It was too confusing, you didn’t have the energy to pick it apart while heaved sobs rip from your throat. Was this a release? Too much emotion built up inside, with nowhere to go? The tears began after picking an argument with a still-drunk Yeosang in the car, pointless, yet you still left him to fend for himself while you ran up the steps to your apartment, still fighting to keep the sobs inside. 

Alone in your living room, sitting hunched over on the couch, face in your palms, you cried. 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 

Your phone lights up, sitting face-up on the coffee table, multiple notifications from the square, pink icon that’s been draining your battery all fucking day. You can only imagine what they say, what vile fucking things are waiting for you, all from real accounts, real people who hate you because of Song Mingi. 

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe you need to keep the release flowing, a devil on your shoulder tells you to unlock your phone and read. You make it through three before your shoulders shake all over again, your phone falling to the floor, you have half a mind to smash the screen so you can’t look even if you wanted to. Curling up onto the couch, you let yourself cry, you sink into the feeling, into the emotion; if you let your brain wander enough, you can still feel his covered palm on your skin, his lips on yours, you can still see his eyes, how he looked at you. So fond, affectionate, so fucking different from any man who has ever looked at you, ever.

There’s a knock at your door, rendering you quiet, sniffing up snot that dared to fall. 

“Hello?” You call out, sounding so unlike yourself you cringe.

Three presses of someone’s knuckles at your door again, you whimper as you push yourself up off the couch to open it. Hand on the knob, you close your eyes, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You hope you don’t look insane. 

Just as another knock sounds, you open it. Standing with his fist out, he wears a blank face, one that warps into confusion then concern as he looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

“I came to get my hoodie,” he shakes his head like that was beside the point. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?” You sniff again, wiping at your nose with your bare wrist. It’s clear you’ve been crying, are crying, sounding nasally on top of your appearance, you can’t be bothered to care. “What do you want, for real? I know you’re not here for your fuckass hoodie.”

“I broke up with Winter,” he admits easily, too fucking easily. 

There’s no feeling in your gut, no excitement, no disappointment, there’s nothing. Your face reflects it, shoulders shrugging, free arm flying to say okay? You feed him an irritated laugh, “Congratulations?”

“I broke up with her because I miss you,” he tries again, “she isn’t you.”

His hair is messy, undone. Clothes dark, hanging off him, like he rolled out of bed to come here. You study his face, his mismatched eyes, the dot of espresso that sits on the apple of his cheek. There’s nothing unclear about the way he’s looking at you– there’s the hinge in his jaw, his dilated pupils, his slouched shoulders, deflated. Like he didn’t want to admit it, but here he is. 

“No shit,” you sniff again. “What was the plan? You come here, confess your bullshit to me, I take you back, and we live happily ever after?”

“I’m not going to give you a bullshit speech,” his gaze averts to the floor, “I know you have a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know, I needed to get it off my chest.”

You laugh again, and it’s accompanied by disbelief and shock, but what rings truest is understanding. You lean into your door, still wide open, “You don’t have to lie. She found out, didn’t she?”

He glances up, “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“I’m the only one who put up with it,” you correct him, “those days are over.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, straightening again. “What happened?”

“Nothing you give a fuck about.”

He takes a step forward, hands reaching out, but he doesn’t touch you. “I care about everything that involves you. What happened?”

You hold his stare, your jaw locking. Familiarity, routine. Pattern. 

“If I asked you,” your voice comes out shaky, you clear your throat, “to fuck me, would you do it?”

“You have a boyfriend–”

“Would you fucking do it?”

His hand wraps around your jaw, searing your skin, lips smashing onto yours like he was fucking waiting for it. It’s blinding, dizzying how he pushes you backward, kicking the door shut behind him, lips rough and tongue taking, your mind shuts off in a second’s time. Muscle memory kicks in, Mingi’s jersey on the floor, mini skirt hiked up to your waist, panties pushed to the side, this is it. This is everything.

This is all you’ll ever get, and you’ve made peace with it.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” 

Inside, at the very edge of the tunnel, tucked off to the side to avoid lingering eyes, Mingi’s vibrating with excitement, he can’t believe Winter is here and wearing his fucking jersey. He was already excited because they won their game; even if he knew they’d win and it was no surprise to him, Mingi played such a perfect game he was high off adrenaline, off arrogance, like absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

“Of course,” her back is against the wall, her head tucked right under Mingi’s outstretched arm. She wears a cute, dainty smile, almost innocent, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He has to fight his instinct to not tell her about the life he’s imagined for them. “I broke up with Wooyoung, by the way.”

This might be the best day of his fucking life.

“I’m… sorry?” He eases a smile, one that turns into a full-fledged grin when he sees how Winter smiles back.

She giggles, “Don’t be sorry. That night at the bar, she was right.” Winter bites her lip and Mingi wishes he could bite it for her. “Will she be there?” She asks, “Your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Mingi’s brows furrow, then he remembers the bar, and then a picture of you in his passenger seat rushes through his mind. “Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I saw her in your jersey,” she tilts her head to the side, a manicured nail between her teeth, “unfair, she gets the real one, and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Not for long,” it rushes out of his mouth before he can think about it. He chuckles, nervously, “I mean, like, things aren’t really that great between us right now.”

“Oh, really?” Her brows lift in soft surprise, “She seemed kinda… mad, when she saw me in this. I told her I’m a huge fan, but she didn’t seem to like that answer. Does she get jealous often?”

Mingi’s brows furrow, head cocking to the side. Jealous? Mad? 

“What do you mean?”

She giggles, a hand covering her mouth, “I don’t want to paint her in a bad light, or make you guys argue or something.”

“We won’t,” he pulls his arm back to his side, sounding assured, “tell me.”

“She asked me why I was wearing your jersey,” she looks down at her shoes, then back up to him, “she looked really mad, Mingi, like she was seconds away from ripping it off of me or something. I was kinda scared.”

“Huh,” he looks away, he isn’t sure where. You were already acting off when you came down to the field, he could feel it, he could see it on you. How you forced a smile on your face, faked laughter, looked like Lucifer had come to pull you back down to Hell before he kissed you. 

For some reason in his stupid fucking mind, he thought kissing you would make it better. That you’d laugh, call him an asshole, brush it off like it was nothing– selfishly, he wanted it to make it better, he wanted to be the reason why. He wanted to see your smile, the real one, not that fake shit you were putting on so no one would shoot you a second glance. 

You looked like he hurt you instead. He supposes it’s time to break up anyways, if the conversation he’s currently having is any indication, there’s no real reason for you to be together anymore if everything had already worked out. But fear lingered, in the way you looked at him, in how you jumped away from him like he burnt you, it stuck heavy in his mind, scared that you wouldn’t be friends after this. He’s afraid you’ll never speak again. He’s terrified you’re the first real friend he’s ever made.

“I’m okay, though,” she brushes a hand on his chest and he doesn’t like how it feels. “She left me alone after that, that’s why I waited until she left to come see you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he’s speaking, not thinking. “And no, she doesn’t do that often, I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Should he not have kissed you? Did that make everything worse? Did he cross a line, for real?

“I hope she feels better,” Winter smiles, showing off the pearly white teeth hidden behind her glossy lips, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, I– um,” he looks around again, moving backward so her hand falls from his chest. Are you mad at him? Should he apologize? “The team is going out to celebrate tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you deserve the celebration for how well you played. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” it’s mindless, absent. 

He walks back to the locker room with furrowed brows and tunnel vision. Opening his locker, pulling out his phone, he doesn’t even take his jersey off before texting you. 

mingi: were having a party tomorrow at the house to celebrate mingi: if u wanted to come mingi: and im sorry for kissing u mingi: idk if i shoulda done that mingi: im sorry mingi: if u want we can break up tomorrow at the party mingi: a lot of people will be there

You stare at the pictures Yeosang sent you. Minutes go by, maybe an hour, you aren’t sure, but you’ve zoomed in on every inch of each picture, and the looming cloud of dread won’t dissipate for shit. You weren’t imagining how he looked at you, how he held you, it was eternalized in pixels on your screen. 

The more you stared, the more you hated it. 

“What’s that?”

You lock your phone, throwing it on the nightstand beside you. “Can you get the fuck out already?” 

He smacks his teeth, “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, why so mean?” 

“I don’t like you,” you finally turn your head to see him. Eyes low with sleep, dark hair frizzy and sticking out in every which way, shirtless, littered with marks you’ve never been allowed to give him before. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Then why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because you did me a favor,” you run your hands over your face, rubbing at your swollen eyes, “but I have to prepare to break up with my boyfriend tonight, so unless you’re helping me come up with a plan, go.” 

“Just tell him you cheated,” he shrugs, and when you look at him he’s wearing the nastiest of smirks. “Worked for me.” 

“You didn’t even tell me, you fucking asshole,” reaching over, you smack him dead in his chest. “Get out of my apartment.” 

He laughs, slowly sitting up, giving you a pretty view of his spine, the tattoo that sits at the top, the muscles in his shoulders. You hum, head tilting as you stare, he really is pretty. You missed the sight. He turns his head halfway, “Have a smoke with me before I go.” 

You keep your eyes glued to him for a moment, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, he’s still shamelessly naked in your bed. So many things, Jung Wooyoung is, but most of all a complexity you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand. 

You sigh, soft, pleasant, almost. “Okay.” 

On the balcony, you’re in Mingi’s jersey you picked up from your living room floor, the first thing you saw when you realized you needed something on your body to go outside. He’s across from you, boxers on his hips, shirtless, comfortable. Always comfortable with you. 

He turns around to face you while your lips wrap around his cigarette, a Marlboro Red, he takes a second to watch you. His eyes don’t follow the smoke as it leaves your lips, they stay on you, analyzing, thinking. 

“What’s up with you?” He finally asks. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Face going unchanged, you respond, “I think I like him for real.” 

He stares a second before breaking out in laughter. Hand clutching his stomach, his brows furrow, “So you slept with me because you like your boyfriend?” 

“I slept with you because you’re the opposite of him,” you reach out your arm, two fingers sliding the tobacco into his, “he freaked me out. He kissed— kisses me like he cares about me.”

“I don’t kiss you like I care about you?” 

“You kiss me like you’re saving the nice shit for her,” you huff, craning your neck, stretching your aching muscles. You really went too long without getting laid. 

Wooyoung’s brows wiggle, shoulders shrugging as he brings the cigarette up to his lips like he couldn’t argue with you even if he tried. “You don’t make sense.” 

You sigh, turning to face the balcony, the neighborhood below. So quiet, it was busier closer to campus; here, it was nothing but peace. Warm, not quite humid yet, a clarity in the air you haven’t felt in so long, you let the sunshine beat on your skin, the kelly-green polyester covering it. 

“You don’t need to understand,” you reach out your fingers, he places the cigarette between them. “Being with him is too much exposure, too many eyes on me. You should see my Instagram DMs.” 

“Bad?”

“Worse than bad.” Tilting your head, blowing smoke from your lips, you ask, “Wanna come with me tonight?” 

“To watch you break his heart?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m game,” he takes a step toward you, leaning over the balcony, shoulder touching yours. “Did you know Winter has a thing for him?”

“Yes,” you laugh a little, “you’re late to figuring that one out.” 

He stayed until the cigarette burnt down to the filter, shoving it in the ashtray you bought and kept on the small table in the corner, solely for him. You stayed on the balcony for what felt like forever after he showed himself out— sitting with yourself and your thoughts, flooded with Mingi, the inevitable end a part of you had begun to think might not actually come. 

FIFTH OUTING: THE BREAK UP, FOOTBALL HOUSE. 10:21 PM

Mingi has always been grateful for his height. It’s helped him tremendously, helping his mother much smaller than him, in football, with women. He remembers being a kid and being giddy about holding the caboose of his class’s line because he was the biggest. 

He thinks he’s never been more grateful than he is right now, facing Seungmin, looking over his brown head of hair clearly, effortlessly— you, in his living room, dancing like you didn’t give a fuck. Hair let loose behind you, your top clinging to your body like it was painted on, jeans hugging your swaying hips in a way that made him jealous of black denim. 

You greeted him like you weren’t here to break up with him, a soft hey rolling off your tongue, cheeks already flushed with liquor, shoulders already slouched. Mingi put his beer down on a table littered with empty bottles and hasn't once thought about picking it back up. 

You told him he looked good, apologized for his jersey smelling like cigarettes, which made him quirk a brow in confusion, but he forgave you in the same breath with a little laugh as you stumbled over your feet. 

Drunk. Cute. 

You didn’t mention the kiss, didn’t mention breaking up, you didn’t mention anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mingi wasn’t going to remind you, not when you’re blissfully boneless, a smile permanently etched onto your cheeks, there wasn’t a line in your face to be seen. No worries, no stress, no anger, unaware like it was purposeful. You seemed like you needed it. 

“Hello? Mingi?” 

He blinks into focus, eyes back on Seungmin before him who wore furrowed brows and tilted jaw, staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, jutting his chin in the direction of you, making Seungmin turn his head. “Look at her.” 

“You’re sick,” Seungmin looks only for a second before turning back to Mingi whose eyes are glazed over, the younger man’s face rendered flat. “Obsessed.” 

Mingi giggles like he’s proud of it. No denial, no rebuttal, he thinks he might be, just a little, maybe infatuated was the better word. Especially since you’re not mad at him. The nerves he’s felt from last night leading up to when you walked through the door of the football house were full-bodied, eating at every vein below his skin, every organ felt like it wasn’t working right. 

You answered his texts, which should have eased him at least a fraction. 

princess: i kissed you back did i not princess: moron princess: ill be there  princess: and im breaking up with you btw

He couldn’t figure out a response, mostly because a huge part of him wanted to stall breaking up, but he couldn’t figure out why. Or he wouldn’t let himself, he should say, because the answer was staring at him in the fucking face: he likes you. He knows he does, Yeosang’s show confirmed it, forced it to the front of his mind, a life-altering observation— he’s so fucked. 

This is an arrangement. An even exchange, he gets Winter, you get whatever the fuck your plan with Wooyoung is. It dawns on him that he’s never even asked, there are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, he doesn’t have enough time to say them. You made it clear yesterday that you wanted to break up. 

“Go get her,” Seungmin huffs, “I know you want to.” 

“I don’t dance,” Mingi looks at Seungmin like he’s crazy.

“Why else did you ask Woozi to DJ then?” 

“Fair.” 

Seungmin turns on his heel, toward the kitchen, maybe. Mingi takes one step before he stops in his tracks, eyes blowing wide, body running ice-cold. 

Like a shadow, he was at your back, hands on your hips, smiling like he was supposed to be there. Like you were allowing it. You clearly were, head tilted backward, smile wide as a laugh he couldn’t hear rolled off your lips. God, Mingi can’t even say his name— he’s a roach, a fucking rat that’s lingering around Mingi, waiting for the opportunity to give him diseases or something. 

He finds his feet moving, not aware of himself body slamming people who were minding their own damn business, certainly not aware of the anger that hung in the hinge of his jaw, in his clenched fists. He pulls you by the wrist, your name on his tongue, you barely notice. Hazy eyes finally landing on him, your smile widens, sparkles in your eyes shining brighter, your fingers tighten in the fabric hanging off his shoulders. “Mingi!” 

He eyes Wooyoung over your head, face flat, unimpressed, pissed off. Wooyoung’s smirk is cynical, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, what’s happening. Mingi feels left out and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

“Where have you been?” You’re whining, head tilted to the side, lips pouty even if your body sinks into him more than it ever has before. You’re drunk. 

Mingi eyes dance over to Riyo and Jia, two of your friends, he thinks those are their names. One red-haired and wide-eyed, body rigid with fear as she meets Mingi’s gaze, the other dark-haired and panicked like she was already searching for a distraction, a way to get you out of this situation. 

Wooyoung speaks up before Mingi can get a word out, “Did you two break up yet?” 

Yet. His jaw clenches. Riyo and Jia turn confused. 

“We’re not breaking up,” Mingi responds, “fuck are you talking about?” 

“I need another drink,” you turn around, back leaning into his chest, laying your whole weight on him as your arms reach down to his thighs, palms splayed flat over denim for purchase. “Can we go find cutie Kai? He’ll get me one.” 

He can’t even focus on your hands on him, how mindless you are, he’s so fucking irritated. He ignores you, asking Wooyoung again, “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Wooyoung’s brows raise, smirk growing like he was about to drop a bomb. “Interesting, that’s what she told me this morning,” he takes a step closer to you, “right, baby?” 

“Huh?” You ask, body swaying, Mingi uses two hands on your waist to keep you steady. 

“You’re breaking up with Mingi,” Wooyoung repeats, “that’s why we had sex last night. Right?” 

Sorry if your jersey smells like cigarettes. 

He pushes you forward like you fucking burned him, just enough for you to fall into Wooyoung’s chest instead. Jia and Riyo are side-by-side, watching everything unfold like it was a train wreck they couldn’t look away from. 

“Wait,” hands braced on Wooyoung’s chest, you turn around, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Hold on a second.” 

Wooyoung pulls you into him, arms slithering around your torso like he knows every inch of your body. It makes Mingi sick, or it would if he could feel anything, his body’s numb like it didn’t belong to him anymore. 

“You fucked him?” His voice is pitched like he didn’t believe it. “He cheated on you,” Mingi feels like the three of you are alone, like this isn’t a party full of one hundred something people. “Twice.” 

“I know—”

“Then what, you don’t give a fuck?” His voice is raised, he doesn’t care. “What the fuck was the point then, huh? What the fuck was the point if you were just gonna go back to him?” 

Wooyoung cocks his head, “The point of what?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mingi blurts, “I’m not talking to you.” 

“Mingi,” your jaw drops, “I don’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Mingi asks, “Couldn’t at least have the decency to break up with me first before running right back to him?”

“I’m sorry!” 

The apology off your lips makes him stand straighter. It’s pleading, like you’re just asking him to be quiet, to stop, but it seems to screw his head back on his body, his consciousness forcing itself back into his six-foot build with vengeance. 

You call after him as he turns around, walking away as quick as he can, fingers tapping at his sides just to remind himself he has them. This can’t be real, he’s gotta be dreaming, there’s no way in hell that just happened to him. 

Is he just gonna leave you with Wooyoung? Drunk as you are? Is that why you’re so fucking hammered in the first place? You seemed so comfortable in his hold, Mingi wonders if that was you or the alcohol, he could see it in your eyes, the fear of being caught. The confusion, like you didn't understand why Mingi was so angry. 

You probably didn’t. You probably thought he wouldn’t find out, because why would he? You were supposed to break up tonight, be done with each other. A chapter closed. Mingi feels like turning on his heel and pulling you away from him, just to ask you every fucking question he’ll never have the chance to. 

He feels like apologizing. 

He feels like confessing. 

But he’s so fucking pissed he bullies into the kitchen instead, eyes on alert, searching for something he can’t place, anything that will rid him of this dirty fucking feeling. 

It’s full circle, he thinks, as his eyes land on Winter. Sitting on the counter, two guys in front of her, clearly chatting her up. 

Nah. 

Forcing a smile when he gets close enough, his voice carries a warning to the two unnamed, no-faced men. “Hey, beautiful.” They scatter. 

“Should you be calling me that?” She teases, hands gripping the edge of the counter, leaned forward, feet kicking where they hung. Hair pulled up, tiny top, little shorts, she looked bare-faced, natural. Pretty. Good enough. 

“I can’t be honest?” A cocky smirk, a character he hates playing. Approaching her pinned knees, they open, letting him step between them, he takes the silent offer. 

“You can be honest,” she nods, batting her lashes. “But I would rather you be mine.”

He has to force the twinge of disgust out of the back of his throat, tasting like coke-drip and disappointment. He didn't feel this way talking to her last night, Mingi blinks at her before a slow chuckle rolls off his lips. “Smooth.”

“Vodka makes me bold,” she shrugs, winking. “Problem?”

This could work. He could make this work. He has to make this work, actually. “I’m supposed to be the bold one,” he hums, palms landing on her bare knees, so soft beneath his burning skin. Her eyes drop to where their skin meets, but she makes no move to stop him. 

“I didn’t think you were available enough to be,” her eyes flicker upward, “do you have good news for me?” 

He nods, “You won’t believe it, actually.” 

Her brows furrow, smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, nevermind,” Mingi shakes his head, “we don’t have to talk about her, we can talk about us now, finally.” 

They talked. And talked, and talked and fucking talked, Mingi heard every other word, something about her classes and school-air fucking up her makeup. Something about Wooyoung, he thinks, he tuned out after he heard that godforsaken name. Mingi didn’t really care, he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, he hoped you’d find out and feel as shitty as he did right now. 

The tips of Winter’s sandals toyed with his pants, his hands planted on the counter, on either side of her thighs. He was so close to scoring he could taste it, this was the right outcome, the whole purpose. This is what he should have been focused on the entire time. 

“Bro,” Jaemin snaps him into focus, a pest at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s on a table.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Mingi shoves his hand off, but then the words sink in. He cranes his neck, “A table?” 

“She’s dancing on a fucking table,” Jaemin confirms, laughing like it’s funny. Like you aren’t piss-drunk and surrounded by people who don’t care about you. 

Mingi doesn’t even look at Winter again before he’s moving. Rushing past bodies, physically moving them out of his way as he follows the sound of cheering into the dining room, he can see you over everyone’s heads. No, this is full-circle, he thinks for just a moment at the entryway, here you are, in his dining room where the plotting truly began, where Mingi first lost his mind over the girl he could give two fucks about right now. 

Dancing, swaying your hips to whatever song is playing, something pop with heavy bass from the early two-thousands, it’s deaf on his ears. Arms above your head, smile absent, eyes absent, you aren’t even in your fucking body and everyone surrounding you is cheering you on. Mingi’s sick and he can feel every tapered edge of it. 

Bodies are glued together, phones out, he smacks two out of the air as he forces his way past. He spots Jongho and Yeosang, the only two trying to get you down, arms reaching out in caution, faces stressed beyond what they should be at a party. 

Mingi meets the edge of the table and he catches Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye, standing up against the wall, watching, smirking. Like he was loving every second of this. Like you wouldn’t want to rip your fucking hair out when you wake up tomorrow. Somehow it pisses him off worse that he’s watching you like this was reality TV, as if you’re not a real person, someone he slept with last night. He shivers. Rage runs deep.

“Mingi!” Jongho yells across the table, “Thank god you’re here, please get her down.” 

Bare feet— where the fuck did your shoes go? Hair stuck to you, shirt splotched with wetness, probably liquor, maybe worse. There’s bottles on the table, grinders open and full of weed, puddles of water, beer, solo cups from a game of pong. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, panic, like he was responsible for you, for this. 

“Get down,” his voice stands out amongst the music, the cheers. Louder, heavy with direction, order. Like he’s on the field. 

Your head spins in every direction like you weren’t sure where the sound came from. Even now, irritated and shocked beyond belief, he softens at the sight of you. “Please, baby, get down,” his voice is layered with worry as you finally meet his gaze, eyes glossed over, smile lazy and gone. Holy shit. 

“You’re mad at me,” you drop down to your knees, pouting, fuck this table big enough to seat half the goddamn team, stopping him from pulling you away from each and every pair of eyes. 

“No I’m not,” he shakes his head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to come to me.” 

On all fours, you start crawling across the fucking table, a lazy grin taking over like you didn’t have any eyes on you, so unaware that Mingi’s anxious. Head tilting, a split of consciousness entering your vision, you ask, “You want me?”

He swallows, nodding, a palm reaching out for you, “Yeah, I do.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shadow of black leaving the room. He doesn’t look, keeping his eyes on you, each agonizing second of your arms and knees pushing you forward, not a semblance of haste to your movements. 

You reach out your arm when he’s close enough to grab your hand and he pulls you the rest of the way, hearing the slick sound of black denim sliding against shiny oak, he isn’t fucking thinking as he bends at his knees and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp, body deadweight over his back before your legs bend up in front of him, bare feet covered in a layer of grime, wet and sprinkled with god knows what. He sighs. 

“Put me down!” You yell, your tiny hands flat against his back, pushing yourself up. 

He turns, one arm holding your legs down, hauling you out of that room faster than he’s ever sprinted down a field. He spots Kai across the living room, a head of blonde hair standing tall over the crowd, the only face easy to spot at his full height. 

“Huening!” He shouts. Kai’s brows furrow when he sees him, bending into bewilderment when he sees you over his shoulder. “Get me my keys.”

“You drink?”

“Get me my keys, Kai.”

He feels you smacking his back, yelling something unintelligible as he hauls you through the living room, through the front door, the air outside no fucking relief to the sweat forming at the base of his spine. Down the lawn, to his car that’s parked at the edge of the street, he puts you down on the hood with a muddled grunt from the back of his throat. 

You lay back as soon as your ass meets steel. Eyes closed, head turned to the side, your arms straight out on either side of you, you heave a breath and mumble, “I’m s’fucking drunk.”

Mingi didn’t realize he was out of breath until he leaned into the side of the car, elbows resting on the roof plate. He laughs, a small one, full of disbelief and utter shock. “No shit.”

“You called me baby again,” your eyes peek open to point at him with a weak, bent arm, “you were nervous.”

Mingi feels seen. He squints, “You were gonna fall off the table, I had to get you down, of course I was nervous.”

“You like me,” you sing, arm falling back down to the steel with a smack, dopey grin on your cheeks. “You like me for realsies.”

Mingi snorts, pulling his arms off the roof of his car to step to the side, palms landing on the hood to lean forward. Your hand sways through thick air before your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, “I like you too, even though you’re kind of rude.”

He wills his heartbeat calm. “You think I’m rude?”

“You’re so rude,” the words slur together, his lips tighten at the sound. You open your eyes again, “Wanna fuck on the car?” 

Mingi cracks a laugh, a belly laugh he couldn’t hold back, “What the fuck?”

You laugh with him, loud and obnoxious, the arch of your back lifting off the car, head turning to the opposite side before it snaps back to look at him. “Just a question,” you sing again, “jus’wonderin’.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He waits for your slurred mhm. “Did you really fuck Wooyoung?”

You suddenly frown, “Yeah, he caught me at a real vulnerable time. Do y’know what vulnerable means?”

He shakes his head, “Yes.”

“Means exposed. He caught me crying ‘cus you kissed me and you were nice and your Instagram army was calling me crazy shit.” Your eyes open all the way, “They’re wild on there, did you know that?”

“People are messaging you about me?”

You choke on a laugh, “So many people.” 

“Let me see–”

You scoff, “Fuck no.”

“Song!” 

He hears Kai shout from the tip of the lawn, Mingi turns and Kai throws his keys across the green, landing perfectly in Mingi’s palm like he aimed for it. “Thanks,” he yells back up, and Kai nods once before turning back inside. 

“Can you get up on your own or am I putting you in the car?” He receives nothing but a groan in response, a turn of your head in the opposite direction. He sighs. “Come on, you can’t even sit up?”

You turn your head back to him, “Why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to,” he says it like it’s obvious. 

“They’re gonna kill me for it,” you grumble, “they’re gonna kill me and it will be your fault.”

“No one’s killing you–”

“Did you like it?” You’re blinking at him, knees opening and closing like you needed to move to remind yourself you’re conscious, "Kissing me?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re so–”

“Tell me now.”

Mingi sighs, taking his eyes off you to look at the trees across from the football house. Tall, shadows filling space between them, calm. The music inside is muffled, bass still vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The confession sits heavy on his tongue. Fuck it. 

“Yeah I did,” he says it in one breath before he looks down at you again. Your brows are upturned, a pout on your lips, watching him until you hear what he says, then you smile. 

“Yay,” the word is light, cute. Then you look as if reality snapped back into you, “Damn, I probably shouldn’t have fucked him, huh?”

Mingi snorts as he walks around the front of his car, grabbing you by your wrists one after another, pulling you upward. “No,” he says, shaking his head, but his smile stays, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, then bring your hand up to your forehead, groaning. “Fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“I’m taking you home.” He scoops you off his hood, an arm curled under your knees and another holding your back until he’s got you next to the passenger door, letting your feet touch the grass beside the curb. Opening the door, one hand still on your waist, he says, “Get in.”

Your body is a mess of tucked angles as you quite literally fall into his passenger seat, Mingi has to fasten your seatbelt for you when he finally gets in the driver’s seat. You smell like liquor, cigarettes, sweat– he rolls the windows down and you stick your head out like a dog. 

Twenty minutes to your apartment, no music, just Mingi and his thoughts. He thinks about her, his first girlfriend after he started becoming known, how the long-term relationship ended so soon after going public. Comments, DMs on every platform, it didn’t matter what revisions she made to her social media, the words still made it to her eyes, her ears. Nasty, disgusting, vile words and not one of them was true, Mingi hasn’t spoken to her since they broke up. She hates him, down to his core because of something he had no control over. It’s what put his wall up in the first place, made of brick, of steel, a wall so thick it didn’t let any emotion in, only desire. 

He can’t imagine what’s sitting in your phone. Terror lives in his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, bottom lip tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in thought, in remorse. He didn’t think you’d be affected by his status since your relationship was fake, an oversight, one he regrets already. 

“You awake?” He parks just outside of your apartment, but your head doesn’t move off the window frame. 

“No.”

He reaches over, unbuckling your seatbelt, “Come on, drunkie.”

You moan something belligerent, picking your head up slowly, the seatbelt going over your head, stuck around your arm. Mingi can’t help but laugh as he rolls the window up, turning off the car, he expects to have to haul your ass inside. You let him, deadweight in his hold, your bare feet crossing over one another with each step, all the way up to the second floor. Thank god your building has an elevator.

“Key?” He asks. You point to the mat on the floor, eyes half open. He flattens his lips. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to change that.” 

You stand on your own long enough for him to get the door open, and he’s on alert this time, taking in his surroundings. The last time he was here he didn’t walk past the threshold, but now that he’s in, he can smell you everywhere. A large mirror next to the TV surrounded by plants, a tall lamp in the corner, a cozy couch set cream-colored. A coffee table filled with books, an unlit candle and his jersey thrown over it, your apartment screamed comfort, peaceful. 

His eyes squint at the Lego sets under your TV. An open shelved media console, a polaroid camera, a record player with flowers, a starry night painting, all Legos, it’s all he could pick out until you start moaning and groaning again.

“Uh-uh,” he grabs you by the wrist when you start making for the couch, “your ass is taking a shower. Where is it?”

You gasp, staring down at your feet, wrist limp in his palm. Your toes wiggle as you ask, “Where are my shoes?” You look back up at him wide-eyed, “I had shoes on, didn’t I?”

“I’ll find them at the house tomorrow,” he pulls you closer by the wrist, “come on, drunkie. Shower time.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” your top lip lifts, “you have better ones. Why are you here?”

“To get you into bed,” he starts leading you toward the entryway to his right, a small walkway he can only pray holds a bathroom at the end. “You smell like a brewery.”

You smile, following behind him like this was his apartment and not yours. There’s movie posters, framed paintings, decor on your walls he stores for later as more questions come to mind. He notes how clean and sophisticated you decorated, minus the closet door left open with clothes strewn about like you tore it apart before going out tonight. The bathroom tucked in the back corner is worse, makeup scattered across the vanity, pairs of shorts and underwear littered the white tile, you didn’t seem to mind as you walked in right behind him.

“Do I have to?” You sit on the closed toilet, back bending over the tank, head hitting the wall with a thump. 

He opens the shower curtain, turning it on, heating it up instead of answering. You giggle, more of a single sound of amusement, legs spread out in front of you, body molded to the shape of the toilet.

“Fine,” your grumble is somehow still amused, and Mingi swears it takes five whole minutes for you to stand up, toying with your skinny studded belt as your feet stumble over tile, fingers missing the prongs like you couldn’t get a grip.

He sighs again, sitting down on the toilet instead, “C’mere.”

Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, standing between his legs, body still swaying. He steadies you with two hands on your thighs and you lean into him, his touch, voice filled with pleased confusion, “You’re being nice to me.”

“I want to be nice to you,” he glances up at you, face flushed, eyes low, hair a mess. So vulnerable, a new word in his dictionary, to see you like this, for you to act this way in front of him. He wonders how much of it has to do with the messages in your phone. 

“Nice is scary,” you whisper as he starts undoing your belt, pushing the prongs out of leather, your grip stays tight on his shoulders. “You scared me when you kissed me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he pulls leather through the loops of denim, throwing it on the floor. “Button?”

You nod, body swaying again, he holds you upright with his fingers tucked in the hem of your jeans. “No one has ever kissed me like that before,” you’re still whispering like you’re telling him a secret. He looks up after getting your zipper down, seeing your glassy eyes, your dilated pupils. Pretty. 

“I think that’s how you should be kissed,” the answer comes quickly, easily. Honest. 

Your hands find the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, throwing it to the floor beside you. He fights to keep his eyes on yours. Your forearms sit on his shoulders this time, finding them like magnets as you flip your hair over your shoulder, out of your face. He swallows, breath catching in his throat, “You should get in the shower, don’t waste water.”

“You didn’t like me when you met me.” It’s not a question, but an observation. A memory. 

He counters, “You didn’t like me either.”

“You were an asshole.”

“You’re sober enough to get in the shower–”

“What changed?” You ask, words sounding fragile, like you were scared of the answer.

“Everything,” he smiles halfway, leaning back an inch. The room feels hotter, steam taking up space, the sound of the shower hitting the tub a small hum, his ears ring with the quiet. “Most of all, me, I think.”

You’re looking at him differently, like you’re trying to figure something out. You reach up to his hair, pushing it out of his face, your touch featherlight, so delicate a shiver shoots through him like a firework. Your fingers glide over his temple, his cheek, you press your palm flat against his cheekbone, he leans some of his weight onto it, he lets you toy with him like he’s yours to do as you please. There’s a part of him that thinks he is, even if it’s fucked up, even if the two of you are still somewhere in purgatory.

“Pretty,” you mumble, a mindless word. “I can understand why they hate me.”

His bottom lip curls, “I’m so sorry–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not your fault.”

His lungs twist hard enough to steal his breath. His hands find your hips, pulling you forward until his forehead meets the heat of your abdomen; so soft under him, fragile in his hold, you have no idea how long he’s waited to hear those words, no idea the weight they hold. No idea the guilt that lives glued to his spine. 

Your hands find his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, holding him against you like it’s where you wanted him, where he’s supposed to be. He thinks it’s where he’s supposed to be, too. He picks his head up only to place a kiss against your skin, a soft press of his lips over your stomach, it holds everything he can’t say to you right now. He hopes you can feel it. 

Your knees buckle a little, fingers stalling in his hair, he hears the breath you suck in, feels how you bend into him. “I’m drunk, don’t make me horny, I’ll jump you.”

He snorts, your words pulling a laugh straight from his gut, he leans back to look up at you, your fingers still in his hair. You’re smiling, lazy and stupid, but then you break away from him, thumbs tucked into your jeans like you’re about to shove them down. 

“Hold on, damn.” He stands on weak knees, quickly skipping out of the bathroom, he peeks his head back in just before closing the door. “Be careful. Shout if you need anything.”

“You’ll stay?” Your face is round with supplication. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey.”

Your nose twitches. 

“Wake up, it’s after twelve.”

Your top lip curls. 

“Wake up, I’m getting bored.”

You peek an eye open as your whole face tightens up, hands finding your cheeks, rubbing your eyes awake. Your stomach hurts, your knees feel sore, you grumble out a curse as your body stretches itself into consciousness.

“She’s alive.”

You pause, peeking over your fingertips to Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. Dark hair messy on his head, shirtless, a pair of your shorts painted onto his thighs. You’re too confused to laugh at the sight. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, voice laced with sleep, face scrunched up beyond recognition. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he frowns, “you didn’t even throw up, there’s no way you blacked out. Think, smart girl.”

You blink at him, letting the memories come back one after another. Wooyoung, shots, shots, shots, table, car, bathroom, bed. Mingi’s head on your stomach. Mingi’s lips on your skin. 

“Oh, shit.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes on your bedspread, still blinking crust out of your vision, “Oh, shit.”

Mingi huffs a noise of amusement through his nose, “Still confused?”

You shake your head, heart picking up speed in your chest. Your head feels heavy, stomach nauseous, limbs tingly with leftover alcohol in your blood. You look up at him, “Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay,” he shrugs, like that was the most normal thing in the world. Like he’s stayed over a thousand times before. 

“So you stayed?” Your brows stay knitted together, confused, confused confused confused. 

“So I stayed,” he nods, “how do you feel?”

“Like dog shit.”

“Sounds about right,” he’s smiling but he’s trying to hide it. It makes your lips twitch upward. “You remember dancing on my dining room table?”

Your eyes close, lips flat, brows raised. “Yup,” you nod, “unfortunately, I do.”

“Remember asking to fuck on my car?”

Your eyes shoot open, tone full of disbelief, “No.”

“You’re funny,” he chuckles, laying flat on his back at the edge of your bed. “You’re always funny, but you’re an especially funny drunk. It was cute when I wasn’t terrified you were gonna die.”

“The scaries are gonna haunt me for weeks,” you push yourself up, forehead meeting your palms. “Fuck.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” he sounds coy all of the sudden, nervous. Shy. 

You nod, “Let me shower again, eat something, drink a bottle of water. I feel like a fucking zombie.”

After cursing yourself out under your breath upon entering your messy bathroom, half your shower was spent with your forehead pressed to the wall, somehow cooling down your body temperature while steaming water soaked away all your shame. You ran through the events last night over and over, a little fuzzy at the edges, but each and every damning moment was crystal clear. You dried yourself off, completed your routine all with the same thought in mind: What the hell does he want to talk about?

It’s not like he likes you for real. You’d never work– your past is too messy, your current state is too messy, actually. He needs someone with a clean record, a nice, pretty girl who dresses in dainty clothes, someone who says please and thank you– that’s his goddamn destiny, a girl like Winter. Reserved, bashful, composed, you wonder if she’s ever said a curse word out loud, she’s nothing like you. She’s someone the internet would love, his coaches would love, his family would probably love, not that you know anything about his family.

You’re getting ahead of yourself— you’re spiraling. The only outcome of this conversation is that tension ran high, he was kind enough to take care of you when you were drunk, you’d go back to normalcy in an hour. Maybe Wooyoung’s free later tonight, he’d make a snide comment about you dancing on the table, you’d laugh like it was intentional. Like there weren’t videos of you on people’s phones that’d haunt you at two in the morning for weeks to come. 

“What’s all this?” You asked upon walking into the living room, Mingi stood beside your small kitchen table, rummaging through one of two plastic bags. 

“I ordered food,” he says, pulling out containers from the bag. Setting them down on the table neatly, one on top of another, neat. 

Your brows furrow, walking into the kitchen hesitantly, “Food?”

“I can’t cook,” he looks up at you with a half-smile, “no idea how. But you need to eat, I also got juice for you, and I found ibuprofen in your cabinet–”

“Mingi,” you shake your head, trying to gather your bearings, “what are you doing?”

He holds up a hand, flat palm facing you, features straight and unimpressed. “Don’t start with me, sit down and eat. We’ll talk after there’s food in your stomach.”

You must still be drunk. Limbs feeling heavy, you trudge into the wooden seat, the one with the broken bar that supports the legs. Breakfast food, so much breakfast food, your stomach hurts at the sight of oil and grease, but you need it, you need the juice, too– you sucked that down in record time. 

Silence, other than the sound of chewing and plastic ruffling, it was comfortable. Maybe a little awkward, unless that was your nerves talking which was absolutely plausible, you still sat in fucking confusion. Feeding you, catering to you, taking care of you like he did last night– and he still only had on your shorts. Your powder blue waffle shorts that fit you loose but clung to his muscled, golden, tan-lined thighs like they’d rip at the seams if he moved the wrong way. 

You hate that it’s nice having him here. You hate that you’re letting it happen. 

Pills swallowed, enough food in your stomach to take an hour to digest, the awkwardness grew after cleaning up the table. Both aimlessly pacing the kitchen, pretending to still have something to do, avoiding the conversation that needs to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Mingi–”

“Can I start?”

You sigh, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch.”

Your stomach feels uneasy like you’d throw up every bite as you sit across from him, both taking edges of the couch like you’re scared to get close. You sit on a leg like it’d give you an easy escape if you needed it, despite it being your apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, voice small. Your brows furrow, ready to ask what the hell he’s sorry for, but his lips part instead. “I’m so sorry you were sent messages about me, this has happened before, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me because of them, because people didn’t leave her alone about me.”

“Mingi, it’s not your fault–”

He looks up at you and his glassy eyes kill the words on your tongue. His voice is small, layered with struggle, “We were together for a year. When I posted her, us, she broke up with me within two weeks. We never spoke again.”

Your jaw drops, “Two weeks?”

He nods, “I don’t even think we made it to the fourteenth day, I can’t believe I didn’t think that would happen to you. I guess I thought because our relationship was fake it wouldn’t, but no one knows it was fake, I just didn’t think, again. I let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Ah, and now everything makes sense. “You didn’t need to do all of this because you feel bad. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, I also know when things are out of your hands, and the messages are one-hundred-percent out of your hands.”

His brows furrow after a second, “I didn’t take care of you because of the messages, or because I feel bad. I took care of you because I care about you, I like you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no you don’t. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Huh?” His eyes thin, top lip lifting, “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“I just know, I’ve seen your type, and it’s not me. Which is fine, I don’t–”

“You told me you liked me last night,” he argues.

Your lips flatten. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“What are you? Sixteen years old?” Your face twists, “I’m being realistic and logical, you’re acting on emotion.”

“Well I haven’t felt this much emotion since she broke up with me!” His hands fly up on either side of him, voice strained. “And I’ve missed it, I missed feeling this way. I want to keep feeling this way, about you.”

Your blinks are stuttered, slow. Your lips purse, he might have shocked you into silence. He runs a hand through his hair, face torn up into exasperation, he sighs, one deep and grounding. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you really not want me? There’s not one bone in your body that wishes everything we’ve done the last few weeks was real?”

Your chest is tight. Your lips won’t move, your mind is blank.

“You don’t think you deserve it,” his voice switches to something calm, understanding. “Someone to like you, or care about you, I know. You’re used to guys like him, guys who use your feelings as ammunition. I won’t do that to you.”

You feel like stone. Stuck, still, eyes wide, unblinking. Fear simmers.

He shifts himself closer, eyes pleading. “I was sick when I found out you slept with Wooyoung, I’ve never acted like that before in my life, so jealous and angry, like he was taking you from me. I felt like you were mine, and he was trying to steal you–”

“I asked him to,” you finally speak, rushed and panicked. There’s nothing else left to argue with other than this. “I basically begged him.”

“You were upset,” Mingi shakes his head, “you told me. You said you were upset because of the messages and because I kissed you, you didn’t want to–”

“I needed to,” you try to swallow, throat squeezed tight, “I needed him to. He isn’t kind, he isn’t genuine, he doesn’t hold me like I’m breakable, he wouldn’t do all the shit you did for me last night. He isn’t you, and I needed the reminder. That’s what I deserve, not you.”

“Do you even know what you’ve done for me in the weeks we’ve known each other?” Mingi’s voice is pitched now, layered with raw emotion. “You’ve reminded me what freedom is like. That I can do whatever I want, I’m not a machine, or a puppet for someone else to use. You gave me back myself, is it so ridiculous that I don’t want to let you fucking go?”

“I’m scared,” you blurt it out, two words pulled from so deep in your psyche you can’t believe you said them out loud. “I’m scared to let myself feel anything towards you.”

“You already feel something towards me,” he argues, “a lot of something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t.”

Stunned into silence again, your lips purse. He continues, “I’m not stupid. My vocabulary might not be as big as yours but I’m not stupid, I know you have feelings for me. You can’t hide that no matter how much you want to, how much you try to get it fucked out of you.” He shifts closer. “I’ll show you. Let me kiss you again.”

“Fuck no,” your brows furrow. 

He deadpans, “Let me fuckin’ kiss you.”

“Did you even brush your teeth?”

“Shut up,” he stands up on his knees, too big in front of you, chiseled body on display, your heart drops to your stomach. “Stop deflecting. I see through you now.”

“Mingi–”

His hands find the armrest behind you as you uncurl your leg from beneath you, trying to accumulate space, space you’re quickly losing as he leans closer. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”

Your breath is shallow and shaky, heart in your throat, eyes halfway out of your head. He keeps his face close, forehead a millimeter from yours, you feel his heat first. He’s so big, he swallows your figure, he’s too big for the fucking couch, it’s dizzying. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He smiles before pressing his lips to yours, soft, so fucking delicate it takes you a moment to ease into it, to process that it’s even a kiss. Softer than it was on the field– his lips barely graze yours at first, as if he was testing the waters, like he wanted to feel your breath on his skin, wanted to feel your body say yes before your mouth said the word. Your lips part for him, soft and steady, molding to his, letting him guide, lead. 

He asks for entrance with his tongue, swiping along your bottom lip with a certain courtesy like even though you were following him, letting him show you, you still held the reins. Your insides feel molten, fingers grabbing onto your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them, mind in a constant battle to pick every detail apart or shut off completely. It’s different– it might be everything, laying here and kissing him softly, lazily, like nothing else exists except for him, his weight, his mouth. He tastes like something new, something blue, a memory you’d come back to for a long, long time. 

He parts from you, lips swollen and red like he’d bitten them, he stares. Chocolate eyes big and round, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a pretty rose, he looks at you like he’s just discovered you. Like even though he kissed you to prove something to you, it’s proven something deeper to himself. 

He doesn’t smile, still calculating, but in a quiet voice he asks, “Do you feel it too?”

Your fists are still tight in your shirt, you search his eyes, the way they fall to your lips, you don’t answer— you kiss him again, harder this time, faster, tongue passing through his lips like his mouth belonged to you, like you were running out of time. You shift down on the couch, pillow falling to the floor, his elbows bracket your head as your calves hook over his thighs, moving in unison like your bodies were acting without either of you thinking about it. 

Your hands find his hair when you wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself into him, pressing yourself against him, feeling the strength of him, it makes a tight noise leave your lips, one needy and begging. He rolls his hips into you on instinct and you moan into his mouth like you need him to do it harder.

“Fuck,” he curses into your mouth, lifting himself up on his palms, “wait— wait.” 

“What?” You follow on your elbows, bug-eyed, “Why? What happened?” 

He swallows, panting, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his calves, your legs still thrown lazily over his thighs. The print of his length sits heavy and prominent with his legs spread in your cotton shorts, your eyes flicker back and forth to his face, mouth watering, patience already scarily thin. 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he shakes his head, chest splotchy, tummy expanding with each aborted breath he takes. “I want this, I want you, I want to do it right.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, it’s at war with your dampening panties, your thighs that twitch as the words leave his mouth. His eyes drop to your figure, the big tee you wore hiked up to your stomach, tiny shorts clinging to your dampened core, he squeezes his eyes shut like it’d erase the sight from his memory. 

“You want to stop because you want to take me out on a date?” You ask, brows raised. “We’ve been on, like, two already. Maybe three or four if you squint.” 

He opens his eyes to narrow them, “You’re such a smartass.”

You smile at that, head tilting, cocky, “Clearly you like it, since you wanna date my smart-ass.”

His hands fall to your hips, tugging them towards him until your back is flat against the couch again, “I wanna do more than that.” 

“Then do it,” you huff, hips bucking into him, arms lifting to reach for him, “you’re the one who stopped.” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He asks, leaning forward enough to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, he uses his hands at your waist to lift you up onto his lap. 

You gasp at the movement, at the fucking ease in which he maneuvers you, your knees land beside his hips before you answer. “If you want me to shut the fuck up then give me a reason to.”

“I lied, don’t want you quiet,” he’s looking up at you from this angle and the sight of him steals your breath, makes everything feel a little more real. He’s so beautiful and he wants you and fuck you want him, too. 

“Make up your mind,” you press yourself to his chest, keeping your faces close. “Y’know, you talked big game that night at the LAX house, been wondering if you could back it up.”

His hands tuck beneath your tee, fingers warm against your skin as they drag up your sides, palms landing heavy on your waist, it makes you shiver. He smirks, “Now you’re baiting me into fucking you?”

“Maybe,” your faces are so close your lips graze, “is it working?”

He kisses you again, more feverish than the last, hands squeezing your waist before they drop down to your hips, grinding you against him. You keep your arms folded around his neck, tongue slotting between his lips messily, teeth clashing together as you grind your core against his clothed length, roughly, purposely, letting him feel the arousal that’s bottled up inside. You part to empty strangled noises into each other’s mouths, eyes screwed tight, your hips move steadily in a rhythm guided by his hands. So hard, long and thick beneath you, you could feel him through your shorts, his shorts, there was no stopping. There was no pausing. 

His hands find the hem of your tee, you help him pull it over your head, his lips find your neck, your chest, your head tilts back to give him access, for small, pitched breaths to leave your lips, a song for him to hear. He groans when your hips slow into a nasty grind, his tongue pokes out to drag down your chest, over your heart where he places an open-mouthed kiss. He looks up at you to say, “This is mine now.”

Your heartbeat picks up, he smiles like he can feel it. Brows knitted together, face bent with intoxicated arousal, you respond, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’re technically still dating,” his teeth catch onto the hem of the lace bralette you wore, tugging on it before placing a kiss right above, at the center of the valley between your breasts, “and we’re not breaking up.”

“Are you trying to gaslight me?” You ask, hips still moving against him, fingers knotting in his hair when your clothed clit rolls over the ledge of his tip, “ah– I think we had a very public breakup last night.”

One of his hands slithers over the curve of your hip, down between your thighs, two fingers adding pressure where you needed it. You choke on a moan, back arching, hips digging into the pressure as he grins wide, “I forgave you already. This is make-up sex.”

“More,” your fingers tighten in his hair, eyes squeezing shut, “Mingi.”

“Oh, I like that,” he circles his fingers twice over your clit, smirking, “beg a lil’ more, put that mouth to good use.”

Your eyes open wanting to scowl but your brows are knitted too deeply in pleasure, lips parted and glossy with his spit, you can’t force yourself to as his fingers circle over your clit again. “P-please,” you stutter over the word, hips rolling into his touch, “wanna feel you.”

His face contorts in pleasure like you were the one touching him, he catches your lips again, tongue slotting into your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your shorts. He groans into your mouth as he slips between your folds, feeling the wetness that seeped through your damp shorts, “So wet for me, princess.”

Your hips buck into his hand, body twitching at how thick his fingers feel at your center combined with that fucking word on his tongue. “Feels s’good, more, Mingi, inside.”

“Say please,” the words are muffled, lips still pressed to yours. 

You whisper, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, feeling you clenching around nothing as his fingers prod at your entrance. His eyes flicker upward, “You liked that? Being called my good girl?” 

You nod shamelessly, hips rolling into his fingers, beckoning him to put them inside. Slowly he inches forward and you gasp, breath catching in your throat, fingers tightening in his hair, he curves them with each inch he gives you, adding pressure on that spot as soon as he reaches it, you’re choking on your own pleasure as your hips grind to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“So greedy,” he whispers, completely in awe, “look at you, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers. You gonna be good for me and cum on ‘em?” 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, hips stuttering, his words going straight to the pit in your belly. You’ve never had someone pay this much attention to you or your pleasure, never had someone even insinuate making you cum before they’ve taken their pants off. He crooks his fingers and you whine, “You don’t h-have to, ‘hmygod.”

“Yes I do,” his fingertips massage that spot, fucking into you in small, stuttered thrusts so he can keep pressure, “need you to cum around my fingers, then around my cock, gonna do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” you roll your hips faster, harder, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, his movement trapped within your shorts, the edge of his palm kissing your clit. It’s fucking dirty, nasty the way you’re moving, so shameless, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure you’d be mortified at how easily he cracked your composure. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum around my cock?” He asks, tone arrogant because he knows the answer, “Gonna make a mess on me with this wet lil’ pussy?”

“Mingi,” you whine, “stop.”

“You like it, I can feel you clenching,” he grins, you open your eyes just enough to see it. Cocky, but he’s backing it up and fuck you might die if he stops. “So good for me, bet you’d take anything I give you, bet you’d ask for more.”

The pit of pleasure builds steadily in your gut and you bite your lip to try to keep your mewls inside. It’s futile when he kisses you, drinking up every wrecked moan you spill into his mouth, keeping his fingers moving at the same pace, the same pressure. The rough edge of his palm hitting your clit with each movement and it’s so fucking obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to pull you to the finish line with ease. 

“Mingi,” you gasp out, limbs locking as you climb, “I’m close.”

“I know,” he presses his lips to your chin, under your jaw, “give it to me– cum for me, baby.”

Your hips stutter first before your orgasm crashes over you heavily, body twitching, rolling into him, he moves with you, keeping his hand steady as you ride out your orgasm, chanting praises into the space between you, encouragement that extends your pleasure, the feeling of euphoria that rocks through you never-ending. You keel after you finish, forehead meeting his, body deflating like he took everything out of you, he kisses your unmoving mouth, smiling into you when you don’t respond. 

“Did so good for me,” he pulls his fingers out of your shorts, bringing them up between your faces, slipping them between his lips. He moans in pleasure, “Mm, can’t wait to eat her. You’ll let me, right? You’ll ride my face if I tell you to?”

The pit in your stomach twists all over again, core clenching around nothing, he’s filthy. You love it. “Need you inside,” you mutter, voice tight with arousal but winded, “need to feel you, Min.”

His smile returns, “Can you handle it, big girl? Look at you after just two fingers.” You whine and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, “I can’t believe you’re so easy. You’ve got such a fuckin’ attitude and now you’re whining and crying for my cock.”

“You asked me if I ever shut the fuck up,” you grind yourself against him, bleeding impatience, “do you?”

He makes a sound he keeps lodged in his throat, it makes you smirk. He answers, “Not if it makes you this wet. You soaked through your shorts, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you huff, “fuck me already, ‘m tired of hearing you run your mouth.”

His hands find your thighs, holding onto them tight as he lifts himself up, you fall backwards fast with a loud yelp, back hitting the cushions of the couch. He’s predatory as he leans over you, “This mouth can make you cum faster than my fingers did,” his fingers find the hem of your shorts, “wanna find out?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you lift your hips for him and he tugs them down to your ankles, “save your filthy fuckin’ mouth for another time.”

“There she is,” he stands on his knees, tugging at the baby blue shorts on his hips, “knew the brat was in there somewhere.”

“It only comes out when you’re a cocky motherfuck–” he tugs his shorts down and the word dies on your tongue. Bigger than he felt beneath you, thick, red, leaking, your mouth waters, back arching off the couch at the sight, “Damn.”

He’s smirking and you hate that his cockiness is starting to become sexy. “Gonna take it all like a big girl?”

You’re nodding, not even looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off his cock. Bigger than Wooyoung, than Hyunjin, he might even be bigger than Mingyu and that’s a feat. All you can muster is, “Hurry.”

He settles between your legs, your knees spread under his heavy palms, he licks his lips when he gets eyes on your center. “She’s so pretty, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Woulda been fucking you weeks ago.”

“God, Mingi, shut up,” you buck your hips toward him, “get inside me already.”

“She’s soaked,” he wraps his fist around his cock, sliding it through your folds, rubbing circles over your clit that make you shiver, “so pretty, gonna ruin her. Can I? So you can’t fuck anyone but me?”

Impatience is a band that snaps hard, “Is that why you talk so much? You have a big dick that you don’t even know how to use–”

He wastes no time slipping back down to your entrance and pushing inside, just his tip has your body locking up, head tipping back, a tight, wilted noise slipping out of you involuntarily, it tells him everything you can’t say. He’s smirking even if he’s fighting to keep his own pleasure at bay, “Yeah? I don’t know how to use it? Say that again.”

He’s curved, carving into you like he’d make you take it even if you couldn’t, your walls suck him in like you were made for it, clenching around the width of him, mushroom tip kissing your cervix just enough that it’s pleasurable– you shake your head, biting your fucking tongue, nails clawing at the couch cushions because no one’s ever felt this good just sitting inside you. 

“Exactly,” he pulls out slowly, filling you back up just as slowly, letting you adjust to his length, his thickness, the perfection your mind couldn’t comprehend. “Lay there and take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Fuck, Mingi,” it’s high-pitched, filled with anticipation and slight disbelief. You watch as his abdomen flexes, how his tummy fills with air and deflates, his jaw that goes slack with each thrust, he’s so sexy it hurts. “Faster.”

He picks up speed on command, palms finding your shins, pushing them back into your chest as his cock starts bullying into you, “Like that?”

You can barely choke out a yes, hands flying to his biceps, nails marking crescents into his skin, half-curses fly from your lips drowned out by tight moans, pitched noises when his tip drags over that spot inside you, repeating, “Mingi, Mingi,” like it’s the only word you know. 

“I’m here,” he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, “I got you, know it’s big, baby, you can take it.”

You curse again as he fucks into you harder, back trying to arch but he has you pinned so deep you can’t move, “Mingi!”

He smiles, eyes half-lidded, “That all you can say? Fucked out already? Just started.”

You whimper, legs shaking beneath his palms, he lets go of your shins so he can lean down and kiss you, trading speed for a pace so deep and heavy you can’t kiss back. Moaning straight into his mouth, arms around his neck, you keep him close, legs hooked around his back, “Mingi.”

“Doing so good,” he kisses your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, “pussy so tight, baby, so perfect, gonna have to fuck you every day.”

You sound hypnotized, you might be. “Yes, yes, every day.”

“You know why?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, and when he picks his face back up to kiss you, you kiss him back. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, too distracted and moving to be considered a kiss, but you’re lucid enough to tangle your fingers in his hair, for your hips to start fucking back. 

“Say it,” he whispers in your mouth, edged like a blade. It makes you moan. 

“Yours,” you’re chanting again, “I’m yours, Mingi, I’m yours.”

He groans, hips picking up speed all over again, he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, lips mindlessly pressing against your skin, tongue poking out just to taste the sweat that's formed. He slips an arm between your bodies to press two fingers against your clit and you twitch, a sharp moan escaping you, bucking into him at a pace unsteady and uncontrolled as the pressure builds fast. 

“Mingi!” It’s loud and pitched, “Too much, too much.”

“No ‘ts not,” his words are muffled, lips pressed against your skin, “Take it, cum around my cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum f’me, baby.”

Strangled noises escape you one after another, his fingers circling your clit with practiced movements like he already knew your body inside and out. He’s still talking as pleasure climbs, your fingernails clawing shapes into his back, his rhythm doesn’t change or falter for a second. His words feel mindless, babbles of praise, “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Need to feel you clenching around my cock, say my name, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Mingi,” you don’t sound any more composed than he does, “Mingi, ‘hmygod I’m gonna cum, just for you, all for you.” 

He moans as your pleasure hits its peak, seizing beneath him, legs locking around his body, fingers raking at his back hard enough to leave marks, you’re a mess of moans and cries and whimpers, but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t let up even a little. He’s cursing, hips jerking into you at that same fucking damning pace like his life depended on it, like he refused to give you anything but the entirety of your orgasm. 

You’re still shaking when he pushes himself up, body red and splotchy, veins swollen and prominent and everywhere. “Gonna flip you,” you think he might be saying it to himself more than to you with the way he moves you fully on his own, your front meets the couch with a squeak, body spent, head fuzzy. 

You’re flat against the couch, his legs straddle yours just below your ass, he spreads you to lean down and spit before he’s pushing inside once more. You curse sharply into the pillow, eyes rolling back, hands swatting behind you as he fills you up in one fell swoop. 

He shushes you, two hands grabbing your swatting arms by your wrists, pinning them at the base of your spine, “You can take it. Breathe, princess.” When he moves, you feel like you might never recover. Your wails are muffled by the cushion you buried your face in, the pleasure was different, more, deeper, the way his cock grinds against that spot inside you and you can’t get away– you feel the pressure build like it never stopped, steady, heavy, so euphoric you might not be in your body at all anymore.

“You’re perfect, oh my god,” you hear him behind you, “gonna let me fill you up? Let me mark what’s mine? Fuck, baby, need to fill this perfect pussy up, need to cum inside.”

You dig your fingernails into your palms, kicking at the armrest on the other side of the couch, grinding your teeth, you turn your head just to cry, “Yes, fill me up, inside,” your voice cracks, “please.”

“Clenching around me s’fuckin’ hard,” his voice is rough, “y’gonna cum again?”

You let out a noncommittal sound and he changes the angle ever so slightly, your vision blurs, breath taut in your chest, his cock drilling against that spot like he was aiming for it, you don’t know if the damp spot under your head was from tears or drool. Keeping the angle, the pace, he lets your arms go before leaning over, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shoulderblade, breath hot in your ear, “So fucking perfect, let go f’me, baby.”

The sound you let out in response was from the deepest part of your lungs, a sob, a prayer, you’re so close you can fucking taste it. He presses another kiss to the tip of your spine, leaning over your shoulder again, mouth opening, teeth grazing your skin– when you feel him clamp down in a bite you lose it, trembling, sobbing, fisting the couch cushions with his name on your tongue, “Mingi!” 

“Yes,” in awe again, his hips stutter, “there you go, fuuck– fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” You’re spasming around his length, hips bucking, trying to escape the unending pleasure as his thrusts only get heavier, sloppier, quicker. He keeps himself close, “My perfect girl, y’gonna take every drop? Fuck– fuck, gonna cum, baby, you want it?”

“Yes, Min,” you’re grabbing for him again, nails clawing at his thighs behind you, “fill me up, make me yours. Need you inside.”

One hand snakes under your jaw, turning your head he kisses you sloppily as his hips stutter, groaning a curse into your mouth as he twitches inside you, then he slows, warmth filling you up, ropes of his release heavy, hot, nasty. His breath is short, winded, exhausted, you don’t think yours is any more even. 

“Mingi,” it comes out like a whimper, you feel him twitch inside you, he lets go of your face. A lazy grin takes over your cheeks, eyes closing, “You weren’t lying.”

He laughs, a small, easy thing, lifting himself up. “Why would I lie?”

“Dunno,” you answer absent-mindedly, “make yourself sound better.”

“Baby,” his hands smooth over the skin of your back, he leans down to press a soft kiss in the middle of your spine. Mumbling into your skin like he was too shy to say it with his chest, “I don’t need to do that.”

You hum, “Of course, how could I forget, you’re the entire package.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if you’re fucking with me.”

“Good.”

He smacks his teeth, “I’m gonna pull out, ‘kay?”

You pop a brow at the warning, but as he starts to slip out inch by inch, you’re grateful for his thighs keeping you locked in place because the full-body twitch it gives you is lethal. You whine a little as his spent cock lays still-heavy on your ass, “How do you keep that thing hidden?”

He snorts, “Like in my pants?”

“That’s a weapon,” you’re still twitching beneath him, “and you just used it on me.”

He’s giggling as he shifts himself to be able to carefully flip you over, another movement he does with ease as if you’re some kind of toy. It still makes your stomach curl with warmth, body flushing hot as he lays himself down next to you, sliding an arm under your body, holding you close. “Smells like sex in here.”

You curl into his side, cheek pressed to his bare chest, eyes closing again. “Don’t care.”

“I really like you, you know,” his voice is low but steady, honest, “and I want to be your boyfriend.”

You pick your head up to look at him, his eyes big and round, glossed over like he was nervous to say the words. You reach a hand up, running your fingers through his chocolate locks once before cupping his cheek, guiding him down to press your lips softly against his. “You already are my boyfriend, moron.”

“I mean seriously–”

“And I mean seriously, you’re already my boyfriend,” you raise your brows in expectation, “so no more ogling girls at parties, no more calling me stupid names and no more Winter.”

“I thought you said you’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” there’s a stupid smile on his face, “seems like you got the gist, princess.”

“What did I literally just say–”

“What about the messages?” His question is a little sturdier. 

Your brows furrow, “What about them? I already turned my requests off.”

His brows match yours, “That’s it? It doesn’t turn you off from being with me?”

“I fucked Wooyoung like, two days ago, Mingi,” you smile when he makes a face of disgust, “if you can mentally handle that, I can mentally handle being in the spotlight, as long as its smaller than yours. But if I can’t, I’ll tell you, and we’ll figure it out. Wait, what about your coaches?”

“That is such a non-issue,” he rolls his eyes, “who gives a fuck?”

You make a face of surprised agreement, bottom lip bending over, brows raising, “Sure. Who gives a fuck?”

He smiles, “Cool, I think that’s everything.”

“Cool,” you nuzzle yourself back into his chest, pressing a short kiss to his skin, “by the way, how long until we can fuck again? I’ve been waiting three weeks for this too, y’know.”

masterlist 🏈 part one

this is my soul project. ive never loved another mingi as much as i love this one. if you read all of this, genuinely thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. i could write about him endlessly, my muse fr. i hope you enjoyed and pls dont hesitate to tell me all your thoughts 🩷

It was too confusing, you didn’t have the energy to pick it apart while heaved sobs rip from your throat. Was this a release? Too much emotion built up inside, with nowhere to go? The tears began after picking an argument with a still-drunk Yeosang in the car, pointless, yet you still left him to fend for himself while you ran up the steps to your apartment, still fighting to keep the sobs inside. 

Alone in your living room, sitting hunched over on the couch, face in your palms, you cried. 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 

Your phone lights up, sitting face-up on the coffee table, multiple notifications from the square, pink icon that’s been draining your battery all fucking day. You can only imagine what they say, what vile fucking things are waiting for you, all from real accounts, real people who hate you because of Song Mingi. 

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe you need to keep the release flowing, a devil on your shoulder tells you to unlock your phone and read. You make it through three before your shoulders shake all over again, your phone falling to the floor, you have half a mind to smash the screen so you can’t look even if you wanted to. Curling up onto the couch, you let yourself cry, you sink into the feeling, into the emotion; if you let your brain wander enough, you can still feel his covered palm on your skin, his lips on yours, you can still see his eyes, how he looked at you. So fond, affectionate, so fucking different from any man who has ever looked at you, ever.

There’s a knock at your door, rendering you quiet, sniffing up snot that dared to fall. 

“Hello?” You call out, sounding so unlike yourself you cringe.

Three presses of someone’s knuckles at your door again, you whimper as you push yourself up off the couch to open it. Hand on the knob, you close your eyes, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You hope you don’t look insane. 

Just as another knock sounds, you open it. Standing with his fist out, he wears a blank face, one that warps into confusion then concern as he looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

“I came to get my hoodie,” he shakes his head like that was beside the point. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently?” You sniff again, wiping at your nose with your bare wrist. It’s clear you’ve been crying, are crying, sounding nasally on top of your appearance, you can’t be bothered to care. “What do you want, for real? I know you’re not here for your fuckass hoodie.”

“I broke up with Winter,” he admits easily, too fucking easily. 

There’s no feeling in your gut, no excitement, no disappointment, there’s nothing. Your face reflects it, shoulders shrugging, free arm flying to say okay? You feed him an irritated laugh, “Congratulations?”

“I broke up with her because I miss you,” he tries again, “she isn’t you.”

His hair is messy, undone. Clothes dark, hanging off him, like he rolled out of bed to come here. You study his face, his mismatched eyes, the dot of espresso that sits on the apple of his cheek. There’s nothing unclear about the way he’s looking at you– there’s the hinge in his jaw, his dilated pupils, his slouched shoulders, deflated. Like he didn’t want to admit it, but here he is. 

“No shit,” you sniff again. “What was the plan? You come here, confess your bullshit to me, I take you back, and we live happily ever after?”

“I’m not going to give you a bullshit speech,” his gaze averts to the floor, “I know you have a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know, I needed to get it off my chest.”

You laugh again, and it’s accompanied by disbelief and shock, but what rings truest is understanding. You lean into your door, still wide open, “You don’t have to lie. She found out, didn’t she?”

He glances up, “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“I’m the only one who put up with it,” you correct him, “those days are over.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, straightening again. “What happened?”

“Nothing you give a fuck about.”

He takes a step forward, hands reaching out, but he doesn’t touch you. “I care about everything that involves you. What happened?”

You hold his stare, your jaw locking. Familiarity, routine. Pattern. 

“If I asked you,” your voice comes out shaky, you clear your throat, “to fuck me, would you do it?”

“You have a boyfriend–”

“Would you fucking do it?”

His hand wraps around your jaw, searing your skin, lips smashing onto yours like he was fucking waiting for it. It’s blinding, dizzying how he pushes you backward, kicking the door shut behind him, lips rough and tongue taking, your mind shuts off in a second’s time. Muscle memory kicks in, Mingi’s jersey on the floor, mini skirt hiked up to your waist, panties pushed to the side, this is it. This is everything.

This is all you’ll ever get, and you’ve made peace with it.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” 

Inside, at the very edge of the tunnel, tucked off to the side to avoid lingering eyes, Mingi’s vibrating with excitement, he can’t believe Winter is here and wearing his fucking jersey. He was already excited because they won their game; even if he knew they’d win and it was no surprise to him, Mingi played such a perfect game he was high off adrenaline, off arrogance, like absolutely nothing could go wrong. 

“Of course,” her back is against the wall, her head tucked right under Mingi’s outstretched arm. She wears a cute, dainty smile, almost innocent, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He has to fight his instinct to not tell her about the life he’s imagined for them. “I broke up with Wooyoung, by the way.”

This might be the best day of his fucking life.

“I’m… sorry?” He eases a smile, one that turns into a full-fledged grin when he sees how Winter smiles back.

She giggles, “Don’t be sorry. That night at the bar, she was right.” Winter bites her lip and Mingi wishes he could bite it for her. “Will she be there?” She asks, “Your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Mingi’s brows furrow, then he remembers the bar, and then a picture of you in his passenger seat rushes through his mind. “Oh. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I saw her in your jersey,” she tilts her head to the side, a manicured nail between her teeth, “unfair, she gets the real one, and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Not for long,” it rushes out of his mouth before he can think about it. He chuckles, nervously, “I mean, like, things aren’t really that great between us right now.”

“Oh, really?” Her brows lift in soft surprise, “She seemed kinda… mad, when she saw me in this. I told her I’m a huge fan, but she didn’t seem to like that answer. Does she get jealous often?”

Mingi’s brows furrow, head cocking to the side. Jealous? Mad? 

“What do you mean?”

She giggles, a hand covering her mouth, “I don’t want to paint her in a bad light, or make you guys argue or something.”

“We won’t,” he pulls his arm back to his side, sounding assured, “tell me.”

“She asked me why I was wearing your jersey,” she looks down at her shoes, then back up to him, “she looked really mad, Mingi, like she was seconds away from ripping it off of me or something. I was kinda scared.”

“Huh,” he looks away, he isn’t sure where. You were already acting off when you came down to the field, he could feel it, he could see it on you. How you forced a smile on your face, faked laughter, looked like Lucifer had come to pull you back down to Hell before he kissed you. 

For some reason in his stupid fucking mind, he thought kissing you would make it better. That you’d laugh, call him an asshole, brush it off like it was nothing– selfishly, he wanted it to make it better, he wanted to be the reason why. He wanted to see your smile, the real one, not that fake shit you were putting on so no one would shoot you a second glance. 

You looked like he hurt you instead. He supposes it’s time to break up anyways, if the conversation he’s currently having is any indication, there’s no real reason for you to be together anymore if everything had already worked out. But fear lingered, in the way you looked at him, in how you jumped away from him like he burnt you, it stuck heavy in his mind, scared that you wouldn’t be friends after this. He’s afraid you’ll never speak again. He’s terrified you’re the first real friend he’s ever made.

“I’m okay, though,” she brushes a hand on his chest and he doesn’t like how it feels. “She left me alone after that, that’s why I waited until she left to come see you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he’s speaking, not thinking. “And no, she doesn’t do that often, I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Should he not have kissed you? Did that make everything worse? Did he cross a line, for real?

“I hope she feels better,” Winter smiles, showing off the pearly white teeth hidden behind her glossy lips, “are you doing anything tonight?”

“Yeah, I– um,” he looks around again, moving backward so her hand falls from his chest. Are you mad at him? Should he apologize? “The team is going out to celebrate tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you deserve the celebration for how well you played. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” it’s mindless, absent. 

He walks back to the locker room with furrowed brows and tunnel vision. Opening his locker, pulling out his phone, he doesn’t even take his jersey off before texting you. 

mingi: were having a party tomorrow at the house to celebrate mingi: if u wanted to come mingi: and im sorry for kissing u mingi: idk if i shoulda done that mingi: im sorry mingi: if u want we can break up tomorrow at the party mingi: a lot of people will be there

You stare at the pictures Yeosang sent you. Minutes go by, maybe an hour, you aren’t sure, but you’ve zoomed in on every inch of each picture, and the looming cloud of dread won’t dissipate for shit. You weren’t imagining how he looked at you, how he held you, it was eternalized in pixels on your screen. 

The more you stared, the more you hated it. 

“What’s that?”

You lock your phone, throwing it on the nightstand beside you. “Can you get the fuck out already?” 

He smacks his teeth, “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long, why so mean?” 

“I don’t like you,” you finally turn your head to see him. Eyes low with sleep, dark hair frizzy and sticking out in every which way, shirtless, littered with marks you’ve never been allowed to give him before. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Then why’d you let me stay?” 

“Because you did me a favor,” you run your hands over your face, rubbing at your swollen eyes, “but I have to prepare to break up with my boyfriend tonight, so unless you’re helping me come up with a plan, go.” 

“Just tell him you cheated,” he shrugs, and when you look at him he’s wearing the nastiest of smirks. “Worked for me.” 

“You didn’t even tell me, you fucking asshole,” reaching over, you smack him dead in his chest. “Get out of my apartment.” 

He laughs, slowly sitting up, giving you a pretty view of his spine, the tattoo that sits at the top, the muscles in his shoulders. You hum, head tilting as you stare, he really is pretty. You missed the sight. He turns his head halfway, “Have a smoke with me before I go.” 

You keep your eyes glued to him for a moment, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, he’s still shamelessly naked in your bed. So many things, Jung Wooyoung is, but most of all a complexity you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand. 

You sigh, soft, pleasant, almost. “Okay.” 

On the balcony, you’re in Mingi’s jersey you picked up from your living room floor, the first thing you saw when you realized you needed something on your body to go outside. He’s across from you, boxers on his hips, shirtless, comfortable. Always comfortable with you. 

He turns around to face you while your lips wrap around his cigarette, a Marlboro Red, he takes a second to watch you. His eyes don’t follow the smoke as it leaves your lips, they stay on you, analyzing, thinking. 

“What’s up with you?” He finally asks. “Don’t bullshit me.” 

Face going unchanged, you respond, “I think I like him for real.” 

He stares a second before breaking out in laughter. Hand clutching his stomach, his brows furrow, “So you slept with me because you like your boyfriend?” 

“I slept with you because you’re the opposite of him,” you reach out your arm, two fingers sliding the tobacco into his, “he freaked me out. He kissed— kisses me like he cares about me.”

“I don’t kiss you like I care about you?” 

“You kiss me like you’re saving the nice shit for her,” you huff, craning your neck, stretching your aching muscles. You really went too long without getting laid. 

Wooyoung’s brows wiggle, shoulders shrugging as he brings the cigarette up to his lips like he couldn’t argue with you even if he tried. “You don’t make sense.” 

You sigh, turning to face the balcony, the neighborhood below. So quiet, it was busier closer to campus; here, it was nothing but peace. Warm, not quite humid yet, a clarity in the air you haven’t felt in so long, you let the sunshine beat on your skin, the kelly-green polyester covering it. 

“You don’t need to understand,” you reach out your fingers, he places the cigarette between them. “Being with him is too much exposure, too many eyes on me. You should see my Instagram DMs.” 

“Bad?”

“Worse than bad.” Tilting your head, blowing smoke from your lips, you ask, “Wanna come with me tonight?” 

“To watch you break his heart?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m game,” he takes a step toward you, leaning over the balcony, shoulder touching yours. “Did you know Winter has a thing for him?”

“Yes,” you laugh a little, “you’re late to figuring that one out.” 

He stayed until the cigarette burnt down to the filter, shoving it in the ashtray you bought and kept on the small table in the corner, solely for him. You stayed on the balcony for what felt like forever after he showed himself out— sitting with yourself and your thoughts, flooded with Mingi, the inevitable end a part of you had begun to think might not actually come. 

FIFTH OUTING: THE BREAK UP, FOOTBALL HOUSE. 10:21 PM

Mingi has always been grateful for his height. It’s helped him tremendously, helping his mother much smaller than him, in football, with women. He remembers being a kid and being giddy about holding the caboose of his class’s line because he was the biggest. 

He thinks he’s never been more grateful than he is right now, facing Seungmin, looking over his brown head of hair clearly, effortlessly— you, in his living room, dancing like you didn’t give a fuck. Hair let loose behind you, your top clinging to your body like it was painted on, jeans hugging your swaying hips in a way that made him jealous of black denim. 

You greeted him like you weren’t here to break up with him, a soft hey rolling off your tongue, cheeks already flushed with liquor, shoulders already slouched. Mingi put his beer down on a table littered with empty bottles and hasn't once thought about picking it back up. 

You told him he looked good, apologized for his jersey smelling like cigarettes, which made him quirk a brow in confusion, but he forgave you in the same breath with a little laugh as you stumbled over your feet. 

Drunk. Cute. 

You didn’t mention the kiss, didn’t mention breaking up, you didn’t mention anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. Mingi wasn’t going to remind you, not when you’re blissfully boneless, a smile permanently etched onto your cheeks, there wasn’t a line in your face to be seen. No worries, no stress, no anger, unaware like it was purposeful. You seemed like you needed it. 

“Hello? Mingi?” 

He blinks into focus, eyes back on Seungmin before him who wore furrowed brows and tilted jaw, staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, jutting his chin in the direction of you, making Seungmin turn his head. “Look at her.” 

“You’re sick,” Seungmin looks only for a second before turning back to Mingi whose eyes are glazed over, the younger man’s face rendered flat. “Obsessed.” 

Mingi giggles like he’s proud of it. No denial, no rebuttal, he thinks he might be, just a little, maybe infatuated was the better word. Especially since you’re not mad at him. The nerves he’s felt from last night leading up to when you walked through the door of the football house were full-bodied, eating at every vein below his skin, every organ felt like it wasn’t working right. 

You answered his texts, which should have eased him at least a fraction. 

princess: i kissed you back did i not princess: moron princess: ill be there  princess: and im breaking up with you btw

He couldn’t figure out a response, mostly because a huge part of him wanted to stall breaking up, but he couldn’t figure out why. Or he wouldn’t let himself, he should say, because the answer was staring at him in the fucking face: he likes you. He knows he does, Yeosang’s show confirmed it, forced it to the front of his mind, a life-altering observation— he’s so fucked. 

This is an arrangement. An even exchange, he gets Winter, you get whatever the fuck your plan with Wooyoung is. It dawns on him that he’s never even asked, there are so many things he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, he doesn’t have enough time to say them. You made it clear yesterday that you wanted to break up. 

“Go get her,” Seungmin huffs, “I know you want to.” 

“I don’t dance,” Mingi looks at Seungmin like he’s crazy.

“Why else did you ask Woozi to DJ then?” 

“Fair.” 

Seungmin turns on his heel, toward the kitchen, maybe. Mingi takes one step before he stops in his tracks, eyes blowing wide, body running ice-cold. 

Like a shadow, he was at your back, hands on your hips, smiling like he was supposed to be there. Like you were allowing it. You clearly were, head tilted backward, smile wide as a laugh he couldn’t hear rolled off your lips. God, Mingi can’t even say his name— he’s a roach, a fucking rat that’s lingering around Mingi, waiting for the opportunity to give him diseases or something. 

He finds his feet moving, not aware of himself body slamming people who were minding their own damn business, certainly not aware of the anger that hung in the hinge of his jaw, in his clenched fists. He pulls you by the wrist, your name on his tongue, you barely notice. Hazy eyes finally landing on him, your smile widens, sparkles in your eyes shining brighter, your fingers tighten in the fabric hanging off his shoulders. “Mingi!” 

He eyes Wooyoung over your head, face flat, unimpressed, pissed off. Wooyoung’s smirk is cynical, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, what’s happening. Mingi feels left out and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

“Where have you been?” You’re whining, head tilted to the side, lips pouty even if your body sinks into him more than it ever has before. You’re drunk. 

Mingi eyes dance over to Riyo and Jia, two of your friends, he thinks those are their names. One red-haired and wide-eyed, body rigid with fear as she meets Mingi’s gaze, the other dark-haired and panicked like she was already searching for a distraction, a way to get you out of this situation. 

Wooyoung speaks up before Mingi can get a word out, “Did you two break up yet?” 

Yet. His jaw clenches. Riyo and Jia turn confused. 

“We’re not breaking up,” Mingi responds, “fuck are you talking about?” 

“I need another drink,” you turn around, back leaning into his chest, laying your whole weight on him as your arms reach down to his thighs, palms splayed flat over denim for purchase. “Can we go find cutie Kai? He’ll get me one.” 

He can’t even focus on your hands on him, how mindless you are, he’s so fucking irritated. He ignores you, asking Wooyoung again, “The fuck are you talking about?” 

Wooyoung’s brows raise, smirk growing like he was about to drop a bomb. “Interesting, that’s what she told me this morning,” he takes a step closer to you, “right, baby?” 

“Huh?” You ask, body swaying, Mingi uses two hands on your waist to keep you steady. 

“You’re breaking up with Mingi,” Wooyoung repeats, “that’s why we had sex last night. Right?” 

Sorry if your jersey smells like cigarettes. 

He pushes you forward like you fucking burned him, just enough for you to fall into Wooyoung’s chest instead. Jia and Riyo are side-by-side, watching everything unfold like it was a train wreck they couldn’t look away from. 

“Wait,” hands braced on Wooyoung’s chest, you turn around, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Hold on a second.” 

Wooyoung pulls you into him, arms slithering around your torso like he knows every inch of your body. It makes Mingi sick, or it would if he could feel anything, his body’s numb like it didn’t belong to him anymore. 

“You fucked him?” His voice is pitched like he didn’t believe it. “He cheated on you,” Mingi feels like the three of you are alone, like this isn’t a party full of one hundred something people. “Twice.” 

“I know—”

“Then what, you don’t give a fuck?” His voice is raised, he doesn’t care. “What the fuck was the point then, huh? What the fuck was the point if you were just gonna go back to him?” 

Wooyoung cocks his head, “The point of what?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mingi blurts, “I’m not talking to you.” 

“Mingi,” your jaw drops, “I don’t—”

“You couldn’t wait?” Mingi asks, “Couldn’t at least have the decency to break up with me first before running right back to him?”

“I’m sorry!” 

The apology off your lips makes him stand straighter. It’s pleading, like you’re just asking him to be quiet, to stop, but it seems to screw his head back on his body, his consciousness forcing itself back into his six-foot build with vengeance. 

You call after him as he turns around, walking away as quick as he can, fingers tapping at his sides just to remind himself he has them. This can’t be real, he’s gotta be dreaming, there’s no way in hell that just happened to him. 

Is he just gonna leave you with Wooyoung? Drunk as you are? Is that why you’re so fucking hammered in the first place? You seemed so comfortable in his hold, Mingi wonders if that was you or the alcohol, he could see it in your eyes, the fear of being caught. The confusion, like you didn't understand why Mingi was so angry. 

You probably didn’t. You probably thought he wouldn’t find out, because why would he? You were supposed to break up tonight, be done with each other. A chapter closed. Mingi feels like turning on his heel and pulling you away from him, just to ask you every fucking question he’ll never have the chance to. 

He feels like apologizing. 

He feels like confessing. 

But he’s so fucking pissed he bullies into the kitchen instead, eyes on alert, searching for something he can’t place, anything that will rid him of this dirty fucking feeling. 

It’s full circle, he thinks, as his eyes land on Winter. Sitting on the counter, two guys in front of her, clearly chatting her up. 

Nah. 

Forcing a smile when he gets close enough, his voice carries a warning to the two unnamed, no-faced men. “Hey, beautiful.” They scatter. 

“Should you be calling me that?” She teases, hands gripping the edge of the counter, leaned forward, feet kicking where they hung. Hair pulled up, tiny top, little shorts, she looked bare-faced, natural. Pretty. Good enough. 

“I can’t be honest?” A cocky smirk, a character he hates playing. Approaching her pinned knees, they open, letting him step between them, he takes the silent offer. 

“You can be honest,” she nods, batting her lashes. “But I would rather you be mine.”

He has to force the twinge of disgust out of the back of his throat, tasting like coke-drip and disappointment. He didn't feel this way talking to her last night, Mingi blinks at her before a slow chuckle rolls off his lips. “Smooth.”

“Vodka makes me bold,” she shrugs, winking. “Problem?”

This could work. He could make this work. He has to make this work, actually. “I’m supposed to be the bold one,” he hums, palms landing on her bare knees, so soft beneath his burning skin. Her eyes drop to where their skin meets, but she makes no move to stop him. 

“I didn’t think you were available enough to be,” her eyes flicker upward, “do you have good news for me?” 

He nods, “You won’t believe it, actually.” 

Her brows furrow, smile faltering a little. “What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, nevermind,” Mingi shakes his head, “we don’t have to talk about her, we can talk about us now, finally.” 

They talked. And talked, and talked and fucking talked, Mingi heard every other word, something about her classes and school-air fucking up her makeup. Something about Wooyoung, he thinks, he tuned out after he heard that godforsaken name. Mingi didn’t really care, he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, he hoped you’d find out and feel as shitty as he did right now. 

The tips of Winter’s sandals toyed with his pants, his hands planted on the counter, on either side of her thighs. He was so close to scoring he could taste it, this was the right outcome, the whole purpose. This is what he should have been focused on the entire time. 

“Bro,” Jaemin snaps him into focus, a pest at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Your girlfriend’s on a table.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Mingi shoves his hand off, but then the words sink in. He cranes his neck, “A table?” 

“She’s dancing on a fucking table,” Jaemin confirms, laughing like it’s funny. Like you aren’t piss-drunk and surrounded by people who don’t care about you. 

Mingi doesn’t even look at Winter again before he’s moving. Rushing past bodies, physically moving them out of his way as he follows the sound of cheering into the dining room, he can see you over everyone’s heads. No, this is full-circle, he thinks for just a moment at the entryway, here you are, in his dining room where the plotting truly began, where Mingi first lost his mind over the girl he could give two fucks about right now. 

Dancing, swaying your hips to whatever song is playing, something pop with heavy bass from the early two-thousands, it’s deaf on his ears. Arms above your head, smile absent, eyes absent, you aren’t even in your fucking body and everyone surrounding you is cheering you on. Mingi’s sick and he can feel every tapered edge of it. 

Bodies are glued together, phones out, he smacks two out of the air as he forces his way past. He spots Jongho and Yeosang, the only two trying to get you down, arms reaching out in caution, faces stressed beyond what they should be at a party. 

Mingi meets the edge of the table and he catches Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye, standing up against the wall, watching, smirking. Like he was loving every second of this. Like you wouldn’t want to rip your fucking hair out when you wake up tomorrow. Somehow it pisses him off worse that he’s watching you like this was reality TV, as if you’re not a real person, someone he slept with last night. He shivers. Rage runs deep.

“Mingi!” Jongho yells across the table, “Thank god you’re here, please get her down.” 

Bare feet— where the fuck did your shoes go? Hair stuck to you, shirt splotched with wetness, probably liquor, maybe worse. There’s bottles on the table, grinders open and full of weed, puddles of water, beer, solo cups from a game of pong. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, panic, like he was responsible for you, for this. 

“Get down,” his voice stands out amongst the music, the cheers. Louder, heavy with direction, order. Like he’s on the field. 

Your head spins in every direction like you weren’t sure where the sound came from. Even now, irritated and shocked beyond belief, he softens at the sight of you. “Please, baby, get down,” his voice is layered with worry as you finally meet his gaze, eyes glossed over, smile lazy and gone. Holy shit. 

“You’re mad at me,” you drop down to your knees, pouting, fuck this table big enough to seat half the goddamn team, stopping him from pulling you away from each and every pair of eyes. 

“No I’m not,” he shakes his head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not mad at you, I just want you to come to me.” 

On all fours, you start crawling across the fucking table, a lazy grin taking over like you didn’t have any eyes on you, so unaware that Mingi’s anxious. Head tilting, a split of consciousness entering your vision, you ask, “You want me?”

He swallows, nodding, a palm reaching out for you, “Yeah, I do.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a shadow of black leaving the room. He doesn’t look, keeping his eyes on you, each agonizing second of your arms and knees pushing you forward, not a semblance of haste to your movements. 

You reach out your arm when he’s close enough to grab your hand and he pulls you the rest of the way, hearing the slick sound of black denim sliding against shiny oak, he isn’t fucking thinking as he bends at his knees and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp, body deadweight over his back before your legs bend up in front of him, bare feet covered in a layer of grime, wet and sprinkled with god knows what. He sighs. 

“Put me down!” You yell, your tiny hands flat against his back, pushing yourself up. 

He turns, one arm holding your legs down, hauling you out of that room faster than he’s ever sprinted down a field. He spots Kai across the living room, a head of blonde hair standing tall over the crowd, the only face easy to spot at his full height. 

“Huening!” He shouts. Kai’s brows furrow when he sees him, bending into bewilderment when he sees you over his shoulder. “Get me my keys.”

“You drink?”

“Get me my keys, Kai.”

He feels you smacking his back, yelling something unintelligible as he hauls you through the living room, through the front door, the air outside no fucking relief to the sweat forming at the base of his spine. Down the lawn, to his car that’s parked at the edge of the street, he puts you down on the hood with a muddled grunt from the back of his throat. 

You lay back as soon as your ass meets steel. Eyes closed, head turned to the side, your arms straight out on either side of you, you heave a breath and mumble, “I’m s’fucking drunk.”

Mingi didn’t realize he was out of breath until he leaned into the side of the car, elbows resting on the roof plate. He laughs, a small one, full of disbelief and utter shock. “No shit.”

“You called me baby again,” your eyes peek open to point at him with a weak, bent arm, “you were nervous.”

Mingi feels seen. He squints, “You were gonna fall off the table, I had to get you down, of course I was nervous.”

“You like me,” you sing, arm falling back down to the steel with a smack, dopey grin on your cheeks. “You like me for realsies.”

Mingi snorts, pulling his arms off the roof of his car to step to the side, palms landing on the hood to lean forward. Your hand sways through thick air before your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist, “I like you too, even though you’re kind of rude.”

He wills his heartbeat calm. “You think I’m rude?”

“You’re so rude,” the words slur together, his lips tighten at the sound. You open your eyes again, “Wanna fuck on the car?” 

Mingi cracks a laugh, a belly laugh he couldn’t hold back, “What the fuck?”

You laugh with him, loud and obnoxious, the arch of your back lifting off the car, head turning to the opposite side before it snaps back to look at him. “Just a question,” you sing again, “jus’wonderin’.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He waits for your slurred mhm. “Did you really fuck Wooyoung?”

You suddenly frown, “Yeah, he caught me at a real vulnerable time. Do y’know what vulnerable means?”

He shakes his head, “Yes.”

“Means exposed. He caught me crying ‘cus you kissed me and you were nice and your Instagram army was calling me crazy shit.” Your eyes open all the way, “They’re wild on there, did you know that?”

“People are messaging you about me?”

You choke on a laugh, “So many people.” 

“Let me see–”

You scoff, “Fuck no.”

“Song!” 

He hears Kai shout from the tip of the lawn, Mingi turns and Kai throws his keys across the green, landing perfectly in Mingi’s palm like he aimed for it. “Thanks,” he yells back up, and Kai nods once before turning back inside. 

“Can you get up on your own or am I putting you in the car?” He receives nothing but a groan in response, a turn of your head in the opposite direction. He sighs. “Come on, you can’t even sit up?”

You turn your head back to him, “Why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to,” he says it like it’s obvious. 

“They’re gonna kill me for it,” you grumble, “they’re gonna kill me and it will be your fault.”

“No one’s killing you–”

“Did you like it?” You’re blinking at him, knees opening and closing like you needed to move to remind yourself you’re conscious, "Kissing me?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re so–”

“Tell me now.”

Mingi sighs, taking his eyes off you to look at the trees across from the football house. Tall, shadows filling space between them, calm. The music inside is muffled, bass still vibrating the ground beneath his feet. The confession sits heavy on his tongue. Fuck it. 

“Yeah I did,” he says it in one breath before he looks down at you again. Your brows are upturned, a pout on your lips, watching him until you hear what he says, then you smile. 

“Yay,” the word is light, cute. Then you look as if reality snapped back into you, “Damn, I probably shouldn’t have fucked him, huh?”

Mingi snorts as he walks around the front of his car, grabbing you by your wrists one after another, pulling you upward. “No,” he says, shaking his head, but his smile stays, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, then bring your hand up to your forehead, groaning. “Fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“I’m taking you home.” He scoops you off his hood, an arm curled under your knees and another holding your back until he’s got you next to the passenger door, letting your feet touch the grass beside the curb. Opening the door, one hand still on your waist, he says, “Get in.”

Your body is a mess of tucked angles as you quite literally fall into his passenger seat, Mingi has to fasten your seatbelt for you when he finally gets in the driver’s seat. You smell like liquor, cigarettes, sweat– he rolls the windows down and you stick your head out like a dog. 

Twenty minutes to your apartment, no music, just Mingi and his thoughts. He thinks about her, his first girlfriend after he started becoming known, how the long-term relationship ended so soon after going public. Comments, DMs on every platform, it didn’t matter what revisions she made to her social media, the words still made it to her eyes, her ears. Nasty, disgusting, vile words and not one of them was true, Mingi hasn’t spoken to her since they broke up. She hates him, down to his core because of something he had no control over. It’s what put his wall up in the first place, made of brick, of steel, a wall so thick it didn’t let any emotion in, only desire. 

He can’t imagine what’s sitting in your phone. Terror lives in his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, bottom lip tight between his teeth, brows furrowed in thought, in remorse. He didn’t think you’d be affected by his status since your relationship was fake, an oversight, one he regrets already. 

“You awake?” He parks just outside of your apartment, but your head doesn’t move off the window frame. 

“No.”

He reaches over, unbuckling your seatbelt, “Come on, drunkie.”

You moan something belligerent, picking your head up slowly, the seatbelt going over your head, stuck around your arm. Mingi can’t help but laugh as he rolls the window up, turning off the car, he expects to have to haul your ass inside. You let him, deadweight in his hold, your bare feet crossing over one another with each step, all the way up to the second floor. Thank god your building has an elevator.

“Key?” He asks. You point to the mat on the floor, eyes half open. He flattens his lips. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to change that.” 

You stand on your own long enough for him to get the door open, and he’s on alert this time, taking in his surroundings. The last time he was here he didn’t walk past the threshold, but now that he’s in, he can smell you everywhere. A large mirror next to the TV surrounded by plants, a tall lamp in the corner, a cozy couch set cream-colored. A coffee table filled with books, an unlit candle and his jersey thrown over it, your apartment screamed comfort, peaceful. 

His eyes squint at the Lego sets under your TV. An open shelved media console, a polaroid camera, a record player with flowers, a starry night painting, all Legos, it’s all he could pick out until you start moaning and groaning again.

“Uh-uh,” he grabs you by the wrist when you start making for the couch, “your ass is taking a shower. Where is it?”

You gasp, staring down at your feet, wrist limp in his palm. Your toes wiggle as you ask, “Where are my shoes?” You look back up at him wide-eyed, “I had shoes on, didn’t I?”

“I’ll find them at the house tomorrow,” he pulls you closer by the wrist, “come on, drunkie. Shower time.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” your top lip lifts, “you have better ones. Why are you here?”

“To get you into bed,” he starts leading you toward the entryway to his right, a small walkway he can only pray holds a bathroom at the end. “You smell like a brewery.”

You smile, following behind him like this was his apartment and not yours. There’s movie posters, framed paintings, decor on your walls he stores for later as more questions come to mind. He notes how clean and sophisticated you decorated, minus the closet door left open with clothes strewn about like you tore it apart before going out tonight. The bathroom tucked in the back corner is worse, makeup scattered across the vanity, pairs of shorts and underwear littered the white tile, you didn’t seem to mind as you walked in right behind him.

“Do I have to?” You sit on the closed toilet, back bending over the tank, head hitting the wall with a thump. 

He opens the shower curtain, turning it on, heating it up instead of answering. You giggle, more of a single sound of amusement, legs spread out in front of you, body molded to the shape of the toilet.

“Fine,” your grumble is somehow still amused, and Mingi swears it takes five whole minutes for you to stand up, toying with your skinny studded belt as your feet stumble over tile, fingers missing the prongs like you couldn’t get a grip.

He sighs again, sitting down on the toilet instead, “C’mere.”

Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, standing between his legs, body still swaying. He steadies you with two hands on your thighs and you lean into him, his touch, voice filled with pleased confusion, “You’re being nice to me.”

“I want to be nice to you,” he glances up at you, face flushed, eyes low, hair a mess. So vulnerable, a new word in his dictionary, to see you like this, for you to act this way in front of him. He wonders how much of it has to do with the messages in your phone. 

“Nice is scary,” you whisper as he starts undoing your belt, pushing the prongs out of leather, your grip stays tight on his shoulders. “You scared me when you kissed me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he pulls leather through the loops of denim, throwing it on the floor. “Button?”

You nod, body swaying again, he holds you upright with his fingers tucked in the hem of your jeans. “No one has ever kissed me like that before,” you’re still whispering like you’re telling him a secret. He looks up after getting your zipper down, seeing your glassy eyes, your dilated pupils. Pretty. 

“I think that’s how you should be kissed,” the answer comes quickly, easily. Honest. 

Your hands find the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, throwing it to the floor beside you. He fights to keep his eyes on yours. Your forearms sit on his shoulders this time, finding them like magnets as you flip your hair over your shoulder, out of your face. He swallows, breath catching in his throat, “You should get in the shower, don’t waste water.”

“You didn’t like me when you met me.” It’s not a question, but an observation. A memory. 

He counters, “You didn’t like me either.”

“You were an asshole.”

“You’re sober enough to get in the shower–”

“What changed?” You ask, words sounding fragile, like you were scared of the answer.

“Everything,” he smiles halfway, leaning back an inch. The room feels hotter, steam taking up space, the sound of the shower hitting the tub a small hum, his ears ring with the quiet. “Most of all, me, I think.”

You’re looking at him differently, like you’re trying to figure something out. You reach up to his hair, pushing it out of his face, your touch featherlight, so delicate a shiver shoots through him like a firework. Your fingers glide over his temple, his cheek, you press your palm flat against his cheekbone, he leans some of his weight onto it, he lets you toy with him like he’s yours to do as you please. There’s a part of him that thinks he is, even if it’s fucked up, even if the two of you are still somewhere in purgatory.

“Pretty,” you mumble, a mindless word. “I can understand why they hate me.”

His bottom lip curls, “I’m so sorry–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not your fault.”

His lungs twist hard enough to steal his breath. His hands find your hips, pulling you forward until his forehead meets the heat of your abdomen; so soft under him, fragile in his hold, you have no idea how long he’s waited to hear those words, no idea the weight they hold. No idea the guilt that lives glued to his spine. 

Your hands find his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, holding him against you like it’s where you wanted him, where he’s supposed to be. He thinks it’s where he’s supposed to be, too. He picks his head up only to place a kiss against your skin, a soft press of his lips over your stomach, it holds everything he can’t say to you right now. He hopes you can feel it. 

Your knees buckle a little, fingers stalling in his hair, he hears the breath you suck in, feels how you bend into him. “I’m drunk, don’t make me horny, I’ll jump you.”

He snorts, your words pulling a laugh straight from his gut, he leans back to look up at you, your fingers still in his hair. You’re smiling, lazy and stupid, but then you break away from him, thumbs tucked into your jeans like you’re about to shove them down. 

“Hold on, damn.” He stands on weak knees, quickly skipping out of the bathroom, he peeks his head back in just before closing the door. “Be careful. Shout if you need anything.”

“You’ll stay?” Your face is round with supplication. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey.”

Your nose twitches. 

“Wake up, it’s after twelve.”

Your top lip curls. 

“Wake up, I’m getting bored.”

You peek an eye open as your whole face tightens up, hands finding your cheeks, rubbing your eyes awake. Your stomach hurts, your knees feel sore, you grumble out a curse as your body stretches itself into consciousness.

“She’s alive.”

You pause, peeking over your fingertips to Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. Dark hair messy on his head, shirtless, a pair of your shorts painted onto his thighs. You’re too confused to laugh at the sight. 

“What the fuck?” You ask, voice laced with sleep, face scrunched up beyond recognition. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Come on,” he frowns, “you didn’t even throw up, there’s no way you blacked out. Think, smart girl.”

You blink at him, letting the memories come back one after another. Wooyoung, shots, shots, shots, table, car, bathroom, bed. Mingi’s head on your stomach. Mingi’s lips on your skin. 

“Oh, shit.” You sit up on your elbows, eyes on your bedspread, still blinking crust out of your vision, “Oh, shit.”

Mingi huffs a noise of amusement through his nose, “Still confused?”

You shake your head, heart picking up speed in your chest. Your head feels heavy, stomach nauseous, limbs tingly with leftover alcohol in your blood. You look up at him, “Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to stay,” he shrugs, like that was the most normal thing in the world. Like he’s stayed over a thousand times before. 

“So you stayed?” Your brows stay knitted together, confused, confused confused confused. 

“So I stayed,” he nods, “how do you feel?”

“Like dog shit.”

“Sounds about right,” he’s smiling but he’s trying to hide it. It makes your lips twitch upward. “You remember dancing on my dining room table?”

Your eyes close, lips flat, brows raised. “Yup,” you nod, “unfortunately, I do.”

“Remember asking to fuck on my car?”

Your eyes shoot open, tone full of disbelief, “No.”

“You’re funny,” he chuckles, laying flat on his back at the edge of your bed. “You’re always funny, but you’re an especially funny drunk. It was cute when I wasn’t terrified you were gonna die.”

“The scaries are gonna haunt me for weeks,” you push yourself up, forehead meeting your palms. “Fuck.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” he sounds coy all of the sudden, nervous. Shy. 

You nod, “Let me shower again, eat something, drink a bottle of water. I feel like a fucking zombie.”

After cursing yourself out under your breath upon entering your messy bathroom, half your shower was spent with your forehead pressed to the wall, somehow cooling down your body temperature while steaming water soaked away all your shame. You ran through the events last night over and over, a little fuzzy at the edges, but each and every damning moment was crystal clear. You dried yourself off, completed your routine all with the same thought in mind: What the hell does he want to talk about?

It’s not like he likes you for real. You’d never work– your past is too messy, your current state is too messy, actually. He needs someone with a clean record, a nice, pretty girl who dresses in dainty clothes, someone who says please and thank you– that’s his goddamn destiny, a girl like Winter. Reserved, bashful, composed, you wonder if she’s ever said a curse word out loud, she’s nothing like you. She’s someone the internet would love, his coaches would love, his family would probably love, not that you know anything about his family.

You’re getting ahead of yourself— you’re spiraling. The only outcome of this conversation is that tension ran high, he was kind enough to take care of you when you were drunk, you’d go back to normalcy in an hour. Maybe Wooyoung’s free later tonight, he’d make a snide comment about you dancing on the table, you’d laugh like it was intentional. Like there weren’t videos of you on people’s phones that’d haunt you at two in the morning for weeks to come. 

“What’s all this?” You asked upon walking into the living room, Mingi stood beside your small kitchen table, rummaging through one of two plastic bags. 

“I ordered food,” he says, pulling out containers from the bag. Setting them down on the table neatly, one on top of another, neat. 

Your brows furrow, walking into the kitchen hesitantly, “Food?”

“I can’t cook,” he looks up at you with a half-smile, “no idea how. But you need to eat, I also got juice for you, and I found ibuprofen in your cabinet–”

“Mingi,” you shake your head, trying to gather your bearings, “what are you doing?”

He holds up a hand, flat palm facing you, features straight and unimpressed. “Don’t start with me, sit down and eat. We’ll talk after there’s food in your stomach.”

You must still be drunk. Limbs feeling heavy, you trudge into the wooden seat, the one with the broken bar that supports the legs. Breakfast food, so much breakfast food, your stomach hurts at the sight of oil and grease, but you need it, you need the juice, too– you sucked that down in record time. 

Silence, other than the sound of chewing and plastic ruffling, it was comfortable. Maybe a little awkward, unless that was your nerves talking which was absolutely plausible, you still sat in fucking confusion. Feeding you, catering to you, taking care of you like he did last night– and he still only had on your shorts. Your powder blue waffle shorts that fit you loose but clung to his muscled, golden, tan-lined thighs like they’d rip at the seams if he moved the wrong way. 

You hate that it’s nice having him here. You hate that you’re letting it happen. 

Pills swallowed, enough food in your stomach to take an hour to digest, the awkwardness grew after cleaning up the table. Both aimlessly pacing the kitchen, pretending to still have something to do, avoiding the conversation that needs to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Mingi–”

“Can I start?”

You sigh, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Couch.”

Your stomach feels uneasy like you’d throw up every bite as you sit across from him, both taking edges of the couch like you’re scared to get close. You sit on a leg like it’d give you an easy escape if you needed it, despite it being your apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, voice small. Your brows furrow, ready to ask what the hell he’s sorry for, but his lips part instead. “I’m so sorry you were sent messages about me, this has happened before, my ex-girlfriend broke up with me because of them, because people didn’t leave her alone about me.”

“Mingi, it’s not your fault–”

He looks up at you and his glassy eyes kill the words on your tongue. His voice is small, layered with struggle, “We were together for a year. When I posted her, us, she broke up with me within two weeks. We never spoke again.”

Your jaw drops, “Two weeks?”

He nods, “I don’t even think we made it to the fourteenth day, I can’t believe I didn’t think that would happen to you. I guess I thought because our relationship was fake it wouldn’t, but no one knows it was fake, I just didn’t think, again. I let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Ah, and now everything makes sense. “You didn’t need to do all of this because you feel bad. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, I also know when things are out of your hands, and the messages are one-hundred-percent out of your hands.”

His brows furrow after a second, “I didn’t take care of you because of the messages, or because I feel bad. I took care of you because I care about you, I like you.”

“No,” you shake your head, “no you don’t. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Huh?” His eyes thin, top lip lifting, “Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“I just know, I’ve seen your type, and it’s not me. Which is fine, I don’t–”

“You told me you liked me last night,” he argues.

Your lips flatten. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“What are you? Sixteen years old?” Your face twists, “I’m being realistic and logical, you’re acting on emotion.”

“Well I haven’t felt this much emotion since she broke up with me!” His hands fly up on either side of him, voice strained. “And I’ve missed it, I missed feeling this way. I want to keep feeling this way, about you.”

Your blinks are stuttered, slow. Your lips purse, he might have shocked you into silence. He runs a hand through his hair, face torn up into exasperation, he sighs, one deep and grounding. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you really not want me? There’s not one bone in your body that wishes everything we’ve done the last few weeks was real?”

Your chest is tight. Your lips won’t move, your mind is blank.

“You don’t think you deserve it,” his voice switches to something calm, understanding. “Someone to like you, or care about you, I know. You’re used to guys like him, guys who use your feelings as ammunition. I won’t do that to you.”

You feel like stone. Stuck, still, eyes wide, unblinking. Fear simmers.

He shifts himself closer, eyes pleading. “I was sick when I found out you slept with Wooyoung, I’ve never acted like that before in my life, so jealous and angry, like he was taking you from me. I felt like you were mine, and he was trying to steal you–”

“I asked him to,” you finally speak, rushed and panicked. There’s nothing else left to argue with other than this. “I basically begged him.”

“You were upset,” Mingi shakes his head, “you told me. You said you were upset because of the messages and because I kissed you, you didn’t want to–”

“I needed to,” you try to swallow, throat squeezed tight, “I needed him to. He isn’t kind, he isn’t genuine, he doesn’t hold me like I’m breakable, he wouldn’t do all the shit you did for me last night. He isn’t you, and I needed the reminder. That’s what I deserve, not you.”

“Do you even know what you’ve done for me in the weeks we’ve known each other?” Mingi’s voice is pitched now, layered with raw emotion. “You’ve reminded me what freedom is like. That I can do whatever I want, I’m not a machine, or a puppet for someone else to use. You gave me back myself, is it so ridiculous that I don’t want to let you fucking go?”

“I’m scared,” you blurt it out, two words pulled from so deep in your psyche you can’t believe you said them out loud. “I’m scared to let myself feel anything towards you.”

“You already feel something towards me,” he argues, “a lot of something. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you didn’t.”

Stunned into silence again, your lips purse. He continues, “I’m not stupid. My vocabulary might not be as big as yours but I’m not stupid, I know you have feelings for me. You can’t hide that no matter how much you want to, how much you try to get it fucked out of you.” He shifts closer. “I’ll show you. Let me kiss you again.”

“Fuck no,” your brows furrow. 

He deadpans, “Let me fuckin’ kiss you.”

“Did you even brush your teeth?”

“Shut up,” he stands up on his knees, too big in front of you, chiseled body on display, your heart drops to your stomach. “Stop deflecting. I see through you now.”

“Mingi–”

His hands find the armrest behind you as you uncurl your leg from beneath you, trying to accumulate space, space you’re quickly losing as he leans closer. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”

Your breath is shallow and shaky, heart in your throat, eyes halfway out of your head. He keeps his face close, forehead a millimeter from yours, you feel his heat first. He’s so big, he swallows your figure, he’s too big for the fucking couch, it’s dizzying. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He smiles before pressing his lips to yours, soft, so fucking delicate it takes you a moment to ease into it, to process that it’s even a kiss. Softer than it was on the field– his lips barely graze yours at first, as if he was testing the waters, like he wanted to feel your breath on his skin, wanted to feel your body say yes before your mouth said the word. Your lips part for him, soft and steady, molding to his, letting him guide, lead. 

He asks for entrance with his tongue, swiping along your bottom lip with a certain courtesy like even though you were following him, letting him show you, you still held the reins. Your insides feel molten, fingers grabbing onto your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them, mind in a constant battle to pick every detail apart or shut off completely. It’s different– it might be everything, laying here and kissing him softly, lazily, like nothing else exists except for him, his weight, his mouth. He tastes like something new, something blue, a memory you’d come back to for a long, long time. 

He parts from you, lips swollen and red like he’d bitten them, he stares. Chocolate eyes big and round, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a pretty rose, he looks at you like he’s just discovered you. Like even though he kissed you to prove something to you, it’s proven something deeper to himself. 

He doesn’t smile, still calculating, but in a quiet voice he asks, “Do you feel it too?”

Your fists are still tight in your shirt, you search his eyes, the way they fall to your lips, you don’t answer— you kiss him again, harder this time, faster, tongue passing through his lips like his mouth belonged to you, like you were running out of time. You shift down on the couch, pillow falling to the floor, his elbows bracket your head as your calves hook over his thighs, moving in unison like your bodies were acting without either of you thinking about it. 

Your hands find his hair when you wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself into him, pressing yourself against him, feeling the strength of him, it makes a tight noise leave your lips, one needy and begging. He rolls his hips into you on instinct and you moan into his mouth like you need him to do it harder.

“Fuck,” he curses into your mouth, lifting himself up on his palms, “wait— wait.” 

“What?” You follow on your elbows, bug-eyed, “Why? What happened?” 

He swallows, panting, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his calves, your legs still thrown lazily over his thighs. The print of his length sits heavy and prominent with his legs spread in your cotton shorts, your eyes flicker back and forth to his face, mouth watering, patience already scarily thin. 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he shakes his head, chest splotchy, tummy expanding with each aborted breath he takes. “I want this, I want you, I want to do it right.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, it’s at war with your dampening panties, your thighs that twitch as the words leave his mouth. His eyes drop to your figure, the big tee you wore hiked up to your stomach, tiny shorts clinging to your dampened core, he squeezes his eyes shut like it’d erase the sight from his memory. 

“You want to stop because you want to take me out on a date?” You ask, brows raised. “We’ve been on, like, two already. Maybe three or four if you squint.” 

He opens his eyes to narrow them, “You’re such a smartass.”

You smile at that, head tilting, cocky, “Clearly you like it, since you wanna date my smart-ass.”

His hands fall to your hips, tugging them towards him until your back is flat against the couch again, “I wanna do more than that.” 

“Then do it,” you huff, hips bucking into him, arms lifting to reach for him, “you’re the one who stopped.” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He asks, leaning forward enough to let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, he uses his hands at your waist to lift you up onto his lap. 

You gasp at the movement, at the fucking ease in which he maneuvers you, your knees land beside his hips before you answer. “If you want me to shut the fuck up then give me a reason to.”

“I lied, don’t want you quiet,” he’s looking up at you from this angle and the sight of him steals your breath, makes everything feel a little more real. He’s so beautiful and he wants you and fuck you want him, too. 

“Make up your mind,” you press yourself to his chest, keeping your faces close. “Y’know, you talked big game that night at the LAX house, been wondering if you could back it up.”

His hands tuck beneath your tee, fingers warm against your skin as they drag up your sides, palms landing heavy on your waist, it makes you shiver. He smirks, “Now you’re baiting me into fucking you?”

“Maybe,” your faces are so close your lips graze, “is it working?”

He kisses you again, more feverish than the last, hands squeezing your waist before they drop down to your hips, grinding you against him. You keep your arms folded around his neck, tongue slotting between his lips messily, teeth clashing together as you grind your core against his clothed length, roughly, purposely, letting him feel the arousal that’s bottled up inside. You part to empty strangled noises into each other’s mouths, eyes screwed tight, your hips move steadily in a rhythm guided by his hands. So hard, long and thick beneath you, you could feel him through your shorts, his shorts, there was no stopping. There was no pausing. 

His hands find the hem of your tee, you help him pull it over your head, his lips find your neck, your chest, your head tilts back to give him access, for small, pitched breaths to leave your lips, a song for him to hear. He groans when your hips slow into a nasty grind, his tongue pokes out to drag down your chest, over your heart where he places an open-mouthed kiss. He looks up at you to say, “This is mine now.”

Your heartbeat picks up, he smiles like he can feel it. Brows knitted together, face bent with intoxicated arousal, you respond, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“We’re technically still dating,” his teeth catch onto the hem of the lace bralette you wore, tugging on it before placing a kiss right above, at the center of the valley between your breasts, “and we’re not breaking up.”

“Are you trying to gaslight me?” You ask, hips still moving against him, fingers knotting in his hair when your clothed clit rolls over the ledge of his tip, “ah– I think we had a very public breakup last night.”

One of his hands slithers over the curve of your hip, down between your thighs, two fingers adding pressure where you needed it. You choke on a moan, back arching, hips digging into the pressure as he grins wide, “I forgave you already. This is make-up sex.”

“More,” your fingers tighten in his hair, eyes squeezing shut, “Mingi.”

“Oh, I like that,” he circles his fingers twice over your clit, smirking, “beg a lil’ more, put that mouth to good use.”

Your eyes open wanting to scowl but your brows are knitted too deeply in pleasure, lips parted and glossy with his spit, you can’t force yourself to as his fingers circle over your clit again. “P-please,” you stutter over the word, hips rolling into his touch, “wanna feel you.”

His face contorts in pleasure like you were the one touching him, he catches your lips again, tongue slotting into your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your shorts. He groans into your mouth as he slips between your folds, feeling the wetness that seeped through your damp shorts, “So wet for me, princess.”

Your hips buck into his hand, body twitching at how thick his fingers feel at your center combined with that fucking word on his tongue. “Feels s’good, more, Mingi, inside.”

“Say please,” the words are muffled, lips still pressed to yours. 

You whisper, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, feeling you clenching around nothing as his fingers prod at your entrance. His eyes flicker upward, “You liked that? Being called my good girl?” 

You nod shamelessly, hips rolling into his fingers, beckoning him to put them inside. Slowly he inches forward and you gasp, breath catching in your throat, fingers tightening in his hair, he curves them with each inch he gives you, adding pressure on that spot as soon as he reaches it, you’re choking on your own pleasure as your hips grind to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“So greedy,” he whispers, completely in awe, “look at you, baby, fucking yourself on my fingers. You gonna be good for me and cum on ‘em?” 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, hips stuttering, his words going straight to the pit in your belly. You’ve never had someone pay this much attention to you or your pleasure, never had someone even insinuate making you cum before they’ve taken their pants off. He crooks his fingers and you whine, “You don’t h-have to, ‘hmygod.”

“Yes I do,” his fingertips massage that spot, fucking into you in small, stuttered thrusts so he can keep pressure, “need you to cum around my fingers, then around my cock, gonna do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” you roll your hips faster, harder, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, his movement trapped within your shorts, the edge of his palm kissing your clit. It’s fucking dirty, nasty the way you’re moving, so shameless, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure you’d be mortified at how easily he cracked your composure. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum around my cock?” He asks, tone arrogant because he knows the answer, “Gonna make a mess on me with this wet lil’ pussy?”

“Mingi,” you whine, “stop.”

“You like it, I can feel you clenching,” he grins, you open your eyes just enough to see it. Cocky, but he’s backing it up and fuck you might die if he stops. “So good for me, bet you’d take anything I give you, bet you’d ask for more.”

The pit of pleasure builds steadily in your gut and you bite your lip to try to keep your mewls inside. It’s futile when he kisses you, drinking up every wrecked moan you spill into his mouth, keeping his fingers moving at the same pace, the same pressure. The rough edge of his palm hitting your clit with each movement and it’s so fucking obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to pull you to the finish line with ease. 

“Mingi,” you gasp out, limbs locking as you climb, “I’m close.”

“I know,” he presses his lips to your chin, under your jaw, “give it to me– cum for me, baby.”

Your hips stutter first before your orgasm crashes over you heavily, body twitching, rolling into him, he moves with you, keeping his hand steady as you ride out your orgasm, chanting praises into the space between you, encouragement that extends your pleasure, the feeling of euphoria that rocks through you never-ending. You keel after you finish, forehead meeting his, body deflating like he took everything out of you, he kisses your unmoving mouth, smiling into you when you don’t respond. 

“Did so good for me,” he pulls his fingers out of your shorts, bringing them up between your faces, slipping them between his lips. He moans in pleasure, “Mm, can’t wait to eat her. You’ll let me, right? You’ll ride my face if I tell you to?”

The pit in your stomach twists all over again, core clenching around nothing, he’s filthy. You love it. “Need you inside,” you mutter, voice tight with arousal but winded, “need to feel you, Min.”

His smile returns, “Can you handle it, big girl? Look at you after just two fingers.” You whine and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, “I can’t believe you’re so easy. You’ve got such a fuckin’ attitude and now you’re whining and crying for my cock.”

“You asked me if I ever shut the fuck up,” you grind yourself against him, bleeding impatience, “do you?”

He makes a sound he keeps lodged in his throat, it makes you smirk. He answers, “Not if it makes you this wet. You soaked through your shorts, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you huff, “fuck me already, ‘m tired of hearing you run your mouth.”

His hands find your thighs, holding onto them tight as he lifts himself up, you fall backwards fast with a loud yelp, back hitting the cushions of the couch. He’s predatory as he leans over you, “This mouth can make you cum faster than my fingers did,” his fingers find the hem of your shorts, “wanna find out?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you lift your hips for him and he tugs them down to your ankles, “save your filthy fuckin’ mouth for another time.”

“There she is,” he stands on his knees, tugging at the baby blue shorts on his hips, “knew the brat was in there somewhere.”

“It only comes out when you’re a cocky motherfuck–” he tugs his shorts down and the word dies on your tongue. Bigger than he felt beneath you, thick, red, leaking, your mouth waters, back arching off the couch at the sight, “Damn.”

He’s smirking and you hate that his cockiness is starting to become sexy. “Gonna take it all like a big girl?”

You’re nodding, not even looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off his cock. Bigger than Wooyoung, than Hyunjin, he might even be bigger than Mingyu and that’s a feat. All you can muster is, “Hurry.”

He settles between your legs, your knees spread under his heavy palms, he licks his lips when he gets eyes on your center. “She’s so pretty, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Woulda been fucking you weeks ago.”

“God, Mingi, shut up,” you buck your hips toward him, “get inside me already.”

“She’s soaked,” he wraps his fist around his cock, sliding it through your folds, rubbing circles over your clit that make you shiver, “so pretty, gonna ruin her. Can I? So you can’t fuck anyone but me?”

Impatience is a band that snaps hard, “Is that why you talk so much? You have a big dick that you don’t even know how to use–”

He wastes no time slipping back down to your entrance and pushing inside, just his tip has your body locking up, head tipping back, a tight, wilted noise slipping out of you involuntarily, it tells him everything you can’t say. He’s smirking even if he’s fighting to keep his own pleasure at bay, “Yeah? I don’t know how to use it? Say that again.”

He’s curved, carving into you like he’d make you take it even if you couldn’t, your walls suck him in like you were made for it, clenching around the width of him, mushroom tip kissing your cervix just enough that it’s pleasurable– you shake your head, biting your fucking tongue, nails clawing at the couch cushions because no one’s ever felt this good just sitting inside you. 

“Exactly,” he pulls out slowly, filling you back up just as slowly, letting you adjust to his length, his thickness, the perfection your mind couldn’t comprehend. “Lay there and take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

“Fuck, Mingi,” it’s high-pitched, filled with anticipation and slight disbelief. You watch as his abdomen flexes, how his tummy fills with air and deflates, his jaw that goes slack with each thrust, he’s so sexy it hurts. “Faster.”

He picks up speed on command, palms finding your shins, pushing them back into your chest as his cock starts bullying into you, “Like that?”

You can barely choke out a yes, hands flying to his biceps, nails marking crescents into his skin, half-curses fly from your lips drowned out by tight moans, pitched noises when his tip drags over that spot inside you, repeating, “Mingi, Mingi,” like it’s the only word you know. 

“I’m here,” he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, “I got you, know it’s big, baby, you can take it.”

You curse again as he fucks into you harder, back trying to arch but he has you pinned so deep you can’t move, “Mingi!”

He smiles, eyes half-lidded, “That all you can say? Fucked out already? Just started.”

You whimper, legs shaking beneath his palms, he lets go of your shins so he can lean down and kiss you, trading speed for a pace so deep and heavy you can’t kiss back. Moaning straight into his mouth, arms around his neck, you keep him close, legs hooked around his back, “Mingi.”

“Doing so good,” he kisses your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, “pussy so tight, baby, so perfect, gonna have to fuck you every day.”

You sound hypnotized, you might be. “Yes, yes, every day.”

“You know why?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, and when he picks his face back up to kiss you, you kiss him back. It’s a mess of teeth and spit, too distracted and moving to be considered a kiss, but you’re lucid enough to tangle your fingers in his hair, for your hips to start fucking back. 

“Say it,” he whispers in your mouth, edged like a blade. It makes you moan. 

“Yours,” you’re chanting again, “I’m yours, Mingi, I’m yours.”

He groans, hips picking up speed all over again, he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, lips mindlessly pressing against your skin, tongue poking out just to taste the sweat that's formed. He slips an arm between your bodies to press two fingers against your clit and you twitch, a sharp moan escaping you, bucking into him at a pace unsteady and uncontrolled as the pressure builds fast. 

“Mingi!” It’s loud and pitched, “Too much, too much.”

“No ‘ts not,” his words are muffled, lips pressed against your skin, “Take it, cum around my cock. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum f’me, baby.”

Strangled noises escape you one after another, his fingers circling your clit with practiced movements like he already knew your body inside and out. He’s still talking as pleasure climbs, your fingernails clawing shapes into his back, his rhythm doesn’t change or falter for a second. His words feel mindless, babbles of praise, “C’mon, baby, cum for me. Need to feel you clenching around my cock, say my name, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Mingi,” you don’t sound any more composed than he does, “Mingi, ‘hmygod I’m gonna cum, just for you, all for you.” 

He moans as your pleasure hits its peak, seizing beneath him, legs locking around his body, fingers raking at his back hard enough to leave marks, you’re a mess of moans and cries and whimpers, but he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t let up even a little. He’s cursing, hips jerking into you at that same fucking damning pace like his life depended on it, like he refused to give you anything but the entirety of your orgasm. 

You’re still shaking when he pushes himself up, body red and splotchy, veins swollen and prominent and everywhere. “Gonna flip you,” you think he might be saying it to himself more than to you with the way he moves you fully on his own, your front meets the couch with a squeak, body spent, head fuzzy. 

You’re flat against the couch, his legs straddle yours just below your ass, he spreads you to lean down and spit before he’s pushing inside once more. You curse sharply into the pillow, eyes rolling back, hands swatting behind you as he fills you up in one fell swoop. 

He shushes you, two hands grabbing your swatting arms by your wrists, pinning them at the base of your spine, “You can take it. Breathe, princess.” When he moves, you feel like you might never recover. Your wails are muffled by the cushion you buried your face in, the pleasure was different, more, deeper, the way his cock grinds against that spot inside you and you can’t get away– you feel the pressure build like it never stopped, steady, heavy, so euphoric you might not be in your body at all anymore.

“You’re perfect, oh my god,” you hear him behind you, “gonna let me fill you up? Let me mark what’s mine? Fuck, baby, need to fill this perfect pussy up, need to cum inside.”

You dig your fingernails into your palms, kicking at the armrest on the other side of the couch, grinding your teeth, you turn your head just to cry, “Yes, fill me up, inside,” your voice cracks, “please.”

“Clenching around me s’fuckin’ hard,” his voice is rough, “y’gonna cum again?”

You let out a noncommittal sound and he changes the angle ever so slightly, your vision blurs, breath taut in your chest, his cock drilling against that spot like he was aiming for it, you don’t know if the damp spot under your head was from tears or drool. Keeping the angle, the pace, he lets your arms go before leaning over, pressing a sloppy kiss to your shoulderblade, breath hot in your ear, “So fucking perfect, let go f’me, baby.”

The sound you let out in response was from the deepest part of your lungs, a sob, a prayer, you’re so close you can fucking taste it. He presses another kiss to the tip of your spine, leaning over your shoulder again, mouth opening, teeth grazing your skin– when you feel him clamp down in a bite you lose it, trembling, sobbing, fisting the couch cushions with his name on your tongue, “Mingi!” 

“Yes,” in awe again, his hips stutter, “there you go, fuuck– fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.” You’re spasming around his length, hips bucking, trying to escape the unending pleasure as his thrusts only get heavier, sloppier, quicker. He keeps himself close, “My perfect girl, y’gonna take every drop? Fuck– fuck, gonna cum, baby, you want it?”

“Yes, Min,” you’re grabbing for him again, nails clawing at his thighs behind you, “fill me up, make me yours. Need you inside.”

One hand snakes under your jaw, turning your head he kisses you sloppily as his hips stutter, groaning a curse into your mouth as he twitches inside you, then he slows, warmth filling you up, ropes of his release heavy, hot, nasty. His breath is short, winded, exhausted, you don’t think yours is any more even. 

“Mingi,” it comes out like a whimper, you feel him twitch inside you, he lets go of your face. A lazy grin takes over your cheeks, eyes closing, “You weren’t lying.”

He laughs, a small, easy thing, lifting himself up. “Why would I lie?”

“Dunno,” you answer absent-mindedly, “make yourself sound better.”

“Baby,” his hands smooth over the skin of your back, he leans down to press a soft kiss in the middle of your spine. Mumbling into your skin like he was too shy to say it with his chest, “I don’t need to do that.”

You hum, “Of course, how could I forget, you’re the entire package.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if you’re fucking with me.”

“Good.”

He smacks his teeth, “I’m gonna pull out, ‘kay?”

You pop a brow at the warning, but as he starts to slip out inch by inch, you’re grateful for his thighs keeping you locked in place because the full-body twitch it gives you is lethal. You whine a little as his spent cock lays still-heavy on your ass, “How do you keep that thing hidden?”

He snorts, “Like in my pants?”

“That’s a weapon,” you’re still twitching beneath him, “and you just used it on me.”

He’s giggling as he shifts himself to be able to carefully flip you over, another movement he does with ease as if you’re some kind of toy. It still makes your stomach curl with warmth, body flushing hot as he lays himself down next to you, sliding an arm under your body, holding you close. “Smells like sex in here.”

You curl into his side, cheek pressed to his bare chest, eyes closing again. “Don’t care.”

“I really like you, you know,” his voice is low but steady, honest, “and I want to be your boyfriend.”

You pick your head up to look at him, his eyes big and round, glossed over like he was nervous to say the words. You reach a hand up, running your fingers through his chocolate locks once before cupping his cheek, guiding him down to press your lips softly against his. “You already are my boyfriend, moron.”

“I mean seriously–”

“And I mean seriously, you’re already my boyfriend,” you raise your brows in expectation, “so no more ogling girls at parties, no more calling me stupid names and no more Winter.”

“I thought you said you’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” there’s a stupid smile on his face, “seems like you got the gist, princess.”

“What did I literally just say–”

“What about the messages?” His question is a little sturdier. 

Your brows furrow, “What about them? I already turned my requests off.”

His brows match yours, “That’s it? It doesn’t turn you off from being with me?”

“I fucked Wooyoung like, two days ago, Mingi,” you smile when he makes a face of disgust, “if you can mentally handle that, I can mentally handle being in the spotlight, as long as its smaller than yours. But if I can’t, I’ll tell you, and we’ll figure it out. Wait, what about your coaches?”

“That is such a non-issue,” he rolls his eyes, “who gives a fuck?”

You make a face of surprised agreement, bottom lip bending over, brows raising, “Sure. Who gives a fuck?”

He smiles, “Cool, I think that’s everything.”

“Cool,” you nuzzle yourself back into his chest, pressing a short kiss to his skin, “by the way, how long until we can fuck again? I’ve been waiting three weeks for this too, y’know.”

masterlist 🏈 part one

this is my soul project. ive never loved another mingi as much as i love this one. if you read all of this, genuinely thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. i could write about him endlessly, my muse fr. i hope you enjoyed and pls dont hesitate to tell me all your thoughts 🩷

If you ever hear the words serious relationship, youth, or freedom ever again, you might actually fucking vomit. In the beginning, it was easy to believe him; you rarely spoke to him outside of the bedroom, yours, his, that one supply closet on campus, the bathroom of that stupid fucking dive bar he loves so much. When he began sleeping over, kissing you awake, leaving with promises of later just to do it all over again, you started feeling blasphemous. Questioning gospel, his words of wisdom, you started to think there was more than just sweat and saliva to your relationship– maybe he enjoyed spending time with you. Maybe he even likes you. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” leaning against the wall of his foyer, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, you didn’t even make it inside his apartment. The bare, beige walls seemed to laugh at you even if there were no pictures on them, no paintings, no decor. 

Too good to be true, of course, since you caught him hand-in-hand with her, Kim Minjeong, Winter, that pretty little thing you’re positive you shared a class with at some point in your three years at ATZU. Your immediate reaction was defense, denial, naturally, because why on Earth would he need anyone but you? He’s told you plenty of times you’re not like anyone he’s met before, that your personality was unique, that you’re the best he’s ever had. 

“You’re sorry?!” Your arms were flying around the space, you voice loud, harsh, angry. You didn’t care if his roommate was home, maybe you’d apologize to San if you saw him on campus somewhere. Maybe. Right now, your anger was behind the wheel, driving you to insanity, “Who’s next, Summer? Spring? Fall? You gonna fuck all four seasons, you asshole?” 

He shakes his head, black hair falling around his face, the poster board for nonchalance. You wonder how many times he’s had this conversation, how many girls he’s done this to. Maybe you were the problem for thinking you were different, that he’d alter his Ten Commandments for you. He uncurls his arms, straightens out his legs, and motions for the door, voice frustratingly monotonous, “I think you should go.”

“Yeah, I should,” you bite, already turning towards the dark brown, wooden door, “I hope I never fucking see you again.”

“Should be easy,” he says through a much too casual breath, reaching around you to grab the worn, brassy knob, forcing you to step sideways so he can open it. You take a step through the threshold and he leans his lanky body into the frame, “Make sure you return the Chrome Hearts hoodie I left at your place, though, doll. Paid good money for it.”

Face morphing into sheer disbelief, the audacity, only your head turns to look at him, eye legitimately twitching, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t fucking burn it.”

A corner of his lips tug upward in a smile, “Now that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Just like the last four months?” Your brows raise, a faux smile creeping onto your lips, “Don’t text me ever again. Hope she fucks you like I do.”

He doesn’t answer– just stares as you stand there, waiting for an argument, for a rebuttal. Your jaw clenches when you realize you aren’t getting one. Turning on your heel, you stomp down his hallway, down the three fucking flights of steps you’ve climbed every other day for the past four months. 

Fuck him. Fuck him. 

Humiliation sinks in as you leave his building, anger crumbling into something small, something sad, pathetic. You should have seen this coming, you aren’t stupid, you’re definitely not naïve. You could blame his pretty smile, his cheekbones so sharp they could be considered blades, his beautiful bronzy skin you’d miss tasting, the way he filled you up so perfectly you wondered how you fucked anyone else. You could blame his touch, the grace he used with your body, how he cared for you after he split you open. 

The only person to blame here is you. And you know it, deep in your gut, in the ache in your back from carrying the entire relationship you made up in your head, you know it’s your fucking fault you’re hurt. Your friends would tell you soon, too, that they knew this was coming, that they told you he’d do this, they advised you to not get involved with him. 

Sighing, looking up at the sky, you squint at the overcast, the blue sky that was now a deep, sad grey. Great, even the fucking sun didn’t want you. 

Song Mingi didn’t care about much outside of football. He didn’t have time to. 

Almost every day, his schedule was the same: wake up at six, eat his breakfast that was the same every single morning: egg white omelet, two slices of whole-wheat toast, a cup of fresh fruit, sometimes he’ll have cranberry juice diluted by water, usually just plain water. 

He’s at the gym by seven, following his training program, by nine he’s in the meeting room in the same building as the gym, he meets his team, his coach, going over the practice schedule, reviewing any changes made for the day or the week. By ten, he’s showered and on his way to class, where he fights to keep his brain turned on until two. 

By three, he’s getting taped, at three-thirty he’s out on the field, practicing. By six, he’s back in the gym, then he’s eating dinner until seven, when he showers, fighting to stay awake for the academics squad that arrives specifically for the football team, helping them with homework, plain old studying, any projects they might be involved in. 

He’s lucky if he’s finished by eight thirty, where he can finally go back home, to the house the entire fucking team lives in. In the beginning of the season, it’s usually quiet by nine, everyone so exhausted by the day they don’t have the energy to be rowdy– but that never lasts long, once everyone is comfortable in their routines, Mingi’s convinced they have endless pits of energy. Music, laughter, conversation, video games, it’s so fucking loud Mingi has to put on noise-cancelling headphones when he reaches his bedroom. 

He doesn’t have the energy for anything outside of his schedule. His days are grid-locked, no room to pencil anything in, no time for partying, for socializing, for anything that would damage his D1-starting-quarterback reputation. He thinks he’s the only person in this whole fucking university that has a reputation, everywhere he goes, people watch. Everyone he speaks to, people listen. When he raises his hand in class, the whole fucking room turns their heads. It doesn’t help that he gets escorted to class. It’s unfortunate that his treatment comes with the gig. 

It’s nauseating, the pressure of football was enough, there’s so much added bullshit that comes with it. On his good days, when his adrenaline is pumping, when he feels restless, when he’s really fucking tired of being Mr. Perfect, he makes time. He goes to the party the LAX house is throwing, he takes shots with his teammates, he even dances a little if Woozi’s mixing– if it’s Vernon DJing, he’s probably standing on the side, bobbing his head to whatever funky shit is playing while the nth girl of the night is in his ear.

The girls, the girls, that’s a whole other issue he tackles daily. Nightly. Literally. The cheerleading team, the dance team, the girls on campus he makes eyes at that quite literally fold. Well, he folds them, on the nights he doesn’t feel like releasing his pent up energy at a party, or when he needs to release his frustrations after an especially bad practice. There’s always girls, there’s an endless supply on a college campus, even more in his DMs, he’d assume half of his forty-three-thousand Instagram followers are women, at least that’s what it seems when he clicks his requests folder. 

Mingi hasn’t really ever been denied in his life, not with women, not with his college applications, he was getting scouted by university after university in high school. Which is why he can’t wrap his mind around what happened to him last week, a typical crazy night at the LAX house, who throws weekly in their off-season, celebrating absolutely nothing but partying like it was everyone’s birthday.

Mingi was in his favorite outfit, short, dark hair slicked back, jewelry on his neck, his wrists, his fingers, he felt good. He felt lucky, even, when he eyed up the dark-haired beauty across the kitchen, standing alone, staring at her phone like she was waiting to be approached by him. He put on his pretty boy smile and crossed the room, running a hand through his hair, and approached her with every ounce of swagger he could conjure. 

Winter. Such a pretty name for such a beautiful girl, Mingi was nearly drooling, her voice sweet like honey, her outfit screamed danger, he needed her. She didn’t smile when she looked at him, didn’t ask for his name, he didn’t think twice, Mingi just assumed she didn’t need to ask, everyone on campus knew his name. 

“Do you know when Wooyoung will get here?”

He thinks his heart might have flatlined. 

Mingi isn’t like his bitchless teammates, who jump at every opportunity to fuck just because they can. Mingi fucks, but it’s with purpose, every woman he approaches, every woman he hits on, it’s because they fit the criteria. 

He coughed a little, brows furrowed, head tilted in confusion. He knew that name, he knew Wooyoung, he’s roommates with San who’s friends with Jongho, one of his teammates, on the starting offensive line. 

“Wooyoung?” He found himself asking, choking on a laugh. “Like, the guy who got some girl pregnant last semester?”

She rolled her eyes, “That was a rumour, he didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

Then her phone lit up, and so did her entire fucking face. That smile, Mingi nearly groaned, she’s perfect, she’d look so good on his arm, flaunting her to the entire campus, to his teammates, his coach. He watched as she walked away, taking all of his hopes and dreams with her. His future, the mother of his unborn children, gone in a flash, off to find that leather-jacket-wearing fucking asshole that didn’t even have a career. Is she kidding? Mingi was on the brink of getting drafted to the fucking NFL, and she wanted Wooyoung? What did he fucking have that Mingi didn’t?

He stood there for at least another two minutes, stunned into silence, fingers slowly gripping his solo cup harder until he could hear the crackling of hard plastic bending in his palm. Then and there, Mingi decided she wasn’t worth it. How could she be worth his time, when she wants him? It showed a lot about her.

Mingi spent the night burying himself into whatever girl he could find that looked closest to her. For the week that followed, his mind was clouded by a dark vignette, the picture of her at the center. Winter. He didn’t even fucking like snow, that’s why he went to school somewhere warm. 

Slowly, day after day, the rejection began to eat away at him, making him look inward, a practice he doesn’t have much experience in. What does Wooyoung have that he doesn’t? He came to the conclusion that there’s nothing. In every which way possible, Mingi’s better than Wooyoung, so why the fuck did she want him so bad when Mingi was standing right in front of her, in his favorite black party shirt, rings on his fingers, Aquaphor freshly applied on his lips?

She wouldn’t leave his mind. He replayed the rejection so many times, involuntarily and voluntarily, Mingi found himself attracted to the bored stare she gave him. Eyebrows straight, lips wet from liquor, shoulders slouched, not even a hint of a smile. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t care about him. She’s perfect for him. 

He has to do something, has to commit some kind of crime, or somehow get Wooyoung kicked out of the school. He sat his teammates down in the dining room days later, the whiteboard they kept for discussing gameplay filled with scribbles and lines in red at the head of the table, in the center was a circled photo of her. His teammates called him crazy, down bad, but Mingi considers himself the next Albert fuckin’ Einstein. 

All he has to do is prove to Winter that he’s better than Wooyoung. Easy. 

“...I’m sorry you feel that way?” Your eyes, so wide they took over the entire upper half of your face as you all but screeched, “doll?!”

Yeosang and Jongho eyed each other from across the table, then redirected their gaze back onto you. The three of you at the most popular coffee shop on campus, Lucent, you didn’t even care to have this conversation somewhere private, all the ears who might listen should take it as a warning. You considered it a service to the ATZU campus. 

Yeosang, green hair messily waved over his cheekbones, sighed, “I can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I know,” you bit back, eyes pointed, already prepared for that response. “But can you wait before saying I told you so and comfort me first?”

Yeosang’s lips thinned, voice softer now, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you grumbled, “it’s just stupid. She’s not even prettier than me.”

Yeosang and Jongho shared another look, but it’s Jongho who spoke up this time, “I bet she’s not, probably just easy.”

“Exactly!” You screeched again, eyes wide, jumping out of your seat a little. After receiving looks from around the semi-crowded shop, you shrank in your seat again, cheeks heating up. In a quieter, but still sharp voice, you continued, “Because that’s what Wooyoung likes. He’s a no-good piece of shit who just wants to get his dick wet, it doesn’t matter who wets it.”

“I wish someone would have told you that before you jumped in bed with him,” quips Yeosang, a small grin playing on his lips. When you cursed him out with nothing but your eyes, his smile disappeared. 

“Why are we blaming me?” Your fingers curled onto the table as your eyes danced between your two best friends, probably looking insane, but you didn’t care. “I’m the victim here. He played me.”

Jongho runs a hand through his hair, still half-damp from his training this morning, or maybe he actually showered after the gym this time. He sits back in the booth, eyeing you with a bored look, “Wooyoung plays everything. All he does is play, that’s who he is.”

“Well, forgive a girl for wanting to be different.”

Yeosang snorts, and the way your eyes pierce his soul makes his laugh die on his tongue. “What are you laughing at?” You scoff, “You can’t even look your girl in the eye publicly.”

Yeosang gasps, “Do not bring up my situation because you’re pissed about your own.”

“Well?” Your head shakes, arms flailing about in front of you to say What the fuck is the difference?

“Okay!” Jongho intervenes, his arm literally laying over the black table between you to cut the two of you off. “I’m sorry you’re upset, and I’m sorry he hurt you. But he seriously isn’t worth a shred of emotion, you aren’t losing anything by cutting him off.”

You bury your face in your palms, elbows holding you up. Muffled from the edges of your hands over your mouth, you mutter, “He’s so hot, and he’s so good at sex.”

Jongho chuckles, his head shaking, you could see it even with your hands over your eyes. “Is that why all the girls on campus flock to him? Because he’s a good fuck?”

You split four fingers down the middle to peek an eye out, “Yes. And he has this, like, magnetizing aura about him, I don’t know. He’s good at talking, at making you feel special, like wanting him was your idea all along.” 

“Hm,” Yeosang’s head tilts, plopping back into the booth, arms crossed. “So he’s just… a manipulator?” 

You whine, faking an annoying, high-pitched crying noise. “Yes, he’s really good at it.”

“Damn,” Jongho mutters under his breath, “he’s giving the whole campus problems. How long until he runs through everybody, you think?” 

“Not long,” you grumble, “who else is he giving problems?”

“Mingi,” Jongho’s lips scrunch to one side, and a shiver runs down your spine. Mingi. “He wanted to bag this one girl and she dubbed him for Wooyoung. He’s torn up about it.”

“He should be torn up,” you snatch Yeosang’s coffee cup from in front of him and take a long sip. He makes a face like he’s disgusted you’re drinking from his cup, so you make the same one back, mocking him. 

Yeosang turns to Jongho, “Mingi never gets dubbed. What is Wooyoung, like a sex god?”

“He’s the bad boy trope in every shitty coming-of-age movie you’ve ever seen,” you sip again until you hear the rattle of the last bits of liquid between ice cubes. Yeosang makes the same face when you slide the coffee cup back to him. 

“Mingi is genuinely losing his fucking mind,” Jongho laughs a little, shaking his head like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. “I don’t think the man has ever been told no in his life.” 

“I wouldn’t tell him no, that’s for sure,” you say with the smallest laugh, and Jongho gives you a long stare, like he’s putting puzzle pieces together. You look on either side of you, then down at your shirt, then back up to him, “Do I have something on my face?”

Jongho shakes his head, eyes widening like he was about to shout eureka, “This could work.”

“What could work?” You ask, and within four seconds of him not responding, you ask again, “Ho, what could work?” 

“Stop calling me Ho,” Jongho’s lip lifts in distaste, “Mingi’s trying to figure out a way to get revenge on Wooyoung, or prove that he’s better than Wooyoung, I guess, so he can steal the girl from him.”

“Just tell him to wait a month and she’ll be free again,” you shrug, “he doesn’t need an elaborate plan.”

Yeosang’s brows raise, bottom lip flipped over, shoulders slightly shrugging as if to say Yeah, true. 

Jongho holds a finger up between you, “What if I set you up with Mingi?”

Your jaw drops, a disgusting sound leaving your lips that you’d die if anyone else heard. “Me? And Mingi? Are you stupid?”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his finger back and forth, “hear me out. Wouldn’t Wooyoung be pissed off if you bounced back with the star QB mere days after he cut you off?”

You, still sitting in anxious disbelief, plant your palms against the black table, shaking your head rapidly. “Even if he is–”

“Hear me out,” Jongho says a little stronger, and your lips smack back together. “Wooyoung will be so enraged that he cuts the girl off and gets back with you, maybe he’ll even be so mad he realizes his feelings for you were stronger than he thought–”

Yeosang cuts him off, “Hold on a second–”

“–Mingi gets the girl, and then you can break Wooyoung’s heart to get back at him.”

You sit back in the booth, arms crossing, face scrunching together in thought because it actually doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea. Jongho is grinning like he’d just solved one of the seven wonders of the world, and Yeosang is looking back and forth between you like he’s never heard anything so fucking stupid. 

“There’s no way in hell you’re actually considering this,” Yeosang’s voice is shaky, drenched in disbelief, “have you ever watched To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before?” 

“This is different,” you’re quick to answer, “I’m not Lara Jean, there are no letters, there’s just an Wooyoung who needs to learn what it feels like to be on the opposite end of the knife.”

“And Mingi won’t shut up until he sinks his claws into that girl, I think it’s a pretty even exchange,” Jongho adds, both of you two peas in an optimistic pod while Yeosang just stares, dumbfounded. 

He blinks once, twice, before his lips part to speak, sucking in a breath. They close, and his face twists in confusion, “Let me get this straight, you’re suggesting fake dating Song Mingi, like, football player Song Mingi. And you think he’ll agree?” 

You turn to Jongho who just shrugs. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how to say this without insulting you, girl,” Yeosang’s bottom lip is tugged down to expose his bottom row of teeth, a nervous but apologetic look. “But his taste is… refined. Of snotty girls and like, barbie dolls. Plus, you’re opposites.” 

“Fuck you Yeosang, I’m hot!” You immediately bark out, then turn to Jongho, “I’m hot, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah Yeo, she’s hot,” Jongho nodded, saying Yeosang’s name like it was an insult, then immediately cringing because those words feel gross on his tongue, “Mingi will be into it, trust me. And if he’s not, I’ll just remind him of the bigger picture, it’s not like he has to kiss her or anything.” 

You make a face that is nowhere near pleased, lips thinning, brows flattening. “You guys have known me too long, you’re too comfortable insulting me to my face.” 

Yeosang barely gives you a glance, “She doesn’t party anymore, she doesn’t socialize with anyone outside her study group and us. They’re opposites, even if she’s–” he cringes, “–hot.”

“Her study group goes out!” Jongho argues, also not sparing you a glance, “Jia and Riyo are always at the LAX house, she can just tag along with them or with Mingi or whatever. I don’t know, once I get him to agree, it’s out of our hands.” 

Your jaw drops again. “Out of your hands? Hello? I’m right here, first of all, second, this is your idea, Ho.” 

The flex in Jongho’s jaw is his way of saying stop it with the fucking nickname. Deadpanning, he responds, “It’s just an idea, you and Mingi can figure out the details.” 

“Stop acting like he said yes already,” Yeosang argues, amusement in his voice now, “you’ll get her hopes up of fucking a football guy.” 

You can’t react to the response, because fucking Song Mingi would be a dream— not that the football part has anything to do with it. Your face reflects the thought. 

“He’ll say yes,” Jongho nods, “trust me.” 

“Fuck no. Are you stupid?” 

Maybe Jongho should have waited until they got to the gym, or at least until after Mingi had consumed four bites of his breakfast. Maybe waking him up a minute before his alarm went off at a mere six in the morning wasn’t the best idea, but his anxiety wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“Come on,” Jongho whines, legitimately whines, because if Mingi didn’t say yes he’d have to hear about it for weeks to come, and he can’t bear to hear another complaint from the older man’s mouth. “She said yes already, it’s the perfect plan. Girls are jealous like that, they want what they can’t have.” 

Dark hair, a little oily and piecey on his head, shooting out in every which way, he was shirtless under the navy blue comforter, sheets crumpled at the foot of his bed. Jongho can’t remember the last time Mingi used the washing machine in the basement of the football house. 

Mingi sits up a little, yawning, before looking up to Jongho with an uninterested look, “Is she hot?”

Jongho can’t help the face he makes. Head craning back and forth, almost touching each shoulder as a high pitched, unconvincing, “Yeah,” slides from his lips. 

Mingi smacks his lips, laying back in his bed and turning away, pulling the comforter over his shoulders as he utters, “Waking me up before my alarm for some bullshit, Jongho.”

Jongho tries defending himself, “I’ve known her since she was fourteen, she’s like a sister. If you’re talking about, like, conventionally attractive then I guess, yes—”

“I don’t even know what conventionally means,” Mingi huffs, “get out of my room.” 

“Mingi, Wooyoung just broke her heart, she wants revenge, and you want the girl. It's an even exchange, no strings. You have nothing to lose.” 

Mingi’s grumble slowly grows in volume as he turns back over, eyes still closed. “What about my pride? Making some elaborate scheme just to get a girl who I shouldn’t even care about.” 

Jongho’s lips thin— not the pity party, again. He can’t listen to it another time or else he might explode. They’ve already hidden the whiteboard. 

He bends at the knees, arms folding over the empty space at the edge of Mingi’s mattress, “Listen, bro, it’ll stay between me, you and her—” and Yeosang, “—it’s the perfect plan. You don’t even have to learn her last name, just stand next to her for a little while until your dream girl’s interest is piqued. Easy peasy.” 

One of Mingi’s eyes opened, “It’ll work?” 

Jongho nods. 

“And she’s hot?” 

Jongho’s lips thin again, but he nods. 

“Fine,” Mingi huffs, “tell her to come over or something so I can get a good look before I agree to this.” 

If it was any other circumstance, your fingertips would be buzzing at your sides, heart pounding in your chest with having a man so beautiful in front of you. Plump lips, dark hair still a little damp laying over his sculpted cheekbones, strong shoulders on display in his sleeveless tank. He sat sunken into the couch, one leg folded over the other with his ankle kissing his knee, arms crossed over his chest. Gorgeous. His skin looks so soft you want to touch it— maybe lick it. 

But he did not look pleased. On top of ruining the fantasy, you’re disappointed that men like him still exist. 

Standing before him across the living room, a hip popped with your arms crossed, the only thing Jongho said to you before walking inside the football house was that Mingi wanted to meet you. Not that you’d be put on display for him to judge your appearance before he agreed to being your fake fucking boyfriend. 

“This is misogynistic in ways my mind can’t even comprehend right now,” you huffed the words to Jongho, your best friend of nearly a decade, not even looking at Mingi. As far as you’re concerned, he’s not in the room anymore. He no longer fucking exists. 

There was an apology in his deep brown eyes, his features softened, lips tightened. But he didn’t answer. Mingi’s thick eyebrows were furrowed, top lip curled, but his eyes didn’t read distaste even if his body language portrayed it. With the rage simmering within you right now, he should thank whatever god he prayed to that you weren’t at the boiling point yet. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Mingi shakes his head a little, voice lazy, “this will do, though. I guess.” 

“You guess?” Your entire face jerks forward, “You fucking guess? I’m a human, you know. Standing right in front of you.” 

“No shit,” Mingi sighs, head leaning back into the couch cushion, chin tipped up, face reading utter boredom. “You’ll get me the girl, though? You’re sure she’ll want me if I pretend I’m… dating you?” 

He said the words like you casted a fucking curse on him. 

Your eye twitched as you glance at Jongho. Meeting his apprehensive stare you uncurled your arms from your chest, legs moving for the front door, “Fuck no, I’m not doing this. Absolutely not, plan is cancelled.” 

“Wait!” Jongho stands, eyes wide, palms pressing into your shoulders to stop you from walking straight out the front door. “He’s tired, we had a hard practice today. He’s not usually this bad, I swear, I swear.” 

“What do you mean?” Mingi sits up a little, turning halfway to see the two of you, “What do you mean ‘this bad’? I’m being normal.” 

“See?” Your arm flies in his direction, “he’s being normal. You never told me he’s a fucking asshole, Ho.” 

“An asshole!?” Mingi stands up straight, arms at his side, jaw dropped. “I have to tell every single person in my life I’m dating you, and I’m an asshole for wanting to make sure it’s fitting?” 

“What are you so worried about?” You raise your voice, “you’re twenty-one years old, it’s college, it’s not like you have a reputation to uphold, no one cares. You play football, big fuckin’ deal.” 

Mingi gasps, insulted, “Big deal? Big deal? It’s my entire future, thank you very much.” 

“You won’t have a future if you treat women like they’re your little playthings,” you snap, voice bitter, “is the NFL gonna draft a misogynist?” You smack your lips, eyes meeting the floor, regretting the words as soon as you said them. The NFL would in fact draft a misogynist. Plenty of them, actually. 

“Why do you even care? We just have to show face a few times,” Mingi responds, voice bored yet again, “you don’t have to like me, I don’t have to like you. I just want her.” 

Rage bubbles up inside you again as Wooyoung crosses your mind. It would feel really, really good to hurt him after he hurt you. And Mingi’s right, you guess, you don’t have to get to know him, or speak to him ever again after this. You could look past the flaws you were sure ran deep if it was just temporary. Situational. 

You look up, brows flat, mumbling the reiteration, “A few times.”

Jongho is nodding, smile growing as his eyes bounce between you, whispering, “Yes, friendly, this is good, this is good.”

You face Mingi from across the couch, holding up a flat hand, curling a finger into your palm with each rule, “We don’t speak to each other outside of pre-scheduled meetings, we only act like a couple when there’s people watching, and do not fucking touch me.” 

“Don’t touch you?” Mingi pops a brow, “people won’t believe we’re a couple. How am I gonna prove to her I’m boyfriend-worthy if I can’t show off my boyfriend skills?” 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, looking away, “you’re right. Wooyoung won’t be jealous if you don’t make him jealous.” 

“Exactly,” Mingi’s brows raise, pleased, dimples out to play as his lips thin in a tight smile. “I don’t want to touch you as much as you don’t want to touch me, trust.” 

Your head snaps up to shoot him another pointed stare, grumbling under your breath, “Asshole.” 

Mingi’s smile morphs into a nasty little smirk, “Your asshole now, baby.” You give him an unimpressed, blank stare and his smirk falters as what he said sinks in. Sheepishly, he mumbles, “Sounded better in my head.” 

“Like you actually think before you speak,” you snap, rolling your eyes, bringing your attention back to Jongho who looks like if he breathes wrong his entire plan will go in the shitter. “I’ll figure out where Woo will be next, you can tell Mingi and plan out when we’re meeting and where, whatever. Keeping this very much so in your hands, Ho.” 

“Don’t—” Jongho shakes his head, smile reappearing, “—okay. Sure. Got it.” 

“Good,” you nod, then glance back at Mingi, “don’t embarrass me by saying stupid shit around people, ‘kay?” 

Mingi cocks his head to the side wearing the biggest smile, “Don’t embarrass me by wearing that outfit in public again, ‘kay?” 

FIRST OUTING: SOFT LAUNCH, THE LAX HOUSE. 11:20 PM.

“How the hell did you get Song Mingi to be your boyfriend?” Riyo is on your hip, bright red hair in a single braid down her back, denim booty-shorts hugging her hips, a cropped, tight bandeau top covering her chest. You suppose for where you went to school that was the uniform, something you quickly realized weeks into your freshman year, clothes were optional here. 

You scoff, walking in-step with her, grass from the lawn of the LAX house sneaking around the edges of your flip-flop covered feet. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

She giggles, a step ahead of you as she walks up the front stairs, “It’s weird, you have no correlation to the football team. Where did you even meet him?” 

“On campus,” your voice is high-pitched, certainly not convincing. You clear your throat, “I mean, I applied to be a part of the football team’s academics unit, I just got in, like, a month ago.”

Riyo pauses at the door, a hand on her hip, eyebrows furrowed, “The fuck? And you just didn’t tell me that you,” she counts on her fingers, “applied, got accepted, and started?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, nervously laughing to cover up the so fucking obvious lie, “I’m just helping them study, Mingi and I.. clicked.”

God, the words feel sour. So unconvincing you could vomit– and he’s inside, waiting for you, you could really fucking empty your guts on the LAX house’s porch. It’s already cluttered with lacrosse sticks, solo cups, backpacks, containers of white balls you can only assume are used in the game, your vomit would probably go unnoticed. Or washed away by beer, maybe your tears by the end of the night. 

You don’t know why you agreed to this, it was a moment of weakness. Of rage. Wanting revenge. Because behind the stained, scratched white door, was the entire lacrosse team, the entire football team, God knows who the fuck else if Riyo’s here. You could hear the music bleeding through the walls, something with heavy bass, something rap, something you might know if you opened the door. 

Jongho texted you yesterday that Mingi asked for you to make your first appearance here, he said it was the perfect spot, that Wooyoung and Winter might even be here. As much as you were regretting your decision, you hoped he was here. You want to see the look on his face when he spots you at Mingi’s side, when word spreads that you’re dating him, you want to watch his face morph into confusion, into regret, hopefully something lustful that you could use to your advantage. 

“That’s gotta go in, like, the top five most insane things to ever happen on this campus,” Riyo wears a supportive smile, yet her head still shakes in disbelief, “I’m happy for you, though. Actually, I think you kinda suit each other.”

You fight the cringe, that was an insult. You smile instead, already hating the words about to come out of your mouth, “Let’s go inside, I wanna see him.”

You’ve been here before, you frequented the LAX house plenty freshman year, a lot less sophomore year after your fling with Kim Mingyu, you haven’t been here once yet this year. It hasn’t changed, medium-sized house, open floor plan, giant kitchen, silver appliances. The furniture was dull, broken in, old, thrifted. It’s nostalgic, being here, these people, you barely see the lacrosse team on campus, you know a few of them from your times here as a freshman, mornings escaping after a night with Mingyu, you don’t know anyone well enough to be considered a friend. 

Riyo is immediately squealing upon walking inside, hugging girls you only know the first names of, you smile in greeting from behind her. Jia, another girl from your study group that you’re close with, approaches with the same squeal Riyo had unleashed on the room, her dark hair styled in waves behind her back, deep, golden-olive skin glowing beneath the barely-there lights in the room. 

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees you, “Hello? Shut the fuck up?”

“Hey baby,” your tongue sneaks out between your teeth and she squeals again, throwing her arms over your shoulders in a tight hug. Swaying you side to side, she’s a giggling mess, sandal-covered feet tapping against the floor. 

“I haven’t seen you here since last year!” She yells, grin spread wide, showing her dazzling white teeth you couldn’t believe shone so bright in a room this dark. 

You shrug, smiling, “I have good reason.”

“She’s seeing her boyfriend,” Riyo teases, nudging you with her shoulder, smiling like a fucking crazy person. Leaning in close to Jia, her voice is still loud, even if she was trying to be secretive, “Song Mingi.”

Jia looks like nothing in the world makes sense, and she’s been transported to another dimension. “I saw you two nights ago, babe, and there was not one mention of a boyfriend, most certainly not a word about Song Mingi.”

“We’re not being, like, super public about it,” you shake your head, cheeks burning, “it’s chill guys, seriously, don’t make a huge deal about it, he’s not a celebrity.”

“Closest we’ll ever get to one, plus, last I heard you were still fucking Wooyoung,” the look on Jia’s face hasn’t left, and God you wish you thought out a better plan with Mingi before you left the football house the other day, you’re scrambling for a story. 

“Ew, why are you talking about him?”

Speak of the fucking devil– a shiver racks down your now rigid spine, you fix your eyes that involuntarily widened. Jia and Riyo watch with dropped jaws as Mingi slides an arm over your shoulder, an easygoing smile on his face, looking at you so fucking fondly it makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck him for being so damn beautiful.

Dark shirt clinging to his torso, showing off every fucking muscle that was etched into his skin beneath it, his hair was styled, purposely messy how it hung over the sides of his head where it was shorter, faded into his skin. Baggy jeans on his legs, low enough to show the Calvins under them, he wore a skinny, silver chain around his neck, one to match on his wrist, with pretty, bulky rings on his fingers. 

This is so fucking unfortunate– he’s beautiful and he sucks, you hate him, his personality, the misogyny he so easily wields as a weapon, it makes you sick. He doesn’t deserve a perfect face and an even more perfect body. Fuck him. 

“We were talking about you,” you force a smile on your lips, turning back to Jia and Riyo as your stiff body leans into Mingi’s huge one, so stiff and broad and muscled you tried to not pay too much attention to it. “Of course you missed it.”

“Start again,” his smile is cheesy, so fucking cheesy you want to slap it off his face. “I wanna hear all the cute things my baby said about me.”

Spit lodges in your throat that constricts around nothing, you choke. Coughing, you pull away from his grip, turning around, smacking your chest with a fist, eyes tearing– he did not just call you baby unironically. 

He leans in close, feigning concern, “Are you okay?”

Your other hand flies up, back still facing him, “Fine– fuck.”

Gathering yourself, you turn back around, plastering a smile onto your face. Bidding a wave to the two girls, through gritted teeth, you ask him in a false, sweet voice, “Don’t you have people to introduce me to?” 

He quirks a brow, but nods, slinging his arm over your shoulder again as he guides you away from your group of friends. Voice low, keeping himself tight to your ear, he asks, “What the fuck was that?”

“Do not ever call me baby again,” you keep your smile, but your voice is venomous, “that was fucking disgusting.”

“You think I enjoyed it?” He whispers back, voice pitched sharply, “It’s kinda part of boyfriendism, no? Pet names and shit?” 

You’re wading through the crowd, Mingi shooting smiles and dapping up tens of people you don’t know, mainly men, all beefy and drunk and eyes dilated like they just railed lines in the kitchen. You shift your shoulders under his heavy ass arm, “Jesus, Mingi, I’m not a fucking ledge for you to put your whole weight on, big ass.”

He grins as he looks down at you, wiggling his brows, “You think my ass is big?” 

You roll your eyes, “I don’t think I’m gonna survive you.”

“You won’t believe how many times I’ve heard that line,” his grin is proud, he’s not even looking at you as he says it, eyes focused on the people in front of him, in the hallway where a large table is set up, holding a messy game of beer pong. Water beneath the table, a shallow film on top of the painted surface, swirls of brown covering your school’s logo shittily lined in black, gross.

You don’t have time to scoff– you know these guys, Jeno, Chris, Kai, Haechan, Soobin, Changbin. All on the football team, all huge, you’re already vibrating, body stiffening under Mingi’s arm that’s so casually thrown over your shoulders, heavy and thick. Suffocating.

You wish you could be meeting them under different circumstances. You’re tainted now, if they even cared about boy-code, which they might not usually, but you wondered if Mingi pulled rank with them, or if girlfriends were off limits compared to casual lays. Your answer is quickly delivered to you on a silver platter as Jeno eyes you from across the table, hip to hip with Chris who does the same, eyes sliding down your body and back up like they were sizing you up, waiting to pounce. 

Your posture changes, subtle, but your arms uncurl from in front of you, back arching slightly, eyes drooping into that pretty, low stare that did Wooyoung in when you first met him. A small smile on your lips, you tilt your head away from Mingi while he introduces you– as his girlfriend. Right. You lock back in, blinking into focus, smiling and nodding to each man that introduces himself like you didn’t already know all of their names and their positions. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Changbin has one palm planted on the painted table, clearly he didn’t care about the murky water, one of his hands palms a can of beer close to his chest, “you were crying over what’s-her-face two minutes ago.”

Mingi makes a face, head nodding towards you with his eyebrows raised like he was silently telling Changbin to shut the fuck up, like you weren’t supposed to hear that, as if you didn’t know already. He’s playing it up, smart.

“Nice to meet you,” Chris grins from the other side of the table, his voice warm, smile pretty, it makes you feel fuzzy inside. You can’t wait to fake-break-up with Mingi. “Your boyfriend didn’t get you a drink yet?” 

“Was waiting for one of you to do it for me,” Mingi juts his chin out in Kai’s direction and he nods, eyes wide as he receives the order, and he scrambles. Like, literally scrambles. Nonchalantly you nudge your elbow into Mingi’s ribs, silently telling him to stop being an asshole. 

Hiding his hiss in a forced laugh, he steals his arm back from around your shoulders, hiding his formerly exposed ribs, “You should have one hand-delivered to you, ba– sweetheart.”

God, you can feel the bile churning in your gut. You fix your face before it morphs into full disgust. 

“How did you two meet?” Haechan asks, his voice whiney– you were not expecting that from his bulky build, broad and toned, so hot. His cherry-red hair is a mess of curls atop his head, skin bronzy under the far light dimming the hallway, allowing them to see the game, you presume. 

“The library.”

“On campus.”

You and Mingi respond at the same time, then look at each other, eyes panic-stricken at the fumble. You couldn’t repeat your lie from earlier, they would know you aren't a part of their study team, all you could think was on campus, a generic answer. 

You stutter, “The– The library.”

“The one that’s on campus,” Mingi nods, assured. 

“Why the fuck were you at the library?” Soobin asks, leaned up against the wall of the hallway, dark brows furrowed, two hands around his can of beer. Valid question, your heart picks up speed in your chest, you weren’t expecting them to pry. 

“Studying,” Mingi responds nonchalantly, his voice high, shoulders shrugging. 

“Extra tutoring,” you add, “on top of what you guys have, yeah. One of the girls on your academics team told me Mingi needed extra help and volunteered me because our schedules lined up.”

“Exactly,” Mingi nods, lips pursed in an attempt to be more convincing, “love at first sight type shit.”

You tuck your lips between your teeth to hide your smile, smothering the snort that fights to climb to the surface, redirecting your gaze to the floor beneath you. You can’t wait to make fun of him for that line later.

“Right,” Changbin’s brows are tied together, dark hair sprawled across his forehead, almost hiding his skepticism. He redirects his attention to Jeno, the silver-haired hunk of a man beside him, Chris splitting the three. Tilting his chin up, he asks, “Keep playing?” 

Mingi’s lips tighten, turning to you again, “Should we go find where Kai is?”

“Sure,” you sigh, flipping your hair off your now slightly sticky shoulders, “I could use a drink.” One of his hands slides to your lower back, guiding you away, and you realize then that he doesn’t have a drink– moving in-step towards the kitchen, you ask, “You’re not drinking?”

“No, not tonight,” his voice is monotonous, he doesn’t look down, keeps his eyes ahead. “Need a clear mind if I’m gonna lie to a hundred people.” 

“It’s hot in here,” you complain, face crunching to cringe, it’s humid for November, even for where you live.

“I can tell, you’re sweating all over me, bro,” he responds, voice dripping in boredom, pressing his hand to your back a little harder instead of removing it from your body altogether. “Gross.”

“Then take your hand off me, bro,” you huff, turning the corner, the kitchen coming into view. Surprising high ceilings, white cabinets, silver appliances, marble countertops, probably the nicest room in the whole house, you wondered if there was still a hole in the back door from that one night Hoshi got a little too drunk. You sneer, “You probably smell like a wet dog after practice.”

You spot a few members of the lacrosse team in the corner, standing in front of the back door, a black mesh screen severing the house from the backyard, letting cool air from outside in. Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, a joint lit in Seungkwan’s mouth, the youngest of the three, a sophomore. Guess they really chilled out during their off-season, no worries about a drug test in their future. Good for them.  

“I smell like a beautiful woman after practice,” Mingi scoffs, guiding you in front of him with his palm, hands gliding up to sit on your shoulders, pushing you through people that parted at the sight of him. You keep a tight-lipped smile on your face, giving a small nod each time you make eye contact with someone new. He leans down into your ear, “You’d probably like it, you’re the gross one. Pheremone-lover.” 

“Keep your androstenone away from me,” you answer with disgust in your voice, without changing your face an inch, “you probably don’t even know what that is.”

“Guilty as charged, smart girl,” he catches Kai’s head of blonde hair over the crowd, the two men probably the tallest in the entire kitchen. “Huening!” Mingi yells, stealing Kai’s attention, he wears a wide, excited grin, holding two cans of beer over his head like he’d discovered the One Piece. 

“I got beer!” He yells across the kitchen, immediately wading through people to get to you and Mingi. A freshman, you think, also on the offensive line, Jongho’s told you about him– a smart kid with great instincts for football, uses his build to his advantage. Innocent, ignorant like a child, a little stupid, he’s cute. Chubby cheeks, a kind smile, your already heated skin rises in temperature as he approaches, opening your can for you. 

You introduce yourself properly, thanking him for the beer, “How’s your first year on the team?”

Mingi’s head snaps down to look at you, brows tied together in surprise. 

Kai grins, blushing immediately, running a hand through his blonde hair, “Great, thanks for asking, the guys are really cool, Coach is terrifying lowkey, but he’s cool, too.”

You giggle, head tilting, “I’ve heard that, he’s famous though, right? Coach Suh?” 

“Yeah, he’s like, renowned in the football world,” Kai babbles on, the two of you erupting into easy conversation, all while Mingi’s head bobs back and forth, watching, listening, his confusion growing with each new word that falls from your lips. 

He can’t help but interject, “Since when do you know so much about the team?”

Your giggle slows to a stop, smile faltering, “What do you mean? I’ve always known, this is a D1 school, silly.” 

Silly is synonymous with stupid fuck, he can feel it in how your pointed eyes stare into him.

“She couldn’t be your girlfriend if she didn’t know football, Song,” Kai adds, so innocent, so easygoing, oh my God you love him. 

Mingi nods like he was the one who reminded himself you were his girlfriend, not Kai, forcing a laugh out, more punched and nervous than anything. “Right, yeah, yeah.”

Your blood runs cold as you catch a head of recognizable black hair around Kai’s ridiculously huge bicep, bronzy skin, a cloud of smoke surrounding him like it was his brand, his aura. Your eyes widen, head swerving around Kai’s arm to get a better look, taking in his leather jacket, the rings on his fingers, the cigarette dangling between his teeth as he smiles, Corona in one of his hands. 

“Nice meeting you, Kai,” you don’t even look at the boy, grabbing onto Mingi’s arm, dragging him sideways, away from Kai’s earshot. “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”

“Who? Who?” 

“Who do you think, dumbass?” You spit, chin pointing in Wooyoung’s direction, “The only man who’s more of an asshole than you.”

“Oh my God, she’s with him,” a hand comes up to cover Mingi’s mouth, his brown eyes wide, excitement gleaming in chocolate, drawing them hazel. Beside Wooyoung is Winter, long, dark hair pinned up halfway, a short, black skirt on her hips, halter top tugging her upper half just right. He lowers his voice, “Fuck, she’s so hot.”

“Pause,” you turn to him as the realization sinks in– he wants Winter? Winter is the girl you’re helping him get? Kim Minjeong? “You want Winter?!”

“Yes,” he groans out, head tilting back, a whine to his voice like he was four years old and you just took away his favorite toy. “She’s perfect, dude. Like, perfection in a human, I love her, I think.”

“What the fuck?” Completely baffled, you shake your head in disbelief at how perfect this is lined up. You don’t know how you didn’t put it together sooner, you didn’t once think about who Mingi wants, who the girl might be. You didn’t really care. “This is good, this works in our favor, this is perfect, actually,” you’re rambling as you turn around, watching Wooyoung and Winter across the room, how Wooyoung introduces her to the lacrosse trio at the backdoor, how he pulls his cigarette from his lips to press them to her cheek in a short kiss. 

“Ew, he’s touching her, that’s my wife,” Mingi props his forearm on your shoulder, you immediately shake yourself out of his grip, eyes never leaving them, laser-focused. He whines, “Comfort me, I’m heartbroken. He’s touching her, bro.”

“They’re together, what do you expect?” You whisper-yell, twisting around to get him out of your personal space. “How can we get their attention? We need them to see us together, being coupled up and shit.”

“I’m boys with Shua and Wonwoo, we can go over there,” Mingi suggests, finally looking at you, and the excited gleam in his eye was now dulled down to desperation, a sadness only caused by yearning. If he wasn’t such an asshole, you might feel bad for him. 

You nod, “Good idea, let’s do it. Let’s go, come on, football boy.”

With his hands on your shoulders again, you guzzle the beer in your hands as you cross the kitchen, eyes screwing shut as the spicy carbonation burns your throat. Beer is so fucking gross, at least it’s cold, it gets the job done– you burp before you approach them, a closed fist covering your mouth in an attempt to hide the noise. 

“Ew!” Mingi gasps from behind you, “Did you just burp? You’re disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shut up,” you spit, “I couldn’t help it, and they’ll hear you, go back to boyfriendism and make it believable.”

“You want me to put on a show?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, the wiggle of his stupid thick brows. 

“I do, actually,” you answer with a defeated sigh, “do your worst.”

Approaching the lacrosse trio, Wooyoung and Winter, Mingi throws his arms fully around your front, tucking your back into his chest, his chin sitting on the top of your head. In an obnoxious yell, he makes his presence known, “Hey guys, how we doin’ tonight?”

Ew. One of your hands wraps around his forearm glued to your chest, a wide grin on your cheeks, your head leaned up against one of his biceps that boxes you into his hold, “Hey guys.”

“Song!” Joshua yells, smile widening, lighting up his whole face, “I was hoping you’d show tonight.”

Wooyoung’s smile drops when he sees you, you meet his eyes immediately, your fake grin turning real. Yes, be mad, be so angry you flip the fuck out.

“Of course I’d show,” there’s so much confidence in Mingi’s voice it’s nauseating, “had to introduce my girl to all my people, do you guys know her?” 

With a coy smile, you introduce yourself as Mingi’s girlfriend, head leaning into his chest impossibly further, forcing a stupid, lovestruck look on your face, you prayed it was believable. 

Joshua nods, as does Wonwoo, both recognizing you from all the times you’ve been here, probably also your fling with Mingyu. The two lacrosse boys greet you kindly, where Seungkwan introduces himself, newer to the team, to those who party in their house. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Wonwoo’s brows furrowed, “the campus isn’t burned down, I’m confused.”

You and Mingi both laugh, but Mingi says, “I don’t think word has spread yet, don’t worry, expect the heat soon.”

“It’s hot enough,” you add, rolling your eyes, “your fangirls will be just fine, there won’t be a fire.”

“You have no idea,” Joshua snorts, “I remember one girl having to deactivate her Instagram account because word got out you were sleeping with her, remember that, Min?”

“Let’s not talk about the past in front of my girlfriend,” Mingi’s voice slips into something strict, “it’s disrespectful, Shua.”

You stiffen in his arms, that’s oddly kind, it makes your situation more believable. You briefly wonder how Mingi is with his girlfriends, if there’s any form of chivalry in his cold, chauvinist heart. 

Joshua snorts, shaking his head, “‘m sorry, you’re right, my bad.” His pretty brown eyes fall to meet yours and you melt into Mingi all over again, “Blame the weed, sweetheart, my social awareness has depleted to zero.”

“It’s okay,” you smile softly, liking the word as it falls from Joshua’s plump, wet lips, eyes wandering back over to Wooyoung who’s still staring, lips slightly parted, the cherry on his cigarette so long it’d fall soon. You avert your eyes to it, cocky amusement in your tone, “Planning to start the fire yourself?” 

His eyes find his cigarette and he jumps into action, twisting around to flick it in the ashtray behind him, sitting full on the corner of the kitchen island. Your eyes find Winter who’s eyes are staring up at Mingi, looking at him the same way Wooyoung was looking at you. 

Your smile turns devious– it’s fucking working. You knew it would, but it’s still surprising, how stupid could these two be? Maybe they deserve each other. You remind yourself that Mingi’s stupid, too– maybe they could explore polyamory together. 

“Preseason start yet?” Mingi asks, either unaware of Winter’s eyes or he’s playing his cards right, the three lacrosse boys erupt into conversation, complaining about their coach, their training, the program they go through in the fall season to ensure they’re in shape come Spring. 

Wooyoung leans into Winter, a hand around her waist, pulling her into him to whisper something in her ear. It’s like she’s forced back into reality, how her hand lays over his chest, giggling at whatever he said. Gross. You could probably bet money on what nasty shit he just whispered in her ear, dirty talk so smooth it used to make you go weak in the knees, clinging to him like a moth to a flame, how she arched into him you assumed he probably asked to pull her into the bathroom. A move you’d fallen victim to plenty of times yourself.

Jealousy stems in your gut, anger pushing blood through your veins, you look up to Mingi, batting your lashes. You could do it, too. His eyes meet yours and blink into focus, into realization, you watch as his brows ever so slightly knit together, so slight it could go unnoticed, you’re sure you wouldn’t have if you weren’t so close.

A smirk creeps onto his cheeks, voice velvety and smooth, “I know what you want.” Thank God. “Excuse us,” Mingi winks at the lacrosse boys who start snickering upon the words leaving his mouth, “what the princess wants, she gets.”

You catch Wooyoung’s eye, his head whipping around Winter’s, a flicker of surprise. Winter turns too, eyes on Mingi’s biceps around your head, sinking down his build, you hope she’s thinking about fucking him. You hope Wooyoung’s thinking about all the things you’re about to fake-do to Mingi.

You wave as Mingi turns you around, voice light, “Nice to meet you, Seungkwan.”

A few steps away, his biceps flex around your head to get your attention, “Nice move, smart girl.”

You giggle to yourself in victory, bringing your beer up to your lips, “I do have to pee, though, we have to actually go to the bathroom.”

“There’s one at the end of the hallway,” he pulls his arms from around your head to sink down to your hips, his fingers curling through the loops of your denim shorts, guiding you where to go like you’ve never been here before.

Does he think you’re a LAX house newb? You run a hand through your hair, “And there’s two upstairs, one connected to Mingyu and Cheol’s room, another between Dino and Hoshi’s rooms.”

“Look at you, flexing how many bathrooms you’ve gotten laid in.”

“Only the one connected to Mingyu’s room, he’s huge, you can’t blame me.”

“Disrespectful,” he snickers, smacking his teeth, winking at his teammates he passes by in the hallway, you give them all a feigned, bashful smile. “Telling your boyfriend who you’ve slept with.”

“You don’t want to know who I’ve slept with,” you stop in front of the bathroom door, twisting the knob carefully, and thankfully, it opens. You rush inside and Mingi follows, closing the door behind him, locking it. You stare at him with furrowed brows, “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re supposed to be fucking, remember?” His brows raise, hands landing on his hips, his face falling into the usual disgust. You didn’t have to pretend in here. 

You groan, head tipping back, “I have to pee.”

“Then pee!” A hand flies out from his side, five fingers pointing to the toilet, “I’m not stopping you, there’s a toilet right there.”

“What are you gonna do, watch?”

“Are you offering?”

“Fuck you, you’re disgusting,” you spit, a revolted chill making you shiver, he laughs like it’s funny. The weight in your bladder is clear, you whine, shoving your beer into his chest, “I can’t pee if you’re in here, I’m pee-shy.”

“Do you want me to sing? Do a little dance for you?” 

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, “Actually, yeah.”

His amused smile drops, “Deadass?”

“You offered,” you shrug, “turn around, do a lil’ dance for me, football boy.”

His face morphs into regret, but he turns around, facing the shower, he takes a sip of your beer before he clears his throat, spreading his legs for comfort, his other hand finding his front pocket. 

“...Seventeen-thirty-eight… Ay… I’m like hey, whatsup, hello…”

You burst out laughing, hand covering your mouth, the weight in your bladder growing excruciatingly heavy, “Fuck, I’m gonna piss my pants.”

Flipping the lid, you shove your shorts down, squatting over the gross toilet, Mingi keeps fucking singing. You’re laughing as you pee, snorting, holding onto the bathroom counter for dear life until tears cloud your vision, he’s purposely singing badly, sounding insane, he has no shame. You suppose neither do you, peeing in the same room as Song Mingi, for a second you forget who he is. 

Starting quarterback for your university’s football team, he’s a known figure, important. The face of sports for your school, everyone knows his name, everyone wants him– and he’s with you, singing fucking Trap Queen in the LAX house bathroom so you can successfully empty your bladder. 

Wiping, flushing, he turns around as you finish buttoning your shorts again, his voice filled with amusement. “How was that? Should I switch careers, or what?”

“Stick to football,” you mutter, then snort again as you side-step to the sink, turning the water on to wash your hands. “Also, love at first sight? We need to work on your lying skills, and your vocabulary.”

“I thought it was cute!” He defends himself, setting your beer down beside you on the countertop, “People ask too many questions, I wasn’t expecting to make up a full-fledged story every time I opened my mouth tonight.”

“You forget who you are,” you eye him through the mirror, “I wasn’t prepared, either. But enough people know now, word will spread on its own. When can we stop? Like, break up?”

“Damn, one night with me and you already want to break up?” He clutches his heart in hurt, then grins, the tip of his back leaning up against the wall, hips blocking the pole that holds the hand-towels. “Soon, though. Did you see how she was looking at me?”

You turn around, shaking your hands out on either side of you to air-dry since he’s unknowingly hiding the damn towels, clutching the countertop to haul your ass onto it, beside the sink. “Of course I saw, I also saw how you didn’t even spare her a glance.”

He smirks, wiggling his brows, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever the fuck.”

Your face morphs into confusion, “I don’t think you can use that saying here.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, “you know what I mean. Jongho told me girls want what they can’t have, so I’m trying to make myself look very unavailable. It seemed to be working, right?”

“Yeah, she seemed into it,” you shrug, “you think Wooyoung looked pissed?”

“I don’t think he puffed that disgusting cigarette once,” Mingi gives you an impressed look, “his jaw was too busy mopping the floor.”

You giggle at that, legs swaying back and forth where they hung off the counter. Tilting your head, you wonder out loud, “I think three-ish weeks max should be enough, what do you think? If they’re showing interest now, it shouldn’t take much longer.”

He groans, “I have to endure you for three more weeks?”

“Don’t act like you aren’t having fun,” you bite back, “I’m the one who has to endure you.”

“You weren’t complaining when I was holding onto you, smushing your cheeks with my arms, girls would fight to be in your position. Your back was probably getting my shirt wet, you know, sweaty ass.”

Your jaw drops, offended, “It’s fucking hot!” Throwing yourself off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a smack, your hand flies for the doorknob, “I’ve had enough of you, actually. We’ve done plenty of damage for one night, the rest should fall in place.”

“I got it,” he turns off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him, his hand immediately going for your lower back. 

“There’s no one in the hallway,” you reach back to shove his hand off you, “don’t touch me, pervert.”

“I just fucked you, and now I can’t put my hand on your sweaty ass back?”

“You didn’t even make me cum, so no.”

He laughs, a genuine belly laugh, straight from his gut, “Don’t talk shit when you have no fucking idea the things I can do.”

Under other circumstances, in another life, if he wasn’t Song Mingi, you’d love to find out. You don’t answer, cheeks flaming, ears tipping with heat, you’re forgetting yourself, a few days without consistent sex and now your stomach is dropping from words said by him? Out of all people?

You walk a little faster, aiming for your escape. At the end of the hallway, you turn your head halfway, “I’m leaving.”

He pauses in the archway, brows furrowed, voice clearly disappointed, “So soon?”

Swallowing, you nod, “I have class early tomorrow, I’ll let Jongho know what the next outing is, kay?”

SECOND OUTING: LUCENT, TWO DAYS LATER. 12:24 PM

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come to lucent xxx-xxx-xxxx: they’re here

you: the fuck you: who is this

xxx-xxx-xxxx: arent u the smart one bro xxx-xxx-xxxx: its mingi

you: lose my number

xxx-xxx-xxxx: bruh xxx-xxx-xxxx: wooyoung and winter are here can u come

you: oh you: i get out of class in 15

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i cant be here long xxx-xxx-xxxx: theyll start to ask questions

you: mad ominous. who is they you: ill leave early tho

The air is thick, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket, so hot you tug your sweatshirt off your body upon leaving the lecture hall, leaving you in a thin-strapped tank, shorts on your legs, backpack slung over one shoulder. Headphones in your ears, the trek to Lucent is quick even if by the time you make it to the glass double-doors you’re sweating like a whore in church. 

It’s air-conditioned, at least, battling the floor to ceiling windows that begged to let the heat inside, bright, white light invading the room, a perpetrator. It helped you find Mingi easy enough, not that you had to search, eight men squished into one booth had you snorting at the entrance. 

Approaching the table, you put on your best girlfriend-smile before you even spotted Mingi. At the edge of the booth, dressed casually, much like how he looked the day you met him, he wore sweatpants and a cut-off tee, dark hair messy and sprawled across his face like he didn’t bother styling it. Heaving a breath from rushing over, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

He looked you up and down before meeting your eye, a smile spreading across his cheeks, “Hey, princess.”

Your nostrils flared, lips tightening in a fight to not morph into disgust, you guess that was the nickname that stuck. Searching the rest of the table, you find seven men smiling back at you, Jaemin, Taehyun, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Seungmin, Beomgyu and… Jongho. Your eyes widen, smile dropping, hands falling to your sides, words rushing from your lips, “I didn’t know you were here.”

The others turn to Jongho, who looks scared, eyes wide and lips pursed like he didn’t know what the fuck to do. He forces a smile, a nervous chuckle, “I didn’t know I’d be coming here.” His eyes cross the room, leading you to the back corner of the establishment, where Wooyoung sat on one of the comfy chairs, legs stretched out to rest on the small table in front of him, Winter perched on his lap. 

You swallow, ice prickling at your scalp. You never went anywhere public with him, even at fucking Eonian, his favorite stupid dive bar, the only time you interacted was either in the bathroom, or if he was drunk enough to address you in front of other people. Your jaw clenches for a split second, fists forming at your sides before you remember where you are, who’s watching. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” It’s Mingi who pulls you back up to earth, half your body already in the depths of hell from what you were mentally planning to do to Jung Wooyoung. 

Plastering that same, stupid fake-smile back on your lips, you realize you’re still standing, and the booth is clearly full. The boys are nearly on top of each other, large bodies pressed together by their shoulders and thighs, you refuse his question, instead asking, “Should I pull up a chair?”

Mingi’s lips warp into a small smirk as he leans back in the booth, two hands sliding down his thighs before he slaps them twice, “Here’s your chair.”

Your smile tightens, lips flat, eyes scrunched to hide the twitch. “Of course,” there’s nothing but sarcasm in your tone, enough for Mingi to notice, more than enough for Jongho to notice, but hopefully not the others. 

Pulling your backpack from your shoulder, you set it on the floor beside the booth, resting your headphones and hoodie on top. Carefully, slowly, hesitantly, you slide a leg between Mingi’s body and the table splitting the seats, trying not to cringe as you sit on the edge of his thigh. In the back of his throat he makes a strained, tight noise, one low enough for only you to hear, it makes your head snap to look at him, eyes pointed and lips thinned. 

He’s just smiling, fully amused by your reaction. You wish you could speak telepathically, call him a fucking asshole for pretending you’re heavy when he lifts six days a fucking week. 

His arms wrap around you, settling on your thighs, you’re too aware of the silence at the table as he shifts you farther back, in a more comfortable position– if a comfortable position actually exists on Song Mingi’s lap. 

“Are you guys between classes?” You turn to the table, smile back on your cheeks, hands in your lap, “I never see you here.”

“Why are we here?” Taehyun leaned forward, dark brows that matched his hair furrowed, plump lips scrunched in question. He’s a DB, if your memory serves, on the smaller side but fucking strong.

Heeseung, from across the table, replies simply, “Mingi wanted to come.”

The table’s eyes lead to the six-foot moron behind you. You can feel him shrug, voice casual like he didn’t care that this is clearly weird, “Was feeling coffee.”

“We’ve never been here before,” Jaemin comments, or argues, you think. He sips his water bottle, no coffee on the table before him, lean build with a wide upper body, he’s fucking gorgeous. He catches your eye, flashing you a smile held in his eyes, you have to look down at the table to stop yourself from asking for his number. 

“We come here all the time,” Jongho adds, your head picks up to see something playful in his eyes, lips upcurved slightly, “probably wanted to see your girlfriend’s hangout spot, right, Min?”

It’s then that you realize Jongho arranged this, Jongho knew Wooyoung was here, but why wasn’t Jongho the one to text you? Your eye twitches remembering Mingi now has your number.

He’s having too much fun chuckling from behind you, knees bouncing, making your whole body shift. His voice is coated in rock-hard candy, “Of course I wanted to see the coffee shop my girlfriend loves so much.” 

Your lips tighten again, embarrassed. You’re embarrassed. He’s embarrassing you right now, and it’s on purpose. 

“You’re so sweet,” you turn your head halfway, shoulders lifted into your cheeks, forcing a cheeriness to your voice that makes Jongho snort from across the table, “I’m so lucky.”

It renders Mingi’s face flat, unimpressed, he reaches forward and grabs the half-filled plastic cup filled with what looks like watered down shit, bringing it up to take a sip. Your brow pops, “Are you drinking espresso water?”

The table erupts in laughter and your head turns, brows fully furrowing at the commotion, “What?”

“Have you ever heard of an americano, du–” Mingi stops himself mid-insult, lips snapping shut. 

Your top lip curls, but instead of reacting your head turns to the table again, seven fucking football players staring at you like you’re an alien, “What the fuck is an americano?”

They all laugh again, slapping each other’s chests like it was the funniest thing they’ve ever heard and unfortunately it makes you laugh with them, a nervous-confused combination of a breathy giggle, their laughter too contagious for you to not join. 

Mingi holds the cup up to your mouth, making you flinch as the straw approaches your lips. He smacks his teeth, “It’s espresso diluted by water, try it, it’s good.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s not laughing, not smiling. His brows are lifted with the offer, lips slightly pouted, he looks genuine. Reluctantly you lean forward, lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sip– and it tastes exactly how it looks. 

Face scrunching up in disgust, you shake your head twice, “This is why god created cream and sugar.”

That makes him laugh, a smile curving his lips, he takes another sip right after you. An indirect kiss, the immature part of your brain realizes, you wonder how many women on your campus would kill to have exactly that with Song Mingi. How many women would die to sit exactly where you sat; to feel the sheer strength of his thighs beneath them, arms brushing his chest with each movement, his biceps stretched out on either side of them. 

The thought is fleeting as you hear the table laugh again, this time it startles you, jumping slightly on Mingi’s lap out of surprise. His other arm wraps around you a little tighter, your movement startling him, you quickly mumble, “My bad.”

“You’re funny,” Seungmin notes from across the booth, as you look at him you realize he’s talking to you. He’s cute, mousy face, maybe more like a hamster, or a puppy– his eyes are soft and his smile is kind, it takes the edge off his attention on you. His eyes slide to Mingi behind you, “How did you guys meet again?”

“We met here,” Mingi responds casually and your lips tighten again, the lie spins once more. He keeps going, completely theatric, “She bought me coffee because she tripped me outside the cafe.”

You gasp, brows furrowing, head twisting behind you to scold him, “That did not happen!”

His eyes are playful, smile menacing, “Oh, yes it did, we cannot have this argument again, princess.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, following now. Fine, let’s play. Straightening your back, you respond, “It’s not my fault you tripped over your feet, I just happened to be there. You blamed it on me and threatened to call campus security if I didn’t buy you a coffee.”

Mingi shrugs, “It got me a free coffee and a girlfriend, didn’t it? Well-played, if you ask me.”

 Your smile grows, shaking your head in disbelief, at the story he created, how smooth he’s playing it. Fuck him. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter with a small laugh, “I guess it did.”

Turning to the table, they all seem so locked in you almost forget you told five or six of his other teammates a completely different story. You suppose D1 football players won’t be gossiping about where you and Mingi met. 

Catching Jongho’s eye in your scan, he looks surprised, almost. Maybe disbelief, how he was blinking at the two of you, his jaw dropped, lips slightly curved. You thin your eyes at him, “You know this story Ho, don’t look so surprised.”

His face quickly morphs to irritation as the table sings a chorus of laughter once more, all six of them adding the nickname to their arsenals upon it gracing their ears. You smile, proud of the work you’ve done, Jongho can do nothing but scowl. 

“If any of you call me Ho I’m putting dog shit in the vents of your bedrooms,” he looks around the table, voice threatening, eyes cold. 

The laughter dies down but humor dances in the air, Beomgyu is the only one still verbally giggling with his whole chest, “I don’t even care, that is so fucking funny, I’m calling you that forever.”

Jongho redirects his scowl to you, exasperated, “Look at what you did.”

“And I’d do it again,” you’re giggling too, cocky, feeling big-dicked that Jongho’s teammates find you so funny. 

The feeling of being watched strikes alarm bells in your head, you turn your head to scan the room, landing on where Wooyoung sits, his lap now empty. He eyes you from across the room and you can’t read his expression, mostly boredom, but the more you look, the more the clench in jaw is visible. Elbow on the armrest, forearm bent upward, fist clenching and unclenching, he’s analyzing. 

You sink further into Mingi which he accepts easily, hand lazily thrown over your thigh, you looked like a real, proper couple getting coffee between classes. The smell of cedar beckons your attention, warm and woodsy, a little spicy, it makes it easier to forget who’s beneath you, who’s body you’re so easily and openly and publicly attached to.

Two taps to your thigh grabs your attention, you pull your gaze back to the table, to the dark-headed fuck behind you, “Hm?”

“Park asked you a question, princess,” Mingi tips his chin in Sunghoon’s direction, his voice light but direct, it has your head turning to follow his motion in an instant. 

“Is this your first time dating a D1 athlete?” He asks the question with innocence, expression curious, “It has to be different than dating someone who isn’t an athlete.”

You resist the urge to say first time dating, because you’ve certainly slept with a few. Instead you nod politely, humming your answer, “Definitely my first time dating someone as high-profile as Mingi.”

Sunghoon snorts, body leaning back in the booth, his build leaner than the others, strong all the same. Pretty face, structured, timeless features, you briefly wonder what he’s doing on the football team and not on a stage somewhere. 

“Not gonna lie, we never thought Song would date,” Heeseung leans forward again, eyeing you from the other side of the booth, a smile playing on his lips, but there’s more truth to his words than humor. 

“Not again,” Taehyun quips, “we always assumed he was too focused on his diet and his training program to actually put effort into another human.”

Mingi stiffens beneath you– a slight movement, one you can feel too easily while perched on his lap. There’s still laughter in the air, the comments read light-hearted, but you wonder if it feels that way to Mingi. 

Jaemin cackles, “What the hell do you guys mean? He’s never alone.”

“Did you have him tested before you fucked him?” Seungmin wears a smirk, brows raised in your direction, “Because if you haven’t, I think you both probably should at this point.”

Mingi’s chest leans into your back, his chin popping over your shoulder, “Alright, enough.”

You can feel every single muscle pressed to your back, the plush of his broad pecs against your shoulderblades, his fucking washboard of an abdomen against your spine, you can’t even register the tension consuming the table, how everyone quiets down on Mingi’s command, holy shit. You need to get laid. 

Your eyes find Wooyoung, too aware of his presence, his eyes that are still fucking on you. Dark clothes, boots crossed over one another, he held up his caseless phone like he wanted you to check yours. Blinking into focus, you reach between you and Mingi to your back pocket, pulling out your phone, clicking it on to look at your home screen.

wooyo: can we talk wooyo: outside 

You pick your head up to look at Jongho, heart picking up speed in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the men around you in another conversation. He meets your eye, furrowing his brows for a split second and fuck you wish you could speak out loud.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say quietly to Mingi, barely turning your head to see his face. 

His hand lifts from your thigh, “I have to leave soon.”

“That’s fine,” your voice is low, “wait until I get back so I can say goodbye.”

Don’t catch me outside talking to Wooyoung with half of your team in tow.

The restrooms are beside the exit, your escape is easy. On the far side of the building, you ignore how foul your heart feels in your chest, the pounding bass feeling like nerves instead of excitement. 

It’s still putrid, hot, humid, disgusting outside, it only adds to the feeling of wrongness. It feels like an eternity before you hear the scrape of his boots against concrete, the smell of cigarette smoke circling where you stood. 

“Hey,” his voice is low, casual, rough around the edges like that was his umpteenth cigarette of the day. His black tee is fitted, jeans baggy, one of his pantlegs tucked into a boot. He looked like danger personified but his skin still gleamed summer, bronzy and sparkling, pink dusting his cheeks. 

“Why did you want to talk?” Your voice is sharp, no room for it to be taken any other way than rude. 

Wooyoung chuckles a little, lips scrunching to blow smoke up into the air, above your bodies. He leaves room between you, enough for you to feel comfortable, but you’re sure there was a purpose. With him, there’s always a purpose. 

He flicks the butt, ashing on the concrete below, eyes trained on his own movements before they slowly trail up your body to meet your gaze, making a show of checking you out, it makes you sick. Kind of.

“You’re really dating him?” It’s between a statement and a question, two of his fingers bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. 

Your brows furrow, arms crossing tighter over your chest, “Yes?”

“We broke up a week ago, baby,” he chuckles, smoke escaping his mouth with each burst of breath, “that’s a little quick, don’t you think?”

“You’re one to talk,” your jaw clenches, standing straighter, “where’s your arm candy? Or did you cheat on her already?”

“She’s in there,” his voice is too light, so unbothered it genuinely pisses you off how fast your heart is beating. You wished you had a fraction of his nonchalance. “And I didn’t cheat on you, doll, we were never together in the first place.”

“Right,” you blow disbelief through your nose, rolling your eyes, body turning away from him, facing the parking lot that looked deserted even if it was packed with college kids inside. Turning your head only, you ask, “Why are you out here, Wooyoung? What do you want?”

“I still haven’t gotten my hoodie back,” his eyes are low, catching a honey bronze color in the sunlight, you hate how they steal your attention. 

You crack a nasty grin, “I burned that ugly fucking hoodie.”

Inside the cafe, Mingi has caught on easily. He watched Wooyoung stand about forty-five seconds after you left for the bathroom, he doesn’t need to look to understand what’s going on, where you are. For such a shitty plan, he can’t believe it’s working so well, it’s as if Wooyoung and Winter were falling into Mingi’s palms without him having to lift a finger.

He doesn’t mind having you around, it doesn’t feel like work. You’re funny, quick-witted and smart, so smart he wonders what your major is. He wonders a lot about you, your relationship with Jongho, what you do in your free time, what the hell you were doing sleeping with Wooyoung, of all people. In the small amount of time he’s spent with you, he already knows you deserve better than a fucking asshole like him, you deserve someone who will meet you on your level. 

Mingi wonders if there’s anyone on the team he can set you up with after the two of you break up. Looking around the table, there doesn’t seem to be any winners, maybe Seungmin could keep up with your banter, but Mingi thinks you might destroy him. Jaemin’s funny, but he’s stupid, he can't keep up with your smarts, he thinks Jaemin will irritate you before he entertains you. Maybe Chris, he’s smart, he’s a lot like Mingi, but he’s not one to date. 

You don’t need another fuckboy asshole taking advantage of you. 

It doesn’t matter, anyhow, maybe after your talk with Wooyoung the scheme will be cut short and everything will go back to normal. He won’t have to see you ever again, he’ll have Winter at his side and he can forget this ever happened, forget about you fully. Training, academics, practice, games. Playoffs are coming up– he hopes he’ll have Winter by then, cheering for him in the stands, wearing his jersey. 

“Hi.”

Eyes flickering upward to a voice he recognizes, he sits a little straighter when he sees the dark-haired beauty standing at the head of the table, holding two coffee cups, wearing the prettiest, shy smile. 

Winter. He could see his future like it was his past. 

“Hey,” Mingi keeps his voice steady, only letting his lips curve ever so slightly. “You need something?”

She shakes her head, pink kissing her round cheeks, she looks down at her shoes, toes knocking together. “Just wanted to wish you luck with playoffs. I know your conference game is next weekend, you must be stressed.”

Mingi swallows down his giddiness, she knows who he is? She’s standing here, at the table, in front of a quarter of his team, talking to him? Wishing him luck?

“Thanks,” Mingi nods, smile growing, “no stress, we’ve got it in the bag. You’ll be there?”

She nods, “Definitely, wouldn’t miss it.” Finally looking at the rest of the table, her eyes land on each one of his teammates, and he’s loving the way each man looks like they want to devour her. Little do they know, she’s his. Her voice coy and soft, she says, “Good luck to you guys, too.”

She made it clear she was only here for Mingi. 

He’d kiss her right now if he could. 

She winks at Mingi as she walks away, long lashes fluttering as she makes her way back toward where she was sitting with Wooyoung before, setting the plastic coffee cups down on the table. Straight posture, dainty fingers, hair shiny and long, cascading down her back, fuck, she’s perfect. 

“Your luck is crazy, Mingi,” Jaemin comments when she’s out of ear-shot, “Winter approaching when your girl goes to the bathroom? You’re one of God’s favorites.”

“Huh?” Mingi pops a brow before you pop into his mind again. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “I really lucked out.”

“What are you gonna do?” Taehyun asks, “She wants you.”

Mingi scrunches his lips to one side, catching Jongho’s eye from across the table. Playing with the coffee cup on the table, spinning it in a circle between his fingers, he’s reminded who you are to Jongho. He can’t be openly disrespectful. 

Mingi answers plainly, “Nothing, I have a girlfriend.”

They all snort, table erupting in laughter like that was the most stupid thing that could have left his mouth. And Mingi guesses it is, Jongho knows who he is, that this is all a plan, a ploy, for the sole purpose of Mingi dating Winter. It doesn’t matter how it all unfolds. 

You startle him by barreling back to the table, barely sparing Mingi a glance as you grab your hoodie, your backpack, your headphones. Your eyes find Jongho across the table, flaring something panicked before looking back at Mingi, “I have to go.”

You don’t sound happy. Your jaw is clenched, your chest is flushed, your eyes seem glossy, Mingi finds himself concerned, internally questioning what the fuck happened outside.

“You okay?” He asks, body turning sideways, knees poking out from below the table. 

Wooyoung walks by behind you, not even looking as he leisurely strolls past, the smell of cigarette smoke following him like he was purposely leaving a trail behind.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, chest rising and falling in quick succession, “but I gotta go.”

Mingi, apparently out of his fucking mind, stands abruptly, stepping toward you with furrowed brows, “I’ll come.”

“No,” you answer harshly, then lick your lips, mouth tightening like you wished you could reel the word back in. “I’m sorry, I– I’ll text you, ‘kay?”

Your eyes find the table behind Mingi, everyone staring up at you, some with furrowed brows, some acting like they didn’t hear anything at all. You reach up to put your hands on Mingi’s shoulders, standing on your tippy toes to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then whisper, “Bye.”

Mingi’s dumbfounded as you haul ass out of Lucent. Backpack bouncing behind you, you rip the door open and leave the place like an intruder had just told everyone to put their hands up. His fingers find his cheek, though, confused as he is, he turns back to the table, all of his boys already staring up at him. 

“You’re fucked,” Seungmin says plainly, “she definitely saw Winter at the table, she’s pissed.”

Mingi sits back in the booth, eyes sliding to where Winter sits, meeting Wooyoung’s already-there stare. He’s smirking, eyes trained on Mingi while Winter is speaking to him, a hand on his shoulder, it makes Mingi’s top lip lift in distaste, he’s such a fucking asshole it makes him sick.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: next sunday xxx-xxx-xxxx: four highest ranked teams get a first round bye for playoffs

you: so youre planning to be top 4 i assume

xxx-xxx-xxxx: im planning to be top 1 fym

you: hmmmm

xxx-xxx-xxxx: idk how much time ill have between now and then tho xxx-xxx-xxxx: we might not be able to flex our fake relationship as hard

you: absence makes the heart grow fonder you: winter will be at the game tho you: think shell kiss you if you win???

xxx-xxx-xxxx: stop dont make me delusional bro xxx-xxx-xxxx: and dont steal my line

you: acting like you made it up is crazy you: saying been around for decades and here you go you: claiming it as your own

You’re smiling at your phone, not realizing you’re giggling while Jongho and Yeosang stare at you with pointed eyes from across the living room, the two sitting comfortably on Yeosang’s couch, laptops on their laps. You came over to catch up on schoolwork after Jongho left practice, not wanting to do it at your own apartment, plus, you had to catch them up on the newest development in the Wooyoung saga. 

Since you ended things, you haven’t really had time to process what happened. Quickly shoved into the fake dating scheme, you were focused on something shiny and new, you forgot to pay attention to the small part inside you that ached. Four months is a solid chunk of time, especially when most of it was over the summer where most of the campus wasn’t in attendance, the only thing on your agenda was your part-time job and Wooyoung. 

Despite having something shiny and new to focus on, the loss of him still hurts. Sleeping alone, not having anyone to touch, to kiss, to tell your work drama and have them fuck it better, despite being an avoidant asshole, Wooyoung filled a gap for you the entire four months you were ‘together’.

He spoke to you the other day like you meant nothing to him. Which you knew, but to have further confirmation in such a setting, standing outside your favorite coffee shop where the other woman sat just inside, it hurt. By the end of the conversation all your pent-up, repressed feelings rose to the surface, you needed to get the fuck out of there before you sobbed all over Mingi’s americano. 

Mingi. Fuck him, his pretty hair and strong body, fuck him for looking at you like he cared about your feelings. It’s all bullshit and it’s not what you need right now, you should be focused on doubling your pain and passing it straight back to Wooyoung. School should really be top priority, your weekly study group, your shifts on the weekend, your top priority should be your degree and making sure you’re stable. You didn’t think this plan would come with so much added shit. 

“Who are you texting?” Yeosang asks, green and black hair straight, tucked behind his ears, showing his piercings. He wore a dark sweater, ripped at the collar bone, jeans painted onto his legs, his pink bunny socks tucked beneath his body completely ruining the bad boy vibe. 

Yeosang’s never been a bad boy, he doesn’t have it in him. A soft lover boy, one that cares, one that sees what others don’t see, that’s who Yeosang is. 

Mindlessly, eyes still glued to your screen, you mumble, “Mingi.”

Jongho and Yeosang share a look. Jongho, face flat, looks over his laptop screen to you, “I still can’t get over seeing you two together.”

You look up, popping a brow, “Why?”

“You look too comfortable,” a very physical shiver runs through Jongho, ruffling his fitted white tee, gray sweats a contrast to the black couch, “it’s weird.”

“Are they friendly?” Yeosang asks Jongho, the two once again acting like you’re not in the room. You roll your eyes. 

“Very,” Jongho nods, then turns to look at you, “what’d I miss at that party?”

“What do you mean?” Your face morphs into confusion, small shakes of your head enforcing your bewilderment, “It’s weird because we aren’t ripping each other’s faces off? Can’t really do that in front of people who think we’re dating.”

Jongho’s face stays flat, eyes knowing, “How about the fake ass story of where you met? That was bullshit, you were bickering like you’ve known him as long as you’ve known us.”

You giggle again upon remembering, “Wait, that was funny because half his team thinks we met at the library, it’s like an ongoing bit–”

Jongho cuts you off, looking at Yeosang, “Do you see what I mean?”

Yeosang narrows his eyes, “Are you into him?”

“Do you think I’m a moron?”

“Yes,” they answer simultaneously. 

You scoff, “I don’t know why I hang out with you just to get verbally degraded.”

Looking down at your phone, you notice three more messages from the number you still refuse to save. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: shut up who even are u xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u coming to the game? if shes there wooyoung will be too xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill give u my jersey to wear lmfao

“Do football players do this?” You ask, brows furrowing, showing Jongho and Yeosang your phone screen. Holding it over the coffee table splitting where you sat on the floor and the couch they occupied, you sat up on your knees as they bent over their laptop screens, squinting to read. 

“Give their jerseys out?” Jongho asks, still mid-read. 

You snatch your phone away when he starts to scroll, “Yes, fucker, is that normal?”

“Girl,” Yeosang makes a disappointed face, sitting back on the couch, “that’s standard.”

Your repulsion is physical, “Do you think he washes it?”

“It gets washed for him,” Jongho responds, “I’m surprised the staff doesn’t do all his laundry for him. If it weren’t for them, it wouldn’t get washed.”

“Do the staff really do that much?”

“He doesn’t really have to think,” Jongho continues, “he’s the star, the prized possession, vital to the football team, to the school’s popularity and income. They’d do anything he asked.”

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, processing each word out of his mouth, “there’s really a whole world out there I don’t know shit about.”

The two men laugh, Jongo harder than Yeosang, the younger man’s giggles high-pitched and shameless, “Have you not paid attention my entire football career?”

“No,” your answer is short, plain, “why would I?”

“Because there was a time we both played football and you were glued to us,” Yeosang answers, “there are some things you should probably know already.”

“Neither of you have had a girlfriend during the season!” Your voice is high-pitched, defensive, you bring your attention back to your phone. “You’re riding me for what right now, all of this will be over in like, two weeks, anyway.”

you: whatever football boy you: ya im coming

xxx-xxx-xxxx: cool xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u actually gonna wear my jersey

you: do i have to

xxx-xxx-xxxx: kinda

you: man you: whatever

xxx-xxx-xxxx: wow xxx-xxx-xxxx: i can feel ur excitement through the phone

“Are you bringing him to my gig?” You look up from your phone to see Yeosang already looking at you, “It’s at Eonian, so Wooyoung will definitely be there.”

You groan, throwing your phone to the side, stretching your body out as you lay down on the rug, whining. “Your shows are our time, Yeo.”

Bass player for his band, Yeosang playing shows on and off campus was a frequent event. Always somewhere lowkey, somewhere fun, you always went with Jongho, Jia or Riyo. Bringing a man, especially Mingi, would debase the entire meaning of Yeosang’s shows. You go to support him, not to keep tabs on Wooyoung all night or feel uncomfortable with Mingi attached to your hip.

“All that shit just happened with Wooyoung, though,” Jongho says matter-of-factly, “it’s smart to show up with Mingi on your arm. Where Wooyoung goes, Winter follows.”

You pick only your head up, squinting at him over the table, “Yeosang’s shows are off limits. I need to be able to scream my excitement freely, Mingi’s presence will hinder my enjoyment.”

“Whatever,” Yeosang sings, “it’s just one show, but okay.”

You whine, head banging against the floor beneath the rug as you lay it back down, “He’s busy, anyways. He just told me he won’t have time to hang before the conference game.”

“Yet here I am,” Jongho argues, “and at that show, I will be.”

You mumble a curse, “Whatever.”

Picking up your phone again, a notification from Instagram sticks out on your home screen, a message request. 

blondenbeautiful: Heard you’re dating Song Mingi? blondenbeautiful: Biggest joke i’ve ever heard LMFAO blondenbeautiful: Lying for attention is pathetic, I hope he sues you for defamation 

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide as you stare at the screen, “What the fuck?!”  

Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing the shock in your voice, Jongho and Yeosang hop up from their spots, throwing their laptops to the side, racing around the coffee table to look at your phone screen. 

“Ew,” Yeosang huffs, “no way this is happening already.”

“What do you mean already?” You look at your green haired friend, shocked and confused.

“Turn off your DM requests,” Jongho adds, “fuck that, dude, fuck no.”

“I’m not turning them off,” you scoff, “that’s pussy shit. Her username is blonde n’ beautiful, Ho.”

You click on her profile, scroll through her feed, watch her story, she lives across the fucking country. You think this is what Yeosang meant when he said Mingi had refined taste; barbie dolls, rich bitch attitude, this was his typical. 

“Who cares about pussy shit?” Jongho’s brows are tied together, his eyes pleading, “That’s not the point. He has a fanbase of Warrior Barbies, have you even looked at his Instagram?”

Scrolling out of your requests and opening up the search bar, your eyes widen upon seeing his profile. You followed him already, probably from your freshman year, but he definitely didn’t have near fifty thousand followers back then, or so many posts professionally photographed. 

For some reason it’s this that opens your eyes, a chill racking down your spine. You knew how detrimental he was to the university, his level of popularity, but you didn’t think it was outside of your campus, too. He was popular, known, and it spread wider than you ever thought was possible for a guy who sings Trap Queen in sports house bathrooms.

Voice shaky, you whisper, “I feel like I’m in a who the fuck did I marry subreddit.”

Yeosang can’t help the laugh that escapes him, head dipping down with an amused breath, he snaps back to deadpanning in a second’s time. “You should turn off your requests before it gets worse.”

“I’m not even dating him for realsies,” you argue, “the insults are empty. None of them are true, so they don’t count.”

Jongho sits beside you, flopping down on the rug from where he was crouched, “I just don’t want them to get to you. The whole Wooyoung thing upset you enough, you don’t need social media harassment to put the cherry on top.”

“I’ll be fine,” you lock your phone, tossing it to the floor beside you, “that shit won’t bother me. I’m strong.”

“Yeah, alright,” sarcasm swims in Yeosang’s voice, “is it a crime to listen to us every once in a while?”

You sneer, “Yes.”

you: btw yeosang is playing a show friday at 10 you: at eonian on 4th ave you: woo and winter will be there

xxx-xxx-xxxx: just told u i dont have time

you: why are you acting like i want you there 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill be there

THIRD OUTING: EONIAN, FRIDAY. 9:42 PM

“Did you hire a personal stylist or something?”

You scoff, standing in your doorway, looking down at your own outfit. You supposed it was different for you, more stylish than you’d normally shoot for when going anywhere, let alone the dinky dive bar you’ve gone to a thousand times. The doormen have seen you in sweatpants, chain-smoking cigarettes because you had too much to drink, the bartenders have seen you in stained overalls, making out with a random person in the corner because you had too much to drink, you don’t know why you chose today, of all days, to put in an effort when everyone there has seen you at your worst. 

Looking at Mingi, he seemed to have the same idea. Although he always looked put together in a way, even if he was in sweats and a cutoff tank, it never looked necessarily bad. All black, leather jacket, boots, his hair styled away from his face, messily but purposeful, he looked good. Really good. It pissed you off. 

“Did your staff pick out that outfit for you?” You sneer, “I’m not used to seeing you without sweatpants on.”

“Insulting the man who came all the way here to pick you up,” he nods, bottom lip folded over in the most attitude-stricken look he’s ever given you, “smart.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, heels clicking against the floor as you step through the threshold of your apartment. “Let’s just go.”

Mingi’s car is ridiculous. Ever since seeing his stupid Instagram page, there seems to be a constant reminder everywhere of who he is, what he has. It still smelled new inside, black leather interior, red detail, gear shift looking untouched, pristine. Not a spec of dust on the dash or in the backseat that held only one black duffel bag unzipped, your instincts told you it could hold a lot more. 

“Have you been to Eonian?” You ask, turning your head to face him after he pulled out of your complex’s parking lot. 

Pressure forces you back into your seat as he picks up speed, knees shifting below the steering wheel, palm wrapped around the gearstick, his face goes unchanged. He leans his head toward you but doesn’t turn it, “Maybe once, why?”

“Just wondering,” your voice is pitched, shaky, eyes widened while you swallow down your heart that shot up so high you could taste it. Your fingers curl into your jeans, thanking god seatbelts exist in your head, you turn your head to the window so you could close your eyes in peace without being caught as a wimp. 

You hear him laugh after a second, a small, snarky giggle. The car slows and you can feel it in your chest, body sinking into leather, free to move as you please, your fingers uncurl from your pantlegs, shoulders slouching in relief. 

“My bad, should have warned you.”

“I want to survive,” you don’t let him hear the shakiness in your voice, keeping it laced with clear irritation, “if I died beside you I’d have to resurrect myself just to walk ten feet away and die there instead.”

“You’re really sweet, y’know that?” Sarcasm evident, he continues, “I can’t understand why Wooyoung would cheat on such a nice, kind girl.”

Your neck twists to eye him, gaze harsh enough to cut. What the fuck? “We weren’t even together, he didn’t cheat.” 

“Oh!” His laughter is punched, eyes condescending, lips half surprised and half amused, “Excuse me, he didn’t cheat, right. He didn’t want to date you at all.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you mumble, head turning to face the window again. It rained earlier, there’s still droplets of water sprinkled on the glass, the gloomy evening looking like the pit in your gut, soggy, heavy, dark. “That’s why Winter rejected you.”

“Well she wants me now,” he adds and you can hear the stupid smirk in his voice.

You snap your head toward him again, “Where did that even come from?” 

“Did I strike a nerve?” 

Your jaw clenches, facing the window again, mumbling, “This isn’t even worth it anymore.”

He turns the music up, letting it fill the cabin of the car, you can barely feel the road beneath you, his car drives so smoothly. You can hear him switch gears, the roar of the engine picking up, the feel of force in your chest as his speed increases, your hair moving when he slows again, it’s torture.

It’s worse when you step out to go inside the bar, the ground bendy beneath you, feet unsteady on pavement. Your stomach feels icky, your chest heavy and weird, and to top it off, the cigarette-smoking-stupid-fucking-asshole is standing right outside the front door, talking to the bouncer, doused in leather and silver. You suck in a deep breath, straightening your back, part of you forgetting Mingi’s there as you start for the door. Maybe you just wish he wasn’t with you at all. 

Mingi calls your name, you don’t stop. A little firmer, a little louder, “Hey.” Jaw clenched, you stop in your tracks, the fur on your jacket whipping as you turn around. Lazily he strolls toward you, holding out a hand, to which you don’t grab. 

“Hold my hand,” he wiggles his palm a little, voice edged with annoyance, “come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Is it what I said in the car?” He lowers his palm, head tilting, “I’m sorry if I went too far, I won’t do it again. Now please hold my hand so we can go inside together, they’ll be watching.”

Shooting daggers at him, your hand peeks out from your sleeve, reluctantly reaching forward; he spreads out his fingers with a satisfied grin, tangling them with yours, palms pressed together. There’s a certain intimacy to holding someone’s hand, not something you do often, not something you’ve done in a very long time; yet there’s no warmth that spreads through you at the contact, no electricity that stems in the tip of your spine. Strictly business. 

Taking a step forward, he comments, “Your hand is clammy.”

“Wonder why,” you roll your eyes, “you have calluses, it’s gross, like sandpaper. Or cat tongue.”

Mingi smacks his lips together, walking in-step with you now, his head dipping down to hide how your words made him laugh. “You’re seriously deranged.”

It makes a smile claw at your lips, turning your head away so he can’t see the grin that fights its way to the surface. He squeezes your hand once like he can see through your wall of hair, snickering from beside you, by the time you get to the front door you’re both fighting to crack a smile like a pair of stubborn idiots. 

Tall and buff, a head of light brown, curly hair hidden beneath a snapback, the bouncer eyes you over your ID, then looks at Mingi, deadpanning, “Make sure she doesn’t get near a pack of Marlboro Reds tonight.”

Wooyoung is behind him now, smiling as smoke pours from the corner of his mouth, losing its opacity as it melts into the humid air around him. He’s quiet, but he watches as your face falls, then makes it clear he’s inspecting every article of clothing on your body.

“I’m not even a smoker, Minho.”

“Minho?” Mingi questions, head bobbing in surprise and confusion. He looks at you with a dumbfounded face, “Marlboro Reds?”

“Can we just go inside?” You tug on Mingi’s hand, he takes your ID back from Minho before following you inside Eonian, his brows still furrowed.

“I thought you said you don’t really come here,” Mingi sounds lost as you pull him inside the door, the smell of humid air and alcohol meeting your nose upon entrance.

You do a quick scan of the bar, mindlessly answering, “I’ve been here a few times with Wooyoung.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with the bouncer,” he hisses his argument, standing close to you now, leaning down just enough to whisper-yell it into your ear. 

Spotting Jongho in the far corner, just beside the stage at a table, your grin is finally real and takes over your entire face. “Yeah, well, he fucked my friend,” you pull him in Jongho’s direction, “I found Ho, come on.”

It takes longer than you thought it would to get across the crowded bar, you stopped three different times for Mingi to dap up strangers you’ve maybe seen before, all people who tucked Mingi into a quick hug with grins so bright it was as if they were meeting God. Antagonizing, remembering how many people love him, not that you showed your distaste as Mingi introduced you to every single person as his girlfriend, in which they all drank up your figure and complimented Mingi on how well he did scoring you. 

It almost made up for what happened in the car. Almost. 

Dick two inches bigger, you had more swag in your step as you dragged him to Jongho’s table, where he stood around the high-top wooden surface with two others beside him. Lee Minho, Lee Felix, tight-end, kicker. Felix, bright, blonde and bushy-tailed, stood a little shorter than Minho, who was everything dark and brooding, at least on the outside. Light seemed to return to his eyes when you approached the table, a small smile on your face, already in-character. 

Jongho looked less wary as you approached this time, a pink hue to his cheeks, shoulders slightly slouched, a tall beer on the table before him. It looks appealing, even for a beer, at this point you think you’d take a swig of whiskey just to ease the lingering weight in your chest. 

He notices your eyes lingering on his beer, he tugs it toward him, eyes pointed, “No.”

It makes a small laugh pass through your lips before you greet the table. Felix’s warm brown eyes seem brighter after Mingi introduces you, his freckled cheeks pink at the apples, “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“Me?” You’re still smiling, one brow popped, “Why?”

“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho is quick to answer as if that was now a title of sorts. 

Your head tilts, confusion spreading, Mingi’s hand slides to the small of your back, his pinky lining the hem of your jeans. The girl who tamed Song Mingi, your initial reaction is to laugh through the confusion, it comes out staggered, airy, uneasy. 

Felix is beaming, grin spread wide like excitement was oozing from his pores, “The whole team has been talking about you, they say you’re funny, and hot, which is clearly true.”

Now heat is spreading through you, smile shifting to something of a smirk, he’s pretty. Like a girl, in a way, blonde hair straight past his shoulders, you can tell there’s a lean, disciplined body beneath the oversized clothes on his body. Backwards hat, lips plump and rosy like he’d been kissing someone for hours, you wonder how hot he thinks you are. 

“Is your jacket from Anthro? I’ve been looking at it online, waiting for it to go on sale,” his eyes are on the faux fur on your shoulders, the jacket you thrifted ages ago for ten bucks, you have no idea what brand is on the tag. 

Gaydar going off, you ask, “No idea, wanna check?”

His eyes flare brighter, you don’t wait for his answer as you break away from Mingi’s heavy hand, walking around the table. You feel soft fingers moving your hair out of the way as your eyes lead to Jongho, “When does Yeo go on?”

“I think in twenty minutes or so,” he shrugs, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

You shiver when you feel the warmth of Felix’s fingertips at the base of your neck, “They’re late?”

Head down to allow Felix access to your tag, your eyes slide to look at the stage, lights on and empty. You got here right before ten, he should be going on any minute now. 

“Technical difficulties,” Minho comments in a sing-song tone, reminding you he’s also at the table. Taller than you, beefier than Felix, his elbows sit on the table, biceps straining the sleeves of his fitted tee. Dark hair, eyes feline, lips small and pouty, shit, he’s hot, too. 

You hum, storing the info for later, “I hope they play soon.”

“This is Anthro,” Felix gasps, “so cute, I want one.”

“I thrifted it a long time ago, if you ever want to borrow it, ask Mingi for my number,” you offer as you turn around, hands grabbing the hem of it to pull it forward, fixing where it sank backward.

Felix’s head turns to Mingi across the table, feigning a pout, “I like this one, can I keep her?”

In-character, Mingi shakes his head, a smooth, proud chuckle tumbling from his lips. “Sorry to break it to you, Lix, but that one’s mine.”

Mine. 

Hand holding didn’t get a reaction out of you, but a singular word makes your stomach curl. You barely remember the last time you were considered someone’s partner, significant other, girlfriend, you don’t know if you ever have been; you’ve been a fuck-buddy, a situationship, a friends with benefits, everything under the fucking sun besides owned. At least five, maybe six years it’s been since someone used the word mine to describe what you are to them, and back then it was purely adolescent, puppy-love at fifteen that made you feel lovesick instead of violently nauseous. 

“I need a drink,” you blurt, “from the bar.”

Mingi’s brows furrow, “Where else would you get one, princess?”

That fucking nickname. Your nose crinkles with disgust, you don’t even care about forcing a smile on your face or putting on a show, your irritation returns tenfold. Giving him a long, blank stare, you turn and beeline for the bar. 

Deep, shiny oak littered with splotches of wetness, signed receipts soaked, smudged and clinging to the surface, loose, skinny black straws thrown about the bar like some drunk idiot threw a handful in the air, it was a typical Friday night here. Elbows on the bar, you push yourself up by the ledge attached to the base, you keep your chest pressed above your folded arms so the sexy bartender would help you first. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You smack your lips again, but you don’t turn around. Just his voice is getting on your last nerve.

“Tell me what’s wrong, you’re acting bitchier than usual.”

You can feel the words in your spine. You snap your neck to the side, “Is that why it’s so understandable for me to get cheated on? Because I’m bitchy?”

“You’re still mad about that?” Mingi asks, sounding genuine. You hear him sigh before he forces himself between you and the guy standing beside you at the bar, someone shorter than him, smaller. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you say quietly, voice laced with venom, keeping your eyes on the tall bartender juggling bottles like they’re toys, his movements fluid. You attempt to telepathize with him, maybe he’ll hear your calls of his name in his mind.

“I thought we moved past that already,” he sighs, “you’re not even gonna look at me? I’m trying–”

“Why do you give a fuck?” You finally look at him and his brows are upturned, lips pouty, but that arrogance that’s embedded in him is so fucking clear you regret looking. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you. I’m here for Yeosang, you’re here to impress Winter, wherever the fuck she is. You should go find her.”

“Hey, baby,” you turn to find the bartender finally answering your calls, “he bothering you?”

“Yes,” you smile back, giddiness forming in the pit of your stomach. Slit through his eyebrow, buzz-cut bleached a sandy blonde color, he wears a mesh tank that sits loose on his skin, flowing with each movement. “But he’s paying, so I can’t escape him just yet. Wanna do a shot with me on his tab?”

You lean in closer, eyes low, smile playful. He chuckles, eyes sliding to Mingi and then back to you, “A shot with my favorite girl? Of course. Is he doing one too?”

You shrug, “Ask him, not me.”

You both look at Mingi whose brows are in his hairline, lips parted and slightly curled in a small sneer. It takes him a second to process Hyunjin’s staring at him with a question, he shakes his head slightly before reaching into his pocket, muttering, “Nah, I’m good.”

Hyunjin pours you your favorite drink before placing two plastic shot-cups on the bar, messily pouring liquor that spills onto the grated surface below, “Cheers, to Yeosangie.”

“To Yeosangie,” your grin spreads wide, clinking plastic before smacking them on the bar and shooting them back. “Thanks, Jinnie.”

“Anything for my favorite girl,” his voice is warm, almost as warm as his pretty brown eyes when he looks at you, it makes your insides feel fuzzy. He turns to Mingi who passes him his credit card with that same confused-annoyed look, but he stays quiet. Good. 

When Hyunjin walks away, he speaks, and you groan upon the first word leaving his lips. “You’re such a liar, you lied to me.”

“Whatever,” you huff, bringing the straw up to your lips. Fruity, bitter, strong, necessary. “You don’t need to know the truth all the time.”

Mingi’s shaking his head, an annoyed chuckle falling past his lips, “Is there anyone else here you’ve slept with that your boyfriend should know about?”

You shrug as he gets his card back, signing the receipt. You eye it to make sure he left Hyunjin a nice tip, which he does without a word from you. “I’ll let you know if any more show up, if you’re really that curious.”

“I’m sorry for what I said in the car,” he tries again, voice sounding strained, “I’m exhausted, the coaches are working me to the fucking bone with playoffs so close, and I’m here for you.”

Mine.

“You are not here for me,” you bite back, “you meant what you said in the car, don’t go back on it now because it pissed me off. You’re here for Winter and that’s it, Mingi. Like I said earlier, go find her.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Fine!” You huff, “Then leave! I didn’t want you here to begin with.”

“You invited me!” He argues back, eyes blowing wide, “I came because you invited me. I picked you up after a three-hour practice. I skipped the second half of studying with exams soon to be here.”

Mine. Your chest constricts.

“You shouldn’t skip studying,” you mutter, “you can’t afford to, moron.”

“Yet I did,” his arms raising on either side of him, defeated. You look at him, really look at him, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice the bags beneath his eyes earlier, he hasn’t had that energetic, snarky-spark since he picked you up. 

The lights dim around the stage, music playing through the speakers silencing, the TouchTunes turned off. Mingi sighs, “Can we just watch the show? Wooyoung saw us, which means Winter's here somewhere. They’ll see us at some point.”

“Sorry for being a bitch,” you mumble, voice small, cheeks burning. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “I’m sorry for being a bitch, too.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, “Come on, it’s time to pretend you like me again.”

There’s a smile on your face when you groan, body falling beneath his arm, he walks you up towards the table again, through the crowd that parts for him as if he’s a celebrity, standing beside Jongho like he knows it’s where you’d be most comfortable. 

He pushes you in front of him as people start closing in, hands sliding down, hooking into your belt loops as Yeosang’s band walks out onstage. Excitement blooming, a grin breaks out across your face, head tipping back with a hand curled around your mouth to release a sharp, pitched whistle. 

Mingi echoes the noise, leaning forward to cheer for Yeosang, the back of your head touching his chest. Your head follows his body as he stands straight again, leaning on him with a smile etched into your skin, holding the plastic cup between your hands as the band takes their positions. 

Yeosang’s eyes scan the crowd, you follow where his gaze gets stuck, in the back corner, sitting at one of the high-top tables. She’s here, your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight, warmth filling your chest, a semblance of pride. Good. 

“Who’s that?” Mingi leans down to ask in your ear. 

“Yeosang’s kind-of girlfriend,” you tear your eyes away from her to tilt your head up, looking at him. “Their relationship is weird.”

“Hm,” Mingi’s head tilts, “doesn’t look like Yeo’s type.”

“She’s exactly his type,” you giggle, “you should know that.”

A smile forms as he looks down at you, “I guess you’re right, don’t know why I assumed everything changed after he quit playing football.”

“Running-back-gone-stoner still likes his cheerleaders,” you sing, bringing your attention back to the stage, taking a sip from your drink. “He seems happier now that he doesn’t play anymore.”

“This is the most confident I’ve ever seen him and he hasn’t played a single chord yet,” Mingi adds, nodding his agreement. 

“He’s good,” there’s pride in your voice, “you’ll like their music.”

As if they could hear you, Jay strums his guitar, a striking chord that pulls the attention of the entire room. You squeal, turning your head to see Jongho who’s looking at the stage with the same amount of fondness and pride in his eyes that you wore, the same feeling you have every time you see Yeosang on stage. 

Their opening song is one original out of three, the rest covers. You know every word, singing along with Jay, their lead singer and guitarist, head bopping to the beat. 

Mingi doesn’t know where to look. Yeosang, who was once his good friend, onstage, or you, smiling, giggling and dancing between his arms. It’s only the third time you’ve been out in public together, but with all the texting, the updates you send each other throughout the day, the constant banter, there’s a feeling in Mingi’s chest he can’t really explain. 

He’s not into you. But there’s an urge in his consciousness somewhere, to keep you close, to protect you, it makes him fucking cringe every time the thoughts cross his mind. You’re not friends, you won’t stay in contact after your alignment fulfills its purpose, it’s something he reminds himself after he thinks about you for just a little too long.

He’s tired. His bones ache, his eyes feel heavy, there’s a slouch in his shoulders he doesn’t have the strength to straighten. Your energy bleeds into him, he’s found himself going along with you the entire time you’ve been associated, as if he’s a horse you’re leading to water. So he keeps his mindless grin, a hand steady on your hip since you jumped his fingers out of your belt loops, he holds your drink with the other, keeping his palm blanketed over the open top. 

He’s never seen you so happy. 

He’s seen you angry, irritated, maybe he’s made you laugh once or twice now, but it’s nothing compared to the joy on your face now, how your body moves out of excitement. It’s not the liquor, it’s Yeosang onstage, who plays so well and looks so fucking cool Mingi finds himself a little jealous, a feeling he pretends isn’t there as soon as he recognizes it. The way you care for him, for Jongho, it adds to the list of things he keeps learning about you, like layers of a fucking onion. 

You come to Eonian. Often. You know the bouncer, the bartender, Mingi can’t figure out why you lied. He wonders what else you’ve lied about– what more he can learn about you just by sharing space. He wonders about Wooyoung, what he said to you outside of Lucent, what made you so nervous and eager to leave. He wonders why you wanted to fake-date in the first place, if Wooyoung has done worse than cheat, if that’s why you want revenge so deeply. 

The way your eyes wander across the room, finding Wooyoung and Winter, his arms thrown over her shoulders, keeping her close. How they sway together, Winter’s fingers holding onto his forearms, a small smile on her face, cheeks pink. It makes your movements smaller, the bubble of excitement surrounding your being dwindles to a flicker, you turn around and ask Mingi for your drink. 

“No,” Mingi shakes his head.

Your face contorts, “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“You don’t need to drink because you’re upset,” he keeps his voice low, “liquor isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not upset,” you sound defensive, which only confirms what Mingi’s thinking is true. “I’m at a bar watching my best friend kill it onstage, why would I be upset?”

Your brows are furrowed, lips pouty, the gloss you wore faded by now, leaving a pinkish stain behind. There’s heat in your cheeks, a pretty flush, he hates the realization that determination in your features is kind of cute.

“Come here,” Mingi offers, placing your drink on the table behind him before twisting you back around by your hips, throwing his own arms over your shoulders, tucking you into him. 

You squirm, making a whiney noise, shifting your shoulders and looking down to untuck your hair where it got trapped against Mingi’s body. “You’re fucking huge,” you mumble, soft fingers coming up to hook around his forearms, Mingi can’t tell if it’s a compliment, but it’s definitely not an insult. 

“You have no idea,” he smirks to himself. 

You groan, “Stop saying shit like that to me.”

“Why?” Smiling, his tone comes out playful, “Curious?”

Your head tilts back to look up at him, eyes pointed, lips bent in a frown. “No.”

“Liar,” Mingi smacks his teeth, “all you’ve done tonight is lie.”

“Like I said,” you bring your attention back to the stage, “you don’t always need to know the truth.”

“So you admit you’re curious.”

“No!”

Mingi chuckles, squeezing you with his arms clamped around your front. You stay there for the rest of the show, in Mingi’s hold, head pressed to his chest, your eyes don’t wander again. They stay locked on Yeosang onstage, singing along to each song. At one point you and Mingi started swaying together when he recognized one of the covers they performed, singing along with you. 

“You two are so fucking cute,” Felix comments when Yeosang’s band runs off the stage after bowing to the crowd. Mingi finally let you go at that point, where you attached to your iced-down drink like a moth to a flame. 

“Yeah?” Mingi smiles at Felix before jumping into action when you bring the straw to your lips. “Don’t drink that, I didn’t have eyes on it. I’ll get you another.”

You pout, but you let him pull the straw away from your lips, “Boo.”

“What’d you think of the show?” Jongho asks, a little drunk now, Mingi thinks, as he smacks a hand on his shoulder. 

Mingi’s grinning again, nodding his head, “They’re good, Yeosang is really talented.”

You squeal again, stealing his attention, “Isn’t he? He’s so fucking talented, he makes me so jealous. I wish I could play an instrument.”

Cute. He doesn’t think before reaching up to ruffle your hair, “You’re talented at lots of stuff, princess.” He doesn’t know why he said it, he doesn’t even know what you do in your free time. He blames it on it feeling right. He’s tired. 

You quickly fix your hair, mumbling, “Motherfucker.”

It makes Mingi’s grin spread wider. Weird, how your insults are starting to feel like compliments. 

“Are you coming to the conference game?” Minho asks, and your brows perk up at the attention, that smooth smile appearing on your cheeks, the one you use when you look at any one of his teammates. Anyone you find attractive, actually, he’s noticed. 

You nod, “I’ll be there, supporting Jongho.”

“Not your boyfriend?” Minho asks, popping a brow.

“Oh shit, yeah, Mingi too,” you nod, “duh.”

He has to fight his laugh, lips tying together. You meet his eye, the look of him biting back his laugh, and crack a stupid smile at the sight. “You ready to go?” You ask, brows lifted.

Mingi’s neck cranes in confusion, “You don’t wanna wait for Yeo?”

“He has people to see,” you say casually, but Mingi knows who. “Plus, you’re tired, and you need to study before bed.”

Hesitantly, seeing the honesty in your eyes, no disappointment evident, Mingi nods. “You’re right.”

“The girl who tamed Song Mingi,” Minho sing-songs, and Mingi’s neck snaps to glare. He hates that nickname, the way they use it in the house, in practice, how it rolls off his teammates tongues with a sneer. Minho’s smile is devilish, daring; he’s one of Mingi’s only teammates that doesn’t suck-up to him completely. It’s not the right time or place to berate him for it.

You say your goodbyes politely and grab Mingi by his hand, pulling him towards the crowd, in the direction of the exit. Mingi ignores everyone who tries to steal him for a chat, giving small smiles, nods, waves of acknowledgement, but he lets you drag him all the way to the exit, where you give the bouncer, Minho, a small wave goodbye. 

A little colder now, enough to rack a chill down Mingi’s spine, you stop in your tracks when you open the exit door. Winter is pressed against the wall of the building, Wooyoung’s hand over her head, forehead touching hers. He plants his lips against hers once before realizing he has company. 

“Leaving so soon?” He’s smirking as he tucks his arm back into himself, standing straight, turning to face the two of you. “Yeosang played a good show.”

Winter’s eyes locked on Mingi, widened, pupils dilated like she didn’t want to be caught where Mingi had indeed caught her. She swallows, licking her lips, fixing the baggy denim on her legs as she stands straighter, moving slightly behind Wooyoung as if it’d put her out of Mingi’s eyesight. 

“He always does,” your voice is cold, venomous. No warmth at all. 

Wooyoung’s eyes find Mingi, taking a second to look him up and down. “Nice outfit, different for you.”

Mingi pops a brow, “Because I’m not in a jersey?”

“Sure,” Wooyoung nods, then moves his eyes to you. “Same goes for you, doll. Find my hoodie yet?” 

Your fingers flex at your side, fist clenching, “I told you I burned it.” 

Wooyoung chuckles, arm lifting for Winter to tuck herself into his side, it makes Mingi grimace. Gross. He’s slimey, the energy he gives off, Mingi can’t understand what the fuck girls see in him in the first place. 

“Did you see Hyunjin inside?” Wooyoung asks, “He asked me about you, said your little plaything was bothering you.” Wooyoung looks at Mingi again, “I take it that’s you? But you’re her boyfriend, right?” 

Mingi’s brows furrow, but you speak up before he can open his mouth. “Don’t speak to Hyunjin about me or Mingi. The only plaything you have to worry about is the one under your arm.”

Winter straightens, brows furrowing, “I’m the plaything? Me?”

“What do you think he’s gonna do with you when he’s bored?” You laugh a little, eyes so piercing it renders Mingi silent, all he can do is stare. “Toss you to the side, just like he did with me. There’s another one, you know, it’s never just you.” 

Wooyoung tucks her closer, his features devoid of all amusement, back going rigid. “Lying, huh? Just ‘cus you’re butthurt? Always leads to lies, you haven’t changed one bit.” 

“You’ll never change,” you whisper, but the chilly air is quiet enough that it hits its mark. “When she calls, you’ll run back to her, it doesn’t matter who’s occupying your boredom at the time.” Your eyes find Winter, “You’ll see. I feel bad for you.” 

Mingi, confused, watches Winter’s face fall, the slow realization that there’s not a lick of jealousy in your voice, just sheer honesty. His head bobs back and forth between the two of you, but he grabs your wrist when steam starts pouring from your ears. “Time to go, baby. Come on.” 

You pull your wrist away from him, tucking it into your chest, keeping your eyes steady on Wooyoung who doesn’t falter for a moment. A staring contest of sorts, it makes Mingi feel nervous, uncomfortable at the least.

“Time to go,” Mingi reiterates, voice heavier, hands on your waist now. “It’s not worth it. I’ll take you home, c’mon.” 

It takes you a second to turn your head away from Wooyoung as Mingi starts pulling you away, but once you’re out of eyesight, in front of Mingi’s build that engulfs you whole, the shakes begin. Your fingertips, your shoulders, your teeth chatter in your fucking skull. 

“In the car,” he’s whispering, encouraging, ushering you into his passenger seat. “There you go,” he closes it behind you, making sure you’re tucked inside. 

When he’s behind the wheel, engine roaring to life, he takes a second to gather his bearings. He turns to you slowly, only his head, and you’re staring into nothing, body still shaking. It makes him swallow, nerves etching into his vision. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t know how to comfort you. You hum an agreement, a slight nod of your head, it does nothing to ease the discomfort in his chest. His lips tighten, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “What just happened?”

You shake your head, still staring into space. Voice small, battered and broken, you whisper, “I don’t know.”

Mingi feels something swirling in his gut, something foul. Like before a big game, when he isn’t positive he’s going to win. Voice low, he asks, “What actually happened between you?”

“He didn’t just cheat on me with Winter,” you finally look down at your lap, “there’s another girl. I don’t know who she is, what she looks like, I just know she exists. She’s like, the girl version of him, she made him like that.”

Mingi’s brows furrow, but you keep talking after a deep, shaky breath. “He called me a liar, I am a liar.” You shake your head, staring at your lap. “I lied to everyone when I was with him. I lied to him, I lied to myself, not to mention Jongho and Yeosang.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier that way,” you finally look at Mingi, eyes glassy, pupils dilated, “if I told the truth, I couldn’t be held accountable for my own actions.” When you notice his confusion, you laugh, a short, disbelieving chuckle. “I knew about her the whole fucking time, the nature of their relationship, I even tried competing with her at one point.”

When Mingi asks why again, you sigh. “I think because I knew I’d never win. Him and I would never be real no matter how hard I tried, and that was safety to me, in a way.”

“I don’t understand,” Mingi sinks into his seat, carefully peeling back another layer. 

You shake your head again, silent for a moment. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that it terrifies you?”

“All the time.”

“This is gonna sound self-deprecating, don’t make fun of me or else I’ll fucking kill you,” you start, and Mingi’s lips curve at the corners, but he nods. “That’s how I feel about relationships, or being loved, I guess. I want it, but do I deserve it?”

Mingi’s brows furrow again, “Do you deserve it?” You blink at him, and he shakes his head in confusion, “Who cares? You want it, don’t you?”

Mingi swears your eyes get rounder, your lips plumper. He’s never seen you look so… delicate. Small, vulnerable, like your walls have crumbled away and left what’s at your core bare for him to see. 

“I do,” you whisper, staring at him, into him, he feels just as bare as you. He feels the moonlight pouring into the cabin, he hears the light hum of his idling car, and he realizes he hasn’t been in this position in a long, long time. 

His relationship with women has been strict since… her. Transactional, never more, never less. Give and take. He doesn’t make friends, he doesn’t form bonds, he does nothing more than fuck– when’s the last time he had a real fucking conversation with a woman? When’s the last time his chest has felt so twisted from emotion?

He stares back, eyes dropping to your lips for a millisecond. Glossy, from the spit you swiped over them with your tongue moments prior, plump and opaque with color. This is the longest you’ve gone without arguing since the moment you met. This is the first time he’s looking at you so clearly, seeing you as more than a means to an end. He swears he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Take what you want,” Mingi whispers back, “who gives a fuck about being worthy of it?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips, “That’s easy for you to say, you get whatever you want.”

“Not everything,” he shifts in his seat, sinking down, stretching out his legs as much as he can. “Not even a lot, actually.”

When your brows furrow, he makes a face like he doesn’t want to keep going, but he does anyway. “I don’t have control over anything in my life. What I eat, how I train, how much I sleep, what I do in my free time, that’s all coordinated by someone else. Dating you is the most freedom I’ve had in years.”

“They don’t do whatever you say?”

“I do whatever they say,” he corrects you, lips flattening. “I don’t have to think if I don’t want to, and I fucking hate it. I’m a twenty-one year old man that doesn’t do anything for myself, it’s suffocating. Like I’m a puppet.”

Your lips are tucked between your teeth, swept to the side, head tilted. “I thought it was the other way around. Are they mad you’re… dating me?”

Mingi laughs a little, “More than mad. Consequences-mad.” 

You gasp, leaning forward, palm planted on the center console. “Then why are you still doing it?”

“Because I want to,” he’s looking at you now, “for once, I’m doing something I want, and I’m having fun.”

“You’re having fun with me?” Your smile makes Mingi feel like he’s just handed you a thousand dollars. “For realsies?”

Chuckling, nodding, Mingi nods, “For realsies, princess.”

You sit back in the passenger seat, body deflating dramatically, head sinking to the side, silly smile still on your lips. Looking up at him through your brows, you say, “I’m having fun with you, too.”

Mingi doesn’t understand why the sentence fills his stomach with… butterflies, like you’d just said the words he’s been waiting the whole night to hear. He pushes the feeling down, shifting himself upward, finally plugging his phone into the car’s speaker system. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you nod, sitting up, pulling the seatbelt over your torso. “Drive nicely though, please, or else I might throw up.”

FOURTH OUTING: CONFERENCE GAME, SUNDAY. 7:02 PM.

Bass pumps through the stadium, so deep and booming you can feel it in your heels that touch the concrete beneath you, it vibrates through the navy blue, plastic chair you sat on. Only in a mini-skirt, your thighs sat bare against the cool, hard chair, a relief in contrast to the humid air that rudely asks you to put your hair up. 

In the tenth row, just above the fifty-yard line, your view was immaculate. Just above where the players stood on the field, you could see the field, the players clearer than you ever have, Jongho always gifted you and Yeosang nosebleeds. A routine, up in the stands, guzzling beers because what else was there to do if you couldn’t see? You’d trust the commentator with a tall-boy of Miller and pretend you were enjoying it until you got drunk enough to not care, and to you, that was the true college football experience. 

But here, almost eye-level with Mingi who lines up directly under center to take the snap, this was different. Dark hair covered by his kelly-green helmet, the only reason you knew it was him was because of his last name and the number eighty-eight on his back. 

It mirrored the one on your back, the kelly-green jersey that offset his white one, it hung more than oversized in your body, off one shoulder, tucked into your skirt. You haven’t seen Mingi in a week, and when Yeosang delivered it to you this morning the pang of disappointment in your chest was so uncomfortable you pretended you didn’t feel it.

“Mingi gave it to Jongho who gave it to me to give to you.” 

Yeosang threw the jersey onto your couch, oversized and… green. So green you looked down at the jersey then back up to Yeosang’s head of hair, a smirk crawled onto your cheeks. Yeosang squinted, “Don’t.”

“Oh, you can make fun of me, but I can’t make fun of you?” A hand on your hip, one knee bent, you exuded nothing but attitude. You took a step forward to pick the jersey off your couch, held it up in the air in front of you by the shoulders, “Can dish it out but can’t take it, huh?”

The mini-skirt in your closet you haven’t been able to face since sometime last year popped into your brain, a tall pair of boots you already started mentally picturing with the outfit. It looked good enough in the mirror, his jersey hung off your shoulder, you did a little twirl in the mirror to see how it swayed with your movement. 

A smile was stamped onto your cheeks when you glanced at your back in the mirror, reading a very clear Song written above the number 88. After noticing the grin, you forced your lips flat, arms straightening at your sides. You turned back around, lips tucked in as you ran your palms over the jersey, blowing a sharp breath through curved lips, then left your bedroom once more. 

You kind of missed him, which was a strange pit-in-your-stomach feeling you didn’t let yourself think too much about. You haven’t seen him in a week, not since your explosion on Wooyoung at Eonian, he’s been too busy with this game approaching, strategizing, practicing, training. Not seeing him after sharing something vulnerable with him, something you haven’t even shared with the green-headed-motherfucker in the room just to get something vulnerable in return, you felt strangely closer to him. Like maybe you two could actually be friends. 

Silly thought. Silly you.

He stands crouched on the field, your chest still heaves from cheering when his name was announced throughout the stadium, excitement vibrating through you as much as when bass bled through your skin. The stadium looks bigger from down here, more open, yet there was less air to fill your lungs, to ease the discomfort in your chest. 

There were messages in your DMs, more messages now than when you entered the parking lot to tailgate. You read the first ones upon your first step through the wired, silver gates, not telling Yeosang who was already slurring his words because it didn’t matter. The messages have never grown too personal, nowhere close to a threat, until today. 

Don’t go to the game today. 

His minions, the army assembled of Mingi-lovers who haunted your requests folder, you wonder what they’d think if they knew you weren’t really together. If they knew Mingi only looked at you affectionately in public. You wondered what they’d think if they looked at your text thread, if they saw the slew of insults you threw at each other on a daily basis, between the updates with time stamps because Mingi said it’s proof he’s busy. 

Now, there were more.

Thought we told you not to go We saw you tailgating. Should we expose you for cheating on him? In his jersey too, you must be fucking stupid Drinking beer, so trashy Don’t you think you eat enough?

A tall-boy in the cupholder across from you, a cup of cheese fries split between you and Yeosang, a fucking hotdog in your hand. This was normal, this is what you always did, what you always fucking ate when you came to these games. You looked behind you, the crowd was busy talking to each other, laughing, drinking, eating, there were no eyes on you. You couldn’t figure out who was looking at you. Who was waiting. 

Unsettling isn’t the word for how uncomfortable being seen was, when you didn’t want to be.

The game begins and you attempt to force yourself into focusing. Yeosang, drunk and belligerent beside you, luckily didn’t notice your discomfort, you don’t think he’d notice if you dropped a fucking brick on his head right now. You pull out your phone when focusing proves impossible, rereading your last text thread with Mingi again, the only thing keeping you from grabbing Yeosang by the scruff and dragging him out of the stadium. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come down to the field when games over xxx-xxx-xxxx: go down the stairs inside, tell security ur name. they should let u through

you: okay you: play good or else ill cheer for jongho

xxx-xxx-xxxx: come on now xxx-xxx-xxxx: whos name is on ur back

you: some guy you: streets are calling me mrs. song

xxx-xxx-xxxx: wait that has a nice ring to it xxx-xxx-xxxx: if u see winter let her know what her future looks like

you: i hate you you: break a leg

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i dont think u say that for football

you: no like i hope you break your leg

xxx-xxx-xxxx: oh bro fuck u xxx-xxx-xxxx: dont say that before a game xxx-xxx-xxxx: asshole

you: go stretch or something stop texting me

You haven’t seen Winter, you haven’t seen Wooyoung. You didn’t see them in the parking lot, either, where you tailgated with not only Jia and Riyo, but Mingyu, Seokmin, Hoshi, Dino and Seungkwan. Nine of you taking up two parking spots, drinking beside Mingyu’s ninety-six Ford pickup, playing pong with the table he brought in the truck bed, sitting in folding chairs, watching from the roof panel. 

Riyo claims they’re the only people she could convince to tailgate. You think they’re the first and only people she tried convincing, especially since she’s hooking up with Seokmin on the DL, but you’d believe there’s some truth to it just because Mingyu’s the easiest person to convince of anything on the planet. You can remember convincing him chocolate milk comes from brown cows and strawberry milk comes from pink cows– he was elated to find out photoshop-generated pink cows exist in real life. 

Tall, buff, bronzy and handsome, he was the first one to refer to you as Mrs. Song with a slippery smirk and a wiggle of his brows. For the entire two hours you tailgated, you don’t think you heard your name once; like parrots, once one of them says something, the rest follow. 

It was nice to be friendly with him, even if you eyed him up with a smirk of your own two or twenty times, advances only understood by him, and each time you remembered whose name and number was painted on your back and forced your face to fall. 

Boring. 

“That pass was,” Yeosang hiccups, “disgusting.”

You lock your phone, picking your head up, “I missed it, what happened? Disgusting good, or disgusting bad?”

“Good,” Yeosang nods, watching the game with a different, analytical eye, “Mingi’s so fucking good.”

“Do you ever miss playing?” You ask, tucking your phone into your pocket, picking up your beer to take a sip. Cringing, you wish you’d drank more at the tailgate.

“Of course,” he says like that’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, “but I don’t regret quitting. Everything is better now.”

You can hear the liquor in his voice, it makes you crack a smile. Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in a little closer, “Do you miss her cheering you on?”

With his feet propped up on the empty chair in front of him, body lazily strewn in his own chair like it was deadweight, it might be, the way he only turns his head to look at you. “You don’t think she cheers for me anywhere else?”

Your top lip curls, leaning backward, putting space between you. “I don’t know if I should take that in a sexual way or not.”

Yeosang snorts loudly, head dipping back like he didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore, “You saw her at my show last week. She was cheering me on like she didn’t give a fuck who saw, it was awesome.”

“Good,” you nod, turning back to the field, eyes closing in on the pretty cheerleader dressed in little to nothing, green and white pompoms in her hands. Whispering, watching her, you nod again, “Good.”

Checking your phone again, you see more DMs, but you don’t open them. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself as you sit rigid up until halftime, where the cheers and boos from the crowd went right over your head the entire time. Twenty minutes to pee, buy another beer and more cheese fries because you should’ve eaten before you fucking came and you didn’t.

On edge, speed-walking through the crowds in the concourse, your eyes worked a mile-a-minute to scan every face you saw, to analyze if anyone was looking at you a certain way. It’s terrifying, knowing someone is watching, not knowing who, or from where. You stared above you, through the cracks in the stall doors while you peed, you kept an eye on your surroundings while you bought another beer, more cheese fries. 

Maybe you should turn off your requests, you think as you sit back down in your seat, Yeosang leaned sideways with his head in his fist, eyes half-open.

“Are you alive?” You ask with a laugh as you sit down, handing him another tall-boy can, “Here, got you another beer.”

He resurrects like the second coming of Jesus, eyes wide and brows lifted like you’d woken him from hibernation. Back straightening, he grabs the can from your hand, sucking in a breath, “You’re my best friend.”

You laugh as you sit back in your seat, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs, the game had already begun again while you were up in the concourse. Peeking up at the scoreboard, seeing nine-zero clear as day, your head snaps to Yeosang, “When the fuck did that happen?”

“Mostly in the first quarter,” his voice is heavy with carbonation, he closes a fist over his mouth in an attempt to silently burp into it, a failed attempt. 

You snicker at the sound, giggling through your words, “Who?”

“Haechan, Jaemin.”

“Jaemin’s a kicker?”

“Him and Felix.”

“Ah,” you nod, taking a sip of your own beer. Turning to him again, you ask, “Haechan’s the whiney one with the red hair?”

“Wide receiver,” Yeosang nods, “and a good one. Mingi’s passes are perfect, though, can’t give Hyuck all the credit.”

“Hyuck?”

“Haechan.”

“Oh,” you mumble, searching the field again. Mingi looks so much bigger with all the padding on, bulkier, you can see his chest heaving despite the layers, his run turning to a slowed drag of his legs as he walks towards the edge of the field. 

Arms flexing as he pulls his helmet off his head, he shakes his hair back, running a gloved hand through the sweaty strands, away from his face. It’s like slow motion, his shoulders pushed back, lips parted, jaw clean and angular, teeth poking out from beneath his top lip. 

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, he looks hot. Fuck him. 

That clean smirk lifting his lips on one side as he shakes hands with another one of his teammates, you don’t care to figure out which one, you can’t take your eyes off him. He tilts his chin up, keeping that same cocky smirk as he says something too far for your ears to catch, his eyebrows twitching upward. Shit. 

Your stomach rumbles something unwelcome, a feeling of interest, sweat prickling at the back of your neck that isn’t from the humidity in the air. You know he’s hot, you knew he was hot before you started fake-dating him, you quickly remind yourself who he is. A narcissistic asshole, a misogynist, a lonely twenty-one year old that doesn’t have the freedom to make decisions for himself. One that likes spending his free time with you, one that laughs at your jokes, one that throws his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like there’s no other place he’d want you. 

Mine. 

You shake your head, turning to Yeosang again, “You know how I said I got those DMs the other day?”

Yeosang blinks in half-focus, “Kinda, why?”

“Nevermind,” you shake your head, sighing. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Can I have a fry?” He asks, giving you puppy eyes, you hand him the cup of cheese fries without looking at him. 

By the grace of God, as if you fucking summoned her with damning thoughts, walking into the row before yours, sitting in the seat directly in front of Yeosang, is Winter.

Where the fuck is Wooyoung?

Yeosang stiffens, a cheese fry halfway in his mouth, he pulls his feet back down to the concrete, mumbling apologies through his already-full mouth. Winter is everything polite, she gives him a warm smile, tucking her skirt beneath her as she sits into the seat. Slowly she drags her hair to one side as she relaxes in the plastic, body not hitting the backrest, giving you a full, front-seat view of Song and 88 on her back. 

Your lips part, eyes widening as you read it, you blink once, twice, six fucking times and the name and number doesn’t change. It’s a jersey bought from the school store, not official like the one on your back, but she’s fucking here, in front of you, with your boyfriend’s name and number on her fucking back. 

“Excuse me,” you lean forward, heart beating out of your chest, brain spewing words onto your tongue and not one of them is nice. 

She turns like she’s surprised, brows lifted, “Hm?”

“Your jersey?” You tilt your chin, what the fuck else would you be asking about?

“Oh,” she grins, cheeks pink, a hand coming up to cover her mouth like she’s fucking bashful. “I’m just a huge fan.”

“Right,” you say slowly, eyes thinned to shoot daggers, nodding like this shit does not add up. 

Yeosang rests a heavy hand on your back, you turn your head to look at him still shooting missiles from your eyes and his face is twisted up to say what the fuck are you doing?!

Your face snaps back into reality, quickly straightening in your seat, pupils shaking beneath your lids and lips pursed hard enough to bruise, an embarrassing heat turns your body to lava. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing but the mortifying pulse of your own heartbeat, what are you doing? What the fuck was that? This is the whole point. 

You’re going insane, that’s the only answer, the only reason for what you just did. The DMs, sitting in seats he got you because they’re the best view, having eyes on you somewhere in the crowd, remembering how he looked at you from the driver’s seat of his car, telling you to go get what you want just because you fucking want it. It's all going to your head. 

You need to break up. Now. 

You don’t see the rest of the game. You don’t hear the music, the sirens of triumph, the roars of the crowd, you don’t even process that they won until you’re standing up, clapping, staring out at the field with your face utterly blank. This is fear. This is real, genuine, raw fucking fear. 

“Let’s go,” Yeosang is tugging on your arm and your gaze is elsewhere, confused, your mind somewhere along with it. 

You tug your arm back, “Go where?”

“Down to the field?” Yeosang furrows his brows, “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” you give him a weak smile, “yeah, ‘m fine.”

You’re gliding up the stairs into the concourse, fuzzy finding the staircase to lead you back down, you’re shaking your head, trying to snap yourself out of it before you reach the bottom platform. There’s a man shuffling around like he was waiting for bodies to approach, earpiece connecting to a small black box clipped onto his slacks, a black polo to match, his face reading focus, professionalism. You mumble yours and Yeosang’s names and he lets you through with a stretch of his arm, you heave another breath when the LED lights come into view at the end of the tunnel. 

The field is vast, it’s warmer down here, the air is wet. Bodies seem to cover every inch of sideline, cameras, lights, people with clipboards and hats on their head with your university’s logo, you’re too aware of your fingers at your sides. 

You spot him and he’s smiling, laughing as he talks to an interviewer, already standing before a camera, it makes your heart drop to your asshole. You shuffle closer to Yeosang who’s already on the hunt for Jongho, you’re sure he doesn’t want to be caught down here by his old coach or any of the staff, if they’d even recognize his bright green hair. 

“You’re down here?” Jongho finds you before you find him, brows furrowed, hair sweaty and chest heaving, he wears confused brows and a winded smile. 

Chest puffed from padding, sweat dribbling down his forearms that aren’t covered by nylon, you actually feel a semblance of relief when you see him. “Mingi invited me, I wasn’t coming without Yeo.” 

“Oh,” his smile spreads, “how was it?”

Yeosang claps his hand, throwing another on his shoulder, “You’re a fucking boulder, wish I was down here with you.” 

Jongho looks confused, “Are you drunk?”

Your eyes travel, landing on Mingi, who catches you just as you look over. You see him brighten, smile widening, a sparkle in his eyes that makes your stomach do flips. Fuck. 

You watch him mouth the words excuse me, nodding his head before escaping the press, running over to you with that stupid fucking smile you might have seen in your dream last night. 

“You came!” He yells when he gets close enough to pull you into his chest, acting as if his sweat didn’t soak through his padding. Huge, massive, he swallows you, it makes your knees weak. 

You verbally cringe, muttering a noise of disgust before pulling away, “I was right, you smell like wet dog.” 

“Beautiful woman,” he corrects, face reading amusement, “like you in my jersey, green looks good on you, princess.” 

Your eyes meet the turf beneath your boots, “You don’t have to say that, no one can hear you, Mingi.” 

“Damn, no insulting rebuttal?” The more he looks at you the more his smile falters. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You look up at him through your brows, surprise written on your face as you take in the concern on his. He can tell? You shake your head, plastering a fake smile on your cheeks, “I’m great, I’m fine, I’m good. Did you hear me cheering?” 

“For me?” He’s cheesing, excited like a little kid. 

You laugh a little, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Duh, you told me I had to since I’m wearing your jersey.”

“Let me see,” he pulls his arm from where it laid over your shoulder back to his side, “do a little twirl for me, smart girl.” 

The heat on your cheeks is molten, you roll your eyes as you make a ponytail in your fist, twirling to give him full access of him on your back. 

He cheers, woo-ing loud and shameless, his smile takes over his entire face. “Wow, look at you, like a real-life WAG.” 

“What’s a WAG?” 

He shakes his head, “Means you’re mine.” 

Mine. 

You panic, words spilling from your lips, “Guess who else is in your jersey.” 

His smile falls, body going still with knowing disbelief, “No.” 

You force a tight-lipped smile, nodding, “Yup.” 

“Oh my god!” Yeosang cuts you off, loud and obnoxious. Now he chooses to get rowdy? “I almost forgot, you guys should take pictures.” 

In boyfriend mode again, Mingi’s gloved palm finds the small of your back, coming to your side when you twist around to look at Yeosang, face screaming no. Yeosang giggles, a nasty little smirk on his lips that tells you he’s playing the game, too, maybe better than you are at this point. 

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, “Come on, pose.” 

You look at Mingi, uneasy. He shrugs, unbothered. Hand tighter around your waist, he leans into you, smiling. You try to force light into your eyes, doing your best to grin like a proud girlfriend, not that these pictures would ever see the light of day. 

“Cute,” Yeosang crouches, “move over, the lighting is weird.” 

You huff, but move in the direction Yeosang’s pointed palm is ushering you in, Mingi following, the both of you quiet. Too aware of where you are, eyes, cameras, lights— it’s overstimulating just having his fucking hand on you, his body pressed to yours. 

Yeosang eyes you over the top of his phone screen, flashing something mischievous, “Now kiss.” 

“What?” There’s barely a moment between his order and your reaction. Mingi stiffens beside you, you think you’ve gone cold, you think you might drop dead on the turf. 

“Kiss!” Yeosang nearly whines, “Come on, what are you, children? One kiss for a picture, you’ll thank me for it later.”

Your jaw drops. Blinking at him, stuttering a rebuttal, head shaking and a hand moving to wave in front of you out of denial, Mingi speaks before you do.

“Okay.” 

“Huh?!” You look at him like he’s insane. 

He shoots daggers, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yeosang as if to say don’t blow our cover. Little does he know, Yeosang was present when the plan was fucking formed. 

“No,” the shake of your head is final, “absolutely not.” 

“One kiss,” Mingi argues, “it would be a cute picture.” 

You whisper, “Why are you encouraging this?” 

He shrugs, his smile effortlessly stupid, “It’s just one kiss.” 

Your eyes lower to his lips for a split second. Round, plump, pink, wet with spit from his tongue that glides over them seamlessly, there’s an anxious pit in your stomach, your fight or flight kicks in. 

He uses the angle in which you turned, one hand sliding to your waist, the other on your jaw, tilting your head upward. Warm, his touch delicate, you feel your heart in your throat as he leans in, kissing you with a softness no one has ever kissed you with. 

You’ve been someone’s situationship, friends with benefits, fuckbuddy— all things that require a disconnection to function, a wall you were far too good at putting up, keeping stable. You’ve been kissed with haste, with fervor, just to add a touch of romanticism because the rest that followed lacked respect in its purest form. 

This was different. It wasn’t a peck, your lips parted for him, your body melted into him, his hand on your jaw was guiding, grounding, his gloved thumb swiped along your skin like he fucking meant it. He tasted clean, like he just drank a gallon of water, still fresh on his plump lips that tucked yours in like they belonged there. It's not right, it’s not right but it’s working and you’re fucking terrified. 

He pulls away just as softly as he leaned in, a dopey smile stretching his lips wide. Keeping himself close, he hums, “See? Just a kiss.” 

You don’t realize your fingers wrapped around his forearm, or that your spine bent towards him. Breath shaky, grip iron, your eyes flicker upward and even the way he’s looking at you is different. 

You swallow down your discombobulation just enough to utter, “We need to break up. Now.” 

you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”

seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”

you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."

its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.

"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."

"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.

seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.

"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.

"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.

the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.

he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.

when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.

"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.

"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.

the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.

"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.

if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.

you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.

he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.

you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.

"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.

"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.

just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.

"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."

you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.

you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.

it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.

your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.

"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.

you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.

you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"

he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.

one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.

"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.

"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.

"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.

he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.

"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.

his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.

he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.

"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."

his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.

"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."

now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.

"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."

you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.

"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.

“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”

you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.

"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."

he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.

"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.

"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.

hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.

"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.

is that not what friends are for?

looking up at her is almost painful. seeing the way she doesn’t even spare you a glance. just texting away to whoever her new boy-toy-of-the-week is.

she’s beautiful, you’d thought about it every since you met her. her cheekbones are high and defined, her eyelashes are the perfect length and they lay beautifully on her cheek every time she blinks, and her lips. oh her lips. it hurt to imagine them against someone else’s—some man she met two weeks ago.

she’s kissed you before, too. a few times. all when she was drunk at boring parties and hoping it would spice things up. it never did. not for her.

but for you.

for you it drove you absolutely mad. her kisses were dizzying. they sucked the life right out of you and into her. like she was swallowing every bit of your soul you were willing to give—which was every ounce.

“hwa,” you curl further into her side, desperately trying to look her in the eyes.

but she never looks back down at you, “yeah?” she keeps typing, a small smile on her face.

“are you..are you free this weekend?”

“no probably not.” she doesn’t skip a beat. probably. “i might be seeing this guy this weekend, so i wanna leave my options open.”

she doesn’t ask why. not because she doesn’t care. she cares. she loves you. of course she does. she wouldn’t be letting you hang out on her couch with her if she didn’t.

“oh,” it’s all you can muster, falling numbly from your lips, “ok.”

“we can hang out next weekend.”

right. of course. next weekend. you can wait until then.

you’ll tell her soon. you really will.

you’re just waiting for the right time. the perfect moment.

The creak of the gates opening and the distinct chimes of the bells reserved for Eden pleased your ears infinitely. You rushed to greet the guests, laughing when your handmaids held you back so they could fuss over your appearance one last time, making sure everything was in shape– your freshly curled hair tucked perfectly in a half bun, your deep purple gown unstained and flowy, your lips and cheeks dyed just right. After earning their approval, they accompanied you to the Great Hall.

Your parents, the King and the Queen, and your younger brother Prince Jeongin were already present. Your mother was a perfectionist and was still commanding the servants from her seat. Your father was currently chuckling at something Jeongin said. Your brother spotted you and muttered something like ‘finally!’ and made his way towards where you stood by the door. 

“Excited?” 

“Nervous,” you admitted. “I’m just glad the first guests are our friends and not one of those royalties that seem to have something stuck in their–”

“Language,” your younger brother reminded you. That was his way of letting you know that you need not finish the sentence. “Remember to stay proper, like mother always says, and not involve yourself in impropriety– like, mother! I’m only seventeen. I’m currently more invested in perfecting my horse-riding than catching someone’s eye. Odd, I know, from someone my age, but what can I even do if I like someone? Respect your traditions. Do you wonder if the other kingdoms think that we are the ones with something stuck in our–”

“Jeongin!” You laughed. “You’re rambling. Mother is right. We must respect our traditions and make sure we do not engage in improper behaviour– oh, here they come!”

Forget traditions. You were going to greet your best friend with the hug that he deserved. Since it was only your parents and your court in the room, you did not care for any judgement or criticism. As soon as you spotted your tall friend, you clutched the edges of your gown and made your way towards him.

When the prince spotted you, his lips spread in a wide grin and he basically hopped the rest of the way, laughing as he scooped you up. You could hear the laughter of your father and the stern voice of your mother scolding you, but you knew that they would dismiss it just this once. Yunho twirled you once before settling you down, and then he decided to greet you properly with a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” he said, kissing your hand again before letting it go. “And I missed you, dear friend.”

“I missed you too!” you sighed, scanning him. “You’ve changed.”

Yunho smiled in agreement. Oh, he had changed a great deal. His shoulders were much broader now and he seemed to have grown even taller since you last saw him some five months ago. His hair was also longer– a warm shade of deep brown tucked loosely back, threatening to cover his beautifully carved face.

“Let me greet the rest,” he said, a silent promise to be right back. You watched him hug Jeongin next and ask about his progress with horse-riding, but your attention went to the older prince– Prince Hongjoong. 

If Yunho was the sun personified, Hongjoong was the moon. He was shorter, colder but with an incredible personality. Even though he was much more relaxed in his demeanour than the perfectionist that Yunho was, Hongjoong was sharper and had a natural talent for leadership and wit. He was not related to Yunho, but they were closer than brothers. 

“Princess,” he greeted with a restrained smirk. “Miss me?”

“Hmm… not really,” you said and when he narrowed your eyes, you grinned. He relaxed instantly, ignoring your outstretched hand and instead kissing you on your temple as a greeting, followed by a forehead flick that had you scowling. 

“Do you have to do this?” You complained as you rubbed the pain away. He ignored that, moving towards the end of the hall where your mother and father were seated. Yunho was still deep in discussion with Jeongin so you decided to let them be, following the older prince.

“You’ve grown even more handsome,” your mother complimented. Hongjoong humbly thanked her, asking about her health. He had always been closer to your mother, while Yunho was your father’s favourite. They claimed that they did not have favourites but to you, it was painfully obvious. It was also painfully confusing because naturewise, Yunho and your mother were much more similar, and Hongjoong and your father were. 

You looked towards Hongjoong. He had definitely gotten more handsome. His kind of beauty was a deadly one– pulling you in, threatening to never let go. He was all sharp angles, carved with great detail. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than Yunho’s and also longer than it had ever been. 

Hongjoong caught you staring and raised a brow. You shook your head and asked him to take a seat. Jeongin went to greet the older prince, apologising for not doing that earlier while Yunho went to greet your parents. Hongjoong only ruffled Jeongin’s hair and soon, they were deep in conversation.

Yunho took a seat towards your left shortly after, excited to hear about what he had missed since the last time that you met. You started to brief him– a little something that you always do with him. At some point, Hongjoong started to listen and comment too, and Jeongin would add little bits of his life. 

Then the bells for the Kingdom of Mist rang and you all got up again to welcome Prince Wooyoung, another close friend of yours.

Just like that, the day got busy welcoming guests from all over the continent– princes and princesses that had grown up with you. You saw them all at least once a year, so you were all close to a certain degree. The princes were tightly knit and so were the princesses, though fewer in number as most of them had now been married off and had duties to perform in their new homes. 

This year, you only had Princess Sieun of the Kingdom of Hala and Princess Minjeong of Ascella, and the two were fast friends being younger than you. There were the Choi brothers, the princes from The Kingdom of Kiji, and they were close to Wooyoung. 

You did not mind. You had Yunho.

You and Yunho had always been attached by the hip. The Kingdoms of Wonderland and Eden were very close. Your father was good friends with Yunho’s father and Hongjoong’s father as well. Oftentimes, you ended up accompanying your father whenever he made trips to the kingdom next to yours. 

You and Yunho became friends naturally. He was a great listener and he made you laugh. As children, you played a lot but at some point, you both became aware that you had grown up. Your friendship shifted, monitored by the adults, but you still remained close. After some time, the adult grew tired of monitoring too closely.

It was Yunho. He could win over anyone, and he was the most respectable and responsible person you knew.

“You look like you need a drink,” a voice called. You turned to find Hongjoong with a pair of whiskey glasses in his hands and you gladly took one, almost slumping in relief. “I saw you slowly crawling away from the princesses. Are you feeling left out?”

“Not left out,” you shook your head. “But… They're very different from me. I don’t get along as well as I do with you and Yunho, or Wooyoung, or the princesses that are no longer here.”

Hongjoong nodded in understanding, probably overwhelmed by the crowd too. If there was one department you both had common footing on, it was your social energy– or lack thereof. Or maybe, you both were the normal ones because Yunho hardly ever seemed to run out of energy. He was always the life in the room, surrounded by people. You liked it that way. You did not intend to dim his light.

You had Hongjoong to keep you company in the dark.

Hongjoong has always been a part of your life. Where there was Yunho, there was Hongjoong– sometimes near, sometimes at a distance, but an unwavering presence. He did not try to get between you and Yunho, but his presence was much appreciated by you both so he always kept close. He knew things about you that Yunho did not, just like Yunho knew parts of you that Hongjoong did not.

“You may not be here much longer as well,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Your mother seems to have decided that your time has come.”

“Well…” you took a sip of the whiskey, suddenly conscious of yourself. “I am of age. I intend to settle soon.”

“How lovely,” Hongjoong’s comment didn’t match his tone. “Got eyes on someone?”

You looked at Hongjoong. “Are you pretending that you do not know that Yunho and I are interested in each other?”

“I mean…” Hongjoong shrugged. “You two are awfully uptight about your traditions. To me, you still look like friends.”

“Those traditions are sacred, Joong,” you reminded the prince. “They are meant to preserve sanctity and reverence–”

“Yeah, yeah. No need to quote lines from school,” Hongjoong dismissed. “I’m just saying that maybe you both need to stop tiptoeing around those manmade rules and think for once.”

“What’s it to you?” You scoffed, grabbing a scone from the table and offering one to Hongjoong. He denied. “I’ll take my sweet time. I intend to respect and uphold these traditions. You know that very well.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “You haven’t changed one bit, dear.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you smiled, taking a big bite. “That’s delicious.”

While you were busy observing the scone, Hongjoong was fixated on the little crumb near your lips. Almost casually, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Hongjoong!”

He rolled his eyes. “No one is going to hang me for making sure you don’t make a mess of yourself. Stop making a big deal out of it.”

“Whatever,” you tried to ignore how your heart rate casually went up. “I’m going to find Yunho. Come along– Wooyoung probably needs to eat someone’s ears off. He’s been at it with the Choi brothers. I’ll offer you as his next target before it’s my turn.”

Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea but he followed anyway. That was Wooyoung’s charm– he could talk for hours and you would enjoy it all the same. You, however, intended to find Yunho and free him from the hoards of guests.

The ghost of Hongjoong’s finger still remained on your lips, though. You caught your mother’s eye– had she seen that? Even if she had not, you would probably receive a reminder of what was at stake anyway. 

Honour. A woman’s honour, specifically, which was more fragile than a man’s, but almost equally as reverent. 

There were many names for the said tradition– never written in the books as the law, but regarded with the same importance. The Doctrine of Chaste Union. The Covenant of Purity. It sounded too complicated, but it was simple enough to understand.

A man and woman must not engage in improper, intimate or dishonourable behaviour. For a man and woman intending to marry, they must still uphold these etiquettes to protect the sanctity of the royal bloodline and dignity of the crown. 

It was not just a tradition. The royal bloodline served as role models to its subjects. The people of the kingdom looked up to you, the princess. You were always under observation, and your behaviour and appearance was a reflection of your values and morals. Young girls strived to be like you. You could not let your subjects down. You had to be perfect and show them how to live as a proper woman and as a moral human being in this society.

The same rules applied to the princes. Yunho was perhaps the one doing justice to this tradition. He was a natural– he had the best etiquettes and he had perfected the balance between being friendly and open to being reserved and chaste. He respected the tradition as much as you.

He promised to pursue you the right way when he made his intentions clear at the year-end festivities last year. Since then, it had been a dream. He sends butterflies in your stomach with a mere look, makes your skin tingle with a mere touch and melts your heart with his words alone. 

“Yunho!” You whispered when you got close and he lit up at the sight of you. Pardoning himself from the crowd, he squeezed your hand and you led him away from the crowd.

“Tired yet?” You asked.

“Fancy a retreat?”

“You read my mind,” you grinned and you both made way to the abandoned balcony attached to the old music room which was your hideout. Your handmaids were already stationed there, knowing that you liked to spend time there with Yunho. They were wholly aware of how Yunho would never compromise your honour so they let you both be alone on the condition that you keep the door slightly open to avoid a scandal. 

Scandals spread like wildfire here. You understood their concerns. 

Yunho traced his fingers across the dusty piano, creating music in the process. You fixed the lapels of his navy blue royal uniform. 

“Did I ever tell you blue is your colour?”

“You told me white was the last time we met, but okay. I’ll pretend I forgot,” he grinned. 

“You look good in everything. It’s unfair,” you pouted. Yunho pinched your cheeks, making you giggle. 

“How come you get more adorable every time I see you? That’s unfair.”

“Me? Adorable?” You curled a strand of your hair deviously between your fingers. “Don’t toot my horn, Yunho. I’ll be insufferable.”

Yunho leaned down, suddenly close to your face. “You know I love that side of you.”

You were positive your cheeks flushed. Yunho remained that way, scanning your face while you fixated on the freckles littering his face, illuminated by the moonlight and the candles. Oh, how you wished to trace them and draw constellations. His lips parted slightly, his gaze heavy.

“God, y/n. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop,” your pout deepened and he couldn’t resist to run the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, patting your cheek before straightening. You could tell he wished to do something about the pout but he had immense restraint, though his eyes held such raw yearning that it made you weak.

“We must stay proper,” you teased and he laughed, agreeing. He held your hands and kissed the back of your right hand.

“This much I can do,” he said.

“You can do more…”

Yunho broke into a smile. Giving in, he cupped your face and kissed your forehead– a tender, lingering kiss. Then a kiss on your temple, and a final innocent peck to the corner of your lips. You gasped, looking towards the door but you were unmonitored. “Jeong Yunho!”

“It’s been 5 months since I did that,” his voice was low. “I’m human too, love.”

“I know, but…” you bit your lips. “Step away from me before I compromise your honour.”

Yunho could barely keep from bursting into loud laughter. You joined and he reminded you of the time you made a similar threat. You continued to tease each other while recalling the memories, soft intimate touches passed between you two. A knock on the door alerted you to come out– it had been too long since you had disappeared inside.

You spent the rest of the night conversing with the other guests, but your eyes kept finding Yunho. Yet… you were wholly aware of Hongjoong the whole time as well. 

Hongjoong was still a problem, it seemed. One that you could not put a name to, one that you could not ignore. One that occupied your last thoughts before sleep, even though your heart sang out to someone else.

The ball– the main event of the year-end festivities– was to take place two days after the arrival of the guests, allowing them a period of rest. However, for most of the princes and princesses, time was short and they intended to make the most of it.

That meant that you spent basically every waking moment together. From breakfast in the Great Hall, unsupervised by the king and the queen so that you could all let loose a little, to lounging in the studies or music rooms, snacking endlessly while stressing about staying in shape for the dance, to the best part.

The late night chit chats.

“So I told Soojin that she needs to do something about that husband of hers,” Wooyoung announced as a matter-of-factly. “That man is too controlling, and while a wife is supposed to respect her husband, she is still a human first and foremost, and she has needs. The husband needs to respect his wife too.”

“Thank you,” you sighed in agreement, horrified to hear about how your best friend, Princess Soojin of Utopia, was already having trouble in her marriage. You had attended her wedding about 7 months ago. She had been married to a duke’s son in Mist so Wooyoung was well-aware of her relationship status. You were glad that Soojin had someone like Wooyoung at her side, at a time like this. You wished you could be there for her too.

“I warned her that her man is an arse, but she was charmed, and I don’t blame her,” Minjeong said. “That man is known for his talent in wooing ladies. He doesn’t care about the traditions much.”

“Why would Soojin marry someone like him?” Sieun wondered. As the youngest, she probably found the situation ridiculous.

“These relations are usually decided upon by the elders,” Yunho reminded gently. “As a princess, it would have been Soojin’s duty to obey an order from her parents.”

“She could have said no,” Hongjoong commented casually, eyes fixated on the book that he had picked up. He sat in the corner by the fire, slightly away from where the rest of you were crowded at the sofas. “But like Minjeong said, she must have fallen prey to his wooing. If she can bend the traditions, she could have certainly done a little more by saying no.”

“I suppose it’s tough for girls,” San, the elder prince of the Choi brothers, added. “I know how tough it was for our sister when it was her time.”

“I agree,” you said. “If you grow up learning how important it is to respect your customs and traditions, it’s hard to do anything otherwise,” you intentionally stared at Hongjoong. He looked up from his book and matched your stare. “Wonder how you can say these things so easily.”

“It’s because these traditions are not law. They are manmade in the end, made by senile old men,” Jongho concluded and Hongjoong sent him a grateful smile. Even though Jongho was the most reserved person you knew, he was like Hongjoong in the sense that no tradition or law would hold him back from doing what he thought was right. “Some practices should change with time. You’re telling me that us sitting and conversing like this might be considered improper just because the sun has set? What’s the sun got to do with anything?”

“Real men sin in the daylight!” San said loudly and jokingly and Wooyoung clapped, unable to contain his laugh. Soon, the conversation took a humorous turn, almost becoming a finger-pointing session.

One by one, the princes and princesses said their farewell for the night. The ball was tomorrow night and some needed to catch up on sleep while the others still had to worry about matching this year’s theme of masquerade. It must have been around 10 when you were left with Yunho and Hongjoong. 

You were discussing your mask designs with Yunho, but you could see from the corner of your eye that Hongjoong had stopped reading and was watching the two of you. Yunho was perhaps unaware of his gaze and he continued to tell you about the last masquerade ball that he attended in some other kingdom. While he recalled his adventures there, you mustered up courage to look at Hongjoong questioningly.

Except he wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. He acted as if you were the one making him uncomfortable, refusing to look away.

“Ah, there you both go again,” Yunho commented, looking between you two. He shook his head in amusement. “What’s wrong this time?”

“He’s staring,” you pointed.

“She’s staring. I didn’t start it.”

“Hongjoong, you were literally looking at me like this–” you mimicked his facial expressions and Yunho curled inwards as he laughed silently. “What was I supposed to do when you looked like I killed your cat?”

“I must have zoned out!” Hongjoong’s voice raised slightly. “So technically, I didn’t start it. You did. You could have waved at me and I would have broken out of my trance and went to my book. Instead, you had to–”

This time, Hongjoong mimicked you and Yunho stifled his laugh only because you looked at him in warning, daring him to make a sound. Yunho pretended to zip his lips, thoroughly enjoying the banter. As usual.

While Hongjoong complained to Yunho about your behaviour, you smiled to yourself as you recalled a memory from a couple of years ago.

“You tend to stare into the distance a lot,” You commented when you found Hongjoong’s eyes fixed at the reflection of the moon in his garden’s pond. “Why do you do that?”

“Sometimes, I find something beautiful. I look at it and get lost thinking about it,” Hongjoong admitted. Yunho, who was sitting nearby, tossed a pebble into the pond, making the moon’s reflection ripple. “See? Still beautiful.”

“You do that to people too, though,” you had noticed. “Sometimes, I catch you staring at me, but you’re not staring– you just zone out.”

“I must find you beautiful then,” Hongjoong thought, and instantly pretended to choke on his words, making Yunho laugh. You folded your arms in horror. 

“Kim Hongjoong! That is very rude!”

“I jest, my dear,” Hongjoong grinned. “You are a beautiful little thing, but only when you shut that mouth.”

“Oh,” Yunho gasped scandalously. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I can’t tell,” you were devastated. 

“I’ll let you ponder over it,” Hongjoong said.

“Look at her!” Hongjoong’s loud voice pulled you out of your trance. “Now she’s zoning out, smiling like that. It looks weird!” 

“That’s exactly how it felt to me,” you cried out, sinking further down into the sofa. 

Did Hongjoong really find you beautiful? 

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought and asked, “What are your plans for the masquerade, Joong?”

“Well…” the elder prince folded his arms. “The usual, I suppose. Stick to the corner and hover like a bat, praying no one notices me.”

“But you’re an incredible dancer– not better than Yunho, of course,” you said and Yunho straightened proudly. “But you have a way with your dances. I just know that the girls would love to have a dance with you. Are you planning to let them down?”

“Of course I am,” Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea. “You know how much I despise it.”

It wasn’t dancing or the girls he despised. It was the watchful eyes of the adults that irked him to death. Slightly wrong hand placement would earn him an earful, so he would rather not dance at all.

“Well, good thing that this ball is a masquerade. I hope your mask does well hiding your identity.”

“Ah… I forgot…” Hongjoong relaxed, his scheming face on. “I suppose I could have a little fun then. I’m going to make sure the elders have enough gossip to last them the entire year.”

“Hongjoong!” This time, Yunho was the one calling his friend out. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

“Stupid? Me?” Hongjoong looked at you deviously. “Never.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” you declared and Yunho agreed. “What do you plan to do, Yunho? Monitor Joong like the elders? Or are you gonna let loose?”

“One of us letting loose is enough,” Yunho sighed. “I’ll do the monitoring.”

“Don’t let it take the fun out of the night, though. I expect to be exhausted to death dancing tomorrow night, and I expect that I will be able to blame you for that.”

“Ah, of course,” Yunho gleamed. “You bet.”

That was a challenge, and Yunho was a man of his word. You knew this was coming, so you had prepared your best heels for the night– black to match the gems on your emerald gown, comfortable enough to give the entire tour of the premises in them. 

Your mask covered everything except the area around your lips and your chin. Your lashes peeked through the black net borders of the mask and paired with the earthy tones of your lips, it left a deep impression. You did not want to be recognised tonight. You simply wanted to have fun.

Your guards accompanied you to the ballroom before the guests arrived. You made sure that everything was in place– the tables lining the walls of the ballroom decorated with refreshments and drinks, the musicians at the corner of the room ready, and guards at the entrance to confirm everyone’s identity. Since this was a masquerade, there was a chance of an intruder sneaking in. It wouldn’t be new, for the year-end parties were susceptible to attacks. It was the perfect opportunity to strike multiple birds with one stone.

The guests were starting to arrive, filling the ballroom slowly. They stuck to their partners or if they recognised each other, they formed groups, admiring each other’s outfits for the night. You did not greet anyone just yet– you would surprise them later.

The King and the Queen arrived next, taking their place at the second level of the ballroom so that they could peer down. From their spot, the entire ballroom was in their vision and they could monitor anyone they wanted to. You hoped that instead of watching you, they would simply gossip and have fun. Coming up with an idea, you found the court members and asked them to keep your mother and father entertained. That translated to sending the dukes and marquesses and anyone of importance in their direction. Hopefully they would keep them busy enough for you to disappear out of their sight.

For a second, you paused. Why did you wish to remain unmonitored tonight? All that was happening tonight was dances and good conversation. You would be dancing with Yunho mostly, and he was the most gentlemanly. Even if your mother would be watching you, she wouldn’t find any reason to reprimand you. Yunho wouldn’t let that happen.

Was it just because your mother was too watchful? You knew your limits. She was wholly aware that you respected the sacred tradition very much and you never engaged in improper behaviour. You did not wish to cross any boundaries with Yunho– he was someone who deeply respected this tradition too. He liked you, and he would wait for you. You could do the same.

At that moment, your attention was caught by a man in all-black outfit. Hongjoong. It had to be him. You would recognise that relaxed gait anywhere. Besides, his mask hardly concealed his elfish features. 

Hongjoong’s eyes found you in a matter of seconds and he started to walk towards you. You looked behind you and with a startle, you realised that he had recognised you. From so far away.

“Planning to hide for the entirety of the event?” Hongjoong asked, grabbing a cherry from the waiter that zoomed past you. 

“Am I very recognisable despite the mask?” You drew it lower on your face. 

“Not sure. Tell me who to avoid tonight.”

“Hmm…” you folded your arms and stood next to him, eyes scanning the crowd. “The duke’s niece– the one in orange next to the tall man. She’s aiming to score a prince and while that is not a bad thing, I’m sure you’ll only break her heart before she even gets to try. Then there’s the count’s daughter, next to the piano in that pink dress. Oh, that dress is so pretty… anyways, she is talkative and I know you don’t really like that.”

“You’re the most talkative person I know,” Hongjoong commented.

“Yes, but I’m me. You’ve known me since we were kids, so it doesn’t count. Besides, we’re not pursuing each other romantically, so even if you tell me that I’m talkative, I wouldn’t care.”

“And if Yunho tells you that you talk too much?”

“He would never,” you gasped at his audacity. “Where is he anyway?”

“Stressing about one thing or another, I suppose. I think it was his shoes this time…”

“Isn’t that usually your job? You arrived earlier than usual tonight.”

“Fashionably late only when I’m not hiding behind a mask,” Hongjoong winked. “No one cares tonight.”

“I do,” you said and he looked at you. “I mean… you’re talking too much. You should have taken some more time fixing your hair or whatever keeps you in your room for so long.”

“I’m talking too much?” Hongjoong shook his head. “There comes your prince.”

“Ah, how handsome,” you said dreamily at the sight of your tall prince dressed in all white with accents of gold. “Did you both do black and white on purpose?” 

“Purely coincidental.”

“It suits you,” you said and Hongjoong could tell that you meant it. You ran your gaze over him slowly. “The black… it suits you very much, Joong.”

Hongjoong’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He opened his mouth to thank you, but decided against it. 

You only smiled, waiting for Yunho to spot you. However, his eyes ran past you and he continued to look around as if waiting for you to spot him. For a second, you found it funny that he missed you until you recalled that Hongjoong had spotted you from even further.

Naturally, you turned to Hongjoong. Unbelievable, you thought, that he had pinned you from so far away while Yunho was still struggling to find you. As if Hongjoong had read your mind, his eyes grew just a little wide. 

You looked away, waiting, praying for Yunho to recognise you. It wasn’t until he walked a few steps in your direction that he almost looked past you and did a double-take. Did he recognise you, or did he recognise Hongjoong first? You would not dare to ask.

“Princess!” He sprinted towards you, grinning in apology. “Apologies for my tardiness.”

“Forget that. You were having trouble finding me,” you decided to address the elephant between you and Hongjoong.

“Apologies for that too, I was still in panic mode. I was stopped three times for chit-chat before I made it here, and I thought that you would be mad that I’m late…” Yunho extended his hand and you placed your hand in his, rolling your eyes. He kissed your knuckles softly.

“Apologies accepted.”

Yunho grinned, turning towards Hongjoong. “Looking for a partner tonight?”

“No thanks,” he muttered. “My partner is cherries and whiskey.”

“Come, now,” Yunho said. “At least participate in the main dance.”

“You must, or else mother will be cross,” you pointed at the Queen, finding her already looking at you. She waved at the three of you and the princes bowed in respect. “She’s going to be watching us all night.”

“And I can’t disappoint her,” Hongjoong groaned. “Fine. Just the main dance, and then you both let me hover in a corner. Don’t stop having fun on my account.”

“Deal,” Yunho said. “Now… shall we dance?”

You grinned and took his hand, letting him steer you to the dance floor. The music playing right now was a playful beat, meant to make the participants let loose and do their warm-ups before the highlight. 

The highlight was a circular formation dance. Initially, everyone is paired with their partner for the night, but the dance lasts almost half an hour, sometimes more. The duration depends on the number of pairs so that every pairing gets equal time. Each person takes turns switching their partners. 

You and Yunho practised for the highlight just like everyone else. The dance seemed to be ingrained into Yunho and it came very naturally to him. He reminded you of how to manage your steps if paired with someone as tall as him, or with someone shorter. A slight difference in your movements could make your dance appear more graceful.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way,” Yunho told you. “The emerald dress…”

“Do you remember?” You asked. He nodded, his eyes glazed with fondness.

It was a memory from the last time you met. You and Yunho sneaked out with just your handmaid and a guard and took to the markets under a disguise. You went to a fabrics shop and tested so many colours that you lost count. However, it was the emerald that had Yunho look like a lovesick puppy. 

“It makes me want to confess again,” Yunho referred to that memory. “Remind you that I can’t take my eyes off you, no matter where we are or what we are doing. I adore you, y/n. You’re my best friend and I’m absolutely honoured that you are giving me a chance.”

Similar to the confession he made that time. His words were molten honey and they sent warmth coursing throughout your entire body. 

“I could say the same,” you said. “I… I really can’t imagine a life without you, Yunho. Don’t you ever leave me.”

“Never,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss on top of your head. “Even if you decide, for some reason, that you cannot take me as yours… I’ll always be your friend.”

“That won’t happen. Whatever reason would I ever have to reject you? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Thank you,” Yunho sounded genuine. “I wish I could sink to my knees and propose to you right now, but you know why I have to wait. My intentions are sincere, though.”

“Yunho!” You scolded, smacking his chest. “I have only one complaint and it is that you talk as if your words don’t have an effect on me!”

Yunho laughed almost sadistically. He leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I do enjoy it when you get riled up.”

“Mother’s watching,” you warned. He grinned in response. “But to address your reasons, I’m aware. Neither you nor Hongjoong can announce an engagement before the matter of the crown is sorted.” 

“Our fathers are working it out. It’s not everyday you have a kingdom where two kings have ruled and produced heirs to the throne.”

“And it’s certainly not everyday that they share such deep love and respect for each other that they are willing to give up the crown to the other,” you sighed happily. “People go as far as killing blood, yet here you are.”

“Here we are,” Yunho’s eyes scanned the crowd, finding Hongjoong and sharing a nod. “The elder prince willing to give up the crown to the younger if he proves himself worthy, and the younger prince refusing to take it.”

“Even though he is worthy,” you added. “You’re both equally worthy of the crown. I pray every night that your love for each other never wavers.”

Yunho nodded. He prayed the same.

The music started to change to a deeper, more melodic tune, signalling the young royals and everyone of importance to move and take formation. Yunho led you to your position and you stood by his side, waiting for the rest to join you. 

From here, it was easy to spot each other. Wooyoung was dashing in red, paired with the talkative daughter of the count that you had mentioned to Hongjoong earlier. Jongho and Sieun seemed to have picked each other for the dance. Minjeong was paired with the duke’s youngest son. San was with someone you couldn't recognise. You scanned the pairs one by one until you found Hongjoong and almost sighed in relief. 

He stood right across you, paired with the duke’s daughter, his hand holding hers. A wave of something hot struck you in the chest, threatening to suffocate you, but before you could deal with it, the music changed and Yunho squeezed your hand. “It’s time.”

You nodded and rested your hand on Yunho’s shoulder, the other clasped in his. His hand rested on your waist, steady and warm. You decided to address your feelings later and simply enjoy the dance. 

And how could you not, when Yunho’s eyes dripped with love? He did not need to look around to make sure that he did not bump into anyone else– he was effortless with his moves, his attention solely devoted to you.

Your smile widened and you returned his gaze. From Yunho, you did not shy away. Not when his love was so innocent. Not when it came so naturally.

You continued to twirl in his hold, rotate and dip slightly, a performance worthy of the grandiose in which it was taking place. The masks must make the performance even better to the audience– the push and pull between the pairs, the moves when your faces were so close that they almost touched. The masks added a layer of excitement and curiosity. 

And when Yunho drew close, although he was taller, he leaned down. He leaned just a bit so that his lips would brush against your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You giggled and he joined, letting you know that it was intentional. 

He was sweet like that, only daring to tease occasionally, but when he did tease, oh, he could be a menace. The next brush of his lips was more than that. It was a kiss. You gasped and Yunho winked. “Act normal, love.”

“What’s got you all playful tonight?” You questioned. “In front of all these eyes!”

“Just a token of my love before I part with you,” Yunho said and before you could respond, he let go of your hand and you got pulled in by your next partner.

“Ah, here you are,” Wooyoung gleamed. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Thank you, I love your outfit!” You said while matching his steps. “Red is a daring choice.”

“And no one but me would take it,” he looked proud. “What do you think about my eyes?”

“Oh!” You laughed when you realised that he was wearing makeup and it was not just a shadow casted on his eyelids. “That is a brave choice and a very sensible one.”

Wooyoung agreed. He continued to tell you about his process regarding his costume and you shared yours. Just like that, you got shifted to the next partner who was a stranger. You exchanged pleasantries and danced silently. San had much to share and you both talked the whole time– gossip, or intel that he had gathered during his recent stay in Mist.

It took another partner before you got sent into Hongjoong’s arms. He moved with a fluidity that you were eager to match and once you both synced, you relaxed. 

“Enjoying the night?” He asked. 

“Very much,” you admitted. “How about you?”

“It’s not bad,” he admitted. You nodded– that was certainly acknowledgement from him. He twirled you once and smoothly had you in his arms again, making you smile.

“How do you and Yunho both dance so incredibly well?” You asked. 

“That’s what happens when you are bored and decide to partner with each other,” Hongjoong said and you held back a laugh. His gaze shifted to your right and you hummed in confusion.

“You’ve got a loose curl,” Hongjoong said. “Mind if I fix that?”

“Can you?” You asked. 

You had to pay attention to the dance to make sure you made no mistake, but to Hongjoong, dance was something he could do with his eyes closed. He didn’t answer you. He simply inserted the curl inside one of the pins with deft fingers and then tucked some hair behind your ear. 

Then his eyes found yours, and he rested his hand on your shoulder. Slowly, painfully slow so that perhaps, it would go unnoticed, he slid his hand down your bare arm. When his hand found purchase back on the dip of your waist, you could not decide if you wished to complain about the lack of touch on your bare skin or thank him for bringing his hand back to your waist, the absence of which had left your skin feeling hollow despite the lack of touch.

“Comfortable?” Hongjoong asked. You nodded.

His hand slid upwards just a fraction. His thumb caressed the fabric of the dress, sending a hot trail of fire in its wake until it paused dangerously close to the curve of your breast. 

“Now?” He asked, voice lower than before.

“I… I’m good,” you assured him.

You were comfortable, yes, but you were not good. Yunho’s hands were big enough to assume the same position and that had sent butterflies in your stomach. However, Hongjoong’s intentional placement set your skin on fire. Whenever you pulled away from each other, his hands would find their place back exactly there, never missing. His gaze was heavy as if he had too much to drink. When he moved closer to assume the intimate dance position, his lips parted and face dipped as if he wanted to capture something between his lips, yet…

Yet he refused to let his lips touch you. Somehow, that vexed you, and then you were wondering again of the reasons behind such feelings.

When he pulled you close, his hand  squeezed the skin on your waist. Your breath hitched and his nose brushed with yours in the slightest. Before any of you could make another move or address the ones already made, you were changing partners.

It wasn’t until you were back to Yunho for the final bit that you stopped thinking about the way your heads had tilted to accommodate each other for something more, something dangerous, right before you had to switch partners. 

Though Yunho kept you thoroughly entertained throughout the rest of the event, one thing was clear.

There was something between you and Hongjoong. Something electric, dangerous but real. 

You could not stay away from each other. You had never been able to. Hongjoong always found you, and you always found him. You could not stop testing boundaries– touching each other casually until it was not very casual, just like he had tonight at the dance. Just like you let him kiss you on the cheek or on your temple whenever he wanted without complaining. 

The thing was that what you and Yunho had was just as real, if not more. You were positive that your love for Yunho was a romantic one. You yearned to hold him, touch him without any watchful eyes, and kiss him stupid. You wished to spend the rest of your life in his arms– that is the idea that you fell asleep to every night. Your restraint and his was simply out of respect for each other, but that did not mean that you did not love each other. You loved him. 

So then what was it that you felt for Hongjoong? You loved him as a friend, just like you loved the rest of your friends– no, you definitely loved him more than the rest of your friends. However… did your love change shape at some point? When did that happen?

Was it the time he found you crying alone and wiped your tears? Was it because he always found you when Yunho got stolen away so that you were never alone? Was it when he told you that you were beautiful, as if he had every right to use that word for you? 

So many memories that you had made with him, yet you were unable to pinpoint a single one that could hint at the beginning of this shift. 

Did Hongjoong feel as restless as you, or was this all in your head?

Since the main event of the year-end festivities was over, you were back to prioritising your royal duties before any recreational activities, though you still made time for horse-riding yesterday and archery in the morning. The guests would be here for another two weeks so you supposed you could spare some time later.

For now, you needed to address the security concerns arising because of the trade-conflict between Wonderland and Neverland. There was also the matter of Neverland’s refusal to join this year’s celebrations– was it because they were hosted at Wonderland? Were they trying to make an enemy out of your kingdom?

The trade-conflict has been going on for about 6 months now. Since the only way to reach Neverland was a sea route and the storms had been deadly this season, the sailors from Wonderland were being cautious or refusing to make this journey. The King allowed reprieve but Neverland sent a message, clearly angry about the delay and refusing to understand your reasons. 

Not joining this year was a clear message, but they were also refusing to break the trade contract since it was the easiest to get their cotton from Wonderland. For Wonderland, they could make a land route to Kiji to make up for their machinery that they otherwise got from Neverland,, even though it would be of a lower quality, but Neverland seemed to have no other choice.

You wouldn’t be surprised if Neverland took a big, wrong step. This morning, the guards had arrested bandits trying to enter the grounds. The bandits were claiming to be from Neverland. It would only be a matter of time before a more deadly group made an attack.

Was it wise for Wonderland to send the guests back at a time like this? They were safer inside. What if they got compromised during their journey? Wonderland would not be able to recover from such a damage.

However, if someone got attacked inside the castle, that would be equally as worse, if not more. You were getting exhausted but you had to share your input tonight.

A knock sounded and Yunho entered the study, dressed in a casual outfit of black slacks and white shirt. He waved and you straightened, failing to stifle a yawn. You stretched your arms and Yunho laughed, coming behind your chair and massaging your shoulders.

“You’ve been holed up here all afternoon,” Yunho said. “Anything I can help with?”

“Hmmm… security concerns, mainly,” you offered, wondering if it would be wise to share with him. Yunho was one of the best strategists of your time. 

“Neverland?” Yunho guessed. You looked up at him but he shrugged. “They didn’t attend. I think it’s obvious why.”

“Take a seat,” you said and he brought his chair near you so that you could show him the map. “We wish to be prepared in case of an attack. Bandits were arrested this morning, claiming to be trade workers from Neverland who were running low on money. We’ve stationed more guards here,” you pointed at the wall nearest to the guest chambers, “and strengthened security near the forest.”

Yunho nodded. “I suppose you could station more guards inside too, near the chambers.”

“It might worry the guests.”

“Better safe than sorry. You can make up an excuse about being careful, but it’s better not to compromise their security.”

“Do you think it’s better if the guests leave?” You relaxed back in your chair and asked. “I’m worried about the guests exiting Wonderland safely, but I’m also worried about an attack inside the grounds. What if they wish to leave but we cannot let them go? The conflict will blow up.”

Yunho folded his arms, thinking for a few moments. “Do you suppose you could arrange more recreational activities? Something to keep the guests engaged until a clear, safe route is arranged for their departure?”

“I reckon we could,” you agreed. “We just have to make sure the guests are not bored, right?”

“Yes,” Yunho said. “In case someone has to leave early, have the royal guards create a distraction. They could pretend to accompany someone of importance while the actual guest leaves casually through a busy route. A busy, slightly unsafe route is better than a safe but empty route.”

“True,” you clapped. “Jeong Yunho. You’re brilliant.”

Yunho’s lips drooped in a shy smile. “Come on. I’m sure you would have come up with it too.”

“Yeah, after another all-nighter,” you laughed. “What are the rest up to?”

“Hongjoong is holed up in his room too. I think he came up with a few designs and he really wanted to note them down,” Yunho said. “The rest are in the garden having tea and playing ball.”

“It’s been a while since I heard of his hobby,” you referred to Hongjoong. “Does he still do that?”

“Not very often, but when he does, it’s great work. He must have been inspired after seeing all the fancy gowns and suits at the ball.”

You nodded. “And you? Missing me?”

“Very much so,” Yunho leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and looking at you lovingly. “I wanted to… talk.”

“Go ahead,” you said, mirroring his position. 

“You’re aware that I wish to marry you,” he began and you nodded. “And that I’m only delaying because I cannot bring you into the current political mess at my place. You should not have to deal with it.”

“Yunho,” you placed your hand on his arm. “I can deal with anything as long as I am with you.”

“I wish to make you my wife,” Yunho’s voice was low and sweet, his eyes dripping with love. “But I also want it to be clear if you would be just a princess for the rest of your life or a queen in the future. You deserve to make our choice after factoring that.”

“I do not care if you are a prince, a king or exiled,” you said and Yunho narrowed his eyes, the two of you sharing a laugh. “I only need you by my side. My status doesn’t matter. Being a princess… it’s not all that. Being a queen of a nation… it’s a job that demands the utmost perfection and I’m scared of that title.”

“But you would be so perfect, my love,” Yunho squeezed your hand. “You deserve to be a queen more than anyone else.”

“Thank you,” you meant it. “I don’t mind waiting. My parents are not pressuring me about marriage right now. They know that we wish to be together, and they would also rather wait until the situation is clear, so stop apologising for making me wait. Every moment that I wait makes our time together even more beautiful.”

Yunho smiled warmly at that, kissing your palm and lingering there. “You’re perfect. My family, and Hongjoong’s… we can’t wait to have you with us.”

Your smile must have fallen just a bit, but Yunho was a very sensitive person. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” you said but Yunho shook his head.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Yunho scanned your face. “I would never judge you.”

“I know,” you assured. “I guess it’s just overwhelming. Hongjoong… has he ever addressed our relationship?”

“Well… he knows that we intend to marry,” Yunho took a deep breath. “We haven’t talked about you like that, though. He knows that I’m waiting for the situation to solve before I officially propose. He adores you, you know.”

“He does?”

“Of course he does,” Yunho said. “I thought it was clear?”

“I mean…” the weight of Yunho’s hand on yours was starting to feel heavy. “We usually just argue about this and that. Unserious arguments.”

“He’s always looking out for you,” Yunho smiled. “I know because I’ve seen him. His eyes always find you. I think he is very fond of you, y/n.”

“That’s… a relief, I suppose,” you laughed nervously. “How’s your mother? Is she okay with us?”

“More than okay,” Yunho grinned. “She’s your biggest fan.”

“That’s lovely,” you grinned and Yunho kissed your hand again, his gaze honey with a hint of darkness that you hadn’t seen before.

“What are you thinking?” You whispered.

“That I can’t wait to make you mine,” Yunho said in a low voice, sparing a glance at the slightly open door. “That I can’t wait to kiss those soft lips of yours.”

“Yunho!” 

“Stop pouting,” he warned, “I’m just a man.”

“Well…” you cleared your throat, attempting to pull your hand away but he held on, his eyes stuck on your lips. “Jeong Yunho. Respect your traditions and stop looking at me as if you want to eat me alive.”

Yunho chuckled deeply. “Ah… the things I wish I could do to you. It’s a shame that I have to wait,” he said and got up, cupping your face and kissing your forehead. “Join us for dinner. Don’t skip your meals.”

“I’m too tired to socialise,” you pouted again and Yunho swiped his thumb over your lower lip, raising his brow in a warning. You immediately straightened, but a part of you was tempted to find if he would cross the line. 

“Join me and Hongjoong then,” Yunho offered. “We’ll be in our chamber.”

“That… I can do,” you agreed. Yunho nodded, taking one final look at you, almost struggling to part from you but he did eventually, and you were left breathless from his mere gaze, wishing he could have done more.

Damn the traditions, a voice in your head said. You shook those thoughts away.

~

Accompanied by your guard and handmaid, you arrived at the guest chambers, hoping you would not run into anyone else. You really were tired tonight, but you could not reject Yunho’s offer to dine with him.

And Hongjoong. To dine with them both.

You could convince yourself that it was just because you wanted some time alone with your boys– it had been so long since the three of you had spent time together, and time together was always well-spent and memorable. You could convince yourself that it was for old times’ sake, but you could not deny that you wanted to see Hongjoong and really feel him out.

What Yunho had said about Hongjoong stuck with you. He adores you. His eyes always find you. You had not noticed that, no. Perhaps, you had been too busy looking at Yunho all this time to care for someone else.

But he is Hongjoong, your heart sang.

You still do not need to care about anyone else, your head retorted.

The guard knocked on their door and Yunho opened, welcoming you inside. Your handmaid entered with you, acting as your chaperone but she let you be, opting to rest in the study while the three of you dined in private. She would have company there with Yunho and Hongjoong’s maids and they would dine together. 

“Let me call Hongjoong– he refuses to come out of his room,” Yunho said apologetically and you shook your head. The table was set so you took a seat, waiting. 

It looked like it took some convincing for Hongjoong to finally come out. Your eyes slightly widened at his appearance– buttons of his shirt undone revealing his finely toned chest, hair a mess and sticking in every direction and eyes tired.

“How many meals have you missed?” You asked, filling a plate for him and making sure it was without vegetables– he really wasn’t a fan of them.

“Just… lunch. And breakfast. I did eat an apple, though… I think?”

Yunho looked at you helplessly and you motioned for him to take a seat too. You passed Hongjoong his plate and ordered him to eat. He shot you a glare.

“I’m working on something, and it is imperative that I finish before I lose my thought train,” Hongjoong said, the fork in his hand hovering mid-air. “I don’t have the luxury to dine and chat right now.”

“Then eat and leave,” you simply said. “I won’t disturb you.”

Yunho chuckled at the interaction, realising that you were right– you both really did argue a lot. He served you some more baked potatoes and started coming up with recreational activities for the next week. You left Hongjoong to eat in silence but it was clear that he didn’t mind the company while he ate, even though he wasn’t contributing.

His presence was enough for you both.

Yunho had almost finished his meal when a guard knocked on the door and let him know that the King wished to discuss some matter regarding his father. Yunho looked at you, apologising for leaving when he himself had invited you.

“It’s okay, you should go. I know father has been wanting to talk,” you said. “I’ll finish and leave.”

“Make sure Hongjoong stops playing with his food too, please,” Yunho said and Hongjoong scowled at the younger prince, making him chuckle as he left.

Then it was just the two of you. Unchaperoned. You could feel heat rush to your cheeks but you managed to finish the rest of your meal in silence. Hongjoong was slower, though, deep in thought.

“Hongjoong,” you called softly. “I think you should rest. You look tired.”

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, speeding up a little. “Just visualising some details so I don’t lose them.”

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” 

Hongjoong looked at you. There you were– the same curious little child that used to sneak up on him and watch him draw in silence, sometimes so silent that you would scare him. He smiled. 

“Just some gowns,” he said, wondering what to say next. “Playing with colours and fabric.”

“Can I see?” 

Could Hongjoong say no when you asked so sweetly? “I suppose you could… but only what I allow you to,” he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare try to get sneaky.”

“Won’t promise,” you grinned. “You know how curious I can get. Come on, since when do you hide your designs from me?”

“I can do whatever I want,” Hongjoong finished his meal. “Gotta teach you that curiosity can kill the cat.”

“But satisfaction brings it back,” you grinned, following him to his room. 

“Good lord,” you looked around. There was fabric and pages everywhere, no place to step without crushing something. “Can I at least sort this mess?”

“Do not touch anything,” Hongjoong scolded, almost tripping as he hopped towards the desk. “I know where everything is.”

“But Joong,” you cried out. “If I organise it, it will be easier and less time consuming for you to reach for a fabric or for the stones. You know I’m good at it.”

“I know, but I can manage–”

“Shut up and get to work,” you folded your arms. “I’ll take care of this.”

Hongjoong immediately straightened, internally scared of your raging need for organisation. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.”

Hongjoong watched you for a bit but eventually decided to resume working on his designs. You were as silent as you could be, occasionally calling to tell him your organisation method and where to reach to grab something. The fabrics were stacked in rows, the pages all spread on his bed and finally, it was time to collect the pearls and beads that were scattered across the room.

When you were done collecting them in little boxes, you set them on his desk. He didn’t look up, currently bent over his diary and drawing something. You perched yourself on his desk, trying to sneak a peek.

When he was done, he relaxed back, almost jumping in his chair when he spotted you. “Goodness. Can’t you make some noise?”

“I was breathing,” you said. “I assumed that would be loud enough for you… hey, that looks like the gown I wore to the ball.”

“It is,” he admitted. “I’m altering it. I thought that a different shade of green would compliment your skin tone more, and if we added some pearls and net details…”

Hongjoong continued to ramble, going about how he also took inspiration from Minjeong’s dress. While he talked, you grabbed his diary and started to go through it.

Sketches upon sketches of the most beautifully designed dresses, often with fabrics and beads glued or sewn into the thick pages for reference. However, the model or the muse seemed to be the same, no matter what. It always featured the same curls that you often wore, or the little scar on your back–

Hongjoong stopped talking. “I told you not to go through it.”

You looked at him. “You still remember this scar?”

Hongjoong remained silent. You were both thinking about the same memory from about two years ago in Eden when you had all gone hunting and you had gotten lost when you couldn’t find your way back to the rest due to heavy rain. Hongjoong had managed to find you, but the storm got worse so you both took refuge inside a cave.

Since it was incredibly cold and you were drenched and shivering, Hongjoong could only offer his arms as a relief. You sat wedged between his legs, embraced by him. He rested his head on top of yours, murmuring about how relieved he was that you were safe. You clung to his arms, both scared and relieved.

Your dress was torn a little at your upper back when a branch got stuck in your clothes. Hongjoong spotted the fresh wound then, the shape of a bow. He asked you about it and through chattering teeth you told him that you must have received this when you fell tumbling down a path a few moments before he found you. You thought you felt Hongjoong’s fingertip trace the wound but you didn’t say anything. You only shut your eyes, waiting for the storm to subside so you could go back.

A part of you had wished that the storm did not subside so soon, so that you could feel his strong arms embrace you for a little longer, so that he could continue to touch your skin with his fingers, so that he would continue to murmur sweet nothings into your ear. 

It seemed like he had not forgotten that memory. Whenever he sketched your back in his diary, the scar made a feature too. 

“Am I your muse, Kim Hongjoong?” You tilted your head. He looked up at you, the moonlight casting shadows under his cheekbones.

“Maybe you are,” he said almost casually. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t think so…” you admitted, taking a deep breath. “As long as I get to wear one of your designs someday.”

“A wedding dress… can I design your wedding gown, my dear?”

You frowned. While the thought of him designing your wedding dress was extremely enticing, some other thoughts were plaguing your mind. “Do you wish to see me as a bride that badly?”

“I… I wish to see you as a bride, yes,” Hongjoong leaned forward. “I imagine you as a bride, dressed in the softest shade of white that you can get in the highest quality of silk that we have in Eden– one that glimmers under the sun.”

Hongjoong stood up, scanning your body. You suddenly felt exposed but you didn’t move. 

“I imagine pearls as your complementary choice of jewellery. The pearls from Neverland– they have this distinct shade of blue to them that would go very well with your undertones. I imagine the pearls to be a part of the dress– here,” he pressed his thumb against your collarbone without hesitation, a designer and not a prince right now. “A neckline that exposes your collarbones and shoulders, since you have a beautiful shoulder cut. The dress would hug your bodice but I suppose we could make the back deeper. Would you mind exposing your scar?”

“I– I don’t know,” you admitted, too distracted by his fingertips against your sternum right now.

“I suppose we could adjust the back depending on that. A dip of your neckline here, and then…” he traced his hands against your thighs. “The fabric would hug your curves beautifully and modestly, just like you prefer. I suppose it could be more flowy towards the knees,” he continued to trace his hand down all the way to your ankles and you gasped when his hands made contact with your bare ankles. “I think a pearl outline to the first layer of the dress would look heavenly. Paired with your pearl jewellery and the pearl-embedded crown of Eden, a net veil with zircons scattered over it… 

“Y/n, you would make the most beautiful bride,” Hongjoong finished, breathing and finally realising that he was holding your ankles. With you perched on the desk, he was almost eye-level and you could see his pupils dilate.

“You would design such a beautiful gown for my wedding? I’m not your bride,” you reminded him. 

“It would both be the greatest honour,” he whispered, tracing your cheekbone, looking as if he was drugged. “And the cruelest punishment for me.”

“Cruelest punishment?” You echoed. “Do you hate me?”

“Hate?” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “Do you think that I could ever hate you?” 

“Then what is this, Hongjoong?” You clasped his hand, gulping but letting it remain there so he could cradle your jaw. “What are you doing when you clearly know that I’m basically betrothed to Yunho?”

“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighed, trying to bring himself out of this trance. “I respect Yunho a lot. I would never do something to disappoint him and risk our friendship. I respect you too, y/n. I…” he pulled his hand away from your face but you held on, making sure not to let him go. You wanted him to finish saying whatever he was thinking. “I respect the fact that you both value your traditions but good heavens, dear. If it were up to me, I would…”

“Say it,” you commanded after a few moments of silence. You simply could not take the look in his eyes anymore.

Hongjoong shook his head, attempting to pull his hand but you grabbed his other hand too, pulling him towards you. Closer. So close that you could feel his breath caress your face.

“I’m not so innocent even though I practise restraint, so say whatever you are thinking. Forget about Yunho for a moment.”

Hongjoong’s gaze darkened. “Do you even realise what you’re asking for?”

“Your heart,” you nodded. “I wish to learn what you think about me, however… unfiltered that may be. You… you’re confusing me, occupying my thoughts and my heart and I need to make sense of it before I make a mistake, Joong. I love Yunho, don’t get me wrong, but I… I need to hear what you think of me, or else it will kill me.”

“Y/n,” Hongjoong squeezed your hands. “Go back. You need to leave.”

“No.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. “If you learn what I would do to you if you were mine, if I… if I speak my mind about what I wish I could do to you right now…” Hongjoong looked away for  a moment, collecting the last shreds of his sanity. “They would crucify me, love. So leave. What I think about you does not matter. You are Yunho’s.”

This time, you didn’t fight back when he pulled away from you. He went to the window, staring outside, the muscles in his face taut from tension. 

“I’ve spent most of my life with Yunho,” you said, standing up and getting ready to leave. “It was easy to fall in love with him. He’s everything that I have ever wanted, and he has always been there, but Hongjoong… so have you. You have always been present with me and Yunho, watching and waiting, sometimes offering solace while other times, offering silence. If you had asked me to be yours before Yunho did, I would have said yes to you because no matter how much I think, I feel like my heart has always been split into two.”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong looked at you, distraught.

“Make of that what you will,” you said, tired. “I’m done for the night, and I’m done explaining myself.” You left his room and made your way outside, your handmaid scurrying to accompany you. 

Outside Hongjoong’s room hidden in a corner, a tall shadow stood for a few moments before disappearing elsewhere.

If there was one thing that the prince and princesses of your generation enjoyed, it was a good debate. Hence, the idea to have a few sessions where everyone would represent a kingdom that was not theirs was proposed by you. You could all shuffle the kingdoms or choose the one that you would like to represent. Since Neverland was not attending, Hongjoong decided to represent Neverland.

Yunho was representing your kingdom, Wonderland, and you were representing Eden since you were very familiar with the way they ran their kingdom. Wooyoung, San and Sieun switched among themselves. Jongho decided to act as a moderator since he was incredibly skilled at that. 

Minjeong was opting to watch instead of participate– she was from a big family and not very involved in running the kingdom. Minjeong was going to score everyone based on how good their argument was and deduct points if someone crossed the line. Lastly, Jeongin was acting as the law– representing the crime courts of the land and navy. 

A few days were spent with everyone gathering at the library to study about their assigned kingdoms and catch up with their latest trends directly with the actual nationals of those kingdoms. Jongho would join a group and make sure that the discussion would be unbiased since he was very well-versed with the current political climate. 

It was only Hongjoong who had no one to discuss Neverland with. You and Yunho were spending most of the time together, exchanging information and debate points but though Hongjoong claimed to be okay, you knew that he was not aware of the recent trouble between your kingdom and Neverland.

You wondered if this was a good opportunity to let Hongjoong know. If he could raise the points about the trade-conflict in his discussion, you could observe and see if another kingdom was aware of this conflict and pretending otherwise. Perhaps, a kingdom could step up and offer an alliance. You discussed it with Yunho and he thought that it was wise to let Hongjoong know too.

However, he was busy coaching Jeongin tonight. The debates were starting tomorrow and you had no choice but to talk about this matter to Hongjoong directly. How would you face him now after basically confessing to each other that night in his room?

You were treading on such dangerous waters. This situation– the shift in the relationship between you two was so fragile. One wrong move and you could lose your title.

“Can’t you catch up with Hongjoong later tonight?” You begged Yunho one last time. He watched you with mild amusement. 

“I told you that he has been going to bed early. I don’t know how long my session with Jeongin will take, but I have to help him out. It’s important for tomorrow,” Yunho patted your cheek. “Go talk to Hongjoong in private. It’ll be okay.”

“But…”

“Is there a reason you’re so queasy about meeting him?” Yunho raised a brow. 

“Not really…” you faltered. “I’m just tired, I guess?”

Yunho scanned your eyes. “I’ll let Hongjoong know that you wish to talk to him. I feel like he has been giving you the cold shoulder lately. Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “Just teased him about his designs. Bet he’s salty about that.”

Yunho chuckled. “He’ll forgive you. He always does. I’ll be right back.”

You remained sitting at the desk in the library, palms growing sweaty with each passing moment while Yunho let Hongjoong know that you needed to discuss something important before tomorrow’s debate. You accidentally met eyes with Hongjoong and looked away in a flash, stifling a groan. How embarrassing.

Yunho came back and let you know that Hongjoong would be spending some time in the abandoned music room tonight. You could join him there.

You intended to. However, you intended to join him unsupervised. You could not risk guards or handmaids monitoring you.

And why not? Were you planning to do something that no one could see? 

You were not. You simply wished to talk, however, you wanted to talk without eyes and ears around you. The matter of Neverland was sensitive. But… there was another matter just as sensitive. 

Creating a distraction for the guards was easy enough. You asked them to accompany you to the adornment chamber, claiming that you would be spending quite a while there receiving massages and a long bath. However, you had ordered the handmaids there to clear the room earlier, claiming that you wished to bathe in private. 

There was a secret passage in that room that connected to a few different rooms but eventually served as safe exits in case of a raid. You used that to access the music room. All you had to do was knock and wait.

Hongjoong opened the door behind the tapestry after a few moments, his sword pointed at you. He instantly relaxed when he realised that you were the intruder and he tossed the sword away. It was clearly not his and he must have searched for a weapon and found the decoratory sword.

“Whyever would you access the music room through this passage, Princess, and not that door over there?” Hongjoong stood with his hands on his hips, unrelenting. 

“Privacy reasons,” you shrugged and moved past him.

“Privacy?” Hongjoong echoed, shocked. “Why would you want privacy here? We’re only discussing Neverland, not planning a coup. Besides, what would your mother say about coming here unchaperoned?”

“She is probably in her bed, reading a book and getting ready to sleep,” you twirled around to further tease the very pissed prince. “Relaxing. Maybe you should take a seat and relax too before we talk.”

“Y/n,” Hongjoong warned. “I’ll ask the guard to station himself inside–”

“Joong,” you called softly. “Just… sit. Relax. I know what I risk being here, but I trust you.”

“You trust me when I don’t trust myself around you,” Hongjoong said. You perched yourself on top of the piano, patting the space next to you. He ignored it. You ignored his statement.

“Neverland might attack Wonderland in the coming days,” you began. “I need you to learn about the conflict between us before our debate tomorrow and help me find if another kingdom is making alliances with Neverland to push against us.”

That immediately had Hongjoong’s attention. While you briefed him, he sat on the piano chair, occasionally playing some notes to let the guards know outside that he was still present and breathing. Hongjoong absorbed all information, his eyes narrowing as he schemed.

“I suppose I should poke everyone in the room. Especially those with strong ties to Neverland. They are all our friends, though. If they’re hiding an alliance with Neverland and scheming against Wonderland, it would be quite surprising.”

“Friendships change,” you reminded him. “Do you remember Junho? He was such a good friend until your kingdom had a conflict with theirs, and then he started to act like a solid ten years of friendship means nothing in the face of a petty conflict that can be solved through words.”

Hongjoong agreed. He straightened his legs and stretched his arms. “Friendships… do change. I just don’t like it when it happens. It leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth even years later.”

You patted the space next to you again. This time, Hongjoong did sit next to you, though maintaining a distance and opting to stare at his boots. 

“Our friendship… it has changed, hasn’t it?” You asked. “Does it leave a bad aftertaste too?”

“Not at all,” Hongjoong replied immediately. “It’s just… suffocating.”

Your heart hurt to hear those words. “Is there anything I can offer to make it better?”

“I don’t think so,” Hongjoong smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t demand anything from you.”

“Then can you tell me how to deal with this suffocation?” You asked and Hongjoong looked at you. “Because every time I look at you, I wish to never look away. Every time we touch, I wish we never part. How do I deal with the suffocation of performing restraint?”

“Do you feel the same with Yunho?” Hongjoong asked. 

“I do,” you admitted. “A couple of nights ago, he told me that he wanted to kiss me. It took every cell in my body to not make his wish come true, because we promised to respect the traditions.”

Hongjoong was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “You love Yunho and you want to be with him as soon as possible. I’m sorry that our political climate is delaying your wedding, but… what if you’re confused because you cannot be with Yunho right now? What if your feelings for me are just a product of your anger and exhaustion?”

His words struck like a whip at you. Your breath quickened and you clenched your jaw. Hongjoong noticed and he tried to take your hand in his but you pulled away as if his touch had burned you, aware of the hurt flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare tell me how I feel about you, Joong,” you said in a low, warning tone. “When I have spent all my life searching for you in crowded rooms just as you have. When my eyes always find yours, just like yours find mine. Don’t you dare tell me when you do not know how much my heart yearns for you.”

“I… I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong’s voice was wet and he took your hand in both of his, peppering kisses. “I’m sorry to make assumptions, my love, but you have to be clear about what exactly you want. You can’t keep pulling me towards you when you don’t intend to keep me. I get hurt too.”

Your eyes immediately softened. “What are we going to do, Joong?”

“We can’t do this to Yunho. You know that… right?” Hongjoong slid closer, caressing your cheekbone. “As much as I love you, I can’t compromise my relationship with Yunho just because I was a coward who didn’t take my chance. I can’t compromise your honour just because I wish to learn what your lips… what you taste like before you leave me forever.”

Your heart swooped dangerously but you leaned closer, pausing.

This was not why you came here unchaperoned… right?

It didn’t matter. The traditions that you had respected all your life, you were willing to break. The sacred, silent vows to protect your chastity. Your mother’s warning to not engage in improper behaviour, your father’s gentle reminders… all down the drain, just to grant Hongjoong’s innocent wish.

“Are we really doomed?” You whispered. “If I… if I touch you now, are we dooming ourselves?”

“Probably,” Hongjoong breathed, his forehead joining with yours. As soon as the tip of his nose brushed with yours, you became molten in his touch, your mouth parting, waiting for more. Hongjoong parted gently, brows furrowed as if he was in physical pain. The corners of his lips drooped as he observed you. 

The desire in your eyes for him… how could he have missed that?

Your hands went to clutch at his shirt near his collar and he groaned internally, unable to resist. He joined your foreheads again, only to plant a sweet kiss near your mouth, one that had you shivering uncontrollably in both anticipation and nervousness. He trailed his lips along your jaw, occasionally stopping to kiss or suck at your skin and your back arched against him, breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. 

Hongjoong buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips planting a soft kiss on your collarbone too. He remained there for a long, long time, weighing the odds of his decision and gathering strength in his body to finally part from you.

“Hongjoong,” you called when he pulled away. He only shook his head.

“We can’t do this to Yunho,” he reminded you. His words slashed like a knife at your heart. “We owe him that much.”

He was right. Yunho had never questioned your and Hongjoong’s relationship because he trusted you both. You could not betray his trust like this. 

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, Hongjoong was not going to wipe them. He backed away slowly though every step hurt him. 

“We are going to pretend that these intimate moments never happened between us,” Hongjoong steeled himself. “It’s best that you forget about me, love. I will continue to be your friend, or if you wish for me to give you space, I will do that, but let’s not betray our closest friend like this.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears streamed down your face. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Hongjoong shook his head, assuring you gently. “These feelings will fade. You have a life with Yunho ahead, and my biggest mission in life is to protect Yunho from any threat. I cannot be a threat to him. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” you nodded.

“Then go back to your room,” Hongjoong smiled, his own eyes glazed. “Tomorrow, when we meet, we will be just two friends who love to bicker. I will continue to be your shadow.”

“And I will continue to be your secretkeeper,” you completed and he nodded. 

“I’m proud of you, my dear,” he smiled again. “I hope you know that.”

With that, he left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of your feelings. You struggled to breathe, wiping your tears away hastily.

You needed to find Yunho. 

Oh, you had been the most awful to him, even though he did not know what the two of you had been up to in the shadows. You needed to touch him because he was what was real. 

Hongjoong would not be going up to his room. He would probably take to the gardens to get some fresh air. Yunho might be back in his chambers. You decided to go to his chambers, not minding if anyone saw you.

Damned be the traditions. Whoever decided that these manmade traditions were as sacred as the law itself? 

The guards let you inside and the servants inside offered to call Yunho, but you asked them to give you some privacy, saying there was an urgent political matter you needed to discuss with him. You would only take a few moments, you assured. Since they trusted you and Yunho, they went back to rest.

You knocked at Yunho’s room and he opened the door, surprised to find you. It looked like he was in the process of changing– the buttons of his shirt were undone and he wasn’t wearing his jacket that he had been earlier.

“Y/n? What are you doing here–”

You entered and shut the door behind you, throwing yourself at him in an embrace. Surprised, he hugged you back, rubbing your back. “Is something the matter?” He asked, worry lacing his tone.

“I…” you breathed, inhaling his scent. He smelled like the ocean and fresh flowers. It was your favourite scent in the world– even better than Hongjoong’s musk and vanilla scent. “Please, let me stay like this for a moment. I need to feel that you are real.”

“I am real, love,” Yunho laughed anxiously, rubbing your back. “Take your time.”

You did. Feeling his heartbeat synchronise with yours was satisfying enough but nowhere near enough after what Hongjoong had done. You needed more.

“Yunho,” you drew back, cradling his face and struggling to look up at the tall prince. “I need you to kiss me.”

“What?”

“I need you to kiss me,” you repeated, gaze stuck on his lips. 

“Y/n,” Yunho called gently. “I cannot compromise your honour. We made a promise to respect the traditions, didn’t we?”

“Forget about the traditions for once, forget about stupid manmade concepts of honour and reverence of the throne,” you almost spat. “I need you to kiss me and remind me that you love me–”

“If you say it like this,” Yunho’s brows furrowed. He looked as if he was fighting an internal battle. “I’ll have no choice but to obey, but y/n, my love…” Yunho squeezed your sides. “Are you sure about this?”

“Did I ask for too much?” You sighed, looking for any signs of disappointment in his eyes but finding only curiosity. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry. I–”

To your surprise, Yunho didn’t let you finish. He leaned in and captured your lips in an experimental kiss, moving his lips along yours. 

It was your first kiss. It was his first too. He moved his lips, alternating between soft pecks and deep, open-mouthed kisses. As soon as he got the hang of it, he groaned and picked you up, a surprised sound escaping your mouth. He steered you both to the bed where he sat with you in his lap, one hand resting on the dip of your waist while the other tangled in your hair.

“You need to tell me when to stop,” his eyes were laden with the desire that you had only ever read about in books. “I’m going to kiss you until you stop me. God help me, love, ” he sighed, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “I can’t stop.”

Almost immediately, you were kissing again, this time deep and passionate. Your heart and your head all belonged to Yunho, your body responding to his touch and moving accordingly. You cupped his face, tangled your fingers through the soft strands of his hair and ran your hands across the smooth panels of his chest, all the while his lips refused to leave yours. He nipped at your lips, teased them with his tongue and explored the cavity of your mouth, swallowing all your moans. When you finally drew back for breath, he seemed to come back to his senses, his eyes widening slightly.

“I…” he began, still refusing to let you go. “We should not have done that, but good heavens.”

You laughed, caressing his face affectionately. “I’m sorry for demanding something so unreasonable.”

“No, I’ve wanted to do this since forever, but… I really thought we were going to wait until marriage,” he stifled a grin. 

“I thought so too, but apparently, I’m desperate,” you pouted. “I came begging for a kiss. It should have been the other way round.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yunho pecked your lips. “As long as we both get what we want.”

You nodded, smoothening his hair away from his face. “I’m still sorry, though. I… I just wanted to– I,”

“You don’t have to explain your reasons,” Yunho held your hands in his. “But we should definitely stop here.”

“I agree,” you said. “But do you think other people sneak in kisses or something more before their weddings too?”

Yunho laughed heartily and your heart warmed. This really was the man that you loved and wished to spend the rest of your life with. “I suppose they do. Should we ask your father?”

“Shut up,” you scowled, pulling away from his lap. You stood on your feet but he didn’t let go of your hands. “A goodnight kiss?”

“Stop testing my limits, Princess,” Yunho warned but pulled you in for one last kiss, forehead joined and noses brushing. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you confessed. “More than you can imagine.”

Yunho smiled. “How did your meeting with Hongjoong go?”

You did your best to keep your smile from falling. “He understands. He is probably scheming somewhere right now.”

“That’s good,” Yunho watched you. “Don’t let him learn that we broke the tradition. He’ll be insufferable about it.”

“Of course,” you shook your head. “We are the most chaste people in the entire kingdom. Let’s not forget that.”

Yunho smirked darkly, getting up and fixing your hair. You went back to your room, convincing yourself that what had happened with Hongjoong was just your anger and exhaustion, like he had said. 

You could definitely try to forget it and move on. For Yunho, you could do that. You owed him that much. 

You didn’t think the debates would be so serious until you found Wooyoung, Sieun and Hongjoong in a heated argument, with Jongho snacking on peanuts and letting the chaos unfold before him, and Jeongin over the clouds because everyone was addressing him as ‘Your Honour’. 

You folded your arms and scoffed at your little brother. He was gloating. Apparently, being called Your Highness wasn’t enough for him. He liked the other title more. 

“Your Honour,” Wooyoung called and Jeongin straightened, his eyes curved in a foxy grin. “The Kingdom of Hala has a known reputation of violating treaties. Year 1941 when the kingdom broke a treaty with Eden over baseless speculations, and year 1962 when the kingdom almost broke the treaty again but then the matter was sorted by amending the treaty. But…”

Wooyoung looked towards Sieun with a smirk growing on his face. As Hala’s princess, Sieun was fuming but also awaiting how Wooyoung would defend his representative kingdom. 

“It’s understandable if the neighbouring kingdoms see the Kingdom of Hala as a nation governed by people who cannot keep their word, but in this specific instance of whether Hala has violated international land laws, I confirm that Hala has not. Just because we don’t respect our treaties does not mean we don’t respect international law.”

Sieun settled down in defeat, though she was still slightly confused if her own kingdom had been represented correctly. She lightly shrugged and Wooyoung took it as a sign of approval.

“Very well,” Jeongin cleared his throat. “The Kingdom of Neverland may now argue whether creating alliances when there is a clear sign of conflict between any two kingdoms is disrespecting the international law, especially when some of the war routes fall in the territory of geographical points protected by the international law.”

“Remember,” Jongho reminded everyone, “To stay respectful during the arguments since this is a made-up debate.”

Hongjoong nodded and stood up, meeting eyes with you and Yunho. You both passed subtle nods. The plan was to bait the people present into admitting whether they were aware of the current navy conflict between Neverland and Wonderland.

“I would begin by providing the past instances of similar events where Neverland either decided not to participate in conflicts because of the fear of violating international laws and being held accountable. Years 1864, 1875 and 1925 when Neverland abstained from any such conflicts,” Hongjoong scanned his notes and then looked at Jeongin. “Year 1951 when a conflict with The Kingdom of Hala had us sailing our ships and almost violating the international navy law.”

“I wonder why you weren’t held accountable,” Wooyoung pointed out.

“Maybe because Hala was hell-bent on escalating the war?” Hongjoong answered smoothly. “Neverland had a duty to protect its people. If we just stood by, we would watch Hala violate the international navy law and sail to us with the sole purpose to fight–”

“Hala would never do that!” Sieun stood up, slamming her hands on the desk. “Neverland has been breaking navy laws even in the present time and no one holds them accountable!”

While Jongho rebuked Sieun for breaking character and Minjeong deducted her score, you and Yunho straightened. 

“Let’s relax,” Yunho whispered after a moment. “Hongjoong will figure it out. Let’s pretend we don’t know what just happened.”

You nodded. Hongjoong was trying hard to contain his smirk.

“The Kingdom of Hala,” Hongjoong raised his brow at Sieun but then shifted his eyes to Wooyoung who was supposed to answer in Sieun’s stead, “is known for violating treaties, like you said, Wooyoung. What’s to say that it wouldn’t violate the navy law? After all, the navy law is trickier, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the topic of today’s debate,” Wooyoung said before Jongho could.

“Your Honour,” Hongjoong looked at Jeongin. “I would still like further explanation from Hala’s representatives about their baseless accusation of Neverland violating navy laws in the present time, if you would allow.”

Jeongin discussed it with Jongho. You were sure that Jeongin would decide against it– that was a real time conflict and this was supposed to be a recreational activity, not a debate on current events.

That is exactly what Jongho and Jeongin decided. The topic steered back to the original made-up conflict and the tension in the room slowly dissipated. The debate ended on a good note with Yunho emerging as the winner with leading points.

Hongjoong found you both when you were on the way to the hall for refreshments. “I guess the young princess is not as politically unaware as she pretends to be.”

“Right?” Your eyes subconsciously darted towards Sieun. She appeared very relaxed, sitting in a corner with Minjeong and probably discussing the debate. “If she is aware about Neverland and Wonderland’s conflict, she’s doing a damned good job at pretending otherwise.”

“Which makes me wonder if the other kingdoms are aware as well,” Yunho added. “I gauged everyone’s reactions earlier and I’m sure Jongho knows something.”

“What should we do?” You turned towards the princes. “Interrogate Sieun or feel out Jongho?”

“What do you mean interrogate?” Hongjoong let out a short laugh. “You’re gonna tie her up and play prosecution?”

You glared at Hongjoong while Yunho stifled his smile. “I think it’s wiser to ask Jongho. He’s a close friend and if he knows something, he’ll be honest.”

“You never know, though,” you shrugged. 

“If he’s lying, I’ll know,” Yunho assured you. “So don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to him. Meanwhile, let’s relax… love?”

You let out a huff but obeyed. Yunho smiled in response and got you both drinks. When he noticed Jongho hanging out alone in a corner, he said that he would be right back.

Leaving you and Hongjoong alone at your table.

You silently ate your croissant while you watched Yunho. You caught Hongjoong staring moments later.

“Good job today at the debate,” you acknowledged. “You handled it very well.”

“It was nothing,” Hongjoong dismissed. “You did well too. Second place is basically the first when Yunho is the permanent first place.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Yunho really doesn’t know how to lose.”

“He has always been a winner,” Hongjoong said with a deep sigh. Something in his voice told you that his words held a deeper meaning. The ache in your heart told you that you knew exactly what he meant, but you ignored it. 

You were just friends now. Nothing more.

Yunho joined you with news that he had fixed a meeting with Jongho to discuss the Neverland conflict with Wonderland, you all cheered silently. When Yunho offered to take you to your room, Hongjoong excused himself smoothly and disappeared from the hall.

Just like he always did. You watched him until he was out of your sight before you said yes to Yunho, catching him looking at you with a strange expression– one that you hadn’t seen in his eyes before. “What?”

“Nothing,” Yunho smiled knowingly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course I am,” you felt your cheeks flush. “What’s there to not feel alright about?”

“Just making sure,” Yunho took your hand and started to walk.

“Is something funny, Yunho?”

“Not at all,” he assured. “Just thinking about last night.”

“Jeong Yunho!” You scolded, looking around you. Of course, there was no one in the empty corridors and no guards nearby. Yunho wasn’t foolish enough to say something suspicious like this in the open.

However, he was a fool in love, and fools in love did things like steal an innocent peck before taking the turn towards your chambers where the security started to tighten. You smacked his chest repeatedly until he couldn’t breathe from laughing so much and warned him not to do that again, even though your own cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“Can I come inside?” Yunho asked when you reached the door. “I wanted to discuss a few things about… our lives.”

“Sure,” you welcomed him inside and you took a seat near the fireplace. Your maids sat at the far end of the room, watching but unable to hear your conversation, giving you a certain level of privacy to talk freely.

“I’ve been thinking about our… future,” Yunho looked at you with expectant eyes and you met his gaze when he seated himself across from you. With the fire illuminating one half of his face while casting shadows on the other, he looked every bit the man and the prince that he had become. 

Your future husband. 

“I have been thinking,” Yunho inhaled deeply. “And… I know that we planned to talk about marriage to your parents on this visit, but I think that we should delay it.”

Your heart sank. “Why? Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” he assured. “I would like to ask for your hand officially after I secure a title as the second prince or the crown prince. That gives us all enough time to… sort out whatever needs sorting.”

“If you’re doing this because you are unsure of whether my parents would approve, Yunho,” you looked at him fondly. “They adore you. They love you and you’re everything they could have ever wished for, for me. They understand your circumstances– I mean, they are aware that we’re interested in each other, but they would accept you no matter your future title.” 

“I know, love,” Yunho smiled. “It’s not that.”

Your smile fell. “Are you… sure about us? Do you need time to think about things–”

“Y/n,” Yunho looked like he wanted to hold you but his eyes darted towards the maid. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life but you. You are the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and… now that we’re talking about it, I want you to reconsider everything before you agree to my proposal. Do you wish to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Of course I do,” you said without a doubt in your voice or your heart. “Do you think that I played with fire because I wasn’t sure?”

“Not at all,” Yunho confirmed. He was sure that you didn’t ask him to kiss you just to make sure that he really was the one. Your friendship and your love wasn’t that shallow. “Just needed to make sure. If you ever… if there is ever someone else in your life, someone else in your heart… I want you to know that you can still trust me and confide in me.”

“What does that mean?” You straightened, heart pounding right between your ears this time.

“It means,” Yunho said lightheartedly, grinning. “That I’m your best friend first. If there is ever someone else that you would like to marry, I’ll understand. I only wish the best for you and I wouldn’t want you to bind yourself to me out of compulsion.”

“Does that mean that you would not fight for me?” You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms. “Didn’t peg you as the loser sort.”

“Of course I would fight for you,” Yunho shook his head. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, ever. I would rather watch you happy with someone else than unhappy with me.”

“Yunho,” you whispered, fighting back tears. “That’s… very honourable of you to offer, but you are unfortunately still the person that I wish to marry. And… I would like to offer you the same. That’s the least I can do, but don’t expect me to be as understanding as you.”

Yunho nodded and you wished that your eyes conveyed what your heart felt in that moment– that you loved him infinitely, even though you couldn’t say it out loud right now.

The next few days were a breeze. 

You found out that Jongho was aware of Wonderland’s conflict with Neverland and was willing to offer help in any way that he could– the Kingdom of Kiji and its two Choi princes would always side with Wonderland. That left preparing strategies for departure of the guests to their homelands and tightening security. 

However, you noticed how Sieun appeared distant and disconnected from the rest of your group. You all had been spending a lot of time together playing games, studying, strategising and whatnot. Even Hongjoong was back to normal with his near-constant teasing and jabs that gave Wooyoung a run for his game. 

You wondered if you were only noticing Sieun’s unusual behaviour now that she gave herself away during that debate, or if something fishy was going on. 

Which was why when you saw her alone in the corridors near the guest chambers, you secretly started to follow her. You hid behind a wall when she stopped and started to converse with an unknown person. 

You tried to strain your hearing. If you could get just a whisper of their conversation–

“Love… what do you think you’re doing?”

Your bones nearly jumped out of your skin. You glared at the perpetrator– Hongjoong– and motioned for him to seal his mouth.

Hongjoong was not amused. He found you hiding your figure behind a wall on his way to his room and decided to inspect. Hongjoong pressed your head down to make you tuck your knees further and allow him some space to crane his head over your crouched figure so that he could take a peek himself. 

“Sieun… and?” Hongjoong asked in the lightest whisper. “Who is she exchanging the letter with?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “Does he look familiar?”

“Do you think it’s a romantic scandal or a political one?” Hongjoong asked, not recognising the figure. Maybe one of the prince or princess’ guards?

“Everything feels political to me these days,” you answered, straightening when the two disappeared. “I’m not very interested in Sieun’s romantic escapades.”

“I thought you were a strict person when it came to traditions,” Hongjoong straightened the fabric at the waist of your gown. 

“Do you think I would be the kind to turn someone in just because I disagree with their take on ‘manmade’ traditions?” You asked with a scoff, reminding Hongjoong of his own words. Manmade traditions.

“I suppose not,” Hongjoong shrugged, looking you in the eyes. “Considering… everything.”

“I’ll pretend I don’t know what that means,” you muttered. “I’m going to follow Sieun. Shall we split? You go follow the man.”

“It could be dangerous,” Hongjoong shook his head. “Sieun is probably going to her room. Let’s follow the man. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

You agreed– splitting was probably a bad idea, especially if this took a wrong turn. While you both walked a good distance behind the figure, sticking close to the walls, Hongjoong asked what you were doing in this part of the castle. This was near the guest chambers and the library and he had just been in the library taking a nap.

“I was going to see Yunho,” you admitted. 

“Unchaperoned?” Hongjoong was almost teasing. “Where are your guards or handmaids?”

“I asked them to stay back.”

“Are they always this obedient? I should speak to your mother about enforcing security measures–”

You grabbed Hongjoong by the arm and pulled him instinctively in a wedge between the walls when the figure turned, probably alarmed by the noise. Hongjoong was tense, eyes wide and figure unmoving.

“We’re dead if we get found out now,” Hongjoong reminded you of every way that this could go wrong– the figure could be someone dangerous. If it was someone you both knew…

You were suddenly very aware of the lack of distance between you two. It was almost as if you were about to hug. You could see the twinkle in his eyes despite the low candle lights casting a shadow over his face. Your hand still gripped his arm out of fear and he held yours out of protection. 

You could hear the footsteps getting closer. The wedge was small and Hongjoong almost lost his footing and tripped but you held him steady and allowed him to brace himself against the wall that you rested your back to. You were enveloped in his scent– deep, earthy and manly. It felt like home.

Home. The same jab in your heart at the thought because Yunho’s scent of freshness and ocean felt the same to you. 

You could not do this. You could not spend another minute so close to Hongjoong and not lose your entire sense of self and crumble to the ground in ashes–

Hongjoong probably noticed your breathing getting quicker. He tucked your head in his chest and you clutched at his side. He must think that you were doing this out of fear, but fear was the last thing on your mind right now. It was… the lack of it that was making you tremble right now. That despite being moments away from being discovered and possibly held responsible for ‘breaking the traditions and engaging in improper behaviour’, you did not care.

All that mattered was Hongjoong and his fingers tangling in your hair, his protective embrace, his breath caressing your temple, him and only him–

“Hey!” An unfamiliar distant voice sounded. “Report to the station! Time to change shifts!”

The footsteps stopped. The man said something in response and then the footsteps started to fade away until they were no longer, and the only sound around you was the one of two beating hearts.

Hongjoong did not dare move. He did not move a muscle. He didn’t dare breathe in relief. He was slowly realising why you were holding on to him like this. 

At some point, your breaths synchronised. Your chests rose and fell in rhythm. It was intimate like nothing else– the feeling of being one. One time, you had hugged Yunho long enough to experience that too. That time, you felt as giddy as a child.

This time… it was different. 

It was always different with Hongjoong. 

You soaked up every bit of his warmth and then mustered every bit of your courage to let him go. You could not face him now– not after making all those promises about being friends and nothing more, not after he had dismissed your feelings as anger and exhaustion. You let him go and in a flash, you started to walk away.

Except this time, Hongjoong was following.

“Princess,” he called, pain lacing his voice. “Please, look at me–”

“Leave me alone,” you declared, taking a sharp turn to the right to the abandoned part of the castle. You needed to be alone with your thoughts right now, away from all prying eyes.

“Just… wait–” Hongjoong grabbed your hand right when you were about to turn and you let out a shriek, a stinging sensation growing in your arm–

“Oh, saints,” Hongjoong cried out when you finally stopped. He looked at the wall. There was a nail sticking out and him pulling you so rashly resulted in a long gash across your wrist. 

You hissed in pain when you drew the fabric of your sleeve away, revealing the damage. It didn’t look deep, but it was still painful and bleeding. Hongjoong drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to tie it around your wrist.

With trembling hands.

“I– I’m so sorry,” he whispered, dabbing at your arm with the edge of his sleeve to wipe the blood around your wound. With both shaking hands, he cradled your wrist with worry in his eyes. “Princess… your wrist– this could leave a scar–”

“Hongjoong,” you shook your head. “It’s okay. It will heal. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is,” he almost looked offended to hear that. “You shouldn’t have so many scars on your body. You are the princess and the future queen–”

“I’m just a human, like you,” you corrected. “We bleed all the same.”

Hongjoong wasn’t having any of it. He was almost shaking. He looked at you and you thought that there were tears in his eyes.

“You always get hurt because of me,” his voice was also trembling now. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hongjoong,” you sighed, pulling him towards the nearest room. All the rooms in this part of the castle were empty and if you were lucky, unsupervised, at least for a few minutes since the shift change was happening. You scanned the room– it appeared to be a study room with chairs scattered everywhere.

Now that you had better light, Hongjoong finished tying the handkerchief around your wrist properly, his hands shaking awfully.

“When you got that scar on your back… that was my fault too,” Hongjoong admitted in a small voice. “I was the one who challenged you to hunt at new grounds, even though I knew the storm was coming.”

“You were also the one who found me,” you reminded him. “I might have died of the cold otherwise,” you said with a laugh.

“Don’t say that,” Hongjoong’s gaze was fierce but his eyes… 

Oh, he looked heartbroken. 

“That was not your fault,” you said softly, your hand shaking slightly now, more from the heartache than the pain. Hongjoong inspected your hand closely. “This isn’t either–”

With his still shaking hands, he brought your hand to his lips and started to kiss your fingers one by one, muttering apologies. You could do nothing but watch. He gently seated you on a chair nearby and sank to the ground, kissing your palm and resting his head on your knees.

This was the strongest man you knew, reduced to this. On his knees, apologising for the things he had no control over and kissing your hands as if that could make things better, as if that could patch you right up. 

“Joong,” you called, overwhelmed. “Joong, look at me.”

He did and your resolve crumbled. You cupped his face with your free hand and lowered yourself to meet his lips, a sigh of relief escaping the both of you as soon as your lips brushed. 

Hongjoong remained unmoving. He let you kiss his lips for a few moments before he almost whimpered and answered with everything in him. He craned his neck up and met your lips and your tongue in a frenzy as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening.

You couldn’t either. This couldn’t be real– the butterflies in your stomach, the heat coursing throughout your body begging you to never let him go. You pulled him up, tired, and spread your legs so he could wedge his left knee between them to balance himself. Now that he was towering over you, you saw the darkness in his eyes before he devoured your lips.

This was nothing like the kiss with Yunho. That had been experimental, restrained yet loving, but this?

This was pure, raw desire. The need to be with one another, the need to be one, to mold yourself with the other. Hongjoong’s hands shifted from your neck to your shoulders, pushing the sleeves away and swiftly unbuttoning the top few buttons so that he could run his hands along the expanse of your collarbones. He explored the cavity of your mouth and you sank lower, giving yourself entirely to him and gasping when his knee made contact with your core.

Hongjoong didn’t stop. He let you catch your breath while he kissed and licked at your skin, pecked along your collarbone and then crouched to inspect the scar on your back that was now visible.

He traced it with his fingertips and you bent slightly to give him a better view. To your surprise, he kissed it tenderly. Before you could respond, he was back and kissing your earlobe, tracing his lips along your jaw and you gladly met his lips again, slow and meaningful, your hands clutching at his collar.

This time when he drew away, he found your eyes wet with tears and his own blurry. Oh, you both had made a big, big mistake. Hongjoong bent down and kissed both your eyelids and tasted your tears on his lips. He wiped your cheeks and looked at you, utterly broken.

“You own my mind and my soul,” Hongjoong confessed, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. “How will I ever recover from this?”

“How will I?” You asked, almost pleading. 

“You have Yunho,” he reminded you.

“But…” you cradled his jaw, drinking in his features. “He’s not you. He’s different.”

“He’s meant for you,” Hongjoong gently reminded you. “As you are meant for him.”

“If we’re not meant for each other, then why does it feel like parting from you would kill me?” You asked, tilting your head, your noses brushing. “Don’t you feel the same?” 

Your lips brushed. None of you pulled away yet none of you dared to take another step.

“Maybe in another life,” Hongjoong mused with a sad smile. “Maybe in another world, we are together. In this one, I’m just grateful that I got to taste your lips and feel your love, Princess. I cannot be selfish. You’re not mine to keep.”

He drew back with immense struggle and you held his wrist. He didn’t pull away. He helped you stand up and after deliberation, decided to hug you one last time.

“I think we need some distance and some time… away. From each other,” Hongjoong said, his hands tangling in your hair and his body molding into yours. 

You knew that his words made sense, but you couldn’t help the sobs that wracked throughout your body. “Hush, now. I…”

His voice trembled and he cleared his throat, drawing away and wiping your tears again. This time, he affectionately kissed your forehead. “Let’s go get your hand treated, love. There are already enough scars on your body.”

“Just the one,” you laughed through tears. “And now a big, big one–”

“I’m sorry–”

“On my heart,” you corrected and he sighed. “How are we going to treat that?”

Hongjoong smiled sadly. He didn’t have an answer. As soon as you were ready to step out, he held your unhurt hand and led you out.

The two of you walked in silence towards the medical wing but on your way, it was Yunho who encountered you, confused for a moment before he spotted your bleeding wrist.

“Good heavens, are you alright?” Yunho asked and inspected your hand. You and Hongjoong shared a look before Hongjoong straightened.  

“Caught her sneaking around in dark corridors. Unguarded,” he sent his trademark glare in your direction. You were surprised that he could act right now. You were tired enough to not respond at all. “I was taking her to the medical wing. Can you take over?”

Yunho observed Hongjoong for a moment too long. He didn't miss the wetness in his eyes. Hongjoong was a great actor but some emotions, even he could not hide.

Yunho nodded sombrely and Hongjoong said something about being late for a meeting with Wooyoung. Yunho took your hand and led you silently to the medical wing. 

The nurse treated your hand, letting you know that the wound wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. She gave you a pill for pain after finding you holding back tears and when she went, Yunho smiled and pressed the pout on your lips with his thumb.

“Does it hurt that much?” He asked. “I thought you were a strong girl, Princess.”

“I was,” you cried. “But… it hurts so, so much.”

Yunho brought you in for a hug and let you cry your heart out. You were unable to control the tears and you were too tired to think of an explanation to give to Yunho right now. You simply sobbed until you got tired and shut your eyes.

Yunho caressed your hair and let you be, occupied with his own thoughts. 

He was sure now– there was something between you and Hongjoong. He had hardly ever seen Hongjoong with tear-stained eyes, and both occasions had to do something with you. The last time he saw Hongjoong like that was when he found you in the storm after you got lost hunting. At that time, he figured that Hongjoong had been overwhelmed with the idea of something happening to you, which was understandable– Yunho himself had felt the same.

But this time… it was undeniable. He was aware that your tears tonight were not because of the wound on your hand but the one in your heart. 

You looked up at Yunho after resting a bit and found him watching you with a faint smile. He asked if you felt better and you thanked him for tolerating the mess that you had become. He only smiled and accompanied you to your chamber, making sure your maids gave you something warm to drink before leaving with an affectionate kiss to your forehead.

You settled down in your bed and played every moment you had spent with Yunho just now. Even after everything with Hongjoong, you still viewed Yunho just the same– your love, a piece of your heart. Your soulmate, you used to call him. You stood by it now too. Your feelings for the young prince had not changed one bit.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, kissing Hongjoong only made you more sure that your heart was equally divided for both the princes. Choosing one over the other would break something in you that would never heal. You could not live the rest of your life with Yunho while watching Hongjoong from the sidelines, or spend the rest of your life with Hongjoong after breaking Yunho’s heart. It would be the cruelest punishment to one or the other.

If you could not have them both… you would prefer to have none of them. That would be your punishment for being so selfish and letting your heart yearn for both the sun and the moon when there should only be a place for one.

Hongjoong had decided to leave early for his home, claiming that there were some ‘urgent matters’ that he needed to address. 

However, Yunho was aware that there were no such matters. As Hongjoong checked to see if he had all of his belongings, Yunho stood by his door with folded arms, watching.

“Are you really going to give me the silent treatment?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong had been avoiding eye contact since Yunho found him accompanying you to the hospital wing two days ago. “Both of you?”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asked, still not looking at the younger prince.

“Our princess is pretending to be too busy with ‘work’,” Yunho scoffed. “Care to share what transpired between the two of you that night?”

Hongjoong finally looked at Yunho. “Nothing happened. She was spying at Sieun and I saved her from what could have been a dangerous incident, and she got hurt in the process.”

“Is that why she cried in my arms the whole night?” Yunho looked hurt now, and it broke Hongjoong’s heart. “Come on. Talk to me, Joong. You know that you are my best friend and I trust you.”

Trust. Hongjoong wanted to laugh. He had played with Yunho’s trust. He had compromised your chastity. How would Yunho react if he learned that Hongjoong had touched you in places that he hadn’t either? 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Hongjoong’s voice was thick with tension. “There is no explanation that I can offer you right now. Ask the princess about her emotions– I’m not answerable for what she feels.”

“But you are answerable for your own feelings,” Yunho stressed. “So tell me what you feel about y/n.”

Hongjoong stopped in his tracks. He was glad that his back was facing Yunho right now. Composing himself, he turned around. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Yunho was smiling knowingly now. “You can pretend that you are not in love with her, but I am no stranger to that look in your eyes when you see her. You, my friend, are bewitched by her. Your eyes… they always search for her. The way you look at her makes me wonder if I love her as much as you do.”

Hongjoong appeared stricken. “That is not true.”

“I would believe you,” Yunho sighed deeply, his expressions turning to stone, “if y/n did not look at you the same way.”

For a few moments, the princes watched each other. For Hongjoong, he was recalling every moment that he had spent with Yunho– never had they disagreed on something. They hardly ever argued and even though they did not always see eye to eye, they wished the best for each other. They loved and respected the other more than their own self.

For Yunho… he was trying to gauge Hongjoong’s reactions. Hongjoong was good at hiding his emotions, but he could not hide his feelings. Yunho was confused about many things, and he thought that he could certainly begin by confirming Hongjoong’s feelings for you.

“She does not look at me like you think she does,” Hongjoong shook his head. “She loves you. She wants to marry you. I’m nothing to her–”

“That’s a lie,” Yunho said calmly. “Just… just tell me what you feel about her, Hongjoong. I need to hear it from your mouth– I promise that it wouldn’t affect my relationship with the princess. I know that she loves me very much and wishes to marry me, but I am not a fool and I also know that she has some feelings for you too. I would never hurt her, so just… tell me. Please.”

“And what good would learning about my feelings do any of us?” Hongjoong scoffed. “Except break your heart and break my resolve?”

Yunho took a deep breath. He took a step towards Hongjoong but the elder prince retracted. Yunho paused, unsure how to convince him.

“If I tell you that I love her… with all of my heart and my soul,” Hongjoong began, voice guarded. “If I tell you that every moment I spend away from her, knowing that she will never be mine, kills me… if I tell you that now that I–”

Yunho urged Hongjoong to carry on. Perhaps, it was the accepting eyes or the fact that Yunho was Yunho, Hongjoong’s other half, that made Hongjoong surrender and give the truth away. 

“If I tell you that now that I have had a taste of her lips and her skin… would that be enough for you to give her up?”

Yunho’s eyes flashed for a second. His jaw clenched and unclenched but he quickly guarded himself.

You, the princess, were not an object. You were not Yunho’s, or Hongjoong’s. Yunho had no right to get angry at what you both did when he himself had done the same. He had no right to reprimand Hongjoong, except for the fact that he did it knowing that you and Yunho intended to marry, but… could he blame him?

“I would not give her up,” Yunho announced. “Because if I did, that would mean that I never loved her enough in the first place.”

Hongjoong smiled. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear. You’re a lucky man, Yunho. The princess… she’ll forget about me one day. I will try not to interfere between you two anymore and stay in the background after you get married. The less she sees me, the better it is.”

With that, Hongjoong picked his bag. He stood in front of Yunho and met his eyes, a fallen soldier. “Take care of her, Yunho. And… I’m sorry for my actions. I really am.”

Hongjoong patted Yunho’s arm and was about to leave the room when Yunho finally found the right words.

“So I guess you do not love her enough to fight for her.”

Hongjoong froze in his tracks. He turned, expecting to see Yunho angry but he had a deadly calm look on his face and it irked him very much. “What did you say?”

“That is your philosophy, right?” Yunho challenged. “If you give up, that means that you never loved her enough in the first place. So I take it that you never really loved y/n that much, huh? Did you get inside her head just to mess with her?”

Hongjoong was a raging animal– he dropped his bag and was at Yunho’s throat in a second.

“Do not make light of my feelings,” Hongjoong growled, fisting Yunho’s collar. “I’m giving up out of respect for you, for our bond, because I do not wish to break your heart and take your love away from you.”

“Does that make you a bigger person?” Yunho questioned and Hongjoong let him go, catching his breath.

“What… what exactly do you want to hear, Yunho?” Hongjoong asked, confused. “Are you looking for a fight?”

“I’m looking for a solution,” Yunho cried out, taking a deep breath. “You think I care about manmade traditions of chastity anymore? You think that confessing that you kissed the princess would make us fight? Did you think that you could go home bloody and battered and it would solve everything?”

Yunho sighed deeply, taking a seat and calming himself. Hongjoong waited for him to continue and when he finally looked at him, Hongjoong braced himself.

“For all these talks about us respecting the traditions,” Yunho said with a light laugh. “We broke it too, Joong. We kissed too. You’re not special.”

“Ouch,” Hongjoong retorted, sitting at the edge of the bed near Yunho. “Didn’t peg you as the rebellious type, Yunho.”

“I didn’t either,” Yunho smiled. “Just tell me that you love her as much as I do.”

“I do,” Hongjoong confessed. “Just as much, if not more.”

“Then we can leave the decision to the princess,” Yunho mused. 

“She will choose you. She has to,” Hongjoong looked pained. “You’re the future king. I will not snatch that away from her just because of my selfishness.”

“I don’t have to be the future king–”

“You will take no such steps,” this time, Hongjoong took the reins. “I am going back to solve the matter of our hierarchy once and for all. As soon as you earn the title of the Crown Prince, I will send a proposal to y/n’s parents on your behalf. You will get married to her and live happily ever after.”

“Then what about you?” Yunho looked equally as hurt. “You love her. You always have.”

“And I will continue to do so, silently,” Hongjoong confirmed. “But I will not be selfish. That’s not me. As long as you two are happy, that would mean the world to me.”

“But–”

“Stop looking for solutions when they don’t exist,” Hongjoong got up. “You and y/n will get married. That’s final.”

Hongjoong didn’t wait to hear what Yunho had to offer. He left the room, feeling considerably content. Now that he did not have to hide anything from Yunho, he felt as light as a feather. He hadn’t realised how much betraying Yunho and hiding his feelings from him had weighed him down. 

But in his carriage, on his way to exit the Kingdom of Wonderland, he kept thinking about what Yunho had said. How Yunho had acted. He had to be imagining things, but why was Yunho not mad at him for what he had done? Why was he still worried about Hongjoong and how he would cope with the heartbreak? 

Yunho could have beaten him to a pulp just for touching you. Yunho was far stronger. Hongjoong would have let him– he had no right to fight back. Instead, Yunho was looking for a solution. Did Yunho think that all three of you could have a happily ever after? That was not possible.

Hongjoong decided that he had to move on– for you, and more importantly, for Yunho. He would have you both marry each other– it would genuinely make him the happiest. If you were marrying someone else, he would have fought for you valiantly, but because this was Yunho, he would lay down his arms with a smile, for it didn’t hurt very much to imagine you and him together. It only hurt because he could no longer be with you.

Hongjoong was about to shut his eyes and take a nap when his carriage came to a halt abruptly and he heard the sound of his guards yell and load their guns and unsheathe their swords. His heart sank in his feet but he quickly bent to retract his own gun from under his seat, awaiting his bodyguard’s orders.

“An ambush?” Hongjoong asked in a low voice. “We dispatched a decoy too, didn’t we?”

“There must be someone on the inside who betrayed us,” the guard said. How ironic. “Your Highness, please wait inside while I inspect the matter–”

Except his bodyguard got shot right in the head, the bullet barely escaping Hongjoong. Hongjoong was surprised for a few moments but he quickly gathered himself, saying a silent prayer and straightening his shoulders.

Then he exited the carriage with a deadly look in his eyes.

“If you soldiers value your lives, we will talk and negotiate,” Hongjoong announced. “Otherwise, I cannot promise that we will make it out alive.”

You and Yunho were in the dining hall, chatting after everyone had left, when Jeongin came running, out of breath, with news that Hongjoong’s carriage– not the decoy, but the actual carriage– was found empty and bloodstained, all the soldiers and guards accompanying him dead with more bodies of the enemy found but no signs of the prince.

For a moment, your vision blackened and you couldn’t hear anything. You could tell that someone was calling your name and someone was shaking you and tapping your cheek but you could only think of one thing–

Hongjoong. How he had left– without saying goodbye. How the last things he had said to you were about his love for you and his regret for leaving you. 

“I– I’m okay,” you managed after a few moments, Yunho and Jeongin crowding over you with concern in their eyes. You took a few sips of water, reminding yourself that this was not about you and that you had to think.

You took Yunho’s hand and squeezed it, letting him be vulnerable for a few moments too. You looked at Jeongin. “Who else knows?”

“Father and mother, and their advisors,” Jeongin said. “The three of us.”

“Good,” you pursed your lips. “How are we proceeding?”

“A search party is being arranged and sent right away. I think we have to wait and look for a trail– if there is not a body, that means he must be alive and either taken hostage or on the run. Father said that we will wait until we have a lead.”

“Can we trust our soldiers?” You asked out loud. Yunho was probably thinking the same considering how he nodded. “The decoy is safe while the actual carriage was attacked. Someone inside the castle has betrayed us, I… I’m so sorry, Yunho.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insisted. “Can I suggest something?” 

“Of course,” you and Jeongin said simultaneously. 

“I would like to personally go and search for Hongjoong,” Yunho said and you and Jeongin looked at each other, conflicted. You were both aware that even though it was very dangerous for Yunho to step out, especially from a political point of view, Yunho would not stop on anyone’s orders. “The enemy is probably the rebel groups from Neverland who might use Hongjoong as a means to negotiate. There isn’t anyone else who would do this, right?”

“Not in our knowledge,” Jeongin said and you confirmed. “Anyone that might have ill feelings for your kingdom or Hongjoong personally?”

“Not that I know of,” Yunho thought about it, the tension apparent on his face. “I have a suggestion that we make this public. If this really is Neverland’s doing, the public backlash– especially because the other royals need to go home soon– will pressurise the enemy to reveal themselves. I think this is our best bet right now.”

“And once they learn that most of the kingdoms are siding with yours in search of Hongjoong,” you continued. “If we play this right…”

Yunho nodded. “While I search for Hongjoong, will you look into who the insider could be?”

“Let me come with you. I can fight–”

“Princess,” Yunho said softly, clasping your hands. “No.”

You looked at Yunho helplessly. He did not need to explain himself. His tone was final. He simply was not going to risk your life while searching for Hongjoong.

“I will go in your stead–” 

“You’re too young, Jeongin,” Yunho smiled gently at him. “Instead, I have another task for you. I need you to look into the insider with y/n and prepare to confront anyone who dares to become an obstacle. Use your authority as the crown prince if your sister’s message does not get across. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Jeongin nodded, sure.

“And in case… In case things go wrong…”

“Yunho,” you called but he shook his head, taking a moment to brace himself. 

“Take care in case things go wrong.”

You were both about to respond but Wooyoung, San and Jongho came rushing inside, looking stricken with worry.

“We just heard,” Wooyoung started, out of breath. “Let us know how we can help.”

~

It was going to do you no good to simply sit and wait to hear back from the princes. Each one of them had split up with their own search teams despite your father warning them about how this could go very, very wrong. Each of them had also sent a letter to their home– that in case they got hurt, it would be their own fault and no one else’s, for they could not leave a friend behind. 

You supposed the princes were very tightly knit. Meeting each other annually and living together for weeks, or sometimes even months did that. They were all out there risking their lives for Hongjoong, and you were not going to be idle. You decided to confront Sieun.

“It’s just a crazy coincidence to me,” you said in a deadly calm voice while Sieun sat by the fire in her room, growing paler by each second. “Hongjoong and I witness you exchanging a letter with some stranger after you admit that you know about Neverland’s conflict with us. We follow the stranger and almost get caught. Next thing we know, Hongjoong is on his way home and gets attacked.”

“I– I would never do something like that,” Sieun said weakly. “I respect Prince Hongjoong very much. He’s like a big brother to me, just like you are a big sister to me.”

“That’s why I am here asking you, Sieun,” you pleaded, this time softly. “This doesn’t have to end badly with secrets and lies. I promise that I will keep your privacy and not hurt you in any way. I… I thought it could be a letter between lovers–”

“No, I– the traditions–”

“Just hear me out,” you sat closer to her this time and took her hands. “If I suspected something like that, I would have let it go. It’s not my place to hold you accountable, though as a big sister, I could maybe offer you advice to be careful. But I suspected that this was political, which is why I invaded your privacy and followed that stranger. Hongjoong just happened to be there– he was not involved.. So can you help me? Help us?”

Sieun sniffed and wiped her tears. She thought about it for a few moments and straightened. “How can I do that?”

“You can start by letting me know if that man is involved with Neverland in any way,” you said. “If he is not, our discussion ends right here. I will pretend that we never had this chat.”

Sieun sighed deeply. She was younger than you yet right now, she looked much older– as if she had seen or heard too much. Her eyes appeared sunken and her hair unkempt. 

“That man is just one of the guards here,” Sieun finally admitted. “He is friends with a man in the Neverland embassy who sends letters to Neverland on my behalf.”

So Sieun was involved, and there was an insider. This was getting complicated. “Can I ask what business you have with Neverland? If it involves Wonderland or Eden in any way? And… can I ask who the recipient of the letter is?”

“Wonderland and Eden are not involved, but I can see in hindsight now that I may have made some errors and talked too much,” Sieun was fidgeting anxiously now. “The recipient is Prince Jiwoong. We… we grew close during his last visit to my kingdom and we have been exchanging letters since.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” you smiled. “I will keep your secret, but you have to tell me if the prince ever mentions Wonderland or Eden.”

“Not Eden,” Sieun admitted. “He asked about who was attending. You know a few ships do depart to Neverland on regular intervals despite the weather conditions so that is how I get my correspondences to happen quickly. The reason your sailors refuse to take trade material in this weather is because they aren’t as good of sailors as Neverland ones. For the people of Neverland, sailing is a necessity.”

“Right,” you agreed. “And?”

“I thought it was strange, but over the course of our… correspondences, Prince Jiwoong has been asking for updates on Wonderland. I thought he was interested in you first but it became clear that he was fishing for some information. I didn’t give much to him, but I think my error is that not long ago, I told him that Wonderland was concerned about an attack on the guests during their stay here. I’m so sorry, Princess. I did not know that it would turn out to be this bad and dangerous–”

“It’s okay,” you assured, caressing Sieun’s head. “Jiwoong could have guessed that either way. I think he just needed a target, and I’m sure there was not enough time for you or someone else to report to Jiwoong that Hongjoong was the first to leave, and for Jiwoong to arrange this attack. At least not this one– Hongjoong decided to leave only two days ago, so.”

“Does that mean that I’ll be safe?” Sieun asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “You need extra security now. I’m worried Jiwoong or the Neverland soldiers will take it out on you. I’ll make sure you'll be safe, just… try not to correspond right now?”

“I can do that,” Sieun agreed.

“Thank you for trusting me, Sieun,” you smiled affectionately. “It means a lot.”

“I can’t believe Jiwoong would do something like this…” Sieun bit her lips. “Will Hongjoong be okay?” 

You looked at the young princess. She was as worried as everyone else, and perhaps the fact that she might have endangered Hongjoong would bother her until Hongjoong came back safely. 

If he came back safely.

“Let’s all pray that he is,” you muttered, shaking your head and clenching your fists. “I’m going to make sure that he is. Don’t go out alone anymore, okay? You have to stay safe too.”

Sieun nodded and you left her room, accompanied by your guards to your own room. 

Sleep did not come that night. With the princes out, you did not even bother getting into bed. You stayed on the couch, tossing and turning, waiting to hear back.

The first message you received was that they had found a trail of sorts. It appeared like Hongjoong had either gone somewhere or was taken by force– he had left something of his in the entire course of his path. Buttons from his dress, his ring, his jewellery– small, unnoticeable belongings. Yunho had followed it until it came to a stop at a certain location. The princes were going to search in the vicinity of that last spot now.

Either Hongjoong had run out of things to leave behind, or he had been unable to. You prayed that the former was the case.

Later that evening, you finally received a message. Hongjoong was being held hostage by a rebel group that Neverland was claiming to have no knowledge of. However, it was Sieun’s admission that had you thinking differently. Neverland– at least the embassy members here and not the royalty itself, in this case– definitely had everything to do with it.

Your parents were going to play safe because they were not aware. However, you were not going to sit still anymore.

“Princess,” your mother scolded. “It is dangerous for you to step outside. Hongjoong is Yunho’s responsibility now– I am sure that he will take care of it.”

“We are equally as responsible, if not more, mother,” you argued. Your father grunted in agreement or disapproval, you did not know. “I have information that the person who leaked the news of Hongjoong’s departure is a guard right here, in this castle. My source can recognise them. Do you understand the gravity of the situation now?”

“Then we pin it on the guard,” your father said. “If we shift the blame to Neverland, it is going to end badly, dear.”

“But Neverland is at fault, father,” you cried out. “The guard reported to the embassy. The embassy is Neverland’s representative here.”

“Royal involvement,” your father clarified. “There is no direct royal involvement.”

“But there is a political motive,” you reminded him. “Father… we have to threaten Neverland if we wish to get Hongjoong out of this alive. I… I cannot bear the thought of something happening to him. Please.”

Your mother inspected you closely while you fought back tears. By this point, your head hurt and your heart felt numb after aching for so long. 

“I thought you liked Yunho,” she commented. “Was I wrong?”

“You were not,” you sighed. “This is not about who I like. This is a life, mother. The prince of Eden. Yunho’s closest friend. My best friend. He… he is my everything, please. Let me save him. Let me perform my duties.”

“If this goes wrong…”

“Then I will take responsibility,” you straightened, meeting eyes with the King. “I promise.”

“Go,” your mother said first, to your surprise. “But don’t do anything stupid, and keep Yunho by your side.”

“Okay, thank you– oh, goodness,” you cried out in relief. “Thank you.”

~

The Neverland embassy was situated not far from the castle, towards the east near the sea. It was an ideal location– close to the port to correspond with the Neverland natives who travelled back and forth regularly, to monitor trade and to conduct business with the royals and politicians of Wonderland.

You had visited here a few times, accompanying your father and your brother for meetings. Never did you think you would march here with soldiers and Yunho by your side, a black flag raised to indicate the severity of the matter.

The embassy members did not seem surprised. The foreign affairs minister of Neverland, Mr. Lee, welcomed you and Yunho with a restrained smile. You thought there was a knowing glint behind his eyes. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one involved– he was notorious for being a manipulative dealer, always extorting something beneficial even from the worst exchanges on the cost of anything but his own compromise or sacrifice.

“Tea?” He offered as he led you inside. You motioned the soldiers to stand by the door and you and Yunho did not take seats. You were to remain standing.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” you started. “Prince Kim Hongjoong of Eden is being held hostage by your embassy members.”

“A bold statement, Your Highness,” Mr. Lee commented. “Careful of your words– you never know when they will be used against you.”

“I have a message for Prince Jiwoong,” you ignored him and continued. This time, he paused while in the middle of pouring himself tea. It was just for a second, but enough for Yunho to notice and look at you in approval. “Tell the prince that if Prince Hongjoong is not returned to us unhurt within three days, there will be consequences.”

“Please, take a seat,” Mr. Lee said politely this time. Yunho urged you to accept his offer and you both sat yourselves across from him. 

“You speak of consequences,” Mr. Lee commented.

“Well… The princes from Mist and Kiji are searching for their friend right now. The princess of the Kingdom of Hala is in my custody, safe. We have allies. I’m not sure Neverland has those right now.”

“From my understanding,” Mr. Lee began, “Prince Hongjoong left the castle two days ago, with a decoy. Is it not one of your guards then, that should be held accountable? Why would you assume that Neverland has something to do with it?”

“Come on, Mr. Lee,” Yunho smiled dangerously. “Let’s not pretend that Neverland is not antsy because of the recent trade conflict, and let’s not act like one of the royal guards was not a messenger delivering letters to someone here, who delivered those letters to Prince Jiwoong.”

Mr. Lee clenched his jaw, thinking. “It takes our sailors three days to make a one-way trip to Neverland. That’s too short a time frame that you demand.”

“We know that you have the best sailors,” you smirked. “From your words, if memory serves me right, your sailors can cross the waters in the worst conditions within a day and a half, right?” 

By now, Mr. Lee was flushed heavily. He sipped his tea, unable to meet eyes. 

“Then I suppose three days sounds about right. I’ll let the time touch the fourth day, if need be, as long as the prince is safe, but I swear that if I see a scratch on him–”

Yunho rested his hand over yours and you shut your mouth, seething. “He better be safe and sound, Mr. Lee. If I was you, I would be running to make sure nobody touches a hair on his body.”

With that, you and Yunho got up and left. You did not relax until you were back at the castle. The others had returned too– there was no point of a search party anymore. All you had to do was wait for Mr. Lee to arrange Hongjoong’s safe return.

You sat in Yunho’s arms, finally in privacy. Your maids and guards all left you alone tonight. They knew you needed each other, and they were not going to interfere. 

“I have to do something,” Yunho sighed, caressing your arm. “I can’t just rely on Mr. Lee.”

“You have searched everywhere,” you reminded him. “Get some sleep tonight. You can leave early in the morning– make sure you eat something.”

“I don’t know,” Yunho sighed, tired. “I… do you know why Hongjoong was going back all of a sudden?”

Your heart sank but Yunho continued, his arms embracing you just a fraction tighter. “He was going to solve the matter of our hierarchy. He insisted that he would pass the crown to me. He said… he said that you deserved to be a queen and not just a princess.”

“Why does he think that I care about that?” You sniffed. “I just need you both alive and happy, like you always have been. It doesn’t matter who the king is.”

“That’s what I said, but he wouldn’t take a no for an answer,” Yunho said with a laugh. “He can be stubborn like that. He believes that I will make a great king, but he does not know how incredible of a leader he is. How selfless he is. I was going to pass the crown to him, but he decided to rush and beat me to it.”

“He should take this situation as a sign,” you joked. Yunho chuckled, agreeing. 

You drew back, looking at Yunho properly. There were circles under his eyes and a scratch on his neck, perhaps from his search in the forest. You caressed his jaw lightly and moved to kiss his lips slowly, to offer some relief to him. He took it, his grip around you loose and undemanding.

“Hongjoong will return safely,” you assured after parting. “I believe it. You have to as well.”

“I believe it,” Yunho nodded. You smiled and kissed him some more before resting back in his arms.

At some point, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, drained. You were woken up by sharp knocks and your guard came rushing inside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Prince, Princess,” he bowed. You shook your head, assuring him that he didn’t interrupt anything. “Mr. Lee has sent a message. They are releasing Prince Hongjoong. He asked you both to come to the embassy to retrieve the prince. He’s alive and well, Mr. Lee claims.”

You and Yunho looked at each other in surprise, sighing in relief and hugging each other, shedding tears of happiness. The guard watched you both fondly with a smile before dismissing himself.

“That was quicker than I expected,” Yunho kissed your forehead. “You certainly know how to play the game, Princess. Your threats worked.”

You sighed happily, getting up and reminding him that he should get ready as soon as possible. Within a matter of minutes, you both were on the way to the embassy, bracing yourselves for every possible situation. Things could still go wrong. You would not let your guard down until Hongjoong would return back to the castle.

Mr. Lee welcomed you both sombrely this time– none of his attitude in sight. You both marched inside and as soon as Yunho spotted Hongjoong, he was crushing him in a hug. You kept your emotions in check and stood watching with a mere hint of a smile on your face, your attention focused on Mr. Lee and alert for any suspicious activity from the guards.

“What about the people who attacked the prince?” You inquired.

“On the way to the court,” Mr. Lee assured. “I am sorry for the trouble, Princess. It appears that I should have kept my men in check, but I assure you that the royal family is not involved.”

You stifled a scoff. Like hell they weren’t. 

“Ask your prince to clear his schedule and come for a meeting so that we can solve our conflicts once and for all,” you looked at Mr. Lee. “Prince Jiwoong is a friend. If he really is not involved in any of this, I will expect his presence soon.”

“Noted, Your Highness.”

You turned to look at the duo. Yunho was inspecting Hongjoong carefully while Hongjoong assured him that he was fine. He met eyes with you and you passed only a nod.

This was not the place for anything else.

Your way back was silent. Hongjoong rode with Yunho in one carriage, you with your guards in another. As soon as you entered the castle walls, he was bombarded with hugs and kisses and everything in between from the princes and princesses. You smiled at their interaction and excused yourself to report to your parents after which you went to your room.

You excused all your servants and stood by the window with tears in your eyes. Tears of relief, of happiness, everything. Hongjoong was safe. 

He was okay. You saved him– you all did.

A knock sounded and you opened the door, surprised to find Yunho there. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked. “Is Hongjoong okay? Did he get a medical checkup–”

“He’s fine,” Yunho assured you with a laugh. “I’m here to make sure that you are okay.”

“I… I am,” you said, sniffing. Your nose was still runny from all the crying earlier. Yunho raised a brow.

“Are you going to lie to my face now?”

“No… okay, I may have cried tears of happiness because Hongjoong made it back safely. A girl can cry, right?” You laughed lightly. Yunho wasn’t having any of it, though.

“Then how come you haven’t even said hello to him?”

You pursed your lips guiltily while Yunho folded his arms. 

“How long are you going to avoid him?” Yunho asked. “How long are you going to pretend that you don’t love him?”

Someone must have snatched the ground from under your feet because you almost stumbled. “Yunho–”

“I’m not asking for an explanation,” Yunho shook his head. “Just… he’s here. Let him inside, my love. Stop creating walls around yourself– I don’t like you like this.”

Yunho did not wait for an answer. He motioned to who you assumed was Hongjoong. You turned before you could see him because you were sure that your eyes would give you away. Did Yunho know everything? 

“I’m going to be in the study,” Yunho said after you heard the door close. “Take your time, and please… for the love of god, stop avoiding each other and stop avoiding your feelings.”

You heard Hongjoong grunt uncomfortably but Yunho left with a wink thrown in your direction. You were thoroughly confused.

“Hongjoong?” You whispered.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, moving closer behind you. “I’m sorry for making you so worried, my dear.”

“Don’t be,” you said, placing your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob. The tears were enough. You stood with your arms folded, unable to face the prince, unable to say anything. You had to get a grip, but it was too much–

Except that when you felt Hongjoong’s arms wrap around your waist, it was suddenly all okay. Your mind cleared and you sighed in relief, letting him embrace you. He rested his cheek against your head, his lips ghosting over your temple. 

“I’m still sorry for parting like that,” Hongjoong said, nudging your cheek with the tip of his nose. Your back arched and you shut your eyes, drinking in every moment of this proximity. “It was reckless of me. That could have been our last conversation.”

“Don’t say that,” your voice was laced with pain. “Don’t you ever leave me like that, Joong.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, rocking you both back and forth for a few moments. “Won’t you look at me, love?”

It took immense effort to part. You turned in his embrace to face him and Hongjoong caressed your face lovingly. “You look like you were the hostage,” he teased. “I seem to be in a better condition than you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered. Hongjoong grinned, kissing your forehead affectionately. “Did they… did they hurt you?”

“It was a bloody mess at first,” Hongjoong told you. “But just a couple of bruises. They only meant to strike a deal using me but that clearly didn’t work because the princess decided to play smart.”

You observed Hongjoong closely. He did appear just fine– a bruise peeking on his chest, one on his wrist, probably some more covered by his clothes but he was fine. He was alive, safe, back in your arms.

You belonged here.

“You have no idea how scared I was,” you muttered. Now it was the anger speaking and Hongjoong’s smile fell. Your voice started to grow louder. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that, Kim Hongjoong. I swear to god that I will never speak to you if you leave me like this again– I… I could not sleep a wink! The thought of something happening to you– it would have been my fault, did you know that?”

“Princess–”

“Don’t you princess me!” You scolded him. From your peripheral, you could make out the distant figure of Yunho, probably stepping out to see if everything was alright. Hongjoong gripped you tighter while you tried to struggle away.

“You,” you smacked Hongjoong’s chest. “If something happened to you, I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life. Did you have to leave so soon? Was sharing the same space with me that difficult?”

“Of course not,” Hongjoong looked hurt. “I was being selfish.”

“Yes!” You smacked his chest again, hard, the corners of your lips drooping. “You’re a selfish, stupid man, Kim Hongjoong. Going to your kingdom to crown Yunho the king and make me the queen at what cost? At the cost of your life? At the cost of my love? I don’t need that title, Joong. I’m fine being stripped of all luxuries if that means you are alive and happy, did you realise that?” 

“My dear–”

“How would I… how would I have lived with myself?” You finally sobbed and Hongjoong held back his own tears. “I gave my heart to you and Yunho, split perfectly in two. How would I have lived with only half of my heart? If you can’t love me back, you should have never made me miserable like this. I feel like a sinner everyday,” you sobbed, Yunho closer now, also overwhelmed by your confession. “I feel like a sinner. I’m undeserving and selfish because I decided that if I can’t have you both, I… I would have none of you. It will kill me.”

You sobbed violently now, tired. There seemed to be no end to this pain, to the steps your heart had taken. Hongjoong looked at Yunho, helpless. Yunho smiled sadly, urging Hongjoong to hold you so he did. He wrapped you in his embrace and sank to the ground, letting you cry your heart out until you passed out in his arms from exhaustion, showered by kisses and pecks from both the princes who had huddled close to you.

“I did not realise how painful this was for her,” Hongjoong spoke in a low volume, caressing your hair. You were sound asleep now– apparently, you had not slept this whole time save for the few hours with Yunho this morning. “I am a foolish man, it seems.”

“Now you see why I search for a solution,” Yunho was warming your hands. He kissed your fingertips softly. “I can’t let her go. I know you can’t either. I know that she will not let either of us go.”

“There is no solution,” Hongjoong looked at Yunho. “You both marry each other, while I watch from the sidelines.”

“But… what if we change that?”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I know that look in your eyes. Scheming.”

“Listen,” Yunho shook his head. “I read probably every book and record in the library, searching for an instance like this. The only recorded ones are of kings with their several mistresses. If there was an instance of a queen or a princess having more than one partner, it is never mentioned.”

“For good reasons,” Hongjoong reminded the younger prince. “The world is cruel enough to women as it is.”

Yunho nodded. “If y/n is willing and if you are… I am open to a relationship like this, Joong.”

“Like what?”

“This,” Yunho motioned between them. The princes’ legs were almost tangled while you nested between them. “I really don’t mind such a relationship since it’s you.”

Hongjoong’s cheeks flushed at the possibility. He watched you and Yunho for a long time– how you held his hands subconsciously even in your sleep. 

“This is… surprising, to say the least,” Hongjoong started. “I’ve known you as a relatively reserved person, Yunho. Someone who respected the traditions of chastity and whatnot. Do you understand the implications of your offer? If word gets out, we might be stripped of our titles. All of us.”

“I understand,” Yunho assured. “I think it’s high time we put an end to this stupid tradition. When you become the king, you can do that.”

“I will not become the king–”

“You will,” Yunho shook his head. “Everything aside, there is no better leader for the Kingdom of Eden. It has to be you.”

“They will ask me to marry,” Hongjoong reminded him. “They will ask for offsprings.”

“She can decide who she would like to marry, and if she would ever like to have children,” Yunho kissed your hands again. “But I will let her know that I’m open to this kind of a relationship for the rest of my life. If she accepts… we will work out the technicals later.”

“I don’t know if you’re being gracious or being stupid,” Hongjoong scoffed. “This… this is reckless.”

“Neither,” Yunho almost smirked. “You know I hate to lose.”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “This is not funny.”

Yunho took a deep breath. “I would hate to lose either of you, okay?” He admitted. “I don’t want to part from her. I know she won’t part from me either. If this was anyone else, I would have fought back, but it’s you. I can’t lose you either. I know that if we decide to marry, you will create a wall and I will finally lose when I fail to break it or climb past it. I…”

Yunho took Hongjoong’s hand this time. Hongjoong looked at him in surprise.

“You are my best friend, and I love you dearly,” Yunho confessed. “You are my soulmate. You get me like no one else. You accept me for who I am. I cannot live without you, and I cannot live with the idea of you being so close yet so far away. I will give you anything you ask me to. If you asked me to give y/n up, I would have genuinely considered it. The decision is still hers– if she decides to leave me for you, I will accept it wholly, but if she decides to be with both of us, then there’s nothing better for me. I trust you with my heart and my soul, Joong.”

Hongjoong was overwhelmed. He squeezed Yunho’s hand after a moment, conveying everything that he could not with his eyes. Yunho smiled and shifted so that he was on the floor, his head resting on Hongjoong’s lap with you in his arms between them.

“Isn’t this nice?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong rested his back against the couch, finally chuckling. “We could spend the rest of our lives like this, the three of us. Think about it while I sleep. I haven’t really slept either.”

While Yunho closed his eyes and immediately passed out, Hongjoong watched him for a long time, caressing his hair now. His other half. That is who Yunho was.

Could this be possible? For the three of you to spend the rest of your lives in each other's arms?

At some point, Yunho and Hongjoong left the room. It would have been unwise to stay. However, the two had a talk with you the very next day and Yunho offered you something almost unbelievable. 

The two were going to leave soon, with the rest of the guests. Now that Neverland had accepted Wonderland’s demands to put a temporary halt on trade out of pure fear, things had finally calmed down. Hongjoong personally thanked Sieun for helping him out and you could tell that the weight was off her shoulders now. There was a celebration party and for the first time in a while, you had fun without worrying about anyone else.

It was a memory you would remember forever. Hongjoong and Yunho dancing with each other in the most silly manner, Wooyoung and you in a tango laughing your heads off, San and Minjeong making fun of Jongho’s charade while Jeongin and Sieun gave more ideas. Drinks circulated around and music filled everyone’s hearts. The adults let you all be, though you were sure that after tonight, they would be keeping an eye on San and Minjeong. There was certainly something going on there.

The farewell was a happy one. They all left within the same day at different times. You were appreciated for your hospitality and for your courage. You were invited everywhere and you promised everyone that you would definitely visit soon. They had offered their assistance  while searching for Hongjoong and you would be forever grateful for that. You decided to personally visit everyone with gifts and thank them over the course of the next few months.

Yunho and Hongjoong gave you 4 months time to think. One of them would become the crown prince within 2 months, though they would not descend the throne until the current King gave away his crown or passed away. None of them were in a rush, but the crown prince had to be decided. They allowed you to choose your partner after that.

Partner. Or partners. 

You had a choice to choose them both without judgement. 

It was daunting. Yunho and Hongjoong explained to you in depth what it would entail. The discussion took place in a good few sittings so that everyone would be clear of the dynamics if you decided to accept them both.

If Hongjoong was the next king, which he seemed to finally come to terms with– you suspected Yunho had threatened him with something but really, Hongjoong was the one for the role– he would be required to have children, but there were exceptions. Hongjoong could pass the crown to Yunho at any point in his life, or one of Yunho’s children, if any.

Yunho and Hongjoong were both adamant that they would not marry or have more partners in case that you decided to have them both as partners. You argued that they could change their mind but the look in their eyes, the sincerity… it made you think otherwise. 

In any case, you would have to marry one of them. If you marry Hongjoong, you would be obligated to have his child. If you married Yunho, you would not be obligated to have children. You told them that you did intend to have a family in future. You did not intend to let the royal bloodline of Eden die like this– this was risking a lot. If the people of Eden saw that there were no heirs anymore, it could get bad. 

So you made them promise that in case you were not able to bear children, the unmarried one would get married for the sake of a family. They would look for love, marry and have children. Though they hated the idea of it right now, you told them that if they could accept you with two partners, you could certainly do the same– for the sake of their kingdom. For the sake of a peaceful life.

Now, it was time for you to decide who to marry. 

It took a lot of thinking to get to a decision. If you married Hongjoong, Yunho would be left with neither the title nor a wife. That seemed unfair to Yunho, especially after all your promises to marry him. Hongjoong had talked to you in private and urged you to marry Yunho if you really did not care for the title of the queen after all. 

So when you made the decision, you sent two letters. One addressed to Yunho, and one addressed to Hongjoong, both containing just two words.

I do. 

It was a chaotic start to the big day of Hongjoong’s coronation as the next king of the Kingdom of Eden.

The three of you could hardly get any sleep. Hongjoong’s restlessness was valid but Yunho and you both were perhaps as nervous as him, and heaps more excited. Yunho was extremely happy to see Hongjoong become the king. He insisted that Hongjoong was a natural leader and that he would make a far better ruler than Yunho ever could. Hongjoong insisted otherwise. You agreed with both– the two had full potential to become great kings, but even to you, Hongjoong’s coronation felt very natural.

The three of you spent the night in each other’s arms. Hongjoong shared his worries and anxieties about the future and how the weight of the crown felt heavy already. Yunho promised to share his burden, create a bond like their fathers who had shared the crown as well. You spent hours caressing Hongjoong’s hair to comfort him.

This was becoming a routine– spending the night together, the three of you. After your marriage to Yunho, this was your new home, right between the two of them. Your chamber was designed by Hongjoong to be between his and Yunho’s, with a door in your bedroom opening to your husband’s for convenience. 

A door in your study opened to Hongjoong’s study. As his personal advisor, this was also for convenience, though it served another purpose– Hongjoong sharing your bed.

It took you a while to get used to these new dynamics. After spending your whole life believing that being reserved and suppressing your desires was the acceptable way to live, especially as a royal figure, breaking the old tradition was not an easy feat. Simply kissing Yunho and being with Hongjoong had felt like a sin earlier. It took you a while to learn that being with the both of them was okay. 

Sure, you had to be careful. For the public, Yunho was your husband and it was going to stay that way. You had no desire to explain yourself to anyone. Yunho and Hongjoong both wanted you. You all wanted each other. That was enough to last you a lifetime.

Anyone who thought that there was something between you and Hongjoong would easily dismiss their thoughts since Yunho was so obviously in love with you. His eyes dripped with unfiltered affection whenever he looked at you, especially now that you were his wife. He was proud of you and flaunted you publicly. And he loved Hongjoong dearly too. The public may have been curious about the relationship between the three of you at first but now, they just believed what you made them see– that the three of you were tightly knit and loved and respected each other. 

It was out of that respect and love that Yunho urged Hongjoong to take the crown. Even after your deal of marrying Yunho so that Hongjoong could be the king, Hongjoong was unsure. He insisted that he did not need the crown and that he would spend a happy life as the second prince to Yunho. Yunho, however, was not going to rest until Hongjoong became king. It was possible that he felt obligated to give Hongjoong something– after all, he had taken you as his wife. He would not be selfish and take the crown too. 

Hongjoong joked that if he never had children, the crown would be going back to Yunho’s bloodline, but that was a later problem. Right now, Hongjoong needed to become the next king of Eden. His parents wanted to crown him in their lifetime, and Yunho’s parents wished to see a coronation in their lifetime too.

It was no wonder that Yunho and Hongjoong were the way they were– so full of love. Their parents were very close. It was rare to have such a bond when rivalry arose even among siblings. You vowed to yourself that if Hongjoong ever married someone, especially with the intention of having his own children, that you would love and accept them as the princes accepted you despite your unusual desire to have them both. 

This was the first step towards crowning Hongjoong. He would become king– was he not a king already, you wondered? His thoughts and words were meticulous, his steps grand and his demeanour composed. He called you ‘my queen’. In your heart, he had always been the king. 

You smiled at the thought and then realised that you were zoning out again. Yeosang, Yunho’s Right Hand, waited for a moment before calling your name.

“I think you need to find Prince Hongjoong,” he started, looking around. “He needs to wait in the next room– the event is about to start.”

“He’s probably hiding in one of his spots again,” Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s Right Hand, said with a sigh. “I need to welcome the foreign guests. Do you mind searching for him, Princess? Or should I send one of the guards?”

“No, I’ll go,” you assured him. You and Seonghwa both knew that Hongjoong did not like to be interrupted when he went into ‘hiding’. Sending a guard might spoil his mood, especially when he was so sensitive these days. “I just need to find Mingi, greet the guests that have arrived, make sure the king and the queen are seated, find Yunho’s parents–”

“Relax,” Mingi interrupted with a laugh and you sighed happily.

“That’s one thing off my list.”

“You can greet the guests later– get Hongjoong. And maybe find Yunho too,” Mingi sighed. “What am I the advisor for when he never takes my advice?”

“Never is an overstatement,” you winked at Mingi. “I’ll give him an earful.”

Mingi bowed sarcastically and you took off, gathering the fabric of your burgundy velvet gown in your hands and speed-walking towards his private library. That is probably where Hongjoong would be–

Except the library was empty. The roof, maybe? You thought and sent one of the guards ahead to ask the guards stationed at the roof’s entrance and confirm if the crown prince was there. A no came for an answer and you stood thinking.

These were two of his favourite spots to be alone at. The third was in a corner of the garden but you reckoned that he wouldn’t be there today. 

Was he in his room then?

With unsure steps, you walked towards the section of the castle where all three of you had your chambers, next to each other. Hongjoong had contributed to many architectural changes over the course of the years but this one was probably his most thoughtful work. He had corresponded with you a lot to make sure you had everything you needed. 

You told him that you simply needed the two of them by your sides, and he made that happen.

You went to your chamber. It was empty save for the guards outside. You decided to access Hongjoong’s chamber through the door that connected your studies, but a shadow in the corner of your eye caught your attention–

Someone was in your room.

You walked with guarded steps this time, relaxing instantly when you saw that it was Hongjoong. He was standing in front of your mirror, fixing his clothes and attempting to straighten his collar but struggling.

“Here,” you called gently, moving to fix it for him. He was caught by surprise but allowed you to smoothen his clothes. You ran your hands over the expanse of his chest when you were done, looking him in the eyes.

“Everyone’s trying to find you,” you said. “Yet you’re here in my room. I looked for you in your usual spots.”

“They didn’t feel comfortable today,” Hongjoong admitted, looking at himself in the mirror again. “This room… it’s warm. It is like a cocoon. I feel like I can hide here and be myself.”

Your heart melted at his words. For your room to feel like his safe space… you sighed happily. 

“Are you very nervous?” You asked the obvious and a small smile tugged at his lips. “What’s taking you so long this time? I thought you would steel your nerves and be present beforehand.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. “I just keep wondering if I’m really fit to be the king. I… I am not like anyone of my predecessors, y/n. I will make changes to the kingdom, its laws and its traditions that my subjects might not like. What if I… what if I let everyone down?”

You cradled Hongjoong’s jaw and kissed his lips gently. 

“I am sure of one thing, and that is that you strive to make this kingdom feel like a safe space for all of your subjects,” you said. “That makes you the most empathetic king in history already.”

Hongjoong chuckled. You heard shuffling and soon, Yunho joined the two of you, leaning against the doorframe and watching you both with adoration.

“Tell him that he is going to be a great king,” you urged Yunho.

“He knows it, and that is what scares him,” Yunho commented and Hongjoong gave him a look. You supposed that Yunho got that right. “To achieve great things, you must be prepared for some amount of pushback. Isn’t that what you always said to me?”

Hongjoong nodded. You watched him struggle with his internal conflict for a few moments, his hands in yours clenching and unclenching as he caught his breath.

“I guess I’m just overwhelmed…” Hongjoong admitted, looking between you two. “I’m afraid to disappoint the two of you the most.”

“Oh, Hongjoong,” you sighed, looking helplessly at Yunho. Yunho appeared surprised to hear that too.

“You’ve never disappointed me, Hongjoong. Not even once, you hear me?” Yunho assured, a fire in his eyes. “I don’t like that you think that. You know that I am with you every step of the way. You really aren’t alone in this, Joong.”

“The title is heavy,” you agreed with Hongjoong, “but we are both with you to share the burden. You won’t be alone. You will always, always have us. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“Always?” Hongjoong looked at you, the most vulnerable you had seen him. 

You nodded. He looked at Yunho and he nodded as well, stepping closer.

Hongjoong sank to one knee in front of you, taking your hands and kissing both of them.

“You will forever be my queen,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Just because I wear the crown does not mean that there will be distance between us.”

“Of course,” your heart fluttered at his words. He looked up at you with a smile and then looked at Yunho.

“And you…” Hongjoong took a deep breath, reaching out for him. Yunho sat down in front of him, now at eye-level. “You will always be my king, Yunho. I may be everyone else’s king but you… you will be mine.”

Yunho was awestruck. He shook his head in disbelief and Hongjoong set his hands on his shoulders firmly. You patted Yunho’s back, letting your hand rest there in comfort.

“It’s that simple, Yunho,” Hongjoong smiled. “I’m grateful to you for a lot of things–”

“Please,” Yunho’s voice was thick with emotions. “You need to stop using such words as grateful.”

“You know that I’ll always be, because the two of you didn’t leave me alone,” Hongjoong confessed and you felt an ache in your heart. You wished to comfort him and tell him that it wasn’t something he needed to be grateful for. You both loved him, it was just that. “I always imagined watching you both from the sidelines. Allow me some time to come to terms with the fact that you both wanted me in your life as much as I wanted you both in mine.”

Yunho nodded. Time… he could give him that, if only it meant that Hongjoong would stop acting like he owed him his life. 

“If I was alone and became the next king, it would have crushed me,” Hongjoong admitted. “But now… I can go and walk with my shoulders straight, knowing that you two have my back.”

“That’s enough,” Yunho chuckled uncomfortably, not used to such compliments from Hongjoong even after all this time. “I get it. You love us.”

The three of you laughed and Hongjoong shook his head. “Yeah, I suppose that it sums everything up. I love you both.”

Yunho smiled. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hongjoong’s in a long, meaningful kiss. They joined foreheads and remained like that for a few moments, each of them holding your hands as you settled next to them.

“Are you ready to bear the crown, Hongjoong?” You asked. 

Seeing the switch in his eyes when he confirmed that he was ready was one thing, but watching him walk in the coronation hall with his posture straight and head held high was something else entirely. You and Yunho waited for him at the front. The current king, Hongjoong’s father, recited the vows as Hongjoong walked. Once he was at the front, he turned and bowed to everyone.

“Are you ready to bear the crown, Kim Hongjoong?” His father asked.

“I am ready,” Hongjoong responded, voice unwavering.

“Then step up and receive the crown.”

Hongjoong bowed deeply to his father. He stepped on the podium and walked to the two of you. Yunho went first, putting his father’s ring on Hongjoong’s index finger– a family heirloom. You went next, putting on the king’s cloak on his shoulder, Yunho helping with the lapels. 

Once you were done, you met his eyes. You shared a nod and he went to the queen next, receiving a motherly kiss before going to his father.

The audience seemed to hold their breath as the king took off his crown and put it on Hongjoong’s head. Unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly. 

“Kneel to your subjects, King Kim Hongjoong of the Kingdom of Eden. This is the first and the last time you will ever kneel to your subjects.”

Hongjoong took to the centre and bent down, kneeling on the ground and bowing with his head. Just like that, the coronation was complete. The audience cheered enthusiastically– long live the king.

Hongjoong stood up and found the two of you again, going into the middle and taking your hands and squeezing. You both smiled at him and Hongjoong was finally able to breathe.

Soon, you were joined by the princes and princesses from all over the continent. All of your friends were present– Wooyoung, San and Jongho, Minjeong and Sieun, even Jiwoong from Neverland. Jeongin and your family, as well as the royals that left their kingdoms in pursuit of love. Surrounded by your people, you felt at ease. Hongjoong felt the same, loosening up once the boys started to joke around about him being the first friend to be crowned king. 

The night ended on a festive note, but it wasn’t truly complete until the three of you got comfortable in your true home– in each other’s arms.

alrighty starting off strong w a festive royal setting 😌 my mom was watching bridgerton when i came home and the opening scene def reminded me of the show hehe i can feel the excitement in the air as everyone hustles around to prepare for the festivities!!

PRINCE JEONGIN O_O hey jeongin hehehehe he's such a mood though LIKE MOTHER he's only seventeen, CORRECT

the hug and spin from yunho and the hand kiss... im draping my hand over my forehead like a damsel... prince yunho save me (AND HE GREW HIS HAIR OUT?!?!*$&3&)

THE SHORTER FOR HONGJOONG THIS IS FRYING MEEEEE 🤧🤧 and a very cheeky greeting ofc i see.......

wait the sun/moon metaphor has already entered the chat, don't tell me this is a recurring motif bc i WILL be drooling over this 🙂‍↕️

"You had Hongjoong to keep you company in the dark" WHILE HE'S THE MOON TO YUNHO'S SUN???? YOU DON'T INTEND TO DIM HIS LIGHT AND U WATCH FROM SIDES OF THE ROOM AS HE BOUNCES FROM PERSON TO PERSON LIKE RAYS OF SUN yumi u wound me (´Д⊂ヽlike the swift contrast throughout this opener has me getting whiplash

i love also how you've established a clear contrast in the brothers' values through their actions as well, like how joong literally kissed ur forehead and then flicked it when he first saw u, followed by casually brushing the crumb from your lip. and then yunho allowed himself one little twirling hug before kissing ur hand like a proper lady 😔 le sigh

ALRIGHT jeong yunho i know what u are 🤥 those kisses were so telling PROPOSE ALREADY!!

"What's the sun got to do with anything?" UR SO RIGHT JONGHO, MY KING!! also still in the bridgerton mindset lowkey, like while these guys and girls are having their evening chat away from the grown-ups, i can already imagine them all having their own side plots and pairings skfnkdnf i ennoy that they all seem to have their own thoughts, as always 🙂‍↕️

REAL MEN SIN IN THE DAYLIGHT?? CHOI SAN IM FCKN HOWLINGGG 😭🤡😭🤡😭🤡 AHHHHAHHAHAHA

oooookay yumi this isn't funny "sometimes i find something beautiful" "i must find you beautiful then" WHAT. WHAAAAAAAT. a man CAN appreciate the art but is he gonna.... he can take the art home yk....

are we... foreshadowing w the line abt how the year end balls are susceptible to attacks... yumi r u telling me something from the great beyond

OF COURSE hongjoong, the moon who belongs in the night sky, is in black 🙂‍↕️ also, loved this line from him: “Not sure. Tell me who to avoid tonight.” it was so funny to me for some reason, like hmmmm idk i'll tell u im not sure even tho i literally walked right up to u with only a single glance, now tell me something useful 💀💀

OOP white-gold for the sun-incarnate i know thats right ! also,,, yunho honey you're in the doghouse for that one how do u not recognize ur beau immediately 😭 YOU'VE KISSED HER FACE ?! also hongjoong ur not getting out of this either my guy

molten honey yes... w those sweet, sweet nothings yunho 🤤

okay but the dual-reigning kings is certainly a novel concept hmmmm i'd love to know the history abd logistics behind that bc thats very cool (even tho my cynicism from the real world wanta to doubt it very much 🙂‍↕️)

yesyes the masks DO add a level of excitement in intrigue mwahaha LOOK at this little (big) menace, jeong yunho !!! the masks are a shield, protection almost. they give one confidence to act truly as they are, and jeong yunho is taking full advantage, i see

WAIT i was literally gonna say that yunjoong must be good dancers bc they danced with each other LOLOL

GAAAASPING RN the dance sequence w hongjoong was so delicious omg like the scene as it played in my mind LIIITERALLY went in slow motion w the close-up camera angles, and the music fading to the background, the others becoming blurry as if it all senses were magnified and it was only them two and the tension between them... and then it all comes rushing back as he hands her off to her next partner EEEEK SJFNDKNFKFNFN YUMYUM YUUUUM also the way u also addressed how yunhos hands are bigger so they naturally rest closer to her upper chest, but hongjoongs are slightly smaller SO HE HAS TO DO IT ON PURPOSE

awwwwg yn and yunho acting like a true, married royal couple by strategizing 🥰

damn the traditions indeed NO ONE'S IN THE ROOM JUST KISS ALREADY AAAAAAAAAAAA WDYMMMM THE THINGS U WANNA DO TO HER YUNHO ELABORATE

yumi ur testing my patience this isnt FAIR why did u let joong have his shirt unbuttoned (´Д⊂ヽ

NOT THE SCAR ON HER BACK HONGJOONG NOW UR JUST MAKING IT WORSE FOR URSELF U LITTLE MASOCHIST

this discussion abt seeing her as a bride sounds less like he wants to see her as someone else's bride methinks 🙂‍↕️ also THEY WERE STRANDED IN THE RAIN TOGETHER??? WITHOUT A CHAPERONE yn i think youve crossed more lines w hj than u have w yunho, my girl, im sorry to say 🙂‍↔️ also i agree hj w the pearls I LOVE PEARLS — alright. cruelest punishment. masochist confirmed. got it.

YUNHO???????????? TALL SHADOW?????????? RIFHT AT THE GOOD PART?????????? yn drank truth serum tonight i wont lie. its funny how hongjoong had the most restraint out of the two of them tonight lol

i love a bunch of nerds lol and that they actually discuss politics and the states of their kingdoms bc thats ultimately their jobs ✨

yn matching hongjoongs freak by scaring him coming in thru the passageway, and then also being OKAY without a chaperone (like HE was the one who was concerned abt it for once like alright his self control is a little toooo strong for me.... u can want me bestie i promise) also the way he answered "suffocating" IM GONNA CRY DONT SAY THAT SHE'LL BE LIVING IN UR KINGDOM IN THE FUTURE 😞😞 how will ur heart survive

ugh.... royal aus with the kissing but never touching feeling... THESE FEELINGS WILL PASS (no they wont) (yn, pls make up ur mind bestie i know its hard but we gotta stay strong. u can give hongjoong to me—) tho joong brings up an excellent point that she could just feel super tense that her feelings have become jumbled/amplified. though, her interest in joong was always there, it could also be a sign of cold feet right before the point of no return (marrying yunho); and since she's only ever known she would be w yunho in the end, perhaps.... hmmmm she craves something... different. to experience something different (im yapping again arent i.)

THE RUNNING TO YUNHOS ROOM TO DEMAND A KISS AND ONLY TO MAKEOUT W HIM LIKE THAT IS CRAZY I HAVE WHIPLASH YN GIRL MAKE UP UR MIND BEFORE I THROW SOMETHING GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

OH SHIT . SIEUN. wait.... dont do this to me yumi jongho cannot......

"he has always been a winner" 😭😭😭😭😭😭

okay ik yunho went into that convo w good intentions (CHEEKY SNEAKY INTENTIONS CUZ I KNOOW HE KNOWS) but the way he said he wanted to delay the wedding discussion right after they crossed their chastity lines is so poorly timed, yunho 💀 ur gonna give the poor girl a heart attack

waittttt a damn 🤨🤨 the unknown person who was going toward them was just told to return to their station... 📸🤨

I WOKE UP. by woke up, i mean that i broke out of the trance i was in from them following sieun to WHEN THEY STARTED KISSING??????? KISSING????????? AND HE WAS KNEELING W HIS HEAD ON HER LAP OH MY GOD U KNOW MY WEAKNESS I NEED TO HIDE FROM YOU 😭🫵 AND JOONG APOLOGIZING PROFUSELY BC ALL HE DOES IS HURT HER AND MAKE HER ANGRY AND BICKER W HER AND HE PROB DOESNT FEEL WORTHY AND EUUUUUUUGHHHHHFHFHDH

i knew it yunho I KNEW IT

omg ITS THE LINE ITS THE LINE ITS UR PUNISHMENT FOR YEARNING FOR BOTH THE SUN AND THE MOON 💔💔 (but dear yn, dont u know that the sky often sees both at once ? :') the sun and moon still wave to one another, they share a space)

also just that joong and yunho have grown up loving and respecting one another and sharing everything, knowing that one day, one of them will end up w the shorter end of the stick. only to both be in love w the same girl as theyre both in line for the same throne, and neither of them want to be without the other either... man... 🚬

im reading this like yes... wise words, yunho, u do love her no matter the fact that she loves joong and has kissed him too... love transcends—oh so we're starting a fight now UR EGGING HIM ON U SLY DOG— he's so hot for that, like actually i started giggling maniacally YES YUNHO YES MAKE HONGJOONG FIGHT AND STOP BEING A CHICKEN

UR NOT SPECIAL IM CACKLING

oh my god I FUCKING KNEW THAT SOMETHING WAS GONNA HAPPEN. u almost got me yumi wooooooweeeee u alnost caught me completely off guard w everything that's happened so far im going hysterical 😂😂 U ALMOST DISTRACTED ME FROM THE PLOT HAPPENING IN THE SHADOWS 🤺 KIM HONGJOONG BETTER GET HIS ASS SAVED/WALK OUT ALIVE SO I GET MY THROUPLE END GAME

ahhh its always Men taking advantage of my ladies 🙂‍↔️🔫

BYE i was so worried throughout this entire ordeal that something was gonna happen when they went to go pick joong up from the embassy but i see neverland got all their ducks in a row this time 🤡

warning for joong x yunho confessing their undying love for one another and BEING SOULMATES (´Д⊂ヽ I NEED A HUG also thank god they said it FINALLY THEY SAID OPEN RELATIONSHIP WORDS I'VE DREAMED OF HEARING SINCE THE BEGINNING HUZZAH!!!

the "i do"s ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ oh im so tender rn

the room layout designs IM CRYING 💀💀💀 convenient personal assistant door ... to your bed 😏😏 he must really love u since man's has to pass thru at least two sets of doors to sleep in ur bed at night 😌

wait in the beginning during the masquerade ball, it was mentioned that hongjoong was always late to the party, always fussing abt his appearance or something or other, and now no one can find him bc he's hiding and—idek if this is making sense LMAO but in my brain it does make sense and thats all that matters ☝️ anyways,,, some things never change :'))) (even tho ik its prob cuz he's nervous so he's hiding sjfnkdnfjf)

ARE U READY TO BEAR THE CROWN SKCBEKFNEKCNKDJFKDJCKJDKF MALFUNCTIONING RN .

AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER, TOGETHER (´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ(´Д⊂ヽ I LOVE MY DESIRE !!!!!!!!!!!