you're my headliner 🤍

it was supposed to be dinner. nothing fancy. just a place you liked, a reservation made two weeks ago, and a text that arrived half an hour too late.

babe, the guys just dropped by unexpectedly. can we move dinner to sunday?

you read it once. then again. no sorry this time. just logistics. like you were another appointment.

your wine was already poured by then. the waitress had just lit the candle at your table when the message came through.

you sat there a little longer than you needed to, staring at the plate of pasta in front of you like it might blink first.

you didn’t cry. didn’t throw your phone across the table or curse his name under your breath. you just asked for the check, signed it without looking, and stepped out into the street like you weren’t sure where else to go.

the bar next door wasn’t unfamiliar. warm lighting, quiet music, a vaguely vintage smell of oak and orange peel. a safe place to disappear for a bit.

somewhere you used to come before things felt like routines.

you sit at the bar and order something stronger than wine. pretend to scroll through your phone while you decide if it’s sadder to go home early or stay and look like you’re waiting for someone.

you’re not even supposed to be talking to anyone. that was the deal you made with yourself the second you sat down at the bar. no rebound flirting, no trying to “salvage the night.” just one drink and then home.

except now there’s this guy two stools over, arguing with the bartender about the jazz playlist like he owns the place.

“you seriously changed it?” he says, mock offended. “after everything we’ve been through?”

the bartender laughs. “you only show up when you get dumped.”

“i was not dumped. it was mutual ghosting.”

“uh-huh. tell that to your sad playlist.”

you try not to stare. try not to smile. but it’s already tugging at the corner of your mouth when he catches your eye.

“don’t judge me,” he says, raising his glass like a toast. “i’m having a deeply personal moment with chet baker.”

you raise your own glass in response. “chet’s been through worse.”

his grin widens. “you know jazz?”

“i know heartbreak.”

“same thing, really.” he shifts one seat closer. doesn’t ask permission.

“he canceled on you?”

you turned toward the voice.

he didn’t smile. just sipped and looked at you like he already knew the answer.

you raised an eyebrow. “what makes you think that?”

“your glass is too full, and you keep looking at the door like you’re giving someone five more minutes.”

you looked down. your hand was resting near your phone.

“he postponed. technically.”

“ah. even worse.” he nodded. “delayed disappointment. classic.”

you tried not to let it affect you.

“you always this nosy with strangers?”

“only the ones who walk in like they’re trying not to be seen.”

“what does that mean?”

he shrugged. “you have the look.”

“what look?”

“like you needed a quiet place to be mad.”

you huffed. not quite a laugh, but not denial either. he leaned slightly closer, just enough for you to smell the whiskey on his breath.

“don’t worry,” he said. “i’m not here to flirt.”

“good.” you replied. “because that would be a waste of time.”

he chuckled. “noted.”

“what’s your name?” he asks.

you hesitate. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t. but you tell him.

he nods. repeats it under his breath, like he’s trying it on for size.

“pretty...” he says. “but not soft. just like you.”

you narrow your eyes. “you don’t know anything about me.”

“well, i know that you’re here. alone. wearing a ring.”

your fingers curl slightly on instinct, brushing over the thin gold band. not a wedding ring. just a simple promise.

you wait for the question. the judgement. something. it doesn’t come.

“i’m not married.” you say.

“didn’t say you were.”

“you implied it.”

“to be honest, i’m just curious...” he says, voice low. “he must be a very secure man to leave you alone in a place like this.”

you should be annoyed. but there’s something in his tone... not pushy, not smug. just... present. you let the silence stretch between you. then, like it’s nothing:

“seungcheol.”

he offers it like a passing thought, not something he expects you to keep. you nod once. don’t repeat it.

“you’re still not flirting?” you ask.

he smiles again, slower this time. “if i were, you'd be laughing by now.”

you roll your eyes. but your lips curve with it. he doesn’t try to close the distance. doesn’t ask where your boyfriend is. doesn’t mention the ring again.

instead, he traces the rim of his glass with one finger, thoughtful. then looks at you again.

“you look like you’re about to leave.”

“maybe.”

“shame.”

“why?”

“conversation was just getting interesting.”

you finish your drink in one swallow. stand up. he doesn’t stop you. just watches as you slip your coat back on.

you turn once before walking out and that’s when he moves. reaches for a napkin, scribbles something quickly, and offers it to you with two fingers.

“in case you feel like being seen, next time.”

you glance at the numbers. no name.

“that’s bold.” you say.

“i won’t hold my breath.” he replies, finishing his drink. “but thursdays can be unpredictable.”

you leave the bar lighter than when you walked in and you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. you don’t text him that week. or the one after.

but you think about it. more than once.

the days pass. your boyfriend keeps canceling. dinners, movies, weekends. things you used to look forward a little too much to. things that now feel like maybe they were never really for you.

at first, he has good reasons. work’s been hectic. he’s exhausted. something urgent came up. his brother’s in town. he needs a night with the guys. you say okay. every time. you want to be understanding. you really do.

but the excuses start piling.

and the effort? that doesn’t.

he forgets small things. the book you told him you were reading. your big meeting last week. your sister’s birthday dinner. he kisses you without looking up from his phone. asks “what’s wrong?” like he hasn’t already ignored your last three texts.

you try bringing it up. gently. once.

he sighs. tells you you’re being dramatic. says “you know how much i care about you” and somehow it sounds like “can we not do this right now?”

so you stop.

you stop asking when he’ll be free. stop reminding him of your plans. you stop expecting anything at all. you just shrink around it.

you still see him, sometimes. but even when you’re in the same room, you feel like background noise. a fixture in the apartment. a maybe. a later. a rain check with legs.

the silence between you gets heavier. and you keep thinking that maybe it’s just a phase. maybe everyone gets like this eventually.

but then thursday rolls around again. you’re already home this time. a takeout bag still warm on the counter. candles lit in your bedroom like you were trying to make it feel like something. like it meant something. you didn’t even tell him to come over. you just hoped he might.

your phone buzzes.

they want to grab a drink. it’s been months. you understand, right?

nothing more. no i’ll make it up to you. just assumption. expectation. like of course you’ll understand.

you don’t reply. you just sit there for a moment, still. like maybe if you stay still enough, you won’t feel the ache settling in your chest. like maybe it’s your fault for hoping. for waiting.

you blow out the candles. walk to the kitchen. and open the drawer where you keep old receipts, forgotten pens, and a napkin you were absolutely not supposed to keep.

your fingers find it too easily. your thumbs hover over your phone for a long time.

you type. delete. type again.

and then:

you guess you were right about thursdays

the response comes quicker than you expect.

seungcheol didn’t think i’d hear from you but i was hoping

you bite your lip. heart a little too loud.

you i wasn’t gonna text you

seungcheol and yet

a pause.

seungcheol where are you?

your breath catches. your fingers tighten around the phone.

you home. alone.

one minute. then two.

seungcheol do you want company?

you don’t answer right away. you reread the last message. and the one before that. and suddenly the silence of your apartment feels unbearable.

so you type slowly.

you maybe just a drink

seungcheol sure just a drink

you don’t believe him. and maybe that’s why you get up to change.

it’s the same bar. same lights, same low music. same seat at the corner that feels like it’s been holding its breath.

he’s already there when you walk in. same shirt. same chain. same look in his eyes when he sees you. amused, unreadable, like he saw this coming before you did.

you slide onto the stool beside him. he doesn’t say anything at first. just slides a glass in your direction, like it’s habit.

you glance at it, then at him.

“don’t assume i drink the same thing every time.” you say.

he shrugs. “didn’t seem like the night to experiment.”

you take the glass anyway. the first sip burns. he watches you like it doesn’t.

he lifts his drink. “to whatever brought you in.”

you clink, barely. no toast in return.

you talk, eventually. but it stays on the surface. music, cities, random half-stories that make you both smile. he doesn’t ask about your boyfriend. doesn’t say “so, what changed?”

he doesn’t need to.

his knee bumps yours once, then doesn’t move.

his eyes flick to your mouth more than once, and every time they do, your breath feels a little less steady. his thumb runs absently along the rim of his glass, and all you can think about is how it would feel against your skin.

you set your drink down and ask: “why are you so confident? so sure of things?”

his smile is lazy. “it’s not confidence if i’m right.”

you roll your eyes, but the heat in your chest doesn’t fade. you stare at him for a second too long. and maybe it’s the drink. or the week you had. or the way he looks at you like he already knows what you taste like.

but when you say it, your voice doesn’t shake.

“wanna come over?”

he doesn’t blink. doesn’t hesitate.

“just one more drink?” he says, like it’s a joke. like he’d already said yes the second you walked in.

your place is dim. a little messy. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound louder than it should.

you open a bottle of wine and pour into mismatched glasses, the only ones clean.

he follows without asking. just steps inside like he’s done it before, like he belongs there. doesn’t sit. just stands in the middle of your living room and watches you take a sip, fingers wrapped tight around the glass.

you try not to look nervous. fail completely.

“so…” you start. but don’t finish. because he’s already walking toward you. slow. certain. and suddenly there’s no space left to pretend this is casual.

he takes the glass from your hand and sets it down on the counter without looking. then, like he’s asking something simple:

“come here.”

you don’t think. you just move.

his hands are on your waist before you reach him. his mouth on yours before your next breath. the kiss is slow, not soft. there’s a difference. he doesn’t rush it, doesn’t fumble.

he kisses you like he’s been imagining it in pieces, and now he’s putting them together one by one. his hands slide down your hips, anchoring you. fingers splayed, certain. he pulls back just enough to look at you.

his voice is low, near your jaw:

“you want this or you’re just lonely?”

you meet his eyes.

“does it matter?”

he smiles. dark. “not to me.”

you nod. he doesn’t ask again.

he lifts you easily, like it’s instinct. and starts walking you backward, lips brushing your neck, knuckles grazing skin. your back hits the bed before you realize how far you’ve made it.

he undresses you slowly. not teasing, not showy. just… deliberate. like this part matters. like every layer is something he earned.

he doesn’t ask for permission with every touch. just watches your face, waits for the way your breath catches like that’s all the yes he needs.

when he looks at you bare, he exhales sharp. something between reverence and hunger.

“fuck...” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

his fingers trail lower. measuring. learning. and when his mouth follows, slow at first and then not, you gasp. too hard, too loud.

you reach for his hair. he doesn’t stop. just holds you down, steady, until your thighs are trembling and your breath comes in broken pieces.

when he finally kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips.

his fingers slide between your thighs again, slick and sensitive. you flinch. he hums against your mouth.

“not used to this, huh?”

you try to speak. fail. you can’t even lie. he slides in slow. one long thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

your mouth falls open. no sound. just pressure. full and overwhelming.

he fucks you deep and steady, one hand gripping your waist, the other braced beside your head.

he doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s a low string of things you weren’t ready to hear.

“look at me, pretty.”

“is this what you needed?”

you nod, gasping, fingers digging into his arms. he kisses you like he’s claiming you. fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else.

and by the time you come again, you’re half-sure he’s already succeeded.

after, he stays. not awkward. not obligated. just… stays. like it never crossed his mind to leave.

you’re half-draped across his chest, legs tangled. neither of you says anything for a long time. his hand moves slow down your back, tracing nothing in particular.

you wonder if this is where the guilt is supposed to kick in. but all you feel is warm. and his breath, steady against your neck.

you close your eyes.

just for a second.

you wake before him. his arm is heavy across your waist. your sheets smell like wine, sweat, and something deeper. something not yours alone anymore.

you don’t move.

when he stirs, you let your breath even out. pretend. he says your name once, then again. softer the second time. you keep still.

you feel the mattress shift as he gets up, the quiet sounds of him dressing. zipper, keys, the door unlatching.

then silence.

you stare at the ceiling, trying to find the feeling you’re supposed to be having.

guilt. shame. regret.

nothing comes.

only the memory of his voice, rough and close: look at me, pretty. you close your eyes again. you don’t want to forget it.

after that, you don’t text him. not that day. not the next. you go back to your life. the one with morning coffee, dry kisses, and half-finished grocery lists.

your boyfriend doesn’t notice anything. he’s busy. distracted. work, gym, group chats, meetings. he falls asleep on the couch half the week.

when he kisses you, it’s soft. detached. like muscle memory. you match the energy. nod at the right times. laugh on cue. you smile when you’re supposed to. and it should feel wrong.

but it doesn’t.

and that’s what starts to eat at you. not the sex. not the lie. just the absence of guilt. the weightless way it all fits together.

you think about seungcheol more than you mean to.

the way he looked at you like you were real. like you were seen. you remember the weight of his body. the voice. the calm kind of control that made your pulse spike.

you don’t delete the messages but you stop replying. and he doesn’t push.

a few texts come in:

seungcheol i know you’re busy just checking in

seungcheol did thursday get boring without me?

then nothing.

you try to feel relieved. you don’t.

the knock on your door comes a week later. friday night. your boyfriend’s out, drinks with coworkers. you expect delivery but when you open the door, it’s him. black hoodie, wind in his hair, one hand in his pocket like he’s holding back everything he wants to say.

you freeze.

“what the fuck?”

“hi, pretty.”

your heart stutters.

“what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “returning the favor. figured we owed each other a drink.”

you glance behind you, pulse climbing.

“you can’t just show up like this.”

he lifts a brow. “why not? i already know the way.”

“my boyfriend could’ve been here.”

his mouth twitches. “but he’s not.”

you want to slam the door. you don’t.

you step back and he walks in like the place still remembers him. he doesn’t hesitate. just turns to you, hands in his pockets.

“you ghosted me.”

you cross your arms. “i had to. it wasn’t... sustainable.”

he scoffs. “funny. felt pretty natural to me.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re being an asshole.”

“am i?” he takes a step closer. “or am i the only one telling the truth?”

you hate how steady he is. how your body reacts before your brain decides.

“why are you really here?” you ask, quieter now.

he’s close. not touching you but close enough that your skin feels aware of it.

“i haven’t stopped thinking about you” he says. his hand brushes your arm. “your mouth. your voice. how you sound when you come apart. fuck…” his voice falters, almost like he hates hearing himself say it. “you’re in my head all the time, pretty.”

you should push him away. but instead, you tilt your chin and say,

“you don’t get to call me that.”

he smiles, slow. “you didn’t mind it before.”

you don’t deny it. you don’t say anything at all.

his thumb skims your bottom lip. “want me to leave?” he asks, soft now.

dangerous.

you don’t answer but he knows.

he kisses you like he’s angry at how long it’s been. like restraint was never really on the table. your back hits the wall and his hands are everywhere. under your shirt, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

you gasp when he lifts you. legs wrap around his waist without hesitation.

“missed this...” he breathes against your skin. “missed you.”

you’re already breathless.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you whisper.

he laughs. low, amused, a sound that hums against your neck. “but you want me here.” a kiss under your jaw. “don’t you?”

you close your eyes. “fuck.”

he carries you to the couch. lays you down with urgency, like the moment might slip away if he’s not careful.

this time, he’s faster. pulls your shirt off like it doesn't matters how it comes off. you squirm under his gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you say.

“like what?”

“like you care.”

he leans in, kisses your sternum. then lower. then lower still.

“maybe i do.” he murmurs. his voice is rough now. “would that be so bad?”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

his hands slide under your waistband. he takes his time. when he kisses your thigh, you say his name once, barely a breath. and he exhales like it undid something in him.

then his mouth is on you. again. he eats you like he’s starving. not for release, for you. like the taste is proof you’re real. your hips jerk and he presses you down, firm.

“stay still.” he murmurs.

“let me.”

you come too fast, too hard. and before you can catch your breath, he’s on you again. mouth, hands, heat, everything.

his belt clinks. your thoughts scatter. he fucks you slow this time. but still deep. sure. like he wants you to remember every second of it tomorrow. you clutch at him. his back, his shoulder, anything.

you don’t say his name again. but you think it. over and over. like a secret. like a prayer.

when he speaks, it’s low. honest. unguarded.

“i can’t stop thinking about you.”

“he doesn’t get to have you like this.”

and then, right before you fall apart again, voice barely a whisper:

“say you’re mine. just for now. say it.”

and you do. because in that moment, you are.

after, you lay on the couch, tangled and silent. his hand is on your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. you try not to think about what this means. you try not to look at the time. you try not to imagine your boyfriend walking in.

but none of that happens.

the world is quiet. and seungcheol is warm beside you.

“you okay?” he asks, finally.

you nod. “yeah.” then, after a beat:

“you can’t keep showing up like this.”

he doesn’t flinch. “then don’t make me miss you.”

you laugh. tired. frustrated. “it’s not that simple.”

“it is for me.” he says. “i want you. that’s it.”

you turn away, suddenly overwhelmed. he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i’ll go.” he murmurs. “just... tell me if you’re gonna shut me out again.”

you don’t promise anything. but when he gets up to leave, you don’t stop him. you just lie there. quiet. and when the door clicks shut behind him, you already miss him.

it becomes routine faster than you expect. thursdays, mostly. sometimes mondays. you don’t talk about it. you don’t have to. he texts. you show up. sometimes you stay for an hour. sometimes all night.

always at his place now. a quiet apartment on the edge of the city with clean sheets and soft lighting and music that never stops playing.

he never asks questions. never pushes. but he always opens the door like he’s been waiting. and you like that. you like how he looks at you like you’re not cheating.

he still calls you pretty. sometimes in bed. sometimes when you’re just sitting there, drinking his whiskey in one of his hoodies, legs tucked under you like you belong there. you hate how right it feels.

your boyfriend starts to notice. at first, it’s nothing. a passing comment:

“you seem happier lately.”

“you look really good this week.”

and then it builds.

“wanna do something friday? just us?”

“i miss this. you and me.”

you nod. you smile. you let him hold your hand across the dinner table. but your mind is still stuck on the way seungcheol holds your hips when you ride him. the way he says your name with his mouth full of need.

and it gets harder to juggle. you start making excuses.

"i'm working late."

"i told a friend i'd help her move."

"my mom's been calling a lot lately."

and your boyfriend buys it. until he doesn’t.

it happens on a tuesday. you’re in the shower, phone on the bathroom counter, music playing. he walks in, says something about ordering dinner. you shout back, "anything's fine!"

he says okay. you don’t notice the pause. don’t hear the phone buzz under the steam and music. when you walk out, towel wrapped around you, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.

yours.

your heart stops. you freeze in the doorway.

he looks up, eyes unreadable.

“who’s seungcheol?” he asks. it’s not loud. not angry. just quiet. and you feel the floor shift under you.

your mouth opens. closes.

“what?”

he shows you the screen. a single notification:

seungcheol you left your sweater, pretty.

just that. nothing else. but it’s enough.

you step forward, towel clutched tighter.

“he’s just...it’s not like that.”

“so what is it like?” his voice still calm. too calm.

“he’s just a coworker. he calls everyone that. it's... it's just his thing.”

he stares at you. like he’s trying to see through you. you smile, shaky.

“you know i’d never do anything.”

he nods. too fast.

“right.” he says. then stands. “i’ll order something.”

he walks out of the room. doesn’t say another word. and you stand there, dripping, heart racing, stomach twisted, wondering if this was it.

if it’s already falling apart. if you’ve gone too far to come back.

you wipe the steam from the mirror. look at your reflection.

you look good. a little flushed. a little wild. like someone in love.

and that’s the problem.

you shouldn’t have gone to his place that night. but you did.

the city was too loud. your boyfriend too quiet. and the ache in your chest too familiar.

you texted two words:

you you home?

and he replied in under a minute.

seungcheol always for you, pretty

you didn’t even say hi when you walked in. you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him like you were trying to shut yourself up. he let you. hands on your waist. mouth on your throat.

you pulled off his shirt. he pressed you to the wall. clothes hit the floor without ceremony. he fucks you hard this time.

not unkind but intense. like he’s trying to burn his name into your spine. your nails leave red trails on his shoulders. you moan too loud. you don’t care.

when it’s over, you lie there in the dark, chest still heaving. he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, checking something. you sit up.

“cheol...”

he looks over.

you swallow. “you need to stop texting me first.”

he blinks.

“…what?”

“i mean it. don’t reach out unless i text you first. it’s... risky.”

he sits up slowly. you feel the shift in the air.

“risky.” he repeats. “but what we’re doing isn’t?”

“it’s different.”

“it’s not.” he says. then quieter, “but sure. whatever makes you feel better.”

you can feel the weight in his words. you know he’s hurt. you see it in the way he doesn’t look at you as he grabs his shirt. you pretend not to notice. because acknowledging it would make it real.

you stay the night, anyway.

things start to press down on you after that. not like guilt. more like gravity.

being with two people is exhausting. two versions of yourself, two stories to tell, two worlds you’re keeping from colliding.

you’re good at it but you’re tired. and then it gets worse.

you’re out with your boyfriend, some rooftop bar he found online. warm lights, clinking glasses, music low enough for conversation.

he’s holding your hand again. touching your waist like he remembered how.

“i missed this” he says.

you smile. you nod. you lie. you turn your head to avoid the weight of it and that’s when you see him.

two tables away. black shirt. same chain. drink in hand. and a girl beside him.

she’s laughing. touching his arm like she’s done it before. and he’s letting her.

your stomach twists before you can stop it. your pulse stutters. your jaw tightens. jealousy blooms in your throat like something rotten. ugly and hot and sudden. and you have no right to feel it.

you watch them too long.

your boyfriend says something beside you but it’s muffled, far away. like you’re underwater.

you stand before you even think to. legs moving without permission. you walk over like it’s casual, like it’s nothing, like your entire body isn’t vibrating.

“hey” you say, too cheerful.

seungcheol looks up slowly. blinks.

“hi.” he says. voice unreadable.

you gesture vaguely over your shoulder. “my boyfriend’s here. just thought i’d say hi.”

there’s a pause. too long.

you glance at the girl. “and this is…?”

she smiles before he can speak. “i’m jihye, nice to meet you.” she says, light and easy.

seungcheol lifts his glass. “she’s my friend.” he says, dry.

you meet his eyes. there’s something bitter there. but neither of your dates seem to notice.

you turn just in time as your boyfriend joins you.

“babe, this is seungcheol.” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “the friend i told you about.”

friend. you could choke on it.

your boyfriend nods, polite. they shake hands. the girl stays quiet. just keeps watching you.

you smile too wide. “well. don’t let us interrupt. looks like a great date.”

seungcheol raises an eyebrow. but he says nothing.

you turn around. walk away before your mouth does something reckless.

you don’t look back.

you show up at his door an hour later. no text. no warning. he opens it, surprised. his shirt is off. he looks tired. annoyed.

“what are you doing here?”

“where is she?”

he raises an eyebrow. “she left. why?”

you push past him, walk into his apartment like you live there. he shuts the door behind you, slow.

“you okay?”

you turn, arms crossed.

“were you gonna sleep with her?”

he laughs. dry. “are you serious?”

“answer me.”

“why do you care?” his voice is sharper now. “you’re the one who keeps leaving. you’re the one who goes home to someone else.”

“that’s not the point.”

“then what is?” he steps closer. “you don’t get to be jealous, pretty. not when the only place we exist is this apartment.”

your mouth goes dry. “you were the one who said you didn’t care” you whisper.

he laughs again, but it doesn’t sound like humor. “yeah, well. i lied.”

the silence stretches. you feel it like a bruise. your throat tight. your heart worse.

“so what now?” you ask.

“you tell me...” he says. “you’re the one juggling hearts like glassware.”

you stare at him. and for the first time, you’re not sure which one you’re more afraid of losing.

after that night everything changed between you and seungcheol. the easy back-and-forth, the electric pull that used to crackle in the air whenever you touched. it all shifted.

his messages became sparse, his words clipped, and the warmth you used to find in his eyes was replaced by a quiet distance that made your chest ache.

it was like you were holding onto a ghost, reaching out through the silence but feeling nothing but cold air.

you tried to tell yourself he just needed space, that maybe he was sorting through his own mess. but the silence grew heavier every day. your phone would buzz and you’d hope it was him, but often it wasn’t.

and when you did hear from him, it was just a word, a sentence. never the late-night confessions or teasing you craved.

the gap between you widened, and with every unanswered text, the weight in your chest tightened.

the loneliness started to claw at you, and one night you couldn’t hold it back anymore. you sent the simplest message you could think of:

you can you come over?

seungcheol on my way

when he arrived, the air between you was thick, heavy with things neither of you said. his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to read all the words left unsaid.

you sat close but felt miles apart, the quiet stretching until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“seungcheol, how am i supposed to leave him...” you whispered, voice shaking, “when i don’t even know you? when what we have feels like just this... something physical, something temporary?”

his jaw tightened, and for a moment he said nothing. then, quietly, he said, “you never gave me a chance to be more.”

those words hit you harder than you expected, a sudden crack in your carefully guarded walls. you swallowed, the ache growing deeper.

“you think i wanted it to be like this?” you say, quiet but firm. “living my life like you’re not part of it? but it’s not that simple.”

he stood up, slowly, like your words had pushed him back. “then maybe you shouldn’t have started something you weren’t ready for.”

your breath caught. “i didn’t mean to...”

“but you did.” his voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean. “we don’t need to have this conversation. not if you’re still choosing someone else.”

you flinched. “i’m not choosing him.”

“you know what? that’s true...” he said, bitter now. “it feels like you’re not choosing anything. not him. not me. just whatever hurts less in the moment.”

you stared at him, suddenly cold. “so what, you’re done?”

he exhaled, eyes fixed on the floor. “i’m not a detour. and i’m not going to keep waiting for you to decide if i’m worth it.”

you didn’t stop him when he walked to the door. you didn’t ask him to stay. you watched the door close.

and this time, the silence answered for you.

you don’t go back to seungcheol. not that night. not the one after.

you don’t text. you don’t call. you just sit with it. the weight of everything, the way your heart aches in places you didn’t even know existed.

you think about the way he looked at you that night. how quiet he went when you said the wrong thing. how badly he wanted to be more, and how little you let him.

it’s around 3 a.m. when it hits you. curled into the far end of the couch, silent, wrapped in a blanket that doesn’t feel like warmth anymore.

you’ve been shrinking. pulling yourself in at the seams, little by little. and maybe that’s what this was always about.

not him. just you.

you ask your boyfriend to come over. he says yes, too quickly. like he’s relieved. like maybe he’s been waiting for this to feel normal again.

he brings wine. you don’t drink it. you sit on opposite ends of the couch, the distance screaming louder than either of you.

you take a deep breath. start slow.

“we need to talk.”

his eyes flick to yours. guarded. calm. you expect confusion. anger. something. but all he does is nod. like he’s already bracing for the hit.

“i’m ending this.” you say. “we’re not working. we haven’t been. and i’ve been lying to you.”

his mouth twitches. not a smile. something smaller.

“you think i didn’t know?”

you blink.

“you think i don’t smell his cologne on your clothes?” his voice doesn’t raise. it sharpens. “you think i don’t see the marks on your body? the ones i didn’t leave?”

your breath catches. he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“you think i don’t notice when you shower twice before bed? or when you smile at your phone like it’s holding something sacred?”

you stare at him.

“you’re just confused,” he says, like that explains it all. “it’s okay. i’ve been there. i had a thing, once. a girl i couldn’t stop thinking about. but it passed.” he shrugs.

“it always passes. you realize it’s just a phase, a distraction. some affair to escape real life for a while.”

you clench your fists. “this isn’t about him.”

“no.” he says, with a strange, soft certainty. “it’s about us. it’s always been about us. this is us. and deep down, you know that.”

you shake your head. something dark stirs in your chest.

“no, it’s about you being a selfish, inattentive, emotionally lazy piece of shit who didn’t notice i was slipping away until it was convenient to care.” his face shifts, just slightly.

“you want to know the truth?” you whisper. “i didn’t feel guilty. not once. not even the first time.”

he goes still.

“and it wasn’t because i stopped loving you.” you continue, “it’s because somewhere along the way, you stopped deserving to be loved.”

his jaw tightens.

“this was never about him. not really. he was just the first person in a long time who saw me. who wanted me. who listened when i spoke. who looked at me like i was still alive.” you exhale. “so no... i’m not confused. i’m just done.”

silence.

you watch him absorb that. watch him break without breaking. he nods. once. stands up. doesn’t say a word. he walks to the door.

pauses.

“you’ll regret this.” he says, not looking back.

“maybe,” you reply. “but at least i’ll regret it for myself.”

and then he’s gone. you sit there for a long time. longer than you mean to.

you breathe in.

breathe out.

and for the first time in weeks, you feel light. not healed. not free. but closer.

but after that night, you don’t go after seungcheol. not because you don’t miss him. not because you don’t replay his voice in your head when everything goes quiet.

you never gave me a chance to be more.

he was right and that’s exactly why you don’t call. because if you went now, after everything, it would feel like he was what’s left.

and he doesn’t deserve to be what’s left. he deserves to be a choice. and you’re not ready to choose anything yet, not even yourself.

the days that follow move slow, like the world is giving you room to breathe.

you spend the first week in silence. not the heavy, guilty kind, just the kind that wraps around your apartment like a fog. you sleep better.

you leave your phone on do not disturb and stop checking it like it holds your pulse. for the first time in months, you feel still.

you go for long walks without a destination. buy fresh flowers. drink your coffee without company and realize how much better it tastes that way.

you say yes to your friends again. not because you’re running away from the quiet, but because you finally have room to enjoy it.

some nights are harder than others. some nights you lie awake and wonder what it would’ve felt like to fall asleep next to seungcheol without consequence. not hiding. not rushing. not lying.

but you don’t text. you don’t open old messages. you let the thought pass through you like wind. and you don’t chase it.

you stop waiting. for him, for anyone. you stop hoping for closure or answers or a version of this story that hurts less.

and somewhere in the middle of that, you start living. your laugh gets louder. your hair gets longer. your presence, bigger. not for someone else, just for you.

and still, sometimes... in a song, in the shape of someone’s shoulders on the street, in the space beside you at a dinner table, he appears.

just for a second. just long enough to make you wonder what could’ve been. and that’s okay.

it's another thursday. not a poetic one. not a repeat. just a thursday where the air feels nice and you don’t want to go home just yet.

you end up at the bar again. not because you need distraction, just because you like it. you like the dim light. the soft hum of conversation. the way no one asks anything of you here.

you order a drink. sit in your usual spot. cross your legs and let your shoulders relax. it’s quiet.

you’re not waiting for anything. and then you see him.

not right away, just out of the corner of your eye. a shift in movement. the sound of a voice that lands like something familiar in your chest.

you look. and there he is.

seungcheol.

same bar. same broad frame. same profile you used to trace with your eyes when you thought he couldn’t feel you watching.

a few seats away, facing slightly away from you, elbow on the bar, fingers drumming absently against a glass that looks mostly untouched.

he’s wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled, hair a little longer than before, eyes a little tired. the kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep but from carrying something too long.

you take him in quietly. he hasn’t seen you yet.

and you don’t look away.

you watch the way he shifts his weight, how his jaw tightens when the bartender asks if he wants another.

he just nods, runs a hand through his hair and exhales. like he’s trying to breathe something out of him.

and then, you move. slowly. like gravity is pulling you toward him.

you sit one stool over. not quite close. not quite far. just enough to be undeniable. he glances at you, casual, instinctive. then does a double take.

you meet his eyes with a soft smile. lift your drink slightly.

“she canceled on you?”

his expression barely changes, but you catch the flicker in his gaze. surprise. then something warmer.

“what makes you think that?” he says. his voice still has that rough edge you remember.

“your glass is too full, and you keep looking at the door like you’re giving someone five more minutes.” you say.

he lets out a quiet laugh, barely a breath. “you always open with that line?”

“only when it works.”

there’s a pause. his eyes flicker down, like he’s trying to process something and you know the moment he notices.

your left hand, resting against the base of your glass. bare. no ring. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to. the acknowledgment sits there between you like a breath held and released.

“what’s your name?” you ask, mirroring that first conversation, letting the words stretch into something gentler now.

he tilts his head slightly, amused. “we’re doing this again?”

“i just like the idea of meeting you properly this time.”

he holds your gaze. “seungcheol.”

you repeat it. like it’s new.

“and you?” he teases, softly.

“still me.”

he hums, eyes crinkling a little at the corners. you set your drink down and shift toward him slightly. your knee almost touches his.

“can i ask you something?” you say.

he nods.

“where did you go to school?”

he looks caught off guard. blinks. “what?”

“like. where did you study? what do you do? what’s your thing, seungcheol?”

he watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the punchline. but it doesn’t come.

“i studied music.” he says eventually. “switched to sound engineering halfway through. now i do studio work. production, some mixing. freelance stuff.”

you smile. “that sounds like the coolest job i’ve ever heard.”

he shrugs, eyes flicking down to his glass. “pays the bills.”

“do you like it?”

“i do,” he says after a second. “especially when no one’s breathing down my neck about deadlines.”

you nod. and then, before you lose your nerve, you say,

“i want to know you.”

his eyes lift again. sharp. steady.

“for real this time.” you add.

his mouth parts. just slightly. and then he laughs, a real one. full and breathy and stunned.

“what are you doing?” he asks, not defensive, just curious.

“i don’t know...” you say, grinning now. “trying again. starting over. meeting you without the mess.”

his shoulders relax a little. “that’s a new one,” he says. “meeting someone you’ve already—”

“don’t say it.”

he laughs again, quiet and warm.

the conversation moves easily from there. small things, light things.

you talk about terrible dates and strange pets, favorite takeout orders and the music that makes you cry when you least expect it. at one point, he asks if you still sleep with socks on. and you roll your eyes, say you’re reformed now.

he calls you a liar.

it feels easy. not rushed. not performative. just two people in a bar. trying. softly.

the night gets late, but you don’t check the time. the air smells like citrus and leather. the noise around you fades into a low blur. and then he leans slightly closer, elbow brushing yours.

“so...” he murmurs. “you’re not gonna ask me back to your place for a drink?”

you blink at him. not shocked. just careful.

“no.”

his expression stills. not hurt, not angry. just… unreadable. a quiet breath held in his chest.

you wait a second. then say,

“but i was gonna ask if you’re free tomorrow.”

he looks at you. eyes softening.

“i was thinking something stupid. like a picnic or whatever. somewhere public. full daylight. no bedroom in sight.”

he tilts his head. “trying to prove something?”

“trying to... unlearn something.” you say.

he smiles. and it’s a real smile now. slow and easy, like he’s letting it happen without thinking too hard.

“i’d like that.” he says.

“me too.”

the words sit gently between you and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just looks at you like maybe for the first time, you’re really seeing him. not through the blur of want or the ache of something forbidden, but just… him.

here. now. choosing him, simply because you want to.

you finish your drinks slowly.

there’s no silence to fill. just a kind of quiet you both settle into, like it belongs to you.

he helps you with your jacket before you even think to reach for it. you laugh when his hand brushes your shoulder.

you walk out together. the air outside is cooler now, clean on your skin. the kind of night that hums low, full of things waiting to happen.

he doesn’t reach for your hand. you don’t reach for his.

because this time, there’s no need to rush toward the next thing. no need to blur the lines to feel close. this time, you’re both choosing to build something slowly.

openly. no shadows. no secrets. no scripts to follow.

just the quiet unfolding of something new. something soft, and good, and real.

and as you walk beside him, shoulders barely touching, you feel it settle in your chest:

you don’t know exactly where this is going.

but for the first time, that doesn’t scare you. because it doesn’t feel like an ending. it feels like the part right before everything begins.

His name tag says ‘VERNON’, written in loopy letters that don’t suit the sharpness of his features. He doesn’t say much, but you’ve clocked the way his eyes linger just a second longer when you order, like he's memorizing it—not out of habit, but because he wants to get it right.

Which is funny. Because he never gets your name right.

Not once. Not even close.

You’d said it clearly the first time. Twice, actually. He'd nodded slowly, typed something on the screen, and then handed you a paper cup that read: For: Yon with a tiny heart next to it.

You blinked. You told yourself it was a fluke.

You came back two days later, needing caffeine and comfort. He greeted you with a nod, typed something again, and gave you: For: Yoom The heart was there again. Smaller this time. Almost bashful.

Now it’s today.

You watch as he scrawls something on the cup without asking for your name. Again. When he passes it over, your fingers graze his—accidental, but electric.

You sit in your usual corner, unwrap the sleeve, and stare.

—

On the cup?

For: Yawn, Have a soft day – V

Close enough.

—

You take a photo of it.

You open your group chat.

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: we have now reached stage 3 of the Name Apocalypse

Jia: WHAT DID HE WRITE THIS TIME

You: “Yawn” I don’t know if he’s attacking me or flirting

Minsu: nah babe if he was attacking you he’d spell it right the heart is still there?

You: yes. and he underlined it this time. like, tiny little swoop

Jia: oh my god

Jia: okay but the question remains does he do this for EVERYONE??

You: that’s the problem. I DON’T KNOW I can’t just ask him “hey do you give your tiny hand-drawn hearts to all your customers or just me?”

Minsu: you could ask it in a note

You: what is this? a kdrama?

Minsu: maybe… it’s giving soft-launch slowburn anyway.

—

You tap your fingers on the cup, watching the marker ink bleed slightly into the cardboard. “Yawn.” Not your name, but not not your name now.

You wonder if he sees you as that: a little sleepy, a little soft. Someone who notices the heart but pretends not to. Someone who keeps coming back.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself. Tomorrow you’ll see if he spells it better. Tomorrow, you’ll start a tally in your notes app. Tomorrow, you’ll come back. Obviously.

—

You return the next day. Obviously.

You walk in, pretending you haven’t been thinking about this since yesterday. Pretending you didn’t re-read the group chat at midnight, cheeks warm, wondering what Vernon’s handwriting might look like when he actually spells your name right.

He doesn’t ask for your name.

Again.

You watch as he writes, calm as ever, like this is routine now. Like this is your bit. Your thing.

When he hands you the cup, his fingers graze yours again. Intentional? You don’t know. But his smile—crooked, like it’s holding in a joke—makes your stomach shift.

You wait until you're seated to look.

—

Cup Note:

For: Yern, You’re not even mad about this anymore, are you? – V

—

You almost laugh out loud.

Instead, you snap a picture, then open the group chat again.

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: update: he’s now writing flirty commentary

Jia: SEND.

You: [photo attached]

Minsu: OH.

Minsu: he knows he absolutely knows.

Jia: "you're not even mad about this anymore"??? this is BANTER

You: do I… write back??

Minsu: YES.

Jia: write something ON THE CUP give it to him when you’re done

You: that feels illegal somehow

Minsu: do it coward

—

You dig through your bag for a pen. Stare at the blank side of the sleeve for longer than you should. Then you scribble:

I was never mad. Just waiting to see how far you’d go. – Still Not Yern

You leave it on the table when you go. Face down. Your heart hammering.

—

The next morning, there’s a post-it stuck on the register.

Customer of the Month: Still Not Yern ❤️

Vernon doesn’t say anything. Just slides over your drink with a sly smile.

You sit down in your corner and unwrap the cup.

—

Cup Note:

For: Yern Again (committed now). Nice handwriting, by the way. I think we’re penpals now.

—

You nearly choke on your first sip.

Penpals.

You feel fourteen again, rereading a letter on lined paper, wondering if the boy on the other end meant what you hoped he meant.

You open the group chat.

You: we’re penpals now I think???

Jia: YOU’RE DATING.

Minsu: THE BIT HAS TRANSFORMED INTO A COURTSHIP RITUAL.

You: if he writes back tomorrow I’ll die.

Jia: then die pretty. wear lip gloss.

—

You leave another message on the sleeve before you go:

“What’s your name? I mean, really. I know the one on the tag isn’t the full story.”

You tuck it into the cup holder and walk out without looking back.

Tomorrow’s going to be something.

—

You think about skipping a day.

Just to regain some composure. To prove—mostly to yourself—that you’re not completely wrapped around the mystery of Vernon and his paper cup poetry.

But.

The post-it is still taped to the counter when you walk in: Customer of the Month: Still Not Yern ❤️

He sees you the second you step in. No questions asked, no name offered.

Just a smirk, and then: “The usual?”

You nod, trying to keep it cool. You’re not cool.

When he hands over your drink, you wait. Expectant.

And this time, the note isn’t written on the cup itself—it’s a folded receipt, slipped under the lid, with a single staple keeping it closed like it’s some kind of classified file.

You wait until you're back at your corner table to open it.

—

Vernon’s Cup Note:

For: Not Yern (but dangerously close to figuring you out), Real name’s Hansol. Most people don’t use it. You can, if you want. Also: you left your lip gloss on the table yesterday. I kept it. Not weird unless you make it weird. – Yours, if you keep writing back.

—

You clutch the paper like it might disappear if you blink.

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: HE GAVE ME HIS REAL NAME

You: ALSO STOLE MY LIP GLOSS. I THINK THAT’S ROMANCE??

Jia: it’s literally marriage tell me what the note says word for word or I’ll report you for emotional hoarding.

Minsu: “Yours, if you keep writing back” is a confession. he just proposed.

You: I’m going to die in this coffee shop.

Jia: at least the aesthetic is cute

—

You grab your pen. Flip over the receipt. Write back.

Hansol.I ’m honored. Flattered. Mildly horrified you kept the gloss but also… not mad. Yours, if you spell my name right next time.

You hand it over when you drop off the empty cup at the counter. He watches your fingers brush the lid, but says nothing—just a soft grin playing on his lips.

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

—

You’re not supposed to look forward to coffee this much.

Or maybe you are. But not because of this. Not because Hansol—because he finally spelled it right—starts writing more than cute quips and one-liners.

This time, the note’s on a napkin, wedged just under the sleeve of your cup.

—

Vernon’s Cup Note:

Name one person hotter than your local barista. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

On the other side of the napkin, in smaller handwriting:

Also—how do you feel about strawberry scones? We just started stocking them. I saved you one. No pressure. Unless you want pressure.

—

You tear off a piece of the scone with your fingers, still warm. Sweet. It leaves crumbs on your mouth and the sleeve of your sweater and you genuinely couldn’t care less.

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: he SAVED me a SCONE also basically called himself hot. Do I laugh? Agree?? Spontaneously combust???

Minsu: the answer is always combust.

Jia: so let me get this straight. hansol: here is a snack, here is my name, here is my flirting you: contemplates death instead of action SLOW. BURN.

You: i hate you but i’m also writing back hold on

—

You scribble your reply on the same napkin.

Name one barista who flirts harder than you. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

You fold it once, twice. Slip it beneath the sugar jar on your table before you leave, where you know he’ll find it.

As you reach the door, you hear him say—soft, like it’s only meant for you: “Nice choice on the comeback.”

You don’t turn around. But your ears are red all the way home.

—

Rain wasn’t on the forecast.

But here you are. Standing just inside the café doors, dripping slightly and staring at your phone like it’ll summon a miracle ride.

Vernon notices. Of course he does.

He appears at your side without a word, just a folded napkin and a to-go cup already waiting on the counter. Your name’s spelled right again—annoyingly so. Handsomely so.

—

Vernon’s Cup Note:

Forecast: 100% chance of you forgetting an umbrella.

[written smaller underneath:] Lucky for you, I didn’t.

—

He’s holding it in his hand when you look up. The umbrella, not the note. (Though he’s definitely reading your expression like it’s a note too.)

You blink. “You carry an extra umbrella?”

“I carry hope,” he replies, deadpan.

You huff a laugh, nerves short-circuiting. “So this is… a rescue?”

“No,” he says, and there’s something different in the way he says it this time. “This is a request.”

You don’t understand at first—not until he steps closer and gently reaches for your hand.

Your heart stumbles.

With the kind of confidence that only comes from meaning it, Vernon takes a pen from his apron pocket. He holds your palm steady. Carefully writes out a phone number.

And underneath that:

“Call me. Or text me. Or just send a heart. I’d really like to take you out, Y/N.”

He looks up, smile crooked. “Unless you’d rather keep talking through coffee cups and sarcasm.”

You glance down at your palm. Then up at him.

You don’t even have to think. “I like the cups. But I think I’d like you more.”

—

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: HE WROTE HIS NUMBER. ON. MY. PALM. asked me on a DATE. AM I DREAMING OR IS THIS THE K-DRAMA ARC

Jia: the prophecy… has been fulfilled…

Minsu: your order: him. literally.

You: soft launch starts tomorrow. i’m texting him in five minutes.

Jia: five???

Minsu: BOLD. DO IT NOW.

—

You do.

And maybe it’s still raining. And maybe your heart won’t calm down. And maybe Vernon replies with:

So… Saturday?

But there’s no maybe about how good it feels to finally order what you’ve been secretly craving all this time:

Him.

—

Epilogue; “Tall Iced Crush, One Sugar”

The date isn’t flashy. It’s not candlelight or violins or any of the things your friends teased you about. It’s just Vernon, standing outside a quiet secondhand bookstore with two cups of coffee and a slightly nervous smile.

(He still spelled your name right. And drew a tiny heart.)

You sip from the cup before he can say anything, and hum in appreciation. “Still my favorite barista.”

He grins. “Still your only barista.”

You bump shoulders, but don’t pull away.

The conversation flows easier than you expected. He tells you about how he started writing notes on cups as a joke for a coworker. You admit you once thought he might be doing it for everyone.

He raises a brow. “Did you think everyone got poems about how they forget umbrellas?”

You laugh, flustered. “Okay, fair.”

When he catches you brushing your fingers over your palm — where the ink from his number has barely faded — he goes quiet for a moment. Then:

“Hey,” he says. “Come here a sec.”

You step closer. He takes your empty cup and swaps it for a new one — one he had hidden behind his back.

This time, he’s watching you read it.

—

Vernon’s Final Cup Note:

Wanted: Someone who likes rain, bookstore dates, and leaving room in their life for something real.

Found.

—

You’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. He notices. He always does.

So you take a step forward and say it plainly — no heart on a cup, no scribbled message between lines.

Just, Me too.

And then he leans in, brushing his nose against yours, asking without words.

You answer with your lips.

The kiss tastes like coffee, like rain on pavement, like long-awaited timing. Like something starting, not ending.

—

[groupchat: emotional support crew]

You: soft launch cancelled HARD LAUNCH INCOMING i kissed the barista.

Jia: !!!!!!!!!

Minsu: coffee shop AU turned canon. we were here. we were witnesses. this is history.

. . . . .

“y/n! wait up!” a loud yell stops you in your tracks, and you turn to see someone run towards you, their hair covered with a cap, and a mask hiding their face.

other people walking past you on the sidewalk wouldn’t be able to recognize the person, but you could easily tell from the worn-out pink flannel shirt and the expensive sneakers that it was kwon soonyoung, a.k.a hoshi from seventeen, calling out your name.

“you idiot! why are you yelling in the middle of the street,” you whisper-yell when soonyoung is close enough to hear you. “what if someone recognizes you?”

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it,” he replies, as enthusiastic as ever. “i’m sorry i’m running late, dance practice took a lot of time to wrap up. shall we go?”

it takes you a split second too long to realize that soonyoung is now holding your wrist and gently tugging you along with him towards the restaurant you both are now very familiar with. any other day, you would’ve told him to stop instantly, but today for some reason, you let your hand be held by the person you want but can’t have.

seokmin is sure he’s never seen soonyoung like this: prescription glasses hanging off his nose, new tablet clutched in his hands, and his tired body sprawled across the couch in his apartment. even his flatmate, hansol, shrugs his shoulders when seokmin silently gestures towards soonyoung.

“dokyeom-ah, i need your help with something,” soonyoung calls out, and seokmin warily approaches him, taking a seat on the couch and leaning over soonyoung’s shoulder to take a look at his screen.

“what are you doing?” seokmin asks, thoroughly confused by the poster displayed on soonyoung’s screen. “don’t tell me you’re leaving seventeen to become a graphic designer.”

“and leave you in BSS with seungkwan? no chance,” soonyoung laughs. “you have a good eye for designs and stuff, so i needed your opinion on this. doesn’t it look like it’s missing something?”

“what is this even for?” seokmin questions, eyes running over the words on the poster. “do you have a side hustle at a magazine?”

“it’s…. for a friend,” soonyoung says, not revealing much. “i told them i’d help them out, and i need you for that. i’ll buy you dinner tomorrow if you help, please?”

seokmin agrees easily, but he can’t help but wonder which friend of soonyoung’s is so close to him that they have him designing posters. he also can’t stop thinking about how soonyoung’s face had turned pink at the mention of this ‘friend.’

seokmin wonders if soonyoung’s friend is just a friend.

. . . . .

“this is genius,” you say, looking at the file soonyoung sent you. in the seat across from you, soonyoung squirms with happiness, his chest swelling with pride. “you really didn’t have to do all this, soonyoung. i thought you said you were only going to look for inspo pictures on pinterest.”

“i just had a random stroke of creativity,” soonyoung shrugs. “it’s not that big of a deal. besides, i haven’t forgotten about our deal.”

your shoulders deflate with the sigh you let out. “soonyoung, i never agreed to that deal. you know we can’t— we can’t be like that. and if you’re getting the wrong idea from all this, we can’t keep meeting anymore.”

you don’t think you’ve seen this much fear in soonyoung’s eyes, not since his trainee days, when he wasn’t sure if he’d even debut. but today, he looks scared, almost desperate, when he places his hand over yours just as you’re about to leave the table.

“don’t. don’t leave,” he shakes his head. “i’ll stop with the deal and everything, i promise. just don’t say you won’t let me see you anymore.”

you don’t hesitate to agree, not when every muscle in your body keeps you rooted to the chair at the restaurant that has seen you more than your parents have.

when soonyoung walks you home later that night, you almost blurt out an apology, but you know that apologizing for your own cowardice only proves that it’s real.

“are you done taking what you need?” junhui asks, looking down the aisle to see soonyoung waddling towards him, arms full of snacks and drinks.

“yep! all done,” soonyoung nods, carefully placing all the items in his arms in the basket junhui is carrying.

“when i said i’d pay for you, i didn’t intend on buying out the entire snack aisle,” junhui sighs, carrying the basket over to the cashier and placing it on the counter with a loud thud.

“you love me, and so does your wallet,” soonyoung replies with a cheeky grin, making exaggerated pouty faces at junhui.

junhui only rolls his eyes at soonyoung. he watches the cashier scan every item, when he notices something unfamiliar.

“wait, did you accidentally get the sour lemon gummies? i thought you didn’t like sour stuff?” junhui asks, and soonyoung’s eyes widen like he’s been caught stealing food off mingyu’s plate.

“it’s not for me,” soonyoung replies awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. he’s saved from further questioning when the cashier reads out the total bill amount and junhui fishes his wallet out from his pocket.

later, when they’re outside the convenience store, junhui reaches into the grocery bag to retrieve the lemon gummies. “so, who is this for? is it your token of appreciation for me?”

“you wish,” soonyoung scoffs, snatching the packet out of junhui’s hands. “it’s for someone else.”

“and is this ‘someone’ the ‘friend’ you were helping out last week?” junhui raises an eyebrow at him. “seokmin told me about it.”

“how does it matter even if it is?” soonyoung crosses his arms defensively. “they’re just a friend, that’s all.”

the sigh that leaves soonyoung’s mouth after that sentence makes junhui think that maybe a friendship isn’t what soonyoung wants from his ‘friend.’

. . . . .

“wait, you remembered i like these?” you gasp, seeing the packet of lemon-flavoured jellies in soonyoung’s hands when he meets you at your usual restaurant. 

“well, friends remember things about each other,” soonyoung states matter-of-factly. “good friends do at least, because you don’t seem to remember a thing about me.”

“i never said i was going to be a good friend to you,” you retort, holding back a laugh at soonyoung’s unconscious pout when you tease him. “anyway, i didn’t say i needed any help today. why did you ask me to meet you for dinner?”

“you came, didn’t you?” soonyoung challenges. “it’s a routine for me now, anyway, and i didn’t feel like breaking it.”

you feel taken aback momentarily, realizing that no matter how much you’re always shutting down soonyoung’s advances, you almost always say yes to him. clearing your throat, you say, “since you called me, it’s your treat.”

“i don’t mind paying,” soonyoung chuckles. “go on, order whatever you want.”

after dinner, and after soonyoung has walked you back to your house, you lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling. your phone is lazily clutched in your hand, fingers itching to pull up soonyoung’s contact and text him, i remember. i remember things about you. i remember the way you scrunch your nose when you want to stop yourself from sneezing, the way you push your hair back with your hands when you feel frustrated, the way you smile at someone when you’re in love with them.

—

to: kwon soonyoung

i remember how much i loved you| i remember how much|

i remember|

dinner on monday? need to design the monthly magazine’s cover page

sent at 2:46 a.m.

from: kwon soonyoung

i’ll be there :) 

sent at 2:47 a.m.

“what are your dinner plans?” minghao asks soonyoung. the fitting for their upcoming tour outfits just got over, and all the members are leaving in groups for dinner.

“nothing much,” soonyoung shrugs. “want to go get kimchi jjigae?”

there’s a good restaurant at a walking distance from the hybe building, but the heavy rain pouring down when they’re about to exit the building makes minghao and soonyoung take one of the company cars to the restaurant instead.

they’re in the elevator alone, going down to the basement, when minghao decides that it’s a good time to interrogate soonyoung on his recent behaviour.

“you know, everyone’s been thinking you’re acting… different,” minghao starts casually, not wanting to alarm soonyoung abruptly. “is everything alright?”

“what? i’m still the same,” soonyoung laughs. “more importantly, why have you all been discussing me?”

“we’re not discussing,” minghao shakes his head, the elevator doors opening to the basement. “you’re just acting unusual, and we’re noticing it. if you wanna talk about it, you can—”

“wait, what date is it today?” soonyoung interrupts him just as they’re about to open the doors to the car. 

“uh, the twenty-eighth,” minghao says, checking his phone, and he watches how soonyoung’s face drains of all color as he realizes something important.

“shit, i need to go,” soonyoung mutters to himself, pulling out his phone and rapidly typing something on his screen.

“go where? i’ll drop you off,” minghao offers, but his words fall on deaf ears. soonyoung is already running back to the elevators, which take him up to the lobby of the building, and out on the street.

the rain doesn’t let up in the slightest, but soonyoung doesn’t seem to care much about it as minghao watches him run like a madman when the car pulls out on the street.

he should lower his window and yell at soonyoung to get in the car, but he’s never seen him this frantic to get somewhere. minghao decides to trust soonyoung’s crazy antics this time, and silently shakes his head at the driver when he asks if soonyoung needs to be picked up.

. . . . .

“is this what good friends do?” a scoff from you has soonyoung’s heart crumbling. “you left me waiting here in the rain, on my birthday, and you couldn’t even call, or text—”

“it’s not like you’re waiting for it!” a cornered soonyoung isn’t a rational one, and the words leave him before he can process them. “you’re always telling me how i shouldn’t be meeting you, have feelings for you, or contact you, yet you’re the one giving me shit for not texting you?”

“i just—i assumed you’d show up,” your voice is considerably softer, now that you really understand what soonyoung is saying. the loud rain doesn’t do much to mask your voice, however, because soonyoung hears you loud and clear.

“well, that’s where you’re wrong,” soonyoung chuckles mirthlessly. “you’ve just taken me for  granted all over again, y/n. you think that you can get me to do whatever you want just because i like you and you know i’ll never say no. i’m really fucking tired of all this.”

“soonyoung, it’s not like that—”

“i don’t want to hear another stupid explanation from you, not when you’re always deflecting whenever we get close to being something real,” soonyoung cuts you off. “you’re always the one making decisions for me, for us, and i’m done with that. my feelings for you are my own, and you can’t tell me i’m wrong or that i can’t have them.”

at this point, the salty tears running down your face can’t be differentiated from the raindrops hitting your skin, but you keep your head bowed down, so that soonyoung can’t see your tears. despite not looking at him, you can still tell that soonyoung himself is crying, if his choked voice and hurt tone are anything to go by.

“you’re not going to say anything?” soonyoung tries, and he sounds like he’s giving up now. “why can’t you just take the chance with me? why won’t you trust that i’ll do anything to keep you safe?”

“go home, soonyoung,” is all you say, gathering the courage to look him in the eye. “you’re going to get sick, and with the tour—”

“you don’t give a fuck about the tour, and you certainly don’t care for me either, so cut the crap,” soonyoung sounds angry, and you know he has all the right to. “if i go home now, without anything from you, it’s the last you’re going to see of or hear from me.”

those words have you snapping your head up. you look at soonyoung, fists clenched and teeth gritted together. the image of an younger, much happier soonyoung is superimposed on top of the version of soonyoung you see in front of you, and he looks entirely different. 

you don’t see the carefree, happy, and silly soonyoung anymore. you see a man who you’ve managed to break with how much you’ve pushed him away. you see a man who’s scared to love you, even though that’s all he’s done for all these years.

you see the results of your own cowardice, and you know that the bravest thing you could do is end things, right then and there.

“goodnight, soonyoung,” you say, not caring that you’re letting your facade finally slip in front of him when your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. “i won’t bother you anymore.”

you don’t have to look at him to visualise the look of betrayal and heartbreak on his face, but you sneak a glance anyway, and it’s just as heart-wrenching as you expected it to be. still, despite every inch of your body wanting to stay here, with him, you force yourself to turn around and walk away.

you’re not sure if soonyoung sees the way your shoulders shake when you finally give in and sob loudly. you’re not sure if soonyoung hears the thousands of apologies leaving your lips in broken whispers. but you do hope that soonyoung doesn’t; you’ve already hurt him enough.

“where have you been?” seungkwan gasps when he sees soonyoung at his front door, soaked in water from head to toe. “minghao-hyung told me you suddenly ran away, and all of us have been trying your phone but you—”

“seungkwan-ah,” the tremble in soonyoung’s voice makes seungkwan pause his rant. “i’ve lost her for good, this time.”

“lost who?” seungkwan furrows his eyebrows. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, just come in quickly and shower. i’ll get you some dry clothes.”

within fifteen minutes, soonyoung is now seated on the couch, clean and dry, and seungkwan hands him a cup of warm milk. he sits down next to soonyoung and notices how soonyoung just stares off into space, eyes filled with a kind of sorrow he hasn’t seen before.

“is it her?” seungkwan asks, and soonyoung turns his head to meet his eyes. “the girl you were talking about when you came here?”

“y/n, yeah,” soonyoung nods. “i didn’t know you guys were talking again,” seungkwan says. “i mean, we all thought that during the break when we were trainees, she randomly disappeared without a trace.”

“i thought so too,” soonyoung admits. “but we happened to bump into each other a few months back, and—god, i feel like such an idiot for thinking that we could ever go back to the way we were before.”

“wait, backtrack,” seungkwan holds his hand up. “you’ve been seeing her for the last few months? is that why the members keep saying you’ve been acting different? tell me the whole story, kwon soonyoung.”

the last thing soonyoung wants to do is recount the details of everything that’s happened, but he doesn’t stand a chance against seungkwan’s inquisitive gaze, and so he caves.

. . . . .

you’re definitely going crazy. it’s the only rational explanation for the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

three days ago, after you left soonyoung in the rain, you had received a text from an unknown number, which went like: this is seungkwan. hyung is down with a fever. i thought you should know.

you wanted to reply and argue that you shouldn’t know about soonyoung’s health, not when your heart and mind were both ready to drop everything at once and meet soonyoung, no matter how stupid the excuse. instead, you left the message on read and spent the next three days driving yourself crazy while contemplating if you should go and apologize to soonyoung.

in the end, the part of you that craved the comfort soonyoung brought you with just his presence won, and you found yourself in front of soonyoung’s house, plastic bag filled with medicine gripped tightly in your right hand.

you raise your left hand to ring the doorbell, but something in you makes you pause. what if soonyoung doesn’t want to see you? you wouldn’t blame him, after everything you’ve put him through, but seeing disgust or hatred for you in his eyes might just be the thing that shatters your heart for good.

the thoughts running in your head are chaotic, and you wish you just had the courage to knock on his door, face him, and apologize so that he actually hears you, but you’re a mere slave to the crippling fear that fills you at the thought of wanting something real with soonyoung.

you decide against facing him. you place the bag of medicine by the door, ring the doorbell, and run towards the end of the hallway as fast as you can, hiding behind the wall to make sure soonyoung won’t see you. it’s childish and immature, but you’ve come to realize that you’re never rational when it comes to soonyoung.

you need to cover your mouth to muffle the cries leaving you when you hear soonyoung open his door, step out, and call seungkwan to ask him if he sent him any medicine.

you take that as your sign to leave, but the burning question doesn’t leave you: what would soonyoung think if he ever finds out that you were the one who brought him medicine but didn’t even have the courage to hand it over to him yourself?

your relationship with soonyoung had started many years ago, when you both were still in middle school and trying to understand long division.

back then, soonyoung was your best friend. he was the boy who always asked for an extra serving of rice at lunch, because you were too shy to. he was the boy that made sure you walked on the sidewalk when you were going back home after school. he was the boy who choreographed silly dances to make you laugh whenever you were sad.

he was the first boy you fell in love with. 

it all had happened very quickly; all the girls in your grade had started discussing crushes and boyfriends, and soonyoung was the only boy in your life who made you feel ‘butterflies in your stomach’ and ‘fireworks whenever he’d touch you.’

after that revelation, it felt like the entire world had become much sweeter. you had exchanged your glasses for rose-tinted ones, and with every moment you spent with your best friend, you only fell in deeper.

one evening, under a starry night sky, fifteen-year old you had taken the leap of faith and pressed your lips against his. it was clumsy, and his nose bumping into yours hurt, but it was the best thing to ever happen to you.

what had followed the kiss was the worst news you’d ever receive.

—

“i’m moving to seoul,” soonyoung says, his hand holding yours gently while he drops a bomb.

“what for?” you ask, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. although soonyoung hadn’t revealed much, you could tell from the way his eyes were welling up with tears that the news couldn’t be good.

“i’m leaving taekwondo for good,” he starts. “i recently got into dancing, and i love it. i want to get better at it.”

“there’s dance studios in namyangju,” you point out. “why seoul?”

“i…. i auditioned for a few companies,” soonyoung confesses, the words spilling out after weeks of being kept secret. “i got into some, and i want to…. train professionally.”

you might just get an award called ‘worst best friend in the world’ for your reaction to soonyoung’s words. you barely stop yourself from saying, “that wasn’t our plan. we were supposed to stick together, even if we got sick of each other.”

what you do say is, “oh. that’s… that’s really cool.”

“you don’t look too excited,” soonyoung’s smile falters a bit. “why aren’t you excited?”

“i mean, of course i’m happy for you,” you laugh, although there’s nothing you find funny in this situation. 

“i feel like there’s a ‘but’ that’s going to follow,” soonyoung looks at you warily. “what is it?”

there’s so many things you want to say, but you bite your tongue. you just shake your head with a smile. “no ‘buts.’ i’m happy for you, i really am.”

“really?” soonyoung asks again, just to be sure, and you nod. he seems convinced with the act you’ve put up, because he smiles brightly at you, and your heart skips a beat.

you try to bring up the kiss, and what it would mean for the both of you, but soonyoung says, “i should go home, it’s getting late.”

“yeah, it is,” you reply, swallowing down the urge to tell him to stay. “goodnight, soonyoung.”

—

for years to come, you regretted everything you did that night. you regretted letting him go that easily, not telling him how you felt, even the fact that you kissed him.

this regret had such a chokehold on you, that after soonyoung had packed up his things and moved to seoul, you cut off all contact with him.

you didn’t reply to his emails and didn’t answer his calls. whenever his parents visited your house, you’d lock yourself in your room, scared that they’d ask you about soonyoung and you’d have nothing to say.

it was your first heartbreak, and it was messy and painful. you would cry yourself to sleep every night and wake up in the morning, fighting the urge to call soonyoung and ask how he’s doing.

you had managed to convince yourself that now that soonyoung had left, there was no chance of him coming back, much less to meet you. it took you a year to make peace with it, and another year to try and move on, but one night set you back on your progress and had all your walls breaking down.

—

it’s a rainy night and you’re alone at home. your parents are out of town for your dad’s colleague’s wedding, and you couldn’t be bothered to join them.

you’re on your phone, watching pixelated figures on your screen laugh and scream. you’d never admit this to anyone, but you had secretly kept up with soonyoung’s activities ever since he’d left for seoul. for the last few months, he’d been part of a tv show along with other trainees, practicing in a room with green walls and awaiting the day their names would be picked to be a part of a new boy-group.

seeing him dance and goof around with other trainees always made your heart sink a little, but you were glad that at least one of you were enjoying their youth.

you’re in the middle of a compilation of funny moments from said tv show, when your doorbell rings. you’re skeptical as to who would show up in front of your house in the middle of the pouring rain and this late in the evening, so you equip yourself with a tennis racket and head to the front door.

you slowly twist the door knob and pull the door open, but when you see who’s standing at the door, the tennis racket slips from your hands and clatters loudly against the floor.

“what—what are you doing here?” you ask, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.

“did i do something wrong?” soonyoung fires back. he’s completely drenched in rainwater, and his shoulders seem to droop, not just with the weight of the wet clothes clinging to his body.

“soonyoung, that’s ridiculous. what do you mean?” you sputter. “i think you should be telling me why you’re miles away from seoul, in front of my house, soaked in rain. what were you thinking?”

“it’s been two years, y/n,” soonyoung scoffs. “two years since i left and you never called, texted, nothing. did you really not care about me leaving?”

“i just got busy,” you lie, looking away from him. “school got tough, and unlike you, i need to actually focus on—”

“wait, pause,” soonyoung cuts you off, and you wish you could slap yourself for letting those words slip out. “what do you mean ‘unlike me’? what, you think you’re better than me because you’re going to school and i’m training to be an idol? is that why you cut off all contact with me?”

“i didn’t mean to say that, and you know i’d never do anything like that,” you deny. 

“do i? do i know you anymore?” soonyoung runs a hand through his damp hair, just like he does whenever he’s annoyed. “i thought we were best friends, but all of a sudden, you go radio silent and give me no explanation at all.”

“i was having a hard time too, okay?” you raise your voice, and you hate how shaky it sounds. “it was tough for me to get used to living without you here, and—”

“don’t give me that bullshit,” he says, voice cracking near the end. “i needed you too, and you completely abandoned me. just like how you kissed me that night and never said anything afterwards. why do you always leave me in the dark?”

you’ve relived that first, innocent, clumsy kiss, multiple times in your head for the last two years, and hearing soonyoung bring it up makes the memory sting even more. 

“soonyoung, i—i tried to, but i didn’t think that it was the right time to bring it up,” you sigh, defeated. soonyoung’s gaze softens at that, and he inches forward to be closer to you. he raises his right hand to cup your cheek, and the contrast of his icy fingers against your warm skin makes you shudder.

“you think too much,” he says, looking into your eyes. “it’s just me; you can tell me whatever you want the second the thought crosses your mind. you know i’d always listen.”

“i know,” you nod, and the air between you two feels charged with tension that has been simmering for the last two years. your brain is working at full speed, trying to decide what your next move should be, and soonyoung seems to pick up on the hesitance in your eyes, because of which he exhales loudly and whispers under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, “fuck it.”

before you can predict what he’s about to do, soonyoung leans forward to crash his lips onto yours. you can feel soonyoung shivering in his wet clothes, but the kiss feels warmer than anything you’ve felt before. you give into your temptations and kiss him back. 

it’s not as awkward as last time, but it does take you a second to realize that in the time he’s been away, soonyoung has grown up from the lanky and lean boy he used to be. his shoulders seem to be broader, and arms considerably more firm from the constant, rigorous training he’s going through.

you take your time in running your hands up his arms, until they finally wrap around his neck, pulling him in close. the wet material of his hoodie meets your dry t-shirt, and the foreign cold sensation is what snaps you back into reality. you’re kissing the boy you tried so hard to move on from, and you’re kissing him despite knowing that you’ll never really have him.

pulling away from soonyoung hurts a lot more than you expected. he looks disoriented for a few seconds, but then his eyes focus on you, and he knows something has changed.

“we should talk about—”

“no,” you shake your head. “let’s just call this a weak moment, and forget about it.”

“are you being serious right now?” soonyoung huffs. “why are you doing this? am i just a mistake to you?”

if you were it wouldn’t hurt this much, you think to yourself. to soonyoung you say, “i think we’re better off as friends, soonyoung.”

soonyoung walks away again, but this time you’re the one who pushed him away, and he’s the one that wanted you to stay.

—

you didn’t think you’d ever meet soonyoung after that night. for months after, the pain you felt every time you thought of soonyoung was fresh and raw, but over the years, he moved to the back of your mind as you got busy with trying to cope with the real world.

you had decided to major in design in college, and with your degree, you managed to land a job at a famous magazine publisher as a designer, and you’re somewhat happy with it. it’s tough to get recognition in a creative field, especially as a new employee, but earning money easily outweighs the need for validation, which is why you gritted your teeth, plastered on a smile, and continued working for people who never acknowledge you.

that’s when life decided to give you another unexpected surprise.

—

you just got off work, and it’s almost midnight. you haven’t had much to eat the entire day, not when the company is downsizing and you need to work your ass off to keep your job.

your stomach grumbles loudly, and you feel frustrated too. you’re sick of eating convenience store food for most days of the week, but there’s not a single restaurant open at this hour in your area, and you may just have to settle for ramen again, when you stumble across your saviour.

it’s a hole-in-the-wall joint with a small LED sign outside it, displaying the name of the restaurant. there’s not more than four tables inside the restaurant, yet the aroma of delicious tteokbokki is enough to lure you in.

you push the door open, and an elderly lady with a kind smile welcomes you. “oh, my child, you look absolutely famished,” the lady coos. “come, take a seat, i’ll get you food.”

“thank you so much,” you gush, bowing deeply before sitting down at a table. while the lady brings you food, you take the time to rest your tired feet and exhausted eyes. you’re rubbing your aching forehead, when the door to the restaurant opens, indicating that another customer has entered.

out of curiosity, you look to the side to see the new customer, but when you see his face, you’re considering that the universe thinks you’re a joke. because, sitting at the table across from you is none other than kwon soonyoung.

memories from the past crash into you like a truck, and you’re almost ready to sacrifice a decent meal and flee from the restaurant, when the lady approaches your table with a huge tray in her hands.

“here you go, sweetheart,” she says, setting down bowl after bowl on your table. “enjoy your meal.”

you’re not sure how much of an appetite you’ve got left after you’ve literally faced your past. the shock on soonyoung’s face still hasn’t faded, and you’re debating if you should just avoid any further eye contact, finish your food, and leave the restaurant as quickly as possible.

it seems like that plan needs to be abandoned as well, because after a very awkward meal and paying for your food, the second you step out of the restaurant, soonyoung calls your name.

“y/n, wait,” you can tell that he feels awkward just from the way he’s fidgeting with his shirt, and it only makes you feel even more uncomfortable. “it’s… been a while.”

“it has,” you reply casually, as if he didn’t go on to become a worldwide sensation, while you’re stuck being mediocre. “it was great to see you again, but i really should—”

“let’s catch up some time?” he asks, chest heaving with anticipation.

“i don’t know if that would be a good idea, soonyoung,” you say, vaguely gesturing at the distance between the two of you. “after what happened last time…”

“you said we’d be better as friends, right?” he tries, still enthusiastic, and it makes you want to cry. “we should try again. to be friends, i mean. what do you think?”

—

agreeing with him had been simultaneously the best and worst decision of your life. meeting soonyoung nearly every night after work, eating dinner at the same table in the restaurant you both met at again, and spending hours listening to him talk about everything and nothing was something you never thought you’d get to experience again.

it had started to feel like he was your best friend all over again, just like all those years ago when you both were naive teenagers who could never imagine that their relationship would change this much.

the downside to all this was that your old feelings for soonyoung, feelings that never really faded away, had come to life again, and soonyoung smiling at you like an idiot in love, like an idiot who didn’t choose to run away from you the first time you hurt him, wasn’t helping either.

having to shut down his constant flirting, his abrupt confessions, ‘deals’ he’d strike with you to make you go on a date with him whenever he helped you with work, all of it was killing you slowly, and you didn’t know if you could tell soonyoung to back off without hurting him more than you already have.

as the weeks fly by, you started letting your guard down around soonyoung. he held your hand as he walked you home, carried your work bag even if you weren’t that tired, and even texted you first thing in the morning. you had promised to yourself that you wouldn’t let soonyoung get that close to you again, because dealing with the fallout was something you didn’t want to deal with again.

still, like icarus, you let yourself fly close to the sun that is soonyoung’s affections, selfishly hoping that the day your wings of wax melt didn’t come too soon.

it was all just wishful thinking, and the fragile bubble you had started to live in burst on the day of your twenty-ninth birthday. like every other day, you had expected soonyoung to meet you at your usual restaurant for dinner, but hours passed, and there was still no sign of soonyoung.

when soonyoung finally did show up, and after you left him alone in the rain, you couldn’t help but curse yourself for believing that something so flawed from the start could ever work out, no matter how much you tried.

“is it weird that i still feel nervous before concerts?” mingyu sighs, massaging his legs after their last rehearsal on the stage. 

“i don’t think that feeling will ever fully go away,” wonwoo chuckles, panting as he lays sprawled out on the floor of the green room some of them are gathered in. its the day before the first concert on their world tour, and backstage is buzzing with various members of staff running around, making sure everything is perfect.

“i don’t think soonyoung gets nervous, though,” wonwoo teases, nudging soonyoung’s leg with his foot.

soonyoung, too engrossed in his own thoughts, doesn’t even hear the jab. he’s busy staring off into space, and it puzzles the other members.

“hey, what’s on your mind?” mingyu asks, shaking soonyoung’s shoulder to snap him out of his trance.

“i don’t know,” he sighs. “i have a bad feeling about today.”

“hey! don’t jinx our concert with your negativity,” seungcheol quips. “whatever has you distracted, you need to get it out of your head. we need tomorrow to be perfect.”

the restless feeling that has been bothering soonyoung all morning finally makes sense when his phone buzzes with a notification.

it’s a text from you, after radio silence since your birthday, and soonyoung hates how he’s sprinting out of the green room towards the company cars at the drop of a hat.

in his rush, soonyoung leaves his phone behind, and when mingyu picks it up from the couch, the text displayed on the screen reads, can we talk? one last time, i promise.

everyone has a feeling that soonyoung doesn’t want to be meeting you for the last time.

. . . . .

soonyoung feels a little foolish for standing outside the restaurant alone, frantically looking around. he’s forgotten his phone at the concert venue, leaving him with no way to contact you to find out if you were even coming to see him.

but when he sees your figure at the end of the street, walking towards him, the anxiety he’d been feeling gets multiplied by ten.

when you come to a halt in front of him, you seem a bit surprised. “i didn’t expect you to come. not after…”

“i know it was you who left the medicine outside my house that day,” he says. “i decided to come so i could thank you for that.”

“you don’t have to,” you shake your head. “i didn’t do that as an apology.”

“so, you’re not going to apologize for any of it?” soonyoung tilts his head. “why’d you call me here? for your own amusement?”

“i called you here to tell you that i’m leaving for good, soonyoung,” you have to force yourself to blurt the words out, because the lump forming in your throat is slowly starting to choke you. “i got a new job, and i’m leaving korea. i’m not coming back.”

“what?” soonyoung doesn’t sound like he believes you. “what do you mean you’re leaving?”

“i need a fresh start away from all this, away from you,” you can’t hold your tears back anymore, and the thought of never seeing soonyoung again is a comforting yet terrifying thought. “this thing we have, whatever we’ve had for all these years, it hurts to live with. i know i was the one who went and messed everything up, but i—i didn’t know how else to deal with you leaving. i do apologize, soonyoung, for every time i’ve made you feel like i hate you, or i don’t want you, and i want you to know i didn’t mean any of it.”

“if you didn’t mean it, why did you do it?” soonyoung’s face is red with anger and the look of realization that he can’t do anything to salvage this situation is heartbreaking. “i told you, y/n, you don’t have to think so much when you’re with me. you don’t need to worry about everything that can go wrong, not when i’ve got your back. why could i never earn your trust?”

“how could i trust in something that was doomed from the start?” you let out the thought that has been gnawing away at you for years. “the moment i realized i loved you, you left, and i couldn’t do anything about it.”

“is that what the first kiss was about?” soonyoung asks. “you loved me since then?”

“i did,” you nod. “and don’t you dare try to apologize for leaving, because it’s going to make me feel even worse. there was no way on earth i would’ve asked you to stay for me, and you wouldn’t have listened anyway.”

“what about after that?” soonyoung says, and you notice how it’s his left hand rising up to push his hair back. it used to be his right hand before, and you will every cell in your body to stop thinking about what the difference means. “i came back to you, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“you had enough on your plate back then, soonyoung,” you shake your head. “i’ve always kept up with your journey, since before your debut, and i know that expecting a relationship from you then wasn’t right of me. it would’ve made things worse.”

“why not now, y/n?” soonyoung yells, tears of frustration running down his face. “do you have an excuse for that too? what, i’d be too busy touring the world which is why you never said anything? if you love me, and i love you, why couldn’t we just let that be the reason? was love never enough for you?”

“i can’t—i can’t answer that, soonyoung,” you sob. “all i do is hurt you, don’t you see that?”

“there you go, making decisions for me again,” he scoffs. “you can’t be the one to decide if i want you, even if you’ve hurt me.”

“i’m deciding for myself,” you sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “we’re too far gone to fix things, and i don’t want you to get your hopes up for me. i don’t think i’ll ever be ready for anything real with you, and i feel like it’s the best way to leave things.”

“you’re leaving without even trying to fix anything,” soonyoung seethes. “your apology is just another slap to the face, and i can’t believe that i’d still do anything for you, no questions asked.”

“i’m asking you to let go, soonyoung,” you choke out. “it’s what’s best for us, and you know it too.”

“you make it sound easy,” soonyoung’s laugh is dry and hollow. “letting go of you means letting go of my heart. it’s not that easy, y/n.”

“i’m sorry,” you let your head hang low, too ashamed to look at soonyoung. you’re surprised once again when you feel his hands reaching forward to hold your trembling ones.

“is there nothing i can say to make you stay?” soonyoung tries again. his anger seems to have dissipated, and the look of desperation on his face matches the one on yours.

“i’m leaving tomorrow night,” you let yourself savor the feeling of his rough hands enveloping yours. “i can’t stay, you know that.”

“i’ll try anyway,” he exhales. “come to the concert tomorrow.”

“soonyoung, i can’t—”

“please.” he sounds dangerously close to begging. “i need to see you one last time, please. if it’s the last time i’m seeing you, i want it to be tomorrow.”

“i can’t make any promises, soonyoung,” you shut your eyes. 

“don’t make any,” he says. “i’ll get you a ticket, but if you don’t want to come, don’t. just know that i’ll be looking for you in the crowd.”

“don’t expect me to be there,” you say, looking up at him. he’s close enough for you to see his eyes glittering with tears, and the knife in your chest twists in deeper.

“can’t make any promises,” his words come out in a whisper, and before you can remind soonyoung of the consequences of kissing in the middle of a street, where anyone can recognize him, he pulls you in. 

the kiss doesn’t last long, but it makes you feel like your body is on fire. it makes your heart ache at the thought of losing this warmth forever, and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling soonyoung closer to you.

he pulls away first this time, and you can see it in his eyes that he knows you won’t be there tomorrow. still, he says, “come tomorrow, please.”

he leaves before you can respond. which might be better for him. because you don’t know if you can handle the fact that the last thing you’ll tell him is no.

the opening notes of the song play, and now that all the members are finally sitting down after hours of dancing, soonyoung takes a moment to scan the crowd.

he thinks about the ticket he’d sent you through text, and how the message hadn’t even delivered. he thinks about the flight that’s about to leave the airport soon, taking you far away from him.

if you leave in the distant future i probably won’t be able to live

he thinks of the last kiss, and it’s enough to make his eyes water.

chan finishes singing the first two lines, and with a shaky hand, soonyoung lifts his mic to his lips.

it’s not in the distant future i just don’t want to think about it

you’re not in the crowd tonight, and even though you didn’t make any promises, the last look he had at you felt like a promise in itself. a promise that said, i won’t be there, no matter how hard you look.

still, soonyoung feels like you’re watching. he wants to imagine that you’re in the waiting room at the airport, waiting to board your flight, clutching your phone and watching the livestream of this concert. he wants to imagine that the tears in his eyes make you want to cry too.

if you leave me (what can i do?) all my days (you’re the reason i’m alive and breathing)

fans recording clips of this concert are going to share this particular clip of soonyoung singing the chorus of the song with tears streaming down his face. they’re going to say things like, who hurt him? and soonyoung is really professional; he pours so much emotion into each song.

they don’t know the truth behind the tears. they don’t know that soonyoung was once a boy, who was, and still is, in love with a girl. and they’ll never know, neither will you, that soonyoung will always continue to love you, even if you’re oceans away from him.

soonyoung won’t ever know this: you do watch the livestream of the concert. you’re sitting in the airport lounge, and soonyoung’s eyes staring straight into the camera feels like he’s really looking at you, after he failed to spot you in the crowd. 

he won’t ever know this, but ever since that first kiss at fifteen, you had doomed your own fate. even if you ever found love in any other person, you’d never love them as much as you love soonyoung, and you decide to continue being selfish and keep this secret locked away in your heart for good.

the airport speakers announce that passengers flying to new york may start boarding their flight, and you shut your phone just as the song ends.

i want to hold your hand, just stay with me.

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love with seungcheol is like a breath of fresh air. being with him feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, allowing you to finally breathe and rest easy. for him, too, both yours and his weight of responsibility evens out like it’s placed on a scale, and finally life is a little more manageable. there’s less time to worry and stress about life, or adulting, and more room to love each other fully, without anything weighing you down.

loving jeonghan is never tiring. there’s countless people in your life who can’t read you right, or are always pushing boundaries in ways that irk you. people are a lot to handle, and you often find yourself pulling away to avoid dealing with that. jeonghan is different. he listens, observes, far beyond the surface that is what most people are seeing. he makes it so there’s nothing that makes you want to create distance. he knows you, and always shows the side of him that you may need in the moment.

love with joshua feels safe. there’s no room for fear with him! his patience is so healing, he’ll always make sure you live with no regrets, helping you live your life to the fullest. he encourages you to step out of your shell with the sweetest smile, standing by your side like a grounding pillar to help you along the way. you feel safe with him, because you know he’ll be there to guide you through any big feelings, or scary situations, like a crutch. or a warm hug, he’s there to make you feel safe and comfortable all the time.

love with junhui makes you feel special. he pays attention to you, makes you feel seen in ways you never have before. he knows all your little habits and your fears, and always makes a note of them so he can tend to you how you need. being with him means someone’s always looking out for you, ready to pull you from a situation or help you through it without even asking for help. he sees you, and makes you feel like someone actually cares enough to notice you, and he does.

loving soonyoung heals every part of your being. not just your inner child, but every stage of your life that wasn’t able to fully flourish. his bold, childish personality makes it easy to feel comfortable in your skin. he encourages you to be yourself, letting those hidden parts of you come out so you can finally let loose and enjoy your life. looking in the mirror will always bring you to tears, but they’ve evolved into something happier. everything you disliked about yourself, inside and out, has turned to something beautiful with soonyoung’s kind words and loving energy helping to heal your mind.

love with wonwoo is liberating. he has a sort of emotional intelligence that cleanses your mind, relieving it of negativity and pulling away any insecurities the same way your comb rids your hair of knots. your emotions, your thoughts, they all felt so muddy, so negative, until wonwoo gave you his thoughts and showed you his way of viewing life. he’s changed your ideals, helped you find a healthier way of thinking, and for that you’re so grateful, because life feels easy, and more free.

love with jihoon is like speaking your own language. there’s only one person who gets him, and it’s you. people on the outside may think he’s the worst boyfriend ever, but it’s because they don’t know him. you understand how he works, how he loves, and sometimes it’s in silence. sometimes his love comes in the form of a glass of water being wordlessly passed your way, in the form of a song, or a hand on your thigh. his love is often given to you in silence, and not many people understand that except for you.

love with seokmin is like flowing water. free, moving how it likes, unaffected by things around it. he’s not afraid to love you loudly, and neither are you. there’s no need to be anyone else but yourself with him, and vice versa. some people might see it as cringy, or too much, but between the two of you, it’s everything you’ve ever needed. all the weird, silly, chaotic love is what fills your heart abundantly. it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, being weird and authentic with seokmin is what makes you happy.

loving mingyu never leaves you feeling lonely. he has a clinginess that isn’t too much, but just enough for you to feel loved all the time. when you’re apart, even if it’s just for a few hours, there isn’t a second where he isn’t thinking about you. he’ll send a million text messages of little life updates. anyone he’s spending time with will hear your name at least a hundred times, and you’ll definitely hear a complaint from them. it’s okay though, you know he has so much love to give you, and it’s always welcome.

minghao’s love makes you feel worthy. he always takes care of you, never lets you lift a finger, carrying all the weight of responsibility with a smile. of course, he never lets it overwhelm him, not that it ever does, because he enjoys caring for you. he’s always there to do the hard stuff, and the easy. you’re his whole world, and for as long as you’re together, he’ll spend the entirety of that time serving you. he pays attention to you so well, and it feels so good to know that you’re worth someone’s time in such a way.

love with seungkwan is healing. you’re both not very vocal in your emotions, and it was something you quickly bonded over. it’s still not that often that you open, but when you need to, seungkwan stepped up to be that person for you. you help him in the same way, and with someone to help dissect all your thoughts and feelings, it ultimately helped heal you. loving seungkwan helped you become more in tune with your emotions, as it did for him, and it feels so amazing to have a love like that.

vernon’s love is unconditional. not that the others’ aren’t, but it’s something incredibly special with him. he’s a simple guy, he likes what he likes, and that’s that. your interests may be different, extremely different at that, yet he doesn’t care. you could be polar opposites, nearly incompatible, and he’ll still love you. he might learn to like your interests, and you might learn to like his, but know that he’ll always love you with his all. it doesn’t matter if you love something he hates. he’ll learn to love it, because knowing you enjoy it is enough of an incentive to tolerate it.

love with chan means you’re always being looked out for. tired? here’s his shoulder! your bags look kind of heavy, he’ll take them for you. need a hug? his arms are always, always open. he was raised by twelve brothers who showed him how to care for another person, and now that he has you, someone he can love and take care of forever, he’s so eager to show off his skills. he’s a firm believer in the sidewalk rule, and always guides you with a firm, gentle hand on your waist. his attentiveness makes you feel fragile, but important, all in the best way.

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“Bunny, wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

You make a face. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Jeonghan murmurs. “You seemed to like it when I was making you cu-”

If the club wasn’t so crowded you’d grab him by the collar and slam his head on the bar. But since that isn’t an option you settle for threatening to leave. 

“Wait, you just got here! You haven’t even let me make you a drink yet.” 

“Who says I’m here for a drink?”

He smirks. “Oh, I know what you’re here for.” 

“Not here for that either.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “Why, then? Don’t tell me it’s to break things off because the last time you tried to do that you ended up in my bed with your ankles on my shoulders. Besides, if you really wanted to end it you could’ve just texted me.” 

“What is there to end?” you mutter. 

“You wound me.”

“Want me to kiss it better?”

He rests his elbows on the countertop and leans across it, lowering his voice. “You know I do, but I’m closing tonight and last call isn’t for another forty minutes.”

You groan. “What am I doing here then?”

“If you had given me a heads-up I would’ve told you to come by later! Or tried to give my shift to someone else.”

You sigh and turn your back to him, surveying the rest of the crowd gathered on the dance floor. 

“Forty minutes isn’t even that long,” he whispers, “and you came all this way. I’ll take care of you as soon as I’m done. Can’t you be patient?”

“I’m not leaving,” you assure him. “I’m looking for a distraction.”

“A distraction?” You assume, based on the sound of dread that he makes, that he follows your gaze to the bachelor party doing shots at the other end of the bar. “What, you’re going to make me watch you grind on some other guy?”

“No one says you have to watch.”

“I’ll have a bouncer kick him out.”

“I haven’t even picked one yet.”

“I’ll get them all kicked out. Ruin their fucking night, I don’t care.”

You spin around to face him again. “It’s not like I’m going to fuck any of them!”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightens.  

“Unless you take too long….”

“Would it kill you to stay put for half an hour?”

“And be forced to listen to you flirt with the other customers?” 

The smirk returns. Confidence, or arrogance rather, weaves its way back through his posture now that he knows the real reason you’re looking elsewhere. “It’s only for tips. You’re the only one who gets a tip back.”

“Pure poetry,” you deadpan. 

“Just, let me make you a drink,” he pleads, still apprehensively eyeing the same group of men. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Fine,” you huff. 

“Great, what do you want?”

“Mmmm, I’ll do a lemon drop.”

“Do you want it as a shot or a cocktail?”

You take a moment to consider it. “Can I have the shot version in a cocktail glass? But for the price of the shot version.”

“Like I charge you for any of these anyway,” he scoffs. “Giant lemon drop shot coming up.”

You take a seat on one of the bar stools, finally settling in as he starts to prepare your drink. The bar is naturally sectioned off by support beams that run from the ceiling to the floor which gives each bartender their own section to tend to during a regular shift. But you know that since Jeonghan’s the one closing, his coworkers will be clocking out soon, leaving him in charge of the whole bar by himself. 

Luckily, the night has started to wind down by the time his colleagues leave. There are still plenty of people to serve but it isn’t anywhere near as crazy as it is at peak rush. 

He closes everyone’s tabs before circling back to you, bidding his coworkers good night as they clock out. 

“I’m glad you liked your drink,” he hums, collecting the empty glass from in front of you to wash and add back to the rack that hangs above the bar. 

He goes through the motions of his closing routine while the rest of the employees in the other sections of the club do the same. He purposely drags it out, taking his time so that you’re the last two left in the place. 

“Yoon, you good, man?” one of the bouncers calls as he makes for the door. 

“Yeah, I’m almost done. I’ll lock up, don’t worry.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See ya,” Jeonghan echos back, giving his friend a mock salute as he leaves. 

You’re a little surprised no one said anything about you staying behind but you assume they’ve seen you here so many times they know you’re waiting for Jeonghan, who they’re all a little too intimidated by to question. 

“Finally alone,” he sighs, leaning closer to you. “Come here, bunny.”

You let the nickname slide now that no one’s around to hear it. “Where, behind the bar?” 

“Mm, better yet, why don’t you hop up on the bar. Just crawl over to me.” 

You check your surroundings even though the place is empty and hoist yourself up onto the counter. It isn’t wide enough to necessarily crawl over so you just swing your legs over the other side, parting your knees so that Jeonghan can slot himself between them. 

He does exactly that, placing his hands on either of your thighs. 

“Thank you for being patient,” he murmurs, tilting his head upwards for a kiss. 

“I knew you’d make it worth my time,” you hum back, pressing your lips briefly to his. 

Apparently too brief for Jeonghan because he chases your lips when you pull away, pouting when you don’t give in. 

“Ah, is now when I start making it up to you?” he asks softly.

“Mhm.”

He keeps his hands on your thighs, using them to brace himself as he kneels before you. 

“What, here?” you hiss, suddenly rethinking the whole thing. “On the bar?”

“It’s clean,” he assures you. “You just saw me wipe it down.”

“It won’t be after this.”

“It’s a nightclub, babe. Sterility isn’t typically people’s number one concern here. Regardless, I’m obviously going to re-sanitize it when I’m done with you.”

“When you’re done with me?” you challenge. 

“Yeah. When I’m done with you. Got a problem with that?”

“Who says you’re the one that gets to decide that?”

“I do. Because you usually tap out after two rounds.”

“I-” 

“Are you going to let me eat you out or am I going to spend all night on my knees arguing with you?”

You shrug. “Both are hot.”

He sighs. “Lift up your skirt.”

You do as you’re told and wiggle out of your panties too. He reaches out for them and you’re confused but hand them over anyway, only for him to slip them into his pocket. Perv.

You’re used to Jeonghan taking his time with you, teasing you, making you wait for it. But you figure he knows he’s tortured you enough already tonight because he goes right for it. 

“Wait-” you say, yanking him by the hair when his mouth is only inches from your pussy to get his attention. 

“What, what’s wrong?”

You point at the ceiling. “The security cameras. Won’t they...” you trail off.

“We’re in a blind spot,” he mutters, grimacing at the grip you have on his hair. 

“Oh.”

“If you’re worried about it, I can get one of my bouncer friends to erase the tapes from tonight.”

“No, it should be okay, right?”

He nods. “They can’t see anything behind his beam.”

You relax a little, letting him spread your legs again. “Filing that away for when I come back to rob this place.”

Jeonghan gasps. “You would exploit the information I told you in confidence for monetary gain? Has this been your plan the whole time?”

“It’s called a ‘long con’ for a reason, baby.”

“You know what else is long?”

“Alright, enough talking.”

You use the hold you still have on his hair to guide him back in between your legs before he can get to the punchline. He doesn’t resist, obediently following your direction until he’s close enough to lick you. Before he does, though, he rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh and inhales deeply through his nose like he’s trying to breathe you in. You’d likely be mortified in any other circumstance but right now you’re too horny and too tipsy to care. 

“God, you’re wet,” he mumbles. “Alcohol really does go straight to your pussy, doesn’t it?”

You whine, embarrassed. You don’t have a snarky remark this time. 

“I guess we’re lucky I’m a bartender,” he adds.

Then, without wasting any more time, he finally puts his mouth to you. You knew it was coming but your breath still hitches when you feel his warm tongue against you. He finds your clit almost instantly, which shouldn’t annoy you but somehow does. You’ve slept with him too many times, allowed him to get too familiar with your body. You’re already in deeper than you probably should be. 

The irritation ebbs as the pleasure becomes impossible to ignore. Jeonghan leverages every advantage he has against you to get you to the edge. 

You try to hold out but he’s too goddamn good. And to make things even worse, he stops to ask, “Want my fingers or my tongue inside?”

You’re more than a little too gone to answer so he chooses for you, opting for two fingers while he continues to lave his tongue over your clit. 

“Taste so good, baby,” he moans. “Gonna cum?”

“Y-yes!”

“I don’t think so.” He pulls away at the last minute, leaving you jaw-dropped and panting. 

“What the fuck?!”

He shrugs, getting back to his feet as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“What happened to making it up to me?” you demand. 

“That’s for not texting me back.”

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. There’s no way you look even the least bit intimidating with your bare pussy out and your legs dangling off the counter but you’re too pissed to think about optics right now. 

“You think you can ignore my messages, decline my calls, and then just show up unannounced whenever you decide you want to get laid? And show up to my job of all places?”

Well, when he puts it that way...

 “I mean, you can,” he admits, half-laughing. “But I’m going to be a little mean about it. Don’t make that face at me, I’m still going to make you cum. It’s just going to be on my cock.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He brushes off your question. “Do me a favor, reach over there and grab that bottle of vodka for me.” You make a different, more concerned face at him. “What? I just wanted to do a shot together.”

“Last time you said something like that my whole torso was sticky with tequila for the rest of the night.”

“Can you blame a guy for wanting to do a body shot from between your tits?”

“Yeah, I can.”

He clicks his tongue. “Just hand me the bottle.”

Against your better judgement, you grab the Tito’s and pass it to him, watching in mild surprise as he pours it directly into his mouth. He gestures for you to lean closer so you do, letting him gently wrap a hand around your throat so that he can hold you steady when he spits the vodka into your mouth. 

You choke a little as you swallow, making it burn even more on the way down. 

Your throat feels raw, your lips swollen, neither of which is helped by Jeonghan kissing you after taking a shot of his own. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, further exacerbating the sting of the vodka. 

The heat spreads from your lips outward, engulfing you whole.

“Lay on your back,” Jeonghan whispers into your mouth.

He releases you so that you can, hopping up onto the bar with you a moment later. You’re not sure when he took his pants off but everything’s starting to get pretty hazy at this point.

“Are you still ok with no condom?” Jeonghan asks, unzipping the side of your skirt so that he can pull it off. 

“Yeah, I haven’t been with anyone else since...”

“Me either.”

He encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist as he positions himself on top of you and teases you with the head of his cock. 

“Hannie,” you whine and arch your back to try and force him deeper inside you. He pulls back, though, intent on being the one in control.  

“What is it, baby?”

“Need more.”

“Need more of what?”

“Of you.”

He gives you another inch or so, grinning at the way you squirm in frustration underneath him. “Like that?”

“You know that isn’t what I meant!”

“No?” He draws back. 

“Jeonghan!” 

He laughs. “What happened to Hannie? I like Hannie better.”

“I’ll call you Hannie again if you fuck me.”

“Deal,” he agrees, going as far as to offer you his hand to shake on it before finally bottoming out. 

“It can never be easy with you,” you mutter under your breath. 

“I could say the same for you,” he shoots back. 

He lays there on top of you for a few moments, kissing your neck while allowing you to adjust to the size of him. You’re honestly surprised he’s as hard as he is. You know that eating pussy turns him on but you usually help warm him up too. The building anticipation must have been enough for him tonight. The throbbing of his cock inside you confirms that. 

“Can I move now?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Hannie...”

“Fuck.”

He looks so pretty on top of you. His hair is still all mussed from when you were tugging it and now his bangs are falling in his eyes, curling up at the ends from perspiration. His face is screwed up in pleasure, mouth slightly open as he pants and groans about how good you feel around him.

You wish the lighting wasn’t so dim in here so that you could see him better, take him in better. It’s a sight you’ve seen dozens of times but one that never gets old. You wish it would. 

It usually takes more than just penetration to get you to the edge but you’re still so sensitive from almost cumming on his tongue that you’re on the edge again before you’ve even really gotten started. 

“Je-Hannie, I’m close.”

“Already? Hold it a little longer for me, baby.”

“I can’t!”

You cum with a cry of his name, locking your ankles behind his back to hold him as close to you as you can while the waves of ecstasy roll over you. He tries his best to fuck you through it despite his now-limited range of motion, settling for winding a hand between your bodies so that he can play with your clit to get you to cum even harder.  

When you come down and your body finally relaxes again, Jeonghan takes it as a sign to keep going-- albeit gentler this time.

“You okay? It’s not too much, right?”

“Yeah, you can keep going,” you sigh, your arms and legs feel like jelly now but you still try to hold on to him. “Want you to cum too.”

“Aw, my bunny’s so sweet,” he hums.

“Don’t call me thaaat!”

“Shut up, you like it. I felt you tighten around me when I said it.”

“It was a clench of annoyance.” 

“Whatever you say...”

“Are you close yet?” you grumble.

“Why? Am I boring you?”

You fake a yawn. His jaw tenses. 

“You know what, I’m going to hold off as long as possible just to- fuck.”

You feel his hips stutter as you pulse around his cock on purpose this time, trying to coax him off the edge. He puts up a good fight but is only able to resist for so long.

“Shit, I’m gonna- where do you want me to-”

You lock your ankles again, effectively answering his unfinished question. A familiar sensation of warmth, not unlike that of the alcohol earlier, fills you as his cock twitches and spurts cum inside of you. It’s almost enough to make you cum again but you feel a lot more sober than you did thirty seconds ago and reality is catching up to you fast. 

Still, you stroke Jeonghan’s back as he catches his breath like he always does for you. He seems to appreciate it and kisses you on the cheek when he gathers enough strength to push himself off of you and hop down.

“I demand a rematch,” is the first thing he says. “But not here. I think we’ve made enough of a mess on this bar.”

“I can’t believe we did that,” you add as you slip back into your skirt. 

He buttons his jeans and then hands you your panties from his pocket. “I’m glad we did.”

“Me too.”

“The only problem is that now whenever I’m working this will be all I’m able to think about the whole shift.” 

“That’s a bad thing?” you ask.

“I mean, I’d rather not be hard for hours at a time.”

You laugh. “Well, if you ever need help with that you have my number.”

“But will you actually answer?”

“I- I will, I promise.” You cross your heart for good measure. 

You can’t tell if he believes you or not. He changes the subject before you’re able to read him. 

“Alight, I’ll clean up here and then get you home to clean you up. You’ll stay the night, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t drive after drinking. Thanks.”Jeonghan looks like he wants to say something, maybe ask if that really is the only reason you’re agreeing to stay over, but he doesn’t. It’s the only reason either of you needs.

“i’m not,” he replies, flatly.

“sure,” seungkwan sings, disappearing down the hall.

woozi sighs and sinks further into his chair. you’re sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, scrolling through your phone, earbuds in and completely oblivious to the absolute chokehold you’ve put him in.

and that’s the problem. you always are.

you’re warm, expressive, a walking serotonin shot. you light up every room you walk into and talk with your hands and cry over dog videos and compliment strangers’ outfits just because. you're the type of person who remembers birthdays, texts people good luck before big meetings, and bakes cookies on random tuesdays "just because you felt like it."

and woozi?

woozi is the guy who pretends not to hear compliments because he doesn’t know how to take them, he expresses love through perfectly mixed vocal tracks and buying your favorite snacks and pretending he’s not checking his phone every two minutes waiting for your reply.

and yet you’re here all the time.

you come by the studio even when he doesn’t ask. you bring coffee and snacks and once a tiny plush keychain because "it looked like you and i couldn't not buy it." you ask about his day like you really want to know. you hug him goodbye even though he never hugs back (not properly, anyway).

and sometimes you sit quietly beside him for hours, just vibing, while he works on music. humming under your breath. asking questions about things he thought no one ever noticed. like the way he softens the instrumental under the bridge to highlight the vocals. or how he layers harmonies to make the chorus sound fuller.

you notice everything—and it’s driving him insane.

because he’s not supposed to feel this soft. not when he barely knows what to do with his feelings half the time, not when you smile at him like you know something he doesn’t, like you’re waiting for him to catch up.

“you okay?” you ask suddenly, pulling out your earbuds and tilting your head at him. he startles slightly, coughing. “yeah.”

“you were spacing out,” you grin. “thinking hard, genius?”

he huffs a laugh, turns back to his screen. “something like that.”

you shuffle over and peer at his monitor, chin on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. you’re close enough that he can smell your shampoo. something citrusy. fresh. “is this the new demo?” you whisper, like it’s a secret.

he nods.

“can i hear it?”

“it’s not done yet.”

“i don’t care.” you whisper, leaning in close to his ear.

and he sighs, already knowing that he’d lost to you with just one look. he hits play and pretends his heart isn’t doing backflips while you listen with that furrowed brow and soft smile. you always listen like this—like the song is a person you’re trying to understand.

when it ends, you turn to him, eyes wide. “woozi. that’s so good. it sounds like falling in love.”

he snorts, ducking his head. “that’s not what it’s about.”

“still feels like it,” you shrug.

he glances at you, a little helpless. you’re too close. too real. too much.

“you always say the dumbest stuff,” he mutters, but his voice is weirdly fond. you grin at this like you know you’ve won something. “you love it.”

and that’s the thing, isn’t it?

he does.

god help him, but he does. and his grumpy disposition falters as he rubs his palm into his eyes.

“i’m so undeniably screwed for this woman,” he mutters under his breath, almost too quiet to hear.

oh, but you hear it.

you blink, going still. lips part like you’re about to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you stare at him with an amused look on your face.

his eyes widen slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he feels his composure crack.

“…shit,” he curses, throwing his head back. “did i say that out loud?”

you blink again. then smile, slow and warm and soft enough to melt him right there in the chair.

“yeah,” you say. “you did.”

a beat passes. he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“…okay.” he pathetically mumbles,

and then you’re laughing. again. that same fizzy, unstoppable laugh, and you bump your shoulder into his and say, “about time.”

he stares at you, and you stare back. then you reach over and take his hand—gently, casually, like you’ve done it a hundred times—and squeeze.

“don’t worry,” you whisper. “seems like we’re both in trouble, then. you make me feel like i got a few screws loose, lee jihoon.”

and woozi, ever the calm, composed, nonchalant musical genius that he is—completely short-circuits.

join here!

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

[gyu]

you around

[y/n]

at a party why

[gyu] 

come hang out w me

[y/n]

srry u mean leave free booze ??

[gyu]

have weed […]

and that part of me u seem to like so much

You grinned to yourself as you replied. 

[y/n]

which part is that again

[gyu]

so funny […]

come smoke with me […]

let me eat you 

You stared at the message for a moment too long. 

“What happened?” Your roommate was suddenly very close and trying to read your phone over your shoulder, “You have that look!” She giggled. “You’re about to make some bullshit excuse to leave.”

You were quick to lock your phone. “Nothing - and no, I’m not about to do that at all…” you trailed off. 

She laughed. “Don’t be annoying, just tell me who he is,” she whined and pulled your arm like a small kid trying to get their way. 

You rolled your eyes and tried to push her away. She giggled and lunged for your phone. “Tell me!” She pleaded, making a pouting face.

You hugged your phone closer. “No, it’s a secret,” you whispered, kind of loudly.

You barely made it out without giving her Mingyu’s name. Even though she’d guessed it was him weeks before. The way she’d stared at you when she guessed “that lab partner - the one you clearly didn’t hate.” She’d been so certain. 

And you’d manage to lie to her, convincingly enough, anyway. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[y/n]

okayyyy omw

[gyu]

fr

[y/n]

yess […]

in uber now

[gyu]

send me a pin thing […]

so i know where u r

[y/n]

worried?

[find my location shared with gyu]

[gyu]

is that not allowed?

You sighed and looked out the window as you rode to his place. He lived in a cute part of one of the old art districts. You liked seeing the buildings passing by, the old architecture - you maybe loved when he asked you over. 

You knew your way to his door despite the random flow of the building’s hallways. You barely knocked before the door was being opened. You held back a grin because you had the feeling Mingyu had been waiting for you just on the other side of the door, pretending he wasn’t of course. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Hi,” you whispered as he pulled you inside his apartment. You grinned as he slid his arms around you so he could kiss you, his soft lips working sweetly against yours. You reached up, winding your arms around his neck as you returned his kisses. You loved the soft sounds he made - he was always noisy and needy and so cute. 

He squeezed you close and picked you up, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist. You smiled at him, smoothing his hair from his face. “So big and strong,” you said as you traced a finger along his lower lip, loving the way his eyes gleamed in the low light as he looked up at you, soaking in all your compliments. 

“So pretty too,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, licking into him, tasting him. 

You moaned softly when your back hit the wall. He rolled his hips against you, needy and wanton. You pulled his hair gently, leaning up again to breathe, to look at him. It was like surfacing after diving into water. 

“Thought you wanted to eat me,” you whispered with a smirk. 

He grinned in response, barely biting his lip. “That’s always true, though,” he murmured, squeezing your ass gently. 

You smiled because he was painfully cute this way. “Are we actually going to smoke this time?” You asked, voice soft, fingers twining in his hair. 

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, “probably,” he giggled. 

You grinned, knowing he’d already smoked at least a bowl.  Which was just fine, since you were still buzzing from whatever mixed drink you’d had. 

You sighed softly. “Mmmh, ‘probably’?” You asked softly, “hmm, maybe we should skip to the part where we play Mario Kart, and I’ll actually let you be Princess Peach,” you offered. 

He watched your lips as you spoke, glancing up suddenly. “I’m always Princess Peach,” he said with a pout. 

You’d seen him purposefully avoid playing as his favorite character when anyone was around too many times to fall for this propaganda. 

“Really? You?” You said in mock surprise. “Because last time I saw you”—

He rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he whined, “fine, I’m not Princess Peach when I play in public,” he corrected. “I’m just Princess Peach when I’m alone or with you - happy?” he asked sulkily. 

You nodded, still running your fingers through his hair, loving how soft it was. “Very,” you admitted with a small smile. How could you not be happy with him, you wondered. 

He hummed in response as he leaned in for another kiss. You loved how easy it was to be with him, how soft he could be. He was definitely in a cute mood. 

You broke the kiss just to look at him. He groaned softly. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Sorry, you’re just so…” you trailed off, tilting your head to the side to stare at him. 

He leaned close, kissing your cheek. “We aren’t fucking are we?”

You giggled, feeling like he’d read your mind. “No, I don’t think so,” you whispered. “But who knows,” you said as you kissed him again. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You didn’t fuck before bed. 

You played Mario Kart and ordered food. You borrowed his clothes to sleep in and curled up happily next to him, while he picked some movie to play while you both fell asleep. It was perfect when he finally settled on something, and was lying next to you, arms around your waist, his face buried in your hair. 

Besides, you didn’t always need to fuck. Sometimes you just wanted to see him be ridiculously happy when Princess Peach took out Bowser in Mario Kart. And maybe sometimes you let him win just so you could see him be that happy. 

And that was probably some kind of something beyond just two people hooking up, right, you wondered as you fell asleep in his warm embrace.

a/n: okay so sometimes i'm deep in my mingyu-feels and other times i'm just not - rn i am and maybe i'm working on other fics for him like mingyuAI..omg finally, some more of that - fr i just have to be in the mood to write him, i can't explain it :/

tbh i read my mingyu hanahaki fic and was like 'oh yeahhhh i do love him for reasons'

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ master list & tag list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ complete mingyu master list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞

mingyu x noona agenda: praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference | 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 |

teasers: mingyuAI [ teaser i ] [ teaser ii ] |୨୧| all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: summer coworker | happy hour | soft dom | kinky puppy | sex toy play | valentine's day | puppy play gyu | morning mingyu (cute / fluff) | the one here you hate him | #kat_drabbles

angst: no blueberries master list (college au)

fluff: waiting to feel foolish (college au) |୨୧| never happened before (magical realism au) |୨୧| hoodies & candy (college au) |୨୧| no strings (magical realm au) [pt. 1]

smut: playing hearts (college au | camboy au) |୨୧| leave it open (monster!mingyu au) |୨୧| openly pining (stepbrother au) |୨୧| 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

series: my familiar (magical realism au) [pt. 1 f] [pt. 2 - coming soon]

mingyu bingo [ all s ]: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles | internet friends + blind date + size kink | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference |

[ mingyu drabble tag list ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @sseungcheols [ e + wips ] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

☁︎ @ninigyuuu [k.mg - e, b.f. priv]

Seungcheol has strange obsession with eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind, you both had probably watched that movie more than 10 times and it's still never enough for him. Every dialogue is tattooed on back of your mind like you're the damn writer of that movie.

Your focus isn't even on the movie since few couple of minutes, mind glued to the fact you're close to seungcheol and cuddling with him in the living room while kkuma is sleeping right infront of you on the floor.

Your frame was engulfed by seungcheol's, tightly, sharing the coziest blanket you could ever find, his warm breath hitting your neck making you tickle .you turned to his direction, faces barely inches apart. "I am bored let's kiss"

You didn't wait for Seungcheol's next words, pressing your lips against his, noses rubbing against each other. he wasted no time reciprocating your kiss, pressing your body closer to his, loving the way how pillowy your lips felt.his lips tasted like hot chocolate that you made for him, sweet Just like him.

"you're soo so pretty" seungcheol murmurs letting out a dreamy sigh and leaving a peck on your nose, his eyes filled with overflowing love a big grin made it's way on your face. cheeks flushed and heart at complete peace.

"and you're soo cute" you giggled, cupping his face with both of your hands, thumb tracing his smile lines. he looked so adorable and fluffy. You got intense cuteness aggression wanting to squish and bite his soft cheeks.

You squished his cheeks, loving the way his lips turned into pout. you placed a quick kiss against his lips but it wasn't enough for seungcheol. he released your waist his hands coming to your face and grabbing your cheeks the exact same way.

"hey, you're crushing my cheekbones" you whined, voice coming off muffled and too adorable for seungcheol to handle.

"can't help it, you're so lovely" seungcheol says kissing your eyebrows , then lowering down to your nose then finally onto your lips, repeating the whole process countless times till your whole face is covered with kisses and his lipbalm.

You both kept arguing back and forth on who's more cute and just kissing each other, not leaving any part of face devoid of attention and love. movie being long forgotten now just two lovers using each other's faces as a canvas to paint out their love.