Gabrielle's Kitchen

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

When you step onto the ice, you think it might really be over.

It’s Nationals, which means that this is your last chance to make it. To prove, to everyone in the figure skating community, that you still have what it takes.

The pressure is on, especially since your childhood friend, Sunghoon, is dubbed the favorite within the men's program. You surpassed all expectations and are coming off an incredibly strong short program, which makes you the last one to leave it all on the ice.

You cross one skate over the other, gliding toward center ice. You lift your arms as you hear your name announced over the speakers. Through your nerves, like you’ve done a hundred times before, you flash a bright smile at the crowd. The only face you somehow manage to catch is Sunghoon’s that’s nearly pressed up against the glass. The rest are a blur, but it gives you some comfort to know there’s at least one person still rooting for you out there.

The first half of your program is hands down your favorite, as it features enough technical difficulty while allowing you to lean into your artistry. You hit your jump combinations flawlessly and execute the elements just the way you want. For the first time in years, your competitive spirit is confident. Unhindered.

Your fire carries you through the first half, until you feel a familiar fatigue pulling at your right hip.

Leading up to this season, almost all skating forums, live commentators, and journalists always positioned your narrative over one central detail: the fact that this is your first season back on the ice after an almost career-ending hip tear.

That was enough reason for you to skip over articles and most social media commentary—reliving your surgery, post-op, and shaky comeback through the eyes of other spectators was too much. You remembered the heartache and depression that manifested when you were injured as an Olympic hopeful, and you’d be damned if you let skeptics drag you back into that mindset. You deserve to be here. You are here to prove that you deserve to move forward.

You grit your teeth, fighting through your spins and pushing into each jump. It’s working until you realize what’s next.

An element highly contested by yourself and your coach was your last jump combination: the double axel, double toe, single loop jump wedged into the second half of your program for maximum point potential. It’s something you’d struggled to execute in the past, but it was a stretch for your recovering body post-injury.

Your coach is probably off to the side praying that you opt for an easier version of this combination, but you decide to press on.

Watch me, you think as you take off. Your entire face scrunches with the effort, but it pays off. You hit the double axel, and the adrenaline rush carries your momentum to hit the double toe as well. As you’re continuing into the last jump, your hip muscles pinch in sharp pain. You flinch, and the falter causes you to underrotate the last jump completely and land on two feet. At this point, it’s a miracle that you don’t fully eat shit in the process.

The crowd gasps. You recover your bearings just enough to finish out the program with somewhat convincing artistry. Your hip burns at the scar site, the muscle underneath fatigued and tender. When the crowd applauds, you skate off to the kiss and cry, trying to keep a smile steady as you hug your coach.

“At least you left it all out there,” he says. That’s his way of saying Not perfect, but it might do.

You force a neutral expression on your face as the camera focuses on your reaction. It’ll be close, especially since a good amount of the women had skated clean. To podium, you need a score close to your season’s best, so the question is obvious: did your mistake ruin your chances?

You fidget with the pink bunny plush from your childhood in your usual kiss and cry tradition. The audience pauses in anticipation, and you feel like you’re going to vomit. Then, you hear your total score.

You’ve done it by two measly points. By the skin of your teeth, you’re making it to the podium. You cry in front of the cameras, too shocked to hold in the sobs heaving from your chest.

❅˚

In your daze and general shock at medaling, you’re hyped up into attending an afterparty before you even know it. It’s hosted by the main sponsor of today’s competition, and you typically never like to go to things like this. Of all people, it’s Sunghoon who ultimately convinces you to go.

“We should celebrate both of our comebacks,” he says with a smile. “Plus, only other skaters will be there.”

It’s enough to get you out the door in the black dress you’d managed to pack in your carry on just in case.

You’re regretting it an hour in as Sunghoon’s pulled into conversation after conversation. He’s always had the larger network between the two of you, which leaves you sipping your drink in the corner as you avoid dragging down his conversations.

You’re feeling buzzed when you feel a tap on your shoulder and hear a familiar voice speak your name.

Your jaw drops to the floor. “Jaemin?”

For the first time in a year, Na Jaemin stands in front of you. He wears a suit that’s a little too formal for this event, but it somehow makes him even more handsome than you remember.

“It’s me,” he laughs.

“I thought this was for skaters only.”

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt. “Are you saying I’m not a skater?”

You roll your eyes. “A skater that actually competed today, Jaemin.”

“I know some people. Come on,” he grins. “Are you really that unhappy to see me?”

Along with Sunghoon, you’d grown up attending the same rink as Jaemin. Your trio had been three peas in a pod throughout skating school; you’d even trained as an ice dance pair together for a year until Jaemin and his family decided to specialize him into speed skating. From then on, to your dismay, interactions with him had been few and far in between with your conflicting schedules. The distance only grew as you moved from juniors to then seniors in your respective disciplines.

If Sunghoon was like your brother, Jaemin was the schoolyard crush that never quite faded away. Sure, you’d dated some guys here and there over the years, but any whispers of Jaemin dating sent you scrolling on Instagram in full investigation mode. Considering that he was considered an athlete-turned-influencer with his own fan base, you saw these rumors often.

Even so, you try to play it cool by taking a long sip of your drink. “Of course I’m glad to see you, but when was the last time you even laced up your skates?”

“Ah,” Jaemin shoots you a bright smile, although you can see the nerves peek through his facade as he hesitates. “Well…last week?”

“Last week?” You raise an eyebrow. “As in…you’re thinking about coming back?”

“It’s a work in progress,” he says with a wink.

“Hmm.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

He seizes your sarcasm to change the subject. “You look like you’re fully back out there, though.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you podiumed, which is more than something.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “you looked really good out there.”

The knowledge of Jaemin watching your near-disastrous free skate sends hot embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“My lead from the short program saved my ass. It would’ve looked better if this,” you point to your bad hip, “would behave the way I want it to.”

He frowns. “It’s not fully recovered?”

“It is, but it’s not. Since I spent so much time off, the muscles on my right are weaker than my left, which sucks since my right is my landing leg.” You force a smile. “The road to full-strength recovery is long.”

“As always, you need to be nicer to yourself,” he sighs. “At least you kept Mr. Hops to comfort you in the kiss and cry.”

Your face burns even hotter. “I didn’t think you would remember him.”

Mr. Hops had been Jaemin’s gift to you for your tenth birthday. You’d taken the pink plushie for your first serious competition as a junior, and you’d continued taking him well into adulthood as a good luck charm. Your hip tear had occurred during a competition where you’d left Mr. Hops sitting in your hotel room, which, in your eyes, verified your long-standing superstition.

“Of course I remember,” he smiles wide. “I’m just glad you’ve gotten a bunch of mileage out of him.”

If the earth could open under your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time. Not only does your childhood crush remember your pink bunny’s name, but he also knows that you’ve been hauling it around everywhere for at least the past decade.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I think Mr. Hops and his well-traveled wisdom at least reduces the odds of me having a full mental breakdown.”

“You really didn’t need to worry about anything,” he insists. “Out of everyone, I think you were the most bea–”

“Jaemin!” Sunghoon calls. His face is flushed and his breath carries the trace smell of alcohol. “Guys! Everyone wants to drink!!”

You look at Jaemin wildly for help, but he shrugs in a way that conveys what am I supposed to do about it?

You’re pulled into the main group of fellow skaters that are much too drunk; one look at the three of you together has them hollering and forcing drinks into your hands in the name of reunion. You’re not used to partying, and you’re sure as hell not used to being the center of attention among your peers. Even during your prime, you’d preferred to hang around only a couple close friends after any competition.

The spotlight puts you in a vulnerable position to accept any and all drinks. You stay much later than expected, even when Jaemin offers to help you make a quick exit. You’re the most drunk you’ve ever been, both on the physical drinks as well as the atmosphere. Once you're dancing on a table with someone who you think is Cha Jun-hwan, the night is long gone.

The next morning you wake up to banging on the door of your hotel room. Running to the entrance, you peek through the peephole first, which reveals the livid face of your PR manager, Mei.

“God!” Thunk. “Wake up, already!” Thunk thunk.

Mei isn’t the most level headed person, but, even for her, it’s way too early to be this aggressive. Whatever it is, it’s serious.

You take a deep breath, trying to will away the hangover pounding in your head as you swing the door open. “Hey, Mei–”

“Don’t hey me.” She growls. Mei stalks around your room, sticking her head into your bathroom and closet. She only hesitates when peeking around the corner toward your bed then exhales in relief.

“What on earth is going on?” You ask in bewilderment, and your gut twists. The first thing that crosses your mind is that there must be some sort of serious scandal—a failed test for a controlled substance, maybe. You don't know what else would warrant this level of panic.

“Did you have anyone over last night?”

The question catches you so off guard that you nearly trip over your own feet as you follow her erratic path around your room. “What? No!”

Mei searches behind the curtains and even bends down to look under your bed. “Just reminding you that, as your PR manager, it’s to both of our advantages if you’re forthright about any indiscretions…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You shriek. You didn’t need to hear this from someone who’s known you since your teen years.

Finally registering your genuine confusion, she squints at you. “...I thought you were ignoring me, but have you really not checked your phone at all today?”

Numbness cascades down your nerves. Your phone currently sits charging on your nightstand. “No?”

Your manager shakes her head and fishes out her laptop from her bag, placing it on the hotel dining table. The display immediately brightens into a gossip article published an hour ago.

ICE ROYALTY TO PARTY ANIMALS: A WILD NIGHT FOR THE NATION’S SWEETHEARTS

Your heart sinks low into your chest as you scroll through the contents of the article. It’s you, alright, down to last night’s little black dress while arm-in-arm with both Sunghoon and Jaemin. It’s you, leaving the car disheveled and dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction. It’s unfortunately you, previous child prodigy, downing shots and dancing on the front page of one of the most popular gossip sites.

Shit, you think. Sunghoon must be freaking out. Jaemin, too.

While both men had gathered the nickname of Ice Prince, it was for entirely different reasons. Sunghoon carried the name for his public aloofness, while Jaemin's persona fulfilled the image of charismatic royalty.

While you’d long accepted the unfair scrutiny of being labeled a “controversial” female athlete, both Sunghoon and Jaemin ruled their private lives with an iron fist. Every post and press release was curated and picked through in order to protect their squeaky clean Ice Prince images–especially with the rising cult following of girls.

And you had messed it all up in one night.

“Was it worth it?” Mei snaps. “Did you have fun? Because it sure looks like it.”

Opening the full slideshow, almost every attendee from last night has been captured. However, the most prominent features are still yourself, Jaemin, and Sunghoon.

Wordlessly, Mei pulls up multiple social media sites, where all commentary centers on the three of you. Most old skating fans remember your friendship as a trio, but many new ones—particularly Jaemin’s new legion of followers—fixate on your presence.

did he fly out just to see her? they’re so together y’all

that picture of her on both of their arms makes me sick THAT SHOULD BE ME

embarrassing that her boyfriend had to witness such a mid program, she should retire already

You nudge the laptop so that you can no longer read the words on the screen. “I was not aware of this.”

“I see.” Mei thinks before gathering all of her things back into her bag. “Take some time to process this. Don’t make any statements to anyone yet. If you’re smart, you’ll turn off your social media notifications. We’ll talk.”

“Okay.” You’ve learned not to question her. She’s gotten you out of enough sticky situations. “I’m sorry, Mei.”

“This is just the beginning, kid,” Mei shoots you a pitying smile as she lets herself out. “Just get yourself ready for the storm that’s coming.”

❅˚

Mei gives you two days.

When she requests your presence at her office, you don’t protest. You get there ten minutes ahead of time and wait politely.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” she sighs when she sees your too-straight posture.

“Wouldn’t be unwarranted,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have gotten swept up in the atmosphere.”

“As your manager, I agree.” Mei shoots you a look. “As someone who’s always telling you to enjoy your life—I’m glad you finally stopped punishing yourself.”

You tug with your sleeve without commenting.

Mei continues. “Obviously, you already posted the official statement that we sent over yesterday. Nothing else public on social media, aside from the official pictures we got from Nationals. After that—no posting for a while.”

You nod. It’s fair enough. You’d already gotten too many unsolicited comments from strangers. Notifications were decidedly turned off, and only the bravest of souls could field your direct messages.

“There’s been something else I’ve considered for this season,” Mei hesitates. “If you’re open to it.”

Alarm bells go off in your head. “Interviews? Variety content?”

“The ice show,” Mei says.

“Classics on Ice?” You frown. “Sunghoon and I were already planning on skating.”

“You’ll skate there, sure,” Mei says, “but now it’s more.”

“More as in…promotions? Volunteering?”

Your manager shakes her head. “Yes, benefit shows usually yield good coverage. It’s also an opportunity to showcase your relationships within the skating community. During and leading up to the event. Public perception and opinions are unavoidable, but I think if you’re seen out and about being friendly with respected athletes…”

You cringe at the implication: you are simply an athlete—not a respected one. “That’s a fine idea and all, but wouldn’t that harm those athletes? I’m friends with a lot of skaters, but those friendships are away from the cameras. Except Sunghoon.”

“Right. It would be out of the blue to suddenly hang out with skaters you’ve been training and competing against for years, especially with no public history.” She leans forward. “But if there was suddenly an old friend re-entering the community—maybe that would be believable?”

Your blood chills. You recall what Jaemin told you: it’s a work in progress.

“Jaemin?” You fight to push the words out. “Jaemin’s actually returning to skating?”

Mei nods. Her shoulders relax, perhaps relieved that she didn’t have to directly break the news. “His team is making the announcement at the end of the week.”

You’re happy for him—really, you are—but disappointment tugs at your gut. Why hadn’t he told you when you asked?

“So you want me to skate in this ice show and prove that I have at least two friends. Got it. I can do that.”

Mei’s expression twists. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“With Jaemin coming back into the skating world, and the rumors already circulating between the two of you…” Mei bites her lip. “His management reached out to discuss, and we came to the conclusion that showcasing a…closer relationship would likely be beneficial for both parties.”

It’s her pleading expression to not freak out that makes the last puzzle piece fall into place. “A PR romance? With Jaemin? How on earth would that benefit either of us? He’ll get angry fans, and I’ll get the angry fans’ death threats!”

“You don’t need to be over the top with it,” Mei’s waving both hands, which could be her attempt to calm you down or to enact a physical barrier from you. Maybe both. “Nothing crazy or formal—people already think you're dating! Just lean into the rumors. Hang out with or without Sunghoon. Jaemin is popular, but it’s common knowledge that you all were rink rats together. You’ll get some fan hate, but we see people overall getting really into it.”

You’re speechless. You run through the impending possibilities in your mind. Jaemin, back in your hometown. Seeing him in passing. Existing in the same sphere for the first time in years.

“I still don’t understand how that would benefit him,” you say.

Mei hums. “His team can explain it more.”

“His team?” Your stomach drops. “They’re coming here? Today?”

“Oh, no,” Mei says. “We’re grabbing lunch with them.”

–

Mei whisks you away in her car. You barely process that you're heading somewhere at all. When the car pulls up in front of the nicest restaurant in the city, you think, briefly, that you must be hallucinating this entire ordeal.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs as you stumble out of the passenger’s side.

You follow her lead, baffled at the long roman-style columns at the entrance and dim, ambient lighting. Inside, you can’t even tell that it’s daytime, let alone high noon.

You’ve walked through the interior for minutes before you make a sudden left turn into a more private section of the restaurant. There, at a table around the corner, sits Jaemin with his manager.

His manager rises to shake both your and Mei’s hands. “Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say, although your throat scratches like sandpaper while speaking.

When Jaemin stands up to face you, your brain glitches on the protocol. Is it proper to shake hands with a childhood best friend, especially when you’re both portrayed on the front cover of tabloids together? When you just saw him a few nights ago, and he only hinted at a comeback? When his team is proposing a PR arrangement? Is a hug too casual for this heavy atmosphere?

“Hi.” You shoot him a pained smile and sit down to avoid confronting the issue entirely. Confusion flickers across his face, but he lowers back down into his seat.

Jeff immediately transitions into business. “Thank you for meeting us today. I hope Mei was able to explain our current situation, especially since the headlines have complicated things.”

Mei nods. “She’s aware. Obviously, we’ll have to be very intentional moving forward.”

Your gaze bounces between the two as they discuss details such as social media use and public outings. You try to catch Jaemin’s eye, but he pokes around at an appetizer on his plate.

You try to listen to their brainstorming of strategies, but you can only take so much before your curiosity gets the best of you. You blurt out to Jaemin directly. “What do you get out of this deal?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen, but he still jumps to speak, as if he’s been waiting for your permission to talk. “Well, I—”

“Jaemin wants to re-enter the skating world,” Jeff interjects. “This…relationship could renew interest in his previous success, since you’re very deeply linked with that time period.”

You frown, but you’re starting to get the picture. You’re sure that this morning’s article alone has most likely sent fans hunting for old skating footage. There’s even some old trio pictures still visible on both your and Sunghoon’s Instagram profiles.

You’ve also seen enough fragments of Jaemin’s fanbase online to know that a public girlfriend would likely alienate the most unhealthily attached fans.

Maybe that’s what someone like him needed to be taken seriously in the athletic world again, just like how you wish people would speak about your current skating and instead of the old.

“Anything else I should know? Any stipulations before I offer myself up as bait for one of the most viral athletes known for having crazy fans?”

Jaemin’s gaze shoots up at you in the corner of your eye. You ignore it as you glare down Mei and Jeff.

“There’s one thing our team is thinking of,” Jeff starts. He side eyes you as if you’re a wild animal ready to pounce. “The charity ice show you’re skating in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, they’re having a speed skating demo?”

Your sarcasm falls on deaf ears; if he picks up on it, Jeff doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve been told that both you and Jaemin trained together in ice dance before settling in your respective sports.”

Your jaw tightens. “No. I’m not committing to an ice dance routine. It’s way too late to be practicing for that.”

Mei says nothing, but she nods her head.

“As you wish.” Jeff seems unfazed. “We’ll find something else for Jaemin. If you change your mind, please let us know.”

“I won’t. I mean, I don’t foresee that changing, but we’ll let you know,” you hastily add after sensing Mei’s disapproval. “Thank you.”

Mei and Jeff dominate the discussion throughout lunch, and they’re still chatting as you all rise to leave your table. You find yourself in stride with Jaemin, who seems to be looking everywhere but you.

“So. You're moving back,” you say.

He turns towards you, surprised. “I am. I’m moving out of my old place next Monday.”

“So it was a work in progress, after all.” You try to keep your tone light, but it doesn’t prevent the sour edge in your voice from seeping through.

His expression twists with guilt. “I was going to tell you, but then things started moving too fast. I lost the opportunity. This relationship—PR situation—was not my idea.”

You don’t respond. Your ego stings; you’d asked him so many questions out of a genuine interest to catch up, and the whole while he'd held you at arm's length. Your teams concocted this plan, rather than talk it through first with you as a friend.

Jaemin searches your face. “What do you think of all of this?”

You think that you want to delete Instagram altogether, retire from skating, and tell everyone to stuff their clout-chasing proposals up their—

Really, you should calm down. You have to admit that you could benefit from this arrangement. Sure, there would be hate and an uptick in public interest in your private life, but Mei is right. After these headlines, you’re bound to receive more criticism anyway—maybe returning the focus to your oldest friends would remind the world of your younger self. Before all of the hardship. Nostalgia as a vehicle of empathy.

As for Jaemin, you’re not sure what to make of his sudden re-appearance in your life. Any giddiness is now tempered by the jaded realism of your position. Maybe knowing his true intentions is better for your working relationship, since, moving forward, you should be treating this as a professional arrangement.

“Let’s do it,” your laugh sounds harsh and flat. “What more do I have to lose, right?”

❅˚

Upon returning home, you’re allowed one day of sweet radio silence from any obligations. You mute almost all notifications and lose yourself in your favorite shows.

Then, Jaemin’s announcement drops, and all hell breaks loose.

The overall response shows widespread support for Jaemin’s return to speed skating. The speculation of his move, however, has everyone up in a flurry trying to figure out why. Technically, his city’s rink is superior in all of their facilities and amenities. His coach was based mainly in your rink, but he was so close to retirement and was open about only coaching Jaemin.

You’re not sure why he’s chosen to return here, either. From what you know, a large portion of speed skating training isn’t always in the rink, anyway.

Everyone online, however, is staunchly convinced that you must be the reason. You scroll past everything from pregnancy rumors to social media accounts posting threads surrounding the early “evidence” to prove the existence of this secret relationship. As far as your social media feed is concerned, you're practically married.

Half of it seems to be in good fun—a lot of supportive fans make jokes about finally glimpsing into Jaemin’s notoriously private life. The other half of it is not so fun, manifesting in hate comments and threatening direct messages that trigger you to crack down on your account privacy.

Hey, Jaemin texts you after you temporarily set your Instagram to private. You okay?

You don’t respond. Something stubborn and petty wants to double down . So what if you got photographed drinking with friends? Was society really so fucked up that you had to put in work to protect your peace while both of the ice princes got off scot-free?

When you pull your car into the rink parking lot to a couple of flashing cameras, you know that the answer is undoubtedly yes. You’d hoped for a serene first practice back, but you anticipate Jaemin’s presence before you even open the door.

In fact, he’s literally on the other side, sitting at one of the benches between the back entrance and the ice.

Jaemin stands when he sees you. “Hey, good morning—”

You cut to the chase. “What do you want, Jaem?”

“I just thought I’d say hi before your practice,” he says. He seems encouraged by your use of his old nickname; you make a mental note to avoid using it again.

“You got up at the ass crack of dawn to send me off to practice?”

“Uh—no?” Jaemin points over his shoulder. “I’m doing some strength training first in the gym, then I’ll take over the ice for some light stuff after you.”

“Alright then,” you say. You step past him and continue on. “See you.”

“Will I?”

You turn around. “Will you what?”

“Will I see you soon?” Jaemin studies you. “You’re not answering my texts.”

“There’s nothing in our contractthat requires me to text you back,” you point out. You’re all too familiar with the terms and conditions, as you reviewed and signed the paperwork in the days prior. “I can talk to Mei to put a staged outing on the calendar.”

“No.” He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to say that we should actually do something together. No calendars, no managers. Definitely no cameras.”

You frown. “Why would we do that?”

“Because we’re friends?” There’s a slight gravel to Jaemin's voice. He’s losing his patience with you, and you’re relishing in it.

“We were friends,” you say. Your grip on your duffel bag tightens. “I thought we were still friends up until Nationals. Before you wanted to use our friendship for notoriety.”

“We can still be friends through this,” he says. “It’s not one or the other. And I told you, this wasn’t my idea.”

You sigh. If he’s going to be so persistent about this, you might as well be direct. “Let me be clear. I hate this arrangement. I’m only doing it because Mei thinks it’s a good idea, I trust her, and for once I’d love for people to stop betting against my skating. That’s it. I’m not doing this because we’re friends. That was pretty much ruined once the paperwork was signed.”

Jaemin opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut off by a voice from the other side of the rink.

“Hey!” Your coach shouts. “That’s a whole lot of talking and not a lot of warming up.”

You give Jaemin your fakest smile. “You heard the man. Have a good work out, Jaemin.”

You put your all into practice to clear your mind. It’s hard, but the determination to stand on your words keeps your focus razor sharp.

When you’re wiping your blades down and stowing away your things, you think that’s the end of it. Then, you hear the sound of the doors to the ice shutting. You straighten your back and peek through the glass.

Jaemin’s already set up a series of small cones that you assume must be to simulate the short track path. He skates around in long, fluid circles.

Your throat catches. He’s always been so beautiful on the ice. Sure, speed and power were par for the course with speed skating, but his edge control and maneuvers are so finely tuned that you're impressed. Even after all these years, Jaemin still looks like a top athlete.

Jaemin’s skates scrape across the ice as he stops. As if he has a sixth sense for your presence, he turns his gaze towards you. He nods, then, after a moment, raises his hand in a wave.

You turn away and stuff your last remaining item into your duffel. You don’t look back as you leave.

Over the next few weeks, your encounters with Jaemin go more or less the same. He waits to greet you in the morning, and you shut him down every time. You’re not sure what he aims to achieve by waiting it out— you’ve made yourself quite clear—but nevertheless he seems to show up day after day, morning after morning.

Until one day, he doesn’t. When you march through the rink one morning, you’re not met with Jaemin but by an old man that you haven’t seen in a very long time.

You start and nearly drop your bag. “Coach Brown?”

Coach Brown’s smile lines spread over his entire face. While he’s gotten older, you haven’t forgotten the kindness that your childhood coach exudes. “I had to come by now that the three musketeers are back under this roof.”

You laugh, but it’s held taut by guilt. “It’s definitely an unexpected development.”

The old man’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Although the three of you are in a bit of a rut, aren’t you?”

Your palms sweat. “You saw Jaemin this morning?”

“Just ten minutes ago,” Coach Brown shrugs. Then, his expression darkens. “You know, the worst thing you could do is turn your back on your past.”

You blink. “Sorry? What did Jaemin—”

“Sunghoon,” he waves you off before continuing. “It’s been explained to me that you are…less than enthused about the situation, but you still should treat your peers with respect. Carving out a path for yourself doesn’t mean you need to block out the others.”

“Coach—” You can’t even fully process his sentence before he cuts you off again.

“You’ve always had the worst temper of the three,” Coach Brown wags his finger in your face. “Calm yourself down and face it like an adult.”

As fast as he came around, he marches away and disappears through the doors leading up to management’s office.

You stare after him long after the doors close, dazed. You feel twelve-years-old again, getting nagged at to be nice to the boys.

After your training ends a bit early, you happen to catch Jaemin as he puts on his skates. “Morning,” you say.

Jaemin’s head whips up so fast that he swings too far back and bumps his head against the back of the boards. “Oh shit—hey?”

“I saw Coach Brown this morning,” you say.

He brightens. “Me too. I hope I’m half as active as him when I’m that age.”

You don’t respond, instead searching his features and body language for any dishonesty. It’s a stare-off—you, chewing on your lip and Jaemin, confused and massaging the back of his head.

That’s it, you admit to yourself. He didn’t tell Coach Brown anything.

And admittedly—both from the open hope in Jaemin’s expression and your shame from being nagged at—perhaps the old man was right about some things, after all.

“Would you be free to grab lunch tomorrow?” You ask before you change your mind. “There’s a new ramen place that opened up last weekend—”

“Yes!” He answers before you’ve fully finished your sentence. “I know which one you’re talking about. I can pick you up?”

“Oh—uh—that’s okay, I think.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “You’re on the way, let me do it.”

Your jaw tightens, but you swallow your pride. “Sure. Noon?”

He nods without saying anything. The two of you stare at each other.

“Well,” you break the awkward silence first. “Have a good practice.”

“You too.” Jaemin cringes. “I mean, shit, have a good day. See you tomorrow.”

At that, you turn away.

Take that, Coach Brown, you think. Look whose temper is adequately controlled.

❅˚

Twenty minutes before noon, you nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door.

You rake over your appearance in the mirror and make desperate last-minute touch-ups. Sure, it's just lunch, but you were never sure when a rogue camera might snap pictures of you in public. The paparazzi had ceased showing up outside of the rink after the first two days, but the initial onslaught had left you paranoid of any flash or loud chatter.

“You’re early,” you say as you open the door, a little breathless.

Sunghoon blinks back at you. “I am?”

It’s your turn to stare. “Sunghoon. Why are you here?”

Regardless of your confusion, you step aside to let him in. As always, Sunghoon makes himself comfortable on your living room couch. “I was bored. Wanna get lunch?”

“About that.” You cross your arms. “Jaemin is picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise. “You finally decided to stop hating him?”

“I don’t hate him—” you fume. “I still disagree with how he went about things, but I might have just gotten a little too mad.”

Your friend snorts and mumbles something under his breath.

“What?” You punch his arm.

“Ow!” Sunghoon swats away your swings. “I said big surprise—clearly you’re the most hotheaded one out of all of us.

“Brown said the same thing,” you mutter.

Sunghoon pauses. “Isn’t it a little crazy that people are just letting him go right back to work? Right after his surgery, too.”

You shrug. “He seemed healthy enough to lecture me about Jaemin. He said I had the worst temper out of us three.”

He smirks. “Wow. The old man needed to get involved to get your head out of your ass.”

“And who tipped him off in the first place?”

“And who with the worst temper gave me this red mark on my arm just now?”

Touche. “Anyways,” you change the subject. “Wanna go with us?”

“Um,” Sunghoon grimaces. “Not if it’s going to be awkward.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. You shoot out a quick text to Jaemin: Sunghoon randomly showed up at my place. Mind if he comes?

Within thirty seconds, your phone vibrates again. Of course. The more the merrier, it says.

“See,” you hand your phone to him. “Jaemin doesn’t care.”

“He’s not in the position to object,” Sunghoon laughs. “From that wall of text? This is clearly the first time you’ve texted him in weeks. He’s probably just saying yes so that you don’t change your mind and run away.”

You roll your eyes. “So you’re not coming?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sunghoon says. "I'm hungry."

You would’ve been more nervous about merging the group if you’d known about Sunghoon’s intrusion beforehand, but it works out well for the car ride over. Jaemin and Sunghoon seem to pick up right where they put their friendship down.

Their conversation goes from topic to topic, but your mind is reeling. It’s too easy, riding as a passenger in Jaemin’s old car, to feel like you’re a teenager again.

The new ramen place is tucked away in a plaza constructed in the last two years. It’s still finding its niche—the only other businesses in the center are a pharmacy and a dollar store—and the ramen place is the most exciting thing to have happened to it.

“Oof,” Sunghoon says as you approach the shop. From the outside, you can see that there’s only a handful of people inside. “Is that too awkward?”

Jaemin steps forward. “It’s not empty.” He swings the door open before any of you can think about it further.

Jaemin and Sunghoon are full steam ahead with their conversations. You’re jealous, in a way. Both of them have so much natural charisma that it overflows into all their interactions. On the other hand, you feel like you always have to work for it.

You all end up ordering different things from the menu. You’re halfway through observing the interior decor when you realize the rest of the table has gone silent.

“So…” Jaemin says. He leans his head into his hand. “How’s it been?”

“How’s it been?” You repeat.

“Since Nationals,” Jaemin clarifies.

Sunghoon stiffens in the corner of your vision. You try to level your facial expression.

“I mean,” you can’t help the wry smile rising to your face. “I deleted social media from my phone. Mei’s posting for me so I don’t have to see the hate. I’m avoiding the news outlets for the same exact reason."

Jaemin swallows. “Right.”

“What about you?” It’s as much as a way to change the topic as it is genuine curiosity. “How are your fans taking the return announcement?”

“Mostly well,” he admits. “Older fans are excited. Younger fans are confused but trying to be supportive, which I appreciate.”

The elephant in the room goes unaddressed. You saw the comments before officially deciding to hand the reins over to Mei. You know for a fact that there were rumors on top of rumors swirling around your connection to both Jaemin and Sunghoon.

“I delete all of the hate comments,” Sunghoon says as if reading your mind. “Just for my own peace of mind, really. I can’t stand seeing that shit on my page.”

“You should try filtering words,” Jaemin suggests. “That’s helped diffuse some of it for me.”

You frown. While you can tell that both have good intentions, it doesn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it’s worse—you feel like a taboo to hide from the world, despite your status as a well-known figure in the skating world.

“You don’t have to delete or filter anything.” You feel a deep sense of resoluteness. “Let them talk.”

The guys exchange glances. “Sure, people will talk,” Jaemin says. “Doesn’t mean you need to entertain seeing it.”

You shrug, looking between the two as your bowls of ramen are placed in the table space in front of you. “Filtering out words won’t stop them. We’ll just give them something to talk about before they move on.”

Jaemin’s smile curls. A hint of his teeth pokes through. “What do you suggest we do to make them talk?”

You think for a moment before holding your phone in the air with a shake of your hand. “Pose for me?”

❅˚

After that first lunch, talking to Jaemin gets easier. You chat briefly whenever you run into each other at the rink, and sometimes you grab a post-practice coffee if your schedules line up. You don’t text, but Jaemin sends a few skating memes after you log back into Instagram—a cautious way to test the water.

“What’s your goal with coming back?” You ask during one brunch after training.

Jaemin’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t lose his easy smile. “My goal?”

“I mean—” you scramble to find the right words. Hell, you should think before speaking sometimes. “Why decide to come back now? You have so many opportunities outside of skating.”

Skaters who would kill for his following. Not many people would intentionally halt their own momentum, let alone actively endanger it with a fake relationship.

Jaemin leans back in his chair. “Why did you come back? After your injury?”

“Rude. I asked first.” Regardless, you think out loud. “No one’s actually asked me why. Everyone just assumed that I would try to come back after I was ready.”

“Would you have, even if they hadn’t assumed?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say without hesitating.

“Why?”

“It’s not what people would expect from me,” you start. “I knew it was going to be a long road to any sort of podium, and I didn’t even expect to get there at all. I came back…to see if I could, I guess. Skating has just been such a big part of my life; I wasn't ready to give it up.”

Jaemin’s smile brightens. “That’s my answer too.”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. “It’s not that I don’t admire you for coming back, but you weren’t injured. You left first.”

“I did.” Jaemin thinks for a moment. “When I quit, I genuinely thought that skating had nothing more to offer me. But the more time passed, the more I realized that something was missing.”

This is the most you’ve ever heard him talk about his choice to leave. He had never spoken about it outside of the initial press statement, and he’d all but disappeared from the community after. “What made you realize something was missing?”

“Ah, you know.” Jaemin scratches the back of his head. “Just intuition.”

You stare at him. “You came back after years based on some magical intuition? Right out of thin air?”

His cheeks turn pink. “What’s wrong with trusting your intuition?”

“Just seems too good to be true, I guess.” You take a long sip of your drink. “Ignore me. I’m a pessimist nowadays.”

Silence. Then, Jaemin speaks up again. “If you have to know, I saw some old footage. I got the urge to get on the ice, so I did. Casually skating didn’t feel like it was enough. I felt the pull to do everything—compete the right way, by coming home and reconnecting with everyone.”

It’s like his dark eyes are looking through you and your thoughts.

You think back to the months following your injury. In the darkest moments when you considered giving up skating for good, it always led to reminiscing via old videos. Everything from old competition footage to videos of you messing around with the other kids—sometimes it was your last anchor to hope. More than the nostalgia interwoven in the past, you craved to perform again.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you smile, then hesitate. “I’m glad you’re back.”

The seriousness melts away. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Mean it?”

You snort. “Forget it.”

“Too late,” Jaemin points to his temples. “It’s already saved here. No camera needed.”

❅˚

You push on your bike, fighting for your life to pedal to the music while trying to follow the spin instructor’s directions. Beads of sweat roll down your skin, and your throat feels dry.

You sneak a glance at Jaemin. The bastard looks like he’s barely breaking a sweat. In fact, if it he wasn't right next to you, anyone could easily mistake him as the instructor.

He leans toward your bike. “Are you doing okay?”

“I have decent cardio!” You pant over the bass-loaded music. “I’m fine!”

You sound so not fine that Jaemin throws his head back in laughter.

“You two in the back!” The instructor calls out. “Less talking, more pedaling!”

There were only so many cafes close to the rink to try, so working out together is your most recent attempt at activities together. Jaemin insisted that it’s valuable cross-training for your respective sports—you’re not sure that you agree with the sentiment for your discipline, but it’s a nice supplement to your training schedule.

“What did you think about that instructor?” Jaemin asks as he holds the door open for you.

You snort. “Too intense and too much bass boosting.”

Your phone vibrates with texts and phone calls. You don’t even flinch as you start blocking and reporting the unknown callers.

“Wow, you’re popular,” Jaemin jokes while he backs out of his parking spot.

You don’t say anything. There’s no use in dragging Jaemin into it; not when there’s nothing to be done. At the very least, you appreciate that Jaemin always offers to drive.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaemin asks as he pulls up to your place.

“No,” you laugh before registering the nervousness creeping in on his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Jaemin clears his throat. “Remember when my team brought up performing an ice dance together at that benefit show?”

“I do.”

“I know that it wasn’t brought up in a very good way.” Jaemin’s eyes flit around your face. “But do you think there’s any part of you that would be open to reconsidering that decision?”

The question makes you freeze. “Why?”

“My team won’t let up about it. I keep telling them that there’s really no need for me to participate…”

He’s continuing into some sort of explanation, but you’re hung up on the first part of his sentence. Sure, Mei and Jeff had been the catalyst for your reunion, but something about the mention of my team douses you as a cold reminder. In the midst of early morning rides and deep conversations over brunch, you’d forgotten that this was all manufactured.

“Our agreement ends right after the ice show, right?” You ask.

He nods. “But it’s just the official clause—of course, I want to—”

“Can you please tell your team that I will not be entertaining this notion again?” You reach for the door.

“Wait, stop. What did I say?” Jaemin’s climbing out of the car too, and a high pitch beeps over and over as he abandons the driver’s seat.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you huff. “I see you almost every day, and I’m still training. Am I supposed to be all happy-go-lucky all the time? It’s not like we’re friends.”

Jaemin physically recoils. “This again? We are friends.”

“I hadn’t talked to you in years before you decided to come back,” you state matter-of-factly. “We’re bound by a contract. We’re not friends, Jaemin. We’re coworkers.”

You turn on your heel and walk towards your place.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Jaemin calls after you. “You just get to say your piece and storm off?”

You face him. “Go on, then. What do you want to say?”

He stands there for a minute, and his face flashes through a chain of expressions. Jaemin opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again. He shakes his head before shutting himself back in his car. The tires squeak against the asphalt as he drives away.

You pace around your house in angry circles. You should feel better, but instead you generate new reasons to be mad at him. Aside from the contractual nature of your arrangement, didn’t he understand that interfering with your art was an entirely different matter? You could go on a million fake dates and post content on social media, but your time on the ice is the only thing that’s truly yours.

You’re halfway through rage-cleaning your kitchen when your screen lights up with Jaemin’s name. You ignore it, but then Sunghoon calls second, then Mei calls next.

You choose to call Sunghoon back, ready to defend your outburst, but your stomach plummets when you pick up the phone to Sunghoon sniffling.

All your anger dissipates into fear. “What happened?”

“Coach Brown collapsed today,” he rasps. “They're not sure if he's going to make it.”

❅˚

Mei and Jeff sit at the front of the conference room. Mei openly observes you and Jaemin. Jaemin sits scrolling on his phone with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head. You cross your arms and try to look anywhere else.

Mei and Jeff review the last month in social media posts and general media coverage. You nod to yourself without listening—they always say the same things anyway: good reception, decent reach, more posting if possible. Today’s presentation is much shorter than expected, with no concrete dates to post strategic content.

You take it as a sign to leave and grab your bag. Jaemin moves as well, putting his phone into his pocket.

“I’m sure you both are worried about Coach Brown,” Mei says suddenly.

You both freeze in place. Your eyes dart to Jaemin, to gauge his reaction, but he’s already looking at you.

You had thought about texting Jaemin a million times since the news broke. You’d checked in on Sunghoon, but he was the type of person to hold things in until later down the line. You didn’t want to push him too hard, since you’re sure that he’s hurting just as much as you.

Looking at the glassiness of Jaemin’s eyes, you’re certain that he’s thought about reaching out to you, too.

“He'll fight through it,” your voice croaks against the silence. “He was a great man.”

“The greatest,” Jaemin says without taking his eyes off of you.

“This may feel a little premature, but the foundation reached out,” Mei prefaces. “They’re having part of the ice show's proceeds go directly to Coach Brown’s family. They asked to confirm if both of you—and Sunghoon, of course—are still planning on participating?”

“Of course,” you answer.

“Are they sure they still want all of us?” Jaemin asks. “I’m not competing in figure skating or ice dance.”

Mei shrugs. “You were in talks before, but I’m guessing it’s because the three of you are his most prominent students. Of course, you went to speed skating eventually, but you were still under him for the entirety of your juniors career.”

Jaemin nods to himself. “It’s relatively short, right?”

Mei hesitates. “Well, I’m not quite sure of the hard details—”

Jaemin shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m in. I’ll figure it out.”

“We can skate together.”

It’s like the entire room has forgotten about your attendance; all three heads snap toward you, eyes wide.

“You want to?” Mei’s eyebrows climb to her hairline. “Now?”

That’s not exactly a great vote of confidence, but you persist nonetheless. “It’s going to help Coach Brown and his family. It’s as simple as that.”

“Will that be okay to prepare for?” Jaemin blurts out. “While you’re training for everything else, I mean.”

You shrug. “Sunghoon’s also competing.”

“It’s just a lot to balance.”

You stare at him. You’re flush with irritation, but you manage to keep your voice level as you respond. “I’ll manage.”

“Well,” Jeff interjects. He clears his throat loudly and moves to disconnect his computer from the room's screen. “That should be more than enough for today. We’ll both be in touch for details on the exhibition, but our next meeting should be in two weeks as usual.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” you drone as you gather your bag and exit.

You’re not even halfway down the stairwell when a hand latches onto your elbow.

“Wait,” Jaemin rasps. “Talk to me. Five minutes. Please.”

He’s panting like he’s run a mile. You nod. “What is it?”

“You don’t need to say yes, you know.” Jaemin says. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to work on your own program right now.”

You bristle. “Are you going to ask Sunghoon the same question?”

Jaemin leans his weight against the stairwell railing. “One day we’re laughing and talking about anything and everything, and then the next day you’re telling me that we’re not friends. One day you draw the hard boundary that we will never perform together, and then now you’re willing to. Why are you so upset with me?”

“I’m willing only for the sake of Coach Brown.” Your restrained and rational side snaps. You talk a step forward into Jaemin’s personal space. “I’ve been mad, Jaem. I’ve been pissed since you made your stupid announcement to come back to our rink—some of your crazy fans have found my real phone number, did you know that?”

He's speechless.

You continue. “Ever since coming back from my injury, I can’t do anything right. If I talk about my mental health as an athlete, I’m seen as complaining. If I can’t land a jump? I’m washed up. If my makeup is looking a little off on competition day? My age is showing, and I should feel lucky that someone so old can still compete. People hate me so much that it’s my best PR strategy to become someone’s hated girlfriend, because the new hate is considered an improvement from my old hate.”

“I didn’t know you were being harassed on your personal number,” he mutters.

“And why would you?” You scoff. “It doesn’t matter that we used to know each other, okay? Even though everyone down to Coach Brown wants us to be so close—”

“Coach Brown said something to you before?” Jaemin leans in, which makes you take a step back.

“Well, kinda—”

“Please,” he begs. Desperation lines his eyes. “Tell me what you talked about. I could barely catch him here because of my odd hours, let alone talk to him. I regret that more than anything.”

Your anger wanes. You feel a flash of pity followed by a stark reminder of your surroundings—what were you doing, yelling at Jaemin in a stairwell?

You wrack your brain for a white lie, but nothing comes up on the spot. You’ve already exposed it anyway, so you might as well tell the truth. “He told me to control my temper and stop being mad at you for nothing.”

You expect something like a snarky comment, but Jaemin just looks surprised. “He knew it’s fake?”

You shrug. “I didn’t tell him anything. He either knows us too well or heard something through the grapevine. Or he heard me yelling at you and put two and two together.”

Jaemin snorts, but he doesn’t respond.

You shift uncomfortably. “That was pretty much it. He said the worst thing I could do was turn my back on my past.”

Jaemin pauses for a long time before speaking. “Can I say something to you? No Mei, no Jeff, no social media?”

Your heart feels stuck in your throat. You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” His gaze burns through you. “I should’ve talked to you more during and after Nationals. I definitely should’ve warned you about the batshit plan our agents were making—I know that probably made you lose trust in me instantly.”

Jaemin glances at you, no doubt expecting some sort of correction or flash of emotion, but you remain silent. He continues: “I know it’s stupid, but they presented me with possible options for a PR relationship — it was going to happen regardless to acclimate the public to my return to skating. They suggested you last, but I think I agreed too fast. I should’ve talked to you before my team made contact with yours.”

Your mind swims with the new information. A laugh slips from your throat without realizing it. “I think I might’ve been the worst choice possible.”

He reddens. “Coach Brown gave me the idea, if I’m being honest.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“I ran into him here while practicing. Before everything, and before I officially planned to come back.” He admits. “I was venting to him about the concept of a PR relationship—I promise you I didn’t want to—and he started to rehash his past troubles with the media.”

“He got mad when Sunghoon got coverage about his real high school girlfriend,” you recall. “He would’ve lost his mind at a fake one.”

“He didn’t say anything weird,” Jaemin shrugs. “Just a hypothetical: ‘wouldn’t it be nice if someone you feel comfortable with could stand in, instead of doing something like that with a stranger.’”

What was it that Coach Brown had said to you? You should be grateful that he’s someone you feel comfortable around.

The edges of your mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. “That bastard.”

Jaemin smiles back, and your heart flips.

Coach Brown had essentially influenced this entire production. The realization causes tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. “Jaemin—”

“I should've talked to him more.” His eye grow misty. “I fucked up. I should’ve spent time with him, instead of focusing on all of the drama.”

You twitch forward, but you stop yourself short of hugging him. You pat his back in slow taps while holding back your own tears. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew that this would happen.”

He stiffens at your touch. “You don’t need to comfort me, you know. I know you hate me.”

Your stomach drops. “I never hated you, Jaemin. I was just hurt—it felt like you were using me.”

Once you speak it, you know it to be the truth. Try as you might, you could never hate Jaemin. Even if given away ten years ago, you know that he will always hold part of your heart.

“That was never my intention,” he whispers. “I know it’s hard to believe.”

“I see that now,” you acknowledge. “I’ve been an asshole, Jaem. I want to start over. ”

Jaemin sniffs back his remaining tears. He offers you a weak smile. “I’d like that.”

You reach towards him with your hand. “Friends?”

His hand closes over yours, only to pull you forward into a big hug. “Friends. Always.”

Your hands rise from your sides and travel up his back. You squeeze him tight. “Always. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember.”

“One, two, three, turn, two, three—” your choreographer, Maci, counts your steps with a patient tone.

You focus on your footwork. You’re still practicing without music; it’s just Maci’s voice mixed with your shoes squeaking against the floor. You extend your right arm behind you in a soft sweep, and you imagine it making a perfect line with your posture.

Instead, your tricep sticks against something soft yet clammy.

“Mmph—” Jaemin grunts behind you. “That’s my face.”

You stop and wipe your arm. “Sweaty.”

In sync, you both walk to the edge of the room to chug your water.

Practice for the ice show was truly underway, and you all had spent the last week learning choreography off ice. You and Sunghoon had quickly picked up on your routines for your individual portions. Sunghoon would do his routine completely by himself, as he would for any normal exhibition. You, however, would split yours into two: one minute by yourself, then one minute with Jaemin.

It wasn’t a complete disaster, but you were picking it up together slower than either of you anticipated. Jaemin struggled to lead, while you would misjudge your distance and step on his foot—or, in this case, slap him with your tricep.

“I might as well not be there,” Jaemin jokes with you during water breaks. “What happened to all of our training?”

“Our ice dance training from nearly ten years ago?”

“I think you legitimately forget that Jaemin is there if you don’t see him,” Sunghoon observes from the back. Although he almost always finishes before you, he tends to stick around. “You should skate with a rearview mirror.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Actually…” Maci looks lost in thought before nodding her head. “You have a point.”

You gape at her. “You think I need a rearview mirror?”

“Of course not,” she says. Noticeably, Sunghoon deflates slightly in his corner. “I just meant that he has a point…somewhere in there. You guys are taking up completely different spaces”

You both blink at her.

She rolls her eyes, then taps through her phone. A classic waltz plays over the small speakers overhead. “Dance in hold. Just a basic waltz, please.”

Jaemin grins and bows deeply. He extends a hand toward you. “May I have this dance?”

“Corny,” you groan while taking his hand with your right. You straighten your posture and bring your other hand to hold onto his bicep. Likewise, his right hand tucks over your shoulder blade. You’re both glistening with sweat, but you feel goosebumps raise where his hand glides over your skin.

The music continues to play overhead, but neither of you move. Jaemin waits another two measures before leading you across the floor. It’s a simple waltz, but you feel hyperaware of every movement, big and small. You swear Jaemin’s fingers tighten where your hands are clasped together.

“There you go!” Maci calls out.

Right when you’re thinking that’s a green light to call it, she shouts out again. “Now hold eye contact!”

You look up, ready to break the silence with a joke, but your smile drops when you see Jaemin's eyes. They’re dark and captivating—that much hasn’t changed—but there’s an undercurrent of something else that leaves you paralyzed. You nearly forget to breathe, as you have to focus all of your attention on matching his steps.

“How does this pace feel?” He asks while holding eye contact. There’s a ghost of a smirk.

Your heart races so fast that you can’t hear the music over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “It’s a great pace. Feels good.”

You only realize the innuendo after it’s too late. Your face heats as he laughs at you.

“Alright!” Maci shouts out. “First run through of the partner section with the music! I’ll count you off.”

You start alone in the center of the floor with your arms extended, since that’ll be your position on the ice once your solo wraps up. Similar to how it will be on the ice, you don’t see Jaemin as he approaches; his hands rest on your waist first.

Your heartbeat instantly spikes; you’re unsure if it’s due to the contact or the adrenaline.

You brace your core as he lifts you and turns the two of you in a slight spin.

We’re really doing this, you realize as you extend through the lift. It’s a little wobbly—both of your faults, you think—but you get through it. Jaemin lowers you back onto your feet. Even though the landing is a little rough, a lift is a lift.

You turn out to face each other. Jaemin extends his arm toward you. His features are bright and confident, as if teasing you to come closer. For a split second, it reminds you of the easy stage presence he always carried as a performer.

You take his hand and continue with the rest of the routine. As this is an exhibition show and your dance together is an homage to Coach Brown, all of the elements within this showcase are mostly basic in nature. Sure, you both can tackle the various step sequences with a languid artistry not intuitive to non-skaters, but it’s nowhere close enough in difficulty to a competition program.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jaemin murmurs through a spin.

“I’m worried we’ll look silly,” you say as you part.

“No worrying when we’re dancing,” he says. “Just think about me.”

You do. You hold eye contact throughout the remainder of the step sequence, and all your thoughts revolve around him. His positioning—should you adjust a bit so you’re a little closer? You even focus on how your lines are extending towards him. Mostly technical things, but above all—Jaemin is like the sun, pulling everything towards him, and you can’t help but be swept into his orbit.

Your last element is a stationary lift where Jaemin anchors you by your waist and legs to hold you horizontally. Your entrance works, his hand grips your waist, but you flinch the second his other hand grabs your inner thigh.

“Oof—” your lower half drops to the ground, although Jaemin’s hold on your torso is enough to prevent full impact. “Thanks.”

For the first time, you glance around at your audience. Sunghoon looks away and scratches the back of his neck. Maci’s cheeks tinge with pink as she frantically reaches to stop the music.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a frown as Jaemin pulls you to your feet. “Did it look bad?”

“No, uh—” Maci claps her hands together in light, awkward taps. She clears her throat. “It’s like you never left, Jaemin.”

“You guys are going to get questions about this routine for the rest of your lives,” Sunghoon snorts. “But it’ll get the donations going.”

Jaemin releases his hold on your hand. You flex it thoughtfully; you hadn’t realized that you hadn’t let go.

You look at your dance partner, but Jaemin’s expression tightens into something unreadable. “Yup, great for charity.”

Your day continues as usual—more individual runthroughs, a snack after practice, and mindless chats with your little group. But when you sleep that night, parsing through your day, you can’t shake the phantom feeling of his hand in yours.

❅˚

“I have to ask you a question,” Sunghoon says before you even have the chance to shut the passenger door.

You blink at him through sleepy eyes. “Right now? It’s 5am.”

Sunghoon puts the car into drive and heads in the direction of Jaemin’s apartment.

“So?” Your crankiness asks. “What’s your question—?”

“Do you have feelings for Jaemin?”

“Uh,” you’re genuinely at a loss for words. “Are we talking about currently, or when we were in middle school?”

He doesn’t respond. There’s not even any music playing in the car, so you squirm in your seat against the silence.

You clear your throat. “Why are you asking?”

“Because the two of you look like you’re ready to jump each other at any moment.”

“Ew, Hoon.”

"You're also acting different." Sunghoon gives you a look. “You would’ve already told me if it was anyone else.”

You break eye contact. Dancing with Jaemin again had asserted one thing: you could not deny your physical attraction to him. The chemistry overflowed, even when you watched practice footage back. Sure, he’s always been your type, but his face had grown more handsome and his body more chiseled into adulthood.

When it came to your emotional connection to him, however, your feelings are a big, jumbled mess. Becoming close again has been easy, but something in the air lingers between you two. It's difficult to differentiate the layers of physical attraction, nostalgia, and genuine fondness. How could you explain the complexities to Sunghoon when you barely understood them yourself?

“It’s just partner chemistry and the tone of our routine.” You groan. “Calm down.”

Sunghoon glares at you as he pulls into Jaemin’s apartment complex. He doesn’t respond, but his expression is crystal clear: I’m going to ask you about this again.

“Good morning,” Jaemin sings as he enters the car. “You guys are grumpier than usual.”

You and Sunghoon exchange a look; when he pointedly looks back at the road without a word, you figure he’s leaving any explanation to you.

You cross your arms. “You’re five minutes late.”

Jaemin snorts. “Touche.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. The heater in Sunghoon’s car fights against the cold air outside, but you pull your jacket around you nonetheless.

Starting today, the two of you are practicing your routine for the show on the actual ice. While the cast was just formally announced last week, the post had generated buzz almost immediately. All the marketing team had to do was put the list of names in their caption, and the internet did the rest. After all, what other opportunity would there be to watch the Na Jaemin skate outside of his discipline?

You’re happy that the show guaranteed to have a sold out audience and likely record breaking fundraising. It’s the whole reason why you both chose to participate in the first place, but you’d underestimated the pressure that came with it.

“You’ll finish your section with a spin,” Maci says as she walks you through the last of your solo steps. “And that is where Jaemin will come in.”

“Finally! I’m here!” Jaemin chimes in.

Both you and Sunghoon roll your eyes.

“Let’s see how many of the skills you remember,” you say as you catch your breath.

“I’ll tell the instructors to save a spot for you in Basic 1,” Sunghoon adds on. "You can learn how to skate with those new ice dance boots you bought."

Jaemin flips both of you off.

You step onto the bench while Sunghoon skates away to run through his third of the program.

You scroll through your phone as Sunghoon starts his routine. It’s not as if you don’t respect his skating; on the contrary, you never miss a performance. You just tune in for the big moments, which means that you don’t have to be as alert for these initial sessions.

While you’re nonchalant, Jaemin can’t tear his eyes away.

“If you told me ten years ago that he would be this graceful, I wouldn’t believe you,” the words fall out half under his breath.

You laugh. “Feed that line to the press.”

Jaemin’s eyes flit to yours. “You wouldn’t.”

You raise your hands into the air. “Kidding. I know exactly what you mean.”

From the beginning, Sunghoon had taken the most time to progress. All three of you had been considered advanced for your age group, but you and Jaemin had always been ahead of the curve.

Now, your friend was known for his focus on artistic elements; in many ways, you felt like he truly embodied the emotions of the characters he was portraying. You’d found that element of skating more difficult after your injury—you’d never been that good of an actor in the first place, and post-accident you didn’t find yourself that invested in pretending to be someone else.

“Do you ever regret not sticking with figure skating or ice dance?” You find yourself asking.

He shrugs. “Hard to say since we’ll never know my real potential. Although I did like the acting aspect of portraying a character.”

“So speed skating still has your heart,” you laugh. “Has it at least been worth diving back into it for a little bit? The theatrics of it all?”

Jaemin turns to you. He doesn’t smile at all, and his tone is dead serious. “It is. I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.”

Your body hums in response from your heart down to your stomach. “Why’s that?”

He pauses. Then, without breaking eye contact, he smiles and leans in toward you. “What do you think?”

Jaemin smells faintly of oranges. Your head spins at the proximity. You can’t come up with something witty, even if you wanted to. “I–”

At the same time, Sunghoon loses his footing and falls to the ice with an oof. Both of your heads whip towards your friend, who rises and wipes the ice off of his clothes.

“You good?” You half-shout toward your friend.

He shoots you a thumbs up in response before continuing.

Jaemin gazes at you, but you’ve lost your nerve.

“It’s nice to be here with both of you again,” you say as you unlock your phone and sit back down. “It’s as if you never left.”

“Me too,” Jaemin says softly. “It’s just like old times.”

❅˚

It’s three weeks before the show. You rush to the rink alone this time to fit a makeup practice into your and Jaemin’s busy schedules. You groan internally knowing that it falls on your rest day, but the practice is needed. Between both of your training schedules, you had to take the free moments when they come.

You pick up coffees on the way. It’s the first time you’ve driven to practice by yourself in a week, and your nerves rise as you drive closer and closer.

There shouldn’t be anything to be nervous about. Sure, you and Jaemin still have parts of your routine to work on, but progress has been smooth up to this point.

You’re unable to shake off the feeling as you arrive thirty minutes early. You turn off your car and linger in the driver’s seat. You have two options: scroll on your phone in the car or head in early. The latter wouldn’t make sense under normal circumstances—if Jaemin wasn’t practicing.

You glance at the two drinks sitting in your cupholders. Surely there’s no harm in peeking?

You exit the car, both drinks in hand, before you can change your mind. You enter the rink with a sheepish energy, although you’re doing absolutely nothing wrong.

Jaemin’s alternating through basic circle skills. His coach watches at the sideline with a stopwatch in one hand and a phone recording the drill in its entirety from a stand.

More than the difficulty of speed skating itself, you can’t believe that Jaemin has been balancing it alongside the training for the gala. Not only are the skates completely different, but the main mechanics require raw power and endurance. Much different from the slower, technical precision of ice dance.

Despite no spins or jumps, he makes it look graceful. You make a mental note to attend his first competition. You could watch him skate forever, regardless of discipline.

Jaemin’s coach calls him in, reviewing the footage and giving feedback. His expression is neutral, and Jaemin merely nods and repeats the drill each time. It goes on that way until the end of his practice time.

You wave as Jaemin exits off the ice and down the ramp toward you. He blinks, and his steps stutter for a moment before he continues.

“Morning,” you avoid eye contact as you hold out his iced coffee. He hadn’t noticed you during his practice, but you feel shy nonetheless. “Got here a little early.”

“Oh,” Jaemin grimaces. “So you saw all that?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I thought you looked great.”

He scoffs. He focuses on something distant over your shoulder. “I don’t know if I would describe it as great.”

You’re at a loss for words. The scenario feels familiar—hell, you’d gotten this way during practice for your solo exhibition—but you don’t have enough technical knowledge of speed skating to immediately understand what happened. Beyond that, it’s rare to see Jaemin so quiet.

Your expression must be comically transparent, because you watch his eyes lock to yours and register your wide stare.

“Sorry, you just caught me at a weird practice,” he clears his throat. “I’ll be ready in fifteen?”

The gesture does little to settle you, but you manage your own uneasy smile. “Take your time. I’ll warm up.”

You’ve never been more grateful for the familiarity of center ice. You run through a quick warmup routine and even squeeze in a couple rough rehearsals of your solo routine for the show.

“Looks good,” Jaemin says as he finally steps onto the ice. “I almost feel bad to make you split your program in half.”

“You’re not making me do anything.” You frown. After everything the two of you have been through to get to this point, his sudden minimization makes you worry.

“Well, you know,” he says, alternating between the inner and outer edges of his blades in small swizzles.

“No, I don’t know,” you shake your head stubbornly. You glide in front of him without breaking eye contact. “I’m doing this because I want to. I want to skate with you.”

It’s the most forward you’ve been, but his expression doesn’t budge. Instead, he just nods. “Shall we?”

The two of you run through the routine a few times, but it’s as though the last few weeks have been for nothing. No matter how many times you restart or run through the counts slowly, the two of you struggle to sync. Rather—you know you’re hitting your movements, but Jaemin merely seems to be going through the motions.

When his hold on you wobbles on the ending pose, you snap yourself out of his arms and huff. “Okay, seriously. We’re done for today. Let’s go.”

Of all things, that seems to wake Jaemin from his daze. He skates after you. “Wait, I’m just off today—”

You ignore him, stepping off of the ice and into your skate guards. You briefly turn around to catch his eye.

Jaemin’s hovering on the ice by the door, watching you. His eyes plead.

You wave your arm towards you in a come here gesture. His face brightens, and he hurriedly follows after you.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out when he’s close to you.

You shake your head. “Wanna get lunch?”

-

You stare at each other from across the table.

“You first,” you point to Jaemin’s burger, which has arrived at your table first. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to eat, but,” Jaemin crosses his arms. “Do you have to stare at me?”

You say nothing even as the server brings your own food over.

Jaemin sighs but starts eating nonetheless. “Happy?”

“Yes,” you say as you pick at your fries.

“If this is a way to make sure I’m eating, I don’t have issues with dieting while competing,” he mutters between bites. “Luckily.”

“Trust me, it’s not about that,” you laugh. “I know you can eat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So then…?”

“You were just super out of it today,” you shrug. “You’ve been training pretty intensely this week, right?”

He frowns. “I have, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Compared to the work schedule I was doing before coming back to skating, it’s more or less the same.”

You point a fry at him accusingly. “There. That’s the issue.”

“That I work?”

“That you’re not taking time to not work.”

“No offense,” the words come out slowly, “but aren’t you, like, famously known for never taking breaks?”

You shake your head. “That was pre-injury me. Current me takes breaks. I have hobbies.”

“I have hobbies,” he insists.

“That you’ve invested in recently?” You ask. "Actively?"

He hesitates. “So what, burger eating is supposed to be my next hobby? I don’t struggle with diets, but that one might be hard.”

“Ha ha,” you say flatly. “I just wanted to get you away from training. You love burgers.”

Jaemin looks down at his burger, as if the sandwich itself has betrayed him. “I do,” he sighs. “You don’t need to baby me. I’m a grown man.”

“I know,” you say, looking away. “I just wanted to get your mind off of everything. You’re doing a lot.”

A small silence stretches between you. You can feel Jaemin’s gaze probing over your side profile, but you pretend to look around the restaurant.

“Do you still like bingsu?”

“I–” Jaemin’s smile is bright as day, and, more importantly, it’s genuine. You relax“I do.”

“Wanna go to the cafe near Sunghoon’s place?”

You exhale a relieved breath. “That sounds amazing.”

❅˚

“Quick break?” Jaemin pants after a full run through of your routine.

You simply nod, trying to catch your own breath. The two of you skate to the side without a word.

You pull out your phone. Mei’s sent you three images over text with a short question—Received all the photos for promo. You sure you’re okay with the team using these?

As a part of promotional material for the ice show, all three of you—Sunghoon, Jaemin, and yourself—had submitted throwback pictures to be posted by the official account.

Your picture depicted five-year-old you at your very first skating lesson—pink puffer and helmet in full display. It’s one of your favorites.

Sunghoon’s picture, to your surprise, has both of you in it. It must be from middle school, since you’re dressed in costuming from your first and final pairs competition together.

“What the hell?” Your jaw drops as you inspect the image. Jaemin glances over your shoulder, and you turn your phone to show him. “This is the last thing I would’ve expected him to send. I don’t think I even have any pictures of us from that era.”

Jaemin laughs. “Maybe since they asked Sunghoon for something from middle school? He was complaining about it. They asked me for elementary school pictures, so I had it easy.”

Sure enough, the last picture shows the three of you after a group private lesson together. Jaemin’s in the center smiling wide and bright. Sunghoon’s smile is reserved and slightly awkward to Jaemin’s right. You, on the opposite side, cling to Jaemin’s side in a big hug with an even bigger smile.

There it is. A wave of shyness. “I don’t think I have this one either.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“It feels like forever ago.” Your throat constricts as you speak.

“It’s certainly been a long time since then,” Jaemin says. His eyes are glued to the picture of the three of you. His lips soften into a smile.

“I can’t believe Sunghoon and I thought we could be partners,” you cough and wrinkle your nose. “I don’t think his arm strength would’ve kept up. And we would’ve killed each other.”

It’s as if Jaemin doesn’t hear you. “Do you wanna hear something funny?”

“Does it involve that one time Sunghoon dropped me on the ice, your mom took me to urgent care, and then that incident single-handedly made me quit pairs?”

“No, but that’s good.” Jaemin’s smile still floats on his face with a hint of mischievousness, like he’s keeping a secret.

“What is it, then?”

“I used to be so jealous of Sunghoon,” he laughs. “And look at us now, practicing the choreography for an exhibition performance as partners.”

Your mind goes blank. “Jealous? Why?”

He seems to snap out of his reverie at your question, expression growing a little shy. He shrugs “Well, you know.”

“Um, no, I don’t know.”

“Well, childhood crushes and all that,” he says quickly. He queues up the music on his phone. “So jealous over random things. Anyway, ready to practice the second half?”

He skates away to put his phone down on the ledge and start the music before you can respond. What he hasn’t calculated is that he will need to skate right back to you to practice the step sequence. Two can play at this game.

“Funny you say that,” you mutter as he takes your hand. “Considering my childhood self would’ve killed to be paired with you.”

He swallows thickly. You can tell he’s trying to tune into the music, but his steps are half a beat off. “Meaning?”

You’re not going to make it that easy for him. “Same thing that you meant.”

The step sequence is naturally push-and-pull as Jaemin leads you through each stroke and turn, but today it feels like something more: a balance of power.

“We were partners before,” he murmurs before his hands anchor on your hips to guide you into a synchronized spin.

“Briefly,” you say once you complete it. “But I was devastated when you quit altogether. I would’ve done anything to keep skating with you.”

You maintain eye contact through the remainder of this practice. There’s a charged feeling in every movement, every touch. Even when the steps call for distance, you feel the inevitable pull to come back together. In fact, it never feels close enough.

The two of you slide into a stop at the end of your choreography, but you keep staring at each other long after the song has ended. Jaemin’s brown eyes roam your features hungrily, until his gaze settles on your lips.

Jaemin's going to kiss you.

Time slows. The rink lights overhead make your eyes water, and your mind resurfaces into a complete blank. There's not much choice otherwise—not with his lips nearing yours.

You close your eyes, trembling from your head to your blades as your heart rattles against your ribcage.

Lips graze against your cheek. Gentle hands drift onto your cheeks after.

Your eyelids flutter open. Jaemin's face hovers in front of yours. His features flush in a soft pink, but his eyes seem to droop. The corners of his lips quiver up in a sad half-smile.

"Not now," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sorry."

You come to your senses as he skates away, blinking around at your surroundings, as if you've woken up from a long sleep.

No words are exchanged as you both grab your things and exit. It's hardly mumbles of goodbye before going your separate ways.

You slam the car door closed and exist in the silence.

Although it just occurred, you're already winding back the events and weighing what could've been done differently.

You should've demanded answers; pushed him away and left in a storm. Or, maybe, you should've done the opposite—allowed all of your real emotions to sweep and pull at your face.

In actuality, you have no real confidence in the efficacy of either. You just hate the way it ended: neutral, as if you're two strangers rather than friends pushing at something more—not that you had the faintest idea of what. Just…something.

Even later that night, the exact details blur together, feeling more like a hallucination more than a memory. Had you made it up in your head? No, Jaemin was definitely flirting with you. Again. But Jaemin flirted with everyone—well, no, it does feel different when Jaemin flirts with you. Tender.

The moment replays over and over again, trapped within your thoughts. You try to sleep, but your mind is too busy fixing itself on the minute details: how his hands felt around you, the soft brush of Jaemin's lips against your skin.

All of your previous confidence feels like it evaporated from your body. All that filled your mind at the time was the near-aching urge to unleash your pent-up feelings. There had been absolutely no regard for the meaning afterwards, not that it mattered—he pulled away anyway. A wisp of a rejection.

If it happened, would it have even meant anything? You muse to yourself as you trace the lines of your ceiling. It could totally have just been harmless flirting.

For yourself, you know there's only one answer. You're well beyond dismissing your behavior with Jaemin as remnants of an old crush. Still, you wonder when they turned into more, as you can't pinpoint when they intensified. It's as if these new feelings could consume the old ones in their entirety.

You wonder if this newfound hunger will ever be satiated. This is more time than you could've imagined spending with Na Jaemin, but it never feels like enough.

You wonder if Jaemin is thinking of you half as much as you're thinking of him right now.

The thought barely fades when, like a sick, cosmic joke, your phone vibrates on your nightstand. Na Jaemin flashes on the screen.

You lunge for it and straighten your posture, clearing your throat and sliding a finger across the screen to answer. "Hey. What's up?"

"Hey," Jaemin says. "Did you see the group chat? What do you think?"

"Uh, no. I didn't see it," you admit. "What's up?"

"Coach Brown's wife asked if we want to visit him. Since he was cleared to finish his recovery at home."

"Oh—yeah, of course." The words come out rushed. It's as if you're speaking with a mouth filled with cotton balls. "I'm down."

"Cool."

"Are…are we all going?" You ask, then immediately regret it.

"Yes, of course." A pause. "I can take you tomorrow. Since we'll be going after the team meeting."

"Team meeting—?" Ah. The meeting with Mei and Jeff. "Right—yeah, we can carpool. If you don't mind."

"I don't," he says. "I'll pick you up at 1:30?"

"Sounds good."

"About today," Jaemin blurts out. "I'm sorry."

You slouch and close your eyes. "Sorry for what exactly, Jaem?"

"Well—we almost—you know." It's the most you've ever heard him stumble over his words. You would kill to see what flustered looks like brushed over his face. "Right?"

"So you're sorry that we almost kissed." The words flatten as you speak.

"God—can we talk? After our meeting? Or after we visit Coach Brown?"

Stress laces through his tone. Your heart sinks. "Of course."

Jaemin waits for a beat, but you refuse to give in. You don't want to have this conversation over the phone either, and he already offered.

"Good night, Jaemin," you offer.

"…Good night," he murmurs. "Sleep well."

You toss your phone back on the nightstand and cover yourself with the blankets. After that, you're in for the most restless sleep of your life.

"Last alignment meeting," Jaemin says on the way in. "Ready to do this thing?"

You force a smile. Not only are you reeling after a grand total of four hours of sleep, but the car ride over had been little more than dull niceties. "Something along those lines."

He frowns, but you pick up your pace and barrel inside.

Jaemin ends up drifting towards Jeff, although he looks over his shoulder at you.

You shrug and sit at the other end of the table, waiting for Mei to arrive.

Jaemin and Jeff huddle at the front of the table, gesturing and whispering among themselves. They only snap to attention when Mei strides in and shuts the door closed with extra force.

"Good afternoon," Jeff greets with his usual professionalism.

Mei and Jeff jump into reviewing the analytics from the last month. It lives up to your expectations; ever since the ice show announcements and promos ran, it was like someone hit a switch. You—according to sources, since you still avoided social media like the plague—were showing up less in search inquiries. If you were, then content leaned more supportive.

Still, looking at the cold hard numbers, it's clear that Jaemin's growth is unstoppable. Your followers grew by nearly triple, sure, but his total follower count still runs laps around yours.

"I think fans are just grateful to see you so active," Mei explains.

You steal a glance at Jaemin. His face gives away nothing. He looks like a statue, his expression carved in fierce stoicism.

By all metrics, both of your social media profiles look healthier than ever. Buzz has calmed down, and, by some miracle, your "relationship" appears to be accepted by the general public.

"In my opinion—we'll wrap with the ice show, both parties can post the photos from the event, and I think the performance will speak for itself!" For someone so corporate, Jeff looks downright giddy.

You and Mei meet his enthusiasm with tempered applause. Jaemin doesn't even look up.

"Well, there is one matter we should discuss, now that we're at the tail end of things." Jeff's voice turns into the poised tone you're familiar with. "When to announce the breakup."

It shouldn't have this much of an effect on you—it's a fake relationship, after all!—but your body stiffens on its own. You cross your arms over your chest.

You expect Jeff to defer to Mei, but he clears his throat to continue.

"A development that we will not be officially announcing anytime soon…Jaemin is planning on moving back to his old rink."

Your eyes snap to Jaemin. He's already looking at you, assessing your every minute reaction.

"His current coach divulged that he's moving up his retirement timeline. Jaemin's going to add his new coach onto his official team as support for now, then he'll make the hard switch next season."

The same sad glimmer from yesterday shines in his eyes. You understand in an instant—he knew it, even then.

"We're thinking, to leverage the speed skating season, we'll have Jaemin withdraw significantly from posting on social media. That way, breakup rumors and potential fallout can be addressed outside of the season for both sports."

"So no official announcement," Mei muses. "Just a fizzle out."

Jeff nods. "Just a fizzle."

"We'll discuss." Mei glances at you in the corner of her eye, so quick you almost miss it. "For now, we'll just aim to keep social media normal following the show."

You don't want to discuss it. You want to eject yourself from this meeting and dash under the covers, but today is not an option. Not when you, Jaemin, and Sunghoon have a scheduled visit with Coach Brown.

"Ready?" Jaemin asks after the meeting wraps.

You nod without a word and follow him to his car.

"I know you're mad," Jaemin rushes through his words right when your door closes. "Let me explain."

"No need," you say while pulling the seatbelt tight across your torso. "I think Jeff gave us the appropriate context. You're switching coaches, so you already decided to leave."

He runs a hand through his hair. "It's really not my choice. I didn't expect this at all."

You shrug. "Things happen."

Jaemin glances at you, but you train your gaze ahead. "Are you mad because—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a guessing game. It's either you have something to say, or you say nothing."

Jaemin's temper is rarely put to the test, but today you come very close: clenched jaw, sharp brows.

"You know what?" He says. "We'll just talk after we see Coach Brown."

"Fine by me."

Jaemin starts the ignition and snaps the gears into reverse. As both of you have decided there's nothing to say, you spend the entire car ride in pointed silence.

"It's so sweet of you kids to come out here and visit him," Mrs. Brown leaves a bowl of fruit on the center of the table. Not even thirty seconds later, she's back with pretzels. Thirty seconds after that, cookies.

"That's all right, Cynthia," Coach Brown chuckles. "You're going to scare the poor things off."

You, Jaemin, and Sunghoon sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the coach with small smiles. Sunghoon, with his endless generosity, insisted that Jaemin sit in the middle. You initially wanted to strangle Sunghoon, but you also can't help but be hyperaware of Jaemin's muscles pressing into your own.

Despite the current weirdness between two-thirds of you, this was something that didn't need to be discussed at all. Although, sitting here, you and Sunghoon fiddle with your hands and squirm a little in the heavy atmosphere. In situations like this, it's difficult to know the right things to say.

Jaemin leans forward, stands up, and shuffles over to Coach Brown's bedside. "You gotta look at this, coach," he laughs.

While you and Sunghoon sit glued to the couch, the whispers of what you want to say lodged firmly in your throats, Jaemin chatters on like it's just another day.

You feel a flash of pride. Then hurt.

How was it so easy for him to go about and act as though nothing affected him?

You shake the thoughts from your head. This isn't about you.

The three of you relax more through the visit, although Mrs. Brown gently cuts it short to allow Coach Brown to rest.

You all wave goodbye and promise to come again, then you're standing in the parking lot, hovering by your cars.

You're about to ask Sunghoon to drive you when he speaks first. "Jaemin, you can take her back, right? I have something else after this that I already committed to."

The bastard is lying; you know for a fact he's playing nothing but video games tonight. He meets your eyes and grins.

Your welcome, he mouths, none the wiser.

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I was going to take her anyway," Jaemin says, shooting you a suspicious side glance.

The two of you say bye to Sunghoon and step back into Jaemin's car. Instead of saying anything, he turns the music up until the bass reverberates the entire car. You spend the drive listening to bass boosted music and wonder if he's lost his mind. Still, you tolerate it—until he takes a couple wrong turns.

"What the hell are you doing?" You try to shout, but the music drowns out your words.

He doesn't even glance at you. You realize, scanning the horizon, that he's driving you to the park nearest to your house. Jaemin pulls into a spot, turning to you when he turns off the engine.

"Want to go on a walk and talk?"

You've often driven past your local park on weekends, swarming with families and soccer games, but today, on a random weekend evening, it's peaceful. The sunset just barely kisses the horizon, blending shades of orange and pink across the sky.

Jaemin walks at your side in shorts and a gray sweatshirt. His hoodie's pulled up, and you're wearing one of his baseball caps over your head.

You walk side-by-side for a while, kicking rocks down the pavement.

After a while, he finally speaks first. "I'm sorry for not telling you directly about the move."

You stiffen. Your legs are still in motion, but your movements feel robotic. Yeah, you'd wanted him to figure it out on his own, but you weren't expecting him to actually know so fast.

Your surprise must show, because Jaemin then clicks his tongue and exhales. "Whew. That must've really pissed you off, if you're that surprised that I got it right."

You find your voice. "Yeah. I didn't love hearing about it through your team. Again."

He winces. "I know. I told him not to mention it, but he kinda went a little rogue there."

"No." You shake your head. "It's not just that aspect of it."

Confusion. "Then…?"

You shrug and throw your arms up. "I wish you told me yourself, Jaemin. No team. Not because you need to tell me in the name of the contract. I wanted you to tell me, face to face, friend to friend."

His jaw drops. "I—"

"I thought we've grown since the start." You hate how your voice trembles. "You knew how upset I was when this started, but you went ahead and did the same exact thing. No mention of these deliberations, even when I see you every day. It's like I mean nothing—"

A shadow crosses his face. "Don't finish that sentence," he snaps.

The two of you are stopped in the furthermost part of the path by a cluster of trees, hidden in the corner from the rest of the park-goers.

You poke a finger into his chest with each word. "I. Mean. Nothing. To—"

It all happens in one swift motion. Jaemin grabs your wrist before you can poke him again, then he tugs you wholly into his chest. His eyes flash before he crashes his lips onto yours.

Your first kiss with Jaemin is the opposite of your near-kiss; from the beginning, you collide, rough and wild, pushing against the other.

This is what you missed out on; it could've just been like this at the rink, too. The realization fuels another flash of irritation paired with a slight thrill. Kissing Jaemin gives you the same rush as competing. Pure adrenaline and dopamine override your senses.

All you can think about is his lips on yours. From the way he pulls you close, hands firmly placed on your back and hips, you know he's equally as lost.

More, you think. The urge completes the thought you've pushed back for months: regardless of the extensive time you've spent together, it will never feel like enough. Down to the level of comfort, the silent understanding, and now the physicality—in this moment, you never want to let Jaemin go.

Probing, you swipe your tongue across his lower lip. He hesitates, easing the pace into slow rhythms. It's not an outright denial—you try again, this time lightly nibbling.

"Alright," he pulls away and presses his forehead to yours as you both catch your breath. "That's enough."

"You started it," you huff with a laugh.

He laughs, then scans around your surroundings. It's not the smartest thing, but there's no one around now, at least.

You lean back in, but he shakes his head. "Can we just…talk?"

He sits down on the closest bench and gestures next to him. You follow.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. It was true though—I wanted you to hear it from me."

You bite your lip. "I believe you."

"I'm sorry for…doing that, too. Just now," he adds.

The relief evaporates immediately. "And you're sorry about…what, exactly?" You ask coolly.

He pales. "I—"

"No more beating around the bush, or going through our teams," you say. "Just tell me what you're thinking please. I think I deserve the truth."

Jaemin thinks for a minute, then grins. "I have feelings for you."

"Jesus, Jaem—" Your whole body feels like it's burning up and smoking into the evening sky.

"What?" He shrugs. "I wanted to just get that out in the open, before you start getting ideas that you don't mean anything to me."

He gives you a pointed look. You stick your tongue out at him.

"I'll say that too. You mean a lot to me."

"I get it," you grumble. His charm has completely disarmed you. "You mean a lot to me too."

His smile shines bright and blinding, even against dusk. "I'll be here for this season before moving, then I'll be three hours away. I still want to give us a try. We can try to make it work even through our schedules."

Even through the warmth of his confession, a cold dose of reality hits you when reminded of your own impending training. "Jaemin…that might get a little crazy, don't you think? Training schedules are one thing, but competition and travel are another."

"I want to go to your competitions," he declares. "At least a good amount of them. I want people to see me supporting you."

You should be happy—after all, Jaemin's discarding his notorious privacy—but the thought of the general public remaining permanent witnesses to your private life makes your stomach coil. Your mind leaps to the worst possibility—what if you flopped next season? Would you retire, disgraced? Would they talk about you online—Na Jaemin's girlfriend, a washed-up skater anchored to him by memories?

"Even if your girlfriend doesn't reach the same legend status?" You ask with a bitter smile.

Jaemin deflates. "You've had a great career."

There it is: had.

You sigh. "Can I think about it?"

"Why?" He demands.

"I just—I want to think about it Jaemin, jeez! One day you don't want to kiss me, the next day you're kissing me and telling me that you want to be together—it's a lot."

"You wanted me to be open and honest," he says quietly. "So I'm leaving it all out there."

He's right. You're being a massive hypocrite, and he's presenting everything that you've wanted right there.

Even with the perfect man offering you everything, you can't shake the rotten doubt that it's too good to be true. You'll ruin what you have, just like you've ruined everything else.

"I mean, I've said it before, but I still think that my image benefited from this arrangement more than yours."

"Come on," he says, hugging you from behind. "You know I don't care about that stuff. "

"I know." You lean back into his chest. It's almost easier to speak openly when you're not looking directly at him. "It's just…when I think about it—really try to think about it—I don't know how everything's supposed to fit together. Once we both go back to training full-time."

His hug on you loosens a little, although you feel his shoulders tighten. "Like…you don't know where I fit into your life after this?"

"No," you respond, then hesitate. "It's like…"

That was the thing—for all of the time you'd spent out of the other's orbit, it was now hard to picture your life without Jaemin's presence. You could see the possibilities laid out clearly: going to his competitions or watching them online if you were out of town. Calling him before your events to calm your nerves, then calling him again after to debrief.

Undoubtedly, Jaemin brought the levity into your life that had been missing for years. But when you tried to conjure your role in his life, your mind drew a big, looming blank.

"I just don't know how I'm going to fit in your life, Jaem," you admit, your voice low and quiet. "We're so different. You're a success that's able to just climb and climb, and I've been struggling for the past five years. I don't know if I belong in your world."

His voice drops. "It's the same world."

"You know I don't mean literally." You untangle your limbs and turn to face him.

Jaemin's lips tighten into a straight line that's neither a smile nor a frown. There's the slightest crease bending between his eyebrows.

Your chest constricts at the sight, and you struggle to breathe. More than the sadness pooling in his features, there's something worse under the surface: disappointment.

You open and close your mouth, forgetting your words, but Jaemin speaks first.

"Do you know you have a tell when you jump?" He says.

"I—excuse me?"

"It has nothing to do with your speed, or even your technique right as you load into it," his eyes turn fiery. "I can tell if you're going to land it based on your expression alone. When you're about to land it, you get this cute, determined scrunch across your whole face. When you're about to pop it or mess up the landing, you get this scared look in your eyes. Like you're about to cry, even before you take off."

"So what?" You manage to choke up. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You're giving me the same face right now, babe." Jaemin looks tired. "You look like you don't believe in this at all."

"I just need time."

"Then you can have it."

Silence stretches and expands between you. You hate this. You want to grab his hand and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but you can't make promises that you're not sure you can keep. You're hurting both of you in the process, but you can't stop.

"I just need time," you repeat, a broken record. "After the show?"

"Okay. We'll talk about it then." You see it cross his face again. Disappointment, disappointment, disappointment. "Let me take you home."

You finish the final touches of your makeup. You take a deep breath.

You're wearing the same dress from your Nationals free program. The ice blue fabric clings to your torso before flowing down your legs in sweeping waves.

You'd selected this dress for the show shortly after Nationals concluded—it was one of your favorites, and you hadn't been in the mindset to pursue a new look on a tight timeline, anyway—but you feel a brief flash of regret.

Dressed like this, it's impossible to not think about the last time you wore this dress. What started as yet another sad stamp in your fractured career pivoted to so much more. Your near-catastrophic failure of a program turned comeback, followed by the return of Jaemin into your personal life.

You pick up your phone, thinking to text Jaemin your revelation, only to remember and put it back down again. You'd left for the rink without checking whether he'd extend an offer to carpool or, at minimum, reach out at all to clear the air. He didn't—now, your first time seeing him today would be within the next thirty minutes, right before your show together.

A deep urge digs at your gut. You want to march right into the room you're mostly sure Jaemin's getting ready in with Sunghoon, drag him out, and demand answers. That, despite everything, he hasn't given up on you.

It's just an instinct. You lean back in your chair and close your eyes. A deep breath.

As you are choosing to handle this maturely (which rules out marching into his dressing room), you brace yourself for what's bound to be your first encounter: your off-ice warm up.

You've shown up ten minutes early. You're cycling through your second round of dynamic movements—light jogs, lunges, leg swings—until the remaining skaters begin to turn the corner.

You hear the slight lapse in chatter, but you ignore it. You're only looking for one face in the crowd.

A hand grabs your bicep. Sunghoon. "Hey, what's going on?" He hisses low into your ear. "Jaemin's pissed."

You swallow. "How pissed?"

"Pissed." His eyes narrow. "You don't seem surprised."

"Well, I…" A familiar figure rises in your peripheral. You free yourself from Sunghoon's grip. "I'm handling it. Promise."

Worry crosses his face. "Is that…good timing right now? Right before everything?"

Your confidence droops a little, but you push through it. "The timing is shit, but it has to be now."

Sunghoon releases your arm. You step forward toward the corner of the space, where Jaemin warms up with a small group of skaters.

He's wearing full-length black trousers that elongate his legs. His long-sleeved top echoes yours in shades of white blending into ice blue. A perfect pair.

You haven't seen him in days. It's like observing him through the lens of a stranger as he enraptures the attention of all around him with endless charm.

For the first time, it occurs to you; if you truly step away, this could be your new reality. Rooting for him from a distance rather than working through each struggle together. Polite yet restrained smiles of acknowledgement that refuse to reopen old wounds. The thought makes you ache.

You know it, then. You can't bear the thought of becoming strangers to one another again. As much as it stings to face your fears, the possibility of losing Jaemin hurts you more.

Rationally, you know that you can only blame yourself for this current situation—after all, it was your insecurities that had pushed him away.

Time after time, Jaemin had proven his genuine feelings and intentions toward you. This time, it was your duty to do the same.

Despite your reassurance to Sunghoon, you're scared to confront him. You're scared, but you push through anyway. You know, deep down, that going on the ice with Jaemin without addressing anything first will crack something deep in your foundation. You don't know how he'll react, and you don't want to find out.

"Hi," you breathe out from a slight distance.

Jaemin steps away from the group. His expression controls itself in an even neutrality, but he scans over your costume and over the details of your makeup.

"Hi," he responds.

A pause. There's a million things you want to say—what you know you should say, but you have no idea where to start.

"Are you ready?" You ask weakly.

"Yes." Then, he adds. "You don't need to worry. We'll give them a good show."

A good show. They're innocent words by themselves, but the accompanied tone leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Performance," you can't help but correct. "We'll give them a good genuine performance."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that not what I just said?"

He's messing with you. The cold shoulder sends hot desperation down your spine.

"Please don't be like this," you plead with him. "Can we just talk?"

"We are talking." He doesn't even look up at you.

"Come on, Jaemin. You know what I mean."

He leans down to retie the laces on his skate. He pulls so tight that the fibers creak against the boot. "I have been talking to you. Ever since we crossed paths again—I think I've been more than clear about where I stand. You're the one that needs more time."

"I don't need any more time." You admit. Your throat is raw. "I don't."

He stops.

This is it, you think.

Except, it's the opposite. Jaemin finishes lacing up his skates in a flash of panic and darts away.

"Jaemin," you call after him. You double back, grabbing your bag before taking off after him.

He weaves past the other skaters, who look at the pair of you with either curiosity or confusion. You're sure that some sort of account of this will end up on some sort of gossip blog or forum later on.

It's not hard to catch up to Jaemin, given that he's hobbling on top of blades covered by blocky skate guards. You end up cornering him in his own dressing room.

"Are you done?" You ask, exasperated. "We don't have time for this. I'm on in fifteen, then you're on with me right after."

"Yeah," he mutters, eyes darting around the room to and fro. "Let's not do this now. Let's wait."

"No way." You're blocking the door now. "God, just—listen to me, babe."

The pet name hangs in the air between you.

Realization dawns on his face, and an uneasy smile stretches completely across his features. "I'm listening."

"Thank you," you cough. Your face feels hot enough to melt ice. "I messed up yesterday."

He nods and waits for you to continue.

"Ever since you came back into my life, it's just felt like everything spiraled out of my control. Having you back and supporting me wholeheartedly while I've been struggling for so many years…" You frown while trying to find the words. "I guess I didn't believe it. I didn't feel like me or any of the work I've done for the past few years was worth that sort of blind optimism."

"It's not blind," he offers.

You ignore him. "You're perfect in, like, everything you do. I had you up on this crazy high pedestal, and I thought I would never be able to actually meet you there."

You look at Jaemin. His gaze is soft.

"You show everyone the best sides of you, but I want to see all of it. Whether you're excited or irritated at how training went, if you're annoyed at your fanbase." You draw in a breath. "I want to see all of you. I want to be with you, after this. Away from the cameras, and just for us."

Jaemin's eyes roam over your face. Then, he exhales loudly and hangs his head on top of his thighs. His shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. "Good god…"

Everything burns. "What?"

He rises to his feet and stands above you. His hands cradle your chin, their touch cool yet gentle. "I shouldn't have lost my temper at you. I'm sorry."

Your throat is dry. "Then…?"

"I got carried away even letting myself think that an idea of us would be possible." Jaemin admits. "I wasn't thinking enough about how you felt."

You nod your head wordlessly, transfixed by his words.

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Your work ethic, your charisma…you don't have to prove anything to anyone." He pauses. "It's not like anyone's perception of us will change, since I guess we're already publicly dating, but I'm ready to love you out loud. Whenever you're ready."

"Love."Your head spins. "Jaemin—"

"Jaemin, you don't know that you love me. Wrong." he anticipates your words with a shit-eating grin. His thumbs caress your cheeks. "I didn't realize it at the time because I'm such a dumbass, but I think I've loved you my whole life."

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks, which slightly overlaps with his hands lining the sides of your face. "You have?"

"Yup." He takes one of your hands in his and presses a soft kiss to your skin. "No pressure to say it back, though. Take your time."

You don't need time; you've always known it deep down. Regardless of location, age, or circumstances, Jaemin's always reserved a space within your heart.

"One minute," you murmur, reaching for your bag. A pink bunny plushie slides out, and you hand it into the hands of the original gift-giver.

"Mr. Hops?" Jaemin tilts his head.

"I don't compete without him," you lower your gaze shyly. "So I guess you'll be in charge of making sure I have it at competitions."

Jaemin hugs him tight. "I—"

"What I'm trying to say is," you take a step towards him. "I love you too."

Jaemin closes the gap between you. The kiss carries all of your conflicting emotions and promises that you're still a little scared to say out loud. All you know for sure are two things: first, you love Jaemin, and second, to love Jaemin, you're determined to be more comfortable with the unknown.

"Jaemin, I've been knocking, you're on—" Sunghoon lingers in the threshold, jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

The room falls into wide stares. You jump away with your arms raised in surrender, Jaemin squeezes Mr. Hops to his chest, and Sunghoon points a silent, accusatory finger around the room.

"I've been looking for you, Jaemin," his finger moves to you. "You're on in like, five minutes." Finally, it lands at Jaemin's arms. "Why is Mr. Hops here?"

"We can explain," you blurt out.

Sunghoon glares at you. "You're going to explain, you dirty liar. After. You guys have to get your asses out there first."

The corners of Jaemin's eyes crinkle as he looks at you. You feel a warm swell of affection in your chest.

There's so much more you want to say to him, but the show must go on. For now, you press a quick peck to his lips and interlace your fingers together. "Ready?"

Jaemin's smile is so wide that it looks like he might explode with happiness. "For you? Anytime."

Sunghoon fake gags but holds the door open for you.

You hold hands the entire way to the ice. The crowd loses it. You faintly perceive the screams and camera flashes, but all you focus on is the feeling of Jaemin's hand in yours.

The first time you saw him again you just stood at your door frozen in shock, until he raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Of course you let him in, served him tea and sat in silence for at least 10 minutes.

It was awkward.

"Your place hasn't changed much." Sae had a good look at your house having been there in his younger years, almost surprised it didn't change at all since the time he’d been away.

His eyes drifted to you, having a good look at you after a while. "You didn’t grow that much taller either.”

You paused, blinked a couple of times and then raised your brows, slightly flabbergasted at his comment. He was definitely taller than you but did he have to say it like that? You two were around the same height before he left!

Damn those Itoshi genes, even Rin was tall.

You clicked your tongue, having no good comeback to his words, wanting to add a bite to your words as a clapback, taking a piece from the Itoshi Sae handbook.

It was strange having him sitting in your living room, sitting like he owned the place. While now it was a rare sight, it wasn’t when you two were younger. He came over a lot to play when his parents had to go out. It was fun. You missed those times and in turn, you missed him.

Not that you would ever admit that to him, otherwise his ego would grow too much and you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Instead, you breathed out a sigh, “It’s been a while. Welcome back, Sae.”

Sae took a sip of his tea and hummed in response. “Only temporarily. I need to get my passport renewed.” In his peripherals, he could see you shift in your seat, leaning forward slightly to get a closer look at him, it almost made him smirk. Almost.

“You’ll be going back soon?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so sad, but it came out that way and Sae made a mental note you missed him more than you let on. Since you were young, your voice usually gave away your innermost thoughts, however subconscious they were. It was one of the things he first noticed and a habit he had engrained in his memory, being able to pick up on small things like this was what made it easy to be with you.

He placed his cup down, meeting your eyes for a short moment, then stood up and beelined to your bedroom without a second thought, wanting to see if your bedroom changed too.

Once you realised where he was going, you jumped up and nearly almost threw yourself at the poor guy, grabbing both his waist and wrist as he went to open your door, trying to pull him back. Except he barely budged, looking down at you with an impassive expression as if wanting to say ‘what are you doing?’.

You forgot he was a soccer player and built like a wall, more so now that he’s older.

Damn these muscles!

He just gave you a pointed look while noticing the flush of your cheeks, the nervousness you looked at him with, your body against his, your hand becoming clammier on his wrist the longer he just stared at you. You kept trying to pull him away from the door, which ignited his interest with what was behind it.

Was it something incriminating? His eyes gleamed with an intent of finding out what was beyond that door you so desperately wanted to protect. It was the first time he’d seen you like this, but as good friends (or are you guys best friends? You don’t know), he’s somewhat entitled to this secret you have, one that he would eventually know.

You were sweating - he did not need to see what was behind that door. You would die from embarrassment if he ever found out, and honestly you hoped this day would never come. Especially not on the day he just came back from Spain.

He let out an amused huff at you before continuing to move with ease, not minding the extra weight on him as you tried to drag him away or at least slow him down.

When he opened the door, he took a second to take everything in, eyes darting around the familiar bedroom.

Except he saw his face in the corner near your desk stuck on the wall.

Sae malfunctioned for a moment, his brain short circuiting at his pictures stuck on your wall, wondering where you got them, why you had so many and why you were so intent on him not seeing them.

If you guys weren’t friends, then he would’ve called you creepy or like the rest of his fans, but since he knew you well enough and chose you, he thought it was cute. You were trying to hide this corner from him since you didn’t know how he’d react, and didn’t want to end up looking like a secret fan of his or having a secret crush on him.

He could somewhat see the reasoning behind it, but that didn’t mean you had to hide it from him. He would’ve willingly accepted this side of you as well. After all, they were pictures of him. It filled his pride and ego to know you did so willingly even as you two lost contact while he was in Spain.

Though, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t tease you for it or bring it up in later conversations now that he knows about this.

You saw him become still in his spot for a while, which made your stomach drop and heat flood to your face, a mangled sound coming from your throat while he just stared from the door.

Sae didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned down quickly and hooked his arm around your waist, brought you to his front and over his shoulder as he carried you into the room, right towards the desk.

You wailed in defeat, melting like jelly on his backside, held up in support by his arms as he just stared at your photo wall by your desk, holding you in place so you didn’t struggle. The last time something like this happened was when he carried you on his back after you sprained your ankle (though this situation is different).

His eyes darted to pictures from your childhood, ones where he was in it with Rin, or when it was just the two of you playing or when you failed in soccer and were crying on the ground and so on. Those were cute and reminded him of the times before he went on his trip, invoking a nostalgic feeling in his chest at how much he enjoyed those times.

When his eyes flickered to the newer addition, it seemed to be cut outs from magazines or newspapers, ones where there were articles of Sae and his achievements. He noticed you sometimes annotated them or highlighted certain parts of his interviews.

It seemed like forever until he was done looking, and halfway through he put you down onto your bed, claiming your chair as his own as he just continued looking.

“I’m almost 100% sure you have some interviews of me on your computer somewhere.” He sounded almost smug about it, making you cry out in weak protest. “You’ve been keeping tabs, huh…”

He didn’t know what to feel. On one hand, part of him was happy to know he was missed and you kept tabs. Especially knowing it was you. You didn’t seem to return any of his messages while he was in Spain so he was initially annoyed and borderline angry and sought answers, but seeing you like this now, he wondered if he made a mistake.

Maybe he should get to the bottom of it today.

“If you missed me so much, why didn’t you return any of my messages?” He spun around on your chair to face you, leaning on the back of your chair as he brought himself closer to you. His tone didn’t hold any accusations, it was merely a question by his standards.

You purposely ignored the first part of his sentence. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you went specifically looking for stuff he was in. You would be able to give whatever excuse but you knew Sae would find out one way or another. Hell, he probably already knew considering how fast his brain worked.

“What do you mean? You didn’t send me anything.” You raised an eyebrow, almost sounding offended since you received nothing. He fished out his phone, going to your contact and showing you all the messages he sent you over the past few years, sliding the phone into your hands to take a look.

You looked through the one-sided conversation, seeing how he always updated you on something every week at around the same time, as if it was routine. You wanted to read them, but went to check the number to match it with what was on your phone first. There must be a reason you didn’t get these messages as your number was correct on his phone.

You realised the messages were coming from a Spanish number, so the first thing you checked was whether or not your spam filter blocked everything.

“Seems like the culprit really was my spam filter.” You showed Sae your phone, showing him all the retrieved messages. You went all the way to the first message, dated to the first few days he was in Spain. Reading the first few messages nearly brought tears to your eyes - he had said it was hot in Spain and that he had started learning some Spanish words just in case, and the visits to the soccer stadiums were grand.

“Read them later.” Sae felt a weight fall off his shoulders. Seeing you here almost responding to his probable 200+ messages in real time was a sight to behold (he didn't want to be there when you read them though, he would flush in embarrassment). It made him feel seen, and not ignored in the years he made an effort to reach out to you. He was sure you weren’t just going to brush him off, since you were usually really good with messages and getting back to him.

If he were a cat, he would be sitting next to you and his tail would be wrapped around your arm or any area his tail could wrap around, and a low purring would indicate his contentment. He’d also want to nuzzle his face against yours and curl up in your lap.

But he wasn’t a cat, and he didn’t show his feelings easily either.

Before you could apologise for having him wait so long for a reply, Sae stood up and pushed the chair off to the side, leaning his towering frame over you, forehead touching yours as you looked up to meet his eyes suddenly.

“Don’t ever ignore me again. Even if it’s not on purpose.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he pulled away, fixing your hair quickly and darting out the door back to the living room.

Isn’t that unreasonable?

You couldn’t help but let out a sustained breath, having unknowingly held your breath when he got close. You were unsure of what that was? And why was your heart beating faster than normal?

Was Itoshi Sae always this bold?

You swore you saw his lips curl up slightly when he moved away from you. Or were you just hallucinating?

Now you knew, he never intended to let you out of his sight. Not even when he was in Spain. He knew what or who he was loyal to, and it seemed like you were one of the constants in his life he refused to let go of.

Not now, not ever.

Sae had chosen you and made sure you knew it.

“Hey, where’s your salted kelp tea?” You heard Sae’s voice from the kitchen, making you laugh lightly at how he fit so easily back in your life, like he’d never left.

It left almost a bittersweet taste in your mouth. There was a lot of time that passed, but it still seemed like Sae was still Sae.

Or at least, that’s what it seemed like on the surface. As much as he observed you and noticed your habits, you did the same, and so you knew something within him had changed. It worried you, and you hoped he’d eventually talk to you about it.

“I’ve probably got some here. I think this was the brand you liked?” You ducked under his arm and got to the cupboard in front of him. He naturally moved out of the way and carefully closed the cupboard above your head, hands covering the corner and the counter near your head to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

You took out the packet with a grin, beginning to make the tea as you usually did. He joined you in your activity and you made another in comfortable silence.

“So, are you going to admit you missed me?” Sae glanced over at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, purposely wanting to elicit a reaction from you.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, “When did you become someone who teased their friends like this.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” If you blinked you would’ve missed it, but you saw a ghost of a smile on his lips as he stirred the tea, finally looking somewhat relaxed.

You stirred your tea and brought it up to your lips, debating whether or not to indulge him (highly likely to backfire on you later) since you haven’t seen him in a while. Eventually, you succumbed. In a small voice, you admitted, “I was sad I didn’t receive any word from you.” You didn’t have the guts to say that you missed him outright.

“Yeah, I know. You looked like you were about to cry. It’s obvious you missed me and you’re obsessed with me with how many photos of me you have in your room.”

“Itoshi Sae, I will never speak to you again.”

The journalists sat in neat rows, hands poised over notebooks and laptops, waiting for their turn. The first few questions went exactly as expected.

"How do you feel about today's victory?"

"It was expected."

"What do you think separated your team from the opposition?"

"We played better."

The room collectively deflated with every short answer.

Good.

Maybe they'd end this faster.

Then someone spoke from the third row.

"During the second half, you stopped making overlapping runs and started occupying deeper spaces."

Sae's eyes shifted.

You weren't even looking at your notes.

You were looking directly at him.

"The commentators said it was because the opposing midfield was pressing higher," you continued. "But from where I was sitting, it looked more like you were baiting their defensive line into stepping forward."

Several reporters blinked.

One quietly stopped typing.

Sae tilted his head.

For the first time all afternoon.

"...Go on."

The moderator looked surprised.

You didn't.

"When their center-backs stepped up, they left space behind them. Twenty-three minutes later, your through ball created the winning goal."

You glanced at your notebook.

"Was that adjustment planned before the match, or was it something you recognized in real time?"

The room fell silent.

Because that wasn't a fan question.

It wasn't a tabloid question.

It was a gameplay question.

And a good one.

Sae leaned back in his chair.

"It wasn't planned."

A few heads snapped toward him.

Long answers were apparently a rare event.

"Their right center-back kept abandoning his position whenever their midfielder lost possession."

You nodded immediately.

"The number four?"

"Yeah."

You scribbled something down, it wasn't anything of substance you just wanted to look a little more put together.

Sae found himself watching you longer than necessary.

"Did you notice it before halftime?" you asked.

"I noticed it after twelve minutes."

A slight pause, "You?"

"About seventeen."

One of the reporters nearly dropped his pen.

Sae stared then, unexpectedly, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Slow."

A few journalists looked genuinely horrified.

You simply shrugged.

"I wasn't on the field."

The moderator looked like he had accidentally wandered into a private conversation.

The rest of the interview continued similarly.

Every question you asked dug deeper.

It was like there was no one else in the room. No other interviewer dared to ask a question, likely because they were trying to write down everything he was telling you.

Not once did you ask about his dating life.

Not once did you ask who he was friends with.

Not once did you ask him to rank teammates or reveal embarrassing stories.

And for perhaps the first time in years, Sae found himself answering because he wanted to.

By the end of the interview, he'd spent nearly twenty minutes speaking almost exclusively to you.

Something that didn't go unnoticed.

As the session wrapped up, the moderator thanked everyone for attending.

Most reporters immediately packed their things.

You did too, no attempt to linger or a request for a photo, you just grabbed your bag and left.

۶ৎ

Sae watched you leave.

"...What's her name?"

The moderator nearly choked.

"The journalist?"

"Obviously."

The man blinked then told him. He felt so starstruck that Sae Itoshi was talking to him that he handed him a card with the name of your company and some of your contact information.

Sae committed it to memory before standing and walking away.

Across social media, clips from the interview exploded within hours.

'WHY WAS SAE ACTUALLY TALKING???'

'HE ANSWERED IN FULL SENTENCES.'

'Who is that reporter???'

'Not him smiling because she challenged him.'

'Did anyone else catch him asking for her name after the interview????'

'SAE ITOSHI YOU ARE NOT SLICK.'

Even the players noticed.

The next morning, Sae walked into training to find several teammates waiting.

With grins.

Dangerous grins.

"Good morning, Sae," Shidou sang.

Sae immediately turned around.

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"Yes, I do."

"That journalist seemed nice."

Sae kept walking.

"She understood soccer."

The entire locker room erupted.

He'd never admit it, but they were right. He did remember you and he already told his manager and publicist that you were the only person he wanted to be interviewed by for the foreseeable future.

Jaemin stands somewhere in the middle of it all, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, barely bothered.

Haechan is already annoyed. Jeno is quieter, standing close enough to his girlfriend that they might as well merge into one at this point. Jaemin glances at them once, then forward again.

Start of spring energy. Everyone trying to squeeze something out of the night before everything resets into exams and exhaustion. The line inches forward. Warm air hits in waves whenever the door opens. Music follows it – heavy, messy, familiar.

Then when Jaemin’s in, noise swallows everything. Every corner is packed. Full tables, standing clusters, people leaning into each other and still shouting. The bar is already packed, orders shouted over each other, glasses clinking nonstop.

Jaemin steps further inside and blinks once, already knowing who to look for.

Same girl he’s been obsessing over for god knows how long.

He’s seen you plenty of times. Sometimes with Jisung, sometimes not. Sometimes in the library, others in the social studies building. Mostly he sees you here. Always behind the bar, barely smiling at customers. Always half-elsewhere even when you’re physically there.

He never fails to notice you for some reason. Never able to look away as fast as he’d like. First your posture. Not slouched exactly, but weighted, or bored. Like your body has learned how to keep functioning even when you’re past your limit.

Then your hands. Short nails. Practical length. Old polish chipped at the edges, like you painted them on a day you had energy and haven’t had another day like it since. You don’t even seem aware of it. Or maybe you just don’t care.

Your fingers move fast anyway – pouring, counting, sliding drinks across the bar without hesitation. Not a single wasted motion as you laugh at something one of your colleagues whispers in your ear.

Then his eyes glance at your arm when you reach up for a wine glass. The small tattoo sits on the inside of your forearm – simple, dark ink. Not decorative in the way people show off. More like something chosen for yourself, placed somewhere only visible when you move a certain way.

An outline of a tiny daffodil that disappears again when your sleeve falls back.

Then your face. Makeup that was probably neat earlier in the day, now slightly worn down at the edges. A faint smudge near your eye, like you’ve wiped sweat or pushed hair away too many times without thinking.

Jaemin’s mouth tilts before he realises it. Why are you always so nice to look at yet so difficult to approach?

“Jaem, this round’s on you, right?” Haechan says beside him.

“Yeah,” He answers carelessly, already stepping forward.

He slips into a free space at the bar before anyone else can, close enough that he doesn’t need to raise his voice.

You still don’t look up.

“Hey,” He tries, already feeling like an idiot.

You glance up. There’s a flicker of recognition and his mind already thinks you’ve tagged him as someone familiar from somewhere mildly annoying. Then your expression resets into something neutral. 

“Hi,” You greet, with a nod and something could resemble a smile if you didn’t look devastatingly bored. “What can I get you?”

Jaemin leans lightly on the bar. “Four beers, please.”

“What kind?” You’re already reaching for a pint glass.

He watches your hands again. “Whatever’s quick.”

You nod once, without further comment. Turn. Pour. Move. And Jaemin instantly thinks, damn, your manager must love you.

Behind him, Jeno laughs at something Haechan says. But Jaemin couldn’t be less curious. He’s still too busy watching you.

The full drinks land in front of him one after the other before he has enough time to admire you as much as he'd like.

“Cash or card?” You ask, reaching for the card machine on autopilot, like you already know his response.

“Card,” He says, tapping it. And before he can speak again or thank you, you’ve already migrated to the next customer, the dismissal so disappointingly quick it feels like a punch in the gut.

You work fast. Faster than most people in a place like this could reasonably manage. But there’s no flourish to it. Just survival through repetition. Someone calls your name and you respond immediately without looking away from what you’re doing, no distraction allowed to get in your way. And Jaemin internally pictures his compromised attention span laughing at him.

When you come back down the bar, he does something he never really had the intention of doing doing with you. He acts on instinct.

“Y/N, right?” He speaks a little too loud, miscalculating the decibels of the music, and immediately wishes he could ascend out of his body and slap himself. Maybe you'll do it for him instead.

You look at him a fraction of a second longer than before. There’s a faint twitch of your eyebrow, fatigue pressing closer to irritation, but still contained under professionalism. “Something wrong with your drinks?”

“You’re Jisung’s friend?” He doesn’t think he’s ever sounded this lame before.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you study him again. “…yeah,” you say. “Why?”

“I’ve seen you with him,” Jaemin says, his own voice irritating him already. “Around campus.”

Great, now he sounds like a stalker.

Something in your expression adjusts - subtle recalibration. Like you’re placing him properly now instead of just acknowledging him.

“Right,” You reaffirm. “You’re…?”

Do you really not remember him? He's introduced himself to you at least three times in the last few months. You've been to his house parties for crying out loud. And you still can't remember his name?

“Jaemin.” He smiles a little, hoping he looks a lot calmer than he feels. “I live with Ji.”

A small breath leaves you. Almost a laugh, but you don’t give it all the way.

“Okay,” You nod, like that settles it and you're in a rush to move on. “Anything else?”

There it is. The politeness. So fake that he wonders what you’d sound like if you screamed at him in anger.

Jaemin leans slightly against the bar, gaze drifting briefly past you and lands on the sign behind you he’s never seen before.

HELP WANTED

He nods toward it. “Does that still stand?”

You follow his gaze, then look back at him like you already know where this is going. “That I know of, yes.”

“And you’re hiring just anyone?”

You offer an indifferent shrug. “If they’re competent.”

“Slightly low bar, no?”

You huff a dismissive laugh, eyes rolling a little. “You’d be surprised.”

He studies you for a second longer. Your exhaustion is so evident, yet you’re holding this whole place together without letting it touch you more than necessary.

“You think I could apply?” A genuine question. The man studies biology, doesn’t know anything about bar tending.

“Honestly?” You say carefully, still polite, but focused on writing something on a small notepad in front of you. “Go for it, but you’d probably quit after one shift if you’ve never worked at a student bar before.”

Jaemin tilts his head slightly. You’re not judging him. You just don’t care whether you’re right or wrong. He still feels like you indirectly called him inexperienced, though.

“Alright,” he says. “Say I did apply.”

“You’d need to talk to the manager.” Again, so disinterested.

“Any warnings?”

You blink at him once. “About what?”

He gestures vaguely around him. “The job?”

You halt for just a second, then get back to pouring. “No, not really.” Then you shake your head. “You get what you see.”

And you’ve already moved to the other side of the bar, shouting about something he can’t quite decipher over the music. Maybe a missing cocktail pitcher?

A quiet laugh of disbelief slips out before he mumbles to himself. “Fair enough.”

“Well done.” Haechan drags him out of his thoughts as he grabs two of the four drinks. “You actually spoke to her and didn’t faint.”

“I was close.” Jaemin picks up the remaining two drinks and hesitantly retreats with a last glance towards you. He scans the crowd to find Jeno and his girlfriend have already secured a table in the furthest corner of the crowded space. Too far from the bar. At least for his liking.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

You shouldn’t have come outside.

It’s colder than you expected, the kind that settles in slowly, creeping through your sleeves, but at least it’s quiet out here and no one’s calling your name, no one’s waiting for you to pour their drink or fix something that isn’t your fault.

You lean back against the wall, cigarette between your fingers, letting your head rest for a second as you exhale. The noise from inside is muffled now, like it’s happening somewhere far away instead of just behind the door that you barely register opening again.

“Oh, hi.”

You glance over. Ugh.

You recognise him immediately – the one who always stares at you. The one you always actively ignore. Tonight you even went so far as pretending not to remember his name. Again. The one and only campus legend, Na Jaemin.

He looks very well put together tonight. Annoyingly so. Hoodie that’s a little too oversized, hair that looks effortless in a way that definitely isn’t, and a smile that comes too easily to be accidental. His teeth are ridiculously perfect.

You look at him for a second, then away again. You’re too tired to cover up the disinterest now. “Hi.”

He doesn’t take the hint.

“You look different out here,” He observes you skeptically.

You take a drag before answering, letting the smoke sit in your lungs for a second longer than necessary. “Less busy.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, even though you made no joke. Is he stupid?

“You shouldn’t smoke,” He nods towards your hand. You can tell he’s in the mood to tease.

You exhale slowly, turning your head just enough. “You shouldn’t drink. I still served you.”

“You’re not very friendly when you’re off.”

You glance at him briefly. “We’re not friends.”

There’s a glitch behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t expecting that to be the end of it. What an odd little fella.

“We could be–”

“Don’t even,” You cut in, immediately. “I’m already bored of this.”

He blinks once in shock, then lets out a very loud, almost crazy laugh. It’s drawn out on purpose. Like he’s testing how serious you are and deciding not to be.

“I’m sorry.” He pretends to be serious again. “That was funny.”

You eye him carefully this time. “Are you, like, super bored, or…?”

“No, not at all.” He responds with a shrug. “Do I need to be bored to talk to you?”

You tilt your head slightly. “No offence, I’m really not interested.”

That doesn't seem to do much other than pause him for maybe half a second. Then he nods like he’s processing a new problem.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So…”

You straighten slightly, cigarette between your fingers, watching him. This is already getting old. “So I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

He frowns a little. “Wouldn’t bother doing what?”

“Flirting, or whatever this qualifies as.”

“How do you know I’m flirting?”

It’s your turn to laugh this time. “The brick wall knows too. You’re not slick.”

His pout is too cute for a man his age. “So it’s not working then?”

Before you can even think of a response, a voice cuts in from behind him, saving you.

“Jaemin, hurry up. I’m going home.” His friend – half-annoyed, half-laughing – clearly has been watching this whole thing and can’t be bothered to intervene properly.

Jaemin turns slightly but doesn’t move away immediately.

“Give me a sec,” He calls back.

“Can he have your number?” His friend is looking at you now. “He’s actually not as annoying as he comes across and I would quite like to go cuddle my girlfriend.”

Jaemin glances back at you again in disbelief, like he’s weighing too many options. “Ignore him.”

You snort a laugh, slightly entertained by their weird dynamic. “So you don’t want my number.”

“Oh, I do.” He steps back a little, finally starting to retract. “But you won’t give it to me.”

You don’t react.

He nods to himself like he’s collected enough data. “See? I’m not that deluded.” Then, just before he fully turns away, he speaks again with a smile too pleased for someone who just got rejected. “Maybe I’ll try some other time.”

You struggle not to smile back. Then you look back at his friend, who’s still watching the strange interaction with fascination written all over his face.

“I wouldn’t,” You say flatly, internally battling whether you mean it or not. Would you want him to try again? He probably won’t anyway. He seems like the type to move on from these kinds of situations a little too easily. Maybe that’s good.

“Okay, I won’t then.” He just laughs again as he finally walks off. And annoyingly, it doesn’t sound like he’s serious at all.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“Oh, shit–“ Jaemin whispers mid thrust, forcing his brain to tune out Nora’s loud moans. He focuses on his pending climax instead. So close. Right fucking there.

“Jaem, baby, cum for me.” She slurs, sounding too fucked out. Is she faking it? Jaemin swears he barely put any effort in making her cum tonight. He’s too distracted.

He buries his face in her neck, eyes clenching shut, ears blocking out her sounds, hips delivering sharp thrusts, still chasing a high that seems unreachable. The way she strokes his hair – gentle, sweet – seems to be working, and he thanks the universe that his dick finally gives up being stubborn. Not too long after, he finally releases in the condom with a defeated sigh.

It’s when Nora’s in the bathroom and he’s managed to regulate his breathing, that Jaemin finds himself in deep thought.

It wasn’t really her voice, or touch that pushed him over the edge, but his filthy imagination. Because for the first time in forever, Jaemin thought of someone else when he reached his high. His mind didn’t go blank. Nora’s naked body got replaced by the scandalous thought of you his brain chose to produce. You being in her spot. Under him, moaning a lot gentler than her, not faking anything, writhing in overstimulation but also begging him for more.

And for the first time in a long while, shame creeps in.

Not because he’s disrespected Nora. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. But because he barely knows you. Yet somehow, you’ve managed to lodge yourself in his head so deeply that his brain fills in the blanks without permission. Is this normal? Or is his conscience finally deciding to torture him?

You’re younger than him, he knows that much. If you’re Jisung’s age, you’re definitely two years below, which makes you a second-year student. And what business does he have entertaining thoughts about a girl at such a different stage of life?

Two years isn’t much. Not really. But it feels like more when he remembers who he was at that age - confused, broke, permanently overwhelmed. And he still is all of those things, but not for much longer hopefully. You’re probably still navigating uni life like a tourist in foreign land, meanwhile, he’s supposed to graduate in less than five months. To get out in the real world and get one of those big job things that everyone strives for. And Jaemin’s sure that if you were older than him, he wouldn’t even hesitate. But you’re not. And for some reason he cares.

Though, he will admit you did seem to have your wits about you. You have a job. You probably pay your own bills. You're responsible in ways he definitely isn't.

Maybe he really should apply for that vacancy. He'd been joking earlier, but now he’s seriously considering it. Especially after checking the remaining balance in his bank account.

“You staying?” Nora’s voice jolts him out of his spiral.

“Nah.” He offers an apologetic smile. “Got class early tomorrow.”

“Yikes.” She settles under the covers with a tired pout. “You seemed a little out of it tonight.”

Women and their weird intuition.

“Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just tired, I think.”

She laughs softly. Like she’s caught the lie. She probably has. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging.”

Jaemin smirks knowingly, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re always judging.”

“True.” The answer comes so quickly it pulls a smile from him.

A second later she’s yawning into her pillow, and Jaemin takes it as his cue to get out of her space.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“Heard you met Jaemin hyung the other night.” Jisung’s side eyes you as you two walk out of your final class of the day. The expression on his face betrays something you can’t quite pinpoint, and you don’t quite like that curiosity blooms in your mind.

“Yeah, he’s weird.” You opt for indifference.

Jisung chuckles at your disapproving tone. “Nice guy, though.”

“Awfully flirty.”

Another short laugh. “Yeah, he’s had a thing for you since last year, I think.”

You completely ignore your friend’s useless statement. “Wasn’t there a rumour going around about him?”

You remember laughing when you heard about it, but then when you rethought the situation, you felt bad for the girl.

“You mean–“

“The piss in the eye thing.” You lower your voice as you exit the main building, and you catch Jisung’s lips purse in thought.

“I think…” His expression changes into a concerned one. “The girl he was seeing at the time asked him to try it and then when he ended things, she kind of made the whole eye thing up.”

“Really?” Your head shoots up. “So he didn’t piss on her?”

You already know the answer when Jisung slightly cringes.

“Well, that part’s true.” He clearly struggles to not laugh at his friend’s antics. “He just didn’t get her eye.”

“Shit,” You raise your eyebrows in wonderment. “Some people really struggle with rejection I guess.”

“Yeah, well, in this case–” Jisung pauses, like his next revelation could ruin Jaemin’s career. “He kind of, unknowingly, slept with one of her friends and then ghosted her.”

“Ugh, what a prick.” You cringe, all of a sudden supportive of the girl’s pettiness. “And you’re friends with this person?”

“I mean, he’s nice to me.” Jisung shrugs, causing you to smile at the fondness he emits. You sometimes wonder why Jisung is still single. He’s most likely the nicest guy friend you have, always sweet, always polite, always warm. A girl’s dream. Not necessarily yours. But most girls would certainly kill for a boyfriend like him.

“You’re too sweet for your own good Ji.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not like you haven’t fucked people over.” He gives you pointed look, his hand instinctively wrapping around your elbow to halt you from crossing the street as the red light is still on for pedestrians. “You’ve made guys like Jaemin cry in the past.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “I'm just doing god's work.”

“Speaking of men,” Jisung tugs at your sleeve as he starts walking, practically dragging you with him, and you always have to hold back a laugh at the silly little habit. “How’s things with Chenle?”

“Mmm, not sure.” You pout in contemplation about the odd situation you’ve recently found yourself in. “He’s hella cute, don’t get me wrong, great sex too, but I think that’s just it.”

“That’s not necessarily bad, no?”

“No, it’s ideal, but I think he might be in love.”

“Eh–?”

“Chill, not with me.” You reassure Jisung quickly before he jumps to conclusions. “I have a feeling he’s hung up on someone else.”

“Oof.” Jisung sympathises with a scrunch of his nose.

“Yeah, as amazing as dick can be, it feels a bit weird when the other person can barely look at you, you know?”

The whole ordeal with Chenle started randomly and predictably where most similar situations start. A party. A lot of alcohol involved. A game of truth or dare. A kiss. And then suddenly you’re bent over a bathroom sink getting your back blown out.

He gave you exactly what you were looking for. A distraction. And so you both kept going back. For almost a year now. But the last few months, you’ve sensed the change in him. The hesitation before a kiss. The pauses between touches. The way his eyes seem focused somewhere else. You're not hurt by it. The sex is still good. But being cast in the role of someone else's stand-in isn't exactly appealing.

The problem is that ending things with Chenle would mean giving up convenient sex. Which, unfortunately, has become one of the highlights of your increasingly exhausting weeks. And it would likely mean going back to your old pink wand-shaped friend. Not the worst thing in the world, but also not as good as the real deal.

What really is the worst thing in the world is the fact that when you try to think of alternatives, your brain keeps landing on the same person. A person whose lifestyle, reputation, and entire approach to life go against everything you usually stand for.

Yet, you can’t help but wonder.

What is it about Na Jaemin that makes people go so feral? Apart from his ridiculously gorgeous face. And hair. And hands. And arms. Okay, yes, he’s insanely attractive. But attractive enough to get away with anything?

Even after that ridiculous rumour started going around, he seemed completely untouched by it, and so did everyone around him. He still drifted through parties like he owned them, collecting attention without even appearing to try, somehow maintaining his ‘pussy magnet’ status like nothing could ever tarnish it.

His erratic behaviour, paired with the endless stream of people drawn to him, had always felt like a mystery you weren’t remotely interested in solving. Until the other night.

One thing you’re sure of is that if his dick game is as weak as his flirting skills, then what a shame.

And what a waste of everyone’s time.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“Well, hello partner.” The familiar but grating voice penetrates your distracted brain as you’re too busy looking in your bag for your work t-shirt.

“Huh?”

And there he is again, outside your workplace like he belongs. Perfect set of pearly whites on full display, blinding you. He looks like a more of a normal person compared to the other night. Like he’s just heading home after a long day of lectures, his backpack hanging off one shoulder.

Annoying.

“We must stop meeting like this.” He attempts to joke, letting the door of the main entrance slam shut behind him.

“I work here.” You point out, as though he doesn’t already know. “Why are you here? We’re not even open yet.”

“Well, as of tomorrow, I work here too.” He says a little too chirpily, like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.

“Umm,“ You suspect you must look like a crazy person judging from his amused expression. “No you don’t.”

“I’m afraid I do.” He nods with the cockiest grin sporting his face.

“How–“

“Just had my interview with Johnny.” He points a thumb behind him. “So, I guess I’ll–“

“Do you even have bar experience?” You interrupt him a little too abruptly, the tone of your voice carries a surprise to both of you. A little too cold even for you.

His smirk doesn’t falter. “We all start from somewhere.”

“Yeah, in your case, rock bottom.” You don’t want to offend him. Don’t want to give him more of your energy to cling on to. Yet, it’s so difficult not to.

He dares to let a stupid laugh slip. “I’m just so lucky to have you as a mentor then.”

“I ain’t teaching you shit.” You scoff, tightening your grip on your bag strap. The nerve of this man.

“Well, I gotta learn somehow.” He pouts.

Fake.

“You’re welcome to sit in a corner and watch then.” You offer him a sweet smile with absolutely no warmth behind it before moving past him and towards the door. Another long-ass shift awaits.

You can still feel his eyes on you when he speaks again. “I’ll happily watch you. Just not sure I’ll learn much.”

Your hand stills on the handle.

The grin threatening your mouth is immediate as you catch the meaning tucked beneath his words. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around. Instead, you push through the door and disappear inside.

Even then, you can still feel his gaze burning between your shoulder blades.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

Jaemin hates working with you. Not because you’re bossy. Not because you’re too fast. Not because you roll your eyes at him every time he makes a mistake. Not because you called him an imbecile earlier. Not because your jaw tenses whenever he flirts with a customer.

But because none of those things make him think about you less. Jaemin leaves every shift either irritated or turned on and definitely a little more obsessed with you.

His eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head each time you insult him. It’s like he lives to frustrate you nowadays. And he swears he almost let a moan slip when you grabbed him by the back of his collar yesterday as he was pouring what turned out to be a pint of Guinness like he would pour every other pint of lager. You have to let it sit half-way through apparently. Or whatever it was you snarled at him.

After a week of being shouted at and having enjoyed every single second of it, he’s finally starting to get the hang of things. And as much as he’s enjoyed torturing you, he's realised that he needs to lock in if he wants to keep his job. The manager seemed to trust your judgment, so he couldn’t really risk it for longer.

He liked the tiny comment of praise you gave him when he successfully closed the till at the end of the shift. But as much as the little ‘nice one’ you muttered excited him, nothing comes close to ‘I could so easily slap you right now’.

Yes, Jaemin has long accepted that he might be sick in the head. But he just can’t help it when it comes to you and your short temper.

What gets him the most, though, what really makes him weak in the knees, and rewires his brain every single time, is how you shift from mean to kind and back to mean in a matter of seconds. One moment you’re looking at him with eyes that scream murder and the next you’re smiling at a customer and offering water when they seem too intoxicated.

It’s almost three am when the last few customers slip out tonight. You’re already on your phone, your back pressed against the bar as you quickly type a response to something that made you almost smile.

“Boyfriend?” He tries, already knowing the answer, but needing to inspect further.

You surprise him by actually giving a somewhat satisfactory answer. “Not really, no.”

He nods, pretending to stay focused on the cleaning task in front of him. “Girlfriend then?”

He can’t help but giggle at the way you roll your eyes but still smirk at his nosy but teasing tone.

Jaemin is very much aware of your current situation. Turns out drunk little Jisung can’t keep a secret for the life of him. But even if it weren’t for his younger housemate, Jaemin has eyes. He’s seen you at parties, sneaking around with only one guy. A guy he only knows through other friends and Haechan’s girlfriend. He remembers sharing a vape with him once outside a club.

Chenle is someone he could only describe as likeable. He hasn’t ever heard a single bad thing about the guy. Always cracking jokes and hosting the best parties out of everyone in the circle of Jaemin's acquaintances. And it goes without saying that he’s insanely hot. As straight as Jaemin is, he can appreciate an attractive man. The younger boy’s cheekbones and jawline could slice him in half. So he can’t really blame you.

But he can and he will be secretly jealous.

Especially when his brain keeps taking him back to that night he walked out in the back garden of some stranger’s house for a piss, just because the bathroom was otherwise occupied. He wishes he had walked away the second he realised what was actually happening, but in the midst of his drunken state, Jaemin stalled. And he watched. For longer than he should have.

Because there you were, backed against a concealed corner, just a few feet away from the spot he chose to empty his full bladder, which was quickly forgotten the second he laid eyes on the sight in front of him. Your bent knee resting on Chenle’s hip, uncovered thigh concealing whatever the boy’s hand was doing between your legs.

It was when you broke the kiss with a low whine that Jaemin realised he needed to leave. He still didn’t, though. Not for a few seconds longer. Not until he heard you brokenly whisper ‘Think I’m gonna cum’. That’s when he bolted. Because it got too real. And as much as Jaemin hates to admit it, he really, truly, genuinely, passionately despised the way you sounded so sweet with another boy. A boy that wasn't him. A boy that couldn't possibly think about you as much as Jaemin does.

And when he got back home that night, Jaemin, shamefully, had the most intense jerking off experience ever. What was shameful about it wasn’t just the filthy imagery of you that occupied his sick little mind – mostly scenarios where you’d be on your knees for him – but how your name so easily rolled off his tongue when his load landed on the shower floor. And he couldn’t even blame his imagination anymore. Just his memory.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“Hey, partner.” Jaemin’s now familiar greeting makes you look up from the drink you’re pouring yourself. Oddly, it’s not as aggravating now you’re not surrounded by kegs of beer and screaming customers.

“Hey, loser.” You greet back like you always do, this time a little more lightheartedly. Blame it on the alcohol coursing through your bloodstream. “Don’t tell me you’re here to ruin another one of my evenings with your nagging.”

His expected laugh rings through the loud music. He’s already leaning against the counter next to you as you mix cheap vodka with lemonade. “Nah, just spotted you and thought I’d say hi. Is that allowed?”

You glance over at him, pretending to think about your answer as you briefly take a sip to taste test the drink. “I suppose it is at this point.”

You don’t miss his gaze taking in your appearance when you turn around to lean your hip against the counter so you can properly look at him.

He hesitates a little before speaking again, his hand nervously swirling the content of his cup. “And what point is that?”

“Hmm,” You hold back a grin, enjoying his squirming a little too much. “I’m not sure yet. What point would you want it to be?”

You can practically see the wheels turning in his head before his signature grin appears. “Something tells me friendship point would be a no-no from your side.”

You can’t contain it this time. A chuckle lets loose, making you look away, his wide-eyed reaction a little too overwhelming for you and so is the entirety of his handsome face.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far.” You say disapprovingly, and his exaggerated groan is less annoying than other nights.

He pauses to take a look at you, expression more serious than you’re used to, and it makes you feel almost shy. Almost.

“Who you here with then?” He breaks the silence with what could pass as the most casual question, but you can sense the hidden meaning behind it.

“My flatmate, Winter.” You search through the crowd that occupies the living room area and quickly spot her with Ningning and Chenle. “The blondie over there.”

“Ah,” Recognition appears on his features. “You close with Ning and Chenle too?”

“Mm.” You take a sip of your drink as you do your best to show nonchalance. “Not really.”

“Pff.” The scoff is difficult to ignore. He knows you’re lying. Of course he does.

“What?” You ask as innocently as possible.

“Nothing, just didn’t take you for a liar.” He challenges with a smirk, his fingers getting your attention as they tap on the counter surface.

“How am I a liar?” You mirror the tilt of his head with your own.

“I live with Jisung, Y/N.” He steps closer, voice lowering just a tad. “You probably know things about me you shouldn’t know.”

He's not wrong there. You might not be at a friendship point, but there’s definitely no secrets between you two with Jisung as a mutual friend. That fact doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it should, though. Not when all you can really focus on in the moment are Jaemin’s unfairly long eyelashes and his incredibly moisturised lips.

How can a man be this pretty?

“Do you think you’d take off if you blinked too fast?” Your unexpected question seems to baffle him, and to your amusement he expresses his confusion by blinking a little faster than normal.

“Oh my god… you’re drunk!” He brings a hand to his mouth, gasping dramatically.

You poke him in the chest, making him stumble back a little. “And you’re a pretty little girl.”

A shocked laugh erupts from him and before he can speak another word, you’re clumsily walking away. Fuck Na Jaemin and his stupidly flawless face.

It’s not too long after when you’re dragging Chenle upstairs, in need of a distraction, which proves to be impossible when Jaemin’s gaze finds yours through the crowd like it’s an instinct. You hold eye contact longer than necessary. Longer than you’d normally allow yourself.

You take pride in being a self-aware person. You know your limits and you can tell when you’ve crossed them. This is a case of the latter. Because looking into Na Jaemin’s eyes like you’re passing a silent invite while Chenle’s hand is in yours is definitely something that goes beyond your moral boundaries.

And you know what you’re doing when you leave the door ajar behind you as you crash your mouth into Chenle’s. And you definitely know what you’re doing when instead of the bed, you choose to walk back into the desk, where anyone walking past the room could take a peek at. The whole time, you’re perfectly aware of your actions and the repercussions they entail, but you’re also aware of Jaemin’s eyes on you when you bury your face in Chenle’s shoulder.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Chenle moans against your neck as he keeps thrusting into you. Hard. His hands harshly squeeze your ass, slightly lifting you off the desk, bouncing you just right, nudging the perfect spot inside you.

You can’t help but let your head roll back for a few seconds, allowing the pleasure to consume you. And just when you’re teetering close to the edge of your orgasm, you allow yourself to steal a glance at the door, the little crack allowing you to see the shadow of someone standing there.

You know it’s him.

You know he can see everything clearly, and that thought alone is enough to send you into total bliss.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

Jaemin hates you. He does. But most of all he hates himself and how down bad for you he is. He feels pathetic. And extremely turned on.

How dare you eye fuck him that hard when you’re guiding another man into a room clearly with intention of getting dicked down. And how dare you look in his direction while you’re getting railed into next week.

Do you know he's fucking insane?

You can’t possibly be able to see him, but he knows you know he’s there. He knows you know he’s watching. And he knows you like it. You invited him after all. It’s obvious you’re putting on a show for him. And even though he’s well hidden, your gaze keeps trailing towards the door. It’s filthy. And it’s obscene. And it’s new. Nothing he’s experienced before.

You’re right there, just a few feet away from him. Again. Getting touched by Chenle. Again. And Jaemin is watching. Again. Only this time, you’re aware of him.

By the time he let his intrigue take over his logic and decided to head upstairs, you're already moaning, thighs spread around the other boy’s waist as he pounds into you. And Jaemin will give it to Chenle. He seems like he knows what he’s doing with you. Like he knows what you need. And when your legs start shaking, Jaemin can’t bring himself to look away. He feels hot and flushed, his cheeks burning with shame and arousal, but he needs to keep looking. Needs to see you fall apart, even if it’s on another man’s cock.

And he does exactly that. He watches.

Your mouth hangs open in the cutest way, your expression blissed out, eyes unfocused, hands gripping onto Chenle’s shirt while you cum with the sweetest cry of desperation he’s ever heard.

And Jaemin’s dick is so hard it hurts. But what hurts more is his pride.

You’ve humiliated him without even trying. Just tossed a bait he so willingly grabbed onto like he was deprived and starved. He gave you all the power he could ever give someone. All for you to chew him up and spit him back out. And for him to love every second of it.

The next couple of weeks are, as expected, a torture. Him trying to get the image out of his head and you putting it right back into its wedged place whenever you look at him.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“So, how's working with Jaem going?” Jisung points his drink toward your coworker, who’s currently belting out ‘She Will Be Loved’ to the karaoke mic in the middle of the living room, while half the people sitting down are hyping him up and the other half are booing. Except for Haechan who’s just filming with his phone like a proud mum.

You have to hide your smile behind the rim of your cup. Otherwise, it’s too obvious who the reason behind it is. “As well as it can go.”

“That could either be awful or amazing.”

“I’m not telling you shit. You can’t keep your mouth shut.” It comes as a joke, but you mean it.

“What? I’ve never–”

“Yes, you have.” You chuckle at your friend’s automatically defensive mode.

Jisung rolls his eyes in surrender. “He asked me!”

“And you said ‘oh, yeah she’s actually banging Chenle’?” You take a sideways glance at him but return your attention to Jaemin and his chaotic performance.

“Well...” Jisung pauses to think. “He already kind of knew. I think he asked Haechan as well.”

“See? That’s what I mean!” You laugh with a shake of your head. “You’ve just thrown your friend under the bus.”

Jisung groans in annoyance. “As if you don’t already know he’s into you.” He points at his housemate again, who’s now on his knees in front of Haechan finishing the song. “He’s been following you around like a lost puppy for at least a month now. It's not rocket science.”

You refuse to react to the statement, even though it’s a fact.

“And you like it.” Jisung concludes with a teasing grin.

Your tongue reflexively pokes into your cheek to contain another smile.

“Just fuck him.”

“Ji!” You whack him on the chest, the out-of-character and vulgar comment shocking you.

“What?” Jisung giggles at your reaction, arm coming up as a shield. “He’s graduating soon, so you might as well get it out the way before it’s too late.”

“Oh, do me a favour.” Your dismissal makes Jisung’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “That man doesn’t have the brain cells to pour a drink let alone graduate.”

“He’s actually on his way to a distinction.”

“Huh?” Your neck almost cramps from snapping your head to look at Jisung only to find his irritating smirk still in place.

“Surprise, he's clever!" Jisung mocks your shocked expression with a gasp. "Spanner in the works, huh?”

You click your teeth in annoyance, returning to your dismissive tone. “No works so no spanners.”

“Lie some more. I'm enjoying this.”

You tune out Jisung’s rant about how ‘you always deprive yourself of real connections because you’re scared of trusting men’ and take a meticulous look at Jaemin. He’s now sat on the sofa while someone else has taken his place on the mic. It’s something about the way he carefully listens to Jeno and nods that gets your thoughts rolling.

Yes, he’s undeniably handsome. Yes, he can be funny at times. Yes, his light-heartedness is what you look forward to during a rough shift sometimes. But it’s mostly his attention to detail and careful nature that intrigues you. It's how he can always read what mood you’re in without you even having to utter a single word. It’s how his eyebrows tense and he hums along in understanding when you complain about something random or explain work stuff to him. It’s how he’s never once fucked up at work, always completing tasks like a pro and even saving your from awkward situations with rude customers. And you realise that through the silliness and endless flirty comments, you’ve overlooked qualities that make him so much more desirable than he already looks.

You realise that you’re finally seeing through the persona he very obviously has built as a wall around himself.

And maybe that explains why later in the night, when Jaemin very openly follows your every movement as you walk in the sitting area of the party, you give in.

“Sit next to me?” No partner this time, no teasing lilt in his tone, just pure hope as he looks up at you from his spot on the already occupied sofa. Shiny lips parted slightly, eyes wide when you approach him, clearly taken aback by your newfound docility.

Jeno instantly slides further down to make space for you, smiling politely when you squeeze in between the two boys, and you can undoubtedly feel Jaemin’s eyes burning holes into your side profile.

“Stop staring.” You mutter with a grin you fail to hold back when you feel him sink back into the cushions again, legs spreading just a little. Just enough for his thigh to press against yours, the heat radiating off his jeans easy to feel on your bare skin.

“What you drinking?” He inches a little closer, chin just a few centimetres off your skin as he looks over your shoulder, warm breath littering the expanse of it with goosebumps. You don’t think he’s ever been this close before. Or maybe you just haven’t noticed.

You lift your cup closer to his face, offering a sip but only throw him a quick sideways glance. “Vodka cranberry.”

He takes it after balancing his own cup between his thighs. “Yum.” He smacks his lips after a big gulp, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick a stray droplet of translucent pink liquid. “You know, I read somewhere that if you share your drink with someone, they’re be able find out all your secrets.”

You snort at the ridiculous and probably made-up fact. “Good thing I’m an open book.”

“Mm,” He taps his index on the rim of your cup he’s still holding. For some reason your eyes keep drifting to his fingers. “That you are.” You can hear the mischief in his tone and you know what he’s referring to. You both do.

A thick drop of alcohol spills over the edge of your red cup when he passes it back, landing right on your bare thigh. You stare at it. He doesn’t apologise. Instead, his thumb brushes away the liquid on your skin before putting it in his mouth. Like it was never there. Goosebumps form instantaneously as you watch his lips in utter shock. The fuck did he just do?

“Everyone has secrets, though.” He brings your attention back to his eyes.

“Go ahead then.” You gesture, as though offering the floor for him to take, choosing to ignore the lewd act of him sucking on the thumb that just touched you. “What’s one of mine?”

He narrows his eyes as he thinks carefully, taking in your already judgmental expression. “You still listen to Paramore.”

A loud, abrupt laugh bubbles in your chest at the random guess. “That’s no fucking secret.”

“Yeah, I just uncovered it.” He gestures with both palms open, like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole world.

“You’re a clown.” You shake your head.

“Okay okay, I have a better one.” He sits up, straightening his back a little as he turns to face you better. You instinctively mirror him, brain now blocking out the rest of the commotion in the crowded living room. “You actually like mentoring me.”

Your eyebrows have a mind of their own as they inch closer to your hairline in surprise. “Interesting. Why d’you think that?”

He extends his arm along the back of the couch, his skin brushing yours, the same shoulder he was breathing on. You watch his mouth form a sceptical pout, eyes more serious than ever. “Because you enjoy bossing me around.”

“I’m just giving you what you want.” The words slip out before your brain has the chance to filter them, and you suddenly get the urge to slap a hand on your mouth. You don’t.

“Nice.” He nods in approval, proud smile on full blast. “And you haven’t even had a sip of my drink.”

“It’s no secret.”

“What?” He challenges. You hesitate. He presses. “Say it.”

His expressions are too tempting to finish the conversation here. “That you like being told what to do.”

He hums ponderingly. “Sounds to me like we’re–”

“A match made in heaven?” You humour him for what feels like the first time ever, imitating what he would’ve sounded like in your brain, whiny and irritating.

He smiles wide, pearly whites blinding you, fingers curling inwards against your shoulder, knuckles lightly tickling you. “Didn’t know you were cute like that.”

You tut your tongue at him, eyes rolling in feigned annoyance, all just to let him know that his flirty remarks still fail to affect you. Which has been a big fat lie since that first night you officially met him.

But he can’t see that. You hope.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

Next time you see Jaemin is not at work, but at the science building cafeteria. Chenle is going on about how happy he is that you’re not awkward with him now that you’ve stopped fucking around and how much he appreciates you as a friend. You think it’s funny that he’s so apologetic considering you’re the one who actually initiated the conversation last week. You thought it was about time. Especially after you found him drunk in a bathtub, crying his eyes out. He has a weird habit of getting in bathtubs when he’s at parties, but you know by now it’s just his way of escaping overwhelming crowds. And so you just nod away when he keeps yapping about how grateful he is that you’re so cool and respect his space.

You’ve just devoured a spoonful of rice when you hear it.

“Yo yo, partner!” You instantly know who it is, but you still raise your head from your plate, and you wonder if you look like a caricature with your cheeks protruding like you’ve been starved for days. Jaemin stands over you, his dumb smile intact like it’s never left since that party. It always makes you wonder what he’s like when he’s serious or upset about something. Is he the vocal or silent treatment type? Is he chill or intense? Or is he the kind that would shut you up and put you in your place? Nevermind.

“Oh lord, you got enough rice there?” He mocks, eyes widening to humour you. “You look like Patrick with a crabby patty.”

He somehow looks even brighter in daylight. Maybe it’s the pink jumper. Maybe it’s his unusually fluffy hair. Or maybe it’s the way he rocks back and forth on his heels like a child desperate for attention. What a sight.

You just blink.

Chenle folds in half laughing and points at you while you force yourself to chew.

“Well, take your time. I don’t really need you to speak.” Jaemin hands you a flyer. “I was gonna invite you to this photography exhibition. You’re both welcome.”

Both? He’s potentially seen the two of you going at it on a desk, blatantly flirted with you days after, and now is inviting you both to his photography exhibition. Like none of that is remotely weird.

Something stirs in you as you struggle to chew.

Jaemin has made it abundantly clear he’d be in your pants the second you gave him the green light. Yet he’s never been jealous. Never possessive. Never made things uncomfortable. If anything, his interest in you, day by day, seems to be inching closer to something that could only be described as genuine. Not just sexual. Not just competitive.

And your stomach feels weird. Because you like that.

Chenle smiles at the older boy while you still struggle to swallow down your food. “I thought you studied biomed?”

“Hobbies are a thing.” Jaemin drags the words teasingly, with no malice detected in his voice.

“We’ll be there.” Chenle agrees cheerfully without sparing you a glance.

“Umm–”

“Nice one!” Jaemin claps his hands and walks away before you can get a coherent word out.

“So, I see I’ve been replaced in no time.” Chenle attempts to joke but of course it doesn’t land. Like most of his jokes. Instead, it earns him a cube of mango in the face.

It’s not that you don’t want to go. You certainly do. You’re curious. But you’re also a tiny bit terrified. Because that invite, as ridiculously casual as it was made out to be, felt somewhat intimate.

And what has put ‘a spanner in the works’, like your dear friend Jisung said the other night, isn’t that Jaemin has a creative hobby. Or that he’s intelligent. Or that he doesn’t mind being the butt of every joke while half the university spreads ridiculous rumours about him.

It’s how interesting of a person he’s turning out to be. Not just smooth. Not just confident. But... charismatic.

And that’s something you would describe as an obstacle. Something disturbing.

Because it renders your efforts to ignore his advances useless.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

You could never really wrap your head around the fact that some women so easily go about their day while on their period. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to pour drinks and take card payments due to the agonising pain in your lower back and what could only be described as stabbing in your uterus. The only thing you can do is sip water every five minutes to reward your body for its endurance during this fuckass shift that will probably pay for less than a pack of tampons.

You’re putting on the best smile you can muster, but you can feel that client after client it keeps weakening, and so do your knees. The smell of alcohol isn’t helping either, with your stomach already being in bits since this morning. The loud laughter coming from all the tables around keeps piercing through your aching head and you’re pretty sure your back is dripping in sweat from your fluctuating body temperature.

“You look a little pale, you okay?” Jaemin asks quietly as he stands next to you behind the bar. It’s a busy Friday night, people coming in and out. Some looking to stay, some just pregaming for the rest of their long night out. And you’ll give it to Jaemin, he’s been a lot more productive tonight than you have. So much that you’re actually thankful you’re working with him tonight. Because he keeps taking the heat from all the demanding customers without questioning your distraction.

"Mm, just tired." You lean forward against the shelf beneath the bar, eyes shut as you try to breathe through another wave of pain. "Sorry for letting you take the lead tonight."

You hear him take another order. Something about a Sex on the Beach. A moment later comes the beep of the card machine, then warmth envelops your side - his chest. And a gentle hand settles on your lower back.

You're too exhausted to flinch.

"Seriously, do you need a minute?" he asks, genuine concern softening his voice. The heat of his palm lands exactly where it hurts. "I don't mind if you go downstairs for a bit–"

"No, I'm good." You shake your head quickly, resentment bubbling at being seen like this. You hate it enough that you could cry. Probably the insane hormones in your body working their magic.

“Y/N–”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He presses, voice firmer than before but still laced with worry. His hand stays on your back, thumb tracing absent circles that might've been soothing if you weren't in so much pain. Then he shifts slightly, shielding you from the other bartenders. "Do you need painkillers? I've got ibuprofen in my bag."

Oh. So he definitely knows you’re bleeding out of your vagina. Great. And he’s attentive. Super great.

A sharp cramp twists in your tummy, forcing you to give in. So you nod. “Will you be good on your own for a few minutes? I might need to–”

"I'll be fine." He saves you from having to admit you need the bathroom to check whether you've leaked through your tampon.

The loss of his warmth is immediate, but a second later he's slipping a blister pack into your hand. His fingers linger for the briefest moment around your wrist before he pulls away as two new customers approach the bar.

"Take your time," he says quietly.

When you finally look up, he's already behind the till, already smiling at customers. Back to his usual chirpy self, as if he didn't just make you feel strangely safe.

By the end of what feels like the longest shift in human history, you've lost count of how many times Jaemin has checked if you're okay. Now he's practically forcing you into your jacket because he refuses to let you stay and close up. The painkillers have finally kicked in, and all you want is your bed and a hot water bottle. Still, you're oddly reluctant to leave without saying something.

“Thanks for earlier, by the way.” You catch Jaemin's baffled look as he tries to sort glasses onto the shelves.

“Why are you still here?” he scolds, disapproval written all over his face.

Despite yourself, you smile. “I’m going, I’m going.” You lift your hands in surrender, already wearing your jacket, bag hanging off one shoulder. “Just wanted to say thanks.”

He glances up briefly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug before his attention returns to the cocktail jar in his hands. “It’s what partners do, no?”

Now that you're standing on the customer side of the bar, you finally get to see what everyone else sees. A very pretty, smiley man you'd probably avoid if you were ordering.

“Well, goodnight, partner.”

His entire face lights up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I like it better when you say it.”

And then he's gone, disappearing into the back before you can think of a response.

The thudding in your chest leaves no coherent thoughts behind.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

It’s not that Jaemin is in love with you. Absolutely not. How could he be?

Everything he knows about you is what he’d know about any coworker. How you sound when you’re frustrated with him. How annoyed you get when he forgets to turn the dishwasher on. How pretty you look when you’re complaining about rude customers. How you always wear black tops to work but brighter colours around campus.

He’s also noticed that you answer his questions before he asks them. He never has to spend long looking for something behind the bar; you’re already pointing him in the right direction.

No, it’s not that he’s in love with you. That’s not the case at all. He just can’t seem to get you out of his head.

He’s not sure when it became a problem, but he noticed it after that night you were feeling unwell. He’d never seen your guard so low before, never seen you look like you needed someone to take care of you.

He wanted to text you after your shift. Make sure you got home okay.

He didn’t.

Partly because he chickened out, and partly because you strike him as the type to leave a man on read without a second thought. Probably because you can. Sensational women tend to get away with things like that.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted but unable to sleep, he couldn't stop thinking about comforting you.

Not sex. Not any of the filthy scenarios his brain usually specialises in.

Just you. Curled up in his arms beneath a blanket. A bouquet of flowers abandoned somewhere on the coffee table. Chocolate. Your favourite snacks. His fingers combing through your hair while you slowly drift off against his chest.

He’s fantasised about plenty of things before. Never this. Never about making someone's day easier.

With you, though…

He wonders if you’d ever want him in your space like that. If you’d trust him to hold you like that. And most of all, he wonders if you’ve thought about it too. But, to put it plainly, no. Jaemin is far from being in love with you.

He’s really struggling to focus tonight.

With you sitting beside him, the booth somehow feels both too small and too big. He can’t decide whether he wants more space between you or none at all.

It’s Jisung’s birthday drinks. Three weeks after his actual birthday, his younger housemate finally managed to gather everyone for a quiet night out. No clubbing. No chaos. Just a lively bar a little outside of campus.

Jisung claimed he was sick of seeing the same faces all the time, to which Jaemin had agreed. And yet here he is, distracted by your familiar face.

You’re tucked into the corner of the booth, practically shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Jeno sits on his other side. Beyond that, Jaemin couldn’t tell you who's sitting where.

Not because he’s drunk.

Because you smell too good.

Because your arm keeps brushing his whenever you reach for your drink.

And because your dress...

Fuck.

Your dress.

You always look pretty. But tonight you’re on a different level. Or maybe it’s just his silly little brain playing tricks on him. It’s only a black dress. Nothing he hasn’t seen on other girls before. Then again, Jaemin often thinks that no one can pull things off like you do.

“So what’s Jaemin like at work, Y/N?” Renjun chimes in curiously from the opposite side of the booth. Here we go.

“Hmm.” Jaemin feels your eyes on him before you answer. “Same as now, just less rigid.”

“Hey, I’m not rigid–”

“You are a little.” Renjun saves the day again, clearly in the mood to mock.

“He’s probably just annoyed he can’t escape my presence.” You lean over the table, as if sharing a secret with his friend.

Oh, so you’re playing that game. Cool cool cool. “Why would I wanna escape your presence? Being all up in your business is my new hobby.”

You shoot him the deadliest side-eye. So pretty. “Is it now?”

“Mhm.” He twirls his straw playfully before taking a sip of the very strong rum and coke he ordered not too long ago. “Honestly, it’s what gets me through the week.”

Your scoff says you don't believe him for a second. “You might as well just confess your undying love at this point.”

Yeah, he’s seriously thinking about it. “That would be highly unprofessional considering you’re, like, my boss.”

“Since when do you give a fuck about professionalism?”

“Um,” He raises a sassy finger. “I’m pretty you lack in that department more than I do.”

You blink at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t spit in people’s drinks.”

“He made her pay for everything and kept staring at my tits!” you fire back.

Jaemin laughs at the memory of you ‘accidentally’ dribbling into some guy’s beer before handing it over with the sweetest smile imaginable.

“Nah, that was actually fire, I rate it.” He praises and leans more against the table, elbows on the surface as he rests his chin on his interlinked fingers, trying really hard not to stare at your tits, clearly no better than the man who, unknowingly, had the pleasure of tasting your spit. Maybe if Jaemin openly stares, you’ll spit in his drink too.

That’s not a normal thing to want, is it?

Renjun is already immersed in another conversation with Haechan and Jisung, and Jaemin realises that for the first time in what feels like an eon, he’s nervous. As though he’s all alone with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. Though, he doesn’t have to dig too deep in his brain for a topic of conversation before you strike him with a surprisingly serious question. “So, you excited to graduate?”

He feels like he needs hours to think about the right answer. You’ve definitely put him on the spot here, and no one’s even listening. “Yes and no.”

“That’s awfully vague.”

“It’s true.” He shrugs, eyes trained on your nails. Not chipped for the first time. He can almost picture you painting them with a serious but insanely adorable look of concentration all over your face. “I’m curious about life after uni, but also, I know this is probably the freest we’ll ever feel.”

“Yeah,” You take in his words, and he can almost visualise your brain processing them as you slowly nod. “I don’t think I’m cut out to have a big girl job.”

“I think you’re cut out to have anything you want.” His words don’t even click in his mind but your raised eyebrow makes him catch on. He’ll admit - though, not intended that way - that sounded like a line. “I’m serious.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. A hint of a smile. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Right, you know all my secrets. I forget.” It’s the first time you refer to that night you two spent hours talking on that dingy sofa.

“Nah, not all of them.” He deflects with a pout.

You tilt your head in question, cheek now resting on your palm as you give him your full attention. It’s strange. It should feel like a victory. Instead, it makes him feel exposed.

“No?” You ask teasingly.

He offers a nod and leans an inch closer. Enough for his arm to press against yours. Skin on skin. A rarity with you two. “I feel like I could know a lot more.”

“Anything specific?” You surprise him by not pulling back, if anything, you just hold eye contact. Like the rest of the group doesn’t even exist. “Feels like you’ve got a questionnaire prepared.”

Jaemin can’t fight the cheeky smile. This is his moment. It's either go big or go home. “Why did you leave the door ajar?”

It’s like your mouth parts in slow motion. Then shuts again. And repeat. You’re doing a good job at not showing much emotion at the outrageously daring question.

“Why did you come upstairs?” You predictably answer him with a question of your own, and he has to bite a grin back. Because, of course, you’d do that.

“Because you wanted me to.” His shoulders lift in a small shrug, like it’s self-explanatory. To him it is.

“And you’re so good at knowing what I want.”

“I’m definitely better at it than you are.”

“Oof...” You lean back and cross your arms, your dubious frown causing a turmoil in his chest. Did he go too far? “Do you even know what you want?”

“Mm, to be honest...” He leans in so he can whisper without risking getting heard by anyone else. “I rarely do, but–”

“Oh, do me a favour.” You roll your eyes like you’re already bored of what he’s about to say next.

He chuckles, so amused with your reactions. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The regret is so clearly faux, but still endearing, nonetheless. “Please, carry on.”

“No.” He leans back like you did, arms crossing stubbornly, sassily jutting his bottom lip out. “I don’t wanna say now.”

“Oh, no, please tell me.” You say with the most stoic look, still mocking him. “How can I go on without knowing?”

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere with me.” He disapproves with a determined smile, knowing he’s successfully getting under your skin.

“I don’t know,” You casually reach and take his drink out of his hand, the straw already between your thumb and index as you swirl the remaining liquid, condensation dripping on your thigh, and Jaemin gets deja vu. “I think you prefer it when I’m mean.”

Maybe you know him better than he thinks. Or maybe you’re just more observant than you let on. You certainly get a kick out of making his dick suffocate, though. Because as Jaemin watches you wrap your glossed lips around the straw he’s just had in his mouth, he feels appallingly turned on. And he really wants to wipe the drop off your thigh exactly like he did last time. He doesn’t. But he does let his deranged mind entertain the thought of using his tongue instead of his thumb. Maybe someday. Hopefully.

“Oh, so now I’ve got a humiliation kink?” He pretends to be offended, watching the movement in your throat as you swallow a gulp of his drink with a disapproving scrunch of your nose.

“You said it, not me.” You put down the drink with a disgusted cough. “Fuck, did you ask for battery acid?”

He giggles at your rapid blinking. “Ruined your flirty antics, did I?”

“Fuck off.” You laugh along, cheeks now rosier than before with the hint of embarrassment.

“Not too much with the bullying. I’ll get a boner.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief at his crudeness, and he feels like he’s thriving. You’re finally speechless. This is what success feels like.

“I could get you fired for that.”

Oh.

“Wait, what? I was just jo–”

“God, you’re such a guy.” You shake your head with mockery, mouth now around your own straw as you sip on what looks like something disgustingly fruity. “You talk like you ownthe biggest pair of balls on planet earth but the second a girl outdoes you, it’s all begging and wah wah wah–”

“Do you ever shut up?” He doesn’t know where the outburst came from, but your confused frown goes straight to his cock, and before he can apologise-

“You shut up.” You clap back with a childlike frown, your ankle nudging his under the table in retaliation, and Jaemin’s competitive nature comes forth.

You’re not winning this one. He refuses to let you. So instead of nudging you back, he hooks his ankle around yours. You don’t ease up - as expected - trying to shove him away with a hand on his knee, glancing around with exaggerated innocence. Your worry about being seen is almost endearing, especially because you’re clearly biting back a smile.

Which is exactly why, instead of letting you go, Jaemin catches your hand and laces his fingers through yours.

Your small, sharp inhale slips past you, unnoticed by everyone except him. Your fingers twitch against his grip, but it holds steady – anchoring you in place – and finally does what he hasn’t managed to do for weeks.

It quiets you.

And Jaemin feels, for once, like he’s won.

Especially when you stop resisting and sink back into your seat, his ankle still tangled with yours, your hand now folded into his.

All you give him is a side-eye sharp enough to pass as affection. And every time he drifts into conversation, he can feel you looking at him. He pretends not to notice, answering with a squeeze of your ankle or a slow stroke of his thumb across your knuckles.

He doesn’t let go when Haechan brings over birthday shots for Jisung. One hand around his glass. The other one still holding yours like it’s instinct.

At some point – quietly, maybe even without meaning to – you lean into his side.

If anyone’s noticed, they don’t say a word. Jaemin’s almost certain that’s because of you. Because if it were anyone else, his friends would’ve made it unbearable by now. But your presence doesn’t really allow for noise like that.

They’ve learned.

The illusion breaks the moment you lean in and whisper that you need the bathroom. And when you slip out of the booth, leaving him wedged between wall and friend, Jaemin can already feel the questions forming.

Still, the ghost of your hand in his makes it worth it.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

“Still here, Wiggles?”

You’re leaning against a lamppost waiting for your uber when Jaemin emerges from inside the bar. You really can’t escape this man. Not that you’re trying that hard anyway.

“I’d ask where ‘Wiggles’ came from but not so sure I wanna know.”

He takes his place in front of you, looking as effortless and unbothered as he always does. “You’re always trying to wiggle away from me.” He discloses with a performative pout, lips shining more than before. He must’ve applied lip balm after you exited.

“Right. And you won’t let me.” You squint your eyes as though emphasising a complaint. You’re sure he can see right through it anyway.

“I would hate to deprive you of the joy of my presence.” He flashes you a bunny-like smile with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “You cold?” He asks with a sniffle as he catches the little shiver that cuts through you.

“Nah, I’m good.” You check your phone again. “My uber’s here in two mins anyway.”

He nods, but doesn’t move to head back inside, eyes remaining fixed on you. “Did you have fun?”

You want to tease, make a comment about his earlier antics, but his question sounds genuine, and you don’t think you'd want to go into that right now anyway. Not when there’s a time limit. “I did, yeah. You?”

“Oh, I had the most fun ever.” He drags the word, clearly not able to hold a serious conversation for more than four seconds.

“At least you keep yourself entertained.”

He hums mischievously, taking a step closer. The shadows from the streetlight and the bar lights make one side of his face glow in yellow and pink. “You never answered my question, you know.”

He’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to look at him properly. “Which one?”

Before he can answer, a car engine roars, ending your conversation prematurely.

He’s grinning, but he almost looks disappointed, like an opportunity was snatched right out of his hands. “I’ll tell you another time.”

Your uber pulls up, and you nod at the driver with a smile, letting him know he’s got the right person. Before you can lift a hand, Jaemin’s opening the door to the backseat for you.

“Bed time for you, wiggles.” He steps aside to make space for you, hand still on the car door when you turn to look at him before getting in. “I’ll tell Sung you stayed until late.” He reassures, indicating that the birthday boy is at a level of intoxication that most likely will compromise his memory.

For a reason unbeknownst to you, there’s a feeling of hesitation sitting in your chest. You’re reluctant to leave. Not just because you’ve had such a fun night. It’s the boy in front of you that poses an obstacle, as always. It’s how he’s made you feel all night. It’s how he’s looking at you now. It’s how he’s also still glued to the ground, not making an effort to end the night either.

“Make sure he drinks some water.” You opt to say, and Jaemin’s twitching mouth catches your attention. You feel like he can read your unease through your body language. Like he can read your mind. “Right, well, good–”

It’s funny how you’ve always thought you had the upper hand in most situations in life. Jaemin was definitely one of those situations. Until now. Until he shut you up for the second time in one night. Only this time, with his mouth on yours. It's not searing, nor is it the kind of kiss that knocks the air out of your lungs. To your surprise, it’s soft. His lips are slow against yours, moving lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world, and you surprise yourself by finally giving in to the desire you’ve suppressed for what seems like too long. Your hand finds itself on his nape, pulling him in with more determination, but with a delicate swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip, he’s gone.

“Goodnight, partner.” The whisper feels hot against your tingly lips, his smile is something you can only describe as wicked, and with that, he squeezes your waist in a way that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps before stepping away. He’s walking back inside before you can utter a word or offer any type of reaction to what just occurred, something you should’ve expected by now. Because it’s Jaemin. And Jaemin is unpredictable.

What you also know is that a kiss that short shouldn’t have melted your brain the way it did.

When you’re settled in the back of the car, it finally dawns on you– if he hadn’t pulled away, you wouldn’t have either. If Na Jaemin had kept kissing you, it is highly likely that you would’ve dragged him in the backseat of this uber with you. And the faint heat between your thighs feels like a personal attack your body wasn’t prepared for. But what’s embarrassing is how willingly you would've let him take care of it. Or make more of a mess if he pleased.

Your hazy brain keeps blaming the alcohol you’ve consumed, but as you sit there drowning in your overflowing thoughts, driving through campus and trying not to rub your thighs together, your thudding heart is telling you otherwise.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

Since you started working with Jaemin, it’s become known to you that he’s a very punctual guy. Never late, and if not on time, then most likely early. So when you turn up for your first shift of the week on Monday – thankfully a quiet one – and Jaemin is nowhere to be found, the first thought that crosses your mind is that he’s quit. That he kissed you just because he’d had enough of your attitude and endless negativity. And now that he’s barely broken through those, he’s had enough of chasing after you.

You could ignore his absence and go about your day. It’s the wise option. But your phone is already in your hands and your thumbs are typing away.

You: why is your friend not at work?

Sung: why do you ask

You: ??

Sung: he’s off this week

Sung: smth about a lab project thing he needs to prepare for

You: 👍

Sung: he knew you were gonna ask me

You: lol

Sung: apparently you’re predictable 💀

Great. So now you’re being mocked by who used to be your sweet friend Jisung. Fuck your nosiness. Or neediness in this instance. Needy for Na Jaemin? You? No. No. No. Absolutely the fuck not.

But then why are you already dreading dealing with customers without his hushed teasing comments? Or the provocative wiggling of his eyebrows when someone asks for your number in addition to their drink. Or the way he somehow appears beside you whenever a customer starts being difficult. Or how he always makes sure to add straws to a drink when you forget, even though he’s worked there for far less than you have. Or...

You suddenly come to the realisation that Jaemin has somehow become such a big part of your weeks. Like a habit you would struggle getting rid of.

And what’s worse now is that since that night he randomly kissed you and made your brain short circuit, you’ve not been able to shake the thought of him. The memory of him. The feeling of him. Of his lips on yours, of his hand in yours, of his mouth curling around the word ‘partner’. A word you once were so indifferent to that has now acquired a completely different meaning to its actual one.

Jaemin has really become your partner at work. And generally, someone you look forward to seeing. Someone you seek but can’t seem to find in your other coworkers. Or anyone you know really.

And as ridiculous as it may seem. Later in the week, three shifts in without him, you can’t deny a fact that about two months ago wouldn’t have even crossed your mind.

You miss Na Jaemin and the vibrant colours that come with him.

Work without him is awfully blue.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

Jaemin’s never lacked initiative. Ever. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not as an adult. He’s always been one to go for things he wanted. Whether it be a goal, a dream, a plan, a piece of clothing, a book, a video game. Anything. And when it comes to his love life, well let’s say he’s never lacked initiative in that department either. The only thing he’s lacking there is curiosity. Or intrigue. It’s always the same with every girl. No surprises. He knows what he wants, knows what he gets. And it’s not that he’s always been successful. He’s had girls reject him before. Or ghost him even. But he’s only cared until he’s found his next conquest, which doesn’t normally take more than a Saturday night and a few tequila shots.

He’s always viewed himself as someone who comes across as light-hearted. Harmless even. Certainly not intimidating. He knows that for a fact. People look at him and smile openly. They welcome him in. They embrace his quirkiness. They see him as someone who holds no weight. No depth. No substance. And he’s always been fine with that.

Until recently. Until he got a taste of what it’s like to be taken seriously. To be levelled with. To be challenged.

Until you.

Until he felt curious and genuinely intrigued.

Not in a poetic ‘she’s so different to everyone else’ type of way. Because you’re not. You blend in quite well with everyone around you. Yeah, maybe you’re more on the grumpy side most of the time, but who isn’t nowadays. You don’t make rooms light up. You’re not the centre of attention. You’re just... you. Sarcastic to the bone. Short-tempered. Like most girls he’s encountered these three and a half years he’s been a student. Yet, you sometimes look at him like you fear him. Like he’s someone you’re not allowed to let in. Like he’s someone that comes with consequences.

And once again, Jaemin knows what he wants. He just doesn’t know what he could get. He knows how to approach you. He knows there’s a way in. Just isn't sure if there’s a way out. And if there is... does that involve you and him both or just him? What if he finds his way in and then you kick him out? He knows that’s very much a possibility.

But.

She kissed me back. He keeps repeating the words in his head. The memory of it even more. The little sound of surprise you let out. Your hand touching his neck, inviting him in.

He’s deep in the reminiscing state when he’s jerked out abruptly, a soft hand tight around his wrist, dragging him towards god knows where. It doesn’t take him longer than two seconds to recognise the back of your head. Your shoulders squeezing through the crowd of the house party, not a single glance thrown behind you, just your fingers clinging onto his skin, making him feel like he’s still daydreaming.

He’s sure he’s not. But there’s no realistic scenario in his head in which you’d be taking him up the stairs of a house whose owner he barely knows.

A few steps and a door later, he’s in a bedroom. A very girly one. Plushies, fairy lights, candles, heavy perfume lingering in the air, name it. The same door you dragged him through is slammed shut and locked and Jaemin is shoved into the fluffiest blanket ever, the bed creaking slightly covering the yelp that escapes his lungs. His hands reflexively catch his upper body weight, propping him up. And after what seems like the longest walk in history, you’re looking straight at him. Staring down at him, or more accurately, peering into his soul, never having looked more intimidating, and before Jaemin can question any of your actions, you’re stepping closer, eyebrow raising in what he can only assume is frustration.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fucking shitting shit. He shouldn’t have kissed you.

“What the fuck is your game plan here?” You demand, sounding enraged, and Jaemin can’t think of the last time he had such a negative reaction to a kiss. He’s had girls tell him he’s a bad kisser, but they’ve still kissed him again after that. One girl even dodged him once, but she also pounced on him not longer than an hour later.

“I um–” He can feel his jaw twitching with nerves, refusing to slacken and give him the opportunity to give you a satisfactory response.

“You what?” You take a step forward, and even the tiniest movement from your side feels like a threat. “Why did you kiss me?”

Here we go. It’s out in the open.

“Do you even remember doing it?”

“Wha– yes.” Well, look at that. He can speak. Fucking well done, loser. “Of course, I remember.”

“Oh, congrats!” You give him a condescending smile, as though congratulating him for being able to utter a total of three words. “Do you remember why?”

He knows why. “I wanted to?”

You blink twice, nostrils flaring as you inhale deeply.

“I’m sorry if–”

“If what? You overstepped? Confused me? Do you understand that we work together? I’m not doing this work drama thing just so you can–”

“I confused you?” It’s the only part that matters out of all the things you listed. “How?”

Your features contort in bafflement, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s what you care about?”

“Tell me.” He is close to pleading, butt moving to the edge of the bed, knees touching yours as he inches closer. “Please.”

“That’s not the point, Jaemin!” Your hands raise in exasperation, feet taking a step back, your warmth absent again as you turn around and walk toward the door. He’s already accepted the fact that you’re about to exit the room and the situation, but you halt instead. And all Jaemin can see is your back. Your shoulders moving in sync with your deep breathing have him captivated. He can’t look anywhere else.

“What is then?” The question slips without permission. It’s only when you turn around that he’s very aware of his mouth and how it’s moved on its own accord.

If looks could kill, Jaemin would be dead now. “The point is that you don’t think. You just do things.”

“I do think.” He doesn’t waste a second to defend himself. Because he knows he’s right, even if your scoff completely disregards his statement. Regardless of his calm nature, Jaemin’s jaw ticks at your reaction. And so does his brain. “I think about you an awful lot. And you know it.”

You slump against the door with a groan, face dropping into your hands, and Jaemin doesn’t understand why you’re so vexed. Is it really that much of a burden that he likes you?

“Why did you bring me here, if you’re just gonna insult me?” He’s on his feet before he completes the sentence, voice raising slightly, making you look up in subtle surprise quickly concealed by your anger. “Just say you’re not interested in me like that and–”

“Insult you?” You scowl, throwing the word right back at him like it disgusts you. “How am I possibly insulting you? By trying to understand what you want from me?”

“What about you, huh?” He steps closer, despite his effort to hold back. “What do you want?”

“Stop deflecting.” His eyes catch the clenching of your fists at your sides, and the thought of you fighting the urge to punch him, exhilarates him. Does he really get under your skin that much?

“I’m not–”

“The fuck you smiling at, you clown?” Is he? Oh shit. He hadn’t even clocked that. “There’s literally nothing funny about this.” The impact of your hands on his chest shocks him, shoving him back into his previous spot on the bed. Clearly you like him sat down. And it’s no secret to him that he doesn’t mind looking up at you. He’d happily get on his knees if you asked him.

He needs to control his thoughts. And if he’s going to do that, he can’t have you standing above him or he’s going to lose all sense. So he moves to get up again. Futilely. Because you shove him back down before he can even try. He refuses to lose the battle. He tries again. Fails. And this time you push him so hard he ends up on his back. Which snaps his compromised patience.

“Stop–” He grabs onto your wrists, jerking you forward. “Fucking–” Pulls again when you fight back. “Pushing me.” He manoeuvres you, not letting you crush him, and somehow, in all the mess of whining and grabbing and yanking, he’s got you on the bed with him.

You both somehow land on your backs, in an awkward position. Half your torso is on him, the other half on the mattress, one of his arms crushed under you as opposed to the one caging you and holding you hostage despite your incessant squirming and twisting.

“Stop it, you nutcase.” He can’t help but laugh, not on purpose. Not to piss you off. The situation is just too amusing for him to stay as serious as you want him to. He still tightens his hold around you, forearm, pressed against your collarbones, hand gripping your shoulder until you gradually still your crazy limbs. “You done?”

Your erratic breathing resembles his, making him feel less pathetic, and Jaemin can’t ignore the intense thrumming of your heart through your back. You can probably feel his; beating wilder than it ever has. He can feel it in his ears.

Your pliancy bemuses him, but he thanks all the forces above for it, and he sighs in relief when you let him roll you onto your side so he can get his arm back. Before you can escape, even though you make no such advance, he drapes his newly functional arm over the dip of your waist, keeping you in an almost spooning position but still leaving space between your back and his front.

“We can talk or we can keep scrapping like cats,” He speaks calmly again, and by the movement of your shoulders he knows you can hear him clearly. “Up to you.”

“You wanna talk now? Like this?” You ask in disbelief, already starting to get on his nerves again.

“Yes. Now.” He drags you closer, expecting some sort of protest when he leaves just a couple centimetres between your bodies, settling close enough for his face to bury in the citrusy combination of your perfume and shampoo. Or moisturiser. Or whatever it is that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy. Regardless,he tries his best to stay as focused as possible. “If you don’t mind, I’ll start.”

You try to turn around. “I do mind actually–”

“Don’t care. I’m talking.” The arm he’s got around your middle keeps you in place, and he feels your sharp exhale against the arm your head is resting on. “I feel like you’re either in denial or you just have no fucking clue what’s going on here, which would be impossible considering you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Silence. Good, you’re finally listening to him.

“Which leaves us with the first option.” He lifts his head a little, the tip of his nose touching the end of your jawline. He adores the way you shrink away from him, face tucked even further into his elbow, the heat radiating off your cheek and onto his skin. “And that would be a shame, cause that means you’re missing out.”

He feels movement on his arm again. Maybe your lips pursing, maybe your nose scrunching, definitely something. “On what?”

He takes that as his cue to eliminate the tiny space left between you. Chest to back now, ass to crotch, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Me. And you. Sitting in a tree. Kissing.”

The tiny shiver that runs through you is something that affects him more than it should. Something so minimal yet powerful enough to go straight to his head, shaking up whatever is left in there.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” You mutter stubbornly into his skin, a finger slowly tracing one of the veins on his extended arm, like you’re trying to distract yourself. “I’m not in denial. I’m perfectly aware of whatever weird vibe we have going on.”

Interesting. “Okay...?”

“I just don’t understand what you want from me.” Your index reaches his wrist, and when he expects you to withdraw, you trace further instead, onto the lines of his unclenched palm. It also mirrors what you’re doing beneath all of this. Trying to figure him out. So, he instinctively flexes his fingers, palm opening, giving you more space to explore.

He decides to tease. “You want a power point presentation or...?”

“No, I want you to tell me.” The joke clearly doesn’t land. Your tone doesn’t resemble the one your voice carries when you roll your eyes at him. It’s serious, like you’ve had enough of his shit.

He’s not ready to give in just yet, though. “Okay, I’m sensing your preferred type of love language is words of affirmation.”

“Be for real.” You lightly dig your nails into the skin of his palm in a quiet threat, which strangely, goes straight to his dick. That strips him of his playfulness, and he gives in with a sigh, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“I don’t wanna say the wrong thing– like, I don’t know what you wanna hear. Or what you– like, what if I say something and then things get awkward and–

“Doesn’t matter what I wanna hear.” Your fingers stop tracing and you reach for his other hand this time, the one on your stomach, squeezing in something that feels like reassurance. “There’s no right answer. You already know what you want. You just need to tell me.”

Jaemin really does need to. He’s been dying to tell you. But now he’s actually getting the chance to, he feels slightly dizzy, like he’s experiencing an outer body experience. Like he’s looking at himself from across the room, warning himself, judging himself. He keeps hearing the words ‘watch what you say’, because what if he scares you away? What if you laugh in his face? Or worse, what if you don’t take him seriously?

“I want...”

You hum in anticipation, fingers slithering between his, your warm palm engulfing the top of his, exactly like he did to yours a few nights ago in that booth. Only this time it feels different. It feels like it matters. There’s nothing lighthearted about it. Just like the words he’s struggling to get out.

“I wanna know more about you.” He starts easy, buying himself time. “And I wanna spend time with you. Outside of work.” Your thumb playing with his distracts him from his deafening heartbeat, and he takes a second to swallow, but even that’s too loud. “Think that’s something we can do?”

You turn your head slightly, letting him nuzzle against your cheek. “That’s all?”

“No.” He wants to look at you, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. “I want... to make you laugh more.”

“Really?” You question in a tone so genuinely adorable that almost kills him.

“Mm.” He nods, eyes fluttering open when he feels you move his hand with yours a little further down.

“Do you… wanna take me on dates?”

“Yeah.” He nods again, ears focused on your words, but eyes glued to your intertwined hands and the journey the dangerous path they’re trailing down. “Wanna be good to you.”

“Good how?” Your lips graze his cheekbone, hand adamantly still guiding his, ass pushing back into him just a tiny bit, offering enough pressure to make his eyes shut for a second. “Nuh-uh.” You scold when his hand starts moving on its own, moving past the waistband of your skirt, and he immediately halts, letting you have the upper hand quite literally.

He exhales shakily, brain scrambled, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I dunno, just… wanna do nice things for you and spoil you.”

“That’s sweet.” Your nose cutely nudges his cheek, and Jaemin starts questioning his sanity. “What else?”

“Wanna be able to kiss you whenever I want.” He admits openly, not having searched much in his brain for that one.

“How do you wanna kiss me?” Your locked hands are now just below the hem of your mini skirt, his fingertips brushing your inner thigh, and he can’t help but curl his impatient digits around the fabric. You don’t scold him this time.

Jaemin could easily show you how he wants to kiss you right now. He could so easily grab your face and shove his tongue down your throat. But that’s not what you're asking. You want words. And as much as he hates how obedient he’s become for you, it’s also turning him on. “How do you like to be kissed?”

“Hmm,” You ponder, clearly enjoying the torture you’re putting him through. “Slow. And a little wet.” Perfect. Exactly how he likes it too. Maybe more than just a little wet, but he’s sure you two can meet in the middle. He just needs to actually kiss you first. “Unless we’re fucking.”

He lets out an embarrassing moan at the obscene imagery his brain instantly creates, hips unintentionally grinding into your ass, hard cock now tucked between your cheeks, and he realises he’s got the pads of his fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thigh. So close to where he wants to be. “What about then?”

“Messy.” You mumble into his arm, sounding a little breathless yourself. “Want it really messy then.”

“Messy’s good. I like messy.” He finally cracks, not caring how desperate he sounds. He’s already given up on trying to win with you. He’s been losing ever since the first time he spoke to you. “Anything you want, I’ll fucking do it.”

Your resolve seems to be abandoned too this time, trembling hand leaving his momentarily to bunch up your skirt just enough for easier access. Just above your upper thighs, without revealing what’s underneath. He gulps in anticipation, not making a single move before your hand is back on his, not moving as slow this time, but dragging his fingers across your skin, over to the crease of your thigh and crotch, the seam of your panties moving a tiny bit from the light friction, but not out of the way.

“Shit.” He exhales in awe. “You’re so–”

“Shush.” You whine bashfully, dragging a weak laugh of disbelief out of him. He keeps his mouth shut by landing a long kiss on your shoulder. The first time he’s kissed your skin ever, and he wishes he could do it every day.

“Awh, are you turned on?” He coos, letting his middle finger drag over the fabric of your panties, feeling your wetness seeping through and coating his skin with your essence. It’s so slippery, and sticky, and just so perfect as the light pulse of your clit makes him slightly overflow with need. Your little nod against his arm makes him smile, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip in delight. “I’ll make it better, if you let me.”

“Mm, please.” It sounds more like an instruction than a polite request, and your fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist make it clear. You’re not begging him, you’re just demanding what you deserve. And he’s going to give it to you on a golden platter. He’ll give you anything you ask for. He’ll get on his knees for you if you say the word. As long as you keep letting him touch you. As long as you keep letting him please you.

“Fuck, I’m so into you.” He whispers needily, cock twitching in its confines, jeans suffocatingly tight as he tries to get some relief through subtle rolls of his hips, almost too worried he’ll accidentally start rutting into you like a dog in heat. Your drenched folds separating as he slips his finger between them, as much as your panties deem possible, don’t help him at all, especially when accompanied by the tiniest mewls you’re letting out each time he softly rubs over your already swollen nub. “Guide me again. Show me where you want me.”

Your fingers join his again, positioning his middle and ring fingers directly above your covered clit, panties still somehow clinging on even through all the slick that’s gathered at the seat of them. “Here, slow at first.” You urge him to stimulate the tender spot in small circles, fingers moving above his to show him how much pressure you like. Your deep sigh gives him all the confirmation he needs that he’s touching you just right.

Jaemin watches your reactions over your shoulder. The rise and fall of your chest with each shallow breath. The glimpse of cleavage beneath your crop top. The hem of your skirt hiding your joined hands and everything they're doing underneath.

Normally, he'd want a better view. Being a visual person, he would've found an excuse to hike your skirt higher or reposition you just enough to watch exactly what he was doing to your pussy, but right now, he couldn’t care less. Because somehow, this is hotter. Not seeing everything. Not having you bare beneath him. Just watching your body give him away, little by little. It doesn't compare to anything he's had before. And he has a feeling it never will.

Your hand comes into view when it leaves his, letting him take over, but it quickly takes its place around the back of his neck, fingers slowly sneaking through his hair, forcing his eyes shut at the soft feel of your touch. He keeps rubbing your clit just how you showed him, and lets you pull him close enough that his forehead brushes your temple, resting there for a moment, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on the sweet sounds he coaxes out of you and the slick that keeps accumulating beneath his fingers. He contemplates slipping his hand inside your panties to feel you properly. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t dying to. But you haven’t given him that green light yet, so he adds a little more pressure on your clit instead.

“Jaem–” Your hips buck into his hand, the needy reaction almost funny, but he contains his laugh with a bite on his lip and gently cups your pussy in his palm, preventing you from running away.

“Relax, Wiggles.” He says softly, landing a tiny kiss on your cheek before running his fingers over the expanse of your folds and then resuming the circular motions on your clit, a little faster than before but still gentle. Still giving you a lot less than he really wants to.

The harsh tug you give his hair makes him grunt in surprise, taking the gesture as a warning. He harshly grinds his cock into your ass in retaliation, earning a breathless laugh from you that brings a smile to his face, which spreads wider when you twist your neck to take a look at him, and he feels like it’s the first time you’re looking at him without a threatening edge in your eyes. He shuffles as close as he can, face hovering over yours as he takes in the pleasure littering your features like a canvas. He would kill to have his camera with him and snap a picture of it. His cock throbs with want as you slowly blink up at him, clearly taking him in too, and you’re not subtle when you let your eyes drift down to his lips momentarily.

“You wanna kiss me, don’t you?” He teases, already knowing the answer but enjoying the little crease of frustration between your eyebrows a little too much. You give him a small nod, letting your gaze drift down again. He still doesn’t budge, fingers slowing down too, on a mission to punish you a little for the painful hard-on he’s got going on because of you. “Say please.”

There’s a look on your face he’s positive he’s never had the delight of encountering before, one that obliterates any pride he’s got left. The puppy eyes you’ve put on are doing enough pleading. So much that you don’t even have to say it, and Jaemin instinctively lowers his face close enough to nuzzle his nose with yours, something he’s not sure he’s ever done with anyone before. He’s never felt the need to. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until you raise your head to initiate the so desired kiss, your lips brushing his lightly for half a second. He pulls back just a fraction, taking one last look at your flushed face, savouring the haze in your eyes just a little longer, but a particular stroke of his fingers makes your eyes shut in pleasure. And it’s the sweet whimper you let out that makes him finally close the gap, tongue already slipping past your parted lips.

He kisses you exactly how you said you liked to be kissed. Slow and wet. Not too sloppy, no teeth. Just his lips dragging against yours, head tilted enough for his tongue to sneak inside your mouth just a little, and you match his rhythm in no time. Your mouth parts to let him in, your taste just like he remembers it. A little sugary from the drinks you’ve had earlier, enough to make him sigh from the relief of finally being able to experience this. Just like he’s daydreamed for what feels like too long. Maybe even better.

You swiftly flop onto your back, the movement catching him off guard, but your hands engulfing his face in them get him back on track. He breaks the kiss for just a second, so that he can steal a glance at his hand working between your now spread legs.

“Don’t stop.” You whine needily, your hips arching off the bed, chasing for more as you bury a hand in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Fuck, baby.” He moans all muffled, sounding completely wrecked even though it should be the other way around. Your tongue coaxes his lips open this time, forcing itself inside his eager mouth, and he can’t help but cheekily suck on it as his fingers move on their own accord, slipping down, teasing your entrance over the soaked fabric of your underwear. You’re so wet he can feel the outline of your pussy lips as if there’s no barrier, and god, he wishes his face was buried between your legs. Wishes he could smell you and taste you for hours. The thought of devouring your cunt while your legs shake and lock around his head, suffocating him, sends a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock. And it hurts. It’s painful not to thrust against your hip, seeking for any kind of relief, so he does, letting you swallow his low whines as you keep him close.

“Mmh– can you–”

“Mm, what?” He nods frantically, desperate to give you more.

“Just...” You keep kissing him, one hand gently caressing his jaw, while the other finds his again, and before he can question you, you’re dragging his hand up until it reaches the waistband of your panties. And then you’re urging him to slip inside. He internally celebrates and obliges without a word; tongue tangling deliciously with yours as he quickly dips two of his fingers between your folds with a deep groan, quickly finding your clit again, picking up where he left off, with tight circles on your cute nub. Fuck, it’s pulsing, and he wonders if your pussy would pulse just like that around his cock, swallowing him. “Faster.”

Again, he obeys, denying you anything never an option, and he instantly starts stroking your clit with three of his fingers, fast and hard, from side to side, and your mouth parts against his in a silent moan, the vibration getting a reaction that claims a place in his brain. “Good?”

“Yeah,” You nod desperately. “I’m close.”

He nods back. “Want my fingers inside?”

“No, no.” You plead, clearly too in the moment to care. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

His free hand wraps around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he gives you what you want. “You’re so wet.” He mumbles between frantic breaths. “Didn’t know you wanted me that bad.”

You whine in protest, your panting making it impossible for you to speak words other than a broken: “Oh my god.”

“Fuck, you’re shaking.” He whispers, in complete awe of your pleasure, admiring how your face contorts, how your eyes roll back, how your legs tremble. “Don’t hold it, let go.” He encourages gently, able to see right through your self-control, and eager to demolish it. Even now, even on the brink of an orgasm you clearly want to reach, you try to squirm away from his touch, your legs clamping around his hand stubbornly, preventing any movement.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love it when you’re being difficult, but right now is not the time.” He huffs in frustration, hand fidgeting, fingers now squished between the plush of your thighs, unintentionally coating your flesh in your arousal. “If you wanna cum before someone finds us in here, I suggest you spread those legs again.”

The hand still nudged in his hair pulls him closer again, but he resists, not in the mood to give into your wishes anymore. He recognises the distress and conflict in your eyes. You’re not being stubborn, you’re just embarrassed. What for, he’s not sure, but he likes it. Because it’s unlike you.

It does click in his head, though. “I’ll keep kissing you if you let me make you cum.”

And with that, the clenching of your thighs eases up a little. And Jaemin can’t fight the amused laugh that bubbles in his chest. Because bribery does work. And he’s finally connected the dots.

You only got shy when he stopped kissing you so he could watch you. And, suddenly, so much makes sense, but he chooses to lock that thought away in the back of his mind. For now. Because your legs are parting for him again.

“Yeah?” He coos, fingers now moving freely, momentarily dipping down, collecting slick arousal that’s trickled out of your entrance before returning to your clit. He nods along with you when you let your eyes shut in bliss. “That’s it. Good girl.”

He doesn’t let you react to the praise, mouth slotting with yours like he promised, silencing whatever protest was bubbling in your throat. He knows he was treading on thin ice with that, repeatedly having been made aware how you’re not about to let a man patronise you or degrade you. Ever. Your boundaries have always been clearer than water, the harsh tug on his hair proves that much. But Jaemin’s not backing down again. He’s had enough of your shit, and so he kisses you harder, sloppier.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You tug harder, making him grunt and rub you in quicker and firmer circles.

“Shut. Up.” He almost doesn’t recognise the harshness in his own voice, never having felt so annoyed at someone and wanting to please them at the same time. It’s usually one or the other. It seems you’ve proven him wrong once again. “Be grateful I’m not bending you over and fucking the shit out of you.”

He pulls on your hair too, his level of roughness not enough to match yours, but enough to have your teeth biting down on his bottom lip, and he’s pretty sure you’ve drawn blood.

“Fine.” He challenges, his limits already crossed. “Have it your way.”

His knees hit the floor before he can think, his hands grabbing on your thighs, dragging your body to the edge of the bed, and before you can let out more than a yelp, Jaemin’s pulling your panties to the side, revealing your dripping centre.

“What the–”

“So cute.” He mumbles as he watches his middle and ring fingers slip inside your clenching hole too easily, the wetness making everything nice and slippery for him, and when he curls them, your back arches. Too fucking pretty.

“Jaem, oh my god.” You whimper out weakly, clouding his already jumbled head.

“Fuck, I love that.” He whispers mindlessly, circling your visibly swollen nub with his tongue once. “You sound so sweet.”

He can tell it’s finally (thankfully) game over for you, when your legs open further for him, and he wastes no time. He soon finds a rhythm with his fingers that has your walls tensing, but he keeps hitting what he believes is the right spot. And when he angles a little more upwards, his doubts are instantly gone.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, right there.” You exclaim in despair, chest heaving, legs quaking just like before.

“I got you.” He mumbles against your folds, then engulfs your clit in his mouth, sucking gently while drawing slow circles with his tongue, finally able to enjoy your taste like he’s always wanted. A satisfied hum escapes him when your hands slip in his hair again, holding him in place as your pussy quivers around his digits. The tighter you get, the louder the squelching noises become, and when he fucks his fingers into you a little faster, he knows you’re finally climaxing.

“Shit, I’m cumming.” You exhale abruptly, like you’re caught off guard, legs closing in around his head, only this time, he doesn’t mind. Far from it. If he could suffocate between your thighs, he’d probably thank you.

Your little cries are more than gratifying. The kneading of your walls as he tries his best to drag out your high goes straight to his erection, his balls feeling so heavy and sore, and when your nails lightly scratch his scalp, he feels his abdominal muscles contract, pelvis involuntarily thrusting into nothing. It’s when his cock throbs painfully that he knows it’s inevitable, and before he can even pull away from your core, Jaemin is shamefully releasing in his pants. Untouched. Coating his boxers in his own cum.

He blames it on the edging and the fact that he's been sporting a hard-on for at least half an hour, but deep down he knows it’s just his unfiltered want for you. He knows it’s you. You and everything about you.

He can hear your overstimulated whines when the haze starts to dissipate, and he slowly slips his fingers out, realising that his mouth is just aimlessly parted against your folds, nose squished against your pubic bone as he tries to regain his breath.

“You okay?” He pants, sounding like he’s just ran a marathon instead of given head.

You let out a fucked-out laugh. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“Shut up.” He laughs with you, forehead defeatedly resting on your tummy as he tries to conceal his hot face. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt embarrassed in front of a woman. It doesn’t help that he’s currently on his knees either. Your soft fingers carefully combing through his damp hair offer a little bit of calmness, however.

“Is that, like, a recurring theme or should I feel honoured?” You tease, the light heartedness in your tone making him smile like an idiot. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you like this before.

“Keep testing me and you’ll find out.” He feigns annoyance, landing a light slap on your outer thigh before squeezing the flesh hard.

You whine in protest, and even though he can’t see your face, he can picture the frown you’re sporting. His imagination not being enough, he decides to lift his head so he can look at you properly, only to find that you’re already staring at him.

“Hi.” He lands a quick kiss just below your bellybutton, where your top doesn’t meet your skirt.

“Hi.” Your lips twitching in a half-smile urge him to kiss your skin again, and then once again until you’re giggling. “Stop.”

He hums against your skin in fake contemplation, already knowing he doesn’t want to, but then he glances down between your legs, drenched core still on display, puffy folds glistening from before, panties still messily pushed to the side, and when you attempt to shut your legs, he beats you to it, holding them in place, refusing to miss out on the pretty sight. So enticing.

“Can I clean it up?” He asks without a second thought, thumbs pulling the lips apart to reveal more of what a mess he’s made, your pretty clit still protruding a little from the attention it received earlier. He looks up at you, taking in your bemused eyes, and he chuckles at your cuteness. “It’s a subtle way of saying I wanna lick your–”

“I know what it means,” You cut him off with a pointed look, clearly disapproving of his crude choice of words. “I’ve just never had anyone ask that before.”

He clicks his teeth in judgment, internally laughing at the joke he’s about the make. “Really? Chenle not that freaky then?”

“Ew!” You shriek adorably, gently kicking him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk about him when you’re between my legs.”

“Why not?” He wiggles his eyebrows provocatively, face already inching closer to where he wants to be.

“Because it’s weird?”

“You had no issue with me watching him rail you.” He blows air on your clit on purpose, watching you squirm in his hold, his hands firm on the backs of your thighs. “I gotta admit, though...” He catches your little hole clenching. “You weren’t as loud then as you were tonight.” He chuckles when your hands come up to cover your face with a pained groan. “Don’t be shy. I loved it.”

“Just fucking do it.” You huff in frustration and buck your hips towards his face.

He leaves a wet kiss on your inner thigh, sucking the supple flesh teasingly, before he darts his tongue out, licking a wide stripe between your folds, doing his best to gather as much of your essence as he can, and repeats the action again and again, clearly not doing a very good job as the more he laps you up, the more arousal keeps gathering at your opening and your whimpers get louder and louder.

“Such a sweet pussy.” He relishes in your taste and decides he needs to stop when he feels his dick starting to stir back to life in his pants, otherwise you’ll be stuck in this room for god knows how long. With a gentle kiss on your clit, he withdraws and pulls your underwear back into place before giving your thighs a gentle but condescending pat. “All done.”

Before you can sit up, he’s crawling up your body, caging you with his arms, and fuck his life, you look so good under him. So soft and pliant, legs on either side of his waist. Nothing like the girl he knows from work. He likes both versions equally, but this one he doesn’t think he could ever get used to.

“You’re hard again.” You wiggle your hips against his, cock flush against your thankfully covered centre.

“Yeah, and you’re still wet.” He responds with a subtle roll, cock sitting uncomfortably in his damp boxers, but nothing he can’t handle. “So, please can we go before I fuck you in some stranger’s bed?”

You snort, arms loosely wrapping around his neck, urging him closer, and he easily caves in. This kiss is soft, no tongue or urgency, just little sucks on your bottom lip, until he’s temporarily satiated his need for you.

“Come on, don’t want my friends thinking you’ve kidnapped me.” He leaves another chaste smooch on your lips and gets up with a dramatic groan, already missing your body heat against him.

A few minutes later, when he’s leaning against a wall next to the bathroom, waiting for you while pretending he’s aimlessly scrolling through his phone, Jaemin thinks back to how he ended up in this situation in the first place, and realises he still doesn’t really know where he stands with you. Yes, clearly, you’re both attracted to each other, and there’s no doubt in his mind that he likes you. But do you genuinely like him? Or do you just find him hot and fuckable? What if you’re just getting bored of whatever arrangement you have with Chenle and Jaemin’s just another distraction until you find someone you’re actually interested in?

“Thanks for waiting.” You interrupt his thoughts, ready to head for the stairs, but Jaemin feels like if he doesn’t clear this up now, he might lose the courage to do so later.

“Wait, hang on a sec.” He gently pulls you back by your hand, and you quickly face him, seeming clueless about his internal turmoil, eyes blinking up at him curiously.

“Is something wrong?” You ask carefully, worry laced with your tone, making Jaemin’s stomach do a little flip.

“No.” He shakes his head, and smiles when your shoulders drop in relief. “I guess I’m just still a little confused.”

“About?” You squeeze his hand, a tiny gesture of encouragement that makes him feel warm and fuzzy.

“Well...” He’s suddenly incapable of holding your gaze, your fingers posing as a distraction as observes your hand in his and how good they look like that. “I mean what I said. I want to, like, you know…”

“Be good to me?” You tease, referring to what he said earlier in the heat of the moment. Not that he didn’t mean it.

“Mm, that too,” Both hands are now playing with yours like it’s a fidget toy. “But also spend more time with you and go on dates and stuff. If you also want that. Obviously.” He lets out a nervous laugh. God, he sounds pathetic.

You step closer, leaving no space between your bodies, and Jaemin feels himself relax a little, finally able to look at you. You’ve got an adorable grin on your face, as though you can already see right through him. Like the idea of making his heart go crazy is so enticing to you. “I also want that.”

“Really?” He perks up, excitement already brewing in his chest at the thought of holding your hand in public.

“Mhm,” You nod, hand flexing in his, fingers extending like he’s just proposed to you and you’re waiting for the ring. Maybe he should start saving up for one at this point. “But–”

“But what? Why but?” The questions roll off his tongue without permission, and he hates how desperate he sounds.

“Relax, loser. I’m not rejecting you.” You laugh at his misery. It’s kind of hot. But he won’t admit that. At least not right now. “I was just gonna say, I’d rather we kept it low-key at work. If that’s okay with you.”

“I can do low-key.” He says quicker than he’d like to. “I’ll behave.”

“Okay, well, don’t behave too much.” You poke him in the chest with a smirk that makes him feel all tingly and giddy. He feels like a teenager speaking to their crush for the first time.

“Oh?” He pouts playfully, fluttering his eyelashes like he knows you hate, his arm loosely circling your waist, hand resting at the small of your back, slowly pulling you close, the proximity clearly something you’re both still getting used to. “Why? Would that be too sus?”

“It’s good you’re self-aware.” You say sarcastically, your free hand coming to squish his cheeks, surprising him. “Has anyone ever told you your eyelashes are, like, freakishly long?”

He laughs loudly at the random observation, remembering that time you said something about him flying if he blinked too fast. “Yeah, you.”

“Have I?” You tilt his face, evidently too busy inspecting his lashes to actually pay attention to what he’s saying. “When?”

“Right before you gave me the bedroom eyes and made me watch you–”

“Shhhhh.” You squeeze his cheeks harder, making it impossible for him to finish his sentence. “You’re pretty, but you talk too much.”

“Mmph–” He’s not able to complain, not due to your tight hold on his face, but mainly because you’re suddenly shutting him up with your mouth on his. You leave a loud smooch on his lips, and then a second one, and before you can pull away, he doesn’t even realise he’s got a hand in your hair, holding you in place.

Your hand trails from his face to his chest, resting there, allowing him to tilt his head so he can deepen the kiss. And just when he’s about to turn you around and pin you against the wall–

“Woah!” Jisung’s high pitched exclamation makes you both pull away in surprise. And when Jaemin looks up, there’s his younger friend, barely able to stand up due to the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, yet enough in touch with his surroundings to understand what you two are up to. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, absolutely not, stop it right now, that’s vile. Bye.” He slurs and abruptly sits down at the top of the stairs with his forehead resting on the wall.

Jaemin struggles not to burst out laughing when he takes in your comical expression, eyes wide, lips pursed tightly to contain your own snicker. And then he internally groans, realising that he’s probably Jisung’s saviour for tonight. “I think I’m gonna have to take him home.”

“Yeah, that’s all you.”

It’s maybe three or four quick kisses later that Jaemin, hesitantly of course, manages to find the will to pull away from you.

𓂃𓆩⠀⠀ ⊹𓈒⠀⠀ 🐰⠀⠀ 𓈒⊹ ⠀⠀𓆪𓂃

You’ve learnt to expect everything from Na Jaemin. At this point you could say you’ve mastered the art of not getting surprised at things he says or does, regardless of the outrageousness they sometimes carry. You were confident that his unfiltered and blunt way of navigating life didn’t really faze you much anymore.

Until last night.

Last night, you were surprised. Last night, you were fazed. Pleasantly so, but still. What you were expecting were vague answers, boyish excuses, charming batting of long eyelashes and maybe the distracting smile that always gets him out of trouble. What you were not expecting was your insufferable coworker getting on his knees for you and giving you one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you’ve ever experienced, right after admitting he wants to date you (to put it plainly). What you also didn’t expect was his neediness. And how weak it made you feel. So much that you left the party wondering what his cum tastes like.

Who in their right mind wonders that about someone? Clearly you. Because clearly, you’re not in your right mind. You can’t be. Since when can you not control your impulses? To the point where you allow yourself to drag a man into a stranger’s room only to ask for explanations you don’t really need anyway? Since when do men’s explanations matter to you? Na Jaemin’s out of all men’s thoughts should be something of low significance to you. So why were you so bothered? Yeah. He kissed you out of the blue. So what? Something so easy to ignore, yet it had been gnawing at your brain like a parasite. A stupid fucking kiss that tasted like rum and coke.

You're still in bed, staring at the ceiling when your phone starts going off, slightly startling you out of your snoozy state.

“Hello?” You pick up without properly checking the screen.

“You sound cute when you’re sleepy.” Before you can even finish processing him, Jaemin’s annoyingly chirpy voice blasts through the speaker, breaking through the quiet of your room. Of course he’s a morning person.

“How’d you get my number?” You grumble, still not entirely awake but oddly pleased to hear him.

He must be in the middle of typing as you hear the keyboard clicking in the background. “Work group chat, silly.”

“And you’re calling at eleven am on a Sunday because...?” You shuffle onto your front and place your phone on your pillow after putting Jaemin on speaker.

“Well...” He drags the word as though he enjoys the suspense. Knowing his dramatic ass, he probably does. “I got up early to finish a paper, and now I’m feeling clingy with no one to cling onto.”

You catch yourself smiling into the pillow like an idiot. He should not have this effect on you. “Don’t you live with a thousand other men.”

“Just four actually.” His chuckle echoes, and you can picture his bright teeth a little too easily. “And you’d be surprised at how busy they all are. Well, apart from Jiji. He’s just dead.”

You’re not surprised in the slightest Jisung is not up and about considering the state he was in last night. What a messy boy. “What could they possibly be doing on a Sunday morning?”

“Hmm,” You imagine him swivelling in his chair in deep thought. “Haechan and Jeno are out on a double brunch date with their females, and Renjun... I actually have no idea. He doesn’t like seeing me in the mornings.”

It’s your turn to laugh. It comes out all muffled but you’re sure he can hear you. “I can see why. Also, females?”

“Yeah, speaking of females, can I come see you after I submit this?” He asks, like it’s something he’s asked a thousand times before. The question itself doesn't surprise you. You could tell it was coming from miles away. It’s just his casual tone that leaves you slightly perplexed.

“You sound awfully comfortable asking to invade my personal space.” You flip onto your back again, phone now on your chest.

“You didn’t mind me invading your personal space last night.” How can someone be so quick witted? Damn his sexy brain.

“Consider yourself lucky you’re not in my space right now.”

“Nothing lucky about that.” He whines playfully. “C’monnnn, I’ll bring food, and sweeties, and we can watch a film. Or just talk. Or you can sleep and I’ll just watch you.” He pleads hopefully, and a little too adorable for you to hold your ground.

“Creep.” You mumble defeatedly, and it’s mostly meant for yourself, but he picks up on it judging from the little hum he lets out, like he agrees.

You wonder if this man has ever had anyone tell him no in the past. If so, you’d like to ask them for advice.

When you hear his knock, you have just about finished putting fresh clothes on after your shower, your hair is still wet, and the taste of toothpaste too strong in your mouth.

Ever so punctual, there he is, leaning against your doorframe when you swing the door open. He doesn’t look as fresh and bright as he sounded on the phone, the tiredness evident in his eyes, but somehow, he looks even more handsome like this. You notice you’re matching, both wearing hoodies with your university’s logo printed on them, his grey sweatpants mirroring yours.

“Well, this is uncanny.” He speaks first, amused eyes taking in your attire the same way you’re taking in his.

“Come in before I change my mind.” You step aside to let him inside, unable to fight your smile when he takes off his shoes without you having to ask.

“I’m here now, no need to be so aggy.” He says with a reassuring pout you never fail to question. Because how does a grown man so masculine act so feminine and cutesy without a care in the world.

“We can chill in here, Winter’s at her boyfriend’s for the day.” You dismiss his antics and lead the way towards the small living room space you and your flatmate share. “We’ve got Netflix and Disney plus.”

He gasps, making you turn to look at him. “So we can watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians?”

“Absolutely not.” You deadpan. You refuse to watch something that will most likely obliterate your already barely functioning brain cells.

“Blue planet then?” He drops the takeout bags on your coffee table and you can see there’s a huge bag of Skittles and a pack of fresh cookies on top of the boxes. You try not to laugh at the thought of him standing in a bakery waiting to buy overpriced treats. As funny as it is, you can’t help but find it incredibly endearing too.

“So it’s either brainrot or full-on intellectuality with you.” You nod in fake approval.

“If you have beef with sir David Attenborough, I’m afraid I can’t invest in this.” He protests but still plops down on your sofa and snatches the TV remote off the table like he owns the place.

“Invest in what exactly?” You narrow your eyes at the ballsy statement, and he side-eyes you in return, brows lifting like the answer is self-explanatory. “Also, I don’t think anyone has beef with David Attenborough.”

“Wise.” He keeps his attention on the screen as he scrolls through Netflix, and suddenly you feel like you’re intruding in your own home. “I knew you were wifey material.”

The eye-roll is inevitable when you head for the kitchen to get water. Not because his silly comment offended you. But because it should have.

It’s maybe halfway through the first episode that you and Jaemin both have devoured your bowls of pho noodles and he quickly reaches for the cookies.

He offers you the box with a sweet smile, as if saying ‘do the honours’.

You instantly shake your head. “I’m too full.”

He pouts stubbornly, like you’ve offended him and confused him at the same time. “Wanna share one?” He asks, eyes big and full of hope and so unfairly pretty. And you can’t find it in you to deny him a second time.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll do half.”

“Yay.”

You observe him as he tears the lid off, carefully picks a cookie like it’s an important decision, and then splits it in two. You notice how cautious he is not to drop any crumbs on the blanket you’re sharing, keeping his hands above the container that’s resting now on his lap. You only realise you’re smiling when he offers you the slightly bigger half, and if he's noticed, he doesn’t comment on it, just waits patiently for you to take a bite, whales and dolphins forgotten in the background.

When the second episode starts, you realise you and Jaemin have barely exchanged any words since he stepped foot in your apartment. The silence hasn’t felt awkward at any point, but you can’t deny it’s a slightly unusual dynamic.

His newfound restlessness makes up for it, however.

You don’t say anything when you feel him staring, but you also can’t hide the little twitch of your mouth. And you know he notices when he shuffles a tiny bit closer, not enough to close the distance between you, but enough for you to get a whiff of his clean boyish scent. A chuckle brews in your chest but only escapes when he gently tugs on the blanket, trying to get your attention in a way that doesn’t require words.

He’s yet to tear his persistent eyes off you, probably amused by the deeper shade of your burning cheeks, so you bring your knees up to your chest, along with the hem of the blanket, seeking for cover. Your hand blindly reaches over to his side, fingers poking into his cheek, forcing his attention back on the TV, at which he shamelessly giggles. You don’t manage to retrieve your arm as he swiftly but so gently takes hold of your wrist and tugs the same way he did with the blanket, a subtle request for you to move into his space.

It’s way too easy. Just like most things in his life it seems. And as easily as you give in, it doesn’t feel wrong. Not when you so comfortably allow yourself to curl into his side. Not when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and lets you snuggle closer. Not when your cheek squishes against his chest, ear right above his steady heartbeat. Not when you feel his nose nudge you on the forehead. And definitely not when you hear his little sigh of relief.

You could pretend it doesn’t mean anything. You could just blame it on the tiredness and the fact that you’re both slightly hungover from last night. You could just be two people who casually ended up cuddling on the sofa while watching a documentary about creatures of the ocean. But the way your heart speeds up defies that. Just as easily as you fell into his arms just now.

“You smell nice.” He murmurs, the contentment in his voice and body language difficult to not make you feel warm and fuzzy too.

“So do you.” You slip, not really meaning to admit that you’ve been having the same thought. “Hope you don’t use one of those three in one shampoos that could kill a Victorian child.”

His chest vibrates under you, his loud sneaker making you laugh along. He lets his weight sink further into the cushions, moving you with him. “That’s actually offensive. I take my skincare very seriously.” His fingers threading through your hair make you feel woozy, goosebumps prickling on your nape, accompanied by a little shiver, which unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin. “Aww,” He coos, hand repeating the action, this time lightly scratching your scalp. “That’s so cute, you like head scratches.”

“I’m not a fucking dog.” You grumble, with no intention of pulling away from his soothing touch.

“Hmm, I don't know,” He trails sceptically, fingers now scratching at the crown of your head, coaxing you further into drowsiness. “You are kind of like a puppy at times. All bark no bite.”

You nuzzle deeper into his neck, allowing your eyes to shut. “I bite when necessary.”

“I’m in deep shit right now if you’re a vampire.”

You let out a lazy giggle, hand tugging on his hoodie to reveal more of his neck. “Yeah, I could so easily eat you.”

“Sexy.” He says in a playful tone. “Doubt I’ll taste as good as you did last night.”

You’re weak. So fucking weak.

What the fuck are you even meant to say to that? And why did the words make your toes curl? You’ve been trying so hard not to let your mind wander to last night’s events, and not because you’re ashamed or embarrassed. Quite the opposite.

It would be wise to swerve the subject. Hell, it would be easier to pretend you’re asleep. But where’s the fun in that? Why miss the opportunity to see him squirm a little?

“I mean...” You hook your fingers over his neckline teasingly, before letting them trail upwards, your knuckles grazing his skin; first his neck, then the opposite side of his jaw, where your palm settles. “We could’ve found out last night if you hadn’t jizzed in your pants like a teenager.”

Silence. Even his breathing stops. You’re almost starting to worry you’ve pushed too far. And maybe you have. But his hand in your hair tightening and then pulling, even though harsh, it reassures you he's fallen face first into your trap. And a breathless laugh slips out when he forces you to look at him. The wicked smile on his face does something to your tummy.

“We could find out now.” He suggests. So predictable.

“I thought you wanted to watch Blue Planet.” You pout just like he would if he had the upper hand. Just like he did last night. Condescendingly.

His hold on your hair loosens, giving you leeway to bring your face closer to his, hand still cradling his jaw when you give him a very quick kiss on the cheek. You sense the hesitancy in his actions, both hands hovering close, but not properly touching you anymore.

“You okay?” You ask with genuine concern, urging him to look at you, not used to this demeanour from him.

“Yeah,” He nods quickly, arm settling around your waist in no time. “I’m just– I don’t want you to think that I came over for…”

“I don't.” You hold his face with both your hands, thumbs stroking his soft cheeks, a little rosy now.

His tiny nod makes your stomach do a flip. “Okay, good.” He nods again, more to himself this time, like he’s fighting an internal conflict. “Like, I know you might’ve heard things, and you probably think I just wanna get in your pants, but I swear I don’t– I mean, obviously, I do, but not in that way, you know?” He swallows visibly, and you’re too taken by his sudden outburst to interrupt him again. “Like, I do want you and I’ll do anything with you, but I don’t want that to be the main thing. Like, yeah, sex is great and I’m sure it’ll be fire with you, but I swear I just wanted to hang out today–”

“Jaemin.”

“Hm?” He looks at you with big eyes, like you’ve startled him out of a trance. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Breathe, please.” You lightly shake his head, in hope of knocking some sense into him and bringing him back from his spiral. “I don’t know what you think I’ve heard, but I couldn’t care less about idiotic rumours–”

“Not all of it is, though.”

“Okay, and?” You straddle him abruptly, suddenly annoyed at his uncertainty. He’s blinking up at you like he needs something he’s not sure of. Such pretty eyes. “It’s sweet that you worry about this stuff. It means you care and I like that. But I'm not one to judge people based on their past. Unless they're cheaters or misogynists.”

"I've only had one girlfriend in high school and I think women should get paid more than men." He quickly admits.

Your heart overflows with fondness at how he clutches the blanket that’s loosely scattered around your thighs, his fingers fidgeting in an anxious manner you’ve never seen from him before. Adorable.

“I know you like me, I’m not dense.” You give into your instincts and shuffle closer, overcome with the need to have some form of direct contact, to feel his warmth. “And I'm absolutely fine with you wanting to get in my pants. As long as it’s not all you want.” You smile at his mouth parting, expression changing into something that resembles awe and realisation, as though you’ve solved a puzzle he’s been getting tortured by.

“It’s not.” He shakes his head in denial, his hands now on your thighs, a comforting weight.

“Good.” You encourage him with an affirmative nod, the tip of your nose barely touching his. You take in his features as he shuts his eyes and inhales slowly, his chest touching yours momentarily before he exhales, and you feel the intense want to smother him in affection. “You’re so cute.” Your lips pucker against his cheek like it’s a reflex. Like kissing his skin would scratch a long-lasting itch. “Why are you so cute, huh?” Another smooch, a lingering one this time. “So annoying.”

“Why are you being sweet?” He whines, as though bothered and confused by the sudden turn in your attitude. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m actually very clingy behind closed doors,” You trail more kisses down his jawline, letting your tongue make contact when you reach his neck. “So, you should be scared.”

He outright moans at the threat, or maybe at the way you’re lightly sucking on his pulse, his head tipping back to give you more space.

“Maybe you’re just bipolar.” He teases mindlessly, one hand sneaking into your hair, holding you in place, as the other drags up your thigh and stops at the small of your back, fingers ghosting over your ass, palm pressing you into him. You feel him growing under you, the subtle bulge poking you against the crease of your thigh, so you reposition your hips slightly, this time making sure you’re sitting directly on it.

“Yeah, I bet your freaky ass would love it if I had a mental disorder.” You tug on his hair, your mouth now on his left clavicle, teeth grazing his skin like a warning. “You’d probably wanna fix me.”

"Damn," He breathes out a fucked-out laugh, clearly entertained by your choice of words. “Am I that easy to read?”

“I just pay attention.” You say the words without much thought behind them, but the second they slip out, his mouth is on yours. And you give in quicker than you would’ve allowed if it were anyone else. His hand in your hair doesn’t give you much choice anyway, and neither does his tongue, swiping across your lips as he tilts your head gently. He tastes like candy and something familiar that has your mouth eagerly parting for more. The quietest of moans escaping your lungs reminds you of how much he weakens any restraint you always try to maintain.

Suddenly, ruining him seems more enticing than any other thought that occupies your mind in that moment. You could edge him enough to make him beg. He’d like that, right? He’d look so pretty crying.

You let him kiss you however he wants, without failing to notice how he tries to keep it languid and wet enough that it resembles the way he kissed you last night. Exactly how you told him you like to be kissed. Your tongue plays with his slowly, just like your hands slide from his neck to the zipper of his hoodie. It comes undone easily, and you can’t help but slip your hands underneath, nudging the fabric off his shoulders before you indulge in giving his uncovered arms a squeeze. He reciprocates with both his hands on your ass, kneading the full flesh and urging you to move your hips against his.

“Fuck,” He gasps against your mouth, his pelvis bucking off the sofa just a little, trying to get more friction when you keep your movements too slow.

“What do you need?” You break off the heated kiss, hands flat on his chest to hold him in place when he tries to trail after you. “I’ll do it, just want you to tell me.”

You know you’re being slightly selfish, but you also can’t pass on the opportunity to get him all putty and needy under you. He looks scrumptious with his cheeks all flushed, and his cute nipples poking through the white tank top he’s got under the hoodie that now hangs off his elbows. He looks so good that it feels wrong to touch him. Like you shouldn’t be allowed to, but he’s somehow letting you.

He’s fully erect now, his hard length resting a little too comfortably between your folds, proud and thick enough that you can feel the outline even through the layers of both your layers. He’s got a look of contemplation as he stares at your connected crotches, his legs spreading further, inevitably sliding you a little upwards, and his cock brushes against your clit just right, pulling a tiny whimper out of you.

“Anything I want?” He asks innocently, bunny teeth digging into his bottom lip as he bats his eyelashes up at you. There’s the devilish look you know.

“Mm, you gotta ask nicely first.” You match his tone, playing along whatever game he’s decided to start.

His eyes travel down, fingers slipping past your waist band just a tiny bit before letting it snap against your skin. “Just want these off.” He gestures at your bottoms.

“Panties too?” You climb off his lap to stand between his legs, already looking forward to feeling him with less layers in between.

“Up to you.” He shrugs, eyes now on your face as you slip the baggy garment down your legs, your intimate area covered by your long hoodie, that as opposed to his, is still zipped up. “Actually, yeah, those too.”

You instantly raise a challenging eyebrow, head tilting in warning.

“Pretty please?” He recovers quickly, sweet smile and obedient eyes making you feel giddy. He really does catch on quickly. Or maybe he just gets you too well.

The thin cotton tickles as it drags down your legs, some of your slick smearing on your knee as the seat of your underwear touches you directly. “Now, what?”

“Sit back down.” He doesn’t play as nice this time, and you don’t really need him to. You reclaim your seat, knees on either side of his hips, but you hover, too conscious of how wet you are and how easy to stain his gray sweats are.

“I’ll be real with you; those will get ruined if you keep them on.” You point your chin at his crotch, and he doesn’t say a word before pulling the unnecessary barrier down, letting it rest mid-thigh. His white boxers come into view, matching his tank top, making him look like he’s about to pose for an underwear ad, if you ignore the outrageous hard-on of course.

His hands feel hot on your thighs, the pads of his fingers sinking into your skin slightly. “Wigs? Please?”

“Wigs?” An unexpected giggle tumbles out of you at the somewhat new but cute nickname as you lower your bare centre onto the bulge beneath you, weight completely dropping on him. The throbbing between your legs intensifies when you witness his expression go from troubled to serene, the crease between his eyebrows disappearing, shoulders dropping. It’s like he’s just melted into the cushions, and you wish you could take a snapshot of his reaction with your brain.

“So wet.” He whispers, eyes fixated between your thighs even though he can’t see anything, and you shouldn’t, but you feel bad for him, all of a sudden wanting to give him anything he’s after.

“Wanna see?” You lean down, cupping his face in your palms, connecting your lips with his before he can speak. He moans against your mouth, the sound vibrating between your chests, your nipples pebbling at the needy sound. You kiss him harder in response, licking into his mouth like you need to quench an inexplicable thirst, and the more you keep kissing him, the louder he gets. One of his hands curls around the back of your neck, while the other one grabs onto your ass, forcing your hips to move.

“Don’t need to,” He mumbles, teeth biting onto your bottom lip, pulling at the skin before letting it snap back into place. “Can feel you just fine.”

For some reason, in your twisted mind, that sounds hotter than him begging to see the mess between your legs. What’s even hotter is the fact that you’ve barely done more than kiss him, barely shown any skin, yet he’s so responsive. His strained breathing goes straight to your mushy brain, his whimpers each time you grind on him sound sinful and soft at the same time. You're so lost in the heat that you’re not sure which pulse is more rigorous, the one in your chest or the one in your pussy.

“Ow!” You accidentally let out a loud whine when Jaemin’s hand pulls at your hair a little too hard.

“Sorry.” He laughs lightly, loosening his grip just a tad but still forcing your head back so he can start scattering kisses down your neck. The wet swipe of his hot tongue on your skin sends a shiver down your spine, hips accidentally rolling against him, exposed cunt dragging over his clothed cock, your mixed arousals seeping through the cotton, making everything slippery. Each time you grind down on him, he thrusts upwards, every movement turning into a push and pull game as his length slides between your folds just perfectly, the head nudging your clit just right.

“Shit, that’s so good.” He murmurs softly against your neck, both hands on your backside now, each one grabbing onto a cheek, guiding your rhythm whenever your hips stutter. His touch on your bare skin, tugging, squeezing, sends a bloom of fresh heat in your belly, more arousal dripping out of you and adding to the unholy mess.

“Aw, you gonna cum in your undies again?” You counter in a condescending tone, not quite settled with him thinking that he’s got the upper hand here.

“I will if you want me to.” He pants, no ounce of shame detected; his dignity clearly left somewhere behind.

You halt your movements, hands moving to his chest for support as you take in his perplexed expression. “Actually... Can you do something else for me?”

He nods without hesitation. “Mhm.” So sweet.

You scoot back on his lap, his hands dropping to his sides as he waits for your instructions. He looks like a lost puppy, staring up at you like you’ve got the solution to all his problems. And maybe you do. “Touch yourself.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips parting, his cute two front teeth poking out a tiny bit. “Really? Right now?”

“Yeah.” You lean back with your hands on his knees. “Wanna see.”

“Fuck.” He exhales shakily. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You catch yourself biting back a smirk at his unexpectedly shy demeanour. And you feel your heart stutter at the incredibly cute way he lifts his bum off the sofa as he shoves his briefs down, just enough to reveal what’s hiding underneath. And holy fuck.

It’s not just the length or the girth; it’s more the way it lightly slaps on his stomach, the tip not too far from his belly button, cute, pink and angry, the shade matching his swollen lips. It looks heavy, and you can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him inside you, stretching your snug walls more than anyone has before.

“Pretty.” You mutter in awe, the word sneaking out before you can contain it.

“Did you just call my dick pretty?” He breathes out a bemused laugh.

You laugh along, more in confusion at your strange outburst of honesty, your eyebrows tensing. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You almost feel guilty for the objectifying thoughts that pollute your brain, but it’s not like there’s much of his decorum left to preserve anyway. And how are you meant to behave yourself when he looks like he’s been plucked straight out of some sort of anime universe. Now you understand why he walks and carries himself the way he does. No one with a dick this good looking should be humble.

He wraps his fist around his twitching length, slowly teasing the head first, while his free hand reaches to grab onto your thigh. It seems more like a grounding gesture than anything else, as if he needs to be touching you somehow to stay sane. He carries a baffled expression, like he can’t believe he’s actually enjoying this, but a quiet moan proves exactly that.

“Wigs?” He squeezes your thigh lightly just to get your attention, obviously not aware that you’re transfixed by his every move.

“Hm?” You dumbly nod, the view too precious to miss, but in the back of your mind you’re very aware of the wetness that leaks out of you and onto his bare thigh.

“Can you– shit–” He hisses as his thumb brushes over the glistening tip. “Um, can you get it wet for me please?”

You obediently lean closer, head tipping forward so you can aim, and just like he so nicely asked, you let a long string of saliva dribble from your lips. It lands on the underside of his cock and trickles down to his fingers where he’s tightly gripping the base. He lathers the added lubrication all over his length, making the glide smoother and louder.

“Better?” You scoot a little closer, letting your hands cradle his flushed face, and you can’t help but push his messy fringe back, his sweaty forehead coming into view, dark eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he sets a steady pace; not too fast, not too slow.

“Yeah.” He sighs, leaning into your touch, nuzzling into your wrist before leaving a sloppy kiss there, just above the ink on your skin. “I don’t think I’m gonna last long.”

“That’s okay.” You encourage him with small pecks on the exposed side of his face.

“Fuck, I want you.” He pants needily, shattering your heart a little.

“I’m here.” You tangle your fingers in his hair, messily kissing down his neck, comforting him through the pleasure. “Want you too.”

His head lolls back, resting against the back of the sofa, and when you feel the speeding up of his arm, you inevitably look down, drinking the sinful sight like a renaissance painting. The slit of his cockhead oozes more precum with each upward stroke, the skin is more flushed than before, veins more prominent. You study how he likes to be touched, how he focuses on the tip more, fist twisting slightly before he glides down again. A tiny spasm of his pelvis sends an intense throb to your cunt, and the accidental moan you let out seems to spur his hand into faster and less coordinated jerks.

“Gonna cum.” He announces urgently, nails digging into your thigh as he starts trembling. “Oh my– fuck fuck fuck.”

You manage to lift his tank top just below his chest right before the first spurt of release paints his abs, and the second his lips part in ecstasy, you don’t miss the chance to stick your tongue past them, swallowing his deep grunts with a loud and sloppy kiss. His mouth barely moves, tongue lazily poking out to lick against yours between laboured breaths, and you feel powerless not to smile at his free hand cupping your jaw weakly, even through the haze of his orgasm and his inability to kiss you back properly.

"I'm so fucked." He whines, sounding like he's in pain, and for some reason, you don't urge him to elaborate, ignoring the need to know the exact meaning behind his words as well as the heavy feeling in your stomach.

“Can I clean it up?” You mumble mid kiss, throwing his words from last night back into his face.

He kisses you harder in response, his pleased groan vibrating between you. “Yeah? You wanna get on your knees for me?”

“Behave.” You let your fingers wrap around his throat in a quiet threat, though it doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. His wicked smile only betrays enjoyment and makes you pulse around nothing, reminding you that you’ve most likely drenched his thigh.

“I gave you a full on show and you’re worried about me behaving?” He presses a lingering smooch on your chin, then one on your cheek. “I think we’ve established the power imbalance here, don’t worry.”

What an oblivious, silly little man. He clearly has no grasp on the effect he has on you, and it couldn’t get sweeter than that. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, though, and you certainly wouldn’t want his head getting any bigger. “Whatever you say.”

“What–”

“Shush.” You shut him up with a light squeeze around his throat before swiftly sinking down to your knees between his spread legs, the carpeted floor slightly digging into your skin, but not enough to distract you. What does distract you is the mess he’s made. His fingers are now limp around the base of his softening cock, covered in his release that has somehow not reached his chest. You mentally give him points for decent aim, having experienced unwanted facials in the past. Nothing you would have minded in this case, though.

“This feels awfully scrutinising.” He points out with a playful tilt of his head, clearly unbothered by your staring but impatient enough to kick up a fuss. “It’ll dry if you– oh shit, okay.”

His reaction is almost laughable when you lick a stripe from his balls to his tip, lapping up as much of his cum on your tongue as you can in one go and swallowing the salty essence before diving in for seconds. You teasingly suckle onto one ball, before repeating the same with the other one while intentionally letting out a moan that earns you his praise. "Fuck, you're so filthy."

You slowly blink up at him as you provocatively flatten your tongue over his coated fingers, and he gets the hint with a lustful glint in his eyes. He so willingly slips three of his salty digits past your wet lips whimpering when you eagerly slurp everything up, sliding your tongue between them before sucking hard and maintaining eye contact. You drag your mouth off with another performative moan and focus on his cock again, now replacing his hand with yours and relishing in the way he feels in your palm. Heavy, warm and overwhelmingly thick like you predicted, the skin velvety soft and slippery with your spit. So fucking perfect.

"You tryna make me hard again or what?" He rasps in most likely warranted frustration, though, his clean hand on your nape says otherwise.

“As if you’d mind fucking my throat.” You whisper, scattering languid kisses up one side of his shaft, your lips dragging across the sensitive skin until you reach the bulbous head that almost begs for your attention.

“I wouldn’t. That’s the problem.” His thumb strokes along your jaw, soft as ever, making you swoon, goosebumps raising along your neck and arms, your thighs rubbing for some much-needed friction.

“How’s that a problem?” You ask innocently, glancing up at him before swirling the tip of your tongue agonisingly slowly around the shiny head, then letting your lips vacuum around it, welcoming his taste in your mouth straight from the source, like slurping on an ice lolly on the hottest day of summer.

“We’ll be here all fucking day.” He lazily laughs, wincing when you suck harder and take him a little deeper. “Easy you demon, it’s still sensitive.”

You decide to ease up on the torture and abandon his cock with one last kiss before moving onto his abs, slurping and shamelessly licking along his skin, making sure not to miss a drop of his cum. And when you’re satisfied with your work and he’s whining and squirming as you hoped, you finally resurface for air. You don’t get much of it, though. His mouth quickly finds yours in a filthy battle of tongue and teeth, and you feel helpless at the thought of him moaning at his own taste. You're pretty sure there's cum smeared on your nose and chin, but he doesn't seem to give a fuck.

“Bend over the table.” You feel the seriousness in his tone in your stomach, excitement, and uncertainty blooming.

“I thought we weren’t fucking today.”

“We’re not.” He confirms with a snap of his boxers back into place, covering your new favourite toy.

“So, why–”

“Bend the fuck over, Y/N.” It sounds more like a threat, and you can tell he’s very much done with your bullshit now the blood has travelled up to his brain again. You also don’t miss the lack of a cutesy nickname this time. And you’re positive your name has never sounded sexy in a man’s mouth before. And so, you hold back on the questions this time and do as you’re told, curious and eager to find out what his dominant side entails.

The yelp you let out when he manhandles you abruptly almost sounds animated. Your front is pressed against the wooden surface of the coffee table you remember purchasing from Ikea about a year ago, and your remaining layers are shoved up, now resting just below your tits as Jaemin hovers behind you on his knees.

"So pretty like this," He praises as he slots between your legs, easily probing them apart, and you suddenly feel incredibly exposed with your backside and pussy out in the open air. "Knew your ass would be a fuckin' dream."

“Jaem?” You call for him more desperately than you intend, arching your back a little to tempt him more.

“Yeah?” He whispers above you, running his hands over the dip of your waist and down to your hips. So gently you feel your eyes getting heavy. He's then gathering both your hands at the small of your back, hold loose around your wrists but it's enough to make a point. Enough to leave you aching and helpless.

“Please do something.” You try to sound serious, but the whiny edge in your voice slips through regardless as you waggle your hips in desperation. "My clit feels like it's about to explode."

“Awh,” He coos with a satisfied laugh, his chest now flush against your back, radiating warmth as his lips leave a trail of tiny kisses from your temple down to your ear. "Needy baby.

He gently sucks on the lobe before letting his tongue tease the shell and then your helix piercing, all while his free hand sneaks around you and down to the apex of your thighs. You’re so worked up and sensitive, even a light swipe of his fingers across your swollen nub makes you squirm, arms fighting his firm hold off fruitlessly.

“Shhh, be good.” He instructs, voice steady with a sultry edge to it, sending more sparks through your body. Your nipples are so erect and tingly against the hard surface, they almost hurt with need for attention.

Your pathetic mewl resembles a cry that sounds offending to your pride. So much that you manage to piss yourself off. “Stop playing games with me, you prick.”

You feel him falter for a second, and then he taps on your pussy lips in warning, halting any movement from your pelvis. “That’s rich coming from you.” His two middle fingers, the ones you earlier had your lips wrapped around, prod at your weeping entrance before he runs them up and down your slit, spreading your slick down to your clit where he focuses his attention after a couple more teasing strokes. “Been fucking with my head since day one.” He admits openly, the honesty sitting heavy in your guts, making your lungs malfunction as he slowly swirls his fingers around the bundle of nerves. Too delicately. So much that it feels like the wickedest game of edging. So much that your pussy contracts around emptiness.

“You’ve known for a while now, haven’t you?” He whispers against your neck, and you aimlessly try to suppress your cries when the circles on your clit become a little harsher than you can handle, the heat in your belly begging for a release that approaches shockingly fast. “That I’m obsessed with you.”

The feeling is euphoric, almost overwhelming in a way you can’t explain. You could swear it’s the infatuation his voice drips with that clouds your senses more than the intensity of the unexpected orgasm itself. “Oh my god, what the fuck.”

“You’re doing so good.” He murmurs, clearly affected as he releases your hands and brings a safe arm around you, grounding you through every little spasm of your muscles, the strokes on your pulsing nub still precise and relentless, even as your legs tremble with oversensitivity. “That’s it, baby.”

“Please, I can’t cum again.” You feel tears threatening to spill from the overwhelming pleasure. “I feel like–” You’re spluttering nonsense along with weak sobs as your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping slick down your inner thighs. “Ah–!”

You’re pulled upright without warning, clearly losing a battle you’re not even fighting as you let Jaemin drag you with him on the floor, positioning you between his spread legs as he leans against the sofa with a strong arm slung across your torso like a seat belt.

“Legs up.” He instructs promptly, clearly not in the mood to hover, and the second your knees are bent and far apart, you don’t even have time to accommodate your body in the new position before two of his fingers find their way in your sopping hole this time, the stretch intense but somehow delightful.

“Shit, Jaem– wait!” You exclaim in utter shock at the unexpected intrusion, your walls fluttering around his nimble digits.

“Does it hurt?” His fingers stay hooked inside you, tickling a deep spot that only you can normally find this quickly, but he stops moving at your distress.

“No, just – just give me a sec.” You lean back in his embrace, melting against the warmth of his chest, head limply resting on his shoulder while he drapes his arm over your sternum, hand finding its way to your jaw, urging you to turn your head and meet his dark eyes, full of want and hues of brown you hadn't noticed before.

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbles sweetly, lips brushing against yours before delivering a soft peck that makes your stomach flutter along with your stuffed pussy. “You like it when I talk to you?”

You can sense the teasing lilt, but you nod anyway, not having the backbone to talk back when he’s got you spread out all to himself. And now you hope he knows there’s no point talking about power imbalance when just a few words of praise and a slow drag of his fingers against your walls have you suffocating. Your legs are already fighting to stay open when slow strokes gradually turn into short jabs against your g-spot, and gentle pecks turn into lazy open-mouthed kisses that leave you both breathless.

The fact that he's using the same hand he pleasured himself with to get you off, tickles your brain in ways you didn't think possible, making your insides feel funny. And you find yourself wanting to shake your next thought out of your lust-clouded head. I shouldn't have sucked his fingers clean. Are you really that twisted? Wishing a man would fuck his cum in you? Na Jaemin of all men?

“M’so close.” You pant into his mouth when you feel the tight bubble of tension in your tummy threatening to burst for the second time, only not as quick as before.

“Yeah?” He drags his hand to your neck, fingers tightening like a necklace over your pulse points. “Gonna cum for me?”

“Uh-huh.” You absentmindedly let your tongue brush against his bottom lip, and he eagerly sucks it in his mouth while the obscene squelching of his hand ruining your pussy echoes around the quiet room.

“Fuck, how are you so wet?” He moans, adding momentum in the motions of his wrist, fingers now pistoning in and out of you, palm faintly slapping against your folds. Just when you're about to say you need more, he buries his fingers deep and crooks them along the curve of your front wall, rubbing against your sweet spot and pulling an incoherent exclaim of astonishment from you. His thumb starts rapidly flicking up and down, stimulating your needy clit just the right amount, and when you glance down, catching a glimpse of the sinful sight – him pleasuring you like it's a mission – it’s game over for you.

“Shit, shit, shit I'm–” Your mouth parts in a silent squeak, head tilting back in eye-rolling pleasure that feels too good for your sanity to stay intact. You feel the thick arousal trickling down to your ass as Jaemin’s fingers keep pressing upwards through the constricting of your throbbing walls. Your hips uncontrollably stutter with the little aftershocks of pleasure that he forces out of you, and you realise how tightly your hands are clutching on his thighs, nails clawing onto the cotton of his sweats as you hang on by a thread.

“So fucking hot.” He mumbles against your temple, his breath warming your already heated face as he slowly drags his fingers out of your still lightly pulsating opening. He coos when you wince at the emptiness, his hot palm resting over your folds in a delicate and oddly comforting manner. “You good?”

You close your legs around his hand, trapping him there as you try to get your lungs to regain proper function. You manage to hum with a weak nod, already aware of the sweat dripping down the side of your face. “I feel like I need another shower.”

“Nuh-uh,” He keeps his free arm wrapped around your shoulders as he gently rocks you side to side, slowly bringing you back down from the clouds. "Wanna cuddle you.”

You let out a long sigh of contentment, already feeling too exhausted as you descend from cloud nine, and a little too smitten to deny him anything. "I suppose we can cuddle."

"It's so cute that you're still trying to act all mean." He giggles cutely before sucking onto the apple of your cheek, making you whine in disgust at the slobber he leaves on your skin.

"Ew! That's gross, you–"

He kisses you on the wet patch he just left, laughing at the way you try to swat him away. You can't help the giddiness that blossoms in your chest, hating how weak you feel for his odd ways of affection.

"Oh, no! We forgot about Blue Planet!" He exclaims in fake distress, finally ending the wet torture he was putting your cheek through.

A breathless laugh erupts from your chest when you glance at the forgotten TV, Netflix somehow aware of your distraction as the screen reads in big letters: Are you still watching?

The documentary has long since faded into the background. The snacks are half-finished. The blanket is messily draped on the floor.

Somewhere between pho, cookies, and whatever the hell just happened, the day has slipped away from you. And for the first time, the thought of Jaemin leaving feels a little unbearable.

Not just tonight. But eventually.

Because while you've spent the last few months trying not to think too hard about Na Jaemin, time hasn't exactly stopped moving.

You're only half a semester away from his graduation. From whatever big plans he's got for his future and from him becoming someone you'll no longer rely on to make shifts feel a little less monotonous and a little more chromatic.

Half a semester away from watching him walk out of your life just as easily as he barged into it.

Part two coming soon... <3

cookie's note: for the love of GAWD take my laptop away from me i almost went insane writing this 😀🔫 i hope it's what people wanted/hoped for and if not then don't tell me bc i will dead ass cry haha im so serious haha pls don't be mean like oc, i'm not like jaemin!! i will only accept loveeee!! part two is still in the wips but i'm hoping it won't take as long as part one (god forbid). as always pls pls pls share your thoughts with me!! i love interacting with ya'll and reading your reactions! ILY 🤎

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 i'd also like to give an honourary mention to my beloved wife @withlovemark who read this before i posted it and shared her honest thoughts with me when i was in desperate need of a helping hand (also guys, you didn't hear it from me but i think she likes jaemin a lil too much if you ask me.... not jel or anything... just saying...)💓

✨ ps. pls spare me some liquid love on kofi if you liked this story help a girlie out i'm so broke and i need to book a flight home 🧚🏼‍♂️

📖 check out my other works here

©neogotmycookie 

jaemin. “alright.” girl, nothing surprises him. nothing fazes him. he probably knows it’s a joke, but even if it weren’t, he’d still be just as happy to be your boyfriend for a day. even though it’s not the case, he’ll act like you’re really about to break up with him, so he’d spend the day glued to you, claiming he just wants to make the most of the time you have left together.

jeno. “huh?” completely lost. he repeats it as if he hadn’t heard you, and waits for you to confirm that you said it, then you lose him completely because he’ll spend the whole day mulling it over and sighing. either that, or he’ll have a massive jealousy fit, until you end up in both cases reassuring him that it’s a joke.

The first meeting between you two happened when you were mere children. You were taller than him, by a handful of inches of course but it still mattered to him. Donghyuck didn’t like it. The adults teased him relentlessly while you were oblivious to it.

“What a cute pair!” His grandfather would say. You had your usual gummy smile when you heard that, simply accepting the truth. You liked Donghyuck. You think he was smart, confident and cute. You were his best friend and he was yours. If all the adults had the same opinion about you two being a perfect match, the only consensus to your younger self is that it must be true.

Donghyuck, ever the boy, would openly frown at any sweet comments about the two of you but when it was just the two of you, things were different. He would fix your pigtails when it came loose. When you came over to his house for a play date, he would surprise you with a dress up doll. His actions were confusing but that didn’t deter you. It felt like a secret between the two of you. The way he quietly showed you care and concern made your tiny heart swell. It was enough if it meant keeping Donghyuck by your side.

When you reached your tween years, the meetings naturally grew lesser. From seeing him once every season to seeing him annually, your relationship had shrivelled but your hope hadn’t. The yearning had always lingered at the back of your chest. It was an ache you ended up growing up with.

Polite smiles and cold gazes are exchanged and beneath it all was your longing. Every change does not go unnoticed by you. Donghyuck has grown taller, brazen. He has his own group of friends that hangs around him during year end parties while the rest of the crowd can only stand in the sidelines, admiring their presence. His laughter is more interesting than the crowd.

It stays the same for a few years up until you turn seventeen. You had wished for a quiet celebration with your loved ones but your mother had insisted on a bigger celebration. She had rented out a popular restaurant in the heart of the city. It had an open rooftop concept and the party was swarming with guests, majority had been decided by your parents. Your own friends and relatives were there, thankfully.

You stuck with your new best friend for moral support. It was much needed when Donghyuck walked towards your table. He carried his usual self with suave, a complete difference from the panic rising in your chest. You leaned in closer to your cousin when your best friend Yizhou says, “I’m not drunk am I? That is Lee Donghyuck.”

There is barely any time to recover from your shock. Donghyuck saunters to the table. Your mother is overjoyed, her face splitting into a wide smile as she gets up to greet him. Your father joins her and you force yourself to rise, slowly approaching them. You barely notice the friends he had brought with him, your eyes are glued onto him.

Donghyuck finally turn towards you and you hope the hitching of your breath isn’t audible. “Happy birthday,” he says as he extends a wrapped present to you.

“Thank you.” You mumble, stiffly accepting the gift. Your mother forces a laugh as if to compensate for your lack of emotions.

“Go. Enjoy the party boys!” Your mother tells him and his friends.

“It’s so nice of him to show up.” You hear your father say.

When Donghyuck disappeared into the crowd, you confronted your mother. “Why did you invite him?”

She takes a sip of her wine, fixing you with a smirk. “It’s your birthday dear. Everyone is invited.” While you love your mother, her ambition has always been bigger than your own interests. The worst part is that you can’t find it in you to be whole heartedly mad, the little girl in you is pleased by Donghyuck’s presence. It makes you feel pathetic. You thought that once you had grown older, you would have grown out of your affection for him. Clearly you were wrong.

It’s your birthday party but your attention has drifted towards Donghyuck. It should tick you off that he is the centre of attention at your party but you’re relieved to have this small chance to collect yourself.

“Hey, I need a toilet break.” You inform Yizhou as you pass your gift to her. Your cousin overheard you and tried to call after you, but you waved her off, rushing to the bathroom.

It’s times like these you wished you picked up smoking. You settle for gently patting your face down with water. Your hands are pressed against the sink, staring down at your own reflection. In a matter of hours, your birthday glow has faded and you’re back to the lovesick girl you used to be.

The thought brings tears to your eyes. “Fuck, no.” You refuse to cry over him, not when he’s a few feet away from you. You can’t even hate him. It is not his fault that you harbour such helpless feelings for him.

Looking at your reflection again, you try to smile. It comes out small and uncertain and you can’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all. You feel more like your usual self, taking it as a sign to join the party again.

You push the door ajar and the person behind it yells, “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh my god!” You try to shut the door again, eyes clenching shut but you’re met with resistance. You slowly peel your eyes open and meet the victim of your actions. The only intelligent reply you could come up with is prolonged silence.

Donghyuck clears his throat and gently tugs the door handle towards him, urging you to step out of the bathroom and into the corridor. “Right, I am sorry about that. Thank you for holding the door and um,” you pause, doing a once over at his appearance. “Are you hurt?”

His soft laughter surprises you. “I’m okay.” The grimace from your face doesn’t fade so he adds, “Didn’t you used to say that I was strong? I can handle a door.” Donghyuck winks as if to prove a point.

Your eyes dart towards the direction of your party, ignoring the flutter in your chest. You side step Donghyuck, getting out of the tiny corridor. The reason for your brief escape just had to appear right before you.

“Were you going to the men’s? You should go. I am leaving too.” You ramble, already walking away.

“No.”

Your steps halt and you slowly turn around. “Huh?”

There’s a decisive look in Donghyuck’s eyes and the way your stomach churns tells you that whatever is going through his mind, you will inevitably cave into his whims.

“I saw you leaving your party so I followed you.” He takes a step toward you. “I– Do you wanna dance with me?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

There’s a redness that fans his cheeks but Donghyuck remains confident, even going as far as offering you his hand. The music is fainter in this part of the rooftop but even then, the scenery felt perfect. The potted trees were decorated with fairy lights to illuminate the area, along with the warm lights installed along the trees.

As far as your imagination goes, having Donghyuck willingly giving you his sole attention is much better than anything you have ever imagined.

“Are you sure? Don’t you miss the dance floor? I know it calls your name.” You tease.

At your remark, Donghyuck affectionately rolls his eyes. “The dance floor could use a little breather from my presence.”

You break into a shy grin when you slip your hand into his. “Okay. Then let’s take a breather together.”

It’s like the whole night was leading up to this moment. The song transitions to a slower beat, giving you the opportunity to sidle up Donghyuck and try to relax.

His mouth brushes the side of your head. “Follow my lead,” he softly instructs. It is as good as a warning you got from him. Donghyuck pulls you close so that you’re chest to chest. His free hand rests slightly above your hips, merely holding you but the reaction for you instant. It feels like his warmth is burning through the expensive material of your dress. Your eyes nervously dart around his figure.

Donghyuck’s voice softens. “Look at me.” Your eyes slowly shift towards his face. It starts at his forehead where stray strands of hair effortlessly frame his head, then it lands on his arched brows. They’re perfectly shaped because of course, the heir of the Lee’s has a beautician to tidy up his god sent feature. You purposely avoid his eyes, moving onto the slope of his nose and his inviting lips.

Bad move. You make a misstep and Donghyuck holds you firmer than before, his hand pressing into your hips to support you. You clutch onto his back a little tighter, probably leaving wrinkles in his pristine suit. This time you do meet his eyes, albeit apologetically. “I‘ve never done this before,” you tell him.

Donghyuck smiles and he slowly dips you, letting you lean back onto his sturdy arm as he brings his face to yours. “You have done this before though.”

You almost missed his reply. Your mouth part in confusion, a question already leaving your lips. “When?”

He brings you back to your proper position but this time, you feel caged in. Your brows are furrowed and Donghyuck’s humour dims. “You really don’t remember at all?”

When you shake your head, Donghyuck sighs wistfully. “It was my uncle’s wedding. You were seven and I was eight. We danced on the dance floor that day.”

You squint at him as you try to jog your memories. Slowly, bits and pieces of your earlier memories from your shared childhood comes back to you. It was an outdoor wedding on a sunny day. You were appointed as the flower girl and Donghyuck was the ring bearer.

“Wait,” you said as the memories came flashing in. “You were the ring bearer and you tripped on the carpet at the end of the aisle. Oh I remember now!”

You were grinning widely but Donghyuck wasn’t all too pleased. “Seriously? You couldn’t remember our dance but you remembered my embarrassing moment?”

You shrugged sheepishly. “Help me remember more of that day.”

Donghyuck laughs. “We weren’t really dancing, just swaying like this,” he says before changing the pace to an uncoordinated rhythm, causing you to squeal.

“Are you sure?” You exclaimed as you latch your chin over his shoulders.

Donghyuck suddenly stops. “Still don’t remember?” You lift your head to look at him and he’s already staring you, an unspeakable thing glimmering in his eyes. You shake your head.

“I spun you around.” You take it as a queue to pull back from his chest until you’re eye to eye. The first spin comes, with his arm raised above your heads. You try your best to follow his lead and you end up resting your hand on his chest, a bubble of laughter erupting from within you.

“That was clumsy of me.” Donghyuck agrees with a smile. “Try again,” he softly says. This time you are prepared and when you spin, you barely even trip. You beamed brightly as you look up at Donghyuck for approval and he nodded encouragingly.

Your smile drops a little when you tell him, “Unfortunately, I still don’t remember the wedding.”

“Hmm?” There’s a lilt in his voice that you didn’t expect. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

A soft peck lands on your cheek, taking you by surprise. You look at Donghyuck and he’s blushing when he pulls away. The tension between the two of you is palpable, your faces inches away from one another. It would be so easy to lean upwards and close the distance between you but you remained rooted in your spot.

“I think I’ll remember this better than our first dance from a decade ago.” Your voice comes out as soft as a whisper, barely heard above the noise.

Donghyuck releases you from his hold and he takes a step back, withdrawing himself from your shared space. You try to school your features to hide your hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you at the end of the year. Happy birthday Y/N.” There’s a guarded look in his eyes and you want nothing more than to scream at him but you don’t. You can’t. A lot of unsaid words were stuck in your throat and endless thoughts running through your mind as you watched Donghyuck turn his back on you, walking away from you with your fragile heart in his hands.

You didn’t tell any one of that sacred incident, opting to keep it to yourself. When you returned to your party, Donghyuck was long gone even though his friends stuck around. You ignore the skeptic glance they sent your way and plaster a smile for the rest of the night.

That same night, your dreams took you back to a forgotten memory, one where you’re dancing with your childhood best friend. His grip in your hand is warm and clammy but you didn’t mind, flashing him a smile. You’re still taller than him but even you can admit that Donghyuck is catching up to you in terms of height difference. The rest of the wedding-goers fade away and Donghyuck is leaning in. There’s alarm bells going off in your mind but you let it happen, his soft lips leaving a chaste peck on the apples of your cheeks. Donghyuck is saying something but it sounds garbled. You try to focus on his shy smile as the dream sequence slowly slips away from your consciousness.

When you wake up, you dart straight for the pile of gifts in the corner of your bedroom. You dig through the stacks of presents and take the wrapped gift that Donghyuck had given you. You’re sitting on your calfs, carefully tearing at the wrapping paper to unveil a sleek red box with gold embossing on it.

You cover your mouth with your hands, staring at the gift in disbelief. Inside the box, a gorgeous Baignoire in gold sits in there, waiting to be worn. You want to reach for your phone to send Donghyuck a text but you realised that you don’t even know if you had his number to begin with.

Amidst your shock, you finally notice the card that came with the present. You take the card to read what was written on it.

I can’t believe you’re 17 now. Time surely flies by when you’re busy growing up. I know you’ll wear this well.

lee donghyuck x

You don’t realise you’re crying until a stray tear lands on the back of your hand. You quickly wipe away the tears and gather his gifts in your arms before going to your storage trunk. In it is your most valuable possessions. It has started when you were young and you had developed an obsession with pirates. Donghyuck would always use it as his hiding spot for hide and seek.

You’re hit with a wave of nostalgia when you open up your trunk. There’s plenty of room for more possessions that you hope to collect in years to come. You carefully set the card down and put the jewellery box on top of it, just to hide it from any potential prying eyes. With a heavy heart, you will yourself to close the trunk.

“It’s his twenty first, you should be there!”

“I dunno,” you say as you turn the party invite around in your hands. Your thumb caresses the family crest embossed into the card. It has been ages since you had received an invite to Donghyuck’s birthday. To say you were curious would be a lie. “Besides, why would he have a party at his parent’s house? Shouldn’t it be at a club?”

Yizhou shrugs. “I don’t know? The Lee’s run a tight ship I guess with him being their heir and all that stuff. It would be safest to host a party at their estate.”

You’re not fully satisfied but her logic makes sense. “Your family got an invite too?”

“It was addressed to me, just like how your invite has your name on it.” Seeing as how you’re not convinced, Yizhou tries a different approach. “A masquerade sounds fun doesn’t it?”

“Yeah but it’s Donghyuck’s. Something isn’t quite right.”

“Then come to the party with me. Find out whatever it is that you’re suspecting him of.”

Without meaning to, you glance over at storage trunk situated at the end of your bed. It has been almost three years since you had received the priceless gift from him. It remains untouched by you.

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Okay?”

You nodded, holding the urge to take your words back. Yizhou squeals. “Yes! Thank you!”

You pull your best friend in for a hug, smothering Yizhou as she struggles against your strength. Your bright laughters carry through the night and your unease sits at the back of your mind.

And so, you’re left with a moments notice to scramble for an outfit. You have been to plenty of parties but a masquerade is a whole new ballgame. There’s a slight thrill behind the anonymity of the event and it serves as a comfort for you to lean into. Your mother is beyond thrilled to hear that you had accepted the invite. She had given you free rein on your choice of outfit and in a small act of rebellion, you decided to find yourself a vintage dress worthy of your mother’s credit card.

All that’s left was the mask. You browsed countless websites for a mask suitable to your likings and one finally caught your eyes. That purchase had also gone onto your mother’s credit card.

Even though it was not expected of you, you still wished to bring Donghyuck a present. Yizhou and your close cousins were of no use so you turned towards your father for help.

“Could you help me find out from Mr Lee what Donghyuck would want for his birthday?”

Your father tilted his head sideways. “Are you sure you came looking for the right parent?”

You walked further into the study room and dramatically dropped onto the vacant seat. “I don’t want to ask Ma for help. She will end up taking control of the gift and probably terrorise Mrs Lee.”

Your father snorts in agreement. He takes in your dejected mood and his face softened. “I don’t think me or Mr Lee would be of much help. Whatever the gift is, I know Donghyuck would appreciate it because it came from your heart.”

His words were true. You had been trying to avoid personalising your present but a meaningless present would be pointless for the both of you. “He grew up well,” your father suddenly says.

“What do you know of him? We only see him once a year.” You can’t help but challenge your father, curious as to what he thinks of your childhood best friend.

He clicked his tongue in disagreement. “No, you and Ma only see him at the end of the year. I have seen him socialising at the country club.”

Donghyuck is charming and has ambition which makes him a threat in your societal pool. While you typically choose to distance yourself from society, Donghyuck was rising through it, making all the right connections one handshake at a time. As far as you know, he was still in college. To think that he was juggling his ambitions on top of school was impressive to you.

“What does he do there?”

“He mostly plays tennis.” You hummed thoughtfully. It’s enough of a lead for a perfect gift. You thank your father and take your leave, occupied with a mental list of potential gifts for Donghyuck.

The day finally arrived. You went through your day slowly, not wanting to rush into it for fear of your nerves getting to you. By the time you were finished scrubbing yourself clean, you were left with sufficient time to get ready and head to the Lee’s estate.

Your family driver drove you to the party and you spent the majority of the ride stuck in your head, fiddling with the rings you had slipped on. You look downwards and gaze at your wrist, where a simple chained bracelet sits. The thought of wearing the watch Donghyuck gifted you had crossed your mind but you weren’t sure if you wanted him to notice you tonight.

“Y/N?” You’re startled out of your daze by your family driver. He turns in his seat, sporting a deep frown on his face. “Y/N, are you unwell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure because I can take you back home and–”

You cut in, “I am fine. I promise. I just had my mind elsewhere.”

The frown on his face loosens and he nods, respecting your wishes. “I’ll bring the car around at midnight but if you wish to stay here longer, or wish to leave earlier, do call me.”

You smile, grateful for the loyalty of your family’s employees. “Got it.”

Your hand reaches for the car door when your family driver hurriedly adds, “I think Mr Lee will be pleased to see you tonight.”

“What?”

“You are stunning. Even a mask cannot hide your brilliance and he would be a fool not to know that.”

It was what you needed to hear, a firm push to get you out of the car and into the party. You tied your mask onto your face and gathered your handful of belongings in your hands. Security and a staff checks your party invite and you hand over your gift at the entrance hall before being escorted into the main room.

You hadn’t known what to expect but Mrs Lee’s party planning blew your expectations out of the water. Waiters walk around the room with a tray of drinks and by the corner, there’s a buffet table with an assortment of sweet treats.

A masked stranger walks up to you, stealing your attention away from the party decor. “Fine evening Miss.”

You awkwardly smile, thankful to be able to hide behind your mask. “Hi. You don’t have to be formal with me.”

His laughter is warm, a low timbre that is surprisingly pleasant. “I’m sorry. I guess I got nervous given the fact that half of the room is looking at you.”

Confusion clouds over your eyes. “Me? You probably meant us.”

He shakes his head. “You,” he repeats with more emphasis.

Slowly, you look around the room and notice the crowd has grown bigger during the time of your conversation. Maybe the masks serves as a shield for everyone tonight. People barely shy away from your gaze, comfortable to watch you from afar behind the safety of a mask. Your skin prickles uncomfortably and your smile grows tight. “I dont understand.”

The lights in the room brightens up and the murmur of the crowd increases. Donghyuck enters, gliding into the room. “Come on,” the kind stranger beckons and you follow, the two of you moving through the crowd to get closer to Donghyuck.

He’s donned a silky blouse in a shade of baby blue. The blouse leaves little to no imagination, a bold opening at his chest and the strings were barely tied together. His trousers are just as tight. You kept your gaze on his mask. It’s intricately designed and it helps distracts you from your wandering thoughts.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. My parents, who aren’t here tonight, bestowed this party onto me for my twenty first.” Donghyuck pauses and the crowd chuckle. “However, I am thankful for the overwhelming turn out. I want to keep it short and sweet. I wish everyone has an enjoyable night." Anyone who was holding a drink raised their glasses in the air, toasting to Donghyuck's speech. You watch him as he smoohtly downed a flute of bubbly. The ones nearest to him hoots and hollers at his bravado, some even patting him on the shoulder.

The crowd had disperesed but your gaze remains on Donghyuck's figure as you finally piece your thoughts together. This man is a stranger to you, just as much as you are a stranger to him.

A soft touch to your arm pulls you away from your thoughts. You look at your companion who was patiently waiting for you. "Do you mind if you were to keep me company tonight?"

Seeing as how you have yet to find Yizhou, you accept his kind invite. You offer him your hand and he gladly accepts it. "I'm Jung Sungchan, by the way."

You vaguely remember hearing his name in passing though you cannot recall his face. "And I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

His face brightens, probably with recogniton but he doesn't press on about your identity which you are glad for. "Have you taken a proper look around the room?" Sungchan asks you and you shake your head. He breaks out into a wide grin, almost conspiratorial. "I'll show you which dishes to avoid."

The night takes a pleasant turn. You and Sungchan tried various food and drinks, stuck in your own bubble and genuinely enjoying each others company. You find out that Sungchan used to play soccer with Donghyuck in the little leauges, a past time you hadn't known Donghyuck had gotten involved with. In exchange, you tell Sungchan that you're Donghyuck's distant family friend.

His company was much needed and you hadn’t realised it. Sungchan makes you laugh when he breaks out dance moves that mismatch the beat of the song. Sungchan makes you laugh when he spins you around on the dance floor. Sungchan makes you laugh when he properly showcases his dance skills.

“You are such a fucking liar!” You yell over the music. Your tongue is looser than your usual poised self. Thanks to the unsupervised crowd, the two of you shared several glasses of alcoholic drinks. Now, the alcohol courses through your veins, leaving you a little unguarded. “You can dance! Hell! You probably invented dance!”

Sungchan chuckles and gently pulls you in. “You are drunk. Let’s get you some water.”

You reluctantly follow him, letting Sungchan pull you through the throng of partygoers. He stops in front of Donghyuck, quickly greeting him.

“Hyung! Happy birthday!” Sungchan greets.

Donghyuck looks at Sungchan then at the masked girl standing close to his back. Their fingers are loosely wrapped together and Donghyuck smirks. “Picking up a girl at my birthday party?”

“What? No!” Sungchan insists. “Y/N’s tipsy. Or drunk? Either way, I’m bringing her out for some fresh air. We’ll be back though!”

He takes a proper look and recognition dawns over him. “Y/N?” Donghyuck’s confusion gets drowned by the noise. Sungchan successfully pulls you through the crowd and you two disappear from Donghyuck’s sight. He belatedly notes that you didn’t acknowledge him. A sudden heaviness weighs on his chest as he realises that you’re at his party, spending time with his close friend.

Outside, you take in a deep breath. Sungchan had guided you into the Lee’s estates gardens. It felt like you had stumbled into a forgotten memory having been ages since you had last stepped foot in there.

You undo the tie of your mask and blindly toss it onto the bench behind you. Sungchan does the same. He chuckles, amused by your drunken behaviour. “Do you know who I am?”

You open your eyes and look at him. “Surprisingly, I do and I am drunk.” You decidedly plop down on the empty bench.

“Can you stay put? I need to go back in and get you some refreshments, maybe scavenge for whatever snacks there are left.”

“Okay but while you’re at it, can you find Yizhou and bring her to me?”

Your request is silly, you don’t even know if Sungchan knew her but Sungchan indulges in it. “Sure. I’ll be back.” Sungchan spins on his heels and takes his leave.

For lack of better things to do, you begin riffling through your purse. You take your time to fix your makeup then unlocking your phone to take some selfies. After a series of blurry pictures, you give up and start taking pictures of the garden.

“What are you doing?” The unexpected interruption causes you to let out a shrill scream, nearly dropping your phone in the process. You turn to glare at your intruder. Donghyuck is standing at the end of the bench, staring at you unapologetically.

“What the hell,” you cussed instead of answering his question.

He wordlessly offers you a mug. It’s nothing like the fancy glassware that is being used at the party. Your eyes narrow in suspicion. Donghyuck sighs deeply. “It’s warm water. I heard you’re drunk.”

“No I’m not.” You say rather petulantly as you accept the drink. “Thanks,” you quickly mutter before taking a sip.

Without your invite, Donghyuck settles down into the empty space beside you and you glare at him again. He merely ignores your childish reaction.

The warm water helps and gives you a little clarity but you don’t want to admit it out loud to Donghyuck so you remain silent, clutching the mug close to your chest. You decided to keep your gaze straight ahead, focusing on a bush of roses.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” He quietly admits after some time.

“Of course I did. We’re still friends even though we haven’t acted like one in a long time.” You replied, equally as quiet.

The obvious distance between you two can no longer be ignored. You can’t help but ask. “Why did we stop being friends?”

Donghyuck surprises you. “I guess I wanted to see if I could be a big boy and live my life without you circling in it. Make my own choices instead of trying to live the life everyone wants for me.”

The corner of your lips twitches, partly amused by his raw honesty. “And are you doing well?”

You turn to look over at Donghyuck and you note the dozens of emotions swimming in his eyes. He seems lost and your heart aches for him.

“No, I am not.” Donghyuck shakes his head, “I am not worthy of you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches. You’re instantly sobered up. Even without explicitly saying it, you know what Donghyuck is referring to. You feign ignorance. “What are you on about?”

“Y/N… You are a remarkable woman. Don’t get tied down to me. You deserve a chance to find someone else, meet other people. Anyone you end up marrying would be lucky enough to have you as their partner.” Donghyuck chooses his words wisely, deliberately rejecting you before you’ve even gotten a chance to try.

“And so? You want me to marry someone else just because you’re insecure?” Your words sting Donghyuck and he visibly flinches away from you, seeking comfort in the distance between you two.

“That’s not it,” he tries again but you’re not having it. “Then what is it Donghyuck?” You ask, exasperated by his confusing nature.

“It’s not fair because neither of us has a say in this marriage agreement.”

You shakily inhale. “Does the fact that I want you scares you?”

Your heart lurches to the bottom of your stomach. His silence is deafening, a reply in itself. You turn your head away from him, refusing to let Donghyuck see the beginnings of a breakdown surfacing onto your face.

“Donghyuck, I didn’t come here tonight to beg for your attention. I only came because I was intrigued by the fact that I had received an invitation. Whether it was your decision or your parents, I don’t care anymore. You don’t want me here? Fine, I’ll leave but you terribly confuse me. Why did you come here to take care of me at your own party? Why did you tell me not to leave? Why did you dance with me and kiss me on the cheek only to run off? Why did you get me an expensive gift and a handwritten card for my birthday just to ignore me? I don’t get it.”

Donghyuck’s mouth parts open to say something, anything, but the words are caught at the back of his throat. He’s never seen you this devastated before and he is the cause of it. Your high strung emotions had finally snapped and it came out pouring out of your mouth, no longer able to push it down.

You abruptly stood up from the bench. “At least now I know what you think of me. I am just a burden from your past and I’ll stay there. I will get out of your way.”

Every step away from Donghyuck hurt more than you’d like to admit it. You wanted to look back at him. You wanted him to chase after you. You wanted him to comfort you.

You’re so caught up in your greed and hurt that you don’t notice two figures hiding behind the nearest pillar. A clothed hand reaches out and pulls you into their hiding spot. You recognise Yizhou through your blurry vision. “Ning,” you manage to croak out before bursting into tears.

Yizhou pulls you into a comforting embrace and Sungchan moves, covering you with his broad figure. Your heartbreaking cries are loud enough for anyone nearby to hear but you couldn’t care less. You fail to notice Donghyuck standing a couple of metres from the three of you, an anguished look on his face. Sungchan glares menacingly at him and Yizhou fixes him with a look of disappointment.

Donghyuck returns to the kitchen through the staff entrance, mug in one hand and your masquerade mask in another. He is too dazed and he doesn’t notice the whispering staffs as he passes through the house, decidedly ditching his own party. Donghyuck carefully places your mask on his nightstand before falling into bed, recounting the night before everything went wrong with you.

Life moved on, making it feel as though nothing had changed between the two of you. You had no idea what ran through his mind and decided that it was not worth fixating on. Again, you grew up without him by your side. You went off to college and moved out of your parent’s place much to your mother’s dismay. There was still one thing in your life that she could control which was your marriage prospects.

Over the years, the Lee’s hadn’t hinted any change in uniting your families in matrimony and you had no interest in finding a prospective marriage of your own. It is the only reason why you allow your mother to meddle.

One day, your livelihood had changed under the guise of your monthly family dinner. Instead of your usual spot, your parents told you to meet at a fine dining restaurant nestled in the heart of the city. Your clothes were rumpled from running around campus the whole day. You were sure that your hair had lost its curls over the course of the day.

“Y/N? You wore this the whole day?” Her thinly veiled judgment was not out of the ordinary but your suspicions should have been raised when she subtly spoke with the hostess.

Too bad you hadn’t noticed because your father was speaking with you. He brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “You look beautiful. Your mother is just on edge tonight.”

“For what?” You frown as the two of you trailed behind your mother.

“We have guests tonight.”

Before you could press him for more answers, the hostess stops in front of a pair of sliding doors. You have no choice but to brace yourself for whoever is waiting behind those doors.

The door slides open, revealing a married couple and their son. “Please come in! We’re so glad you could make it to dinner.” Mrs Lee says.

Your parents naturally step forward into the room, greeting their friends. You wish to stay rooted in your spot but the hostess is looking at you funny. You slightly bow to them and make your way inside, standing closely to your parents.

“You remember Y/N?” Your father asked the Lee’s.

“Of course!” Mrs Lee answers. You offer her a shy smile and she returns it by enthusiastically pulling you down into a warm hug. Mrs Lee, just like your parents, had grown too old for socialising at year end parties. Your generation had taken over the scene which meant that the last time you had met the Lee’s was over five years ago. She still wore the same perfume and you relaxed into the hug, now wearing a genuine smile on your face.

Mrs Lee lets you go and you turn to greet Mr Lee. “Thank you for the invite Mr Lee.”

He casually waved you off. “No need for the formalities. You seem like you’re doing well, Y/N.”

“I am. I hope you are doing well.”

From behind, you heard Donghyuck’s voice. “Mr Y/L/N. Mrs Y/L/N. It’s so great to see you again.”

You finally turn towards him. While your mother showers him with compliments, you stay silent, observing Donghyuck. He smiles and laughs appropriately, even bantering back with your mother.

Mr Lee addresses the room. “Let’s settle down. We’ll catch up over the courses.”

The elders easily settle into their seats which leaves you no choice but to sit next to your father, the seat that is directly across from Donghyuck’s. You keep your gaze down.

After the first course is served, conversation picks up amongst the elders. You keep your reactions to yourself and train yourself not to react whenever Donghyuck speaks.

Mr Lee changes the flow of the conversation. “And Y/N, are you in your final year of college?”

You lift your head and look directly at Mr Lee before replying. “Yes. I came from school. I was writing my dissertation and consulting with my professor.”

Mrs Lee chuckles. “You’re so hardworking. I don’t even remember Donghyuck working this hard during his final years of college.”

The table laughs and Donghyuck says, “Knowing Y/N, she’s probably working ten times harder than necessary. I am not lazy. Y/N is just an overachiever.”

Donghyuck is already staring at you when you bring your gaze over to him. Your eyes are clouded, a stark contrast to the practiced smile that has graced your face. Your mother swoons. “That’s our Y/N. You still know her well.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “I had great memories with you.”

It’s terribly awkward and you are all too aware of the adults listening in on your conversation. “We did. How could I ever forget my childhood companion.” You say and quickly take a sip of your drink, desperate to end the interaction between you two.

Thankfully the next course is being brought in and you channel your focus onto the waiter clearing your dishes. The door slides shut and Mrs Lee speaks up. “It is good that you kids go way back. It does make your future look promising.”

The elders exchange furtive glances, leaving you and Donghyuck in the dark. Luckily, Donghyuck is impatient enough to ask them the million dollar question. “What future?”

Mr Lee places a reassuring hand over Mrs Lee’s. He turns to look at his son for a second, before turning over to you. “The two of you are to be wedded.”

It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of you. You’re almost certain that you heard wrong but the sound of Donghyuck’s chair dragging across the floor confirms that your present situation was real. Donghyuck stands, taking the cloth and throwing it into his seat.

“I wish to be excused.” He’s out the door before you even realise it. Tension hangs over the room upon his departure. You’re baffled by the way Donghyuck had chosen to flee the scene, leaving you alone at a time of crisis. Hurt blooms in your chest but you tamper it down.

You face Mr and Mrs Lee, putting on your practiced smile. “I am honoured that you think so highly of me. Thank you for your generous consideration but clearly this will not work out.”

“It’s already been decided.” Mrs Lee states.

A blank expression takes over your face before you could stop yourself. You hear your mother force out a laugh. “After decades, you still hold onto our promise. Your family is loyal and we are grateful.”

Your father adds on. “Thank you for accepting Y/N as your daughter.”

The elders are back in good spirits, raising their glasses for a toast. Meanwhile, your clouded gaze darts over the empty space in front of you, wondering the outcome of your shared fate.

His rejection is still fresh in your mind. It replays on loop without your consent, distracting you from your priorities. The sting that has long been associated with Donghyuck’s name returns but this time, there’s extra pressure pressing onto your chest. Your pride is bruised by the fact that your chance has been taken away from you again. Donghyuck hadn’t even given you a second thought before storming out of the room.

Were you really that unappealing to him after all these years? You weren’t madly in love with him anymore but the impact is still as painful as it once was.

You didn’t want to tell Yizhou or any of your cousins so you called up your last option.

“Y/N! What’s up?” Sungchan greets you.

The only positive outcome from that particular memory was your friendship with Sungchan. He quickly got over his initial crush on you and the two of you forged a strong friendship. Your mother had attempted to make you two a couple but you firmly stopped her each time.

You sit up from your bed. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Not really. I’m running right now.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re crazy.” Sungchan laughs and you continue, “I need to talk. Can you find somewhere to sit?”

After a brief pause, Sungchan returns to the call. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to break the news. “I’m getting married to Lee Donghyuck.” A beat of silence passes through and you begin to worry about Sungchan’s wellbeing. “Hello?”

“No, I’m still here. Sorry I just– What?” Sungchan stumbles over his words. Normally you would laugh and tease him but the situation is too grave for you to crack a smile.

“Yeah. I got ambushed yesterday by both my parents and his parents. He was there too.”

Sungchan quietly asked, “And he accepted you?”

The sting of rejection returns but you keep your voice levelled. “No. He stormed out of the meeting. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Sungchan makes a noise of frustration and cusses. “What a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I need to tell somebody before all hell breaks loose.” You brush your hair through your hands, already imagining the widespread effect of your marriage announcement. Yizhou would fly back to Seoul in a matter of hours.

“Okay. Just keep me updated, yeah?”

You nodded. “Of course. Thanks Sungchan.”

The call ends and you drop your phone onto your bed, watching it bounce around. Despite your tarnished history with Donghyuck, getting married to him is the best outcome for your family’s wellbeing. You’re capable of compartmentalising your feelings but you can’t say the same for Donghyuck.

Worry etched onto your face. You throw yourself into your fluffy pillows, smothering your face in it while letting out a frustrated scream. Whatever it is that Donghyuck throws your way, you must overcome it.

You did not know whether to be worried or amused. You had walked into your apartment lobby, surprised by the sight of Donghyuck in the lounge area. He looks up from his iPad when he hears the doorman greeting you.

“Finally,” Donghyuck mutters as he gathers his belongings. From the looks of it, he had set up a makeshift office in the lobby. You come to a stop in front of him, the front of your shoes narrowly touching his.

“What are you doing?”

“I came here to find you. We need to talk.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who stormed out before we got the chance to talk.”

The security guard behind the counter looks on curiously, wondering if he should intervene. Donghyuck closes his eyes to compose himself. “I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” You said and then turned your back on him, strutting towards the lift.

You can hear Donghyuck scrambling and you smile to yourself. “Wait!”

The security guard reaches you first, putting distance between you and Donghyuck. “Ms Y/L/N, is this man harassing you?”

“Ha– Harass?” Donghyuck sputtered out as if he couldn't even fathom the idea of him causing trouble. “No, I am not a harasser!”

The security guard throws a cold look at his direction and Donghyuck shrinks slightly. The lift arrives and you make your decision.

“Come with me Donghyuck. This is your only chance.” You announce. The security guard seemed reluctant to let Donghyuck near you but you gently assure him, thanking him for his service. The ride up is silent much to your surprise. You walk ahead of Donghyuck and he trails behind you, like a dog with his tail tucked behind his legs.

It feels oddly natural to have Donghyuck follow you into your apartment. He lined his shoes beside your shoe rack in a neat manner and you passed him a clean pair of house slippers to put on. As you make your way into your apartment, Donghyuck marvels quietly at the decorations on display. Upon entering your living room, you hear the unmistakable sound of the camera going off and you stop to turn around. He looks guilty but he clutches his phone tightly.

“What did you do?” You try to intimidate him.

“Just getting some inspiration.” He lies.

You take a step closer to Donghyuck, an attempt at asserting dominance. “This is your first and last time here. Now, spit out whatever it is that brought you here in the first place.”

Donghyuck pockets his phone. “Here’s the deal. I can’t marry someone who hates me.”

“I am lukewarm about you, at most.” You deadpanned.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “There’s no way you don’t hate me. Are you sure you haven’t submitted my name to an Etsy witch?”

“My life stopped revolving around you for a long time now. You’re good.” The tips of Donghyuck’s ears redden at the implication of your words but you maintain your nonchalant stance. “This marriage would be good for my family and if you really detest it then take it up with your parents, not me.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Did you plant the idea in my parents head?” His tone is accusatory which causes you to snort mockingly.

“I haven’t spoken to your parents in ages. Find someone else to blame your misery on.”

It’s written on his face, the way Donghyuck doesn’t seem satisfied with his findings. He sighs heavily and his shoulders sink into his figure. A tired man remains standing in his place and you almost feel sympathetic for him. Almost, if not for the fact that he has been trying to pin the blame for your shared situation entirely on you.

You gently comb your hair back with your hands as you speak up, “I am not going to beg for you to marry me but just know that I will not fight against anything. Not marrying you is a bigger loss to me. I hope you know where I stand.”

Donghyuck meets your gaze, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Is it really that easy?” He asks. His question surprises you but you try your best to conceal your shock.

“Yes.” The air in the room shifts and it was at that moment you knew that you could only keep up with the act of lying to yourself for a little longer. Impending doom lingers in the air but you ignore it and usher Donghyuck out of your life, for now.

The days leading up to your engagement ceremony was emotionally bearable but the day itself was bad enough to dampen your spirits. Your engagement was a quiet affair, as if your relationship was meant to be kept under wraps from the public eye. Whether it was up to Donghyuck or his parents, you don’t know but it didn’t matter because your own feelings were never considered in the first place.

It’s an odd experience to finally get engaged to Donghyuck. His best friends keep a polite distance from you, looking at you as if you were some stranger barging into their lives and not Donghyuck’s childhood best friend. Your own family were scattered in the hall based on a seating chart created by your future mother in-law. At least from your seat, you could easily see Yizhou and Sungchan three tables away from yours. You stuck out your tongue playfully to silently express your gratitude.

Your father had prepared a speech, bringing you to tears and the crowd cooed at you, warmed by your reaction. Much to your surprise, Donghyuck gets up from the seat beside yours and takes the microphone from your father. The room quietens and the attention shifts onto your fiancé, yours included.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. Thank you to my father and future father in-law for the speeches,” he pauses with a light laugh. His gaze sweeps around the room as he resumes his speech, “I am glad to share this momentous occasion with all of our loved ones. As much as I want to keep it brief for everyone, I also want to make it memorable for Y/N. I don’t know where our future will take us but I am willing to build a forever with you.”

Your face burns as the whole room looks at you again. You stare ahead at Donghyuck, a strong mix of emotions riding in your chest nearly breaking your composure. Knowing that everyone was waiting for your reaction, you settled on blowing Donghyuck a kiss. The room bursts into cheers when Donghyuck catches it.

The dinner carries on smoothly but there is an unspoken tension stringing between the supposedly happy couple. Your moves were controlled and you kept your physical touches to a minimum. It took every ounce of effort to not tug harshly on Donghyuck’s arm when you slid your hand into his. Your fingers were loosely wrapped around his arm, barely clinging onto the fabric of his suit. The facade you had on cracked as soon as you stepped into his car.

The engine revs to life and your seat belt clicks into place. “Why’d you do that?” You accuse him.

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What?”

You match his annoyance. “You heard me.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “My parents told me to make a speech.”

“And you dedicated it to me?”

“Why are you mad at me? I thought this was what you wanted? I thought you wanted to marry me?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I do but why are you starting our marriage with empty promises! Building a forever with me? If you wanted to lie and perform you should have just gone all the way and said ‘I love you’ to seal the deal.” You rolled your eyes.

He scoffs in retaliation. “Seriously? And what about you and your fake kiss?” It was a pointless bicker but Donghyuck’s anger still rose, causing him to heavily breathe out of his nose. His hand on the wheel tenses.

“Everyone was expecting something from me because of you.” You punctuate the end of the sentence, every word hitting him heavily.

A pause fills the space between you two, every ticking moment ringing loudly in your ear. Donghyuck says, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The engagement band on Donghyuck’s finger glimmers as the streetlights pass through the car windows. The overwhelming feelings from before return and your stomach clenches. Your voice weakens. “I want you to be real in our marriage.”

The car falls silent again and the only sound comes from the traffic outside. You don’t know if Donghyuck had heard you and you’re too prideful to repeat yourself so you remain silent, waiting for him. The car slows to a stop in front of a red light and Donghyuck’s breathing evens out.

“Tell me nicely next time instead of starting a fight, will you?” Your heart jolts at his unexpected reaction. “We could start by setting some boundaries. I was serious about my speech, Y/N. Let’s not make this any more difficult.”

His kept his voice was low and firm. The soft thrum of the engine keeps you calm as you process Donghyuck’s words. It sounds like he’s compromising with you based on the circumstances of your situation. They seem sincere enough for you to believe even though it’s unexpected of him. When Donghyuck drives into your apartment, you gather up your senses to apologise.

“I am sorry,” you loudly confess. Your eyes are cast downwards. The engagement band on your own finger is too hard to ignore at a time like this. “If you have time, you can come up and we can discuss such boundaries.” Your voice trails off at the end.

“I can’t.” Your gaze snaps towards his face, a small frown on display. “Not today but maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You nod but remain seated in place. Now that it was time to leave, you find yourself wanting to stay with him longer. All fight has left you and the newfound peace is inviting as ever. You don’t know if you’ll be able to maintain it with him.

“Y/N,” Donghyuck says before he’s leaning in across the console, his lips lightly brushing against your cheek. You go completely still. “Text me when you’re in your apartment.”

You blindly reach for the door, seatbelt still strapped in and you can see Donghyuck giggling at you from your peripheral view. You glare at him and unbuckle yourself, tearing the passenger door opening and jumping out of the car. Donghyuck has the cheek to unwind the window, revealing a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I’m leaving. See you tomorrow I think,” you announce as you spin on your heel and the echoes of Donghyuck’s laughter ring from behind you.

When you’re kicking your shoes off, you unzip your bag to take your phone out. You click on your chat with Donghyuck and send a simple thumbs up emoji. The message receipt changes immediately but you don’t get a response. Donghyuck clearly is still a menace who enjoys teasing you. You lock your phone and go about your night, ignoring the way your heart seems to race at the thought of your fiancé.

You hadn’t planned far enough.

While you knew you were getting married to Donghyuck, you still hadn’t made up your mind on whether you should fall in love with him again or protect your own heart. There’s a constant war of push and pull within you and you are not ready to let your pride down. Whenever you find yourself feeling the tiny bit giddy about Donghyuck, you immediately reel yourself in and remind yourself that your marriage will be built on camaraderie, not romance. Boundaries, rules, protocols. These were not norms of a couple romantically involved.

A soft knock on your workspace door interrupts your flow of thoughts and you look up to find Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. You slightly close your laptop to give him your attention.

“Wanna eat?” Donghyuck simply asks, holding a lunchbox above his head.

You quickly tidy up your work desk and Donghyuck makes himself comfortable, singing under his breath as he unpacks the contents of his lunchbox. You catch the melody of his favourite song. It sounds sweeter when he’s singing it.

The table is filled with comforting side dishes and your mouth waters at the sight of it. He saves the final box, pushing it towards the centre and cheekily glances over at you. “Hope you’re hungry because this is going to blow your mind.”

What Donghyuck doesn’t know is that you have been eating less than usual in the past week. You could barely count a banana and multiple cups of coffee as a meal but it was enough to keep you powered through your reports. Your stomach grumbles loudly, the savoury scent of chilli oil and chicken broth infiltrating your senses. Donghyuck had made steamed dumplings.

“Tada! The viral lasagne dumplings. All for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I ate the first batch at home. It was too good to pass on.”

You quietly raised your brows as you picked up a clean set of chopsticks. He’s watching you intently, hands tucked under his chin and his elbows are resting on the table. You ignore him and focus on the food.

“Is it good?” He asks. You’re frowning as you chew. Looks like you found another unfair quality Donghyuck upholds, his ability to cook.

Your frown deepens. “This is amazing.”

Donghyuck laughs. His glasses slip from the bridge of his nose as he throws his head back. “You look so angry but you’re actually happy with my cooking.”

“This is my happy face,” you tell him.

“Right,” he shakes his head fondly and pushes the side dishes closer to you. “Eat up.”

You had thought your meal would be filled with endless chatter from Donghyuck’s end but a phone call suddenly takes over his attention. He stands at the edge of the table, phone in hand as his body leans against the table for support. You sit through your meal taking peeks at him and scrolling on your phone, catching familiar words but not fully grasping the situation. Your name is mentioned a few times followed by some hush remarks.

“Can’t you and Jeno lead the meeting? What do you even need me there for?” A tight expression draws upon your fiancé’s face. His eyes meet yours and you see a flash of anger in it. You quickly cast your eyes downwards and feign ignorance. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The room is expectantly silent and you break it by sending him away. “Go. Whatever it is, it needs your attention.”

You’re not looking at him. You keep yourself busy by cleaning up the table. Donghyuck exhales. “I’ll see you around.”

Your will is stronger than expected. As he takes his leave, you make sure not to look at him. Donghyuck’s grip on the door falters and you don’t even notice. The door falls shut and tension in your body releases. You could hardly comprehend what had transpired between the two of you but you knew better than to let Donghyuck in. It’s clear that you will not be a priority to him and you will treat him the same.

As soon as the investors left the table, Donghyuck slumped into the seat. Chenle glared at him. All the niceness at the table had dissipated along with their investors.

“We almost didn’t close the deal because you’re distracted.” Chenle coldly remarked.

Donghyuck cocks his head. “You got what you wanted. Why complain?”

Jeno shakes his head. “We know you have a lot of things going on at home but Donghyuck, we need your one hundred percent commitment. Not unless you want this endeavour of ours to fall apart.”

Donghyuck takes a swig of his drink. The burn of the alcohol smoothly slides down his throat. Chenle challenges, “Are you done playing house?”

“Chenle,” Jeno says warningly.

“You’re letting Y/N cloud your priorities. Leaving work early just to see her? Hanging around a college campus to see her? Trying to ditch an investor’s meeting? Dude, it’s an arranged marriage. Why are you trying so hard? Stop wasting time–”

“I’ll have to stop you right there. You guys don’t know the full story because I choose to keep some information to myself.” Donghyuck straightens up and leans forward, maintaining a steady gaze on his friend’s faces. “Talk shit about me all you want but not my marriage and definitely not Y/N. I don’t care how unhappy you are with me. That is not an excuse.”

Chenle dryly scoffs. “Sure. Fine. I’m sorry for that.”

“Thank you.” Donghyuck nods. His shoulders drop and he offers them a small smile. “I’ll try to be more proactive. Just bear with me a little. Y/N’s important to me.”

Chenle and Jeno share a silent look, Jeno wordlessly urging the younger to tone down his anger towards Donghyuck with a raise of a brow. Chenle sighs and waves a hand in the air. “You get one more chance to talk about Y/N for tonight and that will be the last!”

Donghyuck’s face splits into a wide smile as he leans forward. “Have I told you guys about the time when we went on a holiday to her family’s ski lodge?”

The past few years for Donghyuck had been a blur. While you went on to make a future for yourself, Donghyuck had found himself stuck in the past.

By the time he tried to put a name on his feelings, time had passed and the distance between you two had grown wider than before. He did not know how to cross it, if you would even let him shorten the gap just for him to offer up an apology. Ignoring your existence was easier than reaching out to you.

When his parents had hinted that they were arranging a marriage for him, he wasn’t all too happy but he conceded with their decision. His life was never his to begin with even though his heart longed for yours.

Maybe Donghyuck was naive or maybe he didn’t want to accept the truth when you walked into the room. He let his polished persona take over to distract himself from his impending panic. You hated him. You wouldn’t even look him in the eye and Donghyuck can’t blame you. After all, he had inflicted hurt upon you. Donghyuck can tell from the hardened gaze you throw his way and your closed off body language that you wanted nothing more than to run off from the dinner meeting.

The pretense of the meeting had unveiled itself. Ultimately, his father uttered the words that would trigger his fight or flight instincts. Donghyuck stupidly fled the scene. Tears clouded his visions as he fumbled with the car handle. The girl who had once loved him, the same girl who got hurt by his avoidant nature is now betrothed to him. What a horrible twist of fate.

Donghyuck took a strangled breath in and collected his emotions, at least enough for him to drive to Mark. Aside from Yizhou and Sungchan, Mark was the only other person who knew of the tragic end of your friendship. His hands are shaking but he manages to connect Mark to his car speakers.

“Mark hyung,” Donghyuck rasps out.

“Yo, shit?” Mark immediately replies. “What’s wrong?”

Donghyuck restlessly drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.” He presses harder on the pedal. “I’m coming over.”

Mark wordlessly led a tear-stricken Donghyuck into his living room. He came back with a mug of warm water but it remained untouched by Donghyuck. Mark sits upright in his own chair, observing his best friend. “What happened?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to try and speak but the words don’t come out. His tongue darts out as he sighs heavily. “I’m getting married to Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t deserve her. I never did. I never will. I am total fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “Wait. This whole time your parents were set on getting you two together?”

“Turns out the future partner they were looking for me had always been there. Y/N.” Donghyuck laughs dryly at the circumstances of his life. He threads his fingers through his hair, channeling his frustration into messing his hair. “I’m so afraid that she’ll resent me even more. I realised my feelings for her too late. I did not even try to understand my feelings. I did not want to fall into the expectations surrounding us. I thought I could choose my own destiny but our fates were always going to be entangled. I was too foolish to grasp that.”

Mark stays silent as he allows Donghyuck’s words to sink in. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Did Y/N say outright that she hates you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you adamant that Y/N hates you?”

“I see it in her eyes.” Donghyuck firmly says. “We have spent so much time apart in our formative years. We are basically different people now. I feel so inadequate to be her lifelong companion. People don’t get it. She doesn’t get it.”

Mark, ever so earnest, grows frustrated with his best friend’s stubbornness. “To be frank, I don’t get why you’re having an inferiority complex over Y/N. You are doing great things at your father’s company and your own independent business as well. The name you are building for yourself is remarkable. What more could impress Y/N?”

Donghyuck throws a hand in the air. “Maybe an emotionally intelligent guy who doesn’t suppress his emotions.”

“Then be that man!” Mark urges him. He stands up and walks over to Donghyuck. “Go and initiate things with her. Make things better between you two. Let it start with you.”

“You really think I can do that?” Donghyuck asks him in a small voice.

Mark grins encouragingly. “Sitting around here and moping about the girl you love is not enough. Go chase after her.”

Donghyuck feels his heart thudding in his chest, a surge of hope coasting through his body. “Well, maybe not today. I am kinda burnt out from this rollercoaster of emotions.” He says lightheartedly.

And so he tries because in spite of your strong demeanour, he can feel the gap between you two bridging slowly. You entertained his small talks with wordless gestures such as a quirk of your lip or twitch of an eye. You sent him an emoji every time you made it home after a meeting with him and his parents. And ever since the engagement ceremony, your dynamics have settled into a comfortable pace, similar to a partnership between two business partners.

Your boundaries had been laid out for him and Donghyuck feels hopeful about your marriage. He hadn’t realised how much his friends disapprove of your presence in his life until that dinner experience. If only everyone knew how Donghyuck treats you with utmost care because he wants to make it up to you for hurting you all those years ago. It wasn’t just him that was holding onto that memory. Donghyuck can still recall the curt smile Sungchan gave him at the engagement ceremony, obviously still holding a grudge against him.

The indifference you show him is subtle to others but Donghyuck can read you even after all those years apart. You barely show any reaction to his quips and your facial features are controlled to reveal just a fraction of emotions. He silently cusses Jeno and Chenle out for causing the setback in his progress.

You two are having dinner at the Lee’s estate. You’re seated on his left hand side, ever so poised and mannered. You only muttered one word replies to Donghyuck since he picked you up from your apartment. His mother leads the conversation and Donghyuck is grateful for that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but your friends are Jung Sungchan and Ning Yizhou?” She suddenly asks.

You nod your head as confirmation. “Yes, why? Is there anything wrong?”

Mrs Lee laughs cordially. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that for a while, before we approached your parents about your marriage, we were all under the impression that you were being courted by Jung Sungchan.”

Donghyuck tenses. He remembers his mother prodding him about you and Sungchan and he mindlessly waved her off. It was pretty known that you two were close friends and it was natural for speculation to arise. He himself had believed in them at one point.

You nearly choke on your bite of food. Donghyuck panics and passes you your glass of water which you graciously accepted. “No. Not once have we ever been involved. I can assure you,” you say after collecting yourself.

“It’s not me you have to assure,” Mrs Lee finishes off with a hearty laugh.

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the crack in your composure, the side glance casted in his direction as he stares at the interesting patterns on the ceramic plate.

His parents retire to their room and only the two of you remain. You finish the last of your dessert, gracefully dabbing your napkin on your lips. Donghyuck had been unexpectedly silent. He barely looked at you for the rest of the night. The elephant needed to be addressed. “You were worried about me and Sungchan?” You causally questioned him.

Donghyuck shyly raises his gaze to meet yours. “No.”

“No?” You echoed.

His eyes draw away from yours as he replies, “I mean, my mother was asking about you. I just told her what I thought– what everyone thought.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you almost pleadingly but you remain firm, wanting to hear him admit it out loud. Donghyuck concedes in a small voice. “You and Sungchan? Everyone thought you were involved.”

“And you were worried.” You reminded him, your tone was steadier compared to his.

“I– I was not. Intrigued? Maybe.” He stuttered out.

Clearly you were unconvinced. You smirk at his flustered expression, leaning comfortably into your seat. It was a sight to see Donghyuck embarrassed but the humour only lasted briefly. “Just so you know, nothing happened between me and him. Nothing will happen in the future. We’re bound to each other now.” You tell him, hoping you sound as sincere as possible.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer but you can tell from his body language that he’s partly relieved. Donghyuck still looks at you with a heavy gaze, as if he’s thinking deeply about you while you’re seated inches away from him. You raise a brow at him, the most expression you’ve given him lately. He’s so transparent. You can see it on his face when he loses his internal battle.

“Y/N, do you remember those questions you asked me on my birthday?” Donghyuck quietly asks. Maybe it was meant to be a rhetorical question but the shift in mood made it hard for you to believe so. You nod stiffly. “I found the answer for it. I won’t tell you now but one day, I will.” His shoulders are squared like a soldier who’s ready to walk into battle. Suddenly, the gravity of his words hit you.

A promise? Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. If you were understanding his vague statement, it would mean that Donghyuck had figured out what you meant to him. It sounds terrifying and you are slightly grateful that Donghyuck was willing to delay the conversation a little longer.

Even tossing and turning in bed didn’t help soothe your anxiety. You itched to ask him outright and revisit the conversation from that night but it is still too emotionally taxing for you to revisit it.

Instead, you let yourself focus on wedding planning. You frequently met up with your mother, future mother in law, fiancé and the wedding planner. It took up a good chunk of your attention which managed to keep your sanity at bay. You give a lot of input considering the fact that it’s the only time you’ll ever be wedded in this lifetime. You even managed to negotiate with the elders to find a bridal dressmaker of your choice. Slowly, your dream wedding came to life. You had the groom you had always wanted even though the circumstances were not ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Yizhou eyed you warily.

The two of you were seated on the patio of a café, lined along the alleyway of hipster buildings. Yizhou was back in Seoul for business and you had barely managed to squeeze in a meet up with her. You caught her up with your stale love life and now she’s staring at you with apprehension.

You nod sagely. “I’ve accepted the truth long ago.”

“Do you still love him?”

You hum thoughtfully, carefully picking your words. “It’s hard to say honestly. He meant the world to me. I think Donghyuck will always leave a deep mark on me. As long as nothing romantic happens between us, I’ll be fine. My feelings for him will remain dormant.” His promise crosses your mind as you speak but you decided to ignore it, resolute in your own words and beliefs.

“But you’ll be married forever. How can you be so sure nothing changes between the two of you?” Yizhou had a valid point and you didn’t have a proper answer for it.

You offer her a shrug and a half-hearted grin. “I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge if I ever get there.”

Wedding planning has been going well. You were set to marry a week after your last submissions, a terribly packed period for you but one that worked in favour for both parties. It was right before the fourth quarter of the year which gave you a chance to be introduced as a wedded couple during year end celebrations.

You had been cooped up with your assignments all week long but your appearance was needed for the venue viewing. The grease in your hair had built up over time and you dragged yourself to the shower, indulging yourself to a relaxing hair wash. The most put together outfit you have worn this whole week was a stained sweatpants and a tattered concert tee.

You had just stepped out of the shower when your phone buzzed with a message from Donghyuck, notifying you of his arrival. You grimaced and you plucked your phone from your nightstand. You immediately called him.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, I need you to park. I just got out of the shower.”

Donghyuck feels his mouth go dry. “Hmm?”

“Just park by the side and tell the guards that you’re coming up.” You tell him as you stand in front of your closet, eyeing your options with your phone lazily positioned close to your face. Donghyuck has yet to disconnect the call and you can hear him making his way to you, a soothing constant sound you needed to fill your room.

The tale-tell sound of the lift lobby resounds through your phone. “I’m entering the lift,” Donghyuck mutters.

You grab a long sleeved dress and hurriedly pull it over your body. You still have to dry your hair and do your makeup. You were plugging in your hair dryer when Donghyuck spoke up again. “Hey, I’m outside your door.”

You rattled off your code without a second thought. From your room, you could hear the door being unlocked and his successful attempt to let himself in. “Y/N?” Donghyuck called out.

“In here!” You replied, knowing that you had left your door ajar.

Your heart thrums with anticipation but you keep yourself focused on your task at hand. A soft knock on the door followed by Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. It’s quite the sight and you find yourself staring at him through the mirror. You turn the hair dryer off.

“Come in,” you invited him.

He freezes for a second and you nodded encouragingly, coaxing him into entering your room. “I need ten more minutes.”

Donghyuck glances at his wrist. You guys would inevitably be late but Donghyuck doesn’t mind the wrath his mother might incur on him. “That’s okay,” he says as he stands in a random spot by the door. You can see the clear restraint on his face which makes you laugh.

You turn in your seat, looking him in the eyes. “You don’t have to stand there. You can sit on my bed or look around my room.”

Donghyuck pointed towards the bed for confirmation and you nodded. While you are occupied with your hair and makeup, Donghyuck sits on the edge of your bed, simply taking in the details of your room. Your bookshelf is filled with books of all kinds of genres. He squints at a dark red box by the shelf above your bed frame. It sits underneath a stack of DVDs, titles of albums he doesn’t recognise. There’s several other memorabilia like a figurine or a photo frame on the shelf. It’s soothing to be in your space and having your presence nearby. He can imagine it, a near future where he’s all moved in, sharing mundane moments with you. He wants it all.

“Okay, I’m done.” You announce, snapping Donghyuck out of his reverie. You finally get a proper look at Donghyuck and realise how your outfit complements his. There’s something dizzying about the way Donghyuck stared at you. You subconsciously fix your hair.

“Wow,” he mumbled.

Not wanting to be swayed by Donghyuck’s reaction, you choose to glare at him. “We’re late! Let’s go.”

He giggles, knowing that your glare has no real heat to it. You break out into a matching smile having given up on being serious. “Come on.”

Donghyuck was in a good mood. His phone was ringing with incoming messages from his mother and a call quickly came along. He gestured at you to pick it up, knowing that if his mother heard your voice, she would be kinder.

“Lee Donghyuck, where are you? Did you know we’re running twenty minutes behind schedule?”

You cringed but worked up the courage to answer. “Hey Mrs Lee, it’s Y/N. Donghyuck is driving.”

“Oh! Y/N,” Mrs Lee perks up. She laughs offhandedly, “My Donghyuck is a troublemaker. Are you okay?”

“Actually, I was the one who was running late. I am sorry but we’re nearby. I promise! I think we’re five minutes away?”

You glance over at Donghyuck for help and he chuckles, leaning over to speak into the microphone. “We’re ten minutes away. Just calm down and sip some wine.”

“Yah, Donghyuck.” Mrs Lee starts and your eyes widens, panic creeping in.

Donghyuck mouths, “Hang up. Now.”

You do as you are told and the car lapses into silence for a brief moment. You were the first one to burst into laughter, crouching forward in your seat, eyes tightly closed as all you can think of was Donghyuck feeding into your future mother-in-law's anger.

“What?” Donghyuck asks, a lilt to his voice. He has not seen you unpoised in so long. Your bright laughter and relaxed posture is rare to him.

“Nothing,” you finally say as you straighten yourself out. You shake your head almost fondly. “Nothing really.”

Your smile remains on your face which betrays your attempt at being composed. Donghyuck sneaks a glance over to admire the sincerity of the moment and he decides to stay silent, afraid of disturbing your newfound glee.

By the time you two arrived at the venue, you had already calmed down enough. There’s the remnants of your smile on your face and only Donghyuck knows the details behind it. The thought sends a thrill up his spine.

Maybe your joy was infectious enough for his mother’s bad mood to disappear or perhaps Mrs Lee was relieved to see her future daughter-in-law finally feeling settled in the arrangement. Whatever annoyance Mrs Lee harboured disappeared when she happened to witness the way you and Donghyuck looked at each other. The mirth in both of your faces was similar to your childhood memories. She pulls the wedding planner to her side, happy to give the engaged couple some privacy.

The phone call comes while Donghyuck wraps up his report. Your name flashes on the screen and he jumps for his phone, waits for a second and then answers the call.

“Hyuck,” you drawled into the phone. The background of the call is loud but Donghyuck is more distracted by the old nickname.

“Y/N?”

“Everyone’s teasing me. They want you here.”

“They? What about you? Do you want me to come?” He asks even though he’s already digging through his pocket for his car keys.

You gasped dramatically. “You can’t ask that!”

An overlap of voices cut through the call and Donghyuck can vaguely hear you scolding your friends. You cuss them out before returning to the call.

“Sorry, my faculty mates are so nosy.” Your voice is clearer now, like you had stepped out to talk to him.

Donghyuck stands by his car. “Should I come over?”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. “I want you here.”

“Share your location with me?”

He finds you seated alone in the outdoor seating of the bar. “Y/N!” Donghyuck calls out as he gets out of his car. You spot him, waving enthusiastically at him from the other side of the road.

He jogs over to you. “Why are you out here alone?”

You tilt your head to the side, not quite understanding the worried undertone of his voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Donghyuck steels himself to remain firm with you. A pout had formed on your lips. You’re irresistibly cute when you’re drunk, even now as an adult. He softens his tone, “Thank you for waiting out here but I don’t think it's safe that you’re out here alone. Maybe next time ask a friend to keep you company, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

You remember your friends teasing you relentlessly about Donghyuck and your eyes widened at the memory. “Wait.” You grab his hands, pulling him and he stumbles into your space. “Everyone thinks you’re my secret partner. They think we’re madly in love with each other. My classmates, they don’t know what we know.”

Donghyuck blinks as he processes your words. He nods slowly. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

You distractedly play with his hands, pressing your own palms against his. It’s warm to the touch. Your smooth slender fingers splayed over his thick roughened fingers. “Last time we held hands like this, we were still kids,” you offhandedly remarked.

“Y/N…” Donghyuck’s pained tone urges you to look up. “What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet but his plea is loud enough for you to hear.

The corners of your mouth twists with contemplation. Deep within you, the last walls that contained your affection for your fiancé, have cracked open. There’s too many thoughts running through your head and you’re not sober enough to confront them. It hurts to pretend you don’t notice the expectant look on Donghyuck’s face but it’s better than acting rashly.

“Can we just go inside? I’ll introduce you to my friends.” Donghyuck concedes with a nod of his head. You laced your fingers with his in one hand and slowly let go of the other. Throwing on your best smile, you look over your shoulder and try to lift the mood. “You’re going to love this place. There’s a pool table I want to show you.”

Embarrassing doesn’t even cut it.

Maybe the Lee’s estate is a homeground of your embarrassing moments like this one, where you wake up in the guest room of their estate as a disheveled mess. You wake up sprawled across a pillow with the Lee’s family insignia on it, the cursive font in the significant family colour. The longer you squeeze your eyes shut, the more memories you manage to recover. Nursing a hangover at your future in-law’s house is a terrifying situation you have landed yourself in.

You look around the room and thankfully, your phone is on the nightstand, plugged into a power outlet. Donghyuck’s name sits at the top of the list of notifications. You quickly read it, thankful that Donghyuck texted you to call him when you had woken up.

You have a small window of time to freshen up before facing him. Standing in front of the sink, you study yourself. You look put together for a person who had a chaotic night out. Your makeup has been removed, your hair a little tangled from sleep and you’re wearing a comfortable pyjamas set. The Lee’s family insignia is subtly embroidered into the collar of the shirt.

You’re in the midst of brushing your teeth when a soft knock comes from outside. Just like before, Donghyuck cautiously peers into the room before letting himself in. You step out of the joint bathroom to lean against the frame of the door, uncaring that your toothbrush was still hanging from your mouth.

“You’re up earlier than expected,” Donghyuck muses. You give him a small glare and hold your hand up before disappearing into the bathroom to rinse your mouth.

He’s seated on the bed by the time you get back. “Are your parents home?”

Donghyuck raised a brow. “They left this morning for church and whatnot but they know you’re here. Nothing ever stays a secret in this house.”

Your eye twitches. What a horrific impression you have made of yourself. “Why didn’t you send me home? You know my code!” You practically yell.

He raises his voice back. “I tried to! Wha– Wait. You don’t remember?”

You’re stumped. Hadn’t you recalled everything that happened last night? “Remember what?” You carefully asked.

Donghyuck’s hesitant response could not prepare you for the truth. “You wanted to follow me home. That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh, fuck.”

A deep frown settles on your face. You can only remember getting into Donghyuck’s car, the rest of the ride was a blur. You can’t think of a reason why Donghyuck would lie to you which meant that you were the clingy person you vowed not to be.

If he were being honest, Donghyuck was scared of you. Would you be mad at him and push him away? After last night, Donghyuck only wants to hold you closer to him. He’s seen before how much hurt he can unravel. He can only hope that things turn out differently.

You lightly tug at your hair, stressed out by the turn of events. “I’m going home.”

“Let me drive you home.” Donghyuck stood up. You didn’t try to fight him. Instead, you walk around the room trying to find your clothes from the night before but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s my clothes?” Donghyuck pads across the room and opens the wardrobe, revealing your outfit from last night. Your top and jeans were hanging separately in a tidy manner. You stood a few inches behind Donghyuck. “You did this?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry though, my helper did the difficult job of undressing you.” Donghyuck grabs your clothes and offers it to you.

You scoffed to hide your embarrassment. “Difficult?”

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically silent and when you look at him, you find that he’s red in the face. He’s definitely recalling something that you did last night. Probably something embarrassing and life ending information that makes you wonder if you even wanted to gain back those memories. You narrowed your eyes and let out a harrumph, making a show out of walking past him and heading off to the bathroom.

The staff greet you and Donghyuck each time you pass them, completely blowing any sense of discreetness you tried to uphold. At the very least, his parents were still out which helped you save your last strand of dignity.

The car ride is mostly silent save for the occasional sound from Donghyuck when he sings under his breath. Your favourite song comes on shuffle and Donghyuck turns the volume up. You look at him, having not expected him to remember such a specific detail about you. You had thought you were the only one who held on tightly to your shared past but Donghyuck’s natural reaction says otherwise.

You’re still deep in thought when Donghyuck reaches the entrance of your apartment. He waits quietly, knowing better than to interrupt you. He’s staring blankly ahead and wonders about the weight you’ve been carrying alone, if you’re ready to put it down.

“Hey, I’m not sure what I did last night but thanks for putting up with me.”

He turns to you and sees that you’re shyly tucking your hair before your ear, looking down at your lap instead of him. Donghyuck couldn’t help himself from saying, “Do you think you’re a burden to me?”

This causes you to look up, shock written across your face. “What? Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t put up with you, Y/N.” His voice is soft but firm. “You’re going to be my wife. We both agreed to this. You are a priority in my life.” You nervously chew on your lower lip. Again, you’re not in a proper mindset to be having such a heavy conversation with him. Despite that, you’re still affected by Donghyuck’s confession, leaving your stomach fluttering.

Your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Donghyuck breaks out into a small smile, an underlying melancholy to it. “You don’t have to say anything. I needed you to know that, that’s all.”

It doesn’t seem right to leave wordlessly so you lean across the console, craning your neck to leave a peck on his cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away. The wistfulness from the two of you was palpable and you weren’t completely relieved from it. The crack in your walls grows wider and you don’t know if you’re ready for them to fall.

In a room full of people, Donghyuck would rather be alone with you.

He’s at a party with his friends but he’s not participating. Donghyuck has chosen to stick to the walls to watch his friends shake hands with potential business partners.

“You look mad.” Jaemin siddles up to him, his usual charming smile on full display.

“You could say that.” Donghyuck nods in acknowledgement.

“You miss her,” he says to Donghyuck as a matter-of-factly. Donghyuck stares at him with suspicion. He has never confided in Jaemin regarding you and he knows Mark would never gossip about him. Jaemin snorts. “Chill. I can tell because you’re miserable and you can’t stop playing with your ring.”

Donghyuck instantly stops fidgeting, his finger resting against the cool metal of his engagement band instead. He was not fully aware of his own actions. How can it be that Jaemin had managed to see through him?

“I think it’s nice.” Jaemin adds offhandedly.

Donghyuck drops his hands to his sides. “What’s nice?”

“That you’ve found someone to cherish. To love.”

The way you pleaded with him while you were drunk plays like a constant loop in his mind. A glimpse of your younger self had shone through that night before your matured self took over, demanding that you be taken back to the Lee’s estate. Even in your drunken state you were able to outsmart him by claiming that it is your marital right to stay there. Donghyuck smiled fondly. “She’s always been there. I just had trouble seeing what was in front of me all along.’

“Can I ask what made you come to a realisation? I think the Donghyuck I knew never really cared about settling down.”

“I didn’t just hurt Y/N. I crushed her.” Donghyuck looked down, collecting his thoughts to put it into perspective. “It was scary to see her devastated because of me and I hadn’t realised that I had inflicted hurt onto her. I care for her so much to the point that I didn’t even understand it until she walked away from me.”

His face crumpled up without meaning to and Jaemin takes a good look at his friend. Anyone can see the remorse eating away at him. Jaemin lays a comforting hand over Donghyuck’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Give yourself a chance to be forgiven.”

And Jaemin was right. All the hesitation could not prolong any more.

The sky is bright and cloudy, the perfect weather to be out enjoying the sunshine with the presence of another but you’re cooped indoors. You should be at home, the deadline for your dissertation inching closer day by day but as of late, your time has been occupied by your wedding. The only consolation is Donghyuck being there with you.

You had your first meeting with the bridal atelier of your choice two months back and now you’re back for the try on. The flutes of champagne remain untouched. Your fingers thrum against your thigh, feeling restless as the tailors prepare the dressing room for you. Donghyuck wordlessly slips his hand over yours, grounding you to the present moment. You peek over at him and he’s already looking at you. There’s an unspoken devotion in his gaze. You wonder when he had started looking at you with stars in his eyes.

“Ms Y/L/N? We’re ready for you.” You jump away from Donghyuck, clearing your throat. You offer him a small smile and he nods.

You’re careful when you try on your wedding gown, still in great disbelief about the fact that your dream dress has come to life. The assistant showered you with praises as she zipped you up. You let out a gasp as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

“Absolutely gorgeous. He is a lucky man.” The assistant said from behind you, startling you out of your reverie. “I’ll give you a moment. Let us know if you need anything.”

You touch the fabric of your gown with reverence, thumbing the rich silky fabric elegantly draped across your figure. A smile finds its way onto your face and you set your shoulder back to meet Donghyuck.

Donghyuck looks up from his phone when he hears the curtains open. His jaw goes slack when he sees you stepping into the room. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo, stray pieces of hair framing the sides of your face. You’re looking at him with hope and Donghyuck can see the rest of your lives playing out before his eyes.

He rises to his feet. “Wow. That doesn't even cut it.”

You fold your hands in front of you. “Hyuck,” the old nickname slips out of your mouth, “stop. Be honest. Is it alright?”

“Alright?” He gawks. “Y/N, you're drop dead gorgeous!” Donghyuck exclaims before collapsing into his seat. Your laughter carries through the room, filling it with light.

“Whatever you say, Hyuck.” You giggle.

“You don’t believe me! Come here.” He beckons as he walks over to you. Donghyuck meets you halfway to stand face to face with you. “I cannot wait until you say the words ‘I do’ and I become yours.”

You’re blushing furiously but you don’t want to run away from the moment. Taking a leap of faith, you reach out for his hands, guiding it to rest on your waist. His hands are splayed firmly against the bodice of the gown, pressing into your body as a constant reminder that you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t know what to say.” Your voice is quiet as you confess to him.

Donghyuck shakes his head gently, leaning downwards to be closer to your face. “Just say ‘I do’ when the time comes.” And in that moment, you felt the final crack in your chest, the once impenetrable walls that had protected you, crumbled upon the promise of a loving future. You simply cannot wait.

You’re staring at your ring, letting yourself get distracted by it. Your mother is talking your ear off about wedding preparations while the rest of the table waits for Donghyuck’s arrival. You have never thought you’d be praying for his presence to offer you respite from your mother’s overwhelming chatter.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You shoot up in your seat at the sound of his voice. After a long day bent over your laptop, you needed to see a comforting face.

Donghyuck goes over to your parents first. A firm pat to his back from your dad and a tight hug from your mom. He flashes you a glimmering smile when he gets to you and you feel your face redden under his attention. You turn in your seat to greet him and Donghyuck bends to your level, leaving a peck on your cheeks in greeting. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

You know your parents are watching but you still try to keep your voice low enough for Donghyuck’s ears only. “Better now that you’re here.”

His eyes flicker to your mouth and back to your eyes. “Yeah,” Donghyuck thoughtlessly replies.

Across the table, your father coughs and Donghyuck scrambles into the empty seat beside you. You avoid his eyes and keep your head ducked, allowing your father to lead tonight’s dinner.

“I was just talking about the wedding. We’re so close to the date.” Your mother beams.

Donghyuck casts a glance over his shoulder and notices your dampened mood. He takes a small sip of water. “There’s always so much to prepare and on top of it all, Y/N is working hard on her dissertation.”

Your father smiles softly as he speaks, “That’s right. How’s it going honey?”

“I’m almost done. If my upcoming consultation with my professor goes well, I might be able to turn in my paper sooner than expected.”

“That’s great news darling,” Your mother says as you share the good news with them. She continues, “I’ve been worried that school was going to delay everything.”

Your smile dims and your eyes flicker over to Donghyuck, wishing if he could disappear. You hate moments like these with your mother as she dismisses your hard work, giving you backhanded praise as she priorities her pride over your emotions. The closer the wedding gets, the more remarks your mother makes and she’s clearly stopped holding herself back around Donghyuck. Your face grows red in embarrassment and you feel yourself go mum.

Donghyuck shifts in his seat. He gives your mother a stiff smile as he says, “I would wait however long to marry Y/N. We are to be wedded for life. A brief delay means nothing to me if it’s to ensure Y/N’s happy.”

You see the whiplash your parents experience from Donghyuck’s assurance. Your brows are raised but you choose to remain silent, happy that someone else is protecting you for once. Donghyuck’s shoulders are squared and his eyes are full of unapologetic pride. He slides a hand to grab yours from under the table, offering you silent assurance.

“Glad to know that Y/N’s your priority. Let’s make sure to keep her happy.” Your father says in a rather diplomatic manner. He casts your mother a side glance and she nods along, keeping silent. Under the concealment of the table, you squeeze Donghyuck’s hands in appreciation, all while maintaining a casual expression in front of your parents.

Your dissertation was ready to be submitted earlier than scheduled but you didn’t want to tell your parents yet. Instead, you wanted to initiate a night out with your friends.

Or at least you were trying to. Yizhou was out of the country again and Sungchan was dealing with business outside of Seoul. Your clothes had been picked out. Your preferred club already in mind. All you needed was friends to go with. You scrolled through your contacts and realised the only other person you were comfortable calling up was your fiancé.

After contemplating your options, you caved in and called Donghyuck.

“Are you busy tonight?” You asked him, keeping your voice light. After all, it was a random weekday. He is a busy business man with plans stacked in his calendar.

“Not particularly. What’s up?” Not the answer you were hoping for. You had no choice but to bite the bullet and ask him out. “I was wondering if you’d go out with me tonight. I have good news and I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate? Where?”

“The clubs.” You coughed into the phone. Donghyuck makes a sound of disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead with him, pulling out a desperate move. “Are you in or are you not?”

Donghyuck giggles and you know you have him onboard. Even when you were kids, your pleadings were persuasive enough for Donghyuck to give into you. “Should I meet you and your friends there?” He asks.

“Actually, none of my friends can make it tonight.” Your voice pitches to a loud tone as you try to play it off. “I want to go out though, so I called you.”

“Just a crazy idea that I’m throwing out here,” Donghyuck slowly says, already thinking about dragging his friends out of the comfort of their homes. “What if I invited my friends? You have never met them properly and this seems like a good time to introduce you.”

You think back to all the times you’ve had the opportunity to be in the same room as Donghyuck’s friends. Not once have they ever treated you in a friendly manner outside of the forced pleasantries that were expected of them. You can’t help but grimace. “No offence Hyuck but I think they hate me.”

“What! No!” Donghyuck says unconvincingly. You did not need to know that you had once been a topic of argument within his friend group. He rubs his temple, thinking of a solution. “Okay, Mark will be there and he is a great social lubricant.”

“Uh-huh.”

He senses the distrust in your voice and considers his options. “You trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. I think it will go well or at least improve the coldness between you guys.”

“And whose fault is that?” You ask half jokingly.

“Mine. Sorry,” he replies in a small voice.

Your wedding was inching closer and meeting his friends would be an unavoidable experience in the long run. “That’s okay. Go ahead and invite them. I’ll give them a chance as long as they’re willing to do the same.”

Donghyuck grins, already cooking up ways to convince his friends for a night out. “I’ll see you soon.”

After pleading with Mark to help him be the voice of reason, Donghyuck manages to get all of his friends to agree to meet up. Renjun even offers to contact his close friend to get a couch reserved in a popular club. He instructs one of the family drivers to fetch you and you’re the last one to arrive. Donghyuck waves you over as he stands in a circle of his own, surrounded by familiar faces. From afar, they look rather intimidating and you have half the mind to turn around and run off but you steel your nerves, forcing yourself to get the meeting over and done with.

“Hi guys.” You offer them a small wave. You’re awkwardly standing alone and fortunately, Donghyuck slides up to you to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The tension in your body slightly ebbs away. Jaemin gives you two a long stare and smiles wickedly wide. It’s slightly off-putting but you offer him a friendly smile despite your apprehension.

Mark clears his throat as he takes a step towards you. “Great to finally meet you.” Mark sticks a hand out and you firmly accept it.

A rather fashionable fellow who you recognised as Renjun comes up to you guys. He flashes you a charming smile. “Our table’s ready so let’s move inside and we can have a proper chat!”

“Table?”

“Oh, your man here has gone all out for you.” The rest of the group murmured in agreement which led you to look at Donghyuck for help. He merely shrugs, choosing to maintain indifference.

Renjun decides to pull you out of Donghyuck’s hold, guiding you to the very front of the group. “Just enjoy it. You should take his card and go crazy,” he leans in conspiratorially as he loops your arms together.

Behind you, Jeno snorts, making his presence known. You both exchange friendly smiles. “Hope you enjoy your time tonight, Y/N.”

Your group breeze through security with a flash of a smile from Renjun. It makes you wonder how well-known Donghyuck’s friends are. You have heard of the notorious wait list for this particular club which was bad enough to fizzle out your interest in coming down.

You are led to a table beside the dj booth. The expanse of the couch is much larger than expected. It could probably hold double the amount of people present at the moment. You stand by the sidelines. “Uh, are we expecting people?”

Everyone turns to look at Donghyuck who’s sporting a sheepish expression. “It was either this or we would have to stand at the tables. I’m not making you stand for the entire night.”

Your jaw dropped. Chenle hollers from where he’s seated. “Get a room, you love birds.”

With his eyes still trained on you, Donghyuck flips Chenle off. The table breaks out into snickers but you’re still hung up on the fact that Donghyuck had spent an incredible amount of money on you. “Are you mad?” He asks.

“No?” You shake your head. “I just– we could have gone elsewhere? I don’t know, I want to make your money’s worth.”

Donghyuck frowns. “You are worth every dollar I have.”

You blinked in surprise, not having expected Donghyuck to take the conversation to a personal level. You stepped forward to slip your arms around his, gently tugging him closer to you. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow,” you say before planting a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for being thoughtful.”

Donghyuck can feel his cheeks reddening and he’s glad that the lighting in the club makes it hard to see. You disappear from his side, welcoming the chaos with open arms as you approach the table. Donghyuck watches you as he silently nurses a drink in one hand. His eyes danced around your figure, the confidence radiating off you was magnetic and it felt like a treat to be in your presence. Donghyuck focused on the little things like the way your nose scrunches when the alcohol hits too strongly for your liking or the way your body folds, laughing gleefully at whatever stories his friends tell you. He barely notices the music or his friends sharing wordless looks throughout the night.

Jisung scoots down the couch to be next to Donghyuck, lightly knocking their knees together for his attention. Jisung offers his hyung a small smile before leaning in, “You should ask her to dance.”

“What?”

“You look like Jay waiting on Daisy,” Jisung giggles drunkenly, head thrown back as he leans back into the leather couch. “Just go up to her.” He says encouragingly.

At that moment, you look over your shoulders and lock eyes with Donghyuck, flashing him a shy smile. His heart stutters in his chest as he rushes to his feet to move towards you like a lovesick fool in a trance. Donghyuck downs his drink, setting it down as he passes the table before finally reaching you. You never once looked away from him. Mark’s chatter comes to a halt when he senses Donghyuck’s presence and he makes a silent escape, sensing the shift in the air.

To Donghyuck’s surprise, you beat him at making the first move. “Let’s dance!” You cheered.

You had slipped your hand into his and led him onto the dance floor. Donghyuck naturally stands close to your back but the crowd pushes him into you. While you seemed unaffected by the skin on skin contact with passing strangers, Donghyuck had a frown on his face that seemed to grow deeper whenever a stranger did a double take at you. It was as if you could feel the anger radiating from behind you. You manoeuvred your joint hands to your stomach, forcing Donghyuck to stay pressed against your back.

He barely registers the close contact that’s happening between you two when you stopped walking, seemingly satisfied with the spot you had chosen. You lean your head backwards to smile up at Donghyuck. It’s a little lopsided but still full of energy. He wants to kiss you. The moment is cut short when the music transitions to an upbeat tempo. Your back is facing Donghyuck again as you move to the beat, still holding onto his arm which leaves him no choice but to stay close to you.

The alcohol he’s consumed barely compares to the intoxicating feeling of having you in his arms, bare skin brushing against each other while fully immersed in the moment. It’s not the same feeling as when you two first danced as kids or during your birthday party. There’s an underlying current of tension that’s building between you two, one that’s growing tauter as the wedding day approaches.

Donghyuck leans forward, his mouth inches away from your ear. “You never told me what we’re celebrating tonight for?”

You suddenly spin to face him and Donghyuck tightens his hold on you. “I never told you?” He shakes his head, his lips curling upwards. Donghyuck is absolutely smitten by you. “I finished my dissertation early!”

“Y/N!” Donghyuck cheers as he embraces you. You squeezed him tightly, happy to share your achievement with someone who cared about your wellbeing. “I’m so proud of you.” He presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. You don’t know if you were meant to hear it but you nuzzle your face in his shirt for a moment longer than necessary, allowing yourself to indulge in Donghyuck’s presence.

When it’s time to end the night, Donghyuck books a ride to your apartment. You’re slumped over his shoulder, a tired smile on your face but you’re still dazzling to Donghyuck. He gently touches your cheek. “Sleep,” he commands.

Your power nap was interrupted by a melodious voice, stirring you awake. You slide your hands into his while muttering farewell to the patient driver. Donghyuck follows from behind, enjoying the way you drag him around, leading him into your apartment. He watches you kick off your shoe on your own, holding onto the wall for support. After watching you fail, he decides to close the distance by kneeling in front of you, sliding the other shoe off your feet.

Your face burns and you dart your eyes away from him. “Thanks, Hyuck.”

You set a second pair of house slippers for him, staring at him expectantly. Donghyuck toes his shoes off at record time and slides into the house slippers. You offer him a satisfied grin and reclasp your hands with his. “Stay the night.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widened. “Sure? I’ll put you to bed.”

This earns a surprised laugh from you. “I don’t need your help!”

He shakes your joint hands, whining petulantly. “Let me win. I just wanted an excuse to take care of you.” You roll your eyes but the smile on your face never fades. Donghyuck knows he has won and he childishly celebrates with a hurrah.

You lightly tug his arm. “Take me to bed then.”

You’re happy that this time, you’re sober enough to be in the moment. You get the chance to admire the attention Donghyuck holds for you. The comforting feeling of seeing Donghyuck in your space helps you relax. He’s kneeling on your bed while he has you sitting cross legged in the middle, gently wiping away the makeup from your face. Every swipe from him is full of utmost care. You have never been gentle with yourself. It makes your heart flutter from such a simple gesture.

“That’s all of it,” Donghyuck says, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

“Thanks.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re partly entranced by him but another part of you is distracted by your growing affection for him. It’s times like these you wished things were simpler between you two.

He pulls away first, giving you the chance to make your escape however you choose to linger by the entrance of your en suite bathroom. You stared at him expectantly. “Stay the night, yeah? I need to get you something clean to sleep in.”

“I’m sure I’ll make do with whatever.” He gestures to his outfit and you raise a brow, unconvinced.

“Wait here,” you instructed softly as you walked off to your guestroom.

You come back to see Donghyuck seated by the edge of your bed, his body angled towards the door as he anticipates your return. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he beams at the sight of you.

“Here.” You pass him a stack of clean clothes. He eyes it suspiciously, accepting it with a pout playing on his lips.

“This doesn’t belong to an ex boyfriend right?”

“No.” You snorted. “It belonged to Sungchan,” you offhandedly answered.

The look of surprise on Donghyuck’s face was priceless. His jaw tensed, torn between anger and shock while his eyes were openly showcasing his stirring emotions.

You laugh in his face. It was too good of an opportunity to tease him. “I’m kidding! Oh my god!” The stony expression on his face has yet to crack so you scoop his hand into yours, offering him assurance. “I swear on our lives, the shirt belongs to my dad. As for the pants, they were too big for me and I was too lazy to return them.”

Donghyuck squeezes your joint hands and the prior anger melts away. “Okay,” he mutters before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. His lips graze your skin and your body tingles from the heat. “Thank you.”

You gently pull your hand out of his hold, eager to put some space between you two. You press the clothes into his chest and spin on your heels, making a swift escape to the bathroom.

After an unnecessarily long time in the shower, you decided to bite the bullet and face Donghyuck. You thought you had steeled yourself enough but the sight of Donghyuck standing in the middle of your room has you jumping in surprise.

“Donghyuck!” You yelled, a hand pressed to your chest.

He looked equally surprised. “I’m sorry, I was just coming in to set a glass of water and painkillers.”

Your shoulders dropped and your eyes moved behind him, catching sight of your nightstand. True enough, Donghyuck had brought in a bottle of medicine and your favourite mug.

Donghyuck purses his lips, his eyes moving towards the door. “I’ll be in your guestroom if you need anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? If you need someone to hold your hair back while you’re bent over the toilet, just wake me up.” He teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward. “Get out,” you demanded but the ghost of your smile still remained.

Donghyuck holds his hands up in surrender. “Goodnight Y/N.”

You stayed rooted in your spot, offering him a small wave. “Goodnight Donghyuck.”

Silence enveloped your room and you didn’t mind it, knowing that Donghyuck was rooms away from you. You gingerly sat down by your bedside, gripping your mug as you tried to make sense of your heart. You were without a doubt, falling in love with Donghyuck all over again and you had no intention of ever stopping.

The morning of your wedding was a blur. You were first introduced to the beauty and styling team that you hired for the wedding. The day progresses quickly and the bridal room is open to visitors who file in and out like a constant stream, eager to bless you with their well wishes. A lot of small talk and hugs occurred and you could barely catch up.

Sungchan drops by to greet both you and Yizhou, the three of you enjoying a round of champagne and taking many pictures. Sungchan gives you a tight hug as he leaves.

Moments before you’re scheduled to walk down the aisle, you’re finally left alone. The silence that surrounds you weighs on your shoulders. Your eyes subconsciously drift to your ring finger, knowing that this is the last time it’ll be empty for the rest of your life. A mix of emotions cloud your mind. You reach for your bouquet when a loud knock resonates through the door, signaling that your time has arrived.

You loop your arms around your father’s as you walk to the back of the line. “Y/N,” your father softly muttered. He waits for you to look at him and you note the tears brimming around the corner of his eyes. “I hope I made the right choice. I hope he makes you happy.”

You clutch the bouquet of flowers closer to your chest. It was a bundle of sunflowers, hydrangeas and primroses, a mix comprising both of your favourite flowers. “You did.” You assured your father, confident of your answer.

The wedding march had begun and you quickly gave your father a peck on the cheek right before your veil was lifted over your face. Your cousin walks out first, joined by Jaemin. You watched from the end of the line as Yizhou accepted the arm Mark offered her. They reach the altar and finally, it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

Upon your first step, the piano notes shift into a different melody. Your eyes land on Donghyuck who has a small smile on his face. It comes as a genuine surprise to you once you register the melody of the song. Your heart thuds against your chest and you’re torn between breaking down into tears or leaping for joy. It is evident that Donghyuck hadn’t forgotten dancing with you at your birthday party all those years ago, the same song playing as you walk down the aisle towards him.

It’s a big cliche but you never stopped looking at Donghyuck. Not now, not when he’s openly staring back at you. There’s a matching secret grin that only you two understand. You can’t look away, you simply refuse to. Your father offers your hand to Donghyuck and he accepts it with so much tenderness, his fingers enveloping yours as he guides you to stand in front of him. You’re toe to toe, aligned with each other.

Time seems to move differently when you’re standing in front of Donghyuck, forced to look at him through a veil. There’s an undercurrent of want flowing not just in you, but Donghyuck as well. You try to soothe him by gently brushing your thumb against his palm.

Mark steps forward with the rings and you wet your mouth, eager not to mess up your exchange of vows.

“Do you, Lee Donghyuck, take Y/L/N Y/N as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

He looks you in the eye, certain as ever. “I do.” The ring slips onto your finger, cool to the touch which leaves goosebumps in its wake. The significance of the ring is setting in.

“And do you, Y/L/N Y/N, take Lee Donghyuck as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

You blindly reach for Donghyuck’s ring, too eager to complete the ceremony. Mark pushes the cushion into your hand and you pick up the ring. “I do,” you say as you slide the ring over Donghyuck’s ring finger. The ring sits perfectly below his knuckles. You squeeze his fingers tightly.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Donghyuck tightly squeezes your hands before releasing them. He’s already reaching for your veil when the minister says, “You may kiss the bride.”

The church roused with applause and cheers as your veil was thrown over your head. Donghyuck sneaks his hand to the back of your neck, pressing against it as he leaned forward to capture your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to your first kiss with Donghyuck. It’s a hard press to your lips. Nothing too indecent for a sacred occasion but heavier than the shy peck you had expected from him.

You pull away to rest your nose against the slope of his, unable to tame the smile on your face. No coherent thought could come out of your mouth as you gaze into Donghyuck’s eyes.

“Onto forever.” He says it loud enough for you to hear. You nodded and he moved his hand to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in before you embarked on the mad dash down the aisle. One hand looped around Donghyuck’s neck and the other tightly clutching onto your bouquet, you couldn’t have imagined a better way to leave the church as a newly wedded couple.

It’s date night with your husband.

Three weeks have passed since the wedding and life has adjusted back to normal for everyone else. Meanwhile, you and Donghyuck were still balancing the newly wedded lifestyle. He had gone back to work and you were taking time to unwind from the stressful year that had passed.

Donghyuck had made a reservation for dinner and you had agreed to meet him there. You spend the whole day sitting in your jittery feelings, wildly anticipating seeing him.

Dinner was a lovely affair. You were sitting in a fancy restaurant, situated on the rooftop of an esteemed hotel. Conversation flowed between you two, from anecdotes of Donghyuck’s day at work to recounting the cherished memories of the wedding.

The hostess politely interrupts, carrying a plate of brownies topped with ice cream. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Here’s a complimentary cake from us. Congratulations and cheers to your future.”

The two of you eyed the plate, surprised to see a message written on it. Congrats to the love birds. You cover your face with your hands and Donghyuck laughs in disbelief. “This is crazy,” you said.

“No one taught us how to maximise our marriage.”

You slowly pulled your hands away and discovered that Donghyuck had been recording you the whole time. Shit. “Hyuck!”

“What?” He asks, chuckling from behind his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god. Delete that.”

“Why? You look gorgeous.”

You frown at him but it fails to make an impact on Donghyuck. He takes one last picture of you before putting his phone away. “I wanted pictures to remember this by.” Donghyuck confesses as he takes a sip of his drink.

Your features softened and you were no longer annoyed by him. Taking a clean spoon, you cut into the brownie, scooping a big portion and lifting it to Donghyuck’s face. “Here.” You offered.

He looks from the spoon to your face, face heating up from the attention you were giving him. Donghyuck cranes his neck forward and accepts the offer, taking a bite from the spoon.

“Is it good?” You asked. Donghyuck hopes he doesn’t have any bit of chocolate smudge on his lips as he nodded wordlessly.

He hadn’t expected you to use the same spoon, licking at the remnants of chocolate before diving into the brownie to get a taste for yourself. Donghyuck grows slightly dazed, knowing how unaffected you are by the intimacy. His mouth grows dry at the thought of your lips. It has been three weeks without your kiss after all. He knows he’ll have to keep waiting for a chance to kiss you again.

You lightly nudge him out of his trance, your foot hitting him under the table. Donghyuck looks downward then at your face. You offer him a cheeky smile and he’s back with you, pushing aside any distractions.

It’s a beautiful night and the sky is clear enough to gaze at. You suggest going for a drive near the Han River. It was a refreshing experience for you. You and Donghyuck never had the chance to hang out casually, having missed each other throughout your adolescent years and your early twenties. Now, as husband and wife, you two have the chance to bask in the silence together.

You shiver slightly as the wind blows, your hair falling over your face. A jacket is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you gripped the fabric tightly. “Are you sure?”

“I have to take care of my wife.” You can’t deny that his intentions made you feel warm all over. You accepted his offer without much fight and slid your hands into his jacket, engulfed by Donghyuck’s lingering warmth. You could even smell the remnants of his cologne when you lean closer into the jacket.

Another lapse of comfortable silence passes when you felt a drop of water on the top of your head. You turn to Donghyuck with a frown. “Did you feel that?”

He sticks his hand out and you watch expectantly. Donghyuck jumps in surprise when the droplets of rain land on his palm. He laughs. “Oh shit, we have to go.”

In a matter of minutes, the sky is covered with thick clouds and the rain begins to fall steadily. The car park is a reasonable distance. All around, the trees begin swaying as you two rush to the car. You stopped in your tracks and Donghyuck slowed down to yell at you. “Hurry!”

You fumble with his jacket and create a makeshift cover, running up to him. “Get under.”

He joins you, one arm reaching for the sleeves of his jacket and the other wrapping around your shoulder to pull you close to him. The rain pours down on you two and you couldn’t help but laugh at your current predicament. Your glee was contagious and Donghyuck laughed along, melting into the sound of the downpour.

He ushered you into the passenger seat of his car before running over to the driver's side, his hair completely drenched. Donghyuck starts the engine and you blast the heater, adjusting the angle to blow towards Donghyuck.

“Aren’t you cold?” Even when his teeth are chattering and he’s visibly shaking, Donghyuck still tries to look after you. You rolled your eyes fondly. “You sacrificed your jacket for me. Just defrost a little, okay?”

You don’t miss the smile that’s tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuggles into the driver's seat, giving up his fight. When he deems himself warm enough, he begins the drive to your apartment. You keep your gaze on his profile, staring unabashedly. Donghyuck stares back several times. He can’t quite tame the feelings blossoming in his chest. He clenches the steering wheel, eager to make it back to your apartment.

Your intertwined hands keep each other warm. He follows you through your apartment and as always, he’s happy to have you pull him in whatever direction. You bring him into your room and grab two fresh sets of towels.

“Go in here. I’ll use the spare shower.” You hold the stacked towels and Donghyuck apprehensively glances at it, reluctant to separate from you. His eyes rove back at you and his eyes widen into a pleading look. You frowned. “What is it?”

“I want to stay with you.” Donghyuck shamelessly answered.

Your cheeks heat up and you push the towel to his chest, causing him to stumble backwards. “Don’t be stupid. We are both drenched and will fall sick. It is faster this way.”

His pout is still present but he finally accepts the fresh towel, your hands freed from his. The cold immediately replaces his warmth. “Go. I’ll need to find something you can fit in while waiting for your clothes to dry.” You tell him, keeping yourself away from the thoughts running through your head.

Donghyuck looks at you longingly for one last time before conceding to your instructions. You let out the breath you were holding when you heard the lock on the bathroom door, slouching against the wall to calm your nerves. After laying out the spare clothes you had stolen from your fathers closet, you quickly grabbed your own clothes and rushed to the spare shower.

Alone, surrounded by the tiled walls of your shower, you’re given some reprieve from your racing feelings. You didn’t mean to take a long shower but the stream of hot water was what you needed to unwind. By the time you returned to your room with a towel wrapped around your head, donning an oversized shirt and sweatpants, Donghyuck was already waiting for you on the edge of your bed.

You blinked at the sight. His hair was fluffy after a shower and your fathers shirt sits loosely over his frame, making Donghyuck look cuter than usual. Donghyuck has a sheepish look on his face as he obediently waits for your return.

“Come here,” you say as you walk over to your dressing table. You’re pulling out your hair dryer when Donghyuck stands beside you. You grinned at him. “Sit. I’ll dry your hair.”

Again, Donghyuck easily follows your direction as he settles down in front of the vanity. You work quietly as you dry his hair, brushing it with utmost care reminding you of your younger days, when he would let you style his hair. You gently apply some hair oil to your hands and run it through his soft strands. Standing close to him, you can smell the fragrant scent of your shampoo lingering on his hair. You inhale deeply.

Donghyuck breaks the silence as he murmurs softly, “Your turn.”

The tranquility that sits between you and him is too enjoyable to ruin so you let him have his way, inwardly pleased to have Donghyuck take care of you. He removes the towel from your head and begins working on your hair. Donghyuck is practically a magician. He expertly massages your head as he rubs your hair products into your hair. You’re content with the silence between you two as he brushes your hair before drying it.

When he’s done, Donghyuck tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear. “You’re stunning.”

You meet his eyes through the mirror and you immediately grow shy, looking away and getting up from your seat. “Thanks,” you mutter as you busy yourself with tidying up the vanity.

Thankfully, Donghyuck gives you some space as he steps back to watch you. You can feel his eyes on you even with your back turned to him. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Once you’ve kept all of your things, you are forced to face Donghyuck again. You slowly turn on your heels to face him and he is already looking at you. Donghyuck’s stare has been fixed on you the whole time and you grow nervous under his stare, the weight of it starting to unnerve you.

Donghyuck’s gaze grows deeper as he straightens his posture, looking you dead in the eye. His resolve has hardened. It was a foreboding moment in which you were powerless to stop but you still tried. “Y/N, I love–”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Stop. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.” You point at him accusingly.

His gaze falls to the distance between you two, unable to fathom how he ended up in this position when moments ago, you were inseparable. “Why? Are you scared?”

You part your mouth in disbelief. He wasn’t mocking you. Donghyuck was genuinely trying to get through you. The pressure of it all has you cracking under it. “Because I don’t know what’s going on between us anymore! You treat me with so much tenderness and affection, crossing the boundaries we have set, ever so often. My rationality flies out the window when I’m with you. I have a reason to be scared because the last time you treated me this way, you rejected me!” You exploded.

Donghyuck can see the way you’re shaking, a similar visual to the night of his birthday party. Even as the tears begin to gather in your eyes, he forces himself to stay calm for your sake. “I was a fool, Y/N. I am sorry but I get it now.”

“Are you sure you’re not just caught up in the moment?” You ask as your gaze drops to the ground. Donghyuck frowns deeply. You have become so small in the short span of your conversation. It hurts him to see you this way.

“God, no. Never.” He pleads as he steps into your space, one hand gently cupping your head, lifting your chin upwards to look you in the eye. “I love you. I have loved you forever ago and I’ll love you forevermore.”

Your vision blurs completely. “I love you,” you whispered into the hushed silence. Donghyuck slowly leans forward to bring your foreheads together. You blink away at the stray tears that pooled in your eyes. “I love you, Lee Donghyuck,” you repeated.

He nodded and closed his eyes, uncaring when your tears fell on his face. “I love you,” Donghyuck whispers as he holds you close, finally catching you as you fall apart in his palms.

Between job hunting and apartment hunting, your honeymoon couldn’t have been a better excuse to leave the world behind.

The sun shimmers in the sky. You’re leaning against cobbled streets that have been around longer than your existence, when Donghyuck comes over jogging to you. You chided lightly. “Slow down. I don’t want you to fall.”

Donghyuck almost crashes into the wall but he plays it off with a coy smile. “I love falling for you.”

You scrunched your nose, cringing at his joke. “You’re terrible.”

“Too bad. You’re married to me for life.” Donghyuck teases.

“Indeed, I am.” Your eyes flit to the ring on his finger and you smiled softly. “Hey, what took you so long?”

Donghyuck perked up. “I asked the receptionist for some help. He told me a few nights ago to visit a particular bakery. Thought we could venture out before lunchtime.”

You wrapped your arm around his, interlocking your fingers together. “Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

Savoury treats, sweet drinks and good company is all you needed and Donghyuck eagerly met your needs. The moonlight reflects on the cobbled stones of ground, a soft glow leading the way around the city. His fingers shyly brush yours after every few steps. It’s only been two months since the confession and Donghyuck has demonstrated impeccable patience with you. You knew this trip was a way to finally start returning the favour.

You timed it correctly, firmly pulling his fingers into your hold and intertwining it together. You can feel the surprise jolting through Donghyuck which elicits a giggle from you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, aiming for a relaxed tone but ultimately, you can hear his underlying worry.

“I felt like holding hands with my husband.” You lift your gaze to smile at him, “I know you like this.”

Just as you had expected, Donghyuck starts blushing. His composure doesn’t break much to his credit. He remains collected and squeezes your hand tightly. “I do. I do like this and I like you.”

“Like?” You asked, voice lilt in an attempt to push Donghyuck’s buttons.

You hear Donghyuck muttering under his breath and you laugh gleefully, knowing he has fallen straight into your trap. It’s too easy to tease Donghyuck. It’s a skill that never faded away even after all those years apart.

“I’m the luckiest girl alive. My husband likes me.” You said loudly. Some passersby give you a quizzical look as Donghyuck’s face burns with mild embarrassment.

“I don’t like you.” His face is red but his eyes are filled with determination. You’ve seen this version of Donghyuck many times under various circumstances. He’s standing his ground. Donghyuck looks at you, maintaining a steady grip on your hand.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” He declares.

You slowly reach out to gently cup his cheeks, caressing it ever so softly. Hearing him say it still makes your world spin round, giddy with joy and excitement. Standing on your toes, you inch your head upwards to give him a peck on the lip.

Donghyuck squeaks out of surprise and the kiss ends as quickly as it happens. His eyes are rounded, seemingly frozen and fixed on you. You smiled sheepishly as pink dust the apples of your cheeks. “I love you,” you said.

Donghyuck blinks and suddenly you’re being pulled into his body, stumbling over your feet as you land on his chest. You exclaimed softly and he wrapped his slender arms around your waist, grounding you.

“You can’t just do that.” His eyes are roving across your face. It’s clear that his restraint has stretched thinly. You pulled your lips into a smirk as you confidently met his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?”

Your eyes fall shut as Donghyuck presses his lips against yours, this time with more pressure than your attempt. He takes his time with you, kissing your breath away, bathed underneath the moonlight. Your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and Donghyuck groans.

The kiss breaks and you’re smiling wildly at him. “I’m yours, Hyuck. I’m not going anywhere.”

You trail your other hand up his chest, pressing it flat against his shirt to feel his heartbeat. You look at him in awe and he leans down to rub his nose against your cheekbone. Donghyuck utters, “And I’m yours. Forever and always.”

user12345: DID ITOSHI SAE & HIS LONG-TERM GIRLFRIEND BREAK UP????

itoshino1fan: OMG SAE & Y/N NO LONGER FOLLOW EACH OTHER

saeglazer101: OOOPP TROUBLE IN PARADISE??! 👀 HERE’S MY CHANCEE 😜

gossip & tea pages were already running with the narrative. fan accounts started reposting each other. tiktok edits of your “failed relationship” started flooding everyone’s feed.

and unfortunately for you, the news had travelled all the way to spain.

sae had just finished his morning run when his phone started exploding with notifications from multiple people & journalists. even shidou who he has not spoken to in weeks somehow sent him a screenshot of the news with the caption:

💬: so she finally dumped you? 💀

for a few seconds, he simply stood there with his phone in hand trying to figure out how the internet had somehow came to the conclusion that he’d been dumped. the last thing you’d sent him before he went out for his run was a picture of the lunch you made, so there was absolutely no way you’d broken up with him in the short span of three hours (and without his knowledge too).

still, when he opened instagram & saw that you really weren’t following him anymore… something in his chest dropped.

immediately, he tapped on your contact & started calling you.

the ringing echoed through the speaker until the call eventually ended on its own. no answer. his jaw tightened as he tried again.

beep

the line disconnected, so he tried again.

beep

and again.

beep

by the time the tenth call went unanswered, his text messages had already started flooding your chat.

sae ♡: answer your phone

sae ♡: ???

sae ♡: y/n

sae ♡: i’m serious

sae ♡: we need to talk

sae ♡: hello?

back in japan, however, you were peacefully asleep; completely unaware that half the internet had assumed you’ve broken up with your famous mid-fielder boyfriend, or that said boyfriend was currently having the worst few hours of his life.

—

three hours later when you finally woke up and reached for your phone, your lockscreen lit up with 30 notifications from sae.

20 unanswered texts.

10 missed calls

and approximately 100 notifications from all your social media combined of posts that you were tagged in from strangers on the internet mourning a breakup that never actually happened.

“… what the hell?” you muttered in complete disbelief as you sat upright in bed.

you immediately started calling sae back, and he answered within the first ring. “amor...” the relief in his voice hit you so fast that you nearly forgot why you’d called in the first place.

“sae?” you blinked. “what happened?”

there was a brief pause before he let out a slow exhale. “you unfollowed me.”

“… what?”

“you unfollowed me.”

“no? i was literally asleep.”

“check my profile.”

you stared at your screen before immediately going to his profile. and there it was… that mocking ‘follow back’ button staring back at you, clearly showing that you did in fact unfollow him.

“oh shit…”

“exactly what i said,” he replied flatly.

“i-i’ll fix it, okay? i’ll put up a statement on my story. hold on,” you said quickly.

immediately, you tapped onto your story and typed out a short statement— hoping it would stop the rumors before they spiraled any further.

after posting it, you let out a relieved sigh. you knew people were parasocial when it came to professional soccer players, but you certainly didn’t expect thousands of people to reach the conclusion that you’d broken up over one misplaced tap of your thumb.

“… there.” you murmured, staring at the freshly uploaded story. “crisis averted.”

“mhm.”

his response was immediate, but something about the way he said it made you anxious.

you frowned.

“a-are you still mad?” you asked, fiddling with the corner of your pillowcase.

there was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “i’m not mad.”

“sae.”

“… what?”

“that doesn’t sound very convincing.”

another pause.

then you heard him exhale quietly. “i said i’m not mad, amor.”

“… promise?”

this time, the sigh that left him sounded almost resigned. “yes amor,” he replied, the edge in his voice finally softening.

“i promise.”

only then did some of the tension leave your shoulders. you sank back against your pillows, finally relaxing. “… okay,” you murmured. “that’s good to know.”

somehow the call grew quiet again, but this time it felt comfortable rather than tense. neither of you seemed particularly eager to hang up.

“… i-i miss you, sae.” you finally broke the silence.

for a second, all you could hear was the faint sound of movement from his side of the call before he spoke again, his voice noticeably softer this time. “i miss you too, amor.”

the two of you stayed on the phone for another hour before his schedule eventually caught up with him. he listened to you ramble about your day while simultaneously packing his training bag, occasionally responding with a quiet hum to let you know he was still listening. eventually, you ended up curled beneath your blankets with the call still connected, smiling whenever his voice drifted through the speaker.

. . .

the distance between spain and japan still felt unfair.

but somehow, it was hard to dwell on the miles between you when he still felt so present in your everyday life.

⨳ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: finally a bllk post. not proofread

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I want to date him, he’s cute,” you shrug. After a few seconds of silence, you peek over at him. His eyes were narrowed, and his brows furrowed. Earlier, when you were catching up, you mentioned you were going on a date with a producer from the company that serializes your manga, and you even showed him a picture of the guy who you thought looked cute. The guy asked you out after seeing you in the office when you visited last, and he was kind of your type, so why not? You couldn’t think of any reasons why you shouldn’t go on a date with him, but Atsumu seemed like he had plenty.

“That’s what you said about your ex—I forgot his name already,” Atsumu lolls his head, “And where is he now?” he gives you a pointed look.

You purse your lips. That one kinda stung. Yes, your single-ness is very apparent. “‘Tsum,” was the only thing you said. The way you said his name was laced with unintentional hurt.

Atsumu’s face softens, “I’m sorry, sweets.” That damned nickname, you hated how your insides turned. It was probably because you hadn’t heard him call you that for a while. “Not sorry about calling his face bullshit though. You can do better. Said that about the last one too, you know.”

Oh, you know. Atsumu never got along with any of the guys you dated. As few and far between as that happens.

“Sorry not everyone has a face with a net worth of over five billion yen,” you deadpan. You were over your ex-boyfriend, clearly, but you weren’t going to deny that your close friendship with Atsumu contributed to your past relationship not working out. That’s why you and Atsumu were catching up now, since you kept your distance from him for months to please your ex. Well, you do it every time you get into a serious relationship. Atsumu was always a point of insecurity for your ex-boyfriends, even though you reassured them that your relationship with Atsumu was strictly platonic.

You blame it on Atsumu’s untrustworthy face. Okay, and his fame. So there are cons of being associated with the drummer of a world-famous band, who models and does a lot of brand endorsements. Shockingly.

“You know you just indirectly complimented me, right?” Atsumu smirks, elbow perched on the edge of the couch.

Ugh. You did.

“Shut up, ‘Tsum. Don’t make me regret spending my rare free time with you. You want us to fight right now? I’ll kick you out,” you say. Completely disregarding the manga you were trying to read now. The plot wasn’t registering in your brain anyway.

“Still as hotheaded as ever.” Atsumu raises both brows at you.

“Still a big fat jerk as ever.” Your eyes slit.

“Just the way you like it, sweets.” A ghost of a smile on his lips. You felt your blood pressure rising. Only Atsumu could tick you off like this.

You puff your cheeks. What did your friend, Fumika, say about regulating your emotions? Breathing exercises. Count from one to twenty.

One… Two… Three…

“We’re too old to be arguing like we’re still teens.” Your shoulders slump. There you go.

Atsumu scoots over, closer to you, until your shoulders are touching. “I kinda missed arguing with you, sweets,” he says as he relaxes on your side. You let him lean his body weight on you.

“Hm,” you just hum in acknowledgement. You force yourself to relax. You were used to this, you and Atsumu have always been comfortable with each other. A little physical touch isn’t going to kill you. You reach for your manga again and start looking for the page you left off.

“Hey,” Atsumu calls for your attention. Shifting in his position so he could lower your manga. Your eyes lock, so you were left to stare into his warm brown eyes. Yeah, these were the eyes that scam people. “I’m just looking out for you, okay.”

You breathe in, “I know.” You relent and give him a small smile, “I kinda missed your annoying ass too,” you push two fingers on his forehead jokingly.

“My ass is also worth over five billion yen, by the way.” Atsumu gives you a full-blown smile, and you reward him with a laugh.

Unfortunately, Atsumu became one of the few people you treasured. You never would have guessed that would happen when you first met him.

Let’s go back in time for a bit.

It was your second year at Inarizaki, and you wanted to spice up your life so it wouldn’t revolve solely around your sketch pad and Procreate. Your friends had been concerned that you would graduate from high school without even experiencing a crush on a schoolmate. You kept brushing them off for that past year because you were content with fawning over fictional characters rather than real people. Until one of your friends, Momoho—who liked discovering underground bands—pulled you into watching a performance at the cultural festival by a rookie band called Ikarus or something, you couldn’t exactly remember, but half of the members of the band went to Inarizaki, which was how they were allowed to play in the first place.

That was when your gaze landed on Suna Rintarou, charismatically playing the electric guitar up on the stage, and for the first time, you thought you had developed a crush. Momoho caught you staring and gleefully told you his name. Luckily, he was one of the said band members who went to Inarizaki, apparently from Class 2-1. You noticed him more, shocker, you genuinely couldn’t be bothered by others then. Yet, you noticed him, from across the hallway, the cafeteria, or the field when you had PE class, when his class luckily had the same time slot as yours.

You were glad to have some inspiration. Some days, you find yourself sketching him from afar, which you admit is kind of creepy since he didn’t know you, but it wasn’t like he would ever find out. You had zero plans of ever taking this infatuation further than what it is—infatuation.

“Volleyball is starting,” your friend Momoho says, the white streaks on her cheek that mirror the paint on yours bunching up as she grins and pulls on your arm, “I heard a certain guitarist from Class 2-1 is playing,” she drags in a teasing tone.

“We’re playing against them?” You hadn’t checked the schedule of the games for the sports festival. 

“Nah, they’re playing against Class 2-2. We lost to 2-2 earlier. Stop camping in the classroom,” she scolds you, shaking her head. Momoho pulls harder on your arm, “The twins are playing on opposite teams, so it’ll be fun to see them compete against each other.”

You relent and stand, tucking your tablet (which you were watching a show on) inside your bag, “The twins?”

“Y’know, the Miya twins, Atsumu from 2-2 and Osamu from 2-1, you-know-who’s class,” Momoho says like you were already supposed to know. The name was familiar, something you’ve heard before, probably, but couldn’t recall well. You try your hardest to remember, maybe an offhand mention from Momoho and your other friends before.

“Atsumu is Suna’s bandmate,” Momoho urges again. You shush her because she mentioned the name of your silly little crush. You look around the room to your other classmates who didn’t want to wander around, only two others aside from you.

Once you’ve recovered from your alertness, you turn back to her, “I don’t remember,” you say sheepishly.

“Ah, whatever, they’re just known around ‘cause they’re athletic and attractive. So let’s go! Fumika’s there already,” Momoho successfully pulls you along her stride.

You let yourself get dragged along. You scolded Momoho a few times for rushing down the staircase, but soon enough, you guys arrived at the main gym. It was crowded since for the sports festival, the gym floor was divided into sections, with volleyball games in the middle, basketball to the right, and badminton to the left.

There were classes surrounding the games, each shouting their cheers and wearing their custom class shirts like the ones you were wearing now. You and Momoho scuffle through the crowd watching the volleyball game to find your friend, Fumika, and other classmates.

You waved at your friends once you saw them, sitting on the hardwood floor. Their attention was captured by the game in front, so after greeting each other, they were once more cheering alongside the other people watching. You take a good look at the game yourself, and your eyes are immediately drawn to Suna Rintarou. 

But wait, “Who are you guys cheering for?” you ask Fumika.

“The Miyas,” Fumika squeals when a familiar-looking grey-haired guy serves. That doesn’t make sense. Weren’t the twins on separate teams? How were they cheering them both on?

You tilt your head in confusion. You look at Momoho, and she takes your confusion as a sign to point out the said players (though that wasn’t exactly what you were confused about), “That’s them,” she points at the guy with dyed gray hair who just served on the side you were sitting on and on the other end of the court, a similar-looking guy with blonde hair. Instant recognition flashed before you. You remembered their faces but didn’t know their names. They hung out with Suna a lot.

You just nodded along, but you were also enraptured by the game, more so Suna, who skillfully played the game. You didn’t know a lot about volleyball, but you did know he looked good playing it. Hot and good reflexes? Practically your dream guy.

A whistle blows, and you watch from across as one of the Miya twins—you don’t know which one—is about to serve. It’s the blonde one. Was his name Osamu? Or Asamu? Whatever, it didn’t matter. Your eyes flit in front of you, where the grey-haired twin was in a receiving position (from what you know of). Your eyes gaze back at the blonde one. You watch as the guy tosses the ball and then hits it. Hard. Your eyes follow the ball. The grey-haired twin was in the perfect position to receive it, but no—it slid off.

Your eyes widen. It was coming at you.

You hear your friends squeal.

Then— smack.

A ball landed on your cheekbone. Pretty hard, you’d like to add.

Ouch.

“That girl got hit on the face!” An unfamiliar voice called out, likely another spectator.

Yeah, you noticed.

“Oh my god, you got hit on the face!” You hear Momoho exclaim from your side. Fumika and the others were also fussing and looming over you. Oh God, you hoped they didn’t stop the game for this. You hated getting unnecessary attention.

“Atsumu why’d you hit so hard?!” You hear a shout clearly, even though it’s loud in the gymnasium. Or was that the ringing in your head?

“Why do you suck at receiving?!” Another voice replied.

You think you were feeling lightheaded, your head hung low. Who would smack a ball that hard at a sports fest? Someone with monster strength? No one needs to be that competitive during a sports fest. There was still a slight ringing in your ear. You raised your arm to massage your face to ease the pain. It was not working.

“Sorry ‘bout that. You good?” Someone was standing in front of you. Someone male. You didn’t know who. Only their shoes were in your field of vision.

You were in the process of nodding—you think. When something drips onto your lap. Blood. Your nose was bleeding.

“Oh my god, your nose is bleeding!” Momoho exclaims from your side again. You loved your friend, you do, but the exclamation entered in your ear and is bouncing off the walls of your brain, aka it hurt.

You look up at her, “I’m fine.” You don’t think you look convincing right now, with blood running down your nose.

“Oh shit.” The person in front of you exclaimed. That was when you finally looked at the guy. You blink. It was one of the Miya twins, the blonde one.

“Are you alright?” A teacher stepped in. “Oh dear,” he said when he saw you. He fumbled with his pockets and handed you a handkerchief that you took with gratitude. You press the cloth to your face.

“I’m alright,” you try to say. Then, finally attempting to stand up, from your side, Momoho supports you. “I’ll just go to the infirmary.” Acting too casual about this.

“I can come with you,” Momoho volunteers, but then the teacher speaks over her.

“Miya, take Miss—sorry, what’s your name, dear?” The teacher turned his attention to you. 

You say your name, distractedly, focusing all too hard on not looking around you. This was so embarrassing. You look at the blonde Miya, who was sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

“Take her to the clinic, Miya,” the teacher says to the blonde, scratching his head. He was probably the blonde Miya’s class advisor.

The blonde Miya looks back at the game regrettably. You don’t think he wants to leave, but they were already starting up again without him. He sighs, then looks at you, “Okay.”

You feel your eye twitch. Was it just you being overtly sensitive right now, or was that kind of rude? You look at Momoho, who has her eyes wide, looking curiously at the blonde and then back at you. You did not want to know what was going through her head.

With nothing to say, you just bow to the teacher, then tell your friends you’ll see them later. You still have the now-damp cloth clutched to your face. You turn on your heels and start walking towards the exit. You need a change of clothes too. Some blood dripped onto your shorts.

“Hey. Sorry for that again.” A male says beside you. You almost jump, forgetting that the blonde Miya was following you.

“It’s alright,” you nod. Then try to walk faster, he still kept up to pace with you. He was Suna’s friend, but you knew nothing about him, and your social skills were trash. This was killing you. The Miya dude wasn’t keen on making conversation either. Complete silence it is.

“You can go back to your game,” you say, halfway through your trek to the clinic. This wasn’t such a bad situation to be in. Air conditioning and a nice bed would greet you. Yeah, beats watching people smack a ball.

“Really?” the Miya guy says, not against the idea.

Your eye twitches again. You don’t like this guy, you think. His vibes were off. You nod, taking one last look at him. You hoped your annoyance wasn’t obvious. It’s not like he had any obligation to you. It was just an accident.

“Okay, see ya,” he gives a sleazy smile, stopping in his tracks, and waving before running back.

You stop and look in his direction. You don’t know what to make of him. That was definitely rude.

“And he just left you?” Momoho whisper-shouts when you tell her about what happened a week later during lunch break. You were lining up for food in the cafeteria when she asked about what happened last week when you went to the infirmary, since you just went home early after you got cleared and sent a quick message in your group chat saying you were all good.

You shrug, “He didn’t really have to come with me anyway. I was fine on my own—I want that, please,” you say while pointing at the cafeteria lady to the soup you wanted.

“Still, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to stick with you until you get to the clinic, at least. What if you passed out? This knocks down Atsumu’s attractive points, tsk,” Momoho scowls.

That was one more thing, you finally learned his name. Not Osamu or Asumu. Atsumu. Osamu was the grey-haired one.

You shrug then pulled out your wallet to pay for your food, “No harm done.” You thank the cafeteria lady when she hands you your food.

“Would you be able to tolerate him once you date you-know-who?” Momoho wiggles her brows at you before paying for her own meal.

“I’m not going to date anyone,” you glare at her for the obvious teasing.

You turn around, holding your tray, and collide with another person. “Ah!” you exclaim, trying to save your soup, but it was too late. Half of the soup soaked into the shirt of the person you collided with. Why were you such a social disaster? “I’m so sorry–”

“Ah, shit,” your victim had reached to touch the now-wet patch of his uniform.

You looked up and were met with the familiar warm brown hues. Just your luck, it was Miya Atsumu.

“Just your lucky day, dude,” the guy beside him laughed. You turn your gaze and realize late that it was Suna Rintarou of all people. This was the closest you’ve ever been to him. Of course, it would be when you were least prepared (not like you were preparing to approach him or what, but still).

You turn your gaze back to Atsumu, who had his eyes squinted in annoyance at you, “Watch out next time, would you?” He didn’t seem to recognized you.

“Sorry,” you said meekly. In situations like these, it would be better to back down quietly and move on.

“Hey, you look familiar,” a new voice says, pointing at you. It was Osamu. Oh dear. “You’re the nosebleed girl!” Osamu laughed, then stopped himself, “Wait, sorry that wasn’t funny. I’m laughing at Atsumu. This is totally his karma, thanks.”

You purse your lips at the reminder. 

“Ah,” Atsumu squints his eyes at you, for a different reason now, trying to remember you.

“Sorry again,” you bow your head and kick Momoho’s leg lightly as a silent way to tell her you guys should go. She was just quietly gawking at the situation. You think it’s best to look ahead and get as far away as you can.

Once you guys got far enough and found a table of your own, Momoho looks over your shoulder as she says, “Is it just me or Miya Atsumu looked back at you?”

“No. You’re seeing things,” you settle down in your seat.

Your encounters with Miya Atsumu for the next weeks kept happening—well, you wouldn’t exactly call it “encounters” since it was just seconds of your day that he happened to be present in and lock eyes with you. Oddly. You keep bumping into him on the staircase. Once, even crossed paths while trying to buy boxed juice in the vending machine. Even in the teacher’s lounge, when you submitted your classmates’ coursework for English Communication II as the beadle for the said subject, Atsumu was in the middle of talking to your teacher.

You don’t know what to think of it. You don’t even know if Atsumu notices that this kept happening.

You shake your head. Must just be a coincidence, your mind’s just making you lean more into it, which was why it seems so prominent in your point of view. Yeah, that makes more sense.

You were sitting outside your classroom, sitting on the bench. You were feeling stuffy inside, and you didn’t want to go to the cafeteria for lunch break, so you decided to just stay and draw.

Loud chatter was heard from the staircase. Your eyes widened when you saw it was Suna Rintarou’s group, including Miya Atsumu. You were reminded of your unfinished drawing of Suna in your sketchbook, so you turn to the page you left off. Maybe this was the chance for you to finish it while you were here. Ah, you couldn’t see him properly from your sitting position, though. You stand and lean on one of the walls. Now you had the perfect view of him, but you still had to be subtle.

The first few minutes were fine, quite calming actually, and then you heard fighting from the staircase, so you looked over to see that the Miya Twins were having an argument. You couldn’t hear them clearly, but it was about…feet sizes? That could only explain why they were missing one of their shoes. Suna had his phone out and filmed as Osamu took Atsumu’s shoe off the floor and threw it across the hallway. You watch as the said shoe lands near you. 

Atsumu cursed Osamu and ran after his shoe. He was stumbling across the way, and you weren’t prepared as his shoulders bumped into you. The impact made you drop your sketch book—just as Atsumu bends down to pick up his shoe.

Your eyes widen as you kneel to get your sketch book, blatantly displaying your drawing of Suna, but Atsumu’s eyes were faster.

He looks at the drawing well. The image of his friend is clear and well-drawn. Then at you. “Hey, isn’t this S—” you panic and cover his mouth with your hand and shake your head furiously, eyes wide with warning.

Once you were sure he wasn’t going to continue his sentence, you let go of him and quickly picked up and closed your sketch book.

“So you have emotions after all.” Atsumu still hadn’t left.

“Excuse me?” You stand up and look at the blonde with your brows raised. “Your face is usually always like this,” Atsumu imitates your supposed usual expression, akin to the stoic emoji, “When I see you.”

Your brows furrow. Acknowledgement of the fact that he recognises you aside, this was strangely ticking you off.

“Hey—Uh, I actually forgot your name.” Atsumu continues to talk.

“Me too. Who are you again?” you pretend not to remember his name.

“Atsumu, how about you?” he just grins. Finding the situation amusing. You don’t think he believes you don’t know his name. “You’ve spilt soup on my shirt, and I’ve made your nose bleed, I think I deserve to know your name.”

You tell him your name, finding no reason not to, “Can you, uh, not mention that?”

“What?” Atsumu says, “That you spilt soup on my shirt or your crush on Su—”

Your eyes widen again, and you slap a hand to his face, “Stop!” You glance to the side, where his friends were, and there, they were already staring at you two. You don’t think they can hear your conversation from here, but still.

Atsumu grabs your wrist to take your hand off his mouth, then proceeds to say the most baffling words ever, “And here I thought you liked me.”

“Excuse me?” You look at him with offence.

“You kept looking at me whenever we’re at the same area.” Atsumu points to himself while putting on his shoe. “No, I do not.” You cross your arms, hugging your sketch book close to you.

“I’m pretty sure you did.” Atsumu self-assuredly looked down at you. “I was looking beside you.” You cock your head to the side, to his friends’ direction.

“I know that now. But really? You have bad taste.” Atsumu takes a quick once-over at his friends who were looking at him. He only put out a hand, signaling to wait on him. His previous annoyance with Osamu dissipated.

“And liking you would mean I have exquisite taste?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Sure.” He gives you an infuriating grin.

“We don’t know each other. Let’s not.” You sigh.

“I know your name. You know mine. Seems like we know each other.” You think Atsumu was just being a menace on purpose. “Your friends are waiting.” Please leave me alone. You were already very embarrassed.

“Hm. I’ll go then,” Atsumu flashed you one last teasing grin like you two shared a secret. Oh, you hoped with every fibre of your being that he would keep your crush on Suna a secret. You hope he would forget about you entirely.

Yet, since then, Miya Atsumu has never forgotten you again. But you didn’t know that.

You managed to survive the rest of your second year without any big alterations to your routine, and most importantly, no revealing of your embarrassing crush on Suna Rintarou. There was only one weird thing. Miya Atsumu kept waving at you whenever you saw each other. It shouldn’t be weird. It was normal human interaction. But even Momoho noticed it and asked when you got “friendly” with Miya Atsumu, which you answered with the truth—never.

In your third year and final semester in Inarizaki, you were faced with a responsibility, to Miya Atsumu of all people. 

You were still the beadle for your English Communication class in your third year, so while you were dropping off your class work, your teacher stopped you.

“Here’s who I was talking about. She’s great in this subject. Dear, would you mind helping someone review for the college entrance exams?” she said. Your eyes lock with Miya Atsumu, standing in front of the teacher, who gives you a raised brow. “This is Miya Atsumu.”

“We know each other,” you say. Placing the papers you brought on her desk.

The teacher’s eyes brightened, clapping as she said, “Really? That’s great then! Would you mind sparing some time helping him review?”

“I…” you were about to say no. You were. And then you meet eyes with Atsumu again.

“She would love to!” Atsumu answers for you, looking at you expectantly. The teacher looked at him weirdly, then back to you for confirmation. You only sighed and nodded.

Thus began your weekly study sessions with Miya Atsumu. You had no idea why your life kept trying to tangle with Miya Atsumu, and you have no idea why you keep letting it happen. To be completely fair to him, he actually listened to you when you were teaching, but whenever you guys had breaks, he would drift off topic.

“Can you draw me?” Atsumu strikes a pose. Head tucked in the crevice of his palm, his elbow leaned on the table. His dyed blonde hair fell over his eyes, and you were itching to pull it aside for him. How was he not bothered by something blocking his field of vision? It was none of your business, though.

“Top five things I hear the most.” You roll your eyes playfully. He was a sight to see. You can acknowledge someone’s attractiveness without being attracted to him. As you and other people around you have observed, Miya Atsumu’s face was an asset.

“Top one must be how grumpy you are,” he exasperatedly raises his free hand to poke your cheek repeatedly.

You catch his hand and pull it away from your face, placing it firmly on the table with a light slap. “Wrong. Top one is how talented I am, actually.”

“You drew Suna, and you don’t even know him.” Atsumu breaks his previous pose to stretch, letting out a yawn. You look behind him, out the window, the sun was setting, it was late afternoon. You guys still had material to review.

You reply unconsciously, “That’s because he has a pretty face—don’t tell him I said that, please.” You don’t think you even have a crush on that guy anymore. You don’t know, it just faded. You didn’t really know him enough for it to last.

“I’m prettier than him, though.” Atsumu jokingly bats his lashes at you.

You stifle a laugh, “Says who?”

“Says me. I just said it.” Atsumu gives you a ‘duh’ look.

“Invalid.” You shake your head, and you reach out a hand to grab a pencil.

“Draw me with your talented hands, would ya?” He grasps your hand, making you drop your pencil. That’s when you actually freeze. He realizes his mistake but smoothly lets go of your hand to run it through his hair. “Anyways, thanks for teaching me again.”

You shake it off, too. “It’s no problem,” you start collecting your used papers to place them on the side. You open your bag to place the stack in it.

“Oh, what’s this?” Atsumu points out the chocolates peeking from the pocket of your bag. It was chocolate cubes Momoho gave you and said to give them to someone on Valentine's Day, trying to push you to get yourself out there.

“Ah, just chocolates. My friend said I should give it to a boy because Valentine’s Day is coming up.” You pull them out, maybe Atsumu pointed it out because he was hungry. You guys have been studying for two hours non-stop.

“Will you?” Atsumu asks. Looking at the bag of chocolates you put on the desk like it was an interesting specimen. “Will I what?” You pick up your pencil again and grab your custom-made syllabus. You were putting a lot of effort into this. But at least tutoring him helped you study for the exams too. “Give it to a boy?” Atsumu continues to ask.

You immediately shake your head, “No. You can have some if you want.” You think he was trying to gauge if he can open it or not. But why else would you pull it out of your bag if you weren’t intending to give him some? Atsumu opens the bag, reaches for one of the chocolate cubes and takes a bite, “Too sweet.” He says but proceeds to eat the rest of it after.