"Hello?"

The cat's ears twitch.

Then, with all the dignity of a tiny king inspecting his territory, it stands up, walks directly over your shoes, and begins rubbing against your ankles.

"Oh," you say, immediately folding. "You're friendly."

The cat lets out a short meow.

It sounds less like a greeting and more like a sigh.

You crouch down carefully, setting your groceries on the floor, and reach out a hand. The cat sniffs your fingers before accepting a scratch beneath its chin, closing its eyes briefly as if granting approval.

"Do you belong to someone?"

The cat opens one eye. You swear it looks offended. Before you can investigate further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway. A moment later, a man rounds the corner.

A very tall man.

A very tall man who looks as though he's been running through the entire apartment complex for the last twenty minutes. His dark hair is sticking up in several directions, his hoodie is half-zipped, and he looks simultaneously exhausted and relieved when he spots the cat.

"There you are!"

The cat immediately walks behind your legs. The man stops. The cat stops. You glance between them. The cat presses itself against your ankle. The man sighs. The cat somehow manages to look smug.

"...I'm guessing this is yours?"

"Unfortunately," the man says.

The cat meows loudly.

"See? This is exactly what I mean."

You laugh before you can stop yourself. The stranger's expression brightens instantly, as if he hadn't expected anyone to find this situation amusing.

"I'm Jun," he says, holding out a hand. "From 8B."

You shake it. The cat bites his shoelace. Jun doesn't even look surprised.

"I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you."

The cat bites harder. Jun pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Please stop embarrassing me in front of my neighbours."

The cat releases the shoelace only to immediately sit on top of it. You laugh again. Jun looks delighted by this reaction. The cat looks annoyed by both of you. 

And that, unfortunately, is how it starts.

—

Three days later, the cat escapes again. 

Five days after that, it somehow ends up outside the building entirely.

A week later, you discover it sitting inside the communal laundry room watching a washing machine spin with the concentration of someone studying advanced physics.

At this point, you and Jun have exchanged numbers entirely for cat-related emergencies. Your conversation history consists primarily of photographs. Most of them are from Jun. Most of them are evidence.

[JUN] Found him inside my kitchen cabinet.

[JUN] *image attached*

[JUN] How did he get there?

[YOU] You own the cabinet.

[JUN] That's not the point.

[JUN] I was using that cabinet.

[YOU] Clearly he disagreed.

The responses usually arrive immediately. Jun, you discover, texts exactly the way he talks—enthusiastically, slightly randomly, and with enough exclamation marks to suggest every thought is exciting. 

You also discover that he is alarmingly easy to like.

Not because he's famous, although you'd recognised him eventually after spending an embarrassing amount of time wondering why he looked familiar. Not because he's handsome, although that certainly doesn't help.

Mostly it's because Jun is kind. He remembers things. The name of your favourite convenience store drink. The fact that you hate mornings. The bakery near your office that sells those strawberry pastries you mentioned once in passing.

Small details seem to stick in his mind as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately, he applies this same energy to the cat. The cat, meanwhile, seems determined to make his life difficult.

—

You are in the middle of watering your plants when your phone rings. 

Jun. 

You answer immediately.

"Hello?"

"He's gone."

You glance at the clock. It's eight in the morning.

"Good morning to you too."

"He's gone."

"Have you checked under the couch?"

"Yes."

"The bed?"

"Yes."

"The cabinets?"

"Every cabinet."

You hear rustling.

Then silence.

Then a muffled curse.

"Jun?"

"He was in the laundry basket."

You pause.

"...Was?"

"He escaped again."

You close your eyes.

"How does one cat keep defeating you?"

"That's what I've been asking."

The answer arrives ten minutes later when a scratching sound comes from outside your apartment. You open the door. The cat strolls inside. Not into the hallway. Into your apartment. Like it lives there.

"You have got to be kidding me.”

The cat jumps onto your sofa. You call Jun.

"I found him."

The groan that follows sounds deeply personal.

—

The cat's official name is Dumpling. The cat hates this name. You know this because every time Jun says it, the animal visibly reacts. Not dramatically. Just enough. A flick of an ear. A narrowed stare. An expression that somehow communicates disappointment.

"You know," you tell Jun one evening, "I don't think he likes his name."

Jun looks scandalised.

"Dumpling is adorable."

The cat turns its back on him. You point.

"See?"

"He's being dramatic."

The cat knocks a pen off the coffee table. Jun gasps. The cat knocks another one down.

"I raised you better than this."

You nearly choke on your tea.

"You've had him for three weeks."

"That's enough time to learn manners."

The cat jumps onto the back of the sofa. Jun sighs heavily.

"Maybe he's entering his rebellious phase."

"Maybe?"

The cat stares directly at him while deliberately pushing a coaster off the edge of the table.

The silence that follows is incredible.

"Okay," Jun admits. "Maybe definitely."

—

You spend more time in Jun's apartment than you mean to. It starts innocently enough. A movie recommendation. An extra portion of dinner.

Help assembling a cat tree after Jun accidentally orders one with instructions written entirely in a language neither of you can read.

The cat supervises from the couch. Correction. The cat judges from the couch.

"Pass me the screwdriver?"

You hand it over. Jun smiles. The expression catches you off guard every single time.

Warm. Open. The kind of smile that makes a room feel brighter.

You look away before he notices.

Across the room, the cat watches the interaction with unsettling focus.

"Why is he staring at us like that?" you ask.

Jun glances over.

"Dumpling?"

The cat doesn't move.

"Yeah."

"He always does that."

"That's concerning."

"I think he's just curious."

The cat continues staring. You are unconvinced.

—

The strange thing is that the cat almost feels human sometimes. Not in a creepy way.

Just...

Odd.

He understands too much. Not commands. Not tricks. Conversations.

You mention a specific toy once and find him playing with it the next day.

You complain about a difficult coworker and the cat appears beside you with suspiciously good timing.

Sometimes it feels as though he's listening. Actually listening. When you mention this to Jun, he beams.

"I know."

"That wasn't supposed to be a positive observation."

"He's smart."

The cat puffs up proudly. You point immediately.

"See? That. Why did he react to that?"

Jun follows your gaze. The cat instantly stops. The three of you stare at one another.

No one says anything.

Eventually Jun shrugs.

"Dumpling is just special."

The cat looks pleased. You look concerned.

—

The moment everything changes happens on a rainy Thursday evening. You aren't supposed to be at Jun's apartment. That's important.

You're only there because he'd left his umbrella at your place after movie night and you happened to notice the weather getting worse.

The walk takes less than thirty seconds. You knock once. No answer. You knock again.

Still nothing.

Maybe he's showering. You try the handle. The door opens.

"Jun?"

You step inside. The apartment is quiet. Rain taps softly against the windows. Somewhere deeper inside, you hear movement.

"Jun?"

A voice answers. But not Jun's.

"Wait."

You freeze. The voice sounds unfamiliar. Young. Panicked.

"Don't come in here."

Your stomach drops.

There is a stranger in Jun's apartment. You move toward the kitchen anyway. The stranger appears around the corner at exactly the same moment.

Orange hair. Wide eyes. An oversized hoodie. For one impossible second, they stare at you. Then their expression shifts from surprise to absolute horror.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"What?"

The stranger points at you.

"No, no, no, no—"

You blink. The stranger vanishes. Not runs. Not ducks away. Vanishes.

A flash of movement. A burst of orange and white. And suddenly, sitting in the exact same spot on the kitchen floor—

—is Dumpling.

The cat stares up at you. You stare down at the cat. Neither of you moves. Then, very slowly, the cat closes its eyes.

As if already accepting its fate. And somewhere in the distance, you hear Jun's voice calling from the hallway outside.

"Y/N? Are you here?"

—

The first thing you do is scream. Not loudly, and definitely not dramatically (it was only a cutesy scream, you swear.)

More like the sound a person makes when their brain has completely stopped functioning and is desperately trying to restart itself.

The cat flinches. You point. The cat stares back. You continue pointing. The cat continues staring.

The front door opens.

"Y/N?" Jun calls. "Sorry, I had to grab a package from downstairs—"

The cat launches itself across the kitchen floor. You have never seen something move that fast in your life. One moment it's sitting in front of you. The next it has disappeared beneath the dining table. Jun rounds the corner.

"There you are."

You whip around. Jun pauses.

"You look pale."

You look at Jun. Then the table. Then Jun again. The cat remains hidden. You wonder if this is what having a breakdown feels like.

"Y/N?"

The cat's tail appears briefly from beneath a chair. Then disappears. 

You inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.

"Everything okay?" Jun asks.

No. Nothing is okay. Five minutes ago you watched his cat become a person.

"Yeah."

Jun blinks.

"Really?"

"No."

"Okay."

You appreciate the honesty.

Unfortunately, you cannot explain the situation because explaining the situation would involve saying, Jun, your cat is a human being and I watched him transform in your kitchen.

You are fairly certain that conversation would not go well.

"Work stress," you blurt.

Jun immediately looks concerned. The guilt nearly kills you.

"Do you want tea?"

You almost laugh. Because of course that's his solution. Tea. The world could literally be ending and Jun would probably offer snacks.

"Sure."

While Jun busies himself making tea, you slowly lower your gaze toward the underside of the table. Two golden eyes stare back. The cat has the audacity to look embarrassed.

—

You leave twenty minutes later. Not because you want to. Because if you remain in that apartment for one more second, you might accidentally start asking questions.

Such as:

Why is your cat human?

Why was your cat wearing clothes?

Where did the clothes come from?

And perhaps most importantly:

Why did your cat seem more worried about being caught than transforming itself?

The answers arrive at eleven thirty-seven that night.

In the form of scratching.

You stare at your apartment door. The scratching continues. Three scratches. Pause. Three more scratches. Pause. Three more.

"That is either a cat or a serial killer."

The scratching grows more impatient. You open the door. The cat immediately walks inside. Not unusual.

What is unusual is the folded piece of paper tied around his collar. You stare. The cat stares.

Slowly, you remove the note. There are four words written on it. WE NEED TO TALK. You look down. The cat nods. Actually nods. You close the door.

"This is somehow worse."

—

Half an hour later, you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor while the cat sits opposite you.

Neither of you speaks. Mostly because one of you physically cannot. The cat seems annoyed by this limitation. Eventually he hops onto your coffee table. A notebook slides toward you. You blink. The cat taps it with one paw. Then taps the pen.

"Oh."

The cat taps again.

"Right."

You open the notebook. The cat immediately begins writing.

His handwriting is surprisingly neat. 

YOU SAW THAT.

You stare.

"Unfortunately."

The cat writes again.

I CAN EXPLAIN.

"I would love that."

A pause. The cat writes:

IT SOUNDS STUPID.

"Try me."

Another pause. Then:

I AM CURSED.

You stare at the words. The words stare back. The cat waits.

"...That's it?"

The cat narrows his eyes.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S IT.

"I mean," you say carefully, "if someone had asked me yesterday what explanation I'd expect for a human turning into a cat, curse would've been pretty high on the list."

The cat seems genuinely offended by this.

—

The explanation takes nearly an hour. Partly because writing everything down is slow. Partly because the cat keeps stopping to glare whenever you laugh.

Apparently, several years ago, he had been travelling through a small village and accidentally destroyed an elderly woman's herb garden. Not maliciously. Just catastrophically. 

There had been a bicycle. A slope. A misunderstanding. Several chickens.

The story somehow becomes less believable every time he tells it. The woman, who may or may not have been a witch, cursed him. Since then, he has spent most of his life stuck as a cat.

Sometimes he transforms back. Sometimes he doesn't. Strong emotions tend to trigger changes. Unfortunately, emotions happen constantly.

Which means so do transformations.

"And Jun doesn't know?"

The cat writes:

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

"Why?"

The answer appears immediately.

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY.

You consider this. Fair point.

"How long have you been living with him?"

THREE MONTHS.

"Three months?"

The cat nods.

"He just found you?"

Another nod.

"That's insane."

The cat points at himself. Exactly.

—

The following week becomes a disaster. Not because of the curse. Because now you're involved.

Monday afternoon, Jun texts you.

[JUN] Question.

[YOU] That depends.

[JUN] Can cats learn how to unlock doors?

You immediately sit upright.

[YOU] Why?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

[JUN] No reason.

[JUN] Hypothetically.

[JUN] If my cat opened the bathroom door while I was showering.

[YOU] HE WHAT.

[JUN] Hypothetically.

You receive a photograph. The cat is sitting outside a bathroom door. Looking entirely too pleased with himself. You put your phone down.

The cat, currently sleeping on your couch, opens one eye.

"You need to stop doing crimes."

The cat closes his eye again.

—

Tuesday is worse. You stop by Jun's apartment after work. The door opens.

Jun smiles immediately when he sees you. Something warm settles in your chest.

Dangerous. Very dangerous.

"Perfect timing."

You blink.

"Why?"

"Dumpling's hiding."

You look down. The cat, currently in human form, is standing behind the kitchen counter.

His eyes widen. Your eyes widen. Neither of you says anything.

Jun continues.

"I haven't seen him for an hour."

The human-cat begins gesturing wildly.

"That's weird."

"Right?"

The gestures become increasingly desperate.

You cough. Loudly.

The human-cat dives beneath the counter. A second later, an orange tail appears. Jun notices instantly.

"There he is!"

The cat emerges. Now fully feline. You do not ask questions. For the sake of your own sanity.

—

The problem is that keeping secrets creates opportunities for friendship. You hadn't intended to become friends with the cat.

It simply happened. Mostly because he's surprisingly easy to talk to. When he isn't stealing food.

Or causing problems. Or nearly exposing supernatural secrets.

One evening he appears on your windowsill carrying another notebook. You let him inside.

"What happened now?"

The notebook opens.

JUN BOUGHT ME A SWEATER.

You laugh.

The cat looks deeply unhappy.

HE HAS ONE TOO.

"That's adorable."

I LOOK RIDICULOUS.

"You look adorable."

The cat glares. You continue smiling. The cat eventually writes:

YOU ARE BOTH IMPOSSIBLE.

—

The truly unfortunate part is that the more time you spend around Jun, the harder everything becomes.

Because he's thoughtful. Because he's funny. Because he still texts you photographs every day. Because he always seems happy to see you.

And because your life has somehow become intertwined with his in ways neither of you planned.

Movie nights become routine. Shared dinners become normal. Sometimes you'll realise hours have passed without either of you noticing.

The cat notices. Unfortunately.

One evening you're sitting on Jun's couch watching a movie when his head slowly drops onto your shoulder.

At first you think it's accidental. Then you hear his breathing deepen. He's asleep.

Your entire body freezes. The room suddenly feels very warm. Across from you, the cat sits on the armchair.

Watching. Judging. Witnessing.

You glare. The cat stares back.

Slowly, he picks up a notebook from the side table. Writes something. Then turns it around.

OH YOU HAVE IT BADDDD.

You nearly throw a cushion at him. The cat looks delighted.

—

Later that night, after you've returned home and the apartment has fallen quiet, a folded note appears beneath your door.

You already know who it's from. The handwriting confirms it.

THANK YOU.

You smile despite yourself. Then flip the paper over. Additional text has been squeezed into the corner.

PLEASE DON'T TELL JUN.

You shake your head. A second line sits beneath it.

HE WOULD WORRY.

And somehow, more than the magic, more than the curse, more than the impossible situation you've found yourself trapped in—

That is the thing that makes your chest ache.

Because he's right. Jun would worry. About everyone. About everything. And maybe that's exactly why neither of you can bring yourselves to tell him. Not yet. Not when he smiles every time he sees the two of you waiting for him at home.

—

The first member to meet the cat is Soonyoung. This is unfortunate for everyone involved. 

Especially the cat.

"HE LOOKS LIKE A TIGER."

The declaration arrives less than ten seconds after Soonyoung steps through Jun's front door. The cat, currently loafing on the sofa, visibly flinches.

You witness it. The cat witnesses it. Unfortunately, Soonyoung witnesses absolutely nothing. Jun lights up immediately.

"I told you he was cute."

"Cute?" Soonyoung repeats. "Jun, this isn't a cat."

The cat narrows his eyes. Soonyoung points dramatically.

"That is a tiger trapped in a smaller body."

The cat turns away.

"You hurt his feelings," you say.

"I spoke the truth."

"You compared him to a completely different species."

"So?" Soonyoung asks. "I'd be honoured."

The cat appears unconvinced.

—

The second problem is that Jun has started inviting you over so frequently that you've stopped knocking. At some point during the past month, the line between neighbour and friend had quietly disappeared.

You have your own mug in his kitchen. You know where he keeps spare blankets. You can navigate his apartment in the dark. Nobody ever discusses it.

It simply becomes normal. Dangerously normal.

The cat notices immediately. You know this because every time you arrive, he watches the interaction with increasingly concerning levels of interest.

Not judgment. Observation. Like he's conducting research. Like he's documenting evidence.

One afternoon, you arrive carrying takeout and find the cat sitting on the kitchen counter beside a notebook. The notebook is open. Several pages are filled with writing.

The moment he notices you looking, he slams it shut. You narrow your eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

"What are you writing?"

NOTHING.

"You're literally writing."

NOTHING IMPORTANT.

"You realise I can read."

The cat hugs the notebook against his chest.

You immediately become suspicious.

—

The situation worsens when the rest of Jun's friends begin appearing. Joshua arrives first. Then Minghao. Then Seungkwan. 

The apartment somehow doubles in volume.

You are halfway through helping Jun prepare snacks when voices spill in from the hallway.

"Oh, Y/N's already here."

Your stomach performs an embarrassing little flip. Not because of Seungkwan. Because of the way Jun smiles. 

Bright. Immediate. Unconsciously happy.

"Yeah," Jun says. "They got here earlier."

The cat, perched on the back of the sofa, immediately looks between both of you. You pretend not to notice. The cat continues noticing.

—

The evening begins normally.

Or as normally as possible when several members are crammed into one apartment arguing over board game rules.

The problems start approximately thirty minutes later. Specifically when Seungkwan begins paying attention.

"Wait."

Everybody ignores him.

"Wait."

Joshua continues setting up the game.

"Wait."

Minghao sighs.

"What?"

Seungkwan points.

At the cat. The cat freezes.

"That cat is weird."

The room falls silent. You nearly choke. The cat stops breathing. Jun blinks.

"Dumpling?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

Seungkwan squints. The cat squints back.

"He's looking at me."

Jun laughs.

"That's what cats do."

"No."

Seungkwan points harder.

"He's looking at me like he knows my tax information."

The cat immediately looks away. You cover your mouth. Minghao's shoulders start shaking. Joshua physically leaves the room because he's laughing too hard.

"See?" Seungkwan says triumphantly. "THAT."

"What?"

"That guilty look."

The cat leaps off the sofa and disappears into the bedroom. Seungkwan gasps.

"HE KNOWS."

—

The cat spends the next week avoiding Seungkwan. This only makes things worse. Apparently, if a person believes a cat is suspicious, the correct response is not to act suspicious.

Unfortunately, nobody explains this to the cat. The result is catastrophic. Every time Seungkwan enters a room, the cat leaves. Every time Seungkwan sits down, the cat relocates. Every time Seungkwan tries to pet him, the cat stares into the distance like he's remembering a war.

"It's personal," Seungkwan concludes.

"It's not personal," Jun says.

"It feels personal."

The cat immediately jumps off the couch. Seungkwan points.

"SEE?"

—

Minghao notices first. Not the curse. Not the transformations.

You.

Specifically, the way Jun looks at you. Which is significantly worse. The discovery occurs during movie night.

The apartment is quiet. The lights are dim. Everybody is focused on the screen except Minghao.

Minghao is focused on Jun. Jun is focused on you. The cat is focused on everyone. Minghao slowly turns toward Joshua.

Joshua follows his gaze. Then pauses. Then smiles.

"Oh."

The cat immediately notices. His eyes widen. Minghao notices the cat noticing. Now three people are aware of something.

You remain blissfully ignorant. Jun remains even more oblivious.

—

A group chat appears two days later. You discover its existence entirely by accident. Specifically because Jun leaves his phone unlocked while helping carry groceries. A notification appears.

[seungkwan] he smiled again

[minghao] i know

[joshua] it's getting embarrassing

[seungkwan] should we tell them

[joshua] absolutely not

[minghao] this is free entertainment

You immediately lock the screen.

Your face feels approximately one thousand degrees. Across the kitchen, the cat watches everything.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He gives you a thumbs up.

You nearly drop the groceries.

—

The truly alarming thing is that Jun keeps getting more comfortable around you.

Not intentionally. Not consciously.

It happens in small moments.

He hands you the first portion of food automatically. Saves your favourite seat. Texts you whenever something funny happens. Includes you in plans before asking if you're free.

As though your presence has become expected. As though you're already part of his life.

One evening you arrive after a particularly exhausting day. You don't even have time to say hello before Jun notices.

"Tough day?"

You blink.

"How did you know?"

"You look tired."

The answer is simple. Casual. Immediate. Something in your chest aches.

"Work was awful."

Jun frowns. The expression looks genuinely offended on your behalf.

"Want dinner?"

"That's your solution to everything."

"Dinner helps."

"It really doesn't."

Jun considers this.

"Okay."

A pause.

"Dinner and dessert?"

You laugh despite yourself. Across the room, the cat quietly writes something down.

—

The disaster happens on a Friday. Naturally. Disasters always happen on Fridays. 

You arrive at Jun's apartment carrying coffee.

The door is unlocked. You let yourself inside.

"Jun?"

No response. The apartment appears empty. You walk toward the kitchen. Then stop. Human.

The cat is human. Very human.

Very surprised. Very standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a spoon.

The spoon falls. Neither of you moves. The cat closes his eyes.

"Oh no."

The front door opens.

"Oh no," the cat repeats.

Jun's voice echoes from the hallway.

"Y/N?"

Panic erupts instantly. The cat grabs your shoulders. You grab his shoulders. Neither of you has a plan.

"Hide."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

Footsteps approach. The cat spins in a circle. You spin with him. Somewhere in the distance, Jun gets closer.

"Guys?"

"Window?"

"We're on the eighth floor."

"Right."

The cat gestures wildly. You gesture back. Neither of you contributes anything useful.

Finally, the cat dives behind the kitchen island. A second later, orange fur replaces human limbs.

You stare. The transformation still feels impossible.

Jun enters. The cat immediately appears from behind the counter.

Looking innocent. Looking normal. Looking completely unbothered.

Jun smiles.

"There you are."

The cat meows. You stare. The cat stares back.

Slowly. Very slowly. A tiny smirk appears.

The little menace is enjoying this.

—

That night, a folded page appears beneath your apartment door. You already know what it is. You unfold it. The familiar handwriting fills the page.

—

[CASE NOTES]

Current Threat Assessment:

Seungkwan suspicious.

Minghao observant.

Joshua entertained.

Jun oblivious.

Additional Notes:

Y/N and Jun spent thirty-two minutes talking in the kitchen today.

Neither realised everyone else had already left.

Concerning.

—

A final line has been squeezed into the bottom corner. At first glance, the handwriting appears rushed. Almost hesitant.

I think Jun likes you.

You stare at the sentence. Then immediately flip the page over. Nothing else is written there.

When you look back, the words haven't changed. The cat's handwriting remains stubbornly visible.

I think Jun likes you.

For some reason, that possibility feels far more terrifying than any curse.

—

The cat begins sabotaging your love life on a Tuesday. Unfortunately, he begins by sabotaging Jun's.

You don't realise this immediately. Mostly because the disaster starts small.

A missing shirt. A mysteriously hidden wallet. A phone that somehow ends up inside the linen cupboard.

Individually, none of these events are particularly suspicious. Together, however, they create a pattern.

Specifically, the pattern of a cat committing crimes.

"Have you seen my jacket?"

Jun is standing in the middle of his apartment looking genuinely confused. You glance up from the sofa.

"No?"

"I left it right here."

The cat, sitting three feet away, immediately looks out the window. You narrow your eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

Jun continues searching. The cat continues pretending to be innocent. Nobody is convinced.

—

The explanation arrives later that evening. Specifically after you corner the cat in your apartment and refuse to let him leave until he talks.

Human form this time. Mostly because he can actually explain himself.

"You're hiding things."

"I'm not hiding things."

"You hid his phone inside a cereal box."

The cat looks offended.

"It was a strategic location."

"You are impossible."

"So I've been told."

He drops onto your couch dramatically. You wait. The cat waits. Eventually, he sighs.

"It's because of the date."

You blink.

"What date?"

The look he gives you suggests you're the stupidest person alive.

"The blind date."

Oh. Right.

A few days earlier, one of Jun's friends had apparently decided he needed help finding romance. The resulting blind date had been arranged for this weekend.

Jun had agreed.

Mostly because he was too nice to refuse. The cat had hated the idea immediately.

Apparently.

"You've been sabotaging a blind date?"

"I've been delaying a blind date."

"That's worse."

"It's different."

"It isn't."

The cat folds his arms. You stare at each other. Eventually, he looks away first. And suddenly, for the first time since you've met him, he looks genuinely upset.

Not annoyed. Not dramatic. Just... sad. The change catches you off guard.

"What is it?"

The cat doesn't answer immediately. His gaze settles somewhere near the window. The city lights glow softly beyond the glass. For a long moment, the apartment feels strangely quiet.

Then—

"If the curse breaks, I'll leave."

The words land heavily between you. You freeze. The cat continues staring outside.

"I was always supposed to leave."

You don't know what to say. Because the thing is—

You've never actually thought about it. Not really. The curse has become part of daily life. 

The transformations. The notes. The absurdity. The cat himself.

Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped feeling temporary. Stopped feeling like a problem that needed solving. Instead, he'd become...

Family.

The realisation hits harder than expected.

"I don't want to leave."

His voice is quiet.

"So don't."

The cat laughs. Not happily.

"You think curses work like rental agreements?"

"You're being dramatic."

"I learned from Jun."

You can't even argue with that.

—

The problem is that the conversation stays with you.

For days. Long after the cat leaves. Long after movie night. Long after Jun walks you home and lingers outside your apartment door for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The thought keeps returning. If the curse breaks. If the curse ends.

Then what? The cat leaves. Life changes. Everything changes. The idea feels wrong.

Uncomfortable.

Like imagining a missing piece in a picture you've grown used to. And perhaps that's why, a week later, you finally ask the question that's been bothering you.

"What actually breaks the curse?"

The cat pauses. He'd been halfway through stealing food from your kitchen. Now he simply stares.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I know what the old woman said."

"Which was?"

The cat sighs.

"'You'll return to yourself when you're accepted as yourself.'"

You blink.

"That's it?"

"That's literally it."

"That's incredibly vague."

"I KNOW."

The frustration in his voice sounds years old.

—

The answer arrives from somewhere completely unexpected. Seungkwan. Because, apparently, life enjoys irony.

It happens during one of the increasingly common group dinners at Jun's apartment.

Everyone is present. Food covers every available surface. Conversations overlap. The cat is currently asleep on Jun's lap. Which would be adorable if you didn't know he was actually a person.

"So," Seungkwan says suddenly.

You immediately become suspicious.

"So?" Jun asks.

"I've solved the mystery."

Nobody likes the way he says that.

"What mystery?" Joshua asks.

Seungkwan points dramatically. At Jun. Then at you. Then at the cat.

"The three of you."

Silence. The cat opens one eye.

"What about us?" you ask carefully.

Seungkwan leans back. Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"You all act like a family."

The room falls silent. Completely silent. The cat stops moving. Jun blinks. Minghao immediately looks interested. Joshua looks delighted. Seungkwan continues.

"It's weird."

"Thank you?" Jun says.

"No, seriously."

Seungkwan gestures vaguely.

"You."

Pointing at Jun.

"Cook."

Then you.

"You clean."

Then the cat.

"That one commits crimes."

The cat looks offended.

"That's a family."

Nobody says anything. Because somehow—

As ridiculous as the statement is—

It doesn't feel wrong.

—

That night, after everyone leaves, Jun walks you home. The journey takes less than a minute. Neither of you seems particularly eager to end it. The hallway is quiet.

The building mostly asleep. For a while, neither of you speaks. Then Jun laughs softly. You glance over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Jun."

He smiles. A little sheepish.

"A family, huh?"

Your chest immediately betrays you. The worst part is that he doesn't sound embarrassed. Or uncomfortable. Instead, he sounds...

Happy.

Like the idea itself makes him happy.

"Seungkwan says a lot of things."

"He does."

You reach your apartment door. Neither of you moves. The silence stretches. Comfortable. Dangerous.

The kind that makes you suddenly aware of every little thing. The warmth of the hallway lights. The softness in Jun's expression. The fact that he's standing much closer than usual.

For one impossible second, you think he might say something. Instead, he smiles.

"Goodnight."

The disappointment is immediate. And embarrassing.

"Goodnight."

Jun turns. Walks away. Then pauses.

Just before reaching his own apartment. He glances back. Smiles again. Then disappears inside.

Your heart remains absolutely useless.

—

The next morning, a note appears beneath your door. The handwriting is familiar. You unfold it.

—

[CASE FILE #004]

Subject: Curse Investigation

Status: Ongoing.

Recent Findings:

Jun considers Y/N family.

Y/N considers Jun family.

I consider both idiots.

—

You laugh despite yourself. There is more. The writing below is messier. Less organised.

Like it was added later.

I think I finally understand.

You frown. Understand what?

The final paragraph answers.

For years, I thought breaking the curse meant becoming human again.

Maybe that was never the point.

Maybe the point was finding somewhere I didn't have to hide.

The words hit unexpectedly hard. Because for the first time, they don't feel like notes.

Or reports. Or evidence. They feel like a goodbye. And somehow, deep down, you know something is changing.

The curse is getting weaker. The cat knows it. Maybe even understands it. And for the first time since all this began—

You think he might finally be close to going home. The problem is that home isn't a place anymore.

It's Jun. It's you.

And none of you know what happens when the magic finally lets go.

—

The truth comes out because the cat finally gets tired.

Not physically. Emotionally.

Years of hiding have a way of wearing a person down, and despite all evidence to the contrary, the cat is still a person.

It happens on an ordinary Sunday. Which somehow makes it worse. There is no dramatic thunderstorm. No magical prophecy. No ancient witch appearing out of nowhere to explain things.

Just takeout containers, a half-finished movie, and Jun complaining because someone keeps stealing food off his plate.

"I'm serious," Jun says.

The cat, currently curled beside him on the couch, pointedly avoids eye contact.

"Every time I look away, something disappears."

You nearly choke on your drink. The cat looks offended. Jun narrows his eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

And then—

Without warning—

The room fills with golden light. 

Everybody freezes. The cat freezes. You freeze. Jun freezes.

For one impossible moment, the entire apartment falls silent. The light swirls around the cat.

Brighter. Warmer. Familiar.

The same glow you've witnessed dozens of times before.

Except this time it doesn't stop.

"Oh."

The cat's voice returns first. Human. Entirely human.

Sitting where the cat had been seconds earlier. The takeout container slides off his lap.

Nobody reacts. Nobody breathes.

Jun stares. The cat stares back.

And after months of preparation, after endless contingency plans and increasingly ridiculous emergency scenarios, the only thing the cat manages to say is:

"...This isn't ideal."

—

The silence lasts approximately four seconds. Then Jun speaks.

"Oh."

Another pause.

"Oh."

The cat winces. You consider hiding. Jun continues staring. The cat continues existing.

You continue questioning every life decision that led to this moment.

Then, unexpectedly—

Jun stands up. Walks forward. And pokes the cat's forehead. The cat blinks. Jun blinks. The cat blinks again.

"You're real."

The cat stares.

"That is your first question?"

"What was I supposed to ask?"

"I don't know!"

The cat throws his hands into the air.

"Maybe why your pet is secretly a human?"

"That was definitely my second question."

"Jun."

"I'm getting there."

The cat looks ready to scream. You honestly can't blame him. For several long moments, Jun simply stands there processing. Then his expression changes.

Softens. The panic never comes. The anger never comes. Instead—

"You've been dealing with this alone?"

The cat freezes. The question hangs in the air. Everything suddenly feels very quiet. Because out of every possible reaction, somehow that is the one none of you expected. The cat's shoulders slump. Just slightly.

"Yeah."

Jun's expression crumples immediately.

"Oh."

And somehow that single syllable contains more heartbreak than any dramatic speech could.

—

The explanation takes hours. Mostly because Jun keeps interrupting. Not with accusations. Questions. Thousands of questions.

Have you been eating enough?

Where did you sleep before?

Were you scared?

Why didn't you tell me?

Did the veterinarian know?

The answer to that last one is apparently no. Thankfully. 

The cat buries his face in his hands.

"I knew this would happen."

"What?"

"You worrying."

Jun looks genuinely confused.

"Of course I'm worried."

The cat laughs helplessly. And for the first time since you've met him, you realise just how exhausted he's been. How much effort it must have taken to keep carrying this alone.

Jun notices too. Because of course he does.

Without hesitation, he moves beside him on the couch. Close enough that their shoulders touch. Close enough that neither of them has to pretend anymore.

"You idiot."

The words are fond. The cat immediately starts crying.

—

The curse breaks completely three days later.

Not with magic. Not really. Not with fireworks or dramatic declarations. Just certainty.

The cat wakes up human. And stays human.

Morning becomes afternoon. Afternoon becomes evening. Nothing changes.

No tail. No whiskers. No transformation. The curse is gone.

Just like that.

The moment should feel triumphant. Instead, everybody ends up strangely emotional. Including you. Especially Jun. The apartment feels different.

Not empty. Just unfamiliar. Like a favourite song rearranged into a new key. Better.

But still strange. The cat notices immediately.

"You're mourning me."

"No we're not."

"You absolutely are."

"We literally saw you this morning."

"Then stop looking at me like I've died."

Jun points a chopstick at him.

"You used to fit inside a tote bag."

"That's not a normal thing to miss."

"It is for me."

The cat groans. You laugh. For the first time in days, everything feels normal again.

—

The confession happens because Seungkwan finally loses patience. As expected.

Everyone has gathered for dinner. The former cat now occupies an actual chair. A development that continues to disturb Jun. Halfway through dessert, Seungkwan slams both hands on the table.

"ENOUGH."

Everybody jumps.

"What?" Joshua asks.

"No."

Seungkwan points. At Jun. Then at you. Then back at Jun.

"This has gone on long enough."

The room immediately erupts. Minghao starts laughing. Joshua covers his face. The former cat sighs dramatically. Jun looks confused. You look terrified.

"What's happening?"

"You like each other."

Seungkwan says it with the confidence of someone announcing the weather. Silence. Then:

"What?"

Jun and you speak simultaneously. The entire table groans. The former cat drops his forehead onto the table.

"You are unbearable."

"No," Seungkwan says. "I've suffered enough."

"Seungkwan—"

"No."

He points at Jun.

"Do you like Y/N?"

Jun opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at you. Then looks away. His ears turn red. The entire room explodes.

"Oh my god."

"I KNEW IT."

"Finally."

"THANK YOU."

Jun hides his face. You consider moving countries. The former cat looks seconds away from standing up and applauding.

—

Somehow, eventually, everyone leaves. Except Jun. And you.

The apartment grows quiet. The dishes remain forgotten. The city lights glow beyond the windows. For several moments, neither of you speaks. Then Jun laughs softly. Embarrassed.

"I think they planned that."

"They definitely planned that."

"Yeah."

Silence returns. Not awkward. Just fragile.

The kind where everything important sits between two people waiting to be acknowledged. 

Jun rubs the back of his neck. Looks down. Then up again. And suddenly he looks more nervous than you've ever seen him.

"I do, by the way."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

He smiles. Small. Warm. Entirely sincere.

"I do like you."

The words are simple. Which somehow makes them hit harder. No dramatic speech. No rehearsed confession. Just honesty.

The kind that's impossible to hide from.

"I think I've liked you for a while."

The smile spreads before you can stop it. Jun's eyes soften immediately. The sight nearly destroys you.

"Good."

His voice comes out quiet. Hopeful.

"Good?"

"Because I like you too."

For a second, neither of you moves. Then Jun laughs. The relieved, disbelieving kind. And somehow that's what finally pushes you both forward.

The kiss is gentle. Warm. A little awkward. 

Perfect.

When you pull apart, Jun immediately starts smiling again. Like he physically cannot stop. You suspect you look exactly the same.

—

The next morning, a final note appears beneath your apartment door. The handwriting is instantly familiar. You unfold it.

—

[CASE FILE: CLOSED]

Former Alias: Dumpling.Current Status: Human.Curse Status: Broken.Additional Findings:The old woman was right. Being human again wasn't the solution. Being loved was.

—

Your chest tightens. A final paragraph sits beneath it. Shorter. Messier. Like it wasn't rewritten a hundred times.

Thank you for seeing me. Even when I was a cat.

You stare at the page for a long moment. Then smile. A knock sounds at your door. You already know who it is.

When you open it, Jun stands there holding breakfast. And flowers. And the most hopeful expression you've ever seen.

"Hi."

You laugh immediately.

"Hi."

"Would you maybe want to go on an actual date?"

The flowers shake slightly. Nervous. Endearing. Very Jun. You take them from his hands. His smile brightens instantly.

And just like that, standing in the hallway where all of this began, surrounded by neighbours and ordinary apartment walls and absolutely no magic whatsoever, you realise something.

The curse was never the story. Home was.

THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.

This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.

It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.

Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.

Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.

Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?

You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.

Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.

Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.

There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.

You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.

Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.

Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.

He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"

"No, stay."

It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.

You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.

It scares you.

"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.

"No, I'm okay."

He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.

Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.

"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.

"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."

"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."

"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"

You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."

"How long have you been up?"

"Maybe an hour?"

"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."

It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.

He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"

"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."

"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."

He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.

You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.

"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."

You blink at him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"

"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."

"And you left."

"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."

Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"

"Three years."

"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."

"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."

"You're doing fine," he says.

"I eat breakfast alone every morning."

"Not this morning, though."

The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.

"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."

He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.

"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."

"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."

He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."

His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.

"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.

My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.

"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.

"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."

You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.

"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."

"Always," he murmurs.

You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.

-

It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.

"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.

"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.

"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."

You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.

"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."

"What?"

"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."

He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"

"I do."

"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"

"Apple and peanut butter."

"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"

You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.

"Good. I've been reading."

"Yeah? What are you reading?"

Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.

You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.

Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.

"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."

"That would be nice."

He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.

-

You've been awake for three hours.

It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.

So you give up on sleep. Again.

The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.

SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?

Your stomach does something complicated.

YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?

SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there

You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.

A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.

"Hey," he croaks.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he lies.

"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."

"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."

He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.

"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.

"Yeah? What for?"

"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."

He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"

"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."

"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"

"Thinking."

"Pack stuff?"

"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.

"Yep."

"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.

"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."

It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.

You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.

It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.

When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"

You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.

Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.

You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."

He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"

"Yes!"

"That's how it works."

"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."

Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.

"You're cute when you panic."

The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.

"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Sure."

"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."

"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.

Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.

He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.

The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.

You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.

Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.

"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."

He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.

Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.

Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.

-

The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.

Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes. 

Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted. 

“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”

Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”

His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist. 

You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks. 

The streetlamp flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders, checking the time on your phone screen for the fifth time in two minutes.

9:14 PM.

A very old blue jeep is parked halfway down the block, engine off, exactly where the dropped pin had indicated. As you approach, the driver’s side door clicks open.

Vernon steps out, casually pulling back the hood of his dark sweatshirt. He looks even more handsome than in the picture he sent earlier, which only makes you more nervous. His relaxed, unbothered posture immediately contrasts with your stiff and coiled tension. He leans against the car door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you close the distance.

You stop a few feet away, practically vibrating with nerves. “Vernon?”

“Yeah.” His voice is low, carrying a slight rasp. He doesn’t move toward you, leaving a comfortable gap between to let you dictate the space. “You’re Chan’s friend.”

“Y/N,” you supply quickly, voice slightly breathless.

It was Chan who gave you his number after seeing you have an anxiety attack. He said Vernon was the seller with the best prices and the best products, that his stuff would definitely help you relax, and that he was a reliable guy.

Which is what brought here.

Vernon offers a small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He pause, his eyes scanning the empty street before settling back on you. “Chan said you’d be reaching out. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up after our texts earlier.”

“I... yeah.” You bite your lip hard, wrapping your arms around yourself against the night wind. “I’m sorry if the timing was weird, I just really needed to find a way to settle my head tonight.”

He nods slowly, his expression understanding. Vernon doesn’t treat your confession like a burden or a business pitch; he just listens. “No need to apologize. Chan’s a good guy. He wouldn’t have sent you my way if he didn’t think I could help you out.”

Vernon shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket. You instinctively flinch, taking a quick half-step back. The movement is entirely involuntary, a byproduct of the buzzing, suffocating anxiety that had driven you out here in the first place.

He freezes, slowly pulling his hand back out empty and resting it visibly on the roof of the car. His expression shifts, the casual politeness melting into something far more observant, and surprisingly gentle. He takes in the way your shoulders are practically up to your ears, the way your hands grip your phone and arms like a lifeline, and the wide, panicked look in your eyes.

“Hey,” Vernon says softly, dropping his voice a register. “Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m not here to make things harder for you.”

“I know, I just—” You swallow hard, embarrassed heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not really used to this. Meeting strangers in the dark. It’s… a lot.”

“I get it. But you don’t have to look at me like I’m about to bite. You’re making yourself self-conscious.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening even further. “I am?”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he scratches the back of his head. “Don’t be, though. It’s a compliment. Most people around here try too hard to look like they aren’t feeling anything.”

The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but the sheer directness of his gaze makes the frantic buzzing start to slow.

Vernon finally reaches into his pocket again, moving slowly and deliberately this time, and pulls out a small paper bag. He holds it out, stretching his arm far enough that you don’t have to step completely out of your comfort zone.

“Here. The mellow option, like you asked. Should help quiet things down.”

As you reach out to take it, your fingers briefly brush against his. His skin is warm against the chill of the night air.

“Thanks,” you murmur, finally feeling the tight band around your chest loosen.

“Don’t mention it.” He steps back and opens his car door, but pauses before sliding into the driver’s seat, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Get home safe. Let me know if you need anything else. And seriously, breathe. You’re doing fine.”

As his taillights fades down the empty street, you stand on the sidewalk and take your first full, deep breath of the entire day.

“Sorry for the odd hour,” you say for the thousandth time, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself. “I just… I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up. It’s okay if you want to charge me a delivery fee or something for the trouble.”

You’d been buying from Vernon for about a month. Almost every Tuesday, you left him a message to drop your usual order. Today, however, was Thursday, and you had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours without managing to close your eyes for even a single second. So you figured, why not see if he was awake and willing to sell you something strong enough to finally put you down?

And after a month of buying from him, you had decided it was okay to let him come up to your building floor instead of making him meet you out on the street. He had proven himself to be surprisingly reliable—exactly like Chan had promised you—, after one day when you could barely get out of bed, and he’d offered to bring your order up himself.

Now he was standing in the hallway of your building, looking like he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than you had, yet somehow far more awake than anyone had the right to be at this hour. And the craziest thing of all? He looked incredibly handsome, while you are pretty sure you looked hungover despite not having consumed a single drop of alcohol.

Vernon lets out a low, easy breath, shaking his head. “You’re good. I don’t sleep much anyway, so you’re not exactly interrupting a deep slumber.” He reaches into his pocket, his movements slow, as if he’s in no hurry at all. “Tell you what, I’ll give you the loyal customer discount tonight, Bambi.”

You blink, the name catching you off guard. “Bambi?”

He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze softening as it fixes on yours.

“Yeah.” Vernon tilts his head, studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart skip. Then he points at his own eyes with his index finger. “It’s the eyes. Yours are big and curious… like you’re seeing the world for the first time.”

You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, and you look down at your slippers, trying to deflect. Vernon does that quite often; making you blush so hard you never know where to hide your face, that is. You don’t even know if that’s his actual intention or if he’s just naturally nice.

“If that’s the case, then I must look like a really tired bambi. Bags under my eyes and everything.”

Vernon chuckles, the warm sound seeming to fill the empty hallway. “You still look cute, though.” He shrugs, far too casually for your liking. “Just… don’t go bolting into traffic or anything like that. I need my favorite customer in one piece.”

The blush deepens, spreading across your face until even your ears feel hot. You duck your head further, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

You wanted to know if he was genuinely flirting with you or if it was just something he said to all his clients. You were still confused about how you felt about those two possibilities, but the first was the only one that made your stomach do those strange, fluttery little flips.

“Oh, I’ve got a new indica blend coming in next week,” Vernon continues, his tone slipping back into his usual seller mode. “I’ll bring some by. It’ll help you sleep like a rock, I promise.”

You manage a small, shy smile, finally looking back up at him. “You’re like a specialized pharmacist at this point. Should I be tipping you extra, or will a thank-you card do it?”

A slight smile appears on Vernon’s face, and he straightens up and takes a step back, preparing to head toward the elevators, but he pauses to look you in the eye one last time, making sure the panic has truly subsided. The teasing light in his expression fades into something sincere and unexpectedly sweet.

“Neither,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “You being less anxious is enough for me. That’s the only tip I need, Bambi.”

He turns to leave, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder and leaving you leaning against your doorframe.

The phone screen goes dark, but the words “anything you want” seems to burn brightly behind your eyelids.

For the past twelve hours, you’d been pinned to the mattress since your alarm first went off in the morning. But those three words from Vernon acted like a sudden shot of adrenaline straight to your heart, breaking the paralysis and making you throw the heavy duvet off and practically scramble out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with an urgent slap.

Your apartment was the physical manifestation of a terrible mental health week. Half-empty water bottles clustered on the nightstand, clothes draped over every available surface like exhausted ghosts, and a tragic pile of unopened mail sat on the kitchen counter.

“Oh God,” you mutter, grabbing a laundry hamper and sprinting through the living room.

Sweatshirts, socks, and a pair of jeans are aggressively lobbed into the laundry basket. Books that had been discarded on the floor are shoved haphazardly onto shelves. A collection of coffee mugs is swept into the sink and buried unceremoniously beneath a layer of dish soap bubbles just to hide the evidence.

You move at a dizzying speed, pausing only to catch your breath and aggressively fluff the flattened sofa cushions.

Despite the sheer panic of the impromptu cleaning spree, there’s an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest. You’re nervous, yes—your hands shake slightly as you kick a stray pair of sneakers into the hall closet—but beneath the nerves, you’re overwhelmingly happy.

Vernon is coming over. Not just to drop off your usual or make a quick exchange in the doorway, but just… coming over. To keep you company.

It hits you right then, standing in the middle of the slightly less disastrous living room, just how drastically things have shifted between you two. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries had blurred, melted, and completely re-formed into something entirely different.

Lately, he hasn’t just been your plug—he’s been your friend too. And you’ve been texting. A lot.

It had started innocently a few weeks ago, after he dropped off a new indica strain at your doorstep, one that worked a little too well on you. Pleasantly immobilized and entirely trapped in your own head, you had spent twenty minutes staring at your palms before deciding they actually looked like clouds, and texted him to give feedback.

Most people in his line of work would have ignored it, or maybe replied with a laughing emoji. But Vernon had replied three minutes later, and after a single text, a floodgate opened. The sheer relief of not being mocked, of having someone lean into the absurdity of the moment, made you feel unexpectedly safe with him.

The texts didn’t stop the next morning, when you sent a mortified apology and he replied with a picture of a fluffy cloud. From there, it became a daily routine with good mornings, random memes, complaints about the weather, late-night philosophical tangents, and very, very high debates. Vernon had slowly woven himself into the absolute fabric of your day-to-day life.

But today was Tuesday, and normally, by 2:00 PM on a Tuesday, you would’ve texted him for the usual. Except today, you didn’t. And when you didn’t, he texted you first to check how you were doing.

The conversation didn’t take long before Vernon calmed you down in his usual quiet, steady way, and then, casually as always, he offered to come over. And you accepted immediately—even if it was just for him to sit with you and keep you company—which had led you to this moment, where you’re trying to shove dust under the living room rug.

A firm knock at the door pulls you violently out of your thoughts.

Smoothing down your oversized sweater and taking one last, desperate look at the living room to ensure no rogue laundry was visible, you walk to the door and pull it open.

Vernon stands in the hallway wearing a faded gray hoodie with the strings pulled unevenly and a pair of jeans. But it isn’t his clothes that catch your attention; it’s his hands. He isn’t holding a small bag or his phone. He’s holding two massive, grease-stained brown paper bags from the twenty-four-hour diner down the street, along with a cardboard drink carrier balancing two milkshakes.

“Hey, Bambi,” he greets you, his voice carrying that familiar low rasp. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a soft, unmistakable heart-shaped smile. “Hope you like fries, because I bought, like, an insane amount of them.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” you breathe out, the last residual knot of anxiety in your chest instantly dissolving at the sight of him. You can’t believe how absolutely gorgeous he looks standing there in your doorway, looking like he just rolled out of bed, dressed in the most casual clothes imaginable.

“I know.” He shrugs, stepping past the threshold as you step aside to let him in. Vernon kicks his shoes off by the door with an easy familiarity that makes your heart flutter. “But you said you couldn’t get out of bed today. Which means you definitely didn’t cook. And I couldn’t have you passing out on me. I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

He carries the food into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table. The smell of hot, salty fries, grilled burgers, and heavy diner food fills the apartment, instantly making it feel infinitely cozier, and your stomach lets out an angry, shameless growl.

You hover awkwardly by the armchair. “I... I really meant it, you know. I don’t have any cash on me. I feel awful making you drive all the way out here.”

Vernon stops unpacking the bags and stands up straight, turning to face you. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, his expression softening completely. He reaches out, his warm fingers lightly catching your shoulder, just enough to straighten you and make you look at him.

“I am not here for your money, Bambi.” The sincerity in his voice and eyes pines you to the spot. He has amazing eyes. “Nor am I here to be your delivery guy. I’m here because it’s Tuesday, you were having a bad day, and I wanted to see you. Do you understand?”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile, the warmth of his fingers sending a rush of electricity straight down your spine. “Yeah. I understand.”

He smiles softly. “Good,” he says, letting his hand drop, though his eyes linger for a second longer on your face before he turns back to the food. “Now, grab some napkins, Bambi. We’ve got a situation here with these milkshakes.”

You settle onto the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table. The food is incredible and exactly the kind of heavy, comforting, terrible-for-you meal that bypasses anxiety almost entirely and goes straight to the soul.

“Alright,” Vernon says around a mouthful of fries, leaning back against the base of the sofa. “We need a movie. Something that requires zero brain power but also something we can yell at.”

“Yell at?” you ask, dipping a fry into your milkshake. Vernon watches the fry-in-milkshake maneuver with mild disgust but don’t comment.

“Yeah. A classic. Something where the characters make terrible decisions and we get to judge them from our moral high ground on the floor.”

You scroll through a streaming service for ten minutes before finally settling on Scream.

“It’s the perfect choice,” Vernon argues as the eerie opening music swells through the television speakers. “The ultimate movie about teenagers who think they know all the rules of surviving getting absolutely humbled by another pair of teenagers in a cheap Halloween mask.”

“Sidney is actually smart, though,” you counter, pulling your knees to your chest. “She managed to not get killed in seven out of seven films.”

Vernon scoffs, pausing halfway through a bite of his burger. “Thanks to the power of being the protagonist, of course.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Well, I stand by my opinion.”

He chews slowly, nodding as he points at you with his index finger. “A woman who stands her ground. I respect that.” You let out a small giggle, and Vernon swallows before continuing. “But she ran up the stairs instead of out the front door, Bambi. She literally locked the deadbolt and then trapped herself on the second floor when she had a clear shot to the yard.”

“It’s a classic trope!” you defend your point, laughing as Vernon rolls his eyes. You feel so at peace in his presence that you no longer remember a single thing that affected you in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s a death wish! That was the entire problem!”

You eat and argue nonstop, the tension of the day bleeding out of you with every passing minute you spend in his presence. You debate the rules of surviving a slasher, whether you would actually make it out alive in Woodsboro, and roast the characters’ survival instincts.

“I know I would probably die,” you state with conviction, biting the end of the straw, “but it would never be because I went to investigate some strange, suspicious noise. Especially not if I were alone.”

Vernon chuckles, nodding along. “Ditto!”

You grab another fry, pointing it at the screen as Billy Loomis leans through Sidney’s bedroom window.

“Okay, but you have to admit, Billy and Stu are objectively very attractive. The whole ’90s grunge, floppy hair thing? It works.”

He pauses mid-chew. Slowly, his eyes slide from the TV to you, his expression flattening into an unimpressed, deadpan stare. “They look like they haven’t showered in a month.”

“Yeah, but look at the cheekbones,” you insist, another teasing smile breaking through the heavy exhaustion. “It’s attractive.”

“If the attractive is homicidal bedhead, sure.” Vernon scoffs, pointedly taking a long, exaggerated sip of his milkshake. “Good to know your bar is literally on the floor, Bambi.”

He shifts slightly, stretching his long legs out and casually crossing his arms, his tone perfectly nonchalant but carrying a subtle defensive edge.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous of fictional ’90s teenagers,” you laugh between words, the sound bright and entirely devoid of anxiety. It would be completely ridiculous if he were, considering he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a ’90s movie himself.

“I’m deeply concerned for your survival instincts,” he corrects smoothly, not missing a beat, though he aggressively dunked a fry into his ketchup. “Remind me to never let you go to a Halloween party alone.”

As the movie shifts from eerie suspense to full-blown terror, the food begins to take its toll. The frantic, anxious energy that has kept you awake for the last twenty-four hours is suddenly entirely depleted. The apartment is warm, the couch against your back is soft, and the low, steady sound of Vernon’s voice beside you is the most effective sedative you’ve ever experienced.

Without realizing it, you begin to slide sideways. The debate over whether throwing a landline phone at the killer was actually an effective evasion tactic fades into background noise. The edges of your vision blur, the flashing light from the television softening into indistinct, hazy color. With a soft sigh, your head tips over, landing gently against the solid, warm curve of Vernon’s shoulder.

On the screen, Tatum screams. In the living room, Vernon stiffens completely. He had been mid-sentence, ready to deliver a scathing critique of Dewey’s police work, when he feels the sudden weight against his arm. He stops talking immediately, his jaw snapping shut. Slowly, carefully, he turns his head just a fraction to look down.

Your eyes are completely closed, your breathing already deepening into the slow cadence of genuine sleep. Your face, which had been tight with worry and exhaustion when he first walked in the door, is now entirely smooth. The dark circles under your eyes remain, but the tension in your body is gone. You look very peaceful.

Vernon feels a strange, tight pull right in the center of his chest. He glances at the empty takeout bags, the half-finished milkshakes, and you currently using him as a pillow, realizing he’s never been happier to lose a Tuesday night’s worth of business.

He doesn’t dare reach for the remote to turn the volume down, afraid that even the slightest shift in his muscles will wake you. He doesn’t reach for his phone either, which is buzzing in his pocket with texts of customers he no longer cares about.

Instead, Vernon adjusts his posture by a millimeter, shifting his weight just enough to give your head a better angle against his shoulder. He carefully leans his own head back against the sofa cushions, letting out a long and silent exhale.

On the screen, the survivors run for their lives. In the quiet of the apartment, Vernon sits perfectly still, entirely content to stay trapped in this exact position for as long as you need to sleep.

The next day, when you wake up tucked comfortably into your bed, everything is organized, clean, and back in its proper place. And unless you somehow did all of this in your sleep, there’s only one person who could have done it, even if he’s nowhere to be found in the morning.

Vernon drives with an relaxed posture, one hand resting lightly on the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He doesn’t press for conversation, letting the low volume of the radio fill the space between you. Every so often, you catch him stealing a quick glance in your direction, his eyes checking to make sure you’re still breathing easily.

About an hour ago, you’d texted him about how awful your day had been, and within minutes he was at your door, ready to take you for a drive to clear your mind.

After a couple of minutes of driving, the dense architecture of the city gives way to the open stretches of the coastal highway. The streetlights grow sparse, replaced by the vast, ink-black expanse of the sky. The air rushing through the slightly cracked windows shifts from the smell of concrete to the sharp and cold scent of ocean mist and salt.

Vernon finally slows the car, the tires crunching against gravel as he pulls into a deserted overlook. The headlights sweep across a wooden barricade before he kills the engine, plunging them into darkness. Out the windshield, the ocean stretches endlessly, moonlight catching the white crests of the churning waves below.

“I didn’t know you liked the beach,” you whisper, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. The cold seeps through the glass, but the car’s heater still blows warm air at your feet, creating a perfectly cozy contrast.

“I don’t usually,” he shrugs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his weight, turning slightly in his seat so he can look at you. “During the day, it’s a nightmare. Too crowded, too loud. But at night… it’s different.”

You nod slowly, looking out at the horizon. “It makes everything else feel really small. The ocean, I mean.” You tilt your head slightly, stealing a quick glance at him before continuing. “You look out there and realize how massive it all is, and suddenly worrying about emails or… or literally anything else just feels completely irrelevant.”

“Exactly,” Vernon agrees, leaning his head back against the headrest. He watches the water for a long moment, his profile sharp against the dim light filtering in from the moon. “We construct this entire, agonizing reality inside our heads.”

He pauses, a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes looking thoughtful.

“You ever think we’re just brains in jars imagining stuff?”

You blink, caught entirely off guard by the sudden existential pivot. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, breaking the solemn quiet of the car. “Brains in jars? Really? That’s where we’re going at three in the morning?”

“I’m serious,” he defends himself, though the corner of his mouth is ticking upward. “Think about it. How do you know any of this is real? Your brain is just locked in pitch-black darkness inside your skull, hallucinating a reality based on electrical signals. For all we know, we’re just sitting on a shelf in some laboratory, running a simulation.”

“Well, if this is a simulation,” you counter, turning to face him completely and pulling your knees up onto the seat, “then the developers seriously need to patch my software. The anxiety settings are dialed way too high, and the executive dysfunction glitch is making the gameplay terrible.”

Vernon laughs properly then, the sound that echoing in the small space of the Jeep cabin, his gums on full display. “I’ll submit a bug report for you. Tell the admins to turn down the overthinking slider and boost the serotonin drops.”

You want to tell him that this happens every time you’re in his presence, but you aren’t sure if it’s acceptable to flirt with your plug. It’s been two months since you met, and you’re still amazed by how being with him shuts down your nervous system and makes you forget everything. Even if it’s just a phone call, hearing Vernon’s voice calms you like no weed or medicine ever could.

“Please do,” you smile back, resting your cheek against your knees. “But honestly… even if we are just brains in jars, I think I’m okay with whatever hallucination this is right now. It’s the quietest my head has been in days.”

The teasing amusement in Vernon’s eyes softens, melting into something more tender. He reaches across the center console, his fingertips lightly brushing your arm before settling on the edge of your sleeve. It’s a grounding touch, anchoring you to the present moment.

It’s strange how entirely safe you feel sitting in a dark car on a deserted cliffside with a guy who, on paper, you barely know. But looking at him now—the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the attentive way he listens to every word you say, the quiet intelligence in his eyes—you realize he isn’t just a guy or your plug anymore. He’s becoming someone indispensable.

“I really appreciate this,” you whisper softly. You look down at his hand, which is still resting near yours on the console. “You didn’t have to stay with me today, and you definitely didn’t have to drive me out here. So… thank you, Vernon.”

The name hangs in the air for a second. Vernon doesn’t flinch, but a subtle shift ripples through his posture. He’s quiet for a long beat, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle against the fabric of your sleeve.

“Hansol,” he corrects quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it’s almost a whisper.

You frown, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He lifts his gaze, his eyes locking onto yours, a small smile on his lips. There’s a vulnerability there he usually keeps buried under layers of nonchalance and cool detachment. “My name… it’s Hansol.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, a rush of embarrassment suddenly heating your cheeks. You pull your hands back slightly, feeling suddenly stupid. “Sorry, I thought everyone just called you Vernon.”

The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. Could Vernon be his moniker? A professional handle used to keep a safe distance between the guys selling drugs and the people buying them? That wouldn’t be unusual in his line of work.

But Hansol doesn’t let you retreat. He shifts his hand, catching your fingers gently before you can pull away completely. His skin is warm, his grip steady and reassuring.

“Some do. It’s my middle name,” he explains, his gaze unwavering. “But people close to me call me Hansol.”

He pauses, letting the weight of that categorization settle between you. He’s drawing a line in the sand, officially pulling you across the boundary from client to someone close to him. You bite your lip to suppress a smile that wants so badly to form on your lips as the thought settles, the bucket of ice water from seconds ago already beginning to warm.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, an uncharacteristic hint of shyness briefly flickering across his features. “I just don’t mind it from you.”

Your heart does a violent stutter against your ribs. The sheer intimacy of the admission is overwhelming. You look at his hand holding yours, then back up at his face. He is waiting, giving you the space to decide what to do with the information.

“So you’re saying I’m close to you?”

Hansol doesn’t hesitate, leaning in just slightly, his thumb continuing the slow circle over your knuckles. “You text me at 1 a.m. and I show up every time. You slept on my shoulder the other night. We’ve talked about everything and anything at this point. I’d say we’re close, Bambi.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. It isn’t just the words; it’s the matter-of-fact way he says them, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. He’s acknowledging the bond you’ve built in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, admitting that you’re more than just his client, while you try to ignore the butterflies battering against the walls of your stomach, desperate to escape their cage.

“Hansol,” you test his name out loud. It feels foreign on your tongue, yet somehow incredibly right.

A small, devastatingly heart-shaped smile breaks across his face at the sound of his name in your voice. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You stayed at the overlook for another hour, the atmosphere in the car fundamentally changed. By the time his Jeep rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the sky had begun to bruise with the first deep purples and blues of early dawn.

“I guess this is my stop,” you observe hesitantly, not wanting to get out of his car and put an end to the moment.

“Looks like it,” Hansol says. “You gonna be okay today?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think I am. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Bambi.”

You push the door open, stepping out into the crisp morning air, and turn back to look at him through the open door. “Drive safe, Hansol.”

“Always,” he replies, a smile lingering on his face at the sound of you saying his name. Then he leans across the passenger seat, catching the door frame to stop it from closing completely. Hansol tilts his head, eyes lazily tracking over your messy hair and the oversized sweatshirt you’re still wearing. “You looked extra Bambi today.”

The blush is instantaneous. It surges up your neck and floods your cheeks with a furious heat. Your jaw drops slightly, a flustered, embarrassed laugh escaping you as you struggle to find a comeback.

“Shut up!” you finally manage to stammer out, ducking your head to hide your flaming face.

Hansol lets out a low, victorious laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He pulls his hand back, letting you close the door, and you watch his taillights disappear into the morning light, your heart still racing.

Hansol doesn’t have much time tonight. His phone is already vibrating in his pocket with three other drop-offs pinned on his map, but when he reaches your door, his pace slows into effortless strides. He reaches out and gives the wood a lazy but firm knock.

When the door opens, the warm chamomile scent of your apartment spills out into the sterile hallway. You look tired as always but your eyes brightened the second they landed on him, dressed in his usual uniform of neutral colors, a hoodie pulled up just enough to frame his features, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“Right on time,” you greet him, a smile spreading across your face as you lean against the doorframe where he usually stands.

He doesn’t say much at first, just offers a small, knowing tilt of his head as he hands over the plain brown bag. His fingers brush yours briefly during the exchange, a spark of heat that lingers longer than the transaction warrants.

You take the bag, your brow furrowing as you feel the weight and the shape of the contents inside. You peer in, eyes widening slightly. “Did you mean to put two in the bag?” you ask, looking back up at him.

“Yep,” he answers simply, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet corridor.

“But I only paid for one.”

“I know. The other one is on me.”

You hesitate, confused, chewing on your lower lip. “Is this like a promo, or are you high right now?”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, that effortless charm radiating off him even in the dull atmosphere of the hallway. “Neither. You’ve had a rough week. Figured Bambi needed a little extra today.”

“That’s really sweet. But you don’t have to do that.”

He shifts his weight, closing the distance between you by just enough to make the air feel different. You hold your breath, acutely aware of how little space remains. Just a few inches more and your lips would touch.

“I want to.” Hansol’s voice is firm. “You’re not just a client. You know that, right?”

You look down at the bag, then back at him, your heart sinking into a slow, heavy thud. “Yeah. I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“Well, now you can assume a little,” he says, his gaze not wavering. “Also, tell me how that one hits. I picked it thinking of you, Bambi.”

You breath hitches. “You picked a strain thinking of me?”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, one shoulder rising in a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just quietly flipped your entire world upside down. “Chill, warm, kinda sweet. Like you. Don’t overthink it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning your head against the wood of the door. “Too late. I’m absolutely overthinking it.”

Hansol checks his phone screen, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his features. “I gotta go. Others are waiting,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest moment before pulling back up to meet yours. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“Me too,” you admit without hesitating, looking up at him through your lashes. You don’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but it’s there, and it makes Hansol smile beautifully.

A genuine, incredibly warm smile breaks across his face at your words, not his usual confident smirk, but something entirely soft and real, gums showing and the heart shape of his lips coming back. He begins to back away toward the elevator, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally has to turn around.

He reaches the elevator and presses the button. Just as the bell chimes and the doors begin to groan open, you step out into the hallway, your voice echoing off the walls.

“Hansol!”

He pauses, one foot already inside the elevator. He turns his head, a playful, expectant look on his face. “What’s up, Bambi?”

“Nothing big,” you begin, hands gripping the doorframe behind you. “Just... wanted to know if you ever think about me when we’re not together or texting.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, the metal doors framing him like a portrait. “I think about you pretty much all the time.” he claims. “Even when we are texting.”

The honesty of it makes your stomach flip, the padlock that holds the butterflies in your stomach slowly loosening. “Good,” you manage softly.

“You’re flirting with your plug right now, Bambi,” he points out, his voice dropping an octave, teasing yet dangerously sincere.

“Maybe,” you counter, shrugging as a bit of courage grows. “Is that illegal?”

“Mm, no, not really. Especially if I flirt back.”

“And would you?”

The elevator starts to beep, a warning that the doors were going to close. He steps fully into the car, leaning his shoulder against the back wall, looking at you with a heat in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

“Have been for the past three months,” Hansol confesses, his smirk widening as the doors begin to slide shut. “Just hiding behind a lot of self-control.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your face flushing a deep crimson. “Hm. Self-control’s kinda hot.”

“So is the girl in her doorway,” he shoots back.

The doors click shut, severing the connection and leaving you standing in the hallway with a racing heart and a bag held tight to your chest. Behind those closed metal doors, Hansol is already checking his map for the next stop, but his mind is still back at that doorway.

When Hansol shows up at your apartment a few weeks later, you’re so nervous about the night’s activities that you almost forget how to open the door.

He’s wearing a simple gray shirt and black sweatpants, a baseball cap with the brim facing backward. He smells like soap, faint weed smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. He leans against your doorframe the same way he’s been doing it for months now, and you are instantly, completely doomed.

Earlier this same day, you’d asked Hansol if he knew how to shotgun after the two of you saw it in a movie two nights before. Gently—and flirtatiously—he explained that it wasn’t that difficult, asking if you wanted to try it next time since it would involve the two of you getting closer than you ever had before.

Hansol always made you feel safe, and you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you, so you saw no reason not to try, even if there was still a chance you’d chicken out.

“You nervous?” he asks after you make room for him to come in. He slips off his shoes and tosses his keys onto the coffee table.

“A little,” you admit, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

His mouth curves lazily, his eyes crinkling just a fraction at the corners. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes, quickly looking away. You have to. Because if you don’t, Hansol will see exactly how hard that single word hits, and then you’ll never recover.

You guide him toward the balcony where you usually light one up. There’s only one beach chair out there, something you bought at a thrift store right after moving in and renewed yourself. The balcony is so small that the chair is practically wedged between the railing and a tiny patio table, alongside a forgotten fern surviving purely on its own willpower.

After a brief, pointless argument about it, you let Hansol keep the chair while you lean against the railing with your back to the city. Your knees bump together with every small, abrupt movement any way, the balcony too cramped for there to be any real distance between you.

Hansol sets the tin on the tiny table and flips it open. You lean in slightly to get a better look at the contents.

“This isn’t your usual stuff,” he says by way of introduction. He’s not looking at you yet, just at the tin as he pulls out the papers, setting everything in order with that unhurried precision of his. “Just so you know.”

You look at it, then at him. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” Hansol says it simply. “I wouldn’t bring something that’d mess you up, Bambi. You just…” He meets your eyes for a second to reassure you even though he already knows you trust him blindly. “Your usual is too mellow for this. You’d just fall asleep on me.”

“I don’t fall asleep that easily.”

He gives you a look so unimpressed it makes you laugh. “You fell asleep the last time.”

You would argue it wasn’t really the weed; it was Hansol. With him, you felt safe enough to fall asleep whenever and wherever, to finally shut out everything that usually kept you awake.

After a couple weeks, it had become a routine: he’d make his deliveries, then stay a while to keep you company until you drifted off. Eventually, you started smoking together, and usually he’d just share whatever you normally rolled for yourself, never seeming too concerned about how hard it hit, just worried that you’d sleep soundly.

Something about the way he speaks, though—matter-of-factly, like he knows you too well by now—makes your chest feel like it’s leaping out of place before crashing back down where it belongs.

“That was different,” you finally say, resting your elbows against the railing behind you.

“You were out in twenty minutes, Bambi.”

“Well, I was tired.”

“You were cooked,” he counters, no judgment in his tone, just a fact. Because—shockingly—he knows your tolerance as well. Of course he does. “This is something in between. Hybrid. It’ll relax you, but it’ll keep you here. You’ll actually feel it without it running you over.”

You look at the bag again. “Where’s it from?”

“Same guy. Different batch.” Hansol picks it up again, turns it once in his fingers with the easy confidence of someone who can read these things on sight. “It’s good. Not complicated. You’ll like it.”

You believe him. That’s the thing about Hansol knowing exactly what you smoke—about him knowing you. He’s never steered you wrong. He remembers what worked, what didn’t, what made you text him at midnight saying never again. He filed it all away somewhere without making it a thing, and now he just knows.

“Okay,” you say, your teeth catching your lower lip.

Hansol smiles, and then he tears the paper with a casual precision that shouldn’t be interesting to observe. It is. You try not to examine that too closely as he spreads everything even, long fingers working slow and deliberate, and there’s something almost meditative about the way he does it, no wasted movement or fumbling. Just ease.

He rolls it between his palms, smoothing it down. Then he raises it to his mouth, the lick slow as he seals the edge, and runs his thumb along it afterward, pressing it closed with the kind of focus that makes you look up at the sky for a second because you have absolutely no business staring at his mouth or tongue.

A few seconds later, he holds it up once, looking quietly satisfied with his work. Then he flicks the lighter, the flame catching small and warm in the dim space of the balcony. He brings it to the tip, cupping his hand around it out of habit even though there’s barely any wind, and draws in slowly, the paper crackling faintly as the cherry burns bright orange and the scent of marijuana slowly surrounds you both.

He holds it in for a moment, then lets it out slowly through his nose, unhurried. A thin ribbon of smoke drifts upward toward the sky before disappearing completely. He takes another drag, longer this time, and leans back into the chair, his head tipping slightly against the wall behind him, eyes closing for just a second like he’s savoring it.

There’s no explaining the reactions moving through your body just from watching him in action. The aching tension low in your stomach, the way your thighs press together instinctively, the strange heat that blooms every time his mouth closes around the joint.

Almost as if he’s reading your thoughts, Hansol looks at you and holds it out. Not pushy or expectant, just offering you, his elbow resting on his knee and the smoke curling up lazily between his fingers. He watches you with that expression you still haven’t figured out how to read, somewhere between patient and quietly amused.

You take it from him and bring it to your lips without overthinking it, one elbow still resting against the concrete behind you, the light breeze pushing your hair back from your face. You wrap your lips around the joint and draw the smoke slowly into your lungs, letting it settle there for a moment and holding it for a beat. The warmth spreads through your chest in a slow unfurl that reaches all the way to your fingertips.

When you exhale, the smoke slips from your mouth in a thin stream, immediately snatched away by the night breeze. Hansol’s eyes follow it for half a second before they drift back to your face.

“There you go,” he says, voice low and approving enough to make heat crawl right back up your neck.

You take one more hit, feeling the night softening slightly, the city sounds below drifting to a different register, the small balcony going quieter around you. Then you throw your head back to exhale the smoke, watching it disappear into the dark sky above you.

When you lower your gaze again, you catch the way Hansol’s eyes have drifted down the line of your throat to your collarbone, lingering there for just a second too long. The look sends another rush of heat through you, and he notices you noticing. His gaze flicks back up immediately, but not before the corner of his mouth curves faintly, subtle and almost guilty, like he got caught staring but doesn’t regret it nearly enough.

You pass the joint back to him, and he takes it from you, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange without either of you commenting on it. Hansol holds it loosely between his fingers and watches you for a moment with that same unreadable patience.

“Feeling it?”

“A little.” You shrug lightly, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the weed. “Give it a minute.”

Another crooked smile tugs at his mouth as he nods. Hansol brings the joint to his lips, dragging in slowly before blowing another lazy cloud of smoke into the night air. “Good,” he whispers, smoke still curling lazily from between his lips.

You can’t explain why the sight feels so unfairly appealing, heat now unfurling lower in your body at something so simple. It’s not like you’ve never seen him do this before, because you did. Except tonight, everything about Hansol feels amplified somehow; his hands, his mouth, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Even the way he looks at you feels… different, settling somewhere beneath your skin and and camping there.

Hansol takes another hit, the cherry burning bright for a moment before he pulls the joint away. He holds it there, and you watch his throat move slightly as he swallows the smoke. His eyes are half-closed, fixed somewhere out toward the city. He looks completely unbothered in a way that makes you feel the exact opposite.

Then he looks at you as he exhales one more time, his eyes searching yours through the haze. His brows arch slightly, and his voice comes out lower, roughened by the smoke he was holding in. “Ready?”

A wave of shivers travels across your skin like it has nowhere else to go. The butterflies in your stomach aren’t just fluttering anymore, they’re frantic, crashing wildly against your ribs every time your eyes meet his beautiful, inviting brown ones.

You’ve been thinking about this moment in various versions ever since you sent that text this morning. You’ve been thinking about it in the abstract, in the safe, theoretical space of it’s just a thing people do, it doesn’t mean anything, plenty of people do this without making it weird. You’ve spent hours constructing a very reasonable internal argument about proximity and exhaled smoke and the entirely non-romantic history of the practice.

All of that argument completely falls apart the moment Hansol says the word.

You just nod, pressing your lower lip between your teeth again before whispering, “Yeah.”

He explains how everything will work, walking you through each step, and even pulls his phone out of his pocket to show you a TikTok video in case it’s easier to learn visually. And maybe it’s ridiculous, but you love the effort he puts into making sure you feel comfortable, safe, completely at ease with him.

Hansol then sets the joint down on the edge of the glass ashtray. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he shifts in your thrift-store beach chair, making space for you between his knees. Then he taps his thigh twice.

“C’mere, Bambi.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

The balcony is already tiny, but the space between the chair and the railing suddenly feels like a tightrope. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, not sure if you heard right, your heart doing a wild, erratic dance in your chest. Once again, Hansol doesn’t pressure you; he just waits, his hand resting casually on his knee, his brown eyes going completely dark and focused entirely on you.

Stepping forward, you slowly let go of your grip on the railing. Before your nerves can make you chicken out, you step into his space and sit down across his lap.

The shift in perspective is dizzying. Suddenly, you’re completely enveloped in his presence, somehow even more than before. The fabric of his shirt is thin enough that you can feel the solid heat of his chest underneath it. His hands move instinctively, settling firmly around your waist to steady you on his lap. His grip is grounding, holding you securely against him.

Looking down at Hansol, you realize just how close your faces are, the kind of close he mentioned earlier. With the brim of his baseball cap turned backward, there’s nothing shading his eyes. You can see every tiny detail of Hansol: the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the heart-shaped curve of his mouth, the tiny freckles scattered across his nose, the intensity in his gaze as he looks up at you.

“Still nervous?” His voice drops so low and raspy it sends another wave of shivers straight down your spine, and you can barely hide the way your body reacts to it.

Your hands slowly find a home against his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “A little more now,” you admit honestly, not finding any reason to lie or hide it.

“Don’t be.” Hansol lets out a breathless laugh that brushes against your lips, the vibration hitting your chest. “I’ve got you, Bambi.”

And you believe him.

Without ceremony, Hansol picks up the joint from the table and takes a long drag before turning fully toward you. When he leans in, it’s slow and unhurried, making you understand immediately that he’s giving you time to adjust, or back out, if you want to. Mostly, because he’s Hansol, and well… he does everything at his own pace while respecting yours just as carefully. Rushing doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.

You lean in too, not much, just enough to show him that everything’s okay, that you are okay with this, that he can proceed however he wants. And you can see the exact moment his expression shifts with understanding, settling in his eyes like he expected nothing less.

Hansol parts his lips and exhales smoothly. The smoke comes out slow, and you inhale it in through your lips exactly the way he taught you to, barely touching him, but close enough that the warmth of his breath folds into yours.

Your eyes close immediately, and you hold it in for a beat, then another, the whole world narrowing down to the inch of space between your mouths, the solid heat of his hands at your waist, and the distant sound of the city existing somewhere far below, fading into something completely irrelevant.

You let it out and open your eyes to find that Hansol still hasn’t moved back. He’s watching you attentively from beneath his lashes, and there’s nothing patient or unreadable about his expression anymore.

Perhaps the marijuana is clouding your better judgment, but the look in his eyes feels different now, focused in a way that makes your stomach do a double twist. He looks like someone who has already made up his mind and is simply waiting for the exact right moment to act on it, maybe searching for the perfect opening before finally giving in to what he’s been holding back.

You suspect it’s the same for him as it is for you.

When his gaze drops to your mouth, you’re convinced this new hybrid he bought is playing tricks on your mind, especially when his eyes linger there long enough to make your breathing go shallow before finally lifting back to yours again.

“Again.” Hansol’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s definitely not a question.

You don’t trust your voice right now, so you just nod.

He picks up the joint again and takes another slow drag, the cherry burning warm between your bodies. You watch his throat move as he holds the smoke in, and it absolutely shouldn’t make you all hot and bothered but it does. His hands still haven’t left your waist, one thumb tracing a small arc just above your hip—probably unconscious, probably not even something he realizes he’s doing—and somehow the touch burns straight through the thin fabric of your shirt

Hansol turns back to you even closer this time. Or maybe you’re the one who moved in closer. Truthfully, you stopped keeping track of who’s been closing the distance first somewhere minutes ago, if the distance between you even really exists anymore.

He exhales, and you inhale him in again, and this time, when it’s over, neither of you pulls away. You stay in the half inch that remains, sharing the same air, and letting the moment stretch itself, his eyes fixed on yours.

There had been a few moments during this strange new friendship with your plug when you’d caught yourself wanting him to kiss you, or wishing you had enough courage to kiss him first. But this was different. Now the desire felt overwhelming, practically screaming inside your head as you stared at his mouth from impossibly close range, silently hoping he could somehow read your thoughts and finally close the tiny distance still separating you.

“Hansol…” His name leaves your lips like a shaky plea. Maybe just to say something, maybe just to fill the space before it you swallows you whole.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back. His pupils are enormous, and just by looking at them, you think he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “What do you want, Bambi?”

Your fingers tighten slightly against his shoulders, your pulse so loud you’re convinced he can feel it where your bodie1s are pressed together. “I—” The word catches in your throat before it can fully form.

For a second, all you can do is look at him, at the way his eyes keep flicking down to your mouth, at the patience still somehow woven through the tension sitting heavy between you. And then Hansol’s thumb drags slowly against your waist again, grounding and dangerous all at once, and your breath stutters.

His hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth, and for one dizzy second you’re sure he’s finally going to kiss you. But instead, he keeps you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips as his eyes lock onto yours.

“Tell me what you want, Bambi,” he breathes, voice rough and impossibly steady at the same time. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

The words come out almost breathless, but the effect they have on Hansol is immediate. His eyes darken even more, and everything you can’t read in his expression is in his pupils, which dilate even further, if that’s even possible. His thumb brushes once across your jaw, and for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s letting himself fully believe you mean it.

Then his mouth curves faintly at the corner, a flicker of almost disbelieving amusement in his gaze. “Yeah?” he murmurs again, his voice low enough to melt straight through you.

You nod before he’s even finished speaking, and that’s all it takes for Hansol to stop hesitating. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over blindly, pressing the glowing cherry of the joint into the glass ashtray until it goes out completely. The second his hand is free again, it returns to your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you that final, infinite inch closer.

When his lips meet yours, the sheer relief of it makes you exhale a soft sigh right into his mouth. It’s everything you’ve been agonizing over for the past three months, amplified by a thousand.

It starts slow, exploratory and incredibly filled with the same patient precision he applies to everything else. Your hands slide up from his shoulders to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right beneath the edge of his backwards cap, and Hansol lets out the quietest grunt against your lips like he’s been wanting this just as badly as you have.

His hands at your waist tighten, pulling you flush against his chest until there’s nothing left between you. He adjusts you slightly so you’re seated more securely against him, surrounded by the solid warmth of his body, a jolt of electricity traveling straight down to your toes at the feeling of him pressed against you.

Tilting his head, Hansol parts your lips with his own, the kiss deepening into something that makes your head spin faster than any pot ever could. He tastes exactly like you imagined: sweet and earthy, like the lingering haze in the air around you, mixed with something unmistakably, comfortingly him.

The feeling of being held so securely, combined with the gentle, creeping warmth of the hybrid strain, makes everything around you fade. The apartment, the city sounds below, the cold night breeze, the small balcony; it all completely disappears. There is only the solid weight of Hansol beneath you, the steady, grounding grip of his hands on you, and the rhythm of his mouth moving deliciously against yours.

The butterflies in your stomach have ignited into a heavy heat that pools low in your belly as his tongue sweeps against your lower lip, coaxing you to open up more to him. You follow his lead blindly, completely lost in the sensation of his hands mapping the curve of your spine and his mouth devouring your every breath.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull back just enough to draw air into your burning lungs, you don’t go far. You rest your forehead against the brim of his cap, eyes closed, chest heaving. You can hear Hansol breathing just as heavily, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin along your jawline.

“You okay, Bambi?” he asks into the tiny space between your lips, a lazy, satisfied smile evident in the rough timbre of his voice.

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with an expression so soft, so completely stripped of that unreadable patience, that it makes your heart ache in the absolute best way possible.

You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from kissing him breathless again. “Better than okay,” you answer, nodding frantically, your hands sliding down to frame his face as you lean in briefly.

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering along your jawline. Hansol’s voice is soft when he speaks, a faintly amused crease forming between his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“I’m great,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. You can’t help but let out a shaky laugh, still in disbelief at what just happened. You just kissed. No, you just kissed Hansol. “Didn’t expect tonight to go like that.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Me neither. Not complaining though.”

Another flustered laugh escapes you, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder for a second to hide your face. “Just so you know... I literally asked you to come over to teach me how to shotgun. Not make out with me on my balcony.”

He hitches you a little higher on his lap. “Okay but... you didn’t exactly stop me.”

“I didn’t want to stop you,” you admit softly, looking back up at him, the honesty leaving you feeling completely vulnerable in his arms.

His gaze drifts down to your lips again, the air crackling with a heat that has nothing to do with the weed. “I want to kiss you again,” he confesses, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “Is that okay?”

You nod, too caught up in the intensity of his stare to manage words. Hansol leans forward, his hand cupping your jaw as he closes the distance between you again. He kisses you slowly once more, as though savoring every second. One hand slides from your jaw into your hair, while the other keeps you firmly anchored against him—not that you plan to go anywhere while he keeps kissing you like that.

You melt into his embrace, losing yourself in the taste of him further. You feel him grin against your mouth, his hands slipping under the back of your shirt to find the bare skin of your back. His palms are warm, and the slow drag of them up your spine makes you shiver. You feel the heat of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it’s not enough. You want to feel his skin beneath your fingers.

When he pulls back this time, it’s only far enough to start peppering your jaw with kisses. Your breath hitches as his lips move lower, skimming down the column of your throat until you can feel the heat of his mouth even through your shirt.

“Hansol,” you gasp against the crown of his head, hands reaching up to push his cap down and thread your fingers into his hair. “The balcony isn’t very private.”

He hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t stop the delicious maddening, drugging kisses he’s placing along your collarbone. “Your neighbors can see?”

A moan escapes your lips when he bites your most sensitive spot. You shake your head, trying to force words out. “Just the people below.”

He pulls back to look at you with a crooked smile. Hansol rests his forehead against yours, hand still cupping your face. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admits, not a hint of shyness on his face.

“You have?” you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

“Of course I have.” Hansol chuckles, like it’s almost absurd to think otherwise, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “From the moment our eyes met.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “You’re impossible not to want, Bambi.”

Your breath hitches at his words, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want you too,” you whisper, suddenly feeling more bold. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you under that shady streetlight.”

His grip on your waist tightens, his lips hovering just over yours. “Is that so?”

“It is.” You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

With a single movement, Hansol stands up with you still in his arms, making you let out a small squeal as you wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself, your arms linking around his neck, and face burying in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

He moves with an easy strength that makes your head spin, carrying you as if you weight nothing at all. The world tilts on its axis, the view of your tiny balcony shifting into a dizzying blur of city lights and dark sky. This side of him is almost enough to give you whiplash, but you can’t help but loving it.

As he moves, you inhale deeply, and the scent of him is a heady, overwhelming cocktail: the clean soap from his shower, the earthy tang of the weed clinging to his shirt, and something underneath it all that is just purely, intoxicatingly Hansol, something you’re still trying to figure out.

You feel him shift his grip, one hand supporting your thighs as he navigates the threshold of the sliding glass door. There’s a moment of slight awkwardness as he sidesteps into the living room, the cool night air replaced by the still, warm atmosphere of your apartment. But he doesn’t put you down. Instead, he kicks the door shut with the back of his heel, the soft thud echoing in the sudden silence.

The only light comes from the faint glow of the city filtering through the windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. It paints his features in soft grays and deep blacks, highlighting the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. In the dim light, he looks less like your friendly neighborhood plug and more like a fantasy brought to life.

The effects of the weed hums pleasantly in your veins, a syrupy sensation that makes everything feel slow-motion and dreamlike. Every nerve ending in your body is awake and singing, amplifying the feeling of his body against yours, the texture of his shirt under your cheek, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

Hansol crosses the small living room in three long strides and gently lays you down on the cushions of your couch. He doesn’t move away, though. He follows you down, one knee on the cushions between your legs, his hands bracketing your head as he leans over you. His body cages you in a welcome weight that makes you feel incredibly safe.

“You’re suddenly quiet,” he observes, his voice still a low, gravelly whisper.

His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, the simple touch sending a cascade of sparks across your skin. The hybrid strain he brought is doing exactly what he promised: you’re relaxed, your limbs heavy and pliant, but your mind is sharp, hyper-focused on him. Every tiny detail is magnified—the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the sheer heat radiating from his body.

“Just… processing,” you manage to breathe out.

A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips. “Processing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the space between you. “Us. And the fact that you just carried me out of my own balcony like I was a sack of potatoes.”

Hansol lets out a low chuckle. “A very cute sack of potatoes.” He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch. “I can process with you, if you want.”

You don’t need to answer. You just slide your hands from his shoulders up into his hair, your fingers sinking into the soft, thick strands. You pull his head down, and this time the kiss isn’t slow or exploratory. It’s hungry, desperate, a release of all the tension that has been building between you for months.

His mouth meets yours with equal force, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours in a slick, heated dance. It’s messy and perfect and everything you’ve been craving. His hands leave the couch, one sliding down your side to rest possessively on your hip, the other threading into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he angles the kiss deeper.

A soft moan escapes your throat, and you feel him smile against your mouth. The sensation of his tongue in your mouth is an almost psychedelic experience. You can feel every texture, taste every note of him, the world narrowing down to the single, explosive point of contact between you, and it feels incredible.

His kisses trail from your mouth, hot and open mouthed, down the sensitive line of your jaw, to the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. You arch your back, granting him better access, your head tipping back against the cushions. His lips find the soft spot just above your collarbone, the same one he bit on the balcony, and he sucks gently, creating a pleasant pressure that sends a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

“Hansol,” you whine, your hips instinctively bucking up against him. The friction of his sweatpants against the thin fabric of your shorts is maddening.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and damp. He doesn’t stop his assault, his mouth moving lower, pressing kisses against the thin cotton of your shirt, right over your heart. You can feel the damp heat of his mouth through the fabric, while his tongue circles your nipple.

“I need…” You trail off at the feeling, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing you need more.

He seems to understand perfectly, pushing himself up slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze is dark and intense, his pupils blown wide. Add in the messy hair and swollen lips, and it’s the most insane, delightful sight you’ve ever seen in your life.

“I know what you need, Bambi.”

Without another word, he moves down your body. His hands find the waistband of your shorts, his fingers hooking into the elastic. He pauses for a beat, his eyes asking a silent question. You give a single, shaky nod, and that’s all he needs. Your shorts and underwear are gone in one smooth, efficient motion, tossed onto the floor beside the couch.

The cool air of the room hits your bare skin, and you shiver, a mixture of cold and raw, unadulterated anticipation. He stays there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, his gaze slowly, reverently, taking in the sight of you. The look in his eyes isn’t lecherous; it’s one of pure, unadulterated appreciation, and it makes a fresh wave of heat pool low in your belly.

You like to think getting high has stripped away your usual inhibitions, leaving you feeling bold and open beneath his stare. You part your legs for him, exposing your folds entirely, a silent, shameless invitation. His answering smile is devastating. He leans forward, his hands coming to rest on your inner thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there in slow, hypnotic circles.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, and you can just make out the slow smile forming on his lips. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Hansol lowers his head, and his hot breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, making you gasp and buck against his hands. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the top of your mound before his tongue finally sweeps down.

The first touch is electric. It’s a broad, wet slide from bottom to top that makes your entire body jerk. A strangled cry escapes your lips, and your hands fly up, fisting in the fabric of the couch cushions beside your head. He chuckles against you, before he settles in, and you realize with a jolt that his earlier patience and precision have returned, now focused entirely on your pleasure.

If he wasn’t your plug, you’d swear Hansol was a cartographer, mapping every fold and crevice with his mouth. His tongue is relentless, sometimes teasing with light, feathery licks around the edges, other times pressing down with a firm, insistent pressure that makes you see stars and the world dissolves into pure sensations.

You can feel the rough texture of his faint stubble against your inner thighs, the slick heat of his mouth, the gentle pull of his suction. Your hands leave the cushions, searching blindly for purchase. They find his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You grip him tight, your body starting to writhe as he finds your clit and circles it slowly, deliberately, driving you mad.

“Hansol,” you moan, tugging gently on the hair your fingers are tangled in. He pauses, his mouth still pressed against you, and look up, eyes wide with a mixture of lust and confusion. “Want your hand, too.”

If there’s one thing the night has left you with, it’s the thought of his hands, especially the way it looked while he rolled the joint.

He chuckles, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your thigh. He pushes himself up, moving from between your legs to hover over you on the couch. The sudden loss of his mouth makes you let out a small, complaining whimper.

“My hand?” he asks, voice not even trying to hide the amusement. He held up his right hand, palm open, presenting it to you like a sacred offering.

And you take it, your own hands trembling slightly as you hold his. You bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm before turning it over and kissing each of his long fingers one by one. You study his long deft fingers with a devotee’s focus, your gaze tracing the road map of pretty blue veins beneath his pale skin.

Every detail of it turns you on enough so you take the pad of his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it gently, your eyes fluttering shut as your hips rolled up against his thigh in a slow, needy grind. The solid muscle against your bare pussy pulls an even needier moan from your throat.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest, pupils going wider. He leans over you, free hand bracing on the couch cushion beside your head.

“Jesus, Bambi,” he gasp, lips now brushing against the skin of your stomach, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. “Then let me fuck you with it.”

You release his thumb with a wet pop and let his hand go. He reclaims it, eyes burning into yours, before he moves back between your legs. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning down, his mouth finding your folds again, his tongue lapping at your pussy with a renewed vigor that makes you cry out. At the same time, he slips one of his long fingers inside you.

The sudden fullness combined with the merciless work of his mouth is too much. Your senses overload, a wave of pleasure building higher and higher until you’re certain you’re going to shatter. You writhe against the couch, back arching, hips lifting off the cushions to meet the pressure of his mouth and hand.

“Please.” The word tears itself from your throat before you can think. “Hansol, please.”

He hums in response, adding a second finger and giving a harsh suck to your clit. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot deep within that sent a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy tearing straight through your body, while his tongue works faster and harder against your clit.

You grip his hair like an anchor against the raging sea of pleasure he’s created, pulling him closer, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp as the wave crests. “Oh, god, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He seems to take that as a challenge, tongue flicking even faster, fingers curling inside you with precision until they find the spot that undoes everything. The wave doesn’t crest so much as collapse, and then you break completely.

Your orgasm crashes over you, a blinding, white-hot supernova of pleasure that rips a scream from your lungs, no room for thinking of anything as trivial as your neighbors. Your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching tightly around his head. You grip his hair tighter, hips bucking wildly as the waves of pleasure roll through you, one after another, leaving you utterly breathless and spent.

Hansol doesn’t stop, though, continuing to lick and soothe you through the aftershocks until your trembling subsides and you melt into the couch, a boneless, quivering mess.

He finally pulls away, and you let out a weak whimper at the loss of contact. He moves up your body, his face slick, lips swollen. He looks impossibly pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk playing on his mouth. He leans down and captures your lips in a wet kiss, and you can taste yourself on him, the flavor musky and sweet and incredibly erotic.

When he pulls back, you’re panting, your mind a blissful, hazy fog. “Wow,” is all you can manage to say.

He giggles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very welcome, Bambi.”

You lie there for a moment, letting the last delicious tremors of your orgasm fade, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. The need to reciprocate, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he just gave you, is practically a primal urge. You reach out, your hand landing on the front of his sweatpants. You can feel the thick, hard length of him through the soft fabric, and a fresh wave of desire cuts through your post-orgasmic haze.

“My turn,” you whisper, your voice husky.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, then swing your legs over the side of the couch. You sit up and look at him, at the hunger in his eyes. Without a word, you slide off the couch and onto your knees on the rug in front of him. Hansol’s breath hitches audibly while you reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants, fingers fumbling slightly.

He covers your hands with his. “You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

You just look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze, and give a slow nod. He removes his hands and leans back against the couch, giving you complete control. You pull the string, loosening the waistband, and then slowly peel the gray fabric down his hips, revealing the taut line of his stomach and the trail of thin hair that disappears below. You push the sweatpants down past his knees, along with his black boxer briefs, freeing him.

He is beautiful. Long, thick, and perfectly straight. A single, clear bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters. You reach out a tentative hand, fingers wrapping around his velvety length. Hansol groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the floor, his hips twitching involuntarily.

You lean forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain, and take him into your mouth. You start slowly, your tongue tracing the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock, following it all the way to the head. He tastes like an incredible mix of salt and musk, and you take him deeper, lips creating a wet, tight seal around him.

Hansol hisses through his teeth, hands coming up to fist in your hair, but his grip is gentle, reverent, nothing like the desperate way you clung to him moments ago.

“Shit, that’s it,” he breathes, the words barely holding together when you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.

You soon find a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, one hand stroking the base of his cock in time with the movements of your mouth. You love the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way he pulses and hardens even further against your tongue. You love even more the sounds he makes, the low, broken groans and sharp intakes of breath that tell you exactly how good you’re making him feel.

He starts to move his hips, a slow, rocking motion that pushes him deeper into your throat with each thrust. You gag slightly, but it’s a good feeling, a feeling of being completely taken, completely used for his pleasure. You take him as deep as you can, your throat muscles contracting around him.

“Fuck, Bambi,” he grits out, his head thrown back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. And you take a moment to appreciate this stunning view of Hansol. “You’re so good at this.”

His praise sends a thrill through you. You pick up the pace, your hand and mouth working faster, more desperately. You can feel the tension building in him, the way his whole body has gone rigid, his hips bucking more insistently against your mouth. You can feel the tell-tale pulse at the base of his cock that signals he’s close.

Just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Wait, Bambi,” he gasps, his chest heaving. “Stop. I wanna be inside you.”

Hansol pulls you up from the floor, his movements urgent. You’re on your feet, swaying slightly, his hands firm on your hips. He doesn’t let you go. Instead, he hooks his thumbs into the hem of his own shirt and rips it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the floor.

Before you can fully process the view of his bare chest, his hands are at the hem of your shirt. His fingers are scorching hot against the skin of your stomach as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, eyes never leaving yours as he lets your shirt fall to the floor beside his.

The air is cool on your bare skin, but his gaze is molten hot. It drops from your eyes to your chest, and his breath hitches. His pupils dilate, swallowing the brown of his irises until they’re almost black. He looks at you with a kind of raw reverence that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a prayer. “Bambi, you’re… incredible.”

He closes the small distance between you, and his hands, those beautiful hands you were just worshipping, come up to cup your breasts. The feeling of his palms against your skin makes you gasp. He holds you with a surprising gentleness, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, coaxing them into tight, aching points. You moan, your head falling back as you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

That sound seems to break whatever restraint he had left. He pushes you back gently, your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and you tumble backward onto the cushions. He follows you down immediately, settling between your parted thighs, his bare chest pressing against yours.

“You’re still so wet for me,” he growls against your lips, his hand sliding down between your legs to confirm his words. Your slickness coats his fingers instantly, and he circles your clit with his thumb, making you whimper.

“Please, Hansol,” you beg, your nails digging into his broad back. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing you. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a possessive glint. “Look at me, Bambi.”

You obey, your eyes locking with his. The connection is intense, electric.

And then Hansol pushes forward.

The feeling of him entering you is breathtaking. He moves slowly, stretching you, filling you inch by glorious inch. It’s a perfect, snug fit, a feeling of completion. You let out a long, shuddering sigh as Hansol sinks into you all the way to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, letting you adjust to the size of him. He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You feel… perfect.”

The sensation of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the incredible heat of him deep inside you. It’s as if your bodies were made for this.

He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “So polite.”

He begins to move, in a rhythm that has your head spinning. He pulls back almost all the way, the sensation of his withdrawal a sweet torture, before thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you again. Each thrust is a wave of pleasure, building on the last. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your face as he fucks you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Your moans mix with his grunts, creating a pornographic symphony in your living room. The pace quickens, his slow thrusts turning faster, harder, more frantic. He’s no longer the patient, gentle Hansol you know; he’s a man driven by pure need, and you meet his energy with your own, arching your hips to meet his every powerful thrust.

The friction is building, the pleasure coiling tight and hot in your lower belly. The couch creaks in protest beneath you, the only sound apart from your panting breaths and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking a new bruise into your skin as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

“You’re so tight,” he groans into your ear, his voice strained. “So fucking good, Bambi.”

You’re close again, so close. The world is nothing but a blur of sensations: the feeling of him filling you, the heat of his skin, the scent of his sweat, the sound of his voice calling your name.

“Hansol, I’m—I’m close!” you cry out, your voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he pants, his thrusts becoming deeper, even more frantic, slamming into you with a desperate intensity. “Come for me. Let me feel you come apart around me.”

That’s all it takes. His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his cock deep inside you, push you over the edge. Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, even more intense than the first. Your vision whites out, a scream tears from your throat, and your inner muscles clench around him in a powerful, milking release.

You can feel that your climax triggers his, but instead of driving deeper, he rips himself out of you with a wet, slick sound that echoes in the quiet room. The sudden feeling of emptiness makes you gasp. In a single, fluid motion, he positions himself over you, his hips hovering above your stomach.His eyes are squeezed shut, face a mask of pure pleasure as his body goes rigid. You watch, mesmerized, as thick, hot ropes of his cum splash across your belly.

Hansol collapses beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he shudders through the last aftershocks of his own release. He pulls you into his side, one arm wrapping securely around you. You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

You look down at the pearly mess cooling on your stomach. Slowly, you lift a hand and dip your index finger into the thickest part of it. The texture is sticky and still warm. You lift your finger, your eyes finding his in the dim light, only to discover Hansol already watching you, his own gaze heavy-lidded and curious. You hold his gaze as you slowly bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the tip clean.

A groan escapes his throat, a sound of pure, astonished pleasure. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies are flush against each other. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bambi,” he rasps, his voice with a mixture of exhaustion and renewed desire.

He buries his face in your hair, and you melt into him, tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs. The hazy, blissful fog of the weed settles over you like a warm blanket, cocooning you in the aftermath of pure, unadulterated bliss. His body is heavy and grounding next to yours, and you’ve never felt more safe, more sated, in your entire life.

The night was nothing like you expected, and everything you never knew you wanted.

But just then, an afterthought—one that doesn’t belong in this moment at all—surfaces and slips out before you can stop it. “Was that just because we were high?”

The light in Hansol’s eyes instantly softens, replaced by a profound, heavy sincerity that pins you to the spot. He reaches up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly gentle.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice steady and absolute. “At least not for me. I wanted you the first time I saw you. I just didn’t wanna mess up what we had, but being around you is kinda messing me up anyway. In a good way.”

Your heart skips a beat, a massive wave of warmth blooming in your chest. The butterflies have completely escaped their cage by now, flying far, far away.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly. “You like me?”

“A lot more than I could describe probably.” Hansol nods, his brown eyes shining. “But yeah, I do like you. You’re stuck in my head all the time, Bambi.”

You look at him, a wide smile breaking across your face, completely erasing any residual trace of executive dysfunction or anxiety. “What if I like you back?” you tease, tilting your head and resting your chin on his chest.

Hansol’s smile turns incredibly bright, a boyish expression of pure relief taking over his features as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you closer.

“Then I’m the luckiest plug in this city.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST

If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!! 💗

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @bmo-bri @chromequette @codeinebelle @paradiseoflosers @tinyelfperson @dcrlingyou @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @haaruki @bath1lda @hoshstruck @wubbz05 @jihoonsbbygirl @smiileflower @tastyluvr @gyuguys @nerdycheol @christinewithluv @jesauiin @ughokmyg @raggedypansexual @caratcak3 @ateez-atiny380 @meowchella @jeonsfries @whoisbaek15 @damnedangel98 @sumzysworld @theidontknowmehn @mingyuuulover @andreethier @sarabencze @weepingsweep @minhui896 @blaycke @miyx-amour @pl4netx1a @ohwowzersthatscool @ahuiahoe @bee-the-loser @im-gemmy @ssamarzi @my-neurodivergent-world @wonsrat @starmy-143 @wonu13 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @nonuverse @gyuhao365 @healingmv @coupsarchive

"You put that piece upside down."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I've built furniture before." You looked over the top of your phone. The shelf was, indeed, upside down.

You burst out laughing. Seungcheol narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N."

"Nothing, grandpa."

Silence. Dead silence. Slowly, his head turned toward you.

"Excuse me?" You immediately regretted everything. But only a little. "Grandpa," you repeated.

His jaw dropped.

"GRANDPA?". You nodded seriously.

"Well, you did say you've built furniture before."

"I'M THIRTY-ONE."

"Exactly."

"THAT'S NOT OLD." You gasped dramatically.

"Careful, Cheol. Don't raise your voice. Your back might give out."

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

The offended expression on his face was so ridiculous that you started laughing harder. "You think this is funny?"

"A little."

"A little?"

"A lot." Seungcheol pointed at you.

"You better run."

You immediately sat up. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." The look in his eyes was enough warning. You jumped off the couch.

He stood up.

You screamed.

Then sprinted. ---"GET BACK HERE."

"NO."

"YOU CALLED ME OLD."

"BECAUSE YOU ARE."

"I'M LITERALLY YOUNGER THAN SOME OF YOUR FAVORITE ACTORS."

"AND THEY'RE OLD TOO."

"Y/N!"

You were laughing so hard you nearly ran into the kitchen island. Unfortunately for you, Seungcheol had years of idol training.

And unfortunately for you ,he was faster. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. You shrieked.

"SEUNGCHEOL."

"Gotcha."

"No fair."

"It's completely fair." He effortlessly lifted you off the ground despite your dramatic protests.

."You know what happens to people who call me old?"

"What?"

"They face consequences." You immediately started struggling.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Then his fingers found your sides. The scream you let out could've shattered glass.

"SEUNGCHEOL!"

"There she is."

"STOP."

"You called me grandpa."

"I TAKE IT BACK."

"Too late." You dissolved into helpless laughter as he mercilessly tickled your sides.

"CHEOL—"

"Who's old?"

"YOU."

"Wrong answer."

"AHHHH." More tickles.

More laughter. More fake suffering.

Until eventually your legs gave out completely.

Seungcheol finally stopped and collapsed onto the floor beside you. Both of you were breathless. You glared at him.

He grinned.

"You deserved that."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Unfortunately. He was right.---A few minutes later, you were curled up together on the couch again.

This time with your head on his chest. The abandoned shelf sat in the corner. Still backwards. You noticed it immediately.

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Cheol."

"Hm?"

"The shelf is still wrong."

He groaned. "Don't start."

"Maybe it's because your eyesight is getting bad."

The silence that followed was immediate .Dangerous. You looked up. His eye twitched.

"Y/N."

"You know, it happens with age."

"Y/N."

"I heard there are vitamins for tha—"

Before you could finish, he pulled you closer until you were trapped against him. You laughed.

"Cheater."

"Say one more thing."

"Old man." His arms tightened around your waist.

"You have exactly three seconds."

"What happens after three seconds?"A mischievous smile appeared on his face.

"The tickles come back." You gasped. Then immediately buried your face in his chest.

"Okay, okay."

"That's what I thought." For a moment, the room fell quiet.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Seungcheol pressed a kiss against the top of your head. Then another. And another . Just because he could. You smiled into his shirt.

"Love you, grandpa."

His horrified gasp echoed through the apartment.

And your laughter followed right after.---

Milli says: This man would absolutely start a full wrestling match over being called grandpa. Meanwhile reader has zero survival instincts and keeps doing it anyway 🤚🏻💀

Taglist 🥂

. . . is someone more extroverted than him (but not too much)

• there's a very specific sweet spot here that he's looking for, someone who's not super extroverted but also not as much of an introvert as he is. since jun definitely leans more introverted, he doesn't mind sitting back and letting you talk to your heart's content. with a partner who's more extroverted than he is, there's no pressure for him to carry the conversation or make jokes. he can just listen and jump in when he wants to, not because he feels obligated to fill the silence when you're around.

• i think he enjoys having extroverted friends (how could he get along so well with svt if he didn't lol) so he's grown used to being around rambunctious energy. maybe not as rowdy 24/7 as someone like hoshi, but he'd like having a partner who knows how to have fun and let loose once in a while. as long as you're enjoying yourself and he doesn't have to interact with a ton of strangers, he doesn't care.

• for most of his life he's taken on a 'big brother' kind of role, so deep down i think he'd secretly want someone who'll take care of him so he can relax. he wants somebody who's not afraid to flag down a waiter and complain about his order being wrong, when he'd rather suck it up and not bother the staff. he wants somebody who'll hold his hand on busy streets and make sure he doesn't get caught up in the crowd and left behind in the chaos. he wants somebody who'll be the older sibling for him this time, someone who's mature and caring in the same way he is.

. . . values communication and honesty

• he's said this plenty of times, but jun is a very honest person. he isn't so honest that he uses his honesty to hurt people — quite the opposite, actually. the last thing he ever wants is to make his partner or his friends uncomfortable by telling harsh truths. but at the same time, open communication is really important to him. having to learn multiple languages for his job, miscommunication happens a lot and he's acutely aware of how frustrating it is when other people don't understand what he's trying to say. even if it may hurt his pride sometimes, he'd want someone who'll always tell him the truth, because he prefers to know instead of hearing little white lies that won't help him grow as a person.

• i think he's very philosophical and he reflects a lot, and he always wants to learn from others and better himself, which is why communication is so important to him. if there's a better, more efficient, more kind way to live his life then he wants to achieve that, and the only way to do that is by being honest with himself and everyone in his life.

. . . is someone he can let his inner child out with

• we've all seen the runner-up winner episode of gose! (if you haven't, then what are you doing go watch it right now?? it's so cute i promise you'll love it) jun is a guy that really loves to play games and be silly. he's so whimsical and finds fun in practically anything, so his ideal type wouldn't mind doing "childish" things together. he wants someone who is truly genuine in everything that they do: who isn't afraid of looking stupid, who doesn't go along with the crowd, who doesn't obsess over how people perceive them.

• he wouldn't fit well with someone who's strict or stubborn or too nonchalant, someone who's a workaholic, because he knows how important it is to have a balance in your life and not take yourself too seriously sometimes. obviously he wouldn't be comfortable around someone who looks down on him for being immature or makes fun of him for acting like a kid sometimes. the man has been working since he was 3 years old, cut him some slack! svt understands this and it's why they treat him so gently. they adore him because they know he needs space to be a little dumb and a little dorky without judgement. he's spent so much of his life being serious, so his ideal partner would be someone who embraces his weird side, and loves him not just in spite of it, but because of it. weird baddies have to stick together so it's a requirement for him sorry you've gotta be a little bit strange.

[NSFW] . . . is a switch who always loves trying new things

• jun is so good at adapting to whatever situation he's in, and i think that would carry over into the bedroom. he's flexible, and he wants someone who can be flexible too and keep up with his many desires. sometimes he's had a rough day and he wants to just turn his brain off and let his partner call the shots, and he'll be your good boy and do whatever you tell him to do. sometimes he wants to be a little bratty and make you force him into submission instead. sometimes he's feeling brave and wants to take charge, and he be a little bit of a mean dom too. but most of the time, to him sex is just sex, so as long as you both feel good it doesn't matter exactly what the roles are. he's very much a "go with the flow" person, so he wouldn't work well with somebody who's very rigid and only likes one certain type of sex.

• he's a man of many talents (singing, dancing, acting, modeling, cooking, martial arts, speaking like 10 different languages... the list goes on) and he doesn't want to do only one thing for his entire life, so i can't see him wanting to stick to one type of sex forever either. like a cat, he's curious about everything, and he wants to try every new thing he comes across. he's open to almost anything, so he'd want a partner who is equally willing to play around with him, even if it doesn't end up being something either of you like. the experimenting is the fun part!

• he'd also want someone who isn't afraid of talking about sex, because while even he can be shy about it sometimes, it's normal and okay and there's nothing weird about it. he loves post-sex discussions where you just lie in bed together and talk about what you liked, what you didn't like, what you want to try differently next time. communication is very important to him, and if something isn't working, he wants to know right away. if it's something he can fix, then there's no reason to beat around the bush instead of tackling it head-on.

• bonus: i am on team "jun wants to be pegged" so i believe his ideal type is someone who isn't afraid of using toys/other items in the bedroom. do NOT try to come between him and his favorite dildo.

© junkissed 2026. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist!

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! it shows me that people are interested in my writing, and knowing people liked this makes me want to write more! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

Tucked away underneath an umbrella, you stared at the sign on the shop window. Minghao was always the one decorating your place with flowers, always knowing exactly what would fit the season, the scenery, even your mood. 

Now you had to do it yourself because your flowers were dying in your windowsill. Minghao wouldn’t be around to save them anytime soon. You never had much with flowers, but he loved it so you let him go crazy. 

And honestly? Everything he put in there was gorgeous. 

The thought tightened your chest. You nearly turned around and went home crying, but you pushed through the doors anyway. 

You closed your umbrella and left it in the holder with the others. The smell of fresh flowers was all around you, and you recognised the daisies that were on your right. Observing them closely, tears welled in your eyes. 

A stupid argument had completely escalated. An argument that you had a thousand times before, that led to nowhere, had made everything worse. When you thought about the way you started screaming at each other, the air punched out of your lungs. You’d never seen Minghao angry before – irritated at best – but you had ticked him off so badly that the vein in his neck visibly pulsed. The entire apartment complex could hear him, even though he switched to Chinese every few sentences. 

Since that night, you hadn’t seen or spoken to him anymore. That was now two weeks ago and you were in a flower shop, looking as lost as you were. You were still not sure whether you were truly there to replace your dying flowers or if you didn’t know where else to go. 

Strolling past the displays, you stopped in front of a bouquet of roses. 

Minghao had often talked about them. Especially the pink and white flowers had always appealed to him and you’d never been able to pinpoint why. Just like many of his preferences, the mystery had left you wanting to know more. When you asked, you expected a very specific answer, something direct and tangible. 

More often than not, he told you that some things didn’t need an explanation. It was a feeling you had and it left you with more questions than answers. You wanted things figured out, while Minghao was someone who could wait and see how things would go. ‘Go with the flow’, as he would’ve told you. 

His flow didn’t exactly bring him back to you yet. 

You headed into the back of the shop. Lavender, something you absolutely hated no matter how many times Minghao tried to introduce it to you. The smell was overbearing and overwhelming. 

You turned back around, bumping right into a guy, guessing him to be around your age. Muttering a quick apology, you stepped out of the way, but he chuckled. 

“I was actually here to help you,” he said and crossed his arms behind his back. “First time here?” 

“Do I look that obviously out of place?” 

He flashed a smile. 

You clicked your tongue. “Alright. Loud and clear.” 

The guy chuckled and started walking. “The actual reason is that I haven’t seen you around here. I would recognise you if you were a regular.” 

“Ah.” You trailed after him. “My… um, my boyfriend comes here often. If anyone’s the regular, it’s him.” 

He looked back at you and narrowed his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Your boyfriend…” 

“I think.”

Mentally you were already strangling yourself for letting it slip out, but he ignored it to your surprise. You breathed out softly and stopped when he did. 

“Is he broad and muscular?”

You couldn’t help but snort before composing yourself. You shook your head. “Sorry. No, he’s not.”

“Guessing by that reaction, he’s the opposite.”

“I wouldn’t describe him as ‘broad’, no.”

An amused smile decorated the man’s face. “Longer blond hair?”

Your stomach tingled. “As of recently, yes.” 

“Oh, Minghao,” he cooed and clasped his hands together. “He would be laughing in my face if I told him that you were here.” 

You tilted your head with a frown. 

The man took you to the front of the shop, where you were admiring the daisies earlier. He grabbed a couple of white ones out of the bucket and turned around. “Minghao always comes here to pick out flowers for your house then, I assume, and he talks about you on many occasions.” 

He walked to a couple of other buckets and picked some pink flowers. “I vividly remember him telling me that you would never be found here. Look at you now!” 

You blinked a couple of times. It was the first time you ever saw him, but he was spewing information like he knew you better than you knew yourself, talking like he was catching up with an old friend. 

With a weak nod, you looked at the flowers in his hand. “Minghao was completely right in saying that.” 

“What brings you here?” 

You looked at him, opening your mouth to say something before closing it. Shrugging, you shot him a small smile. “I don’t know, to be honest. It just felt right coming here.” 

He returned the smile warmly before handing you the bouquet. “You made the right choice, then.” 

The bouquet had been sitting in a vase in your kitchen for days. You’d been pondering over what to say to Minghao and how you were going to approach him in the first place. It was almost three weeks ago since your last contact and you were reaching your final straw. 

When you called him, you got voicemail. Expecting him to call back, you left him be until a call would never come. Slowly, the empty feeling in your chest started filling up with a burning sensation, until you had enough. 

You stood in front of his door with a hammering heart. The lock clicked and he peeked his head around the corner. 

Minghao seemed surprised to see you as he opened the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged, pretending to think, “maybe trying to get back in touch with you so we can get this over with.” 

He leaned against the door. “Okay, what do you have to say?” 

“Why don’t you pick up when I try to call you?” 

“Because I have a right to decline.” 

Your eyes clouded over, piercing right through him. 

Minghao shrugged, your name rolling off his lips so calmly, you got shivers. “You’re not even sure what you’re going to say.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your eyebrow. “I am.” 

He repeated your gesture and straightened his posture. You hated that through all the anger, he still managed to make your heart skip a beat. His eyes still held a softness for you, and you know he was more than open to hear you out. 

You were the one visiting him, after all. 

“Well,” you started and cleared your throat, “I think it’s unfair of you to assume that I don’t know what to say.” 

“Can you prove me wrong, though?” Minghao asked. “Whenever we’re arguing, you say the same thing in five different ways. And frankly, we never get it solved.” 

Before you had a defence at the ready, he cut you off. 

“I’m not going to do it, not like this.” Minghao offered you a small smile. “Figure out what you want first.” 

“Minghao–”

He shut the door. 

You stared at it, head spinning. You were angry, upset, hurt, disappointed and unable to ride out one. You wanted to pounce at the door and scream at him, but you wanted to cry in his arms all the same. 

Instead you ended up back home. 

The bouquet had withered by the time you decided to do something else than go to work, the rose petals that were still clinging on a faint brown. The rest of them were on the kitchen table drying up. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets and walked the block, taking a left and walking straight into the city. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you just needed to catch some fresh air. 

After a good month since your fight with Minghao, the flow hadn’t brought him back to you still. On the contrary, even. You had a feeling he drifted away from you if you didn’t do something soon. 

In all your anger and confusion, you’d stood on his doorstep the night before. Once again, Minghao had opened the door and you even made it into his apartment. The conversation seemed to go well and you were making progress.

Until it was your turn to talk. The conversation had escalated once again and you left with the anger burning your chest to ashes. Everything that he’d said had fallen on deaf ears and you started to realise that the problem wasn’t with Minghao. 

You pushed through the doors. The daisies on your right side were the first thing you smelled, a warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Since your last visit, not much had changed in their display. Some colours had been replaced or switched around to make it more appealing, but that was the biggest change you could find. 

Bowing over the daisies, you inhaled. 

“Look at that.” 

You shot up and looked right in those mischievous eyes. 

“Are you becoming a regular?” The same guy asked, arms crossed behind his back. His lips twisted into a grin. “Welcome back. I guess that you’re still a little clueless?” 

“Yep.” You looked around before your eyes landed on him. “The last bouquet kind of died and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.”

“I expected nothing less.” He beckoned you and started walking. “You’re around more than Minghao and that says a lot. Is something going on?”

You shrugged and crossed your arms over your body. “We’re kind of on a rough patch right now.” 

He hummed and stopped by the counter, leaning on it as he watched his coworker helping someone else. “I think it’s very ironic that you find yourself here of all places.” 

You looked at him with a tilted head. 

“You’re not someone that cares much for flowers,” the guy started. “You’re okay with Minghao decorating your house with it because he loves it, but that’s all. And now you’re in a rough patch and where are you right now? A place that he loves more than you do.” 

You hummed and looked away. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re not here without a reason, you just need to know how to return the gesture to him.” 

“Have you ever considered becoming a public speaker?” 

The guy laughed. “Next to being a florist, I also offer free therapy sessions. Part of the job.” His chuckles eased into a smile. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen since working here. Flowers play a bigger role in people’s lives than you might assume.” 

“I get why you and Minghao get along so well,” you remarked. “It’s like hearing him speak as we’re talking right now.”

“Like attracts like.” He winked and patted the counter. “I need to look over deliveries. Take a look around and call for me if you need me.” 

You nodded and watched how he slid behind the counter and disappeared in the back. Walking back to the daisies, you kneeled down. They had all kinds of colours, blending into each other so seamlessly it made you smile. 

The purple ones had been in your house before. You remembered getting a promotion at work, and telling Minghao was the most exciting part of the day. That same night, you had a small bouquet, which included the purple daisies. 

You’d always assumed they were purple because it was your favourite colour, but it was the only time you’d seen them. Faded to the back of your mind, passing it off as something insignificant. 

As if it had never mattered at all.

With a soft sigh, you came back up. You dusted your pants off and straightened your jacket. As you turned around, you bumped into someone. 

“Did I look lost again?” You remarked with a chuckle. When you looked up, Minghao was staring right back at you. 

You froze. 

His eyes scanned you carefully, and you couldn’t help but drown in them. 

“You do look kind of lost,” he finally said. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw you here.” 

You shrugged weakly and crossed your arms over your body. 

Minghao nodded at the buckets. “What were you looking at?” 

Your eyes darted to the purple daisies. 

“Ah,” he hummed and bowed down, picking one from the bucket. He observed it before giving it to you. 

You took it carefully and held it to your chest. 

“I know purple is your favourite colour.” He nodded his head at the flower. “That’s not what that daisy is about.” 

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Minghao placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you further into the shop. The touch was electric, lighting a flame that you thought had long died out. “Purple daisies resemble success, and admiration. When I put them in your living room, I was celebrating your promotion.” 

He picked a pink flower. “Pink lilies bear the same meaning, and they were also in that same bouquet. Admiration and gratitude.” 

You took the lily from him. “What flowers say ‘I’m sorry for everything, please forgive me?’” 

Minghao stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder. 

You took a small step towards him. “I really am sorry, Hao. I don’t want you to feel undervalued, or misunderstood, and I hate myself for not realising earlier that that’s what this is all about.” 

He turned around in full. 

“You know,” you looked up at him with a small smile, “if I would’ve engaged earlier, be more open-minded like you’d tell me,” you nudged Minghao, making him chuckle. “I would’ve realised much sooner that it’s one of the most touching gestures someone has ever made for me. So that’s what I’ll try to do from now on.”

He smiled at you. 

You caressed his cheek. “And hearing you spew these facts out like it’s breathing, it warms my heart, and it actually makes me excited to hear more.”

“I’m sorry too, my love,” Minghao muttered and leaned into your touch. “I’m very quick to jump to conclusions sometimes and it’s unfair to you especially since you need a little longer to gather your thoughts. I should’ve given you proper time and space to do so, instead of pushing the blame all on you.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. “We’ll work on this just fine, my love. I’m very sure of it.” 

Minghao pressed a long kiss into your hair. “I love you so much, darling. So so much.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I love you, too.” 

He kissed you so eagerly that the heat pooled in your stomach. His hands gripped your waist, nails dipping into your sides like you would disappear again. When you pulled him in closer, he chuckled against your lips. 

You pouted when he pulled back. 

“I came here to pick up my order,” he muttered. “I need to get back to work.” 

“See you tonight?” You offered, to which he smiled. 

“You have a key.” 

You pressed one last kiss to his lips and watched him walking to the counter. He was talking to the same guy that had taken you under his wing. 

As Minghao slipped past, he squeezed your waist. “Seungkwan wants to talk to you,” he whispered and kissed your temple. He rushed out of the door and disappeared around the corner. 

You looked over at Seungkwan, who waved at you. With a chuckle, you walked over to him. “What could you possibly need me for?” 

“Let’s make you a bouquet for Minghao,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell you all I need to know.” 

When you walked out of the shop with the bouquet, you were light as a feather. Your stomach tingled whenever you thought of how Minghao’s eyes would light up, how he would kiss you passionately that you melted in his arms. Since your fight, you hadn’t felt so excited to see him again. 

You knew that he wouldn’t get off work for another hour and set out to his house. The bouquet rested in your hand as you twisted the lock, slipping in before any of his neighbours would see you. 

As you looked around, there wasn’t a flower in sight. 

The empty vases were lined up on the counter on a towel. They looked dried up and you had no trouble believing they’d been there for a couple of days. Purposeless.

You grabbed the vase that Minghao painted himself, tracing the dried streaks with a smile. You filled it with water and put it in, setting the vase on the saloon table in the living room. ‘A center piece’, Minghao had often told you. You hoped that this would meet his requirements. 

Minghao had texted you about dinner, opting that he would get something on his way home. You agreed with a smile. 

When you heard the lock clicking not much later, your heart jumped. 

You rubbed your hands together and balanced from the front to the heel of your feet. 

Minghao pushed the door back into its lock with his hip, the crackling of a plastic bag following him around. When he walked into the living room, he yelped. 

Covering your mouth, you suppressed a giggle. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“What are you already doing here?” His eyes darted to the bouquet on the table and his lips twisted into a smile. “That wasn’t there before.” 

“Happened to come with me,” you watched him set the bag down and observe it. “Seungkwan helped me. It’s not how the professionals do it, but–” 

“It’s perfect.” Minghao looked back at you and opened his arms. “Come here, you.” 

You walked right into his arms, inhaling his citrus, amber scent. You closed your eyes with a hum. “I missed you a lot, Hao.” 

“I you too, my love.” He ran a hand through your hair before pressing a kiss to it. “Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.” 

You peeked inside the bag curiously and smiled brightly. You grabbed the servings and sat down on the ground. “You know, why Seungkwan works in a flower shop is beyond me,” you said and opened the container. 

Minghao chuckled. “He’s a talker, hm?” 

“He is.” You put the other one in front of your boyfriend and grabbed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks. “A good one at that, though. Very convincing.” 

“He’s helped me since the first time I set foot in that place,” he started and stirred his soup. “I just moved to the city and I wanted a good bouquet for my living room.”

“The center piece,” you said in unison. 

Minghao looked at you with a smile before he continued. “He knows everything there is to know and I really formed some kind of friendship with him.” 

“He’s a nice guy.” The broth you sipped from was an explosion of flavours, making you groan. “God, I missed this.” 

“I thought I’d treat you.” 

With a smile, you spent the rest of the dinner catching up with Minghao; work, your parents, your friends. For the first time it wasn’t silent, as if your relationship had completely reinvented itself. 

As Minghao was at the counter cutting the branches of the flowers, you stood behind him, your arms wrapped around him. Your head rested against his back, your eyes closed. “If you cut them at an angle, they’re able to absorb more water,” he told you. “Your beautiful bouquet will stay alive for a very long time.” 

You smiled. “I worked very hard on it.” You peeked up at him. “Can I tell you about the flowers?” 

His smile grew. “I would love to hear it.” 

“I picked the blue orchids first,” you said and looked out of the window. “I had never seen it before, but it’s a way to express that you think of someone as beautiful in a unique way. And Seungkwan told me it’s spiritual so naturally, I had to pick it.” 

“Flattered.” 

You grinned at him. “You should be.” 

“And then you chose red lilies,” Minghao continued, followed by a sheer cut. 

“I know it looks a little odd next to the orchid, but they’re a symbol of love. I thought a red rose was too standard, so Seungkwan showed me these.”

Minghao looked back at you. “You really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?” 

“And I’m not even finished,” you said with a small smile, the heat flushing your cheeks. “I did pick white and pink roses because they made me think of you.”

He smiled and put the bouquet back into the vase as you let go of him. “Pink is joy and appreciation.” 

“And white symbolises a fresh start,” you added. You pointed at the daffodils on the side. “Just like those, moving away and transforming.”

“And pink camellias because you missed me.” Minghao bumped your hip. “Sappy.” 

You chuckled and bumped him back. 

He draped an arm around your shoulder and locked you into his side. “Thank you. Truly.” 

You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll do anything for you.” 

You finally regretted speaking that into existence when you found yourself in the flower shop again a couple of weeks later. Your eyes darted around before you looked back at Minghao. “Seriously?”

“You claim to know so much about this now,” he answered with a shrug. “I would love to see you make a bouquet for your own apartment.”

Shooting him a sweet smile, you traced his arm. “But aren’t you sad that you can’t do it for me anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Was worth a try.” You looked around again and your eyes landed on Seungkwan. When he looked back at you, his eyes lit up. 

He came over hurriedly. “You finally got her here!” 

You arched an eyebrow and turned to Minghao. 

“We’re here for some pieces for her apartment,” he said and placed a hand on the small of your back. “She’s going to pick them out herself, as she’s claiming to have the hang of it.”

Seungkwan bobbed his head, his upper lip curved upwards like he was impressed. He remained where we stood and smiled. “What are you looking for?”

“Something for my kitchen,” you answered and frowned. “Why does this feel like a test?” 

Behind you, Minghao chuckled. He pushed you forward gently and followed you to the daisies. “I told you she would go there first.” 

Seungkwan chuckled and joined you at the front of the shop. Instead of walking after him, you navigated the shop like it was your second home. With a bright smile, you walked out of the shop with the bouquet and your boyfriend back by your side. 

A place that you never thought you would ever step foot in had become like a second home in an oddly beautiful way. After your fight with Minghao, that very shop had brought you back to each other like no flow could. And this time, you wouldn’t drift away from each other anymore. 

Watching the jet door suction shut, the click too familiar now as you sat in your car on the runway, waving innocently to Jeonghan whose eyes didn’t leave your distant figure until you reversed and drove off. 

It was always common knowledge that your pregnancy with Jeonghan wasn’t going to be easy. Especially when you refused to let him skip a season. 

‘You above everything else, baby, that’s what I said in Italy when we slid these rings on our fingers!’ Jeonghan’s voice was raised, not quite shouting, but he held his left hand up, exaggeratedly pointing at his wedding band. 

You sighed, a long one. You were twenty-six weeks pregnant now, and the new season was rolling around rapidly — and with that, Jeonghan’s hesitation to leave his pregnant wife’s side. 

But you insisted. 

You refused to let him stop now, not when the momentum was so strong, his placing on podium last season setting him up for the perfect pole this season. 

‘Jeonghan,’ your bump was particularly visible now, sticking out of your slightly cropped tee as you leaned against the island in the kitchen. ‘Don’t let yourself give this up right now, please.’ 

He was ready to refuse, shake his head almost violently until your glassy eyes met his. You knew how important racing was for him; being here every day would drive him insane. You knew he needed to be out there. ‘Please.’ 

After days of talks between the two of you, he agreed on many conditions. He would not race leading up to your due date. Ferrari could cope without him for one race. If he, god forbid, were involved in any sort of collision, he would step back for the rest of the season, and the moment you needed him, he would drop everything. He wouldn’t hesitate. 

So whilst he lapped around Sazuka, your due date comfortably two weeks away, you were on the way to the hospital, your best friend Seungcheol behind the wheel. 

Jeonghan had thought of every scenario of your labour. Including this. One late night, when you’d found your husband pacing your vast conservatory, face etched with stress, he explained the plan in detail.

If, or when, you were to go into labour whilst he was away, Seungcheol was to call him immediately. In the rare, or not so rare, chance that he was on the track when it happened, Seungcheol was to ring Minghao immediately. 

From there, Minghao was to alert your husband. And Jeonghan would stop, get his car off the track and go straight to the landing strip to fly straight to you. 

‘Simple as that.’ He finished, his hands holding yours tightly as you nodded, agreeing, knowing that he needed this more for his mental health than anything.

Breathing in heavily and exhaling with a painful huff. Sweat slipped down your head like you were in a shower. Your thighs were wet, but you were in too much pain to even think about Cheol’s expensive Audi seats. 

Through the pitching pain, you could hear Cheol’s voice beside you, his engine roaring as he weaved through the busy Seoul streets. 

‘Hao,’ He said, voice slightly shaky as he looked at you, tears running down your face as your contractions overtook your body. 

‘Fuck, it’s time?’ The man’s voice bled through the car speakers, the instant shuffle of commotion caught by the microphone. 

In the humid Japanese climate, Minghao ran across the pit lane. Seungcheol’s one word was enough to spring Jeonghan’s well-rehearsed plan into action. 

The heat stuck to everyone, the blinding track lights making everyone look particularly sickly right now. The CEO couldn’t decide if he felt sick or if everyone around him looked unwell. Gripping his headset, he nodded to the race engineer in silent understanding. 

Letting out a big breath, he let himself be heard by the Ferrari driver, who was on lap thirty-five of fifty-three. 

‘Jeonghan,’ Minghao spoke with deadly calm, despite his horrific nerves. ‘She’s gone into labour, it’s time.’ 

On the track, it felt like the entire world had slowed; his brain was speeding as the surroundings blurred, your husband was processing the information as fast as his car was moving. The cheering of the crowd and the roaring of the engine were deafened as Jeonghan only thought about you, across the East Sea, breathing heavily, your child hours away from being born. 

Back in Seoul, Seungcheol was helping you out of the car, your pants and grunts loud and alerting as he pulled in front of the rather fancy private hospital Jeonghan insisted you attend. 

Seungcheol wasn’t just Jeonghan’s best friend — he was the best man at your wedding, he was there the day you met, the pair of you young and immature as you leaned over the railing in Baku, a microphone in your hand, Jeonghan in a trance as he looked up at you above him. 

He’d drop everything for both of you, his absolute best friends, and it’s how he landed the job of being your makeshift number one in this situation. 

‘Fuck Cheol,’ you tried to bark out a laugh, that turned into a teeth-clenching roar of pain. 

Jeonghan was pulling into the vast landing strip, the jet he’d paid to be prepared at every location so far, ready just as he had anticipated. His mind was racing as he sped, rather illegally, through the streets, wondering how you could be in labour two weeks early when everything was going perfectly.

Without a second thought, he ditched the sports car, chucking the keys to the designated staff before practically sprinting onto the plane, his phone held to his ear. 

‘Choi, this better be going exactly as I planned.’ He tried to joke, but he was tense, strapping himself into the seat as he gripped the phone as if it could ground him. 

‘She’s in,’ His best friend sounded stressed, a heavy sigh escaping with the words. ‘She’s in pain, but the nurses have said everything is healthy.’ 

‘Do-do we have an estimate on timings?’ Jeonghan felt himself beginning to well up, the pressure and anxiety of him missing the birth of your child sitting on his shoulders like the heaviest weight he’d ever felt. 

No race, championship or season had rattled him like this. No amount of looming pre-race anxiety or adrenaline could even begin to compare to what was pumping through his veins at the moment.

‘Nurses said anywhere between three and five hours.’ Seungcheol reassured your stressed husband. ‘Fly safe, Han, I’ll see you soon.’ 

When Jeonghan arrived at the hospital, everything seemed to move in slow motion around him. Seungcheol stood at the door, a scowl on his face, before he enveloped Jeonghan in a hug, an arm around his shoulder as he guided Jeonghan through the endless corridors. 

He listened intently to his best friend’s words but couldn’t escape the ringing that persisted until the door to your suite opened, and like a vacuum seal breaking, sound and movement burst into his periphery. Your husband didn't hesitate; he was at your side instantly, your skin coated with sweat as your hair stuck to your face. 

‘Baby,’ you gritted out, taking in his dishevelled appearance as you turned your head to him, your gorgeous eyes even glowing right now. 

‘My angel,’ he replied, instantly smoothing your hair off your face and kissing the top of your head. 

For the hours to come, Jeonghan didn’t leave your side; he swore he wouldn’t leave your side ever again. He was there, the force of your hand squeezing his harder than any g-force he’d ever felt. He was there, a hand running through your wet hair to attempt to soothe you as you arched back into the pillow. He was there, dabbing your head with a cool towel as your child was born. 

Love swelled out of him that day, blooming into something so beautiful that no feeling came close to the love he felt for you and your child. Tears streaming freely as you held the baby in your arms, Jeonghan’s arm around both of you, his smile wider than any grin he’d ever mustered. 

⏱︎ NINE Months Later

The sun beat down on the vast English countryside, Silverstone shining within the greenery. The cool breeze wisped Jeonghan’s hair as he stood in the paddock, his fire suit tied on his hips. 

Engineers held tablets up to him, pointing out statistics and discussing manoeuvres. It all dulled as you appeared through the paddock door, pushing a stroller with a neat parasol looming over it. 

The pair of you spent the first five months of your son’s life cocooned away in your house on the outskirts of Seoul. Spending sleepless nights together, cooing at the small being as he babbled in your expansive garden and nestling him to bed wrapped in both of your arms. 

However, as always, another season rolled around, and as a compromise, you agreed to come along, baby and wife at each and every race. Little ear defenders on his son’s ears as soon as his father’s booming engine powered up. 

Jeonghan’s changing room in the motorhome became home to a cot, a fridge full of milk and a nappy bin. And, even on the hardest days, he knew he’d have it no other way. 

Without hesitation, Jeonghan stepped away from the fuss, nodding absentmindedly at his crew, and he beelined to you. A large and enthusiastic grin on his lips at your wave, his arm pulling you into him, his lips landing on yours like they were magnets.

The scary and rather sassy driver became a muddle of coos as he leaned down to see his son in the stroller. The little being began to giggle and kick at the sight of his father’s smiley face. 

‘Hey little one,’ he said softly, your arm rubbing his back as you swooned for your husband and son, both of the boys in your life bringing such intense and immense joy. 

Jeonghan picked his son up, ever so cautiously and cradled him in his arms, letting you park the stroller out of the way as the crew became enchanted with the sight of their fiercest driver becoming a mush of cuteness with his son in his arms. 

‘Mother of the year,’ Minghao greeted you, pulling you into a hug. 

‘Minghao,’ you replied happily, letting him sling his arm around you as you both observed Jeonghan softly. Your husband was introducing the baby to everyone, letting your son grip the finger of the pr manager — who, despite all the shit you’d both put her through, would do it again in a heartbeat. 

‘How is it going?’ He questioned as you both leaned over the small balcony. 

‘Good,’ you say, Jeonghan turning to you with a smile that was reserved just for you, your gaze catching his milky chocolate eyes across the paddock as he winked at you. ‘Great, in fact.’ 

Minghao ruffled your hair, letting a sweet sigh leave his mouth. ‘It’s so lovely to have you here, he seems more…’ the man breathed out, pondering on his next words, ‘calm, when you’re both close by.’ 

For the first time in a long while, you felt truly relaxed, truly at home. It didn’t matter that it was the paddock, surrounded by commotion or disarray, because Jeonghan was here, stealing loving glances at you, your son was here, healthy and gabbling away and stealing the attention of one of F1’s most prestigious teams, your family, each and every person in this paddock was here, caring for you and your husband with such tenderness at times it felt unbelievable. 

As Jeonghan pulled up to the start line today, he glanced up to the balcony, catching your figure, your smile noticeable through the hordes of people, your son bouncing on your hip, his ear protection almost flooding his head as you pointed at his father’s car. 

Now he had two people to win for. There was always the team and the fans. But his wife and his son trumped everyone else a million times over. He forced himself to look away and towards the start line, his race engineer speaking over the headset. 

‘Make them proud, Jeonghan.’ 

Tucked away underneath an umbrella, you stared at the sign on the shop window. Minghao was always the one decorating your place with flowers, always knowing exactly what would fit the season, the scenery, even your mood. 

Now you had to do it yourself because your flowers were dying in your windowsill. Minghao wouldn’t be around to save them anytime soon. You never had much with flowers, but he loved it so you let him go crazy. 

And honestly? Everything he put in there was gorgeous. 

The thought tightened your chest. You nearly turned around and went home crying, but you pushed through the doors anyway. 

You closed your umbrella and left it in the holder with the others. The smell of fresh flowers was all around you, and you recognised the daisies that were on your right. Observing them closely, tears welled in your eyes. 

A stupid argument had completely escalated. An argument that you had a thousand times before, that led to nowhere, had made everything worse. When you thought about the way you started screaming at each other, the air punched out of your lungs. You’d never seen Minghao angry before – irritated at best – but you had ticked him off so badly that the vein in his neck visibly pulsed. The entire apartment complex could hear him, even though he switched to Chinese every few sentences. 

Since that night, you hadn’t seen or spoken to him anymore. That was now two weeks ago and you were in a flower shop, looking as lost as you were. You were still not sure whether you were truly there to replace your dying flowers or if you didn’t know where else to go. 

Strolling past the displays, you stopped in front of a bouquet of roses. 

Minghao had often talked about them. Especially the pink and white flowers had always appealed to him and you’d never been able to pinpoint why. Just like many of his preferences, the mystery had left you wanting to know more. When you asked, you expected a very specific answer, something direct and tangible. 

More often than not, he told you that some things didn’t need an explanation. It was a feeling you had and it left you with more questions than answers. You wanted things figured out, while Minghao was someone who could wait and see how things would go. ‘Go with the flow’, as he would’ve told you. 

His flow didn’t exactly bring him back to you yet. 

You headed into the back of the shop. Lavender, something you absolutely hated no matter how many times Minghao tried to introduce it to you. The smell was overbearing and overwhelming. 

You turned back around, bumping right into a guy, guessing him to be around your age. Muttering a quick apology, you stepped out of the way, but he chuckled. 

“I was actually here to help you,” he said and crossed his arms behind his back. “First time here?” 

“Do I look that obviously out of place?” 

He flashed a smile. 

You clicked your tongue. “Alright. Loud and clear.” 

The guy chuckled and started walking. “The actual reason is that I haven’t seen you around here. I would recognise you if you were a regular.” 

“Ah.” You trailed after him. “My… um, my boyfriend comes here often. If anyone’s the regular, it’s him.” 

He looked back at you and narrowed his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Your boyfriend…” 

“I think.”

Mentally you were already strangling yourself for letting it slip out, but he ignored it to your surprise. You breathed out softly and stopped when he did. 

“Is he broad and muscular?”

You couldn’t help but snort before composing yourself. You shook your head. “Sorry. No, he’s not.”

“Guessing by that reaction, he’s the opposite.”

“I wouldn’t describe him as ‘broad’, no.”

An amused smile decorated the man’s face. “Longer blond hair?”

Your stomach tingled. “As of recently, yes.” 

“Oh, Minghao,” he cooed and clasped his hands together. “He would be laughing in my face if I told him that you were here.” 

You tilted your head with a frown. 

The man took you to the front of the shop, where you were admiring the daisies earlier. He grabbed a couple of white ones out of the bucket and turned around. “Minghao always comes here to pick out flowers for your house then, I assume, and he talks about you on many occasions.” 

He walked to a couple of other buckets and picked some pink flowers. “I vividly remember him telling me that you would never be found here. Look at you now!” 

You blinked a couple of times. It was the first time you ever saw him, but he was spewing information like he knew you better than you knew yourself, talking like he was catching up with an old friend. 

With a weak nod, you looked at the flowers in his hand. “Minghao was completely right in saying that.” 

“What brings you here?” 

You looked at him, opening your mouth to say something before closing it. Shrugging, you shot him a small smile. “I don’t know, to be honest. It just felt right coming here.” 

He returned the smile warmly before handing you the bouquet. “You made the right choice, then.” 

The bouquet had been sitting in a vase in your kitchen for days. You’d been pondering over what to say to Minghao and how you were going to approach him in the first place. It was almost three weeks ago since your last contact and you were reaching your final straw. 

When you called him, you got voicemail. Expecting him to call back, you left him be until a call would never come. Slowly, the empty feeling in your chest started filling up with a burning sensation, until you had enough. 

You stood in front of his door with a hammering heart. The lock clicked and he peeked his head around the corner. 

Minghao seemed surprised to see you as he opened the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged, pretending to think, “maybe trying to get back in touch with you so we can get this over with.” 

He leaned against the door. “Okay, what do you have to say?” 

“Why don’t you pick up when I try to call you?” 

“Because I have a right to decline.” 

Your eyes clouded over, piercing right through him. 

Minghao shrugged, your name rolling off his lips so calmly, you got shivers. “You’re not even sure what you’re going to say.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your eyebrow. “I am.” 

He repeated your gesture and straightened his posture. You hated that through all the anger, he still managed to make your heart skip a beat. His eyes still held a softness for you, and you know he was more than open to hear you out. 

You were the one visiting him, after all. 

“Well,” you started and cleared your throat, “I think it’s unfair of you to assume that I don’t know what to say.” 

“Can you prove me wrong, though?” Minghao asked. “Whenever we’re arguing, you say the same thing in five different ways. And frankly, we never get it solved.” 

Before you had a defence at the ready, he cut you off. 

“I’m not going to do it, not like this.” Minghao offered you a small smile. “Figure out what you want first.” 

“Minghao–”

He shut the door. 

You stared at it, head spinning. You were angry, upset, hurt, disappointed and unable to ride out one. You wanted to pounce at the door and scream at him, but you wanted to cry in his arms all the same. 

Instead you ended up back home. 

The bouquet had withered by the time you decided to do something else than go to work, the rose petals that were still clinging on a faint brown. The rest of them were on the kitchen table drying up. 

You shoved your hands into your pockets and walked the block, taking a left and walking straight into the city. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you just needed to catch some fresh air. 

After a good month since your fight with Minghao, the flow hadn’t brought him back to you still. On the contrary, even. You had a feeling he drifted away from you if you didn’t do something soon. 

In all your anger and confusion, you’d stood on his doorstep the night before. Once again, Minghao had opened the door and you even made it into his apartment. The conversation seemed to go well and you were making progress.

Until it was your turn to talk. The conversation had escalated once again and you left with the anger burning your chest to ashes. Everything that he’d said had fallen on deaf ears and you started to realise that the problem wasn’t with Minghao. 

You pushed through the doors. The daisies on your right side were the first thing you smelled, a warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Since your last visit, not much had changed in their display. Some colours had been replaced or switched around to make it more appealing, but that was the biggest change you could find. 

Bowing over the daisies, you inhaled. 

“Look at that.” 

You shot up and looked right in those mischievous eyes. 

“Are you becoming a regular?” The same guy asked, arms crossed behind his back. His lips twisted into a grin. “Welcome back. I guess that you’re still a little clueless?” 

“Yep.” You looked around before your eyes landed on him. “The last bouquet kind of died and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.”

“I expected nothing less.” He beckoned you and started walking. “You’re around more than Minghao and that says a lot. Is something going on?”

You shrugged and crossed your arms over your body. “We’re kind of on a rough patch right now.” 

He hummed and stopped by the counter, leaning on it as he watched his coworker helping someone else. “I think it’s very ironic that you find yourself here of all places.” 

You looked at him with a tilted head. 

“You’re not someone that cares much for flowers,” the guy started. “You’re okay with Minghao decorating your house with it because he loves it, but that’s all. And now you’re in a rough patch and where are you right now? A place that he loves more than you do.” 

You hummed and looked away. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re not here without a reason, you just need to know how to return the gesture to him.” 

“Have you ever considered becoming a public speaker?” 

The guy laughed. “Next to being a florist, I also offer free therapy sessions. Part of the job.” His chuckles eased into a smile. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen since working here. Flowers play a bigger role in people’s lives than you might assume.” 

“I get why you and Minghao get along so well,” you remarked. “It’s like hearing him speak as we’re talking right now.”

“Like attracts like.” He winked and patted the counter. “I need to look over deliveries. Take a look around and call for me if you need me.” 

You nodded and watched how he slid behind the counter and disappeared in the back. Walking back to the daisies, you kneeled down. They had all kinds of colours, blending into each other so seamlessly it made you smile. 

The purple ones had been in your house before. You remembered getting a promotion at work, and telling Minghao was the most exciting part of the day. That same night, you had a small bouquet, which included the purple daisies. 

You’d always assumed they were purple because it was your favourite colour, but it was the only time you’d seen them. Faded to the back of your mind, passing it off as something insignificant. 

As if it had never mattered at all.

With a soft sigh, you came back up. You dusted your pants off and straightened your jacket. As you turned around, you bumped into someone. 

“Did I look lost again?” You remarked with a chuckle. When you looked up, Minghao was staring right back at you. 

You froze. 

His eyes scanned you carefully, and you couldn’t help but drown in them. 

“You do look kind of lost,” he finally said. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw you here.” 

You shrugged weakly and crossed your arms over your body. 

Minghao nodded at the buckets. “What were you looking at?” 

Your eyes darted to the purple daisies. 

“Ah,” he hummed and bowed down, picking one from the bucket. He observed it before giving it to you. 

You took it carefully and held it to your chest. 

“I know purple is your favourite colour.” He nodded his head at the flower. “That’s not what that daisy is about.” 

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Minghao placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you further into the shop. The touch was electric, lighting a flame that you thought had long died out. “Purple daisies resemble success, and admiration. When I put them in your living room, I was celebrating your promotion.” 

He picked a pink flower. “Pink lilies bear the same meaning, and they were also in that same bouquet. Admiration and gratitude.” 

You took the lily from him. “What flowers say ‘I’m sorry for everything, please forgive me?’” 

Minghao stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder. 

You took a small step towards him. “I really am sorry, Hao. I don’t want you to feel undervalued, or misunderstood, and I hate myself for not realising earlier that that’s what this is all about.” 

He turned around in full. 

“You know,” you looked up at him with a small smile, “if I would’ve engaged earlier, be more open-minded like you’d tell me,” you nudged Minghao, making him chuckle. “I would’ve realised much sooner that it’s one of the most touching gestures someone has ever made for me. So that’s what I’ll try to do from now on.”

He smiled at you. 

You caressed his cheek. “And hearing you spew these facts out like it’s breathing, it warms my heart, and it actually makes me excited to hear more.”

“I’m sorry too, my love,” Minghao muttered and leaned into your touch. “I’m very quick to jump to conclusions sometimes and it’s unfair to you especially since you need a little longer to gather your thoughts. I should’ve given you proper time and space to do so, instead of pushing the blame all on you.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. “We’ll work on this just fine, my love. I’m very sure of it.” 

Minghao pressed a long kiss into your hair. “I love you so much, darling. So so much.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I love you, too.” 

He kissed you so eagerly that the heat pooled in your stomach. His hands gripped your waist, nails dipping into your sides like you would disappear again. When you pulled him in closer, he chuckled against your lips. 

You pouted when he pulled back. 

“I came here to pick up my order,” he muttered. “I need to get back to work.” 

“See you tonight?” You offered, to which he smiled. 

“You have a key.” 

You pressed one last kiss to his lips and watched him walking to the counter. He was talking to the same guy that had taken you under his wing. 

As Minghao slipped past, he squeezed your waist. “Seungkwan wants to talk to you,” he whispered and kissed your temple. He rushed out of the door and disappeared around the corner. 

You looked over at Seungkwan, who waved at you. With a chuckle, you walked over to him. “What could you possibly need me for?” 

“Let’s make you a bouquet for Minghao,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell you all I need to know.” 

When you walked out of the shop with the bouquet, you were light as a feather. Your stomach tingled whenever you thought of how Minghao’s eyes would light up, how he would kiss you passionately that you melted in his arms. Since your fight, you hadn’t felt so excited to see him again. 

You knew that he wouldn’t get off work for another hour and set out to his house. The bouquet rested in your hand as you twisted the lock, slipping in before any of his neighbours would see you. 

As you looked around, there wasn’t a flower in sight. 

The empty vases were lined up on the counter on a towel. They looked dried up and you had no trouble believing they’d been there for a couple of days. Purposeless.

You grabbed the vase that Minghao painted himself, tracing the dried streaks with a smile. You filled it with water and put it in, setting the vase on the saloon table in the living room. ‘A center piece’, Minghao had often told you. You hoped that this would meet his requirements. 

Minghao had texted you about dinner, opting that he would get something on his way home. You agreed with a smile. 

When you heard the lock clicking not much later, your heart jumped. 

You rubbed your hands together and balanced from the front to the heel of your feet. 

Minghao pushed the door back into its lock with his hip, the crackling of a plastic bag following him around. When he walked into the living room, he yelped. 

Covering your mouth, you suppressed a giggle. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“What are you already doing here?” His eyes darted to the bouquet on the table and his lips twisted into a smile. “That wasn’t there before.” 

“Happened to come with me,” you watched him set the bag down and observe it. “Seungkwan helped me. It’s not how the professionals do it, but–” 

“It’s perfect.” Minghao looked back at you and opened his arms. “Come here, you.” 

You walked right into his arms, inhaling his citrus, amber scent. You closed your eyes with a hum. “I missed you a lot, Hao.” 

“I you too, my love.” He ran a hand through your hair before pressing a kiss to it. “Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.” 

You peeked inside the bag curiously and smiled brightly. You grabbed the servings and sat down on the ground. “You know, why Seungkwan works in a flower shop is beyond me,” you said and opened the container. 

Minghao chuckled. “He’s a talker, hm?” 

“He is.” You put the other one in front of your boyfriend and grabbed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks. “A good one at that, though. Very convincing.” 

“He’s helped me since the first time I set foot in that place,” he started and stirred his soup. “I just moved to the city and I wanted a good bouquet for my living room.”

“The center piece,” you said in unison. 

Minghao looked at you with a smile before he continued. “He knows everything there is to know and I really formed some kind of friendship with him.” 

“He’s a nice guy.” The broth you sipped from was an explosion of flavours, making you groan. “God, I missed this.” 

“I thought I’d treat you.” 

With a smile, you spent the rest of the dinner catching up with Minghao; work, your parents, your friends. For the first time it wasn’t silent, as if your relationship had completely reinvented itself. 

As Minghao was at the counter cutting the branches of the flowers, you stood behind him, your arms wrapped around him. Your head rested against his back, your eyes closed. “If you cut them at an angle, they’re able to absorb more water,” he told you. “Your beautiful bouquet will stay alive for a very long time.” 

You smiled. “I worked very hard on it.” You peeked up at him. “Can I tell you about the flowers?” 

His smile grew. “I would love to hear it.” 

“I picked the blue orchids first,” you said and looked out of the window. “I had never seen it before, but it’s a way to express that you think of someone as beautiful in a unique way. And Seungkwan told me it’s spiritual so naturally, I had to pick it.” 

“Flattered.” 

You grinned at him. “You should be.” 

“And then you chose red lilies,” Minghao continued, followed by a sheer cut. 

“I know it looks a little odd next to the orchid, but they’re a symbol of love. I thought a red rose was too standard, so Seungkwan showed me these.”

Minghao looked back at you. “You really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?” 

“And I’m not even finished,” you said with a small smile, the heat flushing your cheeks. “I did pick white and pink roses because they made me think of you.”

He smiled and put the bouquet back into the vase as you let go of him. “Pink is joy and appreciation.” 

“And white symbolises a fresh start,” you added. You pointed at the daffodils on the side. “Just like those, moving away and transforming.”

“And pink camellias because you missed me.” Minghao bumped your hip. “Sappy.” 

You chuckled and bumped him back. 

He draped an arm around your shoulder and locked you into his side. “Thank you. Truly.” 

You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll do anything for you.” 

You finally regretted speaking that into existence when you found yourself in the flower shop again a couple of weeks later. Your eyes darted around before you looked back at Minghao. “Seriously?”

“You claim to know so much about this now,” he answered with a shrug. “I would love to see you make a bouquet for your own apartment.”

Shooting him a sweet smile, you traced his arm. “But aren’t you sad that you can’t do it for me anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Was worth a try.” You looked around again and your eyes landed on Seungkwan. When he looked back at you, his eyes lit up. 

He came over hurriedly. “You finally got her here!” 

You arched an eyebrow and turned to Minghao. 

“We’re here for some pieces for her apartment,” he said and placed a hand on the small of your back. “She’s going to pick them out herself, as she’s claiming to have the hang of it.”

Seungkwan bobbed his head, his upper lip curved upwards like he was impressed. He remained where we stood and smiled. “What are you looking for?”

“Something for my kitchen,” you answered and frowned. “Why does this feel like a test?” 

Behind you, Minghao chuckled. He pushed you forward gently and followed you to the daisies. “I told you she would go there first.” 

Seungkwan chuckled and joined you at the front of the shop. Instead of walking after him, you navigated the shop like it was your second home. With a bright smile, you walked out of the shop with the bouquet and your boyfriend back by your side. 

A place that you never thought you would ever step foot in had become like a second home in an oddly beautiful way. After your fight with Minghao, that very shop had brought you back to each other like no flow could. And this time, you wouldn’t drift away from each other anymore. 

The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside.Not silent never silent when Seungcheol was home.

There was always something : the soft clicking of his keyboard, the low hum of music from his speakers, the occasional sigh when he got stuck on work. Familiar sounds. Comforting sounds.

Tonight, the clicking reached you first.

You slipped your shoes off carefully by the door, shoulders aching from a day that felt ten hours too long. Your bag nearly slid off your shoulder as you walked past his office space, already planning to shower and collapse into bed without saying much. Seungcheol looked devastating.

White t-shirt. Glasses sitting low on his nose. Dark hair slightly messy from running his hands through it too much. Rings glinting against the keyboard as his fingers moved quickly across the keys.

God.

You tried not to stare.He noticed anyway. “Baby.” Your steps paused immediately.You peeked toward him. “Hm?” His eyes flickered up from the screen, softening the second they landed on you. “Come here.” “I don’t wanna disturb you,” you murmured. “You’re working.” “Come here anyway.”

There was no arguing with that voice. You walked over slowly, exhaustion practically dragging behind you, and the moment you got close enough, Seungcheol reached for your wrist gently. Before you could react, he tugged you down onto his lap with practiced ease.

You let out a tired little sound, instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady yourself. “There she is,” he murmured quietly. The warmth of him hit you immediately. Warm hands. Warm chest. Warm voice. Home.

His arm settled around your waist while his other hand returned to the keyboard, fingers resuming their rhythm like nothing happened. “How was work?” You laughed weakly. “Horrible.” “Mm?” His brows pinched slightly. “That bad?” You nodded against his shoulder.

“One customer yelled at me because they forgot their own appointment time, my manager kept changing everything last minute, and I skipped lunch because we were busy.”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue softly under his breath. “That’s why you have a headache.” You blinked. “How did you know I had a headache?” His fingers paused for half a second before continuing again. “You keep rubbing this side of your forehead when you get one.”

The casualness of it made your chest ache a little. Because of course he noticed. Of course he did. “You ate anything at all?” he asked. “A granola bar.” He looked away from the monitor finally, giving you a look. “That’s not food.”

“I know.”

“No, baby, seriously.”

You sighed dramatically into his neck. “I knowww.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. His hand squeezed your waist once before he continued typing, eyes scanning something on the screen while still listening carefully to every word you said. And somehow, that was the part that always got you. Not grand gestures. Not expensive gifts. Not even the way he could make your heart stop with one look.It was this.

The way he made space for you even in the middle of his own chaos. Like loving you wasn’t something extra he had to fit into his day. It was natural. Essential. “What happened after that?” he asked suddenly. You lifted your head. “You were listening?” He gave you an offended look. “Obviously I was listening.”

“You were literally answering emails.”

“And?”

You laughed for real this time, the first genuine one all day. A tiny victorious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth the moment he heard it. There it is, his expression seemed to say. That was what he’d been trying to get back all along.

You kept talking after that. About the rude customer. About your annoying coworker. About how exhausted you felt lately. And Seungcheol listened to every single thing, occasionally asking questions, occasionally kissing your temple absentmindedly while typing with one hand.

At some point, his fingers slowed. Then stopped completely. You looked at the screen.His work document was untouched for almost ten minutes. “Cheol,” you whispered, “you stopped working.”

“Mhm.”

“So finish.”

“In a minute.” He leaned back slightly in the chair, tightening his arms around you until you were practically melting into him. “You looked sad when you came home.” Something in your throat tightened painfully.

Not because he said it dramatically. Not because he tried too hard. But because he noticed. Again. His thumb rubbed softly against your side. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me, you know.” Your eyes burned a little from sheer exhaustion.

“I know.” He pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.“You work too hard.” “Says you.” “Yeah, but I have you to take care of me.” You stared at him for a second. Then groaned quietly and buried your face into his shoulder again. “You’re so unfairly husband-coded.” His laugh filled the room instantly. “‘Husband-coded?’”

“Yes.”

“I am your husband.”

“Exactly. It’s sickening.”

“Mm.” He kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

"hm?" you turn after sending off the last text, clicking your phone off. "what do you mean?"

"are you happy here?" he gestures vaguely to the room around you. it's your first vacation in a while, and one he'd gently pushed you to go for (whether you came here alone or with him). "it's was busier this morning than i thought it'd be. i know you like your space."

you do, but soonyoung's the kind of person who it doesn't feel like a drain on your social battery to engage with. at least most of the time--the exception is when he's with some of his more social friends, since that's when you're just along for the ride and watching him thrive, all while knowing he'll knock out the second the two of you get back to your bed at the end of the day. "i'm okay." you turn over, pressing a kiss against his temple. "were you worried?"

"it's your birthday," he says, arms coming to wrap around you. "i don't want you to be unhappy today."

he's so sweet, and it makes you smile hard enough that your nose wrinkles a little. "cute," you hum. "i'm happy. you make me happy."

his nose scrunches, too, when he smiles. "yeah?" he steals a kiss. "then happy birthday. you're my favorite person to be lazy with."

you just burst into giggles, and find refuge in his presence. the two of you will go back out in a bit to face the world again, to be social in that touristy way of talking about home and why you're traveling and where all you've been if someone prods for that information... but for now, soonyoung's arms are a place of peace.

As they walked across the lobby, Seungkwan suddenly bent forward and whispered  to Jihyun, “You look really pretty today”, his eyes literally shining as he looked at her. 

Jihyun looked at him and smiled immediately, lightly slapping his arm. “What do you mean? You literally watched me get ready earlier.” 

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you again.” he said, giggling as he tightened his hold around her hand. 

Jihyun giggled as her face turned a soft shade of pink, clearly flustered at his compliment. 

The two walked hand in hand towards the private hall where his family was already waiting. 

The moment they entered, they were automatically welcomed by a very excited voice. 

“Omo, Jihyun-ah!” Seungkwan’s mother immediately greeted, as she walked towards the two. 

Before Seungkwan  could even greet his mother properly, she was already pulling Jihyun towards her as she hugged her affectionately, to which Jihyun also returned as she greets his mom warmly. 

“Aigoo, you’re so pretty today too,” she said, as she fixed the loose strands of hair near Jihyun’s face. “Seriously… our Jihyun is too pretty, really..” 

“Eomma,” Seungkwan said, his tone already complaining, while pouting. “How about me? I’m here too.”

That’s when his mother finally let go of Jihyun and turned to him. “Of course, you look good too”, she said. 

“It’s just that Jihyun looks slightly prettier.” 

“Wah..” he said, exhaling. 

Jihyun burst out laughing beside him while Seungkwan stared at the two of them in betrayal. 

“You raised me for twenty-eight years, but you prefer Jihyun more than me?” he said, still pouting. 

“Ahh, that’s okay! Don’t be too dramatic.” his mother said casually. She left the two for a while as she greeted other relatives. 

“Unbelievable.” 

Jihyun laughed harder as Seungkwan continued sulking beside her. 

Honestly, none of this was unusual anymore. 

Over the years, Seungkwan’s family have grown extremely close to Jihyun to the point where she naturally blended into every family gathering without effort. His parents adored her openly, his sisters treated her like an actual family, and even his relatives were casual with her because they often go to Jeju together. 

At this point, the only thing technically separating her from officially being part of the family was that piece of paper called ‘marriage certificate’ and the fact that the public still didn’t know they were dating. 

“Oh! Jihyun is here today!” One of Seungkwan’s aunts said as she approached them with a bright smile before lightly patting Seungkwan’s arm teasingly. 

“Is it safe to say that the next wedding we’ll be attending would be yours?” she said with a teasing smile as she looked at the two. 

The moment those words left her mouth, Seungkwan nearly choked. “Auntie!” he yelped immediately. 

Meanwhile, Jihyun’s eyes widened before she burst into laughter beside him. 

His aunt looked between them in confusion. “What? Not yet?” she asked, as if disappointed that her favorite nephew is not yet married. 

“Well.. maybe not yet immediately, but soon.” Seungkwan answered, his face and ears slowly getting red. Jihyun nodded slowly beside him as well. 

His aunt smiled and nodded before walking away casually, completely unaware that she nearly caused Seungkwan to have a cardiac arrest on the spot. 

The teasing happened again when his cousins arrived. Others asked them when the wedding bells would ring  for the both of them, while some literally called Jihyun Dongseo and Sae-eonnie, which are used to address a cousin’s wife. 

This was one of the usual happenings whenever their family sees the two, whether it was his family or hers. The constant questioning of when they were getting married. 

The two have always answered vaguely, simply saying ‘soon’, or even just smiling whenever the topic is brought up by someone. 

What they didn’t know is that Jihyun and Seungkwan have already talked about it. But for now, that information is just for the two of them. 

Jihyun continued giggling beside Seungkwan as she teased him. “Your face looks really red, Oppa. You look like a very ripe tangerine right now.” 

“Stop it!” he said, whining, to which Jihyun laughed harder at. 

He pouted at her for a moment before suddenly wrapping his arms around her, gently burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

Jihyun laughed softly at the gesture and returned his hug. “Okay~ Sorry about that.” She said softly as she rubbed her hands that were resting on his back. 

Seungkwan broke the hug and stared at her, as if memorizing her face, before sighing dramatically under his breath. 

From the moment Seungkwan saw her earlier that morning wearing the soft champagne-colored dress she picked specifically for his sister’s wedding, he already knew that today would be dangerous for his sanity. 

She looked extremely pretty today. And not just that, seeing her blend well with his family is making him feel extremely emotional. Not to mention that they’re currently at his sister’s wedding. 

Before he could spiral further into his thoughts, Jihyun suddenly reached up to his hair and fixed it slightly. “You okay?” She said as he smiled at him. 

His gaze stayed on her face the entire time. “Yes.” He answered, smiling at her. His hands came up to cradle the side of her neck before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go?” 

Jihyun hummed and nodded. Seungkwan reached for her hand and held it gently as they  walked towards the Ceremony Hall. 

They were walking hand in hand, when Seungkwan suddenly spoke. “Stay beside me today, okay?” he said cutely, making  Jihyun smile. 

“Why?” 

Seungkwan stared at her for another second before answering, “Because.. You look too pretty today.”

Jihyun’s expression instantly broke into an embarrassed laughter. “Yah! Stop it!” 

“I’m serious tho?” Seungkwan said, and smiled to himself after watching her fail to hide her shy expression. 

At that moment, Seungkwan felt genuinely happy. It was a good day—his sister’s wedding, after all. It was a day meant for celebration. 

Unfortunately for him, not all the guests had arrived yet.

By the time the wedding ceremony officially ended and the reception began, the wedding hall transformed into something much livelier. 

Soft music filled the hall while the guests slowly dispersed towards the buffet area, greeting one another warmly as they reached a glass of champagne. Some have already started grabbing food from the table, while others have remained seated on their seats. 

The atmosphere became much more relaxed, as the sound of people’s laughter and interaction filled the space. 

However, unfortunately for Seungkwan, this is where his suffering begins. 

Oh wait. Scratch that. His suffering began way earlier, during the ceremony.

Originally, he planned on sitting with Jihyun at the front, together with his mom, during the ceremony. It completely slipped his mind that she wasn’t officially part of the family, hence she was seated with the members while Seungkwan remained closer to his family for most of the official program. 

And even during the ceremony itself, he already kept glancing towards the members’ table every few minutes to check on her. 

Unfortunately for Seungkwan, that seating arrangement continued up until the reception in the Dining Hall. The members were grouped into two, seated together, while Seungkwan was seated with his family.

Meanwhile, Jihyun was completely unaware. 

She sat comfortably beside the members the entire time, occasionally laughing quietly at what the members were talking about while Seungkwan watched her from afar, eager to finally sit with her and the members. 

At one point, their eyes met for a second across the hall. Jihyun smiled at Seungkwan, to which he smiled back and nodded, as if reassuring her he’s doing fine. 

His gaze lingered at her as she resumed talking to the members, when suddenly, something made his smile disappear immediately. 

Someone approached Jihyun. 

At first it was okay. He bowed and introduced himself. But then, he even went to the extent of leaning down the table just to talk to her. Completely ignoring the other members seated within the same table. 

At that time, Mingyu, Dokyeom, Jeonghan, and Shua who was seated with her were already looking at the guy, weirded out by the situation. 

The guy keeps talking to Jihyun, saying that he has always wanted to meet her, and that she looks really pretty in person. 

Jeonghan, who was looking at him the entire time, couldn't help but to step up. “Hello?” he said, sarcastically masked in a playful tone. 

The guys looked up, and that was when he finally acknowledged the members. As if embarrassed, he bid goodbye to the  table and walked away. 

Seungkwan who was watching the entire time muttered under his breath, “...Who’s that?” 

“What?” 

Seungkwan turned his gaze to his cousin and immediately dismissed their question. “Oh– Nothing.”  

His eyes landed back to the guy that was talking to Jihyun. 

Upon observation, it seems like he is a rookie actor invited from the groom’s side. He went back to his table with his friends, as if talking about something while pointing at Jihyun. 

“What is he doing?? Did he just flexed to his friends that he got to talk to her?” 

Seungkwan was extremely weirded out by it. But he tried to dismiss his thoughts and not think much about it. He resumed greeting guests together with her second sister.

“It’s a wedding. Of course people would interact with each other. It’s normal.” He thought. But still, he couldn’t help but to get upset. 

Maybe it was because the disappointment had already been quietly piling up since earlier. He had wanted to stay by her side for the entirety of the wedding, but the seating arrangement had already made that impossible. And now, this happened. 

Meanwhile, across the hall, Jihyun remained completely polite as always. Few people have already stopped by at their table to greet her and talk to her, and she just greets them back warmly and casually. 

But somehow, this only made things worse for Seungkwan who was quietly looking over the members table the whole time. 

Because she was naturally nice to people, easy to approach, friendly, and most of all, extremely pretty. 

Which apparently, made everyone, men and women inside the venue suddenly brave enough to approach her, one after another. 

“Ha…” Seungkwan sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

He stood up, about to go to the restroom to freshen up himself when Cheol suddenly walked up to him. 

“Kwan-ah, you okay?” 

Seungkwan looked up to him, only to find Cheol’s facial expression completely teasing him, with a devilish smile on his face.

“No..” He answered, pouting, while also giving cheol a death glare. 

“Oh–” Cheol suddenly muttered, glancing towards their table.  “Another one?” He added, clearly teasing Seungkwan. 

“Ah really… Why are there so many of them?” 

Cheol’s laughter burst out immediately as Seungkwan answered with a pouty face. 

“Yah, do you want me to do something about it?” Cheol answered, as he wrapped his arms on Seungkwan’s shoulder. 

“No, hyung. It’s okay. Forget about it.” Seungkwan said while still staring across the hall. 

Meanwhile, Cheol followed his gaze and immediately spotted another actor laughing beside Jihyun’s chair while speaking to her comfortably.

“Oh,” he muttered. “That one’s handsome too.”

Seungkwan slowly turned toward him. “Hyung!”

“What?” Cheol defended immediately while laughing. “I’m just saying.”

“You’re making me more stressed.”

“I don’t think that’s my fault tho?” Cheol immediately answered, looking at him with judging eyes. 

Seungkwan just sighed, no energy to answer him. 

Because Cheol was right. 

The interactions somehow kept happening repeatedly throughout the evening. 

When Jihyun stood up to get some food from the buffet table, someone immediately approached her, introducing himself. 

Some greeted her casually, complimenting her dress, anything just to get her attention. 

And every single time, Seungkwan could only watch from afar as he stood beside his family, greeting other guests like a well-behaved son. 

Which for some reason, is getting hard to do for him as minutes pass by. Because all he wanted to do right now was to walk over there, sit beside her, and make it painfully obvious that she already belonged to someone. 

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not publicly. 

Meanwhile, at the members’ table, they had already noticed Seungkwan’s mood worsening in real time. 

At some point, Jeonghan leaned slightly towards Mingyu while glancing across the hall towards Seungkwan who was clearly staring towards their table. 

“Yah,” Jeonghan whispered. “Look, Boo Seungkwan is about to lose it.” 

Mingyu immediately glanced at the direction Jeonghan was looking at. “Yah yah! Look at Seungkwan, he’s glaring towards here again.” He said towards the adjacent table where the other members are seated. 

Dokyeom immediately followed his gaze. And the second he saw Seungkwan’s expression he burst into barely contained laughter.

“Oof.”

“Right?” Mingyu muttered while trying not to laugh at himself.

“His eye twitched earlier,” Chan added quietly from beside them.

Meanwhile, Vernon calmly sipped his drink. “I think he’s reached stage five already.”

Hao blinked, and turned his head towards Vernon. “What’s stage five?”

“The scary silent stage.”

Almost immediately, everyone at the table turned toward Seungkwan again.

And unfortunately, Vernon was correct.

Seungkwan was clearly already annoyed. He did smile here and there when someone greets him. But the second he was left alone and nobody was looking, his eyes looked extremely annoyed, his lips were in a constant pout condition, and was glaring at everyone that walks towards Jihyun. 

At some point, his sister finally noticed his foul mood. 

“Seungkwan-ah,” she said, calling his attention, to which he immediately looked toward her. 

“Hm?”

His sister followed his gaze instinctively before immediately spotting what — or rather who — he had been staring at for almost the entire evening.

Another actor was currently trying to talk to Jihyun again near the members’ table. The sight alone made Seungkwan visibly deflate.

His sister watched him for a second before laughing softly under her breath. “Are you okay?”

Seungkwan immediately looked away from the table before exhaling dramatically. “No.”

That only made his sister laugh harder. “You look like you’re suffering.”

“I am suffering.”

His sister shook her head affectionately before lightly patting his arm.

“Do you want to join the members?” she asked gently. “It’s okay. I can take care of things here for now.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Seungkwan’s eyes instinctively drifted toward the members’ table again.

And unfortunately, that was the exact moment he saw the actor beside Jihyun pulling a chair closer toward her.

Seungkwan’s jaw tightened immediately. “Ha...”

“What now?” his sister asked, already amused.

Meanwhile, across the hall, Jihyun remained completely unaware of the emotional crisis currently unfolding nearby as she smiled politely toward the actor seated beside her.

“I’ve really wanted to meet you in person,” the actor admitted warmly. “Honestly, you’re even prettier than on camera.”

To which Jihyun just nodded and laughed awkwardly. Because honestly, she was now also getting uncomfortable with all the attention she was getting. 

At first, greeting a few people was okay. But this one was her final straw. 

Yes, she is nice. She greets people if she needs to. But it seems like this one guy made it his goal to befriend her. She doesn’t know where his confidence is coming from and it is obviously bothering her. 

Noticing this, the members at the table visibly stiffened. Jihyun was already feeling uncomfortable, and they obviously knew that Seungkwan was also getting extremely upset.

Mingyu slowly lowered his fork before glancing toward Seungkwan across the venue and immediately regretted it. “Oh no.”

Chan followed his gaze quietly before physically wincing.

Because Seungkwan genuinely looked one inconvenience away from losing composure completely.

Meanwhile, the actor continued smiling at Jihyun comfortably. “I honestly didn’t expect you to be this easygoing,” he continued casually. 

“I was nervous approaching you earlier.”

Jihyun laughed awkwardly as she gave him a short answer. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Seungkwan is now completely annoyed. His sister noticed how upset he was getting. 

“Seungkwan-ah,,”

“Hm?”

“You can go now.” She said, smiling at him. 

Seungkwan blinked at her, “Really?”

“I’m serious,” she laughed softly. “You’re staring so hard from here that it’s actually becoming scary.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes.”

His sister burst into another laugh before nudging him lightly. “Go sit with your members for a bit. Eomma and I can handle the guests right now.”

Honestly, that was all the permission Seungkwan needed.

Because almost immediately, he muttered a quick thank you before heading toward the members’ table without hesitation.

Unfortunately for him, the moment he got closer, he heard the actor speak again.

“I was actually hoping we could get closer after today,” the actor admitted casually. “Maybe exchange contacts sometime?”

Seungkwan noticed how Jihyun’s stance was getting uncomfortable, smiling awkwardly at the guy. 

“Uhm.. I–” She said, about to answer when he suddenly cut her off. 

“Or maybe we should follow each other first? Do you perhaps have a private instagram?” he continued, still smiling. “Ah, I’d honestly love to take you out sometime if you’re free.” 

The guy just continued talking, like he hadn't noticed that the person he’s talking to was already uncomfortable. 

“Excuse me—” Mingyu was about to call him out, when he noticed Seungkwan walking towards them. 

The good thing was, someone approached the guy and said something towards his ear, making him finally bid goodbye to Jihyun. 

Seungkwan halted mid step when he saw the actor finally stand up. He looked away first, as if calming himself because he genuinely felt like he was reaching his limit. 

Meanwhile, at the table, the members collectively exhaled in relief. “Wah… That almost didn’t end well.” Chan muttered quietly. 

Jihyun immediately looked up when she heard what Chan said. “What didn’t end well? Did something happen?” 

Then, for a moment her eyes caught the sight of Seungkwan standing in the walkway near their table, fists and eyes closed, exhaling deeply. 

“Oh— Why is Kwannie standing there like that?” She muttered, genuinely confused. 

The members followed her gaze, and Mingyu immediately said “Wow, you really are completely unaware..” sounding almost fascinated.

Well, they really can’t blame her. Seungkwan rarely gets jealous of someone. The two have always been very understanding of each other. 

Seungkwan had close female friends, and Jihyun had never once minded it.

Likewise, Jihyun naturally attracted attention everywhere she went, and Seungkwan usually handled it surprisingly well.

Which was exactly why seeing him this visibly affected tonight had become so entertaining for the members.

Meanwhile, Jihyun only looked even more confused. “What?” she asked again. “Did something happen?”

Nobody answered immediately.

Mostly because they knew Seungkwan would probably combust from embarrassment if they exposed him first.

And almost perfectly on cue, Seungkwan finally started walking toward their table.

The moment Jihyun saw his face properly, her expression softened instantly. He genuinely looked upset.

Not angry. Just extremely sulky.

His lips were slightly pouted, his shoulders visibly slumped, and his eyes looked exhausted in the most dramatic way possible.

It was honestly almost cute.

Without thinking much about it, Jihyun immediately stood up from her seat.

“I’ll be back,” she told the members softly before walking toward him first.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan visibly relaxed the second he saw her approaching him.

And when she finally reached him, he immediately wrapped his arms around her without hesitation before dropping his head directly onto the crook of her neck.

Like he had completely run out of emotional energy.

Jihyun blinked in surprise before softly laughing under her breath. “Kwannie?”

Seungkwan only tightened his hold around her slightly, while Jihyun instinctively lifted one hand to rub his back gently.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “Why do you look so drained?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Seungkwan mumbled immediately against her shoulder. The pout in his voice was unbelievably obvious.

Jihyun nearly smiled. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Then why are you acting like this?” Seungkwan finally lifted his head slightly before looking at her with tired, offended eyes.

“Because I barely got to be with you today.”

Jihyun laughed softly. “Boo Seungkwan,” she teased quietly, “we literally see each other every day.”

“You don’t even know what I went through today,” he complained immediately. 

The sheer seriousness in his tone made Jihyun burst into another laugh. “Aigoo, what did you go through?”

Seungkwan simply stared at her silently with the deepest pout imaginable, which honestly only made him look even cuter.

Jihyun gently pinched his side teasingly. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Before Seungkwan could continue complaining further, someone suddenly approached the two of them carefully.

“Uh… excuse me.”

Both of them turned simultaneously.

A young man stood there awkwardly holding out a folded piece of paper toward Jihyun.

“My friend wanted me to give this to you,” he explained sheepishly before gesturing toward a nearby table.

Instinctively, both Jihyun and Seungkwan followed where he was pointing.

It was the same actor from earlier. The man even waved toward Jihyun with an easy smile from afar.

The moment Seungkwan recognized him, his expression immediately fell again.

Meanwhile, the messenger handed the folded paper to Jihyun before quickly bowing and leaving, completely unaware that he had just worsened Seungkwan’s emotional state dramatically.

Jihyun blinked in confusion before unfolding the note carefully.

Written neatly on the paper was a KakaoTalk ID followed by:

“Please contact me here~ I’ll wait for your message :)”

There was a second of silence before Seungkwan finally snapped.

“Seriously?”

Before Jihyun could even properly react, Seungkwan immediately snatched the paper from her hands before crumpling it without hesitation.

“Kwannie—”

“No because what is this?” he complained incredulously. “What are they doing at a wedding? What? Is this some kind of a dating event? Why are they doing that here?”

Jihyun stared at him in complete disbelief before laughter almost escaped her again. “Oh my god.”

Meanwhile, Seungkwan looked like he was genuinely at his limit now.

Without another word, he threw the note in the nearest trash bin he could find, and held Jihyun’s hand tightly with the other, pulling her gently towards somewhere. 

“Oppa— wait!”

But Seungkwan continued walking quickly while holding her hand tightly.

And now, finally realizing what the members had been talking about earlier, Jihyun could barely stop herself from smiling the entire way there.

“Wait– Where are we going?” She asked him softly, but didn't get any reply. 

They continued walking until they reached the Bride’s Room. The room was empty now since everyone was already busy with the reception. Seungkwan immediately opened the door, pulling her inside. 

He went in first, finally letting go of her hands, while Jihyun closed the door behind her. 

Once she turned her gaze into him, his back was still facing her as he lets out a deep breath. 

Jihyun stared at him for a while before her eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t tell me.. I’m not actually the one you’re upset with, right?” She asked, slightly annoyed by the possibility. 

Immediately, Seungkwan turned toward her. 

“No,” he answered quickly before sighing again. “I’m upset because why do they keep approaching you?”

Jihyun blinked, clearly processing his answer—-which just confirmed that he indeed was jealous.

“Seriously,” Seungkwan continued while gesturing frustratedly toward the door. “Those guys were driving me crazy.”

Jihyun bit her lip slightly to stop herself from smiling too hard. 

“Wow,” she muttered, clearly fascinated by what she was seeing. 

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes immediately. “Don’t.” he said while pouting at her. 

“Boo Seungkwan,” she said carefully while failing to hide her amusement completely, “are you perhaps jealous right now?”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes dramatically before looking away.

And when he didn’t answer, Jihyun finally burst into soft laughter. 

“Oh my god, you are.” She said, further teasing him. 

“Yah, Kang Jihyun.”

“No, because this is actually cute—”

Jihyun couldn’t finish  what she was about to say when Seungkwan suddenly closed the gap between the two of them by stepping closer to her. His hands traveled to her nape, focusing all her attention to him as he kept his gaze at her eyes. 

And this time, his expression had completely changed.

The frustration was still there. But now it is mixed with something softer.

Something that made Jihyun’s breath catch slightly.

“Do you know how hard it was standing there watching them flirt with you all day?” he asked quietly.

The teasing smile on Jihyun’s face slowly softened.

“I couldn’t even go over there properly,” he continued, voice lower now. “People would start asking questions immediately.”

Jihyun’s heartbeat slowly sped up.

“And the whole time,” Seungkwan murmured, eyes fixed completely on hers, “all I wanted to do was stay beside you.”

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Much warmer.

Jihyun swallowed softly before whispering, “…Kwan-ah.”

And as if that was the final piece holding his patience together, the moment he heard her say his name, Seungkwan finally snapped. 

He closed the remaining distance between the two of them, slowly pressing his lips against her. 

The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant,  as if they were savoring every second of it, when suddenly, his left hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer against him, while the other cradled the side of her face carefully. 

The hesitation between the two of them slowly disappeared, making the kiss grow more desperate as seconds passed. 

“Hmmm..” Jihyun hummed in surprise when she felt him bit his lower lip lightly. This made her gripper the side of his suit tightly. 

Somehow, that made Seungkwan kiss her deeper, as if he was finally releasing everything he had been suppressing the entire day. 

Jihyun could barely breathe properly by the time he pulled away for a while. 

“Oppa,” she whispered breathlessly, their faces still close to each other. “Not here… What if someone suddenly comes?” 

“I really don’t care right now,” Seungkwan muttered. “Also, no one is going to come here. They’re all busy partying outside.” He added before kissing her again. 

Jihyun laughed softly against his lips, before whispering, “You’re insane, really..” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

Before she could even answer, Seungkwan claimed her lips again, kissing her deeply. 

Her hands were now wrapped around his neck, while his arms were both wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, making the dress she was wearing to hike up slightly. 

As the tension grew more intense, Seungkwan gently guided them towards the sofa situated at the very center of the room, making sure to move slowly to make sure she didn't trip since Jihyun was wearing high heels. 

He finally broke the kiss just long enough to sit down on the sofa. Still holding onto her waist, he slowly guided Jihyun closer before gesturing for her to sit sideways on his lap.

She quietly complied, her hand instinctively resting against his shoulder as he pulled her closer against him, resting his forehead against hers, as though he still wasn’t satisfied with the distance between them

His breathing was still uneven.

Meanwhile, Jihyun could only stare at him in disbelief. “You were really suffering out there, huh?”

Seungkwan looked genuinely offended. “You think?”

Jihyun burst into quiet laughter again before Seungkwan immediately kissed her once more just to shut her up.

This time, the kiss was far less restrained. His hand tightened slightly around her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer, the frustration and longing he had been holding back finally seeping into the way he kissed her.

Jihyun could feel his breath hitch against her lips when his thumb lightly brushed against her jaw. The kiss deepened further when he tilted his head slightly, his tongue touched her bottom lip, as though silently asking for more. 

And when she responded just as eagerly, whatever little self-control Seungkwan had left nearly disappeared.

His hand was already holding the zipper of her dress, second away from pulling it down right there and then when they suddenly heard the sound of footsteps right outside the door, followed by the unlocking sound of the door knob. 

The both of them froze instantly. 

Jihyun immediately broke the kiss, her gaze still on him. Meanwhile, Seungkwan’s gaze lowered from her  eyes to her clearly puffy lips  from the kiss they just shared. 

He couldn’t help but to smirk at the sight in front of him. 

“Yah! How could you even smile right now!” She exclaimed softly. 

Seungkwan immediately pulled back while Jihyun scrambled upright from the sofa in panic, hurriedly fixing her hair and smoothing down her dress.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan looked equally disheveled beside her despite trying to act calm.

Thankfully, the person outside only muttered something quietly before walking away again.

The second the footsteps disappeared, silence filled the room.

Then Jihyun slowly turned toward Seungkwan. “Wow, We almost got caught.” She said, shaking her head in disbelief while trying to fix strands of his hair that had completely fallen out of place.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan simply stared at her for a second before suddenly laughing quietly into his hands, shoulders shaking slightly from sheer disbelief over what they had almost done.

And somehow, seeing him finally smile properly again after suffering the entire evening made warmth bloom inside Jihyun’s chest instantly.

Eventually, the two finally managed to calm down enough to leave the bridal room.

Well, mostly calm down.

Because the moment Jihyun checked her reflection using her phone camera, her eyes widened immediately.

“Kwan-ah….” She said while pouting. 

Seungkwan looked up innocently. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Wah… I look like a literal mess. What should we do?”

Seungkwan only laughed, looking significantly happier now compared to earlier.

Before they could return to the dining hall, Jihyun eventually forced Seungkwan to go back toward the members’ table to retrieve her makeup pouch from her bag while she hid inside the nearby restroom first.

Because unfortunately, she looked way too suspicious to walk out like this.

Her lips were swollen, her hair was messy no matter how much she tried fixing it with her fingers, and her cheeks still felt embarrassingly warm.

Seungkwan looked like a mess as well. She had to fix his hair first before he was able to actually go outside of the room, while she waited there for him. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Jihyun muttered while fixing his hair properly, and wiping the smudged lip gloss on his lips before finally letting him leave.

Seungkwan only grinned at her before leaning down briefly. “Still love me though.”

Jihyun rolled her eyes immediately. “Go already before someone sees us.”

And as Seungkwan walked out of the hallway looking far too satisfied with himself, Jihyun could only stare at the mirror afterward before covering her face in embarrassment.

Because somehow, Boo Seungkwan’s jealousy had nearly become the reason they got exposed at his own sister’s wedding.

© JIHYUN-VERSE 2026 [ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ]

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ for taglist: feel free to comment or message me 🦫

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ requests: always open .ᐟ

would buy you cold drinks from the vending machine on chill dates

he would pause studying to entertain your random thoughts

STUDY DATES!!

he'd definitely be the type to celebrate after finals

he'd also be the type to save his money, so he could take you on fancy dates on your anniversary (and he's been consistent too bc y'all have been together for 5 years) Wonwoo was careful with money, but anniversaries with you were the one thing he never held back on. Every year, he’d quietly save up for months just to take you somewhere fancy—some pretty restaurant with dim lights and a city view, where he’d sit across from you looking calmer than he actually felt. “Don’t look at the prices,” he’d mumble with a small laugh, gently nudging the menu down. “Just order what you want tonight.” When you asked if he really planned all of this himself, he’d smile shyly and admit, “I started saving for this months ago.” The whole night, he’d show his affection in small ways—fixing your necklace when it slipped, refilling your glass before you asked, keeping his hand over yours on the table. At some point, he’d look at you quietly and confess, “You still make me nervous on dates.” And when dinner ended, Wonwoo would intertwine your fingers with his and softly say, “Let’s walk around a little more. I don’t want the night to end yet.”

always packs an umbrella because you constantly forget yours “five years and you still forget your umbrella. good thing you have me.”

if his class ends early, he goes to the library to do his homework while waiting for your class to end “your class ends at four, right? i’ll wait at the library. don’t walk back to your dorm alone, it’s gonna rain later.”

if your class ends early, he'd go straight to your dorm

he's on his phone while he's out with friends and sends you photo updates. he never waits for you to ask; he just sends them "oh look at him, he's so gone." jeonghan teases. "at least include us in the photo so they believe you're out with us." "they're not fragile." wonwoo says, but angles his phone so his friends can be seen in the photo anyway. "say cheese."

CAN READ YOU LIKE A BOOK!!! and also very, very observant “i know you said you’re fine, but your texts got shorter. what happened?”

protective of you even when he's not around “no, stay on the phone with me while you walk back. don't wanna risk anything happening to you.”

never lets you go to bed angry. if you fight, he goes to your dorm and wait until you're ready to talk. his parents told him to never go to bed angry if you fight with your partner, and he took it seriously “you don’t have to apologize for being stressed. come here.”

always ready to pick you up after you hang out with friends. wonwoo would always be outside, holding the cute helmet he bought for you, and lovingly putting it on you

when it was time to apply for internships, wonwoo was able to get one quickly. when you said you were getting frustrated, wonwoo would do mock interviews with you and give you constructive criticism (+ he helped you improve your resume). needless to say, he was definitely a big help because you got in one of the biggest companies in korea

definitely the type to remind you to eat and drink water whenever you don't have classes bc he knows you too well “drink your water first before telling me about your day. yeah, i’m serious. you get headaches when you forget.”

he remembers your class schedule better than you do. sometimes he texts “good luck on your quiz :)” and you forgot you even had one

he’s not huge on PDA around campus, but he’s always touching you somehow. hand on your backpack strap, pinkies linked, and hand on your waist while crossing the street

he starts carrying small things you “might need” because dating you taught him you’re always forgetting something. lip balm, charger, painkillers, etc.

after exams, he’s the type to say “you did well” before asking how you think you did because he knows you overthink immediately after tests “you did well today. i’m proud of you.”

he saves candid pictures of you in a hidden folder on his phone. blurry cafeteria photos, sleeping during study sessions, laughing mid-sentence

if you pull all-nighters together, he gets quieter and clingier by 3am. resting his head on your shoulder while reading over notes “you fell asleep on your notes again. at least pretend to use the pillow i bought you.”

he learns your coffee order so well that he starts buying it before you even ask “i brought your favorite drink. and before you ask, yes, i remembered the no ice.”

he’s already building a life for the both of you, even before you ask. he knows you're a worrier and he doesn't want you to worry about your future at all "I've been saving up lately." wonwoo says as you both walk to the convenience store at 2am. you look at him and ask, "for what?" "a place for us eventually." he shrugs a little. "nothing huge, obviously. just a small, quaint place... somewhere you won't have to leave at midnight just to come to me."

when you graduate together, he takes a picture of you holding flowers and just stares at it for a second because he can’t believe you both made it through college together

OH i can see him as the type of guy who'd gift you a promise ring on college graduation day “Wait, don’t move yet.” Wonwoo gently takes your hand before slipping the ring onto your finger, smiling shyly when your eyes widen. “I know it’s not… you know, an actual ring yet,” he laughs softly, thumb rubbing against your knuckles, “but I still wanted to give you something.” He looks at you for a moment, eyes warm and full of quiet affection before mumbling, “Five years, college, all those nights studying together… and you still chose me every day.” Then he squeezes your hand gently and whispers, “So this is my promise that I’ll keep choosing you too.” A small smile pulls onto his face as he adds, “We made it, and honestly? I can’t wait for the next chapter with you.”

You smile to yourself automatically. He says it so casually, like it's obvious he'd wait forever for you if he had to.

And honestly, he probably would.

Seungcheol has never once rushed you while getting ready. Never complained when you changed outfits four times. Never sighed dramatically or checked the clock every thirty seconds like some boyfriends did. If anything, he liked watching you get ready. Liked sitting nearby and talking to you while you did your makeup.

You give your lips one final press together before grabbing your bag and stepping out into the living room.

Seungcheol is exactly where you expected him to be—spread comfortably across the sofa with one arm resting behind his head, phone balanced in his hand while he scrolls absentmindedly through something. He's dressed already, dark jacket thrown over a simple shirt, hair slightly messy in that way that somehow only makes him look softer.

The second he hears you approach, he looks up and smiles lovingly.

"There's my girl," he murmurs, locking his phone and sitting up properly. "Ready to go, babe?"

You nod while walking toward him, already leaning down instinctively before you even stop in front of him. "Mhm."

Your lips brush against his in a quick kiss. His hand settle naturally against your waist, thumb rubbing absent circles through the fabric of your outfit before you pull away.

"Lemme just put on my heels," you mumble, pressing a kiss on his dimple.

By the time you're out, Seungcheol has already taken out the car. As you slide into the passenger seat,you see him tapping lightly against the steering wheel to the music playing softly through the speakers. The inside of the car smells faintly like his cologne and the iced coffee he insisted on grabbing earlier.

The moment you settle into your seat, he turns toward you slightly.

"You warm enough?" he asks automatically.

"Yes, dad."

"I'm serious," he says, reaching over to tug lightly at the sleeve of your jacket. "Last time you said you were fine and then stole my coat an hour later."

"That's because you're basically a human heater."

"You love it."

You do.

Instead of answering, you lean across the center console and kiss him again before buckling your seatbelt. This kiss lasts longer than the one from earlier.

Seungcheol kisses you lazily, one hand still resting on the wheel while the other comes up automatically to cup your jaw for a second. His lips are warm against yours, soft and familiar enough that kissing him feels less like an action and more like muscle memory at this point.

When you finally pull away, he looks faintly dazed for a second before starting the car properly.

The drive begins quietly.

Your phone rests in your lap while you scroll mindlessly through notifications, occasionally glancing up to look outside at the passing streetlights. Seungcheol hums softly along to the music under his breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

Suddenly, you hear a tiny hiss from your side. Your brows pinch slightly, but you ignore it. When it happens again, you immediately glance up.

Seungcheol's face is scrunched slightly in confusion while he presses his lips together awkwardly. His tongue darts out to wet them before he bites lightly at the bottom one like he's trying to figure something out.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"Dunno hun." He glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "My lips feel weird."

"Weird how?"

"I don't know?" he tilts his head. "Like…burning?"

Your gaze drifts to his mouth,and the second you properly notice it, laughter bursts out of you so suddenly you nearly choke on air.

Seungcheol's head snaps toward you immediately. "Why are you laughing?"

"You—" you gasp between laughs, pointing uselessly toward him. "Babe, your lips."

"What about my lips?"

"Your lips got bigger." You wheeze.

"Babe stop playing." His voice drops.

"I'm serious!"

The panic on his face appears almost immediately after that. One hand flies up to yank down the vanity mirror above him while the other keeps the wheel steady. You watch his expression morph from confusion to absolute betrayal in real time.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

The sound that leaves your mouth after that is somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. Because his lips really are noticeably puffier now—soft and swollen and ridiculously glossy from him constantly rubbing them together.

"Oh my god," he groans, still staring at himself in horror. "Why do I look like I lost a fight with bees?"

"It's the lip plumper!" you finally manage to say. "I forgot I put it on!"

"You forgot?!" He looks genuinely scandalized. "You can transfer that stuff through kissing?!"

"I guess so!"

Despite his complaining, he keeps absentmindedly touching his lips every few seconds, brows furrowed while he processes the sensation.

Honestly, it's adorable. Especially because beneath all the whining, he still keeps leaning toward you at every red light like his body naturally gravitates in your direction.

"Babeuhhh," he whines miserably, sinking lower into his seat. "What am I supposed to do now? Your parents are gonna open the door and immediately start laughing at me."

"They are not." You place your hand over his thigh.

"Yes they are! Look at me!"

You laugh harder at the genuine panic in his voice

"They honestly don't even look that different," you insist. "Your lips were already big.”

He gasps softly, turning to look at you. "…You flirting with me right now while I'm suffering?"

You shrug casually, leaning across the center console again. This time, when you kiss him, he lets out the tiniest wounded whine into your mouth because the tingling definitely got worse but he still kisses you back immediately.

You pull away at the sound, eyes narrowing offended. "Do you not want me to kiss you?"

"When did I say that?" he mumbles instantly, pouting.

The pout only makes his lips look bigger.

“Hoshi-yah? How are you, love?” I spoke through the phone. I was currently talking to my boyfriend, Hoshi, who had already been in the military for 10 months. He called me during his short break, saying he only had around 10 minutes to talk.

“I miss you and Uji so much~” he whined dramatically.

I laughed softly. Me and Woozi still hadn’t talked properly since he’d been busy and rarely got the chance to call. Hoshi and I understood him, so we were both just patiently waiting for whenever he could contact us again.

“Me too, love. When are you coming home?” I asked. It had been a month since I’d been alone in our shared apartment while taking care of our cat, Wish. He was a six-month-old Siamese cat that Woozi adopted to keep me company while they were gone.

“Hm? I’ll surprise you,” Hoshi teased, making me pout immediately.

“Can’t you just tell me so I can cook for you?” I asked again, hoping he’d finally give in.

“You need to wait, yeobo.” I rolled my eyes before finally giving up. We talked for another five minutes until he sighed softly. “I need to go back to work already.”

“Okay… stay safe, love.”

“You too. Don’t overthink too much, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The call ended shortly after, leaving the apartment quiet again. Wish slowly climbed onto my lap and curled himself comfortably against me. It was his favorite sleeping spot, especially whenever the weather got cold.

“Should I call Uji? It’s been a while since our last call…” I mumbled to my cat, as if he could actually answer me.I pouted and leaned back against the sofa. “Your dad isn’t calling me. He doesn’t love me anymore, is that it?” I huffed dramatically.

“Who told you that?”

“And now I’m hearing his voice!” I whined louder.

I didn’t even notice Wish jumping off my lap until he started meowing excitedly. My eyes widened when I saw him comfortably sitting in Woozi’s arms. My mouth immediately fell open.

I could already feel tears building in my eyes. No calls for almost a week were seriously going to be the death of me. My overthinking always made me think something bad had happened to them.

“No, no… why are you crying?” Woozi asked softly as he let Wish jump down from his arms.

God, he looked so good in his uniform.

He removed his cap while I stayed frozen on the couch, still crying like an idiot. He slowly walked toward me before gently carrying me into his arms. I immediately wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I buried my face against his neck.

“Don’t cry. I’m here already,” he whispered softly. “I’m sorry for not calling you and Hoshi. I’m really, really sorry, baby.”

“I-I was really worried…” I sobbed quietly. He nodded while gently caressing the back of my head.

“I know. Our captain took our phones for a week because one of my coworkers got caught using his phone during duty,” he explained. “I couldn’t sleep properly either. I kept thinking about you and Hoshi. I knew you’d both get upset.”

“I’m not m-mad… just worried.”

I glared at him weakly, but he only laughed softly. He sat down on the sofa while I stayed on his lap.

“You should call Hoshi,” I mumbled.

“He’s coming home soon. I’ll surprise him,” Woozi smirked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I missed him so much that it genuinely hurt. The two of them knew that all I needed was a short update, even just a simple text message. That alone was enough to calm me down.

“At least text him,” I said while poking his cheek. “He keeps calling me just to complain about why you’re not replying to our messages.” Woozi smiled and nodded obediently. We stayed quiet after that while I admired his face.

“I love you, hm? Don’t forget that, okay?” he suddenly whispered.

I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Why are you making it sound like you’re dying?”

He laughed before slowly kissing me.

The kiss was soft, slow, and affectionate, like he was trying to memorize me again after being gone for so long. My fingers slowly tangled through his hair, gently tugging at it.

I heard him let out a quiet groan against my lips, making me smirk slightly.

Minutes later, we finally pulled apart, our foreheads resting together while we both caught our breath.

“God, I missed you so fucking much,” he muttered before burying his face against my neck. “Even Wish missed you…” I mumbled against his shoulder.

“Yeah. The moment he saw me earlier, he immediately jumped off your lap to greet me.”

I felt small kisses against my neck.

“Uji…” I sighed softly while playing with his hair.

I just let him do whatever he wanted until we suddenly heard the front door open.

We immediately pulled apart and looked toward the entrance. Hoshi stood there looking exhausted, but somehow his entire aura still felt warm like sunshine.

“Fuck you.”

He walked toward us before immediately pulling both of us into a tight hug.

Minutes later, we stayed there quietly, enjoying each other’s warmth.

Then suddenly—

“Why didn’t you call or even text us?!” Hoshi burst out, making me jump slightly.

“Me and Y/N were so fucking worried about you! You didn’t even bother texting either one of us? I couldn’t even focus properly because I kept thinking something happened to you!”

I noticed that whenever we ended up in situations like this, Woozi would always let us vent first before calmly explaining everything afterward.

I gently wrapped my arms around Hoshi’s waist and looked up at him. His eyes softened immediately as he pulled me closer.

“Let him explain, okay?” I said softly. “I’ll cook something for both of you.”

I left a quick kiss on his jaw before walking toward the kitchen.

3rd Person POV

“Jagi, you know I didn’t mean to worry you, right?” Woozi said gently while slowly walking toward the taller man, who was clearly trying his best to stay upset.

“Then why didn’t you contact us?” Hoshi complained again.

“Our captain took our phones for a week because some soldiers got caught using them during work,” Woozi explained calmly before pulling him into a warm hug. Hoshi sighed deeply in relief the moment he felt Woozi’s arms around his waist. He hugged him back tightly without hesitation.

Neither of them moved for a while. Just hugging each other already felt comforting enough.

A few minutes later, they pulled apart, and Hoshi immediately started covering Woozi’s face with kisses. Woozi scrunched his nose while laughing softly. Hoshi giggled before hugging him again.

“Come on,” Hoshi said while holding his hand. “Let’s spend time with our girl.”

He dragged Woozi toward the kitchen, where they found Y/N leaning against the counter while waiting for the oven to finish heating up the garlic bread she made yesterday.

“Hey, baby!” Hoshi exclaimed before running toward her and lifting her onto the counter.

“What are you doing?!” she laughed.

“I didn’t greet you properly earlier,” he pouted dramatically. “I missed you too, baby. So much. Hearing your voice wasn’t enough.”He leaned closer before gently kissing her lips.

Woozi smiled quietly at the sight while leaning against the counter beside them. He simply watched them with soft eyes.

“The food’s ready. Let’s eat,” Y/N said shyly after pulling away. The two boys helped her down from the counter since she refused to let either of them carry her again.

Hoshi grabbed plates and started fixing the table while Woozi carefully helped take the garlic bread out of the oven since it was still hot.

“Hey! I was supposed to do all of this as your welcome home gift!” Y/N complained after realizing she was just sitting down while the two of them did everything.

It had always been one of their rules. During dinner time, Y/N wasn’t allowed to move around the kitchen too much while they were there.

“Shh… just sit there and look pretty for us,” Hoshi teased with a playful grin.

She rolled her eyes while Woozi chuckled quietly beside him.

++

“Thank you for the food, baby,” Woozi said softly.

The three of them were now lying on their shared bed while a calm movie played quietly in the background.

“It’s been a while since I cooked for you guys,” Y/N replied while resting comfortably between them.

“Baby? Jagi? I have gifts for both of you.” Hoshi suddenly walked into the room holding several shopping bags.

“What is that?” Y/N exclaimed when she noticed the brand. “Wait… is that LV?!” Hoshi only grinned sheepishly before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Well… we went out of the country for a bit, and when I saw these, they immediately reminded me of you and Uji,” he explained while handing them over.

Y/N immediately hid behind Woozi dramatically.

“Why?” Hoshi laughed. “You don’t like it?”

“What do you mean I don’t like it?! I just hate how expensive this is!” she whined. Woozi watched them with an amused smile. “Open yours first,” he encouraged gently.

Y/N slowly opened the bag before gasping loudly. Inside was a cute pink shoulder bag.

Her pout deepened before she suddenly jumped onto Hoshi, who was lying on the bed watching her reaction. He groaned dramatically but laughed while hugging her tightly.

“Thank you, love,” she mumbled while tearing up again.

“Why are you crying? It’s just a small gift!” Hoshi exclaimed in disbelief. She shook her head stubbornly.

“It’s not small to me.”

++

An hour later, both of them were asleep beside me. I was comfortably trapped between them, Hoshi’s arm wrapped around my waist while Woozi held my hand under the blanket. They were only taking a nap since they were exhausted from traveling home.

I quietly scrolled through Twitter on my phone. I had a fan account since I was a Carat too.

While scrolling, I came across a post saying that being a military wife was difficult and that they missed the members who were currently enlisted.

Honestly… I agreed.

I wasn’t even their wife yet, but it was still hard. Sometimes I just wanted to hug them whenever I felt sad.

“Baby…” I turned to my left and saw Woozi awake now.

“Sleep more, Ji. You need rest,” I whispered before leaning closer so he could kiss me properly. “I am resting. I’m with you and Young,” he mumbled sleepily.His eyes shifted toward my phone as he read the post on the screen.

“Should I post something for the Carats?” he asked softly.

“They really miss you, Ji,” I smiled.

“Okay. I’ll post something later,” he replied before pulling me closer. “But for now, let’s sleep.”

He closed his eyes again while Hoshi unconsciously tightened his hold around my waist. I smiled quietly to myself.

Maybe loving people in the military was difficult sometimes. But moments like this always made everything worth it.

by some miracle, mingyu was able to ask you out on a date after his many, many tries

the date went absolutely well, so you went on more dates. he asked you to be his girlfriend after 6 dates, but you said no. the man was PERSISTENT so you eventually said yes after he told you that he had a "vision".

as soon as you said yes, mingyu had no plans in slowing down bc for him, you were IT. the first time he saw you? dating apps: deleted. girls on his instagram: unfollowed, blocked, and chats were deleted. contacts: exes and situationships were deleted. he was very committed to you even before you knew it.

in mingyu's mind, you're already married

grocery shopping dates "We also need to get stuff from my list." Mingyu says, pushing the cart. "What's on your list?" "Ingredients for tonight's dinner. I'm cooking, so just relax."

sends you furniture links at 2AM "Let's go to IKEA." "We don't live together, Gyu." "Not YET ;)"

cooks for you constantly! You're craving truffle pasta? He's already out buying truffle oil and stuff. You want fries and have no patience in ordering? He's making fries FROM SCRATCH!

talks about "our _____" casually "Our kitchen should be very clean all the time, and I want a kitchen island that's huge." "Our bathroom should have one of those fancy showers that has a 'rain' setting so I can act out emotional drama scenes when I shower." "Our kids are gonna be so cool because we're cool... but you're also very awkward so I hope they only get a little bit of that."

gets extremely excited over mundane couple things "I got us matching house slippers!! Aren't they cute?!" "I don't care if we have different phones because I bought us matching cases!!" "My mom gifted us matching bathrobes and mugs. You can't leave me now because my mom likes you for me, and I like you very much. These robes are so cute!! Let's use all of this on our at-home spa day!"

sends you apartment listings just for "looking", but already calculated commute times for both of you

absolutely the type to stand behind you while you cook, just to hug your waist and bother you,

keeps buying “extras” for his apartment because “you’re here all the time anyway”

gets proud over domestic things. it genuinely feeds his ego. fixing a cabinet? changing a lightbulb? fixing the sink? checking your car? suddenly, he's the man of the house "I'll do it, babe. I'm THE man, after all."

owns an apron that somehow screams boyfriend material

would 100% argue with you in ikea over aesthetics and then apologize by buying you dessert afterward

keeps pictures of you on his fridge like a husband who misses his wife at work. actually, he keeps your pictures everywhere: his wallet, his phone case, by the door (so he can kiss it before he leaves), on his nightstand, and on his bathroom mirror so he can flex his muscles in front of you or just talk to you while doing his skin care routine

if you stay over multiple nights in a row, he starts referring to his apartment as “home” for both of you "Just move in here already!! Or we can get the apartment down the road. It's so pretty!"

definitely the type to say “this reminded me of you” every time he buys random home items

if you jokingly call him your husband once, he thinks about it for the next three business days "Cheol hyung, she called me her husband... I can't function!" *when he picks you up from a party* "Hi, it's me; the husband! I'm ready to pick up my gorgeous wife!" "Let's get married NOW"

secretly loves when people assume you live together already because honestly? in his mind, you practically do "Seokmin thinks we live together, isn't that crazy? Actually, you know what? It isn't."

one day you realize he’s been building a life around you so naturally that neither of you even noticed when it started happening "Mingyu?" "Yeah?" "Let's move in together." "Oh hELL YEAH! You won't regret it, babe. I'm calling the agent about that pretty apartment down the road. We need a place that's new and fresh if we want a fresh start for our new chapter together. God, I love you so much."