🍁

Jihyo seems to understand that contradicting you only makes you cry harder, so she tries a different approach. “Well, you could always date Mingyu? You’ve known him for so long—“

“Mingyu?!” Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the suggestion. “He’s ridiculously out of my league! He’s literally the last person on Earth who would date me.”

“Ok, scratch that,” Jihyo appeases you. While she could argue that your chances were high considering how close you and Mingyu were, she doesn’t think you’re in the mood to listen. “Ask Mingyu for help instead.”

You think about it. Mingyu’s been your friend even before either of you could walk or speak full sentences. He’s seen you at your highest and your lowest, and if anyone can give contextualized advice to help you finally score a boyfriend, it’s him. Not only that, but Mingyu’s got an eye for fashion, is a gym rat, and happens to co-own a gym with Seungcheol. The man could give you advice, a glow-up, and maybe he can even set you up with his friends.

Genius!

Your crying stops, lips now stretched wide in a smile as you start going through your options. “I think you’re onto something…”

“Exactly!” Jihyo’s glad she’s finally getting to you. “Go get hot as fuck and maybe find some hotties there too, problem solved.”

“And I could even ask Mingyu for advice!” You sit straight up. Drunken hope fills you as you start strategizing. “He’s a man so he knows how men’s brains work. Jihyo, you’re a genius!”

“I get it from you,” Jihyo winks, clearly just as drunk as you. “Cheers to not dying alone!”

“Cheers!”

Tomorrow, you would start on your journey to become a whole new person, and the world won’t be ready for it.

-

“No,” is the only thing that comes from Mingyu’s mouth, and the entire foundation of your plan comes crashing down.

Without sparing another second, Mingyu goes back to slurping the Chapagetti you cooked for him–that was totally not meant to bribe him–and watching some stupid variety show playing on your TV. You had invited him over to your apartment and detailed your master plan of getting a boyfriend with his help. Hell, you even had an entire PowerPoint slide open on your laptop just so Mingyu had a visual aid for your pitch, and the only thing he says after humoring you for the past 15 minutes is… No?

You’re almost tempted to grab his chopsticks and eat the Chapagetti, but you don’t. You had to be strategic about this.

“Yah, are you not going to help this damsel in distress?” You mute the television, which forces Mingyu to look at you, clearly annoyed. “Wasn’t that your entire image in college?”

Mingyu sport a mischievous grin as he replies, “Yeah, but you’re hardly a damsel–”

At the speed of light, your sofa pillow goes flying towards Mingyu’s face, but the man only laughs, unfazed by the force (or the lack of it) of your throw.

“Yah! Kim Mingyu, don’t come to me for a consultation when you get sick.” You huff out, plopping down beside him on the floor and stealing his chopsticks before taking the bowl of Chapagetti. “I wouldn’t be asking you for help if I wasn’t desperate.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Mingyu whines as he watches you eat the bowl, eyes trained on the Chapagetti that was slowly disappearing with each slurp from you. 

You only stick your tongue out in reply. If he was going to dismiss you so quickly, you had every right to be petty.

Mingyu, realizing that you were indeed serious about your entire pitch, starts scanning through the slides on your laptop. You can see the way the furrow in his brows gets deeper and deeper the closer he gets to the end of the presentation. Once he reaches the references slide (Mingyu thinks you’re insane for that), he leans back on the couch and says, “It’s a stupid plan.”

Irritated, you send a glare his way. “It’s literally backed by multiple credible sources and everything’s in APA7, and you’re calling it stupid—“

“You’re fine the way you are,” Mingyu says it like it’s a matter of fact, and you curse yourself internally for the way it has your heart skipping. “I don’t see why you need to get a ‘glow-up’ just because you want to go out and date.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your chopsticks. Mingyu doesn’t understand you, you think. He doesn’t understand that not everyone grew up winning the lotteries for both genetics and puberty. Kim Mingyu was born a handsome boy before puberty hit him like a truck and turned him into a handsome young man. It’s no surprise that he has such a relaxed outlook when it comes to dating or other affairs of the heart.

Attention and adoration were his closest friends, second only to you. Getting a girl’s interest was as easy as breathing for him, and not even you were safe from falling for Mingyu’s handsome looks and boyish charm. Your crush (is it even still a crush, at this point?) on the man was on its way to celebrating its 20th anniversary, and it’s honestly getting pathetic. You would be lying if you said that the stupid crush wasn’t part of the reason you wanted to get a boyfriend and settle down.

Fuck him and his pretty face, honestly.

“Plus, you’ve never been this interested in dating, so why start now?” Mingyu raises a brow, taking the chopsticks and the bowl of Chapagetti before scarfing it all down. 

You think it’s a little unfair how he can eat so much and still have such defined muscles. Sure, you weren’t a 187 cm male that’s composed of pure muscle and sunshine, but did the gap in your basal metabolic rates really have to be that huge?

“Gyu, we’re nearly 30,” You start out with a heavy sigh. “I am going to die old, lonely, and bitter all because I can’t seem to get people to like me.”

“Old and bitter is possible, but lonely?” Mingyu scoffs like it's the dumbest thing he’s heard. “You’re not gonna be lonely when I’m literally right here.”

“That’s different, though!” You complain, leaning your head down on the coffee table before banging your forehead on it repeatedly. “You’re my best friend. That’s different from having someone who’ll be with me through everything.”

Mingyu was too idealistic, you think. He’s only saying that because he doesn’t have a girlfriend who’s hogging all his attention and time the same way his ex from 3 years ago did. You still remember her clearly: an aspiring model with the body of a goddess and the face of an angel. However, her attitude was the exact opposite. That woman absolutely hated you despite the fact that you were already avoiding Mingyu like the plague then. 

When Mingyu finally settles down with a woman and starts a family of his own like he’s always imagined himself doing, you’re going to be cast aside the same way you were cast aside before. It’s only natural for Mingyu to focus on his future wife and the family they’re building. There was no room in that picture for Mingyu’s spinster of a best friend who’s been in love with him for nearly two decades. Unfortunately for you, acknowledging the truth in all of that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You hear Mingyu mutter something inaudible underneath his breath, making you sit up and glare at him. You swear if he’s mocking you again… “Yah, what did you say?”

Mingyu looks startled for a second before he composes himself and says, “I said I’d help you.”

The angels sing and the gates of heaven open. You stare at Mingyu with wide eyes and an even wider grin, “Are you serious?”

Mingyu looks like he’s doing this against his will, but you don’t really care, too happy at the fact that he was actually going to help you. “Yeah, but don’t expect me to set you up with any of the guys. You’re too good for them–”

You lunge at Mingyu, tackling him to the floor with your arms around his neck as you repeatedly thank him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you–”

You pause when you realize that you’re quite literally on top of Mingyu, body to body, chest to chest— 

Holy shit, you weren’t wearing a bra, and judging by the flush on Mingyu’s cheeks, you think he’s realized it too.

Immediately, you’re scrambling off him. Your heart is beating violently and you can feel your face burning. The only ideal outcome for this situation would be if the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, taking you far away from Mingyu who was slowly getting up from the floor.

The grin on Mingyu’s face tells you that he’s about to say something diabolical. “If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s working~”

“Fuck you!” You hiss out, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to your chest as you avoid Mingyu’s teasing gaze.

Mingyu’s grin only widens. “Don’t threaten me with a good time–”

“If you don’t shut up, I am going to poison your Chapagetti the next time you come over.” You spit out, now more annoyed than embarrassed. You don’t know how you’ve tolerated Kim Mingyu’s incessant flirting over the years, but one thing for sure is that you still aren’t immune to it.

“Wow, that’s insane,” Mingyu remarks, eyeing you up and done with his eyes lingering on the pillow stuck to your chest. “It’s a good thing I like my women crazy.”

Mingyu seals his statement with a wink that sends your heart reeling. It’s a short-lived victory on his end before you start hitting him with the pillow you were hugging. Screw him for being so flirtatious. Screw him for having such a pretty face. Screw him for having such a profound effect on you. 

The man only laughs as you continue hitting him, clearly unbothered. You curse the heavens for giving this man such a strong build. “I’m kidding, I’m sorry!”

You stop, satisfied, and maybe a little tired from all the effort it took to hit Mingyu. The pillow is back in your embrace, covering your chest as you unmute the TV.

“Go to the gym tomorrow after your shift.” Mingyu suddenly says, distracting you from the TV show. “Bring workout clothes too.”

“Obviously, dipshit, do you expect me to wear scrubs there?” You roll your eyes, still annoyed.

“First piece of advice, maybe tone down the swearing–”

“Fuck you–”

“Already failing, I see. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

–

By the time you finish your rounds and give out your final instructions, the sky is already dark. Immediately, you pack up your bag and say goodbye to Jihyo who was still wrapping up her cases. 

“Fighting!” Jihyo cheers you on with a smile as you leave the hospital.

Without wasting a second, you get into your car and drive a few kilometers down the road to where Mingyu and Seungcheol’s gym is located. It’s a very well-known gym located in the heart of the city which makes it convenient given that your workplace was only a few minutes away. It would be easier to integrate the gym into your daily routine given the proximity.

Once you arrive at the gym, you’re greeted by the large sign that reads ‘C&K Fitness Center’. It’s a little intimidating, you think. The place is huge, and the people coming in and out all look like they’re on their way to a modeling shoot. You haven’t even been inside, but you already know that you’re punching above your weight just by being there. You’re almost tempted to abandon it all and just settle for living alone with only thirteen cats to accompany you until you inevitably leave this plane of existence.

Before you can spiral further, you’re grabbing your bag and locking your car. You fuel yourself with the thought of dying alone, with the thought of Mingyu’s drop dead gorgeous exes, and with the thought of how unhappy you’ve been with yourself for the past how many years of your life. It distracts you enough that the next thing you know, you’ve already opened the door to the gym and come face to face with the gym’s receptionist.

“Welcome to Choi and Kim’s Fitness Center!” The pretty woman, whose name is Youngmi based on her ID, greets with a smile. “How may I help you?”

You realize that you don’t actually know what to say. Mingyu just told you to come to the gym and bring workout clothes. He completely forgot to mention the logistics of it all. Quickly, you think. Would she believe you if you said you knew the owner when you looked like you crawled out of hell and barely survived–

“You’re late,” comes the voice of the man you were looking for. Mingyu strolls in casually like he owns the place (you need to remind yourself that he does), donning a black tank top that clung onto him like a second skin and gray sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips.

What a whore, you think to yourself as you roll your eyes internally. You think that this would be the male equivalent of you strolling into the gym in nothing but a tiny sports bra and shorts.

“Had a long shift, your highness. Sorry for making you wait.” You roll your eyes, but this time, you make sure Mingyu sees.

“Youngmi, this is Y/N. Y/N this is Youngmi.” Mingyu ignores the attitude you were giving and chooses to introduce you to the receptionist who seemingly lights up upon hearing your name.

“Ah, so this is the Y/N we’ve been hearing about,” Youngmi has a grin on her face, and Mingyu suddenly looks like he’s pleading to her with his eyes. “I’m looking forward to seeing you here more often!”

“I hope he isn’t saying bad things about me,” You joke, but internally you’re ready to strangle Mingyu. 

“No, not at all!” Youngmi is quick to wave off your assumptions. “All nice things, I swear. In fact, he always–”

“Okay, that’s enough. We’ll be here until midnight if we don’t start soon,” Mingyu quickly cuts Youngmi off and starts dragging you towards the changing rooms. “Go change then meet me there.”

You nod in reply, looking at where Mingyu is pointing before shooing him off so that you can change. Quickly, you change into a loose shirt and jogging pants. It wasn’t the best of outfits if you were going to use those Instagram models as an example, but it was presentable enough… You guess.

When you reach the gym itself, you’re hit with the scent of rubber and the sight of Mingyu’s muscles flexing as he pulls down the handles of some gym equipment. It’s criminal: the way the muscles on his back tense and relax while his perspiration makes his warm skin glow underneath the harsh lights. It didn’t help that he’s puffing out grunts of effort that had your brain entering a territory you refused to acknowledge. The worst part of it all is that you’re not the only one looking. There are other people eyeing your best friend, some out of envy and some out of something that looks like it should be accompanied with a restraining order.

You can already tell that you’re going to have a hard time concentrating with Mingyu around.

When Mingyu sees your reflection in the mirror, he quickly lowers the weights down and walks over to where you are. You think it’s a little embarrassing how some of the women present suddenly narrowed their eyes when they realized that Mingyu was walking towards you.

“Okay, we’ll start with some stretches then I’ll introduce you to each of the equipment,” Mingyu informs you, grabbing your arm to drag you to a wider space of the gym. “After that we’ll go over the workout plan and how to do the exercises…”

Mingyu continues to speak and demonstrate while still giving you enough space to ask questions. It jars you a little, unused to your best friend being so serious. He’s always been one to goof around like a puppy that had been set free into the world for the very first time, so seeing him so concentrated has you honestly impressed. You can’t help the warmth that blooms in your chest at the idea that he was actually taking the time and putting in the effort to help you.

It was a little… Sweet.

However, that warm, grateful feeling in your chest is fleeting, and the next thing you know, you’re dripping, breathless, and absolutely sore in all the unsexy ways.

The AC is on full blast, but it does nothing to keep your shirt from sticking to your back. The bench underneath you is soft, but it does nothing to ease the soreness of your muscles. Your best friend is cheering you on, but it does absolutely nothing to change the fact that you were one set away from queuing to the afterlife on the express lane.

It was absolutely horrible. 

“One last set, and we can go for the cooldown,” Mingyu says as he squats down to your level on the bench. It was unfair how he still looked composed while you were sprawled out like a sopping towel that had been carelessly thrown onto the nearest surface. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” You breathe out, eyes trained on the ceiling of the gym as you try to steady your racing heart. You’re not sure if this workout thing was going to lessen your risk for a CVD or send you straight into an infarction.

“Nope, but you’re the one who wanted this. Remember?” Mingyu’s grin is smug. “No harm in quitting, really.”

In all honesty, you were considering quitting after that horrendous workout, but Mingyu just had to open his mouth and taunt you. Quickly, you shoot up straight, eyes narrowed in challenge as you look at Mingyu and get the dumbbells from the floor. There was no way you were going to let Mingyu be all smug in that stupid ‘I-told-you-so’ tone of his. You were going to bench press these dumbbells like an absolute machine and maybe even send them flying his way if you still had the strength after the set.

“Who said I was quitting?” You huff out before leaning back on the bench, getting in the position for a bench press.

Mingyu grins at you from the mirror and cheers, “Okay, last set!”

With fingers barely brushing your elbows, Mingyu spots you for the last time that evening. Eyes locked, knees bent, body leaning forward, the man is attuned to each and every one of your moves in the event that your arms give out. 

With a final huff, you push the dumbbells away one last time before dropping them onto the ground. At the loud thud, Mingyu cheers, hand stretching out in front of you for a high five that you weakly return.

“Good job,” Mingyu says as he grabs both of your wrists and pulls you up from the bench. “Come on. The sooner we finish the cooldown, the sooner you can go home.”

At the mention of home, your mind is immediately flooded by the images of a cool shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a soft bed. It’s amazing, you think, how a single gym session straight from hell had you savoring the most mundane of things that you once overlooked.

After the cooldown, Mingyu walks you to where your car is parked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Gyu, it’s fine, really,” You wave off Mingyu’s concern with a swipe of your hand. “Plus, how are you going to get back here if we’re using my car?”

Mingyu shrugs, “I can take the train back here.”

“That’s too inconvenient,” You reply as you open the door of your car. “I’m fine, I swear.”

Banter and bickering aside, Mingyu’s always been like this. He’s always been the type of person to go through any lengths for the people he holds close to his heart, even when they didn’t deserve it. He could easily wave off any inconvenience if it meant that the people he loved would be happy and taken care of. You honestly think it’s part of the reason why you can’t move on from him so easily.

“Fine,” Mingyu knows you’re stubborn so he doesn’t push. “But text me when you get home, okay?”

“Wow, are you my mother?” You joke as you get into the driver’s seat.

“No, but she trusts me to take care of you, so don’t make me look bad by dying,” Mingyu replies. 

“Yeah, whatever, bye!” You wave before shutting your door.

Mingyu only rolls his eyes with a smile as he waves back, “Text me when you get home!”

The drive home is uneventful, and before you even realize it, you’ve already parked and your keys are already jangling as you open your door.

When the door swings open, you take a deep breath, savoring the scent of your apartment that’s free from the smell of rubber, sweat, and self-deprecation. The door shuts behind you with an audible thud at the kick of your foot, and the beep that follows assures you that it’s locked.

Quickly, you pull out your phone and type away.

[Y/N]: Got home safely 

The Seen at the bottom of the message appears quickly, almost as if the receiver had been waiting. The nickname on the screen has the corners of your lips tugging into a small smile, mind suddenly flooded by memories of Mingyu stealing your phone and constantly changing his name on it until you just gave up and left it as is.

[Gyu <3]: Good to hear [Gyu <3]: Make sure to eat properly and get rest [Gyu <3]: For the gains

What a gymrat, you think. You’re not even surprised anymore. This is the same guy that brings a huge backpack that congains gym clothes, low-sodium chicken breast, protein, and a jar of peanut butter. A little atrocious, but hey, if it works then it works.

[Y/N]: I will [Y/N]: Are you home already?

The three dots on your screen linger for a second longer than it usually does.

[Gyu <3]: sent a photo

Absolutely diabolical is the only way you can describe the photo Mingyu sends, and for a second, you wonder if he’s drunk. His head is thrown back against the blue couch you’ve seen multiple times whenever you visited his apartment. His neck is bared, and you can see the silver chain peak from underneath his black shirt. Your best friend was not beating the playboy allegations with this one despite how respectful he actually is because that photo genuinely looked like it would come with an obnoxious ‘wyd?’ text at 1 AM sharp.

[Y/N]: Put a jumpscare warning next time <3

It’s the same old routine you’ve been going through since high school. Get flustered, play it off, and pretend like you didn’t want Mingyu’s teasing to be real.

Damn, you really needed to move on and get a boyfriend soon.

[Gyu <3]: People would literally pay for a selca from me [Gyu <3]: I hope you know that :(((

You can already imagine the pout on Mingyu’s and hear the whine of his voice.

[Y/N]: I did not, but thanks for the heads up [Y/N]: Business opportunity for me 

The texting continues for a while until your eyes catch sight of the clock on your wall. The time was looking dangerously close to ‘if I don’t sleep now I will regret it tomorrow’ territory, so immediately, you type out a quick goodbye, head into the shower, and get ready for bed.

[Gyu <3]: Already leaving me?  [Gyu <3]: Jk go rest, you’ll need it for tomorrow [Gyu <3]: Good night :)

— 

The morning following your workout yesterday is an experience straight from hell.

Every movement has you wincing and each of your steps feels like a losing battle against gravity. Your morning shower does nothing to ease the ache or lessen the exhaustion, and breakfast is nothing more than a grim reminder of the fact that you had to keep track of your macros. It’s absolutely miserable, and you’re already dreading having to go back, but Mingyu’s words keep echoing through your head like a broken record.

Consistency is key.

With that, you suck it up, finish your breakfast that had an atrocious amount of eggs, and head out to work. For a moment, you consider grabbing your keys to drive. While driving would be convenient in helping you avoid the morning crowd in the station, using the subway would let you get in a few more steps than you usually did. So without looking back, you shut your apartment door behind you and head to the station.

Your shift, much like your early commute, is uneventful. The only thing that gave it a bit of thrill was the fact that your body was aching terribly, and every single one of your interactions was a challenge to hide that fact. Thankfully, only Jihyo seems to notice your odd gait and the occasional wince.

“Damn, was the workout that bad?” Jihyo asks as she hands you a can of fruit tea. “It’s low-calorie, in case you’re tracking.”

You thank Jihyo, grateful at the fact that she’s a gym enthusiast too. You don’t think the process would be easy if you had someone constantly inviting you to eat out and get wasted. Jihyo, thankfully, only does that in moderation.

“Mingyu is insane,” You reply, the can hissing as you pull the tab back. You take a sip before continuing, “At this point, I think he’s just sadistic.”

Jihyo snorts, “What workout plan did he give you anyway?”

The grim look on your face is the only warning Jihyo gets before you start explaining the routine that Mingyu had given you. Each sentence that leaves your mouth has Jihyo’s grin slowly faltering until she’s staring at you with palpable concern. You don’t know if you’re proud that you survived or concerned that even Jihyo looks like she’s one blink away from sobbing for you.

“Honestly? Good luck,” Jihyo is shaking her head in disbelief. “I think Mingyu's trying to kill you.”

“He won’t be succeeding,” You say, determined to overcome whatever bullshit workout Mingyu had in store for you today. “I honestly think he was just trying to scare me off, but it isn’t going to work.”

–

Your suspicions of Mingyu giving you an absolutely diabolical workout routine on your first day in an attempt to scare you off were proven correct when he gives you an easier workout for today. Unlike the eight workouts he gave you yesterday, he only gave you four and a quick comment of, “Guess I didn’t succeed in making you leave, huh.”

Asshole, you think.

“So was the entire workout plan fake?” You ask, pushing the plate through on the barbell with a thud as you narrow your eyes at Mingyu who's on the other side of the barbell. 

“Yes,” Mingyu snickers, not even trying to deny it. “I just had to see just how serious you were.”

You roll your eyes, stepping back from the barbell. “I am serious about this, Gyu. I’m not getting any younger. Some of the people from our year already are already engaged, married, or raising kids.”

“Life’s not a race,” Mingyu shrugs before pointing to a spot on the floor. “Stand here. We’re doing RDLs.”

“You’re a man. It’s easier for you to say that…” You whisper underneath your breath. Mingyu didn’t understand the struggle of living in a society where women were valued more for their beauty than their capabilities. Men had more freedom when it came to age, looks, and other unrealistic standards. In this unequal world, men aged like fine wine while women could only age like grapes. You hope Mingyu doesn’t hear you though. The gym didn’t exactly seem like the place to be talking about glass ceilings and patriarchal constructs. “How many?”

“3 sets, 12 reps, no progressive overload for today.” Mingyu says as he reaches out to flatten his palm on the small of your back. “Straighten your back. Unless you want a spine injury.”

The rest of your workout continues smoothly despite the aches you had to overcome. Mingyu no longer seemed like he was trying to use the gym equipment to kill you or chase you off. In fact, he was scarily supportive, with his usual teasing replaced by more genuine encouragement that had you braving through your sets with more determination. Once the workout ends, you’re quick to change into a fresh shirt and pack up the rest of your things.

Mingyu approaches you, drinking from his bottle before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He eyes you zipping up your bag for a while before he speaks, “Are you driving home?”

“No, I’m taking the subway.” You reply, stringing the bag over your shoulder. “Helps me get more steps in.”

Mingyu whistles at that, “Damn, that’s dedication.”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to regret it,” You sigh. “I can’t even feel my legs anymore.”

“Don’t take the subway then. I’ll drive you home,” Mingyu offers, but it seems more like a command.

“Gyu, our apartments are literally in the opposite direction of each other,” You remind him, hand on your hip. 

“You say that like it’s a problem,” Mingyu scoffs as he gets his own bag. “I’m driving you, and you can’t say no.”

Your eyes narrow at that. While you definitely did not want to walk 500 meters to the nearest station, you also did not like being told what you can or cannot do. “Actually, I can–”

“We can go eat jjajangmyeon at our usual spot,” Mingyu grins as he slings an arm around your shoulders and begins leading you out of the gym.

“Fuck you for knowing me so well.” You grumble. Despite your initial hesitance, your feet follow Mingyu towards his car.

“Love you too,” Mingyu laughs as he opens the passenger door for you before going to the driver’s side of the car.

You hate the way your heart flutters at that.

–

It’s a month into your gym journey that you actually start to notice changes.

The physical changes were mild, a few cm off your waist and a little bit of toning around some areas were all easy to overlook if you didn’t look hard enough. However, the feeling… That was what changed completely. You felt lighter and stronger all at once. You could go on longer walks without getting immediately winded, and you could lift heavier objects without the fear that it would crush you underneath its weight. You had been so caught up with wanting aesthetic changes that you completely overlooked the lifestyle benefits of getting the CDC recommended 150-minutes of moderate physical activity per week. 

You think that’s what has you messaging Jihyo on a Saturday morning for a shopping trip.

[Y/N]: Do you want to go shopping? [Y/N]: I’m thinking of getting new gym clothes… [babes]: GIRL ADFGHJKJHGFDSDFGH [babes]: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS [babes]: GET YOUR WALKING SHOES READY FOR THIS IM NOT GOING EASY ON YOU

The moment Jihyo’s fingers find their way around your wrist, it was game over. Not a single store selling gym apparel was left unvisited, and by the end of it all, you had multiple sets of gym clothes that would put you on par with those fitness influencers. Was it necessary to have that many sets? No. Were they in such a cute color that you and Jihyo just had to get matching sets? Yes.

Which led to the present, with you and Jihyo sitting next to your numerous shopping bags as you waited for your food to come out. The shopping session had somehow transitioned into another girl’s day where you yapped about anything and everything under the sun.

“You should try dating apps,” Jihyo suddenly suggests when you inform her that Mingyu refuses to set you up with any of his friends from the gym. “We don’t really have time for anything else unless you’re willing to go bar hopping or clubbing after your shift.”

“Pass,” Your nose scrunches at the idea. Those were two of the last things you’d ever find yourself doing after an exhausting shift. “But aren’t dating apps full of creeps?”

“Yes, but that’s where I met my boyfriend,” Jihyo smiles at the thought of the man. “Took me a while to find him though, and there were definitely a lot of creeps on there.”

You turn it over in your head for a while, unable to come to a decision. The idea of putting yourself out there like a product for everyone else to judge has your stomach turning, in all honesty, but some part of you is also curious. “I’ll think about it.”

“No pressure at all, girl,” Jihyo replies. “I heard the online dating scene is bad nowadays, so it might just be a waste of time.”

The first thing you do is download the first dating app you see and set up your profile. Despite the fact that the process only takes a few steps, it takes you two hours of typing and erasing on your phone before you’re satisfied with your profile. You were, as Mingyu likes to say it, an overachiever, and while you hated the idea of having to appeal to men, you also hated the idea of failing your first attempt at online dating.

It’s 10 left swipes in that you realize that Jihyo wasn’t lying when she said the online dating scene was bad. Their bios were absolutely atrocious, and you could easily tell that some of these were performative males or just straight up fuckboys despite their big age. Some of them refused to put clear pictures, some of them wore shades in every picture, and some of them used nothing but group pictures. You’re so caught up in judging their profiles that you don’t notice your door opening.

“Swipe left, he looks like a rat.”

The sound of Mingyu’s voice close to your ear has you jumping out of your couch, and immediately, your first instinct is to drop your phone and swat at him. “Why are you here?!”

Mingyu stands in front of you sporting his usual lazy day attire: a cap, loose joggers, and jacket that’s half-zipped to partially reveal a tight fitting tee. In response to your question, he raises his left hand to reveal two boxes of chicken and some beer, “Can’t I visit my favorite chimaek buddy?”

“Maybe warn me next time instead of sneaking up on me like a creep?” You huff out, following Mingyu into your kitchen as he rummages through your pantry. “Yah, you’re acting like you live here. Have some respect or I’m going to kick you out.”

Mingyu snorts at your threat as he pulls out packets of ramyeon. He knows your complaints are half-hearted. After all, you’ve spent nearly your entire lives together, so showing up unannounced at each other’s residences and acting like you own the place wasn’t unfamiliar to either of you. “Since when were you on dating apps?”

“Since a while ago,” You sigh out heavily, watching Mingyu turn your stovetop on before placing a pot full of water over the heat. “Jihyo suggested it.”

Mingyu scoffs, arms crossing as he waits for the water to boil. “You’re too good for that.”

“Well, it’s the only feasible option right now,” You reply, hands fiddling with your phone. “My job combined with the gym doesn’t exactly give me a lot of free time, you know.”

Mingyu doesn’t reply, too caught up in throwing the packets of ramyeon and the powder that comes with it into the pot. While you appreciate his concern, it was definitely getting old. You can’t stay in your comfort zone forever. That is how you got here after all, nearly 30, unmarried, and lacking prospects.

Once the ramyeon is cooked, Mingyu places a wooden trivet on your table before setting the pot down. Then, he opens up the boxes of chicken and slides a beer to you. Once he finishes setting up, he’s sitting beside you, giving you a pointed stare as he reaches his hand out. “Give.”

“Give what?” You ask, hand freezing in its descent towards the chopsticks. 

Mingyu gestures to your phone, “Give it. I’ll swipe.”

“Enjoy,” You reply with a roll of your eyes as you hand him your phone.

If you thought your standards were highs, Mingyu’s was just downright unreachable. He doesn’t even linger on the men’s profile before he’s quickly swiping left with a rude comment that would surely lead to a fistfight if Mingyu had said it to the man’s face. In his words, the men either looked too ugly, looked funny, or looked like a player. Every once in a while, he’d pause to read through the bio. Not because he considers them good enough, no. He reads through their bio just to dissect it like he was in a literature class.

“Rating myself a 9 out of 10 because you’re the 1 I need to complete it.” Mingyu almost looks offended as he reads one of the bios. “A nine is very generous for a face like that, really.”

Left swipe.

“If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best,” Mingyu snorts after reading the sentence. “Is this supposed to be his best?”

Left swipe.

“Looking for open-minded girls—“ Mingyu looks absolutely disgusted at this point. “What the fuck?”

Immediate left swipe.

The only thing you can do is laugh as Mingyu progressively gets more frustrated with the profiles. It’s funny, watching him alternate between stuffing his face with chicken and swiping through your phone like a critic. This wasn’t how you envisioned spending your Saturday evening, but you find that you don’t mind.

“Wait, pause on that one,” You quickly grab Mingyu’s hand before he can swipe. This was the first decent profile you’ve seen in the app, and you refuse to let Mingyu accidentally swipe away and crush your hopes and dreams. 

Based on the profile, the man’s name was Eunwoo, and he was just as old as you and Mingyu. He had the kind of face that looked too good to be real: symmetrical, polished, and flawless. His features were so finely-sculpted that it was almost jarring. Not only that, but the guy had personality too! He was the only one—so far—who had a bio that didn’t make you want to chuck your phone across the room. You think it wouldn’t be bad to make him your first swipe—

Left.

Swipe.

“Yah!” Immediately, you’re turning to Mingyu with a frown. “He had a decent profile. Why did you swipe left?!”

Mingyu looks at you with that judgmental stare of his. “Pretty boys like that are up to no good.”

You almost want to argue that Mingyu himself is a pretty boy who looks like he’s up to no good, so he had no right to be calling out other men with the exact same format, but you didn’t really want to give him an unintentional ego boost. Defeated, you rip into your chicken and chew angrily, the sodium and flavoring somewhat easing your frustration. “Yah, just set it down if you’re not going to be helpful.”

Mingyu only pouts at you, shutting your phone off and placing it on the table with a light thud. “Not my fault all the men there are trash.”

“Yeah, whatever, just eat your chicken,” You grumble. Well, there goes your plan of online dating.

Another fail.

By the time the two of you finish eating, drinking, and cleaning up, Mingyu is already sprawled out on your couch and flipping through the channels on your TV. If someone were to walk in right now, it would be easy to assume that Mingyu was the one who lived in the apartment and that you were just a guest.

“Are you staying over?” You asked, moving to grab your towel as you walked towards the bathroom. It wasn’t uncommon for Mingyu to find himself crashing over at your place, after all. It’s like you had a huge, clingy dog with abandonment issues, really.

“I’m too drunk to drive home,” Mingyu answers as he follows you, leaning against the doorframe to lock eyes with you through the mirror of your bathroom as you brush your teeth. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

“Other than sleeping in and scrolling through my phone all day?” You move to rinse your mouth. “No, not really.”

“Let’s run then,” Mingyu suggests, but it doesn’t really feel like he’s going to take no for an answer. 

“No,” You quickly reply, before pushing Mingyu out of the bathroom. “Now go, I need to bathe.”

“Can I j—“

“Why are you like this?!”

The slam of your bathroom door muffles Mingyu’s obnoxious laughter. 

—

Sometimes, Mingyu wonders how a person as smart as you could be so dense.

He’s literally in pajamas in your kitchen, waiting for the water in your electric kettle to boil so that he can prepare your tea just the way you like it, and somehow you still think he’s being the best fucking bestie on Earth. Part of him thinks he can kiss you right on the mouth with tongue, and you’ll still find a way to play it off as platonic.

There was nothing platonic about the way he wanted to wake up to the sight of your face every morning, and there was definitely nothing platonic about the way he wanted to bend you over your couch whenever you wore those stupidly short shorts you liked so much because sleeping in them was more comfortable. Every single day with you for the past 20-something years has been a test of self-control, a challenge to shut up in fear of ruining your friendship. It’s not that hard of a challenge, Mingyu thinks. Especially when you were hellbent on ignoring every signal he’s sent your way.

Frustrated, Mingyu narrows his eyes at the teabag in the cup as he pours the boiled water, staring (glaring) at it like its entire existence offended him.

“Gyu, what are you doing?” Your voice is soft as you call out to Mingyu, frame slightly wobbly from the synergistic effects of liquor and sleep as you walk out of the bedroom towards him. The oversized tee you’re wearing does nothing to hide the fact that you’re wearing the shorts, and Mingyu has to physically restrain himself from crashing out in your kitchen. 

“Making tea, want some?” Mingyu offers it like he wasn’t making it for you, like he didn’t know your habits like the back of his hand.

“Since when did you drink tea?” Your brows are narrowed and your cheeks are puffed up, and Mingyu has to ignore every single voice in his head that’s pushing him to pinch your cheek. 

He needed to get a grip.

“Since now,” Mingyu shrugs and pours himself a cup, too lazy to think of an excuse. The flavor—or the lack of it, rather—hits his tongue, and he’s unable to stop himself from pulling a face. “How do you drink that?”

It’s your turn to shrug, taking a few sips until the tiny cup is empty. “It’s got numerous health benefits.”

“Okay, doc, whatever you say,” Mingyu replies, grabbing your empty cup to wash it alongside his. 

When he finishes up with the dishes, Mingyu is quick to drag you back to your bedroom and plop on the bed beside you. He wonders why you let him do this, wonders why you let him sleep in your bed, reorganize your kitchen, and basically just insert himself into numerous aspects of your everyday life. 

Did friends do that?

Sure, he’s cuddled with the homies before, smacked their asses even, but those were his bros. You, on the other hand, were not one of his bros. You’re the girl he’s been in love with since he knew what falling in love was, and he’s sharing a bed with you like it’s the most normal, non-romantic thing ever. Mingyu doesn’t know how you look so peaceful while he’s a few centimeters away from you and fighting the demons telling him to cuddle you.

Fuck, he feels like he’s taking advantage of you just by lying there. It makes him feel like he’s betraying your trust by being secretly in love with you while you remain clueless. In his defense, you offered your bed the one time he was over, and like a spoiled dog that had a taste of his owner’s bed, Mingyu refused to sleep anywhere else after that whenever he visited. So really, the two of you were to blame: you for offering and him for getting used to it.

“Night, Gyu.” Your voice is soft, the sheets ruffling slightly as you tuck it under your chin.

Mingyu steels himself, the pillow shrinking in his hold as he replies, “Good night.”

—

You were definitely feeling a little more confident today.

The sports bra you’re wearing is a huge change from the usual loose shirt you wore, and the shorts clinging to your thighs were just as foreign. The you from a month ago would not have been caught dead wearing this out in public in fear of scrutiny, but you find that the you from the present was comfortable enough to start showing more skin. 

Contrary to your initial belief, people in the gym didn’t really care about other people’s business. In fact, most of them were actively supportive, with some cheering other gym goers every once in a while when they’re doing a particularly difficult set. It was easier to push your limits when the people around you were judgment-free. Kudos to Mingyu and Seungcheol, you think. They were the ones responsible for building this community after all.

After one final look, you quickly leave the changing room before your insecurities take over and you change your mind. You weren’t going to give your self-deprecating thoughts the time or space to keep you from trying out things that you wanted to do.

That resolve of yours is further strengthened when you pass by Youngmi who’s quick to whistle and compliment you, “Looking good, Y/N!”

Her words instantly put a smile on your face and a burn in your cheeks, but you’re quick to reply, “I get it from you!”

Youngmi only waves you off with a laugh.

Feeling more confident than before, you open the doors and prepare yourself to face another brutal session of whole body workouts with Mingyu. Some part of you thinks that it’s a little sadistic on Mingyu’s end to have you destroying all your muscles on a Monday, but if it works, then it works.

Speaking of the man, the first thing you see upon entering the gym is Mingyu seated on a workout bench absolutely engrossed with his phone, chuckles leaving his chest every once in a while. Curious, you keep your footsteps light as you approach, sneaking up behind him to get a quick look at his phone. Once you’re a few centimeters away from him, you lean over his shoulder to look at what had him laughing so hard.

Instagram reels.

The man, at his big age, was laughing at Instagram reels.

“Dude, are you 12?” You ask with a scoff, the sudden disruption making Mingyu jump in his seat.

“Yah! Don’t sneak up on me like that–” Mingyu’s words are cut short when he catches sight of you, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What are you wearing?”

“Workout clothes, duh,” You hope your reply comes out as casual as you intended it to. The initial confidence you had was slowly dwindling at Mingyu’s reaction. Why did he look so shocked? Was the outfit ugly? Was it ugly on you? While you didn’t really expect a specific reaction from Mingyu, him staring intently and asking that question wasn’t something you expected either. Feeling a little more vulnerable, you’re quick to ask. “Is it ugly?”

The initial shock on Mingyu’s face is suddenly replaced by panic, “What? No!”

“Yah, don’t lie to me,” You reply, mood a little more sour. “Be honest.”

“It looks good!” Mingyu quickly replies, a little too loudly, and you hear Seungcheol guffawing somewhere in the background which has Mingyu frowning and you nearly dying from embarrassment. “It’s different, but good. I just got used to the shirt and joggers combo.”

Seungcheol, no longer satisfied in being a bystander in your godawfully embarrassing conversation, walks up to Mingyu and slings a buff arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Nice outfit.”

The comment followed by Seungcheol giving you a once-over has your face burning.

“Thanks, Cheol.” You smile at the man, mood slowly lifting. Well, at least Seungcheol appreciated your new look. 

You definitely didn’t mind the attention. Seungcheol, with his strong brows, handsome face, and sturdy frame, had been someone you considered asking Mingyu to set you up with. However, you had quickly given up on that idea when Mingyu had declared his friends strictly off-limits.

Well, a girl could dream.

“No need to thank me for telling the truth,” Seungcheol gives you a wink that has Mingyu’s mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Hyung, are you seriously flirting with her right now?” Mingyu looks absolutely offended.

Seungcheol only shrugs and replies, “Can’t blame a man for having eyes–”

“Do you want them gone–”

“Yah, Kim Mingyu since when did you learn to fight back–”

You tune out the rest of their conversation, choosing to focus on your routine instead. 

–

Kim Mingyu was having the worst fucking time of his life.

He’s gone back and forth from the bathroom to the gym around five times now, with each visit to the bathroom spent thinking of puppies, sunshine, and anything else that would get rid of his fucking hard-on. While he could just rub one out and call it a day, he thinks it’s a whole new low to be doing it in a public space where anyone could walk in. Not only that, but it felt a little disrespectful to you.

It’s just clothes, Mingyu thinks. Clothes that were meant to make you more comfortable when your body sweats and overheats. Clothes that were meant to give you a wider range of movement. Clothes that looked a little too good on you. Clothes that had Mingyu questioning his sanity for a second when he first saw you.

Mingyu has seen that set many times before on many different women, and he never bat an eye. At one point, Mingyu thought himself a paragon of the male species for being so desensitized to it. Among mere mortals that set a bad example for his kind, Mingyu was at the top. At least, he was until you decided to stroll into the gym wearing the set, and suddenly, Mingyu finds himself at the bottom of the hierarchy.

With a loud clink, Mingyu loads another heavy plate onto the barbell he’s about to bench press. The more he had to struggle with this, the less he could think about you and those stupid yoga shorts hugging your thighs and your sculpted as–

“Shit!” Mingyu hisses when he drops one of the plates onto his toe, and he thanks his lucky stars that it’s one of the lighter plates. 

Immediately, Mingyu’s sitting down on the bench and pulling off his shoes to take a look at the damage. All was going well until you’re suddenly heading (bouncing) his way.

“Are you okay?” is the only thing you ask before you drop onto your knees to check on Mingyu’s foot. 

Mingyu nearly fucking combusts at the sight. You’re only checking his foot like a good person, you work instincts taking over, and Mingyu knows that. He knows that it’s part of your job to be concerned about other people, knows that it’s always been your trademark to excessively worry about everyone but yourself, knows that you’re just being a good friend. Mingyu knows all of that, so why the fuck was all his blood rushing down south?

Before he can stop himself, Mingyu’s mind is flooded by images of you knelt between his legs, away from prying eyes. He wonders if you’d do it slowly or quickly, wonders how much pressure your grip would have, wonders how many times you’d have to practice before you could get it all down your throat–

At Mingyu’s shaky sigh, you’re quick to look up at him, eyes round and glassy under the gym lights. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Mingyu lies, his blood pumping vigorously through his veins. The pain was the last thing he was worried about. He was doing everything he could to keep his little–he supposes it’s not that little–friend from rising and traumatizing you. “I’m okay, don’t worry about me.”

“If you say so,” You relent, putting Mingyu’s sock and shoe back on carefully. “Ice that as soon as possible, then keep it raised.”

The moment you stand up from the floor, all the tension leaves Mingyu’s body, and it’s like he can finally breathe again.

Fuck, you would be the death of him.

Thankfully, after that incident, the universe seems to take mercy on Mingyu. The rest of the gym session continues without a hitch, and before Mingyu knew it, you were in his car and he was driving you home. It had become a habit ever since you started going to the gym, a change that Mingyu finds himself absolutely happy with.

The loud ringtone of Mingyu’s phone disturbs the comfortable silence that had already settled in the car.

“Who is it?” Mingyu asks as you reach out to check his phone.

“Your mom,” You replied, gaze moving to look at him. “Should I answer it?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu replies as he signals to the left. “Put it on loudspeaker.”

“How is my lovely son doing?”

“Eomeoni, it’s Y/N.” The smile on your face is bright, and your tone is even brighter. “Mingyu’s busy driving.”

“Oh, even better!” Mingyu doesn’t know if he should be offended or overjoyed that his mother sounded happier when she realized that she was talking to you. “I missed you sweetie, how have you been?”

The fond smile on your face has Mingyu’s heart warming up weirdly. “I’m doing good, eomeoni. Work’s been tiring, but I’m getting by. How about you? Are you taking all your vitamins?”

“Aigoo, always such a sweet girl,” Mingyu’s mom replies, voice soft. “You ask about me more often than my own son. He’s useless, I tell you!”

Mingyu takes the red light as a chance to insert himself into the conversation, grabbing your wrist to pull the phone closer to his mouth. “Eomma, I can hear you!”

You cackle from the side, absolutely smug at the idea that Mingyu’s own mother preferred you over her own son.

(Mingyu doesn’t mind. He prefers you more, too)

“Good, maybe you’ll call me more often!”

Mingyu sighs, “Eomma, I’m just really busy with the gym right now—“

“Yes, yes, I understand.” His mother dismisses his excuses, clearly not in the mood to argue with him. “Put Y/N back on the phone, I need to ask her something.”

Mingyu gapes at the phone, absolutely offended at how quickly his mother brushed him off. She was out here calling you sweetie while she dismissed him like an obnoxious fly? She wasn’t even trying to hide her favoritism anymore!

“I’m here, eomeoni,” You bring the phone closer to you, sticking a tongue out at Mingyu childishly to add insult to injury. “What did you need to ask?”

“What are your plans for Chuseok?” Mingyu’s mother asks, and Mingyu immediately straightens in his seat. “Are you going home? I heard your parents are going on a trip.”

Despite having his eyes on the road, Mingyu finds that his ears are more attuned to this conversation than the commotion outside. He secretly hopes you don’t have plans just so you could spend it with him and his family.

“Ah, yes they are,” You reply. “I don’t really have other plans so I’ll probably just rest the whole day.”

“Aigoo, that’s a waste of time. You should come over for the holidays!” Mingyu internally cheers at his mother’s proposition. She could be overbearing at times, but this was one of the few times he was actually thankful for it. 

Like the daughter-in-law of his mother’s dreams, you’re quick to modestly refuse. “Oh, I don’t want to impose—“

“Nonsense! Come over, I’ll be very upset if you don’t.” Mingyu grins as his mother starts going down the emotional blackmail route. “And make sure to drag Mingyu with you. He hasn’t gone home in a while.”

Mingyu’s grin falls. and you laugh at that. “I will, eomeoni.”

“I’ll be waiting for the two of you, okay? I’ll be ending the call now. I don’t want to be the uncool old lady that gets in the way of your couple time. I love you both~”

Mingyu snorts at his mother’s suggestive tone, already used to it. If there was anyone in this world that wanted you to be with Mingyu more than Mingyu himself, it would be his mother, his sister, then his father. His whole family adored you, and every visit to his hometown was spent with questions of whether or not the two of you were already together. Unfortunately, each visit of his leaves them disappointed.

You, however, did not seem accustomed to this. “We’re not dating—“

“Love you too. Please end the call so I can spend more time with Y/N,” Mingyu cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

“What an ungrateful son, but okay, I will~”

The call is dropped, and immediately, you’re glaring at Mingyu. 

“Great, now your mom thinks we’re dating,” You grumble out, arms crossing in a way that has Mingyu wanting to squeeze you in his arms and keep you away from the rest of the world.

“Is it that bad if she does?” Mingyu asks thoughtlessly.

For a few seconds, only the hum of the engine and the chaos of the city is heard. Mingyu wonders if that was the wrong thing to say. He was genuinely just curious. 

Mingyu knows you like the back of his hand, and you know him just as well. You’ve spent your entire lives together, and that didn’t seem like it was going to change soon. He spends his mornings thinking of what to text you, his afternoons sending you stupid posts he thinks you’ll find funny, his evenings working out with you, and his nights dreaming of you. There was not a single hour of Mingyu’s day that wasn’t spent on you in some way, somehow. So really, would it be so bad if the two of you were dating? 

“I guess not, but you’re technically lying to her,” You shrug, and you don’t know it, but Mingyu’s heart skips a beat at the implication of your words.

‘Let’s make it real then,’ Mingyu mentally replies,  and it takes every single ounce of whatever willpower he has to not voice it out for you to hear.

You’re not ready, he thinks. If he caved and spilled two decades worth of feelings to you, you’d probably stare at him like he had gone insane before running away. Mingyu would never be able to handle that, so instead, he plays it off, “Don’t overthink it. She knows I’ll tell her if we’re actually dating.”

He’s a coward, he knows. However, he’s not that disappointed this time. Because for the first time in a very long time, Mingyu sees hope.

Maybe he had a shot, after all.

—

Mingyu was acting… Weird.

To be fair, it’s not like he was ever normal, a trait he and his other friends seem to share, but his behavior these past few weeks were a different sort of weird that had you wondering if someone had abducted your Mingyu and replaced it with a fake one that was eerily nice, accommodating, and gentlemanly.

At 9 AM sharp you would get a good morning text, and you’re starting to realize that this may be around the time Mingyu wakes up. This is followed by a quick call around lunchtime where he asks whether you’ve eaten or not and if you’re going to the gym later. After that, you’d go straight to the gym, and Mingyu would be at the doors, waiting for you and accompanying you inside. While you didn’t mind the attention, you’re sure that Mingyu’s refusal to leave the area within a 2-meter radius of you was scaring any potential suitor that may be interested in you. After all, who the hell would want to go up against a man like that?

Somehow, it only got worse today.

You had been minding your own business, fingers clacking repeatedly on the keyboard as you sent out prescription after prescription and answered email after email. Having been so absorbed in sorting out the non-medical aspects of your job, you were deaf to the buzzing of your phone against your desk. A mistake on your end, really. You underestimate Mingyu’s persistence.

It’s an hour past lunch when you shut your laptop off, a heavy sigh leaving you as you grab your bag and head out of your room to start walking towards the hospital cafeteria. The first thing that greets you upon rounding the corner to the elevator is the sight of your co-workers huddled up and gossiping as they look at someone from a distance.

Curious, you join the crowd.

“What’s going on?” You ask Jiwoo who’s situated closest to you.

“Oh, Dr. L/N!” Jiwoo and your other colleagues are quick to bow and greet you, the gossiping halted for a second before Jiwoo answers you, “There’s a really handsome guy over there. Apparently, he’s waiting for someone.”

“Oh, really?” Intrigued, you crane your neck over the crowd to look at the man seated on one of the chairs. On his side was a plastic bag with the logo of your favorite chicken place, and for a second, your stomach grumbles at the sight. While you can’t see the man’s face, given the cap obscuring it, you could at least see the rest of his body, and boy did he look like he had the build of a Calvin Klein model. It would be a shame if his face didn’t match, you think.

“Yeah!” Jia, your other coworker, answers. “We’re betting that he’s probably Hana’s boyfriend. She did say that her boyfriend was really handsome.”

Internally, you die a little. Well, there goes your shot with this mystery man. Hana was one of the prettiest nurses in this hospital, and the patients loved her for that. Not only that, but she was also one of the sweetest girls you’ve met. She was a hard worker too! Good for her, you think. She deserved nothing less.

“I hope he isn’t though,” Mina sighs out sadly, “It’s not often that we get to see someone that handsome.”

“I know right,” Jiwoo affirms. “Do you think he’s a model?”

“He’d be more famous if he was, and we’d know him right away.” Jia answers. “Should we go ask him?”

However, the moment the man looks up, you realize that everything everyone assumed had been wrong. Dead wrong.

Kim Mingyu’s eyes meet yours, and immediately, he’s standing up and walking your way.

“Y/N!” He calls out to you with a grin, holding up the chicken.

The reaction is instant. Multiple heads turn to you at the speed of light, and something akin to shock and betrayal fill their eyes as they realize that it was you that the handsome man was waiting for. In your defense, you didn’t know it was Mingyu! Which brings you to the next concern: why the fuck was Kim Mingyu at your workplace with food from your favorite chicken restaurant?

Your coworkers part like the Red Sea the moment Mingyu is within your vicinity. Like the dense motherfucker he is, he pulls you in for a tight hug, unaware of the consequences that would surely follow this.

Y/N L/N, resident nun of the hospital, celibate by choice (by whose choice?) found displaying public affection with Mr. Sex-On-Legs. The hushed whispers in the halls of the hospital would soon be filled with nothing but your name on repeat.

Yeah, fuck your life, really.

Immediately, you’re pushing Mingyu off discreetly and excusing yourself from your coworkers who can only wave you goodbye as they gape at the man that you’re dragging away. Kim Mingyu, like the oblivious idiot he is, only follows you, letting you drag him to wherever your heart desires like a puppy that would tail its beloved owner to the ends of the Earth.

The moment the two of you are at the hospital’s cafeteria, you’re plopping across Mingyu and giving him a questioning glare, “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Mingyu slides over the chicken to your side of the table. “Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten.”

As if on cue, an audible grumble from your stomach is heard, and Mingyu is quick to laugh and starts pulling out two boxes. “Eat up.”

You could let your pride win, but you’re honestly too hungry for that. So with a dramatic sigh, you grab the box from Mingyu and break your chopsticks into two. “Thanks.”

Mingyu only waves you off with his hand, mouth too full of chicken and kimchi to reply.

Despite your initial annoyance, you can’t deny the way your heart is fluttering in your chest. It’s a little unfair, you think. Actually, no, it’s extremely unfair. It’s extremely unfair that Kim Mingyu was quite literally the perfect guy for you, and you couldn’t have him because he was your best friend. It was extremely unfair that he knew you so well, but he couldn’t seem to figure out that you were in love with him. Most of all, it was extremely unfair that he loved you so well through his actions, but he didn’t love you in the way you wanted him to, in the way you were so in love with him.

It’s in that hospital cafeteria, watching Mingyu eat the chicken like it was his last meal, that you realize that you were still hopelessly in love with Kim Mingyu despite your efforts these past few months to forget him. Maybe asking the man you’re in love with to help you move on from him wasn’t the best idea, but did you ever really think straight when it came to Kim Mingyu?

For a second, you allow yourself to pretend. You allow yourself to imagine that Kim Mingyu is your loving boyfriend who has decided to drop by your workplace after realizing that you probably haven’t eaten lunch. You imagine he’s in love with you just as much as you are with him, and you imagine that that is the reason why he finds himself here. Not because he was a good friend, not because your mother and his mother would kill him for not looking after you, not because he feels obligated to, but because he’s absolutely, undoubtedly, recklessly, unconditionally in love with you.

For a second, you allow yourself to believe that maybe that isn’t too far from the truth.

– 

Choi Seungcheol wishes he had never gone to the gym today.

It had started out okay, really. His body felt strong, his lifts were all successful, and his knee wasn’t acting up, for once. The day ahead of him was looking bright with nothing but sunshine and perfect lifts awaiting for him. That notion of his, however, quickly comes crashing down when a familiar woman walks in: Song Haneul.

Why is she a problem, you ask? Simple. 

Choi Seungcheol is an observant man. He knows that Mingyu’s stupidly in love with you. He’s had to endure watching the man pine after you like an idiot since high school. Seungcheol also knows that you’re somewhat into Mingyu as well, but he couldn’t be too sure because you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve the same way his idiot of a friend did. Lastly, Seungcheol knows Song Haneul, and he knows about the stupid crush she’s had on Mingyu since she joined the gym two years ago. 

Seungcheol had to watch Haneul constantly hit on Mingyu (it was borderline harassment, really), and he had to watch Mingyu constantly reject her. She had disappeared after a particularly harsh refusal from Mingyu–not harsh enough Seungcheol thinks–and went to pursue modeling for a while. Seungcheol thought that was the end of her story, but the way she’s sashaying her way into the gym with that arrogant look on her face has Seungcheol concluding that it was not.

It was going to be hell the moment you, Mingyu, and this woman were in the same room.

(Seungcheol wonders if he should leave early for his own peace of mind or stay behind to have more gossip material that he can share with Jeonghan.)

“Hi Cheol,” is the first thing that leaves Haneul’s mouth, and Seungcheol is already thinking of what he can say to quickly leave the conversation. “How have you been?”

Seungcheol prays that he isn’t this woman’s next object of obsession. He doesn’t think he can be as courteous as Mingyu, and he doesn’t really want his inability to fake social grace to negatively impact the gym’s reputation, “Good, you?”

Somehow, Haneul takes his curt response as an opportunity to give Seungcheol a lengthy recap of what she’s been doing for the past year. Briefly, Seungcheol wonders what sin he committed in his past life to be subjected to this. He was almost tempted to just drop his dumbbells on the ground and walk out of the gym, at this point.

Fortunately for Seungcheol, Mingyu walks into the gym like a knight in shining armor, and Seungcheol is quickly tossed aside like a trend that has gone out of fashion.

Predictable.

Mingyu’s horrified eyes meet Seungcheol’s pitying gaze. The taller man’s lips soundlessly morph into a cry for help as the woman approaches, but Seungcheol can only salute his fallen comrade. Mingyu was on his own for this one, and he just had to survive it. Plus, it’s not like Seungcheol could do anything to help Mingyu without sacrificing his own peace.

However, things get truly interesting the moment you walk in, and the first thing your eyes lock onto is the sight of Haneul slapping Mingyu’s bicep as her obnoxious laughter filled the gym. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way your eyes narrow as you pause in your steps. He also doesn’t miss the way your lips pull into a frown when Haneul starts batting her lash extensions at Mingyu and asks him to help her with her workout for the day. Mingyu, unfortunately, didn’t have a choice but to agree since there were no other trainers—aside from Seungcheol—present to help.

“What’s your split today?” Seungcheol nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice behind him. He had been so focused on watching Mingyu dig his own grave that he didn’t notice you appearing beside him.

Seungcheol pretends he doesn’t see the way Mingyu sends a questioning glance his way.

“Lower body,” Seungcheol watches you from the mirror as you do your usual stretches. For a second, he considers destroying the bro code. It’s no wonder Mingyu hung around you like a feral, overtly territorial golden retriever. If Mingyu hadn’t declared you completely off-limits that one drunken night, Seungcheol would have long made moves on you. “Wanna join?”

However, that bro code doesn’t stop Seungcheol from occasionally flirting with you just to fuck with Mingyu like he’s doing now. He’s just doing Mingyu a favor by making the taller man realize that if he doesn’t man up and confess, someone else will be taking his spot. 

Seungcheol’s just being a good friend, really.

“Sure, what are we starting with?”

Seungcheol ignores the daggers that Mingyu’s eyes were mentally flinging at him.

— 

You had no reason to be jealous. Absolutely. None.

First of all, Mingyu was your best friend, not your boyfriend. He wasn’t betraying you by entertaining the advances of a woman who was actually on his level. You couldn’t fault him for that.

Second of all, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to watch him interact with pretty girls while you remain discarded on the side like a toy that had lost its shine. After all, a good chunk of your college experience was spent interacting with pretty women who only ever got close to you to get closer to Mingyu. You had watched what seemed like genuine female friends ditch you the moment you introduced them to Mingyu, and you watched as Mingyu set you aside just as quickly to interact with a new bombshell you once called your friend.

Third, it’s not like you were ever in the competition.

It’s a little stupid, you think. You had spent months on improving yourself, working tirelessly to look better and hopefully feel better, and for a while, you genuinely believed that things were going to go well. That, coupled with Mingyu’s weirdly affectionate behavior, had you believing for a second that maybe, just maybe, you had a shot. Clearly, you did not.

Seeing the girl freely touching Mingyu like that had you feeling like college you again: unwanted, unimportant, undesired. It’s like all your progress from the past few months all went down the drain, and you’re back to feeling like the girl that was never anyone’s option. 

At your age, you think it shouldn’t be affecting you anymore. Insecurities rooted in teenage angst and college drama shouldn’t be affecting you this much, but for some reason, it still did. You thought that maybe once you fixed yourself to fit, people would finally realize that you, too, were worth noticing, that maybe, they just couldn’t see your potential the way they seemed to do for everyone else but you. The stupid part of you hopes that maybe Mingyu will realize it too.

You didn’t bother saying goodbye to Mingyu once you finished. The moment you and Seungcheol finished the workout, you bid your goodbye to the man and left to go change without even doing your cooldown. You think that no ache in your body could ever outdo the ache in your heart.

The rest of your night follows the monotonous routine it usually does when Mingyu isn’t around. You board the train, get off the train, enter your apartment, eat your dinner, shower, curl up in your bed, and scroll through your phone.

ck.fitness_seoul added to their story.

There’s a feeling in your gut that’s telling you not to click it, but before you can listen to it, your finger has already pressed onto the notification on your screen.

It’s a repost of an Instagram story from a verified account, @sng_haneul.

Like a cruel joke from the universe, a mirror selfie of the girl from earlier with Mingyu stares at you in the darkness of your room. Mingyu’s sitting on a bench with a wide smile, and a few centimeters behind him is Haneul, you assume that’s her name, who has one hand holding up her phone and the other hand clasped on Mingyu’s shoulder in a possessive manner.

With my favorite trainer (he’s off limits, by the way 😜)

Game fucking over, you guess.

Your phone falls onto the bed with a soft thud as jealousy and self-doubt swims in your veins like a brutal concoction formulated by your insecurities. You can’t help the way a tear escapes from your eye before your body eventually breaks into full blown sobs.

A hundred questions flood your mind like a river that had broken through a poorly-built dam. It rushes in with no mercy, no thought. What if you had been born beautiful? What if you didn’t have to work twice as hard just to look half as good? Would life be easier? Surely, it would be in a society like this where looks seemed to matter more than your own credentials. Would anyone take the time to finally look your way? Would Mingyu?

You wish you were her, really. You wish you had been like every other pretty girl that Mingyu had dated. You wish you were the kind of pretty that turned heads in a room, the kind of pretty where you never had to worry about anything else because your looks alone would get you through the problems of everyday life. What a fucking dream, you think.

What a shame you’ll never be that.

Something dies in you that night, you think. You’ve done your part, you’ve put in the work, and you’ve realized that even that was not enough. The only option you had now was to accept it, to accept that no amount of hard work would change the fact that destiny has placed you on the path of endless solitude.

You win, you almost want to scream it to the sky like maybe if you had cried hard enough, the universe would finally take pity on you and do something right.

That never happens.

It’s two weeks into your plan of avoiding Mingyu for the rest of your life that you realize just how much space he takes up in your life. 

His good morning texts remain unanswered which means your short break periods in the morning are left unoccupied. The food deliveries he sends to your workplace is immediately given to the other staff upon your request. The most jarring change of it all was that you no longer went to C&K Fitness Center, choosing to work out with Jihyo in a gym that was located a greater distance from your apartment. You enjoyed Jihyo’s company, you really did, but she wasn’t Mingyu.

It’s during a particularly tiring leg day session fueled by self-deprecation and bitterness that Jihyo decides that enough was enough and that you need to move on soon.

“Ok, this isn’t working,” Jihyo motions for you to drop the barbell onto the floor. “You’re going to injure yourself with how hard you’re going.”

She’s right, but you were too numb to really feel anything. “I know, sorry.”

“Do you want to trash his car like a crazy ex?” Jihyo offers jokingly, but you can tell that if you said yes, she actually would pull through with it, zero hesitation.

“We were never even together,” You clarify, plopping down beside Jihyo on the bench. “We were just friends.”

“And somehow, it’s still worse than actual break-up,” comes Jihyo’s reply, her eyes practically staring into your soul through the mirror. “Do you want to go get wasted?”

“Tempting,” You snort. “Are we going to dress up pretty while getting wasted?”

“Hell yes,” Jihyo grins at you. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find a hottie there.”

You sigh at that, “If it happens, then it happens, but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Don’t worry girl, they’ll be coming to you with how hot you look. Plus, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Jihyo winks. “This Friday, okay? No backing out.”

“I’ll give you permission to drag me out if I do.”

“Yes!” Jihyo cheers, arms wrapping around you as she practically buzzes on her seat. “I’m so excited already. Do you want me to do your make-up? I can if you want me to. Ooh, I can come over then we can prepare together…”

A fond smile creeps onto your face as you listen to Jihyo ramble excitedly about the sudden plans for Friday. It’s not too bad, you think. Despite not being in a romantic relationship, you still had people like Jihyo who loved you in their own way, and not many people could say that they had a ride-or-die akin to the girl beside you.

That night, you sleep a little lighter. Unlike the other days that felt like an endless routine of getting up, going to work, working out, and sleeping, you finally had something to look forward to. 

Baby steps, you think.

Nothing lasted forever, after all, not even the pain you were feeling.

—

Mingyu chose to give you the benefit of the doubt, but Jihyo’s Instagram story is quick to make him take it back.

It’s a harmless mirror selfie, Jihyo’s standing dead center and posing to flex her muscles, but that’s not what catches Mingyu’s eye. What catches Mingyu’s eye is the sight of your side profile that he’s memorized by heart in the background of that mirror selfie.

You had texted him two weeks ago that you wouldn’t be able to come to the gym as often because you were swamped with work. Mingyu didn’t know it then, but “not being able to come to the gym as often” was just another way of you saying that you weren’t coming at all. 

At first, Mingyu let it go. Maybe you really were just busy.  He knows your job can get hectic every once in a while. For a while, Mingyu had let himself believe that, but once you stopped replying to—hell, even just checking—his messages, he came to the conclusion that you were actually avoiding him. The sight of you in the gym that Jihyo goes to quickly cements that conclusion as a fact.

What Mingyu doesn’t know, however, is why you’re avoiding him. You’ve fought before, over stupid things and major things, but none of them ever happened like this. None of them started out with a sudden radio silence that Mingyu thinks is wholly unwarranted. He had done nothing to you, why would you avoid him?

“Yah, you’re thinking too much,” Seungcheol says with a kick to Mingyu’s foot. “Maybe she’s just busy.”

The phone in Mingyu’s hand is held up for Seungcheol to see, and the older man quickly pulls a face. “Well, nevermind. Maybe just go apologize, dude.”

“I don’t even know why she’s suddenly avoiding me!” Mingyu breathes out, a little frustrated. “How am I going to apologize when I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Seungcheol almost looks like he wants to say something, but Mingyu ignores it to continue rambling. “We were doing so well, I thought I had a shot for once, and now, this happens. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Mingyu, chill,” Seungcheol clasps a firm hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Maybe you just need a drink.”

Mingyu gives Seungcheol an incredulous look. “Getting shitfaced isn’t going to make her stop avoiding me, hyung.”

“It won’t, but it’ll help you relax,” Seungcheol suggests. “And after that, you can talk to her when you’re not as tense.”

Mingyu is silent for a while. Was he trying to lay off the alcohol? Yes. Was Choi Seungcheol’s offer starting to sound a little reasonable? Also yes. Maybe a bit of unwinding would give his brain the space to reflect.

“Fine.” Mingyu relents. Screw Choi Seungcheol for making the idea of a liver-destroying session look tempting.

“Nice, let’s drink on Friday,” Seungcheol grins. 

“Can’t we drink now?” Mingyu asks. 

“I’m busy until Thursday,” Seungcheol replies as he grabs one of the dumbbells from the rack. “This business doesn’t run itself after all.”

Despite Mingyu’s impatience, Friday night comes quicker than he expected it to, and the next thing he knows, he’s in a night club a few blocks away from his apartment.

Fuck Choi Seungcheol, honestly.

When Seungcheol said that they were going out drinking, Mingyu had imagined himself in a quiet bar throwing back the strongest concoctions of alcohol that the establishment was legally allowed to serve. He had imagined himself babbling out his heartaches after a few rounds of drinking shitty beer. What he didn’t imagine was that Seungcheol would drag him to a fucking a night club of all places.

Usually, he would enjoy this. Mingyu, being the absolute extrovert he is, would’ve made sure that he was the life of the party and put all those amateur fuckboys on the dance floor to shame with his good looks and even better dance moves. He’d flirt with a girl or two, just for the fun of it, then quickly backtrack when he suddenly finds himself calling them by your name like a fucking idiot. He’s done that, once or twice, and each landed with a slap that had his face stinging for the rest of the night.

Mingyu was not in the mood for any of that, and he doesn’t think he will be anytime soon.

“Hyung, you don’t even like clubbing, why are we here?” Mingyu’s a little snippy, but could anyone really blame him? The music was shit, the lights were blinding, and the atmosphere was chaotic. On top of that, Mingyu has had to fend off the advances of multiple women who seemed hellbent on getting him to come home with them. Whatever patience he had was quickly thinning out.

“I thought you liked clubbing?” Seungcheol asks, taking a sip from his drink. 

“Not when I’m at my lowest—” Mingyu has to stop himself from cursing when another person ‘accidentally’ bumps his side.

The woman is quick to bat her lashes and apologize, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Maybe I could get you a drink to make up for it—“

“I have a girlfriend,” is the only thing Mingyu says before dragging Seungcheol to a less crowded area of the club. “Hyung, let’s just go eat jokbal and drink some beer—“

“Mingyu, don’t do anything stupid,” Seungcheol cuts Mingyu off, eyes wide as he points somewhere behind Mingyu. “But isn’t that Y/N?”

The speed at which Mingyu’s head whips around to find you is almost comical, and when Mingyu finally sees you, his breath hitches.

The only thing Mingyu can see is red. From the brick of your high heels, to the scarlet of your silk dress to the rose of your lips, to the quickly decreasing distance between you and some man that Mingu has never met—

—Mingyu sees red.

“Mingyu—“ Seungcheol’s attempt to keep Mingyu rooted is futile as his hand swipes uselessly through the air.

Mingyu storms over to your seated form, arms pushing through the crowd to reach you as soon as possible. There’s nothing going through his head, his movements fueled by an inexplicable anger that has him wanting to paint the countertop crimson with the man’s face.

The moment your eyes lock onto Mingyu’s frame, all his restraint flies out the window.

Before Mingyu can stop himself, his hand has already pulled you to him by the back of your neck, his lips crashing against yours in a way that cannot be described as anything other than ravenous. Like the piece of shit he knew he was being, Mingyu completely commits to his recklessness and dips his tongue into your mouth.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thinks. Mingyu envisioned your first kiss to be tender, sweet, something you’ll initiate after he impresses you with the best date of your life, but it isn’t like that. Instead, it’s all teeth, tongue, and a desperation to claim. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, but mix a bit of alcohol, a whole lot of anger, and 20 years of pining, and this is what you get. 

When he pulls away, the first thing he does is to look at the man beside you who looked absolutely livid and disgusted all at once. Mingyu only says one word, but the other man is quick to scramble away at the dark look in Mingyu’s eye, “Move.”

“Fuck you!” Comes out of the man’s mouth as a last resort to save his ego as he stomps away angrily, but Mingyu only flips him off with a glare as he starts dragging you out of the night club with a tight grip on your arm.

“Mingyu, what is wrong with you?!” Mingyu can feel you struggling against him, heels digging into the ground in an attempt to root yourself as Mingyu pushes through sweaty bodies and cages you in his arms, refusing to let anyone crash into you. “Let me go!”

The cool air of the night washes over Mingyu like a bucket of water as the two of you stand in the empty street, his grip around you finally loosening. With the threat immediately gone, the gravity of his actions suddenly weighs him down. He had fucked up, immensely.

“Are we just going to stand here?” Your voice is steady, but Mingyu can hear the storm brewing underneath it. With eyes narrowed and lips pursed, you continue speaking, “You dragged me out against my will, aren’t you at least going to explain yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing Mingyu can say, shrinking underneath your gaze. He wouldn’t blame you if you completely cut ties with him after the stunt he pulled.

“Sorry?” The laugh you let out is humorless. “Mingyu, I was having such a nice time with him, and you just had to meddle!”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Mingyu spits out, the anger that had once subsided slowly rekindling itself at the mention of the man who had been all over you just a few moments ago. “That asshole doesn’t deserve to even be around–”

“Mingyu, you don’t get to decide what I deserve!” comes your exasperated reply, eyes glistening under the streetlights. “I’m capable of making my own choices–”

“And of all the fucking people in this world you chose that?!” Mingyu can’t help the way his voice raises as he leans down to get his point across. “You avoid me for two weeks, and for what? To go on a date with that piece of shit?”

“Why does it matter to you?!” Your own voice raises, refusing to back down as you glare up at him. “You’ve literally dated so many women. Did you ever see me kiss you out of nowhere and flip your fucking date off?!”

“Well, maybe you should have!” Mingyu shouts back before he can think through his words. 

The silence is louder than any other shout that has left either of your mouths that night. It weighs heavily in the air, and the two of you remain in a standstill where nothing is exchanged but the heat of your gazes.

Mingyu sees the way your shoulders sink, the way your brows soften from anger into confusion. “Mingyu, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you should’ve kissed me then,” Mingyu knows there’s no turning back. This isn’t how he expected his confession to go, didn’t expect that he’d be emptying his heart out and filling this desolate street with 20 years of everything he had left bottled and unspoken. “You should’ve fucking kissed me then, and maybe you wouldn’t have to complain about being lonely and settle for people who don’t deserve you–”

For the second time that night, Mingyu feels your lips on his, and this time, he makes sure to commit every bit of it to memory as he pulls you in by your waist. Your hands grip tightly on the collar of his shirt as you kiss him, your lips moving against his in a clumsy way that gives your inexperience away. Mingyu’s eyes nearly roll back at the thought, his lips morphing into a grin on your lips.

For a second, you pull away, and Mingyu finds himself chasing your lips with his own, only to be stopped by the words that leave your mouth, “Take me home, Gyu.”

Without wasting a second, Mingyu obliges.

–

You’ve been on this bed before, but not like this.

“Gyu!” You cry out at the feeling of Mingyu practically making out with your cunt, hands grabbing lightly at his hair to ground yourself. He licks and sucks all the right places, fingers digging into the sides of your thighs as he pushes them closer to his head. “Too much!”

Mingyu doesn’t pull away, hellbent on getting you to cum in his mouth. Your feeble attempts of squirming away from the overwhelming feeling that floods your veins are nothing compared to Mingyu’s iron grip on you. He continues mercilessly like a man that had been denied far too long, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck it as two of his fingers pump in and out of your core. “Gyu, stop, I’m gonna cum!”

“Then cum,” is the only thing Mingyu says to you, dark eyes boring into yours like a command as he fucks his fingers in and out of you in a way that has your toes curling. “Be good for me and cum–”

With a cry that breaks into a soundless scream, you cum, head thrown back in pleasure as you squirm and convulse under Mingyu’s hold and ministrations. It’s nothing like the nights you spent with your fingers stuffed up your cunt, the image of Mingyu burned into your head as you rode your high with shame. This? This was something not even your own imagination could create. Kim Mingyu has ruined you, you think. There’s no way you’re going to cum without his touch without being disappointed.

“What a good girl,” Mingyu whispers against your skin, eyes half-lidded as he licks on the wetness on your thighs. “You’re even prettier when you cum.”

You mewl at the words, the feeling, head in a haze as Mingyu trails kisses from your thighs, to your stomach, to your chest, and finally, to your lips. Mingyu kisses you sensually, hands running up and down your bare skin as he gropes and feels whatever softness his fingers can touch. Mingyu pulls away, nosing at your neck as his hands go to squeeze the globes of your chest. “Can you cum for me again, baby?”

Despite just coming from an orgasm, you’re quick to nod, fingers tugging at Mingyu’s boxers to tell him that you want all of it off. 

“That’s my girl,” Mingyu grins, hands parting from your chest to pull off his boxers. 

Rest in peace, you think to yourself as you eye the absolute monster in front of you. Who the fuck would have known that Kim Mingyu was hiding a third leg between his legs?

“What the fuck?” It comes out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. Oh my god, you were going to die. “Mingyu, where the actual fuck is all of that going to go?”

The serious expression on Mingyu’s face is completely wiped off as he cackles at your words. Good on him for finding it funny, but you did not! You’re not completely naive. You know that dicks get big when they’re hard, you knew that they could–theoretically–get this big, but you didn’t think you’d be the one taking it. 

“Mingyu, I’m serious,” You look at the way it stands tall, twitching against Mingyu’s abdomen every once in a while as liquid oozes from its tip. The sight of it has you scooching back on the bed, but Mingyu is quick to pull you back under him by your ankle. “Where are we going to put all that?”

With a soft thud, your back hits the bed, Mingyu’s form looming over you like a wolf getting ready to sink its fangs into its prey, which is–in this case–you. Despite the laughing session he had earlier, Mingyu’s gaze is back to the dark, half-lidded gaze he was sporting when he was eating you out like a starved man. “You’re free to choose where I put my dick, baby.”

Mingyu brushes a finger across your lips, “Do you want it here?”

Your breath hitches as his finger slowly traces from your lips down to the curve of your throat. “Here?”

If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be horrified at the idea of Mingyu stuffing the entirety of his cock down your throat, but fuck, you were so unbelievably gone that the idea of gagging on it like a whore only had you getting wetter.

“Or here?” Mingyu grins devilishly when you let out a long whine, two of his fingers plunging into your pussy to rub at your walls. He leans down until his lips are brushing against your ear. “Oh? I think you want it here.”

Reason has eluded you, lust flooding your brain at the sensation of Mingyu’s fingers rubbing the rough patch in your core. “Yes, please!”

“I thought you were scared though?” Mingyu doesn’t stop the ministrations within your walls as he taunts you, lips brushing against your jaw.

“I’m not,” You sigh out, eyes shut tight as you focus on the feeling of Mingyu’s rough fingers. “I can take it!”

“If you say so,” Mingyu grins against your cheek before he presses a quick kiss on it. For a second, he pulls away. Quickly, he opens the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom to roll on.

“Wow, you take girls here often?” You joke, but Mingyu only narrows his eyes at you as he rolls the condom onto his cock.

“Stop that,” Mingyu chides, hand guiding his shaft to rub through the puffy lips of your pussy. “You’re the only girl who’s been here in years.”

For a second, that alarms you. “Years? Dude, are you sure those aren’t expired?”

“Are you–” Mingyu gapes at you. “My dick is literally about to enter you and you’re still calling me dude?”

“Sorry, force of habit,” You smile at him sheepishly before going back to your initial concern. “No, but seriously, go check the packaging.”

Mingyu groans in annoyance before opening his drawer to pull out the box. “October. There’s two weeks left.”

“Oh, good to hear.” You sigh out in relief, laying back. “Have at it, then.”

Mingyu gives you an exasperated look before he throws the box of condoms to the side. “Fuck, you’re lucky I love you, or I would’ve gone soft already.”

You laugh at that, Mingyu pouting as he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Yeah, let’s see if you still have the energy to laugh when I’m fucking you.”

With absolutely zero warning, Mingyu’s cock slams into you, the girth of it stretching you out in a way that has your mouth falling open into a silent scream.

At the sight of your lewd expression, Mingyu grins, hips slowly pulling back and forth as he grabs at your waist. “Not so mouthy now, no?”

“Fuck, Gyu!” You whine out, back arching as the tip of Mingyu’s cock hits the deepest part of your pussy. “Shit wait, too big!”

Your words do nothing to deter Mingyu. It only feeds his ego as he continues his slow pace, “You said you could take it though?”

Mingyu gives a particularly rough thrust that has your back arching. You’re not going to survive this, you think. Despite Mingyu’s teasing words, you can tell that he’s holding back, keeping his pace slow to let you adjust. He hasn’t even entered you to the hilt, hasn’t fucked you at a faster pace.

“I can,” You breathe out shakily, fingers reaching out to pull Mingyu closer to you by the neck. “So stop stalling and fuck me like you mean it.”

Mingyu’s hips stutter as he groans against your neck. “Don’t say that unless you want me to fucking ruin you. I’m not kidding.”

“Who said I was?” You whisper sensually against Mingyu’s ear, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Come on, Gyu. Be a good boy and fuck me like you want to.”

The whine that leaves Mingyu’s throat is downright sinful, and it’s the only warning you get before he starts pistoning his dick in and out of you at a bruising pace.

“Fuck, you little minx–” Mingyu lets out a moan at the squeeze of your cunt. “You shouldn’t have said that, fuck—“ 

Mingyu pulls away from your neck to crash his lips against yours, tongue violating your mouth the way his cock was violating your pussy. The way he fucks you is rough, desperate. He fucks you like he’s been wanting to do it for years, fucks you like it’s the only thing that’s been on his mind for the longest time. The sound of his hips colliding against yours is obscene, your wet cunt squelching at the way Mingyu drills himself into you like he’s trying to carve himself into you.

Fuck, you were going to cum again.

“Gyu,” You whine as Mingyu presses his forehead against yours, dark eyes trained on the way your face is scrunching up in pleasure. “Gyu, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fucking cum then,” Mingyu hisses out as your nails scratch down his back. “That’s it, mark me up. Let everyone know who I belong to.”

Your body seizes at the words that leave his mouth, your high crashing over you as Mingyu’s name leaves your mouth over and over like a mantra. “Cumming!”

At your cry, Mingyu pulls you tighter to him, face buried into your neck as he chases his own high. “Fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you–”

Mingyu repeats the words against your neck as if he wasn’t fucking you like a fleshlight, body pliant against his hold with no other choice but to take the harsh fucking he was giving you. It’s too much, you think, but somehow it’s not enough. You want this, want Mingyu to ruin you for everyone else, want Mingyu to turn you into a brainless mess whose head is filled with nothing but dick–

“Fuck, I’m cumming, take it!” Mingyu moans obscenely against your neck as his hips stutter, cock burying itself to the hilt as he wraps his arms around your head.

For a second, neither of you speak, your ragged breaths being the only sound to fill the room as Mingyu lays his head on your chest. The atmosphere of the room coupled with the way Mingyu’s pressing kisses on your chest and running his hands running up and down your body has you floating, the scent of sweat and sex making your head hazy.

“Did you mean it?” You ask softly, hand coming up to brush through Mingyu’s hair. You needed to know if the words truly came from Mingyu’s heart or if it was just the sex talking. 

“I do,” Mingyu sits up, looking at you with the softest look on his eyes. He looks even better like this, you think. Hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips wet, and body lined with marks from you. “I love you. I always have.”

Mingyu carries your body from the bed before he lies back against the headboard of his bed, sitting you on his lap as he pulls you into his embrace. “I love you so much, and my greatest mistake was not telling you sooner.”

Warmth blooms through your chest at that, tears pricking at your eyes as you stare into his eyes, “I love you too, Gyu.”

The corner of Mingyu’s lips lift up in a smile as he reaches out to brush the strands of hair away from your face. “Not as much as I love you.”

“Is this seriously about to be a competition?” You joke, fingers tracing Mingyu’s features adoringly with your finger. “Cause you’re going to lose, by the way.”

“Highly doubt that,” Mingyu grins as he bites your finger lightly, a frown making its way to your face as you pull back with a small ‘ouch’. “Fuck wait, I think I’m getting hard again.”

Ah, so that’s what was poking at your ass.

You laugh a little at that, “You pervert, what are you even getting hard for?”

“The woman I love is literally naked on my lap and telling me she loves me,” Mingyu pouts, hands splaying across your hips as he presses your core closer to his hardening cock. “Sorry, for being horny and in love, I guess.”

A giggle–shit, you were absolutely gone–leaves your lips as you grind back and forth on his cock. Your lips curl into a seductive smile, fingernails dragging down Mingyu’s pec as you whisper against his ear, “Round 2?”

Mingyu throws his head back with a groan at your suggestion, goosebumps rising on his skin as his fingers dig deeper into your hips. “Fuck, I though you wouldn’t ask.”

The world tilts on its axis and you find yourself on all fours. You hear the sound of Mingyu ripping another condom open, and it’s the only thing you register before Mingyu slams his cock back into your pussy. 

The new position has your eyes crossing and tongue lolling out, fingers digging into the sheets that your cheek was planted into as your pussy takes Mingyu’s rough pounding. The sensation is mind-numbing, your nerves tingling at every end as Mingyu brands himself into your walls. You could already tell, you were going to get addicted to this, addicted to the sensation of Mingyu roughing you up and taking you as he pleases. 

“Shit, I can go so much deeper like this,” Mingyu hisses as he tangles his fingers into your hair and digs the others into your ass. “You don’t know how long I’ve been imagining this, fuck–”

A ringing sound rips through the air, and despite being in a mindless haze your eyes are quick to narrow at the phone buzzing on Mingyu’s bedside table. “Gyu, your phone.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, ignore it.” Mingyu drops more of his weight onto you, hands bracing himself on either side of you as he fucks you prone bone. Unlike you, he’s undeterred, hips continuing in their onslaught against your pussy.

Mingyu’s lips capture yours from behind, tongue dipping into your mouth as breathy moans escape the man’s throat. He was kissing you so sensually that you could almost ignore the obnoxious ringing of his phone.

Almost.

Annoyed at the disturbance, you grab the phone to look at the caller ID.

Song Haneul (Seoul Branch Client)

Immediately, ice floods your veins.

“Who is it?” Mingyu asks as he slows his thrusts to a gentle pace.

“Mingyu, why is Haneul calling you this late?” You ask, and Mingyu’s thrusts pause.

Mingyu curses as he rests his forehead on your back. “Don’t answer it, she’s insane.”

“Are you guys…” You don’t finish your sentence, too afraid of the answer.

Immediately, Mingyu is straightening up and pulling out of you, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”

You narrow your eyes at Mingyu, holding the phone up to drive your point across. “Then why is she calling you?”

“She likes me, okay? But I don’t know why she’s calling me this late.” Mingyu runs a hand down his face, frustration bleeding into his words. “Baby, just end the call. Don’t let her ruin this night for us.”

Mingyu pulls you into his arms, pressing kisses against your face as he runs his hands up and down your waist to appease you.  “Come on, you’re literally the one in my bed right now.”

You’re still unconvinced, so with a blank look on your face, you hold the phone up to him. “Answer it then.”

Mingyu frowns at you for a second before his face morphs into something darker. He grabs the phone and throws it beside the pillow before pushing you onto your back, the tip of his cock positioned at your entrance as his finger approaches the screen of his phone.

“You want me to answer it?” Mingyu’s voice is low against your ear, and you’re starting to have a very bad feeling about the entire situation.

Something tells you that this isn’t going to end well for you, your heart pounding violently in your chest as Mingyu slips his cock back inside you. The feeling quickly has your breath hitching, pleasured sighs falling from your lips as Mingyu presses a kiss against your ear.

Mingyu’s next words have you freezing, “How about you answer for me?”

“Mingyu, you finally answered my call!” A high-pitched voice with a drunken drawl erupts from the phone.

Shit.

–

Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s a genius or insane.

It’s a stupidly fine line, he thinks.

He’s dragging his cock in and out of you, slowly, torturously, watching on with a grin as you struggle to form coherent sentences.

“Mingyu’s–” Mingyu pushes himself deeply into you–as much as your tiny little pussy would allow. The way you choke on your words has him floating on a different high. “Mingyu’s asleep right now.”

“Oh! Sorry, who is this?” If it weren’t for the tight grip that your dripping cunt had on him, Mingyu would’ve gone soft at the sound of that pesky, obnoxious voice. “Are you his sister?”

Mingyu scoffs at that, leaning down to whisper against your other ear as he gives you a deep thrust. “Go on, answer her. Are you?”

The way your eyes roll back at Mingyu’s voice strokes his ego in a way that’s almost criminal. Only the universe knows how much he was holding back from fucking you boneless on his mattress, but he doesn’t think you’d be able to stay quiet.

Honestly, he didn’t mind. He couldn’t care less if Haneul heard him fuck you like an animal. Maybe she’ll finally take the hint when she hears you and realizes that she could never be you. She would never be on Mingyu’s bed taking his cock like a champ. She would never be in Mingyu’s heart the way you have been for the past two decades. It’s genius, Mingyu thinks. You could stake your claim on him, and that annoying woman would finally leave him alone. It’s a win-win for the two of you, and the only thing actually stopping him is the fact that you’d never forgive him if he did pull through with that idea.

So Mingyu sticks to his shallow thrusts and soft kisses despite that dark desire in the pit of his stomach that wants to fuck you dumb on his cock until the only thing you can do is babble his name.

“I’m a friend–” Mingyu gives you a particularly rough thrust to communicate his disagreement with your words.

“I’m balls deep in you, and I’m still your friend?” Mingyu pouts against your ear. “I’m hurt.”

You’re trying to glare at him, you really are, and Mingyu almost wants to coddle you and praise you for trying so hard, but he’s enjoying the situation too much. For a second, you pull the phone far away and cover the mic to hide the way you hiss at Mingyu, “Gyu, shut up–”

“Hello? Is anyone still there?”

“Yes, sorry!” You manage to breathe out. “I’ll tell him to call you back, bye!”

The moment you end the call, Mingyu fucks you with no mercy.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as he slams in and out of you.

“Good girl,” Mingyu purrs in your ear. “Let me reward you.”

Round 2 that night becomes Round 3, and it’s all a blur after that.

Mingyu remembers taking you in whatever position he could manhandle you in: mating press, doggy, against his window, on the floor, in front of his mirror–Mingyu swears at one point you were riding him, tits bouncing in his mouth as you rode his cock like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. Mingyu remembers being so angry then, so upset at the idea that the two of you could have been doing this much sooner. You could’ve been riding him until he was shooting blanks, could’ve been kissing him until he forgot how to breathe without your sighs in his mouth. Fuck, he wishes he could turn back time.

It doesn’t matter though, Mingyu thinks. He had the rest of his life to love you right and fuck you hard.

By the end of it all, the box in Mingyu’s drawer is empty, and you’re curled up on his side like a cat seeking warmth as you sleep. With a stupid grin on his face, Mingyu pulls you closer to him, lips pressing softly against your forehead.

“I love you,” He whispers against your hair, hoping that the proximity of lips to your head would allow the words to penetrate your dream. It probably doesn’t work that way, but it won’t stop him from trying.

Fuck, he was stupidly in love with you.

–

The morning after the debauchery that took place in Mingyu’s bed was a nightmare.

The sun filtering through Mingyu’s curtains falls on your eyes, pulling you away from the clutches of slumber. When you move to stretch, the first thing you feel is the inexplicable ache spread throughout your body. There was no other way to describe it other than horrible. Not even a particularly tiring day at the gym could bang you up this much. What the fuck had you been doing–

Memories of last night flash through your mind like a compilation of absolutely unhinged pornos, and suddenly, you remember exactly why you were aching like you had just been hit by a truck, a 187-cm truck with no concept of restraint, to be exact.

A burn settles in your cheeks as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You looked like a wreck, a really hot wreck. Your hair was messy, your body was littered with marks, but fuck, you looked like you were glowing. Who needed skincare when you could just get Mingyu to fuck you?

Speaking of Mingyu, you look around the room, looking for the man. When you realize he isn’t with you, you move to pick up his shirt from the floor and wear it, your body aching in protest at every movement you make.

You were going to kill Mingyu, you swear.

Slowly, you pad out of Mingyu’s room, following the sounds of clanking pots and boiling water. Each of your movements are slow, your legs struggling to carry your own weight after the brutal pounding you took last night. You were never going to do that again. Kim Mingyu could use his hand for the rest of his goddamned life. 

However, you’re quick to take your words back the moment you step foot onto the kitchen.

Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows and bathes Mingyu’s skin golden. His dark brows are furrowed in concentration as he plates the pancakes in front of him, fingers carefully placing the strawberry on top of the whipped cream. The smile that forms on his face is bright as he realizes that the strawberry was successfully placed on the pancake. The look on his face was so pure that you could almost ignore the way his pajama pants hung loosely underneath the soft outline of his abs.

This was every woman’s wet dream, what the fuck?

You’d let him fuck a basketball team into you if he wanted to.

“Good morning,” It's the first time you speak since last night, and your cheeks burn when you realize that your voice is hoarse. “What are you doing?”

“Making you breakfast–” The pure smile on Mingyu’s face falls when his eyes lock onto your form. He straightens up with a groan, hands coming up to cover his face. “You seriously can’t be doing this to me right now.”

You give him a weird look as you walk to stand beside him, eyes locking onto the heart-shaped pancakes on the counter. “Aw, Gyu, this is so cute!”

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” Mingyu whines as he wraps his arms around you from behind, chin falling onto your shoulder as he watches you coo at the pancake. 

“Couldn’t find my clothes,” You reply before going back to the pancakes in front of you, pressing a quick kiss to Mingyu's cheek. “Thank you for breakfast.”

Mingyu only gives you a tight smile, grip around you tightening as he whispers in a deceptively sweet tone. “Eat up. You’ll need it~”

The next thing you know, your plate is empty and your cunt is full, Mingyu roughly hitting it from the back as he bends you over on his kitchen counter.

“You pervert!” You mewl out, tits pressed against the cool marble surface as Mingyu’s cock slides in and out of you.

Mingyu only moans shamelessly, hands groping at the flesh of your ass as he watches his cock batter your poor pussy. You had it coming, really. You sealed your fate the moment you walked into the kitchen in nothing but his shirt. 

“Only for you, baby.” Mingyu grins before his mouth falls open at the sudden clench of your walls. “Fuck, shit–”

“Cumming!” You whine out, stars exploding beneath your lids as you cum around his cock. “Gyu, pull out–”

With a swear, Mingyu gets a few more thrusts in to let you ride your high before he pulls out, hand pumping his cock furiously until he releases all over your bare back.

Mingyu breathes heavily for a second, basking in the afterglow and the sight of you covered in his cum before he drops to his knees.

“Thank you for breakfast,” is the only thing you hear from Mingyu before you feel his lips press a loud smack onto your cunt that has your back arching from overstimulation.

Then, like a gentleman, Mingyu pulls out tissues from his cupboard and wipes the cum off your back before he’s pressing a sweet kiss onto your lips. Fuck him for fucking you like an animal and acting so sweet after. He makes it so easy for you to forget how brutally he takes you when he acts like such a sweetheart after.

With a boyishly handsome grin, Mingyu whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You whisper, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer to you. “But maybe keep it in your pants for a while, I don’t think I can take more today.”

“No promises.” Mingyu chuckles as he presses a kiss onto your forehead. “You wanna go out later?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You tease, fingers playing with the tips of his hair.

“Yes,” Mingyu replies. “I know I did it backwards, but can I take you out on a date?”

“Only if we get chicken and beer after.” You reply.

“You could ask me to buy you a farm and a brewery, and I would.”

“You’re insane.”

“Can’t help it, you drive me crazy.” Mingyu says before he captures your lips in another heated kiss.

It’s like nothing and everything has changed all at once. The two of you still bicker childishly the same way you’ve been doing for a long time, but unlike before, you’re no longer hiding the fact that you’re in love with Mingyu behind quips and teasing. Now, you’re free to kiss him the way you wanted, free to love him the way you’ve always dreamed of doing. It’s a nice change, you think.

It took a while, but you’re exactly where you wanted to be. The two of you still needed to sort things out, to clarify exactly what both of you wanted from it, but for now, you think that being wrapped in Mingyu’s arms is more than enough.

It looks like you didn’t lie to his mom after all. Chuseok was definitely going to be interesting this year when the two of you walk hand-in-hand while entering Mingyu’s childhood home.

A/N: Here’s your daily reminder to eat well and exercise when you can!! Please know that good health looks different on everyone, and anyone who gives you a hard time for not fitting their shallow standard of ‘healthy’ is being stupid. Anyone who knows what they're doing will make sure to have a comprehensive understanding of your history and lifestyle before giving out advice. Don’t let folks on the internet or real life bully you out of doing what’s best for your health!! Thank you for reading this far, I hope you all have a nice day <3

"Y/N, it's tutoring and it's only for Chapter 12. It's not the end of the world, and you need a little help. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed by." She speaks gently, before holding a card out to you between her fingers. Mingyu's name and phone number is printed across it in navy blue ink, stark against the white card stock.

"The tutoring isn't the problem," you mumble inwardly as you take the card, but you don't need it. You've had Mingyu's phone number memorized since you were teenagers, and it's still saved in your phone all these years later.

And six months after your breakup.

You don't even know why you did it. You don't know why you pulled the plug, you just remember the shit excuses falling from your lips as the burning summer sun beat down on your back. You left for vacation with your family the next day, crying your eyes out the entire time and holing yourself up in the hotel room for hours until it was time to go back home.

And there was no Mingyu to run to.

It's too serious, you had said. We're moving too fast, you argued.

You'd been together for nearly three years. You'd been good friends since you were kids, and he was the very first person that wasn't your family that got your phone number when you got your first phone back in freshman year of high school. He was the first everything — first love, first kiss, first boyfriend.

You had intended for him to be the last, too. The only, even.

Kim Mingyu is The One.

Or was, rather.

You don't know what he's up to these days. You sit awkwardly in the back of the lecture hall, sandwiched between two of the soccer players and hoping they'll hide you. They never have paper and are always taking your pens, but you'd rather that than ever make eye contact with Mingyu again.

Because you know you're weak. You're weak when it comes to him, you'll fold like a house of cards and break down right in front of him. You'd apologize over and over and it would be of no use because, well, you have pride…even if he's worn it thin with his gentle affection, showing you that you don't need to deprive yourself of things you want or love for the sake of holding your head too high.

Him included, but that's the past, now.

What's worse is that you know he's exactly the same, if not weaker. He's just as soft hearted, just as easy to break as you are — but he's Mingyu. He knows you, and he knows that somewhere, in the depths of you, there is that fear. Fear of being seen as just his girlfriend, fear of being perceived as something you're not — weak, docile, whatever makes you feel less than a person.

Mingyu himself has never made you feel that way, and he's swiftly turned his back on anyone in his life that has tried to do that to you. He held you in high standards, higher regards — you were smart and capable, studious and working on a strict schedule to keep your life working smoothly. No dates during the week. No distractions. You were a person, a daughter, a student before you were his girlfriend.

You were his friend before you were his girlfriend.

And now, you're nothing.

Well, not nothing. Nothing besides two people who once knew each other, almost at a molecular level — that now sit fifty feet away from one another every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from two to four since the beginning of the semester.

Mentor and mentee, apparently. Tutor and student, Jedi and Padawan.

"Thanks, Dr. Lee. I'll…be sure to reach out to Mingyu by the end of the week." "No need, I've emailed him already. He'll be reaching out to you shortly to discuss your schedules. Have a good day, Y/N. Keep working hard."

You smile tightly, the paper crumpling slightly under your fingers as you nod before turning on your heel and making your way out of the lecture hall. You can feel your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes, but you blink them back as they try to blur your vision. You skirt around groups of people, couples walking together, wanting to feel the chill of the fall air settling into your your bones as the tears start dripping down your cheeks.

You're grateful you don't feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you barrel down the steps of the front hall.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [4:32 PM] Dr. Lee emailed me. 6-8 on Thursday works @ your place or mine. If mine, don't be late. [4:32 PM] And…you should've told me first. I would've helped you without her interference.

Mingyu's apartment is warm when you arrive the following Thursday. Seokmin opens the door; being yet another counterpart of Mingyu's that you'd befriended during high school and one of his roommates, he knew all about your history. He shook his head silently, giving you a one-armed hug as he let you slip inside the living room. He took your coat as you toed your shoes off, he offered water that you declined, gesturing at the Yeti Rambler bottle in your hand…before pointing you in the direction of Mingyu's room.

"He got back maybe an hour ago. Good luck, rockstar." He ruffled your hair, before taking a seat on the couch and picking his laptop back up. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as you rocked on your heels, closing your eyes and making your way down the hall. You hadn't been to this apartment yet, they'd moved when you left for vacation and were settled by the time you got back.

You're sure his bedroom walls have seen many tears since then.

Maybe a girl or two.

You hoped not.

You raise your hand to knock, only for your soft taps to push the door open. He doesn't look up, nibbling on his lip as he punches numbers into his calculator. He's surrounded by open books, notepads, pens that have long run dry. His room still smells faintly of his cologne from earlier in the morning, the scent permeated into the walls and everything within them.

He's still dressed from wherever he came from — jean jacket resting nicely on his shoulders, sunglasses perched on his head before he runs his hand through his hair and takes them off. He tosses them onto his bed, the honeyed slope of his neck illuminated by the lamp on his desk and you think you're going to throw up.

You knock harder, his eyes immediately moving to the door and spotting you.

"I didn't hear you the first time, sorry."

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding your head as you push the door open. Your grip on your bottle is tight as you step in silently, and he stands up, slotting bookmarks into his pages and closing the textbooks, sliding them elsewhere and clearing the space for you to fit into it. You swallow again, your throat unbearably dry as he moves past you, closing the door. His cologne floats up your nose as he grabs a folded stool from behind it, and you reach your hand out to take it.

He shakes his head, "take the chair. Better for your back."

"My back is fine," your voice is almost too soft for him to hear, but he only rolls his eyes as he rolls it closer to you, pointing at the seat like you're a child. You chew on your cheek as you tentatively pull the chair to you, sitting on the edge of it and pulling your backpack off. You settle your bottle between your legs as he keeps moving around, and you see the textbook that was currently weighing your bag down in his hand.

"She said you are having trouble with…." He scrolls on his laptop, clicking around before pulling up Dr. Lee's email containing your tutoring form, "chapter twelve."

He glances at you, a brow raised as you force yourself to stare at the jar of pens on his desk. A mason jar covered in Sanrio stickers — you'd given it to him for an anniversary. There was a special sticker you'd had custom made by someone on Etsy: Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, and a stamp of I love you, bug! in your handwriting pasted by the artist.

You and him.

"Chapter twelve." He repeats, and you nod silently, moving to pull your backpack off and pull out a new deck of flashcards. "It's just vocabulary. I know the material."

"If you don't know the vocabulary, you can't fully understand the material." "Mingyu, I'm not stupid. The chapter is just about forming interpersonal relationships and attraction and love. It's not rocket science."

"First of all, I never said or insinuated that you're stupid, so watch your tone." He speaks lowly, and you feel your cheeks hot as he perches on the edge of the stool. He's almost too close to you, but not enough that you can justify scooting back. "Second of all, if it were rocket science, you wouldn't need my help. You would've figured it out."

"I don't need your help—" "You're wasting time. Do you want to pass the chapter test or do you want to keep bickering?"

"What, you have plans?" You roll your eyes, your nail moving to break the plastic wrap around the deck of flashcards as he nods, "yes."

You feel your heart sink slightly, but you shrug as you tear into the deck and crumple the wrapper in your hand. You tuck it into the trash can under his desk before fishing a notebook out of your backpack. You glance at the jar of pens again, but opt to dig into your bag for one instead. You click the end, "where are we starting?"

He shrugs, "write down what you struggle with the most and give me the page. I'll have something for you next week. Focus on the chapter units rather than what's in them when you're doing most to least, and we'll talk about the contents in person."

"This could've been an email." You scoff, and he nods, "it could have, but it's not. So just write it down and I'll come up with a plan. Your test is next Friday, so we can do…"

He peers at the calender above his desk, humming as he drums his fingers against the page he's open to — Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love.

"We can do Tuesday. We might be able to do Thursday but I'll have to see how the week progresses. If push comes to shove I can see you on…Wednesday, but it'll either be really late or really early and that's my last resort." He nods, and you glance at the calendar. He's got things marked off, a few birthdays scribbled in…

You look at the date — Thursday, the twenty-first. There's a diagonal line across it, with TA 6-8 on the top and S :) 8:30 on the bottom.

He's seeing someone else.

You know he is, because he used to mark off your dates that way, too. Well, yours usually had a scribbled heart, but you're sure it won't be long before a smile becomes a heart.

"I'll just text you." You mumble, shoving your things back into your backpack and hurriedly pulling it over your shoulder. Your stomach hurts as you glance at the jar of pens again, feeling your nose burn as you push out of the chair, and you hear him sigh as you grab his doorknob.

"Y/N, what is the problem?" He asks softly, and you let out a humorless laugh as you pull the door open.

"I'll see you later, Gyu." The nickname falls from your lips as you shake your head, a tear slipping down your face as you practically bolt down the hall. Seokmin is in the kitchen, and you call a stout goodbye before grabbing your shoes and slink out the front door.

You don't know that Mingyu immediately walks out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes, looking for Seokmin. He just sighs, pulling Mingyu into a hug as he holds your water bottle in his hand — a water bottle he had given you, now covered with more Chococat and Badtz-Maru stickers and a faded customer sticker of his name on the edge.

You only feel the stabbing pain of gravel digging into your socked feet as you hold your high tops in your hand, sprinting out of his apartment complex and down the road to yours. Your vision is blurry and your breathing is choppy but you don't care, and the buzz of your phone is once more unfelt in your pocket.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [6:49 PM] You left your water bottle here. I'll leave it with Seokmin in case you come back to pick it up tonight. [6:57 PM] And for the record, S is Seungcheol. See you on Tuesday.

THE WEEKEND FLEW BY, AND YOU ARE CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE STEPS OF MINGYU'S COMPLEX — TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET HIM.

You had emailed him your list, and CC'd Dr. Lee so you could hold yourself accountable.

To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Subject: Chapter Twelve Subunits of Concern.

I was instructed to rank the Ch. 12 Social Psych subunits from most understood to least. I've CC'd Dr. Lee in case she would like to weigh in with any suggestions.

Chapter Twelve: Social Psychology. MOST. 1. Self-presentation [12.2] 2. Prejudice & Discrimination [12.5] 3. Aggression [12.6] 4. Conformity, Compliance and Obedience [12.4] 5. Prosocial Behavior [12.7] LEAST.

I spent the weekend reviewing key terms and am confident with the vocabulary, as well as most of the review questions in the back of the textbook. Thank you for your time.

Y/N L/N Senior | Applied Physics Department of Physics and Astronomy 010-0406-1997

Mingyu did not reply to your email, his Outlook status set as Offline.

You hadn't texted him back or bothered to return for your bottle of water either, despite the slight comfort of knowing that S wasn't a girl. You were too embarrassed, and now you were too early to knock and ask to be let in. You were too early to face him, and a part of you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You glanced at your watch, having set a timer for it to beep at five minutes to six — and you sigh, glumly resting your cheek in your palm and closing your eyes.

"Why are you down here? It's cold."

Mingyu's voice startles you, and you jump, your hand flying to your chest as you open your eyes wide to see him holding two bags of groceries. Seokmin is behind him, brows raised as you quickly stood up, careful not to stumble.

"Well, clearly neither of you were home." "I texted you that we kept the spare under the doormat?"

You feel your cheeks hot, "yeah, well. It's your house, not mine."

He rolls his eyes, motioning for you to head up the stairs. You scramble up, making yourself useful and unlocking the door for them. You step out of their way, clearing your throat as they set everything down and Seokmin stops Mingyu from going back downstairs, a stern look in his eyes as he ducks out the front door.

"I…can go, if you guys are going to have dinner. Don't let me keep you." You blindly set their spare key on the table behind you, but Mingyu shakes his head as he unpacks things. Bread, eggs, a gallon of milk, "you can go get settled. I'll be right there, it's Seokmin's turn anyway."

Your hands clench at your sides as you toe your shoes off, carefully placing them on the rack before bowing your head and making your way to his bedroom. Your heart clenches as you slowly open his door, hearing Seokmin coming back up and asking whether you'd be staying for dinner just as you slide into the room.

"I'm not sure," Mingyu replies, and you close the door behind you.

More rustling is heard as you settle in the chair, setting the stool out for him and opening your textbook. You glance at his calendar, nothing else added but you…

And your anniversary, scratched out.

If you looked any closer, you would've seen the hearts doodled around your name in pink pen. Three year anniversary, gone. Like the wind.

You tongued your cheek, a pout threatening its way onto your lips as your throat started to burn. You cleared it, shakily digging your items out of your bag and splaying everything out. You opened your textbook, you carefully stacked your unfinished flashcards (because you attempted to spend the weekend studying, but every swirl of your pen reminded you of him.)

Him, him, every single time. Every click.

Everything.

"It's going to be fine," you murmured to yourself, pulling your journal out and flipping to a fresh page.

The mason jar of pens isn't where it was on Thursday.

In fact, it's nowhere to be seen.

You still, your thumb still clicking your pen as your eyes move around the room. Superman figurines despite your insistence that Mingyu could so be a Nightwing. Photo frames holding pictures of his sister and his family, of him and Seokmin, of him and Wonwoo and Seokmin…

One singular photo of you and him — seven years old, missing your front teeth and popsicles melting down your hands. His green, yours red, and the frame read the pet names you'd adopted for one another — bug and baby.

He was bug. At six feet, two inches...Kim Mingyu was your bug.

It was funny to think about.

You don't see any of the trinkets you'd gotten him over the years, but you see a small box tucked into the corner of his bedroom. The tape is peeled up, like he's opened and closed it — and it's hid under his bedside table. You glance at the door, hearing Mingyu and Seokmin banging around in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you grab it as you slowly scoot the chair back, making room to stand up.

NEW! Message From: Mingyu 💘 [6:12 PM] I'll be right there, I'm just giving Seokmin instructions. Sorry for the wait.

You only give him a thumbs up, tossing your phone on the table quickly and making your way over to the box. You stay alert, only peeking in carefully and seeing everything.

Three small, thick photo albums detailing your relationship and some of your years growing up together. A small crate of figurines — another custom Chococat and Badtz-Maru, a handful of Smiskis you'd given him when you didn't get the one you wanted in your blind boxes, and a bunch of paper stars and miscellaneous origami you'd folded up and given him during your old study sessions. There's another box, covered in faded lipstick marks from you, the lid slightly off center and you know it holds all the love letters you'd given him over the years.

You know he still holds onto the very first one you'd ever given him, when you were both sixteen and juniors in high school. He'd had it framed in his last apartment, and kept it on his dresser. Said he read it every morning.

Kim Mingyu!

Today is our first day of school and I'm writing this in Econ (you're sitting three seats away because you were late, bug!) You look kinda cute…I guess.

Okay, not 'I guess.'

But it's always just been you and me, right? Us, together. Thank you for being my best friend and not making fun of me when I make mistakes. I also appreciate that you tell me I'm cool :) I hope you still think I'm super duper cool when you're marrying me in six years time.

Actually, no. I'd say…nine years. We'll be out of grad school by then, and who knows…I could be getting a doctorate. Dr. L/N-Kim, eh? Pretty cute, right?

Dr. Y/N L/N-Kim and Kim Mingyu, Esq.

We're gonna be soooo cool and our kids are gonna think we're soooo gross.

Anyway, I'm not yoinking your last name. I would've earned the degree, not you :P but…I love you. And I hope you're in my life even then, even if nothing moves further between us. I know you won't make it weird if you don't feel the same way, too, which makes it easier. You always make my life easier, but you don't let me win and that's the fun of it all, isn't it? A cushion that softens the blow of a still hard fall.

Anyway, I hope junior year rocks. And I hope you know you suck for being late and sitting so far away. Don't be late tomorrow! I can feel you staring at me (timestamp: 12:22PM.) I snuck my headphones in, and I'm listening to I'm Gonna Win by Foreigner because I promise you, you're not getting that valedictorian spot. It's mine, Kim.

I'll see you after school, bug. Don't read this around your friends! I mean it! >:(

Love you, bug. XOXO. Y/N <3

P.S.: [✔︎] check here if you like me too. do a back flip if you don't :D

A blue pen had checked the box by the time the two of you were walking home together. It was a very nonchalant affair, because you both understood that dating was out of the question until you were both done with the little rivalry you had. Unfortunately, you were both tied — and your graduating class had two Valedictorians, and the very first tie in your high school's history. A picture of you both was displayed in the main hallway of that building now, with a school news article titled Best Friends take Number 1 Spot Together: Future Physicist Y/N L/N & Prospective Lawyer Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu wasn't studying law anymore, and the two of you started dating in August — and he officially made you his girlfriend in November of that year. He changed his major and was thriving in the Psychology department, barreling towards that doctorate — one you also swore you'd get, and you stand by it.

You just aren't sure if Mingyu still stands by you.

And you feel foolish to want to hope that he does, despite the six months of silence, distance and heartbreak — the only communication between the two of you being his purple pen grading your essays and in-class exams…much softer than the red pen he uses for everyone else.

Dr. Lee had to know there was something there.

She had to know.

You see more things in the box — the tie he wore to prom, the cuff links you'd given him for your first anniversary during your sophomore year of college. A tube of lipstick in his favorite shade that you used to keep at his apartment, a first-aid kit in a glittery pink case that was half-filled, a gold spoon you had bought at a market and gotten your names engraved into. You had a matching one, tucked in the silverware drawer of your kitchen that you didn't let anyone else touch, much less use.

The mason jar that once held his pens, now gently tucked into another corner of it. It's stuffed with a printed strip and pink yarn, and you see the comic peering at you through the glass — Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.

It's the Valentine's strip, dated February 14th, 1986 — Susie calls Calvin a baloney brain, and it's the classic, cliché of two kids being mean to one another because they like the other, but you loved it. You'd referenced the comic strip in passing on your first Valentine's Day together, then wound up printing the strip for him, laminating it and gave it to him with his gifts. You'd punched a hole in it and looped a piece of yarn through it, once hot pink and now light, bleached from three years of sun.

You don't know you're holding your breath, tears wetting your lashes — until you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching quietly, and you force yourself off the ground and back into the chair. You wipe haphazardly at your face, sniffling as he knocks gently, opening the door. You don't look at him, letting your eyes zero in on the pad of sticky notes. There's numbers scribbled around it, math you understood but couldn't pin to an origin.

Your stomach grumbles as he walks past you, and you curse yourself for running low on time and not being able to get anything for dinner.

"Snacks in the bottom cabinet." He taps the desk as he moves around, and you clear your throat as you nod, not moving. He holds his textbook in his hand as he turns back to you, furrowing his brow as he leans over and opens the cabinet, "get something."

"I'm good." "Your stomach growled." "I'm just uneasy."

"Cut the shit." He rolls his eyes, grabbing a bag of Goldfish and tossing it in your lap before closing it, "you can have dinner with me and Seok. He's going to make way too much, I know it."

"He always does." "He means well." "I know."

His eyes linger on your face, and if he notices your wet lashes, he doesn't say anything.

But you note the way his fingers flex at his side, the way he tongues his cheek and forces himself to look away.

"Let's start with 12.4, yeah? Compliance, Conformity and Obedience." "No." "Very funny."

"I seriously cannot believe you're trying to argue this. This isn't an argument!" Mingyu sighs as you pace his bedroom, and you gape at him as you run a hand through your hair.

Seokmin had come in forty minutes prior to the heated conversation with plates, and you and Mingyu ate in silence. Your plates sit on the desk, empty, as you pace his bedroom, your words falling from your mouth as you hit the back of your hand to your palm to emphasize your point.

"There is a difference in obedience brought forth by respect, and one brought forth by fear. It won't have the same connotations or the same results, it will only result in social discomfort."

"I'm not saying there isn't! I'm agreeing with you! But that's not the point!"

"Then what does social loafing have to do with obedience!?"

"Baby, you're taking this all out of context. You're trying to break it down like numbers and that's not how this works," he sighs, rubbing his face. "Social loafing is tied into obedience because it is a form of social influence. Compliance, conformity, all of it, it's influential. You want me to give you answers about who designates positions on power and what makes who an authority figure and I just don't have that context for you."

Your heart is in your throat at the pet name, your breath hitched as you look at him. He crosses his arms, eyes expectant as your own prick with tears. You blink them back, checking your watch to see it's half past eight.

"Okay, cool. Influence." You nod, grabbing your pen and scribbling it into your jumbled notes. You run a hand over your face, "it's late. I should get going."

"It's only eight-thirty." "Yeah. I overstayed as it is."

He raises a brow as you pack up your journal, reaching for the flashcards you'd half-finished.

"What's this?" "Key terminology." "How many do you have left?"

"Uhm, I got halfway before I went to bed." You shrug as he flips through the cards, "vocab on the front, definition and example on the back. They're sectioned off by unit in color, but I jumped around to what I found more interesting and just started working my way around."

"Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love," he nods, holding up the butter yellow flashcard. Your hand tightens around your beg as he flips the card over, his eyes scanning over the diagram you'd doodled with examples. "Companionate love is you and Seokmin?"

"Yes? He's my friend?" You roll your eyes as he nods, biting back his smile as he continues to scan over it.

"Do you agree with Sternberg's theory?" He asks, flicking the card as you nibble on your lip.

"It makes sense." "It says that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion." "That's true."

"Well, not when you take into consideration what else is said about the contributing factors. Passion and intimacy for romantic love, but commitment and intimacy for companionate. Do you think that your friendships could have passion, and your romantic relationships couldn't, and still be healthy?" He tilts his head at you, and you clear your throat as you open your mouth to dodge the question, "don't give me bullshit. Use your brain. Explain your thoughts."

You close your mouth, your fingernails digging into your backpack as you swallow hard.

"I think that…context is important." You admit, knowing that the shit-eating grin spreading on his lips will bring back the topic of obedience and your insistence for answers he couldn't give you. "I agree that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion because it's not always romantic. Context is important, because you can take into consideration all the verbiage used."

You step closer, taking the card out of his hand and pointing with your pinky finger, "empty love could be a dead marriage, or two parents who stay together for their kids, or a friendship that only remains because of the history rather than caring at all about each other's lives past what they've lived together."

"And companionate love?" "Me and Seokmin, you and Seokmin. Our friendship is intimate, because we share vulnerabilities and we are interested in each other's lives. Our friendship is also commitment, because we hang out often and passion doesn't always have to mean…I guess, being hot for one another. It can just be passionate as a noun, passionate as…an adjective rather than a verb."

"What about you and me?" He asks, tilting his head when you realize how close you are to him. Your arm is brushing his shoulder and you're slid between his legs, the denim of his jeans stretched across thick thighs and brushing against the back of your own. You peer at him through your lashes, "what about you and me?"

"Where do we fall on this diagram? Where did we use to fall on this diagram, and where could we be in the future?" "Is this an appropriate question?" "Call it real-life application to scholarly subjects."

You tongue your cheek at his quick wit, and you glance at the card.

You were once companionate.

You were also once romantic, even consummate — intimate, passionate, committed.

"I don't think we fall into any of them." You admit slowly, flicking the card. "I think…maybe, at one point, we could've been consummate in a romantic style."

"John Lee has a theory about love, too. He came up with it in '76," he starts, and you peer at him through your lashes as he takes the card back, tracing your penmanship. "It's called the Color Wheel Model of Love, and it originated with three 'colors,' that were meant to be the primaries like red, blue and yellow. He presented Eros, for eroticism. Ludus, for non-committal, and Storge, for natural nurturing."

"Right." "He later proposed that the primary colors could be combined to create a sort of secondary color. Eros and Ludus would make Mania, so obsession. Pragma was Ludus and Storge, representing realistic love, and Agape was Eros and Storge in the presentation of selfless love."

You raise a brow, "do you just have love theories memorized?"

"My favorite is Elaine Hatfield's, and I use it to argue Sternberg's." "Let's hear it."

"Hatfield's 1988 theory states that there is two types of love. Compassionate, and passionate." He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he leans back slightly on the stool, "in my opinion, it disproves that all healthy relationships should have commitment, intimacy and passion. It's not passion that they should all have, but compassion. Passion as a noun, and adjective, what say you…it is inherently romantic. It's sexual, it's biological and intense. I can also add that Zick Rubin proposed in 1970 that romantic love is defined by three key characteristics, and one of those is feelings of exclusivity and absorption. So, no. Not all healthy relationships need to contain all three, but subgenres. It's not passion, it's compassion. It's not love, it's respect. It's….context."

You cheeks warm at how his words settle in your stomach, foolishly setting off a flutter and your eyes avoid his as you glance at the card.

"Then where would you put us? Past, present, future."

He whistles, "in all theories?"

"All theories." "Past, present, or future?" "Start with past."

"In Rubin's, love. In Lee '76, we were once Storge, and in '77, we became Pragma. In Sternberg, consummate. In Hazan and Shaver's Attachment Theory circa 1987, secure attachment. In Hatfield, compassionate when we were younger, and passionate when we got older." He nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You hadn't talked about the break-up, and you've gotten confirmation that he hadn't, either — Seokmin had texted you over the weekend telling you so. You hadn't responded, hoping the idea of Mingyu being hurt would slip from your mind. You couldn't stand thinking of it, much less being the reason behind it.

"What about present?" "Me or you?" "…Well, you can't speak for me, can you?"

He chuckles, "true. I think…there is a tertiary color to Lee's theory. I've just made it up on my own, it's nothing set in stone and nothing to write home about…but it's there, somewhere."

"What color?" "Solum."

You let your tongue peek out to wet your lips, "what secondaries?"

"Mania, and Agape. An obsession and yet, selfless. I've let you be." "And what does solum mean?" "It's Latin for lonely."

You tuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, and he trills his lips before sucking his teeth. "As for the future?"

"Uh huh?" "I think Sternberg might have my ass in the bag." "How so?"

"I think…empty love." He nods, "maybe fatuous love, if the passion was compassion…because you cannot have that passion without connection."

Your heart sinks in your chest, and he looks at you with a soft smile, "so you see how context is important?"

"You're a shithead." "And you want to argue the fundamentals of the brain. Study law, not physics."

He shrugs, holding the card back out to you. You take it gingerly, biting your tongue as you tuck it back into the spot in the stack where it belonged, but you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.

"I disagree with you, actually." You say suddenly, "I don't think that all of this shit matters when it comes to you and me. The context around our lives is enough to show that none of it is true, anyway."

"Okay," he nods, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the stool as he tilts his head at you, "how so?"

"It's not about psychology, or 'theories', or prosocial whatever the fuck." You roll your eyes, and he snorts as you pace once more. Three steps away, turn, three steps back. "It's about context."

"That's what I said." "Said, not proved." "And you're going to prove it?"

You huff, rounding the edge of his bed and pulling the box of collectibles out from under his night table. His eyes widen, his shoulders stiff as you set the box on his bed, opening the cardboard flaps before reaching in and pulling out the mason jar.

"Exhibit A of Y/N's Context Theory." You hold it up, before your fingernail taps the Chococat and Badtz-Maru sticker. "I got this custom made for you. I chose all these stickers, I gave you this jar with pudding in it that I made out of love for you, consummate love, 'I want to get in your pants' love. In turn, you showed your appreciation by re-purposing the cup and putting your pens in it. Where are the pens? Why is it in the box?"

He shifts, "because I—"

"Because you don't love me anymore. So to use it would be to contribute to your ideation of empty love between us." You interrupt him, and set the jar on desk with a gentle clink. You pull out the cuff links and tie, "exhibit B. I had my initials embroidered into this tie for our prom night. I had these cuff links specially made, and now they're sitting in a box. If there's no one else, why aren't you wearing them?"

"Well, I—" "Because you don't love me anymore."

His brows furrow, but you keep going — the Smiskis, the origami, the Calvin and Hobbes Valentine's Day comic strip, even flipping through the photo albums and detailing the context behind every photo that you randomly landed on…

And finally, you pull out the box of letters. It's heavy from all the folded papers, and you pull it open to display the different colored pages of stationery. Some Sanrio, some notebook paper, some even from his sketchbook from high school when he used to draw in his free time. You pull one out, "you hide these. There is years of history here, of emotion, of commitment, of passion. You used to have my first letter to you framed on your dresser."

"You left me." He says softly, his eyes scanning across almost all the memories he'd collected of you both throughout the years. He glances back up at you, "you left. Why would I frame it? To keep hurting myself? To miss you when I knew you weren't missing me?"

"Anyone else would've fought for me." "Anyone else wouldn't know you the way I do."

He's standing now, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as as you huff, tears burning in the back of your eyes. He tilts his head at you, "you left."

"I know I did."

"Why?" His voice is gentle, leaning slightly closer. "And don't say things were moving too fast or that they were too serious. Don't say I was too much. Give me a real reason."

"That is a real reason." You grouse, running a hand over your face, "we're young. We're too young. Life is…fickle, at this age. You could find someone else. Want something new…yearn to explore."

He laughs humorlessly, sitting on the stool again as he shakes his head.

"I've been in love with you since I was six years old. Why would I suddenly up and decide you're not what I want?" "You said you wanted to be a lawyer since you found out what it was, and now you're studying psychology. You can change your mind, so don't act coy."

"Not about you," he shakes his head, "never about you. It's always going to be you for me."

"How can you be so sure? Because of a love letter I wrote when I was sixteen?" "Because you're the only person in my life that has ever had altruistic motives, and only when we were sixteen did you realize that it was always going to be you and me."

You blink as he shrugs, "everything you've ever done for me has made me who I am. You've molded me, guided me, helped me even when it didn't benefit you. You are the reason I am who I am, that I'm confident in my decisions, that I carry myself the way I do. You are everything I am, and this conversation is what we call central route persuasion. You want to say that I can change my mind about a career choice, and I can. You want to say that anyone else could've fought for you, and they could've. But I know you, and I know that you left because you were in your own head. And you don't want anyone in your way when you're like that, including me. You'll say things you don't mean and cut ties just to come right back and apologize later. Sometimes it's too late, sometimes it's too soon…"

He trails off, glancing at all the items you've taken out of the box. His eyes land on the custom figurine of Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, made of thick clay and glossed with resin — and he clicks his tongue.

"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."

You don't realize you're crying until you sniffle, blowing a breath out through your lips. The photo albums are sprawled open on his bed, showing various pictures at different times in your life — junior prom in your matching pink dress and tie, your first date in your hometown's oldest ice cream parlor (where you accidentally spilled your milkshake and Mingyu gave you his, only to use what you now know as the foot-in-door technique to get a kiss out of it. You hadn't cared. It was sweet and cute and his lips were soft from years of stealing your lip balm.)

"So argue with me all you want, but that will never change." He shakes his head, gently gathering the things you'd taken out and putting some of them on his desk. He moves his pens back into the mason jar, he slots the photo albums between two bookends that held Women Who Run With The Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, All About Love by Bell Hooks…

A handmade journal you'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, made from recycled paper you'd dried yourself and an oil cloth cover, baby blue with a bird's eye pattern. The twine was dyed cobalt blue, staining your fingers for weeks but tied into cute bows and you'd written him yet another love letter — because it was before you knew whether or not you'd be going to the same universities.

You'd asked him to write down something for you every day. That you'd read them when you came home for breaks or for summer vacation, that you'd miss him if he went somewhere else but you hoped in your heart that you both got into SNU so you could 'keep loving him, even if you'd still love him with kilometers of distance between you.'

"What if—" "No what ifs, Y/N."

He moves around, arranging things silently as you watch, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. He sets the Smiski figurines on his floating shelves, he moves his pictures around, displaying you and him closer to the front. He takes Chococat and Badtz-Maru and puts them on his night stand, he slides the box of love letters into his drawer and pulls out a picture frame — gold, oval-shaped, and holding your very first love letter to him. Folded over and over, creases wearing through your penmanship but standing the test of time.

The blue check mark mocks you as you glance at it.

"There's no what ifs with you and me." He says gently, taking the now empty box and carefully peeling the tape off the bottom. He crumples it, tossing it into his trash can and breaking the box down fully. He slots it along his recycling bin, before looking over at you. "And I know you know that."

You huff, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and letting more hot tears coat your skin. They slip beneath the strap of your worn leather watch — a gift from Mingyu. They stream down the side of your face and drip onto your shirt — once Mingyu's. They slip down your neck, meeting the thin gold chain of the necklace that held a small initial — a letter M, and next to it, a gold signet ring he'd given you for your birthday many years ago. It didn't fit anymore, but it was yours. And it was his, and he was yours.

He is yours.

Always has been. Always will be.

"But what if—"

"Shut up." His hands are warm against your cheeks, squishing them gently as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes, "just shut up."

"I'm sor—" "Shh."

He pulls you into his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you wrap your arms around him tightly. His hand is soothing on your back, sliding up and down as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Your chest is warm as you let your eyes close, and Mingyu presses a tentative kiss on your hairline before pulling away.

"Just come back when you're ready. I'll be here." He whispers, squeezing the back of your neck lightly. "No apologies, no questions, just come home."

Seokmin ends up knocking on the door before you can say anything else, and offers you a lift home because Soonyoung asked him to go over and you both live in the same complex.

He doesn't question the embrace.

He knows. He has to know.

You quickly grab your stuff as Seokmin says he'll wait for you in the car, grabbing your empty plates off the desk and shutting the door behind him. Mingyu busies himself putting things away, clicking around his laptop and pulling a pen out of the mason jar and dragging it across the calendar.

"Thursday at six?" He asks over his shoulder, tapping the scratched out date. You barely glance up, "not for a study session, no."

"I can try for Wednesday, but I have a lab until seven-thirty." "Didn't ask for Wednesday night." "Y/N, work with me here."

You roll your eyes, pulling your bag over your shoulder and sidling up next to him. Tonguing your cheek, you tap the scratched square with your fingernail, "scratching it out doesn't make it go away."

"Easier not to see it." "You always did like to plan ahead."

You take the pen from him, uncapping it and moving to the Notes at the bottom of the page.

Thurs. 28th: Y/N ♡ 5:30.

"I'll be here. I want you in the pink button up with the white pants you wore on your birthday last year." You mumble, shoving the pen back in the mason jar and making your way back to the door. He doesn't move, his eyes glued to the note. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but you sigh, walking back to him and cupping his jaw gently. He spares you a glimpse, and you give him a pointed look, "pink button up—"

"White pants, I got it." "Just making sure."

You pat his cheek, your own warming as he leans into it. His eyes are staring right into you, "not my jeans?"

"I'll kill you." "What about the tan chinos? You love those." "Do you hate me?"

He's closer now, carefully caging you in against his desk as he peers at you through his lashes, "you know I don't."

"You called me baby earlier." "You called me a shithead."

You press your lips to his, the soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as he pulls you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses you back carefully. Your fingers slip down his face, gripping the collar of his SNU sweatshirt as he lets the kiss grow eager, licking into your mouth and sliding his hands to your hips, sitting you on the edge of his desk and wedging himself between your knees.

"I love you," you mutter into his mouth, earning a whine as he buried his face in your neck. His grip on your hips loosened, sliding down your thighs and squeezing almost painfully, "I love you, Mingyu."

"Again." "I love you." "One more."

"I love you, I love you, I love you," you press your lips to his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "I'll see you on Thursday. Pink shirt, white pants, okay?"

"Are you sure I can't sell you on the tan chinos?" He mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin faintly before he presses his forehead to yours. You shake your head, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips, "or the jeans, sorry."

"Lame," he mumbles, "I miss you. I love you."

"Even when I argue with the fundamentals of the brain?" "Even when you snoop through my things." "Box said my name."

"So does my heart, but you're not equipped to cut it out of my chest, are you?" He raises a brow, and you tongue your cheek as he grins, "are you, Dr. L/N?"

"Dr. L/N-Kim is not equipped, no. She's a physicist," you feign a grimace as you nod, patting his shoulder as his cheeks tinge pink, "not a medical doctor. Sorry if you thought cardiothoracic surgery was her specialty."

"Can't you stay?" He mumbles against your lips, and you shake your head, "if I say something cynical, how likely are you to be mad?"

"If you say some shit like distance makes the-" "Distance does make the heart grow fonder." "That's not even psychologically correct."

"No," you nip at his lower lip, earning a pout as you kiss the spot gently. "I don't hate you and it may not be psychologically proven, but…it is scientific theory that quantum entanglement exists. Particles, in this case, you and me…they interact, and their states are linked so much that you can't tell one apart from the other. Observing one means you automatically know the state of the other."

"You're so annoying." "And yet, we are entangled."

He rolls his eyes, slotting his lips with yours momentarily before pressing his forehead against yours, "don't leave me again. I almost died and then you'd be shit out of luck for a cool boyfriend that loves you."

"Cool?" "You broke my heart, you can cut me some slack and say I'm cool."

You grin, "Seokmin's waiting on me."

"Y/N." "Don't like that one." "Baby."

"Mmh, I love that one." You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as he pulls at your belt loops. "Overall, I'm sorry. I do get kind of lost in my own head and I always think the solution is to be alone but it only really makes it worse. You'd think I'd stop doing it but it's…a bad habit. What does psychology say about that?"

"That humans are creatures of habit, and we fall into loops." His fingers tuck under your shirt, shaking his head as you give him a warning look. He settles them against your skin, rubbing circles into it, "and we break bad habits by actively engaging in the things that we're avoiding by using those bad habits. So instead of holing yourself away, next time…just talk to me."

"I'm very bad at that." "I know, but I'll never shut you down. You know that." "You love me, right? Even if I have bad habits and I won't take your last name?"

"I'll take yours," he shrugs, squeezing your hips under his hands. "I love you, you know that. I love you, I'm in love with you, I love hearing you talk about quantum mechanics like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"It is." "Everything's easy for you." "Including you?"

"Alright," he rolls his eyes, scoffing as his ears tinge pink, "Seokmin's waiting for you."

"You were just trying to get me to stay over!" "No, I merely asked if you couldn't. And I never said we'd sleep together if you could."

You only smile, running your hands up his arms and squeezing his biceps, "I'll see you on Thursday."

"Can I make a request on wardrobe, too?"

"No," you press a kiss to his forehead, "I'll wear what I want and you'll tell me I look pretty before I talk your ear off about string theory over dinner."

"Wasn't it proven false?" "Not yet, but it's theoretical physics. It's meant to be challenged." "…Maybe I am easy for you."

"I love you," you pat his shoulders with a laugh, before he pouts. "I'll see you on Thursday, Mingyu."

"Bug." "I'll see you on Thursday, bug." "Don't be late, baby."

THURSDAY CAME AND WENT, AND SO DID YOUR CHAPTER TEST.

You weren't sure how you did. You didn't know how to ask Mingyu, either — watching him silently start grading your test after dismissing you with a polite smile on his lips.

Lips you'd kissed all Thursday night and well into Friday morning, lips that you apologized against for hours until those same lips that granted you forgiveness as he lowered his head between your thighs — making you talk about the significance of the amplituhedron in quantum physics through quipped breaths and whines.

It's Saturday, and you're sitting on his lap while he puts in grades. He didn't let you face the screen, because, in his words — it's already unfair that you're sucking face with the TA.

"Am I next?" You asked for the umpteenth time, your fingers tracing the waffle knit of his shirt. He laughed, his chest moving your head as you smacked his shoulder, "it's not funny! You can tell me! I'll act surprised when Dr. Lee pulls me aside and tells me I failed. A big, fat F in purple pen and maybe some pity points for my essay question."

"Mmh, why would she do that?" "So I passed?" "I can't tell you, baby."

You groaned as he chuckled again, his hand splaying across your back as you pouted into his shirt, "consummate love, my ass."

He pinches your hip, making you squeal as you bat his hand away. A kiss is planted on your hairline, "I'll tell you in exchange for a favor."

"Nice try, foot-in-door technique is not gonna work so well now, Mr. Kim." "Dr. L/N-Kim, actually." "Are you trying to turn me on right now?"

He hums, a smug smile on his lips as he continues putting in grades quietly. Your phone buzzes on the desk, but he slides it across the desk so you can't reach it before closing his laptop and giving you his full attention. His hands are snug around your thighs as he gives them a soft squeeze, "you have to stop thinking the worst. You're very smart."

"Obviously," you roll your eyes, "but what if—"

"You got a B." He interrupts, and your eyes widen before you throw your arms around his neck with a cheer. "I didn't grade it, so you can't call me biased."

"Dr. Lee graded it?" You try to mask the disappointment in your voice, but he smiles softly, "she had to grade it because of your essay question."

You peer at him through your lashes, playing with the buttons of his cardigan as you nibble on your lip.

"…Did you read it?" "Of course I did."

He reaches behind you, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a rectangular frame — it matches the frame that holds your first love letter, and this one holds a scan of your essay question…including Dr. Lee's comment at the very top in swirled script and red pen under the Commentary section, and minus two points.

Commentary: Typically, I'd take five points off for going over the word limit. However, I think you and Mingyu will go very far…and it is clear I made an excellent choice picking him for your tutoring sessions. Congratulations, and good luck.

Q: Use what you learned from the text to describe what influences relationships to be formed, and use an example from your personal life — friendships, partnerships, etc., in 300 words or less. Opinions are welcomed.

A: Context is what sparks the formation and growth of a relationship. Perhaps not in terms of psychology, but also in it. In my case, I grew up with the TA for this course. I was his friend for eighteen years, and I unknowingly made him the man he's grown to be. Eventually, we progressed into a romantic relationship. I ended things, with no context and not a care of how it would affect him, or worse — me. Perhaps this is also a love letter to him, one of many he's received throughout the years…and an apology, one that he deserves and I'll forever proclaim.

Just as long as I've grown up with Mingyu, he's grown up with me. He's been a deciding factor of every part of my life, he's picked up on my cues, on my mannerisms, on every bad habit I have and has constantly called me to the carpet about them. He's helped me become a better person, both alone and by his side, and has never made me feel like an extension of him. The context of me — my need to be seen as an individual, my need to be taken seriously, my need to be understood as smart and capable and creative…he has respected it all. He has fed it all, he's worded every part of me that could ever be explained and he's done it properly without ever expecting anything in return. Altruistically, Mingyu has held me in high standards and praised me in even higher regards…and I could never be fully worthy of his compassion, but he makes that thought melt away easily.

When it comes to love…I used to say I agreed with Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love. I disagree now. I think that all healthy relationships come with passion, intimacy, commitment…compassion and context. And all the context you need to know about me when it comes to relationships is that I love Kim Mingyu.

"You're a sap, you know that?" He murmurs against your hair, and you only smile as you feel him pepper his lips down the side of your face, "you, Dr. L/N-Kim, love Kim Mingyu."

"I do, bug." "I know, baby. I love you." "…So you're easy for me?" "…Yeah. So easy."

"Y/N, it's tutoring and it's only for Chapter 12. It's not the end of the world, and you need a little help. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed by." She speaks gently, before holding a card out to you between her fingers. Mingyu's name and phone number is printed across it in navy blue ink, stark against the white card stock.

"The tutoring isn't the problem," you mumble inwardly as you take the card, but you don't need it. You've had Mingyu's phone number memorized since you were teenagers, and it's still saved in your phone all these years later.

And six months after your breakup.

You don't even know why you did it. You don't know why you pulled the plug, you just remember the shit excuses falling from your lips as the burning summer sun beat down on your back. You left for vacation with your family the next day, crying your eyes out the entire time and holing yourself up in the hotel room for hours until it was time to go back home.

And there was no Mingyu to run to.

It's too serious, you had said. We're moving too fast, you argued.

You'd been together for nearly three years. You'd been good friends since you were kids, and he was the very first person that wasn't your family that got your phone number when you got your first phone back in freshman year of high school. He was the first everything — first love, first kiss, first boyfriend.

You had intended for him to be the last, too. The only, even.

Kim Mingyu is The One.

Or was, rather.

You don't know what he's up to these days. You sit awkwardly in the back of the lecture hall, sandwiched between two of the soccer players and hoping they'll hide you. They never have paper and are always taking your pens, but you'd rather that than ever make eye contact with Mingyu again.

Because you know you're weak. You're weak when it comes to him, you'll fold like a house of cards and break down right in front of him. You'd apologize over and over and it would be of no use because, well, you have pride…even if he's worn it thin with his gentle affection, showing you that you don't need to deprive yourself of things you want or love for the sake of holding your head too high.

Him included, but that's the past, now.

What's worse is that you know he's exactly the same, if not weaker. He's just as soft hearted, just as easy to break as you are — but he's Mingyu. He knows you, and he knows that somewhere, in the depths of you, there is that fear. Fear of being seen as just his girlfriend, fear of being perceived as something you're not — weak, docile, whatever makes you feel less than a person.

Mingyu himself has never made you feel that way, and he's swiftly turned his back on anyone in his life that has tried to do that to you. He held you in high standards, higher regards — you were smart and capable, studious and working on a strict schedule to keep your life working smoothly. No dates during the week. No distractions. You were a person, a daughter, a student before you were his girlfriend.

You were his friend before you were his girlfriend.

And now, you're nothing.

Well, not nothing. Nothing besides two people who once knew each other, almost at a molecular level — that now sit fifty feet away from one another every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from two to four since the beginning of the semester.

Mentor and mentee, apparently. Tutor and student, Jedi and Padawan.

"Thanks, Dr. Lee. I'll…be sure to reach out to Mingyu by the end of the week." "No need, I've emailed him already. He'll be reaching out to you shortly to discuss your schedules. Have a good day, Y/N. Keep working hard."

You smile tightly, the paper crumpling slightly under your fingers as you nod before turning on your heel and making your way out of the lecture hall. You can feel your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes, but you blink them back as they try to blur your vision. You skirt around groups of people, couples walking together, wanting to feel the chill of the fall air settling into your your bones as the tears start dripping down your cheeks.

You're grateful you don't feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you barrel down the steps of the front hall.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [4:32 PM] Dr. Lee emailed me. 6-8 on Thursday works @ your place or mine. If mine, don't be late. [4:32 PM] And…you should've told me first. I would've helped you without her interference.

Mingyu's apartment is warm when you arrive the following Thursday. Seokmin opens the door; being yet another counterpart of Mingyu's that you'd befriended during high school and one of his roommates, he knew all about your history. He shook his head silently, giving you a one-armed hug as he let you slip inside the living room. He took your coat as you toed your shoes off, he offered water that you declined, gesturing at the Yeti Rambler bottle in your hand…before pointing you in the direction of Mingyu's room.

"He got back maybe an hour ago. Good luck, rockstar." He ruffled your hair, before taking a seat on the couch and picking his laptop back up. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as you rocked on your heels, closing your eyes and making your way down the hall. You hadn't been to this apartment yet, they'd moved when you left for vacation and were settled by the time you got back.

You're sure his bedroom walls have seen many tears since then.

Maybe a girl or two.

You hoped not.

You raise your hand to knock, only for your soft taps to push the door open. He doesn't look up, nibbling on his lip as he punches numbers into his calculator. He's surrounded by open books, notepads, pens that have long run dry. His room still smells faintly of his cologne from earlier in the morning, the scent permeated into the walls and everything within them.

He's still dressed from wherever he came from — jean jacket resting nicely on his shoulders, sunglasses perched on his head before he runs his hand through his hair and takes them off. He tosses them onto his bed, the honeyed slope of his neck illuminated by the lamp on his desk and you think you're going to throw up.

You knock harder, his eyes immediately moving to the door and spotting you.

"I didn't hear you the first time, sorry."

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding your head as you push the door open. Your grip on your bottle is tight as you step in silently, and he stands up, slotting bookmarks into his pages and closing the textbooks, sliding them elsewhere and clearing the space for you to fit into it. You swallow again, your throat unbearably dry as he moves past you, closing the door. His cologne floats up your nose as he grabs a folded stool from behind it, and you reach your hand out to take it.

He shakes his head, "take the chair. Better for your back."

"My back is fine," your voice is almost too soft for him to hear, but he only rolls his eyes as he rolls it closer to you, pointing at the seat like you're a child. You chew on your cheek as you tentatively pull the chair to you, sitting on the edge of it and pulling your backpack off. You settle your bottle between your legs as he keeps moving around, and you see the textbook that was currently weighing your bag down in his hand.

"She said you are having trouble with…." He scrolls on his laptop, clicking around before pulling up Dr. Lee's email containing your tutoring form, "chapter twelve."

He glances at you, a brow raised as you force yourself to stare at the jar of pens on his desk. A mason jar covered in Sanrio stickers — you'd given it to him for an anniversary. There was a special sticker you'd had custom made by someone on Etsy: Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, and a stamp of I love you, bug! in your handwriting pasted by the artist.

You and him.

"Chapter twelve." He repeats, and you nod silently, moving to pull your backpack off and pull out a new deck of flashcards. "It's just vocabulary. I know the material."

"If you don't know the vocabulary, you can't fully understand the material." "Mingyu, I'm not stupid. The chapter is just about forming interpersonal relationships and attraction and love. It's not rocket science."

"First of all, I never said or insinuated that you're stupid, so watch your tone." He speaks lowly, and you feel your cheeks hot as he perches on the edge of the stool. He's almost too close to you, but not enough that you can justify scooting back. "Second of all, if it were rocket science, you wouldn't need my help. You would've figured it out."

"I don't need your help—" "You're wasting time. Do you want to pass the chapter test or do you want to keep bickering?"

"What, you have plans?" You roll your eyes, your nail moving to break the plastic wrap around the deck of flashcards as he nods, "yes."

You feel your heart sink slightly, but you shrug as you tear into the deck and crumple the wrapper in your hand. You tuck it into the trash can under his desk before fishing a notebook out of your backpack. You glance at the jar of pens again, but opt to dig into your bag for one instead. You click the end, "where are we starting?"

He shrugs, "write down what you struggle with the most and give me the page. I'll have something for you next week. Focus on the chapter units rather than what's in them when you're doing most to least, and we'll talk about the contents in person."

"This could've been an email." You scoff, and he nods, "it could have, but it's not. So just write it down and I'll come up with a plan. Your test is next Friday, so we can do…"

He peers at the calender above his desk, humming as he drums his fingers against the page he's open to — Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love.

"We can do Tuesday. We might be able to do Thursday but I'll have to see how the week progresses. If push comes to shove I can see you on…Wednesday, but it'll either be really late or really early and that's my last resort." He nods, and you glance at the calendar. He's got things marked off, a few birthdays scribbled in…

You look at the date — Thursday, the twenty-first. There's a diagonal line across it, with TA 6-8 on the top and S :) 8:30 on the bottom.

He's seeing someone else.

You know he is, because he used to mark off your dates that way, too. Well, yours usually had a scribbled heart, but you're sure it won't be long before a smile becomes a heart.

"I'll just text you." You mumble, shoving your things back into your backpack and hurriedly pulling it over your shoulder. Your stomach hurts as you glance at the jar of pens again, feeling your nose burn as you push out of the chair, and you hear him sigh as you grab his doorknob.

"Y/N, what is the problem?" He asks softly, and you let out a humorless laugh as you pull the door open.

"I'll see you later, Gyu." The nickname falls from your lips as you shake your head, a tear slipping down your face as you practically bolt down the hall. Seokmin is in the kitchen, and you call a stout goodbye before grabbing your shoes and slink out the front door.

You don't know that Mingyu immediately walks out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes, looking for Seokmin. He just sighs, pulling Mingyu into a hug as he holds your water bottle in his hand — a water bottle he had given you, now covered with more Chococat and Badtz-Maru stickers and a faded customer sticker of his name on the edge.

You only feel the stabbing pain of gravel digging into your socked feet as you hold your high tops in your hand, sprinting out of his apartment complex and down the road to yours. Your vision is blurry and your breathing is choppy but you don't care, and the buzz of your phone is once more unfelt in your pocket.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [6:49 PM] You left your water bottle here. I'll leave it with Seokmin in case you come back to pick it up tonight. [6:57 PM] And for the record, S is Seungcheol. See you on Tuesday.

THE WEEKEND FLEW BY, AND YOU ARE CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE STEPS OF MINGYU'S COMPLEX — TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET HIM.

You had emailed him your list, and CC'd Dr. Lee so you could hold yourself accountable.

To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Subject: Chapter Twelve Subunits of Concern.

I was instructed to rank the Ch. 12 Social Psych subunits from most understood to least. I've CC'd Dr. Lee in case she would like to weigh in with any suggestions.

Chapter Twelve: Social Psychology. MOST. 1. Self-presentation [12.2] 2. Prejudice & Discrimination [12.5] 3. Aggression [12.6] 4. Conformity, Compliance and Obedience [12.4] 5. Prosocial Behavior [12.7] LEAST.

I spent the weekend reviewing key terms and am confident with the vocabulary, as well as most of the review questions in the back of the textbook. Thank you for your time.

Y/N L/N Senior | Applied Physics Department of Physics and Astronomy 010-0406-1997

Mingyu did not reply to your email, his Outlook status set as Offline.

You hadn't texted him back or bothered to return for your bottle of water either, despite the slight comfort of knowing that S wasn't a girl. You were too embarrassed, and now you were too early to knock and ask to be let in. You were too early to face him, and a part of you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You glanced at your watch, having set a timer for it to beep at five minutes to six — and you sigh, glumly resting your cheek in your palm and closing your eyes.

"Why are you down here? It's cold."

Mingyu's voice startles you, and you jump, your hand flying to your chest as you open your eyes wide to see him holding two bags of groceries. Seokmin is behind him, brows raised as you quickly stood up, careful not to stumble.

"Well, clearly neither of you were home." "I texted you that we kept the spare under the doormat?"

You feel your cheeks hot, "yeah, well. It's your house, not mine."

He rolls his eyes, motioning for you to head up the stairs. You scramble up, making yourself useful and unlocking the door for them. You step out of their way, clearing your throat as they set everything down and Seokmin stops Mingyu from going back downstairs, a stern look in his eyes as he ducks out the front door.

"I…can go, if you guys are going to have dinner. Don't let me keep you." You blindly set their spare key on the table behind you, but Mingyu shakes his head as he unpacks things. Bread, eggs, a gallon of milk, "you can go get settled. I'll be right there, it's Seokmin's turn anyway."

Your hands clench at your sides as you toe your shoes off, carefully placing them on the rack before bowing your head and making your way to his bedroom. Your heart clenches as you slowly open his door, hearing Seokmin coming back up and asking whether you'd be staying for dinner just as you slide into the room.

"I'm not sure," Mingyu replies, and you close the door behind you.

More rustling is heard as you settle in the chair, setting the stool out for him and opening your textbook. You glance at his calendar, nothing else added but you…

And your anniversary, scratched out.

If you looked any closer, you would've seen the hearts doodled around your name in pink pen. Three year anniversary, gone. Like the wind.

You tongued your cheek, a pout threatening its way onto your lips as your throat started to burn. You cleared it, shakily digging your items out of your bag and splaying everything out. You opened your textbook, you carefully stacked your unfinished flashcards (because you attempted to spend the weekend studying, but every swirl of your pen reminded you of him.)

Him, him, every single time. Every click.

Everything.

"It's going to be fine," you murmured to yourself, pulling your journal out and flipping to a fresh page.

The mason jar of pens isn't where it was on Thursday.

In fact, it's nowhere to be seen.

You still, your thumb still clicking your pen as your eyes move around the room. Superman figurines despite your insistence that Mingyu could so be a Nightwing. Photo frames holding pictures of his sister and his family, of him and Seokmin, of him and Wonwoo and Seokmin…

One singular photo of you and him — seven years old, missing your front teeth and popsicles melting down your hands. His green, yours red, and the frame read the pet names you'd adopted for one another — bug and baby.

He was bug. At six feet, two inches...Kim Mingyu was your bug.

It was funny to think about.

You don't see any of the trinkets you'd gotten him over the years, but you see a small box tucked into the corner of his bedroom. The tape is peeled up, like he's opened and closed it — and it's hid under his bedside table. You glance at the door, hearing Mingyu and Seokmin banging around in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you grab it as you slowly scoot the chair back, making room to stand up.

NEW! Message From: Mingyu 💘 [6:12 PM] I'll be right there, I'm just giving Seokmin instructions. Sorry for the wait.

You only give him a thumbs up, tossing your phone on the table quickly and making your way over to the box. You stay alert, only peeking in carefully and seeing everything.

Three small, thick photo albums detailing your relationship and some of your years growing up together. A small crate of figurines — another custom Chococat and Badtz-Maru, a handful of Smiskis you'd given him when you didn't get the one you wanted in your blind boxes, and a bunch of paper stars and miscellaneous origami you'd folded up and given him during your old study sessions. There's another box, covered in faded lipstick marks from you, the lid slightly off center and you know it holds all the love letters you'd given him over the years.

You know he still holds onto the very first one you'd ever given him, when you were both sixteen and juniors in high school. He'd had it framed in his last apartment, and kept it on his dresser. Said he read it every morning.

Kim Mingyu!

Today is our first day of school and I'm writing this in Econ (you're sitting three seats away because you were late, bug!) You look kinda cute…I guess.

Okay, not 'I guess.'

But it's always just been you and me, right? Us, together. Thank you for being my best friend and not making fun of me when I make mistakes. I also appreciate that you tell me I'm cool :) I hope you still think I'm super duper cool when you're marrying me in six years time.

Actually, no. I'd say…nine years. We'll be out of grad school by then, and who knows…I could be getting a doctorate. Dr. L/N-Kim, eh? Pretty cute, right?

Dr. Y/N L/N-Kim and Kim Mingyu, Esq.

We're gonna be soooo cool and our kids are gonna think we're soooo gross.

Anyway, I'm not yoinking your last name. I would've earned the degree, not you :P but…I love you. And I hope you're in my life even then, even if nothing moves further between us. I know you won't make it weird if you don't feel the same way, too, which makes it easier. You always make my life easier, but you don't let me win and that's the fun of it all, isn't it? A cushion that softens the blow of a still hard fall.

Anyway, I hope junior year rocks. And I hope you know you suck for being late and sitting so far away. Don't be late tomorrow! I can feel you staring at me (timestamp: 12:22PM.) I snuck my headphones in, and I'm listening to I'm Gonna Win by Foreigner because I promise you, you're not getting that valedictorian spot. It's mine, Kim.

I'll see you after school, bug. Don't read this around your friends! I mean it! >:(

Love you, bug. XOXO. Y/N <3

P.S.: [✔︎] check here if you like me too. do a back flip if you don't :D

A blue pen had checked the box by the time the two of you were walking home together. It was a very nonchalant affair, because you both understood that dating was out of the question until you were both done with the little rivalry you had. Unfortunately, you were both tied — and your graduating class had two Valedictorians, and the very first tie in your high school's history. A picture of you both was displayed in the main hallway of that building now, with a school news article titled Best Friends take Number 1 Spot Together: Future Physicist Y/N L/N & Prospective Lawyer Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu wasn't studying law anymore, and the two of you started dating in August — and he officially made you his girlfriend in November of that year. He changed his major and was thriving in the Psychology department, barreling towards that doctorate — one you also swore you'd get, and you stand by it.

You just aren't sure if Mingyu still stands by you.

And you feel foolish to want to hope that he does, despite the six months of silence, distance and heartbreak — the only communication between the two of you being his purple pen grading your essays and in-class exams…much softer than the red pen he uses for everyone else.

Dr. Lee had to know there was something there.

She had to know.

You see more things in the box — the tie he wore to prom, the cuff links you'd given him for your first anniversary during your sophomore year of college. A tube of lipstick in his favorite shade that you used to keep at his apartment, a first-aid kit in a glittery pink case that was half-filled, a gold spoon you had bought at a market and gotten your names engraved into. You had a matching one, tucked in the silverware drawer of your kitchen that you didn't let anyone else touch, much less use.

The mason jar that once held his pens, now gently tucked into another corner of it. It's stuffed with a printed strip and pink yarn, and you see the comic peering at you through the glass — Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.

It's the Valentine's strip, dated February 14th, 1986 — Susie calls Calvin a baloney brain, and it's the classic, cliché of two kids being mean to one another because they like the other, but you loved it. You'd referenced the comic strip in passing on your first Valentine's Day together, then wound up printing the strip for him, laminating it and gave it to him with his gifts. You'd punched a hole in it and looped a piece of yarn through it, once hot pink and now light, bleached from three years of sun.

You don't know you're holding your breath, tears wetting your lashes — until you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching quietly, and you force yourself off the ground and back into the chair. You wipe haphazardly at your face, sniffling as he knocks gently, opening the door. You don't look at him, letting your eyes zero in on the pad of sticky notes. There's numbers scribbled around it, math you understood but couldn't pin to an origin.

Your stomach grumbles as he walks past you, and you curse yourself for running low on time and not being able to get anything for dinner.

"Snacks in the bottom cabinet." He taps the desk as he moves around, and you clear your throat as you nod, not moving. He holds his textbook in his hand as he turns back to you, furrowing his brow as he leans over and opens the cabinet, "get something."

"I'm good." "Your stomach growled." "I'm just uneasy."

"Cut the shit." He rolls his eyes, grabbing a bag of Goldfish and tossing it in your lap before closing it, "you can have dinner with me and Seok. He's going to make way too much, I know it."

"He always does." "He means well." "I know."

His eyes linger on your face, and if he notices your wet lashes, he doesn't say anything.

But you note the way his fingers flex at his side, the way he tongues his cheek and forces himself to look away.

"Let's start with 12.4, yeah? Compliance, Conformity and Obedience." "No." "Very funny."

"I seriously cannot believe you're trying to argue this. This isn't an argument!" Mingyu sighs as you pace his bedroom, and you gape at him as you run a hand through your hair.

Seokmin had come in forty minutes prior to the heated conversation with plates, and you and Mingyu ate in silence. Your plates sit on the desk, empty, as you pace his bedroom, your words falling from your mouth as you hit the back of your hand to your palm to emphasize your point.

"There is a difference in obedience brought forth by respect, and one brought forth by fear. It won't have the same connotations or the same results, it will only result in social discomfort."

"I'm not saying there isn't! I'm agreeing with you! But that's not the point!"

"Then what does social loafing have to do with obedience!?"

"Baby, you're taking this all out of context. You're trying to break it down like numbers and that's not how this works," he sighs, rubbing his face. "Social loafing is tied into obedience because it is a form of social influence. Compliance, conformity, all of it, it's influential. You want me to give you answers about who designates positions on power and what makes who an authority figure and I just don't have that context for you."

Your heart is in your throat at the pet name, your breath hitched as you look at him. He crosses his arms, eyes expectant as your own prick with tears. You blink them back, checking your watch to see it's half past eight.

"Okay, cool. Influence." You nod, grabbing your pen and scribbling it into your jumbled notes. You run a hand over your face, "it's late. I should get going."

"It's only eight-thirty." "Yeah. I overstayed as it is."

He raises a brow as you pack up your journal, reaching for the flashcards you'd half-finished.

"What's this?" "Key terminology." "How many do you have left?"

"Uhm, I got halfway before I went to bed." You shrug as he flips through the cards, "vocab on the front, definition and example on the back. They're sectioned off by unit in color, but I jumped around to what I found more interesting and just started working my way around."

"Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love," he nods, holding up the butter yellow flashcard. Your hand tightens around your beg as he flips the card over, his eyes scanning over the diagram you'd doodled with examples. "Companionate love is you and Seokmin?"

"Yes? He's my friend?" You roll your eyes as he nods, biting back his smile as he continues to scan over it.

"Do you agree with Sternberg's theory?" He asks, flicking the card as you nibble on your lip.

"It makes sense." "It says that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion." "That's true."

"Well, not when you take into consideration what else is said about the contributing factors. Passion and intimacy for romantic love, but commitment and intimacy for companionate. Do you think that your friendships could have passion, and your romantic relationships couldn't, and still be healthy?" He tilts his head at you, and you clear your throat as you open your mouth to dodge the question, "don't give me bullshit. Use your brain. Explain your thoughts."

You close your mouth, your fingernails digging into your backpack as you swallow hard.

"I think that…context is important." You admit, knowing that the shit-eating grin spreading on his lips will bring back the topic of obedience and your insistence for answers he couldn't give you. "I agree that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion because it's not always romantic. Context is important, because you can take into consideration all the verbiage used."

You step closer, taking the card out of his hand and pointing with your pinky finger, "empty love could be a dead marriage, or two parents who stay together for their kids, or a friendship that only remains because of the history rather than caring at all about each other's lives past what they've lived together."

"And companionate love?" "Me and Seokmin, you and Seokmin. Our friendship is intimate, because we share vulnerabilities and we are interested in each other's lives. Our friendship is also commitment, because we hang out often and passion doesn't always have to mean…I guess, being hot for one another. It can just be passionate as a noun, passionate as…an adjective rather than a verb."

"What about you and me?" He asks, tilting his head when you realize how close you are to him. Your arm is brushing his shoulder and you're slid between his legs, the denim of his jeans stretched across thick thighs and brushing against the back of your own. You peer at him through your lashes, "what about you and me?"

"Where do we fall on this diagram? Where did we use to fall on this diagram, and where could we be in the future?" "Is this an appropriate question?" "Call it real-life application to scholarly subjects."

You tongue your cheek at his quick wit, and you glance at the card.

You were once companionate.

You were also once romantic, even consummate — intimate, passionate, committed.

"I don't think we fall into any of them." You admit slowly, flicking the card. "I think…maybe, at one point, we could've been consummate in a romantic style."

"John Lee has a theory about love, too. He came up with it in '76," he starts, and you peer at him through your lashes as he takes the card back, tracing your penmanship. "It's called the Color Wheel Model of Love, and it originated with three 'colors,' that were meant to be the primaries like red, blue and yellow. He presented Eros, for eroticism. Ludus, for non-committal, and Storge, for natural nurturing."

"Right." "He later proposed that the primary colors could be combined to create a sort of secondary color. Eros and Ludus would make Mania, so obsession. Pragma was Ludus and Storge, representing realistic love, and Agape was Eros and Storge in the presentation of selfless love."

You raise a brow, "do you just have love theories memorized?"

"My favorite is Elaine Hatfield's, and I use it to argue Sternberg's." "Let's hear it."

"Hatfield's 1988 theory states that there is two types of love. Compassionate, and passionate." He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he leans back slightly on the stool, "in my opinion, it disproves that all healthy relationships should have commitment, intimacy and passion. It's not passion that they should all have, but compassion. Passion as a noun, and adjective, what say you…it is inherently romantic. It's sexual, it's biological and intense. I can also add that Zick Rubin proposed in 1970 that romantic love is defined by three key characteristics, and one of those is feelings of exclusivity and absorption. So, no. Not all healthy relationships need to contain all three, but subgenres. It's not passion, it's compassion. It's not love, it's respect. It's….context."

You cheeks warm at how his words settle in your stomach, foolishly setting off a flutter and your eyes avoid his as you glance at the card.

"Then where would you put us? Past, present, future."

He whistles, "in all theories?"

"All theories." "Past, present, or future?" "Start with past."

"In Rubin's, love. In Lee '76, we were once Storge, and in '77, we became Pragma. In Sternberg, consummate. In Hazan and Shaver's Attachment Theory circa 1987, secure attachment. In Hatfield, compassionate when we were younger, and passionate when we got older." He nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You hadn't talked about the break-up, and you've gotten confirmation that he hadn't, either — Seokmin had texted you over the weekend telling you so. You hadn't responded, hoping the idea of Mingyu being hurt would slip from your mind. You couldn't stand thinking of it, much less being the reason behind it.

"What about present?" "Me or you?" "…Well, you can't speak for me, can you?"

He chuckles, "true. I think…there is a tertiary color to Lee's theory. I've just made it up on my own, it's nothing set in stone and nothing to write home about…but it's there, somewhere."

"What color?" "Solum."

You let your tongue peek out to wet your lips, "what secondaries?"

"Mania, and Agape. An obsession and yet, selfless. I've let you be." "And what does solum mean?" "It's Latin for lonely."

You tuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, and he trills his lips before sucking his teeth. "As for the future?"

"Uh huh?" "I think Sternberg might have my ass in the bag." "How so?"

"I think…empty love." He nods, "maybe fatuous love, if the passion was compassion…because you cannot have that passion without connection."

Your heart sinks in your chest, and he looks at you with a soft smile, "so you see how context is important?"

"You're a shithead." "And you want to argue the fundamentals of the brain. Study law, not physics."

He shrugs, holding the card back out to you. You take it gingerly, biting your tongue as you tuck it back into the spot in the stack where it belonged, but you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.

"I disagree with you, actually." You say suddenly, "I don't think that all of this shit matters when it comes to you and me. The context around our lives is enough to show that none of it is true, anyway."

"Okay," he nods, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the stool as he tilts his head at you, "how so?"

"It's not about psychology, or 'theories', or prosocial whatever the fuck." You roll your eyes, and he snorts as you pace once more. Three steps away, turn, three steps back. "It's about context."

"That's what I said." "Said, not proved." "And you're going to prove it?"

You huff, rounding the edge of his bed and pulling the box of collectibles out from under his night table. His eyes widen, his shoulders stiff as you set the box on his bed, opening the cardboard flaps before reaching in and pulling out the mason jar.

"Exhibit A of Y/N's Context Theory." You hold it up, before your fingernail taps the Chococat and Badtz-Maru sticker. "I got this custom made for you. I chose all these stickers, I gave you this jar with pudding in it that I made out of love for you, consummate love, 'I want to get in your pants' love. In turn, you showed your appreciation by re-purposing the cup and putting your pens in it. Where are the pens? Why is it in the box?"

He shifts, "because I—"

"Because you don't love me anymore. So to use it would be to contribute to your ideation of empty love between us." You interrupt him, and set the jar on desk with a gentle clink. You pull out the cuff links and tie, "exhibit B. I had my initials embroidered into this tie for our prom night. I had these cuff links specially made, and now they're sitting in a box. If there's no one else, why aren't you wearing them?"

"Well, I—" "Because you don't love me anymore."

His brows furrow, but you keep going — the Smiskis, the origami, the Calvin and Hobbes Valentine's Day comic strip, even flipping through the photo albums and detailing the context behind every photo that you randomly landed on…

And finally, you pull out the box of letters. It's heavy from all the folded papers, and you pull it open to display the different colored pages of stationery. Some Sanrio, some notebook paper, some even from his sketchbook from high school when he used to draw in his free time. You pull one out, "you hide these. There is years of history here, of emotion, of commitment, of passion. You used to have my first letter to you framed on your dresser."

"You left me." He says softly, his eyes scanning across almost all the memories he'd collected of you both throughout the years. He glances back up at you, "you left. Why would I frame it? To keep hurting myself? To miss you when I knew you weren't missing me?"

"Anyone else would've fought for me." "Anyone else wouldn't know you the way I do."

He's standing now, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as as you huff, tears burning in the back of your eyes. He tilts his head at you, "you left."

"I know I did."

"Why?" His voice is gentle, leaning slightly closer. "And don't say things were moving too fast or that they were too serious. Don't say I was too much. Give me a real reason."

"That is a real reason." You grouse, running a hand over your face, "we're young. We're too young. Life is…fickle, at this age. You could find someone else. Want something new…yearn to explore."

He laughs humorlessly, sitting on the stool again as he shakes his head.

"I've been in love with you since I was six years old. Why would I suddenly up and decide you're not what I want?" "You said you wanted to be a lawyer since you found out what it was, and now you're studying psychology. You can change your mind, so don't act coy."

"Not about you," he shakes his head, "never about you. It's always going to be you for me."

"How can you be so sure? Because of a love letter I wrote when I was sixteen?" "Because you're the only person in my life that has ever had altruistic motives, and only when we were sixteen did you realize that it was always going to be you and me."

You blink as he shrugs, "everything you've ever done for me has made me who I am. You've molded me, guided me, helped me even when it didn't benefit you. You are the reason I am who I am, that I'm confident in my decisions, that I carry myself the way I do. You are everything I am, and this conversation is what we call central route persuasion. You want to say that I can change my mind about a career choice, and I can. You want to say that anyone else could've fought for you, and they could've. But I know you, and I know that you left because you were in your own head. And you don't want anyone in your way when you're like that, including me. You'll say things you don't mean and cut ties just to come right back and apologize later. Sometimes it's too late, sometimes it's too soon…"

He trails off, glancing at all the items you've taken out of the box. His eyes land on the custom figurine of Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, made of thick clay and glossed with resin — and he clicks his tongue.

"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."

You don't realize you're crying until you sniffle, blowing a breath out through your lips. The photo albums are sprawled open on his bed, showing various pictures at different times in your life — junior prom in your matching pink dress and tie, your first date in your hometown's oldest ice cream parlor (where you accidentally spilled your milkshake and Mingyu gave you his, only to use what you now know as the foot-in-door technique to get a kiss out of it. You hadn't cared. It was sweet and cute and his lips were soft from years of stealing your lip balm.)

"So argue with me all you want, but that will never change." He shakes his head, gently gathering the things you'd taken out and putting some of them on his desk. He moves his pens back into the mason jar, he slots the photo albums between two bookends that held Women Who Run With The Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, All About Love by Bell Hooks…

A handmade journal you'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, made from recycled paper you'd dried yourself and an oil cloth cover, baby blue with a bird's eye pattern. The twine was dyed cobalt blue, staining your fingers for weeks but tied into cute bows and you'd written him yet another love letter — because it was before you knew whether or not you'd be going to the same universities.

You'd asked him to write down something for you every day. That you'd read them when you came home for breaks or for summer vacation, that you'd miss him if he went somewhere else but you hoped in your heart that you both got into SNU so you could 'keep loving him, even if you'd still love him with kilometers of distance between you.'

"What if—" "No what ifs, Y/N."

He moves around, arranging things silently as you watch, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. He sets the Smiski figurines on his floating shelves, he moves his pictures around, displaying you and him closer to the front. He takes Chococat and Badtz-Maru and puts them on his night stand, he slides the box of love letters into his drawer and pulls out a picture frame — gold, oval-shaped, and holding your very first love letter to him. Folded over and over, creases wearing through your penmanship but standing the test of time.

The blue check mark mocks you as you glance at it.

"There's no what ifs with you and me." He says gently, taking the now empty box and carefully peeling the tape off the bottom. He crumples it, tossing it into his trash can and breaking the box down fully. He slots it along his recycling bin, before looking over at you. "And I know you know that."

You huff, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and letting more hot tears coat your skin. They slip beneath the strap of your worn leather watch — a gift from Mingyu. They stream down the side of your face and drip onto your shirt — once Mingyu's. They slip down your neck, meeting the thin gold chain of the necklace that held a small initial — a letter M, and next to it, a gold signet ring he'd given you for your birthday many years ago. It didn't fit anymore, but it was yours. And it was his, and he was yours.

He is yours.

Always has been. Always will be.

"But what if—"

"Shut up." His hands are warm against your cheeks, squishing them gently as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes, "just shut up."

"I'm sor—" "Shh."

He pulls you into his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you wrap your arms around him tightly. His hand is soothing on your back, sliding up and down as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Your chest is warm as you let your eyes close, and Mingyu presses a tentative kiss on your hairline before pulling away.

"Just come back when you're ready. I'll be here." He whispers, squeezing the back of your neck lightly. "No apologies, no questions, just come home."

Seokmin ends up knocking on the door before you can say anything else, and offers you a lift home because Soonyoung asked him to go over and you both live in the same complex.

He doesn't question the embrace.

He knows. He has to know.

You quickly grab your stuff as Seokmin says he'll wait for you in the car, grabbing your empty plates off the desk and shutting the door behind him. Mingyu busies himself putting things away, clicking around his laptop and pulling a pen out of the mason jar and dragging it across the calendar.

"Thursday at six?" He asks over his shoulder, tapping the scratched out date. You barely glance up, "not for a study session, no."

"I can try for Wednesday, but I have a lab until seven-thirty." "Didn't ask for Wednesday night." "Y/N, work with me here."

You roll your eyes, pulling your bag over your shoulder and sidling up next to him. Tonguing your cheek, you tap the scratched square with your fingernail, "scratching it out doesn't make it go away."

"Easier not to see it." "You always did like to plan ahead."

You take the pen from him, uncapping it and moving to the Notes at the bottom of the page.

Thurs. 28th: Y/N ♡ 5:30.

"I'll be here. I want you in the pink button up with the white pants you wore on your birthday last year." You mumble, shoving the pen back in the mason jar and making your way back to the door. He doesn't move, his eyes glued to the note. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but you sigh, walking back to him and cupping his jaw gently. He spares you a glimpse, and you give him a pointed look, "pink button up—"

"White pants, I got it." "Just making sure."

You pat his cheek, your own warming as he leans into it. His eyes are staring right into you, "not my jeans?"

"I'll kill you." "What about the tan chinos? You love those." "Do you hate me?"

He's closer now, carefully caging you in against his desk as he peers at you through his lashes, "you know I don't."

"You called me baby earlier." "You called me a shithead."

You press your lips to his, the soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as he pulls you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses you back carefully. Your fingers slip down his face, gripping the collar of his SNU sweatshirt as he lets the kiss grow eager, licking into your mouth and sliding his hands to your hips, sitting you on the edge of his desk and wedging himself between your knees.

"I love you," you mutter into his mouth, earning a whine as he buried his face in your neck. His grip on your hips loosened, sliding down your thighs and squeezing almost painfully, "I love you, Mingyu."

"Again." "I love you." "One more."

"I love you, I love you, I love you," you press your lips to his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "I'll see you on Thursday. Pink shirt, white pants, okay?"

"Are you sure I can't sell you on the tan chinos?" He mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin faintly before he presses his forehead to yours. You shake your head, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips, "or the jeans, sorry."

"Lame," he mumbles, "I miss you. I love you."

"Even when I argue with the fundamentals of the brain?" "Even when you snoop through my things." "Box said my name."

"So does my heart, but you're not equipped to cut it out of my chest, are you?" He raises a brow, and you tongue your cheek as he grins, "are you, Dr. L/N?"

"Dr. L/N-Kim is not equipped, no. She's a physicist," you feign a grimace as you nod, patting his shoulder as his cheeks tinge pink, "not a medical doctor. Sorry if you thought cardiothoracic surgery was her specialty."

"Can't you stay?" He mumbles against your lips, and you shake your head, "if I say something cynical, how likely are you to be mad?"

"If you say some shit like distance makes the-" "Distance does make the heart grow fonder." "That's not even psychologically correct."

"No," you nip at his lower lip, earning a pout as you kiss the spot gently. "I don't hate you and it may not be psychologically proven, but…it is scientific theory that quantum entanglement exists. Particles, in this case, you and me…they interact, and their states are linked so much that you can't tell one apart from the other. Observing one means you automatically know the state of the other."

"You're so annoying." "And yet, we are entangled."

He rolls his eyes, slotting his lips with yours momentarily before pressing his forehead against yours, "don't leave me again. I almost died and then you'd be shit out of luck for a cool boyfriend that loves you."

"Cool?" "You broke my heart, you can cut me some slack and say I'm cool."

You grin, "Seokmin's waiting on me."

"Y/N." "Don't like that one." "Baby."

"Mmh, I love that one." You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as he pulls at your belt loops. "Overall, I'm sorry. I do get kind of lost in my own head and I always think the solution is to be alone but it only really makes it worse. You'd think I'd stop doing it but it's…a bad habit. What does psychology say about that?"

"That humans are creatures of habit, and we fall into loops." His fingers tuck under your shirt, shaking his head as you give him a warning look. He settles them against your skin, rubbing circles into it, "and we break bad habits by actively engaging in the things that we're avoiding by using those bad habits. So instead of holing yourself away, next time…just talk to me."

"I'm very bad at that." "I know, but I'll never shut you down. You know that." "You love me, right? Even if I have bad habits and I won't take your last name?"

"I'll take yours," he shrugs, squeezing your hips under his hands. "I love you, you know that. I love you, I'm in love with you, I love hearing you talk about quantum mechanics like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"It is." "Everything's easy for you." "Including you?"

"Alright," he rolls his eyes, scoffing as his ears tinge pink, "Seokmin's waiting for you."

"You were just trying to get me to stay over!" "No, I merely asked if you couldn't. And I never said we'd sleep together if you could."

You only smile, running your hands up his arms and squeezing his biceps, "I'll see you on Thursday."

"Can I make a request on wardrobe, too?"

"No," you press a kiss to his forehead, "I'll wear what I want and you'll tell me I look pretty before I talk your ear off about string theory over dinner."

"Wasn't it proven false?" "Not yet, but it's theoretical physics. It's meant to be challenged." "…Maybe I am easy for you."

"I love you," you pat his shoulders with a laugh, before he pouts. "I'll see you on Thursday, Mingyu."

"Bug." "I'll see you on Thursday, bug." "Don't be late, baby."

THURSDAY CAME AND WENT, AND SO DID YOUR CHAPTER TEST.

You weren't sure how you did. You didn't know how to ask Mingyu, either — watching him silently start grading your test after dismissing you with a polite smile on his lips.

Lips you'd kissed all Thursday night and well into Friday morning, lips that you apologized against for hours until those same lips that granted you forgiveness as he lowered his head between your thighs — making you talk about the significance of the amplituhedron in quantum physics through quipped breaths and whines.

It's Saturday, and you're sitting on his lap while he puts in grades. He didn't let you face the screen, because, in his words — it's already unfair that you're sucking face with the TA.

"Am I next?" You asked for the umpteenth time, your fingers tracing the waffle knit of his shirt. He laughed, his chest moving your head as you smacked his shoulder, "it's not funny! You can tell me! I'll act surprised when Dr. Lee pulls me aside and tells me I failed. A big, fat F in purple pen and maybe some pity points for my essay question."

"Mmh, why would she do that?" "So I passed?" "I can't tell you, baby."

You groaned as he chuckled again, his hand splaying across your back as you pouted into his shirt, "consummate love, my ass."

He pinches your hip, making you squeal as you bat his hand away. A kiss is planted on your hairline, "I'll tell you in exchange for a favor."

"Nice try, foot-in-door technique is not gonna work so well now, Mr. Kim." "Dr. L/N-Kim, actually." "Are you trying to turn me on right now?"

He hums, a smug smile on his lips as he continues putting in grades quietly. Your phone buzzes on the desk, but he slides it across the desk so you can't reach it before closing his laptop and giving you his full attention. His hands are snug around your thighs as he gives them a soft squeeze, "you have to stop thinking the worst. You're very smart."

"Obviously," you roll your eyes, "but what if—"

"You got a B." He interrupts, and your eyes widen before you throw your arms around his neck with a cheer. "I didn't grade it, so you can't call me biased."

"Dr. Lee graded it?" You try to mask the disappointment in your voice, but he smiles softly, "she had to grade it because of your essay question."

You peer at him through your lashes, playing with the buttons of his cardigan as you nibble on your lip.

"…Did you read it?" "Of course I did."

He reaches behind you, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a rectangular frame — it matches the frame that holds your first love letter, and this one holds a scan of your essay question…including Dr. Lee's comment at the very top in swirled script and red pen under the Commentary section, and minus two points.

Commentary: Typically, I'd take five points off for going over the word limit. However, I think you and Mingyu will go very far…and it is clear I made an excellent choice picking him for your tutoring sessions. Congratulations, and good luck.

Q: Use what you learned from the text to describe what influences relationships to be formed, and use an example from your personal life — friendships, partnerships, etc., in 300 words or less. Opinions are welcomed.

A: Context is what sparks the formation and growth of a relationship. Perhaps not in terms of psychology, but also in it. In my case, I grew up with the TA for this course. I was his friend for eighteen years, and I unknowingly made him the man he's grown to be. Eventually, we progressed into a romantic relationship. I ended things, with no context and not a care of how it would affect him, or worse — me. Perhaps this is also a love letter to him, one of many he's received throughout the years…and an apology, one that he deserves and I'll forever proclaim.

Just as long as I've grown up with Mingyu, he's grown up with me. He's been a deciding factor of every part of my life, he's picked up on my cues, on my mannerisms, on every bad habit I have and has constantly called me to the carpet about them. He's helped me become a better person, both alone and by his side, and has never made me feel like an extension of him. The context of me — my need to be seen as an individual, my need to be taken seriously, my need to be understood as smart and capable and creative…he has respected it all. He has fed it all, he's worded every part of me that could ever be explained and he's done it properly without ever expecting anything in return. Altruistically, Mingyu has held me in high standards and praised me in even higher regards…and I could never be fully worthy of his compassion, but he makes that thought melt away easily.

When it comes to love…I used to say I agreed with Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love. I disagree now. I think that all healthy relationships come with passion, intimacy, commitment…compassion and context. And all the context you need to know about me when it comes to relationships is that I love Kim Mingyu.

"You're a sap, you know that?" He murmurs against your hair, and you only smile as you feel him pepper his lips down the side of your face, "you, Dr. L/N-Kim, love Kim Mingyu."

"I do, bug." "I know, baby. I love you." "…So you're easy for me?" "…Yeah. So easy."

Princess Party Co: Rent a Princess for Birthday Parties Reviews

yourusername ★★★★★

Review 1: Cinderella Magic

We booked Cinderella for our daughter's 5th birthday, and it was absolutely magical! From the moment she walked in, it was like a fairytale had come to life. The princess was warm, engaging, and had every little guest utterly enchanted. What really stood out was the young man who drove her—he adjusted her crown before she walked in and carried her gown so it wouldn't catch on the pavement. It was such a small thing, but you could tell he really cared. We were all swooning a little!

Review 2: Ariel Under the Sea Party

Ariel came to our poolside party and made our birthday girl feel like royalty! Her singing voice was incredible, and she stayed perfectly in character the whole time. The kids adored her. And her assistant (I think his name was Mingyu?) was so thoughtful—he made sure she stayed hydrated in the heat and had a towel ready right after her performance. You could see the way he looked at her from the side of the yard—like she really was a princess.

Review 3: Belle and the Bookworms Bash

We had a Beauty and the Beast themed party for our twin girls, and Belle was simply perfect. She read stories, danced with the kids, and even stayed a little longer when one of the shy guests finally warmed up. Her driver, Mingyu, stayed quietly in the background, but I noticed he handed her a book she'd forgotten in the car just in time for story hour. He didn’t say much, but he smiled at her like he was proud. It was such a sweet moment.

Review 4: Princess Tiana Brings the Fun

Princess Tiana lit up the whole park party with her energy and joy! She played games, danced with the kids, and even led a mini parade. We were all blown away. Her assistant was so kind—he helped set up her speakers and offered his jacket when the wind picked up toward the end of the party. The way he made sure she was okay without drawing attention to himself was something you don’t usually see. A real-life Prince Charming behind the scenes!

"Y/N, it's tutoring and it's only for Chapter 12. It's not the end of the world, and you need a little help. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed by." She speaks gently, before holding a card out to you between her fingers. Mingyu's name and phone number is printed across it in navy blue ink, stark against the white card stock.

"The tutoring isn't the problem," you mumble inwardly as you take the card, but you don't need it. You've had Mingyu's phone number memorized since you were teenagers, and it's still saved in your phone all these years later.

And six months after your breakup.

You don't even know why you did it. You don't know why you pulled the plug, you just remember the shit excuses falling from your lips as the burning summer sun beat down on your back. You left for vacation with your family the next day, crying your eyes out the entire time and holing yourself up in the hotel room for hours until it was time to go back home.

And there was no Mingyu to run to.

It's too serious, you had said. We're moving too fast, you argued.

You'd been together for nearly three years. You'd been good friends since you were kids, and he was the very first person that wasn't your family that got your phone number when you got your first phone back in freshman year of high school. He was the first everything — first love, first kiss, first boyfriend.

You had intended for him to be the last, too. The only, even.

Kim Mingyu is The One.

Or was, rather.

You don't know what he's up to these days. You sit awkwardly in the back of the lecture hall, sandwiched between two of the soccer players and hoping they'll hide you. They never have paper and are always taking your pens, but you'd rather that than ever make eye contact with Mingyu again.

Because you know you're weak. You're weak when it comes to him, you'll fold like a house of cards and break down right in front of him. You'd apologize over and over and it would be of no use because, well, you have pride…even if he's worn it thin with his gentle affection, showing you that you don't need to deprive yourself of things you want or love for the sake of holding your head too high.

Him included, but that's the past, now.

What's worse is that you know he's exactly the same, if not weaker. He's just as soft hearted, just as easy to break as you are — but he's Mingyu. He knows you, and he knows that somewhere, in the depths of you, there is that fear. Fear of being seen as just his girlfriend, fear of being perceived as something you're not — weak, docile, whatever makes you feel less than a person.

Mingyu himself has never made you feel that way, and he's swiftly turned his back on anyone in his life that has tried to do that to you. He held you in high standards, higher regards — you were smart and capable, studious and working on a strict schedule to keep your life working smoothly. No dates during the week. No distractions. You were a person, a daughter, a student before you were his girlfriend.

You were his friend before you were his girlfriend.

And now, you're nothing.

Well, not nothing. Nothing besides two people who once knew each other, almost at a molecular level — that now sit fifty feet away from one another every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from two to four since the beginning of the semester.

Mentor and mentee, apparently. Tutor and student, Jedi and Padawan.

"Thanks, Dr. Lee. I'll…be sure to reach out to Mingyu by the end of the week." "No need, I've emailed him already. He'll be reaching out to you shortly to discuss your schedules. Have a good day, Y/N. Keep working hard."

You smile tightly, the paper crumpling slightly under your fingers as you nod before turning on your heel and making your way out of the lecture hall. You can feel your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes, but you blink them back as they try to blur your vision. You skirt around groups of people, couples walking together, wanting to feel the chill of the fall air settling into your your bones as the tears start dripping down your cheeks.

You're grateful you don't feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you barrel down the steps of the front hall.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [4:32 PM] Dr. Lee emailed me. 6-8 on Thursday works @ your place or mine. If mine, don't be late. [4:32 PM] And…you should've told me first. I would've helped you without her interference.

Mingyu's apartment is warm when you arrive the following Thursday. Seokmin opens the door; being yet another counterpart of Mingyu's that you'd befriended during high school and one of his roommates, he knew all about your history. He shook his head silently, giving you a one-armed hug as he let you slip inside the living room. He took your coat as you toed your shoes off, he offered water that you declined, gesturing at the Yeti Rambler bottle in your hand…before pointing you in the direction of Mingyu's room.

"He got back maybe an hour ago. Good luck, rockstar." He ruffled your hair, before taking a seat on the couch and picking his laptop back up. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as you rocked on your heels, closing your eyes and making your way down the hall. You hadn't been to this apartment yet, they'd moved when you left for vacation and were settled by the time you got back.

You're sure his bedroom walls have seen many tears since then.

Maybe a girl or two.

You hoped not.

You raise your hand to knock, only for your soft taps to push the door open. He doesn't look up, nibbling on his lip as he punches numbers into his calculator. He's surrounded by open books, notepads, pens that have long run dry. His room still smells faintly of his cologne from earlier in the morning, the scent permeated into the walls and everything within them.

He's still dressed from wherever he came from — jean jacket resting nicely on his shoulders, sunglasses perched on his head before he runs his hand through his hair and takes them off. He tosses them onto his bed, the honeyed slope of his neck illuminated by the lamp on his desk and you think you're going to throw up.

You knock harder, his eyes immediately moving to the door and spotting you.

"I didn't hear you the first time, sorry."

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding your head as you push the door open. Your grip on your bottle is tight as you step in silently, and he stands up, slotting bookmarks into his pages and closing the textbooks, sliding them elsewhere and clearing the space for you to fit into it. You swallow again, your throat unbearably dry as he moves past you, closing the door. His cologne floats up your nose as he grabs a folded stool from behind it, and you reach your hand out to take it.

He shakes his head, "take the chair. Better for your back."

"My back is fine," your voice is almost too soft for him to hear, but he only rolls his eyes as he rolls it closer to you, pointing at the seat like you're a child. You chew on your cheek as you tentatively pull the chair to you, sitting on the edge of it and pulling your backpack off. You settle your bottle between your legs as he keeps moving around, and you see the textbook that was currently weighing your bag down in his hand.

"She said you are having trouble with…." He scrolls on his laptop, clicking around before pulling up Dr. Lee's email containing your tutoring form, "chapter twelve."

He glances at you, a brow raised as you force yourself to stare at the jar of pens on his desk. A mason jar covered in Sanrio stickers — you'd given it to him for an anniversary. There was a special sticker you'd had custom made by someone on Etsy: Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, and a stamp of I love you, bug! in your handwriting pasted by the artist.

You and him.

"Chapter twelve." He repeats, and you nod silently, moving to pull your backpack off and pull out a new deck of flashcards. "It's just vocabulary. I know the material."

"If you don't know the vocabulary, you can't fully understand the material." "Mingyu, I'm not stupid. The chapter is just about forming interpersonal relationships and attraction and love. It's not rocket science."

"First of all, I never said or insinuated that you're stupid, so watch your tone." He speaks lowly, and you feel your cheeks hot as he perches on the edge of the stool. He's almost too close to you, but not enough that you can justify scooting back. "Second of all, if it were rocket science, you wouldn't need my help. You would've figured it out."

"I don't need your help—" "You're wasting time. Do you want to pass the chapter test or do you want to keep bickering?"

"What, you have plans?" You roll your eyes, your nail moving to break the plastic wrap around the deck of flashcards as he nods, "yes."

You feel your heart sink slightly, but you shrug as you tear into the deck and crumple the wrapper in your hand. You tuck it into the trash can under his desk before fishing a notebook out of your backpack. You glance at the jar of pens again, but opt to dig into your bag for one instead. You click the end, "where are we starting?"

He shrugs, "write down what you struggle with the most and give me the page. I'll have something for you next week. Focus on the chapter units rather than what's in them when you're doing most to least, and we'll talk about the contents in person."

"This could've been an email." You scoff, and he nods, "it could have, but it's not. So just write it down and I'll come up with a plan. Your test is next Friday, so we can do…"

He peers at the calender above his desk, humming as he drums his fingers against the page he's open to — Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love.

"We can do Tuesday. We might be able to do Thursday but I'll have to see how the week progresses. If push comes to shove I can see you on…Wednesday, but it'll either be really late or really early and that's my last resort." He nods, and you glance at the calendar. He's got things marked off, a few birthdays scribbled in…

You look at the date — Thursday, the twenty-first. There's a diagonal line across it, with TA 6-8 on the top and S :) 8:30 on the bottom.

He's seeing someone else.

You know he is, because he used to mark off your dates that way, too. Well, yours usually had a scribbled heart, but you're sure it won't be long before a smile becomes a heart.

"I'll just text you." You mumble, shoving your things back into your backpack and hurriedly pulling it over your shoulder. Your stomach hurts as you glance at the jar of pens again, feeling your nose burn as you push out of the chair, and you hear him sigh as you grab his doorknob.

"Y/N, what is the problem?" He asks softly, and you let out a humorless laugh as you pull the door open.

"I'll see you later, Gyu." The nickname falls from your lips as you shake your head, a tear slipping down your face as you practically bolt down the hall. Seokmin is in the kitchen, and you call a stout goodbye before grabbing your shoes and slink out the front door.

You don't know that Mingyu immediately walks out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes, looking for Seokmin. He just sighs, pulling Mingyu into a hug as he holds your water bottle in his hand — a water bottle he had given you, now covered with more Chococat and Badtz-Maru stickers and a faded customer sticker of his name on the edge.

You only feel the stabbing pain of gravel digging into your socked feet as you hold your high tops in your hand, sprinting out of his apartment complex and down the road to yours. Your vision is blurry and your breathing is choppy but you don't care, and the buzz of your phone is once more unfelt in your pocket.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘 [6:49 PM] You left your water bottle here. I'll leave it with Seokmin in case you come back to pick it up tonight. [6:57 PM] And for the record, S is Seungcheol. See you on Tuesday.

THE WEEKEND FLEW BY, AND YOU ARE CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE STEPS OF MINGYU'S COMPLEX — TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET HIM.

You had emailed him your list, and CC'd Dr. Lee so you could hold yourself accountable.

To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Subject: Chapter Twelve Subunits of Concern.

I was instructed to rank the Ch. 12 Social Psych subunits from most understood to least. I've CC'd Dr. Lee in case she would like to weigh in with any suggestions.

Chapter Twelve: Social Psychology. MOST. 1. Self-presentation [12.2] 2. Prejudice & Discrimination [12.5] 3. Aggression [12.6] 4. Conformity, Compliance and Obedience [12.4] 5. Prosocial Behavior [12.7] LEAST.

I spent the weekend reviewing key terms and am confident with the vocabulary, as well as most of the review questions in the back of the textbook. Thank you for your time.

Y/N L/N Senior | Applied Physics Department of Physics and Astronomy 010-0406-1997

Mingyu did not reply to your email, his Outlook status set as Offline.

You hadn't texted him back or bothered to return for your bottle of water either, despite the slight comfort of knowing that S wasn't a girl. You were too embarrassed, and now you were too early to knock and ask to be let in. You were too early to face him, and a part of you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You glanced at your watch, having set a timer for it to beep at five minutes to six — and you sigh, glumly resting your cheek in your palm and closing your eyes.

"Why are you down here? It's cold."

Mingyu's voice startles you, and you jump, your hand flying to your chest as you open your eyes wide to see him holding two bags of groceries. Seokmin is behind him, brows raised as you quickly stood up, careful not to stumble.

"Well, clearly neither of you were home." "I texted you that we kept the spare under the doormat?"

You feel your cheeks hot, "yeah, well. It's your house, not mine."

He rolls his eyes, motioning for you to head up the stairs. You scramble up, making yourself useful and unlocking the door for them. You step out of their way, clearing your throat as they set everything down and Seokmin stops Mingyu from going back downstairs, a stern look in his eyes as he ducks out the front door.

"I…can go, if you guys are going to have dinner. Don't let me keep you." You blindly set their spare key on the table behind you, but Mingyu shakes his head as he unpacks things. Bread, eggs, a gallon of milk, "you can go get settled. I'll be right there, it's Seokmin's turn anyway."

Your hands clench at your sides as you toe your shoes off, carefully placing them on the rack before bowing your head and making your way to his bedroom. Your heart clenches as you slowly open his door, hearing Seokmin coming back up and asking whether you'd be staying for dinner just as you slide into the room.

"I'm not sure," Mingyu replies, and you close the door behind you.

More rustling is heard as you settle in the chair, setting the stool out for him and opening your textbook. You glance at his calendar, nothing else added but you…

And your anniversary, scratched out.

If you looked any closer, you would've seen the hearts doodled around your name in pink pen. Three year anniversary, gone. Like the wind.

You tongued your cheek, a pout threatening its way onto your lips as your throat started to burn. You cleared it, shakily digging your items out of your bag and splaying everything out. You opened your textbook, you carefully stacked your unfinished flashcards (because you attempted to spend the weekend studying, but every swirl of your pen reminded you of him.)

Him, him, every single time. Every click.

Everything.

"It's going to be fine," you murmured to yourself, pulling your journal out and flipping to a fresh page.

The mason jar of pens isn't where it was on Thursday.

In fact, it's nowhere to be seen.

You still, your thumb still clicking your pen as your eyes move around the room. Superman figurines despite your insistence that Mingyu could so be a Nightwing. Photo frames holding pictures of his sister and his family, of him and Seokmin, of him and Wonwoo and Seokmin…

One singular photo of you and him — seven years old, missing your front teeth and popsicles melting down your hands. His green, yours red, and the frame read the pet names you'd adopted for one another — bug and baby.

He was bug. At six feet, two inches...Kim Mingyu was your bug.

It was funny to think about.

You don't see any of the trinkets you'd gotten him over the years, but you see a small box tucked into the corner of his bedroom. The tape is peeled up, like he's opened and closed it — and it's hid under his bedside table. You glance at the door, hearing Mingyu and Seokmin banging around in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you grab it as you slowly scoot the chair back, making room to stand up.

NEW! Message From: Mingyu 💘 [6:12 PM] I'll be right there, I'm just giving Seokmin instructions. Sorry for the wait.

You only give him a thumbs up, tossing your phone on the table quickly and making your way over to the box. You stay alert, only peeking in carefully and seeing everything.

Three small, thick photo albums detailing your relationship and some of your years growing up together. A small crate of figurines — another custom Chococat and Badtz-Maru, a handful of Smiskis you'd given him when you didn't get the one you wanted in your blind boxes, and a bunch of paper stars and miscellaneous origami you'd folded up and given him during your old study sessions. There's another box, covered in faded lipstick marks from you, the lid slightly off center and you know it holds all the love letters you'd given him over the years.

You know he still holds onto the very first one you'd ever given him, when you were both sixteen and juniors in high school. He'd had it framed in his last apartment, and kept it on his dresser. Said he read it every morning.

Kim Mingyu!

Today is our first day of school and I'm writing this in Econ (you're sitting three seats away because you were late, bug!) You look kinda cute…I guess.

Okay, not 'I guess.'

But it's always just been you and me, right? Us, together. Thank you for being my best friend and not making fun of me when I make mistakes. I also appreciate that you tell me I'm cool :) I hope you still think I'm super duper cool when you're marrying me in six years time.

Actually, no. I'd say…nine years. We'll be out of grad school by then, and who knows…I could be getting a doctorate. Dr. L/N-Kim, eh? Pretty cute, right?

Dr. Y/N L/N-Kim and Kim Mingyu, Esq.

We're gonna be soooo cool and our kids are gonna think we're soooo gross.

Anyway, I'm not yoinking your last name. I would've earned the degree, not you :P but…I love you. And I hope you're in my life even then, even if nothing moves further between us. I know you won't make it weird if you don't feel the same way, too, which makes it easier. You always make my life easier, but you don't let me win and that's the fun of it all, isn't it? A cushion that softens the blow of a still hard fall.

Anyway, I hope junior year rocks. And I hope you know you suck for being late and sitting so far away. Don't be late tomorrow! I can feel you staring at me (timestamp: 12:22PM.) I snuck my headphones in, and I'm listening to I'm Gonna Win by Foreigner because I promise you, you're not getting that valedictorian spot. It's mine, Kim.

I'll see you after school, bug. Don't read this around your friends! I mean it! >:(

Love you, bug. XOXO. Y/N <3

P.S.: [✔︎] check here if you like me too. do a back flip if you don't :D

A blue pen had checked the box by the time the two of you were walking home together. It was a very nonchalant affair, because you both understood that dating was out of the question until you were both done with the little rivalry you had. Unfortunately, you were both tied — and your graduating class had two Valedictorians, and the very first tie in your high school's history. A picture of you both was displayed in the main hallway of that building now, with a school news article titled Best Friends take Number 1 Spot Together: Future Physicist Y/N L/N & Prospective Lawyer Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu wasn't studying law anymore, and the two of you started dating in August — and he officially made you his girlfriend in November of that year. He changed his major and was thriving in the Psychology department, barreling towards that doctorate — one you also swore you'd get, and you stand by it.

You just aren't sure if Mingyu still stands by you.

And you feel foolish to want to hope that he does, despite the six months of silence, distance and heartbreak — the only communication between the two of you being his purple pen grading your essays and in-class exams…much softer than the red pen he uses for everyone else.

Dr. Lee had to know there was something there.

She had to know.

You see more things in the box — the tie he wore to prom, the cuff links you'd given him for your first anniversary during your sophomore year of college. A tube of lipstick in his favorite shade that you used to keep at his apartment, a first-aid kit in a glittery pink case that was half-filled, a gold spoon you had bought at a market and gotten your names engraved into. You had a matching one, tucked in the silverware drawer of your kitchen that you didn't let anyone else touch, much less use.

The mason jar that once held his pens, now gently tucked into another corner of it. It's stuffed with a printed strip and pink yarn, and you see the comic peering at you through the glass — Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.

It's the Valentine's strip, dated February 14th, 1986 — Susie calls Calvin a baloney brain, and it's the classic, cliché of two kids being mean to one another because they like the other, but you loved it. You'd referenced the comic strip in passing on your first Valentine's Day together, then wound up printing the strip for him, laminating it and gave it to him with his gifts. You'd punched a hole in it and looped a piece of yarn through it, once hot pink and now light, bleached from three years of sun.

You don't know you're holding your breath, tears wetting your lashes — until you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching quietly, and you force yourself off the ground and back into the chair. You wipe haphazardly at your face, sniffling as he knocks gently, opening the door. You don't look at him, letting your eyes zero in on the pad of sticky notes. There's numbers scribbled around it, math you understood but couldn't pin to an origin.

Your stomach grumbles as he walks past you, and you curse yourself for running low on time and not being able to get anything for dinner.

"Snacks in the bottom cabinet." He taps the desk as he moves around, and you clear your throat as you nod, not moving. He holds his textbook in his hand as he turns back to you, furrowing his brow as he leans over and opens the cabinet, "get something."

"I'm good." "Your stomach growled." "I'm just uneasy."

"Cut the shit." He rolls his eyes, grabbing a bag of Goldfish and tossing it in your lap before closing it, "you can have dinner with me and Seok. He's going to make way too much, I know it."

"He always does." "He means well." "I know."

His eyes linger on your face, and if he notices your wet lashes, he doesn't say anything.

But you note the way his fingers flex at his side, the way he tongues his cheek and forces himself to look away.

"Let's start with 12.4, yeah? Compliance, Conformity and Obedience." "No." "Very funny."

"I seriously cannot believe you're trying to argue this. This isn't an argument!" Mingyu sighs as you pace his bedroom, and you gape at him as you run a hand through your hair.

Seokmin had come in forty minutes prior to the heated conversation with plates, and you and Mingyu ate in silence. Your plates sit on the desk, empty, as you pace his bedroom, your words falling from your mouth as you hit the back of your hand to your palm to emphasize your point.

"There is a difference in obedience brought forth by respect, and one brought forth by fear. It won't have the same connotations or the same results, it will only result in social discomfort."

"I'm not saying there isn't! I'm agreeing with you! But that's not the point!"

"Then what does social loafing have to do with obedience!?"

"Baby, you're taking this all out of context. You're trying to break it down like numbers and that's not how this works," he sighs, rubbing his face. "Social loafing is tied into obedience because it is a form of social influence. Compliance, conformity, all of it, it's influential. You want me to give you answers about who designates positions on power and what makes who an authority figure and I just don't have that context for you."

Your heart is in your throat at the pet name, your breath hitched as you look at him. He crosses his arms, eyes expectant as your own prick with tears. You blink them back, checking your watch to see it's half past eight.

"Okay, cool. Influence." You nod, grabbing your pen and scribbling it into your jumbled notes. You run a hand over your face, "it's late. I should get going."

"It's only eight-thirty." "Yeah. I overstayed as it is."

He raises a brow as you pack up your journal, reaching for the flashcards you'd half-finished.

"What's this?" "Key terminology." "How many do you have left?"

"Uhm, I got halfway before I went to bed." You shrug as he flips through the cards, "vocab on the front, definition and example on the back. They're sectioned off by unit in color, but I jumped around to what I found more interesting and just started working my way around."

"Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love," he nods, holding up the butter yellow flashcard. Your hand tightens around your beg as he flips the card over, his eyes scanning over the diagram you'd doodled with examples. "Companionate love is you and Seokmin?"

"Yes? He's my friend?" You roll your eyes as he nods, biting back his smile as he continues to scan over it.

"Do you agree with Sternberg's theory?" He asks, flicking the card as you nibble on your lip.

"It makes sense." "It says that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion." "That's true."

"Well, not when you take into consideration what else is said about the contributing factors. Passion and intimacy for romantic love, but commitment and intimacy for companionate. Do you think that your friendships could have passion, and your romantic relationships couldn't, and still be healthy?" He tilts his head at you, and you clear your throat as you open your mouth to dodge the question, "don't give me bullshit. Use your brain. Explain your thoughts."

You close your mouth, your fingernails digging into your backpack as you swallow hard.

"I think that…context is important." You admit, knowing that the shit-eating grin spreading on his lips will bring back the topic of obedience and your insistence for answers he couldn't give you. "I agree that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion because it's not always romantic. Context is important, because you can take into consideration all the verbiage used."

You step closer, taking the card out of his hand and pointing with your pinky finger, "empty love could be a dead marriage, or two parents who stay together for their kids, or a friendship that only remains because of the history rather than caring at all about each other's lives past what they've lived together."

"And companionate love?" "Me and Seokmin, you and Seokmin. Our friendship is intimate, because we share vulnerabilities and we are interested in each other's lives. Our friendship is also commitment, because we hang out often and passion doesn't always have to mean…I guess, being hot for one another. It can just be passionate as a noun, passionate as…an adjective rather than a verb."

"What about you and me?" He asks, tilting his head when you realize how close you are to him. Your arm is brushing his shoulder and you're slid between his legs, the denim of his jeans stretched across thick thighs and brushing against the back of your own. You peer at him through your lashes, "what about you and me?"

"Where do we fall on this diagram? Where did we use to fall on this diagram, and where could we be in the future?" "Is this an appropriate question?" "Call it real-life application to scholarly subjects."

You tongue your cheek at his quick wit, and you glance at the card.

You were once companionate.

You were also once romantic, even consummate — intimate, passionate, committed.

"I don't think we fall into any of them." You admit slowly, flicking the card. "I think…maybe, at one point, we could've been consummate in a romantic style."

"John Lee has a theory about love, too. He came up with it in '76," he starts, and you peer at him through your lashes as he takes the card back, tracing your penmanship. "It's called the Color Wheel Model of Love, and it originated with three 'colors,' that were meant to be the primaries like red, blue and yellow. He presented Eros, for eroticism. Ludus, for non-committal, and Storge, for natural nurturing."

"Right." "He later proposed that the primary colors could be combined to create a sort of secondary color. Eros and Ludus would make Mania, so obsession. Pragma was Ludus and Storge, representing realistic love, and Agape was Eros and Storge in the presentation of selfless love."

You raise a brow, "do you just have love theories memorized?"

"My favorite is Elaine Hatfield's, and I use it to argue Sternberg's." "Let's hear it."

"Hatfield's 1988 theory states that there is two types of love. Compassionate, and passionate." He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he leans back slightly on the stool, "in my opinion, it disproves that all healthy relationships should have commitment, intimacy and passion. It's not passion that they should all have, but compassion. Passion as a noun, and adjective, what say you…it is inherently romantic. It's sexual, it's biological and intense. I can also add that Zick Rubin proposed in 1970 that romantic love is defined by three key characteristics, and one of those is feelings of exclusivity and absorption. So, no. Not all healthy relationships need to contain all three, but subgenres. It's not passion, it's compassion. It's not love, it's respect. It's….context."

You cheeks warm at how his words settle in your stomach, foolishly setting off a flutter and your eyes avoid his as you glance at the card.

"Then where would you put us? Past, present, future."

He whistles, "in all theories?"

"All theories." "Past, present, or future?" "Start with past."

"In Rubin's, love. In Lee '76, we were once Storge, and in '77, we became Pragma. In Sternberg, consummate. In Hazan and Shaver's Attachment Theory circa 1987, secure attachment. In Hatfield, compassionate when we were younger, and passionate when we got older." He nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You hadn't talked about the break-up, and you've gotten confirmation that he hadn't, either — Seokmin had texted you over the weekend telling you so. You hadn't responded, hoping the idea of Mingyu being hurt would slip from your mind. You couldn't stand thinking of it, much less being the reason behind it.

"What about present?" "Me or you?" "…Well, you can't speak for me, can you?"

He chuckles, "true. I think…there is a tertiary color to Lee's theory. I've just made it up on my own, it's nothing set in stone and nothing to write home about…but it's there, somewhere."

"What color?" "Solum."

You let your tongue peek out to wet your lips, "what secondaries?"

"Mania, and Agape. An obsession and yet, selfless. I've let you be." "And what does solum mean?" "It's Latin for lonely."

You tuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, and he trills his lips before sucking his teeth. "As for the future?"

"Uh huh?" "I think Sternberg might have my ass in the bag." "How so?"

"I think…empty love." He nods, "maybe fatuous love, if the passion was compassion…because you cannot have that passion without connection."

Your heart sinks in your chest, and he looks at you with a soft smile, "so you see how context is important?"

"You're a shithead." "And you want to argue the fundamentals of the brain. Study law, not physics."

He shrugs, holding the card back out to you. You take it gingerly, biting your tongue as you tuck it back into the spot in the stack where it belonged, but you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.

"I disagree with you, actually." You say suddenly, "I don't think that all of this shit matters when it comes to you and me. The context around our lives is enough to show that none of it is true, anyway."

"Okay," he nods, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the stool as he tilts his head at you, "how so?"

"It's not about psychology, or 'theories', or prosocial whatever the fuck." You roll your eyes, and he snorts as you pace once more. Three steps away, turn, three steps back. "It's about context."

"That's what I said." "Said, not proved." "And you're going to prove it?"

You huff, rounding the edge of his bed and pulling the box of collectibles out from under his night table. His eyes widen, his shoulders stiff as you set the box on his bed, opening the cardboard flaps before reaching in and pulling out the mason jar.

"Exhibit A of Y/N's Context Theory." You hold it up, before your fingernail taps the Chococat and Badtz-Maru sticker. "I got this custom made for you. I chose all these stickers, I gave you this jar with pudding in it that I made out of love for you, consummate love, 'I want to get in your pants' love. In turn, you showed your appreciation by re-purposing the cup and putting your pens in it. Where are the pens? Why is it in the box?"

He shifts, "because I—"

"Because you don't love me anymore. So to use it would be to contribute to your ideation of empty love between us." You interrupt him, and set the jar on desk with a gentle clink. You pull out the cuff links and tie, "exhibit B. I had my initials embroidered into this tie for our prom night. I had these cuff links specially made, and now they're sitting in a box. If there's no one else, why aren't you wearing them?"

"Well, I—" "Because you don't love me anymore."

His brows furrow, but you keep going — the Smiskis, the origami, the Calvin and Hobbes Valentine's Day comic strip, even flipping through the photo albums and detailing the context behind every photo that you randomly landed on…

And finally, you pull out the box of letters. It's heavy from all the folded papers, and you pull it open to display the different colored pages of stationery. Some Sanrio, some notebook paper, some even from his sketchbook from high school when he used to draw in his free time. You pull one out, "you hide these. There is years of history here, of emotion, of commitment, of passion. You used to have my first letter to you framed on your dresser."

"You left me." He says softly, his eyes scanning across almost all the memories he'd collected of you both throughout the years. He glances back up at you, "you left. Why would I frame it? To keep hurting myself? To miss you when I knew you weren't missing me?"

"Anyone else would've fought for me." "Anyone else wouldn't know you the way I do."

He's standing now, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as as you huff, tears burning in the back of your eyes. He tilts his head at you, "you left."

"I know I did."

"Why?" His voice is gentle, leaning slightly closer. "And don't say things were moving too fast or that they were too serious. Don't say I was too much. Give me a real reason."

"That is a real reason." You grouse, running a hand over your face, "we're young. We're too young. Life is…fickle, at this age. You could find someone else. Want something new…yearn to explore."

He laughs humorlessly, sitting on the stool again as he shakes his head.

"I've been in love with you since I was six years old. Why would I suddenly up and decide you're not what I want?" "You said you wanted to be a lawyer since you found out what it was, and now you're studying psychology. You can change your mind, so don't act coy."

"Not about you," he shakes his head, "never about you. It's always going to be you for me."

"How can you be so sure? Because of a love letter I wrote when I was sixteen?" "Because you're the only person in my life that has ever had altruistic motives, and only when we were sixteen did you realize that it was always going to be you and me."

You blink as he shrugs, "everything you've ever done for me has made me who I am. You've molded me, guided me, helped me even when it didn't benefit you. You are the reason I am who I am, that I'm confident in my decisions, that I carry myself the way I do. You are everything I am, and this conversation is what we call central route persuasion. You want to say that I can change my mind about a career choice, and I can. You want to say that anyone else could've fought for you, and they could've. But I know you, and I know that you left because you were in your own head. And you don't want anyone in your way when you're like that, including me. You'll say things you don't mean and cut ties just to come right back and apologize later. Sometimes it's too late, sometimes it's too soon…"

He trails off, glancing at all the items you've taken out of the box. His eyes land on the custom figurine of Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, made of thick clay and glossed with resin — and he clicks his tongue.

"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."

You don't realize you're crying until you sniffle, blowing a breath out through your lips. The photo albums are sprawled open on his bed, showing various pictures at different times in your life — junior prom in your matching pink dress and tie, your first date in your hometown's oldest ice cream parlor (where you accidentally spilled your milkshake and Mingyu gave you his, only to use what you now know as the foot-in-door technique to get a kiss out of it. You hadn't cared. It was sweet and cute and his lips were soft from years of stealing your lip balm.)

"So argue with me all you want, but that will never change." He shakes his head, gently gathering the things you'd taken out and putting some of them on his desk. He moves his pens back into the mason jar, he slots the photo albums between two bookends that held Women Who Run With The Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, All About Love by Bell Hooks…

A handmade journal you'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, made from recycled paper you'd dried yourself and an oil cloth cover, baby blue with a bird's eye pattern. The twine was dyed cobalt blue, staining your fingers for weeks but tied into cute bows and you'd written him yet another love letter — because it was before you knew whether or not you'd be going to the same universities.

You'd asked him to write down something for you every day. That you'd read them when you came home for breaks or for summer vacation, that you'd miss him if he went somewhere else but you hoped in your heart that you both got into SNU so you could 'keep loving him, even if you'd still love him with kilometers of distance between you.'

"What if—" "No what ifs, Y/N."

He moves around, arranging things silently as you watch, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. He sets the Smiski figurines on his floating shelves, he moves his pictures around, displaying you and him closer to the front. He takes Chococat and Badtz-Maru and puts them on his night stand, he slides the box of love letters into his drawer and pulls out a picture frame — gold, oval-shaped, and holding your very first love letter to him. Folded over and over, creases wearing through your penmanship but standing the test of time.

The blue check mark mocks you as you glance at it.

"There's no what ifs with you and me." He says gently, taking the now empty box and carefully peeling the tape off the bottom. He crumples it, tossing it into his trash can and breaking the box down fully. He slots it along his recycling bin, before looking over at you. "And I know you know that."

You huff, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and letting more hot tears coat your skin. They slip beneath the strap of your worn leather watch — a gift from Mingyu. They stream down the side of your face and drip onto your shirt — once Mingyu's. They slip down your neck, meeting the thin gold chain of the necklace that held a small initial — a letter M, and next to it, a gold signet ring he'd given you for your birthday many years ago. It didn't fit anymore, but it was yours. And it was his, and he was yours.

He is yours.

Always has been. Always will be.

"But what if—"

"Shut up." His hands are warm against your cheeks, squishing them gently as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes, "just shut up."

"I'm sor—" "Shh."

He pulls you into his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you wrap your arms around him tightly. His hand is soothing on your back, sliding up and down as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Your chest is warm as you let your eyes close, and Mingyu presses a tentative kiss on your hairline before pulling away.

"Just come back when you're ready. I'll be here." He whispers, squeezing the back of your neck lightly. "No apologies, no questions, just come home."

Seokmin ends up knocking on the door before you can say anything else, and offers you a lift home because Soonyoung asked him to go over and you both live in the same complex.

He doesn't question the embrace.

He knows. He has to know.

You quickly grab your stuff as Seokmin says he'll wait for you in the car, grabbing your empty plates off the desk and shutting the door behind him. Mingyu busies himself putting things away, clicking around his laptop and pulling a pen out of the mason jar and dragging it across the calendar.

"Thursday at six?" He asks over his shoulder, tapping the scratched out date. You barely glance up, "not for a study session, no."

"I can try for Wednesday, but I have a lab until seven-thirty." "Didn't ask for Wednesday night." "Y/N, work with me here."

You roll your eyes, pulling your bag over your shoulder and sidling up next to him. Tonguing your cheek, you tap the scratched square with your fingernail, "scratching it out doesn't make it go away."

"Easier not to see it." "You always did like to plan ahead."

You take the pen from him, uncapping it and moving to the Notes at the bottom of the page.

Thurs. 28th: Y/N ♡ 5:30.

"I'll be here. I want you in the pink button up with the white pants you wore on your birthday last year." You mumble, shoving the pen back in the mason jar and making your way back to the door. He doesn't move, his eyes glued to the note. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but you sigh, walking back to him and cupping his jaw gently. He spares you a glimpse, and you give him a pointed look, "pink button up—"

"White pants, I got it." "Just making sure."

You pat his cheek, your own warming as he leans into it. His eyes are staring right into you, "not my jeans?"

"I'll kill you." "What about the tan chinos? You love those." "Do you hate me?"

He's closer now, carefully caging you in against his desk as he peers at you through his lashes, "you know I don't."

"You called me baby earlier." "You called me a shithead."

You press your lips to his, the soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as he pulls you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses you back carefully. Your fingers slip down his face, gripping the collar of his SNU sweatshirt as he lets the kiss grow eager, licking into your mouth and sliding his hands to your hips, sitting you on the edge of his desk and wedging himself between your knees.

"I love you," you mutter into his mouth, earning a whine as he buried his face in your neck. His grip on your hips loosened, sliding down your thighs and squeezing almost painfully, "I love you, Mingyu."

"Again." "I love you." "One more."

"I love you, I love you, I love you," you press your lips to his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "I'll see you on Thursday. Pink shirt, white pants, okay?"

"Are you sure I can't sell you on the tan chinos?" He mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin faintly before he presses his forehead to yours. You shake your head, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips, "or the jeans, sorry."

"Lame," he mumbles, "I miss you. I love you."

"Even when I argue with the fundamentals of the brain?" "Even when you snoop through my things." "Box said my name."

"So does my heart, but you're not equipped to cut it out of my chest, are you?" He raises a brow, and you tongue your cheek as he grins, "are you, Dr. L/N?"

"Dr. L/N-Kim is not equipped, no. She's a physicist," you feign a grimace as you nod, patting his shoulder as his cheeks tinge pink, "not a medical doctor. Sorry if you thought cardiothoracic surgery was her specialty."

"Can't you stay?" He mumbles against your lips, and you shake your head, "if I say something cynical, how likely are you to be mad?"

"If you say some shit like distance makes the-" "Distance does make the heart grow fonder." "That's not even psychologically correct."

"No," you nip at his lower lip, earning a pout as you kiss the spot gently. "I don't hate you and it may not be psychologically proven, but…it is scientific theory that quantum entanglement exists. Particles, in this case, you and me…they interact, and their states are linked so much that you can't tell one apart from the other. Observing one means you automatically know the state of the other."

"You're so annoying." "And yet, we are entangled."

He rolls his eyes, slotting his lips with yours momentarily before pressing his forehead against yours, "don't leave me again. I almost died and then you'd be shit out of luck for a cool boyfriend that loves you."

"Cool?" "You broke my heart, you can cut me some slack and say I'm cool."

You grin, "Seokmin's waiting on me."

"Y/N." "Don't like that one." "Baby."

"Mmh, I love that one." You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as he pulls at your belt loops. "Overall, I'm sorry. I do get kind of lost in my own head and I always think the solution is to be alone but it only really makes it worse. You'd think I'd stop doing it but it's…a bad habit. What does psychology say about that?"

"That humans are creatures of habit, and we fall into loops." His fingers tuck under your shirt, shaking his head as you give him a warning look. He settles them against your skin, rubbing circles into it, "and we break bad habits by actively engaging in the things that we're avoiding by using those bad habits. So instead of holing yourself away, next time…just talk to me."

"I'm very bad at that." "I know, but I'll never shut you down. You know that." "You love me, right? Even if I have bad habits and I won't take your last name?"

"I'll take yours," he shrugs, squeezing your hips under his hands. "I love you, you know that. I love you, I'm in love with you, I love hearing you talk about quantum mechanics like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"It is." "Everything's easy for you." "Including you?"

"Alright," he rolls his eyes, scoffing as his ears tinge pink, "Seokmin's waiting for you."

"You were just trying to get me to stay over!" "No, I merely asked if you couldn't. And I never said we'd sleep together if you could."

You only smile, running your hands up his arms and squeezing his biceps, "I'll see you on Thursday."

"Can I make a request on wardrobe, too?"

"No," you press a kiss to his forehead, "I'll wear what I want and you'll tell me I look pretty before I talk your ear off about string theory over dinner."

"Wasn't it proven false?" "Not yet, but it's theoretical physics. It's meant to be challenged." "…Maybe I am easy for you."

"I love you," you pat his shoulders with a laugh, before he pouts. "I'll see you on Thursday, Mingyu."

"Bug." "I'll see you on Thursday, bug." "Don't be late, baby."

THURSDAY CAME AND WENT, AND SO DID YOUR CHAPTER TEST.

You weren't sure how you did. You didn't know how to ask Mingyu, either — watching him silently start grading your test after dismissing you with a polite smile on his lips.

Lips you'd kissed all Thursday night and well into Friday morning, lips that you apologized against for hours until those same lips that granted you forgiveness as he lowered his head between your thighs — making you talk about the significance of the amplituhedron in quantum physics through quipped breaths and whines.

It's Saturday, and you're sitting on his lap while he puts in grades. He didn't let you face the screen, because, in his words — it's already unfair that you're sucking face with the TA.

"Am I next?" You asked for the umpteenth time, your fingers tracing the waffle knit of his shirt. He laughed, his chest moving your head as you smacked his shoulder, "it's not funny! You can tell me! I'll act surprised when Dr. Lee pulls me aside and tells me I failed. A big, fat F in purple pen and maybe some pity points for my essay question."

"Mmh, why would she do that?" "So I passed?" "I can't tell you, baby."

You groaned as he chuckled again, his hand splaying across your back as you pouted into his shirt, "consummate love, my ass."

He pinches your hip, making you squeal as you bat his hand away. A kiss is planted on your hairline, "I'll tell you in exchange for a favor."

"Nice try, foot-in-door technique is not gonna work so well now, Mr. Kim." "Dr. L/N-Kim, actually." "Are you trying to turn me on right now?"

He hums, a smug smile on his lips as he continues putting in grades quietly. Your phone buzzes on the desk, but he slides it across the desk so you can't reach it before closing his laptop and giving you his full attention. His hands are snug around your thighs as he gives them a soft squeeze, "you have to stop thinking the worst. You're very smart."

"Obviously," you roll your eyes, "but what if—"

"You got a B." He interrupts, and your eyes widen before you throw your arms around his neck with a cheer. "I didn't grade it, so you can't call me biased."

"Dr. Lee graded it?" You try to mask the disappointment in your voice, but he smiles softly, "she had to grade it because of your essay question."

You peer at him through your lashes, playing with the buttons of his cardigan as you nibble on your lip.

"…Did you read it?" "Of course I did."

He reaches behind you, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a rectangular frame — it matches the frame that holds your first love letter, and this one holds a scan of your essay question…including Dr. Lee's comment at the very top in swirled script and red pen under the Commentary section, and minus two points.

Commentary: Typically, I'd take five points off for going over the word limit. However, I think you and Mingyu will go very far…and it is clear I made an excellent choice picking him for your tutoring sessions. Congratulations, and good luck.

Q: Use what you learned from the text to describe what influences relationships to be formed, and use an example from your personal life — friendships, partnerships, etc., in 300 words or less. Opinions are welcomed.

A: Context is what sparks the formation and growth of a relationship. Perhaps not in terms of psychology, but also in it. In my case, I grew up with the TA for this course. I was his friend for eighteen years, and I unknowingly made him the man he's grown to be. Eventually, we progressed into a romantic relationship. I ended things, with no context and not a care of how it would affect him, or worse — me. Perhaps this is also a love letter to him, one of many he's received throughout the years…and an apology, one that he deserves and I'll forever proclaim.

Just as long as I've grown up with Mingyu, he's grown up with me. He's been a deciding factor of every part of my life, he's picked up on my cues, on my mannerisms, on every bad habit I have and has constantly called me to the carpet about them. He's helped me become a better person, both alone and by his side, and has never made me feel like an extension of him. The context of me — my need to be seen as an individual, my need to be taken seriously, my need to be understood as smart and capable and creative…he has respected it all. He has fed it all, he's worded every part of me that could ever be explained and he's done it properly without ever expecting anything in return. Altruistically, Mingyu has held me in high standards and praised me in even higher regards…and I could never be fully worthy of his compassion, but he makes that thought melt away easily.

When it comes to love…I used to say I agreed with Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love. I disagree now. I think that all healthy relationships come with passion, intimacy, commitment…compassion and context. And all the context you need to know about me when it comes to relationships is that I love Kim Mingyu.

"You're a sap, you know that?" He murmurs against your hair, and you only smile as you feel him pepper his lips down the side of your face, "you, Dr. L/N-Kim, love Kim Mingyu."

"I do, bug." "I know, baby. I love you." "…So you're easy for me?" "…Yeah. So easy."

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ not for sale by enhypen. love is growing by plastic plastic. 711 by toneejay. she wants me (to be loved) by the happy fits. like or like like by miniature tigers. like the movies by laufey. do you wanna do nothing with me? by lawrence. wall st by boys go to jupiter.

One you talked about only to your pillow, not even bothering to waste precious gel ink on confessing it into your journal. You hid behind your hair in classes; you barely spoke up at your part-time job – letting your hands do the talking. You spent your hard-earned pennies on cool lip gloss: sparkly, shimmery, sticky and smelling of berries, vanilla, even mint. You were meant for more, you thought – your life couldn’t be all studying and entitled customers demanding half off their service. 

You kept to yourself, and you had been close with two people: Lee Jian and Jang Jieun. Your best friends all through high school and college, glued at the hips like gum to shoes. They, too, knew of your lack of...boy kissing. Jieun had dated Jian’s cousin Hyunjin for three years before they broke up when he went abroad, and Jian had dated around through most of college – so neither of them had this problem. 

And now, as the world continued to crumble around you, neither would you – it was unlikely. Eventually, almost surely – you would also succumb to the brain-melting that turned you into one of those undead things. Rotting, your flesh practically falling off the bone as you lost all sense of coordination and eventually, hopefully, got taken out by one of the surviving, merciful humans. 

You lean your head back, scrunching your nose as your hair gets caught in the rough bark of the oak tree. You don’t bother complaining as you straighten again, rummaging through your backpack limply when you hear the familiar crunch of twigs. Your uninjured hand freezes, your shoulders tense as you peer over the edge of the ratty brown JanSport bag. 

If it was slow, you could easily outrun it. You could climb one of the trees, you could kill it from a distance— 

Your breath hitches as the rustling stops, and you look up through your lashes to see a very tall man looking down at you. He doesn’t look like he’s running; rather, walking – donning nice olive-green cargo shorts, a brown t-shirt paired with well-loved hiking boots and thick white socks. He wears a black watch that blinks 3:32 PM, and a silver chain peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Your fingers tighten inside the bag as you see him adjust the white cap on his head, and he raises a brow at you. 

“It’s kind of counterproductive to hold a knife in your hand if you’re just going to...sit there.” 

You glance down – your hand is gripping a red box cutter you’d taken from an abandoned warehouse you slept in a few weeks back. It had been a solace for a few days, until you heard the familiar chittering of the stupid, rotting bodies surrounding the building. You bolted out, leaving behind a rather large stockpile of bread and water – but you were alive, and you didn’t care. 

Your bag was almost empty now; aside from the box cutter, some rope, a jar of honey you were almost too frugal with, half a sleeve of crackers, an extra pair of ratty socks and underwear, an unscented bar of soap... 

And a stupid, unused tube of sparkly lip gloss that smelled like sickly sweet bubblegum. You didn’t even have a bra, the one you left with stolen by a fucking raccoon of all things. 

“Are you hurt?” 

His eyes are probing, and you remain silent as you nod slowly. 

“Can you show me? I have—”  “Do you have any food?” 

His eyes glimmer with amusement as he nods, and he tugs the packed rucksack off before crouching next to you. You push your own bag out of the way, pressing both your hands into your dirty jeans as you peer over the opening. The bag holds a netted pouch of oranges, apples and carrots, and there are tons of scattered plastic sandwich bags – not holding sandwiches, but what seemed to be dehydrated meals. Your eyes widen at the three biggest bottles of water you’d seen in weeks, your throat dry as you attempt to swallow. You’d run out the day before, hardly wanting to risk it with the streams. 

“Can I—”  “Let me see where you’re injured, first. And we can wash your hands, too.” 

You huff, sitting up on your knees and showing him your bleeding palm. The gash is still trickling, and he shakes his head as he fishes out a plastic first aid kit. You furrow your brow, watching as he pops it open to reveal it freshly stocked – and you move back slightly, eyes narrow. 

“Where are you getting all this stuff from?” 

He shrugs, “my family has a cabin in these woods. About a hundred miles north, give or take a few detours. But they’re gone, so. Yeah.” 

Your heart sinks a bit for the too-friendly stranger, but you don’t let it tug too hard. 

“...So, what are you doing out here? If you have shelter, I mean?”  “Looking for people to take back. You seem...alive. No undead freaks try to eat your brain yet?” 

You try not to look offended at his questioning of your consciousness, but you can’t find it within yourself to say anything as he carefully pops open a bottle of antiseptic. He holds his hand out for yours, your eyes running over the healed calluses on his palms. You’re not as wary as you normally are and it worries you, but you place your own hand palm-up in his with a restrained tremble. 

He’s cool to the touch. Almost as though he’d just run his hands through a stream, or the less possible option (for you, at least) — a nice, cold bath. 

“How long have you been on your own?” He asks, and you’re easily distracted from the sting of antiseptic by his conversation. You shrug, watching the dirt and blood and sticky berry juice melt away as he wipes at your hand with a pinch in his brow. 

“Since the beginning,” you mutter, your chest tight at the acknowledgement. Jieun and Jian had been amongst the first to go, and you’d narrowly escaped their attempt at infecting you by climbing out the window of your shared apartment after barricading your bedroom door. The entire ordeal had been so terrifying that you didn’t really remember it, much less how they got infected – but it wasn’t like you could do anything now. 

You’d been on high alert since – your muscles tense as you prowled the streets alone. Your phone had been long dead, tucked in the very bottom of your bag. You tried payphones, but you grew more and more fearful of any sounds in your vicinity. The city was seemingly abandoned at that point; the chitter of the undead was the only thing you could hear for miles – and you missed the cicadas. 

The man frowns, nodding as he smears a thick gel onto your palm. A roll of bandage is rummaged out of the bottom of his bag, and he carefully wraps your hand before tearing the end with his teeth and tucking it in place. 

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” He mumbles, shoving the kit back into his bag. You shake your head eagerly, and he smiles inwardly before pulling out one of the bottles of water. He uncaps it for you, the click of a new bottle soothing to your ears. “Careful, you’ll throw it up if you drink too fast.” 

You take the bottle gingerly, holding it awkwardly as you drink. It’s smooth down your dry throat, your eyes fluttering shut as you slump slightly against the oak tree. He chuckles softly, and you hold the bottle to your chest tightly with a pout on your lips. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve needed that.”  “You also need a bath—”  “Will you shut up? I’m already down, don’t kick me anymore.” 

He snickers, reaching into the rucksack and retrieving several bags. 

“You have a name?” 

“Obviously,” your tone is uninterested; eyes fixed on the bags in his hands. He glances up, wiggling his fingers to get your attention. You tongue your cheek as he tilts his head. 

“Well, what is it?”  “What’s it to you, guy?” 

You bite back a grin as he snorts, “cute. Fine, have your secrets.” 

He holds up a bag, “this is something you can just soak in the water. It’ll be cold but it’s a meal, there’s rice—” 

“That’s great and all, but I do not care. I’ve been surviving off berries, honey and a sleeve of crackers for three days. Just give it to me, please.” You hold your hand out, your exhaustion settling on your shoulders, making his eyes soften. He fishes out a thermos from his bag, placing it in your hand. You unscrew the top, warmth floating up to your face as you sniff it – your eyes never leaving him as he provides a spoon. 

“Porridge. It’s plain, but—” 

You don’t bother listening, your hand reaching into your bag and pulling out the honey jar. You take the spoon and shove it into the porridge, before thrusting the honey into his hands, open, please.” 

You kneel closer to his bag as he pops the lid, your fingers wiggling through the netted bag and prying an apple out through the opening. Wiping it across your shirt, you sink your teeth into it and take a bite, holding it in your mouth before grabbing the now-open jar of honey from his hand and carefully tilting it into the thermos. A soft drip of nature’s gold swirls into the porridge, and you stir it in carefully before taking the apple between your fingers to spoon some into your mouth. It’s warm and sweet with the crunch of the apple, and you feel your eyes sting with tears as you lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree again. Your eyes close as you chew, a hot tear streaming down your cheek that you wipe away haphazardly, before practically inhaling the porridge as though it were your first meal ever. 

Which...it kind of is, but that’s none of his business. 

The guy just coos, watching you eat as he carefully repacks his bag and you adjust to fold your legs beneath you. The apple core is held between two of your fingers; the large bites subsiding as you scrape the bottom of the thermos for the last bit of porridge. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the items. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the thermos and spoon. You shovel the last bite into your cheek, coughing slightly around the last chunk of apple in your mouth as he screws the lid back onto the dish and shoves it to the bottom of his bag. 

“Feel better?” He leans back on his hands, and you swallow hard around the porridge before reaching for the bottle of water. He takes it before you can, unscrewing the top and you mutter something adjacent to a thanks before carefully taking a sip. You hiccup slightly but fix your posture once more to sit with your back against the tree trunk. 

“I missed hot food.” You admit, watching his hand spin the lid back onto your jar of honey. He slides it back into your bag, and you pull the ratty thing to your chest and look over at him. “Thanks for...helping me out. Uh, you didn’t have to.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem.”  “You should get going. I’m sure someone else could need your help, too.” 

He snorts, shaking his head, “I’m on my way up to the cabin. I don’t know how I missed you on the way down, but there is literally no one else in these woods aside from the occasional bear and deer. Have you ever had deer? Delicious.” 

“No, I haven’t had deer. Are you always this talkative with strangers? Don’t you worry—” You cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes as you scoot back slightly, “aren’t you worried about stranger danger?” 

“Stranger danger became a thing of the past when that loser in those downtown chemistry labs released that stupid experiment upon the general public. If you were so worried about me, you wouldn’t have eaten the porridge, drank the water, or let me bandage you up.” He shrugs, before giving you a pointed look, “you’re injured, hungry, in jeans of all things and you’re lost.” 

“I am not lost.” You huff, and he raises a brow as he speaks, “yeah? Which way is North?” 

“That way.”  “That’s left, my friend.”  “And it’s about time you do just that, guy. I am not your friend, either.” 

“You’re quick with it. I like that.” He laughs, before gesturing at the bottle in your lap. “You can keep that, and we can refill it along the way.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere—”  “Again, you’re hungry, you’re lost and you’re dirty. I have food, I know this place like the back of my hand, and we can get you a nice bath if you just chill out.” 

“Did you just call me uptight?” You scoff, crossing your arms as he bites back a smile, shrugging one shoulder as he zips his bag closed, hiking it over the other and standing carefully. He dusts his hands of debris, giving you a lopsided smirk. 

“I said no such thing.” 

“You implied it.” You hop to your feet, and he only smiles down at you. The warmth in it makes your stomach settle slightly, but your brows remain furrowed as he leans down and picks your bag up by the strap. He hitches it over the same shoulder holding his own, before moving forward. 

“Come on, stinky. We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can joint he rest of the people I’ve found at the cabin.”  “I do not stink! How dare you—”  “Come on, princess. There’s a spring deeper in the forest. When was the last time you took a bath?” 

You reluctantly follow behind him, your fingers gripping the water bottle before he takes it and tucked it into the netted pocket of his rucksack. You tongue your cheek, wrapping your arms around yourself and tucking your fingertips under your sleeves as a breeze blows softly. Autumn would set in soon, and maybe the end of the despair, too. 

“Did you hear me?” He prods, and you kick a patch of grass behind his boot. He snickers, swatting his hand behind him and brushing your elbow. You smack the heel of his hand, his fingers pulling your fingertips before you twist them out of his hold. 

“Three days ago. I finished the last of my water cleaning myself up, I don’t trust the streams.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around you tighter as you move to his side. He bumps his hip to yours with purpose, and you spare him a glance to see his soft smile. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m clean.” 

“I’m not some weirdo, you know. I know these woods, and I wouldn’t put you in danger. You have to have some inkling of that, too, because you’re following me.” He raises his brows at you, and you only roll your eyes, kicking more twigs and pebbles. 

“Yeah, right. I don’t even know your name, guy.”  “Well, it’s—” 

You throw your hand up, the bandaged injury brushing his shoulder as you shake your head. 

"Don't tell me. You'll get attached and I fly solo."  "…Right. Totally, princess. There's a spring this way—"  "Stop calling me that!" 

"Well, it's not like I know your name, right?" He smiles cheekily, and you bite your tongue as you move ahead of him. Your back is damp from sweating in the sticky August afternoon, but you hold your head high as you keep trudging forward. This guy seemingly took pleasure in bugging you like his life depended on it; granted, you'd been in these woods for almost a month and a half and hadn't seen another living soul…you can't really blame him. 

But because you'd been alone for so long, you also couldn't really blame yourself for not wanting to get attached. Who knew what lingered in these woods — bears, mountain lions…more of the undead, and creepy crawlers that would kill you without a second thought. All you could do was hope that he wasn't one of those. 

"So," He starts, and you almost want to punch him in the face as you curl your fingers into your palms and tuck them under your armpits. He only chuckles at the visual, "what did you do before the world started crumbling?" 

"I was an architecture student with a focus on interior design. Three months from graduation and with a first-class ticket to to Germany where I scored a major internship." You grouse, your eyes still glued to the forest floor. You kick a bigger rock out of your way with the tip of your canvas sneakers, "I was top of my class. My models were outstanding. I was displayed all over my professor's lecture hall. I would've been great. God, I would've been so fucking great. Stupid outbreak." 

"Isn't surviving on your own for this long also something you could consider greatness?" He questions you carefully, almost as though you're a ticking bomb with no timer. You only shrug. 

"That just means you're great, too."  "You don't think I'm great?"  "I think you're annoying. God, is this spring actually close or are you just gonna lead me down some ridiculous winding path?" 

He snorts, his fingers cool against your skin as he carefully tilts your face to the left. The spring is down the hill, seemingly man-made and lined with big boulders. Your eyes widen, and you swat his hand away as you make your way down. He follows closely behind, your excited cheers being heard all throughout the woods as you slide down the hill, crouching on one of the boulders and sticking your hands into the flowing water. The water is slightly warm from the high sun but refreshing to the touch as you press your wet fingers against your neck, a sigh slipping from your throat as you dip them below the collar of your shirt. 

"God, that's good." The sigh of relief from your lips must be amusing, because you hear a soft chuckle from the top of the hill. You quickly untie your shoes, ripping them off your feet and stuffing your socks into them. You dip your feet in, sore and blistered from days of walking as he slides down the hill. 

"You should…take a dip. I can wash your clothes down the stream." 

You scoff, "that's vulgar. A stranger washing my intimates? Please." 

"You can wash your pink panties yourself, princess. I'm talking about your shirt and jeans. I have a change, if you want it." He rolls his eyes, tugging at hem of your shirt over the belt loops of your jeans. You swat his hand away, "go away! I can wash my own clothes! And I have a change, too!" 

"Whatever you say, princess. I'll be down this way…enjoy. Holler if you need me." He shrugs, standing abruptly as you scoff inwardly. You cross your arms as he crunches leaves and twigs beneath his heavy boots, and you nibble on your lip as you stare at the water. A groan leaves your lips. 

"Are you sure this water's safe!?" You call out, hearing an annoying chuckle from a few feet away. 

"Do you want me to get in with you, princess?" 

"Ugh, men." You grumble, tonguing your cheek as you stare at the water. You weren't a camper or anything, and your family never frequented hiking trails or the great outdoors all that often…but if he fed you, and he led you there, and he had experience in these woods…he had to know something, right? 

Hesitantly, you peek over the boulders to see him holding a rag in his hand, his bag still hitched over his shoulder as he plucked berries skillfully from a bush. Blackberries, you think — but not too much as you strip yourself of your top and jeans, folding them neatly on one of the boulders before glancing over your shoulder again. He's kneeling now, still carefully sorting through brambles and thumbing berries as you cross your arms around your chest, ignoring the heat radiating off your cheeks as you remember that your underwear is in fact, pink, and only turning darker as the water soaks into it. 

You're not gonna let a man you don't know see your intimates! 

You wade into the water, cool against your skin as you reach about neck deep. A sigh falls from your lips as you lean your hair back into the water, refreshing against your scalp. Your eyes are closed as you swim through the water, working away the ache in your shoulders from your backpack straps being too tight.  

"Feels good, huh?"  

Your eyes immediately fly open, your arms wrapping around your chest as you look up to see the guy setting his bag down…with his eyes closed. He's set down the berries on the boulder where your clothes are, but they're not blackberries. They're red, and kind of enticing as you try your best to quietly swim over. You lift yourself up slightly, covering your chest with your arms still as you touch one with your wet hand. 

"What are these?" You pick one up, piercing the flesh cell with your fingernail as he shrugs, eyes still closed as he expertly digs through his rucksack. You throw the berry at him, hitting him square in the chest and making him tongue his cheek as he shakes his head. 

"Thimbleberries. You can eat some if you want, they're pretty good. I use the bark to make soap, which is what I'm going to give you here in a second."  

"Bark to make soap? Incredible." You murmur, eyeing the berry in your hand. You run it under the water, wiping at the flesh carefully with the pad of your thumb before taking a tentative nip. The juice is sweet in the forefront of your mouth but tart on the back of your tongue, a hum from your throat catching his attention. 

"Good? I like it as spread. Sometimes we make wine back at the cabin, or those fruit leather strips." He nods, eyes still closed as you throw another berry at him. "Stop that! You're wasting berries and I worked hard to pick those!" 

"Open your eyes, dude. You can't see anything from where you are." You roll your eyes, and he lets out a huff as he tentatively peels open one eye. You give him a pointed look, holding out one of the washed berries as he pouts, plucking it from your fingers and stuffing it into his cheek as he speaks. 

"I'm just trying to be respectful."  "And I appreciate that, but I'm sure you've seen boobs before." 

He rolls his eyes, "that's not the point." 

"The point, guy, is that I don't care. You've seen boobs and it's not like you're gonna do anything to me, so what the hell. We can be adults about this." You shrug, shoveling another berry into your mouth. "Now, what's this bark soap shit you're talking about? How does that work?" 

"You've warmed up to me really quickly, haven't you?"  "The worst you could do is kill me. You don't have the guts, and I'm faster than you."  

Your voice is confident as you take more berries in your hand, making him shake his head in amusement as he digs into the bag one more time. A flash crosses his eyes, and he pulls his hand out to reveal a small bottle with a pink cap.  

"Here it is!" He holds it out to you, popping the cap to waft the smell into your face. You crinkle your nose, backing up slightly when he rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on! It smells nice!" 

"It smells like eucalyptus and despair, and I can taste it. I hate that, bleugh." You make a disgusted face as you bite into another berry to erase the scent from your palate, and he frowns.  

"It's either eucalyptus and despair or you stink for the next two days."  "I do not stink!" 

He snorts, and you reluctantly hold your hand out for it. He drops it into your palm, "I wouldn't recommend…being in the spring while you wash. You'll contaminate it." 

"So what do you suggest I do, genius? Give myself a little sponge bath?" You scoff, only for him to nod as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You give him a deadpan look, slapping the boulder beneath your arms. "How the hell would I do that?" 

"Uh, you step out and scrub yourself with a washcloth, then rinse until you're clean? The point of hiking is to enjoy nature while preserving it, princess."  "This is surviving, guy. Not hiking for fun!" 

"Still. You may be faster but I'm stronger and I have no problem fishing you out myself." He shrugs, and you suck your teeth as you stare up at him. He doesn't budge, his eyes stern as he gestures you to get out. 

"I don't like you, guy." You mutter, and he only snickers as you make your way to a lower boulder to pull yourself out. He looks away, digging in his bag quickly before pulling out a soft washcloth and handing it to you blindly. You snatch it out of his hand as you pull yourself onto the boulder, making a wet plop sound as you sit on the edge. 

"I'll…give you some privacy. Just give me—"  "A holler, yeah. Scram, guy." 

He does just that. You do as you're told, peeling your soaked underwear off and scrubbing yourself silly with the stinky soap and washcloth— unfortunately, feeling a lot cleaner than you had in months. Your scalp tingles as you haphazardly scrub the soap into it, and you feel almost insane as you keep looking over your shoulder to see him nowhere to be found. You rinse yourself off with the bottle of water he'd given you, glancing over to see he's left his rucksack and your backpack next to you. You grab yours, fishing out the pair of clean underwear and pulling it over your legs before ringing your hair out. 

"Uh, hey, guy? Do you have a shirt in this thing?" You call out, glancing over your shoulder to see him jerk his head up from under the berry brambles. He quickly shuts his eyes as you cover your chest, your cheeks warming as he stutters. 

"Y-Yeah, yep! Uh, just…dig around!" 

You do just that, holding your arm over your chest as you root in the bag, pulling a brown shirt out and quickly pulling it over your head. You dip your feet back into the spring, "Thanks, I got it! We're good!" 

"Great, great." He stumbles back over, holding the rag of berries in his hand before clearing his throat. "Are you…you're not gonna walk around like that, are you?" 

"Well, I was kind of hoping to wash my clothes and just…lay here until dusk. Then…fall asleep in a tree or something." You shift, and you glance over to see him trying to hold in either a fart or laughter. You guess the latter as a smile breaks through, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he turns his face away. 

He clears his throat, letting out a suspicious cough as you narrow your eyes. 

"You're laughing at me."  "I'm not, promise."  "You're a liar." 

He lets out a breath, corners of his lips upturning involuntarily as he smooths his shorts with his hands. "I am not. You're just…funny." 

"So you are laughing!" 

"This is bear country, sweetness." He manages, clearing his throat again and fighting back his smile. "We can't stay here. Bears climb trees, bears maul you, then you're dead before the world's back in order. Wouldn't want you to miss that internship." 

"Yeah right, internship's as dead and gone as any idea of society rebuilding itself after this. At this point we'll have to repopulate—" You cut yourself off, looking at him to see his eyes wide and cheeks red from the hot sun. "Uh…I just don't have very high hopes for that. So, I'm just going to take it day by day, I guess. If I die, then I die." 

"Except you won't, because you have me! So, get up. There's a cave we can camp in around here, trust." He rolls his eyes, flipping through his rucksack before producing a pair of shorts and holding them out to you. "…Seriously, you're not gonna walk around in your underwear, right? You'll get eaten alive by the mosquitoes." 

"Not true, guy. The DCA—"  "You wanna trust the DCA right now?" 

He gives you a look of disbelief, and you shrug.  

"A study in 2014—"  "That was a decade ago, sweetheart."  "I'm not your sweetheart, and who cares? Eucalyptus oil was approved as an effective mosquito repellent. If I get bit, I'll put my jeans back on. Not a big deal." 

"What if that virus is zoonotic?" He argues, shaking the shorts in his hands as a way to emphasize his point. You raise a brow, crossing your arms as you jut your hip out. 

"This ass is hypnotic, so at least I'll die knowing I gave it my all."  "I have another pair, just put them on. You're not being serious right now." 

"Take a look if you want, pervert." You scoff, before crouching to gather your dirty clothes. You stuff them into your bag, before peeling your socks out of your shoes with a discontented sigh. There's a hole in the toe, but the other socks have suffered the same fate. You sit on the boulder to pull them over your feet anyway, before his hand wraps around your ankle and he snatches it out of your hand. 

"Stinky, worn thin and one, two, three holes. Good grief, princess." He mutters, tossing it onto your lap before grabbing a fresh pair and a little box from his rucksack. You have half a mind to pull your leg away, but something about the cool feeling of his fingers around your hot skin makes you sit still as he cracks the box open. "These are moleskin bandages. We'll change them every night, because your shoes are horrible for this." 

He touches the side of your pinky toe, hearing you hiss before examining the sole of your foot with a frown. He pads at it with his thumb, tonguing his cheek as he sets it on his knee to look at the other. 

"You'll need insoles. I'll have to see what size boot you wear when we get back to the cabin, these are no good." He reaches over to grab your sneaker, peeking inside to see the soles worn and thin. He shakes his head, "maybe I should just carry you. This really won't do." 

"I'm not a baby." You spit back, and his hand on your foot squeezes, making you wince. You kick him gently, only for him to pop your toes with one hand as you squirm. 

"Not a baby, my ass." He moves to tend to your foot silently, even reaching into his bag several times for different ointments and oils before your feet are covered in slivers of moleskin bandages. He shoves the socks on, rolling the ankles as you realize how thick they are. He puts your shoes on for you, double-knotting the laces before glancing at the shorts. 

"You sure you don't want them?"  "Good God, man. If it makes you feel better, I'll wear your stupid shorts." 

"Well, now I don't want to give them to you." He sniffs, grabbing the shorts by the pocket as you loop your fingers into the waistband. "My shorts are not stupid." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, shorts. I'm so sorry your owner is restricting—"  "Shut up!" 

"Good, now you know how annoying you are." You suck your teeth, yanking the shorts out of his hand and pulling them over your legs quickly. You tuck the drawstring until they're snug, before standing and pulling your backpack over your shoulder. "Now, move it, guy. I'm tired and I want to rest without feeling like I'm gonna die." 

You shove past him, marching off with no direction as he snorts behind you. You hear him behind you; the rustle of his bag being thrown over his shoulder. You keep walking aimlessly, before crossing your arms on your chest and talking over your shoulder. 

"What did you do before the world decided to end?"  "I thought you said you didn't wanna get attached, princess?" 

You scoff, "yeah, that's why you don't need to know my name. That's how people keep stray animals, you know. They say they'll only take care of them until they're healthy, then they name the thing and suddenly that animal is getting scraps off the table and it sleeps at the foot of the bed." 

He chuckles, his stride lengthening to end up next to you. He tilts you slightly to the left, to a different pathway than your original wandering.  

"That's a good point, I guess. But like animals, people are won over by personalities. We could have things in common, shared experiences and the like." 

"I doubt you and I have anything in common, guy." You quip, shaking your head and feeling your damp hair brushing your neck. You swipe it back, behind your ears as he hums.  

"You sure?"  "I won't like you anyway. You're annoying and invasive, you know that?"  "Annoying and invasive got you clean, fed, and is now finding you a place to sleep. I'd watch that mouth if I were you." 

You don't like the way your stomach flutters at his tone, but you scoff anyway. 

"Throwing it in my face only shows you're doing it to make yourself the good guy."  "Or it's me reminding you that you don't know me, and I don't have to do this."  "See my previous statement, guy." 

He only clicks his tongue, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he shrugs. 

"So what did you do? Were you always a professional loser?" You loll your head back, looking up at him as he runs his tongue over his lip. 

"You're mean, you know that?"  "You'll learn to like it."  "No doubt about that, princess." 

He pushes you behind him as he steps in front of you, a rockier path leading downwards appearing a few feet ahead. He reaches back, his fingers brushing your hip before you instinctively give him your hand. He grips it carefully, his other hand reaching back to hold your hip as he leads you down the unstable terrain. 

"I was an architect with a Master's degree in interior design. I completed my degrees in three years because I was an overachiever, but that got me chances to design three buildings downtown and a few apartment buildings in the outskirts. I was working on a house before the outbreak started." His voice is straight, almost a bit solemn as he kicks a few rocks out of the way. "It was for my family, but you know how the wind blows." 

You feel your chest tight as you reach the bottom of the terrain, his hand slipping off your hip, but you don't let his hand go as he moves to pull it away. He glances down at you, and you clear your throat as you drop his hand, rubbing your palm on the back of your shorts.  

"I'm sorry for your loss…guy."  "Life goes on, princess." 

You hate the way your heart sinks as he shrugs, before his hands tilt your shoulders to the right. You force one foot in front of the other, clearing your throat again and staring up at the trees surrounding you. 

"How do you feel about mahogany?" You blurt, tucking your hands behind your back as he carefully maneuvers your shoulders to move you in certain directions. He snorts, "mahogany? The wood?" 

"Yeah. Let's have a conversation."  "You feel bad now, don't ya?"  "Never fucking mind." 

His laugh is full bellied as you stalk forward exaggeratedly, your shoes kicking pebbles and twigs out of the way as you worm your way along. He catches up to you in two quick strides, the heel of his boot nudging the back of your sneaker as you stop to climb over a fallen log. 

"Stop that!"  "I like mahogany, but mostly for flooring, staircases and doors. Not so much for anything that's eye level or above, I think it's too heavy. It's too rich of a color to be so high, I think." 

You feel your lip twitch as you manage to get over the fallen log, crossing your arms defiantly as you glance over your shoulder to see him doing the same. 

"Hm."  "Disagree?"  "No." 

He smiles inwardly, but you quickly face forward once more as a clearing comes into view. Running water can be heard in the distance, and you try to walk confidently as the path becomes muddy. 

"How do you feel about…elm burl?" You try, any nonchalance escaping your throat as he hums next to you, his lips pursing as he shakes his head. 

"I love the patterns on it, but I don't think it's ethical to use it. It's so scarce and deforestation is a problem as it is, I can't imagine using it willynilly. Or willingly, actually. There are better materials."  

You blink up at him, your cheeks warming as he glances down at you. His brow raises, "what?" 

"Nothing."  "It's something. What, you like burl?" 

"No, I actually hate burl. I don't think it's worth the time it takes to harvest, and I don't like the fact that people think the scarcity makes it more beautiful. It feels superficial and it grosses me out when I see homes that have it because I just know they paid up the ass for it. I know it's a great wood for homes in terms of durability and even super moisture resistant but it's frustrating to see the ignorance go over people's heads." You huff, crossing your arms tighter as he nods slowly, a quick hum from his throat as you look away. 

"Sorry."  "No, I like it. You've got passion." 

"Whatever." You roll your eyes, feeling your ears grow hot as he scoffs, his hip bumping yours with purpose. You swat at him, his hand grabbing your wrist and pushing it away as he speaks. 

"It's good that you're like that! I knew so many people in the industry who didn't care. You don't know how frustrating it is…or maybe you do, depending on who you know." He grouses, his lip jutted out in a pout as you stop at the edge of the path. Lower is more muddy terrain, but you're too in awe of the beautiful waterfall to even care. 

"Woah." Your arms fall to your sides, your eyes wide as he stops next to you.  

"It's pretty, isn't it?"  "Will you judge me if I cry?"  "Yes." 

"You suck," you shove his arm lightly, before wrapping your fingers around the straps of your bag tightly. You watch the water flow, before feeling his hand on the back of your head. He turns it slowly, and you see a series of boulders leading up to the waterfall. 

"Wanna see it up close, princess?" 

You don't get a chance to respond as he takes your arm anyway, pulling you down the terrain and around the water. You try your best to keep up, carefully maneuvering over bigger rocks and shaking your arm out of his grasp, only for him to reach back again and you slide your hand into his.  

Like it's normal. 

Because it is. 

"Be careful, alright? These are slippery." He pulls you in front of him as the boulders appear in front of him, moving your hands to hold onto the dry edges. You wedge the tip of your shoes into the gathered rocks beneath it, and he grips your hips to hoist you up easily. 

And you ignore the stupid flutter in your stomach again, standing up straight and moving out of the way as he pulls himself up with ease. You flicker your eyes away from the bulge of his biceps against the fabric of his shirt, swallowing hard as you carefully make your way up the boulders.  

The spray of the waterfall is cooling against your warm skin, your eyes wide as you watch it cascade over the rocky ledge. You carefully put your bag down as he reaches your side, your fingers poking through the running water. You crouch down, running your fingers along the jagged edge of the platform you're standing on. 

"How'd you find this?" You voice is full of air, only to hear him hum behind you, the weight of his rucksack hitting the stone as he sets it down. You glance over your shoulder to see him staring at the water, head tilted to the side as he shrugs. 

"I found it on the way down, actually. It was pouring and I couldn't risk sleeping in one of the trees or in one of the tents. I used to play a game on Nintendo that had a world with a cavern behind a waterfall and when I saw this one, I looked around. The cavern, I mean, and there's no bears or anything. Lots of stalactite, though; it's pretty cool." He nods, looking down at you. You must look amused, because he scoffs. "What's so funny?" 

"You play Nintendo games?"  "I was a boy once! A teenager!" 

"What game was it? Super Mario Odyssey? The first world has a waterfall. Actually, a couple of them do, I think." You turn your attention back to the water, only to feel him crouch next to you. He wraps his arms around his knees, sticking one hand into the water as he clicks his tongue. 

"It was, actually. Nerd."  "No way, loser." 

"Way," he chuckles, pressing his wet fingers against his neck before carding them through his hair. "I'm gonna check out the cavern, make sure nothing's in there. I'll catch a fish or something and we can eat before we turn in for the night." 

"Oh, I'm not all that hungry—" Your lie is cut off by the grumble in your stomach, and you give an exaggerated cough to cover it up before he nudges you with his elbow. He has a knowing look on his face, rolling his eyes at you as he stands up straight. He turns on his heel, and you watch over your shoulder as he takes a flashlight out of the pocket of his bag. He clicks it on, whistling to himself as he ventures fearlessly into the cavern. 

You let your shoulders relax as he disappears, a breath falling from your lips as you sit on the ground. You tug your shoes off, tossing them to the side before laying on your back next to the water with your knees bent, crossing your arms on your chest. Closing your eyes, you let the anxiety of trusting a stranger seep out of your bones — because had he wanted to harm you…he would've done it already. 

Some people are good! 

Your nose burns as tears line your lashes, but you find an odd comfort in the sound of the waterfall paired with crickets you hadn't heard the entire time you were alone. Practicing vigilance, constantly being on edge…lack of sleep from almost falling off tree branches definitely left your body in fight or flight mode. You don't remember the last time you cried, either — likely even before the outbreak, if not the day you found out you got the internship in Germany. 

"Fuck," You mutter, covering your face as you remember the letter you left on your desk, the envelope practically shredded from your excited hands. You'd even bought a frame to hang it over your desk, but it had been left dismantled for days while you called everyone who knew, while you celebrated and recovered from the gnarliest hangover you'd ever had. And it stayed there, when you escaped your roommates by a hair and fucked off into the woods. 

Your mind races with what ifs.  

What if you hadn't gotten out? What if you'd come home later like you'd planned to, having been asked to dinner by one of your group mates to compare notes? What if you'd been more prepared — the university had done everything to keep the students calm, promising a safe, virus-free environment. You'd packed a bag haphazardly, anyway, leaving it propped on your windowsill should you ever need it. You practiced constant distancing, staying two feet or more away from anyone at all times.  

The outbreak at the University started with the football team. A nice boy named Jaehyun was in the wrong place at the wrong time, only to trail his way back onto campus during a tailgate and infect three other people before he was taken out by two cheerleaders with a crowbar. At least, that's how you remember it before you practically sprinted your way back to the dormitory, finding Jian and Jieun along the way and telling them what had happened. They immediately u-turned with you, and you all packed your bags that night. T-shirts, tank tops, underwear…snacks and water. 

Eventually, you'd be the only one to use yours. Shirts ripped from snagging on tree bark; snacks finished within three weeks of your escape. You rationed water so carefully that you were in a constant state of dehydration, until you found the stocked warehouse. There was only one person there, and she never spoke to you — ducking out of the facility within hours of your arrival. You gorged yourself on the bread and canned foods, spearing them open with your box cutter and drinking all the water you could reach for.  

Until that place was raided by those things, and you once more narrowly escaped. 

You'd been in the woods since. Alone, tired, hungry. Cold on some nights, having lost your only sweater to a tree branch tearing straight through it when you fell off. Your jeans were wearing thin, and the summer heat only made surviving all the harder — but for whatever reason, despite your pessimism, you couldn't bring yourself to give up. 

You were meant for more. 

"You alright?" 

His voice startles you, making you jolt up. You clear your throat, running your hand through your hair as you nod almost too quickly. 

"Yeah. Yep, fine. Is uh…are you good?" You curse yourself for stuttering, staring at the scar on your knee from when you fell off your scooter as a kid. He crouches down next to you again, facing you before you hear the click of the flashlight. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, his own glued to your face. 

"You're not a very good liar, you know that?” His voice is softer, but you scoff as you tilt away. 

"I'm a great liar, thank you."  "Tell me a lie right now."  "You're cute." 

You roll your eyes as he gapes, shoving your knee with the end of his flashlight. "You take that back! I'm very cute!" 

"Sure, guy." You snort, before tilting your head towards the rucksack. "Aren't you tired from carrying that thing? Don't you have like, shoulder pain? Shouldn't you lay down?" 

"Worried about my well-being, princess?" He teases, and you raise a brow at him, an almost disinterested look crossing your features as you nod. 

"Yeah, who else will lead to me safety? If you're exhausted, you'll make all sorts of mistakes—"  "It would actually kill you to be nice, wouldn't it?" 

His voice is still lighthearted, eyes warm as you turn to look at him. You run your eyes along his face, taking in his features before you blink slowly, meeting his eyes once more with a shrug of your shoulders. 

"It might, I don't know. I've never tried it."  "Might be a good time to start, pretty." 

"Shut up," you roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the ground and grabbing his flashlight. You tug your shoes on haphazardly as he snickers to himself, and you feel his eyes follow you as you flip the flashlight in your hand. You click it on, shining it into the cavern as he gets up to follow behind you. Your eyes widen as you flash the light up to the hanging stalactites, your lips parting with a soft woah. 

"Nice, isn't it?"  "Beautiful. It's shimmering, the salt. Do you see it?"  "It's even prettier when it's warmer light. We'll light a fire in here in a bit, you'll see." 

You nod, carefully trudging forward, "do you think any animals have ever lived here? Bats, even?" 

"If that were the case, I think we'd be surrounded by bat shit."  "Bat guano is actually very important for some cave-dwellers. Lots of animals eat it." 

"Taking the phrase 'eat shit' to another level, huh?" He makes a sound of disgust, only making you chuckle as you shake your head. 

"Well, the animals who eat it are inherently gross to the average person, anyway. They're detritivores, the bugs and stuff that eat it. They're eaten by spiders, and pseudoscorpions. Ever seen a pseudoscorpion? Cutest little dudes." 

He doesn't reply, making you glance over your shoulder to see him smiling inwardly as he looks at the ground. You narrow your eyes but move your attention to the pebbled floor beneath you. You run the light over it, seeing the toe of your shoe incredibly close to an otherwise blind pseudoscorpion. Your eyes widen as you crouch, your fingers gently pinching its round body as you turn to him. 

"Look! See? Pseudoscorpion; claws like a scorpion, but he's just a little guy." You smile widely, holding the light above the small arachnid. "Not dangerous to humans at all, either. Very helpful, they eat bugs and pests, which makes them…" 

You trail off as you notice how intently he's looking at you, his hands clasped in front of him. You clear your throat before quickly setting it down and watching it scurry away. "Anyway, uh. Yeah, so there was likely a bat colony here at some point. Maybe a couple big spiders, but they won't do anything to us if we don't bother them."  

You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line before turning on your heel and venturing deeper into the cave. 

"Why do you do that?" His voice rings out behind you, and you stop walking, glancing over your shoulder. 

"Huh?"  "Why do you stop yourself from talking about things you like? Or get embarrassed by it?" 

Your cheeks feel hot as you turn fully, but you keep a straight face as you tilt your head, opening your mouth to say something when you see him hold up the pseudoscorpion you'd put down. He holds it out to you, taking the flashlight from your hand and lowering the brightness to create a spotlight of sorts as you take the animal in your hand. He shines the light on your hand, eyes expectant and…warm. 

"They're…uh, so they're synanthropic, or synanthropes. Like raccoons, that means they're technically harmless to us, but they've developed in environments near humans for so long that they can benefit from us without being a bother. Generally, that is." You nod slowly, before gesturing at the spindly arms the arachnid is holding up. "Their pinchers have venom they use to subdue their prey, usually smaller bugs like ants or mites, but it's not enough to cause damage to a human. They also have spider-like silk glands in their jaws, which helps them stay safe during winters. There are more than four thousand species of these things." 

You clear your throat, "my father was an entomologist. He and I were really close before the outbreak, and he liked arachnids most. He was covered in tattoos of bugs, but he had one of these on his wrist for me, and he had a sequin spider on his chest and a peacock parachute on his arm for my mother. When I asked why I got this one, he said it was because I was half of him, and half of my mother; but that's a story for another day." 

Pressing your lips together, you carefully place the arachnid back on the ground, watching it pinch at a passing ant. You let a smile cross your face, before feeling the heat of his eyes on you. 

"I don't like bugs, personally." He starts, bringing the brightness back up on the flashlight and handing it to you. "I think my biggest fear is actually wasps." 

You nod, biting back a smile as you shrug, "wasps are the Devil incarnate, so I don't blame you. Such angry things." 

"Exactly! How is it my fault that I have to go outside? Should I just cease to exist for them?" He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as you chuckle, tapping the flashlight against his arm before slipping past him.  

"Let's get outta here, I'm starting to feel itchy." You say, carefully maneuvering your way back out of the cavern with him hot on your heels. The air outside is sticky, warmer than inside the dark cave, but it's welcome as you flick off the flashlight. "I'm getting tired." 

"I'll get started on dinner, then." He nods, and you don't get a chance to say anything before he stops, looking at you over his shoulder, " and I'll listen to you any time. So just…talk, yeah?" 

Your eyes widen, but you can't reply as he makes his way down the boulders, pulling something shiny out of his pocket. You hear a click as he reaches the edge of the water, and you peer over the ledge to see him crouched, his hand stuffed in his pocket before pulling out a palm full of what looks like to be seeds. His eyes are concentrated as you lay on your belly, using your elbows to prop yourself up and watch him toss the seeds into the water.  

Almost instantly, the surface ripples with fish — a quick flick of his wrist pinning one of the poor fish in place on the rocky spring floor. The rest scatter, his jaw tight as he reaches into the water from the shore and plucks the fish out, pulling the knife out and rinsing it in the water. He clicks it closed, shoving it back into his pocket before laying the fish on one of the boulders.  

You watch him repeat the process twice, from different angles around the spring until he silently returns to the boulder with his pile. You keep watching as he examines the fish carefully, running his fingers over the scales and tosses one into the woods behind him with a tick in his jaw. He stills suddenly, looking around before meeting your eyes. The tips of his ears tinge pink as you blink at him, his voice clear as he speaks to you. 

"Are you just watching me?" 

You don't respond verbally, only nodding as a smile creeps onto your lips. He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he descales the fish quickly. Your eyes are low as fatigue begins to sink into your bones, before you hear his voice again. 

"You're real pretty up there, but you'd be prettier if you gathered some wood. Hop to, princess." He calls, using his knife to gesture around himself. You scowl as he looks up, a toothy grin on display as he waves you down. "I can't have you falling asleep just yet, you'll miss dinner. Come on." 

Scoffing, you ignore the heat in your cheeks as you push yourself off the ledge, carefully making your way down the boulders. You land on the ground with a crunch of twigs beneath you, making faces at him as you start picking sticks up. You hold them against your arm, examining them and plucking any remaining leaves off before you come across the fish he threw behind him. You glance up, seeing his back muscles tense beneath his shirt as you leave it where it is, his silver chain sparkling in the sun; picking up the sticks around it and covering it carefully. 

"Why'd you kill it if you weren't going to eat it?" You ask as you near him, holding your collection in your arms. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you peer at the fish in his hands, "how do you know what fish is okay to eat?" 

"You kind of just have to trust your gut and also, fully cook it. We've never had advisories around here, and there's no salmon in these areas. If you see a bear with tapeworm around, it's usually from the fish in the waters. Therefore, don't eat the fish." He says pointedly, carefully clipping the fins of the fish off, "you'll know what to do depending on what the conditions are. You have to be alert and pay attention to your surroundings." 

"So, why'd you kill it?" You ask again, watching him look away as he sliced the head clean off with a shudder. 

"It's either sick and dying or getting ready to die. It was bloated around the kidneys; it likely had disease. It wouldn't have spread to the other fish, but it's always best to put them out of their misery." He nods, before grabbing the head and throwing it as far as he could into the woods. You hear it land somewhere, but don't look away from his hands as you clear your throat. 

"Have you ever killed anything else?" You ask softly, and he glances down at you with concern. 

"Not people, if that's what you're asking." 

Your face must show relief because he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "There's no way you think I'm capable of that. I have morals." 

"I don't know that, guy." 

"Well, now you know. The biggest thing I've ever killed was a trout when I was sixteen, and I cried the entire summer. I couldn't eat it, either; my mother made me soup for three nights." He rolls his eyes, and you look at the fish in his hands, holding out one of the sticks. He takes it, stripping it of the bark with his knife before spearing the fish on it.  

"Then how do you know deer is good?"  "I'll only eat it if someone else takes it out. I'm good at a lot of things but I can't kill anything. Fishing is the closest I get to it, and even then, I'm only doing it out of pure survival. I've never been a good hunter; it makes me sad and…queasy." 

You nod, watching him behead the other fish before looking up at him. 

"So, what about those undead things? Would you kill one?"  "I've had the pleasure of never coming across one. I think, morally…" 

He trails off, spearing the fish with the stick before tossing the other head into the woods. He sighs, looking down at you. 

"They're already dead. Out of survival, you have to do it if you're in danger. It's the only way I can justify it, if it were the case." He holds the stick of fish out to you, scooping the wood out of your arms as you take hold of the stick. "I have a lot of morals and values that I'm not willing to give up, even out of survival. I believe things should happen naturally, but I also don't believe anyone should suffer. That fish was suffering, and likely in pain. Those things…they're rotting from the inside out, they're suffering and in turn, making others suffer. Full death is the only option." 

You nod silently as you both climb the boulders, his hand on your back at an arm's length from behind to catch you if you slip. You both make it back to the ledge, and you glance over your shoulder to see him looking into the forest before scooting into the waterfall. 

"The sun is starting to set, so we'll have dinner and then you can get some rest. I'll stand watch for a bit." His voice is a little flat as he makes his way towards you, and you feel a bit of guilt settle in your belly. 

"Sorry if that conversation made you uncomfortable." You murmur as he walks by, and he waves you off as he slips into the cavern, only taking three steps into it before answering you. 

"It doesn't. It's good to talk about what you think, even if you're not sure when you'll go through it yourself. Death is an uncomfortable topic for everyone, but there is growth in that discomfort. Death is not the end of life, or love, for that matter, but it is inevitable." He shrugs, putting the pile of sticks down before separating a few. You peek in, before he appears in front of you and flips open a pocket of his rucksack, procuring a box of matches.  

"Morals, values, it's all growth. Both to keep them, and to release them. Death is only temporary, because you live on in those who knew you. That's why I'm trying to stay positive in these days, you know? It's hard to be sad when you're making yourself look at life from a different angle." 

He kneels, striking a match and tossing it into the pile of sticks as you slink into the cavern. The crackle of the wood is soothing to your ears, and the flame grows bigger within a few seconds. 

"If you always think, why not me? Or even, why me? You'll get nowhere. Those aren't answers you're supposed to have, because if it was meant to happen to you, it would have. You just have to keep your head up." He nods, skirting past you as he slips his matches back into the rucksack. He picks it up, along with your backpack, and pulls them closer to the fire. He pulls out a few washcloths, before untucking the sleeping bag he'd had strapped to the back of the bag. 

"Here, sit." He unzips it, laying it flat on the ground before taking the fish from you. You glance down at it, watching him sit cross legged on the other side of the fire. You look at him for a second, watching the way he props two stones on either side to hold the stick of speared fish in place. Toeing your shoes off, you lay them off to the side before kneeling onto the bag. It's cool against your skin, and you almost lie down but keep your arms rigid at your sides as you clear your throat. 

"Do you think that's easier for you because you have your life more figured out?" You ask, and he glances at you with an amused look.  

"You keep talking like I'm just this experienced guy," he snorts, carefully balancing the speared fish over the flame. "I've had one job my entire life. I've had the same group of friends since I was a kid, and I've kissed one girl." 

"Well, yeah but you've already done so much more than I could ever imagine. You've designed things and actually saw them come to life, you've helped people," You shrug, poking the fire with a stick before tossing it in to hear it crackle. "For example, I've never even kissed anyone. Now that the world is ending and all—" 

"The world is not ending, princess. You're being negative." He interrupts pointedly, and you give him a glare. 

"Yeah, well…I should be allowed to complain." 

He only smiles inwardly, turning the fish over once. The smell is beginning to fill the cavern, your stomach growling loudly; your arms wrapping around you as he snickers. 

"It'll be ready in a bit, don't worry." He says, tentatively pausing before you feel his eyes on you. You glance up from the fire, his gaze shamelessly falling over your face and shoulders as you lean back. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You bring your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them before wrapping your arms around your shins. He just shrugs, shaking his head before leaning back on his hands. 

"Why haven't you kissed anyone? Just…didn't want to?" His head is tilted to the side, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you stare up at the stalactite around the curve of the cavern.  

"…I mean, I had chances. I just kind of kept dodging them." You say slowly, picking at a loose thread in the shorts you're wearing. "I've been on dates and stuff, and they'd always lean in, but I just wasn't that into them. And it's not like I value abstinence or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that but it's just not my vibe. I've…felt lust, and shit like that. However, I feel like a kiss should mean something, and if I'm not attracted to them enough, then…" 

"That's one less step towards a kiss. Okay. I get it." He nods, "if it makes you feel better—" 

"Don't try to relate to me right now. I'm sure you had girls throwing themselves at you." You scoff, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Again, just the one girl, and I was with her for three years." He holds up three fingers, and you tongue your cheek before shrugging. 

"Why'd you break up?" 

He seems hesitant to answer, nibbling on his lower lip before looking up at the stalactite. You take the moment to peer at him in the flickering light of the fire, and you really look at him — soft lips, slope of his nose…paired with sharp eyes, and strong brows. 

Pretty. 

"She wanted to get married." He says quietly, kicking at a bit of rubble. "I was fresh out of school, and I'd just started designing my first building…I wasn't going to have time to dedicate it to wedding planning. I wasn't sure if I would have time for her, but I tried my best. We got engaged anyway and I was always busy. It just didn't work." 

"Who broke up with who?" You ask, leaning forward nosily as he tongues his cheek. 

"I broke off the engagement." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy, but it also wasn't working. Sometimes I wonder where I would be if we had gone through with the wedding. Would I be a dad? Would we have fought as much as we did towards the end of it all? Just…so many questions that I also can't bring myself to care about because I'll spiral over nothing. It was two years ago, life goes on." 

"Do you want to be a dad someday?" You grab another stick from the pile next to you, poking the flame as he takes the fish off. He shrugs, staring at the fish tentatively. He turns it gently, watching the flame lick at the skin of it before answering your question. 

"My future wife has to want kids for me to be able to make that decision." He clicks his tongue, "no use in me wanting something when she's the one bearing them. I'd just…you know. It's not fair to make that decision on my own." 

"You think you'll get married? If the world doesn't end?" You continue messing with the fire as he turns the fish again. 

"I mean…I hope. I made a bucket list on the first day of my freshman year in university, and it was the third or fourth thing I had on there." He carefully adds two more sticks to the bottom of the fire before glancing up at you. "Do you want to get married? Have kids?" 

You dig your chin into your chest, smiling inwardly as you give a weak shrug. 

"…I don't know."  "You're lying." 

"I think I should focus on actually kissing a guy, first. Imagine if this outbreak hadn't happened. Maybe I'd be getting lots of dudes hitting my line in Germany." You roll your eyes, before sighing. 

"I think I just want to fall in love one day. I was very focused on my studies my entire life, I've been to two tailgates, and I've been drunk twice in my life, and one of those was when I found out I got the internship. I've never kissed a guy, and I've never been a girlfriend, but that was my choice. And now, I don't have that choice, because the universe has just decided that it is fate for me. It's not like romance has ever been my top priority. I was loved by my friends and my family all the same, and the only love, or passion, or desire I truly had in life was design and architecture. God, I used to dream of my buildings being part of skylines and I went through a phase where I'd conjure up dream homes for my friends. I even promised that one day I'd build them, and I'd help decorate to their style…and now they're gone. They're gone and I'm here, with a stranger and in a cave complaining about the fact that I'll now never get the chance to fall in love or kiss a guy; when neither will they, because they are gone." 

You close your eyes momentarily, tucking your chin into your chest before you blink up at him. He's looking at you with a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he shifts back on his hands, a slight tilt to his head. You maintain eye contact, nibbling on the inside of your lip and poking at the fire with the stick in your hand. 

"Tell me your name." 

"Y/N." You speak plainly, making the choice to lay down and toss the stick into the fire. You cross your arms on your chest, closing your eyes. "Not princess, sorry to burst your bubble." 

"Y/N what?" He leans over slightly, and you feel a smirk tug at the corner of your lips. You open your eyes, catching him staring down at you. He doesn't look away, his eyes incessant as you turn your head slightly so he's not upside down in your vision.  

"What's it to you, guy?"  "The curiosity will kill me, princess."  "I literally just told you my name, you don't have to keep calling me that." 

"I like watching you squirm, it's cute." He shrugs, carefully pulling the stick off the rocks and out of the fish, laying it flat on a washcloth and slipping out his knife. He sinks the blade into the flesh of the fish as you turn to rest on your side, your eyes heavy as he holds a piece of the fish on the blade out to you. "Careful, it's hot." 

You lean forward slightly, biting down on the piece of fish with your teeth before pulling it into your mouth. It's hot, yeah, but it's juicy and even a bit sweet as you chew. 

"Good?" 

You only nod as you hold your hand out for another piece, the sound of the crackling fire making you sleepier by the minute. You both eat in silence, with him grabbing the end of the sleeping bag and pulling you to his side of the fire so he doesn't have to keep reaching over to give you pieces. You pick it off yourself, still laying as you eat despite him telling you it's bad for you. 

"Is the sun down yet?" You mutter, wiping at your eyes lazily. He glances over his shoulder, the sun peering through the waterfall and creating a pattern on the walls of the cavern. 

"Almost. Come on, I have to put the fire out and let the smoke air out. You can sleep in a little bit."  "You've said that twice now, guy." 

"Sue me for wanting to spend time with someone." He scoffs, "and my name is—" 

"No, don't tell me. You'll get attached." Your sentence is almost interrupted by a yawn, but you force yourself off the sleeping bag, lazily dragging yourself towards the entrance of the cavern when you hear the hiss of the fire dying under the bottle of water he dug out of his rucksack. You hear the crinkle of the plastic before rustling, the smell of burnt wood wafting out of the cavern as he appears next to you with the sleeping bag. He spreads it out for you again, and you lay on your stomach as he moves to the side. He sits next to your head, a rag in his hand as he pulls the knife out of his pocket once more. 

"What're you doing?" You ask tiredly, leaning up on your elbow to watch him. 

"Just cleaning the knife. If my math is right, we'll be at the cabin in two days if we don't get any rain. If we do, it's three or four. I've got to ration things properly." He nods, and you peer at the knife. There's a corkscrew on it, and you forget the name of the style of knife but you smush your cheek with the heel of your palm as you point at it. 

"Why do you need a corkscrew?"  "Do you always ask this many questions?" 

"Well, guy, it's not every day we're being hunted by the undead, you know." You say pointedly, tapping his knee as he scoffs. 

"Mingyu." 

"Hm?" You look up at him with tired eyes, and he glances down before shaking his head with a sigh. 

"That's my name. Mingyu."  "Okay? What am I supposed to do with this information?"  "Pft, I don't know. Maybe stop calling me guy?" 

"And what, build a foundation of trust? You'd kill me if I got bitten by one of those rotting things." You huff, a hint of humor in your voice as you move to lay on your side.  

"Uh, yeah. You'll be dead anyway, princess."  "I don't like your attitude, Mingyu." 

"Sucks to be you, sweetness." He shrugs, and you let out an annoyed huff. You fold your arms under your head, using your bicep as a pillow. You blink at the running waterfall in front of you, the sun's rays bleeding through when you speak again. 

"Where are you going to sleep?"  "Probably right here. I'm just gonna zip you up later, because it gets kind of cold in the cavern."  "Won't you be cold?" 

You feel him shift next to you, your eyes looking up at him as he shrugs. "I can handle it. You already have goosebumps." 

It's silent for a while. You watch the sun continue to set from behind the waterfall, the moon rising and illuminating the water. You blink tiredly, your body sore from the day but your fingers tap his knee gently as you push yourself up. He looks down at you, leaning back on his hands with a gentle smile on his lips. 

"Yes?"  "Can we go to sleep now?"  "Yeah, you can go to sleep." 

You shake your head, "that's not what I said." 

He snorts, "what do you want from me, princess?" 

"I want you to sleep! That bag is so heavy, I know you're probably sore all over and you're not admitting it to save face or something." You point an accusatory finger at him, and he purses his lips, nodding his head as if in agreeance. 

"Wow," he says incredulously, "you're quite the mind reader. What else can you see? Can you tell my shoulders hurt real bad, too?" 

"Mingyu!"  "You're so freaking cute, actually." 

"Fine, freeze." You huff, laying back down and flipping the rest of the sleeping bag over your shoulders. You face into the cavern as he chuckles, patting the sleeping bag over your shoulder.  

"I'll sleep soon. Just gotta keep you safe for a little longer." He admits softly, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before sighing. You don't respond, curling your knees to your chest and hugging yourself in an attempt to sleep. The last thing your eyes catch before you close them is the time blinking on his watch — 9:42 PM.  

You manage to doze off for a bit, your back popping as you stretch your limbs slightly; only to feel Mingyu has disappeared from next to your head. You lean up a bit, the moon in a different part of the sky now before feeling the heat of his body on the ground. He's snoring softly but shivering, still wearing his boots but his watch is slipped off and next to his head. You grab it: 2:09 AM. 

Groaning, you move to shake him awake when he jolts up on his own. He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes slightly bloodshot as he squints at you. 

"Are you okay?" His voice is raspy, and you shake your head as you run a hand over your face. He shifts to sit up, when you drape the folded-over part of the sleeping bag out onto the floor and point at it. 

"Lay down." You pat the bag, before sitting up on your knees and tucking your mussed hair behind your ears. He blinks at you, silently giving in and sprawling across the bag. You crawl towards his feet, untying the laces of his boots quickly before yanking them off. 

"Leave them on," He mumbles tiredly, but you just pat his knee. 

"You're shivering, you're tired and you're sore. Just take them off to sleep well." You murmur, bringing the boots up to his head and sitting them next to him. You tuck the watch into them, before laying back down on your side of the bag. "Good night, Mingyu." 

You try to ignore how his name feels on your tongue, only to hear him whisper behind you as he turns onto his side, his breath hitting the back of your neck. 

"Mmh. Good night, Y/N." 

THERE IS A MOP OF HAIR UNDER YOUR FINGERTIPS AS YOU STIR THE FOLLOWING MORNING. 

It's slightly chilly, your skin prickling at the soft breeze that blows through the waterfall, but the rest of you remains warm as you wiggle slightly. Your hips are achy as you strain your neck to see Mingyu's head laid on your chest, his arms wrapped around you like he was trying to protect you from something. Your legs are hooked at your ankles around his waist, holding him flush to your torso. Your hand in his hair is nothing to the one dipping below the neck of his shirt, imprinted with the pattern of his necklace and absolutely not comparable to his on your hip – under your shirt. 

"Mingyu." You pat his shoulders, the man not stirring in the slightest. You pat harder, only feeling him inhale deeply, but not wake up. You let out a huff of annoyance, making a fist and hitting his shoulder with the side of your hand. He jolts on reflex, waking up almost instantly as his hand shoots up to rub at his shoulder. 

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why'd you hit me?!" You refuse to let the rasp of his voice distract you, and you force yourself to focus as you scowl and measure the distance between you with a pat to his chest and yours. 

"You're on top of me, dimwit. I'm practically roasting." You wipe sweat from your neck, the sleeping bag sticking to your damp back. His eyes widen, and he glances down at the hand under your shirt. He rips it away, pushing himself off you almost in a tizzy before clearing his throat, kneeling above you. 

"I, uh—"  "If you're gonna say you're sorry, just save it for when you actually fuck up."  "Still, I'm—" 

"Mingyu." You hold your hand up, watching the guilt flash through his features as you point your fingertips at him. "I genuinely don't care. I'm just concerned about the fact that you radiate so much fucking heat. Aren't you sweaty? Jesus." 

You sit up, grimacing as you feel your shirt stick to you. You reach into his boot, fishing his watch out — 6:07 AM. You tap the face with your nail, "we should get moving. If today is anything like yesterday, I need to get up before I lose motivation and leave myself out on a platter for the undead." 

"Even in the mornings, you just say the most insane shit." He mutters, rubbing at his eyes before sitting back on his feet. "Are you hungry? I made more porridge before—" 

"Will you catch another fish?" You ask quickly, sitting up on your knees and clasping your hands together. He gives you a deadpan look, and you jut your lower lip out in a pout, "come on, buddy! Just one fish, please? Please, please—" 

"Don't beg, I haven't even processed your question." He grumbles, wiping at his eyes again, before stretching his arms over his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, a sliver of skin peeking out from his untucked shirt. "What if I just teach you how to catch one? It's easy." 

"Or…you can just catch it for me while I start another fire." You wiggle your brows, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches again. "C'mon! You've gotten me used to a certain lifestyle—" 

"Okay, okay." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face before standing up. "Alright, checklist. Fish, porridge, bath. Oh, and changing your bandages…what else? Oh! Laundry, too. We might get out of here closer to nine." 

He shakes out his legs, marks from the sleeping bag imprinted on his skin. He takes his watch from you, slapping it on his wrist before lolling his head back. 

"My back is killing me, I can't wait to get back to my bed." He huffs, twisting from side to side and you wrinkle your nose at the sound of the joints popping before his eyes widen and he glances down at you with an accusatory look. "For the love of God, please stretch before we head out today. You were kicking the shit out of me in your sleep last night." 

"Is that why I woke up being melted into the sleeping bag?" You chide, and he just rolls his eyes before running a hand through his hair.  

"Shut up."  "Mmh, I don't think so." 

You giggle as he scowls down at you, and you stretch your arms over your head as he grabs his boots. He shakes them out, making sure no critters crawled in during the night before shoving them on. You reach over before he can bend, tying the laces quickly before patting the tip of the boot and pointing to the spring. 

"Come on, fisherman. Bring me home something good."  "You're lucky you're entertaining."  "You can say I'm cute." 

"And why would I lie like that?" He muses, chuckling as he skirts past your swatting hand and grabs his cap off the rucksack inside the cavern. He stretches his arms over his head one more time, letting out a pained grunt before rolling his shoulders back and making his way down the boulders. You peer over the side of the waterfall like you did the day before, sitting with your legs hanging over the ledge as you watch him pop his knuckles before crouching at the edge of the spring again. 

You'd never admit out loud that watching the way his brain works is a little…intriguing. The seeds, the quickness of his reactions, the way his eyes never lost focus despite the movement of the waters. Really, this is nothing that should impress you as much as it does — but you've also been alone for so long that the most entertainment you have is your brain replaying The Breakfast Club spottily as you roamed the forests aimlessly. 

"What happened to starting the fire?" He calls from the same boulder he stood at last night, hand on his hip as he looks up at you. You shrug, pointing at your socked feet, "can't find my shoes." 

"You mean you didn't look for your shoes. I moved them to the entrance before I went to sleep. Put 'em on, princess."  "What if I wash your clothes for you while you bathe? Will you gather the wood then?" 

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he guts the fish and beheads it faster than he did the day before. He looks around, finding a stick at the edge of the spring and spearing it through. You watch with a bitten smile as he makes his way back up the boulders, holding the fish out to you with a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you take it. 

"You're so annoying, stop smiling like that." He mutters, turning around as you chuckle.  

"Thank you, guy!"  "Stop calling me that!" 

You only laugh harder as you get up, propping the speared fish on the side of the cavern and pulling your shoes on. You grab your bag, opening it carefully and slipping your jar of honey into the pocket of his rucksack before digging out your dirty clothing and the bar of soap you had. You roll your intimates into your shirt, staring at the bunched pair of jeans at the bottom of your bag before pulling them out. You shove it all under your arm, glancing over the boulders to see Mingyu already climbing back up with his arms full of wood.  

"Need some help?" You call, and he shakes his head, making it back with a tick in his jaw. He drops the wood, rolling his shoulders back slightly before clearing his throat.  

"You should probably bathe; the fish can wait. Plus, then I can take your clothes," you hold your hand out, and he nibbles on his lip.  

"I'll make the fish first, then I'll bathe. I don't want it to sit out for too long. You can wash your stuff first and lay it out in the sun so it can start drying. Use the bottled water, I've got a filter and we can fill up before we leave." He nods, almost to himself as you put a hand on your hip. 

"At least give me your shirt and socks, guy. You're not going anywhere, anyway, you're gonna make the fire right here." You shrug, holding your hand out as he raises a brow. 

"You just wanna see me strip—"  "I'll fucking kill you, actually." 

He laughs, dodging your attempt at hitting his arm swiftly. He gathers the sticks carefully, piling them together as you set your stuff down before moving to shake out the sleeping bag. You roll it back up, tucking it under the straps of his rucksack before plucking at his shirt. 

"Give it here, fella." 

He snorts, flicking his cap off before tugging his shirt over his head. You take it, your eyes not missing the deep bruising on his shoulders from the weight of the rucksack. You chew on your cheek as you take a closer look, your fingers floating over the skin when he clears his throat. 

"The bag is heavy, but it's fine. I'm fine, plus we should be home by tomorrow night. Don't worry about it." He says softly, and you involuntarily let out a noise of distress as he unties his boot laces to hand you his socks. You take them, huffing as you make your way to the second boulder down — the biggest one, and you soak each item individually in the higher end of the spring water. You barely dip your underwear, not wanting him to see the lace in your hand. 

Your knees dig painfully into the boulder beneath you as you lather soap all over the clothes, the smell almost sterile as you rinse them and wring them out repeatedly. The knee pain only stops when you tug your shoes off to wash your socks. You wring your underwear out the most, wanting it as dry as possible so the sun can finish drying it faster than the rest of the clothes. You lay everything out, the morning sun hitting the boulder just right as you manage your way back up to the cavern. 

Your eyes linger on the bruises on Mingyu's shoulders, spanning down his back. You crouch behind him, tossing your shoes to the side and examining the purple and yellow splotches before you feel his hand reach back and pat your thigh. 

"Stop it. You're making me self-conscious." 

"I'm just admiring your back muscles." You blurt, his laughter immediately ringing out as he swats at your leg. 

"Seriously, stop. Just come eat your fish, princess."  "What will you eat?" 

"Don't worry about me." He says pointedly, before standing up and grabbing his rucksack. He digs through the front pocket. He procures a bag of what seem to be toothpaste tablets, and two toothbrushes (one used, one new) are seen through the plastic. Your eyes widen, and you almost topple over as you stand to hold your hand out. 

"No please or thank you anymore, huh?" He snorts, pulling the bag open to give you the packaged toothbrush. You tear it open as he holds out two tablets, "chew them. They have fluoride so I wouldn't recommend swallowing it, but…you do what you do, you know?" 

You do as you're told, chewing the tablets until a paste forms and you scrub at your teeth for what seems like twenty minutes before the foam gets too much. He only bites back his smile as he does the same, before his eyes widen in realization and he pulls more bandages out of the bag. He holds his toothbrush in his jaw, grabbing your injured hand and peeling the wet bandage back. Your gash seems to be healing fine, but he dries the skin out with an alcohol pad before wrapping new bandage around it. 

You end up swallowing your toothpaste like a lunatic, giving Mingyu the toothbrush to put away before plopping in front of the fire that has now slightly charred the side of your fish. You flip it over, waiting for Mingyu to sit with you as you speak. 

"I used to be a masseuse, you know." You nod, and he seems interested as he nods, sliding everything but the moleskin bandages back into his pack and pulls out the same washcloth he used for the fish last night. He sits next to you, pulling the fish off the fire and sliding it in front of you before taking your foot in his hand, stretching your leg over his thigh. 

"Were you? Was that your part-time job?" He asks, carefully peeling the bandages off your feet. You wince as he presses the pad of his thumb into the arch of your foot, nodding as you wave his hand away from your foot. 

"I did it for three years, I think. Almost four, I made pretty good money, but I almost always needed a massage, too. I quit when I found out I got my internship," Your voice is soft, almost as though you're trying to butter him up for something. He seemingly catches on, pressing his lips into a thin line as you pick pieces off your fish to feed him and yourself. 

"You don't have to do that for me, you know. Don't feel like you need to repay me or anything, I'm helping you because I want to and it makes me feel useful. Just let me do it." He says sternly, carefully sliding a bandage over the top arch of your foot. He wraps another on the side, your fingers holding a piece of fish to his mouth. He takes it, chewing almost angrily as you sigh. 

"Don't you think that you should let people help you, too?" You ask, "I mean, what if it makes me feel useful? I may not know you all that well, but it doesn't mean I want to see you in pain." 

"I'm not in any pain. It's just uncomfortable, it'll go away."  "Mingyu."  "Please, just drop it." 

You huff, tucking your foot under you as he gestures for you to give him the other one. You glance at the watch — 7:03 AM, or something similar because his hand keeps moving as he wraps bandages around your feet. 

"We're making pretty good time, I'd say." You nod at the watch, and he glances down at it with a semi-impressed look. "Maybe we'll be out of here by eight instead." 

"Maybe. Eat up, I'm going to bathe." He murmurs, patting your knee before he slips away, taking a netted bag with him that you hadn't noticed him take out. You watch the way his back is stiff, the bruising patching up to the curve of his neck. His biceps are just as tense as he disappears around the waterfall, and you lean back on one hand as you pick at the fish in front of you. You sip your water diligently, hearing the soft running of the waterfall amongst the buzzing of flies and bugs.  

The morning is quiet aside from the sounds of nature. You finish your breakfast, putting the fire out with the little water you have left in your bottle before reaching over to his rucksack and fishing out one of the apples in the netted bags. You wipe it across your shirt, sinking your teeth into it and holding it between them as you lay on the ledge with your foot hanging off the edge. 

Mingyu returns shortly, hair dripping before he shakes his head like a dog, spraying the side of your leg as he makes his way up the boulders. The sun is significantly hotter now, so the spray doesn't bother you nearly as much, but you still kick the side of his thigh with your eyes closed. 

"Come on, princess. We've got to get moving, and we only have one water bottle left so we gotta fill up before we leave." 

You don't open your eyes, blindly feeling around for your empty water bottle and tilting it to the waterfall. The sound of water falling into the bottle is enough confirmation for you, earning a chuckle from Mingyu as he does the same. You can feel his presence around your head, before he takes the bottle from your grasp and finishes filling it for you. 

"Can you get the clothes? I'll filter these while we walk."  

You peel your eyes open, looking up to see him donning a form-fitting, sleeveless white shirt that nearly makes your eyes bulge out. You sit up quickly, almost choking around the last bite of your apple before you push yourself off the ground and scramble down the boulders, tossing the apple core far into the woods as you reach the clothes. They're surprisingly dry, almost hot to the touch as you fold them quickly and stuff them into your backpack. You hold your socks in your hand as you pull your backpack over your shoulders, tightening the straps before making your way back up to the cavern. You practically throw his socks at him, not catching the furrow of his brows when they land on his arm (and then, the ground.) 

"What's got you so frantic? Take a deep breath."  

"Nothing. Just…excited to get the day started." You speak through your teeth, shoving your feet into your socks, not bothering to shake out your sneakers before pulling them on. You lace them up haphazardly, before looking into the cavern. There's nothing, but you still pat the side of the opening in gratitude before making your way down the boulders. "Uh, you take your time. I'm just gonna…roam." 

"Like hell you are, stay put." He scoffs, screwing a contraption on each of the water bottles before setting them down and grabbing his bag. You look away, focusing your eyes on the forest ahead of you and the sunlight spotting through the trees. "You need sunscreen." 

"No, I don't."  "Being stubborn gets you nowhere with me. Get up here."  "Can't, sorry. Already said my thanks to the cavern, means I can't go back." 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as you imagine the irritated look on his face. You dig the toe of your sneaker into the ground beneath you, kicking at the dirt when you hear him move around behind you. His arm brushes your shoulder as he skirts past you, the bottles of water held tightly upside down by the straps of his rucksack as he grabs your shoulders and makes you face him. 

"There's no trees for about ten miles with the route we're taking. If you don't put on sunscreen, you're gonna get a sunburn and I don't have anything to soothe it." He says flatly, his fingers covered in thick sunscreen as he presses them to your face. You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as he works it into your cheeks and forehead, trailing his fingers down your neck. You can feel your pulse pick up a bit, and you're hoping he doesn't as the tips of his fingers breach the collar of your shirt. 

"Arms and legs. Sit." He makes you sit on the edge of the boulder, a scoff leaving your lips as he rolls up your sleeves slightly and spreads more of the sunscreen all over your arms and fingers, even working it into your cuticles. "Mingyu, I'm gonna be all sticky." 

"Sticky beats blistering sunburn, plus this dries faster when you're not complaining."  "I'm not complaining!"  "Yes, you are, but I can handle it. So just let me take care of you, damn." 

He rolls his eyes as he crouches, pushing the shorts up high on your thighs before wrapping his arms around your ankles. You glance down at him, and you must have some sort of look on your face because he holds the sunscreen up to you. 

"Is this fine or do you want to do it yourself? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."  "You're not making me uncomfortable. I'm just not…used to this." 

"Yeah, princess, no one is." He says pointedly, almost slowly as if he's talking to a child. You scoff, crossing your arms as your cheeks turn hot. 

"That's not what I'm talking about." You grumble, your fingernails digging into your arms as he uncaps the sunscreen again, taking some in his hand before shaking his head. 

"Then what are you talking about?" He slathers the cream on your shins, dipping slightly under your socks as you chew on your cheek. He reaches your knees, reaching behind them to coat the back of it before tapping the side. "Answer my question." 

His fingers brush the inside of your thigh, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist as you take the sunscreen in your hand. 

"The touching. I'm not used to the touching, okay?" You mutter, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you quickly cover your thighs in sunscreen, "you're so casual with it and I don't know what it's supposed to make me feel, and I don't want to think about it right now."  

You cap the cream, shoving it into his chest before standing up and fixing your clothes to cover you. He blinks down at you, confusion and concern coating his gaze before he clears his throat. 

"I didn't—" 

"It's fine, Mingyu. I'm not uncomfortable, you're not in any trouble, nothing like that. It just makes me think too much. Now, let's fucking move." You gesture to the woods behind you, and he nods slowly, slathering the rest of the sunscreen left on his hands on his arms. He seemingly doesn't know what to do with his hands, crossing his arms on his chest before walking into the forest. 

The first few minutes are silent. Just crunching of leaves and twigs under your shoes, his posture rigid as he tries to hide how often he rolls his shoulders back. You keep your eyes on the ground; your own arms crossed on your chest as he keeps about a foot of distance between you. His shorts are navy blue now; a cute little flower embroidered on the pocket with baby blue thread and the letters KMG. 

"What's the K for?" You ask, and he glances at you over his shoulder. 

"What K?"  "On the pocket of your shorts. KMG. MG is for Mingyu, right?" 

You gesture at the embroidery with your pinky, and he reaches his hand back to touch the pocket before a look of understanding crosses his features. 

"Ooh. It's Kim. Kim Mingyu." He shrugs, patting the pocket before crossing his arms on his chest again. You nod, "Lee Y/N." 

"Nice to meet you, Miss Lee."  "Nauseated to meet you, too, Mr. Kim." 

You miss the way he smiles inwardly; your eyes focused on the caps swinging from the back of his bag. You notice they also have his initials embroidered, as does his rucksack on the bottom left corner.  

"Why is all your stuff labeled with your initials?" 

"I went a little crazy when the outbreak happened, and all the things at the cabin that I took there in case of something like this look exactly the same. So, I hand-embroidered my initials on everything that was mine, and then everything else with whoever has it. There's a handful of guys up there, but you're the only girl I've come across thus far. When we get there, you'll get some clothes and a towel, and we'll pick a color and put your initials on them, and you can stay as long as you want." 

He shrugs, your chest warm at the idea of having community again. 

"As long as I want?"  "As long as you want, sweetness." 

You bite back your smile, nodding to yourself, "do I get my own bed, too?" 

"I believe so. If not, I'll just make some of the guys room together so you can have your own space." He glances down at you, "you can be happy about it, you know. You must've been very lonely out here by yourself. Don't think I didn't notice how tired you were, you were practically stiff from all the stress in your back." 

"It was just…I felt a little pathetic." You start, "I wasn't prepared, but who truly is for something like this? We speculate, but we never actually think or hope it will happen. I was so sure I'd be in Germany, I thought my life was set in stone for me and I'd be…well. Yeah." 

"This idea you have that you can't be great because you didn't make it to Germany is a little concerning to me." He speaks softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You've made it on your own for this long, I think that shows resilience. I don't necessarily commend you for making it this far with such little food sources, because that's dangerous but things are scarce and you're alive. You're still kicking, so who says you can't do bigger things? Better ones?" 

"You should be a life coach."  "I was a cheerleader in grade nine, I know a thing or two about spirit." 

You snort, "I was a cheerleader, too. I only lasted six weeks because I broke my ankle during a standing back tuck. I ended up having to get surgery; it was the worst pain of my life and my mother was furious about the money we shelled out for the uniform and summer camp."  

He bites back his laughter, shaking his head before clearing his throat. "What other things did you do besides school and work?" 

"You mean did I have any hobbies?" You tilt your head, trilling your lips and sucking your teeth, "I was pretty good at playing guitar. Electric, bass, acoustic…my mom taught me. And piano, she loved piano, all that classical mumbo jumbo but she loved rock. I was also an incredible masseuse, you know—" 

"You just don't let up, do ya?"  "You're asking me questions, I'm just answering. I was a master assembler of furniture, I was also good at baking. I made a cake or a pie for me and my roommates every week. I'm an ice cream connoisseur, specifically Ben & Jerry's and my favorite flavor is Cherry Garcia. I also really like soup and stews. Soft tofu stew? Absolute gas, my man." 

There's a soft glimmer in his eye as he hums, "anything that you wish you could do right now?" 

"Listen to the radio. I'd sit in my room with my mom's favorite station on odd days and my dad's on even. Rock on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and dance pop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then I'd alternate on the weekends. My dad loved Kylie Minogue, my mom was super into Janis Joplin." 

"What's your favorite song? Of all time, and not your parents'. Yours." He looks around, carefully slipping in front of you as another hill is in your way. He starts reaching his hand back but quickly pulls it back to his side as he skillfully makes his way down, looking over his shoulder at you. You glance at his hand stuffed in his pocket, giving him an odd look before holding onto his elbow and making your way down.  

"Of all time? Can I do top five?"  "Sure." 

"Safe and Sound by Capital Cities, Ooh My Love by Stevie Nicks, You Don't Know My Name by Alicia Keys, You and Me by Lifehouse, Look On Down from the Bridge by Mazzy Star." You nod along as you speak, still holding onto his arm as you make your way through a vast field. 

"You have a very 'divorced dad that's still in love with his ex-wife while trying to fit in with his kids' type of music taste." 

You laugh as you register what he says, your fingers tightening around his arm as you shrug, "my parents used to sing together like they were going through a million and one divorces. Instead of fighting, they sat at my mother's piano and sang until they got over it. What's your favorite song? Top five?" 

"Hm, I don't know. I liked a lot of different genres, but I think one of my favorite songs was definitely My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco. I listened to it a lot when I was in high school, almost on loop on days I had exams. I haven't heard it in a while." He nods, before clicking his tongue. "In fact, I think the last time I heard it was on the drive back to my parents' house after things ended with my ex-fiancée." 

"Oh, boy." You wince, "what was she like? Was she nice?" 

"Oh, the sweetest, really. Got along well with almost everyone. Smart, reliable, dependable…" He trails off, shrugging his shoulders with a tick in his jaw. "She was great." 

"So why didn't you try harder to make it work?" You ask softly, "I mean, if she was so great, and she sounds almost perfect…what happened?" 

"I wish I could tell you." He lets out a sigh of defeat, clicking his tongue, "I felt like a jerk, and I constantly wondered if I'd done the right thing. I would get calls from her, and I was cruel to answer, knowing things wouldn't change and I was drowning myself in work to avoid my feelings of guilt. We stopped talking a month or so after, because I stopped picking up her calls. She moved to Taiwan just before the outbreak, she got a really good job out there working with the Society for Wildlife and Nature and I'm here. I abandoned the house project for my family because I needed time to process everything, and though I'm over it now and I'm moving on…the guilt of never finishing that house eats away at me now." 

"You're just a mess, huh?" You chuckle softly, patting his arm before shaking your head.  

"We live with so much guilt, humans. We feel guilty about the things we do, the things we don't do, the things we think about and the things we don't. It's a never-ending cycle, and someday…it ends. Yeah, your family isn't here anymore to enjoy that house. But you can still finish it, you can bring new growth there. You'll marry, you'll have a kid or two and that golden retriever that everyone seems to want…and you'll heal because you'll see the space used for what you intended it for, you know? Togetherness, love, care and caution. Someone will trip up the stairs, and you'll have anticipated it. Someone will get shoved into a hall closet by their sibling and you'll have already pictured it because that's what a home is. Memories, good and not-so-good, tangible and in the mind, alike; because you are your family. And they live through you, still, and whatever you put into the world." 

He doesn't speak for a minute, your hand still holding onto his arm as you both keep walking in the field. The silence is comfortable but thick, like one of you said something the other wasn't expecting and it's still suspended in the air, processing. You stare at the ground, watching your feet go in front of each other as the sun beats down on your backs. Mingyu rolls his shoulders back silently, and your fingers slip off his skin as you move to slip your hand into your pocket. 

His fingers dart out of his own pocket, grabbing yours and interlacing them. Your fingers are stiff for a second, and you lean forward slightly to look at him — only for him to turn away. You frown, but curl your fingers around his hand… 

And you ignore the way your heart quickens stupidly in your chest at his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. 

The walk continues without much conversation, minutes turning to hours but his hand never letting yours go, even as he rolls his shoulders back and winces in discomfort. You feel a pang in your chest as he does it repeatedly, the sun moving overhead and making your skin grow hot. You ignore the fatigue settling into your thighs, leaning your head on Mingyu's bicep when he glances down at you. 

"Your hair is scorching hot." He presses his free hand to your face, before reaching behind him and pulling one of the water bottles off his bag. He looks at it, the water clean on one side and the filter blinking green. He lets go of your hand, twisting the filter off and standing in front of you. "Close your eyes, this is gonna be cold." 

"No way you're soaking me with that right now."  "I'm not, but your head is hot, and I have an extra cap. It's just to cool you down. I'll even give you a carrot if you just let me do this."  "Do I look like a horse—" 

He sprays you with the bottle mid-sentence, an unimpressed look on his face as you scowl. He does it again, and you just close your eyes as he runs his fingers through your hair. The water drips down your shirt, soaking through as you move your arms to cover your chest. He tugs a cap off the back of his bag, pulling it over your head before moving to tuck your hair over the backstrap in a makeshift ponytail. He swings the bag off, flipping it open and handing you a carrot. You stare at it, tonguing your cheek as he pulls the bag back over his shoulders. 

"I'm literally soaking wet."  "The sun'll dry you out, don't worry. And you'll bathe later, so it's no big deal."  "Sure, no big deal. What about the carrot?" 

"Eat it." He shrugs, holding the bottle of water in his fingers as he blindly feels around for your hand. You let him take it, rolling your eyes as he bumps your fingers with his thigh in every movement. You glance at the carrot in your hand, sucking your teeth before holding it up to him. 

"You didn't breakfast."  "I wasn't hungry."  "Bullshit. Eat it." 

"You eat it." He sticks his tongue out at you, but you give him a stern look that makes him roll his eyes, his hand coming to grab the carrot and he bites a piece off with his teeth. You take the water bottle from his hand, swinging it on your side as you keep your eyes trained to the trees in the horizon, your dripping hair keeping you cool in the beating sun.  

"What are your hobbies?" You kick at the grass patches, and he hums as he chews. 

"Well, I was just very go-with-the-flow. I liked cooking, I did almost all the cooking when I lived in the dorms with my roommates and when I moved in with my ex. I also drew a lot, I designed a few album covers for a few of my friends that were underground artists in college. I also play guitar, but just electric. I have a shit poker face, and I can't lie to save my life; so, I know better than to gamble with my friends, but I'm very hands-on. I like embroidering things, if it wasn't obvious, but I overall just like using my hands to do something. It keeps me busy and the end result is almost always something I'm satisfied with." 

You nod silently, before clearing your throat. 

"What was her name?"  "Mina. Jeong Mina." 

"Mina and Mingyu…M&M." You mumble to yourself, your fingers around the water bottle tightening slightly. The trees seem to be getting closer, and you stay silent for the rest of the walk, even when it feels like hours. Your hair dries slowly, your shirt drying even slower as you limply trek the last few miles with your hands linked between each other. Your back tenses as you hear a noise in the distance, but you see nothing as you look around slowly, even stopping Mingyu before walking into the shade of the trees. You glance around, your skin prickling but nothing catches your eyes until you hear Mingyu whisper in your ear. 

"Don't move." 

Your eyes dart around the field behind you, before you catch a sparkle less than half a mile away. You try to focus, but Mingyu's hand is pulling you slowly behind him as you realize that it's an animal, a bear. The sparkle is the eyes staring straight at you in the high afternoon sun as your breath hitches in your throat. You watch it move slowly, preparing to run as Mingyu's foot crunches something, and you both freeze as it keeps gauging your every move. 

"When do we start running instead of standing here like idiots?" You speak through gritted teeth, now fully behind Mingyu and moving deeper into the trees.  

"They're not usually around these parts, the bears stay closer to the water…so if there's one, there could be more." He mutters, his hand tightening around yours as you pull on it. "Don't let go, okay?" 

"Mingyu!" You grit, pulling harder as you turn to face into the woods. Yet another dilemma lays ahead — a mountain lion, watching you from the trees. Emerald eyes are set on your face, ears are set back, black-tipped tail flicking as you make eye contact. You must stop moving because Mingyu bumps into you, glancing over his shoulder to see the large cat's claws dig into the bark of the tree. 

"We have a better chance with the lion that we do the bear. At least she'll give us a head start," you're breathless, not wanting any sudden movements to make it pounce. You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest as the lion glances down before making contact with your eyes again. You dare yourself to look down, seeing a deer carcass laying on the forest floor.  

"Bear is turning around," Mingyu's voice trembles slightly, but you mention nothing as you stare up at the lion with the most courage you can muster. For whatever reason, you put your hands up, carefully skirting around the dead animal that makes your heart sink in your chest. It's nature, you tell yourself as Mingyu keeps himself close to your back, pressed into you so hard that you can feel his chest rising and falling with every quipped breath. The lion follows you with every step, occasionally glancing at the carcass beneath it as you make it to the other side of it.  

"We're leaving now," you say to no one in particular, and the lion stares you down, lowering its head as Mingyu's fingers dig into your arm, his hand in yours tightly squeezing. You watch the lion's tongue peek out to run over its snout, before a lazy yawn guarantees your temporary safety. Mingyu pulls you deeper into the forest, but you don't turn around, even as the lion closes its eyes. 

Your grip on Mingyu's hand is almost bruising as you turn slightly, a shiver running down your back as he lets out a breath. You don't want to seem weak — because you're not. You're strong, you've done this for months alone. 

Emotions are not weakness. 

"I think I'm gonna throw up," you mumble, your breathing shaky as Mingyu pulls you into his chest. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck, squeezing softly as your forehead rests against his shirt — you can feel how fast his heart is beating as his necklace digs into your face, hearing him try to regulate his breathing and wrapping his arms around you tightly. You swallow a sob, but he just pulls the cap off your head, resting his cheek on top of your hair.  

"It's okay. We're okay, we're alive." His voice is full of air as he squeezes the back of your neck again, your eyes watery as you squeeze them shut, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as you let a breath out. He keeps you close until you've stopped trembling, his hand squeezing your arms and neck, running up and down your back. "God, that carcass made me so nauseous." 

You let out a snort, the reality of it all hitting you in the face. You're actually in this world right now, surrounding by things that the government created to hurt its own people. You're in the woods with this stranger named Kim Mingyu, who is annoying to the point that it's slightly endearing, and you can feel your breakfast unsettled in your throat. You let out a humorless laugh, your shoulders shaking as the laughter takes over your body.  

"What the hell is so funny?"  "I should be in Germany. That's what's so funny." 

You pull back, wiping at your eyes as another hysterical chuckle slips from your lips. "I should be in Germany! Instead, I'm letting a man I don't know take me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and opening up about myself when I could be falling in love and being successful in Germany!" 

He nods, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. His thumbs stroke the skin of your face gently, before he lets go and tugs your cap back on. He grabs your hand, taking the water bottle from your other hand and slipping it back onto his rucksack. 

"Come on, we're a few miles out from another cavern." He mumbles, holding your hand tightly as he pulls you flush to his hip, his eyes alert as you both move through the forest tensely. Every footstep is too sudden, your hands tight around each other and you mouth a silent prayer to whatever God is out there to calm you the hell down. Mingyu is in no better shape, opting to constantly glance down at you when he thinks you're not looking — but he doesn't break eye contact when you meet his. He only blinks at you, gaze roaming your face before turning back to the unmarked forest floor.  

"Are you upset with me?" His voice is soft, meek even; your hand squeezing his lightly before you lean your head against his arm with a sigh. 

"Never," you shrug. "It's scary. I'm scared, and you're just as human as I am. I could literally feel your pulse going crazy. We're fine. You don't have to be brave all the time, you know? Fear is human." 

"You're like a quarter. Both sides different, but still the same coin." He sighs, lolling his head back before rolling his shoulders, not letting you question him about what that meant. "My back fucking hurts." 

"Thought you said it didn't."  "Yeah, well sometimes I lie."  "To save face?" 

"Absolutely." He nods, rolling them back once more. "I can't be a wimp in front of a pretty girl; it's like shitting my pants." 

"That's a bad analogy, whatever the fuck you were trying to say."  "That it's embarrassing, princess." 

"That's such a horrible analogy, Mingyu." You wrinkle your nose, choosing to will the flutter in your belly away as you reach a shadier part of the woods. He keeps you close to his hip as he peers ahead, your cheek beginning to stick to his arm as you both sweat. You can only imagine how much his back hurts, the heavy rucksack moving with every roll of his shoulders. You glance down at his watch, the blurry face reading 4:53 PM. 

"We still have so many hours left to our day." You groan quietly, feeling his thumb rub at the side of your hand in attempts to comfort you. "How long until we get to this cavern?" 

"An hour or so. Don't worry, you can lie down as soon as we get there." He nods affirmingly, and you sigh as you force your eyes to stay open, the heat making your exhaustion set in much faster. You remind yourself that Mingyu is just as tired, if not more, and in pain as you put one foot in front of the other for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, another slight clearing appears. Your eyes widen as you take in the height of this cavern — seemingly man-made but ancient. The trees have grown around it, warping around the entrance and mosses have overtaken the exposed rock. There is yet another spring below, but you can't bring yourself to bathe. You're too tired, and unfortunately, still very shaken up – even as Mingyu's touch grows increasingly comforting. 

And confusing to your wildly beating heart. 

"Here it is," he says plainly, pulling you in front of him as you both make it to the steps. "This was made hundreds of years ago, passed through generations before the last owner died and left it to the people that live in the cabins up in the colony. We opened it to the hikers; there's a sign on the north hill for it. It's just kind of a refuge now; it's kind of an unspoken rule that we have to keep it clean and tidy if we want it to stay usable."  

You nod along to what he's saying, your thighs burning slightly as you make up the stone steps with his hands on your lower back. The entrance has a battery-powered lamp hidden inside the corner, and Mingyu grabs it, turning it on and illuminating the entire cavern. There isn't much to see — some dying potted flowers in the corner, a small window with glued sticks as a muntin. As you step in; a hinged door, oddly shaped but perfect for the entrance. You step inside cautiously, your foot landing on a soft rug. It's almost like a small apartment, except there is dust everywhere and you're certain there is a spider in the upper left corner of the wall. You glance down at the rug; a large sun embroidered in orange thread staring back up at you as you look at Mingyu. 

He's not looking at you; his eyes are closed as he leans against the entrance of the cavern – a weary sigh falling from his lips as he forces one foot in front of the other, stepping inside and letting his bag fall off his shoulders. He reaches to close the door, a wince crossing his features as he manages to drag the locks in place quickly. 

"Hungry? I can go catch something, it'll be quick." His tone is pained as he rubs his shoulder with a grimace, and you just shake your head as you toe off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the ground with a stretch. 

"Maybe later, I'm not that hungry." You let a shudder fall off your frame as you kick your shoes into the corner, grabbing the rucksack and hauling it against the wall. You tug the sleeping bag out, unzipping it and laying it out on the ground as Mingyu sits on a milk crate that's next to the lamp, fiddling with the brightness as you toss the cap on top of his bag. You pull the water out of his bag pockets, reaching into the main slot and pulling out two oranges. 

"I thought you said you weren't hungry?" Mingyu's voice rings in your ears as you kneel in front of him, pulling at the laces of his boots. "Let me go catch something—" 

"Can you shut up?" Your voice is gentle, holding no malice as you tug his boots off one at a time. You toss them to the side of the room, watching him lean against the wall of the cavern with an uncomfortable sag to his shoulders. You pat the sleeping bag, "come. Lay down, I'll peel an orange, and you can sleep." 

"I can peel my own orange."  "Or you can just let me do it for you." 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you move out of the way, patting the sleeping bag again. He reluctantly slides off the milk crate, and you take his place as you sink your nails into the orange skin. He turns uncomfortably, grunting softly as he lays on his side, looking up at you. You raise your brows, smiling softly before crossing your legs at the knee. 

"Something on your mind?"  "I didn't reapply sunscreen every two hours and we didn't stretch properly. Are you feeling okay?" 

"I'm fine, gosh." You roll your eyes, carefully keeping the peel together as you move around the orange. He sits up painfully, "but—" 

"No buts, Kim Mingyu. I'm okay." You nod affirmatively, before pointing your pinky finger at him, "it's you I'm worried about. You and your back. I watched you walk down the boulders this morning, you hold a lot of tension in your traps and deltoids, and even a bit in your acromion." 

"It's like you're speaking Klingon to me right now, princess." He blinks up at you with drowsy eyes, resting his chin in his palm as you roll your eyes. 

"Your back, you hold a lot of tension in your upper back from the fucking bag." You jerk your thumb in the direction of the brown rucksack, but he just shrugs as if it doesn't make him want to stiffen forever.  

"I'll just take a hot bath when we get back to the cabin. I'll be fine." He mutters as you split the orange in half, and you slide off the milk crate onto your knees in front of him. You offer a slice, only for him to open his mouth lazily. You slip it past his lips, before eating one yourself with a shake of your head. 

"Hot bath is not enough, you need a cold one, too. Maybe even a massage, and I can help with that." You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes again, turning away from you defiantly. You chuckle, leaning over his broad frame and holding another orange slice to his lips. He takes it, chewing carefully as you hold another in front of him. "What are you so afraid of? Relief?" 

"Nothing, I'm just not used to the touching." He repeats your words back at you, and you scoff.  

"You had a partner!"  "Two years ago, I had a partner two years ago. And what if I moan or something? Isn't that embarrassing?"  "That's literally normal. It's only weird if you make it weird, tons of people moan during massages. Even I've done it." 

He pouts, his lip touching the side of your finger as you tap the orange slice to his mouth. He takes it, and you pat his shoulder. "It'll bring you lots of relief. I wouldn't offer if I didn't know what I was doing, you know. I'm not going to hurt you, not on purpose, anyway." 

"I know." He mumbles, picking at a loose thread in the sleeping bag. 

"Let me just work out a few knots," you whisper, hearing him groan exaggeratedly as you lightly tap your knuckles into his back. He sits up, meeting your eyes with a tired look in his, "what if you're a bad masseuse? What if you're just talking up your skills? I won't even know until my back still hurts in the morning." 

"At least try me out, damn." You scoff in mock offense, shoving an orange slice in your cheek as you pluck at his shirt. "Take it off. Lay down on your stomach, and you can put your arms under your head if you want." 

He tongues his cheek, "what if it hurts?" 

"It's going to hurt a little bit. You're already in pain, but this will be more of a release pain. Not a pent-up pain," you shrug, before tilting your head towards his bag. "You have any oil or lotion in that bag? Even the sunscreen is fine, too, if you don't." 

He shifts, thumbing at the hem of his shirt before sighing. "There's a bottle of almond oil at the bottom. It's in a bag so it wouldn't make a mess." 

You nod eagerly, crawling over to it and flipping the bag open. You dig around through the items, your eyes widening at the hidden pistol at the bottom. It's covered with a sheath, seemingly never used as you hear the thwip of Mingyu's shirt being pulled off. You shake your head slightly, spotting the oil in a bag and grabbing it before closing the bag. You turn to see Mingyu's teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stretches his arms behind him. 

"Stop stretching, fool. Lay down." You nudge his thigh with your foot, and he swats you away as he reluctantly does as he's told. You open the bag, taking the oil out to read the front, almond oil. "Oh, this is gonna smell so nice. At the place I worked, we'd heat this up and the rooms would smell for days." 

You kneel next to him, popping the cap of the oil as he shifts slightly "We can stop any time, just let me know, okay?" 

"Are your hands cold?"  "No, they just smell like oranges."  "Great, now all the bugs are gonna want me." 

"At least someone does," you snort, earning a swat from his hand as you snicker. You pour a bit of oil on your hands, warming it in your palms as you lean over him. "Tell me about your life. Anything." 

"What happened to not wanting to get attached?"  "Sometimes I lie." 

You don't show any emotion on your face as he turns his head to look at you, only giving him a raise of your brows before tapping the side of your hand on his ribcage. "Go on. Talk to me." 

He looks a bit skeptical, settling his head back on his arms as you slide your slicked hands onto his skin. He flinches slightly as you lightly dig your fingers into the tense muscles, running up the marks of the bruising. "Uh…so I used to play football. That's how I got my scholarship." 

"What position did you play?" You wrap your hands lightly around his shoulders, squeezing softly as he tries not to squirm, "I was a wide receiver for the first year, then a quarterback the rest of my time on the team. I would've made captain but I graduated early." 

"Athletic, smart, hardworking…and ridden with guilt. What a dreamboat." You tease, digging your thumbs into his shoulder blade. He scoffs, almost a grunt, "shut up. I'm sure you've got your own demons." 

"Skeletons in my closet are few but sentimental," you admit, your skin prickling as you hear a soft gasp fall from his lips as you work through a small knot. "But we're not talking about me." 

"Fine," he huffs, the heel of your palm digging just under his shoulder. "What do you want to know?" 

"Whatever you wanna tell me. What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you think you're a bad kisser? Do you have a favorite color? Ever considered modeling?" You shrug, all the questions nonchalant as he hums, "what would you do with your life if you weren't an architect?" 

"Well, I'm not an architect anymore, so I'd probably be doing this." He says pointedly, biting down on his lip as you press your thumbs into his lower back. You tap the skin softly, making him jolt as you snicker, "what about the rest of my questions?" 

"Well, let me get to them!" He squirms as you slide your hands deeper, your thumbs settling in the dip of his spine comfortably.  

"You've got back dimples. Cute."  "Shut up."  "They're cute. You're so cute." 

He doesn't reply, but you watch the tips of his ears turn pink as he buries his face into his arms. 

"You fluster easily?" Your voice has a coolness to it that you've never heard, but you don't care as you watch the flush crawl down his cheeks. "Oh, you're adorable." 

"Will you stop that?" His voice is whiny as you laugh, softly digging your fingers into the skin. "I like red. The color." 

"Is there any other red?"  "You know what—" 

"Shh, just answer my questions." You smile inwardly as you slide your hands back up, finding another knot under the bruises. You work your fingertips into the muscle gently, watching his brow furrow as he clears his throat.  

"Ice cream…I like strawberry. Sometimes vanilla, but strawberry is usually the contender. There was a creamery I used to go to a lot as a kid, and I never chose the flavor because the auntie who worked there gave me strawberry the first time I ever went. So, I got it every time until we got an ice cream maker at the cabin, and we just started making our own." He sighs as the knot slowly starts to give, your palms hot against his skin, "as for the modeling, I did a bit of that too, for money. I posed for the photography students, and I was semi-nude for the art students for a semester." 

"Semi-nude? You're so scandalous," you chide, smoothing your palms over his shoulders once more. He sucks his teeth in response, opening his mouth to say something but you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide under the necklace, squeezing the sides of his neck. You lean down slightly, "so, are you a bad kisser?" 

"You can't ask me that. It's in poor taste."  "Oh, you're such a bad kisser."  "What would you know, virgin?" 

"Hey!" You pout, squeezing the back of his neck lightly, digging your thumbs into the skin as he bites back a groan. "I told you that in confidence!" 

"Last I checked, we're here alone, sweetness. And you didn't tell me that, I just confirmed it." He grunts into his arm, a muttered fuck falling from his lips as you run your hands down his shoulders tightly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, shifting on your knees as you clear your throat. 

"Yeah, well. It's one of my only secrets, so I expect you to guard it with your life." You grumble back, rubbing your hands down the length of his back with slight pressure. You squeeze his side, your fingers coming to pull at his necklace as you lean down further, "did you hear me, Kim Mingyu?" 

"Yeah," his cheeks are burning red as his voice comes out a bit breathless, turning his head to face away from you. You lean over his body, finding his eyes open as he glances at you out of the corner of them. You give him a pointed look, making him huff as he closes them. "Yes, I heard you." 

"Thank you."  "It's not like I was going to tell anyone, anyway." 

"I don't know that," you say, leaning back onto your legs and patting the dip in his shoulders. "Feeling better?" 

"I feel tired." He mutters, wrapping his arms tighter under his head as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips. He lifts his head up, giving you a defiant look with pursed lips before clicking his tongue, "you're pretty good, I guess." 

"You guess?" You snort, tapping his side. "I can keep going until you fall asleep, if you want. I'll turn the light off, too." 

"What about you, though?" 

"What about me?" You question, dropping the closed bottle of oil into the bag and sealing it, putting it aside as you peer at him through your lashes. 

"Aren't you sore? Tired? Shouldn't you sleep, too?" 

You shrug, "my bag isn't as heavy, and I just need to stretch a bit. I'll do it in the morning, probably take a bath, too. I'm just offering because you're actively in pain, more than I am. Just take it as a thank you." 

"You don't need to thank me."  "But I want to, and this is the only way I can."  "Tell me about yourself instead. I'll take your thanks that way." 

"Nope." You shake your head, untucking your legs from under yourself and stretching them out. You take your socks off as he sits up, a pout on his lips as he gets in your face. 

"Come on! You asked me all those questions and I answered!"  "You answered because you have no self-preservation skills. That's a problem." 

"I've kept you alive for two days!" He shoves your shoulder lightly, and you turn your head to look at him, glancing at the spot where he touched your shoulder. He swallows carefully, fixing the sleeve of your shirt where his fingers wrinkled it. "Sorry." 

"I kept myself alive for much longer, but fine," you roll your socks, squeezing your calves with your hands as you bend at the waist. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around your knees and bringing them to your chest. "What do you want to know?" 

"Whatever you wanna tell me."  "You suck at this." 

"You're so mean." He huffs, resting his cheek against your shoulder. You try not to stiffen, opting to continue running your fingers down your shins as you clear your throat, "Mingyu." 

"Fine." He shifts, instead resting his chin higher up. "What's your favorite color? Have you ever considered modeling? Do you think you'd be a bad kisser?" 

"You're so unoriginal." You snicker, making him scoff. "Fine, why are you braless in the middle of the woods?" 

"First of all, a raccoon stole my bra, like, two weeks into this mess! That's not my fault!" You gape, your brows furrowing as you turn to face him. He's really close, his eyes boring into yours as you wrinkle your nose at him, "you're such a man. Of course you'd notice." 

"Or, I have my chin on your shoulder, and I don't feel the strap."  "I could've gone strapless."  "There's no support in those things."  "You saying I need support?" 

"I'm saying you seem like a reasonable person, and no reasonable person likes strapless bras." He rolls his eyes, and you bite back your smile as you turn away from him. "Are you going to answer my questions or not?" 

"My favorite color is green. I was a nude model for a portrait class last year and no, I don't think I'd be a bad kisser. There is skill in the yearning." You shrug the shoulder he's not perched against, and he gasps in feigned shock. 

"Fully nude?"  "Fully nude. It was a bunch of girls, and most of them were my friends, anyway."  "But you called me scandalous for semi-nude?" 

"I'm a woman, it's different. Women have this gravitational beauty that men just don't possess. It's the same feeling you get when you look at, I don't know, the Northern Lights, or the moon, or the ocean." You quip, turning to face him again. "I'm sure you'd agree." 

He tongues his cheek, eyes burning into yours before he shrugs. "I would but that's just—" 

"Shut up."  "But I have more questions."  "Then ask them, loser."  

He leans his cheek against your shoulder, eyes round and wet as he stares up at your face. You raise a brow, your gaze pointed as he wrinkles his nose at you. 

"What is your dream partner like?" His voice is soft, his arms crossing on his bare chest; the face of his watch blinking at 9:43 PM. You hum, your tongue darting out to wet your lips again. His eyes follow the movement, before shamelessly looking back up at you. 

"I don't know, actually." You admit, "I just hope he's sweet. A nice guy, but he has to be nice to everyone, you know? The aunties, kids, animals, too, because I don't like assholes. Uhm, I like lip gloss, so he'd have to be okay with me wearing it, and I like it when they dress nice. Also, when they smell nice. And I like a man that can eat, too. I don't know."  

"You wear lip gloss?" He's gentle as he asks, and you move away carefully. You grab your bag, leaning back with it in your lap. He lingers behind you, and you move back enough and bring your hand up to rest his cheek on your shoulder again. He goes without resistance, watching you open your bag and pull out the folded clothes. You reach into the bottom, taking out the sparkly pink tube of bubblegum lip gloss and holding it up to the light. 

"I used to collect them before the outbreak. I had at least two in every bag, all sorts of flavors and colors. I don't like this one all that much, that's how you can tell I wasn't really expecting this to seriously happen." You laugh humorlessly, unscrewing the cap and giving it a soft sniff. It was brand new, still sweet with the scent as you close it. 

"Put it on, let me see." Mingyu nudges you, and you scoff, "it's just sparkly. There's nothing more to it." 

"Let me be the judge of that." He huffs, making you roll your eyes as you uncap it again, reluctantly putting it on. The formula is a little sticky, but it tastes fine as some of it seeps into your mouth. You wipe the corners of your lips, seeing Mingyu watch you intently out of the corner of your eye. 

"Up to your standards, Mr. Kim?"  "You're so pretty when you shut up, you know that?" 

He's rolling his eyes almost too hard, but you just smile widely as his cheeks flush once more. 

"You've done that a lot, you know." You mention slowly, putting the things away in the bag and sliding the lip gloss on top before zipping it up and tossing the bag aside. 

"Done what a lot?"  "Call me pretty. Five times, actually. And you called me cute three times." 

"You're keeping count?" He asks pointedly, before you give him an annoyed look. "So what? I can't have eyes?" 

"Sure, you can, I just know that you're gonna fall in love with me." You jest, hearing him click his tongue, "would that be so bad? I'd say I'm pretty cool, the aunties love Kim Mingyu. And I don't care if you wear lip gloss, I like the way it looks on you."  

"You met me yesterday," you deadpan, and he gives you a look that says so? 

"I can still think you're pretty. I can think whatever I want; which is why I think you're smart, and strong, and mean, and you're pretty but that won't change." He shrugs, "you're…something. I can't quite figure it out, but I will." 

"Or you could give up." You wiggle your brows, "it's not that serious. The world is ending." 

"Then why are you so resilient?" He whispers, his eyes intense as he leans slightly closer. "Why are you so intent on staying alive if you're so convinced there is nothing to live for?" 

You blink at him, lips parting before he leans forward slightly.  

"If you didn't think there was something worth living for, you would've easily given up on yourself ages ago. I wouldn't have found you literally licking your wounds, and you wouldn't have let me feed you, or bandage you up. You would've looked that mountain lion in the eyes and taunted it, and then you'd be dead." He shrugs, his breath hitting your lips as your jaw tightens slightly. "So, stop acting like the world is ending. It's not. It doesn't end until you want it to, and even then, I won't let you think that way. Life isn't over because of this. Life doesn't end, ever. It keeps going, so you keep going." 

He's so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours, "stop playing both sides of the coin. Either you're in it, or you're not. And as far as I can tell, you're in. So, stay in." 

You can't tear your eyes away from him, your breath hitched in your throat as you stare at each other. A beat passes, a minuscule beat where you glance down at his lips — before you move back from him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips. Glitter smears over your skin with the thin layer of lip gloss, and you move behind him to turn the lamp off. He says nothing, allowing you to lay on your side and face the wall. You curl your knees to your chest, staring at the light bleeding through the window that illuminates the room.  

He shifts behind you, a groan as he likely lays on his back. You say nothing, even when his voice whispers good night. 

You can't sleep.  

Mingyu took his watch off at some point, tossing it to the side and you saw it blinking lightly above your head, reading twenty minutes until one in the morning. His eyes are closed, back rising and falling steadily as you turn for what feels like the hundredth time, facing him as he sleeps shirtless and on his belly. You're shivering slightly, the cold of the night seeping in through the floor as you wrap your arms around yourself. 

You think about what he said. Not because it bothered you, of course not… 

You just didn't like to be seen that way, to be perceived further than what little information you voluntarily offer about yourself: architecture student, design snob, mean girl who doesn't need anyone. You had a problem with accepting whether this was something you could be positive about, and you think that of all people, Mingyu could understand — a life set in stone, something you'd wanted for so long…just ripped away. The idea of becoming great in what you wanted versus the reality in becoming great for survival were two different things, and while you knew you'd done well in keeping yourself alive…a part of you wonders what would've happened if you'd made it to Germany. If the outbreak happened after you left, if you would've managed to escape the hurt in your chest when your parents on the island stopped picking up your calls. 

Or the way your mind flashes the day you hit the pavement falling out of your first-floor window, falling away from your two lifelong friends that you'd never get to see again. All because of a loser in downtown that opened fire against public health for no reason other than stupidity and selfishness. 

You simply wonder, but wondering does nothing for your bitter heart as you watch Mingyu sleep soundly; a shiver sweeping through your body as you give in to your heart's incessant tugging. 

"Mingyu." You whisper, but he doesn't open his eyes. A huh is heard, soft and sleepy, before you speak slightly louder. "Mingyu." 

He doesn't respond, only sighing and lifting his arm, his fingers beckoning you to come closer. You nibble on your lip for a second, before he reaches over and curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You move with it, letting him tuck you into his chest before pulling your side of the sleeping bag over your shoulder. You're engulfed with warmth, his arm holding you close to him as you feel him move your leg over his hip, your cheeks heating before you hide your face in the dip of his neck, his necklace cool against your lips and cheek. 

"Sorry." You mumble, but he just squeezes his arm around you lightly before you feel the ghost of his lips on the shell of your ear.  

"S'okay, princess. Can't sleep?" He sighs, his palm rubbing circles into your back as he drums his fingers in tandem. Your nose is filled with a mix of him as you bury your nose deeper into his neck, "it's just cold in here." 

"You'll warm up soon." He mumbles, his hand sliding up to palm at the back of your neck. Your skin prickles slightly as he squeezes, breath hitching in your throat as your face is engulfed in a hot flush. His thumb traces circles into the side of your neck, "wear your lip gloss tomorrow. I like it." 

"Think I'm gonna do stuff just because you like it?" Your voice isn't nearly as confident as you move back to look up at him, his eyes still closed as he shrugs. 

"I think you should do stuff because you wanna, but if you want to do it because I like it—"  "Mingyu." 

He laughs tiredly, and you scowl inwardly as you rest your forehead on his bare chest.  

"You're cute, Y/N."  "Why are you messing with me right now? Aren't you sleeping? Go to sleep."  "I can't sleep when you're tossing and turning. I was just waiting for you to tell me you were cold." 

"Pft." You grumble, trying to turn out of his hold when he tightens his arm around you, sliding down a bit to be eye level with you. He's hovering over you slightly, eyes teasing, tired, as they look down at you. Your blush grows hotter as he blinks down, your fingers curling into fists as you lamely hit his shoulder. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I'm cold." 

"If anything, I think you are doing that. It's been cold before, when you were on your own. You managed." He raises a brow, his fingertips drumming against your back again. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could've just said that." 

"I don't."  "Then move." 

He lifts his arm up, giving you a pointed look as you cross your arms on your chest. You chew your cheek, looking away from him as you click your tongue. "You're being mean." 

"You're not being honest."  "Mingyu!" 

"Stop whining and tell me what you want, babe." He quips, "you're cute." 

"That makes four times, you know. Or five, actually." You mutter, clenching your jaw repeatedly to will the stupid flutter in your chest away before groaning. "Can you just hold me? Please? I'm tired and I'm cold and I just wanna go to sleep." 

He doesn't respond, wrapping his arm around your waist once more and holding you close. Your cheek is smushed with his as your arm drapes around his side, your fingers dangling over his back. If he feels your lips curve into a smile against his jaw, he says nothing — but you feel his frame relax under the weight of your limbs wrapped around him, his arm under your head bending at the elbow to pat the back of your head. His fingers run through your hair soothingly, your eyes fluttering shut as you whisper thank you against his skin. 

"Good night, sweetness." 

MINGYU IS STILL ASLEEP WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM YOUR BATH. 

You'd escaped his grip without waking him just forty minutes earlier — and you're grateful you did, because you can't be blamed for the insane butterflies filling your stomach. He'd been fully on top of you once more, his head resting between your breasts and his hand slipped into yours, pinning it next to your head. He'd been snoring softly, pouting in his sleep with every inch you managed to move away, but eventually turned on his side as you wiggled away. You took a deep breath then, covering your face with your hands and feeling the heat of your skin against your palms.  

You can't lie and say you didn't curse everything that got you into this mess — but you absolutely hate the idea of the crush you knew was forming in your chest. A crush, your mother always said, is a lack of information. And boy, do you lack information right now. 

But something about him makes you not want to care. You want to throw caution to the wind, you want to let him hold you close every single night, you want to rub his back until he falls asleep, you want to wear lip gloss for him, and you want him to kiss you. You want to kiss him, over and over until you can’t breathe. 

Until you need him to breathe. 

You wonder if this shows how inexperienced you are, how easy it was for him to get into your head. His words, his help…his spirit and incessant need to keep going when the world is crumbling around him. 

But he's just you in another person, isn't he? Smart, strong, resilient…and full of guilt.  

So full of guilt — but his is from the past, and yours is from the present, from the thundering in your chest caused by him and his casual touching that you welcome without a word, by him and his ability to show fear despite wanting to be brave and succeeding. 

Him, and how easily you felt seen, and how you've never, ever given in so easily. 

Not to your feelings, not to your circumstances, not to a man.  

You've religiously fought against every single odd in your life. Every single fight with your parents, every argument with your friends that left you in a puddle of furious tears, every single stepping stone that was set slightly higher for you because you're a girl. A girl with dreams and aspirations and a need to be the top of your class, the best in your department. 

A girl with the incessant need to be great. 

And you feel a little foolish to think that a few words from a man, a man you don't know, can make you realize that greatness can be found in anything. You hate it, honestly, because then, your mother is right. Your father is right, everyone who has ever told you to take it easy has been right — greatness is found everywhere, and your father's voice echoes in your mind from the night you left the island for Yonsei. 

"You are going to shine, because you are a star. Stars shine everywhere, so just take it easy, kid. We'll be here when you get back, in all your greatness." 

And now, they're gone. 

Just like Jian, and Jieun. 

Just like all the boys you never kissed, and all the boys that gathered the strength for weeks to tell you what Mingyu has been able to say so easily — that you're strong, smart, pretty. And you're only more skeptical of him as you realize just how easy it is for him to talk to you like that; like you're prey he's about to sink his teeth into, like you're going to fall in love with him and it'll be the best thing in your life for three months before he decides to find another, or that you're just simply not enough. Not experienced enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to keep maneuvering a world like this — where nothing is for certain. 

Not enough. 

You feel guilt seep into your bones as you glance down at him from your spot in the entrance, your hair dripping down your shirt — his shirt, the one he was wearing when he found you. The brown one with KMG stitched into his chest pocket, and the lace of your pink underwear peeking through the bottom as you feel your eyes burn with tears. 

You move around quietly — covering yourself in sunscreen, peeling yourself an orange and grimacing at the taste after the toothpaste tablet. You wash your clothes, letting them dry on the steps, you stretch fully and even massage your feet lightly. You bandage your hand up, replacing your moleskins as silently as possible before slipping your socks on and tugging your jeans on.  

You stare at the tube of lip gloss at the bottom of your bag, your heart fluttering as you swipe on a thin layer — before wiping it off with the back of your hand. You shove it back in the bag, your hands gripping the fabric before you toss it onto the steps and grab a carrot out of Mingyu's rucksack. 

You watch the sun rise by yourself on the steps of the cavern, nibbling on the carrot when you hear a grunt from inside. You lean back slightly, peering into the entrance to see him stretching his arms over his head, his hair mussed with sleep.  

He looks around for a second, patting the side of the sleeping bag when he sees you looking at him from the entrance. You give him a curt nod, pressing your lips together before tapping your wrist and looking away.  

He moves about — you listen to him brush his teeth, put things in his bag, shoving his boots on before stepping out with an apple in his mouth and your shoes in his hand. His watch blinks 6:39 AM, and you feel him pull his cap over your head as you grab your shoes from him. 

"Why didn't you wake me?" He murmurs, sitting next to you to lace up his boots. You scoot over slightly, your thigh still brushing his as you shrug, chewing far too much for your small bite of the carrot. He gives you a pointed look, sighing before turning slightly. "Did I make you upset? Did I do something? Say something?" 

You don't respond verbally, shaking your head as you tug your shoes on; and that's when he notices you're fully dressed, and your hair is damp. He leans back slightly, your indifference making his eyes narrow as he studies you. You don't acknowledge it, tying your shoes and finishing your carrot in two bites.  

"We should get moving." You murmur, and his brow furrows as you move to get up. His hand grabs your ankle before you can move away, looking up at you with confusion in his eyes. 

"What's with you? Is this about last night?"  "What about last night, guy?"  "You tell me, princess." 

You roll your eyes, shaking his hand off your ankle like a bug off your hand before turning to grab your bag. You slide it over your shoulders, hooking your thumbs in the straps before making your way down the steps. You stop a few steps from the bottom, looking over your shoulder. 

"Come on. We don't have forever, you know." 

Mingyu seems taken aback at your change in attitude, and you kind of applaud yourself for staying in character. You hear him slowly stand, and you make your way to the forest floor as he barrels down the steps. You walk forward until you feel him move you in the right direction, and then you pull away from his fingers. You roll your shoulders back, gripping the straps of your backpack as if they'll keep you sane. 

You don't speak for a while. He gives you wayward glances that you don't bother meeting, holding his hand out with every hill that needs descending, but you don't take it. He grows a little stiff in front of you, awkwardly sliding his hands in his pockets as the sun starts to grow hot with the waning morning. 

You look around diligently as you both walk, your eyes still a bit tired from your late-night tossing and turning. You'd woken up twice during your slumber, both cause of odd flashes in your dreams about the very same mountain lion you'd seen yesterday — only to be soothed back to sleep by the feeling of Mingyu's heart beating steadily against your ear. You scowl inwardly, keeping your eyes trained to the ground and kicking pebbles out of your way. 

Mingyu stops abruptly, making you bump into his back, hitting your forehead on the clip that holds his sleeping bag. You grimace, rubbing at the skin when he turns around with a frown, his arms crossed on his chest as he peers down at you. 

"I can't keep going in silence. Tell me what I did." 

"Why do you think what you do is so important to me? Why do you think you're that worthy of having an effect on me?" You snap, sucking your teeth as you let your hand fall from your forehead, "not everything is about you. It's not like what I do will matter to you this much, so just leave me be." 

"Oh, this is so about me." He scoffs, letting out a humorless laugh. "What the hell is the problem? What did I do?" 

"You're confusing me! That's what you're doing!" You scream, screwing your eyes shut and covering them with your hands before letting out a defeated groan. "You ask me questions like you care, you touch me like it's second nature and you say nice things to me like you don't need reciprocity. You act like you're just this nice guy, and you tell me all this shit about how resilient I am as if I don't know. I know I'm strong, okay? I know I am, it's all I've ever been. I don't need you to tell me and I don't want to hear it anymore, because I want to have a chance where I don't need to be any of that!" 

Your breathing is shallow as you wipe at your face, unaware at the tears streaming down them. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you, and you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard you see splotches of color amidst the darkness. 

"I need you to stop acting like I'm the only girl in the world. The cuddling, the teasing, the casual touching, holding hands and all of that…it has to stop. I can't do it. I don't know what it's like to be liked, much less to like someone. I have a weak mind and a weaker heart, and you're confusing me. Just let me be if nothing will become of it." 

Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you can't bring yourself to look at him as you sniffle. You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance at his watch. 

11:32 AM. 

"Keep moving. It'll be lunch time soon." You murmur, pushing past him to keep walking in the general direction. You get maybe three feet ahead of him when he finally starts moving. He doesn't say anything, just stepping ahead of you and trailing to the left. You follow silently, aside from the sniffling — watching the way his hands palm at the fabric of his shorts before he just stuffs them in his pocket. 

You entertain yourself by watching the time tick by on his wrist as you keep walking in silence — the sniffling stopping around 1:15 PM. You stop to eat, and he hands you things without looking at you; which somehow, hurts far worse than you could have imagined. He uncaps the water for you, he peels an orange for you, but he says nothing; only pulling his hand back if he brushes yours accidentally. 

And suddenly, the fullness of your belly can't win over the emptiness in your chest. 

You hadn't expected the day to go by so slowly. It feels agonizing — the heat of the sun on your back, the weight of your heart in your throat paired with a dryness in your mouth that no amount of water can quench. You ignore the worried glances he gives you as you bring the bottle to your lips again, his arms crossed on his chest as you cap it. 

The walk is uncomfortable. Sure, the dense trees bring a comforting refuge from the sun…but you can't stop thinking about him, even from ten inches away. You can't stop glancing at him every time he's in front of you, every time he instinctively reaches his hand out before retracting it, every time you almost take it. It's 3:29 PM before he finally speaks. 

"You're not the only one with a weak heart, you know. You're confusing me, too."  

It's all he says, keeping his voice gentle and quiet, his eyes trained forward as another clearing comes about. Instead of a field, you're met with what seems to be a newly constructed fence — heavy iron and lined with chicken wire at the bottom. He moves in front of the gate, kicking gravel around until the sparkle of a gold key catches your eye. You point at it silently, before he sees it and grabs it. He unlocks the gate, pushing it open slightly and poking his head in when you hear a shriek so loud that it makes you wince. 

"You're back! Mingyu's back!" It's a man's voice, and Mingyu is pushed back by whoever it is throwing himself at him. He doesn't stumble much, wrapping his arms around the guy with a smile. 

"I told you I would be, Chan. And we have company." He pats the man's back, who stiffens as more people gather around the open gate. More men stare back at you, their excited smiles turning to faces of horror as they lay their eyes on you. Gasps and chatter rise, and Chan embarrassedly drops from Mingyu's arms, avoiding your eyes as he clears his throat. 

"Introduce her, idiot." One of the men with thick brows speaks up, a pouty look to his lips as he crosses his arms on his chest. Mingyu scowls, "mind your damn business, she's not here for you." 

"It's not like she's here for you, either." Another one rolls his eyes, leaning against one of the posts. He's lanky, nimble fingers running through faded blond hair as he looks you up and down. "In jeans? You're brave. What's your name?" 

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as an embarrassed look glazes your face. "Uh…" 

"Y/N. Her name is Y/N, now let us in. Don't you know? We're really tired." Mingyu speaks mockingly, waving them all back before grabbing Chan's wrist and pushing through them. You follow hurriedly, taking the key off the lock and holding it between your fingers as they let you slink past and one of the men locks the gate behind you. You lose Mingyu in the gaggle of men, chattering heard as they all push him towards the cabin that towers over you — four stories, you think. You can't see that high. 

"She's cute," you hear someone whisper behind you, and you instinctively curl in on yourself before you hear a smack, followed by an ouch! 

"Shut up. Leave the girl alone, she's needs to feel safe here."  "I just said she was cute! I didn't mean anything weird by it!"  "You're a guy, Soonyoung. We're all guys. She's gonna take a while to get used to us, so don't make her uncomfortable." 

A grumble is heard, and you glance over your shoulder, the blond from before and another man with jet black hair behind you.  

"It's okay. Mingyu's called me cute five times." You hold up five fingers, his name heavy in your mouth as the man with the jet black hair elbows the blond. 

"See! It's not weird!" He scoffs, before holding his hand out. "I'm Soonyoung. This is—" 

"Minghao. I can introduce myself, thanks." He rolls his eyes as you turn to shake Soonyoung's hand, his fingertips cold against your skin. "You must've been scared out of your mind out there. Were you on your own?" 

"Uh, it's not really scary." You shrug, before shaking Minghao's hand. "I was alone from the beginning, so I just…adapted, I guess. I almost didn't let Mingyu help me." 

Minghao's eyes hold something you can't recognize, before his other hand covers yours. 

"You must be tired. Let's get you inside, hm? Seungcheol is making dinner." He pats your hand, before pulling you forward. You follow behind him, but his hand in yours doesn't make you feel anything different. It's just like holding hands with Jian or Jieun, or your parents — warm, kind. Just supportive, really, a guide. 

Holding Mingyu's hand makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

Not that you have a crush on Mingyu, anyway. 

You let them lead you to the front of the cabin, with Soonyoung taking the keys out of your hand and placing them in a bowl by the door. You step inside, immediately hit with a blast of cold air that makes your skin prickle. Minghao pulls you in, shutting the door behind you and pulling you closer, your hip bumping his as you walk through the open living room. 

"You should settle in. Let's see if Mingyu has a room for you." He squeezes your hand softly, before pulling you towards a hall closet. You see Mingyu's back inside, sorting through piles carefully. Minghao lets your hand go, "come downstairs when you're done settling in. We'll get you some food and you can meet everyone." 

"Okay. Uh, thanks, Minghao." 

"No problem, sweetheart." 

You miss the way Mingyu's back tenses at the pet name, but you turn back to see him holding a pair of navy blue shorts up. He shrugs, draping them over his forearm before grabbing a towel off the top shelf. He glances at it, touching the corners before putting it back and grabbing another one. He does the same, before nodding to himself and closing the door, a ring of keys around his wrist. 

He doesn't say anything as he turns to you, tilting his head towards the set of stairs to your right. You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as he turns without speaking, two steps at a time. You follow silently, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of your jeans as you look down hallways upon hallways of rooms. Some doors ajar, most closed — but your thighs are burning as you reach the fourth landing. 

"Jesus Christ, are we almost there?" You grouse, and he only chuckles inwardly before stopping in front of you. You frown up at him, but he just shrugs, leading you down the hall of several doors, before a blue one ends the hallway. The letters KMG mock you in white paint, before he turns to the one next to it. It's green. 

"This used to be a bed and breakfast before it came into my family. Hence, all the rooms." He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. He holds the items in his hand close to his chest before looking through the keys with one hand, before finding one with a matching green stripe on the bow. He unlocks the room carefully, opening the door to show a fully furnished room with pale pink walls and a cherry-print comforter. You feel your chest tight as he slips inside, setting the items in his hands down on the white desk in the corner.  

"There's pajamas in the bottom drawer, if they don't fit you, we can alter them. Uh, you have your own bathroom and a hair dryer, so don't worry about sharing. There's a radio, so you can listen to music or the news or whatever you want. There's a TV, and a VCR player because this place is kind of old, but everything still works. There is also a handful of different chargers in one of the desk drawers, I don't know if you brought anything with you but I'm sure you can find something compatible if you have a phone or something. The bed is yours, and so is the room, as long as you want it. And you get your key, so no one comes in here unless you want them to. Lights out by eleven, though, so just be a little quieter than normal if you're not going to bed. Oh, and there is a pair of slippers in the closet that you can have, so don't worry about walking around barefoot." 

You feel a little silly as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, nibbling on your lip as tears fill your eyes. You try to blink them back as you look around the room, the bathroom door ajar next to a white dresser with painted cherries. Mingyu looks up from the keys, holding the one to the room in his hand when you let out a shaky breath. His eyes widen, and you quickly turn away from him, wiping at your eyes and fanning at your face. 

"You can just leave the key." Your voice is thick, "thanks." 

He doesn't say anything, but his boots are heavy against the wooden floor as he stands behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him, only to feel his hand pull at your backpack. You let him take it off, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance over your shoulder to see him hanging it on a hook next to the bathroom door.  

"You don't have to stay, if you don't want to. You can pick any other room, but I chose this one for the sake of privacy. I'm the only other person on this floor, so feel free to move around. Just let me know, and I'll unlock another room for you." 

You nod, almost scared to step past the threshold — almost like it makes it real. That you have a bed again, a door that locks, a place to shower whenever you want. He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets before stepping in front of you. 

"We don't have to talk, either, if you don't want to. Just…don't miss meals, okay?" His voice is soft, and you bite back the words in your mouth as he skirts around you. Your hand reaches for him, your fingertips brushing his wrist. He stops, glancing down at you as you tear your eyes away from the room in front of you. 

"Are you upset with me?" 

He shakes his head, his own fingers tapping the inside of your wrist as he moves away. 

"You set a boundary. No matter how I feel, I'm not going to overstep that. We're all good." He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tries to move away again, but your fingers grab his elbow gently. He glances down at your hand, raising a brow as you quickly drop your hand. You clear your throat, and he turns to face you fully with a questioning look on his face. 

"What do you mean, how you feel?" 

He shrugs, the corner of his lip twitching into a lopsided smile.  

"I think you have this idea of romance that's kind of…misconstrued. It's not always like the movies, and it's not always like the examples of romance we see around us. Our parents, friends, etcetera…romance is different for everyone." 

You must look unimpressed, because he swipes his tongue over his teeth before he smiles. 

"Are you seriously mansplaining romance to me right now?"  "No, I'm telling you that it's not the same for everyone. I think romance can happen fast, and I think that one person can experience different kinds of romance throughout their lifetime. I think there's romance in everything, including the way you're staring at me like I'm a dumbass." 

"You are a dumbass." You mutter, "and I know what romance is. I know it's not the same for everyone, so you're just telling me shit I already know. So, you're a mansplainer." 

"Sure, but I'm also absolutely enamored with you. Smitten, bewitched. Under your spell, even." He admits gently, before turning on his heel. "Think about that, sweetness." 

You feel all the air sucked out of the atmosphere as he walks away, humming to himself as the keys jingle on his wrist. Your eyes are misty as you process the words out of his mouth, watching him walk confidently down the stairs like nothing has changed. You almost hate him, your heart beating normally just for a moment.  

Just a moment. 

The clock on your desk reads 9:22 PM. 

Instead of going downstairs, you settled into your room a bit; after crying your eyes out in the shower, you diligently stepped out and did little skincare with what was stocked in the bathroom, and swiped on a thin layer of your lip gloss before getting dressed. Mingyu had given you three shirts, three pairs of shorts, a pair of long pants, a bunch of socks and a zip-up. You were given a pair of boxers, and you limply laughed as you pulled them over your hips before pulling one of the black shirts over your head, only to see KMG embroidered on the pocket in pink thread. You hold back your tears, opting to dry your hair in the bathroom before digging through the mess of cables in your desk for one to charge your phone. You manage to find one, plugging it into the wall before turning on the radio to 105.7 Seoul City Central — your heart skipping as My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco starts bleeding through the static. 

You leave it on, opting to pull the comforter back and examine the sheets when a bump in the hallway makes you jump. You still, feeling footsteps clambering on the wooden floor before you quietly tiptoe your way to the door. 

"Get off me!" You hear bickering in the hallway, but you don't recognize the voices. You twist the knob of your door, peeking your head out to see three men wrestling as Mingyu holds a tray in one hand with an unimpressed look on his face. Soonyoung is amongst the men, as is Chan and another man you've yet to meet. 

"I don't need a pack of wild animals following me to drop off food, you know." He puts his hand on his hip, steam rising off the plate as your stomach rumbles. The men on the ground continue horsing around, making Mingyu shake his head before rolling his eyes. You stare at the men on the ground with your brows raised, before your eyes flicker to Mingyu. He's watching them too, walking closer to your door before one of the men breaks free, and Chan starts screaming his head off as you cover your mouth with your hand. 

"Mingyu! They're pinching me!" Chan whines, as he tries to crawl away. Mingyu snorts, switching the tray in his hand to the other side before helping him up. Soonyoung continues to pin down whoever is beneath him, earning a shriek along the lines of not the nipple! 

"How many guys does it take to bring dinner up four flights of stairs?" You ask softly, and Soonyoung looks up from the man beneath him, nipples pinched painfully over the man's shirt. The man takes the chance and knocks him off, wrestling Soonyoung's arms to his sides and pinning them with his knees on either side. You cover your eyes as he twists Soonyoung's nipples through his shirt, a strangled yell ringing out as you bite back your laughter. Soonyoung manages to push him off, and they end up rolling down the stairs as you, Mingyu and Chan share a pursed-lip look until you all clear your throats in unison. 

"Usually, just the one. But, Chan here has something he wants to give you." Mingyu tilts his head in Chan's direction, who smiles shyly as you look at him. You give him a soft smile, "nice to meet you, Chan. I'm Y/N." 

"I know." He nods, before wincing. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, too. I just…I noticed you're not wearing earrings. I don't know if you wear them or not, but I have a pair I don't use. I just wanted to know if you'd like them."  

He holds up a plastic baggie, a tiny pair of gold hoops with small rubies dangling off. Your eyes widen, and you hold your hands up as he shakes his head, tucking them into your palm, "just take them. We were all new at some point." 

"I can't, really—"  "Good night, Y/N. Rest well." 

Chan waves as he skips off, leaving you with the earrings in your hand and Mingyu standing next to you. You look at the earrings in your palm, before trilling your lips as you look up at Mingyu. He's already looking at you, holding the tray out to you. Your eyes widen at the colorful array, reaching to take it before dropping your arms to your sides and moving out of your doorframe. He slips past, setting it on the desk as he turns the radio down. 

"Dinner. Soft tofu stew, rice, half an orange, and this yogurtade thing that Junhui likes; he made it for you. He was the one with Soonyoung." He nods, "oh, and this. Cake. Dark chocolate with raspberry filling, from Joshua. You didn't meet him yet, but I said you'd be up for it tomorrow. Hope that's okay." 

He gestures vaguely at the tray, "just leave it in the hallway if you don't want to go downstairs. I'll pick it up later." 

He pats the back of your desk chair, pulling it out for you. You silently take the seat, crossing your legs at the knee as tears fill your eyes for the third time. He coos, patting the back of the chair again before turning to leave, "enjoy." 

"Will you stay?" You blurt, looking at the earrings in your hand instead of him. You can feel the heat of his eyes, and you clear your throat as you shift in your seat, "I don't like eating alone." 

He hums in response, tapping the door before slipping out. You look up to see him opening his own door, light filling the hallway as he ducks inside. He comes back with a chair in his hand, closing the door behind him and sliding it next to yours. He closes your door gently, leaning back in his chair as you reach for the utensils on the tray. You run the pad of your thumb along the engraving on the spoon handle, blowing a breath out through your lips before setting it back down. 

“Thanks. For everything, you know.” You’re quiet as you stare at the steaming food, shifting slightly on the soft cushion of the chair. Your hair is still damp, your skin almost raw from how hard you scrubbed at yourself but it was the best feeling in the world. Your hands splay on your knees, tugging at the hem of the boxer shorts as he clicks his tongue. 

"You don't have to thank me. Just eat." He nods at the food, his eyes averting as your phone buzzes on desk as it turns on. Hundreds of notifications fill the screen, making the entire table buzz incessantly. He reaches over, carefully silencing it before turning it over. There is a photo of you holding up your acceptance letter to the internship in Germany stuck inside your phone case — one you'd meant to send back to Jeju before the outbreak. You'd slipped in there for safekeeping, only for it to find a permanent home there when you assumed the island was destroyed. 

You eat in silence, ignoring the tears building in your eyes as the warm meal fills your belly. Mingyu is quiet next to you, content with just sitting beside you and watching you eat, shifting slightly with every few bites. You only make it halfway through the slice of cake before you push it away. 

"Full?"  "Very."  "Want me to take it down?" 

"I can take it, just give me a minute." You shake your head, leaning your elbow against the back of the chair and using your hand to hold up your head as you look at him. He's relaxed, showered — donning another brown shirt, but in sweatpants and his watch is gone, replaced with a silver bracelet. His eyes are warm as you meet them, but you clear your throat and look away. 

"Are they nice? The guys?"  "Oh, yeah. A little annoying and loud at times, but sweet. They like to have fun." 

"Are you the only one who ventures the great outdoors for survivors?" You try to add some humor to your voice, but it's meek as you pick at your cuticles. He pulls your hands away from each other, and you instinctively interlacing your fingers with his. He doesn't pull away, watching you cross your legs at the knee. 

"I don't want them to get hurt. A few of them were pretty banged up when I found them, and Chan was wandering around bear territory a few miles south of here when I found him. I actually found him a month before I found you, so he's relatively new. And the youngest, by far." He nods, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "His parents were jewelers. He had a bright future coming his way, too, but the outbreak took his parents, his brother and the business with them. He's been alone since, but…he's surprisingly positive. Quite the mood maker, actually." 

"That's so…wow." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you glance at the tray. "I don't know my way around." 

"Come on, I'll show you." He grabs the tray with one hand, standing up carefully and keeping you flush to his hip. He barely makes it out of the bedroom when he glances at you, letting go of your hand and gesturing at the sweater you'd hung on the bedpost. "Put that on, you're not decent." 

"I thought you said they were nice guys?" You raise a brow, but indulge him anyway, zipping the sweater halfway up before pushing in your chair and moving his out of the way. He rolls his eyes, holding his hand out for you to take. You interlace your fingers again, letting him keep you close as you both make your way down the stairs. You grow a bit wary as you reach the first floor, squeezing Mingyu's hand as you tuck yourself behind him — a group of men gathered on the living room floor with bottles of soju and empty Yakult scattered around a table with playing cards. 

"Mingyu! Join us, Jeonghan can deal you in." Soonyoung calls, but he shakes his head, "Jeonghan is a cheater and I hate playing games with you, you're always on my dick about everything." 

"He's just mad because he's bad at mafia." Minghao mutters, and you snicker inwardly as Mingyu pulls you into the kitchen. "Wait, is Y/N with you!?" 

"That's none of your business!" He calls over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as you look around the kitchen, your eyes landing on the same man with the pouty lips scrubbing dishes with a set of pink dish gloves all the way up to his elbow. Mingyu sets the tray down on the island, and the man with the gloves looks up, brows furrowed, "this is Seungcheol. He's the oldest, he's actually an old friend from college. We played football together." 

Seungcheol gestures at the tray, "I'm not washing that. Everyone eats downstairs." 

"She's new, give her a break."  "It's not about her, it's about you. You made the rule, Gyu."  "Yeah, well. I didn't tell you to wash it, anyway." 

Seungcheol tongues his cheek, shaking his head before directing his gaze at you. "Was he this fucking annoying when he was bringing you back?" 

"Oh my God, yeah." You nod eagerly, feeling Mingyu's hand squeeze yours as Seungcheol laughs. "He was so annoying and invasive, asking me all these personal questions—" 

"Asking your name is not invasive!" He refutes, but Seungcheol is only amused as you hold up your interlinked hands. Mingyu huffs, pouting as he lets go of your hand; only for you to find it again as he tries to move away. You keep him at your hip, the warmth of his body comforting against your back. 

"Invasive." You reiterate, "but it's nice to meet you, Seungcheol. And I'll wash this, don't worry about it." 

"Nah, just leave it. I got it." He shakes his head, taking the dishes off the tray before looking at you pointedly. "But no more eating in your room. That's how we get ants, and you need to socialize. I heard you were alone out there, that's not good for your mind." 

"I'll try to eat down here more often, promise." You cross an X over your chest, and he nods, "rest well, okay? We can get better acquainted tomorrow." 

"Good night, Seungcheol."  "Good night, gorgeous." 

"Don't call her that." Mingyu grumbles, pulling you out of the kitchen before Seungcheol can quip back. You let him pull you along, glancing at the men in the living room once more to see them all looking at you. You give them a quick smile, only for Soonyoung to point at you and turn to the group, and Minghao rolls his eyes as the man's name fall from his mouth as you and Mingyu reach the bottom of the stairs. 

"Soonyoung—"  "See, Jeonghan? I told you she's cute! And Mingyu's keeping her to himself! Look at him, practically dragging her like a hostage—"  "Soonyoung, that's enough." 

He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as the other men glance at you. 

"I'll be downstairs tomorrow, and we can all get to know each other. I swear I'm cool, I'm just…nervous." You give them a thumbs up, and Minghao just gives you a wave of his hand. 

"We're not going anywhere, sweetheart. You take your time." He nudges Soonyoung with his elbow, "and stop calling her cute. She's a lady." 

"Stop calling her anything that isn't Y/N. Her name is Y/N, call her that." Mingyu scoffs, earning an oooh from the group as he tugs you up the stairs. He tongues his cheek, grumbling to himself as you make it up the first two flights of stairs. 

"What did you mean by saying that you're 'enamored' with me?" You ask as you reach the first step of the third floor, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, "just that. Enamored." 

"Okay, yeah, but what does it mean?"  "Whatever you want it to mean, sweetness."  "Mingyu." 

"It means I'd kiss you, if you let me. If you wanted me to." He says softly, shrugging his shoulders like it's not a big deal. "I'd kiss you breathless, if you wanted me." 

You don't respond, your cheeks hot as you walk up the rest of the steps in silence. Your hand stays slotted in his, before you reach the fourth floor landing. Your hips bump as he walks you back to your bedroom, and you still in the threshold of the room. You glance around, and sure, it's yours — but it doesn't really feel like it. 

"Mingyu?" You look up at him, nibbling your lip as he hums in response. You tug on his hand, wanting his full attention as you speak, "Mingyu." 

"I'm listening, princess."  "Can I sleep in your room?" 

"But I'm invasive?" He jests, and you scoff, pulling your hand out of his when he grabs your arm, pulling you into him with a chuckle. "You don't get to make fun of me in front of my friends and then pout when I do it back. It's unfair." 

"I can do whatever I want," you huff, trying to twist yourself out of his hold when he spins you around to face him, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he looks down at you. You glare up at him, much to his amusement, "can I sleep in your room or not? I don't sleep well alone." 

"I just don't know if we'll get any sleep if I say yes."  "You are so fucking annoying, Kim Mingyu. No wonder Seungcheol hates your ass." 

"Cheol doesn't hate me, otherwise he wouldn't be here." He says pointedly, glancing at your lips before inching slightly closer, "and considering how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think you hate me all that much, either." 

His fingers drum on the side of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he tugs on the collar of your shirt.  

"Brush your teeth, turn the lights off. I'll make room for you." 

He slips away, ducking into his bedroom without another word as your hands cover your face like you're trying to hide the stupid smile spreading on your lips. You let out a breath, doing as you're told…and swiping on a bit of your lip gloss before grabbing your key and your phone off the desk and closing the door behind you. Mingyu's door is slightly ajar as you peek into it, your knuckles rapping against the painted wood as he's crouched in the corner of the room. 

"Close the door, please." He waves you in, returning to his task. You look around the room, illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the window — a desk like yours, but his bed is bigger, the room is bigger. He's got lots of knick knacks lining the walls, and a bunch of photos. You stare up at them, seeing him pictured with a newborn baby girl; the image marked 2001. 

"Little sister?" You say softly, and he hums. "Yep. She's safe, in Shanghai. She's there for school, I sent her money to stay over the summer so she wouldn't be trapped here during the outbreak. I haven't seen her since last spring. There's a landline downstairs, we call once a week when I'm not out looking for survivors, but my watch has a tracker that she can follow on her phone. It's fine." 

You feel your lips curve into a frown as you cross your arms on your chest, but you nod anyway.  

"Aha! Found it, I knew I had this somewhere." 

You turn on your heel to see him holding up a vinyl — specifically, Stevie Nicks' 1989 album, The Other Side of the Mirror. 

"Here, you can have it. You mentioned one of the songs on here in your top five." He holds it out to you, your eyes catching a silver reflection in the moonlight on the corner of the vinyl — an autograph.  Your eyes widen, and he taps your arm with it. "Take it." 

"I can't." 

"You can. I'm giving it to you, princess. Have it." He tucks it under your arm, and you jut your lip out in a pout as you hold it to your chest. Your nose burns as he laughs in disbelief, and you tuck your chin to your chest as a tear trickles down your face. "You're such a crybaby." 

"Shut up!" You stomp your foot like a child, "my mom had this one, she stood in line for it. She said she'd give it to me when I graduated." 

You sniffle, running your fingers along the cardboard as Mingyu moves around the room, opening the window and fluffing his comforter.  

"You're shit at comforting people, you know." You mutter as he glances at you from the headboard, fluffing a pillow in his hand as you wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. He snorts, pulling at the pillow before dropping it on the bed. 

"Literally, what do you want from me? Huh?" He shakes his head in amusement as you slide the record on top of his dresser, your forefinger tracing the autograph as he bumps your hip with his. He meets your eyes, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek as you sniffle again. He slides his hand down your face, fingers curling around your neck as he pulls you close, leaning down. "You act like I can read your mind." 

"You should learn," You grumble as he pinches your cheek between his knuckles, "that's what good men do." 

"Okay, what good men do you know that can do that?"  "I knew my father."  "That's a good start." 

"And I know you can learn." You mutter, before moving away from him and climbing into his bed. You throw the comforter over your shoulder, feeling the bed dip behind you as Mingyu yanks it back. "Mingyu!" 

"You didn't even ask if I was ready to go to bed."  "Well, I'm ready. That means you should be ready." 

"You're also in my spot, sweetness." His lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans down, his hand squeezing your side gently before patting your back. "Scoot over." 

You move away begrudgingly, a scowl on your lips as you turn onto your back. He slides into bed next to you, opting to prop himself up on his elbow. You blink up at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he tugs at your sweater. 

"Why do you still have this on?"  "Wouldn't want to be indecent." 

He rolls his eyes, and you zip it up the rest of the way to make a point. "I'm just sleeping in here. No funny business." 

"I never said we'd be partaking in any 'funny business' to begin with, sweetness."  "Yeah, well, you're looking at me like I mean something to you and I don't like it." 

"You don't?" He leans slightly closer, and you bite back a smile as you press your hands to his chest. pushing him away lightly. 

"No."  "You're lying."  "A little." 

He takes your hands off his chest, pining them on either side of your head before interlacing your fingers. You tilt your head at him, "is this your way of keeping me all to yourself? Like Soonyoung said?" 

"You wouldn't like any of those guys, anyway. Not the way you like me," He rolls his eyes, hovering over you. He runs his eyes over your face as you suck your teeth, stopping at your lips. "You're wearing lip gloss." 

"Who said I like you in any kind of way? You're fucking annoying." You lie, rolling your eyes as you realize he's still looking at your lips. You nudge the side of his hip with your knee, "Mingyu." 

"Hm?"  "Let me go."  "Not until you admit you think I'm at least cute." 

"Oh boy, we'll be here all night." You sigh in feigned concern, before gazing back up at him. "How's your back? Still hurting?" 

He shakes his head, "a lot better, actually. I guess you were right." 

You huff, "you guess? I was right! Even with all my hard work—" 

"You enjoyed it, don't lie to yourself."  "That's not the point, dipshit. It's still work." 

You turn away, "I used to charge a hundred and eighty dollars for a 90-minute massage, you know. I gave you one for free." 

"Because you're a shitty business magnate." He smiles, and you tongue your cheek as his nose brushes yours slightly. Your breath hitches, "no, because I care about you. Sometimes." 

He stills on top of you, eyes slightly narrowed as he scans your face. You nibble on your lip nervously, your knees twitching on either side of his hips as you avert your eyes to the headboard, littered with carved swallows. He lets go of one of your hands, instead cradling your cheek gently, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he makes you look at him. 

"Sometimes?" 

"Well, we just met." You lose all confidence in your voice as you meet his eyes, so fucking warm as he looks at you. Warm and kind and comforting, inviting…caring. Loving, maybe. 

Hopefully. 

"You don't care about that," He probes, eyes scanning your face, "you threw caution to the wind the moment you met me." 

"I did." You admit in a whisper, your hand carding through his hair as you swallow hard. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice, though." 

"You did. You could've not spoken to me at all, like you didn't speak to me for hours today until you yelled at me." He pouts, "eight hours, you know. Eight hours without talking to me." 

You mock his pout, "so long, huh? Must've been the worst for you, poor baby." 

"You're so fucking mean." He gripes, burying his face in your neck. You snicker to hold off a shiver that wants to snake down your spine as his lips brush your skin, "you like it." 

"Shut up." He mutters. Your hand cards through the hair at the nape of his neck before plucking at the collar of his shirt, moving his necklace over your fingertips and dipping your hand beneath it. The bruises are still there, albeit a bit lighter as you rub the pads of your fingers against them. His breathing tickles you, making you squirm when he squeezes your hand. "I missed hearing you talk today. I missed you." 

Your cheeks heat slightly as you shift beneath him, your fingers tracing random patterns into the skin of his back, "you met me two days ago." 

"I don't care." He groans, "I wouldn't care if I met you this morning. Time is relative, anyway, because it feels like I've known you an entire lifetime. I like having you around. I like it when you're mean and that you smell like honey and that you're so fucking smart and I like you." 

You sink your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from smiling, but your chest bounces slightly with embarrassed laughter. Mingyu pouts into your neck, your fingers slipping out from under his shirt to squeeze the back of his neck. 

"Stop laughing at me!" He whines, sitting up as you slide your hand down his chest. You pluck at his shirt, opening your mouth to speak when you hear someone knock on his door. You roll your eyes as he looks over his shoulder, and you sit up on your elbows, his hand slipping out of yours to hold himself up properly. 

"What's up?" He calls, and the man on the other side clears their throat. 

"You sleeping yet? The guys wanna play a couple rounds of pool." It's Seungcheol, and you pull at Mingyu's shirt as he opens his mouth. 

"Tell him you're busy." You whisper, your lips brushing his cheek as you talk. He glances at you, your eyes pointed as Seungcheol knocks again. "Tell him." 

"Uh, sorry, Cheol. I'm a little tied up at the moment." Mingyu lies through his teeth, making the man on the other side scoff, "doing what? You just got back, pull your pants up and come join us." 

"Do you really think I'm rubbing one out right now? I'm tired." He tries to defend himself, but you press your lips to his cheek. He stills, and you plant another one right on the curve of his jaw, the soft slope of his neck before your hand slides up and tilts his face towards you. 

"Tell him you're busy." You say again, your lips touching his as you speak. He leans into it, but you shake your head, pulling back as you gesture towards the door. He groans inwardly, letting you pull away fully and speaking loud enough for Seungcheol to hear him as you move to tug your zipper down.  

"I'm really tired, Cheol. Maybe another night. Promise."  "Lame. I bet if Y/N came down, you would too." 

Seungcheol leaves with two knocks to the door, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, words dying in his mouth as you tug on his shirt again — only to be interrupted by two more.  

"Mingyu! Stop being a bitch and come lose!" Soonyoung's voice rings through the door, making Mingyu turn to look over his shoulder again, "Hosh, I already said no. And you just want an easy win!" 

"Mingyu." You whine quietly, wrapping your legs around his waist to get his attention. He tries to focus on you, your lips pouted as you brush them to his again. "Want you to kiss me. Please, please." 

"So fucking cute." He mumbles, nuzzling his nose to yours, only for another bang on the door to make you jump. He groans, pressing his forehead to yours as Soonyoung hits the door yet again. 

"Come on, Gyu! We haven't seen you in an entire week! What could possibly be more important right now?!" Soonyoung complains, jiggling the thankfully locked doorknob and Mingyu's brow furrows in frustration as he opens his mouth to retort when you roll your eyes, sitting up abruptly and slotting your lips with his. You kiss him softly, your hands holding his face as he melts into you, a satisfied hum sounding from his throat. He pushes you back against the bed, his hand sliding to your hip as you slide yours down his chest and around his sides to rest on his back. Soonyoung knocks again, and you pull away with a huff. 

"Can you please go away? We're a little busy!" You call, your nails digging into Mingyu's back as Soonyoung's gasp is heard through the door. His footsteps are heard clambering down the stairs almost immediately, and you look back to see Mingyu a little dazed with glitter on his lips. 

"Are you really that bad at games? I thought you were kidding when you said you don't have a good poker face." You huff, making him blink a few times before he shakes his head. 

"No, I'm not bad at games. I do have a shit poker face, though, and they like embarrassing me about it." He mumbles, and you tongue your cheek when he leans down, brushing his lips to yours. "I don't believe that was your first kiss." 

"Good thing I didn't ask," You mumble, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth and slipping your hands under his shirt. He's warm to your cool fingertips, making him flinch slightly as you laugh against his lips. "Take your shirt off. Wanna see you." 

"You just wanna see me strip." He chides, and you raise a brow as you drag your nails down his back, earning a shaky moan against your jaw, his hand tightening around your hip. You brush your lips to his cheek, your hands bunching his shirt against his skin, "take it off. Please?" 

He sits up on his knees, towering over you as he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere across the room. You let your eyes roam shamelessly as he leans back over, your hands sliding up the hot skin as you sit up slightly. You kiss him again, slower — feeling your belly fill with warmth as his hands pin your hips to the mattress, sliding up slightly and bunching your shirt under his hands as your underwear grows damp. You feel him stop moving, only sinking down lower and the back of your head hits the pillows as he breaks the kiss, trailing down your jaw. You tilt your face away, giving him more room when he stops, lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

"We have to stop." He mumbles, his thumbs tracing soft circles in your sides as you turn to face him. His cheeks are flaming red, your own warm to the touch as you clear your throat. 

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Your hands ghost over his shoulders, and he frantically shakes his head, his own hands coming to hold your face gently, "no, not at all! I'm just…" 

You look at him pointedly as he trails off, only raising a brow, "Mingyu, if you're pitching a tent—" 

"Why do you have to say it like that?" He whines, burying his face into your neck as you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your hands patting his shoulders, "how else am I supposed to say it? Boner?" 

"What is wrong with you? Not like that!" He groans into your neck, making you laugh even harder as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a kiss to his shoulder, your fingernails raking lightly against his skin as you let your head fall back against the pillows. You hum, "you act like you've never done this before." 

"Not with you, I haven't." 

You still slightly, giving him a soft sigh as you run your fingers down the back of his neck, before running your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from your neck. He pouts at you, clearly embarrassed as you press a kiss to his cheek. He sits up slightly, holding himself over you as you run your fingertips down his chest, "We can fool around, you know. I just…don't wanna go all the way yet." 

“Got it.”  “Maybe just the tip. I heard that’s a thing.” 

"We're not doing anything you don't wanna do, I promise." He nods, and you smile softly, puckering your lips up at him. He meets you halfway, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, "this is all at your pace, sweetness." 

You nod, a bit of insecurity washing over you as you look at the ceiling. "Was it bad? The kissing?" 

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. You make eye contact as he huffs, "again, I don't believe that was your first kiss. Unless you're a fucking witch, of course." 

"I just read a lot of books," You mutter, picking at your cuticles, "watch a lot of movies…not necessarily of the general rating variety." 

"Books and pornography didn't teach me how to kiss. Say it like it is." He scoffs, and you raise a brow, "not everyone can be as good at applying knowledge as I am. Plus, I told you yesterday…there is skill in the yearning. And I don't watch porn!" 

"Everyone's seen porn at least once."  "…Not me. I can't even spell pornography."  "You're such a liar, babe." 

"M'not your babe." You grumble, biting back your grin as he mocks you, before pressing his forehead to yours. You blink up at him, sticking your tongue out as he squishes your cheeks in his hand. You swat his hand away, "not yet, anyway. I guess. Ugh, I hate you." 

"No, you don't."  "You're fucking annoying."  "Again, annoying fed you, clothed you, bathed you…kissed you." 

"First of all, I kissed you." You argue, poking an accusatory finger in his chest. He only grins down at you, kissing the tip of your nose as you wrinkle it. 

"And you're so brave, sweetness. I can be a little softer, if you want." He states, his eyes searching yours as you smile, "I'm not gonna break, you know. You can be whatever you want. Be rough, even." 

He clicks his tongue, ears tinging pink once more as he looks away. "We don't even know if you like that." 

"You don't know if I like that. I know myself pretty well, I'd say." You shrug, "not having experience with guys doesn't mean I don't know what I like. I can explore on my own." 

"Have you?"  "Wouldn't you like to know, dude."  "I would, yeah. And don't call me that." 

He lowers himself slightly, holding his head up over your belly with his chin in his hand. You shift to look at him, sitting up on your elbows, "you know I don't care, right? I can help, if you want me to." 

"I care." He says softly, "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for, I'm never going to expect or demand anything from you. I just…want you. We can talk about what you're ready for when you're ready for it, even if it takes years." 

The idea of years by Mingyu’s side settles a bit of fear in your bones. The idea of years by Mingyu’s side, having known him for three days – something in his gaze truly does make it feel like a lifetime. 

A lifetime of you and him. Of no engagement before you, of no other boys before him. Of learning all over again, with someone new...even if he’s the someone new for you. 

You trill your lips to hide the smile daring to inch itself onto your face, nodding as you look down at him, running your fingers through his hair. "I would've been ready right now, if they didn’t come banging on the door. Your friends are really good at killing the mood, you know?" 

"They normally don't come all the way up here, I don't know what's gotten into them." He pouts, eyes apologetic as you chuckle, "they miss you, I guess. It's normal to be oddly attached to some cute guy that saves you in the woods." 

"That feels backhanded, but I'll take the cute, I guess." He rolls his eyes, and you wrinkle your nose at him as you tug on the strands of his hair. He grunts, pulling your hand out of his hair and interlacing your fingers with his when he glances down at your body, suddenly letting go of your hand and hovering over you again as he speaks to you. "Why aren't you wearing pants? Did you go downstairs like that?" 

"Yeah? It's not like I need them; it's just us here." You shrug, snapping the waistband against your hip. He scoffs, "next time, put a pair of pants on." 

"Why, if you're just going to take them off me?"  "Y/N."  "So scary, ooh." 

You smile, running your hands up and down his chest. You palm at his arms, raking your nails down the skin and watching it prickle. Your eyes trail all over him, biting down on your lip as you wrap your fingers around the base of his throat, tugging lightly at his necklace as the cross pendant dangles above your face. 

"Wear pants when you go downstairs." He repeats, and you nod, thumbing at the pendant before making eye contact. You run your hands down his chest again, plucking at the waistband of his sweatpants, "can I see?" 

He tongues his cheek, "maybe. What's in it for me?” 

"Does there have to be something in it for you? What, do you want me to beg?" You smirk, pulling at the drawstring to untie it. He shakes his head, "if you beg, I'll give in too fast. I'm weak." 

"Good to know…" you click your tongue, toying with the drawstring as it comes undone. You tug on it, "just want you." 

"Do you?" His lips brush yours as he leans down, your hands moving to tug your sweater off. It slips down your arms, and Mingyu takes it, tossing it somewhere across the room as you wrap your legs around his waist again. Your teeth nip at his lower lip before you kiss him gently, carding your fingers through his hair, "want to see you." 

"You're looking at me right now, though?" He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheeks warm as you shake your head. His eyes are patient as he ghosts his lips over yours, smiling against them as you pout. 

"Wanna touch you."  "Yeah? Where?"  "Everywhere. Anywhere you want." 

"Take me to dinner first, why don't you?" He laughs as you let out a whine of annoyance, nudging his hip with your knee as he buries his face in your neck. He peppers a few kisses along the exposed skin, mumbling against it, “so pretty, baby.” 

“Mingyu.” You draw out his name as he smiles against your clavicle, his hands sliding up your sides and bunching your shirt around his wrists as he brushes his lips on yours again. You’re unamused as he pulls back before you can kiss him, but he shrugs. 

“What’s in it for me, sweetness?”  “Uh, hot girl in your bed. In her underwear. At your mercy.” 

He gives you a deadpan look, “‛at my mercy’ is a stretch, I think.” 

“What, you don’t think I can be nice to you?”  “No, actually.” 

“Ye of little faith,” you feign hurt, holding your hands to your chest as he shakes his head. He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile as he pinches the hem of his shirt between his fingers and pulls it over his head. Your hands move to touch him; fingertips cool against his warm skin making him jerk away slightly. You wrap a finger with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging on it gently, “what about these?” 

He opts to shrug, before his hand plucks at the hem of your shirt, “what about this?” 

“Oh, this old thing? Got it from a guy who rescued me in the woods, and he was real cute—” He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, muffling your laughter as you feel his hands push it higher. His thumbs graze the swell of your breasts as you shiver, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping a soft mark under your ear. Your skin litters with goosebumps, “you can touch, if you want.” 

“I want to take it off.”  “Then take it off me, Mingyu.” 

He pulls the fabric of your shirt over your head carefully, letting your hair fall around your head before tossing it to the side and pressing a wet kiss to the column of your throat. His voice is a hushed whisper, “thank you.” 

Your words get stuck in your throat as he trails down your chest, kissing and nipping your skin; your fingers carding through his hair as his hands cup your breasts, carefully thumbing at your nipples. A shaky breath falls from your lips as he looks up at you through his lashes, tracing the left bud with the tip of his tongue before he pulls it gently between his teeth. The soft gasp that cuts through the air makes him chuckle, wrapping his lips around your nipple with a soft suck; your fingers tightening in his hair as your cover your mouth with your other hand. 

He pulls at your wrist, interlacing your fingers and pinning it next to your head, “need to hear you, baby.” 

“You don’t n-need to–“ 

“Well, I want to.” He’s eye level with you, pressing chaste kisses to your face, “I want to hear you beg and cry and say my name like it means something to you. I want to know I can make you feel good.” 

He hovers over you slightly, his gaze raking over your flushed face. You can’t keep eye contact, your voice lost on you as his fingers ghost over your skin, “if you want to stop, we can stop. Just say the word.” 

“I want you to touch me, Mingyu.” You murmur, his hand splaying on your hip as he kisses the apple of your cheek, “I am touching you, baby.” 

“No, I want you to touch me.” Your fingers cover his hand on your hip, pulling it slightly lower. He raises a brow, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of your underwear as you nod, burying your face in his neck. He pulls the fabric down, and you lift your hips to help him slide the damp underwear down your legs. He tosses them somewhere, your thighs falling open for him as you plant soft pecks to the expanse of his shoulder; before feeling his cool fingertips dip between your legs and slide between your folds. You suck in a breath – your nails digging into his bicep as he collects your arousal on his fingers, and you hear a soft chuckle fall from his lips. 

“Look at you, huh?” He whispers, tracing slow, tight circles into your clit. You whine into his neck, making him shiver as your teeth scrape the soft skin, “so needy.” 

You’re almost embarrassed at the way your hips move against his hand; the room filling with the slick sounds of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge and your soft whimpers of his name and please, please don’t stop. 

“Please, please?” He mocks you, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing pace as you feel the coil in your belly tighten. “Please, please don’t stop? Why?” 

“Wanna cum for you,” your voice is shaky and barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to your hairline. You mouth at the column of his throat, “wanna be yours.” 

“You are.” The rasp in his voice sends you over the edge, a choked mewl of his name falling from your throat as his hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you away from his neck as your thighs close around his hand, kissing you messily. It’s all teeth and tongue, a touch of desperation when you feel his painfully hard cock against your hip. 

“Gyu,” you breathe out against his lips, nipping at the lower one to get his attention. Your hand trails down his softly chiseled chest before you tug at the sweatpants. His eyes are heavy with query as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, “let me help.” 

“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, but his eyes betray him by fluttering shut as you palm him over the thin material. He tilts his hips away, pulling his hand from between your thighs and plucking at your lower lip with his fingers, “open, pretty.” 

His eyes are low as you take his fingers in your mouth, snaking your tongue between them before he pulls them out and grabs your jaw gently. The kiss is slower this time – his lips sucking on the tip of your tongue as your stomach fills with butterflies at the weight of him over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he moves to settle himself between your thighs again. 

“Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be fine. Just relax and let me know if you want to stop.” He plants a kiss on your hip, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you to his face. You suck in a breath as he drags his tongue through your slick folds, your thighs trembling slightly as he carefully sucks your clit into his mouth. Your head falls back against the pillows as he busies himself between your thighs; pulling a whimpered moan from your chest as your hand finds his hair and tugs hard. You earn a grunt, your free hand finding your nipple to pinch between your fingers as he traces your entrance with his tongue. You grind your hips against his face, feeling the way he’s humping the mattress beneath him in a desperate attempt to get some friction. 

“Mingyu,” your voice is airy as you manage to pull him away from your dripping center, “wanna feel you.” 

His eyes widen, his hands around your thighs tightening as he glances up at you, “...you said you didn’t—” 

“Mingyu.” You interrupt, your eyes pointed as you tug on his hair gently. He lets you pull him up, making his way up the mattress. Your hand pulls at his sweatpants, “please. I’m ready, I promise.” 

“Y/N,” he sighs as you plant a kiss to his clavicle, “are you sure? We don’t have to do this, and I don’t have—” 

“I promise, I am sure.” You nod before stilling and meeting his eyes. He blinks at you, your hand still holding the waistband of his sweatpants, “you...want to, right? I don’t want to if you don’t.” 

“I want you to be sure, Y/N.”  “I don’t like when you call me that, actually.” 

“You called me guy for like six hours,” he snorts, making you pinch his hip and earning a squeal. He huffs, swatting your hand away from him before hooking his thumbs in his waistband, “you are positive you want this? With me? Right now?” 

“Yes. Take your fucking pants off, Kim Mingyu.” You roll your eyes, and he sticks his tongue out at you as he does what he’s told. He wraps his hand around his cock as he settles between your knees, your eyes widening slightly at the mess of precum on his lower stomach, “you’re big.” 

He raises a brow, “huh. Never thought of it that way.” 

“Yes, you have.” You deadpan, the little smirk on his lips proving your point as you sit up, “but...it’ll fit, right? You’ll make it fit?” 

“There is no way on this earth you haven’t seen porn if you’re talking like that.”  “Consider I used to read Wattpad?”  “And somehow, that’s worse.” 

You move your hand in a mock-talking motion, earning a roll of his eyes as he takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together before pressing a kiss to your hairline. You let him lean you back against the mattress again, peppering the side of your face with his lips before feeling him speak against the shell of your ear, “just let me know, okay?” 

You nod silently, eyes fluttering shut as you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your folds. He keeps you close, giving you a tentative nip at the side of your neck. 

"Gorgeous," his teeth scrape against your throat as you cant your hips up, your body begging for the weight of his cock against your clit. He pins you down against the mattress, mouthing at your neck with a slow roll of his hips against yours. A shudder runs down your spine as your nails dig into his back, whined sounds spilling from your lips as the room grows hotter around you. 

"You sure you want it?" He pants above you, your thighs shaking with overstimulation as you rut against his weeping cock. "Just the tip, yeah?" 

"All of it. Will you give it to me if I do?" Your voice is airy, your nails digging into his shoulders as he ducks his head down, connecting your lips in a searing kiss. His hips roll slowly, your skin prickling as he bites down on your lower lip, tugging at it before letting it spring back. 

"Beg me for it." 

"Mingyu," you whine, feeling his mouth hot and wet against your neck. His teeth graze against your collarbone, making you gasp as he lapped his tongue over the spot with a groan, "come on, pretty girl. Beg for it." 

“Please. Want you to fill me up.” Your voice is shaky as he sucks a mark into the base of your throat, your fingers moving to tug at his hair, “Gyu, please. Need to be yours.” 

His lips are on yours before you can say anything else, carefully dipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight stretch, and he lets his hand snake down and trace tight circles in your clit, “I know, baby. Just relax for me, yeah?” 

“Kiss me,” you whisper, feeling his lips brush yours almost instantly. He’s soft, interlacing your fingers for the umpteenth time that night as he licks into your mouth. You let him, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue as he carefully buries himself to the hilt inside you; stilling as he feels your fingers tighten around his, “you wanna stop?” 

You shake your head, digging your nails into his skin as he moves slowly, kissing anywhere his lips can reach. Your fingers drag down his back as the burn ceases, your legs wrapping around his hips, “move, Mingyu.” 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, giving a harsher roll of his hips. “So pretty, made just for me, right?” 

“Yes,” you gasp out, burying your face in his neck as he brushes that spongy spot that makes your vision blurry. Your voice is lost on you, choked whimpers of right there filling the room as Mingyu’s hands roam your body with a searing touch before he holds your jaw gently, brushing his lips to yours as he brings you closer to the edge. 

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss on your lips as you clamp down around him. “I’m yours, yeah? Just for you, baby.” 

He doesn’t await your response, sitting up and pulling you onto his cock as your eyes prick with tears of pleasure. His ears are tinged pink as your moans of his name slip out, pleas of harder making him bite back a whine as his grip on your thighs becomes almost bruising. He pushes your knees to your chest, your eyes rolling back at the suddenly deeper angle. The familiar coil is building in your belly as his hand moves to wipe your tears, your own covering the back of it as you tilt your head to kiss his palm. 

“So good for me, yeah? Take my cock so well, angel.” His voice is soft, diabolically paired with the way his hips were meeting your ass with sharp thrusts. Your hand wraps around his wrist, pulling it down, and his fingers instinctively wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze to the sides, “fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

His movements grow sloppy as the mix of sounds fills your ears – pitched whines from your lips, soft groans from his, the embarrassingly wet squelch between your legs that makes your cheeks hot as he teases you about it, tells you that you’re such a messy little slut. 

“Come on, baby. Need you to cum for me, yeah?” His fingers find your clit, tracing tight circles as your gummy walls clamping around him – the heat in your belly flushes throughout your body with a choked mewl of his name. His hips stutter against yours, only making your legs tighten around him as he bent to kiss your lips, spilling inside you with a soft whine that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

He stays sheathed inside you for a minute, his hands running up and down your sides as you limply try to kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hold him closely, nipping at his lower lip with a whispered thank you. 

“Tired?” His voice is low against your lips, thick fingers massaging your thighs as you nod silently, making him chuckle as he pulls you off the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you off to the bathroom as you lazily mouth at his neck. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”  “Will you kiss me again?”  “I’ll kiss you all you want, princess.” 

Mingyu’s eyes are glued to your face in the dead of night. 

The moonlight streams through the blinds of his bedroom, casting lines across your back and bleeding over your shoulders. Your lips are pouted, brows furrowed as your head rests on his chest. You’re covered in another one of his shirts, but this one more personal – a ‘lucky’ one he had from before the world went to shit, covered in paint stains from his projects during college. You’d pulled it from his drawer without a second though, thumbing at the frayed hem of the sleeve before pulling it over your head and crawling into his embrace. 

Not a second thought before your eyes closed; your arm draped across his waist as you buried yourself into his side. 

And Mingyu wonders if the feeling of not being good enough for you will go away.  

Of knowing you were meant for more, for greatness. How your heart yearned for that internship in Germany, to go home to your parents and brag about it. He wonders if he’ll get the chance to fall in love with you and truly fall in love with you – before you realize he might not be enough. 

Mingyu is not all that experienced. In life, love, feelings. Sex, art, music. Mingyu knows one thing and one thing only, and that’s the cadence of his heart – the steady rhythm never wavering. Beating carefully for over two decades, softly guarded albeit accepting. 

A handful of friends. A mother, a father, and a little sister he misses dearly. An ex-fiancée. A woman whose hand he held, lips he kissed, body he roamed. A woman who gave her heart to him, and he’d realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. A woman who, with angry tears in her eyes, told him he wasn’t worth the time she gave him because any other man would’ve locked it down by then. 

That he simply wasn’t man enough for a woman like her, but that she wished him the best – though, she would be the very best he’d ever come across. 

She was right about one thing: Mingyu had never really felt man enough for a woman like Mina. He hadn’t felt the earth beneath his feet for years before that final fight – simply flying by the seat of his pants and giving his all to everything he could. He burnt out, and he burnt out fast – his relationship crumbling before anything else could, and he remembers the way the diamond ring he saved to buy for six months bounced right off his chest as she threw it at him. 

It sits somewhere in Shanghai with Minseo now. She was the first to know Mingyu had called the engagement off and comforted him by shipping over a container of almond biscuits from the local bakery. His parents had been supportive, even offering to pay his rent for a while if he needed a minute to figure himself out – but Mingyu did what he did best when he felt out of control: he started a new project. 

He drew up blueprints for a house – a beautiful two-story for his parents, with rooms to fit him and Minseo should they want to visit and stay. He gathered vendors, he put in orders for materials, he even contracted Wonwoo onto his plan before the world around him also crumbled. He left the city with his best friend and Seungcheol, their arms linked and beelining for the cabin. 

Mingyu has those blueprints still shoved in a shoebox in his closet. He brought them with him. He kept paint samples, a singular nail and a sample of mahogany wood he’d intended to use for a porch swing – one he’d pictured his parents sitting on and Minseo wiggling her way between them, but things didn’t turn out the way he’d intended. Minseo was across the sea, and his parents were gone.  

Mingyu had felt such an ache of despair in his chest that he’d been tempted to call Mina at the beginning of it all. She always knew the right things to say, especially in his moments of crisis – but he stopped himself from doing it. He deleted her number instead and made Wonwoo stay in the cabin with Seungcheol with the excuse of going out to look for survivors. This was his new project. 

He found all the boys in different states. Hansol and Seungkwan had been together, sharing a backpack and taking turns doing night watches. Jeonghan and Joshua were tree dwellers, and they’d hung around Minghao and Junhui often enough to lead Mingyu to the cavern they were all sleeping in. Seokmin had been the ray of light for Soonyoung, the both of them attempting to stay positive throughout their scavenging, and he remembers how Soonyoung burst into tears after eating a piece of fish roasted by Mingyu. He’d found Jihoon on the west end of the mountain – carrying nothing but a bottle of water and a notebook, a pen slotted over his ear. Chan had been the fastest to warm up to him, badly bruised from several tumbles out of trees and all sorts of scraped up.  

Then he found you – tired, hungry, and hurt. In jeans, and alone. Your eyes were distrusting, but there was something in them that made his heart lose that normal cadence he’d been so used to. The arch of your brows when he walked closer, the curve of your lips when you quipped back with a quickness he was not used to, and it made his head spin. The way your lashes kissed your cheeks as you slept... 

The way your hands felt. Soft despite a couple scrapes, but you moved them with a flair only an artist has. You spoke coolly, your expressions fitting every word spilling from your lips perfectly. You were smart and convincing, and riddled with guilt. You were weighed down with the guilt of not graduating, of not making it to Germany, of not seeing your parents one last time. Of not knowing what you’re doing – even when none of it is your fault. 

Mingyu thinks he’s fallen in love with you at first sight. 

“Why are you awake?” Your voice is raspy against his chest, his brows jumping as he glances down at you. Your eyes are barely open as you press a kiss to his skin, a terrible blush crawling up his cheeks and ears as he tries to respond. You shake your head slightly, patting his hip with your hand, “cat got your tongue?” 

“Sorry.”  “Answer the question, guy.”  “Just...thinking, princess.” 

You hum, carefully sitting up and looking down at him. Your hair is in disarray as you run a hand over your face, blinking a few times before tilting your head at him, “about?” 

“You.” 

He can see your face go through a range – confusion, contentment, skepticism. It settles on something he can’t quite put his finger on, but you shrug, “what about me?” 

“Anything and everything.”  “What, am I the girl of your dreams?” 

Your brow is raised, and Mingyu can’t seem to find the words as you cross your arms. Your eyes are expectant, but Mingyu averts his attention to the ceiling fan – following the lazy spin of it when he feels you move closer, throwing your leg over his hip and hovering over his face. 

“What’s your deal, Kim?” You ask, your hair falling into your face as he smiles. He reaches up, tucking it behind your ears as you carefully swat his hands away, “tell me!” 

“Go to bed, pretty. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He leans up, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. You huff, your lips pouted as you get off him and lie down on your side, facing away from him. He rolls his eyes, turning over before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back to his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make a show of closing your eyes and huffing again, before he presses his lips to the back of your neck. 

“Good night, sweetness.”  “Shut up.” 

Mingyu cannot believe he’s fallen in love with you.  In three days, no less. 

MINGYU DOESN'T KNOW IF LIGHT EXISTED BEFORE HE MET YOU. 

Well, of course it did.  

Maybe not as bright, not as welcoming, not as warm or moody. Maybe not in the way the sun illuminated your skin at dawn, seeping through the blinds and casting patterns on the curves of your nude frame. Maybe not in the way your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him, a shy smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you physically blocked him out of your view with your hand to finish whatever you were doing. Maybe not in the way your laugh rang out through the cabin and made his skin prickle, and maybe not in the way that he can't sleep when you're still awake because he swears, he can see your face through his closed eyes. 

He didn’t really know what the feeling was, but something stirred in his stomach every time he saw a sliver of skin when you stretched. Every time he saw you settle in your chair to eat dinner, every time you eagerly climbed four flights of stairs just to flop on his bed and make out until you were both too turned on to ignore it. 

You turned into a different person then. Sure, you were confident, cocky even on a regular basis — but there was something that changed. You became an enchantress of sorts, and he couldn't bring himself to say no to you even if it meant he ruined his sweatpants and his sheets over and over again getting you off, even overstimulating you to the point of tears. He won't say no, because he loves the way his face grows hot when you say his name all sorts of low and raspy and how you didn't bother closing the door all the way anymore, your sounds bouncing off the walls shamelessly.  He kind of liked that someone got sent up to slam his bedroom door shut every night. 

It’s been three years since he met you in the woods.  

Things had progressed slowly in the beginning, but he knew how you felt by the way you settled in his arms at the end of the night. You would kiss him good night, you would invite him in the shower with you, you would crawl into his lap if he was sitting somewhere – even if he was in front of the guys. No one said anything as you settled into his chest, his arms immediately pulling you closer as he continued his conversations. 

And he felt something settle in his belly when he saw you getting along well with the guys. You became a master at beating Jeonghan at cards, and you would spend hours just sitting with Minghao in one of the basement corners talking about anything and everything. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan would rope you into their hooting and hollering, and you would find an escape in Joshua or Wonwoo once your ears hurt from all the yelling. You, Hansol and Chan grew accustomed to falling asleep on the couch while watching old movies, piled on top of each other, and Seungcheol would be the one to throw a blanket over you. You added a touch of something to the group, but he found himself quietly staring at you from across the room when you would settle in the breakfast nook.  

That was when you looked the calmest, other than right before bed. There was always a cup of untouched coffee sitting on the table, and a handful of blue pencils you’d found in Your knees would be pulled to your chest and holding a sketchpad he’d found in the back of his closet, specifically after you said you were bored while hanging off the edge of his bed two weeks into your time at the cabin – and you’d been glued to it. You’d flip it closed if he came too close, and you would leave it in your room and hide your key if you were doing something else. 

You’d left for Germany six months ago, with a snug ring on your hand that meant you had someone back home waiting for you. 

The country had fallen back in order, almost too soon after you’d situated yourselves in the cabin. Community clean-ups were organized as the same labs downtown tried to find any way to fix the damage caused. They were out billions of dollars, and eventually, things fell back into place. Hospitals were rebuilt, airports were reconstructed, and travel was reinstated. Diplomas and degrees were awarded to seniors who had been on track to graduate before the outbreak, and Mingyu watched you try on your cap and gown with a satisfied little smile. 

And you got an email a few months later – congratulating you on your graduation and telling you that your internship in Berlin was awaiting your arrival.  

Mingyu remembers it like it was yesterday – you’d almost thrown up out of excitement before something settled in the back of your eyes. Uncertainty, worry. 

Guilt. 

“It’s only six months,” Mingyu whispered as he cradled you in his arms, pressing a kiss on your temple as you cried quietly. “It’ll fly by and it’ll be like you never left.” 

You were on a plane the very next week. You held determination in your eyes then, even when glossed with a layer of hot tears that you refused to let spill. Until you got to Berlin and called him every night for a week straight – trying not to sob as he gave you updates on himself and the guys, and showed you designs. He’d been hired to do a few projects around the city, finally putting a little extra cash into his pocket. 

“You’re almost home, just a few more days.” Mingyu had reassured you just yesterday, as he looked down at the designs on his workbench. Your designs – the ones you’d hidden before you rolled them up the week you left and handed them over at the airport. 

“A project for us.” You’d said, and he’d peeled them open (per your instruction) once you were in the air and on your way to Berlin.  It’d been a perfect mix of your design and his old one – two floors, enough rooms to fit his sister and now, many brothers. A kitchen big enough for an island and to hold an annoying amount of boisterous people shouting about how hungry they are, and still – a cozy breakfast nook, one a lot like the cabin had: where you used sidle up to Mingyu and steal off his plate, kiss his bare shoulder, ask for a kiss. And his porch swing – big enough to fit you, him...and hopefully, a growing family. 

“How’s the house comin’ along?” Seungcheol asks, holding his daughter above his head as Mingyu crosses his arms on his chest. “Looks about done to me.” 

“It is done,” Mingyu nods, “just need to furnish. Paint, too...but Y/N is home soon, and I don’t think I’ll have enough time to move everything alone. She might wanna help, anyway, so I guess it’s fine.” 

He feels his throat tight as he speaks, nibbling on his lip as he glances over at Seungcheol, who has a warm smile on his face, “thanks for helping me out. I thought I was going to lose my mind without her.” 

“You put on a brave face for the woman you love, it’s only natural you freak out once she’s actually gone. Plus...I think you got most of the jitters out when you put that ring on her finger. Nice job.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he looks up at the house again and turns his daughter to face it, “can you believe Uncle Mingyu’s gonna make you a big house like this one? You get a room all to yourself, I never had one of those.” 

Mingyu snorts, “I never said I’d make you one.” 

“And jealousy is a disease.” Mingyu stiffens, his fingers on his biceps tightening as he hears a car door slam behind them. Seungcheol smiles inwardly, hiding his face in his daughter’s hair as she lets out a string of incoherent babbling, something that sounds a lot like Y/N amongst it. 

“And to think, I was going to ask you to design it.” Seungcheol teases as Mingyu forces himself to peek over his shoulder – seeing Chan smiling brightly as he unpacks the trunk of Seungcheol’s SUV. Tears blur his vision as Seungcheol’s hand moves to squeeze his shoulder, the rough denim of your jacket rubbing against his arms as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“Where are your manners, Kim Mingyu? No hello for your fiancée?” He covers his face as he sniffles, and Seungcheol’s rickety laugh is heard as you sway Mingyu from side to side with all your strength. You squeeze him, “aren’t you happy to see me? I wanted to surprise you!” 

He wipes his face haphazardly, taking a deep breath before turning around and almost crushing you in his embrace. Your arms wrap gently around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo that he’d missed so much.  

“I’m gonna put your bags inside,” Chan announces, “since Mingyu’s gonna cry—” 

“Shut up, pipsqueak. When you find a girl worth waiting for, you’ll cry, too.” Seungcheol snaps, balancing his daughter on his hip before grabbing your duffel out of the front seat. “Take your time, lovers.” 

Chan is heard in the distance asking why Seungcheol can tease you but not him, paired with a heavy hit of something and an oof as you tap Mingyu’s shoulders, “I can’t breathe.” 

“Just a little bit more,” he murmurs, albeit loosening his grip as you suck in a breath, “I thought I was dying.” 

“Pft, you can’t die without me, Gyu. Also, I bought a Switch in Germany. We’re playing Super Mario Odyssey and reliving the days we met, because I had a dream you didn’t find me and I cried.” You ramble, “we should get together with the guys, and we should order pizza, I’m starving. I missed you, did you miss me? Oh, and I—” 

Mingyu stops you with a kiss, cupping your face gently and pulling away before it can turn greedy. Your eyes are wide, “are you okay?” 

“Do you still hate burl?”  “Absolutely.” 

“Okay, good. Had to make sure Berlin didn’t change your morals,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing another kiss to them before holding you close, “I missed you.” 

Your smile is shy as you let him card his fingers through your hair, looking up at him through your lashes, “I love you.” 

“I love you more.” He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and he’s sure you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips to your cheeks and forehead, “let me show you the house.” 

You nod excitedly, grabbing his hand and leading the two of you up the porch steps. He shamelessly looks at the fit of your jeans on your hips, “do you remember when I posed the question of whether or not the virus was zoonotic?” 

“Yes, and yes, my ass is hypnotic. That is precisely why I wore these jeans. God, Mingyu. Get with the program, learn my moves!” You scoff, and he ignores the bickering he hears in the newly built kitchen as he pulls you into one of the downstairs bedrooms, his hands tight on your waist. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He presses you against the door, his lips traveling the side of your face before meeting your lips in chaste, flirty kisses before resting his forehead against you. “I missed you, so much.” 

“Enough to catch me a fish, guy?” You laugh, tucking your hands into the back pockets of his jeans, making him roll his eyes. 

“Enough to catch you a million, princess.” 

But just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, can never admit that he something more to you than you care to acknowledge beyond just that – something more. 

And just as easily as those flowers of yours were picked, they were tossed. Once they died, they served no value. You’d watch the petals fall onto your desk for a while, dried and crisp; before inevitably swiping them into the trash can and dumping the dirty water into the sink. The vase waited, empty (like you,) to be refilled once Mingyu swung by for his bi-monthly fix. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

You used to save some of the petals, some of the flowers themselves. Press them in wax paper between heavy books and forget about them until you read the books again. You’d toy with the dried petals, before they eventually became littered around your apartment – in the form of coasters, framed on the walls, even a pair of earrings you once made at a crafts class. 

Because in the beginning, in the very beginning – Mingyu was just your friend. 

He was your very nice, very attentive friend that brought you gorgeous bouquets from his florist friend’s shop, always picked out by Mingyu himself – down to the colorful paper wrapping and satin bow. You’d rarely see him more than once or twice a month as it was, because Mingyu is a very busy man – so the flowers were always accompanied with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to your cheek. You’d make dinner together, or he’d cook for the two of you; his presence warm and inviting even in your own home.  

He’d serve you a glass of wine or three, plate your dinner like you’re at a nice restaurant and hand you extra silverware in case one of you fell victim to his butterfingers – and he knew your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew you like the back of his hand. 

Then, you kissed. 

One time. By complete and utter accident. 

You had moved into his typical cheek kiss in greeting, the both of you springing away almost immediately when you felt each other’s lips. You both spewed apologies like geysers, talking over one another before you both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“No more kisses, got it. Could’ve said something earlier, you know.” He joked, but finally greeted you with a warm hug paired with a mumbled it’s so nice to see you that made your stomach flutter for the first time ever. You were wide eyed as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his body, in the soft feeling of his cashmere sweater that you’d given him for his birthday many moons ago. 

Unfortunately, the attempt to make dinner together was awkward. You were both anxiously trying to keep things level, trying to crack jokes and talk about your lives outside of each other when you just sighed; your hands on your hips as you glanced at him in your pink apron that was much too small. 

And he kissed you – this time, with purpose. He held your face gently between his hands, your own fisting the stupidly expensive cashmere sweater that left you without eggs and bread that month.  

Dinner wasn’t homemade, after all. He’d turned the stove off in your frenzy to pull his belt off, his hands holding you flush to him as he led you both to your bedroom – where he’d shown you exactly why his ex-girlfriend can’t leave him alone, and why your ex-boyfriend constantly felt inferior to him. He made it clear he wanted you, even if it was just for the night – and he wasn’t about to fuck up the only potential chance he’d gotten. 

You both fell asleep before either of you could say anything about the missed dinner, and the morning after was full of shy stares and a silent agreement – after you asked him if he’d even wanted to be your friend, if this was his plan all along. He admitted honestly that he’d never anticipated something like this and he never secretly wanted you, either – that he’d been your friend because he loves you, because you’re sweet and funny, because you’re you. 

Twice a month. Dinner. Sex. Repeat. Just to get the taste of each other off your tongues, to fill the void of feeling someone next to you while you’re sleeping. 

Eventually, you realized that things between you and Mingyu had grown to be just that – a fix. A bi-monthly, sometimes tri-monthly, fix; where he came to your apartment and still yielded those beautiful flowers. He’d gotten more into making dinner on his own, and you’d choose somethnig to watch – and you’d spend an hour or so filling each other in about your time apart over the warm meal and some stupid movie, if not Gilmore Girls. 

Until one of you leans in for the first kiss of the tumble, and the illusion of romance shatters at your fingertips. 

Not because Mingyu isn’t romantic; if anything, the guy could drown you in romance. In soft touches, in mood lighting, in catering to your every need while still meeting his own with little intereference. He’s kind and gentle, with an edge that makes your skin prickle when he works you over with his tongue between your thighs after peeling your clothes off with needy hands. He’s a bitch when his teeth nip at the skin of your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move; and you can feel the way he smiles against you as he brings you to the first orgasm of the night. 

He’s yours when he kisses you like you mean everything to him, when he holds your knees to your chest while you cry on his cock. He’s yours when he holds you close, massaging your hips and kissing the expanse of your bare shoulders. 

And you are his. 

You are absolutely, irrevocably his when he slips inside you for the second time that night – his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder at how sensitive he is but he loves the way you feel. Shuddered whimpers will fill the room, murmurs of missing you when he’s gone as he nibbles on your earlobe; he leaves a mess between your thighs, snugly wrapped in your walls as you both drift to sleep. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Maybe it’s not all that romantic. 

Maybe it’s just...sex. Casual sex that convinces you it’s more the moment you press your lips to his because you’re so certain Heaven is a place on Earth – and it’s in Kim Mingyu’s arms. 

That’s where it all ends, anyway. He’s gone in the morning without much conversation; you’ll shower together like real couples do and he’s started keeping a few changes of clothes in your apartment. You’ll brush you teeth together like real couples do; he’ll even rub lotion on your back before kissing the back of your neck and asking if you want breakfast. If you say no, he leaves. 

If you say yes...he’ll make breakfast, an entire spread. He’ll make coffee, and he’ll sit right next to you in the cute breakfast nook that sold you on your apartment three years ago – right after you’d broken up with that ex-boyfriend that never liked Mingyu. For who he was, what he stood for or what he could provide...you weren’t all that sure. 

But you don’t really care, either. 

Mingyu helped decorate your apartment. He helped you make it yours and even slept on the floor of your bedroom with you when you were too scared to be alone on the first night. He didn’t complain about his very obviously sore neck the next morning, only giving you a quick hug goodbye as he left to his apartment six blocks away for a shower – and returning within two hours to help you paint your bathroom. 

They say that friends to lovers is the best way to go. Friends that know each other’s coffee orders by heart, turning into lovers that deliver said coffee with a kiss on the lips. Friends that help each other pick an outfit for a night out, becoming lovers who take said outfit off at the end of the night with their lips running down each other’s shoulders and other unnamed places. 

Lovers, who mean it more than words can explain, and the warmth of a fire could never rival the true heat behind it – the three little words that linger on your tongue. 

That stupid, stupid I love you. 

But you are you, and Mingyu is...well, he’s Mingyu. 

You’re not sure what you are. You’re certainly not friends, but you’re not lovers...you’re just Y/N and Mingyu, in limbo. No label, no questions and consequently, no answers. 

And you want an answer. You want to know what it’s like for him to hold you closer when you move away to slip out of your bed in the morning. You want to know what it’s like for him to flip you onto your back and kiss you despite the morning breath, what it’s like to be Mingyu’s, eternally, and never have a way out. 

But...you are you. 

And you know better. 

IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT WHEN YOUR PHONE PINGS ACROSS APARTMENT. 

You move out of the kitchen, making your way to it and grabbing it off the coffee table before flopping onto your couch. 

NEW! (3) Messages From: Mingyu ♡  [4:21 PM] hey, y/n  [4:21 PM] just a quick question, are you free this friday?  [4:21 PM] no pressure 💘 

You’re aptly draped across the couch for a distressed sigh as you read the messages. You throw your arm over your eyes, your heart beating just a little faster – there's a pot of stew heating up on the stove, and the whole house smells delicious as you close your eyes, knowing exactly how this could go. 

He’ll show up at your doorstep, ten minutes before he said he’d be there. He’ll be wearing one of his nice shirts – maybe it’ll be that baby blue one that you love – maybe it’ll be the dark red that he always tucks neatly into slacks. Maybe he’ll be dressed down, something you don’t to see all that often – sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, but he’ll still be carrying that stupidly large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine. He’ll kiss you hello again, but it won’t be on your cheek – no, he’ll kiss your lips. 

He’ll kiss your lips and hold your waist gently, pulling you into him. He’ll nip at your lower lip, inching his way into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before setting the flowers down on the foyer table and pulling away. He’ll say it’s nice to see you, that he missed you, that he wants to hear about your day before kissing you breathless. 

Because he’s Mingyu. 

“And I’ll fall for it every damn time,” you sigh, staring at the screen. Your fingers move quickly, typing a singular ‘sure’, only to see his read receipt pop up before you can even sit up. Like he’s waiting for you to answer – sat at his desk, the one that’s shoved in the corner of his office and way too cramped for a guy his size. The one that’s piled high with confidential documents, that he eats his lunch at that he packs himself early in the mornings. 

The one he’s sent you a few suggestive pieces of media from, the image of his silver watch moving up and down your screen still burned into your mind. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:26 PM] hm, don’t know if i liked the way you answered that.  [4:26 PM] are you okay? 

Are you? 

You don’t get much of a chance to reply before he’s calling you. You quickly decline it, texting back with the excuse that you’re in the shower. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:27 PM] you’re literally laying on your couch. you don’t shower until six.  [4:28 PM] this is your ‘lazy girl’ time, you’ve told me. i know. 

“Curse your memory, Kim Mingyu,” you grumble, fumbling around to call him on Facetime. He picks up on the second ring, putting his AirPod in – but he’s not dressed the way he usually is after work. Or rather, during: he’s still got thirty minutes to his workday. 

But you’re not complaining at the sleeveless white shirt, feeling your cheeks hot as he raises a brow at you through the screen. 

“What are you doing?” You prop yourself up on a throw pillow, only for Mingyu to flip the camera and show the inside of your favorite grocery store, “what are you doing there? It’s Wednesday, you should be at work.” 

“And you should tell me what’s got you so pouty.” He says pointedly, propping you up in the cart as he grabbed a bag for tomatoes. You’re silent as you watch him pick them out carefully, gentle fingers you miss wrapped around your throat squeezing the fruit softly. You blink as the thought leaves your mind, your mouth dry as you shake it off while he ties the plastic bag expertly. 

“So? What’s got you so iffy?”  “Nothing.”  “You’re a horrible liar.” 

Mingyu gives you a stern look as he hunches over the cart, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the store for the next item to take him. Maybe peppers. Maybe a tub of soybean paste. 

Maybe someone else to fill his bed, his heart. His stomach, with delicious meals he never lets you cook for him anymore because, in his words – you're tired. You work so hard and you’ve had a long day, sweetheart. Just sit on the island and keep me company. 

“Need an answer sooner rather than later, sweetheart.” His voice is gentle as he grabs your attention again, only making you scoff as you wave him off with your hand. 

“Seriously, I’m fine.”  “I dunno. First, you give me a one-word answer. Never in our six-year friendship have you responded to me that way, even when you’re in a bad mood.” 

You tongue your cheek as he stops the cart in the snack aisle, your eyes floating immediately to the cinnamon biscuits right next to his head. He reaches for them, tossing the box into his cart without a second thought before reading the ingredients on a box of almond cookies, “next, you lie to me. A bold-faced lie, and to my face, at that.” 

“I lied to your phone screen, dramatic ass.” You mutter, watching the way his fingers drum against the yellow box. He’s wearing the ring you’d given him for Christmas last year, the white gold snug on his thumb as he hums. He puts the box back, grabbing another with a click of his tongue. 

“That I pay the bill on, mind you. So, you’re wasting time and money instead of just telling me what your deal is.” 

“There is no deal, Mingyu. I’m not BOGO.” You snort, shifting on your couch and resting your arm under your head. He looks at the phone, tossing the cookies into his cart, “I should be glad, BOGO of you would kill me. You’re more like buy one, get one half off.” 

“I think I’m more of a buy-two, get one free.”  “That’s even worse. One of you is more than enough. And that’s coming from me, someone who gets all of you regularly and happily, at that.” 

“‘All of me’ is a technicality.” You roll your eyes, only watching the tips of his ears turn pink as he analyzes yet another box. Crackers this time, cheddar ones. Not your favorite, and infinitely inferior to the Parmesan ones. 

“Be realistic, there’s no one but me. You’re just for me.” He murmurs, but the microphone catches it anyway. You tongue your cheek as he puts the box back, instead grabbing the Parmesan ones and throwing them in the cart. Your cheeks heat slightly as he nibbles on his lip, likely deep in thought as he looks over his cart. 

“Even if that’s true, you could still be nice to me.” 

“I’m so nice to you! I make you dinner, I buy you flowers, and I check in with you regularly. I get you gifts, I fixed your leaky faucet, and I rewired your entire gaming system after you moved into your apartment and didn’t want to figure it out. I’m the nicest guy ever, especially to you.” He huffs, and you let out a chuckle that makes his lips twitch. He masks it by sucking his teeth, and you shrug with an amused look on your face. 

“You cook me dinner because you want to, you buy me flowers because you feel guilty and you check in with me because your job keeps you from actually seeing me more than once or twice a month. You get me gifts to make up for the fact that you’re not around as often, you fixed my leaky faucet because I practically begged you to, and you rewired my gaming system because you and Wonwoo wanted to play GTA for six hours.” You point your finger at him, watching the way he nods before picking up his phone. The camera pauses, the sound of Left Right by XG playing in the store the only sound coming from his end. 

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:10 PM] i also go down on you because i want to, and i fuck you because i want to. but i don’t hear you complaining about that, hm? 

“Because I want it, too.” You ignore the heart surging on your cheeks as you watch the message bubble pop up again.  

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:11 PM] then be nice to me before i stop doing that for us, pillow princess. 

“I am not a pillow princess! You just never let me do anything!” 

The camera unpauses, showing Mingyu rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest before he sets the phone back down, “tell me what’s up or I’m coming over impromptu. I won’t give you time to tidy up, either.” 

“You wouldn’t do that; you probably have a nice steak in your basket. You wanna go home and cook it and text me all about how I’m missing out because I live six blocks away and won’t walk to your place because those heels I wear make me too tired.” You snicker, watching the way he mimics you and moves his hand in a talking motion. You only laugh harder, “Mingyu!” 

“Little louder, sweetheart. The neigbors know my name, anyway.”  “Kim Mingyu, I am a lady.” 

“A loud one,” he snorts, sucking his teeth as he makes his way down the liquor aisle. “Are you free on Friday or not? Enthusiastically free, happy-to-see-your-Mingyu free. Not that sure shit, have some respect.” 

“My Mingyu?” You smirk, but it’s a front. Your stomach is fluttering like crazy and you watch the way he bites back his smile to raise a brow at you. 

“You know any other Mingyus?”  “Park Mingyu from the finance team that has had the hots for me since before you moved to the city.” 

“He doesn’t count, he’s in finance. You’d get bored in two days.” He rolls his eyes again, “yes or no, sweetheart? My schedule fills up fast and I’m actively trying to get you in.” 

“More like you’re trying to get in me.”  “That too, but all I’m hearing right now is that you hate me. That’s not all I have you around for, you know.” 

You roll your eyes, sighing. He’s raking his eyes over you through the camera, grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf as if it’s muscle memory. The label reads EISA Cabernet – your favorite. Particularly, when he makes you a thick steak with scalloped potatoes and asparagus that almost guarantees you fuck him within an inch of his life. 

And he never complains. 

“What’s wrong with you?”   “Nothing, Gyu. I promise.” 

He crosses his arms, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Then don’t.”  “You hate me.”  “Sometimes, when you make my steak too rare or you pull out.” 

“Haha, so funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and you can tell by the signs on the ceiling that he’s moving to the checkout line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up with you?” 

“What do you want me to say, Mingyu? That I’m in distress? That I’m having a bad day?” You joke, before pouting exaggeratedly, “oh, please, Mingyu. I’ve had such a long, lonely day. Come over, I need you.” 

“Stop that.” He huffs, crossing his arms as he leans on the cart. You laugh again, running your hand through your hair as you feel his eyes trailing you. You raise a brow as his eyes stop on your chest, and you dramatically cover the bit of cleavage your V-neck sweater shows. He scoffs, tonguing his cheek as he gets a register, carefully parking the cart. “Tilt the camera to your face, I don’t need strangers seeing your whole chest.” 

“It’s not even my chest, dipshit. It’s my necklace at best.”  “Necklace I gave you.”  “Never pegged you to be a jealous, possessive man, Mr. Kim.” 

“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” he shrugs, and you stick your tongue out at him as he scans his things. He shakes his head as you watch him, your eyes shamelessly trained on his arms as he moves about, before he snaps his fingers in front of the camera, “must you eye fuck me like that?” 

“Listen, friends can admire one another’s beauty. That’s part of it.”  “Sure, sweetheart. Friends also tell each other what’s bothering them, but I guess we’re not all that of friends, hm?” 

The double entendre makes you scoff as he swipes his card, his receipt printing loudly as he makes faces at you. You don’t speak as he takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket, listening to him sweetly thank the aunties at the exit as he leaves with his cart. He whistles, “so? What’s wrong with you?” 

You don’t reply, simply turning onto your belly and resting your cheek against the heel of your palm. You prop your phone up against the armrest of your couch, making a show of pulling your sweater down enough that it shows the white lace of your bra. 

“Tease.” He chides as he pops the trunk, “come on, tell me. Because you’re gonna piss me off and then we’re both in a mood.” 

“I’m really fine, Gyu. I’m tired, I’m gonna eat some leftovers...maybe watch a movie. It's just one of those days, you know?” You shrug, “it’s not like anything is particularly wrong. I just feel weird, and that’s okay.” 

You’re lying through your teeth, but he doesn’t look all that convince anyway as you hear the timer in your kitchen start going off. You give him a quick smile, “my food’s ready, so I gotta go but I’ll see you on Friday, Gyu. I promise I’m excited to see you.” 

“Well, you’d still need the context of what’s happening on Friday, but sure.” He shrugs, “just...are you sure you’re okay? I can cancel. I’ll work around you, honey, just let me know.” 

You smile inwardly, pushing off the couch and taking your phone with you into the kitchen. You prop it up against your toaster as you reach for a bowl on your tiptoes, “I would say no if I didn’t want to see you, Mingyu.” 

“I know, but—” 

“Mingyu, baby, please.” You set the bowl down, putting your hands on your hips. He’s in his car now, pulling his seatbelt on as he balances you on the steering wheel. He’s pouting, “expect that impromptu visit anyway.” 

“You never follow through with those, so I will not be cleaning my apartment tonight and I will be in my PJs by nine.” You respond, crossing your arms on your chest as you watch him roll his shoulders back – the fabric of his shirt taut against his chest. He catches you staring at him, his ears tinging pink once more as you smile cheekily, “I’ll see you on Friday. Drive safe, okay?” 

“I will. I’ll see you later, baby.” 

The call ends before he can see you process the petname. Your cheeks are hot as you stare at your home screen, a picture of you that Mingyu took at a burger joint after you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. You had a smear of ketchup on your cheek and Mingyu’s fingers pinching the other – he'd taken you out because you had been the one to break things off after yet another jealous fit about you being friends with Mingyu. 

When you think about it, he ended up being right – just six months after the breakup, you’d slept with Mingyu for the first time.  

Jaehyun had always been iffy about Mingyu, but you didn’t understand it then, or ever. The two of you had been dating for six months when he met Mingyu, your friend of two years at that point. They met at your birthday party, and Mingyu had been incredibly sweet – he'd greeted him with a firm handshake, complimented his shirt and watch, and asked what he was drinking. Jaehyun had stiffened slightly, likely at the way Mingyu towered over him; but his face soured when Mingyu greeted you next, the way he always had. 

With that damn cheek kiss. 

His aftershave was particularly mingy that night, and it made something in your stomach lurch but you ignored it. Jaehyun was quiet that entire night, even later when you were both in bed together and he was on top of you – he murmured it, effectively killing your buzz and starting a fight. 

“I don’t like that Mingyu guy.” 

Your relationship was no more than two years of weird jealousy afterwards. Jaehyun, however, was worse than you were in the weird terms and conditions of dating these days – he still followed his ex-girlfriends on social media and frequently engaged with their posts (you didn’t care.) He still talked to his most recent ex-girlfriend's mother, who he claimed said that he was like a son to her (again, you didn’t give a shit.) 

It seemed to bother Jaehyun that you did not care what he was doing with his ‘friends’ of the opposite sex. He seemed annoyed that you could frequently hang out with your friends without caring about what he thought – posing in photobooths for pictures with your life-long friends Kwon Soonyoung and Lee Seokmin, getting dinner with your old coworker (and BFF-by-proxy) Hansol Chwe, taking shots with said BFF Boo Seungkwan at your favorite bar to celebrate his birthday... 

Posting pictures of you and Mingyu at a farmer’s market the autumn before the breakup, trying spiked apple cider and pumpkin soup that you ended up bringing home for him to try. 

Jaehyun didn’t like that you had friends he didn’t like. He didnt like that you had male friends period, but you simply did not care and especially not when he went on and on about Mingyu like he had a crush on him. You listened to his jealous rants about Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol silently, merely peering up at him through your lashes and sipping whatever drink was closest. However, he really amped it up when he met Mingyu – and went as far as saying he was sure Mingyu wanted to sleep with you. 

Only for you to find out in two weeks time that Mingyu had been across town that same night, breaking up with his girlfriend for saying the exact same thing about you. 

She was so sure you wanted Mingyu. 

And the truth was, you’d never thought about it – ever. You’d met Mingyu in grad school, through Seokmin – and your first memory of one another was at a horrible group interview for an internship that neither of you got. You stayed in touch following the months after graduation, only getting closer as Mingyu moved to your city a year after and needed friends to hang out with. 

You were almost always one of those friends. If you couldn’t make it, he still made it a point to swing by your place and bring you something from wherever it was that he’d gone. Sometimes it was a thick slice of chocolate cake, sometimes it was an entire baked potato that he’d ordered to-go so you’d have something for lunch the next day. Sometimes it was just a handful of butter mints he’d stolen from the register attendant along with a colorful toothpick. 

Mingyu is just like that. Sweet and caring and he is a good man. A Good Man, even, with capital letters and capital claim on your heart. 

You sigh, turning your phone off and leaving it on the counter as you limply serve yourself your dinner. The stew isn’t as filling as it would’ve been had Mingyu made it, but you don’t let your mind linger on him too much as you eat on your couch and watch a YouTube video dissecting Pretty Little Liars. 

Because thinking about Mingyu is bad for your heart. You can’t close your eyes when you do it, either – or his body flashes in your mind, the sounds he makes when he’s got your hands pinned to the mattress, the way he calls you baby between kisses that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You can’t close your eyes without remembering the smell of his aftershave filling your nostrils, his fingers tugging at your clothes or the way he coos when you beg him to touch you anywhere. 

Or...it’s worse, and you remember how good a boyfriend he would be. How good of a husband he would be – always having a spare change of shoes for you in his trunk for those times you’d go out to dinner or to hang out. Always offering his jacket, always holding your hand when you cross the street, always pulling you close when someone thinks it’s okay to get too comfortable with you. How he smooths a hand over your hair out of nervous habit as you worm through farmer’s markets and malls, how he’s easily thrown you over his shoulder several times when you’re throwing an embarrassing fit at a pub or a bar. 

When he kisses you slowly, in his car that smells like him and you before you both get down. How he thumbs at your earrings when you’re sitting next to him at a restaurant or the movies, and his arm is draped over your shoulders. How he speaks to you softly and listens to you intently – actively interested in everything you have to say and what it means to you. 

How he cares. 

It has to be torture, being involved with Kim Mingyu the way you are. 

But is it torture, at hands so gentle? Lips so soft, words so sweet, a heart so full? 

You don’t think so. 

9:32 PM. 

You’d finished dinner hours ago, and your television was quietly playing some random Spotify playlist. The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars is filling your ears as you trill your lips dramatically and scroll on your work laptop, finalizing a presentation while sprawled across your couch.  

Against your better judgment, you’d cleaned your apartment haphazardly and you took a long shower – but like any girl awaiting potential company, you put on yet another sweater and a skirt (that you dug out of the back of your closet; one that you’d caught Mingyu staring at you in ages ago.) Your pajamas laid neatly folded on your pillowcase, and you told yourself you’d get in bed by 9:45. 

It’s unlikely that Mingyu will come by. You checked his location ten minutes ago, and he was at his apartment – likely cuddled up in his bed with all six of his pillows. Mingyu rarely leaves the house after eight on weekdays, anyway...unless he’s seeing you. 

The time barely ticks past 9:33 p.m. when you hear a soft knock at the door – making you jolt up so fast, you feel something pinch in your neck. You still – glimpsing at the time on your laptop before checking your phone for any potentially missed messages. Mingyu usually texts you if he’s actually coming over...so it can’t be him. 

No lights are on in your apartment but your stove one, so it only makes the atmosphere more tense. You stand up quietly and set your laptop down on your coffee table before hearing another knock – louder this time, the clink of metal on glass making you jump. 

“Y/N, open this damn door.”  

Mingyu’s voice on the other side makes all fear in your body dissipate in favor of annoyance, and you make your way over; unlocking the door quickly and huffing as you open it. He’s leaning coolly against the frame, holding a bouquet as usual – but you put your hands on your hips as you look up at him.  

You hate the way your cheeks grow hot at his soft smile. 

“It’s not Friday, Kim Mingyu.”  “I can still bring you flowers, baby.” 

“Blah, blah, blah.” You make a face at him, opening the door further to let him in and turning on your heel – only to feel his arm wrap around your waist and gently pull your back into his chest. He smells like that same aftershave, your skin prickling as you glance up at him. 

“Is that how you greet your guests?”  “You’re hardly a guest, Mingyu. Guests don’t know where my silverware is.” 

“Or that you keep lube in your nightstand.” He whispers, squeezing your hip as you swat at his arm. You scowl at him as he presses a kiss on your forehead, “I told you I was coming.” 

“It’s damn near ten at night.”  “So? I can just stay over.”  “You just wanna fuck me.” 

“Or I miss you, baby.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I miss you a lot, actually.” 

“Breaking news: Kim Mingyu admits he misses his dearest, smartest, prettiest friend ever. More at eleven.” You snort, letting him turn you around as he smiles. You let him fully wrap his arms around you, your nose filling with that damn aftershave as he smoothly picks you up; your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck as he kicks your door shut with a kiss to your cheek. 

“Kim Mingyu does,” he replies gently, and you feel shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek before kissing it again. Once, twice, three times. “I stopped by Chan’s, but he only had these and a few others. You like?” 

You can hardly see the flowers, and Mingyu seems to recognize that as he flicks on your dining room light. Warm yellow rays fill the area, your eyes blinking rapidly to adjust as you glance at the flowers between you. Large white daisies are mere centimeters from your face, and you stop yourself from smiling to raise a brow at him. 

“These are your birth flower.”  “You’re supposed to like everything about me, and that includes my birth flower.” 

You roll your eyes, thumbing at the petals as he presses another kiss to your jaw, “yeah, they’re cute. I like.” 

“Good, because I fucked up and also ordered another one for next week when I’m not going to see you, so you’ll be getting this twice but as delivery. I might get another just to apologize but that’s a quest for Later Mingyu.” He speaks against your cheek, pressing kiss after kiss on the warm skin, “missed you, missed you, missed you.” 

“You’re smothering me!” You whine, feeling him pepper the side of your face with kisses, “Mingyu!” 

“You complain I don’t see you enough, and you complain when I do. You’re never satisfied,” he jokes, carefully setting the flowers down on your dining room table to hold you closer. His hands are gripping your thighs, the material of your skirt straining against them as you press a kiss on the column of his throat, “thank you for the flowers.” 

He shivers, “you always say thank you. Don’t thank me for the bare minimum.” 

“I don’t get you flowers, Mingyu.”  “You should start. I like flowers and being smothered and impromptu visits with at my apartment with my dearest, smartest, prettiest girl, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes, ignoring the fluttering in your belly as you shake your head, “you’re impossible, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Yeah, well...you love me anyway.”  “That’s an incredible assumption.”  “Shut up.” 

“Make me.” You scoff, limply shoving his shoulder. He sucks his teeth, kicking his shoes off and clearly choosing to ignore your bait as he tightens his hold on your thighs, “what are you doing here, Mingyu? You’re not making dinner, and you clearly don’t have a plan in mind...so what do you want?” 

He raises a brow, “I want to see you. Ask about your day. Also, steal some of those almonds you have hidden in your nightstand, next to your lube.” 

“You just want me for what I can provide.”  “I want you for lots of things and lots of reasons, but what can you provide that I won’t willingly give you, anyway?” 

You can smell the mint on his breath, like he’d brushed his teeth before getting to your apartment. Your eyes trail him silently, taking in the soft fabric of his casual t-shirt against the inside of your knees. Your skirt is starting to ride up, snug against your midthighs as you click your tongue in defeat. 

“Exactly.” He says pointedly, squeezing your thigh as he flicks the dining room light off again, making you tighten your grip around him as he moves to turn on the lamp in your living room. He looks over your head at the television with an amused look, “are you sure you’re not sad or something? What’s with the ambiance?” 

“You insist something is wrong with me, but I promise you,” you lamely hit the side of your closed fist to his chest, “I am fine.” 

He gives you a knowing look in the moody lighting, before leaning down slightly. He glances at your lips, silently begging for a kiss only for you to roll your eyes and do the same. He smiles shamelessly, kissing you gently before looking around once more. 

“It’s so dark in here.”  “I was just finishing stuff for work.” 

“What have I told you about working off the clock? Stop working for free, they pay you shit as it is.” He squeezes your thighs for emphasis, and you suck in a quick breath involuntarily. You scrunch your nose as he grins, before smacking his shoulder gently. 

“You’re the last person who can tell me that, you’re a workaholic. I see you twice a damn month because you’re always holed up in that office.” You shove a finger in his chest, only for him to press another kiss to your lips as you pout, “Mingyu!” 

“You are so annoying, baby.” He murmurs, nipping at your lips like he might die if he doesn’t. “You can’t even appreciate that I took time out of my very busy schedule to come see you. And let’s not forget you love my job when it means you get to see me in a suit.” 

“I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity. What is so important about having dinner and jerking off for an hour that you think you’re doing me a favor?” 

“I do not jerk off for an hour.” He scoffs, "I merely think about you for forty minutes and then I—” 

“Enough. The point is that you do it. Like a loser. You’ll get carpal tunnel, you know.” You say with a sniff, your lips twitching as he laughs. He makes his way to your couch, sitting on the chaise at the end of it. He leans back into the cushions, smoothly adjusting you on his lap as he stuffs a throw pillow under his head to look at you. “Tell me why you’re here, Mingyu.” 

“If you need a reason, it’s that I genuinely missed you. If that wasn’t already obvious.” He speaks sincerely, raking his fingers gently through your hair and earning a shiver. He tugs at it lightly, smirking as you let out a quipped whine before smacking his hip, “I just wanted to see you.” 

“You’re holding me hostage against you, Mingyu.”  “Because you’ll sit a mile away unless I do. It’s like you avoid me.” 

“I don’t avoid you, idiot. You just radiate so much heat that it makes me wanna die, I hate sweating.” You remind him, lowering yourself so you’re chest-to-chest with him, but propping yourself on your elbows to still hover over him. He plucks at the hem of your sweater, dipping his fingertips beneath the fabric; cool against your hip as he tilts his head, “that is true.” 

“I know.”  “Can you hurry up and say you missed me, too? I’m starting to feel a disconnect.” 

You purse your lips as you hold back your laughter, his pouted lips making you cover your mouth as you swallow your cackle. 

“I did, I missed you.” You admit wholeheartedly, shrugging your shoulders as he tugs at the necklace he gave you, “of course I missed my Mingyu.” 

“Not Park Mingyu from finance, right?” He sulks, tucking his chin to his chest as you chuckle, pinching his cheek between your knuckles carefully. 

“Not Park Mingyu from finance, no. Don’t you know? I’d be bored in two days.” 

“Exactly,” he huffs, wrapping his fingers gingerly around your throat, “can I stay? Or do you want me to leave?” 

“It’s always nice when you stay over. However, you’re late for dinner and lack of punctuality does knock ten points off for Kim Mingyu. Still in first place, but you’re pushing it.” 

“I’m sorry,” he nods, squeezing the sides of your neck gently before his lips plant a soft kiss on your forehead, “should we go to your room?” 

“That’s incredibly suggestive, Mr. Kim.”  “It’s only suggestive if you make it suggestive, baby.”  “You calling me baby only cements my point.” 

“Okay, maybe. But you could have some mercy on me.” He mumbles, pressing another kiss to your nose. You raise a brow, “are you sure you’re not the one who has a problem? You’ve been in my face since you got here, I’m literally on top of you. The world won’t end if you’re not touching me, you know.” 

“I’m just used to having you close.” He shrugs, “I missed you.” 

“Mingyu, you’ve said that so much that the words don’t even sound real anymore. You’ve been here for ten minutes and you’ve said it six times.” 

“So? Is there a problem?” He mumbles against your lips, your breath hitching as he bridges the gap. His hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into the fabric of your skirt as he sits up carefully. Your hands palm at his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, your skin littering with goosebumps as he slides his hands down your thighs. Your own shoot out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them to the couch before pulling away with a soft pant. He tries to kiss your jaw, his lips brushing your skin as you crane your neck away. 

“What on Earth has gotten into you? Did you finally give into those stupid honey packs that Soonyoung was talking about the last time we all hung out?” 

He scoffs, “absolutely not. You know I like this skirt, don’t play coy.” 

You snort, dropping his hands to cross your arms on your chest. His fingers trace tight circles into your left knee, before he glances at your sweater with an amused look. He leans back on one hand, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he raises a brow. 

“You knew I was coming.”  “No, I didn’t.”  “Then you were hoping I would, baby.” 

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be at home, and I should be in my bed right now.” You mutter, tonguing your cheek as you see your laptop turn off due to inactivity out of the corner of your eye. You glance back at him, his eyes trailing the slope of your neck as you clear your throat and run a hand through your hair, “how was your day?” 

“Funny you should ask. Kim Mingyu has had his first official bad day at the office.” He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line that makes you bite back a laugh. “People are entitled, and I usually get through it pretty well, but today was just off the damn charts. I was late to work this morning, and I had to push back a presentation because I fucking lost my thumb drive because I left it at home. An intern tried to tell me my numbers were wrong, when I checked the math not once, but three separate times. We got into a nasty argument, also something new for me.” 

He shrugs, “I sent her home early and I left an hour after lunch. Bought groceries, made dinner...life goes on but today was actually such shit. So...it’s nice to see you.” 

“I think you forgot ‘tried to flirt with Y/N’ somewhere in there. I think during the whole ‘brought groceries’ part.” You let your cheeks warm as you tilt your head at him, only to earn a devilish smile paired with a one-armed shrug as he taps your knee with his knuckle. 

“I didn’t try to do anything.” He leans back on his elbow, sucking his teeth as you raise a brow at him, “I was merely stating facts. I’m nice to you, and you’re a pillow princess. One plus one has always been two, baby.” 

“You are nice to me, that’s true. But you’re the one—”  “A lady like yourself mustn’t get her hands dirty for pleasure. That’s what I’m here for.” 

His eyes are pointed, and you conjure an annoyed look as you poke a finger into his side. He squeals, grabbing your wrists and pulling you down on top of him, “stop that. Tell me about your day.” 

“Nothing happened.” You shrug, pushing yourself up. Your hands are on either side of his head as you stick your tongue out at him, only for him to do the same and touch the tip of yours with his. You scrunch your nose as he snorts, before calling your bluff. 

“You’re lying.”  “Hm...I broke my favorite pair of earrings. I tripped going up the stairs when I came back from getting lunch at that bistro we like in downtown. Park Mingyu from Finance asked me to dinner. Nothing insane.” 

It’s not a lie. 

But it’s been a few weeks since it happened. It was a rare day in the office for you, and you’d been in and out of meetings all mornings – but he caught you just as you got in the elevator to meet Soonyoung for lunch. 

Park Mingyu wasn’t bad looking, and he was nice enough. He just...worked in finance, of all things, and had that same monotonous voice most finance men do. He didn’t slouch, but his tie was almost always haphazardly thrown on and you’d fixed it for him one time – but you figured one time was enough to get him hooked. 

Kim Mingyu is looking up at you through his lashes, his hands seemingly now lost on what to do as he pulls them off your waist. His eyes are darting all over your face – likely looking for a hint at you kidding. A quirk of your lip, a twitch of your brow, something – but the silence between you only gets thicker as his jaw grows slightly tense. 

“...did you give him an answer?”  “No. I said I’d think about it.” 

Mingyu scoffs. 

He actually scoffs, like how dare you have the audacity to tell someone else you’d think about giving them a positive answer to their dinner invitation? How dare you, when you know you’d likely not like your food? And then it’s awkward for weeks, before you get a paragraph to your work number about how Park Mingyu is such a nice guy – from Park Mingyu himself. 

The man beneath you runs a hand through his hair, and you sit up to allow him to do the same. He does, unzipping his sweater and shrugging it off before he tosses it over the side of your couch. 

You resist the urge to run your hands up his bare arms, cursing the way his shirt fits against his chest so snugly. 

“When did he ask you? During lunch? Did you go to the office today?”  “Two weeks ago.” 

You shift slightly in his lap, your cheeks hot as he stares at you. There’s a mix of emotions in his gaze – confusion, amusement...a bit of anger, you want to think. 

A bit of jealousy. 

“And you’re telling me this now?”  “I didn’t think I had to tell you. We’re not...dating.” 

The word comes out choked. You feel it; he hears it, and your legs tighten subconsciously around his thighs. He glances down at them, his eyes catching a faded bite on your inner thigh from two weeks ago; his thumb pushing the hem of your skirt up high enough to make it visible to your eyes, should you look down. 

“Are you gonna say yes?” His voice is level, but he’s not looking at you. In the low light, you can see the tightness in his jaw, the way he tongues his cheek before you feel his fingers tap your thigh, “are you?” 

Your throat feels dry as you steal a glimpse of the flowers on your dining table. 

“Y/N.” 

You let out a forced chuckle, “c’mon, you know me, Gyu. He’s in finance. I really would get bored in two days. A few hours, even.” 

He doesn’t seem convinced, “that’s not a no.” 

“What do you want me to say, Mingyu?” You run a hand down the front of your sweater nervously, bunching the fabric in your palm as he leans forward slightly. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, not managing to shake his focus like the action usually would. 

“That you’ll say no.” He says plainly, before scoffing as a smile of disbelief crosses his lips. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re entertaining the idea of it when we both know you’d never say yes unless something happened between us.” 

For a moment, you dislike Mingyu. Your eyes narrow as you look down at him, tracing his features as he clicks his tongue. 

“What is this ‘us’ you’re referring to?” You speak softly, but clearly – splaying your hands on your knees as you lean into his space. “What do you mean by ‘us,’ Mingyu? What does ‘us’ mean to you?” 

“You and I.”  “What about you and I?” 

His hand leaves your thigh, and he has the gall to roll his eyes as he runs it over his face. 

“You’d never say yes to Park, because you have me. You don’t need anyone else.”  “What makes you think I even need you?” 

“The fact that you melt in my hands the moment I walk through that door.” He’s in your face, his breath wafting against your lips as he maintains eye contact. “You forget the world exists when I’m with you, and it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you relax. You love having me around, and you love me. You don’t have to say it for me to know.” 

You want to pretend that he can’t feel the way you freeze on top of him. His eyes widen slightly as you swallow carefully, “love...is a stretch, Kim.” 

“We both know it’s not.”  “You’re insane.” 

“Then what does that make you, hm?” His hands are back on you, massaging the tension in your thighs that only makes your back rigid. A shiver snakes down your spine as his thumb brushes the cotton of your underwear, “what does that make you, baby?” 

“I hate it when you call me that,” you blurt, and he has an unimpressed look on his face when you double down, “I hate it, Mingyu.” 

“Yet, you pout when I call you Y/N.”  “Well, just call me Y/N anyway.” 

You huff, moving to get up but he holds you in place – his grip firm as he pulls you into him. Your chest hits his as you avoid his gaze, your arms stiff between your bodies as you give up on getting off him. 

“Still wanna tell me nothing’s wrong?” He mumbles, his eyes soft as he wraps his arms around your waist. You don’t reply, tonguing your cheek as you feel the stupid burn in your throat as you focus your line of sight on the flowers he put on the table. 

Cute. Soft. Delicate. 

An extension of him. 

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you speak quietly, “what are we doing?”  

He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, “I don’t know. I thought I’d have an answer by now.” 

“You don’t know,” you repeat, “because you didn’t want to ask me or because you thought I’d ask first?” 

“Both.”  “Coward.” 

The word is bitter as it leaves your mouth, but you can’t move. You don’t want to move – the fear of him slipping through your fingers overpowering as your hands grip his shoulders like he’s going to disappear. He leans into your touch, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his lips brush against your skin as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his shampoo making you melt into his embrace. 

“Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is muffled against your neck, “please. Please.” 

“I don’t know if you are, Mingyu.” You can’t recognize the sound of your own voice, thick and uncertain. His grip on you tightens, and you feel a shaky breath against your neck as you pull back, trying to meet his eyes. He stares at the necklace around the base of your throat, the seashell-shaped locket glinting in the light.  

“I can be. I want to be.” He’s barely speaking above a whisper as his fingertip taps the locket, hooking around the chain and giving a careful tug. “Do you know why I gave this to you?” 

You glance down at it, “because you were in Bali and it was on sale?” 

He snorts, the air around the two of you settling evenly on your shoulders, “no. Well, I was in Bali, but no it wasn’t on sale and that’s not why I got it.” 

“All I’m getting is that you went to Bali without me.” 

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t be around you in all those pretty dresses you wear when it’s hot out.” He sighs, “seashells are a symbol of love.” 

“Doesn’t mean you’re in love with me.” 

He shrugs slightly, popping the shell open to reveal it empty, “it’s said that seashells are associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. That they represent the warmth and care and security of love, because they protect the pearl that grows inside that shell.”  

He clears his throat, closing the locket with a click.  

“The point of the locket was to put a picture of us in there, someday. It’s been six months since I gave this to you, and I think about it everyday.” He ducks his head like he’s afraid of the truth spilling from his mouth, but he can’t stop talking. “Sometimes, I think you were made for me, as stupid as that might sound. Like Eve was made for Adam, from his rib, or something like that.” 

You can feel your eyes burning as you watch him nibble on his lip, his hands restless as he moves them from around you to the hem of your skirt before gripping the cushion beneath you both. 

“I don’t know much about falling in love,” he admits, “but...I know that you saved all the flowers I gave you, bits of them, even before we started doing whatever we’re doing. A part of me wants to believe that you saved them because you wanted to keep me around, even if it was just the flowers I gave you...because I’ve kept all the receipts from Chan’s shop when I’ve bought them. I always liked giving you flowers because you like them, but after the first time we kissed...it felt romantic and I just wanted to make your life even just a little brighter and, ugh, I don’t know. Tell me I’m ruining this and I’ll shut up.” 

You blink at him silently, shaking your head before sliding your hands down his arms, “have I told you that you talk a lot?” 

“Many times.”  “Have I ever told you to stop?” 

You raise a brow as you find his hand, slotting your fingers with his and curling them around his palm. His rings dig into your skin but you don’t care, “continue, Mr. Kim.” 

“I hate when you call me that.”  “I don’t care.” 

“I know,” he rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink as you press your lips to them gingerly, “I’m not...it’s hard for me to make time for people. You’ve seen it, you know it’s true because I’ve only been able to get you in every couple weeks and trust me, it’s fucking torture. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder but I truly cannot fathom ever wanting to be away from you. It makes my chest hurt when I wake up after seeing you and I have to leave.” 

“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “leave, I mean. You can stay. Forever, if you wanted to.” 

His chuckle is almost humorless, “I’d never get anything done.” 

You nod silently, tracing circles into the back of his hand with your thumb before you glance up at him. You let go of his hand to cradle his cheek carefully, watching the way he leans into your touch. His arm wraps around your waist again, pulling you down with him as he lays back against the cushions once more. 

“So...I can be yours. If you want me to be. If you’ll have me, rather.”  

You don’t respond, chewing on your cheek while pinching his between your knuckles. A silence blankets over you both, even as he brushes a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunch it, before resting your head on his chest with a click of your tongue, feeling his hand push the hem of your shirt up – fingers drumming against the warm skin of your hip. 

“Earlier, you said I needed context for Friday. What’s that about?” 

“My parents are in town.” He blurts, and your eyes widen as you jerk away from him, “I wanted you to meet them.” 

You scan his face, your lips parting as you sit up. Your knees dig into his hips as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a chuckle of disbelief. 

“Surely they don’t know we’re in this entanglement.”  “...They think we’re together.” 

“Mingyu!” You choke on his name, earning a wince as you give his shoulder a slight shove. He pouts, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back on top of him, “why would you tell them that?! Why do they even know about me?!” 

“Because I love you.” His voice makes you still, his eyes serious as he bores them into you. A wavering uncertainty is laced in them, mixed with that same pure adoration that he always held in even a wayward glance your way. Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into your palm before he forces them open and interlaces your fingers. His thumbs trace circles on the back of your hands, nervously nibbling on his lip before he clears his throat. 

“I love you, and I’m a coward but I cannot imagine being without you. It makes my stomach hurt to think about it, it makes me nauseous when I think about someone else having you the way I do. Someone else bringing you flowers and making you dinner and kissing you stupid when they don’t deserve you to begin with is an atrocious thing to think about. I love you, and I want to be your emergency contact. I want to make you dinner and rub your feet and I want to put a shiny ring on your finger. I want to listen to you sing in the shower, I want you to tell me it’s not a duet when I join in and I want to make good on any and every promise I ever let fall into you. I love you, and I want you, only. For the rest of our lives.” 

Your nose burns as tears prick at your eyes, and you tear your hands from his to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes – coating them in said hot tears. Your voice is thick, “God, you suck.” 

“I just put my heart on a platter for you.”  “That’s exactly why you suck, because now I can’t tell Park Mingyu I’ll have dinner with him.” 

Your joke is ill received as he scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest as you wipe at your face haphazardly before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs rubbing his cheeks back and forth as he sulks, “I love you, Mingyu.” 

“Kim Mingyu.”  “I love you, Kim Mingyu.” 

He lets you kiss him, uncrossing his arms and pulling you close. His fingers dip beneath your sweater, squeezing your hips as he teases his tongue into your mouth – minty and gentle as your hands move to tug at his shirt. He stops you by abruptly sitting up, cupping your ass as he stands from the couch. Your legs wrap around his waist as his lips trail your jaw, nipping at your neck as he takes you to your bedroom, nudging the door closed with his foot. 

“Wanna prove it?”  

“Not a pillow princess, my ass.” Mingyu’s arm is tight around your waist, his hand holding your phone as your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Pretty girl gave up a minute in.” 

“I’m just used to a...certain lifestyle,” you whimper into his neck, before hearing the unmistakeable sound of a call dialing. You look over your shoulder wearily, watching Mingyu put the call on speaker. It picks up as he holds it to your face, pulling your head back gently by your hair, “tell him you’re having dinner with your in-laws.” 

“Hello?” 

“H-Hey, sorry for c-calling so late,” you stutter, your eyes squeezing shut as Mingyu’s hips rock up into you slowly. “A-are you busy?” 

“Never too busy for you. Are you alright? You sound...choppy.” 

Mingyu gives a hard thrust then, a whine tearing from your throat as you attempt to cough, “sorry, I’m g-good! I just w-wanted to let you know that I c-can't have dinner.” 

“Oh...can I ask why? I mean, I’ve been pretty nice to you for as long as I’ve known you. Could warrant a date night.” 

“She’s having dinner with her in-laws, bud. Tell him, baby.” Mingyu speaks clearly, an embarrassed moan falling from your lips as his grip on your waist tightens, “tell him.” 

“I’m having d-dinner with m-my in-laws...” You pant out, your lips brushing his neck as your hand blindly reached around to hang up on the Finance Guy rambling about how you led him on. Mingyu tosses your phone to the side as his hand snakes between you to cup one of your breasts in his hand, “you might have to quit.” 

You nod breathlessly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, “they pay me shit anyway.” 

“New position at my firm opened up.”  “God, shut up and fuck me.” 

He chuckles, flipping you onto your back smoothly and pressing a kiss to the side of your face. 

“Pillow. Princess.” 

“THREE YEARS IS A LONG TIME WITH NO RING, MINGYU.” 

Mrs. Kim’s eyes are pointed as her son tongues his cheek, and you bite back your smile as you tip your wine glass towards your lips. 

He had mentioned they’d say something along these lines – of course, he only mentioned more details of the ‘relationship’ they knew on the car ride there. Everything in the storyline was essentially the same, if you ignored that Mingyu admitted he’d fallen head over heels in love with you after the first time you slept together and the two of you had only been officially in a relationship for the last thirty-six hours.  

“Y/N just started a new job, Mom. It wouldn’t be wise to...take that step in this juncture of her career.” He’s spitballing, and his sister nearly spits her wine out across the table as Mr. Kim snorts. “It’s true! Babe, tell them!” 

You fail at holding in your laughter, your shoulders shaking as you nod, “I did just get a new job. But I agree, three years is a long time without a ring.” 

“Babe.”  “I’m just saying, you could put some pep in your step.” 

He sulks in his chair, barely sinking down two inches as everyone at the table bursts into fits of giggling, “I’m trying to take your life into consideration, too!” 

“Time is money, Mingyu.” You say, pinching his cheek between your knuckles. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of his cheek – leaving a stamp of your lipstick on the skin as the waiter returns with the check. Mrs. Kim smiles as you reach for it instinctively, the grin only growing wider as Mingyu snatches it out of your hand and shoves his card inside the booklet before you can even protest. 

“At least tell me he’s taking good care of you.” Mrs. Kim’s voice is soft as you all step out of the restaurant, and you feel your cheeks heat in the cool November air as you nod. 

“Mingyu is a good man,” you start, patting his arm. He beams with pride, before sticking his tongue out at his sister that makes a gagging face. You snicker, squeezing his bicep gently, “if it were up to him, I wouldn’t lift a finger.” 

“But it’s not.” He sighs dramatically, “she lets me make dinner and that’s it.” 

“Let is the wrong word. He barges into my apartment with groceries and I feel bad for the guy,” you feign a pout, earning a scoff from your boyfriend as his parents share a warm look, “but...I love him. What can I do, say no to a nice steak and a foot massage?” 

“Yes.” Minseo pipes up, before Mingyu scowls. You snort, checking the time on your watch before his parents lean in to hug him good night. You try to stand to the side, but his sister pulls you into the familial embrace.  

“We’ll catch up with you both in two weeks. Mingyu, get the girl a ring!” Mr. Kim gives your shoulder a soft pat, and Mrs. Kim slips something into Mingyu’s pocket. She tries to be discreet, but your eyes dart to her hand as she waves goodbye. You do the same, your face hot at the idea of marrying into such a loving family. 

Mingyu slides his hand in his pocket as you both walk to his car, his eyes widening as he pulls it back out. Two rings glimmer in the moonlight, ones you’d complimented on his mother’s hand at the beginning of dinner. 

“Little soon for marriage, huh?” He thumbs at the diamonds, and you chew on your lip as you look at them. Your eyes flicker to his, a sparkle of excitement as you see him already looking at you. You clear your throat, holding your left hand up, “well...we can just see if they fit.” 

“And if they do?”  “Then I guess we’re engaged, oh boyfriend of three-years.”  “I was nervous!” 

Your laughter rings out in the nearly empty parking lot, “well, I love you, anyway. Three years or two days, you said forever and that you’d make good on that.” 

“I did say that.” His hands are gentle against yours, trembling slightly as he slides both rings on. They fit snugly at the base of your finger, and you wiggle them with a little smile on your face. 

“We can just be ‘engaged’ for like, two years. No one suspects anything then, wedding planning takes ages.”  “Or we can get married in six months. I have contacts everywhere and that’s when you’ll have enough PTO accrued for a honeymoon.” 

“You’re crazy.” You scoff, “crazy and calculated, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Crazy in love with you, but sure.” He rolls his eyes, opening the passenger door for you. “Mrs. Kim Y/N, in six months. Pencil me in, babe.” 

“In your dreams.” 

Kim Mingyu is the love of your life. 

Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love. 

You know he’s made for you. Like Adam was made for Eve. He still shows up with a bouquet every week, but your kitchen is now shared and nicely stocked with your favorite bottles of wine. 

Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful. 

And just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, but you can finally admit that he is something more to you..perhaps, everything.  

Friend, lover, soulmate – all in one. A BOGO deal, you’d say, and he’d argue he’s at least a buy two, get one. 

But, no matter what – Mingyu knows exactly who he is in your life, and you in his. Glued together at the hip, working together (though you get to boss him around and he never thought he’d be into that, a thought penciled in for much, much later when you’re both working ‘overtime’ — read: his head between your thighs at your desk with your office door locked.) 

Friends, lovers, soulmates – married (six months in, just like he’d said) and in love, two idiots held safely in the other’s ribcage. 

Made for one another, by one another. 

That was exactly how people described Wonwoo and Jooyeon.

Wonwoo—everyone’s favorite honor student, top of the class, the quiet genius, and the admired captain of the campus soccer team—had finally confessed to Jooyeon, the girl with the dazzling smile and the kind of gentle charm that turned even the cafeteria line into a fairytale backdrop. She was perfect: admired by professors, adored by classmates, and untouchable—until suddenly, she wasn’t.

They were perfect, together. Almost annoyingly so.

When rumors started flying about the two of them dating, it felt like a minor campus apocalypse. Hearts cracked open all over—some dramatically, some in secret. The arts students wrote poetry about doomed love. The engineers, who claimed they didn’t care, were caught staring blankly at unfinished problem sets. It was the kind of heartbreak usually reserved for the day your favorite idol announces their wedding—except this was worse. Because Wonwoo and Jooyeon were real, tangible. They sat two rows ahead in lectures, they borrowed pens, they existed in the same airspace.

That’s how powerful they were. Campus royalty without ever needing crowns. Living proof that fate could be painfully unfair.

And the best part?

They didn’t care. Not even a little bit.

While students wiped tears off midterm notes and ranted in anonymous group chats, Wonwoo and Jooyeon strolled hand in hand through the chaos, oblivious. Unbothered. Untouched by the collective heartbreak they’d caused. Like everyone else was just background noise—necessary, but not worth noticing.

Now that was real power.

"You liked him first, didn’t you?"

Mingyu—vice captain, star striker, and the only person bold enough to say it out loud—stood beside you, his eyes locked on the pair of perfection across the field. Wonwoo and Jooyeon sat on the bench, leaning close, laughing quietly over a shared sandwich like they were the only two people in the universe. It was sweet. Or nauseating. Or maybe both.

You turned to Mingyu, a tight frown tugging at your lips.

“How do you know that?" you asked, suddenly wary. That little secret had been buried so deep between dusty team rosters and forgotten water bottles, you’d nearly convinced yourself it never happened.

Mingyu—whose reputation for guarding secrets was about as sturdy as wet tissue—didn’t even flinch.

"Jooyeon told me," he mumbled, eyes still locked on the golden couple across the field, like he was watching a live drama he’d never auditioned for but somehow had a supporting role in anyway.

Your brows knitted together. "Jooyeon told you? You two talk?"

It wasn’t jealousy that tugged at your chest; it was the sour taste of confusion. Since when did your best friend chat up soccer boys? Especially ones like Mingyu—loud, impossible to ignore, and definitely not her usual type of confidant. Actually, scratch that. Since when did Jooyeon do anything exactly how you imagined anymore?

She was dating Wonwoo now. Your Wonwoo—well, the Wonwoo you had once quietly, hopefully, almost had. And the worst part was the quiet question now scratching at the back of your mind: Did you ever really know her?

A flicker of doubt you didn’t want to feel whispered louder than your own thoughts: Should this friendship even continue?

Mingyu finally turned to look at you. His eyes weren’t teasing for once—just tired. Almost too honest.

"She talked about you. Got your man. And you still can’t bring yourself to hate her, can you?"

You exhaled, a shaky sigh that almost covered the small, dry laugh that caught in Mingyu’s throat. He knew. He was right, and that was the worst part.

You liked Wonwoo first. You liked him so carefully—piece by piece, a shy laugh here, a passing brush of shoulders there. But Jooyeon had reached out faster. And despite everything—despite the ache that sometimes flared up when you saw them share a scarf in winter or sneak a drink from the same bottle—you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. She was Jooyeon. Sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful in ways that made it hard to hold grudges.

"That’s what that guy is to me too," Mingyu said suddenly, voice lower, words heavier.

You blinked, thrown off. “Wait... you mean you—”

He nodded, tapping two fingers together like connecting puzzle pieces, then pointing them at the couple.

"We were close. Really close. I think... maybe I got them close too. Funny, huh?"

Not funny at all.

More like cruel. A twisted cosmic joke, played on both of you without a warning or a punchline.

"Welcome to the adult world, I guess?" you said, mustering a hand gesture that looked bold enough to pass for confidence, even though your voice cracked just enough to betray you.

Mingyu snorted, his laugh a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. "You’re funny, Y/n. Didn’t know you were funny."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. He was an idiot, but maybe in this moment, he was your idiot.

Your eyes flicked to your watch—five minutes of break left. Sighing, you pushed yourself up from the bench and turned to stand in front of Kim Mingyu—star striker, vice captain, and the only guy on this field who could make a heartbreak conversation sound like a sitcom script.

"Well, Mingyu..." you began, voice teasing, theatrically dramatic, hoping it would cover up the dull sting you still felt somewhere behind your ribs.

But when your eyes met his, there was no secret spark. No skipped heartbeat. No accidental daydream about what if.

Just Kim Mingyu. The messy striker. The man-child who forgot his cleats and blamed the team manager—aka you—every time he lost his water bottle.

"Being funny doesn’t get you a man," you said with a wry, lopsided grin, turning back toward the field where the rest of the team was half-heartedly kicking balls around.

Then, loud enough for every sulking player to hear: "Five minutes left, guys! Let’s not waste it complaining about your love lives, yeah?"

And with that, you left Mingyu laughing behind you—your heartbreak still tucked safely where no one could see it, except maybe him, Kim Mingyu, the boy whose heartbreak matched yours.

*

Mingyu was seething. The kind of anger that sat hot in his chest and prickled down his spine like static under his skin. He’d caught the whispers earlier that day—someone had roughed up Hansol. Choi Hansol: the youngest on the team, the quiet one who bowed lower than everyone else, ran harder than everyone else, and never once complained.

Hansol had shown up late to practice, eyes downcast, a fresh bruise blooming across his left cheekbone like an ugly signature left behind by a coward. The moment he stepped onto the field, the air shifted. Conversations sputtered and died. Laughter dissolved mid-breath. His hyungs just watched—some with guilt, some with fear, none brave enough to speak first.

Mingyu clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. Including Wonwoo, who caught Mingyu’s glare from across the pitch. Mingyu jerked his chin—wait.

Wonwoo held his gaze for a heartbeat, then gave a stiff nod, stepping forward to blow the whistle and herd the team into warm-ups.

But Mingyu wasn’t warming up. He was burning.

He’d heard the so-called reason behind the bruise. Hansol had aced the tryouts—first-year rookie, playing with the calm confidence of someone born for the national stage. But a few seniors in his department didn’t like that. They spat rumors—called him a teacher’s pet, claimed he must’ve bribed someone, that he’d stolen a spot they didn’t have the guts to fight for themselves.

It didn’t matter that none of it was true.

Jealousy never needed proof. Just a soft target.

Mingyu’s fists curled at his sides, nails biting his palm as he took a step forward—ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to lay a finger on Hansol again—when your voice slipped through the tense quiet like a drop of cool water on hot iron.

"What happened to your face?"

Mingyu froze mid-step, catching his breath—not from the run, but from the way your tone sliced clean through the heavy silence. Not angry. Not scolding. Just... raw concern. So gentle it stung.

Hansol startled at your question, but you didn’t give him a chance to hide. You dropped the bottle you’d been carrying, letting it roll forgotten into the grass as you stepped closer to him. Carefully, like he might break if you moved too fast, you lifted a hand—small, delicate compared to the ugly bruise marring his cheek. Your thumb brushed feather-light near the swelling, your brows knitting together.

"Did you get into a fight? Who did this?" you asked, voice low but steady, shielding him from the curious stares gathering behind you.

Hansol didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. His gaze flickered to the ground. Shoulders slightly hunched. Silence clung to him like sweat.

You glanced back at Mingyu, confused, worried, and still unaware—still innocent in all this.

And Mingyu? He was no longer boiling. He was ready.

After practice ended, the sun dipped low over the field, painting the sky in streaks of gold and bruised lilac. The rest of the team was already trickling off toward the showers, their laughter echoing faintly, cleats scraping against pavement.

Hansol lingered, sitting alone on the edge of the field with his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, eyes fixed somewhere distant. The bruise on his cheek had darkened under the fading sunlight, a quiet reminder of the things unsaid.

Mingyu tossed a towel over his shoulder and walked up to him with a casual nod.

"Wanna get a drink?"

Hansol blinked, as if surprised someone was still there. He nodded after a beat, not saying much, just rising with that same quiet energy, brushing dirt from his joggers.

They didn’t talk on the walk to the vending machines behind the gym building. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was patient. Mingyu slid a can of cold peach soda across the metal bench toward Hansol, then popped open his own bottle.

He didn’t press. Mingyu wasn’t the type to pry. Not when someone was already carrying something heavy. He just sat beside the younger, sipping quietly, watching the way Hansol rolled the can between his palms like it was something fragile.

After a few minutes, Hansol finally spoke.

"It was just some seniors from my major."

His voice was calm, but Mingyu heard the exhaustion buried beneath it.

"They said I made the team too easily. That I must’ve known someone, or that Coach just wanted a rookie for the headlines." Hansol paused, eyes low. "One of them was someone I used to look up to."

Mingyu’s grip on his bottle tightened. He turned his body slightly toward Hansol, face serious.

"Is this the first time?"

Hansol shook his head slowly. "Second. The first time was just pushing. This time… they made it count, I guess."

Mingyu exhaled sharply, the kind of breath people let out when they’re trying not to explode. His voice dropped, firm and low.

"You should’ve told someone. Told me."

Hansol gave a faint, apologetic shrug. "I didn’t want to cause trouble. Or seem weak."

"You’re not weak," Mingyu said immediately, not letting that sit. "You’re one of the best rookies we’ve had in years. That’s why they’re coming after you. They’re threatened. That’s not your fault."

Hansol didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched—half gratitude, half relief.

Mingyu leaned back on his palms, eyes scanning the horizon.

"I don’t care how quiet you are, Hansol. You’re part of this team. Anyone who messes with you, messes with me."

Hansol glanced at him, and for the first time all day, his shoulders eased just a little.

"You’re kind of intense, hyung."

Mingyu laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Get used to it."

They sat there a bit longer in the dimming light, the silence between them no longer heavy, but healing.

The next practice session started like any other—humid, loud, and laced with the smell of grass and sweat. But the usual routine screeched to a halt when everyone’s attention turned to the sideline.

There they were. Three students—three fully grown college boys—on their knees, hands raised to the sky like they were repenting for their sins in a K-drama courtroom. It was a sight so surreal that even the most focused players stopped mid-warm-up.

Mingyu had just jogged onto the field after changing into his jersey, towel slung around his neck, when he froze mid-step. His brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.

“What the hell—” he mumbled, blinking hard as if that might change the scene.

Because right in front of the three kneeling boys was you. Standing with your arms firmly planted on your hips, your expression somewhere between disappointed mother and vengeful war general. You weren’t yelling, you weren’t even raising your voice, but the sheer authority in your posture could’ve summoned lightning. It was terrifyingly impressive.

It also reminded Mingyu of that one time he shattered his mother’s favorite vase and she made him kneel in front of her altar for three hours with soy sauce packets on his shoulders.

“What's going on?” Mingyu asked Jun, who was stretching nearby but clearly more interested in the live drama.

“Oh, turns out those guys were the ones who bullied Hansol,” Jun said, trying not to sound too gleeful. “And get this—they’re her juniors from Dojang.”

Mingyu blinked. “Dojang?”

“Y’know. Her martial arts elective thing?” Seokmin waved a hand. “Apparently, she’s some kind of assistant there. Has like, real authority. Scary, right?”

Mingyu’s mouth fell open a little wider. “So she’s… punishing them? Right here? On our field?”

“Yup. Campus-wide humiliation. Full exposure. Public repentance. She didn’t even ask Coach.”

As if on cue, Coach walked by, gave the scene a short glance, and muttered, “About time someone taught those brats a lesson,” before continuing on.

Mingyu watched as you spoke to the kneeling trio, voice calm but your words sharp enough to cut through steel. One of them visibly flinched. Another looked like he was trying not to cry.

You turned slightly, caught Mingyu watching, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, What? This is the bare minimum.

Mingyu chuckled under his breath, utterly impressed. “She’s terrifying,” he murmured.

“Hot, though,” Jun added thoughtfully.

“Very,” Mingyu agreed.

Behind them, Hansol jogged onto the field, bruise healing, eyes wide in disbelief as he spotted the trio groveling on the grass.

“Uh… what happened?” he asked.

“You got a guardian angel, kid,” Mingyu said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And she does martial arts.”

*

"You don't have to do that. It could affect the team’s reputation. I hope you won’t do something like that again."

Wonwoo’s voice was calm but firm, carrying a weight that made it echo sharper than intended. Mingyu paused mid-step, hand resting on the locker room door, when he caught the conversation happening just around the corner—behind one of the pillars. Quietly, he leaned back, staying out of sight.

You were standing there, posture straight, eyes locked with Wonwoo’s. You didn’t look guilty. You didn’t even look surprised. Just… unreadable.

Mingyu frowned. He knew exactly what this was about—your dramatic punishment of Hansol’s bullies on the field yesterday. Most people had secretly loved it. But of course, Captain Jeon Perfect had something to say.

It took Mingyu back to six months ago.

That was when Soonyoung, the team’s original manager and chaotic soul of the locker room, suddenly decided to enlist early. The team was left scrambling. Wonwoo, ever the composed captain, immediately started looking for a replacement. It didn’t take long for a name to surface—Ji Y/n. A management major who had impressed nearly everyone during last year’s basketball league with her sharp organization skills and no-nonsense attitude.

Mingyu remembered the day you walked onto the field for the first time. Confident but not cocky. Observant. Calm. The kind of calm that didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d greeted the team with a small smile and a clipboard. Within the first week, you knew everyone’s stats, schedules, and even preferred energy drink flavors.

You weren’t just efficient—you were unshakable.

Mingyu stayed hidden behind the pillar, fingers tightening around the edge of the locker room doorway. His jaw clenched. He wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping—but this felt personal.

Something about the way Wonwoo said it—calm, calculated, like you were an overstepping student causing problems instead of someone protecting one of their own—made something twist inside Mingyu’s chest.

You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’d done for the team.

He took a half-step forward, ready to interrupt. To say something. To defend you, even if it meant clashing with his own captain.

But then you spoke. And what you said stopped him cold.

“So that’s it?” you said, arms still folded, voice sharp and low like the calm before a storm. “You don’t have to do that, huh?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught slightly off-guard.

You took a step closer—not threatening, but deliberate. “It’s funny. I actually thought it was your job to protect your team. To set the tone. To make sure people who wear that jersey feel safe wearing it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just stood there, still and stoic, like he always did. Like silence was his shield.

You shook your head slowly, a humorless smile tugging the corner of your mouth. “I learned that from you. Back when I thought you were someone who stood up for people. But I guess people change.”

It landed with a weight that echoed louder than any shouting ever could.

Behind the pillar, Mingyu blinked.

He’d expected you to look guilty. To apologize. To fold under Wonwoo’s quiet pressure like most did. But instead, you pushed back—with facts, with clarity, and with something that sounded a lot like disappointment.

And Mingyu felt it too. The disappointment. Not just in Wonwoo—but in how things were shifting. How the captain he once admired was starting to feel... distant. Less human.

He looked down, then back toward you. You weren’t unshakable after all. You were just brave. Braver than most. And somehow, that made Mingyu’s chest feel even tighter.

*

Seungkwan clenched his teeth, arms trembling under his weight as the push-up count passed a number he couldn’t even register anymore. One hundred something-something—who even knew? All he could focus on was the sound of your voice echoing in his head like a curse.

“They bullied someone, Dad. Can you believe that?”

Your tone had been casual, almost chipper, as if you were reporting someone for stealing your lunch instead of setting off a full-blown punishment session. Unfortunately, the “Dad” in question was none other than Coach Ji—your father, Dojang’s notorious Taekwondo instructor and a man who believed character was built with sweat, tears, and shoulder pain.

Seokmin wheezed through a trembling breath, his voice cracking as he panted, “Please… spare us…”

“One hundred seventy-six!” your father shouted with military precision, making all three boys groan. Even Seokmin’s puppy eyes weren’t enough to melt that man’s spine of steel.

Regret painted itself clearly on their sweat-soaked faces, and for a moment—just a moment—your father paused.

“If I ever hear you used the Taekwondo I taught you here for nonsense like bullying,” he said, voice cold and low, “I’ll do worse than this. I’ll drag you to hell and back with my own hands.”

You folded your arms and gave a proud nod toward your juniors—Seungkwan, Seokmin, and poor misunderstood Chan. Justice had been served.

Chan, breathless and on the verge of a cramp, muttered between reps, “This is so unfair… it was just a misunderstanding—”

Your glare snapped to him like a laser beam. Sharp. Icy. Devastating.

Chan shrank like a kicked puppy, immediately silencing his protests. If looks could kill, yours would’ve buried him six feet under the gym mat. And he knew it.

Seungkwan, still stuck in a push-up, whispered under his breath, “Remind me never to get on her bad side again…”

After the chaos had settled and the boys were sprawled like starfish across the training mats, groaning and swearing they’d never bully a soul again, you walked over to your father, grabbing your bag slung by the door.

“Staying for dinner?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his towel. His tone was casual, but you could hear the hope tucked in between the syllables. “Or… maybe even the night?”

You paused at the threshold, fingers tightening slightly around the strap. For a second, the thought tempted you—home-cooked food, your old bed, the quiet comfort of familiarity—but then you shook your head gently.

“I’ll sleep in the dorm tonight,” you said with a soft smile. “Got early practice tomorrow.”

Your father nodded, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave you a small, approving pat on the shoulder. “You did good today.”

You gave him a teasing grin. “I learned from the best, remember?”

“Damn right you did,” he muttered, already turning back toward the whining trio on the mats. “And tell Wonwoo he still owes me for breaking that punching bag last semester.”

Your steps faltered—just slightly.

You didn’t respond. Just gave him a soft, practiced smile over your shoulder. “Goodnight, Dad.”

As you stepped out into the night air, your chest felt just a little heavier than before—but your stride didn’t slow.

You could almost hear Wonwoo in your memory, sitting cross-legged at Gojo matches, calling your name with that calm voice that still made your pulse skip.

“I enjoyed the match. You were amazing.”

But now he sat beside someone else.

And you had training in the morning.

*

You didn’t know when the rumor began—whether it slipped from one careless mouth or was born from silent stares—but by morning, it had grown teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped out of your dorm. The atmosphere changed. Eyes lingered longer. Conversations halted mid-sentence whenever you passed by, only to pick up again with an extra edge of hushed curiosity.

They weren’t just whispering your name.

They were branding it.

“She's her roommate. Can you imagine that? Her own roommate.”

“Exactly. Who does that to a friend?”