say!

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it's an hour later when jaehyun finally slips through the window, the lamp on the bedside table still warm with glow. he tiptoes around the room, shutting himself into the bathroom to peel his suit off. he takes stock of the injuries - there's an ache growing in his shoulders and a bruise on his right thigh. nothing too crazy.

he struggles into one of his shirts and switches off the bathroom light, pulling himself back into bedroom.

and, somehow, jaehyun catches himself watching you again.

you're already asleep, sprawled across the bed on your back, and jaehyun places a hand gently on your stomach, feeling it rise and fall with each exhale and inhale.

"you kicked the blanket off again, silly," he whispers like you can hear him in your sleep, tucking you back under the covers as he slides in next to you.

he gathers you in his arms, pulling you flush against himself. you're warm - a stark contrast against the cool tinge of his skin from swinging in the night air. jaehyun melts into you, burying his face into your hair as you turn in your sleep towards him.

"jae?" you murmur into his shirt.

"it's me," he presses a kiss against your hair, "i'm home."

"good," you say groggily, "i was waiting."

"i know, baby," jaehyun smiles against your hair, "i'm sorry for keeping you up."

"it's okay," your words slur together, "wasn't sleepy any... anyways."

"i know," jaehyun just says despite your yawn, running his hand through your hair. you murmur something incoherent before you do that thing where you tuck yourself into him and tangle your legs together.

seriously - he thinks to himself as your breathing evens out again. how did i get so lucky?

jaehyun's arm tighten around you, cocooning you in the feeling of him. he can hear your reply - it isn't luck, jae, it's just because i love you, just like how you love me.

and what did i do to deserve all that? his hand stills in your hair. i keep you up all night, wake you up before the sun is up, disappear on dates and still -

he breathes you in with a shudder - and still you love me. what's that all about?

Three years. 

Three years was a long time to keep love hidden inside your chest. 

Long enough to memorize every detail about Han Taesan. The way his eyes would crinkle whenever he smiled genuinely, the way his ears would turn red whenever someone complimented him. Long enough to learn how to ignore that familiar ache that followed every new girlfriend he introduced, smiling a smile that never reached your eyes. Long enough to conceal that perfectly memorized confession you practiced in your head everyday. 

You’d tried to tell him. God, you had. You really had.

Once after school, when you had dragged him inside an empty cafe, both of you laughing carefree and telling him to sit while you ordered. You’d planned everything with Sungho, a close friend. who worked there part-time. 

Taesan’s favorite cake, the timing, the way you would finally let out the words that have been dying to be set free. 

“Excited?” Sungho asked from behind the register. You could hear the hidden excitement in his tone, he was almost as thrilled as you were. 

“Ugh, terrified.” You lied. Pretending to cower in fear, clearly teasing. 

Yet he still smiled anyway.

When he handed you the cake, everything settled in. Truth was, you were terrified. What if this ruined everything you both had? What if this made you lose Taesan? 

Sungho noticed. Like he always did. “Hey,” he started, softly squeezing your hand. “It’s all gonna okay.” 

You nodded reluctantly, forcing his words to embed into your mind. Putting on a mask of courage, you began to walk back to the table-

Only to find Taesan standing. 

“Where are you going?” you asked, heart aching silently. “We just got here.”

That dorky, apologetic smile that you love, oh so much appears. The one he uses when he’s about to unknowingly break your heart once more. “Gaeul called, wants to meet at the library.”

Gaeul.

You hadn’t heard of that name before. “Who’s Gaeul?” But you already knew the answer. 

“My girlfriend.”

The word landed like a punch straight to the face.

“We started dating a week ago,” he added quickly, looking away. “Didn’t wanna tell anyone yet. Sorry.” 

He hadn’t told you. And you were his best friend, or, at least you thought you were. 

But you still smiled anyway, like you always did. “Yep, totally cool.” It wasn’t.

He ruffled your hair as he passed by, already running out the door. “Save me a piece!”

You waited until he was gone, fully gone, before letting the smile you hated wearing drop. Sungho joined you without a word, sitting beside you in silence.

The second time you tried to confess barely counted. 

You invited him over, convinced something smaller and more intimate might work instead. But he canceled. Said something important came up.

You believed him, how could you not. It wasn’t until you saw a post from Yeji, a girl you knew who lived right down the street.

Of them. Sharing a loving kiss.

Another secret. Another lie Han Taesan had told. A reminder that his heart would always belong to another. 

So maybe, it was fitting that your final day of loving Taesan, came in the rain. 

You stood across the street, clothes soaked through, watching them laugh under an umbrella trying not to get wet. Minju. You knew the girl, she helped you out in class a couple of times. She was kind. And she leaned into him naturally, like she belonged there. Because she did.

And you didn’t.

You’d asked him to meet you at the park where you first met, ready to finally get it over with. But seeing him there with her, took away any hope you had. 

That was it. 

You were tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for someone who you knew would never choose you. No matter how much you foolishly hoped. 

So with a final glance, you turned away. 

Too bad you hadn’t noticed when he glanced your way. 

Taesan was mid-laugh when his eyes drifted across and noticed you. And that smile froze.

He had seen you, your hair drenched and clothes soaked through, walking away. Panic filled him almost immediately. 

“-wait,” he muttered, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

“Taesan?” Minju asked, confused, but he had no time to explain as he stepped out from under the umbrella.

“Hey!” he tried calling out once more, rain covering him as he took more steps forward, faster. 

You still didn’t turn around.

Maybe you hadn’t heard him. Yeah, that had to be why. But he knew better. 

Something twisted in his chest, something he had never felt before. It was sharp and ugly. Why weren’t you looking back? Why weren’t you waiting for him like you always had? 

For the first time in three years, Han Taesan felt what it was like to be left behind.

After that night, you changed.

You didn’t scream and curse at him. You didn’t give him the cold shoulder. You were just, distant. 

You stopped waiting for him to text you. Stopped following him around wherever he went. You still hung out, laughed together, just.. less. You weren’t punishing him, you could never. You were just pulling away so he could live the life he wanted. 

Taesan noticed immediately. 

At first, he was convinced it was nothing. You were busy. Maybe tired. People change. He would stare as you walked past him, his arm around Minju. Brushing it off. But as time passed by, the rift became too obvious to ignore. Conversations felt dull. Jokes fell through. And moments that would before make you shy away, now had you pretending they never happened. 

“Did i do something?” he asked one day, brows furrowed, voice unsure.

You shook your head. “No.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.

But it wasn’t the truth.

And he knew it too.

The thought swallowed him whole, every night. He replayed every moment he’s ever had with you, the ones he’d never question. The way you knew all his interests. The way you’d memorized his every habit and routine. How you’d told him you didn’t need anyone else. And it hits him.

It wasn’t because you were best friends. No. It was because you loved him.

And the realization sickened him.

Every time you had tried to confess. Every time the smile never reached your eyes when he introduced you to a new girl. All the times he’d lie to you. 

He remembered the way you could never look him in the eye for too long. Bashfully smiling. Remembering the fact you loved matching but only if it was unintentional. That glow you got in your eyes when it came to talking about a favorite interest and-

He loves you.

And he didn’t even know it.

Love isn’t some fresh, dramatically poetic emotion like in the movies. No, Taesan knows it all to well now. He knows because love is a shark, that sinks its teeth into you before you see it coming. And he’s just experienced it first-hand.

He had to fix it. He tried.

Started texting more, inviting you out. Showing up to places he knew you would be to catch a glimpse of you. But you didn’t meet him halfway, not anymore.

Because you had someone else now. 

Sungho.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t loud. It was there, quiet, in a way that Taesan knew you had always yearned for. Sungho listened. He noticed the small things. He put you first, never making you feel like the second option. 

One day, when everything hit at once. You cried. And Sungho stayed. He didn’t assure you everything would be alright when he knew you didn’t need to hear that at the moment. He was just there. Allowing you to let it all out, silently comforting you. And that meant everything.

When Taesan saw the two of you together, he understood. Sungho was the one you needed, not him.

You looked lighter. At ease. Like you weren’t waiting to be disappointed. Just happy.

So he decided to talk to you one final time.

“I think I—” His voice cracked. He couldn’t cry. Not when he was at fault. “I think i’ve always loved you.”

You closed your eyes.

Three years ago, those words would’ve made you the happiest girl.

Now, they just hurt.

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t stay to hear him apologize. Didn’t stay to let him finish. Because you didn’t need to. You understood him, it was just too late. 

Taesan watched you walk away again.

This time, he didn’t follow. He let you go. He had to.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

Still, you weren’t nervous. You’d been inside worse.

Walking up the porch steps, the wood groaned beneath your boots. The air smelled damp from recent rain, mixing with the scent of rotting wood and dust. Typical haunted house atmosphere. Nothing special.

“Top ten scariest locations,” you muttered sarcastically to your camera. “Already disappointed.”

The front door creaked loudly as you pushed it open, the sound sharp enough to make anyone else flinch. You rolled your eyes instead.

“Classic.”

Inside, the air changed immediately.

Not colder.

Just—strange.

There was a smell lingering in the house that you couldn’t place. It wasn’t mold or decay or mildew. It smelled unfamiliar, something oddly sweet underneath the dust, something almost comforting in a way that made your skin prickle.

You frowned.

That was new.

Your flashlight swept across the entrance hall. Torn wallpaper peeled from the walls. Furniture sat broken and abandoned beneath white sheets. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed over the years, leaving debris scattered across the floor.

But your detector remained silent. No spikes. No readings.

Nothing.

You sighed dramatically toward the camera.

“So either the internet lied again,” you muttered, “or the ghosts here are shy.”

After searching the downstairs rooms with no luck, you headed upstairs carefully, testing each step before putting your full weight down. The staircase groaned beneath you, old wood threatening to crack.

Halfway up, the temperature dropped sharply.

Your breath caught.

Then—

Beep. Your detector flickered. Another beep. And suddenly the machine went wild in your hand.

A grin spread across your face instantly.

“There you are.”

Excitement rushed through you as you followed the signal down the dark hallway. The closer you got to the last room, the louder the detector screamed.

When you stopped outside a closed door, the readings peaked violently.

Your pulse quickened.

Finally.

Without hesitating, you shoved the door open.

A chair launched across the room toward your head.

“Holy shit—”

You ducked just in time as it smashed against the wall behind you.

Your heart slammed violently against your ribs.

And somehow—

Some sick, insane part of you loved it.

A breathless laugh escaped you.

“Oh, you’re aggressive.”

Then you looked up.

And froze.

There was someone standing in the middle of the room.

Not a shadow. Not a blur.

A man.

Your stomach dropped instantly because ghosts didn’t look like this. Not in your experience. They were usually distorted figures caught on camera, strange silhouettes, fleeting movements in mirrors.

But him?

He looked horrifyingly real.

Tall. Pale. Dark eyes fixed directly on yours.

A scar cut across his face, sharp against impossibly beautiful features. His black clothes hung loose on his frame, and there was something deeply wrong about the way he stood—too still, too silent.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

For the first time in years, genuine fear crawled beneath your skin. Yet somehow, beneath the fear, there was something else.

Something worse.

Because he was devastatingly attractive.

His expression twisted into a scowl as he stared at you like your existence alone offended him.

And for some reason, that made your thighs press together.

“What the hell” you whispered.

You stepped forward carefully, unable to stop yourself.

The moment your fingers almost brushed his sleeve—

He vanished.

Your eyes widened.

“What?”

You rushed into the room, flashlight darting wildly around the space. Empty.

Impossible.

He had been right there.

A loud bang exploded behind you. The cupboard came flying toward your head. You jumped aside with a startled curse as it crashed into the floorboards.

“Okay!” you yelled breathlessly. “Message received!”

The air suddenly grew freezing.

Then—

He appeared directly in front of you.

So close your breath caught instantly.

A cold shiver rolled violently down your spine, goosebumps erupting across your skin as his dark eyes locked onto yours. He towered over you, silent and terrifying, his presence swallowing the entire room whole.

And somehow—

Your body reacted in the worst possible way.

Your pulse stumbled hard in your chest before sinking lower, heat curling through your stomach so suddenly it almost embarrassed you. Fear should’ve been the only thing you felt right now. Any sane person would’ve been panicking.

But there was something devastating about him.

The scar dragging across his face only made him look more dangerous. More real. His scowl was sharp enough to cut through bone, like he genuinely hated you for standing in his house.

And for some reason, that made your thighs press together harder.

Oh, what the hell was wrong with you?

You swallowed shakily, but even that became difficult when an invisible force suddenly wrapped around your throat.

A gasp tore from your lips.

Your back hit the wall behind you, flashlight slipping from your fingers as the pressure tightened just enough to make your breathing uneven.

Your heart was pounding now.

Not only from fear.

The coldness around your neck should’ve terrified you, yet your body betrayed you completely. Every threatening step he took closer only made the heat beneath your skin spread further.

His eyes narrowed at your reaction. Almost confused by it.

Then irritated.

“You’re afraid,” he said coldly.

Your lips parted slightly.

“I should be.”

His jaw tightened.

Because despite your words, your body was telling a completely different story.

Your breathing had changed. Your pupils were blown wide.

And when his icy presence brushed against your skin, a quiet shiver escaped you that sounded far too breathless to be fear alone.

Something dangerous flickered across his expression.

The room felt impossibly smaller with him standing this close. Cold surrounded him, yet you felt unbearably warm, every nerve ending painfully aware of him.

“You enjoy this,” he said, almost accusingly.

The embarrassment that rushed through you only made things worse.

“I don’t know why,” you admitted weakly.

That seemed to genuinely catch him off guard.

For the first time, his expression shifted—not softer, but curious. Like he couldn’t understand you.

Couldn’t understand why your heartbeat sped up every time he cornered you.

Why your gaze kept dropping to his mouth despite the fact he looked like he belonged in a nightmare.

The invisible grip around your throat loosened slightly.

But instead of relief, disappointment curled unexpectedly in your stomach.

His eyes darkened when he noticed.

Then suddenly he leaned closer.

So close you could almost feel his breath despite the fact he technically shouldn’t have one.

Your entire body tensed.

Heat flooded through you violently now, your pulse practically throbbing beneath your skin as he stared down at you with something dangerously unreadable in his expression.

The room spun with cold air and static electricity. You could barely think. Barely breathe.

And then—

That scent hit you again.

That strange comforting smell lingering throughout the entire house.

Only now, this close, you recognized it immediately.

Your breath caught.

No.

No way.

Because underneath the dust and cold air—

It smelled exactly like Leehan.

Your boyfriend.

The pressure around your throat disappeared instantly.

You stared at him. The scar. The eyes. The voice.

Your stomach twisted violently.

“Leehan?”

The ghost froze. Then the entire house went silent.

Dead silent.

And suddenly—

You woke up screaming.

Your body jolted upright in bed, chest heaving violently as sweat clung to your skin. Your room was dark except for the dim glow of the clock beside you.

3:17 AM.

Your breathing refused to steady. It felt too real. Too vivid.

You pressed a trembling hand over your face, trying to calm down.

“It was just a dream,” you whispered shakily.

Beside you, the mattress shifted. Strong arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind.

“Another nightmare?”

Leehan’s sleepy voice rumbled against your shoulder. Relief crashed through you so hard you almost laughed.

You turned quickly, burying yourself against his chest.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “You were in it.”

He chuckled softly, still half asleep.

“Was I handsome at least?”

You snorted weakly.

“Unfortunately.”

His arms tightened around you comfortingly.

Then he tilted his head slightly, lips brushing your ear as he murmured teasingly—

“Did ghost me scare you?”

Your blood ran cold.

Slowly, you lifted your head.

Leehan smiled lazily at you in the dark.

And for the briefest moment—

You could’ve sworn you saw a pale scar stretching across his face.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

The fight began the way most disastrous arguments do—not with screaming or shattered glass, but with something deceptively insignificant.

A forgotten text, a delayed response, a sigh delivered with the wrong tone. By midnight, however, the tiny fracture had widened into something jagged and catastrophic.

Rain tapped relentlessly against the apartment windows while the city beyond the glass dissolved into blurred streaks of gold and gray. The kitchen lights remained dim, casting amber shadows across the marble counters and illuminating the tension suspended thickly between the two of you.

You stood near the island with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, nails digging crescents into your sleeves as though physically holding yourself together.

Across from you, Juhoon leaned against the counter in suffocating silence.

That silence again. That unbearable, impenetrable quietness that made every disagreement feel one-sided, like throwing your emotions against a locked door and hearing nothing echo back.

His expression was composed in the infuriating way it always was—controlled, restrained, unreadable. Even now, during an argument that had your chest aching so violently you could barely breathe, he looked devastatingly calm.

You hated that, not because he was cruel, but because you could never tell if he cared as much as you did.

“You could at least look at me while I’m talking,” you said at last, your voice strained from holding too much emotion for too long.

His gaze flickered upward briefly before drifting away again. “I’m listening.”

“That’s the problem,” you replied bitterly. “You’re always listening. Never talking.”

His jaw flexed, a subtle reaction most people would miss.

You didn’t. You noticed everything about him because you had spent months teaching yourself how to love someone who communicated through fragments instead of sentences.

The way his fingers curled meant irritation. The slight tension in his shoulders meant discomfort. The silence meant he was overwhelmed.

Except tonight you were exhausted from deciphering him. “You always do this,” you continued, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. “Every single time we argue, you shut down and leave me to figure everything out on my own.”

“I’m not shutting down.”

“You haven’t said more than five words to me in ten minutes.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, already looking fatigued by the conversation. “You know I’m not good at this.”

A humorless laugh escaped you. “At what? Communicating? Having emotions?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Your eyes burned. “Then tell me what is fair, Juhoon. Because I spend half this relationship wondering whether you actually want me here.”

That finally made him look at you directly, and the hurt in his eyes was immediate. But instead of softening you, it only made the frustration twisting through your ribs intensify. “You know that’s not true.”

“How would I know?” you shot back. “You never tell me anything.”

His patience began to fracture. You could hear it in the clipped cadence of his breathing. “I show you.”

“You show me in ways I have to analyze like I’m decoding some impossible language,” you said, voice rising. “Do you know how exhausting that is?”

He pushed away from the counter then, agitation radiating from him in restrained waves. “And do you know how exhausting it is feeling like nothing I do is enough for you?”

The words struck harder than expected. You blinked. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” His tone sharpened. For the first time that night, genuine anger seeped through his carefully maintained composure.

“It’s always the same conversation,” he continued. “You keep asking for more and more and more from me like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Then what is it?” he snapped suddenly. “Because apparently loving you quietly isn’t enough. Remembering everything about you isn’t enough. Being there whenever you need me isn’t enough because I don’t say pretty things every five seconds.”

The accusation stole the air from your lungs. “I never asked for perfect words,” you whispered.

“Could’ve fooled me.” The cruelty in his voice was subtle, not loud nor explosive.  Which somehow made it worse.

Your throat tightened painfully. “I just want reassurance sometimes.”

“And I’m telling you I’m trying.”

“You barely talk to me when something’s wrong!”

“Because every time I do,” he said sharply, “it turns into this.”

Silence crashed between you again, only this time it felt vicious. Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs. “You know what hurts the most?” you asked quietly. “I feel lonely even when I’m standing right beside you.”

Something cold flickered across his face then. Exhaustion, the kind born from feeling perpetually misunderstood. “And you know what I’m tired of?” he replied. “Feeling like I have to become someone else just to keep you satisfied.”

Your lips parted. “That’s not—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted, voice rougher now. “I can’t love the way you want every second of every day. I’m not overly emotional. I’m not good with words. And honestly?” His eyes hardened slightly. “Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation, we wouldn’t keep ending up here.”

The sentence landed like a blade driven straight between your ribs. The room went completely still. Juhoon seemed to realize it immediately.

You saw the regret flash across his features the second the words left his mouth. But it was too late, because suddenly every insecurity you had buried deep inside yourself came clawing violently to the surface.

Too clingy, too emotional, too much. Your face went blank in the terrifying way heartbreak sometimes empties a person instead of making them cry. “Wow,” you whispered.

“Baby, I didn’t mean—”

“No.” Your voice sounded distant even to yourself. “You meant it.”

His expression crumpled slightly. “I was angry.”

“That doesn’t make it less true.”

“It’s not true.”

But now you couldn’t stop hearing it. Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation. The sentence echoed viciously through your head.

You swallowed hard, suddenly unable to bear the sight of him. Without another word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair.

Juhoon straightened immediately. “Where are you going?”

“I need to leave for a while.”

“It’s raining.”

“I don’t care.”

He stepped forward then, panic finally overtaking the frustration on his face. “Don’t do this.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was hollow. “Do what? Leave before I embarrass myself by begging someone to love me correctly?”

His face paled. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“I was frustrated—”

“And I was hurt.”

Your voice cracked at last. Raw devastation bleeding through the numbness settling over you. “You know what the worst part is?” you whispered, eyes glossy now. “I defended your silence for so long. To everyone. I kept telling myself you loved differently, that you cared in ways people couldn’t see.”

Juhoon looked like he physically couldn’t breathe.

“But tonight,” you continued shakily, “you made me feel stupid for wanting reassurance from the person I love.”

The apartment fell deathly silent. Rain battered the windows harder. His eyes glistened with immediate remorse “Please don’t leave angry.”

You stared at him for a long moment. At the boy you loved so desperately it frightened you. The boy whose quiet tenderness had once felt safe. Now it only felt unreachable. “I think if I stay right now,” you said softly, “I’ll say something unforgivable.”

Then you walked toward the door.

“Baby—”

But this time, when he said it, you didn’t stop, and the sound of the door closing behind you felt far too much like something breaking forever.

The night had become glacial by the time you finally wandered back toward the apartment. Hours had passed in a blur of rain-slick sidewalks, blurred streetlights, and thoughts so tangled they felt impossible to unravel.

The city was nearly silent now, stripped of its usual vibrancy, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rush of cold wind biting against your skin.

Your fingers were numb inside your jacket pockets. Your chest hurt worse. The argument replayed relentlessly in your mind no matter how hard you tried to outrun it.

Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation.

The sentence echoed like a bruise pressed over and over again. Part of you understood he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. You knew Juhoon better than anyone. You knew frustration twisted his words sharp sometimes, especially when emotions overwhelmed him.

But another part of you, the quieter, more fragile part—couldn’t stop wondering if there had been truth hidden beneath the cruelty.

Maybe you were too much. Too emotional, too needy, too difficult to love properly.

The thought hollowed something inside you, and somehow, despite all of it, despite the hurt still lodged painfully beneath your ribs—You missed him desperately, pathetically.

It had only been a few hours, yet every second away from him had felt profoundly wrong, as though some invisible thread tethered between your hearts had stretched too far without snapping completely.

By the time you reached the apartment building, exhaustion clung heavily to your bones. Your phone read 2:07 AM.

The hallway outside your apartment was eerily quiet. Even the usual flickering overhead light seemed dimmer tonight.

You stood outside the door for several seconds, staring blankly at the handle while anxiety twisted violently in your stomach. What if he was still angry? What if he regretted everything? What if—

You swallowed hard and unlocked the door anyway. The apartment was almost entirely dark. Only the small lamp beside the couch remained on, casting a muted golden glow across the living room. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls while rain continued murmuring softly against the windows.

And there he was. Your breath caught instantly.

Juhoon was curled awkwardly against the couch cushions, still wearing the same black hoodie from earlier. One arm lay draped over his face while the other rested limply against his stomach, like exhaustion had finally dragged him under after hours of waiting.

The sight alone nearly shattered you. He looked uncomfortable, restless. Like sleep had only claimed him out of complete emotional collapse.

Your chest constricted painfully. Slowly, carefully, you stepped closer. “Juhoon,” you whispered.

No response.

You crouched beside the couch quietly, your heart aching at how pale he looked beneath the warm light. Strands of dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, soft and disheveled in a way that made him seem unbearably vulnerable.

Tentatively, you brushed your fingers through it. “Baby.”

His eyelashes fluttered faintly. Then slowly, reluctantly, his eyes opened, and your entire body went still.

His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, wet. Like he had spent hours crying alone in the dark.

Your stomach dropped immediately. “Oh my god…”

The devastation on his face the moment he fully recognized you was almost unbearable to witness. Relief hit him so violently it physically altered his expression. His lips parted shakily.

Before you could even process it, Juhoon surged upright and wrapped his arms around you with desperate force, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs entirely, and then he broke apart.

A strangled sob ripped from his chest so abruptly that it startled you. His entire body trembled violently against yours while another shattered sound escaped him, raw and uncontrollable.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” you whispered immediately, climbing onto the couch beside him as your own vision blurred with tears. “Juhoon…”

He buried his face against your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you directly, fingers clutching the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it almost hurt.

But you didn’t care, because Juhoon was crying. Juhoon, the boy who concealed every emotion behind silence and restraint—was sobbing in your arms like he had been holding himself together by a single unraveling thread.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly. Your heart cracked clean down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”

Another sob tore through him, rough and uneven. You froze for half a second, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his grief.

You had never seen him like this before. Never. 

Even during the worst moments of his life, Juhoon had always remained composed in that quiet, self-destructive way of his. He internalized everything. Buried everything. Suffered in silence because vulnerability terrified him more than pain itself.

But now?

Now he was unraveling completely beneath your touch, and somehow that hurt more than the argument ever had.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered frantically between shaky breaths. “I swear to god I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. His breathing came unevenly, fragile hiccups interrupting nearly every sentence.

“You left and I just…” He swallowed hard, voice splintering apart. “I thought you were done with me.”

“Oh, Juhoon…”

“I called you like ten times,” he admitted weakly, words muffled against your shoulder. “I kept trying to figure out what to say, but nothing sounded right and I—fuck—”

His voice dissolved into another sob. “I can’t lose you.” The confession was so painfully sincere it made your own tears fall instantly.

You cupped his face carefully, forcing him to look at you despite the embarrassment flickering through his watery eyes.

And god, he looked devastated.

Wet lashes clung together while tears slid endlessly down flushed skin. His lips trembled uncontrollably, breath hitching every few seconds as though his body physically could not calm down now that the fear had finally escaped him, and beneath all that anguish.

Love.

So much overwhelming love it nearly stole the air from your lungs. “You’re not losing me,” you whispered softly.

His expression crumpled further. “I thought I already did.”

You brushed your thumbs beneath his eyes gently, catching tear after tear.

“I know I’m difficult,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know I make things hard because I don’t talk right, but I swear I love you more than anything.”

The sincerity in his voice shattered whatever remained of your anger, because he meant it. Every single syllable.

Juhoon loved with terrifying intensity. He just expressed it differently—through actions, through presence, through quiet devotion hidden in places words could never fully reach.

“I don’t know how to explain things the way you need,” he continued shakily. “But I need you here. I need you.”

Your chest ached so violently it almost felt unbearable. Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him softly.

The second your lips touched his, he melted completely. A trembling breath escaped him, shaky and uneven, before his hands slid around your waist with unmistakable desperation. Not possessive, but clinging, almost fragile, like he needed physical proof that you were truly there and not about to disappear again.

The kiss carried remnants of tears and exhaustion and unspoken apologies.

Juhoon kissed you like someone starved for reassurance, every movement hesitant at first before gradually deepening with overwhelming emotion. His lips trembled faintly against yours while his fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your hoodie, anchoring himself to you with quiet urgency.

You could still taste salt from his tears. Could still feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing brushing shakily against your skin, and somehow, that vulnerability shattered you more thoroughly than the argument ever had.

When you pulled back only slightly, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes remained half-lidded and glassy, lashes damp and clumped together from crying. There was something devastatingly defenseless about the way he looked at you now, like every carefully constructed wall he’d spent years building had finally collapsed under the sheer magnitude of loving you.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered against his mouth.

He shook his head immediately, brows pinching together. “No, don’t apologize.”

“I left.”

“You were hurt.”

“So were you.”

That alone nearly made him cry again. A shaky breath escaped him before he buried himself against you once more, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as though separation itself had become unbearable now.

This time, he didn’t fight the tears. He let them come. Soft, broken sobs trembled through him while your fingers combed gently through his hair, untangling the storm little by little.

“I love you,” you murmured repeatedly against his temple. “I love you so much.”

Every single time you said it, his grip tightened, as though he was memorizing the feeling of hearing it.

Eventually his crying softened into quiet sniffles and exhausted breathing. You pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead. “Come to bed with me?”

He nodded weakly. The two of you moved through the apartment in silence, but it no longer felt hostile. Now it felt delicate, tender. Juhoon never let go of your hand once.

The second you both slipped beneath the blankets, he immediately curled himself against your side, burying his face near your shoulder while one arm wrapped securely around your waist.

Your fingers drifted slowly along his back beneath his hoodie, soothing the occasional tremor still lingering through his body.

The room remained quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows and his gradually steadying breathing. Then, after several long minutes. “I never think you’re annoying.”

Your heart squeezed painfully. You glanced down at him. His eyes remained closed, voice rough and sleepy from crying. “I like when you cling to me,” he admitted quietly. “Makes me feel… wanted.”

A weak, watery laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” His fingertips curled faintly into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant and delicate despite the vulnerability trembling beneath the gesture. “When you need me like that,” he whispered quietly, voice still rough from crying, “it reminds me I matter to someone.”

You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, because suddenly everything made sense. All this time, Juhoon had been loving you with the exact same desperation you loved him.

He just buried it beneath silence because he never learned how to voice it aloud.

Your expression softened entirely. The tension lingering in your chest melted into something overwhelmingly tender as your fingers brushed carefully along his cheek, your thumb grazing beneath his eye where faint traces of tears still remained.

He leaned into the touch instinctively. The sight nearly shattered you.

Slowly, you leaned down and kissed him again. This kiss was different from before, slower, sleepier. Overflowing with forgiveness instead of panic.

Your lips moved against his with lingering tenderness while his breathing softened gradually beneath the warmth of your touch. He kissed you back carefully, almost reverently, as though savoring every second instead of fearing its disappearance.

The room around you had become impossibly still. Only the rain tapping faintly against the windows and the occasional shaky exhale from Juhoon disturbed the silence.

One of his hands slid slowly upward along your side until it rested lightly against your ribs beneath your hoodie. The touch was featherlight, unhurried, his fingertips tracing absentminded patterns there like he simply needed to feel your heartbeat beneath his palm.

Yet even now, wrapped around you beneath dim bedroom lighting, Juhoon continued kissing you with heartbreaking sincerity, as if every unspoken emotion he’d buried for months was finally pouring out through touch instead of words.

taglist: @gentiliana @beomtomie @moesthinking @myungmyng @evezwrlds @enhypenlvrsstuff @niiqv @lovehakie @waldorfiles @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @wiihan @chocosan44 @rnares @coerbnz @wnouzi @sa1nt-kitty @coriihanniee @riuscheri @fshiwore @ziziforsan @taestulipss @miseulgaru @flowerstaesan @ihanzzn @coergene @whosleehan @acaifeen @riumori @ihankaji @kisskeon

There are exactly thirteen steps between the camping table set up for the submarine game and the bathroom. You know because you counted. You might have hesitated a bit between six and seven, giggling to yourself, but you did count thirteen by the time you reached the entrance hall through the corridor lit by fairy lights.

Okay, maybe give or take a few. You were a bit distracted by the music, the lights and trying not to stumble. There’s still a sway in your step when the bathroom door opens suddenly in front of you and you backtrack, the house slipper Jaehyun made everybody wear catching on the edge of a rug. Then the Earth turns on its axis and you feel your balance give out. But before you could spread out like a starfish on the ground and stare at the ceiling (which doesn’t sound half bad right now), a hand catches your elbow and pulls you back.

You blink slowly as the dizziness settles and look up at your savior only to come face-to-face with an angel.

“Are you okay?” She asks with a worried yelp while you’re busy staring. Even the shitty dim lighting of the bathroom that Haewon complained about earlier looks like a halo around her, framing her shoulder-length wavy blonde hair like it was her personal ring lamp. God really has some favourites, huh?

“Wow, you are really pretty!” You blurt out, your brain-to-mouth filter lost sometime after the second somaek you had to drink because you were hopelessly losing against Intak and Junghwan. Really, it’s just your luck that you managed to sink the soju glass twice in a row.

“Thanks?” Blondie shyly giggles and oh gosh, it’s so cute. That’s it, you will die in Jaehyun’s flat, right in the middle of the hall, staining it like a crime scene, all because of a pretty girl. “Uhm… were you about to…”

She trails off, pointing over her shoulders towards the bathroom and momentarily you’re distracted by the collarbone peeking out from under the wide neck tee. Yeah, maybe you did actually fall and hit your head because it feels a bit like heaven.

“Yeah, right,” you shake your head trying to recall why you came to the bathroom in the first place. Then you remember the amount of beer and soju you drank and the dryness of your lips. So you both do a little wiggle wiggle while sharing semi-awkward chuckles with the gorgeous blonde girl to switch places in the narrow space between the bathroom door and the coat hanger spilling over with jackets.

After a total 180 degrees turn, you’re still staring at the white flowers the fairy lights paint on the girl’s face until you realize it might be creepy and mutter thanks before turning towards the mirror. Squinting at the blinking silver glow that comes from the LED rod above the sink, you realize that Haewon was right about the shitty lighting. You try to switch on the ceiling lamp instead but then remember Jaehyun said that the bulb died like a week ago and he was so busy making sure there’s enough food and booze for the party that he forgot to change it. Typical guy behaviour.

“Actually…” You spin around, ignoring the dizziness that comes with it, in favour of catching your savior before she could actually leave. When she looks back in a mix of confusion and curiosity, you also notice that her top is cropped above her jeans. And that her shoulder-to-waist ratio is insane. You need to hold onto the sink behind you. Seriously, where was this hot girl hiding all this time?

“Can you help me?” You wave your purse between you as an indicator but she still looks a bit baffled when she eventually steps back into the bathroom. The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving the two of you in semi-darkness. A hint of her perfume hits you then, a subtle woody scent, and suddenly you find it harder to breathe. It’s ironic that you have a bunch of guy friends who are popular on campus because of their looks but the only time you malfunction is near pretty girls.

After some struggle fishing it out, somehow you manage to give Blondie your phone with the torch function on and she directs the light towards the mirror wordlessly while you’re busy pulling out your lip products. It’s her who breaks the silence of the small space.

“So how do you know Jaehyun?” She asks, soft-spoken but there’s a lower huskiness in her voice that you find really attractive.

“He is in one of my classes, English Lit. You?” You answer after fixing up the edges with your lip liner.

“We used to live together,” the girl behind you replies matter-of-factly but it piques your interest more than it probably should. You glance at her figure half in the shadows through the mirror.

“Oh. Did you date?” You inquire as you switch to the balm. You hope it sounds like a casual follow-up question despite how sour it tastes in your mouth. Ridiculous. Who cares if they used to date?

“What? No! I… I like girls,” Blondie exclaims, her voice higher now, almost like she can’t believe you even came to that assumption. On the other hand, you’re quite pleased with the new bit of information. Especially because being openly queer is still not easy and her boldness encourages you to do the same.

“That’s cool! Me too! But I like guys too,” you tell her casually because it’s not even the wildest fact you have ever (over)shared in a bathroom. You tend to do that even without the influence of alcohol.

“What do you think?” You ask once you add the finishing touch with the lip gloss and smack your lips together, turning back around.

“It’s pretty,” Blondie says slowly, her cat-like eyes trained on your mouth and satisfaction pools in your stomach.

“Wanna try?” You offer boldly even though you can see the faint traces of something sparkling on her lips too already.

She blinks rapidly and makes a confused noise in the back of her throat but before she could actually articulate an answer, you stand on your tiptoes to match her height and briefly press your lips against her. It’s barely a peck but your lips tingle afterwards, begging for more.

“There,” you smile widely and tilt your head towards the door. “Dance with me?”

The girl seems speechless for a moment but then giggles again and follows you to a corner of the living room where most of the people mingle and do a very poor imitation of dancing to some 2010s throwback Jaehyun’s speakers play, so it’s a win. Faintly you hear Hanbin scolding somebody for smoking on the balcony and some cheers over a wild round of the APT game but none of that matters, not when you have the prettiest girl with you.

Under the flashing crimson and blue lights Blondie’s eyes shine. Or it might just be from her glittery eyeshadow. Either way you are mesmerized. When you sway closer, you could blame it on the alcohol but it wouldn’t be completely true nor would be claiming that resting a hand on her side is only for balance.

There’s a content smile on your lips when she shudders under your touch as your thumb caresses the sliver of bare skin not covered by her tee. When she calls your name, almost revered, as her own hands slide to the small of your back to hold you, you’re too tipsy and too affected to question when you told her what’s your name. You just hook your free hand’s index finger into the long necklace she’s wearing and give it a little tug to pull her closer. Your breath hitches when your lips graze after she stumbles and you bump into the couch behind you.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough?” She asks, her warm breath fanning over your mouth and her voice dropping lower. So sexy.

“Yes. Please,” you whisper, no hesitation, and sigh when your lips finally mold together. She tastes like cherries and you press closer like you’re trying to figure out whether it’s from her gloss or flavoured soju.

You get lost in it. Her earthy scent, the sweet taste of her lips, the way she kisses you like she means it. You have a hand on her nape, playing with the strands of her short blonde hair while she holds you like you are something precious. Time slows down and everything else dulls: the music, the lights, the alcohol in your veins.

“Get a room,” somebody yells at some point, breaking the spell as Blondie pulls back too much for your liking. You need a few long seconds to ground yourself, blinking up at the gorgeous girl in front of you. The gloss is smeared on her reddened lips and you’re sure you’re no better. You feel hot all over.

“Do you… do you wanna come over to mine?” You mutter, breathless, your fingers skimming down on her flat stomach from her ribcage all the way to the hem of her high waist jeans, implications clear and it has her suck in a breath.

Then suddenly, with the worst timing ever, nausea hits. All those soju shots are finally catching up to you.

“Wait… Fuck, I think I will throw up,” you barely get the words out before running back to the bathroom.

The rest of the night is a blur. You remember the cold of the bathroom floor tiles, somebody patting your back, glimpses of a taxi ride but the faces and events are smudged like ink under water. Somehow you manage to wake you up in your own bed, in changed clothes, alone.

“Had fun?” Kazuha teases when you crawl out of the room after noon to do something about your growling stomach. The curry she’s eating smells so good you would otherwise steal from that but right now you can’t even fathom swallowing something proper like that.

“Don’t even start. I made out with the hottest girl, then threw up in front of her and I don’t even know her name,” you whine with a pout, spreading cream cheese over your bread only to remember halfway through a glide that you forgot to toast it. It makes you ridiculously sad.

“That’s a pity. Though the guy who brought you back and asked me to make sure you’re good was cute too,” your flatmate says between two bites and it has you furrowing your brows.

“Who was it?”

“How would I know? I don’t know Myung Jaehyun’s friends. Only Sanghyuk and it wasn’t him,” Zuha shrugs and goes back to her lunch.

Her answer doesn’t really narrow down the list. Jaehyun is friends with like half the campus, so ruling out dance majors doesn’t get you anywhere. Maybe it was Hanbin or Euijoo, they are usually the most sober at these parties.

You take a bite from your soft bread as you sit down and open your unread notifications. You text back everybody who wonders whether you’re alive and like a few photos on social media. You totally don’t do it in hopes of catching sight of a certain blonde girl, so you’re totally not disappointed when you don’t see anyone like that tagged. You only have one new follow request from some guy with a pumpkin username. He’s wearing a football jersey in his profile picture, so you delete it without thinking. Jocks are not your type.

Alas life goes on and on Monday, you’re facing your next challenge: trying to not get rained on while carrying books that didn’t fit into your totebag next to your lunchbox and laptop. Or the even bigger challenge: opening one of those heavy glass doors while your hands are full to get into the Humanities building without getting rained on.

“Hey, Y/N! Let me…” Comes a voice from behind you and the umbrella that has been precariously balancing on your shoulder is now secured properly over your head. It gives you a free hand to push at the handle.

“Wow, you're a lifesaver, thanks!” You let out a relieved sigh as the door swings open.

“No worries,” says the guy who follows you inside and hands you your umbrella back. He has a grey hoodie over his head, drenched a little at the sleeves where his own umbrella didn’t cover him. A few strands of dyed hair peeks out from under the hood and his thin framed glasses are a bit fogged up now from the warmer temperature indoors. “How is your head?”

The question leaves you dumbfounded a bit but then you remember he even called your name, so now you’re racking your brain from where he could know you. He does seem vaguely familiar but you’re pretty sure there’s no guy like him in your classes but one can never be 100% certain. You’re not the most observant person anyways, you get distracted way too easily.

“Could be worse. Uhm you are…”

“Sungho. From the party?” The guy pushes the glasses back on his nose bridge, Thankfully he doesn’t look offended that you didn’t recognize him, rather just… shy?

“Sorry, things about the party are a bit… blurry. I shouldn’t have drunk so much,” you admit with an audible wince because that’s the issue, isn’t it? At the end of the day, it’s your fault that his name doesn’t ring a bell.

“No worries,” Sungho waves off your apology with a slightly awkward smile and points at the stack of  books under your arm. “Need help with those?”

“I’ll manage. Thanks though,” you smile and wish him a nice day before sprinting off towards the elevator. You really can’t wrap your head around why he seems familiar when you don’t remember anything about him.

It’s been five days and no signs of Blondie. You start to think that she was just the creation of your drunk mind. So it leaves you no choice: you have to go to the single source of truth, the only person you know who knows her.

“Jaehyun, hey!” You catch up to the boy before he could leave after your class together on Friday morning. “I need your help.”

“Sure, go on,” he turns to you, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his baggy jeans. He probably thinks you need help with the material or at least something academic-related, so you spare both of you the time by not keeping him guessing.

“At your housewarming party I kissed someone,” you tell him straightforwardly and you can see his neutral expression morph into a grin. The social butterfly he is, you're pretty sure matchmaking his friends is one of his favourite pastime activities.

“Not just anyone. The prettiest blonde girl ever,” you clarify because you need him to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Ah… huh?” Jaehyun blinks in confusion, probably because he doesn't understand what you need his help with. Or maybe he didn’t know you swing both ways? Anyways…

“Yeah. She said she used to live together with you. Could you maybe get me her contact?” You plead, even put your hands together to mimic praying and try your best puppy eyes.

“She?” The guy questions like he’s trying to make sure he heard that part right.

“Yes, she! She’s like this tall, has short blonde hair with bangs and she has really cute cat-like eyes,” you describe the girl of your dreams to him. But why are you over-explaning it? He couldn’t have had that many roommates to begin with. “How many girls have you lived with?”

“Not many,” Jaehyun laughs. “I will ask Yeppi first, okay?”

“Yeppi?”

“It’s a nickname,” he explains and you can't help but smile. It fits because she is pretty. Should you maybe call her that too instead of Blondie?

“Okay, yeah, of course, you should ask her first,” you nod, eagerly, giddy already because you’re one step closer to finding her.

Sungho’s day has been just peachy. He almost burned himself with the milk foam machine and has been yelled at for not using oat milk for a customer who did not even ask for it. Let’s not even talk about the fact that it’s day five of his crush ignoring him. Then Jaehyun waltzes through the café’s door like the world’s happiest labrador running up to its owner.

“Dude, you won’t believe it!” He yells over the chill lofi music and Sungho bows in apology towards the exactly three university students studying or at least pretending in front of their open laptops.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses at his friend. It comes out a bit harsher than intended but he has been a bit moodier lately.

Lately as in ever since that run-in he had with you on campus when it became clear that you didn’t even remember kissing him. But it’s all good, he gets it, you were drunk but still… 

“So you don’t want to hear what I talked about with Y/N?” Jaehyun leans onto his elbows over the counter and Sungho can’t help but feel a little jab in the ribs at the mention of your name. Then he remembers how you touched him right there, lightly and playfully from one rib to another and he needs to suppress a shiver while he starts the espresso machine as nonchalantly as he can. It doesn’t deter Jaehyun from continuing in the kind of voice he uses when he excitedly describes movie plots he liked. “She just asked for my help to contact the prettiest blonde girl she has met. The one she made out with at my party.”

It’s like one ear in, one ear out. Sungho needs two business days to process what he heard because he understands the words and yet, they don’t make any sense. Were you kissing somebody else at the party? A girl no less? Not that he has any problem with that, you told him you like girls too and he’s a firm believer of love is love but… Did it mean that he wasn’t special at all? Were you just going around calling everybody pretty and kissing them?

“What?” He eventually gapes at Jaehyun who’s still grinning at him widely like it’s the best news ever. Argh, he really should have told Euijoo about his troubles instead, the older guy wouldn’t have made fun of him at least.

“She thinks you’re a girl, Sungho,” Jaehyun pokes him in the chest with a cheshire smile. “The girl you have a crush on has a crush on the girl version of you. Oh my god. This is golden.”

“Oh,” Sungho blinks, slowly, because if it’s true, if Jaehyun is right to be so sure that the girl in question is actually him, maybe the situation is not that dire. Sure, he is not a girl but you have also told him that you like guys too, so that shouldn’t be a problem… right? “Then I should just tell her it was me.”

It’s that simple, isn’t it? Sure, it might be a bit awkward, it might require him to dig out pictures Jaehyun took of him in makeup but if it makes you kiss him like that again, it would be worth it.

“I have a better idea,” his friend interjects, way too excited compared to the problem at hand.

“I don’t like your ideas,” Sungho frowns but still slides an iced americano in front of Jaehyun as a peace offering.

“My idea to put you in make up got Y/N kissing you,” Jaehyun raises a brow in challenge then takes a long slurping sip from the coffee before making the dramatic announcement. “Let’s make an instagram account for Sunghee.”

Now Sungho is utterly confused.

“Who?”

“Your girl version, come on, Sungho, keep up!” Jaehyun is snapping his fingers impatiently, then leans closer to lay out his plan. “You said she didn’t accept your follow request and kind of avoided you at uni, so if you suddenly approached her claiming you kissed her at the party she barely has any recollections of because of how drunk she was, she would think you’re a creep. I think you should start talking online and see if there’s anything beyond the initial sparks.”

“You want me to pretend to be a girl just to talk with my crush,” Sungho deadpans.

He can’t believe he’s actually considering this. Not after the last time he listened to Jaehyun, he lost a bet and ended up being styled against his own will. He really should have stopped doing that. Both listening to Jaehyun and making bets with him.

“Okay, maybe we can keep the gender thing ambiguous,” his best friend sighs almost like he’s the one giving in. “I have been telling you for years that you’re pretty like a girl. I wonder though, how she didn’t notice you’re as flat as a board."

Sungho feels himself flush but he isn’t sure it’s from embarrassment or exasperation.

“Of course I’m flat-chested, I’m a guy!”

“Maybe she likes her girls like that too,” Jaehyun has the audacity to grin while saying that. It only makes Sungho want to throw him out.

“Can we not talk about Y/N with other girls?” He groans and puts on his customer service smile when a mildly scared-looking girl approaches the counter.

Sungho remembers the first time he saw you clear as day. It happened in the coffee shop where he works part-time. Rain was pouring then too, relentlessly. (It’s a bit ironic that you only seem to go there when the weather’s shitty and you can’t be bothered to go to your favourite off campus café.) You probably don’t remember because he’s just one barista of the many you’ve encountered. You should have been just one customer of the many too. He usually has a hard time remembering even regulars, but something shifted inside of him that day.

And funnily enough, if anything, it was irritation at first sight.

You entered the coffee shop, your umbrella dripping rainwater all over the polished floors he had just mopped, and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from quitting right there. There was clearly an umbrella holder by the door outside, but he couldn’t even kindly point that out to you because instead of making your way to the counter, you walked up straight to a couple sitting by the window and slapped the guy right across the face. Sungho was too shocked to react. He just stood there with mouth agapé as you lectured that guy about cheating on your friend. It was like something out of a weekday soap opera, the unrealistic kind people get hooked on without meaning to and he was no better. He only remembered to act like a professional when you eventually did walk up to the counter to order a coffee for takeaway like nothing happened. He totally forgot about scolding you over the umbrella thing.

He has built some sort of quiet admiration after his co-worker Gaeul told him that the guy you slapped was an infamous player on campus, so it was well-deserved. Still, he thought you were a bit scary. (Which according to Jaehyun translated to him finding you hot.) Then the next time you visited the café during his shift you gave your umbrella to a stranger just because the girl had to go to a job interview while it was pouring outside. Right after, you complimented his latte art.

Needless to say, he has been falling steadily.

And then came the party and its aftermath.

He really can’t even make himself to blame you for not recognizing him. Every barista wears brand colored masks, aprons and baseball caps according to company policy and because Sungho hates it when his hair is in his eyes while working, he always neatly tucks them under the hat. Then there are the glasses he wears when the chances that somebody drunkenly knocks them off are low. So he gets it, the confusion, but… a girl? Really?

It's raining again when you walk in. He straightens his back when he notices and smoothes the wrinkles out on the front of his apron. He can immediately tell something is off though. There’s something sluggish in your movements and your eyes lack their usual spark and fire. You order a latte, hot like always on rainy days, and he rings your order up with all the usual textbook questions but he can’t help sneaking glances at you.

“Rough day?” He prompts gently as he hands you the buzzer. When you lift your gaze to him and your fingers touch, he swears his heart skips a beat.

“You could say that,” you sigh and start rambling about your pain in the ass of a landlord and your thesis consultant’s not too helpful comments on your drafted proposal while he’s starting on your coffee. It’s a slow day, so he doesn’t mind listening to you. He never does, but your company now feels especially good. When you add to your list of problems that you’re starting to think you’re unlucky when it comes to your crushes, he almost messes up the latte art. “Sorry, that was a long rant.”

“It’s okay. Just remember to take care of yourself,” he tells you and draws a little smiley onto your paper cup before handing it over. This time, when you take it, your fingers linger longer.

“Thanks… Sungho, right?” you smile at him sweetly, eyes crinkling and he feels his heart stutter in his chest.

You put the not even used buzzer down on the counter between you but don’t leave right away. You look at him intently, like you’re trying to figure out something and he can do nothing but stare back, his breath caught in his throat.

“Sorry, it might sound weird but…” You tilt your head and squint at him. “Your eyes are really familiar. Do you perhaps have a sister?”

Sungho exhales with a chuckle because you’re so close to getting it, to recognize him and yet, here you are face-to-face, searching for logical-sounding excuses for the familiarity. Now is his chance. He should just rip off the bandaid and spare you both the time and this awkward dance you’re doing because of a simple misunderstanding. He just didn’t imagine it happening at his workplace but better there than never.

“Uhm, no, no sister. Actually–”

The sound of your phone ringing echoes in the quiet space of the café. You fish it out and Sungho bites into his lip.

“Shit, sorry, I have to go,” you look back up with apologetic eyes and then you’re already running off with your coffee in your hand, leaving him standing there like a fool. Again.

So here it comes: desperate times, desperate measures.

Still, Sungho refuses to create fake accounts and such just to talk to you. Instead he changes his default KakaoTalk name to his initials and sets his profile picture to a photo of his family’s cat.

Then he takes a deep breath and looks up the ID Jaehyun has sent him earlier, preceded by a bunch of smirking emojis. He types out a message, keeping it simple and straightforward. His fingers shake a bit when he presses Send.

psh: hi! jaehyun told me you’re looking for me

The answer is almost immediate. As if you have been waiting. He tries to not feel too hopeful and fails.

ynie: omg yeppi? psh: please don’t call me that ynie: why? you’re pretty

And that’s it, he’s already blushing.

ynie: but you can always tell me your name psh: nice try but you know my name actually ynie: i do? ynie: i’m sorry i don’t remember TT ynie: i hope i didn’t scare you off at the party! and that i didn’t come off as too strong! i usually don’t invite people over so fast psh: don’t worry about it. it’s probably better we didn’t go further though

He only means it because of how drunk you were and because of the gender confusion thing but only when there’s a pause between messages does he realize that it came out wrong.

psh: not that i didn’t want to! it’s just that i would prefer to go slow. if that’s okay?

How do you tell someone you have been crushing on for a while that you would like them at least to know you’re a guy before you go anywhere near a bed, a crash course by Park Sungho. Argh, he would like to scream into his pillow like those dramatic characters in dramas but he has more dignity than that. At least he would like to think he does. That’s why he thinks it’s important to clarify he didn’t text to hook up. His heart wasn’t built for one night stands.

ynie: of course. i would like to get to know you anyways

So that’s how it starts, the texting, the twenty and more questions, and somehow his name or gender are forgotten. Like they are not even important. At least not as important as the cat in his profile picture or your thesis topic, his favourite movies and songs, your guilty pleasure dessert and how you’ve been wanting to dye your hair for a while but never got around to do it.

Some days it’s like this:

ynie: wait did you just get on a metro near campus? psh: yeah why? ynie: i think i saw you! from across the platform before the metro pulled up ynie: omg i can’t believe it. we were so close ynie: big fan of your androgynous style btw

Well, that’s one way to put it. It’s just a white tank top with an overshirt paired with jeans.

psh: i can’t believe you recognized me from afar

That’s what he types and what he means is: I can’t believe you don’t recognize me when I’m in front of you.

ynie: well your hair stands out and your shoulder-waist ratio has driven me crazy that night, so…

Now, Sungho is the one going insane.

Another day he gets two notifications at the same time. One from you with a bunch of exclamation marks and an ominous one from Jaehyun.

menace: don’t kill me psh: what did you do now? menace: i might have sent a picture of you to y/n menace: the one with the braided pigtails wig

Sungho takes three deep breaths, blocks his best friend and throws his phone onto the bed. By the time he picks it up again (barely 5 minutes later because he lacks self-control when it comes to you), your chat is filled with reaction pictures and uppercase messages.

ynie: you look pretty with long dark hair too!!

He kind of wants to dig himself a hole.

These days you come to his workplace even on sunny days. You make small talk by the counter while you wait for your drink. One day, you slide a flyer about a book club onto the counter and invite him. Most days, you study by the window and he gets away with staring more than he should. Gaeul clicks her tongue disapprovingly whenever she notices but doesn’t say anything. When you send him pictures of the art on your coffee via KakaoTalk not knowing it was his own work, his heart somersaults in his chest.

Then it happens. It doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise. There has been a build up. You have been talking for a while, things are good, Sungho’s crush is bigger than ever and it has been slow enough. It’s no surprise that you have had enough of waiting around.

ynie: want to study together this weekend? we can meet at the campus library psh: i would love to psh: but i need you to know that i don’t usually look the way i do at the party ynie: duh i didn’t expect you to wear glitters to the library psh: not just that psh: just promise me you won’t freak out? ynie: pinky swear. it’s a date then!

You’re spinning a pen around your fingers and occasionally tap it against the open but empty notebook you have in front of you. Your laptop has long gone to sleep mode since you sat down in a quiet section of the library. Every few seconds you glance down at the row of bookshelves, then check the time only to realize again that you’re being way too early. Who is to blame you though?

Somehow you still manage to miss when somebody walks up to your desk and stops by its corner. You drop the pen when you look up, smiling at the familiar face with a little wave.

“Hi, Sungho!”

He’s wearing the same hoodie he did when you met the week after the party and there’s some unease in his soft eyes behind his glasses as he puts his bag down next to the chair across from you. He glances as you like he’s expecting you to tell him he can’t.

“Hi. So uhm…” He clears his throat, now clearly anxious, then he just starts undressing in the middle of the library.

Okay, maybe undressing is not the right word but he hooks the black mask off his ears, so it doesn’t cover his features. Then takes off his glasses too, putting them down on the table carefully before grabbing the hem of his hoodie and pulls it over his head. The movement messes up his blonde hair and he reaches up to brush his usually parted fringe into proper bangs. Some strands fall into his eyes that seem darker now without the reflection of the glasses on them. He nibbles on his lower lip absentmindedly and only then do you notice the shiny gloss covering them. He’s also wearing the same white crop top from the party.

It has you gasping audibly.

“It’s you. Really,” you whisper, trying to take it all in. His broad shoulders filling out the tee. The bright white overhead lighting highlighting his biceps you have failed to notice before despite how securely he held you. The way his Adam’s apple moves with a nervous gulp.

“You promised not to freak out,” he reminds you almost pleadingly and there’s something tense in his voice that has you look straight into his eyes, dark and almost feline, filled with something warm, something like hope.

“I’m not. It’s just…” You trail off, glancing once again at the bare skin peeking out from under the top and the way a pout sits on his pink lips, blonde strands of hair framing his face gracefully despite being ruffled up. It’s almost unfair. “Gender envy is real.”

You don’t even try to keep awe out of your voice and Sungho looks so, so confused.

“Are you not… angry?”

“Why would I be?” You tilt your head, matching his confusion with furrowed brows.

“I’m not a girl,” he says very seriously and very quietly like it’s some grave confession and the corner of your mouth twitches.

“Yes, I can see that. You’re still very pretty though,” you say with a smile that’s both amused and coy and if his widened eyes are anything to go by, that’s when he realizes.

“You knew!” He raises his voice like it’s an accusation and it has you giggle. 

“Yeah, for a while. But it’s sweet that you put on gloss and a crop top for me today,” you smile wider.

In all honesty, it was a pretty embarrassing realization to come to in the middle of a busy metro station but better late than never. You don’t really care if he’s a girl or a guy, so you guess the whole ordeal stressed out Sungho more than you.

“So… is the date still on?” He asks tentatively as he lowers himself onto the chair.

“Yes, of course,” you beam at him even though you aren’t sure you will be able to focus on the study material when there’s something much more interesting in front of you.

You can’t be blamed for not at least trying but eventually you give up after an hour and suggest getting coffee. Sungho agrees easily and while you walk, you talk a bit about how the entire misunderstanding unfolded. He tells you how he wouldn’t have known you thought he was a girl if it wasn’t for Jaehyun’s big mouth and shares his friend’s crazy idea about ‘Sunghee’. You tell him how invested Jaehyun was whenever he has asked for updates and in the middle of semi-embarrassed laughter the topic turns into something lighter. When you stop to let a group of freshmen through, you slide your hand against Sungho’s palm. At first, he seems surprised, looking down at your fingers pressing against his like he can’t quite believe it but then he’s the one intertwining them. This time, you don’t even try to hide your smile.

Coffee turns into a much longer affair because both of you are pretty reluctant to leave. But midterm exams are coming up, you actually need to study, so it’s the sensible thing to do to call it a day when the sky starts darkening outside. When Sungho offers to walk you home, it makes you giddy but you spend the entire metro ride and 5-minute walk turning the same question over in your head. It slips out the moment you reach your apartment door.

“So… just to be on the same page, you’re my boyfriend now, right?”

It’s not the most romantic way to address the matter but you don’t care much about being romanced. Sungho seems a bit taken aback by the sudden question though and you wonder how long it will take for him to figure you out so well to not get startled by your directness. You hope it will be a very long time. Especially because he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” he says eventually and you would call him out on being so cheesy if it wasn’t such a swoonworthy line.

“Good,” you smile and peck him on his lips, smearing the remnants of gloss on his mouth. It’s a bit like deja vu, repeating the past. Sungho blinks slowly under the corridor’s dim lighting. Your heart rate picks up when he leans back in, almost dazed, but you stop him with a hand over his chest.

“How slow do you want to go?” You ask, partly to be a tease about his earlier request and partly to be considerate. Sungho is not having it though, not this time.

He’s caressing your cheek with one hand and puts the other onto yours as he diminishes the remaining distance between you. You feel the door’s keypad dig into your back but still smile against his lips as he kisses you properly. It’s more coordinated now that you aren’t drunk but there’s something endearingly awkward in it as your nose bumps into his glasses. It’s just perfect.

Until the door opens behind your back.

You’re a bit too preoccupied and fail to recognize the familiar buzzing of the electric door lock in time. The only reason why you don’t fall is Sungho’s hand on the small of your back keeping you in place.

“Oh my god, can you not do that in public places?” Kazuha sighs and you scramble to stand properly beside your newly acquired pretty boyfriend, ready to introduce them. Your roommate however waves in his direction like it’s not their first time meeting.

You furrow your brows and glance from one of them to the other. “You two know each other?”

“He’s the guy who brought you back that night, after the party,” your flatmate explains.

“He’s the hot girl I made out with,” you counter, which leaves her wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Long story.”

You’re in the middle of class assignment discussion after your English Literature class when you phone pings with a new message. You stand up right away when you see the contact name.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go, my girlfriend’s waiting.”

“Wait, what?!” Jaehyun lets out a way too loud shriek in pure shock. “Are you and Sungho in an open relationship or something?”

You snort. 

“God, no,” you shake your head. You honestly don't think you could share Sungho with anybody and no matter how corny it sounds, he really is all you need. “It’s just… when I asked him to be my boyfriend, he said he would be my anything, so once in a while I like to change things up."

It's good that Sungho is secure enough in his identity that such things don’t bother him. He knows you know (now) that he’s a guy and you love him regardless of gender. But that past misunderstanding is like an inner joke between you, like a funny anecdote you like to revisit. You once jokingly called him unnie just to see how he reacts. He tripped over his own feet and laughed in that part shy, part shocked way he usually reacts to being called yeppi too.

Dating Sungho is really the best thing that happened to you. He’s sweet and silly, he doesn’t care that you can be brash sometimes. He joins the book club and takes you out on coffee dates, movie dates, gallery dates. You do skincare together when you stay over, he helps you maintain your hair when you bleach it and he lets you put gloss on him when you go out to parties. But at the end of the day, he’s such a guy.

He leaves the toilet seat up, plays video games and forgets to eat while at it, manhandles you during play fighting just because he can and once a week he plays football with his friends which leaves him all sweaty and tired. You’re still not a big fan of the sport because it bores you but if it’s him playing you turn into the best cheerleader the world has ever seen. You practically run up to him when you see him waiting for you at your usual place near his workplace.

“Hi, baby. Good session?” You press a kiss over his shoulder that’s bared by the black tank top he has on and snuggle to his side. Now that you’re allowed, you can’t seem to keep your hands off him.

“Yeah, I’m starving though,” he says with a little whine in his voice which always makes you a little feral with cuteness aggression.

You start listing off options as you start walking hand in hand, the spring breeze sweetening the air around you. You’re just like any other campus couple but when people ask about your love story, you have a favourite version to tell:

“It all started because I kissed a girl…”

END NOTES. the blond sungho effect is real

of course  jaehyun had to be the enabler

the braided long hair is a reference to this one

header pic from this IG post for Sungho's cover

☆ BOYNEXTDOOR masterlist

💌 askbox

The town is quiet. The stores that used to be a walking distance for Taesan are nowhere near close now. It’s a bit of a drive. There are no sirens where he stays. No dogs barking or strangers yelling out of anger. If anything, the only shouts that he hears are joyful ones—greetings. Everyone knows each other in this town, nobody is a stranger. 

Not even Taesan who only moved here two months ago. 

It’s different. It’s comforting.

He can actually hear the raindrops that splash against his window on gloomy days. He can hear the birds chirping every morning and uses it as a wake up call. The tractor that runs over the patches of grass near the place he stays. 

It’s different and refreshing.

However, there’s one thing in particular that makes him love the small town lifestyle even more. It’s you. You’re the reason he’s bothered. He’s fine with the fact nobody gawks at his looks anymore, but not when it comes to you.

He wants you to look at him. When he walks in your area, he’s only reminded of his first ever interaction with your mother. She was amazed by his looks—something about it being uncommon for new citizens to be so ‘handsome’. She even insisted that he’d be introduced to a girl in town. After landing eyes on you, the girl who walked out of their house with a bowl of fruits, he really hoped that she was talking about you. 

That only explains why he’s walking down the same path he did two months ago. Hands in his pockets as he strolls down the rugged walkway. He’s greeting neighbors with a cheeky smile on his face. Yes, he’s happy to see them, but even more excited to see you. 

The excitement bubbling within him only doubles when he sees the roof of your flat come into view. To be honest, he comes here often. The main reason to see you, but he always gets warped into a task by your parents. They took a liking to him. Perhaps, even a loving. He’s not that far from getting their blessings, right?

“Taesan!” Your mother cheers from the porch. A smile appears on his face as he walks through the gates of your home into the arms of your mom. He gives her a tight hug while she rubs up and down his back.

“Good morning,” the boy greets, his smile never faltering. He can’t fight the way his eyes switch to the open door that leads to the hallway of your house, and back at your mother. It’s a common occurrence. Maybe you’ll come out like you did the first time he saw you. Ever since then, you’ve been on his mind. Not once have you ever left it. 

“How are you?” She’s rubbing his back with a hand, rustling his clothes in the process. Though, he doesn’t care. A few new lines in his freshly ironed white top won’t hurt him. 

“I’m fine, what about you?”  

“That’s so sweet of you to ask.” She gawks at his thoughtfulness and reassures him that she’s doing okay. The offer to have breakfast with them doesn’t fall deaf on Taesan’s ears. In his head, he’s quick to say yes, but in reality he’s laid back. He gives your mom a nod with a hand on his heart to show his gratitude. He wouldn’t be able to express his thankfulness in words because, honestly, it’s out of the roof.  As he walks down the hallway he was continuously glancing at, he’s biting down on his lip.

This was never the plan. He only came to see you and work with whatever random task your parents give him. Things managed to go south with how he’s sitting at their family dining table. It’s his first time, but he's not complaining. He could do this many more other times.

“By the way,” Taesan starts as he settles down even further. “The fruits you gave us the other day were sweet. It was a nice feeling.” He informs her, a slight smile present on his face at the faint taste on his tastebuds. 

“Really? I’m glad!” Her voice raises an octave as she prepares the boy's meal. He hums in response with his fingers fiddling with one another. He’s not lying to satisfy your mother. The fruits were truly as good as he said they were. 

“There are still some left. When you leave, you can take a few.” She offers. 

The ends of his lips curl upward. “That would be nice, yeah.” 

“Taesan?” Someone says from down the hall. His head turns at the familiar voice as he locks eyes with a familiar face. It’s your father. His walking pace increases when Taesan gives the man a wave. As happy as he is to see your parents… he still wants to see you. 

The you who appears at the doorway momentarily after your dad does. You’re holding two bags of soil, one over the other, when a sigh leaves your mouth. Your dad is squeezing Taesan’s shoulder and he feels it, but he isn’t paying attention to it. His head is still turned to the entrance of your home as you kick the door shut with the back of your foot, hands too busy to do anything about it. 

Your eyes are closed when you inhale. You’re exhausted from the trip your father put you on.

“Dad, where should I put these—” You pause, finally taking note of Taesan’s presence. “—Why is he here?” 

“Don’t be like that. You can put them over there, I’ll use them later anyway.” He scolds you then points at the empty spot near the door as your mother ushers you to come eat. 

It’s as if they have a plan up their sleeves with the way you’re forced to sit beside Taesan, the boy who randomly showed up in town around two months ago. He doesn’t know it, but that was the only thing everyone spoke about that week—a family from the city moving to this sad town. Why would anyone give up city life for a life like this? 

You don’t get it. You don’t like him either—okay, you don’t like anyone from the city. From what you’ve seen online or through movies, they are snobby and full of themselves. You hate it. You hate him. Well, not that much. You aren’t sure if he’s putting up a front, but from what you’ve seen within the two months he’s been here… he’s different. 

To you, he’s not the same person you’ve seen in movies. He doesn’t have an attitude or a high ego. He’s offering to help your family and citizens whenever there’s an opening. It’s refreshing to see, yet you can’t help but feel suspicious of him. Like he’s up to something. You have a feeling he is—a feeling that you can’t prove the truth to.

“This tastes amazing,” Taesan boasts as he goes in for another bite of your mother’s cooking. You’re looking at him through your peripheral vision as you spoon another bite of rice while your parents smile at his reaction.

He’s not wrong, your mother cooking is one of the best you’ve ever had. There’s no way he’s faking that, right?

“It’s way different than the food from the city.” He says. There’s a genuine tone laced in his words, leaving you unsure of your suspicious feeling. Unless he’s a really good actor, it’s hard to not believe that he’s being serious.

“Oh right.” Your father grabs a napkin and wipes at his mouth. “How is your life on the west end? Do you ever miss the city?” 

Taesan looks up at the question. He ponders before answering. This is something that you want to hear. You’re mentally cheering, eyes focused on the bowl of food in front of you. Taesan clears his throat and shakes his head.

“Not at all. I like it here better… it’s more… quiet. There aren't people looking at you wherever you go, expectations that you have to keep up. The roads aren’t as overstimulating due to the vast number of people who walk on them. Everyone isn’t a stranger and are the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.” He pauses.

“It’s refreshing, really.” 

When you look over at the boy, he’s smiling. He really means everything he says. Maybe you were wrong. He’s nothing like the city people you’ve seen growing up. Actually, he’s far from that. With how he describes the differences, it’s like he feels at home here. In the small town that is.

And truthfully, as much as it pains you to say it after keeping up a front for the last two months, his vibe does suit the town you live in. 

TWO — FLOUR, SEEDS, MILK, AND EGGS.

Taesan doesn’t know how the two of you ended up here, but he isn’t complaining. One moment he was having breakfast with you and your family, and now he’s holding a list of groceries to buy as he walks beside you. The walk isn’t long, but it feels long because of how quiet the two of you are. He’s rereading the grocery list to distract himself from the deading silence. 

At times like these, Taesan would speak up and try to get your attention. 

He can’t do it.

“What’s on the list?” You ask, breaking the unbearable silence. His head perks up at your sudden question. It caught him off guard.

“There’s…” He pauses, fumbling over the words in his head. The ones he’s been reading over for the last seven minutes, yet, he’s struggling to say them aloud.

Taesan clears his throat as you both come to a stop in front of the local grocery store. “There’s flour, seeds, milk, and eggs.” It’s a weird combination of things, but there’s no surprise that you’re running short on them. There’s not a day where your parents aren’t using either of the items. You nod at Taesan’s words and enter the store with him following shortly after.

“I’ll go get the seeds since there’s quite a few of them.” The boy points down the aisle they are located in and you send him off. Honestly, he needed a moment to calm down. He’s embarrassed from how he nearly tripped over his words in front of you. 

What happened to the Taesan from the city who had no trouble talking to people? The one who held a constant reputation and lived a pretty social life. Where’d he go and why did he disappear into thin air the moment he met you? It’s unfortunate, really. You had him wrapped around your finger and had no clue of it. 

Taesan eyes the seeds on the shelves. There are ones for flowers, vegetables, and fruits. He takes his time with matching the names of the needed seeds to the ones on the shelves, reaching and grabbing them in a swift motion every time. Your father loves to tend to the garden and the farm near your home. He wouldn’t be shocked if he asks the boy to assist him when you two return home. He’s always glad to help him anyway. 

After grabbing the last seed, Taesan sets out on his way to find you. Hopefully you’ve gathered the last three items while he worked alone. His hands are full with how he carries the six seed packets in one hand and the list in the other. He really should’ve grabbed a basket before disappearing down the aisles of the store. 

“Hey, I’m done.” Taesan starts while going over the seeds on the list once more. Just to double check with the ones in his hold. When he reaches your side, he’s looking over at you and the way you’re reaching the bag of flour. Well, trying to. You’d usually ask the cashier for assistance because of how high it was, but he’s busy. It’s on the last shelf… There are many levels to it. Could you really blame yourself? 

“Do you need help?” Taesan asks as he drops the seed packets into the basket next to your foot. From a quick glance, he’s able to tell that you’ve gotten the other two ingredients while he was gone. You work fast, that’s for sure. 

“A little.” You say and back away from the stocked shelves as he takes over. You watch as he reaches for the sack of flour. You don’t know why they are in sacks. It’s not like they’re a bag of soil. A small quantity could have been completely fine too. You also don’t know why you can’t peel your eyes away when his white t-shirt slightly riles up, revealing the lower portion of his back. 

You hate Taesan. 

Well, your reasoning behind it isn’t enough to back up your hatred anymore. 

You hated Taesan. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the fact that you don't find him even a little attractive. 

He turns around with the sack in his hold. “Only one, right?” He asks. He’s carrying it without an issue. You nod and pick up the shopping basket by the handles before walking away from him. He’s confused, but doesn’t question your quick movements. Maybe the two of you are under a time limit he isn’t aware of.

You’re already placing the items in the basket onto the front desk when Taesan catches up to you. You move out of the way, giving him an opening to slip through with the sack of flour, and enough space to keep your distance from the boy. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to it. 

Taesan shoves his hands into his back pocket as you converse with the cashier. Although he’s been in this town for two months now, he doesn’t know that many people. He stays in contact with your family and a few of his neighbours. That’s pretty much it. Even if he doesn’t know that many townspeople, he still gives everyone a smile followed by a greeting. It’s a common thing here—nothing like the city he used to live in. 

“Let’s go.” You say, grabbing the bagged items. He picks up the sack of flour and follows you out of the door. He whispers a soft ‘thank you’ at the way you hold the door open for him. It’s nothing much, but it still makes him smile. He’s getting there.

The walk is quiet. Once again. This time, he’s eyeing the scenery around you two as you walk your way home. There are so many differences between a small town and a city. The city is loud with cars everywhere you look. In this small town, the roads aren’t as stable. There are a few cars, but not enough to disrupt your walk in the middle of the road. It’s much safer.

The scenery is green—like a really vibrant green. Everything is well kept and healthy unlike the dead grass patches and browned leaves on branches where he used to live. It’s where he grew up, he was used to it. So, moving here and seeing the brighter greenery was quite shocking to him. 

Taesan lets out a sigh. It isn’t a sigh of distress, more so relief. He loves it here. The air lifts off any weight on his shoulders. He’s more free than he was back then—in the area where he had to keep a lifestyle. 

Posting things on social media to keep up with the algorithm. To keep up with the image he put for himself. It felt draining, really. His friends were too immersed with social media too. Not one day did they not post anything, leaving him to do the same. Every hangout, there was an image being taken. There wasn’t one moment where the flash wasn’t going off. It briefly blinded him, but felt like eternity. 

He hated it.

He still does. He doesn’t like anything to do with cameras. Even if he doesn’t have social media anymore, it’s not like he isn’t reminded of it. He wants a break—to break free, even. Luckily, moving away from that toxic life of his is a good start to what he wants. 

You gasp, causing the boy’s head to whip over at you almost instantly. He’s startled by the sudden sound. Worried that you might’ve seen something you shouldn’t have. You point and he follows. It’s an unfamiliar sight to Taesan. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at nor reading. He squints. A sign that says two words he’s familiar with on their own. Not together.

“Banana pudding?” He questions and you’re turning to look at him with wide eyes. Why are his words in a questioning tone? 

“You’ve never heard of it?” 

He shakes his head and you blink. 

What?

“Not even at a dessert place in the city?” You question. Taesan briefly flinches at the mention. It’s so subtle that you would miss it even if you only blink. 

“I haven’t.” 

That’s the last thing Taesan says before you’re grabbing his forearm. It’s soft enough to not disrupt the sack of flour in his hold and harsh enough to have a firm grip onto him. 

“You’ll try it today. It’s so good. Seriously, you’re missing out.” The words rush out of your mouth. You’re excited to have a portion of your favourite dessert ever and surprised that he’s never heard of it in the first place. When you two arrive, Taesan’s standing in silence as you order. It’s rare to see pop-up stands like these. Especially ones selling your all-time favourite dessert. 

You turn, two cups of banana pudding in your hands, and he takes it as a sign to put the flour down. It rests at his feet as he takes a cup into his own hands. Once your hand is free, you’re quick to grab your spoon and take a bite of your portion. It still hits the same as it would in your childhood. 

Taesan lifts his spoon, scooping a bit of the pudding. You focus on him, waiting to see the changes in his facial features. You aren’t sure if he has a sweet tooth. Honestly, you should’ve asked before. If he doesn’t like it, it’s not like it would offend you… you’d still be a little disappointed.

He takes his bite in silence. With the way it rests on his tongue, melting in the process, it reminds him of Tiramisu. That’s a dessert he knows about. However, it’s different. It’s less rich in flavour, but more fun. It feels like a burst of colours in a bite. It’s lighter, smoother, and sweet. There’s even a tiny hint of vanilla that appears once in a while. 

It reminds him of the town in comparison to the city. It’s ten times better. 

He swallows, then bites his lip. “I like it.” 

You smile at his words as the boy goes in for another bite. You’re glad he likes it. With the way his eyes sparkle at the sudden burst of flavour and he bites his lip every single time, you can’t take your eyes off of him. He’s nowhere near anything you made him out to be. He’s not full of himself. He’s not ungrateful for things he’s given. He’s not a spoiled brat. He’s none of that. He’s cute. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of banana pudding before.” You say, swinging the plastic bag back and forth as the two of you continue your walk home. The cups you ate out of are now lying in a trash can with whatever residue was left behind. It was very tasty. 

“Yeah… I wasn’t one to go to dessert places like that.” He informs while readjusting the way the sack of flour rests in his arms. It’s true. Dessert places wasn’t an area you’d find him in. He only ate whatever his parents brought home. That was it. He didn’t go out of his way to try them himself either. Why? Well—It wasn’t really part of the lifestyle he had out there…and it doesn’t really help that he too wasn’t given much privilege to live out of that image freely.

“That’s a shame…” You mumble. “I always wanted to try the dessert places out there.” That’s really the only thing you liked to hear about the city. They had a variety of desserts compared to the ones you grew up with. Of course, someone with a sweet tooth would feel jealousy in a way. 

Taesan makes a mental note of everything you say. You like pastries? Okay. Perchance, he could use that as opening to your heart, right?

Right…

THREE — YES, BEING SHIRTLESS!

Obviously not. Taesan has no clue how to bake. He’s done it a few times with pre-made batter, but that was it. It’s not like you could call that baking. It’s bright and early on a new day and Taesan finds himself in his kitchen. Not to make himself breakfast, instead to bake your favourite dessert—banana pudding. 

The ingredients sit in front of him on the counter as he stares them down. He believes he has the taste remembered. It can't be that hard. It can’t be and yet he’s struggling. The recipe itself says that it's as easy as reading a book. He can protest against that. It’s nowhere near the level of reading a book. 

His struggle only continues to grow as he nears the end of the recipe. He has no clue if he’s doing any of this right. He can only hope that he is. There’s a three day chill time… if he can’t succeed with his own charms within the next few days, hopefully the banana pudding can do it for him. 

The boy shakes his head at the memory of his baking attempt. It’s still fresh on his mind even if this happened a few hours ago. Hours before he appeared at your home like always. 

He picks up the shovel from the shed and returns to his spot beside you. You’re patting the soil around a new planted seed when he joins your side. He’s been helping you with the garden since he arrived an hour ago, but disappeared to grab something else from the shed. It’s your parents’ fault. Taesan showed up at your home as part of his daily routine, then got winded up into doing tasks with you.

He likes to think that they are playing matchmaker for him. Maybe they support the idea of the two of you ending up together. The idea Taesan yearns to see come true. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but from his constant observation from the past… your distaste for him is slowly going away. Today you didn’t protest against their words. When they told you to let him help with the garden, you didn’t say anything bad. 

It was plain and simple. Just a basic ‘okay, come on’. Nothing more and nothing less. Either way, he followed you without any questions in his head. 

You’re unaware that he’s back, too busy humming along to whatever song faintly plays in your ears. When he takes a seat beside you, you’re grabbing the bag of soil nearby. The sudden shadow that covers the soil patch causes you to pause. It’s too dark. You can’t see it. 

Slowly, you turn your head around, wondering where the sudden darkness came from. Are you afraid? Obviously. It might be Taesan, but the walk to the shed and back shouldn’t be that quick. He’s only been gone for a minute or two. No way he would’ve ran, right?

Wrong. 

Taesan’s face appears in a blur as you flinch before your vision is covered by the colour brown, and the bag of soil in your hand lessens in weight. It lessens in weight. Then it’s revealed—a soil-covered Taesan who has his eyes closed and yours are widening. 

“Oh my gosh.” You gasp. In haste, you harshly place the sack of soil aside and reach out towards Taesan’s clothes. Using your gloves, you try dusting off the patches of soil hoping that it will lessen the mess, but nothing happens. Instead, it gets worse.

Taesan grips your wrist, halting your movements. He brings your hand to his face and uses your glove to wipe off soil that landed on it. There’s no way you’d save his t-shirt with the enormous amount that landed on him. It’s better to work with what you can and not with what you can’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. This isn’t the first. There were many as you tried wiping at his shirt and then his face. A smile appears on his lips. He has the audacity to smile in such a state. 

“It’s fine, really,” he sighs. “I should’ve made my presence more known.” He stands up, reaching for the hem of his shirt. You lean back, thinking he’s going to shake the soil particles off, but no. Your guess isn’t even close to being right. He’s taking off his shirt. Fully taking off his shirt. 

He shakes the piece of clothing, creating a pile of soil underneath, as you look away. There’s a beat—you can’t tell if it’s your heartbeat or a still in the air. Maybe it’s a mix of both?

“You can go clean yourself… I’ll continue here.” You insist. 

“Are you sure? I’ll be fine, I don’t need this anyways. It’s hot.” 

“I’m sure. Please, borrow a shirt from my dad.” To you, your words are more of a plea than an offering. Taesan looks you up and down, analyzing your state. He purses his lips and turns on his heel. As he walks away he shakes his head, leaving a trail of soil which falls from his hair. God, it was way worse than you thought it was.

You feel terrible. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair as he walks down the hallway of your home—cheeks red. He’s embarrassed and flustered. He acted out of reflex when he took off his shirt. The soil feeling through the thin lining of his top against his skin was unbearable. He couldn’t help it. He screwed up. Most likely, he made you uncomfortable. That’s not what he wanted to do. Hell, that’s the last thing he would ever want to do. 

With Taesan gone and the area around you silent, it gives you an opening to think. To overthink. These last two days with Taesan felt different. They were more comforting than you expected. They only made you think: did you truly ever hate Taesan? You never liked him because he was from the city. You never denied that he was attractive. You didn’t like his company only because you thought he was a spoiled stuck-up brat. You never denied that he was helpful to your tasks. Once all your suspicions were refuted, there wasn’t a reason to not like him (in both ways, fortunately). 

You let out a harsh sigh, dropping the tools in your hand. They plop against the soil and you’re ripping your gardening gloves off of your hands. They feel suffocating—even worse than the guilt that swallows you whole. 

(Literally) within a blink of your eyes, you’re standing in the hallway of your home, a few steps away from the bathroom. Maybe you’re worrying too much about this. Maybe Taesan doesn’t need your help at all. Hell, he’s the one who said he’d be fine either way. 

You’re the one who overreacted… too flustered by the sight of his bare skin. The urge to turn back is creeping up your neck the longer you hesitate. You’re unsure. Are you going to regret helping him? Things have already changed between the two of you, the only other option is for things to change even further. Reaching the point of liking one another. 

With how much u suppressed such a thought over the last two months, you wouldn’t be shocked to reach that point anytime now. Maybe it was finally time for you to accept the truth.

“(Name)?” Taesan says, closing the bathroom door behind him. You struggle to look up from your soil-covered sneakers, too afraid to face the boy. Taesan ruffles his hair with the small towel in his hold with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What’re you doing? Did you finish planting the seeds?” 

“No.” The word leaves your lips in a broken yet stern tone. So much for trying to keep your composure together. There he is effortlessly walking about while your nails dig into the palms of your hands, turning pale in the process. 

Your hatred for the boy is returning, well, your so-called hatred. 

Taesan raises a brow at your stiffness. “Why are you just standing there? We should get back to work.” He lowers the towel from his hair, his focus now on you.

“(Name)?” He calls as he approaches you, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m okay!” You blurt out, head shooting up in a hurry. You can feel your face heating up, you really can’t face him anymore. This is bad. You need help—wait, that’s what you came here for in the first place. To help him clean up. 

Right.

“Taesan,” you say, followed by the clearing of your throat. He hums in response, still questioning your reactions. 

“Do you need help? You look like you could use some. Let me help you dry your hair!” You ramble, rushing over to the boy before he could even get the chance to respond. You’re quick to grab onto the towel in his hand and drag him by the wrist, heading off to a different room within your home. 

If you’re not looking at his front then you should be okay. You can’t deny and say that he isn’t attractive. He’s fit and toned. It’s a great balance. The sight of his dampened torso makes you flustered. 

You must remain calm. 

You gulp while taking a seat on the sofa, ushering him to sit on the spot below. It’s all going according to your plan—the sight of him being turned away, your heartbeat calming down, and nothing to make you feel flustered, right?

Wrong… again. 

Unfortunately (but fortunately), his back isn’t any better. The droplets that take their time to fall from his dark strands and make themselves at home on his back leaves you feeling worse than before. In haste, you slam the towel on his head, causing the poor boy to flinch.

“Ow!” He exclaims and whips his head around. “What was that for?” 

Your face is hot. Your heart is beating against your chest. It’s the loudest it's ever been. At this rate, you’re not sure if your heart could tell the difference between being chased and presenting in front of a class. Hell, more like standing in front of a shirtless and damp Taesan. 

“(Name)?” Taesan says in the same confusing tone as earlier. So much for feeling déjà vu. “If you’re feeling unwell then go rest. I can do this on my own.” He’s adjusting his seating, kneeling as he reaches for the towel on his head. 

You lean back at the sudden movements. “No!” You swallow. “I’m okay.”

You’ve been acting weird. This whole time, there wasn’t one moment where he didn’t feel confused by your reactions. He believes the two of you have finally gotten on good terms, but it feels as if it didn’t last long—as if he has done something to bring the two of you back to square one.

There’s a shift in his expression as his features soften. “Did I do something?” Taesan questions, an upsetting tone lingering in his voice. 

Yes, being shirtless! 

Is what you want to say, but you can’t. Neither do you know why you’re reacting in such a way. As weird as it sounds, you’ve seen many shirtless boys in town. There’s no reason for you to be feeling this with Taesan. It’s not like you at all.

“I’m sorry.” You exhale. “You didn’t do anything, sorry.” You apologize again, removing the towel from his hand softer than before. You motion for him to turn back around and he does just that. Regaining your composure once more, you place the towel on his head and begin your attempt to dry his hair.

All of this is a fluke. Of course, it’s out of character for you to act in such a way, but it’s just a fluke. You don’t like Taesan. You don’t hate him but, you don’t like him—romantically. 

That’s that. 

And it’ll always be that way. 

“There. I’m done.” He stands up while feeling his hair. 

“Thanks.” Taesan says with a slight smile.

“About the gardening, I can finish it up.” You need something to clear your mind with anyway. This will be enough of a distraction. 

“I can help—”

“No!” You blurt. “I mean, it’s okay. There’s not much left… I can manage it.” You give him an awkward but convincing smile. 

“Take the rest of the day off. My parents might need help with dinner later anyway.” 

He hesitates but nods. Maybe you’ll really be okay on your own. You have more experience than he does anyway, if he continues to help he’ll probably get in your way. Thank God he agreed. You don’t know how you would’ve survived if that incident happened again. Taesan walks out of the living room as you turn away from his back. You can’t bear to see it again. 

Hopefully he puts on a shirt soon.

FOUR — NEVER, NEVER, NEVER!

You lied. Forget everything you said about never liking Taesan romantically. Today has to be the weirdest day of them all. Honestly, these last few days were weird.

The whole shirtless incident, him giving you homemade banana pudding the day after (you felt flustered all over again), and right now. Dinner around the campfire with your parents… and Taesan. 

“So?” Your father asks, waiting for your answer to his question from earlier. He wasted no time asking such a question the moment Taesan left for a brief second. All he did was leave to rinse his mug that fell on the sandy spot in front of his seat. There’s no saying he wouldn’t be back in less than twenty seconds. 

It’s been five seconds of silence. The question your dad asked still remains unanswered. “I don’t get what you’re trying to say…” You say as an excuse. You know exactly what he was hinting at saying ‘what about Taesan’. He’s always been the one to ask about your love life. 

“Have you ever thought about dating him?” 

Taesan pauses, his foot almost colliding with a rock. His heart sinks. His stomach flips after overhearing the confession. It’s your dad’s voice, he knows that it is after spending so much time with the said man. But who is ‘him’? 

“No, I haven’t.” You reply. 

Taesan swallows hard. The reason why you’ve never batted an eye the same way he did with you has to be because of this. There’s definitely another boy that you like and it’s not him. After all his attempts in making you view him the same way and never knowing if they worked or not, it’s clear that they didn’t. 

Not if your eyes were still on another boy in town. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel flustered around him. It’s weird. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before despite being around so many different boys my age growing up.” You explain, taking a sip of your beverage. “It’s not like me at all...” 

What a lucky guy he must be. He’s able to make your heart skip a beat unlike Taesan. Hell, he probably does it effortlessly too. 

Unlike Taesan.

He’s tired with an aching heart. 

He doesn’t wanna hear anything else you have to say. This is enough for him to understand that he has never been an option in your eyes. He wants to walk away with his heart dragging behind him. He’s never felt this heartbroken before. 

He was so used to the many eyes that darted his way as he walked down his local streets in the city. The constant people who came up to him, asking for his socials or phone number. That (unfortunately) was his lifestyle. He grew up to fit such social and beauty standards living in the city.

The moment his family decided to move to a small town his life didn’t change slightly. It was completely different with no similarities. 

He felt misplaced and like the odd one out. In the city, there’s a ton of people. It’s easy to blend in and hard to stick out unless you draw attention easily—for example, Taesan and his friends. In the small town, there’s nothing to blend into. He sticks out like a sore thumb. His flashy outfits, his way of speaking, and meals that he enjoys to eat or has knowledge of. 

There’s too many differences and he hated it when he first arrived. Always waking up and believing that he would never fit in nor would he ever feel like himself again. 

Luckily, that changed after he met you. 

You helped him get familiar with the small town life. You’re the only one he’s ever felt so connected to within a small span of knowing each other. He even managed to fall for you quite fast too. 

It’s not fair.

He bites down on his bottom lip, as jealousy settles within him. He’s ready to wreck the conversation with his ‘sudden’ appearance. He’s been gone longer than he intended to be. 

“Taesan.” You pause and he pauses too. He’s frozen in his tracks at the sound of his name. Were you able to see him this whole time? Has he been caught eavesdropping? That can’t be the case. He’s hidden quite well behind the pillar near your back door. 

“I like him.” Your words catch the boy off guard. It’s almost as if you’re talking to him without him even being there. There’s no way you’re talking about him.

“I like Taesan.” You say again, making things clearer for your parents who sit near you. 

Taesan feels his legs go weak. Too weak to the point where he stumbles and falls down onto his knees. The rustling against the rocky sandy path sounds, making your head whip over. It’s probably another crow, a fox, or a rabbit making its way to gnaw away at the field of crops. 

You stand up in a hurry, rushing over to the spot where the sound came from. You won’t let them get away this easily. You’re tired of waking up to the sight of your half-eaten and wrecked crops. Despite your passion to catch the crop-eating culprit, you aren’t met with the sight you expected. Instead, it’s a dazed Taesan on his knees and his freshly washed mug all dirty again. 

“Taesan,” you breathe, still in shock. With the sight of his current state, there’s no way he didn’t overhear everything you said. You knew it. Washing a mug and returning doesn’t take longer than thirty seconds.

You wanted to convince yourself that maybe he stopped to use the bathroom or grab something extra for the rest of the family. Anything to possibly buy you more time like he knew something like this would happen. 

Possibly even stall his return. 

Embarrassed, you run past him and head back into the house. The sound of your footsteps against the gravel is only continuously eating you alive. You hated Taesan. You’re sure that you made it obvious too. It’s embarrassing to admit that you now like him. It’s even more embarrassing to admit that with him listening in on everything. 

You’re never living this down. You’re never leaving your room. You’re never facing Taesan ever again. 

Never. 

Not after that.

Never, never, never!

“What just happened?” Your father asks, looking at your mother and she shrugs. 

“He must’ve overheard everything she said and now she’s embarrassed.” She sighs. 

It’s a canon event. 

Taesan’s footsteps are heard shortly after their conversation. After regaining strength in his legs, he leaves the mug behind before taking off to follow behind you. He knows he’s too late with the way you’re nowhere to be found in the trail he goes down. There’s only one possible place you’d be. 

Your room. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen you go there. In the earlier stages of meeting you and the two of you would get off on the wrong foot, you would escape to your room and slam your door in the process. You’d go there when you were annoyed, upset, and well, embarrassed. 

The moment he arrives (after almost tripping up the stairs), he knocks. There's silence. He knocks again. Still silent. You don’t want to open the door. You know it’s him. He’s the last person you’d like to face right now, especially with your pounding heart.

“(Name).”

“Don’t call my name.” You reply from the other side of the closed door. 

Are you that mad that he was eavesdropping? It was honestly an accident. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.” He apologizes. 

“Please open the door. I have something I want to ask.” Taesan wonders if everything you said is true. All the days he spent struggling with his feelings and the many moments of thinking of ways to make you feel the same. 

Have they really all paid off? 

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve liked you for two months now, almost three with the way summer break is about to end.” Taesan begins. “The city was filled to the brim with people. Everywhere I went I had to make sure I looked the best. I had to make sure I walked correctly. There were too many things I had to be conscious about to the point where walking around in public felt like I was walking on literal eggshells. If you were anywhere near ordinary or weird, you were easily singled out and judged. All eyes were on you. It was terrible.” 

“I hated it. I hated it so much. I even hated the thought of moving to a small town the moment my parents brought it up. I thought it would be worse. There’s not that many people around, so I thought it would make me stand out even more. Obviously, I still felt that way when I first moved here. I even had thoughts of where I missed the city more than ever.”

He lets out a shaky breath from being reminded of the first few nights here. 

“Then I met you, and everything felt fine. Your family was so welcoming I actually looked forward to waking up every morning and spending the day here. It was definitely the first time I went to sleep without having such drowning thoughts.”

“I’ve always wanted to thank you for that. So I tried to spend more time with you until the time was right. You constantly shut me out, yet I never walked away. It made me want to be around you even more—to get you to be fond of me so that I can say thank you without it going unappreciated. Then soon enough, I realized I started to like you.” 

Taesan remembers the day clearly. It was the time he looked into a nearby mirror to fix his hair after spending a day around you. That’s when he saw it. The faint red on his cheeks. At first, he believed it was because of the hot weather. Then he found out that wasn’t the case. It continued to occur even if the two of you were in a cool area. His heartbeat even started to increase when the two of you were too close. 

The moment he couldn’t make up any other excuses for himself to believe, it was obvious he liked you. So then, he accepted the truth, and now here he is confessing his feelings to you behind the closed door of your room. That’s definitely not the way he expected things to happen.

“(Name)—”

“I said don’t call my name.” You open the door with your face hotter than ever. This time, you’re completely sure he can see everything, your reddening ears and face, the way your breathing is faster than normal, the movement of your chest as your heart rams against it. 

Everything. 

You give up trying to hide it in front of him.

He looks you up and down. You are already embarrassed enough. Him looking you up and down isn’t making you feel any better. 

“What did you want to ask?” You question, hoping that will make him stop his gazing, to your surprise, it does. 

“Oh—right.” He mumbles, fixing himself straight. “Was everything you said back there true?”

There’s a brief pause between his question and your answer, but you still give him a nod. The answer he’s been waiting for all along. The tense feeling Taesan felt earlier washes away in a hurry. He feels relieved—at ease. 

“I do like you. Although I only came to terms with it recently, I’m still sure of it.” 

Silence.

You’re embarrassed. Honestly, you never stopped being embarrassed, if anything, the feeling only intensified. You’re avoiding eye contact with him and he notices it. Of course he does, his senses are on a high right now.

He hooks his finger under your chin, redirecting your gaze onto him. “You shouldn’t look away during such a time. I’d think you’re lying if you do that.” Taesan explains. 

He’s not wrong. It’s part of the studied body language when someone lies. 

Despite that, the whole finger under your chin was not necessary! He’s definitely doing this to see you flustered. 

Lucky him, it’s working.

“I’m not lying.” You reply, locking eyes with him. 

He sighs, hand dropping to his side as he falls forward, landing his head in the crook of your neck. You catch a glimpse of the red on the tips of his ears. That surely affected him more than it affected you. 

“Cute.” You whispered.

FIVE — DEATH OF HIM

It’s been around a week since the whole confession. Taesan has asked for you to be his girlfriend, leaving your parents livid. Almost as if they’ve been waiting for this moment since they first saw him. Spoiler alert—they have.

The boy you previously disliked is nowhere like the ones from the movies. He’s humble and kind, not spoiled or snobby. 

He’s perfect in your eyes. 

After being in this town for a while now, he’s definitely learned the ropes. He’s good at many things: cooking, cleaning weeds out of the garden, purchasing certain items, and even tending to the yards of the townspeople. He’s able to do a lot of things, such as making your heart flutter, making sure that you’re always okay, and giving you leg-weakening kisses. 

Taesan backs away with dazed eyes as he catches his breath. He’s been eyeing you for the whole morning, including the walk to the grocery store, unloading the items into their correct spots at home, even on the way to your bedroom. In the end, he obviously got what he wanted—a kiss. 

Which happened to lead into something more.

He smiles while gazing down at you. You’re sprawled out on your bed beneath him, chest moving up and down from the way your breathing quickens. 

“Are you okay?” He questions before the two of you continue. You nod, not able to catch your breath in time to formulate any words. The moment his smile falters he’s already leaning in to kiss you again. Your eyes closed, waiting for the touch of his lips on yours, but it never comes. Instead, you’re surprised by the sudden warmth against your neck. 

Your breath hitches and your back slightly arches off the soft surface of your bed. It tickles, however, you don’t push him off like you usually would if something tickled. Taesan takes your hands into his own as the traces of kisses continue up your neck, pausing once he nears your lips. You can feel the tip of his nose on your cheek. 

The way his small breaths tickle from the short laugh he lets out. 

He’s teasing you. 

Luckily, it isn’t long before he’s kissing you again. You can feel him smiling through it all, as if he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. You squirm underneath him in an attempt to gain his attention. 

“Take—” You breathe. “Take this off.” 

You’re tugging at his shirt as his brows raise. He’s surprised. The last time he had his shirt off around you, you seemed like you didn’t even want to see him shirtless ever again. The constant tugging brings him back to reality. You’re looking at him through hooded eyes. He can’t go against your request if you look at him like that. 

He pulls his shirt off over his head in haste, then crashes his lips back into yours. There was no pause in between—no time wasted. With the way your hands began running down his back, he knew it was over for him.

As long as the two of you are together, you’ll definitely be the death of him. 

© RIUMORI