Bunny

By late afternoon, snow had swallowed the neighborhood whole, burying driveways, fences, and rooftops beneath layers of white. The Christmas lights strung across every house glowed softly through the storm, blurred by the curtain of falling snow.

You stood by the living room window with a mug of tea in your hands, watching the wind toss snowflakes against the glass. The weather forecast had promised snowfall. It had not promised this.

“Hana,” you called.

Your daughter sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper scraps and colored pencils. She was decorating a paper crown she’d insisted was necessary for Christmas morning.

“Mm?”

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere tomorrow.”

Hana gasped dramatically.

“What about Santa?”

“I think Santa knows how to drive in snow.”

That seemed to satisfy her. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Both of you turned toward the front door. Through the frosted glass, you could barely make out a tall figure standing on the porch. Before you could even reach the handle, Hana was already sprinting.

“Mr. Namjoon!”

The door swung open. A blast of freezing air rushed inside. Kim Namjoon stood on the porch covered in snow. Snow clung to his dark coat, his scarf, and even his hair. His cheeks were red from the cold. In one hand he carried several gift bags. In the other was a large box wrapped in Christmas paper.

“You’re insane,” you immediately said.

Namjoon laughed.

“I only walked across the street.”

“You walked across the street in a blizzard.”

“It was less dramatic ten minutes ago.”

You stepped aside.

“Get inside before you freeze.”

The moment he entered, Hana attached herself to his leg like a koala.

“Did you bring presents?”

“Hana.”

“What?” she asked innocently.

Namjoon grinned.

“I might have.”

Her scream could probably be heard three houses away. You shook your head while helping him remove his coat. The warmth of the house immediately softened the tension in his shoulders. Outside, the storm continued to worsen. Inside, everything felt warm.

A few hours later, the weather had become significantly worse.

Roads were officially closed. Visibility was almost nonexistent. Even the streetlights across the neighborhood had disappeared behind thick curtains of snow. Namjoon stood by the window staring outside.

“I don’t think I’m making it home tonight.”

You joined him. His house sat directly across the street. Normally it was a thirty-second walk. Now you could barely see it.

“I don’t think you’re making it across the driveway.”

“I think you’re right.”

Hana looked delighted by this development.

“You can stay here!”

“Hana.”

“What? It’s Christmas Eve.”

Namjoon laughed.

“Your daughter makes a compelling argument.”

You rolled your eyes. Neither of them looked remotely upset by the situation.

Soon the kitchen became the heart of the evening. Christmas music played softly from a speaker. The scent of garlic, butter, and roasted vegetables filled the air. You moved around the kitchen preparing dinner while Namjoon attempted to help. Attempted being the important word.

“No.”

Namjoon looked offended.

“What do you mean no?”

“You are not cutting vegetables.”

“I am a fully grown adult.”

“You just held that knife backwards.”

You took the knife away.

“For the safety of everyone involved, you can stir.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re demoting me.”

“I’m protecting dinner.”

The evening passed with surprising ease.

Namjoon washed dishes poorly. You fixed his mistakes. Hana stole cookie dough whenever she thought nobody was looking. Namjoon pretended not to notice. You pretended not to notice him pretending not to notice.

By the time dinner was ready, the dining table looked fuller than it had in years. The realization caught you off guard.

Three plates. Three glasses. Three people talking over one another. Three people laughing. For a moment, it felt painfully familiar, and somehow entirely new.

Dinner stretched late into the evening. Stories were shared. Christmas memories exchanged. Hana spent most of the meal making outrageous guesses about Santa’s age. Namjoon argued he was at least five hundred years old. Hana insisted he was immortal. Neither seemed willing to compromise.

Eventually exhaustion began winning. Halfway through a Christmas movie, Hana’s voice grew quieter, then disappeared completely.

You looked over. She was asleep against a pile of blankets on the couch. One tiny hand still clutching a candy cane. Your smile softened immediately.

Namjoon glanced over too. For several moments neither of you spoke. Children always looked impossibly small when they slept.

“I’ll carry her upstairs,” you whispered.

Namjoon stood.

“I’ll help.”

Together you approached the couch.

The moment you tried lifting her, Hana frowned.

“No.”

Both of you froze. Her eyes remained closed.

“Hana?”

“No room.”

You exchanged confused looks.

“Hana, sweetheart.”

“No.”

Her grip tightened around the blanket.

“Couch.”

Namjoon looked like he was trying not to laugh.

You sighed.

“I think we’ve lost.”

Namjoon nodded solemnly.

“We have.”

So you covered her with another blanket. Left a nightlight glowing nearby. And allowed her to remain exactly where she wanted.

The house eventually settled into quiet. The movie ended. The Christmas music became softer. Outside, snow continued falling endlessly. Inside, you and Namjoon sat near the kitchen island with fresh cups of coffee warming your hands.

The silence felt comfortable. Neither rushed to fill it. Snow reflected against the windows, bathing the room in pale light. After several moments, Namjoon spoke.

“My father died two years ago.”

The words arrived softly. You looked up. Namjoon stared into his coffee. A faint smile touched his mouth, but sadness lingered behind it.

“He loved Christmas.”

His thumb traced the rim of the mug.

“Every year he’d make the same terrible jokes. Every year my mother laughed like she’d never heard them before.”

You smiled. Namjoon smiled too, for a second. Then it disappeared.

“When he died, I stopped writing.”

You knew how much writing meant to him. It was more than a job. It was part of who he was.

“I thought it would pass.”

His voice remained calm.

“But weeks became months.”

He looked toward the window.

“Then years.”

The storm outside continued howling.

“I lived in Seoul most of my adult life. Apartments. Book tours. Deadlines. Meetings.”

A small laugh escaped him.

“I kept telling myself inspiration would come back.”

“Did it?”

“Not really.”

His gaze lowered.

“So eight months ago I came here.”

“Here?”

“My mother’s house.”

Understanding settled. The house across the street. His childhood home.

“I grew up in this neighborhood.”

The confession surprised you.

“I spent every Christmas here. Even after moving to the city.”

A small smile returned.

“This place always felt like home.”

He looked around your kitchen. Then toward the sleeping shape of Hana on the couch. Then back to his coffee.

“I thought maybe if I came back, I’d remember who I was before everything became complicated.”

The honesty in his voice settled heavily between you. You understood that feeling, more than he knew.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug.

“When my husband died…”

The words came slowly, carefully. You rarely spoke them aloud.

“I hated how the world kept moving.”

Namjoon looked at you. You stared down at the steam rising from your coffee.

“People still went to work.”

You laughed softly.

“Children still went to school.”

Your smile trembled.

“The sun still came up every morning.”

The memory felt distant and fresh at the same time.

“I remember feeling angry about that.”

Your eyes burned.

“I thought everything should stop.”

Namjoon didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to fix it. He simply listened.

“The worst part wasn’t losing him.”

Your voice became quieter.

“It was waking up and realizing I still had to live afterward.”

After a long moment, Namjoon nodded.

“I know.”

Just two words. Yet somehow they carried years of understanding.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comforting. Like finally finding someone who spoke the same language.

A sudden sleepy mumble drifted from the couch. Both of you turned. Hana shifted beneath her blanket. Still asleep, still dreaming. Then she spoke again.

“Mom…”

You smiled.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Her eyes remained closed. Her voice barely audible.

“My wish…”

You exchanged a glance with Namjoon. Hana continued mumbling.

“The lantern…”

Your heartbeat slowed. The Christmas lantern event. The wishes everyone had written.

“I wish…”

A sleepy smile appeared on her face.

“I wish Mom and Namjoon become a family.”

The room went completely still. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Hana sighed contentedly. Still asleep. Still dreaming.

“And I think Daddy would like him too…”

The silence lingered long after Hana’s sleepy confession faded into the room.

Outside, the storm continued its relentless dance against the windows, but inside, everything felt strangely still.

You stared at the sleeping form curled beneath the blankets. Namjoon stared into his coffee. Neither of you seemed to know where to place your eyes, or your thoughts. Children had a way of saying things adults spent months avoiding, maybe years.

Hana had simply spoken her heart. No hesitation. No fear. No overthinking. Just honesty. A dangerous kind of honesty. You cleared your throat softly.

“I should probably stop letting her watch so many Christmas movies.”

Namjoon laughed quietly. The tension eased slightly.

“A little late for that.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“She’s always been like this.”

“Hmm?”

“She says whatever she’s thinking.”

A fond look crossed your face as you watched your daughter sleep.

“When she was four, she told a cashier that I cried during a dog food commercial.”

Namjoon immediately laughed.

“A dog food commercial?”

“It was emotional.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It was about a lost puppy.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly.”

His smile widened.

“That’s a completely reasonable reaction.”

“Thank you.”

“I would’ve cried too.”

You both laughed. The heaviness in the room softened. Just settled somewhere quieter. Like snow finally finding the ground.

After a while, your conversation drifted naturally. To childhood Christmases. To embarrassing memories. To favorite traditions.

Namjoon told you stories about growing up in the neighborhood. About sledding down hills that looked much smaller now than they had when he was ten. About building snow forts with his friends. About his father waking everyone before sunrise on Christmas morning because he was somehow more excited than the children.

“He’d make coffee at five in the morning.”

You laughed.

“Who drinks coffee at five in the morning on Christmas?”

“My father.”

His smile grew softer.

“He’d sit by the tree waiting for everyone to wake up.”

The memory seemed to settle gently across his face.

“He loved giving gifts.”

You smiled.

“Hana would’ve adored him.”

Namjoon looked toward the couch.

“I think he would’ve adored her too.”

The simple statement warmed something inside your chest.

Hours seemed to disappear. The coffee became tea. The tea became hot chocolate. The storm slowly weakened. And for the first time in a very long time, Christmas Eve didn’t feel lonely.

Sometime after midnight, you noticed Namjoon glance toward the window.

The snowfall had become lighter. The wind had calmed. Streetlights were visible again. A small disappointment settled unexpectedly inside you. The storm was ending. Which meant the night was ending too.

“I think I can make it home now.”

His voice was gentle. You looked outside. He was right. The roads were still buried beneath snow, but the worst had passed.

“Oh.”

The word slipped out before you could stop it. Namjoon’s eyes met yours. Something flickered there. Something neither of you acknowledged. Neither of you seemed eager for him to leave. But eventually, nights ended.

People went home. Life continued. That was how things worked.

You stood together near the front door while he bundled himself into his coat. The house suddenly felt quieter. Colder. Even though the heater was running. Then Namjoon paused.

“Oh.”

He snapped his fingers.

“The gifts.”

He crossed the room and retrieved the bags he’d brought earlier. Hana’s name was written across one tag. Yours across another. Your stomach tightened unexpectedly.

“Namjoon—”

“It’s Christmas.”

“You didn’t have to buy us anything.”

“I know.”

He handed you Hana’s gift first. The package was wrapped in bright paper covered in tiny snowmen.

“She’s been talking about this for weeks.”

You stared.

“What is it?”

His smile widened.

“A telescope.”

Your eyes widened.

“A telescope?”

“She’s convinced she’s going to catch Santa.”

A laugh escaped you.

“Of course she is.”

“She’s been gathering evidence.”

“Evidence.”

Namjoon nodded seriously.

“Very convincing evidence.”

You shook your head.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember most things Hana says.”

The answer arrived so naturally it almost hurt. Because you knew it was true.

Then he handed you the second gift. Your name written carefully across the tag. The package was smaller. Wrapped in dark green paper.

You looked at him. He suddenly seemed nervous.

“Open it later.”

That only made you more curious.

“Now I definitely want to open it.”

He laughed.

“Trust me.”

You held the gift close.

“Thank you.”

His gaze softened.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment neither of you moved. Then realization struck.

“Oh.”

You disappeared briefly into the hallway. When you returned, you carried a rectangular package wrapped in cream-colored paper.

Namjoon frowned.

“What is that?”

“Your Christmas gift.”

His eyebrows shot upward.

“You got me something?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Of course I got you something.”

The surprise on his face was unexpectedly endearing.

“You didn’t have to.”

Namjoon accepted the gift carefully. Like it mattered more than it should.

“What is it?”

“Open it at home.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You used my own strategy against me.”

“Exactly.”

For a moment, neither of you seemed in any hurry to open the door. Snow reflected softly through the glass. Christmas lights twinkled outside. The entire neighborhood looked like something from a storybook. Namjoon’s fingers brushed the edge of the gift you’d given him.

“You know…”

His voice became quieter.

“This is the first Christmas in years that felt…”

He stopped. Searching. You waited. A small smile appeared.

“Nice.”

The simplicity of the word somehow made it more meaningful. You understood exactly what he meant.

You smiled.

“It was nice.”

His eyes met yours. And suddenly the space between you felt very small. Neither of you looked away. Something warm settled in your chest.

From the living room, Hana suddenly snored loudly. The spell shattered instantly. You both burst out laughing.

“Well,” Namjoon said, shaking his head.

“There she is.”

You laughed.

“There she is.”

He opened the front door. Cold winter air drifted inside. Snow sparkled beneath the Christmas lights.

“Merry Christmas.”

His voice was soft. Genuine. The kind of words people only meant when they cared.

You tightened your hold on the gift he had given you.

“Merry Christmas, Namjoon.”

For a moment, he lingered, as if he wanted to say something else. Then he smiled, turned, and stepped into the snow.

You stood in the doorway watching him cross the street toward the house that had once belonged to his childhood and now somehow felt a little less lonely.

Halfway across, he turned around. You were still standing there, watching. His smile grew, so did yours. And neither of you realized that Christmas had already given both of you the thing you had been wishing for all along.

The walk home took less than a minute. The house stood directly across the street from yours, nestled beneath strings of warm white Christmas lights that had somehow survived the blizzard. Snow covered the roof and buried the front garden, transforming the entire neighborhood into something that looked lifted from the pages of an old holiday storybook.

Eight months ago, when Namjoon arrived carrying boxes instead of Christmas gifts, the house had felt very different. Back then it had been a refuge.

A place to disappear. A place to escape the growing silence inside his apartment in Seoul.

Tonight it felt like home. For the first time in a very long time.

As he climbed the front steps, he glanced over his shoulder.

Your porch light still glowed through the darkness.

He could imagine you inside. Probably cleaning the kitchen despite insisting you would do it tomorrow. Probably checking on Hana one last time before bed.Probably smiling to yourself while opening the gift he’d left behind.

The image settled somewhere deep inside his chest, and stayed there.

The front door clicked shut behind him. The familiar scent of pine greeted him immediately.

The Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, decorated with ornaments that had belonged to his family for decades. A handmade paper star from elementary school. A tiny ceramic snowman his mother bought twenty years ago. A glass ornament his father had accidentally broken and glued back together because he couldn’t bear throwing it away.

The house carried pieces of his entire life. Every room held memories. Some happy, some painful. Some impossible to separate from each other.

When his father died two years ago, returning here became difficult. Every corner reminded him of someone missing. Every Christmas felt quieter. The laughter that once filled the house seemed trapped inside old photographs.

After a while, Namjoon stopped visiting as often. Then he buried himself in work. Book tours. Deadlines. Interviews. Anything that prevented him from sitting alone with his grief.

It worked, until it didn’t. The writer’s block arrived slowly. One missed deadline, then another. Words that used to flow effortlessly suddenly refused to come.

Stories remained unfinished. Ideas vanished halfway through a sentence. Months passed. Then years. The more he fought it, the worse it became.

Eventually his mother sat across from him during dinner one evening and asked a simple question.

“When was the last time you were happy?”

He couldn’t answer. That frightened him.

Eight months ago, he packed two suitcases and moved back into his childhood home. At first he told himself it was temporary. A few weeks. A month at most. Just enough time to breathe. Just enough time to remember how to write again.

Instead, eight months later, he was still here. And somehow the neighborhood had slowly begun stitching him back together.

The neighbors who waved every morning. The bakery on the corner. The annual Christmas market. The mailbox tradition. And eventually…

You.

His eyes drifted toward the gifts resting in his hands. He placed them carefully on the coffee table before sinking into the couch.

The house was quiet. Outside, snow continued falling softly. Inside, the memories of Christmas Eve replayed themselves without permission.

You laughing while flour dusted your sweater. Hana proudly declaring herself the head chef. The way your eyes softened whenever you looked at your daughter. The conversation over coffee after the house grew quiet.

The honesty. The trust. The understanding.

Namjoon leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes. He hadn’t expected tonight to affect him this much. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected you to affect him this much.

Somewhere along the way, crossing the street had become the best part of his day. The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, it made him smile.

His gaze landed on the present you had given him. The rectangular package sat patiently on the coffee table. He reached for it. The wrapping paper came away carefully. Years of receiving books from publishers had taught him how to unwrap gifts without destroying the paper.

Beneath the wrapping sat a hardcover novel. His eyebrows immediately lifted. It was an older edition. Out of print. His fingers traced the worn cover.

Weeks ago, during one of their many casual conversations, he had mentioned searching for this exact edition.

You remembered. The realization warmed him more than he cared to admit. Slowly, he opened the cover. Something slipped free.

A folded piece of paper fluttered into his lap. His smile widened.

A note. Of course there was a note.

Carefully unfolding it, he settled back against the couch.

The smile remained, until it didn’t. His eyes froze on the page. Everything else disappeared.

The room. The Christmas tree. The falling snow beyond the windows. The world itself seemed to step aside. Because he knew this handwriting.

The rounded letters. The elegant loops. The way certain words tilted slightly right. The way lowercase y’s curved beneath the line.

His heartbeat stumbled. Then picked up speed.

Merry Christmas, Namjoon.

Thank you for helping Hana believe in magic again. And thank you for helping me believe that life still has beautiful surprises waiting for us.

Some stories find us when we least expect them. I think this one found both of us.

Y/N

The note trembled slightly between his fingers. His eyes moved across the words again. Memories surfaced immediately.

Letters about grief. Letters about loneliness. Letters about hope.

Late nights spent reading words written by someone who somehow understood every feeling he struggled to explain.

The handwriting. It was the same. Exactly the same. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“No way.”

The words slipped out into the empty room. He leaned forward. Reading the note once more. Comparing it against memories that suddenly seemed obvious.

The stranger wrote about loss. You lost your husband. The stranger understood guilt. The stranger understood silence. The stranger understood waking up each morning and choosing to continue despite heartbreak. Because the stranger had been you, all along.

Namjoon laughed suddenly. One disbelieving breath of laughter, then another.

He dropped his head into his hands. How had he not seen it? How had he spent months writing letters to you without realizing?

The answer came immediately. Because he never expected the person who understood him most deeply to be standing right in front of him. Sometimes the truth hid in plain sight.

His gaze drifted toward the window. Toward your house. Toward the warm glow still visible through the darkness.

You were there. Across the street. The woman who occupied his thoughts during quiet mornings. The woman whose letters had carried him through difficult nights. The woman who had somehow become both.

A knock sounded at the door. Namjoon blinked. Then another. Pulling himself together, he crossed the room.

Standing outside was Mrs. Choi, bundled beneath enough scarves to survive the Arctic.

“Merry Christmas, dear.”

He smiled.

“Merry Christmas.”

She handed him an envelope.

“The final mailbox delivery.”

His heart nearly stopped. One final letter.

Mrs. Choi smiled knowingly, then disappeared back into the snow.

Namjoon closed the door. The envelope remained in his hand. Slowly, he opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. One question, nothing else. Just a question sitting alone in the center of the page.

If life offered you another chance at love, would you be brave enough to take it?

Namjoon stared. Minutes passed. The clock ticked quietly somewhere behind him. Snow continued falling beyond the windows. The house remained silent. Yet his thoughts were louder than they had been in years. Another chance at love.

Two years ago he would’ve said no. One year ago he would’ve said no. Because he couldn’t imagine himself surviving it again.

Grief had changed him. Loss had changed him. There were years when simply getting through the day felt like enough. Years when the future looked like a long hallway with every light turned off. Then eight months ago he moved back home.

Back to the neighborhood. Back to the life he’d left behind. And somehow, without realizing it, things began changing.

The children who waved every morning. The neighbors who remembered his favorite bread. The Christmas traditions. The letters.

You.

His eyes drifted toward your house once more. Toward the home glowing softly across the street. Toward the woman who had unknowingly become part of his healing. Part of his future. Part of a story he suddenly wanted to keep writing.

For the first time in two years, the idea of loving someone again didn’t fill him with fear. It filled him with hope.

Morning arrived bright and beautiful. Fresh snow glittered beneath the morning sun. The entire neighborhood looked untouched. Like the world had paused overnight.

Inside his house, Namjoon barely slept. The note remained tucked inside the novel. The final letter remained folded inside his coat pocket. He must have reread both a hundred times. Maybe more.

At nine o’clock, he finally stopped pacing. At nine ten, he grabbed his coat. At nine twelve, he stepped outside.

The cold air brushed against his face. Snow crunched beneath his boots. The folded letter rested securely in his hand. His heart pounded harder with every step.

Years of grief. Weeks of anonymous letters. Countless conversations. Countless moments. Everything seemed to lead here.

To this morning. To this door.

He climbed your porch steps slowly. The scent of cinnamon drifted faintly from inside the house. Somewhere beyond the walls, he could hear Hana laughing. Your voice followed.

Namjoon stopped in front of the door. Looked down at the letter. Then looked up again. A smile touched his lips. For the first time in years, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

He raised his hand. Knocked once and waited. Holding the letter that had changed everything.

The knock came on Christmas morning. It was soft enough that it almost blended into the music playing from the living room.

You were standing at the kitchen counter pouring another cup of coffee while Hana sat cross-legged on the floor near the Christmas tree, happily surrounded by torn wrapping paper and opened presents. The entire house carried the warm scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly baked cookies. Outside, snow covered the neighborhood in a blanket of white, turning every rooftop and front yard into something out of a Christmas card.

It should have been a perfect morning. Yet your eyes kept drifting toward the envelope resting on the kitchen table. The last anonymous letter. Mrs. Choi had delivered it early that morning before the neighborhood woke up.

You hadn’t opened it. For some reason, you couldn’t. Maybe because once you read it, the tradition would officially end.

No more letters. No more waiting. No more finding pieces of yourself reflected back through the words of someone who somehow always understood.

The knock came again. This time your heart reacted before your mind did.

A strange flutter. A sudden awareness. You couldn’t explain it. You set your coffee mug down.

“I’ll get it,” you called to Hana.

She barely looked up from her telescope instructions.

You walked toward the front door. Each step felt strangely heavy. And when you opened it, the world stopped.

Namjoon stood there. Snowflakes drifted around him. The cold winter air slipped into the warmth of the house. But all you could focus on was him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Neither of you seemed capable of speaking. Because something had changed. You saw it immediately.

In his eyes. In the way he was looking at you. In the emotion written across his face.

Then your gaze dropped to the folded stacks of letters and the single note resting in his hand.

The note hidden inside the book. The anonymous mailbox. Everything clicked into place at once. The realization hit like a wave.

The person waiting on the other side. The person who knew things about you nobody else knew. The person who had slowly become part of your everyday life. Your breath caught.

“Oh.”

It was the only sound you could make. Namjoon let out a quiet laugh. Because emotions had become too big for words.

His eyes glistened. And somehow seeing tears there nearly broke your heart.

“You.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. A smile appeared on his face.

“It was you.”

Neither of you moved. The snowfall continued around him. And suddenly every memory from the past several weeks rearranged itself.

Every conversation over coffee. Every smile. Every accidental touch. Every moment. The anonymous writer and Kim Namjoon became the same person. And somehow that made everything infinitely more meaningful. His smile widened slightly.

“I didn’t sleep last night.”

You laughed. Neither had you. Namjoon shook his head. Still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“I kept reading your note.”

His voice softened.

“Then I kept reading the letters.”

Your chest tightened. Every single letter. Every conversation. Every page.

You had poured pieces of yourself into those envelopes without ever expecting them to matter this much.

Yet they had. More than either of you realized. Namjoon took a slow breath.

“For months I couldn’t write anything.”

His eyes lowered briefly. The confession seemed difficult.

“There were days I’d sit in front of my computer for hours.”

A sad smile appeared.

“Nothing.”

You knew about the writer’s block. You knew how much it had haunted him. How frustrated he became whenever people asked about his next book. How often he doubted himself.

But hearing him talk about it now felt different. Because now you knew what had been happening during those missing pieces of the story.

Namjoon looked back at you then smiled. One full of warmth.

“You know when it started changing?”

Your heart skipped. He didn’t wait for an answer.

“The letters.”

Your breath caught.

“The first week I looked forward to them.”

A small laugh escaped him.

“The second week I started writing replies faster than I should have.”

His eyes never left yours.

“And by the third week…”

His smile trembled.

"I was hoping it was you. I wanted it to be you."

The tears slipped down your cheeks. Because there was something devastatingly beautiful about hearing it aloud. Namjoon laughed softly.

“I told myself I was being ridiculous.”

You smiled through tears. He pointed toward himself.

“I didn’t know your name.”

Another laugh. His voice softened.

“I didn’t know what you looked like.”

Then his expression changed. Became emotional. Tender. Certain.

“But I knew how kind you were.”

Silence settled between you.

“I knew how you loved people.”

His eyes shone.

“I knew how much you cared.”

Another pause.

“I knew your heart.”

The tears became impossible to stop. Because that was the thing. The letters had never been about appearances, or assumptions, or first impressions. They had been about honesty. About the parts of yourselves neither of you showed the rest of the world.

Namjoon swallowed, then laughed quietly.

“And that should’ve scared me.”

His voice broke.

“But it didn’t.”

The emotion in his face made your chest ache.

“It felt easy.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“It felt like coming home after a really long day.”

You looked away briefly. Unable to bear how much you felt. How much this moment hurt and healed at the same time. Then Namjoon noticed the unopened envelope still resting on your kitchen table.

His final letter. The one you hadn’t read yet. His expression softened immediately.

“Mrs. Choi delivered that this morning?”

You nodded.

“I haven’t opened it.”

For some reason, your voice sounded small. Namjoon’s eyes lingered on the envelope then returned to yours.

“Can you read it now?”

Your heart skipped. The vulnerability in his voice surprised you. Almost nervous. Like he wanted you to hear those words while he was standing here.

Not as a stranger. Not through paper. As himself.

You slowly picked up the envelope. Your hands trembled. Namjoon stepped inside the doorway, allowing the cold to remain behind him.

The distance between you felt smaller now. The years of loneliness. The misunderstandings. The anonymity.

Gone.

You unfolded the letter. The room became silent. Then you began reading.

Dear Stranger,

By the time you read this, Christmas will have arrived.

The lights will be glowing, the snow will probably be falling, and somewhere in the neighborhood people will be celebrating with the people they love.

I hope you’re smiling.

Your throat tightened immediately. You continued.

I spent days wondering what to write in this final letter.

At first I thought it should be profound.

Something worthy of being the last page.

But every version sounded wrong.

Because the truth is much simpler than that.

You glanced up. Namjoon smiled nervously. As though he already knew which part was coming. You continued.

When we started writing, I thought I was searching for inspiration.

I thought maybe the mailbox tradition would help me find my way back to writing.

What I didn’t expect was finding someone who made me want to write again.

Your vision blurred. The tears returned instantly.

Every time your letter arrived, the blank page felt less intimidating.

Every conversation reminded me why stories matter.

Why connection matters.

You didn’t just help me write again.

You reminded me why I started writing in the first place.

Your voice shook. You paused. Namjoon’s eyes never left yours. The emotion there made your heart ache. Then you continued.

You asked me if I would be brave enough to take another chance at love.

I’ve thought about that question constantly.

And I think I finally know my answer.

The room disappeared. Everything disappeared. Only the words remained.

Yes.

Because some people walk into your life and make fear seem smaller than regret.

And if I was lucky enough to meet someone like that, I’d want the courage to choose them.

A tear slid down your cheek. Then another. Then another. Your hands shook. You could barely finish.

If I learned anything from these letters, it’s that the best stories begin when people decide to be brave.

So if life ever gives me another chance at love…

I hope I don’t waste it.

— Your Stranger

Outside, snow continued to fall in soft, drifting curtains beyond the window. Somewhere down the street, children laughed as they dragged sleds through the fresh powder. Christmas morning carried on around the neighborhood, bright and joyful, yet inside the living room the world seemed to have narrowed to the space between you and Namjoon.

Namjoon swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the pages in your hands as though he could still see every word he had poured onto them late last night.

He gave a small, breathless laugh, the kind that came when a person had stopped trying to hide what they felt.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

“I sat at my desk for hours trying to figure out what I wanted to say.” He glanced toward the window, shaking his head softly at the memory. “I thought it would be easy. I’ve spent my whole life writing words. I’ve built an entire career around them.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“But nothing felt right.”

His eyes returned to yours.

“Because every sentence kept turning into you.”

Your heart stumbled. Namjoon laughed again, quieter this time, almost embarrassed by his own honesty.

“I kept telling myself I was writing to the person behind the letters. The person who made me look forward to checking the mailbox every morning. The person who understood things I couldn’t explain to anyone else.”

His voice grew gentler.

“The person who made me want to write again.”

His gaze never left yours.

“But somewhere between the first draft and the fifth, I realized I wasn’t thinking about the letters anymore.”

Your chest tightened.

“I was thinking about Christmas lights reflected in your window.”

His smile trembled.

“The way you laugh when Hana says something ridiculous.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“The way you always make coffee before you’ve fully woken up.”

Another followed.

“The way you carry so much love for everyone around you, even when your own heart is still healing.”

Your vision blurred. Namjoon lowered his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before continuing.

“And that’s when it scared me.”

The confession came quietly.

“Because I couldn’t tell where the anonymous writer ended and where you began.”

His fingers curled against his palm.

“I kept asking myself if I was falling in love with the person who wrote the letters.”

A shaky breath escaped him.

“But every answer led back to you.”

The silence that followed felt enormous.

Full of weeks of conversations, of snowy walks home, of cups of coffee shared across kitchen counters, of laughter and grief and healing and all the small moments that had slowly become something neither of you could ignore anymore.

Namjoon’s eyes softened.

“I think a part of me already knew.”

You felt tears spill down your own cheeks.

He took a hesitant step closer.

“When I found your note inside the book last night and recognized your handwriting, I should’ve been shocked.”

A smile appeared through the tears.

“Instead, I sat there for an hour staring at it and thinking, of course.”

You let out a watery laugh. His expression turned impossibly tender.

“Of course it was you.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside you. Because there was no disappointment in them.

No confusion. No hesitation. Only wonder. Only gratitude. Only love.

Namjoon looked at you as though he had spent weeks searching for the ending to a story and had finally found it.

“I thought I was writing letters to a stranger.”

His voice was barely above a whisper now.

“But when I look back at all of it, I don’t think that’s true.”

He smiled. Slowly. Softly.

Like a man finally understanding his own heart.

“I was writing to the woman who lived across the street.”

Another step.

“The woman who helped me find my way back to myself.”

Another.

“The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

Your heart felt too full for your chest.

“And somewhere along the way…” His voice faltered. “Somewhere between those letters and every ordinary day we’ve spent together…”

He shook his head, smiling through tears.

“I fell in love with you.”

The words landed between you with the weight of absolute truth.

Just honesty. Just a man standing in the warmth of Christmas morning, finally saying the thing he had been carrying inside him for weeks.

His eyes searched yours. Open. Hopeful. Terrified. Certain.

“I was already falling in love with you before I knew you were the one writing those letters.”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he smiled.

“And finding out it was you only made me realize how lucky I am.”

The room remained quiet long after Namjoon’s confession. Outside the window, snow drifted lazily from a pale winter sky, settling atop rooftops, fences, and bare tree branches. Christmas morning continued beyond the walls of the house. Somewhere down the street, children laughed. A car rolled carefully through the neighborhood. A church bell rang in the distance.

Life carried on. Yet for you, everything felt suspended.

You stood in the middle of the living room with his letter still trembling slightly in your hands. And Namjoon stood across from you looking as though he had finally handed you every hidden piece of his heart.

There was no uncertainty left in his eyes. No mask. No carefully chosen words, only truth. The kind that left a person exposed. The kind that could change everything.

His gaze remained fixed on yours. The silence stretched between you. Neither of you rushing to fill it. Some moments deserved space. This was one of them.

His voice came quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself. A small smile appeared on his face. The kind of smile that carried sadness and hope at the same time.

"Let me be the one to ask you this time.”

Then slowly, Namjoon stepped closer.

“If life offered you another chance at love…”

His voice softened.

“…would you be brave enough to take it?”

Your throat tightened. For a moment you couldn’t answer. Because for so long you had lived inside survival. Inside routines. Inside responsibility. Inside grief. You had convinced yourself that was enough. That happiness belonged to another version of your life. Another chapter that had already ended.

You had loved once. You had lost once. And somewhere along the way you had stopped expecting anything more.

Then Hana had dragged a telescope-loving writer into your life. Then letters had started appearing. Then coffee became conversations. Conversations became comfort. Comfort became friendship. And friendship quietly transformed into something neither of you had planned.

You lowered your eyes briefly. A tear slipped down your cheek. When you spoke, your voice sounded small.

“I used to think being brave meant not being afraid.”

Namjoon listened. Every part of his attention focused on you.

“I thought bravery was certainty.”

A sad smile touched your lips.

“Knowing exactly how things will end before you begin.”

You shook your head.

“But life doesn’t work like that.”

Your gaze lifted to his.

“I was terrified.”

A small laugh escaped you.

“I was terrified the first time I realized I looked forward to seeing you.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened. You continued.

“I was terrified when Hana started talking about you every day.”

Another laugh. Another tear.

“I was terrified when I caught myself wanting to tell you things before anyone else.”

His smile trembled.

“And I was terrified when I wrote that question.”

The room blurred. You could barely see him through the tears gathering in your eyes.

Because now there was nowhere left to hide. No anonymous letters. No distance. No excuses. Only truth.

You took a shaky breath, then smiled. One that felt lighter than anything you’d carried in years.

“If life offered me another chance at love…”

Your voice broke softly.

"I would take it.”

Namjoon’s eyes closed briefly. Emotion crossing his face so openly that your chest ached.

When he opened them again, they were shining. You smiled through your tears.

“Because somewhere along the way…”

Your gaze never left his.

“…I already did.”

The silence that followed felt sacred. Like standing inside a moment that would remain with both of you forever.

Namjoon laughed first. A quiet, disbelieving laugh. His hand moved to cover his eyes for a second. As if he needed a moment to compose himself.

You laughed too. The kind of laugh that arrives when happiness becomes too overwhelming to hold.

When he finally looked at you again, his expression was beautiful. Full of wonder. He crossed the remaining distance between you. Close enough now that you could see every tiny snowflake melting in his dark hair. Close enough that his voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Then let me ask one more thing.”

Your heart stumbled.

“What?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Can we stop writing anonymous letters?”

You laughed through tears. A surprised sound escaping your lips. Namjoon’s smile widened.

“I’d rather tell you these things in person.”

Your eyes filled again. His hand found yours. Fingers threading together naturally. As though they had belonged there all along.

"I’d like to take you to dinner.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay.”

“I’d like to hold your hand when we walk through town.”

You nodded.

“Okay.”

His smile grew.

“I’d like to know what our future looks like.”

Your heart felt impossibly full.

“Okay.”

Then his expression softened, almost nervous.

“Most importantly…”

He squeezed your hand.

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.”

The laugh that escaped you was immediate. The kind of laugh that had been absent from your life for far too long. Namjoon’s grin appeared instantly.

“You laughed.”

“Because nobody has asked me that since I was nineteen.”

“Then I think I deserve points for originality.”

You shook your head. Laughing harder. He laughed too. The sound filling the room. Filling your chest. Filling every lonely corner that had existed there before.

Finally you stepped closer. Close enough that your foreheads nearly touched.

And with tears still clinging to your lashes and happiness making your heart feel far too large for your chest, you answered.

“Yes.”

Namjoon’s smile disappeared. Only because emotion replaced it.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes closed briefly. Relief washing over him. When he looked at you again, there was so much love in his expression that it nearly stole your breath.

Then slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to move away. He lifted one hand to your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye. Wiping away a tear.

His forehead touched yours first. A quiet pause. A shared smile. A moment to savor what had finally become real.

Then he kissed you softly. Like he wasn’t trying to impress you. Like he was simply coming home.

The kiss carried every letter. Every snowfall. Every conversation. Every laugh. Every painful memory shared beneath Christmas lights. Every hope whispered into paper and tucked inside a mailbox.

When you pulled apart, neither of you moved very far. Neither seemed capable of it. Both smiling. Both emotional. Both completely ruined in the best possible way.

And then—

“MOM!”

The two of you immediately jumped apart. A laugh burst from your lips. Namjoon nearly knocked into a chair. Hana stood frozen in the hallway, holding a candy cane. Looking between the two of you suspiciously.

Then her eyes widened. Like someone solving the greatest mystery of all time. Her mouth dropped open.

“No way.”

You covered your face. Namjoon started laughing. Hana pointed.

“I KNEW IT.”

The entire house erupted into laughter. Hana launched herself across the room. Wrapping both arms around your waist. Then around Namjoon’s. Somehow managing to hug both of you at once.

“Merry Christmas!”

You looked at Namjoon. Namjoon looked at you. And neither of you could stop smiling.

Outside, snow continued to fall across the neighborhood. Inside, Christmas lights glowed softly against the windows.

The letters had ended. The mailbox story was over. But standing there with Hana squeezed between you, surrounded by laughter and warmth and the promise of everything still waiting ahead, you realized this wasn’t the ending at all. It was the first page of something new.

Spring arrives quietly. The mornings grow warmer. The days stretch longer. And one day, without realizing exactly when it happened, you find yourself leaving the house without your winter coat.

Life has always felt a little like that. The biggest changes rarely arrive all at once. They happen slowly. One ordinary day at a time.

The cemetery sits at the edge of town, tucked beneath rows of old maple trees that have stood there longer than anyone can remember. You haven’t visited in almost two months.

Life became busy. There were school events. Work. Late-night phone calls. Dinner invitations from Mrs. Choi. Hana insisting she needed help building blanket forts that somehow occupied the entire living room. And Namjoon. Especially Namjoon.

You smile softly to yourself as you follow the familiar stone pathway. A bouquet of white lilies rests in your hands. Beside you, Hana skips ahead, her yellow sundress fluttering in the spring breeze.

She looks so much bigger lately. Maybe every parent thinks that.Maybe every parent wakes up one morning and wonders where the time went. Because somehow the tiny little girl who once needed help tying her shoes now insists on picking out her own outfits and correcting your grammar when you read bedtime stories.

“It’s this way, Mom.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

She grabs your hand anyway, and you let her. Because one day she won’t. One day she’ll be too grown up. One day she’ll roll her eyes and pretend holding your hand is embarrassing. So you treasure moments like these while they still belong to you.

The wind moves gently through the trees overhead. Sunlight filters through the leaves. Birdsong fills the quiet morning. And when you finally arrive, you stop.

You simply stand there. Looking. Remembering. The headstone looks exactly the same. The same name. The same dates. The same place you once came to so often that you knew every crack in the stone by heart.

Years ago, standing here felt unbearable. Like someone had reached inside your chest and left an ache that would never leave. Back then, grief followed you everywhere.

Into grocery stores. Into quiet evenings. Into birthday parties and school performances. Into every moment that should have been happy. Especially the happy moments. Because those were the ones that reminded you most of who wasn’t there.

You remember wondering if it would always feel that way. If every joyful memory would forever be accompanied by sadness. If moving forward meant leaving him behind. If loving again would somehow betray the love you once had.

Now, standing here beneath the warm spring sun, you finally know the answer.

No.

Love doesn’t disappear when new love arrives. The heart doesn’t work that way.

It makes room. Somehow, impossibly, it expands. The love you had remains exactly where it has always been. And yet there is space for new happiness too.

You kneel carefully and place the lilies at the base of the headstone.

“We brought your favorites.”

Hana immediately nods.

“They were expensive.”

You blink.

“What?”

She leans closer to the stone.

“I told Mom not to spend too much.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. The sound escapes unexpectedly. The kind of laugh you once worried you’d never have again.

Hana begins arranging the flowers with the seriousness of a professional florist.

You sit beside her. For several minutes, neither of you say anything. The silence feels comfortable. Like sitting beside an old friend.

Eventually, you brush your fingers lightly across the cool stone.

“So much has happened.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected. You are still looking down when Hana suddenly gasps. A dramatic, full-body gasp. The kind that only six-year-olds are capable of producing. Your head immediately snaps up.

“What?”

“He’s here.”

You don’t need to ask who. Your heart already knows. Turning, you spot him walking along the pathway.

Kim Namjoon.

The sight of him still does something ridiculous to your chest. Six months together and somehow that hasn’t changed.

The breeze catches his dark hair. One hand holds a paper bag. The other carries two takeaway coffees.

Because he remembers. Always.

One for him. One for you. One hot chocolate for Hana. He spots the two of you. A smile immediately spreads across his face. This one belongs only to the people he loves. And every single time you see it, you understand why you fell for him.

Hana takes off running before he can even reach you.

“Namjoon!”

The grin on his face widens. He crouches just in time to catch her as she throws herself directly into his arms. You hear his laugh from several feet away. A sound that barely existed when he first moved back into town.

Back then, he had looked exhausted, lost, like someone carrying a weight nobody else could see. Now he looks lighter, like himself again. Maybe for the first time in years.

“You took forever,” Hana complains.

“I brought pastries.”

A pause. “Oh.”

Exactly.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Namjoon nods solemnly. “Thank you.”

By the time they reach you, you’re already laughing. Namjoon hands you your coffee.

“Good morning.”

His voice softens when he says it. Always softer with you.

“Good morning.”

For a moment, neither of you move. Then Hana grabs both your hands. Because subtlety has never been one of her strengths.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Over here.”

Namjoon immediately follows.

“Honestly, she’s scarier than you.”

“I know.”

The three of you stop before the headstone. Hana straightens importantly, then points.

“Dad.”

The smile slowly fades from Namjoon’s face. Not from discomfort. Not from uncertainty. From respect. From understanding. From love.

The little girl turns dramatically. Then points at Namjoon.

“And Dad, this is Namjoon.”

The world seems to go quiet. You don’t know why tears immediately burn behind your eyes. Maybe because she says it so naturally. So innocently. As though introducing two people she loves. Nothing more complicated than that.

Namjoon looks at the headstone for a long moment. Then he crouches beside Hana.

“It’s nice to finally meet him.”

Hana nods.

“I already told him everything.”

His eyes widen. “Everything?”

“Yep.”

“Should I be worried?”

“A little.”

You laugh through tears. And somehow, standing there between the man you lost and the man you found, surrounded by spring sunshine and birdsong and the little girl who brought both of you so much joy, you feel something settle peacefully inside your heart.

You glance toward Namjoon. Toward the man whose newest manuscript is sitting on his editor’s desk. The manuscript everyone said might never exist. The manuscript that brought his publisher to tears. The manuscript that ended his years-long writer’s block. The manuscript titled Dear Stranger.

A story about finding hope when you least expect it. About second chances. About the courage required to love again.

His editor called it his best work yet. His publisher wants a holiday release. Readers are already waiting.

But as you watch him laugh with Hana beneath the spring sunshine, you know the truth.

The book was never the miracle.

This is.

The three of you standing together. The family you never expected. The future you thought was impossible. The happiness you almost convinced yourself you didn’t deserve.

For years, you believed healing meant forgetting. Now you know better. Healing means carrying love forward.

And as Namjoon reaches for your hand without even thinking about it, intertwining his fingers with yours like it is the most natural thing in the world, you squeeze back.

Because for the first time in a very long time, the future no longer feels frightening. It feels like home.

The first snow of December arrives just after sunrise.

You wake to silence. The kind that only exists on winter mornings, when the world seems wrapped in a thick blanket and every sound becomes softer around the edges.

For a few moments, you remain where you are. Warm beneath the comforter. Half asleep. Listening. A faint hum from the heater. The occasional creak of the old house settling against the cold. The distant laughter of a child. Your eyes open. Laughter. Immediately, you smile. Because there is only one person capable of being fully awake before seven in the morning and treating it like a personal achievement.

Hana.

You glance toward the empty side of the bed. Namjoon is already gone. Again. The realization no longer surprises you. Over the past year, you’ve learned that Kim Namjoon exists in one of two states.

Deeply asleep. Or somehow already halfway through three separate projects before breakfast.

You slip out of bed and pull on one of his sweaters. It hangs slightly oversized on your frame. The sleeves cover half your hands. The scent lingering in the fabric immediately feels familiar.

Downstairs, the house is alive. Christmas music drifts softly from the kitchen. Someone is singing along. You follow the sound. The sight waiting for you on the other side of the doorway makes you stop.

Hana sits on the kitchen counter wearing reindeer pajamas. Flour covers her cheeks. There is somehow flour on the refrigerator. Flour on the floor. Flour in her hair. Namjoon stands beside her holding a mixing bowl. He looks equally guilty. The kitchen resembles a crime scene.

For several seconds, you simply watch them. Neither notices you. Hana is busy stirring batter. Namjoon is reading instructions from a recipe book with the concentration of a man attempting brain surgery.

“Hana.”

“What?”

“The recipe says one cup.”

“I added extra.”

“Why?”

“Because I felt it.”

“You can’t feel measurements.”

“Sure I can.”

You laugh. Both heads immediately turn. The moment Namjoon’s eyes find yours, his entire expression changes.

Softens. Warms. Lights up.

Even after all this time, that look still affects you.

“Good morning.”

His voice carries across the room. You walk toward him. He reaches for you automatically. One arm wrapping around your waist. The kiss he presses against your forehead is absentminded. Natural. The sort of affection that has woven itself into everyday life.

You lean into him. And for a moment, everything feels perfectly ordinary. Which is exactly what makes it beautiful.

A year ago, happiness still felt temporary. Like something you were afraid to hold too tightly. Now it lives here. In kitchens filled with flour. In shared grocery lists. In movie nights. In sleepy mornings. In the way Namjoon always remembers how much cinnamon you like in your coffee.

Love, you’ve learned, is often hidden inside ordinary moments. The grand gestures make wonderful stories. The small ones build a life.

“You look suspiciously happy,” you tell him.

Namjoon’s grin widens. “Oh, I am.”

“That means you’re hiding something.”

Hana immediately gasps. “I know what it is.”

Namjoon points at her. “Traitor.”

“I learned from you.”

You watch them argue and wonder, not for the first time, how the universe managed to place these two people in your life. The answer never arrives. Only gratitude.

An hour later, the front doorbell rings. And then another. And another.

Mrs. Choi arrives first carrying enough food to feed an entire village. Several neighbors follow.

Friends. Family. People who have gradually become part of your lives. The house fills with conversation and laughter. Christmas decorations glow softly from every corner. The scent of cookies drifts through the rooms.

Outside, snow continues falling. Inside, everything feels warm. The kind of day people spend years wishing for.

Near noon, Namjoon’s phone begins ringing nonstop.

Messages. Calls. Emails. Notifications. His publisher. His editor. His literary agent. Everyone. You already know why.

Today is publication day. Dear Stranger officially belongs to the world. For months, anticipation has been building.

Advance reviews. Interviews. Bookstore displays. Readers counting down online. The response has been overwhelming.

His editor called it the most heartfelt manuscript of his career. His publisher printed additional copies before release. Bookstores sold out of preorders. And throughout all of it, Namjoon remained strangely calm. Until now. Now he looks terrified, which you find adorable.

“You’ve written eight books.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done this before. You’ll survive.”

“I don’t know.”

You laugh, then reach for his hand. The tension leaves his shoulders almost instantly.

“Hey.”

His eyes meet yours.

“You already got the important part.”

“What?”

“You found your way back to writing.”

The room grows quieter around you. Just for a moment. Long enough for him to understand what you mean. Before the bestseller lists. Before the reviews. Before the success.

There was a man who thought he had lost the thing he loved most. A man who couldn’t find the words anymore. A man who felt disconnected from himself. That man doesn’t exist now. Because he found joy again.

Namjoon’s thumb brushes gently across your knuckles. And the smile he gives you is worth more than every review in the world.

Later that evening, after the guests leave and the house settles into comfortable quiet, Christmas lights glow softly around the living room. Hana sits cross-legged beneath the tree. For several minutes she appears unusually thoughtful. Which immediately worries both of you. Finally, she looks up.

“Can I ask something?”

“Of course,” you say.

She turns toward Namjoon. A small wrinkle appears between her brows. The same expression she wears whenever she’s gathering courage.

“Would it be okay if I called you Dad someday?”

The room goes completely silent. No one moves. No one speaks. Hana lowers her eyes.

“I know you’re not my dad.”

Her voice becomes smaller.

“But sometimes…”

She hesitates.

“Sometimes it feels like you are.”

Tears immediately fill your eyes. Across from her, Namjoon looks completely shattered in the most beautiful way. For a long moment, he simply stares at her. Then he crosses the room. Kneels in front of her. And gently takes both of her hands.

“Hana.”

His voice trembles.

“I think that would be the greatest honor of my life.”

The tears arrive before anyone can stop them. A moment later, she launches herself into his arms. And he holds her, tightly. Like she’s one of the most precious things he’ll ever be trusted with. Because she is.

When you finally join them, wrapping your arms around both of them, the three of you remain there for a long time.

Together. A family. Not perfect. Not conventional. But real and full of love.

Later, beneath the mistletoe hanging in the hallway, Namjoon pulls you gently toward him.

Snow falls outside. Christmas lights glow behind him. The house is quiet except for Hana humming somewhere upstairs.

“I love you.”

The words arrive softly. Without hesitation. Without fear. The simplest truth in the world.

Tears gather in your eyes.

“I love you too.”

His hand lifts to your cheek. The kiss that follows is slow. Tender. The kind built from a thousand ordinary days and countless acts of choosing one another.

When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest together. Outside, snow continues falling. Inside, laughter echoes through the house.

And standing there surrounded by warmth, love, and the family you never expected to find, you realize this isn’t the end of the story. It’s simply the beginning of another beautiful chapter.

The moving truck arrived just before sunset.

By then, the sky had already begun turning the color of faded watercolor paint, soft blues bleeding into pale pinks above the rooftops.

Winter had settled comfortably over the neighborhood. The kind that made smoke curl lazily from chimneys and turned every front porch into a scene from a holiday postcard.

You sat in the driver’s seat for a moment after parking. The engine was off. The world was quiet. Beside you, Hana was asleep. One tiny hand was wrapped around a stuffed rabbit she’d owned since she was three.

The rabbit had lost one eye years ago. She refused to replace it. The toy looked worn and tired. You understood exactly how it felt. For a long moment, you simply stared through the windshield.

At the house, your new home. Small, white, a little old. The wooden porch creaked whenever the wind blew. The mailbox leaned slightly to the left. The front garden needed work.

But it was yours. Well, not yours.

Rented, temporary, affordable, a fresh start. Or at least that was what everyone kept calling it.

Your mother, your sister, your friends.

A fresh start. As if grief worked like moving boxes. Pack it up. Load it into a truck. Drive somewhere else. Leave it behind.

You looked down at the gold wedding band still resting on a chain around your neck.

Three years. Three years since the phone call. Three years since hospitals and paperwork and funeral flowers. Three years since the world kept moving while yours stopped.

You swallowed hard and looked away.

“Hana.”

A small groan.

“Hana, sweetheart.”

Your daughter blinked awake slowly. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, a tiny pout.

The same face she’d had since she was born. The same face that saved you every single day. She rubbed her eyes.

“Are we here?”

You smiled.

“We’re here.”

Hana immediately pressed her face against the window. Her eyes widened. “Whoa.”

The excitement in her voice made something warm settle inside your chest.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Look.”

You followed her gaze. Every house on the street glowed. Christmas lights wrapped around fences. Golden stars hung from porches. Garlands framed front doors. A giant inflatable snowman stood proudly in one yard. Someone had even decorated a bicycle with fairy lights.

The entire street looked like it belonged inside one of those holiday movies Hana forced you to watch every December.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered.

Then she turned toward you.

“Can we decorate too?”

The question arrived exactly as you knew it would. Your smile faded just a little.

“Hana.”

“Please?”

“We just moved.”

“We can decorate after.”

“You said that last year.”

The words landed softly. No accusation, no anger, just honesty. Children were good at that. You looked out the window again.

Last year, the year before that, and the year before that. Each Christmas had become another date to survive. You bought presents, cooked dinner, smiled for Hana, then waited for January. You never decorated, never played Christmas music, never attended holiday events. December reminded you too much of what you’d lost.

Your husband used to love Christmas. The kind of person who started decorating in November. The kind who burned cinnamon candles until the entire house smelled like a bakery. The kind who danced badly while wrapping presents.

Every string of lights felt like a memory. Every Christmas song carried his voice somewhere inside it. You weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be.

“Honey.”

Hana looked up at you. You reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe next year.”

The disappointment was immediate. Small shoulders drooping, eyes lowering. It lasted only a second. Because Hana had inherited her father’s heart.

Bright. Forgiving. Hopeful.

“Okay.”

You hated hearing it. Because she never argued. Never complained. She understood far too much for a six-year-old.

“Come on.”

You forced cheerfulness into your voice.

“Let’s see our new house.”

The moment she jumped out of the car, excitement returned. She ran toward the porch. You followed more slowly.

The cold air stung your cheeks. The neighborhood felt peaceful. The kind of place where people knew each other’s names. Where children rode bicycles together. Where neighbors exchanged holiday cookies. The kind of place you’d avoided for years. The kind of place Hana deserved.

You had barely reached the porch when a loud crash shattered the quiet. Followed by a very alarmed—

“OH NO.”

You turned instinctively across the street. A man had just dropped what appeared to be half his life onto the pavement.

Books, folders, a laptop bag. Several grocery bags, a cardboard box, papers, so many papers. They scattered everywhere. One page floated dramatically through the air before landing in a puddle.

The man stood frozen in the center of the disaster.

Tall. Dark coat. Round glasses. Expression filled with immediate regret.

For a second neither of you moved. Then another grocery bag tipped over. Oranges rolled down the sidewalk. One bounced directly into the street.

The man closed his eyes. The way people do when life has personally offended them.

“Oh no,” Hana whispered.

“Oh no,” the man repeated.

You almost laughed. The sound surprised you. You couldn’t remember the last time something had genuinely amused you.

The man crouched quickly. Attempted to grab papers. Dropped more papers. Tried saving the oranges. Lost a folder. A strong gust of wind carried several pages farther down the street.

His shoulders slumped. Defeat. Pure defeat.

Hana looked up at you.

“Mom.”

“I know.”

“He’s struggling.”

“I can see that.”

“He needs help.”

You sighed.

Of course. Because apparently your daughter had never met a stranger she didn’t immediately want to rescue.

Together, you crossed the street. The man was currently chasing a page that seemed determined to escape him.

You caught it first. He stopped. Looked up. And for the first time, you saw his face clearly.

Warm brown eyes behind glasses. Slightly windblown hair. A dimple that appeared unexpectedly when he smiled. He looked around your age. Maybe early thirties. Handsome. Though in a very unintentional way. Like someone too busy thinking about other things to notice.

“Oh.”

His eyes widened.

“Thank you.”

You handed him the page.

“I think your paperwork was trying to leave.”

A surprised laugh escaped him. Deep, warm, the kind that arrived before he could stop it.

“I honestly wouldn’t blame it.”

Hana giggled. The stranger glanced down. His expression softened immediately.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Hana.”

“Nice to meet you, Hana.”

He offered a hand with complete seriousness. She shook it just as seriously. You watched the interaction. The corners of your mouth lifting despite yourself.

The stranger noticed then quickly stood, or attempted to. A grocery bag caught around his ankle.

He stumbled, nearly fell. Recovered at the last second. Silence.

Hana burst into laughter. You looked away before he could see you smiling.

“Oh wow,” he muttered.

“This is going incredibly well.”

“You’ve made quite an entrance.”

“I was hoping nobody saw.”

A nearby neighbor opened their curtains. Another walked past carrying holiday decorations. A teenager across the street openly stared. The man followed your gaze.

“…Right.”

You finally laughed. The first one in longer than you cared to admit.

His eyes flickered toward you. Something unreadable passing across his face. Like he hadn’t expected it either.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Winter sunlight lingered between houses. Snow dusted the sidewalks. The neighborhood glowed gold beneath thousands of Christmas lights. And somehow the first thing you learned about your new neighbor was that he was an absolute disaster. Then he smiled and held out his hand.

“Kim Namjoon.”

You took it. His hand was warm despite the cold.

“Y/N.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

The words were simple. Yet something about them settled quietly inside you. Maybe because nobody had welcomed you anywhere in a long time. Maybe because this place already felt different. Or maybe because for the first time in years, standing beneath a sky filled with winter light, listening to your daughter laugh beside you, the future didn’t feel quite so empty.

The first thing you learned about your new neighborhood was that everyone knew everyone. The second thing you learned was that your daughter had apparently decided Kim Namjoon belonged to her now. It happened less than forty eight hours after moving in.

You woke up that Saturday morning to silence. As a parent, silence was terrifying. Silence meant trouble. Silence meant crayons on walls. Silence meant mysterious liquids where mysterious liquids should not be. You opened your eyes and immediately reached toward Hana’s side of the bed.

Empty. Your heart jumped.

“Hana?”

No answer. You sat up. The small rental house was still unfamiliar. Every creak sounded different from your old apartment. Every shadow felt misplaced.

“Hana?”

You pushed the blanket aside and stepped into the hallway. Nothing. The bathroom was empty. The kitchen was empty. Then you noticed the front door standing slightly open. Your stomach dropped.

“Hana!”

You hurried outside. Cold morning air greeted you instantly. The neighborhood was slowly waking up. Someone was walking their dog. An elderly woman watered plants despite the winter chill. Christmas music drifted faintly from somewhere down the street.

And there she was. Sitting comfortably on your neighbor’s front porch. As if she’d lived there her entire life.

You stared. Your daughter sat cross legged on Namjoon’s porch swing while happily eating a chocolate chip cookie.

Across from her sat Kim Namjoon. Still wearing gray sweatpants. Still looking half asleep. Still somehow managing to entertain a six year old at eight in the morning. You crossed the street immediately.

“Hana.”

Both heads turned.

“Oh!” Hana smiled brightly. “Good morning, Mom.”

Good morning? Good morning?

You had nearly experienced cardiac arrest.

“Hana Kim.”

Her smile disappeared.

Uh oh. The full name.

“You left the house without telling me.”

“I was just next door.”

“That’s not the point.”

She looked guilty for approximately three seconds. Then she pointed toward Namjoon.

“He made cookies.”

You looked at Namjoon. Namjoon looked at you. Then slowly lowered his coffee mug.

“I would like to clarify that I did not kidnap your child.”

You crossed your arms.

“Good clarification.”

“I found her sitting on my porch.”

“I wanted to see his cat.”

You blinked.

“What cat?”

Namjoon blinked too.

“What cat?”

Hana frowned.

“The cat.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t have a cat.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She looked genuinely devastated. Namjoon looked equally concerned.

“I’m sorry.”

You rubbed your forehead. Somewhere deep inside, your husband was probably laughing at this. Hana had inherited his ability to create chaos before breakfast.

“You can’t leave the house without telling me.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“You scared me.”

The apology became sincere instantly. Her small shoulders lowered.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Guilt settled heavily inside your chest. You crouched down. “Hey.”

She looked up. “I know.”

You brushed her hair back gently.

“But you have to tell me where you’re going.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You kissed her forehead. The tension eased. When you stood again, Namjoon was quietly watching. Not intruding. Not speaking. Just observing with surprising softness in his expression. The kind people developed after witnessing both love and heartbreak. It made you look away first.

“Sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do.”

He smiled.

“I dropped my entire life into the street when we met.”

“That’s true.”

“I still haven’t emotionally recovered.”

Against your will, you laughed. His grin widened. Like he’d won something. You hated how easily he did that. A week ago, laughter had felt distant. Now this ridiculous man kept sneaking it out of you when you weren’t paying attention.

“Would you like coffee?”

You opened your mouth. Prepared to refuse. Instead your eyes landed on the steaming mug in his hands. The smell drifted across the porch. Freshly brewed, warm, comforting. You hadn’t slept much since moving.

“One cup.”

His smile deepened.

“One cup.”

An hour later, you were somehow sitting on Kim Namjoon’s porch. The winter sun stretched across the neighborhood. Children rode bicycles down the street. Neighbors waved as they passed. The world felt slower here. You weren’t used to it. For years your life had revolved around survival.

Work. Bills. School pickups. Laundry. Grief. Repeat.

Every day felt like crossing a river while carrying stones. You kept moving because Hana needed you to. Because there wasn’t another choice.

But this neighborhood moved differently.

People stopped to talk. They shared meals. Remembered birthdays. Borrowed sugar. The idea felt almost foreign.

“So.”

Namjoon took another sip of coffee.

“How’s the house?”

You looked toward your small rental.

“Still mostly boxes.”

“The natural habitat of every adult.”

“You know”

“I’ve lived here eight months.”

“And?”

“There’s a box in my bedroom labeled miscellaneous.”

You laughed.

“It’s still packed?”

“I fear its contents.”

“You don’t know what’s inside?”

“I honestly don’t.”

“You never checked?”

“What if it’s spiders?”

You stared. He stared back. Completely serious.

“No.”

“There could absolutely be spiders.”

“There aren’t spiders.”

“You don’t know that.”

You laughed again. And once more that strange feeling returned. The realization that you were enjoying yourself. Enjoying a conversation. Enjoying company. It had been so long.

Across the porch, Hana was busy drawing with sidewalk chalk. Occasionally she shouted updates. Neither of you understood what she was drawing. Both of you pretended you did.

“That’s beautiful.”

“It looks amazing.”

“It’s a masterpiece.”

Hana beamed. Namjoon leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically.

“I think it’s a dinosaur.”

“I thought it was a castle.”

“Oh.”

“We shouldn’t tell her.”

“Absolutely not.”

You found yourself smiling before you could stop it. And for a brief second, his eyes lingered. Not long enough to make you uncomfortable. Just long enough to notice. You looked away first.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that you discovered exactly who Kim Namjoon was.

You had finally begun unpacking the kitchen. Half your belongings still lived inside cardboard boxes. Christmas music drifted from neighboring houses. The scent of cinnamon lingered in the air. Hana sat on the floor coloring. Then suddenly she gasped. A dramatic, life changing gasp. The kind only children could produce.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Mom!”

You sighed.

“What happened?”

She held up a book.

You froze. The cover looked familiar because you’d seen it before. On bestseller displays. Bookstore windows. Airport shelves. Everywhere.

The author’s photo stared back at you. Round glasses. Thoughtful smile. Dimple.

Kim Namjoon. Your neighbor was Kim Namjoon. The Kim Namjoon. The bestselling novelist. The award winning author whose books had been translated into dozens of languages.

Your mouth opened then closed.

“You know him?” Hana asked.

Apparently, you absolutely knew him. Years ago, during countless sleepless nights after losing your husband, you’d read one of his novels. Then another, then another.

His stories had never promised happiness. That wasn’t why people loved them. They felt honest, messy, human. The kind of books that sat beside you in the dark and whispered, Me too.

You looked toward the window. Toward the house across the street. Suddenly pieces started fitting together.

The quietness. The way he observed everything. The stack of notebooks. The thoughtful pauses before speaking. The loneliness hiding underneath his easy smiles.

Some people carried sadness loudly. Others carried it so gracefully most people never noticed. Namjoon belonged to the second group.

That evening, while taking out the trash, you found him sitting alone on his porch. A notebook rested on his lap. The neighborhood glowed beneath thousands of Christmas lights. His house remained dark except for a lamp shining through the living room window.

For some reason he looked different tonight. More distant. The smile gone. The loneliness easier to see. He hadn’t noticed you yet. His attention remained fixed on the blank page before him.

Minutes passed, nothing. No writing. No movement. Just staring. Like the words refused to come.

You should have gone back inside. Instead you found yourself walking toward the fence.

“Writer’s block?”

His head lifted. A surprised smile appeared.

“There goes my reputation.”

“You have a reputation?”

“I was hoping for mysterious.”

“You dropped oranges into traffic.”

“That’s fair.”

A laugh escaped you. Then silence settled comfortably. The good kind. The kind that didn’t demand filling. Namjoon closed the notebook.

“How’d you find out?”

“The book gave it away.”

“Ah.”

“Hana’s currently offended you never mentioned being famous.”

“I try not to.”

“Why?”

His gaze drifted toward the lights hanging from neighboring houses. For a moment he seemed older somehow. More tired.

“People treat you differently once they know.”

The answer felt heavier than it should have. Like there was more beneath it. A story he wasn’t telling. You understood that. Everyone had rooms inside themselves they kept locked. Yours certainly did.

The wind stirred gently between the houses. Somewhere nearby, Christmas music played. Families laughed behind glowing windows. And for the first time in years, standing beside a stranger who didn’t feel entirely like a stranger anymore, the loneliness felt less overwhelming.

The first snowfall arrived on a Tuesday. Not enough to cover the roads. Not enough to cancel school. Just enough to soften the edges of everything.

By morning, rooftops wore thin blankets of white. Tree branches shimmered beneath delicate layers of frost. The neighborhood looked as though someone had dusted it with powdered sugar during the night.

You stood at the kitchen window with a mug of coffee warming your hands. The house was finally beginning to resemble a home.

There were still unopened boxes in the hallway. Still picture frames waiting to be hung. Still empty spaces where memories hadn’t settled yet. But it no longer felt temporary.

Outside, Hana was already awake despite it being barely eight in the morning. She pressed her nose against the glass. “Mom.”

“Hm?”

“It’s snowing.”

“It snowed.”

“It’s still snowing a little.”

You smiled into your coffee. She had always loved winter. When she was younger, your husband used to take her outside before sunrise whenever the first snowfall came.

You could still picture it. His oversized coat. Her tiny mittens. The way she’d squeal every time a snowflake landed on her sleeve.

The memory arrived unexpectedly. Sharp enough to ache. You looked down at your coffee. Three years later and grief still worked like that. It never announced itself. It simply appeared.

A familiar song. An old photograph. A winter morning.

You inhaled slowly. Then exhaled. When you looked up again, Hana was staring at you.

Watching. Children noticed everything. Even the things adults tried desperately to hide.

“You miss Dad today.”

The words were soft. Matter of fact. Like she was commenting on the weather.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I do too.”

Your heart squeezed. You opened your arms. She crossed the kitchen instantly. Still small enough to fit comfortably against your chest.

You held her there. The scent of strawberry shampoo filled your senses. The warmth of her little body grounded you.

For a while neither of you spoke. The snow continued falling outside. Life continued moving. And somehow both of you continued learning how to carry an absence that never really left.

That afternoon the neighborhood gathered in the small community square. You hadn’t even known there was a community square until Mrs. Han from three houses down knocked on your door carrying homemade cinnamon bread and an invitation.

Apparently everyone was expected to attend. Apparently refusing wasn’t an option. Apparently this neighborhood operated under rules nobody had informed you about.

“It’s important,” Mrs. Han insisted.

“What is?”

“The mailbox.”

“The mailbox?”

“The mailbox.”

She said it with such seriousness you wondered whether this mailbox paid taxes. Now, standing among dozens of neighbors bundled in winter coats and scarves, you were beginning to understand.

The square sat at the center of the neighborhood. A large Christmas tree towered above everything. Lights wrapped around every branch. Golden ornaments reflected the afternoon sunlight. Children ran through the snow. Families chatted beside food stalls selling hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts. Music drifted from hidden speakers. The entire place felt warm despite the cold. Like stepping into a memory you didn’t actually own.

You spotted Namjoon near the edge of the crowd. He wore a dark wool coat and a knitted beanie. A paper cup rested between his hands. He looked comfortable here, like he belonged.

People greeted him as they passed. Some stopped to chat. Others waved. He smiled politely at everyone. Yet there was still a distance around him. As though part of him always remained elsewhere.

His gaze found yours across the crowd. A small smile appeared. You returned it before realizing you had.

“Everyone!”

The neighborhood president stepped forward. An elderly man named Mr. Choi. The crowd quieted instantly. Children gathered near the front including Hana. Who had somehow positioned herself directly beside Namjoon.

Traitor.

You watched him glance down when she grabbed his hand.

He looked surprised. Then amused. Then resigned. As though accepting his fate. Mr. Choi cleared his throat dramatically.

“Welcome to our annual Christmas letter exchange!”

Applause erupted. You blinked. People were very invested in this. Beside you, a woman whispered excitedly.

“I wonder who I’ll get this year.”

Someone else answered.

“Last year mine sent me homemade cookies.”

Another neighbor sighed dreamily.

“My letter partner helped me survive my divorce.”

You stared. What exactly was happening?

Mr. Choi continued.

“As always, anyone who wishes to participate may place their name inside the red mailbox.”

A cloth covering was pulled away. The crowd cheered. And there it was. The famous mailbox.

Bright red. Old fashioned. Standing proudly beneath the Christmas tree.

Children immediately rushed toward it. Adults followed. You looked unimpressed.

“Mom.”

You looked down. Hana’s eyes sparkled.

“No.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“You’re asking if we can join.”

“Maybe.”

“No.”

“Mom.”

“Hana.”

“Please.”

You sighed. She looked exactly like her father whenever she wanted something. Which should honestly have been illegal.

“I don’t need a stranger writing me letters.”

“Why not?”

Because strangers didn’t know how broken you were. Because strangers asked questions. Because opening your heart to someone you couldn’t see sounded terrifying. Because the last few years had taught you that surviving was easier when you kept people at arm’s length. Instead you simply said, “I’m not interested.”

Disappointment flickered across her face.

She nodded. “Okay.”

The guilt arrived immediately. You hated that look. The one where she tried understanding things she was too young to understand.

You crouched beside her. “Maybe next year.”

“You always say next year.”

The words weren’t angry. That made them hurt more. Before you could answer, another voice joined the conversation.

“You should do it.”

You looked up. Namjoon stood beside you. Coffee in hand. Snowflakes clinging to his coat. You raised an eyebrow. “You too?”

“It’s fun.”

“You participate?”

"Every year.”

That surprised you. He didn’t seem like someone who enjoyed neighborhood traditions.

He looked toward the mailbox. His expression softened.

“A few years ago somebody wrote me exactly what I needed to hear.”

Your gaze lingered on him.

“What was that?”

A small smile touched his lips.

“They reminded me I wasn’t the only lonely person in the world.”

For a moment his voice carried a quiet sadness. One that vanished almost immediately. You wondered where it came from. You wondered what story lived behind it. Before you could ask, Hana gasped dramatically. “See?”

You closed your eyes. Of course she would use him as evidence. Namjoon looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“I believe I’ve won this argument.”

“You weren’t part of the argument.”

“I am now.”

“You barely know me.”

“That’s true.”

“Then stop helping my daughter gang up on me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Hana high fived him. You stared in betrayal. He high fived her back without shame.

That night you fell asleep convinced the conversation was over. You were wrong.

The following morning, while preparing breakfast, you found a folded piece of paper taped to the refrigerator.

Mom,

You should join the mailbox because you are nice and funny and maybe someone out there needs a friend.

Love, Hana

Underneath was a poorly drawn heart. You laughed despite yourself. Then you folded the note carefully and tucked it into your pocket.

Three days later the neighborhood letter submissions officially began. People dropped names into the mailbox throughout the week. The square remained busy. Filled with anticipation. You ignored all of it until Friday evening, when you arrived home carrying groceries. The house felt suspiciously quiet.

“Hana?”

No answer. You set down the bags.

“Hana?”

Still nothing. Then you heard giggling outside. You followed the sound, and immediately stopped.

Across the street, your daughter stood beside the red mailbox, with Kim Namjoon. Both looked guilty.

The moment they saw you, they froze. A terrible sign. You narrowed your eyes.

“What did you do?”

Hana looked at Namjoon. Namjoon looked at Hana. Neither answered. You crossed your arms.

“Hana.”

A long pause. Then…

“I might have put your name in the mailbox.”

You blinked once. Twice.

“My what?”

“You weren’t doing it.”

“Hana.”

“I just wanted you to have a friend.”

The words landed directly in your chest. Your frustration vanished almost immediately. Because she wasn’t trying to disobey you. She was trying to help. The way children often did. With hearts far bigger than their understanding. You looked away briefly, gathering yourself. Then glanced toward Namjoon.

“You helped her?”

His eyes widened.

“What?”

“You were standing right there.”

“I arrived after the crime.”

“The crime?”

“The crime.”

Hana burst into laughter. Namjoon followed. Soon you found yourself laughing too. Unable to stop it. The sound echoed beneath the Christmas lights overhead.

And somewhere between your daughter’s hopeful heart and your neighbor’s impossible smile, your resistance finally began to crack.

Just a little. Just enough.

Far across the square, unnoticed by you, dozens of folded names rested inside the red mailbox, waiting.

Among them was yours. Among them was Namjoon’s. Neither of you knew it yet. Neither of you could possibly know. But before Christmas arrived, your words would find each other. Long before your hearts did.

The envelope arrived three days later. You found it tucked neatly between a grocery flyer and an electricity bill, hidden so casually among ordinary things that you almost missed it.

The stationery set was simple. Cream-colored paper. Matching envelopes. A small instruction card tied with red ribbon. The neighborhood committee had clearly put thought into it.

Everything looked warm. Festive. Hopeful.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen reading the instructions while Hana sat at the table coloring reindeer antlers onto a snowman.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The mailbox thing.”

Her entire face brightened.

“The letter!”

You immediately regretted answering.

“Can I see?”

“Hana.”

“Please?”

You held the card against your chest.

“It says anonymous.”

“What’s anonymous?”

“It means nobody knows who wrote it.”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because unfortunately your six-year-old daughter had inherited her father’s ability to ask questions that made you feel personally attacked.

Hana grinned. “Got you.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Who taught you that phrase?”

“Uncle Namjoon.”

Of course he did. You shook your head and returned your attention to the stationery. The instructions were simple.

Write honestly. Write kindly. Write what you cannot say out loud. Drop the letter into the red mailbox before Friday evening. Someone, somewhere in the neighborhood, would write back. You stared at those words for a long moment.

Write honestly. The problem was that honesty felt dangerous. You had spent years learning how to survive. Years learning how to smile when people asked how you were doing. Years learning how to answer with “I’m okay.” Years learning how to swallow the truth before it escaped.

Because the truth was messy. The truth made people uncomfortable. The truth was that grief never really left. It only changed shape.

Some days it was loud. Other days it sat quietly beside you while you folded laundry or washed dishes. Sometimes it appeared when Hana laughed exactly like her father. Sometimes it arrived when you reached across the bed at night and found only cold sheets. Sometimes it came for absolutely no reason at all.

You looked down at the blank paper, then folded it back into the envelope.

“Nope.”

Hana frowned. “You’re not doing it?”

“I never wanted to do it.”

“You promised.”

“I did not.”

“You kind of did.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“You super did.”

You pointed toward the hallway.

“Go brush your teeth.”

“I already did.”

“Then brush them again.”

“Mom.”

“Hana.”

The little girl laughed and ran away. You could still hear her giggling from the other room. The sound lingered inside the house long after she disappeared.

The house felt different these days. Still quiet, still unfamiliar, but less lonely. The walls no longer echoed quite as much. There were traces of life everywhere.

Tiny shoes near the door. Crayons on the coffee table. Half-finished drawings attached to the refrigerator. A forgotten stuffed rabbit on the couch. The evidence of Hana’s existence filled every room. Somehow it helped. You looked down at the stationery again, then slid it into a drawer. Tomorrow. You would do it tomorrow.

Tomorrow became the next day. Then the day after that. Then another. The blank paper remained untouched.

Every evening you sat at the dining table. Every evening you uncapped a pen. Every evening you stared at the empty page. And every evening nothing happened. The words stayed trapped somewhere inside your chest.

Too tangled. Too heavy. Too difficult to explain.

Outside, December continued wrapping itself around the neighborhood.

More lights appeared. More decorations. Christmas music drifted through open windows. Children practiced carols in the community center. The scent of cinnamon and baked cookies floated through the streets.

Life kept moving. The world kept celebrating. Meanwhile you sat beneath a warm lamp staring at a sheet of paper.

Waiting for a sentence. Waiting for courage. Waiting for something. Anything.

Across the street, Kim Namjoon was losing a battle against his manuscript.

He sat at his desk surrounded by notebooks, printed pages, coffee mugs, and enough crumpled paper to build a second chair. His laptop screen glowed accusingly.

Three words. That was all he had written in four hours. He stared at them. Deleted them. Typed them again. Deleted them again. The cursor blinked, mocking him. The bestselling novelist who could write entire worlds suddenly couldn’t finish a paragraph.

Outside his office window, snow drifted gently through the darkness. The neighborhood looked like a Christmas postcard.

Inside his house, frustration simmered. Namjoon rubbed his face, then stood. Then sat again. Then stood once more. The cycle had become familiar lately.

The story wouldn’t come. Every sentence felt hollow. Every chapter sounded forced. His publisher wanted updates. His editor wanted progress. Readers wanted another novel. Meanwhile his mind felt like a room with all the lights turned off.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. The door opened. His mother stepped inside carrying tea.

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She placed the mug beside him.

“When was the last time you slept properly?”

Namjoon thought about it, then laughed. His mother sighed.

“That’s what I thought.”

She glanced toward the computer screen.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“Still stuck?”

“Very.”

She patted his shoulder.

“You always figure it out.”

“Not this time.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And the time before that.”

“And every book before that.”

Namjoon smiled despite himself. His mother headed toward the door. Halfway there she paused.

“The mailbox letters are being delivered tomorrow.”

He looked up. “Already?”

“You used to love that tradition.”

His gaze drifted toward the snowy window. Back toward the neighborhood. Toward the houses glowing softly beneath Christmas lights. Toward the home across the street. Toward a certain little girl who had recently declared him her best friend after exactly three meetings.

A laugh escaped him. His mother noticed.

“See?”

“What?”

“That smile.”

He frowned.

“What smile?”

“The one you’ve had ever since your new neighbors moved in.”

Namjoon nearly choked on his tea. His mother left before he could defend himself.

Friday arrived.

The deadline. The final day.

You sat alone at the dining table long after Hana had fallen asleep.

The house was silent. Only the ticking clock remained. A small lamp illuminated the room. Everything beyond its warm circle faded into shadow.

The blank paper waited. You stared at it.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Your fingers tightened around the pen. Still nothing.

The truth was there. You could feel it. You just didn’t know how to put it into words.

How did you explain loneliness? How did you explain waking up every morning and moving through life because you had to? How did you explain missing someone so deeply that years later certain songs still hurt? How did you explain surviving?

Your eyes drifted toward a framed photograph sitting on the bookshelf.

Your husband. His smile frozen forever.

For a moment the room felt very small. You remembered Christmas mornings. Coffee shared in bed. Late-night movie marathons. His laughter. His terrible dancing. The future you had once imagined.

Gone. All of it gone.

The grief wasn’t as sharp anymore. Time had softened its edges. But it still lived inside you. A scar beneath the skin.

Your vision blurred. You blinked, looked back down, and finally wrote.

One sentence. Just one. The simplest truth you had. The one thought that had haunted you for longer than you wanted to admit.

I don’t remember the last time I felt excited about tomorrow.

You stared at the words. Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t impressive. It was simply true. And somehow that felt more terrifying than anything else.

An hour later, wearing your winter coat, you stood before the red mailbox. Snow crunched beneath your boots.

The square was nearly empty. The town Christmas tree glowed nearby. Thousands of tiny lights shimmered against the dark sky. Your envelope rested in your hands.

You hesitated, then slipped it into the mailbox. The envelope disappeared. Your chest felt strangely lighter. As though you had finally put down something you had been carrying alone.

The next afternoon, Namjoon received a letter. He opened it absentmindedly. Expecting small talk, holiday wishes, something cheerful, something ordinary. Instead he found a single sentence.

I don’t remember the last time I felt excited about tomorrow.

His eyes lingered on the words. The room grew very quiet. The sentence wasn’t complicated, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

Loneliness. Exhaustion. Heartbreak. Hope.

A quiet plea hidden between the lines.

Namjoon sat down slowly, reading it again, and again, and again. Whoever wrote this wasn’t looking for attention. They weren’t trying to impress anyone. They had simply told the truth. The kind of truth people rarely admitted aloud.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, the words settled somewhere deep inside him. Because he understood. More than he wanted to.

The manuscript waiting upstairs. The empty house. The long nights. The uncertainty. The fear that life was moving forward while you remained standing still. He understood all of it.

Outside his window, snow began falling again. Soft white flakes drifting beneath streetlights. The neighborhood looked peaceful.

His gaze wandered toward the house across the street. A light glowed from the kitchen window. A familiar silhouette moved briefly inside. Then disappeared.

Namjoon looked down at the letter once more. A small smile touched his face.

“Who are you?” he murmured.

The snow continued falling. The lights continued glowing. And somewhere only a few houses away, you had no idea that the man reading your letter couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“Probably,” he says, even though he has no idea. He’s been to a lot of places, done a lot of things, but Greek island cat behavior was never in his wheelhouse.

You’re already digging through your bag — the woven one you bought in Naxos two days ago — pulling out the bougatsa you’d grabbed at breakfast. You break off a piece and offer it to the cat, who sniffs it suspiciously before accepting.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her sun-warmed fur. “Such a pretty girl.”

Sidney pulls out his phone and takes a photo, adding it to the collection he’s been building all week. You feeding cats. You laughing at a local taverna. You in that white sundress that makes you look like you belong here, among the whitewashed buildings and endless blue. You looking at him like he hung the moon when he surprised you with this trip.

The plan had been simple: skip the tourist traps, rent a yacht, and island-hop through the Cyclades the way normal people can’t. Santorini and Mykonos were beautiful, sure, but they were also Instagram factories, full of influencers and cruise ship crowds. He wanted something real. Something authentic. Something that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.

So he’d hired a captain and a small crew, and for the past week, you’d been sailing from island to island — Naxos, Paros, Antiparos, Koufonisia, and now Folegandros. Small islands. Quiet islands. Islands where locals still outnumbered tourists, where you could walk through villages and actually hear church bells instead of club music.

And watching you fall in love with each one has been the best part of the trip.

You stand up, brushing off your dress, and loop your arm through his. “Thank you for this,” you say, like you have every day. “This whole trip. It’s perfect.”

“You’ve said that about every island,” he points out, amused.

“Because it’s true about every island,” you counter. “How did you even find these places? I’ve never heard of half of them.”

“Research,” he says, which is true. He’d spent weeks reading travel blogs, watching videos, messaging people who’d been to Greece. He’d wanted to get it right.

“Well, you nailed it,” you say, squeezing his arm. “This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on.”

The ring box feels heavier in his pocket.

Tonight, he thinks. It has to be tonight.

He’d been planning to propose since the beginning of the season. Had the ring custom-made six months ago by a jeweler in New York who specialized in unique pieces. Had it designed specifically for you — a blue diamond, because you’d once mentioned in passing that you loved how unusual they were, set in platinum with cathedral details that the jeweler had called “architectural“ and “distinctive.” The kind of ring you could wear every day but that would still make people stop and stare.

He’d been carrying it for three days, looking for the perfect moment, and somehow every moment had felt both perfect and not perfect enough. Sunset in Naxos? Too crowded. That quiet beach in Antiparos? Too isolated. The yacht deck under the stars? Too predictable.

But tonight. Tonight he has a plan.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently down the street. “We should get ready for dinner.”

“Where are we going again?” You ask.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, which makes you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“You’ve been very mysterious about tonight,” you observe.

“Have I?” He asks innocently.

“Very,” you confirm. “Should I be worried?”

“Definitely not,” he assures you. “Just trust me.”

“I always trust you,” you say simply, and the ring box burns hotter.

Back on the yacht, you disappear into the cabin to get ready while Sidney checks in with the captain about timing. Dinner reservations are at seven-thirty — he’d made them weeks ago, calling the restaurant directly, explaining in broken English and hand gestures over video chat what he wanted. The owner, an elderly woman named Yiayia Eleni, had been delighted, conspiratorial, promising him the best table and complete discretion.

He showers and changes into the nice shirt he packed specifically for this — white linen, rolled sleeves, paired with his better shorts and the watch you got him for his birthday. He looks at himself in the mirror and takes a breath.

“You’ve played in the Olympics,” he tells his reflection. “You’ve won Stanley Cups. You can propose to your girlfriend.”

His reflection doesn’t look convinced.

When you emerge from the cabin twenty minutes later, his brain stops working entirely.

You’re wearing a dress he’s never seen before — soft blue, the color of the Aegean, with thin straps and a skirt that moves when you walk. Your hair is down, slightly wavy from the sea air, and you’re wearing the delicate gold necklace he bought you in Paros.

“Is this okay?” You ask, suddenly self-conscious. “You said nice restaurant, but I wasn’t sure how nice-”

“You’re perfect,” he interrupts. “You look perfect.”

You smile, pleased, and do a little spin. “I bought it in Naxos. I was saving it for a special occasion.”

“Good instinct,” he manages, and offers his arm.

The restaurant is a ten-minute walk from where the yacht is docked — a small, family-owned place right on the water with only six tables. Yiayia Eleni greets you at the door with enthusiastic cheek kisses and a flood of Greek that neither of you understand but that clearly means “welcome.”

She leads you to a table on the terrace, right at the edge where the stone meets the sea. It’s the best table, separated slightly from the others, with a view of the harbor and the sunset that’s just beginning to paint the sky pink and gold.

“Sidney, this is beautiful,” you breathe, sitting down. “How did you find this place?”

“I have my ways,” he says mysteriously.

Yiayia Eleni returns with wine — local, she explains in careful English, from her son’s vineyard on the island. She pours you each a glass, winks at Sidney in a way that suggests she knows exactly what’s happening tonight, and disappears back into the kitchen.

“She’s adorable,” you say, watching her go. “I love these family places. They have so much character.”

“Better than the tourist traps,” Sidney agrees.

“So much better,” you say. “I mean, I’m sure Santorini is beautiful, but this-” you gesture at the view, the quiet harbor, the locals walking past, “ — this feels real. Like we’re actually experiencing Greece, not just performing it for Instagram.”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” he admits.

You reach across the table and take his hand. “You did good, Crosby. This whole trip. It’s been incredible.”

“Yeah?” He asks, even though you’ve told him this every day.

“The best,” you confirm. “I don’t want it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” he says carefully. “We could come back. Make it a regular thing.”

“I’d like that,” you say, smiling. “Annual Greek island trip. I could get behind that tradition.”

The food arrives in waves — Greek salad, grilled octopus, fresh bread with olive oil, moussaka that Yiayia Eleni insists you try. Everything is perfect, simple and fresh and made with obvious care. You moan over the octopus, declare the moussaka life-changing, and insist on trying to learn the Greek words for “thank you” and “delicious.”

Sidney watches you charm Yiayia Eleni’s husband — Papou Pavlos — when he comes out to check on your meal, sees you light up when you successfully communicate that the food is incredible, and feels the ring box pressing against his leg like a heartbeat.

The sun is setting now, turning the sky into a masterpiece of orange and pink and purple. The other diners are focused on their own meals, their own conversations. Yiayia Eleni catches his eye from the doorway and gives him an encouraging nod.

It’s time.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended.

You look up from your wine, smiling. “Hey yourself.”

“I want to tell you something,” he starts, and watches your expression shift from casual to attentive.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Should I be worried? You look very serious suddenly.”

“Not worried,” he assures you. “Just give me a second. I’ve been planning what to say for weeks and now I’m blanking.”

“Planning what to say about what?” You ask, but there’s something in your eyes now, a dawning realization.

Sidney stands up, his chair scraping against the stone, and your eyes go wide.

“Sidney-” you start.

“Let me say this,” he interrupts gently, moving around the table. “Please. I need to say this.”

He drops to one knee beside your chair, and you make a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a sob.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“I had a whole speech planned,” he admits, pulling the ring box from his pocket. “I’ve been rehearsing it for days. But now I’m looking at you and I can’t remember any of it.”

“That’s okay,” you say, and your eyes are already shining with tears. “You don’t need a speech.”

“I do though,” he insists. “Because you need to understand—you need to know what you mean to me.”

He takes a breath, and the words start coming.

“I’ve been playing hockey since I was three years old,” he says. “My whole life has been about the game. About training and winning and being the best. And I love it. I love hockey. But you-” his voice catches. “You made me realize that there’s more to life than the game.”

You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face, but you’re smiling.

“You made me want things I didn’t think I wanted,” he continues. “A home that’s actually a home, not just a place I sleep between road trips. Lazy mornings and inside jokes and someone who calls me out when I’m being too intense about game film.”

You laugh through your tears. “You are too intense about game film.”

“I know,” he says, smiling. “And you’re the only person who can tell me that and make me actually listen.”

He opens the ring box, and your hand flies to your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “Sidney, that’s-”

“I had it made for you,” he explains. “The blue diamond because you said you loved them. The cathedral setting because you’re always talking about architecture when we travel. I wanted it to be unique. Like you.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whisper.

“This whole trip,” he continues, “watching you fall in love with these islands, seeing you feed every cat we encounter, listening to you try to learn Greek from the locals — I’ve been falling more in love with you every single day. Which I didn’t think was possible because I was already so gone for you.”

“Sid,” you say, your voice breaking.

“You’re brilliant and funny and kind,” he says. “You’re going to finish your PhD and do incredible things and change the world with your research. And I want to be there for all of it. I want to watch you defend your dissertation and get your first academic job and publish your first book. I want to support you the way you support me.”

“You already do,” you manage.

“I want to come home to you every night,” he continues. “I want to travel the world with you. I want to have babies with you — when you’re ready — and build a family. I want to grow old with you and still be feeding Greek cats when we’re seventy.”

You’re fully sobbing now, and so is Yiayia Eleni, who’s appeared in the doorway with a handkerchief.

“You’re my home,” Sidney says, and his own voice is unsteady now. “You’re my family. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed and everything I can’t imagine living without. And I know I’m older than you, and I’m gone a lot, and my life is complicated, but-”

“Sidney,” you interrupt, your hand on his face. “Ask me. Please just ask me.”

He takes a shaky breath. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, emphatically. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

He barely gets the ring out of the box before you’re pulling him up, kissing him with tears streaming down both your faces. He manages to slip the ring onto your finger between kisses, and it fits perfectly — of course it does, he had your ring size memorized from that time you tried on rings at a vintage store in Pittsburgh.

When you finally pull back to look at it, you make a sound that’s pure joy.

“Sidney, this is—I can’t even-” You turn your hand, watching the blue diamond catch the last of the sunset. “How did you design this? It’s perfect. The cathedral setting, the way the band has these details — it’s like it was made specifically for me.”

“It was,” he confirms. “Every part of it. I wanted you to have something no one else has.”

“Mission accomplished,” you say, kissing him again. “I can’t believe you did this. Here, on this perfect trip, at this perfect restaurant-”

“I wanted it to be special,” he says.

“It’s perfect,” you assure him. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”

Yiayia Eleni appears with champagne that Sidney definitely didn’t order but that she’s clearly been saving for this exact moment. She’s talking rapidly in Greek, gesturing at the ring, at you, at Sidney, and while you can’t understand the words, the meaning is clear: congratulations, how beautiful, how wonderful.

Papou Pavlos appears with a camera, insisting on taking photos. The other diners are applauding. Someone brings out baklava with a candle in it.

“Did you plan all this?” You ask, laughing through tears.

“I planned the proposal,” Sidney admits. “Yiayia Eleni planned the celebration.”

“I love her,” you declare, and Yiayia Eleni, understanding her name if not the words, beams and kisses both your cheeks.

You insist on taking photos of the ring against the sunset, the ring with the harbor in the background, the ring next to your wine glass. Sidney takes a photo of you wearing the ring, your smile brighter than any sunset, and knows he’s going to frame it.

“Call my parents,” you say suddenly. “And yours. We have to tell them.”

“Right now?” He asks, amused.

“Right now,” you insist. “They need to know. Your parents need to know they’re getting a daughter-in-law. My parents need to know they’re getting Sidney Crosby as a son-in-law, which they’re going to lose their minds about.”

“Your dad’s going to make daddy jokes,” Sidney realizes.

“Oh absolutely,” you confirm. “For the rest of your life. You’ve signed up for this.”

“Worth it,” he says, kissing you again.

You make the calls right there at the table, with the Aegean Sea behind you and the ring catching every light. Your mom cries. Your dad says “I knew it” and then makes exactly the joke Sidney predicted about calling him dad. Sidney’s mom cries too, and his dad gives him a gruff congratulations that sounds suspiciously emotional.

Your brother demands photos of the ring immediately and then sends back a string of all-caps messages about how Sidney BETTER TREAT HIS SISTER RIGHT OR ELSE.

“He’s twenty-one,” you point out, reading the messages. “What’s he going to do?”

“He plays college baseball,” Sidney says. “He could probably do some damage.”

“Fair point,” you concede.

By the time you finish making calls, the sky is fully dark, stars beginning to appear. Yiayia Eleni has brought out more wine, more baklava, and what looks like her entire extended family to congratulate you.

“This is the best day of my life,” you tell Sidney, your hand in his, the ring gleaming in the candlelight.

“Mine too,” he agrees.

“Better than winning the Stanley Cup?” You tease.

“So much better,” he says, and means it. “The Cup doesn’t kiss back.”

You laugh, that sound he loves, and lean your head on his shoulder. “What do we do now?”

“Now,” he says, “we finish our wine, eat more baklava than is advisable, and walk back to the yacht as an engaged couple.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we wake up and you’re still going to be my fiancée,” he says. “And I’m going to make you breakfast and probably stare at you wearing that ring for several hours.”

“Sounds perfect,” you say. “What about after this trip?”

“After this trip, we go home and you finish your PhD,” he says. “And we start planning a wedding. And we build our life together.”

“Our life,” you repeat, testing the words. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” he says.

Yiayia Eleni insists on more photos — of you and Sidney, of the ring, of the whole family together. She makes you promise to send copies, to come back for your anniversary, to name your first daughter Eleni.

“She’s very invested in our future,” you observe as you finally say goodbye.

“She’s been planning this since I called to make the reservation,” Sidney admits. “I think she’s been shopping for your wedding gift.”

“I love her,” you say again. “I love this place. I love this island. I love that this is our story now — how you proposed on a quiet Greek island at a family restaurant while I was still sunburned from feeding cats all day.”

“That’s very on brand for us,” Sidney observes.

“It really is,” you agree.

The walk back to the yacht is quiet, your hand in his, the ring catching the moonlight. Other couples pass by, locals heading home from dinner, and Sidney realizes this is what he wants for the rest of his life. This. You. Quiet walks and shared moments and building something that matters more than hockey ever could.

On the yacht, you insist on modeling the ring in better lighting, taking more photos, sending them to your cohort group chat and watching the messages explode.

The yacht is anchored in the quiet harbor, the island lights twinkling on the shore. You lean against the railing and Sidney wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I can’t believe I get to marry you,” you murmur.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” he counters.

“Of course I said yes,” you say, turning to face him. “You’re Sidney Crosby. You’re brilliant and kind and you make me laugh and you support my career and you planned this entire perfect trip just to propose to me in the most romantic way possible.”

“When you put it that way, I sound pretty good,” he says, smiling.

“You are pretty good,” you confirm. “Even if you are a dirty old man sometimes.”

“I’m your dirty old man now,” he points out.

“Fiancé,” you correct. “You’re my fiancé. My dirty old fiancé.”

“Even better,” he agrees.

You kiss him under the stars, wearing his ring, and Sidney thinks about how far they’ve come from that charity gala where you argued about hockey statistics. How you’ve gone from the girl who challenged him to the woman he can’t imagine living without.

“I love you,” he says against your lips.

“I love you too,” you say back. “Future husband.”

“Future wife,” he replies, and the words feel right in a way that makes his chest tight.

Later, in the cabin, you insist on sleeping with your left hand on his chest so you can see the ring even in the dark.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly.

“I’m engaged,” you counter. “I’m allowed to be ridiculous about my engagement ring.”

“Fair,” he concedes.

“Tell me again,” you say sleepily. “About the ring. How you designed it.”

“I worked with a jeweler in New York,” he explains, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “Told him I wanted something unique. Something that represented you. He suggested the blue diamond because they’re rare and distinctive. The cathedral setting because of the structural elements, the way it frames the stone. We went through probably twenty designs before we found the right one.”

“It’s perfect,” you murmur. “I’m never taking it off.”

“You’re going to have to,” he points out. “For lab work. Research. When you’re washing dishes.”

“Okay, fine, sometimes I’ll take it off,” you concede. “But I’m going to hate every second of it.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t like it,” you correct. “I love it. Just like I love you.”

“Love you too,” he says. “Future Dr. Crosby.”

You make a happy sound. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m going to be Dr. Crosby. That sounds so official.”

“Very official,” he agrees. “Very impressive.”

“Your wife is going to be a doctor,” you say, testing the words. “How does that feel?”

“Like I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says honestly.

You shift to kiss him properly. “We both are. Lucky, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We really are.”

You fall asleep like that, engaged and happy and planning a future that feels bigger and brighter than anything Sidney could have imagined.

The thing about Sidney Crosby is that he’s spent his whole life winning.

“A moment, Y/N?”

You were not often irritated. It was actually quite hard to get you to a point where it showed on the surface. You know, customer service and all that. 

But there was something about finishing your seven hour shift – that in actuality turned to nine hours – only to have your name called with your jacket halfway over your shoulders.

Your mouth probably quivered in the effort, but you managed to force on a half-smile anyways. “Yeah?”

“Listen, I hate to ask you this, but can you take a shift tomorrow?”

If your manager hated it as much as she claimed, she would have asked anyone but you. Especially knowing how many extra shifts you had picked up lately due to sickness from other employees. More often than not, you cursed your strong immune system. 

Where was a cold when you truly needed it?

“I’m sorry, I’m actually busy tomorrow.” The lie was effortless on your part.

Your manager’s brows furrowed. “No way you can postpone?”

“No sorry. It’s a family birthday, can’t really postpone that, you know.”

You were honestly bone-tired after working the entire week, with all your six hour shifts becoming overtime by several hours and you just needed one damn day of rest. To just bed rot to your heart’s content without worrying. 

Your pride was usually too stubborn, and a few extra bucks in your account each month definitely never hurt, but you were certainly feeling your age right now.

“Oh okay.”

That was it, you supposed, mentally rolling your eyes as your manager turned back around without a goodbye as you watched her walk away with the tight smile still present.

God, you were not paid enough to deal with her attitude. 

“Bitch.” you couldn’t help but mutter to yourself. 

The cold was unforgiving in the beginning of this year, and you had never been much of an ice, snow or even cold weather person to begin with, which added to your already foul mood. 

You had to switch metro lines once, and then take a bus to get to your destination. And the idiot should appreciate your effort after a long shift. Not to mention all the security measures needed for you to get past just to get to his building.

The front door had never looked more inviting as you entered the doorcode and let it close shut behind you with a rhythmic beep. You could hear the sound of talking coming from the living room or kitchen, as well as the sound of the TV somewhere in the background.

“If anybody’s looking for me, it’s your birthday tomorrow!” You called out just before rounding the corner to the kitchen.

Yoongi blinked at you, while Jimin and Taehyung were mid-giggle about something.

“Oh, hey boys,” you added quickly, trying to hide the fatigue in your voice. 

A black little fluff ball weaved out from beneath the dinner table and trotted over to you eagerly as you cooed and bent down to greet him. “Look who it is, hi Tangie.”

The black cat was vocal, meowing at you in greeting and rubbing against your legs until you gently pushed him away to go sit down. 

“Hiyaa noona,” Tae grinned at you, picking up a piece of meat from the grill on the table. 

“Noona, come eat with us!” Jimin stood up to grab an extra set of chopsticks and a bowl of rice as you plopped down on the chair next to Yoongi. 

“What are you talking about?” He drawled to your sudden shoutout while wrapping up his ssam. 

“If my manager is asking, I'm busy with a family birthday tomorrow.”

“And how would your manager know me?”

“It’s a what-if situation, Yoongs. Just go with it.”

He huffed and wordlessly plated your bowl with rice and several pieces of perfectly grilled meat, as Jimin poured you a glass of soju. Always the gentlemen. 

You caught yourself smiling, small and soft, and felt the weariness in your chest ease just a little from their presence.

“Was work tough today, noona?”

“Less tough and more annoying, to be honest.”

“Let’s drink to that!” Tae held out his glass as you two clinked and downed it one shot. 

“What’s with the impromptu dinner?” You asked after a few bites. 

“We were bored,” Jimin shrugged. 

“They didn’t exactly ask to come,” Yoongi clarified in return. “Barged in like an hour ago demanding me to cook.”

“We asked you,” Taehyung corrected. “And came bearing gifts.”

“You mean soju which I already had in my fridge?”

“And now you got double, you’re welcome.”

You only chuckled to yourself at the usual bickering between the boys as they continued to talk about the past, and down alcohol like it was water. 

Maybe it was the weather, or even the significance of a new year beginning. But your mind somehow felt reminiscent. Sitting here in Yoongi’s large home, silently watching as he acted annoyed by his two younger members with that smile on his face. 

And somewhere in the back of your mind, the memories started to drift.

Your parents had been close – were close to this day. Though Yoongi’s family had moved to a newer house in the years that followed whilst your family still remained in the same neighborhood. 

They had dragged you to dinner at the petulant age of ten, promising there was going to be another kid there your age, and someone for you to play with. They just never mentioned it was a boy. And at that age, boys were very much gross to you. And yet, you grew inseparable. 

Yearly summer vacations spent together, sitting on the curb eating ice creams, biking through the streets and waiting for each other after school to walk home together. During your middle school years the two of you would often hang out on the school’s rooftop during breaks, being split into different classes. He was always scribbling away, and you beside him lounging tilting your head curiously now and then. 

“I’m gonna move to Seoul one day,” he often declared. 

“I know.”

“You do?”

“You love music, of course you’ll move.”

He frowned. “Do you think I’ll make it?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately. “Because you’re stubborn.”

By the time the two of you turned seventeen he was already active in the underground hip hop scene in Daegu. And you were often used as a scapegoat to distract his parents from his absence rather than being by his side.

“I’m supposed to be cool, Y/N. I can’t have you by my side like a clingy sister every performance,” he had whined while you gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Cool, my butt.”

You had been the one to help him pack the day before his move to Seoul, choosing which clothes were best fit for the fancy big city neither of you had experience living in. 

“Take the black one,” you had ordered.

“But I like the yellow one.”

“It makes you look like a middle schooler, don’t you want to be taken seriously?”

He switched it out without another word. 

His first year in Seoul went by with constant phone calls and texts. You even got scolded by your mother for spending your entire monthly phone credit in just two weeks for constantly calling him. 

And then one day it just stopped.

At first you hadn’t thought much of it. Yoongi was busy, and he often left you on read due to time restraints. But then it got suspicious. To the point even his own mother had received the same treatment. 

‘Are you dead?’

‘Yoongs?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Did I do something?’

‘Hello?’

There were days between each one. And then weeks later, you got a reply;

‘I’m fine.’ 

You called right away, but it went unanswered. 

You couldn’t even remember your feelings back then, it felt too long ago. An emotional turmoil of a teenager that made no sense. And you had no choice but to grow up and continue your own life despite the heartbreak of a friendship lost. 

That’s why it felt strange at first when you stumbled across it; Bangtan Sonyeondan’s debut. 

It was a strange name, with an even stranger concept. But you had recognized him. 

Of course you had. 

And ever since that moment, he had never left your orbit even from a distance. Even when you didn’t want to, you saw it all. From their failed attempts to remain popular, to songs that didn’t make it big yet were still added to your playlist for genuinely being good music. 

It came to a point where you no longer viewed him as your Yoongi. But rather BTS’ Suga, and a part of you was convinced it helped you move on quicker. 

Then COVID hit, and you were forced to move back home to your parents. 

You chalked it up to coincidence at first; running into his mother at the grocery store after how many years? She had grown excited, even teary-eyed and hugged the life out of you as she cooed over how grown you were. A beautiful young woman. 

“You know, I think he’d love to hear from you.”

Your breath had hitched, until you forced out a small, polite laugh. “It’s been years. I doubt he even remembers.”

She had given you a knowing glance, rummaged in her bag and ripped out a small piece of paper and written a number on it. “He’s having a bit of a rough time right now, with everything being cancelled. I think a text from you would cheer him up.”

You felt your chest tighten, memories flooding back. The late-night calls, the unanswered messages, even the reluctant acceptance of distance.

“I’ll think about it, thank you.”

And you thought about it. For days. Staring at that single slip of paper like it was your largest obstacle.

‘Hey. It’s Y/N. From Daegu.’ 

It had only been an hour when the reply came. 

‘I know.’

“Another shot?” Jimin’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, chopsticks hovering dramatically over the grill.

“Yeah,” you said with a small laugh, reaching for your glass. Tae clinked his against yours, smirking.

Yoongi glanced at you, brow slightly raised, as if he could tell your mind was elsewhere. ‘You okay?’ His silent question was obvious and you just assured him with a smile. 

Yoongi always kept the grill going and filled your bowl to the point you were ready to roll home. So when it hit 10PM, you stood up with a stretch. “Right, time for me to head off.”

Yoongi’s brows furrowed as he glanced at the time. “It’s late already, just stay over.”

“Nuh uh. I stay at your place almost more than my own, and I still pay my bills.”

“Just stay and let me drive you home tomorrow morning.”

“The bus straight to my house is literally down the road,” You gave him a pointed look. “Besides, It’s my first day off in a week, so I will be rotting in my own bed and eating unhealthy food the entire day.”

With that declaration you grabbed your bag and gave them all a wave over your shoulder. “Don’t text me tomorrow unless someone’s dying.”

“At least let me call you a taxi!” He called at your retreating back.

“Buh bye!” Was all you said, and the sound of the door being unlocked and closing again. You left behind a waft of your favorite perfume; a deep warm combination of something spicy and floral.

Silence swiftly took over in your departure besides the TV. Well, for five seconds at least, until Jimin broke it.

“So when’s the wedding, hyung?”

“What are you on about?”

“Oh come on!” He giggled. “You’re telling me she isn’t the perfect woman for you?”

“She’s Y/N,” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

Taehyung smirked knowingly “Yeah, Y/N who’s been by your side since you were both ten.”

“Yah, not you too, Taehyung.”

“I’m just saying, hyung. Jimin has a point.”

“What point? She’s my best friend.”

“The point, that she's the only female who’s been by your side longer than your mom. And you’re saying you don’t have feelings for her?”

“Stop being a nuisance and finish the food.”

“Hyungnim!” Jimin suddenly spat out firmly, his face exaggeratingly strict which did not go in hand with his flushed cheeks and messy hair, as Taehyung snorted.

Yoongi only raised a brow silently, waiting.

“As your family, we think you need to pull your denial out of your ass and start looking.”

He ran a hand through his longer hair now, sighing heavily, knowing the two younger men wouldn’t let this go until he heard them out.

“Meaning?”

“Be honest, hyung,” Taehyung had dropped his chopsticks, leaning forward conspicuously over the table like they were discussing some kind of secret. “Are you telling us you haven’t once looked at Y/N noona and thought she was attractive?” 

Whether he was actually thinking about it or just teasing them by taking an extra long time to pour his shot and then sip it, they didn’t know. But Yoongi finally answered with a light shrug. “I have.”

“Because I can definitely tell you that Jeonggukie–wait what?” Taehyung actually looked genuinely surprised whilst Jimin let out a triumphant laugh while clapping.

“You have?”

Another shrug. “I’m well aware that Y/N is a pretty woman.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

“I tell her all the time.”

Jimin cut in with his continuous giggles. “Hyung, telling her she looks good, is not the same as telling your potential girlfriend you look beautiful.”

“Stop getting ahead of yourself. Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

“Oh my God.”

Leaning back in his chair, Yoongi zeroed back on Tae. “What were you saying about Jeongguk?”

It was Taehyung’s turn to shrug. “We’re pretty sure he has a crush on Y/N.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jimin exhaled, holding up his hand ready to count. “She’s pretty, smart, independent, physically fit, has tattoos and bonus points for being older. That’s pretty much his type.”

Yoongi didn’t react immediately. Because when Min Yoongi didn’t react, he was thinking. Deeply at that. 

Their hyung usually had a quick brain, and never failed to make them speechless with how smart he actually was. 

So this…this was a good sign. Right?

"He told you that?”

Jimin blinked. “Huh?”

“Didn’t think he had a type,,” Yoongi repeated flatly, eyes still on the table, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “Did he tell you that, or are you just assuming?”

Taehyung and Jimin shared a look.

“We have eyes, hyung,” Taehyung said carefully. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

Jimin nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, he gets all–” he gestured vaguely, shoulders hunching as he put on a poor imitation, “–Noona~ did you eat?’ ‘Noona~ you look tired’–”

“It’s actually quite pitiful to witness,” Taehyung added. 

Yoongi clicked his tongue, looking away. “You’re both reading too much into it.”

“Are we?” Taehyung asked, brows raising slightly.

“Most likely, like always..”

“Then why do you look like that?”

Yoongi frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you want to punch something.”

Jimin snorted. “Or someone.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Then Jimin leaned forward slightly, resting his chin in his hand, eyes narrowing just a little. “Hyung.”

“What.”

“You know we’re not saying this to mess with you, right?”

He rolled his eyes, mouth tugging. “I know.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

Yoongi exhaled sharply, standing up before either of them could say anything else to grab a bottle of soju and shutting the fridge door a little harder than needed. “Because the two of you are trying to fish for something that isn’t there..”

“You’re certain about that?” Taehyung asked unflinchingly. He had grown more outspoken with his thoughts around his oldest members after the military, and Yoongi was getting the whole spectacle right now. “You’ve been weird about her for a while now.”

Yoongi turned slightly, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing. “Okay, weird how?”

Jimin exchanged another look with Taehyung before answering. “You watch her.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched, expression still trying to feign disinterest. 

“Like, all the time,” Jimin added. “You think no one notices, but–”

“That’s–”

“You do,” Taehyung smirked. “And you get annoyed when someone else is paying attention to her.”

“I don’t–”

“And you always make sure she eats,” Jimin continued, back to counting on his fingers now. “And you let her do whatever she wants here, but if anyone else does the same thing, you complain.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to protest, but his members were doing their darn best to not let him get a single word in. 

“You remember things she says that she doesn’t even remember saying.”

He looked away, down at the floor, really. At the slippers covering his feet “…so what?” he muttered. “She’s my friend.”

Jimin tilted his head. “Is that all she is?”

“Yes.” The answer came out automatically.

But it must have worked, because the persistence of Jimin and Taehyung seemed to calm down as they shrugged and finally left the topic alone, as if agreeing to let him off the hook for tonight. 

So to distract himself from their annoying gazes and muttered laughter, he did the dishes. Slowly and meticulously, because his brain was whirring too much to actually focus. 

And without his knowledge, Jimin smiled lightly behind his tense back exchanging a silent fist bump with Tae, as if the both of them didn’t just drop something in their second-oldest hyung’s lap and just disappear. 

“…Tch.”

+

The tip of your pointed heels were pinching your toes for each step as you got off the bus in a slight hurry, trying to smooth down your freshly curled hair and flyaways all in one movement as the venue got closer. There were already dozens of guests mingling inside, holding champagne flutes and exchanging polite conversation as you brushed past them. 

You spotted the main couple near one of the double entrances greeting guests, and as you got closer your friend’s face brightened in recognition. 

“Y/N, you came!” She squealed happily, hugging you as her white poofy dress swallowed your legs as you stepped into the hug. 

You grinned at her excitement, impressed that she still had that much energy and returned the hug gently to not ruin anything. “Of course I came, you invited me.”

“Thank you for coming, Y/N,” Her husband smiled beside her, shaking your hand. 

“Of course, of course,” you waved off their gratitude before pulling out the white envelope from your purse. “Where’s the box?”

“Oooh, I’ll show you!” Soojin, your childhood friend, looped her arm through yours. “Honey, will you take over a bit? I need some girl talk.”

Her husband only smiled. “You two go ahead, I can handle the crowd.”

Before you had a chance to protest, Soojin was already pulling you into the venue hall where dozens of round tables were set up filled with people, but she pulled you further to the back where a large box for money envelopes stood and grabbed a flute of champagne for you on the way. 

“So,” you finally managed to pull her to a stop as the two of you stood in the corner, private but not hidden from sight. “How does it feel to be married?”

“Ugh, tiring,” Soojin let her head drop back, long veil brushing the floor. “But at least it’s almost over and done with.”

You glanced out of the room. “Who are even all these people?”

She waved her hand. “No idea. Most of them are his colleagues or friends of his parents’. My family and I just invited close friends and relatives.”

Sipping from the glass, you chuckled but stopped when noticing her looking. “What?”

“How’s everything on your end? Any handsome gentleman that is making those wedding bells ring?”

“God no!” You scoffed. “I’m a single, thirty-three year old woman who works at two different cafés. Not exactly dating material.”

“Girl,” Soojin pushed your shoulder in disagreement. “Who gives a shit what your job is, at least you have one!”

Fair point. 

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you took another sip of champagne. “Yeah, well, try telling that to literally any man over thirty.”

“They’re idiots,” she dismissed immediately. “And probably intimidated.”

“By what? My ability to steam milk and survive on three hours of sleep?”

“By this,” she gestured vaguely at you, up and down, as if that explained everything. “You’ve always had this thing, you know. Like you don’t need anyone. Independent woman and all that shit.”

A part of you was strangely touched by that. 

“I don’t,” you replied lightly, though it came out quieter than intended.

Soojin’s expression softened just a fraction, like she caught the shift but chose not to dig. “Still,” she nudged you again, grin returning. “if anyone tries anything tonight, I expect a full report.”

You rolled your eyes. “At your own wedding?”

“Especially at my own wedding. It’s prime matchmaking territory.”

“I’m not getting set up with someone’s cousin.”

“Too late,” she sang, already reaching for your hand again. “Come on, I need to introduce you to–”

“Soojin!” Her name was called from across the room, sharp enough to cut through the chatter.

She groaned dramatically. “Saved by the bell.”

“Go,” you laughed, gently pushing her away. “Bride duties.”

She squeezed your hand once more before letting go. “Don’t disappear, okay?”

“No promises.”

And just like that, she was gone, swallowed back into the crowd, her white dress a moving beacon among dark suits and muted colors of people dressed in mostly sleek business attires rather than fancy dresses. 

You ended up seated somewhere in the middle of the hall, wedged between a couple who introduced themselves as Soojin’s university friends and another woman who barely looked up from her phone.They were nice enough, with polite smiles, brief introductions and small talk that never quite went anywhere if you were being honest. 

You nodded when appropriate, laughed when expected, sipped your drink awkwardly when silence stretched just a second too long.

“…and then we all went to Busan for spring break, it was insane–”

The plates came and went, courses replaced one after another as speeches started, applause echoing across the room in bursts. You clapped along, half-genuine half out of your depth watching Soojin from afar; her bright smile, the way she leaned into her husband without thinking, the ease of it.

Something in your chest pinched at the sight. Jealousy perhaps, or even longing. You wondered just briefly, how it would feel. To have something like this, a day of celebration with a person constant at your side. 

You prided yourself in being an independent woman in a big city like Seoul. Surviving by yourself, not needing anyone to help with most things, but then he happened. Yoongi swooped back into your life like some damn hurricane, flipping your days upside down. 

No longer did you wake up to a silent phone, but a text message telling you to come over to dinner. Sometimes you found his car parked outside after a late shift and he would drive you home, or if you stayed over he would drive you to work with a full stomach. 

It was nauseating how caring he was without realizing it, and it didn’t help that your heart and stomach fluttered at everything he did. 

By the time dessert rolled around, you were halfway through mentally planning what greasy takeout you’d order tomorrow when her familiar voice came again. 

“Y/N!” You looked up to see Soojin slipping into the empty chair beside you, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from moving around all evening.

“Finally found you,” she said, grabbing your arm like she was afraid you’d disappear.

You smiled, setting your fork down. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“I know, but everyone keeps pulling me everywhere,” she huffed, before her eyes scanned your table briefly. “Are you okay? You look a bit bored.”

“I’m not bored,” you lied easily. “Just tired, double shifts.”

“Mm,” she hummed, clearly not buying it. Then, like a switch flipped, her expression brightened. “Okay, but listen. I know someone.”

You blinked. “Please no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“He’s single, works in finance, makes good money–”

“I don’t care if he owns the bank, Soojin.”

“He’s tall!”

You gave her a flat look. “That’s your selling point?”

“It’s an important one.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “I’m not interested. But appreciate the effort.”

“Why not?” she pressed. “You can’t just be single forever.”

“Do you want to bet on that?”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I,” you said with a giggle, lifting your glass. 

“Girl, stop,” she nudged you hard enough to make you lean slightly. “You’re hot, you’re funny, and you’ve always had your life together way more than the rest of us.”

“That’s debatable.”

“It’s not,” she insisted. “And you should be dating. You deserve that.”

You softened a little at that, but still shook your head. “It’s just not… something I’m thinking about right now.”

“That’s exactly why I need to interfere.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m just saying–” she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “what about someone you already know?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I don’t like where this is going.”

She grinned. “What about Min Yoongi?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden name drop as your heart hammered. “Why him?”

Soojin tilted her head, studying you. “Didn’t you guys date?”

“What?” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head immediately. “No. Since when?”

“That’s what everyone thought,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You were literally attached at the hip.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, glancing down at your plate, “we also didn’t speak for like ten years after.”

There was a small pause, enough for you to look up only to regret. Because her eyes were fucking sparkling like the diamonds from her engagement ring she had sent a picture of. 

“No,” you warned immediately.

“You like him.”

“Soojin–”

“You do!”

You dragged a hand over your face, groaning under your breath. “Can you not start something at your own wedding?”

“This isn’t something, this is a revelation.”

“It’s not.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“I just did.”

“No, you deflected.”

“Okay, fine!” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice despite the noise around you. “But you do realize we’re talking about one of the world’s most famous idols right now?”

“And?” she shot back instantly.

“And that should end the conversation and the possibility of anything.”

Soojin didn’t answer immediately, which was worse. She always had something to say. “No,” she shook her head lightly. “That’s your excuse.”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Excuse? For what?”

“For not even trying.” 

Your jaw tightened just slightly. “That’s not–” you started, then stopped, fingers tightening around your glass. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple for me,” she said, softer now, but just as persistent. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re shutting something down before it even exists.”

You glanced away, eyes drifting back toward the head table where she had been sitting earlier, where everything looked natural. 

Because the fear of your feelings ruining this friendship again was something you didn’t want to see happen. Just the thought of it was more painful than actually being rejected. You had gone a decade without him, and now that you finally had him back in your life, you didn’t want to lose him again.

“He’s my best friend,” you said instead, the words coming out more firmly than you felt. “I’m not risking that.”

“And?” she asked after a moment.

“And,” you continued, voice lower now, “he has his life. I have mine.”

“That doesn’t mean–”

“It kind of does,” you cut in gently. “Be realistic for a second.”

Her brows furrowed. “I am being realistic.”

“No,” you shook your head, finally looking back at her. “You’re being romantic.”

“And you’re being pessimistic.”

“How?.”

“By being scared.”

You went quiet, because there wasn’t an immediate comeback for that. Soojin’s gaze softened just a little when you didn’t respond. “You still talk to him, don’t you?” she asked.

“...yeah.”

“How is it? When you do?”

You let out a small breath, looking down at your hands. “It’s normal,” you said after a second. “Like nothing changed.”

“And you don’t think that means anything?”

You gave a faint, almost tired smile. “It means we were friends for a long time.”

“Maybe that’s not all?” Soojin let out a breath, turning to fully face you sitting sideways on the chair. “You’re saying it’s not realistic because he’s an idol, and that might be true for fans, but you’re not a fan, Y/N. You’re already neck deep in his world.”

“If I cross that line,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, “there’s no going back.”

Soojin stayed quiet.

“So I’d rather just…” you trailed off, shrugging lightly. “Keep it like this.”

Her lips pressed together, like she didn’t quite agree but understood anyway. “And you’re okay with that?”

Your eyes flickered, almost unconsciously, back toward the front of the room. Toward her, her husband, the soft glow of something settled and certain before looking away again with a shrug. 

“I have to be.”

+

You woke up late.

Deliciously late. 

It was definitely later than intended, but not enough to make you feel guilty about it. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in dull winter light that made everything feel slower than usual. 

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, duvet pulled to your chin and trapping the comfortable warmth underneath, mind blank. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Your brain, traitor that it was, immediately started replaying yesterday.

Yoongi’s hand brushing against yours when he passed you the glass.

The way he had said, just stay over.

The way he always–

You groaned, dragging the blanket over your face. “Stop it,” you muttered. 

It didn’t mean anything, because it never did. Especially when it came from him. It’s just who he was and you’ve known that since you were ten. But still, it was your own fault not listening to the oldest rule in the friendship book, aka. falling for your own best friend. 

You dropped the blanket and stared at the ceiling again. “…annoying,” you sighed.

You stretched lazily, letting your arm fall back onto the bed as you debated getting up when your phone buzzed from the bedside table. 

Your brows furrowed slightly as you turned your head, reaching for your phone.

Jeonggukkie: are you alive?

You huffed a small laugh, already typing back.

You: barely

Three dots appeared immediately.

Jeonggukkie: dramatic did you eat

You stared at the message just as your stomach rumbled and the time finally made you realize it was actually 1PM already. 

You: Not yet

A small pause went by. 

Jeonggukkie: ok, i’m coming over

Your eyes widened slightly, fingers tapping furiously

You: why

Jeonggukkie: don’t argue 20 mins actually give me 30 

You blinked at the screen. “…This kid,” you muttered, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

You pushed yourself up with a sigh, stretching as your feet hit the floor. “Guess I have to be a functioning adult now,” you mumbled, dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

Twenty five minutes later there was a knock at your door. Jeongguk stood there, hood up, cap and mask on with two bags of food in his hands as well as takeaway coffee. You stepped aside quickly, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him like you were hiding a fugitive. “Did anyone see you?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check?”

He blinked. “Check what?”

“The street? The cameras? The neighbors?”

He just stared at you as you locked the door. “You’re stressed.”

“I am stressed,” you snapped, turning to face him. “I’m stressed for you. Why are you not stressed?”

“I’m stressed in appropriate situations” he said easily, slipping off his shoes. “Just not about this.”

“That’s worse.”

He laughed under his breath, holding up the bags. “I brought food. Rosé tteokbokki, mild flavored, and pork belly.”  

You still refused to give in, even though you were practically drooling at the smell wafting towards you now, until he held up the last bag of two coffees. 

“I also bought your favorite; vietnamese iced coffee.”

“Fine,” you gave in, pulling out a chair and dropping down opposite of him as he was already unpacking everything and grabbed two pairs of chopsticks from your drawer. 

Jeongguk shrugged off his jacket and mask, as he grinned knowingly at your weakness. 

“You always bring food when you’re committing crimes.”

“I’m not committing a crime.”

“You’re an internationally known idol sneaking into a civilian’s apartment unannounced,” you said, grabbing the first piece of meat and then tteok, humming content. “That feels illegal.”

He never stopped that grin, following you in grabbing some food and handing you the coffee after stirring it, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You worry too much, noona.”

“I worry the exact right amount,” you shot back. “One blurry photo and your entire company will be breathing down your neck.”

“As if they dare.”

You turned to glare at him. “Confidence much?.”

“And you are way too paranoid.”

You opened your mouth – then paused. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He snorted. “A little?”

“Shut up, kid.”

Both of you ate mostly in silence, although you noticed him only taking a small bite here and then, letting you enjoy yourself while sipping on his own coffee. You were the one who had introduced the boys to the deliciousness that was Vietnamese iced coffee with condensed milk, and you would catch most of them drinking it now and then after practice, or whenever you met up with them for quick coffee catch-ups. 

Jeongguk leaned back slightly, watching you with quiet satisfaction. “You look less dead from the last time I saw you.”

“Wow. Thank you. What a way to make a woman feel better.”

“You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had already dropped. As you leaned back in your rickety little plastic chair you got on a sale on Coupang, you watched Jeongguk carefully. 

He did look wholly out of place in your little studio loft apartment that probably fit in his living room alone. But he still found it comfortable here in your space. Like an annoying little brother who had nowhere else to go, as if his six older members didn’t have large fancy homes of their own. 

He was just persistent when it came to you, and worried as if his schedule wasn’t a hundred times harder than your own minimum wage, mundane café jobs. 

Jeongguk noticed you stopped eating and stood up wordlessly to pack the remaining leftovers in a box for later, and started cleaning up everything as well as recycling, leaving you to relax and enjoy your coffee.

“I heard you went to hyung’s yesterday.”

What a smooth talker. “Hm, did Jimin snitch?”

He chuckled. “It was Taehyung hyung, actually.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing much. Just that you came by while they were eating.”

“Right…you’re being nosy.”

Jeongguk shrugged, drying his hands on the towel before sitting back down. “I have eyes. And nosy hyungs who update me on everything even when I’m not interested.”

“You and everyone else, I suppose.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, before turning serious again. “Why haven’t you told him yet?”

You flickered up a brow, pausing your sipping on the straw. “I told you that in confidence,” you said flatly. “Not to use as ammunition.”

Jeongguk ignored your dig. “You should tell him.”

You snorted immediately. “Yeah, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I enjoy my stressfree life?”

“That’s a lie.”

You leaned back. “Oh?”

“You’re miserable when you overthink, noona” he stated simply. “And you’ve been doing that a lot, so not as ‘stressfree’ as you think.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re very observant for someone who used to have a crush on me.”

“Used to,” he emphasized, as if the memory itself brought forward shudders. “And very briefly at that.”

It was fucking ironic, actually. You, sitting here discussing your current long-time crush on your best friend with one of his best friends that used to have his own crush on you. 

Jeongguk, despite his younger age, had been upfront about his feelings for you right before his military enlistment. Thankfully he hadn’t been too deep in to actually get heartbroken when you both gave it two dates before realizing friends fit you better. 

Not that anyone was aware of this. God, the chaos it would bring if they knew. 

“Mm.” The silence settled for a bit, as you forced yourself to relax before admitting. “It’s complicated.”

Jeongguk pursed his lips in thought. “Does it have to be?”

“It does with him.”

Jeongguk didn’t respond right away. “What if he likes you too?”

You let out a small laugh. “Not possible. He’s Min Yoongi. His love is his work.”

“Maybe a couple of years ago, but we’ve all matured since then.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to worry about it right now, Guk. Let’s not, okay.”

He wanted to protest, you saw it. But he respected you enough to not push so he nodded. 

“Okay, noona. Let’s just relax, how about a movie?”

You smiled thankfully. “Sounds good. You choose.”

And just as you were settled in the couch and the intro started playing, your phone buzzed with a text. 

Yoongs: What are you doing?

You typed a reply without much thought. 

You:  watching a movie with guk

You waited for a reply, but it never arrived. Not even after the movie had ended and Jeongguk had left.

+

A couple of days go by before you find yourself looking for him again. But this time it’s at HYBE. 

You always feel like a nervous wreck stepping inside the intimidating glass building, your stomach fluttering with worries that probably won’t happen. 

Like the security dragging you out on suspicions for being a stalker fan, for example. 

God, your brain went haywire sometimes. 

You follow the protocols carefully; stepping up to the reception desk as they register your already known name, printing the guest tag and band for you to wear around your neck with a polite smile. 

There were so many people walking in and out of this building on a daily, that most employees didn’t blink when you arrived. For them you could be anyone. From a visiting stylist to a dancer, or even business partner. As long as your name was in the system, it meant you had already passed all security checks and approved for visits whenever. 

This time you felt slightly more confident, tapping yourself through the gate and waiting for the lift surrounded by strangers and not fidgeting too much. Your destination was one of the higher floors; dedicated to the Big Hit creative team, and where Yoongi’s studio was located. 

You were the only one still in the lift by the time it was your turn to get off, and when you arrived at the closed door of his studio you stared at the keypad for a second longer than necessary. The code still worked a moment later, of course it did, before you pushed the door open and the familiar quiet of Yoongi’s place greeted you immediately.

It was darker than usual, but he was there. On the large, comfortable office chair in front of his desk with four screens, a microphone and more speakers than you could identify. 

Despite being half-inside the room already, you knocked lightly anyway.

“Yoongs?”

The studio smelled faintly like decaf and something warmer, perhaps tea. He had reached a stage of only decaf these last few years, which honestly hurt your coffee-loving soul more than anything. The glow of his monitors lit up his face in soft blues and purples, shadows resting under his eyes but nothing you hadn’t seen before. 

His black hair was also long again, with bangs framing his now slimmer face from when he first got out of the military. 

Yoongi didn’t turn right away, just lifted a hand briefly in acknowledgment.

You hovered for a second before lifting the bag slightly. “I brought food.”

That got his attention. He turned his chair halfway, eyes flickering down to the bag before settling on you. “What is it?”

You held it up like an offering. “Don’t act like you’re not going to eat it.”

A faint huff left him, something just short of a laugh. “Did I say that?”

“You were about to.” You walked over to the low table by the L-shaped couch against the wall, taking out the containers and drinks, already moving like you’ve done it a hundred times. Because, honestly, you had. “Or something along the lines of not being hungry.”

Standing back up with your hands on your hips, you turned to face him again with a pointed look. “You haven’t eaten yet, right?”

“Not yet,” Yoongi confirmed, never seeing the point of lying to you when you already knew him so well. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Shocking.”

You handed him a pair of chopsticks before taking the seat on the small couch tucked against the wall. He swiveled his chair slightly, accepting them without a word.

You had cooked an average pesto pasta with marinated chicken strips. Nothing fancy, and definitely easier to buy as delivery. But a part of you still remembered when Yoongi complimented your cooking during one of the rare times you had made it for him, and he said it tasted better than the ones at restaurants. 

You were annoyed how vivid that simple comment still stayed with you. 

You watched him, but not obviously. And never long enough to get caught. 

Just…small enough glances to feel satisfied. 

The way his hair fell slightly into his eyes when he leaned forward. The way his fingers moved without thinking, precise and practiced, even when he was just picking at food with the chopsticks. How fine and elegant his hands looked.  

He looked a little tired, you noted. Not surprising, with how much they were all still fine-tuning the new album. 

Something in your chest tugged at the sight. 

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked after a couple of bites. 

He hummed. “A little.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

He just shrugged and instead took a bite, knowing you weren’t one to stop him from eating. 

You leaned back into the couch, exhaling softly. “You’re going to burn out again.”

It slipped out before you could stop it. His hand paused mid-air for a fraction of a second, then continued.

“I won’t,” He assured you, sounding calm and confident and you did believe him. But a part of you was always worried. 

“You always say that.”

“And I’m still here.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “I guess.”

Suddenly there was a knock against the door, and you remained seated watching as he stood up and opened the door to grab whatever the person on the other side handed to him before it closed again. 

Yoongi handed it to you, as you pulled out a large sized cup of Vietnamese iced coffee from your favorite coffee shop chain, and felt your heart swell. 

“I ordered when you said you were on the way up.”

You smiled faintly into your drink, savoring the taste. “Thanks.”

Your gaze drifted back to him. To the way he had already turned back toward his screen, attention slipped back into his work like nothing else existed.

You knew that look. You've seen it since you were kids.

Back when it was notebooks and scribbles instead of full studios and polished tracks. When you sat next to him on a rooftop, pretending you weren’t watching him as closely as you were.

And somehow nearly fifteen years later, you found yourself still watching. 

“Play it.” The words left your mouth before you could overthink them.

He didn’t turn. “Play what.”

“Whatever you’re working on.”

“It’s not finished.”

“When have I ever cared?”

You could almost hear the hesitation as he scrolled through a couple of files, almost thinking which one to choose before a sound filled the studio. 

♫Twenty-four hours in the tubTwenty-four hours of your thoughtZ-z-z, don't wake me up꿈이면 깨기 싫어, 내.”

FantasyIt's a fantasy (Ayy, you next to me)It's a fantasy (Oh)You're my fantasy (Take that) ♫

The damn irony of those lyrics, you wanted to scoff to yourself. 

“It’s good.” Your voice came out softer than intended, perhaps softer than needed for the poppiness of the song that had filled the studio. 

His eyes flickered toward you, just enough that you noticed. And for a second it felt like he was waiting for something else. Instead he huffed lightly. “That’s it?”

You smiled a little. “Do you want me to lie and say it’s bad?”

“No.”

“Then it’s good.” You pulled your legs up on the couch, tucking them underneath you. 

He didn’t respond, but you saw it. The smallest shift in his shoulders and the way his posture relaxed just slightly, as if you had confirmed something for him. You couldn’t fathom why he cared that much for your opinion. Your musical understanding was minimal at best. 

“You always say that,” he muttered. 

“Because it’s always true.”

You looked away first, distracting yourself on your phone. Because if you didn’t, you might keep staring.

And if you kept staring…You honestly didn’t want to think about that.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your cup instead, wanting to say more. You always did, but the words stayed where they were. Always caught somewhere frustratingly uncomfortable between your chest and your throat.

+

Fuck. He genuinely forgot how tiring concert and comeback prep used to be. 

Spending months in LA creating songs was a different mental tiredness he could handle better. But the physicality of things? At damn age when it feels like his knees would crack by the slightest bend? Someone give him a break, please. 

Luckily he wasn’t the only one who thought so. All of them were struggling more than normal, besides Seokjin and Hoseok, who had been doing their own things for a while now and gotten used to the rush again. 

Him and the others though? What a mess. 

Jimin and Taehyung would giggle every five minutes at their attempts of coordinating, while Jeongguk would be the one to try and pick a fight just for the fun of it. Namjoon tried his best, laughing along and whining whenever a member teased his dancing, which had actually improved rather than gotten worse. 

The guys had even been impressed with the muscle mass he had put on in the last couple of months since returning to Korea. With nothing to do with his time besides finishing up the album, he had decided that starting to hit the gym more seriously was a good idea. 

Still, he had managed to switch out one mental stress for another. From album concerns to his own personal life now beating the fuck out of him whenever he thought of a person. 

Yoongi was already exhausted by the time he stepped out of the practice studio for a quick pick-me-up. All he wanted was ten minutes of silence and maybe another decaf coffee he absolutely did not need, but could pretend would help him with his exhaustion. 

The placebo effect was real, he was convinced. 

But instead, he heard your very familiar laugh echoing down the hallway. A voice that shouldn’t be in this building at the moment, to his knowledge. 

His steps slowed automatically when he rounded the corner. Jeongguk was leaning against the wall beside you, phone in hand while showing you something on the screen. You stood close enough that your shoulder kept bumping his arm every time you laughed.

“No, wait—play that again,” you said through laughter.

“I’m telling you, hyung looked ridiculous.”

“Jeongguk!!”

“What?” He grinned unapologetically before replaying the video anyway.

Yoongi recognized it immediately, to his chagrin. A behind-the-scenes clip from years ago where he had nearly fallen asleep during an interview, of his eyes dropping in real-time and becoming a meme in the fandom and their groupchat. 

Traitor.

You dissolved into laughter again, instinctively grabbing Jungkook’s sleeve for balance. And something inside Yoongi twisted unpleasantly. Which was somehow worse when Jeongguk was the first one to notice him there, of course the damn kid did. 

His grin shifted instantly into something more suspicious, which Yoongi did not like.

“Yoongi-hyung.” He straightened casually. “You done already?”

Your head turned immediately, your face lighting up the second you saw him. “There you are.”

Again, that dangerous little sense of relief settled in his chest at your expression. Yoongi shoved his hands into his pockets. “What are you two doing?”

“Bullying you, apparently,” you answered easily.

Jungkook snorted. “She started it.”

“You literally showed me the video!”

“And you enjoyed it.”

“I did.”

Yoongi couldn’t help watching the way Jungkook looked at you when you spoke. The stupid word of Jimin and Taehyung replaying around in his mind of his apparent crush on you. 

It was clearly comfortable and playful, perhaps even too comfortable if he could add. 

Then Jungkook casually threw an arm over your shoulders, clearly a thoughtless action that he had done several times before. But Yoongi’s jaw tightened instantly.

You, completely oblivious, kept talking like nothing happened. “…and then he got mad at me for laughing,” you continued.

“I did not get mad.”

“You glared at me for like three hours.”

“Because you wouldn’t stop laughing.”

Jungkook looked between the two of you briefly before a slow grin appeared on his face. “Wow.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” His grin widened. “You guys are seriously weird.”

If Yoongi hadn’t paid as much attention as he did, he wouldn’t have noticed the slightly sharp nudge you gave into Jeongguk's side as he flinched slightly away. 

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. Jungkook only looked more entertained. “I thought you were at work?” 

“In an hour, it’s just around the corner so I’d thought to stop by and cheer you all on,” you shrugged. 

“You should come eat with us first,” the brat offered. 

Before you could answer, Yoongi spoke. “She’s busy.”

Both of you looked at him. Including Yoongi himself, internally, while Jeongguk’s eyebrows lifted slowly.

You frowned. “Am I?”

“You promised to help me with something before, remember?” The lie came easily.

“Oh yeah! I remember now.”

For a second nobody spoke. Then Jeongguk looked like he was physically restraining himself from laughing. “Right,” he said carefully. “Of course she did.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but knowingly while Yoongi avoided looking directly at either of you. You had known each other long enough for you to pick up on his excuse and play along. 

And suddenly Jungkook looked way too entertained for Yoongi’s liking.

+

The last employee finally waved goodbye before disappearing down the street, leaving you alone with the familiar task of locking up. You exhaled tiredly, turning the key as you rolled your tight shoulders before tugging lightly on the café door to make sure it was secure. 

Your shoulders ached from the long shift, feet even worse, and all you could think about was getting home and collapsing face-first into bed, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness of your stomach.

The low rumble of an engine made you glance up, and a familiar black, gleaming car sat by the curb. You slowed down immediately with a sigh, but the affectionate smile was hard to hide. 

And then the driver’s window rolled down. Yoongi looked at you from behind the wheel, one arm resting lazily near the window. “You done?”

“What are you doing?”

“Picking you up, obviously.”

You gave him a pointed look. “And I told you to stop doing that.”

“You said your shift ended late.” That explained absolutely nothing. Still, warmth spread embarrassingly fast through your chest as you crossed the little space toward him.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” 

Which somehow made this entire situation worse for your stupid heart.

You slid into the passenger seat, immediately greeted by warmth and the faint scent of clean laundry mixed with his cologne. Familiar enough now that your body relaxed before your brain caught up.

“You look tired,” he said once you buckled in. 

“Yeah, feel like shit.” You had never been dishonest to him about your work. 

The car pulled smoothly back onto the mostly empty road at this time, only a handful of cars whizzing past. For a while, silence filled the space between you comfortably. The radio played quietly in the background while Seoul’s lights blurred outside the windows.

Then Yoongi glanced at you briefly. “Did you eat?”

You looked out the window immediately. “Maybe.”

“That means no.”

“I was busy.”

“You’re always busy.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, and you yell at me for it.”

“Well obviously.” You frowned slightly. “Somebody has to.”

Yoongi hummed quietly, like he found that amusing. A few minutes later, however, you realized the roads looked wrong.

You frowned. “Yoongs.”

“Hm?”

“This isn’t the way to my apartment.”

“I know.”

You turned toward him slowly. “Min Yoongi.”

“You’re eating first.”

“I can eat at home.”

“You won’t.” Annoyingly enough, he sounded completely certain.

“You’re very bossy today.”

“And you’re very stubborn.”

“You say that like it’s new.”

A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again.

God. That stupid smile really needed to stop affecting you. And he needed to stop being so easy to love. 

“You can sit down,” he called. “I’ll make you something to eat, it won’t take long.”

“I know where your couch is, Yoongi.”

“Just making sure you don’t collapse halfway there.”

“You’re hilarious.”

He smirked. “Go take a shower, you know where the clothes are.”

You sank into the couch with a quiet groan, letting your head fall back briefly before muttering. “I need to wait for a bit. Can’t be bothered to move right now.”

You heard cupboards opening before Yoongi reappeared carrying two bowls, setting one in front of you on the coffee table. Ramyeon with extra green onions and two eggs, exactly how you liked it.

Your chest squeezed slightly, and he must have noticed your expression. 

Yoongi looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You complain when people make it wrong.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” 

“Fine.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him as he sat beside you, knees touching yours as you both ate. For a while, the only sounds were the television playing softly in the background and the clinking of chopsticks against bowls before you sighed dramatically. 

“What.”

“You know, I never told you Soojin’s wedding exhausted me emotionally.”

Yoongi glanced over. “How so?”

You slumped further into the couch. “Do you know how terrifying married people are?”

“That sounds judgmental.”

“They become obsessed with everyone else dating.”

His mouth twitched slightly. “Ah.”

“She tried setting me up with like three different men.”

Yoongi’s chopsticks paused briefly before continuing. “And?”

“And what?”

“Did you want her to?”

You blinked at him. “Not particularly.”

“Why not, I thought you said having someone would be nice.”

You shrugged lightly, staring down into your empty bowl. “I don’t know. I’m busy with life. I’m still paying down on my student debt, my monthly rent is going up in a bit and job applications are going nowhere.”

“You could if you wanted to.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m just asking.” Something about his tone felt strange to you, almost like an interrogation rather than his usual amused interest. 

“Yeah apparently so. She kept insisting I’m ‘too pretty to be single,’” you muttered with a grimace.

Yoongi looked at you then, and your stomach tightened slightly under the weight of it. “Well, she’s right.”

You were fucking certain you were blushing like a damn tomato, but the dim lighting in the room hid most of it. You hoped so at least. 

Were your hands clammy? They certainly felt like it. 

You stared at him for half a second too long before forcing out an awkward laugh. “Wow. Look at you being nice.”

“I’m serious, though.”

His voice stayed frustratingly steady, and suddenly the air between you felt different again. He was still looking at you, dark eyes looking more intense than you had seen him besides when working on music or on the stage in front of fans. 

Your heartbeat started climbing for absolutely no reason. So naturally, your brain panicked. “You know, one of them owned like…three cats.”

Tangie meowed just then from the top of one his cat towers in the room, as if knowing. Yoongi blinked once, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt subject change. “What?”

“At least that’s what Soojin said. Honestly that should’ve been her opening line.”

A quiet laugh escaped him then. And God, you loved that sound more than you should.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured almost knowingly. 

Your eyes lifted toward his automatically, and this time neither of you looked away. The moment should’ve lasted a second like it always did. The two of you making eyecontact was nothing strange. But it didn’t.

he television kept talking softly in the background. Somewhere in the apartment, a pipe clicked faintly with the heat, Tangie’s claw were gently scraping against his post. 

And Yoongi’s gaze dropped, just slightly. But enough to send your heart stuttering.

It was small. Barely there. So quick you almost convinced yourself you imagined it

Your throat went dry. “What?” you asked, quieter than before.

Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand through his hair like he was physically resetting himself. “Nothing.”

What a fucking lie, you both knew it. 

Still, you nodded slowly, because that was easier than acknowledging what your body was suddenly doing. How aware you were of his knee still touching yours, of how close he actually was, of the fact that you could smell him even over the food.

Besides the entirely strange moment that just happened between you, you knew something was bothering him otherwise. And if you didn’t ask him, you doubted any of the others would. 

Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap. “Yoongs, what’s been bothering you?” you said carefully, like saying his name wrong might break something.

He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh—but there was no humor in it. “Please don’t.”

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

He shook his head once, like he was annoyed at himself more than you. “Forget it.”

He started to stand, hands ready to take the bowls towards the kitchen. And that should’ve been the end of it, but your hand moved before your brain caught up as you caught his sleeve.

Yoongi froze. His gaze flicked down briefly to where your hand still held his sleeve and you let go immediately. However, that didn’t stop you from following him stiff form into the kitchen. 

“Why won’t you answer?” Your voice followed him before your feet fully caught up.

Yoongi stopped near the sink and didn't turn around immediately. The bowls were still in his hands, but he didn’t set them down either. 

For a second, all you could hear was the faint running of the refrigerator and the distant hum of the city outside the window. “Because you’re not going to like it.”

That made you pause as you scoffed, leaning back against the counter behind you and crossing your arms. “Try me, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi finally set the bowls down with more care than necessary and when he turned, it was slower than before. His eyes found yours instantly and stayed there as you swallowed. 

“You always do this,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Push.”

Your brows knitted slightly, annoyance crawling underneath your skin. “I’m asking a question, Yoongi.”

“I know.” His voice softened, but carefully. Like he was holding something at the edge of slipping.

“Then answer it.”

Silence stretched again; long enough that your chest started tightening in a way you didn’t like. What was he keeping from you? Had something happened? About the album or upcoming tour? Something more internal, perhaps. 

A…girlfriend?

Fuck, just the thought of it made something in you want to break but you kept it all together. 

Then Yoongi exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, and when he looked at you again, something had changed. Resignation, you realized. He was done holding back whatever had been bothering him. 

“You don’t notice it,” he said, and you held back from replying. His gaze flickered briefly down, then back up. “Never mind.”

Your frustration sharpened. “Don’t do that. Start saying things and then stop halfway.”

That made something in his expression shift. “You really want me to finish it?” he asked.

Your heart stuttered, but you nodded anyway. “Of course I fucking do, Yoongi. When have I never listened to you?”

A long silence, then Yoongi finally stepped closer. Just enough that now there was no pretending this was casual anymore.

“I don’t like watching you with other people.”

Your breath caught—but you didn’t interrupt. Because something in you already knew that wasn’t the full sentence.

His voice dropped lower. “And I don’t like how easily you laugh with them, and how I notice it.”

The room went still as your stomach twisted. Your voice came out smaller than you meant. “…Yoongi.”

He didn’t look away and barely moved. Just stayed there, like he’d already crossed a line he couldn’t step back from. 

“I don’t know how to stop noticing you, Y/N.”

It was like your brain went dry, and very, very quiet. Your heartbeat hammering in your ears, the only thing you saw was him. Your hands were trembling too, gripping your clothes as you simply tried to take it all in. 

Every time he picked you up when you didn’t ask. Every time he asked if you ate like it mattered more than it should. Every time his eyes lingered just a second too long when you laughed at someone else. Every time he went quiet after Jungkook put an arm around you like it physically cost him something not to say anything.

It all snapped into place at once, the dumb realization of it. And how your own worries had been nothing at this point. You had worried for nothing. 

And you felt so incredibly dumb. 

Your chest tightened, like something inside you had been holding its breath for too long and finally let go.

In the turmoil of it all, Yoongi was still watching you carefully. As if he was waiting for rejection. “…say something,” he said quietly.

That almost made you smile as you stepped closer. His eyes flickered down to you the moment the space between you changed, but he didn’t move and chose to let you control the pacing. 

Your hand came up first, gripping the front of his shirt as Yoongi’s breath caught slightly at the contact. That was a new reaction you only just noticed. 

You’d never seen him react like that before; like he was the one who might lose control. You loved it. 

Your voice came out softer, but surprisingly steady for everything happening inside. “Unbelieveable.”

That was the moment everything inside you shifted from shock into certainty.Because Min Yoongi, calm, composed, unreadable Yoongi, was standing in front of you right now like you were the only thing he couldn’t control.

And you had never wanted anything more.

His brows pulled faintly together. “What is?”

You didn’t even bother to answer, just pulled him down to your height. 

Yoongi froze for half a heartbeat before he gave in. 

The kiss wasn’t near anything soft and careful. His hand found your waist immediately, steadying you like instinct finally caught up with intention. The tension he’d been holding all night snapped, something long overdue.

Your fingers slid up into his shirt as if you needed something real to hold onto while your brain caught up with the fact that this was happening—this was him—this was the thing you’d been orbiting without naming for years.

His mouth was relentless on yours, moving gently but urgently at the same time as you hummed into the kiss, his tongue caressing yours as you stumbled back into the counter behind you. 

Yoongi groaned softly against your mouth, hands coming up to cup your face, fingers curling into your hair deliciously as you sighed. 

When you finally broke it, it was only because you had to breathe. Yoongi stayed close, refusing to move as his forehead rested against yours, breathing heavier than before, like he didn’t trust air to behave normally anymore.

The second kiss lingered longer than the first. Your heart was still catching up, beating unevenly in a way you were very aware of.

“So,” you said eventually, voice softer than you meant it to be, “this is happening.”

A faint breath left him, almost a laugh again, but warmer now. “Yeah,” he said simply.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to look at him properly, unguarded and sparkling. “And what now?” you asked.

His thumb moved once against your back—slow, grounding, like he was thinking with his body more than his words. “I certainly hope this meant you’re willing to become my girlfriend.”

You bit down on your lip, containing the grin wanting to stretch and he noticed it with a shy smile, ducking down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Stop it.”

“I thought you’d never ask, Min Yoongi.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yes,” you giggled before tightening your hold around his waist, chin resting against his collarbones as your face tilted up. “But you love it.”

His gaze softened visibly, tucking a loose strand behind your ear as his thumb brushed against your cheek. “I do.”

+

☼ Stray Kids ☼

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ fuck it, guess we both ain't shit! | chan x reader | S

being fwb with someone you have feelings for is hard, even harder when he's a douchebag who doesn't even bother introducing you as a friend, like where is the friends in friends with benefits? well, it's none existent now, because you're about to be more than friends, he just needed a little wake up call.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ unlucky girl syndrome | jisung x reader | SB

for three years, your relationship with han jisung was defined by thirty-six inches of distance, sharp-edged insults, and a mutual vow to never stand each other. but when a broken-down truck and a costal road trip strip away the noise of the city, the silence between you starts to feel less like a battlefield and more like home. it turns out, hating him was easy - it was the falling in love that was inevitable.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ louder | chan x reader | S

in which chan's obsessed with one thing: hearing you moan his name. what starts slow and sweet quickly turns into rough, relentless pleasure as he pushes you through orgasm after orgasm just to hear those pretty sounds spill from your lips.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ camera-shy | hyunjin x reader | F

it drove hyunjin crazy that you wouldn't let him capture you on camera.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ delirium | chan x reader | F, C

for once, you get to take care of the one who takes care of everyone.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ baby's first time | jeongin x reader | S

after months of endless teasing, jeongin finally lets go of his restraint. in a heated night alone in the dorm, the usually shy maknae discovers a deep, possessive hunger within himself. for the first time, he takes full control - claiming you with rough passion, strong hands around your throat, and an overwhelming need to mark and fill you until you're completely his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ the aftershow | chan x reader | S

after seeing chris performing at the govball, he got you pretty worked up as he knew exactly what he was doing. so back in the hotel room you decided to let him know how much he really got you worked up.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ surprise visits and silent tears | ot8 x reader | C, F

finding their s/o crying

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ruined for anyone else | chan x reader | F

"if we ever broke up, i think you ruined me for anyone else."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ beneath the midnight stars | chan x reader | F

"i didn't want to date but now you're the one thing holding everything together."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chasing yesterday | chan x reader | F

years after splitting paths, he didn't expect a text to bring an old friend - and old feelings - back into his life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ handle with care: dilf inside | jisung x reader | S

dilf!jisung who just can't help but want to fuck his son's babysitter

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ vision board | chan x reader | F

wedding planner!reader

☼ BTS ☼

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ comeover | taehyung x reader | S (by @jeonkive )

your brother's best friend is off limits. or so you thought.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ canvas hearts | jungkook x reader | F, SB, C, S ( by @luvvjjk )

y/n has no tme for distractions - especially not charming art majors with paint-streaked smiles. her life has been the same since high school, with a set routine that almost no one can hinder : eat, sleep, study, repeat. until a fundraiser mishap pairs her up with campus heartthrob and chaos incarnate, jeon jungkook, she falls in a loop of endless splotches of paint that mark a different path in her life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ bf!jungkook | headcannon | F, S (by @stlllle )

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i got ways | jungkook x reader | S (by @jungkakes )

you know how to leave jeongguk. you just don't know how to stay away.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ bound by vows | jungkook x reader | F, SB, C, S (by @gukcnt )

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet, beneath his coldness, jungkook's unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts - an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing, and a chance at love.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ joyride | jungkook x reader | S (by @foliexaxdeux )

your car breaks down in a rural town during a solo road trip and you barely manage to make it to the nearest repair shop. jungkook, trusty mechanic and sweetheart, takes a look at your car and brings you to a - very icky - motel, where he can't bring himself to let you stay the night on your own..

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ destination, you | jungkook x reader | F (by @femme11fatale )

jungkook has spent months planning the perfect proposal, but he forgot to account for one thing - you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ until he can call you his | jungkook x reader | F ( by @vinylopall )

in which jungkook shows up every friday for six months to ask your father for permission to marry you, and gets rejected every time. still, he returns each week with flowers, pastries, and stubborn determination. meanwhile, you have no idea your boyfriend has been secretly trying to "apply" for the role of your husband behind your back.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ when the lights go out | jungkook x reader | S (by @pinkpantherbby )

an unexpected collaboration with jungkook was the last thing yuo wanted. he's frustrating, impossible to read, and somehow always finds a way to get under your skin. but as your resentment slowly transforms into something far more dangerous, you begin to realize there's more to him than you've ever been able to understand.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ video game lover | jungkook x reader | S (by @gguksval )

jungkook is somehow transported into a video game, in which he has an unhealthy obsession with the main character - you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ start over | jungkook x reader | A (by @sweetonejk )

don't leave, i don't wanna start over (based on "start over" by 5sos)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ something like courage | jungkook x reader | F (by @koosette )

you have never wanted children. at least, that's what you told yourself - until you watched your husband feed your niece ice cream like she hung the moon, and something you thought you'd buried a long time ago quietly came back to life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ right side of my neck | jungkook x reader | F (by @scarletjvliae )

spring arrives softly your junior year. suddenly, the flowers are blooming, the weather is warm again, and your quiet childhood friend next door - jeon jungkook - is tutoring you in calculus every saturday afternoon. you hadn't realized how much you'd drifted apart until now. unfortunately for your grades and your heart, he's far sweeter than you remembered.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ battle of the bands | jungkook x reader | F, S (by @fkingl0ser )

to the public, you had an infamous rivalry with the stoner emo kid jungkook, and everyone knew it, but behind closed doors, you had been in a strong relationship for months. when both your bands sign up for the school showcase, both teams are determined to beat the other, and the teasing, pranks, and late-night invasions only get worse. but how far is too far when one prank might just ruin everything?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ride | jungkook x reader | S (by @wethemess )

spotting jungkook's weight session in your home gym. harmless, right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ five days late | jungkook x reader | F, C (by @femme11fatale )

accompanying jungkook on tour has felt like living in a dream. stolen moments between cities, trying to make a relationship work in the middle of chaos. but when your period is late, the dream starts spiraling into panic as you try to find out if you're right without raising suspicion, and contemplate how you are going to break the news to your very famous, busy boyfriend...

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ seven days a week | jungkook x reader | F, A (by @tarathetic )

in which a hardworking student breaks things off with her reckless boyfriend jeon jungkook after one dangerous night too many. brokenhearted but completely determined, jungkook sets out to prove he can change his entire life to flirt into her future - one day at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ boyfriend headcannons | namjoon x reader | F (by @chwrrybby )

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ducati | jungkook x reader | S (by @jiminsdolly )

song playing: touchin' me - chandler leighton

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ lonely night | jungkook x reader | A, S (by @spideyjimin )

after a heartbreaking and devastating breakup, you've never truly left jungkook's mind. never once did he stop thinking about you, wondering who you've become and wishing he could have you back. but one night, years later, you unexpectetly meet again. you realize that even in new relationships, you've never stopped searching for each other.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ made of honor | jungkook x reader x namjoon | A, S, F (by @kookooluvr )

you gained a lot from university; a law degree catching dust in your attic, countless arguments with your roommate about laundry schedules, and a best friend whose biggest fear in life is committment. in essence, jungkook's world gets flipped upside down when you take a trip to london and he finally realizes his feelings for you .. only to find out you've come back with a fiance.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (she's) perfect | jungkook x reader | A (by @jjkarmy091 )

different inflection, when you say my name. kiss me, but your kiss don't feel the same.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ everytime we almost | jungkook x reader | SB (by @sweetonejk )

"you never hesitate." "i do." "when?" "when it matters."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ grease | jungkook x reader | S (by @cherrygkoo )

the one where you bring your bike in for a noise that keeps returning, and discover the only thing getting properly turned on is you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ even now | taehyung x reader | S, A (by @bangtanfanfiction )

five years after their breakup, y/n is exhausted, overworked, and doing everything she can to keep her son happy. unfortunately for her, river has decided the solution to all of their problems is tracking down her famous ex-boyfriend and ambushing him in the middle of BTS practice.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ all to myself | jungkook x reader | S (by @wethemess )

wanting tipsy jk all to yourself after an album release party.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ bound by blood | taehyung x reader | F, S (by @ctrlhope )

a servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. these are the conditions that have granted you life, yet they are the same ones that can take everything away. he can take everything away. but he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ what do you do when you have just been cheated on? | taehyung x reader | F, S (by @1luvtae )

what do you do when you have found out that your long-term boyfriend has been cheating on you? well, contacting his (may i mention, very, very hot) best friend tae is definitely an option.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ always the bridesmaid | taehyung x reader | A, F, S (by @kookingtae )

when you first meet kim taehyung, you're determined to find every reason to hate him - or maybe he's just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. but when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you're hopelessly in love with, you're too late to realize the real reason to hate kim taehyung is because of the latest column he's secretly writing: 'always the bridesmaid, never the bride', and it's all about you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ one more night | jungkook x reader | F, S (by @wintrbears )

you and jeongguk have had the same arrangement for years, that whenever he's back home in busan, he gets to recover from stardom in your arms. it allows you to act out your deepest fantasies without any strings attached, but maybe it doesn't have to remain a fantasy forever.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warm linen | jungkook x reader | F, C (by @koofarie1 )

when a sudden, heavy downpour washes away your grand weekend plans in seoul, you expect a boring afternoon indoors. instead, jungkook turns his living room into a fortress of comfort. wrapped in his oversized clothes and insulated by a massive blanket fort lit by fairy lights, the chaos of his idol life completely fades away. it's a quiet afternoon, filled with spilled hot chocolate, playful tickle wars, and soft middle-of-the-night confessions that prove no matter how loud the world gets outside, you will always be each other's safe harbor.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ one shot, two shots, three shots.. | jungkook x reader | S (by @lostvenuss )

☼ Steve Harrington ☼

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ girl of the week | harrington x reader | S (by @alcottsangel )

steve's sex life sucks. he's not exactly sure why he doesn't want to fuck the girls he dates anymore, but it's certainly becoming a problem. when you listen to him complain yet again during your shared shift at Family Video you decide to make an offer. do you wanna fuck?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ running back to you | harrington x reader | F (by "deactivated user")

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want you more than any stupid song could ever say | harrington x reader | F (by @swirledyouintoallmypoems )

steve wants to tell you how he feels, but he can't find the right words. robin gives him the idea to dedicate a song to you on the wsqk radio station, but not a single stupid song can explain just how he feels about you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ steve harrington needs you, so bad. | harrington x reader | S (by @gardenias-on-the-tile )

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ situationship vibes | harrington x reader | F, A (by @lizzygrantforever )

you and steve have been in a situationship for a while. you want way more with him, but you feel like he's not over nancy yet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ slut era interlude | harrington x reader | F, A (by @djolemodel )

you get stuck in a constant loop that you think is going to be a short-term type of thing, but what you're missing is real communication.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ the back porch | harrington x reader | A, F (by @gardenias-on-the-tile )

when steve sees you at a party, he starts to go insane. so what if you broke up? he still loves you, and his mind can't seem to stop the thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he can win you back.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ your side of the bed | harrington x reader | A (by @harringtonsugar )

your breakup with steve has been rough, and it only gets worse at night without him next to you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ hell & heaven | harrington x reader | S, F (by @catherinnn )

you can't stand steve harrington and his cocky attitude. unfortunately, hatred comes with a surprising amount of passion, and passion has a way of turning into feelings.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ high confessions | harrington x reader | F (by @djolemodel )

season 3 bathroom scene

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ always ready to be left out in the cold | harrington x reader | S, A, F (by @thecreelhouse )

getting stuck with steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? you're almost certain you'd rather freeze to death. almost.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ crayons, shoelaces and love | harrington x reader | F (by @underoospeterparker )

despite telling himself he doesn't need love, single dad steve harrington finds himself falling for his seven year-old daughter's primary school teacher (aka you)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ drop dead | harrington x reader (by @maysileesweets )

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you're a catch | harrington x reader | ongoing (by @sighmaii )

after a rather unfortunate one-night stand, you're left scrambling to get you and your 3rd grade son to his new little league baseball meeting, and even more scrambled when you see that the man who'd given you the best night since you'd moved from chicago is, in fact, his coach. his really, really attractive coach.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you can always reconsider | harrington x reader | (by @snapesuntouchedshampoo )

in which steve "the hair" harrington finds he can't leave you alone... even though you're sworn enemies.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ between the aisles | harrington x reader | S, F (by @thelastcitysposts )

during a sweltering summer in 1986, the slow shifts at family video become an unexpected battleground when steve and an old classmate of robin's keep running into each other. old grudges, sharp banter, and unresolved history turn every encounter into a tense stand-off, but the more time they're forced to share the same space, the harder it becomes to ignore the shifts happening beneath the surface. between late-night conversations, lingering glances, and the weight of who they used to be, something begins to change - whether either of them is ready for it or not.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ the vanishing of dustin henderson | harrington x reader | F, A (by @djoyful )

nobody has seen dustin henderson for days. not eddie. not mike. and defnitely not steve, who is on the verge of a mental breakdown. but did anyone think to check on commerce street?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ my man on willpower | harrington x reader | A, F (by @swirledyouintoallmypoems )

steve harrington used to be literally obsessed with you, but you're suddenly the least sought after girl in the land - or at least in hawkins.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ go go juice | harrington x reader | A, F (by @trizharrington )

a week after you broke up with steve, he gets wasted at a party and calls you drunk, begging you to come back.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tame that jungle | harrington x reader | S, F (by @trizharrington )

what begins as teasing over steve's chest hair quickly turns into something far less innocent.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ the shape of home | harrington x reader | A, F, SB (by @rafecameronsbabygirl7 )

eighteen months after everything ended, you return to hawkins for the party's graduation - and find that some things never really stayed behind. between grief, familiarity, and the pull of what was never said, something fragile begins to surface.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ iloveitiloveitiloveit | harrington x diva!reader | S (by @mariasont )

he's your director. you're his researcher. and the two of you just got locked in a room with an active sex drug of your own design.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ stars in his eyes | harrington x reader | F (by @earth2starkey )

steve harrington should be listening while his friends are talking. instead, he's watching you from across the room, curled up with a book, like he hasn't been in love with you for years already.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ nettles | harrington x reader | A (by @levanterhaze )

you've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. the cuse of the older sister. ever since you and el were raised together in that sterile, white hell - shaped into weapons of war - you knew your life wasn't yours. dying wasn't brave. it wasn't noble. it was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i won't let you go, please don't ask me to | harrington x reader | A (by @sasaririri )

she's his everything, and he was an idiot to make her feel otherwise. nearly losing each other forces them to confront what really matters.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ice packs, almosts and the space in between | harrington x reader | F (by @keerymehome )

you're finally starting to feel like your life is moving forward, a decent job that you've learned to love. however, the new teacher at school seems to be living in your office with an army of injured children.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ caught in the game | harrington x reader | F (by @libraryafterdark )

being a single mom isn't easy, especially when your daughter loves baseball more than anything. and when steve harrington, the new middle school baseball coach, constantly irritates you, you're not sure wether to roll your eyes or secretly enjoys his attention. what starts as conflict over your daughter's love for the game slowly turns into something neither of you expected.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ good old fashioned lover boy | harrington x reader | F (by @rimtrbl )

3 times steve harrington couldn't keep his hands off you, and the 1 time everyone called him out on it

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ what is love? (baby don't hurt me) | harrington x reader | F (by @cielasolana )

steve wants to feel needed. y/n needs someone. so in an insomnia-induced stupor, she decides to call him in the middle of the night. and steve is.. a bit too ready to come over.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a chance at a future | harrington x reader | F (by @canyon-saturn )

you and your boyfriend steve had never spoken about the future, as you both knew it wasn't a promise. but now, as the end of this chaos seems near, you both begin to explore what a normal life could entail. but you have to defeat vecna first, a task that has clearly proven to be nearly impossible thus far.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ daydreaming | harrington x reader | F (by @moleculeofme )

a trip to the mall ends with you meeting someone new.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ reflexes | harrington x reader | C (by @jetblack4real )

as billy's twin, things tend to come with a fight. you're used to protecting yourself or your step-sister, but when things get rough between your brother and steve, you realize your reflexes may be protecting someone else too.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pocketed time | harrington x reader | C (by @g0ldendesiree )

after saving steve's life, he realizes the things he almost left unsaid to the girl who's always been there for him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ confetti on the floor | harrington x reader | F, S (by @mcrdvcks )

steve's new year resolution is to finally tell you how he really feels about you, because being friends with benefits isn't enough for him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ beauty marks | harrington x reader | F (by @dottedluv )

waking up on steve's chest has you noticing things when you didn't think you could love him more

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ movie night | harrington x reader | F (by @earth2starkey )

a quiet movie night at steve's turns into something more when robin and dustin notice just how much she's made herself at home. steve can't hide his pride, she can't hide her blush, and everyone quietly observes as their soft, teasing, and cozy dynamic unfolds.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ haunted staircase | harrington x reader | A (by @matchamegs )

in the upside down, you encounter steve right after his fight with dustin, and together you navigate grief, regret, and the tension of surviving in a world that keeps testing you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ better boyfriend than him | harrington x reader | S (by @aloracreel )

you accidentally let it slip that your boyfriend hasn't fucked you in months, so what can steve do but make you feel good?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ sucker for a good cliche | harrington x reader | F, A (by @bibigo-lover )

you and steve have to fake-date after an awkward dinner at the wheeler-byers household - all while you're sure that he still wants nancy.

☼ Evan Buckley ☼

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ don't make trouble | buckley x reader | A (by @megalony )

y/n is so much happier working at the 118 rather than her previous station. but her work life shifts when a ghost from her past turns up and begins to make life horrible for her. and she doesn't want to tell evan for fear of upsetting him.

☼ Din Djarin ☼

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ yours to tame | djarin x reader | F, S (by @604to647 )

worried, din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ it feels like love | djarin x reader | S (by @withmyloveasyourgarden )

Quick Summary:

This happens after all the other stories, aka, Joon, Jimin and Yoongi.

Lily Potter was best friends with Reader in Jimin's story.

Jeongguk is Jimin's adopted little brother, also explained previously in Jimin's story.

Taehyung and Jimin are 7th years, Jeongguk is in his 6th, while all the others just graduated.

“Did you see?”

“Yes! I can’t believe it.”

“Seems impossible!”

“Riiight? Like a fever dream or something.”

“What do you think he did?”

“Enhancement potions, perhaps?”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Don’t be daft, the beauty kind.”

“From where?”

“I hear the biggest brand of beauty potions from America just got approved for a license into the UK. Frontpage on the magazines last month.”

“My mum mentioned it during tea time the other day! Didn’t realize it would hit off with the males though.”

“Does it matter? Atkinson got well fit over the summer.”

“Enough to shag?”

“Weelll…” An unseen look was shared between the gaggle of three sixth-year girls occupying the far end of the common room sofa and armchair, heads bent close together as they giggled almost obnoxiously to themselves, thinking no one was hearing their conversations. 

No one that mattered that was. And that no one certainly included yourself. 

Not one nearly important enough to watch their words around in fear of it reaching someone else. 

Which is why you were free to sit in your usual place against a tiny wooden table large enough to fit two cups of tea tucked beneath the smallest window the Ravenclaw tower had to offer, in one of its darkened corners and listen to the juiciest gossip of the new term.

First days of classes were in the morning, everyone having just arrived today and catching up with friends the summer apart. 

Again, that did not include you. But out of free choice, that is. 

You were perfectly happy in your own company, with your books and scrolls tucked into secret corners or end of tables. Mostly absorbed in your own world, but also finding entertainment in simply listening to everything around you rather than engaging in it. There was a specific serenity in it for you, an aspect many could not understand and didn’t bother to spend time finding out.

You were simply you, after all. The Ravenclaw wallflower since you first stepped foot into the magical school. Someone people knew, but not by name. Someone who might just flitter into people’s memories in a passing mention, but forgotten again the very next. 

There were many great names at Hogwarts with you. Especially in the last two decades since the years of your parents. Potters, Weasleys, Malfoys, Greengrasses, Parks and numerous other great names of ancient wizarding families and their offspring. 

You were a pureblood, yes. But your parents were from normal wizarding families despite it, and so were you. 

Someone who was simply there. A student among other students.

No great name, no ancient blood and a heroic history attached to it before your birth. 

And you preferred it that way. 

The giggles of the group of girls one year younger than you turned into frantic mutters the moment the subject of their conversation walked into the common room, and you found enough interest to peel your eyes away from the rather gripping muggle book in hand to pay a smidge of attention. 

Jensen Atkinson, a classmate in the same house had remained remotely the same in all the time you’ve seen him. Because knowing was far too much of a generous word. 

An average British boy, perhaps a bit too scrawny with a thin face and oversized, thick glasses that hid most of his features. He usually had a pimpled face, which you had heard him complain about several times over the years. 

He wasn’t ugly, so to say. You never thought so. 

He was sweet. Not as hidden in the background as you, but kind and soft-spoken all the same. With his straight, if a bit messy dark blonde hair and wide smile which had that small gap in the middle. 

Endearing, was the word you were looking for. 

And you didn’t know what beauty potions they were talking about, but even you had to admit they had done their job for two months. 

There were no pimples for once, only smooth, fair olive toned skin. His hair was no longer a shaggy ruffle of strands, but rather refined and almost a deliberate mess this time around - loosely slicked back with strands falling into his forehead and covering the top of his eyes. 

Jensen grinned as he walked towards a group of his mates, teeth perfectly straight with no gap in sight. Neither were his features hidden by the too large glasses, having been replaced with a new pair; thinner frames, straight at the top and rounding at the bottom to fit his slightly more filled out face and wider jawline that had sharpened with whatever assistance. 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. 

But you knew a secret they didn’t. 

Jensen Atkinson had never been unfit. In the physical sense of things that is. 

You caught him once, in the dewy early mornings of a sunny autumn on a weekend when everyone was still asleep. You were wandering through the halls towards the Great Hall when his jogging form caught your attention against the backdrop of the rising sun. 

Dressed in a fitted long-sleeved sports shirt and black jogging trousers, basically molded against his slim yet broad shoulders and firm biceps, always hidden beneath clothes two sizes too big. 

You had simply arched a single brow at the revelation before continuing on your way. 

He had grown confident because he was finally wearing clothes so obviously tailored to his shape now, enhancing what everyone thought to be nonexistent. And you knew his clothes were far too big because he had once offered his jacket to cover your legs during a partner project in potions and you were visibly shivering at the time. 

You had noticed how strangely long his sleeves had been, and how the bottom of his cloak always dragged against the floor and offered to show him a simple mending spell from one of your mother’s sewing books to shorten them swiftly. 

And that memory must have been the reason his gaze was quick to catch your own as they swept over the common room, lightening up in recognition and promptly ignoring the three girls right in front of you. 

Your own widened almost comically as you looked back down at the book, fingertips crumpling the thin page with a small prayer.

But a pair of white sneakers stopped in your vision as you tensed in anticipation. 

“Hey Y/N,” his voice was low, thank goodness, and still the soft-spoken way he always did. Speaking as if addressing an easily scared animal ready to run.  

You were known to be shy, yes. But not scared of people. Just a smidge of social anxiety. 

“Hey Jensen,” you glanced up, mouth drying up at having to talk to Hogwarts's newest catch of the year. Not the kind of public attention you wanted. “How was summer?”

But he was unaware or simply did not care, because his smile widened that you bothered asking him a question. “It was nice, thank you. How was yours?”

You shrugged easily, gently shutting the book with your thumb resting between the pages you stopped at. “Same old, nothing too exciting.”

“Just up your alley then, I assume?” his wink was good-natured, and you were surprised he was close to knowing one of your preferences. 

You supposed it made sense for another Ravenclaw to have the same amount of observational ability over you as you did to them. 

“Yeah, I guess,” You let yourself smile a bit less stiffly. “You look great by the way. Summer must have treated you well.”

Jensen blushed adorably quickly as you smothered a giggle. He was at least the same, easily flustered guy from before all the transformations. “T-thank you.” 

He wanted to say something more, but one of his friends called out to him by the door's entrance. “Ah, I should go. But it was good talking to you, I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Despite your confusion at his obvious hope to speak again, you nodded with a small wave as he walked away. 

The short, but awkward conversation was strange but not completely unwanted as you returned to your neglected book, pointedly ignoring the stares directed at you from the group of sixth years. 

+

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Taehyung groaned as Jimin from across him scrunched down at the written essay. Hovering quill being plucked from the air and circling around a sentence on his discussion on the negatives and positives of using Veritaserum in today’s age and society compared to the time during the first and second wizarding wars. 

“I’m just trying to fill out the page count at this point, mate. No need to be so picky.”

“You chose to sign up to N.E.W.T potions, and now you want to slack off?” His best friend scoffed, continuing to skim the content.

“Yeah, because I know I won't fail it doesn’t mean I have to do everything perfectly.” He smirked then. “Like another teacher’s pet, for example.”

“Yah, I’m not a teacher’s pet.”

“That’s what they always say.” Another heavy sigh from Taehyung as he leaned back on his chair. “I wish Joon was still here. He would have been much nicer than you.”

Their older Ravenclaw friend who had graduated just this summer was the smartest of their little group of Korean wizards in the Scottish highlands. Namjoon had been Head Boy in his year, as well as claiming the number one spot on the academic ladder as he left with a proud grin. 

Last they heard he was happy and dandy, moving into an apartment with his prankster of a Slytherin girlfriend in Diagon Alley while acing his apprenticeship in Advanced Alchemy at St. Mungos. 

“Namjoon hyung would have ripped out his hair sooner than you think. Especially when you’re involved.”

“Rude.” Taehyung huffed, taking in Jimin’s scrutiny of his essay with a twitching eye, which he knew wasn’t bad. “What’s even the problem?”

“You’re being too simple.” Jimin deadpanned, quill tapping almost pointedly at his discussion section. “You can’t just list negatives and positives like going to the food shop. Why is it negative? Why is it positive? Is it legally right, but morally wrong? You need details.”

Merlin, if he’d known NEWT essays were this tedious, he wouldn’t have signed up for them. 

“Besides,” Jimin continued. “Your second argument lacks credentials. You say it should be allowed to be used on criminals in severe cases, but have only proof of one instance of when it worked in the court’s favor. And that was over fifty years ago. You have to consider today's society where human rights are more on the forefront than ever before.”

Taehyung arched a brow at his friend. “Yeah, but it’s a magic potion that reveals the truth. Options muggles don’t even have in their world when convicting the guilty, so why shouldn’t we as wizards use what we have to our advantage?”

Jimin smirked. “Well muggles have technology, shouldn’t you know that as a half-blood? Their current tech goes far beyond what our magic can do in many areas, so how would you say a magic potion is more reliable than the newest muggle technology used by the FBI or military?”

“How the bloody hell do you even know what the FBI is?” Taehyung couldn’t help but gape at his friend.

Jimin shrugged. “I watch muggle shows. Very educational actually, father was fascinated by it.”

“Oh yeah? The show or the tv?”

Crickets could have started singing by the moment of silence between them. 

“...the tv.”

The moving form of someone about to pass, however, made Tae act impulsively as he called out. 

“Oi! Would you say the use of Veritaserum during trials against criminals is immoral?” 

He ignored the hissed shock of Jimin. “What the hell are you doing, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung simply looked at the stranger he managed to stop on their way, a Ravenclaw girl, obviously stunned and confused as he held your stare with a weird intensity. 

“Uh-uhm pardon?” Was all you managed to stutter out, two books held tightly against your chest as you stared down at the lounging lad before you, balancing the chair on its two hind legs without a problem. 

Oi? How awfully rude. 

His friend was hiding his face between his hands in exasperation, and you recognized him as Jimin Park. 

“But they’re like the really bad ones, you know. Voldemort-bad that is. And they refuse to say anything. Would you still say using Veritaserum at that moment is immoral and against their human rights?”

“I-I,” Your brain was whirring as you tried to find your footing in the absurd situation, hardly acknowledging the apologetic look Park sent your way as your mouth moved without thinking. 

“W-well if you mean the use of Veritaserum should be allowed in criminal trials to help uncover the truth to save innocent lives, I don’t see the problem. Criminals are criminals, and depending on their degree of severity there should be clauses for when Veritaserum should be allowed as a measure-” 

His mouth was starting to widen, but you weren’t done speaking. 

“-but it is not used for a reason, especially in this scenario. Veritaserum is unreliable, it only forces the person to tell their version of the truth, not the factual truth.” 

To your surprise, he actually looked interested in what you were saying. They both were. 

“What do you mean by their version?”

Oh! He wanted you to continue. 

“Meaning…if a person is mentally unstable or wholeheartedly believes that something is true then that's what they'll say. Besides, if said person is aware that they're going to be given the potion it's possible to mentally prepare or take precautions to try and throw off, or at least diminish, its effects. So a muggle polygraph test would be more efficient when you think of it.”

There was a stunned silence until Park slapped a firm hand on the table and in the other guy’s direction in an aggressive I-Told-You-So motion, a humorous sassy head motion following as he crossed his arms with a pointed look. 

Someone you now recognized as Taehyung Kim, a face far too well known in the Ravenclaw common room now and then to visit his friends and always drawing some kind of attention with a confident nature and grin as he waltzed inside after a successful riddle. Not to mention how easy on the eyes he was. 

He was no longer smiling, but his eyes were sparkling, or at least you thought so as he took you in silently, flicking to your house badge and to the nervous shuffle of your feet. 

“Hm, Ravenclaw indeed.” He said instead, lips quirking. “Thanks for that…?”

He was asking for your name. 

“Uh, Y/N.” You felt your blush starting to creep up on both of their attention. 

“Thanks for the help, Y/N!” Taehyung then grinned, that wide, charming smile that lit up his entire face. 

You mumbled a quick no problem before rushing away like Hungarian Horntail was on your feet. 

+

“Who was that?” Taehyung still mused to himself that evening as his dinner cooled down in front of him. His chin rested on the palm of his hand as he mindlessly stared at the pumpkin juice in his goblet. 

“Who was who?” Jeongguk arched a brow at the conflicted look upon his friend’s features and got no reply as he turned to Jimin instead. 

“A girl he was annoying in the library today.”

“Well, who?”

“He doesn’t know,” Jimin scoffed with a self-satisfied smirk. “She certainly knocked down his ego a peg or two. A Ravenclaw.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Jeongguk shook his head. “A girl Tae annoyed that put him in his place, could be any of them..”

“Maybe it was me,” a new voice chimed in as Lily Luna Potter pushed her way in between Jeongguk and Taehyung without care. “Or at least that sounds like me.”

Ever since taking her to the Yule Ball as Taehyung’s date last year, she had become a good friend to most of them, especially with her connection to Jimin’s girlfriend now that Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi and Seokjin all graduated, halving their usual seven man-group. 

Jeongguk was already complaining about how he’d be all alone next year and was making sure to make friends with others in fear of becoming a social outcast.

“But you’re not a Ravenclaw.” Taehyung was still present enough to follow along with the conversation. “And you’re far too mean.”

“Keep trying insulting me, Kim, and you’ll see why the Potters and Weasleys are so infamous for their havoc,” She flashed an innocent grin at him that was more reminiscent of a lions’ maw. 

“You mean besides being the offspring of The Chosen One?” 

“Hah Hah.”

“Anyways, she’s a Ravenclaw. About yey high, all wide eyes and stuttering but apparently smart, but not the bonkers kind of smart that all of you are known for.” Taehyung turned his serious stare onto his younger friend in wait. 

Jeongguk only stared back unamused. “Wow, what a flattering description. Thanks hyung.”

“No problem. Now do you know?”

Obviously seeing how important it was for his hyung to find this mysterious Ravenclaw person, only one name could come to mind with what he’s heard. “Well, did you get her name?”

Of course! How could he forget her bloody name?

Taehyung’s expression was sheepish as he replied. “Y/N.”

Jeongguk rolled his eyes. “There’s only one of her in Ravenclaw.”

“Y/N?” Lily mused over the name. “Haven’t heard of her, who is it?”

“She’s in 7th year. And to be honest, I don’t know anything about her. She’s there and sometimes she isn’t. Kind of just…around if you really look. She’s very shy though.” Jeongguk thought to himself for a second. “I haven’t actually seen her speak to anyone ever.”

“So an outcast,” Taehyung mused, just for Lily to slap his arm rather hard as he winced. 

“Don’t be rude!” She reprimanded with that familiar Weasley glare. “Not everyone can be as annoying as you.”

“Or obnoxious,” Jimin flittered in.

“Or loud.” 

“Or irritating.”

“That’s the same thing, you bloody wanker,” Taehyung reached across the table to try and whack at his same-aged friend, who dodged easily.

“Oh is it?” Jimin’s sharp eyes simply glinted before something else caught his eye and he jumped out of his seat and left with a wiggle of his fingers. 

It didn’t take any of them long to see it was his girlfriend who had caught his attention, as the guy bounded over and smothered her face in kisses as both left the hall with nauseatingly blinding grins. 

“Ugh, they make me sick sometimes,” Lily groaned, but there was genuine happiness there for her best friend having found love in someone as kind as Park Jimin. As sassy and smart mouthed he could be at times. Another charm, she supposed. 

“So what now? You’re in love or something?” Lily turned the conversation back on track. 

“Who said anything about love?” 

“By the way you keep talking about her, I assumed so.”

Taehyung shrugged, leaning back on his hands gripping the underside of the bench. “Just curious, is all.”

“About?” 

“How someone like her has managed to go under my radar.”

Lily’s warm hazel brown eyes narrowed, this time no lightheartedness blinking beneath them. “Don’t you dare go and play that poor girl, Kim Taehyung.” She had gotten into the habit of putting his last name first. “Not everyone looks at relationships as a game.”

Jeongguk wisely chose to remain silent. 

“What makes you think it’s a game for me?” His head tilted ever the slightest, taking in the redhead with no expression besides the normal aloofness he wore. 

“It always is.” Her response was sharp, and certainly with no regret before softening. “I’ve been there, remember?”

Taehyung had no words for that. 

He had to admit his fault there. 

Kim Taehyung had found the enigma of Lily Potter as some sort of chase last year, especially with the announcement of the Yule Ball returning to Hogwarts after nearly two decades. She was the only daughter of Harry Potter, a firecracker as bright as her hair and as fierce as her namesakes. A younger girl who had found his interest in her thrilling. And he had pursued her. Flirted with her, as innocent as it was and took her to the ball. Only to break her heart only two days after - or at least what little hope she had for them to become something more. 

He was lucky to only get off with a mild bat bogey hex and Lily found it in her to forgive him after a while and agreeing to become friends again. 

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Those words sounded heavier than he expected, but he held firm. “I promise.”

Lily Luna searched his gaze for a short moment  and sighed. “I really hope so, Tae. Truly.”

Yeah. He probably did the same. 

+

Jensen spoke to you again. 

Two weeks into the semester as you were walking from your Charms class to Transfiguration, he stopped you with a small wave. It only lasted a few moments, with both of you needing to make it to the next class. But you found it considerably easier and more relaxed this time around. 

Relaxed enough that you didn’t even notice your new seating partner until you had sat down. 

“So this is where you like it. I can see the appeal; in the middle, not too close and not too far.”

Your heart must have stopped for a single beat from the voice, let alone the unfamiliar sight of Taehyung Kim lounging the way he apparently always did on the neighboring seat on the right of you. 

“You…” Was your clever reply, but with a frown to rival that of the late Headmaster Severus Snape’s portrait mixed with a good amount of bewildered confusion. “Why are you here?”

“To learn, I hope.”

“Since…when?” 

Taehyung made a near constipated look, as if in serious thought. “Oof, tough questions you’re asking there. I assume since the semester started.”

You realized how foolish you were sounding, biting down on your tongue to stop talking and sliding further down on your chair in an embarrassed attempt to hide yourself from view. 

“So…Y/N, right?”

You dared a glance in his direction, giving a single nod. 

Taehyung grinned, seeming far too happy to know your name as you felt slightly suspicious of his behavior.

He reached out a hand. “I’m Kim Taehyung, or Taehyung Kim here, I suppose.”

You had manners enough to accept it, although gingerly and releasing it fairly quickly. “I remember who you are.”

“Honoured.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

His grin turned upside down, a frown of confusion taking its place. “Offend me?”

You shared that expression. “Isn’t that why you’re talking to me? About the Veritaserum thing?”

He looked unbothered if anything. 

“And what about it?”

“Did I ruin your argument?”

He chuckled in realization. “Not even close. You helped a lot, to be fair. I changed my core discussion and managed to score a perfect O.” He held up the shape with his thumb and index in front of one eye. 

“Oh.” Some of the tension eased from your shoulders. 

“Was even used as an example in front of the class. If anything, you just improved my academic reputation by tenfold.”

“You’re…welcome?” 

Potions had never been a strong forte of yours as much as you strived to excel in every subject. But you realized that quickly enough and was forced to admit defeat before 7th year came around, and therefore chose not to take it as an elective despite your higher end of an A in it. 

The discussion essays were your strength – the brewing being completely different. It was well-known knowledge that Slytherins – as stereotypical as it was,  held a superiority in its arts of precise cutting and stirring from their centuries of pureblood ancestry. 

Which is why it came as a surprise to hear that Taehyung Kim, Hufflepuff through and through, was among the top five of seventh years. 

You supposed it made sense when thinking of the people he hung around. Several Slytherins, including Jimin Park and the notoriously scary couple of Min and Greengrass, who had both graduated to your intense relief. 

You had found them scary individually, but when the news of their dating – or courting as purebloods called it – spread last year, that fear tripled whenever you were to come across them in the halls together. 

Identical don’t fuck with me auras and cold facades enough to freeze the Black Lake twice over. 

You made sure to stay out of their way. 

“Is there a reason you’re sitting here? You’ve never done it before.”

He leveled you with a side glance, hands folded behind the back of his head as he lounged back. “Are you always this suspicious of people wanting to speak to you?”

“I’m not suspicious,” You tried defending yourself, though failing. “It’s just weird.”

“Is it?”

“People never speak to me.” You expected the same uncomfortable pity to appear just as anyone else who bothered to spare you a moment and ask about the obvious absence of any friends by your side. 

You never meant to come across as pathetic. It was just a fact, nothing you grumbled over. But for them it always sounded like some heavy load ready to burst followed by a string of tears. 

Taehyung shrugged. “Well I’m speaking to you now. Do you mind?”

You were quick and honest in answering “No.”

His mouth quirked. "Good. I’ve decided I like you”

What sort of cliché line was that supposed to be?

Taking him in from top to bottom, you noted the loose way his tie was around the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, as well as the half-tucked-untucked way his clothes looked. 

It was disheveled, but in a careful, fashion forward way rather than rumpled. He made up for it with tastefully chosen accessories, such as a ring, bracelet and silver dainty necklace. 

His hair looked soft. Far softer than yours. A deep black and longer than most boys at school, reaching his ears with a deliberately chosen half middle part with several wavy strands covering his brows and tickling the top of his eyes. 

Eyes in such a dark brown color, you couldn’t help but compare them to a warm, fuzzy blanket with the way he was looking at you. 

You were quite frankly in danger of getting lost in them as you internally shook yourself out of it.

“That sounds awfully ominous.” 

“Ominous, endearing — it’s all a branch of interest in the end.”

A brow flicked up from your part. “It really isn’t.”

“Smart mouthed witch, aren’t you?” The easy look on his face said it was meant in jest. Not that you took offense to things easy.

“Comes with the Ravenclaw territory.” Your usual shyness had evaporated enough for you to snark in return. A new development from your end. 

Taehyung seemingly noticed the same thing, an understated sort of glee on his expression as he opened his mouth to reply but failed to do so as the professor strolled into the room with a greeting and everyone dutifully returned to their seats and faced the front. 

You glanced at him again carefully only to blush at the quick wink he threw you. 

Boys. 

+

The entire way from the last class you shared of the day — which was surprisingly many — to the entire length of the trek down to the Great Hall just in time for dinner. 

You said nothing, mostly only giving suspicious glances trying to figure out what he really wanted. He only strolled along with a lighthearted grin, often stopping in his path to hit off a chat with others.

Times at which you thought you’d finally lost him, only for him to come jogging up around the corner again. 

The strangest part was that he didn’t bother you. Or even speak. 

The strangeness of it all is what made you huff and stop abruptly in your path and seconds later you felt him almost skid to a halt in surprise, nearly running into you in the process. 

“Whoa.”

Turning around swiftly, your eyes narrowed up at him as Taehyung blinked. “What do you want?”

“What keeps making you think I want anything?”

“Because this–” Your hand flicked up and down along his form. “Is the true essence of someone wanting something.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you, love.”

“By stalking me?”

“Keeping you company,” he corrected with that same mischievous grin. 

“Without my permission?”

“I thought we were getting pretty close in class just now.”

“Listen-” You sighed heavily. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do, thank you, but no thank you. I’m all set with my friends.”

It was a lie, obviously. You didn’t have friends. Not really.  

But you were also very content with where you stood at the moment. Comfortable. 

You were a seventh year student with less than ten months left before graduation. You didn’t need any sudden complications to make the end of your life at Hogwarts any harder. 

And that included the persistent curiosity of one Taehyung Kim. 

“Do those friends perhaps include a very persistent Atkinson?”

The tip of your red ears were thankfully hidden by the tresses of your loose hair as you frowned. “If anyone’s persistent, it’s you, Kim.”

“How about a deal?”

“Pardon?” Your exasperation was hardly hidden. “We’re making deals now?”

“Give me a chance.” Taehyung seemed unbothered by your obvious annoyance. “I wanna get to know you.”

“...why?” 

“Why not?”

“Why me?”

Taehyung gave a hum in contemplation. “I can’t help but feel like this conversation already happened.”

“What I’m trying to say–” You kept your eye contact firm as his own glinted. “You don’t have to feel like you owe me anything for that one answer on the essay. I don’t need pity-friends.”

For once he looked careful in choosing his words. “What makes you think I'm trying to be a pity friend? Maybe I’m a secret admirer you never noticed.”

You barked out a sharp laugh. “Hah! You didn’t know of my existence until the library. Can you truly blame me for being suspicious?”

Taehyung huffed out a laugh, cheeks warming up as he scratched his head with a sheepish expression. “Fair enough, that was a bit over the top. So I repeat. How about that deal?”

“A deal about giving you a chance?” You repeated doubtfully. “As?”

“Fine I’m gonna be frank. Yes, I do feel like I owe you something after your help, but I also enjoyed who I spoke to as a person. So naturally, I’m interested in being your friend.”

You had run out of arguments and as much as you wanted to shoo him away, the genuinity in his words and expression were hard to push off as lies. 

Unless he was simply a fantastic actor, which you wouldn’t push past him. 

“Alright then.” 

Taehyung’s eyes widened.“Wait really?”

“I’ll…be your friend, I guess.” You mumbled almost in embarrassment at the strange sentence. Never in your life have you had someone argue so much for simply wanting to become a friend. 

How utterly bizarre.

But perhaps it was the sort of bizarreness you needed in your life. Not that you would admit it. 

“Stop being so shocked!” You huffed. “I’m not a mean person, you know.”

He was grinning. “That never crossed my mind.”

Shuffling your feet almost awkwardly as he continued to grin at you in silence, the trickle of students in the corridors were starting to thin down. Most of them had already arrived at the Great Hall for dinner. 

“What now then?”

Taehyung threw an arm around your shoulders, starting to pull you towards the Great Hall as you stumbled a few steps before managing to keep up with his long strides. 

“First things first as a new friend,” He ‘whispered’ with a smirk. “Introduce you to more friends!”

The absolute fear on your face must have shown, because he actually fucking cackled. Cackled. Like some bloody villain ready to sacrifice you to the wolves. 

Your anxiety could hardly keep up with him. 

Merlin, help me.

+

“Everyone, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet everyone,” Taehyung grinned at the four occupants somewhere in the middle of the Slytherin table sharing various degrees of amusement and anticipation. 

His arm was still around your tense shoulders as you tried to smile at them in return, but with your wide anxious eyes and stiff grin, you gave the picture of someone forcefully held against their will rather than pleasantries for the first time. 

And whether it was by the sight of Jimin Park rubbing the bridge of his nose, or Jeongguk shaking his head - they were probably as exhausted as you were by his antics.

It was Jimin’s girlfriend who saved the heavy awkwardness hanging in the air as she jumped up and grabbed your hand. 

“Hi Y/N, come sit next to me,” she chirped with a sweet voice as you followed, ending up in the middle of her and Taehyung on the bench. 

“Thanks,” You tried to sound unaffected, surrounded by so many strangers. 

“So what schemes has Tae gotten you into to end up here?” It was Jimin inquiring from the other side of his girlfriend as he peered around her to look at you with a small smile, not at all looking annoyed by your presence. Rather the situation you’ve been forced into. 

“Uhm, I don’t really know, to be honest,” You answered truthfully. 

“Hah!” Dark burnished orange hair and pretty, wide chocolate brown eyes were the next to keep your attention as you found yourself locked in the mischievous gaze of one Lily Potter. 

Oh my God, even Lily Potter was a part of this friend group. 

“Please don’t tell me he forced you, Y/N. If he did just give me a sign, I’ll curse his arse out for you.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good at that,” You heard Tae mutter next to you with a shudder. 

Your lips twitched. 

“Thanks for the offer, I’ll put it to good use one day,” You promised and the younger girl grinned.

She was insanely pretty, you couldn’t help but notice. Or maybe it was just her confident personality that made her so attractive to everyone. No wonder either, she was the youngest child of war heroes, and her boyfriend was heir to the Malfoy heritage.

It was all over the Daily Prophet several times over the past year how Scorpius Malfoy was working day and night to change the dark past of his family reputation by working his way rapidly well up in the world of aurors, coming on top in the Auror Academy and beating records of those decades before him. There were rumors of Harry Potter himself considering choosing the young man as his new rookie partner in the field.

If you weren’t a Ravenclaw, you would have wondered why the man hadn’t chosen either of his two sons, who were both aurors - one already well into his career and the younger one being a starring pupil alongside Malfoy. But laws clearly stated that those with direct family ties were not allowed to work together in close quarters.

If only the law had known Scorpius Malfoy was a very likely candidate for the future son-in-law position at the Potter household. 

You would imagine if there were main characters in the world; then Lily Luna Potter was certainly one of them. And you were simply excited to have a first class seat to witness it rather than wanting to be in her place. 

You took another look around and noticed the one person left who had yet to speak. Jeongguk Jeon must have felt your curious gaze, because when he looked away from his plate of food and met yours he blushed alarmingly quickly, even for you, but offered a friendly smile nonetheless. 

He sat opposite of you, besides Lily. It was a very off balance order with only two people on one side of the bench and four on the other. But at this point Jimin had his girlfriend on his lap and they were giggling quietly together while still managing to eat, and Taehyung was your designated friend. 

“Hey Jeon.” It was the first time you’ve spoken to the underclassman, despite seeing him all the time in your shared common room and passing in the hallways. 

“You can call me Jeongguk,” He shrugged. 

“We call him Kookie.” Taehyung whispered beside you, not that it was much of a whisper as the boy whipped his gaze over with a glare. 

“You do not!” Jeongguk snapped, clearly annoyed but in the way a younger brother would be. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to call you that.” You just met these people, there was no way you were planning to get on their nerves already. 

“So Y/N, what classes are you taking this year? Besides sharing Transfiguration with my wonderful self.”

You could hardly hold back the eye roll as Taehyung grinned. 

“A lot of the core classes. Charms, Transfiguration, Defense and Herbology, but I dropped potions from last year.”

“Really? Not planning to become an auror?” 

“Godric, no,” You chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to handle the Academy, never mind catching dark wizards. I prefer my future career as something safer.”

“I feel you there.” Taehyung folded his hands behind his head. “I was considering working at the ministry somewhere, but haven’t decided which department yet.”

“A ministry worker?” You were honestly surprised. You expected something more eccentric from him. 

“Shocked?” He smirked in return. 

“A little yeah, I thought you were going to say dragon handler or something.”

He barked out a laugh. “I scream at the sight of reptiles, never mind a dragon. What about you?”

“I’m not sure.” You admitted. “I’ve got options in both the muggle and wizarding world, so I’m at a stand still.”

Both his brows were raised in surprise. “You’re considering leaving the wizarding world?”

“Not completely, just a little reprieve perhaps. I’ve read up on the muggle education system and going to universities.”

“Uni, huh.” Taehyung looked even more intrigued at this point, and you couldn’t fathom why. “Are you half-blood?”

“Pureblood.” It was a delight to see his face twist into more shock. It seems the only emotion you were able to give him. “Not all of us are bigoted and close minded, you know.” 

“I wasn’t–”

“Relax idiot, she’s obviously kidding,” Lily cut in with a scoff as you shared a laugh with her. “But that sounds fun, Y/N. One of my older cousins is going to a muggle uni right now, and she’s loving it.”

“It seems really fun,” You agreed. “I’ve always been interested in the muggle world. My parents often took us traveling when I was younger with only planes and public transport.”

“My dad too!” She gasped. “He was always dragging us on the tube in London for everything, wanting to make us independent for the future and not rely on magic. I can basically find my way anywhere now.”

“Oh my, I hate the rush hour!” You complained, suddenly full of vigor finding someone who knew what you were talking about. “I accidentally got stuck in it during the holiday and it was horrid. Never again.”

“Same! Luckily I had been warned, but had to eventually endure when I got a summer job last year,” Lily pouted. 

“You had a job?” You clapped a hand over your mouth at how you sounded, but she only waved off your concern. 

“I know; shocking. Another one of dad’s lessons, providing for ourselves and not through family members.”

“But why? He’s Harry Potter!”

“Exactly that,” Lily smirked. “Because he’s Harry Potter. His favorite quote to my brothers and I is ‘It’s my money, not yours. If you want something, go make your own.’ ”

“Wow, harsh.”

“He means well though,” she was quick to assure with a wave of her hand. “Dad used to spoil us rotten as children, since he never got to experience a privileged childhood. But the moment we got into our teens he was strict in teaching us more about responsibility.”

“She wasn’t even allowed to work at her uncle’s joke shop.” You had nearly forgotten Jimin was there, as his voice came from beside you. 

“Why?”

“Too familiar,” Lily rolled her eyes. “So I ended up with a café job in central London. It was a nightmare, but I‘m a professional at handling cranky middle aged women now.”

“What about you?” The deep rumble of Taehyung’s voice made you turn. “Have you ever worked in muggle England?”

“Never,” You shook your head almost bewildered at the thought. “Only for leisure but never work. My parents want me to focus on school. You?”

“I’m a part-time café victim too,” He grinned. “But in my hometown in South Korea for a summer when my parents dragged me back.”

“Dragged you back?” You flicked up a brow. “Is there a reason for it?”

“Let’s just say they weren’t too fond of the British drinking culture.”

You made a small noise of understanding, but forced yourself to bite your tongue. Because there were about five questions that you wanted to ask and absolutely none of them were probably appropriate to ask on a day like…whatever this was. 

Lily snorted, and would have elbowed Taehyung in the ribs if she wasn’t sitting on the other side of the table. “Your parents weren’t wrong. Half the blokes here treat weekends like a competitive sport.”

Taehyung’s grin turned lazy. “You’d know?”

Her grin in return was sharp in its delivery. “I worked in a café in central London, Kim. I’ve seen men come in at seven in the morning smelling like regret and old beer trying to flirt with a croissant.”

Jeongguk, bless him, choked on his pumpkin juice and you didn’t know whether to laugh or look at him with concern. Instead your hand moved to smooth your robe as if it had wrinkles that weren’t there. 

Jimin’s girlfriend laughed bright enough for everyone to attract a few head turns. She caught it and lowered her voice sheepishly as she turned to you. 

“What about you, Y/N?” she asked softly, like she was letting you into a private joke rather than putting you on display. “Where’d you travel?”

There was a pause. Not awkward exactly, if you could put it into words. 

You blinked at her and the table and the strange feeling of everyone looking at you with interest rather than a distracted politeness you were used to. 

“My parents like random places…I suppose,” You started off and heard the faint wobble in your own voice and hated it. “Spain once. Italy. My mum got obsessed with muggle museums over a summer, so we did Paris and Rome without magic. Which was…” You lifted your shoulders. “A lot of walking.”

“Paris without magic,” Lily repeated like a heroic feat. “Respect. Not even a stop at the French ministry?”

“Not once,” You shook your head. “It was mainly just me getting lost and pretending I wasn’t,” you admitted. And to your surprise, laughter bubbled up around you — all warm and genuine.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he discovered a new species in the wild. “You’re funny.”

“I’m truthful,” you corrected automatically. Because accepting a compliment was never a strength of yours without deflecting. 

He leaned closer however, resting his chin on his palm. “Same thing.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It is when it comes out of your mouth.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it. Because the last thing you needed was Taehyung Kim collecting small facts about you like shiny stones in his pocket.

Jimin’s girlfriend, thank Merlin, nudged your elbow. “Do you like chess?”

You blinked at the change of subject.. “Yeah?”

Jimin’s face lit up like a child on Christmas. “Finally. Someone with taste.”

Taehyung groaned. “Oh no. You’ve just fed him.”

Jeongguk’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. “He gets insufferable about chess.”

“I do not get insufferable,” Jimin said, offended.

Lily raised her brows. “You called my cousin an intellectual peasant because he didn’t know a queen’s gambit.”

“He was an intellectual peasant.”

You startled again, but this time it turned into a laugh before you could stop it. A real one. 

And you found yourself not minding this feeling even a little bit. 

By the time dinner ended, you’d been asked questions that weren’t traps. You’d been teased in a way that didn’t sting, and you’d been included without the exhausting pressure of having to perform gratitude for the inclusion. 

But still, when you stood up — habits made itself known. 

“I should go,” you said, a little too quickly. “I have… reading.”

“Mhm, must be a lot two weeks in already," Lily said knowingly, and her eyes softened. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

Jimin’s girlfriend squeezed your hand before you could pull away. “Come sit with us again tomorrow, yeah?”

You hesitated. 

“Okay,” you heard yourself say anyways

+

The next day, you sat with them again

And the next. 

It didn’t happen suddenly. But slowly, like a leak of warmth into places you hadn’t even realized were cold. It all started with Jimin’s girlfriend waving you over automatically, like your seat had always been there. 

And continued with Lily throwing a piece of parchment at your head from a table behind whilst you were studying in the library. “You’re glaring at your notes like they owe you money,” she said.

Even with Jeongguk quietly sliding you an extra quill when he noticed yours had snapped mid-essay in the common room, not meeting your eyes. 

And then there was Taehyung, doing the most Taehyung things imaginable; somehow managing to insert himself into your orbit like a comet. 

By winter and only a few weeks away from Christmas, your name no longer confused people. It was said easily now, casually even. Tossed across tables and corridors like it always belonged. 

“Y/N, have you seen my notes?”

“Y/N, sit here.”

“Y/N, settle this argument before Jimin combusts.”

You still liked the corners, the small windows and quiet tables tucked away and chairs pulled just a bit away from the center. But you were no longer alone in them. 

Sometimes Taehyung would drop into the seat across from you without asking, parchment and quill abandoned somewhere between intention and distraction. He wouldn’t speak right away. Neither would you.

He learned the way you studied too — surprisingly more astute than you took him to be. How you underlined sparingly, how you paused before writing, eyes unfocused and thoughts clearly somewhere else. 

He also stopped interrupting those moments.

You noticed the way he fidgeted when restless. Especially when he began to twist the rings. Or when the chair tipped back just enough to irritate professors. Even a hum under his breath when something amused him.

But that wasn’t the only change; Jensen became a surprising constant too. 

He started walking you to meals. Sat with you in the common room, knees angled toward you even when his book lay forgotten. He remembered things with careful precision. From your favorite tea, to which subject drained you the most. And that you preferred quiet Hogsmeade weekends over crowded ones.

You didn’t notice the way his hand lingered when passing you a quill. Or how his eyes softened when you laughed. Or how his voice dipped when he said your name.

But Taehyung did. And he said nothing. 

Because when Jensen sat beside you, Taehyung simply chose the seat across. When Jensen walked you back to Ravenclaw tower, Taehyung peeled off with a wave and a joke. 

And when his shoulder brushed yours, Taehyung looked away.

It was a good thing, he told himself. 

You looked comfortable. You laughed more now. Spoke without bracing yourself first. He had watched it happen slowly, like someone tending a fire and knowing better than to throw water on it.

Whatever this thing was with Atkinson, it seemed good for you.

+

There were moments. 

Small ones. Maybe tipping into dangerous territory. 

Such as the afternoon autumn rain trapping you under a stone archway after your Charms class, laughter echoing as you waited it out. Taehyung had shrugged off his jacket and held it above both your heads, standing a bit too close, his breath warm against your temple. 

For a second, neither of you had moved. 

Then you stepped back first, apologizing out of habit. 

He smiled and said nothing. 

Or the night you fell asleep in the common room, a book slipping from your grasp. You woke to a blanket draped over your shoulders and Taehyung sitting on the floor nearby, back against the couch talking to Jeongguk, pretending he hadn’t noticed you stir.

You were sure that blanket had been on another chair across the room. 

Taehyung had never been particularly good at timing. 

But even he could tell when something didn’t belong to him.

+

Christmas passed in a blur of twinkling lights, a layer of snow and laughter. And before you knew it, spring crept in with lighter mornings and warmer evenings. 

Revision season brought exhaustion and shared misery. 

You sprawled across library tables with Lily, muttering curses at Arithmancy. Jimin quizzed you mercilessly and then praised you like he’d trained you himself. Jeongguk slipped you chocolate when you looked like you might cry over Transfiguration theory.

Taehyung started walking you back after late study sessions without comment, matching your pace exactly. Sometimes Jensen joined. Sometimes he didn’t.

On nights when it was just the two of you, the conversation drifted easily.

“What do you think you’ll miss most?” he asked once, as you descended a staircase dusted with moonlight.

You didn’t answer right away.

“The quiet,” you said eventually. “The kind that only exists here.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“What about you, Tae?” You had come to call him by his nickname comfortably. 

He shrugged. “Probably the food.”

He didn’t say your name. He kept his hands in his pockets and his thoughts to himself as you snorted and rolled your eyes. 

+

The year thinned toward its end, but not everyone was leaving.

That was the strange thing about seventh year. It felt final, heavy with endings, yet still tethered to unfinished threads.

You, Taehyung, Jimin, his girlfriend, and Jensen moved through the months with the shared awareness that time was closing in. Essays mattered more. Conversations lingered longer. There was an unspoken pressure to decide who you were becoming.

Lily and Jeongguk hovered at the edges of that gravity.

Lily complained loudly about OWL prep while you and Jimin exchanged knowing looks over breakfast. Jeongguk sulked whenever graduation plans came up, as if sheer irritation could delay time itself.

“You’re all abandoning us,” he muttered one evening, poking at his food.

“You’ll survive,” Taehyung said easily. “Barely.”

Jeongguk scowled. “Traitor.”

But there was affection there. A sense that even as the group shifted, something solid had already formed.

+

Graduation arrived with a strange feeling. 

The achingly quiet settled into your chest the moment you blinked open your eyes that morning and realized there were no more classes to attend. No essays to finish. No timetables to follow, and no excuse to pretend this was just another day. 

You lay in bed longer than usual, clutching at your comforter and staring up at the familiar ceiling of your four-poster bed, counting the hairline cracks you’d memorized over seven years.

Someone down the hall laughed. Someone else slammed a trunk shut. The whole castle sounded restless. 

You had done everything slowly that morning. 

Folding away the last of your clothes you hadn’t bothered doing from the night before, going through books that you wouldn’t need anymore and smoothing down your graduation robe. 

The Great Hall was already filling when you arrived, sunlight pouring through enchanted windows, banners hanging proudly overhead. The noise pressed in on you immediately. Cheers and voices belonging to parents calling out names like spells — all sitting in the back with families to the graduating students. 

The 7th years were sitting in the front separated into houses and you waved at your friends until you found your place next to Jensen, who had grinned at your arrival. 

The ceremony blurred in places. When your name was called, your heart stuttered, but you heard the familiar cheers. The voices of your parents and friends when you accepted the rolled up diploma. 

When you returned to your seat, you noticed Lily was on her feet, clapping like her life depended on it among the underclassmen.

You swallowed. So this was what leaving home looked like.

+

Afterward, the crowd gravitated towards the courtyard for last goodbyes with friends and families before the 7th years would be sent across the Black Lake in boats as a last farewell to commence their journey ending at Hogwarts — in the same way they had all arrived seven years ago. 

You stood between your parents, grinning and happy but feeling heavy all the same. They were catching up with old school friends as your name was called out from afar. 

Jimin’s girlfriend pulled you into a hug next, fierce and warm. “You’re going to be amazing,” she said like it was a certainty, not encouragement.

Jimin followed, brief but solid. “Don’t forget us when you become terrifyingly successful.”

“As if,” you scoffed, voice thick.

Lily threw herself at you without warning, arms tight around your shoulders. “You better write,” she ordered, eyes shiny. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

No part of yourself could stop the sniffle as you returned it. “Wouldn’t dare, Potter.”

Jeongguk hovered, then hugged you too, awkward and earnest. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Your throat closed around the words you wanted to say.

Taehyung waited. He always did.

When the others drifted away, when the noise dulled just enough to make space for something quieter, he stepped forward.

“Congratulations,” he said.

You laughed softly. “You too. It doesn’t feel real.”

He smiled. “Yeah. It kind of doesn't.”

So you hugged him before you could think better of it. 

It was instinct. Muscle memory built over a year of shared space and quiet understanding — your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you breathed in his scent. 

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then his arms came around you, careful, grounding, like he was memorizing the shape of you without letting himself linger too long. One of his large hands cupped the back of your neck like a steadfast shield. 

“Thank you,” you murmured into his shoulder.

“...For what?”

“For becoming my friend.”

“It wasn’t all me,” he murmured. “You just needed a little push.” 

You grinned into his shirt without realizing it. As you pulled back, searching his face and trying to read the things he wasn’t saying. 

Your chest ached with the weight of everything you didn’t know how to ask or say.

“I’m really glad I met you,” you said instead.

He nodded, brown eyes warm. “Me too.”

There were a thousand other words hovering between you.

Not now, you both thought. 

⋆ ─── ⋆ Ten years later: ⋆ ─── ⋆

The new lounge bar in Diagon Alley smelled exactly like it looked. 

Aged whiskey with the hints of citrus from freshly cut peels, warm amber light spilling from hanging lanterns catching on dark wood and polished leather, turning the room into something hushed with Jazz music playing from floating instruments in the corner. The deep leather seats curved into booths around small tables, gleaming new but made to look like it’s been aged by time. 

It reminded Taehyung of a speakeasy he had visited once in midtown Manhattan for one of his magazine campaigns.

As well as the fact he’d barely made it three steps before someone called out, “Oi! There he is!”

He winced and smiled at the same time, but there was enough noise in the bar to drown out the voices of his clearly tipsy friends. 

“Subtle,” he muttered, shrugging out of his coat as Hoseok was the first to reach him, arms wrapping around him with zero restraint.

“You’re late,” Hoseok said into his shoulder, grin audible.

“I’m on time,” he corrected. “Don’t blame me for starting the party early.”

“Same thing,” Seokjin chimed in from the table, already halfway through a drink. “Sit. You look too expensive to be standing.”

Yoongi lifted his glass in a quiet greeting, eyes sharp and knowing as ever. Namjoon nodded, fond and Jimin was already half out of his seat pulling Taehyung into another hug like he hadn’t seen him on a screen three nights ago.

Jeongguk stared at him for a second too long before smirking. “You look stupidly expensive, hyung.”

He had tried to dress relatively under the radar, actually. The black henley and beige dress pants felt normal to him. 

“Thanks,” Taehyung said dryly. “You got more ink?”

He slid into the empty seat and someone shoved a drink at him without asking. Whiskey in a pristine crystal glass. Not his favorite, but he wasn’t one to complain today. 

Jeongguk shrugged before rolling his shoulder in a stretch, bicep flexing almost obnoxiously by the motion. “Eh, felt like something new.”

All of them nearly simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

Jeongguk had gone through several transformations in the years since their Hogwarts days; growing bigger than all of them, as well as an entire sleeve of tattoos that now stretched further in towards one side of his chest. 

“Did you come from a shoot?” Jimin asked him, the only one around this table to see him frequently enough to notice the subtle signs of styling on his features. 

“Morning one,” Taehyung nodded. 

Out of all seven of them, no one had been surprised when Taehyung declared he had been interested in dipping his toes into the muggle fashion world. He had always been vocal about his hobbies and interests around them — fast forward ten years, and he’s made a name for himself around the world, and somewhere in the midst also started dabbling in music with a few releases. 

He had always been the one to fit into the public eye the most. 

“So,” Seokjin leaned back, a light flush already starting at the base of his neck. “How long are you gracing us this time? A night? Two?”

He smirked. “Long enough to survive the hangover after the wedding.”

“Riiight,” Namjoon nodded at the reminder. “Nearly forgot Potter and Malfoy were tying the knot.”

“Wedding of the century, if you ask me,” Yoongi snorted, fingers tracing the rim of his glass absently. 

“Are you going, hyung?” Hoseok asked him. 

“I’m married to a Greengrass. That’s basically family with the Malfoys, so yes.”

“So what, it’s just us three not invited?” Seokjin pouted and pointed out the three of them, not that Namjoon and Hoseok looked bothered by the fact. 

“You don’t even know her that well, hyung.” Jimin shook his head exasperated. “Lily has always been selective. Besides her big family and us as friends, I think most of the guests are from Malfoy’s side.”

“Oh, everyone’s coming?” It was thrown out lightly from Taehyung’s part. A filler question if anything. 

Jimin didn’t look up from his drink. “Yeah. I mean. You, me, Kook. Family. A couple of her Auror friends. Ministry people. I think her bridesmaids are all cousins.”

Taehyung nodded, “Mhm.”

Then, like an afterthought, Jimin added, “Don’t know about Y/N though.”

His finger stopped the tracing on the edge of the table. He blinked once, and slowly. Like processing an unfamiliar word. “Yeah?”

Jimin shrugged, still unaware of the effect her name had made. “Lily was the last one who had contact with her, I think. They wrote on and off a few months ago. Dunno if that’s still a thing.”

“Oh,” Taehyung said, making sure it was neutral sounding. Like he didn’t really care. But it obviously had the opposite effect. 

Because Yoongi’s eyes flicked up for half a second to meet his, then back down to  the table.

Jeongguk leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Taehyung asked, too quickly.

“…that she’s kind of famous?”

“I’ve heard rumors, yes.”

“What is she famous for?” Namjoon asked, the only one seemingly out of the loop.

Jimin’s mouth twitched. “Muggle-famous. Books. A lot of them.”

Seokjin perked up. “Romance, right?”

“Yes!” Jimin snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Romance novels. Bloody everywhere. My girlfriend reads them.”

Jeongguk grinned. “Mine too.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Someone asked. 

“Well, ex.” This kid. 

Taehyung stared at his drink. Romance. The irony. “That’s… good for her,” he said finally, because that was the correct thing to say. 

Hoseok nodded enthusiastically. “She’s doing really well. Travels a lot, too. Always somewhere new on social media. Italy last month, I think?”

“Spain before that,” Jeongguk added. “And New York. She posted a picture with an aesthetic coffee.”

Jimin laughed. “She looks happy.”

“Do you two just happen to be her stalkers or something?” Yoongi arched his brow at Hoseok and Jeongguk. 

Taehyung pictured it without meaning to. Her name on a spine; on a cover, in someone’s hands on a train, in a café, in bed before sleep. Her words traveling where she once said she might.

“Lily mentioned maybe inviting her,” Jimin went on. “But she didn’t want to pressure her. Y/N’s… got her own thing going.”

Taehyung leaned back again, the motion controlled, practiced. “Makes sense.”

Jimin kept talking.

About deadlines and fittings for dress robes, about how Lily had banned certain colours, about how Scorpius was apparently being unreasonably calm about the whole thing. The conversation flowed around the table like it always did, familiar and easy.

Taehyung nodded in the right places; smiling, humming, clinking their glasses when one of the guys got a bit excited but remained relatively calm most of the night. The others didn’t find it suspicious, probably chalking it down to exhaustion from work. 

He had known, actually. 

Perhaps a bit too much. 

He had known the first time your name appeared in a bookshop window in Soho when he walked past, serif font clean and understated, stacked in a display meant to look effortless. He’d stopped walking without realizing it, body reacting before thought ever caught up.

He’d reacted the first time one of his stylists mentioned a novel she “couldn’t put down” on a flight to Milan, holding up a dog-eared paperback pulled from her bag and the same name caught his eyes in the mirror he was sitting in front. 

He bought most of the books too. Physical copies and hardbacks, to support where he could. 

But he never found the courage to follow you online. 

“So,” Seokjin said, jolting him gently back into the moment. “You’re quiet though.”

Taehyung glanced up, sipping from his glass and expression easy. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk said. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend you’re not thinking about something,” Yoongi replied flatly.

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh. “You give me too much credit.”

Yoongi met his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, then looked away. 

Ten years later, and he still knew better than to reach for something that had learned how to stand on its own. 

If you came to the wedding, he would smile. 

Maybe even offer a hug if you were up for it. 

Yeah, he could totally handle that. 

+

You nearly walked past the alley that led down to the joke shop.

Diagon Alley was louder than you remembered — all colours and movement mixed with overlapping voices and magic buzzing like a second heartbeat. It was loud and busy, but not overly chaotic. 

Hogwarts had just started its new semester two weeks ago, so the crowd was missing students and their families scrambling for last minute essentials, and you were grateful for that. 

You adjusted the strap of your bag and slowed a bit, letting the crowd move around rather than through you. 

You’d barely taken a step when your eyes flickered, briefly, to a darkened lounge tucked off the main stretch. Warm light glowed behind tall windows, inviting in the abstract way places like that always did. 

“That’s new,” you muttered to yourself 

The smell shifted as you reached the joke shop; a wave of sweet sugar, smoke and something sharp and bright but comforting nonetheless. 

Weasley Wizard Wheezes announced itself loudly, its sign creaking overhead, enchanted displays spinning in a riot of colour. The bell chimed the moment you pushed inside, noise crashing over in the best possible way.

You hadn’t been here in years, memories of your school days rushing by. 

“Y/N!” Lily’s voice rang out clearly from somewhere between a display of Extendable Ears and a stack of fireworks that looked suspiciously unstable. “You’re finally here!”

You laughed, the sound easy and unguarded. “I was on time, wasn’t I?”

“You’re never on time,” Lily countered, appearing with her hair tied back and sleeves rolled up, looking exactly like someone who’d grown into herself. There was a happy flush to her cheeks and her hair was longer in soft waves from what you remember.  “You look unfairly well-rested.”

“I flew in this morning,” you protested lightly as she pulled you into a fierce hug without warning. “I’m surviving on caffeine and stubbornness, if that makes sense.”

Lily grinned, stepping back to look at you properly. “Still living life traveling around the world, huh?”

“And you?” You shot back teasingly. “I doubt being a lead healer on your ward at St. Mungos is giving you much rest.”

A gleaming emerald ring on a sleek silver band encrusted by smaller, sparkling diamonds shone on her ring finger whenever the light caught it.

She sighed. “Yeah, but luckily with the wedding coming up I’ve been able to request some time off.”

She guided you deeper into the shop, magic humming around you. 

“Why are you even here?” You peered closer at a stand of pink bottles as small hearts popped around it with kissing noises.

 Fascinating. Must be their new brand of love potions. 

“Blame Uncle Ron. He swore they had ‘useful decorative bits’ if I needed anything for the wedding. Which, translated, means half of it might explode and the other half will insult the guests.”

“Perfect,” You deadpanned. “Very on brand for Weasleys.”

Lily was holding a stack of small enchanted gift bags, two floating lazily beside her. “These are actually kind of cute though. Look, they change colour depending on who’s holding them.”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching her fuss over details with the same fierce focus she’d always had. “You’re really doing this.”

“I am,” Lily said, softer now. Then she glanced up, eyes bright. “And you’re here.”

That landed heavier than Y/N expected. You shrugged lightly, masking it. “You asked.”

“I did,” Lily agreed. “And I’m glad you came. Thank you.”

Somewhere deeper in the shop, something let out a loud bang followed by a distant, enthusiastic cheer that could only belong to Ron Weasley. 

“Munchkin! Come look at this, I swear this is perfect for the wedding fireworks!”

Lily rolled her eyes fondly before calling back. “Uncle Ron, mum said no last minute fireworks that haven’t been tested at least three times!”

“He’s excited,” You noted with a grin, leaning against the shelf beside you. 

“They all are,” Lily shook her head. “I’m the youngest in the family so they’re all a bit dramatic about it. Dad has cried at least three times just the last week.”

“And you? How do you feel?”

“Can you ask me again on the wedding day?” She huffed, tightening the ponytail briefly. “I’m a bit too stressed at the moment to think.”

So being the good friend that you were, you looped your arm around her elbow and grabbed another handful of the giftbags. “Then how about we finish bagging these up and grab some food? I’m famished.”

Her brown eyes glittered. “Are we having drinks?”

You winked. “Anything for the bride-to-be.”

+

The restaurant Lily chose was tucked away from the main street, a few shops over from the joke shop, the kind you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. It was getting dark outside, the entire space being lit up by warm and enchanted candle light on the tables and floating against the ceiling — reminiscent of their Hogwarts days.

But other than that it was the most opulent restaurant you’d seen lately, especially for Diagon Alley. A domed ceiling rich with ornate plasterwork and blue-and-gold detailing. Chandeliers that hung like constellations besides the candlelight, their warm light pooling over marble-topped tables and leather banquettes in shades of rust, caramel, and moss.  

People were sitting in quiet pockets. Some leaning into conversations, others curling inward with drinks and phones, giving the room a hushed, cultivated hum rather than a buzz. 

You slid into the chair opposite of her, a table for two tucked against the wall and window out towards the street. 

“This,” you sighed, glancing around impressed, “was an excellent decision.”

Lily smirked as she picked up the drinks menu, familiar with the place. “I love this place. I usually go here for drinks with my female cousins.”

You picked a sharing menu of their best sellers in smaller portions, as well as drinks; a classic margarita for Lily and a mojito for yourself. 

“So,” Lily said once the drinks arrived and you were alone again, folding her hands together on the table. “How long are you in London for?”

“A week,” you replied. “Possibly longer. My parents have been missing me lately.”

“Always moving,” she smiled fondly.

“Don’t make it sound like a bad thing,” You flicked up a brow, leaning back against the chair. 

“It’s not,” She chuckled. “Just…very you.”

The food arrived not long after, and so did the flow of conversation. Catching up with each other’s lives; work, travel, friends. The strange limbo of you being recognized but not known. About Lily’s hospital shifts, her wedding dress shopping and how surreal it felt to be planning a future rather than just talking about it. 

“At least Scorpius is calm,” she said, rolling her eyes while chewing on a chip. “Suspiciously so.”

“If one of you is panicking, shouldn’t at least one keep calm?” You countered. 

She giggled in agreement, taking a sip of her drink before studying you over the rim of her glass. 

And there it was. That look. 

You sighed. “What?”

Lily smiled innocently. “Nothing.”

“That’s never true, and you know it.”

She didn’t deny. Instead she tilted her head. “What happened between you and Atkinson?”

You blinked and then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Wow. Straight to it.”

“You dated for three years,” Lily said. “And I got like one update. I feel entitled.”

“Do you now?”

“And that I’m getting married tomorrow. Bride privileges, if you will.”

Your lips twitched but answered nonetheless.“It was two years and seven months, actually,” you corrected. “After Hogwarts. We even lived together for a bit.”

“And?” She prompted.

You shrugged, honest. “And then we didn’t.”

A frown. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No dramatic breakup?” she pressed. “No betrayal? No emotionally devastating scene in the rain?”

You snorted. “No, Lils. We just stopped fitting. He wanted to settle down, have kids and I wanted to travel. We realised we were holding on out of habit more than anything.”

Lily considered that. “You loved him though?”

“I did,” you agreed without hesitation. “In the way you love someone who’s good to you. He…was safe and familiar.”

“But isn’t that good?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted with a shrug. “It just didn’t feel right to hold on. We’re still on good terms though. He just moved in with his long-term girlfriend if I’m not wrong.”

There was a pause before she leaned forward again, elbows on the table and eyes sharp. “One more question; what happened between you and Tae?”

Someone had been holding back. 

You chose your words carefully. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you mean.”

“Y/N…are you going to tell me that during your entire 7th year, you didn’t have an inkling of feeling towards him?” 

“H-he was a good friend,” curse yourself for stuttering before you relented. “Besides, what's the point of being hung up on it? It’s been years.”

“Ten years is a long time,” Lily said slowly. 

“Exactly,” you nodded. “Whatever my feelings were, it belongs to the past.”

“You don’t sound sad about it.”

“I’m not,” you shrugged. “I’m realistic.”

Her shoulders sagged. “But don’t you think—”

“He doesn’t,” You cut in gently. “If he ever had those feelings, they’re long gone. He’s got a whole new life right now, a very visible one too.”

 Lily watched you for a long moment, then sighed. “You know it’s not too late, right? For anything.”

You stared at her, half incredulous and half amused. “What, you just want me to waltz up to him and confess?”

She snorted into her drink, shoulders shaking. “I mean… I think it would work, to be fair.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Coward,” she said fondly.

“Real,” you corrected. “This isn’t one of my books. Real people don’t operate on dramatic timing.”

“Everyone could need some drama in their life.”

“I know better than anyone that it only works on paper,” you shot back. “Real life is messier.”

Lily opened her mouth, then closed it. Tried again. “He’s coming to the wedding.”

Your fingers stilled around your glass. Just briefly.

Then you smiled, controlled. “I expected nothing less.”

Silence settled between you, heavier now but not uncomfortable. Finally, Lily lifted her glass in surrender. “Alright. I won’t push.”

“Hurray.”

“But,” she added immediately, eyes gleaming, “I will observe.”

You groaned, smiling despite yourself. “You are a menace, Lily Potter.”

+

Taehyung stepped leisurely out of the bar after the rest of the guys, the night air hitting his face sharp enough to sober him just a fraction. He hadn’t drunk a lot, just enough to warm him up and make the world feel a little too crisp around the edges. 

In front of him, Seokjin was mid-sentence, arms flung wide like he was delivering a speech to an audience that didn’t exist.

Namjoon laughed softly, one hand steadying Hoseok as he nearly missed a step. “We should probably split before Jin hyung convinces himself he needs another drink.”

“Or Hoseok falls,” Yoongi added. 

“Rude,” Hoseok protested, grinning anyway. “I’m perfectly functional.”

Taehyung exchanged a look with Jimin over Hoseok’s shoulder.

Jimin smirked. “He says that every time.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied. “Right before he trips.”

As if on cue, Hoseok stumbled, catching himself on Namjoon with a laugh.

“See?” Jimin said. “Predictable.”

They reached the junction where the alley widened, lantern light thinning as the city opened up around them. 

Namjoon stopped first. “We’re heading back,” he said, nodding toward Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“Traitors,” Jeongguk said lightly.

Seokjin pointed at him. “You’ll thank me when you’re not dying next time, maknae.”

“Doubtful.”

They exchanged quick goodbyes, easy and familiar. A few shoulder claps and a mock bow from Seokjin. Yoongi’s brief nod before disappearing down the darker stretch of the alley with the others.

The noise dropped immediately after, leaving only the three of them now.

Jeongguk shoved his hands into his coat pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Jimin said.

“It’s a condition.”

Taehyung hummed noncommittally, gaze drifting without intention. And then it stopped, just fixed at one place. 

Further down the alley, near the glow spilling out of a restaurant doorway, Lily stood laughing. The sound carried and was bright and familiar even at a distance.

But she wasn’t alone. 

The woman beside her was turned slightly away catching the light for just a second too long. Her posture was relaxed and unhurried. The way she shifted her weight felt painfully recognizable.

Taehyung’s breath stalled.

The alcohol in his system didn’t blur the moment. If anything, it sharpened it. 

It was you.

You laughed at something Lily said, head tipping back briefly before you stepped closer, hugging her tightly. 

“Hey,” Jeongguk said beside him, oblivious. “Are you listening?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

He watched as you and Lily slowed, conversation easing into something quieter as the night settled around you. 

His chest tightened, not painfully but something strangely uncomfortable nonetheless. Just enough to remind him he was still very much alive.

You turned first, the crowd taking you easily, your figure slipping into the darker stretch of the street that led away from Diagon Alley. 

“Tae?”

Jimin’s voice cut through the fog.

Taehyung blinked, forcing himself to breathe again. “What?”

“You okay?” Jimin asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Before he could answer, Lily peeled away from the direction you’d gone and headed toward them, her steps light, expression easy.

“Oh, hi!” she greeted brightly, like this was the most ordinary meeting in the world. “Don’t tell me you lads are out on a bender the day before my wedding.”

“Says the bride-to-be? Your cheeks are red,” Jimin shot back. 

“What are you doing out? Shouldn’t you be stressed about wedding decorations or something?” Jeongguk smirked. 

“That’s where a big family comes in handy. So keep talking and I’ll send the auror’s office on your arse.”

“That’s an abuse of power, you know.”

“Oh shut it, Jeon.”

Jeongguk’s response was a cheeky wink. 

But Taehyung’s gaze continued staying fixed over her shoulder and Lily followed it as her smile softened instantly.

“She just left,” she said gently. Then, quieter, meant only for him, “You just missed her.”

Something settled in his chest. Regret?

He inhaled slowly, then let a smile curve into place, easy and practiced. “Ah,” he said lightly. “That’s a shame.”

If Lily noticed how his eyes had gone soft, how they lingered a moment too long on empty space, she didn’t comment. She only nodded, like this confirmed something she’d already suspected.

Jeongguk blinked between them. “Wait. Who?”

“Y/N,” Lily said simply.

Jimin’s expression shifted instantly. “She’s here already?”

“Flew in this morning,” Lily replied. “We had dinner.”

Taehyung finally looked at her then. “Hope it was good.”

“It was,” Lily said, watching him carefully. “She’s doing well.”

“That’s good.”

They reached the wider stretch of the alley where the lantern light thinned and the night opened up. Lily slowed, glancing briefly back the way she’d come, toward the darker street where you’d disappeared minutes ago.

“She’s staying near the river,” Lily said casually. “Only in town a few days. Wedding, then she’s probably off again.”

Taehyung didn’t ask where. Or when.

“Sounds like her,” he said quietly.

Lily looked at him properly then. Not probing. Just noting. She nodded once.

They lingered at the junction longer than necessary, the way people do when the night has been good and no one wants to be the first to leave.

Jimin pulled Lily into a hug without warning as she squeaked and playfully shoving him away.

“One day,” he said. “Then you’re officially not our problem anymore.”

“You’ll never be rid of me,” she replied sweetly.

Jeongguk hugged her next, awkward but earnest — his body almost covering her entirely by the mere size difference.  “Don’t disappear on us.”

She rolled her eyes, patting his back. “I’m marrying a Malfoy, not moving to the moon.”

Taehyung was last. She stepped into his space easily, arms looping around him like she’d done a hundred times before. He hugged her back just as naturally.

“Thank you for coming back,” she said quietly.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. “You didn’t really give me a choice.”

She smiled against his shoulder. “I knew you’d come.”

When she pulled back, her eyes flicked once more down the street, saying nothing. Just gave him a look that said tomorrow without ever speaking it aloud.

Then she stepped away.

“Get some sleep,” she ordered lightly. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow”

No doubt about that one.

+

You thought you were used to a certain crowd from doing what you loved. 

The life of an author often needed you to travel long distances for promotions, meeting certain people already well known and established. Especially when you attended large conventions with other famous people. 

But this…this felt like a moment out of a history book you were thrown into unceremoniously. 

There was the security to start with. You weren’t allowed to apparate straight to the grounds, only on the outside of the wrought iron gates with aurors on either side doing identification checks with their wands. 

It reminded you of who was truly getting married.

The manor appeared gradually, revealed by the road; Old stone, ivy crawling patiently up its walls, magic humming so subtly you only noticed it once you crossed the threshold. The gates alone had made your stomach tilt.

You were greeted almost immediately by someone offering you a drink from a floating welcome platter, the glass already chilled in your hand, before being guided toward the back garden with the flow of guests.

A loud laugh carried across the lawn and you turned to see George Weasley, hair greying at the temples, hugging someone fiercely while barking instructions at a group of cousins nearby. A little farther off, the minister of magic Hermione Granger-Weasley stood deep in conversation with someone from the Ministry, posture sharp, expression focused even on a day like this. The weight of her presence was unmistakable.

Faces you recognized from newspapers. From portraits. From history books you’d read more than once. Former aurors whose names were still spoken with reverence. Healers who had treated half the wizarding population during the war. 

People who had survived things that shaped the world you lived in now.

And then—

Harry Potter.

He stood near the far side of the garden, laughing easily, sunlight catching in his black hair gracefully streaked by time as he spoke to a group of guests. There was a pride to him that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. Not the hero from stories. Just a father glowing on his daughter’s wedding day.

Your head felt light.

“Y/N?” 

You startled, then turned with a smile already forming as you recognized the young blond man approaching you.

“Scor,” you said warmly, stepping forward to hug him. “Hi.”

Scorpius Malfoy looked dashing in a sleek dark green suit and vest, a cream-white tie neatly in place. His hair, usually immaculate, looked like it had been run through one too many times already.

“It’s been a while,” he grinned. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you,” you laughed softly. “How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“I’m definitely not calm,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But Lily wanted me to find you and send you up to the bridal suite.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “I thought her mum and cousins were helping her get ready.”

“They are,” he said, a little sheepish. “But she didn’t want you to be alone and stressed out.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself. Lily knew you far too well.

“Well,” you smiled, lifting your glass slightly, “then I suppose I shouldn’t keep the bride waiting.”

“Please don’t,” he laughed. “I’m banned from going up the stairs anyway. Just head all the way up and follow the sound of the music. You’ll find them.”

Lily spotted you hovering near the doorway and immediately squealed your name, crossing the room in three long strides before bulldozing straight into you. You stumbled back a step as she wrapped her arms around you.

“Good. You’re here,” she said firmly, like she’d been checking something off a list.

She was dressed in white silk pajamas, her makeup already done while her hair was still in the process of being styled. Around her, bridesmaids and cousins in matching baby blue moved in and out of corners, chatting and laughing as they got ready.

“Scorpius said you were looking for me?” you asked once you’d regained your balance.

“Yes,” Lily said simply. “I didn’t want you alone down there.”

You smiled, squeezing her hands lightly. “Lils, I promise, I can handle myself.”

“I know,” she replied immediately.

You blinked.

“Then—”

“But that doesn’t mean you should have to,” she added, cutting you off without missing a beat. “Especially today.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then stopped. “I’ll be fine,” you said more gently this time.

Lily studied you for half a second, sharp eyes scanning your face like she was checking for cracks.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Good.”

Then she grabbed your wrist and tugged you farther into the room.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing toward a chair near the window. “Drink something. Eat if you haven’t. If anyone bothers you, tell them you’re with me.”

There were two tables pushed together filled with drinks, coffee, tea and bubbly wine, as well as pastries and snacks. 

You laughed softly. “You’re the bride.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Maximum authority.”

She squeezed your hand once, quick and grounding, before turning back toward her hairdresser.

“You’re not allowed to disappear before the ceremony,” Lily added over her shoulder. “After that, you can vanish all you like.”

You smiled to yourself, settling into the chair.

+

You stayed only long enough to be useful.

Long enough to hold a stray hairpin, to accept a glass of champagne pressed into your hand, to listen as Lily fielded last-minute questions with practiced calm. When her hair was finally secured and the room shifted into that anticipatory quiet that meant it’s time, you stepped back without needing to be asked.

The ceremony space had transformed while you were upstairs.

Rows of chairs stretched across the lawn in careful symmetry, lanterns floating above in slow, lazy orbits. Flowers climbed trellises and arches, shifting subtly in colour as magic responded to the gathering crowd.

Guests were already taking their seats, murmurs blending into a low, excited buzz. You let yourself be carried with them, moving without urgency, choosing a place near the side where you could see without being seen too much.

You smoothed your dress as you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.

It gave you a moment to take a breath, not that it lasted long when someone dropped into the seat beside you with far too much enthusiasm.

“Y/N!”

You startled, then grinned as you turned. “Jimin?”

He looked exactly like himself and somehow not at all. Sharper around the edges, like most of them and settled in his posture, but still wearing that unmistakable grin like he’d just found something delightful, as well as the shock of ash blonde hair gracing his head. 

“You coloured your hair?” Was the first question you managed to sound. 

“Do you like it?” 

“You look good, how are you?”

“You made it,” he said instead, ignoring your surface-level question and you couldn't even blame him for it.

“Barely,” so you teased him instead. “This place is… a lot.”

“That’s Lily for you,” he said proudly, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Did you see the guest list? I think I shook hands with at least three people who used to terrify me as a teenager.”

You smiled. “Only three?”

He scoffed. “Give me time.”

Before you could say anything else, another familiar presence hovered in front of you.

Jeongguk.

He stood there for half a second too long, like he wasn’t sure whether to interrupt or retreat. Taller now, much broader, but still somehow carrying that same earnest uncertainty you couldn’t help but notice up close, but there was no doubt about the confidence he wore with ease.

“Hey,” he said.

You stood up immediately and hugged him before he could overthink it. He froze for a fraction of a second, then relaxed into it, arms settling around you carefully.

“Well look at you, Mr. heartthrob,” You teased gently, feeling the strength of his hold. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jeongguk was smiling as he pulled back. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Jimin cut in easily. “Sit. Both of you. Before the ceremony starts and Lily murders us for blocking the aisle.”

Jeongguk slid into the seat on your other side, shoulders brushing yours lightly as he settled. He smiled to himself, small and content, like he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this until now.

“So,” Jimin said, glancing between the two of you, “how overwhelmed are we feeling on a scale of one to fainting?”

“Six,” you answered.

“Same,” Jeongguk nodded.

Jimin grinned. “Excellent. Group solidarity.”

The area was starting to fill up more swiftly now, the conversations softening a fraction and the music shifting to a calmer tune. 

Then someone paused in the aisle beside your row.

You felt it before you saw him.

The subtle shift in air. The awareness sliding into place like a missing piece.

Taehyung stood there, gaze flicking briefly to Jimin, then Jeongguk, before landing on you.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, voice low, casual enough to give you an out.

Jimin blinked up at him. “You were going to sit somewhere else?”

“I was,” Taehyung said easily. “Then I changed my mind.”

Jeongguk scooted over without comment, making space. Jimin snorted softly but didn’t argue. Taehyung slid into the row, close but not crowding, knees angled forward, hands resting loosely on his thighs. His presence settled beside you like it always had. 

“Hi,” he murmured.

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Hi.”

That was it.

No pause. No tension spelled out. No acknowledgement of the years sitting invisibly between you.

Ahead, the music swelled again, fuller now. The crowd fell silent as one.

You faced forward, hands folding together in your lap, aware of the people on either side of you in a way that felt oddly grounding.

For the first time since arriving, the dizziness eased. Whatever else this day was, you weren’t navigating it alone.

And that, somehow, made all the difference.

+

By the middle of the reception, after all the teary eyed speeches from family, you had managed to get a good buzz of alcohol going. 

It was just the perfect amount to loosen up your anxious muscles and keep you warm in the evening breeze without making you act like a complete fool. 

The music had taken a 180 from earlier in the day, exciting beats famous sing-along songs to get most of the younger guests going — Lily and Scorpius being in the middle of the jumping dance circle.  She had gone so far as to rent a lad who had been in the same year as her — a famous muggle DJ now apparently — who seemed to be having the time of his life behind his personal set up. 

You had just barely managed to sneak away from the dance circle and grab yourself some water, lingering on the edge of the dance floor and by your assigned seat. Laughter carried freely now, glasses clinking without ceremony, and conversations overlapped in a way that felt lived in rather than rehearsed.

Even so, from here the social fault lines were impossible to ignore. 

Closer to the manor the older generation lingered. Not crowded like the cluster of many of your same-aged school mates, but calmer. Former aurors stood with their backs to stone walls, eyes still sharp, and still cataloguing exits out of habit, whilst ministry officials spoke in lower tones, posture precise even as they laughed.

And then there was the Malfoy side of things. Or should you have said Slytherin.

The air felt a bit different there, you admitted. Cooler perhaps, or curated carefully in a way. Old Slytherin families gathered in elegant knots, dark robes cut perfectly, jewellery understated but unmistakably expensive. Their conversations were quieter, smiles measured, attention sharp enough to make your shoulders tense even from a distance.

You recognized names you’d grown up hearing spoken carefully. Some rehabilitated. Some never fully trusted. 

And near the edge of that cluster you noticed Yoongi and his Greengrass wife by her family and Scorpius’ parents. You’d met him a handful of times after Hogwarts whenever you returned to London and met up with either Jeongguk and Jimin, and he would tag along. 

Yoongi caught your gaze briefly, and simply lifted his glass in a small, unmistakable salute before turning back to his wife, murmuring something that made her lips curve faintly.

You chuckled to yourself. Still as intimidating as ever, those two. 

You hadn’t realized how much of this night felt like standing between worlds until that moment.

You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of everything. Your dress. Your posture. The way you were holding your glass. The fact that you had absolutely no business wandering any closer to that side of the lawn.

So you stood there for a moment, breathing almost too carefully if that was possible. Then Taehyung appeared beside you without announcement.

“Do I need to stage a rescue?” he asked mildly.

You stared straight ahead. “Today I've been introduced to the extended Potter family – which just so happens to include war heroes and the minister of magic – and just now silently saluted by your married friend.”

He hummed. “Productive evening.”

You let your pulse settle back into something manageable with the night pressing in around you, warm and loud and full of motion, but Taehyung’s presence beside you acted like a buffer.

A shield, almost. 

Yet he didn’t speak right away. Neither did you.

The laughter around you softened, people leaning closer to hear one another over the pumping music, the reception settling into its second life. 

“You okay?” Taehyung asked quietly.

“I didn’t expect it to hit like this.”

“The scale of it?” 

“All of it,” you clarified. “The people. The history. The feeling that I might accidentally say the wrong thing and be remembered for it forever.”

He huffed softly. “Trust me, half of them are just relieved they’re not the center of attention anymore.”

“That doesn’t make them less intimidating.”

“No,” he agreed. “It really doesn’t.”

You shifted, finally turning to face him properly.

Up close he looked familiar in a way that tugged something low and deep in your chest, but at the same time he was like a different person. There were no more baby cheeks or the long messy hair, you had in your memory. 

Everything he wore was black; a fitted turtleneck tucked into tailored trousers, a long coat structured at the shoulders. A small gold brooch catches the light at his chest, subtle but deliberate, like an afterthought that still draws the eye. His hair is darker than you remember, brushed back but imperfect, a few strands falling loose around his forehead. 

It makes his face look sharper, more defined, though his expression is still familiar

Taehyung had always been a confident force of nature in your eyes, even before knowing him. But there was something different — a type of confidence that came without his teenage innocence, just steady and present without being too loud. 

There was a quiet focus in his eyes too, the kind that makes it seem like he’s observing more than he’s letting on.

You realized, distantly, that this was the first time you’d truly looked at him tonight.

“Hi,” you said again, quieter this time.

Taehyung’s  expression softened. “Hi.”

A pause stretched between you.

“So,” He cleared his throat lightly. “It’s… been a while.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah,” He agreed, then winced slightly. “Sorry. That was—”

“No, it’s fine,” You cut in quickly. “I just— I don’t know what the correct opener is here.”

By the flush on his neck, he didn’t seem to either. 

You shifted your weight, angling your body a fraction more toward him without fully committing to it. “You look… well.”

He glanced down at himself briefly, then back up. “I feel mostly functional, which I’ll take as a win.”

“That’s about where I’m at too.”

Another almost-laugh passed between you.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” He admitted, quieter now.

You frowned slightly. “Why?”

Taehyung shrugged, small and noncommittal. “I don’t know. It’s been ten years. People change. Schedules exist.”

“That’s a very diplomatic way of saying ‘you might not have wanted to see me,’” You couldn’t help but say it. 

He grimaced. “That’s… also true.”

You looked down at your glass, watching the bubbles gather and break. “I hesitated.”

That got his attention. You felt it in the way he turned more fully toward you.

“Why?”

“Just because of everyone,” You admitted. Then rushed on, words tangling a bit. “Not in a bad way. Just— I didn’t want this to turn into something awkward. Or heavy. Or… I don’t know. Like reopening something that maybe doesn’t need reopening.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“You know how weddings are,” You continued, gesturing vaguely toward the dance floor. “Everyone’s emotional. Everyone’s nostalgic. It messes with your sense of proportion.”

“I do know,” He huffed, “I’ve had to physically stop Jimin from making three separate speeches already.”

That earned a real laugh from you, brief but genuine. “Sounds like him.”

“It was deeply concerning.”

You relaxed a fraction after that, shoulders lowering without you realizing. The silence that followed felt different. Less tense, but still careful. 

He hesitated, then added, “You seem happy, at least.”

The word landed carefully between you.

You considered it. “I am. Most days.”

He accepted it without pushing. “That’s good.”

You watched the crowd again, aware of how close he was without it feeling intrusive.

“I’m glad you came,” Taehyung added, a little awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to say.

You glanced at him. “I’m glad I did too.”

The music shifted again, something slower threading through the noise. People gravitated toward the center of the lawn, couples pairing off without much discussion. Lily was dragged into another dance with Scorpius, dress swishing dangerously close to someone’s abandoned shoes.

You both watched her for a second. “She’s glowing,” You noted fondly.

“They both are.”

One moment you’re standing near the edge of the lawn, the noise of the reception swelling and receding like a tide, and the next you’re moving away from it. Taehyung falling into step beside you without comment, like this was always the plan even though neither of you said it out loud.

You pass lanterns, laughter fading the further you go. Gravel crunching and the manor looming quieter from this side. There’s a stone bench near the back, half-hidden by hedges and the music reduced to a distant hum.

You sit, mostly because standing feels like too much. He follows a beat later, leaving a careful amount of space between you as the quiet presses in again. 

“So,” You say, exhaling. “This feels better.”

Your heart was still beating too fast. Like it knows something is happening and doesn’t want to miss it.

“You handled it well,” He says.

You snort quietly. “I almost forgot my own name twice.”

“That’s a normal response to meeting several generations of intimidating people in one night.”

You smile at that, but it fades quickly.

You think of Jensen before you mean to.

Not because you’re trying to compare. But because your brain always reaches for patterns when it’s nervous.

Jensen had been easy. From the beginning. Comfortable silences. Familiar routines. He fit into your life like he’d been designed for it. You never felt off-balance around him. Never wondered what he was thinking. Never felt like you were one wrong sentence away from something shifting.

You cared about him deeply. You still do, in a way that feels respectful and done. 

But sitting here now, heart thudding just because Taehyung’s knee brushes yours, you realize something you’ve known for a while but never said out loud.

You never felt this with Jensen.

Not the flutter. Not the awareness. Not the strange mix of comfort and tension that makes you feel both steady and slightly undone.

You swallow.

“I should probably say this before I lose my nerve.” You say, and feel immediately horrified after. But it was too late.  

Taehyung turns toward you with his full attention. “Okay?”

You take a breath. Then another.

“When I was with Jensen,” You started off, choosing your words carefully, “everything made sense. He was kind and steady and… safe.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way his features straightened as he nodded, listening carefully.. 

“And I thought that was what love was supposed to feel like,” You continue. “Because I wasn’t anxious. Or confused. Or second-guessing myself all the time.”

You glance at him briefly, then look away again.

“Yet I never felt nervous around him,” You looked at him closely, trying to gauge his reaction to your words. “Not once. I never felt like I had to catch my breath just because he was close.”

Taehyung doesn’t interrupt. He barely moves, if you were honest.

“But with you,” you murmured quietly, heart thudding. “I always did.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“I told myself that meant it wasn’t real,” You go on, too afraid to let him get a word in. “That it was just gratitude. Or inexperience. Or me being seventeen and overwhelmed by someone who paid attention to me.”

You shake your head, a small, almost disbelieving smile on your lips. 

“Turns out I was just scared of naming it.”

You finally look at him then, or trying to. 

“I didn’t break up with Jensen because of you,” You say immediately. “That was its own thing. He wanted to settle, and I wanted motion. We stopped going after the same goals long before the breakup.”

Taehyung exhaled slowly.

“But when it ended,” you add, “I realized the thing I’d never let myself mourn had never been him.”

The silence stretches. 

Taehyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees and stared at the ground like it might keep him anchored.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You blink. Not exactly the response you expected. “Pardon?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, not—” he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “I just… I was prepared for a lot of outcomes tonight, and that wasn’t one of them.”

Your shoulders relaxed again, huffing a soft laugh, nerves spilling out. “Same.”

Taehyung straightens suddenly, like a decision’s been made without consulting his brain.

“Can I do something very impulsive?” He asks you. 

Your pulse spikes. “...That depends.”

He stands.

You don’t move. You don’t lean back. You just look up at him, heart thudding hard enough that you’re pretty sure he can see it.

“Are you certain?”

You’re not, but you still don’t stop it. 

So he exhales, mutters another “fuck it” under his breath, and leans down.

The kiss isn’t planned.

It’s not slow or careful or dramatic. It’s immediate. Warm. Slightly uncoordinated, like neither of you expected it to actually happen. His hand comes up to your jaw, steadying you, and perhaps grounding himself. 

You make a quiet sound of surprise before your hands find the collar of his jacket, gripping without thinking.

Your chest feels tight in the best way. Your head is spinning, just a little.

He doesn’t mean to let it stop there.

You feel the moment it hits him, the exact second restraint gives up. His hand tightens at your jaw, not rough, just decisive, and before you can even process it he’s pulling you up with him.

You barely register standing.

One moment you’re seated, heart racing, the next you’re on your feet and he’s there, close enough that there’s no room left to pretend this is still controlled. Your back brushes the stone wall behind you and he’s already kissing you again, harder this time, like he’s making up for lost time and bad timing and a decade of restraint. 

It’s rushed and unapologetic all at once.

Taehyung’s mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting for permission he never knew how to ask for. Your hands slide up without thought, fingers curling around the nape of his neck anchoring yourself because your legs feel dangerously unsteady.

He exhales into the kiss, a sharp sound, like he didn’t expect it to hit this hard either.

“Merlin,” he mutters against your mouth, coaxing actual whine out of you from the loss of touch before he’s kissing you again.

There’s nothing tentative about it now; just heat and urgency and the very adult realization that you’re both done pretending this is something that can be talked through slowly.

You kiss him back just as urgently, pulling him closer and he lets himself be pulled, every inch of your bodies pressed up against each other. One hand slides to the back of your waist – firm and grounding – making you arch further against him, like he needs the physical confirmation that this is actually happening.

It’s messy in the way real things are.

Your breath stutters. His does too. Someone laughs somewhere far off near the reception and it barely registers, the world narrowing down to the press of his body and the way your chest feels too full, too fast, too alive.

He breaks the kiss only because he has to breathe.

His forehead drops to yours, both of you breathing hard now, the tension still crackling instead of fading.

Taehyung looked beautiful. His lips subtly swollen, cheeks naturally rosy and his hair a bit more of a mess. His dark eyes were blown out with his want for you, and you couldn’t help the grin beginning to tug at your own swollen lips, lip gloss long gone. 

Taehyung chuckled, noticing the expression. “You cheeky witch.”

You laugh too, breathless. “You love it.”

His thumb brushes along your jaw again, slower now, like he’s grounding himself after the impact.

“That I do, love” he says quietly. “I’m very late.”

You meet his gaze, chest still rising too fast. “Me too.”

He leans in again, softer this time but no less certain, pressing one more kiss to your mouth like punctuation

When he pulls back, his hands stay at your waist.

“Okay,” he suddenly declared, steadier now. “That felt very real.”

You giggle. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

He grins this time, wide and unmistakably Taehyung from your youth. “Unfortunate how?”

You glance back toward the glow of the reception, then back at him. “Because now I have to walk back in there pretending my heart isn’t trying to escape my ribcage.”

He chuckles, leaning in close enough to murmur, “I’ll survive the same problem.”

Your arms slowly loop around his own waist, hanging onto his body as you tilted your head even further back with a pout. “You realize that Lily is going to notice.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “She clocked this about ten years before either of us did.”

You huff a laugh. “She’s going to be unbearable.”

“She’s going to cheer,” he corrects with a wink “Loudly. Possibly in public.”

“And then,” you continue, already resigned, “there will be the I told you sos.”

This time Taehyung winces, but he’s smiling. “Worth it.”

You look at him properly then. Still familiar. Still ridiculous. Still standing far too close like this has always been where he belonged.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “Worth it.”

You met Taehyung when you were fifteen. You remembered it as clear as day. You were in a bad mood having received a low score on your math exam. You could never understand the subject, it never made sense to you. You just wanted to go home and lock yourself in your room while you drown in your own self-pity. The big tub of vanilla ice cream that stood in your freezer had your name all over it.

“Namjoon! My ice cream better still be in the freezer! I swear I am not in the mood to deal with you right now, my day is going badly as is!” you shouted as you walked inside your house, shoving off your shoes clumsily. Your cheeks were tinted pink from the frosty weather. The cold weather made your bad mood worse.

Despite winter being your favorite season, today was way too cold and your mood wasn't the brightest. Your fingers reached up to grasp the fabric of your scarf, and you started pulling at it aggressively. An annoyed huff left your lips as you tried to untangle the mess.

“Namjoon!” you shouted again, eyes focused only on removing your scarf, and you didn't notice that there were other people beside your brother in the house. “Did you hear me? I—”

Oh.

Six unfamiliar pairs of eyes stared at you in surprise.

“Uh, Joon?” you squeaked out. Your fingers froze, still tangled with your scarf.

Your brother pinched his nose in exasperation before he flashed his friends an awkward grin, “Sorry, guys. This is my little sister, Y/N. Don't mind her, she's a little crazy in the head sometimes.”

“Yah!” you snapped. A deep chuckle broke through the chaos and your eyes were quick to glance over at the source.

You swore you had never seen such a beautiful man in your life before. He was the embodiment of your type. His beauty made you completely forget about the ridiculous math formulas and the low exam score you received.

You watched as he confidently stood up from the couch and extended his hand, “Hi, I'm Taehyung.”

Hi, I think you're the love of my life. You thought to yourself as you gawked at him.

Your eyes trailed to his outstretched hand, as if it were a foreign thing to you. Namjoon could see Taehyung’s face slowly falling as he realized you weren't reaching out to return his gesture.

Namjoon coughed loudly, breaking you out of your trance. You hurriedly grasped Taehyung’s hand and your knees almost buckled. You've never thought a human hand could fit so perfectly with yours. Your heart thumped faster as a boxy smile appeared on Taehyung’s face.

“Hi.” you breathed out. Taehyung’s smile grew wider and he squeezed your hand before letting it go.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at your interaction but shrugged it off, “This is Jin and Yoongi hyung, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook too.” As he listed their names, your eyes trailed over to each boy who gave you a small bow of their head or a smile.

“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.” you awkwardly stated. You nervously shifted in place before sticking your thumb toward the direction of your room. “I'm gonna go—I, yeah.”

You were quick to spin around and scamper away. Your ears picked up the familiar deep chuckle which caused your heart to skip a beat.

That night, you wrote a letter for the first time.

Dear Taehyung,

I think you're an angel who fell from heaven to thaw my frozen heart.

A few years passed, and your crush on Taehyung grew stronger. Out of the boys that Namjoon befriended, you were closest with the youngest three; Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung. That doesn't mean you weren't close with the others. You were just closer in age to the three.

No one knew of your crush except for Jimin. He immediately figured it out when he noticed your eyes seemed to always shine around Taehyung’s presence.

“You like him.” Jimin muttered with wide eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and Taehyung.

You tensed up and choked out a nervous laugh, “What nonsense are you going on about now?”