mellow

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.

“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.

The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.

His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.

You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.

His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.

The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.

He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.

Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.

And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”

“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.

“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.

As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.

“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.

He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.

“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”

You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.

Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”

“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”

He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.

“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.

He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”

He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.

“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”

And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.

The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.

You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.

“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”

Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.

You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.

He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.

“What?” you demand through your own smile.

“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.

“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.

He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.

“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.

You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.

He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.

You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.

His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”

“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.

He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”

“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”

He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.

You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.

“Please move,” you beg, needing more.

“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”

The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.

A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.

“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.

“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”

You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”

He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.

“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"

Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.

When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 

“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”

“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”

you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.

you’d been on dates.

enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.

enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.

enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.

you’d slept with some of them, too.

sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.

you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.

you just didn’t have it in you anymore.

the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.

so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.

you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.

you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.

maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.

being alone didn’t scare you.

what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.

every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.

it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.

you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.

tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.

your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.

you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.

until it buzzed again. then again. and again.

you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.

mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.

“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.

“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.

you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”

fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.

“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.

“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”

a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”

you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”

“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.

your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”

despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”

the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.

“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”

“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.

“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.

his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”

the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.

his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.

“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”

“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.

his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.

“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.

“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”

your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”

“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.

you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.

“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.

you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”

“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.

“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.

“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”

“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”

“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”

you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”

his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”

you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”

“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”

“that was emotional,” you defended.

“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”

“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.

“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”

you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”

his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”

he ended the call before you could get another word in.

you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.

your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.

eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.

you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.

the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.

you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.

you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.

the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.

piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.

none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.

you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.

you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.

you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.

you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.

it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.

the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”

you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”

“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”

he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.

it was just shoes. nothing more.

except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.

the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.

you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.

with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”

“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.

he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”

he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.

“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”

“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.

he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”

“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”

“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”

“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”

he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.

there was no hesitation. no second thought.

only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.

if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.

yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.

he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.

without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.

he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.

you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.

the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.

every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.

before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.

he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.

he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.

it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.

yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.

you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.

your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.

your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.

it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.

he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.

when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.

the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.

a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.

a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.

there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.

too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.

you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.

the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.

most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.

with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.

something in you gave way the longer you watched him.

it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.

suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.

you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.

the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.

by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.

“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”

you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.

he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”

“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.

he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”

your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”

your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.

he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.

the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.

you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.

“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”

you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.

he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.

you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”

your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”

“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”

“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.

“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.

your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.

“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.

“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.

your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”

mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.

you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.

the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.

even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.

you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.

without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.

you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.

every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.

your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”

“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.

“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”

he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”

your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”

“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”

you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.

your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.

by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.

his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.

“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.

“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”

you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”

he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”

“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”

he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”

“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”

he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”

“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”

he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.

at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”

he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”

“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”

his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”

“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”

your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”

his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”

you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”

he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.

he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.

“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.

“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”

his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.

you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”

he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”

you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.

“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.

he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”

“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”

his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.

“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”

“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.

he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.

you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”

he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.

your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.

the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.

you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.

he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.

the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.

your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.

your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.

the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.

the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.

every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.

his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.

a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.

the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.

you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.

he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.

his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.

the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.

the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.

his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.

every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.

his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.

his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.

his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.

the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.

“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”

your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.

you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.

“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”

his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.

“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”

the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.

his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.

your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.

he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.

your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.

he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”

“still with you,” you whispered.

he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.

he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.

his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.

he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.

the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.

“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”

your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.

his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.

his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.

his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.

he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.

he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.

your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.

his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.

you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.

he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.

your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.

your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.

“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”

you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”

his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”

you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”

he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”

you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”

his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”

he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.

his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.

his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.

you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.

“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.

your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.

“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”

his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.

his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.

he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.

he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.

he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.

“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.

his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.

the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.

every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.

his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.

his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.

“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”

his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.

your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.

“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”

your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”

he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”

the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.

“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”

his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.

“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”

instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.

“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”

“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.

he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.

“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”

your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.

“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.

his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.

“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.

he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”

you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.

“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”

his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.

the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.

his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.

he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.

he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.

each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.

your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.

“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”

your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.

he didn’t let you finish it.

his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.

the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.

your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.

he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.

the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.

your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.

he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.

heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.

you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.

“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”

he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.

he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.

your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”

another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.

pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”

your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.

his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.

“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.

he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”

your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.

when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.

your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.

your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.

each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.

by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.

his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”

a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”

his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.

“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”

he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”

his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.

what began tender turned restless in seconds.

his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.

his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.

it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.

a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.

you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.

“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”

“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.

you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.

he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.

“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.

your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.

heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”

“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”

a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.

your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.

“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.

as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.

before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.

“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”

you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”

his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.

“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.

“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”

he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.

a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.

“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”

he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.

his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.

“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”

your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.

his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”

your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”

he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”

he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.

the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.

after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.

“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.

your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”

he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.

“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”

your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.

“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.

he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.

“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”

your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.

the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.

he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”

he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”

“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”

desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.

you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.

he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.

his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.

“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.

your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.

his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.

your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”

the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.

he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.

“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.

“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”

his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.

“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”

your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.

“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”

your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”

“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.

“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”

his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”

you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”

“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”

your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.

he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.

there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.

when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice.

he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.

his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.

“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”

your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.

he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.

the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.

by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.

the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.

at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.

you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.

sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.

a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.

sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.

your heart sank.

what if this was that moment?

what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?

what if you’d just ruined everything?

before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.

“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.

you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.

his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.

your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”

you tried to smile, but it wavered.

“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”

a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.

he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”

his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.

you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.

no one had ever done this for you before.

the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.

but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.

“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”

he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.

he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.

as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.

he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.

“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.

you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.

you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”

your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”

you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”

the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.

“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”

you froze, but he continued nonetheless.

“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”

“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.

his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”

“gyu…” you whispered.

he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.

“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.

his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.

“how easy you are to love.”

you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.

“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”

your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.

“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”

he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”

you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”

“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”

tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”

“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”

he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”

his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”

“I love you, babe,” she said finally, setting the mug aside. “But how long are you going to keep torturing yourself like this? Why not just talk to him properly?”

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, the scent of fabric softener and Ella’s perfume clinging to the sheets. It should have been comforting, this safe space she’d carved out for you these past few days, but the quiet ache in your chest hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had spread.

You hadn’t been home. You hadn’t been to work. You’d called in sick, and it hadn’t even been a lie, you did feel sick, hollowed out and restless, like you couldn’t keep your body and your heart in the same place anymore.

Jungkook had become such a big part of your life, his presence wound through your routines until the absence of him was everywhere. His laugh when he teased you, the weight of his hand on your back, Danbi’s shy glances that had only just started to soften. You missed all of it so deeply it made your skin ache. And yet, what could you do?

You pushed yourself upright, the weight in your limbs heavy, and muttered, “You were right. Maybe I’m just too immature for a relationship that comes with this kind of baggage.” You dragged yourself toward the bathroom, bare feet silent against the floor. “Maybe I should have stayed with someone my own age, with problems like… like him liking other girls’ photos on Instagram, not…this.”

Ella’s voice cracked like a whip behind you. “What’s that bullshit? I never said that!”

You froze at the doorframe, staring at your reflection, pale and drawn. “You did,” you pressed, your voice sharper than you meant. “And you were right! Because how could I ever compete with the mother of his daughter? With her?”

The words scraped your throat raw. But remembering Danbi was worse.

The way her small voice had called your name, the way her eyes had lit up that morning at the piano, the way she had whispered don’t leave. You’d let her down, a child who had finally decided to trust you. You had walked away, and she would never understand why.

And that thought was what broke you most.

Ella leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees, her eyes sharper than you’d seen them in days. “You think walking away fixed anything? You think hiding here makes you noble? No, Y/N. You’re running. And while you’re curled up in my bed crying, he’s fighting alone. And that little girl…she’s waiting for you.”

You turned, stung by the truth laced through every word, but the panic rushed in faster. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be the reason she loses her family. I can’t stand there while Astra looks at me like I’m in her place. What if I am, Ella? What if I’m splitting a family in two just because I wanted him?”

Her mouth fell open, disbelief flashing across her face before it hardened into fire. “Splitting a family? Babe, it was already split before you. Don’t twist it into some guilt badge you can wear so you don’t have to fight.”

You shook your head, the tears hot again. “But she’s the mother. She’ll always be the mother.”

Ella’s voice softened, but her conviction didn’t falter. “And what are you, then? Just some visitor? No. You’re the woman he loves. You’re the one Danbi opened her heart to after years of silence. That’s not splitting a family, Y/N.”

Her words lodged deep, but fear still clawed at you, the thought of Astra’s threats, of courtrooms and custody battles, of Jungkook’s face if he ever lost his daughter. It all pressed so heavy you could barely breathe.

And yet, a part of you knew Ella was right — hiding hadn’t saved anyone.

The bell rang through Ella’s apartment, sharp and unexpected, making you jolt from your place on the bed. You frowned, confused, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as if it might shield you from the world outside. Ella glanced at you, her expression shifting in a way you didn’t quite understand.

“Sorry, babe,” she murmured, already standing, smoothing her hair back like she’d been preparing for this. “But someone had to help you.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice hoarse, but she only shook her head and walked toward the door.

The sound of the lock sliding open echoed too loudly, and when the door swung wide, your breath caught in your throat. Because it was him. Jungkook.

Again. Just like that night.

He filled the doorway, broad shoulders tense, eyes sweeping past Ella to land on you. Your whole body went rigid, startled, your pulse racing so fast you almost thought you might faint.

Ella stepped aside silently, lips pressed together, giving him space.

Jungkook crossed the threshold slowly, his steps quiet but certain. He didn’t shout, didn’t accuse, didn’t plead. He just came to stand before you, his gaze steady, his voice low and quiet as he said, “It’s time to go home.”

The tenderness in his eyes gutted you. All the walls you’d built up, all the justifications and excuses, trembled under the weight of it. You wanted to cry, to collapse into his chest, to let him carry you back into the life you’d left behind.

But you shook your head, tears already stinging hot at the corners of your eyes. “No. My home… it’s somewhere else. Not where your family is. Not with all of this.”

The words hurt as you said them, slicing through you as if you were punishing yourself. Because the truth was, you didn’t believe them. Your heart was with him, with Danbi. But you hated the thought of dragging him deeper into chaos, hated knowing that while he was already drowning under Astra’s threats and the weight of the custody fight, you were only another complication.

Your voice cracked. “I’m only adding to your problems, Jungkook. You’re already struggling with all of this, and now… now you’ve got me on top of it.”

His eyes softened even more, though his jaw tightened like he was fighting to hold something back.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked once toward Ella, who stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching like she’d been waiting for this moment all along. Then his gaze came back to you, filled with a kind of resolve that left no room for argument.

Before you could take another step back, his arms were around you. In one smooth motion, he hoisted you up onto his shoulder as if you weighed nothing, your gasp catching in your throat.

“Jungkook!” you squealed, pounding a fist against his back, your legs kicking in protest. “Put me down, what are you doing?!”

But he didn’t falter, his grip strong and sure, his stride steady as he carried you through Ella’s apartment. You felt your heart racing, your face hot with a mixture of anger and disbelief, but over it all was the steady rumble of his voice, low and certain, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“You’re going home,” he said. “Our home.”

Your protests tumbled from your lips, but he didn’t respond. Every step echoed with his decision, every beat of your racing heart syncing with the quiet finality of his words.

And as the door shut behind you, you heard Ella’s laugh ringing through the hallway, warm and victorious. “Finally!”

By the time Jungkook reached the car, your fists had stilled, your voice caught somewhere between fury and something dangerously close to hope.

Because no matter how much you protested, the truth was, you didn’t want him to let go.

You refused to look at him in the car, your arms crossed tight over your chest, your gaze locked stubbornly on the blur of city lights beyond the window. 

Every time he opened his mouth, you cut him off with silence, and eventually he gave in, jaw clenched, driving the rest of the way without another word. The quiet between you was heavy, so heavy it pressed against your ribs until you could hardly breathe.

By the time you pulled into the garage, your heart felt raw, frayed from everything unspoken. Jungkook parked, got out, and came around to open your door for you, the gentleman even now, when you sat there in nothing but your pajamas, cheeks tear-stained, body trembling with the weight of it all. 

You stepped out slowly, trailing him upstairs until the lock clicked behind you and the warmth of the apartment enveloped you like a blanket you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. The air smelled faintly of home: his cologne, Danbi’s crayons.

It almost hurt, how welcome it felt.

“Y/N,” Jungkook said, his tone steady but serious, and you turned to see him standing there in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on you with a weight that rooted you to the floor. “What was that again?”

You weren’t ready for this. Your heart stuttered as you scrambled for words. 

“Jungkook, let’s be honest. You’ve got some… unresolved things. And that’s fine, I get it, we all do. But this,” your throat tightened, “this is your family. That’s not something I can fight with.”

His brow furrowed, his gaze sharper now, voice cutting through your excuses. “Why are you talking like you’re not part of it?”

The question froze you where you stood. 

You opened your mouth, hesitated, and then blurted, “Because I’m not! Jungkook, that’s your ex-wife we’re talking about. That’s Danbi’s mother. She’ll always be tied to you in ways I can’t touch.”

He exhaled, slow and deep, then shook his head. 

“I know who she is. I know exactly what she is. She’s my past, Y/N. And yeah, it sucks that I’m dragging you into this mess… but that’s what it is. It’s my past.” 

He stepped closer, his voice softening, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t deserve this, I know that. I wish our relationship didn’t come with battles like this. But I’m not the same man I was a year ago. I won’t let what’s behind me be an obstacle to what’s ahead of us. I won’t give up on us.”

Your throat burned, guilt curling sharp and cold in your chest. Because he meant every word, and still, you had walked away from him, not once but twice. He wasn’t giving up, even when you had tried to.

Your chest felt heavy, guilt gnawing at the edges as you met his steady gaze. 

“Do you even see the difference between us, Jungkook?” your voice cracked, trembling even as you tried to hold it steady. “You’re older, you’re wiser, you’ve lived through things I can’t even imagine. And me? I stumble, I panic, I run when things get hard. I left you, twice. How could I ever be enough for you when I can’t even stand the way you do?”

His brow furrowed, his hand reaching for yours.

 “Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Don’t tear yourself down like that. You think I’ve got it all figured out? I don’t. Half the time I’m just trying to keep my head above water, trying not to fall apart when I see Danbi struggling with communicating and not to blame myself for that, or when Astra pushes harder than I know how to fight. I make mistakes too. Plenty of them.”

You let out a laugh that was closer to a sob, shaking your head. “But you carry it, Jungkook. You take all of it: Danbi, the divorce, the custody, everything! And you still stand. I look at you, and I don’t know how I could ever measure up to that. How could I ever deserve someone like you.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance until you could feel the warmth of his body, his thumb brushing circles into your knuckles. 

His eyes softened, searching yours with that unbearable tenderness that always undid you. 

“You don’t need to be me. You don’t need to carry what I carry. You are enough because you’re you. Because I love you, because you care about Danbi, because you’ve given us something no one else could. That’s more than enough.”

Tears spilled hot and helpless down your cheeks, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. 

“I love you. God, I love you so much it terrifies me. And this feels like I am ruining everything you’d built, like I am stealing space that don’t belong to me. I thought you’d be better off without me, safer without me. But it’s only hurt more. Every day without you has hurt more.”

His hands framed your face then, grounding you, forcing you to look at him when all you wanted to do was hide. 

His voice trembled, but his conviction didn’t falter. “Better off without you?” he whispered, shaking his head. 

“No, Y/N. The only thing that destroys me is the thought of losing you. I don’t care what Astra does, I don’t care what fight I have to face. None of it matters if you’re not here.”

Your lips parted, a sob catching in your throat as you clung to his wrists, your tears wetting his thumbs. 

He leaned closer until his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and you felt his words before he spoke them. “I love you too. More than I ever thought I could.”

And his lips found yours. There was no rush, no urgency this time,  just the slow, deliberate press of his mouth, soft and unyielding, like he wanted to seal every word he’d spoken into you. 

You kissed him back through the blur of your tears, your fingers trembling as they slid into his hair, pulling him closer until you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

Jungkook lifted you carefully, as if you were something fragile, and carried you toward the bedroom. Every step was steady, every movement laced with reverence, his eyes never leaving yours even as he laid you down on the sheets. For a moment he only looked at you, his thumb brushing the tearstains from your cheeks, his lips curving into a smile that was achingly tender. 

“You don’t know what you mean to me,” he whispered, before leaning down to kiss you again.

The kiss deepened, slow and searching, his tongue stroking yours in languid motions that left you shivering. His hands slid over your sides, not greedy, but steady, grounding you in every touch. 

Clothes fell away one by one, not torn or frantic but eased off between kisses, every inch of bare skin revealed met with his lips, his hands, his quiet murmurs of love.

When he finally sank into you, it wasn’t rushed. He pushed deep in one long, measured thrust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath shuddering as though the closeness overwhelmed him as much as it did you. 

The stretch made you gasp, but his soft kiss caught the sound, his thumb stroking your cheek as if to soothe you from the inside out.

The rhythm he set was slow, deliberate, his hips rolling deep and steady with every stroke. Each movement was an affirmation, every thrust a quiet vow, and with each one you felt your walls dissolve further until there was nothing left but him.

“I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, over and over, like the words themselves were the only way to anchor you.

His answer came in ragged breaths, his lips tracing your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. “I love you more. I’m not letting go. Not again.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, the tears slipping hot down your cheeks even as you moaned at the intensity of it. The pleasure built slowly, coiling low in your belly.

When you finally came, it was with his name on your lips, your body arching into his as though you could merge into him completely. He followed soon after, burying himself to the hilt, his groan muffled against your neck as he spilled inside you.

***

Life didn’t change overnight, but it did begin to settle, like water finding its shape after a storm. 

You moved your things into Jungkook’s apartment: slowly at first, a drawer here, a shelf there, until one day there was no question left of whether you belonged. The space felt different with you in it, fuller, lighter, touched by details of you everywhere.

Danbi noticed too.

At first she only watched, wide-eyed and cautious, as you unpacked books onto the shelves or folded laundry beside Jungkook. But soon she was tugging at your sleeve, shyly asking if you’d play piano with her again, or slipping her small hand into yours when the three of you walked to the park. 

There were afternoons when Jungkook was buried in work, and you found yourself taking her out alone — to the café on the corner where she liked the muffins, or to the playground where she’d let herself laugh freely. Mira still came sometimes, but not always. More and more, Danbi reached for you.

Every evening ended the same way: Jungkook coming home, his face softening the moment he saw the two of you together, as if he couldn’t quite believe the picture in front of him was real. 

He’d kiss Danbi’s hair, kiss you right after, and whisper, “Home never looked like this before you.”

The custody threat was still there, heavy in the background, but not as sharp as it had once been. Astra had not vanished, she still called, still showed up with polished smiles and veiled jabs, but Jungkook was no longer afraid to meet her words head-on. 

He had lawyers now, plans, a spine of steel that didn’t bend when she pushed. And for the first time, he didn’t stand alone.

Because every time she tried to rattle him, she had to see you there too, beside him, and it was clear this wasn’t some fragile affair she could break with a threat. It was something stronger.

***

It was the first weekend in what felt like forever that you and Jungkook had let Mira take over. 

Danbi didn’t even fuss when you kissed her cheek goodbye, too busy showing Mira the new game she’d made you play with her the night before. 

And for the first time, you walked out of the apartment with Jungkook’s hand in yours and nothing else to worry about.

The city felt different without the weight of responsibility. You strolled aimlessly, stopping for coffee, teasing each other about the couples who passed by, sneaking kisses in shop doorways like teenagers. 

Jungkook laughed more freely, his hand resting low on your back, his eyes catching on you with a look of a man who finally had space to just love, without holding the world up at the same time.

The drive back was quiet, but not in the heavy way it had been before. This silence was charged, humming between the two of you, your fingers tangled with his on the console, your body still warm from the laughter and touches of the day. 

He looked unfairly good behind the wheel with one hand loose on the steering, his other resting over yours, the soft glow of streetlights painting his profile golden.

And somewhere between one red light and the next, desire tipped into you so suddenly it made you bold.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his jaw, the corner of his mouth curving when you kissed the place just beneath his ear.

“Pull over,” you whispered, your voice low, daring.

His eyes flicked to you, surprised, then back to the road. “What?”

“Pull over,” you repeated, a small smile tugging your lips. “I want you.”

For a second he didn’t move, and then you felt the shift of the car as he turned onto a quieter road, pulling into a secluded spot overlooking the city lights. He parked, engine still ticking faintly, the world hushed around you.

Before he could even ask, you were leaning over, tugging at his belt with impatient fingers. His breath caught, eyes widening. “Baby, what are you—”

“Shh,” you hushed, glancing up at him through your lashes, your voice sweet but heavy with want. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. Let me take care of you.”

Whatever protest he might have had died instantly, his chest heaving as you slid lower, settling between his legs. 

You worked him free, the weight of him heavy and hot in your hand, your mouth watering just at the sight. The first lick of your tongue made him curse under his breath, his hand flying to the wheel as if he needed something to hold onto.

You took him slowly, savoring his ragged breaths, the way his thighs tensed under your palms, before hollowing your cheeks and sliding deeper, taking him until his head dropped back against the seat.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he groaned, his hand sliding into your hair but not pulling, just holding, reverent. “So good. You’re so fucking good.”

Every sound he made, every shiver that ran through him only spurred you on.

When you finally pulled back for air, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he was already staring down at you like you’d just undone his entire world.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, his thumb brushing your swollen lips. “But fuck, don’t you dare stop.”

​​The more you worked him, the harder it became for him to stay still. His hand, which had only been resting in your hair, tightened, fingers curling until he had a firm hold on you. 

He groaned your name, his voice rough, as his hips rolled up into your mouth in small, desperate thrusts.

At first you let him guide you, savoring the way he tried to restrain himself, but when you moaned around him once again, the vibration making him curse, he lost it.

“Baby, fuck,” he growled, his grip tightening as he held you still, his cock sliding deeper down your throat. “Open up for me. Let me have it.”

Your eyes watered, your jaw aching, but the rush of him taking control, of the raw need pouring out of him, made your own body thrum with arousal. 

You dug your nails into his thighs, urging him on, and when he started to fuck into your mouth in long, hard strokes, you whimpered around him, dizzy on the taste and the sheer filth of it.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, watching you through half-lidded eyes, his abs tightening with every thrust. “Look at you, taking me so deep, fuck, you love this, don’t you? My good girl, letting me use your mouth like this.”

The praise made you clench your thighs together, moaning around him again, saliva spilling past your lips, dripping down your chin. You were a mess for him, and you couldn’t care less.

His thrusts grew sharper, more frantic, his free hand gripping the steering wheel like he needed the anchor. 

“I’m close—fuck, I’m gonna come—” he panted, and you hummed around him, your eyes locking with his as you let him use you, surrendering completely.

With a guttural groan, his hips stilled, burying himself deep as he spilled hot into your throat. You swallowed greedily, the taste of him flooding you as he held you there, trembling, his hand trembling in your hair.

When he finally let you go, you pulled back slowly, lips swollen, saliva and cum glistening at the corner of your mouth. You licked it off deliberately, watching the way his eyes darkened, his chest heaving as though you’d just wrecked him beyond repair.

“Fuck me,” he rasped, running a hand down his face, still dazed. 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, your chest still heaving as you climbed back into the seat properly. 

Jungkook was already reaching for you, pulling you in by the nape to kiss you gently, nothing like the way he had just taken you. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your swollen lips, his thumb brushing over your chin as though he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving a trace behind.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered against your skin, and this time the words weren’t rough but reverent, soft in a way that made your chest ache.

When he finally leaned back, he tucked you in close, buckling your seatbelt himself before climbing behind the wheel again. His hand immediately found your thigh, warm and steady, tracing lazy circles into your skin as if to remind you he was still there.

The engine hummed to life, and the car rolled back onto the road, the city lights flickering past. The silence was full, comfortable, wrapped around you like a blanket. You glanced at him, his hair messy, his lips still kiss-swollen, and felt the corners of your mouth curve without meaning to.

Jungkook noticed, his eyes flicking to yours before returning to the road. His thumb pressed a little firmer into your leg. “Almost home, baby.”

.

.

.

Lately, the two of them have been conversing more as she seeks his expertise in the classes he took the year before. He finds that she’s been texting him constantly, asking for his opinions on a fabric she’s choosing for her latest projects. 

Minghao isn’t a moron and he’s certainly not blind. He knows Insong is into him, but since she hasn’t explicitly made any moves on him, he’s not doing anything about it. He keeps his answers short, refraining from answering her when he’s in bed right next to you.

His girlfriend of three years. 

There is no one on planet Earth whom Minghao loves more than you. You’re his shining star, and he’s merely a planet, orbiting around you. His perfect match, his missing piece. The day he met you, he knew you were the one. There was something about the way you held yourself, bold and beautiful, that he knew he needed to be with you. 

Turns out the universe agreed. You both had so much in common- your desire to experiment in fashion, adding chains, mixed metals, furs, diamonds to what was once a simple piece. Your confidence entranced him; how you walked to class in unique outfits, with different hair colors, styles, and cuts. 

It took just one date for you to feel the same way. 

Now he has endless access to you. Your lips, your body, your mind, but most importantly, your heart. 

Insong places a hand on his shoulder, shooting Minghao a dimpled smile. Eyes peering down at her, he notes the half-empty glass in her other hand. 

“Hao, I don’t know how to say this, so I figured I should just tell you. I’m,” she pauses to look into his eyes. “I’m interested in you. Like, interested interested. You’re so hard to read, but I can’t wait any longer. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?” She bats her eyelashes, moving closer so that their chests are an inch apart. One more step and they’d be chest to chest. 

Minghao places his hand on top of Insong’s and softly lifts it away. “Insong, I’m very flattered. But, I’m not single.”

Insong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she opens and closes her mouth, clearly in shock.

“Oh, oh my gosh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Minghao. I just- I thought you were single. I, I just assumed you were single because you never show any girlfriend on Instagram. I should’ve never assumed, I should’ve asked the others,” Insong is blabbering now, and Minghao interrupts her with a soft hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about this. I promise this won’t change anything about our friendship,” he softly smiles, looking directly into her eyes. 

Insong flushes, still clearly embarrassed about her incorrect assumption. “Really?” she asks meekly. “Yeah, you’re fine. Here I’ll grab you another drink.” Minghao reaches behind him to hand her a cold can of beer. 

Insong meekly runs away after thanking him for the drink, not without throwing out a few more apologies.

Now alone, Minghao frowns. Did he really never post you on his Instagram? Minghao wasn’t one to share so much of his personal life on there, but if he could share selfies or mirror pics of himself, surely he had to have shared a pic of you. Right? 

His Instagram profile boasts one photo, a picture of himself at an art museum in graffiti-covered jeans that you gave him on his 24th birthday. He goes through the archive of his stories and finds it full of pictures of himself that you took, or pictures of his friends, or concerts, or parties. Not one clear, direct photo of you. His heart is pounding in his chest. There is no proof you exist in his life. The three years of love you’ve given him aren’t displayed on the platform that represents who he is to the people from all around his life. 

Desperate, Minghao approaches Joshua. “You know I have a girlfriend, right?” Confusion flashes across Joshua’s face. 

“What? No, you don’t.” Minghao’s face must be full of horror because Joshua pauses to think back to Minghao’s romantic history. 

“Oh, wait. Are you still with Y/N? I never knew if you guys were actually together?”

“We’ve been together for three years now,” Minghao says flatly. Joshua’s eyes widen. He drags Mingyu into the conversation. All Minghao hears is white noise as Mingyu also confesses he had no idea Minghao had been with you all this time. 

He’s spiraling. 

There was the time you went to one of these stupid parties with him, yet you spent the whole night apart with different friend groups. He never kisses you in public, always hating public displays of affection. He prefers to show you just how much he loves you in private, sensually pressing his lips against yours, making love to you over and over. 

There is no doubt that he shows you just how much he loves you. But he doesn’t show the world. 

Setting his drink down on the closest table, Minghao quickly waves his friends off, itching to get back home to be with you.

“You’re back early,” you say with a big stretch, clearly surprised that your boyfriend is back from a party before midnight. 

“Hey,” he greets you softly, immediately making a beeline towards your curled-up figure on the couch. You’re in a tiny black tank top, making it easier for him to touch every surface of your warm skin. After three years together, there is nothing your boyfriend can hide from you.

“What’s wrong, babe?” you ask, playing with the two silver hoops on his left ear.

“You remember Insong?”

“Yeah, the new grad student, right?”

“Well, she asked me out, but I told her I wasn’t single. And she said she didn’t know because I’ve never posted you on my Instagram,” he says, finally looking into your eyes to gauge your thoughts. 

“So you think I’m upset that you don’t post me on your Instagram?” Minghao nods, tightening his hold on your arms.

You break into a beautiful smile.

“My love, I don’t care about that. I love you, and you love me. Who cares?”

“But I do!” Minghao suddenly exclaims. “I care that no one knows I’ve been with you for three years, and there’s no proof. We go on so many dates and we take so many pictures, yet I never post any of them. I don’t share how much I love you. It feels like I’m hiding you or embarrassed by you, which I’m not. I feel like I’ve fucked up,” he says slumping back into the couch. 

Minghao grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest. 

“I love you, infinitely. I’m sorry I don’t say it louder,” he whispers in your ear. To seal the deal, he holds your chin between his thumb and index finger, staring deep into your eyes, lips ghosting yours. “I love you,” he says, sinking his tongue into your mouth. “I’m sorry.” Lips brush against your jaw, a big, strong hand wraps around the base of your throat. 

Arms encircle your waist, a cheek is pressed against your shoulder, a face buried in your neck. 

“You’re it for me,” he says softly, voice muffled.

You run your fingers through his long hair. Minghao loves experimenting with different hair colors. You’ve been with him when his hair was bleached blond in the fall, silver in the winter, caramel brown in the spring, red in the summer. Five more hair colors since then, and it’s now in its natural state. You’ve loved Minghao throughout all his hair phases, but you’ll always remember the Minghao you fell in love with three winters ago, when it was pitch black, just like how it is now.

“Babe, you’re it for me too,” you reply back with a big, beautiful smile. 

Minghao is looking at you with lidded eyes, and when he shrugs your tank top sleeve down your shoulder, he’s determined to show you just how much he loves you.

*xuminghao_o just posted a story

Eyebrow raised, you click on the story. 

It’s the mirror picture you took earlier today. Minghao’s chest was pressed against your back with his arms wrapped around your stomach. A kiss pressed to your cheek and a huge smile on your face. Much like the smile you were sporting right now. 

You’ve never been one to care what your boyfriend does or doesn’t post on his Instagram. But this picture on his story is evidence of your relationship. Evidence that he loves you enough to share you with everyone who follows him. 

The familiar nightmares return in full force. 

A voice calling you a bitch, a slut, a pathetic excuse of an omega. The hands that leave bruises in places that he knows you won’t show to outsiders. The demeaning comments. The constant surveillance and control of every little thing you do. But now all those terrible things come from a different source. Namjoon, Seokjin, Jungkook, all of the seven alphas you care for. You dream of their hands on you, beating you black and blue for all your wrongdoings. 

And still, you wake up with an apology on your lips.

You’re laid in fetal position, curled up as tightly as possible under a blanket that smells like Jungkook’s lilies. Your throat is scratchy and your eyes burn. You immediately glance around, relaxing when you realize both the bed—Namjoon’s bed—and the room are empty.

You wade through the makeshift nest the alphas made for you, which is more or less just an ocean of clothes, blankets, and pillows. You don’t have the habit of nesting, mostly because you’ve never had enough time or items to nest with. For you, a single blanket wrapped around you as tight as possible is enough security.

You take Jungkook’s blanket with you as you leave the room, staying wrapped up in it like you did with Hoseok’s earlier today, but the sentiment is completely different. Before, you wanted comfort. Now, you need it. 

The fight weighs on your mind, but the thought of Hoseok is even heavier. You imagine him alone in the basement, not knowing the outcome of the fight and all alone to deal with his rut. Your heart aches, wanting to go to him despite your better judgement. A part of you wants to go to him despite his refusal, wishing that his diminished resolve would mean he’d let you be with him for the entire cycle. But you know it’s wrong to use Hoseok’s altered state of mind against him, just like if you were to go into heat unexpectedly.

You sit at the base of the stairs, trying to take deep breaths. By now, it’s almost lunch time. You stare down the hallway, listening to the faint sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. It’s almost lunch time now, so you’re sure the rest of the pack (minus Hoseok) are all there. Your chest feels tight. Even the small things that felt homely and peaceful now feel so intimidating again. It’s like you’re back to square one, but it’s even worse now. You feel naked with your biggest secret exposed.

They won’t hurt me. You try to reason with yourself.

You don’t know that. Your omega returns. Alphas always hurt omegas.

You bury your face in your legs, losing the fight against the tears prickling your eyes. Even smart-mouthed, passionate Namjoon is just an alpha. Even cheeky, doting Seokjin is just an alpha. Even gentle, sparkly-eyed Jungkook. All just alphas. And you know what alphas do when they’re angry.

Soft footsteps approach you. You jolt, immediately turning away from the source and wiping your tears. The man leans in and sets something down beside you, then straightens up in your peripheral. Warily, you eye the item on your left. A glass of water.

“Drink it.” 

Jimin leans against the stair rails, looking down at you with his arms folded over his chest. His dark brown eyes swim with worry.

“What?” You ask, not bothering to hide your dejection. “Here to tell me ‘I told you so’?”

“I didn’t want this to happen.” Jimin says plainly. His shoulders are tight, giving away his own inner tension. “I was just afraid it would.”

“And now it has.” You sigh, then take a swig of the water. A long pause. Then: “Why did you tell him you knew?”

“Because it’s the truth.” Jimin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It doesn’t matter if it’s ugly or embarrassing. They deserve to know the truth.”

You take another long drink of water, until the glass is entirely empty. Physically, you feel much better. But you’re just as hollow on the inside. “What am I gonna do now? Where do I go?” You ask the glass cradled between your palms.

Jimin crouches in front of you, cupping your face gently. He guides your face to make you meet his eyes. “No matter how angry he is, our Alpha would never abandon you, Y/N.”

You smile self-deprecatingly. “Our? Wow, I really must be getting kicked out if you’re being nice to me.”

Jimin’s cheeks colour pink. “I said I didn’t like you. I never said you weren’t one of us.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re really consistent, you know that?” You ask the alpha, sniffling. For the first time since you’ve met, Jimin smiles faintly at you. “Such a jerk.”

“Come on, let’s eat lunch.” Jimin says, taking your used glass and beginning to walk away. You stand still, hunger dying at the thought of going into a kitchen full of angry alphas. 

Jimin sighs, returning to you. The alpha is quiet, brown eyes swimming with concern as he looks down at you. The moment reminds you of the time Hoseok saw you in the garage on Jimin’s birthday and how he told you not to hide, giving you keys to their home the next time he saw you. Your heart ache deepens. Even though he had his reservations about you, Hoseok has always been so kind. You should be with him. You need to be with him now.

“You can’t go to him, you’re not strong enough.” Jimin says as if reading your mind. He puts a hand on the small of your back. You blink at him in surprise. “I know you’d rather it was him, but just make do with me for now.” He says, guiding you down the hall and into the kitchen. 

Maybe it’s the relative peace between you or still the stress talking, but you decide to voice your thoughts. 

“He won’t hit me that hard, right?” You ask. Jimin stops dead in his tracks. Oblivious, you continue walking. “I know it’s well within his rights to punish me for my wrongdoing, but I am sick. And I still have to finish the Love Maze project, I can’t risk missing too many days. Maybe I just have to be quiet and he’ll let me off easy.”

You make it to the entrance to the kitchen before you realize Jimin is still halfway down the hall. He stares at you, stunned. You blink, confused. 

“What are you doing out there? Come in.” Yoongi calls from the stove.

Five pairs of eyes fall on you as you and Jimin enter together. 

Seokjin and Yoongi look up from what they’re cooking as you walk in. Yoongi avoids your eyes. Seokjin just watches you with sadness. Taehyung scrubs dishes, not even turning around to look at you. Jungkook sits at his regular seat at the dining table, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t look at you, but flinches at the sound of your chair scraping against the ground. You take your place at the end of the table. You observe the youngest alpha’s face. It’s clear as day that he has been crying. And finally, Namjoon looks up at you from the head of the table, face stoic and unreadable. 

Jimin takes his usual seat on Jungkook’s other side, bouncing one leg anxiously. 

“Jungkook, bring Y/N’s chair up here, please.” Namjoon addresses the younger alpha in a calm, collected voice. You blink, watching on as Jungkook stands robotically, bringing your chair over to the opposite end of the table. The head alpha looks at you expectantly. You swallow, then take your spot next to him. Namjoon turns his attention to Seokjin across the room. “Hyung, can you bring Y/N’s meds, please?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Seokjin looks like a deer in headlights. He blushes, glancing back and forth between you and the head alpha. “He doesn’t know where they are.” You explain quietly. 

Namjoon’s shoulders stiffen. He turns to you. “Don’t you need them to eat? I’ll go get them if you tell me where they are.”

You shake your head, still avoiding the alpha’s eyes. “I don’t necessarily need them all the time. Especially if I’ve been scented recently…” You trail off. They can all smell Jungkook’s sweet lily scent on you. 

Namjoon nods in understanding. Silence stretches between you, the only noise in the room being the quiet clink of utensils as Seokjin and Yoongi wrap up making lunch. Soon, the food is served. Head Alpha first, of course.

You wonder why you’re still sitting at Namjoon’s side when the alpha picks up his own chopsticks and offers you the first bite of his food. You accept without looking up. You want to tell the head alpha that you’re not a child, but the lingering fear makes you hold your tongue. Maybe this is how he does it? He dotes on them first, punishes them after.

Despite your churning anxiety, you manage to eat well. Namjoon holds a glass of water to your lips, not letting you move a muscle even at the end of the meal. “Thanks for the meal, hyungs.” He directs to the two eldest alphas, who exchange a nervous look. From what you’ve observed, please and thank-you’s are limited in the pack. It feels oddly formal. “Has anyone delivered lunch and supplies to Hoseok?”

“I did.” Yoongi says in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

Namjoon nods, standing. Everyone seems to follow his train of thought in washing their hands and making their way to the living room. The food you just ate threatens to come back up. Is it now?

You follow begrudgingly. You notice the alphas are spread out around Namjoon, as if keeping a polite distance from each other. Seokjin and Jimin in particular stay the furthest away. Realizing there’s nowhere else to go, you perch on the spot right next to Namjoon. “How was lunch today?” Namjoon asks in a soft voice. You flinch as he caresses the back of your head. 

“It was good. Thank you.” You mumble.

“Y/N, look at me.” Namjoon says. You turn to face him nervously. To your surprise, Namjoon pulls you into his side. You sigh softly as you lean into the alpha’s soft, sweater-clad chest. He guides you to rest your head on his shoulder, face dangerously close to his scent glands. You blush. “I was too rough with your punishment, wasn’t I? I’m sorry. I was too deep in my own feelings.”

Namjoon leans against the arm rest of the sofa, letting you sit on his lap sideways. You rest your back against the back of the sofa, hands planted on the head alpha’s chest. Despite you being on top of him, he looks at ease. “That was punishment?” You ask.

Namjoon frowns. “Of course. Submission, accountability, and reinforcing rank. In that order, those are the three steps of punishment. Hasn’t Jungkook explained that to you?”

In the corner, Jungkook avoids everyone’s eyes. Something dawns on Namjoon. “You didn’t know what I was doing.” He breathes, eyes widening. “That’s why you thought I was going to…” Lay my hands on you. Your mind completes. 

Tugging you into a fierce hug, Namjoon holds you close to him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was like that. I’m sorry.” He repeats, rocking you gently like a scared puppy.

He holds you at arms length, blinking back tears. “When I heard that our omega had been sick to the point of hospitalization in our care and I was none the wiser, I was so angry and worried that I couldn’t help myself. I felt I needed to control everything in order to set things straight. I was wrong. Regardless of this bite or our relationship, you’re a person, not something to own. I can’t demand things from you without earning the right to them first. Naturally, you don’t have to see us as your alphas either; that’s my own selfish desire.”

Sniffling, Namjoon cups your face. “You said you wanted to go home, right? We’ll arrange it for you.”

You glance at Jimin, who frowns at the scene. You told me he wouldn’t abandon me. “What do you want in return?”

“The truth. Even if it’s ugly or embarrassing, I have to hear it from you.” Namjoon answers firmly. Unshed tears shine in his eyes. Then, he takes a deep, shaky breath. “Was it me that sent you to the hospital? Did I ask too much from your body that night and hurt you?”

You’re stunned that the alpha even thought such a thing. You shake your head. “No, those two things weren't related. I…My health has been so-so for a long time, although it only got this bad recently.” 

“Tell me, please.” Namjoon urges.

You sigh. “After I finished high school, I got into SNU.” You start your story. Namjoon nods. You avert your eyes. “I wanted to succeed no matter what and having heats would get in the way of what I wanted. So I started taking blockers to make my life easier, but then I couldn’t afford time off between uni and my part-time jobs to have a breakthrough heat. When I graduated, it was even worse because I started working full time. I kept taking blockers even though I knew it was bad for me, and now my body is suffering the consequences. My doctor forced me to stop taking them and now I have no choice but to wait until I can have a heat.”

Namjoon knits his eyebrows together, trying to make sense of your story. “But all universities and workplaces are required to provide heat and rut leave by law.” He replies.

You smile faintly at his naivety. Of course an alpha wouldn’t understand. “Yes, by law. But the truth is that most people don’t treat omega’s heats and alpha’s ruts the same way. Whenever omegas take heat leaves, people complain that they’re free-loading or misusing social services. They ask why we don’t just take heat blockers, or quit our jobs and get married to avoid bothering our co-workers. They hate us and look down on us just for existing, asking them to accommodate me is like putting a target on my own back.”

Your shoulders sink as you talk, memories of your old job returning to you. For a long time, no one ever suspected anything because you pretended to be a beta at work. But because you never said it outright, people slowly turned their suspicions on you. Even though you never even confirmed your status to anyone, your silence was enough to doom you. 

You recall the book Namjoon was reading in the study a while ago. To him, omegas’ oppression is an area of curiosity, a completely different world. To you, it’s your everyday life. Especially in a competitive industry. 

“So you chose your career over your health.” Namjoon summarizes.

You nod. You grip the material of your pants tightly. “I ignored so many symptoms and put up with being overworked and underpaid for so long just to be promoted. But they ignored me. They gave it to someone less deserving than me. All because I didn’t have connections and because I was an omega. It was my breaking point, so I quit.”

Namjoon looks surprised. “You quit?”

You sniffle. “I did. I blew my money on a trip to Vegas thinking it would be my one chance to feel free. But my fucking hormones took over me and I ended up with this fucking bite.” You seethe. You make the mistake of meeting Jungkook’s eyes then. The alpha looks truly upset. You look away. “I really thought of it as an unlucky mistake and tried to run from it. When I first met you, I told you I didn't want anything from you and I meant it. But you all thought I was a gold digger.”

Namjoon flinches at the words, but he doesn’t deny them. “We’ve been wrong about everything. I want to apologize to you, but I don’t know if it even means anything now. A mate has been our biggest dream for a long time, someone to cherish and spoil. I thought we were a little clumsy, just a bunch of jaded alphas that would get better with time. But we’ve clearly only gotten worse.” The remaining five alphas hang their heads in shame. Even Jimin.

“You’ve been mean to me.” You admit quietly. Tears roll down Namjoon’s cheeks. He nods without looking at you. “I have struggled these past few months. But it hasn’t been all bad. I’ve cried a lot, but I’ve laughed and felt happy, too. It’s hard to explain what I feel, but I don’t want to leave here.”

“No?” Namjoon echoes like he can hardly believe it. “You don’t have to be afraid of us. If…If you want to leave we can make arrangements for you. A new apartment, a new job. As long as you let us provide it, we’ll fulfill our obligations as alphas from a distance.”

“Why would she do that?” Jimin speaks up finally. Namjoon frowns, displeased at the younger alpha for cutting in. Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. “For heaven’s sake, use your brain, hyung. Look how hard she works for Seokjin-hyung. Look how she wears Jungkook’s ring every single day, even when she’s mad at us. Look at her, don’t just keep making guesses that don’t make any sense. She obviously likes you.”

Namjoon looks a little petulant, pouting as he looks at you now. A small smile blooms on your lips. “He’s got a point…”

Jungkook scoffs from the corner. “Since when are you and Y/N so close?” He glares at Jimin, who rolls his eyes in response.

“Someone around here has to have both the eyeballs and metaphorical balls to put the truth out there.” Jimin says sassilly. “Seokjin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, and Hoseok-hyung are all able to clue in but are not brave enough to rock the boat. Namjoon-hyung, Taehyung, and you are all brave enough but clueless. There’s only so long I can wait for you idiots to pull yourselves together.”

“Thank you for enlightening us, wise sage.” Seokjin scoffs. 

“Would’ve helped if you said something several months ago.” Yoongi adds.

“Yeah, why the fuck are you only saying something now?” Jungkook asks irritatedly.

“Because it’s your job Jungkook-ah!” Jimin snaps. 

“How can I say what I don’t know?!” Jungkook says with wide eyes, looking wronged. When Jimin continues staring daggers into him, Jungkook blushes. “What? You know I’m bad with words!”

“We know that, she doesn’t.” Jimin corrects. Then, he rubs his temples. “If we’re done being annoying and sentimental here, I need a painkiller. You’re all giving me a headache.”

The four alphas gape in unison, unable to believe Jimin is excusing himself from such an important moment. Then, in the doorway, Jimin turns back. “Don’t give me that stupid look. Scent her already, she’s fucking sour! For fuck’s sake. Couldn’t make a dumber pack of alphas if I tried.” He adds, grumbling to himself as he leaves.

Namjoon gives you a sheepish smile. You lean into his chest, allowing the alpha to nuzzle his chin into your hair. You sigh as the sofa sinks around you, with Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook unceremoniously piling in. 

“This is kind of uncomfortable.” Seokjin says, holding you from behind. Yoongi, on top of Seokjin like a cat, seems content however. Jungkook chuckles at all of you, then leans in to put your forehead to his. The five of you cuddle like that, swapping scents in a way you’ve never done before, but a way which soothes your wolf and your mind.

pairing: ot13 x reader

category: omegaverse au, a/b/o dynamics, sports au: volleyball, polyamory

status: completed

total word count: 72.5k

content warnings: omega!reader, fem!reader, this is set entirely in omegaverse so read at your own risk! exploration of secondary gender and pack dynamics, ruts, heats, knots and scenting. angst, fluff and smut. insecurity, the feeling of being lonely, abandoned, hurt, being ‘othered’. jealousy, some hostility. unprotected sex, nsfw, mentions of breeding, mating, knotting, omega subspace, multiple orgasms. there’s love between all subgenders. all members of seventeen are featured: alpha - seungcheol, jeonghan, junhui, soonyoung, wonwoo, seokmin, mingyu, hansol. beta - joshua, chan. omega - jihoon, minghao, seungkwan.

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗

☆ prologue (wc: 1.4k)

☆ chapter 1 - (wc: 7.2k)

☆ chapter 2 - (wc: 8.9k)

☆ chapter 3 - (wc: 8.3k)

☆ chapter 4 - (wc: 9k)

☆ chapter 5 - (wc: 8.4k)

☆ chapter 6 - (wc: 9k)

☆ chapter 7 - (wc: 8.6k)

☆ chapter 8 - (wc: 9k)

☆ epilogue - (wc: 2.7k)

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒

☆ seungkwan + vernon-focus (wc: 4.9k)

☆ seungcheol-focus (wc: 3.7k)

At Namjoon’s holler, the entire house wakes up fast. Within minutes, the remaining five alphas are clamouring down the stairs and into the living room. Meanwhile, Namjoon paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair. You’ve never seen the head alpha so livid, nor so anxious. It fills you with unease, seeing Namjoon act so out of the ordinary.

The other alphas blink sleep out of their eyes, yawns and groans getting cut short the minute they pick up the two sour scents in the room. You’re so anxious that nausea begins to stir in your belly. You lower your head. So much for holiday cheer.

“Where’s Hobi-hyung?” Jungkook asks, glancing at you.

Namjoon waves a hand dismissively. “Rut.”

Jungkook looks confused, exchanging looks with the others. You hear a few murmurs of “Already?” and “It’s not the 28th yet…” but no one dares to press the head alpha any further. Namjoon sighs heavily and sinks into his usual armchair at the head of the living room. With one look, Namjoon nods for everyone to take a seat on the sofas. Immediately, everyone falls into line. 

You scurry behind Jungkook, about to sit beside him, when Namjoon calls your name. You stop. “Come here.” The dragon-eyed alpha orders. You shiver, unintentionally trying to make yourself small as you approach the head alpha.

The remaining five alphas sit gingerly on the sofas, exchanging nervous looks. You hover awkwardly in front of the head alpha. A muscle quivers in Namjoon’s jaw as he assesses you. Then: “Omega, kneel.”

Your blood runs cold. You glance at Jungkook, who watches on with utter confusion. You take a deep breath, ready to speak, but Namjoon cuts you off. “I’m not going to repeat myself. Now.”

Fresh tears spring into your eyes, and you bow your head so Namjoon won’t see them. You look down at the rug. It looks soft enough. You suppose there are rougher surfaces to kneel on. You look back at Namjoon, whose expression is stony. You look around the room, at the tense, displeased looks on all of their faces. You’re normally not the type to succumb to others’ dislike for you, but it’s different because it’s them. Because you’re newly mated. Because you’re sick. The excuses go on and on, but the ugly, embarrassing truth is this: you want to be loved. You want these alphas to look at you with love not hate. You want to be one of them, even though you’ve tried a million times to convince yourself otherwise.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! The voice in your head screams at you. 

You kneel before Namjoon’s legs. 

For a long moment, he says nothing. You can hear Namjoon breathing deeply, as if trying to calm himself down. You hear him crack his knuckles, the sound making you wince. Then, his hands move in your peripheral. You flinch, but the alpha’s hands are gentle in your hair. Namjoon cards one hand through your hair, then applies slight pressure to make you tip your head up to look at him.You swallow, knowing you’re extremely vulnerable now, on your knees and with your bite exposed. From this angle, the head alpha is pure danger. 

Namjoon smiles faintly, but there’s no kindness in it. “I should’ve had you like this a long time ago.” He murmurs, taking his other hand and wrapping it around your throat. You shudder. The hold isn’t tight enough to cut off your breathing, but it’s enough to remind you of who has your life in his hands. Your bite tingles under the alpha’s hand. “Jimin was right. I have been too lenient with you, haven’t I?”

Your heart beats wildly in your chest. You can’t muster even a word in reply. Namjoon’s cold smile grows at the sight. “You told me once that I must think I’m some sweet, perfect alpha from the movies. Admittedly, that made me want to prove I am. I wanted us to be gentle and accommodating, to give you time to come to us. I should’ve known that this is what it really takes to claim an omega like you.”

“I-I’m sorry.” You apologize, but you’re not really even sure what you’re sorry for. Maybe everything.

Namjoon scoffs. “We’re 1:1 now, sweetheart. You were right, I’m not a sweet alpha from the movies. But I was right, too. You’re every bit of a liar as I thought you were from the very beginning.” 

Tears roll down your face for everyone to see, but you don’t dare reach up and wipe them. You just keep your hands in your lap, not daring to move an inch unless Namjoon permits it. 

“There, see? How hard is it to submit when you’re told?” Namjoon asks coldly.

“It’s not hard.” You whisper. 

“If it isn’t hard, why did it take you so long to do it?” Namjoon criticizes you. You take it as a rhetorical question, but Namjoon presses you for an answer. “Tell me.”

“It was my pride.” You tell your clasped hands.

“Your pride didn’t seem to get in the way when I fucked you in your apartment.” Your face burns. 

Terrible. You’re terrible, you’re terrible! Your mind runs in circles. They all hate you! 

Your wolf cries with you. She begs to be held and comforted. She begs for forgiveness. You have to fight to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from saying something stupid. 

Namjoon releases you, sitting back in his armchair. You look down at your folded legs, crying quietly. Addressing the room now, he continues. “Hoseok said Y/N is sick. If my thoughts are right, at least one more of you has to know about this. Who else knows anything about this?”

Seokjin sighs deeply. He stands from the sofa, coming over to stand a few steps behind you to your right. Then, he kneels. Pack Alpha casts a cold look around the room, waiting. Then, Jimin comes over, kneeling to your left.

Namjoon curses sharply, running his hands through his hair like he wants to rip the silky strands out. “Unbelieveable. THREE of my alphas knew our omega was sick and none of you thought to tell me? Am I a fucking joke to you all?” He roars.

None of you dare to reply. 

Namjoon clicks his tongue. “When did you all learn about this?” He demands from Seokjin.

Seokjin hesitates, then answers. “I don’t know about Jimin, but Hoseok and I both found out after she was hospitalized. I found her sick note for work and Hoseok approved her leave.”

Namjoon’s look turns to something murderous. “Hospitalized.” He whispers. You flinch under his glare. “You chose to work yourself to the point of hospitalization while living in my fucking house?” He all but roars.

You shuffle backwards, carpet burning against your legs. You bump into Jimin in the process. “I–I—” You stammer.

Namjoon stands, shaking his head in disbelief. “For what, to protect your fucking secret? Would you rather die than rely on us, rather die than submit? Is that it?!” A whimper escapes you. 

Namjoon leans forward. You see his hand move in your peripheral. You move before you can think, driven solely by fear. You’re so afraid that you scramble behind Jimin to hide. You grip his shirt tightly, face buried in his back as you cry. 

Now I’ve really done it. You think. 

I’m fucked now.

“I wanna go home!” You cry. The room stills. You continue to sob into the alpha’s back. “I want my mom. I want to have my heat. I don’t wanna live like this anymore!”

You open your eyes, peering at the head alpha around Jimin’s shoulder. Namjoon crouches in front of you, hand hovering midair. His mouth hangs open in shock. You shuffle back even more, hiding your body behind Jimin. The head alpha’s eyes soften. 

“I wasn’t…” Namjoon trails off. You dig your hands into Jimin’s shirt, burying your face into his wide back and wailing.

“You’re so mean to me. All of you are so mean.” You cry, rubbing your face against Jimin’s back. The alpha moves, turning around to look at you. You flinch. To your surprise, his expression is gentle. 

“Y/N, you’re going into your headspace again.” Jimin informs you in a calm, collected voice.

“No I’m not!” You retort, not caring that you sound childish. But indeed, you feel that familiar panic and the fog beginning to form in your mind. “D-Don’t talk like you know me! So mean to me. So mean.” You repeat, feeling yourself lose the ability to speak just as you did before. It only sends you spiralling further as you can no longer defend yourself verbally from the hateful alphas around you.

“Yes, you are.” Seokjin interjects. He pries your hands off Jimin’s shirt, then pulls you up onto his lap. You flinch away from the head alpha, burying your head in the crook of Seokjin’s neck. The alpha wraps his arms around you tightly, and you wrap your legs around his wide hips. 

“Go home. Home, home.” You repeat, falling further and further into the headspace.

“That’s not true.” Seokjin whispers, caressing your hair. “You like it here, but you’re scared. You just want us to be nice to you.”

“Scared, scared, scared.” You echo, trembling in the alpha’s hold. Seokjin rocks you back and forth gently, never shushing you or speaking over you but letting you get out your feelings. You dig your nails into the alpha’s shoulders. “Alpha, scared.”

“I know.” Seokjin murmurs in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

The alpha carries you up the stairs like you’re weightless, leading you to the largest bedroom. It’s almost double the size of the other rooms with a king sized bed, and everything smells like petrichor and pine. Namjoon’s room. You wriggle as Seokjin sets you down in Namjoon’s bed, not wanting to be near anything associated with the angry head alpha. But Seokjin is firm. “Turn around.” He orders. You roll onto your side, and Seokjin gets you out of your clothes. Goosebumps appear on your skin as the alpha strips you down until you’re just in your bra and panties. Your hair clip is next, releasing your hair onto the silky sheets. 

“She’s really deep in her headspace, hyung.” Someone comments off to the side. You flinch as another scent enters your nose. Cinnamon. Yoongi.

“Yeah, I know.” Seokjin grits, quickly discarding his shirt and pants. “Go get her as many of our blankets and clothes as you can, I’m gonna make her a nest.”

“Nini, Nini!” You cry. Seokjin wraps his arms around you. You sigh as you feel his bare chest against yours, then feel him tuck the duvet in around you. Despite his own rose scent being as sour as your own, the alpha scents you gently, slow and methodical despite how upset you both are. “Bad omega, bad.” You mumble, crying continuously throughout Seokjin’s care. “Don’t deserve!”

“I’ll help.” Someone else says, and you feel the bed dip beside you. Sour lilies fill your nose. You wrinkle your nose. Jungkook. 

“Bad omega, bad. Bad.” You mumble, beginning to tire yourself out from all the crying. Unbeknownst to you, six alphas watch on with concerned expressions. The alpha closest to you, Jungkook, looks heartbroken. “Alpha hate. Alpha mad. Omega bad, bad.”

“Where are those fucking blankets?” Seokjin says over your head to someone. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook sheds his shirt and pulls you on top of him. You feel the firm muscles of his chest, whimpering into the crook of his neck. Your tears slow down, your wolf more soothed by the alpha that marked you more than all the others. “Alpha.”

“Shh. I know.” Jungkook reassures you, lifting you up onto his chest. You calm down as you lay on his chest, his heartbeat a steady, soothing sound in your ear.

“Hi, I’m Sunghoon.” Sunghoon set the magazine down on your sofa table. “I’m your new roommate. I don’t know if Mister Kang told you that I am moving in today instead of on the first. I had a more or less spontaneous change of plans.” 

No. 

No, Mr Kang did not. 

You opened your mouth before closing it, willing your face into a small, tight smile. 

“Hi,” your voice was pitched a notch too high, and you cringed. “I am Y/N. Are you sure you are in the right apartment? I mean, considering you probably got the keys from Mr Kang, yes, but he didn’t tell me anything about a roommate? I know Apartment 4B is a free room?” 

Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows. “This is Apartment 4D, right? I definitely signed a contract for the smaller room in Apartment 4D.”

“Oh,” you just said and blinked at him.

The smaller room in your apartment had been rented out for as long as you lived here. Not by you, but by some mystery girl that seemed to have no interest in living in this apartment. Mister Kang didn’t care if the other girl came or not, as long as the rent was paid on time, and told you you were free to use the room until she did indeed show up. 

So that is what you did. 

You transformed the small room into your studio. 

And you knew for a fact that the desk and the floor were a cluttered mess at the moment. 

Heat shot up your neck at the realisation.

“I–uhm–I didn't know you were moving in at all. I’ve been using the room as my studio. Just give me like an hour, and I’ll move all of my stuff into my room,” you sighed, already feeling a headache coming. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at your words, then glanced toward the hallway leading to his supposed new room. "You’ve been using it as a studio?"

You nodded, running a hand through your hair. "Yeah. I mean, it’s been empty since I moved in. Not technically empty? Someone rented it out, but she never came, and Mr Kang said I could use the room if my supposed roommate didn’t want it. So I just… took over? I’ll be really fast, so you can start putting all your stuff in there."

Sunghoon’s lips quirked up in amusement, arms crossing over his broad chest. "So, I’m kicking you out of your studio?"

"Technically, yes. But it’s not your fault. Mr Kang just kind of forgot to tell me you were coming? At all? So I didn’t know I had to clean it out." 

He nodded, glancing back toward the hallway before looking at you again. "Well, if you need help moving your stuff, I don’t mind."

You shook your head, taking off your jacket, unceremoniously dropping it onto the sofa. "No, it’s fine. It’s mostly styrofoam, pens and sketches. It's fine."

Sunghoon shrugged. "Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind." 

He moved toward the sofa, lifting a box and putting it onto the floor before flopping down on the green fabric. “Are you a design student?”

“Oh. No. I study architecture.” You shook your head and made your way through the maze of boxes and furniture in your living room towards the hallway that separated your room and now apparently Sunghoon's room. 

“Oh, that's cool. I am in PE,” he grinned at you.

You just nodded again, not in the mood to talk with anyone right now, even less with the mysterious girl, well, boy, you now had to live together with. "Ah. That's nice. Just… make yourself at home while I clean, I guess?"

Sunghoon grinned. "Will do, roommate."

The word made you wince.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

You stood in the doorway of your studio, well, Sunghoon’s room, mentally preparing yourself for the hour of cleaning ahead. The small space was overflowing with architectural sketches, blueprint rolls, rulers, model pieces, and textbooks.

This was… embarrassing.

You usually were a really organised person, but with work and your deadline coming up, you just didn’t have the time and energy to clean up behind you. The last few weeks had been horrible; you were chasing one deadline after another, had worked endlessly on your projects and studied at the same time. Sleep was a luxury and cleaning was the last thing on your mind. The only thing you religiously did every day was cook. 

With a tired nod, you started moving, piling all of the cut-up styrofoam and paper into a trash bin, carrying unused styrofoam into your room and getting a broom from the kitchen. 

After around half an hour, Sunghoon slightly knocked on the doorframe to his room, startling you from where you were sorting through your sketches and designs. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” he asked, walking into the room, doing his best not to step on anything. 

You swallowed, ignoring the crawling feeling under your skin while he looked around with a curious look on his face.

“No, it's fine,” you mumbled, tiredly smiling at him. “I usually am a really clean person. It’s just…exam season.” 

Your head was aching, a slow pressure building behind your eyes, and you were hungry. You just wanted to eat something and roll up in your bed, but you weren’t about to make Sunghoon help you clean his room when it should have been clean from the get-go. 

He let out a soft chuckle. “Mhm. No worries. If it’s just your space that you use for creative chaos, I don’t have any problem with that.”

You pressed your lips onto each other and gave him a small nod before turning back to the stacks of paper on the bed. Most of them were half-finished sketches and drafts you never bothered to throw away, in case you needed them again. It would not be the first time. 

Sunghoon’s voice startled you. "What's this?” He gestured to a half-finished architectural model on his desk, a sleek modernist building carefully cut out of foam board and assembled with tiny, precise details. You spent countless hours on it, just for your professor to ask if you could start over since he didn’t think it was the best you could do.

You hesitated before replying. “It was supposed to be my final project. For my design class.”

Sunghoon bent down slightly, inspecting it. 

“This is insane,” he murmured, his fingers hovering near the structure but not touching it. “It looks like something you’d see in an actual firm.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just gave a small nod. You watched him inspect the model for a second longer before he reached for a stack of your books. 

“W-What are you doing?” Your hands stopped mid-motion, the papers in them unrolling slightly again. 

“Helping,” he said simply, not looking up. “You’re going to take forever if you do this alone. I’ll just put them into your room, okay?”

“O…kay,” you mumbled, focusing back on your sketches.

An hour and a half later, the room was clean. Well, mostly clean. Your things were now safely in your room, and Sunghoon’s moving boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, ready to be unpacked.

After you gave Sunghoon a tour of the kitchen and went over the house rules, you found yourself standing awkwardly in the living room when you were done. 

"Uhm… do you, uh, need anything else?"

Sunghoon looked up from where he was stacking his books on the shelf. "Nope. I think I got it."

"Okay, um, good. Well, uhm, goodnight then."

His lips curled slightly, amused at your awkwardness. "Goodnight, Y/N."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

When you woke up and made your way to the kitchen at 6:30 am the next day, you felt like you had just risen from the dead. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were half-closed, and your body was running purely on muscle memory as you wandered towards the kitchen.

There was light spilling into the hallway from the kitchen, and for a second you wondered if you forgot to turn it off yesterday or if you were just hallucinating again. But when you rubbed your eyes and looked up, you realised something far worse than hallucination was happening.

There was a half-naked man in your kitchen.

Sunghoon stood by the counter, one hand resting on the counter, the other rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his bare upper body was exposed to the warm air in the kitchen. 

He turned, his eyes heavy with sleep, and blinked at you, standing frozen in the doorway.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he yawned again. "Morning."

"Uh", you cleared your throat, snapping your gaze away from his body. Ogling at your admittedly stupidly attractive new roommate was very inappropriate. "Morning."

Your voice sounded way too high-pitched.

Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just poured himself a cup of coffee, completely unbothered.

You walked to the fridge, pretending not to care that he was standing next to it and grabbed one of your containers with porridge inside. 

By the time you turned back around, Sunghoon had disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, now wearing a T-shirt.

"Do you have any plans today?" he asked, casually leaning against the counter as he took a sip of his coffee.

You glanced at him, still feeling a bit weird to have seen him half-naked after knowing him for not even twenty-four hours. "Uh… yeah. I have work today."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "You work during the break?"

"Yes?" You frowned. "I mean, my scholarship covers a lot, but I still have to pay for food, transportation, materials, and extra costs. It adds up."

Sunghoon hummed, nodding. "What do you do?"

"I work as an intern at an architecture studio," you grabbed a spoon and honey, setting them on the counter. "I mostly organise files, scan documents, and do small tasks for the senior architects. I also make coffee and refill the printer paper, which is apparently the most important job in the entire office."

Sunghoon let out a small chuckle at that. "Sounds fun."

You shrugged. "It pays. Do you have plans for today?"

He leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward your food as you peeled off the lid of your porridge and took a small spoonful. "The only thing I’ll be doing today is train. Probably up until I get thrown out again."

You blinked at him. "Training?"

"Yeah." He took another sip of coffee. "The season ended, but I’m still training. I’m working to qualify for the Olympics."

You froze mid-bite.

"The…Olympics?"

"Yeah."

Your spoon slowly lowered. "You’re an athlete?"

Sunghoon nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “Yeah. I’m a figure skater.” 

“Oh,” you just answered, not knowing what else to say.

Both of you went silent for a long moment until he cleared his throat again. “I’ll probably come home pretty late. Do you mind me showering here or should I shower at the rink? I don’t want to, like, wake you up or something.”

You hummed and shook your head. “No, that’s all right. I sleep well even if there is noise around me.”

“Okay,” he nodded again. 

“Are you really training for the Olympics?” You asked after a bit of silence. 

"Hopefully," Sunghoon shrugged. "If I qualify."

For a moment, you just stared at him and tried to imagine him in one of those pretty dresses the figure skaters wore. Then, you shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. "That’s really impressive."

Sunghoon just shrugged, like it was no big deal.

You took another bite of your porridge, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You never did anything that made you special. Or something impressive. 

Your roommate took another sip of his coffee, watching you. "You always eat that little? I feel like if that was the only thing I ate for breakfast, I’d starve all day."

You swallowed, a bit caught off guard. "I meal-prep my portions."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Are you on a diet? Or just because it’s convenient?"

You hesitated for a second, the porridge suddenly heavy in your stomach, and just gave a tight smile. "It’s convenient."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The apartment was dark when Sunghoon came home. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to come home to an empty apartment. In the last week that he had been living here, he had barely seen you around. 

You were usually out of the house when he rolled himself out of bed, and aside from a few short greetings in the kitchen, when both of you were at home, you barely talked. 

He figured you were just shy or maybe just didn’t like talking to people in general. 

Not that he had a problem with that. 

He himself wasn’t much of a talker either, and he really enjoyed the fact that you weren’t as noisy or nosy as his previous roommate. 

Kicking off his shoes, he stretched his arms over his head, sighing as he made his way into the living room. 

He poured himself a glass of water, hoping it would help him cool down a bit. Even though it was almost ten p.m., it was still unbearably hot outside, and the apartment wasn’t nearly as cold as he wished it to be. You rarely turned on the AC when you weren’t home. Sunghoon didn’t mind that; he was at the rink most of the time anyway, but today he felt like he was melting. 

The remote for the AC was on top of the fridge, and it came to life with a small humming sound after he turned it on. His eyes flickered over the pictures and postcards that were held up by colourful magnets on the fridge doors. Most of them seemed to be from the same place, all of them portraying the beach.

Before he could stop himself, he had reached forward and carefully picked one of them up. He knew he shouldn’t be doing that, but he was curious. He really didn’t know much about you, even though you were living together. For all he knew, you could be a serial killer who would strangle him to death while he was asleep. 

The thought made him chuckle. 

You were more than a head smaller than him and didn’t look strong enough to do that; you were rather petite.

Sunghoon turned the postcard around. 

Hi Bug! Busan is as beautiful as ever. I wish you were here. I hope you're doing well in Seoul. Take care. See you soon.- Love and miss you, Donghyuck :) 

Oh. 

He didn’t realise you had a boyfriend. 

Not that it would make him think differently of you, but he thought you would have mentioned it to him at least once. 

Donghyuck definitely sounded like a boyfriend's name. 

Your hometown was close to Busan after all. Maybe he went to Busan to study, and you went to Seoul, and the two of you were sending postcards back and forth? 

Sunghoon had asked around if someone might know you, and surprisingly, Jay recognised you after he had shown him your profile picture. 

He knew your brother, or well, a very close friend of your brother, Jeno, who had dated one of Jay’s friends for a while. Jay had told Sunghoon that the three of you came from a small town near Busan, but couldn’t tell him more about you; he hadn’t met you in person and had only seen pictures. 

Sunghoon shook his head and took another sip of water. 

He should really get to know you a bit. He really didn’t want to stumble into you and your boyfriend without warning.  

When he was just about to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, the front door opened. Sunghoon’s fight-or-flight response immediately set in, but when he saw your figure walking into the hallway, he relaxed again.

You seemed exhausted; your shoulders dropped, and your head hung low as you let your bag fall onto the floor, kicking off your shoes. You rubbed at your temple and took a deep, audible breath before lifting your gaze to meet his. The dim kitchen light cast soft shadows over your face, emphasising the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“Hi,” he said, sounding surprised. “Were you at work until now?” 

“Yeah, we were short-staffed in the cinema today,” you mumbled, walking past him to grab a glass from the cabinet.

“The cinema?” Sunghoon repeated. “I thought you worked at the architecture studio?”

"I do," you sighed, filling your glass with water just like he did a couple of minutes before. "This is my second job."

His eyebrows rose. "You have two jobs?"

You let out a small huff of laughter, but it was completely devoid of amusement. "Sadly, yeah."

Sunghoon blinked. “That sounds like a lot.”

You just nodded. “It is. But I get to stay in Seoul, and have at least a bit of money to spend on myself. So it’s worth it.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The sunlight was drifting in through the sheer curtains in the living room, heating up the bare skin of your legs. You didn’t mind the sun or the heat; you preferred it over the artificial cold coming from the ACs that were everywhere. Now that you barely had time for anything but working and studying, even during the summer break, you were almost desperate to catch a bit of sunlight. 

You were curled onto the sofa, reading a book from your to-be-read pile that accumulated during the semester, when Sunghoon shuffled into the living room, still half asleep. His hair was standing up in every direction, and he had red streaks on his face that came from sleeping on wrinkly fabric. He let himself fall next to you on the sofa, leaned back and closed his eyes again, grumbling sleepily. “Good morning, Y/N.”

"Good morning, Sunghoon," you said softly, turning your attention back to your book. You had noticed over the course of the last week that Sunghoon wasn’t a morning person. He was always grumpy in the morning, but still polite and nice to you.

For a long moment he just sat there, his eyes closed. The slow and soft breathing that came from Sunghoon made you think he had fallen asleep again, so you almost flinched when he suddenly spoke up. "Got any plans today?"

"Not really," you murmured, tucking your feet under yourself to make some more space for him.

Sunghoon opened one eye. “You don’t have work today?”

 "The studio is closed on weekends, and since I usually work on weekdays in the cinema, I have weekends off. "

"Mm," he grunted. "At least two days of the week, you don’t have to run out the door at seven.”

You let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It’s nice to sleep in."

The conversation faded into silence, and you shifted your focus back onto your book. 

Just as you were finishing your chapter, his voice suddenly broke the silence in the living room again.

“Do you not like the AC?” 

You looked up and blinked at him. "The AC?"

He hummed. “Yeah, you rarely turn it on.”

“Oh,” you shrugged. “I like to open the windows in the morning. I like it warm, so I only turn it on when it gets unbearably warm. We can switch it on if you’d like to?” 

Sunghoon shook his head. "No, it’s fine. I was just wondering. Would you like me to open mine as well?” 

You hesitated. On the first day, you had thought about asking him if he could open his window, so there would be better airflow, but decided against it.

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to overstep."

He exhaled a soft laugh. "Don’t worry. I'll just open it myself. Then you can’t overstep anything."

You smiled faintly. "Thank you."

For a while, there was nothing but the occasional rustling of your pages and the sound of cars in the distance. 

Then Sunghoon spoke again. 

He didn’t seem like a person who talked a lot. 

But apparently, he had the desire to talk to you sometimes. He would come to your room or the kitchen when you were there and strike up conversations. It was nice. Sunghoon was nice. 

You googled him and asked Jaemin about Sunghoon when you were working the Wednesday shift in the cinema together. Wednesday was always slow, not that you minded; it gave you plenty of time to talk to Jaemin.

According to him, Sunghoon was really nice. 

"Do you miss home?"

The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, only to find that he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling.

You hesitated before answering. "Sometimes. Tongyeong has a certain charm to itself."

Sunghoon nodded slowly. „It must be weird to move from such a small town to Seoul. I grew up in Suwon, but I think I spend more time in Seoul than anywhere else. My childhood and teenage years took place in ice rinks in Seoul.“

You thought for a second. 

It was weird. 

The house you grew up in was always loud. Either your brothers or the guests downstairs in the restaurant were constantly talking or making noises, and suddenly you were in this apartment, all alone, and it was silent. 

You never realised how much you would miss your brothers until they weren’t just across the hall.

„Yeah. It’s weird,” you hummed. It’s so quiet and loud here at the same time. At home, you rarely hear this many cars passing by, but my family is quite loud, so living alone is very quiet,“ you put in a bookmark so you wouldn't lose your page. 

You assumed Sunghoon was in the mood to talk right now. 

„Really? Do you have siblings?“ He tilted his head slightly. His hair flopped down. 

You hummed and nodded. “Three brothers. All older. Seven years, four years and two years. What about you?“

„I have one sister. Five years younger than me. And a dog,“ he chuckled.

„Oh, that’s nice. I always wanted a pet. But my parents wouldn’t allow it. They were busy enough with 4 kids and a restaurant.“

"Your parents have a restaurant?" Sunghoon asked.

"Yeah," you nodded

"Do you help out?" He sat up, turning fully to you, his arm coming to rest on the backrest of the sofa.

"Not really," you admitted. "My parents always told me to focus on my studies and made my brothers help them. I would help if they let me. I usually cleaned out the flat, though. I like the area I live in to be really clean, and growing up, my brothers weren’t the cleanest.“

Sunghoon hummed. „Yeah, I’ve noticed. I think that’s pretty nice. That you are such a clean person, I mean. I love my old roommate, but he left his shit everywhere and should be sued for noise complaints. That guy never shuts up.“

„Oh, that sounds annoying,“ you chuckled. You could see how that would annoy Sunghoon. 

“It’s all right,” he hummed and lifted himself from the sofa. “Do you want some breakfast? I was thinking about going for a run and getting something from the Creek. My friend’s girlfriend works there, and I can get us free stuff?”

“I, uhm. I already ate. But thank you so much for offering,” you smiled at him.

“Sure, always.” 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Sunghoon wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as he stepped back into the apartment. By the time he finished his run and stepped into the small cafe across the campus, the sun had started blazing. 

He peeled his shoes and socks off and had to stop himself from just ripping his drenched shirt off his body. Sure, you had seen him half naked once, but that was an accident, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it, so he sighed and moved towards the bathroom after dropping off the bag of baked goods in the kitchen. 

Sunghoon had expected you to have gone back to your room, but when his gaze flickered toward the living room, he noticed the top of your head peeking over the sofa backrest. 

“Y/N?” He stepped closer to the sofa. 

You were asleep.

Your legs were slightly bent, and your arms were in awkward positions, one sprawled across your face, blocking your eyes from the light coming in through the living room windows, the other one resting loosely over your stomach. The book you had been reading was lying on the floor next to you, seemingly having slipped from your hand when you fell asleep. 

Sunghoon reached down to pick it up, placing it onto the sofa table, before quietly wandering towards the bathroom to wash off the sweat still running down his back. 

He made his way back to the kitchen twenty minutes later and cursed the architect who designed your flat for deciding on building an open-style kitchen. It was actually what sold him on the place, but now, with only a kitchen pass-through separating the two spaces, it also meant that if he used the coffee machine, it would definitely wake you up. He signed and grabbed the orange juice jug in the fridge instead. 

As he poured himself a glass, his eyes landed on the vase near the window.  The tulips inside were starting to wilt, slowly letting their heads hang down. A few petals had fallen onto the windowsill.

Without thinking, he got up, grabbed the vase and changed the water. Maybe that would keep them alive for a bit longer. 

Sunghoon took another sip, glancing at your figure again. He was thinking about waking you up, so you could go to your bed and get proper rest, but before he could move, you stirred. 

At first, it was just a sleepy shift, a small stretch of your legs. But then, your eyelids fluttered, and with a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself up, blinking blearily at the room.

“Hi.”

Your gaze flickered to him, still half-asleep. 

“Hi,” you murmured back, your voice soft.

He hesitated for a second before nodding toward the counter. “I got you a salt bread.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, then you followed his gaze to the extra plate. You stared at it for a moment before looking back at him. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said simply. “I got them for free, so I thought I’d just bring you one too.”

You hummed again before flopping back onto the sofa, stretching your arms above your head with a sleepy little sigh. Sunghoon watched you for a second, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching. You looked tired, even though you had just slept.

When you finally pushed yourself up from the couch, he glanced back down at his juice as if he had been doing that the whole time. He heard your soft footsteps on the floor and then watched you pad over to the kitchen again, yawning as you sank onto the stool across from him. Your hair was a little messy, one side pressed flatter than the other, and you still looked half asleep when you picked up the pastry and stared at it for a moment before tearing off a small piece.

“Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said quietly. “I really like these.”

He only hummed and leaned back slightly, watching as you took a bite.

“Me too. But I can’t really eat bread during the season,” he said. “So I have to stuff myself with anything gluten now, before I won’t be able to.”

You looked up at him, brows drawing together a little. “Why?”

He gave a small shrug. “I get stomach aches sometimes, and bloating is honestly the worst before practice. I really do not need to feel like I’ve swallowed a rock when I’m trying to jump on ice.”

You blinked once, then nodded slowly like you were processing that. “So it’s like a diet thing?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s just my stomach being dramatic.”

That seemed to ease something in your face, and you lowered your eyes back to the pastry in your hands. He watched you break off another piece, smaller this time. 

“I kind of get that,” you said after a moment.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “My stomach is pretty sensitive, I guess. I kind of have to eat small portions more often; otherwise it gets upset.”

That made him look at you properly. “Really?”

You nodded, almost like you were apologising for it. “And gluten makes it worse sometimes. Not always, but enough that I usually just try not to have too much of it at once.”

“Hm,” he hummed, because he didn’t really know what else to say. That sounded annoying, honestly. “That sounds miserable.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said quickly, then seemed to catch how fast you had said it and softened a little. “I mean. It’s annoying, but I’ve had it for a while.”

He nodded once. That made sense enough.

“Do you meal prep because of that?” he asked.

You looked down at the pastry again. “Mostly. It’s easier that way. If I have small portions ready, I don’t have to think about it.”

“Fair,” he said. “I meal prep during the season as well.”

That got your attention. You looked up again, a little surprised. “Really?”

He gave you a look. “Of course. I have to eat a lot, but cooking every day is a pain.”

Your mouth curved slightly at that. “You hate cooking?”

“I don’t hate it,” he said, though that was being generous. “I just don’t want to do it after training. I need a lot of protein and carbohydrates every day, so meal prep is the only way I stay sane.”

You nodded slowly, like you were filing that away. “That makes sense.”

“It’s annoying that I have to eat the same thing three days in a row,” he added. “But it works.”

A small laugh slipped out of you, soft and warm, and he glanced up before he could stop himself. “I actually like cooking,” you said.

He blinked once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, more certain this time. “It’s kind of one of the few things I don’t mind doing. I like making food for people. I like not eating alone.”

Sunghoon grinned at you. “That’s convenient.”

You frowned a little. “How is that convenient?”

He shrugged. “Because if you ever feel like cooking for me, I would definitely not stop you.”

That pulled a laugh out of you, soft and a little disbelieving. “You would want me to cook for you?”

“I might even sit still and not get in your way while you’re in the kitchen,” he said seriously.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, but he could tell you were amused. “Wow. Generous.”

“I know,” he said, completely deadpan.

You took another bite of the pastry. 

“How often do you train?” you asked after a moment.

“Every day.”

Your brows lifted. “Every day?”

“Usually once,” he said. “Sometimes twice if Coach is being annoying.”

“That’s intense.”

“It’s normal for me,” he said, because it was. “But I burn a lot of calories, so I have to eat enough to stay at my weight.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with that same thoughtful expression you always got when you were actually trying to understand something. “You really have to eat that much?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

That made you smile faintly. “You make it sound like a chore.”

“It kind of is,” he admitted. “I’d rather skate and then disappear into bed, but apparently my body disagrees.”

You laughed softly. “Oh no, poor you.” 

“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “if you ever feel like cooking, you can definitely make me something. I can’t promise I’ll be useful, but I can at least wash the dishes.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “That might actually be a good deal. I hate doing the dishes.”

“It is a good deal,” he said. “I’m very fair.”

The apartment was quiet for a moment, the sound of birds outside filtering in through the open windows.

“Sure,” you hummed and took another bite. 

Sunghoon leaned onto his arms. “So what do you do on your day off?”

You shrugged. “Laundry. Grocery shopping. Paint sometimes, but most of the time I just sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really making the most of your free time.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t have much free time, so I have to use it well.”

Sunghoon thought about that for a second. It made sense. He understood what it was like to have every second of your day planned out, to always have something you were supposed to be doing.

His eyes wandered towards the framed canvas hanging against one of the kitchen walls. He had always thought it might have come with the apartment, just like the furniture in his room, but when he took a closer look, there was a stamp with your initials on it. 

“Did you paint that one?” He asked, nodding towards it. 

Your gaze flickered to the painting, and you pursed your lips, nodding slowly. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you mumbled. “Last summer break. It’s oil, so it took an eternity to dry. But, uh, the sun helped.”

He tilted his head back toward the painting. “Oh wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That’s so cool. Are the other ones yours, too?”

“Uh. Yeah,” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and nodded again. “I was feeling…really inspired last year. And my brother got me oil paints for my birthday so I just painted. But we can take them off the walls if you don’t like them? I don’t mind, and you live here too, so you should also feel comfortable and if–”

“Y/N,” Sunghoon chuckled, interrupting your rambling, and your gaze flickered up to his face before you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. “It’s fine. I like them. It makes the apartment feel a bit homier. You’re really talented.” 

“I–,” you nodded again, and Sunghoon had to suppress a laugh. You suddenly seemed so flustered. 

“I never really had the chance to paint with oils before since they’re super expensive. But, uh, money well spent, I guess?”

He looked back at the paintings again, his gaze lingering for a moment. It was really well done. “They are really well done. You should think about selling them, Y/N. Not many people are able to do this.” 

You quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze. And then, you laughed. A weird, nervous little laugh, your cheeks flushing a bit.

“Oh, no, I mean–it’s just practice, really,” you blurted out, waving a hand in the air. “It’s not like–it’s not, like, some crazy talent or anything. It’s just… You do it enough, and it sort of, um, happens?”

“Still,” he said, amused now, “it’s really cool.”

You made a weird, stiff nod, then immediately picked up your water and took the smallest possible sip.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

You stepped into your apartment, shivering slightly at the cool air pressing against your skin. 

Sunghoon must have turned on the AC again. 

It was almost unbearably hot outside, the pavement heating up during the day and not cooling down even in the dark of the night, but inside, it was much colder. 

You never really liked using the AC too much; the temperature drop always left you uncomfortable. 

Unfortunately, Sunghoon didn’t seem to mind the cold. 

You placed your shoes neatly next to his by the door and stepped further into the cool apartment. The sound of the television playing in the background hummed through the air. Sunghoon was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes focused on the screen.

You hesitated for a second, not really sure what to say, if you should say anything at all. You didn’t want to disturb Sunghoon and make him miss something in his show, but before you could decide, Sunghoon reached for the remote and lowered the volume.

His head turned toward you. “Hey.”

You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Hi.”

He sat up slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest. “How was work?”

You sighed and shrugged, making your way into the kitchen. “It was fine. Busier than usual.”

You and Sunghoon had somehow become something like friends during the last two weeks; it was nice having him around, filling the silence whenever it became unbearable, but also staying quiet when the world was a bit too loud.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hummed and nodded before pulling the freezer open and shuffling through the bags of frozen food. “It’s usually not that packed during summer shifts, but today was weirdly busy.” 

You found the familiar container of kolddugi muchim that you couldn’t stop thinking about all day, pulling it out underneath a bag of frozen broccoli Sunghoon had bought the day before. “At least Jaemin was there. It was fun with him.”

Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze flicking back to the screen for a moment. “Who’s Jaemin?”

You hesitated slightly before standing up from the crouching position you were in. “My friend and coworker, I guess. He works the counter with me.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly. “You work with him a lot?”

The question made you frown a bit. “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “Just wondering. I’m just trying to keep on track with all of the names and people you tell me about.”

You nodded slowly before turning back to the counter to start defrosting your food. Your favourite pot was still in the dishwasher; it hadn’t been run today. There weren’t any new dishes in the sink either.

You hesitated for a second. 

“Have you eaten today?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder.

Sunghoon looked at you, almost like he was caught off guard by the question. “Uh… no. I was too lazy to cook after I came from the gym, so I just had a protein shake.”

You frowned slightly. 

A protein shake was not a meal, especially not if he had been training today. 

You shifted your weight, debating for a second before clearing your throat. “Do you… Want some? I’m making kolddugi muchim and rice.”

His eyes lit up a little, his usual neutral expression shifting. “Oh, for sure. That sounds way better than another shake.”

With a nod, you turned back to the counter. “Okay.”  

Sunghoon stood up, stretching slightly. “Need help with anything?”

“Um,” you thought for a second, going through the list of things you might need. “Could you go to the GS25 down the street and get some mu kimchi? Only if it’s no trouble. I can go too.”

He waved you off, already grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be back in a sec.”

The apartment fell silent again as the door shut behind him.

You stood still for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint dialogue from the drama still playing on TV. Then, shaking off the quiet, you turned back to the stove.

The scent of simmering garlic and gochugaru filled the air, thick and warm. It clung to the fabric of your clothes and seeped into the walls of the small kitchen. 

You closed your eyes for a second.

It smelled like home.

Like summer afternoons in the restaurant, your mother’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. The sharp tang of kimchi mingling with the sweetness of caramelised fish sauce. The distant sound of seagulls outside, the heavy heat of the South pressing against the window screens.

You exhaled, opening your eyes again.

It had been a while since you were home. 

You wanted to go home during the summer break, leave Seoul and all its stress behind for a couple of weeks, but then you were offered your internship and couldn’t go it. 

Swallowing the sudden ache, you focused on stirring the sauce, watching the deep red paste thicken over the heat. 

Cooking had always been something comforting, something familiar. 

You never saw yourself working in the restaurant after you finished high school, but you missed living by the sea, close to your family. 

Donghyuck had moved to Seoul a year after you did, and you were glad. He came to visit you a lot, claiming that he needed a break from seeing his roommate’s face from time to time, only to end up bringing Jeno along. He had been Donghyuck's best friend for so long, Jeno was basically your older brother as well, so it was a given that you cooked for him as well. 

The sound of the door being unlocked ripped you from your thoughts, and your head snapped up to watch Sunghoon step back inside the apartment, a small plastic bag in his hand. “Got it.”

“That was fast.”

He shrugged, placing the bag on the counter. “I have long legs.”

You glanced inside, pulling out the package of mu kimchi. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, leaning against the counter. “If you’re cooking for me, it’s the least I can do, Y/N.”

His eyes flicked to the stove. “It smells really good.”

“It’s my mom’s. She gives me containers of this stuff every time I visit home. Sometimes I have to eat kolddugi muchim for days after I’ve been home because it won’t fit into the freezer,” you chuckled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t complain about eating kolddugi muchim for days. If it tastes as good as it smells, I’ll gladly help you eat some of the kolddugi muchim you can’t fit into the freezer.” Sunghoon grinned and reached up to grab two sets of plates and bowls from the cabinet. 

You just nodded and smiled at him while dropping the still slightly frozen baby octopus into your mom’s premade sauce. The sizzling of the pan was the only sound for a few moments. 

“I’ll go and turn off the TV. I’ll be right back,” Sunghoon said and disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later, the music box he placed in the kitchen made a sound, and Sunghoon’s playlist hummed through the speakers, while you finished cooking.

Somehow, the two of you had picked designated seats at the kitchen table across from each other, so whenever the two of you had eaten together, there was no question who would be sitting where. 

You watched Sunghoon pile some of the baby octopus onto his plate. “It may be a bit spicy. I kinda put a lot of sauce in there. 

He just shrugged. “That’s okay, I don’t mind the spice.”

“Okay,” you nodded, scooping some rice onto your spoon, trying to not obviously stare at him while he tried the food. 

His brows lifted slightly, and he gave a small nod. “This is good.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “Really?”

He hummed. “Yeah. This is nice.”

A strange sense of relief settled in your chest. You took a small bite yourself, humming in delight when it did taste good. Not as good as if your mom made it freshly, but it was still good. 

You would have to call your mom later to thank her for cooking for you. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Sunghoon stood outside your door, listening to the faint sound of music coming from inside. He knocked once, then again when you didn’t answer right away.

When he had opened up the fridge this morning, both your shelve and his shelve were almost empty. He knew you would be going grocery shopping today as well, so he figured he could just ask if you wanted to go together.

A few moments later, the door opened just enough for him to see you standing there, paint smudged on one sleeve.

“Hey,” he said, glancing past you into your room. “You busy?”

You turned slightly, following his gaze back to the canvas on your desk. “Um. Just painting.”

He took that in for a second. It looked like another food painting, if the bowl that was already finished was any indicator. The room itself was a little messy in the way yours always was when you were working, brushes, paper and tubes of paint spread out over your desk.

“Right,” he said, then leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “I was gonna go grocery shopping for the week. Do you want to come with me?”

You looked at him like you were actually considering it, which made him wait instead of filling the silence.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing back into your room before your shoulders shifted and you gave a small nod. “Okay. Give me like twenty minutes to get ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” he hummed. “Take your time.”

You disappeared back into your room, and Sunghoon wandered over to the living room. He dropped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his TikTok while the apartment stayed quiet around him. Every now and then he glanced toward your room, half expecting to hear you rushing around, but there was only the soft thud of you closing your closet door and then nothing.

When you finally came out, he looked up almost automatically.

For a second he just stared.

Your hair was braided back neatly, the way it usually was, and you were wearing a white dress that fell loosely around you, soft and flowy. 

Sunghoon blinked once and sat up a little straighter. “You always braid your hair.”

You glanced at him, your lips pursed. “Yeah?”

He pushed himself off the sofa and tucked his phone into his pocket. “No, I mean. Always always. I don’t think I’ve seen it open more than like once.”

You shrugged lightly, already reaching for your keys. “I just prefer it that way.”

He hummed as he followed you to the door, though he couldn’t stop looking at the braid. It was neat, simple. “Doesn’t it get annoying to braid every day?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Sunghoon let out a small breath through his nose, stepping out into the hallway after you. “I think you should leave it open; it’s pretty.”

You just hummed, keeping your face turned away from him. He knew there were certain things you didn’t like talking about, shutting down conversations before they could even begin, and apparently your hair was one of them. Sunghoon shook his head as the two of you started down the stairs together. 

It was hot outside, the kind of heat that clung to your skin the second you stepped out of the building, and Sunghoon immediately regretted not waiting until later in the evening.

“It is so stupidly hot,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Why does Seoul have to feel like the inside of an oven in summer?”

You glanced at him, then back ahead. “It’s not that bad.”

He turned to look at you, offended. “What do you mean, not that bad?”

You gave the faintest shrug. “It’s warm.”

“Warm?” he repeated. “This is not warm. This is hostile.”

That got the smallest hint of a smile out of you, and he caught it just long enough to feel mildly satisfied with himself.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The grocery store wasn’t far, but by the time you got there, Sunghoon’s t-shirt was drenched. You walked beside him without complaining once, hands relaxed at your sides, braid resting between your shoulder blades.

The doors to the store opened, and when the two of you stepped inside, Sunghoon sighed in relief, the cold from the AC washing over his body as he got a cart for the two of you. He steered the two of you deeper into the supermarket, one hand resting loosely on the handle while the other occasionally reached out to grab something from the shelves without really stopping.

You stayed beside him, quiet in the way you usually were when you were thinking, eyes moving over the rows of products without lingering anywhere for too long. 

“Wait,” you said, stopping the cart when you passed the oatmeal section. “I think mine are almost done.”

Sunghoon hummed and followed you inside the aisle.

“I was thinking of getting these for the week,” you said, squatting down and grabbing a flashy box. 

He hummed, reaching for it, reading the front of the package when you handed it to him.

It was a white oat, fruits and nuts mix.

“Which one do you usually buy?”

You shrugged. “Just the plain one.”

He made a face when he turned the box around in his hands. “You should get the protein one.”

You looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because it has more energy,” he said, pointing at the nutrition table on the back with a fingertip. “And better ingredients. See?”

He held the package out a little so you could look at it, before grabbing the one brand Wonyoung always raved about. “You said you’ve been feeling tired all the time; maybe you need some more protein. That helped a friend of mine, and she really likes that one.”

You reached forward, and your fingers closed around the cardboard before you turned it around once, then twice,  before nodding and tossing it into the cart.

The two of you continued down the aisle, casually stacking more things into the cart. He kept filling his own side with random food. Rice, vegetables, eggs, protein drinks, a few snacks. 

Your side looked different, a lot more specific. You spent a lot more time deciding between products, pondering the different choices, checking the list on your phone, checking the boxes whenever you added something to the cart.

He glanced at your list at some point and then at you. “Do you shop the same stuff every week?”

You looked up from your phone. “Most of the time, yeah.”

“That sounds boring.”

You gave a small shrug. “It’s not bad. There are a lot of things I can cook with that.”

“You mean loads of things you can drown in gochujang?”

You didn’t answer that, just moved to the next shelf and reached for another bar of dark chocolate. Sunghoon watched you for a second before stepping closer and taking one of the protein bars from the shelf.

“You should get these too,” he said, holding it out. “They’re good.”

You took it from him and turned it over in your hand, scanning the front before flipping it around to the back. You read the label for a second longer this time. 

He watched you drop it towards your side of the cart before you put the dark chocolate back into the shelf. 

The second you stepped into the frozen aisle, you started shivering, wrapping your arms around your body, while you followed him, so Sunghoon just grabbed a few packs of chicken breast off the shelf and dropped them into the cart one after another.

You glanced down at the pile of them, then back at him. “What are you gonna eat that with?”

He looked over his shoulder. “No idea.”

You blinked. “You just eat it plain?”

He gave you a look like that was a stupid question. “Most of the time, yeah.”

That made you hum softly to yourself, more thoughtful than amused, and you reached into the freezer case beside you before he could say anything else. A bag of frozen broccoli went into the cart, then another pack of vegetables, then some carrots.

Sunghoon looked down at what you were adding. “What are you doing?”

You shrugged. “I’m keeping my end of the deal, and I won’t let you eat plain chicken.” 

He laughed at that, short and warm, and shook his head a little. “You wanna cook for me?”

You glanced at him, already reaching for another bag. “Well, yes. You’re the one paying. I’ll be the one cooking for the both of us. It’s convenient if we don’t get the kitchen dirty multiple times a day.”

That made him laugh again, a little louder this time, and he nodded once. “Fair.”

After a beat, you reached into the freezer again and added another pack of mixed vegetables to his side of the cart. He looked down at it, then at you.

“You’re spoiling me,” he said.

You hummed. “You’re paying.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re enabling my laziness by cooking for me. How am I supposed to learn how to cook?”

“If you only want to cook, feel free. I won’t be stopping you.”

“I never said I don’t want to cook.”

“You did imply it.”

He gave you a long look, then broke into another grin and nodded once. “Okay, maybe I did.”

You were already looking away again, focused on the shelf in front of you, but the corner of his mouth stayed tilted up as he kept pushing the cart.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

You left the grocery store with more bags than Sunghoon had expected. He had ended up carrying most of them, insisting you took the smaller bags, ignoring how you complained about him thinking you were weak. Considering you asked him to open bottles sometimes, he was sure you would have handed him the heavy bags anyway. 

The heat outside hit Sunghoon like a wall. He hated it: the warmth, the sweat and the clammy feeling all over his body that came with it. Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shifting the bags higher in his grip.

“God, it’s still disgusting out here,” he muttered.

You only hummed, apparently unaffected in a way that made him feel slightly betrayed by his own body. The two of you were chatting, talking about nothing and everything while walking back to your apartment complex, before you went quiet for a moment. 

“Can we stop by the flower shop?”

He turned his head. “The one you always talk about?”

You nodded. “If it’s okay.”

He shrugged, though the bags in his hands made the movement awkward. “Yeah, sure.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The bell over the door chimed when the two of you stepped inside. 

It smelled like water, leaves, and something soft he couldn’t quite place. Flowers lined the narrow room in neat clusters, some already wrapped and waiting near the counter, others still standing in buckets along the floor and tables.

The woman behind the counter looked up immediately and smiled when she saw you. “Y/N,” she said warmly, “what a lovely surprise.”

You brightened a little, your face easing in a way Sunghoon had never seen before. It was pretty. 

“Hi.”

She came around the counter, hands wiping briefly against her apron before she reached for one of the buckets near the front. “You haven’t been here in a while. I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“Work has been a bit much,” you admitted, shifting the bag in your arms.

The woman made a sympathetic noise and then glanced toward Sunghoon, her eyebrows raised, as she looked back towards you. "And who is this?”

You turned slightly. “Oh, this is Sunghoon. He’s my roommate.”

Sunghoon gave her a polite little bow, suddenly feeling nervous about making a bad impression. You and the lady seemed close. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

Her expression softened instantly, as if the bow had been the correct answer to some invisible test. “Roommate,” she repeated, then looked at you again with a knowing sort of smile. “So you do have company at home now.”

You blinked at her, and Sunghoon noticed the red creeping up your neck. “Ajumma.”

She ignored that completely and waved a hand at the flowers. “Come, come. Let me show you what I have today.”

You followed her deeper into the shop, Sunghoon trailing after you a little awkwardly with the grocery bags still in hand. The woman moved around the buckets, looking for something specific, before lifting out flowers one by one and holding them toward you.

“These are lovely today,” she said, showing you a handful of blooms with pale petals that were slightly open already. “Not the freshest ones, but the shape is still very nice.”

Sunghoon frowned a little as he watched you take them in your hands and turn them gently from side to side. He wasn’t sure why, but he had expected you to reach for the brightest, newest ones. Instead, your attention seemed to settle on the flowers that looked a little less perfect, the ones with petals that had started to curl at the edges or lean slightly to one side.

"Why not buy fresh ones today, my child?" She asked, handing you another battered-looking one. "I got some beautiful tulips just this morning."

You looked up at that, then smiled a little sheepishly. “I think they’re also pretty.”

The woman shook her head fondly. “You and your strange taste."

You adjusted the flowers in your hands and gave a small shrug. “I like the ones that no one else would pick; you would throw them out anyway. And even if they just live for a day in my kitchen, at least they got some love, Ajumma. I'm sure someone will buy the tulips.”

The woman’s expression softened at that, and for a moment she just looked at you with more love and care in her eyes than a stranger should have for their customer. Then she let out a quiet hum and started wrapping the stems in paper.

You smiled, small and pleased, and Sunghoon had the strange feeling that he was seeing a piece of you that didn’t usually show itself anywhere else. Not at the apartment, not at the store, not when you were quietly making tea or sitting beside him on the sofa. 

The woman finished tying the bouquet and pressed it into your hands with the kind of care that felt almost maternal. “There. These suit you better than the tulips would anyway.”

You looked down at the flowers, then up at her with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said immediately, as if the thanks were unnecessary. “And don’t wait so long before coming again. Your face looks tired.”

“Ajumma,” you said again, but this time it was gentler.

She only waved you off. “Go home, eat properly, and come back soon."

“I will,” you promised.

Then the two of you stepped back outside, the flowers held carefully against your chest while Sunghoon adjusted the grocery bags again. You glanced down at the bouquet, then up at him, and there was a small smile pulling at your mouth.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Sunghoon had just finished mixing his protein shake when he heard keys jingle and the front door swing open.

He frowned, setting the shaker bottle down. You weren’t supposed to be home yet. It wasn’t even 4 p.m. Had your class ended early? 

Still, he greeted you out of habit. “Hey, Y/N–”

But the person standing in the doorway was definitely not you.

Sunghoon froze. The guy in the doorway froze, too.

For a long second, they just stared at each other, equally confused.

Sunghoon slowly lowered his shaker bottle. Who the hell–

“Uh…” the guy started, blinking a few times like he was trying to process the situation. Then, he pointed at Sunghoon. “You’re not Y/N.”

“No,” Sunghoon said flatly. “I’m not.”

The guy frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Then… who are you?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “I live here. Who are you?”

The guy’s face shifted as realisation dawned on him. His confusion melted into something amused.

“Oh,” he said, dragging out the word. Then, he grinned and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I’m Donghyuck. Nice to meet you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Wait.

Donghyuck, as in your boyfriend Donghyuck?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward the fridge before he could stop himself. The slightly curled postcard from Busan hung beside a few photos he had found himself staring at more than once in the past month. Donghyuck was in a lot of them. Always close to you, arms slung around your shoulders, laughing together.

Sunghoon quickly cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. I’m Sunghoon.”

Donghyuck hummed, already toeing off his sneakers. “Is Y/N still at class?” He dropped his bag by the door and strolled toward the kitchen.

Sunghoon, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening, hesitated before answering. “Uh… yeah? She usually gets home around 4:30. Sometimes a bit earlier.”

Donghyuck nodded, completely unfazed. “Alright, cool.”

Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.

“How long have the two of you been together?”

Sunghoon nearly choked on air.

“What?” He spun around so fast that he nearly knocked over his protein shake.

Donghyuck just shrugged, sipping his water like this was a completely normal conversation. “Y/N didn’t tell me she was seeing someone. Or, well… seeing someone seriously enough to let him move in with her.”

Sunghoon’s brain stalled. What. The. Hell.

“I hope it’s been at least half a year and you didn’t just sweet-talk her into letting you move in after, like, two months.” Donghyuck narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Why–why would I be Y/N’s boyfriend?” Sunghoon blurted.

Isn’t Donghyuck the boyfriend?! What was happening?

The other gave him a look. “Dude,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You literally just said you live here.”

“Yeah, because I’m her roommate,” Sunghoon said, still trying to process this conversation. “I pay rent and shit to be here.”

Donghyuck blinked. “Wait. You’re her roommate?”

“Yes.” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at the apartment. “What else would I be?”

Donghyuck tilted his head, considering. Then he shrugged. “I dunno, her boyfriend?”

Sunghoon let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Dude, I thought you were her boyfriend.”

Donghyuck burst out laughing.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, looking genuinely amused. “Oh, nah.” He shook his head, still grinning. “I’m her brother.”

Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Brother.

Oh. Okay.

Now that he really looked, Donghyuck did have similar features to you. 

Your brother just grinned, clearly entertained by the situation. “Damn, you really thought we were dating? Siblings dating seems pretty weird, doesn’t it, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon groaned, leaning against the counter. “I didn’t–”

Donghyuck cackled.

Before Sunghoon could come up with something to say, the front door suddenly swung open again.

“Oh my god,” your voice rang through the apartment, full of surprise and excitement. “Hyuck?!”

Sunghoon turned his head just in time to see you practically launch yourself at your brother. Donghyuck barely had time to put down his glass before you crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming! I thought you were still at home!” You grinned up at him, eyes shining.

Donghyuck ruffled your hair like it. “I wanted to surprise you. Taeyong packed you a snack box from home. Mom and Johnny’s Mom added some stuff too. You know, since you can’t come home.”

Your face lit up. “No way.”

Donghyuck smirked. “Way.”

Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, just watched as you glowed with excitement.

But before he could fully process how different you looked right now, so happy, so genuinely overjoyed, Donghyuck turned to you with an easy grin.

“So…” He dragged out the word, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Your expression twisted in confusion. “What?”

Donghyuck jerked his thumb toward Sunghoon. “You didn’t tell me you were dating your roommate.”

You were silent for a beat. 

Then, your entire face went red.

Sunghoon could feel the heat radiating off you from where he stood.

“What?” you repeated, blinking rapidly.

Donghyuck just smirked, clearly enjoying this. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” He gestured toward Sunghoon, who was just standing there like an idiot.

Your eyes darted towards him like you were expecting him to say something, but Sunghoon’s brain was still buffering.

Because all he could think about was how genuinely happy you had looked when you saw Donghyuck.

So expressive. So open.

The way your face had lit up, the way your voice had lifted into something bright and completely unfiltered. It was cute. And, selfishly, Sunghoon wondered why.

Why did you always hold back a little around him? The small, bashful smiles, the careful responses. Was he that intimidating? He was trying so hard to get to know you, to be a good roommate who would turn into a friend. 

“We’re not dating.” Sunghoon finally managed, his voice a little more rushed than intended. “I’m just her roommate.”

You exhaled, pressing your hands to your very red cheeks. “Yes. He’s my roommate.”

Donghyuck raised a brow, clearly not convinced.

“Right,” he said slowly, crossing his arms. “So you just let random guys move in with you now?”

“I didn’t–it’s not–,” You groaned. “It’s a long story.”

Sunghoon, for some reason, felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not weird, okay? We barely even knew each other when I moved in. You don’t have to worry about us dating or anything.”

Donghyuck snorted. “That makes it sound so much worse.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it. 

You groaned again, looking like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Mr Kang is renting the second room to Sunghoon.”

“No way. Your studio?” Donghyuck asked and looked at Sunghoon as if he had personally had the intention to steal your studio from you. 

“Yeah. It’s all right, though. I always knew he could rent it out to someone who will show up,” you leaned against the counter next to Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck was still looking at Sunghoon, but his facial expression had changed from accusation to something that looked like interest.

“Anyway,” he said, focusing back on you, “Do you wanna open the package? I am praying that Johnny put in some of those dope cookies from the bakery under his office. If he did, I am claiming one-half.”

At that, your face brightened again, and Sunghoon caught himself watching the shift in your expression again. 

The way your eyes widened, the slight bounce in your stance, the way you leaned in just a little closer to Donghyuck.

Your brother unzipped the bag and pulled out a medium-sized cardboard box, setting it on the counter with a slight thud.

Your hands were already on the tape, peeling it open. “You had four weeks to eat the cookies from ppangjib. You get one. Or maybe two."

Donghyuck grinned. “Deal.”

Sunghoon, though still a little confused by the whole situation, couldn’t help but glance into the box as you pulled back the flaps. Inside were neatly packed bags of homemade snacks, a few small wrapped gifts, and a handwritten letter sitting on top.

You immediately grabbed the letter, unfolding it with the kind of excitement that was usually reserved for kids on Christmas morning.

While you skimmed it, Donghyuck reached into the box and pulled out a small bag of yakgwa, grinning. “Oh, sick. Mom made you some yakgwa.”

“No way.” You grabbed the bag from him, grinning just as wide.

Sunghoon glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen door. 

Shit.

He had to get to training.

With a sigh, he grabbed his shaker bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder. 

“I gotta head out.” 

You looked up from the letter. "Oh, right! You have training tonight.”

He nodded, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to eat something later, or will you eat somewhere else?” Your eyes were sparkling when you looked at him, and Sunghoon had to suddenly swallow dryly before being able to answer. 

“I’ll eat with the others, thank you, Y/N." He nodded at your brother. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. Have a nice evening, you two.”

Donghyuck, already chewing on a piece of yakgwa, gave him a lazy salute. “Have fun, man.”

Sunghoon huffed a small laugh before turning toward the door. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The bus stop was already fuller than you had hoped for.

You slowed when you got close, eyes briefly flicking over the small crowd waiting in the rain. Uni had already been enough on its own, and the thought of standing around in the wet for the next ten minutes did not exactly improve your mood.

With a sigh, you lined up behind a girl who was fully immersed in her phone, not looking up even when the line moved forward slightly. 

“Y/N?”

You turned and found Sunghoon a few steps away, looking just as exhausted as you felt.

“Oh,” you said, a little flatly before you could stop yourself. “Hi.”

He gave you a small smile and stepped closer, shielding you from the rain by holding his umbrella over your head. For a second, neither of you said anything.

It was not exactly awkward in a bad way. 

Just quiet. 

Sunghoon glanced at you once before looking back at the road. “You got work later?”

You nodded, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “Yeah.”

He hummed. “Do you want me to cook then?”

That made you look at him. “You can if you want to?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I’ve wanted to try out a dish Wonyoung recommended. She’s been hyping it up for weeks now.”

“Wonyoung?” You asked, trying not to sound too curious. Sunghoon often talked about one of his girl space friends, but this was the first time he had mentioned a name. 

“She’s one of the skaters I train with, and she’s pretty strict about her diet and eating healthy. She’s also the one that recommended the oatmeal I made you buy,” Sunghoon hummed and gave you a small smile. “Yours is empty, right? I’m gonna go grocery shopping before cooking. I could buy you some before you run out?”

“Oh,” you blinked once, a little caught off guard by how normal that sounded now. Apparently that was just what you were doing these days. Just cooking and buying groceries together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah,” you said after a second, and then, a little quieter, “Thanks.”

He only nodded, like it was no big deal.

When the bus finally came, the two of you ended up standing through most of the ride, holding onto the railings and swaying slightly whenever the bus turned. 

By the time your stop came up, you were both more than ready to get off.

The walk back to the apartment was quiet at first, Sunghoon holding his umbrella above both your heads, trying his best to keep you dry. 

After a while, you glanced over at him. “How was your day?”

Sunghoon let out a small, humourless breath through his nose before answering. “Shit, honestly.”

You looked at him a little more closely. “Really?”

He nodded once, jaw tightening slightly. “This whole week’s been shit.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He looked ahead again and shrugged. “Coach is on my ass. Everything feels off. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get back on track for nationals at this point.”

His voice was flatter than usual, but there was frustration under it, thick enough that you could hear it anyway. He sounded genuinely upset, not just annoyed in the dramatic way he sometimes was when he complained about training.

You hesitated for a second, then said, “I’m sure you’ve been doing well.”

That got a quiet laugh out of him, though it did not sound amused. He shook his head slightly and looked over at you. “You haven’t seen me skate.”

You blinked, then shrugged one shoulder. “I know how much you train.”

He gave you a look at that, something tired and a little resigned in it. “Training a lot doesn’t mean I’m doing well.”

You frowned a little, looking down at the pavement as you walked. “Still. You’re probably doing better than you think.”

Sunghoon huffed again, but there was less edge to it now. “You know,” he said casually, “you should come to one of my competitions sometime.”

Your eyes flicked up to him. “Your competitions?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slightly. “There you could see me skate properly and then think about if I really am doing better than I think.”

You gave him a little smile. “I’ll think about it. I am sure you’re amazing on the ice, dear roommate.”

That made him smile, too.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The cold had come quickly this year, creeping into your apartment and into your room. 

You had spent your day at uni freezing and had been looking forward to just curling up on the sofa or your bed until you fell asleep. Sunghoon had picked up training for his competition, so it was almost rare that you got to see him during the evenings, but today he had been at home when you opened the front door. 

He was studying at the kitchen table, his hair held up by one of his hair bands and a thick pair of glasses on his nose. 

“Hi,” you greeted him, peeling your boots off your feet with your fingers stiff from the cold. 

“Hello, Y/N,” he gave you a tired look, glancing up from his iPad.

“Don’t you have training today?” Your coat was wet from the rain, so you spread it over one of the kitchen chairs to dry before dropping your bag on top of it. 

Sunghoon sighed and shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “They are doing some checks with the building, and we aren’t allowed inside, so no.”

“Oh,” you hummed, moving into the kitchen to heat up some water. “You don’t sound happy about that?” 

He huffed and shrugged. “I wanted to train today. I still feel like shit about not being able to land my combo when I was able to before the summer break. I was off the ice for like two weeks, and it’s just gone.” 

“Because of the break?” 

"Yeah." Sunghoon nodded and watched as you got out your favourite mug. “That happens sometimes and is super annoying. If you lose a jump, you usually need double the time to relearn it again.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to get it again?” 

Sunghoon shrugged again and let his head fall against the wall with a soft thud. “Yeah, it will just take time.” 

You hummed and watched the kettle rattle as it brought the water for your tea to a boil. 

"Y/N", he lifted his head, “a few of my friends want to come over and check out the apartment. Is that fine with you? I know you’ve got work tomorrow, but I promise we’ll keep it down when you want to head to bed.”

You smiled, the question barely making you think. “Oh, that's not a problem, Sunghoon. You live here, too. It’s not like I’m going to stop you from having friends over.” 

He relaxed at your response, the tension in his posture easing as he gave a small, appreciative nod. “Thanks,” he said, looking genuinely relieved. “I’ll let them know we’ll keep it low-key.”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “No worries. You do you.” Then, as an afterthought, you added, “Just don’t be too loud around midnight. I haven’t really had parties here, so I don’t know if our neighbours are cool with noise or not?”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “You can come hang out later. If you want to. We’re gonna order pizza. I know you don’t do lactose or gluten, but if you want a piece just…you know join us?”

You nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small wave. “Ah. Uhm. Thanks. But I think I’m good. I’ll go to sleep soon anyway.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

You did, in fact, not go to sleep soon. 

It was almost eleven, and you were still reading, curled up in your duvet, a low light illuminating the room slightly. Your stomach had started growling a while back, and the more you tried to ignore it, the more urgent your hunger got. 

With a long and annoyed sigh, you kicked the duvet off and begrudgingly put your book away before you stood up from your bed. 

You hesitated for a moment when you reached your door. 

Sunghoon and his friends were in the living room, playing something on the switch Sunghoon had brought with him when he moved in, so you would have to pass by them if you wanted to get to the kitchen.

You were wearing a pair of loose joggers and one of your brother's hoodies that he forgot at your apartment that you never bothered to return, so you were definitely not dressed for guests, let alone Sunghoon’s friends. But your stomach growled again, making you push the handle down and step into the hallway. 

The laughter grew louder the closer you got to the living room. As soon as you entered, four pairs of eyes turned to look at you.

“Oh, hey!” one of them greeted you, giving you a smile, while his car came to a stop. “You must be Y/N.”

“Oh, uh–hi,” you said, your voice coming out slightly too high.

Sunghoon grinned at you. “This is Jay, Heeseung, and Jake,” he said, nodding toward each of them. “Guys, this is Y/N.”

Heeseung leaned back against the couch, abandoning his character as well. “Dude, your apartment is so nice,” he said. “Did you decorate it by yourself?”

You blinked. “Uh–what?”

“The apartment,” he repeated, still smiling. “It looks really good.”

“Oh! Um–yeah, I did?” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, I just… put some things together. I like interior stuff, so…”

“Man, Sunghoon lucked out,” Jay said, shaking his head. “My first roommate had, like, one folding chair and a mattress on the floor.”

“Hey!?” Heeseung said and turned to Jay, “I was your first roommate?”

“Yeah. And we have been living in our dorm for 3 years now. The only reason why we have a decent apartment now is that your mom insisted on helping decorate it,” Jay deadpanned. “And the main piece of decoration in your room is your keyboard shrine.” 

Jake and Sunghoon snorted while Heeseung tried to defend himself: ”I asked her for help because you wouldn’t stop complaining, you stupid piece of shit.”

“See, I am really happy to have Y/N as my roommate. She has rugs and decorations. And a normal amount of keyboards.” Sunghoon grinned at you. “She is even painting the paintings to fit the vibe of our apartment.” 

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with betrayal. He just grinned.

“Did you paint all of them?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Mostly last summer.”

“Damn,” Jake said, shaking his head. “That’s sick. I can barely draw a stick figure.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “Thank you.”

Before you could recover, Sunghoon gestured toward the pizza box. “Are you hungry? We ordered way too much.”

“Oh–no, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I was just going to warm up something from the fridge.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I swear this is so much, and we are all supposed to watch over our diets. You’d be doing a good thing by eating a slice or two,” Jake said before stealing a gummy bear from Jay.

“Maybe just one slice?” You mumbled.

Jake’s smile widened. “Sure, take as many as you want.”

He slid a plate toward you, and you shuffled over, still feeling painfully awkward. You perched on the arm of the couch next to Sunghoon, back stiff.

Your roommate glanced up at you, giving you a smile. “Have you finished your book?”

You hummed and took the plate Jake offered you, shaking your head. “Thank you, Jake. Almost? I need like three or four chapters. I’ll definitely finish it today.” 

“So you’re going to read your vampire book?” Sunghoon teased. He had read the back of it and had been making fun of you ever since. 

“No,” you took a bite and swallowed before continuing, watching the TV as they started another round of Mario Kart. “I’ll be waiting until Halloween. I have the morning shift, so I’ll have the whole evening to finish it.” 

“Are you not gonna party on Halloween?” Heeseung asked, not taking his eyes from the TV. 

You frowned, shrugging. “Not really? I’ve not been invited to any parties? And aside from that, I’m not really someone who goes to parties.” 

“You’re just using that as an excuse to stay in bed to read your vampire steamy book, or what did you call it?” Sunghoon teased again, nudging your thigh with his shoulder. “I never thought you’d be one of those girls, Y/N.”

You felt heat rushing up your neck, your cheeks flushing, but before you could defend yourself, Jay already came to your aid. 

ne,” he glanced at Sunghoon and regretted it mere seconds after, driving off the road. “Fuck.”

“I’m not even doing anything,” your roommate grinned.

Your stomach dropped at the words.

It was stupid, really. 

He had only been teasing. 

You knew that, but somehow it felt weird.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the plate, and forced a small laugh through your nose before you looked back at the TV. 

It was suddenly too loud in the room, too warm, too bright. 

You could feel your pulse in your throat, fast and annoying, and every second that passed made you more aware of yourself.

Sunghoon shifted beside you.

He must have noticed the change in your mood, because when you glanced at him for half a second, he was already looking at you. 

Not teasing, just watching. 

His expression softened the moment he saw your face.

You looked away instantly.

No. No, it was fine. It was nothing.

He didn’t say anything right away, but the apology in his eyes was obvious enough that it made your chest tighten worse. He probably realised he had pushed too far.

It was all right. Nothing had happened; he didn’t mean it in a bad way. 

You took another bite of pizza just so you would have something to do with your mouth, but it didn’t help. Not even a little. Your stomach felt weirdly hollow and too full at the same time, and you kept your face angled toward the TV while your entire body screamed at you to get up and leave before you embarrassed yourself any further.

Heeseung glanced between you and Sunghoon, clearly catching something in the air. For a second, the room went a little quieter, the game noises continuing in the background.

Then Heeseung spoke.

“Actually,” he said, a little more carefully now, “do you maybe want to give partying one more try?”

You looked over at him, caught off guard.

His expression was gentle, not pushy. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “I mean, instead of spending Halloween alone reading by yourself.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

“There’s gonna be a big Halloween party hosted by the swimmers,” Jake said from the floor, spinning his controller between his fingers. “You could come. If you don’t want to go alone, you can bring a friend too. Just tell the guards we invited you; they’ll know.”

You blinked at that. “A friend?”

He nodded. “Sure. If that makes it less weird.”

“Or safer,” Jay added, not looking at you but clearly trying to help in the least aggressive way possible. “Whatever works.”

You glanced down at your plate, your fingers suddenly very aware around the rim. The room was still buzzing with the game, but your pulse had not slowed.

You forced your shoulders to stay loose.

“I don’t know,” you said, and tried very hard for the words to sound normal. “I’m just… not really into parties.”

Jake nodded immediately, as he understood. “That’s fair.”

“But,” Heeseung said, still soft, “you don’t have to be into parties to come to one once.”

You hesitated.

“I haven’t been to one in forever,” you admitted, which was worse than saying no because now it sounded like a confession.

Jake’s face brightened a little, not in a mocking way, more like he had heard a challenge he wanted to win. “Then it’s definitely time.”

“No pressure,” Heeseung added quickly when you didn’t answer right away. “Seriously. But if you want to try it, we’ll look out for you.”

Jake leaned back and grinned at you. “Think about it, yeah?”

You nodded once.

Heeseung smiled, gentler than before. “And seriously, you can bring a friend if you want. No pressure.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Except that it was pressure, and you couldn't stop thinking about it. 

So the next day, Jaemin immediately noticed that something was off the second you clocked in. “Okay, spill.”

You frowned, wrapping your apron around your waist. “What?”

“You look weird. A bit constipated. What are you thinking so deeply about? 

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s nothing.”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

You exhaled, already knowing you weren’t going to get away with it. “Sunghoon’s friends came over last night.”

His eyebrows shot up. “The hockey players?”

You blinked, surprised. “How did you know?”

At the same time, you weren’t really surprised. Jaemin had a way of knowing everything and everyone. He was the definition of a social butterfly.

“Just a gut feeling", he grinned. “Tell me more.”

You sighed, opening the door towards the main room of the cinema. “It wasn’t a big deal. They just came over to see the apartment and hang out with Sunghoon. I ran into them when I went to the kitchen.”

“And?” Jaemin prompted, eyes gleaming with interest. 

“And… they were nice,” you admitted. “They complimented the apartment and–” you hesitated, then added reluctantly, “my paintings.”

Jaemin gasped dramatically. “The beautiful paintings that are all over your apartment that everyone compliments? No way!”

You rolled your eyes. “Jaemin.”

“What? Am I lying?” he shrugged, grinning at you.

You groaned, covering your face. “Can you leave me alone?”

Jaemin cackled. “No.”

You shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

“You don’t. In fact, you love me enough to schedule your shift so they’d clash with mine and we have even more time to hang out," he said, waving a hand. “So what happened afterwards? Just meeting them wouldn’t make you this thoughtful.”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “They… invited me to their Halloween party.”

Jaemin froze.

His expression went from shocked to utterly gobsmacked in less than a second. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Wait, like, the swimmers' Halloween party?”

“I think?”

He gawked at you. “You think? Y/N, do you even realise how exclusive those are?” He leaned in. “You have to know people to get in or be important enough to be invited.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I guess… I know people now?”

Jaemin smacked your arm lightly. “Oh my god, this is huge.”

“It’s really not. They even offered that I could bring a friend.”

“Oh, my god.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You have to take me with you.”

You groaned. “Jaemin–”

“Please.” His eyes widened. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We’d be insane not to go.”

You chewed on your lip. “I don’t know… I feel like I’d just be awkward.”

Jaemin softened slightly. “You might. But you might also have fun.”

You sighed.

“If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll leave with you,” he promised. “I swear.”

You hesitated before finally mumbling, “I’ll think about it.”

Jaemin beamed. “That’s all I needed to hear. We’re going,” he said, gripping your wrist.

You groaned. “Jaemin.”

“Please.” His eyes widened dramatically. “Do you even understand what this means? This is like–like being invited to the Met Gala of frat parties.”

You gave him a look. “You are so dramatic.”

“Am I?” He scoffed. “Y/N, do you realise how hard it is to get into one of these? And you got invited. You!” He clutched his chest like he was about to faint.

You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Jaemin’s jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? Y/N, if I had even breathed in the direction of these parties before, I would’ve been escorted out.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. If not even Jaemin had been invited to one of these parties, they probably were a big thing. Johnny was always talking about how he enjoyed going to parties. You loved hearing his and Taeyong's stories every time they came home. 

They did romanticise uni life a bit in your opinion. 

Or maybe you were just doing something wrong. 

Maybe you could try going to that party.  

Jaemin's face softened slightly. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Big parties aren’t your thing. And, yeah, it might be overwhelming at first. But, Y/N, you deserve to have fun.”

“I do have fun,” you muttered.

Jaemin gave you a knowing look. “Working, studying, and just being in your apartment alone all the time doesn’t count.”

You sighed.

“If you don’t like it, we’ll leave,” he promised. “I swear. I won’t ditch you. But at least try.”

You hesitated, staring at the counter, before finally mumbling, “…Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Jaemin grinned as he had already won. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Pushing open the door to your apartment felt like trying to push an elephant out of the way. Your arms were heavy, your brain was pulsing against your skull, and your eyes threatened to fall closed any second now. Somehow your shift at the cinema had been horrible today; it had been loud and hot and entirely overwhelming, so the only thing you wanted to do was to sleep.

But today was Halloween, and you had promised Jaemin and Sunghoon you would go to that stupid party. 

Part of you, a very loud and insistent part of you, wanted to just cancel, tell them that you were too exhausted to go, that you were having a migraine, but another part wanted to go, almost desperately. 

You knew they were right, Johnny, Taeyong, Jaemin, hell, even Sunghoon and his friends. You should try going out more, living life, meeting people, and experiencing things you would usually avoid; it was part of growing up, of living. 

But it was hard. You hated crowds, you hated parties, and you hated being perceived, and that Halloween party would definitely get you to be perceived, especially with your stupid costume.

Somehow Sunghoon and Jaemin, who had almost immediately started forming a coalition against you as soon as you introduced them, convinced you to dress up as one of the puppets from Squid Game. 

With a sigh, you peeled off your shoes and made a beeline straight to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you let out a long sigh and closed your eyes, hoping you would feel better after a nap.

About two hours later, you reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed. Your head was still heavy, a constant throb beneath your temples. 

You could feel your nerves creeping up as you walked out of your room, rubbing your eyes.

“Hey, Sunghoon.” 

Your roommate was standing in the bathroom, the door open, as he styled his hair in the mirror. 

He flinched at your voice, and his eyes flickered to your figure standing in the doorway. “Hi, Y/N. Are you good? You look tired.”

You hummed, leaning against the wooden frame. “My head is pounding. I think I have a migraine coming.”

Sunghon frowned, turning around to look at you properly. “Do you want to eat? Maybe it will get better if you get some food into your system."

“I’ve eaten,” you said, pursing your lips and shrugging. “Jaemin and I ate bibimbap during our lunch break, so my stomach is still pretty full, but I think I’ll take an ibuprofen. Sometimes it helps with the migraines.”

“It has been a while since you had your last one," Sunghoon stated, pushing away from the sink, moving towards and past you into the hallway. “Do you think you’ll be able to go to the party? If you’re not feeling well, you should stay home, Y/N.”

“No, it’s fine. Maybe I'll just leave earlier?”

"Sure, that’s no worries." He moved towards his room before coming back, holding up white face paint. You smiled, though it was still a little tight around the edges. Sunghoon caught your glance and, after a moment of silence, his expression softened into something more reassuring. 

“Come on, it’s going to be okay, yeah? We’ll get there, and we’ll just hang out. You’ll be alright, I promise.”

You gave a reluctant nod, grateful for his words. You stretched out, trying to shake off the drowsiness, and took a deep breath. "Okay."

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The moment you stepped into the house, the overwhelming mix of loud music, sweaty bodies, and flashing lights hit you all at once. The air smelled like alcohol, something vaguely fruity, and whatever cologne the guy who just stumbled past you had drenched himself in.

You were already regretting this.

You had been holding it together on the walk over, but now that you were actually inside, the migraine that had been sitting at the edge of your skull all evening seemed to sharpen all at once. The lights flashing across the room made your eyes sting, and the noise in your ears felt like it was pressing in from every direction.

Sunghoon was right beside you, guiding you deeper into the house with a hand hovering near your back so you didn’t lose him in the crowd. You kept your arms close to your body and did your best not to brush against anyone.

Before you could fully orient yourself, a voice cut through the music.

“Y/N!”

You barely had time to turn before Jake came crashing into you, arms thrown around your middle in a hug that was far too enthusiastic for your current state. You froze immediately.

Everything in you tensed.

Your arms stayed awkwardly at your sides while he rocked you a little, laughing into your shoulder.

“Oh my God,” he slurred happily. “I knew you’d come! I told Sunghoon you were gonna come!”

You stared past him, looking for Sunghoon without even meaning to.

He was standing a few steps away, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with a grin that was way too amused. You glared at him in silent betrayal.

He only smiled wider.

Hesitantly, you lifted one hand and gave Jake a few awkward pats on the back. He seemed delighted by that and finally let go.

Jay appeared a second later. He didn’t tackle you, thankfully. He just gave you a quick half-hug.

“Glad you came,” he said, easy and warm.

You managed a small nod.

“Uh. Yeah,” you said faintly. “Thanks.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Sunghoon was leaning against the sofa, half-listening to Jay argue with Jake about their next beer pong shot. His own cup sat untouched beside him. 

He was pacing himself, knowing he had practice tomorrow. 

His coach was already on him for falling last week, so he didn’t want to even try his luck and skate hungover. The music thumped through the house, bass vibrating beneath his feet, and the heat of too many bodies in a small space was starting to get to him.

If he was completely honest, parties weren’t his thing either. Sure, he’d come along if he got invited, and it was fun most of the time, but he wasn’t as crazy as his friends. He didn’t understand how the hockey players were doing all of this after every game; his coach would kill him if he knew Sunghoon was drinking.

Sunghoon glanced over the table, watching you and Jaemin talk to a small group of baseball players. 

He knew some of them from other parties or sports events but never really got around to getting to know any of them closely. 

He watched as one of them, a little taller than the rest, leaned in slightly while talking to you.

Sunghoon wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his jaw tighten as he saw you taking a slight step back, your smile reverting back to the small, reserved ones you always had when you were uncomfortable or felt especially shy. 

He hadn’t seen that in quite a while now, but it hadn’t left your face all evening.

The way you moved and glanced around made it clear that you weren’t too happy with the situation, and Sunghoon felt guilty. He knew he should have convinced you to stay at home when he saw you step out of your room, your face pale and your hair flattened from your nap. He knew you wouldn’t like being here, and he was sure the sound and the stuffy air inside the house weren’t helping your migraine get any better.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, setting his cup down on the beerping table with a soft thud. He didn’t know if he was overthinking things, but he did promise you to help you out if you needed an out. So he slowly started making his way toward you. Sunghoon had barely taken a step toward you when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Park,” a familiar voice drawled.

He turned to see Hyunjin, one of the more senior skaters. Despite the loud music and chaotic energy of the party, Hyunjin looked as relaxed as ever, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Haven’t seen you drink much,” Hyunjin noted, tilting his own half-empty cup toward Sunghoon. “You’re really out here being responsible?”

Sunghoon snorted. “Some of us have practice tomorrow.”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. “Well, some were clever enough to tell Coach that they wouldn’t come tomorrow so they can drink.”

Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but his attention was already elsewhere. You seemed to suddenly have let loose, your shoulders sagging as you giggled, you giggled, at something the baseball player said. In the one and a half months that he had been living together with you, he never saw you giggle; laugh, sure, but giggle, never. 

He shifted his weight, keeping one ear on whatever Hyunjin was saying while his eyes flickered back to you.

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of Sunghoon’s face. “Hello? Are you even listening?”

Sunghoon blinked, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Sunghoon‘s eyes flickered back to you. „Yeah,“ he started, moving, patting Hyunjin's shoulder. „You know what, I’ll be back in a second.“

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The music thudded in your chest, vibrating through your bones. Your head was pounding, your vision blurry, and there was a weird, giddy sensation bubbling up in you.

 You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying, and you couldn’t grasp a clear thought; everything felt mulled over. It wasn’t unusual for you to get a migraine, especially with the noise and lights in a place like this, but this was different. It felt like your mouth was moving without you even thinking about it when you were answering whatever question Injang just asked.

“So, Y/N, do you have any plans for tomorrow? You know there’s an after-Halloween party for those who couldn’t come today,” he grinned at you, leaning in slightly, his voice a little too loud to make it easy to follow.

You could feel his eyes on you, more intent than necessary. “Um. I have to–I have to study? I can’t party.”

“Oh really? Jaemin mentioned you’re into architecture? It’s probably really hard. Especially for a pretty girl like you, right?" He said, his grin widening. 

You nodded, and the room tilted for a second. 

You blinked hard. 

That wasn’t normal. Your migraines were awful, but they didn’t usually make your body feel this heavy.

“I–I don’t know, maybe?” you replied, your voice trailing off.

„Oh, but I‘m sure you‘re doing a good job, sweetheart.“ 

Somewhere in the back of your brain, you registered the condescending tone he was using, that he was making fun of you, but somehow your thoughts felt detached from everything else. 

They were slow, fuzzy, and your vision started to swim a little as you tried your best to stay nice and polite and look at Injang while he was talking to you. 

Maybe you should have eaten more or drunk more water. 

“Hey, Y/N, you’re okay? You seemed a little drunk." he was suddenly standing closer to you, the heat radiating from his body making your body feel even more uncomfortable. 

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the haze in your brain, but instead, the dizziness swirled, and the world started spinning around you.

“I... I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t even sure you believed it. Your words were slurred, and your eyelids felt heavy as you tried to shake your head. 

You couldn’t understand what was happening; the only thing you had been drinking all day was water. Why did you feel drunk all of a sudden? 

Injang kept leaning in, his hand brushing a few strands that came loose from the ponytail you had tied your hair in behind your ear, his smirk growing wider. You tried to focus on him, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure in your skull and the odd sense of lightness in your limbs.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t you want to drink some more of your water? I’m sure it will help," he asked again, leaning even closer, and you could feel his breath on your face. His voice sounded like it was echoing from far away. 

“I... yeah,” your hands almost automatically guided your cup to your mouth; maybe he was right, and water would help. “I’m just–I’m just a little tired, y’know? I think–I think I should go to my roommate?” 

You glanced towards where you knew Sunghoon was standing, not seeing anything besides the stobling lights flickering over your blurry vision. Your legs felt unsteady, as though they weren’t entirely yours, when you tried to push past the baseball player. 

You could hardly keep your balance, and the noise became so much louder, as if it were vibrating inside your skull. You placed a hand on the wall for support, just trying to stay on your feet. 

The room was spinning, and you tried to focus, to remember where the kitchen was, where you were, but it felt like you had to move through molasses. 

Injang's hands were on you again, and this time it wasn’t just a touch. He was almost painfully gripping your waist, pulling you back. You tried to tug away, but your body wasn’t listening.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, alright? Just let me get you outside; I’m sure some fresh air would help.” Injang’s voice was thick now, too close for comfort. 

His touch sent panic through you.

You couldn’t go outside with him; you shouldn’t. Everything felt wrong.

You knew you needed to get away from him, but every part of you felt so heavy, and your movements weren’t your own. 

You were trapped in this slow, sluggish fog.

"Seriously, Y/N, you're so cute," he continued, stepping even closer until you could feel the heat of his body at your back. "I’m just worried about you. You sure you’re not feeling anything... weird?" 

You flinched, trying to pull away, but he kept his grip, his fingers brushing down to your waist in a way that made you feel exposed and uncomfortable. “Come on baby, don't be shy. It's just a party. We’re just having fun, right?”

You tried again to shake him off, to get awy, but your hands wouldn’t cooperate.

Noise drung through he fog, it semed like someone was fighting, but you weren’t sure. They were muffled and you couldn’t understand what they were saying. 

The next thing you knew, there was a quick movement and Injang’s hand left your waist. 

Without his additional support, your knees buckled underneath your weight and the world tilted, before everything went black. 

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The second you collapsed, it was like time stopped. 

Sunghoon watched how Injang let go of your body, trying to defend himself, saying something about wanting to get you some water. He watched the way you swayed and, finally, how your knees seemed to give up underneath your weight. 

He barely managed to catch you in time, feeling the weight of your body press into him as you fell limp in his arms. His heart slammed in his chest. 

"Y/N?" He shook you gently, then a bit harder when you didn’t respond. 

You felt like a rag doll, no resistance in your body as he went down to the floor, still trying to shake you awake. “Y/N, what’s going on? Wake up!”

Jaemin was suddenly kneeling next to him, helping him hold you up, keeping your head straight. 

“Oh my god," he gasped, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. 

His eyes flickered between Sunghoon and you.

"What happened to her? What's wrong with her?" Jaemin’s voice was panicked. His gaze darted between your pale face and Sunghoon’s frantic movements. 

Sunghoon's mind raced as he tried to figure out what could have happened. “She had–”, he combed his hair back in a frantic movement with one hand. "She said she’s having a migraine. She took some painkillers. Has she been drinking?” Sunghoon's eyes flickered towards Jaemin's face, still holding your body in his arms. “Has she been drinking, Jaemin?” 

Jaemin shook his head, the panic in his face evident. “She didn’t. She only had water. There was nothing–we didn’t even do shots or anything. I–what's happening, Sunghoon? Has she been spiked? That has to be what's happened, right? She’s been spiked.” 

Sunghoon looked around the room, eyes searching for the guy who had been sticking so damn close to you earlier. His hands were shaking as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Call 911,” Sunghoon mumbled before repeating it louder. “Call 911!”

“Jay’s on it, Sunghoon,” Jake’s voice came from behind him. He hadn’t even realised that Jay and Jake had followed him and were now standing behind him, his sole focus on you. “They said help is on the way.”

Sunghoon barely heard him.

All he could focus on was how limp you felt in his arms, how wrong it was that your body had gone so still so fast. He shifted you more carefully against him, his heart slamming so hard it made everything else feel distant and blurry. “Y/N,” he said again, lower this time, as he could somehow pull you back with his voice alone. “Come on. Wake up.”

You didn’t move.

“Where is that guy?” Sunghoon’s head snapped up. He couldn’t let that guy go; it had to have been him. You had nursed one cup of water Sunghoon had personally given you, and that guy had been dancing around you all evening. It had to have been him. 

“Jake, Jake, get that guy.” Sunghoon carefully moved your body, cradling you against his chest as he slowly stood up. “He can’t leave, do whatever is necessary. You’re a hockey player, you know how to throw punches.”

His friend looked between him and wherever the guy from just now had escaped towards. “I can’t just–”

“Yes, you can,” Sunghoon cut in, sharper now, eyes wild. “Do whatever you need to do to keep him there. He does not get to walk out.”

Jake opened his mouth again, then shut it when he saw the look on Sunghoon’s face. “Sunghoon–”

“Don’t,” Sunghoon said, more to keep himself from losing it than to silence Jake. “We have to keep him here until the police get him.”

He looked up at Jake again, anger and fear mixing into something almost unbearable. “Don’t let him go,” he repeated, voice rough. “If he moves, stop him.”

Jake’s expression tightened. “Let’s get Y/N out of here first. We’ll deal with Injang later, Sunghoon.”

“No. Get him now.”

That came out harsher than Sunghoon meant it to, but he didn’t know what to do if he escaped. His skin felt too hot, his pulse too fast, his hands shaking where they held you.

Jake stepped closer, one hand raised in a placating gesture. “Sunghoon, listen to me. Let’s get Y/N outside, let’s wait outside for the ambulance to come. We have enough witnesses to get Injang in trouble, okay?”

“What if he gets rid of the evidence?” Sunghoon shot back, eyes darting over the room again, searching for the guy who had been too close, too hands-on, too wrong. “He doesn’t get to do this and walk away as if nothing happened.”

“Sunghoon,” Jaemin said carefully, trying to get his attention, “we need to focus on Y/N right now.”

“I am focused on her.”

“No, you’re not! You’re focused on beating Injang senseless. Get her out of here.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe once, then twice, but it did almost nothing. His chest was too tight, his hands were still shaking.

Then Jay appeared at the edge of the room, pushing through the crowd. “Ambulance is here,” he said quickly.

For a second, Sunghoon didn’t move.

Then his head snapped up. “Police?”

“On their way,” Jay said, voice clipped. “Let’s get Y/N outside.”

That finally broke through some of the haze. Sunghoon looked down at you again, still cradling you tightly, and his expression changed from furious to wrecked in the space of a breath. “Okay,” he said, though it sounded more like he was telling himself than anyone else. “Okay.”

He tightened his hold on you just a little and bent his head closer. “You’re okay,” he said, though it sounded like a promise he was trying to make true by force. “Help’s here. Just stay with me.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Sunghoon sat in the back of the taxi, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing while his pulse was hammering in his ears as the city lights blurred past the window. His body moved on autopilot when the taxi finally pulled up in front of the hospital. He couldn't get the image of you collapsing out of his head, the way you crumpled to the floor, lifeless in his arms. He insisted on coming to the hospital but wanted Jaemin to be with you in the ambulance, just in case you woke up. 

The chances were low, but he didn’t want you to be with him. 

You barely knew each other. 

You did, technically, he would say; you’ve grown to be something like friends, but he was sure Jaemin was the better, the safer choice for you. 

He barely remembered paying the driver before rushing inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic and bright fluorescent lights making his head pound.

The waiting area was quiet except for the distant beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses. It didn't take much of an effort to find Jaemin.

He was curled up in one of the plastic chairs, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were hunched, and when he looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes were bloodshot.

Sunghoon hesitated before stepping closer. "Any news?"

Jaemin shook his head, wiping at his face with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse. "She's stable, but she's not awake. They said they would send some of her blood to get checked for drugs." His breath hitched slightly. "But it’s gonna take a while until they get the results."

Sunghoon felt his stomach twist. Before he could say anything else, the doors to the waiting room swung open, and Donghyuck rushed in, wearing a vampire costume, his hair swept by the wind and the blood that belonged to the costume smeared across his lower face. 

His face was full of panic, darting from Jaemin to Sunghoon and back. "Where is she?"

Jaemin gestured toward the hallway leading to the ICU. "They're doing tests."

“Is she going to be okay? What did they say, Jaemin? Will she be okay?” Your brother shook Jaemin’s shoulders frantically.

Jaemin nodded, wrapping his hands around your brother’s arms. “She’ll be okay, Hyuck.”

A sob escaped your brother's lips, and he wrapped his arms around Jaemin, deflating against him, as a sob wracked through his body. 

Sunghoon had to avert his gaze for a second. 

He had never felt so helpless as when he was holding your lifeless body at that party, handing you over to the paramedic, watching you get loaded into the ambulance. 

He knew he probably should stay composed, stay focused, but he felt panic run through his veins, his heart still thumping loudly in his chest. 

 "I don't know what happened, Donghyuck,” Jaemin's voice was shaking as he was pressing Donghyuck against his chest. “She was fine. We were just hanging out, talking to some of the baseball guys I know, and then she… she just collapsed. She was just drinking water. She didn’t drink any–any alcohol."

Donghyuck shook his head, pushing himself away from your friend, wiping a tear from his eye. "It's okay, Jaemin, it's not your fault that this happened." 

A nurse approached them, and the attention of all three of the men snapped towards her. "Mr Lee?" 

"Yes," Donghyuck straightened up immediately.

“The doctors had a few additional questions regarding Y/N,” she said gently. “Have you spent the day with her? Would you know her condition before she fainted?” 

Donghyuck blinked at her, still breathing hard from crying, before he shook his head. "I didn't see her today."

The nurse glanced at Sunghoon and Jaemin. "What about either of you?"

“She’s had a migraine since this morning," Sunghoon cleared his throat. “She took painkillers earlier.”

The nurse’s gaze flicked toward him. “Do you know which painkillers?”

Sunghoon shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

The nurse hummed and made a note. “Did she eat anything with them? Any food or drink?”

“I don’t think so,” he frowned, trying to remember. "I don't think she ate dinner. She said she wasn't hungry because of the headache."

“Did she eat anything besides that?” The woman looked between the two of them

Jaemin straightened from his chair, rubbing at one of his eyes before answering. “Yeah. We had lunch at work, and she had snacks later too.”

“What did the two of you eat?” The woman looked at Jaemin expectantly. “Are you feeling unwell as well?”

“No? No, no, I’m okay, maybe a bit tipsy but like nothing besides that.” He went through his hair, bunching the pink strands together. “We ate bibimbap and mandu for lunch at like three pm.”

"Did she drink any alcohol?"

"No." Sunghoon’s answer came instantly, almost interrupting the nurse. "She only drank water."

"Any recreational drugs? Prescription medication besides the migraine tablets?"

"No."

The nurse looked between them all for a moment, then her eyes settled on Donghyuck again. “Mr Lee, would you like to come in and see her?”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Darkness. That was the first thing you noticed. Heavy, suffocating darkness clung to you like a thick fog, making it impossible to think, impossible to move. Then came the sound. Distant at first, like you were hearing everything from underwater. A rhythmic beeping. The faint hum of voices. Rubber soles moving across the floor. You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate. Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, and a noise escaped your lips. The footsteps stopped. “Y/N?” You forced your eyes open. Harsh white light flooded your vision, sending a sharp pain through your skull. You squeezed them shut again with a faint whimper. “That’s okay,” the woman said, lowering her voice. “Take your time. You’re safe.” Something shifted beside you, followed by the quiet click of a switch. The light behind your eyelids softened. You tried again. This time, you managed to keep your eyes open, although everything remained blurred around the edges. A woman in dark blue scrubs stood beside the bed, one hand resting near the monitor to your left. “Can you hear me?” You gave the smallest nod, blinking at her. “Good. My name is Mina. I’m one of the nurses looking after you.” She leaned slightly closer. “Can you tell me your name?” Your lips felt dry and strangely numb when you answered. “Y/N L/N.” “And do you know where you are?” Your gaze drifted around the space. You noticed a pale curtain surrounding the bed you were lying on, thin wires disappearing beneath the blanket covering you, tape against the inside of your arm, holding an IV line in place. “Hospital,” you whispered. “That’s right.” The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before reaching for the blood-pressure cuff around your arm. “Do you know what day it is?” You stared at her, swallowing dryly when you realised you didn’t. You didn’t know what day it was. The question should have been easy, but your thoughts scattered the moment you reached for an answer. You remembered getting dressed. Sunghoon standing in the bathroom with white paint smeared across his face. The heat inside the party. Flashing lights. After that, there was only a blank stretch of nothing. Your answer came out as a whisper, as your throat tightened. “I don’t know.” “That’s okay.” Her voice remained gentle. “Do you remember what happened tonight?” You swallowed, your throat aching with the movement. “I went to a party.” “Anything after that?” You closed your eyes for a second, trying to push through the fog. You remembered music, someone talking to you, the room tilting beneath your feet. Then nothing. “No.” The nurse checked the monitor, then shone a small light briefly across each of your pupils. “Are you in pain?” “My head.” Your voice barely carried over the insistent beeping. “It hurts.” “On a scale from zero to ten?” You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gauge how painful the throbbing was, ignoring the feeling of panic flaring up in your chest. “Seven. Maybe. I get these migraines sometimes.” “And do you feel nauseous?” “A little.” She nodded and made a note on the chart beside the bed. “You were brought in after losing consciousness at a party. Your friends called an ambulance. Your vital signs are stable now, but you were very difficult to wake when you arrived, so we’ve been monitoring you closely.”

Your fingers tightened weakly around the blanket. “Why?” “We’re still waiting for some of the laboratory results,” she explained, smiling gently at you. “The doctors are concerned that you may have been given something without your knowledge. One of them will speak with you now that you’re awake.” Your stomach tightened. Before you could ask anything else, the curtain shifted, and a doctor stepped inside. He introduced himself, then repeated several of the nurse’s questions. Your name. Where you were. What you remembered. Whether you had consumed alcohol or taken any medication. “I took ibuprofen,” you murmured. “For a migraine.” “Anything else?” You shook your head carefully. “Did you drink alcohol tonight?” You blinked, trying your best to remember anything from the day before. “I…I don’t remember.” The doctor nodded, his expression serious but not alarmed. “Your initial blood work is reassuring. Your blood sugar and electrolyte levels are stable, and there are no immediate signs of a serious injury. We’re still waiting for the toxicology results, so I can’t tell you exactly what caused the loss of consciousness yet.” You stared at him, trying to follow every word despite the fog pressing against your thoughts. “Was I drugged?” “It’s a possibility,” he said carefully. “Your symptoms and the account provided by your friends are concerning for that, but we need the laboratory results before we can be more certain.” Your stomach twisted violently. You’ve gotten drugged. You went to that stupid party, and someone had mixed something into your water. You blinked at the doctor, your brain feeling weirdly blank all of a sudden. You’ve gotten drugged. “Your brother is waiting outside,” the nurse added softly. “Would you like us to bring him in?” Donghyuck. The thought of him sitting somewhere beyond the curtain made something inside you loosen and tighten at the same time. You nodded. The nurse disappeared through the curtain. A few moments later, hurried footsteps approached, slowing only when Donghyuck stepped into view. He was wearing part of a vampire costume. His dark shirt was wrinkled, and the fake blood around his mouth had smeared across one cheek. His eyes were swollen and red. The sight of him made your chest ache. “Hey,” he breathed. He crossed the space between you in two steps and reached for your hand, holding it carefully between both of his. “Hey, Bug.” You stared at him. “What happened?” His expression crumpled for half a second before he forced it back under control. “You collapsed at the party.” His thumbs moved nervously over your knuckles. “Jaemin came with you in the ambulance. They think someone put something in your drink.” Your stomach twisted. “My water?” “We don’t know yet.” The room felt strangely distant again. The monitor continued beeping beside you, steady and indifferent. Someone had put something in your water. You pulled in a shallow breath. “Where’s Jaemin?” “He’s outside.” Donghyuck glanced toward the curtain. “Sunghoon too. They’ve both been here the whole time.” “Can they come in?” Donghyuck studied your face for a moment. “Are you sure?” You nodded. He squeezed your hand before stepping out to speak with the nurse. A few minutes passed before the curtain opened again. Jaemin entered first.

His eyes were red-rimmed, and the moment he saw you awake, his hand flew to his mouth. He crossed the room quickly but stopped beside the bed as though he was afraid to touch you without permission. “Oh, my God.” You gave him a weak smile. “Hi.” His face twisted, and tears filled his eyes almost immediately. Behind him, Sunghoon stepped through the opening in the curtain. Most of his costume was gone, but traces of dark makeup remained around his eyes. His hair was dishevelled, and his face looked drained of everything except exhaustion. He stayed near the end of the bed rather than approaching. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. You looked at him, searching through the missing pieces of the night. “You caught me.” It came out more like a question than a statement. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” his voice was rough. “You scared the hell out of us.” The words were quiet, almost restrained, but something in his expression made your chest tighten. The nurse returned before anyone could say more. “I need to check her blood pressure again,” she said gently. “You can stay for a few minutes, but she needs rest, and the doctor will want to reassess her once the remaining results are available.” Donghyuck immediately shifted aside. Jaemin wiped quickly at his face. Sunghoon remained where he was, one hand resting against the metal rail at the end of the bed. The cuff tightened around your arm. You stared at the ceiling while the machine hummed, trying to understand how the night had gone from flashing lights and music to a hospital bed surrounded by three frightened faces. No matter how hard you tried, the space between those two moments remained completely empty. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔ The rest of the day passed in a blur. The hospital staff checked in on you frequently, making sure you were eating and drinking, and that the drug was fully leaving your system. Your body still felt sluggish, like moving through water, and your head pounded in a dull, persistent ache. By the time the evening rolled around, you were discharged with strict instructions to rest, stay hydrated, and come back if anything felt off. Donghyuck refused to let you go home alone, ignoring the fact that you wouldn’t be, that Sunghoon would be there with you and insisted on coming to your apartment. So Donghyuck, Sunghoon, and you settled into the couch in your living room, the TV casting a soft glow across the dimly lit living room. There was nothing particular you wanted to do or watch, everything feeling a bit over- and understimulating at the same time, but you knew your brother was worried. So you just let him pull you onto the sofa, opening Netflix and starting the first show that was on your recently watched list. You were looking at the TV, seeing the pictures, hearing the sounds, the music, the monologues, but you could barely focus on following the story. Your whole body still felt off, heavy, sluggish. Every movement required double the effort. It felt like there was a fog over everything, making it impossible to think too hard or even process what had happened. So you just sat there, curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in one of the throw blankets.

They had given you medication against the nausea, so you could eat at least a bit. Your stomach felt upset nonetheless, no matter how much you drank or shifted your position, so at one point you had just given up, slumping into the sofa, willing yourself to stay awake for at least the first episode of whatever you were watching. Donghyuck was chattering away, commenting on everything that was happening, even roping in Sunghoon into muttering a few comments here and there. At one point, your brother turned to you, seemingly wanting to see if you agreed with what he had just said. “Right, Y/N?” You blinked slowly, shifting your eyes to focus on his face instead of the TV. “Huh?” Donghyuck’s teasing expression faltered slightly, and his eyes softened. “Never mind,” he said gently. “Are you tired?” You nodded, barely holding back a yawn. Donghyuck reached for the remote, lowering the volume. “You should sleep. You’ve had a long day.” You were about to agree, but when you tried to move, your entire body protested. Even sitting up felt like too much effort. “Mhm, I’ll go after this episode.” Donghyuck hummed in agreement and turned back to the TV. Somewhere in the middle of the episode, your body gave in to exhaustion. You woke up in the middle of the night. It took you a moment to realise you were curled into Donghyuck’s side, your head resting against his chest. His arm was draped over you protectively, his slow, steady breathing the only sound in the quiet room. You adjusted slightly and closed your eyes again. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔ The apartment was quiet. Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, rolling his shoulders back as he stared at the half-chopped apple sitting on the cutting board in front of him. His eyes kept flicking toward the living room, where you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Again. Donghyuck had left a few hours ago, only after making you swear you would be okay. He assured you and Sunghoon that he would be back in seconds if he was needed. Now, it was just the two of you. Sunghoon knew that you wouldn’t be on top of your game less than a day after being drugged, but his heart clenched every time he walked past your sleeping figure on the sofa. You had dragged yourself from your room into the living room, claiming your room was too cold to be in, wrapping yourself in multiple layers of blankets before passing out not long after. Donghyuck had insisted you ate lunch while he was there, wanting to see you eat at least a bit, seeming satisfied after you ate a whole bowl of rice and some soup before you took painkillers and suppressants against the nausea. Sunghoon had called his mom after he had woken up today, having the desire to speak to someone who was truly adult about the whole situation. She had offered to come to Seoul, taking care of the two of you for a few days, or at least until you were feeling a bit better, when she learned that your mother couldn’t. He had declined her offer, but gratefully accepted her recipes for an upset stomach. Starting with serving you some vegetables that were easily digestible. So he neatly arranged a banana, a few pieces of cucumber, carrots and some graham crackers before setting the plate down on the coffee table. Maybe you felt like eating a bit when you woke up, and the meds had kicked in. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

You jerked awake, shooting upright so quickly that the sudden movement sent a sharp pulse through your head. For a few seconds, you didn’t know where you were. The apartment was silent around you, the curtains pulled almost completely shut. Thin lines of sunlight filtered in around the edges of the fabric, cutting pale strips across the living room floor. The television had been turned off at some point, and the only sound came from the low hum of the air conditioner and your own uneven breathing. You were sweating. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your back, and damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead and the side of your neck. At the same time, your skin felt cold beneath the blankets wrapped around you, a strange chill sitting deep inside your body despite the heat trapped underneath the fabric. You slowly started peeling the blankets away. Even that felt like too much effort. Your arms were heavy, your fingers clumsy as they caught in the folds, and it took you much longer than it should have to free your legs. By the time the last blanket slipped onto the floor, your heart was beating too quickly for someone who had done nothing but sit up. For a long moment, you stayed there. Your feet rested against the cool floor while you leaned forward, elbows braced against your knees. You took one breath, then another, trying to orient yourself. Your body felt wrong. Heavy and hollow at the same time. Your head still hurt, though the sharp migraine from the day before had softened into a dull, persistent pressure behind your eyes. Your muscles ached like you had been running for hours, and every part of you seemed to lag a second behind your thoughts. Then your stomach growled. The sound was loud in the quiet apartment, followed by an uncomfortable twist that made you place a hand against your middle. You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten properly. You swallowed, but there was barely any moisture in your mouth. The movement scraped against the back of your throat and made you wince. Water. You needed water. Maybe something small to eat as well. Rice. Toast. Something plain enough that your stomach wouldn’t protest. You placed both hands against the sofa and pushed yourself upright. The world tilted immediately. You tightened your grip on the backrest, your fingers digging into the fabric as the living room shifted sideways. Black spots flickered briefly at the edges of your vision. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing slowly until the floor seemed to settle beneath you again. When you opened them, the room was still. Mostly. You waited another few seconds before carefully letting go of the sofa. Your legs felt unsteady, but they held. The distance between the living room and the kitchen had never seemed particularly far before, but now every step required concentration. You moved slowly, one hand occasionally brushing against the wall or the edge of the furniture, as though your own apartment had become unfamiliar overnight. A small Post-it note was stuck to the refrigerator door. You stopped in front of it. Sunghoon’s handwriting covered most of the yellow paper, neat but slightly tilted to one side. I cut up some fruit and vegetables for you. It’s in the blue box you always use. My mom said you should get well soon. A tiny smiley face had been drawn beneath the message.

You stared at it for longer than necessary. Somehow you were weirdly touched and embarrassed at the same time that Sunghoon had told his mom, probably asked her what to do and then had taken the time to cut up fruit for you. With a quiet huff, you pulled the refrigerator door open. The light struck your eyes immediately. Pain shot through your skull, sharp enough to make you recoil. You let the door fall closed again and raised one hand to cover your face, blinking rapidly against the burning behind your eyes. For a moment, you stood there with your palm pressed against the counter. The dizziness returned, softer this time but still enough to make your stomach shift unpleasantly. Maybe food could wait. Maybe you should drink something first. The pounding in your head might be dehydration. The dry mouth definitely was. If you drank some water and sat down again, you might feel normal enough to eat the fruit afterwards. A half-full bottle of water stood on the counter. You reached for it, rubbing the heel of your free hand against one eye before twisting the cap open. Your fingers felt weaker than usual, and the thin plastic crumpled slightly beneath your grip. You brought the bottle to your mouth and took three large swallows. The water was lukewarm, but you didn’t care. It felt good against your throat, washing away some of the dryness. For approximately two seconds. Then it didn’t sit right. Your stomach tightened so suddenly that you froze with the bottle still near your lips. A hard, unpleasant twist pulled through your middle. Not quite pain. Something worse. Something shifting and unstable, as if the water had disturbed whatever fragile balance your stomach had managed to find while you were asleep. You stopped breathing. For a second, you simply stood there, staring at the cabinet in front of you. Maybe it would pass. You had drunk too quickly. That was all. Your stomach had been empty, and you had swallowed too much water at once. It would settle if you stayed still. You lowered the bottle carefully. Your mouth filled with saliva. Your stomach rolled again, sharper this time. No. Your hand flew to your middle while the other placed the bottle onto the counter so quickly that it tipped onto its side. Water sloshed against the plastic, but you barely noticed. No, that was not good. You turned instinctively toward the sink, bending forward slightly as another wave passed through you. Please, no. The thought came before anything else. You pressed your palm harder against your stomach, as though enough pressure might hold everything in place. Your breathing became shallow and careful. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly. Calmly. It was nausea. Just nausea. You had been drugged. You had barely eaten. You had drunk too quickly. There were a dozen reasonable explanations for why you felt sick. This was different. It had to be different. You squeezed your eyes shut. Your throat tightened every time you swallowed. The nausea rose and fell in unpredictable waves, and panic followed it immediately, hot and violent beneath your ribs. You could not throw up. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t allow yourself to.

The thought sounded irrational even inside your own head. People threw up when they were sick. It happened. It meant nothing. Your body was trying to protect itself after everything it had been through. But your body did not seem to understand that this was supposed to be different. It remembered. The pressure beneath your ribs. The saliva gathering beneath your tongue. The instinctive way your body folded forward before you even decided to move. You knew every step that would come next. That knowledge terrified you more than the nausea itself. You inhaled through your nose. One. Exhaled slowly. Two. Again. In. Out. It would pass. It had to pass. You stayed perfectly still, one hand braced against the counter and the other pressed over your stomach. Gradually, the pressure eased. Only slightly, but enough that you could take a fuller breath. You opened your eyes. The kitchen came back into focus around you. The closed refrigerator. The tipped bottle. Sunghoon’s note fluttering faintly beneath the air from the vent. You were okay. You were getting through it. Maybe if you stood there for another minute, the nausea would disappear completely. Then you could go back to the sofa. You could lie down, pull the blankets over yourself and pretend none of this had happened. You lifted your head. The movement itself was small but still enough to set the next wave of nausea into motion. Your stomach clenched so violently that your knees almost gave out beneath you. You covered your mouth, a broken sound catching in your throat as you stumbled away from the counter. No. No, no, no. You barely made it into the bathroom. Your shoulder collided with the doorframe on the way inside, but you barely registered the dull pain. One hand caught the edge of the sink while the other remained clamped over your mouth. The cold porcelain pulled you back into reality for half a second. Then your stomach twisted again. You dropped to your knees in front of the toilet. The position was too familiar. That was the first clear thought that cut through the panic. Your knees against the cold floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat. Your head bowed as your body prepared itself, completely ignoring every desperate command you gave it. You stared down into the empty bowl. Your breathing came too quickly now, shallow and uneven, and every inhale seemed to catch halfway into your lungs. You were sick. That was all. You had been drugged. You had barely eaten. Your stomach was irritated. This was not something you had chosen. This had nothing to do with before. But the tiles beneath your knees felt the same. The pressure behind your ribs felt the same. The helpless, ugly awareness of what your body was about to do felt exactly the same. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the toilet. “No,” you whispered. The word disappeared into the quiet bathroom. Your mouth filled with saliva again. You swallowed forcefully, fighting against the reflex, but that only made the nausea rise higher. “No. Please.” You pressed one hand against your stomach, trying to force your breathing back into something manageable. A small, broken sound escaped your lips, and you bent forward further. The worst part was that you knew what came afterwards. The relief.

That brief emptiness. The sudden quiet after your body had stopped fighting itself. You hated that your mind remembered it. You hated that some distant, buried part of you anticipated it. The bathroom door opened behind you. “Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice was sharp, immediately awake despite the sleep still roughening its edges. You froze. Shame hit you so quickly that it almost drowned out the nausea. He couldn’t see you like this. You turned your head slightly, but not enough to look at him. “Go.” The word came out hoarse and weak. There was a brief silence. “What happened?” His footsteps moved closer. “No.” You shook your head, though the motion immediately made the room tilt again. “Go away.” He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. You heard him cross the bathroom in two quick steps before he crouched beside you. His presence seemed to take up the entire small space, warm and solid against the cold air. “Hey, hey.” His hand hovered uncertainly near your back. “Are you going to be sick?” You flinched away from him. Your hand left the toilet long enough to press weakly against his chest. You tried to push him back, but there was barely any strength behind the movement. “Go,” you rasped again. “Go away, Sunghoon. I’m fine.” The lie sounded pathetic even to you. His brows drew together. “You’re not fine.” “I am.” You pushed at him once more, but he barely moved. Everything about the situation became unbearable at once. His closeness. His worry. The fact that he was looking at you, taking in the sweat on your face and the tears already gathering in your eyes. You were good. You weren’t doing this anymore. You hadn’t done this in years. Sunghoon had to leave. But before either of you could say anything else, another contraction pulled through your stomach. You doubled over, both hands returning to the toilet seat as your throat tightened around a sob. The nausea rose hard and fast, forcing your body forward. Sunghoon’s hand landed carefully between your shoulder blades. You tried to shrug him off. “Don’t.” “I’m just trying to help.” “I don’t need help.” Your voice cracked at the end. You hated this. You hated how familiar the cold floor felt beneath your knees. You hated that your body knew exactly what position to take, how to brace itself, how to wait for the inevitable. Worse, you hated the small, traitorous thought moving beneath the panic. If you threw up, you would feel better. You knew that. Throwing up always helped. The nausea would disappear. The pressure would ease. The terrible fullness in your chest and stomach would finally be gone. The thought was almost reassuring. That realisation made terror flood through you all over again. “Sunghoon,” you whispered. You did not know whether you were asking him to stay or begging him to leave. “I know,” he said quickly. His voice was tense. “I know. Just breathe, okay? Don’t fight it too hard.” A miserable sound escaped you, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He went still. “No, I mean…” He shook his head rapidly, realising too late that he had said the wrong thing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” You squeezed your eyes shut and took a few laborious breaths, trying to get yourself under control, fighting your body even more.

“Do you want water?” he asked, panic creeping more openly into his voice. “Or your medication? Maybe the pills they gave you can still help.” You shook your head. The movement made your stomach lurch again. You folded forward, one hand flying to your mouth as a choked, helpless noise tore out of you. Sunghoon cursed under his breath. “Okay. Okay.” His breathing was too quick now. “Don’t move. I’ll call the hospital.” That sentence broke through the fog immediately. “No!” Sunghoon had already started to stand, but he stopped halfway and looked down at you. “No?” “Don’t call them.” Your voice shook so much, you weren’t sure he understood what you said. “Y/N, you were discharged less than a day ago.” “I’m fine.” “You’re crying on the bathroom floor.” “I said I’m fine,” you snapped, moving away from him. He stared at you for half a second, disbelief and fear moving across his face. Then he crouched beside you again. “You’re not fine,” his voice was quiet. His hand reached toward your face, hesitating before carefully brushing the loose strands of hair away from your damp forehead. “Let me call them. I can explain what’s happening and ask if this is normal. We don’t even have to go back unless they tell us to.” Your chest tightened further. The thought of the hospital made the humiliation burn hotter. Doctors asking questions. Someone writing down your weight again, discussing your body, telling you that this wasn’t healthy. Donghyuck finding out. Everyone watching. Everyone knowing that you could not even be trusted to recover normally. “If I could just…” You swallowed hard, another wave building beneath your ribs. “If I could just get it out, it would stop.” The words left your mouth before you could catch them. Sunghoon’s expression changed, only slightly, a small crease forming between his brows. “What?” Your entire body went cold. You turned your face away from him. “Nothing,” tears spilt down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Sunghoon’s hand stilled against your back. “For what?” You shook your head. For making him sit here. For making him see you like this. For knowing exactly what would make the nausea stop. For the horrible, quiet relief that had already started forming in your mind before your body had even done anything. “You shouldn’t have to…” Your voice broke. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” “Don’t,” the word came out louder than he intended, but you flinched nonetheless. His face changed immediately. “Sorry.” He softened his voice, moving his hand more carefully over your back. “Don’t apologise. Okay? You don’t have to apologise to me.” You stared down at the tile. “You just got out of the hospital,” he continued. “You’re sick. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with being sick.” But there was. He didn’t understand. You weren’t doing this anymore. A sob pushed its way out of your throat. You covered your mouth, but it was too late. You weren’t the girl who knelt on bathroom floors anymore. You weren’t the girl who waited until everyone was asleep. You weren’t the girl who planned how long to run the tap so nobody would hear. You felt weak, embarrassed, dirty, wrong. Sunghoon kept one hand between your shoulder blades while the other hovered uncertainly near your arm. He clearly did not know whether touching you was helping or making everything worse. “Oh, Y/N.”

The pity you thought you heard in his voice made your throat close. You hated it. You hated the idea of him feeling sorry for you. You wanted to tell him to stop looking at you like that, but the nausea rose again before you could speak. Sunghoon saw the change in your face. “Shit.” You turned toward the toilet. One hand caught the sink while your stomach contracted hard enough to make your entire body jerk forward. Sunghoon’s hand returned to your back immediately. The sound that escaped you was horrified and miserable, followed by the violent tightening of your stomach as what little remained inside it came up. Your eyes burned. Your throat burned. Your fingers slipped against the cold porcelain, and Sunghoon moved closer, supporting your shoulder when you shook too hard to keep yourself steady. “It’s okay,” he muttered, the words sounding more like something he was telling himself than something he expected you to believe. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” You hated that he was there. You were grateful that he was there. Both feelings existed so violently beside each other that you could barely separate them. Your body contracted again. Then again. Each time, the pressure eased slightly. And there it was. Relief. Small at first. Then unmistakable. The nausea retreated. The painful fullness beneath your ribs loosened. Your breathing became easier between the sobs catching in your throat. You noticed it immediately. That was the worst part. The nausea had terrified you. The relief terrified you more. Your body remembered this. Some part of you still recognised the emptiness afterwards as something clean and quiet. You hated yourself for feeling it. When it was over, you remained bent above the toilet for several seconds, trembling hard enough that your teeth almost knocked together. Sunghoon’s hand moved slowly across your back. You sat back on your heels. A sob escaped you before you could stop it. Sunghoon reached forward and flushed the toilet quickly. “I’ll get you water,” he said. “Stay here. Don’t stand up.” Before you could answer, he was gone. You heard his footsteps hurry through the hallway, followed by the sound of drawers and cabinets opening in the kitchen. The second he disappeared, you pushed yourself upright. Your knees protested, and the room tilted again, but you grabbed the edge of the washing machine and forced yourself to stand. Your mouth tasted awful. Acid burned at the back of your throat. The bitter taste clung to your tongue, and you could still smell it in the small bathroom. You needed it gone. Immediately. Your hand reached for your toothbrush before you had consciously decided to move. You knew you were supposed to rinse first. Some distant, reasonable part of your mind remembered being told that brushing immediately was bad for your teeth. You did not care. The taste made your skin crawl. It made everything too real. You squeezed toothpaste onto the brush with shaking fingers and started scrubbing. The sharp mint burned against your tongue. You brushed harder; the repetitive movement quieted something inside your head. Back and forth. Across the front. Along the sides. The taste of mint replacing the acid. The foam gathering in the sink. For a second, it almost felt meditative. Automatic. Familiar. That thought made your hand falter.

You spat into the sink and rinsed your mouth. It wasn’t enough. You could still feel it at the back of your throat, could still taste something sour beneath the mint. You cleaned the toothbrush, squeezed more toothpaste onto it and started again. Harder this time. Your gums hurt, but you kept brushing. You needed every trace of it gone. After a minute or maybe more, you rinsed your mouth again, and cleaned the toothbrush more carefully than necessary before placing it back into its holder. When you finally lifted your head, your reflection stared back at you. You looked awful. Your face was pale, almost grey beneath the bathroom light. Your hair had fallen loose around your shoulders, damp strands sticking to your cheeks and forehead. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying, your mouth trembling faintly even though the vomiting had stopped. Your cheeks looked hollow. You stared at them. At least your face looked smaller. The thought arrived before you could stop it. Disgust rose through you so quickly that you almost gagged again. What was wrong with you? You had just been drugged. You had spent the night in a hospital. You had collapsed in front of a room full of people and woken up with no memory of how you had gotten there. And this was what your brain chose to notice. The shape of your face. The emptiness in your stomach. You gripped the edge of the sink. Your stomach felt hollow now. Not simply hungry. Truly empty. The sensation sat beneath your ribs, strange and familiar, making you aware of every angle of your body. The slight pull of your shirt against your waist. The bones beneath your hands. The absence of anything heavy inside you. It had been years since you had felt like this. Years since empty had meant more than hunger. Years since you had treated that hollow ache like proof that you had done something right. You stared at your reflection for too long. Your hand remained braced against the sink, the other hanging uselessly beside you. The girl in the mirror looked just as shocked as you felt. Sunghoon shifted behind you. You had almost forgotten that he was there, but he was watching you quietly, holding a glass of water and a bucket in his hands. You looked up and met his gaze through the mirror. He wasn’t looking at you with disgust. That almost made it worse. His expression was soft and worried, his brows drawn together as he took in your shaking hands and tear-streaked face. Heat spread across your face despite the cold sitting beneath your skin. He placed the bucket carefully beside the sink, then he held the glass of water toward you. “Rinse with this,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to drink it yet.” You took it because refusing would require looking at him. Your fingers brushed his, and you pulled your hand away too quickly, making some of the water spill over the rim. “Sorry,” the word escaped you almost automatically. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Stop apologising.” You stared into the glass. He stood there for another second before clearing his throat. “Do you want to sleep in my room?” You looked up at him through the mirror. “What?” His expression changed slightly, as though he immediately regretted the way he had phrased it.

“Not like…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking away for the first time. “I just mean so I can hear you if you need anything. If you get sick again.” Your stomach dropped for a completely different reason. Humiliation crashed through you so quickly that your eyes stung all over again. To him, it was probably practical. He was worried because you had been in the hospital. He wanted to make sure you did not faint or choke or need help while he was asleep. But all you heard was that you could not be trusted alone. That you looked bad enough to need watching. That he had seen something in you that made him believe you were not safe in your own room. You swallowed hard. “I’m fine.” The words came out thin and unconvincing. Sunghoon looked at you. You could tell he did not believe you. He did not challenge you immediately, though. “Okay,” he said carefully. “But if you’re not, you can say so.” You nodded because you did not trust yourself to speak, before you drowned the glass and placed it back on the counter with shaky hands. Sunghoon watched you for a moment, then he stepped a little closer, still far away that he couldn’t touch you. “You don’t have to go back to your room,” he said quietly. “That’s all I meant.” You folded the towel over the metal rail, smoothing it twice even though it was already straight. “I know,” your voice was quiet, almost fragile as you answered. Sunghoon glanced down at the bucket beside the sink before looking back at you. “I can put this next to the bed,” he said. “Just in case.” You nodded again. He reached for it, then hesitated. “Do you want me to call Donghyuck?” “No.” Your answer came so quickly, Sunghoon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No,” you repeated, softer this time. “Please don’t tell him.” Something shifted in his expression, but he did not ask why. “Okay.” He picked up the bucket and stepped into the hallway. You stayed in front of the mirror for another second before you turned off the bathroom light and followed him outside. ⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔ Sunghoon’s room was darker than yours. The curtains were pulled almost completely shut, only a thin strip of light slipping through where the fabric did not quite meet in the middle. His desk was cluttered with notebooks, tape, charger cables and one of his training jackets thrown carelessly over the back of the chair. A faint trace of his cologne still clung to the room, mixed with laundry detergent and the colder air from the AC. You stood near the doorway for a second, suddenly feeling awkward. It was strange, being in here. You had helped him move into the room months ago. You had brought him coffee while he studied at his desk, stood in the doorway while talking to him, and occasionally walked in to steal one of his chargers after knocking. But you had never been inside his bed. Sunghoon placed the bucket on the floor beside the nightstand and moved one of the pillows closer to the wall. “You can take that side,” he said, gesturing toward it. “It’s closer to the bathroom.” You nodded. The practical explanation only made your embarrassment return. He must have noticed something in your expression because he quickly added, “Not because I think you’re going to be sick again. Just in case you get dizzy when you stand up.” “I know.” Your voice sounded small in the quiet room.

You climbed onto the mattress carefully, trying not to move too quickly. Your body still felt weak and uncertain beneath you, as if even sitting down required more coordination than it should have. Sunghoon pulled the blanket back for you before stepping away. You lowered yourself onto the far side of the bed, turning onto your side with your back toward the wall. The mattress dipped beneath your weight and smelled faintly like him. Clean fabric, shampoo and something warmer you could not identify. You pulled the blanket up to your chest. Sunghoon remained standing beside the bed for a moment, clearly unsure what to do with himself. “You can sleep,” you murmured. “You don’t have to watch me.” “I wasn’t going to watch you.” You turned your head enough to look at him. He was already frowning slightly, as if he had only just realised how strange that sounded. “I mean,” he added quickly, “I’m not going to sit there and stare at you.” Despite everything, a small breath of laughter left you. It barely made a sound, but Sunghoon’s shoulders loosened when he heard it. “Good,” you whispered. He nodded, then walked around the bed and lay down on the other side. The mattress shifted beneath him. Sunghoon stayed as close to the edge as possible, leaving a wide strip of untouched bedding between the two of you. There was enough room for another person to lie comfortably in the space separating your bodies. He turned onto his back and pulled the blanket up only as far as his waist. You remained on your side, facing the room. The room fell silent. You could hear the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint ticking of the clock on his nightstand. Somewhere outside, a car drove past, its headlights briefly slipping through the gap in the curtains before disappearing again. You closed your eyes. Your body was exhausted. Every muscle felt heavy, your head still ached, and the cold emptiness in your stomach had been replaced by a dull soreness. You should have fallen asleep immediately. Instead, your mind refused to become quiet. You could still feel the edge of the toilet beneath your fingers. The bitter taste beneath the toothpaste. Sunghoon’s hand against your back. The way he had looked at you through the mirror. You pulled the blanket a little higher, pressing your lips together as if that could stop the memories from moving through your head. Minutes passed. You were not sure how many. Sunghoon shifted slightly on the other side of the bed. The movement was careful, almost hesitant, as though he was trying not to disturb you. Then he spoke. “I’m sorry.” Your eyes opened. For a second, you thought you might have imagined it. You slowly turned your head toward him. Sunghoon was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His arms rested stiffly at his sides, one hand gripping the edge of the blanket. “For what?” His jaw moved slightly before he answered. “For convincing you to go.” Your brows drew together. “What?” “To the party.” His voice was quiet. “You didn’t want to go.” You turned onto your back so you could look at him properly. His profile was barely visible in the darkness. The line of his nose, the slight tension in his jaw, his eyes fixed stubbornly above him instead of looking in your direction.

“You had a migraine,” he continued. “You looked exhausted before we even left, and I still told you it would be fine.” “Sunghoon–” “I should’ve told you to stay home.” “No.” The word came out more firmly than anything you had said since leaving the hospital. Sunghoon finally looked at you. You pushed yourself slightly higher against the pillow. “No,” you repeated. “You didn’t do anything.” “I convinced you to come.” “And I’m glad you did.” He stared at you. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat still felt. “I mean it,” you said. “It was fun.” His expression did not change. “At the beginning,” you added quickly. “When I was with you and your friends. And Jaemin. I was having fun.” Sunghoon’s brows pulled together. “You don’t have to make me feel better.” “I’m not,” you turned more toward him, ignoring the way the room shifted faintly with the movement. “I never go anywhere,” you said. “You know that. I work or study or stay at home. And I wanted to go. I was nervous, but I wanted to.” He looked unconvinced. “You said yourself that you didn’t like parties.” “I don’t usually.” “That’s not the point.” “It is,” you took a breath, trying to arrange your thoughts into something that made sense. “I had fun when Jake hugged me even though it almost killed me,” you murmured. “And when Jay started arguing with Jaemin about music. And when you made your team lose at beer pong the whole time because you kept throwing the ball everywhere else instead of the table.” Sunghoon’s mouth shifted faintly. “I wasn’t losing.” “You were terrible.” “I had one bad round.” “You missed the table with like every shot.” “It was crowded.” A tiny smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself. For a moment, the tension in the room eased. Then Sunghoon looked away again, and it disappeared. “You still wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t asked you.” You stared at him. “No,” you said softly. “But that doesn’t make it your fault.” He remained silent. The guilt in his expression made something uncomfortable twist in your chest. “It was mine.” Sunghoon turned his head sharply. “What?” You looked down at the blanket gathered beneath your hands. “It was my fault.” Sunghoon pushed himself onto one elbow. “No.” “I should have paid attention.” “No.” “I didn’t even think about having to watch my cup.” “Y/N.” “It was just water, right? Why would someone spike water?” Your voice began moving faster, the thoughts spilling out now that you had started. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to watch your drinks at parties. I was stupid. I wasn’t paying attention, and then everyone had to deal with it. You and Jaemin had to deal wth me being unconscious. You had to call the ambulance. Donghyuck left whatever party he was at and came in his costume. You missed training today and had to sit there all night because I–” “Stop.” Sunghoon’s voice cut through yours. You froze. He was fully turned toward you now, the empty space between you suddenly feeling smaller despite neither of you having moved closer. “That is not what happened.” You looked away. “It is.” “No,” his answer was immediate. “You had fun at a party and trusted the people around you to not have any bad intentions. That’s what you did.” “I should’ve been more careful,” you pressed your lips together.

Sunghoon’s voice stayed controlled, but there was something sharp beneath it now. Not anger directed at you, but anger that seemed to fill the space around him. “He put something in your drink,” he said. “He did that. You didn’t.” “I still drank it.” “Because you thought it was water.” “I should’ve noticed.” “How?” You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. “How were you supposed to notice?” he asked again. “Was it supposed to smell different? Look different? Were you supposed to know what he was thinking?” You stared down at your hands. Sunghoon sat up slightly, his back resting against the headboard. “You trusted someone not to poison you,” he continued. “That isn’t a mistake.” Your throat tightened. “It feels like one.” “I know,” his voice was firm. “But it wasn’t, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault.” You blinked rapidly, refusing to look at him. “If I had been more careful–” “Then he might have done it to someone else.” You looked at him. Sunghoon’s face was difficult to read in the darkness, but his eyes were fixed on you. “That doesn’t make it better,” he said. “And it doesn’t make you responsible. It means he made a choice to hurt someone.” Your chest felt too tight“You don’t know that he wanted to hurt me.” “He drugged you,” his voice hardened again. “He watched you get confused. He watched you lose control of your body, and he still kept touching you.” Fragments flashed through your mind. A hand at your waist. A voice too close to your ear. The wall beneath your palm. Then Sunghoon’s voice cutting through the music. You squeezed your eyes shut. “That was his choice,” Sunghoon said. “Every part of it.” The mattress shifted. For a second, you thought he might move closer, but he did not. He remained on his side of the bed, leaving the space between you untouched. “Not yours,” he continued. “You didn’t choose to be drugged. None of this is your fault. It's not mine or Jaemin’s. It’s Intak’s fault.” You turned your face toward the wall again. The darkness blurred slightly as tears gathered in your eyes. Sunghoon was quiet for a few seconds, then his voice softened. “And you’re allowed to feel awful. You don’t have to be okay.” Your fingers tightened against the fabric. “You were drugged,” he said. “You woke up in a hospital without knowing what happened to you. You feel sick, and tired, and scared. You’re allowed to feel all of that.” A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and disappeared into the pillow. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he continued. “Or upset. Or disgusted. You’re allowed to hate everything right now.” His voice cracked slightly on the next sentence. “You don’t have to make it easier for us if it’s hard for you, Y/N.” That hurt more than you expected. You swallowed hard and tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out of your mouth, because what were you supposed to say? You were you fine? The silence stretched between you, but he did not fill it immediately. He did not ask whether you understood. He did not make you promise that you believed him. He simply remained there, close enough that you could hear his breathing but far enough that you did not feel cornered. You stared at the wall. Your body still felt wrong. Your stomach was hurting, your throat was burning, shame was still sitting heavily beneath your skin. Nothing he had said made those feelings disappear.

But for the first time since waking in the hospital, you did not feel as though you had to argue with them. You did not have to insist that you were fine. You did not have to explain. You could simply lie there and feel horrible. A quiet sob caught in your chest. You pressed your face further into the pillow, trying to hide it. Sunghoon did not move closer. He did not reach across the space between you without asking. He did not try to fix it. He did not ask you to stop crying. He was simply there. And eventually, with your body still trembling faintly and his breathing steady behind you, exhaustion pulled you under.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

⤷ ゛OTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES ˎˊ˗

AN ──── FINALLY! ITS HERE! Thank you so much for waiting! I hope you all had a great time reading...at least the fluffy parts. The next parts could be tiggering even more to those suffering or healing from an ed, so i am advising you to not continue reading. Its gonna be very angsty. Also if anyone is wondering why this took so long, ill let you know tht just formatting this to tumrbl text format took me 3 hours and reading over the text before that took 2 1/2 hours 😀. So i'd be really gratefull to hear your thought, I need that lil dopaimne, please don't be a quiet reader 😔🫶🏻

@dwcior @yugkii @aple-piie @mxmarlowe @swagaliciousdoe @sariy5h

The dressing room had always been the liveliest place in the building before a performance. It was an organized sort of chaos, one that every member had grown accustomed to over the years.

Music leaked from someone's speaker, blending with the muffled cheers of fans filtering through the concrete walls outside. Stylists hurried from one chair to another with curling irons, makeup brushes, and armfuls of freshly steamed stage outfits. Managers called out reminders that no one was listening to. Laughter erupted every few seconds over conversations that constantly overlapped one another.

It was noisy, comfortably so. The familiar disorder had always settled your nerves before stepping onto a stage. Today, however, the sounds surrounding you felt strangely distant, as though you were hearing everything through layers of water.

James occupied the center of the room, unable to remain still for longer than a few seconds. Even while waiting for final touch-ups, his feet instinctively traced fragments of the choreography across the floor, lips silently counting each beat beneath his breath.

"Five, six, seven..." He pivoted too sharply, his elbow narrowly colliding with Martin's shoulder for what had to be the third time in less than five minutes.

"Bro," Martin sighed, taking a step back before another collision could happen. "Watch where you're going."

"I am watching."

"No," Martin deadpanned, adjusting the rings decorating nearly every finger. "You're literally walking into me."

James blinked. "...Was I?"

"Yes bro."

"Oh." Two seconds passed, then he absentmindedly drifted forward again.

Martin caught himself before impact and simply stared. "...Okay I’m taking a break."

Meanwhile, Juhoon remained secluded in the quietest corner of the room, entirely detached from the surrounding commotion. His earbuds muted the world's constant chatter as he methodically stretched his shoulders, neck, and wrists with practiced precision. His movements were slow, measured, deliberate, almost meditative.

Across from him, Keonho had somehow managed to sprawl himself across three separate chairs as though they had been specifically designed for his personal comfort. “I just finished my obby in Roblox!" he announced dramatically to absolutely no one.

"Are you done with your break yet?" Seonghyeon replied without looking up.

"Nah, I’m tired."

"You’re just being lazy bro."

"No I’m not, my legs have been hurting since this morning."

Seonghyeon sighed before casually tossing the makeup sponge in his hand. It struck Keonho directly in the forehead. "...Ow."

Another toss directly at Keonho. "Stop."

"No."

"Seriously."

"No."

"Seonghyeon."

"No."

"Martin," Keonho whined, sitting halfway upright. "Tell him to stop."

Martin didn't bother lifting his gaze. Instead, he continued straightening the silver rings adorning his fingers with meticulous concentration.

"You’re grown, just throw something back at him."

A brief silence settled over them. "...You’re right," Keonho admitted.

The room dissolved into another wave of laughter. Ordinarily, you would have been laughing alongside them, you would have thrown another makeup sponge at Keonho yourself, you would have teased James for rehearsing choreography every waking second or stolen one of Juhoon's earbuds just to see him finally react.

This room had never simply been a dressing room, it had become home. A sanctuary hidden behind backstage hallways where exhaustion transformed into excitement, where nervous anticipation dissolved into jokes, and where every performance began long before anyone stepped beneath the blinding stage lights.

Yet today, everything felt oddly disconnected, like you were standing several feet away from your own body, merely observing the scene instead of existing within it. Quietly, you tugged the oversized hoodie closer around yourself, your fingers instinctively gripping the sleeves until the fabric concealed most of your hands.

It wasn't because you were cold. Although, maybe you were. It was difficult to tell anymore, your body couldn't seem to decide whether it was freezing or burning alive. A dull ache settled behind your eyes, pulsing relentlessly with every beat of your heart. Each throb radiated deeper into your skull until even the fluorescent lights overhead felt painfully bright.

Swallowing became an ordeal. Your throat felt scraped raw, every movement accompanied by a sharp sting that refused to disappear no matter how often you reached for your water bottle. Your muscles protested even the smallest motions, simply sitting upright required far more effort than it should have. Every joint felt unbearably heavy, as though invisible weights had been fastened to your limbs overnight.

Sleep hadn't helped, medicine hadn't helped. Nothing had, you knew exactly why. The moment you'd opened your eyes that morning, you knew. Your forehead had been burning. Your entire body had shivered beneath blankets despite the overwhelming heat radiating from your skin.

A fever, and not a mild one.

Your manager had suggested resting, the company doctor had advised you not to overexert yourself. Even looking in the mirror had been enough to tell you something was wrong. Your complexion lacked its usual color, faint shadows settled beneath your eyes, and the exhaustion clinging to your expression couldn't be disguised with even the most skilled makeup artist.

Under any other circumstances, you would've stayed in bed without hesitation. But today wasn't an ordinary schedule, today was one of the largest university festivals of the year. Thousands upon thousands of fans had gathered hours before the gates even opened. Multiple cameras would broadcast the performances live. Special collaboration stages, months of relentless rehearsals, countless sleepless nights, endless practice until every movement became instinct.

Too many people had worked too hard for you to disappear because of a fever. There wasn't a universe where you would willingly miss it. So you smiled. You laughed at the appropriate moments, you nodded through conversations, you answered questions with just enough enthusiasm to avoid suspicion, you performed normalcy almost as carefully as you performed on stage. No one needed another problem to worry about.

"...You okay?" The voice interrupted your thoughts.

You slowly lifted your head, and Juhoon removed one earbud. His usually serene expression hadn't changed much, but his gaze remained fixed on you with quiet attentiveness.

"Hm?"

"You've been awfully quiet."

"Oh." You forced a small smile. "I'm just... sleepy."

He studied you carefully, as though attempting to piece together something you hadn't said aloud. "...Did you actually sleep last night?"

The question lingered between you. You hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second before answering. "I slept fine…."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't entirely a lie either. You had slept, just not well. Not peacefully, not in any way that resembled actual rest.

Juhoon's eyes remained on yours for another lingering moment. Long enough that your heartbeat subtly quickened, long enough for you to wonder whether he had noticed the faint flush spreading across your face... or the slight tremor hidden within your hands.

Then, he simply gave a quiet nod. "...Okay." Without another word, he placed the earbud back in his ear and resumed stretching.

The conversation ended there, you released a breath so quietly that no one noticed.

You were safe. At least, for now.

Except...

Your performance wasn't nearly as convincing as you believed it to be. You had spent the entire morning carefully constructing an illusion, masking every symptom behind practiced smiles and casual responses, convincing yourself that if you acted naturally enough, no one would question it.

Unfortunately, the people surrounding you knew you far too well.

Especially when something felt even slightly off. By the time rehearsal began, the enormous stage was already buzzing with activity.

Towering LED screens illuminated the venue in shifting colors while technicians hurried across the platform adjusting cameras, checking microphones, and shouting cues through their headsets. Dancers occupied every corner, running through formations one final time before the audience would eventually flood the festival grounds.

Music thundered through the stadium speakers, powerful enough that it vibrated beneath your shoes. Usually, that familiar bass settles your nerves. Today, it only made the pounding inside your skull significantly worse. You inhaled quietly. Just one rehearsal, then the real performance. You could manage that, you had to.

The opening track began. Your body moved almost entirely on instinct, years of relentless practice carrying you through each sequence despite the overwhelming fatigue weighing down every muscle. Every step, every turn, every transition had long since become engraved into your memory. Yet your concentration continued slipping through your grasp.

The choreography blurred together, the lights overhead seemed unusually brilliant, forcing your eyes to squint against their intensity, the relentless heat radiating from your skin contrasted strangely with the persistent chill creeping through your fingertips.

You blinked for only a fraction of a second, and that was enough. Instead of moving forward on the second count, your foot landed a beat too late.

Most people probably wouldn't have even noticed. The formation remained intact, the audience certainly never would have realized. But someone did, Martin. His awareness during rehearsals bordered on frightening. The music hadn't even finished before he turned toward you, eyebrows subtly knitting together.

"You normally step two counts earlier."

You glanced toward the mark on the floor before offering an apologetic smile. "...I know."

Silence lingered for a brief moment, Martin studied your expression. "You okay?"

The question arrived so naturally it almost caught you off guard. You answered just as quickly. "Yeah."

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted over you once more, taking in details you desperately wished would remain unnoticed. The slight sluggishness in your movements, the faint flush coloring your cheeks despite the cool air inside the venue, the way your breathing seemed just a little heavier than usual.

"...You sure?"

"Mhm." You smiled, the exact smile you'd been giving everyone since waking up that morning.

Martin simply stared. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He had known you for years, long enough to distinguish every genuine smile from every fabricated one. This was definitely the latter. Still, he chose not to press the issue. "...Okay."

Nearly ten minutes later, rehearsal paused for a short break. The music abruptly faded, replaced by scattered conversations as dancers wandered toward the sides of the stage to catch their breath. Staff members quickly distributed towels while stylists rushed in for last-minute touch-ups.

James, unsurprisingly, had volunteered to pass around bottled water before anyone else could. "You get one."

He tossed a bottle toward Seonghyeon. "You too."

Another landed neatly in Juhoon's lap.

"Keonho."

"What?"

"Drink water."

"I'm not thirsty."

"I wasn't asking."

"So bossy…."

James ignored the complaint altogether before continuing down the line until he eventually stopped in front of you. "Here."

You accepted the bottle with a quiet smile. "Thanks."

Your fingers brushed against his hand for barely a second and James froze. "...Whoa."

You blinked. "What?"

He instinctively reached forward again, lightly catching your wrist before you could pull away. His eyebrows lifted almost immediately. "...Your hands."

You looked down. "My hands?"

"They're freezing."

You let out a small laugh, attempting to sound unconcerned. "They're fine."

James shook his head almost instantly. "No."

His grip wasn't tight, just enough to keep your hand from slipping away. He rubbed his thumb lightly across the back of your knuckles, his expression gradually shifting from confusion to unmistakable concern. "They're literally ice cold."

You gently withdrew your hand before anyone else noticed. "It's probably just the air conditioning."

James instinctively glanced toward the massive ventilation units mounted high above the stage. "...The air conditioning doesn't make someone's hands that cold."

You shrugged as casually as you could manage. "I guess I just get cold easily."

His lips pressed into a thin line. That explanation didn't satisfy him in the slightest. James wasn't usually the most observant person in the room. In fact, he often overlooked things everyone else noticed immediately.

But whenever it came to the members, especially you. His instincts rarely failed him. Something wasn't right, he could feel it. "...If you say so," he murmured at last.

Backstage descended into complete pandemonium as the final countdown approached. The corridors that had seemed relatively calm only moments ago were suddenly overflowing with movement.

Production staff hurried from one end of the venue to the other, clipboards clutched tightly against their chests as they called out last-minute instructions over the deafening noise. Stylists darted between artists with remarkable efficiency, adjusting collars, smoothing wrinkles, reapplying makeup that had begun to fade beneath the relentless stage lights, and carefully securing in-ear monitors so they wouldn't shift during the performance.

Managers moved with equal urgency, repeatedly checking schedules and communicating through crackling headsets. "Three minutes."

"Camera three is ready."

"Pyrotechnics are confirmed."

"Stand by."

Every announcement blended into another until individual voices became impossible to distinguish. Beyond the heavy backstage curtains, the audience was already roaring. Thousands upon thousands of excited fans filled the stadium, their collective cheers reverberating through the walls with enough force to make the floor tremble beneath your feet.

Ordinarily, hearing them would have filled you with anticipation. It was the sound every performer longed for. Today,  It felt overwhelming. Your heartbeat echoed relentlessly inside your ears, drowning out nearly everything else.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It almost seemed louder than the crowd itself.

The fluorescent lighting hanging overhead appeared unusually brilliant, forcing you to squint against its harsh intensity.  Heat spread uncomfortably beneath your skin until it seemed impossible to breathe. Then, without warning a violent chill coursed through your body.

The abrupt contrast made your teeth threaten to chatter, your vision wavered only for the briefest moment. The hallway tilted ever so slightly before righting itself again. Instinctively, your hand shot forward, fingers curling tightly around the edge of a nearby equipment table.

Cold metal pressed against your palm. You inhaled slowly, steady. Just steady.

Don't panic now, not when you had made it this far. One performance, just one. After that, you could collapse into bed and sleep for an entire day if necessary. You only had to hold yourself together for another hour.

"...You look pale." 

The voice startled you from your thoughts. You turned your head, Keonho had somehow materialized beside you without making a sound. He wasn't joking. Instead, his usual playful grin had been replaced by something considerably more concerned.

You forced an easy smile. "I always look pale."

"No."

His answer came almost immediately. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face with surprising concentration. "You look..." His sentence trailed off as though he couldn't quite find the right comparison. His eyebrows gradually pulled together. "...Like you’re about to die."

Despite everything, a quiet laugh escaped you. almost involuntary. "I promise I'm okay."

Keonho didn't return your smile. "You don't sound okay."

"I'm fine."

"You've been saying that all day."

"Because I am."

His eyes narrowed. "You've coughed six times in the last ten minutes."

You blinked. "...I did not."

"I’ve counted."

"I—" A tickle blossomed deep inside your throat. You barely had enough time to turn your head before another cough escaped. then another. You pressed your fist against your mouth, attempting to muffle the sound. It didn't help much.

Silence followed.

Keonho slowly folded his arms across his chest. His expression became almost unbearably smug. "...Seven."

You stared at him.

He lifted a single eyebrow. "Busted."

"...You're actually counting?"

"I started after the third one."

"You seriously have nothing better to do?"

"Apparently not."

You rolled your eyes, grateful that he had shifted the conversation back toward something familiar, even if only briefly.

Before either of you could say another word— "CORTIS!" The stage manager's voice rang throughout the hallway. "Two minutes!"

Instantly, the atmosphere transformed. Casual conversations vanished, the joking stopped, every member instinctively gravitated toward one another until all six of you stood together in a tight circle just beyond the stage entrance.

Martin extended his hand first, without hesitation, everyone stacked theirs on top. James, Juhoon, Keonho, Seonghyeon, then yours.

Martin glanced around the circle, making eye contact with each member before speaking. “Our usual.”

"Don’t forget our lyrics." Seonghyeon added without missing a beat.

"Don’t forget our formation." Keonho dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

"And absolutely no embarrassing fancams" James immediately grinned.

"No injuries." Martin nodded.

James snorted. "That’s hard to get through."

"It isn't."

"It really is."

Seonghyeon pointed directly at Keonho. "He’d probably break a finger.”

A chorus of laughter erupted almost instantly. You laughed too, only for a moment. The sound disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. Your smile faded before anyone else seemed to notice almost. But Martin did. His gaze lingered on you for just a fraction longer than usual.

Long enough to notice how quickly your expression had fallen, long enough to recognize the exhaustion hiding beneath your carefully maintained composure. Concern flickered across his features before he quietly asked, "...Ready?"

You swallowed against the persistent ache in your throat, then nodded. "...Ready."

The stage doors opened, an explosion of brilliant light flooded your vision, the deafening roar of the audience crashed over you like an ocean wave. Thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands. An endless sea of illuminated light sticks stretched across, shimmering beneath the night sky like constellations brought down to earth.

For one breathtaking moment, everything else disappeared. The fever, the dizziness, the aching muscles, the relentless pounding inside your head. Adrenaline surged through your bloodstream with overwhelming intensity, silencing every protest your body had been making throughout the day.

The opening notes echoed through the stadium, your body moved before your mind had the chance to think. Months of repetition took over. Every count, every transition, every formation, every lyric, every expression practiced endlessly inside mirrored rehearsal rooms. Muscle memory carried you effortlessly across the stage.

You danced, each movement appeared just as sharp as it had during rehearsal. You sang, your voice remained remarkably steady despite the burning sensation lingering in your throat. You smiled, bright enough that cameras captured nothing but confidence.

You waved toward every section of the audience, fans screamed your name until their voices became indistinguishable from one another. To everyone watching, you looked perfectly fine. The audience noticed nothing unusual, the broadcast cameras captured flawless angles, the MCs enthusiastically praised the performance from the sidelines.

Not a single person outside the group would have guessed you had woken up with a high fever. Your performance was nearly immaculate, because the people who had spent years standing beside you didn't need obvious signs. They recognized the smallest deviations. 

Halfway through the second song, Seonghyeon caught it first. Your breathing. Usually, your inhalations remained controlled regardless of how demanding the choreography became. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary before returning to the choreography.

By the beginning of the third chorus, Keonho noticed something different. Normally, during formation changes, you'd instinctively glance toward whichever member happened to be beside you. A quick smile, a playful expression, some tiny interaction reserved for fans paying close attention.

This time, your eyes never left the floor markings. You weren't looking at anyone, you were concentrating entirely on maintaining your balance. On staying upright, mn making sure your legs continued carrying you through each step.

During the final chorus, James happened to catch your hand while the choreography briefly brought you shoulder-to-shoulder, only for a split second.

Martin saw your eyelids flutter noticeably slower than usual, like keeping them open had suddenly become difficult. Then, the cameras shifted toward another member.

Barely noticeable to anyone else, Juhoon saw your hand briefly press against your stomach as you lowered your head, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your outfit for the shortest moment before smoothly returning to your side.

The movement lasted less than two seconds, the cameras missed it, the audience missed it, everyone else missed it. Your members didn't. One by one, the same realization settled over each of them. 

Something was very wrong.

The final note echoed across the stadium. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though time itself had paused. Then, an explosion of silver and sapphire confetti erupted from above, cascading through the air in shimmering waves that reflected the stadium lights like falling stars.

The audience's cheers swelled into an almost deafening roar. Thousands of voices merged into one overwhelming chorus, chanting the group's name with unwavering enthusiasm. It was impossible to distinguish individual faces anymore. All you could see was a sea of glowing light sticks stretching endlessly into the darkness.

Everything you had worked toward for years stood before you. You forced another brilliant smile, the kind fans expected, the kind cameras loved.

You raised your arm, waving toward every section of the audience despite the growing ache radiating through your shoulders. "Thank you!" Your voice carried through the microphone with practiced warmth. "We had so much fun tonight!"

The members stood shoulder-to-shoulder, bowing deeply toward the crowd one final time. "Thank you for coming!"

More cheers, more applause. Another wave, another smile, another carefully maintained illusion. Every movement demanded far more energy than you had left. Your vision blurred briefly as you straightened from the bow, you blinked until the world sharpened again.

Just a little longer, only a few more steps.

The cameras followed the group as everyone began making their way toward the backstage entrance, continuing to wave until the very last possible second. Your smile never faltered, not once.

The instant you disappeared behind the towering stage curtains, everything collapsed. The overwhelming rush of adrenaline that had carried you through the performance vanished with astonishing speed, abandoning your body all at once.

The exhaustion returned tenfold, your hearing dulled, the voices surrounding you became muffled, as though someone had wrapped thick fabric around your ears, the hallway tilted.

No… It wasn't the hallway, it was you. Your legs suddenly refused to cooperate. Strength drained from your muscles so abruptly that your knees buckled beneath your weight. The floor rushed toward you.

"Whoa!"

Before you could hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught you securely around the waist. James. His reflexes had acted before his mind even processed what was happening. "What the—"

His voice broke off in alarm as he steadied your unbalanced weight against him. The sudden movement instantly drew everyone's attention.

Martin spun around almost immediately. "What happened?"

Juhoon reacted just as quickly, reaching behind you to unclip your microphone pack before it could crash onto the floor. The expensive equipment barely cleared your body before he set it aside.

Seonghyeon was already kneeling beside you, his usual easygoing expression had vanished entirely.

Keonho hurried over next. For perhaps the first time all day, there wasn't even the slightest trace of humor lingering on his face. His playful demeanor disappeared so completely that it almost startled you. "...Hey." His voice came out quieter than expected.

Your breathing had become irregular, every inhale felt painfully shallow, every exhale trembled despite your efforts to steady it. "I..." You instinctively tried to push yourself upright. "I can..."

The moment you attempted to stand, the entire world lurched violently. Your vision darkened around the edges, the hallway spun in dizzying circles. You instinctively reached for something to stabilize yourself but found only empty air. "...I can't..." Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

James immediately tightened his grip around your shoulders, supporting nearly all of your weight without hesitation. "You don't have to."

"I..." You swallowed against the burning pain in your throat. "I'm okay."

"No." Martin's response arrived instantly. For perhaps the first time that day, there wasn't even a hint of gentleness in his voice. "For once..." He took another step closer. "Stop saying that." Silence settled over the group. "You are not okay."

You lowered your gaze. "I just need..."

The sentence never reached completion. A violent coughing fit seized your chest without warning. You doubled forward instinctively, one hand flying to your mouth as each cough became harsher than the last.

Your lungs burned, your throat felt raw, breathing itself became unexpectedly difficult. The hallway fell silent, completely silent. Even the bustling activity surrounding other artists seemed to fade into the background. 

Juhoon's eyes widened ever so slightly. For anyone else, the change might have gone unnoticed, but the members knew him well enough to recognize that expression. It meant he was genuinely worried.

Seonghyeon slowly reached forward. "...Can I?"

You gave the faintest nod. The back of his hand brushed gently against your forehead. His expression changed immediately. He pulled his hand away as though the heat had startled him. His eyes lifted toward Martin. "...Hyung." His voice came out unusually subdued. "She..." A brief pause. "She’s burning up."

James stared at him. "...What?"

Without waiting for confirmation, he placed his own hand against your forehead. The moment his skin made contact, his eyes widened dramatically. "...Oh my gosh." His voice was barely audible. "You're..." He shook his head in disbelief. "You're absolutely burning."

Martin looked at you, horror gradually settling across his face as realization finally clicked into place. "You have a fever."

You immediately attempted another weak smile. "It isn't that—"

"It is." The interruption came quietly.

Everyone turned toward Juhoon, he rarely interrupted people. When he did, it usually mattered. His calm voice remained remarkably even. Yet beneath that familiar composure lingered unmistakable certainty. "You've had one all day."

Your eyes slowly found his. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, almost hesitantly. "...You knew?"

Juhoon nodded once. "I wasn't completely certain." His gaze remained steady. "But..." He exhaled softly. "I suspected."

Pieces of the day suddenly replayed inside your mind. The lingering glance in the dressing room. The questions. The way he had continued watching you during rehearsal. He hadn't been imagining things, he had noticed.

"You still performed." His voice softened further. "...Why?"

The question pierced far deeper than you expected. Your gaze drifted toward the floor. You searched for an answer that sounded reasonable, one that justified everything. "I..." Your fingers tightened weakly around the sleeve of your hoodie. "I didn't want to disappoint anyone."

Nobody answered. The silence that followed felt infinitely heavier than any response could have been. Then–

Flick.

"...Ow." Your forehead stung.

You instinctively looked up. Keonho stood directly in front of you, his hand still half-raised from flicking your forehead. Normally, his expression after doing something like that would've been mischievous, teasing, accompanied by an insufferably proud grin.

Instead, he looked devastated. His eyes shimmered with frustration. He looked hurt. "...You idiot." The words were quiet, almost fragile.

You blinked. "I..."

"You seriously thought..." He stopped himself, taking a slow breath before speaking again. "You thought we'd rather watch you collapse after the performance than know you were sick?"

Your lips parted. "I just didn't want—"

"You should've told us."

For the first time since any of you had met him, his voice cracked. 

"We're a team." He swallowed. "If one person's hurting… We will deal with it together." He gestured toward the rest of the members. "You don't have to carry everything by yourself."

Your chest tightened, the exhaustion, the fever, the overwhelming relief of finally no longer pretending… Everything crashed into you simultaneously, your vision blurred, not from dizziness this time, your eyes burned. "...I didn't want everyone worrying."

A small, bittersweet smile appeared on Seonghyeon's face. He crouched beside you again, his voice impossibly gentle. "...Too late."

James gave a tiny nod. Martin folded his arms, though the sternness on his face had softened into quiet concern. Even Juhoon's usually unreadable expression carried unmistakable relief that the truth had finally come out.

Seonghyeon reached over, lightly squeezing your shoulder. "We've been worried all day."

James let out a quiet sigh. "You just didn't let us help."

Martin shook his head. "You've spent the entire day protecting everyone else's feelings." His gaze met yours. "...Now it's our turn to take care of you."

The moment your manager understood the severity of the situation, every remaining commitment on the day's itinerary was abandoned without hesitation. There was no discussion, no negotiation, no insistence that you could simply "push through it."

The decision was immediate. "Cancel everything." His voice carried a level of authority that silenced the room almost instantly. "The post-performance interviews are off." He turned toward another staff member. "Notify the broadcasting team."

Another nod.

"The radio recording scheduled for tonight?"

"Canceled."

"The behind-the-scenes content?"

"Canceled."

"The promotional livestream?"

"Canceled."

Every obligation that had once seemed impossible to postpone disappeared from the schedule within minutes. Phones rang continuously throughout the backstage hallway as managers hurried to contact organizers, publicists, and production teams. Apologies were exchanged, rescheduling discussions began, none of it mattered to you anymore. The only priority left was getting you back to the hotel.

The journey there felt strangely subdued. Ordinarily, the van would have been filled with excited chatter after a successful performance. James would enthusiastically replay clips from the stage, insisting everyone watch his favorite moments. Keonho would dramatically complain about some microscopic mistake that nobody else had even noticed. Martin would pretend not to laugh before inevitably joining the conversation. Seonghyeon would tease everyone until the entire vehicle dissolved into another round of laughter. Even Juhoon, despite his naturally reserved personality, usually smiled quietly while listening to everyone else.

Tonight, none of that happened. The silence settled gently over the van, the kind of silence born from shared concern. Rain hadn't begun to fall outside, but the city lights still reflected softly across the windows as the vehicle navigated through evening traffic. Streetlights streaked past in blurred ribbons of gold and white.

You rested against the seat, every ounce of energy seemingly drained from your body. The adrenaline that had sustained you throughout the performance had disappeared entirely, leaving nothing behind except overwhelming fatigue. Even keeping your eyes open demands effort.

James occupied the seat directly beside you, he hadn't said much since leaving the venue. Instead, his attention remained fixed almost entirely on you. Every time the van rolled over uneven pavement or turned too sharply around a corner, he instinctively reached out before you had the chance to lose your balance.

When the driver slowed suddenly at a traffic light, your body tipped slightly forward. James immediately steadied you with a gentle hand against your shoulder. "You okay?" His voice barely rose above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might somehow make your headache worse.

You gave the smallest nod. "...Mhm."

He wasn't convinced again. But unlike earlier, he didn't argue. He simply kept his hand resting nearby, prepared to catch you again if necessary.

Several minutes passed before Juhoon quietly leaned forward from the seat behind you. Without saying anything at first, he unscrewed the cap of a water bottle he'd been holding before extending it toward you.

"You need this." His voice remained calm, gentle, almost soothing.

You slowly accepted it. "...Thanks."

Your throat still burned every time you swallowed, but the cool water offered a fleeting moment of relief. Not enough to make you feel better, just enough to make breathing hurt a little less.

Juhoon waited until you had taken several careful sips before speaking again. "Drink slowly."

You nodded obediently.

He didn't add anything further, he simply settled back into his seat, satisfied that you were at least staying hydrated.

A few minutes later, another shiver unexpectedly coursed through your body. It arrived without warning. One moment, your skin felt unbearably warm. The next, an icy chill wrapped itself around you so intensely your shoulders instinctively curled inward. You rubbed your arms through the fabric of your hoodie, hoping the sensation would pass. It didn't.

Martin noticed almost immediately. From the opposite side of the van, his eyes lifted from the schedule displayed on his tablet. "You cold?"

You hesitated, then quietly nodded. "...A little."

Without another word, Martin reached toward the air conditioning controls mounted above the seats. The steady stream of cool air gradually weakened before disappearing altogether. The warmth inside the vehicle slowly returned. Still, you continued shivering.

Martin watched for another moment. Then, with characteristic practicality, he pulled the oversized hoodie he had been wearing over his head. "You'll be warmer in this."

Before you could protest, he carefully draped it across your shoulders. The soft fabric settled comfortably around you, noticeably larger than your own sweatshirt. It retained the lingering warmth from where he'd been wearing it only moments earlier. A faint scent of fresh laundry detergent clung to the material, accompanied by traces of the subtle cologne he always wore. The familiar fragrance surrounded you almost immediately.

You instinctively pulled the sleeves closer around yourself. "...Thank you."

Martin simply nodded once."No problem."

Across the aisle, Keonho appeared completely absorbed in his phone. At least, that was the image he attempted to maintain. His thumb lazily scrolled through social media, occasionally tapping at the screen with exaggerated nonchalance. Anyone glancing over would have assumed he was far too distracted to notice anything happening around him.

Except, every thirty seconds, almost precisely every thirty seconds, his eyes drifted upward. Just for a moment, long enough to check whether your eyes remained open. Whether your breathing still looked steady, whether you seemed any worse than before.

The instant he confirmed you were still conscious, he'd immediately lower his gaze back to the screen as though nothing had happened. Then another half minute would pass, and he'd do it again. It became so predictable that James eventually noticed. Without turning his head, he quietly muttered, "...You're checking on her."

Keonho's eyes remained fixed on his phone. "No, I'm not."

"You've looked up six times."

"I have not."

"Seven."

"...You're counting?"

James shrugged. "I started after the third one."

For the briefest moment, Keonho looked genuinely offended.

Then he sighed, locking his phone without another attempt to deny it. "...Fine."

His voice was barely audible. "I just..." He glanced toward you one more time. "...I wanted to make sure she didn't pass out."

The confession lingered in the quiet van. No one laughed, no one teased him for caring. Because the truth was, every single person inside that vehicle had been doing exactly the same thing. Some were simply less obvious about it than others.

By the time the van finally pulled beneath the hotel's covered entrance, the exhaustion weighing upon your body had become almost unbearable. The journey itself hadn't been particularly long, but every passing minute seemed to magnify the fever's relentless grip.

Your muscles felt impossibly heavy, as though every movement required far more strength than your body could offer. Even lifting your head from the seat demanded a level of concentration that should never have been necessary.

The vehicle rolled to a gentle stop. Outside, the hotel entrance glowed beneath elegant chandeliers, their warm golden light spilling across the polished stone driveway.

The manager climbed out first, exchanging a few hurried words with the staff waiting near the entrance before opening the sliding door. "We're here."

One by one, everyone stepped onto the pavement. James turned toward you almost immediately. "Easy."

He extended a hand without hesitation. You accepted it, allowing him to help you out of the van. The instant your feet touched the ground… Your knees nearly buckled again. The solid pavement beneath you felt strangely unsteady. Your vision swayed, you instinctively reached toward the side of the van for support.

"...I'm fine."

James caught your elbow before you lost your balance. "You don't look fine."

You forced yourself upright, taking a slow breath. "I can walk."

"No." His answer arrived so quickly that you almost laughed. "...Seriously."

"I can."

"No." James folded his arms. His expression carried the unmistakable stubbornness everyone in the group recognized immediately. Normally, the two of you would have turned this into a playful argument. Tonight, there wasn't anything playful about it.

"I've walked farther than this before."

"No."

"It's literally only the lobby."

"No."

"I—" Before another protest could leave your lips, someone quietly stepped in front of you. You looked up.

Seonghyeon. 

Without saying another word, he turned around and lowered himself into a crouch directly in front of you. "...Get on."

You blinked. "...What?"

He glanced over one shoulder. "Piggyback."

The suggestion caught you completely off guard. "...Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"I'll crush you."

Seonghyeon slowly turned back toward you, looking so dramatically offended that even Martin let out the faintest sigh. "...Excuse me?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"You've seen me."

"I have."

"I'm not exactly light."

He placed a thoughtful hand beneath his chin, pretending to contemplate the matter with exaggerated seriousness. "Hmm..." Everyone waited, after several unnecessarily dramatic seconds, he finally nodded to  ."You weigh..." Another pause. "...Approximately..." He squinted as though performing complex calculations. "...Two pillows."

Silence. Then, a weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "...Two pillows?"

"Mhm."

"I don't think you've ever picked up a pillow."

"I've picked up plenty."

"Clearly not."

"They're notoriously heavy."

James snorted. 

Martin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Keonho muttered, "That's the worst comparison you've ever made."

"I disagree." Seonghyeon looked back at you again, smiling far more gently this time. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

"I don't want to inconvenience you."

"You won't."

"I can manage."

"You've been saying that all day."

The words weren't harsh, just quietly honest. He shifted slightly, still crouched in front of you. "...Come on."

You hesitated.

He smiled. "You've carried me emotionally for years."

You blinked. "What?"

"You listen every time I complain." He began counting on his fingers. "You've stayed awake helping me memorize lyrics, covered for me when I overslept, talked me through panic before concerts, and convinced me I wasn't completely hopeless after that awful audition." A small grin tugged at his lips. "I think..." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I can return the favor."

Your eyes softened. "You don't have to."

"I know." His voice remained impossibly warm. "I want to."

A brief silence settled between the two of you. Then he added with a quiet chuckle, "I can carry you physically for five minutes."

The remark earned a chorus of amused laughter, and despite the pounding in your head, you laughed, only softly for a moment. But this time, it felt genuine. "...Fine."

Seonghyeon's smile brightened immediately. "I knew you'd say yes."

"I didn't."

"You were going to."

"I really wasn't."

"You absolutely were." With one last sigh of surrender, you carefully leaned forward. Your arms settled loosely around his shoulders while he reached behind to secure your legs.

"...Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Without the slightest indication of strain, Seonghyeon stood smoothly to his full height. The movement was so effortless that you blinked in surprise. "...See?" He adjusted his grip slightly. "Told you."

"You weren't kidding."

"I rarely kid."

Every member stared at him, James raised an eyebrow. "That's the biggest lie you've told all year."

"...Okay."

Seonghyeon laughed. "I occasionally kid."

"You've been making jokes for the last ten minutes," Martin pointed out.

"Details."

The group began making their way toward the hotel entrance together. The revolving glass doors turned quietly as staff respectfully greeted everyone upon entering.

Throughout the entire walk, Keonho remained close, very close. He positioned himself beside Seonghyeon without anyone asking him to. His pace matched theirs perfectly. Every few steps, his gaze instinctively drifted toward you. Checking your expression, watching your breathing, making sure your eyes stayed open.

At one point, when Seonghyeon stepped down from a curb leading toward the lobby entrance, Keonho's hand instinctively lifted. It hovered only inches beneath your leg. Not touching, simply waiting. Ready to catch you if your balance shifts. The moment the step was over, he lowered it again as though nothing had happened.

Several minutes later, another uneven section of flooring again, and his hand rose again. Almost unconscious in its timing. He never acknowledged it, never said a word, never drew attention to what he was doing.

But the others noticed, James noticed, Martin noticed, Juhoon noticed, even Seonghyeon felt it every time Keonho instinctively moved closer whenever your weight shifted unexpectedly. No one teased him, no one pointed it out, because they all understood. For all of Keonho's endless jokes, dramatic complaints, and playful antics, when someone he cared about was hurting. His concern always revealed itself in the quietest ways.

The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind the six of you, the atmosphere shifted completely. The bright stage lights, the roaring audience, the cameras, the endless expectations. All of it remained outside. Within the quiet sanctuary of the room, there were no performers. No carefully rehearsed smiles, no need to convince anyone that you were perfectly fine.

There were only six exhausted people who had spent years becoming one another's family, and at that particular moment. Five of them shared the exact same objective, making sure you recovered.

As expected, Martin assumed responsibility before anyone else even had the opportunity to speak. He didn't hesitate, didn't ask for opinions. He simply assessed the situation with the same composed efficiency that had earned him the unofficial title of the group's dependable leader years ago.

His eyes swept across the room once, then he began issuing instructions. "James." James looked up immediately. "Medicine."

"Got it."

Without another word, he disappeared toward the kitchenette, already rummaging through the medical supplies the company insisted every group carried during schedules.

"Juhoon." Juhoon had already retrieved an empty glass from one of the cabinets. "Water."

He gave a quiet nod. "I'm already filling it."

Martin wasn't surprised, of course he was. Juhoon always anticipated what people needed before they asked.

"Keonho." Keonho straightened from where he'd been helping you remove your shoes. "Blankets."

"I'm on it." He vanished into the bedroom, returning moments later with far more blankets than anyone had actually requested.

James stared. "...Planning to mummify her?"

"You can never have too many blankets."

"I think four qualifies."

"She’s cold."

"She’s also running a fever."

"Exactly."

James blinked. "...I don't think that's how fevers work."

"I wasn't a science major."

"You weren't any major."

"...Rude." Despite the exchange, Keonho still carefully draped every blanket over you with surprising gentleness.

Martin almost smiled. "Seonghyeon." He was already opening one of the drawers. "Temperature."

"I've got the thermometer."

Within only a few minutes, the once ordinary hotel room had undergone a remarkable transformation. Water bottles lined the bedside table. Medicine rested neatly beside them. Extra pillows appeared from somewhere. Blankets were layered carefully around your shoulders. A small trash bin had even been moved closer to the bed.

It looked less like a hotel room now, and more like a miniature recovery station assembled entirely through quiet teamwork.

You sat propped against the headboard, cocooned beneath multiple oversized blankets until only your face remained visible. "I can't move."

Keonho looked entirely satisfied. "Good."

"I've become a burrito."

James returned first, carrying a small packet of medication. "Here." He carefully placed the tablets into your palm. "Medicine."

Almost simultaneously, Juhoon approached with a steaming mug. "Warm water." He offered it toward you. "Drink slowly."

The warmth seeped pleasantly into your chilled fingers as you wrapped both hands around the mug. "...Thank you."

Before you could take the medicine, Martin reached over. "Wait." He picked up the instruction leaflet again.

James blinked. "You already read it."

"I'm reading it again."

"You've read it twice."

Martin ignored him. He carefully scanned every line one final time. Dosage, side effects, time intervals. Satisfied, he finally nodded. "Okay." He handed the tablets back. "Nothing crazy."

You sighed dramatically. "...You’re being paranoid now."

"I've had to be." He folded his arms. "You become impossible to handle when you're sick."

Your eyebrows immediately lifted. "I do not."

"You do."

"When?"

Martin gave you an incredulous look. "You spent the entire day insisting you were perfectly healthy."

"I managed."

"You nearly collapsed."

"I stayed standing until the performance ended."

"Barely."

"I still succeeded."

James raised a hand. "Objection."

"Denied."

"You can't deny your own objection."

"I just did."

Martin looked at you with complete seriousness. "You literally attempted to convince five people you weren't sick."

You opened your mouth, nothing came out.

A soft electronic beep interrupted the conversation. Seonghyeon lowered the thermometer, his cheerful expression fading almost immediately as he looked at the display. The room fell noticeably quieter.

"...Thirty-nine point two."

Silence, complete silence. Even James stopped smiling. 

Martin slowly looked up. "...What?"

Seonghyeon silently turned the thermometer around. Martin stared, then rubbed a tired hand across his face. "...That's over a hundred and two."

James looked horrified. "You had that kind of fever?"

Across the bed, Keonho slowly turned toward you. His eyes widened in complete disbelief. "...You seriously danced an entire festival like this?"

You shrank slightly beneath the blankets. "...Maybe."

"Maybe?" He stared another second. Then dramatically dropped backward onto the mattress with an exaggerated groan. "You stress me out."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know." He sighed deeply, running both hands through his hair, his expression softened almost immediately afterward. "...That's what makes it worse."

Without another word, he shifted closer. Then gently rested his head against your shoulder. He simply leaned there, saying absolutely nothing. His quiet presence somehow communicated far more than words ever could.

You didn't move away, a few peaceful seconds passed. Then the mattress dipped again. "...Scoot over." You turned.

Seonghyeon had decided there was apparently enough room for one more person. He settled beside your opposite shoulder, carefully making sure not to jostle you too much. Now, you were sandwiched between them.

James immediately laughed. "...You're literally making her into a sandwich."

"It’s okay." Seonghyeon looked entirely pleased with himself. "The safest place."

"You two have absolutely no understanding of personal space." Martin shook his head, though there wasn't any real irritation behind the words.

James pointed toward him. "You say that..."

Everyone looked over. Martin had unconsciously begun tucking one corner of the blanket more securely around your shoulder after it slipped. He froze.

James grinned wider. "You're literally fixing her blanket."

Martin looked down, then quietly adjusted it anyway. "...Shut up."

Laughter instantly filled the room. Martin couldn't suppress the reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The warmth of that shared laughter settled softly throughout the room, wrapping around all of you as comfortably as the blankets piled across the bed. The kind of laughter that only existed between people who had known one another long enough to understand every habit, every expression, and every unspoken thought.

As you listened to them teasing each other over absolutely nothing, a realization settled gently inside your chest. Home, had never been defined by walls, home had always been this. James stealing everyone else's snacks before pretending he had no idea where they'd gone. Martin sighing dramatically every time someone ignored the schedule he'd painstakingly organized. Keonho borrowing hoodies without permission and somehow insisting they had belonged to him all along. Seonghyeon finding excuses to make everyone laugh, even during the most exhausting days. Juhoon quietly noticing the smallest details everyone else overlooked.

They argued constantly, they stole each other's clothes, they complained, they bickered over food, they teased one another without mercy. Yet the instant one person was hurting, every joke disappeared, every complaint became insignificant, every ounce of their attention shifted toward protecting the person who needed it.

You slowly looked around the room.

James sat cross-legged on the floor, rereading the medication instructions for what had to be the third—or perhaps fourth—time, muttering quietly under his breath to ensure he hadn't overlooked anything.

Juhoon sat at the small dining table, carefully peeling an orange into perfectly even slices. He remembered that fruit was one of the few things you could usually manage when you were sick, and without mentioning it aloud, he arranged the pieces neatly onto a plate.

Martin remained by the window, sending message after message to the company's staff, reorganizing tomorrow's schedule so you could rest without worrying about upcoming commitments.

Keonho, despite insisting he wasn't doing anything, absentmindedly reached over every few minutes whenever one of the blankets slipped from your shoulder, quietly pulling it back into place before pretending he hadn't noticed.

Beside you, Seonghyeon hummed softly beneath his breath, no particular song, just a gentle melody. His shoulder rested lightly against yours, close enough that the quiet contact reminded you someone was there. Someone wasn't going anywhere.

A smile slowly found its way onto your face. "...Thank you."

The room immediately became still. Five heads turned toward you almost simultaneously. James tilted his head. "...For what?"

You looked at each of them, then quietly answered, "For... everything."

James smiled first. "You would've done exactly the same." A pause. Then he laughed softly. "You have done exactly the same."

Martin nodded in agreement. "When I completely lost my voice before promotions..." He looked at you. "You stayed awake the entire night making ginger tea because you kept saying it might help."

Keonho immediately pointed toward himself. "When I sprained my ankle. You carried my backpack for almost two weeks, and you refused to let me carry anything heavier than a water bottle."

Juhoon spoke next, his voice as quiet as ever. "The night before debut..." He met your eyes. "I couldn't sleep. You stayed awake with me until sunrise. You didn't even try convincing me everything would magically be okay. You just..." He smiled faintly. "Sat beside me." The memory lingered between you.

Seonghyeon gently nudged your shoulder. "So..." His smile was impossibly soft. "It's our turn." The words settled somewhere deep inside your heart. Your vision blurred again, emotion tightened painfully inside your chest.

Outside the hotel, the city remained alive with celebration. Fans still filled the streets after the festival, laughing excitedly as they replayed videos from the concert and shared their favorite moments from the night.

Inside your room, the world felt entirely different. Soft lamplight bathed the room in a warm golden glow. Blankets were scattered everywhere. Empty mugs rested across the coffee table.

The conversation drifted effortlessly from ridiculous childhood stories to embarrassing rehearsal memories, from arguments over whose turn it was to order dinner tomorrow to complaints about James' habit of leaving phone chargers everywhere except where he needed them.

The hours slipped quietly by. Gradually, your eyelids grew heavier. The medicine began taking effect. Your breathing finally slowed into a steadier rhythm. Words became harder to follow. Voices blurred into something gentle and distant.

Just before sleep completely claimed you, you felt careful fingers brushing several loose strands of hair away from your forehead. Someone was checking your temperature again. The touch was impossibly gentle, as though they were afraid even the slightest movement might wake you.

A moment later, another pair of hands carefully pulled the blanket a little higher beneath your chin, making certain no cold air could reach you.

"...Sleep well." Seonghyeon's voice was barely above a whisper.

Then another voice followed, carrying the faint smile you couldn't see but somehow heard anyway. "We've got you."

Keonho, the words settled around you like another blanket.