i read

The Sociology of Human Relationships was one of the electives you'd chosen almost impulsively, although you preferred calling it intuition whenever your friends questioned your decisions. The course outline had sounded interesting enough—attachment theory, interpersonal communication, social expectations—but what had caught your attention was a single sentence tucked away beneath the assessment schedule.

Major Research Project (40%) — Investigating the Concept of Soulmates.

You had smiled at the screen for far longer than necessary.

It wasn't because you expected university to confirm the existence of some invisible red string connecting strangers across cities or oceans, nor because you thought there was one singular person waiting somewhere with your name written into the universe. Your belief had never been that simplistic. Soulmates, at least to you, were never about destiny removing the need for choice.

If anything, they were about choice itself.

People met thousands throughout their lives. Friends came and went, lovers arrived and left, families grew complicated, and yet somehow, every now and then, two people chose one another so completely that the rest of the world became background noise. Whether that was destiny or simply extraordinary luck hardly mattered.

The feeling was real either way.

"Y/N!"

Your attention lifted from the printed course guide as someone dropped into the seat beside you with enough force to make the fold-out desk wobble. Mina grinned without a hint of apology, balancing an iced coffee in one hand while already scrolling through her timetable on her phone with the other.

"I swear," she whispered dramatically, "if this professor starts with an icebreaker, I'm transferring."

"You say that every semester."

"And one day I'll mean it."

The lecture theatre continued filling around you in waves of conversation, backpacks thumping onto the floor, chairs scraping against concrete, students greeting friends they hadn't seen over the break with exaggerated enthusiasm. Somewhere near the front, someone was already arguing about textbook prices, while further back a group was debating whether attendance was actually compulsory.

The room buzzed with that peculiar kind of organised chaos unique to universities, where everyone seemed simultaneously exhausted and hopeful.

At precisely nine o'clock, the chatter softened. The professor walked in carrying nothing except a tablet and a stack of manila folders.

No introductory slideshow. No welcoming speech. Just a quiet smile.

"I'll save everyone's time," she began. "Yes, attendance is recorded."

A collective groan echoed through the theatre. She nodded knowingly.

"I appreciate the honesty."

Even Mina laughed. The first twenty minutes passed exactly as expected. Assessment breakdowns, consultation hours, textbook recommendations no one intended to purchase until absolutely necessary. Pens moved lazily across notebooks while laptops clicked open around the room.

Then the professor reached for the folders.

"This," she said, holding one up between her fingers, "is the assignment students remember long after they've forgotten everything else from this course."

The room immediately became quieter.

"For the remainder of the semester, each of you will work with one randomly assigned partner."

Another groan, she ignored it.

"Your task is deceptively simple."

The projector behind her flickered to life.

DO SOULMATES EXIST?

Silence. Then scattered laughter.

"No," someone near the back called.

"I haven't even had breakfast," another complained.

The professor continued as though neither interruption had happened.

"You'll investigate the claim from a sociological perspective. You are expected to collect qualitative and quantitative evidence, conduct interviews, examine existing literature, perform behavioural observations, and construct an argument either supporting or rejecting the concept."

Your hand was already writing before she'd finished speaking. Interview couples. Different age groups. Longitudinal relationships? Cultural perspectives. You underlined the last one twice.

"This assignment is not about proving your own beliefs," the professor continued. "It's about learning whether your beliefs withstand scrutiny."

You liked that. Beside you, Mina looked significantly less enthusiastic.

"I wanted multiple choice."

"You chose sociology."

"I made mistakes."

The professor began distributing the folders down each row.

"Each folder contains your assigned partner."

Someone sighed dramatically enough to earn a laugh from the surrounding students.

"You don't get to choose," the professor added before anyone could ask. "Yes, they're random. No, I won't swap anyone. Half the purpose of this assignment is learning to work with perspectives different from your own."

The folders travelled slowly across the lecture theatre. One by one. Closer. Closer. Eventually one landed in front of you with a soft papery thud. Your name had already been printed neatly across the cover.

Below it—Research Pair: Group 14

You opened it. Your assigned partner's name sat beneath yours.

JEON WONWOO

You frowned thoughtfully. The name sounded familiar. Not personally, academically. Someone who answered questions during lectures with suspicious confidence. Someone tutors seemed to recognise. Someone you'd seen around campus more than once without ever speaking to. Mina leaned across immediately.

"Who'd you get?"

You turned the page towards her.

"Oh."

"What?"

She gave you a look that somehow managed to communicate both sympathy and amusement.

"Good luck."

"...That helpful?"

"I've got a friend in psychology who had a class with him last semester."

"And?"

"He argued with the lecturer."

"That's not necessarily bad."

"He won."

Before you could ask another question, the lecture theatre door opened. Five minutes late. A tall figure stepped quietly inside, carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder as though arriving after the lecture had begun didn't concern him in the slightest. There was no frantic apology, no awkward attempt to avoid drawing attention. He simply offered the professor a brief nod, received one in return, and scanned the room for an empty seat. You recognised him immediately from the photograph attached to the research folder.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He settled into one of the remaining seats a few rows ahead without speaking to anyone, pushing his glasses back into place before opening the folder that had been left on the desk for him.  You watched his eyes skim the first page. Pause. Then continue. Nothing about his expression changed. Not surprise. Not annoyance. Nothing. He simply closed the folder again.

The professor clapped her hands together gently.

"Now that everyone knows their partner, I'd like each pair to spend the remaining class introducing yourselves and discussing your preliminary position."

Chairs scraped backwards across the room almost instantly. Students stood, searching for unfamiliar names and uncertain faces.

"Group Four?"

"Twenty-one?"

"Who's Olivia?"

Mina squeezed your arm.

"Good luck."

"You've said that twice."

"Because I think you'll need it."

She disappeared into the growing crowd before you could respond. You stood, folder tucked beneath one arm, scanning the room until your eyes found him again. He had already found you. Not because he waved, not because he smiled, simply because he was looking directly at you with the quiet recognition of someone matching names to faces. He approached first. Up close, he seemed somehow taller than expected, though perhaps it was only because he carried himself with an unhurried confidence that made everyone else seem louder by comparison.

"Y/N?"

His voice was calm. Lower than you'd imagined.

"That's me."

He nodded once.

"Wonwoo."

"I figured."

A brief silence settled between you, not necessarily uncomfortable, merely unfamiliar. You offered a small smile anyway.

"I guess we're partners."

"It seems that way."

There was something almost amusing about how matter-of-fact he sounded, as though being assigned to work together ranked somewhere between receiving a library receipt and checking tomorrow's weather forecast. You gestured towards two empty seats near the side of the lecture theatre.

"We should probably start?"

He followed without objection. The assignment brief sat open between you, covered in highlighted sections and handwritten annotations that already looked wildly different. Your notes wandered into margins with arrows connecting ideas that hadn't yet fully formed. His remained perfectly organised, concise, almost clinical. You noticed he had already circled one sentence.

Construct an evidence-based conclusion.

"You've started already?"

"I was reading."

"You've highlighted one sentence."

"It seemed important." You couldn't help smiling.

"You seem like the type to colour-code your lecture notes."

"I do."

"I knew it." He looked almost confused by your satisfaction.

"You say that like it's unusual."

"It isn't. I just enjoy being right." Something very close to amusement crossed his face before disappearing again.

"So," you began, tapping the title page, "what's your opinion?" He didn't need time to think.

"Soulmates don't exist." The sentence landed with complete certainty. Not dismissively, not mockingly, simply factually. You blinked.

"...That's it?"

"That's it."

"No hesitation?"

"No." You leaned back in your chair.

"Interesting." He tilted his head slightly.

"You disagree."

"I do."

"I guessed."

"Was it the fact I highlighted interview ideas before the assignment had even been explained?"

"Partly."

"And the other part?"

"You smiled when the professor introduced the topic." Your eyebrows lifted before you could stop them.

"You noticed that?"

"You were sitting in front of me."

"So?"

"So I noticed." The simplicity of the answer somehow made it more convincing. You folded your arms loosely across the desk.

"I think soulmates exist."

"In what sense?"

"That depends." He waited. Not impatiently, just quietly.

"I don't think there's one perfect person pre-selected by the universe," you explained. "I think there are connections that feel statistically impossible. People who arrive in your life and alter its direction so completely that calling it coincidence almost feels inadequate." He considered your words for a moment before responding.

"People are good at assigning meaning to random events."

"And people are equally good at dismissing meaningful ones because they can't quantify them."

"Our brains search for patterns."

"Sometimes because patterns are there." He looked at you for another second.Then, unexpectedly, a small smile. Barely noticeable.

"Professor was right."

"About what?"

"This is going to take the entire semester." You laughed before you could help yourself. It wasn't a loud laugh, nor a particularly graceful one, but it escaped all the same, drawing a brief glance from the pair sitting nearby. Wonwoo looked almost surprised that he'd been the cause of it. Perhaps you were equally surprised.

Maybe this assignment wouldn't be quite as straightforward as you'd imagined. Or perhaps that was exactly what made it worth doing.

—

[CASE FILE 001 — Department of Sociology, Research Pair Registration]

Pair Number: 14

Student A: Jeon Wonwoo Preliminary Position: The concept of soulmates is a cultural construct that cannot be empirically supported.

Student B: Y/N Preliminary Position: Soulmates exist as meaningful interpersonal connections, regardless of whether they can be objectively measured.

Professor's Observation: Significant ideological contrast.Encourage both students to challenge assumptions rather than defend them.Productive disagreement often produces the strongest research.

—

"You've highlighted the entire article."

"I highlighted the important parts." Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop just long enough to give you a look somewhere between disbelief and quiet resignation before returning to his own notes.

"You've highlighted eighty percent of the paper."

"The remaining twenty percent wasn't relevant."

"Then you didn't need the highlighter."

"It helped me read."

"I don't think that's what highlighting is for."

"It is for me." He paused, fingers hovering above his keyboard as though debating whether correcting your study habits was worth the effort. Eventually, he decided it wasn't, and the faint shake of his head was so subtle that you almost missed it.

It had been just over a week since the first lecture. Long enough to settle into a routine. Every Tuesday after class, the two of you met in the same corner of the university library, occupying a table tucked beside floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the campus courtyard. The location had never been discussed. After the first meeting, you'd simply wandered towards the empty table, and Wonwoo had followed without comment. Now, without either of you acknowledging it, the space had somehow become yours. The first ten minutes were always quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet.

You unpacked your bag in exactly the same order every time—laptop first, notebook second, pencil case last—while Wonwoo plugged in his charger, aligned three different coloured sticky tabs along the edge of his notebook, and opened whichever academic journal he had downloaded that morning.

Somewhere nearby, the library printer whirred to life. Pages shuffled. Chairs scraped softly against carpet, and the occasional muffled laugh drifted from the collaborative study rooms before being silenced by a passing librarian.

It was strangely peaceful.

"So," you said eventually, breaking the silence. "How many papers have you read?"

"Twenty-three." You blinked.

"...Twenty-three?"

"They were relatively short."

"You read twenty-three sociology papers in a week?"

"I skimmed seven."

"Oh, well that makes it normal." He ignored the sarcasm.

"There isn't substantial empirical evidence supporting the soulmate hypothesis."

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm stating a finding."

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You wanted one to prove wrong." He looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

"I wanted evidence."

"You wanted a challenge."

"I have one." He gestured vaguely towards you. You tried very hard not to smile. Instead, you opened your own notebook, where the page labelled Possible Interview Subjects had become increasingly crowded over the past few days.

"We're supposed to start collecting qualitative data this week."

"I know."

"The professor wants a minimum of ten interviews."

"I know."

"You keep saying you know."

"Because I do." You leaned your chin into your palm.

"You're no fun."

"I've been told."

"Really?"

"No."

"...That was almost a joke."

"I don't joke."

"Liar."

"I don't."

"You literally just did."

"I didn't intend to."

"Still counts." He sighed so quietly it almost sounded like a laugh. Almost.

—

The sociology department had prepared interview consent forms, questionnaires, and recording equipment for every research pair, though the professor had insisted that the interviews themselves be arranged independently.

That was how the two of you found yourselves standing outside the weekend farmers' market early Saturday morning, clipboards tucked beneath your arms while people wandered past carrying reusable shopping bags and bouquets of flowers.

Wonwoo adjusted the strap of his satchel.

"This seems inefficient."

"It's perfect."

"There are too many variables."

"There are too many people."

"Exactly."

"That's the point." He looked unconvinced.

"You picked this location because..."

"There are families." He waited.

"Couples." Still waiting.

"Grandparents."

"...Continue."

"And everyone walks slower because they're buying vegetables." He stared at you.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting the vegetables."

"They're essential."

"To sociology?"

"To catching interview participants."

"...Right." You smiled innocently.

"Trust me." He didn't. That much was obvious. Still, he followed you towards the first elderly couple browsing homemade honey.

"Excuse me," you asked politely, "would you mind answering a few questions for a university sociology project?"

The couple exchanged a look before smiling warmly.

"We've got nowhere to be." You glanced sideways at Wonwoo.

"See?" He simply uncapped his pen.

—

The first interview lasted nearly twenty minutes. The couple had been married for forty-eight years. When you asked whether they believed they were soulmates, the husband laughed before his wife answered first.

"Oh, goodness, no." You blinked.

"No?" She smiled.

"I couldn't stand him when we first met."

"I still don't know why she married me," her husband admitted.

"You proposed six times."

"You counted?"

"I rejected five." Wonwoo wrote something down. You tried not to laugh.

"So..." you asked carefully, "when did you know?" The woman looked at her husband for a long moment before answering.

"I don't think there was a single moment." Her fingers reached absentmindedly for his hand.

"I think one day we realised we'd spent years choosing each other." Her husband nodded.

"Love isn't fate."

A pause.

"Staying is."

Silence settled over the table. The market continued bustling around you. Someone called out prices for strawberries. A child laughed somewhere behind you. Nearby wind chimes clinked softly against one another. You scribbled the quote into your notebook almost immediately. Beside you, Wonwoo didn't speak. You waited. Normally, he would've already pointed out retrospective bias or emotional reconstruction. Instead, he quietly underlined something in his notes. Only after thanking the couple and watching them disappear into the crowd did either of you speak again.

"...Well?" He closed the notebook.

"It was interesting."

"That's all?"

"It was."

"You don't have an argument?"

"Not immediately." You looked at him in surprise.

"I'll need to think about it." For some reason, that felt like a victory. Not because he'd agreed with you.  Because he hadn't dismissed the interview outright.

—

The afternoon passed in much the same way. An engaged couple who had met online through a video game. A divorced woman who insisted soulmates existed but timing mattered more. A university student who believed compatibility could be calculated using personality tests.  Each interview challenged one assumption only to reinforce another.

By the time the market began packing away stalls, your voice had become slightly hoarse. You dropped onto a nearby bench with a sigh.

"My social battery is gone." Wonwoo handed you a bottle of water.

"You forgot this." You frowned.

"When?"

"You've carried it since this morning."

"...I completely forgot."

"I noticed."

"You notice everything." He considered that.

"I notice patterns."

"You noticed I hadn't had water."

"You'd spoken continuously for nearly three hours."

"And?"

"You usually drink after about forty minutes." You stared.

"...You know that's a little creepy."

"It wasn't intentional."

"I know."

A breeze stirred the trees lining the footpath. People continued filtering towards the train station, conversations fading into the distance. Without thinking, you reached into your backpack and pulled out two convenience store sandwiches you'd bought earlier that morning.

"I completely forgot these too."

"You forget a lot."

"I remember important things."

"You forgot lunch."

"I remembered eventually." You held one sandwich towards him.

"Here." He hesitated.

"You only bought two."

"I know."

"You'll be hungry."

"I'll survive." Another pause. Eventually, he accepted it.

"...Thank you."

"You said that like you weren't expecting me to share."

"I wasn't."

"Why not?"

"You've known me for eight days."

"So?"

"So..." He looked faintly puzzled by the question. "People don't usually do that." You shrugged.

"I had two." The explanation seemed almost too simple. Maybe it was. Wonwoo looked down at the unopened sandwich in his hands before quietly peeling back the wrapper.

"You know," you said after a while, "I thought you'd be colder." He glanced sideways.

"I've barely spoken."

"Exactly."

"And yet?"

"And yet you keep noticing little things." He frowned slightly.

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"It has nothing to do with being nice."

"I didn't say nice."

"You implied it."

"I implied observant." Silence.

"...You think I'm observant?"

"I think you pretend not to care." He looked away first.

"You've reached that conclusion after eight days?"

"Maybe."

"...Your sample size is too small."

"There you go again."

"What?"

"Turning everything into research."

"It is research."

"I know." You smiled despite yourself.

"But you're still doing it." He didn't deny it.

—

Later that evening, after the interviews had been transcribed and uploaded to the shared folder, your phone buzzed with a new notification. Wonwoo uploaded a file. Curious, you opened it. 

Instead of another journal article, it was the transcript from the elderly couple. One sentence had been highlighted.

Love isn't fate. Staying is.

Beneath it, in the comments section, was a single line.

Potential distinction between destiny and commitment. Worth exploring further.

You smiled at the screen. Without thinking too much about it, you replied beneath his comment.

Maybe soulmates aren't found. Maybe they're built.

Three minutes later, a new notification appeared. Wonwoo replied. 

Interesting hypothesis.

It was only two words. But somehow, for the first time since meeting him, it felt less like the beginning of an argument and more like the beginning of a conversation.

—

[Interview Transcript — Couple #01]

Question: Do you believe you were soulmates?

Response (Wife): No. Not when we met.

Response (Husband): We became them.

Handwritten annotation (Y/N): Maybe soulmates aren't discovered. Maybe they're something people create together over time.

Comment added later (J. Wonwoo): Interesting hypothesis. Investigate whether this idea appears in attachment theory literature.

—

By the third week of the semester, the library had become less of a meeting place and more of a habit.

Neither of you remembered making the decision to continue studying there after every lecture. It simply happened. Tuesdays were reserved for sorting interview transcripts, Thursdays for reading journal articles, and Saturdays, more often than not, ended with another round of field interviews somewhere around the city. Somewhere between colour-coded folders, shared Google Drive documents, and arguments over citation formatting, the line separating obligation from routine had quietly disappeared. You were beginning to suspect Wonwoo noticed it too.

He was already sitting at your usual table when you arrived that Thursday afternoon, though he hadn't messaged to say he'd gotten there early. His laptop was open, half a dozen journal articles tiled neatly across the screen, while an untouched cup of coffee rested beside his elbow. Judging by the faint curl of steam that still rose from the lid, he'd only been there a few minutes.

"You ordered coffee before I got here?" you asked, setting your backpack down with a muffled thud.

"I ordered mine." You looked around the table.

"There are two." Without looking up from the paragraph he was annotating, he reached across and nudged the second cup towards your side.

"You usually buy one before we start." You blinked.

"I... do."

"You were running late."

"So you just..."

"I was already there."

"...Bought mine too?" He finally looked up, expression unreadable behind the thin frames of his glasses.

"It saves time." You stared at the cup for a second longer than necessary. It was the same order you'd been buying since the first week. Medium vanilla latte. One sugar. No whipped cream.

"You remembered."

"You've ordered it six times."

"You counted?"

"I noticed." There it was again.

That quiet way he answered every observation as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He never seemed aware that most people didn't remember how someone took their coffee after a handful of meetings, or which hand they wrote with, or that they always tucked loose strands of hair behind the same ear whenever they were concentrating. He simply noticed.

"You know," you said, peeling back the lid carefully, "if sociology doesn't work out, you'd make a terrifying detective."

"I've considered it." You laughed.

"I'm not joking."

"I know."

"...Wait." He returned his attention to the article without another word. You narrowed your eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"I considered forensic psychology once."

"You can't just casually mention that and keep reading."

"I didn't think it was particularly interesting."

"It is to me."

"Hm."

"You really don't understand what people find interesting about you, do you?" His fingers stopped moving across the keyboard. For a brief moment, silence settled between you.

"I've never thought about it." The answer came so honestly that you didn't know how to respond.

—

The professor arrived ten minutes late to the afternoon tutorial carrying a stack of printed worksheets that looked considerably thicker than anyone appreciated. An audible sigh rippled through the classroom.

"Good afternoon." No one returned the enthusiasm. She smiled anyway.

"I've read through your interview transcripts." You exchanged a glance with Wonwoo.

"They're promising." There were a few relieved exhalations around the room.

"However..." Collective dread.

"...interviews only tell us what people believe happened." She placed the worksheets on the front desk.

"Human memory is remarkably unreliable." Wonwoo’s pen immediately clicked. You recognised that look. He agreed.

"So," the professor continued, "we're moving on to behavioural observation." Several students frowned.

"You'll spend the next two weeks observing your assigned partner." Someone near the back groaned dramatically. The professor ignored them.

"You are not trying to prove they're your soulmate." A few laughs broke out.

"You are observing unconscious patterns." She began writing on the whiteboard.

Walking pace. Eye contact. Speech rhythm. Personal space. Gesture mirroring. Listening behaviour.

"You may record anything you find relevant," she explained. "The important rule is this."

She underlined the next sentence.

Do not tell your partner what you're recording.

The room erupted into confused chatter.

"What?"

"That's so weird."

"They're going to overthink everything."

"Exactly," the professor replied. "Which is why I don't want you discussing your observations until the fortnight is over." She looked around the classroom.

"People reveal the most about themselves when they believe nothing important is being noticed."

—

The walk back to the library felt strangely different. Not because anything had changed. Because now you couldn't stop wondering whether it had.

Were you walking normally? Did you always swing your backpack from your right shoulder? Did you speak with your hands this much?

You caught yourself fixing your posture halfway across campus before realising exactly what you were doing. Beside you, Wonwoo seemed completely unaffected. Or perhaps he was simply better at hiding it.

"This assignment is cruel," you muttered.

"It'll produce better data."

"I knew you'd say that."

"It probably will."

"You aren't even a little curious about what I'm writing down?"

"I'll find out eventually."

"...That's it?" He shrugged lightly.

"If I change my behaviour because I'm thinking about it, the observations become less useful."

"You've accepted this frighteningly quickly."

"It's interesting."

"You called interviewing strangers inefficient."

"It was."

"And spying on each other is interesting?"

"We're not spying."

"It feels like spying."

"It's structured observation."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

"I'm defining the methodology." You laughed under your breath.

"See?"

"What?"

"You've already started."

"I haven't."

"You've become more formal."

"I always speak like this."

"When you're trying to win an argument. I noticed."

He looked at you for a long second before the corners of his mouth lifted—just slightly.

"So did I." You frowned.

"So did you what?"

"I noticed."

"...You smiled before disagreeing."

You hadn't even realised.

—

That evening, your shared project folder gained two new files.

Behaviour Observation Log — Y/N

Behaviour Observation Log — Wonwoo

Password protected. You opened your own template first. At the top of the page sat a single instruction.

Record observations objectively. Avoid interpretation until analysis is complete.

You snorted softly.

"That's going to be impossible."

You had barely spent ten days working with Wonwoo, yet already every observation seemed to carry two versions. The objective one. And the one you couldn't quite explain.

Objective: He waits for elderly people to exit the lift before entering.

Subjective: He never seems aware he's doing it.

You sighed, deleting the second sentence before replacing it with something more academic. At least... you tried.

—

[CASE FILE 003 — Behavioural Observation Study]

Subjects: Pair 14

Observation Period: Weeks 3–5

Research Objective: To identify unconscious behavioural patterns that influence perceived interpersonal compatibility.

Reminder: Observation is not interpretation. Record what occurs. Explain why only after sufficient evidence has been collected.

—

The observation period began on a Monday. You hated it almost immediately. Not because it was difficult to write observations—if anything, there were too many things to write—but because the assignment had transformed every ordinary interaction into something strangely self-conscious. Every time you caught Wonwoo glancing in your direction, your immediate thought was no longer Is something wrong? but Did he just write that down? By Wednesday, you were convinced you had forgotten how to exist naturally.

"You've looked at me three times in the last minute."

"I wasn't counting."

"You definitely were."

"I wasn't."

"You paused before answering."

"I was thinking."

"Exactly." You narrowed your eyes.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that before."

"...From who?"

"You."

"I don't think I've actually said it."

"You implied it."

"You keep doing that."

"What?"

"Turning everything I say into evidence."

"It is evidence."

"It isn't."

"It could be." You let out an exaggerated sigh before dramatically opening your notebook.

"Observation number twenty-seven." He looked up.

"'Subject is deeply irritating.'"

"...That's not objective."

"I'm making an exception."

"It'll affect the validity of your findings."

"It'll improve my emotional wellbeing." Something that looked suspiciously like amusement crossed his face.

"You smiled."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I disagree."

"You can't disagree with your own facial expression."

"I'm questioning your interpretation."

"You absolutely smiled."

"I don't have sufficient evidence." You stared at him for a long moment before laughing.

"You know, for someone who doesn't believe in soulmates, you're weirdly committed to making sure I never win an argument."

"I've accepted that I won't."

"...What?"

"I've accepted that you won't stop arguing."

"...That's not what you said."

"I know."

—

The campus café became another unspoken routine. Originally, it had simply been somewhere convenient between lectures. Now the barista greeted both of you before either of you reached the counter.

"The usual?" You nodded automatically, Wonwoo answered at almost exactly the same time.

"Yes." The barista smiled.

"I'll have them ready in a minute." You didn't notice anything unusual until you sat down.

"You ordered for me."

"You were looking for your student card."

"...I was."

"You usually spend about thirty seconds searching your bag." You blinked.

"You've timed that too?"

"No."

"You know that's somehow worse."

"I've noticed it happens."

"You make it sound completely normal."

"It is."

"No, normal people don't know how long someone spends looking for their wallet."

"They might."

"They absolutely don't." He took a slow sip of coffee before answering.

"I think people notice more than they realise."

"You definitely notice more than average."

"You've said that."

"And I keep being proven right." He didn't argue this time. Instead, his gaze drifted briefly towards the window overlooking the courtyard below, where students hurried between buildings carrying umbrellas against the light drizzle that had started sometime during your lecture. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I think most people notice."

You looked at him.

"They just don't remember." There was something unexpectedly thoughtful about the way he said it. Not detached. Not analytical. Almost personal.

"What makes you remember?" His fingers paused around the paper cup.

"I don't know." He considered the question carefully before continuing.

"I think... once I've noticed something, it feels wrong to forget it." The sentence lingered in your mind long after the conversation had moved elsewhere.

—

Thursday's tutorial required each research pair to spend forty-five minutes silently observing one another while completing a collaborative puzzle. No discussion. No planning. No speaking. Only observation.

"This feels unethical," someone complained.

"It's educational," the professor replied.

"It's creepy."

"It's sociology."

"I'm changing majors." The professor laughed.

"No, you're not."

Sheets of coloured wooden blocks were distributed around the room, each pair receiving an identical puzzle that required recreating a geometric pattern using only non-verbal communication. You and Wonwoo exchanged a look.

"No talking?" you mouthed.

He nodded once. The timer began. Almost immediately, you reached for the wrong piece. Before your hand even touched it, Wonwoo gently slid the correct block towards you without looking up from the diagram.

You frowned. How had he—

You placed it into position. He rotated another piece exactly ninety degrees before setting it beside your hand. Again, correct. By the ten-minute mark, neither of you had spoken a single word. You barely needed to.

He seemed to understand what piece you were reaching for before you reached for it, quietly moving obstacles out of the way without interrupting your train of thought. When you hesitated over where a triangular block belonged, he tapped the corner of the diagram once before continuing with his own section. It wasn't planned. It wasn't rehearsed. It simply worked.

Across the room, other pairs whispered apologies after instinctively speaking, argued silently through exaggerated gestures, or accidentally reached for the same pieces at the same time. Your table remained almost entirely still. When the professor called time, she'd barely finished the sentence before stopping beside your desk.

"You finished?" You both nodded. She examined the completed puzzle. Perfect.

"Hm." She made a note on her clipboard.

"Interesting." As she walked away, you finally looked at Wonwoo.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"We didn't even talk."

"The puzzle didn't require talking."

"It definitely did."

"I don't think so."

"Everyone else talked."

"We didn't."

"You handed me the exact pieces every single time."

"You usually solve left to right."

"...I what?"

"You start from the outside corners."

"I've never noticed that."

"I have." You stared.

"When?"

"You've organised every interview transcript the same way."

"..."

"You also unpack your stationery in the same order."

"..."

"You always finish reading the introduction before looking at the headings."

"..." He stopped.

"...Was I not supposed to notice those?" For a second, all you could do was blink.

"No."

"I thought they were obvious."

"They are to you." Another pause settled between you before you laughed quietly, shaking your head.

"I don't think you realise how different your brain works."

"I've never had another one to compare it to." The answer was so genuine that it caught you completely off guard.

—

That evening, after returning home, you opened your observation log again. The cursor blinked expectantly. You read back through the objective notes you'd managed to record over the past four days.

Day Four Subject remembers every source cited during discussion without checking notes.

Day Five Subject notices environmental changes before verbal acknowledgement by others.

Day Five Subject consistently positions themselves on the outer side of the footpath when walking together.

You frowned. You hadn't noticed writing that last one.  When had that happened? You thought back. 

Leaving the library. Crossing the road after interviews. Walking between lecture buildings. Every single time, without ever mentioning it, Wonwoo had quietly shifted to whichever side was closest to passing bicycles, traffic or crowds, leaving you on the inside of the path. It wasn't dramatic enough to draw attention. If anything, it was the kind of habit you only recognised once you'd seen it repeated enough times.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. You typed another line.

Day Six Subject performs considerate actions automatically, often without appearing aware of them.

You hesitated. Then deleted the word considerate. Too subjective. After another moment's thought, you rewrote it.

Subject changes behaviour in response to environmental conditions affecting others before changing his own.

Technically objective. Technically. You weren't entirely convinced.

— 

[Behaviour Observation Log — Extract]

Observer: Wonwoo

Day 4 Subject unconsciously smiles before disagreeing with someone.

Day 5 Subject says "interesting" when they are actually confused.

Day 5 Subject thanks bus drivers regardless of whether anyone else does.

Day 6 Subject slows walking pace when speaking about something important without appearing aware of it.

A line beneath the final observation has been crossed out, the original sentence is no longer legible. Only three rewritten words remain.

Worth remembering.

— 

The midpoint presentations arrived far sooner than either of you expected. It wasn't that the semester itself had moved particularly quickly. If anything, the weeks had been packed so densely with interviews, observation logs, literature reviews and tutorial discussions that every day felt longer than the last. Somewhere between the seventh transcript and the fifteenth journal article, however, the project had stopped feeling like a university assessment and quietly become part of your routine. You no longer wondered whether Wonwoo would be in the library after class. He always was.

Likewise, he had stopped asking whether you wanted coffee before starting work. At some point, the question had disappeared entirely, replaced by a second paper cup already sitting opposite him whenever you arrived a few minutes late. You weren't entirely sure when that had started. More strangely, neither of you had acknowledged it.

"You know," you said one afternoon, dropping your bag beside the chair opposite him, "normal people would probably think this is weird."

Wonwoo didn't look up from the spreadsheet he was editing.

"What part?"

"You buying my coffee."

"You always pay me back."

"That's not my point." He finished typing the sentence he'd been working on before finally closing the laptop halfway.

"What is your point?"

"My point is..." You paused, realising you hadn't actually thought this through. "Well..."

"You don't have one."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I think..." You tapped absentmindedly against the side of the coffee cup. "I think we've become suspiciously efficient." He considered that.

"We've spent approximately forty-seven hours working together."

"You counted?"

"I estimated."

"...That somehow isn't better."

"No." A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again. You caught it anyway. There had been more of those lately. Not enough that anyone else would probably notice. Enough that you did.

—

The tutorial room buzzed louder than usual as each research pair prepared their midpoint presentations. Laptops opened, extension cords snaked across the floor, and conversations overlapped as students made frantic last-minute edits.

Your professor moved quietly between the rows, occasionally stopping to answer questions before reminding everyone, for what felt like the tenth time that morning, to keep their presentations under ten minutes.

"You look nervous." You glanced sideways. Wonwoo was organising printed handouts into perfectly aligned stacks.

"I'm not nervous."

"You've rearranged your slides three times."

"I was fixing formatting."

"You changed the font."

"It was inconsistent."

"It was one title."

"It was bothering me." You smiled.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The perfectionism."

"I prefer consistency."

"I know." He looked at you for a second before speaking again.

"You've rewritten your opening sentence eleven times. I counted." You folded your arms.

"I hate that you're right."

"I usually am."

"You sounded far too pleased saying that."

"I wasn't."

"Liar." He looked down to hide another almost-smile.

—

The presentations themselves varied wildly. Some groups had already reached confident conclusions. One pair argued that soulmate beliefs were largely reinforced by media representation. Another claimed attachment styles explained every interview they'd conducted. Someone else presented an elaborate statistical model that attempted to predict relationship longevity based on personality inventories.

When your turn came, neither you nor Wonwoo rushed to the front. You walked up together, setting your notes on the lectern without speaking.

"Our research question," you began, "asks whether soulmates exist."

"At this stage," Wonwoo continued, "our findings remain inconclusive."

A few classmates exchanged amused looks. You noticed.

"We've interviewed twelve participants across varying demographics," you said, changing slides. "Our qualitative findings reveal strong personal belief in soulmate concepts, although definitions vary considerably."

"Existing literature," Wonwoo added, "does not currently provide empirical evidence supporting soulmates as an objectively measurable phenomenon." You nodded.

"However..." He glanced towards you.

"...the interviews suggest something different." You continued seamlessly.

"Participants consistently described long-term relationships using language centred around choice rather than inevitability." The presentation flowed more naturally than either of you expected. Neither of you needed prompting. You instinctively knew when the other had finished speaking, quietly continuing each explanation without interrupting or repeating information. By the final slide, you almost forgot everyone else was watching. Until question time. A student near the back raised their hand.

"If you've spent over a month researching together..."

They looked between you and Wonwoo.

"...have either of you actually changed your minds?" Silence. You opened your mouth first.

"I..." Nothing came out. Because the truthful answer wasn't simple anymore. Had you changed your mind? Not really. You still believed soulmates existed. But your understanding of them had shifted. You looked towards Wonwoo. He spoke first.

"Our arguments have become more complicated." The classroom waited.

"We disagree about the conclusion." He adjusted his glasses thoughtfully.

"But we've stopped disagreeing about the evidence." A thoughtful silence settled across the room. The professor smiled.

"That's one of the best answers I've heard all day."

—

After class, while packing away your laptop, you overheard two students speaking just loudly enough that they clearly weren't trying very hard to keep the conversation private.

"I honestly thought they were dating." You froze.

"Nah."

"They've got that weird old married couple thing."

"They literally finish each other's presentations."

"Maybe the soulmate project worked." Someone laughed.

"Imagine." You looked instinctively towards Wonwoo. He had stopped placing papers into his bag. Only for a second. Then, without saying anything, he finished packing his things and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"We should go." His voice sounded perfectly normal. Perhaps too normal.

—

The walk to the library was quieter than usual. Not uncomfortable. Simply lacking. Normally, one of you would comment on the presentation, complain about another journal article, or argue over interview methodology before reaching the main courtyard. Today, neither of you started a conversation. You tried twice.

"So..."

"Hm?"

"...Nothing."

He nodded once. The silence returned. It stayed with you through the rest of the afternoon. Through organising references. Through editing transcripts. Through packing your bags. When you finally left the library, he offered the same polite goodbye he always did.

"See you Tuesday."

"Yeah." He hesitated almost imperceptibly.

"See you." And then he walked away.

—

It wasn't until later that evening that you realised something felt wrong.

Not dramatically wrong. Nothing had happened. No argument. No disagreement. No misunderstanding that you could clearly identify. And yet you found yourself opening the shared document twice before remembering he wasn't editing tonight.

You almost messaged him a journal article before remembering he'd probably already found it himself. You even caught yourself glancing towards the empty chair beside yours during dinner. You frowned. That was unusual.

Across town, Wonwoo was staring at the unfinished observation log on his laptop. The cursor blinked beneath today's date. He typed one sentence. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one too. Eventually, he closed the document without saving. For the first time since the assignment had begun, he wasn't entirely certain how to describe what he'd observed.

—

[INTERNAL MEMORANDUM]

Research Pair 14

Midpoint Progress Review

Completed

✓ Literature Review

✓ Behavioural Observation (Phase I)

✓ Participant Interviews

✓ Preliminary Presentation

Outstanding

□ Emotional Bias Assessment

□ Final Analysis

Professor's Margin Note:

Excellent collaboration. Be mindful that prolonged observation can influence participant objectivity. Consider whether the researcher has begun affecting the research.

Someone—neither you nor Wonwoo—has circled the final sentence twice.

The next chapter is where the misunderstanding quietly deepens, forcing both of you to question whether your growing closeness is helping the research—or making it impossible to stay objective. It's also where the assignment begins to stop feeling like an investigation into soulmates and starts becoming an investigation into each other.

—

There was a peculiar kind of silence that only existed between people who had grown accustomed to one another.

It wasn't uncomfortable. Nor was it empty. It was the sort of silence built over weeks of shared routines, where conversation became optional because neither person felt responsible for filling every quiet moment. You had never thought much about it before meeting Wonwoo. Silence, to you, had always been something to fix—a pause that invited another question, another story, another attempt to keep the conversation moving.

Now, sitting across from him in your usual corner of the library, you realised nearly twenty minutes had passed without either of you speaking.

The only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the turning of pages somewhere nearby, and the distant hum of rain against the windows overlooking the courtyard. Strangely, you hadn't noticed the time. Wonwoo was reviewing the coding categories for your interview transcripts, occasionally making neat annotations in the margins of the printed pages spread around him. You were rereading the behavioural observation logs, trying to identify recurring themes before beginning the final report.

Every so often, one of you would slide a document across the table. No explanation. The other would read it, nod once, and continue working. It had become almost effortless. The realisation should have been comforting. Instead, it unsettled you. Because the professor's feedback from the midpoint presentation refused to leave your mind.

Consider whether the researcher has begun affecting the research.

You had laughed when you first read it. Now it seemed less like feedback and more like a warning.

"Can I ask you something?" Wonwoo looked up immediately.

"You already are." You rolled your eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I do." He closed the notebook in front of him, giving you his full attention.

"What is it?" You hesitated longer than expected.

"Do you think..." The words felt strangely difficult.

"...we've become biased?" He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, considering the question with the same care he gave every research problem.

"In what sense?"

"The assignment."

"Our conclusions?"

"No."

You shook your head.

"I mean..." You searched for the right wording.

"...do you think we've spent so much time observing each other that we've stopped being objective?" His expression remained thoughtful.

"I think..." Another pause.

"...that was probably inevitable." You stared.

"You're admitting that?"

"It would be difficult not to."

"You always argue objectivity."

"I still do."

"But?"

"But objectivity doesn't mean pretending bias doesn't exist." He folded his hands together on the table.

"It means recognising where it exists." You looked down at your own notes.

"So we're biased."

"Yes."

"...That's a problem."

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Whether we're willing to acknowledge it." The answer lingered between you. It wasn't the answer you expected. Nor was it the one you wanted. Because admitting bias meant admitting something else.

That neither of you had remained detached observers. Somewhere along the way, the research had stopped being about strangers.

It had become about the two of you.

—

Your final task before writing the report was deceptively simple. Each research pair had to submit an individual reflective statement answering one question:

How has this project influenced your understanding of human relationships?

No word limit. No references required. Only honesty. You stared at the blank document for almost fifteen minutes.

Eventually, you began typing.

I entered this project believing soulmates were something people found.

You stopped. Deleted the sentence. Started again.

I don't think I believe in coincidence any less than I did twelve weeks ago.

Delete. Again. Nothing sounded right.

Across the table, Wonwoo had already begun writing.

His expression gave nothing away. You resisted every temptation to lean across and read his screen.

"You've already started."

"I have."

"How?"

"I know what I think."

"You always know what you think." He looked at you for a moment before answering quietly.

"Not always." The admission surprised you enough that you forgot your own frustration.

"You don't?" He shook his head.

"I just usually don't say anything until I do."

—

The deadline for the reflective statements was Friday evening. You submitted yours at 11:43 p.m. Wonwoo submitted his at 11:46.

Neither of you mentioned what you'd written. Neither asked. It felt oddly personal. Some thoughts belonged to the report.

Others, perhaps not.

—

Monday arrived with your final consultation before presentation week.

The professor skimmed through your draft silently, making only occasional notes in the margins.

When she finally looked up, she smiled.

"You've both done excellent work."

Relief settled quietly across your shoulders.

"Your analysis is thoughtful."

She tapped one particular paragraph.

"Especially this section."

You glanced down.

It was the conclusion the two of you had rewritten four separate times.

Long-term interpersonal attachment appears to develop through repeated acts of mutual investment rather than a single defining event.

The professor nodded.

"I agree." Then she closed the report.

"There is only one thing I'd like you to think about." You exchanged a glance with Wonwoo.

"What is it?" She smiled knowingly.

"You've spent three months studying why people choose one another." A pause.

"I wonder..." She gathered the papers neatly into a pile.

"...whether either of you has considered that question outside the assignment."

Neither you nor Wonwoo answered. The professor didn't seem to expect one.

She simply handed back the report.

"I'll see you both next week."

—

The walk back across campus was unusually slow.

Neither of you spoke immediately.

The afternoon sun had finally broken through after nearly a week of rain, leaving the pathways crowded with students reclaiming patches of grass between classes. Someone was playing music beneath the science building, while clubs recruited new members with handmade signs and bowls of wrapped lollies.

Life continued around you exactly as it always had.

And yet, you couldn't stop thinking about the professor's question.

Eventually, Wonwoo broke the silence.

"I think she's wrong."

You looked at him.

"About what?"

"She's assuming the assignment changed us."

You frowned slightly.

"You don't think it did?"

He shook his head.

"I think..."

He searched for the words.

"...it only gave us enough time to notice."

For the first time since the semester began, you found yourself without an argument. Not because you disagreed. Because you thought he might be right.

—

[CASE FILE 014]

Research Status: Final Analysis Pending

Research Question: Do soulmates exist?

Current Findings

No empirical evidence conclusively demonstrates the existence of predetermined soulmates.

Participants consistently describe enduring relationships as products of repeated choice, trust, and shared experiences.

Extended observation significantly increases interpersonal understanding between research partners.

Researcher's Note: Variables initially considered external may have become internal. Further separation between observer and subject is no longer possible.

—

The final presentation was scheduled for nine o'clock on a Thursday morning.

Campus looked no different from any other day. Students hurried across the courtyard balancing coffee cups and half-finished assignments, cyclists weaved between lecture buildings, and somewhere outside the student union someone was advertising a bake sale with far more enthusiasm than the audience deserved.

It felt strangely unfair.

For the past three months, this assignment had quietly reshaped your entire semester, and yet the rest of the university continued exactly as it always had, blissfully unaware that a forty-percent assessment somehow carried the weight of something much larger.

You arrived outside the sociology building fifteen minutes early. Wonwoo was already there.

Of course he was.

He stood beneath the awning reading over the printed copy of your presentation one final time, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket while the other absentmindedly turned pages already memorised. He looked up almost immediately when he heard your footsteps.

"You beat me."

"I usually do."

"I was early."

"You were."

"So you've been here a while."

"Seven minutes."

"You timed it?"

"I looked at my watch."

You laughed softly.

"I don't know why I still ask."

"I don't either."

The conversation settled into a familiar quiet. Not because either of you had run out of things to say. Because neither of you felt pressured to fill every second.

Eventually, Wonwoo held out a paper cup.

"I got your coffee."

"You keep doing that."

"You keep forgetting breakfast."

"...I had toast."

"You had half."

You blinked.

"I finished the other half while walking."

"No."

"...How do you know that?"

"You always carry your keys in your left hand when you're eating."

"..."

"You've got jam on your sleeve."

You looked down. Sure enough—

A tiny smear of strawberry jam sat near your wrist.

You sighed dramatically.

"You really would've made a terrifying detective."

"I know."

"You admitted it."

"I've had time to think about it."

The corners of your mouth lifted.

"So have I."

—

The presentations passed one by one. Some groups argued that soulmate beliefs were entirely cultural.

Others concluded that compatibility could be explained through attachment theory, personality traits, or shared values.

One group confidently declared that love was nothing more than neurochemistry and evolutionary advantage.

Another insisted destiny existed because statistical improbability could not adequately explain meaningful coincidence.

You listened carefully. Three months ago, you would have known exactly which side you agreed with.

Now you weren't so certain. Or perhaps you were certain for entirely different reasons.

"Pair Fourteen."

The professor smiled.

"Whenever you're ready."

You and Wonwoo walked to the front together.

No discussion. No deciding who would speak first. By now, neither of you needed to.

The first slide appeared behind you.

Do Soulmates Exist?

You looked out across the room before beginning.

"When we started this project, we approached the question from opposing viewpoints."

Wonwoo continued naturally.

"One of us believed soulmate relationships could not be empirically demonstrated."

"And one of us believed they existed regardless of whether they could be measured."

He changed slides.

"Our original objective was to determine which perspective was better supported by evidence."

"It didn't happen."

A ripple of quiet laughter travelled through the room. You smiled.

"Instead..."

The next slide appeared.

Findings

"We discovered something neither of us expected."

You looked briefly towards Wonwoo before continuing.

"None of the couples we interviewed described love as something that simply happened."

"Regardless of whether they believed in fate," he added, "their relationships depended upon repeated choices."

"They described commitment."

"Consistency."

"Trust."

"Attention."

"Shared routines."

"Mutual understanding."

Neither of you had rehearsed the alternating rhythm.

It simply happened.

The presentation flowed almost conversationally now, each sentence picked up naturally by the other before the silence had time to settle.

"Our literature review found no empirical evidence proving predetermined soulmates."

"However," Wonwoo said, "absence of evidence is not evidence of absence."

You looked at him, surprised. He noticed.

"I read your notes."

"You quoted me."

"It supported the argument."

You smiled before turning back towards the audience.

"Our conclusion is therefore not that soulmates definitively exist..."

"...nor that they definitively do not."

Another slide appeared.

Final Conclusion

Long-term interpersonal attachment appears to emerge through repeated mutual investment, trust, and deliberate choice rather than a single predetermined moment.

Silence followed. Not awkward. Thoughtful. The professor nodded slowly.

"Questions?"

A hand rose almost immediately.

"So..."

The student grinned.

"Did either of you change your minds?"

You looked instinctively towards Wonwoo.

He looked back.

Neither answered immediately.

Eventually, you spoke.

"I still think people can become irreplaceable."

Wonwoo nodded almost imperceptibly.

"And I still don't think fate explains why."

The room waited.

"But..."

He adjusted his glasses.

"...I don't think that's the important part anymore."

The professor smiled.

"Why not?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Because after interviewing dozens of people, we realised none of them stayed together because destiny did the work."

He glanced sideways.

"They stayed because they kept choosing each other."

No one spoke. The professor thanked you both before dismissing the class for a short break while she finalised grades.

Just like that, the assignment was over.

—

You found yourselves standing outside the building with nowhere particular to go. For the first time in months, there was no interview to schedule. No journal article to discuss. No observation log waiting to be completed.

The routine that had quietly built itself around the two of you had simply ended.

"We're done."

"We are."

"We don't have another meeting."

"No."

"...That's strange."

"It is."

Students drifted around you in small groups, already talking about upcoming exams and weekend plans. Someone from another tutorial waved goodbye.

Life continued. Again. Exactly as it always had.

"I suppose..." you began carefully, "...this is where we stop accidentally seeing each other four times a week."

Wonwoo frowned slightly.

"Why would we?"

You looked at him.

"The assignment's finished."

"I know."

"So..."

"So?"

"You don't have to keep buying me coffee."

"I wasn't buying it because of the assignment."

"...You weren't?"

"No."

You laughed quietly.

"I genuinely can't tell when you're joking."

"I'm not."

The words settled gently between you.

You realised then that they weren't really about coffee.

"Were you serious," you asked softly, "when you said the assignment didn't change us?"

"Yes."

"What did it do, then?"

He thought about it.

"I think..."

He looked out across the courtyard before answering.

"...it forced us to pay attention."

"To sociology?"

He smiled faintly.

"To each other."

Your heart stumbled. Just enough that you noticed it.

"I've spent months trying to prove or disprove soulmates," you admitted.

"And?"

"I don't know if I've reached an answer."

"You don't have to."

"No."

You looked down at the empty coffee cup still warming your hands.

"I suppose I haven't."

A comfortable silence followed.

Then—

"Would you like dinner?"

You looked up.

"What?"

Wonwoo looked almost embarrassed by his own question.

"We usually work after class."

"We do."

"We're not working anymore."

"No."

"So..."

Another pause.

"I'd still like to spend time with you."

You couldn't help smiling.

"You know, that almost sounded like you were asking me on a date."

"I was."

"...Oh."

"I thought I was being reasonably clear."

"You were."

You laughed, shaking your head.

"I just wasn't expecting you to say it like that."

"How else was I supposed to say it?"

"I don't know."

"You've spent three months telling me communication matters."

"I have."

"So."

He met your eyes.

"I'm communicating."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you nodded.

"I'd like that."

Relief softened something in his expression so subtle that someone else might have missed it.

You didn't.

Not anymore.

Together, you turned towards the path leading away from the sociology building.

There was no assignment waiting at the end of it.

No hypothesis left to test.

Only another choice.

This time, neither of you needed research to make it.

—

[CASE FILE 014 — CLOSED]

Research Question: Do soulmates exist?

Official Conclusion: Inconclusive.

Supplementary Findings: Participants consistently demonstrated that enduring relationships are sustained through repeated acts of trust, attention, and mutual choice. Extended observation unexpectedly altered the perspectives of both researchers.

Professor's Final Comment: You never proved soulmates. You did, however, provide compelling evidence that people can become indispensable to one another.

Status: CASE CLOSED.

—

"Soonyoung.." you groan at your brother, who's eyes curiously peek at you through the small gap. His dark orbs almost disappear when he smiles at you sweetly. He closes the door behind him after stepping into your room, scanning the bedroom for a second before his gaze fixes back on you. You can tell he has something in that head of his, a small smile tugging on his lips before letting his body dip into your mattress.

A small groan escapes his mouth, and he crawls next to your body. "Are you all ready?" he asks, his finger swiping up on his phone to unlock it before tapping away vigorously. You turn your head slightly to look at his face.

"Ready? Ready for what exactly?" you frown.

The tip of his tongue sticks out while he's focussed on the screen in front of him. He inhales and turns it off with the click of a button, the phone falling flat against his chest before he looks back at you.

His cheeks seem to grow in size when he gives you a sweet smile. "Hanging out with some friends, wanna come with?"

You respond by quickly shaking your head with a subtle frown on your face. Soonyoung gives you a loud whine, throwing his head back into one of your pillows. Once he started whining you knew it was basically over for you. Stubbornness was a family trait your brother excelled at way better than you.

"Get up, you're going with me wether you like it or not." he gets up from your bed and smoothes some of the wrinkles in his oversized shirt, waiting till you follow him.

You sigh and get up, seeing how his face lights up when you do, except you know there wasn't any way getting out of this anyway.

A part of you feels excited to do something again after so many months of moping and numbing brain rot, but you would never admit that to him.

Soonyoung can't help feeling glee as you two walk together to one of his usual hang spots. As an older brother he knows all too well how down you've been feeling since being back in your village, not really knowing how to get you out of this rut he figured it'd be a good start to get you to socialize again, even if it was just his friends. But knowing some of them, he cant help wondering if he's making the right choice.

You two approach the small park around the corner of your street, walking way back to a graffiti covered metal dome that has been the village's hang spot for as long as you could remember. The dome is a modest 2 meters wide having built in seats, with a wide opening in the front so it isn't completely secluded from people walking through the park. Yet, the dark sky and late night breeze prevented many people from strolling around these days.

"Nyoung!" you recognize the voice calling your brother. The two of you approach, and you recognize one of the two people sitting in front of you as Joshua, who's been his friend for a few years.

You've only seen him a handful of times before, but he always had a sweet smile on his face whenever he saw you.

You make eye contact with the other guy, and you try not to think about how stunningly attractive he is, with long, dark hair falling to his shoulders and messy bangs that fall into his big eyes. He sits with his left ankle tucked under his right thigh, his right foot resting on the cigarette bud covered stone floor.

By his demeanor you could tell he wasn't into the idea of a random girl joining them. His eyes fall on you for a few seconds looking unfazed, and there’s a glint of annoyance rooted behind them.

He slowly changes his gaze to Soonyoung, giving your brother an acknowledging nod. 

"I brought my little sister!" you hear your brother say excitedly, his loud voice echos though the park as he places a hand on top of your head. You move away from his touch, hissing at him quietly.

Joshua gives you a warm smile. "So nice to see you again y/n! How long has it been, two years?" he purses his lips a little as to think if it's actually been that long. You nod. "Yes. Nice to see you, Joshua." you smile, feeling a little awkward standing in front of the two guys.

"This is Jeonghan," your brother says, pointing to the guy you deemed more unlikable by the second. You look back at him briefly, his features way too soft and pretty for a guy.

"He used to go to the same primary school as us, but I didn't know him back then as he was a few years above me." Jeonghan looks at you carefully, before lifting his hand and bringing a joint to his lips that you hadn't seen before. He takes a slow drag, his chest expanding as the smoke fills his lungs.

Soonyoung continues, "We met over a year ago at Joshua's place."

Jeonghan exhales the smoke, the strong smell of weed filling your nostrils. He takes his eyes off you to pass the joint to Joshua, and you feel slightly annoyed that he's being so aloof.

Joshua accepts the cigarette, using it to point at the empty seat next to him. "Chan's is on his way, something about his shitty car breaking down." he chuckles.

Your brother laughs loudly at the thought of his friend’s car breaking down again. He takes a seat on Joshua's left, the last spot being on the far right, next to Jeonghan, who's knee is covering half of the seat. You're positive he's not this dense, and assume he's purposely pretending not to notice while keeping his comfortable position.

Joshua however, seems to catch on, and stands up quickly, grabbing your elbow softly and having you sit next to your brother. He squirms in the far right seat, forcing Jeonghan to put down his knee, earning a blank stare from his friend.

You're still next to him, but feel grateful for Joshua's little gesture. Soonyoung reveals a small bottle of vodka from the pocket of his jacket, smiling while twisting open the lid and taking a big gulp. He groans in your ear, which makes you give him a displeased look before you chuckle.

You see Joshua's hand holding the joint up for you, and he gives your brother a quick look to make sure this is okay.

Your brother would usually make a point of this, scowling you for doing things you shouldn't as any brother would, but he's way too happy about you coming along he gives his friend the green light– not that you would listen to him if he didn't anyways.

You gladly take the lit joint, curious eyes on you while you put the tip to your lips and inhale deeply. The guys hold their breath, as to expect for you to cough like a fool, which you obviously don't.

The smoke blows in the air, quickly disappearing while the drug makes quick work in your body. Joshua laughs. "Don't remember this side to you at all." he tells you, and you stifle a laugh before taking another hit.

The revving sound of a car catches you all off guard, the three faces turning to see a car parked in the distance with its bright headlights shining.

"Shit, is that Chan?" Soonyoung shouts, jumping up from his seat when he sees his friend emerge from the expensive looking car. He spares no time, running in his direction while you hear Joshua drag out a long 'wow' before making his way there as well.

Chan used to be your classmate for years back when you were younger, and you knew him pretty well since he was so close with your brother. You remember walking back home from school a handful of times with him and your brother, his overly excited personality matching Soonyoung's like no one else could.

You stare at the abandoned joint, feeling a little tense now you're alone with Jeonghan. You hear Chan boast loudly in the background with his friends excitedly talking over each other.

"You’re hogging." Jeonghan says, and you turn to look at him before handing the cigarette back to him. He mumbles a quick 'thanks' before taking a hit, leaning back against the cold metal wall behind him.

"You two don't seem related at all." he then says, catching you off guard. You stay quiet while your lips pout ever so little, but Jeonghan can tell he's getting a reaction from you. What does that even mean?

He flicks some ash on the floor before continuing. "Soonyoung's so fun and loud," he fights a smile, looking at the frown appearing between your brows. "And you're, well..." he shrugs before lighting the unlit joint, the light from the fire illuminating his pretty face.

Your jaw clenches. "I'm what?" you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. Jeonghan happily takes another drag, not sparing you another look.

"Never mind." he lets out a small laugh, clearly amused at riling you up with such few words between the two of you. You wonder why Soonyoung is friends with such a prick.

The both of you look up at the approaching figures, their talking getting louder by the second as the three of them get closer.

When your brother takes a seat next to you again you visibly relax in your seat, his shoulder leaning into you comfortably. Chan gives you a big smile when greeting you, saying how it's been so long since you last saw each other and asking you some questions about your year abroad.

"Hyung! what do you think?! Ditched my old ride." he dangles his shiny car key in front of Jeonghan, squatting down after the eldest grabs the object for close inspection, cooing at him approvingly.

You spend a good chunk of the night caught up in conversation with Joshua, boding over having lived in the same country and how much you both miss it. You find yourself laughing a lot after that, the jokes and stories between your brother and his friends was distraction you much needed.

Like always, your lightweight of a brother ends up too drunk out of his mind after drinking barely half of the small bottle he carried, and Dino fights to jerk the glass from his stubborn fingers.

Soon after some protests you manage to take your brother home, rejecting Dino's offer to drop you off since you lived so close.

That night you lay in bed replaying the night in your head, your heart feeling full and content. The warm burn in your chest is something you haven't felt a long time, and even though it was only a short meeting you live the following days in ecstasy, high on this happiness making the meaningless days maybe not so meaningless.

Your brother's little mission to get you out more continues two weeks later, the both of you inside of his car on the way to Joshua's place to 'pick up something very quickly' as your brother had put it. You were supposed to go see some movie Soonyoung hadn't stopped talking about, promising you it would be worth it.

You weren't in the mood at all, even after you had a nice time a few weeks ago–that was two whole weeks ago. Today, you found yourself back dreading leaving your room again, but you promised.

"Wait here while I run upstairs," Soonyoung tells you before quickly disappearing to god knows where. You two just emerged from the corridor of the house, standing in the cozy living room with two pair of eyes on you.

Soft music plays on the tv screen, and you're hit by the strong smell of weed. The smoke hangs in the air, visibly dancing against the ceiling above.

Of course Jeonghan's here, giving you a blank stare before focussing on rolling his joint again. He has his long hair in a low ponytail, with loose strands of his bangs framing his delicate face. You can't help wanting to tuck the heaps of hair behind his ear, needing to see that beautiful face without any obstruction of view.

You've never seen the other guy before, but he shares the same odd look in his eyes, almost fully hiding behind the frame of his glasses. He stays like that for a second before giving you a small nod, his lips slowly curling up into a charming smile.

"Soonyoung's sister." he says. You hum softly, returning the smile he's giving you. "I'm Wonwoo." he tells you. His voice is deep, and you can't help but wonder what else that mouth can do. Your brother seems to have a knack of only befriending hot people.

"Does she ever dress like a girl?" Jeonghan mumbles, leaning back into the leather sofa before licking the seal of his rolling paper. He makes direct eye contact with you, and you stifle a loud breath.

Ass. Your face visibly shows your annoyance, and you're almost able to push away the thought of how attractive he looks wetting the paper with his dirty, witty tongue. Besides, what's wrong with your outfit? It’s fall and your oversized hoody-jeans combination is very on trend. It's street style.

"Aren't you basically wearing the same outfit, hyung?" Wonwoo comments, giving the older boy a quick look. Jeonghan rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Alright, nuisance. Stop standing there and sit down already." Jeonghan tells you, throwing the joint down on the table in front of him. You frown for a second before shaking your head.

"Soonyoung should be back soon." you explain, playing with the hem of your sweater. Wonwoo chuckles before speaking. "That should take a while, those two never follow through after seeing each other."

Jeonghan hums, smiling a little at the thought of his friends. Within seconds the smile turns into a taunting grin. "Or maybe he just wants to get rid of you?" he cocks his eyebrows up, licking his lips while he observes you.

You roll your eyes. Way to make me feel bad. You already feel like a drag having your brother putting in an effort to make you feel better. Him pointing it out didn't really help calm down your wandering thoughts.

"Anyways," Wonwoo says, catching on to the dynamic quickly. He pats the seat next to him. "You can add some songs to the queue if you want," he hands you his phone after you sit down next to him. Your hands touch for less than a second, but the action has your cheeks feeling hot. You both chuckle.

Jeonghan curses softly, grabbing the joint he discarded moments before and breaking his own promise of saving it for later. He really did find you irritating. He adored Soonyoung, so how could his sister, his own flesh and blood be so different from him? How could you lack all composure and walk around with this unlikable energy surrounding you?

"Will you be at the party this weekend?" Wonwoo asks, looking at you as you hand him back his phone. Shit, you almost forgot. The birthday party your brother is throwing for Minghao.

"Um," you bite your bottom lip, figuring you would be there regardless if you wanted to or not since the party will be held at your own home. "I guess so." you nod.

It takes another thirty minutes before your brother finally comes down, a happy smile plastered on his face like usual.

"Took you long enough." Jeonghan says, straightening up as if he can't wait to watch you leave. Soonyoung chuckles, shrugging. "You know how it is," he says before looking at you. "Thanks for entertaining her." he smiles and looks at the two guys sitting beside you.

Jeonghan grins. "Of course, shes quite the antic you know." he drips with sarcasm, a glint of amusement behind his eyes while making eye contact with you. You flash him a big smile. "I always am with likable people like you." Jeonghan flashes a smile right back at you.

The party is only two days later, with heaps of people showing up at your house to celebrate Minghao's surprise party. You really couldn't hide away in your room, and a part of you doesn't want to. The only thing you dreaded this night was having to see Jeonghan.

Luckily for you he minds his business, happily chatting with a group of friends and a full glass of booze in his hand. The alcohol is flowing, and you manage to contain the amount of drinks you consume, not wanting to do something you would regret later with your brother's friends around.

To your dismay your brother leaves your side after a few shots, running around socializing like his life depended on it. You aren't alone for long, seeing a tall figure approaching you from the corner of your eye.

When you look up, you're not surprised to see Wonwoo standing in front of you with an awkward smile on his face. He carries a shot glass in each hand, holding up one for you. You gladly accept it, thanking the older guy with a happy look on your face.

He puts the glasses together, locking eyes with you. "I'm happy to see you." he tells you before chuckling shyly. You grin at him. It's cute watching him act like this.

"Me too." you smile, your eyes shrinking in size. You bring the glass to your lips, throwing your head back as the cold liquid pours down your throat. Wonwoo hisses at the bitter taste, his face grimacing in pain. "Shit." he groans, and you keep yourself from reacting to the lewd sound.

"You're not really a party person, are you?" he asks, grabbing your glass and putting both down on the table next to you. He can't be more wrong. "I like parties," you look away to think for a second. "But it's kind of weird to drink a lot around my brother." You look back into his eyes, swallowing a lump in your throat when you see how intense his gaze is.

He nods understanding. "You really don't have to hold back with us." he chews on his plump lips. "You're our friend now too." You smile warmly at his words, and he might be right.

"Thank you Wonwoo." you catch yourself talking like you're on a mission, like you're trying to get him in your bed later tonight, his big hands exploring your whole body. You give him sweet eyes and your tongue glides over your bottom lip innocently. Shit, maybe the shot was already too much.

Wonwoo chuckles again, catching onto your subtle hints without you even knowing. You both take another shot when the birthday boy comes by refusing to leave you empty handed. 

You spend the next half hour talking to him about whatever, both feeling the effect of the booze in your bodies. You audibly make him laugh out loud, his booming cackle muffled by the music. You know you've moved past tipsy when your vision is getting blurry. And you find yourself ignoring the people partying around you.

He ends up inching closers to you, his face awfully close to yours when he looks down at you to talk directly into your ear. You pick up what he puts down, his tone matching yours resulting into playful banter.

"You look really nice today." he moves his eyes down to your body. You were wearing a long sleeved dark crop top paired with a short, tight denim skirt. "Didn't know you were hiding all that." you giggle at him, hitting your first against his chest softly. "Wonwoo..." you say shyly. He looks back into your orbs, gently biting the inside of his lip unknowingly.

"Well you look really good as well." you tell him, looking at him through your lashes. Wonwoo hums approvingly before grinning at you. "Jihoon is looking for you." you both look up to see Jeonghan standing next to you with bored look on his face.

"Ah," Wonwoo says, looking around for a second. Jeonghan doesn't say anything, but just makes eye contact with him. The taller one nods. "Right." he says before giving you a smile and turning to look for his friend.

You glare at Jeonghan, who's eyes glide back to meet yours with the same bored look as before. "You're lucky Soonyoung didn't see the both of you eye-fucking each other just now." his eyebrows slightly raise, his mouth agape. You exhale in annoyance. "We were just talking." you defend yourself, watching as he looks at you like you're the most disgusting thing he's ever seen.

"If you say so." he nods, clearly not convinced. "Don't talk to him again from now on." you snicker. You really don't see what the problem is, wanting nothing more than to put him in his place. "I'm not listening to you." you laugh, turning to get away from him.

Jeonghan grabs your wrist in his grip, not leaving you till you listen. "Yes you will." he says calmly, making you laugh again. He drops your wrist and gets closer to you, his lips inching into your ear. "Are you really that desperate?" he chuckles and shakes his head lightly, thinking of how unbelievable you are. You shudder at the feeling of his breath against your skin.

You purse your lips. "Get away from me." You look him up and down, expecting him to drop it and leave like you asked him, but he doesn't budge.

"You’re gonna drink some water and call it a night." he narrows his eyes at you, getting visibly annoyed at how difficult you're being. "You really are insufferable." you chuckle in amusement before rolling your eyes at him.

Jeonghan snickers, his jaw clenching. "Me? I'm the insufferable one?" he towers over you, nearing his face in front of you. You lean back, pressing your hands against his chest to push him off, but a sudden grip on your arm stops you.

"Hi guys." Joshua gives the both of you an over the top smile. "Can I talk to you guys somewhere? In private?" You exhale a loud breath, your night ruined within a few minutes. "Why? We're done he-" Jeonghan gets cut off by Josh. "Now." he presses, pulling you behind him as he walks to the nearest room.

Jeonghan sighs and follows along, entering a bedroom after his friend opens the door. He can tell it's yours by the pictures on your wall and the big bear plushy sitting on the neatly made bed.

The door closes when the three of you are all inside. "What the hell are you guys doing?" Joshua starts, eyeing you with a frown on his face. "You really want to throw a scene here?" he moves his face to look at Jeonghan.

"He started it." you say through gritted teeth, eyes nearing at Jeonghan. He glares at you. "I don't care, act like adults for gods sake." he shakes his head like a disappointed father, and you can't help rolling your eyes. "He can't tell me to leave in my own home." you argue, crossing your arms over your chest.

Joshua looks at the long haired boy. "Really? You can't tell her that." Jeonghan sighs in annoyance. "I wouldn't have to if you didn't send me over there in the first place." Your fists tighten in anger. Who were they to tell you what you could and couldn't do?

"If you all just mind your fucking business." normally you wouldn't have cursed at people you only met a few times before, but the alcohol in your body manifested in many different ways. "Maybe if you didn't whore around with your brother in the same room we would've." Jeonghan spits back at you.

Joshua curses under his breath when he remembers the time. "Shit, I have to get Minghao's present before its midnight," he sighs before nearing his index finger between you and Jeonghan. "Don't leave this room till you two are done. Fight, or make up, I really don't care."

With that he leaves the two of you alone in your room. You uncross your arms, dropping them down next to your tense body. You can feel Jeonghan's eyes on you, but you purposely ignore his gaze.

There's a few seconds of silence between the two of you before you decide Joshua should be long gone, and you turn to grab the door knob to get away from the prick as soon as possible.

The door only opens a few inches before it gets pushed back into the doorframe with a loud bang. You do a 180 turn, ready to verbally assault the boy who's hand you see are now next to your head, resting against the door. He puts his other hand on the other side of you when you try to move away from you. He has you trapped between him and the surface. There's only a small distance between your bodies now, and your eyebrows inch closer while you give him your nastiest glare.

"You heard Joshua. No leaving till we're done fighting or make up," he nears his face closer to yours, a cocky smile on his face before he whispers. "So which one will it be?"

"Fuck you." your lip quivers in anger, ready to push against his chest roughly. When your hands push off against his defined chest he catches your wrists in his grip, easily getting closer again while pinning them to your side against the wall.

A painful hiss leaves your lips, closing your eyes for a short second as he tightens his grip. "Oh you would rather fuck me?" you hear a laugh follow, and your eyes open to meet an amused look on his face. "You could've just asked me instead of putting on this fake little act of hating me."

You pull your arms, but he's stronger than you. "Act?" you can't help but chuff. There's no way in hell he can be serious.

"Oh come on y/n, don't act like you aren't practically foaming at the mouth every time you see mee." you notice the row of white teeth as he smiles cockily, those damn dark hairs falling perfectly into his eyes.

You pull your arms again, and he finally lets go of you, but his body doesn't move back. "And what's your excuse, huh?" you're the one moving closer to him now, standing on your toes as to assert some kind of dominance over him. He's still way taller than you.

Jeonghan chuckles. "I have none." he peers down at you, his expression almost curious, patiently waiting what you'll say next.

You frown, slowly sinking down onto both feet again. You look away, and don't say anything after that. The wheels in your head spin vigorously, what is he implying?

Then, he catches you off guard by tugging your jaw carefully between his thumb and index finger, and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. He lifts your head a little so you're looking back at him again. You can tell something has shifted between the both of you, the energy between you two feeling a different kind of heavy than before.

Jeonghan hums approvingly when you don't fight him, slowly moving his hand from your jaw down to to your throat. He wraps his pale fingers around your hot skin, pushing you back against the door with his hand.

"Cat’s got your tongue?" Jeonghan whispers, a glint of amusement behind his hooded eyes. He then presses his soft lips against your jaw, a smirk tugging on his lips while he preps small kisses on the skin.

He notices how shallow your breathing has become, warmth pooling in his chest at the result of his own actions. A gasp leaves your lips when he pushes his fingers into the sides of your throat, not leaving you much room to move anymore.

"Jeonghan..." you growl, closing your eyes. The slight pressure on your jugular leaves you feeling lightheaded in the best way possible. Your hands find the fabric of his shirt, fisting it between your fingers, and softly pulling to try and get his body against yours. "So impatient..." he mumbles against your skin, nibbling right below your jaw. "Want oppa to touch you, hm? Tell oppa how much you've been wanting him to touch your whore body." Your face goes red in embarrassment, his words flying straight to your lonely core.

"Please..." you whisper, opening your eyes to see how he has you pinned agains the door. Jeonghan hums. "You can do better that that, no?" he chuckles, resting his lips against your burning skin as to wait for you to plead again.

You grab the wrist he's using to choke you, moaning softly at the intoxicating feeling. "Hurry." you tell him, curious on what he'll do next. A part of you hopes he gives you what you want, to choke you out in your bedroom with the threat of other people being able to hear you on your mind.

Jeonghan does what you expect him to do, tightening his grip on you while moving his lips from your skin to look at you, your eyes filling up with tears from the pleasurable pain.

You moan again, your mouth agape with a content smile on your lips. Jeonghan bites his lip. "Fuck, you're enjoying this aren't you?" he laughs, sounding like straight music for your ears.

You hear the lock of your door clicking before he removes his hand from your throat. "Fine by me." he replaces his hand with his hungry lips, kissing and sucking at your neck. One of his hands snakes under your skirt, and you flinch when he presses a finger against your panties, pressing up against your slit.

“Were your panties this soaked the whole time?" he laughs before gnawing your skin, sucking deep-red colored love bites into the surface. His finger moves teasingly up and down, the touch way too soft for your liking. "Jeonghan..." you plead again, bucking your hips against his finger to find some kind of relief. The older boy hisses in annoyance, his free hand pushing your hip back to keep you from moving.

"Tell me." he says, and you bite your lip in frustration when his finger leaves you entirely. "Oppa..." you pout, your breathing heavy. Jeonghan kisses down to your collar bone. "Please oppa..." your cheeks are red, but you don't know if it's from embarrassment or need.

"What baby?" his finger finds your wet panties again, pressing the digit against your throbbing clit. You moan at the contact, throwing your head back at the small touch. Jeonghan laughs at you. "Please touch me." you say, your body burning up from the teasing.

Jeonghan hums. "I am touching you." he smiles, his face moving up to meet yours again. You see the cocky expression on his face, amusement written all over him.

You whine with need and he chuckles before pressing a lingering kiss on your lips, looking at your face through his long eyelashes. "Want you- aah!" you gasp when he presses his finger harder against your clit. "T-to fuck me," you exhale a shaky breath. "Please." you look at him, your eyes watery and filled with lust.

Jeonghan hums again. "That wasn't to hard now was it?" he chuckles. He moves your panties to the side to sink two fingers deep into your desperate hole. "Fuck..." you moan, your head dropping down against his shoulder.

He moves his fingers at a steady pace, loving the way his fingers force your tight walls open. He can't help wondering how it would feel to have his cock there instead, contracting around his size uncomfortably.

You shudder when his thumb finds his way back on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves and crushing his fingers even more.

Jeonghan kisses you again, his tongue darting against yours desperately. You whimper against his lips. He's a damn good kisser, your mouths molding like they have always belonged together. You feel his bulge press into you, eagerly waiting.

He pushes another digit inside easily, your slick already finding its way dripping down his skillful fingers. "Such a needy pussy, baby," he groans, his plump lips pushing against your harshly. "Sucking my fingers in so deep, hm? So scared I'll leave you empty and desperate aren't you?" he chuckles, pumping his fingers into you at a set pace. You nod, your hands moving up to hold his neck for support.

You feel like you're not in control of your body anymore, bucking your hips into his touch shamelessly to try to feel him deeper.

"Please fuck me- hmph!" all air leaves your lungs when he curls his fingers inside of you, and one of your hands grab onto his hair tightly. "Need you to fuck me now." you breathe.

Jeonghan chuckles and presses his finger against your clit one last time, earning him a whine, before pulling out of you. You whine at the loss of his fingers, but aren't able to give it another thought as Jeonghan drags you to your bed, pushing you down on your back hastily.

When you watch stripping you of your clothes, you can’t help suppressing the grin wanting to sneak up on your face. You think about how the same boy who couldn’t stand to look or talk to you is now stripping you down like you were the only thing that could satisfy the growing fire in his chest. His lingering fingers feel hot on your skin, tracing your lines and watching the curve of your breasts as he leaves you in nothing but your underwear.

He swiftly removes his shirt, throwing it to the side. You can’t help admiring each other like this, almost completely exposed to each other. His body is slender but toned, with a trail of dark hairs peeking right above his jeans. “You’re so hot.” Jeonghan bites his darkened lips, putting both hands on your legs while standing in front of you. His touch is warm and intoxicating. He pushes your legs open a little, humming when seeing your wet panties again.

“Could use this pussy the whole night if I wanted to and you would let me, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, and you gasp when he slaps your cunt harshly. “Where did that mouthy girl I know go, huh?” he grins at you, crawling on top of your body and trapping you under his weight.

You moan in bliss when he starts grinding his crotch into yours, the rough fabric of his jeans dragging against your skin. His hands cup your face, looking at you as he makes you wither in pleasure. He leaves a wet kiss on your cheek before crashing his lips into yours again, grinding slowly while he takes his time devouring you. Your hands find themselves on the small of his back, feeling how his skin burns under your touch.

Jeonghan groans against your lips when you push your hips up against his, crossing your legs around his body to get him closer. You start grinding against him, needing some kind of relief sooner or later. Jeonghan pushes his face in the crook of your neck, moaning into your skin softly.

“T-take off your jeans.” you stammer, uncrossing your legs from him and closing your eyes for a second to regain composure. You feel him smiling against you. “You can wait, whore.” he leaves wet kisses in your neck, and you bite your lip at the sensitivity. “Fuck you.” you mumble, breathing faster when he presses into you harder.

“Bet I can make you cum just by grinding into you like this.” Jeonghan mumbles, slowing down his movement. You sigh, closing your eyes. “I bet you can’t.” you tell him, crossing your legs around him again, knowing he’ll try anyways. “Hm? Why?” he looks down at you. You don’t answer, pressing your body against him harder.

Jeonghan chuckles. “Your little fingers can’t make you cum?” he grabs your wrists in his grip, pinning them back against the bed while he gives you another knowing look. You feel your cheeks turning a few shades darker, avoiding eye contact with him. You groan when he moves against you at a faster pace, his jeans pressing against your core, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“Need oppa to make you cum, don’t you?” he looks at how you squirm under him, body moving against his with need. He finally goes faster, biting his lip at the friction. “You think Wonwoo would be able to handle this needy pussy of yours?” he groans out, tightening his grip on your wrists. You moan in pleasure, pressing your head back into the pillow. “Don’t think so… n-need oppa to take care of you, hm? Fuck…”

“Jeonghan…” you moan again, bucking your hips into his desperately while he moves against you.

You feel yourself coming closer to your orgasm, the feeling in your stomach growing by the second. You’re overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re receiving, usually not able to orgasm when you’re by yourself. It’s almost painful, and you can’t help the moans spilling past your lips when Jeonghan moves even harder, pressing against your core harshly.

“That’s it baby, almost there…” he nibbles the skin under your ear. “Wait for me.” he tells you, squeezing his eyes shut. But you can’t hold back, moaning loudly when coming undone under Jeonghan. Your hips spasm, overwhelmed by pleasure as you ride out your high.

Jeonghan clicks his tongue in annoyance, letting go of you completely as he looks down at your tired body. “Now what did I tell you?” he sighs. Your wrist sting from his touch, your chest heaving up and down.

He undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper muffled by the loud music playing outside. He steps out of his jeans, and you see the big bulge hiding inside of his boxers. There’s a wet spot on the fabric.

Jeonghan pulls you to the edge of the bed by your thighs, kneading the skin softly before finally getting rid of his final piece of clothing. His cock springs free, hard and angry, the tip already wet with pre-cum.

“So selfish, never fucking listening to me.” He pulls your panties down, exposing your sticky hole to him. He discards them on the floor and props your feet on the bed, your knees up for him.

He crawls back on top of you, his thighs pressing into yours, pushing your legs closer to your body. His hands hold himself up on the bed, looking down at you with a grin on his face. You feel the side of his dick against your core, and see how long and girthy it looks through the gap between your bodies.

You bite your lip, already feeling yourself clenching at the though of having him inside of you. It’s been a while since your last time, and you’re unsure if you could even take his length inside of you. He’s bigger than the other guys you’ve had, and it scared you a little.

Jeonghan uses one of his hands to grab his cock, aligning it with your sensitive pussy. “You ready?” he asks you, looking at you. You nod at him, earning a chuckle from him.

He pushes the tip in slowly, inhaling a sharp breath. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, the nice stretch already having you hungry for more.

He goes a little deeper, and your hand grips his arm tightly. “Jeonhan…” you groan, expecting him to wait for you to adjust to his size. Instead, he ignores your subtle plead, pushing in deeply till he bottoms out.

“That’s it baby… take it all like a good girl..” he groans, pushing his other hand back into the mattress. You moan when your pussy contracts around him as a plea for help, trying to get used to him. You make eye contact when he stills for a moment, finally allowing you to catch your breath before he plunges into you like a madman.

When he finally does so, you moan loudly, squeezing your hand tighter around his arm. Jeonghan fucks you quickly, chasing his release.

You both moan, and he lowers onto his elbows to get closer to you. You feel his lips pecking your cheek sweetly, while his cock shows you no mercy, only seeming to speed up thrusting into you.

“‘Rpussy’s soo tight..” he slurs, groaning lowly. His cock splits you open so nicely, and you’re even able to feel the veins of his dick dragging against your tight walls.

He snakes one arm below your waist, holding your hip tightly while his other hand grabs the back out your neck. His feet press into the floor, and he fucks into you even deeper after the slight change in angle. “Fuck!” you curse, feeling tears build up in your eyes. He moves his hand to fist your hair, holding onto it tightly while moving his hips into yours deeply.

“y/n?” you hear a knock on the door, eyes widening when you recognize the deep voice immediately. “J-jeong-“ you whisper, pushing your hand against your mouth to keep you from making any sounds.

Jeonghan grunts, moving his hand from your hair to pin your hand to your side. You swallow a moan when you hear the doorknob ratte, Wonwoo trying to enter after not getting a reply. He knocks again when it doesn’t open.

You quickly press your other hand back against your agape mouth, giving Jeonghan a glare. He glares back at you, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. The hand around your waist leaves, roughly pulling it away from you again. he grabs both your wrists in one of them, pinning them above your head tightly. His free hand goes down your body, pressing against your clit tauntingly.

“Y/n-“

“F-fuck!” you moan loudly, groaning after. You’re sure Wonwoo heard, because after your loud moaning you hear nothing anymore. Jeonghan chuckles, moving two fingers against your clit. “F-fuck you…” you moan, moving your body against him desperately. Jeonghan hums, biting his lip to keep himself from moaning at the feeling of your cunt trying to crush him with every thrust.

You feel another orgasm coming, and you’re sure he’s close too. “I-i’m almost…” you stutter, pushing your head back into your pillow. Jeonghan removes his fingers from you, letting go of your wrists while pulling out of you. You whine at him, the nearing orgasm washing away. Jeonghan’s chest rises quickly, looking at you for a second before flipping you over on your stomach. He pulls you by your hips, having you on all fours in front of him.

His body meets yours, and you fist your mattress when feeling him enter you again. Jeonghan moans loudly, gripping your hips and slowly thrusting inside of you.

The angle makes you cry out in pleasure, the tip of his cock slamming into the sweet spot you didn’t even know you had. You’re overwhelmed by pleasure, struggling to keep yourself up for much longer. Tears fall from your eyes before you weakly fall down into the mattress, your left cheek flat on the bed. Jeonghan puts his hand in your hair again, his face buried against your ear while pressing his body down into yours.

He picks up the pace, his thighs slamming against your raised ass quickly. More tears fall from your eyes, leaving you a moaning mess underneath him. “Jeong-h-han…” you stammer, squeezing your eyes shut. He grunts into your ear, his breaths loud. You’re so close, your pussy contracting out of your control.

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted?” he says, pushing your ass down so you’re laying flat on the bed. He grabs your throat with his free hand, his grip tight on your neck like before. “Gon-Gonna cum, baby. Gonna cum inside of your pussy, okay?” he breathes against your ear. You let out an inaudible sound before giving him a small noise of approval.

You push your ass up into him, the lack of air pushing you over the edge completely. You cry out one last time when you cum around his cock, groaning at the amazingly painful convulsion around him. “Fuck!” Jeonghan moans before you feel him twitch inside of you, filling you up with his cum. He rides out his high, his thrusts getting slower before he pulls out of you.

He lets go of you, letting himself fall down next to you. You close your eyes while trying to catch your breath.

You feel his hand stroke your back, his warm fingers leaving a trail on your skin. You groan softly and turn your body to meet his. He’s on his side watching you, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

You give him a small smile, shivering when you feel the autumn cold suddenly hitting you. Jeonghan gets up, putting the soft covers over your body and tucking you in tightly. You watch as he gets dressed, gliding his hand through the wet hair on his head.

He takes a hair tie out is his pocket, putting his hair in a low ponytail before sitting down on the edge of your bed and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You’re going?” you ask, earning a nod from the boy. “Yes, Minghao won’t let me live it down if I’m not there at twelve.” You chuckle, nodding softly.

Jeonghan gets up, looking back at you before opening the door. “Might want to lock it before Wonwoo finds you laying here with my cum inside of you.” he grins, giving you one last look before closing the door behind him.

Upon opening your precious diary your breath got stuck in your throat, a low gasp filling the near full room minutes before your class started. Needless to say you got a few looks, and the doe-eyed boy taking his seat across from you seemed more than thrilled for you to discover what he’s done; leaving goddamn feedback notes in your diary.

I met up with car guy again.. still a disappointment.

have some self respect!

Class was so boring today I want to drop out already!!

boo!!

And when I eat Seungcheol’s ass and finally transform into that wolf ripping it’s shirt >.< i need him so bad it’ll be my drug I can just feel it…

freak :/

Paired up with Joshua from class for a project…hes so my type except he’s too nice :|

oh u need help

There’s a feeling of embarrassment clouded by stark anger bubbling up inside of you, and you figure the most rational thing to do is to get up and leave the class before you snap.

When you get up you see Joshua’s gaze on you from the corner of your eye, and the low whisper of his voice directed to you only makes you more livid.

“Let me know when there’s an update.” you can see the row of white teeth when he obnoxiously grins, complimented by a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You ignore him and storm out of the room, not caring about the heads turning to watch your sudden leave.

While you're in no mood to catch up on your studies you still force yourself to sit in the study hall the entire night. You sigh deeply when you realize you're still procrastinating, laying your head down on the table on top of your papers.

There's no one in the study hall at this hour, the outside completely dark except for the few lights outside campus.

"You really are a lost cause."

The voice makes you jump, straightening back up to see Joshua leaning next to you against the wooden table. Of course it's him. "Here to vandalize my personal belongings again?" you remark dryly, narrowing your eyes at him. Annoyance bubbles up within you as you meet his gaze, recalling the past encounter tainted by his penchant for mischief.

"You already wrote something new in your sex diary?" he quips, his tone laced with amusement.

You feel heat rushing to your face. "It's a normal diary." you protest, pushing your back into the backrest of the chair.

Joshua's laughter echos through the empty hall, further stoking your irritation "You only write about sex, freak."

"I don't!" you defend yourself. You stand up from your seat and hastily try to collect your belongings.

"It's just- you're always writing in that damn diary... I was just curious," Joshua watches you, entertained by how quickly you want to run away from you. He’ll make sure you’re not getting away that fast.

Your hands drop the book you're trying to stuff in your backpack, snapping your head to Joshua.

"You took it?" your eyes widen, that familiar feeling of anger starting to appear again.

All this time you've been feeling like an idiot losing your precious diary, damning yourself for something that just didn't make sense in your head. Your apprehensiveness seemed to have been right, not making sense of how you could even have let that happen.

Joshua fights his smile from widening, eyeing you carefully. Unfazed by your reaction, he steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "Borrowed, not stole," he corrects, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

Caught off guard by his confession, you struggle to comprehend his motives, a sense of vulnerability creeping into your thoughts. Maybe it was sheer ignorance, assuming he's some kind of angel when you barely knew the guy. But why would he do something like this?

"I did plan on just giving it back, you know," he gets closer to you, scanning you for a second. "But then I saw what you wrote about me," he clicks his tongue, getting even closer now. "The only reason I even read it was because you're so interesting."

Joshua catches you off guard by grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him quickly. "I wanted to see if you wrote about me, and you did." he has a wicked smile on his lips, not taking his eyes off you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, his words making your head spin.

He presses the pads of his fingers into your skin. "Think I'm too much of a nice guy, huh? Once I'm done with you you'll wish I was."

Before you can respond he drags your face closer to his, meeting your lips in a heated kiss that you gladly partake in. Joshua starts sucking on your bottom lip, his tongue teasing yours after you gasp on his mouth.

His hands find your ass, squeezing you through your jeans.

You suddenly remembering where you two are, breathlessly pulling away and panting a little as you scan the hall anxiously.

"Are you scared we'll get caught?" Joshua taunts you, peppering his lips onto the skin of your neck. You shake your head, forcefully lifting his chin to catch his lips in a kiss again.

"Liar." he mumbles against your mouth, turning you so he can lift you on the side of the table.

His fingers quickly open the clasp of your jeans, and you sigh in bliss when he shoves his hand down your panties, immediately finding your clit.

You can feel him smirk into the kiss when he finds out how wet you are, the digit slowly circling your sensitive nub. He pulls at your hair with his other hand, angling your head to give him better access to you.

Two fingers enter your hole, making you moan out loud, the sound muffled by Joshua's lips.

He pulls out quickly, breaking the kiss to replace it with his wet fingers. You make eye contact with him while you suck down on his digits, watching how it makes him suck in a breath.

Joshua pushes his two fingers right back in your pussy, teasing them at a slow speed while he only looks at you, the grip on your hair tightening.

"More..." you whisper, making Joshua roll his eyes. He complies by speeding up his movement, bending his fingers and scissoring your pussy open.

Joshua lets go of your hair and places it on your ass instead, pulling you even closer to him. You lock your legs around his waist, your hands finding his pecs while you begin kissing his neck, the smell of his woodsy cologne driving you crazy.

You can't help rocking your hips into his touch, your breath shallow as a result of his skillful fingers. You moan loudly when his thumb presses into your clit again, your mouth opening with no sound leaving when he follows up by sliding a third finger inside of you.

"Tell me what you need, angel." Joshua whispers, his voice husky.

You're entranced under his touch, not able to utter a word while he continues thrusting inside of your needy cunt. Your lack of answer makes Joshua halt his movement, stern eyes boring into your hazy ones.

"Fucking pervert is so turned on she can't even speak?" he cocks up his eyebrows. "Tell me quickly before I leave you here by yourself." he makes you shudder by pushing his thumb into your clit, a curse slipping past your lips.

"Want you Shua, want you now."

Your eagerness makes him chuckle, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. "'Course You do. Will take any cock you can get, won't you?" he delivers a harsh slap against your thigh, and the blow makes you groan.

"Only want yours." you bite your lips watching him push down his pants, revealing the bulge in his underwear. He laughs at your words. "Don't lie to me, slut." he pulls down his boxers before manhandling your jeans down your legs, not even bothering to take off your panties when he moves the material to the side and pushes his thick cock head against your wet hole. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of his pretty dick, so thrilled you're about to have him inside of you. You impatiently tighten your legs around him, resulting into his tip barely pressing inside you. Joshua groans at the friction, grabbing your lovehandles and slowly pushing his dick all the way inside of you.

A staggered breath leaves your mouth, enjoying the feeling of having his thick cock seated deep inside of you. With the grip he has on you he withdraws until his head almost falls out, but before it can he thrusts all the way back in forcefully. Your hand hooks around his neck for support, the other one gripping the edge of the table tightly to settle yourself.

Soft whimpers fill the air as Joshua starts moving inside of you at a quick pace, his jaw slack while he looks at you intimidatingly. The chance of someone walking in and seeing the two of you fucking on one of the tables is very possible, yet the fear subsides with every nasty snap of Joshua’s hips.

You moan his name when he surprises you by rubbing your clit all of a sudden. You pull him closer by his neck and give his plump lips a few kisses, the kiss immediately deepening when Joshua instigates something more by tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. You whimper at the action, wanting to get back at him by meeting his thrusts.

Joshua digs his fingers into your skin, rutting against you even quicker now. You feel the veins of his dick molding into your walls with every harsh thrust, the girth burning you in a way that almost makes you cum.

It doesn’t help when Joshua rubs your throbbing clit so well, that familiar feeling in your stomach building up more and more.

“G’na cum for me, darling? Cum around my cock?” Joshua presses his forehead against yours, looking at you losing yourself. “Y-yeah,” you nod, your fingers grabbing a hold of the hairs in his neck. Joshua hums, grabbing your ass with one hand and pulling you as close to him as possible when he fucks into you with shallow thrusts. You moan out loud, feeling your velvet walls cramp down around him when you cum.

Joshua pushes you flat down on the table, bending your knees into your chest and going right back to fucking you quick and hard.

“Fuck!” you moan, fingers trying to reach for anything to grab a hold of while Joshua keeps fucks your sensitive pussy. “Gimme more, pervert. Know that whore body can take it.”

The way he pushes your legs into your body makes his cock slide in even deeper, his hypogastric region stimulating your clit with every deep thrust.

“J-Joshua,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut.

Joshua leans into you, body pressing into yours with his elbows supporting his weight next to your face. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly again, mouth agape while you take every thrust he gives you.

Incoherent sounds leave your lips, feeling yourself reaching your high again.

“Yeh, I know. You’re doing soo well, darling.” Joshua remarks sweetly, biting his bottom lip once he feels how close he’s too. “‘M gonna fill you up now, hm?” his thrusts become sloppier by the second, and his loud moan with the feeling of his warm cum spilling inside of you triggers your own orgasm.

Your moans fill the empty study hall, and it’s a miracle no one’s walked in on you yet.

Joshua stands back up on both feet, carefully pulling his cock out of you. He massages your thighs, a devilish grin appearing on his face.

He turns you on your stomach quickly, making you gasp. “Josh-hmpf!” you mewl when he pins your arms behind your back before pushing his hardening cock right back inside of you again, his fingers gripping your ass while he starts moving at a fast pace again. “J-Joshua!” you cry out, pushing your cheek into the hard material of the table.

“‘S-‘S too much,” tears roll down your cheeks, loud whimpers leaving your mouth every time Joshua fucks into your overstimulated cunt.

“Yeah? Too fucking bad.” Joshua growls, smacking your ass. You can’t stop moaning and whining for him, your body twitching uncontrollably. You push your ass back to meet his movement desperately, crying as you try to find your release for a third time.

It doesn’t take much for you to cum, and when you do it feels even more intense than the two you had before. Your body shudders, your cunt uncontrollably clenching around Joshua’s cock. “P-Please-“ you breathe, groaning loudly when Joshua just keeps thrusting.

“Please what? I’m not done yet, am I?” Joshua slaps your ass again, his legs dragging against the sensitive skin every time he thrusts.

After a few more thrusts Joshua blows his second load deep inside of you, finally slowing his movement until he stills entirely. When he lets go of your wrists you tiredly slouch against the table, still feeling the effects of the overstimulation.

You hear Joshua chuckle behind you, his hand gently stroking your back.

Despite fucking you like a devil he takes his time getting you dressed, softly praising you while he helps you sit back down slowly. Joshua strokes your cheek, giving your forehead a kiss when you’re both dressed again.

“Maybe you’re right, I am too nice.” Joshua grins, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.

But you know the truth now, and Joshua, is anything but nice.

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It almost has an affectionate edge to it, so you assume they won and move onto the next.

You turn to the man perched on one of the tables in the room. Everyone in Ketterdam knows him as Hoshi, the sharpshooter with a grin that makes trouble feel like a game, Jeonghan's right-hand man, the spider, at times. But you are one of the very few to know the name given to him by his father—Soonyoung. And you might just be the only one who calls him that.

Soonyoung sits a bit restlessly, curling into himself, his clothes dark with dirt and maybe blood, judging by the way the sleeve of his shirt sticks near his shoulder. His knuckles are already raw, but he taps them idly against the wood, a restless rhythm that somehow makes him look smaller and wilder all at once.

When he meets your eyes, his grin flares up, all crooked charm and a spark of mischief that makes your chest twist for no good reason. “You can fuss over everyone else first,” he says lightly. “Go on. I’ll wait.”

You throw him an exasperated glance, because by all logic he should be the first one patched up—he has the most damage, and yet there he sits, stubborn as ever, chest rising and falling with that ridiculous grin. But once he makes up his mind, he won’t budge. You huff softly, shaking your head, and turn back to Chan and Junhui, muttering under your breath, “Unbelievable,” as you kneel beside them.

Chan groans as you rub a tincture gently against a cut near his eyebrow, wincing at your touch. "The Dime Lions almost got us good. Would've been worse if Hoshi and Jeonghan hadn't arrived in time."

You hum softly, twisting a cloth to dab at the blood. "Jeonghan looked perfectly fine, though."

"When does he not?" Junhui sighs from beside you.

You move between them, rubbing, tying, swabbing, humming low to yourself to keep the rhythm steady. Junhui mutters complaints with every touch; Chan flinches, winces, but eventually leans into your hands, grumbling soft thanks. You work quickly but deliberately, taking care to keep the bandages snug, the tinctures applied evenly, and the smaller cuts cleaned so they don’t get infected.

By the time you’ve finished with the last of the others, Soonyoung rises carefully. He doesn't show his pain—he's far too egoistical to do so—but there's a stiffness to his movements that doesn't usually belong to him, a subtle reminder of the fight outside.

You expect him to stay put, but instead, he almost silently walks over to the staircase before looking at you from over his shoulder.

The others don’t bat an eye; this is routine. Hoshi has a way of slipping through rooms and hallways like he belongs everywhere at once, so him asking to go up to yours isn't too surprising.

You shake your head slowly before dragging your feet towards him. He begins to climb slowly, and your brows furrow when you hear him grunt at the slightly taller steps on the second floor.

"You know," you murmur once you reach your room in one of the corners of the third floor, opposite to Jeonghan's office, "you could have just stayed downstairs and saved yourself the trouble of walking all the way up here."

Soonyoung smirks, leaning against the wall beside your door, his unhurt shoulder brushing the frame. “And miss being privately fussed over? Not a chance. Besides,” he adds, voice dropping once he realizes Jeonghan might hear him through the thin walls of the Slat, "I like the view from up here.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him into the small, cramped room, the shadows stretching across the worn floorboards. “The view?” you repeat, though your pulse quickens at the way he tilts his head, grin still crooked, and watches you move.

He slips in behind you, silent and fluid, as if the room itself has swallowed him whole. “Yes. I didn't understand why Jeonghan would give away the room with the best view to you, but you're a pretty, pretty girl. So I get it now."

You freeze a fraction, caught between annoyance and that fluttering twist in your chest. "Shut up, Soonyoung. And take your shirt off."

He laughs, a bright, loud sound that immediately forces the irritated scowl on your lips into an involuntary smile. "Only for you, darling."

You glance away, cheeks warming despite yourself, and pretend to look for a needle and thread, or bandages, or—whatever the hell you need to patch him up right now. Your face feels a bit hot, and you doubt that you are falling sick.

You huff, rolling your eyes again, but your hands reach for the hem of his shirt anyway. He obliges with a theatrical flourish, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the small chair in the corner. His shoulder is bruised, a shallow graze where the bullet glanced off him, but nothing too deep. You notice the tattoo that arcs across his upper chest—the Dregs’ emblem, a sleek crow perched atop and drinking from a cup, ink dark and sharp against his skin.

“Hold still,” you murmur, kneeling beside him. Soonyoung's skin is warm beneath your palm, and it takes all of your self control to stop your hands from running all over him.

He hums low, the sound vibrating in his chest and brushing against you like a tease. “Careful, healer. I might start enjoying this.”

"Don't you dare," you warn, an edge of worry in your voice. "You are my most frequented member and I would rather not see your face for longer intervals of time."

It's a lie. Okay, maybe a half-lie. You think you would rather lose all your money at the Emerald Palace and then be pushed into the West Stave than not be graced by his sharp, tiger-like eyes and soft-looking lips. But you would also appreciate it if he stopped showing up in front of you all beaten and broken, for once.

Soonyoung grins wordlessly, but the way he tilts his head and watches your hands move makes it clear he’s enjoying the attention.

"It’s not funny,” you say, voice clipped, “I'm concerned. And don’t get any ideas.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning slightly closer so his breath brushes your ear. “Concern, eh? Sounds dangerously like caring.”

You push him away reluctantly, and he smiles like he saw that one coming.

"You want to be my plus-one to the Crow Club tonight, darling?" He drawls out when you let him get up, sauntering over to his discarded shirt.

"Oh, for Saint's sake, go get a new shirt!" You complain as you put your things back into their places. "And Soonyoung, don't make me lock you in here. Will you stay back for once and have a quiet night?"

"Where's the fun in that?" He retorts, turning to the window in your room as he puts his shirt back on. You try not to stare as the muscles on his back ripple with the movement. "I don’t want to go into my room right now.”

“You could ask Jeonghan for a shirt, then,” you suggest, tugging a clean towel from the small stack.

He shakes his head, dramatically. “I’d rather be shot in the heart ten times."

You groan, flopping onto the edge of your bed, hands on your face. “Unbelievable. You are so reckless, Soonyoung. Honestly, your gambling tendencies alone are going to get you killed one day.”

He laughs lowly, and leans down, brushing a light kiss against your cheek. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost intimate.

And before you can even register it, he's out of the door with a skip in his step, whistling to a random tune.

“Try not to worry too much, healer. I always come back.”

You roll your eyes again and pray to god that you don't have to patch him up soon.

Obviously, Ketterdam is not a place where prayers are heard.

When Soonyoung shows up at your door again three nights later, you think back on the time when he first found out you were half-Grisha. A half-healer.

He had come to you with a split lip and blood drying across his chin like he had walked through an alley with his face instead of shoes.

“You want me to believe the stones fought back?” you had muttered, pulling the door shut behind him before anyone else could see.

“They’re jealous,” he had answered, grinning even though it split the cut wider. “You should’ve seen the way I landed. Poetry in motion.”

You had sighed, dragged him by the wrist to sit, and pressed two fingers against his jaw. The pulse of your power had risen sharp and quick, the familiar sting up your arms. His breath had hitched when the warmth spread across his mouth, skin stitching itself back together in seconds.

“Next time, keep the poetry to yourself,” you had told him, pulling back.

“Darling,” he had said, leaning in just enough that you had felt the brush of his shoulder, “you’d miss me if I didn’t show up looking tragic.”

The following night, it had been his hand—knuckles already purple and swollen.

“I told you to stop punching tables when you lose.”

“I wasn’t losing,” he had replied, settling onto the chair like it was his throne. “Just expressing myself. It was a very tense round.”

“Tense,” you had echoed, rolling your eyes. You could feel the faint thrum of his cells beneath your palm, the ache folding in on itself until the bruise melted away. You had been careful to keep your touch brisk, professional. He had still watched like you had just pulled a miracle from thin air. "Tell Jeonghan to stop giving you money to gamble away in the Crow Club."

"It's what brings the others in." He had reasoned. “You’ve got to look like you’re enjoying it.”

“You can act,” you had suggested. “You don’t have to actually gamble. That’s what Minghao does.”

Soonyoung shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

By the end of the week, he had leaned in your doorway with a thin scratch running along his cheekbone.

“That one’s real,” he had insisted before you could speak. “Someone didn’t like the way I smiled.”

“Someone finally had sense,” you muttered, tugging him closer by the chin. He hadn’t flinched when your thumb grazed the scrape, hadn’t moved except to tip his head obediently. The mark had faded. His smile hadn’t.

And then it had become routine.

Soonyoung had appeared every other night with something new—excuses as wild as the bruises themselves. “Fell off a chair.” “Tripped chasing one of the Black Tips.” “The dock was so slippery that I hit my head against a lamppost before falling into the water.” Each one had been delivered with that crooked smile, each one daring you to call him out.

You hadn’t. Because beneath the absurdity had lain the truth: he just kept coming back.

And you kept letting him.

Sometimes you had shaken from the effort, hands trembling as you knit bone or drew the ache out of his muscles. Sometimes your vision had blurred, dark spots sparking at the edge, but you had pressed on because where else were you supposed to practice? If not here, then where else in Ketterdam, where being even half-Grisha was the quickest way to end up drowned in the harbour or sold to a brothel.

Soonyoung had never said a word about it. He had just sat still—which for him might as well have meant reverent—and let you work.

One night, he had pushed through the door holding his ribs, his shirt soaked dark and his eyes downcast. This time, there had been no flippant excuse. No shining teeth.

You had almost faltered when you saw how deep it was. Could you fix this with your weak powers?

“Soonyoung,” you had whispered, already pulling him down to the floor.

“Don’t look like that.” His voice had been thin but steady. “It’s nothing I can’t walk off.”

“You’d bleed out in the street if you tried.”

Your hands had pressed flat against his side. Power had burned up your arms, sharper than it had ever been. The wound had resisted, fighting against the pull, and you had bitten down on the inside of your cheek until the copper taste filled your mouth. Soonyoung’s jaw had tensed, but he hadn’t moved. Not even when you had swayed forward, breath shallow.

The skin had knit slower than usual, your strength bleeding with it. By the time the wound had closed, you had been trembling, head spinning.

“Hey.” His hand had come up, brushing your cheek with his thumb. His palm had been warm, grounding. “You’re getting stronger.”

You had almost laughed at the irony—you had felt like you’d been broken in half—but the way he had said it, quiet and proud, had lodged somewhere deep.

You had pulled back, pretended you hadn’t heard it, shoved the bloodied cloth into his hand. “Get a new shirt before Jeonghan sees you. Or better—don’t let Jeonghan see you at all.”

Soonyoung’s smile had come back, slower this time, softer around the edges.

Today, Soonyoung walks in looking almost unharmed.

"Saints, save me," you mutter under your breath before rising to meet him at the door, "what is it today?"

He shoots a slightly offended look at you. "Ouch, what a way to greet a lonely man."

His palms slip into the pockets of his trousers when he leans against your door, pulling out the small stack of cards that he keeps on him at all times. He begins to lazily shuffle them before looking back up at you.

"Wanna grab waffles? Or maybe even hutspot? Aren't you hungry?"

Your jaw slackens. He's been away the entire day. How did he know you were up here for most of it? But you nod quietly and follow him out.

Jeonghan walks out of his office at the same time, closing the door shut behind him. He glances at the two of you with a bored look.

“Hoshi,” he says, voice rasping like stone against stone, “don’t forget you’re meant to handle the docking issue before sundown.” His eyes flick to you, sharp as a blade, like he knows exactly where this is going.

“Mm,” Soonyoung hums, already snapping his deck of cards into a fan and bowing in mock politeness. “Sure thing, boss.”

But he turns to you, eyes glinting with mischief and jerks his chin at the stairwell. When Jeonghan walks up to you guys near the stairs, cane striking the floorboards with that familiar thud, Soonyoung reaches out to pat his shoulder, albeit a bit hesitantly.

"First down buys all of us breakfast on Sunday!" He states before grabbing your hand and pulling you down the stairs.

You barely register the annoyed grumble that Jeonghan lets out over the laughter bubbling in your own throat. "That was mean."

"Well, he's mean too."

"The errand—"

“Errand later,” he insists, feet thudding against the steps as the two of you tumble down together, skipping two at a time. Your laughter escapes before you can stop it, half disbelief, half thrill, and by the time you glance back, Jeonghan is still at the top landing, cane planted, watching with that cool, narrowed stare.

He’ll make Soonyoung pay for this later, no doubt. But for now, you let yourself get dragged out into the street, the sound of Soonyoung’s laughter mixing with your own, leaving the man upstairs to limp his way down alone.

The Crow Club isn’t meant to be quiet, not ever, but tonight the noise is different.

It isn’t the sound of desperate men calling out bets or coins clattering against green felt, but laughter, the sharp ring of glasses meeting in toasts, the swell of voices that don’t have to pretend they aren’t having fun. Somehow, Jeonghan has allowed it—though “allowed” might be a generous word. He’s seated in the farthest booth, cane propped against the table, expression cut from glass. Every so often, someone catches the glint of his eyes and lowers their voice like they’ve been caught stealing. But the rest of the room ignores him easily.

You’re planted in the middle of it, right where Soonyoung wants you. His arm is thrown over your shoulders, his weight heavy against you in that way that’s almost suffocating but also strangely protective. He leans into you like you’re the only stable thing in the room, though the mirth bubbling out of him suggests otherwise.

His other hand works without pause, fingers pulling the stack of cards from his pocket, riffling them together, letting them snap sharp into the air. The sound of clean flips cuts through the noise now and then, like he’s brought out a bird from his pocket.

Chan is half-shouting something at him, something about how he’s lucky the last job didn’t get him killed, and Soonyoung only grins wider. He tilts his head back toward you like he’s asking if you heard that, if you’re also in on the joke of his survival. You don’t answer—your lips twitch, but you keep it to yourself.

“Do you ever put those cards down?” Seungkwan asks from across the table, raising his glass. He’s flushed from drink, his smile sharper than usual. “Or are they stitched to your fingers?”

Soonyoung pauses his shuffle, slides one card free, then holds it up between two fingers so the black and white back gleams in the low light. “These? They’re not just cards, sweetheart. They’re stories. You wouldn’t ask someone to put down their memories, would you?”

That earns him a chorus of groans and laughter, but Seungkwan only narrows his eyes. “Saints, you’re impossible. Give me one then. If they’re so full of meaning, what does mine say?”

The room turns. Heads tilt, attention shifts, because Soonyoung loves an audience and they all know it. His grin softens into something almost serious as he fans the deck wide, studying the spread like it holds the fate of everyone present. His fingers flick and he draws out a card, sliding it across the table until it lands in front of Seungkwan.

“The jack of spades,” he says with a flourish. “Because you talk too much, and somehow it always gets you into more trouble than your blade does.”

Seungkwan snorts, but he picks up the card anyway, tucking it into his vest pocket with mock reverence. “Not wrong,” he admits.

The game spreads quickly. Vernon demands one, then Minghao, then someone else. Each card that leaves his hand goes with a quick barb or observation that makes the recipient groan or laugh or stare at him a little too long like maybe he’s not joking at all.

And then, without warning, his arm tightens around you. The deck shifts in his palm until there’s only one card left between his fingers, and he turns it over with deliberate slowness, his lips splitting far too wide for anything good to come out of them.

“This one,” he says, holding the card just out of your reach. The queen of hearts glows deep red in the lamplight. He twirls it once, knuckles brushing your jaw in the motion, before sliding it down to your palm. "Fits you the best."

The table reacts exactly how he wants it to—half groans, half whistles, Seungkwan shouting “Jeez, have some shame!” while Chan bangs the table like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.

You roll your eyes, palms closing over the card once before flicking it back at him, but your face is warmer than you’d like. “You’re insufferable.”

His mouth opens in mock-offence, hand coming up to his heart as he dramatically falls back. "Darling?"

But your laughter breaks through, wide and unguarded, and when you shove him harder this time, he only resists and tips toward you like gravity itself prefers it.

Soon enough, the table goes back to its noise, the sweep of cards and coins and words filling the air again, and that’s when you notice it. Slowly and quietly, between the blur of glasses lifted and dice rolled, you see what no one else does.

Every card he’s handed out tonight—jack of spades, nine of diamonds, king of hearts—they’ve all had one thing in common. Not a single club among them. Not one black clover slipping across the table, not one tucked into someone’s pocket or waved like a joke.

The deck sits light in his hand again, like it always does, but suddenly it looks different. Lopsided. Intentional.

There are a few things to Soonyoung that one can only learn with time—the way he keeps tallies of lost bets, the way he counts the number of exits in a room before anything else, how he never drinks more than two glasses but can always act drunk enough. How sometimes, he gets so restless that his cards end up cutting tiny little slits that you heal with your mind, while wishing you could put your lips to them and fix it instead.

You suppose this is just one of them too. Time will tell.

West Stave is alive long before you even step into it.

Lanterns in red and green and sharp violet swing from the eaves of gambling dens, the light glancing off the slick cobblestones that never quite dry. Hawkers sing their wares in the pauses between laughter and curses; perfumed girls in silks lean out of balconies with painted mouths and painted smiles.

Masked figures playing the characters from the Komedie Brute adorn the crowds like always. You almost bump into a man—dressed like Master Crimson—who is in the middle of throwing fake kruge at the passerbys. 

You stay close to Soonyoung, though not because he’s asked you to. Here, more than anywhere, he moves differently. In the Barrel proper, his stride is always restless, impatient, as though he might climb a rooftop on a whim just to see how far he could look. But the Stave is a stage, and he puts on his best impression of an actor. His shoulders are loose, his smile easy, the kind of reckless shine that tells onlookers nothing except that he is comfortable where no one else should be.

And yet, you see it: the way his eyes flick to the edges of alleys, the way his hand drifts sometimes toward the gleam of his Zemeni-made revolver’s pearl handle at his hip. A gift from his father, and unlike the rest of him—loud, brash, always moving—those guns have weight. They remind everyone watching that Hoshi's easy-going nature is, most of the time, only ever an act.

People don’t linger once they recognize him. You catch the way eyes dart, then fall away.

It’s not him alone that earns the reputation, but also the name stitched into the Barrel these last years: the Dregs, the gang Jeonghan has carved into something larger than rumour. You feel the ripple of it every time someone’s gaze slides over you and then flicks, sharp and certain, to your arm, as though searching for ink you don’t bother showing.

Most of them know Hoshi's name, and for you that is enough. Your tattoo need not be seen, but the ink at your waist tingles at the thought anyway. You remember the sting of the needle, Soonyoung's hand steadying your waist while you forced yourself not to flinch. It has never felt more like both a shield and a target.

Soonyoung doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t have to. His hand hovers, close enough to brush your sleeve as he steers you through a group of drunken sailors. His laugh rings out like a coin tossed on a table, easy and reckless, but you can see the edge of his jaw tightening when someone lets their eyes linger too long.

“First stop,” he says lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts, "Jeonghan wants that apothecary two stores down paid in full. Two crates of…I can't even read this out loud, and three of camphor. Don’t ask what for—I don't know either."

“And after?” you ask, falling into step as he cuts a left toward a narrower street, one lit with dull amber lamps instead of the riotous colours of the main drag.

"He needs new gloves, apparently." Soonyoung sounds almost irritated as he mutters something under his breath that you don't catch, "….but can't buy his own things. And then we need to buy a few knives for some new recruit. She's apparently very good with them."

“New recruit?” you echo, not bothering to hide the scepticism in your voice.

Soonyoung shrugs, glancing over his shoulder as though to check if anyone is listening. “He likes his prodigies. Says she’ll balance the crew.” His mouth quirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "He's bought her out of the Menagerie."

"Ah," you duck around a woman balancing a tray of glass flutes. Soonyoung’s hand finds the curve of your elbow this time, guiding you back to his side before you can slip too far behind. "Is that why Tante Heleen kept staring at us when we passed?"

Soonyoung barks out a laugh, too loud, too sharp. It draws a glance or two, but no one lingers—not when it’s Hoshi, not when the air around him says don’t try it.

“She stares at everyone,” he says, though his grip on your elbow doesn’t loosen. “But yes. That’s why. Jeonghan’s been picking at her pockets for years. Rumours, debts, favours she thought would never come due—he’s taken them all. And she hates him for it.”

"Has he been planning something?" You ask quickly, eyes darting up to meet Soonyoung's.

His eyes catch the light like dark shards of glass, gleaming with something you’ve never quite been able to name. They are sharp, yes, always sharp—quick to narrow, quicker still to dart toward the nearest threat—but you know you don't imagine the way they seem to soften into weathered, smooth beads when he looks at you.

You never expected to fall for the sharpshooter—with the gambler’s grin and hands that move as quick as sleight-of-hand tricks, with the danger he wears as easily as his coat. But the heart is an arrow, silent until it strikes. And yours, it seems, has found its true aim, lodged squarely in the man walking at your side.

Soonyoung shakes his head, the corners of his lips settling into something a little more affectionate. "Nothing that I know of, darling."

The Slat’s roof isn’t comfortable. It digs into your palms and makes your thighs ache when you shift your weight, but the view makes you stay. From here, you can see the whole of the street below—the lanterns, the narrow canal that glimmers only when the wind ripples the surface, the curve of bridges bending like the backs of tired men. You hadn’t expected to find any peace in Ketterdam, but something about this place makes the city feel distant, almost soft.

Soonyoung doesn’t make a sound when he climbs. He never does. If you hadn’t looked up at the right second, you would’ve thought you were still alone. But there he is, hair wind-tossed, lips curled into something that’s equal parts surprise and delight.

“You beat me here,” he says, dropping into a crouch near the edge before sitting down cross-legged, as if balancing on thin roof tiles three stories up is the same as sitting in a chair. “Didn’t think you’d figure out the trick to this climb.”

You shrug, pretending the rapid beating of your heart is from the climb and not from the way his eyes shine, gathering the moonlight like pools of mercury in his orbs. “Someone has to keep you guessing.”

He tips his head, studying you for a beat longer than it feels fair. Then he grins. “Dangerous place to do it, don’t you think?” His hand brushes the tile between you, casual, steadying himself though you know he doesn’t need it. “If you slip, you’ll break your neck.”

“And you wouldn’t catch me?”

His mouth twitches. “Of course I would. But then you’d owe me your life, and I’d never let you forget it.”

The wind presses between you, sharp and cool. You should look back at the water, at the boats moving like shadows, but you don’t. You watch him. He notices, of course. He always notices.

"I wouldn't mind that, maybe."

His smile falters—just a fraction, just enough for you to notice. It’s not the usual armour he wears, all teeth and bravado. This one feels softer, startled, as if you’ve said something he doesn’t quite know how to joke away.

“Oh?” he says finally, voice pitched light, but the way his eyes search yours gives him away. “Wouldn’t mind being in my debt forever? Careful. That’s the sort of thing I’d hold you to.”

The city hums beneath you, muffled, as though the world has agreed to step aside for a moment. It leaves you with nothing but the scrape of clay under your palms and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

“You’re going to tell me something,” you say finally, because it’s easier to break the silence than drown in it.

Soonyoung leans back, palms braced against the roof, looking up at the thin strip of stars that manages to survive Ketterdam’s smoke. His laugh is low, resigned. “You always know.”

“Of course I do.”

He exhales slowly, and tilts his head until he’s looking at you again. And this time, he lets himself look bare, something you don’t think he lets anyone else see.

“Jeonghan has a job for me.”

Your stomach twists, though you’d half expected it. “Big?”

“The kind you don’t come back from if you’re careless.” His smile returns, crooked, careless itself. “Lucky for me, I’m never careless.”

You want to tell him that’s a lie. That you’ve seen the way he throws himself into danger like it’s a game, the way recklessness clings to him like perfume does to the flowers in the House of White Roses. But the words don’t come. You only sit there, feeling the roof shift beneath you, as though the city itself has tilted.

"Are you going to be alone?"

"No," he admits. "He's put together a crew. Three to four of us."

“A crew,” you repeat, the word catching on your tongue, bitter to taste.

Soonyoung nods once, his hair falling into his eyes again, though he doesn’t bother brushing it away. “The best we’ve got. Or at least, the best Jeonghan thinks we’ve got.” His mouth curves, but the humour doesn’t reach his voice. “He says it’ll take all of us. He says it’s worth it. Big money.”

“And do you believe him?”

“I’ve learned not to bet against him.”

The ache in your chest sharpens, but you school your face into something even, because he doesn’t need your fear weighing him down. “When?”

"Soon.” It’s a single word, but it carries the weight of a hundred unsaid things. His hand shifts closer to yours, resting against the tile until your fingers are almost touching, almost.

"He doesn't need me?"

Soonyoung’s gaze flickers, quick as a card turned in one’s hand. You can tell he’d half expected the question and half dreaded it.

"He doesn't want you there," he says at last, voice gentler than you expect. "Not because you wouldn't be useful but because it isn't safe for you."

You almost laugh, but it catches in your throat. “Safe? Like Ketterdam is any better."

Soonyoung doesn’t rise to the bait. His shoulders stay loose, almost forcefully, and his voice is steady when he speaks. "It's not the same, darling."

Something in his tone makes the back of your neck prickle. You sit up straighter, studying the way his jaw tightens, the way he’s holding something back. “So where?” you press, softer now. “Where is it you’re going that makes it so risky?”

"Why do you want to come anyway?" He retorts, although not in a way that bites. You think he might sound like he's looking for a clear answer to a question you've both been circling and avoiding.

You scoff, a little flustered as you look away. The wind blows your hair into your eyes, and your hand trembles a little as you push it away. "I don't know," you mumble, voice breaking. "Who's going to patch you up when you ultimately hurt yourself a thousand times?"

Soonyoung does laugh, but it’s not his usual sharp bark that makes people flinch. This one is quieter, warmer, the one you'll think of when he's gone. He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, and before you can process it, he’s moving closer across the uneven ledge.

"You make it sound like I'm your full-time job," he says, and then without hesitating, he pulls you into his side—arm looping around your shoulder and head coming to rest on yours.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He smells faintly of smoke and gunpowder and something sharper underneath, something that is just him.

“Maybe it is,” you murmur, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Keeping you alive.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You think maybe you’ve said too much, that he’ll crack another joke and let it fall away. But then his voice comes low, almost lost to the wind.

"Then you can keep doing it when I come back. I hope you won't get tired."

Your throat tightens, but you manage to tilt your head back enough to catch his expression. Soonyoung's face is close enough that you think he might just plant his lips on your forehead.

The silence stretches, long enough for your head to grow heavy against his shoulder, for your breath to even out with his.

“So where is it, then?” you ask, barely more than a whisper. “This job that needs a crew but not me.”

You feel the faintest shift in his chest as he exhales. He doesn’t answer immediately—he never does when it’s something that matters. His hand, resting against your arm, flexes once, as though he’s weighing whether to tell you at all.

Finally, he murmurs, “Fjerda.”

The word echoes in your mind like a stone dropped into deep water. Fjerda.

It claws at every nerve in your body, dragging up every story you’ve ever heard whispered in the Barrel, every story your Grisha mother told you about their kind—about witch hunters with their iron nets, about Grisha whose bones were left as warnings on the tundra, about ships that never make it back and about the pyres they hold in the Ice Court. Your fingers go numb, and you wonder if he feels the faint tremor that runs through you.

Soonyoung must. His arm stays firm around your shoulders, steady as if he’s daring the whole city to try and pry you out of his reach. But the steadier he holds you, the sharper the fear digs in.

"I'm only half," you protest weakly, despite the worry that has settled into your mind. "Maybe they won't be able to tell. No one here can. Aren't you and Jeonghan the only people who know?"

Soonyoung turns to you, and though his mouth curves faintly, his eyes are unflinching. “Half is enough,” he says. “They’ll smell it on you before you take two steps off the boat. Those witch hunters—drüskelle—they don’t miss.”

You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, that you’ve hidden it this long and could keep hiding it still, but the words falter when you see the stubborn look on his face, like he's asking if you would fight with him on this.

"But—"

“No.” His voice cuts clean through yours, sharp enough to still your protest. His hand leaves your shoulder only to catch your wrist, grounding you, his thumb pressing once against your pulse. "I would rather be burnt at their stakes than have you anywhere near those godforsaken Fjerdans."

Your breath stumbles. “Don’t—don’t say things like that.” It comes out rougher than you mean, half scolding, half plea.

Soonyoung’s grip on your wrist softens, sliding down until your fingers are tangled in his. His hand is warm, calloused, stubbornly warm against yours. "I’m choosing. And I’d choose you every time.”

He watches you so intently, it’s like he’s trying to carve the truth into your bones, so you’ll remember it even if he doesn’t come back.

You shake your head, but it’s useless. The fear’s still in you, coiled sharp and deep, but something else rises with it—something warmer, almost unbearable in its tenderness. “You’re an idiot,” you whisper, voice trembling. “A reckless, impossible idiot.”

And then, because you can’t help it, because you can’t let him think he can burn for you without you burning too, you press your forehead against his. Your eyes close. His breath brushes your lips.

“If you go,” you murmur, “then you come back. That’s the only deal I’ll make with you. And if you don't, then I will find you and drag you back by the ears."

“You?” he teases softly. “Dragging me back by the ears? Saints, I’d pay to see that.”

Your lips twitch, even though your throat still aches. “Don’t test me, Soonyoung. You know I’ll do it.”

He sobers, though the smile doesn’t fully leave his face. His hand leaves yours only to cup the side of your cheek, rough thumb brushing gently across your skin. “I know you would,” he says, as though it’s the only thing he trusts in the world. “That’s why I can’t let you come.”

"When do you go?" You ask with a sigh.

"Two days," he hums, eyes closed. "And if everything goes alright, I'll be back within two weeks."

"I'm going to hide Jeonghan's ledgers." You pull away with a grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look out onto the skyline. "I'll tear some of the pages out and then leave it in the corners of his office for him to piece together later."

Soonyoung chuckles softly, rubbing his palm down your back comfortingly. "Don't blame him. He's just doing what he always does."

"Yeah," you agree, masking your disappointment with mock-bitterness. "Making my life hell."

“You make it sound like he wakes up every morning just to ruin your day.”

“Doesn’t he?” you mutter, though your lips twitch despite yourself.

Soonyoung exhales airily, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "It'll be alright, darling. I'll be back with more cuts for you to heal."

You’re not supposed to be here.

Soonyoung had asked you not to come when he had knocked on your room's door in the Slat, knuckles brushing your cheeks and igniting a fiery trail in their wake. Said that they were leaving before sunrise, and that it wasn't worth losing sleep over.

But he has a way of drawing you out all the same. The lanterns flicker low along the Dregs' pier, ropes groaning against their moorings and sails fluttering faintly with the breeze. Even the early morning winds are unable to fan away the salt and brine that hangs thick in the air. Fish guts and coal smoke linger too, sharp enough to sting the back of your throat. Somewhere, a gull cries, harsh and lonely, and the sound echoes over the water like laughter that doesn’t quite belong.

It’s too early for most of Ketterdam, but here the harbour is already awake. Boots scrape across the wooden planks, low voices mutter orders, crates thud as they’re dragged into place. Shadows move in clusters, men with knives at their belts and rifles strapped across their backs.

You see Soonyoung before he sees you—moving through the crowd, shoulders loose, easy, like he belongs to the chaos itself. He doesn’t wear the edge of someone about to leave on dangerous business. He blends in too well.

But then his head lifts, cutting through the noise like he feels you before he sees you. His eyes find yours across the distance, and for just a second his steps falter. Then his mouth curves, half-smiling and half-surrendering.

His lips shape the words across the gap: stay there.

You're half-hidden behind the crates already, but you obey anyway, breath caught in your throat as you notice the lean of Jeonghan and Chan's back as they climb into the ship with a knowing glance at you. 

Watching as Soonyoung makes his way over, you're hit with the inexplicable feeling that you're going to miss him more than you expected to. He grins at someone else, tosses a careless wave toward another crew, ducks his head to avoid a swinging rope, his hands never leaving the revolvers at his side. 

You mutter a silent prayer to the Saints and hope his trusted weapons keep him safe.

When he reaches you, Soonyoung's hand closes over your wrist, tugging you into the deeper dark between the crates. The impact of you falling into his chest is soft but startling, before he shifts back a fraction, breath catching like he hadn’t meant to drag you this close. The world muffles here. Shouts fade into a low hum, gulls wheel overhead but their cries feel distant, like they’re happening in some other place. You’re left with the scrape of wood against your back and the sight of his bobbing Adam's apple.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says again, but it’s quieter now, the words carrying no bite. His mouth tugs at the corner as though he wants to frown and smile at once. The look in his eyes is worse: resigned, fond, like he knew this would happen. “Also, you’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” You frown, slightly confused.

“Stealth.” He leans against a crate. “Half the harbor saw you sneaking down here. You might as well have waved a little flag.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “No one saw me.”

“They did,” he insists, tone mock-serious. “Old man by the rope coils nearly tripped over himself staring."

"It was my good looks, then." You hum, playfully waving him off.

Soonyoung snorts, quick and sharp, before pressing the back of his hand to his mouth like he’s trying to stifle it. “Right. Sure. That must’ve been it.”

You shoot him a look, but his grin only widens, catching in the faint glow of a lantern that flickers overhead. You catch the way his eyes linger—too long, too heavy for something so lighthearted. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way you stand here, stubborn and unyielding even in the stink of fish and tar.

“You should go before someone realizes you’ve been wasting time talking to me,” you murmur, trying to sound casual. "I saw the others getting into the ship already. Don't hold them back."

“Wasting time?” His brows rise. “That’s rich coming from you. I’ll have you know, I’m exceptionally good at making time for you."

Your lips twitch despite the sinking feeling in your heart. "And here I thought you would be busy playing hero."

Soonyoung shrugs, letting out a long sigh before he steps closer to you. "No heroes on this side of the city, darling. But, wait—"

His hand disappears into the inner lining of his coat, fingers brushing through hidden pockets until he finds what he’s looking for. When he pulls it free, you realize it’s not a weapon, not a note, but a card.

He holds it between two fingers, the King of Clubs.

For a moment, he just looks at it, thumb dragging idly over the edge like it’s muscle memory. Then, slowly, he presses it into your palm and folds your fingers tight around it. His hand lingers, covering yours, heat seeping into your skin.

“I don’t give these away,” Soonyoung says, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual humor. “Lost almost every club I had in a street brawl years back. Just two left.” He reaches into another pocket and flashes the other card, the Queen of Clubs, before tucking it safely back against his chest. “This one’s mine to keep. But the King—” his thumb brushes over the back of your knuckles,“the King’s yours now.”

You blink at him, startled. “You’re giving me your lucky card?”

He grins, though there’s a tightness to it that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Think of it as insurance. A bet, if you will. I win, I come back, and you give it back to me. If I lose…” His mouth quirks, though it’s softer now, almost self-mocking. “Well. You keep it. And you get to tell everyone you once owned the only thing Kwon Soonyoung never let go of.”

Your throat tightens, though you force your lips into some semblance of a smile. “That’s a terrible bet."

“Not if you believe in my luck,” Soonyoung counters, leaning in just close enough that his forehead nearly brushes yours.

He tucks your hand with the card against your chest and finally steps back, slow, reluctant, as if the weight of leaving has suddenly settled over his shoulders. His gaze flickers once more toward the ship, then back to you, softer than you’ve ever seen it. You slip the card into the pockets of your trouser.

“So that’s it, then,” he murmurs, trying to play it off like a gambler cashing out, but the words hang heavy in the air. He turns, the hem of his coat brushing against you when you reach out and grab his collar instead.

Your fingers fist into them, tugging before he can take another step, jerking him back toward you. He stumbles half a pace, surprised, but his body reacts before his mind catches up. He bends into the space you’ve claimed, his hands flying up instinctively to steady you both, palms pressing against your waist.

You kiss him before he can speak, before he can make another joke or slip away with that lopsided smile. Your lips press to his with more urgency than grace, the salt of the harbor air caught between you and you hope to swallow that gunpowder scent that always follows him around and keep it with you until he returns.

For a heartbeat, he goes still—like you’ve shocked him—but then his breath shudders against your mouth, and he’s kissing you back. Rough, sure, and aching. His grip tightens, pulling you closer, until your chest is flush against his and there’s no space left for second thoughts.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, lips tingling and fingers still running over his collar like you’re not quite ready to let him go. His eyes are wide, bright even, and for once Soonyoung's quick mouth falters like he can’t quite believe what just happened.

Then, before you can say anything, he dips back in.

It’s quicker this time, a messy press of lips that makes you laugh against his mouth, the sound muffled but real, and he hums low in his throat as if he’s won something. His hand slides up your back, holding you close, and he kisses you like a thief snatching a second prize, greedy and unwilling to walk away after just one taste.

You push at his chest lightly when you hear Chan's voice from the ship. Soonyoung pulls back, forehead against yours, his thumbs grazing your waist almost absentmindedly. He swallows, his breath shuddering against your lips as he whispers, “Saints—if this is how you plan to send me off, I might never leave.”

"Hoshi!"

The shout rips through the air from down the pier—Chan’s voice, sharp with urgency. Both of you flinch, his head snapping toward the sound while you instinctively tighten your grip on his collar. He lets out a breathless laugh, somewhere between annoyed and reluctant, then looks back at you with a smile that finally feels like him again.

Soonyoung huffs out a laugh, one last reluctant glance toward the ship where Chan is surely pacing by now. His hand trails down your side before it finally slips away, like he has to peel himself off you finger by finger.

“You’ll crease my coat if you keep holding on,” he says softly, nudging at your fist still bunched in his collar. But when you don’t let go right away, he doesn’t push further and just lets you have these last seconds.

At last, you loosen your grip. He takes a step back, then another, and it’s almost worse than if he’d turned away outright—watching him retreat inch by inch, like he’s daring you to pull him back in again. His grin reappears, crooked, infuriating, hiding more than it reveals.

“Hold on to that for me, darling,” he calls softly. “And if the Saints are kind, maybe I’ll come back to win it off you.”

You force yourself to lift your chin. “You’d better. Or I’ll sell it to the highest bidder.”

That earns you a bark of laughter that carries across the harbor, bright and unguarded. He throws you a mock salute, then finally turns on his heel, boots thudding loudly against the wood as he heads toward the waiting ship.

You stand there long after his figure disappears up the gangplank, after the shouts of the crew blur with the creak of ropes and the groan of wood. Only when the ship begins to pull away from the dock do you pull out the card again. It's battered, edges frayed from his constant shuffling.

Soonyoung gambles with cards, with coins, with fate itself—always reckless, always smiling, as if the odds will bend to him if he tries hard enough. And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the magic you’ve always half envied.

But now, with his luck pressed against your palm, you realize you’ve started to gamble too. On him. On the chance he’ll come back. On the wild hope that this bet of yours will pay off.

And Saints help you, you believe it will.

GLOSSARY

Black Tips: A rival gang in Ketterdam. Known for being vicious but not particularly clever, often clashing with the Dregs over territory and jobs.

Crow Club: A gambling hall owned by the Dregs, located in the Barrel. It’s one of their primary sources of income

Dime Lions: Another gang in Ketterdam, larger and more organized than the Black Tips. They’re dangerous rivals to the Dregs, with a reputation for muscle and brutality.

Dregs: A street gang in Ketterdam, headquartered in the Slat. They’re known for taking in strays, outcasts, and anyone who proves useful, and for thriving on the city’s chaos and corruption.

Drüskelle: Fjerdan word for a witchhunter tasked with hunting down Grisha, allegedly to face trial and execution.

Emerald Palace: Gambling house owned by the Dime Lions.

Fjerda: A northern nation across the True Sea from Kerch. Harsh, icy, and deeply hostile toward Grisha, whom they hunt and persecute.

Grisha: Humans who possess special abilities. They are hunted and burned at the stake in most of the world, particularly in Fjerda. In Ketterdam, sanctuary is offered to Grisha who indenture themselves to merchants. There are three orders of Grisha: Corporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki.

Corporalki (The Order of the Living and the Dead): Healers, Heartrenders, Tailors. They manipulate the human body.

Etherealki (The Order of Summoners): Squallers, Inferni, Tidemakers. They summon wind, fire, and water.

Materialki (The Order of Fabrikators): Durasts and Alkemi. They work with solid matter and chemicals.

House of the White Rose: A pleasure house in Ketterdam, infamous for its courtesans and for making its girls and boys into commodities for the rich. 

Kerch: An island nation and major hub of international trade. Ketterdam, its capital, thrives on gambling, vice, and commerce—and is ruled by merchants more ruthless than any gang.

Ketterdam: Capital of Kerch

Kruge: The official currency of Kerch

Komedie Brute: A Kerch performance group. Many of the plays break the fourth wall, with traditions of the audience saying or doing something in response to the appearance of characters on stage.

The Menagerie: Another pleasure house in Ketterdam, notorious for forcing girls to wear animal masks and silks as part of their “performances.” 

West Stave: is one of the two major canals that bracket the Barrel in Ketterdam. The other is East Stave. Full of lights and music, West Stave is known for its brothels, which attract pleasure-seekers and crowd-watching tourists alike. Many people visit the pleasure district in disguise as characters from the Komedie Brute. Other tourists never enter the brothels, simply coming to watch the costumed crowd.

The penthouse was already buzzing with activity around him. Assistants were sending messages, his phone kept lighting up with emails, and somewhere in the background his schedule for the day was being finalised.

Meanwhile, you were focused on one thing. The fact that he had promised to take you shopping.

"You promised you'd come with me today." Your voice broke through the silence as you watched him adjust the cuff of his watch.

Mingyu didn't even look up at first. "I know."

The dry response only irritated you further. Your eyes narrowed as you set your mug down onto the marble countertop with a quiet clink.

"You literally told me you'd clear your afternoon."

"I did."

"And?"

Finally, Mingyu glanced over his shoulder. "And a board meeting got moved."

You stared at him in disbelief before letting out a long sigh. "Oh, a board meeting." The sarcasm dripping from your voice was impossible to miss. "Of course."

A smile threatened to pull at the corner of his mouth. "You knew I wasn't going to cancel a meeting worth millions of dollars."

You folded your arms across your chest. "Maybe I wanted you to."

That finally earned a proper reaction. A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're a liar."

The fact that he laughed again only made your annoyance worse. Because he wasn't taking you seriously, at all.

By the time Mingyu was ready to leave, briefcase in hand and suit jacket perfectly pressed, you were still determined to maintain your grudge.

Which was exactly why you were now leaning dramatically over the upstairs railing overlooking the foyer instead of walking him to the door like you usually did.

Your chin rested in the palm of your hand as you watched him from above. Mingyu slipped his phone into his pocket before glancing up. The second he spotted you, his expression softened.

It always did. No matter how busy he was. No matter how many meetings he had. No matter how irritated you were pretending to be. For a moment he simply looked at you.

Then he tilted his head. "That's it?"

You blinked down at him innocently. "What?"

His eyebrows lifted. "You're really going to let me leave like this?"

You shrugged one shoulder. "Looks like it."

Mingyu stared at you for a second before shoving both hands into his pockets. The action was familiar enough that you immediately knew he was about to start negotiating.

"Where's my goodbye kiss?"

The audacity. You nearly laughed. Instead, you simply looked down at him while he looked right back up at you. Waiting.

Like it was the most reasonable question in the world. Like he wasn't the reason you were annoyed in the first place.

Slowly, you tapped a finger against your cheek as though genuinely considering it. "Hmm."

His eyes narrowed immediately. "Hmm?"

You pretended to think harder. "I don't know." A pause. "I don't know if you deserve one."

Mingyu's eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared beneath his fringe. For a second, he simply stared up at you as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard.

Then a disbelieving laugh escaped him. "You don't know if I deserve one?"

You smiled sweetly. The same smile that usually meant you were about to become a problem. "You made me mad."

"Oh, did I?"

"Mhm."

The hum was accompanied by a small nod, as though there was absolutely no room for debate on the matter. Mingyu let out a slow breath through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.

The worst part was that he looked completely amused by the situation.

As if your attitude was somehow entertaining. As if watching you sulk was one of his favourite hobbies. Which, knowing him, it probably was.

"Baby."

"No."

"Come here."

You immediately shook your head. "No."

His grin widened. The sight alone should have annoyed you. Instead, it made your stomach do that stupid little flip it always did.

"Come kiss me goodbye."

You pretended to think about it. Again.

Your finger tapped thoughtfully against your cheek while Mingyu watched from below with the patience of a man who already knew exactly how this was going to end.

"Hmm..."

The sound of his laughter filled the foyer. Rich and warm and entirely too pleased with itself. "You're acting like a child."

You gasped. "I'm acting like a woman who was abandoned."

Mingyu barked out another laugh. "Abandoned."

"Yes."

"I'll be gone for eight hours."

"Exactly."

His smile only grew. God. You wanted to be annoyed. You really did.

Unfortunately Mingyu looked unfairly handsome standing there in his charcoal suit, one hand resting on the handle of his briefcase while he looked up at you like you were the most entertaining part of his morning.

"You know," he said casually, glancing at his watch, "I have exactly thirty seconds before I need to leave."

You rested your chin deeper into your palm. "Sounds like a you problem, Gyu."

"Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-eight."

You pressed your lips together. Because he was smiling now. It made staying mad significantly harder than it should have been. Which was incredibly irritating.

With a dramatic sigh, you finally pushed yourself away from the railing. "Fine."

His grin became immediate. Victorious. "Thought so."

"Don't be smug."

"I'm always smug."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Mingyu's laughter followed you as you made your way downstairs. The entire time you could feel his eyes on you.

By the time you reached the bottom step, he was already standing there.

Like he assumed you'd walk straight into them. His arms opened automatically. Which was exactly why you didn't.

Instead, you ignored the invitation entirely and walked right up to him. Mingyu watched suspiciously. You rose onto your toes. Pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. Then immediately stepped back.

"There." You dusted your hands together dramatically. "Goodbye kiss."

Problem solved. At least in your opinion. Apparently not in Mingyu's.

Because the second you tried to walk away, warm fingers wrapped around your wrist. You barely managed two steps before being pulled back.

"What now?"

The look on Mingyu's face was almost offensive. Like he had personally been wronged.

"That's what I get?"

You blinked innocently. "You asked for a goodbye kiss."

"That was not a goodbye kiss."

"It absolutely was."

You laughed. "Mingyu—"

The protest died instantly when his free hand slid to your jaw. Not rough. Just enough to stop you talking. Just enough to tilt your face up towards him.

Your breath caught. Because the teasing expression slowly disappeared from his face. And suddenly the atmosphere felt very different. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

The look there made your stomach flip. "You think you're funny." You tried to maintain your composure. Failed. A little.

"I am funny."

"Mhm." His thumb brushed slowly across your cheek. "You've been giving me attitude all morning."

"You deserved it."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

The answer came so quickly that it made him smile. His head dipped slightly as he shook it. Then, before you could say anything else, he stepped closer. 

One arm slid around your waist, pulling you flush against the front of his suit. Immediately surrounding you with his familiar scent.

"Still mad at me?"

His voice was quieter now. You looked away for a second.

"A little."

"That's unfortunate."

Your eyes lifted back to his. "Why?"

"Because I hate leaving when you're mad at me."

And just like that, your annoyance cracked. The stupid thing was that he knew it would. He knew exactly what those words would do to you. You opened your mouth to respond.

But Mingyu kissed you before you got the chance. The moment his lips touched yours, every argument you'd been determined to continue immediately lost its momentum.

Not because he was trying to distract you. Well, maybe a little. But mostly because there was something unfairly effective about the way Mingyu looked at you when he was trying to make things right.

Like you were the only thing on his mind. Like the board meeting, the investors, the endless calls waiting for him the second he stepped into the office didn't matter nearly as much as making sure you weren't upset with him.

His hand remained against your cheek while his other arm stayed securely around your waist, holding you close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

When he eventually pulled back, it wasn't very far. Just enough to look at you. His forehead almost brushed yours. 

Your hands smoothed down the front of his suit jacket absentmindedly. Immediately his eyes dropped to the movement.

Then softened. That expression again. The one that always made your chest squeeze. The one reserved entirely for you.

"You know," he murmured, "most people would be impressed by how hard I work."

You scoffed. "Most people aren't dating you."

"Good."

The answer came far too quickly. You laughed. "Babe."

"I'm serious." His arm tightened slightly around your waist. "I don't want most people."

The warmth that spread through your chest was immediate. This was exactly how he won. Every single time. You'd start the day determined to hold onto a grudge and somehow end up staring at him like he'd hung the moon.

It was deeply annoying. And completely his fault. "You're laying it on thick."

"I'm being honest."

"You're manipulating me."

"I'm apologising."

"You bought your way out of trouble."

His mouth twitched. "Maybe a little."

You pointed a finger at his chest. "See? That's not apologising."

"No?"

Mingyu caught your hand before you could pull it away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Then let me try again."

The playfulness in his expression softened. "I know I cancelled our plans."

You stayed quiet.

"And I know you're disappointed."

"I am."

"I know."

He lifted your joined hands and pressed a brief kiss against your knuckles. "And I still hate leaving when you're upset with me."

Before you could think of a comeback, Mingyu leaned down and kissed you again.

Slow. Unhurried. Like he was deliberately taking a moment for just the two of you before the rest of his day pulled him away. One hand settled against your jaw while the other remained secure around your waist.

Your fingers curled into the front of his suit jacket. Immediately he looked pleased with himself. Which made you want to roll your eyes. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks felt warm. Mingyu looked entirely too satisfied.

"There." His thumb brushed across your cheek. "That's a proper goodbye kiss."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're still in trouble."

"I know."

His grin widened. "But you love me."

Unfortunately, you did. And judging by the way Mingyu looked at you, as though you were already the best part of his day before he'd even left the house, he knew it too.

"Go to work."

Mingyu laughed before finally grabbing his briefcase.

"You better be home early."

"Yes, princess."

"You said that yesterday."

He backed towards the door, still smiling. "I mean it this time."

You pointed at him. "Said every liar ever."

Mingyu's laughter followed him out the door. And just before it closed, he shot you one final grin.

"Love you."

Then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the foyer trying very hard not to smile. And failing completely.

~

A couple of hours had passed since Mingyu had left. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

You'd spent most of the afternoon sprawled across the living room couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, still pretending you were annoyed with him.

Pretending. Because the truth was that your little argument this morning had barely lasted five minutes before he'd kissed the attitude right out of you.

Still. You weren't about to let him off that easily. Your shopping trip had been cancelled. You had standards.

A soft chime suddenly echoed through the penthouse. The doorbell. You frowned. Turning off your phone. Sitting upright.

You weren't expecting anyone. No deliveries. No friends. Nothing. You heard footsteps from the foyer before one of the house staff answered the door.

Muffled voices drifted through the space. Then more footsteps. More voices. The sound of something being carried inside.

Your confusion deepened. You pushed yourself off the couch and began walking towards the foyer.

Halfway there, you stopped. Because you saw colour. A lot of colour. Your eyes widened.

Flowers. Everywhere. The kitchen island had disappeared beneath enormous bouquets. The marble countertops were covered. The dining table was covered.

There were flowers being carried through the front door by multiple delivery people while your staff attempted to find places to put them all.

Pink. White. Cream. Soft peach. Every single arrangement was filled with your favourite flowers.

Your mouth actually fell open. "What's going on?"

One of the servants laughed. "All from Mr. Kim, Miss Y/N."

You stared. Then another bouquet came through the door. Then another. Then another. "How many did he send?"

The servant looked down at a clipboard. Then back at you. "A lot."

"A lot isn't a number."

"I stopped counting after twenty-seven."

Your jaw dropped. "TWENTY-SEVEN?"

A second servant walked in carrying another arrangement almost as big as she was. "Twenty-eight."

You couldn't stop smiling. Your cheeks already hurt. The entire penthouse smelled like fresh flowers. It looked like a florist had exploded. You knew exactly who was responsible.

A small cream envelope poking out from the biggest bouquet caught your attention. Immediately you reached for it. The elegant black handwriting was unmistakable.

Your smile somehow widened even further. You opened it. Inside was a simple handwritten card.

I'm sorry for making your pretty head annoyed this morning.

Love, Mingyu.

You stared at it. Then laughed. Actually laughed. Because of course he wrote that. Of course he couldn't just apologise like a normal person.

No. He had apparently decided to purchase half of Seoul's flower supply instead. Your phone suddenly buzzed.

You didn't even need to check who it was.

Mingyu ❤️

"Flowers delivered?"

You rolled your eyes. Immediately typing back.

"You're crazy."

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

"Did you like them?"

"There's enough flowers here to start my own business."

"That's not an answer."

You looked around your kitchen. At the ridiculous number of bouquets. At your favourite flowers. At the handwritten note still sitting in your hand. Your heart softened despite yourself.

"Maybe."

A response arrived immediately.

"Liar."

You laughed.

"Maybe I liked them a little."

"Only a little?"

"Mhm."

"Interesting."

"Why?"

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then appeared again.

"Look out the window."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

You walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

"What now..."

Then you saw it. Far below. Parked outside the building. A familiar black luxury sedan. Your eyes widened. No way. Absolutely not.

Your phone rang before you could even think. You answered immediately. "What did you do?"

His laughter filled your ear. God. You could practically hear the grin.

"Go downstairs."

"Mingyu."

"Go downstairs."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I was."

"Was?"

"Then I started thinking about how cute you looked pouting this morning."

You covered your face.

"And?"

"And I missed you."

Your heart melted instantly. Traitor.

"So." You could hear him smiling. "Come downstairs."

You looked back at the mountains of flowers filling the penthouse. Then at the note still clutched in your hand. Then at the black car waiting below. A grin spread across your face.

"Mingyu."

"Yeah, baby?"

"You are so sweet." His laugh echoed through the phone.

"Get downstairs."

He sniffles, the cold night air doesn’t help him as he stands in the guest parking lot outside your apartment. The streetlights attract insects, and doing so little in illuminating the way. The aged apartment stands tall, few windows lit with people going on about their life, and his eyes move to the dark windows sitting on the fourth floor. 

What is he even doing here? After what went down. And just like that he is angry again. 

Seungcheol unbuttons his blue and black checkered shirt, letting the cool breeze do its magic in calming down his heated body. He smoothens the rumples in his white tee from spending an hour in the car, agonizing over his decision to drive here recklessly and with no plan or thoughts, unable to decide if he is an idiot. 

He resumes pacing around the parking lot, kicking the stray rocks. He looks up once at your dark apartment, and turns away, staring at the insects hovering over the street lights. It is not late yet. He can go back to his apartment before you make it back home from the evening walk. Does he have no dignity to come back here after you ended it all? Does he have no spine to toss everything away just the way you did? 

Seungcheol feels restless, covered in layers and it’s just so hot in and out of his body, he completely removes the shirt he has worn over the white tee, throwing it on his shoulder as he leans against his car, watching out to the road. Why can’t he fucking leave? 

He checks the time on his watch, he licks his dry and cracked lips, chewing on his lower lip worsening the delicate skin more. You should be here anytime. He turns around, checking his reflection in the back windshield of his car, smoothening down his unruly hair. 

A light flickers on in some apartment grabbing his attention. He watches the shadows move about, flickering of lights from a screen. He looks up to the dark window sitting on the fourth floor, his tense shoulders slouch as he leans against his car. 

His heart slows down, going back to the normal tempo, he traces the cracks that adorn the building like a decoration, even hosting life in a few spots. The creepers are still young, and still spreading. His eyes flick back to your windows staring longingly. How much time does he have left? Or is he done already? 

The angst in his heart melts away, making way to the true feeling he has been carrying. Betrayed. How can you do that to him? How can you tell the world despite him apologising? How can you not see him trying? 

And still why does he want to see you one last time? If you have truly moved on from him. 

The vibration of his phone breaks the agony in his heart, he pulls out the device from his pocket opening a text from his brother. His brother never sends a message and when he does it’s always bad news. 

An image of his brother on his knee, proposing to his girlfriend. Fuck. 

Seungcheol locks his phone, exhaling through his mouth, done with everything. His phone should be ringing soon, his mother demanding answers from him about his brother’s reckless and disrespectful behaviour. 

He silences his phone and looks at the tiny plant taking life near your window. 

A bark, sounds of paws running across the asphalt and Seungcheol is already on his knees, opening his arms wide. Clementine jumps up and down, licks his face before rubbing herself all over him. 

A golden light fills his heart, a laugh tumbling out before he can have control over his emotions. Clementine is restless over whether to lick him all or just rub herself on him. 

Seungcheol takes it all in with warmth blossoming in his chest. Human emotions are fickle, one moment he feels as if the entire world is showering its love and the next moment there’s a tense feeling uprising inside him. 

He gives one pat on Clementine’s back, and stands up, picking his fallen shirt off the ground.

You are standing in front of him, lips parting in surprise, and closing. Your eyes take in his form, in a slow drag, and do a double take, still unable to believe that he really is here. 

Seungcheol wrings the soft fabric in his hands, stumped over what to say first. It’s been so long since it has been just you and him, where he can look at you with no restrictions, no fear of someone catching his gaze. 

The slow prickle of doubt stabs his heart. His eyes move to your neck, swearing under his breath, why today of all you chose to leave your hair. 

You drop your head, your lower lip held hostage between your teeth. Seungcheol licks his lips, taking a step forward. 

“Are you seeing someone?” Seungcheol winces at his foot-in-mouth move, and before he can stop himself, “is it Mingyu?”

The tranquility in the air shatters. You snap your head towards him, hurt written all over your eyes, intertwined with a hint of disbelief. You look at his lips once as if to see those words left your mouth and not one of your mind plays. 

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head to yourself. Seungcheol holds Clementine’s leash you let go of as you turn away, cupping your face and dragging your hand down your face. 

Before he can blink you are already in his face, a thunderous expression accompanying each push to his chest. 

Seungcheol staggers back, his eyes widening as his right foot stumbles into his left, slipping his control. Clementine runs away, he tightens his grip on the leash, still taking your hits unable to understand your incoherent babbling. 

You grab the lapel of his shirt, dragging him towards you, “you idiot,” you tilt your head, seeing him in the eye for the first time tonight, “you fucking idiot.” You grit your teeth, your nails digging into his skin, hurting, “how dare you—”

“No, no,” you let go of his shirt, walking away, laughing to yourself, “I am the idiot, aren’t I?” Your eyes water, looking at him, “a stupid girl who has been waiting and,” you sniffle, rubbing the sleeve of your sweatshirt against your nose, “you ask me what?” 

Seungcheol marches towards you, “some guy?” Even saying the two words makes him want to scrape the disgusting taste off his tongue, “Of no importance?”

You meet him head on, “are you of importance, Seungcheol?” You push his chest again, “huh? Tell me? Are you? I hate you. I hate you so much,” and again, “so much, Seungcheol, I..”

The unshed tears in your eyes sparkle under the flickering yellow streetlamps. You grab the collar of his tee, stretching it from the sheer strength as you pull him closer.

He plays to the strings you pull, creating a harmony that has you two pause, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You sniffle, a lone tear falling down your cheek, and you brush it off so quickly he can’t understand if you are crying from the hurt or anger. 

Your voice is barely a whisper, “I..”

Seungcheol traces your features, sidetracking from the emotions he is brimmed with, unable to rein in his urge to trail down his attention from the eyes that look so pretty, sparkling like a constellation, the redness on the tip of your nose and cheeks, before he can reach your lips he circles his arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest, done with the long game you two are playing. 

—

You bounce on the mattress, “I am not doing anything with you!” You get on your hands and knees, crawling to the other side of the bed that doesn’t have a man hovering over you. “Mingyu? Mingyu?!” 

Seungcheol grabs your ankle, holding you down. He has access to only one part of you and yet you are grabbing onto the bedding with all your strength, struggling to free your leg from him. “Leave, dickhead, leave. Go back to your place, oh wait, you do have a habit of leaving, how can I forget,” you grit out. 

“Jieun was stranded, a woman was abandoned,” he has you sliding back to him with one strong pull and you are scrambling across the bed, “would you have left her and continued to fuck me if she has reached out to you? Would you do that to Sohyeon and Mina?” 

You turn your head to the side, resting your cheek on the mattress watching him leaning over you. 

“Tell me, will you?” His back presses into yours. 

His weight knocks out your breath, you bury your face into the soft sheets, fingers digging into the mattress as your body comes alive. It takes a moment for you to remember what you were thinking, or feeling. 

“You aren’t getting back with her?”

Seungcheol’s nose brushes side to side against your skin, “no, don’t care about her, even if she’s stranded in fucking Sahara now, I don’t care, not when,” he pulls your sweatshirt down, his fingers tickling as he brushes your hair to the side, baring your neck. His warm lips trail down from your ear, leaving tiny kisses in its pursuit, and stops, his finger pressing into one spot, “hickey, you have a hickey here.” 

The growl in his voice invokes the dead butterflies in your stomach. You curl your knees into yourself, or try to, but he is already climbing on top of you, bringing you both to the middle of the bed. 

His knees are on either side of your thighs, locking all of your movements to wiggle away from him. His chest presses into your back, teeth grazing around your neck, circling one spot. You press your body into the mattress, his sharp canines invoking thousands of feelings at once. Just the way his existence alone does. 

He taps your cheek, a little rough and impatient. You open your eyes, looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

“Did you,” he swallows, “did something happen?”

You blink at his face hovering inches away from yours’ as if he can’t exist if he isn’t touching you. The desperation in his eyes is clear as the cloudless sky. It takes several moments for you to understand his question and not think about his chapped lips. 

Seungcheol shifts, his hips pressing into your body and retreating as if he is electrocuted. He nudges his nose into your cheek, “hm?” 

You grab onto the last of your common sense. “What?”

You swallow before you can drool over the sheets from being squished on the bed, and the awkward angle you are caught in. “Hickey?” You muster all the strength to push yourself up, but he presses down between your shoulder blades. “Seungcheol, I can’t think when you are on me.”

His other hand comes to the spot, brushing over gently, poking a faded memory. “This, where is it from?”

Red fills your vision all over again, burning away the butterflies and jittery feelings. You push him away, finding a sliver of opening, crawling away. 

“Yes, its from Mingyu, we made out and fucked. All night long. You want more details? He has a very good stamina,” you sit at the other edge of the bed, “you wanna know how he did it?”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw once, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and he grabs onto your ankle like a shackle. The bedding comes along with you this time as he pulls you into the middle, hoisting you up and throws you down, your head hitting the pillows. 

“Shut up.” He growls. 

Your ego rears its head. “I bet he fucks good. The best, even.” 

Seungcheol is sitting on his knees, hands on his thighs as he watches your lips, suddenly going calm. You should stop. But it only gets ugly. 

“I think he can make me cum like no one ever did. Makes me feel good, hitting all the right places. And won’t even judge my kinks..” 

Seungcheol gets down the bed, cracking his neck, his back turned towards you. Your heart is in your throat, or in your pussy, you feel it beating everywhere. You have done it. You see the tremble in his hands as he cups his mouth. 

“You aren’t with anyone else then.” His voice is low and deep, calm. 

You gulp. “I’m with—” 

He looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, “yes or no.”

You grab onto the sheets in support, a little scared and a bit excited knowing what’s about to come. 

“No..” your own voice is feeble, trembling. 

He gives one nod. You watch him move across the room, holding the handle, “Clementine isn’t fed yet right?” 

You shake your head. He leaves, closing the door behind him, calling out to your dog lovingly. The switch. He babies her, praising her, you catch the hints of the words and the movement of his feet on the floor. 

The brightness in your room makes your skin crawl. It was always dark whenever he is in your room, fucking you. Like a secret that exists only in darkness, and will wither away in light. But tonight he flicked it on when he dragged you here. 

What is he planning to do?

The footsteps near your room. You hold your breath, fingers digging into your palm as you watch the door. His voice clearer now, “good night, baby. Let me go and play with your mom a little, okay? If you hear anything, your mom is just having a good time, okay, baby?”

You press your thighs together, an action done so smoothly like breathing, hearing him say those words. 

The door knob twists, you are already arching your back, he closes the door behind him and locks it. His messy hair falls over his eyes that are staring at you with no emotion. The anger radiates off his body. 

You remember, and you do your best to hold yourself stronger, you are too pissed at him. There’s this burning anger that is waiting for an outlet. 

He struts towards the bed, laidback, taking his time. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, setting it down on the nightstand. The ritual starts. Next comes his wallet, there’s hastiness in his movements now. He unbuckles the metal strap of his watch, you await for him to cradle it with care. Your eyes widen as he recklessly puts it down on the wooden surface, climbing the bed in a second as if he can’t wait one more minute. 

He pushes you down by your shoulder, straddling your hips. He runs his fingers through his hair, giving you one look at his expression before his hair falls back onto his face.  

“What—what are you..” your words die down as he raises his thick eyebrow in challenge for you to complete that question. 

Seungcheol moves down, pulls your sweatshirt up to reveal the elastic of your sweatpants. “You were saying,” he clears his throat hoping it helps with his rasp, “you didn’t have your best fuck yet.” 

You raise your head from the pillow, watching his fingers brushing against the sliver of your bare skin visible, pushing the sweatshirt a little,  revealing your navel. 

He holds your thigh, turning you to the side suddenly, and strikes your ass once. “Answer me, did you forget the rules already?” 

You mewl, burying your face into the pillow. Another slap. It stings as if your skin is on fire. He massages it, realising he lost control over his strength. 

“Must have left a bruise,” he kneads the flesh with a delicacy at first, carrying his apology into his fingers, but the more he continues the stronger his hold becomes, again. You whine. He stops, “sorry, sorry.” 

Even without looking you know you’ll see zero remorse on his face. 

He releases his hold on you, making you rest on your back, letting you adjust. Your ass aches in the shape of his hand making you wince. His fingers are back to the elastic of your sweatpants, playing with the threads knotted in the middle. 

The threads slip through his fingers as he ponders for a moment, “you wanna fuck Mingyu?” 

His other hand is on your shoulder even before you can throw a tantrum or a punch. What is wrong with him today? Why is he obsessed with the idea of Mingyu? 

“Yes or no.” 

He pulls the thread, loosening the knot and drags it until the threads spill free from the binding. He is taking his time, each action crafted with care, gentleness and—he looks up from your pants and into your eyes, waiting—anger. 

“Why do you care?” 

He blinks at your response, thinking, as if he himself doesn’t know why he cares. You are not with anyone else right now, that’s all should matter. That’s all the equation between you two. 

You expect him to drop the topic now. Move on. His fingers slip behind the elastic of your sweatpants, dragging them down, and with one strong pull he yanks it off completely and throws it on the floor. 

The room stills. Whatever emotions you two have carried till now takes a back seat as a new one enters. Seungcheol sits back, his palm resting on your thigh, his gaze centered on your core, hunger swirling in them so much that it has him licking his lips. 

His eyebrows pull down as he takes in the dark colored panties, his thumb brushing along the curve of your thigh meeting your core. You bend your knee, closing your legs at the sudden sensation, his hand trapped between your legs, restricting his movements. 

You should have known you have least control in this room, on this bed, with him. He cups your pussy pushing his agenda despite you trying your best to clamp his hand down. You suppress the moan before it can spill out and give him satisfaction. 

You raise your leg, pressing the foot on his chest, putting your all in pushing him away. Seungcheol looks down at your leg, hasn't even moved an inch, your efforts going in vain, he presses the heel of his hand into your pulsating core that hasn’t stopped ever since he started dominating the room again. 

You press your face into the pillow right on time, muffling the sounds, not giving him any sort of pleasure. He doesn’t deserve it. 

Or so you thought. 

His other hand starts its pursuit. You snap your eyes open, your insides scrambling to grasp onto the emotions you have over him, you have been having over the past few weeks, have been simmering in them. He presses the meat of your thigh, then slides down your stretched leg, his lower lip caught between his teeth worsening the already dry cuts on the skin. 

It dawns on you. He loves this, your little acts of rebellion. 

He holds your ankle, pushing it more onto his firm chest, lets out a small chuckle and pulls it up, kissing once. Your stomach somersaults, or you don’t know, rips open apart from the overwhelming sensations you are feeling. You don’t have much time to dissect the workings of your body as in the blink of an eye, he is gripping your sweatshirt, pulling you up and ordering, “arms up.” 

You follow without second thought, too used to do whatever he demands of you, too used to let go of any inhibitions or thoughts or feelings in his presence, let him do what he wants every time. You hold your hands up for him to slide your sweatshirt off. 

He pushes your shoulder and throws your clothes somewhere in the room. You are blinking up at the ceiling processing what just happened. 

He groans. His eyes are frantically moving across your body, his hand presses down your stomach to the mattress, “stop moving. Let me see.” 

“You-you don’t,” you gasp at his hand slipping beneath your panty, “deserve,” his finger is against your core that convulses around nothing, “any—anythimm.”

“Yeah?” The smugness has your skin crawling but his nail delicately drags down your folds that sucks out all of your thoughts. “Deserve nothing?” 

You give a weak glare. He doesn’t even care, too occupied by the action going on behind your panties. His nail scratches deliciously inside your folds bordering tickling or torturing you can’t decide. 

Seungcheol removes his hand off of you, sliding back a little, his eyes roam all over your body once, his lip caught between his teeth as he tugs your panty down, you jostle, his jaw clenches, both of his hands hold the fabric ripping it in one tug. 

You gasp, rising up from the bed to see if he did what you think he did. Seungcheol discards the scrap of your inner wear to the floor, now eyeing your bra. 

“You idiot—” he lands another spank on your bare ass, morphing your anger into an unbridled moan. If your ass was stinging earlier, now you see stars dancing behind your eyelids. 

“What did you call me?” Seungcheol lands another slap, “hm? Say it again.” 

He massages your flesh, the coldness of his rings a stark contrast to your burning skin, “fuck,” he tends to your skin with utmost care, “so fucking soft.” 

You whine, eyes fluttering, his hands continue its pursuit, grabbing your thighs, he nudges them apart until he can easily fit between your legs. 

The room falls into silence except for your heavy breathing and tiny cries whenever the sheets beneath you rub against your burning skin in the wrong way. Seungcheol bends your knees, pushing your legs further apart, baring you to his watchful eyes. 

His gaze strains on your core, his fluffy hair falls onto his face as he tilts his head to get a clearer view, “I’m,” he sounds strangled, pushing your thighs wider, the cold air hits your sensitive opening, “not even doing anything, and yet, you can’t stop convulsing,” his voice gets hoarser, a wet swipe of his tongue across his chapped lips, his breathing gradually turning heavier, and his hand drags up your thigh, settling on your mound.

The attention is getting into your skin, into your head. His want and need drips through his fingers and actions, building a desire in your stomach that crawls its way to everywhere, shaking your core feelings. The way his hands run down your arms and your legs, with a sense of respect, desire and worship makes you feel the most beautiful being in this world. But it is too much. Too much after a period of stagnancy, of inner conflict and feeling out of your skin. 

What should one do when they are present with such devotion? A starved person can’t eat it all in spite of wanting it all.  

You shut your legs sliding a little higher up the bed, escaping from the hands that are trying to pull you out of your own darkness. It should throw him off, he should be repelled from the fight you are putting in, withholding all of his favorite things. You look down at him, this beast of a man shielding the entire world with his broad shoulders and— why is he looking like a starved man? Why is he following you along crawling on his knees? And why is he—oh. 

“Did I ever tell you,” he peels your legs open gently like talking a kid out of hiding, his hand a shackle now holding you open, “how I love your pussy.” 

Your eyes flutter at the vulgarity of it, the praise humming under your skin, a moan threatening to spill out and you dig your nose deeper into your soft pillows softening any sound that might escape, your legs shaking from the urge to close your legs shut but his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, not letting you do what you want. 

You harrumph, your entire body red, bruised and hot from being bare to his eyes, “Seung..”

His fingers flicker over your mound, a teasing touch as if a soft feather is brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, “such a pretty pussy, baby, look at it, fuck, look at it flutter at nothing. So responsive and so good to me.” 

Your back arches, a moan caught in your throat as his nail scratches down your mound to the folds. Your toes dig into the sheets, a flutter of emotions surging past you at the touch. You whine, kicking your feet only for him to seize your movements. Your tantrum is met with his boyish grin. “I have dreams of this, woken up sweaty and so fucking turned on that I had to,” his lips are at your ear, dropping his voice, “you know.”

This devil is enjoying torturing you. To prove your assumptions further, his finger delicately parts your folds, toying with your nub. You whimper, his words and fingers hitting you right on the spot. His eyes shine a new light seeing your mouth part in a silent gasp or plea. The satisfaction in his face reminds you that you are still angry at him, shoving all your feelings into a bin and not giving him what he wants from you. 

Seungcheol presses his fingers on your mound, massaging it. You swear you were feeling this burning volcano angriness a moment ago, you look at the man who is watching you with undivided focus, your eyes fluttering from the knuckles that presses into you, moving around your mound, almost as if he is relearning you. 

Seungcheol’s breathing feels closer, the ragged sound of it hovering somewhere around you. You remember the bits of bitter feelings you were carrying, you try to hold onto them and not to get lost in the feelings of this man fondling with your folds. Why is it hard to stay mad at him? 

“You are pretty in my dreams, so pretty that I have a hard time believing,” his deep rough voice whispers in your ear, “but damn,” he kisses the top of your ear, “you, in my arms, looking at me like I hold stars,” his finger plunges into your opening making you squeak not expecting it, he hums, “making sounds like that looking prettier than anything in this world,” he moves his finger in and out almost touching that one spot that has you seeing stars and moon, “yeah, just like this, you look like a fucking dream, baby.” 

You snap your head away from him, biting on your lip, sinking in all your sounds before it can reach his ears. But he is so close. He purrs, that harsh breathing he has from rhinitis, he keeps following tonight as if he can’t stay away. He kisses on your cheek once, adding another finger stretching you open for him later, you whimper at delicious pain. 

Seungcheol litters kisses all over your cheek, dragging his chapped skin across your soft skin making you shiver. “What’s this? Why are you stopping yourself?” 

The slow drag of his fingers doesn’t help you in withholding. He adds up speed, touching that spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyebrows knitting together, all you can see is pure white. 

Seungcheol shifts, his leg resting over yours, his other hand sliding beneath your head as he pulls you closer to him, fully touching you everywhere. You look at him watching you with rapt attention as he drags you to heaven, a frown line sits between his eyebrows, eyes on your pressed lips. 

You must be screaming by now, chanting his name over and over while he reminds you what to call him. Tonight, you are playing this game with him, struggling to keep up, but from the pissed off expression on him you seem to be winning. 

“What are you playing at?” 

He pulls out his fingers to see if you are gonna resist. You were so close and he snatched it away from you. He hovers over your face, analyzing each twitch of your muscles, you bury your head into his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin. 

He snaps his hips against your thigh once, groaning. “What’s wrong?” He prods. 

You whip your head away, your nose hitting against his arm that he’s using to hold himself up. His fingers find you again, playing with your entrance giving you shallow thrusts. He is annoyed. You can feel it. You brush your lips against his thick arm, he plunges into your core once before going back to giving shallow thrusts. 

You bite onto his arm, your orgasm stirring in your nether region. He is breathing heavily over you, pulling the strings to his own tune and you can’t help but play along. 

He hisses when you chomp onto his skin harder at a particular deep thrust. He pulls away his fingers again, you break out into a whine as he steals your orgasm again. He grins, going down on your body. 

Before you can even let out all the expletives his mouth is on your pussy, his tongue licking your essence up. Your body keels over as a loud moan escapes the trenches and sits in the room like a fucking win. 

Seungcheol looks up from your pussy, “that’s what I want.” 

He kisses your folds with utmost admiration, he puts your legs on his shoulders, moving near and near, his tongue dipping into your core. He toys with your clit, flicking it and pulling on it, while his other hand snakes its way underneath your bra, and grabs onto your nipple. 

It’s a losing game. You should have known it. His tongue and fingers are relentless in pulling out the delicious sounds he so loves. Your body writhes, begs for a release. He moans into you, lapping up the liquid flowing out of you, his eyebrows raising up at the taste. 

You are undeniably close. Every nerve in your body is lit up, thriving and seeking a way out to release all the pent up desire. At one high whine Seungcheol nods, his nose nudging into your folds, you grab his hair pulling, too much, it’s getting too much. He grunts, shaking his head once not liking your request and nudges deeper into you. 

“Seungcheol!” 

He snaps his eyes open, meeting yours as he bites onto your folds, a warning. You scream at the sting, tugging at his hair hard. 

White fills your eyes as you reach your climax at his relentless persuasion. He laps at your release, pushing into your body to not miss a single drop. Your stomach caves in, your body shaking at the pure bliss and pleasure, at the way he sounds so desperate to have it all. 

The sounds of him eating you out are lewd to even your own ears. You clamp down on your arm to make it less obscene. Seungcheol pauses on slurping to glare at you, he grabs your hands, holding them hostage as he goes back to get the last drops of your release. 

Heavy breaths fill the room, too silent after one rollercoaster ride he took you on. You try to catch your breath, blinking at the ceiling, calming yourself. You feel a delicate kiss pressed to your now probably swollen folds. Your heart swoops in like you just dived into a trampoline. Seungcheol emerges from between your thighs, mouth and chin covered with your arousal as he gently sets your aching legs down on the bed. 

He litters kisses on your mound, your belly button, either side on the curve of your waist as he catches his breath and also lets you have a moment. He kisses the underside of your boobs, shaking his head against them, catching a nipple in his mouth, his tongue coming in to greet it. The rustle of jeans has you wide awake, you push his shoulder stopping him from sucking the life out of you. 

“Condom.” 

Seungcheol, who has been eyeing your nipple that is slick from his saliva, takes a good two minutes to understand what you have just said. “What?”

You inhale shakily, nervousness and determination sitting in the forefront as you repeat, “no condom, no action.”

He sits on his haunches, taken aback, “what? We never,” he gestures his hand between you two, “what? Have you been with someone?” 

For a man he has a pea sized brain. “Not me. You.”

“I told you again and again,” he grits his teeth, “that I have not fucked her. Why are you acting like a brat tonight?” 

You jut your chin high, “no condom, no action.”

He cups his mouth, glaring at you. You are not backing down, make an excuse and just believe in him. Your ex-boyfriends have made sure you learn the lesson the hard way. There’s no way exes can be friends, acquaintances that won’t find their way to their past. Seungcheol isn’t an exception to the fickle human emotions. 

Seungcheol’s eyes roam across your sweaty body, closing his eyes as he groans into his hands. “Such a fucking brat you are today.” He climbs down the bed, grabbing his wallet from your nightstand, he grabs your chin, leaning down, “move an inch, you won’t walk for a week.” He pinches your lower lip before leaving you on the bed with a stinging lip. 

—

You crane your neck watching at his buzzing phone that he forgot on the nightstand. You turn to your side watching the black device vibrating against the wood, you pull the comforter till your neck, cuddle into the softness of the cover. How did he forget to take his phone with him? When he comes will he tend to the unanswered calls and messages? Shoving you to last in his priority list? 

He has assured you countless times tonight, but words are just words. Actions are what will speak louder than anything. A man who doesn’t want you won’t stop everything to get you what you wanted. Condoms weren’t in the equation ever since you and Seungcheol started this, he was meticulous in easing your worries by providing you his test results after brief break periods you two had. 

You could’ve trusted his words, you may have, to some extent, but the anxieties won’t stop whispering and you wanted to piss him off too. The stricken face of his satiates your hunger, it does, but the short pause and his world calling for him, and you are back in square one overthinking your actions. You should have been pliable to him, so he can choose you over everything else, and you would be free from everything. 

The door opens. You startle at the door banging shut, and the lock turning. Seungcheol is panting, sweaty and charged. He frowns at your comforter covering you, he walks towards your bed, throwing a black cover onto the nightstand over his phone, “fucking stores are shut. I had to run down the lanes like an idiot,” he pulls the comforter off of your body, the frown eases, he hums, running the back of his fingers down the side of your chest, “had to search through aisles, and when I found them,” he pulls the white tee with sweat patches off, he smiles down at your face, pinching your cheek, “look at you, baby, drooling already, so perfect.”

You reach over, dragging your fingertips down from the pecs to his soft stomach and the trail of hair into his jeans. How did you go without him for a week? The need is burning hot, throwing you into a restless state, you need him, you need his hands on you, touching you, taking places that have you forgetting the world and only remember the aftertaste of his touch. Seungcheol fucking you is the one activity that you love the most, right next to reading. He knows your body so damn well, and his needs align with yours that if there really are soulmates, he would be yours, and you will be his from the way he is getting turned on from your neediness alone. 

You just know that he loves fucking you too, no man will be treating you like a delicacy, and also going rough at the same time. 

The button on his jeans is undone, you pull the zipper down and look up at him, please. 

Seungcheol reads your eyes, his own rolling to the back seeing the desperateness, he rakes his fingers through his hair, his jaw flexing. Control. He picks the black cover and showers boxes upon boxes on to the bed, you pick a random box, fingers moving deftly as you pull a condom out. Seungcheol is shoving his pants and boxer down by the time you are ready to roll it on him. 

Seungcheol curls your hair behind your ear as you work the condom onto his erection, “my pretty girl.” 

Your hands slip, butterflies erupting in your stomach, you exhale shakily before resuming to complete the task at your hand. Seungchol huffs in amusement, unable to not touch you, his fingers now at your neck, flicking at the marks he left. “But,” he pushes you down on the mattress, climbing over you, his lips hovering over yours, “aren’t you a pretty little brat? Hm?”

Before you can respond, he angles his head kissing your cheek, your nose, “Had me run an entire block with a fucking hard on.”

You moan, closing your eyes as his thigh presses into your core. He presses his cheek against yours, his lips at your ear, “and with you here, naked and wet, waiting for me, tell me, baby, were you waiting for me?” 

You nod, his cheek rubbing against your skin, you wince. 

He tuts, “words, baby, words, last warning, okay?”

“I-I was.” 

“Good girl.” 

You circle your hands around his neck, “put it in, please, Seungcheol.”

He leans back against your wishes, you whine, your nails digging into his skin trying to pull him back, “Seungcheol?” 

You nod. 

He raises his thick eyebrow at your stubborn behavior, “are you playing me tonight? Condoms, not using daddy.” He ponders, his eyes running across your face, a slow grin as he says, “lets play your game, baby, lets see who wins.” 

Your heart thumps loudly once, you reach for his smile, tracing it beneath your fingers. “Let’s—” your words cut out into a squeak as he plunges inside you. “That’s foul,” your voice can’t seem to come down from high pitch as he thrusts hard. “Cheo—mmmph.” 

The devil smiles. 

Your protests breaks into a moan as he bends your knee, opening you wider for him to have more space to fuck you hard. “Slo-slow,” you drag your nails down his back, “that’s not—mmh—that’s not the bet.” 

Seungcheol’s eyes are glazed over, he shakes his head, not breaking eye contact, “missed you.” His eyes flutter as you convulse around his cock, “missed you so fucking much.” 

He grunts at the way you clasp around his erection, not making it easy for him to move, “fuck, baby, don’t,” his cock pulses inside you, he picked up thinnest fucking condoms, “I missed your pussy, always wet and ready for me,” he moans at particular thrust that meets with resistance as you can’t stop convulsing, “my pretty little dirty player.” 

You arch your back, your nipples rubbing against his slick chest making you moan, he growls, his movements faltering at the small sounds of pleasure you let out. 

He presses his lips at your ear, “do you hear yourself? Like a fucking angel singing.” 

You throw your head back, his praises are hymns bringing you alive. Seungcheol grabs your chin, “look at me.” 

He punches in a deep thrust, watching your face into pleasure, tears streaming down your eyes, little squeaks that always follow each thrust of his. 

“Da—” you bite your tongue, almost tasting your blood from the sheer force it took to stop yourself. 

Seungcheol is on alert, his eyes tracking your emotions, never leaving your lips, doing his best to win this game. He almost did. Almost. 

“Brat,” the endearing lilt in his voice has you aching for him, wanting more and more, turning you into greedy and feral. 

Seungcheol meets your eyes, watching you watch him. The time freezes in this moment, only you and him existing, you notice the spark in his eyes, the playfulness almost masking his dominance, almost. 

His thrusts inside you slowly, each slide accentuating the feel of him inside you. His nose brushes against yours, his mouth open as he breathes heavily. If you just crane your neck a little higher you will finally know how he tastes, how the chapped dry lips feel against yours. 

You two are nothing but deflectors. You lean in kissing the mole on his cheek, his elbow gives up, falling on you. You yelp, and Seungcheol laughs, a delicious rasp you want to feel with your hands. 

He regains his balance, a sweat droplet travels down his temple, running down his cheekbone, and falls on your lips. You lick your lips, tongue sliding across quickly to get a taste of him. 

Seungcheol growls, his thrusts picking up pace, “what should I do with you?” 

You are pliant in his arms, letting him pull the chords to his music, and you are enjoying the melody. 

There’s a faint buzz. You feel the energy break, apprehensions seep their way like a creeper between cracked cement. Will he? 

Seungcheol frowns, feeling the change in the mood, whatever he sees in your face he doesn’t like it. He plays with your nipple, dragging you back to the wonderland he has created only for you. And just like that with few more thrusts and his fingers playing with your nipples, you are coming. 

He watches you with rapt attention, his thrusts struggling from your clenching walls, and his lips parted seeing you the way you look at him. As if he brought you the stars. 

“Daddy.” 

He thrusts once and he is filling in the condom, biting your shoulder waiting for you two to land softly. 

—

You are on your hands and knees, gasping for air, drops of sweat falling on the crumpled sheets. The pillows are scattered barely hanging on the edge of the bed, you scoff to yourself finding yourself in the same state as the pillows, just hanging there, you pull yourself up, your elbow shaking almost falling face flat onto sheets that are pulled out from the sheer strength you held on them and the man who didn’t hold back from taking you in every angle. 

It’s gonna take a hell lot of time to bring your room back to its clean state. 

A thunk sound has you looking in the direction of a blurry Seungcheol. He is handling his spent condom, his chest heaving like he ran a race and won. If you were sweating, he looks like he just came out of the sauna. 

He meets your eyes catching you staring at his ass, a flicker of heat passes between you and you know you are not done yet. He walks over, picking up a stray condom packet from the floor. He tilts his head watching you get back onto your hands and knees as he rolls the condom onto his erection.

He squeezes your ass once, chewing on his lip that is bleeding from being held hostage the entire night, you hear a groan before you reach for a pillow and feel him climb on to the bed and thrusting into you, your scream muffled into the pillow. 

The pillow is thrown in the middle by a disgruntled man, your screams answered by your dog barking.  

—

The night eases into dawn. It has to be from the hours he spent drilling into you. 

You muster your entire strength to move your hips, he holds your waist guiding you and extending strength to reach the orgasm that is almost within your grasp, almost. 

“You can do it,” he kisses your neck, honing in on his favorite spot, “one more and we are done, baby.” 

You whine, clasping onto his shoulders—he hisses at your nails digging his skin—as you try not to collapse on him, “too much.” 

It’s a delicious drag, his cock inside you, making the entire play fun that you want to push yourself and give more and more—he cradles your cheek whispering how pretty you are on top of him—and receive more and more. 

If it’s him, you want to do anything and everything. 

—

Seungcheol runs his fingers down your hair, whispering sweet nothings as you struggle to stay awake. Your entire body is shaking, spent and so close to collapsing. 

“Let me go for a minute, baby,” he kisses your cheek as you whine and clasp your hands around his neck tighter. He chuckles, “just one minute.” 

“One minute?” Your voice comes out whiny like a child, all the walls you carefully constructed bulldozed by the man who is trying to suppress his smile. You pinch his back. 

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, his hand resting over the curve of your waist, “you are cute, you know that?” He buries his face in your skin, “yes, one minute.” 

“You are not leaving me, right?” 

He reads the apprehension in your words. “No, just gonna grab pizza.”

“Pizza?” 

He nods, “I know you are gonna get weak from using up all your energy, so got you food along with condoms.” 

Your pussy clenches around him, Seungcheol groans, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, warning you, “don’t.”

He helps you off of him, and onto the bed before the situation gets out of your hand and he starts fucking you, again. 

He is already up, removing and typing up the condom. “One minute. Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

Your eyes flutter close, you hear a distant opening of a door and Seungcheol greeting Clementine with enthusiasm. You frown at his upbeat energy, you were not the only one fucking, he did most of it and yet he is full of life. 

A hand pats your cheek gently, and a voice calling out to you, you turn to the other side going back to sleep. A raspy laugh followed by a cute and the footsteps recede. You are about to enter the dreamland when you feel a wet cloth between your legs, the ache startling you awake. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he tries his best to be as gentle as possible, but you are unable to restrain the cries of pain, “done.” 

Your stomach grumbles as the smell of pizza wafts, you turn to the other side following the smell to see the white cardboard on your nightstand. 

Seungcheol is back even before you can move your leg to crawl towards the food. He sits against your bed frame, pulling you into his lap, and picks up the comforter from the floor, throwing it over your entangled legs. 

You lean against his chest, cheek nestled near his collarbone as you gaze at the food. He snickers, helping you with a slice, holding it to your lips. 

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

This man before you is different. He stands taller now, his shoulders broad. His dark hair is neatly trimmed; his white button-down, pristine. A silver cross dangles from a chain around his neck. 

“Seungcheol is leading the youth ministry now,” your mother gushes. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” you echo, eyes flicking to the way his fingers curl around the spine of a leather-bound Bible.

Seungcheol chuckles. A low, rich sound that hums in your chest. “I’m just doing what I can,” he responds. “It’s a blessing to be able to serve.”

The conversation drifts around you. Talks of charity events, of how Seungcheol spends his weekends visiting the sick, of how he volunteers to clean the church after late-night vigils. Your mother calls him a godsend. A good man. 

And he is. Seungcheol meets your gaze with the unwavering steadiness of a saint, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face. He offers to walk you home, and your mother all but shoves you toward him.

It should be safe. Seungcheol is good. Seungcheol is holy.

But something lingers in the air as he falls into step beside you.

“You didn’t say much back there,” he muses, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Do I make you nervous?”

You hesitate. “No,” you lie.

He smiles. Not the same polite, tempered curve of his lips from earlier. This one is smaller, sharper. As if he knows something you don’t.

“Good,” Seungcheol murmurs with a tone of velvet and smoke. “I’d hate to scare you away.”

The streetlights above you flicker, their glow dimming like a prolonged inhale. You wonder, briefly, if you should be afraid.

The walk home is quiet, save for the steady echo of your footsteps against the pavement. Seungcheol doesn’t push for conversation, letting the silence stretch between you like an unspoken understanding. Every so often, he glances at you. 

When you finally reach your doorstep, he lingers, his fingers slipping into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. The porch light casts a warm halo over his head. For a moment, he looks almost ethereal. Like a painting of an angel, edges softened by the glow.

“You’ll be at mass on Sunday?” he asks conversationally. 

You nod, your hand gripping the doorknob like a lifeline. “Yeah.”

His grin returns. “It’s important to stay close to God,” he says. 

There’s a beat of silence and you think he might finally leave. But Seungcheol steps closer instead, his presence looming; pressing against you without ever touching. His eyes dip to your hand on the doorknob before lifting back to meet your gaze.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” he says, “you can call me.”

Your throat tightens. “Okay.”

Seungcheol tilts his head, studying you like he’s searching for something just beneath your skin. Then, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s supposed to be casual, supposed to be part of his carefully packaged goodbye. 

Why does it burn, then? Why does it feel like some forbidden apple, hanging just within your reach? 

“Good night,” Seungcheol says, voice dripping with something saccharine. Something final.

“Good night,” you say back as your heart hammers against your ribs.

He turns and disappears into the night, footsteps fading until you can no longer hear them. Even as you step inside and lock the door, the weight of him lingers. 

That Sunday, Seungcheol’s presence bears down on you once more. 

Families are packed into the wooden pews, the soft hum of hymns echoing against the stone walls. Candles flicker, drawing long shadows over stained glass windows. The air smells of incense and old wood.

You spot Seungcheol right away.

He’s kneeling at the front of the church, head bowed in prayer, his fingers delicately clasped around his cross. The morning light catches in his hair, turning the dark strands golden at the edges. For a moment, he looks like he belongs in one of the frescoes above the altar.

You sit, try to focus on the mass, but it’s impossible. Not when he finally rises, turning to scan the crowd. His eyes find yours like a hook, and you swear he smiles before he looks away.

When it’s time for the sign of peace, he’s suddenly there, slipping into the pew beside you.

“Peace be with you,” Seungcheol murmurs, his hand reaching for yours.

It should be an innocent gesture. Everyone is doing it— trading handshakes and wishes of peace. But when his fingers wrap around yours, his thumb drags over your knuckles, slow and deliberate. The touch is fleeting. It sears. 

You don’t even register your automatic response before he pulls away, stepping back as if nothing happened. His expression remains serene, respectful, as he nods politely and returns to his spot at the front.

Your heart pounds through the rest of the service.

Afterward, as the congregation drifts outside, you linger near the vestibule. You half hope and half dread that he’ll seek you out. 

In the end, he does. 

“You’re staying for fellowship?” he asks you smoothly.

“I— no,” you stammer. “I was just leaving.”

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. “I’m glad you came today.” The corner of his mouth lifts with the hint of a smirk. “It’s nice to see you.”

It shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it does. But as he steps back, joining the rest of the parishioners with effortless ease, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s still watching you— even when his back is turned.

You tell yourself you’re going to church for yourself. That the knot of anticipation in your stomach is just leftover nerves, not expectation. When you slip into a pew, your gaze flicking over the heads of the faithful, you know better.

Seungcheol finds you like he always does. He slides into the seat beside you just before the first reading, the scent of his sharp cologne mingling with the sharp tang of incense.

“You came back,” he whispers, the hint of a praise just for you. Just for you. 

You try not to balk. “Of course.”

His gaze lingers, dark and steady, before he turns back to the altar. His thigh presses against yours, just enough that you can’t ignore it.

Through the homily, he doesn’t move away. If anything, he shifts closer, his knee brushing yours every time you shift in your seat. Your skin sparks where he touches. The ache in your chest only deepens.

When mass ends, he doesn’t let you slip away this time.

“Can I walk you home?” Seungcheol offers. 

You should say no. 

You don’t.

As you head out together, the only sound initially is the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the distant toll of the church bells. Seungcheol walks beside you, his cross glinting in the late morning light.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he says after a couple of minutes, breaking the silence. The words are soft, carefully chosen.

Your pulse jumps. “What?”

He stops and turns to face you. For the first time, he makes no effort to hide it— the way he looks at you, like he’s already made up his mind about what he wants.

“I think,” Seungcheol says, taking an infinitesimal step closer to you, “you like when I pay attention to you.”

You step back, but he matches it. His hand lifts, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not holding. Just enough to feel your pulse hammering beneath the skin.

“I shouldn’t say things like that, should I?” His voice is low, nearly apologetic. “I’m sorry if I’m wrong, angel.”

Angel. The choice of pet name settles over you like a second skin. This is the part where you’re supposed to agree that he shouldn’t say things like this, that you deserve the apology he’s doling out. Instead, you find yourself willingly trapped in whatever dance Seungcheol has orchestrated. 

And the smile he gives you— all dimples and sharp teeth— tells you he notices.

He tilts his head, studying you as if you’re a puzzle he’s already halfway solved. “Angel,” Seungcheol repeats. “Is that alright with you?”

“Why that?” you ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

His thumb grazes the inside of your wrist, the faintest touch, like he’s testing the weight of your reaction. “Because angels are beautiful.” He pauses for a beat. “More than that— they’re obedient.”

The word lingers, heavy and deliberate, and the heat that rushes through you feels sinful. He waits, gaze unwavering. “Do you mind?” he asks again, and his concern would be genuine there weren’t a dozen alarm bells going off in your brain.

You’re a lamb being primed for slaughter, you think, as you give a jerky shake of your head. No, you don’t mind, you’re saying, even though you’re not a hundred percent sure what you’re walking into. 

“That’s what I thought,” Seungcheol says, his hand sliding to entangle your fingers with his.

The satisfaction in his voice sounds a lot like benediction.

You hadn’t expected to see Seungcheol waiting for you outside the parish hall.

The evening mass just ended, the lingering scent of incense clinging to the humid air. Most of the congregation had already filtered out, murmuring goodbyes and making their way home. 

You should be among them, with your mother. Instead, you find yourself waiting with bated breath by the outside of the building— watching Seungcheol shuffle toward you with slow, deliberate purpose.

His eyes drop to your dress. It’s subtle, the way his expression changes, the slight shift in his stance. You feel his scrutiny like a weight.

“This is new,” he says, gaze dragging over the delicate fabric. The way the hem flutters just above your knees.

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly unsure if you should shrink under his stare or stand taller. “I wear dresses to church all the time.”

“Mm.” Seungcheol hums, something unreadable in his tone. “Not like this.”

It’s not a condemnation, not exactly. But it makes your skin prickle. Your pulse, too loud in your ears.

You exhale shakily, trying to maintain at least some composure. “Is there a problem?”

His answer comes slower this time, drawn out like he’s considering it carefully. “Not at all,” he says, though his voice has dropped to something quieter, rougher. “It just makes it a little harder to behave.”

Your breath catches.

“Did you wear it for me?” He takes another step forward, crowding the space between you. The parish hall looms behind him, dark and quiet, as if holding its breath.

“No,” you fib, but you’re not sure why you bother.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue and reaches out. His fingers graze the hem of your dress, barely a touch. Enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Shame,” he murmurs. “It’s a pretty little thing.” 

His hand trails upward. Not far, just a few inches. The implication is there, hanging thick in the night air.

Your lips part, a protest or a prayer— you don’t know which. Then, Seungcheol lifts his other hand, cradling the side of your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek. Featherlight. Loving, in another lifetime. 

Seungcheol leans in, his breath warm against your lips. “Angel,” he murmurs, “tell me if you want me to stop.”

You don’t. 

When he finally closes the distance, kissing you slowly and deliberately, you realize— he already knew that.

The gentleness from before fades quickly, replaced by something more desperate, more demanding. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. His lips part against yours, tongue sweeping over the seam of your mouth until you give in and let him take more.

You whimper, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him. It’s reckless— the way he presses you back against the stonewall of the parish hall, the way his body cages yours in. The silver cross hanging from his neck brushes against your chest. A cold contrast to the heat blooming between you.

His fingers ghost down your arm, trailing lower, lower, until he’s gripping your waist. His thumb rubs slow, deliberate circles against your ribs, inching dangerously close to the curve of your chest. He doesn’t go further, but the tease of it— the way he lingers right on the edge of propriety— makes your knees go weak.

This must be how it felt like, your brain screams, for Daniel in that lion’s den. 

Seungcheol bites your bottom lip, sharp enough to make you gasp. He soothes it with a slow drag of his tongue. The shift in pace makes your head spin, your body leaning into him as if begging for more.

But just when you think he might give, he stops.

Seungcheol pulls away sharply, suddenly, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His lips are pink and kiss-bruised; he licks them absently, savoring the taste of you.

You try to chase after him, to bridge the distance, but his grip on your waist tightens. Not to pull you closer, but to hold you still.

“That’s enough,” he whispers, voice rough.

It’s not. It’s nowhere near enough.

He must see the frustration on your face, because he laughs. The sound borders on cruel. Seungcheol lifts his hand, dragging his knuckles along your jaw in a gesture so unnecessarily tender it makes your chest cave.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Wear a longer dress next Sunday,” he hisses, his voice low and filled with something dangerous, belying the softness of his touch, “unless you want me to forget my manners again.”

He steps back before you can respond, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he hasn’t just unraveled you in the church’s shadow. His silver cross catches the light as he walks away, gleaming like a promise. Or maybe a warning.

And you’re left standing there, heart pounding, lips swollen, with the taste of him still lingering in your mouth. 

Wanting.

Your mother is practically glowing, flitting around the kitchen to refill side dishes and top off drinks, beaming every time Seungcheol so much as glances her way. 

Across the table, Seungcheol's mother sits with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap, watching her son with quiet pride.

Your family reestablishing its presence back at church has made this a normal thing now. Having Seungcheol and his mother over is something you suppose you should expect a lot more frequently, especially with the way Seungcheol effortlessly charms your parents. 

“This is delicious, ma’am,” Seungcheol says, flashing your mother that gentle, saintly smile. “As good as I remember it. Maybe even better.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” your mother gushes, waving her hand. “It’s nothing special, really.”

“I don’t know about that,” Seungcheol says, eyes flicking to you. “Everything here feels... special.”

You nearly choke on your water.

His mother, ever composed, laughs softly. “He’s always been so gracious,” she says, glancing fondly at her son. “Even as a child.”

Seungcheol offers her a modest shrug. The perfect image of humility. 

But beneath the table, his knee brushes against yours. 

At first, you think it’s accidental. Then he presses closer. When you try to shift away, he follows— his calf locking you in place.

“Are you seeing anyone, Seungcheol?” your mother asks conversationally.

He hums, considering. “No one serious,” he replies, his free hand drifting under the table.

His fingers graze your knee, light as a prayer. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t give any indication that he’s doing anything at all. Just keeps chatting like he isn’t testing your composure in front of your families.

“I’ve been focused on church,” he continues, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. “And helping the community where I can.”

Seungcheol’s mother nods approvingly. “He’s very dedicated,” she says. “Always has been.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, your heart pounding loud in your ears.

“We need more young men like you these days,” your father adds as Seungcheol’s fingers creep higher.

“I just try to do what’s right,” Seungcheol answers. His voice is steady, almost pious. But the way his touch trails higher, fingertips teasing the hem of your dress— is anything but.

You shift in your seat, enough to have Seungcheol’s hand stilling. “Are you okay?” Seungcheol’s mother asks as she notices your supposed discomfort.

You nod quickly, your pulse hammering. “Just a little warm,” you say, grabbing your glass with a trembling hand.

By the grace of God, Seungcheol pulls away. He resumes his polite conversation, plays the role of a righteous man. 

After dinner, your mothers settle in the living room with cups of tea, conversation flowing easily as it always does whenever they catch up.

Seungcheol lingers with you in the hallway. “Got any movies?” he asks almost casually. “We could put something on while they talk.”

You blink, caught off guard. “I— yeah, but my laptop is in my room.”

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “That okay?”

You should find some excuse, any reason to keep him downstairs, but the way he looks at you— patient, steady, like he knows you’ll give in— makes your resolve crumble.

“Sure,” you breathe.

No one questions it. Your mothers send you off with twin simpers; your father barely looks up from the television. As you lead Seungcheol up the stairs, you realize just how much misplaced faith they have.

When you reach your room, Seungcheol steps inside, hands in his pockets as he surveys the space with quiet interest. The soft glow of your bedside lamp casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edge of his jaw, the silver glint of the cross around his neck.

He turns to you. “What do you feel like watching, angel?” he asks, just loud enough for your parents downstairs to catch.

But then the door clicks shut behind you. 

All pretenses go up in smoke. 

“We’re not here to watch a movie,” Seungcheol says plainly. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he closes the space between you, crowding you up against your door. Wordlessly, he cups your jaw, fingers resting just below your earlobe.

“Do you want to tell me what we’re here for, angel?” he prompts. 

Your answer is a weak one. It’s a trained response, similar to the way your body involuntarily melts against his whenever he touches you. 

“Practice,” you say hoarsely, and Seungcheol hums with approval. 

“Practice,” he confirms— and then he leans in to crash your lips against his. 

Ever since that first kiss, the tension between the two of you have crackled like a livewire. It’s only been making out so far. Heated sessions stolen every Sunday, in some dinky, dark corner of the parish where nobody might find either of you. 

Practice, Seungcheol had told you about all your rendezvouses. He’s helping you practice for the man you’re someday going to marry, the one you’re obligated to please under your archaic religion. 

It had struck you, of course, that Seungcheol never referred to himself as that. He was not your future husband, not somebody who wanted to be shackled by the label ‘boyfriend’. You were not that big of a fool to insist on that. 

But you are enough of a fool to think that it will be the same thing this evening. That Seungcheol might exhibit some restraint, considering the fact your parents are a floor away. 

He tips you back, one hand in your hair and the other wrapped around your waist. He pulls away from the heated kiss to survey the heat in your cheeks, the haze in your eyes. His breath is hot on your throat, and when he presses his lips to the sensitive skin there, they feel like fire. You shiver, unable to do anything except grip the front of his shirt in both hands, and Seungcheol laughs lowly.

“Trembling already?” he says as he nips at your pulse point, tongue licking over the indentations he’s left. It won’t leave any marks, but the threat of it thrills you enough. 

He’s everywhere. Hands roaming, lips mapping out the terrain of your body. When he kisses you, it’s like being consumed by something larger than life. 

The hand in your hair tightens, forcing your head back. His other hand pushes your hips flush against his. Seungcheol swallows your gasp, tongue pushing past the barrier of your lips to meet yours. It’s overwhelming— to be kissed so thoroughly— but you’re helpless to the rush of pleasure. 

Seungcheol draws back, chest heaving. “You make the prettiest noises, angel," he purrs. “But keep it down, hm? We can’t get caught.” 

“Can’t get caught,” you repeat dumbly, still trying to catch your breath. 

He seems pleased to see you unravelling. Hand still threaded in your hair, Seungcheol begins to guide your body away from the door. He acts like he has a right to navigate your room, like this isn’t his first time in your private space. 

You’d expected him to guide you to your bed, and so you’re mildly surprised when he pulls you over to your work space instead. You stumble over your steps but he holds you upright, tugging at the roots of your hair in a way that borders on painful.

Seungcheol lets go of you as he sinks into your desk chair. You’re dazed as you watch him settle in— as if it’s his God-given right. 

“How far have you gone, pretty thing?” If you strained your ears, you might hear just how condescending he is underneath his curious facade. “Has anyone gotten a proper taste of you? Have you had a cock in your mouth?” 

Your face flushes at the filth that spills from Seungcheol's mouth. For a moment, you hesitate, your fingers nervously toying with the edges of your dress.

“None of that,” you whimper, partially afraid that your inexperience will ruin the moment. “I haven't done... any of that. Just kissing.”

It’s exactly what Seungcheol wants to hear. 

He doesn’t have to probe about any of the other boys you might’ve kissed. In his head, they’re good as gone. He’s the one in your bedroom right now; he’s the one who has you wrapped around his finger. 

“We’ve got a lot more practicing to do, then,” he muses. He goes the extra mile, injecting a tinge of disappointment into his tone. 

Panic flares in your chest like a firecracker. You resist the urge to clamber on to his lap and try to atone for your inexperience. 

Seungcheol is quiet as he surveys your nervous expression. When he speaks, his tone has the blood in your veins running cold. 

“On your knees.” 

You don’t immediately comply. The slowness of your uptake has Seungcheol arching one eyebrow upward, his fingers flexing over the armrest of your chair. 

“Come on,” he coaxes, “you go to church. You know how to kneel, don’t you?” 

You feel pathetic, the way you scramble to prove him right. You’ve never been so grateful that your parents insisted you get a carpet. The plush materials press into your knees, and you gingerly shift until you’ve got the skirt of your dress as an extra layer of protection.

There’s something demeaning about this, you think to yourself. About the way Seungcheol’s gaze is heavy-lidded, full of wicked intent. About his fingers finding their way back into your hair, threading through the strands in a way that verges on menacing. 

But how could he be wicked, how could he be menacing? He’s smiling down at you, urging you to rest your cheek against his knee. You follow— you always do— and you lean against him, some of the tension in your body easing out. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, and your foolish heart sings. He’s concerned. He’s worried. 

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m— it’s okay.” 

Seungcheol makes a small hum of approval. His nails ghost over your scalp, lulling you into a sense of safety. You lay your head in his lap, reveling in the feeling. 

A couple of moments pass like that. Just as your eyes flutter close, Seungcheol’s voice breaks through the silence. 

“Angel,” he says softly, “do you want to help me feel good?” 

He poses it like a question, like he doesn’t already know what you’re going to say. You haven’t denied Seungcheol a single thing up until this point. And now you feel indebted, now you have to repay all his guidance. 

“Yes,” you breathe, the word a cold, broken Hallelujah. 

Seungcheol keeps his hand on your head— holding you in place or comforting you, it’s not clear. His free hand works on the button of his slacks. You shift uneasily, your eyes taking in every movement. 

His zipper being pulled. His boxers being pushed down, just enough for his semi-hard cock spring free. 

He picks up on your trepidation immediately. 

“It’s practice, angel,” he reminds you, his hold loosening in your hair. He’s giving you the option to pull away, you realize.

You’re not going to. You don’t want to. 

Desperate to prove yourself, you reach out. He gives a low hiss in response, his eyes darkening at the way your fingers wrap around his cock. 

“Spit on it first.” His words aren’t advice or a plea. They’re a command. 

You do as you’re told. You note how the spit makes things easier; it lets your palm slide along him much better. There’s a hint of fascination on your expression as Seungcheol twitches and swells underneath your hold, belying the facade of nonchalance that he’s put on. 

“Does it feel good?” you ask, peering up at Seungcheol. 

His gaze is half-lidded as he stares down at you. “It does, angel,” he says, voice rough around the edges, “but you can go a little faster for me, yeah?” 

You comply instantaneously, your hand running from tip to base and back up again with a little more intent. A part of you preens when Seungcheol’s head lolls backward, resting against the back of the arm chair. He’s obviously trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay, and you chalk it up to the fact your families might clock you if they were to find anything suspicious. 

“Good girl,” he grunts. “My perfect angel.” 

The praise goes straight to your head. You’re a little more enthusiastic as you pump his shaft at the pace he seems to like. After a couple of moments of Seungcheol’s quiet grunts, you ask the question that secures you a one-way ticket to hell. 

“Will this be enough?” 

Blink and you’ll miss it. The way Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. The millisecond where he looks contemplative, thoughtful. The moment he realizes what he’s going to say, what he’s going to ask of you. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s not enough.” 

You falter, but you keep your hand firmly wrapped around Seungcheol. So much about this situation is unfamiliar, from the coil in your stomach to the inexplicable need to gain Seungcheol’s approval. 

“I’ll need your mouth,” he says plainly. 

It makes sense to you now, how easily Eve had succumbed to that apple. The original sin, they called it, and you think you’ve learned a thing or two about sin as Seungcheol spreads his legs. You move until you’re positioned a little better over him, your breath warm against his cock.

Seungcheol grips your hair again. You can feel the reservation in his touch, the way he’s holding back with every fraying inch of his control. Letting you set the pace.

You lean forward, hesitantly licking a strike up Seungcheol’s cock. He masterfully keeps his expression under control. The lack of an enthusiastic reaction spurs you to take him in your mouth, to bob your head up and down experimentally. 

Your movements are a bit awkward; the taste of Seungcheol, new to your senses. You grin and bear it as you start to see progress— his fingers tightening in your hair, his breaths coming up a little more ragged.

Instinctively, Seungcheol’s hips buck upwards. You gag when you feel him hit the back of your throat. “Sorry, angel,” he groans. “Feels like heaven.” 

You hum with approval, the sound reverberating around Seungcheol’s cock. He twitches underneath you and squeezes his eyes shut, like it’s taking every ounce of his control not to fuck into your mouth.

When you try to hollow your cheeks, Seungcheol tugs you off of him. You gasp— for air, and in surprise— but he’s maneuvering you faster than you can properly react. 

It happens so quickly. One moment, you’re sucking Seungcheol off. The next, he has you folded over your desk. 

“That was a little too good, angel,” he murmurs into your ear, his cock pressing into the curve of your ass through your dress. “If I come, I want to do it inside of you.” 

A cold shiver runs down your spine. With his chest to your back, Seungcheol feels it; he chuckles lowly, wasting no time to flip over your dress. 

“Cute,” he says, fingers running along the hem of your underwear. 

You feel weak-kneed, supported only by the table and the press of Seungcheol’s body. “What are you—?” you’re asking, even as Seungcheol nudges your thighs apart to give himself a little more room to work with. 

“Say ‘stop’.” Seungcheol’s voice has taken on that quality again. That do-no-wrong reverence. “Say the word and I’m off, angel.” 

The speed of your response surprises even you. “No,” you blurt out, like you’re afraid he’ll pull away if he sees even a moment’s hesitation. “No, no. I— want this. Want you.” 

His smile is sharp against the side of your neck. 

He pushes your underwear to the side. You hadn’t realized how neglected you’d been feeling until the first brush of his fingers tears an unbidden gasp out of you. It feels almost cruel, the way he teases the slick gathered at your core. 

“Seung—cheol,” you complain, and he breathes a soft ‘shhh’ into your ear. 

“What did I say earlier?” 

You swallow. “To— keep it down.” 

He rewards you by pressing the tip of his finger into your cunt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip in a futile attempt to bite back your moans. Seungcheol’s breaths are heavy as he slowly eases his finger into your heat, giving you time to adjust to the intrusion. 

You’ve touched yourself before, but this is something new entirely. Seungcheol’s fingers are thick and he hits parts of you that you couldn’t reach by yourself. Your jaw has gone slack, the sounds of pleasure catching in your throat as you try to keep yourself quiet. 

Seungcheol must deem your efforts insufficient, because he lets out a ‘tch’ of disapproval. “This won’t do,” he grunts. 

His free hand abandons its hold of your hip. You’re just about to ask what he’s going to do when he shows you— tugging the necklace around his neck, leaning over your shoulder. The chain dangles in your peripheral for a second before he’s shoving the cross past your lips, the silver cold against your tongue. 

“Bite,” he hisses. “Keep quiet.” 

Your mouth clamps down on the cross. You have only a moment to feel like this is something damning, something sacrilegious, before Seungcheol fucks his finger into you a little faster. 

It takes a mammoth effort to be the angel he wants you to be. Your legs are shaking; your forehead is slicking with sweat. Seungcheol deigns to slide another finger in, and it goes by without a hitch. You’re so wet that you don’t doubt it’ll gather all over your underwear and the inside of your thighs. 

“Hear that?” Seungcheol coos, referring to the loud, obscene squelching echoing in your room. You can only pray that your parents are deaf to the world as Seungcheol goes on, “Better than a fucking choir. Such a perfect pussy, angel.” 

He shifts from behind you. You can feel all of his hardness pressing up against you— everything from the planes of his body to the shape of his cock. There’s a moment where you hesitate, where you worry that your inexperience and softness might turn him off. 

If anything, it only seems to excite him more. 

“There are bad men out there,” he murmurs, “who will want to take advantage of a pretty little thing like you.” 

You try to nod, but there isn’t much room for you to move. Your brain feels like it’s melting, and it only worsens when Seungcheol’s thumb begins to rub tight circles over your clit. That— paired with the two fingers he’s driving deep into your cunt— is enough for you to see stars. 

But it’s his words that threaten to do you over. 

“Not me,” he says into the side of your neck. “Never me. I’m going to take good care of you. And that starts with having you come all over my fingers, like the angel that you are. The next thing I’m going to do is fill you up, make you feel it right here—” 

He presses into the gummy spot inside of you, and you’re done for. Your body slumps and you come with a soft cry, the cross in your mouth muffling the sound. 

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm when Seungcheol tugs his necklace free. The silver shines with your saliva, filling you with a sort of indignity that coils low in your stomach. 

Seungcheol’s fingers— still lazily fucking into you— distract you from your shame. And when he kisses you hard, as if rewarding you for your compliance, you can’t even think of things like sin. 

There is only Seungcheol. There will only ever be Seungcheol. 

“You did so well for me,” he says against your lips. “I don’t think they heard a thing, angel.” 

The bliss has made your head hazy, has robbed you of your coherency. You can only manage a breathless “Thank God.” 

His smile returns. It makes him look like he’s about to swallow you whole. 

Your work card digs into the muscles of your hand, its corners eroded from all the times you've walked the same path with the same fear. It stopped hurting months after getting it, the scars on your palm long cured. You've never once needed to show it, no one to question you is ever around, but they know who you are and where you're going.

It'd be completely silent, save for the buzzing of the blueish green and purple screens that surround every other building. Shining white teeth smile at you from the billboards, promotions of Cerebrum's latest update flashing one after another beside happy customers.

The LED lights mask the colorless reality in Prism. Below the gray smog that covers the sky and every building higher than three floors up, very few apartments seem lived in. You pass by them every day, every lifeless day, and they never change. Shoebox-shaped apartments got popular after the rise of Cerebrum's new life mode. Why have expensive, big, homes when the digital world gives you everything you need? Your bed stuck by your sister's is the everyday proof, yet you're the only one bothered by it. She and your mother never wake up from the cable-induced slumber, they don't see how the real world turned out to look like.

The company spent months, money and seemingly endless resources recreating every pixel to match everywhere in the country. And then spent more months blaming the state of the cities on the population, with Prism's government's support. Water, food, jobs, all went scarce at the same time as the digital world became available for anyone who owned any of Cerebrum's technology.

You don't blame those who prefer to spend their lives plugged in. Why spend your days in dead streets when you could be cities away in the blink of an eye, where the sun shines uninterrupted, where jobs don't risk your life, where time doesn't show on your skin and changing your appearance is as simple as choosing your new feature from a menu. The digital world seemed to satisfy the population's needs, and the Government's. It seemed to solve working families' issues while they got ignored by those who vowed to protect them. Once the devices to enter the digital world were well spread, jobs and housing for the population kept raking down priority lists.

It should be 7 am according to your analog clock. You haven't seen the sun in years. Would it be up by now? Or would your journey in the dimly lit streets be dark anyway?

You hear your workplace before you see it. The tall building buzzes so loudly its sounds echo even a street away. Then, the only building powerful enough to shine through their smoke comes to view.

The skyscraper is undeniably beautiful, with glass windows and delicate light arrangements on the sides. The one time you plugged yourself in and strolled around the digital world, you thought its pixels were underwhelming in comparison. It's a shame only few people choose to see it in real life. It's a shame that, everyday you come into work, the marvel disappears each second you spend downstairs.

The front door beeps in warning as you come close. Once upon a time, before you were of age to work, there used to be a real life guard at the door to check everyone's work cards. At least that's what your mom says. Now there's just a laser scanner that matches your card to your retina scan.

"Cerebrum's happy to have you," the AI voice welcomes you with its eerie happiness.

You used to smile back at the cameras, sure that someone real had to be monitoring the employees. You don't have it in you to be polite to machines anymore.

Inside, three elevators come to view behind the receptionist's hologram. Its green hand points to the one you're supposed to take. The metal doors open for you without pressing a button, and next thing you know, the elevator takes you down to where it knows you go every day of the week.

There are days you spend without hearing your voice, or any voice. There are wild days when you wish one of the soldiers roaming the streets finds you so you had an excuse to say something longer than a sentence. There are others, the rarer ones, when you dare to wish your family would unplug from Cerebrum and you could spend a normal day. Never once do you wish to become a pixel, even when your responsibilities need you to.

Working seems more and more like the only thing you wait for, the only place where being alone with people permanently on mute doesn't drag your will to live through the mud. Sad, really.

The metal doors open to let you through, but the sight before you is not what you expect. For a second, you view the monitor room. Computer screens show flashes of green tapes, streets all across the city with someone walking by. Your suspicions were correct, someone is watching the streets. Only a chair is occupied by a uniformed, who slowly turns back to catch your eyes through his black leather mask before the elevator dings once again and closes its doors.

Damn it. All the time you spent following the rules for you to get in trouble for a once in a lifetime malfunction. Cameras are never seen, not even in the office, yet you now have confirmation that they're real, and they are recording. A security guard caught you peeking at the security footage. You don't know what floor that was or what they do with the information, only that the next time the doors open, you see familiar rows of cubicles across the room. There's only one thing you can do, and it's pretending nothing happened. Your security now depends on one man who you trust doesn't want to get in trouble for allowing a security breach.

You're not the first one to arrive on your floor. Multiple stares find yours from their desks, the small wrinkles by their eyes the only greeting you get. You smile politely and walk to your desk with your head down.

Keyboards tick from every booth, yet you doubt any of them have a real assignment, it's been months since you got one yourself. You spend the time reviewing old algorithms and updating them to the current system, small fixes that you're probably the only one to notice their purpose, but that make daily devices faster to use.

Three taps on the floor from the cubicle by your left perk your ears up. Morgan gets up and walks to the bathroom. You don't look her way, maintaining your hands in place as you type nonsense onto an empty code sheet and delete it right after. You know what it means when you steal a glance and notice her red pen missing.

As long as your computer shows itself active, she shouldn't have problems, otherwise, someone would've caught up to the task-less team you're a part of.

Her walk back to the desk disrupts the silent office, but you can't do anything more than waiting. Everyone knows. The air gets tense. Every tap of your foot signals another second has passed. You can't do anything yet. It's too early.

But you need to warn someone before it's too late.

You get up at the ninetieth tap, over ten before you're supposed to. The imprints of her feet are almost visible on the green hairs of the carpeted floor. She didn't take long there. She couldn't have known what happened before you got in. And no one else came in here.

The skin of your back flares with goosebumps as you open the restroom door. You can't be visibly upset. You force your face to seem calm as you turn so the cameras don't notice anything unusual.

You don't take a normal breath until the door closes shut.

One of the stalls is closed. That's where Morgan wanted you to go.

You enter the one on its right and crawl under the side-wall to find where the note awaits.

Meet at the Park later. Storm warned of bad news.

Bad news.

The note system has its limitations, being detailed is out of limits. But Morgan didn't write about anyone in particular. Her inside contact either didn't tell her about your encounter, or preferably, they didn't hear about it. She's not your friend, she relays important information the company doesn't want the workers to know. If you were in trouble, she'd tell you. There's a 50/50 chance your ass isn't on the line. Not bad odds, taking in account Cerebrum's history.

You take the note, drop it in the water and flush. If there were other coworkers Morgan wanted to tell, she'd find another way.

Making sure nothing sounds out of the ordinary, you wash your hands a respectable amount of time and walk back to your seat. In a few hours you'll meet Morgan in the Park and find out what she knows.

As long as your computer stays active, it won't ring any alarms.

Pretending to work around the plugging codes, the sheet takes you to a string of numbers you've familiarized with since the new normal made its appearance. You shouldn't risk checking in on your family, wasting time on codes you make sure again and again don't harm their well-being.

They're okay. You make sure of that.

The company's (and the population's) focus slowly shifted to the pixel world once the people ultimately started depending on it. Pixel jobs and pixel money and pixel lives became the substitute to a reality pushed to fail.

It's been almost two months since the last time your mother and sister spent time unplugged. Not the longest that has ever passed. You wish you had an excuse to bring them out, to say that it's unhealthy, that something's wrong and it's not safe, but you can't prove it.

They don't know how much you work for them to live as they please. For all they care, you spend your days stuck in Cerebrum's basement, which may not be far from the truth, but really is a naive conception when you can do unimaginable things with a computer and little supervision. They can't know. They won't. Ever.

Do they think about you? When they're roaming around the perfectly set up parks and going to their instant Looks appointments? When they come back to a home bigger than you could ever imagine and find your room empty? The chances are low.

You barely talked the last time they unplugged to charge their cells. You don't have anything in common anymore. They hate the real world, and you can't blame them.

You don't blame them. You've done more to keep them there than anyone else. They didn't even have to charge their cells the last time, you had already made sure they're always plugged in and with multiple backup batteries just in case.

The codes running in front of you look like they do every day: perfect. Not one line break, not one error, not one fixable thing. You can't see their lives, their pixel jobs and pixel hobbies, and now, there's not even a thing you can do to make sure they don't get in trouble. You can only watch their bodies sleeping inside your shoebox apartment, listening to their breathing and trying to remember their voices.

The pavement, hard and wet, strains your leg muscles with each step. Your lungs struggle to catch up to the pace, but you have to arrive fast. If the cameras see you—which they will, because they exist and someone is always watching—everyone will be busted.

You arrive at the Park not ten minutes after clocking out.

Beyond the pavement horizon, the abandoned mall just outside Prism was supposed to be the big expansion, the bridge to connect the city with its neighbors, before every connection got forged over pixels. The unfinished building first got swarmed with groups who couldn't afford the newest technology, spending their nights inhaling Blue Smoke, until the government realized it wasn't profitable anymore.

The dark gray walls contrast everything you walked past; no led lights, no Cerebrum propaganda, no scanners or holograms to welcome strangers, just a fossil representing what life was supposed to be like.

You slide your black beanie over your head, put on your face mask and tech glasses to hide your face, and enter through an empty window shop. Glass shards and broken Smoke bulbs dig under your feet, announcing your entrance to the ghosts, but the intrusion ends unwelcomed. You grab the last reflecting gear on the only rack in use and put it on as fast as possible.

Through the glass of the never-to-be clothing shop, the dim lights that always stay on let you see into the patio. A decent sized group talks in unheard whispers, all with undistinguishable matching gears. You couldn't pick out Morgan from the group even if you tried, and the rest of them you've never seen without the gear.

The building got abandoned since the Government cleaned the streets from Smoke. They gave them something else to be addicted to, something with no trace in real life, something that isn't real. Frostbite regularly met there, far from the cameras, where no interest was shown, out of reach from the power houses that held everyone's life in their cables.

Someone nods in your direction and everyone acknowledges you as they open their standing circle to let you in.

You'd hoped to meet Morgan alone. Frostbite's plans always sound foreign to you, as you're barely a source from Cerebrum, not an organizer, and whatever Morgan warned you about felt personal. You're lucky they trust you enough to let you in, let you listen, but chances of bothering Cerebrum enough to act are always slim, and you just want to hear the bad news.

They're muttering about the best way to recruit the few people left on the street when the building shakes and a deafening buzzing sound paralyzes you whole.

There's only one thing that'd result in an unimportant building's bombing. They found you. They finally found you and the others. You don't hear any shooting sounds, you don't see any raised guns, but the air stills with their search for Frostbite. It's cold, silence trickled with the building crumbling down. You won't hear them coming. Their uniforms were made to take any rebels by surprise.

You follow Morgan and find the back of the clothing shop. Everyone knows what to do, and, in silence, you search for the planned way out. Behind dusty common clothes and empty fashion racks should be a door you wished you never had to use.

The underground tunnel is dark and empty, the sound of the door closing shut following each step everyone takes. There's nowhere to hide down here, no walls to shield you, no other doors to unknown rooms, only an endless liminal space in which the lack of lighting only works against Frostbite. But it's the only way out.

An echo should reach you of any following parties, but there's nothing. Maybe they hadn't reached the clothing store when you left. Maybe you were being paranoid, yet you don't stop running.

Run straight ahead, that's what Morgan had told you once, when forcing you to learn their protocols against your will. Run straight ahead and don't get caught. Forcing your legs to follow the reflecting gears ahead of you, you swallow a chuckle. It wasn't supposed to be serious. You listened to Morgan, hoping to calm down her paranoid spirit. Rebel attacks were unheard of. No one dared, and neither the Government or Cerebrum cared enough. But the building shakes again, and you barely miss a piece of ceiling falling on top of you, and you understand it.

Attacks were unheard of because they happened in this way. Away from the city, away from anything that could mess with Cerebrum's databases, in places no one cared about.Frostbite will end without accomplishing their goal, without making any noise, and without a goodbye.

Someone trips far behind you. You don't look back, but hear them struggling to get up. The tunnel crumbles all the way around, falling dust and pieces of cement clouding your sight and hearing.

Far ahead, a gray ray of sun makes its way though the smoke. The fallen person wails in pain, now so far behind only the echo makes its way forward. A red dot dances on the side of the tunnel, searching for an unmoving target. It doesn't give you time to thank the reflecting gear. The shot of a gun overwhelms any worries of the tunnel falling down on you. You hear no gunmen, yet the red dot lingers after the screams behind you quiet down.

As the end of the tunnel gets clearer, you sprint faster. A few Frostbite run past you, none of them looking back. You follow the dim light with as much hope as you enter your home every day—the shot was enough warning. You're being either run off the city or killed.

Is there even a plan after this? You failed to listen to what was being talked about when you arrived. You don't really know anything, do you? You were never in on the plans, you just followed the simplest orders, got the information they needed and went back to work. And, most probably, Cerebrum had a target on your back after your peek at the surveillance room.

Work.

Cerebrum will never take you back. You can't go back, even if you wanted to. You'll be dead, exiled, or searched for on every corner of every city under its power. You can never check on your family again. Your mom and sister will be left there, somnolently hooked into Cerebrum's machines. It'll be months before any of them wake up, you made sure of that. They won't worry if they don't see your pixel self, because you're never there. The longer you spent working, putting up excuses whenever they insisted on being there with them, the less they cared when you didn't. It's just another one of your disappearances.

You look back with terror, seeing nothing more than countless red dots waiting for you to fall. They won't leave anyone alive. The ceiling shakes once more, and you know they brought as many bombs as they needed to erase every trace left of the mission.

Bigger and bigger pieces of the tunnel fall to your sides, and your legs, starting to give out, barely help you dodge them.

What are you going to do if you escape? Your new life would consist of nothing. You'll must become no one. Maybe Frostbite would let you be one of them, if they make it. You'll be away from home, with a family that won't look for you, surrounded by capable people that you don't know, holding them back because you can barely run in a tunnel before starting to give up. You're not made for it.

You trip on a broken piece of gravel and lose your balance. Your hands pillow your stumble against the wall, and you slide to the floor as the walls shake. Whoever you outran passes you without a thought. You can't look back. You didn't do it either when it didn't happen to you.

You hear it then. Between Frostbite's heaving running towards the light and the ground being coated in pieces of tunnel, the red dots find your shivering body, and the soundproof boots march towards their new found victim. The closer they get, the more your fear dissipates. There's nothing more for you to do. You helped build the empire, you helped your family live comfortably, and you helped Frostbite after you realized your mistake.

The light at the end of the tunnel blinks in acceptance. Whatever you did, it's over. The cold of the ground seeps into your veins, holding you close to it, numbing you down. Your muscles don't tense waiting for the shot. If it hurts, you don't feel it.

First, the world goes brighter, white enveloping you. Then, moving ashes coat your face before it all goes black.

Heaven's pitch black when you open your eyes.

Ice cold burns along your back. You were never someone to believe in the afterlife, but it being cold and dark wasn't your first choice.

"Can you walk?"

A voice carries faintly, its owner invisible.

"What?" You reply with a cold throat.

You don't remember the last time you spoke out loud. Alone at home, forbidden at work, your voice was as much of a stranger as the omniscient presence watching your barely moving body. A shadow hovers over you, taking shape into something more human.

"Good. You're awake," it continues. "They can't see us here, but we need to leave if you don't want to be left for dead."

"How—

"Thank me later," it interrupts, sounding arrogant as much as it sounds hurried. "Get up and follow me."

You huff. "I can't see you."

A reply doesn't come, but the barest ray of green light reflects along the person's back, a subtle shimmer that sparks not so old memories. It's the same light Frostbite's tech glasses produce, the same reflection that messes with the Uniformed's infrared glasses.

"Fuck, yours must've dropped when you fell," the person sighs after moving what sounded like pieces of rubble. "Here, take mine."

You feel a pair of hands placing the glasses along your ears and eyes. The glasses were made to level up the field for Frostbite. If yours fell before you were shot, it means your advantage is over.

It takes a few seconds for your sight to get used to the greenness, then the hands drop to grab yours and help you get up. If you're on a rush, the careful touch shows no sign of it.

"We need to get out of here before it collapses," the person urges in contrast.

"How?" However you got to where you are, there doesn't seem to be a way in or out, and with you wearing the glasses, this other person is blind.

The person chuckles, back facing you so you can't see a face. "You should've gone to more meetings."

You follow the pull of your arm through a cave within the tunnel. Even without light, the way out is no stranger to your guide, only using the walls of the cave as a map.

Not a long way ahead, rays of light tamper with your glasses, and when your guide changes course to the right, you know the tunnel is almost over. The closer you get to the outside world, the less you see through the glasses, until the blindness becomes so overpowering you have to take them off.

Sighs of relief welcome the two of you as you finally leave the darkness. Someone without gear embraces whoever saved you. Morgan sits at a distance, on the curb on an abandoned street so far away from the Park that it looks like another city entirely. As she recognizes you, she jumps in surprise, walking in your direction with her arms spread wide.

All that you were ready to leave behind, what you thought you didn't need to see again, comes back to hit you in the face.

The world you lived in for years incapacitated people from making meaningful relationships, all technology led until hearing someone's voice in reality was as intimate as a kiss. Since the second you started running through the basement, you knew. Going back isn't an option.

"I was so worried when you didn't come out after me!" Morgan's voice wakes you up into her hug. Another thing you haven't lived through for some time. "I knew there was trouble when Jeonghan didn't come out after me."

Finding your voice costs even more when you have to admit what you almost let happen. Her smile is so bright you wonder how much it took her to hide it while in Cerebrum. You'd break it further if she knew.

"I had to use the trap we set weeks back to block their view," the voice of your savior, Jeonghan, sparks a different grin from Morgan. "I already told Storm."

The person that appears into view is nothing like you expected. You'd seen the long hair at the back of his neck in the darkness of the cave, his hands had been the first touch of skin you felt in months, you'd spoken to him after being in silence every day, yet his attitude mismatches the little idea you formed of him.

Tall, slender, and unusually cocky, his smirk almost makes fun of your fall. Now out in the open, you remember him from the few meetings you had to attend, with the snarky comments he always had at hand. You should remember his codename. Even if you didn't want him to, he saved you from the Uniformeds' quiet misery.

"We would've used it anyway." Morgan pats your shoulder, relieving you of a guilt you're supposed to be feeling. "Glad you got out before we had to."

Someone calls out to her close to the cave entrance, leaving you alone with the smirk and suspicious eyes watching you. Whatever he sees, it doesn't impress him. He sits on the curb Morgan was waiting for earlier, dusting off his reflecting gear with a chuckle.

You pay no attention to him, instead, the view you came out to takes protagonism.

The Park is a minuscule gray cube on the foreground of an endless cloud of dark smoke. If you squint, you catch the light of every Cerebrum ad being broadcasted on the buildings of Prism. From the outside, it may look like a storm about to pass, but after years of pollution, you stopped seeing the marvel of the clouds. The real sun became the greatest privilege.

The city limits were loosely guarded, giving the illusion of choice. But, when most preferred to give up their minds to Cerebrum, and cameras followed the few people who decided to stay behind, no one really dared.

"Where are we?" You ask into the air.

You had gotten used to depending on the LED ads to see on the street. While smoke still covers the sky, the wind welcomes fresh air that the tall shoebox buildings forbade you of.

"On the outskirts of Devil City," Jeonghan answers without looking up.

After thousands of cities began to join Cereburm's plans, land became a valuable source of space for the power centers that fueled the pixel world. Devil was one of the few cities that fought back to not turn into an electricity wasteland. They refused to join the pixel revolution, and a while later, a series of suspicious fires were reported all along its limits that extended to the center. The smoke never cleared, and the air pollution just made it worse. Devil's fight resulted in a burned down city and a never seen again sun for kilometers, but their spirit fueled the rebellion for years.

"Devil City was destroyed by the fires."

Jeonghan chuckles, acknowledging you again. "What do you see? Because I see buildings covered in green, and high floors that we can see without smoke being a little shit. We discussed this."

You refuse to feel bad for not remembering every single detail. You didn't want this.

"I was at the meetings because you wanted information, not to be made aware of all your plans. You know that." You didn't mind being a pawn in their game. You had reasons to stay, but reasons to help someone end Cerebrum's reign as well. You never pretended to be something else.

"If you listened instead of refusing to try, you would've known we had a trap door to escape and you didn't have to play hero."

"I didn't play the hero. I couldn't get up, and they were about to shoot me!"

He chuckles again. You're beginning to hate the sound. "If this is your way of thanking me—"

"I didn't ask you to help me. I don't even know you!"

You don't remember the last time you had a long conversation with someone that wasn't your sister or your mom. Exchanging words on a post-it with Morgan was as far as you went. You forgot how to filter your inner thoughts, though Jeonghan doesn't seem to mind your screaming.

He bites his lip hiding a laugh, looking at something behind you. You realize then that he took off the reflecting gear entirely, sensing that if you looked back, you'll find every Frostbite member in the same situation, just waiting for you to get a move on.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to take off the vest. The damage is done if everyone already sees you and hears you screaming nonsense.

"No, don't stop the hissy fit on their account! We should know who we're dealing with!" Jeonghan can barely get the words out between his laughs.

"Okay, you can stop annoying her now," Morgan comes back with Storm on her side. Jeonghan immediately straightens his posture. "We need to move forward, so here are a few things we need to let her know."

"Are you sure this is Devil City?" You take the chance to speak to the only person that understands why you wanted to get left behind on the planning. "I handed you the footage of the destruction. I saw it myself."

"You did. And it really helped to get us here today," Storm answers instead of Morgan.

He's one of the few who you could never forget about. He has a face you struggle to imagine smiling, a presence that takes the joy out of everyone around him, but, most importantly, he has everyone's trust and respect. He listens to concerns and trusts each Frostbite member to follow with their tasks. Even with the small amount of meetings you attended, you'd feel safe to put your safety in his hands.

"There's a lot they hide from us. More than you imagine."

Before the events of the day, you would've tossed the thought aside. You were always more aware than most about Cerebrum's deal, willingly or not. While everyone wasted their life becoming an ageless pixel, you saw the destruction of the city in real life, the things the Government did to help the rise of Alternate Reality, not even lies, just plain hiding until people stopped questioning the missed information. You worked inside Cerebrum itself! What more could they possibly hide?

"I think I know what they do pretty well." You saw in real time how they developed their tactics, how they ran people off the streets only to get them addicted to a false life. "I've been at Cerebrum since the development stages."

You don't miss the look on Jeonghan's face.

"We believe," Morgan starts with Storm's nod of approval, "that they ran off Devil's citizens to use the city themselves."

"They wouldn't risk killing thousands that could be persuaded into buying their A.R.," Jeonghan continues, as cynical as always. "And by making us believe they can bomb a city, they made sure we never checked it out."

"So, we're…" you struggle to connect the dots.

"We have reason to believe that the heads of Cerebrum live in Devil, so we're going in." Storm doesn't explain further. He doesn't have to. "But we have to be careful. Only address each other by our code names."

"I don't have—"

"You're Lurk," Jeonghan jumps.

"You're Lurk, yes," Storm repeats after elbowing Jeonghan. "You know the rest of us only by our codes, but be careful with the real names you know. We have a safe building in the city, but the closer we get to our target, the less we know about the surveillance. We need to be prepared."

You doubt Cerebrum bothers to reinforce Devil if what Frostbite believe it's true. No one should dare to even think about Devil City. Cerebrum isn't afraid of people finding out. You just hope they believe you're dead.

Frostbite's safe building is located close to one of the fire sites, near the city limits, but not far enough that traveling towards the center would take more than half a day.

You weren't many. The meeting that was found out didn't require for everyone to be there, luckily. The ten of you that escaped moved in groups of five, walking with almost a block of distance in between. Storm took the lead on the group walking behind. Jeonghan, or rather, Carpool, was the only one who knew the way, so he led the first group. Morgan was in charge of possible traps, so she was the second to join Jeonghan's team. You didn't want to leave Morgan's side.

The night in Devil city wasn't different from Prism. You couldn't see the stars in the sky, or the shape of the moon, but you also couldn't see the building across or the street below, and that type of darkness was much more welcomed.

"Are you not attached to the hip anymore?"

The carpeted floor silenced the steps all across the hall, the only reason why Jeonghan managed to surprise you.

"I don't want to be in the room if Rain is also there."

You and Morgan were unable to sleep, retracing both of your steps in Cerebrum to try and figure out if the two of you were at fault for the attack. You had to tell her about the surveillance room you accidentally saw, but excluded the fact that there was someone there. It didn't make a difference. Seen or not by a human, they would've caught you regardless.

She was about to tell you what the news she talked about on the post-it when Vernon knocked on the door and she let him in, struggling to contain her giggles.

"I should've guessed that's where he went. Sorry about that, you won't be able to sleep." You don't answer him. There's nothing to say, but he won't take it.

Jeonghan sits down by your side, unprompted.

"I want to be alone for a second, if you don't mind." You don't have it in you to pretend.

"I do mind," he chuckles, "so, no. Plus, we have to talk about the plan for tomorrow.Yet, he doesn't keep talking, waiting for a reply.

Your head rests against the wall, eyes closed so your senses can slow down for the day. Sleeping is not a viable option, you'll dream and dream about the day, about what could've happened, about your mistakes. The least you can do is protect your side of the building, make sure Morgan can have a minute of happiness with Vernon.

But an eager breathing pattern disrupts any possible rest. Jeonghan's eyes burn holes on your side. What image of you has he made up by now?

"You don't have to babysit me."

"I have to be there in case you trip into an abyss."

"Ha, funny."

You're not ashamed about what happened in the caves. If anything, it hasn't changed anything about life at all. Seeing a future as you live through a world that does nothing more than lift up the powerful at the expense of those who they vowed to protect, is hard. No one will ever realize the length to what you started years ago, the first grain of sand that built a desert that dried out what you most loved.

Jeonghan fights against it, like Morgan, like Storm and all those who follow him. They have trust in a system that never once worked for their favor, but they learned the loopholes, the ways around the manipulation, hoping to change it from the inside.

If you've done something more than sending Cerebrum after Frostbite, you hope the information you fed them the last few months changes something. You won't be able to see it, especially if the myth about Devil City is true, but it'd be nice to help do some good for once.

Jeonghan doesn't accept another one of your silences. "Get up. Come."

"We're not supposed to leave our post." If anything happens on this side of the building, it'll be your fault. Another thing will be your fault.

"You'll regret hanging out by the door later, trust me." Jeonghan gets up and extends his hand down for you to take. "I know this building like the back of my hand, I have it covered."

He gives you no other choice.

You get up on your own, not wanting another one of your first touches in years to be with him again. Jeonghan chuckles but says nothing more, walking slightly ahead for you to follow.

The abandoned office building wasn't the biggest around, it was a little more deteriorated, and less flashy than the others. You guess that's why Jeonghan had chosen it as the perfect spot. No one in their right mind would choose such an endangered place to take cover.

The only reason you're following him is because it's true, he had scavenged every little nook and crevice of the building to find the perfect spots for everyone to rest for the night. Everyone trusted him just as much as Storm when it came to security. Yet, he didn't lead you far from the room you were supposed to sleep in.

Down the corridor to the left, through one of the men's bathrooms, there's a small balcony towering an indoor patio. Loose cables flutter against the railing, and you admire the view from above while Jeonghan turns a flashlight on in the restroom.

You welcome the silence, real silence, without buzzing sounds or humid rain splatter. The world may never recover from the consequences of air and water eating technology, but maybe, if Frostbite is right about Devil City, they can make the people responsible pay for what they've done. You just wish you wanted to be there when it happened.

Jeonghan doesn't care about the silent city. He has been breaking out out of Prism for months, he got used to having somewhere to escape to."I know what you're thinking."

"I hope you don't," you reply with snark.

"You were at Cerebrum today, right?" You nod, hoping he gets to the point fast. "The basement? At 7 a.m.?"

"Everyone here knows my work schedule. Yes, I was. That's when Morgan told me to meet at The Park."

He looks at you blankly. "Did nothing else happen? Just a normal work day?"

Your knuckles turn white along the balcony railing. He knows. Jeonghan knows you fucked up and sent Cerebrum after Frostbite.

At least he had the decency to confront you alone. You can tell the rest of the team, let them decide how to punish you for the betrayal. It wouldn't be the first time you participate in something that fucks up your entire world, you'll get used to it, just like you got used to being alone in reality.

"It was my fault, okay? Are you done? I sent Cerebrum after us because I saw something I shouldn't have. Just go and tell Storm, I don't care. I can be the bait while you go ahead with the plan.

"I knew that," he smiles. "Ask me how I knew that."

So, he likes to play games, even when you're being vulnerable in front of him, again."I don't think I like you very much."

He shrugs. "I get that a lot. Ask me."

You sigh. "How did you know? You saw the camera footage?"

"You said someone saw you. What did they look like?"

And he's not making it easy either. "I don't know. It looked like a man, all covered up in the Uniform. There was no one else there, but he was pretty much surveilling everything."

"Let me find something, hold on." Jeonghan digs into the pockets of his pants, the only part of the gear he left on. "Did he have something like this?"

In his hand, a black leather mask lay crumbled. He chuckles at your gasp, putting it over the lower part of his face.

"It was you!" You punch Jeonghan in the arm, and your lungs treasure your first deep breath in weeks.

"I can tell the guys you're fine being the bait if—

"Oh, fuck you!"

"—you're still down."

You weren't in any danger. Your mom, your sister, they're still safe in their pods, blissfully unaware of the damage you nearly caused. It wasn't your fault everything almost failed.

In the darkness, by the light only on for you two to see the way inside, a little comfort makes its way to you. Jeonghan isn't aware of the load he took off your shoulders, and you don't care that he'll take it as another thing to tease you for.

"How did they find us today? If it wasn't me."

"Someone always gets caught," he replies, somber. "We can't know for sure, but it wasn't because you saw the security cameras. I wanted to let you know that."

His voice reminds you of his touch in the caves, in the cold and the dark, but maintaining a softness you're not used to anymore. Every one of your moves is always calculated, because letting the cameras see an emotion outside of your home means something worse than losing those who you care for.

The rise of Cerebrum slowly drove everything that makes us human into the alternate reality. First, the creative games and hobbies were made easier to access, less expensive if you already had a Cerebrum pod. Creativity was the thing that allowed humans to survive thousands of years ago, and they took that away first. Then, as more and more cities joined the craze, you could travel anywhere anytime. Schooling was next, you didn't have to carry things around if you could read and write with your mind. Without anyone realizing, each thing taken into the Pixel World became extinct in reality. It almost seemed like every piece of enjoyment was taken from those who chose to remain free of a false world. You couldn't be seen enjoying something, Cerebrum would just take it away in weeks. The last thing you had left was work. And no one dared to chat, to like a cup of coffee more than once a day.

No one ever imagined Cerebrum to take over the very bare characteristics that built communities, families, personalities, but the less they cared, the more it took.

"How did they end up being a thing?" Ignoring Jeonghan's niceness seems the best. You can't get used to something no one can have.

"She's too smiley, and latched on to the cool and mysterious guy. Happens all the time." He stares at his feet. "I think he really loves her. I've known him since before… everything. When she joined us, it was like the light was back on in him."

"That's nice." What more can you say? People managed to build relationships when you just gave up. You only exchanged words with Morgan through post-its, maybe after the few meetings you cared to join. "She's a good person."

It didn't take much for her to convince you to pass information to Frostbite. She'd left a post-it on your desk one day, telling you to go to the bathroom after 2 p.m. She'd found out you used company time to work on your family's safety, and figured you disliked Cerebrum just as much as her.

The first time you heard her voice, you knew she wasn't just fighting for the right cause, but managed not to lose her spark. You couldn't let yourself know her further, but she cared for you, more than anyone else. It's sad, but true.

"She cares for you," Jeonghan repeats, as if hearing your thoughts. "Did you tell her what happened back there?"

"You don't know what happened." He saved you because he thought you were being left behind and didn't want to trigger a ton of rocks on you. That's what he thinks happened.

"I saw it all, Lurk."

"I tripped. They had their guns on me."

"You gave up."

One thing about giving up, it makes you not want to argue about it.

"So what? I can't do anything for Frostbite anyway. I'm here now, I won't set you back on your quest, but just know you saved someone who can't do anything more for your cause outside Cerebrum."

If you had anything left in you, your eyes would fill with tears admitting such things to a stranger. You've become numb to it all. Acceptance, you called it. Accept what you've done. Accept you can do nothing about it. Accept Jeonghan's hand over yours.

His fingers are warm in the night. You haven't forgotten how they felt leading you out of the cave. If it all happened sooner maybe you'd let him reach further.

You take your hand away, getting up without skipping a beat.

"I'll talk with Storm about the plan," you whisper, more into the wind than towards Jeonghan. You see him shake his head from the corner of your eye.

He follows you until you reach the restroom door. The hallway's still the same as before, but now you can't wait to hug Morgan to sleep. Vernon be damned.

"That's what they want, you know." Jeonghan can't scream, the city silence would give out your location, but his whisper travels to your ears. "They take your hope away, make you believe it's the end and make you either give in or give up."

You hear no more. Words of rebellion are not what you need, nor a friend or the warm ouch of a stranger. You'll see his fight until the end, but the end will take you with it, whether Jeonghan wants it or not.

heeey *awkward*

Vernon showed love in a lot of different ways, and he had known from the moment he met you, that he loved you. 

The two of you had always understood each other, unlike most people you were not put off by his quiet nature. Instead you saw it as a safe place to be yourself, which had always meant you would talk his ear off with whatever had caught your attention that day or week. 

And his favorite pastime was to listen to the things you had discovered and the things that brought you joy. 

It didn’t matter to him that people didn’t understand him or his soul, because as long as you did, he knew that he would be okay. 

As he had grown older his thirteenth birthday had started to loom over him as a dark cloud, it held so much promise and so much anxiety. So when he had woken without any kind of mark he had been a little disappointed at first. 

But when your birthday had come and gone and no mark was on your skin either he clinged to the hope that the two of you were in fact each other’s other halves. 

The days following he had started to notice that he hurt himself more often than usual, which was weird because the pain usually seemed to come at times where he was certain he did in fact not stump his own toe. 

And when he started to notice the bruises on your legs seemed to match where he hurt himself that hope in his chest grew, and despite that he grew more and more certain for each passing day, he never spoke up. 

When Vernon had left his home behind to train under Pledis the two of you had hugged each other goodbye with tears in your eyes. And you had squeezed his hand thrice. 

“It means that I miss you, and that I love you” you had said with a blush on your cheeks. 

His heart had felt like it was about to explode right then and there. All he did was return the three squeezes and as soon as he had, he had caught you as you once again threw yourself into his arms. 

The training was hard, it took stamina, motivation and a tough skin. The guys were all kind, and as the days passed they all got closer and closer. 

When the talk of their soulmate marks finally came he had chosen to keep you to himself, not because you were a secret, they had all heard the stories of his best friend back home, but he was not ready to share the hope in his heart with anyone yet. 

He was not ready for anyone to pressure him to confess the feelings he had. He was not ready for anyone to push him down a hole of despair if he was wrong. So instead his brothers knew you as his best friend. 

It took years before anyone finally noticed how his eyes shone brighter when he talked about you, and how he had a special smile and laugh reserved for whenever he talked to you. 

Joshua had been sitting in the studio while Minghao was in the booth, quietly observing his younger brother as you had been talking to one another on a facetime call. It had become a weekly occurrence after you had moved overseas. One he had explained as just wanting to keep in touch with an old friend, when Mingyu had asked with suspiciously raised brows. 

As the time difference finally caught up to you, and you had fallen asleep, Joshua had seen how Vernon's hand had reached out to gently caress your cheek on the screen before silencing the call to not disturb your sleep. 

“You love her” he had said with a quiet voice. 

Vernon's head had quickly turned towards his brother in a panic, cheeks reddening as his brain tried to come up with an excuse for the action. 

Joshua had only smiled at his brother. “Is she your soulmate?” He had asked as he crooked his head a little to the left. 

Vernon had coughed once. “I don’t know” 

“She’s your best friend, how can you not know?” 

He shrugged once as he completely left Minghao behind in the booth, leaving the man as one giant question mark when no music and no direction came his way. 

“We’ve never discussed it. I’ve never had the heart to talk to her about it, because what if she’s not? It would be devastating knowing she belonged to someone else, that she wasn’t mine…” 

He looked down at his hands, completely avoiding his brother's gaze. Then the door opened and Minghao stepped in, and just as he was about to scold his producer for the day, he physically felt the tension in the room, and locked in. 

“But what if she is?” Joshua said as he moved over on the couch to make room for Minghao. 

Vernon buried his head in his hands as he took a deep breath. 

“Leave him Joshua, love is difficult enough, and I’m sure he has thought over every scenario more than a thousand times” 

He quickly looked up at his two brothers with raised brows. “How did you know?” 

Minghao only laughed. “You’re not exactly subtle you know? If it helps I’m pretty sure the feelings are reciprocated” 

That sentence made him smile as he leaned back in his chair and once again looked at your sleeping face on his phone screen. 

“They say you can physically feel a pull in your chest when you meet your soulmate, do you feel that with her?” Joshua asked. 

He nodded. “I’ve felt that with her since before I got my mark, but it’s been so long I’m not sure if it’s something I’ve made up or if it’s actually there” 

Minghao nodded before he once again stood up. “You won't know until you tell her” 

Much like Vernon you were terrified that a confession would lead to you losing your best friend, because what if his mark was different from yours? It would be the biggest heartbreak. 

So instead you had been subtle with your interest in him. You complimented for his music, which only seemed to make him pursue it more and suddenly he told you that he had taken your advice and had started producing and writing music. 

You complimented his clothes one time and now it seemed that his entire closet was only filled with polo shirts and jeans. 

You had thanked him one morning for staying on facetime with you even though you had slept for hours, and now he refused to be the one to hang up. 

It was these small things that always made you wonder if he did in fact love you the way you had always loved him. 

From the very beginning there had been a pull there, something that made you look twice whenever you heard his voice. A pull that made you know he had entered a room before he made himself known. 

When his mark came he said nothing, and when yours came he didn’t say a single thing either. For a while you wondered if that meant he didn’t want it to be you, but he only seemed to give you more attention from that day. 

When he moved away a part of your heart had moved with him, it felt as if you weren’t quite whole, and when you moved overseas that feeling had taken up more and more space in that uncomplete heart of yours. 

But those three squeezes you had given his hand when he had left, was now a part of your daily routine, because he had started to pinch his own hand thrice afterwards, an action you felt everyday. 

When the guys started to find their other halves Vernon started to yearn for you even more than he had done before. 

Both Minghao and Joshua had been slightly annoyed with him at first, his other half was right there, loving him just as he loved her, yet he refused to do anything about it. 

Their annoyance had however disappeared as soon as they had found their other halves. Which had led to that exact moment of him now waiting for you in an airport. 

He had invited you to stay with him a few weeks after Joshua had found his other half. You had some time off, and he missed you so terribly that he had personally bankrolled your entire trip. 

Despite all of your protests, you had let him spoil you, because you too wanted to see him. 

Vernon wasn’t one to run to you in the airport, instead he stood in a corner with crossed arms, and the second you were within reach he had pulled you as physically close to him as he could. 

Letting the smell of you engulf him as he took a minute to breath you in, all the while he tried his best to convince that little heart of his to calm down. 

It was as if a part of his soul had returned to him, as if he for the first time in a year could take a full breath. 

As the two of you pulled away from one another, he gently took your suitcase and with your now free arm you grabbed onto him as if you had done it every day of your life. You felt him stiffen beneath your touch, and for a second you considered if it was too much too soon. 

But as soon as you started to let go of him, he captured your arm with his own, and you soon felt the two of you relax into each other's touch. 

You had decided on the flight that this was the trip where you found out just who he was to you. If he was your other half, if he was your person. 

The two of you talked all the way back to his apartment, and due to all the late night and early morning facetime calls there was no real awkward silence. You just picked up the conversation right where you had left it. 

When you got there your stomach made a loud sound and you went straight for the kitchen, and slowly started pulling ingredients out of the cupboards all the while he sat down at the kitchen island to keep you company. 

It was so natural being with him. It was a feeling of being both safe and feeling utterly excited all at once. 

His phone made a sound. Have you confessed yet? the message read from Joshua. 

He quickly shut his phone off, it didn’t matter that you were too occupied with making dinner and couldn’t see it. 

No, he had planned all of this out. Tonight he wanted to just enjoy the two of you together, and tomorrow he would take you on a trip down memory lane, a trip through your friendship with one another, a trip through every major emotion he had ever felt towards you, and then he would…

He felt the gust of wind coming from the door of the fridge as you slammed it shut. But before he had a chance to even look up and figure out just what you were doing, he felt the pain. 

The pain of four of his fingers being caught in the door of a fridge. He winced from it, and without even thinking about it he was right there by your side in a second. 

“Are you hurt?” he scanned your face, as he saw how the tears welled in your eyes. 

His own hurt hand came to caress your cheek, and dry the tears away. 

“What the hell are you thinking darling?” His eyes searched yours for answers as you didn’t answer him with words. 

Your tears just kept falling, so in the end he just pulled you into his chest as he gently let a hand run through your hair. 

He heard you mumble something into his chest, he hummed slightly to make you repeat your words as he adjusted his stance so he could hear you without letting you go. 

“You felt it…” It wasn’t much louder than a whisper, but it was enough for him to stiffen. 

He pulled you away from his chest and looked down at those still tearfilled eyes. 

He took your hurt hand with his, and kissed the exact places the door had made contact. His own eyes had filled with tears so when he looked at you, his eyes mirrored his own. 

“I’ve felt everything, every tiny bit of pain, every sumped toe, every corner or door frame you have walked into. I’ve felt all of the pinches and squeezes that come in three that you’ve sent my way. I’ve felt every bit of it, and I’ve hoped and hoped that it was you sending all the pain to me, so that I one day could feel the world's greatest pleasure of finally calling you mine” 

Your arms flung around his neck and he pulled you closer than ever before, fully ready to claim as much as you as you allowed. 

It wasn't that this scenario was particularly funny, but the sheer relief of finally being able to express how you felt freely knowing that he felt the exact same, knowing that he always had. 

He lifted you up from the ground and set you down on the kitchen table. 

He kissed you left cheek once. Then your right. He nuzzled his nose against yours before finally looking at you with those eyes. Those dammed eyes. 

He kissed your lips once, quick, then once more. For every kiss they became longer and more passionate, and before you knew it he had laid you down on the surface and were crawling over you as his lips claimed every bit of skin he had access you. 

The sounds you made were the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and he knew now that he would never run out of inspiration ever again. 

The two of you had spent the entire night entangled in one another, catching up on years of intimacy. 

Your head gently rested on his chest, as his hand gently caressed a shoulder. He was silent, just looking at the ceiling. 

“How am I ever gonna leave you tomorrow?” The question wasn’t really aimed at you, but you twisted around and rested your chin on him as you took him in. 

If you could, you would take a mental picture of him like this. Eyes shining, messy bed head and a subtle shine on his skin. 

You smiled and he returned it before his hand left your shoulder for your hair and he gently started playing with it. 

“We’ll have a lifetime to catch up on those few years we missed” 

You physically saw his pupils dilate. “Say that again” 

His voice was quiet, gentle. 

“You will have a lifetime with me” 

Vernon was anything but exhausted when he was finally back in the practice rooms of the HYBE building. 

It was as if this had been the boost he had been missing. He was more energetic and more vocal than he had been in quite a while. 

Joshua and Minghao had both given each other a knowing look when he had entered that morning with a smile on his face and that well known spark in his eyes. There was no doubt that your visit had gone the way they had all hoped that it would. 

The two of you had made a plan, that you would stop by around lunch time and that he would finally introduce you to all of his brothers as his other half. 

All thirteen of them had known and met you through both calls and facetime, but this would be the first time that you would actually meet. 

He got more and more excited the closer the time came. And when he got the text message that you were officially on your way, that well known smile of his, was on full display. 

“I’m assuming that everything went well?” Joshua said as he leaned against one of the walls, close to the corner where Vernon had fled to, to respond to you. 

“Yah, hyung… It was everything and more than I could’ve dreamed of” He looked up from his phone and smiled. 

Joshua returned it. “So when are you gonna introduce her to everyone?” 

“She’s on her way, should be here soon. I just have to get her, her pass and everything so I might need to step out for few minutes” 

His older brother nodded. There was pride blooming in Joshua’s chest, pride that his brother finally showed his love what he had held in his heart for so long. 

“What did she say about the grand gesture?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Vernon only smiled. “We never really got that far” it was almost as if he was taken back to that moment once again, as if he was reliving it once more. 

His eyes glassed over, and he silently bit his lip. 

“Damn” Joshua said, and luckily for Vernon it was enough to snap him back to reality. 

He felt it then, those three little pinches on his hand. He smiled and as he opened his mouth to speak the pinches continued. 

It was panicked, desperate. His smile stiffened and his eyes lost all of it’s spark, to him it felt as if time itself were moving in slowmotion. 

“Something’s wrong… Josh, find her” 

Then the pain hit his body, instant, out of the blue and overall all consuming, and everything became dark. 

Something heavy was laying on his legs when he finally woke up, he moved and heard a silent whine as whoever the person was hugged him tighter.

He opened his eyes to find Chan there, silent but grateful tears streaming from his eyes. 

“Hyung, how are you feeling?” He said with a sad smile. 

Vernon didn’t respond, instead he searched every part of his soul for that small light that was you, and it was still there that thread of light that connected the two of you. 

Jihoon laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Take your time little brother, we got you” 

And as Vernon looked around the room he saw half of his brother's eyes, all worried, some red, some tired. 

Minghao ran a hand through his hair gently. “She’s okay, she’s in the next room” 

Vernon tried to speak but his throat was too dry to get a word out. 

“A car ran a red light, two streets over, Joshua was there before the paramedics, he and the rest haven’t left her side since” 

It felt like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. You were safe, you were okay. 

“Ho-how l-lo” Was all he managed to get out before Seungcheol came with a glass of water. 

“It’s only been one night, the last update we got was that she was still out like a light” 

He tried to sit up but his entire body was sore and hurting. 

“I need to get to her” he said with a groan, if this was how he felt, he knew you were feeling so much worse. 

It was his job to take care of you. His job to protect you. As much as he treasured his brothers for looking out for you, he needed it to be him. 

“You need to rest” Seungkwan said as he dried his nose. 

“Are all of you seriously telling me you would not run to your soulmates had you been in my situation?” He couldn’t help but laugh, but the sound was hallow, almost cold. 

The six men looked between them, a silent conversation that ended with Seungcheol getting a wheelchair. 

It took them so long to get him out of bed and over to the chair, and as soon as he was in it he was out the door. 

Mingyu opened the door to your room with a little smile and a pad on his back. He was by the side of your bed in less than a second. 

He reached out and grabbed your lip hand, and then the 12 members of Seventeen watched as their brother fell apart. 

“Don’t you dare never waking up from this, don’t you fucking dare” he said between the kisses he placed on the back of your hand. 

Seokmin turned his eyes up to the ceiling to not let his tears fall. 

“She’s a fighter, she’ll come back to you” Jun said as he gently stroked his brothers back with soothing strokes. 

“You are mine, and I am yours. In every life before this and every life after” 

He gently raised a hand to remove a strand of hair from your face. 

“You promise?” A hoarse and low voice said. 

“Oh thank fuck” it was the only thing he could think of saying, he could hear how the room shifted then, how his brothers left the room to give you the privacy you both deserved. 

It didn’t matter that his body ached every time he moved, nothing mattered except you. 

He gently moved you enough so that he could fit on the bed you were laying on. 

He could feel your body ache as you stretched your arms to hold him. 

Every move he made was slow and focused on hurting you as little as possible. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay” he whispered into your hair as he breathed you in. Despite the very distinct hospital smells, you still smelled like you always had. You still smelled like home. 

“I’m never leaving you - if we go we go together” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a little morbid, don’t you think?” 

He could feel your smile. “Maybe a little, but if you ask me I think it’s a brilliant plan” 

As usual he had to agree with you. 

As you recovered he never left your side. He was there to hold your hand through ever test and scan. 

There was no doubt in your mind that the hospital staff couldn’t wait until you were discharged, but he refused to let you leave before they had checked everything twice. 

It meant that your first meeting, your first awake meeting, with all his brothers happened in a hospital room. 

“Joshua” you said with a huge smile as he stepped forward with an otherworldly beauty on his arm. “I remember you” 

Joshua had gotten to you so fast that you could actually remember seeing his face before you passed out. 

He nodded. “Yeah, don’t think I’ve ever moved as fast as that day” the woman next to him rested her head on his shoulder. 

“My hero” she said as she pulled him close to her. 

Vernon nodded. “Mine too” 

Your soulmate gently kissed your temple. 

The guys had competed for second place, and had boasted proudly of just how they had taken care of you and Vernon the days after the accident.

Their bickering was entertaining, and absolutely hilarious. Vernon had to send them out multiple times because they made you laugh so hard that your whole body physically hurt. 

The girls had been stoked that they now had a 12th sister to talk to, and each and every one of them had given you a little gift as welcome to the group. 

Your heart felt full of love, and despite the room being filled to the brim most days it had everything to do with him. 

Through it all he was there, right next to you, loving you, as he always had, as he always would.

✦ taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zaycie @lveegsoi @hellaboredd @loudpeachdetective @why4anne @why-did-i-just-do-this @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars @stormy1408 @tunafishyfishylike @sol3chu @blvengene @fics-lovebot @fangirl125reader @fabulousarepo4 @tunafishyfishylike @meowstake @chaseyui @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @dcrlingyou @dy-kyeom @unusuallyshy @littlemoonfairy02 @melovehao @kwonhs96 @juju-227592 @strwberrymuffins @mute-chaos @girliepop-is-in-the-house @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wonznme @uncndtnllvr @plumpot17 @shegotheruby @huiimoon @user-0703 @my-neurodivergent-world @vwintershire @storyschanging @imhereonlytoreadxoxo

At the first chance he got, he bought a little box to store it all in. It was his own little treasure chest, and every treasure taught him a little more about you. 

When he started training at Pledis he suddenly had a lot of shadows, which meant that everyone picked up things after him. 

The first time he had tried telling Jun not to pick up the little hearts that fell out of his backpockets, the man had only stared at him, not understanding a single word he was saying. It also made it impossible for him to be mad at him. 

So when they all talked through their marks, it lightened the burden a little, and the things lost were quickly just left on the floor, until they disappeared to wherever the universe stored them. 

Every once in a while he would lose something that he adored or desperately needed. The first thing was an in-ear, more precisely, his very first set. That had led to a scolding by their manager.

The second thing had been a personalized keyring his mother had gifted him when he decided to follow his dream of becoming a singer. It hurt a little extra because his keys were in fact stuck to it. 

He at least hoped that some of it would be clues as to who he was, that everything would lead you to him one day. 

You, however, lost everything. It was rare that he woke up without at least one scrunchie or a lipgloss on his pillow. 

It always brought a smile to his lips. 

You loved mint gum, not spearmint but mint. The scrunchies you lost were always black, so he assumed that it was the color you wore the most, until one day you lost a blue one. 

He assumed it had some significance, maybe it even brought luck, so he started wearing it whenever they were recording new music. 

One Saturday morning he woke up to a stiletto resting next to him. He had laughed long and hard about that. 

His very own princess. 

He was a romantic at heart, so he did really appreciate the sentiment.

The guys had all laughed at him, who would’ve thought his other half would be as chaotic as he himself were? 

It took you a little longer to finally have a gift waiting on the pillow next to you. But when you woke to a handful of carefully cut out hearts on your pillow, you knew exactly where it had come from. 

The romantic gestures were something he kept up, Valentine’s Day meant that you would wake up to a single rose on your pillow. 

On his first birthday you woke up to a little box with a bracelet inside of it. The following birthdays there was once again a little box waiting on your pillow, all containing a little charm inside for you to attach to the bracelet. 

Every box carrying a little note: 

Happy birthday to me.  To my love From J 

Your father had always teased you that your soulmate spoiled you more than he did. Which also meant he was in fact worthy to be the one to protect and carry your heart forever. 

Every little gift made your heart beat a little faster, and it made your cheeks heat up, a red hue painting them, a similar shade to the roses he always picked up. 

When he lost his in-ears it was the first real hint you got, and the Hangul writing on the tape attached to it was the second. 

So at the first chance you got you traveled to Seoul, and ended up settling down there. 

The keychain he had lost had become the one you used in your everyday life and everything else was kept in a box on your dresser. 

Your move to Seoul meant that you, unlike most of the soulmates of the group, got exposed to idols and Seventeen at a somewhat early age. 

Seventeen had become your favorite quickly, and it had been because of none other than your other half. 

The voice and overall look of Joshua Hong made you blush and stutter most of the time someone even mentioned him, something that of course made total sense since he was your bias. 

Everyone felt like that, right? 

Seoul was a big city so you had never run into the idol, thank all the gods, your little heart would’ve not have been able to handle that. 

The closest you had ever been had been at your usual salon where he had walked in, followed closely by none other than Hoshi, a man, as it turned out, that was your hairdresser's soulmate. 

You had been a blushing mess and it had been your luck that your bias hadn’t looked you way. 

The following months after Pink and Hoshi had been introduced to one another the soulmates of the band had kept popping up here and there, it had been a pleasure to follow along in their story and celebrate their joy and excitement. 

Not long after the article about the women behind the band had been published you had awoken to a white green hydrangea on your pillow, with a little note attached to it; ‘our flower’ was all the note said. 

Which of course had to be a coincidence, right? 

On one particular morning Joshua was having a bit of attitude, one that Vernon as per usual was quick to catch up on. 

He raised a brow at his American brother and switched from Korean to English in the blink of an eye. Which meant that the two of them would be able to have a somewhat private conversation, despite being in a room full of people. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked with a raised brow and that expression that didn’t give away even a slither of emotion. 

Joshua sighed. “I tried with a letter again yesterday,” he shrugged. “It just came straight back to me”. 

It hadn’t been the first time he had tried communicating with more than just a little note attached to gifts. 

But it seemed that the universe was determined to keep the two of you apart, for just a tad bit longer. 

“She’ll pop up when you least expect it” Vernon said with a little smile.

Joshua only sent him a stern look. The one that said: ‘keep it up or I’ll spill your secret’ 

Which only made Vernon smile widened. 

“It’s her birthday soon, right? What do you plan on gifting her?” The young man said as he leaned a little closer. 

Joshua shrugged. “I don’t really know, I was hoping for something grand, something special. But it’s a little hard losing valuable gifts. People tend to just pick them up, or in some cases steal them” 

He couldn’t help but think back on one of the times someone had snatched the gift off the ground, meant for you, and ran off with it. 

“At least you can give her something,” Vernon said as he stood up from his place on the floor. 

“Well so can-” 

Vernon pointed at his brother with a stern look. “Don’t you even dare” he said, before he turned on his heel, leaving the conversation behind. 

The day had been terrible, long and soul crushing all at once. There was nothing you wanted more than to just drown a bottle of wine, stuff your face with a three course meal you hadn’t cooked yourself and then drift to sleep. 

You pulled the bottle of wine a little closer to your chest, as you stood in line at the grocery store, a little scared you were so tired you might drop it. 

When you pulled out your wallet from your jacket pocket, you didn’t notice how your keychain, his keychain, fell out of your pocket. 

However, the woman behind you did, and gently picked it up. And just as she was about to tap your shoulder and give it back to you, she looked it over, and felt her heart pick up. 

She knew it, she knew it well, after all she had been the one to pick it out for her son. 

An enthusiastic tap of your shoulder made you turn towards her. She was older, yet a beauty, there was no denying that, and she beamed as if she was the sun itself. 

“Excuse me, this might sound a little strange, but what are you doing tonight miss?” 

There was something familiar about her, something you couldn’t quite place with the mask covering most of her face. 

You smiled politely as you lifted the bottle of wine, which seemed to only amuse her. She gave you the keychain back and you thanked her profusely. 

“You know, I know that keychain…” She said carefully as her eyes searched yours. 

It took a little while for the sentence to stick to your brain, it took a little while for the word to make sense. 

“Y-you do?” you said as you swallowed once. 

She only nodded before she smiled even wider beneath that white mask of hers. You had searched for a similar keychain online, but nothing had really matched it. 

“I do, I designed it for my son” 

You felt yourself stumble back a little, and for a second there you almost dropped the bottle of wine. Lucky the woman before you were quick, and catched it before it had a chance to slip from your arms. 

“You’re… his… mine… This is insane” you said as you laughed a little

She grabbed onto your arm and pulled you next to her. 

“Let me cook you dinner darling, I’ll invite Jisoo as well” 

There was nothing you could do but nod, cause your body refused to cooperate with every panicked thought of your brain. 

You helped her pack her groceries and despite the fact that you knew you should be nervous, being with her felt natural. 

He held on to your arm as the two of you left the store and pulled you close to her. There was a smile on her lips that radiated nothing short of pride. As if she was already proud of you, as if she had already welcomed you into the family without even knowing anything about you. 

She made you feel right at home, all you could do now was hope that her son would invoke the same type of feelings. 

His mother had called twice in a row, but he hadn’t noticed with his phone in the other end of the practice room. 

And when her son didn’t answer she began calling his brothers. Jeonghan was the first to notice, and picked up at the first ring. 

“Eomma, are you okay?” he asked as he looked towards his so-called twin, worried for a second that she had bad news. 

“Jeonghan, darling, yes! I just need to get a hold on my son” she responded back through the phone, it was clear to hear a bubbling excitement in her voice, so he relaxed instantly. 

He smiled before walking the few steps towards Joshua, handing his phone to him. 

“Dude, it’s your mom” 

Joshua looked worried for a second, but the calm demeanor from his older brother helped him relax. 

“Mom” he said as he raised the phone to his ear, curiosity brewing in his veins. 

“Jisoo, I’m gonna need you to come home for dinner today” she didn’t specify why, but there was no denying that she was in fact okay. 

He looked to Woozi with a raised brow and made a face of confusion. The two of them had a standing date every other sunday for dinner or some other kind of activity, and this day was a friday. 

“Mom that’s sweet of you but I already have plans…” 

He didn’t get to explain further before she interrupted him. 

“Jisoo Joshua Hong, you listen to me right now, you’re coming home for dinner, you’re picking up flowers on the way, and you better be freshly showered and good looking when you arrive!” 

Her voice was stern and for a second he felt like a child being scolded once again. 

He sighed as he rubbed his eyes with one hand in frustration. “Mom we’re practicing, we have the music video shoot in the morning and need to go over the last few things. So I’m not really sure I’ll be able to make it to dinner” 

He looked down at his watch. He definitely wouldn’t be able to make it. 

“Jisoo” she said once again, and all he did was sigh in response. “Jisoo, I found her” 

It was as if everything around him stopped. The music and the yells from his members fated into the background and all he could focus on was the words spilling from his mothers mouth. 

He said nothing so she continued. “I was out shopping, she stood in front of me in line. She dropped your keychain, you know the one you lost?” 

He nodded even though she wasn’t able to see it. 

“She’s currently walking around in the living room, no doubt looking at all your baby pictures, and I do not want to spoil who you are, so you need to get here, and you need to get here soon” 

He swallowed once. 

“Okay, I’ll be there in an hour” 

She hung up the phone and all the noise of the world returned. 

“SK! Thalia!” he yelled out as he gave the phone back to the rightful owner. 

The pair came up to him quickly. “I need flowers” was all he said. His brother looked like one giant question mark, but his soulmate on the other hand didn’t question him for even a second. 

Instead she took her other half’s hand and pushed him around the room until all the flowers of every member bloomed. 

He bent down and picked those he felt would go great together with yours, and then he headed straight for his things. 

Seungcheol ran up to him. “Josh, we still have practice, you can’t just leave” 

“Cheol I have too” there was a desperate sound to his voice, a need that the leader knew all too well, so instead of picking a fight he melted and let him leave with only a wish of good luck. 

Jisoo, as you had learned his name was, had an amazingly strong mother. The house she lived in was incredible, one her son had apparently brought for her. 

She had ordered you to sit down in the kitchen, then she had opened the bottle of wine you had bought, poured the two of you a glass and then started cooking for you. 

“I don’t want to ask too much, because some of it I would like to learn from him. But what can you tell me?” 

She smiled softly. “He’s my only child, but he has a lot of very close friends that he typically refers to as his brothers. Kind of a workaholic, his schedule can be a little hectic from time to time, but he always prioritizes what’s important to him” 

“That’s a good quality” 

“Well I did raise a pretty good man, if I do say so myself” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “My dad says the same thing, he likes that he spoils me so much, even though we’ve never met” 

She beamed at that. 

The two of you talked back and forth for a while and then you saw a car pull up. You didn’t mean to but you instantly stood up. Fidgeting with your hands, you looked at Jamie with nervous eyes and all she did was send you a reassuring smile. 

She went to greet her son, you could hear the pair talk. And then he entered the kitchen and your entire world stopped. 

Because you knew him, you knew exactly who he was. 

He moved a little closer and laid the giant bouquet of flowers on the kitchen island. 

“Hi” He said with a gentle smile, and even more gentle eyes. “I’m…” 

“... Joshua” you finished. He beamed at that. 

“You know me?” He crooked his head to the side, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The Joshua Hong was standing in front of you, the Joshua Hong was your soulmate. 

You nodded, and the tears in your eyes threatened to spill. So instead you just opened your arms, and he moved towards you accordingly. 

He had you in his arms in an instant. Picking you up from the floor as he wellowed in the feeling of your legs closing around his torso, of your arms around his neck and of your cheek next to his. 

He felt right at home, and he knew you had belonged to him and him alone, since the day the two of you were born. 

He was huge, tall and muscular and the videos and pictures didn’t do him justice. 

All the waiting had been worth it, and you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms like this, but at some point his mother cleared her throat. 

“Dinner is ready” she said with a gentle and happy smile. 

Joshua sat you back down, yet he made sure to take your hand in his as he let you to the dining room. 

The three of you ate dinner, talked and got to know one another, and at every point he either had your hand in his, or he had it resting somewhere on your body. 

It was as if he physically needed to make sure that you were in fact right there. 

When dinner was done, he offered to drive you home and there was no way you were saying no to that. 

He held out his hand for you to take as he drove, and you took it without a second thought. 

“So I have to ask, are you a carat?” He looked at you with that alluring smile that had always made something in you yearn for him. 

You laughed silently as you tried hiding behind your intertwined hands. 

“Yeah, I am” you said as you silently shoom your head. 

“You know I have to ask right?” he said teasingly. 

“Don’t worry, you’ve been my bias since the first time I saw you” 

It was almost as if you could see him puff up his chest at that comment. He felt pride stirring in his heart. Pride that you had been watching him and cheering him on for a while. 

“We actually almost saw each other once” 

He whipped his head towards you. “Really? Where? Was it at a concert?” 

You shook your head. “No, it was the day Hoshi and Pink met one another. I was the customer in her chair"

He looked at you with big eyes. “Are you telling me that if I had just sticked around for a couple of minutes more, I might’ve actually have found you that day?” 

It was almost as if you could feel the sadness fill the car. 

You nodded. “I’m glad it didn’t happen that day though” 

He only raised a brow, almost as if he was to scared of why that was. 

“I would hate to share the spotlight of being the new addition to the group, this feels better, more like…” 

He smiled at that. “Feels more like us” 

You nodded once again. “Exactly” 

He laughed almost silently. “Well you know what we have to do now? Now we have to get you your spotlight” 

You were early, earlier than most of the staff and definitely earlier than all of the guys. Which was a part of the plan. 

It was supposed to be a surprise, that a mystery woman suddenly stood in their dressing room. Because how had you gotten there, and who the hell were you. 

Joshua pulled his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him. Gently kissing your forehead. “Breathe my love” was all he said as you nuzzled into his side. 

It melted his heart to have you this close, that you wanted to be this close to him. It felt good, it felt like home. 

The two of you had spent the night in your apartment, intertwined in bed as you tried learning as much about one another as you could, while still getting sleep, which he definitely needed before the shoot today. 

The first one to get there was Seungcheol, he was by Joshua's side in an instant, pulling the man into a tight hug before he turned towards you and introduced himself. 

People came as the minutes passed by, and then Pink and Hoshi joined. 

You looked at the woman you had seen so many times before. She crooked her head to the side. 

“B? What the hell are you…?” And then she saw the arm slung around your shoulder, and quickly after the screaming began. 

“OH MY GOD?! You’re kidding me?!” She had thrown herself at you and Joshua without any thought. 

The spotlight was officially on you, and you didn’t mind one bit, not as long as it meant that he was by your side. 

✦ taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zaycie @lveegsoi @hellaboredd @loudpeachdetective @why4anne @why-did-i-just-do-this @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars @stormy1408 @tunafishyfishylike @sol3chu @blvengene @fics-lovebot @fangirl125reader @fabulousarepo4 @tunafishyfishylike @meowstake @chaseyui @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @dcrlingyou @dy-kyeom @unusuallyshy @littlemoonfairy02 @melovehao @kwonhs96 @juju-227592 @strwberrymuffins @mute-chaos @girliepop-is-in-the-house @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wonznme @uncndtnllvr @plumpot17 @shegotheruby @huiimoon @user-0703 @my-neurodivergent-world @vwintershire @storyschanging @imhereonlytoreadxoxo

Until they one day sat down and shared it all, every single one of the 12 boys and men around him had offered him support, everyone certain that he did in fact have a mark, it was just hidden more than most.

He never told any of them, but he prayed that they were right.

Like Seungcheol you were just as excited for your mark, and you were equally as devastated when it didn’t appear. It was like a literal knife in your heart, one that kept twisting whenever one of your friends finally found theirs.

You still smiled of course, you had been raised to be polite and kind, but it was nothing short of bitterness that coated your tongue. Pure jealousy and heartbreak.

One day in class one of the girls had arrived with a little tattoo on her wrist, she had then marched up to one of the boys in your class, all to present him the little star, one that matched his own so perfectly. That had been a tough pill to swallow.

So instead of showing the world the frown and the tears that threatened to spill, you had instead drawn it on the back of your hand.

Seungcheol had been sitting somewhere in the Pledis building when he felt a warmth on the back of his hand, one he had never felt before. And when he had looked, a tiny little :´( had appeared.

He had jumped from the chair, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to communicate with those of his members that were close.

His voice was unable to speak, his mouth was dry and his brain was malfunctioning. So instead of actually speaking, he just stood there and shook his other hand.

It had taken Wonwoo a few seconds to decipher what it was their leader so desperately was trying to tell them. But as soon as he gave the desperate man a pen, he calmed down.

He sat there and stared at the back of his hand, wondering what to write, what to draw, and in the end he ended up with something as simple as a heart. To show that his belonged to you, and that he was there by your side.

It had taken the two of you a while to figure out that you couldn’t use words to communicate, it had to be drawings and symbols. But you had still managed to figure out that he was from Korea, which of course meant you had tried learning the language straight away.

Seungcheol would send a little drawing of a flag your way whenever he was travelling, letting you know what he was up to. When he injured his leg he had managed to draw a stick figure on his arm with a broken leg to convey the message that he was out of business.

That day was the first time you had kissed your wrist with lipstick on, and he had seen the imprint there, and had kissed it back. His heart was breaking a little, because it had been years, and the two of you were nowhere near figuring out who you were, or how you were to find one another.

And then it happened, the article came out. Now he only needed to figure out how he got you to read it.

“How do I tell her which article to read?” He said as he sat there looking more like a giant question mark than a man.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. They had been at this for hours, and they were nowhere closer to figuring out just how to communicate the name of the article to you.

So far all they had come up with was a newspaper and a flower, but when they had tried googling themselves, nothing even slightly familiar had come up.

Seungcheol laid his cheek on the table in front of him. You had to find it now, the article was trending and twitter was collectively losing its mind. This was his chance.

Joshua stood up from the couch. “You two are so impossible to be around” he said as he took the little brush from his friend's grasp.

He drew a newspaper, a microphone, a small seventeen and a flower.

“There, it should not be that hard if she googles article, singer, seventeen and flower”

Joshua smiled at the older man before he returned to his spot on the couch. A hangout session with the three eldest was nothing new.

They loved spending time with one another, there was an understanding between those three, that the other ten didn’t always understand. And they didn’t need to.

Seungcheol nodded. “Okay. I mean, yeah. She’ll get it. Of course she will”

“Of course she will,” Jeonghan echoed.

There was excitement brewing in his chest, but also nerves, because there was still a chance that this just wouldn’t work.

“What the hell does that mean?” You said as you stretched out your arm to your best friend.

She laughed in response. “Why are you asking me? He’s your soulmate” she bit down on a dumpling, before she made a dramatic gesture of complete and utter satisfaction.

“Is that a book or a paper… Hell it might even be a magazine?” You crooked your head to the side.

“The 17 and the flower is easy enough” You pulled out your phone and typed “17 flower” into your search engine. Nothing popped up.

“Maybe it’s ‘singer’? The microphone I mean”

You pointed her way before adding it to the search, and as if you had said the magic word, there it was; an article about the group Seventeen and their soulmates.

“Holy shit” you said before you stood up from your seat. “Holy shit!” you yelled a little louder.

“Dude we’re in public” was all you got in response.

Your eyes welled with tears as you felt your hands starting to shake. You read the whole thing while you were still standing up. There was no time to sit down, no time to collect yourself, all you could do was read.

Your friend rose from her seat and came to plop you down in your chair, luckily for her it worked, because people had started to stare.

As soon as you finished the story you forwarded it to her.

“Aw, I like that, flowers… That must be such a beautiful mark!” she said.

The two of you had moved on to twitter, the home of fangirls and fandoms.

“Okay… So there’s four of them left on the market apparently”

“The man market” Your friend said as she stuffed Japchae into her mouth with a satisfied groan. You sent her a look, and all she did was smirk in return.

“So who’s left?” she asked as she leaned forward over the table, desperate to take a look at the four men available.

“There’s Joshua, Vernon, Mingyu…” you said as you scrolled through the pictures.

“Oh, wow!” Your friend said as she snatched the phone from you. “I would not mind sinking my teeth into that man”

You rolled your eyes as you scrolled to the last person on the list. “And then there’s the leader, Seungcheol”

Your cheeks heated up, and your mouth went completely dry as you looked at the man on your phone.

There was no doubt in your mind that it had to be him, none of the others made your heart beat out of your chest, nor did they make your hands clammy.

“I think…” you said as you looked at your bestie, she only reached out for your arm.

“Yeah, so do I!”

He was beautiful, tall and wide, with a smile that would make any woman forget what she was thinking.

But the beauty and the fame would definitely be an obstacle, you needed to figure out how to get to him.

First you needed to let him know that you had received his message

Seungcheol had been sitting and staring at his arm for about an hour, and nothing had happened. There had been no response from you.

It killed his spirits, and he had ended up sending the guys home, so that he could just wallow in his own self pity.

His friends had patted him on the back, and told him to keep his head held high, that he at one point would be able to crack the code.

He had dropped down on the couch hiding his face in his hands when that well known warmth spread on the back of his hand.

He was prepared for a question mark, or any other indicator that you in fact hadn’t been able to figure out who you were.

After a few minutes he had decided he might as well get it over with, sooner rather than later. He slowly sat up and looked at the back of his hand, then he shot up from the couch with a roar.

Because right there on the back of his hands were two cherries, and around it was drawn a heart. It was his symbol, which could only mean one thing, you had finally found him.

You had done your research about your man, where he liked to hang out, and where he frequented. It was a little weird, and deep down you felt a little bit like a stalker.

Yet you had no idea how else you were meant to stumble upon him. It was impossible to get a meeting with him, and to get inside of the Hybe building had proven absolutely impossible.

Nothing had worked. So instead you had just been roaming the city.

You were currently sitting in a small café not far from your airbnb, cozying up to yet another coffee in your soulmates city.

The last few days had been nothing short of amazing.

You had made it clear to him that you would be there, that you would be looking for him and you hoped that he too would be out and about, looking for you as well.

When you had sat down at the cafe you had pulled out the little pen you always carried and drawn a little coffee mug on the inside of your wrist.

Hoping that he would go out and get a cup himself, hopefully at the little shop where you had been cooped up for the last hour or so.

But he had not come. There was a little bit of disappointment in your heart, even though you knew that it would most likely take more than that for the two of you to meet.

You slowly got up from your seat, and went to thank the kind lady for a wonderful cup of coffee.

You didn’t notice the man who entered, so instead you walked straight past him and out the door.