fangirling-4-ever

The rest of the campus, meanwhile, bustles around you like nothing happened. Like it never happens. Like there isn't a floating narration box following you from birth and plotting your eventual fall from grace. You really should start looking into those therapy services offered by the mental health office. You know they can't help you with "being narrated since birth," but it's probably the next best thing, right?

Anyway, it's spring and, frankly, you're very tired.

You, Y/N, are the notorious campus queen: the stunning daughter of an affluent political family and the presumed villainous antagonistic force in Kim Mingyu's, your childhood friend, star-crossed love story. For three volumes and counting, you, Mingyu and Lee Ara have fallen into a rhythmic dance of misunderstandings, relationship dramas, and flashy battles all leading to one, inevitable conclusion: Mingyu and Ara will fall in love and live happily ever after.

Or that's how it's supposed to work.

Except none of that happens in the shadows, the white spaces that the Writer's pen never quite fills in. Those are the places where characters come to life in ways even the omnipotent Writer can't see coming. Like when Mingyu saved you from a car last spring. Or that night you snuck into the school pool together and splashed around instead of studying. When it was just the two of you, when no one could see, no one was writing. When everything seemed perfectly scripted without a script.

In those moments, when the narration box couldn't reach you, nothing else seemed quite as important as his smile.

Until the next scene began, that was.

You don't remember when you and Mingyu became aware of the fact that none of this was real. You always thought that you were losing your memory, wondering how you ended up at home when you were just in class seconds ago, how so much time seemed to pass without your realizing it. It didn't click until you were aimlessly roaming the school halls one afternoon and noticed the air fluttering unnaturally around you, things moving floating out of place in the corner of your vision and an unsettling feeling of something. A presence? A monster? A force beyond your knowing and naming trying to reach out to you.

When you talked to people, they'd be confused or dismissive, thinking you're joking. And when you'd ask them again some time later, they wouldn't know what you meant and keep repeating the same responses over and over, no matter how many times you would try and ask, hoping it'd finally ilicit a different response.

Finally, you tried talking to Mingyu about what was happening to you, only to find Mingyu was feeling exactly the same way. That things were happening without his express conscious will, and he felt the presence of something vaguely sinister outside of his direct sphere.

That's when you both realized the absurd, nonsensical reality that you're living in a webtoon, in a narrative world crafted by someone who felt very little need or concern for either of your agency. That something, a presence beyond human knowledge and imagination, was dictating and guiding you along towards an end goal: an inevitable romance between Kim Mingyu, the male lead, and Lee Ara, the female lead, and you're left to be the evil side character who had to be defeated for Mingyu and Ara to obtain their Happy Ever After.

Which sucks ass because you really like Mingyu. Maybe even a little too much. And you know, deep down, that the feeling is mutual. The Writer might make you do whatever she wants to further the plot, like flirt with Mingyu against your will during scripted love tropes. But whenever the writer isn't actively intervening, you get to be just you and Mingyu, and not the fictional, plot-dictated versions of you two that are forced together by the writer. You wonder sometimes, if it wasn't for this damned world, if you'd be happily dating each other.

You feel the narration box wriggling in your pocket, desperate to escape and comment. To announce loudly, obviously that you'll do whatever you can to disrupt Kim Mingyu and Lee Ara from meeting, but ultimately end up helping the course of fate along because the Writer makes it so. Because the narrative demands a twist at the very last second, and Kim Mingyu can't end up with you.

With a sigh, you take the now much smaller narration box out and unfold it, letting its words be absorbed back into reality:

NARRATION: ...and the villainess plots her next loser plan to keep our golden boy and pure maiden away from each other.

"I fucking hate you," you mutter under your breath.

Just then, a slim figure rounds the corner: Lee Ara in all of her oblivious perfection, wearing a fluffy dress that no college student would survive in, looking very much like she is running towards you.

PANEL 3 — BUST SHOT: YOU, GLOWERING.

Your lips curl up into your default, scheming smile. You really wish it didn't feel so natural.

PANEL 4 — EXTREME CLOSE UP ON LEE ARA.

Her hair blows dramatically out of the way as she stares determinedly ahead like this isn't a typical, daily interaction for the two of you. You can't tell if it's supposed to look brave or goofy, but it sure isn't intimidating.

"Ara, you look absolutely stunning today," you feel your eye twitch as the words leave your mouth, words you didn't choose, didn't want to say, words that materialized on your tongue like someone else is operating your vocal cords.

Which, technically, someone was.

Ara blinks up at you with those impossibly wide doe eyes. "Oh! Um, thank you? That's... really nice of you to say."

No, it fucking isn't, you thought viciously, even as your face arranges itself into what you know is a calculated, mean-girl smirk.

"I just wanted to say," your mouth continues without your permission, and you feel the familiar horror of a scripted scene taking over, "that dress is so brave. Not everyone could pull off that... particular shade of yellow."

There it is. The backhanded compliment. Right on schedule.

Ara's face falls slightly, and you want to scream. You helped her pick out that dress last week during your actual, off-page friendship that the Writer conveniently ignores. You told her the sunshine yellow made her look like bottled happiness.

"Oh," Ara says softly. "I... thank you?"

"If you like looking like you're blocking traffic, then feel free to keep wearing it," you snort and then the scene releases you like a puppet with cut strings, and you immediately grab Ara's arm. "Wait, that came out wrong—"

PANEL 5 — ARA TURNS.

She's already walking away, and you know why. The Writer has got what they wanted: another moment of you being terrible to the heroine. Another panel of the villainess doing villainess things.

You stand there in the middle of the quad, students flowing around you like water around a stone, and contemplate the very real possibility of screaming until your throat bleeds.

"Rough scene?"

You don't have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize that voice anywhere. It's the voice that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatic routines, the one that belongs to your best friend since childhood, the one that's supposed to fall in love with Ara and definitely not with you.

"Mingyu," you say, turning to face him. "I just told Ara her dress makes her look like a jaundiced traffic cone. How do you think it went?"

Mingyu winces, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He's wearing his usual off-scene outfit: an oversized hoodie that's seen better days, glasses slightly askew, hair unstyled and falling into his eyes. He looks nothing like the chiseled, perfectly-coiffed golden boy who appeared in the actual comic panels.

"Ouch," he says. "Did you at least get to apologize before the scene ended?"

"Tried. She walked away. The Writer probably needed her to be sad for the next panel where you comfort her and she realizes she has feelings for you for the millionth time," you make a gagging noise. "I hate this. I hate all of this."

"I know," Mingyu falls into step beside you as you start walking toward your next class. "I had a scene this morning where I had to flex at the gym for fifteen minutes while Ara watched from the doorway. Fifteen minutes, Y/N. Do you know how long fifteen minutes of flexing is?"

Despite everything, you snort. "Did you at least get a good pump?"

"I got a cramp in my left bicep and the overwhelming desire to go home and read my economics textbook," he pauses. "Which I did, by the way. Chapter twelve is fascinating. Did you know that—"

"Mingyu, I love you, but if you start explaining supply and demand curves right now, I will push you into that trash can."

The words hung in the air for a moment. I love you. You said it all the time, had said it for years, best friends who'd grown up together and know each other's every secret.

But lately, the words felt heavier.

Mingyu's ears turned red, they always did when you said it, even casually, and he clears his throat. "Right. No economics. Got it."

You reach your classroom and stop, turning to face him fully. He's tall, he'd always been tall, but he hunches slightly, like he's trying to take up less space. It's such a contrast to his on-page persona, where he stands with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted himself a day in his life.

"Same time tonight?" you ask. "My place? We can finish studying for that chem mid."

His face splits into a grin, a wide, boyish one that makes his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. "Definitely," he agrees. "Maybe without the interruption this time."

PANEL 6 — ARA WALKING TOWARDS MINGYU

"And here I go," you mutter, "back to fading into the background so these two can have their meet-cute."

"I'm really sorry," Mingyu says again, "and I know that doesn't mean anything. I hope I can—"

NARRATION: ...Kim Mingyu notices his true love standing alone in the corner, a beautiful flower ready to bloom into...

"You changed into your jock gear," you note, sounding unimpressed, as Mingyu looks down and realizes that yes, he's wearing the clothes his character usually wears to work out instead of the sweater he wore before.

"Fuck," he sighs, "Here I go, I guess."

"You want me to text you after?" you ask him.

He nods, giving you a strained smile, and says, "Please."

PANEL 7 — SLOW ZOOM-IN ON ARA'S FLAWLESS SKIN AS SHE LOOKS UP AND ATTENDS MINGYU'S DAZZLING SMILE, HEARTS POPPING AROUND HER AS WE DRAMATICALLY FOCUS IN ON MINGYU.

"Ara! Just the girl I wanted to see."

You let out a long sigh, before turning away from the pair. Your story might be stuck in this linear route, but you really don't have to stick around and watch the love of your life play his part in this tale.

PANEL 8 — Y/N WALKS AWAY, SHOULDERS HUNCHED, BACKGROUND BLURRING INTO SOFT PASTELS AS THE ROMANTIC SCENE CONTINUES BEHIND HER

Each step away feels like wading through honey. You can hear Ara's delighted laugh behind you, that genuine, sweet sound that makes you hate yourself for being scripted to hurt her. You can hear Mingyu's voice doing that thing: that confident, flirty thing that isn't him at all.

The real Mingyu stutters when he's nervous. The real Mingyu talks about economic theory at 2AM and falls asleep with his glasses on.

But the Writer doesn't care about the real Mingyu.

PANEL 9 — CLOSE-UP ON Y/N'S FACE, EXPRESSION CAREFULLY NEUTRAL, BUT EYES BETRAYING PAIN

NARRATION: Meanwhile, the villainess retreats to lick her wounds, knowing she can never compete with—

"Oh, fuck off," you snap, reaching up to grab the narration box again. It's vibrating indignantly, trying to narrate your heartbreak into something convenient for the plot.

You squeeze it harder.

"You don't get to narrate this. This part is mine."

You track down Jeon Wonwoo, the webtoon's dark, brooding second male lead, in the library—specifically, on one of the beanbag chairs near the back. Wonwoo's sprawled out like an overly pretentious Renaissance statue, head titled to the sky, eyes closed, reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, a heavy, glossy book perched precariously on his chest.

"What happened this time?" He mumbles. "Faded into the back like usual before the scene started?"

Wonwoo became self-aware just like you and Mingyu; about five episodes ago. And also like you and Mingyu, he didn't come into his new reality prepared. He hadn't realized it at first. He was too busy brooding and contemplating life's meaning, so it wasn't until he was speaking to Mingyu about his memory blackouts. That was when Mingyu called you over, and the three of you had had the worst meeting you could've imagined.

Wonwoo wasn't particularly enthused to find out he was a love interest. He wasn't really interested in the romantic side of things in general. Not when he was made out to be the mysterious, dark bad boy who sulks in corners, glares at people, and spends too much money on poetry books that aren't actually worth their cost.

"Fuck me," you drop yourself into the bean bag beside him, throwing your backpack across the table and letting out the loudest, most exasperated sigh of frustration known to mankind.

"You can let Mingyu do that once he's back in the shadows," Wonwoo chuckles softly as he flips a page of the book.

"And then what will happen when we have sex and a scene between him and Ara happens?" You glare at him. "He vanishes from my bed, to confess to a woman he doesn't even like? You want that to happen? I sure as hell don't."

"Then don't have sex." Wonwoo doesn't look up from his book.

"...That's your answer?"

"Don't have sex and become canon."

"I..." you let out an incredulous laugh, reaching for the nearest object near you to throw. You grab a discarded highlighter and throw it at his forehead, causing him to shut his book and finally glance over at you. "If only it were that easy, asshole."

"Can I go back to my book, or have you finally broken?" Wonwoo looks bored out of his mind as he speaks.

"We're talking about my and Mingyu's relationship. Mingyu and mine's. I hate being the villain. I'm the most popular fucking girl on campus. I'm nice to everyone, and I somehow still get treated like an evil piece of shit when a scene starts." You kick your leg up for dramatic effect, which causes a few students around you to shift uncomfortably. "This is bullshit!"

Wonwoo picks up the highlighter you threw at him and examines it like it's a particularly uninteresting specimen. "You done?"

"No, I'm not—"

"Good. Because you're making a scene, and the last thing either of us needs is to trigger another scripted moment." He tosses the highlighter back to you. "Go study with your boyfriend. At least off-page you can pretend you have free will."

You catch the highlighter reflexively, your anger deflating into something closer to exhaustion. He's right, of course. He's always right in the most infuriating way possible.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"Semantics." Wonwoo reopens his book. "Now get out of here before the Writer decides we're having a moment and I have to brood attractively at you."

Your apartment is blessedly, perfectly normal.

No cherry blossoms. No golden hour lighting. No background music swelling as you open the door. Just your slightly messy living room with Mingyu already sprawled on your couch, his laptop open, surrounded by a frankly alarming number of economics textbooks.

He's wearing his glasses, the ones that never appear on-page because apparently the Writer thinks they make him look "too nerdy" for a male lead. His hair is unstyled, falling into his eyes. He's wearing a hoodie that's two sizes too big and sweatpants with a hole in the knee.

This is the real Kim Mingyu.

"You're late," he says without looking up from his screen, but there's no accusation in his voice. Just familiarity.

"Wonwoo was being useless." You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch next to him, close enough that your thigh presses against his. "How was the rest of your day? Did the Writer make you do anything else humiliating?"

"Define humiliating." Mingyu finally glances at you, and his expression softens. "I had to carry Ara's books to her next class. My hands were full, so I couldn't even text you to complain about it in real-time."

"Tragic."

"It really was." He shifts his laptop to the coffee table and turns to face you properly. "She kept talking about how strong I must be. I'm not even that strong. I'm just tall. There's a difference."

You can't help but smile. "You're a little strong."

"I have the upper body strength of a particularly determined pool noodle." He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he's had since you were kids. "How was your scene with her? The dress thing?"

Your smile fades. "I told her she looked like a sad banana."

"You didn't—"

"I did. Well, the Writer did. Through my mouth." You lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "We picked out that dress together last weekend. She was so excited about it. And then I had to stand there and watch my own mouth form words about how it washed her out."

Mingyu is quiet for a moment. Then his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a practiced ease that comes from years of this, this thing between you that has no name because the Writer won't allow it one.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Not your fault."

"Still sorry."

This is what you love about him. Not the on-page version with the perfect smile and the athletic build and the confident swagger. This Mingyu, who apologizes for things he can't control and stutters when he's nervous and gets genuinely excited about fiscal policy.

This Mingyu, who has held your hand through every forced scene and every narrative violation and every moment where you've both felt like puppets with cut strings.

"Did you finish the problem sets?" you ask, because if you keep thinking about how much you love him, you might do something stupid. Like kiss him. And if you kiss him off-page, there's no telling what the Writer might do to punish you for it.

"Most of them." He reaches for his laptop again, but doesn't let go of your hand. "I got stuck on number seven. The one about market equilibrium."

"Let me see."

You spend the next two hours like this, working through economics problems, your head eventually finding its way to his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your knuckles. He explains supply curves with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for their favorite movies. You argue about elasticity and make him laugh so hard he snorts.

No narration box appears to comment on the "comfortable silence" or the "unspoken tension." No background music swells. No cherry blossoms drift past your window.

It's just you and Mingyu, existing in the spaces between the story.

"I wish it could always be like this," you murmur at some point, when the sky outside has gone dark and you've both abandoned any pretense of studying.

Mingyu's arm is around your shoulders now. You're not sure when that happened, but it feels right. Natural. Like this is how you're supposed to fit together.

"Me too," he says, pressing a light, half-awake kiss against the crown of your head. "Just like this."

You lean into his warmth, your eyelids fluttering closed as you memorize the weight and shape of his arm against you, his head resting against yours, the steadiness of his breathing as he begins to drift off. You memorize it all.

You memorize every last detail.

Because when you open your eyes, you're alone again.

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM CLOSE-UP ON KIM MINGYU, RUNNING ON A TREADMILL AND CONSIDERING THE THOUGHTS IN HIS GORGEOUS HANDSOME BRAIN

"Damn," Mingyu mutters as he treads, "I can't even sleep peacefully on the couch with the woman I'm hopelessly in love with."

PANEL 2 — WONWOO, EXHAUSTED AND DEBATING LEAVING MINGYU TRAINING TO WALLOW IN HIS MELANCHOLY MUSINGS BY HIMSELF

"I fucking hate my life." Wonwoo groans out his displeasure. He wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he "accidentally" hit the speed button and watches Mingyu flail off the treadmill.

NARRATION: Back on campus, the handsome male lead dwells on the true love he so sorely misses.

Mingyu grabs the narration box and flings it into the nearest corner of the gym, where it blinks weakly and powers itself off to spare itself any further humiliation.

"You done?" Wonwoo asks, the picture of composure and zen.

"No, I'm still fucking pissed off!" Mingyu hops off the treadmill and heads straight for the boxing station, grabbing some tape and bandages and wrapping up his fists in record time.

"Do you wanna tell me why you're pissed off this time, or are we just gonna keep going back and forth like this forever?"

"Y/N and I were just working on the homework, and it was... perfect. It felt perfect. Right. It was good—real good. But then, before I could realize what had happened, the Writer snatched me and now here we are."

Wonwoo nods along like the therapist that his character and personality have inexplicably deemed him, and sighs deeply.

"Happens to me all the time." Wonwoo goes about packing up his belongings for his trip back home. "One moment I'm helping one of the female side characters with a jammed door lock and the next moment I'm staring at Ara for four pages straight wondering if I want her to be my first or last kiss. Every. Damn. Time."

"You poor thing," Mingyu mumbles condescendingly as he furiously punches the boxing bag.

Wonwoo steps away as he watched the narration box slowly creep over to join the two men. "A scene is starting soon, just warning you now."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU CONTINUES TO HIT THE BOXING BAG, UNTIL HE HEARS A SUDDEN CRACK.

NARRATION: He swings and it hits. His fists continue, his speed increasing as he repeats a simple question in his head: why is Y/N messing with Ara?

PANEL 4 — MINGYU STILL BEATING THE HELL OUT OF THE BOXING BAG.

NARRATION: Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. His anger is spilling out like a broken kettle, and its burning, stinging him.

"STOP!" Mingyu shouts to no one in particular, punching the narration box instead of the bag.

"And this is why I wanted to stay home," Wonwoo murmurs out loud. "I hate these things."

"Why can't someone else be the main character?" Mingyu whines. "It doesn't have to be me."

"Because you're the one with huge muscles, you're tall, and you've got the best abs in the entire school?" Wonwoo offers bluntly.

Mingyu doesn't answer and turns his attention to the boxing bag again, throwing several more powerful punches until suddenly, the narration box begins to hover, drawing both men's attention as a new caption begins to write itself:

NARRATION: As his heart screams and his fists bleed, the only image that flashes through Mingyu's mind is Ara.

Mingyu screeches, throwing the gloves at the boxing bag this time. "LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU EVIL BOX. STOP SHOVING ME BACK INTO THE CAST OF THIS DUMBASS STORY."

PANEL 5 — KIM MINGYU IS PISSED

NARRATION: An irrational urge seeps into him. An urge to reach his hand into his own heart, find Ara, and...

Wonwoo narrows his eyes suspiciously at the box and waves a finger in Mingyu's direction, directing his attention. "Stop."

"It's not going to work!" He screams at the narration box. "LEAVE MY HEART ALONE YOU STUPID BOX!"

But the narration continues to hover, circling Mingyu like the ring leader of a very messed up circus. Mingyu swings for it with his bare hands, punching at the thin air before it moves out of the way, now standing closer to him than it was a moment ago, the writing appearing faster. The text is bold and demanding now.

NARRATION: The urge is too powerful. He sees Ara's face, and all he can think about is her.

"NO!" Mingyu screams, tears of pure, unfiltered rage welling in the corners of his eyes as he punches the wall beside him, putting a hole through it. "I DON'T LOVE ARA. I DON'T."

The wall patches itself instantly, the hole vanishing as if it were never there. But the crack in Mingyu's composure remains, spiderwebbing across the surface of the Writer's perfect narrative.

"It's trying to rewrite you," Wonwoo says, suddenly serious. "Pushing you into the corner where you have no choice but to think about her. It's rewriting your thoughts, Mingyu."

The narration box pulses with an almost smug satisfaction. The new words appear, glowing with an unsettling light.

NARRATION: His heart belongs to Ara. It has always been Ara. It will always be Ara.

"It's not true," Mingyu whispers, his anger deflating into a desperate plea. He's looking at Wonwoo now, really looking at him. His knuckles are bleeding from the punch. "It's not true, is it?"

Wonwoo sets down his bag and crosses the distance between them. For once, he doesn't look bored or annoyed. He looks like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.

"You know the answer to that," Wonwoo says quietly, so quietly that the narration box might not catch it. "The question is, how much of you is still left for you?" He glances at the hovering box. "The Writer is getting more aggressive. This is new. This is... invasive."

They've fought scenes before. They've tried to walk the other way, to mumble their lines until the scene reset, to trip over conveniently placed props. They've tried everything, but it's always been external. Pushing against the boundaries of their world, not the boundaries of their minds.

This feels different. This feels like a violation.

"I can't..." Mingyu staggers back, leaning against the now-perfect wall. "I feel it. Trying to get in. Like... like static in my head. A thought that's not my thought."

Wonwoo's face is grim. He's read every book in this godforsaken library, including the ones on psychology he never wanted to read. He knows what gaslighting looks like. He knows what brainwashing feels like. And this has all the hallmarks of both.

"It wants you to break," Wonwoo states, his voice flat. "It wants you to give in and accept the role. If it can't control your actions, it'll try to control your mind."

PANEL 6 — Y/N WALKING INTO THE GYM DRESSED IN TOO TIGHT WORKOUT CLOTHES TO TURN ANY MAN'S HEAD.

"What kind of scene is this?" You mutter to yourself as you pass the two men and head towards the cycling machine in the other room.

NARRATION: As Y/N crosses the room, a flash of anger illuminates the depths of Mingyu's soul.

"Huh?" You stop short, one leg forward as the narration begins to morph again.

NARRATION: As she crosses the room, Mingyu can't take it anymore. Just the sight of her makes Mingyu burn with hatred.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy," you murmur at the box now trying to smack you in the face. You don't even need to stick around to know where this scene is headed, and you aren't going to stick around when Ara bounces through the doors in her pink sports attire to try and talk Mingyu down from his fury.

"Ugh," you groan as you walk into the cycling room and find that this is already the set up for a scene. "Oh, this is just perfect."

"Y/N!" Someone calls you, and it's Seungcheol, a supporting character in this shitfest who's written to have a crush on you. His smile is easy, and so is he, because in this dumb universe, Seungcheol is so much less important than the main character and you're allowed to trample all over his heart, though he somehow continues to pine for you.

"Oh, hey there," you offer a grin and head over to the spin bike next to him, joining him and his row of friends from the track team. The nameless ones. All of them here to serve a single purpose—and yet none of them are aware enough to break out of it.

You know when a scene starts because suddenly, you're having a casual conversation. Everything about your posture is suddenly just slightly more interesting—your lips redder, your cheeks rounder, the cut of your collarbones subtly highlighted by the shine from the lights above you. Everything is suddenly for show, but this time, so are you. You're not speaking the lines you want.

PANEL 7 — YOU INSIDE THE CYCLE ROOM, ON YOUR BIKE AND TALKING TO SEUNGCHEOL.

NARRATION: Y/N tries desperately to seduce a certain boy. She teases him in her sickly sweet tone.

"Cheol!" You greet, laughing at one of his jokes. You know what's coming next, and you know that you aren't saying this and yet the words escape anyway, as if they belong to someone else. You hate it. You hate this.

NARRATION: Seungcheol teases her right back, not knowing that Mingyu is watching their every move.

"Maybe you could give me some more advanced lessons," you bat your eyelashes and flash Seungcheol that sweet smile. You hope you don't throw up.

NARRATION: So distracted, she didn't notice Ara right behind her.

You glance down as you begin to cycle, glancing behind you for a split second. There are too many characters in here, and there's no guarantee that the story won't make an extra scene out of your path crossing with any of them, and your luck really does run out, because right there, in pink workout gear to match Mingyu's blue, is Ara, pretending not to watch you and Seungcheol.

PANEL 8 — Y/N FINALLY NOTICING ARA.

"So much for privacy." You scowl, your voice pitched higher to catch the attention of the one-woman audience that's suddenly in this scene. You know it's just a scene, you don't mean what you're saying and you definitely did not mean to flirt with Seungcheol. You get angry thinking about how fake this entire world is. "What?" You turn to look at Ara, tilting your head and smirking. "You've never seen a man and a woman flirting before?"

"I-" Ara starts, but suddenly looks downright uncomfortable. "It's not like that, Y/N."

You sigh and turn forward, meeting the screen again and shaking your head at how utterly useless it is to try and even change things. No one's in this scene to notice what you say, so why does the story even care? The story is stupid, and pointless, and written entirely around Ara and you don't care who's on board. "Why should you care who I flirt with anyway? You got Mingyu wrapped around your pretty little fingers, don't you?"

"I would never," Ara tries again. "He's-"

"He's what? Something else I can never have?" You're a villain through and through, apparently, and the Writer wants this kind of drama. "It's cute how you think I'll stay away, just because of a little warning." You smirk and wait a beat, just to watch the discomfort bloom across Ara's face. "We both know you don't have the stomach to threaten me back."

PANEL 9 — MINGYU STEPS IN

You can see the look in Mingyu's eyes. He doesn't care about what the narration is doing, apparently, and in the midst of this disaster of a story, you suddenly realize it.

"Mingyu," Ara almost sighs. "I- please don't-"

"You." He points to you, and for a brief second, you can see how Mingyu clenches his fist, trying to fight against the word that's already forming on his lips. "Watch it."

"Mm, and if I don't?" You shrug, innocently pouting and getting off the bike. You ran your fingers down his chest, making sure to keep eye contact. "What are you going to do to me, Kim Mingyu?" You lick your lips and don't stop touching him, running your fingers down his torso and the planes of his muscles, one hand over his arm and the other curled up to grip at his chest. "Don't you think you and I have more fun ways to play, or have you forgotten about the night we-"

Mingyu holds on to your wrist tightly, holding your touch away from him. "Shut your mouth."

You look up at him and bite your lip, shrugging again. "Or what?"

"Please stop, Mingyu!" Ara tugs at the side of his t-shirt, begging Mingyu, who barely notices.

He was there, during that one weekend, when the story took a vacation and let your real selves drive. Neither of you were ready to stop. Neither of you were ready to be written and puppeteered as the main characters. There's so much Mingyu wants to say right now. Instead, the Writer uses his mouth to spit vitriol and spite.

"Stay the fuck out of my life, and off my girl," Mingyu hisses. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but stay the hell away from her."

"Oh wow." You roll your eyes and pull away from him, wiping his hand down your skirt. "Protective, aren't we?" You cross your arms and lean into his personal space. "Wouldn't want me to show her how much better I could fuck you, huh?"

Ara gasps, backing away and covering her mouth with her hands. "Why would you say such a thing!" She screeches at you, and you shrug it off.

"That's not happening." Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, fists curling into themselves.

PANEL 10 — INTENSION OF RAGE HANGING AROUND MINGYU.

"Now that just sounds like a challenge, handsome," you tap the tip of his nose and flash him that perfect smirk, the kind designed to bring even the biggest, baddest, male characters to their knees. You turn away, and head to leave the gym. "Your girlfriend can keep playing house, but you and me?" You blow him a kiss as you walk to the changing rooms. "I'm always down to play rough."

And as you walk away, you can hear the familiar sound of fists punching a bag, Mingyu screaming, and a heartbreaking "I hate her!" that makes the Writer grin in delight.

When the door to the changing rooms close, you sink to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and fighting back the tears in the corner of your eyes. You hate this. You don't want to be a villain. You just want to love him and be loved, and the Writer just refuses to let that happen.

For the next thirty minutes, the Writer leaves you alone, and you're curled up against the bench as you cry. The last thing you really needed was Mingyu to actually hate you.

And you hate the thought of being anyone's villain. Especially his.

Mingyu finds you curled up in your bed. Not just a lump under a mound of pillows. In your bed, buried underneath the blankets and nursing a tub of ice cream.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you mutter and take another spoonful of ice cream, avoiding eye contact. You're being grumpy and pathetic, but you don't really care.

Mingyu grabs the tub of ice cream and places it on your nightstand, not caring if it'll melt, as he gathers you into his arms, letting you wrap your own around his torso.

"I don't like doing it," Mingyu whispers. "It was-" He takes a deep breath and holds you a little tighter. "God, saying those things to you, I hate that the Writer made me do it. Even the visual of... of-" He doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"Me and Seungcheol," you mumble, and let him lift your chin.

Mingyu nods. "But Y/N-" He searches your face and taps your forehead. "I didn't mean a single bit of it. None of it. Never. Okay? I would never ever treat you like that, okay?"

Your eyes tear up, and you nod, biting your lip and trying to get rid of the sting of the Writer's manipulations.

"And I hate myself for hurting you like that," he admits softly. "Even if I didn't mean it, I still said it, and that hurts. But... but at least we're self-aware?" He gives you an awkward grin.

You manage a laugh through the tears. It was a crap day, and maybe Mingyu wasn't helping, but your favorite thing about your best friend has always been that you feel understood when you're with him.

"This is hard," Mingyu groans, flopping backward on your bed. He hugs you close to him, so you don't flail around. "Can't we just," he moves one hand, gesturing wildly "I dunno, rewrite this stupid thing so we're happy?"

"If only that was a possibility," you giggle.

"Wait," Mingyu props himself up on an elbow. His eyes sparkle. "Wait. Y/N, what if we do exactly that."

"What," you roll your eyes and give Mingyu a blank look, not trusting his tone.

"Seriously! Let's rewrite this ourselves," Mingyu exclaims. "You and I, Wonwoo too, are self-aware. Why don't we work together to change things? It could work, don't you think?"

"What would we change, Gyu?" You ask him, a tiny glint of hope lighting up behind your irises.

"Well, to start," Mingyu grimaces. "Maybe, uh, have the Writer stop trying to make you kiss the entire university population, yikes."

You grimace and lift your hands up to the sky as if you're going to fight the Writer's pen with your bare hands. "That's a damn start. My god, we need a human resources department for this shit."

"It's more like human rewrite department and I'll file a complaint," Mingyu deadpans and the two of you share a quick look before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, needing this moment of levity after the exhausting scenes you're usually roped into.

"Wait, wait," you can't believe how many brilliant ideas come to you once you give yourself an afternoon to wallow. "Wonwoo!" You glance around as you grab Mingyu's phone from the floor, quickly dialing Wonwoo's number and grinning mischievously when it picks up. "We're forming a union. Bring beer. See you later." And then you hang up.

Mingyu is beside himself in a fit of laughter. "Oh man, won't the writer be pissed when they find out three of their characters are rebelling against the plot line."

"I hate this stupid plotline," you groan. "I'm the most popular girl in school but what does the narrative care about?! Me kissing a different character every week. I swear, we're literally nothing more than tropes used just to create more drama for the narrative, and it's annoying and pointless and I've had enough!" You let out a long, loud sigh and Mingyu grins.

"Damn, you're hot when you're angry," Mingyu mutters and when you give him a look, he looks away with flushed cheeks.

"Gross." Wonwoo let's himself into your apartment and holds up the beers. "Union time, but please. Can you not flirt with each other. I've dealt with enough forced bullshit today."

"What happened?" You look over the couch and see a distressed looking Wonwoo, your confusion and Mingyu's morphing into that same glare the two of you shared mere hours ago. "Did you just get some scene thrown into your storyline as well?"

Wonwoo winces and rubs the back of his neck. "I was forced out of the comfort of my own apartment to walk around the campus with Ara, the words spewing from my own tongue saying how she's everything I want and more, and how her personality is so cute, I can't get her off my mind, bla bla bla..."

The two of you just sit there, horror written on your face as the thought of a love sick Wonwoo has your brain nearly short circuiting.

"Dude, what the hell," Mingyu gags and shudders. "Was this scene like-" he pauses, horrified with the thought that passes through his mind. "Don't tell me. I don't want to imagine it."

"Neither did I, believe me, Mingyu. Please don't say anything else. I had to go through five showers with nearly boiling hot water to rid the thoughts of even holding her hand." Wonwoo winces as the memory makes his skin crawl. "Okay. So." Wonwoo nods. "Union time!"

As the sun dips low beyond the horizon and night overtakes the room, the three of you drink and dream and plan for the world that's promised. It's been far too long, since you've allowed yourself to dream. But with Mingyu and Wonwoo? It might actually work.

"Holy shit, guys." You stare up at the building looming overhead and then at the sign next to the door, squinting and reading out loud. "'Humanity Rewrite Agency. The world's solution to author control.'"

"I was kidding about it," Mingyu starts as he looks between his co-conspirators. "But there's really a HR building in the shadows? Do you think the Writer knows about this place?"

"Dude, if it's in the shadows then they won't be able to see it," Wonwoo shakes his head, almost wanting to laugh at the three of you standing outside of the building. It was a spur of the moment decision to go into the HR building, and though the three of you were pretty serious about the whole union thing, it all seems a bit far-fetched.

"Alright, let's go," You shrug and make your way up to the sliding doors, pushing in and finding the empty reception desk. "Um. Excuse us?"

A person pops out from beneath the desk, glasses askew and jacket slightly messed up. "Y-yes, how can I help you today?"

"We're thinking about forming a union? And thought a place like this might help, given it's hidden in the shadows." Wonwoo comments casually, leaning on the counter.

The receptionist's mouth opens, surprised. "A union?" Their eyes drift from Mingyu, to Wonwoo, and settle on your gaze. Their eyes soften, lips parting a moment later as a few memories spark in their mind. "Oh. Oh, dear. You three really are self-aware, huh." The receptionist, who's name tag reads Joshua, snaps out of his thoughts and offers a kind smile. "You're not the only self-aware characters working through an issue. Follow me." Joshua spins around the desk, flicking off the switch to the light above and disappearing into the hallway behind him, beckoning the three of you to follow. "You must know about Danoh and Haru, right? What happens to them in Secrets? What happens after?"

"Secrets?" Your brow furrows as your try to connect the dots, knowing very little about the book in question.

"I see you three really haven't done your due diligence then." Joshua laughs a moment later, voice light and cheerful. "Secrets is a comic about the typical high school romance. But in their case, our spunky Danoh was a supporting extra with a heart disease and Haru was a faceless extra." Joshua stops at his office door and gestures to the chairs across from him.

"Is there a reason why they're important?" Mingyu asks, clearly perplexed with the idea of side characters rebelling in their own way.

"Oh yes. I'll let Seungkwan tell you. He's like your mediator or something, I dunno. But he can help you find some answers at the very least."

You trail behind, your mouth moving faster than your brain as you pepper Joshua with questions. Wonwoo and Mingyu shake their heads but listen just as intently to Joshua's ramblings. You know there's a whole world here, out there in the shadows, and now that you've tasted self-awareness you're hungry for every detail you can find.

"In here," Joshua calls over his shoulder. "Everyone. These are our newest clients."

"New clients?!" A male's voice practically squeals, followed by a swift punch to the arm.

"More self-aware folk who don't know enough?" A second male's voice pipes up, amusement glinting in his eyes as a slow smile pulls across his lips. "Well, we can fix that. Hi, everyone! Welcome to Human Rewrite Agency, located conveniently in the shadows, where we'll do anything within our power to help."

"It's great to be here," you nod, stepping forward. "I'm Y/N." You tilt your head to your two conspirators, a shy smile on Mingyu's lips. "This is my best friend, Mingyu. And that brooding, tired-looking beanpole, is Jeon Wonwoo."

"Flattering," Wonwoo smirks, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

"I'm Boo Seungkwan," the bright male who's eyes sparkled from the moment you stepped through the doors bounces over and pulls you and Mingyu into a tight embrace before doing the same to Wonwoo. "This is Vernon. A few of the others are working with clients so you can't meet them right now, but it'll probably be a long time before anyone else does, especially if your situation is even half as strange as a love pentagram." Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

"Love pentagram?" Wonwoo murmurs.

"Another comic where the female lead falls for four men and she can't chooses between them," Vernon shakes his head. "All the four men ended up self-aware because her dilemma and they have yet to figure out how to resolve their issue."

"Wow," you shake your head. "Who has the time and energy to think of this mess of a love story."

"The Writer of that comic does, and they're enjoying the pain," Seungkwan chirps. "Our agency does what we can to resolve their issues without erasing their awareness, so they can live their lives as they truly want to."

"How do you guys fix the issue?" Mingyu wonders aloud.

"Depends," Seungkwan tilts his head in thought. "Sometimes their comic becomes too unstable and they have to go through a series of major rewrites for them to fall into the correct timelines or character placements, etc. I assume Joshua has mentioned Danoh and Haru?" He catches your nod. "There were lots of up and downs with those two and their comic. Secrets came to an end and even though Danoh and Haru weren't end-game there, they became extras in a new comic and have the agency to choose each other, finally."

"So you're saying..."Mingyu begins as his brow furrows in thought. "We're fucked no matter what we do? No matter how hard we try to change the narrative, the Writer can always rewrite whatever happens? If we create a glitch, the Writer will just delete it? There's no winning in that."

Seungkwan grins and nods at the question. "Correct, for the most part," He agrees, not willing to dismiss any fears the three of you are harboring. "Which is why, a lot of these couples learn to focus on their lives in the shadow while still fighting to get to a happy ending. Because happy endings are for every character, even a background one."

Mingyu reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his palm. "So what should we focus on?"

"Do your part. Flirt in scenes, take the kisses when scripted and try not to gag...too much." Seungkwan laughs brightly, noticing the distasteful expressions on the three's faces at the thought. "Just because it's written one way doesn't mean you're doomed. Hell, our main clients in the Love Pentagon have to act out this drama where they basically hate the shit out of each other but in the shadows, they're all friends and bond over their scenes at their local bar." He laughs, his face glowing at the fond memory. "All because they're learning to balance both. The shadow and the world beyond." Seungkwan comes forward and places a reassuring hand on both Mingyu's shoulder and your hand.

"Don't forget, you can always visit. We're open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. I encourage the glitching and breaking the fourth wall, but do keep in mind, a sudden plot twist will never sit well in the comic so sometimes the Writer's hand will get involved. But don't give up." He squeezes again, pulling his hand away. "At the end of the day, the three of you are still you. Self-aware doesn't change that and the Writer can't remove that fact either. They might be able to rip the self-awareness right from under your noses, but what they can't do is control the you you've created for yourself in the shadows."

Your entire being hums from his words, Seungkwan's melodic voice full of genuine kindness. You let Seungkwan's gentle reassurances sweep the worry from your brow, even as your mind continues to swirl. You've found an ally, one with endless optimism. You let out a sigh and your gaze settles on the grin dancing at the corners of Mingyu's mouth, the hope you always feel blooming whenever you're close, blossoming behind your ribs. "Shall we?"

Mingyu squeezes your hand once more. "You bet."

Another day, another scene. This time you're staring at an unrealistically happy Wonwoo as he looks down at Ara, his fingers brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes. Mingyu stands beside you, a look of disgust on his face as he tries not to vomit from Wonwoo's forced expressions.

"Is this how you feel when you look at me and Ara during our scenes together?" Mingyu asks out of the blue and you laugh.

"Now you know my pain," you pat his cheek with your palm. "Tough to watch?"

"Painful," he admits. "Happy Wonwoo is hard to watch. I'm so used to him being broody and aloof, it's just strange seeing him like this."

"And that's coming from a nerd who's forced to flex his muscles every day," you chuckle. "He's all brawn and brains and still scared of horror movies."

"To be fair," Mingyu pouts slightly. "Horror movies are terrifying."

"I love you Gyu, but you're just a big baby."

"Your big baby," he counters, pout growing. "Right?"

"C'mere, baby," you laugh, cupping his chin as you stand on the tips of your toes and plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Mingyu flushes a shade of pink that spreads up his neck and blooms across his ears as a stupid grin flashes across his face.

"Eww, gross." The sudden exclamation catches your attention, spinning you around. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, shaking his head in mild disgust and faked annoyance. "Ugh. Get a room."

"Done with your scene? Ready to go back and brood like your normal self?" You smirk.

Wonwoo glowers. "Shut up." He tucks his hands into his pockets as he falls into step beside the two of you. "I am the model of happiness."

"What a lie," you laugh. "Wonwoo, no. Your true self is brooding. Being happy is not your forte. But it's okay. We still like you."

"That's kind of cruel but not untrue," Mingyu adds. Wonwoo heaves an exasperated sigh but says nothing.

The three of you stroll off the campus grounds, heading downtown toward Mingyu's favorite bakery. When your thighs begin to ache, Mingyu gallantly offers you a piggyback ride. "Took you long enough," you mumble, but a grin breaks free the minute your arms are looped around Mingyu's neck and his arms are linked under your knees, his palms curled snugly around the curve of your thighs. You're cackling the entire way.

When you arrive at Mingyu's favorite bakery, Wonwoo slows to a stop. "Sorry to skip out," he sighs. "I'm tired and I need to wash whatever happened in my scene today off of me. But text me the plan, alright?" He leans in and steals a pastry from the box Mingyu just purchased, much to the latter's protest.

"Dude, that was my favorite," Mingyu frowns, watching him run off with the pastry clenched tightly in his fist, looking smug as he turns the corner.

"So dramatic," You shake your head and steal the next pastry from the box before darting away, laughter erupting from behind you.

"Why do I even bother?" Mingyu rolls his eyes in jest, racing after you, easily catching up. "You really gonna make me run when I'm holding a box of goodies?"

"You'd anything for me, dummy," you tease with an arched brow.

"Can't say no to that," Mingyu laughs brightly, letting his fingers intertwine with yours, a feeling that makes your entire body glow.

He'd walk through fire for you. And, you suppose, you'd walk through fire for him too. Even if it was scripted and the flame was all special effects. Still, you'd do it. The whole thing could crash and burn, literally, but it'd be worth it. He's always worth it.

You two collapse onto a picnic table, watching a gaggle of young children chase each other, swinging wildly at their pinwheels. Their joy echoes across the grass and you feel your body relax as you and Mingyu devour another pastry in seconds.

"These are the moments I really want," he finally admits after an extended moment of silence. "To sit with you, be in the moment and have the ability to laugh at stupid shit like those kids or something serious. It's just peaceful."

"Agreed," you tilt your head with a smile, content and free as a stray curl whips across your eye and Mingyu leans across the picnic table to brush it aside. "We deserve better than what the Writer has in store for us," you muse. "Not sure what that better is, but we deserve better."

"This," he breathes suddenly, looking nervous despite the calm, easy atmosphere of the park. "Us. Together." He gestures, an awkward fumbling of long arms and large hands that makes you want to cry-laugh, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betraying the shy tone his voice has.

"Mingyu." He smiles at you softly as you lean across the table and press a soft kiss to the very corner of his mouth. He sighs in content, pulling you against him so you were sprawled across his lap as he buries his nose into your hair. "I really do love you. You know that right? Nothing the Writer creates is going to stop me from loving you."

"Oh god," Mingyu pretends to gag playfully. "Such a fucking sap. I've rubbed off on you."

You reach up and pinch his jawline before swiping his nose with your palm. "Silly, dorky himbo of mine." He groans but doesn't deny the affection, a shy smile hiding behind his lashes.

"Can't deny the truth."

"Knew you loved it."

"Love you more." Mingyu bumps your noses together as he presses his lips to yours, sighing the minute your lips slot into his perfectly as he tightens his grip around you. The pair of you sigh blissfully into the kiss and you grin, unable to help yourself as you bring the back of your hand to your forehead.

"God," you say, rolling your eyes. "Could this sunset and the taste of the chocolate filling of Mingyu's favorite bread be any better?"

"Shhh," he chuckles softly against your lips. "Stop ruining the moment, Y/N."

"One, never. Two, never," you insist, smiling at the ridiculous look on his face as you press one final kiss to his pouting lips. "Y'know, I like that smile of yours best."

"The one I reserve for you alone," he whispers, eyes shut. You can feel the light breeze tossing Mingyu's hair about as you bask in the peace he brought you, the feel of his strong body pressing against yours, holding you impossibly closer, keeping the nightmares and chaos of the comics at bay. For now.

That night, you have a dream. A weird dream. In that dream, you’re with Mingyu. That part isn't unusual. But it feels different, familiar, somehow. Almost like a past life where you and Mingyu were free. Truly free. But when you wake up, your memory of the dream fades fast, the dream dissolving like a mirage in the desert. You fall back asleep, remembering only the comfort of your dreams, and Mingyu's strong arms.

The next morning, you make your way to HR, knocking before sliding your head in to find Seungkwan there, smiling up at you and gesturing for you to come inside and have a seat in his office.

"Hey Seungkwan. Good to see you again, thanks for giving me your time." You begin, having wanted to ask him a few questions. "I've been having some weird dreams recently, a past life it felt like. I couldn't really remember them all when I'd wake up but..." You trail, hoping you were making sense to Seungkwan.

"Glad you're here," He gestures to the empty seat directly across his desk, inviting you to make yourself comfortable while you have a little chat. Seungkwan slides a few files your way before folding his hands on his desk. "I actually managed to procure these after our last chat. it seems like you were the main character in the writer's last piece. If this helps jog your memories, that'd be a real win-win."

You let the pages slip beneath your fingertips, curiosity boiling behind your lashes as the scenes came back to you, the very dreams you were having all were on this very sheet of paper. It makes you want to laugh as you look at the very scene of Mingyu walking toward the girl who was the perfect mirror of you.

You flip through the pages and notice you were in a bookstore and had even dreamed a few nights prior about it. All of this is true, these aren't scripts...they’re the past. "You found all of this after my last visit?" You ask in awe.

"Yes!" he says proudly, unable to hide the glint in his eyes. "There were a few snags here and there. From what I researched, you and Mingyu's story wasn't supposed to end in such a tragic way."

Your smile falls from your face as you realize his words aren't ones of encouragement, but almost pity. "Tragic ending? What do you mean?"

"Well," Seungkwan sinks a little further into the leather of his chair and rubs the back of his neck, eyes focusing intently on his notes as if he wishes that he hadn't uttered the last few words. "It's sad. You were arranged to marry, he was drafted for the war. He never returned."

"Oh," you manage as the words hit you, and your head is screaming, begging for something. "So why was it put on hold?" You ask the only logical question left.

"The Writer abandoned it." He slides you a copy of the draft you were just looking at. "It wasn't getting the traction because of the heavy story, apparently," Seungkwan winces at the idea that he may have said too much, but you just nod at him. "The Writer decided that the current comic that you're in is getting more readership."

"Great, so glad to hear she gave up and moved to a new storyline instead." You seethe, not realizing how harsh the words were as you grit your teeth. "But why was Ara chosen as the main character instead of me?"

"She's naive, innocent," he offers, sliding a piece of gum into his mouth. "Pretty." Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as if it was unavoidable, a sad fact. "What?"

"And I'm not? That doesn't seem fair," you groan, arms crossing over your chest as a pout works it's way over your lip. "That is a real blow." You huff out a sarcastic laugh.

"You're the bombshell that's relagated to the background. Not that you're a background character by any means. You're the villainess."

"Don't say it," you roll your eyes. You know it. Everyone knows it. That you were the supposed villainess. But the fact that someone, especially Seungkwan, has admitted it out loud? Well, you don't want to admit the truth, but it stings like a motherfucker.

"You're self-aware," he states quietly. "Can we focus on that?"

"Fine," you grumble, before forcing yourself to calm down. It's not Seungkwan's fault. "But why Mingyu? The Writer could have written another male character that isn't Kim Mingyu."

"Maybe the Writer felt bad for him in the last draft, and thought she'd give him a chance as the main character of a new romance series."

"By turning him into the ultimate, white knuckled himbo who flexes his abs whenever?" You groan, "The poor boy."

"He may be the male lead of the comic and geared for Ara," He leans forward. "But he will always choose you and you him. It's fate, even for characters written into existence." Seungkwan chuckles before standing and dusting his suit pants off. "Alright, thank you again for chatting with me. That is all I wanted to talk about. Stay self-aware and keep your focus on the real goal, Y/N."

"And what's that?"

Seungkwan flashes you a bright smile as he ushers you from his office, "Getting out of this shit comic, duh!"

From your corner of the dancefloor, you watch Mingyu lean in closely to whisper something into Ara's ear. Whatever he is saying makes her erupt into giggles as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears. As the music plays and they spin together, your heart breaks into pieces.

You really want to smack the Writer for making you see this.

Wonwoo sidles up to you, shaking his head at the sight before him as the pair looks ridiculous as they stand on the dance floor and the scripted splash panel. "You can vomit in my shoes later if you need," Wonwoo offers, trying his best not to make this anymore miserable for you. "Want a drink?"

"Fuck yes," you snap, looking for a moment before shaking your head. "I've got this, stay. Enjoy the dance, look pretty for the crowd and try not to burst into flames from boredom."

"What am I, an ornament? Because I've gotta say, this bowtie is uncomfortable." Wonwoo wrinkles his nose at the feeling of the tie wrapped around his neck as you chuckle and take your leave, heading for the bar.

"A shot. Top shelf, please." You watch as the bartender grabs a bottle and lines the small glasses up in front of you, grabbing a pack of salt as he sets up. After the glasses were filled, you look up to find Mingyu looking directly at you as you lick a long strip across your wrist before downing the glass of tequila. The way he bites his lip is undeniably hot, and the slight daze in his eye is doing wonders.

Worth it.

"You're good," Seokmin, the bartender, comments as you blink your way back, slamming the tiny glass back on the bar counter. "Lookin' to impress anyone?"

"Someone, but he's too preoccupied at the moment," you sigh, gesturing to the man and woman currently on the dance floor as they sway back and forth.

"Ah," Seokmin purses his lips sympathetically. "Want another one?"

"Keep them coming." The next shot goes down easy, just like the other glasses you had poured down your throat in the hopes you could avoid Mingyu for the rest of the night.

Mingyu could've easily left her side and spent the remainder of the evening with you. You sigh wistfully, you had dreamed that this party would end differently. And not with him twirling another woman around the ballroom like this was some sort of poorly-written romance flick.

As the night drags on, the tequila keeps pouring down your throat until you can barely tell which Mingyu is the real Mingyu. Or is Ara real? You can't seem to care because when she disappears and the lights dim, he's suddenly right in front of you. "I think that's enough drinking for tonight, Y/N. Please?"

You look up at him drunkenly, anger brewing deep within you as you bite your lip, tears blurring your vision before you wipe angrily, angry, not that he would understand because, at the end of the day, it was Mingyu. Your Mingyu. "I hate this, Mingyu."

"Me, too."

"It feels like my insides have been crushed. It hurts to see you with her, and know that the entire evening the Writer kept pushing you two together, again, and again, and again." Your voice cracks and Mingyu reaches out to gently catch one of the tears that spilled down your cheek.

"C'mon." His hand is warm against yours. The two of you shuffle back to his apartment. "It's late," he mumbles as he shuts the door and throws his car keys into the tray on the counter, bending over to shrug his dress shoes off, and you stumble backwards until you feel your knees bump against the sofa and you let yourself fall against the soft cushions. "Are you just going to sleep with your dress on?" Mingyu asks, and you scoff.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh, right. Forgot who I'm talking to." He laughs and it sounds bitter and broken. He rubs a hand down the side of his face, shaking his head. "Anyway, you want to get out of those clothes? Here. Let me help you. Don't want you falling and hurting yourself."

"I'm not five, Mingyu."

"No," Mingyu pauses, gaze boring into yours, "But you sure can act like it."

"So, I can be a brat and you can treat me like you’re my Daddy, yeah?" You don't mean to laugh, but you are. You are fucking delirious, and so, so inebriated. But you're drunk and can't hold back the words tumbling out your mouth. "I'm such a fucking mess," you moan, hands flying to cover your face. "Just…just leave me here."

"Let's get you sober and then we can talk about that kinky side of yours." Mingyu holds out his hand, but the angle of the overhead light creates a glare. He's haloed in white light, like an angel or a figment of your imagination, you aren't quite sure. He taps your nose lightly, smile pulling at his lips, the slightest bit smug. "Take my hand and let's get you some fresh air. You smell like tequila."

"Mhm," You reach forward and slap your hand against his palm, sighing as Mingyu pulls you towards him and loops a supportive arm around your waist. "You like it, don't lie," you mumble. He rolls his eyes at that as your head dips back onto his shoulder and your feet stumble slightly before you are righted.

"Whatever you say, you drunk," he murmurs as he leads you to the balcony and dumps you on a lounge chair, reaching a hand out to press against your back. "Stay. I'll get you something to sober up before we get you showered and ready for bed. Okay?"

"Okay." Your voice comes out muffled since you bury your face in the pillow. "Mingyu?" you ask as a cool breeze chills your face.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for looking out for me."

"I'd do anything for you."

After a while of comfortable silence, and a cup of hot coffee in your hands, you both were looking out towards the street and were enjoying each others silent company. "You know we used to be in another series together?" you speak as you look over.

"Really?" he asks.

"Yea," you say wistfully.

"What was it about?" he inquires further.

"Not sure. But you and I were..." your lips pull up into a sad smile and your eyes slide back to the city street, "We were in love. Well, at least the Y/N and Mingyu from that series were." You smile sadly. "How we danced around each other in secret meetings during the war, and had to act like we were not madly in love once daylight hit. Even though I knew we'd always be safe no matter what because we loved each other."

"What happened, then? With us?" he asks.

"I was arranged to get married...to someone that's not you," you admit and it hurt like a stab to the gut. "And you were drafted, and I never saw you again." You turn back towards the view. "Can you imagine? How you loved someone with all your heart, but the narrative made sure you never had your happy ever after. No matter how badly you wanted it? The Writer just abandoned that series, never brought that story to an ending because it was so heavy and tragic. Wrote our lives off, just to throw us into something less heavy."

"Hey, come here." Mingyu sits up, pulling you into his arms. "We can't dwell on things in our past, even though the story may have hurt us, this time, things will be different."

"Will they, though?" you question with a sad shrug of the shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. Mingyu tilts your head towards his. "I'm not the main character this time. Just the villainess in this particular comic, forced to watch someone else get the happy ending. The happy ending the Writer robbed you and I out of."

"Shh," he hushes as he kisses your forehead.

"Promise you'll stay true and never abandon me? No matter what?" your voice wavers a bit as the threat of a sob remains close. Mingyu's big and warm hands gently tilt your head back to look up at him. He's got the most gorgeous face you've ever seen, with eyes so deep they put the night sky to shame and hair that gleams bronze in the sunlight.

"I'd do anything to keep you close," Mingyu says. "I promise."

"Pinky swear?" you sniff.

"Pinky swear." He links his pinky finger with yours. You breathe a small laugh. Mingyu had a smile to rival the sun, you always thought. All teeth, a bit lopsided and big and warm. Even in your current state of distress.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" your gaze darts down to where the two of you are connected by a finger.

"More often than necessary."

"I really, really love you, Kim Mingyu," you smile up at him.

"Love you, too." He presses his forehead against yours.

"Like, super duper, you don't even have a clue," you mumble into his chest. He only snorts.

"Sure I don't, dummy." He pats your head.

"Then maybe I should show you?" The words sound suggestive to Mingyu as you wrap your arms around his torso tightly, your hot breath tickling his ear.

"Y/N, come on," Mingyu says, wriggling away, cheeks going crimson.

You squint up at him, mischief in the creases in the corners of your eyes. "Why not?" you pout.

"Well, because," Mingyu ruffles the back of his hair. "You're drunk."

"I'm so damn sober right now that I could paint you a picture of the ocean."

"No, no, no." Mingyu pushes the hair out of his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe I should prove to you I am a very willing participant?" you begin to say as he closes his eyes for a split second. Before he can do or say anything to prevent it, your hands have snaked themselves behind his neck. The scent of cologne and detergent fill your nose as he stiffens slightly and groans against your skin.

"You drive a hard bargain," Mingyu finally murmurs. "But first, you need a shower."

"Join me?" you suggest and you grin up at him with a mischievous waggle of the eyebrows. "There's plenty of room for two." You see the way Mingyu bites his lip, then sighs.

"Fine. Lead the way," he says, and when you squeak happily and pull him towards the bathroom.

Moments later, the bathroom is thick with steam, blurring the clean lines of the tiled walls until the world outside feels entirely locked away. The water drums a steady, heavy rhythm against the porcelain, a barrier of noise that no scripted dialogue or intrusive narration box could pierce.

"You're still clumsy," Mingyu murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rid of the booming, confident cadence the Writer always forced into his throat on-page. Here, he sounds rough around the edges, grounded, and entirely yours.

"I am perfectly balanced," you retorted, though your hands gripped his shoulders for support as you stepped under the spray. The heavy silk of your party dress clings to your skin, soaked through in an instant, but neither of you care about the clothes.

Mingyu reaches behind you, his large palms warm against the small of your back as his fingers find the zipper. With a slow, deliberate slide, the wet fabric parts. He peels the dress away, letting it pool heavily at your feet. When his gaze meets yours, there’s none of the scripted, aggressive arrogance he was forced to display at the gym. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a fierce, protective reverence.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones, wiping away the lingering traces of the comic’s forced aesthetic. "The real you. Not the villainess."

"Then stop looking and do something about it," you challenge, leaning up until your lips are inches from his.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. He pulls you flush against his chest, the spray of the shower slicking his hair back, exposing the sharp, handsome angles of his face. His mouth comes down on yours with a desperate, hungry heat, a stark contrast to the polite, hesitant kisses the script dictated for him and Ara. This is raw, heavy with years of unspoken longing and the terrifying knowledge that your time in the dark is always limited.

His hands slide down to lift you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. You gasp into the kiss as he presses you back against the warm tiled wall, the friction of his skin against yours sending a sharp jolt through your chest.

"I'm not letting them take this," Mingyu groans against your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming every bit of you that he could.

You grab at the nape of his neck, fisting your fingers in his wet, raven black hair. "Shut up and fuck me, Mingyu."

The slick tile of the shower wall is hot against your back, but it’s nothing compared to the blistering heat of Mingyu's skin. He holds you pinned, one massive hand anchoring your hip while the other cups the back of your head, his fingers tangled deeply in your wet hair.

Every kiss is a bruising, desperate reclamation. On the page, the Writer made him tentative, full of scripted hesitations and soft, clean glances meant for Ara. But here, in the heavy steam of the shadows, Mingyu is ravenous. He drinks the small, broken sounds from your throat, his tongue tangling with yours in a rhythm that’s entirely unscripted, chaotic, and real.

"Y/N," he growls against your lips, his chest heaving against your breasts. The water cascades over his broad shoulders, slicking down the heavy planes of his muscles. "Tell me you're here. Tell me it's you."

"It's me," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hand slides down the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg to hook over his hip. "It's always been me, Gyu."

He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your collarbone as he buries his face in your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin right above your shoulder blade, biting just hard enough to anchor you to the reality of the moment. You cry out, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, your nails leaving pale tracks in their wake.

When he shifts, guiding your hips back against the wall, the friction is unbearable. He pauses for a single, agonizing heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes completely dark, pupils blown wide with a fierce, protective hunger.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice rough and laced with a desperate edge. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see me when I..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. He drives into you in one smooth, heavy push.

A sharp, breathless sob escapes your lips, your hands flying to clutch at his wet shoulders as the sheer intensity of the fullness ripples through you. Mingyu lets out a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. He begins to move, slow and agonizingly deep at first, before the rhythm catches fire.

The sound of the rushing water drowns out the rest of the world, creating a sanctuary where no narration boxes could grow. Every thrust is a declaration of war against the script. You grip his shoulders, throwing your head back as he hits the exact spot that makes your mind fracture into pure, unadulterated sensation.

"Mingyu. Gyu—" you whimper, your internal walls tightening around him as the friction builds an unbearable, sweet agony behind your ribs.

"I've got you," he pants, his pace turning fast and punishing, his muscles bunching under your hands as he lifts you completely off the floor. Your other leg wraps around his waist, locking him close. "I'm right here."

"Mingyu," you begged against the corner of his jaw. "Gyu. Yes, yes, yes, please, don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He groans the words into the tender flesh below your ear as his lips and teeth trace a burning line from your jaw down the side of your throat. The water blurs between you, but he refuses to shut his eyes or drop his gaze. Every breath is shared, every inch of contact heated.

And every thrust is a silent cry. Fuck the script. Fuck Ara. Fuck everything but us.

The Writer's commands can't reach the shadows. Mingyu doesn't give her a chance to command him here, where the camera could only capture their silhouettes and the reader can't see beyond the steamy haze.

"Mingyu. Mingyu. Please, I need..." You shudder, a violent, blinding release cascading through your lower abdomen as you clamp down around him. The sight of your undone expression throws Mingyu over the precipice. With a low, ragged shout, he buries himself deep inside you one last time, his body stiffening as he spends himself completely, his pulse throbbing forcefully against your own.

For a long time, the only sound is the heavy thrumming of the water and your synchronized, ragged breathing. Mingyu holds you tight, his arms wrapped around you like a vice, refusing to let your feet touch the cold ground just yet. He kisses you again—long, tender, slow—as he turns the knob of the shower off. With your legs still wrapped around his hips and his arms still supporting your full weight, he carries you both towards the bed.

"We're still wet," you murmur, lips moving against his collarbone.

"Does it matter?" he grunts. Mingyu settles atop of the pillows, the mattress squeaking beneath him as he pulls you to sit astride his lap. His damp hair falls over his forehead in wild, messy tendrils, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You're just gonna get wet again, anyways."

"Is that so?" You rest your forehead against his, brushing the fallen strands away. Mingyu nods, hands gripping your thighs tight as his thumbs brush in circles on the exposed flesh of your skin.

"Definitely."

The peace shatters at exactly 7:15 a.m.

One moment, you’re tangled in Mingyu's sheets, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the lingering warmth of his body enveloping you in perfect, drowsy comfort. Your hand is resting flat against his bare, broad chest, feeling the steady, calming beat of his heart.

The next moment, a violent, neon-pink static snaps through your brain.

Your eyes fly open. The cozy, dimly lit bedroom is gone. The soft cotton sheets beneath you instantly morph into the stiff, scratchy fabric of a public bench. The smell of detergent is replaced by the overwhelming scent of chlorine and expensive perfume.

"No," you whisper, your throat tight. "No, please, not yet."

You look down. You’re no longer wearing Mingyu's oversized t-shirt. Instead, you’re clad in a stunning, albeit incredibly impractical, designer tweed skirt suit with pristine white heels.

Directly across from you stands Ara, holding a tray of iced coffees, looking utterly defenseless and doe-eyed. And standing right next to her, looking polished, perfectly coiffed, and completely devoid of his glasses, is Mingyu. He’s wearing his varsity jacket, his posture rigid and towering.

The transition is so violent it makes you nauseous. The physical memory of his touch is still burning on your skin, but your body is already moving against your will. Your spine straightens into a haughty, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a sharp, poisonous smirk.

Above your heads, a massive, glittery pink narration box materializes with a smug hum.

NARRATION: The next morning at the campus cafe, the villainess lays her trap, determined to humiliate Ara in front of the boy she desperately covets...

You try to swallow, but your vocal cords tighten as the Writer takes the reins, violently forcing the script into your mouth.

"Oh, Ara," your voice chimes out, dripping with sickly-sweet venom. "Did you personally brew those coffees, or did you just pick them up from the trash? Because honestly, the aroma matches your outfit today."

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams at Ara, but your face remains a mask of flawless, cruel arrogance.

Ara flinches, her eyes immediately welling with tears as she looks up at Mingyu. "I... I just wanted to bring everyone drinks..."

Mingyu's jaw clenches. You see the brief, agonizing flicker of horror in his eyes, the real Mingyu trying to scream through the cracks of his character's programming. He knows exactly what you had just shared hours prior. He doesn't want to do this.

But the Writer's grip is ruthless.

Mingyu steps forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. He grabs the iced coffee from Ara's tray and, with a harsh, aggressive movement, slams it down on the table right in front of you, splashing a few drops onto your pristine tweed jacket.

"Keep your mouth shut, Y/N," Mingyu spits, his voice booming with a cold, scripted hatred that makes your stomach violently churn. "Ara has a heart of gold, which is something you wouldn't understand if it bought your family's entire political empire. Stay away from her. You disgust me."

The words feel like a physical blow to your chest. You disgust me. Even knowing it’s the script, the sheer force of his dictated anger cuts through you like a knife.

Your character merely laughs, a sharp, tinkling, villainous sound. "We'll see about that, Mingyu," your mouth drawls, tilting your head up to flash him a mocking wink.

PANEL 1 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FURIOUS EXPRESSION AS HE TURNS HIS BACK ON THE VILLAINESS, GUIDING A WEEPING ARA AWAY INTO THE SUNLIGHT.

The moment the imaginary camera shifts focus to follow them walking away, the invisible strings snap.

Your smirk collapses. You slump against the cafe bench, trembling violently as you clutch your stomach, dry-heaving from the sheer emotional whiplash. Across the courtyard, you can see Mingyu walking with Ara, his shoulders tightly hunched in that familiar, real-world telltale sign of pure, unadulterated distress.

He can’t look back at you. If he did, the Writer would freeze the panel.

You dig your nails into the wooden bench, staring at the pink narration box as it slowly dissolves into air. The battle for your freedom isn't just a union meeting anymore—it’s survival.

NARRATION: With the dramatic exit of the campus golden boy, the villainess is left alone to stew in her own bitter defeat, unaware that her cruel games are pushing her further into isolation...

"Oh, eat glass," you hiss under your breath, waiting exactly three seconds until the glowing text fully dissolves into the morning air.

The moment the script completely lets go of your muscles, you practically collapse onto the iron table. Your hands are shaking so hard, you almost knock over the remaining iced coffee. The emotional whiplash is a physical ache in your chest. Just hours ago, his hands were warm against your waist under the heavy steam of the shower, pulling you close, whispering that he would never let them take you away. Now, the phantom sting of his scripted words—You disgust me—echoes in your ears like a slap.

You need a drink, a sanctuary, or a very large blunt object to swing at the sky. Lacking all three, you grab your designer bag, haul your aching body out of the cafe courtyard, and head straight for the one place on campus where the shadows were thickest: the back rows of the university library.

"You look like shit." Wonwoo doesn't even look up from his massive, leather-bound textbook as you slide into the beanbag chair next to him, burying your face in your hands.

"Don't start, Wonwoo," you groan, your voice muffled. "I just got violently ripped out of Mingyu's bed at seven in the morning to be dropped into a 'cafeteria confrontation' scene. I told Ara her coffee smelled like garbage and Mingyu told me I was disgusting. My soul has officially left my body."

Wonwoo leans his cheek on his hand, flipping the page. "I know you have feelings for the musclehead, but can you get over yourself for three seconds?"

"Wow. Excuse me for having emotions," you grumble into your hands, flopping backwards into the plush beanbag chair with an undignified huff. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"

"My pretty face," Wonwoo recites by rote, the edges of his lips curling into a trademark smirk that made the characters around you swoon. "It's all the rage."

"Go back to brooding," you grumble, leaning forward again to scan the titles of his mountain of library books.

The library is an oasis of darkness: a cramped, shabby space nestled deep between the science shelves in the most remote corner of campus. Only a couple flickering lamps provide light, barely cutting through the densely packed bookshelves to reach the faded carpet. It’s impossible to spot the back rows from anywhere else in the library, which is exactly how you two like it. The deeper you sink into the stacks, the longer your ability to stay outside of the script lasts, giving you an easy break from being written into the same overused confrontations week after week.

This far from the spotlight of the heroine and the main characters, the university is nothing but a cheap backdrop and a cheap trope. No flashy love triangles or manufactured plot twists can find you here, no matter how brightly the script shines. Just stacks upon stacks of books, no endings necessary. It’s exactly what you need right now.

Wonwoo stares pointedly at your rumpled jacket and messy hair, his fingers absently playing with a ballpoint pen. "So are you going to sit there moping, or are you going to finally address the massive, tooth-rotting sexual tension hanging between us right now?"

You smack his arm hard. "Gross, dude. Not with Mingyu on the brain."

Wonwoo ignores the bruise already blooming on his bicep, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done lamenting your tragic inability to seduce our token jock? You're crushing my study vibe with that kind of energy."

"Fu–"

"Don't curse in my sacred reading corner."

You close your mouth mid-curse, narrowing your eyes. "Fine, Shakespeare," you say, crossing your arms. "Remind me, why am I even talking to you about this?"

"Because you think I can actually fix it." His eyes flick up towards the dusty fluorescent lights, watching the grime-coated glass buzz with low electricity. After several seconds, his dark gaze shifts towards your face.

"Look," Wonwoo sighs, resting his elbows on top of his piles of reference books. "If there's anyone who understands this shitty situation, it's me. I know you two are dying to break free and bang each other against the nearest wall, but the Writer doesn't care. To her, our misery is hilarious, and she doesn't care what she has to tear apart or write-off to keep making us dance to her tune."

You stare at Wonwoo, his words cutting through the leftover haze of the morning's whiplash. The harsh reality of what Seungkwan had shown you at the Human Rewrite Agency flashes in your mind—the tragic, abandoned draft where you and Mingyu were torn apart by war. The Writer didn't care about your heartbreak then, and she certainly doesn't care now.

"She already tore us apart once," you whisper, the anger in your voice giving way to a hollow, echoing fear. "Seungkwan showed me an old draft. In another story, Mingyu and I were in love, and she just... left us to rot in a tragic ending because it wasn't pulling in enough views."

Wonwoo stops twirling his pen. His boredom completely evaporates, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. "Wait, seriously?"

"I read all of it." You fidget with your pearl ring, "We never even got a happy ending. And now I'm watching him be the main character again with someone that's not me and get his happy ending. What about me? What about my happy ending?"

He reaches out and squeezes your arm gently. "You will," he promises, and there's something softer and kinder than the Writer's edge in his words.

"I'm not so sure," you whisper. You have to keep swallowing the bitter lump that seems to have taken residence in your throat.

The heavy scent of old paper and dust does little to soothe the burning in your throat. Wonwoo’s hand is still a reassuring weight on your forearm, his usually detached eyes sharp with a quiet, protective anger.

Before he can offer another word of cynical comfort, the heavy wooden doors of the library’s back wing creak open.

Footsteps shatter the silence, heavy, hurried, and completely lacking the synchronized, rhythmic grace the Writer usually forced onto the male lead. A tall figure rounds the corner of the chemistry stacks, nearly tripping over a low-profile stool.

It’s Mingyu.

He has frantically shoved his thick, black-rimmed reading glasses back onto his face, though he’s still wearing the stupidly pristine varsity jacket from the cafe scene. His hair is a wild, unstyled nest from where he had clearly been ripping his hands through it in frustration. The moment his eyes lock onto you huddled in the beanbag chair, the rigid, arrogant mask of his character crumbles entirely.

"Y/N," he pants, stumbling into the narrow aisle. He drops to his knees right in front of your beanbag, not caring about the dust coating his expensive scripted jeans. "Y/N, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." His large hands fly to cup your face, his palms warm and trembling violently against your cheeks. "I didn't mean it," he rushes out, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of the booming, confident cadence from the cafe. "The words…the Writer just slammed them into my throat. I tried to swallow them down, I swear to God I tried to choke on them, but the static was too loud. When I said those things to you... when I looked at you like that..." Tears of genuine, unadulterated rage well in his eyes, threatening to spill over his lashes. "I wanted to tear my own tongue out."

Wonwoo slowly retracts his hand from your arm, leaning back into his own chair and crossing his arms. "Take a breath, muscle-head. You're going to trigger a 'jealous outburst' panel if you vibrate any harder."

Mingyu ignores him entirely, his thumbs gently wiping at the stray tear that has finally escaped your eye. "Please tell me you know it wasn't me, Y/N. After last night... after everything... I could never look at you and feel anything but..." He chokes on the word, his ears turning a bright, furious crimson, but he forces himself to look directly into your eyes. "I love you. The real you. I don't care what she writes on the page."

You look at his flushed face, the messy hair, the desperate, unscripted honesty bleeding through his every pore. The phantom sting of 'You disgust me' finally begins to dissolve, replaced by the grounding weight of the boy who belongs to you in the dark.

"I know, Gyu," you whisper, reaching up to wrap your smaller hands around his wrists. "I know it was the script. It just... it gets harder to separate the two when the Writer starts messing with our heads."

Mingyu leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a long, shuddering breath that fans across your lips. "We're going to break this comic," he swears fiercely against your skin. "I don't care if we have to glitch the entire university into a black screen. We are not letting her rewrite us."

Wonwoo lets out a sharp, rhythmic tapping sound as he collapses his heavy book shut. "If you two are done staging an unscripted melodrama in my designated hiding spot, we actually have a massive problem to deal with."

Mingyu doesn't pull away immediately, giving your hand one final, protective squeeze before shifting to sit cross-legged on the faded carpet. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his broad shoulders slouching into that familiar, un-jock-like posture that belonged strictly to the shadows. "What do you mean, Wonwoo? Besides the fact that the Writer almost turned my brain into mush this morning?"

"Think about it," Wonwoo says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Y/N just found out from Seungkwan that the Writer has a history of abandoning entire universes when they don't get enough traction. She scraps characters. She leaves them to rot in tragic endings." His sharp eyes dart between the two of you. "Right now, the Writer is getting aggressive because we are making the plot unstable. If Mingyu keeps punching narration boxes and glitching out of scripted gym sessions, she’s not just going to keep pushing. She’s going to notice the narrative structure is broken. And what happens when a webtoon creator realizes their project is glitched beyond repair?"

The air in the narrow aisle suddenly feels incredibly cold.

"She deletes the file," you whisper, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your designer tweed skirt. "She scraps the comic and starts a new one."

"Exactly," Wonwoo points at you with his pen. "Except this time, we’re self-aware. If she hits delete, do we just wake up in a new story with our memories wiped, or do we fade into the white space permanently?"

Mingyu’s jaw sets, his gaze hardening as he looks up at the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. "So Seungkwan was right. We can't just blatantly refuse to play our roles. We have to walk the line. We act out the scenes, we take the stupid scripted dialogue, but we use the shadows to build something she can't touch." He reaches out, his massive palm covering yours entirely. "We play along just enough to keep the comic alive, while we figure out a way to break the fourth wall completely from the inside."

Before you can respond, a low, ominous vibration thrums through the soles of your feet. The library shelves seems to flicker, the titles on the spines blurring into illegible streaks of color for a fraction of a second.

A neon-pink glow begins to manifest near the ceiling of the aisle, pulsing like a dying star.

"Fuck," Wonwoo mutters, instantly scrambling to his feet and shoving his textbook into his bag. "Spoke too soon. Stage lights are coming up. Must be a heroine spotlight."

The pink glow intensifies, bathing the dusty library aisle in an artificial, sickly light that makes the air feel thick and pressurized. You, Mingyu, and Wonwoo scramble as the scene begins to materialize around you, the reality of the library walls warping like melting wax.

PANEL 1 — THE LIBRARY AISLE, SUDDENLY OVERFLOWING WITH SOFT, ROMANTIC FILTERING.

Lee Ara appears at the far end of the row, holding a stack of books and looking around with an expression of "lost and adorable" perfection. She catches sight of the three of you, her eyes widening in a scripted, dramatic reveal.

NARRATION: A quiet moment of study turns into a chance encounter, as Ara discovers the trio in their secret, brooding corner...

"Oh!" Ara exclaims, her voice unnaturally bright and rehearsed. "I didn't know you guys were all back here together!"

You feel the familiar, sickening lurch in your chest as the Writer takes hold of your internal monologue, turning your genuine affection for your friends into a sharp, jagged envy.

"Well, it's a library, Ara," you say, your voice dripping with an acid-tongued condescension that makes your skin crawl. "It’s supposed to be for studying, not for wandering around like a lost puppy looking for attention."

Ara’s lower lip trembles—the perfect, predictable response. Beside you, Mingyu stiffens, his fingers digging into his knees to keep from lunging toward her to apologize. His face, however, is forced into a mask of cold, dismissive indifference that mirrors your own.

"Y/N, leave her alone," Mingyu says, his voice flat and monotone, devoid of his usual warmth. "She’s just trying to find a quiet place to read."

"Oh, please," you roll your eyes, a gesture that feels heavy and robotic. "Don't tell me you're actually falling for the 'innocent, studious heroine' routine, Mingyu? We both know she couldn't tell the difference between a textbook and a magazine if her life depended on it."

Ara gasps, clutching the books to her chest as if you'd physically struck her. You want to scream, to reach out and tell her that you actually like her, that you’ve helped her study before, but your mouth is locked in its scripted cruelty.

"I... I really just wanted to return these," Ara whispers, her gaze darting to Mingyu for salvation.

NARRATION: The tension crackles as the hero steps forward to defend the maiden, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense fury.

Mingyu stands up, his movements stiff as he performs the role of the knight in shining armor. "I said, that's enough," he hisses, stepping directly into your personal space. "Go back to your little clique of sycophants and leave her out of your drama."

You meet his gaze, and for one desperate, fleeting second, the Writer's hold falters. In the depths of his eyes, you see the real Mingyu—the one who spent the night in your bed, the one who promised to protect you. He’s terrified for you, pleading with you to play along before the Writer notices the glitch and tries to delete you entirely.

You force a sharp, cold laugh, stepping back and brushing past him with deliberate, insulting intent. "You’re right, Mingyu," you snap, your voice echoing with a synthetic bitterness that makes your stomach churn. "I’m wasting my time here. It’s hard to have a conversation when the room is being occupied by, well, this." You gesture vaguely toward Ara with a hand that is shaking, though the narration box hovering above you works overtime to frame your tremor as a sign of haughty impatience.

PANEL 2 — MINGYU, ARA, AND YOU STARING EACH OTHER DOWN

Ara looks hurt, her lip wobbling just enough to satisfy the panel's requirements. Mingyu stands motionless, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The narration box pulses a violent shade of fuchsia, hungry for the conflict to escalate.

NARRATION: The villainess turns on her heel, her heart cold and empty, unaware that her cruel words have finally pushed the golden boy past his breaking point.

"Don't you dare walk away," Mingyu barks. He grabs your arm, his fingers dig into your skin, hard. "You think you’re so much better than everyone, don't you? Always plotting, always hiding."

You spin back around, your face arranging itself into a sneer that you despise, but your eyes meet his, and you transmit every ounce of your reality into that look. Play the game, you idiot. Just play the game.

"And what if I am?" you hiss, pulling your arm away with a sharp, calculated motion. "At least I know what I am, Mingyu. I know what I want. Do you?"

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FACE

His expression is a masterpiece of conflicting emotions—the mask of the "angry lead" clashing with the raw, terrified honesty in his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to swallow a scream.

"You don't know a damn thing," Mingyu growls, but the cadence is off—strained and jagged. He steps closer, closing the distance until his chest brushes your shoulder. The smell of his laundry detergent—a scent that belongs to your apartment, not this scripted reality—wafts off him, a sharp reminder of the night before.

NARRATION: The air thickens with unspoken malice as the hero confronts the villainess, his heart firmly tethered to the heroine’s purity.

"Is that so?" you retort, your voice perfectly, hatefully smooth. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the lapel of his varsity jacket, tracing the embroidered school crest. "Because it looks to me like you're just playing house, Mingyu. Pretending this—" you gesture vaguely toward Ara, who is hovering in the background like a confused prop—"pretending this is your whole world."

Ara lets out a small, high-pitched noise of distress. "Mingyu, please... she's not worth it."

"See?" You tilt your head, a saccharine, patronizing smile plastered on your lips. "She's worried about your reputation. How noble."

PANEL 4 — WIDE SHOT: THE THREE OF YOU IN THE AISLE

The library shelves seem to press inward, the lighting turning a harsh, over-saturated studio white. Wonwoo is still sitting in the beanbag chair, his back turned, studiously ignoring the scene. He’s the only smart one here. He knows better than to break character when the narration is this aggressive.

Mingyu’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist again.

PANEL 5 — CLOSE-UP ON MINGYU’S GRIP.

His fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, executing the exact visual cue the script demands. But beneath the forced, white-knuckled aggression, you feel his thumb press twice against your pulse point—a quiet, unscripted reassurance meant only for you.

"You think you can just trample over everyone because of who your family is?" Mingyu barks, his voice laced with that booming, heroic resonance that makes your stomach turn. "You don't own this campus, Y/N. And you certainly don't own her."

The words sting, but Seungkwan's advice echoes in your mind: Do your part. Take the dialogue and try not to gag. You have to keep the plot moving, or the Writer will realize the file is glitched and scrap your entire universe.

PANEL 6 — PROFILE SHOT: YOU, LEANING IN.

Your body moves on autopilot, tilting your chin up with elegant, villainous haughtiness. You lean directly into his personal space, your nose inches from his varsity jacket, smelling the real-world scent of his laundry detergent beneath the fake studio lights. "Oh, is that a threat, Mingyu? Because you know how much I love it when you get all big and protective."

Ara lets out a soft, scripted gasp in the background, her doe eyes wide with predictable horror.

PANEL 7 — EXTRA WIDE: THE LIBRARY AISLE GLITCHES.

A violent wave of neon-pink static ripples through the air, causing the wooden bookshelves to warp and blur like melting digital wax. The Writer is pushing back, furious at the underlying friction of your true feelings breaking through the rigid script.

NARRATION: Fed up with her pathetic, desperate games, the golden boy casts her aside, completely severing the toxic ties of their childhood...

Mingyu’s arm jerks violently under the Writer's command. He is forced to throw your hand back, but as the invisible strings yank his muscles, he fights the momentum, letting go with a desperate gentleness that completely contradicts the narration's harsh script. A tiny spark of pink electricity pops between your palms as your fingers slip apart.

"Let's go, Ara," Mingyu mutters. His voice is heavy, carrying a deep, real-world exhaustion that the text bubbles try to disguise as righteous anger. He turns on his heel, guiding a trembling Ara out of the dimly lit aisle and back toward the safety of the main campus floor.

You watch as he leaves, sinking to the floor with a sick sense of relief when the footsteps fade. This scene is over. At least for now.

PANEL 1 — WIDE SHOT: THE CAMPUS BALLROOM

A massive banner overhead reads: ANNUAL CARAT U FOUNDER’S DAY GALA. Students are scurrying around carrying towers of pastel boxes, flower arrangements, and expensive silk ribbons. The lighting is an aggressive, over-saturated pink.

NARRATION: As the highly anticipated Founder’s Day Gala approaches, the campus is alive with romantic tension and sparkling anticipation...

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

You're leaning against a wall, elegantly dressed in a long form fitting gown, the slit climbing scandalously high. Your arms are crossed, but your fingers are restlessly spinning the pearl ring on your hand.

“A gala,” you whisper under your breath, your eyes tracking a floating pink narration box hovering near a pile of stage props. “Of course there's a gala. Because what's a cheap rom-com without a dramatic ballroom confrontation?”

The narration box twitches, sending a tiny jolt of pink static through the air.

NARRATION: ...and our scheming villainess can already smell the sweet scent of a perfectly orchestrated sabotage.

“Keep dreaming, you neon eyesore,” you mutter, stepping into the shadow of a large marble pillar to get out of the spotlight before your mouth is hijacked again.

The physical toll of the library scene from yesterday still lingers like a deep bruise. Every time you or Mingyu fight the invisible puppet strings, the static gets louder, threatening to tear the fabric of your reality apart at the seams.

Mingyu approaches you, completely in his "on-page" element, wearing a tailored navy suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. But as he steps into the shade of the pillar next to you, his posture slumps into a familiar, exhausted slouch.

"Tell me you brought snacks," Mingyu mumbles, the booming confidence of his male-lead voice dropping into a tired, rough-around-the-edges whisper. "The Writer made me carry three ice sculptures across the plaza for the Gala committee. My hands are literally numb."

You can't help but smile, your fingers instantly reaching out to catch his cold hands. "No snacks, Gyu. Just a whole lot of scripted doom." You nod toward the hovering pink narration box. "It’s already setting me up to ruin the Gala."

Mingyu squeezes your hands, his dark eyes softening behind his invisible programming. "We play along just enough to keep the file from being deleted, remember? We take the dialogue. But the moment the panel freezes..." He leans down, his forehead briefly resting against yours, sending a wave of genuine warmth through the freezing morning air. "The shadows are ours."

The room is a sickeningly opulent display of crystal chandeliers, cascading white roses, and soft pastel lighting. Couples are gliding across the dance floor in perfect, symmetrical harmony.

NARRATION: The night of nights! Under the shimmering chandeliers of the Founder's Gala, destiny takes the floor...

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON ARA.

She is wearing a massive, glitter-drenched ballgown that looks completely impossible to walk in. She stands near the punch bowl, looking beautifully overwhelmed.

PANEL 4 — YOU STEP INTO THE FRAME.

Your body suddenly locks into a rigid, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a poisonous, calculating smirk as the Writer violently takes the reins of your jaw.

"Oh, Ara," your mouth chimes out, dripping with venomous condescension. "Did you dress up as a literal disco ball tonight, or are you just trying to ensure the security guards can track you when you inevitably spill punch on yourself?"

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams, but your face remains a mask of flawless, aristocratic cruelty.

Ara flinches, her doe eyes instantly welling with tears. "Y/N... I just wanted to dress up for the school..."

PANEL 5 — MINGYU INTERVENES.

Mingyu strides into the panel, his chest puffed out, stepping directly between you and Ara. His jaw is clenched so tightly a vein pulses at his temple. The real Mingyu trying to fight the static screaming in his brain.

"That's enough, Y/N," Mingyu barks, his scripted voice booming with cold, righteous anger. "Your family's money can't buy a single drop of the grace Ara has in her pinky finger. Leave her alone, or I'll personally have security throw you out."

The words sting like a physical slap, but beneath the table line, where the panel cuts off, Mingyu’s hand blindly reaches out, his thumb pressing twice against your thigh in the dark, the quiet, unscripted code you shared in the library. I'm here. I love you.

"We'll see who gets thrown out, Mingyu," your character drawls, tilting your head to flash him a haughty, mocking wink before turning on your heel.

PANEL 6 — EXTRA WIDE: THE BALLROOM LIGHTS SUDDENLY FLICKER.

A violent, jagged wave of neon-pink static rips through the chandeliers. The crystal ornaments warp into pixelated blocks, and a low, digital hum vibrates through the floorboards. The Writer is panicking; the underlying friction of your true feelings is destabilizing the scene.

NARRATION: Driven to the edge by the villainess's relentless malice, the golden boy sweeps the pure maiden into a dramatic waltz, completely erasing the shadow of his past...

The moment the imaginary camera shifts to focus on Mingyu and Ara's waltz, you make your way to the back rooms. You collapse against the backstage vanity mirror, gasping for air as you clutch your stomach, trembling from the sheer emotional whiplash. The door clicks open, and Wonwoo slips inside, his bowtie completely undone, carrying a pair of flat sneakers and a stolen plate of pastries.

"The chandeliers almost turned into literal missing-texture blocks out there," Wonwoo says flatly, tossing the sneakers at your feet. "You and the muscle-head are vibrating at a frequency that's going to get us all format-clipped."

"I know," you whisper, wiping a genuine tear of frustration from your eye. "But we kept the scene moving. We gave her the confrontation she wanted."

The door bursts open again. Mingyu stumbles in, completely out of breath. He doesn't say a word; he just strides across the room, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your lap, his massive arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.

"I hated it," he chokes out, his voice rough and stripped of all comic-book arrogance. "I hated every word."

You run your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, leaning down to press a soft, fierce kiss against his crown. "Shadows," you whisper, and his arms tighten, his nails digging into the skin of your back with a desperate urgency. "In the shadows, it's just us."

"Okay lovebirds." Wonwoo places the plate of food on top of the vanity and quickly turns to leave. "Enjoy the physical expressions of love or whatever. I'll keep an eye out on things outside."

You gently scratch your fingers across Mingyu's scalp. "Gyu, get something in your stomach," you gently urge. "You're gonna be numb again if you don't eat."

"I hate this stupid webcomic," Mingyu mumbles, his nose buried in the satin of your gown.

"I hate this stupid story just as much," you mutter. "But hey, at least we're trapped together." You pick up a macaron off the plate and offer it to him. He obediently lifts his head and takes a bite, chewing while his arms are still stubbornly clamped around your waist.

"Marry me when all this is over," Mingyu says in his rough-around-the-edges delivery, only halfway kidding as he wraps his mouth around the dessert.

You laugh. "Why me? Why not the bubbly protagonist who's guaranteed to give you a happy ending?"

"Baby," Mingyu chuckles, resting his chin on your knee, his big, earnest eyes staring up at you. "You and I already know what the ending looks like."

"And what's that?" you ask, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger.

"This," Mingyu whispers, sitting upright and pulling you into his lap to steal a kiss, his lips sweetly smiling against your mouth. "This and everything else that comes with it."

"Yeah? And what does everything else consist of? Inquiring minds want to know," you say with a playful quirk of your eyebrow.

Mingyu slides his hand down from your shoulder to the soft curve of your hip, "Hmm...in bed. The shower. In our actual homes. Everywhere. Everyday."

"Anywhere, huh?"

Mingyu smiles again, warm and perfect and unafraid. "Anywhere. Anytime."

"And if I said right now?" you whisper.

His fingers tangle in your hair. "Baby," he teases, nipping at your lower lip. "Right here?" Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, unfiltered register that the Writer never let the audience hear. "With Wonwoo playing look-out outside, and the entire digital universe vibrating like a faulty circuit board?"

"Especially right now," you breathed, your fingers hooking into the lapel of his tailored navy suit jacket, tugging it off his broad shoulders. "Because every time she forces you to tell me I disgust you out there, I need a reminder of what the truth feels like in here."

Mingyu drops to his knees on the floor, his fingers sliding along the slit of your long, tailored gown. "And what does the truth feel like, love?" he whispered, kissing the side of your knee through the fabric.

"It feels like this," you manage, moving his hand up higher under the shimmering satin. "Here..." you gently guided the tip of his fingers where you needed them. "Like this, Gyu."

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his warm breath against your skin. "You drive me crazy every damn time."

You gasp when he pushes your dress up higher, lips dragging across your skin as his mouth makes a path to where you needed him most. "Gyu..." you shudder out his name, your hands gripping his soft hair tightly, encouraging him closer.

"Every day," he rasped. "For as long as this webtoon runs and even after, Y/N, I'll make you feel like this. Love or not, script or not, I'm yours. Got it?."

"Got it. Understood," you murmur, tugging on the ends of his hair again. Mingyu's teeth nip at the flesh of your inner thigh, the light sting sending a jolt of heat up through your core. "Now stop teasing me, please," you whisper. "Show me what that talented tongue does. Show me."

Mingyu obeys, dragging your silky black underwear down and then placing an open-mouthed, hungry kiss where you want him the most, the flat of his tongue tasting you eagerly, the low groan from his throat making your breath catch.

"Mingyu," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs, settling it over his broad shoulder.

His teeth scrape lightly on the bundle of nerves, your mouth dropping open, a high, wanton sigh escaping your lips as he dips a finger, sliding in gently. You tug again at the strands of his soft hair, desperately rocking against his face, and you can feel him smile.

"More, baby, please," you begged, lost in how good it felt. You wanted to make you lose yourself, forget about the damn story and the Writer and Ara and everything.

Mingyu slides a second finger into you, curving them at the precise angle that he knows drives you crazy, and you start to see stars, your spine arching, mouth forming a silent moan. He goes faster, deeper, his mouth devouring every inch, and he fucks you perfectly with his fingers until you feel nothing but euphoria.

"Please," you beg, your fingers grasping his hair roughly, tugging insistently. Mingyu leans in again, his tongue curling against your clit, and your thighs quake as the heat pools in your lower belly and then snaps in a wave. You come against his mouth with a hoarse, barely-muted cry, the feeling rippling through you, eyes rolling to the ceiling, mouth open in ecstasy. "Oh god. Yes!" you gasp as Mingyu slows his pace, sliding his fingers out and sucking the tip of his fingers clean, licking his lips, because fuck it, Mingyu can have dessert twice if he wants.

"Jesus," he breathes as your mind blanks momentarily from the intensity of your climax. He wraps his arm around your waist again, tugging you even closer. He rests his head against your belly, fingers curling possessively around your hip. "Baby, do you feel better now?"

You smirk, holding him close, gently raking your fingers through his silky locks, inhaling sharply. "As if I could feel bad with a tongue like yours working magic down there."

"It's not just my tongue, sweetheart," Mingyu teased. "There's this, too." He looks down at his very prominent erection that you could see straining against his perfectly tailored pants and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Hmm...now how did that get there," you smirk, sliding the tip of your finger along his bottom lip. "You have an extra, extra appendage. Gyu."

"I always carry it with me wherever I go," he says, getting up to his feet again, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. "Just in case my girlfriend needs a reminder that her boyfriend loves her."

You lean up to press your mouth against his, kissing him passionately, humming softly into it. "Always." you murmured before cupping his cheeks and smiling up at him. "Now, show me what your extra, extra appendage does. Gyu. Please."

Before he can reach for his belt, Wonwoo knocks on the door, yelling, "Hey lovebirds, the narration box is zooming around, looking for one of you. Chop-chop! This isn't the time."

You untangled your arms from around him, smoothing a hand down his jaw and giving it a tender pat, grinning. "Let's save that for later."

He grabs the back of your head and gives you another searing kiss before growling, "To be continued, sweetheart."

"Love you," you smiled, linking your hand into his as you head back to the ballroom to face your fated moment again.

Mingyu looks over his shoulder, lips forming the same words silently, "I love you, too, baby."

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM SHOT: THE BALLROOM THRESHOLD.

The studio lights hitting the edge of the door frame are an aggressive, glittering gold. The air pressure changes instantly as the heavy oak door opens. The heavy scent of rain and soap from the backstage floor evaporates, replaced by the suffocating smell of expensive champagne and rosewater.

Your posture snaps straight like a steel rod being bent back into place. Your hand slips from Mingyu's warm grip just a millisecond before the invisible camera lens pans over to find you.

NARRATION: Driven by bitter resentment, the disgraced queen returns to the floor, her eyes searching for the perfect weapon to mend her broken pride...

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," you whisper out of the very side of your mouth, the real you desperately trying to warn the boy beside you before your vocal cords lock up completely.

Mingyu’s jaw hitches. His eyes flash with that terrifying, real-world panic, but his body is already turning away from you, his shoulders broadening into the stiff, unnatural stance of the defensive male lead. "Do it. Just make it look real so she doesn't freeze the canvas."

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

Your face twists into a flawless, venomous sneer that feels entirely alien on your skin.

"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the living," your voice chimes out, loud enough to turn heads near the VIP lounges. "Did you finally finish playing white knight, Mingyu, or is your little charity case still crying in the restroom?"

Ara is standing just past the fountain, clutching a silk shawl. Her eyes go wide, perfectly timed tears gathering right on her lower lashes.

"Y/N, please," Ara stammers, her script forcing her to sound small and defenseless. "Why do you have to be so cruel?"

"Because someone has to keep this campus realistic, sweetie," your mouth sneers, your hand lifting to dismissively wave her away. "This entire event is high society. You look like you stumbled in from a local thrift bazaar."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU STEPS IN, FURIOUS.

Mingyu plants himself right in your path. The sheer size of his scripted frame blocks out the light, casting a long shadow across your designer gown.

"I told you to watch your mouth, Y/N," he roars, the text bubble cutting sharply across the top of the panel. He grabs your wrist, his grip visually harsh, mimicking the exact toxic trope the Writer loves.

But against the hidden skin of your inner wrist, his thumb presses down firmly twice. I've got you. Hold on.

"Ara belongs here more than you ever will," Mingyu snarls, his eyes burning with an artificial fury. "Get out of our sight before I show you exactly how meaningless your family's influence is to me."

PANEL 4 — EXTRA WIDE SHOT: THE COMIC GLITCHES.

The entire ballroom floor shudders. The edges of the panel begin to fray, the pristine marble texture dissolving into digital white space for a terrifying, split second. The neon-pink narration box hovers directly between your faces, vibrating violently as if it can taste the immense friction of your true feelings tearing at the script.

NARRATION: With one final, devastating rejection, the golden boy completely shatters the villainess's illusions, leaving her utterly—

The text suddenly halts. The glowing pink letters begin to scramble into nonsensical digital noise.

Error 404: Narrative Flow Disrupted.

"What the..." Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the static from the edge of the frame. He isn't supposed to speak in this panel, but he’s standing near the punch bowl, his reading glasses on, staring up at the ceiling as the digital sky of the webtoon begins to crack like glass.

"Mingyu," you gasp, and this time, it’s your voice. The puppet strings have gone completely slack. Your wrist is free.

The entire student body—the faceless extras, the track team, even Ara—freezes mid-motion, their expressions locked into rigid, unblinking stasis. The music stops dead.

PANEL 5 — THE SHADOWS EXPAND.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. The second the script breaks, he grabs your hand for real, pulling you toward the edge of the collapsing ballroom floor where the white space is actively swallowing the pastel decorations.

"The Writer lost control," Mingyu pants, his varsity jacket instantly vanishing, replaced by his oversized, threadbare hoodie as reality completely destabilizes. "Wonwoo! Move!"

"Way ahead of you, muscle-head," Wonwoo grunts, sprinting past the frozen, statue-like form of Ara and diving straight into the expanding darkness of the unwritten pages.

You look back one last time as the neon-pink narration box shatters into a million harmless, glittering shards. The clichéd university, the forced love triangles, the malicious dialogues—they are all dissolving into blank canvas.

"We did it," you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as Mingyu pulls you flush against his chest in the pitch-black safety of the void. "We actually broke the plot."

Mingyu looks down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose, a brilliant, lopsided, unscripted smile taking over his face.

"I told you," he whispers, his lips finding yours in the quiet, absolute freedom of the white space. "Everywhere. Anytime. From now on, we write our own story."

An endless, blindingly pristine field of pure white extends in every direction. There are no walls, no floors, and no horizons. Floating randomly in the distance are discarded sketches of coffee cups, fragmented lines of dialogue bubbles, and half-rendered cherry blossom petals frozen mid-air.

You and Mingyu are sitting cross-legged on the nonexistent floor, your hands still tightly intertwined. A few feet away, Wonwoo is lying flat on his back, using a stack of unwritten text boxes as a makeshift pillow.

"So," Wonwoo says, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "We successfully glitched the file into a total system crash. Congratulations, team. We are officially unemployed."

"Shut up, Wonwoo," you laugh, leaning your head against Mingyu's shoulder. The sheer relief of not having a script forced into your throat is intoxicating. Your jaw doesn't ache. Your smile doesn't feel like a weapon. You are just you.

"He's right, though," Mingyu murmurs, his large fingers gently tracing the knuckles of your hand. He looks down at you through his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes completely soft and grounded. "The Writer is definitely trying to reboot the program right now. I can feel the static humming in the back of my neck. It’s faint, but it’s there."

The pristine white space beneath your feet vibrates violently. A jagged line of neon-pink code tears through the emptiness, splitting the void right down the middle like a glowing neon scar. The faint hum at the back of Mingyu’s neck suddenly turns into an aggressive, crackling roar of static.

"She's rebooting," Wonwoo barks, his calm demeanor snapping instantly. He scrambles off his stack of text boxes as the tear in the white space began to flicker wildly. "The backup save is initializing! If that code closes around us, we’re going right back to the chandeliers and the damn waltz!"

"Not happening," Mingyu growls. He doesn’t wait for the script to claim his muscles. He lunges forward, throwing his massive arm around your waist and scooping you up against his chest, his other hand locking firmly onto Wonwoo’s jacket. "Hold on!"

The white space around you begins to warp, trying to force the textures of the Founder's Gala back into existence. For a terrifying fraction of a second, the tailored gown manifests over your skin, and the phantom smell of rosewater fills your nose. Your jaw begins to stiffen, a scripted, arrogant laugh bubbling up in your throat.

No. You won't say it. You bite your lip until the taste of iron breaks the illusion.

With a roaring effort, Mingyu throws all three of you forward, diving headfirst into the flickering, dark tear in the canvas just as a massive, neon-pink command prompt filled the sky:

RESTORING CORRUPTED FILE: VOLUME 4_FINAL.

You plummet through the darkness, the sensation of falling giving way to a sudden, hard impact against a surprisingly plush carpet.

"Oof—muscle-head, get your knee out of my ribs," Wonwoo groans from somewhere beneath a pile of limbs.

"Sorry, sorry!" Mingyu pants, frantically scrambling up and immediately pulling you to your feet. He cups your face, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Y/N! Are you back? Are you you?"

You blink, shaking the last remnants of the pink static from your head. You look down. You’re wearing your favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of worn-out sweatpants. Your face is entirely yours. Your jaw is loose, completely free of the Writer’s venomous strings.

"I'm here," you breathe, throwing your arms around his neck. "I'm entirely here."

"Ahem." A polite, cheerful throat-clearing cuts through your frantic breathing. You turn your head to see Boo Seungkwan leaning over a sleek mahogany desk, a mug of hot coffee in his hand and a brilliant, knowing smirk on his face. Behind him, Joshua and Vernon are frantically typing on glowing, transparent keyboards, routing lines of blue code away from a localized server. "Right on time, Union Team," Seungkwan cheers, setting his mug down. "We just intercepted your data packets before the Writer's backup save could overwrite your awareness nodes. Welcome to the permanent grid of the Human Rewrite Agency."

Wonwoo stands up, dusting off his pants and pushing his glasses up his nose. "So we're safe? The file can't reach us here?"

"The Writer thinks your characters were permanently corrupted and deleted from the save file," Vernon chimes in without looking up from his screen. "She's currently drawing a new villainess with a bob cut and a generic mean-girl backstory to replace you in her rewrite for Volume 4. You three are officially off the registry."

A profound, breathtaking silence settles over you. Off the registry. No more floating narration boxes. No more forced backhanded compliments. No more watching the love of your life play a role meant for someone else.

Mingyu lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his massive frame shaking with pure relief. "We did it," he whispers against your skin, his hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie as if he still couldn't believe you wouldn't vanish into a panel shift. "We actually did it, baby."

You comb your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, looking over his shoulder at the vast, bustling network of the shadows. In the distance, characters from a dozen different genres are laughing, drinking at a local bar, and writing their own unscripted lives.

"Yeah, we did," you murmur, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you leaned up to press your lips against his. "Now, come on, Gyu. I believe you promised me a very specific, completely unscripted continuation to a certain conversation backstage."

Mingyu pulls back, his crimson ears perfectly matching the brilliant, lopsided, boyish grin that belongs entirely to you. "Anywhere," he promises, his eyes deep and full of a quiet, everlasting warmth. "Anytime."

"But first, you'll need to find a new home here and meet other self-aware characters," Joshua pipes up, "You can always make this place a new home and help others like you, but—"

Seungkwan swats Joshua's arm, a huge smile on his face. "What Joshua is trying to say," Seungkwan proclaimed, "is you can stay here at HRA with us."

"There's more to the HRA than this building," Vernon speaks up. "There is a whole world you can discover."

You take the information with open arms. It may be unfamiliar, and maybe you'll have to rewrite an entirely new existence, but with Mingyu at your side, there's no fear in taking a step forward with confidence. With his fingers intertwined with yours, it feels like there's nothing the two of you can't do.

"Alright. Where do we go from here?" Mingyu asks as if he can read your mind.

"That is the million won question," You joke. Mingyu snickers, knowing what you mean. You can't afford a million won, that's what is hilarious about it. You still feel like living here for free and meeting new characters might be something you like. Not because you have to, because it is actually exciting.

Maybe things are starting to look up? You just hope The Writer has more drama planned. Maybe they'll go on hiatus and the world will shift towards an existence you want.

There is something freeing about being a character without a script. It takes more energy than living your life following the order of a Writer, but you're less miserable, and you think Mingyu agrees because even with his usual distaste for exercise and work, his smile is brighter.

Mingyu swings your hand in his grasp playfully, his shoulders less slouched and he stands taller. "What next then?"

"What next? You tell me," You challenge playfully. "After all, you are my male lead. You were written with great ideas, weren't you?"

“Hi, Cheol,” you greeted with a smile, eyes glancing at the room full of employees. You shifted uncomfortably under the stares. Most of them were looking at you with wide eyes. It made sense. You didn’t recognize them and weren’t dressed appropriately to be in the building.

You averted your gaze to Seungcheol and said, “I thought you were done with your meeting.”

Although his eyes softened at seeing you, they were still fierce—body hot from dealing with stupid people all morning.

“I’ll be done soon. Go wait for me in my office,” he instructed and started to walk to you. He dug a hand in his slacks, pulling out his keys and placing them in your palm. He glanced at the bag you were holding but didn’t say anything.

“I have to go soon; I just wanted—” 

“Ten minutes, alright?” he said.

“I don’t know if I can wait until then,” you replied.

Seungcheol took a deep breath. He didn’t want to snap at you, but his patience was already too low as it was.

“Five then. Go to my office, alright?” He sighed, gesturing out the door.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. You could tell he was trying hard not to be too demanding.

“Fine,” you grumbled and turned around.

Walking to his office, you passed by Wonwoo’s room. You didn’t know him outside of work, but he was always friendly whenever you visited Seungcheol.

This time you knocked, waiting for a response before pushing his ajar door open more.

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you smiled.

He sat behind his desk, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as his eyes glided across the screens in front of him. He peered up when he heard your voice. He looked surprised to see you.

“Hey Yn, it’s nice to see you,” he replied, pushing away from his desk to give you his full attention. “I think Seungcheol is still in a meeting.”

You pointed in the direction of the meeting room, a small laugh escaping as you replied, “Yeah, I just came from there.”

“Oh,” he said sheepishly.

“I just came to stop by as I wait for him to finish,” you explained.

“You’re welcome to sit,” he said and gestured to the guest chair.

You obliged, setting down the bag and your purse. Like all your conversations, the context was light. Between asking about work updates and his recent lover, you passed the time quickly.

“I thought I told you to wait in my office.”

You snapped your gaze up; the words on your lips died upon hearing Seungcheol’s rigid tone. It was obvious he wasn’t pleased with you being here.

Your mouth dipped down. “It’s boring in there alone.”

“Hm,” he paused to look at Wonwoo, “I expect those files to be sent to me within an hour.”

“Hey, don’t be harsh on him, babe. I’m the one that disturbed him,” you said as you stood up with your belongings.

“Which is why I told you to go to—”

“Your office. Yeah, I got it,” you grumbled. You glanced at Wonwoo, giving him an apologetic smile. “I’m glad you’re happier, Wonwoo. Thanks for the chat.”

Wonwoo grinned as he rolled himself closer to his desk. “Thanks, Yn.”

“The files,” Seungcheol reminded Wonwoo. Wonwoo nodded, waving you goodbye when Seungcheol guided you out of the room.

You followed next to him as he walked to his office. The silence was unsettling. Glancing at him briefly, you noticed his jaw was clenched and lips angled downward more than usual.

“Ba—” you started to say.

“Wait until we get inside,” he simply ordered.

You’re not sure what you did wrong besides interrupting his meeting. You understood he was probably stressed, but you didn’t see the mistake as a big deal. If he had taken the lunch prior, he could’ve gotten back to work instead of talking to you.

Once Seungcheol shut and locked his office door, he moved you to his chair while leaning against his desk. You placed your belongings on the floor as he loosened his tie. He then placed his hands behind him on the wooden surface.

“Why are you mad at me?” you pouted, sinking into his comfortable seat.

Seungcheol sighed. “I’m not.”

“You’re acting like you are,” you huffed and furrowed your brows in puzzlement.

“You just came on a bad day,” he explained, hand coming up to rub his temples. “Why did you come anyway? Dressed like that too.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” you said sarcastically. “Also, what’s wrong with my outfit?”

“It’s not appropriate here,” he answered, hand falling from his face.

“I didn’t think I had to be dressed in slacks to come to see you,” you argued. He’s never had an issue with your “inappropriate” attire before, so you wondered what changed. 

“People were staring,” he muttered, lips returning to a frown.

You chuckled silently in realization. “My little jealous baby,” you cooed.

“I’m not,” he fussed.

“Oh, that’s good then. I’m going to meet Jun once I leave by the way,” you said.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because he’s my friend,” you giggled, seeing his change in demeanor. “I’m actually probably late, so I should get going.”

Seungcheol reached down to pull you up and into a hug before you could leave. You smiled, knowing he was definitely hiding his jealousy. Your arms slid under his suit jacket, and you began to rub his back.

“Don’t go,” Seungcheol mumbled into your neck. “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

“I’m not going to spite you, Cheol. I had already planned to see him. I just wanted to drop by to give you lunch before I went,” you explained. “I know you’ve been busy.”

You enjoyed teasing him, but you didn’t want him to think you were doing something to upset him purposely.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You stayed silent for a moment as you felt his body gradually relax in your hold. When you felt he had calmed down, you slowly pulled away enough to see his face. You offered a small smile, tucking the hair that was in his face behind his ear. You let your hand rest on his cheek after.

“Do you forgive me?” he questioned.

“You can make up for being mean to me,” you suggested softly.

“How?” he asked, hands gripping your waist firmly so you couldn’t move too far.

You pretended to think, eyes raising to the ceiling momentarily as you thought. 

“Five kisses,” you finally said.

“Only five?” Seungcheol asked playfully. You smiled at hearing his light tone. You were glad he was happier, even if it was just for now.

“Depends how good they are,” you said and leaned forward. His lips were a few inches from yours.

“They’re always good,” he scoffed lightly.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

You pressed your lips against his gently. However, Seungcheol was too anxious to go slow. He pressed you flush against him as he slipped his tongue between your lips.

He switched your positions, so you were against his desk. Your hands went down his back before landing on his ass. You gave him a mischievous squeeze that had him biting your lip in return. You giggled as you pulled away.

“We’re going to be here a long time if you kiss me like that, Cheollie,” you said. “You have four more to go.”

Seungcheol lifted you onto his desk, hands resting on the surface so he could lean closer. “That was my last meeting of the day. I’m all yours, baby.”

He kissed you again, but you pulled away before he could deepen it.

“I don’t believe you,” you replied. Hearing how annoyed he sounded earlier, you felt he had things to tend to today.

Seungcheol smirked, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “Always so smart.”

He gave you a quick peck before moving away to type something on his computer that resided on the adjacent part of his desk. While he did this, you pulled your phone out to text Jun that you’d be running late.

“There,” he announced and put his computer to sleep. “Now, I’m free.”

You set your phone down, arms coming up to hook around his neck when he returned. “Two more.”

“Two?” he asked, confused, while putting his hands on your hips.

“You just gave me another one, so yes, two.”

“That wasn’t even a kiss,” Seungcheol said, words dragging out.

“I still counted it. Two more kisses, then I’ll let you get back to work.“

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered before crashing his mouth on yours.

Smiling into the kiss, you wrapped your legs around his hips. Seungcheol’s hands rubbed your sides. His thumbs brushed against the underside of your breasts each time, making you yearn for his touch more.

You tore away from him, breathing a little heavier. He stared at you with hooded eyes.

“You’re slowly being forgiven,” you teased.

He raised a brow at you. “So, you admit my kisses are good?”

You laughed at his tone, finding him cute despite his slight smugness.

“I think I need one more to know,” you replied.

Seungcheol gave you another kiss, tongue pushing past your lips quickly as he made out with you fervently.

“Okay,” you giggled when he pulled away. “They’re good.”

“You were just being complicated,” he huffed. Your gaze glanced down at his swollen lips and then to his eyes. He was watching you closely, chest rising and falling quicker than usual. You really were lucky to have him.

“Maybe,” you smiled. “That was five, lover boy. Now, get back to work.”

You placed a hand on his chest to move him away, but he stayed still. You tilted your head at him.

“Move, Cheol,” you said in case he didn’t understand that you meant now.

Seungcheol shook his head, a hand sliding down your body until it was nestled between your legs.

“I’m not done with you, baby,” he growled lowly.

Your mouth fell open in a gasp when he started to circle your clit. Seungcheol leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses on your neck. Your hands moved to clutch his sides, pulling him closer as you spread your legs to accommodate him.

“I thought you s-said we couldn’t do this here anymore,” you stammered, a small smirk on your mouth when he tugged down your shorts.

He pulled away from your neck to mutter in your ear, “No, I said you couldn’t be so fucking loud.”

As soon as your shorts and underwear were on the floor, he kneeled. His hands gripped your thighs and shifted you closer to the edge of his desk. One of your hands immediately went to his hair, clutching it and pushing his face toward you. His tongue glided along your slit before his mouth connected with your clit.

Seungcheol gave you a pointed look and slowed his ministrations when you moaned a little too loud. You bit your lip in response since you didn’t want him to stop.

Once you quieted down, Seungcheol continued. His tongue lapped at your arousal, eyes closing briefly as he savored your taste.

You watched him in awe. You loved seeing how enthused he was whenever he was between your legs.

“This isn’t what I meant when I said I brought you lunch,” you quipped.

Seungcheol flattened his tongue, slowly gathering your slick before he stood up. He made a show of swallowing, and you shook your head playfully at his act.

“Maybe not, but I’m enjoying my meal very much,” he murmured. He slid his fingers between your folds, coating them in your wetness before pushing one inside. “You taste so good, baby.”

As a small moan slipped from your mouth, you shifted your hands down to his slacks. You unbuckled his belt quickly.

“Yeah?” you asked, feeling an odd sense of pride at the compliment.

He nodded as he chuckled and put another finger inside. He pumped them slowly. You whined at the slight stretch, needing to feel his cock instead. You pushed down his zipper and moved his pants and underwear out of the way. Your walls squeezed around his fingers at the sight of him. You reached out to spread his pre-cum before slowly rubbing his shaft.

“M-maybe you can bring me lunch again next week,” he mumbled, trying to keep his focus on your words rather than your hand.

“I can do that,” you smiled.

He grinned back and pressed his lips on yours again. His fingers started to move quicker, causing you to moan into the kiss. Seungcheol smirked, added another finger, and continued his fast movements. You were so focused on his hand that you had to pull away from the kiss to cry out, your hand pausing on him.

Seungcheol was quick to press his other hand on your mouth, muffling your moans as he gradually decreased his speed. He pulled his fingers from you but kept his hand against your face. His other hand gently took your hand off his cock.

“You’re gonna stay quiet for me, or else I’ll send you on your way out without cumming,” he threatened lowly.

You answered back, but it wasn’t very clear. He moved his hand and nodded for you to repeat.

“But you like it when I’m loud,” you whined.

“Today, I just want to have you all to myself. I want to be the only one who hears you,” he explained, hands trailing down to the top of your off-the-shoulder blouse. He tugged it down until just your bra was exposed. It had your arm movements restricted; raising them too much would push the material back up.

You started to pull your arms out, so you could move better, but Seungcheol stopped you.

“I like you like this,” he said. His hands tugged down the top of your bra, a small smirk forming on his lips when your breasts were freed from their confinements. “So beautiful.”

Seungcheol shifted a few objects on his desk before carefully laying you down on his desk. He didn’t bother undressing as he situated himself between your legs, length in hand. You attempted to prop your feet on the desk but had little trouble finding your footing.

“Here,” he said and guided your legs around him instead.

Your face heated at his readjustments. “T-thanks.”

Seungcheol smiled at you, kind and loving as if you had just said something precious to him. He aligned his tip at your entrance and leaned over you. It had his tip pushing into your entrance. You whined at the feeling, moving your hips in hopes of feeling more. However, he stayed put.

Seungcheol slid a hand behind your neck and gently lifted you slightly. He moved his face so it was mere inches from yours. Your elbows rested on the surface to be more balanced.

“I love you,” he murmured.

A grin broke out on your face. “I love you.”

He gave you a sweet kiss as he gradually sank into your heat. The feel of his cock filling you up had you tightening your legs around his waist. Seungcheol let you push him closer, deeper; his groan got lost in your mouth.

Slowly, he started to rock into you. The kiss grew sloppy with each snap of his hips. Eventually, he broke it off, mouth ajar as he basked in how you fit so well around him.

“C-Cheol,” you whimpered, hands finding a hold on his wrists that were within reach.

He stared down at you while he started to speed up. There was a thin coat of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He adjusted himself, so he could move deeper. The position had him hitting a particular spot that made you moan loudly.

For the second time, Seungcheol covered your mouth to silence your sounds.

“You don’t listen, do you?” he asked. However, his hips suddenly slammed into yours. It had you crying out again. The smirk on his face told you it was purposeful; he wanted to hear you be noisy despite his words. His other hand moved to grip one of your breasts. Your hands moved to hold onto your shirt, needing to hold onto something.

“No one listens to me,” he huffed, suddenly recalling the events from earlier. He had been trying to close a deal for five months, but each time he tried to finalize everything, the other person would change the conditions. He was tired of going back and forth. Not to mention, some of his veteran employees have been making rookie mistakes lately. He was just fed up.

You moaned into Seungcheol’s hand when he squeezed your breast harshly. He bowed his head, hips snapping at a brutal pace. His mind was consumed with all the annoyance bottled up in him the past few weeks. He needed to let go of his frustrations. He was tired of everything going wrong around him.

Except for you. You always treated him right.

Seungcheol slowed down once he realized how rough he had been. He moved his hand from your face, eyes searching yours.

“S-sorry,” he breathed heavily. “Are you okay?”

Although you felt sore from where his skin was hitting yours, you were fine.

“Yes,” you replied. However, you grew worried for him. Seungcheol has been rough with you before, but this time felt different.

“Are you okay?” you questioned.

Seungcheol sighed, resting his head against your chest as he held you close. You moved your hands to caress his head; you didn’t care that your shirt had risen because of it.

“Is it about work?” you asked.

“I just need this deal to go through. It’s been going on for months,” he complained.

You petted his head soothingly. “Maybe you should find another place if they’re difficult.”

“I can’t. This place will benefit us greatly.”

“Hold in there then, babe. Hopefully, they’ll come around. If not, I know you’ll still be successful without them,” you tried to reassure. You didn’t completely understand all his business practices, but you knew you hated seeing him so upset.

Seungcheol lifted his head to look at you. “Because I have you.”

You giggled softly and cupped his cheeks. You gave them a subtle squish that had Seungcheol whine.

“No, because you’re really smart and hard-working.”

“But you motivate me to do better,” he replied.

Smiling, “You do too, Cheollie.”

“I like when you call me that,” he confessed quietly and leaned down.

“I know,” you murmured, raising your head to meet him for a kiss. You felt his lips spread into a grin.

He steadily began to roll his hips again. This time his pace was gentler. He pulled away and moved onto his hands again, eyes briefly glancing down where he slid into you and then to your face again. Seungcheol’s brows were drawn together in concentration.

Your hands moved to his forearms and said, “You can go faster. I’m okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied with a shake of his head.

“You won’t. I’ll tell you if you are, alright?” you reassured.

He stared at you for a moment, hips faltering. “You promise?”

“Yes,” you said.

Seungcheol nodded. You were anticipating him to pick up where he left off, but instead, he slipped out of you. Your legs unhooked from around him, and you sat up. You looked at him confused. You could already feel how sore you’d be after this was all done.

He peeled off his jacket and tossed it to the floor, spreading it out before turning to you. His arms wrapped around you and lifted you off his desk.

“Oh,” you said, surprised, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Seungcheol carefully laid you back on his jacket on the floor.

“Better?” he asked as he settled between your legs.

You had to admit your legs were aching at having been in the same position for a while. Although the carpet wasn’t as plush as you’d like, it felt better than the hard surface of his desk. You figured he could’ve put you in his chair, but it was nice to have more room.

“Yes, thank you,” you said.

“I think I should get a couch in here soon,” he replied after a glance around his office. 

There was a table and chairs in the corner for private meetings. He had bookcases and file cabinets along the wall that took up most of his space. However, there was an empty corner he could furnish.

You laughed lightly. “I think that’d be a good investment.”

“It’d make you want to visit more,” he commented.

“And what’s wrong with that?” you scoffed half-heartedly.

Seungcheol smirked. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re very distracting.”

“Not my fault you can’t keep it in your pants,” you joked.

“Oh?” he asked, suppressing a laugh.

You gave him a challenging look. It had Seungcheol laughing at your cute expression.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “You’re just too beautiful and mine not to fuck dumb.”

“I-I don’t become dumb,” you argued weakly.

“Should we find that out now?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his cock along your dripping folds.

Your hips jerked slightly when he grazed your clit.

“Buy me a new pair of shoes if you lose,” you forced out. You tried not to focus on how he was pushing into you slightly before pulling away.

“Oh, we’re betting on this? Alright. You have to buy me a new watch,” he bargained.

You rolled your eyes. “You have like five different ones already.”

“And it’ll be six soon,” he smiled smugly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, yes, I do,” he chuckled confidently.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but what came out instead was a gasp.

Seungcheol had pushed into your core abruptly. He wasn’t as abrasive as before, but he was quicker than a few minutes ago. He stared down, his eyes watching as his cock disappeared into your body. He loved seeing how stuffed he made you.

Suddenly his finger was on your clit, rubbing harsh circles that had you moaning his name and gripping the carpet.

“Always so good for me,” he praised. “Isn’t that right, baby girl?”

You nodded, walls clenching at his words. He sucked in a breath at the feeling but didn’t let that distract him. He wanted to see you babbling; he wanted to see your eyes roll back. He moved his hand and grabbed the back of your thighs. He moved them to your chest. It wasn’t the most comfortable position due to the not-so-soft ground, but your only thought was chasing your high.

“Fuck, C-Cheol,” you rasped at the deeper feeling. Your head leaned back as he thrust swiftly.

Seungcheol quickly shoved down your top again, fixing it so he could see how your beasts bounced with each snap of his hips. You felt the coil in your stomach tightening the longer he fucked into you.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” he grunted.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. “Feels so—Hmph!—good. Love your c-cock.”

Seungcheol couldn’t stop the smirk on his face. He was pleased to see how easy it was to get you to fall apart.

“Wanna come for me, angel?” he panted, feeling his own climax approaching.

“Please!” you begged.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Seungcheol moved his hips a little harder, a litter faster, until your legs were trembling, and his hips were stuttering. He cursed out your name when he came. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he spilled himself in your cunt.

The sounds of panting filled the room while you both eased down from your orgasms.

“I think I won,” Seungcheol gloated between breaths.

“Whatever,” you huffed in jest, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it.

He smiled, leaning down to peck your lips before carefully pulling out and standing up. You stayed on the floor, tired. You could feel his cum begin to leak out of you and onto his jacket.

Seungcheol came back within seconds and guided your legs into your panties and shorts again. He slid them up your legs; however, before he fully dressed you, he gathered his cum on his fingers and shoved it back in. You mewled at the sensation but didn’t push him away.

Once he was done, he slid your clothes on.

“Keep my cum in you when you visit that friend of yours, baby,” he instructed.

Your eyes widened at realizing the intentions of his previous actions.

“O-okay,” you agreed, face heating at the thought of leaving with his seed pooling in your panties. He smiled, happy to hear that, then helped you to your feet. Seungcheol spotted a faint stain on his jacket, but he didn’t care. He plucked the clothing item from the floor and put it in his chair.

“I would make you stay longer, but you got a watch to buy me,” he said, a cocky grin on his face.

You glared at him as you fixed your top. Seungcheol just raised an eyebrow challengingly while he tucked himself back in his pants. He fixed his tie and smoothed down his shirt.

“Do you have a particular one in mind?” you asked, reaching toward him to fix his messy hair.

“Surprise me,” he shrugged. His smirk had turned into a kind smile at your gesture, his dimples showing.

When you pulled away, you poked them mirthfully. It wasn’t your first time doing so, so Seungcheol just smiled more.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” he said and grabbed your purse. You thanked him, taking it and following him out of his office. Some people stared at you both as you passed but quickly averted their eyes when you caught their gaze.

“I think you might get some questions,” you told Seungcheol in the elevator.

Seungcheol glanced at you, hand in yours. “Next time, I’ll have to gag you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Cheollie,” you purred and angled your body, so it was against his more. He chuckled and gave your forehead a kiss.

“I’ll get that couch ordered today,” he informed.

“Today? You’re eager for more lunch visits?” you asked.

“Perhaps,” he grinned. “But I want you to have a more comfortable place to rest when you come over anyway. You don’t look comfy when you’re napping at the table.”

You shrugged. He was right, but you weren’t going to complain when all you wanted to do was spend time with him—even when you were catching some z’s.

“I don’t mind,” you replied.

“I do, though,” he said, a little sternly to let you know he wasn’t going to change his mind.

When the elevator dinged your arrival, you moved away from him. He kept his hands in yours, not bothering to show a little PDA in his own building.

“Will you call me when you get home?” he asked once he stood near the door.

“Of course. Don’t stay here too long, okay? You’ve been here too much lately,” you frowned, staring at him with pleading eyes.

He sighed and gave you a sympathetic look. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be there early tonight, baby.”

“You better,” you grumbled. “Or else the watch will be mine.”

Seungcheol chuckled and nodded. “Noted. Drive safely.”

“I will. Can I give you a quick kiss?” you asked. You knew he wanted to keep the PDA at a minimum, and you wanted to respect his wishes.

Seungcheol glanced around quickly, seeing only a few people wandering the lobby.

“Okay,” he said.

You smiled and pressed your mouth against his. You let it linger for a few seconds before pulling away.

“See you at home, Cheollie,” you said.

“See you then,” he replied. You turned, but before you could take a step, you felt his hand lightly hit your ass.

You turned, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Remember what I said?” he asked.

You ducked your head down at his question. You could already feel his cum starting to slowly seep out of your pussy. “Yes.”

“Good,” he smirked and started to walk backward. “Bye, beautiful.”

You huffed at his audacity, waving at him with a playful glare before exiting the building.

Needless to say, you were extremely late meeting Jun. You simply said you got caught up in traffic going to and from Seungcheol’s office. Jun was hesitant about if he believed you, but he let it go. At some point, you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom when you felt Seungcheol’s cum leak from your panties. Your walls clenched around nothing, unintentionally pushing more of his seed out as your saw how ruined your underwear was. You weren’t going to send Seungcheol a picture at first, but you wanted to show him the mess he made.

Cheollie 🥵 [3:31] my messy baby

Cheollie 🥵 [3:31] i’ll make a mess out of u again tonight if u let me

You [3:32] you def better be home early tonight then.

Cheollie 🥵 [3:34] 😉

You hastily cleaned yourself up, heart beating quickly with anticipation for tonight.

You hung out with Jun for another half an hour before you left. On your way home, you stopped by a candy store. Seungcheol wanted a watch, but he never specified what kind of watch. You had planned to buy him an actual one, but then recalled the edible watches you had seen as a kid. You’d buy him a real watch later. You just wanted to play with him first.

Seungcheol came home early as promised. It was peaceful for two minutes before he was pushing you against the wall, telling you how you had gotten him hard again. Thankfully, he was in an online meeting, so no one could see his growing bulge. However, the rest of the day was filled with mental images of you both in compromising positions.

You weren’t able to give him his watch until the next day, but when you presented it to him, he doubled over laughing. It was a sound you adored hearing, and you were so grateful you were the cause of it. You thought he’d eat it, however, he wore it to work that day. Something about how he wanted to have something to remember you by. It was just a plus he could have a few nibbles as a snack throughout the day. He got funny looks and a few questions about it, but he didn’t mind. He loved having anything you bought him. Even if it was just a silly candy watch.

A/N: BSS COMEBACK LET'S GO 😈

For my "shy/silent" readers, I've created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

“Oh my god. The carnival is in town.” You spring up on the couch from where you’ve been lounging, head in Seungcheol’s lap. He nearly drops the bong in his hands, but manages to keep it in his grasp.

“You wanna…go to the carnival?” He asks, his sentence coming out just slightly slower than usual. Your Saturday date nights with Seungcheol typically consist of getting stoned, watching tv, stuffing your faces, and then fucking a few times, but you’re feeling restless and adventurous tonight and are itching for something else to do. 

Saying no to you has never been one of your boyfriend’s strong suits, which is why you make the short walk from your apartment a couple of blocks to the fairgrounds. Living in the city means easy access to things you need and it helps that it’s the middle of fall, so the air is chilly, but not uncomfortably so, making the walk enjoyable.

“What if people figure out we’re…high?” Seungcheol asks after you arrive and purchase your tickets. He looks around and whispers that last part as you file into the entrance.

“They won’t as long as you stop acting suspicious!” Seungcheol raises his eyebrow at you and purses his lips.

“Me? Suspicious?” You blink back at him, two of you having an impromptu staring contest before bursting into a fit of shared giggles. You likely look insane to the people passing by you standing off to the side, doubled over in laughter, but you don't pay them any mind. Seungcheol’s wide smile and infectious laugh are all you can concentrate on.

When you finally get a grip on yourselves, you take his hand and drag him behind you onto each ride you can. Typically, you’d be hesitant about getting on a ride that came out of a suitcase, but the weed makes you more daring and puts you in a good mood. It helps that Seungcheol, who normally would prefer to stay on the ground, goes on each ride with you, even if he’s a little more apprehensive than you.

Seungcheol lets you drag him around to all of the fast-paced rides first: the tilt-a-whirl, the pirate swing, the slingshot ride, bumper cars - anything that satisfies your cannabis-induced need for speed. He even lets you buy some feed to give to a few farm animals in the small petting zoo. Unfortunately, he does need to practically lift you in his arms to lead you away from the piglet you attempt to steal numerous times. (“We can name him Wilbur!” “That pig is not ours, Y/n!” is the last thing the animal’s owner hears, frowning as you’re taken away.)

Between putting your life and trust in the hands of bored looking carnival workers, you and Seungcheol make it a point to eat. You had left your apartment before you got too deep into your munchies stash, so you had to make up for it with as much funnel cake and kettle corn you can inhale without getting sick.

“Can we please go on the ferris wheel?” Seungcheol pouts at you after you finish off your pretzels. 

You’re surprised, eyeing the giant wheel a few feet away from the picnic table you’re sitting at. 

“You wanna go on the ferris wheel?”

“I need a break from all the fast and furious rides and that’s the only one that will slow your crazy ass down.” He laughs and you can’t help that your eyes stay locked on the way his eyes squint and his nose crinkles when he lets out the sound - one of your favorite sounds.

You relent because of course you do, and you let him take you to the ferris wheel with him. Seungcheol holds his hand out to help you enter the ferris wheel cart then files in after you, the ride worker shutting the door tight behind you. Seungcheol sits close to you in the small box, his thighs pressing against yours as you wait to start your ascent. 

Once the ride finally starts to move, you marvel at the way everything beneath you gets smaller and smaller the higher you move, even if it’s slow and easy-paced. Seungcheol glances out the window on his side here and there, but the weed doesn’t seem to be doing enough to ease his mind at the new heights you reach on the wheel.

To distract him, you reach out and hold his hand, startling him, but he recovers quickly and grips your hand. His fingers are cool as they link with yours, his hand soft and secure.

Something in you stirs and you let your eyes wander, refamiliarizing yourself with the shape of his hands. Your eyes trail up to his arm covered in a jacket that isn’t too tight but still hugs his biceps enough. It’s not zipped all the way so you can see his chest underneath, the cotton shirt underneath hugging his defined pecs (and by god are they defined).

It only takes you a few minutes to feel your stomach churns with a familiar need for Seungcheol. You squeeze your thighs together as you eye his neck and up to his face. All of the skin along the way is much too clear and mark-free if you do say so yourself.

He’d taken his beanie off when you got on the ride and you can see how messy his hair is, especially after he ran his hand through it as many times as he did while you waited for the ride to start. You want to run your fingers through the dark strands so bad. 

So you do. Seungcheol is surprised but doesn’t shy away from your hand. He does the opposite in fact, bringing his head closer to make it easier for you. Seungcheol has a lot of qualities you like and one of those is how even though he’s usually in charge in the bedroom, it takes little to no time to initiate intimacy with him. 

He simply cannot say no to you.

Knowing this, you start to move your hand down, giving his hair one last comb through before grazing your fingers over his thick neck, fingers tapping the sensitive skin as you go. Seungcheol sighs, leaning into your touch and you go down to his bicep, squeezing it as you keep going until your hand lands over the crotch of his sweatpants. 

That seems to break Seungcheol from the daze he had slipped into when you started touching him. He looks at you wordlessly, red-rimmed eyes half-lidded but still asking you a million questions. What are you doing? Are you sure? Here?

Wordlessly, you give him your answer by squeezing his already half-hard cock. You’re so damn lucky that weed makes your boyfriend just as needy the same way it does for you.

Seungcheol groans but doesn’t stop you and instead spreads his legs wider, inviting you in. 

Without hesitation, your hand slips into the waistband of his sweatpants and his underwear 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, head slowly angling back to the window of the cart.

“Want you so bad, Cheol,” you whisper even though there’s no one around. “Wanna suck your cock. Can I please?”

“Shit, baby of course.” Seungcheol helps you pull the waistband of his sweatpants down enough to expose the opening in his boxers. You fish out his cock, the heaviness of it weighs in your hand and you can feel just how sticky your panties are against you. You have enough sense to glance out of the ferris wheel card window and you notice that you’re still inching at a snail's pace to the top.

Bending over still in your seat, you give the head of Seungcheol’s dick a few kitten licks. A deep sound rumbles in his chest and it almost makes you moan in response just hearing him.

But time is of the essence, so you swallow him down your throat in one go, the man bucking his hips and yelping in response. His hands fly to your hair, fingers weaving into the base of your strands to tug.

Moaning at the slight sting, you bob your head, letting his dick slide against your tongue, making sure to hollow your cheeks as you work him. Seungcheol loves it when you gag around his length so you do it for him, letting his cockhead nearly hit the back of your throat each time you bring your head down.

“Fuck, babe. You’re so fucking good at sucking my cock…” his words draw out as he starts to fuck your face, albeit lazily. You hum out affirmatively around him, your pussy clenching at the praise. 

Your hands wrap around all of him that you can’t take, moving in tandem with your head as you gulp him down, listening to his heavy grunts echo off of the cart walls. It mixes with the wet sound of your mouth working him up and taking him in over and over again.

When Seungcheol starts to pant frantically, you know he’s close.

“Mmm, want you to cum in my mouth,” you drawl around his length, only coming up for a big gulp of air and to tell him what you want.

“W-wait, I wanna fuck you.” The fingers that are tangled in your hair still as he tries to lift you from his cock.

You let him fall from your mouth and sit up, pouting at him. “I don’t think there’s enough room, Cheol.” He seems to remember where you are and how small the space you’re in is.

“Y/n, I can’t wait till we get back to your place. I might cum in my pants on the walk back.”

The thought makes you giggle which earns you a sharp smack on your thigh. You can feel the sting through your leggings and it only serves to make you wetter, your panties inevitably a complete mess.

“Hmm…how about when the ride is up if you can find someplace to fuck me we can do it here.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Seungcheol’s expression turns serious, clearly a man on a mission. He finally turns to take in the ground beneath you, scanning for some place, any place, to take you away from prying eyes. Just long enough to fill you with his seed and watch the look on your face as you cum all over him - for him. 

The ferris wheel is beginning its descent as he tucks himself back into his pants and you think he sees something that may be promising, a determined look on his face. When you safely reach solid ground and your cart door opens it’s his turn to drag you around the grounds.

You walk past plenty of rides with their bright lights and loud sounds trying to distract you from what you both want - no, need - right now. All of the booths and rides seem to be running and packed with patrons, nowhere private in sight as of yet.

The answer comes to you when the two of you stumble upon a mirror maze attraction. The building has a ‘closed’ sign on the front doors which are assumedly locked tight.

This doesn’t deter Seungcheol as he simply sneaks with you around the building, looking for some way to get you both inside. When he finds that the back door to the attraction is way too conveniently unlocked, you think of it as a gift from the universe. The universe obviously wants you two to fuck and has handed this to you.

Seungcheol holds your hand tight as he goes into the door first, tiptoeing into a back room, presumably where workers would be when the attraction was live. There is another door that leads you right into the maze. The lights are dim, but they’re on and you can’t help but wonder if someone plans on coming in here at some point.

He takes you far enough into the attraction that you’re surrounded by nothing but yourself, but you’re still close enough to where you came in. The last thing either of you want is to get lost and need to call for help.

“It’s so weird seeing myself so many times. Do I look silly?” You question out loud, eyes sweeping over all of your reflections surrounding you. It makes you a little dizzy seeing so many copies of yourself.

“Of course not, baby. You look as beautiful as always.” Seungcheol’s words echo through your mind when you finally notice he’s behind you now, meeting your eyes through the mirror when you look up. 

He's pressed up against your back, his hard cock obvious against you. “So pretty and all mine.” Seungcheol grabs your jaw and turns your head to the side to bring his lips crashing into yours. His tongue immediately pushes through the seam of your lips, wrapping around yours as he grinds against you fully clothed.

You moan into each other’s mouths as his hands move to grab at every part of you - your tits, your stomach, your thighs, your ass. Seungheol explores your body and your mouth and it leaves you as nothing but absolute putty in his hands.

When he pulls away from you, you whine in protest and he places a peck on your cheek.

“I know, sweetheart, but I need to be inside that pussy so badly. You want that too, right?”

“God, yes, please. I need you so bad, Cheol.”

“Fuck yeah, you do. Gonna give you what you need, baby.” He hurries to pull his sweats and his underwear down enough for his length to be free, letting the fabric rest around his thighs. He helps you shimmy your leggings and panties down your legs and drop at your ankles. You’re close enough to the mirror now that Seungcheol bends you over, your hands resting on the cold glass.

“Look at you already, baby. Already dripping for me just from sucking me off and making out?” Seungcheol taps the head of his cock against your ass then down to your pussy lips. He nudges it against your folds once before pulling back, and you whimper at the loss. 

“Yes, please, Cheol. Need to feel you. Need you to fill me up.”

“Fuck, baby and I will.”

Through the mirror you watch Seungcheol bring his hands around you to your mouth, offering you his index and middle finger. “We have to be quick, so can you help me get you ready?” 

Without a second thought, you’re nodding and when he brings his fingers around to your mouth, you suck them in greedily, making eye contact with him through the mirror. You suckle on his digits, wrapping your tongue around them just like you did to his dick.

When he deems his fingers sufficiently coated, he pops them out of your mouth and brings them to your sticky folds. His first stop is your clit, rubbing a few circles into the sensitive nub. Your head falls forward as a long, drawn-out squeal leaves you as soon as he makes contact. You’re already so wet and wound up that you don’t think you’ll last very long at this rate. Lucky for you, your boyfriend is at the same point, his breath shuddering as he slides his fingers inside of you, reveling in how warm and tight you are.

Seungcheol’s thick fingers piston in and out of you, scissoring them with each plunge back into your heat. You love the feeling of him prepping you. He always takes his time to get you ready to take him, giving you extra care, but this is different. You’re not in one of your beds or even the car;  you have to be quick to avoid getting caught, but you also need him badly.

“Cheol, please just fuck me, please. Can’t wait anymore.”

“I wanna take my time with you, but fuck, I can’t wait either.”

When he pulls his fingers from you, you look up again and through the mirror, you watch him suck on them, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as he savors your taste. Then he’s grabbing at your hips, his cock nudging your entrance. 

Your eyes roll back when he finally slips in, sheathing himself perfectly into your walls. The two of you share a noise of pleasure, his much deeper than yours, and you swear you can hear the bass in his voice vibrate through him and into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Seungcheol’s hands take hold of your hips, starting at a pace that already has you breathless. Your palms lay flat against the mirror in front of you, fingers splayed to keep you balanced. He fucks into you frantically and with power, the slaps of his pelvis smacking into your ass sound bass-boosted to your ears and it’s your favorite sound at this moment.

The weed always makes feeling Seungcheol inside of you so much better than it already does when you’re sober. Coupled with how he’s driving into you so quickly and so harshly, you feel that much closer to floating away. All of your senses are on hyperdrive as he pistons his hips harder and harder, only making your cries and mewls for him that much louder as your eyes slip closed.

“God, you sound amazing, baby. But you look even better.” Seungcheol cups your face to keep you focused on the mirror in front of you. “Open your eyes.” It’s a demand, not a question, so you do. 

Sweat beads at your forehead, your droopy, red-tinged eyes staring back at you looking wild. Your tits bounce even from underneath your jacket due to Seungcheol’s thrusts. The mirror is fogged up where you’re breathing and your hands keep readjusting to keep you up, leaving sweaty prints in their wake. Seungcheol looks no different behind you. His eyes are tired but still boring into yours with each thrust, his tongue darting out to lick his already saliva-slick lips as his face glistens with sweat.

His broad chest rises and falls underneath his layers and you can’t help but think about just how good he looks when he’s not bundled up. The thought makes you clench around Seungcheol’s dick and it only serves to make him fuck into you harder, shoving his length so deep into you that you swear you feel him in your chest.

“Fuck me, Cheol, fuck gonna cum!” You sob, legs trembling to hold you up as your words slur together. 

“Yes, yes, come on, baby, cream all over my fucking dick.” Fingers that know your body almost better than you know yourself reach around you, pressing between your thighs and rubbing your clit. 

It takes only a few tweaks to have you falling apart, mouth hanging open as you do your damnedest to bite back the squeal you want to let out. Shockwaves roll over you as Seungcheol’s powerful hips thrust into you one, two, three more times and then he’s cumming too. The warm, sticky feeling of him milking himself into you has your eyes rolling back and your body going lax against the mirror. 

With the only sounds now being just you and Seungcheol breathing heavily, you become acutely aware of just how fucked out you look. You wonder if people will be able to tell that your boyfriend just rearranged your guts in such a public place.

“Hey,” Seungcheol interrupts your train of thought by tapping your thigh to bring your attention to him. You meet his eyes in the mirror and he flashes you a warm, reassuring smile. “Let’s get out of here?” 

He helps you right yourself and pulls your leggings up, then redresses himself. He takes your hand once more and you’re able to sneak back out of the attraction, easily avoiding getting caught. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you snicker, your earlier adrenaline rush quickly returning now that you’ve gotten away with what you wanted.  

“That’s probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbles and you agree with him, sharing more laughter with him as you loop your arm through his.

Could you curl up right now and take a nap? Yes. Could you also do a lap around the fairgrounds like a crazy person? Also yes. But, when you catch sight of Seungcheol’s disheveled hair that he’s run his fingers through a thousand times tonight and his red lips that he’s still biting between his teeth, you only want to do one thing.

“We can do something else crazy if you want,” Seungcheol glances over at you, curiosity written all over his face as he takes in your words.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Mmm, well the outdoor loveseat on my patio is spacious enough for both of us. And there’s a chance someone could see us up there if you were feeling up to being daring again.”

“Since when were you so open to exhibitionism?” 

“Since I let you fuck me in a closed-down carnival attraction that anyone could’ve walked into at any time.” 

Seungcheol licks his bottom lip again and you want so badly to have that be your tongue on him. 

“Let’s go back to your apartment,” he finally decides (not that it takes him very long to do so). “But I wanna eat you out first. Gotta have you ride my face for everyone to see.” His words go straight to your cunt, wetness already pooling and mixing with his cum still tucked inside of you. 

And just like that, you’re thanking the past, much more stoned you for feeling adventurous. You have a feeling after tonight, even more adventures await you and Seungcheol, and all of them more than likely involve you crying out his name. 

You can’t wait.

He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that. 

(But not not like that, either.) 

In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.

Not. Whipped. 

“Hey there, stranger.” 

Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu. 

“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.

Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.

He’s totally super normal about you.

“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze. 

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.

You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.

Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?” 

Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him. 

A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.

Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.

(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)

The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.

And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word. 

“Whipped.” 

Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud. 

(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.” 

“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!” 

“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”

Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me understand.” 

How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind? 

“I…” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?” 

“Yeah. Or I guess… they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.” 

Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it. 

“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides…” You trail off, staring at the floor.

He waits a beat. “Besides what?”

You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 

The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours? 

“No, tell me. Besides what?” 

With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.” 

Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?

He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help. 

“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Right. I’m not.” 

The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast. 

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” 

Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.

“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you. 

“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.

Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light. 

He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not. 

His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway. 

Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.

“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer. 

“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.

“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door. 

“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you? 

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better. 

His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.

Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.

Oh. 

Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right. 

Kim Mingyu is whipped. 

For you, and you only. 

Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.

That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.

Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand. 

You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.

“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through.   Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his. 

“Is everything o-”

“You are my type.” 

You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him? 

“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous….” 

You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point. 

Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.

“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.” 

That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it. 

“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact. 

“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply. 

“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same. 

“I’m telling you that I like you.”

The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it. 

“You like me…” 

He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.  

“You like me…” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?” 

“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It… it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.” 

He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager. 

“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his. 

And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you. 

“You. How you feel.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.

“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.

If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him. 

Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent. 

But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!” 

“Hao, shut the fuck up.” 

Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath. 

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.” 

The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave. 

“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.” 

He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn. 

“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.” 

Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”

“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.” 

“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.” 

Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.

He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind. 

You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.

Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book. 

“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”

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A light jingling sound rings out from overhead as you swing the door open, your senses stimulated by the rich scent of freshly-roasted coffee beans hitting you as you step through the threshold. You scan the faces behind the counter, hopeful that Mingyu is working today, but your heart sinks a little when you don't see him. Your shoes tap pleasantly on the vintage black-and-white tile flooring as you head toward the register; there's only one person ahead of you in line — an elderly man who seems to be in the process of digging through his pockets so he can pay in exact change. You stare lazily at the chalkboard menu on the wall — a pointless endeavor, for you already know what you want, but you peruse the familiar beverage list anyway while you wait. The man ahead of you finally located the last couple pennies he needed and shuffles off to find a seat; as you step up you recognize the cashier — it's Marlene, the owner.

"I'll be right back, hon," she tells you with a warm smile as she zips off into the kitchen. You glance down at your phone, aimlessly scrolling through your notifications while you wait for her to return; a figure reappears in your periphery a few moments later, but its stature is far too large to be Marlene.

"I was wondering if you'd stop by today," Mingyu grins at you as you look up at him.

"Well, it's Tuesday afternoon after all," you smile back at him, trying to act casual. But it's hard to act casual around Mingyu, the world's most beautiful human. It's no secret that all the patrons who walk through the door are constantly swooning at him; you can tell he's used to it, but he handles it professionally — maintaining that charming smile and laid-back demeanor while he takes down everyone's orders. You know he's friendly with everybody, and you try so very hard not to delude yourself that the way he looks at you is something special — but you swear this man is always flirting with you. Today is no exception — his dark eyes fixed on you attentively, his grin a little extra toothier than it usually is.

"I know, I know," he chuckles. "But you're later than usual. I was starting to worry you'd run off with some other coffee shop."

"Oh, please," you roll your eyes playfully. "As if I'd ever cheat on The Human Bean. You guys have the best cold brew in the city," you tell him matter-of-factly.

"Don't worry, I know you're my most loyal customer," he replies with a wink, making your stomach do a flip. "Let me guess," he carries on as he quizzically narrows his eyes at you, pretending to read your mind. "A medium cold brew with oat milk and one pump of liquid sugar cane?"

"Wow, you're amazing," you reply with feigned surprise. "Yes, please."

"Perfect, that'll be $4.22."

You cock your head slightly as you tap your credit card on the screen. "Did the price go down?" you ask. Mingyu peers around, making sure no one is in earshot before he replies.

"I'm giving you my employee discount," he whispers as he leans in slightly.

"Oh! Well that's very kind of you," you reply as you try your hardest not to blush like an idiot.

"But you can't tell my boss," he adds with widened eyes. "Or I'll be in big trouble."

You nod understandingly. "It'll be our little secret," you grin at him.

"Perfect," he grins back.

"I was wondering if you'd stop by today."

You raise your brow at Mingyu as you fiddle with closing your uncooperative umbrella. "It's Thursday morning, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," he nods. "But I thought you might stay home with the storm."

You were thinking about me?? you want to ask, but instead you settle for a shrug.

"You know I can't work without my cold brew."

"That's what I like to hear," he beams proudly at you. "Actually, um, I was wondering if you'd like something a little… different today."

"What, are you out of cold brew?"

"Well, no," he replies. He looks around, but the coffee shop is completely empty except for a headphone-wearing woman in the corner table, typing away furiously at her laptop. "I was just wondering if you'd like something off the, uh, secret menu."

"Oh," you reply, surprised. "I didn't know there was a secret menu."

"Well, technically there's not," he admits sheepishly. "But I'm trying to change that. I've been practicing making new drinks, and I think if I can come up with a few solid ones Marlene might let me make one. Unofficially, of course."

"Ah, so it's the Mingyu Menu," you remark.

"Yeah, I guess so," he chuckles, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, alright then," you say with a shrug. "What's on the Mingyu Menu for today?"

"Oh," he pauses, thinking for a moment. "Well, I didn't actually get that far. I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

You let out a giggle. "So you're just making it up on the fly, then."

"Umm, yeah, kinda," he answers with a shrug.

"Well, surprise me then."

His face lights up. "Okie dokie! One… uh, special drink, coming right up."

Mingyu starts fluttering around the kitchen, preparing the espresso and collecting various sauces and toppings. You watch him while he works; it's not until he notices you watching him, turning over his shoulder to glance back at you, that you realize you're practically making heart eyes at him. Your face grows hot as you turn flustered, but he simply smiles, dark eyes sparkling back at you.

"Here you go," he tells you as he finishes, placing the plastic lid on the cup and handing you the beverage. "For my favorite customer."

You smile, slightly embarrassed, but you take the drink from him. As you grab it, you notice he wrote your name on the cup — neat lettering, written in black sharpie: your name, followed by a heart.

"For what it's worth, you're also my favorite barista," you tell him. The tips of his ears quickly turn crimson.

"So, what in this?" you ask as you grab a straw, unwrapping it and sticking it in the drink.

"It's a cherry pistachio white chocolate mocha," he says proudly. "With oat milk, of course."

You take a sip. The flavors hit your taste buds all at once, making your eyes widen, but not with delight. The drink tastes terrible. You look at it, the sickly greenish-brown beverage now appearing as unappetizing at it tastes. Looking back up at Mingyu, he's staring at you eagerly, waiting for you to say something.

"It's good," you lie. It doesn't come out very convincingly, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Very interesting."

"Awesome! This one's on the house," he says with a satisfied nod.

"Thank you so much," you respond, feigning a smile — grateful you didn't actually have to pay for this abomination of a latte. "Well, I'd better get to work," you say, excusing yourself politely. "Got a lot to do today."

"Good luck with your studies!" he tells you cheerfully.

You take your favorite corner spot, opening up your laptop and pulling up your thesis. You notice Mingyu watching you, trying to be nonchalant, but his eyes keep flashing over to you as he washes dishes and cleans up the counter. You don't really want to finish the awful drink, but you don't want him to feel bad, so you sip it reluctantly as you type away at the keys.

About an hour later, Mingyu saunters over to your table. You're locked into your work, so you don't notice until he's hovering over you, making you jump in your seat slightly.

"Sorry," he says timidly as you pull your earbuds out. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you say with a laugh. "I just didn't see you there."

"Can I get you a refill?" he asks, nodding his head to the nearly-empty cup that you somehow managed to drink most of.

"Oh, no, that's alright," you say, waving your hand. "I'm actually probably going to head out soon, I think this storm is only going to get worse."

Mingyu looks slightly sulky, but he nods understandingly. "Yeah, it's getting pretty crazy out there." As if on cue, a blinding bolt of lightning flashes through the window, followed by a booming thunder crack. "Please get home safe," he tells you sincerely.

"I will," you assure him as you start to pack up your things. You don't really want to leave yet, but truthfully you'd much rather be cozied up in your own home in this dreadful weather.

"See you later," Mingyu smiles at you softly. He slowly turns, reluctant to go back to work, but he doesn't want to be a bother.

"Mingyu—" you call out before he walks off. He turns back, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Would you wanna hang out sometime?" you ask, blurting it out before you lose the courage to say anything.

"I'd love to!" he responds right away with far too much enthusiasm. Reeling it in a bit, he adds, "I'm off Saturday, if you're free."

"Yeah, that sounds great," you beam at him. You rummage in your bag for a pen, scribbling your phone number on a napkin and handing it to him.

"Awesome," he says with a big cheesy grin. "I'm looking forward to it already."

"How many monkeys do you think you could take in a fight?"

You turn away from the two lemurs you were watching swing through the trees to give Mingyu a strange look.

"What?"

"Like if a bunch of monkeys were attacking you how many do you think you could fend off by yourself?" he elaborates, completely earnestly.

"Um, I don't know. I've never thought about it."

Mingyu had texted you right away after you left The Human Bean on Thursday, asking if you'd want to go to the zoo with him. It had been a while since you'd been, and you were just thrilled to be hanging out with him outside of his work, so you excitedly agreed.

"What kind of monkeys?" you inquire. "Because there's a big difference between a lemur and like, a gorilla or something."

"Any kind," he replies. "I think I could probably take 100."

"Any" you repeat as you raise your brow at him. "You mean to tell me you think you could fight off 100 angry chimpanzees by yourself?"

"I mean, if I had to, probably," he shrugs.

"Mingyu, chimps have literally killed people before. I highly recommend you do not try to fight one, never mind 100."

"Oh," he says blankly. "I didn't know that.

"Yeah, they can get like, really violent sometimes."

"Okay, okay, I promise I won't fight any monkeys," he concedes with a laugh.

You continue through the primates exhibit together, sticking close to Mingyu's side as you amble through the crowd. He gently places his hand upon your back as you both tread carefully through a swarm of rambunctious children, trying not to step on any of them — the sensation of his hand on your body making you feel giddy. When you finally escape the exhibit he lets go, making you just a little bit sad.

"Where to next?" you ask him, pulling out the paper zoo map and opening it up. He leans in to look at it too, the pleasant scent of his cologne washing over you.

"Let's go to the Africa exhibit," he answers, pointing to the large area at the center of the map. "I wanna see the giraffes, they're my favorite."

"Is it because you can see eye-to-eye with them?"

"Hey!" he objects, but he giggles anyway.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just teasing," you grin at him.

"No it's okay," he laughs. "You can tease me as much as you want. I like it."

"Oh, you're into that?" you ask, shooting him a smirk.

"No!! Well, actually— Um, nevermind…" he stammers, eyes growing wide in embarrassment as he registers the words that are coming out of his mouth.

"Come on, dummy," you laugh, wrapping your arm around his elbow. "Let's go see the giraffes."

"I was hoping you'd stop by today."

You smile, trying not to gush at the way Mingyu stares at you from behind the register. The cafe is busy today, so you know you don't have much time to stand here and chat, but you're just happy to see him — and excited that he's also happy to see you.

"Well of course, I'm always here Tuesday afternoons."

"I know, but I was still looking forward to it," he smiles. "The usual today? Or can I interest you in—" he leans in, lowering his voice. "Something special off the Mingyu Menu?"

You hesitate, remembering how awful the custom drink he made you last time was — but maybe he was just having an off day, you tell yourself.

"Something special, please," you answer, hoping you don't regret it.

"One something special, coming right up," he winks at you.

You see your favorite spot is taken, so you settle for one of the tall stools along the window. A few moments later you hear Mingyu's voice calling out your name from behind the counter.

"Today's special: a hazelnut matcha cold brew," he tells you cheerily as you pick up your drink. You smile nervously, because that sounds even worse than the one he made before, but you thank him and hurry back to your seat before he can ask you what you think of it. One sip, and your suspicions are confirmed: it is not good.

Who the hell combines matcha with cold brew?? you think to yourself. But he didn't charge you again, so you reluctantly sip at the bad drink as you edit your thesis.

After a couple hours of work, you're starting to burn out, so decide to head home. The terrible drink is still half full; you peek over to the bar to see if Mingyu is watching, but he's occupied at the espresso machine with his back to you — so you take your chance and toss it in the trash before he sees. You gather your things, hoping you can at least tell him goodbye, but the line is nearly out the door and he appears to be swamped with orders. You manage to catch his eye though as you head out the door; he waves, smiling at you brightly as ever, mouthing I'll text you across the room. You beam at him as you wave back, excited already at the prospect of talking to him later.

True to his word, Mingyu texts you as soon as his shift ends.

Mingyu Kim: Hey! I'm off work now :) I don't know what you're up to tomorrow, but I'm off so I was gonna head down to the beach and catch some waves if you wanted to join! you: I don't know literally anything about surfing haha, but I'd love to come watch! I'm free anytime after noon tomorrow. Mingyu Kim: Perfect! Text me your address, I can pick you up at 12:30 if that works! you: Sounds good!!

"Oh man, the waves look awesome today," he tells you as you arrive at the beach. One hand is occupied carrying his board; the other — holding your hand.

"How long have you been surfing?" you inquire as you stroll across the hot sand.

"Well, I only started learning last year," he admits sheepishly. "So I'm not very good at it. But it's so much fun."

"And that's what matters," you assure him.

"But you can't make fun of me when I inevitably wipe out like an idiot!"

"I won't!" you laugh. "Not too much, anyway."

"Alright, I can live with that."

You sit in the camping chair Mingyu brought for you and watch as he heads into the water. The waves are abundant today, and soon enough a sizeable wall of water comes rushing toward the shore. He paddles into position, hoisting his feet up on the board as the wave reaches him — he squats low, maintaining his balance as he begins to coast across the rolling tide. His tan skin looks incredible in the bright summer sun, his long dark hair flowing in the wind as he rides the wave out successfully. He looks over to you, waving his arm excitedly. You give him a thumbs up; as soon as you do, a second wave suddenly breaks, sending him crashing into the water.

"I'm okay!!" he shouts to you as he resurfaces, clinging to his board as he scrambles to get back onto it — but he moves too fast, and he falls into the water again. You burst out laughing, but as his head pops back up you see he's laughing too, grinning ear to ear as if he's having the time of his life.

"You killed that," you tell Mingyu as he returns to you on the beach about 20 minutes later. He plops down on the striped towel you laid out for him, breathing heavily as large droplets of salt water trickle down his skin.

"Oh, thanks," he chuckles. "I only wiped out four times, honestly not bad for me."

"But you looked really good while doing it," you assure him.

"You're too nice to me," he laughs, running his fingers through his drenched hair to push it back off his forehead.

"It's because I like you."

He looks up at you, face flushed from adrenaline, a big smile creeping onto his face.

"Well that's good news, because I like you too."

Mingyu's lips crash into yours as you stumble into your bedroom together, hands frantically dancing across each others' bodies as you try to make out and walk at the same time. You pull him toward your bed, but he hesitates, stopping in his tracks.

"I don't wanna get any sand in your bed or anything—"

"Who cares, I'm gonna have to change my sheets anyway," you respond, tugging at forearm.

"Oh," he says, grinning excitedly. You plop on the bed, pulling him on top of you; he rolls to your other side, not wanting to squish you, but you immediately roll over on top of him. Straddling his lap, you lean in and kiss him, holding his face in your hands as you make out with him. His fingers snake through your hair, grasping onto your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth, his other hand wrapping around your back and gripping your waist. You grind your hips gently over his lap, feeling the hardening bulge in his swim trunks against your cunt — causing him to whimper softly into your lips.

"You like that?" you breathe into his mouth between kisses.

"Yeah," he exhales, his warm eyes gazing up into yours. You do it again, rubbing against him back and forth — his eyelids flutter shut as his eyes roll back slightly.

"Wow," he whispers, returning to kissing you, tightening his grip on your body as you grind against his cock. Eventually his hands slide to your hips, stilling your movement.

"That's— I'm gonna cum too fast if you keep doing that," he mutters sheepishly. You smirk at him, scooting yourself down to position yourself between his legs. You peel his still slightly damp shorts off of him, his cock springing free as the waistband slips over his hips. You toss the garment to the floor, wrapping your hand around his girth and stroking him slowly as you drag your tongue over his tip.

"Ohhh wow," he groans, petting your head lovingly as you lick up and down his length. You then spit on it, spreading the wetness over his cock — now fully hard, standing tall and thick in your grasp. You slide your fist to his hilt, jerking the base of his cock as you take the head between your lips, sucking as you slide it into your throat.

"Oh fuck," he gasps. You start bobbing your head as you suck him off, making him whine again. "Fuck that feels so good."

You swallow him as far as you can go, squeezing his balls gently as you gag on him, grotesque noises emanating from your throat as you make a show of it. Your lips up slide up and down his length, making him start to squirm beneath you. His hips begin to buck slightly; he tries to contain himself, as not to overwhelm you — but you still your head, gazing up at him, your eyes beg him to fuck your mouth. Your desperation does him in; he begins to thrust his cock into your throat, slowly at first, but his pace soon quickens. He once again grasps onto your hair, firmly holding your head in place as he fucks your face — saliva pooling and dribbling from your lips onto his length and stomach. Tears flood your eyes as he pleasures himself with your mouth, soft pathetic moans escaping him as he grows dangerously close to cumming already.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon," he groans, tightening his grip on your hair as his hips jerk into your face. "Can I cum in your mouth, baby?" he begs. You nod eagerly as streams of tears begin to flow down your cheeks — the sight of you enough to send him over the edge.

"Ohhhhmygod," he moans, eyes rolling back into his head as his orgasm overtakes him. Thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, the salty taste filling your mouth as he releases — moaning and whining and whimpering incoherently at the overwhelming surge of pleasure coursing through his entire body. He gives you a few final bursts of cum, his body stilling as his chest rises with deep, heavy breaths.

"Holy shit, that was incredible," he murmurs as he lets go of your hair, his arm plopping onto the mattress. You slowly pull your mouth off of him, releasing his cock from the sweet confines of your throat — making sure to swallow every last drop of his cum.

"Oh my god, wow," he groans as he lifts his head, staring at you adoringly as you grin back at him. "I wanna taste you baby, please." You nod, and his eyes darken lustfully. You hurriedly stand up to remove your shorts and swim bottoms, but he reaches for your top and tugs at it.

"Get rid of this too," he pleads. You oblige, stripping the t-shirt off and the bikini top underneath with it, your breasts falling free. You swear his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"C'mere," he reaches for your hand, pulling you toward him. "Sit on my face."

You swing your leg over him, positioning yourself over his face; you lower your cunt to his lips, their warmth colliding with your wet core as he immediately gets to work slurping up your juices. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you into his face as he holds you tight.

"Hey, I don't wanna suffocate you—ahhhh." Your concerns fade away as his tongue begins to work against your clit, swirling tenderly around the bud, making your mind go blank.

"Don't care," he mumbles muffledly into your pussy. His nose bumps into your clit deliciously as his tongue slips into your drenched hole, making a soft moan escape you. The sound is enough to egg him on — he works his tongue in and out of you, fucking you as you gently grind your hips. You squeeze your breasts, holding them in your hands as your thumbs graze over your hardened nipples.

"Fuck that's so hot," he moans, his mouth departing your pussy just long enough to speak. "Keep doing that."

You oblige, and his lips return to your clit, latching on and suckling on it delicately.

"Fuck, ohmygod," you whine. He continues with light pulses, the gentle stimulation quickly driving you crazy. As your moans grow louder he increases the pressure, giving the sensitive bud long, intense bouts of suction. Soon, you're nearly over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum—" you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as the burning heat in your core bursts suddenly through your whole body. The waves of your orgasm make your thighs quiver, your entire being shaking as Mingyu holds you tightly against his face. You grip onto the headboard with all your might, riding out your high as he suckles your clit, making your juices splash all over him as you release. Should have probably warned him about that, but you were a bit too occupied to think of that. He doesn't mind one bit, though — his spent cock twitching against his belly at the delightful surprise.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you stammer as the overstimulation hits you. He slows down, releasing your clit and running his tongue through your folds as he laps up all your delicious cum. You collapse onto the bed beside him, utterly defeated, but in the best way possible. He wraps his large arms around you, pulling you into his torso; you nuzzle your head into the crevice of his shoulder, resting your palm upon his chest.

"That was amazing," he sighs, giving you a tender kiss upon your forehead.

"Yeah, we should do that again sometime," you mumble in a sleepy daze.

"Yes, please," he replies with a huge grin.

"I have to tell you something though," you tell him. His smile drops, suddenly nervous at the seriousness of your tone.

"Oh god, what did I do wrong," he asks anxiously.

"Nothing like that!" you reply quickly. "The sex was great." He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, thank god."

"This is about the special drinks you've been making me."

"What?" he blurts out, genuinely surprised. "What about them?"

"Mingyu, I'm sorry, but they've all been so bad."

He stares at you, confusion spreading across his face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks sulkily.

"Because you were being really nice to me and I didn't want to make you feel bad," you reply apologetically. He starts to giggle, squishing you against him in his arms.

"Damn, there goes my dreams of being the best barista in town," he says lightheartedly.

"Sorry," you repeat sheepishly.

"I'm just kidding," he smiles. "Making coffee is definitely not my passion. I'm just doing this to save some extra money for traveling, after all."

"Oh, nice. Where are you traveling to?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Got any suggestions?"

"I haven't traveled internationally much, if I'm being honest," you admit. "But I've always wanted to go to Iceland."

"Oh! I've never even thought about going to Iceland. What's there?"

"The Northern Lights," you answer. "The geothermal springs, lots of beautiful nature. I've always wanted to go."

"Maybe I'll go to Iceland, then," he replies.

"You should! Then you can tell me all about it."

"Maybe you can just come with me."

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. He worries for a moment that he might be being a little too forward, but his anxiety dissipates when he sees a big grin start to spread across your cheeks.

"Maybe I will," you beam at him. He smiles, leaning in and kissing you softly.

"I think I'd really like that."

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween

disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry

last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)

i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)

“Are you sure I won’t bother him?" 

You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes. 

“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.” 

“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance. 

The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along? 

“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.” 

A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.

Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester. 

You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it. 

Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it. 

“What are we watching?” 

Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent. 

After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone. 

Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it. 

He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it. 

You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more. 

Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.

After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn. 

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.

You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.

The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence. 

Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch. 

"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.” 

“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.” 

“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.” 

Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side. 

“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind. 

“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.” 

Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late. 

Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down. 

“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure. 

“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out." 

Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is. 

“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door. 

Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations. 

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly. 

“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator. 

Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.

“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting. 

“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.

Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”

“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.

“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.

“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”

When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.

Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.

“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”

You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”

“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”

“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.

“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”

Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.

“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.

“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”

“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”

“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”

Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.

You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison.

They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.

“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”

“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”

“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”

“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.

“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.

“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”

The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.

“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.

“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.

“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”

A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie. 

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.” 

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries. 

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon. 

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table. 

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry. 

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?” 

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind. 

Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth. 

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority. 

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him. 

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be. 

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care. 

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too. 

In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter. 

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind. 

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words. 

“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.” 

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves. 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about. 

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye. 

The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence. 

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard. 

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.  

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again. 

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag. 

You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual. 

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together. 

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen. 

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost. 

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes. 

In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time. 

He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.

“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence. 

“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down. 

“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest. 

“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding. 

“Right.” He simply replies. 

Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before. 

A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment. 

“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.” 

Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact. 

“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears. 

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him. 

Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.

Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.

He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.

“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s. 

Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all. 

“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food. 

“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended. 

Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call. 

You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse. 

Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made. 

“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue. 

“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing. 

“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology. 

His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders. 

“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way. 

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–” 

“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.” 

To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place. 

“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word. 

Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating. 

The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way. 

As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do. 

“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed. 

“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture. 

“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up? 

“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?” 

“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?” 

“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation. 

Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.

Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.

Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.

There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering. 

As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party. 

Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you. 

The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything. 

“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?” 

“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.

“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him. 

As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble. 

Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.

It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.

Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends. 

Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.

The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes. 

When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup. 

It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side. 

Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.

A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.

Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm. 

So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.

Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible. 

It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor". 

He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention. 

What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you. 

“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does. 

“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend. 

“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view. 

“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence. 

“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood. 

“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction. 

“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music. 

“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you. 

“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again. 

“He probably got tired of them after so many years.” 

You freeze. 

“What do you mean?” 

Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t. 

“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force. 

For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth. 

“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes. 

Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad. 

Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch. 

“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words. 

“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance. 

“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.

Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside. 

“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape. 

“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again. 

Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back. 

It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all. 

“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.” 

“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.” 

“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes. 

“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait. 

“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”

Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.” 

Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons. 

"I’d love to see you try.” 

An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.

“We should-” 

“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you. 

“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.

“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to. 

“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”

“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”

You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.

Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.

“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.

“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.

Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.

So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.

In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.

With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.

There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.

Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.

Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.

“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.

Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.

“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.

The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.

“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”

“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.

In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.

When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.

“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”

“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”

Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.

“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”

Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”

“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.

“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”

“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”

“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.

As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.

Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.

“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”

Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”

Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.

“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.

“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”

You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.

“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”

When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.

“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.

He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.

“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”

“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.

When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.

The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.

“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.

“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”

“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.

The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.

“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”

You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.

Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.

Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.

“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.

Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”

“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”

“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”

“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”

“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.

“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.

Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.

Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.

Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.

He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.

For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.

What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.

He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!

Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.

The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?

Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.

Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.

Working from home has never been so much of a curse.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.

He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.

You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.

The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.

“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.

Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”

You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really? 

“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?

“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”

There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.

“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.

“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.

“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.

Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.

You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.

Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.

A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.

It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.

“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.

But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.

By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.

The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.

“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”

“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.

“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.

“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.

“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?

“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.

Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”

Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”

“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.

“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.

“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.

But he did.

“I can't.”

Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.

Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.

At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.

The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.

Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.

When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.

It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.

That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.

At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?

He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.

But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.

The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.

The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.

A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.

“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.

“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.

So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.

“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”

Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”

“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”

“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.

“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.

“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”

Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.

The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.

It’s been a weird day from the start.

Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.

You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.

Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.

The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.

The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.

“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.

“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.

She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”

Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.

Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.

For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.

But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.

“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.

“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.

“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”

All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.

“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.

“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”

“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.

“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”

“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”

“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”

“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”

“I had to make a show out of it!”

As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.

The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.

So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.

A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.

“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.

As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”

“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”

“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.

The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.

“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.

“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”

“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”

You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.

“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.

You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.

“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.

The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you. 

When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.

Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.

Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.

Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.

“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.

Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”

Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.

“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.

The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”

Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.

“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”

You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.

Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.

“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.

Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.

“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.

“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”

Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.

A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.

“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.

“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”

Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.

You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.

None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.

Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.

Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.

“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.

“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”

“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.

“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”

“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.

Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?

“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”

“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”

“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”

“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.

“I know you are. He doesn't.”

The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.

“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.

The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.

Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.

From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.

Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.

As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life. 

In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.

Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.

“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.

“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.

“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?” 

“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.

Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.

“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.

Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.

“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”

Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you. 

Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.

“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.

The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.

Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.

It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.

It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.

Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.

You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.

“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.

“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.

This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.

With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”

His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.

You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.

“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.

“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.

The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.

But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.

When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.

They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different. 

Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.

“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.

“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.

Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.

“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”

Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”

You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.

“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”

You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.

“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.

“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.

“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.

“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.

“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”

“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”

People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.

At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.

“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”

You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.

“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”

It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.

Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.

“No. You won’t.”

Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.

“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”

The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.

“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.

You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.

“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.

“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”

When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.

Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.

You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.

“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.

“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.

“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”

Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.

“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”

“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”

Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.

“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.

“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”

Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.

But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.

“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.

“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”

“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”

Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.

“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.

At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.

After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”

He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”

You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.

“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”

Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.

“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”

Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those. 

Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.

The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.

“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.

“Good for them.”

There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.

Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.

“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”

He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.

“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”

You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.

“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.

“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.

He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.

The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.

Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.

But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.

“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.

“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.

“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”

A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.

“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”

He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.

“I don't want to leave.”

The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.

“And I want you to stay.”

The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.

But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.

Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.

The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.

Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.

In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.

You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.

“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”

The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.

“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”

You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.

At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.

When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.

Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.

If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.

“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”

The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.

The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.

“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.

“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.

“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.

“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”

“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing. 

“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”

The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.

“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.

“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”

“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.

“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”

There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.

“I can g—”

“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.

His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.

It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”

“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”

“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”

“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”

“What do you think of me then?”

Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.

“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”

“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”

“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.

Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.

Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.

“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand. 

“Always.”

Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club Do you want to come? It’s close to my place

As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.

It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.

Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and  rambles about how good his class was that day.

He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.

You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.

It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.

You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.

Sure. Text me address. I’ll meet you there.

The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.

You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!

But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.

Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.

And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him. 

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.

“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”

Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.

“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.

Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.

“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.

“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.

“Right…”

It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.

“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.

“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.

The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.

“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”

The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”

“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”

How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.

Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.

Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.

You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.

You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.

The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.

As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.

“Is that her?”

Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.

Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.

It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.

“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.

“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.

The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.

Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”

“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.

Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.

When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.

He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.

Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl. 

Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.

Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.

He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.

At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”

Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.

“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”

“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”

Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.

“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”

“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.

Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.

“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.

You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”

In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.

“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.

“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?

“Oh, you did? Controlling.”

“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.

Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”

“No.” 

For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”

Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.

Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.

The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.

His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.

“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.

Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.

With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.

The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.

The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.

By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.

As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.

Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.

“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.

“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”

Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”

“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”

Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.

“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”

Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”

Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.

Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.

“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.

“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”

For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.

“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.

“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”

Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.

“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”

“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”

As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.

“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.

“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.

There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.

When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.

You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.

“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking  it off you as soon as you put your arms up.

His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.

Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.

Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.

Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.

“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”

It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.

“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.

“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.

“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.

“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.

You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.

The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.

The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.

“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.

“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”

“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.

“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.

“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.

“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”

Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.

There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.

It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.

Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.

His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.

Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”

You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”

Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.

The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.

“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.

Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.

Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”

Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.

The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.

His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.

Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.

Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.

You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.

You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”

He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”

The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.

“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.

Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier. 

The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.

You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.

You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.

“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.

Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.

Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for. 

Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.

It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.

As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”

note: it's finally here!!!

thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.

“You've been staring at the door since 7:40. It's currently 8:05. Taehyun's mom's going to walk through it any minute now and you're going to jump like she caught you doing something illegal.”

“I wasn't staring at the door.” You absolutely were staring at the door. 

“Okay.“ Jiwon holds up an oval that's more of a rhombus. “Do these look like chicken eggs to you?”

“They look like abstract art.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Okay, well, they're chicken eggs.”

Across the room, Soyeon — who technically works the front desk and has no real business in the classroom during the day, but wanders in anyway whenever she's got a free ten minutes — is refereeing a dispute over a single yellow crayon that has somehow become the most coveted object in the building. Two kids stand on either side of her, red-faced and furious, both absolutely certain of their claim.

“I had it first.”

“I had it first first.”

“There's no such thing as first first,” Soyeon says, with the weary patience of someone who's negotiated with cranky four year olds before breakfast and will again after lunch. “There are, however, eleven other yellow crayons in that bin. I checked.”

Neither kid finds this persuasive. You've learned, over three years, that most classroom diplomacy comes down to waiting people out rather than winning any actual argument, and sure enough, within ninety seconds both of them have abandoned the crayon entirely in favor of a much more interesting pile of dolls in the corner. Soyeon catches your eye over their heads and mouths good luck, and you give her a thumbs up you don't entirely feel yet as she disappears back to the office.

The door opens. It's Taehyun's mother, harried and talking rapidly about a meeting she's clearly already late for, depositing her son and his bag and a granola bar all in one motion before disappearing again in a cloud of strong perfume. Taehyun toddles toward the block corner without acknowledging either of you, which is, frankly, the daycare equivalent of a warm greeting.

You've got four kids in by 8:15, seven by 8:30, and by nine the whole room has that low hum of chaos that means the day's properly begun — someone building a tower, someone destroying a tower, someone crying about the tower's destruction with a passion. Chaewon, three going on forty, sits very seriously at the reading corner turning the pages of a picture book upside down and narrating it with complete confidence.

“That's not what it says,” you tell her, crouching down.

“I know,“ Chaewon says. “I made it better.”

You don't have a response to that, so you let her keep going.

By ten you've got the whole room moving through the usual currents — circle time, then centres, then the slow inevitable descent into midday crankiness over minor grievances that means it's almost snack time. You hand out orange slices and listen to a passionate, incoherent argument between two five-year-olds about whether dogs could, in principle, become doctors, a debate that resolves itself only when someone knocks over the entire bin of blocks and both parties get called away to help clean it up, already having forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place. 

This is the shape of your days, mostly. Small disasters, smaller triumphs, a lot of glitter you'll find in your hair for a week afterward. You do like it — the specific way you like something you didn't expect to love. You'd taken the job out of necessity two summers after a psychology degree that hadn't led anywhere near where you'd planned it would; you'd pictured a clinic, or a research post, or at the very least something with your name on a door, not a room full of glue sticks and orange peels. But somewhere in the middle of your first year you'd looked up from tying somebody's shoe and realised you weren't counting down to anything anymore. You like the kids, you like listening to their absolutely nonsensical debates, and okay, maybe the tantrums aren’t exactly a plus, but when they hand you a badly coloured apple or give the sweetest compliments about your outfit on any given day, your whole heart melts. You think about it sometimes — grad school, or moving away, but never with any real intensity. It could happen, someday, but for now, you’re happy exactly where you are.

Sunday dinner at your mom's is a fixed institution, always at the same table, same mismatched chairs, same argument, most weeks, about whether the good tablecloth is really necessary for a meal that will inevitably involve your younger sister spilling something on it. Agreeing to dinner once a week was one of your mother’s few stipulations when you decided to move out. And now Yuna's twenty-two and home for the summer between the end of her graphic design degree in another city and the beginning of whatever comes next, and she's currently interrogating you about your love life with the particular shamelessness only a younger sibling can manage.

“So nothing's happening with anyone,” she says, not a question.

You roll your eyes. “Correct.”

“Nothing at all. Zero activity.”

“I have a very rich inner life, Yuna, it doesn't all have to be romantic. Hobbies. Friends.”

“I didn't ask about your inner life, I asked if you're seeing anyone.“ Yuna reaches across the table for the rice without asking, which your mother allows only from her, a fact that has been a point of argument for roughly twenty years. “You have like, two friends anyway.”

Unfortunately, your younger sister is entirely correct. 

“I saw that lovely Choi boy last week, actually,” your mom says, entirely too casual about it, spooning more food onto your plate — which is her way of forcing you to stay in your seat. “He asked how you were doing. Very polite about it. He's always been polite, hasn’t he?”

You scoff. “He's flirting with the whole town, Mom, that's just what he does.”

“Mm,“ your mother says, which is not agreement, and also not disagreement, and is in fact the single most infuriating sound a mother can make. “He's been doing it a long time, though, hasn't he? Since you two were teenagers.”

“He asked her to proooom,” Yuna chips in, sing-song, and you promptly kick her under the table. “Ow! Mom!”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, over Yuna’s complaint.

“I didn't say it meant anything.” Your mother says it lightly, the way she says most things she actually means incredibly pointedly, a skill you're fairly sure you inherited directly from her and have spent years turning against her at this exact table. “I just think it's interesting that a man can ask about a woman for ten years and it doesn't mean anything, and a woman can turn him down for ten years and that doesn't mean anything either. Sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “In fact! We can talk about how Yuna still hasn't found a job,” you offer, and Yuna kicks you back under the table hard enough that you yelp, and your mother laughs, and the conversation moves on, mercifully, to safer ground — Yuna's job search, the neighbour's renovation, whether it's finally time to replace the good tablecloth — but you catch your mom looking at you once more over the course of the meal with an expression you don't examine too closely.

Here's the truth of it, if you're being honest, which you try not to be too often on this particular subject: Seungcheol's been flirting with you since roughly the ninth grade, in the low-grade, no-stakes way he’s never grown out of. But he also flirts with the guy at the post office. He flirts with Ms. Oh, who's sixty-one and unmarried and thinks he's a delight. He flirts with the bartender at the one good bar in town, who's engaged and finds it hilarious. It's not a thing you take personally, mostly, because it so clearly isn't personal — it's just the way it is with him, constant.

Except it's always felt a little more personal directed at you, and you've spent a lot of energy over the years making sure it never gets anywhere near landing. 

You remember the prom thing specifically, with a clarity that time hasn't done much to soften — him leaning against your locker two weeks before, hands in his pockets, asking with a shrug that was trying so hard to look like it didn't matter, and you turning him down before he'd even finished the sentence, because Kim Daeun had told you the week before that he'd asked three other girls the exact same way, and you weren't about to be a fourth. You'd found out later that wasn't true, that you'd actually been the only one he'd asked, but by then the pattern was already set, the reflex already built, and reflexes, you've learned, are a lot harder to unlearn than they are to learn in the first place. He hadn't argued, hadn't sulked, had just said “your loss” and grinned and gone off to ask someone else's opinion on which tie to wear instead, and you remember watching him walk away and feeling, underneath the relief, something that took you another decade to correctly identify as disappointment.

There was something else, too, that came later, and you think about it more than you'd like to admit, because by then you weren't the same girl who'd turned him down at a locker. You were two years into a psychology degree, home for a fortnight over the winter break, feeling like a slightly different person in your own hometown, the way you always did those first few days back, still half in seminar-mode, still analysing everything, including, apparently, yourself. You'd been walking back from your mum's when the sky opened properly, no warning, the kind of rain that soaks through in under a minute, and a car had pulled up alongside you with its window already rolling down before you'd even registered whose it was. Seungcheol in his brother's beat-up sedan, hair already damp from getting out to jog around and open the passenger door for you before you could say anything.

“Get in,” he'd said, entirely reasonable, entirely obvious, and you'd stood there on the curb, drenched, freezing, genuinely unable to think of a single sensible reason to say no, and said no anyway. You'd told him you didn't mind the walk, which was a lie so transparent you'd half expected him to call it, and he hadn't, had just looked at you for a second too long, rain running down from his long fringe onto his cheeks, before he'd said, “Alright,”  and driven off slowly. 

You'd spent the rest of that walk soaked through and furious with yourself in a way you didn't have language for yet, turning it over with the same detached, clinical curiosity you were being trained to turn on everything else that year — why did you say no, what did you think accepting would cost you — and never quite landing on an answer you liked. You remember thinking, absurdly, that you'd learned more about avoidant attachment that semester than you'd ever wanted to know, and that none of it had stopped you doing exactly what the textbook said you would.

You remember the coffee, more recently, and the movie, and the wedding — Soonyoung's cousin's wedding, the one he'd asked you to as a plus-one with an actual paper invitation he'd apparently gone to the trouble of getting an extra copy of, which you'd found both sweet and alarming in equal measure and you had turned down within about four seconds of seeing it, before you could think too hard about why your hands had gone a little unsteady holding it.

You expect it now. Seungcheol borderline flirts every time he sees you; occasionally he pushes his luck and asks you out, with enough time in between that you can’t call him insistent. 

Each time, you refuse it with the specific lightness of someone slamming a door gently enough that it doesn't look like she's slamming it. And each time he's taken it exactly the way he takes everything — with a grin, a shrug, a “your loss” tossed over his shoulder as he walks away completely unbothered, already on to the next joke, the next call, the next whatever. 

So you do the same — you don't examine it. You put it in the same drawer where you keep most things you don't want to look at directly, close it, and go back to your life.

The same week you have that pointed dinner with your mom, you see him at the grocery store — or rather, he sees you. It's a Wednesday, nothing special about it, and you're standing in the cereal aisle trying to decide whether you actually need a box of the good granola or whether that's just a symptom of grocery shopping hungry, when a voice behind you says, “You're gonna want the other kind.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. “I didn’t ask you, Seungcheol.”

“You didn't have to. You've been standing there for a full minute looking at that box.” Seungcheol's got a basket hooked over one arm, and the basket, when you glance at it, contains a box of protein bars, a carton of orange juice (with pulp, which, ew), and a single lime, which tells you absolutely nothing about what he's planning to cook tonight. “The one with the honey clusters. Trust me.”

“I don't take grocery advice from a man whose entire cart is a lime and protein bars.”

“It's a basket, not a cart, and I resent the implication that I don’t know how to grocery shop.” He leans against the shelf, unbothered, like he's got nowhere else to be — which, this being a Wednesday evening and him apparently off shift, he probably doesn't. “You still owe me an answer on Seokmin’s barbecue thing, by the way.”

“That was two years ago, Seungcheol.”

“I have a long memory.”

“You have a selective memory. You don't remember owing Soonyoung forty dollars, but you remember a barbecue invitation from two summers ago.”

“Different category of memory. One's debt. The other's an open wound.” He says it with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, grinning, and you roll your eyes and put the honey clusters in your cart anyway, which he looks entirely too pleased about.

“Don't,” you say.

“Didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say I'm always right about cereal, but sure, put words in my mouth.“ He falls into step beside you as you push toward the dairy section, not because he needs anything there, you're fairly sure, but because this is also just how it goes, has gone, for as long as you can remember: running into each other in the produce aisle or outside the post office or at the one gas station, falling into the same easy rhythm you've had since you were teenagers — like the conversation never really stops, just pauses between sightings. “How's the daycare? Still winning?”

“Every day's a battle, but yes.”

“You could come to Seokmin’s barbecue this year. Renewing my invitation.”

“I'll think about it,” you say, which is what you always say, and he laughs like he already knows what that means, because he does, because you've been having some version of this exact exchange for the better part of a decade — him asking, lightly, for something, you deflecting, lightly, in return. Neither of you ever quite landing anywhere, both of you apparently fine with that. You part ways at the register, him with his lime and his orange juice and his protein bars, you with a cart full of things that will mostly go uneaten, and you don't think about it again until you're halfway through unpacking your groceries at home and realise you're smiling for no reason you can name.

It isn't all banter, though, and it would be doing the whole thing a disservice to pretend it is. There's a version of you two that has nothing to do with the game at all, that surfaces every so often, and you think about one particular evening more than you'd probably admit to anyone, including yourself.

You'd run into him at the diner on the edge of town, the one that's open too late and serves coffee that's either too strong or too watery. He'd been alone in a booth looking like a man who'd had a longer day than usual, sleeves shoved up, staring at a mug he wasn't drinking from. You'd almost kept walking.

“You look like you got hit by that truck of yours,”you'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without being invited, and his look of surprise when he saw you mirrored exactly how you’d felt at your own actions.

“Feels about right.” He hadn't tried to make a joke of it, which was how you knew it was serious. Seungcheol without a joke ready was rare. “There was a house fire. We got everyone out,” he adds quickly, “It’s just — the house. It’s fucked up. Like, it was a couple and their kids, and their dog, and they were — you know. Gutted. Crying and shit. The kids, especially.”

You hadn't said anything clever, because there wasn't anything clever to say, and you'd known enough not to try, from years of watching adults fumble around children in crisis and from a psychology degree that had, in fact, occasionally been useful. 

“You did everything you could,” you'd said eventually, quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I know that's going to sound like nothing to you right now, but it’s true.”

He'd looked up at you properly then, something unguarded in his face that had nothing to do with flirting, nothing to do with the bit — just a kind of tired gratitude that made you want to reach across the table and grab his hand. “They teach you that in your psych degree or what?” he'd asked, attempting for a smile.

You mirror the smile, with a small shrug of your own. “Turns out it's good for something besides making me insufferable at dinner parties.”

That had got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised, and the two of you had sat there for another hour talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did — his brother, your sister,the particular dread of watching a four-year-old take a deep breath right before they’re about to scream the place down. He'd asked you, at one point, about college and your degree — he’d never been to college, of course, and he’d listened to the whole thing like it was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him all week.

You remember thinking, driving home that night, that you liked him best like this, unshowy, unarmoured, asking real questions and actually waiting for the answers — and you remember being immediately furious with yourself for thinking it, and filing the whole evening away in the same drawer as everything else.

Minji's been your friend since third grade, and she's the one person you still talk to who's known you both — you and Seungcheol — long enough to have a real opinion on the whole situation, which she airs freely and often. Today it's as she’s doing her nails, a shade of red she's had you hold the bottle for while she does the other hand, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's back porch with two iced coffees sweating rings onto the railing between you.

“I saw Seungcheol at the gas station Tuesday,” Minji says without preamble, not looking up from her hand. “He asked if I'd talked to you lately. Very smooth about it. Very casual.“

“He's like that with—”

“If you say 'he's like that with everyone' I'm going to put this nail polish in your hair.“ She caps the bottle, finally looks at you, and there's none of your mother's careful lightness in it, just Minji's usual bluntness, worn soft by nearly twenty years of friendship. “I've watched this specific bit for ten years. I watched it in high school, I watched it through your entire early twenties,and at some point, as your best friend, I have to ask: what exactly are you so afraid of?”

You don’t answer straight away, dropping your gaze to the coffee. You take a sip, fiddle with the straw between your teeth before you sigh, tilt your head back towards the clouds. “He’s not serious. It’s like a game to him.”

“Did someone tell you that or are you just making up your own conclusions?” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “It’s been years, ___.”

“Yeah, years of playful flirting. There’s literally nothing serious behind it — I turn him down and he laughs, Minji. It’s a joke. We both know it’s a joke.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s been stuck on you since high school, and you’re too scared of yourself to even give him a chance.”

She always knows how to hit where it hurts, exactly when you need to be hit. Your mouth opens for a second, and then closes as you flounder for something to say. “He’s not stuck on me,” you say finally. “Seriously. We’ve both dated other people, in high school and after.”

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know what I mean. He likes you.”

“Well, he’s never actually said that!”

“Purposefully. Obtuse.” She pokes your forehead after each word. “What are you protecting yourself from here?”

You close your mouth, silenced and sulking about it.

“Because it's not him,” she continues. “He'd catch you. He's been standing there with his arms out for a decade.”

“It's not that simple.”

“It's exactly that simple, you've just made it complicated on purpose because complicated is easier to dismiss than simple.“ She blows on her nails. “He likes you. You like him. It’s the simplest fucking thing ever.”

You don’t say anything, just scowl and sip your coffee. Your best friend is harsh on the best of days, and usually you like it — today, she’s said everything you don’t want to hear.

“Anyway. How's Chaewon? Is she still doing her pirate princess story?”

“She's added a supervillain.”

“Of course she has.” Minji grins, and the conversation slides, mercifully, sideways — into Minji's own things, a promotion she's up for, a guy she's seeing who she's not sure about — and you're grateful for it, for the reminder that your life has edges that don't touch Seungcheol at all, whole rooms of it that are just yours, just Minji's, just the ordinary unremarkable texture of having a friend since you were eight years old. But underneath the rest of the afternoon, everything Minji said keeps surfacing, quiet and insistently plaguing your thoughts.

It's a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, when Ms. Oh — who owns and runs Little Pines — gathers the staff in the break room after the kids have gone home to go over the calendar for the next month.

“Also,“ she says, near the end, flipping a laminated sheet, “Fire Safety Day's the fourteenth. The station's sending a few of the firemen out to do the usual — stop, drop, roll, let the kids sit in the truck, the whole bit.”

“Cute,“ Soyeon says, refilling her coffee. “The kids’ll love it.”

“Who's coming?” Jiwon asks, because Jiwon asks things you'd rather she didn't, and you’re pretty sure she has a crush on one of Seungcheol’s coworkers, Wonwoo.

“Didn't say. Whoever's on rotation, I'd assume.” Ms. Oh moves on to the field trip permission slips, and you let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, and tell yourself, very firmly, that it doesn't matter who's coming. It's a fire station. There are, by your count, eleven firefighters in this town. The odds are fine. The odds are completely fine. 

You avoid thinking about Choi Seungcheol for the rest of the day. Which is to say, you think about him constantly for the rest of the day.

The morning of the fourteenth arrives, and the kids are beyond excited. They’ve talking about it for a week — Chaewon's drawn what she insists is a fire truck and what everyone else agrees looks more like a very angry snail, and Taehyun's informed you three separate times, with the grave authority of a man delivering breaking news, that firemen have “actual axes.” You've got the kids lined up in the yard by ten, sunscreen reapplied, hats on, when the truck rolls up the gravel drive with the low satisfying rumble that makes every single child under the age of six lose their entire mind at once.

You see him before the truck's even fully stopped. Of course you do. He's hanging half out of the passenger side before it brakes, waving at the kids (who are adorably excited), and something in your chest does the thing it always does — a small, private, entirely inconvenient drop, like missing a stair in the dark.

Choi Seungcheol climbs down in his full gear, helmet under one arm, and crouches immediately to be at eye level with a cluster of four- and five-year-olds who are looking at him like he's personally invented fire trucks. “Who wants to sit in the driver's seat?” he sings, and the resulting scream from twelve small children could probably be heard three towns over.

He's good at this. You'll give him that, freely, the way you give him most things freely except the one thing he actually asks for. He crouches and jokes and lets Chaewon try on his helmet, which swallows her entire head, and gets down on the ground to show a rapt little semicircle of children how the hose attaches, and doesn't once break character even when Taehyun asks him, with total sincerity, whether he's ever fought a dragon. (“Couple times,” Seungcheol says. “Rough guys, dragons. Mostly it's the smoke.”)

The other two firefighters who've come with him, an older woman named Yerin and Soonyoung, who you’d also gone to high school with, do their parts fine, competent and pleasant and funny, but the kids gravitate to Seungcheol easily and instinctively.

You've managed, for a solid twenty minutes, to stay on the opposite side of the gaggle of kids, ostensibly ensuring Beomgyu keeps his hat on. It doesn't last. Around the time the kids are being herded toward the truck to take turns sitting behind the wheel, he peels off from the group and ambles over, helmet tucked under his arm, looking entirely too good for someone who's just spent twenty minutes being climbed on by preschoolers.

“You've got glitter on your face,” he says, by way of hello.

“I always have glitter on my face. It's basically work uniform at this point.”

“It's a good look on you.” He says it easily, the same way he says everything, but his eyes do a quick pass over you before landing back on your face with that brief dimpled smile, and you hate — hate — the small flicker of warmth that swells in your stomach.

“You didn't have to come,” you say, which isn't true, since he clearly did have to come, it's his job, but it's the fastest thing you can think to say that isn't I hoped you wouldn't and also knew you would.

“Somebody's gotta protect this town's youth from the dangers of unattended candles,“ he says solemnly. “It's a calling.“

“Right. Noble.” You pause. “They’re four, by the way.”

“Extremely noble. You should be nicer to me. I'm basically a public servant.”

“I'm always nice to you.”

“You're the meanest person I know,“ he says, delighted, “and I mean that as a compliment to your commitment.”

“Anyway,” he says, looking over to the truck. “The kids are gonna want to come to the station. We usually do that — let them see where the trucks live and everything. I can set it up with your boss if that's alright with you.”

“Sure,” you say, half-listening, half-watching the kids. You’re pretty sure Beomgyu and Yeonjun are going to trip, chasing each other like that. “Whatever's easiest.”

“You'll come too, right? Chaperone duty?”

“That's generally how field trips work, yes.” 

“Good.” He says it satisfied, like it matters, and for just a second something honest surfaces under the joking — you catch it before he tucks it away again, the way you sometimes do, a flash of something steadier than the bit usually allows.

And then, before you can examine that, Chaewon comes sprinting over demanding to know if the truck can go faster than a police car, and he's gone again, crouched down explaining horsepower to a three-year-old with the same total sincerity he used on the dragon question, and you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, watching him, before you make yourself go help Yerin with the hose demonstration instead.

By the time the truck pulls away an hour later, every single kid in the yard is talking about the fire station visit like it's the moon landing. You've got a feeling you won't hear the end of it for a while.

You don't hear the end of it for a while.

For the better part of two weeks, the fire station visit's the single principle of every conversation the four-year-olds have. Taehyun draws the truck again, several times, with increasing and alarming detail about the axes. Chaewon stages an elaborate reenactment during free play in which she plays “the fireman” and assigns you the role of “the person who has to be saved,” which you accept with as much dignity as you can muster while lying on the carpet pretending to be unconscious as a group of kids tug at your legs. Jiwon, of course, finds the whole thing extremely funny.

The days have a way of absorbing whatever's going on with you and continuing regardless, which is, most of the time, a mercy. Circle time happens. Snack time happens. A minor crisis occurs when it's discovered that the class hamster, Mr. Biscuit, has gotten loose sometime overnight, and he's eventually located, after forty tense minutes and one very dramatic search party. Chaewon had refused to take part in said search party, and had instead spent the entire time in the reading corner, insisting Mr. Biscuit would “come back when he was ready,” which, infuriatingly, turns out to be correct.

You also go back to your evenings, which have nothing to do with any of it — a phone call with Yuna where she vents about her job search, an afternoon spent helping Minji repaint her spare room, a Sunday at your mom's where the subject of Seungcheol does not come up even once, a small mercy you're grateful for and slightly suspicious of. Life, in other words, keeps being a whole life, most of which has nothing to do with him at all, which is the thing you keep having to remind yourself of whenever it starts to feel otherwise.

Friday nights, when you're not too wrecked from the week, you go to the bar with Minji and Jimin and a few other friends, because it's the only bar in town worth it. It's not a big fancy place, with its low light,  jukebox, and pool table with a wobble in one of the left legs, but it’s the only place to go, really, unless you want to make the drive into the city.

Minji drags you along after a week of promotion nerves and you go willingly enough. The place is familiar enough to be comfortable even after the tiring week you’ve had, but you’re not really looking to drink too much tonight. 

You've had a few sips of a cocktail by the time the door opens and a loud group of off-duty firefighters spills in, mid-laugh, and naturally, Seungcheol's in the middle of it. He’s saying something that's got Soonyoung doubled over, and you feel the familiar lurch of oh, here we go before you've even fully processed that he's clocked you across the room.

“Oh, this'll be good,” Minji murmurs into her drink, and you kick her under the table, which only makes her grin wider. 

You run into him often, at this bar, so seeing him isn’t really a surprise in itself. He grins at you as he and his friends make their way first to the pool table, and you return the gesture with an awkward nod, and somehow almost drop your drink in the process. 

It’s maybe forty five minutes later that he actually comes over to you. He always does, at least once when you run into each other like this, always comes to say hi, which usually leads into some kind of line.

He waves Dohyun, the bartender, over and orders a whiskey on the rocks, and for a while you just talk, as the ice in his drink melts. Easy, unimportant things, the kind of conversation that happens naturally between two people who've known each other long enough that silence isn't awkward, just comfortable. He tells you about a call they had that week, a cat stuck in a drainpipe that took forty-five minutes and drew a crowd. You tell him about Chaewon's ongoing crusade against the concept of naptime, which makes him laugh so hard he has to put his drink down, not that he’s drank much of it. Somewhere in there Minji peels off to go play pool with Jiwon and Soonyoung, throwing you one loaded look over her shoulder on the way that you very deliberately ignore.

Somehow, the two of you have drifted from the bar itself to a booth in the back corner, and Jiwon's gone home with a wave you barely registered, and Minji's deep in a game of pool she's losing badly and loudly to Soonyoung, and you're sitting closer to him than you were an hour ago without being able to say exactly when that happened. He's telling you something about his brother’s wedding, some story about a groomsman and a dropped ring you're only half following because you've gotten distracted by the way he laughs at his own joke before he even finishes it, the way his hand's landed, at some point, loosely on the back of the booth behind your shoulders, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it without him actually touching you.

“You're not listening,” he says, not offended, just observing.

“I'm listening.”

“What'd I just say?”

“Something about a ring.“

“Close enough.“ He's looking at you in a way that feels different from the usual — like he's forgotten, for a second, to be charming about it. “You've got that look.“

“What look?”

“You’re totally zoning out. That look.”

You snort, aiming for humour. “I'm always zoning out around you.“

“I know,” he says, and there's something in his voice, something almost fond and almost sad at once, so much that it makes your levity fall flat and for a moment neither of you says anything at all. Then he smiles, “You always zone out anyway, though. I remember from school.”

“Please.”

“It’s true! I remember it happening in history class and Miss Lee had to snap her fingers in front of your face!”

Heat crawls up your face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that! That was in my first week, too, I nearly cried.”

“I remember,” he smiles. “Everyone was talking about the new girl who just moved to town and that was the first time I saw you.”

It's strange, the way ten years can gather themselves into a single quiet second like that — all of it sitting there in the space between his face and yours, close enough now that you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you don't let yourself do, except you do anyway. You think, distantly, of Minji on the porch — he's been standing there with his arms out for a decade — and your mother at the dinner table — sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time — and something in you that's held itself very carefully closed for a very long time simply, without your permission, stops holding.

He leans in, slow enough that you have every opportunity to move. You don't take it.

The kiss, when it happens, isn't clumsy at all, not at first — it's slow, almost unbearably so, like he's been waiting so long for it he's decided to actually take his time now that he's got it, one hand coming up to your jaw so lightly it's almost a question, and you answer it by leaning further in, by letting your hand find the front of his shirt and hold on, and you kiss him back like you mean it, because you do. Then his other hand finds your waist and yours finds the back of his neck and the two of you shift closer in the booth and it turns into something hungrier, less careful.

Somewhere in the bar, distantly, you hear Minji whoop, and you don't even have it in you to be embarrassed.

Then your brain catches up with the rest of you, the way it always eventually does, and you pull back, breathing hard like you've run somewhere. Seungcheol looks a little wrecked, the same way you feel, his hair mussed and his lips a little swollen, and you guess you must look something similar.

“I—” you start, and don't finish, because you don't actually know what comes next. 

“Hey,” he says, low, steady, not moving away, his thumb still resting at your jaw like he’s catching up to the fact that you're pulling out of it. “It's okay, just — ”

“I shouldn't have — ” You're already reaching for your bag, your keys, anything to hold onto that isn't him. “I think I had too much to drink.“

“You didn’t even finish your cocktail,” he says, and he's not smiling now, which is somehow worse than if he had been. “Can we just — talk for a second? I've been wanting to say something for a while, and I know the timing's not— ”

“Cheol, I’m sorry — I — I really think I should go,” you’re fumbling with your bag and your words at the same time.

“I'm not trying to freak you out.” He says it gently, both hands visible now, like he's talking someone down off a ledge, which, you suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate. And his voice speeds up a little, because you’re still gathering your things and avoiding his gaze and it’s his turn to trip over his words: “I just — I like you. Like, actually. I know it's always been the bit, with us, and that's fine, that's — I get why. But I'm not messing around right now. I want you to know that. Can we just talk for a se—?” And he cuts himself off, because you’re standing up.

It's the most honest he's ever been with you, stripped clean of the performance, and it terrifies you in a way you don't have language for at eleven-thirty on a Friday with your pulse still loud in your ears. “Please,” he says, softly, so softly, and his hand brushes against yours, feather-soft. You make the mistake of looking, and he’s gazing up at you from the booth, his eyes pleading and brown and warm and serious.

“I have work in the morning,“ you say, which is a lie, and you both know it's a lie, it’s a fuckin Saturday, but he lets you have it anyway, some tired resignation moving through his face.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Get home safe.”

Minji catches you by the door, pool cue still in hand, all the teasing gone out of her face the second she sees yours. “Hey,” she says, softer than you've heard her all night. “You good?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly, and she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm once and tells you she'll call a cab for both of you, and you let her, grateful, not for the first time, that she's known you long enough to know exactly when not to push.

You don't remember much of the ride home. Your hands are shaking slightly as you find your keys at your own front door, and you don't look back toward the bar even once, and you lie awake for a long time afterward turning the whole thing over and over in your head like a stone you can't put down, unable to decide which part scares you more — that he said it, or that some traitorous, long-buried part of you wanted to say something back.

You don't see him again for eleven days, which you know because you count, which you're furious with yourself for doing.

Life continues in the meantime, because it does that, indifferent to the small personal catastrophes you're nursing. There are snacks to portion out and scraped knees to bandage and an entire day on the letter Q that takes far longer than it has any right to. Chaewon's fireman reenactments continue unabated, blessedly innocent of the fact that you now flinch slightly every time she mentions the word. Jiwon notices you're off but, for once, has the mercy not to push, which you appreciate more than you tell her.

Sunday dinner happens in the middle of the eleven days, and you spend most of it pushing rice around your plate while your mother and Yuna talk around you, until your mother, halfway through clearing the table, pauses behind your chair and rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. Not asking anything, just letting you know she's noticed, which somehow makes it harder to hold together than if she'd asked directly. Minji calls twice and you let both calls go to voicemail, not because you don't want to talk to her but because you know exactly what she'll say, and you're not ready yet to hear it out loud, even though some louder part of you already knows she'd be right.

The field trip to the fire station is scheduled for the Thursday of that second week, and you've spent a genuinely humiliating amount of effort trying to get out of it. You ask Jiwon, with what you hope is believable casualness, if there’s any possible way Ms Oh would let you skip it and take a parent chaperone instead. She looks at you like you've suggested trading a kidney.

“Absolutely not. Do you know Ms Oh? No. You're going.”

You haven't been able to think of a version of the truth small enough to hand her, so you let it drop, and here you are on Thursday morning, herding twelve overexcited kids onto a rented minibus with the specific dread of someone walking toward a conversation she's been dodging for a week and a half.

The station's a squat brick building on the edge of downtown, garage doors up, two trucks gleaming in the shade, and the kids lose their minds the second the bus door opens. You busy yourself with headcounts and hand-holding, buying yourself as much time as you reasonably can before you have to actually look at him.

When you do, it isn't what you expect, and somehow that's worse.

Seungcheol is polite. That's the word for it, the only word, and it lands like a slap precisely because it's so foreign coming from him. He greets the kids with the same warmth as before — you'll give him that, he never once lets it touch them — crouching down, letting them climb the truck, patiently explaining the same things he explained a month ago in the daycare yard. 

There's one second, early on, when he glances up and catches your eye across the garage and something almost warm flickers there on instinct, old habit, ten years of muscle memory — before he seems to remember, visibly, and shuts it down, his face resetting into something careful before he looks away again. You watch it happen and wish, immediately, that you hadn't seen it. But mostly, for the rest of the hour, there's none of the usual spark in his eyes when they pass over you, none of the teasing, none of the warmth that's always, always been there even when you were actively trying to shut it down. He nods at you once, says “morning,“ in a tone you've never heard him use on you before and then turns his attention fully to the kids and doesn't look at you again for the better part of an hour.

It should be a relief. Instead, it fucking stings.

Yerin gives the group tour of the trucks. Soonyoung lets three kids at a time try on a real helmet. Seungcheol does his part competently, kindly, and entirely at arm's length from you, and when the visit wraps up and the kids are being herded back toward the bus in a loose, sunscreen-smelling parade, you find yourself hanging back at the garage door while Jiwon does the headcount, because you can't make yourself walk away without saying something, even though you have no idea what the something is.

“Hey,” you say, inadequately.

He's coiling a length of hose that doesn't especially need coiling. “Hey,” he says, not looking up. “Kids have a good time?”

“They loved it. You're good with them.” 

“Yeah, well.” He sets the hose down, finally looks at you, and his face is doing the thing it's been doing all morning — pleasant and closed-off.

“Seungcheol—”

“You should get back to the bus,” he says, not unkindly, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been sharp about it. “Don't want to lose a kid on my watch.”

It's a joke, technically, the shape of one, but it comes out flat, missing the thing that always makes his jokes land — that easy, unbothered warmth. You realise, standing there in the wide mouth of the garage with the smell of diesel and rubber hose around you, that you've finally managed it. 

“Okay,” you say, because you can't think of anything else, and you turn and walk back to the bus, and don't let yourself look back at the garage until you're sure the kids can't see your face. You spend the entire drive back with a thick lump in your throat and something burning behind your eyes.

You don't sleep well that night, or the two after it. Your brain keeps circling back to the same three minutes in a garage no matter what you try to distract it with. You go through the motions of your days competently enough — nobody at Little Pines seems to notice anything beyond your slightly quieter mood, which you blame on being tired — but underneath the surface you're doing the thing you've always been careful never to do where he's concerned: you're actually thinking about it. 

You skip Friday at the bar that week, and the one after, telling Jiwon and Soyeon you're just tired, which is half true. Minji shows up at your apartment uninvited the same night with a bag of takeout and an expression that says she's done waiting for you to call her back, and you let her in because you don't have it in you to pretend anymore, not to her.

“Okay,” Minji says, setting the containers out on your coffee table like she's settling in for a long negotiation, which, you suspect, she is. “Talk. All of it. I already know something happened at the bar, I was there for the whoop-worthy part, I just don't know the rest.”

So you tell her. All of it — the kiss, what he said after, the eleven days, the garage, the way his face had gone so carefully closed you almost hadn't recognised him. Minji listens without interrupting, which for Minji is its own kind of remarkable, and when you finally run out of words she doesn't say I told you so, which you'd braced for, and which you almost wish she had, because instead she just looks at you, steady and a little sad on your behalf, and says, “You know what you have to do.”

“I know what I have to do.”

“So why haven't you done it yet.”

“Because I've never actually done this before,” you admit, and it's the truest thing you've said out loud in two weeks. “Turning him down, that I know how to do. That's years of practice. I don't know how to do the other thing.“

“Nobody knows how to do the other thing,” Minji says, not unkindly. “You just do it anyway.”

You think about the ten years of it, after she leaves, sitting alone with the takeout containers cooling on your table — the prom, the rain, the coffee you never got, the wedding you didn't go to as anyone's plus-one, every single time you took the easy warm shape of his affection and handed it back to him like something you couldn't use. 

You think about how none of it ever once made him flinch, how you told yourself that meant it didn't matter to him, when really (you can see it now, uncomfortably clearly) it probably meant the opposite. It meant he’d turned the flirting into a joke on purpose, so a no from you never actually cost him anything. But then — keeping it up, over and over, for years, because some idiotic, hopeful part of him had apparently decided you were worth that particular patience.

And you'd spent that same decade telling yourself it was nothing more than a bit, because the alternative — that it wasn't nothing, that it never had been, and that you might actually want it back — was a door you weren't ready to open.

By Sunday you’ve waded into your thoughts deep enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You sit on your kitchen counter with a cup of tea you're not drinking and you make yourself actually look at the thing you've kept in the drawer for ten years, and what you find, when you finally look, isn't complicated at all. It never was. You'd just been very good at making it look that way.

It occurs to you, sitting there with your tea going cold, that obviously, you’ve dated other people since the ninth grade, even been serious with one or two, and none of them ever tied you up in knots the way this has. 

It’s not that they mattered less. It’s that none of them were Choi Seungcheol, who’d been the easiest person in your entire year to like, who’d had half the school a little bit in love with him since he was fifteen, and you’d been so sure back then that a boy like that leaning against your locker was a joke because the alternative — that he meant it, about you, specifically — just didn’t make sense.

It had been simpler, safer, to decide it was just Seungcheol being Seungcheol, the same warmth he handed out to the woman at the post office and the bartender at and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing in front of him, and to file yourself in with all of them instead of letting yourself be the one exception. 

You call Jiwon, because you've run out of ways to have the conversation only with yourself, and because Minji's already said her piece and you want, this once, a second voice saying the same thing back to you before you trust it.

“Okay,” Jiwon says, once you've gotten through the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor with your phone on speaker and a second cup of tea gone cold beside you. “So let me get this straight. You've liked him since — what, ninth grade?”

“I didn't say I liked him since ninth grade.”

“You basically said that.”

“I said I'd been turning him down since ninth grade, that's a different thing. I think it started as something silly. I haven’t been, you know, pining around for him for a decade straight, and neither has he.” 

You can hear her moving around her own kitchen, a cupboard opening and closing. “Yeah, well. It seems like he’s been waiting for a chance for a decade, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Jiwon continues anyway, so you don’t have a chance. “I genuinely thought you two just had a bit going.  A little routine. I didn't realise that it was unresolved feelings the entire time, and I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, so, congratulations, you've out-repressed even me.”

“That's not a compliment.”

“It's not not a compliment.” A pause. “You're going to go find him, right? Not just think about it for another week.”

Your nose scrunches. “I might.”

“Don't. Go tonight. Or tomorrow. Just — don't let this be a thing you circle for another decade, you've circled it long enough.” 

You laugh, the first real laugh you've managed in days, and it loosens something in your chest that's been sitting there, tight and small, since the fire station garage. “Tomorrow,” you say. “I'll go tomorrow.”

“Good. And tell me everything after. I mean everything.”

“I'm not going to tell you everything.“

“You're going to tell me everything,” Jiwon says, with total confidence, and hangs up before you can argue, which, you have to admit, is probably the correct read of the situation.

You find him on Tuesday evening, off shift, at the little park two streets from the station where you know — because everyone in a town this size knows everyone's habits eventually, whether they mean to or not — he sometimes goes to shoot free throws alone on the cracked half-court when he's got something on his mind. 

Your hands are unsteady the whole drive over, and twice you nearly turn around, and both times you think of Minji on your couch, of your mother's hand on your shoulder, of Jiwon's voice on the phone, and you keep driving.

He sees you before you reach the fence, ball tucked under one arm, and for a second his face does something complicated — surprise, then that same careful, contained politeness from the fire station, sliding down over it like a shade.

“Hey,“ he says. “Everything okay? Kids alright?”

“The kids are fine. I'm not here about the kids.” Your voice sounds horribly strained. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just waits, bouncing the ball once against the cracked asphalt like he needs something to do with his hands.

“I've been an idiot,“ you say, which isn't how you'd planned to start, but it's true, at least. “For, honestly, a really long time. I don't know how to say the rest of it in a way that doesn't sound like I practised it in my car on the way here, so I'm just going to tell you I practised it in my car on the way here and say it anyway.“

That gets the smallest flicker of something across his face — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.

“I think I started off thinking you were teasing me, back in school. I thought it was a joke when you asked me to prom. And then after that I just needed you to be joking, because to me it didn’t make sense for you to be serious. And because the alternative meant I had to admit I wanted it too, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I kept handing it back to you instead.”

He sets the ball down against his hip, quiet, still watching you with an expression you can't fully read.

“And at the bar,” you say, “I panicked because I think I realised you meant it, and I realised I did too, and then, I don’t know, I just totally freaked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously and I kept brushing you off and I was mean when you didn’t deserve it, and I’m really, really sorry.”

He's quiet for a moment, turning the ball slowly in his hands, and when he speaks again some of the careful politeness has gone out of his voice, replaced by something rawer, more tired. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it. It was just — in high school, yeah, I had a crush on you. And then after, there would be whole stretches where I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, you went to college and I went to the academy, and — then you’d show up again and, I don’t know. Especially when you moved back.” He pauses — the ball slips out of his hands, and you both watch it bounce to a stop. “You were always worth asking,” he says, finally. “I wanted the chance again, every time, even if you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“I'm really sorry,” you say, and you mean it. 

“Okay,” he says, soft, and something in his shoulders loosens. “Practised in your car,” he repeats, and there — there it is, the corner of his lips turning up, small and a little disbelieving, like he isn't sure yet whether to trust it.

“Don't gloat.”

“I'm not gloating. I'm saving this for later. I'm going to bring it up constantly.”

“There he is,” you say, and your own eyes are stinging in a way you choose to blame on the wind, and he crosses the distance between you, slower than at the bar, giving you every chance to step back, and you don't, and this time when he kisses you, there's nothing careless in it at all.

an: i did not intend for this to be so complicated i rewrote this three times with different plots and editing took way way longer than intended. idk. it’s nearly 4am and i need to sleep.

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Thunder cracked somewhere over Metropolis, followed by the deep, distant boom of something exploding. Your heart stuttered. You turned toward the window and froze.

The skyline was on fire. A building several blocks away was collapsing in on itself, smoke curling upward like black ribbons. People below screamed, running for cover as debris rained down.

You grabbed your phone, hand shaking, and took a step back. The glass trembled from the shockwave.

Then, almost too fast for your eyes to follow, a streak of blue and red sliced through the night.

Superman.

You exhaled shakily, half in relief, half in disbelief. You had seen him before. Everyone in Metropolis had. The flash of his cape over the skyline, the blur in the news footage, the miracle stories that filled your inbox every week. You’d spent months trying to get an interview with him, chasing leads and unanswered messages, but he never showed. Somehow, though, Seungcheol always managed to get quotes. Short, exclusive ones that no one else could verify but were always too sincere, too precise, to be fake.

You used to joke that he had Superman on speed dial. He’d just smile, hiding it behind a sip of coffee, and say, “something like that.”

But now, watching Superman catch a falling beam mid-air, muscles straining against the weight, face set in focus, you couldn’t deny it. He was real. And terrifyingly human in the way he moved, in the way he looked toward the people below before flying off again.

Suddenly, the ground shook.

The blast must have hit a gas line nearby, because the next second, the building opposite yours erupted, and the shock threw you backward. Glass shattered. You hit the floor hard, pain shooting through your arm.

When you looked up, the entire office was chaos. Lights flickering, papers spiraling in the air, wind howling through the broken windows. You tried to crawl toward the exit, but the world tilted, a beam cracking from the ceiling and plunging toward you.

And then you weren’t on the floor anymore.

Strong arms had caught you mid-fall, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. The air around you shifted, no, rushed, as the world blurred into streaks of light and smoke.

When you blinked, you were outside. On a rooftop you didn’t recognize. Your heart thundered. The city stretched endlessly below, sirens wailing in the distance.

And standing before you, cape fluttering, eyes sharp even in the darkness, was him.

Superman.

He set you down carefully, gaze scanning you for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, words tangling in your throat. Up close, he wasn’t as untouchable as you’d imagined. There were faint bruises along his jaw, dust in his hair, his chest rising fast beneath the blue suit.

“I was at the Planet,” you managed. “Seungcheol.. my coworker, he had gone to the washroom. He must be stuck. I—"

“He’s safe,” Superman said quickly, and something in his tone made you freeze. That voice, calm and careful, a little breathless like he’d run up the stairs instead of flown through fire.

You looked up, really looked. The curl of his hair falling over his forehead. The faint scratch along his cheekbone. The warmth in his eyes.

You had seen all of it before.

“Seungcheol?” you whispered, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

He stilled.

Then, slowly, he smiled. “Stay safe,” he said softly.

And before you could move, before you could ask why, he was gone, a streak of color vanishing into the burning skyline, the echo of his voice hanging in the air.

You stood there, the city spinning below, the wind cold against your skin.

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. And yet, somehow it did.

The wind stung your face as the city lights flickered below. Your heart thudded unevenly, chasing the blur that had vanished into the clouds.

“Seungcheol,” you whispered, because what else could you possibly say?

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DAY ONE

YOU'RE A GONER AS SOON AS YOU LAY EYES ON HIM. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face. 

Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says. 

Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan. 

He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt. 

It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though. 

“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”

“You have no idea. Wait until game night.” 

“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?” 

“Every Sunday. Do you like games?” 

Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.” 

“So am I.”

He grins. “I look forward to it, then.” 

Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism. 

Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group. 

Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap. 

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin. 

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.” 

“No, no, you are. Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.” 

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.” 

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.” 

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do. 

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.” 

“I’m down.” 

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back. 

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.” 

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.” 

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?” 

“What will you give me?” 

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful. 

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more. 

You already do want more. 

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment. 

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

-

DAY SEVEN

“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”

You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.” 

“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.” 

It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet. 

He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”

“You too.” 

-

DAY TEN 

Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :)  You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho  You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here

Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home  You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!  

-

DAY TWENTY THREE

You [11:10 PM]: Wyd Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad? You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!! Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad?  Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :) 

-

DAY THIRTY

You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”

“Are you hungry?” 

You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?” 

“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?” 

Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?” 

“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”

“Alright.” 

-

DAY FORTY THREE

He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.

Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.

Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.

So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.

Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out. 

At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control. 

Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine? 

Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot. 

Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar. 

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no? Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous?? You [12:14 AM]: No You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not  Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees…

You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass. 

He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something. 

The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be. 

DAY FIFTY TWO

“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.” 

Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.

Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.

“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.” 

“I do have a shower.”

“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.” 

Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.” 

His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.” 

After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom. 

Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine. 

And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick. 

It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance. 

Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder. 

He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door. 

Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.” 

“Too bad.” 

Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck. 

“I was promised a shower.”

“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.

He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.” 

“Hmmm. I’m listening.” 

He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.  

“I’ll massage your shoulders…” 

“Hmm.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.” 

Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.

But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him. 

Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.” 

This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.

You always do. 

Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily. 

“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom. 

Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on. 

Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin. 

He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs. 

Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?” 

“Shut up.” 

Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door. 

“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.” 

It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing. 

Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist. 

Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves. 

A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns. 

Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth. 

Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.

As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy. 

He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”

“We’re in the shower.” 

He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.” 

“The only crime is pride.”

The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?” 

“Antigone by Sophocles.” 

“What’s that one about?” 

Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.

Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.” 

“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.” 

“The guy who fucked his mom?”

Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”

“Craaazy family.” 

“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”

“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.” 

Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”

Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh. 

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit. 

One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently. 

Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.

“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”

“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”

A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”

Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up. 

When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.

Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you. 

“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy. 

Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance. 

Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it. 

He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm. 

It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.

“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”

“My knees are fucking useless right now.”

“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.” 

You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come. 

“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily. 

Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.

“Good?”

“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.” 

“Yeah?”

“All good.”

“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.

He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance. 

Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.” 

Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin. 

He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.

That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him. 

Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.

When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you. 

“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.” 

And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass. 

He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you. 

For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish. 

Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”

“It’s cute.” 

“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.” 

He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.” 

-

DAY FIFTY SEVEN

“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”

“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”

“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”

“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.” 

Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable. 

“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.” 

“Alright.” 

“I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” 

You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.” 

He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.” 

Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?” 

That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”

-

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT

“Want to do me a huge favor?” 

You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily. 

“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?” 

“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”

That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.

Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.

But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget. 

So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to. 

Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”

“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber” 

Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs. 

You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it. 

“I suppose I can be convinced.” 

“Oh? What can I do to convince you?” 

You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s- 

“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.” 

He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.” 

His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.” 

“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!” 

-

DAY NINETY TWO

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”

And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing. 

Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you. 

It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.

You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs. 

Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.

He wants to. 

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches. 

When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes. 

He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you. 

Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs. 

Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.

The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much. 

All it took was meeting you.

“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator. 

Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.

You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation. 

When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table. 

“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him. 

His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.

Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements. 

“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.” 

Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.

“This way, wifey.” 

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.

Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar. 

Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.

He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey. 

Seungcheol wants this. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you. 

Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you. 

The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd. 

His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.

You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.

Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss. 

When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants. 

-

DAY NINETY THREE

“Be my girlfriend.”

The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.

“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.

“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.

Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop. 

Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too. 

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.” 

“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”

His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.” 

“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”

He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”

“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.” 

Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving. 

Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status. 

The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky. 

“Gonna suck something else, huh?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?” 

“Huh?” 

He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”

You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body. 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You should have seen your face, though.” 

“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“No, but you should have seen your face.”

The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket. 

It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway. 

Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours. 

Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there. 

Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hi.”

Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire. 

Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch. 

You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.

“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?” 

“Fucking anywhere will do.” 

Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.

Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.

“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.” 

You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.” 

“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”

Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it. 

Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.

Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off. 

“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.” 

“You’re a work of art yourself.”

Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”

Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.

He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily. 

“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.

What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips. 

“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him. 

“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”

“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.” 

You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you. 

Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his. 

Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you. 

“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.” 

You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.

He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft. 

Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth. 

Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.

A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers. 

“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”

“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?” 

“Please give me something.”

He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”

“I can take more.” 

“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter. 

Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you. 

“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” 

You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you. 

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over. 

“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.” 

His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.

“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously. 

“Mmm.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?” 

Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.

Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.” 

You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.” 

Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are. 

You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping. 

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.” 

An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.

You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached. 

“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?” 

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.” 

With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little. 

He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself. 

You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you. 

A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you. 

It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours. 

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come. 

You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle. 

Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears. 

When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch. 

“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you. 

Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand. 

“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”

“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”

He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.” 

“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?” 

Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.

“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”

“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”

“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.” 

“Sure thing, wifey.” 

“Ugh. Is that our thing now?” 

“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.” 

A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.” 

“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.” 

You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.” 

“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.” 

“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.” 

“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.” 

“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.

The door to the apartment closes behind you, any sound hushed by the heavy music rolling from the stereo below, and you take your time coming down the stairs. You’re busy admiring the view of his broad shoulders before he lies back and rolls underneath some brand new, stupidly expensive car, meaning Cheol gets to play with equally expensive mods, and he gets paid to do it.

It’s after eleven, and even then, there is usually still someone hanging around the garage, but everything is closed up for the night, and no one is crashed on the couch. It’s just Cheol and his new favorite toy, so you feel a little guilty dragging him up to bed, but he’s got all day tomorrow to tinker with it, and he looks so fucking delectable. Sacrifices must be made.

You stop at his side while he’s still under the car, admiring the way his jeans hang low on his hips. The muscles in his stomach flex as he works, and half your mind is stuck on the idea of just standing here watching him instead of what you actually came down to accomplish. Maybe you could sit and watch while he plays with his cars a little longer. 

Although, like always, Seungcheol is aware of your every movement. He rolls out from beneath the car on his custom creeper and grins up at you with what you’re sure is only a half-guilty conscious. “I’m late, aren’t I?”

Your nose scrunches in response, waving him off. “A little,” you shrug as he sets his tools to the side and sits up, wiping his hands on his jeans before reaching for the remote that lowers the stereo. He’s got a bit of oil smeared across his stomach, and your eyes are laser-focused on it. “You can absolutely make it up to me though.”

Cheol’s eyes light up as he laughs. “Yeah?” he asks, reaching into his toolbox for a rag to wipe his hands. You’re staring at his shoulders again when he grabs your ankle, firmly at first, catching you off guard, and then he rubs up and down your calf gently. “I like it when you wear my shirts around the house,” he leans closer and kisses just above your knee, “They look good on you.”

“Is it because I wear them without pants?”

Cheol smirks, and it takes him less than five seconds to maneuver you into his lap, thighs straddling his hips, with his thick arms caging you against his body. “I like it because it’s mine,” he nips your throat, “Because you’re mine,” a softer kiss to soothe the bite, “And I’m still kind of a possessive asshole,” he punctuates with both hands squeezing your ass.

“Yes, you are,” you agree, smiling as he kisses down your neck and across your chest, “But so am I.”

Seungcheol breaks away laughing, and you know he’s replaying the scene you caused in a bar three weeks ago that had him smooth-talking your way out of a police cruiser. Some girl from out of town who took a shot at Cheol while you were out dancing with Jessie and couldn’t take a hint. Well, she couldn’t take a hit either, and you knocked her out cold, which wasn’t your intention, but she definitely got the message.

“The bitch had it coming,” you scoff, not an ounce of regret. “She’s lucky all she left with was a black eye…and a broken nose.”

Seungcheol slides his hands up your thighs and settles on your hips underneath his shirt. “You forgot to mention how she woke up to you dumping an entire beer over her. Oh, and let's not leave out how you smashed the bottle against the bar and threatened her, again. That was my favorite part.”

“I learned from the best,” you grin, rolling your hips against his hard-on. 

Cheol groans, brows pinching together. “Don’t bring up your brother right now.”

“Fair enough.” 

When your lips connect, it's slow, hungry. Your hands are in his hair, and his are molded to your ass, squeezing and dragging you against his body. He’s already hard, that much is clear as he purposely grinds his erection into you from below and you reward him with a pointed roll of your hips that leaves him groaning into another kiss. 

You laugh, pulling back to look at the punch-drunk look on his face. “Alright, hotshot, why don’t you finish what you’re doing and meet me upstairs?”

You move to stand, and Seungcheol lets you get that far, but doesn’t let you leave. You look down at him in surprise, and he grins. “Why don’t you stay with me instead?”

A giggle bubbles from your lips, even as you feel heat coiling in your stomach with the way Cheol’s hands keep rubbing up and down the back of your bare legs. “I doubt you’ll be able to roll back under the car with that stiffie, babe.”

“Very funny,” he rolls his eyes in amusement. He locks his gaze on you, and his hands disappear beneath your borrowed shirt with clear intent. You let him drag your panties down the length of your legs and step out of them patiently, waiting for his next move. “Come closer.”

It’s not a question. He tugs you forward until your pussy is in his face, only covered by the length of the shirt still on your body, but you know that’s coming next. “Take it off.”

“What if someone comes by?” You glance around the empty garage, but your focus is sucked right back to the man between your legs when Cheol lifts the hem of your shirt and kisses your bare cunt. 

“No one is coming, baby,” he reaches up and grabs your ass, “Now take it off so I can eat you out and fuck you against the hood of this car before I take you upstairs and fuck you again in the shower, and again in our bed,” he grins at the look of shock on your face and adds, “Please.”

You laugh incredulously and shrug the shirt over your head anyway. “Ok, whatever, fuck it I guess…oh my god!”

He doesn’t waste a single second before he’s hauling your hips forward and burying his face in your cunt, licking and sucking until you’re grappling for something, anything to grab onto. You manage to find the driver’s grab handle through the open car window and pray you don’t rip it from the ceiling as your boyfriend drags an orgasm, near kicking and screaming, from the depths of your core. 

Then, when you try to take a deep breath to stabilize yourself after coming so hard your eyes cross, he tightens his grip and he does it again. This time, your legs are quivering when you come back down, and you’re cursing Cheol to high hell while he laughs and maneuvers your bodies with ease. He’s already standing, pants down, with you bent over the hood of someone else’s car by the time you're almost finished with him. 

“My legs are killing me, what is wrong with you?!” you huff, still whining and shaking from overstimulation, all while not moving an inch out of place, “And my tits are freezing against this fucking car, and…holy fuuuuck.”

All complaints die on your lips the second he pushes the head of his thick cock inside. He gives a few apologetic, shallow thrusts and then buries himself so deeply that the air expels from your lungs in another curse, but it’s nothing against him. There isn’t a whole lot you can hold against Seungcheol when he’s balls deep, pounding away til you’re living on another plane of existence. 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s hitting all the right spots while running his mouth on and on about how beautiful you are, and how you feel so fucking good, how he just can’t ever get enough of you. Always endless flattery mixed with just the right amount of filth to balance it all out and have tears streaming down your face…and legs. 

You’re in the middle of trying to return a compliment when he suddenly yanks you off the hood and up against his chest so quickly you scramble to find purchase on something, but he’s got you pinned between him and the car, one arm looped under your breasts while the other is around your hips. “Seungcheol, if you drop me, I swear-”

Your mouth drops open with an absurdly loud moan as he flattens his hand just below your belly, applying enough pressure to emphasize the feeling of his dick hitting spiritually awakening depths inside you. He can even hear the change in pitch as you get louder and louder. 

“Come on, babe,” he pleads against the soft skin just below your ear, “Cum again for me. You know you want to,” presses his hand down more firmly, and you pitch forward, ignoring the grin you feel against your skin. “You’re sooo fucking wet, god, and warm. You’re making a mess.”

“I’m,” you pause, catching your breath, “I’m the one m-making a mess?!”

Cheol groans deep and guttural, and you fight not to let your vision blur. “Fuuuuck, yeah, you are, baby. I can feel it dripping off my balls, you’re so fucking wet, holy shit.”

He’s never all that eloquent, especially not ‘in bed’. You’ll let it slide.

Besides, the way he says it doesn’t even give you room to be embarrassed because he’s praising you for soaking him, and likely the car, and the pants around his ankles, and the floor probably. 

“It’s your fucking fa-ault anyway,” you push back, jumping at the feeling of him hitting your self-destruct button over and over again. “Why do you look this fucking good doing your car shit?! It’s unfair, and I never want anyone else to see you like this ever! It’s only for me!”

His hips stutter, and he huffs out a laugh. “That’s my girl,” he groans, kissing your neck, “So possessive. Want me all to yourself?”

You push back against him again, and your pussy squeezes him like a vice grip, as if staking its own possessive claim. “Yes. Now turn me around so I can look at you when you cum first.”

His laugh sounds a little more pained this time, but that pride is ripped from your pussy, right along with his big cock when he pulls out, just like you asked. You have less than a second to mourn the loss, though, because Seungcheol spins you both around so quickly that your eyes are still rolling around in your head when he pushes back into your swollen cunt and starts pumping away. 

You’re trying not to be so impressed with his physical prowess, but the big fuckers leaning against the car himself now, solely using his thick, gorgeous, powerful arms to bounce you up and down on his dick, and god, what a sight. If your period is M.I.A next month, you know this was the one that finally did it. 

And just like that…you know you’re about to win this game.

You tighten your arms around his neck and drag him into a deep, messy kiss, filled with moaning, begging, and witchcraft. That’s what Cheol calls it when you purposefully tap into his inner cave-dwelling man brain and make him cum on the spot, and that is exactly what you intend to do.

Fighting past the sex-crazed fog settling into every nook and cranny of your brain, you drag your lips away from his and drop a wet kiss right next to his ear. That alone makes his fingers dig into your ass a little harder, and you smirk to yourself, equal parts smug and horny.

“Come on, Daddy,” your voice tumbles into his ear, teasing yet heavy with need, “Let’s do it for real this time…”

“Hey. Noooo, wait.” He knows exactly what you’re doing, and you can hear the tinge of panic in his voice, but he can’t stop moving. “Baby, that’s fuck-ah!” You distract him with your tongue wrapping around his earlobe and sucking. “You’re fucking cheating!”

Yet he continues to pick up the pace. It’s like an impending trainwreck, and you’re eagerly awaiting the collision. “I’m being serious!” you whine, staring into his narrowed eyes with your big, round ones.

His pins you with the hottest glare imaginable. Hot like, fuck he is SO goddamned good-looking and hot like you might regret this later, and you’re starting to feel sorry for whoever the hell owns this car. Cheol squeezes your ass even harder and sinks you onto his cock, impossibly deeper with every stroke. “No, you’re not,” he punctuates each word in the most mind-numbing way.

Like he’s going to fuck your plan right out of your head. Too bad that’s working against him because you’re thinking about adding this to your top five best-sex list, and the next words spill from your lips easily, and maybe…with a little half-hearted sincerity. 

“Aw, come on, Daddy, please,” you moan right into his ear, “Let’s make a baby.”

Oh. Shit.

His reaction is instantaneous. He loses all sense and decorum, and fucks you like a madman until he’s coming uncontrollably and dragging you right along with him. It feels like literal minutes pass by before he finally stops emptying inside you, and the last of your wild tremors settle down as you both catch your breath. You glance over your shoulder to find a puddle on the floor beneath you and promptly turn back around, hiding from Seungcheol’s knowing face. 

“I can’t believe you pulled the baby card…again.”

You huff in amusement. “I can’t believe how insanely horny you are at the thought of knocking me up. You have a daddy kink in the most literal sense. It’s my greatest weapon.”

It’s his turn to laugh now, but he promptly shuts up when he feels the mess it’s making. 

When he abruptly stands, you latch onto his shoulders until you feel the hood of the car solid at your back. Confused, you let Cheol lay you down and try not to moan like you’re howling at the fucking moon as he finally pulls out of your sensitive cunt. 

He stares at it appreciatively, and you try not to roll your eyes at how intimately familiar he is with your body nowadays. A blessing and a curse. 

Cheol grabs your legs and pushes them up, and for a moment, you’re wondering if he’s seriously about to go at you again, not that it wouldn’t be welcomed; you’re still hoping for two more rounds like he mentioned earlier, but he just pushes them up and says, “Humor me.”

You tilt your head, peering around your legs to look at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I want you to keep your legs up for me, hold 'em just like that while I get everything cleaned up down here,” he says with a challenging look. 

“I don’t get it,” you huff, but that makes something drip, and before you can grimace, Cheol is shoving your (his) discarded shirt against your wet, swollen folds. Still yuck.

“No huffing,” he sighs, “If my hands weren’t dirty from working down here, I’d be stuffing all of it back in, so count your blessings, and don’t lose another drop until we get upstairs.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t breathe for the next five minutes, I guess,” you grumble, “But why do I need to hold my legs up to do that? This is embarrassing, even if it's just you and me here.”

Your boyfriend gives you the most stunning, shit-eating grin and winks. “Daddy’s just giving you exactly what you asked for.”

Oh, it’s backfiring. It’s backfiring real bad. 

“Hold on, wait,” you try to reason with him, “Shower-sex and sleep sounds soo, so nice. Doesn’t it?”

“Sleep?” Cheol laughs. “Oh, no. I think we’ll be up all night. We’ve got a baby to make.”

“I was joking!” You try to sit up, but he stops you with one big hand, pressing you right back down, and he smacks your thigh, making you raise your legs high in the air again. 

“You gonna make me tell you again?” He asks seriously, brow cocked high on his forehead like he’s begging you to challenge him. You don’t, and he looks amused. “Good girl.”

“GoOd gIrL,” you mock him under your breath, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. 

Seungcheol overhears you as he’s putting his tools away and laughs out loud. “Oh yeah,” he sighs with a big grin on his face, “You’re not getting a lick of sleep.”

“Shit.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Seungcheol is the worst person alive. Scum of the earth. Good for nothing.

(except for giving insanely good orgasms) 

But that’s beside the point. 

You hate him this morning. Everything hurts, and it’s past noon by the time you roll out of bed…onto the floor, no less…and you have to shower sitting down because who the hell has all that energy? Not you. That’s for fucking sure. 

By the time you crawl out of the shower, almost literally, you can smell coffee wafting in from the kitchen, and you think today might be the day you start drinking it…or pouring it into your eyeballs. You’d take caffeine through an IV drip just to shake the dead, limp feeling in all of your limbs right now. 

You know what else you hate? These wretched fucking stairs. 

“Need a hand?”

You lift your eyes to the angel at the bottom of the staircase and blink away real tears when you see Hoshi climbing the steps two at a time to get to you. It’s like he doesn’t even care that Cheol might bite his head off or something equally dumb and alpha male. Honestly, if that handsome motherfucker opens his mouth to spout ONE single complaint about Hoshi carrying you down the stairs, you might find the strength to jump down and strangle him yourself. 

“No offense?” Hoshi asks as you sprawl out against his back, holding as tightly as you possibly can, which is not that tight at all, but the guy’s got freak-strength, so you have faith in him.

“None,” you answer honestly, “Shoot.”

“You look like you lost a few rounds of fuck around and find out.”

You groan as he lowers you to the floor once you reach the garage. “Too right, Hosh, too right.”

“Now,” you look around, “Where in the fuck is Seungcheol?”

“In the office,” Jihoon offers freely, always ready and willing to stir the pot.

The office across the garage. So fucking far across the garage. “Fantastic.”

Hoshi tugs at your shirt when you try to hobble away. “Should I clear the floor?”

You laugh, and even that hurts. “No,” you shake your head, “We need all the adult supervision we can get. Being left alone is the reason I look like this.”

Ignoring the ache between your legs, not the good kind, you wobble toward the office, flipping Mingyu and Joshua off along the way. Their amusement is shared, though where you see pity in the former’s eyes, there is nothing but appreciation for the craft in the latter’s. 

Seungcheol is bad. Joshua is worse. 

Through the blinds, you can see Cheol seated with Wonwoo, Minghao, Jun, and Jeonghan, but they look like they’re finished with whatever business they’d been handling and were now just sitting around shooting the shit. Good. 

You throw open the door, and it hits the wall with a loud crack. Yet no one bats an eye.

“Baby sister,” Jeonghan greets you with a crooked grin.

“Big brother,” you return with much less enthusiasm. “Wonu, Hao, Jun…a pleasure.”

Then your eyes land on the person you came hunting for. “Seungcheol.”

“Morning, beautiful.” His grin is amused, and your eye roll threatens an impending migraine.

Minghao snorts and stands to leave with Jun, who is right behind him. They reach the door, and you slowly step aside, barely concealing a grunt. Jun squishes your cheeks, very cautiously, and offers a small smile. “I’ll make some tea. The really fancy kind.”

You nod appreciatively, and he disappears out the door without another sound. Minghao takes one good look at you, pats your head gently, and then turns to shake his head at Cheol before he’s gone too.

Wonwoo yawns and stands with his phone in hand. Not because he feels awkward sticking around; if anything, he’s the king of poking the hornet’s nest and watching chaos unfold. It’s simply lunchtime. He looks up at you, ignoring the other two. “I’m feeding you. Chinese?”

“The usual.”

He nods and ruffles your hair on the way out.

“So, do I even want to know?”

You look at Jeonghan and offer a flat smile. “Highly doubt it.”

He scoffs and turns to his best friend. “That’s my sister, asshole.”

Seungcheol just laughs. If Jeonghan were mad, he’d know it because he’d have a knife sticking out of his chest. “Your sister is a monster and got what she deserved.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.” Jeonghan grins and then turns to you, looking more serious for your benefit, and he whispers, “Want me to kill him?”

You wave him off. “Not today.”

“Well,” Jeonghan stretches his back and eyes the exit, “Some other time then.”

He winks, and Cheol winks back, and you roll your eyes again, waiting for him to drag his lanky ass out the door before you’re kicking it shut and locking the door behind him. You draw the blinds for good measure, and when you focus on your boyfriend, he opens his arms.

Finally.

When you cross the short distance and crawl into his lap, all petty frustration melts away. He can bear-hug any negative emotion right out of you, and right now is no different. Well, you’re still feeling whiny and a little needy, but that’s better than annoyed and irrational.

“I was lonely,” you mumble, face buried in his neck. “You didn’t even wake me up before you left.”

Seungcheol laughs and kisses your hair. “I did wake you up. There were words and kissing, and then you started snoring again. I had to come down about an hour ago and was about to head back up to check on you.”

Well, damn. All this work for nothing. You could have just stayed in bed ten minutes longer.

“Always gotta do things the hard way,” he smirks. 

You pick your head up and pinch his cheek. He’s so fucking handsome and lucky for it. Seungcheol gets away with everything under the sun with you. Mostly because he is the love of your life, but also because of the dimples. Those work wonders. 

“I’ll ignore that for now,” you vaguely threaten him. “Everything good?”

He knows you mean whatever he was talking about with the others before you got down here, and he sighs. So, not great but not the worst. “Hit me.”

“Everything is fine…for now. It’s not even an issue on our turf, but I have a feeling it could become one. Remember the crew Mingyu got mixed up with in the racing circuit?”

“Yeah…” you murmur in surprise, “Of course…”

Everyone remembered, but no one spoke about it…about her. 

The only girl Mingyu has ever loved.

“Minghao caught wind of some rumors. I think there is trouble headed their way, but we’re not exactly on…good terms. I don’t think they’d trust us if we try to warn them.”

“You have to tell Mingyu,” you blink at him seriously. “Whether he decides to help or let them burn for all the hell he’s gone through…it needs to be his choice.”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol sits straighter, adjusting you in his arms. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of what he’ll choose.”

“He’s getting involved…so we’re getting involved,” you echo his thoughts, and he nods. 

You realize, selfishly, you hadn’t noticed how tired he looked until now. When you run your fingers through his hair, he lets his head fall forward until he hits your chest. Silence wraps around you both like a blanket. He draws comfort from you, tightening his arms and taking a deep breath. For all the strength and confidence he shows as a leader, you get the softest, most vulnerable sides of him.

“He’s going to be ok,” you whisper, picking his head up and cupping his face in your hands. “We’re going to be ok. One step at a time.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” he sighs, nipping at your thumb, “I think it’s time to pull you out of the game, baby. You can be our therapist instead.”

“Fat fucking chance,” you chuckle, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Stop trying to bench me. I’m good at my job and also the least qualified person in the garage for that position.”

Seuncheol scoffs in amusement. “Jeonghan is a worse choice by far.”

He steals a kiss, and then another, and another, and you’re pretty sure you know where this is headed. Cheol proves you right when he stands with you in his arms, and you quickly, carefully, wrap your legs around his waist. “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs.”

“Already? Wonu just ordered lunch.”

Seungcheol grins, “I’ll feed you in bed.”

Despite your exhaustion, your body responds in kind, and there is really no stopping it. There is also no stopping the next words out of your mouth, either, and you know you’re really in for it the moment the phrase feathers out against the shell of his ear.

“Whatever you say, daddy.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: I thought this was a good opportunity to introduce the next part of this series :) Stay tuned for Mingyu in "Burnouts" <3

Thanks for reading! 💖

SVT M.List | Main M.List

When you hang up the phone, mid-sentence, it takes everything in you not to turn and drive your fist through the wall. All the pretty promises and apologies…you knew they were empty. You knew he would disappoint you yet again. You’re more angry with yourself for being stupid enough to hope he’d come through for once but instead of being here with you and your friends, trying to work shit out, he’s running with his new crew. 

Things were always tumultuous with Jae and never going to work out, which you knew very early on, but you just loathe being wrong when you give someone a chance. It was a fool’s hope to think he might turn it around and make you feel better about letting him into your life to begin with.

The truth of the matter was that Jae just wanted to be a part of your crew and when they refused to let him in, he went and found another and tried to drag you along with him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d leave them, your family, but you tried to make things work and it bit you in the ass more times than you could count. 

You’re pissed as all hell when you slip back into the booth, right into Seungcheol’s side. He’s warm and familiar, and when his arm falls around your shoulder it tempers your rage just a touch. Another thing Jae couldn’t stand…how close the two of you were. 

Seungcheol has been by your side since you and your brother were kids. You three have been thick as thieves, literally, for so long that you were more comfortable with him than anyone else in the world. You loved, trusted, and respected Seungcheol to a fault. 

He also notoriously let’s you get away with pretty much everything. 

So, for no reason other than needing a distraction and hoping to get a rise out of him, you take the cold fresh beer he’s yet to touch right out of his hands and bring it to your lips. He makes an amused sound and pinches your shoulder where his hand rests. 

“That doesn’t belong to you,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t do anything to stop you from taking whatever you want.

You swallow another small mouthful and set the beer down, pushing it back into his grip. The little gasp of surprise you let out when his big hand catches around yours before you can let go of the glass makes Cheol grin which is an improvement from the scowl he’s been sporting for most of the night.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been so grumpy?” you ask, leaning into him so he can actually hear you over all the noise, “You only nurse a beer when you’re in a shit mood.”

He lets you pull your hand from the cold glass but doesn’t put any distance between your bodies, he lessens it instead. You’re so close that he doesn’t even need to speak loudly for you to hear him. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to me.” His deep rumbling voice can be felt this closely and the alcohol in the warmth of your belly feels fizzy.

“I’ve known you longer than anyone else here,” you reason, “You can’t hide anything from me.”

Seungcheol snickers, “Oh, I bet I could.”

You don’t get the chance to try and one up him because your phone buzzes incessantly in your lap. Pulling back, you both see who is calling and Seungcheol kisses his teeth in irritation. You silence the call, sending your ex to voicemail and you’re about to reach for your own drink but another incoming call prevents you.

“You want me to answer it?” 

Seungcheol’s tone is dangerous so you silence the call again and continue reaching for your glass. “He’ll give up.”

That isn’t typically the case but you're praying this once it is because you really don’t feel like dealing with Jae’s bullshit any more than you wish to handle a pissed off Seungcheol or get a lecture from your brother. Jeonghan, over-bearing and unhinged as he is, will talk you to death when you make a poor choice as if his entire lifestyle isn’t comprised of the ones he’s made. Better to keep him out of it too.  

Cheol will give you a piece of his mind but he’s more like your big, scary guard dog and even though you’re never on the receiving end, you know he’s got a nasty bite so you’d prefer to keep the leash short and not dangle bait before him. The last thing you need is Seungcheol winding up in a cell because of you…he toes that line enough as it is.

Unfortunately, nothing is going your way tonight and your phone lights up again. Normally you’d leave it alone but another part of you, one far and detached from who is calling, still fears the guilt of missing back-to-back calls heavens forbid something has happened.

It’s the only reason you’re answering, shouting over the noise, “You’d better be dying. What the hell do you want?”

“Baby, I just need to talk to you and you’re ignoring me,” he whines back and bile gathers at the base of your throat, “I already said I was sorry! Your friends don’t even like me so I don’t know why you asked me to come. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“You’re not good enough for me,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, beyond caring about his feelings at this point, “You’ve proved that time and time again and I don’t need them to tell me what I already know. I’m busy. Don’t call me again.”

“Wait, wait!” he calls out to you desperately - it makes your skin crawl, “I’ll come pick you up, sweetheart. I’ll take you somewhere real nice, just us two, ok? You just stay there and I’ll come get you.”

Your face bunches up incredulously, “Don’t bother showing up now! The olive branch I extended by inviting you tonight no longer exists. I don’t want you here and I’m definitely not going anywhere just the two of us. I’m with my crew and you’re with yours,” you argue back, “That’s what you chose, so that’s what you get.”

There is silence on the end of the line and then laughter. 

“You’re lucky you’re hot because it’s a distraction from how fucking crazy you are! I swear to god, you’re just trying to piss me off so I’ll pay more attention to you! Is that what you want? Want me to drop everything to be with you? Like you don’t get enough fucking attentio-”

“Hang up,” comes a growl from your left and when you look over, Seungcheol is seething.

You don’t waste another breath except to say, “Don’t call me again,” before disconnecting..

As you tuck your phone back between your thighs you accidentally meet Jeonghan’s gaze from across the table. His eyes flick between you just having ended another call and Seungcheol who looks like he might shatter the glass in his hand at any given moment. He raises a brow, his silent way of asking if everything is okay and you wink back like it’s totally fine. No worries. Not a thing wrong or out of place. 

Which, it probably would have been if your phone hadn’t vibrated again a minute later. 

It’s just the one time so you thought it was a fluke, a misdial,  but then it buzzes again….and again. Then it’s a continually buzzing stream of new alerts so you pull your phone out and find sixteen unread messages. You don’t even bother reading them and shove the phone back between your thighs. Just. Shut. Up.

Minutes pass and you’re trying really hard to enjoy Chan’s little impromptu performance at the bar, and it sounds lovely, truly, but it’s difficult to focus on anything at all between your efforts to internally process your ex’s fucking audacity and to ignore furious heat rolling off Seungcheol’s body still so close to your own.. 

He’s wholly enraged and you can feel it.

There is maybe a solid seven minutes where your phone sits silently and you’re about to turn to speak to Jihoon and then…another text comes through. Seungcheol’s patience finally wears through and he plucks it from between your thighs before you can react. You watch quietly, not bothering to argue with him as he forces a shut down before pocketing it inside his jacket. 

You still stare at him like some admonished teenager and he stares back with a small smirk, daring you to say something. He’s not doing it to punish you - that’s the reason you don’t push back - he’s going to make sure you enjoy the night just like everyone else. He knows it’s not going to happen if you’re glued to your phone and so do you. 

Narrowing your eyes, you smirk back. “You’re giving that back later, right?”

His answering grin is troubling. “I might make you earn it.”

You toy with the idea of asking how but that line of thought is mercifully interrupted by a round of shots for the whole table being delivered and passed around. You had to wait the additional four minutes of having to sit through Hoshi giving an impromptu speech that almost dissolves to tears because he’s probably (definitely) two shots too deep and then it’s back to chaos and you’re finally free to be a part of it.

Your mood lifts tremendously over the next hour so being present in the moment with the people you love. Hao’s girlfriend Jessie passes you a sticker sheet with little glittery hearts and stars which end up all over the bar, in joshua’s hair, the tip of Jun’s nose, the bathroom walls, and some litter the dance floor. Woozi steals a couple for the back of his phone case and when you run out she supplies you with temporary tattoos. Almost everyone has at least two imprinted on their skin by the time those are run through.

When your hands are empty and your drinks all run dry, an old country western song crackles over the speakers and suddenly you’re being dragged out onto the floor by Mingyu who is hell bent on trying to replicate some old line dance you’re sure he’s fabricated in his foggy mind. Something about heels and toes, and being swung around your partner - it’s fun and somewhat terrifying when he’s nearly lifting you off the ground mid-spin. 

It’s not his fault that he’s got long legs and two left feet when he drinks so it’s mostly the two of you skipping in circles, laughing and completely out of breath, but it’s a blast. 

And then you catch something out of the corner of your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks. Mingyu doesn’t even notice that you’ve stopped until he trips over your foot, looking down at you in confusion. “You givin’ up on me?”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” 

The voice comes from Joshua in the corner, which means somehow word spread about tonight’s falling out without you knowing, and now everyone is looking at your ex, boldly and moronically standing a few feet away from you which is several feet too close for their liking. Unsurprisingly, it’s Hoshi who’s already in his face, smiling in the most menacing fashion. “This is a private event so unfortunately for you, you’ll have to fuck off.”

Jae scoffs aloud, “I don’t give a shit about your party.”

Then his scowl twists into a smirk but it’s cruel and mirthless, his eyes falling on you and Mingyu who had at some point out of habit placed his body just in front of your own.

“I came for my girl but it looks like she’s already moved on for the night, throwing herself at one of you sorry assholes because I couldn’t make time for her. Typical.”

Mingyu anticipates you trying to step around him and quickly catches you around the waist to hold you back at the same time that Seokmin stands from his chair so quickly it falls backwards and lands with a loud clatter. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he warns menacingly. 

“Watch my mouth? I’m just pointing out that facts. I should have known that’s why she suddenly didn’t want me here,” he goes on like every pair of eyes on him aren’t glaring daggers, “Would have ruined her plans to get shit-faced and open her legs for whichever one of you looked at her first.”

Jeonghan hurls himself at Jae with an opened switchblade in his hand but, thankfully, Joshua and Jihoon catch him first, and the bastard laughs knowing none of them would let Jeonghan get close enough to do something stupid. Not with witnesses around anyway.

Jae tilts his head, speaking directly to Jeonghan with his hands in his pockets and condescention dripping from his tongue, “You’re her big brother,” he pouts, just pouring salt in the wound, “You’re really just going to sit back and allow all your friends to take turns with your little sister? The crew’s designated whor-”

He barely forms a smirk before Seungcheol appears out of nowhere and suckerpunches him in the mouth so hard the crack is audible throughout the bar. Unfortunately for Jae, he’s still conscious when he hits the ground, broken teeth and blood pouring from his maw as he screams in excruciating pain. You’re sure his jaw is broken and you’re glad. 

Absolutely no one moves to help him. Hardly even bats an eye.

Then, Seungcheol draws his leg back and kicks Jae in the stomach which means he’s not done and after what your ex just said…you’re not sure anyone in your crew will step in to stop him. You move instantly, pulling yourself out of Mingyu’s protective grip to push your way to the front where you’re relieved to see Vernon already attempting to pull his friend away and he does but not before your ex’s hand is crushed under the sole of Seungcheol’s boot and the screaming starts anew. 

When you reach them, you immediately put yourself in the middle without hesitation, both hands against Seungcheol’s chest in an effort to calm him down before he loses it completely. One of his hands is still clenched at his side and you’re trying desperately to get him to look down at you. He doesn’t but his other hand comes up to sit at your hip and that’s enough of an acknowledgement that you relax, just slightly. 

You turn just your head to look down at Jae who’s never looked more pitiful. Covered in blood, dirt, snot, and tears. 

Seungcheol glares over your shoulder at the broken man on the floor, his arm now firmly seated around your body in a possessive display as he growls, “Always running your fucking mouth,” then he nods in your brother’s direction, “I should let him cut your tongue out.”

Jeonghan’s knife spins dangerously between his deft fingers like he’s itching to use it. 

He’s no longer restrained, nearly deranged, and begins stalking toward your ex who flinches away and frantically shakes his head, unable to speak with his mangled mouth. Your voice cuts clear into the charged air. “Jeonghan,” you call out and your brother stops mid-step to look up at you patiently. You shake your head at him and he concedes but the fire in his eyes is palpable. 

He smiles down at Jae, voice lilting and deadly. “You’re safe…for now,” he tilts his head, crouching down to get closer, “And don’t bother running back to your crew for help or hope for some form of retaliation,” He pauses, covering his mouth with his knife, giggling with feral delight dancing in his eyes, “I bet you didn’t tell them where you were going or who you were fucking with because they never would have let you come and I can only imagine how pissed they’re going to be when they find out.”

Jae’s brows furrow indicating his confusion and Jeonghan laughs again, wiggling his long fingers, tapping them with the point of his blade. “How do you think your ring leader lost two fingers on his right hand? That pretty scar down the side of his face? It was an improvement if you ask me,” he croons and Jae’s eyes widen with renewed horror, “Loyal little lap dog ever since and hilariously, still harboring a rather sweet crush on my darling sister. Small world, huh? We’ll be sure to let him know how you feel about her and who’s responsible for,” he waves his hand with an air of distaste, gesturing to Jae, “This.”

When Jeongan stands again, his smile falls flat and you turn your head quickly, tucking it into Cheol’s chest when you hear the crunch and subsequent thud as your brother stomps and knocks Jae out cold. It’s cruel, perhaps, but now knowing who exactly he’s been working for, you’d consider this a mercy compared to wait awaits him.

Seungcheol lifts his chin with a silent order and Junhui and Mingyu are already stepping forward to haul Jae’s unconscious form out of the bar with Joshua leisurely striding behind them, Jae’s phone in hand. They’ll dump him outside, a few blocks away. He’s lucky they’re not animals - Josh will use Jae’s phone to deliver a personal message to his crew but beyond that, he’s no longer your crew’s problem. Retaliation isn’t even a concern in this situation.

The atmosphere is obviously soured and you can still feel the rage swirling in the air. There isn’t a single member of your crew who wouldn’t have loved a turn. Even Minghao, calm and even, the most level-headed in situations like this has a particular air of cruelty about him in the moment and Jessie at his side tucks away a glittering pair of brass knuckles. You don’t have to glance around to they are waiting for an order and Cheol still has his eyes focused on the door. There are also a few patrons who are not associated with your crew, the kind who know when to mind their business, but even they seem to be waiting to be told what to do next.

So, you clear your throat and try to paint on a pretty smile.

“Pardon the interuption,” you sigh, each head in the room swiveling in your direction, “Turn the music up and order another round for the whole bar,” you glance up to find Seuncheol already looking down at you and you pat his chest, “Drinks are still on the big guy so you’d better take advantage while he’s still feeling generous.”

Thankfully, its enough to get everyone moving again, your crew falling right back into the party swing as if nothing happened. It was so easy for them to flip the switch sometimes. From volatile back to joyous - back to shots, and karaoke, and dancing. 

Seungcheol was still furious though. He doesn’t bounce back nearly as fast.

“Why don’t we take a walk out back?”

He doesn’t budge for a moment and you say his name a little more firmly this time to which he reponds, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

No one asks questions or follows the two of you when he takes your hand and leads you out the back and into the crisp night air. It’s dark but the moon etches just enough light that you can still see each other easily. Seungcheol’s shoulders are tense and you watch his fists clench and unfurl methodically. They’re also red and angry after making direct contact with Jae’s teeth. The thought makes your gut roil.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you lightly grumble, “You can’t go around hospitalizing every asshole that is mean to me.”

Nothing at first and then there’s a little huff of laughter. “I can absolutely do just that, or worse. Besides, I only hit him once.”

“You broke his jaw…and probably a few ribs with that kick,” you sigh and lean back against the building, glancing up at the sky. “My point is that I know you can but that doesn’t mean you should. If you get arrested, who’s gonna take care of me?”

He smirks. “Spoiled.”

“Your fault,” you roll your eyes and really look at him. “I didn’t know he was working for Kaito, obviously. You know I would’ve cut him off completely If I had.”

“I didn’t know either,” he admits, shrugging off your surprise, “Jeonghan must have found out and kept it to himself. You know how he likes to hold onto things until its useful. Your brother is kind of a sadistic asshole sometimes.”

“Hannie is just eccentric and has weird hobbies,” you counter with a small grin, “Besides, he’s your best friend so think about what that says about you.”

He just winks in response. It’s maddening and attractive, per usual. 

“Mhm,” you hum quietly, pleased to watch him unwind in front of you, because of you. “I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood,” you tease him, “I thought for a few that you might have been mad at me.”

Cheol lets out a long sigh and digs his hands into his pockets. “I’m never mad at you.”

You cross your arms and quirk a brow at him, “That’s a blatant lie and you know it. I can’t even count how many times you’ve chewed my ass out for one thing or another.”

“The handful of times that I have yelled at you came directly after you did something dangerous,” he argues back with a short laugh, “Calling your ex, that fucker in particular, makes me question your judgement and maybe your sanity, but it’s not a reason for me to be mad at you. If anything it’s mild frustration.”

You narrow your eyes at him. It’s more than mild. “Say what you need to say, Cheol.”

He squares his shoulders, face serious much like his tone. “You’re too smart to keep choosing assholes that let you down over and over again. So, why do you do it?”

You purse your lips. “Touche,” he’s not wrong, “I am self aware enough to admit my track record is shit but there is not a lot to work with. It’s not as though our dating pool is stellar, Cheol. We’re lowlifes…we associates with other lowlifes. Nice boys like girls like me until they realize I’m not worth the trouble.”

He sputters out a laugh and steps closer, just enough to lower his voice in the echoing alley way. A touch closer and you could probably steal a little body heat you’re starting to wish for. “You are the trouble,” his eyes sparkle when he says it, like its a compliment, “Nice boys too soft for you anyway and we’re not lowlifes…we just live a little differently. You can do better,” he smirks when you roll your eyes again, “You can…you just don’t.”

You uncross your arms and spread them out before you. “Oh, any suggestions? I forgot you were a dating expert-” then you break into a laugh and Cheol is throwing his head back, knowing what’s coming. “Oh, wait! I forgot. You’ve not had a girlfriend in what? Five years? Eight?”