, and even a few basketball courts.

Although the real highlight was the small cafe close by, their sign saying they were hiring. You had spotted it yesterday, but didn’t get much of a look as you were in a rush.

You decided you’d apply, and hopefully get the job.

You reach the classroom you were in yesterday, opening the door tiredly.

You take a few steps, only to hear whispers and murmurs around the room.

“They’re from that public school..”

“I can’t believe their school president would attack someone like that.”

“Do you think they’ll beat me up if I talk to them?”

“Idiot! They’re just girls, they’re not going to hurt you.”

You both send each other looks before walking to the back sitting down, very confused. What the hell could they possibly be talking about?

Did someone post the fight?

“I knew your school was filled with idiots.”

You look up immediately, only to find the boy that insulted you yesterday.

What a surprise that you immediately recognised that dreadful Hwimun uniform, making you remember why it was so familiar that morning.

He looks down at you, hands tucked into his pockets. You had no time to respond to his previous remark, more words already escaping from his mouth. “That president of yours obviously seems to speak for all of you.”

He then turns and walks away, leaving you once again stunned.

What the hell was his problem? You didn’t even do anything! Also, how the hell did he even get in front of you?

You silently curse whatever higher being was up in the clouds, probably grinning and laughing at your situation.

He walks back to his friends, all of them laughing at both you and Wonhee.

Wonhee looks at you then at him, a perplexed look on her face. “Who was that?”

You scrunch your nose, irked at how he just seemed so relaxed after blatantly insulting you.