🌟

“It's really not that big of a deal.”

Seungmin sighed, arms crossed as he sat beside you on the couch. “Yeah but it's your birthday.”

You shrugged. “I'm a big girl. You have a job that's pretty demanding. You can't exactly call Burberry and ask them to reschedule.”

Seungmin turned his head to give you an unimpressed look. “Watch me.”

You laughed. “Seungmin, I'm serious.”

“I am too.”

“No, you can't do that,” you repeated firmly. “It's just a date. I'm not beholden to these Earthly rules. You know, on Venus I'm like, at least 30% older than I am here.”

Seungmin snorted. “Well we're not on Venus, are we?”

“What if we are and Earth is just a simulation?” 

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, turning towards you and giving you a pointed look. He sighed, unfolding his arms to grab your hand. “I'm sorry I'm missing your birthday. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You don't have to do anything to make up for it,” you told him firmly. “We can just celebrate it like normal on a different day.”

He hummed noncommittally. “We'll see about that.”

“I'm serious,” you repeated, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Just don't forget the birthday text and come back to me when you're done, okay?”

“I'll be the first to text you,” he said plainly, like it was obvious. 

You giggled. “Let's see if you can get it right with the time change.”

“I will,” he replied simply, moving to rest his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side.

You didn't notice that he hadn't exactly agreed to your wishes, content to just cuddle with him and watch the next episode of the reality show you two had been binging.

Seungmin left a few days after that, five days before your birthday. He was scheduled to be back the day after your birthday, so overall he wouldn't be gone for too long thankfully. 

You still missed him like crazy, but you'd never admit that to him. His ego was big enough as it was. 

He still made sure to check-in every day, and he video chatted when he could, too. Between work, your friends, and being kidnapped one evening by Felix for a gaming night, you stayed busy enough to keep the loneliness at bay. 

On the night before your birthday, you fell asleep early and awoke to a barrage of texts from family members and friends alike.

And, of course, scrolling through your notifs you noticed that Seungmin had, indeed, texted you first at midnight on the dot.

Contact name: Mong Man 

Mong Man: happy birthday dork

Mong Man: told you i'd be first

You snorted but then realized he'd sent more than that.

Mong Man: once you're up and dressed, check outside your door

You blinked, confused but intrigued. You debated on abandoning your morning routine, but since he mentioned doing it after you got dressed, you shrugged and just went through it a little faster than normal.

You padded through your apartment, still replying to birthday well wishes as you made your way over to your door. You undid the bolts and opened it slowly, peering outside.

There, on your doorstep, was a vase full of your favorite flowers next to a to-go bag from your favorite cafe. You put a hand to your chest without realizing, smiling at the delivery.

Before picking everything up, you snapped a quick pic of it.

Contact name: Mong Man

Y/N: you were indeed first, congrats on being able to do math right <3

Mong Man: i knew i would be

Mong Man: did you check outside your door yet?

Y/N: i just did and 🥺🥺

Y/N: [img.png]

Y/N: you didn't need to do all of this!!!

Mong Man: of course i did, it's literally the least i could do

Mong Man: glad to see the flowers arrived okay

As you took the flowers inside and set them on your kitchen table, you spotted a note tucked between the leaves. 

“These flowers may wither, but even in full bloom you're prettier than them.

Happy birthday jagi

P.S. don't pack a lunch today.

Seungmin”

Contact name: Mong Man

Y/N: i just found the note, you're such a menace

Mong Man: but it made you smile, right?

Y/N: of course it did dork

Mong Man: good

Y/N: also what do you *mean* dont pack a lunch

Mong Man: you can read

Y/N: you cant be mean to me on my birthday!!!!!

Mong Man: im not being mean

Mong Man: just, don't pack your lunch, okay?

Y/N: 🙄 fine

Y/N: but if you make me starve on my birthday

Mong Man: id never do that

You rolled your eyes fondly, setting your phone aside so you could unpack the cafe order. It was the pastries you always got alongside your usual drink order.

This man knew you so well, it made your heart ache a little.

God why couldn't he be here right now-

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. He'd be back tomorrow. You didn't need to be lingering on missing him when you already knew he felt bad for leaving.

You were a big girl. It was fine. 

Contact name: Mong Man

Mong Man: okay i have to go, but i hope you have a good day

Mong Man: i love you

Y/N: i love you too min, i know its like midnight there so no worries

Y/N: hope you sleep well <3

You finished up your pastry and decided to bring your drink along with you as you commuted to work. The train ride was blessedly uneventful and soon you were slipping into the flow of your day.

A few of your coworkers wished you a happy birthday, and one even brought you a cookie, which made you smile. 

You even had a few gifts trickle in. Your mom sent you a text with an order confirmation for a sweater you'd told her you'd been eyeing. One of your besties gifted you a new game for your Switch. Another friend sent you a virtual gift card to your go-to lunch spot.

“Use this today, or whenever you want, I'm not your accountant. Love you boo have a great day!” The message attached to it read. 

Just as you were thinking that maybe Seungmin had known about the gift card your friend was sending when he told you not to bring lunch, your manager stopped by your station.

“Hey Y/N, the lunch catering got here, so make sure you stop in the break room, okay?”

You blinked, confused. “We got catering?”

“Yeah! I don't know exactly who from, but I was told it was for your birthday so make sure you grab some, alright?” They said, smiling. “Happy birthday by the way. Whoever got that for you is very kind, so if you know who it is, tell them we said thank you, too.”

They turned and walked away and you were momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god,” you groaned under your breath as it all clicked into place.

This man was too much.

You knew he wouldn't see it for a few more hours at least, but you shot him a text anyway.

Contact name: Mong Man

Y/N: i cant believe you got lunch for my whole department

Y/N: youre absolutely ridiculous. Like yeah i know youre rich but Seungmin seriously

You shook your head as you pocketed your phone. Now was as good a time as any to stop for your lunch break.

And honestly you wanted to grab some of the food before it was all picked over.

Turns out your absolutely ludicrous boyfriend got catering from one of your favorite steakhouses. You didn't even want to try to imagine how much it cost, so you simply didn't.

You made sure to grab your fair share. As you hung out to eat, more coworkers wished you a happy birthday, and several thanked you for sharing this food with them as well.

Your manager tried to offer you the leftovers, but you just set aside enough for lunch tomorrow and insisted the rest go to everyone else.

It was far too much food for you to take back, especially on the train. 

The food sat pleasantly in your stomach, making the rest of your day feel a little lighter. You made sure to text Seungmin a thank you, while still giving him a little crap for spending as much as he did. 

As the work day came to a close, you packed up your things and headed outside, ready to make your way back home. When you stepped out the door, however, someone quickly caught your attention.

You stopped in place, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Jihoon? What are you doing here?”

The familiar face belonged to one of the boys’ regular drivers, who you'd gotten rides from many times. He just gave you a small nod. “I'm here to give you a ride, Y/N-ssi.” He said simply. He opened the back door for you, gesturing inside of the car.

You sighed. “Did he put you up to this?”

Jihoon just shrugged, but you spotted the twinkle in his eyes.

“He's ridiculous, I can't believe him,” you grumbled to yourself as you climbed into the car.

You expected to find an empty back row, so you were a little stunned to see a small box with a bow tied neatly around it in the middle of the seat.

You gently picked up the box, setting it in your lap so you could settle into your seat. Once you were situated, you carefully undid the bow and opened the lid. 

You already had a vague idea of what it was from the box's shape, but you still couldn't stop the soft gasp that slipped out when you finally saw what was inside. 

The box was lined with velvet, with the Burberry logo artfully engraved on the top. Amongst the velvet sat a matching bracelet and necklace combo: a delicate golden chain with pearls hung upon it. Every other pearl had the Burberry symbol atop of it in gold, with the ones between slightly smaller in size and plain, giving it a subtle pattern.

You were glad there wasn't a price tag on it. While it certainly wasn't the first time Seungmin had bought you something expensive, it still made your heart flutter a bit.

You put the bracelet on, but decided to wait until you got home to put on the necklace. You didn't want to have trouble clasping it and end up dropping it in the car or something. 

You thanked Jihoon as he pulled up to your apartment complex, slipping the Burberry box into your bag before heading inside. 

Despite receiving multiple surprises throughout the day already, you hadn't expected anything when you got home. Maybe he'd door dash you dinner, but that would probably be it.

Oh how you underestimated his commitment to the bit.

Inside of your apartment was a small pile of presents that certainly hadn't been there when you left this morning. 

“How the actual fuck,” you said to yourself as you set your work bag on the counter, eyes never leaving the pile of presents, as if looking away would make them disappear.

You cautiously made your way over, assessing the pile as you did. You finally spotted what you were looking for, two notes that were sitting atop the pile. One was in an envelope and the other was simply sitting there, face up.

You grabbed that one first.

“Hope you've had a great day so far!!!! Seungmin left me the key to your place so I could put these here while you were at work!! Hope you don't mind. I know we'll be seeing you later this week for your birthday dinner, but we wanted to give you some presents today, too!!

Hope you've had a great day Y/N. You deserve it! Happy birthday!

Love, Felix”

The boys had all sent you birthday wishes throughout the day, so you truly hadn't expected anything else until your aforementioned birthday dinner later this week. Yet here sat a pile of presents, orchestrated by your loving boyfriend. 

You decided to set up your phone to record yourself opening them, to send to the boys once you were done. You always liked showing people your reactions to gifts they sent you if they weren't able to be there in person to see it. You knew how much you loved seeing your friend's live reactions, too, and everyone always seemed to appreciate it. 

The pile had eight different presents in it, meaning another one from Seungmin. You sighed, but honestly, were you truly surprised at this point? 

From Chan you got an album you'd mentioned from an artist you'd been getting into. He even left a note with his favorite song recommendations from it, saying he left another note inside the album for you to read after you'd listened to it.

Minho gifted you some recipe cards and a cute recipe box to put them in. You'd asked him about a dish he'd made recently and he said he'd promise to give you the recipe. He also hand-wrote a few of his favorites on some of the cards, including the recipe you'd asked for.

Changbin's gift was a container of bath salts. “These are my favorite! Use them on any day you want the aches and pains to just melt away. Plus they smell great. Happy birthday!”

From Hyunjin, you got a line of skin care products you'd been wanting to try but hadn't wanted to fork out the money for. He even included a cute carrying bag and a new set of facial cloths.

Han gifted you a cute travel mug. It was one you'd spotted when you, him, and Seungmin had gone out exploring together during their recent tour. You'd ended up not getting it, worried it'd break on the plane ride home, and you'd truly regretted it.

You couldn't believe he remembered. 

Felix was next with a soft blanket with sleeves. “Because you always complain about your blankets falling off when we game,” his note said.  He also included a cute matching headband.

Jeongin's gift was prints of some of your favorite photos of you and Seungmin together, already put into cute frames. He also gifted you a few photocards he knew you'd been trying to get your hands on for a while. 

The last gift in the pile was the one with the envelope attached to it. You knew it was from Seungmin. You stopped the recording, sending it to the boys with a heartfelt thanks, before finally looking back at the remaining gift. You made sure to prop your phone back up and hit record so you could send this one just to Seungmin.

You had a feeling you were going to be a bit emotional during it. 

You grabbed the envelope first and opened it carefully. 

Inside was a card. The cover had Pochacco on it and “Happy Birthday!” written in a cute, pastel font. 

When you opened the card, it was filled from edge to edge with hand written text.

“Y/N,

I made myself get a card so that I wouldn't prattle on forever about what you mean to me, because I would. I know how much we joke around, but you truly are such a bright, shining spot in my life. You support me and uplift me at the same time. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you in my life, but I'll spend every day making sure I show that I'm still worthy of it. 

This day is the most important day of the year to me, because it's the day you were brought into this world, and I don't want to picture what it'd be like without you in it. 

Even when we're a globe apart, I always know you're there for me. I hope you know I'm there for you, too, even when we can't reach each other. 

You own my heart, and most of my brain space, too. I'd ask for some of it back, but I really don't want to. 

I like thinking about you all the time. 

I can't wait to have you in my arms again.

Happy birthday jagi,

Your Seungmin”

“Seungmin,” you whispered softly, voice catching on the end of his name. “This is so sweet. Thank you.”

You set the card aside, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. “Ugh, can't believe you made me cry on my birthday.” You told the camera as you finally reached for the box.

It felt heavy. Not too heavy, but just like something quality was inside of it. You pulled off the lid and revealed a stunning, soft golden dress. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed to yourself as you lifted the dress out of the box.

Once again, it was a piece you'd noticed and offhandedly mentioned to Seungmin when the two of you had been on a walk a few months ago. You'd spotted it in the window of a boutique and immediately felt drawn to the design. 

The boutique had been closed when you'd walked by, so you shrugged it off while still lamenting about how stunning it was.

And now it was in your hands, in your size. 

You were about to comment on it to the camera when you spotted a small paper still in the box.

“I think this would look great with that jewelry set. -Seungmin”

You looked at the camera. “And you won't even get to see this on me in person until my birthday dinner. But, since it's such a nice dress, I guess I can give you a little virtual fashion show to tide you over.”

You paused the recording and stepped into your bathroom to get the dress on properly. You made sure to put on the matching necklace and even did a quick touch up on your hair and makeup for the full effect. 

You walked back out into the living room and picked up your phone, finding a better spot so you could get your entire frame in the video before unpausing the recording.

You did a small spin for him, showing off the dress from all angles before winking at the camera and blowing it a kiss. “Thank you Minnie. Can't wait to see you.”

Once you ended the recording, you shot it off to him.

Contact name: Mong Man

Y/N: [vid.mp4]

Y/N: cant believe you had Felix break into my house

Y/N: what if he had stole things!!!!

Mong Man: i see you got your gifts

Y/N: too many gifts from someone who wasn't even here to see me open half of them

Mong Man: dont act like you arent the tease here

Mong Man: you look just as stunning in that dress as I knew you would

Y/N: 🥺 i still cant believe you remember me liking that dress

Mong Man: im always paying attention to things you like

Y/N: i told you not to be mean to me on my birthday >:(

Mong Man: how is that mean?

Y/N: you cant say more cute shit when youre not in kissing range!!!!

Y/N: dont you know thats a crime!!!

Mong Man: my bad

Y/N: youre not sorry )):<

Mong Man: hey, i wish i was in kissing range too

Y/N: ugh, fine

Mong Man: by the way, i ordered you dinner but it looks like its gonna be a little delayed

Mong Man: it should be there in the next hour, though 

Y/N: miiiinnnnn

Y/N: you did too much 

Mong Man: i absolutely did not

Mong Man: i wouldve had Felix setup some candles in your place too, but that seemed unsafe

Mong Man: there should be a new supply of candles in a bag near the kitchen table, though, if you feel like making your dinner have mood lighting

Y/N: you know what, maybe i will

Y/N: wish you were here to see me all cute 

Mong Man: trust me i do too

Mong Man: i'll keep you posted if your dinner gets delayed anymore, but hopefully it wont

Y/N: no worries!! Things happen

Y/N: im gonna setup the candles and then i'll send you a pic once its all prettified

Mong Man: you better

So you busied yourself cleaning up the kitchen to have a nice night in. A small part of you debated texting the boys or one of your friends to see if they wanted to come over and join you, but you decided against it.

Maybe you could get Seungmin to step away for a moment so he could video chat you, though.

The bag of candles was indeed exactly where Seungmin said it would be. They were pretty candles with flower designs in them. The scent was incredibly subtle, meaning that lighting multiple of them wouldn't make the room full of an overwhelming aroma.

They were perfect for setting the mood. 

You spread them out a bit, some on your table, some on your kitchen counters, and the remaining ones on your coffee table. Once they were all lit, you dimmed the lights and turned around to take in the room.

It was so cozy, it was only missing one thing.

But that one thing was a whole plane ride away, currently.

You shook your head to dispel that thought, holding your phone up to snap a few photos before sending them to Seungmin. 

Contact name: Mong Man

Y/N: [img.png]

Y/N: these are so pretty and perfect!

Mong Man: good im glad

Mong Man: food should be coming up the stairs now by the way

Y/N: excellent timing :)

Y/N: maybe we could video chat while I eat?

Mong Man: you know i'd never say no to seeing your face

Mong Man: i can step away here for a bit, just let me know when you're settled in with your food

Y/N: yay! Will do <3

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You waited a moment, hoping it would give the delivery guy enough time to drop off your food and leave, before heading over to the door.

You unlocked the bolts and opened the door, looking at the ground to find the bag of food left there. What you saw instead, however, was a pair of shoes.

Belonging to a pair of legs.

Attached to a very familiar torso.

And finally, you met your favorite brown eyes, staring back at you.

“Delivery,” Seungmin said, holding up a bag of take out.

Without even thinking, you immediately launched yourself into his arms. Seungmin stepped back, adjusting his weight as he easily caught you. His arm that wasn't holding the food slipping around your lower back. 

His laugh vibrated against your chest. “Is this how you greet all of your delivery guys?”

You decided to ignore that comment, leaning back so you could look him in the eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you got back tomorrow.”

His playful gaze shifted into a fond one, his hand gently rubbing your back. “Burberry was happy to adjust my schedule when I spoke to them. I wasn't able to swing it to be here all day, but, I'm here for the end of it.”

Your vision started to go blurry and Seungmin quickly ushered the two of you inside. You vaguely heard a thud on the ground, but didn't bother to look as Seungmin brought up his other hand to cup the back of your head.

“Hey, don't cry,” he said softly as you sniffled into his shirt.

“You rearranged your whole schedule for me,” you whined. “How am I not supposed to get emotional about that?”

“Because I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

“That just makes me MORE emotional!”

Seungmin gently rubbed your back, kissing the top of your head. “Well, I'm not worth crying over-”

“Yes you are.”

“-and we don't want this food getting cold. Also you look too pretty to cry right now, okay?” He plowed on as if you hadn't interrupted him.

You sniffed, leaning back and glaring up at him through watery lashes. “Fine.” You tilted your head back and gently dabbed under your eyes. “Let's go eat this stupid food.”

Seungmin laughed, slipping his shoes off and picking the take out bag back up off the ground. “Don't sound too excited now.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, and he nipped at it in return, making you giggle. 

Seungmin quickly got to work grabbing plates and utensils for you both while you filled up two glasses of water and brought them to the table.

“You know,” you said as you settled into your seat while Seungmin dished out the food, “I almost invited some friends over to enjoy this meal with, but then I realized the real person I wanted to see most of all tonight was you.”

Seungmin paused, glancing up. “You're the only person I wanted to see tonight, too.”

You pointed at him. “Watch out mister, you're in kissing range now.”

Seungmin smirked, leaning closer to you but not close enough. “Then do something about it.”

“I thought you didn't want the food to get cold,” you countered.

He shrugged. “One kiss won't make it that much colder.” 

And who were you to refute that?

You leaned up, gently brushing your lips against his forehead. He was smirking, but you saw the blush dusting across the tips of his ears.

God he was so adorable. Sometimes you couldn't believe he was yours.

You were so lucky. 

“So, did you have this all planned from the beginning?” You asked him as the two of you began to eat.

He shrugged and then nodded. “Yes and no. I wasn't 100% sure I'd be able to get my schedule switched around. If I hadn't been able to, the only thing that would've changed is I would've had Jihoon take you to my dorm and you would've had dinner with the boys instead.”

You smirked. “So they would've got to see me in the dress first, huh?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I wouldn't have had Felix grab that present if I wasn't going to be home.” His eyes traced over you slowly. “I wanted to see you first.”

“Oh so I shouldn't wear this to my birthday dinner then?” You teased.

“No, you should,” he countered, gaze hard as steel, “but you'll be on my arm the whole night so there's no doubts about where you belong.”

You felt yourself blush despite your best efforts. “I would've wanted you to see me in it first anyway,” you admitted as you looked back at your food.

You felt his foot nudge against yours under the table and you glanced up to see him smiling at you. You smiled back, unable to stop the way your heart fluttered in your chest.

“I do have one more gift for you,” Seungmin said as you both finished up your food. He stood up, grabbing your plate as he began to clean up after the two of you.

“What do you mean you have one more gift?” You asked slowly, narrowing your eyes at him as you moved the leftovers to the fridge.

“You heard me.”

“Seungmin, you've done way too much already,” you protested. “You flew across the world for me!”

He shrugged. “I would've flown back anyway.”

“But the necklace and bracelet alone-”

He looked over at you as he finished towel drying the dishes. “Would it make you feel better if you knew I didn't spend any money on this one?”

You huffed. “Not that I needed you to spend any money in the first place.”

“That's not a no,” he said as he led you out of the kitchen and over to the living room where he'd set down his bag earlier.

He fished out his laptop as you sat next to him on the couch. Your curiosity grew as you watched his fingers fly across the keyboard before he finally turned the screen back to face you.

“Is this…. A song?” You asked reverently as you looked at the cover art in front of you.

He fidgeted subtly in his seat, but you still noticed it. “I commissioned an artist to do the cover for it. Han helped me tweak the lyrics and Chan helped me finalize the composition of it, but I still did a lot of work on it too.”

“I'm sure you did,” you told him softly.

Seungmin handed you an earbud. “Here.”

You gave one back to him and he sighed. “It's better if you hear it in stereo,” he insisted, pushing it back towards you. “Besides, I've heard it already.”

Before you could say anything else, he leaned forward and tapped the play button. 

It started off soft, the notes building slowly, almost melancholy, before Seungmin's voice finally came in. 

The way he sounded when he sang would truly never not take your breath away. 

His words immediately painted a picture in your mind. It spoke of the impression someone makes on your life to the point it feels like they've always been there.

Like they fit right into your side, even if they weren't actually with you at that moment. They'd always belong there. 

The notes and the emotions in his voice tugged at your heart. It was so well composed, making your heart clench as if you were the one in the song.

Which, in many ways, you were.

You blinked as the song slowly came to a close, finally looking up and over at Seungmin. Your boyfriend was watching you carefully, clearly trying to act unaffected, but you could see him fiddling with the edge of his shirt. 

“Min,” you breathed, voice catching as you did, “that was beautiful. You wrote that for me?”

He gave a small nod. “The lyrics came to me a couple months ago, when we took that trip to Tokyo together. Remember the moment when we stopped at that little shop and the store cat came up to you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

He glanced down at your lap, his ears turning a lovely shade of red. “It hit me then. I just knew I had to make a full song out of it, out of that feeling.”

You couldn't help yourself as you leaned over and brushed your lips against his. Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Well, you captured it.”

He smiled softly at you. “I'm glad you think so.”

“I know so,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him once more. “I think Stay would cry if they heard this.”

Seungmin snorted. “I think they'd figure out I was dating someone.”

You giggled. “I don't know. They can be pretty dense sometimes.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I'll release it when we get married.”

“When?” You asked incredulously. 

One of his hands slipped around your waist, tugging you forward until you sat in his lap. “If you think I'm letting you slip away from me before we say ‘I do,’ you're sorely mistaken.”

You sighed, as if so put out by his statement. “Fine, I guess I can live with that.”

Seungmin huffed, rolling his eyes fondly.

“So, should I be expecting anything else for the night, still mister? A night swim at a pool you rented out just for us? Is a masseuse going to show up at our door? Or maybe an impromptu trip to Jeju?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Was what I gave you not enough?”

You shook your head. “Oh it was far too much, I just wanted to make sure you didn't have something else up your sleeve still.”

“The song was the last thing,” he hummed. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

You trailed a finger up his chest. “Well… I could use some help getting out of this dress-ah!”

You yelped as Seungmin stood up, keeping your legs around his waist and marching towards the bedroom. “If I ever say no to helping you undress, just know I'm an imposter.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek. “Got it.” 

You rested your chin on his shoulder as he pushed open your bedroom door. “I love you Kim Seungmin.”

You felt his lips brush against your cheek. “I love you too Y/N. Happy birthday jagi.”

18+ tags: service top!felix, fingering (f rec), oral sex (f rec), pussy drunk!felix, comfort sex, hair pulling, cumming untouched, aftercare

a/n: wow... it's been forever guys... i was itching to finish the one of many sitting in my chamber, so i stayed up for 12 HOURS to finish this one (it took a while to get back into the groove of things). i miss you guys so much srsly... sooo uh if you want a pt 2 lmk!!

A party was an unfamiliar setting for you, not for a girl who is in a 4 year long relationship. The music was too loud to think properly, the bass was vibrating through your body and giving you chills.

You stood near the edge of the party, far enough so that you could breathe, but also close enough so that you blended in. A red cup was warm in your hand. You hadn’t really drunk much of it, just a little bit so that it would ease your nerves.

It felt so strange being here. But you weren’t sure yet if it was a bad strange.

Your phone buzzed once in your pocket and your hand went to grab it on instinct, like your body had been trained to flinch before your mind even caught up. But you let go, you wouldn’t let that habit belong to tonight. It belonged to him.

To him.

The thought pulled you backward for a second, away from flashing lights and noisy music and into the tight, suffocating space you’d been living in for months.

He never liked you going anywhere without him. “It’s just because I care about you,” he’d say, like control was a love language. Your friends had stopped asking you to come out because he always had a reason you couldn’t. Your phone was always checked. Your replies were always monitored. Slowly your world had gotten smaller until it revolved around him.

And a name you didn’t recognize. A girl’s name. Saved in his phone like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t a crack forming right through everything he swore wasn’t happening. When you asked him about it, he laughed first as if you were the joke.

“You’re just trying to start another argument.”

Then: “Why are you always so insecure?”

Then, when that didn’t land, he shifted it again. Somehow it became about you. Your trust. Your attitude. The fact that you were “always trying to start problems.”

You had believed him before. You had always believed him before.

But this time you knew something was wrong, he was always able to convince you he was loyal, that you were so much work that he couldn’t even think about having another girl.

So tonight, when he left his place in that familiar storm of frustration and superiority, you didn’t follow. You waited until he was gone. Then you went out. The one thing you couldn’t do alone.

When you were at the party, nobody was calling your dress unflattering or slutty. No one was holding you on a leash. No one was watching your every movement like a mistake waiting to happen.

And for once your shoulders dropped a little, you felt safer with a bunch of strangers than you did with your long-term boyfriend.

You even laughed once, quietly, at something someone said near you. It surprised you more than it should have.

It wasn’t perfect. There was a small knot in your chest that refused to fully loosen. A kind of alertness that kept flickering, like your body didn’t trust anything.

But it was still better, safer, easier.

And then your phone buzzed again.

This time, you felt it in your bones before you even looked. You pulled it out slowly.

It was a message from him.

A screenshot followed by a location pin you instantly recognized: this party, this exact place.

Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like the floor shifted.

Then the message:

“So this is what you are.”

Another:

“Out acting like a whore while I’m sitting here wasting my time on you.”

Your fingers went cold.

Your vision blurred the moment the second message fully landed.

It wasn’t just what he said, it was how fast your body reacted to it. Like it already knew what came next. Like it had been waiting for this exact moment to collapse.

Your grip tightened around the phone until your fingers hurt.

For a second, you just stood there in the noise and light and movement, everything inside you going still.

Then it hit, the feeling of your heart in your stomach. The knot in your chest snapped shut like a fist.

The party didn’t feel freeing anymore. It felt like too many eyes, too many voices, too much space for you to exist wrong in.

Your body moved, shouldering through people without really seeing them, muttering apologies that didn’t sound like your voice. The red cup slipped from your hand at some point, you didn’t even register when. It hit the floor and spilled, but you were already moving.

‘Whore.’

The word echoed louder than the music.

‘Wasting my time.’

Each step felt heavier, like the house itself was resisting you. Your pulse was loud in your ears, drowning everything else out.

You found the kitchen first.

No thinking, just motion.

A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the counter like it was waiting. Someone had left it behind like it didn’t matter. You grabbed it anyway, your fingers trembling, and kept going.

Through a hallway. Down a darker stretch of the house where the noise dulled into something muffled and unreal.

You pushed open the first door that wasn’t locked. It was empty.

You stepped inside and closed it behind you without checking if anyone noticed. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of streetlights leaking through blinds.

A bed sat against the wall. Unmade.

You didn’t think.

Your legs just gave out.

You slid down to the floor beside it, back pressing against the mattress frame like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

The whiskey bottle stayed in your hand for a second.

Then you tipped it back.

Burning, sharp, immediate, enough to make your throat tighten in a different way than the tears already building there.

You set it down too hard.

Your hands were shaking now, fully. Not subtle anymore. Not something you could hide.

And suddenly you weren’t holding it in anymore.

Tears were hot and messy, shaking your whole body like something had finally cracked through the surface you’d been forcing together for too long.

You pressed your forehead to your knees, one hand still loosely gripping the bottle like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

Your breathing couldn’t settle, tt came in uneven pulls, and your eyes burned from crying too long, lashes clumped together, cheeks damp and hot. You kept your forehead pressed to your knees anyway, like pressure alone could keep you from falling apart further.

The room stayed quiet except for you.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, minutes, maybe longer, just existing in the aftershock of everything he’d said, everything you’d been swallowing for years finally spilling over all at once.

Your grip on the whiskey bottle loosened slightly, then tightened again when your thoughts drifted back to your phone.

You didn’t want to look at it again. But you could still see the messages behind your eyelids as if they were branded there.

Your shoulders shook once more as another wave of tears came, quieter now but heavier in a different way. Exhaustion was starting to mix in with everything else. 

You let out a shaky breath.

And then the door handle clicked.

Your head lifted so fast it made you dizzy.

The door opened.

Light from the hallway spilled into the room, slicing through the dimness. A figure stepped in mid-conversation, voice still trailing behind him like he’d been talking to someone just outside.

He had long blonde hair that caught the light even in the dark, soft and almost glowing against the shadowed hallway behind him. 

Then his eyes landed on you, widening in surprise.

He scanned everything, the puffy eyes, the whiskey bottle, the tear stains in your sleeves.

Everything shifted.

“Oh-” he started, instinctively stepping forward, then freezing again like his brain was catching up too slowly.

You blinked up at him, still teary, still trying to figure out if you were about to be laughed at, kicked out, or worse: broadcast back to the party like some kind of joke.

Instead, he quickly reached back and shut the door behind him.

Like he was trying to erase the fact that anyone else could even look in.

The noise outside vanished.

Just like that. It was just you and him now.

He crouched down slightly, closer to your level but not invading, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible.

His voice came out softer when he spoke.

“Hey… are you okay?”

You blinked at him again.

Something about his voice didn’t match what you expected. It was deeper than his face, steadier too, like it didn’t belong to someone who looked this gentle.

You stared for a second too long, then sniffed, still a little unsteady.

“Your voice…” you muttered, slightly slurred, honest in a way you didn’t have energy to filter anymore. “It doesn’t match your face.”

A pause.

Then, to your surprise, he smiled. It was such a bright smile that it caught you off guard.

It hit you in a strange way, so warm it made something in your chest twist, and suddenly you had to look away. Not because it was bad. Because it was too much when you were already full of everything else.

The floor felt colder under you.

He glanced briefly at the bottle near your hand, then back at you, his expression shifting, still calm, but more careful now.

Not judging. Just noticing.

“Do you want me to sit?” he asked quietly.

You nodded before your brain fully caught up.

It was small, barely a movement, but he seemed to understand anyway. He shifted down onto the floor beside you, careful, giving you space like he could tell you didn’t want to feel crowded.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was soft. Weirdly safe in a way you weren’t used to.

You stared at him for a second longer than normal, your eyes still glossy, cheeks blotchy, mind still half stuck on the messages burned into your phone.

Then it all came spilling out again.

“It’s just…” your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you laughed weakly at yourself like it was ridiculous you were even talking. “You know what’s insane?”

He didn’t interrupt or rush you, just tilted his head slightly, as if he was listening with his full attention.

That alone made your heart lighten a little.

“My boyfriend-” you swallowed, rubbing your sleeve across your face clumsily. “He acts like I’m crazy. Like I’m the problem. And then I find a girl’s name in his phone and suddenly I’m the one ruining things.”

Your voice got sharper for a second, anger slipping through the sadness.

“And then he says I’m insecure. Like- you don’t even let me keep friends?”

A shaky breath.

You glanced at him like you expected him to react, to tell you you were overreacting, or to side-eye you the way your boyfriend always did when you spoke too much.

But he didn’t.

He just listened.

So you kept going.

“I swear I’m not even asking for much,” you said, leaning your head back against the bed frame, staring at the ceiling like it might explain things better than you could. “I just want someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging to exist in their life.”

A pause.

Then, quieter, like the words slipped out without permission:

“He doesn’t even care if I’m.. happy.”

You blinked.

Then, suddenly, you let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, turning your head back toward him. “I’m literally trauma dumping in a random guy’s bedroom. That’s crazy.”

He shook his head slightly.

“You’re okay,” he said gently. “You can talk.”

Something about that made your brain short-circuit in the gentlest way.

Your rambling shifted, almost absurdly, like your emotions couldn’t decide what lane to stay in.

“I swear,” you said, gesturing vaguely with your free hand, “he’s like… emotionally present sometimes but also completely absent? Like he’s there but not there.”

He gave a small, understanding nod, like he was trying to follow every piece of it.

You huffed.

“And don’t even get me started on intimacy,” you added, words coming out faster now that the dam had cracked. “Like, I don’t even think he cares if I-”

You stopped mid-sentence, blinking.

Then shrugged.

“Actually, yeah. He doesn’t care if I do.”

A beat.

You laughed again, louder this time, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“It’s like… ‘it’s about the intimacy, not the pleasure,’” you quoted mockingly, air-quoting with both hands. “Cool. Awesome. I’m just lying there like a decorative doll while he calls it connection.”

The words hung in the air.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d said until the silence shifted.

He didn’t laugh.

Didn’t look shocked either.

He just… blinked slowly, processing, expression turning a little more careful in a way that made your stomach drop slightly.

“Mmm,” he hummed softly.

Not judgmental.

Just seemed surprised you were carrying all of that.

And then something in your chest cracked again, harder this time, because suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.

Your face twisted.

“I don’t even know why I stayed,” you whispered, voice breaking at the edges. “I just- I thought it would go back to how it was in the beginning.”

Tears came fast again, slipping out before you could stop them.

“I feel so stupid.”

That was the moment his expression changed fully.

No discomfort or pity, just concern.

He shifted slightly closer, not invading, just enough that you could feel his presence more clearly.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You aren’t stupid.”

But you were already spiraling again, the words tumbling out messy and emotional, your hands shaking harder.

“It’s just- he makes me feel like I’m always wrong, like I’m too much and not enough at the same time and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be-”

Your voice broke.

And then you fully started crying again.

His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected the shift so fast.

“Hey- hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, voice still gentle but now a little panicked at the edges. 

He looked around like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, then carefully lowered them near you without touching, like he was asking permission without words.

“Do you want water? Or- do you want me to call someone? A friend?”

You shook your head quickly at his question, tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“I don’t even have friends,” you said, voice raw. “Like… not really.”

His expression changed again, subtle, but immediate. Confusion first, then something heavier underneath it.

You sniffed, wiping your face with your sleeve like it could fix anything.

“He made it like that,” you added, quieter now but still spilling over. “At first it was like… cute, I guess? He just wanted to spend time with me. Then it was like ‘I don’t like them,’ ‘they’re bad for you,’ ‘they don’t really care about you.’ And I thought he was protecting me.”

You gave a shaky laugh that didn’t have any humor in it.

“Turns out he was just making sure I had nowhere to go.”

The words hung there a second too long.

The silence after your last sentence lingered longer than either of you expected.

It wasn’t heavy in a bad way.

He exhaled softly, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“That’s not… you,” he said gently. “What he did. That’s not you being friendless or anything. That’s him isolating you.”

You looked down at your hands, still shaking a little.

“You’ll be okay,” he added after a pause, a little more certain now. “Like, genuinely. You don’t just lose people like that and then have no one forever. You will meet new people.”

His tone wasn’t dismissive.

It was calm. Like he actually believed it.

But that only made something in your chest tighten again.

You lifted your head quickly, interrupting him before the reassurance could settle too deep.

“Where are you from?” you blurted out.

He blinked.

The shift was so sudden it visibly threw him off for a second.

“Your accent is so prominent,” you added, like that explained everything.

A beat.

Then he let out a quiet laugh through his nose, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh- Australia,” he said, like he still wasn’t sure how the conversation had ended up here.

You nodded slowly, absorbing it with intense seriousness, like this was vital information you needed to process immediately.

“That explains it,” you muttered.

He huffed a small laugh again, shaking his head slightly.

His smile lingered for a second, but then it softened into something more attentive.

He looked at you properly again, like he was reassessing how steady you actually were.

“You’re… definitely a bit drunk, yeah?” he said gently, not accusing, just observing.

You squinted at him like that was a deeply offensive question.

“I’m not a bit drunk,” you said very seriously. Then paused. “Okay maybe I am a little bit drunk.”

That made him laugh quietly again, but it faded fast as he glanced toward the door, then back at you.

His tone shifted into something more practical.

“Hey,” he said softly, “can I get you an Uber? Just so you can get home safe?”

Your face changed immediately.

Like the idea itself physically collided with something else inside you.

You shook your head fast.

“No,” you said, too quickly. Then more gently, but still firm. “No, no, you can’t.”

He paused. “Why not?”

You looked at him like the answer should be obvious.

“Because you’re literally an angel,” you said, like it was fact. “And I already barged in your room, cried and vented to you when I’m a stranger to you.”

His expression softened at that, like he was trying to figure out where your brain was taking you next.

“That’s… not a problem,” he said gently.

But you were already shaking your head again, more emotional now than joking.

“I just-” your voice wobbled, “I can’t accept an Uber from you. That feels illegal. Like morally. Or spiritually.”

That got another quiet laugh out of him, but it faded quickly as he watched you more closely again.

You swallowed, the humor slipping again as reality crept back in.

“And I don’t want to go home,” you added, quieter. “I really don’t.”

His face changed.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s save that conversation for later.”

You blinked at him like you weren’t sure you heard that correctly.

He nodded once, steady.

“But we also need to make sure you’re safe,” he added, voice calm but firm in a gentle way. “Do you have anyone else you trust? Anyone at all?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then let out a small, broken laugh that didn’t have any humor in it.

“No,” you said honestly. 

That word hung in the air again, heavier this time because neither of you brushed past them.

“Alright,” he said after a pause. “Then we figure it out here. Okay?”

You stared at him.

Still teary. Still drunk. Still completely overwhelmed.

And then, very suddenly, your brain decided to latch onto something completely different again like a lifeline.

“You’re so calm,” you said, squinting at him. “Like… why are you this calm? Are you always like this? Is this a personality trait or are you just secretly not real?”

That caught him off guard again.

He let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head.

“I’m real,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I don’t believe you.”

That made him laugh properly this time, brighter, before he leaned back slightly against the floor.

“You’re very… intense when you’re drunk,” he said gently.

“I’m intense when I’m sober too,” you informed him very seriously.

“Noted,” he said, still smiling.

The quiet stretched for a second, comfortable in a strange, unfamiliar way.

And then it hit you.

Your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, sitting up a little straighter despite the dizziness. “I’ve been talking this whole time and I didn’t even tell you my name.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t even noticed, or hadn’t cared.

You pressed your lips together, suddenly feeling awkward in a completely different way.

“I’m-” you started, then gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry, that’s so rude. I gave you my whole villain origin story and didn’t even bother to give you my name.”

You told him your name, voice softer now, a little embarrassed.

He repeated it back, like he was making sure he got it right, and something about that, about the way he actually paid attention, made your chest feel weirdly tight again.

“I’m Felix.”

You nodded, like this made the whole situation more real.

Like this wasn’t just some random moment you’d imagined.

There was a pause.

You hesitated.

Then, before you could overthink it too much, 

“Can I get your number?”

You immediately paused.

“Wait- okay, that sounded… hold on,” you fumbled, hands moving slightly as if you could physically fix what you just said. “I don’t mean it like that. Not like- that.”

Your face flushed, heat rising all the way up your neck.

“I just-” you exhaled, trying to gather your thoughts. “I know you’re a stranger, which makes this worse, but also you’re like… the only nice person- or person in general that I’ve talked to in a long time and I don’t have-  like… a support system, I guess? And I have a boyfriend- well, technically- and I’m not trying to hit on you or anything because that would be weird and also morally questionable and-”

“Hey-”

He cut you off gently, but quickly, before you could spiral any further.

You froze mid-ramble.

“I get it,” he said simply.

Your mouth snapped shut.

You blinked at him.

“Oh.”

He gave you a small nod, already reaching his hand out.

“Can I?” he asked, gesturing lightly toward your phone.

You handed it to him without thinking.

He typed his number in, movements easy, like this wasn’t a big deal to him at all.

Like you weren’t a burden for asking.

He handed it back.

“There,” he said.

You stared at your phone for a second after he handed it back, as if you weren’t convinced he was actually going to give it to you.

Then, somehow, after that the conversation just… kept going.

Just you talking.

At first it was still heavy, pieces of your relationship slipping out in uneven chunks, stories you hadn’t said out loud before, things you didn’t even realize you’d been holding onto until they were suddenly in the air between you. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush you. He just listened, nodding sometimes, asking small, careful questions when it felt right.

And then, slowly, without you noticing exactly when it happened, it shifted.

Your tone got lighter.

You started rambling about random things, your old friends, little memories, things you used to like before everything got… smaller. You laughed at your own stories sometimes, even if it ended in a quiet sigh.

At one point you caught yourself mid-sentence.

“I’m talking a lot,” you said, blinking at him.

He shook his head immediately.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

So you kept going.

Words spilling out easier now, like once the dam broke, everything behind it followed. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t organized. But it was honest.

And he stayed.

The whole time.

At some point, the music outside faded. The house got quieter. Voices disappeared one by one until it was just distant creaks and the occasional muffled laugh from somewhere far off.

You hadn’t even noticed how late it had gotten until you yawned mid-sentence.

Felix glanced toward the door, then back at you.

“It’s really late,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked, trying to assess yourself.

“Tired,” you admitted. “Less… everything. But still tired.”

He nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I can take you home.”

You hesitated for half a second, but it didn’t feel like the same kind of hesitation as before.

“I’ll just make sure you get in safe,” he added quickly, like he could see that thought cross your face. “I won’t leave until you’re inside.”

That made something in your chest ease just enough.

“…okay,” you said quietly.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You woke up to the wrong kind of silence.

Not the calm kind.

Your head throbbed before your eyes even fully opened, a dull, heavy ache pressing behind your forehead. Everything felt too bright, too close, too real. You shifted slightly, expecting empty space beside you.

Instead, there was weight in the room.

You turned your head slowly.

And froze.

He was there.

Sitting at the edge of your bed like he belonged there. Like he always had. Your phone was in his hand.

Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you were still falling.

“What are you doing?” you rasped, your voice rough from sleep and last night still clinging to your skin.

He didn’t even look guilty.

Didn’t even look surprised you were awake.

Just annoyed.

“Who the hell is Felix?” he snapped immediately, holding your phone up slightly like evidence in a case you didn’t know you were on trial for. “Huh? You think I wouldn’t see this?”

Your brain lagged for a second, trying to catch up through the hangover fog.

Felix.

The name landed slowly.

Last night. The room. The crying. The way someone had actually stayed. The way you hadn’t felt like you were being judged for once.

Your throat tightened.

“He’s just-” you started, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

“Just what?” he cut in, standing now. “Because it looks like you were out getting drunk and meeting random guys behind my back.”

“I wasn’t-” you tried again.

He scoffed.

“Oh please. Don’t start.”

He tapped your phone screen, already going through it like it was his right. Your messages, your contact list, no hesitation, no permission, just entitlement.

You pushed yourself up slightly, head pounding.

“Stop,” you said, sharper now. “Put my phone down.”

He ignored you.

Then, right in front of you, he deleted the contact.

Gone. Just like that.

Something in your chest cracked, small and sharp and immediate.

It wasn’t even logical, it was barely a memory, barely a night, but it hurt in a way you couldn’t explain. Like the only person who had been gentle with you in a long time had just been erased on purpose.

You stared at him.

Your usual reflex kicked in.

Apologize. Soften it. Fix it. Smooth it over.

But your mouth didn’t move.

Your head hurt too much. Your body felt too tired. And something deeper, something quieter, just… stopped.

“I’m done,” you said.

Flat. Deadpan.

No rise. No fall. Just fact.

He froze.

For a second, it was like his brain didn’t process the words.

“What?” he said, slower now.

“I’m done,” you repeated.

That’s when his expression changed.

Confusion first.

Then disbelief.

Then anger, sharp and immediate.

“Oh, so there’s really something with you and this guy?” he snapped. “That’s what this is? You meet some random dude once and suddenly you’re acting like you’re hot fucking shit?”

Your chest tightened again. You didn’t wanna do this again.

Every time he twisted reality. Every time you ended up apologizing for things you didn’t do. Every time you shrank yourself smaller just to keep him calm.

And now he was standing there trying to steal even this, this one night where you weren’t miserable.

Your voice wavered.

“You don’t get to talk about me like that,” you said quietly.

That made him scoff again.

“Oh my god, listen to you.”

Something in you snapped.

“Stop talking,” you said suddenly, louder.

Your head pounded, but you didn’t care anymore.

“You don’t get to come in here and go through my phone and delete people and act like I’m the problem every time I breathe wrong,” you said, voice shaking now but rising anyway. “I am so tired of you.”

He opened his mouth to interrupt. You didn’t let him.

“No,” you said, stepping forward now despite the dizziness. “You listen for once. I’m done. I’m done with you controlling everything I do, I’m done with you isolating me, I’m done with you acting like I’m crazy every time I notice something is wrong.”

Your eyes burned.

But you didn’t stop.

“I’m not fixing this anymore,” you said. “I’m not apologizing. I’m not begging. I’m done.”

For the first time, he looked like he didn’t know what to do.

Anger flickered again, but underneath it, something else. Fear.

“You’re seriously choosing this?” he said, voice lower now. “Over me? Over some guy you barely know?”

That was it. The last thread.

You let out a shaky breath, tears finally spilling, but your voice didn’t break this time.

“No,” you said. “I’m choosing me.”

Silence held for a second too long.

Then he scoffed.

“You?” he said, almost laughing. “You’re choosing you?”

Your stomach tightened, but you didn’t step back. He shook his head like you were something disappointing.

“You’re acting like you’ve been some victim this whole time,” he added, voice rising again. “Like I didn’t do everything for you. Like I didn’t-”

“You didn’t do everything for me,” you cut in, quieter now, but steadier. “You did everything for you.”

That landed. You saw it in his face, the flicker, the irritation sharpening into something meaner.

You swallowed, voice cracking slightly but continuing anyway.

“You’ve been hurting me for a long time,” you said. “And every time I tried to say it, you made it about you. Every time I was upset, I ended up apologizing. I’m not doing that anymore.”

A pause.

Your hands were shaking now, but you kept them down by your sides.

“I’m done,” you repeated again, like you needed your own brain to believe it. “This is it.”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then he let out a cold laugh.

“Alright,” he said, nodding slowly like he was done entertaining this. “Fine. Do whatever you want then.”

He grabbed his things abruptly, movements sharp, controlled anger leaking through every step.

“You’ll come back,” he muttered as he headed toward the door. “You always do.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your throat felt locked tight.

The door shut behind him harder than necessary.

Everything was silent.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You had no idea how long you cried for. Time stopped making sense, dissolving into a blurry haze of shaking breaths, damp sheets, and that heavy ache in your chest that refused to loosen no matter how tightly you curled into yourself. Your throat burned. Your eyes stung. Even your thoughts felt scraped raw.

Eventually the sobs quieted into something emptier, not peace, just exhaustion so deep your mind didn’t know where to go anymore.

You reached for your phone out of pure habit, fingers moving before your brain caught up. Then you froze.

Felix.

The name hit you all at once. You sat up slowly, wiping your face with your sleeve, and opened your contacts with a sinking heart.

Gone. Deleted.

Of course he did. Of course he took that too.

Your hands dropped into your lap. For a long while you just sat there, blank and hollow, staring at nothing. You wanted to talk to someone, anyone, but there was no one left. That small, safe space from last night where someone had actually listened, had stayed without trying to fix or control you… it was gone.

The ache in your chest deepened into something tired and dull. Night fell without you noticing, the room gradually darkening around you. You were half-curled on the bed, lost in the heavy quiet, when a soft knock broke the silence.

You froze.

Another knock followed, a little more certain this time.

Your heart stuttered. Legs heavy, you pushed yourself up and padded to the door, peering through the peephole without really thinking.

Felix.

He was really standing there, shifting his weight nervously, long blonde hair catching the hallway light. When you cracked the door open, his eyes met yours and his whole face softened instantly, brows drawing together in gentle concern.

“Hey…” he said, voice warm and a little uncertain, that deep Australian accent wrapping around the word like a hug. “I know this is probably really weird.”

You could only stare.

He let out a small, awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks tinting just a touch pink. “I tried calling, but it wouldn’t go through. I was worried about you. You gave me your address last night, so I… yeah. I just wanted to check if you were okay.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Felix’s gaze swept over you: swollen eyes, exhausted face, the way you were barely holding yourself together, and his expression melted into something even softer, almost protective. He took half a step closer but stopped himself, clearly not wanting to overwhelm you.

“…Are you okay?” he asked, quieter now, tilting his head slightly like a worried puppy.

The feeling was overwhelming.

You pulled the door open fully and stepped forward without thinking, wrapping your arms around him.

He stiffened for half a second in surprise, then immediately softened.

One arm came up carefully, instinctively, holding you steady like he understood without needing explanation.

And you broke. Again.

You both eventually made it all the way in the apartment, he let you cry for a moment longer, you recounted what happened, and he did what he did then, listened.

Even after the crying slows, even after Felix gently guides you to sit on the edge of your bed again, there’s this strange aftershock in your body, like everything in you has been shaken loose and hasn’t settled back into place yet.

Felix sits nearby, not too close, just close enough that you know he’s there if you need him. The apartment is quiet now, not tense anymore, just peacefully still.

At some point you stop talking. The last words drift away and neither of you rushes to fill the silence. Felix doesn’t try to fix anything or push for more details. He just sits with you in it, patient and steady in a way that feels almost foreign.

Your breathing slowly evens out.

Then you look at him. Really look.

With the worst of the storm finally easing, you notice things you hadn’t before: the way his soft blond hair falls gently into his eyes, the freckles scattered across his cheeks like they were placed there on purpose, and the calm way he holds himself, like nothing about you, no matter how messy, is too much for him to handle.

It hits you suddenly how close he is. How real he is.

Your chest feels strange again, but not with pain this time. It’s more disorienting, warmer. Your thoughts are slow and foggy, still tangled from everything that happened, and when Felix speaks, something soft about whether you need water, it barely registers.

You just keep staring.

His mouth moves gently as he talks, his expression shifting with quiet thoughtfulness. Everything about him feels so gentle, even when he’s simply existing in the silence. The way he watches you with those kind eyes, the small, reassuring tilt of his head… it’s like he’s silently saying “I’ve got you” without needing words.

And something in your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

It starts subtle, a quiet flutter low in your stomach, a warmth spreading under your skin that doesn’t have a name yet. Not a clear thought, just a feeling. A pull. Something that makes your pulse quicken and your fingers twitch restlessly in your lap.

Felix notices the way you’re looking at him. A soft, shy little smile tugs at his lips, the kind that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle warmly. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, a bashful habit, and lets out a quiet, gentle laugh under his breath.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t sound worried, just sweetly concerned, like he’d happily sit here all night if it helped you feel even a little bit steadier.

Your heartbeat starts to feel louder than it should, like it’s suddenly become aware of itself. Each beat feels a little too present, a little too noticeable in the quiet room.

Felix is still speaking softly, something about you resting, but it’s like the sound is slightly behind glass. You’re aware of it, but not fully processing it.

Because your attention keeps drifting back to him. To the way he’s sitting there so naturally close, without pressure, without expectation. You notice things you didn’t before.

The faint scent of him; clean, soft, something warm underneath it that makes your head feel a little lighter in a way you don’t expect. Not overwhelming. Just… there.

His presence feels steady in a way your body seems to lean toward without asking permission.

It confuses you.

Because your mind is still tangled in everything from earlier; the crying, the breakup, the fear, but your body is reacting to something entirely different.

Felix shifts slightly, adjusting his position, and your eyes track it automatically.

He notices.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter now. “You’re staring again.”

That makes you blink, like you’ve been pulled back into yourself for a second.

“Oh,” you say softly, almost embarrassed. “Sorry.”

But you don’t look away immediately. Your chest still feels tight, but not in pain anymore. It’s something more complicated. Unfamiliar.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is again. How the space between you feels smaller than it did before. How easy it is to notice the warmth of him just being there.

Felix doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t take advantage of the silence. He just watches you carefully, like he’s trying to make sure you’re still grounded.

“You’re okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to do anything right now.”

That steadiness in his voice should soothe you. It always has, in the short time you’ve known him. But tonight it does the opposite, it loosens something deep in your chest while making every other feeling burn hotter, sharper, more impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts feel slow. Foggy. Like your brain has finally given up trying to sort through the wreckage of the day and is just… floating. 

Everything inside you is too much and not enough at the same time. The leftover ache from crying. The sharp, humiliating echo of your ex’s voice. The quiet relief of Felix still being here. And underneath it all, a new, liquid heat pooling low in your belly that you haven’t felt in so long it almost scares you.

You don’t want to think anymore.

You don’t want to analyze why your body is reacting like this, or whether it’s too soon, or what it says about you that the first gentle person to show up has you trembling for entirely different reasons now.

You just want to feel.

Your fingers twitch again in your lap, restless and restless. Felix notices immediately, the way he seems to notice everything. His expression softens even more, those freckles shifting with the small tilt of his head.

“You’re still shaking a bit,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, that deep Australian accent wrapping around the words like velvet. “Do you want me to get you something? Or should I just stay here?”

The question is simple. But it lands heavy in the quiet room.

You swallow, throat tight. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the soft fall of blonde hair against his forehead, the careful way he keeps his hands relaxed on his thighs even though you can feel the attention radiating off him. He’s so close. Close enough that you can smell the faint clean scent of him, something warm and a little sweet, like vanilla and skin after a shower.

“I don’t…” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, a little hoarse from all the earlier tears. “I don’t want water. I don’t want you to leave.”

You shift on the edge of the bed, knees brushing his accidentally. The contact sends a spark racing up your thigh, bright and electric. 

Felix stays perfectly still, but you see the way his shoulders tighten just a fraction, not pulling away, just… aware. His dark eyes search your face, patient, waiting for you to finish the thought.

“I just-” You let out a shaky laugh that sounds more like a sigh. “Everything hurts. My head. My chest. And I’m so tired of hurting, Felix. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want to think at all.”

Your hand moves before you can second guess it, sliding slowly across the small space between you until your fingertips graze the back of his hand. His skin is warm. Steady. You trace one light circle there, almost absentmindedly, and feel the way his breath changes.

Felix doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He just watches your fingers with quiet curiosity, that small tilt of his head making his blonde hair fall softly across one eye.

“Why are you still here?” you whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it. Your voice cracks a little at the end. “I’ve done nothing but cry to you… twice now. You don’t even know me. Not really.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the shift. His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, instinctive, soothing. “Because you needed someone,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And I didn’t want to leave you alone like that.”

That answer should feel kind. It does. But it also makes the heat low in your stomach twist tighter, sharper. You don’t understand why your body is reacting like this, why the gentle stroke of his thumb is suddenly making your pulse throb between your legs, why just the low rumble of his voice is making your thighs press together without permission. It’s confusing. Embarrassing. You barely know him, and yet…

You swallow hard, eyes dropping to where your fingers are still touching his. “It’s… it’s making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling right now,” you admit shyly, barely louder than a breath. Your cheeks burn. “I don’t know why. My brain is all foggy and my body is just… it’s confusing me.”

Felix’s brow furrows slightly, concern flickering across his face. He’s still not quite catching on, still thinking this is about the breakup, the exhaustion, the leftover tears. “Hey, that’s normal after everything you’ve been through today,” he says gently, voice deep and careful. “Emotions get all tangled up. You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

But you shake your head, the words tumbling out in a shaky rush. “No, it’s… it’s not just that. I wanted support. That’s all I wanted. And now my stupid brain is ruining it, making everything feel… different. Making me want things I definitely shouldn’t want from someone who’s only been nice to me.” Your voice wavers, eyes stinging again. “You should probably just leave. I’m sorry. I’m making this weird.”

You start to pull your hand back, suddenly mortified, but Felix catches it gently, not letting you retreat completely. His grip is loose, you could pull away if you really wanted to, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends another unwelcome spark racing through you.

“Wait,” he says softly, searching your face. He still looks a little lost, like he’s trying to piece together what you’re not saying. “I’m not going anywhere unless you actually want me to. If something’s confusing you… let me help. Let me be a distraction, yeah? Whatever you need right now, talking, silence, whatever it is, I’m here.”

The offer lands like a quiet shock. Your eyes widen, heart stuttering. There’s no way he means it. He doesn’t fully understand what you’re feeling, not yet, but he’s offering anyway. No pressure. Just that steady, patient presence.

You let out a small, nervous laugh despite the butterflies exploding in your stomach. “A distraction,” you repeat, the word sounding far too intimate on your tongue. “That sounds dangerous when you say it like that.”

Felix’s eyes sharpen just a fraction, dark, captivating, the kind of gaze that makes you shiver even though he’s barely moved. There’s a new awareness there now, like he’s starting to read between the lines of your shy rambling. His lips curve into the smallest, softest smile, but his voice stays low and calm.

“Dangerous how?” he asks gently, thumb still tracing slow, soothing circles on the back of your hand. He doesn’t push. He just waits, giving you all the space in the world to decide what comes next.

You bite your lip, pulse racing. The heat in your belly has only grown heavier, warmer, more insistent, and you still don’t know why your body is betraying you like this. Part of you wants to hide. Part of you wants him closer. The contradiction makes your head spin.

“Like… I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you whisper, honest and trembling.

Felix doesn’t look away. His thumb keeps up those slow, steady circles on the back of your hand, grounding and maddening all at once. For a long moment he just studies you, dark eyes soft but focused, like he’s weighing every small tremble in your voice and every nervous flutter of your lashes.

Then he leans in just a fraction closer, voice dropping even lower, that rich Australian accent curling around the words like warm smoke.

“If you want to use me for this… if letting go for a minute, if letting me distract you, will settle that storm in your head even a little…” He pauses, giving you time to breathe, to pull away. “Then I’ll do it. No questions. No expectations after. Just whatever you need right now.”

The offer sinks into you like honey and gasoline at the same time.

Your breath catches hard. The contradiction is dizzying, part of you screaming that this is too fast, too soon, too dangerous after everything that just happened today. The other part, the one that’s been starved for gentle touch and genuine care, is leaning toward him like a flower toward sunlight.

An angel or temptation from hell?

Right now it feels like both.

You let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh that borders on a whimper. “Felix… you can’t just say things like that.” Your voice cracks, shy and overwhelmed. “I barely know you and you’re offering to… to do that?”

Your free hand twists in the fabric of your shirt, knuckles tight. The tug-of-war inside your chest is brutal; no, this is wrong, you just got out of a toxic relationship, you’re emotional and raw and half-drunk on exhaustion; yes, please, touch me, make the noise in my head stop, make me feel something good for once.

“I… I don’t know,” you whisper again, eyes flicking up to meet his. His gaze is steady, patient, but there’s a new depth there now, a quiet intensity that makes another shiver roll down your spine.

The silence stretches for a heartbeat, then another. Your mind is spinning faster now, clarity cutting through the fog even as your body burns hotter.

This won’t fix anything.

It’s just a temporary bandage, a sweet, dangerous distraction that will probably leave you even more tangled and confused tomorrow. You’ll still have to face the breakup. You’ll still have to deal with the emptiness your ex left behind. And now you’ll have the memory of Felix’s hands and voice layered on top of all that mess, making everything more complicated.

Guilt twists sharp and sudden in your chest. This is too soon. You’re raw, vulnerable, and using a kind stranger to numb the pain feels selfish. Wrong, even.

But the other voice, quieter, hungrier, the one that’s been starving for so long whispers that you deserve this. Just one night. Just a moment where someone touches you because they want to make you feel good, not because they want to control you or take from you.

You want to take a bite out of the poison apple.

You want the devil on your shoulder to win tonight.

Your breath trembles as you finally speak, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Okay.”

The single word feels huge. It hangs between you like something fragile and electric.

Felix’s eyes search yours carefully, giving you one last chance to take it back. When you don’t, he nods slowly, something soft and almost reverent crossing his face.

He hesitates for just a second, like he’s still making sure this is really what you want, then lifts his free hand. His fingers brush lightly up the outside of your arm, slow and deliberate, barely more than a whisper of contact. The warmth of his palm trails over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. He stops at your shoulder, thumb stroking gently along the curve there.

“I’ll only do what you want me to do,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, that deep accent wrapping around every word like a promise. “Wherever you want my hands… wherever you want my mouth… just tell me. I’ll oblige.”

His touch stays feather-light, patient, waiting for your direction. His eyes never leave your face, reading every small reaction, the way your lips part, the quick rise and fall of your chest, the way you unconsciously lean just a little closer to him.

The heat in your belly flares brighter at his words, slick and insistent. Your thighs press together again, a helpless little movement you can’t quite hide. The guilt is still there, sharp and whispering, but it’s being drowned out by the overwhelming want flooding through you.

You swallow hard, suddenly shy all over again, cheeks burning as you try to find the words.

“I… I wouldn’t know,” you admit quietly, voice shaky with nerves and need. 

Felix’s eyes stay soft, but the smallest, warmest smile touches his lips. He doesn’t laugh at your uncertainty. Instead, he leans in just a fraction closer, his thumb still drawing those slow, soothing circles on your shoulder.

“We’ll find out together,” he murmurs, voice deep and steady. “But first… I need you to tell me what you’re sure you don’t want. Set the firm lines. Anything that feels like too much right now, tell me. I won’t cross them.”

The request is so careful it makes your chest tighten in a different way. Even now, when you’ve already said yes, he’s still checking, still making space for your limits. It’s disorienting how safe that feels.

You bite your lip, thinking through the fog of heat and guilt swirling inside you. Kissing feels… big. Too intimate. Too close to something that could crack you open even more tonight.

“No kissing,” you whisper, the words coming out softer than you expected. “On the mouth, I mean.”

Felix nods immediately, no hesitation, no disappointment flickering across his face. He just accepts it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Okay,” he says gently. “No kissing.”

The words settle between you like a quiet promise. Felix watches you for another heartbeat, making sure the boundary feels real, then gives your hand a soft squeeze.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

He helps guide you backward onto the bed with careful hands, never rushing, until your head rests against the pillows. The mattress dips as he follows, moving over you slowly so you can feel every inch of the shift in gravity. He settles on one elbow beside you, close enough that his body heat wraps around you like a blanket, but not so close that you feel pinned.

One hand hesitates at your hip, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, then slides upward in a slow, exploratory path over your clothed torso. His palm is warm and broad, tracing the curve of your ribs with light pressure that makes your breath hitch. The other hand moves from your hip to your waist, sliding beneath the fabric just enough to rest skin to skin, fingers splaying wide to keep you grounded against the mattress.

His face hovers inches from your neck, breath warm and steady against your skin. He doesn’t connect yet, but the closeness is devastating. His mouth is so near that every exhale ghosts over the sensitive spot just below your ear, sending slow, delicious shivers racing down your spine and straight between your legs.

You’re surprised by how into it he seems already.

His breathing has grown heavier, deeper, like the air between you has thickened into something syrupy and charged. When he reaches up with his free hand to rake his long blond hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear so nothing blocks his view of you, the simple motion feels unbearably intimate. The strands fall messily anyway, a few soft pieces brushing his cheek, but the way he does it, focused, almost hungry, makes the air feel heavier.

His mouth stays deliciously close to your neck, hovering, teasing without touching. The heat of his breath, the faint scent of him, the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now… it’s making you dizzy in the best and worst way. Your thighs press together helplessly, the ache between them growing slick and insistent.

You feel embarrassingly close to begging already.

The last fragile thread of hesitation snaps.

Your hands move before your mind can catch up, fingers curling tightly into the front of his shirt, gripping the soft fabric and pulling him closer with a needy tug. The sudden movement presses his body more firmly against yours, and the shift in mood is instant. The careful, gentle air thickens into something hotter, heavier, almost electric.

Nothing else exists anymore. Just Felix, his warmth, his breath, and the overwhelming need burning.

Felix lets out a low, surprised hum at the way you pull him in, but he doesn’t resist. His hand on your torso slides higher, palm pressing more deliberately over your ribs as he finally closes the distance.

His mouth connects with your neck, soft at first, just the lightest press of lips against your pulse point. Then he grows bolder, placing slow, experimental open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, warm and wet, each one lingering a little longer than the last. The feeling is devastating. Every kiss sends sparks racing straight down your body, making your back arch slightly off the bed.

He seems to like the way you’re reacting.

You can feel it in the way his breathing gets rougher, in the subtle shift of his hips against your thigh, in the quiet, appreciative sound he makes in the back of his throat when your fingers tighten harder in his shirt.

Encouraged, he opens his mouth wider on the next kiss, tongue barely brushing your skin, and then he takes a gentle, experimental bite just below your ear. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to send a sharp, bright jolt of pleasure through you.

A sound escapes you, a broken, needy whimper that you didn’t even know you could make. It’s loud in the quiet room, raw and desperate, nothing like the quiet, restrained noises you’re used to making.

Both of you freeze for a heartbeat.

Felix pulls back just enough to look at your face, his blonde hair falling messily over one eye again, lips slightly parted and glistening. His dark eyes are wide with a mix of surprise and heat, pupils blown. The hand at your waist squeezes gently, grounding, while the one on your torso stills completely.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the sound you just let out. You’re breathing fast, chest rising and falling quickly under his palm.

Felix’s voice comes out rougher than before, low and a little breathless, that deep Australian accent thicker now.

“Fuck…are you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes. His thumb strokes slow circles on your waist, still careful even as the air between you crackles with tension.

You don’t answer with words at first.

Instead, a fresh wave of need crashes through you, making your whole body feel hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers, every warm exhale against your skin, every tiny shift of his weight sends sparks racing straight to your core. The embarrassment from that desperate whimper melts away the second you glance down and see the obvious bulge straining against the front of his pants.

He’s hard. Really hard. And you haven’t even properly touched him yet.

The realization sends a thrill through you, confidence blooming hot and sudden in your chest. You’re doing this to him. Just your sounds, your reactions, the way you’re falling apart under his gentle mouth is enough to get him like this.

Your hands move with a new urgency, sliding down before you tug your own shirt up and off in one swift motion. The cool air hits your skin for only a second before you reach back and unhook your bra, letting it slide down your arms and drop somewhere beside the bed.

Felix’s reaction is immediate.

His pupils blow wide, dark and hungry, lips parting on a shaky inhale. A soft pink flush creeps across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, making his freckles stand out even more. He looks like he’s in a complete trance, eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin like he can’t believe this is real.

“Shit…” he breathes, voice hoarse and reverent. “You’re… fuck, you’re beautiful.”

You don’t give him time to overthink. Taking his wrist gently, you guide his hand up to your bare breast, pressing his warm palm against you. His fingers instinctively cup the soft weight, thumb brushing experimentally over your nipple. The touch is electric, your back arches into it with a soft gasp, nipples already tight and sensitive.

Felix lets out a low, stunned sound, almost a groan. His focus stays locked on you, eyes flicking between your face and your body like he’s trying to memorize every reaction. His other hand stays at your waist, holding you steady while his thumb circles your nipple slowly, then pinches lightly, testing what makes your breath hitch and your thighs press together.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe, that sweet blush still staining his face. “Look at you… responding so pretty for me.”

The air feels thicker now, hotter, every touch turning steamy and deliberate. His hand explores with growing confidence, squeezing gently, rolling your nipple between his fingers, then switching to the other breast to give it the same reverent attention. His mouth returns to your neck, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses and soft bites along your collarbone, working his way lower until his lips brush the swell of your breast.

He glances up at you through his messy blonde hair, eyes dark and pleading, silently asking for permission even as his tongue flicks out to taste your skin.

You don’t have the words to answer,  you just tighten your fingers in his hair and pull him closer.

That’s all the permission Felix needs.

His mouth closes over your nipple with a soft, wet heat that makes your back arch off the bed instantly. He starts slow, gentle licks, warm and deliberate, circling the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure. The sensation is overwhelming, a sharp jolt of pleasure that shoots straight between your legs.

You let out a broken moan, hips twitching helplessly as he switches to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. His tongue is relentless now, licking and flicking, then sucking harder, cheeks hollowing as he draws your nipple deeper into his mouth. Every pull sends sparks racing through your body, making your thighs shake and your core throb with empty need.

“Felix…” you whimper, the name slipping out like a prayer. “Felix- please…”

You’re quickly turning into an incoherent mess beneath him. Your hands fist tighter in his soft blonde hair, back arching desperately into his mouth as he alternates between slow, teasing licks and deep, hungry sucks. The wet sounds of his mouth on your skin fill the room, mixing with your ragged breathing and quiet, needy whines.

He groans softly against your breast, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His free hand keeps kneading the other side, thumb rolling your neglected nipple while his mouth works you over. He’s completely lost in it, eyes half-lidded, that sweet blush still coloring his cheeks, completely focused on every sound you make and every twitch of your body.

It starts to hurt in the best way. The ache between your legs is unbearable now, slick, swollen, and pulsing with no relief. Every suck and lick only makes the emptiness worse.

“Felix- please,” you beg, voice cracking, hips rolling up against nothing. “It hurts… I need- I need you to touch me. Please, I can’t- ah- please…”

Your words dissolve into another whimper as he sucks particularly hard, tongue flicking rapidly over your nipple before he pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen and glistening, eyes dark with heat but still so gentle underneath it all.

His lips are swollen and glistening, eyes dark with heat but still so gentle underneath it all.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, voice rough and breathless, that deep Australian accent thicker than ever. His hand slides slowly down your stomach, fingertips brushing just above the waistband of your pants, waiting for your answer. “Tell me, love. I’ll give you anything you need.”

You’re too far gone to be shy anymore.

Your hand flies down, grabbing his wrist and guiding him lower, pressing his palm firmly between your legs over your pants. The heat of his hand alone makes you moan, hips bucking up into the touch desperately.

“There- please, Felix, right there,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I’m so wet… it hurts. Touch me. Please.”

Felix’s breath catches sharply. For a split second his eyes widen, that sweet blush deepening across his cheeks, but the surprise quickly melts into something darker, hungrier. He doesn’t hesitate.

He cups you fully through your pants, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit with just enough pressure to make your back arch violently off the bed. A broken cry escapes you as he starts rubbing slow, firm circles, the fabric dragging deliciously against your swollen, soaked folds.

“Fuck… you really are soaked,” he murmurs, voice low and awed. He leans down again, mouth latching onto your nipple once more, sucking hard while his hand works between your legs with growing confidence. “All this for me? Just from my mouth?”

You can only nod frantically, incoherent whimpers spilling from your lips as he increases the pressure, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers press along your slit through the damp fabric. Every stroke sends sharp waves of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tremble and your hips chase his hand desperately.

The line is definitely being crossed now, fast and intense.

Felix shifts lower, kissing and biting down your stomach as he goes, his free hand quickly unbuttoning your pants and tugging the zipper down. He doesn’t pull them off completely yet, he just slides his hand inside, past the waistband of your panties, until his fingers finally meet your bare, dripping heat.

The first direct touch makes you both moan.

“Shit, you’re dripping,” he groans against your skin, voice thick with disbelief and lust. His fingers glide through your slick folds, circling your clit with perfect pressure before dipping lower to tease your entrance. “So warm… so fucking wet for me.”

He pushes one finger inside you slowly, carefully, curling it gently as his thumb keeps working your clit in tight, steady circles. The stretch is perfect, the relief immediate, but it only makes you need more.

You’re writhing beneath him now, one hand tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave marks. His name falls from your lips like a chant; “Felix, Felix, please-”, louder and more desperate with every thrust of his finger.

It’s dizzying.

You haven’t felt this much pleasure in so long that it almost overwhelms you. Every curl of his finger, every stroke of his thumb sends sparks shooting through your body, making your head spin and your vision blur at the edges. The sensation is almost too much, way too intense, too good, but you love it. You crave it. Your body has been starved for this kind of attentive touch for years, and now it’s drinking in every second like it’s dying of thirst.

Felix looks completely entranced.

His dark eyes are fixed on your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every broken moan, every desperate roll of your hips. His cheeks are flushed deep pink, lips parted, breathing ragged as he watches you fall apart under his hand.

Without breaking eye contact, he shifts lower on the bed. His free hand hooks into the waistband of your pants and panties together and tugs them down your legs in one smooth motion, finally pulling them off completely and tossing them aside.

When he sees you, fully bare, glistening, and soaked for him, he actually freezes for a second. His gaze drops between your legs, pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black. A soft, stunned sound escapes him, almost like a whimper.

“Fuck…” he breathes, voice hoarse and reverent.

He looks like he’s practically drooling, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares, completely mesmerized by the sight of your slick folds and the way your entrance clenches around nothing.

Before he can even form another thought, your fingers tighten in his soft blonde hair and you tug him down gently but firmly, guiding his face exactly where you need him.

Felix’s eyes go wide with surprise, a soft, startled “oh-” slipping from his lips. For half a second he looks almost shy, like he didn’t expect you to be so bold. But the surprise quickly melts into pure, eager excitement. His breath hitches, and a bright, boyish smile flashes across his face for just a moment, sweet and hungry at the same time.

“Yeah?” he whispers, voice rough with want but still so gentle. “You want my mouth on you?”

He doesn’t wait for a verbal answer. The second you nod, he settles between your thighs. His hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss right against your dripping core.

The first long, slow lick of his tongue makes your back arch sharply off the bed and a loud, broken moan tear from your throat.

Felix moans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your clit. He’s enthusiastic and attentive, licking broad stripes through your folds before focusing on your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth while his tongue flicks in perfect little patterns. He’s clearly loving every second, soft, happy sounds escaping him as he tastes you, eyes fluttering shut in bliss before opening again to watch your reactions.

He eats you out like he’s been waiting for this moment, like making you feel good is the only thing that matters in the world right now.

Your head is spinning even harder now, pleasure crashing over you in heavy waves. The dizziness mixes with pure ecstasy as Felix’s tongue works you over, slow and thorough one moment, then faster and more focused the next, completely lost in the taste of you and the sounds you’re making.

He’s so into it.

Felix moans openly against your core, the sound low and happy, like he can’t get enough of how you taste. His tongue laps at you with genuine hunger,  broad, wet strokes through your slick folds, then circling your clit before sucking it back into his mouth with perfect, rhythmic pressure. Every soft, pleased hum that vibrates against you tells you he’s loving this just as much as you are.

Without even thinking about it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he slides two fingers back inside you. The stretch is sudden and perfect, curling immediately against that sensitive spot deep inside while his tongue keeps working your clit in tight, relentless circles.

The combination nearly sends you over the edge right there.

A sharp, broken cry rips from your throat as the pleasure spikes hard and fast. Your hips buck against his face, thighs trembling around his head. The intensity is almost too much, dizzying waves of heat rolling through you, building so quickly you can barely breathe.

Your hand tightens in his soft blonde hair, tugging harder than you meant to as your body jerks with overwhelming sensation.

The tug pulls a delicious, guttural moan from Felix. The sound vibrates straight against your clit, deep and needy, making your walls clench hard around his fingers. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, the hair tug seems to spur him on, his fingers thrust a little deeper, curling perfectly with every stroke, while his tongue flicks faster over your swollen clit.

It’s too much.

The coil in your belly snaps without warning.

You come hard, a sharp, broken cry tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you in blinding waves. Your back arches violently off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers. Pleasure explodes through every nerve, white-hot and overwhelming, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

It’s not just release,  it’s pure, shattering ecstasy. Years of feeling nothing, of lying there disconnected and unsatisfied, are obliterated in seconds. Your whole body shakes, hips jerking against his mouth as you ride the high, slick heat flooding his tongue.

Felix doesn’t stop.

He stays right there, completely lost in a trance, like he physically can’t pull himself away from you. His fingers keep thrusting slowly through every spasm, curling against that perfect spot to drag the orgasm out longer. His tongue never leaves your clit, licking slower now, but still hungry, still devoted, tasting every drop of you as you come undone.

He moans loudly against your core, the vibrations prolonging the aftershocks, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he drinks you in. Soft, happy, almost greedy sounds escape him while he works you through it, savoring the way you tremble and clench around him.

You’re gasping, whimpering, completely overwhelmed. The pleasure keeps rolling through you in long, powerful waves, far more intense and drawn-out than anything your body has ever experienced. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. Your fingers stay tangled tight in his blonde hair, holding him there as your hips twitch with every lingering lick.

Felix finally slows only when your trembling starts to ease, but even then he doesn’t pull away completely. He presses one last, slow, open-mouthed kiss to your oversensitive clit, then gently slides his fingers out of you, replacing them with soft, soothing licks to help you come down.

When he finally lifts his head, his lips and chin are glistening with you, cheeks flushed deep red, eyes dark and hazy with lust. His messy blonde hair is even more tousled from your grip. He looks drunk on you; breathing hard, that sweet, boyish smile tugging at his wet lips even through the heat.

You’re completely fucked out.

Your body feels heavy and boneless, every limb buzzing with lingering pleasure. Your head is fuzzy and dizzy, like you’re floating in warm honey. Tears have built up in your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, a few slipping down your temples as you try to catch your breath. You’ve never come that hard, never felt anything even close to this overwhelming wave of pleasure. It’s left you dazed, overwhelmed in the best way.

Felix’s expression shifts the second he really looks at you.

The hazy lust softens into gentle concern. His eyes widen slightly, that sweet, worried look crossing his face as he quickly moves up the bed, hovering over you without putting any weight on your body. One hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear with incredible tenderness.

“Hey… hey,” he murmurs, voice still a little rough but now wrapped in soft worry. “Are you okay? Did I go too far? You’re crying-”

You shake your head hazily, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips even though your thoughts are still fuzzy and slow.

“No… it was perfect,” you whisper, voice hoarse and trembling. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Relief washes over his face, but the concern doesn’t fully leave. 

Before you can even think about it, habit kicks in. You start to push yourself up on shaky arms, instinctively moving to clean up like you always had to before. 

Felix stops you immediately, one gentle hand on your shoulder guiding you back down onto the pillows. He looks almost offended, brows furrowing in that adorable, protective way.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” he says softly, that deep Australian accent warm and firm at the same time. “No, no, no. Lie back down. That’s my job.”

He shifts beside you, one arm sliding carefully under your shoulders to pull you against his chest. His free hand reaches for the tissues on the nightstand, but he doesn’t hand them to you. Instead, he gently wipes your thighs and between your legs himself, slow, careful strokes, making sure you’re comfortable without a single hint of impatience.

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it makes your chest ache in a different way. “You just came really hard. Let me take care of you, yeah? That’s what I want to do.”

He finishes cleaning you up with the same devoted attention he gave when he was between your legs, then suddenly gets up.

You watch him through half-lidded, still-dizzy eyes, your body heavy and warm. A shy little thought bubbles up, and before you can overthink it, you murmur softly, voice still hoarse,

“Do you… need help too? Or…?”

Felix pauses mid-step, his back to you for a second. He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh and rubs the back of his neck, that familiar bashful gesture.

“I already…” He stops himself mid-sentence, cheeks flushing even deeper than before. “Ah, never mind.”

Curiosity wins. You push yourself up slightly on your elbows and glance down.

There it is, a very obvious wet spot darkening the front of his pants, the fabric clinging slightly to him. He came just from eating you out. No touching himself, no grinding against you, just from your taste, your sounds, and the way you fell apart on his tongue.

He clears his throat and gestures awkwardly toward the hallway.

“I’m gonna go clean up real quick. Stay right there, okay? Don’t move.”

You nod, still floating in that fuzzy, post-orgasm glow, and watch him disappear into the bathroom.

Minutes pass. Longer than you expected for a quick cleanup. You’re just starting to wonder if he’s okay when a delicious smell drifts into the room, warm, savory, comforting. Something frying, maybe garlic and butter?

The bathroom door opens again. Felix comes back wearing the sweatpants and black t-shirt that you stole from your brother and now lended him, hair still damp and messy from a quick rinse. In his hands he’s carrying a plate with scrambled eggs, toast, and some leftover takeout noodles he must have reheated. There’s even a glass of water and a small bowl of fruit on the side.

He looks a little shy as he approaches the bed, but his eyes are warm and caring again.

“I figured you might be hungry after… everything,” he says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and setting the plate carefully on your lap. “You haven’t eaten much today, right? And crying plus… that… probably burned a lot of energy.”

He scratches the back of his neck again, cheeks still faintly pink.

“I know it’s not fancy, but it’s quick and warm. Eat as much as you want, yeah? I’ll get you more if you need it.”

He settles beside you, one hand gently rubbing your back in slow circles while you pick at the food. The smell is comforting, the gesture so unexpectedly sweet that it makes your chest feel tight in the best way.

Every bite tastes better than it should. The quiet clink of the fork, the steady warmth of his palm on your back, the way he occasionally glances at you to make sure you’re actually eating, it all feels so… safe.

Too safe.

You eat in comfortable silence for a while, but something heavy starts settling in your chest. This moment is perfect. Too perfect. The way he’s taking care of you, the soft smile he gives when you murmur a quiet “thank you,” the way his damp hair curls at the ends… you’re enjoying it more than you should.

He was only supposed to be the nice stranger who helped you through one bad night.

Not this.

Not someone who makes scrambled eggs at 2 a.m. and looks at you like you’re worth the trouble.

You swallow another bite, but it suddenly feels harder to get down. Your eyes flick to him again, to the gentle slope of his shoulders, the freckles across his nose, the way he’s still quietly rubbing your back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

This can’t last.

Tomorrow the real world will come back. The breakup. The loneliness. The fear that you’re too broken for anyone to actually want to stay. Felix was just being kind. He saw a girl crying in his room and did what any decent person would do.

You’re already getting attached to something that was never meant to be yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Today was Minho's day off. Not a weekend, just a regular weekday where he got to relax for once. 

He had plans to go by Y/N's place this evening and make a nice dinner for her, but until then, he planned on relaxing, maybe going to visit his cats, sleeping in-

So why was his phone going off?

Minho grumbled, tempted to ignore it, but ultimately deciding against it. He fumbled for his phone and glared at the bright screen, eyes coming into focus so he could finally read the name.

Y/N. 

His brain snapped into focus, immediately pushing himself up in bed as he answered the phone. “Hello?” He said, voice still thick with sleep. He cleared his throat.

“Minho, hey, I'm so sorry for waking you up,” Y/N started rattling, “but Misoon texted me and said she has a fever, and I can't stay home from work because I have a big meeting today with a new client. Could you possibly watch Kija? I know it's your day off, but I don't have anyone else to ask, I'm sorry. If you can't, it's okay-”

“Y/N,” Minho interrupted softly, “I can watch him.”

“Are you sure?” She asked softly.

“Of course,” he replied firmly, already moving out of his bed to start getting dressed. “How soon do you need me there?”

She sighed in relief. “Seriously, thank you, and don't rush. I texted my boss and told her I have a babysitter mishap, she knows I may be a little late.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” he told her.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered, still sounding slightly frantic. “Thank you, seriously.”

“It's not a problem. See you in 15.”

Minho quickly breezed through getting dressed, quickly brushing his teeth and his hair before he was zipping out the door. 

The drive over was familiar at this point. Minus the early morning traffic, it was quick and easy, and soon he was parking his car and heading inside.

When he made it up to her apartment, Y/N instantly opened the door, a look of pure relief on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him, “seriously.”

His expression softened. “You know I love Kija, too, it's not a hardship to watch him.”

“I know, but it's your day off, and it's last minute, and I just-” she takes a deep breath as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

Kija is in his high chair, happily finishing his breakfast when he spots Minho. He screeches excitedly and smacks his hands into the surface.

Minho grinned and waved at him. “Hi Kiki.” He looked back at Y/N. “What do you need help with so you can leave?” 

She looked at him with pleading eyes. “Can you help him finish his food and clean him up please?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said before quickly heading back to her bedroom to finish getting ready.  

Minho walks over to Kija, who's staring at him and babbling excitedly. “Alright aegiya, let's finish this cereal, yeah?” 

With minimal prompting, Minho gets Kija to finish his food and have a bit more to drink before wiping down his face and lifting him out of his highchair. 

Y/N came speed walking out of her room, then, looking more put together while also carrying Kija's bag. “I have his schedule in there, toys, blankets, snacks.” She came up beside him and set the bag down on the table to show him what was inside. “I also put a spare key for the apartment in this side pocket.” She glanced over at him. “You're welcome to just hang out here with him if you want. Then you don't have to worry about food or having the right cups or anything like that.”

Minho shifted Kija on his hip. “Is it okay if I take him to the dorms?”

Her eyes widened. “I mean, if you want to. I trust you with him, obviously. I just didn't want you to feel like you had to leave, especially since I already have so much of the supplies here.”

Minho blushed slightly. “I may or may not have some toys and blankets for Kija at my place already, too.”

Y/N gaze softened and she leaned in to kiss his cheek again. “You're so sweet.” She smirked knowingly. “You saw cute baby stuff and couldn't resist could you?”

He huffed. “It's harder to now that I actually know a kid I could give the stuff to.”

Y/N giggled at that. “Well, you'll have to send me pictures of him with his new toys.”

“I can do that,” Minho replied fondly.

“Do you have any questions about his stuff?” She asked, looking through the bag again to make sure everything was there.

“I don't, but if I do, I can just text you, or even Misoon,” he reassured her. “We'll be fine.” 

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright, okay. I trust you, I promise, this morning has just been… a lot.” She glanced at her phone and sighed. “And I don't know when the next train comes to my stop, but I've definitely missed my first one.”

“Let me drive you to work,” Minho told her.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but paused before finally letting her shoulders relax. “I'd really appreciate that, thank you Minho.”

He smiled fondly, leaning in to kiss her softly. “Of course jagi. You ready to go then?”

After doing another double check to make sure she had all of her stuff, and Kija did, too, they finally headed downstairs and back out to the car. 

Kija sat happily in the backseat, holding his tiger plushie in one hand, and a toy car in the other. 

The drive to her work wasn't very long, much quicker than waiting on the train. Y/N sighed softly, gathering up her stuff before turning to look at Minho seriously.

“Text or call me if you need anything okay?” She said, “My meeting shouldn't go past lunch, so if I need to take off early I can.”

“We'll be fine, don't worry about it.” He told her firmly yet calmly. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. “I'll send you updates throughout the day. You just worry about work.”

She sighed and kissed him one more time, staying close for a second. “Again, thank you.”

Finally, she glanced back at Kija. “You be good for Minho, okay?”

“Mah!” He shouted back, making her smile and blow kisses at him before getting out of the car and waving goodbye. 

After she disappeared into the building, Minho glanced back at Kija. “Alright Kiki, we're gonna run to the store to grab you some more stuff, first. Sound fun?”

“Ah!” Kija shouted back, which Minho took as an agreement. 

“My thoughts exactly, you do deserve to be spoiled,” he replied as he put the car back into drive and started heading towards the dorm buildings.

Between here and the dorms was a decent size store that Minho knew would have what he needed. He wanted to grab some baby safe plates and utensils, some ingredients to make lunch for the two of them later, and maybe a few more toys if the mood struck.

“Alright Kija, shopping time,” he said as he parked and got the toddler out of his carseat.

Kija sat contentedly on Minho's hip as they walked into the store. He found a shopping cart that the toddler could sit in and smiled to himself, snapping a picture before beginning his trek through the store.

Minho had on a lower face mask per habit, but didn't think he would draw much attention. He was just a guy in a grocery store. 

What he didn't account for was the apparent draw a man with an adorable toddler held. 

It still didn’t seem like most people were paying attention to him explicitly, but there were more eyes on him than normal when he was out in public. He could feel their gaze and hear the cooing and whispers.

Kija didn't seem phased at all, completely content to babble to Minho and play with his toy. Minho looked at him fondly and just made sure to pay the others no mind. If they weren't going to approach him, he had no reason to acknowledge them. 

“Alright Kiki, ingredients first, okay?” He spoke as he walked down the aisles. “I have a lot at home already, but I was going to come here to grab some stuff for dinner anyways. You like pork, right?”

“‘Gogi!” Kija agreed.

“We can have bulgogi,” Minho replied, nodding along. 

He continued talking to Kija as he went along. The toddler was happy to babble back, and was especially ecstatic when Minho asked him if he wanted some strawberries for a snack today. 

He took the squealing as a resounding yes. 

“Okay…” Minho said, looking over the stuff he'd grabbed as he ran through his mental checklist. “I think we have all the food we need.” He glanced up at Kija. “Now let's go look at some plates for you, yeah? And maybe some toys, too.” 

Heading to the children's section of the store, Minho had to resist the urge to start looking through clothes. He'd spend all day dressing up Kija if he could.

But that was for another time.

When he made it to the children's plates and utensils, he was happy to find a cat themed set.

“What do you think about this one?” He asked as he showed it to Kija.

The toddler's eyes lit up. He let go of his plush tiger and immediately grabbed for the plates. Minho let him hold it for a second but had to stop him from putting it into his mouth.

“Ah- not yet Kija-ah,” he chided gently. “We don't know who's touched these. I need to wash them first.”

Kija screeched his complaint and Minho snorted fondly. “Not this time,” he said as he put the dishware set into the cart and handed Kija his plushie back.

Kija stared at it for a moment, as if debating his continuation of his tantrum, but he grumpily settled down again.

Minho ruffled his hair. “You'll forgive me once we get to the toy section.” 

The toy aisle wasn't far away. As they rounded the corner, Kija looked up, eyes widening in delight at all the colors and shapes.

Minho beamed. “See? I told you.”

He pushed the cart to the side, so it wasn't blocking the path, and gently lifted Kija into his arms so he could get closer to the toys. Kija kicked until Minho huffed and set him down on the ground.

Kija happily toddled over to the shelves, looking up at the toys in wonder. His little lips were parted in shock. 

After letting Kija explore for a while, Minho started picking up some things the toddler had been eyeing, as well as a few that piqued his interest, too. He ended up getting a colorful set of building blocks, a small scooter, a cute tent he could play in, a snow leopard plush, and a kids keyboard. 

Was it overkill considering Y/N had packed some toys for Kija, too, and he also had a few plushies at home already? Maybe. 

Did he care? Not particularly. 

“Come on Kiki, time to head to check out,” he said, scooping the toddler back up to put him in the cart. Kija gave a screech but settled once Minho handed him the snow leopard plush he'd picked out. 

He hummed softly to himself, still talking to Kija every once in a while as he went through the self-checkout.  

Kija was, of course, a great help as he loaded the bags and headed out to the cart, providing riveting commentary and even trying to smack a bag out of his hand at one point. But Minho made it, despite the toddler's assistance, and soon they were on their way back to his dorm. 

Han was working today with 3Racha, so he'd be out of the dorm at least until late afternoon, if not late evening. That meant he didn't have to worry about taking up the living room as a play place for Kija.

Not that he thought Han would mind. If anything, Han would lie on the floor with Kija to play with him.

What he didn't know wouldn't kill him.

It was a bit unwieldy trying to carry Kija, his bag, and the shopping bags all in at the same time, but Minho managed. 

As Minho toed off his shoes and deposited the bags on the floor near the door, Kija was looking around the dorm with wide eyes. 

“Well this is my place,” Minho said as he walked towards his room. “I know it's different from your house, but we'll still have fun I promise.”

Kija continued to look around, lips parted in wonder as Minho fished a blanket out of his closet. He then grabbed a pillow off of his bed and eyed the few Leebit (and Han Quokka) plushies he had in his room before grabbing one and bringing it along, too.

After gently setting Kija on the couch, he pushed aside the coffee table and spread out the blanket. Kija was immediately crawling down, intent on toddling around the room.

“You wanna help me carry these bags?” Minho asked as he padded back to the door, keeping an eye on the toddler. 

Kija hadn't gone far, to be fair. He'd already stopped by the coffee table and was staring at some magazines with rapt interest. 

Minho quickly brought the bags over and managed to grab the magazine (one of his cover shoots he did the previous year) before Kija could put it in his mouth. “Not edible Kija-ah.” 

Kija scrunched his nose up and stomped his foot. “Mah!”

“Nope, your eomma wouldn't let you eat it either,” he reached a finger out and gently booped Kija's nose. “You can't trick me.” 

First, Minho laid out the toys Y/N had packed for Kija onto the blanket. Then, he worked on de-tagging the new things he’d bought, and giving them a quick wipe down before adding them to the fray.

Finally, he unboxed the tent. Surely this wouldn’t be as hard to put together as the carseat had been.

Thankfully it wasn’t. It still took about 15 minutes before Minho was happy with its structural integrity. He stepped back, hands on his hips as he assessed the play area Kija was happily seated in.

He pulled out his phone as he gestured to the tent. “Kija-ah, what’s this?”

The toddler didn’t look up at first, fully immersed in the colorful block set he’d scattered on the ground around him.

Minho hit record as he aimed the camera at Kija. “Kiki, what do you have there?”

Kija stared at the blocks and only glanced up when Minho moved in front of him. “Bah!” He said proudly, holding up a blue rectangle block.

“That’s right, they’re blocks,” Minho agreed. “You wanna show eomma what else we got?”

Kija looked around when he said that and suddenly spotted the tent. Minho grinned as the toddler pushed himself onto his feet and scurried over to investigate.

“I think the tent was a win,” he said softly as Kija peered out the windows in the tent’s canvas sides.

He paused the recording and quickly texted it to Y/N before sitting on the floor and playing with Kija for a while. 

He made sure to read the instructions Y/N had left for Kija.  She noted when he usually had snacks and naps, reassuring him that they weren’t super strict, but also listing what signs to watch out for that would indicate he was feeling hungry or sleepy.

Sure enough, at around 11 o’clock, he got fussy. Minho gave him a small snack, since he would be preparing lunch for them soon enough, and Kija ended up falling asleep snuggled up in his tent with his tiger plush and his new snow leopard plush.

Minho may have taken one or fifty pictures of him in there. He sent most of them to Y/N and had to resist the urge to make one of them his homescreen.

Someday he would. He still had to be a bit cautious of what the fans might catch a glimpse of.

He moved over to the kitchen, where he could still glance over and see Kija in his tent, and started working on prepping lunch. He put on some soft music and hummed contentedly to himself as he got to work. 

While he was cooking, Y/N texted him back checking in on Kija and cooing over the adorable pictures. He smiled and replied, reassuring her that he was doing just fine and confirming the lunch choices he’d made would work for Kija.

Just as he was finishing preparing his own plate and debating on if he should wake up Kija to eat, his phone buzzed. He picked it up, checking the screen, and sighing when he saw it was from their manager. 

“Hello?” He answered.

“Minho, hey, last minute schedule change,” their manager started off a bit apologetically. “Any chance you can come in for a quick shoot? It shouldn't take more than an hour.”

Minho looked over at Kija and sighed softly. “I need to finish eating lunch. Can I come in after?”

“So you'll be here in about an hour then?” He checked.

“Yes,” Minho confirmed.

“Alright, we can make that work,” their manager reassured. “Thank you for being flexible.”

Minho just hummed noncommittally. “I'll see you in an hour.” He said before hanging up. 

He set his phone down on the countertop and sighed one more time before focusing on his food. Instead of eating leisurely, he sped up. He didn't get to savor it like he wanted, but he needed time to finish, put away the leftovers, and clean up the dishes. Then he could wake up Kija to feed him and load him into the car. 

As he finished up his food, Minho opened his phone to check the other member's schedules for the day. They'd shared calendars with each other a long time ago, realizing it was just easier and none of them cared that the others knew what they had going on.

What he wanted to know is who else was at the company today, and who might be free that was there. 

Felix and Hyunjin should be finishing up some choreo work around the time he got there.

That would work. 

Once he had the kitchen clean enough, and the leftovers put away, Minho went ahead and packed up a few of the toys that he had out back into Kija's bag. Y/N already had a spare blanket in there, so he left his on the floor for now.

“Kija-ah,” Minho said, kneeling down and softly rubbing the toddler's back, “time for some lunch, yeah?”

Kija grumbled and Minho smiled fondly before scooping him up. Kija blinked sleepily, about to cuddle back into Minho's neck when he perked up.

Minho chuckled. “Smells good doesn't it?”

Kija leaned forward towards the smell, making Minho laugh and adjust his grip on the toddler. “Hang on, hang on, the food's not going anywhere.”

Minho sat Kija on one of the chairs, hovering next to him as he helped the toddler eat his food. Kija didn't miss a bite and Minho felt proud that he enjoyed what he cooked. 

Sure Minho had cooked dinner at Y/N's place before for all of them, but she was normally there to approve the dishes, too. 

Once Kija was done eating and cleaned up, Minho grabbed his bag, as well as Kija's bag, before scooping up the toddler and heading back out to the car. After he got Kija buckled back in, he shot a quick text to Felix.

Contact name: Yongbok

Minho: can you stay in the practice room when youre done?

Yongbok: thats an oddly specific request for someone off work today

Minho: i got called in for a shoot, but im watching Kija right now

Yongbok: oh!!!!!!

Yongbok: 🥺🥺🥺 i wanna see the baby

Minho: good because i need you to watch him for a second

Yongbok: yay!!!!!!!!!

Minho: i'll be there in like 10

Yongbok: ok!! drive safe! 🥰

“Oh Kija-ah,” Minho mused as he followed the familiar route to work, “your uncles are gonna be so excited to see you.” 

“‘Yung ah!” Kija said proudly and Minho snorted.

“I think you'd make Felix cry if you called him hyung.” 

Minho watched as Kija started yawning again halfway through the drive. He knew the toddler would probably wake up again when they entered the JYP building, but he hoped that he could get a nap in with Felix. He'd have to tell Felix that it was naptime, but he was sure he wouldn't say no to baby snuggles.

Once he found a parking spot, Minho grabbed the two bags again and hefted Kija back into his arms. Kija grumbled, seemingly too tired to hold his head up as he immediately rested it on Minho's shoulder. Minho gently rubbed his back, kissing the side of his head.

“I know buddy. You can nap with Felix hyung yeah? He'd love that.”

As Minho made his way through the building, he noticed people doing double takes when they spotted him. While he usually wouldn't draw much attention, it was clear people were stunned by the baby in his arms.

Luckily, unlike at the grocery store, Minho knew these people were under NDA. Minho just snorted to himself, giving Kija another kiss on the side of the head as he turned the final corner to the practice rooms he knew Felix and Hyunjin would be in. 

“Delivery,” he said as he pushed open the door.

Felix squealed excitedly. “Kija!” 

The toddler in question startled in Minho's arms. He has ended up falling asleep on the way up here, which made Minho's heart ache fondly knowing the baby trusted him so deeply. Kija blinked, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eye with a closed fist.

Hyunjin gasped as Felix scrambled over and cooed at Kija. “Why do you have the baby?”

Minho looked at him incredulously. “Because my girlfriend needed a sitter last minute? What do you think I kidnapped him?”

“I don't know,” Hyunjin whined. “You've never had him without Y/N around before.” 

Minho just snorted, rolling his eyes fondly as he adjusted Kija in his arms. “Manager-nim called me in for a last minute schedule change. Kija should be tired enough to nap. He just had lunch recently, but if he won't sleep, I have toys and stuff for him in here,” he explained as he passed Kija's bag to Felix, who was making eager grabby hands towards the boy. “Just text or call if you need anything. I will leave the shoot to come help.”

Felix giggled as Minho finally shifted Kija into his arms. Kija whined, looking at Minho with big boba eyes for a moment before Felix managed to catch his attention.

God he wouldn’t have been able to leave if Kija had started crying, honestly.

“We'll be fine, hyung,” Felix said as he looked at Kija excitedly. “I'll make sure to find a nice spot for us to take a good nap in.”

Minho nodded and pointed at them again. “Seriously, call me if you need anything.”

“We got this,” Hyunjin said. “Kija is a great baby.”

“True, he is. Great enough that you shouldn't be able to mess it up,” Minho drawled. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Kija's back and kissing his cheek. “Keep your hyungs in line, okay?”

“Mah mo,” Kija agreed and then yawned. 

Minho couldn't resist, so he kissed him one more time before finally peeling himself away and heading to his shoot. 

The shoot felt longer than normal, but maybe it was because Minho kept checking his phone as often as he could get away with. It's not that he didn't trust Hyunjin and Felix with Kija, but Y/N had entrusted him to babysit and… well he really didn't want to let her down.

And maybe, selfishly, he wanted to do a good enough job that he got to babysit Kija more often after this. 

The moment the shoot was over and Minho was dismissed he was grabbing his phone to check it again. 

The only text he'd gotten was from Felix.

Contact name: Yongbok

Yongbok: we moved to studio 3C! He napped for about 20 minutes and now he's awake again

Minho had a feeling as to why Kija didn't nap longer. As long as the toddler wasn't grumpy, though, he wasn't going to complain.

His feeling also extended to what he was certain he would find when he entered the studio. He kept his phone out and opened the door slowly just in case.

Sure enough, all of the boys were in there. Kija was standing in the middle of a circle of boys on the blanket from his bag. Currently he was babbling away about something, shaking his snow leopard plush in one hand while patting Jisung's face with the other. He was sat between Hyunjin's legs. Felix and Changbin were also on the floor with him. 

Chan sat nearby on the couch, laptop in his lap, though he wasn't watching the screen. Jeongin was also on the couch while Seungmin had just squatted down next to Changbin and was trying to get Kija's attention.

“Don't you dare steal this moment from me Kim Seungmin,” Jisung threatened, not breaking eye contact with Kija as he spoke.

Minho quickly snapped a few pictures of the scene before finally opening the door the rest of the way and stepping into the room. “So naptime went well I see.” 

The boys glanced over and greeted him. Kija looked up immediately upon hearing his voice. His chubby cheeks broke into a wide grin. He screeched excitedly and left Jisung without a second though, toddling eagerly over to him.

“That’s not fair!” Jisung whined. “Of course Kija is gonna choose you.”

Minho smirked, stepping over Felix’s shoulder so he could bend down and scoop up the child. “Correct, because he has taste.” 

“Nah, your face is just familiar,” Seungmin countered. “If we had cookies or a cat plush, he'd choose us in a heartbeat.”

“You know, we could prove this right now,” Changbin suggested, grabbing a bag of soft, fruit-flavored cookie snacks from Kija's bag.

“Oh like how you put a dog in the middle of the room and see what parent it goes to?” Jisung said, perking up.

“Kija isn't a dog,” Hyunjin scoffed, appalled.

Jeongin looked up from his phone with an unimpressed stare. “You literally kept calling the kids Kkami and offering them treats and walkies when we did the photoshoot with them.”

Hyunjin threw his hands up. “This is different!”

“Well if we're gonna do it, Minho can't be the one to put him in the middle,” Jisung said.

“Why not?” Minho asked, raising an eyebrow as Kija continued to sit contentedly in his arms.

“Because!! Then he'd already be thinking about you!” Jisung explained, like it was obvious.

“I can hold him,” Chan offered, setting his laptop aside.

Minho snorted. “You're just looking for an excuse for Kija cuddles.”

Chan raised an eyebrow as he held out his arms. “And?”

Minho shrugged. “Fair,” he said before passing Kija over.

They decided to try three different things to lure Kija: his tiger, his snow leopard, and snacks. Seungmin grabbed the tiger, Jisung grabbed the snacks, and Hyunjin grabbed the snow leopard. Minho, of course, had nothing to offer except himself.

They made a cross with the four of them facing the center. Felix declined being a part of it, “It'd break my heart if he didn't pick me,” he sighed sadly, “so I'll just record it from the sidelines.” 

The four of them squatted down and waited. Chan stood up, giving Kija's cheeks a few more kisses before setting him in the middle of the group.

Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jisung instantly started calling for Kija, shaking their objects to try and catch his attention. Minho waited for a moment, watching the toddler look around at all four of them in confusion.

When Kija's eyes met his, he tilted his head and smiled, opening his arms to the boy.

Kija grinned back at him, toddling over without even looking at the other three again.

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin whispered, bringing a hand up to clutch his chest. “I'm devastated but also, it's too cute for me to be upset.”

Kija clambered into his arms, patting his legs. “Mimoh!” He declared happily.

The room froze. Minho's eyes widened, staring at Kija in awe.

“Tell me you got that on video,” Changbin whispered harshly.

“I did, I did,” Felix replied, also in a whisper.

Minho leaned down and kissed Kija's forehead. Kija leaned in, too, mouth partially open as he placed a wet kiss on Minho's nose.

“Mwah!” He said as he leaned back, looking proud of himself.

The room cooed and awed around them. Minho couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tried.

“Yeah, I love you too Kija,” he replied softly. 

They spent another hour at the company, the boys all vying for the toddler's attention, before Minho finally stood up to leave.

“I need time to start dinner prep before Y/N gets back home,” he told them all.

“Then just leave Kija here with us,” Hyunjin suggested cheekily.

Minho glared, holding the toddler closer. “Absolutely not.”

He made the journey back home, cleaning up Kija's tent and toys before grabbing some supplies and heading back over to her apartment. 

Kija fell asleep on the way back, staying unconscious even as he hauled them up to her place. He set stuff down by the door and took a moment to get Kija comfortable on a blanket and some pillows on the floor before he got to work.

Once again, Minho flipped on some music and fell into the zone as he started working on their food. He felt his stress slip away as he focused entirely on cooking.

He was almost done, the meat just needing a moment longer, when the front door unlocked. 

Y/N peeked her head inside and spotted Kija asleep on the ground. Her expression softened before she looked over at Minho.

“You're the best, seriously,” she said as she toed her shoes off and walked into the kitchen.

Minho leaned over and kissed her. “Mm, I'm happy to help. He really wasn't any trouble.” He unlocked his phone and opened his gallery, navigating to the videos the boys had taken that afternoon. “Here, watch these and sit down for a moment. Food will be ready in just a second.” 

Y/N grabbed his phone gently and sat down at the island. Minho kept glancing at her, watching her reactions as she paged through the photos and videos.

“You bought him a whole tent?” She asked.

He shrugged. “He liked it. I kept it at my place so next time he comes by, he'll have it.”

She smiled at him. “You're so sweet.” 

A few seconds later, she looked up from the phone again. “You had to take him to work with you? I'm sorry, I could've come grabbed him.”

“No, no,” he replied, shaking his head. “I was called in last minute for something. The boys loved spending time with him, trust me.” He chuckled. “You have more backup babysitters, for sure. Though, I'm not sure if I trust all of them individually.” 

Y/N giggled. “They did just fine when we filmed.”

“Chan would be my first pick,” Minho said.

She nodded. “Yeah, me too. Well, after you at least.” 

Minho didn't blush at that. He was just warm from cooking, nothing more.

He knew she'd gotten to the video when she gasped softly.

“Aw, he chose you over the toys-” she was cooing when she cut off. Minho glanced up and found her staring at him, eyes wide in awe.

“Did he say your name?” She asked quietly. 

“I mean,” he started, voice soft, “we think so?” 

He heard the video start over as she watched it again while he worked on plating their food. As he was moving to set their food at the table, he felt arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“I'm glad we found you,” Y/N said as she kissed between his shoulder blades. 

Minho set down the plates and turned in her arms, wrapping one arm around her while bringing the other hand up to cup her chin. “I'm glad I found you both, too.” 

She stared at him for a moment, lips parting slightly. “So… how can I possibly repay you for babysitting?” She asked slowly.

Minho smirked. “I certainly don't need your money,” he drawled.

She trailed a hand up his chest. “I could pay you in other ways.”

“Well, after we eat…” he leaned in closer, brushing his lips lightly against hers, “maybe we can discuss payment methods.”

Y/N giggled, closing the distance to kiss him. “Deal.” 

perma-taglist: @nightmarenyxx @sparky2020sworld @thatgirlangelb @skzzfoxyyy @fweakygyatt @teffyx @91dreams91things @theferretkids @pvppymin @clairementsolo @what-just-happened-to-me @soulphoenix1618 @stay-tiny-things @viisstrayy @i-am-confused-about-life @cchapssaltteok @lizal1cious @chandlxa @tricky-ritz @bunnythesiren @staytinycassichu @rayraymylove @bbokarismeow @bekindtourself @btch8008s @daphnnie @pineapple-burgah @blindspotquokka @danielle143 @my-neurodivergent-world @emmamarshmellow

Ever since you started college, you’ve had one wish. One.

At every thanksgiving, every blow of candles, and every time the clock ticked 11 11. You would ask one single thing.

And that is for an improvement towards your sex life. Actually. To have one to begin with.

Having no experiences with guys, except once. Tragic. Extremely tragic one-time experience back in your senior year of high-school. Where you had this guy in your bedroom, kissing. It was hot, the way his lips brushed against yours was mouth watering. His tongue danced alongside yours, hands on your hips, fingers swiping underneath your shirt. Your back pressed against the desk when you accidentally bumped into your book collections. You hadn’t noticed at that time, frenzied by the heat of the moment, but he did. His body suddenly still, resembling a statue.

Mortified. You or him? Him because he found your disgusting stack of porn magazines scattered all over the floor. Or you because he found YOUR disgusting stack of porn magazines scattered all over the floor. Each sheet challenged the last in terms of vulgarity.

He had told you something that day, you can’t recollect what exactly. But you do remember the aftermath. And how ruined the rest of your year went, walking around with the title of ‘Femcel’ tagged to your back.

Now that you look back at it, it shouldn’t have been that controversial for a woman to be into this sort of content. But time has changed. And so did you.

Well, not really — but at least you're a player at hiding it. Now keeping your materials under your bed, drawers and closet. At first sight, your bedroom is the epitome of normalcy unless one digs in a shove deeper. Your book collections are filled with literacy media, and the art of photography. A mask, just like the one you put up at social interactions when you’re truly raging inside.

Nobody can know about the refuge you seek in your collections, touches, and laptop. Your beloved laptop — the one that holds many of your dirty secrets, and that you consult as soon as you return from a hard, hard day.

You can’t fumble this. College is a fresh start. Deciding to stick to your personal daily routine, within the blanket of your fantasies and delusions as soon as the sun sets, snuggly shielded from the outside world.

You’re almost proud of yourself for keeping up the act for almost a year now, and even having made some friends on campus. However, still no man. That’s your sole remorse, but perhaps it's for the better. Being around attractive guys gets you… strange. You’d rather not repeat the accident from years ago and increase the risk of being seen as a creep again.

—

Life is mocking you. It's got to be. You’re sure it’s laughing and pointing at you right now as you slam your fists on your professor’s counter.

“Ma’am, I can’t!” You protest, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck from how much you’ve been begging her for the last ten minutes.

She groans, tapping her heels against the tiles, rolling her chair in annoyance. “It’s just a project, miss. You've always aced them before. Why not now?”

“I can! I will.” You contradict yourself—but you have a valid reason! “Please let me change partners. I’m on my knees,” you whine, holding your hands together in a plea.

“For the last time. I can not do that. Your names have already been put together,” she replies, eyes serious and exhausted. Sinking back into her seat with a harsh intake of air.

“Pleeease,” you sob. Praying to whoever that is above, if there is someone, to hear your prayers, and to shake the mind of the middle aged woman before you. The middle-aged woman who is in absolute disbelief as we speak.

“Enough! This is worth your finals. Continue and I'll deduce your overall marks,” she snaps, rubbing her temples from an incoming headache. “You’re such a good student. What’s with you today?”

You press your lips together, arms falling to your sides in deflation. “Sorry. I understand...” It comes out as weak, defeated.

Wobbling your way back to your class, picturing yourself in an empty street—kicking imaginary pebbles and scrubbing in your misery.

How can you tell her that you absolutely cannot be paired with the Kim Seungmin from the baseball team, and the Yang Jeongin from the football team, because of how you act and how you think? And how you’re afraid of scaring them away and tarnishing your last bits of social reputation — since they belong to what you've been entirely avoiding ever since you stepped here.

The top hierarchy of the school.

A frathouse. Not just any, Stray Kids’ frathouse, the eight best athletes of the school. Being a weirdo to them, ruining your reputation, means being a weirdo to everyone who sets foot on this campus.

You're doomed.

You swear that you aren’t partaking in that. That you'll find a solution, anyhow, and get out of this situation. You swear—

Unfortunately, here you are: sitting across from Kim Seungmin.

Jeongin hasn’t arrived yet, having to meet his coach beforehand, to which you are thankful towards for giving you prepping time.

The silence is deafening, awkward. Your  sweaty palms flat on the wooden surface, trying your best not to constantly shuffle on the cushions of your seat, since the sound is embarrassing enough.

“So,” Seungmin breaks the silence, pen in hand.

His fingers absently click the edge, the noise loud in your head as you try not to stare at the length of them—how he uses his thumb to randomly flicker cap in a gentle rub.

“Yn?” he calls, snatching you from your intruding thoughts.

Your gaze snaps to his, breath catching unnecessarily. “Yes–?” You stammer, hoping that he didn’t catch on you gawking at his hands.

“You’re from Photography, right?” He asks, looking right at you.

If his aim is to make you even more nervous. It is working.

“Yes! How did you know?” You nod hastily, forcing a smile, voice raising a tad too much.

He blinks, brows furrowing. You can almost smell the embarrassment you’re about to face judging from his reaction alone.

“It’s written right here…” He points to the paper before you, underlining ‘Ln Yn: Photography Major’ with the tip of his pen.

You suck in your lips, smile lopsided. Cringing. “Right. Thought so,” you crisp out. If it was so obvious, then why ask?! 

“Anyway,” he mumbles, taking a breath. “The project. Do you have any ideas?”

“Right now? I thought we were supposed to wait for Jeongin,” you ask, confused from the sudden change of plans.

He glances over your shoulder, across the room, nudging his head forward. “He’s here.”

You face backwards to find Jeongin strolling forward, drink in hand.

The drink is cold, water droplets drip down his fingers. His grip on the cup is soft yet firm, the cup crumpling slightly under his hold. Weirdly attractive… No. Snap out of it, yn!

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets Seungmin first, shaking his hand with the free one. “Sorry, coach held me back,” he quickly apologizes, setting his belongings by the table before plopping down on the bench next to Seungmin.

Seungmin eyes him, raising a brow. “Looks more like that drink held you back,” he states, leaning heavy against the backrest, making himself comfortable. “Ain’t no way you lined up for that again.”

Jeongin scoffs, wiping the bangs sticking before his eyes. “Does it matter? I’m here now,” he replies, a tug of a grin forming when he finally notices your presence. “Oh. You are?” he asks, staring as if he was trying to decipher if he had ever seen you on campus before.

You’re about to reply when Seungmin cuts you, shallow annoyance grazing his tone. His tongue clicks. “I told you about her. She's the girl from photography,” he adds, hand aimlessly pointing at you.

It doesn’t seem to light any bulb inside his head, completely unaware of who you are. Now this is insulting. You’re a little hurt.

It’s okay… it must be because you kept it low at all costs. Avoiding guys like them. Not because of them, but you.

Their presences are a gateway towards cringe and awful interactions.

“Photography… I didn’t know that you preferred artistic girls. Your last girlfriend was pretty uncreative.” He says with an understanding nod, his smile never dropping.

You almost choke on your saliva. Your closed fist meets your lips, having to silently cough it out. The thought of you dating Kim Seungmin. He’s joking, it’s unreal. But tempting.

Your imagination betrays you, again.

You wonder if he would wait for you after your classes. Or if he would ask you to come see him after his baseball practice, all drenched in sweat from playing, asking you to hold his cap. His ungloved hand running through his wet hair as you stare in awe.

“You good, baby?” he’d ask you, waving his glove before you.

Calling you back to Earth.

A harsh sound. A snap of fingers, maybe.

“Hey— you good?”

You jolt up. Brought back from reverie with their stares glued to your figure. Skepticism to mild concern etching their expressions.

“All good— No worries…” you blurt out, clearing your throat to find your voice.

Jeongin hums, though he doesn’t seem to buy it. “I’m Jeongin. Yang Jeongin,” he introduces.

You give him a sound of acknowledgement, as if the entire campus doesn’t already know his name from being the goal keeper of the school. Being one of the most valuable members of the club, the youngest and the fairest. He’s known for attracting most of the fans and supporters, everybody rooting for his cheeky smile and cute dimples. And undeniably, the golden boy of the frathouse, introducing himself is stupid. But he's polite, you give him that.

“Back to the topic. How do we correlate our different majors?” Seungmin asks, looking at Jeongin then you, “Sports Science, Photography and… Business.” 

“The project's main idea is teamwork, right? Hmm,” Jeongin ponders, leaning forward onto the table. “Not clicking,” he mutters, resting his face on his palm, the other bringing his drink back to his lips. His plump lips, rosy and hydrated, seals the straw— sucking in the liquid. His Adam apple bobs with each swallow, some of the liquid catching at the corners of his lips.

You slip your hands under the table, fist bunching the fabric of your pants as they discuss the topic between themselves. Not bothering to ask you. You need to knock it out. And think. Properly this time.

Your focus drifts on the papers before you, the subject of the project. How does teamwork connect to you? To them. The careers they’ve been building. Your interests. Your interests?

Bingo!

“Uhm. I have an idea,” you interrupt, raising your hand from under. Nervous with how their chatter dies out, their full focus drawn to you. “You guys know how companies create merch for their athletes and teams. To promote them and stuff. They take pictures of them, and then bring them to the market to create cards for people to collect.”

They nod tentatively, intrigued by your statement. You squirm, not used to this. But you go on. “And sometimes, they have the coaches give statements about training and how the team cooperates to put on the magazines. I think...” your gaze shifts to Jeongin, lost in what you’re saying, “they teach that in Sports Science, coaching?”

He nods.

“So, what do you want to do with that?” Seungmin asks, noting down your ideas.

“I was thinking. Maybe we could create a magazine featuring the school’s athletic teams. If you’re okay with that,” you reply, hopeful.

They simultaneously smile, letting out an impressed ‘woah’.

“That’s actually a pretty solid idea,” Seungmin admits.

“That's cool,” Jeongin agrees, “You’re into sports? You don’t strike me as the type.” That last comment would have been snarky if it wasn’t situational. Choosing to ignore it.

“Ahh, not exactly.” you reply, coy. Who knew all these years of collecting players’ photocards would benefit you like this? How you used to fight day and night to get enough money to complete your sets.

You can’t help the tiny grin that curls your lips at their compliments, trying not to be too smug about this accomplishment. A small step is enormous for an ant. Progress is progress.

The rest of the session blinks by, the atmosphere easing up as you dive into the work. Soon, the cafeteria is less crowded, the students leaving one after another.

A vibration breaks your flow, attention shifting to where it originates.

“Oh, it's Chan. Said he is back to the dorms,” Jeongin says, phone in hand. Not giving any of you the chance to interfere, “I have to go,” he adds, already packing his belongings. He stands up, pulling his bag strap over his shoulder. “See you guys around?”

He's gone. Here you are alone with Seungmin again.

You glance around to find only a few students left, roaming the surroundings. Damn. How much time went by?

“You should go too. It's getting late,” Seungmin mentions, bringing the scattered documents from the hard surface together.

“Yeah, I'll get going then,” you reply, heaving from your seat, ready to turn on your heels in the opposite direction when he halts you.

“Wait, not so fast,” he sighs, standing up. “Give me your phone.”

You freeze. “What?” Why?! Does he know what's in it… is it obvious you're that type of person?

He squints at your bewildered expression, “To put my number in.”

To put my number in.

Oh. oh.

Those words will be engraved into your memory, forever. No matter the context, it doesn't matter when Kim Seungmin just asked for your number.

“Why do you keep zoning out? Do you have issues?” He grimaces at your slow blinking, as if you're entranced in some la-la-land.

“Your number? I couldn't possibly… I mean— I totally would but!” You reply with a laugh, waving your hand shyly to hide your abashed expression, rubbing the tip of your shoe nervously against the floor.

He scoffs, feeling the frustration bubbles behind his eyelids, hoping to dissipate it with a rub. Unbelievably unprofessional. “I need it to text you. To know when you're free for the next meet up. To create a group chat. Not to ask you out,” he inhales, letting out a big exhale. Gigantic even.

But not as gigantic as the hole you wish you to dig yourself into. Your head falls, closing your eyes momentarily. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Can I have it now?” He asks, his patience running thin.

Shamefully, you reach for your pocket, opening the contact app before handing it to him. He dials himself, the ringtone rings against your eardrums, shattering them. At least, it feels that way.

You avoided peeking at him all the way out, head hanging low. It was going so well.

You pray to wipe this whole interaction from your brain, to crash into a bus and suffer from amnesia. Taking back the oath of engraving into your memory forever. Should've known better than to think that, because this interaction will keep you up at night. For at least a few years if not forever.

You groan; slapping the heels of your palms against your forehead repetitively. “So embarrassing,” whining, in disbelief of what you had said back then. Shuffling with your cards to find the one for your dorm. The door clicks open and you're met with the sight of your roommate.

“You're back. I was just about to message you,” she exhales in relief, “I'm staying over at my boyfriend's tonight. Don't go anywhere and watch over the dorm.” Grabbing her shoes, putting them on. “Oh, and yn— feed my dog for me? You know where her food is,” she points to the top shelf in the kitchen before walking out of the door in a hurry, “thank you!”

She's gone. Her voice echoes down the hallway. Her audacity vibrates louder, booming.

You click your tongue, throwing your bag on the couch. Kicking the footing, only to hurt yourself in the process. This day can't get lamer. “What did I even do to deserve this sort of bad karma,” you sigh, rubbing off the sweat beads across your face.

You look down when you feel something lick at your ankle, Cassie, her dog. You're stuck in a loop where she goes out, tells you to watch over the dorm and her dog while she's busy getting laid. That one time when you hoped to object, she had told you “You never go out anyway. You're literally glued to your room.”

You hate that she's right.

“Stupid dog, stupid project, stupid boys,” you mumble in your misery just as your phone buzzes. You jump a millimeter. Startled.

A group chat has been made.

Seungmin:

hey

i put the notes we made earlier on my laptop, sending it rn

Unknown number:

so fast. are you that excited about the project??

Seungmin:

unlike you, i care about my grades

You assume the other number is Jeongin, fingers pressing onto the ‘save contact’ option. Then deciding otherwise, not yet, it'd seem desperate.

Jeongin:

yn, you here?

Seungmin:

she's probably spaced out as we speak

Jeongin:

i theorise she's ai

notice how she mostly talked when it was about studying

You gag, stifling out a laugh. What??

Seungmin:

yeah right

at least she's got brain and contributed 

something you can't relate to…

You lick the dry skin peeling at your lips, swallowing empty saliva. Thumb hovering across the screen.

You:

i’m not ai

Jeongin:

woah you're actually here

only ai answers when prompted btw

You pause in wonder regarding which approach to take in this situation. Something sweet, or perhaps mysterious?

“Hard no,” you mumble, shaking off the idea.

You spend the next few minutes mulling over how to reply. Overthinking it, staring at the last message as you plop down on your bed. Laying down on the sheets, holding a pillow comfortably on your stomach. Except that nothing is comfortable.

A ping knocks you out.

Seungmin:

there she goes again

i'm the business major student here but she’s the one taking business days to reply

we can see you reading those texts, you know that right?

You wince, fingers tapping against your screen for the simplest answer in the notebook.

You:

sorry

Seungmin:

whatever

Whatever.

when are you guys free?

Jeongin:

uhh

tomorrow? after practice tho

Seungmin:

me too

preferably after 6 p.m

what about yn?

You:

i have club activities after class

6 p.m works for me, might be a little late

Jeongin:

ok and where do we meet?

the cafeteria closes early on fridays

Seungmin:

felix will have people in tomorrow for his own project. he put props on the dorm first

Jeongin:

just asked chan hyung

he's out tomorrow, come to mine

Seungmin:

okay okay

Your heart rushes at the thought of spending the evening at Jeongin’s place, never having been to a boy's room before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to calm your giddiness. This is nothing to get excited about. 

Right…

You:

can someone send the room number

Jeongin:

i'll do it, wait

You roll onto your back, phone tight in your shaking fingertips. Watching the dots appear as Jeongin types in his dorm allocation.

Jeongin:

room 208

see u guys there

—

It’s 6:58 p.m.

Now 6:59 p.m and you’re standing outside of the dorm with 208 plastered on top. It’s the right one, you’re sure of it. Most of them frat dudes reside around those spaces, anyone could get out of their room and find you awkwardly staring at the grayish surface, knuckles itching to knock already.

You can't help the thought that this is a joke, and that they gave you the wrong dorm number despite every link proving otherwise.

You’re on the verge walking back to your place, fingers squeezing the strap of your bag when a hand reaches past you, swiping a student card in. The door clicking open. Jumping out of your skin as something broad and warm meets your back, getting caged by a body and the door. You wonder which side the door is, with how hard his chest is to your back.

Jeongin.

He surges forward, muscles grazing against you. His hair prickles at the skin of your nape. Cursing when he collides with you softly. Too close, way too close.

Your breath is stolen, in a torturous method as your lungs refuse to get back to work.

“You gon’ get in or not?” he asks your statue-like figure. He sounds oblivious to the proximity, tone shifting to mild irritation when you take too long to budge.

Urging you inside, rough hands instinctively wrap themselves around your shoulders to move you inside. “There you go,” he praises, the tone quiet enough to jolt your stomach. He takes you to the couch, sitting in the common room. “Make yourself at home.” he smiles, dimples flashing. He accommodates you so casually, you ponder how casual it is for people like him to bring others over.

You try to ease up as he visits the kitchen to fetch you something to drink, sinking deeply into the couch. Finally catching a breather. Well. You thought.

A door swings open, revealing a not-so-subtle semi-naked Chris.

Chris. Fucking Christopher Bahng Chan — basically the leader of their cult — house, emerges from his room, struggling to tug his shirt down in a rush. His pants hang low, v line flexing with each stride. Abs on full display.

Mouth foaming. Pupils fixing anywhere but his direction, clearly failing at doing so cause you make eye contact with his body first, then him.

He gets the shirt on at last, grabbing a bag off the couch when he notices you. Eyes you. His gaze drifts to Jeongin coming back from the kitchen with cans of soda, shooting him a knowing grin. Jeongin replies with a tsk, “She's here for the project, hyung. I told you about it.”

Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “I didn't open my mouth.” His shirt is still slightly ruffled, showing a hint of milky skin. Your mouth runs dry. “But you, you did tell me only Seungmin was up for the project.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jeongin scoffs, handing you one of the cans. Though, his attention is on the older man as he drops on the couch carelessly, his legs spreading wide. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Why are you still loitering around?” Jeongin comments, his lip curling back at Chris.

You focus on the coldness of the can in your palm, and not on how your thighs are pressed tightly from trying to keep a distance from Jeongin’s. The temperature of his body seeps through the fabric of his pants, steaming on the exposed skin of your thighs, the fabric of your shorts had hiked up as you sat down earlier — questioning your choice of outfit for today. It’s hot. That’s why. Extremely hot, actually.

Chris’ grin never falters, humming in response. “You're right. I just happened to have noticed how flustered she seems. Thought I'd let you know,” he teases before swiftly escaping through the main entrance. Setting you up for your downfall with each syllable that left his mouth.

Jeongin shifts towards you, arms draped on the couch's backrest. Behind you. Holy shit. You hold your bag closer to your stomach. Almost hugging it. “Uncomfortable?” he asks, studying your face.

You shake your head in denial, giving him a tight — and unfortunately, very uncomfortable smile. He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, still facing you. “Wanna go to my room? There’s air conditioning there.”

Your expression contorts to subtle confusion, hesitant.

“I mean,” his eyes involuntarily skim across your attire briefly before snapping back at you. Your tank top hugs your form, thighs spilling out of your shorts, leaving little to imagination. “You must be feeling hot, right?”

Swallowing, your fingers twitch on the can, the condensation drizzling on your skin — much like the beads of sweat breaking on your back. “Uhm, I'm not sure—”

“You aren't?” he asks, cocking his head in a way that speaks he isn't buying it. Slit eyes observe you, as if he was taking in your appearance for the first time. His arm raises, tilting towards you, and you nearly flinch back. “Relax,” he whispers, the back of his hand making contact with your forehead. If you weren't breathing heavily before, you are now. Gulping excessively, the saliva runs dry fast enough to break world records. Create new records, whatever. You're sure that if he leans a blink closer, he'd hear your thumping heartbeat. He must be, because his attention lands on your heaving chest for a second. A period of a smile catching at his lips as he finally leans back down when the front door bursts open. Casual, just like that. Pretending that he wasn't gawking at your flushed state.

“Ever cared to knock?” Jeongin voices, loud in an attempt to seem annoyed at whoever is approaching.

“Didn't care yesterday, definitely won't today,” Seungmin replies, throwing his bag and himself on the opposite couch. “I'm dead,” there's a rasp in his tone, catching his first breath today. Lips parted, much inviting as he faces the both of you. His eyes travel to your flushed expression, your own focus on the label of the soda can, avoiding his gaze — much worse than the day before — then to Jeongin's act at appearing oblivious, pointless to someone who has known him for years. “What'd you do?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Jeongin sighs, and Seungmin curls a brow, leaning forward in your direction. Facing you.

“Is he messing with you, instead of focusing on the project?” his tone doesn't sound much reprimanding, if you had to be honest.

You shake your head, muttering out a quick no. He hums. “Sure seems that way.”

“He wasn't—” you let out, though you're well aware that he was. All three of you are well aware of that, the quiet tch of disbelief Seungmin lets out doesn't escape you either.

Jeongin sighs, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Hyung, it's too hot, yeah? Let's just go to my room.”

—

You’re inside a guy’s room.

You.

Inside.

A guy’s room.

Ahem. Yang Jeongin’s room to be clear.

Maybe those prayers did work, your endless begs for mercy getting paid off at last, or maybe it's the opposite.

It's hard to decipher hell from heaven in this context. He had said to come here because it was hot, but somehow, your skin flushes with heat despite the rumbling A.C. Eyes following and noticing every corner and spots of his room, from the posters to his unusual collection of shoes.

Okay, yeah. Didn’t picture him as a shoe enthusiast.

Sitting on the floor, you come to peek at his slightly ajar drawer, a thread of clothes inching out. The entire area smells like him — not like you were registering his scent, but his cologne is quite recognisable. A faint scent of boys and something floral. Sweet. Intoxicating. You sit a bit tighter, urging the unease out of your nerves.

Something nudges you, a pen. Flicking at your skull as if touching you would infect them with your disease — at least, in your perspective. You’re met with curious eyes, a dot of a grimace engraving Seungmin’s expression, but there’s also a hyphen of concern. “Focus,” he scolds you, as if he knew your thoughts inside-out. You wince internally. “Brought your camera?”

Nodding, you dart around to find where you had put it. “Yeah, it’s—uhm.”

You blink harshly, your soul nearly flying out when he closes some distance. His arm reaches behind you, prisoning you between his body and the edge of the bed. For a second— a second, you swear he looks at you, his gaze holding your widened ones before he gets hold of your camera on the mattress. A ghost of his breath fanning on your skin as he hands the camera before you. “Here,” he asserts, offering. You pick it up with a trembling hand, trying to tighten the muscles the best you can. To stop the tremor but it escapes none.

Though, they don’t mention it. You’re thankful for that.

Somehow, the rest of the conversation blurs with ideas. You had made a plan for the magazine, showing them the pictures you snapped, the sceneries, the flowers, everything usual and expected. They’re impressed, having shifted closer before you can realize so. To the extent of trapping you on both sides, trying not to think much about it as they lean down to take a better look at the screen.

You should’ve brought your laptop. Who told you to show them on such a small device?

“Hmm, noona you're talented,” Jeongin says, not giving you much time to react to the sudden honorifics, except for a fumbling heartbeat before Seungmin interjects.

“But,” Seungmin interjects, his index swiping on the digital screen, “have you ever taken pictures of people?” his voice ghosts on your skin, hot and heavy next to your ear.

“I—” memory hits you. Snapping people? No, not really. However, you did collect and analyse enough magazines to be confident about your skills. Though… “No.”

He hums in response, staring over your shoulder to Jeongin. Their eyes meet, a careful exchange that escapes your attention lingers. “Say,” the younger interrupts, “Do you want to try with us?”

Do you want to try?

With us.

“Try what?” there’s a hitch in your throat. Awfully aware that you’re being delusional—again. But they’re standing so close, it’s hard not to get the wrong idea. “To take pictures?”

“Of us,” he says, his breath merging with yours.

“I don’t know— I haven’t taken anyone’s picture like that before—” you hate yourself for stuttering. Gosh, you do. But you can’t find your voice. Not when Seungmin leans a breath closer, you urge backwards only to be met with Jeongin’s body.

“Hm, wasn’t that your idea?” Seungmin asks, his calloused hand finding yours on the camera, the roughness of his skin from training brushes on you. Pretending not to notice the shakiness in which you hold the object as he guides your thumb to the shutter. Your heart thumps. “To click us into memory, make a magazine, whatever you wanted to do.” His voice is lower, soothing and lighting the nerves in your muscles simultaneously. Somehow.

Would it be wrong to get turned on?

It's so sudden, too sudden. It's nothing, but at the same time it's too much for you. You who grasps on every tiny detail. It's like they're aware of that.

You can barely think, barely register what they’re saying. Perhaps you speak, but it comes off as inaudible, face flushing when the chest behind you stutters. A huff. Two huffs then a laugh. You blink, and they’re both cackling at your expression.

“Hyung, you’re so fucking mean.” Jeongin wheezes, his hands landing lightly on your back as he tries, and fails to seem sorry. “Look at her face, oh my god.”

Oh.

Seungmin sneers. “You started it, Jeongin-ah. Why are you blaming me?” he asks, a faint smirk clings to his lips.

Why did you come here? Right. Stupid project. What’s worse? It’s the coil in your stomach refusing to dissipate as they play right in your face.

You let out a weak, awkward laugh and drop your forehead into your palms. “That’s… really funny,” you mutter dryly. “Hilarious.”

Should’ve accepted failing the class.

The humiliation sinks in as their own chuckles die out. To say you got this dizzy over that — the built up teasing from the past hours participating in. Seungmin grazes your arm and you nearly jerk away from both of them. “Hey—” he starts when you refuse to even lift your head. You can barely hear him through your ringing embarrassment.

“It was a joke,” Jeongin clears, attempting to soften his voice. “Sorry,” he glances at Seungmin, silently signaling him.

“You good?”

Of course he’d ask that.

You nod way too hard. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure…? You don’t seem so–”

“I am,” you state. Feeling like an easy, bummed loser.

Your phone rings before any of them can start another sentence. For the first time today, you could kiss your roommate for existing. Snatching the opportunity like a lifeline, “I’ve got to go. Pet care-taker duties,” you excuse, scramble to your feet and grab your camera despite their growing confusion.

“Pet caretaker—?”

This is rash, but anyone would react that way right?

Perhaps not.

You’re on your way out when Jeongin’s fingers catch the hem of your top for a second in an attempt at slowing you. “Wait, hold on—” alas, it inches down and you gasp.

Jeongin’s eyes widen at the sudden action, yanking his hand back immediately. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before, but a light pink coats his ears. “Shit—sorry.”

Seungmin coughs, clearing his throat. However, it does nothing at hiding his amusement. “The project, are you coming back tomorrow–?”

You gulp, indecisive with how your gaze darts to the corner of the room, plastering the image of his wall inside your mind. “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know,” and with that you leave the room, slamming the front door shut with the heaviness of your steps.

There’s a silence that whistles through the room. Seungmin turns to Jeongin, bobbing his head to his side. “Think we killed it,” there's a questioning undertone in his voice, a question he's seeking Jeongin for validation. 

Jeongin shrugs, resting back on his palms, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. His head hangs low, his bangs hiding his unusual flush, “–Don’t know. I thought it was funny.”

Seungmin nods briefly, eyeing the younger. “You know what's more hilarious?” he asks, shifting closer.

“What?”

“Your face, are you flustered? Ayen…” he teases, being annoying. “Did she fluster you?”

Jeongin grunts, pushing Seungmin’s head as far as possible. “Bro, no. What the fuck.”

“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” Seungmin mutters, replaying your reaction on loop. You hadn’t reacted exactly how he was expecting. Perhaps he was hoping you'd lean into it, rather than scrambling off so clumsily. The abashness of the younger ticked him off in a way he couldn’t muster. He found it funny, yeah — but it also bothered him in a way he can't explain. It's faint though, a fleeting coil that could escape him too.

Could he call that the beginning of jealousy?

Tsk. What stupid thoughts, he barely knows you. 

Not like it was a problem before, so why now?

—

You’ve decided not to go. To take a day off from seeing them, just one—to think about it and get your head straight, well conscious of how you’re overreacting it. One turned into two days, two turned into nearly a week of dragging this out. It’s mortifying, okay? You can’t control how you feel, nor how your cheeks warm up at the mere thought of what happened.

The memory boils on your skin, sizzling the bottom of your stomach, unwillingly growing needy at the flashing images. It brims tears to your eyes. Guilty of how wet it made you to get teased like this, shame prickling at your nerves. Maybe that’s why you left. Because if they tugged at your head a second longer, laughed in that manner while cornering you — you’d moan right there. Unfortunately, this is who you are.

They texted you a few times, asking if you were busy—which you gave the same response every time. A simple word, ‘yes.’

They stopped inquiring after a few days. This is stupid, you’re acting stupid. You aren’t this asinine normally. Their fault, really. Begging that they’d leave the rest of the project to you, never bother you again and let you complete it with a sign of their names at the end. As if they contributed. And yet.

“Hello? Are you yn?” someone asks, tapping your shoulder as you idly sit on a bench outside the main building. Doing absolutely nothing but staring at the water falling off the fontaine, nothing that you swore you were busy with at least. Your eyes meet hers, and she beams in reassurance.

“Not to bother you, but you’re asked at the gymnasium.”

“Huh?” you glance around, there’s no other you in the area. “Me?”

“Yes—aren’t you…?”

“I am,” you reply, lashes fluttering in confusion. “But why… isn’t a class active there?”

She fidgets with her thumbs, she’s clearly shy, or scared—probably a freshman. Whatever. Much resembling you, the part you try to hide despite the forming cracks. “Please go, please?”

This got to be a trick, a trap designed just for you. You find yourself following her despite the alarming red flags, how she started typing on her phone the moment you reached towards her doesn't escape you.

This feels wrong.

Swallowing dryly as you reach the front of the gymnasium, fingers hovering above the handle when it abruptly opens on the other side.

You’re pulled inside before you can grasp it. Arms finding themselves wrapped around you. Brusque and strong, slightly drenched from working out. “She’s here!”

Your pupils blow wide, instantly meeting the ones of the girl a few feet away. She gives you a pitiful glance and you shake your head. “What—”

There’s a hoard of guys that encircles you, grouping you in the middle of them. You're shaking, an insect size earthquake rambling throughout your body. Only you can feel it.

“Everybody, move.” A voice that you recognise cuts through, Seungmin.

You see him before he touches you, warm fingers envelopping the meat of your wrist, separating you from the crowd. “Calm down, the hell?”

“Don’t be harsh, Kim Seungmin,” one spills above the crowd’s volume. “You said she was here to photograph us.”

A confused noise leaves you, not quite a question but Seungmin catches it. “I said, she was here to spend the afternoon. And that she might, after class. Not during.”

Another one complains and Seungmin grunts in response, “Just go back to whatever you were doing, get lost. Hurry.”

“Was I aware of this–?” you ask as everyone disperses begrudgingly, him being the only person in your hearing zone. “I said that I was busy.”

Woah.

You’ve never heard this tone leave your throat before.

He sighs, brushing off the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. His slick hair. Gaze subconsciously trailing down his body, to the curve of his shoulders, the damp of his shirt to—

You stop yourself.

Eyes snapping back at him despite your difficulty to hold eye contact. You shouldn't've, because the intensity of them nearly melts you on the spot. Suddenly conscious of his lingering touch on your wrist, which has softened the longer he’s holding you.

“Busy wandering the hallways for the entire week, seriously?”

You huff, mouth gaping to say something, then closing. Because you have been wandering off the entire day. But still. “Are you stalking me?”

Gosh, what the fuck are you saying. He’s visibly sharing mutual thoughts since his features contorts to one of skepticism. “Stalking you? Don’t be stupid, I asked someone from your major. You thought I wouldn’t after a week of you ignoring us?”

Still counts.

He blinks, briefly staring at the ceiling in contemplation as he registers his own words.

Insinuating that he went out of his way, to find someone related to you. “For the project,” he clarifies, clearing the light rasp in his voice. “I want to get it done already, there is only one commune gym class per week—and you just happen to get busy everyday. Especially today.”

“Not like I would’ve known it would be today,” you retort and he scoffs. Scoffs.

Painfully attractive. Your heart squeezes.

“Listen,” he urges. He’s been thinking about it, if his and Jeongin’s teasing had been as bad as you made it out to be. He really had been mulling it over these past few days. Much unlike the persona he tries to show. He thought you’d just forget about it, and eventually show up. But no. You went and got ‘busy’ for a whole fucking week. Clearly avoiding them.

His gaze locks on yours, and fuck—have you always been this cute?

The stern look enrobing your face tugs at unnecessary sudden thoughts he doesn't have control of.

Maybe not seeing you for a week was messing with his head more than he’d like to admit.

He sighs, again. Muttering something under his breath that you can't catch, but the pinch forming at his frown tells you the intention. Breathing in, as if he can't believe what he's about to say next.

“I apologize for what happened. If it made you uneasy—my bad, but you didn’t have to fucking ghost us over a whole week for it. You know?” his frustration bubbles in his throat, his fingers tightening on your wrist. Both of your eyes travel to where he hasn't let you go.

He releases you in a burn, as if it irritated him for holding you that long. “Whatever,” he mumbles, blinking away from your surprised face. “I don’t like wasting my time, and that’s what you’re doing right now.”

“Okay, fine.” you mirror his breath, pretending you weren't internally losing it. “Whatever.”

“What? That’s all?” he asks, subconsciously dropping his voice to yours.

“What else do you want me to say—”

“—That you’re sorry,” he interrupts, acting like the question was dumb in itself.

“But you already did that…” you reply, nail tweaking the fabric of your shirt. “Why would I be sorry?”

“For…” he starts, stopping midway, thinking over before he speaks any nonsense. “For—”

“Hyung!” someone shouts from afar, your heads snapping in the direction of the sound.

Jeongin’s jogs to your side of the gymnasium, finally stopping before you in huge pants. “What’re you doing— coach is asking where you are.” he lifts his hunched body, eyes meeting yours. “Oh, yn-ah. You’re also here? Thought you disappeared from campus.”

Eh?

“Didn’t Seungmin tel—” you try to say but his hand finds your lips before you do, muffling your incoming sentence.

Jeongin squints dubiously at the interaction, eyes meeting where Seungmin's hand tapes your mouth.

“Didn’t she tell you she’d come?” Seungmin blurts, completely twisting your words when he had lured you to come. So, he told everyone but Jeongin. Okay.

You had thought otherwise, especially after the huge stunt from earlier. It was hard to miss.

You sure hope that the light whimper that left you got muffled by his palm, eyes gaping at Jeongin before you for help. Only to get completely ignored as they converse in front of you, with his hand still on your mouth. Brushing your lips.

Yet, you hear them ignore you. You constat so. But there's a slight twitch in Jeongin's jaw you're not sure you caught. He says something about continuing class, stepping a foot closer to your bodies.

You tug at Seungmin's wrist, nails grazing his skin and he looks down. Gaze locking for the period of a breath as he releases you, however, it’s slow. His arm swipes across your jaw to your neck, subtly resting on your collarbone, a silent display.

“Switch places with me, keep her company for a while. I’ll be back.”

“Is that okay with you?”

Jeongin's talking to you.

You reply without realizing, lips parting in agreement. Then it registers when Seungmin’s body abandons yours, stealing away the warmth it basked you in as he returns to the field. Leaving you with the younger boy.

Wait what?

He doesn’t give you time to react either, fingers swiftly wrapping themselves around your hand. Not wrist, not arm — your hand. Somehow, that's the boldest thing they've done so far.

He leads you to a nearby bench. The casual skinship being shared with you throws you off guard, especially after hearing that Yang Jeongin wasn't a fan of it. Barely clasping the situation except for the heat that radiates from his hardened figure. Quickly replacing the lost temperature from Seungmin. He lays back, white shirt flexing on his biceps. “Noona,” he mutters, fluttering his lashes lazily. “Can I call you noona?”

Your palms sweat a river, rubbing them off the fabric of your pants as you take in his question, brows raising. “I don’t think we have a huge age gap, you don’t have to—”

“But,” he hums, smiling, showing the dent of his dimples, “I want to.”

“Ah,” you nod in the following silence, not quite grasping how to reply to that. “Sure then…”

A second passes, and he sighs. Rolling his head, glancing at him to notice the vein popping at his neck. The skin glistens under the light, involuntarily gulping. This feels wrong, so wrong to constantly gawk at them. You’re ashamed, but then he speaks. “Did he force you to come?”

He knows.

It’d be weirder if he didn’t. That’s his friend, you supposed. “I wouldn’t call it forcing,” you state, though you aren’t certain yourself.

He leans back on the bench with a hum, nodding. “Guessed so. He’s usually a good liar, wouldn’t say the same for earlier.”

You fall into silence, you wouldn't know what he's talking about. You're not used to these people… but then, a ghost of a touch lands on your jaw, guiding you to face him.

“Jeongin–”

“You let him touch you,” he stops you, his smile never leaves his face. His voice is reprimanding even with how light it sounds, you pick it that way. His fingers ghosts over the side of your face, tracing where Seungmin had clasped his hand above your cheek, slowly inching to your lips, “and he claims it’s for the project.” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lower lip and you pursue them in a thin line, frown deepening.

“Are you teasing me again…?”

“No,” he replies, firm. “Was just wondering,” he trails his gaze, hovering on your lips. “How soft they’d be.”

Your jaw hangs, and he thinks that’s his favourite expression on you. Undeniably scorching underneath his touch. There’s a twist in his stomach, something familiar to his body—and yet, a stranger to his brain. Feeling the intense need to pull you back from Seungmin’s sudden grip, to cut through the ropes he’s unconsciously tying you with.

Strange, he’s never had possessiveness issues with girls before. Perhaps he did, but it never happened concerning his friends. He could just be taking enjoyment in teasing you in search of the reactions you keep feeding his consciousness, you're a fun person to mess with. Though, it doesn't quite fit that strict standard.

For some reason, he can’t help the twinge of jealousy that threatens to emerge.

The tip of your fingers twitch, trembling on your laps, hovering slightly as you don't know what to do with them. “I— How soft—?” you repeat, coming off as a hitch. Sure that your brain stopped working a second ago, you shake your head, denying his theory. He stares at you as if he was observing every spasm of muscle, every smack of lips. Gaze following each direction your dilating pupils take, pulse beating in your eardrums in thuds.

“People are looking,” you try to reason, to provide a plausible reason for him to leave your bubble. Alas, he doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

“So?” he says in a hush, “Does it bother you…” it comes off as a whisper, dilated pupils dropping to his moving lips, “that I’m touching you right now, am I being weird?”

You gulp. He watches, eyes unleaving before he eventually pulls back, using the same hand to rake through his hair. Making an effort to give you space when you don't reply, blinking down at your laps instead. You touch your own lips, head hanging now to hide your flushed expression.

“Class will be over soon,” he mentions, staring ahead. “All those guys will be swooning around you, and you’ll photograph them,” he finds Seungmin in the crowd, blankly fixing him, “that’s why he brought you here, the excuse he gave.”

Why is he acting like this, what’s the point?

You’re indecisive whether you like it or not.

The pit in your stomach sure does despite your attempt to mask it, your thighs dig into the edge of the bench, uncomfortable out of nowhere. “It’s for the project, I suppose… collective idea.”

He takes a dim view at you, a crease forming above his nose. “Are you oblivious, or do you pretend to be?”

Your mouth parts, to retort with something but the sharp sound of a whistle pierces through, the noise echoing down the gymnasium’s walls. He stands up before you do, dusting the back of his pants when he notices the athletes scatter across the field. “Don’t be stupid, noona,” he warns, “a guy’s intention is not hard to tell.” For whatever reason, it feels like a warning, grabbing your hand with no attention being paid to your tiny noise of complaint. His fingers snake down your wrist, holding you above your pulse point. You’re agitated, heartbeat running a marathon. He likes it, you’re cute like this, all wide eyes gaping at him as he guides you towards him. “Tell me if they nag you too much, m’kay?”

—

“Three, two… one.”

Click.

The shutters come off with a ‘chik’, knuckles gripping the device as you wander off to the other side of the gymnasium. One more time.

They’re overworking you, having you run off every other second to catch different shots and angles of random sweaty, muscular, abnormally handsome dudes. The last part is just your opinion though.

Your feet ache, sore and burning in the tight confinement of your shoes, your soles numb by now. “One more!”

God, no. Jeongin’s empty promise lives in your mind. He had asked you to tell him if they were harassing you, but he took work harassment as unnecessary apparently. “That’s not what I meant,” is what he replied, urging you to get back to work as he went back to converse with his teammates. Seungmin wasn’t paying much consideration to you either, after making the trouble of manipulating you here using a freshman.

Curse Jeongin. Curse Seungmin. Curse everyone in this room, including yourself for always bringing your camera around. For that? Curse your major.

 “I don’t— I don’t think I can any more,” you gasp in an exhausted pant, the whole area is huge — huge for your pitiful, unathletic body. “A break, please.” you beg. Seungmin has the audacity to act as if he was thinking about it, as if interrupting his conversation was a crime to begin with.

“Then go sit down?” he retorts, mildly irritated that you asked. You frown, because earlier you hoped to, but as soon as your ass made contact with the floor — they demanded you to get back up immediately.

You’ll never forget how rude jocks are.

Sprawled on a bench at the complete corner, you refused to give him a response. You totally would, you even imagined the whole scenario. Then it hits you that that stupid frathouse he’s part of will burn you alive if you’re bluntly rude to any of them, him specifically. His face is rude to look at. That’s a lie, you want to kiss him. Or worse.

“Noooo, yn.” you mutter in a wince, shaking your head in disapproval, “stop, bad bad thoughts…”

A shadow catches your eye of sight, towering your sitting figure.

“Oh, aren’t you–?”

Your head snaps up to the stranger standing before you, not-so a stranger as you take in who it is. He smiles, fingers tugging at the top zipper of his jacket, pulling it down in this heat. Sweat drizzles in beads on the skin of his neck, and you wonder if sweating has ever looked hotter on anyone else.

Stop.

Stay strong. No other frat dudes will ruin your semester, you’re already letting two boss you around. No more.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he exclaims, plopping down next to you horrifyingly comfortably. “It’s our second time meeting, no? You remember me?” he speaks, but your cheeks are too puffed with overly nervous air to be able. Chris, cocks his head to the side, following the direction of where you’re facing. “Not much of a talker, huh.”

“I know you,” you reply, bobbing your head up and down in a futile attempt at seeming stable. Everyone knows him. Holy shit, you’re actually alone with him right now — without Jeongin shielding you from any real interaction. Fuckass leader of their cult, and here you were worrying about Seungmin. That’s like fighting the final boss as a level two player in an ecchi game where he’s an ogre and you’re a maiden — except that he’s too beautiful to be an ogre.

“I know you too,” he grins, the dents on his cheek hollow and charming. He resembles Jeongin, in a way, perhaps because they are roommates — the mannerisms rub off. He hums, glancing to your fumbling hands when he notices the camera, “Ah, that’s why you’re here.”

“Are Seungmin and Jeongin keeping you busy, you must be tired.” he mentions and you instantly nod at the accusation towards them, turning into a head shake of denial when he starts chuckling, realising that you’re agreeing on shit regarding his fraternity.

“No, they aren’t—” you deny, pained through gritted teeth because the ache in your feet proves otherwise.

He stands up, and you think you’re done for, but then he walks up to you – crouching so that you can’t face the floor anymore but his striking features. Forcing you to look at him.

Are all guys around here this pushy—? Social space’s got to be a myth for them.

You must be an easy target, because his palm slides over yours, half-grabbing the camera with you. Soothing. Cradling your palm in his with soft hands.

“Take a picture of me,” he asks, already urging you to stand with him. You’re dizzy. A mantra of no looping in your head — hopelessly searching for Jeongin’s face amongst the crowd as Chris leads you to a painted wall with the school’s athlete theme logo plastered on it.

The people in your proximity fall into silence when you pass by them. Not because of you, but him. Chitter-chatter dies unless he looks back and waves, and they claim it’s not a cult. A group of cheerleaders eyes you down dirty, their poms dropping to their sides, stiff. You can’t even look back, your gaze might tell them you don’t want to be here. Either way, people will get mad at you in these types of situations.

Refuse, you’re ungrateful. Accept, you’re undeserving.

You’ve read enough forums to be aware of this. How does it feel to be popular? Now it feels the opposite. The same spotlight being put upon you against your consent.

“Here,” he instructs, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll go there, you decide where to stand.” he informs, stepping back. “You’re the professional here.”

“Okay,” you reply, throat tight. Putting some distance when you’re hit with a familiar surface, you don’t have to peek back to know who it is. You still look.

“Are you all right?” he asks, voice low only for you to hear.

“I think,” you breathe out, bringing your camera before you. Chris doesn’t say anything about Jeongin’s presence being glued to your back, but there’s something in his expression that you’re unable to decipher — unlike Jeongin, his hyung is transparent to him. “My hands are trembling,” you admit. It comes out before you can grasp it, perhaps because he had told you to tell him if something — someone is bothering you. Your mouth just accepted his comfort before your brain does.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then.

His arms embrace your sides. You fold your arms together in a surprised reflex from the hug. He’s not hugging you though it comes close. He holds the camera with you, steadying your clumsy hands with his bigger ones. His biceps grazes your skin through your clothes, breath fanning on your neck as he leans down to ear level. “Is that better?”

“No, worse.” you instantly stammer, chest heaving and falling rapidly.

“I can hear your pulse,” he informs you in a whisper. And he shouldn’t have, really, now it’s faster. “Relax, just take the picture. Get it done with yn.”

You inhale in, slowly exhaling out. Clicking the shutters on your most controlled breath, scared that you’ll lose it on the next one. You click a few with the help of Jeongin, eventually dropping your camera. “I’m done.”

Jeongin’s hold leaves you, but he stays by your side.

Chris approaches, “Can I see them?”

You blink, absently biting the inside of your cheeks. “There’s too many pictures in… I’ll have to transfer them to my laptop or else we will have to go through each one by one.”

“Ohh, I see.” he hums, thinking about it. “Then… send them to me after. I’ll give you my numb—”

“I’ll send them to you, hyung. Don’t worry about it,” Jeongin blurts out, subtly pushing you back onto him. Subtly, but it’s a full step back towards him. Till you’re clasped into each other. He’s smiling, however his tone carries an edge. A tinge of possessiveness.

Chris throws his hand up, shrugging his shoulders. “All right. I have no complaints, Ayen-ah.” he replies, stepping forward. “As long,” he trails, holding eye contact, “as I get those pictures, in the end. No complaints.”

Jeongin’s glare doesn’t leave Chris until he’s out of sight, getting busy with his coach somewhere far off. He sighs. Sighs. Gaze dropping to yours, pivoting you to face him.

He seems annoyed, irritated by Chris’ approach, you’re more relieved that the latter left. Subconsciously scooting towards Jeongin’s embrace. “What was that…” you ask, earning a click of tongue from him.

“Ignore him,” he replies, “can’t have anything anymore. Just gotta stick their asses in,” he’s muttering, barely audible.

“Huh, what? I can’t hear you.”

He pokes his tongue inside his mouth, forcing a bump on his cheek. “Forget it, are you done with the photos?”

You nod, pointing to your camera. “Yup, all in.”

“Okay, let’s go back then. Don’t feel like staying here any more.”

—

“The pictures are good,” Seungmin agrees, clicking on swipe. “But those losers are lame,” he adds, squinting at each individual he’s seeing on screen, “being this unphotogenic gotta be against the regulations, what the fuck.”

You’re sprawled across his bed, the three of you crashing his dorm for the past hour. You brought your laptop, showing the safe part of it only. “I don’t think it's that bad,” you reply, pointing to the mouse so that he’d give it to you.

Jeongin has been quiet for a while — lost in thoughts, letting you and Seungmin do most of the talking. Snapping awake when Seungmin kicks his knee.  “Wake up, dude.”

“Eh?”

Seungmin scoffs, “The pictures, what do you think?”

Jeongin gazes at the screen, watching you roll past a few images. They’re ugly, he means to say. Not because you took them though, that’d be a lie. The problems are the recipients. “They’re…” he slurs, a bit tired when he looks at you; you have such a hopeful daze in your eyes, waiting for some validation. He groans, rubbing his forehead. “They’re great. Such… symmetry.”

Both you and Seungmin share a glance, skepticism etching your features.

“Just go back to sleep,” Seungmin tuts, facing forward when he notices a certain picture. “Wait, hol’ on.” he stops you, indicating where to click. You do, and he zooms in. “This. I didn’t know you took Chan’s photo?”

You awkwardly peek sideways, shrugging. “He asked me to,” expecting some sort of reaction from him, but he dwells on it; humming.

“I got an idea, come here.” he requests, slapping Jeongin’s arm to get him to follow as you form a circle on his mattress. “Nobody cares about those guys, right?”

Jeongin nods. You don’t know what answer to give this statement.

“We could make the magazine about us?” he suggests.

“About Stray Kids?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” your and Jeongin’s ‘no’ comes off simultaneously, quickly disapproving.

Seungmin perks a brow, resting his arms on his crossed legs. “Why? It’s a good idea.”

You stay silent, well aware that this won’t be good for your heart. Nor your body, nor your mind. You in general. However, you have no idea why Jeongin refused, stealing a glance at him to wait for his reasoning.

“I don’t want to, do I need a reason?” he retorts, keeping his tone normal the best he can.

“Yeah, you do. My grades matter on this, your grades will count because of this. yn?” he addresses you, shifting his focus to you and you wince internally.

It is an amazing idea, probably the best one so far… but… what do you even say here?!

No, I can’t because you guys get me all hot and bothered, and I might just bust if you keep getting into my space like that.

Okay. Nopes.

You throw your head forward onto your palms, your whole body sighing deeply in defeat. You hadn’t had much choice since this whole thing began, to be honest. What will it change?

“Fine…” you mumble, “I’m for Seungmin’s idea.”

They both stare at you momentarily, gaze heavy despite your lowered head. The way in which Seungmin’s lips curl into a smirk escapes you, and so does Jeongin’s growing frown.

“Two against one, guess we’re following my suggestion by fair voting. Hm?” Seungmin states, not quite a question, a spark of victory engraving his voice when Jeongin huffs, tsking. Tapping his knee in quiet frustration before reluctantly nodding, mumbling out a quiet ‘okay.’

You start to map out the magazine, planning each page and dividing the sections. Notes, members, club activities. They explain how their classes and clubs work, and you note it down. When it's your turn explaining, they’re the ones to listen. They’re attentive, you give them that. Perhaps because they are subtly admiring your focused expression, the knit of your brows, the tiny sniffs you take when they stare too hard — the pout that forms at your lips. Addicting.

Do you realize how cute you are? They wonder.

The clock ticks, time flying by and you’re soon yawning out. Lazily blinking as you type your last sentence so far. “I think… we are done for today, what else is there?” you ask, peering at them. They seem as tired, half-way lying dead on the mattress.

“We can continue later, I think it’s past midnight.” Jeongin mumbles, glancing at his phone screen.

Your own eyes land on the clock on your laptop, mouth gaping. “Oh shit, it is. I’ll get going then—” you heave up, but they hold onto you, throwing you back with a thud.

“It’s late, stay.” Seungmin asks — demands.

“I couldn’t possibly—” you try to oppose, but Jeongin is already packing your stuff, setting them on the nearby desk before returning to his initial seat. Next to you. Not for a project. “I have to go home…” you hope to object, but they tug you closer and your voice dies in a slur. “My roommate…”

“–is grown, she’ll manage without you tonight.” Seungmin declares, because he might not if you decide to leave again after such difficulty to get you here.

“Oh,” you hitch, shifting your head sideways to be met with Jeongin. You really can’t escape, huh. “Can I sleep on the couch?”

“No,” Jeongin replies, his forehead resting on your shoulder. “Felix is downstairs, stay here. Be good,” the last part comes off as a whisper. You nearly choke.

“I, uhm. Ok.”

They could laugh at your malfunction, but the last time they did you fled away for a solid week. For some reason, they don’t feel like teasing either.

Probably a dumb reason.

Seungmin switches off the lights, darkness filling your vision, as if that made it any better. Their proximity is louder than anything, how are you supposed to sleep in such a deafening atmosphere? Suddenly hyperaware of the fleeting touches and caresses that land on your body.

There's nothing at first, just the sound of your heavy breathing — cursing at yourself for it, but then, it's like they keep inching towards you. Closing any chance of distance till you're made of one piece. You're sure that you're dreaming it, that you fell asleep and this is all an illusion of your deepest fantasies of this exact situation. Clinging onto the logic till an arm wraps around your waist, having forgotten who is on which side on the spot. You gasp, not even an audible sound when you're rolled onto your side. The same arm snaking where your shirt hikes upwards. “Fuck, you're soft.”

Jeongin.

Mistake thinking it's only him when they're busy playing team tagging. The one behind you, Seungmin, pulls himself to your back. Spooning you like a pillow, their personal pillow. He hums, satisfied with the scent of your shampoo invading his nostrils.

Your thighs squeeze. Lord, not now. But when else?

“Guys…”

“Sleep,” Jeongin sighs, nose nuzzling your neck, bangs tickling your skin.

You can't. You hear crickets despite the lack of a nearby forest. It keeps you awake.

You'd be crazy to think that they're almost grinding on you, or you're the one doing it. You can't tell either. Your brain is working overtime, core throbbing painfully at the ideas that washes your mind. Jeongin's lips land flimsy above the collar of your shirt, you shiver in dull desire, hips involuntarily rolling back when you hear a light grunt from beside your ear. “I'm sorry—” you quickly apologize when Seungmin's palms lay flat on your hips, stilling your squirming self.

“Are you trying to make me pop a boner?” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep and something darker.

You apologize again; soft, guilty mumbles leaving your lips. Jeongin fights the urge to shut you up with a kiss. To seal those inviting lips of your. To be the first one of them to do it.

To claim you first before any of his hyungs get the chance to snatch you from him.

They’re sleepy, and you keep on rambling. Rambling off about how you could sleep on the floor, that it'd be better for everyone when they nicely decided to tuck you in with them. How cruel of you, really. It happens to be Seungmin's last straw.

“Ayen,” he begs in a groggy grunt, swiftly taking hold of the back of your head. “Keep her quiet.”

Jeongin doesn't hesitate.

His lips meet yours in a sweet haste, not registering any of it actually happening until his lips part, swallowing the huff you let out. He gives you a slow caress, a merciful chance to adjust. Your eyes squeeze shut, not having kissed anyone in years, you fight to keep up. He doesn't care, taking pleasure in the ineptitude in which you try to kiss back. Your lack of experience is endearing when his fingers find your jaw, gaping at your mouth to lick the drool that threatens to spill. Soft, pathetic, high pitched whimpers leave you mid kiss, begging for some oxygen when he steals yours away. Pulling back at last, his breath ghosts on your nose. Though, you get no time to recover when your face is hunched to the side, another pair of lips making contact with your parted ones.

Seungmin might just deem you as a drug. He's rougher than Jeongin, though his lips are delicate. The shakiness in which you allow him to do whatever with your mouth pleases him, the naivety in which you aim to breathe through your nose because they aren't giving you any opportunity for air to fill your lungs. Shit — should've kissed you sooner. Should've kissed you the first time you zoned out with that dumb expression of yours. He's been wondering why you kept doing that ever since, he might get an idea after this. He tilts his face, propping himself on his elbow to gain better access, shoving his tongue deep inside your mouth.

You moan, delirious when Jeongin's lips drop to your collarbone, sucking a slow, harsh mark there, that you have to tug at his hair — or Seungmin's. It's difficult to differentiate in this state.

He pulls back when you whine, heated eyes staring at you through pitch black darkness, breathing a ton. “Shit,” he curses, there's a throb in his pants, and with the shuffling from Jeongin's side, he's sure the sensation is mutual amongst them. Still, you're shuddering wildly, uncertain of how much you can handle — for now. “Let's just–” he pants, catching his stolen voice, “let's just go to sleep.”

—

The first thing you did when the sun rose was leave.

You left. Tearing yourself from tangled limbs, swiftly grabbing your belongings as you left without informing anyone. You can’t — you can’t handle that.

You hadn’t expected this to happen. Well maybe a minuscule logical part of you did — noticing the obvious signs early on, only to mark it with a ‘delusion’ arrow. You nearly bumped into a sleepy Felix on your escapee, just to ignore his confused grunt and make it out of the door.

You’re done for. Doomed. Rejected. Will regret this.

Living in fear for the rest of the day, an intense sense of familiar paranoia tugging at your heart. You can’t — that’s what you keep reminding yourself of. Except that they’re the ones doing it, and you’re silently letting them in.

“What the hell, yn.” you mutter, hands messing with your hair in disbelief.

—

“Do I stink?” Jeongin asks, sniffing the sleeve of his shirt.

“No shit,” Seungmin replies, the sarcasm in his response is loud. He doesn’t think he’s that behind. They hardly made it out of their individual practice tonight, deciding to meet up afterwards. The commune showers are crowded. Their clothes stick to their bodies, hair damp from washing it under the cold, tap water.

“I can’t believe she left without a word,” Jeongin blurts out and Seungmin hums in feign confusion. “This morning?”

He shrugs, eyes landing on the nearby opened store. “I can believe it, fits her character.” he says, though, he’s distracted by the pink hue of the store, ‘Welcome’ plastered on top. “Jeongin.”

“Hm?”

“I’m craving popsicles.”

—

Knock knock.

Jeongin’s knuckles hammers against your dorm’s door, the two of them standing by. They wait. It’s the third knock, and they’re getting impatient. “You think she’s home or nah?”

“Dunno, knock one more time.” Seungmin encourages, watching the younger man make a last attempt when the door creaks open. They anticipated to be met with your head peeking out curiously, unfortunately, the person behind the door isn’t you.

“Uhm, hello?” the girl speaks, taking a proper look as her eyes widen when she realizes who is standing before her. Panicked confusion seers through for a second, but then the memory of you mumbling about your project hits her. “Are you here for my roommate…?”

They nod and she opens the door wider, hesitant. “She’s not home right now, I think she went to the library.”

“We can wait here, no? Is she going to take long,” Jeongin asks, and she seems genuinely perplexed by it. Reluctant to let them inside.

Her tongue swipes across her lips, nodding. “Totally, I was about to leave either way. You can watch over meanwhile, I guess.”

Seungmin isn’t too fan of her telling them to watch over but Jeongin intercepts it before he does, grabbing his arm to pull them both inside. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she assures, awkwardly clasping her shoes on. “You can stay here, sit on the couch. I don’t know, make yourself at home.” she says, about to head out as she suddenly stops. For the first time, feeling a bit considerate regarding you. Taking a deep inhale to gather the courage to face them, “Don’t enter her room, at all costs. That’s all, bye.”

At least she tried to warn them. She doesn’t know exactly why you prohibit people from entering your room since you usually keep to yourself. But you had expressed this rule several times, she felt the need to mention it before heading out.

Jeongin sprawls on the couch, throwing his head back, observing Seungmin walk towards the freezer, resting the popsicles deep inside cold refuge. “Hey,” he voices when Jeongin takes out his phone, earning a curious ‘hm’ from the other. “Why do you think she warned us?”

“Girls stuff, maybe. How would I know?” he replies, not quite dwelling on it like Seungmin. “Why do you ask?”

“Curious, that’s all.” he plops down next to Jeongin, propping his elbows on his thighs. “It’s weird, honestly.”

“You mean… you want to take a look?”

“Don’t you?”

Jeongin swallows, glancing at the shut door. “And… if she comes back?”

“We’ll act innocent, we know nothing.”

“Yeah, okay. We aren’t snooping around,” he reassures and Seungmin nods.

“We’re just loitering, crashing, nothing wrong with that.”

They hesitate — pretend to in order to please their conscience — yet, they thread through either way.

—

Your room is nothing unusual, nothing worth a warning for if they had to be real.

The walls are clean, you’re well hygienic, and there are barely any interesting posters up. Tidy, neat, casual.

“It’s like I’m stepping into an epitome of boredom, holy. Has she never heard of decorations?” Seungmin groans, pulling your desk chair to take a seat, rolling the wheels lazily.

Jeongin hums, sitting on your bed. The mattress is softer than his, taking delight by bouncing on it.

“You look stupid, quit doing that.” Seungmin snarks, raising his leg to kick Jeongin’s leg.

“Honestly, nothing here gives off her vibes. Or is it my opinion?”

Seungmin shakes his head, pupils darting around. “Nah, you’re right. I expected something a bit more…”

“Loseristic?”

“You're making up words now?” Seungmin asks, huffing a laugh. “Rude, I’ll tell her you called her a loser.”

“Says the rude one, bet she likes me better.” Jeongin states, pretending not to notice the twitch in Seungmin’s brow.

“I don't need to be desperate to get a girl,” Seungmin retorts, a mean blade to his tone. Jeongin's used to it.

“If you say so,” Jeongin mumbles, hiding the growing rigidity in his body with a cheeky grin. Throwing his body backwards onto the mattress when he hears a weird sound. He does it again despite Seungmin's skeptical stare. “Yo, hyung.” he calls, laying his palm flat on the surface, applying pressure. “I think there's something under the bed.”

“Huh, like what?” Seungmin asks, cocking his head in confusion. He stands up as Jeongin does, helping him lift the mattress.

Their eyes widen. Freezing on the spot to the stash of material before them.

Ten… “Tentacle?”

Jeongin picks up something, reading the cover. “Alien, monster. Eh, orgy?”

They skim through, attention being driven towards the crude displays in front of them. Girls getting gangbanged, manhandled, used. Boys not far off, you do have a type — they've come to know that.

The deafening agreement that courses through is wordless, they leave the mattress, bodies working around to find other leaks. Evidence that they aren't insane for this.

“I found porno games–” Jeongin begins, moving the front row of your books to the side to reveal DVDs, CDs, audiobooks, games — mangas, magazines. Your magazines — he opens them, swiping through the pages of naked men, handsome naked men — so that's where you got the idea from.

“I found something crazier,” Seungmin mumbles, his surprised amusement itching his throat. “Come see.”

He does, and that's probably the last thing he was anticipating to see in your room. There's toys, he can't blame you for that. But it's the specification of them.

Seungmin picks a dildo up, the shape weird in his palm. “You think that went inside?”

It's long. Sharp at the tip, purple with suctions on the edges. The picture of you using it to get off plagues his mind, and he's not scared to admit that it turns him on.

Jeongin blinks, his face running hot at the thought. He had thought you’d be naive, hence why you kept reacting with such innocence and timidity. Perhaps not, perhaps it was the complete opposite.

“Who would picture her for a pervert,” he doubts his own words, the heavy gulp from Jeongin echoes in their pulsating eardrums. “Are you weirded out?”

“Kinda,” Jeongin admits, his nails finding the curve of his nape, the skin heats under his fingertips. “Would it be wrong to be into it?”

Seungmin stares at him, the answer to that clear in both of their minds. He's about to reply when they hears the front door click.

“Fuck–”

They panic, cursing under their breath as they rush to put everything back neatly. In place exactly how they found it. There's a dog barking in the distance, and a muffled hint of your voice peering through.

Your steps get closer, the wooden floor creaking when you reach your bedroom door. The doorknob twists, the movement almost in slow motion until the surface bursts open the second you hear something — some things you shouldn't be hearing inside your bedroom.

“What the–!” you shout, vision instantly crashing on the two of them. They're sitting idly, Jeongin on your chair and Seungmin on the bed. On their phone. “What are you doing here?” the urgency in your voice cracking it open.

“We were…” Seungmin eyes Jeongin briefly, who is as clueless as him, “waiting for you.”

“In my room–?”

The dog barks again.

“I mean, where else?”

You whine, the worry on your face is pitiful. Brows knitted, mouth into a thin–pouty line. Your lashes keep fluttering close, not grasping the situation quite well. “Did you… find anything?” you ask and they shake their heads.

You want to believe them, you wish to. But they are breathing a millisecond quicker, chests heaving uncharacteristically. The tip of their ears are red, and you're not confident on what brought this reaction to them. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, what do you want us to find?” Seungmin questions and you grumble, knees bobbing in anxiety.

“Nothing,” it's small, dropping the book you've borrowed from the library on the desk, and their eyes suspiciously follow the object; trying to decipher what's written on it as if it was the holy grail. “We can move to the common room–”

“Actually,” Jeongin interrupts. “Can we use your shower real quick? We haven't since practice ended.”

You blink, glancing around briefly before nodding hesitantly. “Go ahead…” you point to the bathroom and they lift up. Seungmin pauses midway, turning to you.

“By the way, we bought you popsicles. It's in the freezer, wasn't sure which flavour you’d prefer,” he says, lips quirking upwards, “so we brought both.”

—

The shower runs as a waterfall in your head, fixed in the middle of your bed for the past ten minutes. You checked your things once. Barely. You gave it a sliver of a glance, too embarrassed to properly check. Having no courage to stand up and try again.

So, you overthink it.

Clicking the tip of your nails between your teeth, leg shaking stressfully. You don’t feel so well, “What if they found out…” you whisper under a breath, the popsicle cools down your wrist, the melting liquid drooling on your skin. You don’t notice with several scenarios busying your attention. You’d prefer if they snapped at you, called you a weirdo and forced you to switch schools rather than feigning innocence. Because it sure felt like they were. Then you’d be clear of doubts that they’re aware of what’s hidden here, instead of living in crippling anxiety.

You’re on the verge of breaking down when the shower stops, snapping you out of your never-ending thoughts as the doorknob tilts open. It stops briefly, you can hear their conversation faintly, not clear enough to make out what they’re saying until the door eventually opens.

The sight has your heartbeat erratic, lungs squeezing for a sudden breather as they come out of your bathroom shirtless.

Jeongin’s pants hang low, low enough to show the trace of his V line and the waistband of his boxers. He dries the edge of his hair with the towel hanging around his neck. Seungmin’s behind him, the droplets from his damp strands rolling down his shoulders, to his chest. The view of his abs casually flexing with his steps has you faltering.

“Where— where are your clothes…!?” you squeal, palms covering your eyes like a sneaky child. It’d be endearing if they didn’t know what type of person you truly are. Still, they step forward.

“Clothes? We’re wearing–” Jeongin replies and you shake your head, face flushed.

“No, you’re shirts—”

“Oh, you mean that.” Seungmin hums, knee digging into the mattress and you might just die. “Sorry, it’s in the washer,” he mentions, somehow never showing any remorse in his apologies. “Does it bother you that we’re here like this?”

“I’m not sure–” you mean to say yes, but Jeongin finds comfort on your left. Casually laying onto your pillow, the same one you… oh.

“The water pressure here is low-key more decent than ours. Isn’t it, hyung?”

Seungmin steals the towel from Jeongin, fading the flush that crept on his face from the shower, “Yeah, makes you wanna stay in here longer. We should come here more often. You wouldn’t mind right?”

The glimpse you take at his dripping chest is well noticed by him, faintly smirking when you take in a quiet gulp, lashes battling in malfunction. “Uhm, I have to ask… my roommate.”

“I’m sure she’ll have zero problem with it, noona. I’m confident nobody on campus can refuse us,” Jeongin reassures, glancing at the dribbling popsicle in your grip, fingers tight on the wooden stick. He sighs, digits digging into your wrist, stabilising your trembling hold. “Noona, look at the mess you’re causing,” he mutters, voice close to your ears. “It’s dripping everywhere, do you like it that way?”

Seungmin pats your head, because you seem on the verge of tears — eyes glossy, blinking to prevent anything from overflowing. It’s pathetic, he thinks he’s infatuated. “She must, Ayen, her hand is all sticky. Such a wet mess, it’s drooling onto your sheets.” he insinuates, forcing you to notice the blueish drops that stains your bed.

Your brain stops working altogether, voice staggering in an apology as you try to stand but they prevent you from doing so.

“Relax, we’ll clean it up for you.” Seungmin says, and Jeongin moves on the spot.

Plump lips meeting the veins on your wrist, a stark reminder of yesterday that you hardly forgot, and now they’re adding new material to your poor mind.

“No, no,” you beg in a whimper, embarrassed with the moan that leaves you when his tongue darts at the liquid, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your wrist to your palm. He holds eye contact, Seungmin shutting off any attempt of you averting your gaze. “I’m sorry–”

Seungmin tilts his head, lifting your chin to gaze at where he’s standing above your lying figure, “Don’t be.” he smiles, “this is out of free will.”

He lays back when Jeongin’s done with the cleanup. The younger holds the popsicle before you, they can practically feel your heat from here. Fuck, you must be soaking from this alone. It takes a lot not to pounce on you already, but they’ll wait. Feed you whatever you desire, mess with your pretty little head till you’re left a pleading mess.

That’s the plan.

“Say aah,” Jeongin guides, tutting when you shake your head.

“Demonstrate,” Seungmin suggests, tone smug. “It’s probably her first time.”

You whine, the world tight and dizzy. Your head pivots, the situation too overwhelming for you to react. Their words are dirty, it feels double meaning, but Jeongin’s mouth parting around the popsicle in your hand has you buffering. Thighs pressing uncomfortable, certain that the pool of desire in your stomach is visible in your body language.

“Pay attention,” he reminds you, like he was instructing a class. His tongue peeks out, catching the drop that was threatening to spill as he runs his mouth all the way up to the top. He lays his tongue flat on the underside, hypnotizing when he sucks on it with a hard pop that nearly breaks the desert. You picture that was your clit instead, the same plump lips wrapping around your lips and… No. This is wrong, but it feels so right.

“It’s sweet, you should try it.” Jeongin smirks, his dimples popping as he brings the spit covered desert to your lips. “Please?” his cock jumps when you part your lips tentatively, a small — gaping hole for him to push the popsicle in. It leaks at the corners of your mouth, gasping when he shoves it deeper.

Seungmin grunts, a pang of nasty jealousy ringing through at the sight of Jeongin using you like this. He heaves up, tugging closer to your body — arm snugging your waist to get you to fit into his body. It’s haste, sudden enough for Jeongin not to get the chance for a response. “Let me have a taste.”

You’re about to hand him the popsicle, but he gets rid of it before you. Confused when his lips suddenly collide with yours with a, “hmph—!”

He kisses you like he missed the sensation of you in his mouth. The threads of patience left in him finally snapping. His lips are as you remember them, delicate but harsh. The taste of blueberry on your lips has his moaning in your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue, licking at the inside of your warmth — careful not to miss any drop of sugar.

Jeongin’s grip on your thighs tightens, blunt nails digging onto the fabric and you wince in pained pleasure, escaping from Seungmin’s ministration for a fraction of second. Long enough for Jeongin to react, he doesn’t wait politely in order to push your head towards him. Lips molding into place — harder than Seungmin — more teeth and possession enrobing the kiss, drawing a high pitched sound from him when your fingers instinctively lace through his silky locks; brushing his scalp in your search for support. To tug at something and cling to it.

He invades your senses, body mushed to yours, sandwiching you between the two of them as his hands trail past your thighs to the button of your pants. He stops on the seam, thumb absently tracing in the ridge of the circle. Seungmin's breath is on your neck, brushing off the strands of hair to pamper the skin with reminders of him.

Jeongin pulls your wrist towards him, kissing your palm before moving to yank off your cardigan. Seungmin takes the hint, deft fingers hurrying to undo the buttons attaching the wool altogether, groping your tits in the process. A sense of urgency hits you as they begin undressing you, throbbing under their hungry demeanor.

“Wait– Wait!” you choke out, hands flailing forward. They pause, wearing an expression that screams nobody has ever told them to wait before. Confused, though they're considerate enough to give you an inch of distance to gather your thoughts. “I've never…” you admit, abashed. “I’ve never done any of this…”

A second passes, and you cuss yourself for it. Shouldn't you have said that? — did you ruin the mood?

However, Jeongin spreads your legs wider, his grip softens small enough to go unnoticed. “Is that an issue?” he asks, “Do you want us to stop?”

He's asking you if it's an issue. You're thrown aback, lips swollen and jaw slack. You had thought they'd take you for an inexperienced loser — to make fun of you, and it to be their worry. Not yours.

Stop?

“No,” you reply, almost scared that they'll pull away. “Don't stop, please.”

Seungmin inhales against your nape, teeth nibbling down. Teasing. “You know, yn,” he begins, palms trailing across your body slower than earlier, this time savouring the shape of you in his grip. “I've been wanting to fuck you for a while, just couldn't tell why.” you shiver, and he smiles. “Weird, because I can always tell why I want someone. Maybe, I know why now.”

Your mouth dries, or salivates?

Mind too clouded with a simple question to care, “Why…?”

He laughs, quiet, scarcely a blow of air. “That's a secret between me and Jeongin.”

Your buttons come off. Revealing your bare shoulders when the cardigan gets thrown loose somewhere on the floor along with the forgotten popsicle, all that's left is a soaking mess of it. A mirror of you if they choose to dive their hands a bit further. But they can already tell. They know.

Jeongin's knee nestles between your parted thighs, and you close them on him by reflex. He groans as the meat rubs on his aching cock with the help of Seungmin's grip grinding you on his friend's leg. “Say,” Jeongin rasps by your lips, drawing the sweetest breathless noises out of you from the motion on your clothed clit. “Do you want me or him?”

You wonder if your hearing is playing on you, eyes hovering to Seungmin's briefly because you're not positive of what Jeongin could mean by that. If that's a proper question to answer, or a trap–

“Go ahead,” Seungmin assures, “answer his question.”

No matter how much you dwell on it, the beats that pass. You've got only one answer on the tip of your tongue, “Both– I can't choose… please,” you're putty in their hands, eyes closing in a plea, “don't make me choose...”

“Such a greedy girl,” Seungmin whispers, tracing the edge of your shirt. “You heard her, Ayen-ah. Stop being a possessive asshole.”

Jeongin's smile falters, painfully aware of the playground Seungmin is setting. He'll say that, then do the exact same thing he's reprimanding Jeongin from doing.

Like the dirty lying cheater he is, it's just a game of belonging to him. No — to them. He's not so innocent either, it's not the first time this is happening. For whatever reason, he's not too fond of sharing this once. You're such a fascinating little thing, he wants to keep you to himself.

Not long before the rest starts meddling, then it'll be a game of chess. The thought alone has his skin prickly, but for now, maybe he'll give you what you want.

If you want Seungmin too — then so be it. Playing dirty is not unfamiliar in the house; to hand you each of your fantasies one by one, till you're unable to digest anything else but him.

“Take her clothes off, take it–” Jeongin snarls. Maybe he's a little angry, it diffuses on the way he reaches for the zipper of your pants, flying it open and a pop of buttons. Seungmin complies, much needing to see more of you as he lifts your arms. Ripping the shirt off your head with impatience, leaving your chest bare except for the lace of your bra. Seungmin shudders at the sight of your cleavage above your shoulder, salivating when you hurry to cover yourself so timidly as if there aren't several deranged materials hidden in every corner of this bedroom.

You're an iceberg he's willing to dive under the sea to discover, to get you to spill all your dirty secrets by the time he's done with you. To coax it out, along with the whimpers you let out when he removes your arms from your chest. “Don't hide, show me.”

“You're pretty like this. Pretty face,” his hand trails to your back, unclasping your bra with a click. “Pretty tits, I bet you've got a pretty cunt too.”

Your face heats impossibly, as if you weren't already scorching before. Just then, Jeongin's thumbs lock on the waistline of your pants, rolling them off by jerking your hips forward. Panties are the sole thing left on you, and you could die from humiliation. Your skin flushes with heat, burning.

Seungmin lays back, pulling you with him till you're up against his bare chest. Naked flesh-on-flesh. He could lick at your goosebumps.

Jeongin crawls in front of your curved knees, palms clasping on your knees, easily using his strength to open your thighs. “You're dripping,” he points out upon seeing the damp spot on the gusset of the thin cloth, hardly providing ample coverage to your aching cunt.

“Don't say that–” you whine, lips pressing when he runs a thumb on your covered slick, the cotton clings to your labia. “Oh…” the sensation's already different from what you're used to from a swipe alone, the pleasure incomparable to what you've felt before.

“So responsive, we've barely touched you,” he praises, nuzzling the side of your face. His behavior could be mistaken for affection if you didn't know better.

This got to be a figment of your imagination. A made up situation in your brain, but their touches are hard enough to seem real. Subconsciously answering your question when Seungmin pinches your thigh, earning an involuntary grind from you that has him gasping for more. Needy since the last time you left them blue-balled at seven in the morning.

“More,” you plead and they scoff. Mirroring each other's actions.

“Already? Thought it'd take more to make you beg,” Seungmin amuses, finger curling on the edge of your panties when he abruptly pulls onto the elastic before snapping it back to your skin. It stings, and he's having fun doing it again. He's mean, catching you off guard when the next tug tears the fabric — ignoring the hitch in your voice. “See how easy that was?” he taunts, eyes landing onto Jeongin's who's bluntly ignoring him; busy tearing the broken fabric from you completely. Bare pussy catching the cold air from the crack of your ajar window.

Rough thumb makes contact with your clit, hips jolting in his direction with an, “Ah–!”

Jeongin drinks in your reaction, lowering his head till he's met with your leaking cunt. He breathes in, taking in your scent, letting himself get familiar with it. Digits run across your slit, coating them with your fluids, teasing the entrance. He lifts his vision — challenging Seungmin's. “Hyung,” his tone is sharp around the edges, cutting through with irritation, “you're fucking annoying me.”

“Am I?” Seungmin coos, mocking the one between your legs as he helps him spread them wider, holding you nice and open for Jeongin. “You should be more grateful, you know? I'm letting you have this. Let you kiss her first, let you tag along. Brought you here with me,” he replies, fist snaking to your bare pussy, fingers forcing a V to spread your lips apart for Jeongin. “I'm giving you another opportunity, and you're complaining?”

“Funny,” Jeongin chuckles, spitting onto your gaping hole. “You think I'm doing this because you're giving it to me,” a thick finger breaches you — sharp contrast to your own. “Her? You're giving her to me, hilarious.”

They're talking about you as if you aren't physically present, you might be, but your mind is elsewhere. Guilty of how much desire this twists in your stomach, heels digging into the mattress in forbidden pleasure when he adds a second one. Fingers that have been plaguing your mind since the first time you sat across the same table, so deep inside that he's hitting that tender spot without trouble.

“Jeongin–” you cry out, and he smirks in temporary triumph, pussy gushing against his fingers. He curves them, watching how your head throws back onto Seungmin's shoulder, thighs quivering shut if it wasn't from the shared grips holding you in place.

“That's it, cry out my name,” he encourages, sweetly planting a kiss to your clit. Drawing a high pitched squeal out of you, parting his fingers — forcing you to take the stretch. “You gon cum from that? From me scissoring you wide?” he asks and you nod feverishly, tilting to the edge shamefully fast.

But you don't think you've got any dignity left in you when you allow them to talk to you — about you like this.

He licks a stripe down, warm tongue something you've never experienced in your life. The sound is obscene, lapping at your overflowing juices in wild excitement to get you to your peak.

He neglects your clit at first, focusing on gathering the spilling drops with his wet muscle, darting on your lips in sloppy open-mouthed kisses. Enveloping his mouth above your spasming hole, the tip of his tongue inches inside. Seungmin's thumb suddenly makes contact with your throbbing nub, applying just enough pressure in tight circles to bring you to the edge.

“Fuck– ahh!” you moan out, loud — confident that the neighboring students can hear you across the dorms’ thin walls. “Stop–! Can't—” you squeak when neither of them halts, continuing their abuse on your sensitive pussy, snapping shut around Jeongin's head as he slurps your release, notorious sounds escaping his mouth. Moaning at your taste.

“Just like that, you sound so adorable.” Seungmin praises, sitting you upright with him. His hands find your hips, guiding you to lean forward on your knees. Jeongin maneuvers you from the front, lowering you so that you're at level with his prominent bulge. He's straining his pants, the fabric tight.

You aren't distracted for long with Seungmin's grind on your rear. Palms flat on your bare ass, kneading the flesh adoringly. “Shit,” you both curse when his erection makes contact with your slippery cunt, dirtying the fabric of his pants. “Looks like I'd fit right in,” he mutters under his breath, spreading your cheeks wide to hump your ass in dirty, languid strokes. “Don't you think so too?”

He's talking to either of you, his tone ever condescending.

The tension of their passive argument lingers when Jeongin takes hold of your hair, grip digging in your scalp. Holding you down to the roots, hunching you to the bulge stretching his pants. “Blow me,” he commands. Bold. “Moan against my dick, that's where I wanna hear you.”

You fumble with the zipper. You're shaking too much but it seems like you're the only person here who’s getting bothered by it. This is a sick fantasy. This is…

However. 

He rolls his pants down, boxers quickly following suit. He's aching, torturously hard and sore. He needs you now, and the sight of him being freed is enough to shut your mind. You stare at him, big wide eyes wondering what to do next. Even though you know, you’re scared of doing it wrong. He sighs shakily. You’re going to kill him, he might cum from you staring alone. “Noona,” the nickname has your insides knotting this time, pussy begging to be filled just as your mouth. “Come on, open up for me.”

He taps the tip against your lower lip, smudging the precum beautifully on the soft tissue. You open, welcoming him in with a testing lick. Moaning at the salty taste of him on your tongue. He’s addictive, licking off the beads that threaten to spill from his tip earnestly. “Yeaahhh, like that. Use your lips.” he groans, a trail of sweat inching down his neck when you wrap your pretty lips around the crown. Clumsily circling the shape with your tongue. “Oh, oh.” your moves are amateur, but the eagerness in which you’re trying makes his balls tighten. Perhaps you’re still timid. It’s fine, he’ll help you learn.

Using the roots of your head, he pushes you forward slowly, taking his time to feed you inch by inch. Stopping when a wet gag keens from your throat, drool pooling at the seam of your mouth, dribbling past your chin. “Slower, yeah?” He stills when you nod, doing your best to breathe through your nose like you’ve seen on online forums. It’s more difficult than you thought, somehow, you can smell the taste of him up your nostrils.

You’re persisting to accommodate when a sudden intrusion jolts your lashes open. A muffled mewl echoing past his cock at the feel of something lengthy and searing brushes on your clit. Your hips grind against it involuntarily, rolling back to meet the upcoming thrusts on your cunt. The image of Seungmin coming back to you. You falter, and Seungmin is the one who kneads your waist, fingers doughing with the surface of your tummy. “Keep sucking him–” he pants. Bending forward, his arm rests under your stomach, two fingers diving inside without restraint. “Vaccuming me inside, think you’re ready?” he hisses through his teeth, thrusting his digits in just to test the waters before pulling out.

You weren’t ready.

He tried to show you mercy, starting off at a horrendously steady pace. Kind enough to. Past the tip and it begins to burn, the stretch wider—lenghtier than fingers. “God,” he strangles. You’re hugging him so tightly, snug and warm. He never wants to leave, etching crescent marks on your skin, “should’ve fuckass bent you over the first time I saw you–”

Every whimper you make vibrates up Jeongin’s cock, and he knows that he should separate — to give you time to get used to taking cock, but a wave of selfishness prevents him from doing as such. If anything, it entices him to force himself deeper. Greedily shoving his length down your throat. You gag, coughing around him as your vision blurs from the double sensation. Seungmin bottoms out, hitting spots that you weren’t aware of existing. “Mhmph–!” is all you can muster, palms landing flat on Jeongin’s spread thighs in your struggle to handle any of this.

They weren’t fond of teamwork, but now they’re moving in tandem. A silent agreement coursing through when they start to thrust, not aiming to be nice anymore with the curses that fly past their lips. Handling you with little care — Jeongin drags your head all the way off, leaving your mouth gaping and craving oxygen — barely a breath before he plunges back in, coercing you to develop a gag reflex on your first time.

Meanwhile Seungmin pounds your behind, ignoring the dangerous quiver of your thighs, holding your legs open with a hand. His other palm lays flat on your stomach, applying a delicious pressure that has you seeing tunnel vision. He’s ramming his way in, breaking your wretched virgin pussy. He’s not going to last long with the sight of you choking on his friend’s cock, each of his erratic thrusts making you throat him deeper. Forcing whimpers out of his chest when you clench — hard from your impending orgasm. His angelic voice fills your mind when he presses his bare chest to your slippery back, giving your clit a harsh slap just to hear similar sounds that might mask his own from you — or Jeongin, both.

You can’t voice a warning when your mouth is stuffed full, instead hurryingly tapping Jeongin’s thighs, making him stutter in his pace to observe your face. Alas, it’s too late, Seungmin can already feel you creaming him, pussy gripping him like a vice. “Fuck, yn–” he moans, balls throbbing harshly that he has to forcingly pull out. Warm hand instantly replacing your much favoured cunt, jerking himself off — wincing at the strokes like it tortured him not to do this inside instead. He threads onto that sanity, thumb applying pressure on the underside of his tip, releasing hot ropes across your back. Tainting you with him.

Jeongin immediately abandons the confinement of your mouth, throwing you flat on the sheets. Your tiny, surprised, “oomph–” is adorable, but he’s got no time to dwell on it. Seeking comfort between the solace of your thighs, knocking them open. He aligns himself, assuming that you can take it now — plunging inside without warning signs. “Wait—!” you struggle, face contorting to pleasured overstimulation, extremely sensitive. “I can’t take no more–”

He cradles your face, a brief attempt of comfort as he leans down to suck on your neck. “You can,” he mutters, biting down. “Just a little more.”

Seungmin takes hold of your jaw, directing your head to face him. His lips meet yours in an awkward, upside-down kiss. The position has your teeth clicking, causing a drooling mess on your chin. Dizzy with how he’s stealing your breath. The whine of his name pushing out of your mouth earns a low grunt from him. Your eyes squeeze, lips smacking and skin slapping echoing throughout the corners of the room. Overwhelming, you can’t stop kissing him, cocking your head to the side to give him better access. Running onto cloud nine by sharing his saliva when he sucks on your tongue harshly.

Jeongin grows desperate, the bites on your flesh turning more cruel in his ride. The taste of that familiar high on the tip of his tongue, obsessed with every pant you take, obsessed with how your nails rake at the muscles on his back. Your stomach contracts under him, and he applies more of his weight, crushing your body in order to blend the two of you together. “Gonna cum, fuck.” he whines, tone taking a higher pitch. Nearly slipping out with how you’re wetting him, not wanting to let him go. He knows you’re close too. He sits up, dragging your legs above his shoulders, supporting you there. Sharing a brief eye contact with Seungmin who takes the hint — three fingers circle your clit in quick eights. You thrash violently, something uncanny from the last two orgasms approaching. You flail your arms, but Seungmin takes hold of them with one hand, pinning your wrists above your head despite your distressed attempts to slow down.

“Feels weird, please–” you shake, tears coating your cheeks as they whisper quick ‘come on’ in your ears. Drawing you impossibly close when the thread snaps — the coil coming undone.

You’re a fountain, juices running out like tap water, horrified when they drag it out. It won’t stop, and they’re gratifying in it. “My god, she’s squirting all over.” Seungmin comments, unable to find the controlled edge in his tone. You cry from shame, though, that’s exactly what you’ve been dying for. Jeongin finally pulls out, bobbing his hand up and down his cock and he spurts onto your stomach, painting you white.

Breathing heavily, a silence falls through. Taking in your dishevelled state, you can barely move a hair. Muscle spasming lazily, fingers twitching from creeping tiredness. You still are in disbelief that this just happened. Not earlier, and certainly not when they start to stand, looking around for something to wipe you with.

A faint, exhausted smile tugs at your lips the second they leave the room.

Maybe.

m a s t e r l i s t ⋆ i n b o x

The first thing Seungmin noticed was not the closed bedroom door. That, on its own, would have meant nothing.

Sixteen-year-old boys were not exactly known for lingering in family spaces like they were desperate for one more round of charades in the living room. Eunwoo had earned his privacy the same way he’d earned longer curfews and the right to choose his own clothes without his mother quietly replacing shirts she thought looked ridiculous. It came with age. With growing bones and a deepening voice and the odd, awkward in-between stage where he was somehow still Seungmin’s son and also increasingly a person Seungmin had to learn all over again.

So no, it wasn’t the closed door. It was everything around it.

It was the way Eunwoo used to leave it cracked open.

Not wide or dramatically welcoming, but enough that the warm light from his room would spill into the hallway in a thin yellow stripe while music played low from his speakers or the sound of him laughing at something on his phone floated out with enough volume for the rest of them to hear and roll their eyes at. Enough that Areum would wander past and pause just long enough to ask some annoying little sister question about whether her math worksheet looked right or whether he’d seen her pink hair tie, and Eunwoo, after acting like she was the biggest inconvenience in the world, would answer anyway.

Lately, the door shut all the way. Not slammed or locked. Eunwoo wasn’t that kind of kid, not usually. But there was something in the final click of it that made the upstairs hallway feel longer than it was.

Seungmin noticed other things too, because that was what he did. He noticed when the carton of milk was nearly empty before anyone else said they needed groceries. He noticed when you were pretending your shoulder wasn’t bothering you again because you stirred soup with your left hand and reached for cabinets more slowly with your right. He noticed when Areum was about to cry before she cried, when rain was coming before the weather app confirmed it, when one of the kitchen chairs had started wobbling because Eunwoo leaned back in it every night despite being told not to.

He also noticed his son was disappearing a little at a time.

Not the kind that got a parent’s heart thudding immediately into panic. Nothing that obvious. Nothing he could point to and say, there, that’s the problem. It was smaller than that. More irritating.

Eunwoo stopped coming downstairs before school unless he absolutely had to. He started grabbing toast and taking it upstairs instead of sitting at the table. He answered questions with one-word replies that weren’t rude enough to call rude, just clipped enough to end a conversation before it had a chance to become one. His headphones seemed permanently attached to him. Some evenings he came home, kicked off his shoes by the door, muttered a vague greeting, and vanished upstairs before Areum could even launch herself at him with whatever story from her day she’d been storing up.

At first, Seungmin let it go because he remembered being sixteen.

Adults sometimes lied to themselves about their ‘golden years’. About how carefree and amazing their youth had been. Not Seungmin. He remembered it accurately. He remembered how being a teenager felt like living with your skin turned inside out, every annoyance sharper than it needed to be, every question from your parents carrying the faint accusation that you were being watched, measured, corrected.

He remembered wanting to be alone and not understanding why everyone seemed so offended by that desire. He remembered being convinced that no one in the house understood him, even though he’d never once explained himself clearly enough to give them a fair chance.

Sixteen was a strange age. Old enough to want freedom. Young enough to still need someone to tell you when you were being stupid.

So when you stand at the kitchen counter one evening, rinsing strawberries while Eunwoo’s footsteps cross the upstairs hall not ten minutes after dinner, Seungmin only glances toward the ceiling and says, “Let him be.”

You look over your shoulder. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You had that face.”

You turned fully then, affronted in the specific way you always were when he was irritatingly accurate. “What face?”

He leans one hip against the counter, taking a strawberry from the container before you could stop him. “The one where you’re pretending you’re not bothered but you’re already planning a speech.”

You slap his wrist lightly when he reaches for a second one. “I don’t plan speeches.”

Seungmin bites into the strawberry, entirely unrepentant. “You absolutely do. They even have sections.”

Your eyes narrow. “And what would the sections be, exactly?”

He swallows, then lifts one hand, counting off. “Gentle concern. Practical advice. Emotional appeal. Closing statement.”

A laugh escapes you before you can hold it back, quick and reluctant, exactly the kind he liked earning from you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, reaching for another strawberry with his other hand this time, “you remain legally tied to me.”

You smack that hand too, but you’re smiling now, and for a second the kitchen felt like itself again. Bright overhead lights. Sink running. Areum in the living room, a cartoon playing a little too loudly. The soft domestic clutter of a Thursday night.

Then you glance toward the stairs. The smile fades first. It’s small enough that most people wouldn’t have caught it. But your loving, observant husband does.

“He’s fine,” he says.

You dry your hands on a dish towel. “I know.” That answer, more than anything, tells him you’re worried.

Because when you actually think someone is fine, you tend to say much more than that.

Still, he keeps the line steady. “He’s sixteen.”

“And moody,” you say.

“And dramatic.”

You give him a look.

He lifts a shoulder. “You married me. You clearly have a type.”

That gets him another almost-laugh, but only almost. Your eyes go back to the stairs, to the absence sitting above the ceiling.

“He barely sat with us tonight.”

“He had two servings of rice and enough chicken to bankrupt us eventually. I think his body was physically present.”

“Seungmin.”

He knows when to stop pushing. He sets the strawberry tops aside, takes the knife from where you’d left it, and starts slicing the fruit into smaller pieces because if he was standing in the kitchen, he might as well be useful.

“He’ll come around,” he says after a moment. “Give it a week.”

You go quiet. When you go quiet like that, it was never because you had nothing to say. It was because you were sorting through too much to decide what deserved to be spoken out loud.

Finally you say, “Areum notices.”.

He keeps slicing, but more slowly.

In the living room, your daughter is sprawled on the rug with colored pencils and construction paper, humming to herself with the wholehearted concentration only children seem capable of. She still moves through the house like it belongs to her, completely unembarrassed by her own presence. She asks every question as soon as it occurs to her. Sings songs with the wrong lyrics and great confidence. Leaves socks in baffling places. Calls for her brother the second she needs someone to admire a drawing of a cat that looks, at best, like a haunted loaf of bread.

If Eunwoo’s withdrawal had only affected Eunwoo, maybe Seungmin would have waited longer.

But houses have ecosystems. One person shifting changes the weather for everyone.

He looks past you into the living room. Areum has a purple marker cap between her teeth while she reaches for the green one. Her hair is escaping the ponytail you’d tied that morning. And there’s a smudge of what looked like glue near her elbow.

“Did she say something?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just…” You fold the dish towel once, then again. “She asks where he is more often now. If he wants to watch something with her. If he’s mad at her.”

At that, Seungmin finally stops slicing.

“Did you tell me that already?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You gave him a flat look that translates easily to ‘because you’re currently lecturing me about giving him space, Kim Seungmin.’

Fair enough.

He sets the knife down and exhales through his nose. “She shouldn’t be worrying about if he’s mad at her.”

“I know.”

The kitchen falls quiet for a moment with that familiar marital heaviness that comes from standing side by side in a shared concern neither of you want to make larger than it needed to be.

Then, because life rarely respects timing, Areum’s voice floats in from the living room.

“Mom!”

“Yes?”

“Can hamsters eat glue?”

Seungmin closes his eyes.

You’re already moving. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because Bori maybe licked some.”

Seungmin opens his eyes again just in time to see you hurry out of the kitchen. “What do you mean maybe?”

Areum, who only ever sounds guilty after the fact, answers with a thin little, “Maybe maybe.”

He stands there with the half-sliced strawberries and listens to the next thirty seconds unfold.

“No, don’t pick him up like that.”

“I’m not hurting him.”

“You’re holding him upside down.”

“He’s daring.”

“Bori does not like to be daring.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. For a moment, despite everything, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

That was another thing about family life. One child could be drifting out of reach upstairs while another nearly poisons a hamster with arts and crafts in the next room, and somehow both things live under the same roof at the same time. You don’t get to focus on one emotional catastrophe too long. There was always another smaller, stranger one trotting into view.

He carries the bowl of strawberries into the living room and finds Areum cross-legged on the rug, looking deeply offended on behalf of a hamster that was currently trying to burrow into the couch cushion.

“You,” Seungmin says, setting the bowl down on the coffee table, “are banned from all adhesives until further notice.”

“That’s not fair," Areum says immediately. “It wasn’t even a lot.”

You shoot her a look. “That does not help your case.”

“He only sniffed it.”

“A minute ago, you said licked.”

“Okay, well.” Areum pushes her hair behind one ear. “Maybe kinda licked it.”

Seungmin stares at her. You stare at her. And Areum stares back with the confidence of a child who had never once thought before speaking and had somehow survived that habit for a full decade.

Then Seungmin laughs despite himself, and you have to turn away because you’re laughing too. The sound of it warms the room. Briefly. Naturally. The way laughter in family homes often did, filling the corners and brightening up the space.

And right in the middle of it, Seungmin looks up toward the stairs. He doesn’t know why. Maybe because some small part of him expects Eunwoo to come out at the noise. Roll his eyes. Say something dry from the landing. Ask why the hamster is involved in a criminal investigation. For one second, he can see it so clearly that the absence of it feels sharper.

But the upstairs hallway remains still and the door stays closed.

That night, when Areum is in bed and the dishes are drying in the rack and the house had finally settled into its softer nighttime sounds, Seungmin finds himself pausing outside Eunwoo’s room.

He hadn’t meant to stop there. He’d only gone downstairs to grab his charger from the outlet and check whether Areum had kicked off her blanket again. But when he passed Eunwoo’s door, something in him stalled.

Light glows under it, thin and steady.

He can hear the faint rhythm of music through the wood, too muffled to identify, just enough to know Eunwoo is still awake.

Seungmin stands there with one hand in his pocket and the other hanging uselessly at his side, feeling faintly ridiculous.

He could knock. He could walk in. He could do what fathers have done for generations and ask some version of ‘how’s school’ or ‘everything okay’ or ‘why are you acting like a stranger in your own house’.

Instead he stays where he is, listening to the music, staring at the line of light.

He tells himself there’s nothing urgent yet. No smoking, no skipping school, no calls from teachers, no signs of real trouble. Just distance. Just moodiness. Just adolescence doing what adolescence does best, which was taking a perfectly normal child and replacing him, temporarily, with someone who acts like basic kindness was a burdensome request.

Still, Seungmin knew the tone. He knew atmosphere. He knew when something in a house had shifted. And lately, Eunwoo’s silence didn’t feel like privacy. It felt pointed. Not always. Not enough to corner him over. Just enough to leave a mark when it brushed against the rest of them.

A missed dinner here. A shrug there. A tight response when you asked whether he’d finished his homework. A visible annoyance when Areum knocked once, asking if he wanted to see the bracelet she’d made. Nothing huge. Nothing worth a lecture on its own. But Seungmin knew better than to ignore patterns simply because each individual piece looked harmless.

He stands outside the door another few seconds then he moves on.

In the bedroom, you’re sitting up against the headboard with your glasses low on your nose, scrolling through something on your tablet. You look up when he comes in.

“You checked on Areum?”

“She’s sideways across the bed like always.”

“That’s her natural state.”

He hums, plugging in his charger. When he climbs into bed beside you, you glance at him again, more closely this time. “What?”

He settles against the pillows. “Nothing.”

You let that sit for all of two seconds. “You were outside his room.”

Seungmin turns his head. You don’t even look smug.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m married to you.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He clicks his tongue, but there isn’t much fight in it. “I was passing by.”

“Mm.”

He looks at you fully now. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve just caught me doing something embarrassing.”

You try, badly, to hide your smile. “Because you look embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m thinking, dear.”

“You’re sulking while thinking.”

He exhales, long and quiet, then reaches over to tug your tablet gently down to your lap. Your expression softens a little. The room is dim except for the bedside lamp on your side, warm light catching on the edge of your glasses, on the familiar lines of your face he has spent years learning by heart.

“He’s different,” Seungmin says.

There it is. Small. Plain. But once spoken, impossible to take back into silence.

You look down for a moment, thumb resting against the edge of the tablet. “I know.”

“He barely talks.”

“He talks.”

“Not to us.”

At that, your mouth tightens. Not in disagreement. In recognition.

Seungmin looks toward the bedroom door, even though there was nothing to see beyond it but the dark hallway and another room at the end where his son sits behind a shut door under the same roof and yet increasingly out of reach.

“I don’t mind giving him space,” he says. “I’m not expecting him to sit downstairs every night and tell us about his day in full detail like he’s doing a presentation.”

“God forbid.”

He shoots you a glance. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious. If Eunwoo ever willingly starts giving us a detailed recap of his day, I’ll call a doctor.”

Despite himself, Seungmin smiles.

That was the humor in your marriage. Never loud enough to break the emotion completely. Just enough to keep it from swallowing the whole room.

But the smile doesn’t last long. “He was short with you this morning,” he says.

You shrug a little too quickly. “He was tired.”

“And with Areum yesterday.”

“He apologized.”

“Only after you told him to.”

Your silence this time is answer enough.

Seungmin rests his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. “That’s the part I don’t like.”

“What part?”

“Him being moody with me, I can live with. I was worse at his age.” A beat. “Probably.”

You turn to look at him. “Probably?”

“I’m trying to be generous to my younger self. He deserves that much after surviving my father.”

That gets a quiet snort from you.

Seungmin’s voice lowers. “But taking it out on you? On Areum? No.”

The room holds that sentence for a moment. He can feel your eyes on him, the way you always look at him when he has crossed from observation into decision.

“You’re going to talk to him,” you say.

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“When?”

He thinks about the line of light under the door. About the way Eunwoo had brushed past Areum that afternoon without even glancing at the drawing she’d shoved up at him. About your face in the kitchen when you’d said, Areum notices.

“Not yet,” he says.

You blink. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I thought once you started making that face, the speech was coming.”

He frowns. “What face?”

“The one where you pretend you’re calm but are actually three minutes away from sitting somebody down for a Serious Conversation.”

“I do not have a face for that.”

You give him a look so unconvinced it nearly offends him. Then, more gently, you ask, “Why not yet?”

Seungmin is quiet for a moment before answering. Because that’s the hard part, the part nobody talked about when their kids were little and clinging and easy to read. Back then, parenting often felt physical. Pick them up. Feed them. Bandage the knee. Hold the feverish body through the night. Love was direct, visible, welcomed.

This is different. This is loving someone enough not to push too soon.

“I want to know if this is a phase,” he say finally. “Or if something’s actually wrong.”

You lean your head back against the wall behind the bed. “And how long do we wait before those become the same thing?”

Seungmin looks at his hands. Long fingers loosely folded over the blanket. Hands that had once cradled Eunwoo’s whole body with room to spare. Hands that still remember the weight of him asleep against his shoulder, warm and heavy and trusting. It was strange, sometimes, how the body refuses to forget what the heart is still trying to keep up with.

“He still comes home on time,” Seungmin says. “His grades are fine. He eats. He sleeps. He’s not doing anything reckless that we know about.”

“That we know about,” you repeat.

He glances at you.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you say. “I just…” Your voice softens. “I don’t want us to wait so long trying to respect his space that we wake up one day and realize he stopped wanting us in it at all.”

That one hits deeper than he expects. Because some part of him had already been quietly afraid of the same thing.

He reaches over and takes your hand, thumb brushing once across your knuckles. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Seungmin says. “But I know him.”

You look at him then, tired and worried and trying very hard not to let either thing take over completely.

Seungmin squeezes your hand once, then lets it rest in his.

“I’m not going to ignore it,” he says. “I’m just not going to corner him the second he starts acting like a teenager either.”

“And if he keeps acting like an ass?”

“He gets that from your side.”

You stare at him. Then you shove his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m being truthful. It’s important in marriage.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, turning your hand over to press his lips to your knuckles, “still beloved.”

You roll your eyes, but your shoulders loosen a little. That was enough for tonight.

Later, after the lamp is switched off and you have drifted closer in sleep, one hand tucked unconsciously against his side, Seungmin lays awake longer than he means to.

He thinks about the version of fatherhood he’d once understood so well. The practical one. The immediate one. The one where every problem arrived crying and could be soothed, fed, reasoned with, or carried.

No one told him how helpless it sometimes felt when your child grew old enough to shut you out completely. No one warned him that distance could enter a home so quietly.

By the time Seungmin finally falls asleep, his mind had settled not on fear, exactly, but on vigilance.

He would wait. He would watch. He would give Eunwoo room to breathe. But not so much room that the boy forgot there was a family on the other side of the door, still standing there, still loving him, still refusing to disappear just because he had started to.

And downstairs, by morning, Areum would ask for cereal in the wrong bowl and complain about her hair tie being lost again, and you would drink your coffee too fast, and Eunwoo would come down looking half-awake and blank, and the house would do what houses did best.

It would keep going. Even with one room more closed than before.

A week later, at 12:07 in the morning, the house had gone from tense to sick with worry.

It happened so gradually that Seungmin almost resented it, the way a normal evening had managed to slide into something sharp and frightening without ever announcing the exact moment it became one.

At nine-thirty, it had still been manageable.

Eunwoo was late, yes, but not by much. Late enough for you to glance at the clock from the kitchen and ask, “Did he say where he was going after practice?” and for Seungmin, who had been drying dishes while Areum sat at the table doing a worksheet, to answer, “He said he might stop somewhere with friends.”

At ten, the first call went to voicemail.

At ten-fifteen, his location stopped loading.

At ten-twenty, you called again. Then texted. Then called one of Eunwoo’s friends, who said he thought Eunwoo had left an hour earlier.

By ten-forty, Seungmin had his keys in his hand.

By eleven, both of you had crossed that quiet, invisible threshold from trying not to overreact into the kind of fear that makes your body feel wrong from the inside out.

It was not dramatic fear. Not at first. It was worse than that. It was disciplined. Tight. Functional.

You sat at the kitchen counter with Eunwoo’s phone number pulled up again, calling and redialing like repetition might somehow force the connection through sheer parental desperation.

Seungmin stood by the island with his own phone in hand, going through every name he could think of, every parent number saved over the years, every coach, every classmate, every kid who had ever stepped into your house and eaten your snacks and called you ma’am a little too politely.

Nothing. Nobody had him. Nobody knew where he was.

When Areum came downstairs rubbing one eye and clutching the stuffed rabbit she had slept with for years past the point anyone expected her to, you both turned too fast. Too guilty. Too caught.

She looked between the two of you immediately, and Seungmin hated how quickly his little girl could tell when the air in a room had changed.

“Why are you guys awake?” she asked, voice small with sleep. “Where’s Eunwoo?”

You pushed your chair back before Seungmin could answer and crossed to her in three quick steps. “Honey, you should be in bed.”

“Where’s Eunwoo?”

“He’s just late.”

That answer did not satisfy her for a second. “Is he in trouble?”

“No,” Seungmin said, more firmly than he felt. “Go back to bed, Are.”

She looked at him. Then at you.

It was a terrible moment, one of those tiny domestic ones no one wrote songs about, where a child studies your face and learns too much from what you fail to hide.

You crouched down in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He probably forgot to charge his phone. That’s all. Go lay back down, okay? If he comes home, I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Areum had hesitated, then nodded, because ten-year-olds still wanted to believe their parents could smooth fear back into something manageable if they spoke gently enough.

Seungmin watched the two of you disappear toward the stairs. He heard your soft voice all the way up, low and soothing, carrying the same tone you’d used for nightmares and fevers and scraped knees. When you came back down a minute later, your face had changed.

Your mouth was too tight. Your eyes were bright in a way that told him you were refusing, with force, to fall apart before there was permission.

“Nothing?” you asked.

He shook his head once.

That was when you called the first hospital.

Seungmin never forgot the sound of your voice during those calls. Too calm.. Your diction got better when you were terrified. Every word cleaner. Every question more precise. You sounded like someone trying to earn good news through politeness. As if enough composure might make your son walk through that front door sooner.

“Hi, sorry to bother you this late. I’m calling to ask whether you’ve had any admissions tonight involving a teenage boy, sixteen, around 173 cm in height…”

Then the next hospital. Then another. Then the local police station, where the officer on the line was patient and tired and told you, kindly, that unless there was reason to suspect immediate danger, there wasn’t much to be done yet.

Seungmin took the phone from you after that one, because your fingers had started trembling so badly that the screen kept slipping.

He made the next call. Then the next.

At some point, the house stopped feeling like home and became a place where time was happening incorrectly.

The kitchen lights were too bright. The clock over the stove too late. The silence between calls too long.

Around one in the morning, Seungmin drove the route home from school and then farther than that, tracing the roads Eunwoo might have taken with his windows down and his jaw so tight it started to ache. He checked the convenience store by the intersection where kids liked to gather. The empty parking lot by the soccer field. The gas station three blocks over. Two bus stops. The park with the broken fountain.

Nothing.

When he got home, you were sitting at the table with your phone in both hands, staring at the black screen like you were willing it to light up.

You looked up when he came in. The look on your face stopped him cold.

There were a thousand things a husband learned to read over the course of a life together. The little signs. The almost-invisible changes. He knew your annoyance from your fatigue, your embarrassment from your anger, your sadness from the kind of silence that meant you needed him beside you and not speaking.

This was fear. Pure and stripped down. The kind that made you look suddenly younger and older at the same time.

He set his keys down softly. “Nothing,” he said.

You nodded once, too quickly, and looked back at the phone before your face gave too much away.

He crossed the kitchen and crouched in front of you, one hand on your knee. “We’re not there yet,” he said quietly.

Your eyes dropped to his. “Not where?”

He hated that he had said it wrong. Hated the way your voice came out thin around the edges. He corrected immediately. “Not anywhere bad. We don’t know anything bad.”

“But we don’t know anything good either.”

He stood and went to fill a glass of water because if he stayed still too long, he was going to put his fist through the cabinet door just to feel something break in proportion to what was happening inside him.

You didn’t drink the water when he set it down in front of you. Just wrapped your fingers around the glass like maybe the cold would hold you together.

By two-thirty, there was nothing left to do except wait.

Waiting was an ugly, humiliating thing. It stripped you down to the parts of yourself you least wanted examined. It made the imagination feral. Every distant siren became unbearable. Every passing headlight a false alarm. Every minute another worry.

You had lasted longer than he thought you would. So had he. But at some point, your body reached its limit before your mind did. That was the only reason he convinced you to go upstairs.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

“No.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

“You don’t have to sleep. Lie down.”

“I can’t.”

He put both hands on your shoulders then, not hard, just enough that you had to look at him. “If he walks in and sees you like this, he’ll react in a way you don’t want him to.”

That was the wrong argument and the right one.

You swallowed hard and looked away. “How am I supposed to lie down?”

“You do it because you have to. I’ll stay here.”

Your eyes went back to his. “You’ll wake me up?”

“Yes.”

“Right away?”

“Yes.”

You took a breath that sounded like it hurt and nodded.

He walked you upstairs, waited until you sat on the edge of the bed, then crouched to take your face in both hands. You were trying so hard not to cry that the effort was visible in your throat.

“He’s coming home,” Seungmin said.

You shut your eyes.

He kissed your forehead once, then your temple. “Lie down.”

You did, though not because you believed rest was possible. He pulled the blanket over you and stood there a moment longer, watching the way your fingers curled into the sheet, tense even in stillness.

When he left the room, he kept the door cracked open. Then he went downstairs and waited. He sat on the couch at first. Then stood. Then sat again.

He checked his phone. Checked the time. Checked Eunwoo’s location one more time even though it was still a useless spinning wheel. His body had gone past tired into something flatter and meaner. His thoughts no longer came in sentences. Just flashes.

Where are you?

Pick up the phone.

Walk through the door.

Let me see you standing upright so I can be angry.

The anger had arrived around one-thirty and only grown sharper since.

It sat beneath the fear like a blade under cloth. Not because Eunwoo was out late. Not even because his phone had died, if that was all it was. Teenagers were careless. They forgot chargers. They misjudged time. They assumed their parents would magically know the difference between normal lateness and the kind that rotted a house from the inside.

No, Seungmin was angry because he had spent weeks telling himself to be patient. To give space. To respect the slammed-shut privacy of sixteen. And now he had watched that distance widen into a night like this, where he and you had called hospitals with your hearts in your throats while your son was simply…somewhere.

At 3:12 a.m., the front doorknob turns.

The sound is so small Seungmin almost thought he imagined it. But then the lock clicks softly.

The door eases open inch by inch, cautious in the guilty way of someone trying not to wake a sleeping house. Eunwoo steps inside with his shoes in one hand and his backpack slung off one shoulder, hair flattened in the back from sweat or sleep or wind, Seungmin can’t tell which. He closes the door quietly behind him and starts to turn toward the stairs.

“Interesting strategy.”

Eunwoo goes rigid.

Seungmin is already standing by the time his son spins around.

In the half-light, Eunwoo’s face drains so fast it makes him look younger. For one disorienting second, Seungmin sees every age in him at once. The boy who used to cry when he lost sight of his mother in grocery stores. The kid who had hidden behind Seungmin’s leg on the first day of kindergarten. The teenager now frozen in the foyer at three in the morning with guilt all over his face and no idea what kind of storm he had just walked into.

“Dad, I…”

Seungmin crosses the room in four strides. “Where the hell were you?”

The question comes out lower than a shout but far more dangerous.

Eunwoo’s shoulders draw up instinctively. “My phone died.”

Seungmin stares at him. Not because that explanation is impossible, but because it is so insultingly incomplete.

“Your phone died,” he repeats.

“I didn’t know it was that late.”

“You didn’t know it was three in the morning?”

“I was at Minji’s house.”

“Who is that?”

“My friend.”

“You couldn’t borrow a charger?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You didn’t think it was a big deal?.”

“Dad, I said my phone died.”

The irritation in Eunwoo’s voice, tired and defensive and edged with something that sounded almost like he thought this was inconvenient for him, makes something hot and ugly surge up Seungmin’s spine.

Behind him, upstairs, the house remains quiet. You’re still asleep. For now.

He keeps his voice down by force. “Do you have any idea what kind of night your mother has had?”

Eunwoo looks away first, which is answer enough.

Seungmin laughs once, a humorless exhale. “No. Of course you don’t. Because while we were calling every person we could think of, calling hospitals, calling the police station, trying not to lose our minds, you were apparently forgetting that other people exist.”

Eunwoo’s head snaps back. “I didn’t ask you to do all that.”

That did it. Seungmin steps closer, not enough to frighten him, but enough that Eunwoo has to either hold eye contact or make it obvious he can’t.

“You didn’t ask?” Seungmin says softly. “You vanish for hours, stop answering your phone, your location stops working, and you think this is about whether you asked us to worry?”

Eunwoo grips his shoes tighter. “I’m fine, aren’t I?”

Seungmin’s jaw clenches so hard it hurt. “That is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Eunwoo shoots back, voice rising before he remembers the sleeping house and tries to yank it down again. “I’m not out doing anything bad. I’m not getting arrested. I’m not failing school. I don’t even do half the stuff other kids do, so what is the problem?”

The words hit the walls and stay there.

Seungmin looks at his son, really looks at him, and understands with perfect clarity how easy it would be to handle this wrong. How easy it would be to answer on the surface. Curfew. Phone. Rules. Consequences. All the obvious things.

But that isn't actually why he’d been waiting in the dark.

“The problem,” Seungmin says, very carefully, “is not just tonight.”

Eunwoo frowns, still keyed up, still vibrating with defensive energy. “What does that mean?”

“It means this didn’t start with a dead phone.”

For the first time since walking in, uncertainty moves across Eunwoo’s face, quick and unguarded. Then it hardens again.

“Whatever.”

“No,” Seungmin says. “Not whatever.”

He takes a breath, trying to keep his own voice from turning sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve been short with everyone in this house for weeks.”

Eunwoo scoffs and looks away. “That’s not true.”

“You raised your voice at your mother.”

“That happened once.”

“You snapped at your sister twice in one day because she asked you to look at a bracelet.”

“She was being annoying.”

“She’s ten.”

The silence after that is brief, but loaded.

Eunwoo shifts his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I said sorry.”

“After being told to.”

“Why are you doing this right now?”

Seungmin stares at him. That question, somehow, more than anything else, drives home just how far apart they were standing from each other even with less than two feet of foyer tile between them.

Because Eunwoo thinks this is a lecture. And Seungmin, exhausted to the marrow, feels something in his chest go raw with frustration.

“I’m doing this right now,” he says, voice shaking at the edges despite his best efforts, “because your mother has spent hours wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere, because I have been sitting in this room waiting to hear the front door open so I could know you were breathing, and because your sister thinks she did something wrong.”

Eunwoo blinks.

Seungmin sees it land. Not fully. But enough to crack through.

He presses on before the moment could close. “She wonders what she did to make you hate her.”

Eunwoo’s face changes all at once. No defensiveness this time. Just shock. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“She thinks I hate her?”

“What is she supposed to think?” Seungmin asks, and now there was no stopping the hurt in his voice because it had finally burned past anger. “You brush past her. You shut yourself away. You act like every question she asks is ruining your life. She’s a child, Eunwoo. She doesn’t know what to do with your silence except blame herself for it.”

Eunwoo’s mouth parts. Then closes. For one second, he looked stricken. Then he does what he has apparently been doing with every unbearable feeling lately. He reaches for anger. “Well, maybe everyone should stop acting like I’m some huge problem all the time.”

Seungmin feels the argument tip. Not toward shouting exactly, but toward something more dangerous, where neither of them is hearing the actual thing under their words anymore. “No one is doing that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, we are not.”

“You’re literally waiting up in the dark to ambush me.”

“To make sure you came home.”

“To control me.”

Seungmin laughs again, stunned. “Control you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you think this is?”

“What else would it be?”

For half a second, Seungmin just stares at him. Then all the fear and sleeplessness and accumulated weeks of tension drag honesty out of him with more force than tact. “You’re disappearing.”

The foyer goes still. Eunwoo’s expression falters. Seungmin’s own voice sounds strange to him now. Rough. Too full. “You’re in this house less and less even when you’re physically standing in it. You barely look at us. You barely speak. Every time your mother asks you something, you answer like she’s bothering you. Every time Areum tries to be near you, you act like she’s in the way. I let it go because I know you’re sixteen and I know not every mood needs to become a family meeting. But this?” He swallows hard. “This is not just moodiness anymore.”

Eunwoo’s chest rises and falls once. Quickly.

Seungmin takes a step closer, gentler this time, even if his words aren’t. “I don’t care that you’re a good student,” he says. “I don’t care that you’re not out getting drunk or doing something reckless. That is not the standard. The standard is that you do not get to treat this family like we are disposable just because you’re having a hard time.”

Something breaks across Eunwoo’s face then. Not in a neat way. Not the soft, cinematic crack of a character finally understanding the lesson. It’s messier than that. Meaner to witness. His jaw tightens. His eyes brighten in furious, unwilling glassiness. He looks suddenly trapped inside his own skin. “I said I’m not doing anything bad,” he bites out.

“And I’m telling you that’s not enough.”

“Why?”

“Because being physically safe is not the same thing as being okay.”

The words hang between them.

Eunwoo stares at his father. Then his whole face twists, not with attitude this time, not with defiance, but with the strain of someone who has been holding something shut for too long and was losing the strength to keep it there.

“I don’t know!” he bursts out, loud enough that Seungmin’s heart kicks against his ribs.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, up on the stairs. You, barefoot and pale in your sleep shirt, one hand gripping the banister, eyes wide and wet and awake in the most frightened way.

Seungmin barely had time to register you before Eunwoo keeps going, words rushing now with the force of a dam giving out. “I don’t know why I’m like this lately, okay?” His voice cracks hard on the last word. “I don’t know why everything makes me mad. I don’t know why I say things and then hate myself after, or why I can’t make myself stop before I do it. I don’t know why my brain feels so…” He drags in a breath like he can’t get enough air. “I feel trapped in it sometimes.”

Seungmin does not move. He cannot.

Eunwoo’s hands are shaking now, shoes dropping to the floor with a muffled thud he doesn't even seem to notice.

“I’ll be sitting there and I know I should just answer normally, I know Areum isn’t doing anything wrong, I know Mom’s just asking me a question, and still I feel…” He presses the heels of his hands briefly to his eyes, furious with himself for crying and failing at stopping it. “I feel like I can’t breathe in this house some days. And then I feel horrible for thinking that because I love you guys and nothing is even wrong and I know I’m being an asshole, I know that, I know.” His voice splinters. “I just can’t control my own feelings sometimes.”

The foyer, the hallway, the entire sleeping house seems to draw tight around the confession.

Eunwoo looks wrecked now. Not rebellious. Not careless. Just young. Terrified. Humiliated by the act of saying out loud what he clearly had not known how to carry alone.

And then, softer, smaller, like it had cost him everything to get this far: “I’m scared.”.

Seungmin moves before he can think better of it. He closes the space between them in one stride and pulls Eunwoo into him. Not a careful side hug. Not the restrained, masculine clap on the shoulder fathers sometimes use when they’re too frightened by love to show the real thing.

He takes his son in both arms and holds him.

At first Eunwoo goes stiff in shock, the old teenage instinct to resist comfort firing automatically even now. Then Seungmin feels the fight leave him in one shuddering collapse.

He folds. Just folds right there in the front hallway, face turning into his father’s shoulder, body shaking hard with the kind of crying that had been waiting longer than tonight.

Seungmin holds the back of his head with one hand, the other locked across his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he says immediately, though his own voice is breaking now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Eunwoo makes a sound Seungmin would remember for the rest of his life, something between a sob and a gasp, the noise of a person who had been terrified he would say something honest and be punished for it.

Seungmin tightens his arms. “You hear me?” he says, pressing his cheek against his son’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Eunwoo chokes out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to make Mom cry.”

“I know.”

“I don’t hate Areum.”

“I know.” Seungmin’s own eyes burn so badly he has to shut them. “I know that too.”

Eunwoo clutches at the back of his father’s shirt now, no longer pretending he was too old for this, too proud for this, too anything for this.

Seungmin rocks him once without meaning to, some old instinct from years ago surfacing whole and intact. His child upset in his arms. The body remembering what to do before the mind can catch up.

“You are not a problem,” he murmurs.

Eunwoo shakes harder.

“You are not bad.”

Another ragged breath.

“And whatever this is, whatever’s going on in your head right now, you do not sit in it alone. Do you understand me?”

Eunwoo nods against his shoulder, barely.

Seungmin draws back only enough to cup the side of his face, forcing him gently to look up. His son’s face is blotched and wet and achingly open in a way Seungmin has not seen in years. Not because the softness has vanished, but because adolescence had buried it under too many new things all at once.

Seungmin wipes under one of his eyes with his thumb. “I love you,” he says, and there is no keeping the tears out of his own voice now. “I love you so much it makes me stupid. So if you scare me like this again, I’ll still love you. If you’re angry, I’ll still love you. If you don’t understand your own head right now, I’ll still love you. Nothing you say in this house is going to make me stop being your father. Nothing.”

Eunwoo’s mouth trembles.

Seungmin presses his forehead briefly to his son’s. “You tell me when you’re scared. You let me in. Even if it comes out ugly. Even if you don’t have the right words yet. You do not disappear.”

That last part nearly undoes him again, but Eunwoo nods, crying openly now. “Okay,” he whispers.

Behind them, the stairs creak. Seungmin turns his head.

You are halfway down now, tears running unchecked down your face, one hand still braced on the banister as though you needed it to stay upright. He had seen you cry a hundred times over the years. From laughter. From rage. In labor, with sweat pasted to your hairline and your whole body split wide with effort and love. Quietly at movies. Quietly after funerals. Quietly after Areum’s first day of school because apparently you were emotionally unstable and he had married you anyway.

This is different. This is relief so immense it looks painful.

You come down the rest of the steps quickly, wiping at your cheeks with the heel of your hand and failing completely to stop the fresh ones.

Eunwoo sees you and immediately looks stricken all over again. “Mom…”

You don’t let him get farther than that. You go straight to him, your hand finding the back of his head, your other arm wrapping around both of them because the space was small and family life was rarely elegant and none of you seemed to care.

“Oh, baby,” you cry, voice breaking clean in half. “My baby.”

That name. That old, terrible, tender thing. It finishes him.

Eunwoo turns toward you and lets you hold his face and kiss his forehead and cry over him while he stands there wrecked and embarrassed and loved within an inch of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse.

You shake your head immediately, as if apology was the least urgent part of this. “We were so scared,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“You should have told us.”

“I know.”

You press your lips together, trying not to crumble further, and lay your palm against his cheek. “You don’t ever scare us like that again.”

“I won’t.”

Seungmin lets one hand stay firm between Eunwoo’s shoulder blades. Grounding, present, and always there.

For a while, no one moves much. The house that had spent hours strung tight with panic now holds a different kind of quiet. Not solved. Not fixed. But honest at last.

Eventually Eunwoo scrubs a hand over his face and looks exhausted enough that Seungmin’s anger, what little remains of it, finally dissolves completely.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks.

Eunwoo blinks, thrown. “What?”

Seungmin sniffs once and steps back just enough to look at him properly. “It’s a simple question. Try answering it.”

You let out a watery laugh before you can help it.

Eunwoo, to his credit, looks almost offended. “I had fries.”

“What time?”

“Around six?”

Seungmin stares at him.

“That barely counts as food,” you say, swiping at your face.

“It had cheese on it,” Eunwoo mutters weakly.

“Outstanding,” Seungmin says. “A nutritional triumph.”

A tiny, incredulous sound escapes Eunwoo then. Not quite a laugh, but enough.

Seungmin takes a breath and straightens. His body feels as though someone had poured sand into every joint, but there was work to do now. Better work than waiting. Better work than imagining.

“You’re not going straight to bed,” he says.

Eunwoo wipes under his nose. “I’m not?”

“No. You’re going to sit at the kitchen table and eat something with actual substance while your mother continues staring at you like she’s making sure you’re not a ghost.”

“I’m literally right here,” you say, though your hand is still on Eunwoo’s arm as if confirming exactly that.

“And then,” Seungmin continues, looking directly at his son, “tomorrow we’re going to talk properly. Not like this. Not after no sleep and three hours of me imagining prison time for whichever friend’s house didn’t own a charger.”

Eunwoo looks down. “It was my fault.”

“Yes,” Seungmin says. “It was.”

You look at him. He looks back. “What? I’m hugging him and feeding him. I can still be accurate.”

A startled, broken laugh comes out of you this time. Eunwoo actually smiles, small and miserable but real.

Seungmin touches the back of his neck once. “Come on.”

The three of you move toward the kitchen slowly, almost awkwardly, as if re-entering ordinary space after what had just happened.

At the base of the stairs, Seungmin glances up automatically.

Areum’s bedroom door remains closed.

Good. Let her sleep one more hour without carrying any of this. He would deal with morning when morning came. With explanations. With the right words for a ten-year-old who loved too openly and worried too fast. With whatever conversation had to happen next about counselors or doctors or the maddening, frightening labyrinth of adolescence and mental weather no one could see from the outside.

But not yet. For now, he had his son walking beside him again. For now, you were alive at his shoulder, still crying a little, still reaching out every few seconds to touch Eunwoo’s sleeve or back like you needed the reassurance of contact.

For now, the kitchen light was on, and there was rice in the fridge, and eggs on the counter, and a family pulling itself back together in the middle of the night with swollen eyes and no sleep and love still warm enough to serve.

And for the first time in a while, the house no longer felt like it was holding its breath.

A few weeks later, the house felt almost unfamiliar in its quiet.

Not empty, exactly. Not cold. Just missing the particular kind of chaos that had become so woven into the walls that its absence left odd little pockets of stillness everywhere. No Areum singing to herself from a room away while she got distracted halfway through cleaning. No Eunwoo’s heavier footsteps overhead or the muffled pulse of music behind his door. No sudden arguments over bathroom time, missing chargers, cereal choices, or whose turn it was to feed the hamster.

Now there was only you and Seungmin.

It had been Eunwoo’s idea, which was somehow the part that kept catching Seungmin off guard.

Not the practical side of it. Your parents had invited the kids over plenty of times before, especially in summer, when your mother got sentimental and started talking about core memories. But Eunwoo, who once would’ve scoffed at any suggestion that sounded vaguely wholesome, had been the one to mention it first.

He had shrugged in that careful teenage way, like he didn’t want the sentiment caught too clearly in his voice, and said Areum had been asking to spend more time there anyway. Summer break had started. Your dad wanted help fixing up something in the backyard. Your mom had said yes before anyone even finished asking.

Seungmin had watched him from across the kitchen that afternoon, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand, and noticed the way Eunwoo avoided looking too directly at either parent while making the suggestion. Casual on the surface. Deliberate underneath.

An offering. Not an outright apology exactly. Something gentler than that. More thoughtful. A quiet, awkward attempt to give back a little ease. It had done something strange and warm to Seungmin’s chest.

So now here you were, two nights into a week alone, sitting together on the couch with the living room lit only by the movie playing in front of you and the small lamp on the side table casting a golden circle over the armrest.

The movie was your choice. This, according to Seungmin, was already strike one.

“It’s critically acclaimed,” you had informed him earlier while scrolling through the streaming menu.

“It’s three hours long,” he had replied from the kitchen, where he was putting popcorn into a bowl.

“That means it’s important.”

“That means it’s self-indulgent.”

“You haven’t even seen it.”

“I don’t need to eat a whole lemon to know I won’t enjoy the experience.”

You had turned on the couch to glare at him just as he walked in with the popcorn, and something about the combination of your offended expression and the ridiculous care with which he was balancing snacks had made him laugh.

Now, an hour and twelve minutes into the film, he was proving himself annoyingly right by only pretending to watch it.

And Kim Seungmin, chronic observer and lifelong menace, had chosen to remain awake just enough to keep making little comments every so often in a voice pitched low and dry.

“This man is definitely going to betray somebody.”

You kept your eyes on the screen. “Can you stop.”

“He’s doing too much to be trustworthy.”

“You cannot assign morality based off a few scenes.”

“I can and I just did.”

Five minutes later:

“She should leave him.”

“They haven’t even met yet.”

“She should still leave him. Preemptively.”

You reach into the bowl and take a handful of popcorn with more irritation than necessary. “Do you want to watch something else?”

“No,” he said easily.

“Then stop talking.”

“I’m enhancing your experience.”

“You are deeply misunderstanding what that word means.”

He only smiled. You didn’t have to look to know it was there. You could hear it in his voice.

That had been the thing about being alone together again. It was not that you and Seungmin had lost yourselves in parenting. Neither of you were dramatic enough to romanticize life that way. You still found each other. In kitchens, in doorways, in those tired, familiar exchanges over laundry and bills and bad takeout and school emails. In bed, half-asleep. In glances across crowded rooms. In the thousand ordinary ways long love stayed alive.

Still, being the only two people in the house had shifted something. Not back, exactly. It wasn’t a return to who you’d been before kids, because that would’ve been impossible and, if Seungmin were being honest, not even desirable. You had built too much since then. Become too much. But there was a certain oldness to this quiet. Something that reminded him of early marriage. Of evenings stretching without interruption. Of sitting close because you wanted to, not because there was only one available corner of the couch that hadn’t been claimed by a child, a blanket, a tablet, or a pile of unfolded clothes.

You were tucked against his side now, one leg folded beneath you, your head resting just lightly enough against his shoulder that he could feel every small shift when you reacted to something on-screen. He had one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you and the other resting near the popcorn bowl in his lap. Your socked foot was pressing into his thigh in a way that would’ve become uncomfortable if he’d loved anyone else less.

On-screen, the movie now enters a long, hushed sequence meant to be emotionally devastating.

Seungmin gives it a fair try for nearly four minutes.

Then he leans just slightly and murmurs, “Did he fart, or is he just standing like that?”

You make a sound of immediate outrage and turn to stare at him. “Why are you like this?”

He looks down at you with complete calm. “I’m helping you maintain perspective.”

“You’re impossible to watch movies with.”

“And yet,” he says, because some habits in a marriage became permanent by law, “you continue to choose me.”

You narrow your eyes.

He can see the exact second your annoyance gives way to reluctant amusement. It always happens there first, in the corners of your mouth. Your face tries very hard to remain unimpressed, but your mouth has never been loyal enough to pull it off.

“Do you even know what’s going on?” you ask.

“Of course.”

You wait..

Seungmin gestured vaguely at the television. “He’s there. She has large eyes. Everyone’s dressed like Bridgerton.”

That gets you. A laugh slips out, sudden and bright, and Seungmin feels something in himself loosen just hearing it. You tip your head forward for a second like you’re trying to hide it, then look back at him with your smile still there. “There’s actually something wrong with you.”

“Yes,” he says. “But you’ve had plenty of time to leave.”

“Too late now. We have children.”

“That doesn’t stop some people.”

You swat his chest lightly, still smiling.

Seungmin catches your wrist before you can pull it away, the movement easy and unforced, just his fingers closing around you with familiar certainty.

For a moment neither of you say anything.

The movie keeps going. Some soft, orchestral swell in the background. Actors staring meaningfully at each other in rain or grief or maybe both. The lamp beside the couch casts warm light over the curve of your cheek, the line of your mouth, the small laugh still lingering there.

Seungmin looks at you properly, lets his eyes linger.

You feel it. Your expression shifts just slightly. Not surprised, but more aware.

“What?” you ask, quieter now.

He still has your wrist in his hand. His thumb moves once across the inside of it before he answers. “Just looking.”

“At what?”

He could say something clever. Something lightly irritating, which is often his preferred language when things in him turn too warm too fast. Could tell you you had popcorn salt on your lip. Could deflect with humor and make you laugh again.

Instead he says, “You.”

You blink once, and then your smile softens around the edges.

Seungmin lets go of your wrist only to lift his hand to your face, brushing his thumb lightly along the corner of your mouth. “You do,” he says.

“What?”

“Have popcorn salt on your lip.”

You stare at him in total disbelief.

He smiles, slow and unrepentant, while something that is half a laugh and half an offended noise leaves you all at once.

“I knew it,” you say. “I knew you were being annoying on purpose.”

“I’m never annoying by accident.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“You say that like it’s new information.”

But you’re leaning in a little now. Whether you mean to or not, he can’t tell. Maybe both.

You reach over and take the remote off the couch cushion beside you without looking away from him. Seungmin watches your hand, then your face.

“Are you pausing it?” he asks.

“You’ve already ruined it.”

“Mmm, debateable.”

You click the movie off anyway. The room dims further at once, the television screen going black and reflective, leaving only the lamp on.

For a second, neither of you move.

Then Seungmin says, “That’s a little dramatic.”

You turn more fully toward him, one knee shifting across the couch, your hair falling forward slightly over one shoulder. “You started it.”

“With commentary?”

“With that face.”

He frowns. “What face?”

You gave him a long look. “You know exactly what face.”

He does not, in fact, know exactly what face, but he had been married to you long enough to understand when pretending ignorance was more entertaining than useful.

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Mm. No.”

“Then explain it.”

Your gaze flicks down to his mouth and back up so quickly another person might’ve missed it. Seungmin does not.

He leans back into the couch a little, arm still stretched behind you, and watches color rise slowly into your cheeks.

“Explain it,” he repeats, quieter now.

You narrow your eyes at the tone.

“There,” you said softly. “That.”

Seungmin looks at you for a second, then smiles in a way that is unhelpful. “Still not following.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet.”

“Yes, yes,” you mutter. “Still here. Unfortunately.”

He tilts his head. “Only unfortunately?”

You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up to rest against his chest over his T-shirt, fingers spreading there in a way that says more than your voice is willing to. Seungmin glances down at it, then back at you.

He lifts his hand from the back of the couch to the nape of your neck. “Come here,” he murmurs.

That’s all it takes.

You lean in and kiss him. Not tentative either. You press your mouth against his, soft and familiar and immediately enough to make his eyes close.

Seungmin kisses you back with a quiet sound in his throat, hand sliding more securely against the back of your neck as he angles toward you. Your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. He can taste the faint salt from the popcorn still lingering on your mouth and almost laughs at the absurdity of how much he likes that, how perfectly domestic it is, even now.

You draw back only far enough to breathe, your forehead brushing his once before your lips find his again.

Seungmin’s other hand comes to your waist, settling there with that old, instinctive certainty, thumb pressing lightly into the soft fabric of your shirt. You shift closer, knee sliding between his, and the couch gives the faintest creak under the adjustment.

He kisses you deeper then, and feels the way your breath catches. Your hand slides up from his chest to his shoulder, then higher into his hair. Seungmin exhales into your mouth at the feel of your fingers there, and you make that small, pleased sound he know too well, the one that always tells him you notice exactly what you do to him.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His hand stays at your neck. Your fingers remain tangled lightly in his hair.And for a second, all Seungmin can do is look back.

You’re flushed. A little breathless. Your lips parted, eyes heavy and bright in the low light.

He kisses you again before either of you can say something that would break the spell. “You know,” Seungmin murmurs, his lips moving and brushing your ear as his hand slips under your shirt, “the house is empty for a whole week.”

His palm is warm against your stomach, fingers tracing a slow, possessive circle. You arch into him, already feeling that familiar heat pooling low in your belly. 

“I do know,” you whisper back, turning your head to catch his mouth again. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands are on his chest, feeling his firm chest beneath his soft t-shirt, then drifting down to the waistband of his sweats.

He kisses you harder, then flips you and presses you firmly into the couch. One of his legs slides between yours, the pressure against your inner thigh delicious. His breathing has changed, gone a little rougher. When he pulls back just enough to speak, his eyes are dark with a playful, familiar spark.

“A whole week,” he repeats, his voice low and intimate. “We could practice…for a third.”

You laugh, a soft puff of air against his cheek. You roll your eyes, though your heart gives a little skip. “Practice? Seungmin, we have a sixteen-year-old and a ten-year-old. Our ‘practice’ is perfected. It’s called ‘sleeping through the night.’”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at you, his gaze steady and full of that teasing light. His hand moves from your stomach, up under your shirt until his thumb finds the underside of your breast, brushing just beneath the curve. Your breath catches—not a hitch, but a full, suspended moment where your lungs just stop.

“I’m serious,” he says, though his tone is still light. “Think about it. No schedules. No early morning alarms. Just…us. We could start over. Fresh.”

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re insane. We’re in our late thirties. We’re not ‘starting over.’ We’re enjoying the peace.”

His thumb circles your breast now, a slow, deliberate tease that makes your nipple tighten instantly against the fabric of your bra. He leans in, his mouth finding your neck, kissing just below your ear. “Then let’s enjoy it,” he murmurs. “Let’s enjoy it like we’re starting over.”

The suggestion hangs there, silly and sweet and suddenly, inexplicably, hot. It’s the absurdity of it, the playful fantasy. You feel a blush creep up your neck, a warmth that isn’t just from his touch. You play along, the role falling into place effortlessly.

“Okay,” you say, shifting so you can look at him fully. You put a hand on his cheek, your tone shifting to something softer, more conspiratorial. “Okay, pretend. Let’s pretend we’re trying. Right now.”

His eyes flare—not widen, but ignite. A smile spreads across his face, genuine and hungry. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t wait. His hands move with a new purpose, pushing your shirt up. You help him, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Your bra is a simple cotton one, and he looks at it for a second, his gaze appreciative and focused. Then his fingers hook under the straps, pulling them down your shoulders. The cups fall away, and your breasts are exposed to the cool room air and his warm stare.

He doesn’t just look; he studies. His hands come up, not to grab, but to cradle. His palms are warm and slightly rough, and they hold the weight of your breasts with a reverence that makes your stomach clench.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and it’s not a line. It’s a statement, thick with feeling. His thumbs pass over your nipples, which are already hard, peaked and sensitive. The touch sends a sharp, pleasant shock straight down to your core. You sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.

He leans down and his mouth replaces his thumb on your right breast. His lips close around the nipple, warm and soft, and he draws it into his mouth with a gentle, persistent pull. The sensation is immediate and deep—a tugging pleasure that radiates outward, making your back arch. His tongue flicks against the tight bud, circling it, then flattening against the underside. You can feel the wet heat of his mouth, the slight scrape of his teeth in a controlled, teasing graze.

Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the short, thick strands. You hold him there, urging him silently to keep going. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attentive, mouthing treatment. His free hand continues to knead the first breast, his fingers squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, making it bounce slightly with his rhythm. You watch, your vision hazy, as your own body responds to him. Your breasts are full, the skin flushed a deeper pink where he’s been. They move with his hands, a soft, yielding bounce that feels profoundly erotic.

He lifts his head after a long moment, his lips wet, his eyes locked on yours. “I love these,” he says, his voice rough. “I love how they feel. How they look when they’re full.”

The roleplay solidifies in your mind. You’re not just having sex; you’re trying. The fantasy wraps around you, making every touch feel more significant, more charged.

“They’d look even fuller,” you murmur, playing into it, “if you did your job.”

He grins, a predatory, happy grin. “My job,” he repeats. “My job is to fill you up. To make sure it sticks.”

He stands up suddenly, pulling you with him. The shift from couch to standing is dizzying. He doesn’t lead you to the bedroom; he simply turns you around, your back to his front, and bends you forward over the arm of the couch. Your hands grip the fabric, your breasts pressing against the cushioned ridge. The position exposes your back, your ass, to him completely.

His hands are on your hips, holding you steady. He yanks your leggings and panties down in one hurried, efficient motion. The fabric slides over your skin, cool air hitting your exposed rear and the wet heat between your legs. You feel utterly open, vulnerable, and desperately ready.

He doesn’t enter you immediately. He steps back, and you hear the rustle of his sweats coming off. You twist your head, looking back over your shoulder. He’s naked now, and you see him—all of him. His erection is thick and fully hard, the shaft a dark, flushed muscle curving slightly upward. The head is a broader, deeper crimson, smooth and wet already at the tip. Veins track along the length, prominent and pulsing. His balls hang below, heavy and full, the skin tight at the base. He looks at you, his gaze burning, and then he looks at himself, his hand coming down to grip his cock at the root. He gives it a slow, proud stroke, from base to tip, making the head glisten.

“For you,” he says, and his voice is thick with intent.

He comes back to you, his body pressing against your back. His cock nudges between your thighs, not yet aiming for entrance. The hot, hard length slides against your inner lips, coated now in the moisture that’s been gathering there. The feeling is exquisite—the smooth, firm pressure rubbing against your most sensitive outer parts. You moan, pushing back against him, wanting more.

“Tell me,” he whispers into your ear, his body blanketing you. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you and come inside you.”

You’re breathing hard, your chest compressed against the couch arm. “I want it,” you gasp. “I want you to fuck me…to… to finish inside.”

He makes a sound, a low groan of approval. His hands tighten on your hips. Then he shifts, the head of his cock finding its target. It presses against your opening, which is already swollen and plump from anticipation. The outer lips are puffy, stretched slightly apart by his pressure. He doesn’t push in yet; he just holds it there, letting you feel the blunt, warm promise of his penetration.

Then he pushes—slow, controlled. The head breaches you, a firm, spreading pressure that makes your eyes roll back. Your inner walls are drenched, soaked with your own arousal, and they part for him easily but with a delicious, gripping resistance. You feel every millimeter of his advance. His cock is thick, and it stretches you as it sinks deeper, a filling, claiming sensation that makes your toes curl. He goes in until his full length is buried, his hips flush against your ass. You’re stretched around him, your internal muscles clamping down on the intrusion instinctively, then relaxing to accommodate him.

He holds there, deep inside you, both of you breathing raggedly. His body is hot against your back. You can feel the subtle pulse of his cock within you, the hard reality of him planted in your core.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel incredible. So deep. So ready for me.”

He pulls back, then pushes in again. This time, the motion is smoother, a full, slick glide. Your body accepts him completely. The feeling of being fucked in this position is intense—your breasts are mashed against the couch, your ass is high and open, and every inward stroke of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure straight up your spine. His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, a soft, impactful tap that adds another layer of sensation.

His pace builds. He starts a rhythm, steady and deep. Each thrust is a full-length drive, his cock plunging in until the head nudges something deep and tender inside you—your cervix. The contact isn’t painful; it’s a profound, internal pressure that makes your whole abdomen clench. You gasp, your mouth open against the couch fabric.

He changes angles slightly, and the next thrust brushes a different spot—a rougher, textured patch on your front wall. Your G-spot. The sensation is immediate and electric; a burst of pleasure radiates outward, making your thighs shake. You cry out, a short, sharp sound.

He hears it and focuses there. His thrusts become more targeted, the head of his cock dragging over that specific area with each inward stroke. The friction is exquisite, a rubbing, building heat that makes your own fluids gush around him. You can feel the wetness, a hot slickness that coats his shaft and drips down your inner thighs. The smell of it, of sex, fills the space between you—musky, intimate, and profoundly arousing.

His hands move from your hips to your ass. He grips your cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Your ass is thick, and with each of his thrusts, it bounces and claps against his body. The impact sends ripples through the flesh, a visual and tactile proof of his force. He watches, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“Look at that,” he grunts. “Look at how you take me. Your body, fuck, so perfect for this, baby.”

His words feed the fantasy. You’re not just fucking; you’re being bred. The thought, ridiculous and taboo, sends a new wave of heat through you. Your internal muscles tighten around him, a rhythmic, clutching pulse that mimics the act of trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside.

He feels it and groans, his thrusts growing harder. “You’re gripping me,” he says, his voice strained. “You want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan, the word barely coherent. “Yes, Min. Fill me up.”

His pumping intensifies. He’s not just moving in and out now; he’s driving into you with a focused, powerful energy. Your nipples are painfully sensitive, scraping against the fabric of the couch, adding a sharp, subsidiary pain to the overwhelming pleasure.

You’re close. The orgasm builds not as a wave, but as a pressure—a ballooning, urgent tension in your core that threatens to rupture. Your breathing is ragged, your mouth open and gasping. Your eyes are half-closed, seeing nothing but the blur of the room and the feeling of his body dominating yours.

He senses your edge. One of his hands leaves your ass and slides around your hip, down to your front. His fingers find your clit, which is swollen and protruding, hard as a little pebble. He doesn’t rub it; he presses it, a firm, direct pressure that sends you over the brink.

The orgasm breaks and your inner muscles convulse around his cock, a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that grip and release him. Your fluids flood around him, a hot gush that you can feel escaping along his shaft, dripping down your thighs. The pleasure radiates outward, burning through your belly, down your legs, up into your chest. Your back arches impossibly, your head thrown back. A sound tears from your throat, a long, ragged moan that doesn’t seem to end. “Oh my—yessssss!”

He keeps fucking you through it. His thrusts become erratic, wild, but he doesn’t stop. He’s chasing his own finish, spurred by your climax. His cock is still buried deep, pistoning into your sensitized, contracting channel. The overstimulation is intense—each thrust sends new shocks through your oversensitive nerves, a painful pleasure that makes you gasp and whimper.

He’s breathing in harsh, broken gasps. His body is trembling against yours. His hand on your clit stays, pressing, amplifying everything.

“I’m gonna—” he grunts, the words fragmented. “I’m gonna come deep in your pussy. I’m gonna fill you up.”

His last few thrusts are hard, almost brutal. He drives into you, his hips slamming against your ass with a force that makes your whole body shudder. Then he stops, buried to the root. He holds there, his body rigid. “Fuck! Mmm, baby…that’s right, take my cum.”

Inside you, you feel him pulse. It’s a distinct, throbbing sensation deep within your stretched passage. Then the heat spreads. His release isn’t a single shot; it’s a hot, rushing flood that fills you. You feel the liquid warmth jetting into your deepest space, pooling inside you, a tangible, claiming deposit. It’s copious, abundant. The sensation of being filled, of his seed spreading inside your cavity, is profoundly physical and psychological. Your own spasming muscles seem to clutch at it, trying to pull it deeper, to keep it.

He groans, a long, shuddering sound of release. His body slumps against you, his weight pressing you fully into the couch. His cock stays inside, still hard, still dripping. You feel the overflow begin, a trickle of mixed fluids—his and yours—starting to seep out around the base of his shaft, down your thighs.

He stays like that for a long minute, both of you breathing in ragged, exhausted sync. The room is quiet except for your panting. The television is still on, some muted program casting soft light over your tangled bodies.

Slowly, he pulls out. The sensation is slow and slick, his cock sliding free, leaving you open and empty. A rush of warmth follows it, the deposited fluid beginning to escape more freely. You feel it, a hot trickle against your skin.

He turns you around, his hands gentle now. Your legs are weak, and you stumble into him. He holds you, his arms wrapping around you. Your face presses into his chest. You’re both sweaty, sticky, smelling of sex and completion.

He looks down at you, his eyes soft and satisfied. He kisses your forehead.

“Practice,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but smiling.

You laugh, a weak, breathy sound. “That was thorough practice.”

He nods, his hands stroking your back. “We’ve got a whole week,” he says. “We can practice a lot.”

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When you were younger, you hadn't pictured a future where you were a single mother. But, due to circumstances out of your control, that's where you currently were in life. 

It was just you and your son Kija, and honestly, you wouldn't trade it for anything.

It had been hard at first, not having the support of a partner. Your sister, the godsend that she was, came and stayed with you for the first two months, taking time off as much as she could and working remotely from your place when she couldn’t. 

You weren’t sure if you would've come out the other side sane if she hadn't.

But caring for Kija and balancing your work life had gotten easier the older he got. Luckily, your job was very accommodating and gave you a few days a week to work remotely, while the others you still went into the office.

On those days, Kija went to stay with a sweet neighbor who kindly babysat him. She kept insisting you not pay her, so you made sure to cook extra food at dinner and bring a portion to her. 

You made it work, but with a second mouth at home, sometimes money was a little tight.

So when one of your friends reached out to you about a side gig that could make you a little extra money, you took the time to consider it.

The only thing that made you hesitate was Kija himself. 

You'd been in the office that day when your friend had approached your desk.

“Kija is about 20 months old, right?”

You blinked, confused by the sudden topic. “Yeah, he is, why?”

He nodded excitedly. “Okay, cool, perfect, so you know how my sister works at JYP?”

You nodded back. The two of you had talked about that before when discussing some of your music taste. “What does that have to do with Kija?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “I'm getting there.” You wave him on and he sighs dramatically. “So apparently they're looking for boys, about 20 months old, to help with a filming project they're doing with one of their idol groups. They don't want to put out an all call if they can avoid it, so they're asking employees if they know of any babies. Hajin remembered me talking about you and Kija and asked if you might be interested.”

You paused. “What exactly is it for..?” 

He lit up, whipping out his phone. “Let me text you her work email and you can reach out to her there about it! She can give you more info and answer your questions better than I could.” He beamed. “It is paid though! I don't know how much, but I know kids are expensive. Plus, Kija is so cute, he'd kill it on screen.”

You laughed softly. “He is adorable.” You felt your phone vibrate with a text and you nodded to him. “I'll reach out to her. Thank you.”

He beamed. “Anytime noona.”

It took a while for you to fully draft out the email. A part of you was concerned you were somehow exploiting your child if you decided to do this…

But it wouldn't hurt to find out more information. It'd help you make a decision anyways. 

“Hi Hajin-ssi,

This is Y/L/N Y/F/N, Sojun's coworker and Kija's mom. He spoke with me today about the filming your company is looking to do with children Kija's age. I wanted to ask a few questions about that, if Kija is still someone your company would consider.

What specific dates/times would the filming be and for how long?

What activities would he be participating in?

If he is uncomfortable with the cameras or idol group, would he be forced to participate?

How many other children would be involved?

What is the specific purpose of this filming? 

Would I be allowed to stay on set during filming? 

Thank you for your time. This is a decision I am still making but wanted to have more information about it so I can make a well-informed one. I appreciate your consideration and understanding.

Y/N”

You got a reply to the email within the hour.

“Hello Y/N-ssi!

Thank you so much for reaching out. I've CC'd my manager on this email as she is the primary person responsible for talent. I'm happy to answer your questions, as well as provide additional information about requirements for the shoot. 

The shoot will take place on one day for 6 hours. There will be lunch provided for staff and the children. Any dietary needs or allergies will be kept in mind.

Both parents are encouraged to be on-site during the shoot, though one parent minimum is required to be present for the full duration. 

The goal of the company is to have 3 to 4 boys, aged roughly 20 months, at the shoot on the given day in order to achieve the goal of the filming. The idol group, Stray Kids, is going to be running a “community center” for their series SKZ Code. They will be trying to achieve specific goals with the kids such as a successful storytime, photo shoot, and lunch.

We are fully aware of the sometimes delicate nature of children. No pressure to perform will be put on any child who is present for the shoot. If they are experiencing distress, their comfort will be the priority and the members of Stray Kids are aware of this, too. 

While I am aware of how adorable Kija is from my brother, if you wish to proceed, we will need you to send a few photos of him (at least one headshot and one full body) to my manager's email along with his vaccination records. Please make sure to give us a response, whether a yes or a no, within the next 5 days.

If you have any other questions, please let us know. Thank you!

Yoon Hajin

JYP Entertainment”

Throughout the course of the day, you reread the email at least four times. You knew how huge Stray Kids was. It was hard not to when half of the adverts in downtown Seoul consisted of their faces. Millions of people would likely see your son, whether they knew he was yours or not. 

Did you want that? Would he want that when he was older? Maybe he'd think it was cool.

But at the same time, what if people saw him and found him lacking in some way? 

Would it be obvious he came from a single mother who was just doing her best?

You were still thinking about it as you took the subway home that evening. You barely remembered heading into your apartment complex until you were knocking on your neighbor's door.

Misoon smiled as she opened the door, Kija at her side. “Hello dear, how was work today?”

You smiled as Kija squealed and toddled over to you. You quickly scooped him up, unable to resist the urge to kiss his cheek. “It went well ajumeoni. I hope he wasn't any trouble.”

She waved a hand dismissively at you. “You know he never is.” 

You bowed your head at her. “Well thank you again, as always.” You nudged your son. “Say bye to halmeoni.”

“Bye ha'moni!” Kija parroted to the best of his ability. 

Misoon smiled softly and waved at your son. “Bye little one. Be kind to your eomma, okay?” 

Kija bonked his head lightly against yours. “My eomma.”

You couldn't help the way your heart fluttered at his comment. You patted the side of his head. “That's right. Now who wants dinner?” 

“Gogi?” He asked excitedly.

“We should still have some leftover bulgogi,” you told him as you walked over to your apartment and unlocked the door. “I'll heat up some rice and eggs too, okay?” 

You set your son down on the living room rug, which was already scattered with some of his favorite toys. From there, you could keep an eye on him while you worked in the kitchen to prepare your food. 

Luckily, your son is very good at entertaining himself. He kept his favorite stuffed tiger under his arm as he played with blocks and his other plushies. Occasionally he'd toddle over to you and proudly show you one of his toys, or babble something about them. You'd coo and nod accordingly before he happily toddled back and plopped down amongst his hoard. 

“Alright Kiki,” you said as you finished putting his portions onto his small plate, “dinner time!” 

Kija squealed excitedly, running over to you so you could scoop him up and get him into his high chair right beside you. 

Your meal time went like normal. Every once in a while Kija would demand food from your plate instead of his own. You wiped off his chin periodically and made sure he was chewing properly. 

Of course, he still got messy enough, but after dinner was always bath time.

Kija loved the water. You even got him a rubber tiger to go in the tub so he'd stop trying to drag his plushie one in with him.

It didn't always work, but you managed to keep his plush dry more often than not. 

Most of the time, dinner and a bath was enough to knock Kija out. All you had to do was dry him off and put him in his PJs and he'd be asleep before you had him fully tucked in in his crib.

Other times, though, he'd refuse to be separated from you and you'd end up cuddling with him on the couch as you read or watched your own shows.

Honestly, you didn't mind the latter. Sometimes you just needed to cuddle with your son, too.

Tonight was one of those nights. Kija was bundled up, resting against your chest as you scrolled YouTube.

You ended up throwing on an episode of a podcast, only half watching as you stared at your son.

His mop head, subtly curly, framed his soft face. His face was so sweet when he slept. His plump cheeks squished against you and his little button nose stuck out just enough that you had to resist the urge to pinch it.

God you loved him so much.

… Would it be so bad to have him on camera? Plenty of babies did one-off photoshoots or commercials. It wasn’t like you were thinking about turning him into a child star.

If he wanted to do that when he got older, you could discuss it then. 

Plus the extra money would be nice. He'd need new clothes again soon, especially with the seasons changing. 

You sighed softly, bending down just enough to kiss the top of his head. 

You'd respond to the email in the morning and figure out the rest of the logistics then. For now, you just wanted to enjoy the feeling of your son sleeping safe and sound against you.

He'd always be safe in your arms, you'd do everything in your power to make sure of that.

The shoot was scheduled for next week.

After replying to Hajin's email with a confirmation of your interest, as well as photos of Kija and a copy of his vaccination records, you quickly got sent back a contract and additional information about the shoot. 

You decided to take Kija to the store and get him a cute outfit for the shoot ahead of time. It wasn’t like he had ratty clothes, but you wanted to make sure he looked especially good if he was going to be on camera. 

For millions to see.

You managed to get the day off work, and gave Misoon a heads up that you'd be out for the day. 

Now here you were at the address you'd been given for the shoot. You were here an hour before the talent, Stray Kids, were supposed to arrive. The staff had wanted to give the kids time to explore and adjust to the space before throwing more new things at them.

You weren’t too worried about Kija. While he was a little shy at times, once he warmed up to someone, you couldn't keep him away. 

When you arrived at the shoot with Kija on your hip, Hajin was there to greet you.

“It's so good to see you Y/N-ssi,” she smiled. “I'm so glad you and Kija could be at our shoot today.”

You nodded to her. “It's nice to see you too Hajin-ssi.”

Hajin looked at Kija and cooed. “Gosh my brother's photos don't do him justice. He's such a doll.”

You beamed. “Thank you.”

“Come on, two of the other kids are here already. The room is just this way.”

You followed her down the hall and into the soft room. The filming crew was already set up, which you'd known they would be from the emails, but it was still odd to see in person.

Kija looked around curiously, his little hands gripping onto you just a bit harder, but he wasn't hiding his face away just yet. 

You gave quiet and polite greetings to those you passed as Hajin encouraged you to step further into the room.

When Kija spotted the toys on the ground, he instantly leaned over, demanding to be let down. You laughed softly and squatted so you could easily set him down, staying there for a moment as he walked away and over towards one of the other boys.

You ended up chatting with the other parents for a bit and quickly learned the other three kids’ names: Suho, Chanwook, and Yeonwoo.

It was almost easy to forget why you were here for a moment. It was just so nice talking to parents with kids the same age as your own. Your own friends and coworkers either didn't have kids, or their kids were much older. 

But then you were slowly encouraged to scoot back and see how your child did without you nearby, in preparation for the boys to arrive.

Right. 

Kija was happily absorbed in the plush cat he'd found, babbling away with Yeonwoo, uncaring about how far you were. 

You kept watching from the sidelines, glad to see he seemed so comfortable. 

Ten minutes later, the door to the room opened again. 

You knew who Stray Kids were. Hell, before having Kija you'd even went to one of their shows. You had a few of their albums, even.

But ever since Kija, you really just listened to their music casually. Your priorities had shifted and it honestly felt like you couldn't look at your favorite kpop groups anymore, knowing you couldn’t afford to participate like you used to.

It was easier to just ignore them then long from the sidelines.

Needless to say, you recognized each of their faces as they walked into the room.

The boys were all dressed in very soft and comfortable clothing. They all shuffled in, toeing off their shoes as they gathered around the director and spoke to him in quiet tones. You watched as they greeted a few people, looking around the room before spotting the kids. 

Felix instantly cooed at the sight of them. You could see Chan, Minho, and Han's faces all softening as they took in the adorable toddlers.

You didn't blame them. They were very cute.

You weren't biased.

The camera crew had started doing some close ups of the kids as the boys dispersed a bit amongst the crew. Some of them spoke to each other, while others were clearly trying to see what else the room had to offer.

You were so busy watching them all, you almost didn't realize Chan was walking up to you.

You'd been standing next to Chanwook's parents when the leader of the kpop group came up to you. He smiled, dipping his head to you all.

“Hi, I'm not sure if you know me, but I'm Bang Chan. Thank you all for trusting us with your kids today. I promise we'll take good care of them.”

Oh, well that was very polite. 

You bowed back. “Thank you Chan-ssi.”

“If any of you need something during the shoot, please don't hesitate to ask, okay?” He smiled again. “I know being on a film set can be overwhelming at first, but I promise we'll take care of you as well.”

You thanked him again and he bowed once more before heading back to his members. 

Suho's mother was the last out there, still hanging out near her timid child as the director gave the cue for the boys to start walking out and interacting with the kids. 

Jeongin was the first to step out, looking a bit intimidated by the toddlers, which was a bit comical. He paused near Yeonwoo, who was dancing by himself, and tentatively tried to join in.

Hyunjin made a more robust approach, clapping and talking excitedly as he walked out.

Minho, Changbin, and Han were a bit more lowkey, either being quiet or talking softly as they slowly walked into the middle of the floor.

Suho got overwhelmed pretty quickly, instantly leaning into his mom.

Kija was still seated on the stage, watching the boys with wide eyes as they got closer. He was clutching the black cat plush to his chest with one hand while the other, which had been pushing around a toy car, slowed down as he took in the new people in the room. Chanwook was nearby, having waddled off of the stage when the boys first came in.

Hyunjin, who’d sat down near Chanwook, glanced over at Kija and smiled, waving at him. Kija held up his cat plush, hiding behind it for a moment, making Hyunjin coo.

“Oh he’s shy.”

“Shy but brave,” Changbin commented, glancing at Suho who was now gently being led behind the cameras to hopefully calm down.

Yeonwoo was putting on a show, encouraged by the boys’ clapping. Most of the boys were focused on him, which made sense since his adorable clapping and dancing made for good content.

But your eyes were still mostly on your child. You wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting too overwhelmed.

As Seungmin joined the frame, with Felix crawling in shortly after, Minho shifted over to sit near Kija. He left some space beside the child, but tilted his head to peer around the cat.

“That’s a cute cat you have,” he said softly.

Kija peered around the cat at Minho, still hiding half of his face but otherwise not shying away. You had to resist the urge to talk to him, knowing that he’d do better if he forgot you were over here.

If he truly needed you, you’d be over in an instant, but he was doing just fine. He was brave, like Changbin said.

The other Stray Kids boys were slowly sitting in a circle around the mat in the middle of the floor. Minho didn’t move yet, though, just waiting patiently as he sat near your son.

“Do you want to join us?” He asked, offering out a hand.

Kija eyed his hand for a moment before looking back at Minho’s face. He must’ve liked what he saw because he slowly let go of his car and reached out to Minho.

Minho beamed, elated at being shown trust. He waited until Kija was a little closer before he happily scooped him up.

Kija snuggled into Minho’s side, keeping his now claimed cat plush close to his chest as Minho joined the circle of boys. He gracefully sat on one of the seats as staff came over to hand out the profiles they made for each of the four kids.

“Oh it says that Kija really likes animals, especially his favorite stuffed tiger,” Han noted as he read the sheet.

“Look at him now,” Seungmin said, gesturing to where Kija was seated in Minho’s lap, “he already found a new cat friend.”

Kija blinked up at Seungmin before proudly holding up his cat plush. “‘O’yan’i?”

Minho, Seungmin, and Felix instantly cheered for him and his pronunciation. 

“No wonder he likes Minho-hyung already,” Hyunjin teased.

Minho shrugged, smiling. “He clearly has good taste.” 

Yeonwoo and Chanwook were up and toddling around. Yeonwoo was running behind the cameras to grab snacks and feed the older boys, making each of them get excited when they were chosen.

A part of you worried that Kija wasn’t going to be “interesting” enough for the filming, but Minho and Felix seemed perfectly content to sit with him, showing him other plushies and beaming anytime they got him to smile.

When Yeonwoo was handed a bubble gun, giggling excitedly as he “attacked” both Jeongin and Chan, Kija perked up. His wide eyes were fixated on the bubbles and he finally seemed ready to stand up and be amongst the group. Minho watched him go with a smile as your son remained fully fixated on the shiny spheres.

Suho had started to walk back towards the group, eyeing them warily from the far wall near the soft, plush stairs. Minho and Hyunjin, who were closest to him, both turned and tried to encourage him over.

Poor Suho, though, got overwhelmed again very fast and let out a sharp cry, stumbling back towards his dad.

That got Kija’s attention. His head turned to find the sound, and, when he noticed Minho was far away, he quickly toddled over. Minho, who’d been backing up apologetically, didn’t notice him until your son grabbed his hand.

“Minho, what did you do,” Han teased.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Minho pleaded, laughing nervously at having seen the small boy cry. “I- oh,” he paused, looking down at Kija. “Hi Kija.”

Your son blinked up at him, still clutching the cat plush in his other hand, before he tugged on Minho’s arm.

“Looks like you’re being kidnapped hyung,” Seungmin laughed while Minho obediently shuffled behind your son.

Yeonwoo turned and spotted the two coming over and giggled, instantly rounding on his new targets with his bubble gun. Kija squealed excitedly. Minho scooped him up, dramatically shielding him from the bubbles, making both Kija and Yeonwoo giggle louder while Minho “melted” under the assault. 

Yeonwoo turned back to attacking Chan while Changbin fished around for a ball in the nearby toy crate, bouncing it on the ground as he tried to get Chanwook’s attention. 

Eventually, Yeonwoo grew bored of the bubbles, suddenly remembering the existence of the small, upstairs area. He took off without preamble, clambering up the steps and out of sight.

Chanwook spotted him racing away and decided that whatever Yeonwoo was doing was way more interesting than trying to play catch with Chan and Changbin. He, too, took off up the stairs, making Changbin, Seungmin, and Minho scramble behind in order to keep an eye on them.

Kija was seated with Hyunjin and Felix, happily rolling a ball back and forth. The boys clapped each time he pushed it, making him beam and clap along with them. You'd been smiling to yourself, having turned your attention solely back to your son, until you heard an “oomf” from off to the side.

You turned your head just in time to see Minho slip down the rounded stairs. Seungmin moved out of the way, leaving room for his friend to slide all the way down to the floor.

Kija clearly noticed, too, pushing himself to his feet and toddling over to Minho just as he was standing up.

“Dah!” Kija exclaimed, pointing to Minho, who was rubbing his head sheepishly.

Seungmin laughed. “See, he thinks it's funny, too!”

Minho huffed good-naturedly, but Kija just stepped forward, patting Minho's leg and gesturing towards his head again.

“Oh did you wanna see?” Minho asked, crouching down to Kija's level.  

Kija shuffled forward, patting the top of Minho's head before leaning forward and giving it an open mouthed kiss. “Mwah!” 

Hyunjin gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “He just kissed it better!”

“Do you feel better now hyung?” Seungmin asked, still smiling cheekily.

Minho was looking at your son with wide, adoring eyes. He didn't even spare a glance at Seungmin as he replied, a small smile on his face. “All better.” 

Kija clapped, clearly pleased with himself as he turned around and toddled back over to Hyunjin and Felix, who were clapping excitedly along with him. 

“He's clearly going to be a doctor someday,” Felix commented as he rolled the ball back to Kija. 

“Or a veterinarian," Han laughed.

Minho ended up joining Kija's game of “push the ball around,” deciding against attempting the stairs again, while Felix shuffled off in a desperate attempt to get Suho to come out and play with them. 

After a while, and another unsuccessful attempt to get Suho to join, the boys decided to move on to the first planned “activity” of the day: a dance session. 

Chanwook happily followed down the stairs behind Changbin, but Yeonwoo wasn't so easily swayed from whatever toys he'd found up there. Seungmin tried coaxing him down the stairs, but he wasn't even watching the older boy.

Eventually, Minho stood up to help. Your son watched him walk away, slowly pouting more and more as Minho went further until he stomped his foot and gave a little screech, causing Minho to pause in his tracks.

Han laughed. “Kija didn't like you leaving him Minho.”

“Oh I'm sorry Kija-ah,” Minho teased playfully, coming back over and opening his arms to Kija, who immediately threw himself at the man. Minho's eyes widened as Kija practically flopped into his hold, but he quickly adjusted and scooped up the boy, keeping him on his hip as he went over to grab a piece of bread for Yeonwoo.

He tore off a chunk for Kija, who grabbed it and started happily nomming on it while Minho peered up the stairs with the rest of the piece in his other hand.

Now that got Yeonwoo's attention. 

As Yeonwoo made it to the bottom of the stairs, Minho glanced back at the other boys. “You know, I already have a baby in one hand.”

“You have two for a reason hyung,” Seungmin called back, even as he was already making his way over to help.

At first Seungmin reached for Kija, even though he knew Minho meant for help with Yeonwoo. Kija eyed Seungmin and gave a small screech, smacking away the boy's hands when he brought them too close.

Minho laughed. “No, this one's mine. I meant Yeonwoo.” 

This one's mine. 

You'd seen plenty of other people hold and play with your son before. Sure most of them were family members, or older folks in your apartment building, but still. It wasn't the first time your son had been cuddled by someone else. 

So why was this time making your heart stutter in your chest? 

You watched as the boys continued to play with the kids for a bit before finally being nudged by the director to at least attempt to start the first activity. You couldn’t help but snort at their antics, but it was also incredibly endearing.

Chan was holding Yeonwoo on his legs, moving the boy up and down as he giggled excitedly. Seungmin and Felix were holding Chanwook between them, gently swinging him around. Minho had shifted Kija up to sit on his shoulders, doing a few squats, which made your son laugh and pat the top of Minho's head. You saw him grab Minho's hair a few times, and winced sympathetically along with Minho when he tugged, but Minho made no move to stop him.

Eventually, Chanwook and Kija were both gently sat on their feet while Changbin, Minho, and Hyunjin went up on the stage. The boys, in a loose circle on the floor, all clapped excitedly to try and get the kids’ attention.

Kija was hovering near where Minho had set him. Felix shuffled over to be near him, looking at the boy with an eager expression and clapping. Kija glanced at Minho a few times, but upon seeing him clap, too, he tentatively joined in, which led to more cheering and encouragement.

“Okay,” Changbin called out, “the first song we're going to be dancing to… is God's Menu!” 

As the song started playing, Yeonwoo immediately climbed up onto the stage, half of his slice of bread still clutched in his hand. Minho and Changbin stood up and started to do a small dance, looking at the boy encouragingly.

Kija stared up at the other boys around him as they also started dancing. Felix was looking at him and reached a hand out to the toddler with a smile. Kija stared for a moment before grabbing one of Felix's fingers, letting the boy start to maneuver him along with the beat. 

Kija stared blankly before he beamed, showing off his teeth and beginning to bounce in place. 

“Yah! They're naturals!” Hyunjin cheered as both Yeonwoo and Kija did their own version of dancing to the music. 

“They've got rhythm already!” Felix agreed, beaming.

Suho slowly wandered into the circle, staring at Jeongin in fascination as the maknae started to sing along to the song to him. Chan had scooped up Chanwook and was now bouncing him side to side along with the music, which the boy seemed very contented by. 

Overall it was very cute, the rest of the Stray Kids boys eventually standing up and dancing along as the kids smiled and laughed, or at least didn't cry (aka Suho). 

The kids all started to get bored as the song shifted to Ceremony, however. Suho decided that he didn't want to dance anymore and began to cry, with Felix stepping over to try and comfort him. Chanwook and Yeonwoo had started to toddle off and were quickly scooped back up by Changbin and Minho.

Kija was clutching his cat plush once more, a bit uncertain by the slight chaos that had unfolded. He looked around uncertainly and suddenly spotted you amongst the cameras.

Instantly he was locked on as he let out a whine and made a beeline straight for you. You crouched down, opening your arms for him to barrel into.

“Hey Kiki, it's okay,” you soothed, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head.

You were so focused on soothing Kija that you didn't notice Minho's worried attention on your son. Kija was already starting to calm down, content to just stand between your legs, when you noticed someone walk over.

Minho squatted down in front of you, smiling apologetically. “Hey Kija, sorry that got loud, didn't it?”

Kija sniffled, turning his head to stare at Minho curiously. Minho looked so fond as your son's boba eyes looked at him. But he glanced up at you after a moment, holding a hand out. “Do you mind if I try to take him back out there? Or do you think he needs a moment still?”  

You glanced down at Kija, who was still staring wide-eyed at Minho. You smiled and glanced back up at him. “He likes you, you can try and take him.”

Minho blushed softly, smiling and a bit flustered at the compliment. He looked back at Kija, opening his arms. “Want to go back, Kija?” 

Ceremony was coming to a close in the background, with the other boys still trying to keep Yeonwoo and Chanwook engaged. Kija just blinked at Minho before reaching out to him.

Minho beamed, taking Kija into his arms again. “Thank you,” he said softly, to both you and Kija, before taking him back out to the group. 

You stayed squatted for a moment later, smiling to yourself as you saw Kija relax into the other boy's arms. 

Yeonwoo and Chanwook waddled back upstairs, their parents stepping in for a moment as the rest of the boys sat on the floor.

Kija was content, sitting in Minho's lap and happily pushing a car around as the boys took a moment to unwind.

It was kind of funny to see 6 grown men already exhausted after only an hour of entertaining kids a fraction their size. 

But also, you got it. Kids were exhausting. You could still remember how dead tired you were within the first year of having Kija. 

Of course, at one point you were still recovering from giving birth, but the point still stands. 

“How are we supposed to do this for five more hours?” Seungmin groaned softly, flopping back onto the floor. He rolled over, eyeing the vacant expressions on his friends’ faces and sat up to laugh at them.

Kija looked up at the sound and giggled along, making Minho snort, and causing Han and Hyunjin to crack a smile, too. 

“I'm gonna become Kija's favorite, hyung,” Seungmin grinned.

Minho's arms tightened around Kija slightly, leaning down to brush his chin against the top of Kija's head. “Not a chance.” 

Han, Jeongin, Chan, and Felix ended up stepping away for a moment while the other boys took a breather. The next activity on the list, from what you could recall of the schedule the staff had sent you, was storytime. 

Slowly, Yeonwoo and Chanwook were brought back into the room, followed shortly by the missing members of Stray Kids.

Who were now wearing animal onesies. Specifically 3 pig onesies and 1 wolf onesie.

Oh that's so cute.

Changbin siddled up to the stage, plopping down on a stool as Hyunjin tried to get Yeonwoo to look over at the group.

He was too enamored with the car set in front of him.

Chanwook was sitting with Chan, who was making adorable growling noises at him and tickling his stomach.

While Changin was trying to call everyone to attention, Felix was squatted down in front of Kija, who was happily “honking” the nose on Felix’s onesie. Each time he squeezed it, Felix made oinking sounds, which made your son giggle and squeeze it again.

“Everyone!” Changbin called out excitedly.

“Yes?” the boys all chorused in return, though most of them didn’t even glance over at their friend.

“It’s now second period, which means it’s storytime!”

Felix reluctantly left Kija’s side and went to join the other three little pigs near Changbin. Chan had shifted to lay on his side as Chanwook pushed around a dump truck. Kija was bouncing his plush cat in his hands, staring up at Minho with wide eyes while Minho kept making faces at him.

“Today’s story is The Three Little Pigs!” Changbin cheered, trying to get the room engaged.

To be fair, the other boys did “woo” in return, but it was half-hearted at best, making you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. 

“Our four assistants will help act out the book, and I will narrate! Let’s go!” Changbin continued, undeterred by the lack of reaction.

This time, the other boys clapped along. Chanwook clapped, not taking his eyes off of his truck, and Kija clapped too, glancing between Minho and Felix, who was slowly scooting back towards him.

“They’re not interested,” Jeongin laughed.

“It’s fine! I’ll make it interesting," Changbin insisted. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, teacher,” the other boys clapped along.

“Wait, wait, we’re the only ones enjoying this,” Han whined. “Why are only the adults having fun?”

“Bah!” Kija shouted out, pointing at Felix but staring at Han.

“See! Kija’s ready,” Felix said, glancing over his shoulder at Changbin, grinning.

“Good enough,” Changbin said, making Jeongin laugh. “Get back here little pigs. Let’s begin!”

The three pigs climbed onto the stage, but Han wasn’t giving up yet. He squatted slightly, clapping his hands as he looked between Yeonwoo and Chanwook.

“Yeonwoo-ah! Chanwook-ah! Over here!” he called out.

Both toddlers ignored him, which made Hyunjin laugh.

Minho was now shifted so he was mostly facing the stage, a content Kija still firmly in his lap. Chanwook was close by, playing with a truck, while Seungmin kept an eye on him.

“It’s fine! We have Kija,” Changbin said, gesturing to your son. Then, he cleared his throat and began telling the story. “Once upon a time, in a country village, there lived three little pigs.” 

The three boys introduced themselves from oldest to youngest as Changbin started telling the familiar story of them being told to leave their home and go build houses for themselves.

You let the words wash over you, not truly paying attention to the story telling, and instead looking at Minho and Kija. 

Kija was staring up at the pigs, though every once in a while he’d glance up and look at Minho. Minho was mostly looking at your son, content to make faces at him anytime their eyes met, making your boy grin and excitedly wave his toy around.

As the pigs danced around on stage, Chanwook was distracted by Chan, who was now “attacking” him again, making him squeal in excitement. Seungmin looked half asleep, though he had a smile on his face as he supported the toddler’s back.

Han clapped, declaring that he should build his house out of straw, which finally caught Chanwook’s attention. The toddler had shuffled over, now leaning against Minho’s leg as he stared up at the pigs with wide eyes. Minho shifted his arm so he could support the other toddler, too, as both kids watched the story unfold.

The pigs were happy now with two toddlers’ attention on them. Han squatted down, telling the story to their faces and doing exaggerated building motions.

“Look at him build,” Minho said, pointing at the stage.

Han clapped his hands together. “All done!” He declared, looking at the babies in a desperate bid for approval.

“Dah!” Kija agreed, clapping his hands together once, too.

Han beamed, elated with his successful acting as Felix took the center stage and started talking about building his house out of the forest he was in.

Kija, however, had suddenly remembered his toy existed again. He held the cat up in front of him, staring at it with wide eyes before holding it up higher for Minho to see. “‘Yan’i?”

Minho clapped. “Goyangi, that’s right!”

“Yah Minho-ah,” Han complained playfully, “is Kija more exciting than our story?” 

“Maybe,” Minho teased, glancing back up at the three pigs as they continued to “build” their houses. 

Chanwook and Yeonwoo were back on the playmat, however, very content to just push around the car toys on their tracks instead of watching the riveting show the older boys were putting on.

“Right now this story is only being watched by our camera directors and our crew,” Changbin laughed.

“Kija, Kija,” Minho said softly, bouncing your toddler gently in his lap. “Look.”

Minho pointed at the stage and Kija blinked, staring up at him for a moment before following his arm and meeting Felix’s eyes.

Felix beamed, waving at him. “Look Kija, I’m building my house out of wood!”

Chan managed to pat Chanwook, excitedly pointing at the stage and successfully redirecting his attention, too.

Now that the boys had at least two audience members who weren’t paid to be here, they excitedly continued, using props and exaggerated motions to keep the boys’ attention. 

As Jeongin was building his house, Chan laughed, mimicking the exaggerated “building” motions he was making.

“Ah, while he’s still building his house, let’s go play!” Han called, tugging Felix along and dancing on the stage.

“But then, one day, the big bad wolf came into town!” Changbin called out.

Chan finally rose to his feet, holding his arms out, fingers curled in a claw-like shape. He roared, baring his teeth at the kids.

Kija instantly shrunk back into Minho’s arms, hiding behind his cat plush, though he peered around it slightly. Minho laughed, holding Kija closer as Chanwook stared up at Chan in shock.

Hyunjin pointed out the “big bad” to Yeonwoo, who stared at him for a moment before turning and tucking himself into Hyunin’s arms.

Chan turned his focus to Chanwook, since he’d successfully “attacked” him a few times today already. Sure enough, Chanwook started laughing as Chan tickled his stomach, making Kija peer out cautiously to see what was going on.

“Rah!” Chan said, looking at Kija.

“Ah!” Kija mimicked, making Minho and Seungmin laugh. Chan giggled, but quickly roared back at him, tickling his stomach, too.

God, his laughter was your favorite sound. 

As Chan finally turned his attention back to the pigs, declaring how hungry he was, Chanwook decided to become a hero. He kept chasing after Chan and “pushing” him over, before excitedly scampering away. He repeated this process several times, making the boys of all ages laugh and cheer him on.

Finally the boys flopped down, story reaching a “conclusion” of sorts after being thoroughly ad-libbed by Changbin. Felix went around letting Yeonwoo honk his nose, making the young boy giggle excitedly.

Han had come over to sit next to Minho, reaching his hands out to Kija. “What did you think of the story Kija? Was it funny?”

Kija blinked up at him.

“What kind of animal is he, Kija-ah?” Minjo prompted, pointing at the pig face on Han’s onesie.

“‘Ji!” Kija proudly declared, making the boys clap and cheer.

“Hey! That’s almost my name, too!” Han beamed.

“Oh does that mean you’re also a pig?” Changbin asked.

“You already have that covered Bin-ah,” Jeongin laughed, making Changbin stick his tongue out at him. 

They let the toddlers play around for a bit, Chan and Changbin chasing Chanwook when he went upstairs, while Minho and Han dutifully followed Kija when he decided to go grab a different plushie from the toybox to add to his collection.

While they were thoroughly distracted, the crew began to set up for the next segment, which was meant to be photoshoots with each of the kids. This included balloons strung up on the wall, and different themes for each kid.

First was Yeonwoo with a bakery theme.

It was quite comical to watch the boys try and wrangle the kids into hats, much less try to get them to sit still or look at a camera. Yeonwoo kept trying to eat the fake bread and it took a lot of convincing to get the hat to stay on his head, too.

Honestly, you bet the photos turned out adorable, nonetheless.

Next up was Kija with a pool party theme.

Minho and Han joined Kija on the stage, managing to sit him in a tiny inner tube. When Han tried to take away his plush cat, he screeched, making Han instantly back away.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He cried, hands up. “I thought cats didn’t like to swim!”

Kija was looking at Han warily, but Minho managed to get his attention back by holding out a rubber ducky. “Do you want this instead? Just for a second?”

Kija stared at the rubber ducky intensely before slowly reaching out for it. Minho gently grabbed the cat plushie and managed to switch it for the ducky without any fuss.

“How did you do that?” Han asked, eyes wide.

Minho just smirked. “I’m his favorite, obviously.”

Chan was sat in front of the group, holding up his phone as the last of the props were organized. There was a slight “argument” about whether Kija should wear the sunglasses or the sunhat, but they finally decided the sunglasses were cuter.

Now they just had to get him to look at the camera.

From dancing, clapping, and making the most random sounds they could, the boys finally declared that they had to have at least one good picture. Minho and Han clapped, making Kija clap too. Minho reached down, helping take the sunglasses off Kija and scooping him out of the inner tube before handing him back the plush cat.

Kija beamed at Minho, bonking his head against the older’s shoulder. You could practically see Minho melt as he brought a hand up to cup the back of your son’s head, rocking him back and forth.

“I don’t know if I can let him go later,” he said softly, though you still picked it up from across the room.

You could understand the feeling, honestly. 

Chanwook’s photoshoot, an artist theme, went pretty smoothly despite him highly protesting having a hat on.

Suho, on the other hand, was more of an adventure. They managed to keep him on stage, and he didn’t cry a ton, but he was very against the hat to the point where he almost cried.

Still a win, in your opinion. He was warming up slowly, but still seemed overwhelmed if the boys gave him too much attention. 

The boys were once again complaining about exhaustion at the end of the photoshoots. They’d taken nearly an hour, to be fair, having to switch out the set each time between the four kids, and constantly acting energetic to keep kids engaged was no joke. 

Next up was a scooter race. After trying to coax Suho out to join, to make the teams even, they decided to have one of the members be on two teams.

They did a round of rock paper scissors until only one person was left: Jeongin.

“You better not cheat!” Han pointed as the boys got ready on their scooters.

“Cheat how?” Jeongin asked.

“I don’t know!”

What followed was three of the boys shimmying on scooters down and around a cone in a relay fashion. Once all three of them were done, their goal was to get their respective toddler onto a scooter where they would then lead them through the course and across the finish line.

Fastest time wins, obviously.

The first up was Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin with Yeonwoo. Then it was Chan, Han, and Hyunjin with Chanwook. Finally would be Kija with Minho, Changbin, and Jeongin again.

Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin raced through the course, but then had to take nearly two minutes just to convince Yeonwoo to get on his scooter, with Yeonwoo pushing his scooter himself the last half of the course.

Chanwook’s time was much faster. Chan showed off his ability to ride the scooter (which is one he had “back at home” apparently) and Chanwook was happy to climb on and be pushed around by the older boys.  

Finally, it was Kija’s team’s turn. Minho gently set Kija on the stage as he did the race. Kija watched him with eagle eyes, instantly reaching back out once Minho was standing next to him again.

Kija was easy to convince to get onto the scooter as long as Minho was the one to put him on it. He kicked his feet happily, holding onto his cat with one hand while Minho braced him, holding his other. Changbin cheered and dragged the scooter around the course without issue, crossing the finish line and clapping excitedly.

“Who won? Who won?” Han asked, peering around at the crew.

“Obviously we did,” Seungmin said sarcastically.

It turned out that the race was closer than they anticipated. Not for Yeonwoo’s team, they took nearly 3 minutes, but Kija and Chanwook’s times were only separated by 16 seconds.

Kija’s team came in second, but the boys cheered anyway, making Kija clap and laugh excitedly.

Now it was time for the “lunch” period.

The members of Stray Kids were taking a short break while the tables, chairs, and food were brought in. Kija was happily in your arms, resting his head on your shoulder as he slowly blinked at the room around him.

Yeah, he was going to sleep good tonight.

As the last of the setup was being finished, Minho stepped over to you again.

“Can I take him over?” He asked softly.

Kija perked up when Minho stepped into sight, lifting his head up for a moment until a big yawn escaped him. You laughed lightly. “Yes, just don’t be surprised if he falls asleep right after eating.”

Minho laughed, reaching his arms out so you could more easily transfer the half-asleep toddler into them. “I don’t mind. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“Thank you,” you replied and he nodded to you, lips still quirked in a small smile. He gave you a small bow and stepped away to get Kija situated at the table.

Each of the kids were flanked by two boys. Kija had Minho and Seungmin on either side of him. 

The lunch for the day was jajangmyeon and sweet and sour pork, which you knew Kija was going to love.

Set out on the table were portions for Stray Kids and the toddlers. After saying thank you for the meal, the older boys quickly started getting the food ready, shaking it up in its containers to properly mix it, and cutting up pieces of pork to make sure they were the right size for the kids to eat. 

Suho didn’t last long, much to Han and Hyunjin’s disappointment. They put in the effort to prepare a small plate for him, though, and brought it over to him on the sidelines, which was adorable.

Kija kept trying to grab food out of Changbin’s hand as he was moving it onto the plate. At one point he reached over for the noodles Minho was cutting up, though the man quickly grabbed his hand before it could get close to the blade.

“Yah he’s starving Minho, hurry up,” Changbin teased.

“I have to make them the right size!” Minho called back, but he was already offering a short noodle to Kija, who happily leaned in and chewed it up.

As the boys tried to encourage Suho back to the table, Chanwook joined in, waving and calling out, which made the boys coo and try harder to get Suho to rejoin them.

Kija smacked his plastic spork against the table. “Jah!”

“He wants his jajangmyeon, hyung,” Felix said, looking over from where he’d been preparing Yeonwoo’s plate.

“Yeah, if you can’t take care of your kid, I’ll switch with you,” Seungmin teased.

“Just because I’m taking my time to do it right instead of rushing doesn’t mean I’m not taking care of him,” Minho countered as he spooned some more cut up food onto Kija’s plate.

“Mah!” Kija agreed, smacking his spoon against the noodles before Minho reached in with his chopsticks to help feed him another bite.

Slowly, Suho came back into frame and began to interact with Hyunjin more, much to the delight of the boy and the crew. The cameras quickly turned focus onto him as he came over to repeatedly bonk his head against Hyunjin’s before scurrying away.

It was so adorable, you were happy to see the toddler more relaxed and engaging with the other boys.

As lunch settled into a calmer atmosphere, food was brought out for the parents and crew. You were given a small plate, which you thanked the staff for, as you stood off to the side eating.

The whole time you ate, your eyes were on Minho and Kija. 

Kija was perfectly content to try and stab at his pork while turning to Minho with an open mouth anytime he wanted more noodles. Minho was hardly eating his own food, taking bites infrequently as he was too focused on making sure Kija got enough to eat, wiping off his mouth and giving him drinks of water whenever he asked for it.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected to happen today. A part of you was pretty certain this was going to be more of a joke shoot, with the boys trying their best but ultimately staff helping out when it came to the “dirty work.”

You should’ve known better. Maybe you just had a jaded view of celebrities, assuming most of their actions were faked for their camera. Sure there were cameras here, but you couldn’t fake the fond looks into the boys’ eyes as they took care of each of these kids dutifully and diligently.

Just as you were finishing your own food, you noticed Kija begin to yawn and rub at his eyes. While he’d perked up a bit when Minho initially took him back to the table, and even more so once food was in front of him, he was clearly crashing again as the meal began to settle in his stomach.

Minho took a moment to gently wipe the sauce off of Kija’s face before turning and opening his arms to the boy. Kija reached out for him, eagerly wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck and snuggling into the crook of his neck.

“Aw, you have a little koala on you Minho,” Chan cooed as Minho shifted him to the side so he could take a few more bites.

Minho smiled, not saying anything in return as he gently rested his cheek atop Kija’s head.

After just a few more bits, Minho stood up, cradling Kija protectively as he walked around the table and back over to you.

You held out your arms as Kija whined at being transferred. You gently shooshed him, but he peered over at Minho with watery eyes.

“Oh gosh, I have to look away,” Minho said. Quickly, as if without thinking, Minho leaned in and kissed the top of Kija’s head. “I’ll be back, okay? You need to get into your sleep clothes first. I promise I’ll be back.”

Minho froze then, eyes wide as he realized what he did. He looked at you in a slight panic. “I’m so sorry.”

You instantly shook your head to stop his panic. “I get it, it’s hard not to fall in love with him.” You gave him a reassuring smile. “He deserves kisses. I’m not upset.”

Minho slowly unfroze and nodded. “You’re right, he’s very easy to fall in love with.” He blinked, standing up a little straighter. “Thank you for bringing him today.”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure about this at first, but I’m glad I did.” Glancing down at him, you smiled fondly. “I think he had a great time with you, too, so thank you for that as well.”

Minho nodded again, a blush creeping back up onto his cheeks. He seemed hesitant to leave. “I’ll be back. I have to finish my food.”

You laughed softly. “You’re fine, go ahead.”

Minho glanced back at Kija one more time before quickly turning and walking back to his food. You watched him go for a moment before you stepped away also, back over to where you’d put your stuff, so you could get Kija's sleep clothes out and get him changed.

It wasn’t easy to get a sleepy toddler into a different outfit, but you had enough experience that you made it through with minimal fuss. 

You stepped back into the room quietly, Kija half asleep on your shoulder, and saw that the tables had been pushed away and replaced with several sleeping mats, pillows, and blankets. 

Jeongin and Chanwook were already out amongst the mats, the youngest member bent down and talking with the toddler. Before you could really hear what they were saying, you spotted Minho across the room. He spotted you, too, and his eyes widened in excitement before he quickly came over to you.

“Kija-ah,” he cooed softly, “oh don’t you look so cozy.”

Minho stepped up near you, though keeping a still respectful distance, as he brought a hand up to gently rest it on Kija’s back. Kija peered up at him, blinking before reaching a hand out to grab Minho’s hand, holding it hostage and closing his eyes again.

“Oh,” Minho breathed softly, keeping his hand determinedly still in order to not disturb the sleepy child.

“Kiki, why don’t you go to Minho-ssi for a nap, hm?” You said quietly to your son, gently but intentionally shifting him in your arm until you were transferring him over to Minho’s.

Kija went happily, flopping against Minho’s shoulder and immediately making himself comfortable again.

Minho kept his wide eyes on the sleeping child, instinctively rocking him back and forth. Eventually, he blinked, breaking himself from his wonder trance. He smiled at you, shifting just slightly to get a firmer hold on Kija. “I’m not sure how long the napping segment will be, but it’s the last one of the day.”

You nodded. “He can sleep anywhere, so it won’t be a problem.”

Minho nodded back, looking you over for a moment, before blinking. “Well, I’ll make sure he sleeps well while he’s here.”

You smiled softly at him. “I appreciate that.”

Minho licked his lips, nodding one more time before finally walking back over to the group, who’d just gotten Suho all bundled up into one of the bedrolls. 

You watched as Chanwook tucked Jeongin into a bedroll, even going as far as to give him a plushie, before determinedly scampering away to continue his own playtime. You laughed and cooed at the same time and the toddler’s intelligence.

Kija was happily clinging to Minho, who was slowly shifting himself so he was lying down on one of the bedrolls. You watched as he did his best to shift Kija off to the side onto his own pillow, but when Kia let out a loud whine, he froze and instantly reversed track.

Which is exactly what Kija wanted. He wanted to nap on Minho’s chest, much like he did with you at home on days when he was feeling particularly clingy.

You’d never seen him do it with anyone else. Misoon said he always went down to sleep on a bedroll in the living room whenever she watched him, and whenever you went to see your sister, he either slept with you or in the guest bedroom.

Yet here he was, falling asleep on Minho like he’d done it for years.

“Aww, you need tucked in hyung?” Felix asked, eyeing the sleeping toddler on the older boy’s chest.

Minho huffed. “At least cover Kija up please.”

Felix and Changbin cooed, making Minho blush though he tried to act like he wasn’t impacted by their teasing. Felix quickly got him a blanket, making sure Minho was tucked in too. Minho tugged the blanket up, bringing it up to Kija’s shoulders.

Kija just  nuzzled his nose into Minho’s chest, making him freeze again, holding his breath for a moment.

Slowly, he relaxed into the bedroll, bringing a hand up to rest on top of Kija’s upper back. Occasionally he’d brush his fingers through Kija’s wavy hair.

Hyunjin was over resting by Suho, who Seungmin was quietly playing peek-a-boo with. Changbin was trying to coax Yeonwoo back over to the bedrolls, but he’d decided that the scooters they’d been riding on earlier look much more interesting than lying down did.

Slowly, the boys gave up on the other two boys, curling up to sleep themselves in the remaining spots. You smiled fondly as they all tugged the slightly-to-small blankets over themselves and settled in to rest.

Honestly, you were fairly certain that Chan and Han had actually fallen asleep.

An impressive skill, to be able to fall asleep on camera, but they were probably used to it at this point.

It certainly wasn’t the first SKZ Code where they slept on camera. 

Minho himself looked a bit tired, though his hand kept gently and soothingly rubbing Kija’s upper back, even as he slowly leaned his head back and rested it against the small pillow he had.

The cameras rolled for another 20 minutes before the director softly called cut, letting the boys know they were done for the day. 

A few of the boys slowly sat up at that, though none of them were in any particular rush to leave set. Han didn't move, but you swore you heard a long sigh from Chan.

Hyunjin and Minho, in particular, hadn't really moved either. Minho glanced over at you when they called cut, but when he noticed you hadn't moved yet, he stayed put as well.

Hyunjin was still gently rubbing Suho's back. “Can I take him home? Please?” He asked, aiming his pleading stare at Changbin.

“You can't kidnap a child,” Changbin argued.

“But I take great care of Kkami, I could do it!” Hyunjin whined. 

Changbin threw his hands in the air. “Kkami doesn't live in our dorm either!” 

Chan slowly sat up and you noticed Chanwook and Yeonwoo's parents walking over to where their kids were happily playing with a kitchen set. Suho's parents walked forward and started talking with Chan while Hyunjin, seeing an end for his time with Suho in sight, cuddled with the boy a little bit longer. 

That was probably your cue to go get Kija, too. 

You sighed softly to yourself and stepped through the cameras and over towards Minho.

When Minho saw you coming, you noticed something sad flash across his features for a split second before he schooled his face into something more kindly neutral. 

“I'd sit up, but I don't want to wake him,” he laughed softly as you stopped beside him, squatting down.

“Ah that's alright, like I said, he sleeps almost anywhere,” you replied, though you made no move to grab Kija yet.

Minho glanced at the sleeping toddler's head before looking back at you. “You've done a wonderful job with him. He was so sweet.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “His father must be kind, too.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Ah, it's just me. No one else.” 

Minho's eyes widened slightly. “Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

You put a hand up. “You're fine. It's a normal assumption to make.” You look at Kija for a bit. “I've tried to do my best by him, even though it's just me, so… thank you.” 

Minho nodded. He glanced down at Kija, too, before looking back at you. “So… how did you get invited to set? I don't think I've seen you around the company before.”

“Ah, I'm a friend of a family member,” you laughed softly. “Hajin-ssi's brother is my coworker.” 

Minho's eyes lit up in recognition at the name. “Oh okay. Well, we're very lucky she knew you so we got to have Kija here.” He blushed slightly. “I don't think I actually got to introduce myself at all, despite holding your son all day. My name is Lee Minho.”

You giggled. “It's nice to meet you Minho, I'm Y/L/N Y/F/N.” You glanced at Kija and then back at him. “For a strange man, you did a good job with him.”

His blush deepened and he laughed quietly. “Ah, thank you. I've always liked kids. I don't have any of my own, but I have younger relatives, and three cats, too. Though I know that's not the same.” 

“You'd be surprised,” you replied with a smile. “Kija is quite a fan of knocking things off of surfaces, and he can also be bribed with treats.” 

Minho laughed a little louder this time, which made Kija squirm on his chest and let out a soft whine. Minho instantly froze like a deer in the headlights, not moving an inch as the toddler got comfortable again.

“I think that's my cue,” you said softly, reaching out and slowly lifting Kija off of Minho's chest. Kija whined again, but you expertly shushed him, adjusting him onto your shoulder with practiced ease. After just a little bit of grumbling, you felt his body relax again, his soft breath brushing against your neck as he slipped back asleep. 

When you looked back up, you saw Minho had propped himself up on his elbows. He was looking at Kija fondly. “You can tell he's well loved.”

“He wasn't exactly what I planned, but,” you admitted softly, kissing the side of his head, “I wouldn't want anything different.” 

Minho looked at you for a moment, his expression torn. He looked like he was about to say something before he suddenly shut his mouth and shot you a small smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

You weren't sure why, but you felt a slight pang of disappointment. You shook it off and smiled back. “It was nice meeting you too, Minho-ssi.”

“Just Minho is fine,” he quickly said, “if you'd like.”

Your smile shifted into a more natural one. “Then just Y/N is fine, too.”

Minho smiled. “I hope you have a good rest of your day Y/N.”

You giggled softly. “You, too, Minho,” you replied before finally standing up, keeping a steady hold on Kija as you went back to your stuff and packed up to head home.

You flopped down on your brother's couch with a huff, wiping some of the sweat off your brow. You guys had spent a majority of the day moving all of your stuff out of your apartment, well, mostly you taking everything and getting out while your ex was gone. Thankful that he hadn’t decided to come back early, not really wanting to bail your brother out of jail for getting into a fight.

Chris then walked into the living room with two cups of water and took the empty space next to you. “You okay?” His voice was soft as he handed one of the glasses to you.

With a nod, you took the drink, downing half of it before wiping your lips. A laugh left your brother’s lips, causing you to glare at him. “I was thirsty, leave me alone.” You bumped your shoulder against his before gazing out the window, worry and fear etched in your veins.

“He can’t get you anymore,” The dark-haired male next to you said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Chris took in your glistening eyes when you turned your head to look at him, causing his heart to lurch. He never truly knew what your ex had put you through, but when you showed up on his doorstep a few days ago, covered in bruises and blood, he knew he needed to put an end to it. You still refused to talk about that night or the extent of what he used to do to you, but he wasn’t going to push either.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on his lips when you held your pinky out to him, “promise?” Your voice was shaky, a clear sign that you were holding back tears.

“Promise.” Chris linked his pinky with yours, pressing the pad of his thumb to yours, sealing the words.

That’s when the tears finally spilled past your eyelids, all of the emotions you have been holding in for the past few days coming out in your sobs. Chris was quick to pull you into his body, wrapping you in his warmth, letting you cry until your heart's content. You hadn’t realized just how much you had missed your brother, his soft touches and playful personality. It left you feeling guilty knowing that you had pushed him away because of your ex—you let someone drive you apart despite your childhood promise of never leaving each other's sides. Yet you were the first to leave. It made you cry even harder, clutching onto Chris’s shirt, scared that if you were to let go, he would just disappear.

After you had finally cried everything out, you lay against your brother, the room filling with a comfortable silence. A few moments later, Chris shifted, causing you to sit up. He reached forward to wipe a few stray tears that were stuck under your eyes before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” He stood from the couch, then turned to you, holding a hand out.

Placing your smaller hand into his, he pulled you to your feet before letting you lead the way to the stairs.

Once you made it to your room, you stood in the middle of the room, still unsure how to feel. Noticing your slight discomfort, he walked forward, rustling a hand in your hair, “Give it some time, pipsqueak, you’ll get there.”

You let out a deep sigh before nodding, you knew he was right, this wasn’t going to be something that you just got used to overnight. Though you were going to try your best. Walking over to the unmade bed, you sat down on the edge, looking at the picture you had sitting on your nightstand.

It was of you and Chris just before you had met your ex. You had come home from college for a break, so Chris decided to drag you out to the arcade they had just reopened. Chris had managed to win you the giant dragon plush that you had been eyeing the whole day, and when he gave it to you, he could have sworn you had won the lottery.

You smile fondly as you reach out to grab the frame, fingers running over the cracked glass. Your ex had tossed a bunch of your stuff, especially the things that were tied to your brother. You, however, fought like hell with him over this photo, which resulted in him cracking the picture frame in the process.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.” Your brother’s voice startled you, seeing as you had almost completely forgotten he was still in the room. You looked over at him with a small smile, nodding your head.

However, your nerves spiked as soon as he walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked. Your hands were shaking slightly as you placed the photo back on your nightstand. Thinking maybe a shower would help you relax, you stood from the bed, gathering the things you needed before heading to the bathroom.

The shower seemed to help a little bit, until you were lying on your bed after turning the lights out. You lay on your side, facing the picture, hoping that it would give you some peace to try and sleep. However, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Tossing and turning until you were sure your hair looked like a bird nest. Biting the inside of your lip to the point that it was swollen.

Giving up, you lie on your back, staring at the white ceiling above you. Then your brother popped into your head. Though you didn’t want to bother him, you knew he would give you the comfort you were seeking.

So you tossed the blankets off your body before making your way out of your room. Walking quietly, not making a sound, a habit you’ve picked up from having to walk on eggshells around your ex. When you got to Chris’s door, you noticed that he had left it cracked, and you could see light seeping out of the seam.

Knocking softly, you pushed the door open, peaking your head in to see him lying on his bed, phone in hand. His eyes flicker up to you when he notices the door opening, he knew why you were here and quite frankly he had been waiting for you to make your way into his room. Hitting the power button on his phone, he set it aside, giving you his undivided attention.

You encased your body with your arms, eyes looking anywhere but his, feeling a bit embarrassed now that you stood here. Your bottom lip was once again trapped between your teeth, chewing on the irritated skin.

“Come here.” Chris’s tone was sweet as he moved back in his bed, making room for you before holding the blankets open. Tears unintentionally brimmed in your eyes as you shuffled over to your brother's bed, climbing into his blankets.

You wrapped your arms around his midsection before snuggling your face in the crook of his neck, his warmth instantly relaxing you. Once you were comfortable, Chris let the blankets drop, covering both of you. He said a quick good night before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Not even five minutes later, you were fast asleep, small snores escaping your parted lips, making Chris chuckle before closing his eyes to sleep.

—

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” You leaned against the counter opposite Chris, who had just revealed a plan he had, “You want to throw a party—”

“A get-together, there’s a difference.” Chris interrupted you with a pointed look, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You want to have a ‘get-together’ in honor of me leaving my ex?” You made sure to emphasize the ‘get-together’ part while raising your eyebrow. Chris just looked at you with a wide smile and nodded his head as if you had just acknowledged he passed a huge test.

You looked away apprehensively; you couldn’t tell your brother no, not with that huge smile on his face. So, taking a second to think, you nodded and looked back over at him, “Who’s gonna be here?” You were mainly worried about who was going to be invited rather than the party itself; you weren’t too sure about being around so many people at once after everything.

“Just the boys, I swear, and possibly Min's sister.” Chris informed you, and you just nodded softly, “They were super excited when I told them about it.”

Your tongue jutted out, wetting your lips as you looked around the kitchen. It’s not like you weren’t excited to see the boys you had grown up with; it’s just you weren’t really sure how they'd feel after you left them hanging for so many years.

That little voice in the back of your head was telling you that they didn’t want to see you, that they would find any and every reason not to come, and you wouldn’t blame them. You would only blame yourself for your actions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less, though.

“Y/n.” Chris called out to you, placing a hand on your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. His face held nothing short of concern as he looked down at you, “We don’t have to, I can tell the guys another time, and we can just chill here and watch movies or whatever.” He knew that it would probably trigger your anxiety, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, you appreciate your brother so much, but as much as you would love to take him up on his offer you knew you’d have to face the boys sooner or later. So quickly shaking your head, you told Chris that it was fine and that you would love to see them again. Now that wasn’t all a complete lie; you were excited to see them after so long, but you were also nervous.

A bright smile erupted on Chris’s face, causing your heart to jolt. You had almost forgotten how happy he got when you agreed to any of his ideas. Though most would get you in trouble when you were younger. That didn’t stop either of you from doing it again, so it was safe to say that your parents were always kept on their toes.

“Don’t worry too much about it, pipsqueak, we’ll just do something small,” Chris reassured you, and he reached forward to ruffle your hair, but you smacked his hand away. “How does ordering in and watching movies sound?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you nodded, remembering all of the times the five of you would build pillow forts in the living room for movie nights. Jisung would always get a little too excited and knock down one of the walls before sheepishly apologizing while trying to desperately fix it, only to further destroy your imaginary castle. All of the boys would tease him while you sat to the side with a wide smile, watching with an endearing gaze.

Though there was one movie night that would forever be etched into your brain, the night that you realized that you had feelings for one of your brother's best friends. It was your sophomore year of high school, and it was a weekend when all of you guys weren’t busy with work or school, so you decided to plan one of your loved movie nights. Minho was the first to show up, and being the gentleman he was, he helped your mom finish dinner while you were in the shower, and Chris finished up the round on his game.

When you had finished getting around, you made your way downstairs and walked into the kitchen to ask your mom when dinner would be done. However, you were met by Minho standing over a pot, mixing the contents. His blonde hair was slicked back, while a few loose strands framed his face. You watched how his muscles flexed under the sleeve of his shirt before watching him cook. There was something so domestic about it, something that finally made you realize that maybe you were falling for your brother’s best friend.

He turned his head and flashed you his signature, charming smile, which always made you weak in the knees.

“Dinner's almost done. Why don’t you set the table, bug?” He suggested as he moved back a little bit to turn the stove off. While you stood there staring for a few moments longer before Jisung walked into the room, loudly greeting you and Minho. He swung his arm around your shoulder, to which you groaned and pushed his arm off, jabbing his side with your finger.

You quickly set the table just like Minho had requested, and when he brought the pot of food over, he smiled widely.

Your eyes went wide when he placed his hand on top of your head, “Good job, bug.” It was the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled at you that confirmed it. You were in love with your brother’s best friend.

“Hey pipsqueak… earth to y/n.” Chris waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reminiscing. Heat rushed up your neck, dusting your cheeks a light shade of red, realizing you had been caught daydreaming. “There she is.” Your brother chuckled as he took a step back, “What were you thinking so hard about?” There was a teasing undertone in his words that made you squint at him.

“I was just remembering all of the times we used to have movie nights.” You rolled your eyes before standing from the barstool with a yawn, “When are we doing this?”

“I told them Saturday afternoon,” You nodded at his words, stretching your arms above your head, letting out a small groan before letting them drop back to your sides.

“Cool, so I have time to take a nap.” You covered another yawn before heading towards the entryway of the kitchen.

“You do realize it's three in the afternoon, right?” Chris raised an eyebrow, pointing to the clock that was hanging on one of the walls in the kitchen. You just glanced at it before shrugging and walking off, but not missing his small ‘weirdo’.

—

You sat on the barstool with a glass of wine your mother had brought over the other day, watching as Chris laid out all of the takeout that had just been delivered, making sure everything was there. However, you couldn’t help noticing there was an extra box, far too small to be one of the guys. Before you could question your brother, you heard the doorbell ring.

“That’s probably the guys,” Chris told you as he wiped his hands off before making a beeline for the door. You stayed put, looking down at the crimson liquid that swirled around in your glass, trying to gain some confidence to face your childhood friends.

Deciding that it would just be best to rip the bandaid off in one swift go, you just stood, downing the rest of the wine. Walking to the entrance of the kitchen, you could hear their voices a little more clearly.

“Where’s Minho?” You heard your brother’s voice before another, familiar voice followed.

“He should be here soon, Minji was being difficult, I guess.” Seungmin shrugged his shoulders before looking around, trying to find any sign of you, but you had stopped dead in your tracks at the mention of another girl. Someone with Minho, nonetheless.

Did Chris really forget about your feelings for Minho, or did he think you finally got over him? Also, why hadn’t he told you that Minho was bringing someone with him? Is that why there was another container of food? So many questions rushed through your mind at once, making your head hurt.

You rubbed your temples, half tempted to just run off to your room and say screw it, but they were already here, and it wouldn’t be fair to the boys. So you shook off the feeling before putting on a brave face.

As soon as you rounded the corner, arms wrapped around your smaller frame, causing you to let out a small sound of surprise. The familiar scent of his cologne had your body relax in an instant, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Hey, Ji.” Tears involuntarily filled your eyes as his warmth surrounded you. If there was anyone besides your brother that you felt instant comfort in their hugs, it would be Jisung. He always managed to spill all of his emotions in just a simple gesture, no words needed.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” Jisung pulled away from you, hands holding you at a distance so he could look over you. His eyes scrunched a little at the still-healing cuts that were on your face and jaw, wanting nothing more than to beat your ex into the next life and then some.

Noticing where his gaze was, you smiled softly, “I’m okay, don’t worry.” Your words seemed to have reassured the boy a bit, but before he could open his mouth, a black-haired male came into view.

“Quit hogging Jisung,” Seungmin hissed before bumping the older male out of the way. Once Jisung was out of the way, Seungmin smiled down at you, his canines poking out from under his lip. You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw Jisung grumbling off to the side before you opened your arms, offering Seungmin a hug. He was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close, scared that if he let go, you would disappear. His chin rested on top of your head as you hummed contentedly.

A cough interrupted your hug, causing Seungmin to pull away, looking over at your brother, who stood there with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“What? We all know we won’t get a chance once Minho shows up.” Seungmin rolled his eyes, but his words caused your face to heat up. Out of all of the boys, Seungmin had been the first to figure out your feelings for Minho. Though his words did confuse you, because why would Minho focus on you when he was bringing a girl with him?

Just then, another knock was heard at the door, and your heart dropped; it was Minho. That’s the only person it could be, seeing as everyone else was already here. Seungmin moved to stand next to you while Chris opened the door, revealing the tall, dark-haired male, and a… little girl.

“Hey, sorry we’re late, someone couldn't pick a bow.” Minho teased the child on his hip, causing her to burst out in giggles. The sound alone made a smile creep onto your lips, but who was she? His daughter? You then suddenly felt sick at the thought. If she were his daughter, that could only mean that he was with her mother.

Your mind swirled, and you didn’t even notice Chris’ gaze on you, worry gleaming in his eyes as he watched your face fall. But just as soon as it was there, it was gone, and a smile spread on your lips.

Minho’s eyes then landed on you, a smile pulling on the corner of his mouth, his eyes holding that same twinkle from years ago.

“Hey, bug.” There it was, that same little nickname he has called you since fourth grade. Your heart fluttered as you waved at him before your eyes flickered over to the little girl. Minho placed the girl down on her feet, where she latched herself to the male's leg, eyes looking up at you in curiosity. “This is Minji, my daughter.”

You swallowed thickly, but continued to smile nonetheless, bending down so you were a little closer to the little girl’s height. “Hi Minji, I’m y/n, your dad’s friend.”

Minho couldn’t help but feel his heart drop a little when you so easily said ‘friend’, but the word seemed to have comforted his daughter enough for her to move towards you. She walked forward until she stood in front of you.

“You’re really pretty, it’s no wonder why Daddy talks about you all the time,” Minji spoke clearly while playing with her fingers; however, her words nearly choked both you and Minho while the other boys stifled laughs.

“Oh, um… thank you, Minji. You’re very pretty as well.” You gave her a soft smile besides the raging red that colored your skin.

Minji smiled widely before grabbing your hand to pull you somewhere, “Uncle Chris, we’re gonna go color!” The little girl announced before dragging you off into the living room to pull out her stash of coloring books and crayons.

The boys stood there with an adoring gaze as you and Minji started talking about her week at school and how nice her teachers were. Chris then turned to look at Minho, noticing the small smile that was tugging on his lips. He walked over and clapped the younger male on the shoulder.

“Just go slow, she’s been through a lot.” That’s all he said before walking into the living room, “Now where’s my coloring page at Min?” He crouched down in front of you two, and the little girl quickly grabbed a book and picked a page out for your brother.

Minho hadn’t thought that you felt the same as him, at least not anymore, but Chris’s words still ring in his ears. Jisung was soon to follow after Chris and loudly complained about being hungry, which resulted in a fit of laughter from Minji’s lips.

Seungmin looked over at his older friend, who seemed to be lost in thought, “Don’t overthink it, man, just let it flow naturally.” And Minho nodded, because he was right, all he could do was see where the night takes you guys.

—

After you all finished dinner, everyone decided that it was movie time. Picking something was relatively easy, but the seating arrangement was another story. Minji grabbed a throw blanket before completely dodging Minho, who was reaching out for her, and climbed her way onto your lap. You couldn’t help but giggle at the look that fell upon Minho’s face at his daughter's betrayal.

“Aww, Minji, I think you hurt your dad’s feelings.” You told the little girl who was too busy unfolding the blanket to really care.

Her boba eyes looked over at Minho, “Sorry, Daddy.” She apologized before snuggling into you the moment she was able to cover you both with the blanket. Your lips curled inward to keep from laughing as Minho’s wide eyes stared at Minji. He then looked up, meeting your eyes.

“You’ve done stole my kid.” His tone was one of faux hurt, causing you to laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Not my fault, she likes me more.” Your words only had Minho rolling his eyes playfully before you got comfortable and watched the movie.

Not even halfway through the movie, Minji had fallen asleep in your lap, her hand wrapped around your finger tightly. You were also on the verge of falling asleep, eyes dropping as you lay your head in your hand that was propped up on the arm of the couch.

Minho glanced away from the TV for a split second, looking over at you two, his heart swelling. His daughter was never one to trust so easily, especially another woman, so seeing her warm up to you so quickly was a pleasant surprise. He smiled fondly as he watched your eyes fall closed, your lips parted slightly as you fell asleep.

“Are you gonna tell her about Minji’s mom?” Jisung’s sudden question caught all of the guys by surprise and they all looked over at him with wide eyes, “she thinks you’re with someone Minho, you could see it on her face the moment you walked in with Minji.”

There was one thing that the boys hated the most, which was those rare moments where Jisung got a little too serious and started giving out straight facts. Chris and Seungmin knew he was right; they had seen the way your face fell for a split second before you covered it. Minho, however, didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“What are you talking about?” Minho’s eyes flickered over to you and Minji. Had you really been worried that he was with someone? He could admit that it was a reasonable thought, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“She still likes you, Minho,” Chris said flatly as his eyes went back to the forgotten movie. Chris knew you like the back of his hand, even after the years of barely seeing each other, he still knew you. He knew that deep down, you still harbored that same undying love for Minho, whether you’d admit it or not.

Minho looked at Chris surprised, did you really still feel the same after all these years? Though now he couldn’t be sure that you’d want a relationship with him, not after all of the hell you went through. That and he came with more commitment than normal.

Glancing over, Chris caught Minho’s gaze on you, how his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, the same way they have always done. He could see the longing in his eyes, knowing that you were so close yet so far away. He sighed before shifting on the couch, growing a little tired himself.

“Just don’t fuck it up this time.” Chris’s words struck Minho hard; he knew that he had screwed up when he was younger. In his hopes of letting you down easy, he only shattered your heart into pieces. It’s not like he didn’t feel the same, but the fact that you were both leaving for college, and he didn’t think he could handle the distance. However, now that he had another chance, even if it was very slim, he was going to take it. This time, he was going to win you over in the end.

After the move was over, it was pretty late, so the guys decided to wrap it up, seeing as everyone was getting tired, well, besides you and Minji, who were still passed out. Jisung and Seungmin were the first to leave, quickly bidding Chris and Minho bye before walking out the door. Chris walked into the kitchen to clean things up before heading to bed, while Minho worked on trying to get Minji out of your lap.

“C’mon, baby girl, we gotta go home.” His voice was soft as he tried to coax the little girl awake, but she wouldn’t budge, jerking away from Minho, which caused him to stumble forward. Thankfully, he was able to catch himself on the back of the couch, but the movement had woken you up. Opening your eyes, you were met with Minho’s face barely inches away from your own.

Neither of you said a word, eyes conveying enough for both of you to know. You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes once more. You wanted nothing more than to lean forward and connect your lips to his, but you knew you shouldn’t, not when he had to go back home with Minji to her mother, his girlfriend—possibly wife. The word left a bitter taste in your mouth, your stomach turning.

“I’m sorry, she kinda just pulled me forward.” Minho apologized lowly, his breath fanning your face, leaving a chill to go down your spine.

You just nodded, curling your lips inward, “It’s okay, are you guys leaving?” You asked as Minho shifted away from you, standing back on his feet. He nodded, watching as you bit at your bottom lip, a habit you’ve had for as long as he remembered, and wanting nothing more than to kiss you to get you to stop.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” He looked over at the clock on the wall once more, as much as he would love to spend more time with you, he knew he needed to get Minji home and in her bed otherwise she’d raise hell tomorrow.

You shifted a little, moving the girl so Minho could pick her up. She protested with a whine until she was fully in Minho’s arms. Once she was settled on his shoulder, he turned back to you, only to find you avoiding his gaze, abusing the irritated skin on your lip once more.

“Hey, we’re gonna be going to the park tomorrow, do you want to join?” He extended the offer to you, hoping you would take it, so he could have an actual chance to talk to you. Your eyes flickered up to his, eyebrows scrunched together. Why would he ask that? Wouldn’t her mother be there?

“What about her mom? I don’t think she’d be comfortable with me there.” The words tumbled from your lips before you even had a chance to stop them, face burning red.

Minho looked down at you with wide eyes. The boys hadn’t been lying when they said you thought he was with Minji’s mother. He licked his lips before looking off to the side. The topic of Minji’s mother wasn’t one he liked to bring up very often, but he knew he had to with you, or he’d lose his chance entirely.

“She’s…” Minho cleared his throat before meeting your eyes once more, “she’s not in the picture, it’s just Minji and I.”

It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, embarrassment creeping into your gut. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it's okay, but please come tomorrow, I can explain everything then.” He begged, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter, his pleading with you to agree. So you did, you agreed with a nod, and Minho couldn’t help but smile. However, you had pulled your lip between your teeth once more, but this time he reached forward, cupping your face and using his thumb to pull your lip away from the assault it was receiving, “And please stop biting your lip.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your heart hammer in your chest as you looked up at him, sure that your face resembled a tomato right now. Realizing what he just did, Minho pulled away, a nervous smile adorning his features. “I’ll see you tomorrow y/n.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips like honey was making your brain mushy, so all you could do was nod and watch as he walked out of the house, Minji fast asleep on his shoulder.

Chris walked back into the living room after seeing the two out, only to find you zoned out on the couch, “You okay over there, pipsqueak?”

He watched in amusement as you nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice before you told him you were fine before rushing off to your room, the earlier scenes replaying in your head.

Though in truth, Chris knew you weren’t—in a good way, of course—not okay at all. He shook his head to himself as he turned the lights off before making his way to his bedroom for the night.

—

The next morning, you woke up groggy, having not gotten much sleep the night before. However, you weren’t about to let that stop you, so you got out of bed and started getting around, not truly knowing what time you were supposed to be there.

Just as you finished doing your hair, your phone dinged on the counter, and when you picked it up, you noticed an unknown number. A sense of dread filled you as you feared the worst when you opened the message, but relief flooded you as you read the message.

‘Chris gave me your number, but we’ll be at the park around noon.’

A silly smile tugged on your lips as you sent a quick ‘okay, see you soon’ before turning your phone off. Sitting it back on the counter, you looked back up to check your makeup one last time, only to have your soul nearly snatched out of your body when you saw Chris’s reflection behind you.

“My lord Chris! Announce yourself for fuck sakes.” You turned and chucked one of your beauty blenders at him, hitting him square in the forehead. He burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in, a hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute smiling like a love-sick puppy.” He teased, causing you to glare at him.

“Go away, Chris,” You pouted, but he didn’t move an inch, and you narrowed your eyes at him once more, “Go.”

“This is my house, you can’t kick me out of my bathroom!” He exclaimed, a playful smile on his lips as you marched up to him, pushing him out of the doorway.

“Don’t care, go away.” With that, you shut the door in his face, and he just chuckled, shaking his head. He was happy to see you finally gain back that smile that he loved seeing so much; he only hoped it was here for the long run.

You pulled up to the park a few minutes before noon, looking around, trying to spot Minho and Minji. Your hand came up to shield your eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight so you could see. Though you didn’t see them anywhere, maybe you showed up a bit too early…

Minho walked into the park with Minji’s hand in his, his eyes searching everywhere for your figure. When he did see you, he had to stop in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. There you stood, a few feet away, a purple floral dress wrapped around your body perfectly, the wind making the skirt sway softly. The light shining behind you made you look like an angel in his eyes; you were breathtaking.

“Y/N!” Minji exclaimed, slipping from her father’s grasp to run up to you as you turned to face her. A smile crept onto your lips as you greeted the young girl, asking where her father was, to which she pointed behind her to the man who was still frozen in place.

As soon as your eyes met his, Minho could feel his heart pound against his ribcage, a lump in his throat. You grabbed Minji’s hand and walked over to Minho, a smile adorning your features still, and he could have sworn he had died and gone to heaven.

“Hi.” You greeted the male while Minji swung your joined hands, singing a tune stuck in her head.

“Hi.” Minho smiled sheepishly before looking you over for the nth time, “You look good.”

Your face heated up, “thank you… You don’t look too bad yourself.” You laughed softly, which only caused Minho to laugh as well, until Minji was tugging on your hand.

“Come on, I wanna go play on the playground!” She exclaimed before tugging on your hand harder, causing you to giggle before nodding.

“Alright, alright, let’s go.” You nodded before motioning for Minho to follow, which he did.

Once you and Minho had the blanket situated under a tree, Minji took off to the playset, while you and Minho sat down. The tree blocked you both from the harsh rays of sunlight, the wind blew softly, while the birds sang above you.

The silence was comfortable between the two as you watched Minji play with all of the toys, but Minho knew he would have to break it at some point. So he swallowed thickly before releasing a deep breath, which caught your attention.

“About Minji’s mom, it was an accident that wasn’t meant to happen. We were just getting to know each other and had a few too many drinks.” His eyes averted yours, but you just let him continue, “When we found out she was pregnant, she wanted to get an abortion, but I begged her to think it over. I knew I had no right to her body, so the decision in the end was hers, but she ended up keeping the baby.” Your eyes studied his face, watching all of the emotions that flickered there. “But we fought constantly, like there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t argue, and it drove me up a wall, but I stayed for Minji.”

You felt your gut wrench while he spoke, all of the pain in his voice and how defeated he sounded. You wanted nothing more than to take that pain away, but you knew it was all in the past and that there wasn’t anything you could do.

“We actually fought about you, ironically.” His words caught you off guard, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Me?”

“Yeah… I was always wondering how you were doing, if you were doing okay, she would always berate me about how I didn’t love her at all or how if I could I would leave her for you, but it became worse when you dropped off the face of the earth,” You felt guilty as his words sunk into your soul, not only were you hurting him, but also his relationship. Seeing the thoughts go through your head Minho reached out, grabbing your hand in his, “don’t blame yourself, bug, none of it was your fault. She was right about a few things, though. I didn’t love her; there was no love in our relationship; it was just coexisting until the baby was born.”

You glanced over at Minji, who was talking to another little girl, a huge smile on her lips. “What happened after Minji was born?”

Minho followed your gaze, landing on his daughter, “After we got back home, I woke up one morning, and there was no sign of her anywhere.”

Your eyes went wide as you looked over at him. “Please tell me you went to court and got her guardianship revoked.”

Minho couldn’t help but laugh at your statement, but nodded nonetheless, “I did with the guy's help, Yeji was actually my lawyer, and we both know how she is.” You giggled at the mention of Seungmin’s older sister; she was always a persistent one.

“But that brings me to her other point.” Your head tilted at his words, not entirely sure what he meant, “that I probably would have left her for you if there wasn’t a baby involved.” Your heartbeat started to accelerate as he met your eyes, “but now it’s different, and I want to try, I want to give us a try bug.” His voice was pleading as well as his eyes, and the hand holding yours was shaking.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness and excitement at his words. A wide smile pulled on your lips as you clasped your fingers around his hand, bringing it to your lips, pressing a light kiss on the inside of his wrist, causing his heart to swell.

“I’d want nothing more, Minho.” Your words sung loudly in his ears, a smile almost as bright as the sun adorning his face as you watch in adoration.

He then moved forward, cupping your face in his hands, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” A simple nod from you was all he needed before his lips met yours.

The kiss was sweet, but so full of need, of want, of longing, of promise, and you melted into him, sealing that nonverbal promise.

☆ ── special notes ; PAUSE!!! if you have read this before, that would be because this is a revamped vers of another fic (those eyes) from my old blog (@/wwooyology); I am the same writer!!!

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

As the night progressed, the dull ache sharpened into a familiar, rhythmic throb. A cold sweat broke out across your forehead. You shifted your weight, feeling a sudden, terrifyingly warm sensation. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

No. Not now. It’s a week early.

"I'll be right back," you whispered to Seungmin, sliding out of the booth before he could even register your movement.

You walked to the restroom with stiff, calculated steps, praying to every deity you knew that your eyes were deceiving you. Once inside the stall, your fears were confirmed. A vibrant, unmistakable red stain had bloomed across your underwear, and worse, it was already starting to seep through to the inner seam of your light jeans.

Panic surged. You scrambled through your purse, your fingers trembling as you dumped the contents onto the small shelf. Lipstick, keys, wallet, mints—no pads. No tampons.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck," you hissed under your breath.

You looked at the cream denim. The spot wasn't visible from the outside yet, but it was only a matter of time. Desperate, you grabbed a handful of the industrial-grade, scratchy toilet paper. You folded it into a thick, makeshift compress, layering it as best you could to create a barrier. It was bulky, uncomfortable, and felt like you were wearing a cardboard diaper, but it was all you had.

You spent ten minutes scrubbing the inner fabric with cold water and hand soap, praying the dampness wouldn't look too suspicious. After taking several deep breaths to steady your shaking hands, you smoothed your hair and walked back out.

When you slid back into the booth, Seungmin was mid-laugh, but his eyes immediately locked onto yours. The mirth faded slightly, replaced by that keen, observant look he always had when something was off.

"Long time no see," he noted, his voice dropping an octave as he turned his body toward you. "Are you okay?"

"Just a bit of a headache," you lied, reaching for your water glass. "The noise is kinda catching up to me."

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "We can leave if you want."

"No! Go no, stay. I’m fine, really."

The problem was, you weren't fine. Every time you moved, the thick wad of toilet paper crinkled or shifted. It felt like it was slipping, or worse, that it was so bulky it was creating a visible lump. You began to fidget. You shifted to the left, then the right, trying to find an angle where the paper didn't feel like it was about to fall out of the leg of your jeans.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed. He stopped eating, his gaze dropping to your lap and then back to your face. To him, you looked like you were sitting on a bed of nails.

"Wanna change seats?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"No, I'm just... trying to get settled," you stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Across the table, Felix was animatedly explaining a game, his hands flying through the air. In his excitement, his elbow clipped his spoon, sending it clattering off the table and rolling right toward your feet.

"Oh! Sorry, I'll get it—" Felix started to lean down.

"I’ve got it!" you blurted out.

You welcomed the excuse to hide your face. You bent down quickly, reaching under the dark mahogany table to retrieve the silver spoon. However, as you crouched, the tension in your jeans pulled at the makeshift pad.

Seungmin leaned over the edge of the table, looking down to see if you needed help. From his vantage point, the hem of your shirt had ridden up slightly, and the back of your jeans had dipped.

There, peeking out from the waistband and the side of your hip, was a jagged, white fringe of toilet paper.

He blinked, his brain momentarily stalling. He saw the white paper shoved haphazardly against your skin, looking like a discarded receipt or a napkin that had somehow been swallowed by your clothes. He didn't think 'period'; his mind went straight to 'did she accidentally sit on something in the bathroom?' or 'is this a prank?'

You popped back up, breathless, and handed the spoon to a grateful Felix. You tried to settle back into your seat, but the paper had moved even further out of place.

Seungmin didn't say a word to the group. He waited until the laughter roared at the other end of the table, then he leaned into your personal space, his shoulder pressing against yours.

"Uhm...baby," he whispered, his voice dangerously close to your ear.

"Yeah?" You tried to sound casual, but your heart was hammering against your ribs.

"I think you... caught something in your pants," he said, his expression a mix of genuine confusion and a hint of a teasing smirk. "There’s a bunch of toilet paper sticking out of the back of your jeans."

Your blood ran cold. "Oh...oh it's uhm-fine. Don't worry about it."

"But it looks uncomfortable." Before you could process his movement, his hand reached toward your hip. "Hold on, let me just pull it out for you—"

"No!"

Your voice was a sharp, panicked hiss that made the nearby staff members glance over. You grabbed his wrist with a strength that surprised him, your eyes wide and brimming with tears of pure mortification.

"Don't touch it! Don't... I have to go!"

You scrambled out of the booth, nearly knocking over a bottle of soju in the process. You didn't look back, your face burning a shade of red that put the spicy kimchi to shame. You bolted for the restroom, the sound of your own frantic heartbeat drowning out the confused calls of your name behind you.

You retreated into the furthest stall, sinking onto the closed toilet lid with your head in your hands. You wanted to dissolve into the floor tiles and simply cease to exist. Every time you replayed the moment he reached for the paper in your waistband, a fresh wave of heat crawled up your neck. You stared at the hem of your cream jeans as if they were betrayed friends, terrified that a stain was now visible to the entire restaurant.

I’ll just stay here, you thought, leaning your forehead against the cold metal partition. I’ll live here. I’ll be the ghost of the BBQ restaurant bathroom.

Suddenly, a light, rhythmic knock echoed against the stall door.

"Occupied!" you yelled, your voice cracking with a mix of frustration and tears.

The knocking didn’t stop. It was persistent but gentle. Then, a voice that made your heart skip a beat drifted over the top of the door.

"It’s me," Seungmin said softly.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Seungmin, please go away. I’m having a crisis."

"I’m not going anywhere until you open this door," he countered, his tone firm but patient.

Slowly, you stood up and clicked the lock. You pushed the door open just a crack, peering out at him. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking concerned but calm. He nudged the door open the rest of the way, stepped into the small space of the stall with you, and shut the door behind him.

He tilted his head, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you going to tell me what’s actually going on? Because you looked like you were being chased by a ghost out there."

You let out a long, shaky sigh, looking down at your shoes. "I got my period, Seungmin. It’s a week early. I don't have anything with me—no tampons, no pads. So... I stuffed my pants with toilet paper so I wouldn't ruin my jeans or the chair."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, a low, melodic sound vibrated through the small space. Seungmin was chuckling. He brought a hand up to rub his eyes, a genuine, amused crinkle forming at the corners.

"Oh, you are killing me," he murmured, shaking his head.

"It’s not funny!" you hissed, though your own lips twitched. "I was panicking!"

"Why didn't you just say something?" he asked, his laughter dying down into a warm smile. "You were sitting there squirming for twenty minutes like you had a secret to tell the world."

"I didn't want to ruin your evening," you admitted, your voice small. "It’s a team dinner. You’re having so much fun with the guys and the staff. I didn't want to be the reason you had to cut it short."

Seungmin’s expression softened instantly. He stepped closer, closing the gap between you and pulling you into his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, the familiar scent of his cologne instantly grounding you.

"I don't care about me," he said against your hair, his voice steady and serious. "I care about the fact that you're bleeding. That’s much more important than a piece of grilled pork."

He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "You could never ruin anything for me, okay? If you’re hurting or stressed, that’s where I want to be. Not at a table pretending you’re fine."

You leaned into his touch, the embarrassment finally starting to ebb away. "Thank you. I... I think I'm just going to sneak out through the back. I'll call an Uber and head home so I can change and hide under my duvet."

Seungmin nodded, but he didn't let go of your waist. "Good plan. Except for the Uber part. I’m coming with you."

"No, Seungmin, stay! You haven't even had dessert yet."

"My social battery is running out anyway," he said, leaving no room for protest. He leaned down and kissed you again, this time on the lips—a firm, reassuring kiss that told you the discussion was over. "Meet me by the back exit in five minutes. I'll tell the manager we're heading out."

You nodded, feeling a massive weight lift off your shoulders. As he turned to leave the stall, you quickly grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait!"

He looked back, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Can you... can you sneak one of those mini chocolate lava cakes out with you? For the road?"

jisung knew something was off when he stepped into the house.

it was quiet, too quiet.

no cartoon loudly playing on the TV, no tiny footsteps and sticky hands running to hug his leg with a loud "papa!", just the faint sound of you making dinner in the kitchen.

"....hello?" he took off his shoes, looking around for a sign of his wife and kid, and he sees a scene so heartbreaking, his little girl standing in the corner of the living room, facing the wall with her arms crossed.

"princess?" he strides over to his daughter, her head turning to face him, lower lip out in a pout, like she's been found guilty of something she didnt do.

"I'm on time out..." she whispers, looking down at her feet, "what'd you do this time, hmm?" he crouched down to her level, running a hand through her hair.