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mmh heâs so rockstar bf âŽâË
IM STILL SALIVATING RN OMFG

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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no consequences.
summ: according to jisung, bad decisions donât count when youâre drunk. you decide to test that theory properly.Â
â pairing: best friend!jisung x f!reader â genre: smut (minors dni) â tags/cw: college au, alcohol, teasing, A LOT of kissing, biting, marking, whimpering and whining, hair pulling, grinding, riding, some slaps, hanjob?, unprotected s*x, semi-public s*x? â words: 3.6k
a/n: this was requested and i immediately got obsessed with the idea. freestyled most of it and somehow it turned into this⌠yeah. still donât know how i never wrote bff jisung wanting to fuck you that bad without consequences, because it just makes sense. enjoy! đ
the music is way too loud to think straight, but not loud enough to stop jisung from leaning in every time he wants to say something that clearly doesnât need to be whispered. his voice gets lost in the noise, but his breath doesnât. warm, close, persistent against your ear, like everything else is irrelevant.
youâre sitting on his thigh like itâs the most natural thing in the worldâbecause honestly, it isâbarely holding onto his shoulder while people brush past you both without care.
his handâs been on your waist for a while now, firm but absentminded, like he hasnât realized he never took it away. or like he decided not to a long time ago.
âyouâre heavy,â he murmurs, leaning in, his warm breath grazing your ear.
you laugh under your breath and shrug, not moving.
âthen put me down,â you reply, turning your head just slightly to look at him.
he smiles at that, but doesnât do anything to move you.
his thumb slides just a little over your waist, following a rhythm that isnât quite the music. you shift on him, intentionally, feeling his leg tense beneath you for just a second. jisung lets out a quiet, restrained laugh.
âyouâre taking advantage,â he says, but it doesnât sound like a complaint.
âdonât see you doing anything to stop me.â
âthatâs because i donât mind.â
he says it fast. too fast. and that makes you smile. you rest your forehead against his for just a second, enough to feel the heat of his skin before pulling back to really look at him: cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright, that look of his that shows up when he stops overthinking.
you see it shift. the way his eyes narrow slightly, how his smile tilts, how something crosses his mind and he decides to say it.
âthereâs a theory,â he murmurs, like he just remembered something important, leaning in again.
âhere we goâŚ,â you say with mock annoyance, but youâre still looking at him, interested.
âlisten,â he insists, lowering his voice a little, conspiratorial. âhyunjin once said that⌠everything that happens when youâre drunk doesnât count.â
you blink slowly, trying to find the joke in his words. but there isnât one, and that makes you laugh. stupid and a little too loud.
itâs not soft or subtle either. someone nearby even glances over, annoyed, but you donât care. you never do when youâre like this with him.
âthat sounds like an excuse to do dumb shit.â
âexactly!â he answers immediately, like that proves his point. âand thatâs why it works.â
âworks for what?â
jisung looks at you now, more serious for a second, even if that smile is still there, tucked into the corner of his lips.
this time he doesnât look away, something steadier in his gaze, even if that cocky edge is still sitting there.
âto do whatever you want⌠without overthinking it.â
the small silence that follows isnât awkward. itâs heavy, charged with that kind of ridiculous logic that, in that exact moment, starts to make way too much sense.
you tilt your head slightly, studying him like youâre actually considering it.
âand it doesnât count?â you ask, repeating him.
âdoesnât count,â he confirms, without hesitation.
ânot even if itâs a really bad idea?â
âespecially if itâs a really bad idea,â he emphasizes, making that exaggerated expression you love.
your hand comes up to his jaw without thinking, guiding him just slightly closer, just because you can. because you always can.
âhow convenientâŚ,â you admit, letting your gaze drift over his face.
âitâs the perfect excuse,â he says, leaning in a little more.
you stay like that for a second. too close to be âjust a joke,â but natural enough that no one questions it.
âsoâŚ,â you murmur, dragging the word out. âaccording to your theoryâŚâ
âour theory,â he corrects quickly.
âour theoryâŚ,â you repeat, a small teasing smile on your lips. âwe could do anything right now.â
jisung doesnât answer right away, but he doesnât pull away either. if anything, his fingers tighten slightly on your waist, slipping just under the fabric, like heâs already testing the limits of his own idea.
âand it wouldnât count,â he adds, raising his brows suggestively.
you look at each other for a few seconds and then, inevitably, you both laugh.
because itâs stupid. because it makes no sense. because itâs exactly the kind of decision that only exists in moments like this: music vibrating in your chest, alcohol warming your blood, confidence blurring every line that ever mattered.
âfine,â you say finally, shifting on him again. âletâs test it.â
jisung smilesâthat mix of disbelief and anticipation that always shows up when he knows somethingâs about to go wrong⌠and still wants it anyway.
âand how?â
you lean in closer, enough to make him look up at you, closing the distance until itâs almost unbearable.
âby stopping the talking,â you murmur, your gaze dropping to his lips. âand doing something about it.â
the effect is immediate.
you see it in the way he blinks, how his expression falters for just a second before he pulls it back together. a low, disbelieving laugh slips out of him, like heâs trying to regain control he just lost for a moment.
âjust like that?â he says, tilting his head. âyou giving me orders now?â
âdoes it bother you?â
but you donât wait for an answer. your hand is already at his neck again, firm, pulling him closer until your lips brush dangerously against his.
âdoesnât seem like it.â
jisung exhales a quiet laugh through his nose and swallows hard, but his grip tightens, less casual now. his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you in enough that you feel it, that thereâs no space left between you that isnât intentional.
âyouâre playing dirtyâŚâ
âand i donât see you stopping me.â
you watch him roll his eyes, that smile still there, and thatâs enough to know youâve got him exactly where you want him.
you tilt your head slightly, brushing your cheek against his, slow, deliberate, letting your lips pass just a little too close to his skin before moving up to his ear.
âthen stop talking,â you whisper, feeling him shiver under your voice. âshow me.â
and thatâs it. thatâs what breaks him.
you hear the low sound that slips out of him before he can stop it, almost a whine, and you feel it in the way his body reacts before he does.
his fingers slip under your shirt, brushing over the warm skin of your side. his eyes find yours, restless, a teasing smile pulling at his lips.
âdonât complain later,â he murmurs, turning his face just enough to invade your space.
the second between you is short, charged, electric. and then he leans in to seal it.
the kiss is direct, deep, like heâd been waiting for an excuse more than a moment. it catches you off guard for a second before you respond just as quickly, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, leaving no space for doubt.
thatâs all it takes.
he makes a muffled sound against your lips, his hands losing any pretense of casual as he pulls you in, grabbing your ass and settling you fully on top of him.
after that, thereâs no pause. everything speeds up. messier, rougher, more intense. you barely pull away to breathe and he follows you immediately, not giving you that second, like pulling back isnât an option.
âhey-â he starts, but his voice cuts off.
because you donât let him think before youâre kissing him again, and this time thereâs no hesitation, just response.
his hands move without care, finding you, holding you, while you do the same, pushing him back into the couch to deepen kisses that are turning wet, needy.
and then someone crashes into your back.
it pulls you apart just enough to look at each other. enough to notice your uneven breathing, your parted lips, that mix of laughter and something heavier, harder to ignore, hanging between you.
âthisâŚ,â jisung says, still too close, still a little gone.
âcome with me.â
itâs not really a suggestion. youâre already pulling him, and jisung follows without resistance.
your hand finds his easily, fingers lacing together as you move through the crowd, bumping into people, laughing for no real reason, still carrying that same energy that hasnât settled, just shifted.
âcareful,â he says, laughing, but he doesnât let go.
âyou started it. deal with it.â
you make your way upstairs half stumbling, laughing at everything and nothing, the music fading behind you. the air shifts, the noise dulls, but the tension doesnât.
you reach a random door, fumbling it open and pulling jisung inside while he laughs out loud.
and when the door closes, the party noise dulls into something distant, muffled, irrelevant. in here, itâs quiet, broken only by your still uneven breathing.
jisung doesnât move. he stays a step away, looking at you like heâs only just now realizing where you are, like the silence gave him a second of clarity⌠or doubt.
it doesnât last. it never does with you.
you push him against the door. not rough, but firm enough that thereâs no space to question it. the dull thud barely echoes before youâre on him again, too close, taking up all the air he tries to breathe.
âyou got quiet all of a sudden?â you murmur, tilting your head, your lips barely a breath from his.
jisung lets out a short, breathless laugh, still a mess, but his hands find you instantly, like they donât know how to be anywhere else.
your hand comes back to his jaw, guiding him, making him look at you. you see it in the way he exhales, the way his eyes drop to your lips for a second before coming back up. darker now, less steady.
he kisses you with urgency, like that moment of doubt is gone for good, his hands pulling you closer, firm, needy, like getting back into it is all that matters.
and you donât stop him, but you donât let him take control either.
you keep him pinned there, guiding him without making it obvious, setting the pace in the way you move closer, the way you pull back just enough to make him follow, the way every breath he takes depends on your next move.
and jisung really tries to keep up, but it gets harder the moment your thigh slips between his legs, grinding against him.
you feel it in the way his breathing breaks first, the way his fingers tighten too much against your body, the way every time you pull back even a little, he chases you without thinking, like stopping isnât an option.
your hands slide down from his neck, slow, certain. every touch intentional, every movement pushing him further off balance.
and he reacts to everything. not always with words, sometimes itâs just a low, half-held sound, or the way his head drops back against the door for a second, like he needs air, like he canât decide whether to follow you or stop you.
your mouth brushes his skin, slow, deliberate, tracing a path that isnât trying to be subtle. you feel him tense under you, his hands gripping without knowing where to settle.
and when you go back to his lips, itâs slow this time. no rush at first, just intention.
you set the rhythm, and jisung tries to follow, but he loses it again quickly, responding more on instinct than control, pulling you closer like itâs the only way not to fall behind.
his hands move again, this time not even trying to hold back, and you match him, keeping him right there, at that point where thereâs no room left to question anything.
and thatâs when the distance disappears completely.
at some point neither of you even notice, his jacket and shirt are gone. you only realize when your mouth stops meeting fabric and hits bare skin instead: warm, damp, way too reactive under your touch. you move down without rushing, but not gently either, leaving kisses that open, drag, turn into small sucks that make him tense beneath you.
jisung canât stay still.
you feel it in the way he shifts constantly: one hand in your hair, tugging slightly, the other sliding down your waist to squeeze your ass with a need heâs not even trying to hide anymore. thereâs no rhythm in him. just reaction and impulse.
and that pulls a smile from you against his skin.
you grab his neck and make him look at you, and when you kiss him again thereâs nothing careful about it. itâs messy, wet, teeth knocking, breaths breaking, like neither of you wants to give up even a second. youâre not trying to make it pretty. just close. just more.
you step back without letting go and he follows without question, stumbling slightly until the edge of the bed stops him. you drop back onto it and let go just enough to look up at him.
he really is a mess. hair wrecked, lips swollen, chest rising too fast, skin marked by you, and that expression somewhere between disbelief and something much darker.
it only turns you on more.
jisung doesnât hesitate this time. heâs back on you fast, messy hands pushing at your clothes, shoving them aside like theyâre in the way more than they should be. he kisses you again, direct, wet, no real pauses, and he loses any control he had in the way he chases you.
your tongues meet, clash, search with no real coordination, mixed with small bites, stolen breaths, sounds neither of you bothers to hide.
jisung drops onto the bed, sitting, and you donât waste the chance. youâre on him immediately, straddling him, looking down as you bite your lip, enjoying way too much how he looks under you, like youâve got him without saying it.
his hands grab your ass instantly, squeezing hard, almost desperate, like he needs you closer than you already are. thatâs all you need to start moving.
you start slow, rolling your hips over him, letting the contact build, the friction grow, teasing him just enough to push him over that edge heâs barely holding onto.
jisung canât take it.
the first gasp slips out low, the second breaks. his hips react on their own, chasing you, lifting every time the movement hits right, and soon thereâs no rhythm, just this messy need to keep up.
âmmmh- waitâŚâ he tries, but thereâs no order in his words.
he buries his face against your chest like he needs to hide or hold onto something and instead he finds you. his mouth moves without thinking: kisses, bites, messy marks that arenât meant to be pretty. just real.
your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling every time it hits right, every time the friction sharpens. the heat builds too fast.
you feel it between your legs, wet, obvious, inevitable. jisung notices too when his hands slide to your thighs and squeeze, pulling a sound from you that you donât bother to hide.
âno more gamesâŚâ he pants against your mouth, voice broken, low. âshit⌠no- i donât wanna waitâŚâ he cuts off, breathing hard. âi wanna fuck you right here, right now.â
his voice keeps breaking into whines and moans he canât hold back. you laugh against his lips, but thereâs no real teasing in it. just heat. just urgency.
your hands go straight to his belt, undoing it without care. jisung follows clumsily, slower than he wants, but just as desperate.
you end up on the bed without remembering how. just that heâs under you and it feels so right.
his hands find your hips again like they never left, hissing softly when he feels how wet you are through the fabric. too direct, too real.
âyouâre already this wetâŚ?â he murmurs, trying to sound teasing.
the look you give him shuts him up instantly. he knows when to stop pushing before it burns him, and itâs already too late.
you free him slowly, just to watch him react, to feel the way his breathing shifts again. jisung cups your face, kissing you quick, needy, guiding your hand to him like he needs that extra contact to stay grounded.
but heâs already gone in you. you both are.
you settle over him, lining yourself up slowly, holding his gaze, keeping him there, aware of every second. and when you feel the tip push in, the sound slips out of you before you can stop it.
âah- fuckâŚâ his head falls back. âi need all of you, pleaseâŚâ
but you donât go faster. you make him feel it, every inch. his hands dig into your hips, not to stop you, but to hold on. to stay steady in something thatâs already too much.
and when you adjust, you started moving.
small circles at first, and jisung reacts instantly. his sounds climb, breaking when you change the pace, when you start moving up and down without any real pattern.
âno- like thatâŚâ he pants, voice cracking. âshit- i canâtâŚâ
he canât keep up. not when youâre wrapped around him like that, when your chest is right there against his face.
his hands leave you for a second, gripping the sheets like he needs something that isnât you.
youâre not any better.
your sounds come out messy, mixed with short breaths, broken words. you lean into him, feeling every reaction under you.
jisung grabs you again, desperate, uncoordinated, trying to follow even when he clearly canât.
you lean forward, changing the angle, searching. and when you find it, you both feel it at once. jisung loses it there, his hands shaking, his mouth back on your skin. messy kisses, soft bites with no care for gentleness.
you donât even notice when he starts slapping your ass, uneven, trying to match your rhythm without really managing it.
âfuck⌠youâre soâŚâ he canât finish, whines cutting him off. âmmmh- i could fuck you like this all nightâŚâ
his voice is a mess. his thoughts too. and that just pushes you to go faster, deeper. you feel his body trembling, see the way he tenses every time you take him fully.
one of his hands moves down, finding your clit, pressing, rubbing just enough to make everything hit all at once. your sounds mix together wiith no filter, no pause.
the heat builds under your skin, in your stomach, fast, inevitable.
âiâmâŚâ he pants, hissing. âiâm so close- pleaseâŚâ he whimpers, pouting.
you feel it in every messy, desperate movement, so you kiss him quick before dropping to his ear.
âdo it,â you whisper without thinking. âcome in me⌠i need it-â
and thatâs all it takes.
his hands snap back to your hips, setting a real rhythm now, thrusting up to meet you, hitting that spot over and over until he breaks.
you feel him spill inside you, hot and deep. but it doesnât stop him. he canât stop, still fucking into you, still needing you there, needing you to came too.
âji- shit⌠iâm- iâm gonna-â
you donât get to finish. not with his hand playing with your chest and the other on your clit, working you so well.
you come on him, biting into his shoulder to muffle the sound, your whole body tightening. jisung moans under you, softer this time, deeper, feeling the way you clench, the way you pull him with you.
for a second, it really feels like he could come again just from that.
you stay collapsed on him, feeling your uneven breathing try to settle. his chest rises against yours, warm, damp, and for a moment thereâs no rush to move, like youâre both too comfortable in the quiet you carved out.
jisung lets out a low sound when he pulls back just slightly, but his arms wrap around your waist right after, pulling you close again, like letting go completely isnât an option yet.
you donât say anything. you donât need to.
you just stay there for a second longer, letting the heat settle, letting everything come down enough to laugh again.
because you know itâs coming. it always does.
you end up sliding next to him, slipping under the sheets with a soft sigh, turning your head to look at him. the smile comes easily, still heavy with everything that just happened, still a little dangerous.
jisung looks back at you, then laughs for real. soft at first, then it breaks into something bigger when his eyes drop to your neck. you follow his gaze, and when you get it, you raise a brow.
âno idea how youâre gonna explain that,â he says, nodding toward the marks. âgood luck.â
you scoff, rolling your eyes, not even trying to cover them.
âtomorrowâs problem.â
âclassic,â he murmurs, still smiling.
you shrug like it doesnât matter and move closer to him without thinking. jisung responds just as easily, slipping an arm under you and pulling you into his side, like going back to this is the most natural thing in the world.
and everything feels normal again, almost ridiculously fast.
you stay there, leaning into him, listening to his breathing even out, until you recognize something.
on the other side of the wall, filtering through the noise, your favorite song starts playing.
your head lifts immediately and you look at him, excited. jisungâs already looking at you, smiling.
âno-â he starts, amused, like heâs trying to stop you.
âyes,â you cut him off instantly, pushing yourself up a little, a grin youâre not even trying to hide anymore. âyou know we have to go.â
you look at him like itâs obvious. like the only ridiculous thing would be staying.
jisung sighs, but thereâs no real resistance. just a low, resigned laugh as he runs a hand through his messy hair.
âyouâre impossible.â
you lean in without thinking and press a quick kiss to his cheek, casual, like itâs nothing new. jisung makes an exaggerated face immediately, wiping it off with the back of his hand like youâve deeply offended him.
âgross,â he says, smiling like he doesnât mean it at all.
you laugh loud this time.
âfive minutes ago you didnât think that.â
and thatâs it. no tension, no shift.
just the two of you and a theory that, clearly, worked way too well.
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á°.á love potion - MDNI!!
synopsis: in which your not-so-secret friends with benefits situation with lee minho is the worst kept secret in the slytherin common room.
pairing: friends with benefits, slytherin!leeknow x slytherin!femreader, hogwarts au
warnings: 3.4k words, minho & reader are depicted as being 17-18, there are many mentions of sex but it doesn't happen, drinking, making out, dry humping, use of an aphrodisiac, swearing, explicit language
authorâs note: thank you so so much for 3k!! đ i genuinely canât believe it. iâve never reached this kind of following count on any social media platform before. iâm so incredibly grateful for all of you. thank you thank you thank you!! as a celebration, i really wanted to go back to what started it all for me. which was harry potter back in 2021 đ itâs what got me into writing in the first place and it holds such a special place in my heart.
i actually started this at the beginning of this year and it's been so fun to write! i could say this is one of my favourites and im rly rly excited to share it!
thank you again, from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support. enjoy!
amortentia - the most powerful love potion in the world. it smells different to each person, according to what attracts them
âwhat does your amortentia smell like, minho?â
changbin dropped onto the couch beside him, a green tie knotted around his head. minho thought he looked stupider than ever, which was impressive considering the competition. the younger boys had a habit of mimicking whatever he did, and minho could spot more than five in the room wearing their ties the same way purely because of seo changbinâs influence.
the slytherin common room was vibrating with triumph after their merciless quidditch win over gryffindor this evening. the celebration had already dissolved into rounds of illicit firewhisky and music loud enough to rattle the stone. they didnât usually bother with this level of noise. but how could they not celebrate when the griffindorks lost against them?
minho slouched back on the couch, one arm draped over the velvet spine. he gave his glass a slow swirl, watching the shadows fracture through the amber liquid.
âburnt caramel. catnip. and something like a girlâs perfume,â he said at last, voice flat. âmakes my fucking head spin.â
changbin whistled. âyouâve got it bad. donât even know who for?â
âdidnât say that.â the corner of minhoâs mouth lifted.
changbin leaned back beside minho with a smug smile, tugging his tie further down over one brow like a bandana, as if that somehow made him look less ridiculous. it didnât.
âitâs y/n, innit?â
minho scoffed. âas if.â
changbin laughed. âplease. everyone knows you two arenât sneaking alone just to duel.â
minho rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of firewhisky, letting the burn settle under his tongue. he didnât deny it. what would be the point?
and then, as if right on cue:
âspeak of the devil.â changbin sat up straighter, snickering.Â
minhoâs head snapped toward where changbin was looking, like a compass needle finding north.
you were across the room, walking away from whoever youâd been talking to, still facing them as you chattered on. your backwards steps were carrying you straight toward the couch where minho and changbin sat. minho was already bracing for whatever stupid, trivial thing you were about to bother him with. he was also looking forward to it.
you laughed brightly, tossing a quick goodbye over your shoulder without really looking where you were going. your shoulders turned first, your head following a second later. your gaze finally landed on minho.
you smiled. minho watched it happen, how it started in your eyes and curled around your pink lips.Â
he didnât mean to look lower. truly. but his eyes snagged on the green-striped tie dangling loose and crooked around your neck. the top buttons of your blouse were undoneâtwo, exactlyâwhich made it worse than if you were fully exposed. you werenât even showing cleavage and he was starting to feel himself sweating. what the fuck was wrong with him?
âhi,â you said, voice sweet as honey but clearly laced with mischief.Â
minhoâs eyes narrowed.Â
he didnât trust that smile. but he did want to see what it was about. âwhatâs going on in that scheming little head of yours?â
your gaze dropped meaningfully to minhoâs lap, then lifted back to his face like you hadn't just sent a spark up his spine with one look.
without breaking eye contact, you stepped forward and held out your hand.
âcome see,â you said.
minho stared at you for another second. he tilted his head, as a show of resistance. he only did it to keep up appearances and pretend he wasnât that easy when it came to you. because changbin, smug little bastard that he was, would never let him live it down.Â
but really, what was the point?
changbin had been teasing him into oblivion for weeks already. so he didnât bother fighting it now. especially not when you were looking at him like that.Â
he reached out and took your hand.
changbin gave a low, obnoxious whistle. you gave changbin a little pout over your shoulder, before turning and tugging minho with you. minho let out a soft, helpless chuckle, not even trying to mask how amused he was by your theatrics.
he stumbled a bit as he stood, his balance just off from the alcohol buzzing through his veins, but your grip kept him steady. his laughter followed as you pulled him toward the stairs. he turned around and mouthed help to changbin, who just shook his head.
the noise dulled behind you both as the winding stairs took you higher into the boysâ dorm tower, torches flickering emerald flames in brackets along the wall.Â
âwhere are we going?â he asked, breathless more from you than the climb. his voice dropped half an octave.Â
you didnât answer him.Â
still, minho followed without resisting, boots thudding behind yours, his other hand brushing the worn stone railing with each step.
you reached the top and without hesitation, shouldered open the heavy wooden door to the boysâ dormitory.
to your luck, it was empty. the four other boys in minhoâs dorm were still all down there, drunk on victory. minho stepped inside behind you, scanning the shadows of his bedâs green velvet hangings, the cracked window open just a little to let in the frigid night air.
âsit,â you ordered, and shoved him.
he fell back onto the bed with a rustle of green and silver sheets, his elbows catching him halfway. his green slytherin tie hung limp around his neck, the collar buttoned neatly.
minhoâs heart pounded in his ears. this is it, he thought. you were losing your virginities to each other today.
âyou know,â he said, trying to lace his nerves in nonchalance, âif you were ready, you couldâve just said so. we could have a mature, adult conversation about it, instead ofââ he gestured at himself, âforcing me into bed like a hostage.â
you gave him a drunk smile. âare you really dense enough to think i brought you up here to shag?â
before he could say anything, you started to climb on top of him, knees bracketing his thighs, your skirt pooling over his lap.Â
âexcuse me if the situationâs a bit confusing,â he hissed, hands planted behind him on the bed. âbut you throw me on a bed and youâre climbing on top of me. i donât know what the hell you expect me to think.â
âoh, i donât know,â you said, rolling your eyes. âmaybe think with your brain instead of your dick for once?â
minho scoffed sharply. his fingers twitched behind him, visibly debating whether to touch you or keep pretending he had a shred of self-control left.
âso,â he murmured. âwhyâd you drag me here? did you just want to kiss me or what?â
you then slowly reached into the inner pocket of your robe that was laying at the foot of the bed and pulled out two small vials. the pink liquid inside shimmered under the moonlight coming from the window.
the second he saw them, minho stilled under you completely.
âwhat is that?â his eyes narrowed at the vials.
âcome on, minho. use your head.â you watched him, waiting for the penny to drop.
ââŚlove potion?â
you grinned. âfrom the storeroom. i stole a couple this morning.â
âfucking hell.â he dropped his head back with a groan.
âitâs only temporary,â you said quickly. âi mean, what better way to spend a night than getting high on each other?â
minho stared at the vial, eyes flicking between the slow swirl of pink liquid and the smile playing on your lips like this was the best idea youâd ever had.
âthis is fucking stupid,â he said flatly. âabsolutely mental.â
he sat all the way up now, forcing you to shift with him, your knees tightening around his hips for balance. he glared at you, jaw clenched, that familiar venom in his stareâbut it never really landed when it was aimed at you.Â
âwe will fuck if we drink that.â
âwe wonât,â you said smoothly. âwe might just see how bad we want to.â
âand thatâll have the exact same outcome,â he snapped. âyou have any idea what you do to me already?â
you tilted your head. âthen i guess iâm the only one with self-control, here.â
he scoffed, eyes flashing. âyou want to talk about self-control? you nearly came just from me kissing your neck in the closet last week.â
âyou were moaning and biting my neck,â you snapped back immediately. âwho wouldnât feel turned on?â
âyou were the one humping me like a dog. any guy would moan.â he narrowed his eyes. âand i was biting you to shut you up,â
âi was only grinding on you to shut you up!â
âyou always grind on me!â he snapped.
you blinked at him, then let out a long sigh, now confused by both of your lines of reasoning. arguing with him always took an unnecessarily large amount of energy. ultimately, you held out the vial.
minho didnât take it right away. you saw the gears turn in his head. slowly, he reached out and took the glass from your hand.
âfine, iâll do it. but i have to remind you one last time that this is a horrible idea,â he said, eyes narrowed, voice flat. âmonumentally, astronomically stupid. if i wake up in azkaban, itâs on you.â
you grinned so wide your nose crinkled. âiâll send you letters.âÂ
you uncorked your vial with a soft pop, the shimmer inside glowing faintly. you held your arm out. he shook his head with a huff, uncorking his, and looped his arm through yours.
âbottoms up.â
âcheers,â he mumbled, and you both tipped the vial back.
the potion slid warm and syrupy over your tongue. it was shockingly sweet at first, then spicy underneath which must have been from the peppermint. it burned just a little as you swallowed, fizzing down your throat.
you set the empty vial gently on the bedside table, glass clinking softly against the other.Â
you both sat there in silence after. nothing happened. no sudden rush of heat or collapsing into each other in a frenzy like people always warned about.
you glanced down at him. his eyes flickered up to yours, one eyebrow raised under his messy bangs.Â
âi donât feel anything,â you said finally, frowning.
minho shook his head. ânot sure i do either.â
you squinted at him. âdo you feel like kissing me until your mouth hurts?â
âalways.â his expression didnât shift. âthatâs not the potion,â
you frowned deeper, brows tugging together as you slumped a little. âit didnât work,â you muttered, lower lip jutting out.
âshame,â he said blandly. âoh well.â
you stared at him, aghast. âoh well?â
minho just blinked at you.
you shoved his shoulder. âyouâre unbelievable.â
he barely rocked from the push. âi mean, what did you expect?â
âi expected you to lose your goddamn mind, minho!â you snapped, flinging your arms out in exasperation. âi expected panting, grabbing, throwing me down like some lust-crazedâsomething.â
âyou act like i wouldnât just do that,â he said.
âi-i expected you to look like you wanted me instead of blinking like the dead-eyed minister!â
minho tilted his head at you, utterly dry. âwell, maybe try a bit harder convincing yourself i donât want you because my cockâs not exactly subtle about it.â
you froze for a beat. your eyes dropped before you could stop them, dragging down his front. at his crotch, the fabric of his trousers was dark and creased.Â
minho was still propped on his elbows, watching you with infuriating neutrality. he made no move to help or hide anything.
you blinked up at him. âcould just be a wrinkle,â you muttered.
he smirked. âcould be. wanna check?â
you glared. as if the potion failing wasnât irritating enough, minhoâs smug little remarks were the last thing you needed.
âwhat a pathetic waste of time,â you huffed, glaring at the empty vials on the bedside table. âexcuse for a love potion, honestly. we could have been making out this entire time instead of sitting around.â
minhoâs mouth curled, equal parts amused and relieved. âi second that,â he said.
before you could respond, he grabbed you by the collar and pulled you into a heated kiss.Â
you let out a startled gasp but the shock melted instantly. you couldâve sworn you felt your pulse in places it had no business being. it was stupid, how fast your body went from annoyed and bickering to suddenly grinding down without even thinking, chasing friction because your brain had long since checked out.
minho pulled back. âbloody hell,â he rasped as you rolled your hips again. âi think iâm gonna die.â
you couldnât help but giggle quietly. âi should hope not. youâre far too useful to have around, especially when you kiss me like that,â you teased.
he grinned, the expression soft. âthatâs all i am to you, y/n? something useful?â his fingers brushed your cheek, trailing down your jaw, thumb catching on your bottom lip.
âwell, youâre more than a little fit. and apparently good at snogging.â
minho had never felt so at ease flirting with you. it felt as if his natural defences melted into nothing. he should have been wondering if it was the love potion starting to take effect, but honestly, heâd forgotten about that already. it was hard to care about enchanted syrup when you were giggling against his lips. he had tunnel vision. his world was reduced to you and the little creases beside your eyes when you smiled at him.Â
he leaned in, letting his nose brush yours, voice pitched just for you. âiâll have you know, iâm exceptional at a few things besides snogging. if youâre lucky, i might demonstrate.â
you grinned. âwell, i am the luckiest girl in the world, arenât i?â
minho let out a chuckle as your noses nudged together. then he kissed you softly. you sighed against his mouth, melting into the kiss, your arms hugging his neck.
his hand drifted up the bare skin of your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles higher, slipping beneath your skirt. his fingers splayed to cup your ass, and you let out a muffled moan into his mouth. your lips left his, trailing down to the line of his jaw, then to his neck. you sucked at his skin, your tongue flicking out to soothe the mark after. he tilted his head back to give you more space, hands gripping you tighter as you painted little love bites in the area below his ear.
you broke away, your mouth hovering above his, lips still brushing as you caught your breath. âminho,â you murmured.
he hummed, eyes half-lidded. âwhat is it?â
you took another little breath, heart thudding wild in your chest. âweâve never reallyâŚwell, brought each other off before.â you smiled, gaze flicking up to meet his. âthought maybe youâd want to try something more tonight.â
he stilled, then his mouth curled at the corner. âyou want me to make you come?â
you nodded. âi mean, iâve only ever done it myself, when the dormitoryâs empty.â
âwell,â he murmured, âwho do you think about when youâre alone?â
you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. âthatâs private, minho.â
he grinned, not the least bit chastened. âwouldnât be uncomfortable if you said it was me, thatâs all.â
you pressed a quick, warm kiss to his jaw, lips curving against his skin. âwho else would it be, you idiot?â you whispered.Â
minhoâs smile stretched wide, his eyes shining with an affection that made your chest flutter. his hand slid from your ass around to the front, fingertips dancing along the edge of your knickers, only your skirt hiding you. he paused there, eyes flicking up to yours, his voice a low murmur just for you. âyouâre alright with this?â he asked.
âyes,â you breathed, hardly more than a whisper.
his fingers slipped near the thin cotton. you buried your face in the curve of his neck, your breath shuddering against his skin.
minho thought maybe heâd spoken too soon about the potion not working, because he felt utterly, pathetically besotted. heâd loved you for years, but right now he wanted you to know it.
âi think iâm in love with you,â he whispered.
you grinned against his skin. âi think so too.â
âin love with me, or you also think iâm in love with you?â
âi donât know, i think both,â you whispered, âyouâre being very distracting.â
minho had only just started to reach down, fingers barely sliding under your panties, when the heavy door burst open with a bang against the stone wall. minhoâs hand instantly yanked back, your body scrambling off his lap, straightening your skirt as you tried desperately to look like you hadnât just been caught on the precipice of something indecent.
standing in the doorway was bang chan, the ever-diligent slytherin head boy. his gaze swept over the two of you, lingering on your flushed faces and disheveled uniforms.
âi knew you two were up here!â chan bit out. âthank goodness i caught you before something actually happened.â
minhoâs jaw clenched, irritation flaring in his eyes as he shifted to sit a little straighter on the bed, deliberately casual. âdo you mind?â he shot back.
âyes, actually, i do mind,â chan replied coldly, marching further into the room. he fixed you with a hard stare, eyes narrowed. ây/n, you stole two vials of love potion from the storeroom this morning you think no one would notice?â
your heart leapt into your throat, hands twisting in your skirt, trying desperately not to meet chanâs eyes for fear youâd laugh.
minho rolled his eyes, utterly unrepentant. ânothing even happened, chan. youâre interrupting a perfectly innocent evening.â
chan snorted, gaze flicking between you and the empty vials on the bedside table. âinnocent? this is the stupidest shit iâve ever seenâconsuming potions so you can be in the completely wrong state of mindâmerlinâs beard, this is exactly how people end up with a howler from your parents or, i donât know, bloody pregnant! â
he stepped forward and snatched the vials, shoving them deep into his robe pocket. you and minho watched in silence, equal parts shame and irritation burning in your chests. all you wanted was chan out of the room so you could pick up where youâd left off.
ây/n, youâre coming with me. minho, stay put.â
you reached for minhoâs hand immediately, a frown washing over your features. âiâm not leaving him, chan,â you said.Â
âyouâll have to hex me to take her away.â minho squeezed your hand, looking more sure of himself than ever.Â
chan stared at the pair of you, then let out a loud sigh and scrubbed his face with both hands. âdo you even hear yourselves?âÂ
you barely had time to blink before he was striding forward and grabbing your arm as he pulled you upright off minhoâs bed.
âno!â you snapped, trying to twist out of his grip, but he just re-anchored his hold higher on your sleeve and kept moving.Â
minhoâs eyes flared. âyouâre the worst fucking head boy in the history of hogwartsââ
âi love you minho,â you cried as you were being dragged towards the exit.
chan finally yanked the door open, muttering under his breath as he tugged you out into the corridor.
when you stepped into the great hall the next morning, it seemed that the two opposing quidditch teams had spent very different nights.
the gryffindor table looked like a funeral procession in scarlet and gold. their players sat scattered and sulking. no one met anyone elseâs eyes. the usual boisterous laughter was replaced by silence. it was broken only when some poor guy knocked over a pitcher of pumpkin juice. he let spill across the table for a full three seconds before a passing ghost finally tutted in disapproval.
the slytherins were late. but not all of them. a few had trickled in before you, those that had ducked out early or avoided the worst of last nightâs victory bender. changbin was at the table, lounging with his head cradled in both hands like it might fall off otherwise. the same tie he used as a headband last was now around his neck, but loosely knotted and trailing into his plate.
you and your roommates entered, steps slowing as you neared your usual spot.
minho was already there.
he was resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table. his fingers tapped lightly against the side of his face, rhythm distracted, like he wasnât even aware of it.
you saw the smallest flicker of his eyes the moment your shadow passed into the space across from him. you slid into your seat quietly and some of your roommates settled in beside you. you donât remember ever feeling this awkward with minho.
you cleared your throat gently.Â
âhi,â he said.
âhi.â
he glanced down at his own empty plate, then back up. âyou⌠sleep okay?â
âyeah.â you nodded, eyes flicking down. âdid chan give you detention?â
he shook his head, âhe told me to never let this out or the three of us would all both be doomed.â
âwell, thatâs good.â you said, staring at the tea in front of you. the steam had thinned, barely curling now, but it gave you something to focus on.
you risked a quick look at him. there was the faintest shadow of a purple mark peeking just above the collar of his shirt. heat crept up your neck at the memory, and you quickly dropped your gaze back to the table.
minho cleared his throat. âdid he make you drink the antidote as well?â
you nodded, still not quite looking at him. âlast night.â
âgross, wasnât it?â minho muttered.
âyeah,â you agreed. âabsolutely vile.â
one of your roommates, who had been quietly buttering her toast beside you, suddenly perked up.
âantidote?â she asked, eyes widening with curiosity. âantidote for what?â
you froze. minhoâs tapping stopped.
minho gave the witch a sharp look. ânothing that concerns you.â
before you could even shoot him a warning glare, changbinâs voice cut through the table.
âantidote for the love potions they took together last night,â he announced. âi heard these two idiots thought it was a brilliant idea.â
âseo changbin!â you hissed, cheeks burning. looks like bang chan wasn't too careful about this secret either.
your roommate gasped, toast halfway to her mouth. âyou twoâ?â
minhoâs eyes narrowed at changbin. âif you wanna win the house cup this year, i suggest you zip it. unless youâd rather explain to the entire house why our points suddenly vanished because of your big mouth.â
changbin grinned around a mouthful of eggs, completely unfazed by the threat. ârelax. iâm just saying, you two donât even need potions to be infatuated with each other.â
you pushed your plate away. âiâve lost my appetite.â
âso have i,â minho said, rising from the bench.
you both stood at the same time, slipping out from opposite sides of the long slytherin table. the green and silver banners swayed overhead as you walked toward the grand doors.
your eyes met minhoâs across the aisle. minho tilted his head to the left, referring to the broom closet on that side of the great hall. you scoffed but nodded.
as the two of you left together, changbin muttered under his breath, âthere they go againâŚâ
the way I loved you
ââ .⌠content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; light degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;
âŽâË pairing: academic rival seungmin Ă fem!reader
âŽâË word count: 14,4k
âŽâË synopsis: âWe were academic rivals â until we werenât. Now I canât tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.â
âŽâË A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ⤠⤠ŕžŕ˝˛á
I hated him. Absolutely hated.
Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.
But most of all â I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didnât.
Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed âI'm better than you hahaâ â yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh â I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.
Still debating tho if Iâd prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.
The worst part? It wasnât just rage pooling low in my stomach.
It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.
Fucking disgusting.
When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungminâs stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold âA+â, I didnât even think.
I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: âRigged.â
His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.
He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: âDon't be mad just because youâre second best, sweetheart.â
Complete with a wink.
A goddamn wink.
I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.
Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew â I knew â he wasnât going to let this go.
When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping heâd get the hint. Of course he didnât.
He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadnât just declared academic war ten minutes ago.
âRough day, princess?â he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.
I didnât even look at him. âBite me, Seungmin.â
âCareful,â he said, his voice dropping half an octave. âMight take that as an invitation.â
I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.
For a second â a stupid, reckless second â we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.
His eyes flickered down to my mouth â fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.
I smirked.
âProblem?â he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.
âYou wish.â I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.
It wasnât enough to move him, but it made him smile â that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.
âTell you what,â he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasnât visible on his throat. âWinner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.â
I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. âYouâre serious?â
He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. âAfraid to lose?â he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.
I narrowed my eyes. âYou're on.â
His smirk stretched wider â a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. âTry not to cry when you lose, princess.â
âWorry about your own dignity first, loser.â
He stepped closer again â not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. âOh, princessâŚâ he murmured, low and deliberate. âYouâll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.â
Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadnât just detonated a bomb between us.
I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.
Or how I was going to let him destroy me. Maybe both.
If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.
The worst kind. The kind where you like it.
We werenât even officially working together â our articles were separate â but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, cafĂŠ, empty classrooms.
And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.
We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.
Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.
I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.
âNeed help, princess?â he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.
âI'd rather set myself on fire.â I muttered, not looking up.
He chuckled under his breath â that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.
I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.
Focus. Focus.
I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.
He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine â quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.
He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.
I hated him. Absolutely hated.
If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well â that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.
Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles
I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.
Asshole.
Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.
Finally, he smiled â a slow, proud smile. âExcellent work from both of you.â
I exhaled. Barely.
âButâŚâ He held up one article.
And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.
The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.
His face was unreadable â that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didnât want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.
I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. âAw. Better luck next time, loser.â
He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.
âDonât get too cocky. One win doesnât make you better.â
âNo, but it makes you worse.â
He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.
His eyes dropped to my mouth â quick, instinctive â and I hated how it made my pulse jump.
Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. âBoth of you. A word, please.â
We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.
He led us to his desk, his expression serious.
âYou two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.â He paused for effect. âAn honor. Only given to our best.â
My brain blanked.
Congress? An entire weekend?
With Seungmin?
I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.
Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom, but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.
âYouâll be presenting your articles separately, of course,â Professor Lee continued. âBut youâll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.â
I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.
I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.
The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, thatâs what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections â sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a little less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didnât have much of a choice.
The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.
He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. âMind if I join you?â he asked as if I had a say in the matter.
I didnât even bother to look at him. âPlease, make yourself at home.â I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
Seungmin didnât waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like weâd been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,â he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, âI actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.â
I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. âLucky me.â I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.
He grinned, clearly unfazed. âYou could at least pretend to enjoy my company. Iâm doing you a favor, really.â
I couldnât help but roll my eyes. âOh, Iâm sure you are.â I said dryly.
Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. âI think youâre just afraid of my charm.â
âIâm not afraid of your charm,â I said flatly. âIâm just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.â
âYou'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?â
Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?
I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.
By the time we landed, I was exhaustedânot from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.
We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. Then, with that, all my excitement died, and I was so ready to be done with everything.
The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasnât in the mood for polite exchanges.
She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. âGood afternoon. How can I help you?â
I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didnât really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasnât going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.
âHi, weâre from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.â
She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. âAh, of course. Everythingâs set for you.â She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. âHereâs your key. Youâll be in room 325.â
I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.
âJust one key?â I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didnât show too obviously. It didnât make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.
The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. âYes, one key for each couple of participants.â
I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume� I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.
He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. âWhat? You didnât think we were a couple?â He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.
I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and⌠something else. I wasnât about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?
I couldnât suppress my irritation.
âWeâre not a couple,â I snapped, a little too harshly. âWeâre just⌠two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.â
The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didnât seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. âOh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?â
Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.
âNo, it's okay,â he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. âWeâre fine with it.â
He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.
I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.
The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. âEnjoy your stay!â
I didnât bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungminâs amused expression as I walked to the elevator.
âI canât believe youâre okay with this,â I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasnât fooling anyone.
Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.
The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.
Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.
I hesitated, then turned to him. âI seriously donât think this is a good idea.â
Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. âWhatâs the worst that could happen?â he asked quietly.
I wanted to answer â everything â but he was already opening the door.
The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was⌠fine. Clean, neat â boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.
One. Single. Bed.
A king-size, sure. But still â one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.
I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.
Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. âWait. Are you fucking serious?â His voice was low, disbelieving.
I didnât even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.
I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. âWell, unless youâre planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, weâre serious.â I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.
Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. âThey expect us to sleep in the same bed?â he asked, incredulous.
âApparently âacademic excellenceâ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.â I muttered, folding my arms.
He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. âI didnât sign up for this.â
âNo shit. You think I did?â I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.
The room already felt too small, the air too charged.
He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. âDonât flatter yourself, princess. Iâd rather cuddle a cactus.â
I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. âCute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. Youâd fit right in.â
He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. âIf itâs that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldnât want you losing sleep over me.â
I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. âThe floorâs probably cleaner than whatever germs youâre carrying anyway.â
The tension crackled between us â electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.
Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. âThis is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?â
âMaybe it's a new academic technique.â I deadpanned. âSee who survives forced proximity without committing murder.â
He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. âThis is ridiculous. Whatâs next, sharing a toothbrush?â
I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. âOh, Iâm sure thatâs exactly whatâs going to happen. Theyâll give us matching PJs next, too.â
We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: âWeâre not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.â
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. âScrew it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.â
âFine. But if you snore, Iâm suffocating you with a pillow.â
âIf you steal the covers, Iâm kicking you onto the floor.â I shot back.
He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.
Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. âLet's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.â
Seungmin didnât argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: âYeah... easier said than done.â
We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art â squares inside of other squares â like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.
Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesnât bother fixing it. Typical.
His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like heâs already categorizing whoâs worth ignoring. âReady to pretend we care?â he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.
âThrilled,â I deadpan, not even glancing at him. âCanât wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.â
He snorts, biting back a laugh. âSounds like your dream date.â
âYup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.â
We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of âlook how important we areâ than anything else.
He grins â a real one, small and crooked â before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think theyâre smarter than everyone else.
The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.
Thatâs when I notice him â a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. Heâs got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isnât taking this seriously.
Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.
Too late.
Footsteps approach, and a moment later, heâs there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like heâs got nothing better to do.
âHey.â he says when heâs standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. âI donât know if youâre as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.â
I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me â alarmingly â of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.
I canât help a small smirk. âIâm pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least theyâd be honest about their intentions.â
âYou look about as thrilled as I feel.â he says with a grin.
âIs it that obvious?â I say, tilting my head. âI thought I was hiding it so well.â
âSubtle as a brick to the face,â he deadpans, smiling wider.
I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.
âChan.â he says, holding out a hand like weâre not at the most painfully formal event on earth.
âY/N.â I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.
Chan smirks. âSo, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?â
I fake think about it. âMmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.â
He chuckles. âAgreed. Iâm just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.â
âYouâre brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.â
He laughs, a real, full laugh, and leans closer like weâre already conspirators. âSurvival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.â
I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.
âGuess Iâll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.â
âOnly if youâre prepared to fight dirty.â He winks. âI swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.â
I canât help it â I actually laugh at that. âYeah, Iâd rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know itâs not going to taste like cardboard.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âOh, so you're one of those people. Respect.â
There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I donât mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isnât immediately making small talk about "networking."
Chan shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. âSo, whatâs your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. Iâm assuming youâre not here for the food production knowledge either.â
I think about it for a moment before responding. âHonestly? Itâs not exactly what I expected. I thought itâd be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but itâs mostly just people trying to sound important.â
Chan nods knowingly, looking amused. âYeah, thatâs pretty much the vibe Iâm getting too.â
Iâm about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him â that tightening sensation in the air.
I turn slightly, and there he is.
Seungmin.
Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but itâs his eyes â sharp, dark â that give him away.
He's staring at Chan like heâs a mosquito buzzing too close.
Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. âDidnât realize you had company.â Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.
Seungminâs smile is a weapon â all teeth, no warmth. âYeah. Sheâs with me.â
Sheâs with me.
My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.
Seungminâs jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. âY/N, we should go.â
Chan shrugs like he couldnât care less. âRight. Iâll catch you later, Y/N.â
âYeah,â I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungminâs presence beside me. âLater.â
He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.
The second heâs gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if heâs chewing on all the words he canât say out loud.
The air between us is thick, but I canât help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.
I cross my arms, matching his posture. âYou gonna tell me why you look like youâre about to start a bar fight?â I ask sweetly.
He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.
We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesnât seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.
I canât help myself.
âYou know,â I say, tilting my head toward him. âyouâre acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.â I lied, Chan's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that fall onto his eyes.
Seungminâs jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesnât escape me. Heâs annoyed.
I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. âI mean, itâs not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,â I continue, my tone teasing. âBut I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think Iâd be six feet under right now.â
Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. âYouâre imagining things.â
âAm I?â I tease. âBecause from where Iâm standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like⌠borderline âpunch a guy over a coffee jokeâ levels of jealousy.â
He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer â too close â and lowers his voice so only I can hear.
âIâm not jealous.â
I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. âReally? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.â
Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell heâs getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when heâs not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. âI donât care, okay?â he finally says, voice sharp. âBut you couldâve at least told me you were, whatever, you know, talking to him.â
I canât help but laugh at that. âOh, so Iâm supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.â
Seungminâs lips twitch, but he doesnât smile. âItâs not about that.â
âThen what is it about, exactly?â I prod, stepping closer to him. âYou sure youâre not feeling a little... territorial?â
âTerritorial?â He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. âWhat, like some caveman marking his territory?â
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. âMore like a chihuahua, actually.â
Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. âYouâre impossible.â
âYouâre adorable when youâre angry.â I shoot back, my grin widening.
He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. âKeep pushing, princess. See what happens.â
I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. âMaybe Iâm counting on it.â
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other â the conference noise fading into the background â locked in this stupid, electric standoff.
Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: âYouâre gonna drive me insane.â
I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.
The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again â one bed.
Still just one.
I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.
Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.
âGuess weâre really doing this,â I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.
âWhatâs wrong, princess? Afraid you wonât survive one night without jumping me?â he teased, kicking off his shoes.
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
âPlease. Iâm more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.â
He laughed, short and sharp. âIn your dreams.â
We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.
âTruce?â I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.
âTemporary ceasefire.â He smirked. âUntil you start snoring and ruin my life.â
I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.
He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. âVery professional. I feel safer already.â
âGood. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, Iâm kicking you out.â
âLooking forward to it.â
I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasnât even that revealing â thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long â but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.
Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.
Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.
He looked up when he heard the door click.
And froze.
Just for a second.
Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. âNice pajamas,â he said casually. âPlanning to seduce the minibar?â
I narrowed my eyes. âPlanning to murder you in your sleep, actually.â
He grinned â wide, wolfish. âKinky.â
I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.
Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated â hated â that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.
I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didnât help.
We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.
Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything â the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.
I couldnât sleep.
Neither could he.
I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.
The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now â some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadnât crossed.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasnât peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.
I couldnât see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him â every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.
Finally, Seungminâs voice broke the stillness â low, rough around the edges: âYou keep fidgeting.â
I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. âMaybe because Iâm stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.â
âYou flatter yourself,â he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. âYouâre the one who built a wall of pillows like Iâm going to jump on you or something.â
He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.
âWell, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.â I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.
He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. âYou're so full of yourself, itâs a miracle your head fits in this room.â
He didnât say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch â heavy, charged â until I was practically vibrating from it.
Then, almost too casually: âBet you think about it though.â
I blinked, my heart stuttering. âThink about what?â I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.
âThis,â he said simply. âUs. Fighting, fucking... whatever.â
I opened my mouth to snap back â some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue â but nothing came out.
Because the worst part? He wasnât wrong.
The silence between us roared.
Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. âWhatâs the matter, princess?â he teased, voice dangerously low. âCat got your tongue?â
I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth â preferably with my own.
I swallowed thickly. âYouâre delusional.â I said, but it lacked bite.
He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. âAm I?â he challenged, voice pure sin.
Then, the tension snapped.
I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.
Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck â brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.
He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like heâd been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.
I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.
His mouth was everywhere â jaw, neck, collarbone â as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension weâd spent pretending we didnât want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldnât decide where he needed me most.
His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right â enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.
Then he started grinding.
Desperately.
There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.
I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time â the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling â so I did what I always did when I felt too much.
I smirked. âWow.â I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. âI couldnât imagine grinding was your way of begging.â
He groaned â like the sound had been ripped out of him â and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.
Hard. So fucking hard.
And thatâs when I laughed â breathless and wicked â dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldnât stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him â hard, throbbing against my center â and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.
âYouâre really down bad, huh?â I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. âYou barely touched me and you're already losing it.â
He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. âYouâre not helping.â he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.
âThen beg better.â I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. âMaybe Iâll take pity on you.â
He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.
âYou think this is funny?â he asked, his voice a growl now. âYou think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?â
âNo.â I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. âThatâs the fun part.â
Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere â in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldnât hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.
My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldnât help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.
âYou're dangerous.â he whispered, his voice low and reverent.
âYou love it.â I shot back.
He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldnât stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.
Seungmin kissed like he fought â relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.
And fuck, I loved it.
His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.
He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: âStill think I'm delusional?â
âShut up.â I gasped, dragging him back down to me.
He grinned against my mouth â cocky, victorious â and then kissed me even harder.
âThis is purely academic.â I said, smirking into the dark. âData collection. Stress relief. Killing time.â
âWhat, like a science experiment?â
âExactly.â
âUh-hum, of course.â he agreed mock-seriously.
Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.
He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach â and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.
âDonât look at me like that.â I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.
âLike what?â he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.
âLike Iâm the answer to a question you didnât know you were asking.â
He smirked â not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.
He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it â not rushed, not greedy â just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.
When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didnât say a word. But his eyes â God, his eyes were wrecked. Like heâd been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.
I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.
And then his mouth found me.
The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.
He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didnât stop.
His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me â like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.
I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.
So I did the only thing I could do â I mocked him. âYouâre really putting your whole heart into this, huh?â I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.
He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. âIâve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.â he said, voice rough. âSo yeah. Iâm not fucking around.â
Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldnât get enough of â and maybe he couldnât.
I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldnât stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.
My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. âFuckââ I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. âYouâre gonna make meââ
He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.
Still, he didnât move â didnât stop â not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation, dragging him up by the hair and breathing like Iâd run a marathon.
He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. âYou shouldâve insulted me earlier.â he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. âI think Iâm kinda into it.â
âShut up.â I said, pulling him into a kiss.
I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.
My hands roamed his bare back â warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch â and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.
He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.
Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing â from God knows where â clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed â barely.
When he finally slid inside me, it wasnât gentle. It was desperate. Raw.
We both gasped â harsh, ragged â the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
âFuck.â he whispered. âYou're gonna be the death of me.â
I laughed â sharp and breathless â grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.
He moved inside me â slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.
The world blurred around the edges, just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.
The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldnât hear.
âSo fucking tight.â
âSo good like this.â
âMine tonight.â
I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal, slow and fast at the same time, until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.
He felt it too, I could tell â the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.
I shoved him away, straddling him. âLie down.â I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.
He looked wrecked â eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldnât believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didnât know whether to kiss me or cry.
âPlease.â he said, barely a breath. âI need you." He whimpered. âYou're so fucking beautiful.â he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. âLike a dream I shouldnât be allowed to have.â His fingers brushing my hair.
The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.
âThat's right, pretty boy.â I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.
His breath hitched at the praise.
I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. âYouâre gonna keep your hands to yourself.â I said softly. âJust for a while. Got it?â
He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.
I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it, the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.
âFuck, Y/NâŚâ he gasped, trying so hard not to move.
I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again, like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.
But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.
And I loved it.
âYou want me to fuck you?â I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. âNo, Seungmin.â I said, smile sharp. âI want to hear it.â
He swallowed hard. âI want you.â he said. âPlease. I want you so fucking bad.â
Only then did I slide down onto him â slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didnât move, like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat â low, desperate, guttural. âFucking hellâŚâ
I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked drunk â eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open. âShit.â he choked out. âYouâre gonna kill me.â
I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. âYouâre lucky I like you needy.â
He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again, glassy, overwhelmed. âYouâre in fact a dream.â he whispered. âYouâre a fucking dream, I donât wanna wake up.â
He was completely under me, wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. âFuck⌠youâre unreal.â
I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldnât speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this â us â messy, out of control, too much and never enough.
And this time, I didnât tease. I kissed him, slow and deep, as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone
It hit me like a wave â hot, violent, overwhelming.
I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.
We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.
For a long moment, we just lay there â breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.
He didn't move away.
Neither did I.
I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.
The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.
I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.
Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.
For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks Iâd left on his skin.
It shouldâve made me feel guilty.
It didnât. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.
I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didnât feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.
But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. âGood morning, sunshine.â
I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. âYou drooled on my pillow.â
âYou moaned on my neck.â He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.
I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.
The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: âYou're staring. Creepy.â
I snorted without turning. âDreaming. About how much I regret this.â
âSure.â He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.
I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.
It hit him square in the face. He grunted. âAssault. That's how you say good morning?â
âYou should thank me. I couldâve done worse.â
He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.
âYou already did worse last night.â he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.
âDelusional much?â I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.
His eyes dropped â quickly, involuntarily â and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.
âIf I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.â
I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.
Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.
The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.
I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.
What if I mess up?
What if they laugh at me?
What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?
A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply â already defensive â only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. âYou look like you're about to pass outâ he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.
I scowled. âThanks for the support, Seungmin.â
He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didnât have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.
He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. âYouâre gonna kill it.â he said, voice lower, more serious.
I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. âWow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.â I said, raising an eyebrow.
Seungmin snorted. âDonât get used to it.â He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. âBut seriously. Youâre smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.â
My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. âAw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.â
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. âDon't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.â
I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. âYou think I can really do it?â I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.
Seungminâs gaze softened. He didnât tease this time. He didnât smirk.
He just nodded once, firm and certain. âI know you can.â
Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.
I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual â but it set my skin on fire.
âGo show them why you scare the shit out of me.â he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.
His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it â hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.
And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didnât shake.
When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.
Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.
I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldnât have cared. But fuck â I did. More than I wanted to admit.
By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.
Then suddenly, Chan â the guy from the day before â found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. âWe really survived it, huh?â he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.
But my eyes werenât on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.
Something inside me twisted violently.
I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.
I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.
He didnât turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.
When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.
He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.
Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.
Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock â and something hotter â before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.
I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.
This wasnât soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster â shoving him backward until he hit the bed.
I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.
He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.
âYou like being bossed around, huh?â I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.
âOnly when itâs you.â he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.
Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didnât make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.
Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.
But everything felt different.
We didnât talk about what happened. We didnât even look at each other.
Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we werenât carrying around the memory of each otherâs bodies burned into our skin
In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.
I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway â and waited.
When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.
For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.
âProblem, princess?â he asked, mock-innocent.
I shoved him lightly. âYeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?â I hissed, arms crossed.
Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. âProblem? I don't have a problem.â
I stepped closer, glaring. âYou stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.â
He shrugged. âMaybe I do want to burn you alive.â
I shoved him hard. He didnât even flinch.
Just smiled â slow, infuriating â and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.
My chest heaved with fury. âStop looking at me like that!â I snapped.
âLike what?â he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.
I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.
Hard.
He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.
The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months â maybe years â of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.
We stumbled back against the teacherâs desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.
When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: âYouâre fucking annoying.â
âTakes one to know one.â I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.
And somehow...
It became a habit.
It wasnât supposed to become a habit. It wasnât supposed to mean anything.
But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.
He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.
My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.
I couldnât hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.
His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.
Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: âCan't handle it, can you, baby?â
He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.
And it wasnât him.
The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.
He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.
We straightened ourselves quickly â or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.
He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs werenât shaking.
As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: âI... bought that soju you said you liked once.â He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. âWas thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. ThenâŚâ He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. âYou know.â
I blinked at him, caught off-guard.
âWait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?â
He scowled, defensive. âI just found it, alright?â he muttered, like he hadnât spent two hours scouring online stores for it.
I raised an eyebrow. âYou scoured the internet for it, didnât you?â
He rolled his eyes, ears pink. âWhatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. MaybeâŚâ He shrugged.
I grinned wickedly. âI'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.â
He grumbled something under his breath but didnât hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.
And maybe...
Maybe I was already too far gone to care
When I stepped into Seungminâs apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.
It was neat, tidy â almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.
Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold â but not the tension that immediately filled the room.
He didnât even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.
I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.
Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.
âHey.â I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.
He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.
We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did â sort of.
I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.
It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.
After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.
âOkay.â I said, turning fully to face him. âSpill it. What the hell is going on with you?â
He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.
âNothingâ he muttered.
I snorted. âBullshit. Come on, Min. Youâre a lot of things, but a good liar isnât one of them.â
I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.
âYouâre acting like someone kicked your puppy. Youâre moody. Youâre stiff. And not even in the good way.â
His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didnât meet my gaze. âI said it's nothing.â he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.
It was almost adorable.
Almost.
I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. âYouâre not getting away with it.â I said in a mock-sweet voice. âNot tonight.â
I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didnât stop me. Didnât move.
âIf you're not going to talkâŚâ I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, âthen I'll just have to loosen you up another way.â
His eyes widened slightly, but he still didnât say a word â stubborn even now.
I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard â a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasnât lying.
I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.
I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.
When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.
âFuck, Y/NâŚâ he gasped, voice already wrecked.
I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.
His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me â see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it â raw, desperate.
âI saw youâŚâ he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. âAt the library... talking with that asshole⌠laughing⌠looking so fucking prettyâ
I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.
âFuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.â he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. âWanted to punch him.â he gasped. âWanted to drag you away... claim youâŚâ
The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didnât let up. If anything, I doubled down â moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.
He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.
âFucking jealous.â he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.
I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.
âGet up hereâ he ordered, voice rough, desperate.
Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.
The soju had given him a slight flush â his cheeks pink, his chest heaving â and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.
I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasnât sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that â the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.
I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldnât help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.
I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.
âFuck, you're killing meâŚâ he whispered, voice hoarse.
I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.
The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming â I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.
I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.
âYou feel so fucking good.â he groaned, his voice low and strained. âI canât evenâŚâ
His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.
His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.
His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there â soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.
âYouâre fucking perfect.â he muttered, his lips against my skin. âGod, you feel so perfect.â
I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.
I could feel him getting closer â his movements more frantic, more desperate â and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.
âY/N... Fuck, youâre incredibleâŚâ he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.
I felt my own orgasm building â the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.
I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldnât get close enough.
âGod, youâre beautiful.â he praised me again, his voice cracking. âYou're a fucking dream, Y/N.â
That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldnât hide how much he cared â it was too much.
I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.
We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.
Seungminâs hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.
I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.
The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.
As if I belonged there.
With him.
The world outside blurred into nothing â just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.
And somewhere, in the middle of all that⌠my heart stuttered violently. But it wasnât like before â not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.
It hurt.
A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.
And that was when it hit me.
I loved him.
The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.
I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me â flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.
The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said â in the most nonchalant way possible â âYouâre gonna kill it.â and âYouâre smarter than half the people in this room.â Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.
The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me â but never leaving until I finished every last page.
The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking â just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.
The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese â tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese â because he thought I might be hungry.
The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me â just to see me roll my eyes and smile.
The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back â little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.
The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.
The way he just... stayed.
All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.
I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju weâd shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No â needed.
The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.
I love him.
I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me â and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.
Panic clawed at my throat. This wasnât part of the plan. This wasnât supposed to happen.
No.
No, no, no.
I wasnât supposed to feel this. I wasnât supposed to love Seungmin.
Reality slammed back into me.
I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.
Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.
âY/N?â he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. âWhere are youââ
I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.
âWhere are you going?â he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.
I didnât even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.
Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.
He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour â sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.
âItâs's raining.â he said, voice cautious. âWhy don't you just... stay tonight?â
I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. âI can't.â I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.
He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.
I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.
The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone â I had forgotten my coat â. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.
I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.
âY/N!â
His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.
I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly âA hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.
Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.
His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.
His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?!â he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else â fear.
I shoved him. Hard.
My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. âThis is your fault!â I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. âYour stupid hairâ your fucking smileâ your goddamn eyesââ
I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. âI wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasnât supposed to love you!â
Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel â desperate. âYou think this was easy for me?!â he shouted back, his voice cracking. âYou think it didnât fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!â
I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.
âYou think I didnât want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!â he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. âI wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and sayâ sheâs fucking mine.â
The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.
I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. âYou felt it too.â he whispered fiercely. âTell me you felt it too, Y/N.â
I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldnât think. âI can'tââ I gasped, my voice barely audible.
But he didnât let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. âLook at me.â he demanded. âLook me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasnât real. Tell me you donât feel anything. Tell me you donât love me.â
I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.
Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.
âTell me you don't feel it, Y/N.âhe shouted. âTell me you don't love me.â His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. âI don'tâ Iââ I tried, but I couldnât finish. I couldnât lie.
The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.
We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.
His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.
Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.
We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.
We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.
He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.
âYou're messy, infuriating, impossible â no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.
HURRICANE (pt. one)
*°࿠cw: toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, toxic ex, emotional conflict, fake dating, fluff, slight angst.
when you're toxic family invites your ex for christmas, your roommate seungmin suggests he go with you as your fake boyfriend. what could go wrong?
*°࿠notes: as part of A Very Merry K-Popmas. check out everyone's work!! i've divided this into two parts just because it couldn't all fit into one because i litr do not know when to stop. you can find part two here. i'll also have it linked at the end for easier access :))
You know itâs bad when the hallway feels longer than usual.
The fluorescent buzz outside your apartment has never bothered you before, but tonight itâs a mosquito whine burrowing under your skin. Your keys slip once against the lockâjust enough to make you swear under your breathâand the sound that greets you when the door swings open is familiar, grounding, and absolutely at odds with the way your stomach has been twisting for the past two hours.
Seungminâs voice first. Muffled through his headset, half a laugh and half an insult.
Then gunfire and explosions from the TV, the glow of the screen strobing over the hallway in flashes of blue and orange.
You toe your shoes off on autopilot, bag sliding off your shoulder with a heavy thud that echoes louder than it should in the entryway. The apartment smells like whatever he ate earlierâsomething savory and cheesyâand underneath it, the faint citrus of the cleaner he uses on Saturdays when he decides the place is âuninhabitable.â
âLeft, left, leftâholy shit, do you not have eyes?â heâs saying, voice raised over the noise. âYouâre actually trolling. No, donât resâdonâtââ
You hover there for a second, fingers still curled around the strap of your bag, staring at the back of his head.
Heâs exactly where you expected him: sunk into the corner of the couch, one knee propped up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. The TV throws sharp light over his profile, catching on the curve of his mouth as it shapes around another sharp comment into the mic. Hair pushed back messily, headset slightly crooked. Heâs leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, fully locked in.
Normal. Everything about this is normal.
It makes the way your throat tightens feel even more ridiculous.
You force yourself to move. Drop your bag by the shoe rack, hang your coat, fumble your scarf off. The metal hooks clack too loud; one of them scrapes the wall. His head twitches minutely in your direction, but his eyes donât leave the screen.
âFinally,â Seungmin says. âMy useless roommate returns.â
Thereâs a crackle in his mic; someone must be answering him in his ear. He snorts. âNo, not you. The other useless one. The one who pays half the rent.â
Normally, youâd lob something backâI payed more than half last month, you freeloaderâbefore raiding the fridge or leaning over the back of the couch to mess up his hair. Tonight, your mouth opens and nothing comes out. Your lips press together again. You swallow.
You walk past him toward the kitchen instead.
âHey,â he calls out, still not looking away. âHow was theâno, oh my God, Jisung, if you peek one more corner like thatââ
You pull open the fridge and blink at the rows of containers without really seeing them. The cold air licks at your face, makes your eyes sting. Thereâs leftover pasta. Half a carton of eggs. Three different kinds of yogurt you bought during a health kick you abandoned after two days.
You close the fridge.
You end up standing there with both palms braced on the counter, eyes fixed on the tile backsplash while your heart beats too loud in your ears.
ââI asked you a question, you know,â Seungmin says. Closer now. The audio chaos is still going, but it sounds a little further away. âDonât ignore me, thatâs rude.â
You donât realize heâs actually walked into the kitchen until his shadow cuts into your peripheral vision. You flinch a little, breath catching, and thatâs what makes him really look at you.
Heâs still wearing his headset, mic tipped up. The game continues yelling in his ear; his fingers tap restlessly at the controller heâs brought with him out of habit. He opens his mouth, some quip already lined up, and then his gaze finally settles properly on your face.
All the air goes out of his tone.
âHey.â His brow furrows. âWhatâs with the funeral vibe?â
You try for a smile. It lands somewhere around âpained grimace.â
âNothing. Itâsââ You flick your eyes down to the counter, tracing a crack in the laminate. âIâm fine.â
âYouâre lying.â Itâs not an accusation, just a flat fact. âYou look like someone kicked your puppy. Did your train catch fire again or something?â
A shout comes through his headset, tinny and frantic. âHold on,â he mutters into the mic, pulling it down. âYeah, yeah, play without me for a sec, youâll live.â
He yanks the headset down around his neck entirely, hits something on the controller, and the living room finally, blessedly, goes quiet as the game pauses. The sudden absence of noise makes your chest feel even more exposed.
He sets the controller on the counter next to your hand.
âTalk,â he says simply.
You stare at his fingers. Long, deft, a smear of something orangeâCheeto dust, probablyâstaining his knuckle. You focus on that instead of the concern tightening his mouth, the way his eyes keep searching your face like heâs trying to line you up with a version of you that exists in his head.
âItâs stupid,â you say.
âDoubt it.â He nudges your elbow with his. âYou donât look like this for stupid stuff. You look like this when your mom calls.â
The mention of her is like a quick jab to the ribs. Your breath hitches.
He notices. He always does. His voice softens a fraction.
âShe called?â
âAnd texted. And⌠voice noted. And then my aunt chimed in. And my cousin. AndâŚâ You trail off, jaw tightening. If you keep listing names, youâre going to cry, and you refuse to start crying in front of the fridge.
âOkay.â He leans his hip against the counter, turning so heâs angled toward you. âWhatâs the damage this time? You secretly have three more siblings? Theyâre all moving in? Your mom wants your firstborn child as collateral for loaning you the car that one time?â
If you werenât so wound up, youâd laugh. As it is, the corner of your mouth twitches once and falls again.
âItâs Christmas,â you say instead, like that explains anything. To him, it kind of does.
He pulls in a quiet breath. âRight. The Annual Festival of Emotional Blackmail.â
âThatâs the one.â
He doesnât rush you. Seungmin never rushes you. He just waits, eyes steady, like heâs got all night.
You pick at a hangnail, then drop your hand before you draw blood.
âTheyâre doing a big thing at the house this year,â you say. âEveryoneâs coming. All the cousins, the aunts, everybody. Momâs already in Pinterest-hell about the menu. Apparently thereâs a color theme.â You huff a humorless laugh. âShe sent me a moodboard.â
âThat sounds⌠horrible,â he says. âBut also standard. Youâre acting like this is new.â
âIt is.â Your throat is tight. You swallow hard. âThey invited him.â
He doesnât ask who. He doesnât have to. His brows lower, eyes narrowing.
âSeriously?â he says, flat. âAfter everything?â
You nod, jaw clenching.
Thereâs a pause. The fridge hums. Somewhere in the building, a pipe knocks.
âOf course,â he says, voice dipped in that particular brand of dry disgust he usually reserves for lag and pineapple pizza. âWhy not invite the human red flag to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus.â
You snort automatically, the sound half-choked. âDonât blaspheme in my motherâs presence, sheâll feel it through the walls.â
âGood.â He folds his arms, shoulder bumping yours again, this time on purpose. âMaybe sheâll also feel how insane this is. Did you tell her no?â
âI tried.I said it would be weird. She said I was being dramatic and that I should âjust be matureâ about it.â Your voice pitches slightly higher when you mimic her, the words tasting sour. âApparently he was âso good for meâ and he âalways brought out the best in me.ââ
Seungmin makes a noise low in his throat, something between a scoff and a growl. âYeah, because nothing says âbrings out the best in youâ likeââ
âDonât,â you cut in quickly. âI really⌠I donât want to replay it. I justââ You press your thumb and forefinger hard to the bridge of your nose. âIt doesnât matter. They love him. They love the version of him they saw, and they think Iâm stupid for letting him go.â
âYouâre not stupid,â he says immediately.
âThatâs not the part theyâre arguing.â
He opens his mouth, closes it again. You can see him working through several options and discarding all of them because none of them will fix the fact that your family is who they are.
âSo donât go,â he says finally. âYou didnât go last year. Or the year before that.â
Your hands fall to your sides. You stare at the tile pattern until it blurs.
âYeah,â you say quietly. âWell. This yearâs different.â
âHow?â
You swallow. The word tastes heavier than everything else.
âGrandma.â
His posture changes. The tension in him shifts, goes from irritated on your behalf to something more careful.
âIs sheâŚâ He trails off, searching your face.
âMom says sheâs not doing well. Theyâve had to take her to the hospital a few times this year. She gets tired easily. She⌠she asked if I would come.â You blink hard.Â
The last part cracks something open. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop it from spilling out.
Seungmin watches you, jaw working.
âSo you have to go,â he says quietly.
You nod.
âAnd theyâre not uninviting him.â
You shake your head, a bitter little laugh hitching out. âMom says it would be rude. Heâs âfamily to themâ now.â You curl your fingers into the fabric of your shirt. âIsnât that funny? Heâs family. Iâm apparently⌠the one who should get over it.â
His silence is sharp.
When he speaks again, his voice is low, careful. âDo you want to see him?â
You answer without thinking. âNo.â
âDo you want to see your grandmother?â
Your throat tightens. âYeah. Of course I do.â
âOkay.â He pushes off the counter, straightening. The movement makes you look up. His expression has settled into something focused, the same look he gets right before he clutches a match and turns an entire game around. âThen we make it happen.â
âSeungmin, itâs not that simple.â You rake a hand through your hair, frustration bubbling up hot. âTheyâre going to ask a thousand questions. Theyâre going to make comments. Theyâre already acting like I made this huge mistake and heâs Godâs gift to our bloodline andââ You cut yourself off, breath coming too fast.
He steps closer. Not enough to crowd you, just enough that when he lowers his chin a little, you canât avoid his eyes.
âLook at me,â he says softly.
You do. You always do.
His gaze is steady, dark and intent. For a second, the usual sarcasm drops away completely, and you see the bare, unvarnished worry underneath.
âYouâre not going to skip seeing your grandmother because your family has the emotional intelligence of a potato,â he says. âIâm not letting that happen.â
âI donâtââ You swallow. âI donât know what else to do.â
âYou go.â He shrugs, like heâs saying something simple. âAnd Iâll go with you.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âIâll go,â he repeats, like youâre the one being slow. âTo Christmas. To your parentsâ place. Iâll come.â
The idea is so absurd you almost laugh in his face. âYou? With my family? Do you have a secret death wish I donât know about?â
âApparently,â he says dryly. âBecause Iâm still offering.â
You stare at him, trying to picture itâSeungmin in your motherâs immaculate living room, enduring your auntâs interrogation, navigating your cousinsâ chaos. Him sitting at that table where everything between you and your ex fractured so neatly apart.
Your stomach swoops.
âYou donât have to do that,â you say quickly. âSeriously, I justâ I needed to vent. Iâll figure something out. I always do.â
âYou donât always,â he says, and thereâs no heat in it, just quiet truth. âSometimes you avoid. Sometimes you stay here and pretend Christmas doesnât exist and eat ramen with me instead.â
âThat sounds like a good plan,â you mutter.
âNot this year.â
He holds your gaze, and something slots into place behind his eyes. Decision. Resolve.
âYou said the problem is facing him alone,â he says. âAnd dealing with your familyâs⌠collective delusion.â His nose wrinkles slightly. âSo donât be alone.â
You blink again. âWhat does that even mean?â
âIt means,â he says slowly, like heâs spelling it out for you, âIâll be your boyfriend.â
Thereâs a beat of silence.
âExcuse me?â you manage.
âFake,â he adds. âObviously. Iâll go as your boyfriend. Theyâll be too busy asking me invasive questions and comparing me to your ex to pull their usual crap, and heâŚâ His jaw tightens. âHeâll see youâre not still orbiting him like heâs the sun.â
The room tilts just a little. You grip the edge of the counter.
âYou canât be serious.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause itâs insane,â you say, half-laughing, half-panicking. âBecause my family is insane. Because youâd be trapped in a house with them for at least three days. Because my mother will show you baby pictures of me and ask how many grandchildren you want.â
He raises an eyebrow. âYou think Iâm scared of your mom?â
âYou should be,â you say fervently.
He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. âIâm not. And even if I was, Iâd still go.â He shrugs one shoulder, casual in a way that doesnât quite match the intensity in his eyes. âYou need backup. Iâm here. Itâs not that complicated.â
It feels complicated. It feels like your heart is trying to climb up your throat.
âSeungmin,â you say, softer now. âYou donât owe me that.â
His gaze flicks over your face, cataloguing every line of doubt, every crack. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost matter-of-fact.
âI know,â he says. âI want to.â
That pulls the air right out of your lungs.
You look at him fully, really lookâthe stubborn line of his mouth, the way his shoulders are squared like heâs already bracing himself for your familyâs version of war, the warm focus in his eyes thatâs always, always been there when it comes to you. Suddenly, the idea isnât insane. Itâs dangerous in a different way.
âAre you sure?â you whisper.
He nods once. âText your mom back. Tell her youâre bringing your boyfriend home for Christmas.â
He lets the word hang there between you, steady and unflinching, while your pulse stutters and races.
âAnd,â he adds, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth, âyou might want to warn her I eat a lot. Wouldnât want to be rude and demolish the whole Christmas dinner without notice.â
A startled laugh bursts out of you, sharp and wet. You swipe quickly under your eye; your fingers come away damp. He pretends not to see.
âOkay,â you say, voice shaking around the edges but stronger than before. âOkay. Iâll⌠Iâll tell her.â
âGood.â He reaches for the controller, then pauses. âAnd hey?â
âYeah?â
He bumps your shoulder again, gentler this time. âWeâre going to make them regret inviting him,â he says lightly. âTheyâll be too busy falling in love with me.â
You roll your eyes, but your chest feels a little less tight, a little more like you can breathe.
âCocky much?â
âRealistic,â he counters, already slipping the headset back on. âMy charm is devastating. Ask literally anyone who isnât you.â
You shake your head, the beginnings of a real smile pulling at your mouth as you reach for your phone.
Your screen lights up with the group chat, the last message still glowing:
Mom: we invited Daniel too!! itâs been so long since we saw him đĽ°
Your thumbs hover.
Then, with Seungminâs presence warm and solid at your side, the living room filling back up with the noise of resumed gunfire and shouted insults, you type:
Y/N: Iâm coming. And Iâm bringing my boyfriend.
You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.
The highway gives way to smaller roads without you really noticing.
One minute itâs gray lanes and salt-streaked barriers, the city shrinking in the rearview; the next youâre rolling past strips of dark trees and gas stations dressed up in half-hearted tinsel. The skyâs the kind of flat December white that promises snow and delivers only slush, and the car is just warm enough that your fingers have stopped hurting.
Your stomach, however, has not.
You twist your hands in your lap. The radio is low, some classic Christmas song murmuring about chestnuts and open fires. The heater hums. The world outside is all muted browns and the occasional flash of a plastic wreath on a front door.
âStop it,â Seungmin says.
You blink. âStop what?â
He flicks his eyes off the road just long enough to angle a look at your hands. âYouâre going to untangle your cuticles. Itâs disturbing.â
You glance down. Red crescent marks bloom at the base of your nails where youâve been worrying them.
âOh.â You drag your hands away from each other and press them flat against your thighs, sitting up straighter. âSorry.â
âDonât apologize to me.â He shifts a little, one hand steady on the wheel, the other reaching down. âApologize to your fingers.â
He pries one of your hands up from your leg with practiced impatience, like heâs done this a hundred times before, and threads his fingers through yours. His palm is warm, grip firm. It makes your bones feel less like theyâre rattling around inside you.
You stare at your joined hands for a second, then turn your gaze resolutely to the windshield.
âThis is not going to fix my anxiety,â you mutter.
âMaybe not,â he says, thumb brushing absently along the back of your hand like he doesnât realize heâs doing it. âBut itâll stop you from mauling yourself before we even get there.â
The GPS mounted on the dash chimes cheerfully.
In 1.5 miles, turn right onto Maple Lane.
Your chest tightens at the name. You know what comes after Maple Lane. You could drive this route in your sleep.Â
You wish you were asleep.
âHow far?â you ask, even though you heard it.
âTen minutes,â he says. âMaybe less.â
âGreat.â You swallow. âFantastic.â
He glances over again. His mouth pulls to the side. âYou look like youâre going to throw up on my dashboard.â
âThanks,â you say faintly. âThat helps.â   Â
âIâm just saying,â he goes on, turning onto a narrower road flanked by sleeping trees. âIf youâre going to hurl, aim for your side. I like my shoes.â   Â
You make a weak chirping noise thatâs probably supposed to be a laugh.   Â
Houses start appearing between the trees, spaced further apart than anything in the city, with wide driveways and mailboxes that all look like variations on a theme. Wreaths on some doors. Lights on others. A giant inflatable Santa listing to one side in someoneâs yard like itâs given up on life.   Â
Your childhood neighborhood, exactly as you remember it and somehow smaller.   Â
You fall quiet. So does he.   Â
The GPS chirps an instruction you donât hear. Seungmin makes another turn, and there it is.   Â
Your parentsâ house appears around the curve like itâs been waiting for you: the same blue-gray siding, the white trim, the porch with the railing your dad always meant to fix and never did. Every inch of it is dressed for the seasonâfairy lights crisscrossing the porch, a lit-up reindeer on the lawn, garland wound around the pillars. Thereâs a glowing star plugged into the upstairs window of what used to be your room.   Â
Your heart lurches.   Â
Seungmin slows to a crawl, then eases the car up to the curb.   Â
âHome sweet psychological war zone,â he murmurs.   Â
You donât answer. Your tongue feels stuck to the roof of your mouth.   Â
He puts the car in park and lets his hands rest on the wheel for a second. The engine ticks softly as it settles.   Â
âHey,â he says. âLook at me.â   Â
You peel your eyes away from the house and force them sideways.   Â
Heâs not smiling now. Up close, in the thin winter light coming through the windshield, he looks unexpectedly grownâjaw set, eyes steady and dark, hair still a little mussed from the beanie he yanked off when you hit the outskirts of town.   Â
âItâs just a house,â he says quietly. âIt has no actual power. Itâs wood and nails and an aggressive amount of fairy lights. The people inside are loud and wrong a lot of the time, but they canât reach into your chest and rearrange you without permission. Got it?â   Â
You huff a shaky breath. âYou rehearsed that?â   Â
âCame up with it just now. Iâm a genius under pressure.â He clicks his seatbelt free. âWe get out. You ring the bell. I carry the bags. Thatâs it. First quest.â   Â
You fumble with your own seatbelt. The buckle sticks once, then pops free. Your fingers are clumsy on the door handle, but you get it open and the cold air slaps you in the face, sharp and clean and full of woodsmoke from some neighborâs fireplace.   Â
He rounds the car in a few strides, already shrugging into his coat. You step onto the curb, knees a little watery.   Â
âI can grabââ you start, reaching for the trunk.   Â
âNope.â He holds up a palm like a traffic cop. âPretty sure the terms of service state I have to show up looking useful.â   Â
âYou made those terms up.â   Â
âAnd yet theyâre legally binding.â He pops the trunk before you can argue and starts loading himself up with the practiced efficiency of someone who has hauled your overpacked suitcases up three flights of stairs more than once.   Â
Your overnight duffel goes over his right shoulder. The tote bag of presents over the left. He hooks the grocery bag your mom insisted you bring (homemade cookies, double-wrapped) in his fingers for good measure, then closes the trunk with his elbow.   Â
You hover uselessly at the end of the driveway.   Â
âYou look ridiculous,â you say. âLike a Christmas pack mule.â   Â
âAnd you look like youâre about to bolt.â He jerks his chin toward the porch. âRing the bell.â   Â
You swallow, nod, and force your legs to move.   Â
The porch boards creak under your boots. The doormat still says WELCOME in curling letters that have faded more with each year. The wreath on the front door is new, thoughâdarker greenery, big red velvet bow. You stare at it for a second, then lift a hand that doesnât feel entirely attached to you and press the doorbell.   Â
The chiming echoes faintly inside. A second later, you hear muffled footsteps, a voice calling your name, the thump of someone hurrying down the hall.   Â
You drag in a breath. Your heart is a drumline in your ears.   Â
The lock clicks. The handle turns.   Â
The door swings open.   Â
And itâs not your mother standing there.   Â
For a second, your brain rejects what itâs seeing. Itâs been long enough that youâve mentally filed him away as an abstract problemâtext on a screen, a name in a group chat, a shadow in old memories.   Â
But there he is, in the flesh, filling your parentsâ doorway like itâs his.   Â
Daniel.   Â
He looks almost exactly the same. A little shorter than Seungmin, hair styled carefully, the same easy smile that used to make your stomach flip for very different reasons. Heâs wearing a sweater youâve seen beforeânavy, soft-looking, something you helped him pick out once in a mall two towns over.   Â
âHey,â he says, like you just bumped into each other at the grocery store. His eyes skim over your face, warm, familiar. Like nothing ever went wrong.   Â
Your breath stalls.   Â
Your grip tightens on the strap of your bag until your knuckles hurt.   Â
âWow,â he adds, letting out a low whistle. âLook who finally decided to come home.â   Â
His gaze flicks over your shoulder, scanning the driveway. The practiced ease in his posture falters just a fraction when he realizes you didnât arrive alone.   Â
Seungmin is halfway up the walk, weighed down with bags but still moving with that unhurried, controlled stride he has. He looks⌠annoyingly good, actually. The coat fits him, the scarf you bullied him into wearing makes his skin look warmer, and the wind has flushed his cheeks faintly pink.   Â
Danielâs eyes narrow, just a hair.   Â
You feel like youâre watching all of this from behind glass.   Â
âHi,â you manage, throat dry. âUm. Hey. I didnât⌠know you were going to be the one answering the door.â   Â
He shrugs, leaning one shoulder casually against the frame like he belongs in it. âYour momâs drowning in kitchen stuff. Your dadâs yelling at your uncle about football. I pulled the short straw.â His mouth quirks. âYou look good.â   Â
The compliment hits like a small, dull stone. Once, it wouldâve made you glow. Now it just makes something in you bristle.   Â
âThanks,â you say, because muscle memory is a powerful thing. âYou, uh⌠youâreâhere.â   Â
âYup.â His smile brightens, like youâve said something charming. âWouldnât miss it. Your mom practically begged.â He laughs, light, like itâs all a joke. âBesides, wouldnât be Christmas without you starting some fight at the table, right?â   Â
Thereâs an edge beneath the words that only you hear. The implication. The rewriting.   Â
Heat crawls up the back of your neck. You open your mouthâgod knows what was about to come outâwhen Seungminâs shoulder bumps gently into your arm.   Â
âHey,â he says, breath puffing white in the cold. âDid you ring an alternate dimension or something? It take this long to say hi?â   Â
His tone is light, but his eyes flick over your face quickly, cataloguing the pale set of your mouth, the tension in your shoulders. They sharpen when they slide to the man in the doorway.   Â
You feel something in you unclench, just a little, at the sight of him there beside you. Solid. Familiar. Yoursâfor now, at least.   Â
Daniel straightens off the doorframe, easy charm snapping back into place like a mask.   Â
âYou must be Seungmin,â he says, sticking his hand out. âIâve heard a lot about you.â   Â
Thereâs an assumption tucked neatly inside the phrase, like heâs offering Seungmin a script: we are men who know where we stand in this story. I am the Ex. You are the New Guy. Youâve heard of me, of course you have. I matter here.   Â
For a heartbeat, you freeze.   Â
Because of course Seungmin has heard about him. He was there for the whole messy end, the nights you came home hollow-eyed, the way your hands shook when your phone lit up with certain notifications. Heâs heard plenty.   Â
But he doesnât take the script.   Â
Instead, he shifts the bags on his shoulder, freeing one hand carefully, and looks at Danielâs outstretched hand with polite puzzlement, like heâs not entirely sure if heâs supposed to recognize him from somewhere.   Â
Then he smiles.   Â
Itâs his nice smile. The one he uses on baristas and professors and neighborsâ kids. Soft at the edges, just enough teeth, completely void of the contempt you know heâs capable of.   Â
âHi,â he says. âAnd you areâŚ?â   Â
The silence that falls is microscopic and enormous at the same time.   Â
Danielâs hand hangs there midair for a fraction of a second too long.   Â
âOh,â he says, a flicker of something crossing his face before he catches it. âUh. Daniel.â He recovers into a laugh thatâs just a little too loud. âIâmâsorry, I thought she wouldâve mentioned me.â   Â
He glances at you as he says it, like heâs tossing a ball into your court. Like he expects you to jump in and fill the space, to reassure him, to patch his ego.   Â
You feel Seungminâs gaze slide to you then back to Daniel.   Â
âDaniel,â he repeats thoughtfully, as if tasting the name for the first time. âNice to meet you.â He shifts the bags again so he can give the other manâs hand a brief, firm shake. âShe hasnât, actually.â   Â
Your pulse ricochets.
Danielâs smile falters, just a fraction. âOh,â he says again. âHuh.â
He looks at you, waiting for you to fix it, to jump in with oh my god, I talk about you all the time, of course I do, youâre unforgettable.
You let the beat stretch.
âYeah,â you say, voice even. âDidnât really⌠come up.â
Something flickers in his eyesâconfusion, then a quick bruise of offense he tries to smother with a shrug.
âWell,â he says, clearing his throat. âGuess Iâm not as memorable as I thought.â
âThereâs still time to impress,â Seungmin says pleasantly. âDoorâs only been open for a minute.â
Daniel huffs a little laugh, but it doesnât quite reach his eyes.
Before the moment can stretch into something uglier, your motherâs voice blasts down the hallway.
âWho is it? Is that her? Is she here?â
You flinch. The sound yanks you straight back to sixteen: late for curfew, shoes already off in your hand to keep from making noise.
âYeah, Mom, itâsââ you start.
She appears before you can finish.
Your mom barrels around the corner in a flurry of apron strings and holiday earrings, cheeks flushed from whatever chaos sheâs been orchestrating in the kitchen. Sheâs got a dish towel in one hand and the unmistakable look of a woman who has been waiting all day to perform motherhood at maximum volume.
âThere she is!â she squeals, wiping her hands hastily on the towel as she closes the distance. âMy runaway child finally decides to come home!â
You barely have time to brace before she wraps you up, arms banding tight around your shoulders, the dish towel still faintly damp against your neck. She smells like rosemary and sugar and the sharp floral of the perfume you always thought was too much.
Your own arms come up on instinct. Hug back, donât twitch, donât pull away. Old programming kicks in like muscle memory.
âHi, Mom,â you manage around the squeeze.
She pulls back just enough to cup your face between both palms, scanning you with a critical, affectionate eye like sheâs judging wear and tear.
âYouâre too thin,â she declares immediately. âDo you not eat in that city? You look pale. Look at those dark circlesâoh, weâll fix that this week. I have this new eye cream, reminds me, I have to show youââ
Her words tumble over each other. Your head starts to buzz.
âAnd you cut your hair.â She flicks at the ends like theyâve personally offended her. âI liked it long. You never ask my opinion.â
âHello Maâam,â Seungmin says from behind you.
For a second, she doesnât even register him. Her gaze slides past your shoulderâlocks on something over your other oneâand her face lights up in a different way.
âDanny!â she crows. âYou got the door, thank you.â Her hand drops from your cheek as she reaches to squeeze his forearm. âYouâre such a help. Honestly, I donât know what Iâd do without you.â
There it is. The pivot. The familiar little sting of being temporarily displaced in your own entrance.
Daniel smiles, sliding easily back into the role. âItâs nothing. You know I like feeling useful.â
âYou always were,â she says, voice going soft. âSuch a good boy.â
Itâs like watching a play youâve already seen. Daniel in his mark, your mother feeding him his lines.
You stand there with your half-finished hug and try not to fidget.
Then, finally, her gaze boomerangs back to youâand catches on the figure standing just behind your shoulder.
âOh!â she says, blinking like sheâs only just noticed the man loaded down with half the contents of your life. âAnd this must beâŚâ
She lets it trail, brows lifting in anticipation. She wants you to say it. Wants you to present him like a project youâve brought home for grading.
You inhale.
âMom,â you say, stepping slightly to the side so Seungmin is fully in her line of sight. âThis is Seungmin. My boyfriend.â
The word feels heavy on your tongue, but once itâs out, it sits there solidly, undeniably real.
Seungmin shifts the bag to his fingertips and offers a lopsided, polite smile.
âItâs really nice to finally meet you,â he says. âThank you for having me.â
Heâs annoyingly good at this. His voice is pitched just rightârespectful, warm, not too eager. If you didnât know him, youâd believe it without question.
Your mother looks him up and down in a quick, assessing sweep.
Heâs not what she expected, you can tell. Thereâs a fractional pause where she recalibrates, where you can see the lists forming in her head: clothes, posture, tone, whether heâs an upgrade or a downgrade on paper.
Then she plasters on a hostess smile.
âOh my goodness,â she says, feigning breathlessness. âWell, arenât you handsome.â
You feel Seungmin go very still for a millisecond at your side, then he executes a tiny bow of his head.
âThank you, maâam,â he says. âIâll try to live up to the hype.â
Your mom laughs, charmed despite herself. âListen to him,â she says to Daniel, like youâre not even there. âIsnât he funny?â
Danielâs mouth twists. âSeems like it,â he says.
Your mother turns back to you, the appraisal starting all over again, this time with more pointed edges.
âSo,â she says, that particular tone creeping inâthe one that always means youâre about to be under a microscope. âThis is the famous roommate weâve heard so much about?â
You blink. âYouâve⌠heard about him?â
âOf course,â she says briskly. âEvery time we talk itâs âSeungmin this, Seungmin that, my roommate does this, my roommate doesnât know how to use a dishwasherâââ She clucks her tongue, aiming the last bit at him like a joke. âI just assumed you were staying in that little phase. Didnât realize it had turned intoâŚâ Her eyebrows rise meaningfully. âThis.â
Her eyes flick between the two of you, like sheâs checking for visual proof. Hand-holding. Rings. Some sign that this isnât just a test run.
Your stomach flips.
âWell,â you say, before she can fill in the silence, âit has.â
Seungminâs elbow brushes yours. When you glance up, he meets your eyes for a heartbeat and thereâs something like quiet praise there, like you just got an answer right in class.
He shifts the bags as if reminded and offers them shyly.
âWhere can I put these?â he asks. âIâd hate to drop your cookies. She was very⌠insistent about them making it intact.â
Your mother softens automatically at the mention of food. âOh, did she finally bring my sugar cookies? Good.â She reaches for the grocery bag, and Seungmin smoothly prevents her from taking it, stepping forward instead.
âLet me,â he says. âYou look busy. Tell me where and Iâll get out of your way.â
Her eyes linger on him for a secondâon the way he moves, the way he speaks. Calculating, recalculating.
âSuch manners,â she says, almost grudgingly impressed. âNow I see why she was so keen to skip Christmas to sulk in that apartment with you.â
âMom,â you mutter.
âWhat? Itâs true.â She waves the dish towel dismissively. âIf youâd just come back and live at home like I've been telling youââ
She doesnât finish the sentence.
She doesnât have to.
Maybe we wouldnât have lost Daniel. Maybe you wouldnât have broken up. Maybe you wouldnât have ruined a perfectly good thing. Maybeâ
ââmaybe things wouldâve gone differently,â she finishes lightly, with a little shrug, like she hasnât just lobbed a grenade between all three of you. âBut whatâs done is done.â
She gives you a bright, brittle smile, the kind she wears at work events.
âYou always did have to learn things the hard way,â she adds. âDidnât you, sweetheart?â
It takes effort not to flinch. You make your face do something approximating neutral instead.
âGuess so,â you say.
Seungminâs fingers flex minutely on the strap of your bag. You can feel the shift of his weight at your side, like heâs readying himself.
âWell,â your mother says briskly, tilting her head, âat least this one knows how to carry a bag without complaining.â
She aims the line at Daniel, teasing, but it hits sideways. Daniel tips his head, accepting the jab with the kind of easy grin that always convinced people he didnât mean anything by it.
âHey, I complained plenty,â he says. âBut I still did it.â
Your chest tightens. And reminded me afterward how much I owed you for it, your memory supplies, unhelpfully.
âWell,â she says again, turning the full wattage of her hostess-smile on Seungmin, âhowever much she packs, itâs very kind of you to put up with her. She can be⌠a lot, sometimes.â
The way she says itâlight, amused, confidingâmakes your stomach twist. It sounds like a joke. It lands like a verdict.
Seungminâs head tilts, just a fraction.
âSheâs never too much for me,â he says, offhand and smooth enough that it takes you a second to process it. âI like having her around.â
Itâs such a simple sentence. It feels like someoneâs reached into your chest and quietly rearranged all the furniture.
Your motherâs eyebrows lift.
âDo you,â she says. Itâs not quite skepticism, not quite disbelief. Something in the middle. âWell. Thatâs⌠sweet.â
She swipes her towel at an imaginary speck on the doorframe, lips curving.
âDaniel always said you kept him on his toes,â she adds to you, in that faux-conspiratorial tone that pretends to invite you in while placing you on display. âRemember, Danny? You said she was like a hurricane.â
Your throat closes around air.
Daniel laughs on cue, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah,â he says. âSheâs⌠intense.â
He doesnât say you were exhausting when you didnât agree with me, or you always made everything a big deal, but you hear it anyway.
âPassionate,â Seungmin corrects, like heâs adjusting a mispronounced word. His tone is still gentle, but thereâs a new thread running through itâsomething firmer. âThatâs one of the first things I liked about her.â
Liked. Your heart stutters. It still makes something warm flicker low in your ribs.
Your mom blinks at him, as if she hadnât expected an opinion from that direction.
âMm,â she says after a beat, noncommittal, and then snaps back into motion before the moment can settle. âAnyway. Weâre in the doorway like fugitives, this is ridiculous. Come in, both of you. Shoes off. You know I just mopped.â
She steps back, ushering with her free hand, herding you like a stray cat.
You toe your boots off on autopilot, bracing a hand on the wall when your foot almost slips. The familiar entryway rushes at youâthe same console table with the chipped corner, the same mirror reflecting all of you back, the same family photos lining the wall. Most of them still include Daniel.
You try to take up as little space as possible as you tuck your boots onto the mat. Daniel is already moving with well-practiced ease, toeing his own shoes neatly to the side.
Daniel bends to scoop up one of the bags before Seungmin can move.
âIâll take that,â he says easily, fingers already closing around the strap of your duffel. âI can show him where everything goes. I know the layout.â
Of course he does. He used to breeze through this house like it was an extension of his own, opening cabinets without asking, changing the thermostat without checking.
You watch his hand on the strap of your bag and feel your jaw tighten.
Seungmin shifts his weight, the easy line of his shoulders hardly changingâbut the grip on the duffel doesnât loosen.
âThanks,â he says, pleasant as anything, âbut Iâve got it.â
Danielâs smile sticks for a beat. âItâs really no problem.â
âI know.â Seungminâs voice stays soft, almost apologetic. âStill. Sheâll never let me live it down if I show up as the boyfriend who canât even carry luggage up a flight of stairs.â
Your mom makes a little approving noise. âThatâs true,â she says. âSheâd complain about that for years.â
You donât correct her. Youâre too busy watching the way Danielâs fingers reluctantly unhook from the strap, leaving Seungminâs hand exactly where it was.
âBesides,â Seungmin adds, like itâs an afterthought, âyouâve already been helping in the kitchen, right?â
The implication is mild, almost invisible: you already have your place here; let me have mine.
Danielâs mouth twitches. The polite thing to do is back off. He does, but you can see the dent in his pride.
âSure,â he says, stepping back half a pace. âWhatever you want, man.â
Your mom claps her hands once, done with the posturing even if youâre not.
âAlright,â she declares. âBags to your room, then you can both come help me. Weâre behind on the potatoes.â She tosses you a bright glance. âYou and your boyfriend will be in your old room, sweetheart. I put fresh sheets on the bed.â
Heat floods your face. âWeâwhat?â
âItâs not complicated,â she says breezily, already turning toward the hallway. âOne room, one bed, two young people in love. Iâm modern.â
You almost choke.Â
She doesnât wait for an answer. Sheâs halfway to the kitchen, calling, âDanny, honey, can you check the timer?â
âYeah, Iâve got it!â he calls back, already moving toward her voice.
You stand there, momentarily shell-shocked, Seungmin at your side with both bags still in his hands.
Your old room. With him. In the same bed.
Later problem. Deal with it later.
You suck in a breath. âI shouldââ
âGo see your grandma,â Seungmin finishes quietly, like heâs been reading your mind. âBefore she gets tired.â
Your attention snaps to him. âBut the bagsââ
He shrugs, adjusting the straps on his shoulder like they weigh nothing.
âIâm not eighty-two,â he says. âShe is. Priorities.â
Your throat stings.
âI can come with you,â you offer weakly. âDrop these off first, thenââ
He shakes his head, tipping his chin toward the hallway branching right. âSitting roomâs that way, yeah? By the big window?â
âYeah,â you say. âSecond door on the left.â
âThen go.â His eyes hold yours for a beat, steady and warm. âLet her have you to herself before the circus starts. Iâll find the room.â
You hesitate. The idea of leaving him alone in this house with these people for even five minutes makes your stomach do weird, protective flips.
âYou sure?â you murmur.
He huffs a soft laugh. âWhatâs the worst that can happen?â
You raise an eyebrow at him, deadpan.
âSeriously,â he insists. âIâll be fine.â
He watches your face and softens, just slightly.
âGo,â he repeats, gentler. âIâll drop this stuff and meet you there. You can introduce me as the guy your grandmaâs going to like more than everyone else in this house combined.â
You roll your eyes, but it doesnât have its usual bite.
âBig talk,â you say.
âBig truth,â he counters.
You squeeze his forearmâquick, impulsiveâthen let go before you can overthink it.
âOkay,â you say again, more for yourself than for him. âSecond door on the left.â
âIâll find you,â he promises.
As you turn down the hallway toward the sitting room, you glance back once.
Daniel has reappeared briefly in the archway to the kitchen, watching Seungmin with an unreadable expression as your boyfriendâfake boyfriend, fakeâshifts both bags onto his shoulders and starts up the stairs without so much as a wobble.
Your mother is saying something to Daniel, her hand light on his arm, her attention already torn away from you.
Seungmin doesnât look at either of them. He just glances down the hall, catches your eye, and gives you the smallest nod.
You hold onto that as you head toward the one room in this house thatâs ever felt like a refuge.
Your grandmother first. Everything elseâthe ex in your doorway, your motherâs digs, the strange comfort of Seungminâs hand in yours, the knowledge that your old bed now has his name on it tooâyou can untangle later.
The hallway to the sitting room is narrower than you remember.
Same runner rug, same framed cross-stitch of some Bible verse your grandmother liked, same faint smell of dust and floral fabric softener. Your hand skims the wall as you walk, fingertips tracing the familiar bumps in the paint.
Second door on the left.
You pause with your fingers on the knob, heart stuttering, then ease it open.
The sitting room is dim, lit only by the weak gray outside and the blue glow of a muted TV playing an old movie. The recliner is angled toward the window, and in itâsmaller than your memory, wrapped in a knitted throwâis your grandmother.
Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly open in the soft, unbothered way of real sleep. The blanket you recognize from a dozen winters is tucked under her chin. Her hair is thinner, more silver than white now. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, even breaths.
Youâd braced yourself for this, and somehow it still knocks the air out of you.
âHey, Grandma,â you whisper, even though she canât hear you.
You step in, letting the door click shut behind you. The room smells like herâpowder and peppermint, a faint trace of whatever lotion sheâs always used. Thereâs a walker folded against the wall. A pill organizer on the side table, days neatly labeled.
You move to her side, knees bumping the recliner. Her hand is resting on the armrest, skin papery, veins like blue thread. Thereâs a hospital bracelet loose around her wrist.
You touch her fingers lightly. Theyâre warm.
Guilt hits you harder than you want it to. All the excuses from the past couple yearsâwork, school, money, âIâll make it next timeââsound flimsy in here, in the hush of this little room where everything is slower, quieter.
âIâm here,â you murmur, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. âI made it.â
She doesnât stir. Of course she doesnât. Sheâs probably exhausted from the drive, from the noise, from your mother fussing. Rationally, you know itâs better for her to rest. Irrationally, a horrible part of you is convinced that if she doesnât open her eyes right now, youâve already missed something you canât get back.
You sink down onto the little footstool at the base of the recliner, knees pulled close. For a while you just sit there, listening to her breathe, watching the rise and fall of her chest under the blanket. The TV flickers nonsense in the corner.
âIâm sorry,â you tell the blanket. âFor not coming before. For leaving you alone with them. For making you ask for me.â
Your eyes sting. You blink up at the ceiling until the water blurs the crown molding.
âYouâd like him, you know,â you add, voice barely above a breath. âThe guy I brought. Heâs⌠decent. He thinks Iâm not a total disaster. Thatâs gotta count for something.â
A quick, ridiculous urge risesâto shake her gently, to wake her up like youâre a kid again, begging for one more story. You swallow it down. Her hand is heavy in yours, her face so peaceful it hurts.
âOkay,â you whisper, more to yourself than to her. âYou rest. Iâll come back when youâre awake.â
You press a quick, clumsy kiss to the back of her hand, the way she used to do to yours when you scratched your knees on the pavement. The familiar texture of her skin against your mouth undoes you more than you expect.
By the time you stand, your throat is tight and your nose burns. You scrub at your eyes with the heel of your palm, determined not to look wrecked before you even make it to the hallway.
You crack the door open as quietly as you can and slip back out.
When you turn, heâs already there.
Seungmin is leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, head tipped back like heâs been studying the ceiling while he waits. At the sound of the door, his gaze drops to your face.
Whatever he was going to say dies before it reaches his mouth.
You drag your sleeve over your cheek, pointlessâthe skin is already hot and tight. His eyes track the movement, then come back to yours, dark and steady.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
He pushes off the wall, closing the space between you in three easy steps. He doesnât reach for you immediately, just stops close enough that you have to tilt your head a little to keep looking at him.
âHow is she?â he asks quietly.
You manage a thin shrug. âSleeping.â
Your voice is rough. It makes you wince.
He studies you for another heartbeat, then lifts one hand. The backs of his fingers brush under your eye, catching a tear you missed. The touch is light, careful.
You go very still.
His thumb follows, smoothing the dampness away. He doesnât make a joke. He doesnât tell you youâre being dramatic. He just⌠looks at you, like heâs trying to hold your face steady by will alone.
The knot in your throat tightens. You swallow against it.
âSorry,â you murmur, out of habit more than anything.
His brow creases. The pad of his thumb presses, barely, at the corner of your mouth, a wordless donât.
You exhale shakily.
âCan youâŚâ You trail off, fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater. You donât know what youâre asking for exactly. A distraction. A shield. Something solid to lean on.
He seems to understand anyway.
His hand drops from your face only so he can step that last half-step closer. Then his arms come up, slow enough to give you a chance to move away.
You donât.
You step into him instead.
Your forehead finds his collarbone, your hands curling into the front of his sweater like theyâve been waiting for an excuse. The fabric is soft under your fingers, warm from his body.
He hesitates for a breathâjust oneâand then his arms fold around you, firm and sure. One wraps around your shoulders; the other settles low on your back, palm broad and steady between your shoulder blades.
The contact knocks the last bit of composure loose.
You donât sob, exactly. Itâs quieter than thatâa series of tight, hitching breaths against his chest, the kind that make your ribs ache. Your fingers scrunch tighter in his sweater, knuckles white.
He doesnât shush you. He doesnât tell you itâs okay when it clearly isnât. He just holds you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head, his breath moving slow and even like heâs offering you a rhythm to sync up to.
His hand moves in small, absent circles at your back. Up, down. Up, down. Every pass reminds you: here. Here. Here.
You donât know how long you stand there in the dim hallway, tucked between a closed door and his chest, the muffled sounds of the house a world awayâdistant clatter in the kitchen, a burst of laughter from somewhere else, the low murmur of the TV leaking under the sitting room door.
Eventually, the sharp edge of it dulls. Your breathing evens out. The tight band around your lungs loosens enough that air can come and go without scraping.
You pull back a little, just enough to tilt your head up.
He looks down at you, eyes searching, expression open in a way he keeps for moments when he thinks youâre not really looking.
âBetter?â he asks, barely above a whisper.
You nod. Your cheeks are still damp, but the urge to unravel has passed.
âStay close?â you hear yourself say, before your brain can censor it.
Something flickers in his faceâsurprise, then something softer that he reins in fast.
âYeah,â he says, like itâs obvious. His hands donât drop from your waist. âIâm not going anywhere.â
You hold his gaze for a second too long, aware all at once of how little space there is between you, how his fingers span the curve of your hip, how your name might sound if he said it like that for a different reason.
The thought makes your pulse jump. You step back another half-inch, enough to breathe but not enough to break whatever this is.
âYour roomâs upstairs,â he says, voice clearing a little as he shifts back into motion. âI dropped the bags already. Whenever you want to escape to⌠that.â
You huff out a faint laugh. âYou saw my posters.â
One corner of his mouth tips up. âHard to miss the life-size boyband shrine,â he murmurs.
You groan, scrubbing at your face with your sleeve. âIâm never bringing you here again.â
âSure you will.â His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your damp cheek, knuckles barely grazing your skin. âYouâre stuck with me, remember?â
The word stuck shouldnât feel like comfort. It does.
You sniff, take a breath that doesnât scrape on the way in. The sounds of the house creep back in around youâpots clanging in the kitchen, your auntâs laugh from down the hall, someone calling for more foil.
âI should clean up,â you say. âBefore my mom decides crying is a character flaw.â
He nods toward the bathroom a few steps away. âIâll wait.â
You hesitate. âYou donât have toââ
âI know.â His hand slides down, finds yours, gives it a quick squeeze before letting go. âIâll still be here.â
You duck into the bathroom, splash cold water over your face, pat your skin dry with a hand towel that smells faintly of your motherâs detergent. When you glance in the mirror, your eyes are a little red, but you look like a person again, not a live wire.
The door squeaks when you open it. Heâs exactly where you left him, shoulder to the wall, gaze flicking up the second you appear.
âBetter,â he says, like a quiet verdict.
âDefine better,â you mutter, but your mouth curves.
He steps in beside you, close enough that your arms brush. For a second you just stand there, side by side in the narrow hall, facing the direction of the noise.
âReady?â he asks.
âNo,â you admit.
His hand settles low at your back, warm through the fabric. âOkay,â he says. âLetâs go anyway.â
You nod, draw in one more breath, and let him steer you toward the light and the voices and the rest of the evening, his touch a steady point as the hallway opens back up around you.
Seungmin sits on the edge of your childhood bed and tries not to think about the fact that heâs on your childhood bed.
The mattress dips under his weight, springs giving a tired little groan. The comforter is different from the one in the photos downstairsâupdated sometime after the era of cartoon princesses and neonâbut the headboardâs the same white-painted wood with a nick in the left post. He remembers you pointing at it once in a picture, explaining some elaborate war youâd waged against a bunk bed ladder when you were eight.
Now heâs in the room instead of looking at it through a phone screen.
The shower runs down the hall, pipes humming through the walls. Itâs the only sound up here, aside from the faint clink of dishes still happening downstairs. Everyone else is busy packing leftovers, arguing about containers, pretending theyâre not watching Daniel help your mom in the kitchen like some kind of golden retriever in an apron.
Seungmin had offered.
Your mom had told him, very sweetly, that he was a guest.
Then sheâd handed Daniel the carving knife.
He blows out a slow breath and digs his thumbs into his knees.
Dinner couldâve been worse. Thatâs the generous read.
Heâd survived:
â The barrage of questions from your aunts. How did you meet? How long have you been together? What are your intentions? Heâd smiled, lied smoothly, felt your knee press against his under the table every time you needed grounding.
â Your fatherâs polite interrogation about careers and âstability,â the emphasis landing just a bit too hard on every word Daniel ticked all the boxes for.
â The not-so-subtle stories about remember when you and Danny did this and you two were so good together.
The words slid around the table like side dishes: help yourself to emotional sabotage.
Heâd watched you shrink, just a little, every time your mother said Daniel like it was synonymous with ideal. Watched your fingers tighten around your fork, your smile go thinner, your shoulders creep up by degrees.
So heâd kept talking. Joked when he could, redirected when he had to. Answered questions before you could be cornered by them. Slid his hand over your thigh under the table when your mom said, âI just worry sheâll never find someone who really understands her the way he did.â
Your leg had jumped under his touch. You hadnât pulled away.
And then thereâd been your grandmother.
Sheâd finally woken up an hour after dinnerâblinking blearily, calling your name like sheâd just had you here yesterday. Youâd flown to her side; heâd hung back in the doorway, suddenly unsure, feeling like he was intruding on something sacred.
Until sheâd waved him closer with a surprisingly impatient flap of her hand.
âCome here, boy,â sheâd said, peering up at him like she was looking over the top of glasses she wasnât wearing. âLet me see you.â
Heâd taken the seat by her knee, folded himself down small. Sheâd wrapped her cool fingers around his wrist and patted his hand like she was testing the grain of something.
âYou look kind,â sheâd pronounced. âAnd stubborn. She needs someone who wonât blow away when she gets loud.â
Youâd groaned. âGrandma.â
âDonât âGrandmaâ me,â sheâd sniffed. âYouâre a storm. You need a tree. Otherwise youâll knock everything down and then cry about it.â
Her thumb had brushed over the back of his knuckles, softer.
âTake care of my girl,â sheâd added, like it was a simple errand. âShe doesnât know how to do it herself yet.â
Heâd swallowed, throat suddenly tight in a way that had nothing to do with the dry turkey.
âYeah,â heâd said. âI can do that.â
He meant it so hard it scared him.
Now, in your room, he stares at the chipped paint on the closet door and tries not to replay that sentence on a loop.
Take care of my girl.
The shower shuts off.
The silence that follows is a different kind. Thicker. Closer.
He can hear you moving around in the little bathroomâcabinet door, the soft thud of your toiletry bag, the whisper of fabric as you change. He pictures you in there, hair damp, cheeks still a little pink from the hot water, folding yourself into clean pajamas while trying not to think about the bed situation.
Heâs been trying not to think about the bed situation either.
The mattress isnât big. Full-size, maybe. Two people could fit if they didnât mind⌠sharing oxygen.
He scrubs a hand over his face.
This was easier before today. When you were just his roommate who took his hoodies and fell asleep on his shoulder during movie nights and left your socks all over the couch. When liking you was something he could pretend lived in the same category as liking coffee or his favorite pair of headphonesâannoying to be without, but survivable.
Now heâs replaying every little moment from the last twelve hours like an idiot.
The way your hand had found his in the car and stayed there. The way your voice shook when you said boyfriend at the door and then steadied when you felt him behind you. The way youâd breathed into his chest in the hallway outside your grandmotherâs room, trying not to come apart.
âStay close,â youâd said.
Like you didnât even realize you were asking him for something heâd already decided to give.
He leans back on his hands, stares up at the ceiling where you used to tape glow-in-the-dark stars. A few ghost outlines remain, little circles of less-yellow paint.
Objectively, he knows he was calm today. He did his job. He played the part. He kept his voice level and his eyes steady and his touch casual enough that no one, especially you, could accuse him of going off-script.
Inside, he feels like someone took his already-stupid crush and ran it through whatever machine your mom uses to whip cream: volume doubled, structure completely ruined.
He watched your ex watch you all eveningâwatched the way Danielâs eyes narrowed when you laughed at something Seungmin said, watched his jaw clench when your grandmother reached for Seungminâs hand instead of his. Watched that petty flicker of ownership that shouldnât exist anymore.
And under all the irritation and protectiveness and mean little sparks of satisfaction when he pretended not to know the guy, thereâd been this other thing.
Older. Quieter. Sitting in his chest like a weight.
Not just I like her.
I love her.
He doesnât know when it tipped over. Maybe the night you fell asleep on the couch with your cheek pressed to his thigh and his foot going numb, but he didnât move because youâd had a bad day. Maybe the first time he heard you rant about your family at three a.m. with your hair in a lopsided bun and your eyes on fire. Maybe when you told him about the way this house made you feel small and he could hear the little crack underneath the joke.
He just knows that today, listening to you apologize to your sleeping grandmother, feeling your voice break in the doorway, something inside him stopped pretending it was anything else.
He loves you.
It sits there in his chest, stupid and obvious and absolutely useless, because none of this is real. Not to you.
To you, heâs a shield. A safe person to stand behind while your family replays their favorite narratives. He agreed to be your boyfriend for the weekend, and you thanked him like he was taking out the trash.
Heâd do it again. Heâd do worse for you. Thatâs the problem.
The bathroom door clicks.
He jerks upright a little too fast, scraping his heel on the hardwood. The knob turns. Light spills into the dim hallway, then into the room as you step in.
Your hair is damp, curling at the ends, a few strands sticking to your cheek. Your pajama bottoms are patterned with tiny stars. Itâs stupidly on-brand.
You stop just inside the room, hand on the knob, eyes flicking from the bed to him and back.
For half a second, the two of you just look at each other.
âYou survived,â you say at the same time he blurts, âNice pants.â
You look down at the star print. âShut up.â
âTheyâre very mature,â he says. âVery âI pay taxes.ââ
âYou literally wear cartoon dog socks to class.â
âThose dogs are iconic,â he says. âThis is slander.â
Your mouth twitches. Good. The tight, brittle look you had when you disappeared down the hall after dinner has loosened a little. Your shoulders have dropped half an inch.
You let go of the doorknob and come in properly, padding across the room. Your hair leaves little damp marks on the shoulders of your shirt. His shirt, he realizes belatedlyâone of his old tees, collar a little stretched where youâve tugged at it a hundred times.
He swallows.
âYou okay?â you ask, stopping by the desk to drop your toiletry bag. âAfter all that?â
âAll that,â he echoes. âYou mean the three-hour live podcast on Why Daniel Is Godâs Gift To Our Bloodline?â
Your mouth pulls sideways. âYeah. That.â
He snorts, looking away just long enough to let the irritation flicker across his face. âIâve had worse.â
You raise an eyebrow. âName one.â
âMiddle school talent show.â
âThat canât be the same.â
âI had a bowl cut and sang a Bruno Mars song,â he says. âIn public. Trust me, your family has nothing on that.â
You huff out a quiet laugh, but it doesnât stick. Your fingers start worrying the edge of his t-shirt where it hangs over your forearm.
âStill,â you say. âThey were⌠a lot.â
âTheyâre always a lot, right?â he says. âThatâs what you said.â
âYeah, but itâs different when itâs not just me,â you mutter. âI dragged you into the circus.â
His shoulders lift in a half-shrug. âI bought my own ticket. VIP pass.â
âThatâs not helping,â you say, but your voice is softer now.
You turn away, fussing with a stray bottle on the desk, and the apology comes out on a low rush.
âIâm sorry about dinner.â
He blinks. âWhy?â
You shoot him a look over your shoulder. âDid you not hear them? My mom asking when weâre getting married, my aunt quizzing you about kids, my dad doing the âso how exactly do you plan on supporting a family on thatâ thingââ
âThat was fun,â he says dryly.
âAnd the Daniel stuff,â you go on, like you didnât hear him. âAll the âremember when you twoâ and âheâs practically one of us.â Like you werenât right there. It wasââ Your mouth twists. âIt was rude.â
âIâm fine.â
âIâm not,â you snap, then immediately wince. âSorry. I just⌠hate that you had to sit through all of that. They donât even know you. They barely tried.â
His chest does something messy and warm.
âI mean,â you add quickly, âGrandma did. Obviously. But the rest of themâŚâ
He watches the way your shoulders curl in as you trail off, like youâre trying to take up less space even in your own room.
âYou know I didnât come here for them, right?â he says.
You look at him properly this time. âThen why did you come?â
He could say the easy thingâfor youâbut it feels too naked in the air, too close to the stuff heâs been trying not to name all evening.
Instead, he lets his mouth do what it always does and detours.
âFor the food,â he says. âObviously.â
Your face does that offended little scrunch he likes too much.
âWow,â you say. âOkay. Go date the mashed potatoes, then.â
âThey donât talk back,â he says. âKind of a selling point.â
You grab the nearest objectâa scrunchieâand throw it at him. It bounces off his shoulder and lands on the bed.
âJerk,â you mutter.
âAccurate,â he says. âStill not mad at your family, though. That would require caring what they think.â
You hesitate, chewing that over.
âNot even a little?â you press.
âOkay,â he concedes. âYour momâs whole âproper jobâ thing was annoying.â
You roll your eyes. âTell me about it.â
âAnd your dad thinks stability only exists in Excel sheets.â
âYou noticed that too, huh.â
âAnd your cousin kept kicking me under the table.â
You blink. âWait, seriously?â
âI kicked back,â he says. âGently. Iâm not a monster.â
That pulls a real laugh out of you, the sound loosening something in his chest.
âBut,â he adds, quieter, âthe rest of it? The Daniel storytime hour? I knew what I was signing up for.â
âDoesnât mean you deserved it,â you say.
He looks at you for a beat, the way youâre standing there in star pajamas and borrowed cotton, genuinely offended on his behalf like you havenât spent the entire day being slowly dismantled at that very table.
âIt bothered you more than me,â he says.
âYes,â you answer, like itâs obvious. âBecause it was about you.â
His mouth goes a little dry.
âAnyway.â You sigh, cutting yourself off before you spiral. âI just⌠wanted to say sorry.â
âApology rejected,â he says.
You frown. âThatâs not how that works.â
âIt is tonight,â he says. âIâm not taking it. They sucked. You didnât. End of.â
You stare at him for a second, then shake your head, almost smiling despite yourself.
âWhy are you so sure about everything?â you grumble.
âSomebody has to be,â he says. âYouâre busy running worst-case scenarios.â
âRude. Accurate. Whatever.â You scrub a hand over your face. âOkay. Bed.â
Instant static in his brain.
âRight,â he says. âThat.â
Your gaze flicks to the mattress, then back to him, then to the floor, where the rug is doing its best but very clearly not designed for human spines.
âI can take the floor,â he hears himself say, too fast. âIf you want. Itâs fine.â
You stare at him like heâs just suggested sleeping in the driveway.
âAbsolutely not.â
âItâs not a big deal,â he says. âIâll just grab someââ
âThere are no extra blankets,â you cut in. âMom raided every closet for my aunts and uncles and all their gremlin children. Youâll freeze. The floor is hardwood. Have you met your back?â
âMy back is young and resilient,â he lies.
âYou literally complained about it last month because you fell asleep on the couch wrong,â you say. âYou made me bring you a heating pad, remember?â
âThat was different,â he says, because he refuses to be slandered in his hour of sacrifice. âThere was a spring in theâwhy am I defending myself? Point is, I donât mind.â
âWell, I do,â you say firmly. âYouâre not sleeping on the floor like some stray cat I snuck in.â
He opens his mouth. You steamroll right over him.
âAnd before you say anything,â you add, âweâve already fallen asleep together, like, a bunch of times. Movie nights? Remember those? Couch naps? You drooled on my shoulder last week.â
âI did notââ
âYou absolutely did,â you say. âSo we can share a bed without you nobly martyring your spine, okay?â
He should argue. It would be the gentlemanly thing or whatever. It would also give him more time to get used to the idea of you lying within armâs reach all night.
Instead, he hears himself say, âFine.â
You nod once, decisive, like youâve just won a court case.
âGood,â you say. âGlad thatâs settled.â
He shifts over automatically, making space against the wall, pretending his heart isnât beating too fast for someone whoâs just⌠sitting.
You cross to the bed, the mattress dipping again as you climb in on the other side. For a second, everything is rustle and fabric and not looking directly at each other.
You flick the lamp off. The room falls into soft shadow, the ceiling ghosts of your old star stickers barely visible in the dark.
Under the covers, your shoulder brushes his. You both go still.
âToo close?â you ask quietly, not moving.
âNo,â he says. His voice comes out lower than usual. âItâs fine.â
âOkay.â You exhale. âGood.â
Silence slips in, not entirely comfortable, not entirely not.
He stares up at the ceiling, counts the little pale circles he can see.
After a beat, you say, softer, âThanks. For⌠today. All of it.â
He rolls his head on the pillow to look at you. Your face is turned toward the ceiling, but your eyes are half-lidded, lashes dark against the faint lamplight from the street.
âDonât make it weird,â he says.
âYouâre the one being weird,â you mutter, but thereâs the tiniest smile at the corner of your mouth.
He watches it for a second, feels the familiar urge to poke at you just to see it widen.
âGo to sleep,â he says instead. âBig day tomorrow. More character assassination, more passive-aggressive hugs.â
âCanât wait,â you sigh.
You shift, getting comfortable, and your foot brushes his under the blanket. Neither of you moves it away.
âNight, Seungmin,â you murmur.
He closes his eyes, the weight in his chest settling into something that feels, against all logic, a little like relief.
âNight,â he says. âHurricane.â
You huff out a quiet breath that might be a laugh, and the house creaks around you, and in the small, borrowed dark of your old room, he lets himself lie there next to you and feel every inch of the distance youâre not putting between you.
Christmas Eve smells like onions and butter and guilt.   Â
Youâre at the counter with a knife in your hand, wrist moving on autopilot as you chop carrots into obedient little coins. Your mom is two feet away at the stove, conducting pots and pans like an orchestraâone hand on a wooden spoon, the other flicking burners higher and lower, muttering about timing under her breath. Behind you, at the small table, your grandmother sits like a tiny queen in her chair, apron tied over her cardigan, peeling potatoes with slow, practiced motions.   Â
You should be paying attention to your knife, to the rhythm of your hands, to your motherâs barked instructions.   Â
You are absolutely not.   Â
Because in the doorway that opens into the living room, you can see Seungmin.   Â
Heâs on the floor with three of your younger cousins, knees bent, socked feet flat on the carpet. Someone has unearthed the big plastic bin of toys that lives in the hall closet, and it has swallowed him whole. There are blocks and mismatched action figures everywhere, a scattering of crayons, a coloring book open and abandoned.   Â
From here, you canât hear what heâs saying over the sizzle of onions and your motherâs running commentary, but you can see everything else.   Â
The way heâs folded himself down to kid height like itâs the most natural thing in the world. The way his mouth movesâteasing, exasperated, amusedâas your youngest cousin waves a plastic dinosaur in his face. The way he tips his head when he listens, all that attention focused on a five-year-old earnestly explaining the rules of a game that clearly has none.   Â
You catch the echo of his laugh even through the closed kitchen door. It makes the hairs on your arms stand up.   Â
âStop daydreaming and pass me the salt,â your mother snaps.   Â
You jolt, nicking the carrot instead of a finger by pure luck. âSorry.â   Â
She doesnât look at you, hand outstretched, eyes on the pan. âSalt.â   Â
You fumble for the little ceramic cellar and slap it into her palm. She throws a pinch into the pan, stirs, tastes, frowns.   Â
Behind her shoulder, Seungmin does something ridiculous with one of the kidsâpretends to fall over when she tags him, flopping backwards in exaggerated slow motion. All three cousins shriek with laughter, collapsing on top of him in a pile. He lets himself be buried, one arm flung out, the other covering his face like heâs truly defeated.   Â
Your heart does a weird, traitorous twist.   Â
You force your eyes back to the cutting board. Slice, slice, slice. Carrot coins. Focus.   Â
You last five seconds.   Â
âDonât cut them so thick,â your mom says, glancing over. âTheyâll never cook through. Honestly.â   Â
âTheyâre fine,â you mutter, but you start making the slices thinner anyway.   Â
She makes a disapproving noise and turns back to the stove.   Â
You chance another look.   Â
Now Seungmin is holding two action figures, facing them off in midair. One of your cousinsâIsla, with the lopsided ponytail and the perpetually sticky handsâis leaning against his arm, watching with rapt attention. The other two are arguing over who gets to be âthe dragon,â voices high and frantic.   Â
Seungminâs mouth shapes something that makes Isla giggle so hard she almost tips over. He catches her without even looking, hand coming up to steady her shoulder while his eyes stay on the other two kids. His hair falls into his eyes; he blows it away with a quick huff, lips pursed.   Â
You realize youâve stopped cutting again.   Â
âHonestly,â your mom says, exasperated, âyouâd think youâve never seen a man around children before.â   Â
Heat rushes to your cheeks. âWhat?â   Â
âYou keep staring,â she says. âLike heâs reinventing the wheel.â   Â
âIâm notââ You clamp your mouth shut. âIâm just making sure theyâre not killing him.â   Â
âHe seems to be doing fine without your supervision,â she says dryly. âUnlike these carrots.â   Â
âGrandma?â you say desperately, without turning. âBack me up.â   Â
Behind you, your grandmother chuckles, the sound low and scratchy. âLeave the girl alone,â she tells your mother. âItâs Christmas Eve. Let her look at her boyfriend.â   Â
The word lands like a pebble in a pond, ripples spreading out along your spine.   Â
Boyfriend.   Â
You swallow, fingers tightening around the knife handle.   Â
Your mother snorts. âPlease. Sheâll have plenty of time to stare at him when they go back home.â   Â
The oven timer goes off with a sharp beep. âUgh. I swear, everything has to happen at once.â She slams the fridge door with her hip. âI need to go check the ham, and your aunt will get lost if I donât tell her exactly which exit to take. Donât let anything burn.â   Â
She swipes her phone from the counter and marches out toward the dining room, already angrily texting, trailing the smell of rosemary and irritation behind her.   Â
The kitchen feels quieter the second sheâs gone, even with the fan whirring and something bubbling on the back burner.   Â
You exhale. Your shoulders drop.   Â
âBring those here,â your grandmother says.   Â
You turn. âThe carrots?â   Â
âNo, the ceiling fan,â she says. âYes, the carrots. My hands are faster than yours.â   Â
You huff a laugh and gather the cutting board, bringing it and the knife over to the little table. She pushes aside her peeled potatoes to make space. Her fingers are gnarled and spotted, but the way she handles the knife is still sure, efficient. You feel twelve again watching her, perched at this same table, trying not to cut yourself while she made neat, perfect slices.   Â
You sink into the chair opposite her. The edge of the table bites into your thighs. From this angle, you can still see through the doorwayâSeungmin now sitting cross-legged as one cousin styles his hair with tiny plastic clips, another drawing on his arm with washable markers. He holds his forearm steady, expression solemn as if this is Very Serious Work.   Â
Your mouth goes dry.   Â
You snap your gaze back to the table so fast your neck twinges.   Â
âCareful,â Grandma says, not looking up. âYouâll sprain something staring like that.â
âIâm not staring,â you say automatically.
She makes a small, knowing noise in her throat. âMm. And Iâm not old.â
You peel a potato with unnecessary focus, curls of skin dropping into the bowl between you. The fan hums overhead. Something pops in the oven. You can feel his presence more than see it now, a little pressure at the edge of your awarenessâthe way you always know where he is in a room.
âHeâs good with them,â Grandma says after a moment, like sheâs commenting on the weather. âThose little monsters. They like him.â
âHeâs got nieces and nephews,â you mumble. âHeâs used to chaos.â
âStill,â she says. âThereâs used to it, and thereâs good at it.â
You donât answer. Your throat feels too tight.
Her knife keeps moving, steady little arcs against the cutting board. âHe looks at you nice, too,â she adds, almost offhand.
Heat rushes up your neck. âGrandmaâŚâ
âWhat?â Her eyes flick up, sharp and amused. âYou think I didnât see him disappear after you when you went down the hallway? Iâve had that house longer than youâve been alive. I know where the echoes go.â
You swallow. Guilt prickles under your skin, hot and sour.
âDonât start,â you say quietly. âPlease.â
She studies you for a beat, then lets it go with a soft exhale. âFine,â she says. âStand in front of the stove and pretend I canât see through you. Iâll be generous.â
You let out a shaky breath and focus on the potato in your hand. You donât tell her that every time she calls him your boyfriend, something in your chest lurches like itâs trying to line up with the word. You donât tell her it feels like lying and like the closest thing to the truth youâve ever said in this house.
You donât tell her anything.
Because her eyes are already rimmed red from the cold and the meds and the effort of being upright. Because sheâs wearing the apron you made her in third grade with your handprints on it. Because she asked you to come, and you did, and you canât bear to put another crack in the fragile, glittering thing sheâs trying to build out of these days.
So you sit there and peel and let her think what she wants, and hope to god itâs not obvious how badly you wish you deserved it.
By the time the sun goes down, the house has tipped from busy into chaotic.
The kitchen is a war zone of dirty pans and covered dishes. Your aunts are arguing about whether the yams need more marshmallows. Your mom is shouting into the phone about traffic. Children are everywhere, sugared up and barefoot, darting between adults like theyâre running drills.
And then the front door bangs open and a blast of cold air rolls through the hallway.
âTimber!â your dad yells, which is what he says every single year, even though the tree is nowhere near falling.
Youâre standing at the doorway between the hall and the living room when they appear: your father at the back end of the tree, Daniel at the front, the two of them wrestling the enormous, slightly crooked fir through the too-narrow door.
Pine needles shake loose with every bump. Your mom appears out of nowhere to clap her hands and tell them not to scratch the floors. Your younger cousins shriek and bounce, trailing in their wake.
âThey always do this last minute,â you mutter.
Seungmin materializes at your elbow like heâs been summoned by your eye roll. âWhat, chaos?â he says. âFeels on brand.â
You jump a little; you hadnât seen him slip away from the kids. When you look at him, you have to bite back a smile. There are still three plastic butterfly clips in his hair, and a faint purple comet drawn on his arm in washable marker.
âHold still,â you say, reaching up before you can think about it.
His brows lift. âWhat are youââ
You pluck one of the clips free, then another, combing your fingers through his hair to smooth it back into place. Itâs softer than it looks. Your knuckles graze his temple; his breath catches just enough that you feel it.
The third clip is stuck closer to his ear. You step in, squinting, fingertips brushing his skin as you pry it loose. He goes very still under your hands.
âYour head is a crime scene,â you murmur.
âYouâre the one who let them at me,â he says, but his voice has gone a shade lower. His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.
Heâs close enough that you can smell his soap, the faint citrus of dish detergent from helping in the kitchen earlier. The noise of your family swells around youâthe scrape of the tree stand on hardwood, your dadâs running commentary, your aunt yelling at her kids to stop sword-fighting with wrapping paper tubesâbut for a second itâs just the two of you in the doorway, your fingers in his hair and that look on his face.
You pull your hand back like youâve touched a hot pan.
âFixed,â you say, a little too briskly.
He arches a brow, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but doesnât push it.
âTree incoming!â your dad bellows, as if the massive green object isnât already in the room.
Everyone converges on the living room like a tide. The tree is wrestled into its stand in the corner by the window, tilted, adjusted, debated over, pronounced Acceptable. Someone plugs in the lights to test them; half the string flickers and dies. Your uncle swears under his breath. The kids cheer anyway.
âAlright,â your mom says once the worst of the chaos settles. She claps her hands for attention, the way she always does. âYou all know the drill.â
The kids immediately start whining.
âWe want to decorate it now,â Isla says, tugging at the hem of your sweater. âPleaseee.â
âYeah!â another cousin chimes in. âWe can help!â
Your mother puts a hand to her chest in mock horror. âAnd ruin the magic?â she says. âAbsolutely not.â
âItâs tradition,â your father adds, as if anyone has forgotten. âTree goes up Christmas Eve, gets decorated after you monsters go to sleep. That way when you wake upâŚâ He spreads his hands, miming sparkles. âBoom. Christmas miracle.â
The kids groan but theyâve done this enough years to know theyâre not winning. Thereâs some half-hearted arguing, some bargaining for one ornament, just one, please. Your mom holds firm. Eventually the herd is wrangled into pajamas and teeth-brushing and goodnights, with promises of Santa and cookies and âif you get out of bed, he skips this houseâ threats.
You end up on the couch next to Seungmin while the bedtime exodus happens, your knee pressed against his. He sits close enough that you can feel the warmth of his arm through your sweater, his attention split between the circus and the unlit tree.
When the last child has been kissed and shooed and threatened into staying in bed, the adults reconvene in the living room with the air of people about to draw straws for jury duty.
âOkay,â your mom says, rubbing her hands together. âWhoâs on tree duty this year?â
Silence.
Your uncle suddenly finds his phone very interesting. One aunt starts stacking plates that donât need stacking. Your father adjusts the TV volume despite no one watching it. Daniel leans back in the armchair with the posture of a man waiting for a role he knows is coming.
Your mom sighs elaborately. âYouâd think I was asking for a kidney.â She turns to the sideboard and picks up a ceramic bowl. âFine. Weâre doing it the old-fashioned way.â
She holds up a handful of folded slips of paper. âNames in. Whoever I draw has the honor of making Christmas morning magical while the rest of us get our beauty sleep.â
âYou mean youâre too tired,â your father says under his breath.
âBeauty sleep,â she repeats pointedly.
The bowl goes around. You write your name on the slip, fingers slightly clammy. Seungminâs thigh is warm against yours as he reaches after you. His shoulder brushes your arm.
âYou look nervous,â he murmurs.
âI always lose this game,â you mutter back. âEvery year since I was nineteen.â
âMaybe this year youâll get a break.â
You snort. âYou clearly havenât met my luck.â
He gives you a sidelong look, something wry and a little soft at the edges. âI met you,â he says. âCanât be that bad.â
Before you can figure out how to process that, your mom returns to center stage, bowl in hand.
âDrumroll?â she says.
No one obliges. She rolls her eyes and digs in anyway.
âFirst elf,â she announces, unfolding the slip with theatrical flair. âDaniel!â
Of course.
Thereâs a ripple of polite laughter, a couple of whoops. Your dad claps him on the shoulder.
Daniel grins, unbothered. âHey, I donât mind,â he says. âYou know Iâve got this down to a science.â
âThatâs our boy,â your mom says warmly. âAlways reliable.â
The words land like a stone in your stomach.
Seungmin goes very still beside you.
âSecond elf,â your mom says, fishing again.
She unfolds the second slip.
Your name looks too big in her hand.
âOh!â she says, eyes lighting up. âLook at that. Just like old times.â
Your aunts make a collective, delighted noise. Your dad chuckles. Someone actually claps.
Your mouth goes dry. âWaitââ
âCome on, sweetheart,â your mom says. âYou and Danny always did the best job. Remember that year you stayed up until three making the little paper snowflakes? The tree was beautiful.â
âMe and Seungmin can do it,â you blurt, before you can stop yourself.
All eyes shift to him.
He straightens, jaw tight, but his voice is even. âI donât mind,â he says. âIf sheâs tired.â
âOh, donât be silly,â your mother says, waving a dismissive hand. âYouâve had a long day already. Youâre a guest. Let the people who know where everything is handle it.â
The people. Like you and Daniel are a matching set.
âItâs really not a bigââ you start.
âItâll be fun,â Daniel cuts in smoothly. âRight?â He flashes you that old, familiar grin, the one that used to mean fireworks and now makes your skin crawl. âFor old timesâ sake.â
You open your mouth to say no. To say anything but yes.
Your mother sees it coming.
âUnless your⌠boyfriend is uncomfortable,â she says, the word boyfriend suddenly sounding like a test instead of a label. Her gaze slides to Seungmin. âYouâre not the jealous type, are you, Seungmin?â
The room tilts.
Everyone looks at him. You can feel the way his body has coiled beside you, the tension humming off him like a wire.
He could laugh it off. He could say itâs fine.
He doesnât.
âI just think itâs weird,â he says, voice calm in a way that makes it worse. âPairing her up with her ex to play house in the living room while I sit upstairs pretending not to notice.â
Your father shifts. Your aunts exchange looks. The air in the room sharpens.
âSeungmin,â you say under your breath.
Your momâs smile goes thin. âNo oneâs playing house,â she says. âWeâre talking about ornaments.â
âOrnaments,â he repeats. His eyes are on your mother, but you can see the muscle jumping in his jaw. âRight.â
Daniel leans back in his chair like this is a show he ordered. âItâs just tradition, man,â he says lightly. âWeâve done it every year. We know where everything is. Relax.â
The word lands like a slap.
Seungminâs eyes flick to him, cool and flat. âIâm very relaxed,â he says. âThis is my relaxed face.â
You can hear the edge beneath it. So can everyone else.
âDonât be dramatic,â your mom says, the brittle brightness creeping into her voice. âSheâs a grown woman. She can be in a room with someone she used to date without it being a scandal. Right, sweetheart?â
Every head swivels to you.
This is the part where you are supposed to laugh. To reassure everyone that nothing is wrong, that everyoneâs overreacting, that your feelings are manageable and containable and wonât inconvenience anyone.
You feel Seungminâs stare on the side of your face. You donât look at him.
âItâs fine,â you say, because you can hear the alternative echoing in your motherâs future phone calls for the next decade. âWeâll just decorate and go to bed.â
Your mom exhales, triumphant. âSee?â she says. âEveryoneâs adults here.â
Seungmin makes a quiet sound that could be a laugh or a scoff.Â
âYeah,â Daniel says, smiling lazily. âWeâre all adults.â
You hate the way he says it. You hate that your family eats it up.
Something in Seungmin snaps taut. You can feel it.
Before he can open his mouth again, you reach over and curl your hand around his wrist. Just thatâskin on skin, your fingers firm, a silent please.
He looks down at your hand, then up at your face.
For a second, it feels like the whole house is holding its breath. Your mom, your dad, your auntsâwaiting to see if the boy you brought home is going to make a scene.
Seungmin swallows. His jaw works once. Then he clicks his tongue softly and slumps back against the couch, the picture of someone letting it go.
âWhatever you want,â he says.
It sounds nothing like whatever you want.
Your mom beams, already moving on, launching into a timeline for when the tree should be done by and how no one is allowed to use tinsel because it looks âcheap.â
Your hand stays on his wrist until you realize heâs not going to do anything else. When you let go, your palm feels cold.
Later, in your room, the house has gone muffled and hollow.
The kids are asleep. The aunts and uncles have either gone home or retreated to guest rooms. Thereâs a low murmur of the TV downstairs where your parents are doing their annual âweâre not tiredâ movie that they will not finish.
Youâre in front of the tiny dresser mirror, pulling your hair into a loose ponytail. Thereâs a pile of ornament boxes by the door, waiting for you and Daniel like a chore chart you didnât sign up for.
Behind you, Seungmin sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. He hasnât said much since the living room. The silence hangs between you like a too-heavy coat.
âYou donât have to stay up,â you say, meeting his eyes in the mirror. âI know itâs late. You can crash. Iâll be quiet when I come back.â
He snorts. âYeah. Because Iâm going to sleep great knowing youâre downstairs on nostalgia duty with golden boy.â
You turn to face him. âItâs just a tree.â
âItâs not just a tree,â he says.
You rub your palms on your thighs. âWhat is it, then?â
His mouth twists. âAn excuse,â he says. âFor them to pretend nothing ever changed.â
âThatâs not what this is,â you say, too fast.
He looks at you for a beat, eyes tired. âIf you say so.â
Guilt spikes. You take a step closer, fingers catching lightly on his sleeve.
âI just want to get through tonight,â you say. âNo fights. No scenes. Please.â
He huffs a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. âYeah. Wouldnât want to ruin the magic.â
âSeungmin.â
He finally meets your eyes. Thereâs a whole storm sitting there, pressed flat.
âBe careful,â he says. âThatâs all.â
You nod, throat tight. âOkay.â
Your momâs voice carries faintly up the stairs, calling your name.
You let go of his sleeve.
âIâll be back soon,â you murmur.
âSure,â he says, looking past you now. âIâll be here.â
You hover in the doorway for half a second, wanting to fix something you donât have words for, then force yourself down the hall, leaving the roomâand himâbehind.
PART TWO
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HURRICANE (pt.2)
*°࿠cw: toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, toxic ex, emotional conflict, fake dating, fluff, slight angst.
when you're toxic family invites your ex for christmas, your roommate seungmin suggests he go with you as your fake boyfriend. what could go wrong?
*°࿠notes: as part of A Very Merry K-Popmas. check out everyone's work!! i've divided this into two parts just because it couldn't all fit into one because i litr do not know when to stop. READ PART ONE FIRST.
The house sounds different after midnight.
The laughterâs gone, the TVâs finally silent. Whatâs left is the low hum of the heater, the occasional creak as the old bones of the place settle, and the faint jingle of ornaments as you shift the boxes in your arms.
You pause at the bottom of the stairs, bare toes curling against cold hardwood. The living room is lit only by the lamps and the soft glow from the string of lights someone draped haphazardly over the curtain rod earlier. The tree stands in the corner, a dark, hulking silhouette waiting to be turned into something softer.
Daniel is already there.
Heâs crouched by one of the boxes, sleeves pushed up, forearms roped with familiar lines of muscle. He looks up when he hears you, grin loading like itâs an automatic setting.
âThere she is,â he says. âMy fellow elf.â
You set your boxes down harder than necessary. âLetâs just get it done.â
He chuckles, like youâve said something cute. âStill all business, huh?â
You donât dignify that. You flip open the nearest lid, tissue rustling, the smell of cardboard and old pine sap puffing out. The ornaments glint up at youâsome cheap, some delicate, some with your childhood handwriting baked into the glaze.
He joins you at the box, close enough that his knee brushes your thigh when he bends. You shift a fraction away.
âSame system?â he asks. âYou do top, I do bottom? Or you want to trade this year?â
âWhateverâs fastest,â you say.
He watches your profile for a beat. âYou always say that,â he murmurs. âThen spend forever.â
You grab the first thing your fingers land onâa faded paper star with crooked scissors marksâand straighten up. âMaybe donât talk so much and itâll go quicker.â
His smile hooks. âThere she is,â he says again, softer this time. âI missed the attitude.â
You ignore that and move to the tree.
Itâs muscle memory at firstâthe way your hands find branches spaced just right, the way you tuck the older, uglier ornaments deeper in, the ones from your grandmother front and center. Daniel works around you, looping lights with practiced ease, humming along tunelessly to the Christmas playlist heâs pulled up on his phone.
For a while, itâs almost bearable. You talk about nothing: how tall the tree is this year, which kid broke which ornament in what year, whether the stand is listing to one side. You keep your answers short, factual. His keep sliding sidewaysâsmall hooks, tossed lightly.
âRemember when your mom bought those awful blue lights and you cried?â he asks, untangling a stubborn knot.
âI was thirteen,â you say. âI hated change.â
âYou still do,â he says.Â
You tighten the wire of a tiny bell around a branch until it bites your fingers. âI adjusted, didnât I?â
He glances over his shoulder at you. âYeah,â he says. âEventually.â
The music switches to something slow, some old crooner you canât even name, all strings and nostalgia. You feel it like pressure, pushing around the edges of the room.
âGrandma looked good today,â he says after a while.
âYeah.â
He smiles. âShe lit up when she saw you.â A beat. âAnd when she saw me.â
Your jaw clenches. âShe likes people who visit.â
He lets that sit for a second, then: âWe used to be good at that. Visiting.â
You shove a glass bauble deeper into the tree than it needs to go. âYou had your hands full,â you say flatly. âWith your new family.â
There. Youâve said it out loud.
He doesnât flinch the way you hoped he will. He just exhales through his nose, slow, like heâs been expecting the punch.
âYouâre still mad about that,â he says. Not a question.
You laugh, sharp and humorless. âYou cheated on me and got her pregnant. Iâm not sure âmadâ covers it.â
He sets down the lights, leans his shoulder against the tree, branches brushing his arm. He looks at you properly now, all traces of easy grin smoothed into something softer, manufactured.
âI made a mistake,â he says quietly. âA stupid, drunk, one-night mistake that turned into⌠more.â
Your stomach churns. âYou have a daughter,â you say. âAnd sheâs three. Thatâs not a mistake. Thatâs a whole life you built after me.â
He spreads his hands, like heâs offering you something. âAnd Iâm owning it,â he says. âIâm a dad. I show up. I pay. Iâm there. You think thatâs what I planned?â
âYes,â you say. âI do.â
He chuckles once, disbelieving. âYou think I didnât want it to be you?â
Your fingers go numb around the porcelain angel youâre holding. âDonât,â you say. âDo not say that to me in this house.â
He pushes off the tree, closing a little of the distance between you. âWhy? Because itâs true?â
You turn away, shove the angel onto a branch harder than necessary. It wobbles; you catch it with shaking fingers.
âBecause itâs irrelevant,â you manage. âWeâre done. You made choices. I made choices. We live with them.â
His voice follows you around the tree. âYou left,â he reminds you, like you need reminding. âYou took that internship and ran. You didnât even try.â
âYou were already sleeping with her,â you bite out. âWhat exactly was I supposed to try for?â
He is quiet for a moment. The lights glow weakly between you, half the strands still unplugged.
âI was scared,â he says. âYou were talking about grad school and moving to the city and all these big plans. I didnât know where I fit. SheâŚâ He shrugs, a bitter twist to his mouth. âShe was easy. Close. Made me feel needed.â
âAnd I didnât,â you whisper.
He steps closer. âYou made me feel like I had to be more,â he says. âItâs not the same thing.â
The words thread into all the old cracks in you, the ones you thought youâd plastered over. For a second, the room blurs at the edges.
You hate that he still knows where the weak spots are.
âCan we not do this?â you say, blinking hard. âItâs late. Weâre here to hang tinsel and lie to children. Thatâs it.â
He searches your face, then nods slowly, like heâs granting you a favor.
âOkay,â he says. âTree now. Emotional honesty later.â
âThere is no later,â you mutter.
He doesnât answer, but something in his eyes says weâll see.
You move faster after that, mechanical. Hooks, branches, boxes. You keep a buffer of needles and plastic between you whenever you can, circling opposite sides like youâre orbiting something that might explode if you get too close.
He keeps trying anyway.
You give him nothing but the bare minimumâyes, no, fine, sure. Your voice comes out sharp enough that you hope the walls hear you.
When youâre done, you both end up standing shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the room, looking at your work. The tree glows, ornaments catching the light. It does look good. It always does.
For a moment, you let yourself just see that. The soft, warm, pretty thing youâve made out of all this.
âStill the dream team,â Daniel says, low.
You take a step forward to grab the empty ornament box. He moves when you do, cutting across your path.
âHang on,â he says. âOne more thing.â
âIâm going to bed,â you say. âWeâre done.â
He doesnât move. You shift right to get around him; he mirrors you. Itâs subtle, a lazy little block, but effective. You end up backing up a fraction instead.
âYou mad I spoke up earlier?â he asks. âWith your boyfriend?â
You bristle. âYou mean when you told him to relax?â
He shrugs, unbothered. âHe was being dramatic.â
âHe was defending me.â
He huffs. âFrom what? Hanging ornaments with your ex? Weâre not monsters.â
You try again to sidestep. Again, he steps with you, shepherding you gently but firmly into the space between the coffee table and the doorway arch.
âMove,â you say, a thin edge creeping into your voice.
âHey.â He holds his hands up, palms out, but doesnât actually step back. âIâm just talking.â
Youâre about to tell him exactly where to shove his âjust talkingâ when you feel the shift in the air above youâa faint tickle, like the ghost of leaves overhead.
You glance up.
Mistletoe. Hung in the archway, tied with the same red ribbon your mother has used every year since you were small.
Of course.
When you look back down, his smile has changed. Softer. Hungrier.
âItâs tradition,â he says quietly.
Your heart stutters, unpleasantly. Your spine goes rigid, every muscle suddenly unsure of what to do.
âNo,â you say. It comes out small.
He steps in, closing the last sliver of space, one hand bracing lightly on the wall beside your head. Not touching you, not quite, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him like a threat.
âCome on,â he murmurs. âItâs just a kiss. Itâs Christmas.â
Your brain does the stupid thing itâs been conditioned to do in this house: it freezes and starts flipping through old versions of yourself on autopilot.
You remember being nineteen and dizzy with him for the first time, kissing under this same stupid plastic plant while your cousins squealed.Â
You remember, too, the last time you saw his name pop up on your phone beside a picture of a newborn that wasnât yours.
Your nails bite into your palms. Your feet donât move.
He watches your face, misreading the paralysis as something else. âYou still feel it,â he says softly. âDonât pretend you donât. You canât look at me like that and tell me itâs gone.â
âIâm not looking at you,â you manage.
He laughs under his breath. âYou always were a terrible liar.â
He shifts closer, the hand on the wall sliding down, fingers hovering just above your hip now. Your back bumps the molding. Thereâs nowhere else to go without climbing furniture.
âDaniel,â you say, fighting for air.Â
He tilts his head, eyes dropping to your mouth. âSay you donât want me,â he says. âSay it like you mean it, and Iâll back off.â
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because you do want somethingâan apology that feels real, a do-over, a universe where he wasnât such a coward, a house where you didnât feel like a girl pressed into an old script. Want and hurt and anger are a knot in your chest and your tongue canât pick one thread to pull.
He sees the hesitation and smiles, soft and triumphant.
âThatâs what I thought,â he whispers, starting to lean in.
âYou should step back.â
The voice is flat and sharp and comes from behind him.       Â
Danielâs shoulders tense. He half-turns, annoyance already creasing his brow.       Â
Seungmin stands in the archway from the hall, barefoot in sweats and an old t-shirt, hair rumpled from the pillow. His eyes are wide awake. And furious.       Â
Daniel snorts. âYou again,â he says. âRelax, man. We were justââ       Â
âSpare me the sound of your voice,â Seungmin cuts in.       Â
The words are quiet, but they hit like a slap.       Â
A beat of silence stretches. The tree hums faintly with its own electricity. Your pulse roars in your ears.       Â
Daniel straightens, squaring his shoulders like heâs gearing up for a fight. âLook,â he starts, glancing between the two of you, âI get that this is⌠weird for you. First love, history, all that. But this is our thing. We alwaysââ       Â
âWalk away,â Seungmin says.       Â
No inflection. No please. Just instruction.       Â
Danielâs mouth twists. âYou think you can just roll up here andââ       Â
âMan.â Seungmin finally moves, stepping forward into the arch so heâs half in the room, half in the hallway. Heâs still not raising his voice, but something in it sharpens. âYouâre not that interesting. Go to bed.â       Â
For a second, Daniel just stares at him, actually thrown.       Â
Then he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head like this is all beneath him. âYouâve got no idea what youâre talking about,â he mutters. He drops his hand from the wall, steps sideways out of the doorway, brushing past Seungmin with a little deliberate shoulder bump.       Â
Seungmin doesnât react to it. Doesnât even look at him.       Â
âYou done?â he asks, eyes still on you.       Â
Daniel pauses in the hallway, like he might lob one last comment over his shoulder. Whatever he sees on Seungminâs face makes him think better of it.       Â
âNight,â he tosses instead, voice light and empty. âTree looks good.â       Â
His footsteps retreat down the hall. A door clicks shut.       Â
Silence slams down in his wake.
The silence after Danielâs door clicks shut is loud enough to make your ears ring.
Youâre still pinned to the doorway like part of the molding, lungs fluttering, fingers numb. The tree glows obliviously in the corner, throwing soft light over everything that just happened.
Seungmin doesnât move at first.
He stands there in the archway, chest rising and falling a little too fast, hands clenched at his sides. His eyes are on the hallway, like heâs making sure there arenât any reruns.
Then he looks at you.
âYou okay?â he asks.
His voice is low, rough around the edges. The angerâs still there, but itâs pulled back a layer, concern bleeding through.
You try to nod. Your head feels separate from your body. âYeah,â you say. Your voice comes out thin. âIâm fine, I justââ
âAre you still in love with him?â
The question hits so fast it cuts your sentence in half.
You blink. âWhat?â
âDonât,â he snaps, and the word cracks like a whip. âDonât act confused. Are you still in love with him?â
You just stare at him. Youâve seen him irritated, exasperated, quietly pissed on your behalf.
You have never seen him like this.
His jaw is tight, shoulders tense under the worn cotton of his t-shirt. Thereâs a sharpness to him you donât recognize, all the softness burned off.
âThatâs not a fairââ you start.
âItâs a yes-or-no question,â he says. âWhich part is unfair?â
âEverything,â you hiss back, remembering to keep your voice low at the last second. âThe timing, the place, the fact that weâre at my parentsâ house at midnightââ
âSo you canât answer,â he says. âThatâs an answer.â
Heat spikes up your neck. âYou donât get to do that. You donât get to decide what my non-answers mean.â
He lets out a quiet, ugly laugh. âI just walked downstairs and saw your ex boxing you in under mistletoe while you stared at him like someone hit pause,â he says. âSorry if Iâm not feeling super charitable about nuance right now.â
Your hands ball into fists. âWhat did you want me to do? Start screaming? Wake up my grandma so she can watch me have a breakdown in front of the nativity set?â
âI wanted you to move,â he bites out. âPush him, duck under his arm, do something that wasnât just letting him get closer and closer while you looked like you were about to pass out.â
âI froze,â you say, teeth clenched. âThatâs what I do when I panic. Sorry I didnât pick the reaction that would make you feel less insecure.â
His eyes flash. âThis isnât about my insecurity.â
âReally?â you whisper. âBecause it kind of feels like it is.â
Something ugly flickers across his face. He takes a step into the room, closer to you, like he canât decide if he wants to get in your face or get away and his body picked for him.
âIââ you start.
âYou brought me here,â he says over you, voice still low but fierce enough to vibrate in your chest. âYou asked me to be your boyfriend in front of these people. Do you understand what that means?â
âI didnât ask,â you snap. âYou offered.â
âBecause I thought your ex was a footnote,â he shoots back. âNot the main fucking plot.â
You flinch.
He sees it. He doesnât back off.
âI thought I was coming to run interference,â he goes on. âSmile when theyâre rude, hold your hand when theyâre shitty, make sure you donât end up crying in a bathroom somewhere. I did not sign up to watch you almost kiss the guy who cheated on you while I stand in the doorway like an idiot.â
âIt wasnât almostââ you start, then stop, because you donât actually know how close it was.
He pounces. âYou canât even finish that sentence.â
Your throat closes. âYouâre twisting this.â
âIâm looking at it,â he says. âYouâre the one twisting, trying to make it look like something itâs not.â
You press your back harder against the wall, like you can sink through it. âYou donât know what itâs like with him,â you say, barely above a whisper. âIn this house. With everyone⌠expecting things. Youâve been here two days and you think you have it all figured outââ
âI know he cheated on you and knocked up someone else,â Seungmin says. âI know he let your mom rewrite the narrative so it somehow turned into your fault. I know he hasnât apologized in a way that actually matters. And I know that the second he corners you, you go quiet.â
âThatâsââ
âYou could have said, âI donât want you anymore,ââ he says. âFive words. He literally asked you to. You opened your mouth and nothing came out.â
The worst part is that heâs not wrong.
âItâs not that simple,â you say, voice fraying. âYou donât just flip a switch and stop caring that someone blew up your life. I hate him, and I stillââ You cut yourself off, biting down hard enough on your tongue that you taste metal.
His eyebrows rise slowly. âAnd you still what?â
You stare at him, furious at yourself, at him, at this whole house. âI still⌠feel things,â you grind out. âResidual whatever. You happy now?â
âNo,â he says, and the way he says it makes your stomach drop. âIâm really fucking not.â
Your eyes sting. âI justâIâm trying, Min. Iâm really trying not to explode this whole thing while my grandma is in the next room and my mom is one passive-aggressive comment away from a meltdown. Iâm doing the best I can.â
âAnd your best is what?â he asks. âLetting them shove you back into the old script while I stand there and clap?â
âYouâre the one who insisted on coming,â you say, anger finally matching his. âYou made this big show about being there for me, and now youâre pissed at me for needing it.â
âIâm not pissed at you for needing me,â he says, and his voice cracks for the first time. âIâm pissed that you apparently still need him too and somehow Iâm the one who looks crazy for being bothered by that.â
The word hangs between you like a slap.
You swallow hard. âI donâtââ
âAre you still in love with him,â he repeats, each word deliberate. âYes or no.â
Your mouth opens. Closes. You feel nineteen again, under this same doorway, with your mom watching from the couch and everyone chanting kiss-kiss-kiss while your heart tried to beat its way out of your ribs.
âI donât know,â you finally choke out. âIs that what you want to hear? I donât fucking know. I hate him and I miss who I thought he was and I canât untangle it in the middle of my parentsâ living room with you glaring at me likeââ
âLike what?â His eyes are bright, too bright. âLike I care? Like Iâm not okay being your prop while you figure out if you still want the guy who treated you like a hobby?â
âThat is not what Iâm doing,â you hiss. âI agreed to let you come so I wouldnât drown. Not so you could stand here and demand a clean emotional spreadsheet.â
He laughs, low and mean. âA cleanâ? Youâre unbelievable.â
âOh, Iâm unbelievable?â you hiss. âYouâre the one acting like you got tricked into this. Like I lured you here, tied a bow on you, and forgot to mention my trauma at the door.â
He steps right up to you then, close enough that the wall digs into your shoulder blades again. His voice stays low, but every word is a shard.
âYou think I donât know youâre traumatized?â he says. âIâve watched you flinch at every text with his name in it for three years. Iâve held your hair while you threw up because phone calls with your mom make you sick. Iâve slept on the couch because you couldnât be alone and wouldnât admit you were scared.â
Your eyes blur. The lights smear.
âI know you,â he says. âThatâs the whole fucking problem.â
Your breath shudders out. âThen why are you acting like this is news?â
âBecause I thought⌠I donât know what I thought.â He shakes his head, a bitter half-laugh catching in his throat. âThat maybe if I came here and did this right and they saw how much better you were with someone who actually gives a shit, it would finally click for you. That youâd look at him and feel nothing.â
âThatâs not how feelings work,â you whisper.
âI know that,â he says. âMy feelings havenât gone anywhere for a year and a half.â
The words slam into you.
You stare at him. His chest is rising and falling, eyes searching your face like he wants to yank the understanding into you.
âAnd now,â he says, softer but no less furious, âIâm standing here choking on it while you stand under mistletoe with him and tell me âitâs complicated.ââ
Your voice breaks. âYou didnât tell me,â you say. âYou never saidââ
âYeah,â he snaps. âBecause I didnât want to be another person who made you responsible for their shit. I didnât want to be one more thing you had to manage. I was fine being⌠just your roommate. Your friend. Whatever.â
âYouâre not âjust,ââ you say, stunned and hurting. âYou know youâre not.â
âDo I?â he asks. âBecause tonight it kind of felt like Iâm the guy you drag home to piss off your ex and calm your mom, and heâs still the one you canât say no to out loud.â
âThat is so fucking unfair,â you whisper. âYou walked in at the worst possible second and decided thatâs the whole story.â
He scoffs. âWorst possible second? Or the most honest one?â
You push at his chest then, a little shove that doesnât move him much, but he rocks back half an inch.
âStop putting words in my mouth,â you say. âIf you wanted to know how I feel, you could have asked before tonight. Before we were stuck here with my entire family sleeping upstairs.â
âIâm asking now,â he says. âAnd youâre telling me you donât know.â
âBecause I donât,â you whisper. âI know I donât want to be with him. I know I donât trust him. I know the idea of actually getting back together makes me sick. But if youâre asking if some stupid part of me remembers what it felt like before he fucked everything upâyeah. It does. Brains are messy. I canât shut it off just because you need me to pick a team right this second.â
His face twists, like that answer physically hurts.
âThatâs what I needed,â he says. âNot because I want you to perform for me. Because Iâm in love with you, and it feels fucking insane to stand here and wonder if the biggest thing in my life is just⌠background noise compared to your nostalgia.â
Your heart lurches.
You grab for his shirt without thinking, fingers curling in the fabric. âItâs not,â you say. âYouâre not. Youâreââ
You stall, because the word youâre about to say terrifies you almost as much as everything else.
His eyes flick to your mouth, then up again, jaw clenching.
âSay it,â he murmurs. âIâm what?â
You swallow. âImportant,â you manage. âYouâre⌠youâre everything, okay? Youâre home. Youâre the only reason Iâm not losing my mind here.â
He laughs once, broken. âCouldâve fooled me.â
You make a helpless noise. âYouâre twisting my words now.â
âYeah?â he says. âMaybe I learned from the best.â
The words hang between you, meaner than he meant them, uglier than either of you deserve and you flinch.
He sees it. His face changesâjust a flicker, guilt breaking through the angerâthen shutters over again. He lets out a rough breath, steps back like heâs physically yanking himself out of the conversation.
âThis is pointless,â he mutters. âIâm going upstairs.â
He turns, shoulders tight, already half in the shadows of the hallway.
Something in you panics.
âWait,â you say, too fast, too small. Your hand shoots out on instinct, catching the hem of his t-shirt before he can get away.
The cotton bunches in your fist. He stops dead.
For a second, neither of you moves.
You can feel your own pulse beating in your fingers where theyâre curled in his shirt. The house hums around youâheater, distant fridge, the faint buzz of the tree lightsâeverything too loud and too far away at once.
âMin,â you start, because you donât know what else to say except his name.
He looks down at your hand on him, at your white-knuckled grip, then back up at you.
Whatever was holding him together snaps.
âStop,â he says, but it comes out wrecked. âStop doing that.â
âDoing what?â you whisper.
âGrabbing me when youâre about to let go,â he spits, spinning back toward you in one sharp motion. âYou canât keepââ
He doesnât finish.
One second heâs mid-sentence, eyes burning, chest heaving; the next heâs crowding you back into the doorway, his hands catching your face like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he doesnât hold on.
His mouth hits yours.
Thereâs no hesitation, just the crash of a wave thatâs been building for too long. You gasp against him, more from shock than anything, and he takes the opening, kissing you like heâs been starving and someone finally handed him air.
Your back smacks lightly against the trim. One of his thumbs digs into the hinge of your jaw; the other hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Heâs shaking, just a little. You feel it everywhere heâs touching you.
You should push him away.
You donât.
Your hand that was still fisted in his shirt drags him closer instead, knuckles catching on his ribs as you haul yourself up into him. The other finds his shoulder, then the back of his neck, fingers digging in like youâre anchoring yourself to something solid for the first time all night.
He makes a low sound into your mouthâfrustration, relief, something wildâand tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Itâs messy, teeth clicking once, your noses bumping before you both adjust. His breath tastes like mint and leftover bitterness. Yours stutters against his, catching on all the words you didnât say.
The anger is still there, threaded through every movementâtoo tight, too urgentâbut thereâs something else underneath it, older and softer and terrifyingly bare. Every time his mouth drags over yours itâs Iâm mad at you and Iâm mad at me and I love you, I love you, I love you, no matter how hard he tries not to.
You match him without meaning to. All the fear and shame and want youâve been choking down rise up at once, pouring out of you in the way your fingers clutch at him, in the way your lips part, in the tiny, helpless sound that slips out when his teeth catch your lower lip.
He freezes at that, just for a heartbeatâlike he heard it, really heard itâand then kisses you harder, like heâs answering something you didnât know you asked.
Your knee bumps his thigh. His hand slides down from your neck to your waist, fingers spreading over your hip, pulling you closer into the line of him. The tree glows warm at the edge of your vision, ornaments blurring into streaks of red and gold.
Somewhere above you, a floorboard creaks. The house reminds you that it exists.
The sound cracks through the moment like cold air.
Seungmin jerks back.
Itâs abrupt enough that your head knocks lightly against the wall. You suck in a breath like youâve been underwater. Heâs still closeâtoo closeâbut his hands have dropped away, hanging uselessly in the small space between you.
His lips are red. His pupils are blown wide. He looks horrified.
âShit,â he breathes. âIââ
You canât say anything. Your mouth tingles. Your heart is trying to punch a hole through your ribs.
He drags both hands back through his hair, fingers lacing at the back of his neck like heâs trying to hold his head on.
âThat shouldnât haveâŚâ He trails off, jaw working. âFuck.â
âMin,â you manage, voice wrecked.
He winces at the way it sounds. His eyes flick to your mouth, then wrench away, like looking hurts.
âThis is exactly what I meant,â he says, more to himself than to you. âI canâtâ I donât know how to do this halfway.â
You swallow, throat raw. âDo what?â
âAny of it,â he says. âBe your fake boyfriend, your real⌠whatever. Watch you deal with him. Pretend Iâm notââ He cuts himself off, biting down hard.
His hand twitches like heâs about to reach for you again.
You almost let him.
You almost grab him first.
Instead, you both stand there, breathing each otherâs air, the aftershock of the kiss buzzing under your skin like static, the argument still sitting between you like a live wire.
The tree lights blink once, twice.
Somewhere in the house, a clock starts to chime the hour.
Seungmin is the first to move.
He steps back like heâs just realized how close he still is to you, like heâs been standing with his hand on a hot stove and finally felt it. His gaze skates over your faceâmouth, eyes, the place on your neck where his fingers were a second agoâthen jerks away.
âI canât,â he says, under his breath. âI canât do this right now.â
He turns on his heel, already heading for the hallway.
Panic spikes through you, sharp and stupid. You lurch forward, fingers catching at his wrist.
âWait,â you say. It comes out cracked. âDonât justâdonât go.â
He stops so abruptly you almost bump into his back.
For a heartbeat he doesnât turn. You can feel the tension roped in his arm under your hand, the way his muscles have gone rock-solid. His head dips once, like heâs breathing through something.
Then he rips his wrist gently but firmly out of your grip and spins around.
His eyes are bright, mouth pulled tight. He looks furious. He looks wrecked.
âDo you have any idea how cruel youâre being?â he says, very quietly.
The word shocks you more than if heâd yelled.
âCruel?â you repeat, stunned. âIâm notââ
âYou are,â he says. âYou might not mean to, but you are. You canât keep doing this. You canât keep grabbing me every time you feel yourself slipping and then freezing the second you have to actually look at what that means.â
Your throat burns. âI didnâtââ
âYou kissed me back,â he says, over you. âIn case youâre tempted to pretend that was all me. You grabbed me and you held on and you made that noise andââ He cuts himself off, jaw locking. âDo you think I donât notice? Do you think that doesnât⌠fucking wreck me?â
You swallow hard. âMin, Iâm not trying to hurt you.â
âI know,â he says. âThatâs the worst part. Youâre doing it without even looking at it.â
He takes a step closer, not quite touching you, but close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him again.
âYou know how I feel about you,â he says. Not a question.
You force yourself to meet his eyes. âYou never saidââ
âI just did,â he bites out. âHave been, all night, using every word except âIâm in love with youâ because apparently I have a self-preservation kink I didnât know about.â
The words land like a kick to the chest. You grip the doorway behind you to stay upright.
He laughs once, broken. âThere,â he says. âIs that clear enough? Does that finally make it into your calculations?â
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Your brain is a static hissâhim, the tree, Danielâs door down the hall, your grandmother asleep two rooms away, all crashing into each other.
âSay something,â he says, and thereâs a plea under the anger now. âAnything that isnât âitâs complicated.â Are you ready to deal with that? With me actually wanting you? Not as a bit. Not as a favor. For real.â
He waits. The house hums.
You try.
You really do.
You think about saying yes, about stepping off the cliff youâve been standing on for monthsâyears. You think about saying no, about shutting it down clean and watching something in him go out.
Your tongue wonât pick either.
âIâŚâ you start, and your voice breaks on the first syllable. âI donât know how to answer that right now.â
His face shuts down so fast itâs almost audible.
âRight,â he says. âThere it is.â
âMinââ
He holds up a hand. âDonât. Donât apologize. Donât explain. I get it. Youâre not ready, youâre overwhelmed, everythingâs messy.â He nods once. âGood news is, you donât have to be ready tonight.â
He takes another step back, toward the hall this time. Away.
âI told you Iâd play the part,â he says. âI will. Iâll be back in the morning. Iâll hold your hand and smile for the pictures and pretend I donât want to put Daniel through a wall every time he opens his mouth.â
Your chest squeezes. âWhere are you going?â
âOut,â he says. âAway. Anywhere that isnât this house with him down that hall and you under thisââ he jerks his chin up at the mistletoe, eyes flashing ââlike some fucked-up set piece.â
âItâs the middle of the night,â you say, horrified. âYou canât justââ
âIâm a grown man,â he says. âI can get a cab. Sleep on a friendâs couch. Sit at a twenty-four-hour diner until my brain stops trying to crawl out of my skull. Iâll figure it out.â
âYou donât have to do that,â you whisper.
He looks at you for a long, long moment. Whatever softness is left in his face is held together by threads.
âI do,â he says. âBecause I canât stand in this living room one more second looking at you and wondering if Iâm just the guy you grab when youâre drowning and let go of the second youâre back in shallow water.â
Your eyes sting. âThatâs not what you are.â
âMaybe,â he says. âBut until youâre ready to say what I am to you, I canât keep guessing. Itâs tearing me apart and Iâm⌠Iâm done pretending itâs not.â
You step forward, hand reaching out again on instinct. âSeungmin, pleaseââ
He flinches away from your touch like it burns.
âDonât,â he says, and now he sounds exhausted more than angry. âDonât do that if youâre not going to follow through. Donât hold onto me unless youâre actually going to hold onto me.â
The words cut clean.
Your hand drops.
His shoulders sag for half a second, like taking himself out of your reach physically hurts. Then he straightens, pulls in a breath, and pastes on something that almost looks like calm.
âIâll text you when Iâm on my way back,â he says. âYou can tell your mom I went for a walk if anyone asks.â
âMin,â you say again, helpless.
He steps backward into the hall. Shadows swallow him up to the chest, leaving his face in the spill of tree light. It paints him in green and red and gold, like heâs already half a memory.
He hesitates one last time.
âMerry fucking Christmas,â he says.
Then he turns and walks away.
Seungmin is back before you open your eyes.
You know it in that weird half-waking way you know when someone enters your room in the dark. The draft under the door shifts. The floorboard by the dresser gives its familiar, traitorous creak. Zipper teeth whisper, then a soft thud of a bag.
You stay still.
The room smells like cold air and the outside, clinging to his hoodie. The mattress dips a little as he sits on the edge of the bed, just for a second. You feel the weight of him through the covers, through your own rigid attempt at playing dead.
You think he might say something. Your name. A curse. Anything.
He doesnât.
The bed lifts as he stands. A drawer slides open. Fabric rustlesâclean shirt, probablyâand then the bathroom door clicks shut, light slicing under it.
You open your eyes to the dim winter morning of your childhood room and focus on the wrapped box at the back of the closet shelf.
Small. Neat. Green paper with gold stars. The gift you bought him: the limited edition vinyl you spent months tracking down and then meeting with a shady seller you met on the internet to retrieve. You donât know much about these sorts of things but the way he spoke about it longingly made you determined to get it.
You stare at the box until your vision blurs.
Then you shut the closet and pretend it isnât there.
Christmas Day wears your nerves down by degrees.
You and Seungmin move around each other like people in a crowded kitchen who donât know each other well enough to bump hips. You trade space instead of warmth.
He carries things, helps your grandma to her chair, reads instructions on the toy packaging. You refill water glasses, pass napkins, slice bread. You say âthanksâ and âhereâ and âcareful, that pan is hotâ and nothing that touches last night at all.
Everyone notices without knowing what theyâre noticing.
Your momâs eyes flick between the two of you more than usual. Your aunts trade looks, the kind that say Is something up? without words. Your dad squints like heâs trying to solve a crossword clue.
Daniel notices and knows exactly what heâs seeing.
Heâs been smug all dayâthe relaxed, loose-shouldered kind of smug that comes from a win only he can see. When you catch his eye across the room, he smiles like youâre sharing a private joke.
You look away every time.
Seungmin seems to have ironed his expression into something mild and blank. He laughs when appropriate, answers questions about work, about the city. Heâs perfectly polite. Perfectly decent. Perfectly distant.
He doesnât look at you unless he has to.
You donât give him the present. You carry it in your head all day, its outline as sharp as a stone in your shoe. Every time you think about sneaking it into his bag, leaving it on his side of the bed, pressing it into his hand with a muttered âthis is stupid, just take it,â you hear his voice from last night:
Donât hold onto me unless youâre actually going to hold onto me.
So you keep your hands to yourself.
By the time dinner rolls around, youâre running on caffeine and adrenaline and the tight, buzzing feeling of a fire alarm that never stops.
The table looks the same as it always has on Christmas: too much food, not enough space. Platters jammed in wherever thereâs a gap, bowls nesting on top of other bowls, gravy boats perched like theyâre waiting to leap.
You take your usual seat without thinkingâthird from the end, left side, good view of the tree. Seungmin ends up beside you because thereâs nowhere else for him to go. Daniel drops into the chair across and one over, the same spot heâs occupied for years.
You fold your napkin into your lap and keep your eyes on your plate.
Conversation bubbles up around youâyour aunt complaining about airport security, your dad asking your cousin about college, your mom narrating every dish like itâs a cooking show no one asked for. Cutlery scrapes. Glasses clink. Someone passes the rolls the wrong way and your grandmother scolds them with fond irritation.
Beside you, Seungmin is careful. Thatâs what it feels like, more than anything. Every move measured. He says âthank youâ and âpleaseâ and âno, Iâm good, this is plenty, thank youâ with a politeness that climbs higher every time someone insists he take more turkey. He pours water for your grandma before she asks. He cuts his ham too small, like he needs something to do with his hands.
He doesnât look left.
You donât look right.
Daniel looks everywhere.
Heâs relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms in that practiced casual way he has. He laughs at your uncleâs story, compliments your momâs potatoes, makes a fuss over your grandmotherâs cranberry sauce.
He catches your eye once, mid-laugh, and gives you a little half-smile like youâre in on something together.
You stare at the mash on your plate until the smile slides off your peripheral vision.
You get through the first round of food without saying a word.
You nod when you have to. You smile when someone looks directly at you. You chew. You swallow.
Itâs almost survivable.
Then Daniel tips his chair back a fraction, lazily stabs at his potatoes, and says, âSo, Seungmin.â
Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth.
Beside you, you feel rather than see Seungmin straighten a millimeter. âYeah?â
Danielâs grin is gentle, interested. Itâs the one he uses on strangers heâs about to sell something to.
âWhereâd you go last night?â he asks. âYou disappeared.â
The word lands with a little clink, like dropped cutlery.
Your momâs head snaps up. âWhat?â
Seungminâs jaw flickers. He sets his fork down carefully, like heâs defusing a bomb.
âI went for a walk,â he says. âCouldnât sleep.â
âAt midnight?â your aunt echoes, brows shooting up. âIn this weather?â
Your dad frowns. âDid you at least take the car? Roads are a mess at that hour.â
âNo, I justââ Seungmin starts.
âFront door woke me up,â Daniel cuts in pleasantly. âSounded more like leaving than a little walk around the block.â
Thereâs a soft hum around the table. A shifting. People settling in.
Your motherâs mouth pinches. âYou went out in the middle of the night and didnât tell anyone?â she says. âWhat if something had happened? Your poor grandmother wouldâve thought we were being robbed.â
Grandma waves a dismissive hand, but sheâs drowned out.
âItâs not safe,â your dad adds. âYou donât know this area. There are deer, black iceââ
âItâs fine,â Seungmin says, voice still low, still calm. âNothing happened.â
âBut it could have,â your mom presses. âHonestly, if you were upset about the tree thing, you could have just said so. Sulking off into the night is a bit much, donât you think?â
Across from you, Daniel hides a smile in his glass.
One of your aunts clucks her tongue. âKids these days,â she says. âNo coping skills.â
âHeâs not a kid,â another aunt says. âHeâsâhow old are you again?â She doesnât wait for an answer. âOld enough to know better.â
Your uncle chuckles. âCity boys,â he says. âDrama, drama.â
âHe wasnât being dramatic,â your grandmother mutters, but again, sheâs swallowed by the tide.
Seungmin sits very still. His shoulders are set, his hands folded on either side of his plate now. He looks like heâs back in the interrogation room from last nightâonly this time, youâre not holding his hand under the table.
You feel your pulse start to pound in your ears. Heat crawls up your chest, into your throat, hot enough it makes your eyes sting.
Daniel takes a slow sip of water, watching it all unfold like a show heâs already seen the ending to.
âI just asked where he went,â he says lightly, when your mom gives him an approving look. âItâs weird to sneak out like that when youâre a guest, isnât it? Especially when your girlfriend is still up. All alone.â
Your momâs gaze snaps to you. âYou were awake?â she says. âAnd he left?â
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
âShe was finishing the tree,â Daniel goes on, easy, relentless. âI told him he was overreacting. Guess he needed some alone time to cool off.â He smiles, all concern. âNo hard feelings, right, man?â
Seungminâs fingers flex once, knuckles whitening. His eyes stay on his plate.
âRight,â he says.
The word is flat enough that anyone paying attention would hear it for what it is.
No one is.
Your aunt leans forward. âSweetheart, did you know he went?â she asks you, scandalized on your behalf. âIf my husband walked out like that on Christmas Eve, Iâd have his head.â
âShe probably didnât want to make a fuss,â another says. âShe hates conflict, remember?â
âWell, she certainly knows how to pick complicated ones,â your mother sighs. âYou really know how to pick them, donât you?â
Something in your chest tears.
Your hand tightens around your fork until the metal bites your fingers.
Daniel is still watching you. Waiting. Enjoying.
âMaybe he just doesnât like being reminded heâs the rebound,â he says mildly.
You stop hearing individual words.
You hear toneâteasing, judgmental, indulgent. You hear your name, couched in âweâre only worriedâ and âwe just want whatâs bestâ and âyou always were so intense about these things.â You hear Seungminâs name in your motherâs mouth and the way it bends around Danielâs history like gravity.
You hear your own heartbeat, loud and furious in your ears.
Beside you, Seungmin inhales like heâs about to say something.
You beat him to it.
BANG.
Your fork slams into the table.
The tines bounce once, ringing against porcelain. Gravy splashes the edge of your napkin. Every head at the table jerks toward you.
Youâre already sitting up straight, shoulders squared, hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking.
âThats enough,â you say.
Your voice isnât loud, but it hits the table like a dropped stone.
Everything stops.
Your auntâs mouth freezes mid-word. Your dadâs fork hangs in the air. A kid halfway to shoving a pea up his nose pauses, finger suspended.
Next to you, Seungmin goes very still.
You look straight at Daniel.
âDo not call him a rebound again,â you say. âEver.â
He blinks, actually thrown. âI was jokingââ
âNo, you werenât.â You turn your head, sweeping the table. âNone of you are joking. Youâre all sitting here picking him apart because itâs easier than admitting youâre being cruel.â
âSweetheartââ your mom begins, scandalized.
âMom, stop.â Your hands curl against the table edge to keep from shaking. âYouâve gotten everything you wanted this trip. I came home. I smiled. I ignored half the digs you threw at my life choices. You made me decorate the tree with the guy who cheated on me and knocked someone else up, and I let it go.â You huff out a disbelieving laugh. âBut you donât get to sit here and drag Seungmin for leaving the room before he said something heâd regret.â
âItâs not dragging,â your aunt says tightly. âWe were just sayingââ
âYou were all ganging up on him,â you cut in. âHe left for a few hours because he was overwhelmed. Thatâs it. He didnât throw anything, didnât scream, didnât pick a fight. He took a walk. He removed himself from a situation that was hurting him. Thatâs textbook healthy.âÂ
Your dad sets his fork down. âWatch your tone,â he says.
âNo,â you say, and your voice is steadier now. âActually, Iâm done watching my tone while everyone else gets to say whatever they want.â
Your momâs eyes flash. âWe are only worried about you,â she says. âYou always choose the difficult path. We tried to give you a chance to remember what you had with Danielââ
You laugh. It comes out sharp and incredulous. âBy rigging the names?â
The color drains a little from her face. âExcuse me?â
âThe bowl,â you say. âYou think I didnât see you tuck slips back in when you pulled the âwrongâ ones? You chose me and Daniel. You decided for us. Because God forbid you let me have one Christmas without your fantasy reunion.â
A ripple goes around the table. Your dad frowns. âIs that true?â
She stiffens. âI was trying to recreate a tradition,â she says. âYou always decorated together. You were happy thenââ
âI was nineteen and too stupid to notice half the ways he made me feel small,â you say. âAnd you liked him because he smiled pretty and agreed with you about everything. He cheated on me, Mom. He has a child with someone else. And somehow you spent more time asking what I did wrong than you ever spent being angry at him.â
Danielâs jaw tightens. âOkay, thatâs not fairââ
âYou know whatâs not fair?â You swing your gaze back to him. âCornering me under mistletoe last night after all of that and acting like my inability to spit out a perfectly scripted speech for closure is a sign I still want you.â
âYou didnât say you didnât,â he says quietly, watching you too closely.
Your chest squeezes. âI shouldnât have had to,â you say. âYou lost that right the second you lied to me and then let my family build a shrine to you in this house.â
You suck in a breath, feel it scrape. âSo for the recordâsince everyone here seems so invested in my romantic statusâlet me be really, painfully clear.â
You look at your mother first.
âI am never getting back together with Daniel,â you say. âNot in a year, not in ten, not in some made-up Hallmark future youâve written in your head. That door is closed. Dead-bolted. Bricked over.â
You turn to Daniel.
âYou are not the one that got away,â you say. âYouâre a pathetic loser who canât handle not being worshiped.â
His face goes flat, color climbing into his cheeks.
âDonât speak to him like that at my table,â your mom snaps.
âYouâve let him speak about me like Iâm a problem he almost solved for years,â you say. âConsider us even.â
Your pulse is pounding so hard it makes your fingers tingle. You press your palms down harder into the tablecloth, feel the pattern under your skin.
âAnd second,â you say, your throat tightening around the words and forcing you to slow down, âSeungmin is not a rebound. Heâs not a prop. Heâs not some convenient boy I dragged home to make a point.â
You feel him react beside you before you see itâhis knee jumps, the slightest shift of air as his head turns toward you. You keep your eyes forward.
âHe is the one who sat with me at three a.m. while I sobbed over the way this house makes me feel,â you go on. âHeâs the one who walked me to campus in the snow because my anxiety was eating me alive. Heâs the one who held my hand in the car yesterday so I wouldnât claw my skin off before we pulled into this driveway.â
Your eyes sting. You blink hard.
âHe is the one Grandma trusted with me after five minutes,â you finish. âBecause sheâs right. Iâm a storm. And heâs the tree.â
A couple of your cousins look confused. Your grandmother makes a tiny, satisfied noise.
Your heart is hammering so hard you can feel it in your teeth.
âI love him,â you say.
No one moves.
You hear it echo in the silenceâsmall, terrified, true. It lands on the table between the gravy boat and the cranberry sauce like something alive.
Your mom stares at you like youâve slapped her. Your dadâs mouth is a hard line. Your aunts look between you and Seungmin as if expecting someone to deny it.
Beside you, Seungmin goes red from his collarbones to the tips of his ears.
Itâs instant, like someone flipped a switch. His head ducks on reflex, hair falling into his eyes. His hand clenches once on his thigh, then releases. When he looks over at you, itâs quick, wide-eyed, like heâs not sure heâs allowed.
You meet his gaze. You donât look away.
Everyone sees that.
You inhale, shaky, and push your chair back. âIâm not going to sit here and listen to you talk about him like heâs some unstable stranger ruining your Christmas because he dared to reach his limit,â you say. âHe doesnât owe you that. I donât owe you that.â
Your chair scrapes against the floor. The sound is loud and ugly and perfect.
âWeâre leaving,â you say.
Your momâs hand slams down on the table. âYou are not walking out in the middle of Christmas dinner,â she says. âDonât you dare make a scene.â
âThis is the first time in my life Iâve ever made a scene,â you say. âMaybe thatâs part of the problem.â
Thereâs a beat where no one moves.
Then you turn to Seungmin and hold out your hand.
He doesnât hesitate, doesnât ask a single question. He just laces his fingers through yours and stands up with you, chair pushed back neatly with his leg.
He looks at your family then, shoulders squared, jaw still tight but eyes steady.
âThank you for having me,â he says, and his voice is so polite it almost sounds like a weapon. âDinner was great. And Iâm really grateful you let me spend time with your grandmother.â
Grandma beams at him. âYouâre welcome any time,â she says.Â
Your mom looks like she might actually combust.
âAfter everything weâve done for youââ she starts.
âMom,â you say. âStop. Please.â
You donât trust yourself not to cry if she says one more thing.
âSweetheart, donât be rash,â your dad says. âYouâre overreactingââ
Daniel leans back in his chair, arms folding like heâs settling in to watch you crash. âItâs fine,â he drawls. âLet her go. We all know sheâll come back when she realizes city boy isnât going to put up with her drama forever.â
The words are barely out of his mouth when Seungmin looks at him.
The shift is small but seismic. He goes from politely neutral to something colder, cleaner.
âDaniel,â he says, tone still maddeningly calm, âKindly, shut the fuck up.â
The silence that follows is so complete you can hear the kids stop chewing.
Your aunt drops her fork. Someone chokes on a sip of wine. Your mother sputters your first and middle name like she can somehow contain the swear by addressing you.
You donât flinch.
A slow, stunned grin spreads across your grandmotherâs face.
Daniel stares, actually blindsided for once. Color creeps up his neck. âYou canât talk to me like thatââ
âI just did,â Seungmin says. âYouâve had plenty to say about me for two days. Thatâs my contribution.â
He turns back to you then, like heâs just finished answering a dull question at work.
âReady?â he asks.
Your throat is too tight to speak, so you nod.
You lean over to kiss your grandmotherâs cheek. Her fingers catch your wrist for a second, squeeze.
âAbout time,â she murmurs in your ear.
You swallow around the burn in your chest. âIâll call you tomorrow,â you whisper back.
Then you straighten, still holding Seungminâs hand, and look at the rest of the table.
âMerry Christmas,â you say. Your voice shakes, but you donât take it back. âReally. I hope itâs everything you wanted.â
You donât wait for an answer and you donât look back. You donât need toâyou can feel the table behind you like a pressure between your shoulder blades, all those eyes on your spine, your motherâs anger, your fatherâs disappointment, Danielâs bruised ego burning a hole in the wallpaper.
Seungminâs hand stays locked with yours all the way up the stairs.
Neither of you speaks.
In your room, you let go of him only because you have to. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the house to a dull, distant hum. Your heart is still beating too hard, too fast. Your fingers tingle.
Seungmin drags a hand through his hair and exhales, like heâs been holding his breath since the dining room.
âAbout what you saidââ he starts.
âNo.â
One word, sharper than you mean it to be.
He goes quiet, eyes flicking to your face.
You swallow. âNot yet,â you say, softer. âPlease. Just⌠can we pack first?â
A muscle jumps in his jaw. For a second, it looks like he might push anyway, like the last twenty-four hours are right there behind his teeth.
Then he nods once.
âOkay,â he says.
Thatâs it.
You move.
You grab whatever is yours in armâs reachâchargers, the book on the nightstand, the pajama shirt you shoved under the pillow this morning. You fold badly, shove worse. He doesnât comment. He doesnât let you carry anything heavier than a hoodie.
When you reach for your duffel, his hand gets there first.
âI got it,â he says.
You open your mouth.
He just lifts an eyebrow.
You close it.
He shoulders his own bag, then yours, then grabs the tote before you can touch it. By the time you fumble your coat on, heâs already holding your scarf out to you.
âHere,â he murmurs.
You slide into it without thinking. His fingers brush the back of your neck as he settles it, quick and impersonal and familiar enough to make your throat burn.
You donât talk on the way down the stairs.
No one is in the hallway. You can hear the murmur of voices from the dining roomâyour motherâs sharper now, your dadâs low, your name tossed around like a problem set theyâre working through together. Your grandmotherâs cough. A child asking what âfuckâ means.
You keep walking.
The air outside hits you like a slap. Itâs full dark now, the kind of cold that bites the inside of your nose. Fairy lights blink from the gutters, oblivious. The plastic reindeer on the lawn lists slightly, one leg sunk deeper into the snow.
Seungmin goes straight to the car, breath puffing white. He unlocks it, loads his bag into the trunk, then yours, then tucks the tote in last.
You stand there on the driveway, arms wrapped around yourself, fingers dug into the meat of your elbows.
He reaches up, grabs the trunk lid, and swings it down. It thunks shut with a solid finality that makes your heart jolt.
Before he can turn fully away, you move.
You step in and shove at his chest. Itâs not hardâjust enough to make him stumble back half a step until his shoulders bump the car. One of his hands flies out to catch the edge of the trunk, more on reflex than because he needs the support.
âWhoa,â he says, startled. âWhat are youââ
âDonât,â you blurt. Your fingers curl into the front of his sweater, bunching the knit under your fist. âJustâdonât say anything yet, okay? Please.â
He blinks down at you.
Youâre close enough to feel his breath ghost over your forehead, to see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. His hands hover like he doesnât know where to put themâback to his sides, on your hips, nowhere at all.
âLet me talk first,â you rush on, staring hard at his chest because you absolutely cannot handle his eyes right now. The wool under your grip is warm from his skin. âBefore the adrenaline wears off and I freak out and pretend I didnât just explode my entire life in there.â
He swallows. You feel the movement under your knuckles.
âHey,â he says quietly. âLook atââ
You tighten your fist deeper into his sweater, knuckles brushing his sternum, head ducking further like you can burrow into the stitches.
âNo,â you say, voice shaking but firm. âIf I look at you, Iâm going to lose my nerve. So just⌠stay there. Donât move. Donât be nice. Donât make a joke. Just let me say this, and then you can decide if you still want to get in the car with me.â
Your breath fogs between you in quick, uneven bursts. The yard is silent, the house looming behind you like a stage youâve just walked off.
Seungmin exhales slowly, like heâs physically pushing words back down.
âOkay,â he says at last, and his voice is rough but steady. âGo ahead.â
Your fingers are still knotted in his sweater. You stare at the stitches like you can line your thoughts up between them.
âFor the record,â you start, and your voice comes out thin and breathless, âI didnât plan any of that. The speech. The⌠âI love himâ thing. It justâcame out.â
You feel him go a little stiffer against the car.
âI figured,â he says quietly.
âIâm not saying that so you think it doesnât count,â you rush. âIâm saying it because it wasnât some performance for them. It wasnâtââ You swallow. âIt wasnât about them at all.â
Your throat burns. You press your forehead against the center of his chest, hiding in the rough knit, fingers fisting tighter.
âLast night,â you say, words muffled, âyou asked me if I was still in love with him, and I said I didnât know. And that was⌠not quite right.â
He doesnât move. His breath is slow and shallow under your cheek.
âI donât know how to flip a switch on hurt,â you say. âI still feel sick when I think about what he did. I still remember what it felt like to be happy here with him, and that makes me want to throw up, because I hate that those memories exist in my head at the same time. And when he cornered me, my brain just wentâstatic. It always has in this house.â
You suck in a shaky breath. Cold air burns your lungs.
âBut I do know some things,â you go on, softer. âI know I donât want him. I know I donât want to get back together with him now, or ever. I know that even before he cheated, I was already shrinking to fit what everyone wanted, and Iâm done doing that.â
Your hand shakes in his sweater.
âAnd I know that when you walked in last night and saw what you saw, it looked really bad,â you whisper. âI hate that. I hate that I hurt you. Iâm so, so sorry, Seungmin. You didnât deserve to be standing in that doorway wondering if youâre just⌠filler until I decide if I want to be stupid enough to try again with him. Thatâs not what this is.â
His fingers twitch at his sides. You feel the almost-touch like a phantom.
âIt felt like that,â he says, low.
âI know.â The words scrape. âI know it did. And I made it worse. I froze. I gave the worst possible answer and then expected you to magically understand everything I was too scared to say out loud.â You let out a humorless breath. âI keep doing that with you. Hoping youâll just⌠read my mind so I donât have to risk saying the thing that might break everything.â
You press your forehead harder into his chest, like you can shove the fear straight through him and out the other side.
âI brought you here because youâre the safest person I know,â you say. âI didnât think about what it would feel like from your side. How it would look to stand in a house full of people who still worship my ex while I tell you âitâs complicatedâ and make you wait in the hallway with your feelings in your hands.â
The image makes your stomach twist.
âIâm not confused about you,â you say, voice barely above a breath now. âWhatever residual garbage is left over from him, whatever my brain is still untanglingâthatâs just⌠noise. Youâre the part that makes sense.â You swallow. âYouâre the future part. Youâre the one I want in the car with me, and on my couch, and at three a.m. when Iâm spiraling, and⌠at stupid family dinners where I finally grow a spine.â
His chest rises under your cheek, slow and deep.
You tighten your grip on his sweater until your knuckles ache.
âI love you,â you say again, smaller now, just for him. âNot because you came here and played the part. Because youâve been here the whole time. I should have said it before last night. I should have said it before we ever knocked on that stupid door.â
You feel his fingers finally landâone hand settling, carefully, at your hip, the other bracing light against the small of your back like heâs not sure how much heâs allowed.
âLook at me,â he says quietly.
You shake your head against his chest. âYou promised youâd let me finish.â
âThat sounded pretty finished,â he murmurs. âAnd Iâm not going to decide anything while youâre talking to my sweater.â
A wet, shaky laugh jerks out of you. âIâm serious,â you say. âIf you decide youâre done after this weekend, I wonât blame you. You tried. You warned me. I just⌠needed you to know that if you walk away, itâs not because I donât want you. Itâs because I didnât figure this out fast enough and thatâs on me, not you.â
His hand at your hip tightens.
âGod,â he mutters. âYou really think that little of me?â
Your head snaps up before you can stop it.
Heâs closer than you thoughtâobviously, because you shoved him hereâbut seeing his face this near, this night-lit and raw, makes your breath catch. His eyes are dark and blown-wide, lashes spiked slightly from the cold. His mouth is set in that flat, stubborn line you know means heâs two seconds from saying something he thinks you wonât like.
âDonât tell me what Iâd decide,â he says, steady. âYouâre not the only one who gets to choose here.â
You open your mouth, flustered. âI wasnâtâI justââ
âI hated last night,â he says, clean and unvarnished. âI hate that I saw you stuck and couldnât tell if you were frozen or⌠tempted. I hate that you had to deal with that at all. I hate that every person at that table thinks they know whatâs best for you and somehow I still let them make me feel like the crazy one for having a problem with it.â
His thumb is moving without him realizing it, a small, tight stroke against your hip.
âBut I donât love you because itâs easy,â he says. âAnd Iâm not in this because your family will throw me a parade. Iâm in this because Iâve spent a year and a half watching you try to hold yourself together with duct tape and bad jokes, and every time you let me help, it feels like the only part of my day that makes sense.â
Your eyes sting again. âSeungminâŚâ
âYou froze,â he says. âOkay. You panic. You go quiet. None of that makes what he did less shitty, and none of it makes me less pissed about how it looked. But you walking out of that house for me? Telling them you love me in front of⌠all of that?â He huffs, disbelief and something like awe tangled together. âThat doesnât look like someone keeping me around as a prop.â
You make a helpless noise in the back of your throat.
âIâm still mad,â he warns, because heâs him.
âI know,â you say. âYouâre allowed to be.â
âIâm going to bring it up in, like, three separate arguments six months from now,â he adds.
You let out a watery laugh. âThatâs fair.â
âBut Iâm not done,â he finishes quietly. âNot with you. Not because of this.â
The relief hits so hard your knees wobble. Your hand in his sweater loosens, then fists again, because youâre not risking letting go just yet.
âIâll do better,â you say quickly. âNext timeââ
âThereâs not going to be a next time with him,â Seungmin cuts in. âThatâs kind of the point.â
You breathe out a shaky smile. âYeah,â you say. âThere really isnât.â
He studies you for a beat, the sharpness in his face softening at the edges. You can see him replaying the dining room, the way you said his name, the way you stood up. The way you walked out with your hand in his.
âSay it again,â he says, almost under his breath.
Your chest flutters. âSay what again?â
His mouth tips, not quite a smile. âYou know.â
You swallow. âI love you,â you say, a little stronger this time. âKim Seungmin, I am stupidly, completely in love with you, and Iâm sorry it took me this long to stop being a coward about it.â
His throat works. âYeah,â he says hoarsely. âThat one.â
Your heartbeat is in your mouth now. Youâre suddenly very aware of the fact that you still have him pinned to his car, fingers curled in his sweater like a lifeline.
âOkay,â you whisper. âThat was the speech. You can⌠say whatever you want now. Or leave. Or laugh in my face. Orââ
âGod, shut up,â he says, and then heâs leaning down.
He doesnât give you a chance to overthink it.
âGod, shut up,â he says, and then his mouth is on yours.
Itâs not cautious, not testing the way you half-expected. Itâs like the thread thatâs been pulled taut between you for a year and a half finally snaps and all that tension has to go somewhere.
His first kiss lands hard enough that you stumble back a bit. His hand on your hip tightens, dragging you that last inch closer so thereâs no space left to negotiate. His other hand slides up your spine and into your hair, fingers threading at the back of your head like heâs terrified youâll move away.
You donât.
You tilt up into him, fingers fisting higher in his sweater, and the sound he makesâlow, rough, like heâs been holding it in for monthsâgoes straight down your spine.
The cold disappears fast. All you can feel is his mouth moving against yours, a little desperate, a little clumsy with how hard heâs trying not to be. He kisses you like heâs been dying to and finally, finally got permission.
When you part your lips on a shaky inhale, he doesnât hesitate. He deepens it immediately, tilting his head, catching your bottom lip between his, sucking just enough that you gasp against him. His thumb presses at your waist, anchoring you; his fingers tighten in your hair.
You break away for half a secondâjust enough to breatheâand he follows, chasing your mouth like he canât bear the distance.
âSeungmin,â you whisper, but it comes out wrecked, more plea than warning.
âYeah?â he mutters against your lips, like thatâs an answer, and kisses you again.
Itâs messier now, all teeth and breath and relief. His nose bumps yours; you laugh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like he wants to keep it.
âSay it again,â he breathes, not really pulling back, words brushing your lips.
You manage to get enough distance to look up at himâbarely. His pupils are blown, cheeks flushed high with cold and something hotter.
âI love you,â you whisper.
He groans, actual, honest-to-god groans. His hand drops from your hair to your jaw, thumb stroking along your cheek as he kisses you like repeat, repeat, repeat. Each time you try to catch air, heâs there again, softer, then deeper, like he literally cannot help himself.
Your fingers slide from his sweater to the back of his neck, pulling him down. He goes willingly, pressing you up more firmly against him.
âBeen trying not to do this for months,â he mutters between kisses, lips dragging along your jaw, back to the corner of your mouth. âSo if you wanted me to stopâtoo late.â
You laugh, breathless, and hook your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging. âNot complaining,â you manage. âJust⌠air. Occasionally.â
He pulls back an inch, panting, forehead dropping to yours. His breath fogs between you, mingling with yours.
âRight,â he says, voice wrecked. âAir.â
He doesnât move.
You tip your head just enough to brush your mouth against his again, a quick, soft kiss that turns into three, four, because apparently he really canât stop. Every time he pulls away, his lips find some new bit of youâyour top lip, the edge of your smile, that spot just beside your mouth that makes your stomach flip.
âOkay,â he says finally, like heâs negotiating with himself. âWe⌠should go. Before your dad comes out here with a snow shovel.â
âProbably,â you murmur, kissing him once more anyway.
He laughs, a short, disbelieving burst against your lips, and gives in for one last, lingering kiss that feels like a promise and a problem all at once.
When he pulls back this time, itâs slow, like it physically pains him. His hand slides from your jaw to your shoulder, squeezing once.
âGet in the car,â he says gently. âBefore I start something we really canât finish in your parentsâ driveway.â
You snort, half-hysterical. âBold of you to assume Iâd stop you.â
âDonât tempt me,â he mutters, eyes flicking to the lit windows. âIâm hanging on by a thread here.â
You peel yourself off the car with effort, fingers reluctantly letting go of his sweater. The air hits you properly again, sharp and cold, rushing into all the places he just warmed up.
You slide into the passenger seat. The upholstery smells faintly like him and stale coffee and the little pine-scented air freshener your mom passive-aggressively stuck on the vent before you left the city.
He gets in on his side, slamming his door against the cold. For a second you both just sit there, hands in your laps, breaths visible in the dim.
Then he leans over and buckles your seatbelt for you.
âReally?â you say, voice small and fond all at once.
âMotor skills drop after that many kisses,â he says. âI donât trust you not to concuss yourself on the dashboard.â
âYou kissed me.â
âYeah,â he says. âAnd Iâd like to keep doing it, soâseatbelt.â
You roll your eyes, but his hands are steady, fingers brushing your collarbone once as he clicks it into place. Your chest tightens stupidly.
He sits back, starts the engine. The heater coughs to life, whirring hard, blowing cold air that will eventually be warm if you give it time.
You clear your throat. âSo⌠what now?â
He keeps his eyes on the windshield. A long breath fogs out of him. âNow,â he says slowly, âI drive us back to the city. You put on the least cursed Christmas playlist you can find. We both crash for sixteen hours. Tomorrow we order obscene amounts of food and pretend the only family we have is your grandmother.â
A tiny smile pulls at your mouth. âThatâs a plan.â
âAnd,â he adds, fingers flexing on the wheel, âsomewhere in there we have a conversation that doesnât involve your ex, your mom, or the threat of snow shovels.â
You nod, staring at your hands. âOkay.â
He glances over then, like heâs checking your face for cracks. âUnless you were looking for something more⌠official.â
The word makes your stomach swoop.
You twist in your seat to face him properly. âI mean, kind of?â you say. âI did sort of tell my entire extended family I love you and then drag you out of their house, so itâd be a little embarrassing if you were like, âthanks for the field trip, roommate.ââ
His mouth twitches. âYou were never just my roommate.â
âStill,â you say. âIâd like to know what we are when we get back home. So I donât⌠wake up tomorrow and convince myself I hallucinated all of this.â
He watches you for a long beat, engine idling, the dashboard throwing soft light over his face.
âOkay,â he says. âLetâs be really, painfully clear for once.â
Your heart stutters.
âYouâre my girlfriend,â he says simply. âIâm your boyfriend, if youâll have me. No fake clauses, no âjust for the weekend.â I am fully, stupidly in love with you and have been for an embarrassingly long time. If you try to downgrade me back to âroommateâ I will sue.â
You huff out a shocked laugh. âOn what grounds?â
âEmotional damages,â he says. âPlus hazard pay for the last forty-eight hours.â
You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a wobbly smile. âYouâre really sure,â you say, half awe, half warning.
âYou called me your tree in front of your entire family,â he points out. âIâm pretty locked in, hurricane.â
The word catches you off guard. âWhat?â
His eyes soften. âYour grandma was right,â he says. âYouâre a storm. Loud and messy and too much for people whoâd rather keep everything neat.â His hand leaves the wheel for a second, fingers brushing the back of your wrist. âI like storms.â
Heat prickles behind your eyes. âSounds like a lot of work.â
He shrugs, hand finding yours properly now, tangling your fingers together over the console. âIâm stubborn,â he says. âI can handle some wind.â
You look down at your joined hands. His knuckles are pink from the cold; one of your fingers still has a faint smear of cranberry sauce near the nail.Â
âOkay,â you whisper. âThen youâre my boyfriend. For real. No refunds.â
He exhales, something in his shoulders finally dropping. âGood,â he says. âBecause if youâd tried to demote me after that driveway performance, Iâd have just kept kissing you until you changed your mind.â
You snort. âBold strategy.â
âEffective, though,â he says, smirking a little now. âData suggests it works.â
You squeeze his hand. âYouâre insufferable.â
âYou love me,â he reminds you.
You meet his eyes, steady. âYeah,â you say. âI really do.â
He looks away first this time, ears going pink again as he shifts the car into reverse. âBuckle up,â he mutters. âWeâre getting the hell out of Maple Lane.â
âYou already buckled me,â you say.
âRight,â he says. âSee? Boyfriend of the year.â
You laugh, the sound lighter than anything thatâs come out of you in days.
As he backs out of the driveway, you glance up at the house one last timeâthe porch lights, the sagging reindeer, the glow of the dining room window. A shadow crosses past the curtain. For once, you donât flinch.
You turn back to the car, to the boy at the wheel, to his hand warm in yours.
âHey, Min?â you say, as the house shrinks in the mirrors.
âYeah?â
You lean over the console and press a quick, sure kiss to his cheek. âMerry Christmas.â
He blows out a soft, incredulous breath, the corners of his mouth tipping up.
âMerry Christmas, hurricane,â he says.
The road opens up ahead, dark and clear. You lace your fingers tighter through his and let him drive you home.
event tag list: @xallyouneedislovexx @crashmunson @straykidsdreamer @tirena1 @jinniesgirl @airwolf92 @minniebutterfly @lizal1cious @channies-babygurl @k-pop-stan-fl @chicken-fifi @marebearsocool @imaniitheoneee @lolzworld @iliketoshitalot @hyunjinslongasslegs @s1lverroses @minniesverse @flippedccc @foppishitudinality @yaorzu-blog @stayville-citizen @paulina15 @schlondpoofa15 @jongseobs-bsf @firelordtsuki @jenni-wilk @grlset @luna585 @crowfrompluto @skzcodered @hanstattoos @persassyismysecrettwin @geni-627
this was so cuteee sobs
Episode One: Who Was Here Last Night?
pairing: nonidol!seuengmin x reader genre: psychological thriller status: complete! warnings: Explicit sexual content, psychological manipulation/gaslighting, coercive relationship dynamics, memory loss/blackouts, medication impairment, emotional abuse, infidelity suspicion, intense anxiety and distress.
A quiet apartment. A familiar routine. Two mugs that always stay in rotation. And then, one morning, there are three. What starts as a small, domestic wrongness curdles into something sharper; missing time, unease you canât name, a woman who vanishes without explanation. The closer you look, the less you recognize your own life⌠and the more you start to wonder if the person you love is hiding something monstrous. Seungmin swears that youâre safe. But safety, you learn, can be manufactured.
taglist: closed! notes: sorry this took so long lol. hopefully it turned out okay! There are only three chapters to this mini-series so the wait shouldn't be long. also! the reader in this fic has a fictional disorder that gives her memory loss.
masterpost | next
Wake up.
The words feel like theyâre coming from underwater, tugging at you through a thick, warm dark. You sink for a second instead of rising, mind cottony, body heavy as if someone poured sand into your veins.
âBaby, wake up.â
You gasp, lurching like someone yanked a cord. Your eyes fly open.
Seungminâs face is right there, too close, framed by the dim, late-afternoon light leaking around the curtains. His hairâs mussed, his mouth is a tight, pale line, and his eyesâ
âThank God,â he breathes, exhaling so hard his shoulders drop. âJesus Christ, you scared me.â
Your heart thuds against your ribs, still catching up to the rest of you. The room swims a little, your vision blurry at the edges. Youâre on your side of the bed, half buried in the blanket, cheek pressed into your pillow.Â
âWhatââ Your throat is dry. You clear it, try again. âWhat happened?â
âYou didnât wake up.â His voice is softer now, but not calmer. Heâs kneeling by the bed, one hand braced on the mattress near your hip like heâs been shaking you for a while. âIâve been calling you for, like⌠five minutes? At least. You were out.â
âThatâs⌠normal,â you mumble, brain still scraping itself together.Â
âYeah,â he says, and it comes out almost sharp. His fingers flex against the sheets. âBut not like that.â
You blink at him, then past him, squinting toward the digital clock on your nightstand. The red numbers stab through the haze.
5:42 p.m.
You stare at it, confused. âIt was barely three when I laid down.â
âI know.â He sits back onto his heels, rubbing a hand over his face. âYou told me to wake you by five-thirty. You have that get-together thing tonight, remember?â
You frown. âGet-togetherâŚ?â
He looks at you for a long second, some expression flickering across his face that you canât quite catch.
âWith your friends?â he prompts gently. âAt the wine bar? You made me put it in my calendar and everything so I wouldnât forget to remind you.â
The memory lands in pieces. Group chat. Clinking glasses emoji.Â
âOh.â You swallow, cheeks warming. âRight. Yeah. That.â
You really donât remember telling him to wake you up. You donât remember getting into bed, either, not clearlyâjust the soft weight of the blanket, thinking Iâll just close my eyes for twenty minutesâŚ
âHey.â His voice pulls you back. âHave you taken your medication today?â
You open your mouth to say yesâthen hesitate.
Did you?
You try to rewind, to replay your day like a film. Work. The bus. Coming home. His arms around you in the kitchen, a quick hug that smelled like coffee and printer ink. The ache behind your eyes.Â
But everything after that is muddy, like someone smeared wet paint over the reel.
âIâŚâ You press your fingers into your temple, frustrated. âI donât know. I thought I did, butââ
âOkay.â He pushes himself to his feet. âCome on. Letâs check.â
You let him tug you upright. Your limbs feel like they were poured in one piece and forgot how to be separate parts. The room tilts for a second; his hand closes around your wrist, firm and steady until your balance catches.
He leads you out of the bedroom and down the short hallway to the tiny kitchen. The overhead light hums to life when he flicks the switch, too bright after the dimness of the bedroom, edges of cabinets and countertops suddenly sharp.
Your pill organizer is exactly where you always leave it: on the counter by the fridge, next to the fruit bowl you never actually put fruit in. Itâs a plain plastic thing, seven little compartments in a row. The days of the week are printed on top in fading black letters, Monday through Sunday.
Seungmin picks it up and turns it so you can see.
You lean closer.
Monday: empty. Tuesday: empty. Wednesday: empty. Thursday: empty. Friday: empty.
âSee?â he says quietly. âYou .must have taken it before your nap.â
The fog in your head shifts, just enough for a quick flash of dĂŠjĂ vu: the click of the Friday lid popping open, the chalky pill in your palm, water from the tap running cold over your fingers. Youâd swallowed it standing right where you are now.
âOh.â Heat creeps up your neck. âRight. I guess I⌠forgot that part.â
He sets the organizer back down exactly in its spot, lining it up with the edge of the counter. He always does that, tiny straightening habits that would drive you insane on anyone else.
On him, theyâre justâSeungmin.
âYouâve been really tired lately,â he says, softer, like heâs testing the words as he places his hands lightly on your waist. âWorkâs been a lot. It makes sense.â
You roll your eyes, more out of habit than belief. âYouâre literally busier than I am.â
âYeah, but Iâm built different,â he says, deadpan.
You huff out a laugh. The last of the panic in your chest starts to bleed out, replaced by that familiar, stupid fondness. You loop your arms loosely around his neck, tugging him closer until your bodies fit together, your forehead almost bumping his.
âBuilt annoying, maybe,â you murmur..
âWow,â he says. âSo mean to the guy who just resurrected you from the dead.â
âYou woke me up from a nap. Itâs not that serious.â
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth tipping up. Up close, you can see the faint smudge of tired under his eyes, the little crease between his brows he gets when heâs worried. The fear you saw when you first opened your eyes is still there, just buried now, smoothed over.
You smooth your thumb over that crease, and his gaze softens like it always does when you touch him like that.
âDonât scare me like that again,â he says quietly.
You blink. âI was sleeping.â
âYou werenât waking up,â he insists, and thereâs a flash of something raw in his voice. âIt⌠you looked like you werenât even there. Justââ He huffs out a breath. âI know you sleep heavy on your meds, butââ
âHey.â You cut him off with a small smile, fingers sliding into his hair. Itâs soft, still a little damp from a shower. âIâm here, okay? See? Very annoying, very alive.â
He shuts his eyes when you card your fingers through his hair, soaking it in. When he opens them again, the fear is mostly gone, replaced by that look that always makes your chest feel too full, like heâs memorizing your face just in case it disappears.
âThatâs debatable,â he mutters. âThe alive part. The annoying part, not so much.â
You laugh, and it feels more real this time. Your body remembers him even when your brain is foggedâyour thumbs brushing the back of his neck, your hips fitting against his, the way he instinctively leans down when you tip your chin up.
You kiss him.
At first itâs just a brush of lips, a hello / sorry / Iâm fine all in one. Then his fingers tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, and the kiss deepens without either of you really meaning to. His mouth is warm, familiar, unhurried. He tastes faintly like coffee and mint.
His hand slides up your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades, anchoring you there. You let yourself melt into it, into him, into the way his body curves protectively around yours like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
Your brain quiets. The clock, the pills, the scareâeverything recedes to the edges for a moment.
âYouâre gonna make me late,â you murmur against his mouth.
âGood,â he says, kissing you again, slower. âStay home.â
âTempting,â you mumble, and kiss him again before he can say anything else.
He makes a quiet sound in his chest, low and unguarded, and his hands slide further around you, fingers tightening at the small of your back. The edge of the counter digs into your hip as he walks you back a step, like he canât decide between pulling you closer or pinning you there.
You donât make him choose. You hook your fingers into the collar of his shirt and tug, opening your mouth under his, and whatever restraint he was clinging to frays fast.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His nose bumps yours, his breath mixing with yours, warmer now, rougher. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck and curl, and he reacts instantly, a little shiver running through him. His grip on you tightens, dragging you flush against him.
You can feel him, all solid heat and tension, the steady thump of his heart where your chest presses to his. Thereâs a line to his shoulders that says heâs trying not to push, trying to keep it slow, but his thumb is rubbing circles just above the waistband of your shorts like he canât help it.
âStay,â he repeats against your mouth. It doesnât sound like a joke now.Â
You smile, breathless. âYou gonna write my apology text?â
âIâll ghost them for you,â he says, and then you feel him grin. âBlock the whole group chat. Problem solved.â
âHuh.â You nip lightly at his lower lip; he sucks in a breath. âYou want me all to yourself that badly?â
His answer is to kiss you like heâs been holding back all day.
The change is subtle and then it isnâtâhis hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your head, his other hand splaying wider over your hip, anchoring you in place. Heâs not rough, exactly, but thereâs a surety in the way he moves you that makes your knees feel a little unreliable, like if he let go you might actually melt into the floor.
You let out a small, surprised sound when he shifts his stance and slots a thigh between yours. Itâs nothing, just pressure, but your body reacts faster than your brain, a little spark lighting low in your stomach.
His fingers flex at your waist when he feels you tense.
âCareful,â you tease when he shifts from your lips to your jaw, words coming out thinner than you meant. âLast time we started something before I went out, I missed my train.â
âLast time you were the one who climbed into my lap,â he mutters, but his mouth is still on your jaw, then the spot just under your ear that makes you shiver. âIâm innocent.â
You huff out a laugh that turns into a sharp inhale when he finds a sensitive patch of skin and lingers, teeth scraping just enough to make heat chase down your spine.
âInnocent is not the word Iâd use,â you manage.
âWhat word would you use?â he asks, and you can feel his smile against your neck, infuriating and fond and entirely too pleased with himself.
âHazard to productivity.â
âThatâs three words,â He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lashes low. âYou love me.â
You do. God, you do. Itâs there in the way your hands donât want to leave him, in the way your body leans without asking you first, in the way you can feel your resolve about tonightâs plans wobbling because heâs looking at you like that.
âUnfortunately,â you say.
His gaze flicks between your eyes, searching for something. Whatever he sees makes his expression soften, the cocky edge fading, replaced by something softer. His thumb traces a slow line along your cheekbone.
âI really thought you werenât going to wake up,â he says, almost to himself. âI kept thinkingâI shouldâve checked earlier, I shouldâveââ
âHey.â You slide your hands down from his neck to his chest, press your palms flat over his heartbeat. âYou woke me up. Iâm fine. No more doomsday scenarios.â
He swallows, throat working. For a second you think heâll argue, that heâll confess whatever worst-case films his brain was putting on loop while you were out. Then he seems to tuck it away, the way he always does, folding the fear into something smaller and shoving it somewhere you canât reach.
âYeah,â he says finally. âOkay.â
He leans in and kisses you again, quick this time.
âYou really are gonna be late,â he adds, voice back to its usual dry cadence even as his fingers linger at your waist, reluctant to let go. âGo shower. Iâll make you something you can eat in like, three bites.â
âWhat a romantic,â you say, but youâre already stepping back, your body complaining about the loss of contact. âPromise you wonât move the entire kitchen around again while Iâm gone?â
He lifts a hand, mock-scoutâs honor. âIâll only alphabetize the spices.â
âDonât you dare,â you warn, pointing a finger at him as you back toward the hallway. âIf I come back and cumin is anywhere near cinnamonââ
âYou say that like you actually cook,â he calls after you.
You flip him off over your shoulder; he laughs, the sound following you down the hall.
Under the hot spray of the shower, your skin still tingles where his hands were. You lean your forehead against the tile for a second, breathing in steam, letting your heartbeat settle. Itâs too easy to imagine stayingâslipping back into one of his shirts, curling up on the couch with him, letting the night pass in a blur of warmth and dumb jokes and movie credits.
But your phone is buzzing on the sink with messages you canât ignore, and somewhere in the apartment, you can hear him moving around, the clink of dishes, the soft thud of cabinet doors. Domestic noise. Safe noise.
You scrub shampoo into your hair and try not to think about the way he said you scared me.
By the time youâre out, wrapped in a towel and digging through your closet for something that says I am a functioning adult who leaves her house sometimes, the scare has already faded to a dull, ignorable unease. You chalk the heaviness up to the meds, the weird, sticky way sleep clings to you when you take them and nap in the middle of the day.
You donât see Seungmin pause in the kitchen as he cuts toast into quarters, staring at the pill organizer like itâs a bomb. You donât see the way he checks the Friday compartment twice, thumb hovering just above the empty slot before he jerks his hand back.
You only hear him call down the hall:
âYouâve got fifteen minutes! And youâre not leaving without eating something!â
âYes, dad!â you yell back, pulling a dress over your head.
He mutters something you donât catch, low and affectionate.
You smile to yourself and keep getting ready.
By the time you get to the wine bar, youâre warm with itâheat in your cheeks from the walk, from the tiny rush of making it on time, from Seungminâs mouth on your neck still ghosting on your skin like a thumbprint.
The place is exactly what your friends love: dim amber lighting, a wall of bottles that glints like stained glass, the kind of music thatâs just loud enough to make you lean in close and feel like youâre sharing secrets even when youâre talking about nothing. Your group is already halfway through their first round, clustered around a high table near the back.
âThere she is!â someone sings as you weave between tables.
You slide in with a grin that feels a little practiced at first, then real when they start talking over each other, pulling you into the noise. Someone hugs you. Someone immediately steals your coat. Someone shoves a menu into your hands.
âYouâre late,â your friend accuses, eyes bright. âI was about to file a missing persons report.â
âI was in a medically-induced coma,â you say solemnly.
They laugh. You laugh too, because itâs easy, because youâre here, because this is normal.
A server comes by. You order something you donât have to think about. Your phone buzzes once in your pocketâSeungmin, probably, asking if you need him to pick you up later.Â
Someoneâs telling a storyâoffice drama, a new manager, someoneâs boyfriend doing something stupid. Youâre nodding along, half listening, half watching the room the way you always do in public, cataloguing exits, counting faces, letting your brain settle into that quiet observational mode that makes you feel a little more in control.
Thatâs when you see her.
Sheâs at the bar, angled toward the bartender with the kind of posture that says sheâs used to being accommodated. Perfect hair, perfect eyeliner, a fitted coat draped like itâs part of the outfit. Sheâs laughingâsharp, bright, rehearsedâand the sound threads through the room in a way that makes your shoulders tighten before you even know why.
It takes your brain a second to place her.
Then it clicks, like a tab closing.
Oh.
Seungminâs coworker.
The one he complains about nearly everyday. The one who âforgetsâ to add him to email chains, who talks over him in meetings, who âaccidentallyâ takes credit for his work. The one he hates with the calm, simmering intensity of someone who doesnât hate easily.
Youâve never met her. Youâve only seen her through Seungminâs words: Sheâs so fake. Sheâs so loud. She thinks everyone is stupid. She does that thing where she smiles like sheâs being kind but sheâs not.
Now you watch her tilt her head at the bartender, a manicured finger tapping the wood like she owns it, and you understand exactly what he means.
You donât stare. Youâre careful not to. You take a sip of water and let your gaze slide past her like youâre looking at the shelves behind the bar.
Your friend follows your line of sight, curious. âWhat?â
âNothing,â you say automatically.
They squint. âNo, you just looked like you saw a ghost. Who is that?â
You shrug, making it casual, making it small. âI think she works with Seungmin.â
Your friendâs eyebrows jump. âOhh. That coworker. The enemy.â
You huff a laugh, because the way they say it makes it sound like Seungmin is a superhero with a nemesis, and thatâs stupid and kind of adorable. âYeah. That one.â
âHave you met her before?â
âNo.â You pick at the condensation on your glass. âIâve just⌠heard about her. A lot.â
âHow bad is she?â someone else asks, leaning in, delighted by the idea of a villain.
You keep your tone light, your expression neutral. Not too interested. Not too sharp. Just⌠conversational.
âSeungmin literally hates her,â you say, like youâre sharing a funny tidbit. âHe complains about her every chance he gets.â
One of your friends snorts into her glass.
âOkay but,â she says, leaning in too far because sheâs definitely on her secondâor thirdâdrink, âcan we talk about how thatâs a red flag?â
You blink. âWhat is?â
âThe fact that your boyfriend never shuts up about how much he hates another woman,â she says, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the bar. âLike. Thatâs not normal.â
You laugh automatically. âHe just finds her annoying.â
âMmm,â she hums, unconvinced. âNo. See. Men donât talk that much about women they donât care about.â
A couple of your friends make a noise at the same time.
âOkay, relax,â one of them says, already bracing herself. âYouâre drunk.â
âI am right,â the drunk one insists, poking the table for emphasis. âIâm just sayingâif a guy keeps going on and on about how much he âhatesâ a girl? Heâs either obsessed with her or fucking her.â
You choke on your water.Â
âHate sex,â she continues cheerfully, completely unfiltered now, âis top-tier. Like, the chemistry? Off the charts. Theyâre probably ripping each otherâs clothes off between meetings.â
âStop,â another friend hisses, mortified, slapping her arm. âWhat is wrong with you?â
âIâm being honest!â she protests. âIâm doing her a favor.â
You feel heat crawl up your neck, equal parts embarrassed and irritated. âThatâsâno. Thatâs not a thing. He genuinely canât stand her.â
âSure,â the drunk friend says, lifting her glass. âThatâs what they all say.â
âOkay, thatâs enough,â someone else cuts in quickly. âLetâs not plant insane thoughts in her head.â
âYeah,â another adds, pointedly. âSheâs happy. Let her be happy.â
The drunk friend raises her hands in surrender, grinning. âFine. Fine. Iâll shut up.â
You force a laugh and shake your head, trying to let it roll off you. âSheâs just drunk.â
âVery drunk,â someone agrees.
The conversation shifts almost immediatelyâback to dating horror stories, back to laughter, back to normal.
You go with it. You really do.
But across the room, the coworker laughs again at something the bartender says, head tipped back, throat exposedâand for just a second, uninvited and sharp, your friendâs voice echoes in your head.
If a guy keeps going on and on about how much he hates a girlâŚ
You take another sip of water and push the thought away.
Itâs stupid.
Itâs nothing.
And you absolutely do not look back at the bar again.
You keep your focus on your friends, on their faces, on the rhythm of their conversation. Someoneâs telling a story about a terrible first date, everyone groaning, and youâre about to respondâabout to say something snarky, something thatâll make them all laughâ
Wake up.
You wake up to softness.                       Â
Sheets against your legs. A familiar weight of blankets. The faint, clean scent of your body wash clinging to your skin.                 Â
Your eyes blink open slowly, unfocused. Morning light sits pale and thin on the wall, making everything look washed-out and quiet. The room is still. Too still.                       Â
Youâre in your pajamas.                       Â
Your hair is brushed. Your skin smells like soap. Thereâs that slightly tight feeling on your face that usually means you did your skincare.                       Â
You stare at the ceiling for a long second, waiting for the memory of getting home to slide into place.                       Â
Nothing comes.                       Â
Thereâs a small ache behind your eyes, like a leftover echo. Your mouth is a little dry. Your limbs feel⌠heavy, but in that post-shower, post-sleep way. Like you were tucked in properly.                       Â
You turn your head.                       Â
Seungmin is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you.                       Â
His elbows rest on his knees, his head bowed into his hands like heâs trying to hold himself together by force. His hair is messier than usual, sticking up in the back. Thereâs a dark shadow under his eyes, the kind you only get from not sleeping or sleeping in jagged, shallow pieces. His shoulders are drawn in tight, as if heâs bracing for impact.                       Â
He doesnât notice youâre awake.                       Â
For a few seconds you just watch him, confused in a way that makes your throat tighten. He looks⌠stressed. Not his normal mild, annoyed-at-the-world stressed. This is different. Rawer.                       Â
âSeungmin?â Your voice comes out soft, scratchy with sleep.                       Â
He flinches. Hard.                   Â
His head snaps up. His hands drop. His eyes whip toward you, sharp and startledâ                       Â
For half a beat he looks afraid.                                          Â
âOh,â he exhales, voice cracking just slightly on the first sound. He clears his throat immediately like it didnât happen. âYouâre up.â                       Â
You push yourself onto an elbow, brow furrowing. âYeah.â                       Â
He blinks at you like heâs checking that youâre real, that youâre not going to slip away if he looks too hard. Then, like a switch flips, he smooths his expression down into something casual. Normal. A Seungmin you recognize.                       Â
âMorning,â he says, a little too evenly.                       Â
âMorning,â you echo, and thenâcarefullyâyour hand reaches out.                       Â
You touch his arm.                       Â
Just above the elbow, where his sleeve has ridden up. Warm skin. Solid. Heâs here.                       Â
He jolts again, smaller this time, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh he swallowed.                       Â
âSorry,â you say automatically. âI didnât mean toâ you just looked⌠are you okay?â                       Â
âIâm fine.â Too quick.                       Â
You narrow your eyes. âSeungmin.â                       Â
He shifts, turning slightly so heâs angled toward you now. His gaze drops to your face, skims your hairline, your mouth, like heâs searching for something he wonât name.                       Â
âYou wereâŚâ He stops. Starts again, lighter. âYou passed out pretty hard last night. I didnât want to wake you.â                       Â
Last night.                       Â
A cold little prickle crawls up your spine. âLast night as in⌠when I came home?â                       Â
He pausesâjust a fraction. So small you almost miss it.                       Â
âYeah,â he says.                       Â
You swallow. âI donât⌠remember coming home.â                       Â
His eyes flick away. Back. âYou were tired,â he says carefully. âYou showered. You changed. You went straight to bed.â                       Â
You stare at him. âI showered.â                       Â
âMhm.â                       Â
âI did skincare,â you add, because the tightness in your cheeks is undeniable.                       Â
A beat.                       Â
He nods. âYeah.â                       Â
That should be reassuring. It should. Itâs normal. Itâs domestic. Itâs the kind of thing heâd notice because he always notices. He notices when you switch conditioners. When youâre low on toothpaste. When you havenât eaten enough protein for three days in a row.                       Â
But the way heâs answeringâlike heâs reading off a script he memorizedâmakes something uneasy coil in your stomach.                       Â
âI donât remember any of that,â you admit quietly.                       Â
Seungminâs jaw tightens. He forces it loose again. âItâs okay.â                       Â
âIs it?â You sit up more fully, blanket sliding to your lap. The air is cool against your arms. âI donât remember leaving the bar, either.â                       Â
He reaches out, slow, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there for a second too long, like heâs grounding himself in the fact that youâre warm and alive.                       Â
âYou were with your friends,â he says. âYou had a good time.â                       Â
âI did?â                       Â
âMm.â His voice is gentle. His eyes arenât.                       Â
Thereâs a pulse in him today, a jitter under the surface, like a wire pulled too tight.                       Â
You cover his hand with yours. âDid I do something weird?â                       Â
âNo.â Immediate.                       Â
You squint. âSeungmin.â                       Â
He exhales through his nose, then tips his forehead forward until it almost touches yours. Not quite. Like he wants the comfort but is afraid to take it.
His breath ghosts over your mouth. âIâm fine,â he repeats, like if he says it enough times itâll become true.     Â
You donât buy it.     Â
Itâs not just the dark under his eyes, or the way heâs been sitting on the edge of the bed like heâs waiting for a siren to go off. Itâs the way his gaze keeps flickingâtoo quickâto the door, to the window, to your nightstand, like heâs checking for something you canât see.   Â
When you slide your hand down his forearm, you feel a faint tremor in the muscle under your palm. His skin is warm. Too warm.     Â
His throat bobs when he swallows. His eyes lift to yours, and for one raw second you see it: the fear, stripped bare.     Â
Then his lashes lower.     Â
He kisses you.     Â
It starts gentleâalmost a quiet apology. A press of lips. A careful slide of his hand to your waist. But thereâs urgency underneath it, a need that doesnât match the sleepy morning light. His fingers curl into the fabric of your pajama top, anchoring you to the bed, to this moment, to him.     Â
You make a small sound into his mouth. Your hands find his shoulders out of instinct, because your body recognizes comfort faster than your brain recognizes danger.     Â
He kisses you again, deeper, and the heat blooms anyway, betrayal-soft in your chest.     Â
âSeungmin,â you breathe, and it isnât a warning this time. Itâs a plea you donât fully understand. Donât do this if youâre doing it to distract me. Â Â Â Â
He doesnât answer with words.     Â
His mouth drops to your jaw. Your neck. Heâs careful where he touches, but thereâs a frantic edge to his tenderness, a sweetness that feels⌠strategic.     Â
Your pulse stutters. You tilt your head back, letting him, because the truth is: it works. It works in the simplest, oldest way. He knows your body. He knows the exact places that make your thoughts go soft, the exact pressure that makes your spine go loose, the way your breath catches when he murmurs your name against your skin.     Â
His hand slips under the blanket, warm palm gliding up your thigh just enough to make you gasp.      Â
Heâs trying to pull you into something wordless, something where you canât interrogate him, because youâre too busy feeling.     Â
And you hate that it works.     Â
But it does.     Â
You curl into him, fingers fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer until thereâs no space left for the questions. He lets out a shaky breath, like heâs been drowning and youâre air.     Â
âI love you,â he whispers, finally. His voice cracks on the last word.
Your chest tightens, reflexive and sharp, like your body knows something your mind hasnât caught up to yet. You search his faceâhis eyes, his mouth, the tense line of his jawâas if love alone can translate whatever heâs not saying.
âMin,â you murmur, and the nickname comes out instinctive, softening the moment even as it makes your stomach dip. âWhy are you saying it like that?â
He blinks like youâve shoved your fingers into a wound.
For a second, he looks like he might tell you. Like the truth is sitting right there behind his teeth, trembling, ready to fall out.
Then he kisses you again.         Â
Harderâstill gentle, still careful, but urgent in the way a door is urgent when itâs being held shut against something trying to get in. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking once, twice, as if to soothe you into silence.           Â
âBecause,â he breathes against your mouth, âI do.â           Â
âThatâs notââ           Â
He hushes you with another kiss, drawing a soft sound from you despite yourself. His palm stays on your face, anchoring you. His other hand slides up your side under the blanket, warm and steady, and your body betrays you again, melting into the familiar.           Â
You hate how easy it is to let him. To let the warmth drown the unease. To let his touch convince you that whateverâs wrong is just anxiety, just your medication, just one of those mornings where your brain wants to chew its own tail.           Â
Heâs so good at you.           Â
He always has been.           Â
âYouâre here,â he murmurs, mouth at your temple now, his breath hot against your skin. âYouâre okay. Youâre with me.â           Â
Each sentence sounds like heâs checking off a list.           Â
You swallow. âSeungminâŚâ           Â
He presses his mouth to your throat again, like he can erase the question with skin and breath. âNothing happened,â he says, too smooth. âYou justâ you were tired. You fell asleep. Thatâs it.â           Â
You donât believe him.           Â
But your body is warm, and his hands are steadying, and the way heâs looking at youâlike heâs trying to memorize the exact shape of you in this lightâmakes something in you soften despite the alarm bells.           Â
He kisses you slow now. Not frantic anymore. Almost reverent. Like heâs trying to make something right.           Â
Your eyes flutter shut. Your fingers slide into his hair and tug lightly, just enough to make him exhale through his nose.           Â
His mouth drops to your shoulder, then the soft skin just below it, and the warmth blooms in you again, pulling your thoughts apart like threads.           Â
Heâs doing it on purpose.           Â
You realize it with an odd, distant clarityâthis isnât just desire. Itâs an intentional blur. A soft smothering of your questions with touch and heat until youâre too floaty to hold onto anything sharp.           Â
And stillâ           Â
You let him.           Â
Because you love him. Because he looks like heâs been drowning. Because the fear in him is real even if you donât understand it. Because the missing pieces in your mind feel like a hole youâll fall into if you stare too long.          Â
Seungminâs fingers find the hem of your pajama top.           Â
He glances up once, searching your faceâpermission, reassurance, something. When you donât pull away, when you only breathe in shallow and nod, his shoulders loosen by a fraction, as if the world just gave him one small mercy.           Â
The fabric lifts.           Â
Cool air brushes your skin, and his palms follow immediatelyâwarm, steady, familiarâlike he canât stand the idea of leaving you untouched for even a second. His touch isnât hurried, but thereâs an intensity to it that makes your thoughts slip loose. He drags his hands over you, mapping you by memory, like heâs confirming youâre still here, still real, still his.           Â
Your suspicionâsharp a moment agoâblunts at the edges.           Â
Thereâs only him.           Â
His mouth at your collarbone. The scrape of his breath. The quiet sound he makes when you shiver. The weight of him braced carefully over you, holding himself back and failing a little at a time.           Â
âMin,â you breathe again, and it comes out like a soft break in your voice.           Â
He answers by tugging you closer, closeness the only language he trusts. He kisses you until your name and his are just shapes in the dark behind your eyelids, until your brain stops reaching for last night and starts reaching only for now.           Â
Your hands roam. You fumble at buttons, fabric, seams. He helpsâ heâs done it a thousand times and needs it to happen again, right now. If thereâs skin and warmth and the familiar slide of you against him, then whateverâs chasing him canât catch up.           Â
Clothes gather on the floor in soft, careless heaps.           Â
The sheet twists around your legs. He nudges it down with his knee and follows it, slow and deliberate.
His mouth leaves yours.
You feel it immediatelyâthe absence, the cool air where he wasâfollowed by the press of his lips lower, softer. He kisses a line down your throat, lingering at the hollow there like itâs something precious. Your breath stutters when his teeth graze your skin, just enough to make your nerves spark.
âSeungââ you start, but the sound breaks apart when he bites again, a little firmer this time, right at your collarbone. Claiming.Â
He hums quietly, satisfied, and keeps going.
His mouth trails down your chest, unhurried, reverent in the way he touches youâas if heâs grounding himself in every inch. He kisses, then nips, then soothes the spot with his tongue, over and over, until your thoughts go pleasantly blank and your hands clutch at the sheets without you meaning to.
You forget what you were worried about.
You forget the missing hours. The questions. The quiet dread that was coiled in your stomach just minutes ago.
Thereâs only the warmth of his mouth, the careful pressure of his hands, the way he pauses now and then like heâs listening for somethingâyour breathing, your heartbeat, the way your body arches into him without being asked.
He bites lightly again, lower this time, and you gasp. The sound pulls a soft, broken exhale from him, like relief.
âThere you are,â he murmurs, almost to himself.
His kisses continue downward, slower now, more intent, teeth catching gently at sensitive places he knows by heart. Each bite feels deliberate, anchoring you in sensation, pulling you further away from thought and closer to instinct.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging without thinking. He stills for half a second at the touchâjust long enough for you to feel how tightly wound he still isâthen relaxes again, pressing a kiss to your skin like an answer. His hands glide along your hips, palms spreading over your skin like heâs claiming the right to touch you everywhere.
When he reaches the waistband of your underwear, he hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls them down your legs with a care that makes your stomach flutter.
Youâre already warm.
Already open for him.
He exhales softly at the sight of you, a sound that lands low in your belly. His hands slide up the inside of your thighs, pushing them gently apart, settling them over his shoulders as he lowers himself between your legs.
He looks up once.
Just once.
Asking without asking.
And when you nodâsmall, breathlessâhe leans in and kisses you there.
His tongue follows immediately after, a soft, unhurried drag from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the top, and your entire body jolts. He hums against you, pleased, and does it againâslower this time, savoring the way your thighs tighten around his shoulders.
His hands grip your hips, thumbs stroking the soft flesh as he settles in deeper, as if heâs planning to stay there until you forget why you ever thought about anything else.
He parts you gently with his fingers, exposing you to the warm press of his mouth. His tongue flicks lightly at firstâtesting, teasingâuntil he finds exactly what makes your breath hitch. He focuses there immediately, circling you in slow, precise movements that make your back arch off the mattress.
âGoodâŚâ he murmurs against your skin, the vibration sending a pulse straight through you. âThere you are.â
He licks you again, firmer this time, tongue flattening against you as he drags it in a slow, deliberate stroke. Your hand flies to his hair without thinking, fingers tangling, urging him closer. He groans softly when you tug, your reaction is the only thing heâs hungry for.
He sinks deeper.
The tip of his tongue presses where youâre most sensitive, flicking lightly until your thighs tremble around him. Then he opens his mouth wider and sucks gentlyâslow, steady pressureâdrawing a desperate sound from your throat that you didnât know you were capable of.
He smiles against you.
You feel it.
He keeps going, alternating between long, languid licks and short, focused strokes that make heat curl tight and hot in your stomach. His hands roam as he works you openâone squeezing your thigh, the other sliding up to caress your hip, grounding you as your breathing turns ragged.
When he senses youâre closeâyour legs tightening, your fingers trembling in his hairâhe adjusts. His thumb replaces his tongue for a moment, circling you with perfect pressure while his mouth trails lower.
Slowly at first, then deeper, tongue moving with sinful intent, tasting you like heâs been starving for it. His nose nudges your clit with every movement, the friction making your hips jerk helplessly against his face.
âPlease,â you whisper, not sure what youâre asking for.
He answers by flattening his tongue against you and sucking softly at the same timeâan obscene combination that makes your vision spark. Your thighs clamp around his head, but he doesnât stop; he digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you closer, because he wants more of you, wants all of you, wants you to fall apart in his mouth.
Youâre panting now, toes curling, body tightening in a slow, unstoppable build.
He senses it immediately.
His mouth returns to your clit, tongue circling with devastating precision while two fingers slip between your folds, sliding inside you in a slow, perfect glideâcurling up, stroking that spot that makes your whole body flare hot.
You cry out.
He groans against your skinâdeep, hungryâas if your pleasure feeds something in him.
His fingers work you in steady, deliberate strokes. His tongue matches the rhythm. And when you start to shake, when the heat coils tight enough that you canât breathe, he presses your hips down firmly, holding you right against his mouthâ
The orgasm hits hardâblinding, sharp, pleasure rolling through you in waves that make you gasp and claw at his hair. He keeps sucking you through it, slower now, savoring each shiver as if heâs memorizing the way you come.
When your hips finally fall still, he kisses your fluttering cunt gentlyâonce, twiceâsoft, soothing your overstimulated skin.
Then he looks up at you from between your thighs.
Eyes dark.
Mouth glistening.
Chest rising and falling.
The fear you felt earlier is gone.
Completely swallowed by the way he handled you.
By the way heâs still holding you.
He lingers between your thighs for a moment longer, breathing you in, eyes half-lidded and dazed like heâs drunk on you. Then he presses one last slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.
He kisses up your body the same way he went down.
His lips skim over your hipbone, your stomach, your ribs. Every inch gets his mouth, his tongue, the faint scrape of his teeth as marking a path back to your lips. Youâre still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you, muscles loose and sensitive, breath coming unevenly.
You taste yourself on his mouth when he finally reaches your lips, warm and wet and dizzying, and the sound you make gets swallowed by his tongue as he licks into you, claiming your mouth with the same focus he had between your legs. His hand cups your jaw, angling your face so he can kiss you properly, thoroughly, like he wants to replace every question in your mind with the shape of him.
You gasp, your hips lifting off the mattress instinctively, seeking him. He smiles against your lips and presses you down again.
âEasy,â he murmurs into your mouth, voice roughened by hunger. âIâve got you.â
You feel him hard against your thigh, hot through the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath hitch. Your hands slide down his torso, over the smooth, hard lines of his stomach.
His breath catches the second your fingers slip under the band of his boxers, brushing the heat of him through the thin fabric. The reaction is immediateâhis hips jerk forward just slightly, like his body answers you before he can.         Â
His mouth moves over yours with a hunger that wasnât there a moment ago, deeper and more desperate, as if your touch flipped something inside him he canât keep quiet anymore. His hand tightens at your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he breathes into you, swallowing every soft sound you make.         Â
You curl your fingers around him through the fabricâslow, deliberateâand feel him throb in your hand.         Â
He groans into your mouth.
Itâs raw, pulled from somewhere low and helpless inside him. His kiss falters for half a beat, the sensation dragging him under, then he recovers, kissing you even harder, his tongue sliding against yours, trying to anchor himself in your mouth while your hand works him.         Â
You stroke him again, firmer this time.         Â
His breath breaks against your lips.         Â
âFuckâŚâ he murmurs into your mouth, the word hot and shaky. He pulls you closer, chest pressing against yours, like he canât get enough contact. His lips trail down your jaw, your throat, kissing wherever he can reach while your hand strokes him in slow, deliberate motions.         Â
You slip your hand fully inside his boxers now, fingers wrapping around the bare, hot length of him.         Â
He shudders.         Â
His mouth is on your neck, kissing, sucking lightly, teeth scraping when you stroke him from base to tip. His breath stutters against your skin; every exhale trembles. He keeps trying to stay focused on your body but he keeps breaking, nipping at your skin with a needy sort of urgency whenever your grip tightens.         Â
You slide your thumb over the head, smearing the warm slickness there.
The slick warmth coats your thumb, and you can feel how hard he is, how close to the edge youâre pushing him just by the way his breath stutters.
He curses again, the sound muffled against your throat.
âBaby,â he rasps, voice frayed. âIf you keep doing that, Iâm gonnaââ
You squeeze a little tighter on the next stroke.
In one smooth, desperate motion he grabs your wrist, stilling your hand on him, and rolls his hips down into your palm. The groan that rips out of him is wrecked, unguarded, like heâs been trying too hard to be careful and youâve just snapped whatever restraint he had left.
âTurn over,â he says, his voice soft. âCâmere.â
You let him guide you, breath catching as he shifts you where he wants youâup the bed a little, centered, the mattress dipping under both of you. He tugs his boxers down the rest of the way, kicking them aside without looking, and then heâs shifting again, nudging your thigh with his knee.
You realize what heâs doing right as he drags you up with him, sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.
Your knees spread instinctively on either side of his hips. The heat of him presses against you, thick and insistent, sliding against your slick as he settles you, one hand firm on your waist, the other splayed low on your back.
Your breath stutters.
âOh,â you say, a little helplessly.
âYeah,â he says, a shaky laugh catching in his throat. âOh.â
He looks up at you like this is the last good thing heâll ever get.
âRide it, baby,â he murmurs, and the way he says it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.
Your hands find his shoulders for balance. You shift your hips, dragging your slick along the length of him. Both of you shudder at the contact. His fingers tighten at your waist.
âYou sure?â you test, even though your body already knows the answer.
He nods so quickly itâs almost funny, eyes never leaving your face. âYes. God, yeah. Please.â
The please undoes you a little.
You reach between you, wrap your hand around him again, and guide him to your entrance. The head nudges against you, hot and solid, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making your mouth fall open.
His head drops back against the headboard, a strangled sound punching out of him as you take him in. His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in, but he doesnât force you down; he just holds you there, thumbs stroking your skin like heâs trying to soothe you through the burn.
âFuck,â he breathes. âYou feel so good.â
You pause halfway, catching your breath, adjusting, feeling yourself pulse around him. Heâs big enough that you have to go slow, but your body remembers him, remembers this, remembers the way you always end up wanting more.
You sink the rest of the way down with a slow, steady roll of your hips.
Both of you groan at once.
Heâs fully seated inside you now, filling you in a way that sends a deep, aching pleasure radiating outward. You feel obscenely full, stretched around him, your thighs trembling where they bracket his.
He forces his eyes open, looking up at you like he never wants to forget what you look like like thisâflushed, breathing hard, beautiful.
âYou okay?â he manages, voice shredded.
You nod, swallowing. âYeah. Just⌠give me a second.â
âTake all of them,â he says hoarsely. âAll the seconds. All the years. I donât care.â
You huff out a breath thatâs almost a laugh, and the tiny movement makes both of you gasp as he shifts inside you. You feel him twitch, feel your own body clench in response.
You plant your hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin.
And then you move.
At first itâs smallâtesting the give of your muscles, the drag of him against your wallsâas you rock your hips forward and back. The friction sends a hot jolt up your spine. You do it again, a little deeper this time, and his reaction is immediate.
He groans, head thumping against the headboard, eyes squeezing shut as his hands clamp down on your hips.
âOh myâmmfghk,â he chokes. âJust like that. Please, keepââ
You roll your hips in a slow circle, grinding down on him so he hits that spot inside that makes your breath catch. A moan slips out of you before you can swallow it. His eyes snap open, glued to your face, watching every micro-expression.
You find a rhythmâlift, sink, grindâyour thighs burning in the best way as you ride him, feeling every inch of him inside you. His hips start to move with you, a subtle upward thrust that meets your descent perfectly, doubling the intensity.
Each time you slide down, he fills you completely, hitting that deep, perfect angle that makes the room blur.
âLook at you,â he whispers. His hands move from your hips to your waist, up to your ribs, then back down, like he canât decide where to hold you. âYouâre⌠fucking beautiful.â
Your cheeks heat, but the compliment only makes you roll your hips harder, chasing that spot, that friction, that building coil of pleasure.
His breathing gets rougher, more uneven, each exhale pushed out of him with every drop of your body onto his as you speed up the pace. Heâs not in control anymoreâyou areâand it shows in the way his fingers grip your thighs, in the way his eyes keep darting between your face and the place where your bodies meet.
âDonât stop,â he begs, voice cracking. âOh-hâ
You donât.
You ride him harder, thighs shaking, every movement sending sparks through your nerves. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingled with both of your noisesâyour soft, broken moans and his low, wrecked curses.
Thereâs a momentâjust a flickerâwhere you think, distantly, that you should be worried, that you should be asking questions instead of losing yourself like this.
Then he thrusts up just right, and the thought disappears in a white-hot rush of pleasure.
Right now, there is only this.
Only him.
Only the way he holds you like heâs terrified of losing you, even as you fall apart in his lap.
Your bodies move together in a rhythm that's messy, greedy, heady in a way that strips language out of both of you. Every shift of your hips, every slide of him inside you, sends another wave rolling up your spine until your thoughts dissolve into heat. Â
Heâs so deep. Â
And youâre so gone. Â
Pleasure drunk. Thatâs the only way to describe itâyour limbs warm and loose, your breath a broken cadence, his hands leaving fingerprints on your hips as he tries and fails to keep himself steady beneath you. Â
Heâs breathing hard. Harder than usual. His mouth is half-open, catching each gasp like itâs a surprise, his eyes blown wide and glassy as he watches you ride him. Â
âChristâŚâ he moans, voice thick, âyouâreâ youâre unreal.â Â
Your pace falters for just a secondânot stopping, just stutteringâas you take in the expression on his face. Heâs not just needy. Â
Heâs desperate. Â
More than youâve ever seen him. Â
Like heâs clinging to you with something deeper than lust, like heâs terrified this might be the last time he gets to feel you like this. Â
You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders again, and his reaction is instant. His fingers dig in, dragging you down onto him with a choked groan that sounds almost pained. Â
âBabyââ he gasps, voice cracking. âPlease, please donât stop. I needâ I need you.â Â
Youâve never heard him beg like this.
Your thighs start to tremble from the effort, the pleasure knotting tight and hot in your bellyâbut before you can adjust, his hands clamp around your waist, holding you still. Â
Then the world tilts again. Â
He flips you over. Â
Itâs a sudden, urgent movement, because he canât stand one more second of not being inside you the way he needs. Your back hits the mattress, your breath knocked out of you as he follows you down, settling between your legs with a groan that sounds like relief and agony all at once. Â
Heâs bracing himself on his forearms above you, chest pressed to yours, his hips already pushing forward, sliding back into you in one deep, desperate stroke that makes you cry mewl into his shoulder. Â
âOhâ godââ he stutters, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts again, harder this time, his breath hot and frantic against your skin. âI canâtâ I canât â Iâm sorryâ Iââ Â
Heâs not sorry. Â
Every thrust is hungry, relentless, rutting into you like heâs been starved for weeks. His fingers laced with yours beside your head, squeezing, grounding himself even as he drives into you with a need that borders on frantic. Â
You gasp his name, nails digging into his back, and he shudders so violently you feel it in your teeth. Â
âPlease donât let go,â he murmurs against your throat, voice shaking, thrusts stuttering when you squeeze around him. âPleaseâ I needâ god, I need youâ donât leaveââ Â
Leave? Â
Your pleasure-blurred brain tries to grab hold of the word, to dissect itâwhy he said it, why his voice broke on it, why it sounds less like sex and more like fear. Â
But then he thrusts deeperâharderâhitting that spot that makes your vision white out, and the thought disintegrates. Â
His pace grows wild, hips snapping forward. His breath turns ragged, nearly sobbing, every exhale painting your neck with heat.
The quiet after feels different this time.
He stays pressed to you, chest rising and falling slow and heavy against your own, one arm wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt. His thumb moves absentmindedly along your side, a small, grounding motion heâs done a thousand times before, muscle memory. You fit together easily, bodies still humming, sheets twisted around your legs.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The morning light has shifted, brighter now, spilling across the wall in a thin band that crawls toward the bed. Somewhere outside, a car door slams. Life going on. Normal.
He nuzzles into your hair, breath warm. âYou okay?â he murmurs, softer now, steadier.
You hum, eyes half-lidded. âYeah. Just⌠cozy.â
That earns a quiet huff of a laugh from him. He kisses your temple, then your forehead, lingering memorizing the shape of you againâbut it feels gentler now, calmer. The edge from earlier is gone, smoothed down into something domestic and familiar.
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you. His hairâs a mess, eyes still a little tired but warm. This is the version of him you know best. The one who asks practical questions after intense moments. The one who worries about time and routine.
âI should probably shower,â he says reluctantly. âIâve got that stupid morning meeting.â
You groan softly and curl closer, cheek pressed to his chest. âSkip it.â
âI wish.â He sighs, then tilts his head, hopeful. âCome with me?â
You blink. "To the office? I don't think they'll let me in."
His laugh is quiet, the sound vibrating under your cheek. âNot to the office,â he says, fingers tightening around you for a second, hugging you back into place. âTo the shower.â                 Â
You lift your head just enough to look at him. His eyes are soft, almost sheepish, like he knows exactly how he sounds. Like heâs aware itâs a little clingy and doesnât care.                 Â
âItâs not even that late,â you point out, voice still sleep-warm.                 Â
âI know.â He brushes his knuckles down your cheek, slow. âBut I have to start getting ready, and⌠I donât want to get up yet.â                 Â
Thereâs something so simple about itâso normalâthat it makes your chest ache in a tender way. You reach up and tug his face down for a kiss, lazy and unhurried. He hums into it, grateful, then stays hovering there a beat longer, forehead resting against yours.                 Â
âShower with me,â he repeats. âPlease.â                 Â
You consider it honestly. The idea is temptingâstanding under hot water together, his hands on you again, steam fogging the mirror, the whole world reduced to tiles and warmth and him. Itâs something youâve done a hundred times.                 Â
But your body is heavy, warm, perfectly content right where it is. And the thought of standing up feels like a lot.                 Â
You make a face. âIâm glued to the bed.â                 Â
He sighs dramatically, but his mouth quirks. âUnbelievable.â                 Â
âBesides,â you add, smoothing your hand over his shoulder, âYouâll take forever if Iâm in there. Youâll start kissing me and then youâll forget what time it is.â                 Â
He looks offended. âI wouldnât.â                 Â
You raise an eyebrow.                 Â
He exhales through his nose, conceding. âOkay. I might.â                 Â
You smile and tap his chest lightly. âGo.â                 Â
He lingers, reluctant. His arm tightens around your waist again, pulling you close to steal one more minute. He kisses your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your mouthâslow, lingering, like heâs leaving a bookmark.                 Â
Finally, he pushes himself up. The sheets slide down his hips; he grabs them and tucks you back in with an almost automatic tenderness, like youâre something he needs to keep warm.Â
You watch him the entire time.
Shamelessly.
He shifts onto his knees first, then stands, and the blanket falls away from him completelyâno attempt to cover, no rush to grab clothes off the floor. Heâs just⌠naked, unbothered, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like your bedroom is his natural habitat and youâre just lucky enough to live in it.
And maybe you are.
Morning light catches him in soft bandsâacross his shoulders, the slope of his back, the line of his stomach when he stretches his arms over his head with a quiet sigh. He rolls his neck once, like heâs easing out the last of the tension. The movement makes muscles shift under skin in a way that has no right being so distracting at eight in the morning.
You donât even pretend not to stare.
He glances down at you, one brow lifting in slow, amused accusation. âWhat.â
You blink, too innocent to be believable. âWhat, what?â
âYouâre looking at me like Iâm a museum exhibit,â he says, voice still a little rough.
âMm.â You tug the blanket up to your chin like youâre modest, which is hilarious considering the way your eyes keep tracking him anyway. âYou are. Iâm appreciating the artistry.â
He scoffs, but the tips of his ears tinge pink. He steps closer to the bed, and you feel the mattress dip when he leans down, bracing a hand on the sheet near your shoulder.
Up close, he smells like youâwarm skin and sleep and that faint, clean trace of your body wash from last night.           Â
He dips his head and kisses your mouth once more, slow and unhurried. Then he brushes his thumb along your jaw, soft, grounding.             Â
âBehave,â he murmurs, voice still rough with morning.             Â
You smile into the pillow. âNo promises.â             Â
That earns you a quiet laugh. He straightens, stretches againâcompletely unselfconsciousâand turns toward the bathroom without bothering to reach for anything. You follow him with your eyes as he walks away, the easy confidence of him making the room feel smaller and warmer all at once.             Â
You sink back into the pillows, smiling to yourself.             Â
For a minute you just lie there, listeningâthe water, the muffled movements, the normal rhythm of a weekday morning. Then you push yourself up, tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
The apartment is still half-asleep around you. The shower rushes down the hall, steady and familiar. The morning light has climbed higher while you werenât lookingâbright rectangles across the counter, a soft glow on the cabinets.
Coffee first. Thatâs the rule.
You grab the kettle, fill it, set it on the stove. Your hands move on autopilot, practiced and quiet. Mug. Grounds. Filter. The small domestic choreography youâve done a hundred times, the kind that makes a home feel like a home.
You open the cabinet without thinking.
And stop.
Thereâs a third mug.
You and him have your mugs. Always. Yours is the one with the little crack in the glaze that you refuse to replace. His is the chipped one he insists tastes âbetterâ than every other cup in the house. The rest of the mugsânice ones, boring ones, holiday onesâlive deeper in the cabinet. Guest mugs. Emergency mugs. The mugs you forget exist until someone comes over.
Your gaze locks on the third one.
Itâs one of the guest mugs. Plain white, heavier than the others. It doesnât belong on the rack at eight in the morning, freshly washed like it was used last night.
You reach for it slowly.
The ceramic is cool under your fingers. Cleanâmostly. But not the way you clean. Not the way he cleans either, with that meticulous, almost obsessive thoroughness.
This looks like a wash done in a rush.
You turn it slightly.
Thereâs a faint smear on the rim, just inside the edge.Â
A lipstick stain. And itâs not yours.
Your stomach drops so hard it feels like your body forgets how to breathe for a second.
You stare at it, frozen, brain scrambling to find a reasonable explanation. Your hands go numb around the mug. Your thoughts tumble over each other, trying to climb out of the pit before it gets deeper.
Maybe itâs old. Maybe itâs from weeks ago. Maybeâ
No. Itâs damp around the base, barely dry. It was washed recently. Placed here recently.
Your eyes flick to the sink.
No other dishes. No wine glass. No plate. Nothing that would explain it away as a guest hanging out normally in your kitchen. Just the mug, alone, evidence somebody forgot to hide.
The shower is still running.
You can hear it, and the normalcy of the sound makes you want to scream.
He brought someone here.
While you were out.
While you wereâwhat? With your friends. At the wine bar. Laughing. Existing. And he was here, in your apartment, using your guest mug like this was some casual little thing.
He brought a woman here while you were out.
Your throat tightens, hot and sharp.
Your mind starts putting pieces together without asking permission. Him begging you to stay in bed. Him asking you to shower with him. Him kissing you until you stopped thinking. Him not wanting to leave you alone for even a second.
A distraction. Guilt.
You set the mug down carefully, like if you slam it youâll shatter the entire kitchen.
The kettle begins to whistleâsoft at first, then louderâbut it barely registers. You turn it off with a shaking hand and just stand there, staring at the mug like it might grow a mouth and confess.
Who was here?
The question repeats, loud and ugly.
Your eyes flick toward the hallway.
The bathroom door is cracked open. Steam curls out from the crack. The sound of water keeps rushing.
Heâs still in there.
And youâre standing in the kitchen staring at lipstick like itâs a knife.
Your chest starts to feel tight, too tight, like youâre laced up inside your own ribs. You need to do something. Anything.
You yank a robe from the hook by the pantryâyours, soft and wornâand shove your arms into it without fully tying it. Your hands fumble with the belt, fingers clumsy with adrenaline, and then youâre moving.
You go to the bedroom first. Your eyes scan the room like youâre looking for a stranger hiding behind the curtains. The sheets are messy, warm from earlier. Nothing out of place. Nothing obvious.
You open his nightstand drawer.
Itâs mostly boring: spare charger, chapstick, receipts he never throws away. You shove things aside anyway, heart pounding as if the evidence will be tucked under a pack of gum.
Nothing.
You cross to his dresser, yank open drawers. Socks. Work shirts. The little box where he keeps his watch.
Youâre not even sure what youâre searching forâcondoms you donât use, a stray hair tie, a name written down, anything that tells you this isnât your imagination.
You find nothing and that somehow makes it worse.
Because it means he was careful.
Because it means he planned.
You move into the living room, pulling open the small cabinet where he keeps random thingsâtool kit, batteries, an old notebook. You flip through papers with shaking hands, eyes scanning for something that isnât there.
The shower keeps running.
The apartment feels too quiet around it, like itâs holding its breath with you.
You hear the kettleâs click in the kitchen, cooling down. The smell of coffee grounds sits unfinished and sour in the air. Your own heart is so loud you barely register anything else.
Youâre halfway through rifling the console table drawerâwhere he keeps keys and spare change and a folded list of âthings to buyâ you wrote months agoâwhen the shower stops.
You donât hear it.
Or you do, but your brain files it under background noise and keeps spiraling.
Youâre staring down into the drawer when a voice behind you makes your blood turn to ice.
âWhy are you looking through my things?â
You whip around.
Heâs standing in the hallway, fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, another towel in his hands as he drags it through his wet hair. Water beads on his shoulders and runs down his chest in slow tracks. His skin is flushed from the heat. He looks normal. Confused. Almost⌠innocent.
Like youâre the strange thing in the room.
Your mouth opens. No sound comes out.
His brows draw together. âWhatâs going on?â he asks. âDid something happen?â
You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work.
You straighten your shoulders like you can hold yourself together by posture alone. You make your hands stop shaking by curling them into fists inside the sleeves of your robe.
Then you lift your chin.
And ask, as evenly as you can manage:
âWho was here last night?â
taglist: @soldantae @jehhskz @vember77 @certainstarfishmiracle @pinkxies @mishahassan71 @warped-rabbithole @iwannabang-chan @beautifulsharkgoatee
HUGE reco!!!! this fic was fucking insane, i genuinely loved this. will deff go on my favorites đĽšđĽšđĽšđ¤
NATIONAL ANTHEM.
Seungmin x reader. (s,a)
Synopsis: At first, you knew Seungmin as the guy you made out with on a flight home but once the plane landed, you discovered that he's the son of your father's rival candidate for the upcoming election, causing you to be caught between love and loyalty. (13,6k words)
Author's note: Happy birthday to the agent of chaos, Seungmin â
Some people might call it fate, serendipity, or kismet, but you're not the type to believe in romantic clichĂŠs like that, so let's just call it a coincidence.
It's merely a coincidence that the car got a flat tire on the way to the airport, causing you to miss the flight you were supposed to be on. Otherwise, you would have been sitting in seat 4B on a completely different plane next to a completely different passenger in seat 4A.
As you make your way to your seat, you notice him immediately. A young man sitting in the window seat next to yours, he possesses a rare, gentlemanly beauty. With refined features, a charming smile, and tousled dark hair, he exudes a sophisticated appeal. In other words, heâs the kind of guy who instantly catches your eye.
He glances up as you stow your bag in the overhead compartment, offering a polite nod. You take your seat next to him, trying to keep your cool even though your heart skips a beat.
Thereâs something about him that draws you in, something magneticâa quiet confidence that doesnât need to be loud or showy to be felt.
After you settle in and the plane takes off, you feel the urge to talk to him. You're usually not the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but for some reason, with him, you can't help it. Also, you realize that if you want something to happen, you have to start somewhere.
âIs this your first time flying out of here?â you ask, turning to him with a smile.
He looks at you, his lips curving into a small smile. âNo, Iâve been here before, but itâs been a while," he answers, his voice smooth and calm, making something flutter in your chest.
You introduce yourself to break the ice and make interacting easier.
"Seungmin," he says, taking your hand and holding it for a moment as he introduces himself. "Traveling alone?"
"Yes," you answer innocently.
"Business or pleasure?" he asks, a playful glint in his warm brown eyes.
You stare into his eyes and faintly bite your lower lip before answering, "Hopefully, pleasure."
From there, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about everythingâfrom favorite travel destinations to the books you're reading. Something about Seungmin makes it feel so natural, and before you know it, two hours have passed in the blink of an eye.
âI canât believe weâve been talking for hours,â you say with a low laugh, glancing out the window at the darkened sky.
The Atlantic stretches endlessly below, and the flight attendants have dimmed the cabin lights, casting a soft, intimate glow over the rows of seats.
âTime flies when the companyâs good,â he says, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race.
The space between you feels charged now, the conversation slowing as the connection deepens into something more. You can feel the pullâthe undeniable attraction thatâs been simmering since you sat down. Then you catch him glancing at your lips, and you know he feels it too.
Daringly, you lean in slightly, testing the waters, and he responds by shifting closer. The air between you is electric, and when his hand brushes yours, a spark shoots through you.
Both of you hesitate for a moment, caught in that intoxicating space where everything hangs in the balance until neither of you can resist any longer.
Your lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, and the world outside the window seems to fall away. His kiss is gentle at first, cautious, testing, but when you respond, he takes it as permission to deepen it. He rests his hand on your cheek, and warmth spreads through you as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, making you forget youâre on a plane surrounded by strangers.
For those few moments, it's just you and him, lost in each other, the quiet hum of the plane fading into the background.
When you finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, you exchange a look that says everything. This isn't just some fleeting attraction. Thereâs something real here, something undeniable.
However, once the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker back to life, reality begins to creep in. It's the altitude, the change in air, and the fact that you now have both feet on the ground. The intimacy of your shared moments with Seungmin starts to fade as you both prepare to disembark.
Everyone stands from their seats to gather their things, and you can feel Seungmin watching as you reach for your bag in the overhead compartment.
"SoâŚ" Seungmin begins as you both shuffle out of the row and into the aisle. "Can I get your number? Or at least, a last name?"
Your heart is still fluttering from the kiss you shared just hours ago, but you hesitate. Thereâs an inexplicable tug in your gut telling you not to give in so easily, to be cautious. You like himâreally like himâbut you're not going to make it that easy.
You flash him a playful smile. âHmm... Iâm not sure I should make it that easy for you,â you tease, shifting your bag onto your shoulder.
Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. âYouâre going to make me work for it?â
You nonchalantly shrug, trying to keep things light despite your racing heart. âLetâs just say I like a challenge.â
As you walk together through the terminal, the chemistry between you still crackling, you step outside and notice a car waiting at the curb. The driver, standing beside it, is holding a sign with Seungminâs name. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, until you notice his jacket. The driver is wearing a dark blazer, but pinned to it is a familiar emblemâthe logo of a political campaign.
Not just any campaign. It's your fatherâs rivalâs campaign.
Your smile falters as you look more closely, and your heart drops when something clicks. You turn to Seungmin, your mind racing.
âIs that your driver?â your voice comes out sharper than you intended.
Seungmin follows your gaze, looking a bit confused. âYeah. Why?â
Your throat suddenly feels dry. You clear it before asking the big question. âAre you from the Kim family? The same Kim family running for governor?â
"Yes," Seungmin answers, clearly puzzled.
The Kim family. The Kim family. Your fatherâs bitter rival in the upcoming election. This isnât just some random guy you met on a planeâhe's the son of the man your father has been railing against for weeks. You feel the blood drain from your face as the realization crashes down.
Seungminâs expression shifts from confusion to concern. âWhatâs wrong?â
You unconsciously take a step back. "Youâre... youâre a Kim," you say, still in disbelief.
Seungmin opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Your father and mineâtheyâre both running for governor."
For a moment, Seungmin seems to be processing what youâve said. Then his face hardens slightly in understanding. You take another step back, the weight of everything pressing down on you.
âThis changes everything,â you whisper.
He looks at you, his eyes searching. âNo, it doesnât have to," he says.
If only he knew how badly you wanted to believe him. But you canât ignore the reality of the situation. Both of your families are in a brutal political war, and no matter how much you like him, getting involved with Seungmin could blow everything upâfor both of you.
"How is it not? Your father accused mine of siphoning money from the cityâs budget for his campaign."
"Because he did!" Seungmin says boldly.
"Thereâs no concrete proof!" you counter.
"Of course, because they know how to make things disappear. Your family is known for their generosity with hush money," he remarks bluntly.
Youâve never been one to argue about things that arenât your business, but when it comes to your family, you naturally defend them.
"As opposed to your fatherâs blatant hypocrisy," you calmly reply. "Heâs fighting the climate crisis, but his wife keeps taking private jets for her shopping trips."
You come up with a concrete data point. "According to the data, those trips contributed 58 metric tons of carbonâthe same amount emitted by 4,625 cars in a day."
That seems to shut him up. His jaw clenches, and it's unfair how good he looks when he's mad.
The driver awkwardly clears his throat, glancing between you both. âSir, we should get going. Your fatherâs waiting.â
"It was good to see you," Seungmin says before storming off, childishly bumping your shoulder as he passes.
"Goodbye, I guess," you mutter, scoffing in disbelief as you watch him walk away.
That concludes everything, officially making it an unpleasant coincidence.
-
It was just a coincidence!
That's what Seungmin has been telling himself after spending days wrestling with his feelings, convincing himself that it doesnât matter, that you are just a fleeting moment, a passing fancy. But the truth is undeniable: no matter how much he tries to push you out of his mind, he just canât stop thinking about you.
When his friend mentioned that youâre living separately from your family, something shifted inside him. The tension between your families has always been an obstacle, a reason to stay away, but now it seems more like an excuse. If anything, the fact that you arenât on good terms with your family only deepens his curiosityâand somehow, his feelings.
Seungmin hadnât planned to find your hotel room, but once he knew where you were staying, he couldnât help himself. And now, as he stands there, waiting for you to open the door, his heart races in anticipation despite the cool facade he tries to maintain.
After a moment, the door creaks open, and there you areâyour hair slightly tousled, your expression showing slight shock to see him there. His heart leaps at the sight of you, but instead of the warmth or excitement he hoped to see, your face remains cold, indifferent.
âAre you stalking me?â your voice is cool, a little too casual, as if you havenât been thinking about him at all.
There's no going back now, so Seungmin pushes forward. "Well, you're not that hard to track."
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. âYou shouldnât be here,â you say flatly.
Seungmin notices the flicker in your eyes, something youâre trying to hide. He takes a small step closer, his gaze softening, and playfully says, âMaybe."
You stare at him for a moment, your expression hard, but he sees the hesitation in the way your fingers grip the edge of the door. Youâre fighting something, trying to keep a wall between the two of you. He understands why you keep your guard up so highâyouâre trying to protect yourself, your heart, and maybe even protect him from the mess that is your life right now.
âYou shouldnât be... with me,â you make it even clearer, but even as you say the words, your voice wavers.
Seungmin takes another step forward, placing his hand near where yours rests. âLet me in, and we'll find out."
Your eyes soften for a brief moment before you quickly look away, the conflict clear in your expression. Itâs obvious that you want to shut the door, to push him away, but something is holding you back. Maybe it's the same thing that brought him here in the first placeâthe connection, the spark between you that refuses to be ignored.
The conflict in your eyes only encourages Seungmin. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving yours. "Why are you staying in a hotel anyway?" he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.
You remain aloof, folding your arms across your chest as you raise an eyebrow. âWhy should I let my enemy know?"
The coldness in your tone is deliberate, a shield to guard against him, against what youâre really feeling. But he doesnât back down; his smirk only grows wider.
His hand inches closer to yours as he leans in just a bit closer, making his presence suddenly more overwhelming.
âSee, thatâs the thing..." his voice drops lower, with a teasing edge.
âWhat?â you ask, trying to keep your cool even though the proximity makes your heart race.
âWeâre enemies,â he states the obvious, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity that it sends a shiver down your spine.
You let out a sigh, already prepared for whatever line heâs about to throw at you. âAnd whatâs your point?â
Seungminâs smirk deepens as he leans in even closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. His voice is low and soft, almost a whisper, but filled with mischief.
âSleeping with the enemy is hot.â
Your breath hitches slightly, but you keep your expression in check, refusing to let him see just how much his words affect you. You tilt your head a little to the side, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the slightest hint of a smile.
âIs that so?â you respond with a daring smirk.
Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with something dangerous and alluring, like he knows exactly how this game is going to end.
As you stand there weighing your options, the tension between you and him becomes unbearable. You can feel the electricity crackling in the air, and despite everything, you find yourself taking a step back, opening the door wider without saying a word.
Seungminâs triumphant smile tells you that he understands your silent invitation. Without wasting another second, he steps inside, the door closing softly behind him as the world outside fades away.
Before you can even catch your breath, heâs on youâhis lips crash against yours with a force that makes you dizzy. The kiss is urgent, an explosion of passion and frustration that has been building between you and him for so long.
His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as if the mere touch of your skin isnât enough to satisfy the hunger between you.
All the walls youâve built, all the reasons you shouldnât be doing this, crumble in an instant. It doesnât matter that heâs your enemy. Right now, all that matters is the way his lips brush against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours, the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.
In that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you.
-
Doing it on the bed is overrated to Seungmin, so he grabs you by the waist and swiftly hoists you up, setting you on the nearest table. Fortunately, it's sturdy and at the perfect height for whatever he's planning next.
He plants his hands on the table behind you and aligns his body with yours, fitting just rightâhardness to softness, curves to hollows. Oh, he has so many ideas of what to do with you. On second thought, he's fine with paying the fine for property damage if it comes to that.
He leans in slowly, teasing your lips for a kiss, but just a millimeter away from contact, he moves to the side and whispers softly into your ear, "Do you know how many times Iâve thought about this moment?"
You look up at him, eyes wide and seductive, a grin peeking at the corner of your mouth. "I donât want to know. I want you to show me."
Something flickers in his eyesâsomething that both scares and thrills you. He places a hand on your waist and glides it up your side, stopping at your ribcage.
"What is it about you..." His words trail off as he places a deep, slow kiss on your lips.
As he keeps your mouth busy, his hand palms your breast through your nightdress. When he pinches your hardening nipple, you gasp at the jolt of sensation.
To return the favor, you slide your fingers beneath his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his stomach. He's soft yet firm, and if it weren't for the warmth under your fingertips, youâd think he was carved from marble.
"I just canât stop thinking about you and our kiss," he says, a mix of wonder and disbelief in his voice, before capturing your lips again in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.
Seungminâs thumb rubs your nipple just right, making your insides melt.
"Look at you, getting weak in the knees for me," he says with a triumphant grin.
He pulls his hand from the table and gives it a new task, sliding under your dress to grip your inner thigh, pulling your hips against his arousal, letting you feel the heat of his desire.
"And what we could have done after that kiss..." he continues, your lips meeting again in a breathless kiss.
Seungmin breaks the kiss to move his lips elsewhereâyour neck, your chest. His hand roughly pulls down the front of your nightdress, sending your breasts spilling out. He wastes no time, his lips closing over your skin.
Your hand flies to his hair, tugging as he sucks hard on your breast. You watch as his tongue swirls around your nipple before he fills his mouth with your flesh.
"Seungmin..." you call breathlessly, unsure whether you want him to stop or keep going.
Hearing his name roll off your lips soothes something deep inside him, and he wants to hear it again and again. He pushes the hem of your nightdress up around your waist, and in return, you rip open the fly of his jeans, freeing his swollen member.
"Mmh..." you hum with delight, wrapping your hand around his length, hot and pulsing with desire.
Seungmin mirrors your action, palming your clothed core, his thumb tracing your engorged bundle of nerves. Soon, your underwear is damp with arousal.
"What is it about you, mmh?" he asks, eyes locked on yours.
He pulls your panties aside and runs his long fingers down your folds, drenching them in your essence. As his fingers drag down, he pushes them inside you, earning a broken moan from your lips.
"What is it about you that makes me want more..." He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, savoring the way your face contorts in pleasure. "And more, and more..."
As he continues, you fist the front of his shirt, pulling him close, your legs opening wider, bringing his cock even closer to where you want him.
He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his cock. Your legs are raised slightly higher than the tableâs surface, aching for more than just the feeling of his tip rubbing between your folds.
"Stop teasing me," you mutter.
His lopsided grin returns, and before you can react, he thrusts into you hard and fast, burying himself completely inside you.
Your breath hitches, and you moan his name, which he finds incredibly hot. He strokes his tongue over every inch of your mouth, claiming it as he angles his hips to hit your clit.
The tight grip of your body, your sweet mouth, your legs wrapped around himâperfection. He indulges in every part of you. His heart races, his need grows desperate, but he holds back, determined to wait for your high to come first.
When you finally shatter and convulse around him uncontrollably, he allows himself to thrust harder. He grasps your hips, your thighs, pressing your foreheads together so he can look into your beautiful, dazed eyes as he thrusts one last time, losing himself completely as he pours everything into you. As his breath saws in and out, he holds you tight, with no intention of letting go.
The theory is proven: sleeping with the enemy is hot.
-
Itâs Seungminâs third time staying over in your hotel room this week alone, and no, you're not complaining at all. You've already grown accustomed to himâSeungmin is part of your routine now, part of your life, and his absence leaves you feeling restless.
When you're not with him, you recall what heâs done to you: the way he kissed you, caressed you, all the things he's said. Your hand unconsciously flies down to your thigh, wishing he was touching you right now.
But donât get it wrongâthe non-bedroom side of Seungmin appeals to you just as much as the lover side, if not more. He makes you laugh, and he listens to you, even when what you talk about isnât particularly interesting. Heâs comfortable around you, and that makes you comfortable around him. You like how he fills the empty space in the bed, and you also like just lying with him in a comfortable silence that doesnât beg for questions.
However, tonight is an exception.
As you lie on the bed with Seungmin, still recovering from the passionate lovemaking you shared earlier, you feel the weight of reality slowly creeping back in. The silence between you isnât uncomfortable, but it feels heavy, as if there are things that need to be said.
You roll over slightly to face him and place your hand on his arm, fingers gently tracing the veins coiling down his inner arm. âI need to tell you something,â you murmur.
Seungmin turns his head to look at you, his gaze soft but curious. âWhat is it?â
You inhale deeply as you gather your thoughts, looking into his eyes as you begin with the one thing you're sure of.
âI really like you, Seungmin.â
âI know,â he says confidently, one corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk.
You bring your hand up to cup his chin, gently scratching his jaw with your fingertips as you flash him a soft smile and continue speaking.
âWhat you donât know is that my family isnât speaking to me right now, and thatâs something Iâd like to change.â
âI didnât know. Iâm sorry,â he says earnestly, softly caressing your cheek.
âMy family used to control meâIâm sure you know what thatâs like. I rebelled, took off, and a year into it, I found out my younger sister was going through something, and I wasnât there for her because I was trying to prove some... stupid point,â you explain with a dry chuckle.
His gaze remains steady as he listens to you without interrupting.
âIâm just trying to find my way back in, and I happened to bump into you along the way.â
âAnd Iâm glad you did,â he says, catching your other hand in his and resting it on his chest.
You hold his chin, wanting all of his attention focused on you, because what you're about to say is the most important part of this conversation.
âBeing seen with you would send the wrong message, and I really canât risk making my family more upset right now.â
Seungminâs eyes soften, and without the slightest hesitation, he nods in agreement. âI understand,â he says calmly.
âDonât worry, Iâm pretty good at secret relationships,â he adds with a playful smirk. âAnd all the sneaking around... itâs kind of thrilling. I find it really hot.â
You let out a soft laugh, suddenly feeling at ease. âOf course you do.â
Seungmin pulls you closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face before placing a chaste kiss on your lips.
âWeâll keep it a secret, but I want you to know that it doesnât change how I feel about you.â
As Seungmin presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you feel the warmth and reassurance sinking in. For now, the secret doesnât feel like a burdenâit feels like a shared world that belongs only to the two of you.
-
In under a month, Seungmin has learned a lot about you.
In bed, you respond best when he goes slowly, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. But if he wants something more intenseâor anything, for that matterâyouâre game and eager to please. He couldnât ask for a better partner.
Out of bed, you live by routine. You get up at the same time every day, then shower away the evidence of morning sex (because Seungmin loves starting the day off right). Your breakfast usually consists of a cup of black coffee and French toast. You share a kiss before parting ways; you get picked up at the hotel entrance while Seungmin makes his exit through the hotel kitchen.
During the day, you help your father with his campaign at the headquarters, returning to your hotel room around 8 or 9 when you have dinner with your family.
As for your evenings, they belong to Seungmin. When youâre not fooling around like hormonal teenagers, you spend time having late-night snacks, talking about random things, or just cuddling in bedâthings Seungmin has never experienced with anyone before.
Day by day, he wants more of you, not less.
Tonight, you both decide to watch something on pay-per-view. You rest your head on his shoulder while your eyes are fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall. From time to time, Seungmin kisses you, and it feels so good having you near, as if he were made to be your lover.
Occasionally, you react to certain scenes in the film, your bare legs shifting beneath the hem of your nightdress.
âAre you wearing underwear?â he jokes into your ear.
You part your legs, giving him the opportunity to find out for himself. Itâs funny that he only realizes nowâyouâve never turned him down; youâre just as starved for him as he is for you.
Seungmin pouts when his fingers meet silky fabric instead of your tender flesh, but that doesnât stop him from continuing to touch you. You gasp as he massages your clothed clit, and your head lolls on his shoulder.
It doesnât take long before youâre wet, your essence coating his fingertips as he traces your folds. His cock aches inside the confines of his jeans, as if itâs been weeks since he last had sex, not just hours. He wants you againâcraves that closeness, that connection, that unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. No amount of you is ever enough for him.
Before long, you give in and pull him down for a hungry kiss, which leads to another, and another, and another...
The next thing he knows, the credits are rolling on the TV screenâthe whole film played while the two of you were busy with other things. At the end of the night, you climb into bed and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping your warmth around his body.
Seungmin brushes a stray hair from your face, his fingertips trailing over the smooth curve of your lips before placing a gentle kiss, tender and possessive.
âGoodnight,â he mutters when he breaks the kiss.
The next morning, he finds you wearing his shirtâthe one from the very first night you spent together. He doesnât know how to describe how he feels seeing you in his clothes, knowing you kept his shirt and have been wearing it; all he knows is itâs a good feeling.
Truthfully, heâs been feeling like this a lot latelyâwhenever you smile, ask for a kiss, or cross the room just to be near him. But also when the two of you arenât together. He has spent the past few weeks in a euphoric high, grinning for no other reason than thinking of you.
Thereâs no doubt about itâSeungmin is stupid in love.
-
The fundraiser party is in full swing, the lights casting a warm, polished glow over the room as it's buzzing with conversations and the clinking of glasses. You stand beside your father, perfectly poised, playing the part of the dutiful daughter.
This night isnât about youâitâs about him. Every charming smile, every polite nod you give is an extension of the image he wants to project: a perfect family, a perfect father. But you know the truth.
As you watch your father work the room, shaking hands and making connections, you know your role is to boost his imageânot because he cares about you, but because you are part of his political strategy. Still, this is your chance to prove yourself, to show him you can be the daughter he wants, even if the real connection is long gone.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin and his brother-in-law approaching. Your heart skips a beat, but you hurriedly calm yourself down, knowing this isnât the time for emotionsâitâs the time for control.
Seungmin and his brother-in-law stop in front of you and your father. Seungminâs gaze briefly meets yours for a second, and despite the public setting, the intensity of that look sends a small thrill through you.
âGood evening,â Seungminâs brother-in-law says politely and formally. âWeâre here representing our father tonight, and he sends his regards.â
Your father, ever the politician, gives a thin, practiced smile. âAh, yes, itâs unfortunate he couldnât attend himself. I suppose running a campaign must keep him quite busy.â
Thereâs a subtle edge to his words, a slight sneer that isnât lost on you or anyone, but fortunately, Seungmin and his brother-in-law remain composed, not rising to the bait.
âOf course,â Seungmin replies calmly. âHeâs doing everything he can for the campaign.â
Your fatherâs gaze shifts to Seungmin, sizing him up before his eyes narrow in curiosity. "Seungmin, isnât it? Iâve heard good things about you. Youâve been quite the asset to your fatherâs campaign, havenât you?â
âOh, please. Iâm just doing the best I can to help,â Seungmin humbly replies, perfectly nailing the model son role.
âItâs refreshing to see someone so dedicated to their familyâs success. We could all learn from that, couldnât we?â your father says, glancing at you, making it clear that his praise for Seungmin is a thinly veiled comparison.
You keep your composure, your smile unwavering, even as a knot of discomfort forms in your stomach. You entertain yourself with the thought that your father has no idea what is really going onâthat the very man he is praising is the one you are secretly seeing. The joke is on him.
âHave you met my daughter?" your father asks, gesturing toward you as if you havenât been standing there the whole time.
Seungmin turns to you, his expression steady, but his eyes flicker with something only you can recognize. He holds out his hand. âItâs a pleasure to meet you.â
âLikewise,â you reply, keeping your smile polite. You have to continue acting as if nothing has ever happened between you and him.
Hours pass as you mingle with other guests, but the pressure of keeping up appearances starts to weigh on you. Toward the end of the party, when most of the guests are distracted, you slip away, catching Seungminâs eye as you do. He follows discreetly, and soon you find yourselves in an isolated part of the building, the muffled sounds of the party still audible.
The moment he comes into sight, you let out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to drop the mask youâve worn all night.
"I missed you," he whispers as he steps closer. Before you can respond, he presses his lips to yours, the kiss filled with longing and the tension that has been building up since your last secret meeting.
"I missed you too," you murmur between kisses.
In the dimly lit, secluded hallway, you and Seungmin find a rare moment of peace. His hands cup your face, his lips moving urgently against yours, pouring all the longing and frustration of the past few days into every kiss.
It is reckless, but being with him feels too good to resist. In fact, it feels so good that you almost forget the dark shadow that has been hanging over your mind. Almost.
"My mom found out about us," you blurt out after breaking the kiss.
Seungmin freezes, his lips barely an inch from yours, his brows furrowing as he processes what youâve just said. "Wait... what?"
âI guess we didnât fool the doorman,â you say with a heavy sigh as the gravity of the situation sinks in.
For a moment, Seungmin just stands there, panic rising in his chest. If your mom knows, it wonât be long before both of your families find out, and he knows exactly what that would mean for both of youâand for his fatherâs campaign.
âSo... you told her the truth?â he asks, focusing on the possibility that your mom might indirectly support this relationship.
âObviously, I didnât want to risk everything with my family for some fling that wasnât going to last,â you reply meekly.
Seungmin blinks, then his lips curl into a teasing smile. "Oh, so it isnât just some fling?â
âSeungmin, Iâm serious!" you whine in frustration, giving him a playful slap on the chest.
"You canât keep sneaking into the hotel anymore. Itâs too risky, and if my father finds out...â You canât even finish your sentence without feeling sick to your stomach.
Seungminâs smile fades as he realizes the danger you are both in. It feels as if the walls are closing in on both sides, and it wonât be long before someone else notices the two of you together. His mind races, trying to think of a solution, somewhere you can be together without the prying eyes of your families.
Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a voice interrupts, and both of you stiffen.
âSeungmin?â
His brother-in-law is standing a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he glances between the two of you, catching sight of Seungminâs hand still holding yours.
None of you speak, and in that moment, it feels like the quiet before a storm about to break.
-
Seungminâs brother-in-law has always been sharp, and tonight is no exception. As you and Seungmin slipped out of the party, thinking you were being discreet, he spotted the two of you. From the moment you met, he sensed something was already there. He observed further, noticing the sneaky glances, the looks that said more than words, and the way you interacted with each other. He must admit, both of you are poor actors.
When his brother-in-law corners the two of you in the hallway, Seungmin braces himself, expecting him to spill everything to his father immediately, knowing what he could gain from it.
âWhy arenât you saying anything?â Seungmin asks, suspicion creeping in. He knows his brother-in-law has always been loyal to the family, especially to his father, so this calm, nonchalant reaction doesnât add up.
Instead, his brother-in-law glances between you both with a knowing smile and says, "You two are playing a dangerous game, but you know what? I wonât stand in your way."
That doesn't make Seungmin relax. If anything, the words make him more cautious. "And whyâs that? Why are you suddenly on my side?â
âSeungmin, I already think of you like my own brother,â his brother-in-law replies simply, with enough sincerity to convince anyone who hears him. âI want you to be happy."
Seungmin remains quiet for a moment, still wary, but realizing he has little choice. Whatever his brother-in-lawâs motives are, this is the only lifeline he has right now.
âSo, whatâs the plan?â Seungmin finally asks, keeping his voice steady.
âI have a boat. Itâs docked not far from here. No one checks it, no one comes by." His brother-in-law reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small set of keys, handing them to Seungmin. "You two can stay there, alone, as long as you need."
Seungminâs gaze flicks from the keys to his brother-in-lawâs face, still unsure if he can fully trust him. But this is the best option you both have right now. He decides to take a leap of faith and takes the keys from him.
"It's docked on the west side, slip twenty-three," his brother-in-law informs him. Before Seungmin can say anything else, he adds, âOh, you may want to check the first aid kit on the boat.â
Seungminâs eyebrows knit in confusion. âWhat for?â
His brother-in-law puts on a mischievous grin. âLetâs just say youâll find some essentials in there."
Seungminâs suspicion deepens, but he doesnât question it further. Maybe his brother-in-law is being sincere, so Seungmin stops overthinking it. On a more important note, you both need a place to hide, and this is as good as itâs going to get. He glances over at you, and with a silent agreement, you both know you have to take this opportunity, no matter the risks.
âThanks,â Seungmin mutters, cautious but grateful. âI appreciate it.â
His brother-in-law pats him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod. âJust be careful,â he says.
With that, you and Seungmin slip away into the night, heading toward the boat where, for at least one night, you can finally be alone.
-
The boat is bigger than you thought it would be, bobbing gently in the moonlit water. As you step onto the deck, you feel a sense of freedom, as if, for once, the outside world canât reach you. You settle into the small but comfortable space, the tension between you fading into something softer, more tender.
When itâs just the two of you, you can finally let your guard down and be your authentic self. You walk up to him and slip into his arms for a warm embrace.
"It's just you and me now," you say, resting your forehead against him.
"Just you and me," he repeats, gently tilting your head with his hand on your chin, and places the gentlest kiss, treating you like a fragile piece of art.
Seungmin leads you through the cabin, the scent of saltwater and wood lingering in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of the sea breeze drifting in from the open hatch.
âThis is nice,â you comment, running your fingers along the edge of a worn leather couch. âBut do you think your brother-in-law keeps any food around? Iâm starving.â
He lets out a soft chuckle and makes his way to the small kitchenette, opening the fridge with a creak. âLooks like frozen pizza is on the menu,â he says, pulling out the pack and showing it to you.
As Seungmin prepares the frozen pizza and tosses it into the microwave, you head to the bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. In the bathroom, you find a soft bathrobe neatly folded on the top shelf. Without a second thought, you change out of your dress and into the robe. As you tie the belt around your waist, you sigh in relief, feeling a great sense of comfort.
By the time you return, Seungmin is plating the pizza, the smell filling the small cabin. He has also found a bottle of champagne in the cabinet, the label a little worn and the drink lukewarm. Both of you eat in comfortable silence, exchanging small smiles between bites, enjoying this rare moment of normalcy.
When the food is all gone, you lean back in your seat with a contented sigh. The dinner is simple, yet it feels more special than any youâve had before.
Being the neat person he is, Seungmin wastes no time cleaning up after dinner.
âYou can clean up later,â you tell him, sipping your warm champagne.
âThereâs not much to clean anyway,â he replies, taking the dirty plates back into the cabin.
Remembering what Seungminâs brother-in-law said before you left, you decide to go on a little hunt for the first-aid kit he mentioned and see whatâs inside. It doesnât take long to find it tucked away in one of the cabinets in the control room. As you open it, you blink in surprise.
âWell, wellâŚâ you murmur, pulling out a small Ziploc bag among the usual bandages and ointments.
Seungmin raises an eyebrow when you bring it over and show him. He shakes his head, already deciding itâs a bad idea.
You shrug, holding the pack out to him with a playful smile. âWhy not? Letâs live a little.â
âWe shouldnât even be touching his things,â he says, leaning back on the sun lounger.
âWhat are you talking about? Weâve just eaten his frozen pizza and drunk his champagne,â you remind him, settling onto his lap.
âI can buy those things back for him,â he replies, folding his hands behind his head.
âBut he mentioned it, so that means heâs fine with it, right?â
He shakes his head, eyes closed, unwilling to hear more persuasion.
âCome on,â you urge, taking a rolled blunt out of the bag and rolling it between your fingers. âJust one. Itâs a special night, isnât it?â
He opens his eyes and finds himself unable to resist you when you smile so sweetly. He reaches for the blunt.
âAlright, fine," he gives in, "but just one.â
You light it and take a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air before handing it over to him. His fingers brush against yours as he inhales, and you watch as his shoulders visibly relax.
The two of you take turns smoking, the night enveloping you in a peaceful cocoon. The quiet of the water, the gentle sway of the boat, and the faint glow of stars above make everything feel far away, as if the world and its complications couldnât touch you here.
âI could get used to this,â you softly mutter, your voice barely louder than a whisper as you nuzzle into Seungminâs side, sharing the sun lounger with him, the blunt hanging loosely between your fingers.
Seungmin exhales long and slow, his arm coming around your shoulders to pull you close. âYeah, me too.â
The smoke, the sea, and the quiet lull you into a different kind of peaceâan escape from everything, if only for tonight.
With one last drag, you finish the rest of the blunt yourself. You rest your head on Seungminâs shoulder, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. For once, you donât feel like youâre running away from something.
âI wish it could always be like this,â you murmur, more to yourself than to him. âI feel happiest when itâs just us, alone like this.â
Seungmin shifts slightly, his arm tightening around you as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, and your heart flutters in response. He doesnât say anything at first, just holds you closer, and you wonder if he feels the same wayâthat the world outside seems so distant when itâs just the two of you.
âI feel it too,â he finally says. âWhen itâs just us⌠it feels like everything makes sense. Like weâre the only two people in the world that matter.â
His words make your heart ache with a bittersweet warmth. In a moment like this, itâs easy to forget about the chaos waiting for you back home.
Here, itâs just you and him.
You stare at him, your faces merely inches apart. The moonlight casts a soft glow across his features, and God, heâs just so beautiful. His eyes meet yours, and the longer you look into them, the more you see the depth of his feelings. Thereâs something tender, something vulnerableâyouâve never seen him look at you like this before.
Seungmin swallows, his Adamâs apple bobbing as if heâs gathering courage. Then, in a soft yet steady voice, he says, âI love you.â
The words hang in the air, suspended between you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. Heâs never said it before, and hearing those words now, spoken under the starry sky with the waves lapping gently against the boat, it feels⌠magical.
âI love you,â he repeats, his voice more certain this time, his eyes steady on yours. âI donât care about the rest of itâour families, the politics, all of it. I love you."
Tears well up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of hearing him say those words. You feel the sincerity in them, the weight of what it means for him to admit it, to declare it, despite everything.
You reach for him, cupping his face in your hands. Using your thumb, you softly rub his cheek. âI love you too, Seungmin, and I think Iâve loved you for longer than I can admit," your voice breaking as you try to hold back your emotions.
Seungmin leans in, closing the small distance between you, and kisses you softly, slowly, as if savoring the moment. His lips are warm against yours, and in that kiss, you feel everything: his love, his promise, his fear, and his hope.
-
It's the wine, the blunt, the sense of freedom you're feeling at the moment, and the way you keep replaying the moment Seungmin said those three words in the back of your mindâall of those things make you high, so high that you believe you're on the way to cloud nine.
As you sit straddling him, looking down at him, you feel more attracted to him than ever. It's his beautiful face, his short dark hair that complements his features well, how the white shirt he's wearing accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, and the rolled sleeves exposing the evident veins on his arms. Oh, he's just so fucking hot.
You prop your hands on each side of his head and look into the two orbs of his eyes. He remains unfazed by the intensity of your stare, but he would be stupid not to see the want in your eyes.
Unable to help yourself anymore, you lean in and kiss him, and it feels so good when he kisses you back, responding to your desires. But the kiss is just one of many; you want more, you need more.
As your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss, you take his hand and put it around your neck; his touch feels hot against your skin. To allow him more access, you untie your bathrobe and let it fall, pooling around your waist, exposing your bare chest to him.
Seungmin slowly rises from his seat, wrapping his arms around you without breaking the kiss. You whine when he finally detaches his lips and moan when he places them on your neck next.
"Seungmin," you seductively mewl his name as he nibbles on your ear, your head spinning when he sucks on the sensitive skin.
Your heart is pounding in anticipation of what he's going to do next. You look down and find him gazing at you through his lashes as he drags his lips down your chest. His hands are also making their way to the front when, all of a sudden, he does the unexpected.
Seungmin pulls your bathrobe back on you, tying the belt around your waist with his hand. You look at him in slight shock and disbelief; it's a moment later that you're finally able to speak again.
"Why not?" you ask, blinking at him.
"Not here," he simply says, endearingly tucking your hair behind your ear and then kissing your cheek.
What he does would usually make your heart flutter, but you feel bitter from his indirect rejection of your want. "Yeah but why not?"
"Because it's indecent," he innocently answers.
You scoff because back in the hotel room, Seungmin wasnât shy about doing indecent thingsâsome of which are far more than just indecent.
"Why? We're on a boat, we're alone, we're under a starry sky... it's romantic," you point out why doing it here would make for a special occasion.
He takes your hands and looks at you. "Then let's get inside."
"No," you flatly refuse with a pout.
"Come on," he says, shaking your hands to get your attention. Unsuccessful, he leans in and kisses your jaw before bringing his mouth close to your ear.
"I know another way to make you see stars," he whispers in a low, sultry voice.
Ugh! You hate how easily he cracks through your defenses. You smile at him and nod, allowing him to lead the way to the cabin, through the small living room, and finally into the cramped bedroom.
He grabs you by the waist and steers you to the bed, laying you down gently. He doesnât hesitate to come on top of you, hovering above you as he captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that consumes you whole.
Your hands refuse to remain idle; you pop every button on his shirt without looking, and when youâre done, you part it open, impatiently placing your hands on his body, trailing the outline of his abs with your fingertips.
Seungmin lets go of the kiss to take a breather, helping you with the shirt, shaking it off his shoulders, and tossing it aside. But the task is not done there; you loop your finger around the belt loop on his slacks and pull him close.
The head of his belt clinks as you take it off and hastily tear open the zipper. Without wasting a second, you pull his slacks down until they pool around his ankles.
"Oh, la la," you exclaim delightedly, biting your lips at the sight of him standing gloriously naked before you.
"Are you going to do something about it?" he asks, his voice heavy with assertiveness, hinting that he demands you to.
"Uhm... not sure," you coyly say, slowly wrapping your hand around his length and stroking it as it gradually hardens in your palm.
You land a few licks under the tip and around the length, and when youâre ready, you take him into your mouth, compensating the rest with your hand. He feels hot, hard, and veiny, slipping in and out of your mouth while you maintain eye contact with him.
Seungmin grips your shoulder, his nails faintly digging into your flesh, but heâs aware that it might hurt you, so he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging at it when pleasure overwhelms him.
"Stop!" he gently says, though his voice remains assertive.
You slowly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. He runs his thumb over your lips, separating them before shoving it into your mouth, and you gladly suck on it.
There's a loud pop when Seungmin takes his thumb out, and with his hand on your chest, he pushes you onto the bed, sending you lying back down. He parts your legs and kneels on the floor, wanting to return the favor to you.
All the times he has pleased you with his mouth, heâs done a wonderful job, so you lay on your back and close your eyes, knowing youâre in for a treat.
The kisses he places on your inner thighs are electrifying; his lips are soft as they land on your clit, and his tongue feels hot as he licks a long stripe down your folds. He uses two fingers on each side to pull your folds apart, diving in and drowning himself in you.
"Oh..." you moan as his tongue teases your entrance.
Every kiss, every lick, every place his tongue explores, and every gentle pressure he applies to your clitâSeungmin calculates everything to give you the utmost pleasure. But tonight, he isnât being generous; he stops just when it starts to feel so good.
You almost groan in frustration, but before it can escape your mouth, he catches your lips in a hungry kiss, making you forget your complaints, your ability to speak, and your whereabouts, but not your wants.
You part your legs wider to welcome him, seeking that closeness, wanting his delicious cock as close as possible to where you want him the most.
"If you donât put it in, I think Iâll die," you dramatically mutter against his lips.
Seungmin lets out a chuckle and kisses you again. "I want that embroidered on a pillow."
The feeling of your needs finally metâoh, thereâs nothing like it. When it comes to Seungmin, though, youâre not sure youâll ever be satisfied; you keep wanting more.
More of those hard kisses on your lips, more of those hands kneading your breasts and gripping your legs, more of those moans slipping from his mouth into yours, more of his cock slipping in and out of you, more of those hard, shallow thrusts making your eyes roll backâmore and more and more...
He isnât lying when he says he knows another way to make you see stars. As you hit your high and your eyes screw shut, you see nothing but stars.
Seungmin comes not long after, collapsing on top of you. His lips immediately search for yours, kissing you with such haste when they find you.
When you finally pull apart, you both lay there in the silence of the night, wrapped in each other and the warmth of this tender moment. The world outside feels far away, and for now, this is enoughâjust the two of you, tangled in each other, both of your heads full of stars.
-
Things are going well. Your relationship with Seungmin remains a secret, and the results of the pre-vote are out, revealing that your father is leading the race by an 8% margin. Everyone is happy, all is wellâbut you have this nagging feeling in your chest that things wonât stay like this for long. You hope it's for the better, and God, you hope that's true.
To celebrate your father leading in the pre-vote, your family holds a brunch this afternoon. Being invited to this is a significant step toward winning your way back into the family. Your little sister has taken your hand under the table, squeezing it as a sign of solidarity. She hasnât said it out loud, but you can feel that sheâs happy to have you here, part of the family again, even if only for a moment.
However, as the minutes tick by and your father doesnât appear, a gnawing feeling settles in your chest. You try to brush it off, focusing on how far youâve come. After all, youâre here, included, proving that you can still be the daughter your family wants you to be.
Then your mother calls you and asks you to follow her to your fatherâs study. She makes you sit on the leather sofa in anticipation. Her expression is soft, but thereâs something behind her eyes that makes your stomach churn, and you know something is wrong before she even speaks.
âWhen was the last time you saw him?â she asks, her voice quiet but direct.
Your mind flashes back to that night with Seungmin on the boat. You havenât told anyone, and as far as you know, no one has seen you. But your motherâs gaze is sharp, and sheâll know if you lie.
âI⌠I went on a boat with Seungmin,â you admit meekly, your voice small and low. âBut we were discreet. I swear, no one saw us.â
Your mother lets out a heavy sigh, her hand going to the nape of her neck as she massages it lightly. She doesnât say anything but takes out her phone from her tweed jacket, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to you. Your eyes widen as you look at the screen, the shock hitting you like a punch to the gut.
There on the screen are photosâcompromising photos. Some show you smoking; others are more intimate, even naked. You feel the blood drain from your face. These are pictures from that night on Seungminâs brother-in-lawâs boat, now plastered across the internet.
âMomâŚâ you stammer, trying to make sense of it. âThere was no one there except us. This canât be happening. It wasnât Seungmin⌠it couldnât be.â
âIâm afraid you werenât as discreet as you thought,â your mother says, her expression composed but with a grave undertone. âYour father found out about the relationship. Heâs furious, and this⌠this could ruin everything for him.â
You feel faint and hurriedly lean against the table to steady yourself. âNo⌠no, it canât be. Seungmin would neverââ
The idea of Seungmin betraying you is unthinkable, but the pictures donât lie. Someone had been there, someone had taken them, and now your life is spiraling out of control.
âI donât believe itâs him,â you insist, shaking your head in denial. âSeungmin wouldnât do this to me. He cares about me.â
âThink about whatâs best for you,â your mother says, her voice rising slightly as she struggles to keep her composure. âWhether itâs Seungmin or his family behind this, we canât take any more risks. You need to stay away from him, at least until I can figure out whatâs really going on.â
Your heart aches, torn between your love for Seungmin and the loyalty youâre still trying to prove to your family.
âIâm sending you back to your hotel,â she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. âAnd youâre not to leave until I say itâs safe. Your father is already angry enough, and we canât afford any more mistakes.â
Before you can protest, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. You want to believe in Seungmin, but now doubts plague your mind. A question gnaws at you: Is your love for Seungmin worth risking everything you have left?
-
The car ride back to the hotel is a blur of tears and shattered trust. Your chest feels heavy, the weight of betrayal pressing down on you, suffocating you.
The man you trusted, the one who held you close, is part of the very family responsible for leaking those photos. Whether Seungmin is directly involved or not doesnât matter anymoreâhis family is, and thatâs enough for you to push him away.
The car pulls up to the curb, and the doorman is there instantly, opening the door and offering his hand to help you out. You feel faint, your legs trembling from the emotions raging inside, but you force yourself to stand, to walk, and to keep your head up if you can.
Just as you step onto the pavement, a familiar hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, your heart aching in your chest.
Seungmin. Heâs there, his eyes wide with worry, as if he hadnât expected to see you like this. And oh, the sight of him, the man you thought you could trust, brings everything crashing down.
Without thinking, you rush at him, your fists pounding against his chest in a fit of anger and betrayal.
âHow could you?!â you scream through your tears, each punch that lands fueled by the pain inside. âHow could you let them do this to me?!â
Seungmin doesnât fight back. He just stands there, letting you hit him, his face filled with shock and pain as he tries to reach for you, to explain.
âIt wasnât me,â he tries to say, but the words are lost in the chaos of your emotions. âYou know Iâd neverââ
âStop lying!â you shout, cutting him off.
Your emotions hit their boiling point, the pain overwhelming you. âYou expect me to believe you didnât know? That this wasnât some way to tear me apart?â
His eyes widen in disbelief, his hands reaching for you, but you slap them away. âI donât know whoâs doing this, but I would never let anyone hurt you like this. You have to believe me!â
âBelieve you? After everything thatâs happened? Iâve been humiliated, and you come here pretending like you had nothing to do with it?â Your voice rises with every word, and youâre too far gone, too hurt.
He tries again, stepping closer, but you shove him hard enough that he staggers backward. âI canât even look at you right now. Get out! Get the fuck out of my face!â you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Seeing you like this is painful for him, but not as painful as knowing he caused this. His hands tremble as he tries one last time to reach for you. âPlease, donât do thisâletâs talkââ
Drawn by the commotion, hotel security steps in between you and him, blocking him from approaching you.
âSir, you need to leave,â one of them says, placing a firm hand on Seungminâs shoulder.
âWait! Just let me talk to her!â He tries to push past them, but they hold him back, stronger.
Itâs too late. Youâve already turned away, not even sparing him a last glance. He canât bear the thought of being the cause of all this.
As the door of your hotel room clicks shut behind you, the silence fills the room, and everything comes crashing down again. This time, you donât have anything left to fight with, so you let the pain and heartbreak consume you, sinking to the floor as tears flood your eyes.
It hits you nowâyouâve pushed away the one person you thought you could trust, but everything feels broken beyond repair. It feels like youâre losing everything: your family, your trust, and the man you thought was different.
Leaning against the closed door that seals you off from the outside world, you wonder if thereâs anything left to hold on to.
-
The more Seungmin thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that there is only one person who could have leaked the photosâsomeone who knew about the boat, someone involved. His brother-in-law.
He doesnât waste any more time. He grabs his car keys and drives straight to his brother-in-lawâs place. A storm rages in his chest, anger mixed with dread, his head full of accusations and possible answers.
When he arrives, he skips the courtesies and storms inside. He finds his brother-in-law leaning against the kitchen counter, looking surprised but not startled to see him.
âSeungmin? Whatâs going on?â he casually asks.
Seungmin doesnât stop until heâs standing right in front of him, glaring into his eyes, refusing to be fooled again.
âYou know damn well whatâs going on. Youâre the only one who knew about the boat, the only one who couldâve tipped off the paparazzi. Tell me the truth!" He slams his hand on the counter, causing a spoon resting on the edge of a bowl to clatter. "Did you leak those photos?â
His brother-in-lawâs face tenses, the calm façade slipping, replaced by panic. âLook, Seungmin, before you go offââ
âJust answer me!â Seungmin urges, his voice cracking with anger. He canât bear the thought that someone so close to himâsomeone he thought of as a brotherâhas betrayed him like this.
After an intense silence, his brother-in-law sighs and rubs his forehead. âFine. Yes, I hired the paparazzi.â
Deep down, Seungmin knew this would be the answer, but it doesnât stop the anger and betrayal surging through him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his body shaking from holding back violence.
âYou set us up? Why?â
His brother-in-law looks at him and licks his lips before answering, âIt wasnât just me, alright? I had permissionâpermission from your father.â
Seungmin could understand his brother-in-lawâs motive: he wants to get on his fatherâs good side, to be acknowledged and approved. But his father? His own father, whom Seungmin respects and admires, someone he has helped campaign for because he believes in him?
âMy father? He knew? He approved this?â Seungmin stammers, struggling to comprehend it.
âYour fatherâs been watching you, Seungmin. He knows about your little affair with her, and heâs not happy. So yeah, he gave the go-ahead. The idea was to expose her, make her the problem,â his brother-in-law explains, and as if he couldnât say anything more stupid, he adds, âItâs nothing personal, just politics.â
Seungmin knocks everything off the tableâplates, glass, spoonâall clattering to the floor. âYou ruined her life for politics!" he shouts, hoping itâll knock some sense into his brother-in-lawâs crooked mind.
âYou know how this works, Seungmin,â his brother-in-law says calmly, still leaning against the counter. âYour father is just trying to protect you.â
âProtect me? By destroying her? By ruining her reputation?â Seungminâs jaw clenches as he fists his hands so hard his knuckles turn white.
âSheâs not innocent in all of this, and you know you shouldnât have gotten involved with her in the first place,â his brother-in-law says, his gaze piercing.
Itâs betrayal upon betrayal. Seungminâs mind is still struggling to process the fact that his father orchestrated the entire thing, using his brother-in-law to tear them apart.
Without another word, Seungmin storms out, but his brother-in-law daringly runs his mouth once more, âYouâll thank me later, Seungmin. Trust me.â
But Seungmin isnât listening. His mind is busy planning what to do nextâhow to fix this, how to make things right. His number one priority is not letting his family ruin your life any further.
-
Seungmin storms into his fatherâs office, despite his father clearly being in the middle of an interview. His father hurriedly signals his secretary to escort the interviewer out of the room, knowing Seungmin is barely containing his anger.
The man behind the desk doesnât flinch, already knowing why his son is there. Heâs always composed and in control, but today, Seungmin isnât going to let him keep that control.
âYou set me up,â Seungmin spits, his voice sharp with betrayal. His father looks up, surprised but not shaken. âYou used your own son to destroy her, to ruin her life, just because of some political rivalry?â
His father leans back in his chair, calmly putting his hands together in front of him. âItâs not about you, Seungmin. Itâs about our familyâs legacy. You were distracted, involved with the wrong person. I had to make sure you stayed focused on what really matters.â
âWhat really matters?â Seungminâs voice shakes with disbelief and anger. âWhat really matters is that you took someone I care about and humiliated her! For what? Your campaign?â
âThat girl was trouble,â his father remarks coldly. âSheâs from a family that stands against everything weâre trying to build. You should have known better.â
âI donât care about the politics!â Seungmin shouts, stepping closer to his fatherâs desk, unafraid for the first time of going against his fatherâs principles. âI care about her, and youâyou ruined her for your own gain.â
His father stands, towering over the desk and staring intensely into his eyes. âYou think you can just walk away from this? From your family? Weâve sacrificed everything for you, Seungmin. Youâre going to be a part of this, whether you like it or not.â
âNo, Iâm not. Iâm done with all of this. Iâll never be a part of this family again,â Seungmin says, shaking his head, done being a pawn in his fatherâs political games.
His fatherâs eyes darken, and a cold smirk rises at the corner of his lips. âYou think this is all about one girl?â he scoffs.
âYouâre naĂŻve, Seungmin. You havenât been in this world long enough to understand how power works. Sacrifices have to be made. And if you walk away from this family, from me, thereâs more where that came from.â
Seungminâs chest tightens with disbelief. âWhat do you mean by that?â
His father leans forward, his voice low and dangerous. âYou think those were the only photos? Thereâs more from her past. I have them, and if you walk away nowâif you so much as think about turning your back on this familyâI will release every last one. She wonât have a life left to salvage.â
His father pulls open a drawer and takes out a file, showing Seungmin the photos heâs been keeping as a weapon. âBut if you stayâif you fall in line and keep your head down until the election is overâIâll make sure they disappear.â
Seungmin is hit with another wave of betrayal. His father had planned this all along, dangling her reputation as leverage over him. He expected manipulation, but this? This was beyond anything he could have imagined.
âYouâre willing to destroy everything just for power?â
His father doesnât flinch. âItâs not about power, Seungmin. Itâs about winning. And I have won.â
-
TEN DAYS LATER.
The election is over, and his father has indeed won, but to Seungmin, it means he has nothing left to lose.
The man in front of him has torn apart the one thing that means the most to him, and for what? A title? A seat in the governorâs office?
As everyone gathers around his father, congratulating him and celebrating his victory, Seungmin can't help but wonder: does his father feel the slightest bit of disgust for what he did to achieve this win? Seungmin certainly does. He can't look at his father the same way anymore and he refuses being related to him apart from sharing the same DNA.
Seungmin makes his way toward his father, and when he's close enough, he extends his hand. His father doesn't hesitate and grips it, shaking it with a triumphant smile plastered across his face.
"Are you happy now?" Seungmin asks calmly.
"Well, I've won," his father replies with a sickening smirk.
Thereâs not a hint of remorse on his face for what he did to his own son, which only convinces Seungmin further that he wants no part of this anymore.
"But you've lost your son," Seungmin boldly remarks, each word carrying a finality his father canât ignore.
Without waiting for his fatherâs reply, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks awayâfrom his father, his family, everything. He leaves the office behind, as if itâs already become a distant memory.
There's only one thing left to do now.
He drives straight to your fatherâs campaign headquarters because he doesn't know where else to start. Your family is the only one who knows where you are, and although he doubts any of them would tell him, he canâtâhe mustn'tâgive up.
When he arrives, the place is busy with activity, but it offers a different kind of atmosphere compared to his fatherâs headquarters. He balls his hands into fists in determination and enters the building without hesitation.
"Apologies, sir, but the headquarters is strictly for staff only tonight," a security guard blocks him from stepping inside.
"I need to talk to someone in there," Seungmin says, hoping the guard will understand and let him through.
"Unless youâve already made an appointment, we can't let you in, sir," the guard says firmly, crossing his arms and standing in front of the doorway.
Reluctantly, Seungmin steps back, trying to come up with a new plan. He considers waiting outside until one of your family members leaves. Itâs a flawed idea, but itâs the best one he has.
Then, as if by divine intervention, your younger sister appears at the reception desk. Seungmin takes a step closer to the entrance, ignoring the guard, and does everything he can to catch her attention, even calling her by her full name.
She looks over her shoulder and, upon seeing him, her expression turns cold and defensive. She never trusted him, and Seungmin doesnât blame her. Still, heâs desperate, and this might be his only chance to find you.
âI need to know where she is,â Seungmin says, his voice steady but pleading. âI need to see her before itâs too late.â
Your sister crosses her arms, scrutinizing him. "Why should I help you? After everything thatâs happened, why should I trust you?"
His throat tightens, but he meets her gaze with unwavering sincerity. âBecause I love her. I had no part in what my father did. Iâd give up everything to be with her. I already have.â
Thereâs a long pause as your sisterâs expression shifts, her defenses slowly lowering. Perhaps she sees the earnestness in his eyes, the depth of his regret, and his determination.
She turns to the receptionist, writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to him. âIf you break her heart again, I swear to God...â she mutters, leaving the threat unfinished.
Seungminâs heart leaps. Heâs just met her, but she already feels more like family than his own ever has. âThank you," he says, his voice full of gratitude.
âSheâs leaving the country tomorrow, so youâd better hurry,â she adds, turning away before he can say anything more.
Every second becomes precious as his heart pounds with a new sense of urgency. This is it. He wonât lose youânot to his father, not to the mess his family has created. This time, nothing will stop him.
-
The country house is quiet, almost too quiet. The only sounds are the soft rustling of the trees outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. The room is stifling, but itâs your thoughts that press down on you the most. You fold another shirt and tuck it into your suitcase, packing for tomorrow, planning to leave nothing behind.
It was a mistake to come back here, and you know it now. This city was once a refuge; now, it feels like a prison, a place to hide. Youâve become a liability to your family, and your father made that painfully clear when he sent you here. You were told to stay quiet, remain hidden, and leave without a trace in the morning.
Thereâs no future for you here anyway.
Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you zip up the suitcase. You canât take any more of thisâfeeling like a pawn in a game that was never yours to play. Leaving is the only choice left. Itâs for the best, even if it means abandoning everything youâve ever known. Itâs not an easy decision, but you force yourself to push through it.
Then, suddenly, thereâs a knock on the door, breaking the stillness of the night.
Your heart leaps, and for a moment, you freeze. You remember your fatherâs warnings: Never open the door. No one is to know youâre here. Stay hidden. You take a step back, away from the door.
Another knock comes, this time more urgent.
You remain still, holding your breath, praying that whoever it is will go away. But then you hear a voiceâhis voice.
âPlease... itâs me, Seungmin.â
Your heart races at the sound of his voice, familiar and full of emotion. You badly want to rush to the door, to throw it open and fall into his arms, but the alarm bells in your head ring louder. You canât. You shouldnât.
âI know youâre in there,â Seungmin says, his voice breaking between words. âIâve been looking for you everywhere. Please... just let me in.â
You clench your fists, torn between what you know is right and the ache in your chest. You stay quiet, pressing your back against the door, fighting the overwhelming urge to respond.
"I had to find you," Seungmin continues, his voice softer now, almost desperate. âI couldnât let you leave without seeing you. I canât lose youânot after everything weâve been through.â
Tears well in your eyes as you lean your forehead against the door, trying to keep your emotions in check. You *shouldnât* let him in. This is a mistakeâall of itâbut hearing him on the other side, so close yet out of reach, is tearing you apart.
âI just want to be with you," Seungmin whispers. "I love you.â
The words break something inside you, and before you realize what youâre doing, your hand is on the doorknob. Torn between fear and love, you know you shouldnât open the door, but your heart is aching for him. No matter how hard you try, you canât ignore the pull you feel toward him.
âPlease, donât shut me out," he mutters, his voice thick with hopelessness.
Your walls crumble almost immediately and with shaking hands, you unlock the door and pull it open, revealing Seungmin standing there, his face full of worry and relief. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours. Without a word, he steps forward and takes you into his arms.
He holds you tightly, his warmth familiar and comforting. He feels like home. Finally, you let out a breath you didnât realize youâd been holding.
Seungmin buries his face in your hair, whispering, âIâm here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. In that moment, without thinking, you lean in and press your lips to hisâa kiss full of longing and everything youâve been holding back for so long.
In the quiet of that night, with the stars shining through the open window and the future uncertain, you know that, despite everything, being with him is the only thing that makes sense.
-
The soft glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a delicate sheen across the room. Your naked bodies are entwined beneath the sheets, the warmth of the moment lingering between you.
Seungmin hovers above you, his chest rising and falling as he gently caresses your face, his fingertips tracing the outline of your cheek like you are something sacred. His gaze is intense but tender, as if memorizing every part of you, still unable to believe you are really here in his arms.
His touch is soft, but the weight of the emotions between you is palpable. You can feel it in the way his fingers brush over your skin. He hasnât said much, but his eyes tell everythingârelief, love, fear of what could have been if he had lost you for good.
âI almost lost you,â he murmurs, his thumb grazing your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of being so close, so connected. âI donât ever want to feel that again.â
You gaze up at him, your heart aching with affection. Here, in this moment, it is just you and him, and nothing else matters.
Seungmin lowers his head to place a soft kiss on your forehead, then your lips, as if sealing some unspoken promise between the two of you.
âLetâs go somewhere,â his lips brush against yours with every word. âLet's start over, somewhere far away from all of this.â
The invitation comes so suddenly that you donât know how to react. You blink up at him, feeling a mix of emotionsâhope, love, but also fear. You love him deeply, more than you thought was possible, but you donât want him to lose everything for you the way you have for him.
âSeungminâŚâ you whisper, your voice barely audible as your hand comes up to cup his face. âAre you sure? I donât want you to lose your family, not like I did.â
âIâm sure,â he says firmly, his voice filled with conviction. âThis, us, itâs what I want. I want to leave all of this behind and just be with you.â
A tear rolls down your cheek as you stare into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the earnestness of his intentions. While it makes you indescribably happy, it also breaks your heart a little. He is giving up everythingâhis family, his place in their worldâjust to be with you. You love him more for it, but it's also a heavy burden to bear.
âYou really mean that?â you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.
Seungmin nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. âYes. This is what I want.â
It feels like the world has finally shifted, like things are starting to fall into place. Even though the future is still uncertain, you believe in him, in the two of you together, and that's enough.
âI love you,â you whisper, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. âAs long as weâre together, everythingâs going to be okay.â
He kisses you back, holding you tightly against him, and in that moment, everything becomes clear. This is not just a mere coincidence. This is fate. You and Seungmin, together, is fate.
-
The hum of the plane's engines is comforting, familiar, as you both settle into your seats, side by side.
The memory of that first flight togetherâthe stolen glances, the whispered conversationsâcomes rushing back, but this time it feels different. This is a new beginning, a chance to start over.
Seungmin glances over at you, a playful glint filling his warm brown eyes. He shifts in his seat, turning toward you just like he had the first time.
"Hi, Iâm Seungmin,â he softly says, offering his hand in mock formality, his smile full of warmth. âTraveling alone?â
You canât help but smile back, slipping your hand into his. âNice to meet you. And Iâm traveling with someone very special, actually.â
You both chuckle, the familiarity of the moment easing the tension of everything that came before. It's like stepping into a memory but with the promise of something better ahead.
Seungminâs eyes soften as he looks at you, and he leans in closer, his voice lowering.
âBusiness or pleasure?â you ask playfully, replaying the conversation that had sparked your connection all those months ago.
âNeither,â he answers, his voice gentle but certain. âIâm traveling for a happy ending.â
His words send a flutter through your chest, and you feel the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. You look at him, your heart overflowing with emotion, knowing that this isnât just a flightâit is a leap into the unknown, into something new and full of possibility.
You squeeze his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. âA happy ending,â you repeat with a smile.
As the plane begins to taxi down the runway, he intertwines his fingers with yours, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go. You both stare out the window, watching the world fall away beneath you, your hearts beating in sync.
And as the plane lifts off, climbing higher into the sky, you know that whatever the future holds, as long as you are together, everything will be okay.
The past is behind you now, and in this moment, with Seungmin by your side, the world feels wide open, full of hope and promise. Into a happy ending, you go.
-
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broooo fire asf đđđđđŤśđŤś
do not fuCKING tag it as âangstâ if itâs not ANGSTY!
I donât wanna see no smut with a slightly sad plot while Iâm looking for some heart shattering life ending angst ffs!

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Arguments with your husband, Chan, have always been nonexistent throughout the course of your marriage. Not once has your home been filled with raised voices or slammed doors. He is a patient manâachingly soâa lovable husband, a devoted provider, and everything you could have ever asked for and more. He makes it a point to give you the things youâve longed for, to build a life around you that feels safe, warm, and whole.
Chan is the kind of man who would rather take a bullet than raise his voice at you. And that is not an exaggeration. Even in moments of stress, his voice never loses its softness, never sharpens into something that could hurt you. Every word he speaks is measured, gentleâhandled with the same care he gives you.
But today⌠something feels different.
The pressure of the groupâs upcoming comeback has been clinging to him for weeks now, heavy and unrelenting. Youâve noticed it in the way his shoulders stay tense even when heâs resting, in how his smile doesnât quite reach his eyes anymore. He does his best to shield you from itâalways hasâbut you can feel it lingering beneath the surface, like heat trapped under skin. Itâs only a matter of time before it spills over.
And it seems like that time has finally come.
Being called into the CEOâs office earlierâand getting reprimanded over something so trivial, so undeserving of the harsh words thrown his wayâmust have been it. The final spark. The match that lit a fuse thatâs been burning quietly for far too long.
Now, heâs shut away in his studio in your shared apartment, the door closed, the faint hum of equipment seeping through the walls. Inside, he sits hunched over his desk, headset snug over his ears, fingers hovering over the controls. His face is scrunched in frustration, brows drawn tight as he triesâagain and againâto pour everything heâs feeling into the song theyâve been working on. But nothing sticks. Nothing flows. The silence between each attempt feels heavier than the music itself.
Itâs been like this for hours.
Balancing a plate of food carefully in your hands, you make your way to the studio door. You hesitate for a brief second, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tray, before you knock softly and let yourself in.
The dim lighting inside greets you first, followed by the quiet tension that seems to fill every corner of the room.
âChannie, baby?â you call gently, your voice soft enough not to startle him. âYou havenât eaten anything today⌠itâs already 11 p.m.â You take a few careful steps closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath you. âWill you eat with me?â
He doesnât respond.
You pause, watching him, waiting, but he doesnât even turn. Itâs like your voice never reached him at all, like heâs too lost in his thoughts, too consumed by the storm in his head.
Swallowing lightly, you try again, your voice just a little louder this time.
âY/N, canât you see Iâm busy right now?â he snaps, sharper than youâve ever heard. âJust leave. Iâll eat once Iâm done here.â
The words hit harder than they should. You freeze, chest tightening as the sound of his voice raised, strained, unfamiliar, echoes in your ears. Itâs the first time heâs ever spoken to you like that, the first time his tone has carried something that wasnât gentle. And it hurts. It settles deep in your chest, dull and aching, but you swallow it down. Because you know him. You know this isnât really him, itâs exhaustion, pressure, frustration spilling out in the only way it can right now.
So instead of stepping away, you steady yourself. Quietly, stubbornly, you take a few more steps forward. The soft thud of the plate against his desk cuts through the silence, small but deliberate.
âYou said the same thing to me earlier,â you murmur, voice calm despite the slight tremble you canât fully hide. You gently slide the plate closer, the faint warmth of the food lingering between you. âYou need to eat.â Your words are softer this time, not pushing, not demanding, just steady and grounding, like youâre trying to anchor him before he drifts too far.
Then his chair scrapes harshly against the floor. He stands so abruptly it makes your chest jolt, sharp, almost violent, as he pushes away from the desk. His headset slips off, tumbling behind him with a dull clatter, forgotten.
âI said Iâll eat later!â Chanâs voice slices through the room, loudâtoo loudâbouncing off the studio walls in a way that makes your heart skip. âWhy canât you just listen for once?!â Youâve never heard him like this. Never seen him like this. His chest heaves, breath uneven, frustration spilling out faster than he can contain. Weeks, months, of pressure, exhaustion, and bottled-up emotions finally surge to the surface.
âIâm trying to work, Y/N! I donât have time to sit down and eat right now!â he continues, running a shaky hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. âEverythingâs already falling apart and youâreââ He cuts himself off, dragging a hand up through his hair again, harsher this time.
And you flinch. Small. Almost imperceptible. But he sees it. Chan freezes. Completely. Itâs as if the world has paused around him, his hand still hovering near his head, eyes locking onto you. The way your shoulders tensed, the way you instinctively shrank back, even for a fraction of a second. His hand lowers slowly. The anger drains from his face, replaced by something fragile, shaken, something that makes your chest tighten in response.
ââŚWhy did you flinch?â His voice soft now, no edge, no sharpness, just quiet, laced with confusion⌠and something dangerously close to hurt. The question hangs between you, heavy and delicate, pressing in from all sides. He takes a cautious step closer, careful, like any sudden motion might break something irreparably.
âDid you think I was going toâŚâ He swallows, the words catching in his throat before they can fully form. His brows knit together, eyes searching yours, almost pleading. âY/N⌠why?â
For a moment, you canât answer him. Your throat tightens, words caught somewhere between your chest and your lips. You hadnât meant for him to notice, hadnât even realized youâd flinched until he pointed it out. But now thereâs no taking it back.
You draw in a shaky breath, fingers curling at your sides as you try to steady yourself.
âIâŚâ Your voice is quieter than you expect, fragile. You glance away, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes. âI didnât mean to.â
The silence stretches, his gaze still on you, waiting, patient, heavy with worry.
âItâs justâŚâ You swallow, forcing the words out even as they scrape your throat. âBefore youâbefore us⌠I was with someone.â Your chest rises unevenly. âHe wasnâtâŚâ Your lips press together for a moment, as if shaping the words hurts. âHe wasnât the best to treat me.â The understatement hangs hollow. Your fingers tighten further, nails pressing faintly into your palms.
âHe used to get angry. A lot,â you admit, voice dipping softer, almost as if afraid of the memory. âAnd when he did⌠heâd raise his voice, slam things, get too closeââ You cut yourself off, breath hitching. âSometimes⌠it didnât stop there.â You donât elaborate. You donât need to. The silence says enough.
âSo when you stood up like that⌠and raised your handâŚâ A small, uneven breath escapes as you finally look at him again. No accusation in your eyes, just honesty, quiet vulnerability.
âMy body just reacted before I could think. Itâs⌠a reflex.â You shake your head lightly, as if brushing it off, though your chest still feels tight. âI know youâd never hurt me, Chan,â you add quickly, voice soft but certain. âI know that. Itâs just⌠something I havenât fully unlearned yet.â
âIâm sorry,â you whisper, barely audible. âI never told you. I⌠I just didnât know how I would.â
Chanâs chest tightens at your words. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, slow and careful, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment between you.
âShhâŚâ he murmurs, soft, caring like it has always been. âYou donât have to apologize. You didnât do anything wrong. Not telling me⌠itâs not your fault.â
He lifts your chin gently, tilting your face so your eyes meet his. His gaze is intense but tender. He wanted to shout to himself for making you felt scared over him, and that was the most bitter feeling he have ever experienced.
âI wish you had told me sooner,â he continues, voice low, rough with emotion. âBut I understand⌠I get it. I shouldâve been more patient, more aware⌠I should never have made you feel scared. Not for a second. Not ever.â
Leaning forward slightly, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling.
âI swear, Y/N⌠Iâll never make you feel that way again. Youâll never have to flinch from me. Youâre safe. Iâll make sure of it.â He closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips gently to your temple, grounding you both, then pulls back just enough to hold your hands firmly, eyes searching yours.
âIâm sorry, baby. Youâre not mad at me, are you?â His voice is soft, tentative, as if heâs still afraid of upsetting you. Then, as if to make up for everything, he peppers your face with little kisses, pressing against every scrunch you make, nuzzling you gently.
You let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension in your chest melt away. This is the Chan youâve always known, the one who recognizes when heâs wrong, who doesnât shy away from admitting it, who loves you fiercely enough to apologize with his whole heart. In this moment, you realize you could never love him any more than you do right now.
A small grin tugs at your lips, and you shake your head slightly.
âI will be mad,â you warn, âif you wonât eat with me right now.â
His eyebrows lift, and he laughs softly, a warm, low sound that makes your heart flutter. âOkay, okay,â he murmurs, stepping back just enough to take your hand and guide you toward the little meal you prepared. âYou win. Letâs eat together.â
The studio feels lighter now, the tension replaced by something soft and safe, the two of you wrapped in a quiet bubble where nothing can touch you, just love, forgiveness, and the comforting rhythm of being with each other.
a/n: this was supposed to be just a drabble... but i guess i got carried away a little bit. KSKSKSKS. but hey hi! i wanted to post something written today so i spent one hour on writing this one. i don't know tho if this makes any sense. but meh.
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i wish you stayed
ŕ¨ŕ§ pairing: bang chan x fem!reader ŕ¨ŕ§ genre: angst, fluff, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au ŕ¨ŕ§ word count: 14.2k ŕ¨ŕ§ warnings: breakup, memory erasure (scifi), explicit language, mentions of self-hatred, insecurities, and self-blame, hurt/comfort, i used other idolsâ names at random for side characters, references to idol stress/poor sleep and eating habits, no actual smut but there is sexual language so minors dni, please let me know if i've missed anything ŕ¨ŕ§ author note: first time posting here kinda (super) nervous .... anyways eternal sunshine of the spotless mind is one of my favorite movies so this was self-indulgent. i took some things from the movie but put my own spin on it as well. a lot of this plays out through memories, which are in italics. i hope you enjoy :')
It takes you half a year to finally schedule the appointment with Lacuna Inc. Six months to erase nearly four years of a relationship and a decade of memories. Thatâs hardly enough time to make such a decision, you tell yourself each night as you turn the idea over. But then you remember that the moment you open your eyes in the morning, you will be reminded once again of the harsh reality: Bang Chan is no longer yours. He is no longer yours to love, to be loved by, to comfort, to cry to, to miss, and although the breakup was six months ago, he hasnât been yours for far longer than that, not really.Â
His career pulled him somewhere else, somewhere away from you, and you supported him in it for years but never for a second thought that meant youâd be sacrificing yourself to heartbreak in the end. The worst part of it all was that it was not sudden nor jarring, not like ripping off a bandaid and feeling the pain for only a brief moment. Youâd noticed the cracks in your relationship over several months and watched him slip away slowly, and it felt like you had been drowning ever since. And each time he would promise you things would be different, part of you silently wished he would just end the relationship. Because you knew it would not be different, and you knew you would believe him nonetheless.Â
You hated being right.
When the day finally came, you could almost feel it. He was back in Korea but still chose to stay in the dorm each night rather than the apartment you two basically once shared. He called you and asked if he could come over as if he no longer belonged. He walked in and avoided your eyes as if they were no longer his favorite color. He sat down at your kitchen table and motioned across from him as if you could no longer be beside him. All of these little things you picked up on, none that you questioned him about; you took your seat across from him.Â
âHm,â he hummed, eyes now darting all over the small space you had rearranged and redecorated in his absence. A way to keep busy, a way to remove traces of him. âIt looks different here.âÂ
âYou havenât been here in a while,â you remind, words coming out with just a bit more edge than intended.Â
âRight,â he sighs. âIâm sorry.â
âDonât, Chan.â
At that, he seems taken aback, and he finally really looks at you. Itâs almost enough to make him bite back his next words. Of course, your eyes are still that same shade - still his favorite - though they now seemed sadder, and Chan hated that he was the cause of it.Â
âI think it would be best for you if we break up,â Chan says quietly, evenly, every piece of his being begging him to take it back the very second it slips past his lips.Â
You scoff, anger bubbling up before the sadness. âBest for me? I think you mean best for you. Best for me would have been my boyfriend not making months of false promises and actually putting in the effort for us when it mattered.â
Chan knows youâre right, that itâs his fault and he should have done more. But he really means it, because he truly does think you are better off without him. He doesnât have the time for you that you deserve, he canât show you off to everyone the way he wants to. All the time away, the timezones, the secrecy, the distance, the missed calls and text messages - he doesnât think he can be the man you deserve.Â
âI know. Iâm sorry. Youâve been too good to me,â he admits, reaching for your hand and trying not to feel sorry for himself when you snatch it away.Â
âSo this is how it ends,â you whisper, the sudden weight of it all crashing down. The anger had subsided, now came the sorrow. âGod, I wish I could hate you, Chan.â
It would make it easier if you could, but you know thatâs simply not possible. Too many years spent memorizing all the things you loved about him, things you feared you would always love about him. For a moment, you closed your eyes and tried to list them all in your head, to visualize them and feel them. The way heâd sense your presence leave the bed instantly, reaching his arm out to pull you back down by your waist. The way heâd grip your hand tighter in crowded places and refuse to let go. The way he kissed you like his life depended on it every time, a firm non-believer in anything less than that.Â
The memories snuck up like the tears that now fell freely down your cheeks, and that itself was another favorite of yours. Whenever you would cry, no matter if it was from an argument with Chan, a sad movie, work stress, or something else entirely, Chan would press a swift kiss to each of his thumbs and wipe your tears away so gently, so carefully.Â
âYouâre pretty when you cry,â heâd say, pulling you into his chest. âBut even prettier when you smile.â
And sometimes you would smile at that, sometimes you would just cry harder. Either way, he would hold you for as long as youâd let him.
Now, as you cried across from him, all he could do was dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from rushing to you, taking you into his arms, telling you it would be okay and he didnât mean any of it. Oh, how he wanted it to be different.
âI still love you,â Chan says desperately, as if it would mean anything, as if it would fix anything.Â
âDonât say that,â you beg.Â
âI do. I love you, Y/N, and if you need to hate me, I understand. Just know I wouldnât be doing this if I didnât think it would be best. Iâm not right for you.â
He was right for you for nearly four years, but four years isnât forever. You donât say I love you back, and he doesnât expect you to, and the conversation doesnât last much longer before he is out of the same space he once completely engulfed for good.
That day still haunts you, and you and Chan hadnât spoken since a few weeks after it. He had messaged you once, to check and see how you were doing; he was worried because you hadnât updated your social medias and he was too scared to reach out to your family after breaking your heart. It was just a few short messages back and forth before you told him he shouldnât reach out again.Â
Truthfully, you were not doing great. Chan had been a constant for you for years, your greatest comfort and now your greatest heartbreak. Navigating this new life without him was difficult, and you often wondered if it was the same for him. You had managed to convince yourself it surely couldnât be - after all, he had broken up with you, and he had the fame, the fans, the fortune. He was living his dream without the needy girlfriend back at home, and he looked happy doing it. Unfortunately, you had made it a habit to keep up with him and Stray Kids no matter how badly it hurt. A selfish part of you hoped he would look even the slightest bit affected by the breakup, to remind you that it was all real. When he didnât, you couldnât help but feel pitiful that it had seemingly derailed your whole life and only eased his.Â
You clearly had no idea that it was also tearing Chan up inside. He wasnât sleeping much and spent more time in the studio because it was one of his only distractions. The other members noticed, too, and had been inclined to message you more than once, but decided against it every time. Chan was harder on himself, still filled with rage and regret, and he was so tired.
But you would never know. If you did, maybe you would have changed your mind. Maybe you would have called him and listened as he begged for your forgiveness. Maybe you would have said, âI love you, too,â and cried while he told you how hellish things have been without you, how letting you go was the biggest mistake he ever made.Â
Instead, you now stood in front of Lacuna Inc., carrying bags full of all the things that reminded you of Chan. A necklace he had given you, preserved flowers from your first date, a hoodie he left behind, a framed photograph of you two at the beach on your first vacation together, along with so many other things that made you think of him in the best and worst ways. The thought of these items no longer holding any meaning to you, of Chan no longer existing to you, almost made you turn around.
Almost.
You inhaled deeply and took the steps forward towards the daunting building.Â
Once inside, Dr. Choi -Â the lead doctor and pioneer of such erasure technology - ushers you to one of the rooms while Jisoo, an assistant, insists on carrying your bags for you. They are heavy after all, with years of memories contained inside them. You almost chide her when she grabs them a little too carelessly, though soon enough the contents will mean nothing to you.Â
Another man already sits in the room, introduced to you as Daehyun, the technician who will be conducting the procedure and wiping Chan from your memory. Prior to the procedure, however, they need to map your brain, perform scans, and analyze your relationship. You take a seat across from Dr. Choi, who presses play on a recording device and takes out a pen and paper.
âPlease go ahead and state who you are and why you are here,â he instructs.
âMy name is Y/N and Iâm here to erase Bang Christopher Chan.â
Dr. Choi asks you to share your earliest memory with Chan, and you hesitate. He explains that this step is integral to ensure the procedure reaches the necessary depths, so you nod and close your eyes while recollecting days you can still see so vividly.Â
âI had a friend who was a trainee in the same company as Chan and introduced us. We exchanged numbers after that first meeting and he texted me before I had even been gone five minutes,â you almost laughed. âI was so drawn to him and we became very close from then on. He wasnât allowed to date for some time and I refused to jeopardize his career, so we never acted on what was obviously there between us for so long. By the time we confessed to each other, he was well-known, so we went to a small cafĂŠ for our first official date, quiet and late enough to not be disrupted. I felt like the luckiest person in the world.â
He listens intently while quickly scribbling things down in his notebook. You know your story is just one of many Dr. Choi has heard, so you also know he likely hardly notices when the memories become too painful to recall and your tears begin to fall to the table. You make it through the rest of the questions just barely, and then you are brought to a different room, an exam room, where bizarre equipment awaits.Â
âNow we need to scan your brain and map out exactly where we need to erase,â Dr. Choi explains, the technician placing an odd contraption over your head. A pen-like object is raised to each of your temples, rubbing against them briefly before an image of your brain appears on the screen. Immediately, Dr. Choiâs eyes widen and he leans in closer to the screen, examining it in bewilderment.Â
âWow,â he trails. âSuch an interesting scan we have here. We havenât even begun showing you the objects and it seems your brain is in an extremely heightened state of activity. You see, each of these green dots indicates the presence of a memory, a thought, or a feeling we will need to erase.âÂ
He angles the screen towards you and all you can see are green flashing dots all over. It almost makes you feel pathetic, especially when Daehyun stares wondrously. âIs that normal?â you ask, already almost certain you know the answer.
âItâs rather unusual, but nothing we canât handle. If anything, it may just take a little longer to wipe everything. Make sure youâre careful and thorough tonight,â Dr. Choi tells Daehyun, to which he agrees.Â
Tonight, Daehyun and Jisoo will conduct the erasure in your apartment. You are told it will be at least a four hour process, but given their new findings, that may be up to six now. Youâll be asleep through it all, and your memories will simply pass through like dreams. It isnât supposed to be painful or uncomfortable, at least not physically, but you imagine it will hurt to relive both the good and bad times with Chan.Â
While still connected to the scanner, Daehyun starts pulling out the various items you brought, leading with the hoodie. You wince when the scent of Chanâs cologne fills the air, still lingering on the fabric. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture him in front of you. You can almost hear his voice, asking you what youâre doing here, begging you to not go through with it.
âY/N,â a different voice interrupts. âWeâll need you to keep your eyes open and focus.â
You apologize and drop your gaze to the hoodie, trying to remember when exactly he gave it to you. He had given you so many of his hoodies over the years, you can no longer place your finger on when this one became yours. There isnât anything remarkable about it, either, as it appears to be just a plain black hoodie. Until you notice the sleeve and see the initial of your name with a small heart, and suddenly you realize why he had left this one at your apartment in the first place.
âOh, and look, baby,â Chan says over the FaceTime call, lifting his arm to the camera. âItâs your initial. Itâs like youâre always with me now.â
He had even chosen your favorite color for the embroidery, and your heart swelled at how proud he seemed of his purchase.Â
âI love it, Channie,â you giggle.Â
âYou donât think itâs cheesy?â
âIt is cheesy. Thatâs why I love it.â
Chan pokes his tongue out at you and laughs when you roll your eyes in return. He knows how much you love the little things in a relationship, and he had been missing you terribly recently. Needless to say, the hoodie was quite possibly the fastest purchase he had made in his life.Â
âYou can wear it whenever Iâm home. Since itâs coming with me everywhere, I want it to smell like you.â
And just as Chan said, it really did go with him everywhere. It had almost become a ritual, a lucky item of sorts, always shoved into his bags or suitcase. Though as much as he loved wearing it when you were apart, he was certain he loved it ten times more on you. He adored the way the sleeves fell well past your wrists and the way it would smell just like you once you took it off.Â
The day he came to your apartment and ended things, you asked him to gather his belongings before he left. He had found and collected most of them, sure to have missed a few with how much of him once occupied each room. The hoodie was not a missed item. He saw it right away, thrown haphazardly on your dresser from the last time one of you wore it, the sleeve with your initial dangling down. Chan knows he should take it with him, but he canât bring himself to â he leaves it sitting there on the dresser, forgotten and sad.
Daehyun removes the hoodie, satisfied with the results, which pulls you out of the memory. In its place, he sets down the preserved flowers, an assortment of lilies, carnations, and babyâs breath. It was the most beautiful bouquet you had ever gotten - although it was eventually outdone by the even grander arrangements Chan gifted you for each year's anniversary. Still, these flowers held the most sentiment to you because they were from your first date four years ago.
Chan had picked one of his favorite cafĂŠs to bring you to, despite how insistent you were that you would be perfectly content with just having dinner together in your apartment and maybe watching a movie. And while he would have loved that just as much, he would never accept that as a first date with the girl he had been longing for all this time.
âYou know, the offer is still on the table to go back to mine, order takeout, and watch The Notebook, or something,â you remind him, holding back a laugh when he looks at you with such a serious glare.
âYouâre crazy if you think our first date is going to be takeout in your apartment.â
âHey, my apartmentâs not so bad!â you whine. âI just donât want you to get in any trouble.â
He reaches for your hand across the console and brings it to his lips, leaving a gentle, comforting kiss on your knuckles. âYouâre right baby, your apartment is so perfectly you. But I waited far too long to be able to call you mine, and now that you finally are, I want this to be a little more special than that.â
You groan when he laughs at the reddish tint that colors your cheeks, accepting defeat. You knew you would still have to keep things mostly private, but it felt nice to be able to have at least some semblance of a normal relationship. It made all the years of yearning, the looks that lasted a little too long, the late-night texts that threatened to become more, worth it.Â
When you pull into the parking lot, Chan tells you to stay put while he gets out of the car and fumbles with something in the backseat. You look up at the rearview mirror, watching him purposely walk behind the car to get to your side, and then you see why. He opens your door with one hand, the other hand holding a gorgeous arrangement of flowers, hues of pink and white wrapped delicately and tied off with a little bow.
âBaby,â you gasp. âThese are beautiful.âÂ
âYou like them?â he confirms, sounding relieved as if there was ever a doubt.
âOf course, I love them! Thank you so much.âÂ
Chan uses his free hand to take yours, guiding you out of the car carefully. He hands the bouquet over to you and you bring it up to your face, eyelids fluttering shut at the sweet floral aroma. When you open them again, Chan is admiring you so intimately, you almost feel shy under his gaze. It may be only your first official date, but he is convinced heâs in love.
âShould I bring them inside with me? Let everyone see that I have the best boyfriend ever?â you joke, a small attempt to escape his intense stare. Itâs a dangerous one, one that both confuses and entices you; you wonder if he would look at you the same way while youâre on top of him, or under him, or in all the other kinds of compromising positions you imagine youâll find yourself in down the line.Â
He isnât totally opposed to the idea, but he doesnât answer you, not with words at least.Â
The flowers are still in your hands in front of you, so he grabs them and places them on top of the car, ensuring they wonât be crushed between you as he steps impossibly close. Youâre trapped between the sleek black door of the vehicle and Chan, his breath fanning your face.
âBoyfriend. Iâm your boyfriend,â Chan muses, finger tracing along your jawline. âI really like the sound of that.âÂ
âWell, good. Because youâre stuck with it. At least until you become my husband,â you laugh breathily, only itâs not meant to be a joke.Â
âGod, how did I get so lucky?â
As if waking from a dream, you suddenly jolt and find that you are still within the four walls of the exam room at Lacuna, Chan nowhere in sight. Just another memory.Â
âThese are good results weâre getting,â Dr. Choi informs. âTonight should be no problem at all.â
You nod, though you arenât sure if thatâs really a good thing at this point. Reliving each precious moment has you reconsidering if you want to forget them, but you do not have much time to ponder that before the flowers are replaced with the necklace, a beautiful Tiffany Victoria pearl and diamond pendant you had wanted for years. It was never within your budget, but Chan loved to spoil you and he had no budget when it came to you. The necklace was gorgeous, perfect, but after the breakup, you had stored it at the back of your jewelry box and pretended you didnât see it each time you opened it.
âClose your eyes,â Chan shouts from across the apartment, venturing out of your practically shared bedroom and into the living room where you awaited his next instruction. âAre they closed?â
âTheyâre closed Channie, promise.âÂ
You hear his footsteps getting closer and then the couch cushions sink next to you. He brings something cool to your neck and your heart beats a little faster as his fingers work against your skin.Â
âOkay, open them,â he says, and when you do, he is beaming with himself. âHappy anniversary, baby.â
You look down and almost slap your hand to your mouth, completely shocked by what currently sat around your neck. The diamond and pearl rest against your chest and you begin to twirl it between your fingers, inspecting its beauty up close.Â
âThis is too much, Chan,â you chide, but he would never agree with that. He pulls you into his lap, each of your thighs on either side of his, now taking the pendant into his own hand as if he had never seen it before.
âNever too much,â Chan grins. âIt looks so good on you.âÂ
âIâm serious, babe. You know you donât need to spend like this on me.â
âYouâre right, I donât need to, but I want to,â a low groan leaves his lips as you begin pressing light, feathery kisses to his jaw and neck. âMmmâŚ.just like I want to see this pretty necklace in my face when youâre riding me.â
Rolling your eyes, you continue your antics. You grind your hips against him just once, enough to make him crave more. Chan throws his head back, giving you even easier access to his neck, which you happily take.Â
âIs that the only reason you got it for me?â you mumble into his skin.
âNot the only,â he answers. âBut Iâd be lying if I said I didnât think about it while I was buying it.â
âFreak.â
âYou love it.â
And he was absolutely right - you did love it. Chan refuses to let you stay in control for too long, though, and reaches one hand up to grab hold of your hair and pull you back gently, the other hand gripping your waist. Youâre driving him crazy and you know it, big eyes looking at him so sweetly. He uses his strength to rock your hips against him again, and youâre hardly able to continue teasing him when you feel the friction and very noticeable bulge in his pants.Â
âBaby,â you sigh. âThank you so much.â
âShow me how thankful you are?âÂ
By the end of that morning, you were confident he knew the extent of your gratitude.Â
Dr. Choi clears his throat, ripping you from the memory which had undoubtedly created a deep blush across your face and heat within your core. You silently hope they arenât able to detect what kind of memories and thoughts you are experiencing.Â
The necklace is pushed to the side and finally comes the photograph, a simple 5x7 adorned in a black frame which Daehyun props up facing you. This is the one that hurts the most so far, youâre sure. Even looking at it makes your throat feel tighter, that horrible feeling of trying to choke back sobs.
You were on a beach in Sydney, back at his home, sitting on the soft sand and nestled against Chanâs chest. His arms were wrapped around you while he kissed your cheek, your smile wide and bright. Hannah had taken the picture, you remembered. At this point, you were together for around a year and a half, but it was the first real vacation you were able to take together. He had a very short break in his schedule which finally lined up with your own work schedule, and he had previously promised to bring you to his hometown when he could. There was really no better time to finally fulfill that promise.Â
You watch as the waves crash against the shore and then recede, early enough that the ocean sounds are some of the only noise, aside from Chan and Hannahâs chatter beside you.Â
âItâs so peaceful,â you hum, entranced by the serenity surrounding you.Â
âNot for long,â Chan comments, well-aware of how quickly the area will populate once the rest of the world wakes up.Â
âBut for now,â you say. âSometimes, thatâs enough. Even just a few minutes away from how loud everything else is.âÂ
âLife is loud,â Hannah chimes in, and you and Chan both nod in agreement.Â
The three of you sit in silence for a moment and you find yourself drawing idly in the sand, shapes of all sorts yet nothing in particular. You almost miss the soft âI love you so much,â Chan whispers into your hair, pulling you closer to him, if that was possible.
âLet me take a picture of you two,â Hannah finally chirps. âYou guys look cute. Cheesy and gross, but cute.âÂ
âThat doesnât even make sense,â Chan rolls his eyes and you laugh, but you both pose nonetheless. When Hannah hands you back your phone, you feel so grateful she had captured such a moment between you two. A reminder of your first vacation, of seeing Chanâs home, of the brief peace.Â
âThank you, Hannah,â you say sincerely, to which she just smiles and waves you off. Then, Chan begins littering your face with kisses, laughing when you topple over slightly.Â
âChristopher!â you huff, straightening up to get back at him, only for him to take off running. Naturally, you chase after him, bare feet hitting the sand with each step. He suddenly stops when youâre a good distance away from Hannah, who still sits in the same spot watching the waves. The abrupt stop almost causes you to come crashing into his back, but he quickly turns around and grabs hold of your arms to halt your movement.
âJust wanted to have some time to ourselves,â Chan admits sheepishly.
âYouâre the one who said she could come with,â you remind, though you definitely didnât mind a few private moments with him.Â
âI know how much you like spending time with her,â he replies, but he doesnât tell you how the relationship you and Hannah share makes his heart swell with pure pride. So, he invited her to come - against his own wishes mostly - because your vacation was nearing the end and neither of you were sure when youâd have the opportunity to see his family again.
âSheâs like the little sister I never had,â you smile, resting your head against Chanâs shoulder. He angles his head to press a soft kiss to the top of yours. âThank you for bringing me to your home.â
âWhy are you saying thank you?â
âI donât knowâŚâ you shrug, trailing off. âItâs just so personal, yâknow? Seeing all the places you grew up at, a different part of your life.â
âY/N, youâre my life now. Iâll show you everything, every part of me,â Chan promises, and how could you not believe him when he stares at you with so much adoration and certainty?
Itâs then that Hannah shouts from her spot farther down the beach, something about being hungry and ready to get breakfast. You were so blissfully content you hardly even noticed your own gnawing stomach, and now food sounded really good.
You lift your head from Chanâs shoulders and he places his forehead against yours, begging for one more second of tranquility together.Â
âI love you,â you say, pressing only a chaste kiss to his lips, one you know he would not accept. He deepens it before you can even pull away, and you sigh deliciously against him. If not for your hunger and his sister nearby, youâre not sure either of you would have stopped, but Chan is all too aware of the circumstances. He forces himself to let go, a dopey smile playing on your lips, a knowing grin on his.Â
âWeâll finish this later.â
Thereâs so many more objects within your bags and Daehyun rotates them out in quick succession, but those memories pass much faster, though not less painfully. Youâre certain thereâs still more to go through, but Dr. Choi informs you that itâs not necessary to examine them all and, in fact, this part of the process is complete. Theyâve created a comprehensive map of your brain for the next step - the erasure - and come morning, Chan will be a stranger to you.
You spend the rest of the day as normal, trying not to mull over your decision. You find yourself doing multiple loads of laundry, rearranging furniture, organizing shelves, anything to pass the time until Daehyun and Jisoo are scheduled to arrive.Â
When they finally do, you hold the door open while Daehyun carries in more machines and wires, setting them up by the couch youâve prepared as your bed for the night. Once all the equipment is inside, youâre instructed to get comfortable and try to forget whatâs happening around you.
âYou know, itâs not too late to turn back,â Jisoo tells you as sheâs hooking up machines. âI mean, Daehyun would probably be annoyed, but who cares about him.â
âThank you, but Iâm sure about this,â you confirm, even if youâre not.
âNo problem. I just know Iâd want someone to try to stop me if I were in your shoes.â
Thereâs not even a moment for you to question what she means, why she would say that, before an incredible exhaustion washes over you. Youâre not able to keep your eyes open a second longer, and they flutter shut with the image of Chan burned inside them.Â
âThatâs weird,â you think to yourself. Youâre back in the exam room at Lacuna, though it is empty, your footsteps the only sound as you head towards the door. You vaguely remember this place, a strange twisting feeling in your stomach when you read the words âwe make it easy to forgetâ written on the wall. An odd slogan, one you cannot fully decipher, yet it feels familiar.Â
When you reach the door, you poke your head around its frame and see the first thing that you actually recognize entirely: Chan, smiling at you in the way that brightens his whole face and displays his dimpled cheek. Youâre confused, until you look around again and realize youâre not in Lacuna - youâre standing in the doorway of Chanâs studio, and when you glance behind you, youâre greeted by the walls of the hallway in JYP Entertainment. And although youâre perplexed, you canât help but smile back at your sweet boyfriend, already closing his laptop with your arrival.
âBaby!â he chimes. âWhat are you doing here?â
You open your mouth to speak, and you realize the words are coming out without your control. âI figured you were working too hard. Came to distract you. I brought snacks.â
He takes the bag of goodies from you and places it on a small table, only focused on you at this point. Pulling you to his chest, he can smell the sweet fruity scent of your shampoo and he breathes it in, relishing in it.Â
âMissed you so much,â he mumbles into your hair, and you laugh because he had just seen you this morning. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât miss him too.Â
âItâs been like seven hours, Channie,â you tease. âYouâre so in love with me.âÂ
He knows it to be true, a simple fact like the grass being green or the sky being blue. Before he can respond, however, youâre prying yourself out of his arms and pulling out the various snacks you brought. Chan watches as you line them up carefully, such a mundane task yet he thought you looked so cute, so sweet doing it.Â
âHave you eaten?â you question, eyes big and round with concern.Â
âNoâŚâ Chan answers, rubbing the back of his neck shamefully. He never wanted to worry you, but he had just been so busy; the guilt rises up when he sees you deflate.
âI knew I should have skipped the snacks and just brought you dinner.â
âNo, no, angel. This is perfect. You didnât have to bring anything at all,â he reassures, though you shake your head at his nonsense. That was the relationship you two had; he takes care of you, you take care of him, and when you forget to take care of yourselves, the other will be one step ahead. Youâd never know how much he valued that.
âAre you going to be coming over tonight? I can go home and start a real dinner for us so itâs ready when you finish up here. Or if you want to stay at the dorm, thatâs fine too, I can bring the meal over for you, orâŚâ
Heâs trying to listen, but he can only focus on the way his heart is beating too fast. Youâre too kind, too sweet, too loving, and he still isnât used to it months into the relationship. Chan wasnât sure he ever would be, but he never wanted to let it go.Â
âYouâre right,â Chan interrupts as youâre still listing off plans for the night.Â
âRight about what, Chan? I said a lot of things. So you do want to come over tonight?â
âNo,â he answers, then curses. âI mean - fuck - yes I do want to come over, but not that. I meant about what you said before all that. I am so in love with you.â
Itâs not at all what you expected, and you struggle with the words in your head. Youâd said âI love youâ before, but this was different and you knew it. It was deeper, rawer, a confession Chan needed to release to stop from suffocating. A wish to be loved by you forever, a plea to hold onto you until the end of time.
Youâre speechless and he takes your silence for rejection, hoping he hadnât ruined everything.
âI know it may seem too soon, but I think Iâve been in love with you for a long time now,â he shares, and you snicker a little at how shy he seems now.Â
âIâm in love with you too, silly. Thatâs why I do things like this, youâre the most important person to me,â you tell him, as if it was the most rudimentary thing in the world.Â
Only then do you realize this, too, is just a memory, and it begins to blur, vision fading around the edges like a photograph crumbling to a flame. You try to say more, but the words wonât come out, and you must watch as Chan disappears with the memory.Â
âPlease donât go,â you beg. âI donât want to forget.â
Neither Daehyun nor Jisoo can hear you in your own mind, and when you wake up, you are alone. You have a faint recollection of them in your room, of the weird devices, but youâre convinced it was just a dream. The entire experience was wiped from your mind as well, leaving only mere remnants of the strange events. And for the first time in six months, Chan doesnât cross your mind.
A week after the memory erasure, weird envelopes show up at the membersâ dorms. Their names are written neatly on the front, and when they rip them open, thereâs a rectangular paper inside.Â
Y/L/N Y/N has had Bang Chan erased from her memory. Please never mention their relationship to her again.
Thank you.
In the corner is a company name none of them recognized, âLacuna Inc.,â and theyâre convinced it must be a joke of sorts. They hadnât had contact with you since you and Chanâs breakup, so theyâre baffled by what kind of joke it could be, especially since Chan had been so distraught in the recent months. Jisung starts a separate group chat without their leader, sending a picture of the card.Â
âUmm what is this?â he types out, and they each reply with a photo of the card theyâd received, the exact same aside from their names. Nobody believes it to be real, but it also seems too random all these months later. They arenât sure what to do and what it means, and none of them want to be the one to have to reach out to you after no contact.Â
Felix eventually volunteers himself but feels quite uncomfortable searching his contacts for your name, one that had been untouched for so long. He considers sending a picture of the card to you as well, but decides against it, unsure what the consequences may be if it somehow happens to be real. Instead, he approaches it like a normal conversation between friends who hadnât kept in touch in a while.
Hi Y/N, itâs been a while. how are you?
Youâre in the middle of making breakfast when you hear your phone buzz on the counter. A text from Felix, your friend you hadnât spoken to in months. Itâs nice to hear from him, you think to yourself, typing back a quick response before resuming your cooking.
good!! just making breakfast rn, how have you been?
You didnât seem upset and you clearly didnât block him, which were good signs, but Felix knows your response makes no sense considering the situation. In fact, he would have been more satisfied with anger or silence. This response makes him worry that the mysterious cards might actually mean something.Â
The two of you carry on a casual conversation for a few more texts before Felix cannot hold back any longer.Â
have you spoken to Chan recently? He misses you a lot.
And you read the text, once, twice, then again. You rack your brain for a âChan,â but no one comes to mind, and you realize youâd accidentally left Felix on read for ten minutes.Â
Lol iâm sorry, but whoâs chan??Â
All he can do is stare at your message, hoping thereâs a chance youâre still joking. When he doesnât respond for an hour, you follow up with a âFelix??âÂ
He apologizes and tells you he sent that to the wrong person, a horrible lie, but one you accept nonetheless. After all, you had thought long and hard about who Chan could be and you had officially given up, convinced it was not someone you knew.
No, you donât know a "Chan", so why do you feel a small pang in your heart when you say the name? It must be a placebo effect from Felixâs text, your brain playing tricks on you. He stops texting you back, and you feel a bit sad knowing you probably wonât speak again for months. You try to forget what he asked as you continue working on your meal, but for some reason you simply cannot let it go.Â
Unbeknownst to you, Felix had stopped texting back because he had a situation on his hands. Chan had texted the original group chat, and at the same time, Jeongin had sent an apology in the newly-formed group chat.Â
Chan had seen Jeonginâs card when he accidentally left it in plain view while in the shower, and he was confused, enraged, devastated. He refused to believe any of his best friends would prank him like this; they knew better than anyone how he still hadnât forgiven himself and certainly still hadnât gotten over you. They watched helplessly as he endured the chaotic schedules while navigating the heartache of a lifetime.
âWhat the hell is this?â Chan had sent with his own picture of the card, awaiting an explanation none of them had. Felix insists he should come over to share what little information he knows, and while Chan can hardly wait a second longer, he agrees to this. The others want to help too, but they all decide itâd be best not to overwhelm Chan further.Â
When Felix arrives, Jeongin is relieved, struggling with how to comfort Chan in his distress. He feels bad for being the reason Chan found out, but everyone reassures him that Chan would undoubtedly find out on his own eventually. It was likely better that he learned earlier rather than later, anyways.Â
âItâs fake, right?â Chan asks Felix almost the second he walks in the door. âTell me itâs not real.â
âI donât think itâs fakeâŚâ Felix says sadly, watching the pained expression wash over Chanâs face.Â
âWhat the fuck is Lacuna?â Chan questions, talking out loud more than anything. He grabs his phone and types in the company name hurriedly, huffing when nothing of relevance pops up right away. Itâs on the second page that he finds something of interest, a website where he sees the words âmemory,â âerase,â and âforget.â Chan is trying to read, but his vision is getting blurrier with each word. Thereâs an introductory video from the lead doctor and videos of people undergoing some sort of procedure. He feels his heart break at the thought of you in one of those chairs, ridding him from your memory; he cannot watch anymore, tossing his phone to the bed behind him.Â
âI texted her because we were all just as confused as you. I mentioned you, but she didnât know who you were. Iâm sorry.â
âI hurt her so bad that she felt the need to do this,â Chan whispers, angry at himself all over, trying not to be angry with you. He hated that you did this, but he could only fault himself. âI have to see her.â
âChan, youâre a stranger to her. I donât think thatâs a good idea right now,â Felix advises, but Chan has made up his mind. He needed to see you, and some stupid, hopeful part of himself hoped that would be enough to fix it.Â
Without another word, he is out the door and making the trek to your apartment he knows so well. He wonders what it will look like now that he hasnât been there in so long and if youâll look and smell the same. The last time he saw you, you were crying and brokenhearted, but with no memory of Chan and his mistakes, heâs sure youâll be your usual radiant self he missed so badly.
When he reaches your apartment door, he canât bring himself to knock right away. Heâs nervous - more than that. Quite frankly, heâs terrified. It feels like heâs standing there for hours before he finally finds the courage to knock. He can hear the quiet shuffle of footsteps beyond the door, and when it swings open, his breath hitches in his throat.Â
You are standing before him, confusion etched on your perfect face, looking exactly as he remembered. Every fiber of his being was aching to take you into his arms and hold you, his own personal heaven.
It was unbearable to see you look at him with no emotion, like he was just a face youâd never see again. He would have done anything to have you look at him like he was the only person who mattered one more time.Â
âHello?â you greet, shifting on your feet awkwardly.Â
 Itâs been such a weird day, with Felix messaging you after months and now a complete stranger - albeit a very good-looking stranger - at your door, staring at you wordlessly.Â
âOh, um, sorry,â Chan coughs. âIâm Chan, the one Felix mentioned to you.â
âAh. Felix said he sent that to the wrong person?â
Chan has to make up a lie on the spot, or at least a half-truth. âYeah, well, not exactly. He showed me pictures of you and I thought you were really pretty. He was just trying to tease me.âÂ
You laughed, and Chan swore he would fall apart right there at your door. He had missed the sound of your laugh so much, replayed voice messages so many times he could hear them in his head at any given moment. Meanwhile, you were internally melting at the attractive guy in front of you that just admitted he thought you were pretty. And again, some small part of you felt like it wasnât the first time youâd met.Â
âSoooâŚwhat are you doing here?â you ask, quirking an eyebrow.Â
âI just - â Chan starts, realizing how weird this seems from your perspective. He was so intent on seeing you and none of this being real that he hadnât even thought of what he would do or say if it was. âFelix dared me to come over.â
âOh, how mature. So this was just a dare to you?â
There it was, your same sarcastic retorts he had grown to love so much, only now it made him nervous. âNo! I mean, usually I would do something more rational. You know, like a text or somethingâŚIâm sure youâre probably a little creeped out right now.â
âA little,â you joke. âBut I trust a friend of Felixâs. And I feel like I know you somehow.â
This gives Chan a glimmer of hope for just a moment, before he realizes itâs likely just a side effect of whatever they did to your brain. He may feel familiar to you, but you donât know him, not really. He breaks, unable to stand in front of you any longer.
âWell it was nice to meet you, Y/N, sorry for this again,â he says too quickly.Â
âDonât you want my number or something?â you ask, feeling a little embarrassed for doing so, especially when he shakes his head.Â
âIâll get it from Felix!â he calls over his shoulder, leaving hurriedly. The whole encounter was bizarre, leaving you a little lost yet intrigued. What Chan doesnât tell you is that he doesnât ask for your number because thereâs no way he can continue talking to you like youâre strangers. Itâs hurting him in a way he canât handle, so without a second thought, he types Lacuna Inc. in his search bar again, this time clicking on the directions.
The Lacuna building is rather small and tucked away, but otherwise unremarkable. Chan would have never guessed this place had been the cause of such devastation. Heâs sure he probably needs an appointment or something, but itâd be impossible for him to wait however long that would take.Â
âCan I help you?â the receptionist asks, sparing him only a singular glance before she returns her attention back to the screen in front of her.
âI need to speak to Dr. Choi,â Chan says urgently, trying not to sound too demanding despite his desperation and anger.
âIâm sorry, Dr. Choi is busy at the moment,â she replies, uncaring, unphased. People likely come in like this all the time, all walking out with the same dejection.Â
âYou donât understand, this is important.â
âIâm sorry, again, the doctor is - â she stops herself, looking up again, and immediately recognizes Chan. He curses, pulling his hood tighter over his head, hoping she wouldnât make too much of a fuss. âYouâreâŚhold on. Let me see if Dr. Choi is available.â
Chan rolls his eyes, for once grateful his idol status granted him special treatment. He watches as a man in a white lab coat strolls around the corner so casually, as if he doesnât destroy for a living.
âYouâre the doctor?â Chan questions, taking his silence as confirmation. âI need you to undo an erasure. Y/N, remember her?â
Dr. Choi contemplates for a moment, then nods. It makes Chan sick to think you had already become just another number to him, another mind he had emptied for money in his pocket. This man had completely siphoned you of an entire fraction of your life and had already forgotten your name.Â
âI remember her, yes. And I remember thinking how broken she looked when she walked into our office,â Dr. Choi answers, and to Chan, it feels like both a taunt and a blow to the chest. He didnât need to be reminded of the pain he caused; he thought about it every single day already. âSee, thatâs what we do here. We fix people. We free them. So you understand why I canât undo that, yes?â
Chan narrows his eyes, lowering his voice as he leans against the receptionistâs desk in front of him. He refuses to accept that answer.Â
âCanât, or wonât? I know thereâs a way. There has to be. Whatâs your price? Name it, Iâll pay,â Chan challenges, growing more desperate now.Â
âThereâs not,â the doctor says flatly. âAnd even if there was, ask yourself why I would do it for you? How can you know thatâs what Y/N would want?âÂ
Now, Chan does not have a counter to that. He feels selfish suddenly, and he notices how Dr. Choi flashes him a half-smile. Comforting? Mocking? Chan isnât sure. He turns around and heads for the door, just a few feet away from exiting when Dr. Choi speaks up again.
âI canât undo it. But I can make you forget, too, if youâd like.â
Thereâs not even a second where Chan considers it.Â
âIâd rather live the rest of my life with this pain knowing what it felt like to be loved by her than never remember that feeling again,â Chan declines simply, and he can tell Dr. Choi is taken back by this response. When he goes to leave again, the doctor tells him to wait, that heâll be right back. Chan gets impatient when itâs been minutes and he still hasnât returned.Â
Right as Chan is prepared to leave despite Dr. Choiâs request, he comes around the corner with bags in hand, stuffed to the brim with objects threatening to fall out. Chanâs eyes go wide when the doctor hands them over to him and he begins piecing together whatâs inside. Your belongings. Precious memories made over your many years together, ones Chan held onto even stronger now.Â
âItâs only been a week, so we havenât destroyed her things yet,â Dr. Choi explains. Destroyed. âThis wonât make her remember everything, but maybe it can help.â
âWhy? Why help me now?â Chan asks, grateful but confused. He grips the bags tighter, firmer.Â
âIâve been doing this for years now. I could tell there was a part of Y/N that didnât want to forget. You might still be able to reach that part of her.âÂ
An inkling of hope, a prayer answered, a possibility, a chance. That was all Chan needed.
After Chan left, you found yourself revisiting the encounter for the rest of the day and realizing a lot of things didnât quite make sense. You knew Felix to be a member of Stray Kids, and you knew you were friends with the other members as well, but you couldnât piece together how. They were just there, and seemingly always had been. And when you learned Chan was a member too - the leader at that - you couldnât understand why he was the only one you had no idea even existed.
It was making you feel a bit crazy, and you figured that was probably the end of it anyway since Chan had essentially denied your number. You tried not to dwell on it further.
Until hours later, you finally had a text from him; he had been true to his word.
Itâs Chan :) sorry for leaving like that earlier. And for showing up so randomly hahaha
You let the message sit for a bit - twenty minutes before you canât help yourself, typing back your response.
hey!! itâs okay i totally didnât think you were never going to text me. JkâŚ
Somehow, short text messages back and forth transform into full-on conversations about everything and nothing. Talking to Chan felt completely natural, the conversation flowing easily. It makes you grow more skeptical about the situation; surely there was no way you didnât know the leader of your friendsâ group, and you werenât totally convinced Felix had just been messing with Chan in his texts. But you didnât have an explanation and couldnât come up with one, so you donât mention it any further.Â
On Chanâs end, however, he was holding himself back with every message sent. He had emptied the contents of the bags from Lacuna and recognized each item instantly. Flowers from your first date, a hoodie from your first time apart while he was on tour, a necklace from your first anniversary, a photograph from your first vacation. There were so many firsts youâd shared and Chan had never expected there to be any lasts.
The past six months had shown him all he had taken for granted and he knew he was being punished for it now. He had fucked up - more than once - but he swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you if you let him.
After a couple weeks of texting and a few FaceTime calls here and there, Chan asked you out on a real date, mentioning a quaint cafĂŠ he once frequented. When you asked him why he didnât go anymore, he told you it was because he no longer had time. Of course, he doesnât tell you that the truth is that he cannot step foot inside without being reminded of you. He tells you heâll pick you up, and youâre ready a whole hour beforehand, fixing your hair in the mirror over and over and finishing with the same result in the end.
When he finally arrives, he shows up at your door with a hand behind his back. Youâre shocked when he reveals a large bouquet of lilies, carnations, and babyâs breath. Theyâre your favorite flowers, but you hadnât told him that, youâre sure. One of the boys, maybe? Youâre also pretty sure you had never told any of them, either.Â
âWow,â you gasp under your breath. âMy favoritesâŚhowâd you know?â
âLucky guess,â he shrugs, and he knows you donât really believe him. âThe florist recommended them.âÂ
You seem to accept that for now, though youâre still eyeing him suspiciously while smiling.Â
âI guess they also have great taste. Thank you, Chan,â you press a swift kiss to his cheek, and he melts. He swears the skin tingles the whole way to the cafĂŠ, his body reacting to a touch that had once been so familiar.Â
Pulling into the cafĂŠ, youâre surprised yet again. When Chan had shared the name with you, you said you had never been before. Now, something about it felt so comforting and nostalgic, as if you were coming home from a long trip. You arenât sure if you should share this with Chan, afraid to weird him out on the first date; itâs when you sit down and immediately know what to order, as if you had been there countless times prior, that you decide to acknowledge it.Â
âI know this might sound strange,â you begin, cautiously. Chan looks at you expectantly, silently affirming that you could tell him whatever was on your mind. âI feel like a part of my life is justâŚmissing? Thereâs things that donât make sense, and things I donât remember yet feel so familiar.â
âThat doesnât sound strange. I donât really remember a lot of my childhood,â Chan replies, taking note of the way you look all around the cafĂŠ, as if trying to piece it together. He knows now he made the right decision in bringing you back here, deep within you know where you are.Â
âYeah but thatâs different, you know? It feels like thereâs just this brick wall keeping me from something important,â you explain. He doesnât say anything right away, and you laugh awkwardly. âSorry, am I ruining the first date?â
Chan shakes his head with a little too much vigor. âNo, never! Iâm happy you feel comfortable enough to tell me this.â
You exhale, relieved he didnât seem too freaked out yet. You werenât even sure why you were sharing this, especially now. Something told you you could trust him, that you could tell him anything and he wouldnât judge, just listen.Â
âBut you know what the craziest part is? I feel like I can break it down. Like thereâs a little crack getting bigger each day, and one day it might all make sense.â
Youâd never know how badly Chan needed to hear that, another fragment of hope in a situation Chan once considered hopeless. After that, you drop the subject, but those words echo in his head even after he closes his eyes to sleep that night. The rest of the date goes smoothly, perfectly, and when Chan walks you to your door, you find yourself standing there half-expecting him to kiss you. When he doesnât, you worry if you actually had scared him off with all the nonsense youâd shared. Chan wants to kiss you, more than anything he does. He wonât allow himself such a luxury until you break that wall down, together.Â
Instead, he grips your hand a little tighter, holds it a little longer. Your fingertips brush against his as you finally pull away and you immediately miss the feeling.Â
âGoodnight, Chan,â you smile.
âGoodnight, angel.âÂ
The next time you see Chan is a week later, when he says heâs getting frustrated with how things are going in the studio and he wants to see you to get his mind off of it. Heâs at your door faster than you think is possible, and he looks so happy when you open it that you suddenly feel shy.Â
âHi, gorgeous,â Chan grins, walking in when you step aside. Itâs the first time heâs been inside since the breakup and he feels the need to take everything in. It hadnât changed much, aside from any presence of him or your relationship being gone entirely.Â
âHi, Channie,â you giggle. You had begun calling him that nickname again, and he took it as a small win. When he heard it fall from your lips, he could pretend nothing had changed. âAre you hungry? I can cook you something if you are.â
Chan shuts the refrigerator door before you can fully open it, his arm keeping you trapped there. âItâs okay, baby. I donât have much time anyways. I just wanted to see you.â
You sigh, leaning into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you as if youâd slip away from him again if he let go. âFeels so nice,â you mumble into his hoodie.
âHmm?â
âBeing held like this. I havenât felt this sinceâŚâ you trail, an image of what you think is Chan flashing through your mind. Itâs gone as fast as it comes, and Chan pushes you back gently to look at you.Â
âSince?â he asks hopefully.
âItâs that wall again,â you groan. âI think I remember something and then itâs gone. Itâs weird though, I thought I saw you.â
You almost chuckle, but Chan doesnât laugh or even crack a smile. He stares at you, wordlessly, and your eyes widen as if something had clicked.Â
âWhy would I see you?â you question.Â
Chan is silent for another moment before he forces out a laugh, hoping his act would be believable enough. âI guess you just like me that much already,â he jokes. He thinks heâs failed when you fold your arms and stare at him, until you crack and roll your eyes.Â
âWhatever. Youâre the one who just had to see me.â
Internally, Chan is disappointed, thinking you had finally remembered something on your own. But he remains hopeful, especially since it was clear that there were still traces of him in your memory, trying to push through those small cracks each day. And itâs hard for him to be too disappointed when youâre in front of him, looking at him so sweetly. He would celebrate each small victory as they came.
âYeah, I did,â Chan agrees, picking you up and grinning wickedly when you squeal. He sets you down on the kitchen counter and you feel nervous under his gaze. âI felt like I was gonna go crazy if I was in that studio another second.â
He leans forward on his hands, so close you can feel his breath on your cheeks, and he doesnât miss the way you let out a quiet gasp at the proximity. Neither of you say a word at first, though the way your heart starts beating faster is unmistakable.Â
âDo you feel better now?â you whisper.
His eyes drop to your lips and heâs fighting every urge within him to kiss you, to feel your lips on his like he had longed for. Itâd been so long, he wasnât sure how heâd survived all this time without your kisses. âVery,â Chan answers, voice low with both desire and restraint.
When you close your eyes, he knows he has to stop. He steps back and you open them once more, confused and embarrassed, though not brave enough to ask. You clear your throat to ease the tension, pushing off the counter and thanking him when he grips your wrist to steady you. The air had become thicker, laced with the intensity of both your emotions, the clear craving and cryptic reservation.Â
âGood,â you say simply, keeping your distance now. âWhen do you need to go back?â
Chan reaches for his phone in his pocket, looking at the time as if it matters. âNow, actually. It was only a short break,â he lies, the guilt tugging at his heart when he notices your face fall. But he still wonât let himself kiss you until you remembered, and he knew if he stayed any longer he would break.Â
âAre you sure?â you question, hating that you sounded so desperate.Â
âSorry, angel,â Chan apologizes, finding it hard to leave now. âItâs just a busy time right now. But weâll see each other again soon, yeah?â
You nod and he smiles weakly, quick goodbyes exchanged before he is gone and youâre alone again. And once youâre sure he is far beyond your door, you slide to the ground and cry, releasing a flood of emotions you werenât even aware youâd been holding in. The inescapable feeling of forgetting something important had been weighing on you heavily, but that was only half your worries now. Youâd become so fond of Chan so fast; you were drawn to him in a way you could not explain nor resist, and his inconsistent actions made you uncertain if it was mutual.Â
It definitely did not help that sometimes he would look at you in such a way you felt penetrated your very soul, a way you cannot remember ever being looked at before. He would drink every inch of you with his eyes, but then he would withdraw as if he no longer could stomach the taste. And then youâd notice a flash of something else, something that looked like sorrow and guilt and torment all in one.
He calls you that night, apologizing again for the short visit, thanking you for giving him your time. You consider asking him about your uncertainties, but he sounds so exhausted you figure itâs not a good time. Instead, you spend an hour talking about your hometowns and the things you miss about them. You listen intently as he describes Sydney and when you tell him youâd like to visit, he promises heâll bring you one day. Â
âI canât wait,â you chirp, despite your half-asleep state at this point.
âMe either,â Chan sighs. His phone is on his chest, close enough where he can hear your light breathing on the call, arms behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. If he closes his eyes tight enough, he can see the Sydney sky full of stars, and he can see you next to him admiring them just the same.Â
He falls asleep that night with the image in mind, you and the stars lulling him to the most peaceful, complete sleep he had gotten in months.Â
Over the next weeks, you see Chan at random. There had been a couple more dates and a couple more of his stops at your apartment, but even if days passed without seeing each other, the texts and calls were consistent.Â
It had been almost two months since your first meeting, but there was still no label on your relationship and he hadn't touched you beyond quick cheek pecks, interlocked fingers, and tight embraces. There had been more than one moment where you swore there'd be something more, but Chan had retreated each time. You still hadnât asked about it, backing out every time the words danced on your tongue.Â
But now Chan had texted you and asked if you wanted to come to the dorm for the first time, even mentioning that Jeongin had stepped out for a bit. You figured, or maybe hoped, that he had said it for a reason and youâd finally have the answers youâd been waiting for.Â
You told him youâd see him shortly, spending a little more time than usual in the mirror before you left for the dorm. When you arrived, he greeted you the same as always - smiling from ear to ear and pulling you into his chest. He led you inside and you looked around, your first personal glimpse of his dorm beyond FaceTime calls.Â
âItâs nice,â you comment, unsure why you felt so nervous around him now. It might have been the way his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his waist, his hoodie slipping down his shoulder to expose the skin and white tank top. Or maybe it was the way his hand pressed firmly against your back, fingers slipping under the hem of your own sweatshirt as he offered you a seat on the couch.Â
âYeah, itâs definitely an upgrade from our first dorms,â Chan agrees. You can tell his mind is elsewhere, deep in thought, though he tries his best to pretend otherwise. He knows he is failing at it, but you arenât doing a great job at pretending not to notice, either. Each look you give him lingers with unspoken words and Chan wonders if heâd made a mistake inviting you over. He had been treading around you and the topic of your memory very lightly, but it was impossibly hard to do that now as you two sat in his dorm alone, your half-lidded eyes and slight pout ruining him. Closing his eyes didnât help, either; your perfume filled each breath he took, notes of vanilla and lavender blending deliciously. Your fingers traced lines and shapes against the exposed skin of his shoulder idly and the combination of it all was driving him crazy.
âYou probably donât get much alone time, huh?â you ask, voice just above a whisper.
Chan hopes you donât notice the way he swallows hard. âNo, not really.âÂ
âI canât imagine,â you sigh. âThat must be hard.â
Your fingers halt and you replace them with a flutter of kisses against his skin instead, satisfied when a low hum of approval leaves Chanâs lips. You pull away, settling back onto your knees and laughing when he throws his head back against the edge of the couch, groaning.Â
He sounds frustrated and needy all at once, and he knows he must appear that way too. He angles his head slightly to look at you, still leaned against the couch, and runs a hand over his face and through his hair when he sees the smirk playing on your lips.
âBabyâŚâ Chan trails, and you donât respond, completely still next to him as you wait for him to make the next move. The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a sigh, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap.
He doesnât let go, either, hands sweeping under your hoodie and resting on your lower back. You lean in closer, and when your lips are mere inches away, he pulls back a little - enough for you to notice - exhaling heavily as if youâd misread the entire situation.Â
Chan knows heâs hurt you when you immediately climb out of his lap and stand up, making small strides towards the door. Heâs about to apologize but you speak before he can open his mouth.
âOkay, I donât understand you, Chan. Am I doing something wrong? Itâs like I think you like me, but then other times you canât wait to get away from me,â you ramble. âIf you donât want me, I promise itâs fine. But communicate that to me, donât make me feel like you do.âÂ
His heart breaks hearing you second guess yourself and he doesnât know if he can hold everything in any longer.Â
âItâs not that, Y/N. I do like you, so much,â Chan pleads, but he knows he doesnât mean it. Heâs never just liked you; heâs always loved you, been so wholly in love with you it consumes him. His voice comes out strained, raw with emotion.Â
âSo what is it? Please, Iâd love to know why you look like youâre always holding something back.â
You expect Chan to give you a flawed explanation, one that does not tell the full story, but youâre taken back when he saunters towards you and pins you between the door and himself.
âBecause I am,â Chan snaps. âIâm holding myself back from telling you how much I love you. How much Iâve missed you and needed you in my life. Iâm holding myself back from kissing you, from touching you in all the ways I want to. It hurts that you donât remember, and it hurts that Iâm the cause of it. It takes everything in me to stop myself from doing anything until you do.â
He definitely did not intend to explain everything so abruptly and unplanned, but it had come out before he could give it a second thought. It had been such a challenge to pretend to not know you, to not know all your favorite things, your habits, your quirks. Even more challenging was masking his pain through it all. Your face is unreadable as you attempt to piece together his words. They mightâve seemed completely ridiculous if you hadnât already felt that nagging sense of forgetting since the day Chan showed up at your door.Â
âChanâŚâ you whisper, lost. âWhat are you talking about?â
You watch as he turns away from you and heads towards his bedroom. He comes back with something in his hand - a picture frame - and when he hands it to you, you scan it over and over wondering how it exists. In the frame is a photo of you and Chan, on a beach somewhere while youâre wrapped in his arms. Youâre certain itâs you, but you're also certain you and Chan had never gone to the beach together. You finally look up at him, tears forming in your eyes without realizing it. He knows youâre waiting for an explanation, begging for one, and he braces for the repercussions of it.Â
âWe were together for four years. This is from our first vacation, back in Sydney. I made the worst decision of my life and ended us because I thought you deserved better. It was stupid. I was stupid. You gave me so many chances and I kept fucking up because I didnât believe I could be the right person for you.â
You arenât even sure how to respond, your entire world turned upside down suddenly. The wall in your mind had been blocking you from Chan all this time. âWhy donât I remember any of this?â you question, fearful of the answer.
âThereâs a company called Lacuna. Theyâll erase someone from your memory and make it so itâs like they never existed to you,â he explains. âIâm sorry I didnât tell you sooner.â
The reveal makes you feel lightheaded for a moment, and you use the wall to steady yourself. Itâs hard to explain the medley of emotions that accompany such a confession. Thereâs confusion, relief, disbelief, sadness, anger, regret, and, beneath it all, a small sense of comfort. After two months of not understanding why things youâd never known felt so familiar, it finally made sense. But just because it made sense didnât mean you could accept it. As drawn as you were to Chan - now you knew why - and as happy as heâd made you, the truth was that he had hurt you in the past. He had left you heartbroken enough that you felt you had to rid him from your life and mind entirely. You werenât sure that was something you could come back from.
âFour yearsâŚand I donât remember any of them,â you say. âGod, Chan, I was hurting badly enough to erase four years of my memory with you?â
âI know, baby. I know. I fucked up,â Chan chokes out, and your heart breaks once more when you see he is crying. âIâm so sorry for hurting you, Iâve spent every second regretting it. Iâll spend the rest of them making it up to you.â
But you shake your head, turning away from him once more. âI need to go.â
He grips your arm as you head for the door, eyes pleading through his tears. âPlease, Y/N. I canât lose you. Not again.â
âPlease, Chan. Let me go.â
He isnât sure which way you mean it, and it terrifies him. He lets your arm drop to your side and watches as you leave, unsure if this time would be the last.Â
A day passes, then another, and before you know it, it has been a week since your world had unraveled - or at least, what you thought was your world. Youâd spent the last seven days trying to sort through your thoughts and ignoring the many calls and text messages from Chan. He was persistent and you felt bad, but you knew you werenât ready to talk to him.Â
Still, you opened and read each message, hanging onto every word he wrote. He had even sent you a few pictures of the two of you, ones he had never been able to delete, and you caught yourself smiling at them more than once. Youâd try to imagine the moments they were taken, the happiness, the love, and sometimes you could see a blurry version of the memory, fragmented in your mind. Even through the half-remembrances, you could sense how deeply and tenderly Chan loved you, and how much you loved him right back.Â
At the same time, you could not ignore that you were in this situation because those memories only told half the story. The other half was composed of false promises and arguments, all rooted in Chanâs belief that you deserved better. He knows now he should have just communicated this to you, because you would have soothed his concerns and worked through it together, as you always had. Instead, he let those beliefs taint his perception, and it caused him to fade away while you could only watch, helplessly.Â
Youâd decided to start thinking of it all as one, as the complete story of your relationship rather than divided by the good and the bad. Chan had hurt you, but he had also made you happier than anyone else, and at the end of it all youâd found your way back to him. There was a reason you had gravitated to him even after your memory was wiped; he was your person, and though a procedure could erase him from your memory, no procedure could remove him from the deeper part of you which longed for him.Â
At the very least, you felt you needed to hear him out. On the seventh day, you called him, and he answered on the second ring.
âHello?â he said, hesitantly. He almost didnât believe you were finally returning his calls.
âHi,â you breathed out. âAre you busy? I was wondering if we could talk.â
And he was busy, as usual, but he still promised he would be there within an hour. After 45 minutes, he showed up at your door, the first promise he made sure to keep. You noticed his dark undereyes, and you wondered if he had been having trouble sleeping like you. Still, he looked impossibly handsome standing before you, still the man you loved.Â
âHey,â you greet with a weak smile, trying to sound put together even if you didnât look it.Â
âHey,â he repeats, stepping inside. âIâm sorry, I wouldâve been here sooner. I was in the studio and I couldnât leave right away, but- â
âChan,â you interject. âItâs fine, you promised me within the hour. You made it, didnât you?â
He sighs, still wishing he could have dropped everything and rushed over the moment you called him. He had barely been able to escape when he did, and he was sure heâd get scolded for it later.
âHow have you been?â you ask, and he clicks his tongue, unsure if he should give you the condensed, prettier version or the wholehearted truth.Â
âUh, not the best, I guess. Felt like the breakup all over again.â
âYou havenât been sleeping much,â you say, a statement more than a question.Â
Chan shakes his head, and he knows youâre likely already worrying about him once more. He watches as you head into your small kitchen and come out with a mug in hand, setting it down in front of him on the coffee table. Jasmine tea that you had made for him just prior to his arrival.Â
âThank you,â Chan smiles, taking a sip right away. You sit across from him, deciding on your words carefully as he waits for you to speak. Heâs letting you guide the conversation, trying to prepare himself for whichever way it goes. If he has to let you go for good, heâs at least grateful for the chance to see you one more time and feel your warmth and kindness.Â
You had considered what to say in your head a million times, but now that the time had come and Chan was right in front of you, you couldnât find the words. But he just continues sipping his tea, letting the silence fill the room until youâre ready to talk.Â
âIâve had a lot of time to think this past week, and thereâs something that keeps bothering me,â you begin. âYou couldâve gone to Lacuna and erased our memories, too. Iâm sure that would have been easier on you. Why didnât you?â
It was a question youâd turned over many times. Chan would have been free of your memories; he would have forgotten you as you did him, and maybe one day you would both be in entirely different places, with entirely different people. Maybe you would have found each other again even as strangers.Â
âI did go to Lacuna - that same day I showed up to your apartment. I went there and I asked them to undo it, and they told me they couldnât. The doctor offered to erase my memories too,â Chan reveals.Â
âBut you said no,â you conclude.
Chan nods, tracing the rim of his mug absentmindedly. âI said no. Because remembering you was worth the pain.âÂ
Your eyes widen and then soften. He didnât think he had said anything particularly crazy, just a simple fact he believed wholeheartedly. Even now, if you were to ask him to leave and never contact you again, heâs sure he would still stand by his decision. He could live with knowing at one point he had been loved by you, the luckiest heâd ever been.
âSo the flowersâŚand the cafĂŠâŚâ you trail.
âOur first date. Same cafĂŠ, same flowers, your favorites,â Chan finishes. âI tried to recreate the memories hoping theyâd come back to you.â
âYou wanted me to remember, even if it meant remembering the bad?â
âEspecially if it meant that. Just so I could prove to you that I could be better, and I would never, ever hurt you like that again.âÂ
He notices your eyes glossing over and, this time, he rushes to your side and pulls you into him. Tears begin to soak his hoodie and you apologize, though he just shushes you. He lets you cry, and after a few minutes, he speaks again.
âIâm so sorry for everything. I thought I was doing what was best for you, and in the process I put us both through hell. Iâll tell you how sorry I am every day,â Chan proclaimed.Â
âI believe you, Chan,â you assured. His eyes light up as if heâd remembered something, and he reaches into his pocket, bringing out a beautiful necklace you hadnât seen in a while.
âMy necklace,â you gasp, and he grins, nodding excitedly.
âYes, baby!â Chan exclaims. âYour necklace. Do you remember it?â
It was another fuzzy image in your brain, but you could vaguely recall Chan slipping it around your neck on your first anniversary. He shifts your hair to one shoulder and clasps the necklace around your neck, returning it to the spot it belonged all along.Â
âA little,â you say. âHow did you get this?â
âWhen I went to Lacuna, they gave me your stuff. Iâve kept it all in my closet hoping I could return it to you one day,â Chan admits, watching as you toy with the pendant.Â
You still had your uncertainties, worries that youâd experience heartbreak all over again with Chan, but that was also a risk of loving someone as intensely as you both did. All you could do was place your trust in him and take each day as it came. Because Chan had shown you that he was willing to wait for you or he was willing to let you go, if that was what you needed. He would help you remember, or he would let you forget, whichever you wanted.Â
âIâm sorry for putting you through that,â you apologize.
âY/N, please donât apologize for doing what you felt you needed. Iâll be here to help you remember,â Chan promises. âAnd if you never remember everything again, thatâs okay too. Weâll make so many more memories, the forgotten ones will hardly matter.â
His promises had made your heart beat a little faster, and youâre sure he can feel it with how close your chest is to his. If he can, he doesnât say anything. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and this time, he doesnât stop himself.
âCan I kiss you?â he asks, already leaning in closer. His lips hover over yours, awaiting your permission, begging for it.
You nod, and that was all it took. He closes the final inches of space, his lips finally, finally meeting yours. Your arms snake up to wrap around his neck, trying to bring him even closer, and he smiles against your lips. Youâre both eager and blissful, appreciating every second of the kiss youâd been deprived of for far too long. His own arms wrap around your waist, lips and limbs tangling together on the couch. Chan pulls away, reluctantly, and tucks his head into your shoulder, placing light kisses against your collarbone.Â
âI love you,â you whisper, and Chan isnât sure if heâd heard you correct at first.Â
âSay it again,â he pleads, and you do. Itâd been so long since he had heard it and at one point, he was sure he would never hear it again. Hearing it now felt like he had entered his own personal heaven, an oasis for just the two of you.Â
âI love you. Iâm so in love with you,â Chan murmurs. âIâll make sure you never forget that.â
And that was a promise Chan couldnât wait to keep.Â
i have never sobbed over such a fanfiction like this before. absolute masterpiece. give me 14 of em rn.
EVERYONE TUMBLR GOT BANNED IN MY COUNTRY I JUMPED OVER THE BORDERS PLS BE QUIET FOR ME
itâs making me so sad seeing the average like count for mike wheeler posts go down since the show endedđđlike no donât forget about my son??

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Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesnât gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you donât, love if you do!
stay with me
daryl x fem!reader
wc: 2k
warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/ptsd
a/n: absolutely love me some good fluffy angst, thank u nonyâ¤ď¸ i hope you like it:))
As much as you tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable situations runs would put you in, the blood-chilling reality of it never got any easier. No amount of mental prep could stove off the sounds and smell of the dead, nipping ravenously for a taste of your sweet living flesh.
Of course, over time youâd learned just to shut your brain off and fight. Fight as hard and tirelessly as you possibly could, but mistakes could still be made. Shit happened, whether it was your fault or not.
Hours earlier, a group of you went a few miles east of the prison; Daryl having spotted a little strip a few days prior, not too overrun that he thought might be loot-worthy.
It was a simple run really. Keep close, hit a few shops in and out, then head back home. Thatâs it. Follow the plan, get as much useful shit as possible, and get the fuck out of there. You guys had it down to a science at this point, runs becoming so second nature it was almost too easy to let your guard down nowadays.
âHey D, Iâm gonna go check the storage room back here. Might have something we could use,â you voiced to your partner a few isles down, still keeping your tone as low as you could.
âGimme a sec, I'll come help ya,â you heard him say but you kept moving. You two had already cleared the main area, you could handle a walker or two if there actually was any behind the small door. You figured you wouldâve heard something by now, some sort of banging or grumbling to announce their presence, but there was nothing, the coast presumably clear.
You should have waited.
Crossing the few miscellaneous isles you reached the back door, giving it a small rattle. Still complete silence, not even the faintest groan or shuffle. Knife at the ready, hand clamped over the cool metal handle, your heart rate picked up a notch as it always did before opening into the unknown.
âYou got this, come on,â you muttered to yourself, before throwing the door open, bracing for attack. The door flew wide, only to reveal a dark, empty room. Squinting through the dimness, a few high, dusty shelves were visible, stocked with all sorts of canned goods. Fuck yea, that was certainly useful.
âD! Come look what I found!â you rasped, dropping your knife into its holster and shuffling in. You unslung your backpack from your shoulders, digging through it for a flashlight excitedly. Itâs been so long since youâve found this much canned food, surely enough to keep the group well stocked through most of the winter that was approaching. A loud creak from the left caught your attention as you sped forward. Hands finally finding purchase on the flashlight, you flicked it on, scanning across the room to the sound.
Dust caked the air, making the already dark room fuzzier and your eyes took a minute to adjust. You took a few smaller steps closer, peering wearily ahead and then you saw them.
Beady, soulless eyes staring back. A whole rickety staircase of them, heads turning one by one to the light source in your hand.
âOh fuck.â
There had to be at least 10 of them that you could see, the top of the stairs pitch black and unrevealing.
Your feet stumbled backward, hands desperately reaching for the knife at your hip, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolled and caught under your heels, knocking you on your ass as the corpses advanced, jaws snapping.
These were those moments. When you felt your heart in your throat, brain stuttering on action. Time moved so slowly that the fragments were almost visible and every thought screaming in your mind sounded like gibberish. You know you should move, is that what it was screaming?
The first one got to you, grabbing your leg trying to crawl up and finally, you were kicking, scrambling, grabbing onto the knife and slamming it into its skull with a loud squelch.
âDaryl!â you yelled. You needed him. Now.
3 more dropped before you, slinking towards you and you were trapped â the first corpse lying heavily over your midsection.
âYea, yea girl. I heard ya,â you heard him respond, still sounding a few isles away.
No no no, this was not how you were gonna die. Not today. Please.
You kept stabbing, each kill taking everything out of you as you struggled against the body weight atop you. They just kept piling, you could hardly feel your legs anymore, the circulation surely cut off below your knees. And more were coming, a never-ending stream of hunger.
Another one landed before you and you had just enough time to catch its shoulders before it was inches away, snapping at your neck. Your arms burned, tears welling in your eyes as you realized this could be it. You didnât know how much longer you had before they gave out and rotting teeth would be sinking into you, tearing you apart.
The walker kept snapping, so close you could see the layers of rotting flesh peeling from its face. You had been close to walkers before, had stared into the lifeless eyes too many times to count, but this was different. More were coming and the face in the reflection of its eyes was barely recognizable â terror painting every feature youâd known on you distorted.
The bones cracked in its left shoulder and it dislocated, dropping down to centimeters from your skin.
âNo,â you sobbed quietly. Daryl wasnât going to make it, you knew that. He was going to walk in and find his girl as dinner. You hoped he just booked it, and didnât waste his time trying to save what would long be gone.
The walker fell limp in your arms and you flinched harshly, expecting excruciating pain to follow as it bit. But there was nothing.
âThe fuck are ya doing! Get up!â
Daryl was suddenly right before you, ripping each body off your aching limbs and you were now acutely aware of the larger pile by the stairs, all with arrows and stab wounds littering their heads. When had he gotten in here?
You didnât hear his words, adrenaline coursing so loudly through your system that all that could be heard was a loud, shrill ringing.
âGoddammit girl, wake the fuck up!â he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders in an attempt to lift you. Your brain caught up then, as he harshly placed you on your feet. Walkers scattered the floor around you, and a grumble at the stairs announced it wasnât the last of them.
Daryl reached down, grabbed your dropped items, and shoved them in your dumbstruck hands. âWeâre gettinâ outta here, now,â he seethed, dragging you along and slamming the door behind you both, crossing the lines of isles quickly to the front entrance.
The fresh, afternoon air hit your nose in a gust and the last of the fuzz chipped itself from your senses slowly.
âHope yer fuckin happy with yerself. Canât ever listen to a goddamn wordâa mine, can ya?â Daryl quipped beside you. His eyes were slits as they dug into you, so fuming you could see the heat radiating off his skin in the early autumn brisk.
He was angry at you, you knew that. But you also knew it was because he was scared. Hell, you were fucking terrified to stone back there, but if you wanted to calm him down at all, you knew you had to act unfazed.
Gathering any remaining wits about you, you took a deep inhale, âIâm sorry, I wasnât expecting them.â
He didnât respond, wouldnât even look at you anymore as he began to pace the graveled parking lot.
âHey donât stress Dar. Iâm alive, weâre good,â you attempted to soothe further.
âDonât stress? Yer a real piece a work, yâknow that! Always fucking up everyoneâs shit cause ya donât wanna use yer brain, huh?â
Well, that did not go as you expected.
The rest of the group had started shuffling out of the other shops around you, making their way to the vehicles.
âJeez, you need to lighten up,â you brushed past him, head high. You couldnât let his words affect you, not with all the other emotions coursing as well. You didnât understand what he meant. You had never put anyone other than yourself in danger, how could you possibly be fucking over everyone else?
You decided to wait in the car as the rest of the group went back for the cans, tag-teaming whatever walkers remained. The loot had decently filled both trunks and everyone was happy to call it a day and head back.
Your eyes followed Daryl as he jumped into your car, eyes trained on the windshield, âYa alright at least?â he muttered glancing at you briefly while shifting the car into drive.
âIâm good, you big grump,â you huffed with a tight-lipped smile. âThat much food will last us a long time. I believe a thank you is in order, donât you think?â
You were not good. Not at all, but there was no reason to worry him anymore, putting him through enough today as it was. Your hands were shoved tightly under your thighs, so he couldnât see the tremors racking through you.
You had smelt death so many times it didnât bother you much anymore. Today you had smelt your own. Saw your life in that walker's eyes, mere seconds away from demolition. It was safe to say you were shaken to your core.
The journey back was silent, both not in the mood to chat for very different reasons, and the whole time you were trying to keep each breath of yours steady.
You helped unload as much as you could, before slipping away discreetly to your cell. You didnât want anyone to see you like this, you felt kind of pathetic honestly. This was life now, it had been this way for a long time now, you shouldnât be so shaken up as you were but the terror just wouldnât leave your body.
Panic washed over you once again as your eyes hit your dim cell. Your mind was quickly slipping back into those last moments, the darkness and dust all too similar. The fear you had felt coating your veins icily and your breaths started to become agitated. There was nowhere else to go though. If you left the cell someone would see you.
Subconsciously, you backed yourself into the corner of the room, crumbling down to the floor with your head in your hands. Deep down you hoped your hyperventilating would knock you out. You didnât want to think anymore â see it anymore. Tears were burning the back of your throat as you held down sobs, feeling the walker's hands and weight atop of you all again.
A small yelp escaped you when the hands became real. Pressure on your shoulders and waist and your head snapped up from its hiding spot, reflexes already prepared to fight whatever presence was with you.
âItâs jusâ me, hey, hey,â you heard through your panic, his blue eyes just recognizable through blurry tears. âSâokay, relax.â
You couldnât calm down this time, vicious sobs finally breaking their way out of your frame. Running was your first thought; you didnât want anyone to see you like this, Daryl or not. Emotions were never a strong suit of yours and would always find yourself dealing with them in private, away from sympathetic words and pitying eyes. But Daryl was never like that, he drew you in and held you tight, uttering no more words other than the ones to confirm it was him. If you asked him to say more, he would, but he knew this was what you needed. Someone to ground you back onto Earth and out of whatever images tormented your head.
So thatâs what he did. Held you for hours as your body expelled all its terror and lingering adrenaline. Heâd give quiet coos through each wave of shakes, grabbing a blanket to warm you through the cold sweats. And finally, once the fear faded to exhaustion, he scooped you up off the stiff concrete and into your soft cot.
âStay with me?â you rasped, throat parched and raw from crying.
It wasnât a second thought for him. He was never truly angry with you, and he knew you knew that. He needed you safe with him.
âAlways.â
So, I've been thinking about something, guys. Well, there are many things that we rarely (or even never) mention in our stories because they're not just all fluff and sunshine, and honestly, I think we should, because they can bring a bit of casuality to the whole post-apocalyptic reality
â°âŞź Masterlist
Here's my list, which I'm definitely going to use a lot from now on:
â´ shaving, and not just legs and armpits, but also intimate parts (and maybe a little embarrassment about not shaving, especially during sex)
â´ taking potty while camping in the middle of the woods without any privacy and on top of thatwith walkers lurking somewhere nearby (imagine the fear of having to go to your thing and the terror of possibly being bitten while doing so)
â´ fear of pregnancy if a guy cums inside, because let's be honest, getting pregnant and giving birth during a zombie apocalypse is freaking terrifying
â´ body odor after days (or even weeks) spent in the woods without the possibility of a proper shower (and don't even mention oral sex, because it would be impossible without gagging or vomiting)
â´ losing too much weight due to poor food rations, leading to weakness, tremors, and protruding bones
â´ sexism, because you can't convince me that there wouldn't be men who would claim that women should only cook and clean, leaving the killing and hunting to men
â´ the possibility of breeding camps or something similar being set up to repopulate the Earth and establish a new order (an idea probably conceived by sick dickheads who see women as walking incubators, The Handmaid's Tale, everyone)
â´ a sense of ugliness in this whole new world where showers and self-care are a luxury, and you won't convince me that a person who is obsessed with their appearance won't have their heart broken, especially at the beginning of the outbreak
â´ melancholy during birthdays and Christmas, because the world we knew is over and will never return, and the people we knew are dead
â´ addictions, because cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, pornography, etc. are not readily available now, so addicts would have a hell of a time (and the people around them would have an even harder time)
Taglist:
@theskinniestjackson-denny @stephtuckerwriting @bl4ckt00thgr1n @olive-gardens @gothicxbarbie @slutforgrey @chansmai @bat-revival @oh-to-be-a-girl @marylimlp @sunshine-girl013 @gwenlinthegremlin
If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3
u forgot getting ur period ... having to find HARD for pads everywhere while having the worst cramps âšď¸ once a month and a full week btw!




