pink stationery â¤ď¸â𩹠w.jh
synopsis: everything with junhui has been a step towards something, but neither of you are very clear on what when it comes to the other. genre: co-workers to lovers ; angst, fluff. pairing: office worker!wen junhui x fem!reader word count: 7.9k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: it's stupidly vague and i'm sorry for that. minimal swearing, i guess? mentions of eating and food. they're just stupid what to listen to: starstarstar - dosii ; take me - miso ; say yes - seventeen ; heart burn - sunmi ; i was made for lovin' you - kiss. author's note: i'm going to be honest, i've been having a really hard time with life and i just wanted to write something regardless of deadlines and expectations. i also don't care if it makes sense, i just wanna write. i love my collabs, though, and they will get done. i just want to be vague and mysterious and stupid for a moment in time and not worry. welcome our beloved junhui to the haologram blog <3 i've missed him so dearly. [star dividers] by @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr, and thank you to cam for the bar name! enjoy!
HE SMELLS LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.
He smells like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and he picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to your desk by lunchtime on Monday afternoons.Â
That was the extent of your relationship with him, and really, any of your co-workers. Heâd never spoken a word to you (not that you could remember, anyway) but has somehow figured out that you like pinecones. Particularly not ones that smell like cardboard boxes from the home section at Marshallâs.Â
No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you as a person.Â
No invitations to drinks after work â you see them enough as it is. You hang up on remote meetings without saying much of anything, and youâre usually the first to leave the call without so much as a goodbye. Your emails and short and dry, signed off with only your name. You avoid the catered lunches provided by whatever restaurant your company paid out and stick to wedging yourself into the sixth-floor storage room with your package of fruit snacks and a sad turkey sandwich. There was a pink chair in the corner that you liked and tried multiple times to convince Mike (the janitor) to let you have but he refused.Â
You do not make eye contact during breaks, and you donât stop by the break room for coffee or complimentary muffins. You lied about why once, when you were asked by a coworker â and absently claimed a gluten allergy, only to be seen eating bread a few hours later. That coworker hasnât spoken to you since, and you donât think she plans to.Â
But him?Â
He started talking about two years ago, a year after you joined the company. He started talking too much, you could argue, but he would say itâs just enough.Â
Heâs too friendly, you thought. He dropped by your desk with a warm cup of tea every morning, if not your precious Monday morning pinecone. He slid a soft, lemon-blueberry muffin under your nose with a soft smile every once in a while. He asked you to lunch, to drinks, and he always sent you a separate follow-up email after remote meetings when he could very well just add your tasks to the bottom of the mass list he always sends in the group mail.Â
He was just above you on the corporate ladder, but you felt no pressure to answer him in terms of social interaction. He didnât make it a point, either â he just existed in your vicinity, and only came into your space when you allowed. Quite like a cat, you are.Â
He told you about his life, quietly, calmly. He told you about how he learned wushu growing up, and how he played piano. He told you about how he got the cabin as a gift from a friend who was moving abroad, unlikely to return and much less spend time in the quiet woods surrounding your town. He told you about his late-night snacking habit, about his cat, Luna. He told you about his best friend, Minghao, and how he was the best man at his wedding a few years ago.Â
But above all?Â
He listened to you. Â
He looked at you like every word from your mouth held weight, carefully nodding along to your mumbled stories of troubled childhood. He listened to you talk about your favorite dish, your favorite color, even your theories about how middle children suffer the most. He laughed at your wry jokes, the dry humor â though he would bite it back at the deadpan comments youâd make during department meetings.Â
He always sat next to you in those department meetings. His knee was always just barely brushing yours, the soft material of his slacks making your skin prickle as it touched your bare thigh. Heâd pass you doodled notes on his pink stationery with My Melody on the edges. He always adjusted the hem of your skirt down subtly when you stood up and pushed your chair in after you skirted around it. He waited until youâd gathered all your materials to leave, walking alongside you back to your desk even if his was across the office.Â
And it made people wonder what about you had his attention so deeply.Â
Youâre not interesting to any of them, you never had been. Youâre a liar (about a gluten allergy, of all things) and the kind of quiet that made them feel stupid if you looked at them for too long. They felt like you were judging them, when really â you were hoping theyâd speed up their long-winded questions to end the painfully awkward social aspect of you fixing their problems.Â
Sometimes, heâd send you home early to help you escape their judging eyes.Â
Heâd send you an email â the subject line usually only taken up by âđ ?â The body usually contained nothing more than a new picture of Luna, but you always appreciated it.Â
Heâd be looking over the edge of his monitor to watch you hear the dreaded Outlook ding, your eyes slightly lighting up at the sound before really brightening the moment you saw it was him. Youâd look over the edge of your monitor, raising a brow that didnât hide your shy smile as you sent him an email back before quietly packing your bag and slipping out of the office.Â
It was always just a meme youâd found during your lunchtime Pinterest scroll â one youâre sure heâd seen you add to your shared board.Â
Because, of all things, heâd chosen to first share his Pinterest with you. You saw his dream home, vintage cars, cool jewelry and the stupid memes he liked you send you in the middle of the night when he was thinking of you.Â
You still reread that text, he sent it over a year ago.Â
MESSAGE FROM: Wen Junhui âĄÂ [2:32AM] of course i think about you. [2:33AM] i think about you all the time. after breakfast, when you try to sneak out of the office to hide in that storage room upstairs. even outside of work, sometimes i see things i think youâd like. but i mostly think about you now. [2:34AM] i think itâs a comfort that you pass my mind before i go to bed. or maybe just an association i've made with the fact that i check our board every night to see if youâve added anything. [2:35AM] but...i prefer the former, honestly. goodnight, y/n. sleep well. âĄÂ
You added the little heart to his contact name that same night.Â
Granted, things between you and him never went further. He talked to you, he walked with you around the office, he gave you many ways to contact him outside of work even if you never texted him first. He shared moments of his day with you if you missed work or worked from home â which was rare and always worried him. He would send pictures of a lone pinecone sitting on your mousepad if you werenât there when he delivered it, followed by whatever random emoji he felt fit the mood. Sometimes it was a hazelnut, sometimes it was a cat.Â
Sometimes, it was the heart wrapped in a bandage.Â
You tried not to overthink it.Â
But it was hard not to notice the whispers about him.Â
How a lot of your coworkers talked about him, and how cute he is. How sweet, smart, gentle. How heâs soft-spoken until heâs around his friends, even though you knew that his best friend was just as soft spoken. He worked two floors down, Xu Minghao.Â
You met Minghao and his wife (and the rest of their shared friends) the first time you were ever invited out for drinks â and the first time you ever hesitated to say no.Â
Junhui managed to get you right in the nick of time, too â right as the clock struck five. You hadnât even gotten a chance to log out of your programs when he leaned over the wall of your cubicle with a twinkle in his eye that made your chest ache.Â
âHave a drink with me. My friends are coming, too, but you know. Iâll be there.âÂ
And you had more than a drink â you had a good time. You had three blood orange margaritas and a sip of his beer, but it was like you were shining brighter than a million suns. You let yourself sink into the soft vinyl of the booth, surrounded by him and his scent and his friends. You let yourself talk, out loud and with gusto about everything. You were uninhibited, and you remember how they all warmly smiled as Junhui pushed your hair out of your eyes as you talked about how there was no way the megalodon shark was extinct.Â
He walked you home that night, the two of you a little too tipsy to navigate the train or drive. He walked on the sidewalk closest to the street and held your pinchy heels in his fingers, letting you skip around and complain about the humidity. He only smiled, his hip bumping yours every once in a while, when you swayed a bit too far.Â
When you got back to your apartment, he waited against the railing in front of your doorstep to watch you step inside. You remember hesitating before asking him if he wanted to come in for a nightcap.Â
His eyes widened, and for a moment â he considered it. You saw how his eyes flickered to your lips, before he cleared his throat.Â
âMaybe another night. Thank you for coming out with me tonight, I hope it wasnât too overwhelming.âÂ
It hadnât been, but his soft rejection was certainly disappointing. You shook your head then, staring at him for a split second more before speaking.Â
âIt was nice. Iâd...Iâd like to do it again, sometime. Just us.âÂ
You smiled softly, before giving him a curt nod and slipping into your apartment before he could respond. You leaned against the door, sliding down the cool wood before hearing him utter a soft goodnight.Â
Since then, the two of you had gone for drinks over and over again â just the two of you, and with his friends. When it was just you, heâd talk about everything and anything under the sun. But when it was with his friends?Â
They really liked you, enjoying the excitement that they never saw in the office. One of them, Kwon Soonyoung in finance, offhandedly mentioned that they hadnât known you and Junhui were friends until he started mentioning you at random moments. Your face had felt hot as the rest of them giggled and agreed, with Minghaoâs wife letting it slip that ârandom momentsâ meant any time he could.Â
âYeah, he brings you up a lot. Oh, Y/N likes this. Y/N would love that. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Itâs so cute.âÂ
You donât remember Junhui refuting it, but you remember the flustered blush that settled in his cheeks after that. Things between you and him didnât change, though. Â
Until they did â one month, three days later, Junhui got a girlfriend.Â
It was like he had vanished entirely â gone were the warm cups of tea on your desk, the muffins, the pinecones. No more invites to lunch or drinks with him or his friends. No longer did you receive emails asking if you wanted to go home early, no more pictures of Luna, no more separate follow-up emails outlining your tasks after remote meetings.Â
None of it really bothered you, until you realized that your shared board hadnât been updated by him in a while. Then, you noticed it, truly â he'd unfollowed you. Pinterest, Instagram, even Spotify. Spotify!Â
He didnât sit next to you at department meetings, either. No more passed notes, no more pushing your chair in. And he rushed out right after, not bothering to even speak to you.Â
And people noticed.Â
You hadnât realized that by allowing yourself to associate with Junhui and his friends, you became more than a blip on peopleâs radar. People knew your name; they knew your face. The girls gossiped about what he could possibly see in you, unaware that you were reapplying deodorant in one of the stalls. Men speculated about your relationship status, wondering amongst themselves if you were open-minded â while they stood outside for a smoke, making you scrunch your nose in disgust at them for more reasons than one.Â
People knew you â his friends, still said hello in the hallways. Minghao, gave you warm smiles and extended invites to drinks that youâd swiftly decline â with excuses of working late, of being tired, or whispering that time of the month. He always nodded, smiled...but you knew he didnât believe you.Â
Once you realized Junhui was avoiding you for what you believed was a girlfriend, it took you less than twelve hours to get back to your reserved demeanor. As long as you didnât make noise in your cubicle, no one came around â and people realized then that your gaze wasnât mean to intimidate or judge, but to time. You didnât want to talk to anyone you didnât have to, more than you needed to â and that was bothersome to most of them.Â
Of course it was; in their minds, theyâre great.Â
Theyâre a catch, theyâre fun to be around.Â
But theyâre not him.Â
Theyâve never cared to ask you a single thing about yourself beyond your relationship status and where you got your shoes. You always just stared until they left or mumbled something about the local department stores.Â
Things with him never returned to the easy friendship you thought was starting to form, even as you rung in the new year at the company party. It made you sad.Â
Maybe because you had a bit of a crush on him, actually.Â
You thought a little too hard about the meanings behind his messages, the pictures of his weekend retreats to his cabin that he insisted you were always welcome at, especially if his friends were there. You missed the shared memes, the shared playlists, the way heâd sometimes find you inside the sixth-floor storage room, sitting on the dusty pink chair that always made him smile a little too fondly.Â
You liked Junhui, more than just a cubicle crush that you could discuss with your girlfriends that you didnât have.Â
But he had one. One that meant more to him than you ever would, even with the way he opened his heart to you.Â
You thought about what he shared with you â videos of him playing the piano at Minghaoâs wedding for his first dance with his wife. He shared his presence and comfort, often walking you home and your hands always brushed. You felt like a schoolgirl every time youâd tuck your hand into your pocket. You once got caught in the rain together and stood under the bus stop before he fished his headphones out of his pocket and gave you one.Â
He played starstarstar by Dosii as he pulled you out from under the safety of the bus stop, and the two of you walked to your apartment instead. Hand-in-hand, soaked to the bone, with the string of his headphones forcing even more proximity that made your cheeks heat.Â
You donât remember who interlaced your fingers. If it was you...youâre still happy. It means he was okay with it, maybe he wanted to.Â
If it was him?Â
He definitely wanted to.Â
However, itâs all filed in your memories now â because you look over your monitor to see his brows fixed in concentration as he types across his keyboard, with you not even a blip on his radar. You watch carefully as he reads his own words over and over, before his eyes flicker up and meet yours.Â
Youâre not surprised when his shoulders sag for the umpteenth time, and he looks away.Â
Like he wants to say something. Like he wants to talk to you, but the words get caught in his throat and he canât seem to get them out. Itâs been a year since youâve spoken, and you wouldâve forgotten the sound of his voice if he wasnât your co-worker â but you never forget that night last spring, drenched in the rain.Â
You wouldâve kissed him; you could have kissed him.Â
Itâs spring, again.Â
You walk to the train station after work in silence, with nothing playing in your headphones for the first time. You sit in between an elderly couple and a lone high school girl absently staring at a long thread of messages on her phone. Theyâre all left unanswered, and she repeatedly fills the text box with words before deleting them and starting over.Â
You feel like that girl â except sheâs brave enough to ask for answers and youâre gripping your purse in a claustrophobic panic.Â
Itâs a Wednesday in summer when you finally get tired of waiting for answers. Almost a year to the date when he first asked you to get drinks with him, you get an idea.Â
Have a drink with me tonight.Â
That's all it says.Â
You stand over the copy machine, the sticky note you scribbled on moments earlier folded neatly in your hand. You wrote and rewrote it at your desk, your hands trembling and smearing the ink. You had to walk past his desk to submit the paperwork you were making copies of, and you planned to slip it onto his mousepad on the way back to your own.Â
You donât get a chance to do that, though.Â
Your eyes are closed when you hear the copy room door open, but you donât bother to look up as that same woodsy smell fills your nostrils.Â
He doesnât speak, but you know itâs him. Â
You know, from the smell of lumber and the click of his shoes and the tension that makes you feel suffocated as you peer over your shoulder. Heâs silent, thumbing at his own paperwork. He only glances up when he feels your eyes on him, but this time, you donât look away.Â
His jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie slightly loosened. Youâd stare if it wasnât against girl code to ogle someone elseâs man.Â
You turn, fully facing him as your last copy gets stapled by the machine and slides out. You gather them in your arms, before holding them to your chest and holding the sticky note out to him between two fingers. He glances at the hot pink paper, swallowing carefully before reaching for it.Â
You give him a soft smile, before spinning on your heel and heading out of the room without a word.Â
Youâre moving at lightning speed to get out of the office before he can get a chance to catch up with you â shoving your copies into your managerâs hands with a rushed run-down of the dayâs events and outages. You thank her with a bow, before beelining for your desk and yanking your purse out of the bottom drawer.Â
You make it to the elevator without him noticing you, your eyes catching a flash of his white shirt and the hot pink paper unfolded in his hand.Â
You feel your phone buzz in your hand as you reach the lobby.Â
NEW! Message From: Wen Junhui (WORK)Â [5:32PM] where?Â
Itâs nearing seven when he finally has the courage to get out of his car.Â
Heâs been sitting in front of the bar for ten minutes, hoping to see you walk by. If youâre late, you wonât notice that he is.Â
Message From: Y/N âĄÂ [5:35PM] at dizzyâs [5:35PM] 6:30?Â
He waits another three minutes, watching the corner before his hand finally grabs the door handle and pulls.Â
He sees you almost instantly, sitting quietly at a booth in the back. Youâre not in your work clothes anymore, instead wearing a soft red dress and your hair is pinned back. Youâre smiling at the waiter, who seems to be really interested in talking to you as he slides a margarita on the table. He holds the menu out, only for you to shake your head.Â
He watches your glossed lips shape around the words: Iâm waiting for someone.Â
Him. Heâs the someone.Â
He wants to be the only one. Ever.Â
He tongues his cheek as the waiter nods, patting the vinyl of the booth above your head. You lean your head back slightly, closing your eyes as your forefinger picks at your thumbâs cuticle. A nervous habit of yours, one heâd picked up on the first time he spoke to you.Â
About pinecones, actually â but you donât remember that at all. He doesnât know what possessed him to bring them up â but he learned, through your hushed whisper in the elevator that morning â that you liked them. You like pinecones, because they are so diverse while all still being the same thing. Â
He hadnât understood it then, but he did now â albeit differently.Â
He was like the pinecones, because he tried to show you that he liked you in so many ways...through the invites to drinks, the lunch, the shared memes.Â
The pinecones.Â
Sliding warm tea on your desk and lemon-blueberry muffins, to cracking jokes and passing notes to you on his pink My Melody stationery. To pulling your hair out and brushing your hair out of your face, to letting his friends embarrass him by practically outing his interest in you every time they got together with you and him for drinks at this very bar.Â
To walking you home, even in the rain, just to spend a little more time with you. Â
Only to realize that it was futile, because you didnât see him that way.Â
You didnât see him as more than a friend, but heâs not brave enough to tell you why you should.Â
âHi.âÂ
Your voice is smooth as he finally slides into the booth opposite you, his skin warming at the sound of it. He clears his throat, giving you a curt nod as he adjusts himself in his seat. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the side before feeling guilt begin to settle in his stomach.Â
âSorry. I was...âÂ
He gives up on coming up with an excuse, only running his hand through his hair as you nod. Your manicured fingers stir your straw in figure eights, the flash of an heirloom ring you never take off catching his eye. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âFor?â Your eyes are curious, before tilting your head. âBeing late? It happens.âÂ
He shakes his head like he doesnât know, before clearing his throat again when the waiter swoops in to save the day. He internally thanks whatever God is out there as he asks for a beer, earning a scrunch of your nose as the waiter nods and leaves once more.Â
You donât say anything as he shifts, only stare. Maybe through him, maybe into him.Â
He doesnât mind the warmth of your gaze. He never has.Â
âI didnât know getting a girlfriend meant youâd treat me like I never existed.â You start softly, his eyes widening as you purse your lips. âI understand creating distance, because there is someone new. Someone who could perceive you and I as something more, when itâs not.âÂ
âI...I donât know what to say.â He admits lamely, the shock of you thinking he has a girlfriend not yet settling into his bones. âWho told you I have a girlfriend?âÂ
You only shrug, taking a quick sip of your drink before shaking your head.Â
âDoes it matter?âÂ
He blinks, when the waiter slides the beer bottle on the table as he passes by. He touches it, the glass cold as he tongues his cheek.Â
If this is a way to get over you, by getting you believe there is someone else when there isnât -- heâll take it. Heâll take it because then it means he never has to tell you how he feels, and heâll never have to face the way you reject him so kindly.Â
âI guess not.â âMmh.âÂ
You trace circles into the side of your glass with your thumb, before another smile graces your lips.Â
âAre you happy?âÂ
How could you ask him that?Â
Of course heâs not happy. Â
He hasnât had a proper conversation with you in an entire year, and heâs been too much of a coward to admit that he wants more. He wants to kiss you in the elevator, in the break room, in the storage room on the sixth floor during your lunch break. He wants to hold your hand on the way to department meetings, under the table at drinks with your friends, on the walk to your apartment before you pull him in for a good night kiss. He wants to come into your apartment for a fucking nightcap without knowing heâll say too much and lose any chance of ever being more to you.Â
So instead, he pulls away.Â
He stops talking to you, he removes you off every social media platform he can think of, so he doesnât have the urge to peek at your dream home board on Pinterest, or the way your dream wedding is so similar to his. So he doesnât have to be subjected to the cute outfits you post on your Instagram story before you leave your apartment for work, even though heâll just see it when you arrive and heâll have to take a deep breath so he doesnât scream about how nice you look. Â
So he doesnât have to know that youâre listening to the playlist he made for you to stay calm in the packed morning train on the way to work.Â
On the way to him.Â
âNo.âÂ
Your eyes soften, your brows scrunching in that same worried way they do when youâre listening to someone explain their problems to you at work. You nod, that comforting look of understanding glazing over your eyes.Â
âCan I ask why?âÂ
He doesnât bother responding, his mind racing as he thinks about all the pinecones sitting in his car, the ones that heâs deemed perfect enough to place on your desk but hasnât been able to. He thinks about the way you slip out of the office and how your heels sound as you sneak upstairs to the sixth floor during lunch. He thinks about when Mike caught him off-guard by coming down to his desk and saying that you liked a pink chair that was in the storage room and kept asking about it.Â
A pink chair that used to belong to him, when he first got the company a few months before you did.Â
He sighs, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and sliding two twenties on the table.Â
âNo. Itâs better if you donât.âÂ
He doesnât allow himself to look at you as he slides out of the booth, his hand gripping his suit jacket much too tightly for it to go unnoticed. You donât stand, only nod as you take another sip of your drink.Â
âI hope it gets better. Have a good night, Junhui.âÂ
He fights back tears as he makes his way out of the bar, your understanding look stuck in his mind as he drives home. He doesnât bother looking at the pinecones in his backseat or changing the playlist that blares through his speakers when he connects his phone â a playlist you made for him, for his long drive home from work.Â
Youâre in everything he holds dear to him. The music, the cabin â even if youâve never been there. You know him, everything about him that is worth knowing in his eyes.Â
Except the fact that heâs in love with you, and that heâs a liar.Â
JUNHUI ISN'T AT HIS DESK ON THURSDAY. OR FRIDAY.
The whispering starts on Monday, with lots of wayward glances towards you and you almost want to go down to Minghaoâs desk and ask if Junhui is okay. Â
But you donât -- you glue yourself to your chair until lunch time, only to see that the pink chair you loved is no longer in the storage room. Mike tells you that the original owner took it out on Wednesday night and offers a soft apology. You shake your head and say itâs okay, before turning around and going back to your desk.Â
You arrive at your desk on Tuesday morning to your desk chair missing. There is a warm cup of tea on a coaster, and a cranberry orange muffin in front of your keyboard â but none of it distracts from the sudden pop of color next to your mousepad.Â
A plastic pink storage box.Â
You donât bother to put your purse down as you crack the corner up, and your eyes widen as you realize itâs full of pinecones. Thereâs an envelope attached to the underside of the lid, and you pluck it off carefully before leaning against your desk. You peel it open gently, only to see the familiar pink My Melody stationery.Â
Junhui.Â
You ignore the urge to look up at his desk to see if heâs watching you over his monitor, feeling eyes from your co-workers trickling in as they spot the pink box. His handwriting is scrawled in purple ink across the stationery, and your heart sinks as you take in the slightly smudged words.Â
My Y/N,Â
Iâm sorry about Wednesday. In fact, Iâm sorry about the past year that Iâve gone without speaking to you. I have no excuse, only an explanation that probably wonât make things any better but will certainly give you some clarity.Â
I pulled away because I knew things would get too much for me. Iâve got a weak heart, and I canât take rejection well â so I figured Iâd cut ties first. It never worked, cutting contact with you; I found myself constantly missing the sound of your voice. I wanted so badly for you to reach out first, but I shouldâve known better than to expect that when I was the one who wedged my way into your life. Our friendship was fun, and I miss listening to playlists with you during the walks to your apartment, but it simply canât be anymore.Â
I like you so much, itâs painful to be around you and know you donât feel the same.Â
I wanted to kiss you that night last spring. The rain and everything, it felt like a movie. Maybe thatâs corny, and maybe itâs too forward but it doesnât matter anyway because nothing will come of this. Iâm sorry, for being too much of a coward to ever explain this to you in person. And for telling you now, through a letter written on stationery. Â
With this, Iâve got to admit something; finding out that you think I have a girlfriend when youâre all Iâve been able to think about since that first day we spoke is insane to me. Where do you get your gossip from? Is it a subscription? Unsubscribe effective immediately.Â
Speaking of effective immediately, Iâve taken a new position at a new company. So not only am I a coward for confessing this way, but also because Iâm running away from it all. I donât think I could handle not going home to you, even after seeing you all day. Iâm not equipped for the agony of a silent, one-sided office romance that you read about in books.Â
I recommended you for my position. Donât worry, people wonât talk to you nearly as much as they do now; but still...have fun, yeah?Â
I hope you enjoy these pinecones, for whatever you might end up using them for â and the pink chair. Funny, it belonged to me when I first got to the company. Thatâs why Mike never gave it up, but he told me you liked it so I figured you should have it.Â
Now it belongs to you! Quite like my heart.Â
Have a good day, Y/N. Iâll miss you.Â
Always and forever yours, Junhui âĄÂ
Your chest aches as you realize all the opportunities have slipped through your fingers.Â
âMiss Y/N, Mr. Wen said heâd like for you to have this.âÂ
Mike startles you as you see the pink chair being rolled behind your desk, the fabric pristine and the small stain from spilled coffee at the edge is gone. Your fingers flit across the headrest, before you look at him with tears in your eyes.Â
âGuess he changed his mind, huh?âÂ
He only smiles, nodding his head before turning on his heel and leaving.Â
You look at the cup of tea. Itâs still hot, so it mustâve been placed recently. You glance over at his desk; how vacant it looked. Almost like how your chest feels after having your heart ripped out.Â
You donât really notice that youâre moving until youâre in the elevator, nervously nibbling on your lip as you frantically press on Minghaoâs floor number while balancing the box of pinecones on your hip. It feels like an eternity as the damn thing jostles, and you nearly trip as it finally opens on the third floor. You beeline for Minghaoâs desk in the back, only to see him quietly arriving with his headphones slid over his ears and his wifeâs lipstick still stamped on his cheek.Â
He glances up as he feels your presence behind him, his eyes widening before a smile graces his lips.Â
âY/N! What brings you down here?âÂ
âWhere is he?â You blurt, your hand still holding the note. He raises a brow, sliding his headphones off and onto the desk as he takes a seat in his desk chair.Â
âWhere is who, sweetheart?â âJunhui.âÂ
His lips form an o-shape, making him nod before he shrugs.Â
âWhy should I tell you?âÂ
You gape at him, almost losing your grip on the box on your hip.Â
âBecause you obviously know, and if you care about meââ âTell me why I should tell you, Y/N.âÂ
You huff, your cheeks hot as you tap your foot. He tilts his head, an expectant look in his eyes before he speaks again.Â
âI do have work to do, you know.âÂ
âBecause I need to tell him that I...â You choke on your words, scoffing out a humorless laugh as you feel your eyes sting with tears. âBecause I need to tell him that heâs an idiot.âÂ
âYou can text him that, you know.â âIâd rather die than text him how I feel.â âSo, you admit you feel some type of way about him.âÂ
He grins, slim fingers typing his password into his computer. You scowl.Â
âI never said anything of the sort.â You argue, and Minghao gives you a look that says, really bitch?Â
âYou like him. Itâs obvious to all of us, everyone in this office.â He reaches for his water bottle, his fingers aptly flicking the cap open. âSo, admit it. Admit you have feelings for Wen Junhui, and Iâll give you the information you want.âÂ
You look at the crumpled stationery in your hand, your heart swelling slightly at his handwriting.Â
My Y/N. Always and forever yours, Junhui âĄÂ
âI love him.â You mumble softly as you stare at the paper, not catching how Minghaoâs eyes widen. âIâm in love with him, Hao.âÂ
A single tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away, before looking up to see Minghao looking at you with a soft glaze over his eyes.Â
âI expect you and your boyfriend to get drinks with my wife and I this weekend in exchange for this.â His tone is warning as he reaches for a pen, his hand swiping a sticky note off the pad. You nod, ignoring the way your cheeks heat at the idea of Junhui being your boyfriend as he holds out the green paper. âHere, leave that. Iâll keep it safe, so you donât have to lug it around.âÂ
He holds his hands out for the box, and you hesitate before carefully placing it down. You open the corner, taking one of the pinecones out with a wince as he raises a brow before you shove it in your purse.Â
âI can explain.â âOver drinks this weekend. Iâll work out your attendance with your department manager.âÂ
You smile gently, glancing down at the sticky note. Itâs an address to an apartment building.Â
âThank you, Minghao.â âGo, sweetheart. Youâll get caught in the rain if you stay any longer.âÂ
And you go.Â
You donât bother waiting for the elevator, practically flying down three flights of stairs. You sprint out of the lobby, nearly slamming into yet another of Junhuiâs friends, Joshua, before yelling an apology over your shoulder. You make it outside, holding both pieces of paper in one of your shaking hands while the other fishes your phone out of your purse.Â
A fat raindrop falls on the screen as you map out how far the address is, and you almost welcome the cool water falling onto your cheeks as you run to the train station.Â
NEW! Message From: Hao [8:02AM] day 1 of my best friend being a traitor. how is working from home, you bitch?Â
Junhui snorts as the message comes in, settling carefully in his desk chair. He feels a bit alone as he texts back a simple, Iâm sorry; the usual soft chatter of the office replaced by the sound of his aircon blasting. Everything feels too casual â his white t-shirt tucked into his blue jeans, the softness of his house slippers instead of his usual heavy dress shoes. He feels like heâs waiting for a lunch date with one of his friends, rather than signing into work for the day.Â
He looks over the edge of his monitor, no longer seeing your warm eyes looking back at him; but a cat calendar flipped to July. He rolls his shoulders back, sighing inwardly when his phone buzzes incessantly on the desk. Â
Your contact photo fills the screen.Â
INCOMING CALL FROM: Y/N [PLEDIS]Â
He feels the entire world stop. His breath is caught in his throat, and he suddenly canât feel his limbs. He watches the phone ring until the call fails, nearly falling out of his chair as he stands up and grabs it. His hands are shaking too hard for him to press the missed call notification, only for you to call back again. Â
His chest is tight as he shakily breathes out, his thumb swiping across the screen to answer it.Â
âHello?âÂ
âI wanted to kiss you that night, too. I have never once though back to that night and didnât feel regret knowing I didnât kiss you.âÂ
You sound slightly out of breath, and the sound of rain is loud in the background. He feels his stomach drop to his ass; feet rooted to his spot in his office. Â
âY/N, Iââ âYou donât have to say anything. Just come outside.âÂ
He blinks as the call ends, staring at his reflection in the dark screen. Â
Youâre outside.Â
âShit.â Â
He nearly stumbles as he darts out of his office, beelining for his coat closet and shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers. He grabs the umbrella that leans against the frame of his front door, not bothering to grab his keys as he fumbles with the lock and throws the door open. A rumble of thunder startles him as he quickly shuts the door behind him, his fingers trying to fiddle with the umbrella when he hears your voice echo through the complex.Â
âJunhui!âÂ
He glances over the railing, his eyes darting all over the courtyard before spotting you a few feet from the stairs. Youâre wearing the black dress you wore the first time heâd spoken to you, and the attempt to wear open-toed shoes was ruined by the rain.Â
âWen Junhui! Get down here!âÂ
He feels laughter bubble up in his chest as he realizes youâre completely drenched, your hair is stuck to your face and your dress is practically dripping like the clouds above.Â
âYou come up! Itâs pouring out here!â âNo, you have to come down here! I came all this way, itâs only fair!âÂ
He canât really see your smile from where you are, but he can hear it. He can hear it and itâs like the rain doesnât matter. Itâs like this very moment proves he was an idiot not to overthink all those intimate moments between the two of you â the way your eyes would light up at his stupid emails, the way youâd let his hands linger on your neck or ears after brushing your hair out of your eyes. All the playlists, all the similarities down to the fact that you both want marigolds for your dream weddings.Â
The way you interlaced your fingers that night last spring, and heâs so glad you did.Â
âJunhui!âÂ
He shakes his head, dropping the umbrella on his doormat before sprinting to the staircase, hearing his heart pounding in his ears as he barrels down the stone steps. Â
âWhat...what are you doing here? Youâre going to get sick, I...âÂ
He trails off as he realizes youâre staring at him with a sparkle in your eye he canât swallow. Your smile is all teeth, and he feels his chest ache as you shrug innocently. You take a step closer, tilting your head.Â
âI thought you wanted to kiss me.âÂ
He feels his cheeks hot, and he absently runs a hand through his hair.Â
âYouâre drenched, Y/N.â âI was that night, too. We both were.âÂ
You shrug again, before stepping out from under the stairwell back into the rain. You hold your hand out, the rain pelting it as he hesitates to take it. You wiggle your fingers, making him tongue his cheek as he takes it, letting you pull him out into the rain. You hand slides up his arm and cradles his jaw gently, and he fights himself not to lean into it but ultimately fails.Â
âI told Minghao Iâd tell you youâre an idiot.âÂ
He snorts, âIs that on his behalf or yours?âÂ
âMostly mine, but Iâm sure he has his own things to say about the matter. A year, Junhui? A whole year.â Your lip is jutted in a pout, and he sighs as the rain starts to soak in through his shirt. His hair is starting to stick on his forehead, and your hand swipes it back.Â
âIâm sorry. I know that itâll never be enough to say it, but I truly mean it.â He gently touches his forehead to yours, his heart warming at the way you peer up at him through wet lashes. âI donât blame you if you donât forgive me, either. It was a shitty thing to do.âÂ
He hates how your eyes soften, because he feels his knees grow weak as your other arm loops around his neck. He tentatively wraps his own around your waist, pulling you closer and he swears he sees your smile grow shy.Â
âI wouldnât have come all this way if I didnât think hearing you out would be worth it.â You say softly, and a rumble of thunder makes you both flinch. A laugh escapes you, before your thumb strokes his cheek gently.Â
âIs this still like last spring?âÂ
He smiles softly, âNo.âÂ
âDid you ever think this would be the first time you get to kiss me? Like this?âÂ
He laughs, âNo.âÂ
âIs it better, though?â âConsidering Iâd hoped we wouldâve gone on a dateââ âSay yes before I regret coming all this way.â âYes.âÂ
Neither of you move, but he feels it. He feels the same feeling of want he did that night, the same feeling of yearning that floated off you without a single word. You tilt your head up, your nose brushing his lightly .Â
âIâm really cold.â âI told you to come up.â âThis is more romantic.â âI hope you know âromanticâ can also cost you three sick days at work.âÂ
âYouâre worth all my sick days, Wen Junhui.â You mutter, pressing your lips to his. He canât help but smile into it, his arm tightening around your waist as his other hand cups your face softly. Â
All the warmth from your eyes, the bashfulness of your smiles, the kindness of your heart is too much for his heart to handle. He canât believe youâre really here, in his arms...your lips so, so soft and eager against his.Â
âWe have to go inside. Youâre going to get sick.â He forces himself to pull away, his heart melting at the way you chase his lips slightly. You frown, and he canât help but press a chaste kiss to your pouted lip. âWe can kiss all you want inside the apartment, I promise.âÂ
You donât seem embarrassed at all as you smile at the mention of it, even if he feels his own cheeks grow hot as you nod. He feels his entire chest swell slightly as you interlace your fingers with his and pull him towards the stairwell, biting back his giddy smile.Â
YOU SMELL LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.
You smell like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and you roast his marshmallow for him â despite Minghaoâs teasing. Â
He still picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to you at lunchtime as he drops by the company to whisk you away. The lunch invitations that once meant youâd be holed away in the storage room with a less-sad turkey sandwich from the deli down the block, now meant youâre getting bombarded with kisses before he finally lets you get out of his car with your to-go cup of iced tea.Â
That wasnât nearly the extent of your relationship with him. Now, he has a photo of you on his desk at home â and you have one of the two of you together on yours. Your pink chair is complimented often by your coworkers, and youâve apologized to Diane for lying about a gluten allergy. Â
Though youâre back to being under the radar, people notice the changes. They notice that Junhui, who no longer works alongside them, is still frequently in the lobby â but heâs picking you up. Heâs kissing you; heâs spinning you around and calling you, my love. Â
No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you.Â
But Junhui?Â
He canât help but need you every single day. He slips his pink stationery love letters into your purse before you leave his apartment on Sunday nights, even if heâs begged you to stay the night just one more time. He accepts invites to anything that means he can bring you with him -- drinks with Minghao, lunch with his mother, even a weekend trip that was meant to be strictly business, but he spent most of the time that he wasnât presenting glued to you in the hotel room. Â
Junhui doesnât let you take the train anymore. Junhui takes your shy offers for a nightcap that usually end up with you kissing him breathless on your couch off two glasses of wine. Junhui, of all things, holds your hand on the table at drinks with his friends that are now yours, too. Â
Junhui listens â to your complaints about work; to your theories about birthstones and how whoever chose them was clearly biased for September to have the sapphire; to your sweet whispers as you slip your hand down his shorts late at night, and the whiny moans of his name that slip from your throat when heâs pinned you against his mattress.Â
But above all?Â
Junhui loves you. Â
Unabashedly, uninhibitedly and irrevocably.Â
haologram Š 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.













