M!

“Listen—” you start, looking around for help but finding no one to back you up. Riwoo hears you mutter a curse under your breath at how Kim Woonhak and Han Taesan were backstabbing baboons who would be dealt with once you got out of this tight spot. Then you meet Riwoo’s eyes once more, putting on your most innocent, lovely smile. “You see, the principal’s been wanting to renovate this wing anyways. I was lending a hand—literally, haha.” You add jazz-hands for flair, hoping it’s at least entertaining enough to warrant a giggle.

However, Riwoo remains unimpressed. His brows meet in the middle of his frown, lips a thin, straight line, the muscle in his cheek twitching in annoyance. Or exhaustion—whichever you plagued him with first. 

“You finger painted…hand painted?—graffiti on the new student council room… My room.”

“Yep!” You nod, flashing all your teeth at him, happy to have helped. “It looks so much more vibrant like this, see—” You gesture towards the mural that looks like a unicorn shat rainbows all over it (with your chin, since your hand is in no state to be moved around freely, not when it's dripping pink and purple onto the ground). “Before I came in, this was all gray. Like concrete, ew. But I fixed it!”

“Fixed it…” Riwoo repeats, every nerve in his body fighting the urge to catch fire and explode like a cartoonic grenade. 

You nod again, wilder this time, getting your hair in your mouth but continuing to speak in spite of it. “Gotta make sure the stuco prez has a nice view.”

The sixth lash from the right on Riwoo's left eye twitches madly. His fists are balled up in the crooks of his elbows, arms crossed over his chest lest they decide to grow an impulse and slam themselves into his own skull. Not that he doesn't deserve it—he probably does—given this was all his fault for letting you get away with your delinquency all this time. 

“Vandalism,” he punctuates, gritting the word between his front teeth, “is against the school rules.”

You aren't convinced, rolling your eyes in easy dismissal. “It's called artistic freedom, look it up.” 

“I did. In the handbook. That I was asked to edit and enforce.”

“Dude, you need to chill out and like, dip your feet in a waterfall or something,” you continue, still too casual for Riwoo’s liking, like his position and power are simply dirt under your fingernails—or paint, in this case—to ignore. “Chase a dragonfly, like your vice president does sometimes.”

Riwoo’s patience is thinning, but he says, “Leehan is a special case. He gets distracted easily, that's all.”

“And that’s why he doesn't look constipated half the time and you do.”

That’s it. He's done being a doormat; he is going to put his foot down and make sure to whip your personality into shape if it's the last thing he does. 

He is so sick of your inability to sit still and follow rules for once. There's always something for him to clean up after: the busted pipes in the girl's bathroom from when you wanted to orchestrate a school-wide water fight for ‘team building’, the time he found out you were selling bootleg DVDs under the table (quite literally) for cash, the time he almost slipped and died from the loose papers you'd left scattered on the floor in a hurry to run to the toilets, because, apparently, peeing yourself is more of an emergency than preventing his potential funeral. 

Not anymore. 

You will respect him, and you will pay for your sins. 

“5 PM, after school. You're fixing this mess or I’m giving you another demerit.”

“But…” Your eyes widen, hands slowly dropping to your sides and getting colourful stains on your uniform. “That means suspension.”

“Good, so you have read the handbook.”

“No, you recite it every time you put me in detention,” you correct, and then regret it immediately. “Uhhhh…. I mean… Can't I just paint your face up there and call it a day?”

“Are you bribing me…?” Riwoo is offended if not confused, blinking an unnatural number of times at your audacity. “You're bribing me…with my own face?”

“Yeah! Is it working?” Not even the tiniest bit of guilt slips out your mouth when you speak, just hope. 

“... No.” Riwoo remains stern, despite the Herculean effort it takes to not give into your foolish smile. He straightens his spine, meets you head-on when he says—“5 PM. Or you find a new school midway through the year.”

And then, before you can get a word in, he speed-walks out of there without looking back, ignoring every single word of protest that makes its way out your mouth and echoes through the wooden door, until he's far away enough to give his heart, and brain, a rest.

The pen scratches against the paper in a smooth tempo, the spine of the ledger occasionally thumping against the desk when Riwoo presses the tip with a little too much force. Sunset orange spills through the murky glass and onto his visage, dappling amber through strands of his hair, his lashes, the raise of his cheek, through the lens of the glasses on his nose-bridge. 

Serene. That's what he feels. 

At least until—

“This is so harddddd. Let me go home!!”

Your whines are met with feigned oblivion and a glide of the page as he prepares to look over this week’s club accounts. Budgeting is a beast, and he's the only person capable enough to make sure no one goes over the limit and plunges the school into a debt they certainly cannot pay off. The principal has already threatened to cut funds and force them into begging on the streets if they were to keep splurging on puppy therapy days and useless visits to the aquarium like three times a year. (This is Leehan's fault, not his.)

(Well…it is his fault for not saying no to the vice president’s whims. But in Riwoo’s defense, he was way too preoccupied with attempting to wrangle you into line.)

“Prez. Yo, prez. Prez!?” you keep repeating petulantly, marching over to wave your scrub-cloth in front of his downturned eyes, failing to snap him out of his work. “Lee Riwoo, I can't do this anymore!”

“Less whining, more cleaning,” he says simply, not looking up for even a second. 

You pout, grumbling at how the paint is too stuck into the surface to come off without boiling hot water and a bone-breaking amount of scrubbing. You'd already struggled to fill and carry a heavy bucket all the way here, then almost collapsed from the level of effort required to reset the wall back into its original state. 

Riwoo hasn't moved an inch from the teacher's desk in the past one hour, no matter how much you attempted to strike up small-talk or huffed or sighed very loudly. He just sat there, writing. Doing math was certainly better than talking to you. 

He thinks you've given up on it after trying and failing too many times than he's bothered to count. Riwoo is swallowed up by tiny numbers floating above the blue lines, by mental additions and subtractions and estimations running across his mind as he mutters quietly under his breath, careful not to lose track of his place. He thinks you've already gone back to cleaning when—

When something soft and feather-like brushes across his cheek, and a looming shadow falls over him. He sucks in a sharp breath, feels goosebumps prickle up on his neck, feels something eerie crawl through his abdomen as he slowly turns his head to check…

“HOLY SHIT—!” he yelps as he jumps out of his skin—and off the chair, straight onto his butt on the floor. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “What? I was just curious about what you were so focused on.” And without regard for his privacy or the fact that he's still flat on his ass, you lean in to poke your head into his ledger, your face getting more impressed as you read down the page. “Damn, you run this place like it's the military,” you note, nodding. “Wait, do you take suggestions?”

“Huh?”

“The athletes get all the funds and us arts kids get morsels. Can't you update the instruments in the music room at least this year?”

“That is not my jurisdiction,” Riwoo says as he finally gets up, brushing the dust off his pants and straightening his tie, pushing back his rimmed glasses. “Also, weren't you the one that busted up a hole through the drumkit?”

You have the shame to look sheepish, flickering your eyes away from his pointed stare. “Uh… Yeah, maybe?”

“Right.”

You pout again. “I had too much sugar, okay? Sometimes I can't control my energy, and sometimes my drums suffer because of it.” 

Riwoo can sense a migraine strutting its way to him; he’ll have to do breathing exercises again if you keep threatening his health like this, and there are not enough ways to inhale and exhale in the world for him to recover from the damage you do. So he pulls himself together, climbs back into his spot at the table, and lets you move to meet his eyes properly. 

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you get back to cleaning the wall?” he asks, drumming the back of his pen on the wood in impatience. 

“Mayhaps,” you reply, but you're smiling when you do it, suddenly in raised spirits. “Will you actually talk back to me and not let me die of boredom all alone over there?” 

Riwoo chews on the thought—considers the pros and cons of saying yes to your request. 

Pros: you do your job, he doesn't have to nag. He doesn't get in trouble by the faculty for enabling your terrible habits. 

Cons: you…you talk a lot. Non-stop. 

“My wrists are sore. I had carpal tunnel once and that was the worst time ever. Swore I'll never get it again, and now look at me.”

And when Riwoo doesn't respond with the empathy you expect him to, you go, “Does the student council also cover medical bills?”

“No.”

“You swore you'd keep me company.”

“I am,” he tosses back. “I'm breathing very loudly so you can use it as white noise while you scrub. Now go on.” 

You huff and puff, but still return to squeezing water into the bucket. Then five minutes after—

“Hmm… I should've used more red on the cherries. Maybe glitter too… Shame that you're making me wipe all of it off…” Then—

“Prez, Prez, why do you wear glasses half the size of your face? Does it not hurt…? But you look nice though, so it's not all that bad.” 

And—

“Have you ever wondered what would happen if babies came in adult sizes? Like, imagine a giant baby in your house, just crawling around,” you're rambling as you lay on your back on the floor, cloth abandoned somewhere to the side, hair coming loose out of your ponytail and fingers stretched to the ceiling as though any further and you could touch it. Evidently, you have made no actual progress. “You’d need a giant cradle. And a giant milk bottle. Oh! And giant diapers, woah…”

Riwoo’s pulse has been climbing with every word you say, effectively building up into a mini explosion in his brain. It's been a slow tick of time while you talked yourself through nonsense, getting distracted with the task at hand with every pressing minute. He tried to reel you back in with his tuts and coughs, but it took a simple turn of his head away from you for you to give up and dramatically throw yourself onto the ground.

It's like he's taken away your life's purpose—of breaking every rule in the book and dragging him through mud along with it.

Also, turns out—and he should have expected this, really—you suck at sticking to a chore. So much so in fact that you do anything not to do what you were told to. 

It's leaking shadows into the room, sun well below the horizon, when you trudge back from your momentary break with a mop in tow. 

He presses his cheek into his palm when he asks, even though he knows without needing to. “What are you doing now?”

“Floor’s all dirty. I'm mopping.”

Of course you are. “You didn't finish the walls yet.”

“I'll get to it after the floors, duh.”

You don't. In fact, you don't even finish the moping before you've moved onto your next activity. First it's brushing cobwebs out of the dusty corners of the window, then you try to budge the window-panes open with no luck before giving up entirely, then you sit there with a pair of scissors you'd found from god-knows-where, snipping up old test papers out of your backpack for no reason at all other than wasting time. Once you've run out of things to cut up, Riwoo sees the way you eye his ledger and has to lunge to move it out of your dangerous reach. 

He's beginning to wonder if the duties of a school council president involved babysitting too…

And right when he thinks you've given up, when you're trailing the minute hand on the clock while wringing out the washcloth, while he's marking up the last bit of his work, while he's distracted just the slightest…

You pounce for your bag and book it for the hills out the door.

…

Riwoo doesn't know what's just happened. You were here at first, and then you're gone with the wind, like some metahuman speedster keyed up on high-functioning steroids, you've just…

Vanished. 

He picks up his pen off the desk first, then his mind off the floor, before realising that he should follow you and drag you back before you’ve completely evaded the responsibility he's placed upon your shoulders. 

Riwoo sighs deeply before sprinting after the direction you left, trying to not let the creepy hallways scare him into cowering, discreetly muttering consolations to himself when the broken lightbulb blinks once before dying, somehow trudging through a hellish field of weeds until he sees a figure throwing something over the back fence of the school’s perimeter.

A ghost, he thinks at first, but then he hears the signature jangle of the keyrings on your book-bag clattering to the ground and he knows it's no ghost.

It's just the devil incarnate, apparently.

“Y/N! Get back in there now!” he shouts through cupped hands, lungs burning from the run. But you're already stepping on top of one of the empty flower pots and trying to reach for the tall fence, determined to jump over. Riwoo acts fast, albeit exhausted, scurrying through dirt and moss until he's looking right up at you.

“Just a little more—” You're muttering to yourself, elbows propped up on the ledge as you try to push higher. But you make the mistake of looking down and almost die from the shock. 

Your grip loosens, and down you come tumbling, straight into Riwoo's arms.

Or at least you would have…

Had it not been for his terrible reflexes and weariness from having overworked himself the whole week. His hands are just too stiff to reach out, okay? Maybe that's why he's fallen onto his back, in a terrible imitation of the mishap from before in the classroom, and you're there, caging him with both your arms on either sides of his neck, hair a curtain around his face.

And Riwoo—he processes it slowly, eyes flickering from your widened eyes, then to the slope of your nose, and then to your parted lips, a millimetre away…

Badump. 

“I—” you begin, and he gulps just for the sake of needing something to do. This is weird—but not bad weird. Just…so new. 

Okay, that's a lie. He knows the way his heart jumps out of his ribs is not dissimilar to all the times when you've invaded his personal space with zero account for his well-being—for the heat on his neck and the butterflies in his stomach. For the way he’s always on high alert when you're near, an inbuilt radar in his brain for your misbehaviours. 

You are so close. And he is so doomed. 

“Y/N…” he says, mouth moving on its own accord, the badump badump badump growing wings in his chest, threatening to take flight and melt into the pulse between the two of you, in the slowly thinning gap between your lips. 

His fingers twitch where they lay stuck between your bodies, but he doubts he could have reached out even if it weren't. Because the way you look at him, moonlight reflected in the pools of your eyes, the tip of your nose almost grazing his own skin. And then—

You reach out first, gaze going from surprised to crinkled warmth, a hand lightly brushing over the plane of his cheek. He feels it move to place his glasses back onto his nose—and only now does he realises that it had come sliding off when he'd stumbled on his feet before. 

“There,” you whisper, and he's never heard you speak anywhere close to this softly. “It’s perfect again now.”

He is an idiot and his mouth is a traitor, because it goes on to ask, in an undeniably gentle voice— “Perfect?” 

“Hmm… Wait, not quite.” Then you adjust them so that it's not skewed to the right anymore, brushing back the strands that fall over his forehead and scorching every exposed part of him in bright red. And before he can count to ten and calm himself down, you dip lower and something plush meets his skin. 

Your lips. Soft and lovely and pressed against his cheek, right below the mole under his eye. 

The heat is gone as soon as it comes, when you lean back to take your weight off of him and stand up, so quickly he barely registers or remembers anything that's happened in the past 24 hours. There was a wall involved, he thinks. 

He's still splayed out on the dirty ground, dazed out of his mind, when he sees you shoot a dazzling smile of victory down and him before jumping up to grasp the fence-ledge again, calculating momentum—this time, successful in leaping over the boundary. 

It happens in slo-mo in Riwoo’s vision, a blinding halo around your silhouette, a choir of cherubs singing down from the suddenly sunny skies. He thinks he sees rose petals cascading down, and also a pair of wings on your back. 

Either you were a real-life angel—or he'd hit his head a little too hard during that fall.

Or…

Or he was simply beyond the point of going back on these feelings starting to sprout inside him when he looks at you. 

It's only after he hears your feet landing on a crunch of dried leaves that he manages to regain balance and sanity.

“That's a demerit!” he manages to squeak out in a yell—but both you and him know that he's not going to get you in trouble. 

Not when his cheek is still singed with the burn of your kiss. And certainly not when he’s considering keeping the mural up just to have an excuse to get you alone again.

Riwoo is so doomed.

a/n: again again happy birthday to my unofficial official child, i hope you have an awesome day ahead!!! everyone go wish the coolest 14 year old alive and give them all the love at @beomtomie !!!!

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div cr: @saradika-graphics

Han Dongmin has always been a force of nature – headstrong, determined, relentless – and in a Jaeger he’s truly unstoppable. At least that’s what he likes to think.

In reality, whenever Siren Fury is dispatched, there’s a chance he won’t make it back. Or at least, not as the same person he used to be.

Jaegers are built to be as indestructible as possible since they are humanity’s only hope against the Kaijus that emerge from the Pacific oceans. They are practically humanoid metal robots as tall as buildings to be able to fight back the dinosaur-size extraterrestrial monsters. Nothing of this size and delicacy can move on its own effectively like a toy car. So after trial and error all working models of Jaegers are built like humans: with a neural network running through their limbs and a control panel acting as their brain. The Conn-Pod needs at least two pilots to work because only one person cannot possibly handle all that without lasting brain damage. When attached to the Jaeger with their Drivesuit’s spinal clamp digging into their back, the pilots’ minds basically become one. That’s the only way proper coordination can work. Like the right and left halves of the brain working together.

Or at least that’s what Dongmin was taught at his Academy classes by J-technicians who never actually drifted with another person or saw what the world looked like through the eyes of a Jaeger. Dongmin is a soldier though, he doesn’t actually care how it works as long as it gets the work done. As long as humanity is winning against these monsters.

So it’s not often that he’s sentimental enough to contemplate the fragility of human life, but now he’s in the middle of the ocean waiting for the pick up team in the damaged Conn-Pod of Siren Fury with his unconscious co-pilot in his arms. The Jaeger’s half arm is in pieces scattered in the water with the remains of a Category IV Kaiju after they blew it off. Later, the Marshal tells him that it will take weeks to fix it up and it makes him feel useless because that means weeks of forced standby.

A Ranger is nothing without their co-pilot or their Jaeger after all.

Dongmin used to hate this fact, this dependance. All his life, there was nothing he couldn’t do alone. He learned early on that in his family’s dictionary there was no such thing as ‘can’t’. Not having the ability to do something was a weakness he couldn’t afford. Not if he wanted to make his father proud.

Three generations of navy soldiers, that was the dream they cradled since he was young. Then the Kaijus came and turned the world as they knew it upside down. So he was one of the first ones to sign up for the newly established Jaeger program in Busan, one of the youngest ones too.  It’s been six years since, two since he finally found a drift compatible partner and now, the girl who was in his head half the time went quiet.

Nevermind. A few hours later she’s up like she merely took an afternoon nap.

Dongmin crosses his arms in front of his chest at the leg of her hospital bed.

“He bought you flowers?” He asks with a grimace as he’s having a staredown with the bowl of water and flora that certainly wasn’t there when they were both brought in for post-mission check ups.

“Aquatic ones! These won’t just die,” his co-pilot glances at the gift dreamily and Dongmin sighs. If he thought it was annoying when she and that Kaiju researcher guy were both pining he might have had to re-evaluate. This could be so much worse now that they finally confessed their undying love for each other or whatever.

“Such a nerd,” he mutters under his breath, unimpressed.

“It’s romantic!” Even bedridden his military partner has energy to argue with him.

Dongmin rolls his eyes and sneakily picks up the honey butter peanut box from her bedside table to pop some into his mouth.

“Whatever. Just try not to think about kissing him when we’re drifting,” he says dryly and dramatically shudders at the thought just for the effect.

“You’re just jealous,” his co-pilot jabs back at him and snatches the snack back from his hand.

“Of you kissing Kim?” Dongmin makes a face and that earns him the pillow thrown at his head.

He knows it wasn’t what she meant but between rigorous training and fighting alien monsters, annoying her is the closest thing he has to normalcy in his life.

It’s a soft sound, somebody clearing their throat, that’s saving her from getting the pillow thrown back at her, hospitalized or not, because when Dongmin sees the presence of a nurse their age, he haphazardly hides the soft material behind his back as if to hide evidence of the childish fight.

“Sorry, I need to check on her vitals,” you say, pulling a clipboard close to your chest and raising your gaze. Soon enough, soft eyes meet his.

Now, this is the part when you should look away shyly, like a blushing, giggling mess. He’s used to that. Girls reacting to his presence like that. And he gets it, Rangers are idolized by the media like stars, they are heroes after all. He has given out autographs and taken selfies with fans who came to congratulate on their victories, so with the way you can’t take your eyes off of him, he thinks that maybe you will ask for one, too.

“Can you–” Ah there it is, just another fan request. He should have brought a pen. “–move aside?”

Wait, what?

“You’re in the way, idiot,” his co-pilot chides and he makes sure to scowl at her before stepping aside, so you can check on the monitor and how much liquid is still in the IV bag.

Embarrassment burns in the pit of his stomach but he doesn’t let it show. He leans against an empty bed, hopefully looking as nonchalant as humanly possible, even as his gaze follows your figure until it disappears down the corridor.

“Is she new?” He blurts out against better judgement but lucky for him his partner is too preoccupied with a text she got most likely from loverboy to notice the weird tone of his voice.

“Who? The nurse? I think so, why?”

Dongmin shrugs like he doesn’t care. Because he doesn’t. It just irks him that you didn’t even spare him a second glance before leaving. He’s not used to being disregarded.

With nothing better to do Dongmin throws himself into Kwoon combat practice. It isn’t like fighting with his co-pilot (not just with words) but she has been advised to not strain herself for at least a while, so he has to suffice with cadets. Not to brag but he can easily take two at a time, three on a good day or if they are really bad. Kwoon is about balance, about connection, it’s more of a dialogue than an actual fight to win but there is no balance if Dongmin is freaking bored with these kids. So he pushes himself more: morning Kwoon sessions, afternoon drift simulations with his co-pilot (if she doesn’t stop thinking about Kim Donghyun’s smile, he will put bleach into her shampoo), strategy discussions with the Marshal and late night gym visits. He watches the numbers climb on the war clock and the J-Techs slowly re-build Siren Fury’s arm while restlessness brews in his stomach.

Then Park Sunghoon visits from the Gangneung Shatterdome and beats his ass on the mat without breaking a sweat. Dongmin grits his teeth as he gets up, leaning more of his weight on the fighting stick.

“What’s with your left side? You rely too much on your right,” the senior Ranger points out calmly while putting the wooden prop away. Dongmin considers lying, saying he just prefers this way, but in the end just sighs.

“Just a bit of a strain, nothing serious,” he shrugs, slowly rolling his left shoulder back, grimacing at the ache seeping into his bones.

“Have it looked at in the infirmary just to be sure,” Sunghoon suggests and grabs his stuff from the floor. Before he leaves, he turns back once with a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Then find me for a re-match.”

And Dongmin is nothing if not disciplined. It has been drilled into him through military training since childhood, so there he is, at the infirmary. He hasn’t been back since his co-pilot has been discharged but it’s surprisingly empty. Still, it surprises him that the only person at the nurses’ counter is you.

“Oh, are you alone?” He blurts out and it makes him sound stupid when you glance up from the book you’re reading and pointedly look around.

“Do you see anybody else here?”

“I’m just asking. I didn’t know they allow new nurses to be on duty on their own,” he explains his surprise quite poorly if your unimpressed look is anything to go buy. So professional. You really don’t want his signature, huh?

“We don’t really have the luxury to have proper rotations. I guess you know how that is,” you shrug and turn the book upside down, leaving it open on the desk before standing up. He tries to catch what it’s about but the angle is off to read the title properly. You round the counter and point at the examiner table. He takes a seat with a straight back but his eyes are following you. 

You tie your hair back and pull a folder out of a drawer. His check up data most likely. He wonders what they say about him. If that folder catalogues all the injuries he has suffered ever since he joined the Jaeger Academy, if it even contains the result of his psychological evaluation that cleared him stable enough to pilot, if it made him seem like a soldier through and through or just somebody who bled through their teenage years to be here.

You move around with a confidence that newbies don’t have. It makes him want to ask where you came from but you beat him to it.

“So what’s wrong?” You step in front of him after leaving his files on the desk and look up. A hint of jasmine hits him and it has him inhale sharply. With him sitting, you’re pretty much eye level and suddenly he can’t make himself look away. You missed a strand of hair when tying your hair up but you’re too focused to care about it. His fingers itch to brush it back, so he curls them into a fist.

“My left shoulder feels off for a few days now,” he ends up saying. It’s the oversimplified version of the truth but admitting that he overestimated his limits and overworked himself to the point to strain a muscle sounds pathetic. He should have known better.

You don’t say anything, just hum quietly and round the table. When you touch him, thumb pressing lightly into his upper trapezius while the rest of your fingers rest on his shoulder, he tenses up for no reason at all.

“Does this hurt?” You ask, voice coming from much closer.

“No,” Dongmin lies because this much is nothing. He has once showed up to his Academy evaluation with a broken rib and nobody noticed. You hum again, contemplating, then press into the skin near his shoulder blade harder and he nearly blacks out from the sharp pain. “Ah, fuck.”

“Yeah, thought so.” That’s your only comment to his outburst before your hands leave him to rummage through a cabinet. “Take off your top.”

You say it like it’s nothing with your back to him, so you miss how fast his ears redden.

“What?” Dongmin’s voice jumps half an octave, dumbfounded, nearly getting a whiplash from how fast he turns to you, not making any moves to follow instructions. An exasperated sigh escapes you and turning back to look at him,  you put a hand on your hip.

“Do you always ask so many questions? Be glad I didn’t ask you to pull down your pants,” you raise an eyebrow almost challengingly which has him gaping like a fish. He had no idea being a nurse at the Shatterdome includes such duty.

“You do that too?” 

You cross your arms in front of you and deadpan:

“Yes, if some idiot needs a rabies vaccine.”

“Which idiot?” Dongmin is quick to inquire but you just give him a look, so he shuts up. But he would bet that it was Myung Jaehyun. That J-technician is a self-hazard.

“Come on. Shirt off. I need to apply ointment on your back,” you explain and he clears his throat to collect himself.

Right. Get it together, Han Dongmin, don’t act like you haven’t been in the infirmary before.

Dongmin would like to think he’s unaffected. Like totally. Why wouldn’t he be? But the fact that you were unaffected the entire time you had him half-naked on that uncomfortable examination table, fingers gently rubbing something that smelled strongly of peppermint into his skin bothers him more than it should have. Half the girls in the Shatterdome would have liked to be in your place just to ogle, so why do you act like it was nothing?

And yes, he knows that it doesn’t make sense. He’s usually annoyed by the amount of unwanted attention he’s getting. He’s usually busy making sure to keep people at an arm’s length. But now he’s staring up at the grey ceiling from his bunk bed, turning the dog tag of Siren Fury that hangs in his neck between his fingers and can’t sleep. He thinks of your eyes, neutral and never lingering longer than they should, and he couldn’t help but wonder: are you like that, professional and distant, with everybody or do you have something against him personally?

Dongmin kicks the blanket off himself and hauls himself out of bed. He grabs a jacket and his shoes and slips out of the room without waking his roommate. PPDC’s favourite or not, he doesn’t get the luxury of having his own room. Instead he’s roomed with a politician’s son. The Marshal said it’s because they’re the same age and moved to the Shatterdome around the same time but Dongmin has a feeling that it has something to do with how they both have powerful fathers. Commander Han and National Assembly member Lee might not be friends but they are both avid campaigners for the Jaeger Program funding over those useless Anti-Kaiju walls. Chanyoung is a good enough roommate though, he’s quiet but friendly, he knows when not to bother Dongmin.

On nights when Chanyoung can’t sleep, he goes for a swim. On nights when Dongmin can’t, his feet take him to the Kwoon combat room. However, this time around it’s not empty despite the late hour. The boy on the mat is tall and lanky, hasn’t built much muscle yet. He’s practicing hits with the wooden stick but he puts more effort into channeling strength than precision. He doesn’t even notice Dongmin watching from the open door, not until he pushes himself away from the frame and approaches the mat. The younger boy clearly startles and bows with widened eyes, his swift apology cut off by the Ranger:

“Straighten up properly. You put too much of your upper body into the swings. Like this you will tire yourself out before getting any hits,” Dongmin says matter-of-factly as he kicks off his boots and grabs a stick for himself.

When he turns around, the cadet still stands in that awkward position of just having stood up straight after a polite bow like he can’t quite believe he’s seeing an actual Ranger from up close. Dongmin gets it, he used to be starstruck too when he first met senior Rangers but he sure as hell did a much better job at hiding his fascination. This kid is practically vibrating out of his skin and effectively ignoring his previous advice.

Dongmin sighs and lands a soft hit on the boy’s lower back that effectively has him fix his spine.

“I said, straighten up,” he repeats like he’s bored already and nods towards the stick hanging uselessly from the cadet’s hand. “Try to get a point.”

The boy does not manage to get any hits.

Dongmin didn’t actually expect him to. If he managed anyways that would have meant that Dongmin was in a much worse form than he would have liked to admit it despite his healing injury. So the real achievement he wanted to see wasn’t any points but the cadet improving his stance and attacks. And to his credit, the boy tried his best and he has potential. He’s determined and doesn’t give up, not even after the dozenth hit Dongmin gets in lazily without actually straining himself to attack.

“What’s your name, cadet?” He asks when the boy is sprayed out on the floor with sweat dripping down his forehead and neck soaking the collar of his uniform. Dongmin offers him a hand.

“Kim Woonhak, sir,” the cadet rushes to answer while still trying to catch his breath once upright. Dongmin’s mouth pulls into a grimace at the formality that makes him feel much older than he actually is. 

“Just hyung is enough,” he corrects and he swears he sees Woonhak’s eyes sparkle.

“Yes, sir– Hyung!”

Dongmin cracks a smile and adjusts his grip on the stick.

“Again.”

When the next Kaiju emerges from the ocean near Brisbane, two Australian Jaegers are dispatched since they are the closest but it doesn’t change the fact that Dongmin feels useless watching the fight through the monitors hung up in the Shatterdome’s halls. What ifs plague his mind about the defenseless Southern coastline of the country and even though he knows that Kim’s idea saved them from being dragged into the water and being torn apart, rebuilding Siren Fury takes more time than he expected. Jaehyun also told him they might not be able to build a plasma charger in the new arm because funding is low and the component parts are crazy expensive. Most of the money goes into the new Mark-6 Jaeger they are building, hopefully launching next year with brand new pilots. At times like this the PPDC’s priorities boil the Ranger’s blood. Is it really better to have two half-built Jaegers than one proper one?

Later that night, after Jake and Leo defeats the Category III Kaiju, he visits the hangar bay smelling of grease and metal to check on Siren Fury. She stands tall and proud, all sleek steel and battleworn scars. Her left arm is open, wires and rods peeking out showing its half-finished state. Dongmin walks over the elevated walkway to get a closer look but halts as soon as he notices a figure already there. At first he thinks it might be his co-pilot driven by the same restlessness he feels but when he gets closer he recognizes you.

For once you don’t wear your usual nurse uniform and don’t have your hair tightly tied back either. Instead you have sweats and an SNU Med t-shirt on, hair falling into your face. It’s the first time he has seen you look so… casual.

Dongmin has half a mind to slip away like he hasn’t even been there but then his shoes made a squealing sound against the grated metal flooring and you look up straight at him. Whatever excuse he was about to say then freezes on the tip of his tongue when he sees your red-rimmed eyes in the hangar’s dim night light. Oh.

You look away quickly, sniffling as you wipe your face clear of evidence and Dongmin just stands there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with the situation. Should he leave you alone and pretend he saw nothing or offer some kind of comfort even though he’s shit at it? One would think having a girl co-pilot helps navigating situations like this but the Ranger girl has always had Kim Donghyun by her side and Dongmin never had to be the shoulder to cry on. Not to mention, you and him aren’t even close, so it probably would be weird if he suddenly initiated anything… right?

“How is it?” You speak up quietly before he could make up his mind. You don’t look at him, just keep staring ahead but it feels like a permission to stay. Like maybe you would actually appreciate some company.

“What?” Dongmin asks as he lowers himself into a sitting position against the railing in a decent arm’s length distance from you.

“Going out there and fighting in this,” you point at his Jaeger and while your words are emotionless, there’s a strain in your voice that most likely has something to do with why today’s Kaiju attack triggered something in you.

So Dongmin takes your question seriously, gives it a moment to think it over properly, instead of just blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind. Everybody has seen Jaegers on TV, some has seen them in real life but only a handful have ever been in a dispatched one. Dongmin is one of the few but he isn’t sure how to describe the feeling to somebody who has never ever sat in a simulator.

“Like you’re on the top of the world,” he says as he stares at the helmet of the blue-washed Siren Fury, at the Korean flag proudly painted on its side. His voice is tethering on the edge of sounding awed. “Piloting a Jaeger isn’t like piloting a plane. It’s not a separate entity. Once you’re attached, it becomes the extension of your own body. Practically, you, your co-pilot and the Jaeger become one after the drift. It’s hard to explain but suddenly you are more.”

Dongmin’s gaze drops to the robot’s legs. Somewhere on its mechanical ankles there are marks of two scratchy names. Him and his co-pilot carved their names into the steel with a knife after their first successful mission. The J-Tech must have noticed but nobody has ever said a thing.

“Isn’t it scary?” You ask quietly and he isn’t sure what you mean. The drift, the control over something so big or the fight against Kaijus? His answer is the same nevertheless:

“Only if you let it,” he says because he has long gotten used to all that. He has come to terms with the fact that he will probably die young in a Jaeger. He just wants to take as many Kaijus with him as he can. He can’t afford to let fear dictate his life. Nobody should, so he tries to crack a joke: “Otherwise it’s just a hyper realistic video game.”

When a hint of a smile graces your features, he considers it a win even if you don’t say anything.

For the first time, silence settles comfortably between the two of you. You don’t cry anymore and he lets the railing dig into his back more as he relaxes his shoulders. Siren Fury glows under the moonlight shining through the glass dome.

“I think being stuck on land having nothing to do is scarier,” Dongmin admits, quieter than before, his fingers mindlessly following the engraving in the dog tag that hangs from his neck between his pulled up legs.

Who is he if he is not out there fighting? It’s a question he has been turning in his head all day but he would like to think there was nothing in his voice that warranted you to look at him with all doe eyes. He clears his throat as he looks away.

“Why leave Seoul? It’s relatively safe there,” he stumbles to fill the void. It’s only fair if it’s his turn to ask, he justifies, and it seems like a neutral enough question. The assumption is also mostly a guess based on your shirt, but you don’t correct him.

“My younger brother joined the Busan Academy as a cadet. He’s all I have,” you answer simply, like it explains everything and maybe it does. The you followed him here part goes unsaid but it’s clear enough. Dongmin wonders what else you left behind in Seoul other than university.

He also wants to ask what happened with the rest of your family but the intensity you’re staring at the Jaegers towering over you is an answer too, he supposes. Wrong time, wrong place and a Kaiju. Everybody seems to have a story like this these days.

“Are you not… proud of him?” He asks instead. Tentatively because it sounds like you don’t approve of your brother’s decision to join the military, to work for keeping the country safe while you’re also on the frontline even if in a different role. Shatterdomes are built right by the water which makes them the closest targets when a Kaiju attack comes. Everybody risks their life by being there, not just the cadets who might pilot a Jaeger one day.

“I am,” you’re quick to protest but your voice breaks when you continue. “But I don’t want to lose him. Why does it have to be him who plays the hero?”

Dongmin clenches his jaw at the clear concern in your voice and stares out at the sea through the giant windows.

He grew up in a household built on discipline, diligence and loyalty. It has never been a question to him if he will put his life on the line for his country, it was a given. He still remembers the warmth of his father’s palm squeezing his shoulder when he officially became a Ranger and the smile on his mother’s face as she told her friends that her son had defeated Kaijus. He cannot disappoint them.

“Somebody has to do it,” he says.

He has gotten used to it: people expecting him to be that somebody. He was the best of best, they said, if somebody could do it, it would be him. It has always filled him with pride, the trust they put into his abilities and the way they justified the hard work he has put into getting there. But listening to you talking about your brother with such unabashed care, he can’t help but want that. Somebody to care enough to worry about him too. It’s stupid because he’s better off without it and yet, now it keeps plaguing his thoughts.

Thoughts you break easily when you shift until you face him, you knee almost bumping into his side.

“You’re his role model, you know? That’s why he applied here,” you tell him and while it doesn’t sound like you’re blaming him, he feels a pang of guilt anyways. He doesn’t let it hurt though.

“Want an autograph?” He raises his eyebrows and flashes a charming smile at you. At the girl who has every reason to hate him because her brother might die one day because of his influence.

You snort at his silly question regardless and he finds that he doesn’t even mind it, at least you’re smiling. That’s good enough.

Dongmin hisses when the wound stings under running water. The bleeding has stopped already and now he just feels stupid trying to clean up broken glass with his hands. He brings his hurting hand up to his face to inspect the injury. Luckily it’s nothing serious, barely more than a paper cut. He normally ignores such things, because while sure, they’re mildly annoying for a few days when in contact with something, soon enough they’re gone without a trace. But now for some reason his feet take him to the infirmary’s floor, his brain already racking up explanations like how even such a small wound could get infected or affect his job if not taken care of professionally. You don’t ask for any of his excuses when you see him, just have him sit down and treat his cut with careful hands. It takes less than five minutes and he’s out of the infirmary with a plaster on his finger.

The thing is, normally Dongmin doesn’t get injured or sick often. At least not seriously enough to ask for help. No wonder even his co-pilot looks at him weird when after a Kwoon combat session, he’s off to the nurse station to have a freshly reddened bruise looked at. He leaves with a cooling cream in hand. You didn’t even ask him to take his shirt off!

One time he goes as far as pretending to have fever after his skin heats up from blow drying his hair but you just put a cool hand against his forehead and brush his fringe out of his face before dropping a sour candy wrapper into his hands. He’s not sure whether this is more humiliating or when only Mrs Hwang is in and he bolts after she tells him that it’s your day off.

So now he’s at the hangar bay, sitting on a stool too small for his long legs, while Jaehyun is working on his Jaeger’s hand. Dongmin is there to supposedly help, wearing a motion capture glove and bending his fingers every once in a while when the J-Tech guy tells him to, but he mostly just complains about the dissatisfactory health care service he has received lately as in not being able to talk with you properly because you always send him away once he’s treated.

“Dude, if you want her attention so badly, maybe talk to her instead of giving her more work,” Jaehyun advises while checking on the hand sensor settings on his tablet and making some modifications to the sensitivity levels.

“I don’t want–” Dongmin is quick to argue but he bites his tongue when his friend sends him a knowing look. He sighs begrudgingly. “I’m not that desperate.”

He has a reputation to uphold after all. He’s the Jaeger Academy’s best for a reason. The Pan Pacific Defence Corps’s favourite role model to parade for young cadets. Commander Han’s eldest son. He’s not some lovesick male lead from a tv drama.

And yet, somehow, half an hour later he’s back in the infirmary wing because he touched something on the workstation he shouldn’t have and now he has a fresh burn mark on his palm. For once, he feels more embarrassed than sneaky when he walks through the double doors and you look up from your desk. You don’t even seem surprised anymore to see him there.

“You know, for a Ranger, you’re kind of careless,” is the first thing you tell him after he shows you his newest injury.

“Excuse me?” The snarky reaction escapes Dongmin as defensiveness takes over. The callout feels unfair, because no matter what anybody says, he is one hell of a Ranger. He has medals the president awarded him for god’s sake.

You look him in the eye, unwavering, and press a pad of disinfectant against his wound as if to prove a point. Dongmin hisses and deflates like a balloon.

“Oh, that. Right,” he mumbles, casting his eyes down like a child that knows they were in the wrong.

You hold his hand gently while applying the disinfectant properly and spread a thin layer of cream over the burn. He already misses the subtle touch when you let go to get the gauze and wrap it around his palm. When your fingers linger a bit more than necessary after securing the bandage with a plaster, he might have just imagined that.

“You should be more careful,” you tell him belatedly, half scolding, half worried, while sitting down in front of the age-old computer to log his newest visit into his files. Dongmin has to turn his head away to hide his smile.

After that things slowly start to change.

You don’t ignore him anymore when he looks your way in the canteen. The first time he sits down at your table, the girls nearby stare and whisper and giggle not-so-subtly. But at least he gets to talk to you about how his burn is healing and that he managed to beat Park Sunghoon at Kwoon combat the last time they sparred. When you notice he doesn’t eat the eggplant on his plate, you steal it from his tray and give him a piece of chicken instead. He can’t stop smiling behind his can of soda.

During one of his now semi-regular practices with Woonhak, who is slowly growing on him despite his best efforts, you show up and he gets distracted enough for the cadet to easily land a hit straight on his chest. Only when Woonhak waves to you with wide smiles does he understand why you don’t seem surprised at all to see the two of them there. When you and Woonhak get ready to leave, he kind of expects you to tell him to go easy on your brother next time now that you’ve seen him get in several hits but instead, you mouth a thank you towards him. Dongmin watches you ruffle Woonhak’s hair dotingly which makes the younger boy whine with something squishingly soft forming in his chest.

One time he catches you in the gym on the treadmills and challenges you to a race. Unexpectedly you agree and get him the vending machine soda he asks for when he wins without complaining about his unfair advantage. Both of you are sweaty while you’re sitting there with your legs aching, slurping on your drinks, but when Dongmin is glancing your way, you’re smiling.

And then there are the late night meetings in the Jaeger hangar. Sometimes you’re just lying on your back on the catwalk and searching for stars on the pitch black sky through the glass dome. Sometimes you talk about everything and nothing. He gets to know you there slowly.

You like the hangar because your father was a mechanic and the district smell of oil, burning metal and fresh paint reminds you of his garage. Your voice breaks when you tell him that your father was working on the Anti-Kaiju wall that was destroyed by the Category III bringing catastrophe to the Southern shore years ago. He asks about your university days and tells you about the Jaeger Academy and how it wasn’t that different from growing up in a military family. You’re the first one to ask him about what he would do if one day the monsters stopped coming. He doesn’t have an answer, not then, but later, lying in his bed alone, staring at the starless ceiling, he hopes you’re there in a future like that.

"Category IV Kaiju alert! J-Tech, prepare Siren Fury for dispatch! Rangers report to Conn-Pod immediately! I repeat: Category IV Kaiju–”

The sirens are blaring throughout the Shatterdome, waking everybody up at 4AM. Dongmin laces up his boots haphazardly and swings the door open. Down the corridor he sees his co-pilot leave Kim Donghyun’s room.

“Are you ready?” She asks while she’s zipping up her jacket.

“So ready. Let’s kick some Kaiju ass,” Dongmin grins. Finally the restlessness he has felt in the last few weeks has a space to go as they are making their way to the Conn-Pod.

Chanyoung is already at LOCCENT, tracking the Kaiju’s movements on one monitor and checking the Jaeger’s energy levels on the other with other comm officers. When Dongmin puts on the Drivesuit, he hears him in his in-ear.

“I hope you slept well, it’s a really ugly beast.”

“Don’t worry, we will send it right back where it came from,” he says, ever so confident, wincing quietly when the spinal cord is attached. Some say it’s bad luck to celebrate early but Dongmin thinks it boosts morale. Not to mention no Kaiju could take them down before, isn’t that proof enough that it’s warranted? His roommate just wishes him luck, then starts the countdown.

“Initiating drift in 3, 2, 1…”

Dongmin closes his eyes and lets memories flood him. It’s a mix of old and new, his and his co-pilot’s. A Kaiju that has left him shaking, a beach town in ruins, late night practices until his body was sore and useless and still not good enough, Kim Donghyun smiling under the sunset, ice cream smeared on his lips, and your voice echoing in his ears, the sour candy he got from you tasting sweet on his tongue.

“Drift successful, connection stable. Rangers, confirm!” Somebody yells just and he opens his eyes, feeling the familiar presence of a companion in the back of his mind. He turns his head towards his partner who smiles and he already knows what she wants to say even before she opens her mouth.

“That was so cheesy.”

“You’re one to talk,” he rolls his eyes but with no malice and they move their hands at the same time, the Jaeger’s mechanic limb following their movements swiftly.

“Siren Fury is ready for deployment,” he confirms and when the Jumphawks hatch onto the mech’s shoulders to airlift them, he imagines you watching it happen through the big monitor in the hallways. It gives him one more reason to win.

It’s not an easy victory but it feels good. Every landed punch and every plasma hit right on target. After weeks of restlessness, Dongmin finally feels like he’s doing something useful. By the time the Kaiju’s lifeless body collapses into the Japan Sea, he’s sweating, his muscles ache and there’s a beginning of a throbbing headache in his temple. Yet, he feels delirious, the good kind, like he can take on the whole world.

It’s always a bit disorientating when they are back in the Shatterdome and the Conn-Pod is detached from the Jaeger. Suddenly it’s a lot quieter in his mind even though his co-pilot’s thoughts linger for a while like ghost touches.

“Let me guess, you will go for a check-up right away,” she wiggles her brows as she’s getting out of her Drivesuit.

“Shut up and go make out with your boyfriend or something,” Dongmin rolls his eyes instead of reminding her that medical check-ups after an actual drift were important. It would be hypothetical because he used to not care much despite the protocol. It would also be useless because he can already see Donghyun waiting like a puppy behind the Conn-Pod station’s glass doors.

He gives the Kaiju nerd a nod when he walks by him into the LOCCENT and accepts the pats on the back and congratulations from the officers with his usual nonchalance. He doesn’t intend to stay long but before he could escape, the Marshal finds him and tells him about an event they should attend to secure more funding for the Jaeger program. He agrees like a good soldier would because he doesn’t really have a choice anyways, then asks for permission to leave. When granted, he slips away through hidden corridors before anybody else could stop him.

Usually he loves the part when every resident of the Shatterdome gathers to celebrate the new win of humanity. These are the only few times when they get to relax before the next Kaiju appearance. They are allowed to have fun, to drink, to forget that the attacks are getting more and more frequent and the world might be doomed. Dongmin also likes the post-Kaiju fight high, the adrenaline pumping in his veins and the feeling of being invincible. He knows he will crash soon, either with the headache worsening or exhaustion taking over, but for now he feels like he could do anything.

When he opens the door to the infirmary, he catches you pacing from one end to another.

“–would be such a bad idea to–”

You stop when you notice him and another girl jumps off the counter. It’s Minju, Dongmin recognizes her from Donghyun’s lab.

“Uhm, I will go get coffee,” she exclaims abruptly even though there’s clearly a mug half-full of dark liquid on the counter where she just sat. When she passes by Dongmin’s side she shows him thumbs up and offers a “Good job today!” cheerily.

“Thanks,” Dongmin says and waits for you to agree, to comment on his performance, to say anything but when the door is closed behind your friend, you turn your back on him and shuffle back to the computer to pull up his charts. The examination table makes a creaking sound in the silence when Dongmin sits down without having been told. He knows the drill by now.

“How are you feeling?”

When you speak up, it’s in your usual work tone, all professional. He’s a bit disappointed but he refuses to wilt like a flower.

“Good. Just a little headache,” he says and watches you get up to grab a few things.

He knows what comes, he has been in the same situation multiple times just with different nurses. Mrs Hwang who works the alternate shifts is such a mother hen, treating all of them like children. The previous nurse who left before you came was so chatty, always had a new gossip whenever he sat there. He never really craved either of their acknowledgement, but with you he almost feels desperate for it.

“Did you watch us?” He asks when you fasten the blood pressure monitor’s cuff around his arm but you just shush him. He casts his eyes down, sulky, like a scolded child all the while the cuff tightens then loosens and the machine beeps. You jot down his results before stepping closer again. Your fingers are soft on his skin while you slip the medical device off his arm.

You don’t look him in the eye when you eventually answer. “No.”

It has Dongmin reeling. All this time he has thought that everybody was busy following the broadcasts of the Kaiju fights, he thought that you saw him defeat this newest alien monster, that somehow this could maybe appeal to you, but now he’s just confused.

“Why?”

You ignore his question and pick up the penlight instead.

“Follow the light with your eyes,” you tell him and he begrudgingly follows the instructions like a champ. However, when you drop your hand and turn away, he grabs onto your wrist to pull you back. You’re clearly startled as you stumble and have to catch yourself with a hand against his chest to not fall completely onto him.

“Why?” He asks again and there’s something defiant in your eyes when you finally make eye contact with him, your arm flexing under his hold, your fingers curling into his uniform shirt. He has half a mind to let go of you but he’s also relishing in the fact that you haven’t even tried to pull away, that you’re staying close on purpose. He’s basking in your subtle jasmine scent and the warmth of your shaky exhales.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper into the barely there space between the two of you and it ceases the ugly disappointment burning in the pit of Dongmin’s belly.

“I’m fine though,” he insists and swipes his thumb over the inner side of your wrist. It’s supposed to be soothing but when your breath hitches, he can’t help a grin at the reaction he finally got out of you.

“Ranger Han–” You raise your voice and it sounds like he’s in for a reprimand or a warning. He decidedly ignores it.

“Dongmin,” he corrects with a smirk as he tilts his head and continues the caresses on your skin.

For a long moment you just stare at each other as if to see who can take it longer. He can feel his cheeks heat up despite the confident act he puts up and when your gaze drops to his lips, his pulse jumps. There’s a tremble in his fingers when you lean closer and then…

“Noona! Have you seen–” Somebody barrels through the infirmary’s double doors and Dongmin has to hold himself back from dramatically sighing when you step back until your back hits the nurse desk. “Oh, hi, hyung! Oh my god, you were so cool out there!” 

Woonhak is all smiles and pure enthusiasm. He’s also totally oblivious to what he has interrupted. Still, he’s your brother, so Dongmin puts on a smile and answers all the questions Woonhak has about this new Kaiju and their strategy against it. He also promises to give him a tour around Siren Fury’s Conn-Pod one day. You drop a piece of sour candy into his hands before he has to leave.

The next time he ends up in the infirmary, it’s not on purpose and totally not his fault.

He was looking for his co-pilot so they could run a drift simulation but she was hanging out with her boyfriend in the labs. Apparently the K-scientists found something breakthrough regarding the anatomy of the Kaijus but Dongmin was busy checking on the different shades of blue vials labelled synthetic Kaiju blood to really pay attention. Nobody around him wore masks or gloves, so he assumed it was safe enough. That little piece of shiny rock on the petri dish wasn’t even blue, so the last thing he expected when he poked it was for his skin to stain a fluorescent color.

Apparently it was a sample from a beach that got exposed to Kaiju Blue, the deadly toxic agent in the aliens’ blood, and since the team was currently working on how to reverse its destructing effect on nature, they already had an antidote on hands for small exposures. Donghyun quickly had him drink something awfully bitter that stopped the pins and needles feeling slowly spreading in his arm.

Still, it caused quite a bit of fright for everybody present, so his co-pilot dragged him to the infirmary just to be sure he would be okay. You keep it professional while she’s in there explaining what happened but as soon as she leaves, you start scolding him.

“You know very well that Kaiju blood contains toxins. What were you thinking?” You tsk, flashing him a severely disappointed look before getting something from the cabinet. Then suddenly turn back to him and point an accusing finger at him. “You’re officially banned from the labs, got it?”

You don’t even wait for an answer, just keep mumbling something about him being so eager to put his life on the line under your breath while pulling out an IV bag. When you turn back to him, you have a cannula in your hands.

“There’s really no need–” He tries to protest but you cut him off with the authority of someone who has bossed men around all her life.

“Sit back down,” you tell him and Dongmin’s bottom hits the mattress even before his mind can process the words.

He has faced a dozen Kaijus. He has faced death. But apparently nothing scares him as much as you do when you’re mad at him. He has never seen you so agitated, frantic and frustrated. So he bears it without complaint as you put him on IV drip even though when you stab the needle into his arm, he’s pretty sure you do it with more force than necessary.

Even after you make sure the fluid is flowing into his bloodstream properly and that the last remnants of blue discoloring disappeared from his fingers, you’re still hovering over him. It makes him feel bad.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” he says, trying to coax you into a more relaxed state.

“Then stop getting hurt!” You shove at his chest but it’s weak because you clearly don’t want to cause him more pain.

Dongmin has the audacity to smile when he catches your hand and pulls you down to sit on the bed. You let him more easily than he expected. You also make no moves to pull your hand away.

“I will try, I promise,” he tries, gentler, rubbing gently your palm.

“You better,” you huff with downturned lips and avoiding his eyes like a sulky cat and Dongmin is awfully endeared. Who knew that he just needed to get exposed to almost deadly chemicals to see this side of you? It makes him want to push his luck.

“What about a get well soon kiss?” He asks playfully and you scowl at him, unimpressed.

“You don’t deserve it.”

He pouts, playing his disappointment up, and you roll your eyes at him. Your hand remains in his though and you don’t move from his infirmary bed, so he’s not complaining.

He can’t tell whether it’s from the IV bag’s contents or the antidote from earlier, but soon his eyelids start getting heavy. Just before he tips over the edge and slips into a dreamless sleep, he feels soft lips against his forehead. He falls asleep with a stupid smile on his face.

Before meeting you, Dongmin used to think that nothing can compare to the feeling of being invincible in a Jaeger. Now, he’s not so sure anymore. You make him feel on top of the world too.

END NOTES. title from the keshi song. header pic from the BEAT High magazine behind cut.

☆ BOYNEXTDOOR masterlist

💌 askbox

you’re out with sungho during a surface run. it’s nothing too out of the ordinary - a quick run because the pantry is growing worryingly empty and riwoo’s on the edge again and leehan has been gone for a few hours already. you had cornered a wild boar into a dilapidated tunnel - but it had lunged at you with a ferocity that comes with owning the city. you froze - something you weren’t exactly proud of.

but sungho didn’t.

he moved with such composure and assuredness you didn’t truly process it until it was over. sungho had click back his rifle and wiped his hands clean on his jacket, looking at you with the simplicity that came with something like filling up a glass of water rather than shooting a bullet in between the eyes of a boar.

“are you okay?” he asked softly.

“fine,” you stuttered.

sungho acted akin to a domesticated cat, but he had that instinct underneath anyways - that human desire to stay alive, no matter what it took. he didn’t even flinch at the creatures with human faces either - the ones that had the wrong shape and limped at you. sungho puts them down clean and doesn’t lose sleep over it. they’re gone anyways, he said, wiping down his rifle with a rag, we’re doing them a kindness.

you toss and turn at night, trying your best not to rouse the other members curled up in their kots.

“can’t sleep?” he towers over your makeshift bed like a statue, the faint glow of the light casting his shadow over you as his hair falls into his face. he casts a look at woonhak, who is curled up next to your head, inches from falling off the edge of his mattress.

“i’m too old for bedtime stories,” you whisper, scooting up until you’re sitting up against the wall. he sits down anyways, and you curl into him, his arm coming up to wrap around you.

he tells you them anyways, his voice quiet so he doesn’t wake up woonhak who is snoring away beside the two of you.

“sungho.”

“mm?”

“we’re not going to sleep, are we?”

he looks down at you.

“do you want to?”

you look him in the eyes.

“no, not really.”

then you kiss him, unhurried like you have all the time in the world.

his hand moves to your jaw, and the bunker around you disappears completely.

when you break for air, he nudges his forehead against your’s, mumbling against your lips.

“since you don’t intend on sleeping, why don’t we do something fun? you’ll have to be quiet, though.”

#리우 RIWOO

the thing about riwoo is that he’s actually funny.

it’s like his brain never switches off - he jumps at any opportunity to crack jokes and entertain you. if this was before, he’d probably have an audience of thousands - but he’s stuck doing stand-up for seven people in a reinforced basement and they love him for it possibly more than any crowd ever could.

for a brief moment, when he comments on woonhak’s stumbling of words or make noises nobody expects, it feels normal - your concrete home turns momentarily human with riwoo in the center.

chef riwoo claims the makeshift kitchen as his own. its a poor excuse of one - a few stacked cardboard boxes and rusted tins. riwoo makes do with what you have, which isn’t a lot to begin with. he’ll spend an hour on a can of beans, coaxing them into something that tastes like deliberation. he’ll somehow scrounge up a bundle of sad, dried herbs from behind a shelf and savour them like how a sommelier might with wine. a sprinkle of rosemary, he says, deadly serious, even though it smells like nothing to you. he’ll serve you it on a platter, paired with our evening crackers. you’ve realised he likes to watch while you eat, a set line in his forehead until you take that first bite of food and smile.

the other thing about riwoo is that he doesn’t like it here.

you realised when, two months in, he cheerfully gestured to the bare walls and laughed. it’s like summer camp! he says lightly, and we’re all dorms mates. isn’t this basically just a very underground camp? leehan played along, laughing, and riwoo’s face had a flash of something that looked like relief.

he doesn’t talk about outside, even though he’s probably old enough to remember something like sungho. he reroutes any conversation that edges in that direction with a precison of a surgeon with a scalpel. he hums loudly when jaehyun tries to walk through logistics, and when sungho starts talking about skyscrapers he pointedly gets up and walks away, or produces a story wholly unrelated, usually involving himself in some comedic situation, and usually very successful in changing the subject.

you catch him one day, standing in front of his corner, not moving - his face doing something it rarely does - stock still and serious.

he clocked you in about two seconds and the smile came back up like a blind snapping shut.

“oh, good. it’s just you,” he says, “we’re… running low on some stuff.”

you cast a look at the empty shelf, pitiful with just a few cans of who-knows-what.

“hey,” you say, stepping closer and taking his hand.

he looks at it, and then drops his forehead onto your shoulder, like how a tree branch might fall under it’s own weight. your arms naturally come back up, encircling around him.

“i don’t know what to do,” his voice is muffled against your skin.

“it’s okay.”

“it’s not -”

“it’s fine.”

he’s quiet for a long time, simply breathing in your space. when you pull back he flinches, but he doesn’t run. the edges of his eyes are rimmed red, but when you lean back in he doesn’t turn away.

you give him a chaste kiss on the lips, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

when they open back up, he has a smile on his face again - not the one from earlier, but something more gentle and tender.

“chef riwoo -” he says, pulling back, “- is going to need a minute.”

“take all the time you need.”

#명재현 MYUNG JAEHYUN

jaehyun’s natural inclination to leadership is both a blessing and a curse, and jaehyun carries it with grace - and that’s the most terrifying part. he doesn’t look tired, he doesn’t crack under the pressure, he holds it together with an air of practice that scares you.

he’s good at it, being a leader. he’s so good at it he might be the best in the world - and since the world is so small right now, that phrase might actually be true.

jaehyun authority is embodied in his maps - the ones spread across the rickety table in one corner of the room. it’s littered with his handwriting, covered in symbols and dots only he can decipher and you try to understand. you sit with him while he thumbs at the edge, constantly reworking, rewriting, redrawing - trying to make sense of a world that is constantly shifting and is far too threatening.

he used to bury his head in his arms and sleep directly over the maps, almost like if he could splay out on the map he could control the world that lays under his fingertips. then you’d come over, place a hand on his back as he shuts his eyes, then, fifteen minutes later, he’d pull himself back together and sit up again.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he whispers one night, when everyone is asleep and your shadow casts your figure across his maps, “you’re the only one who understands me.”

you find his hands under the table and he brings them to his lips, kissing them like how a knight would to his grace. then he intertwines your fingers and turns back to his map, picking up his pen. romance blossoms under the dim light of a lamp that’s running out of time.

“you’re rerouting,” you point out quietly.

“i need you to be safe,” he squeezes your palm, “i - i…”

“i know,” you say softly, “it’s okay.”

he doesn’t look at you, his eyes still downcast as he draws an assertive line across the green.

“you need to drink,” you push the cup towards him.

“later.”

“now.”

he frowns at you but acquiesces, pulling the cup towards him. eventually it becomes half empty, and eventually jaehyun picks up his pen again.

you cup his cheeks and turn him towards you.

“tell me.”

“the east route -” he falters, “it’s… worst than i thought.”

“how bad?”

jaehyun stops, “i don’t know.”

you can tell by the scrunch in his nose that he hates himself for saying it. he’s supposed to be the one who always knows, the one who understands, the one who has a plan.

he not supposed to not know. he can’t afford to.

you run your thumb across his cheek and he leans into it, his eyes fluttering shut in the warmth.

“we’ll figure it out.”

“you don’t know that.”

“no,” you press your forehead against his, “but i know you will.”

jaehyun’s eyes blink open, and he shifts, ever so slightly, so his lips graze against the palm of your hand. he stays there for an exhale, then two, and three, and then he finds it in himself to pick up the pen again.

maknae line later

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Somewhere across campus, Lee Leehan was absolutely lying upside down on his bed right now, hair a mess, oversized hoodie half covering his hands while Soul rotted dramatically somewhere nearby. You could picture it with painful clarity because you’d known him for almost fifteen years, and unfortunately your brain had memorized him in microscopic detail.

The way he got philosophical when he was sleep deprived.

The way he blinked slowly whenever he was trying not to smile.

The way he always, always texted you first when something strange crossed his mind, as though your attention was the natural destination for every thought he ever had.

What you didn’t know was that Leehan had been staring at your dm for the last ten minutes before sending the text.

Because he missed you.

Which was ridiculous considering he’d seen you less than twelve hours ago.

Leehan knew it was getting bad.

Actually, no.

'Getting bad' implied this was recent.

The truth was that he’d probably been in love with you since middle school and simply hadn’t realized that normal people did not think about their best friend this constantly.

Normal people didn’t instinctively search crowded rooms for one specific person.

Normal people didn’t feel irrationally irritated whenever someone else made you laugh too hard.

Normal people definitely didn’t wake up at five in the morning wondering whether you’d answer their stupid alien questions.

And yet.

Your phone buzzed again.

leehan 🐟

answer the question seriously

i think theyd study you for scientific purposes

wow

and then probably return you after deciding youre too annoying to keep

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then:

okay but youd miss me

You rolled your eyes automatically even as your mouth betrayed you by smiling into the pillow.

That was the problem with Leehan.

He had somehow woven himself into every part of your life so completely that the idea of missing him felt less hypothetical and more like asking whether you’d miss having organs. Yes, he was that important to you.

You and Leehan had been inseparable since childhood in the sort of way that made adults smile knowingly and your friends giggle. There had never really been a beginning to your friendship because it felt like he’d simply always existed beside you: muddy sneakers abandoned in your family’s front hallway, sleepy movie nights sprawled across living room floors, his laugh echoing beside yours at every age and every stage of your life.

By university, things had only gotten worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

You edited his jazz composition assignments while he carried your camera equipment across campus without being asked. He waited outside your journalism lectures pretending it was coincidence despite somehow arriving exactly when your classes ended every single time. Your hoodies migrated mysteriously into his apartment. His sweaters ended up draped across your desk chair for weeks.

People had stopped asking whether you were together around freshman year.

Now they just stared at the two of you with exhausted understanding.

Wonhee once referred to your friendship as “emotionally codependent with tax benefits.”

Soul said you and Leehan moved around each other “like haunted soulmates.”

Jungwon, unfortunately, had looked genuinely confused when you clarified you were only friends.

“You act married,” he’d said simply.

At the time, both you and Leehan had laughed.

Mostly because neither of you knew what else to do.

Except Leehan had gone home afterward and stared at his ceiling for an hour thinking about it.

Your phone buzzed one final time.

leehan 🐟

come get breakfast with me later

leehan its five in the morning

so is that a yes

You stared at the screen for a moment before sighing.

if i can't complete my draft because of you im haunting you permanently

okay so that is a yes :D

You locked your phone and dropped it onto your mattress, already regretting the fact that you were absolutely going to meet him later and couldn't sleep in.

Across the room, Wonhee cracked one eye open.

“Was it him again?”

You buried your face into the blanket. “Unfortunately.”

Wonhee watched you for a long moment before muttering, “One day you two are gonna wake up married accidentally.”

The terrifying thing was that neither of you would be surprised.

By the time you dragged yourself to the student café three hours later, Leehan was already there.

Of course he was.

He sat curled into the corner booth nearest the window with one leg tucked beneath him, large headphones hanging around his neck while he absentmindedly tapped drum patterns against the table with his fingers. Morning sunlight spilled across his face in soft gold streaks, catching against the silver rings on his hands and the dark mess of his hair. Soul was slumped unconscious beside him with his cheek pressed against a textbook he clearly had not opened once.

Leehan noticed you immediately.

He always did.

His entire expression shifted in that subtle way you’d accidentally memorized over the years—his shoulders loosening slightly, his eyes softening around the edges like some invisible part of him settled the second you entered the room.

And God, Leehan hated that people noticed it now.

Because recently, they had been noticing.

“There you are,” he said.

“You texted me before sunrise.”

“And yet you still came.”

“That’s beautiful,” Soul mumbled without lifting his head. “You guys are like if soulmates reincarnated as loser university students.”

You slid into the booth across from Leehan, immediately stealing the iced coffee sitting near his elbow. “Why are you both awake?”

“Leehan had inspiration,” Soul replied flatly. “Which apparently means I’m not allowed to sleep.”

Leehan ignored him completely, eyes still fixed on you while you drank his coffee like it belonged to you.

At this point it technically did.

The two of you shared things so naturally now that ownership had become blurry years ago.

“Did you finish your article?” he asked.

“Almost.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’m a journalist. We thrive under pressure and procrastination.”

“You cried over formatting last week,” he laughed softly. “You said, and I quote, ‘APA format was invented by evil men.’”

“And why do you remember that?”

Because Leehan remembered everything about you.

Every stupid phrase. Every nervous habit. Every expression.

Because loving you had apparently rewired his brain into a storage unit exclusively dedicated to you.

Instead, he only shrugged.

“You say funny things when you’re stressed.”

There was something horribly fond in the way he said it.

You hated that your stomach noticed.

Across from you, Soul slowly lifted his head, eyes moving between the two of you with the exhausted expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion disaster.

“You know,” he said carefully, “Your conversations carry more romantic tension than any classic romance novels ever has.”

Neither of you answered.

Mostly because Leehan was still looking at you.

It had gotten worse recently.

Not in an obvious way. He wasn’t suddenly confessing beneath moonlight or writing your name in notebooks like some tragic coming-of-age protagonist. If anything, the changes were microscopic enough that nobody except you would notice them.

You noticed how his hand lingered against your back when guiding you through crowded hallways now.

How he got quieter whenever another guy spoke to you too long at parties.

How his expression tightened almost imperceptibly whenever someone flirted with you.

Leehan hated himself for that part especially.

Because jealousy was ugly.

And yet every time another person looked at you too long, something territorial and irrational twisted painfully inside his chest.

“You’re staring again,” you said before thinking.

Leehan blinked. “What?”

“You do that lately.”

A faint flush crawled up the back of his neck almost instantly.

Soul’s eyes widened dramatically.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself. “Character development.”

Leehan kicked him under the table hard enough to nearly send him to the floor.

The café doors swung open before Soul could retaliate, Jungwon and Taesan stepping inside arguing about rehearsal schedules while Beomgyu trailed behind them carrying approximately seven snacks for no explainable reason.

“There they are,” Beomgyu announced immediately. “Campus’s married couple of the century.”

“We’re not married nor dating nor like each other,” you replied automatically.

Leehan nearly choked on his drink.

Because you saying that somehow felt significantly worse than everyone else saying it.

“You literally share location services,” Beomgyu continued.

“That’s for safety.”

“You fall asleep on call.”

“That happened one time.” You lied.

It's happened a lot.

Leehan, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered by the accusations. If anything, he seemed almost pleased, stretching lazily against the booth seat while nudging your foot beneath the table with his.

“You know,” Taesan said slowly, “I genuinely think you two would die if separated for over a week.”

That should’ve stayed a joke.

Really.

Taesan would later admit this was the exact moment he realized he’d accidentally altered the trajectory of multiple lives.

Because suddenly the atmosphere shifted.

Now it sounded like a challenge.

And unfortunately, both you and Leehan were deeply competitive people.

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed immediately.

Across the booth, Leehan looked equally offended. “A week is easy.”

Soul burst out laughing so hard he nearly inhaled his straw.

“No,” Jungwon said carefully, already sensing disaster approaching, “you guys don’t understand. Taesan means completely.”

“Obviously,” Taesan replied. “No texting. No calls. No hanging out. No weird telepathic communication either.”

You crossed your arms. “Fine.”

Leehan looked at you immediately.

Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes.

“Fine?” he repeated softly.

“You heard me.”

A grin tugged slowly at the corner of his mouth then, sharp and challenging in a way that made your stomach tighten unfairly.

“Okay,” he said. “One week.”

Soul looked genuinely horrified.

“Oh,” he whispered. “This is gonna ruin lives.”

-----

The first day was easy.

Annoyingly easy, actually.

You were busy enough drowning in assignments and interview drafts that the silence barely registered beyond occasional instinctive moments where your hand reached for your phone automatically before you remembered.

No Leehan.

No weird late-night philosophical questions.

No random pictures of ducks he claimed to look like you.

No sleepy voice messages at two in the morning because he’d curated a new verse he “needed you to hear immediately.”

Across campus, meanwhile, Leehan was realizing something deeply unfortunate about himself.

Apparently, he had built his entire daily routine around you.

Not intentionally.

That was the humiliating part.

It was unconscious. Automatic. Pathetic, honestly.

By noon he’d already looked up from rehearsal twice expecting to see your texts waiting for him. By evening, he caught himself taking pictures of random things out of habit before remembering he technically wasn’t allowed to send them to you.

Soul watched this happen with mounting horror.

“You know,” he said eventually from the floor of the practice room, “normal people survive a week without their best friend.”

Leehan stared blankly out the window. “I am surviving.”

“You just sighed at a pigeon.”

“It looked lonely.”

“You're sick.”

Leehan ignored him.

Because unfortunately the pigeon did look lonely.

Like him.

Which was ridiculous.

Everything about this was ridiculous.

The second day became irritating.

You kept turning corners on campus expecting to see Leehan leaning against walls outside your classes like usual, headphones hanging around his neck while he pretended waiting there was coincidence despite doing it almost every afternoon.

Your body physically anticipated his presence now, and every time he wasn’t there the absence landed strangely hard.

Wonhee noticed immediately.

“You look miserable.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just sighed at an empty hallway.”

You shrugged defensively.

Across campus, Leehan had apparently become unbearable to be around.

soul 🦭

hes staring out practice room windows like a widowed sailor

You stared at the message in horror.

YOU ARE NOT HELPING

he asked if pigeons ever feel lonely like he does

soul i swear to god

Leehan found out Soul sent that text approximately four minutes later.

“You’re evil,” he muttered flatly.

Soul looked delighted. “No, you’re in love.”

Leehan nearly dropped his bass.

Because there it was again.

That word.

The one he kept trying very hard not to think about.

The problem was that once the thought existed, he couldn’t unknow it anymore.

And now every missing piece of his week pointed directly back to you.

Who was he supposed to text every stupid thought to now?

Who was supposed to edit his compositions while insulting his handwriting?

Who was supposed to sit cross-legged on his dorm floor at midnight stealing half his snacks while talking too passionately about journalism ethics?

The silence settled into him strangely.

Like he was homesick.

By day four, things became genuinely unbearable.

Not because you missed talking to him.

You missed everything else.

The unconscious parts.

The automatic parts.

Nobody else walked beside you at your pace naturally. Nobody else noticed when you were getting overwhelmed before you even spoke. Nobody else sent you articles or images at 2 a.m. with messages like this reminded me of u or instinctively handed you the inside of a sidewalk.

It felt stupid.

Embarrassingly stupid.

Especially because every single person around you looked increasingly entertained by your suffering.

“You know,” Jungwon said thoughtfully while walking you back from class, “normal best friends don’t unravel this quickly.”

“I’m not unraveling.”

“You just called your coffee emotionally empty.”

“It tasted lonely.”

“That sentence alone should concern you.”

-----

The worst part was that you kept accidentally seeing Leehan everywhere.

Not literally.

Just traces of him.

Jazz music drifting from open windows. Someone wearing his cologne in the library. The sound of laughter that almost sounded like his.

It felt like withdrawal.

And apparently he wasn’t doing much better.

By day six, Soul had started sending live updates.

soul 🦭

hes lying face down on the studio floor he just said “she wouldve laughed at that” i cant keep watching this happen

You buried your face into your desk with a groan.

Because the truth was—

you were doing the exact same thing.

Every funny thought instinctively rerouted toward him before slamming painfully into silence.

Every good moment felt incomplete without immediately telling him about it afterward.

You hated how much space he occupied inside your life.

Inside your head.

Meanwhile, Leehan had become deeply aware of how often he searched crowds for you automatically.

It happened constantly now.

Cafeterias. Hallways. Student lounges.

His eyes kept finding people who vaguely resembled you before disappointment settled in immediately afterward.

And worse—

he kept noticing other people noticing you.

Some guy from your journalism elective walked beside you after class one afternoon laughing at something you’d said, and the irrational jealousy that hit Leehan nearly made him physically recoil from himself.

Because why did it bother him so much?

Why did seeing someone else make you smile feel vaguely catastrophic?

Soul took one look at his expression and sighed dramatically.

“Oh, bro. You’re cooked.”

-----

Late on the seventh night, you found yourself standing outside the jazz building in oversized pajamas and a hoodie that technically belonged to him.

Just to return a charger.

That was your excuse anyway.

The building was mostly dark when you slipped inside, the distant echo of instruments carrying faintly through empty hallways. You recognized the sound of bass immediately, soft and absentminded and painfully familiar.

Leehan.

Your feet carried you toward the practice room before your brain could stop them.

The door stood slightly open.

And there he was.

Curled sideways on the floor with his bass resting loosely across his lap, sleeves tugged over his hands while dim yellow light spilled softly across his face. He looked exhausted in that devastating way musicians always did after hours of rehearsal—eyes sleepy, hair messy, posture loose with fatigue.

For one long second, neither of you moved.

Then his eyes widened slightly.

“You cheated,” he said quietly.

The relief in his voice ruined you instantly.

“Soul said you were missing me.”

“He betrayed me.”

You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.

And God—

the look on Leehan’s face afterward nearly destroyed you.

Because he looked relieved.

Actually relieved.

Like hearing your laugh again physically eased something inside him.

Like maybe the entire week had been hurting him more than he wanted to admit.

The room fell quiet.

Too quiet.

You became suddenly aware of everything all at once: the late hour, the empty building, the rain tapping softly against the windows, the fact that you were wearing his hoodie.

Leehan noticed too.

His gaze lingered briefly at the sleeves swallowing your hands before dragging slowly back upward toward your face.

Something unreadable flickered across his expression.

Something dangerously soft.

“You really came here just because of a charger?” he asked eventually.

“No.”

The honesty slipped out before you could stop it.

Leehan’s breath caught almost imperceptibly.

Outside, rain blurred the city lights into gold smears against the windows while silence stretched softly between you.

“I missed you,” he admitted quietly.

Your chest tightened immediately.

Because Leehan didn’t say things like that carelessly.

And worse—

he sounded frustrated by it.

Like he’d spent the entire week trying unsuccessfully to convince himself otherwise.

“We were only apart for a few days,” you whispered.

“I know.”

But that was exactly the problem.

Because if only a few days without you felt this unbearable, Leehan wasn’t entirely sure what that meant about him anymore.

Something warm and aching settled painfully inside your chest.

Leehan set his bass aside slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

Then, almost helplessly:

“Everything felt weird without you.”

The air between you shifted.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to become dangerous.

Enough that your pulse started climbing.

Enough that suddenly neither of you seemed entirely sure how close you were standing now.

Leehan looked at your mouth briefly.

Then away.

Then back again.

And for the first time in years, your best friend looked genuinely nervous around you.

The thing about panic was that it often disguised itself as self-control.

Which was exactly how both of you ended up stepping backward at the exact same time.

Leehan looked away first.

You hated that you noticed.

The practice room suddenly felt too small, too warm, too aware of the fact that his hoodie hung off your shoulders and your pulse was loud enough to hear over the rain outside.

Everything felt precariously close to changing.

And neither of you seemed ready for that yet.

Leehan cleared his throat softly before dragging a hand through his hair, visibly trying to recover whatever composure he’d lost in the last thirty seconds.

“We should probably,” he started.

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

Silence.

Neither of you moved.

Then he laughed quietly under his breath, almost disbelieving. “This is stupid.”

“A little.”

“You came all the way here just because you missed me?”

"Possibly."

The smile that pulled at your mouth made something in his expression soften instantly before he caught himself.

Dangerous.

Everything about this felt dangerous now.

Leehan stood slowly from the floor, towering slightly over you in the dim practice room light. Up close, he looked unfairly pretty in a way that made your chest ache—dark circles beneath sleepy eyes, messy hair falling over his forehead, sleeves tugged low over his hands.

You became painfully aware of how close he was standing.

How easy it would be to lean forward.

How badly you suddenly wanted to.

“You know,” he murmured carefully, “we technically already lost the bet.”

“We’re not counting this.”

His gaze flicked toward you immediately. “We’re not?”

“No one saw us.”

A beat passed.

Then something shifted in his expression.

Subtle.

But unmistakable.

Relief.

Like he’d wanted you to say that.

Like some selfish part of him didn’t want this to end yet.

The realization settled heavily into your stomach.

You should leave, probably.

Instead, you stayed another hour.

Just talking.

Like nothing had changed.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because now every tiny thing felt charged with awareness.

The way his knee brushed yours while sitting on the practice room floor.

The way his eyes stayed on your face too long whenever you laughed.

The quiet softness in his voice every time he said your name.

Leehan looked at you now like he was constantly trying not to.

When you finally slipped back to your dorm sometime after midnight, your chest ached in a way that felt suspiciously close to longing.

The week officially ended the next morning.

And somehow… neither of you acknowledged it.

Nobody brought it up at first.

Not you.

Not Leehan.

Not even your friends.

It simply became understood somehow that the challenge was still happening.

Except now the silence wasn’t real.

It became secretive instead.

Private.

A hidden thing existing underneath everyone else’s awareness.

You still didn’t text publicly in group chats anymore. You didn’t sit together during lunch. Leehan stopped waiting outside your classes.

To everyone else, it looked like the challenge continued.

In reality, you were sneaking around with each other like idiots.

It started small.

Late-night walks after everyone else slept.

Running into him “accidentally” near the music building at impossible hours.

Five-minute conversations turning into entire evenings spent hidden inside empty practice rooms while rain tapped softly against windows.

The secrecy made everything worse.

Or better.

Again, depending on perspective.

Because now every interaction felt charged.

Every touch lingered too long.

Every glance stretched thin with things neither of you fully said aloud.

And Leehan—

God.

Leehan had become unbearable.

Not intentionally.

That was the issue.

He’d always been physically affectionate with you, but now every casual gesture felt sharpened by awareness. His hand against your waist while squeezing past you in narrow hallways. Fingers brushing yours absentmindedly before lingering a second too long. The way he leaned close while speaking late at night, voice quieter than necessary.

Like he was constantly forgetting he wasn’t supposed to want you this much.

And the worst part?

Leehan knew exactly what was happening to him now.

There was no pretending anymore.

No more lying to himself about this being normal friendship attachment.

Because friends did not think about kissing each other this often.

Friends did not stare at each other’s mouths mid-conversation.

Friends definitely did not spend entire rehearsals distracted by memories of oversized hoodies and sleepy late-night smiles.

Soul had unfortunately figured this out immediately.

“You’re smiling at your phone again,” he said one evening from the opposite couch.

Leehan looked down instinctively before realizing in horror that he actually was.

“I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

“It’s not—”

“It is though. You're 100% texting her. I figured you couldn't last.”

Leehan threw a pillow directly at his face.

Unfortunately, Soul wasn’t wrong.

Because somehow, despite the fact that you technically weren’t speaking publicly anymore, Leehan felt more aware of you than ever before.

Every glimpse of you across campus felt electric now.

Every accidental brush of your hand sent warmth rushing embarrassingly fast through his chest.

And jealousy—

God.

Jealousy had become a genuine issue.

He tried not to let it show.

Really.

But every time someone seemed to be flirting with you, something ugly and irrational twisted painfully beneath his ribs.

One night, while waiting outside the journalism building for your “accidental” meetup, he watched some guy walk you down the stairs laughing at something you’d said.

The jealousy hit so fast it genuinely startled him.

Not because the guy touched your arm briefly while talking.

Not because you smiled politely.

But because for one irrational second, Leehan imagined someone else becoming this important to you.

Someone else getting your late-night thoughts.

Someone else learning all your tiny habits.

The idea made his chest tighten unpleasantly.

“You look homicidal,” Soul informed him helpfully from beside him.

Leehan blinked. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Soul stared at him flatly. “Bro, you are down catastrophic.”

And maybe he was.

Because later that same night, when you finally reached him beneath the glow of campus streetlights, Leehan’s irritation dissolved instantly the second you smiled at him.

Just gone.

Like you existed specifically to ruin his emotional stability.

“You waited long?” you asked softly.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“A little.”

You laughed quietly, and there it was again.

That awful warmth in his chest.

Leehan looked at you then—really looked—and suddenly became overwhelmingly aware of how pretty you were tonight.

How pretty you always were.

It hit him at random sometimes.

Mid-conversation. Mid-laugh. Mid-sentence.

Like his brain kept pausing just to remind him: oh. you’re in love with her.

And apparently the realization was only getting worse.

-----

One night nearly ruined both of you completely.

You’d met Leehan behind the arts building after finishing a late interview assignment, exhausted and freezing beneath the glow of campus streetlights. Your camera bag hung heavily from your shoulder, fingers stiff from the cold while wind bit sharply through the sleeves of your sweater.

Leehan frowned the second he saw you.

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“I thought it’d be warmer.”

“You say that every single time.”

“You say that like I ever learn from consequences.”

His mouth twitched faintly despite himself.

Even now, after weeks of this strange secret tension, you could still make him laugh embarrassingly easily.

Before you could say anything else, Leehan stepped closer and tugged open his oversized jacket.

“Come here.”

Your brain short-circuited instantly.

“What?”

“You’re cold.”

“You can just give me the jacket.”

“This is faster.”

“You’re insane.”

“I think so too.”

But he was already pulling you gently toward him before you could protest further.

And suddenly—

warmth.

Your body pressed against his beneath the oversized coat, his arms wrapping loosely around you while cold air disappeared completely. The scent of him surrounded you instantly: laundry detergent, coffee, the faint trace of cologne lingering against his hoodie.

Your heartbeat became unmanageable.

Leehan went strangely still too.

Like maybe he’d only realized the position after pulling you into it.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Neither of you moved away.

Campus lights blurred softly around you while distant traffic hummed beyond the streets, but the only thing you could focus on was the slow rise and fall of his chest against yours.

How close his mouth was.

How his fingers flexed once lightly against your waist before settling there more firmly.

Leehan’s brain had stopped functioning approximately thirty seconds ago.

Because this—

this was bad.

Not bad in the sense that he disliked it.

Quite literally the opposite.

That was the issue.

You fit against him too naturally.

Like you’d always belonged there.

And now that he knew what it felt like to hold you this close, he genuinely wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go back afterward.

“You’re warm,” he murmured eventually.

“So are you.”

Your voice came out quieter than intended.

Leehan looked down at you then.

Really looked.

And suddenly the atmosphere shifted again.

That awful, dangerous tension from the practice room returned instantly, thicker now after weeks of secret meetings and lingering touches and unspoken feelings.

His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth.

Your breath caught.

“Leehan,” you whispered.

He exhaled shakily.

“Yeah?”

But he didn’t move away.

If anything, he leaned closer.

Just slightly.

Enough that your noses almost brushed.

Your hands instinctively caught against the front of his hoodie without thinking, and the tiny movement seemed to snap something inside him completely.

Because the next thing you knew, Leehan kissed you like he’d been trying not to for months.

Soft at first.

Tentative.

Like he was still giving you time to change your mind.

Then suddenly devastating.

His hand slid firmly against your waist while yours tangled instinctively into his hoodie, and the sound he made against your mouth was small and wrecked enough to make your knees weaken immediately.

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Because the second Leehan kissed you even harder, years of restraint collapsed all at once.

He kissed like someone starved.

Not rushed.

Not careless.

Just overwhelmingly wanting.

Like every feeling he’d buried quietly beneath years of friendship had finally found somewhere to go.

“Oh my god,” he breathed shakily against your lips like he was genuinely suffering.

You laughed softly before kissing him again.

And again.

All in a few minutes your best friend was kissing you beneath campus streetlights at midnight with both hands gripping your waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started.

He had imagined kissing you before.

Unfortunately, many times.

Usually during moments he absolutely shouldn’t have.

Watching you laugh across tables. Falling asleep beside him during movie nights. Looking up at him with sleepy eyes at three in the morning while stealing his hoodies like they already belonged to you.

But reality was significantly worse.

Because now he understood why he could never seem to keep emotional distance from you.

Every soft thing he’d spent years suppressing came rushing back twice as hard.

And when you pulled him closer by the front of his hoodie, he genuinely thought his heart might stop.

A few longing seconds later, the kiss finally broke only because both of you needed air.

Leehan rested his forehead against yours immediately afterward, breathing unevenly while his hands stayed fixed against your waist like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

Neither of you spoke for several seconds.

Mostly because speaking felt impossible.

Then quietly:

“So,” you whispered.

“Yeah.” he replied breathlessly.

“We definitely lost the bet.”

That made him laugh against your forehead.

A real laugh this time.

Warm and helpless and completely ruined.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I think we did.”

But neither of you sounded particularly upset about it anymore.

-----

The problem with finally kissing your best friend after years of unresolved tension was that it became incredibly difficult to stop.

Especially when said best friend had apparently spent months restraining himself from doing exactly that.

After the first kiss outside the arts building, things spiraled almost immediately.

Not publicly.

Never publicly.

That was part of the thrill now.

To everyone else, the challenge still existed. You and Leehan still pretended to be giving each other space, which would’ve been completely believable if Soul hadn’t started narrowing his eyes at both of you every five minutes like a conspiracy theorist connecting red strings on a wall.

Because despite the supposed distance, Leehan somehow kept appearing around you constantly.

He’d slip into your dorm room after midnight carrying convenience store snacks and exhaustion under his eyes. You’d end up tangled together on his couch inside the jazz apartment while Soul loudly complained from the other room that your “sexual tension was ruining the energy of the household.”

Nothing technically happened at first.

At least, nothing beyond kissing.

A lot of kissing.

An unreasonable amount, honestly.

It felt like years of suppressed affection had finally found somewhere to go.

Leehan kissed the way he did everything else: quietly, carefully, and with far more feeling than he knew how to verbalize. Slow at first, almost hesitant, like some part of him still couldn’t believe you were letting him do this at all. But the longer it lasted, the more he unraveled beneath it.

And God, he was clingy.

Embarrassingly clingy.

The worst part was how easily you melted every time he touched you now.

Every brush of his hands against your waist. Every sleepy forehead kiss when you stayed too late. Every moment he absentmindedly tucked you against his side like your body belonged there naturally.

Which, increasingly, it did.

Leehan had always touched you casually.

That wasn’t new.

What was new was the awareness underneath it now.

The deliberate softness.

The way his hands lingered like he was memorizing you.

Sometimes he’d pause mid-conversation just to stare at you quietly for a second too long before catching himself.

Like he still couldn’t fully process the fact that this was real.

That he could kiss you now whenever he wanted.

That you kissed him back every time.

“You know what your issue is?” Wonhee asked one evening while watching you fail miserably to hide your smile at a text notification.

You immediately locked your phone. “What?”

“You look recently kissed.”

You choked.

Across the library table, Jungwon slowly lowered his coffee.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You literally walked into a bookshelf yesterday because Leehan texted you.”

“That could happen to anyone.”

“It absolutely could not.”

Unfortunately, your friendgroup had begun noticing things.

Small things at first.

The way Leehan stared at you too long when he thought nobody noticed. How your supposed “distance challenge” somehow resulted in both of you disappearing at the same times constantly. The fact that Leehan had started acting subtly insane whenever other guys approached you.

The jealousy issue, unfortunately, was getting worse.

Leehan tried to hide it.

Really.

But now that he’d kissed you, now that he knew what it felt like to have you melting into him beneath streetlights with your hands tangled in his hoodie—

every other guy suddenly felt intolerable.

One afternoon he found himself sitting through an entire jazz theory lecture distracted because some journalism student had commented “cute article” beneath your recent post online.

Soul nearly lost consciousness watching him spiral.

“You are aware,” he said slowly, “that she is not your wife nor your girlfriend.”

Leehan looked offended. “I know that.”

“You been majorly concerned about an anonymous comment in her comment section.”

“He used three exclamation marks.”

Soul stared at him for a long moment in confusion and disgust.

Leehan chose to ignore him and continued stalking the account.

-----

Later that night, you climbed into his dorm window after curfew because Soul had locked the front door “for his own sanity,” Leehan kissed you before you could even fully get inside.

“You’re insane,” you laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“He commented under your article.”

You blink and break the kiss. “Who?”

“The journalism guy.”

“…You mean Jihoon?”

Leehan looked deeply irritated just hearing his name.

The realization hit you instantly.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in delight. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” The expression on his face making it quite obvious he's lying.

“You literally kissed me hello out of spite.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re holding my waist somewhat aggressively.”

His expression flattened.

“…Maybe a little.”

You laughed hard enough that he had to bury his face into your shoulder to hide the embarrassed smile threatening to appear.

It ruined him instantly.

That was another problem now.

You found his jealousy cute.

Which absolutely did not help the situation.

“Leehan,” you murmured eventually, fingers brushing softly through his messy hair while he stayed tucked against your shoulder. “You know I like you, right?”

The words made him go very still.

Not dramatic.

Not sudden.

Just still in that careful way he always became whenever emotions overwhelmed him too quickly.

Then quietly:

“I know.”

But he sounded like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

Your chest ached immediately.

Because beneath all the teasing and clinginess and jealousy, Leehan still carried this strange uncertainty around you sometimes. Like a part of him genuinely couldn’t understand how someone as bright and overwhelming as you could possibly want him back in the same consuming way.

You tilted his face upward gently.

“Hey.”

His eyes lifted toward yours slowly.

“You know I’m sort of obsessed with you, right?”

That finally broke him.

You physically watched it happen.

The flush spreading across his cheeks. The way his grip tightened instinctively at your waist. The tiny, helpless smile he tried unsuccessfully to hide.

“You can’t just say things like that casually,” he muttered weakly.

“Why?”

“Because then I start having heart problems.”

You laughed softly before kissing him again.

And Leehan kissed you back like he’d waited his entire life to do it openly.

Slow and warm and devastatingly affectionate.

Like every kiss still meant something enormous to him.

Which somehow made it worse when things finally started escalating beyond that.

Because it happened gradually.

Accidentally.

The first time his hands slipped beneath your hoodie, lingering along your bra, but he immediately pulled away looking genuinely startled by himself.

“Sorry.”

“You’re apologizing?”

“I don’t know. You make me nervous.”

“You’ve known me since we were eight.”

“Exactly.”

That answer alone nearly killed you.

And after that, things became harder to stop.

Kissing turned heavier.

Longer.

His hands became more confident every time he touched you, though he still handled you with that same unbearable softness that made your chest ache constantly.

Even half-dazed against his sheets with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, he still looked at you carefully.

Still checked your reactions.

Still treated you like something precious.

The first time you ended up half underneath him on his bed sometime after midnight, Leehan paused midway through kissing you just to stare down at you quietly.

“What?” you whispered breathlessly.

His expression softened almost painfully.

“I really like you.”

The sincerity in his voice hit harder than anything else had all night.

Not because it was dramatic.

But because it wasn’t.

Leehan said it simply.

Like it was the truest thing he knew.

This was your best friend looking at you like he’d loved you quietly for years and only just realized it himself.

After that, things changed again.

Not publicly.

Not officially.

But in all the ways that actually mattered.

Leehan started sleeping over more often, though “sleeping” was a generous term considering the two of you usually ended up talking until four in the morning tangled together beneath blankets while the city lights glowed faintly through your dorm window.

Sometimes he’d lie across your bed lazily plucking at an unplugged bass while you finished assignments beside him, one socked foot hooked around your ankle like he needed physical confirmation you were still there.

Other nights he’d show up looking exhausted from rehearsals and simply collapse face-first into your lap without explanation.

“You good?” you’d ask softly, fingers instinctively combing through his hair.

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“You smell nice.”

“That did not answer my question.”

“Mhm.”

He’d always been clingy with you.

Now he was catastrophic about it.

Not in an overwhelming way.

Just quietly constant.

His hands finding you automatically. His head dropping onto your shoulder during group study sessions. The way he unconsciously tracked your location in every room like gravity physically pulled him toward you.

And once you noticed it, you couldn’t stop noticing.

Neither could your friends.

“This is disgusting,” Beomgyu announced one afternoon while watching Leehan absentmindedly play with the rings on your fingers during lunch.

Neither of you even realized you were doing it until everyone stared.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re quite literally doing couple background character activities.” Jungwon said flatly.

Leehan blinked down at your intertwined hands like he’d only just become aware of them.

Then, instead of letting go, his fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Soul made a strangled noise.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “He’s done it again.”

Leehan ignored him completely, eyes still fixed lazily on your hand in his like he found the sight quietly fascinating.

Your chest ached instantly.

Because sometimes the softest moments affected you the most.

Not the heated kisses.

Not the tension.

Just this.

Leehan touching you absentmindedly like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As though somewhere deep inside himself, he’d already decided you belonged there.

The problem was that the longer this continued, the harder it became to pretend it wasn’t serious.

Especially for Leehan.

Because somewhere between late-night kisses and secret meetups and falling asleep with your head on his chest, he’d crossed into terrifyingly territorial.

He didn’t just want you.

He wanted everything.

Your attention.

Your time.

Your laughter.

Every stupid little thought that crossed your mind at inconvenient hours.

And the realization hit hardest whenever other people tried taking your attention away from him.

One evening, your journalism department hosted a networking event downtown, which Leehan had initially planned to survive peacefully.

Then he watched some senior editor spend twenty uninterrupted minutes flirting with you beside the drinks table.

Peacefully was no longer an option.

“You look murderous,” Taesan informed him casually.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been glaring at that guy for six straight minutes.”

“He keeps touching her arm.”

Taesan looked delighted. “Oh, i see.”

Leehan hated that everyone found his suffering entertaining.

Because logically, he knew you could handle yourself.

Logically, he knew you liked him.

But jealousy wasn’t logical.

Jealousy was watching someone else make you laugh and suddenly feeling weirdly territorial in ways that deeply embarrassed him.

The worst part was that you noticed immediately.

Of course you did.

You always noticed him.

By the time the event ended, Leehan had gone strangely quiet beside you during the walk back to campus, hands shoved into his pockets while cold wind swept through the empty streets.

You glanced sideways at him carefully.

“You’re brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You're literally sighing between steps.”

“That’s just breathing.”

“Were you jealous?”

That made his ears turn pink instantly.

“No, I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

Leehan groaned softly before dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s cute.”

You smiled.

Unfortunately, that only made him more flustered.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

“You’re evil.”

“Maybe.”

Leehan looked over at you then, visibly trying not to smile despite himself.

And there it was again.

That awful softness.

The kind that only ever existed around you.

“You know,” he murmured eventually, quieter now, “I don’t actually like sharing you very much.”

The honesty startled both of you.

His expression shifted immediately afterward, like he regretted admitting it out loud.

But your chest only tightened painfully.

Because there was something devastating about the way Leehan loved.

Quietly.

Possessively in the gentlest way possible.

Like he’d spent years trying not to need you this much and failed catastrophically.

You stepped closer instinctively beneath the streetlight glow.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered.

His breath caught slightly.

“Don’t have to what?”

“Pretend you don’t want me all to yourself sometimes.”

Silence.

Leehan stared at you for one long second like you’d physically reached into his chest and exposed every hidden thing there.

He laughed quietly under his breath, embarrassed and fond all at once.

Then he kissed you right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

Slowly.

Like he had nowhere else to be.

Like he was trying to pour every unspoken feeling into it instead.

And somewhere between the cold night air and his hands cradling your face gently and the way he kissed you like something precious—

you realized this was probably past the point of no return now.

The kiss lingered longer than either of you intended.

Or maybe exactly as long as both of you wanted.

Leehan’s hands stayed warm against your face even after he pulled back slightly, thumbs brushing softly across your cheeks while his forehead rested briefly against yours. The city around you felt strangely blurred at the edges now—streetlights glowing gold against damp pavement, distant traffic humming somewhere beyond campus, cold air curling around the warmth of his body standing so close to yours.

He looked unfairly soft like this.

Sleepy-eyed and flushed from kissing you, dark hair messy from your hands.

Your chest ached.

“You know,” you murmured quietly, “you’re not the only one that’s been insane lately.”

Leehan blinked once. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering immediately, you leaned forward just enough to bump your forehead lightly against his again.

“I’ve been jealous too.”

That clearly wasn’t what he expected.

His expression shifted instantly into startled confusion.

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

“Of who?”

You stared at him flatly. “Leehan.”

“What?”

“You think I enjoy watching girls flirt with you after performances?” you muttered. “Or hearing people in your department talk about how pretty you are all the time?”

A slow flush started creeping across his cheeks.

“That happens?”

You looked genuinely offended. “Are you serious?”

Leehan, unfortunately, was serious.

He remained strangely oblivious whenever affection pointed toward him directly. Especially romantic attention. Especially from anyone that wasn’t you.

You crossed your arms dramatically. “There’s literally a vocalist in your ensemble that stares at you like you hung the moon.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Who?”

“The tall one.”

“That describes half the department.”

“The one with the bangs.”

“…That still describes half the department.”

You groaned in frustration while Leehan laughed softly beneath his breath.

Then his expression softened again almost immediately afterward.

“You were jealous?” he asked quietly.

You looked away first this time.

“A little.” More like a lot.

The smile that spread slowly across his face was devastating.

Not smug.

Worse.

Fond.

Like the idea affected him far more deeply than he knew how to explain.

“You’re cute,” he murmured.

“Don’t annoy me right now.”

“But you wanting me all to yourself is kinda adorable.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly. “I take it back.”

Leehan laughed properly this time, warm and breathless and bright enough to make your stomach flip painfully.

Then, before you could complain further, he stepped closer again until your coats brushed together beneath the streetlights.

“You know what the difference is, though?” he said softly.

“What?”

“I actually tell people to go away.”

Your heart stuttered immediately.

Because the thing about Leehan was that he said devastating things so casually sometimes.

Like he didn’t even realize their weight.

You stared up at him while cold wind swept softly down the sidewalk.

“What does that mean?” you asked quietly.

Leehan looked at you for a long moment before answering.

“It means,” he murmured carefully, “I think I decided a long time ago that nobody else was really gonna matter like you do.”

The words settled heavily between you.

Honest.

Simple.

Terrifyingly sincere.

And suddenly all your teasing dissolved completely.

Because there he was again—

your best friend.

The boy who carried your bags without asking.

Who memorized your coffee order years ago.

Who waited outside lectures pretending coincidence.

Who looked at you now like loving you had become something inevitable.

Your chest tightened almost painfully.

“Leehan,” you whispered.

Immediately, his entire expression softened at the sound of your voice.

You stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Then quietly, almost embarrassed by how true it was:

“I want you all to myself as well.”

Something in Leehan’s face broke open softly after that.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for you to see how deeply the confession affected him.

His hands slid instinctively toward your waist again, pulling you closer with a quiet exhale like he physically couldn’t help himself anymore.

“You already kinda have me,” he admitted against your hair.

The tenderness of it nearly ruined you.

Because he sounded so certain.

So completely yours already.

And maybe he had been for longer than either of you realized.

The streetlight hums softly above you.

For a moment, neither of you moves—like the world is waiting to see if you’ll take it back.

Then your phone buzzes.

Once.

Twice.

A third time, immediately after.

You both look down at the exact same time.

group chat :

beomgyu 🧸

??????

beomgyu 🧸

WHY IS SOUL SENDING PICTURES OF YOU TWO OUTSIDE THE ARTS BUILDING LOOKING LIKE THAT

soul 🦭

i am simply documenting historical events

jungwon 🐈

…are you guys together

taesan 🐈‍⬛

no way they’re actually—

wonhee 🐹

LOL i knew it

You stare at the screen.

Leehan reads over your shoulder.

Neither of you speaks.

Then another message pops up.

jungwon 🐈

AWWWW LOOK AT HOW HES HOLDING HER ITS ABT DAMN TIME!

Leehan exhales slowly through his nose.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We should probably go.”

“You think?”

-----

By the time you get back to campus, it’s already too late to undo anything.

The group is waiting.

Beomgyu is pacing like he’s been personally betrayed by the concept of romance. Taesan looks mildly entertained. Wonhee is leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed like she’s been waiting for confirmation of something obvious for two years. Jungwon just looks relieved in the way of someone whose longest running theory has finally been validated and Soul is just smirking because he's pretty much known all along.

He points immediately when he sees you and Leehan walk towars the group holding hands.

“No,” he says.

Leehan sighs.

“Yes,” you both say at the same time.

Soul makes a strangled sound.

“I need everyone to understand I survived the emotional trenches for this information. I was genuinely on the brink of insanity.”

“You completely exposed me,” Leehan replies.

“I was documenting history.”

“You were instigating it.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “You're not completely wrong."

Jungwon blinks at you both.

“For the record,” he says simply. “This has been obvious since first year.”

Beomgyu turns slowly.

“Since FIRST YEAR?” He recently transferred, so he wouldn't know. He wishes he was there to see it though.

Jungwon shrugs. “They share far more than just oxygen. What did you think was happening?”

Wonhee pushes off of the wall she was leaning on.

“Finally,” she says.

You groan. “Don’t say it like that.”

“I’ve been emotionally inconvenienced by your almost-relationship for years.”

Leehan glances at you.

“I think we’ve emotionally inconvenienced everyone,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “A little.”

Soul raises a hand weakly.

“I would like to formally state I feel betrayed by both of you for putting me on the brink of insanity between your somewhat situationship.”

“You’re literally the one who escalated it,” you say.

“I was SUPPORTIVE.”

“You were chaotic,” Leehan says.

“I was ARTISTIC.”

-----

It should feel overwhelming.

But it doesn’t.

Not really.

Because Leehan is standing right beside you the entire time, hand brushing yours every so often like he’s still checking if you’re real in public.

And every time he does it, he looks slightly calmer.

Like he’s been holding his breath for years and just finally remembered he doesn’t have to anymore.

At some point, Beomgyu points between you again.

“Okay but I need clarification,” he says. “When did this happen?”

Leehan goes quiet.

That’s new.

You glance at him.

He’s looking down at his hands like the answer is there.

Then, softly:

“Technically, since I was like twelve.”

The group goes still, shocked but also not.

They all subconsciously knew this would be the case.

Leehan exhales, a little embarrassed now, but not stopping.

“I don’t think I knew what it meant then,” he admits. “I just… remember thinking she laughed like she was going to stay in my life forever.”

His fingers curl slightly around yours.

“So I guess I decided that was enough.”

He’s not performing it.

Just saying it like it’s something that’s always been true.

“Woah, hey—!” You catch him hard, the impact jarring up your spine as he sags into you. Your grip tightens around his middle, fingers digging into the damp cotton of his shirt.

“Stay with me,” you say, sharper now, breath coming quick as you fumble the key toward the lock. “Steve, just... just hang on, okay? We’re right here.”

He makes a vague sound in agreement, head lolling against your shoulder.   

“Mm... m’kay,” he mumbles.  

You finally jam the key in, shove the door open with your hip.

“I got you. Just watch the step—Steve, watch the—”  

His sneaker catches on the edge of the rug and he pitches forward, dead weight.

You lurch with him, heart jumping into your throat, barely managing to haul him back before he faceplants into the welcome mat. He makes a quiet, confused noise as you pull him upright.

The distance from the door to the couch is nothing. A straight line. Ten seconds, maybe.

It takes close to a full minute.

Steve’s face sinks right back into your neck as you half-drag him toward the living room. He keeps stopping every few steps, gaze snagging on random things like he’s discovering them for the first time: the standing lamp, the coat rack by the wall, the crooked photo of you two at the lake this summer.

“Babe,” he murmurs at one point, voice soft with wonder, pointing vaguely toward the end of the hallway. “There’s… wha... why’re you over there?”

“I’m right here, baby,” you say gently, tugging him forward again. “That’s a mirror.”

“...Oh.”

By the time you reach the couch, your arms are shaking.

Steve collapses into it with a breathy oof, body folding in on itself before going slack. His limbs fall wherever they land—one leg hanging off the cushions, head tipped back, chest rising and falling in uneven pulls.

For a moment he just sits there. Blinking slowly at the ceiling, breathing through his mouth.  

You drop into a crouch in front of him.  

“Steve?” you whisper.

“Mm.”    

The uniform makes it worse.

Bright navy and white stripes, grotesquely cheerful against the splatters of blood that have seeped into the collar, smeared across his side like someone tried to wipe their hands on him.

You start moving before you can think better of it.

Sliding your hands up his arms, across his shoulders, down to his thighs, his calves. You’re not even sure what you’re looking for, just checking for something hidden, something worse, eyes frantically cataloguing every faint scratch you can find on his exposed skin.

Steve makes a quiet noise in his throat when you touch him. Not quite pained—more like confusion, like the sensation is arriving late.

His hand lifts, slow and uncoordinated, missing yours the first time. He tries again, fumbling clumsily until it lands over your fingers.

The second he finds you, he holds on. Threads his fingers between yours, his grip weak but insistent when he squeezes.

You’re about to squeeze back when your eyes catch on something else.

His wrists.

Deep impressions ring both of them, angry red marks already bruising dark at the edges. The skin is rubbed raw, split and abraded in places where he must’ve fought against whatever they used to hold him down.

I don’t know, they took him—woah, dingus look at that! Oh my god, that’s amaazing... huh? Oh, right, right, um... I think they like... took him to another room? But... I don’t know what they did to him.  

You swallow hard against the rising bile, brushing your thumb lightly over one of the marks.

Steve doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Steve, baby,” you say quietly, still inspecting his wrists. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Nothing.

“Steve?”

Your head snaps up, panic cutting sharp through your chest.

He’s looking at you.

Staring, actually—eyes locked onto your face with a strange, heavy focus that doesn’t quite stick, like he’s trying to see you through water, like every second you’re slipping just out of reach.

His hair hangs in damp strands over his face, clinging to his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” you whisper, lifting your free hand to push his hair back.

Your fingers barely graze his skin before he flinches.

And you finally see it.

Up close, it’s so much worse than it looked under the neon glare of the Starcourt parking lot.

Steve’s eye is nearly swollen shut.

The lid is puffed up and dark, deep purples and sickly reds bleeding into his cheekbone. His nose is streaked with dried blood, rust-colored trails cracking against his skin. His lower lip is split wide open, a jagged cut that hasn’t fully sealed.  

You watch, horrified, as he presses his tongue against it, absentmindedly pressing the tip of it against the inside of his cheek. It slides beneath the swollen flesh, prodding the ragged edge.  

“No, baby, don’t… don’t do that,” you murmur quickly, your hand moving on instinct to catch his chin.

The moment your fingers touch him, he freezes completely. His body relaxes, almost unnervingly pliant, and his expression goes slack.

Your hand trembles when you pull it back.

You don’t let yourself think about happened in that room.

All you have are fragments. Dustin Henderson’s explanation outside of Starcourt had been rushed and breathless, a mess of words that mostly made no sense to you—Russians, secret codes, an underground government lab.

Torture. 

It hadn’t sounded real then.

It does now.

The evidence is sitting right in front of you, breathing unevenly on your couch.

Your gaze drops back to his wrists.

“Hey, Stevie?” you ask, voice thin. “Do you know where you are?”

“Mm?”   

“Where are you right now?”

He frowns slowly. His eyes stay on you for another long second, then drift, sliding across the room in a dazed, unfocused sweep.

Whatever drugs they forced into him—truth serum, Dustin had said—it’s still in his system.

You can see it in his pupils—so dilated that the hazel in his eyes is barely visible, just a thin ring of gold swallowed by glossy black. The whites are bloodshot, veins spidering outward.

“...your house,” he murmurs quietly.

Your lungs finally let go of the breath you’ve been holding.

“Okay. Good. That’s good.” You swallow, throat dry. “And what day is it?”

That one takes longer.

You see it, the delay. His lips parting, eyes losing you again as they drift somewhere over your shoulder.

“Mmm… don’t know.”

Your chest tightens.

“Can you try? Just take a guess?”

He squints. Looks down at the coffee table, following the swirls in the wood grain.

“...Wednesday?”

It’s Monday.

“Okay,” you nod immediately, trying to keep your voice from pitching higher. “That’s okay. Um... what about the month?”

He blinks slowly.

“Steve?”

“...July.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, squeezing his hand, clutching to the answer like a lifeline. “Yeah, that’s right. That's good. And tell me what year?”

Something in him changes at that, a sudden restless energy cutting through the drugged haze. 

His nose scrunches, shoulders twitching uncomfortably against the couch. He drops his gaze down to his hands, to where his fingers are still tangled with yours.

“I don’t…” His voice fades, head tilting in a slow, helpless shake. “…sorry.”

Your grip tightens instantly, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“No, it’s okay. You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”

You say it like it’s true.

Inside, everything is screaming.

You have no idea what you’re doing.

Nothing but half-remembered warnings from health class, scenes from movies, TV shows, something about concussions and checking someone's pupils, not letting them sleep.

But what if this is something worse?

What if there’s something happening inside his head right now—bleeding, swelling—and you’re just sitting here, holding his hand?

You tried to take him to the hospital. God, you tried.  

He could barely keep his eyes open in the car, forehead knocking softly against the window every time the road curved, but whenever you said the word hospital, he shook his head.

Stubborn as always, even half-conscious.

“Steve—"

“No.”

“Steve, you need—"

“No... no hoss...pital.”

And after what you learned tonight—after everything about Russians and government labs under small-town malls—you understood him enough to hesitate.

But now it’s just you.

And the quiet, suffocating thought that you’re not enough.

What if you miss something?

What if he gets worse and you can’t help him?

What if— 

A sharp, sudden huff cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

Your head jerks up just in time to see him fold forward, arms lifting clumsily, not quite making it.

You catch him immediately.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Your hands slide up to his shoulders, steadying him before he can pitch all the way down. “You okay? You feel sick again?”

Steve shakes his head.

Looks so distraught, all of a sudden.

The emotion sits strangely on his face, tangled up with the swelling and the fuzzy stupor still dulling his expression. 

He drags his tongue across his split lip, swallows hard.

“Can you... can you hug me?”

He’s nineteen.

You forget that sometimes.

He turned nineteen less than two weeks ago.

You remember the pancakes you made that morning—burnt on one side, stacked too high with a slow-motion avalanche of whipped cream. The surprise party at the lake, Dustin nearly dropping the cake twice before it made it to the table.

The way Steve groaned when you made him close his eyes and make a wish.

Babe, you know I’m way too old for this, right?

Still, he blew out every last candle. Tore open every gift, read every letter. 

And later that night, when it was just the two of you tangled under sheets and summer heat, he told you something you never forgot.   

“Mm… ten years, maybe?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean... my parents traveled a lot over the summer, so. Just stopped having ‘em, I guess.”

Stopped celebrating his birthday, he meant.

Your arms are around him before the memory can finish forming.

You pull him in carefully, one hand cradling the back of his head, angling him so he's not putting pressure on his bruised eye.

He crumples into you with a quiet sigh, forehead bumping against your collarbone before he buries his face in the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, damp where it catches.

For a minute, you just hold him.

Feeling the frantic, unrelenting thud of his heart against your ribs, so fast it makes your own chest ache. You tighten your arms around him, pressing him closer, like you can slow it down that way.  

His voice comes after a long silence, words muffled and heavy.

“…they kept... kept asking questions.”

Your fingers still in his hair, then move again, smoothing back damp strands from his forehead.

“Yeah?”

He nods, dragging his bruised cheek across your shoulder. 

“Same... same ones. Over and over. Didn’t matter what we said. Just... again, again.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a quiet, nauseating realization washing through you. Maybe your incessant questioning—Where are you? What day is it?— just dragged him right back there.

You feel him shiver into your shoulder, a weak laugh ghosting against your collarbone.

“Hey... you know wha... you know what was weird?”

“What?”

His fingers move against your back, tracing shapes you can’t see.

“They said we were gonna die down there.”

Your throat goes tight.

“And I…” he huffs, another brittle laugh shaking through him. “I just like... kept talking, you know? So they’d look at me ‘n not... not Robin. Saying whatever. Dumb stuff. I work at Scoops! Ice cream... Scoops... Scoops Ahoy.”

He sniffs, tilting his face into your neck. You feel his brows furrow against your skin.

“They got really pissed. Said if we didn’t answer, that was it. Nobody’d find us. Nobody’d even… know we were there.”

He sighs, his weight sinking heavier into you.

“I kept thinking about you,” he whispers.

Your hand stills in his hair.  

“I kept thinking… if I didn’t come back, you’d—” He falters, jaw tightening where it presses into you. “You’d notice. Right?”

The inside of your cheek stings where you bite down. You nod, pressing your lips into his hair so he won’t hear the tremor in your voice.

“Of course I’d notice, Steve,” you whisper.   

He nods, swallowing hard enough you feel it against your collarbone.

“I didn’t... didn’t tell you,” he mumbles, words muffled into the curve of your neck.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t tell you,” he repeats.

A cold thread slips down your spine.

“Tell me what, Stevie?” you murmur, pulling back slightly, trying to see his face.

You feel it before you understand it.

The shift.

The warmth you were holding stiffens under your arms. Muscles locking up all at once, shoulders going rigid.

“Steve?”

It goes from nought to ninety in less than a breath.

One moment he’s heavy, pliant in your arms; the next, his whole body convulses. Tremors wrack him violently, shoving against your chest, jostling you both. Each wave builds, stronger than the last.

“Hey, hey, it’s—it’s okay—” You rush, voice thinning with panic as your hands scramble along his back, trying to grip him, steady him. “I’ve got you, you’re okay—"

His arms clamp around you like steel, brittle fingers digging into your back. His chest jerks with shallow gasps, each inhale too quick to carry air.

“I d-didn’t tell you,” he chokes out, words splintering between breaths. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

“Steve, baby, it’s okay,” you whisper, sweeping your hand slow and firm along his back, even as your own chest feels like it’s caving in. “Hey, hey, just breathe for me, okay? You’re home, you’re safe.”

He shakes his head, breath hitching against your shoulder.

“No... no, I—” His voice catches in his throat, scraped raw. “I never said it. I never... I never told you. We never...”   

And in the long, ragged, suffocating pause that arrives after, you hear what he’s been trying to say.

What he means.

Two months.

That’s all it’s been.

Barely enough time to learn the shape of each other’s lives, and yet... it’s never felt that way. 

It’s always felt older.

Like you didn’t meet him so much as find him again. Orbiting the same point for years, lifetimes, just waiting to collide.

You used to joke about it. Past lives, red strings. Soulmates, if you were feeling dramatic.

And in those two months—in all the ways you’ve come to learn him—this boy who loves loudly without knowing it, who gives pieces of himself away in quiet, constant gestures, who shows up, who stays, who cares harder than anyone else ever has—

After two months of learning what it means to be adored by someone like him—

There was always something buried just under the surface, left unsaid.

They’ve lived inside you for weeks now. You carried it with you everywhere, pressed close like a second heartbeat.  

Three words you’ve never said out loud.

“I didn’t say it,” he whispers, hoarse, broken. “I didn’t.”

And whatever he’d been holding onto all night—whatever thin, fraying thread kept him upright for Robin, for the kids, through the mall, the parking lot, the drive home, brushing off every what happened? are you okay?—

It finally gives.

Slips clean through his fingers like sand underwater. Gone all at once, nothing left to brace against.  

“I was just... I was so scared.”

You fold him into your chest, arms pressing him closer as a tear slides down your cheek and catches in the damp strands of his hair.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know, baby. I know.”

It isn’t true.

You don’t know.

You weren’t there.

Didn’t see the way they looked at him, didn’t hear their threats.

Didn’t feel what he felt, tied to that chair, not knowing if the next second was going to be the one that ended everything.

Not knowing if nineteen was it.

You don’t know.

But what else can you say?

...  

It’s strange, how life keeps moving after a moment like that.

How something so monumental can implode in your chest while the rest of the world spins on, indifferent.

Your room looks the same—the half-made bed, his jacket draped over your chair from the last time he was here—but nothing feels the same. Your hands tremble, and you flex your fingers, pressing your nails into your palm to ground yourself before you pull open the drawer. You let your fingers trail over the familiar textures of his shirts, his sweatpants—pieces of him he leaves behind on purpose. They still smell like him, even after washing.

You take a shaky breath and turn back.

He doesn’t argue when you kneel in front of him.

Just watches you, sat quietly on the edge of the bed, legs parted to make space as your fingers start loosening the laces of his sneakers. 

You ease them off one at a time, then move to his socks, brushing your thumbs over the warm, soft skin of his ankles. Lingering there, trying to imprint the memory of a touch that doesn’t involve pain.

You glance up at him, hands sliding over to his waistband.

“Gonna get these off, okay?”

He nods, planting his palms into the mattress so he can lift his hips, fingers splayed to brace himself. Your chest tightens at the way his face pinches—just for a second, there and gone, like he’s trying not to let you see. 

You ease his shorts down over his thighs, then his briefs.  

His shirt is the last thing to come off.

He hesitates a little when you reach for the hem, and the moment you lift the fabric, you understand why.

Even in the dim light, there’s no hiding it.

Dark bruises bloom across his sides, wrapping around his stomach. There’s one just under his ribs that’s so deep it’s nearly black at the center, the skin tight and swollen in a way that turns your gut ice-cold.

That's not from a fist.

For a heartbeat, you see him there.   

Head slumped forward, taking blow after blow while he tries to breathe through the blood filling his mouth. You force it down, swallowing the rush of panic before it can break free.

Steve follows your gaze, blinking down at himself.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Yeah, that’s uh… looks worse than it is.”

His speech is clearer now. No longer thick or slurred like it was before. Up close, you see that the glassiness in his eyes has started to lift too, his pupils returning to normal.

But what’s left behind isn’t easy.

His brows are pulled tight, expression pinched from bracing against the pressure building in his skull. He’s clenching and unclenching his jaw to fight off the waves of nausea, worsening with each passing second of clarity. 

You know that he’s lying—that it doesn’t look worse than it is—but you don’t argue.

Instead, you reach for his hands, gently lifting his arms, pulling his shirt over his head. You discard the bloodied uniform to the floor before helping him into a fresh shirt, sliding it over his bruised frame with care.

You reach for his sweats next, guiding him one leg at a time, your hand braced at his shin to keep him steady as you draw the fabric up over his thighs.

You’re adjusting the waistband over his hips when he suddenly goes still.

“You okay?”

He stiffens, jaw working. “Mm—I need the—”  

You drag the trash can over just in time.

He folds forward with a weak gag, body curling in on itself as far as his ribs will allow.

There’s not much left in his stomach. The retching is brief, mostly dry, but it still wrings him out. Leaves him shaking, breath catching in uneven pulls.

You press your hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing slow, firm circles until it passes, until he leans back with a shallow breath.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, lips parted, face gone pale under all the bruising.

You shake your head, reaching for the warm washcloth you’d set aside earlier.

"It's okay. Don't apologize."

You press the cloth gently to his lips, slow, careful strokes as you wipe the corner of his mouth, the faint smear of blood under his nose, along the line of his jaw and down the column of his neck. It comes back faintly pink each time.

Your thumb follows after, catching where the cloth missed.

Then you pause at his mouth.

The cut on his bottom lip is so deep, the edges of it raw, pulled tight every time he speaks. You tilt his chin slightly, angling his face toward the light.

You’re still frowning at it, wondering whether you should clean it now or let him rest, when he says it.

And it’s not what you thought it would feel like, the first time.

It’s supposed to feel bigger than this, isn’t it? Fireworks in the chest, thunder in the ribs. Something that cracks the world open a little—shake the ground under your feet and pull the stars a little close so they can witness it too.   

Instead, it happens in your bedroom at two in the morning, the coppery smell of dried blood clinging to your fingers, sticky under your nails, catching at the back of your throat

“I love you.”

His voice is low, scraped hoarse with exhaustion, yet steady in a way it hasn’t been all night.

It’s almost painful, how much rushes up all at once.

All the times you didn’t say it.

All the almosts. 

All the places it lived instead.

In the center console of his car, watching him belt out the wrong lyrics at the top of his lungs, just to catch your laugh from the passenger seat.

In the sticky vinyl booth of that diner off the highway, knees knocking under the table while you plucked the cherries off his milkshake and debated the dumbest lines from the movie you just watched.

In the space between your pillows, lying on your sides in the dark, sharing half-formed plans and distant, candy-colored versions of the future—nothing guaranteed except for the easy assumption that you’d share it with one another.

It was always there.

Perched on the tip of your tongue, waiting—in the quiet beat after a joke, a kiss.

In all the moments where you’d look at him and just know.

Know with a certainty so sharp it scared you sometimes.

That this boy—this ridiculous, funny, soft-hearted, endlessly giving boy—was it.

You’d always told yourself there was time.

Tomorrow. Next week.

Later.  

Some other night with candlelight and rose petals, when it made sense, when it could be perfect, worthy of the way it feels to love and be loved by him.  

But maybe the truth of it lives here, like this.

Stripped bare, intimate in a way no grand declaration ever could be.

“I…” Your voice catches, and you swallow before trying again. “I love you too.”

Your vision fills with a sudden haze, and you blink quickly, forcing yourself to look away.  

Steve’s eyes droop at that, brows furrowing softly as he shuffles closer.

“Baby… c’mon, don’t…” He raises his hand, brushing his thumb under your eye to catch the second tear before it falls. He lingers there, cradling your cheek in the warmth of his palm. “Don’t cry. Please?”

“I’m not, I’m not,” you sniff, half-laughing, hastily wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

He studies you a long moment, blinking unevenly, before the faintest smile curls his lips. “Does my face look that bad?”

A startled laugh slips past you. You shake your head, pressing a weak palm against his shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

His grin softens into a gentle, half-lidded smile, eyes warm and heavy as he lets his gaze settle on you.  

“’M gonna say it every day,” he murmurs quietly.  

Your chest aches at the promise.

You wish he didn’t have to think about it like that.

That he didn’t have to worry. That he didn’t have to carry the weight of those three words on his chest while tied to that chair—wrists raw, blood in his mouth and fluorescent lights burning into his skull—wondering if he’d ever get to say them aloud.

That the last thing on his mind wasn’t the absence of something so small.

Something you already knew.

You’ve always known.

“Steve…” you whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back, nodding slowly, eyes thick with exhaustion but bright with that familiar resolve. “I know you know. I just…” He rubs his thumb gently across your cheek. “I’m still gonna say it.”

You watch him for a moment, taking in the quiet conviction in his gaze, the stubborn tilt of his head. Stubborn in the ways that matter most—clinging to small, sacred truths even after staring death in the face.

You nod, because that’s who he is.

And because you’ll listen every time like it’s the first.

“Okay,” you whisper.

You lean in carefully, tilting your head to avoid the split in his lip, and press a soft, lingering kiss to the unbroken corner of his mouth.

3 WEEKS BEFORE THE WEDDING

The envelope sits on your kitchen counter between a spoon and a jar of peanut butter, mocking you. It’s baby blue and has a floral design, just like the letter inside printed on expensive paper. You pull it out, read it over, just one more time, just to make sure, as if the words would change, as if you could ever forget.

We’re delighted to invite you to the wedding of Woo Haerim and Myung Jaehyun…

It doesn’t sound real. It sounds exactly the kind of prank you would pull on your best friend and not the other way around. Jaehyun is a touchy, clingy, laughs-harder-than-anybody-else kind of guy who likes to exaggerate and tease, but he wouldn’t joke about marriage. He’s too much of a romantic for that.

But there was a time when he was younger, after one too many shots, freshly graduated with honors, when he promised that if both of you are still single by the time you turn twenty-eight, he would marry you.

It was a running joke just between the two of you, a simple ‘it’s okay I will marry you anyway’ thrown around whenever one of your relationships ended or were single for too long. It was something to laugh about because… how cliché it was really, two best friends getting married? But suddenly you didn’t find it funny because your supposedly best friend was about to marry a girl you haven’t even met yet.

Jaehyun used to ask you about your opinion and it had become a little tradition too, giving bestie approval stamps to each other’s significant others. You weren’t a big fan of any of his past girlfriends but Haerim? You only knew about her at all because Sanghyuk mentioned her in passing the last time he visited you in Busan. You thought it wasn’t that serious if Jaehyun couldn’t be bothered to tell you himself, so what now, marriage? Make it make sense, Myung Jaehyun.

You let the phone ring for longer than necessary.

You never hesitated before when he called but now you feel like you need to compose yourself before you say something you will regret. So you take a deep breath and count to five before pressing the green button.

“Hey,” Jaehyun sounds relieved and the sound of his voice is enough to make you smile. It’s been a while since you talked.

“Hi,” you greet him back on auto-pilot but your voice comes out less cheery as it usually would. A part of you is still waiting for the punchline of a joke that probably doesn’t exist.

“Did you get my letter? I sent you one a two weeks ago,” he asks, all worried and you can easily imagine the frown on his forehead based on his tone alone.

You could blame it on the Korean Postal Service, saying that maybe the mail got delayed a bit in the countryside but the delivery time between Seoul and Busan is a few days maximum, a day if the letter was sent with priority stamp. The truth is you could have probably picked it up sooner from your mailbox but you rarely check it because it’s mostly just ads piling up. Who still sends letters in the 21st century? You wonder if it was Jaehyun’s fiancée’s idea to handle the invitations in the old fashioned way. Or is it just you being too practical for sentimental things like this?

“Uhm, yeah, actually, just yesterday,” you mutter, all awkward, and you mentally wince at your own reaction.

“Oh, okay, I was getting worried. That… maybe it got lost. Or worse, that you ignored it. I know we drifted apart lately but–”

“I would never ignore you, Jae,” you cut him off because no matter the time or distance, Jaehyun is still your best friend. He will always be. Who else would you play bingo with in the retirement house?

In all honesty, meeting Jaehyun was the best thing that happened to you in college. You have no idea how you would have survived without him. He has always been your biggest supporter, the one who took care of you when you were sick in the dead of winter or drunk enough to almost fall asleep on a bench in a park. You were like two peas in a pond, fueling each other’s energy, partners in crime. You met during a house party playing drinking games and you somehow managed to reduce him to tears when you told him that you thought Twilight was awfully cringe and a mess of a plot. He spent the rest of the night trying to change your mind, which he couldn’t, but you ended up walking away with a best friend anyways.

Now, it’s been almost five years since you graduated. Two since you moved to Busan because of an offer you couldn’t refuse. Eight months since you last saw him during Chuseok. Funny, isn’t it? You have known him for eight years and apparently eight months was enough for him to meet the love of his life and decide to marry her the summer before the two of you would turn twenty-eight. The thought tastes bitter in your mouth.

“I know that but still. So… are you coming? I can’t wait for you to meet Haerim! You’re gonna love her!” Jaehyun suddenly sounds much more chipper. It reminds you of those college days when he would act like he was on his deathbed, only to perk up when you put a cup of coffee in front of him.

You swallow around the glob in your throat because unlike him you aren’t that sure that you’re gonna love his fiancée.

“Duh? I wouldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding!” You click your tongue as if even the thought of it was offensive and really, it kind of is. No matter how surprised you were when you received the invitation, your answer has never been a question. You would drop anything to be there on his big day – even if only to tease him for crying because he’s definitely the type who would cry when he sees the bride walking down the aisle. But still, there’s an elephant in the room to address. “It’s just… a bit unexpected, you know?”

You’re careful as you choose your words and the way you keep your tone even. It’s unlike you with your unfiltered mouth that has gotten you in trouble before. Luckily, Jaehyun doesn’t seem to notice. He sounds all too happy to talk about the love of his life.

“Yeah, I know. But the thing they say? That you just feel it when it’s real? It’s true.”

“Yeah well… I wouldn’t know,” you mutter under your breath.

That’s the main difference between you and Jaehyun when it comes to romance: you don’t really believe in the big capital word Love and its all-consuming power while he believes in cinematic, swoon-worthy love stories. Your relationships usually ended because you felt like your boyfriends moved too fast, wanted too much, while his heart often shattered at the first signs of not fitting together perfectly. Not now, apparently.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him and it’s honest despite the thorn in your side. You have never wanted him to be anything but happy.

“Thanks. But Y/N… Actually the reason why I called…” You can tell Jaehyun fidgets on the other side of the line and you force yourself to sit down, tapping on the floor while you wait for him to finish. “Can you join us a few days earlier? With Haerim’s family there… I can’t do this without you. I need you there with me.”

You glance at your planner open on your desk, the date of the wedding now highlighted with a bunch of question marks. You should probably think about having to ask for more day-offs than necessary and the last minute flights to Jeju but Jaehyun’s desperate voice fills your mind like static. You’re not surprised that the wedding preparations got him like that, he gets easily overwhelmed when there are a lot of things to do, but it’s the way he says it, that he needs you… that’s an arrow straight to the heart, bullseye.

You don’t even think. Never, apparently, when it comes to him.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

“I need a favour,” you blurt out as soon as Sungho picks up the phone after nine agonizing seconds. No hellos, no niceties, just straight to the point but he lets it slide.

“I’m listening,” he hums, already half amused, half concerned.

Not that he has any reason to be the latter. It was only one time that you called him from a hospital ward because the nurses didn’t let you leave on your own after unplugging the IV drips from your own arm.  A bit of dizziness after pulling all nighters because of a project deadline rarely hurt anybody, right? Okay, maybe two times, if he counts that night when you called him drunk after a shitty day and he had to pick you up from Gwangalli beach because you were convinced that you were staring at the sea from Haeundae and didn’t understand why you couldn’t find your way home. You made him give you a piggyback ride that day and shamelessly groped his arm muscles while singing a mainstream girl group song you claimed to hate. It’s Sungho’s favourite anecdote to bring up whenever you forget that you have a low alcohol tolerance.

The two of you started working for the association behind the Busan International Film Festival as juniors in the same year. You are both cinephiles, hence you have an endless list of movies to discuss and watch ready at all times. He also has most of his family back in Gangwon province, so you usually take the KTX train together around Seollal and Chuseok. But other than these, you couldn’t be more different. You are an unlikely duo: you being your chaotic, unapologetic self and him being always so put together. He’s your voice of reason while you’re his voice when he’s too polite to call somebody out on their bullshit. But somehow it works, he’s the closest friend you made since you left Seoul for bigger adventures and dreams. You would probably call him your best friend as of late if you weren’t still keeping that title for Jaehyun.

“I need you to be my plus one for Jaehyun’s wedding,” you tell Sungho without beating around the bush.

He coughs like he choked on something.

“As in the Jaehyun you were supposed to marry after turning twenty-eight?”

“Yes, that Jaehyun.”

There is no other Jaehyun in your life unless you count Jaehyun from accounting but he goes by Hyunjae anyways. So yeah, there is no other Jaehyun whose wedding you would attend but you also know that’s not why Sungho is asking, so you let out a dramatic sigh as you flop back onto your bed and start explaining.

“He’s getting married in Jeju at the end of June to the freaking daughter of KOZ’s CEO. Can you believe it? Jaehyun marrying into a chaebol family?” You snort and it’s mostly a rhetorical question because Sungho only knows Jaehyun from your stories, so he wouldn’t know. But you do and with his free spirit, it’s hard to imagine him navigating the intrigues of crazy rich people. “He wouldn’t rush a marriage like this, I really don’t get that part, so I’m pretty sure the girl is just manipulating him, maybe using him to get out of an arranged marriage. Jaehyun has too big of a heart for his own good, it could happen to him.”

“That sounds too much like an SBS drama, honey,” Sungho says and you can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s smiling wistfully because he knows you’re prone to act dramatic just for the sake of it. “Maybe they just fell madly in love.”

“Unlikely,” you grimace while you try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Jaehyun always second guesses himself when it comes to love. He’s not reckless like me.”

“And yet, you haven’t told him that you’re in love with him.”

It doesn’t sound accusatory, the way Sungho says it, but you still wince, because it’s a reminder of a bruise you forgot it hurt.

“I don’t want to lose my best friend over something like that,” you say, a little softer, a little quieter. Something like love, something you’re admittedly, historically suck at. Even if Jaehyun likes you back, you would mess it up one way or another. So why risk it?

“It looks like you will lose him anyways, so what now?” Sungho asks because he always asks the right questions even when you don’t like them. You don’t know what to say, you didn’t really think it through, you just knew that you don’t want to be in Jeju, alone, and watch the guy who could have been The One for you marry another girl. So you called Sungho because he always knew what to say and what to do, but you know it’s not something he can decide for you. “Y/N?”

“He just called me. He told me he can’t do this without me,” you whisper while keeping your eyes on the water stain on the ceiling. “Sungho… I can’t let a cunning rich girl take him away from me.”

“And what do you need me for?” Sungho asks simply, not even trying to talk you out of it. Just one more reason why you work together so well. He knows there would be no use of trying to convince you once you made up your mind. And now, he’s part of your plans too.

“For emotional support? To keep me accountable? Come on, Sungho. One week in Jeju, all-inclusive, you deserve a vacation.”

When Sungho groans, you know you won.

The truth is… you have always thought of Jaehyun more like a twin brother you never had. Until you moved away to a new city all alone and realized how big part of your life included him. Until Sungho asked about him.

Kind, sweet Sungho holding an umbrella above your head, his jacket over your shoulders after a company dinner, waiting for a bus. Sungho who blushed prettily when you called him handsome and floundered over his words when you asked what he would do with the number you saw one of the waitresses sliding to him.

“Probably nothing. She’s not really my type,” he said eventually, gazing down at the rain-washed road.

“Really? She seemed nice,” you feigned nonchalance while checking the time on your phone as if you weren’t suddenly curious about what his type might be, as if you didn’t wonder whether he preferred girls who shook up his life over the nice ones. You weren’t sure what exactly you wanted to hear but it surely wasn’t what went down when Sungho turned back to you.

“Is that your boyfriend?”

It was so sudden, so unprompted that you couldn’t even hide your surprise with a joke.

“Who?”

“The guy on your phone lockscreen.”

You look down at the device in your hand, at the candid photo of you and Jaehyun laughing Sanghyuk took when you three climbed Namsan in your senior year. Among the many love lockets there, there is a bright yellow one with your names and #hanyang2022 as proud soon-to-be graduates you were. It’s a nice photo, a happy memory, nothing more.

“What? No. That’s just Jaehyun, my best friend,” you say and because you’re naturally prone to bring chaos, you add, all chatty and casual: “I mean we do have a silly pact that we will get married if both of us are single when we’re twenty-eight, but we aren’t like that.”

“Oh,” Sungho reacted a bit dumbfounded and blinked slowly when the bus pulled up in front of you. “Well, it sounds to me like you are a bit like that.”

So this was how it started. Sungho making an assumption and turning his back to you. You catching up to him on the bus, wondering whether he was right. After all, he usually was.

5 DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING

And now, here you are, in Jeju with bright sunrises and the roaring sound of the sea, with Sungho by your side who came partly for the free hotel and free food… and partly for the drama (aka to judge you though he would never admit it).

Luckily, you managed to convince Jaehyun that he doesn’t need to come pick you up at the airport. This way you’re free to complain about the ridiculousness of destination weddings all the way from Jeju International to the fancy hotel Jaehyun’s rich fiancée readily booked you right away after you confirmed your flight details. Sungho mostly just hums along with your monologue but you blame it on his post-nap state. Still, somehow he’s still more present to navigate through the airport and get a taxi because you are too pre-occupied going through all the info Jaehyun sent you about the schedule.

“Dinner tonight, dress fitting tomorrow, then cocktail party, wedding venue check. Exclusive tea ceremony? Why the hell are rich people making such a big fuss about a wedding? Isn’t it supposed to be one day, signing documents and that’s it?”

“Maybe they want to make everybody feel included or just spend time together. Shouldn’t you be happy? It’s been a while since you last saw him,” Sungho says, squinting in the afternoon light as he takes your carry-on from the car after his and wheels both of them towards the hotel lobby.

“I would be more happy if this wasn’t for a wedding. I will have to act like I like his fiancée and you know I tend to panic when I lie and end up saying stupid things,” you mutter because your worst fear at this point is to unintentionally hurt Jaehyun over something stupid.

“Who knows maybe you will actually like her,” Sungho shrugs and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Whose side are you on again?” You put your hands onto your waist with a click of your tongue but force a smile on your face when the receptionist lady asks what she can help you with. You check in  without a problem and have your luggage handled by a bellboy. Breakfast is included in the price but only available until 9AM, so you’re already planning the latest feasible time to wake up tomorrow, making Sungho promise that he would wake you up while you’re riding the elevator to the top floor. Or at least it sure feels like it. The bellboy asks if you need help with anything else but leaves soon enough, so you’re ready to pass out on the bed’s expensive duvet when you realise exactly what’s off with the room.

When Jaehyun told you that Haerim got a suite for you and your plus one, you didn’t think to clarify that the room would need two beds because you naively thought suites would be like that, having multiple rooms or whatnot, and here you are now, staring at a singular albeit generously sized bed in a fancy room with a view of the sea. Funnily though, Sungho seems more scandalized by the idea if his widened eyes and cheeks dusted pink are anything to go by.

“I’m sleeping on the sofa,” he clears his throat, steering his suitcase towards the living room area already.

“Don’t be stupid,” you roll your eyes, gesturing wildly. “Look at this bed, it’s huge. We won’t even touch.”

Not to mention Sungho slept through the short flight on your shoulder which must not have been comfortable for his neck. You don’t want him to leave this trip with aching bones.

“But…”

“We used to crash at each other’s places with smaller beds with Jaehyun back in college. As long as you don’t steal all the blankets, I’m fine with it,” you shrug like it’s not a big deal because it shouldn’t be. Sure, it’s not college anymore and he’s not Jaehyun. But you are both mature adults, so what’s a little platonic bed sharing?

Sungho doesn’t say anything, just drops his bag at the leg of the bed and catches your wrist before you could faceplant yourself onto the soft-looking bed-covers.

“No outside clothes in bed,” he scolds, not mean, just firm, and there’s something hot in the authoritativeness of his voice and in the weight of his hand on your arm. You almost give in.

“Well, your half of the bed, your rules. My side of the bed, my rules,” you stick out your tongue and climb in just to prove a point.

You doze off quickly, only awakened by the alarm you set beforehand to get ready for the dinner reservation Jaehyun sent you. You open your suitcase only to notice that Sungho already put his neatly folded clothes into one half of the wardrobe while you were asleep. There’s also a bottle of your favourite passion fruit flavored ice tea on your bedside table which you doubt was the hotel’s doing.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty is up,” Sungho teases with a gentle smile as he steps out of the bathroom.

In black tank top and sweatpants.

It takes everything in you not to stutter because is that really ironed shirts and cardigans Park Sungho in casual clothes? Are those defined biceps? Oh, so that’s why he could lift you up so easily when you were drunk.

“Where are you going?” You croak out, pushing yourself up to a sitting position.

“I’m checking out the gym while you catch up with Jaehyun,” Sungho says seemingly not catching on to your weirdly off tone.

“Of course you are.”

With how health-conscious he is, it just makes sense.

“You could always come with me,” he says and the worst thing is that he means it, so you just shoot him an unimpressed look and let out a grave sigh because it means he’s letting you face the wolves alone. As in your college best friend and his fiancée. How cruel.

Eventually you got out of bed albeit with more nerves and less enthusiasm than you should have. You showered and put on fresh clothes but Jaehyun really should have mentioned how fancy this booked restaurant was because you definitely felt underdressed in your crop top and linen maxi skirt combo approaching the gilded lettered, Greek pillared, bowtie waiter place. But before you could even whip out your phone and text Sungho about how pretentious this place was, you heard a shriek and heels clinking on the marble tiles.

“Oh my gosh, the infamous Y/N! I have heard so much about you!” The stranger exclaims and you’re pulled into an embrace before you could even process that you are the one being talked to.

The first thing you notice is that Haerim’s hair is ridiculously silky and she smells nice, like something flowery and sweet, something expensive for sure.

The second thing you notice is Jaehyun over her shoulder and how his hair is longer, curling around his nape. He is standing behind his fiancée with a wide smile on his face even though you’re frozen in place with your hands awkwardly hovering in the air like your body still can’t decide whether you were attacked or not.

“Well, I can’t say the same. Jae was quite secretive about you,” you say pointedly with a challengingly raised brow but Jaehyun just laughs giddily and Haerim isn’t offended at all.

“That’s okay, we will be like best friends by the end of the week! I have always wanted a big sister!” She shrieks as she pulls away and it’s even worse because she’s perfect. Doll-like eyes, feminine figure, an angelic smile. She looks at you with sparkling eyes like she actually means each of her words.

You hate her already.

Haerim links her arm with yours and pulls you towards the patio seating. She’s telling you about how she has always wanted to meet you and how happy she is that you’re here. She promises that you will love this place because her family used to come here every summer and everything is exquisite. Even her vocabulary is pretentious, you note with a barely concealed grimace you try to hide behind your wine glass. Thank god those were served as soon as you sat down.

“Uhm, so that’s why you chose Jeju?” You ask just to fill the void and not accidentally blurt out something about how you’re not buying the love story they’re trying so hard to sell right in front of you. Haerim is basically all over Jaehyun: their arms brushing, her hand on his thigh, glancing at him every few seconds. It’s so forced it makes you want to gag. Or maybe it’s just your allergy to public display of affection. Jaehyun used to call you skittish because you always pulled away when he tried to hug you, especially in public. Now you miss it more than anything.

“Haerim wanted the Maldives first but getting that many guests onto those islands would have been a nightmare, so we agreed on Jeju. It’s easier for everybody,” Jaehyun explains with big gestures and matching enthusiasm like he has always done. Its familiarity is the only thing that grounds you in this ridiculous situation.

“Maldives. Wow,” you mutter, fighting the urge to roll your eyes because rich people things once again. You and Jaehyun used to judge people who did things like it – spend money without a care in the world – together and you’re not sure how to feel about it. Did his infatuation blind him so much that he forgot?

“And he proposed on this beach too, so it’s extra romantic!” Haerim coos, reaching for Jaehyun’s hand resting on the table and you can’t help but let your gaze linger on their linked fingers and the diamond on Haerim’s ring finger. You’re pretty sure she did it on purpose to show off. She’s trying so hard to cling to your best friend that you wonder what she heard of you to act like it. What is she afraid of?

“Ooh did he?” You muse out loud, going along with Haerim’s little pre-orchestrated scheme. Of course, she would want to tell you about the proposal. Of how Jaehyun chose her.

“Yes! There was a heart made out of rose petals on the sand, a live band playing one of my favourite songs and everything.”

“Hah, I didn’t take you for such a romantic,” you lift your gaze to Jaehyun in defiance, watching the way his eyes widen in pseudo-offence and how he sits up just a bit straighter. It’s good to know you still know how to poke his buttons.

“He’s very romantic! He even handwrites letters for me every month!” Haerim speaks up faster than he could answer though and it’s not a surprise, you have gotten handwritten cards from Jaehyun for every occasion, Christmas, birthdays, graduation. You kept them all in a metal box in the very back of your drawer without telling him.

“But enough about us, tell us about your boyfriend!” Haerim leans closer lowering her voice as if it’s some hot gossip and you can see the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth twitch, that signature smile of his gone.

“My–” You blink, processing her words and it takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realise she must have meant Sungho. Double bed and all. Ah.

“Come on, don’t be shy now,” Haerim nudges your arm and before you could explain, Jaehyun shakes his head with a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.

“She isn’t shy, she just doesn’t really date seriously,” he says like it’s the universal truth and in that moment you make a decision just to prove him wrong.

A bad decision? Probably.

A reckless decision? Definitely.

A decision Sungho will judge you for? Most likely.

“Uhm, there’s just not much to tell, it’s all very new,” you lie through your teeth with a fake smile and hide your guilt behind the wine glass. But it works because under the layer of surprise, a hint of hurt flashes in Jaehyun’s eyes. Good, now he knows how you feel, you think bitterly and look down at the menu.

4 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING

“You told them what?” Sungho gapes at you with widened eyes and disbelief clear on his face.

After you got back yesterday, you told him everything about Haerim and the cheesy stories, the ridiculously well-done meat at the restaurant with its horrendous prices but not this. You waited until the last minute to tell him about this teeny tiny detail maybe he should have known before meeting the couple. That last minute just happened to be the hotel elevator going down to the lobby.

“I didn’t plan it but you should have heard them! It was either this or letting Jaehyun know that the reason why I don't date seriously is because I’m half in love with him!” You whisper-shout with desperation dripping from your voice.

“Oh no, no, don’t drag me into this. I’m here as emotional support, not as–”

Ping.

Murmurs of conversations fill your ears as soon as the elevator doors open at lobby level, followed by a now familiar shriek.

“Oh my gosh, you must be the boyfriend!”

“Yeah, uhm, this is Sungho, my boyfriend,” you force a smile, stepping a bit closer to him, trying to beg him with your best doe eyes to play the role. “Babe, this is my college best friend, Jaehyun and his fiancée, Haerim.”

Sungho’s mouth is pressed in a tight line but he manages a polite smile as he looks at the couple.

“Nice to meet you both. I have heard a lot about you from Y/N-ie,” he says smoothly, dragging out your name overly sweet. He has never called you that. Your stomach flips.

In disgust, of course.

“Only good things, I hope,” Jaehyun laughs but there’s something forced in it, you can tell and when you see his eyes flit downwards, you grab onto Sungho’s hand like it’s a lifeline. He flinches but covers it up nicely with a full-bodied laugh.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You wiggle your eyebrows at Jaehyun and follow the couple to the hotel’s restaurant for brunch as they suggested the evening before.

Once you are seated, Sungho immediately reaches for the water jug to pour some for everybody even though according to Korean table manners, it should be the youngest’s job, so Haerim’s who is too busy making suggestions about the menu, swearing by their pancakes with maple syrup and somehow ends up comparing them to the ones she had in freaking Paris. It almost makes you roll your eyes but instead you ask about her time there. It turns out she did a semester abroad there for her fashion management degree and she even speaks French because of course, she does. You bet she learned ballet and piano too and excelled in them all.

When your food arrives, you’re still listening to her, briefly beaming at Sungho when he passes over his fresh, cut strawberries to your plate because they are your favourite. It’s not an unusual thing between you, sharing food because you often spend lunch break together, so it’s nothing special but when you catch Jaehyun’s eyes, he stares at you as if he couldn’t believe what he’s seeing.

“So uhm… how did this happen? You’re working at the same company, right?” He gestures between the two of you after taking a sip of his coffee. Black, no sugar, which is crazy because he has always hated bitter things. He always complained that he couldn’t understand how you could actually like the taste of Americano. Now, look at him forcing it down because Haerim ordered it for him.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for a while though but then…” You trail off, unsure how to continue and you glance at Sungho for help who just raises his eyebrow while chewing on his food as if saying you dug yourself this hole, so climb out of it too. The way he tilts his head has his hair fall into his eyes and you almost yelp as the idea hits you.

“Then he dyed his hair blond! Doesn’t he look hot? It turned my whole world upside down,” you exclaim with a hand darting out to fix Sungho’s bangs for him, which hopefully looks domestic enough and not awkward. (It sure does, Haerim cooes loudly.)

Sungo blinks, that dumbfounded cute blink of his when he hears something he can’t quite believe. He doesn’t pull away from your hand though, just blinks a few more in repetition then clears his throat, collecting himself, but you see his ears turn red.

“So you’re saying I wasn’t hot before?” He challenges with a pout forming on his lips. Damn, he’s a good actor, you never gave him enough credit for that.

“No! I just didn’t notice it. You also always wear these preppy outfits to work hiding your muscles!” You point out poking his arm because let’s be honest, Sungho looks like a prince. Not your usual type, the easy-going dudes in leather jackets you would run into at clubs, but you aren’t blind, you know he looks good. Maybe you’ve even had a moment of insanity when you could ogle at his biceps for the first time.

“So you made the first move? It was the same for us!” Haerim cheers excitedly and you start to wonder whether that’s her default reaction for everything. Nobody can be that excited all the damn time.

“Your brother was my business partner, of course, I couldn’t hit on you,” Jaehyun reminds her.

“Excuses, excuses,” she waves it away.

Luckily, the rest of the brunch goes smoothly, no awkward questions you have to lie about and you swear you will get cavities from the way Jaehyun looks at Haerim when they feed each other. He looks bewitched and it stirs something bitter and mad in the pit of your stomach. Too bad you have always liked bitter things.

After brunch, Haerim steals you away for dress fitting which also leaves Sungho alone with Jaehyun. You look back at their duo with an awkward smile while the girl is dragging you away and how unlikely their pair is really, it’s almost funny. That’s your two best friends and they couldn't be more different. A cat and a dog, really.

“You could have been the maid of honor but Jaehyun wanted you as his best woman, so you don’t have to match with the bridesmaid but it would be nice to go with the same color palette,” Haerim says while linking your arms and mentions a bunch of fashion terms you don’t know nor care about. You let her guide you to the salon, take the offered tea and pretend not to be bored while you’re trying to see the difference between the shades of light hot pink and pink pearl in the handle book.

After what feels like a small eternity, the curtains are pulled back and you look up at a literal angel.

“So… what do you think?” Haerim asks with uncharacteristic uncertainty in her voice as she twirls.

With her fashion degree and money and feminine traits, you expected her to go all out and choose a wedding dress so flashy and princess-y that you would want to gag but no, she’s beautiful. It’s an elegant dress with fine details in the most gorgeous glossy white colour you have ever seen. The veil falls smoothly over her bare shoulders from her simple updo and you’re sure she will be even more breathtaking on the big day when she has her hair properly done and accessories on.

Wait, what happened to not letting a rich chick steal your best friend?

“Jaehyun might cry,” you mumble, snapping out of your stupor. You force a smile when Haerim lets out a relieved chuckle. Apparently, she doesn’t find the thought of her fiance crying embarrassing.

“He really might. He’s a real crybaby, isn’t he? Makes me wanna bubble wrap him on most days,” she says with so much endearment in her voice people usually use when talking about cute dogs and not adult men.

“Right? Don’t even get me on how much of a scaredy cat he is!” You carry on, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of Haerim that could prove she only likes Jaehyun when he’s cool and composed. But no amount of embarrassing college stories can fade the smile on the girl’s list while she’s busy getting you into a pretty pink dress that exposes your back. It’s not your usual style but you go along with it, hoping that it would be the end of your little dress fitting shopping tour but somehow you end up with three new dresses and matching shoes. By the time you make it back to the hotel room, you feel like you could strangle anybody who claims shopping is relaxing.

3 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING

You’re drawing your eyeliner with precise focus, leaning closer to the bathroom mirror while listening to Sungho’s recounting of yesterday’s events from the bedroom through the door left ajar. He has been at it for ten minutes or so because apparently he wasn’t tortured by shopping. Good for him.

“Sounds like you had fun,” you mention and it sounds more surprised than you actually are. Maybe if you weren’t so worried about Sungho accidentally spilling the beans while spending the day with Jaehyun, you would have seen it coming. No matter how different they essentially are in terms of their attitude, they are not only both close friends with you but also extroverts and well… guys.

“Yeah, it turned out he also likes football and karaoke, so we bonded over those. He’s a bit too touchy for me but he’s easy to be around and very likeable, so I get why you’re caught up with him,” Sungho says, like it’s an everyday thing for him to befriend your… crush or whatever. Jaehyun has been your best friend your entire adult life, you have never referred to him differently. It’s only because of Sungho’s sharp eyes and his master ability to spot when you’re lying that he even knows how seriously you took that little promise Jaehyun had made about marriage.

“I’m not caught up with him, I’m…”

You actually don’t know how to describe this feeling. You have been angry and disappointed when you got the wedding invitation a few weeks ago, then desperate when panic settled in, but now? You’re more than confused. Despite the distance between you, in a way you have always thought of Jaehyun as your person, somebody who would always be in your life through everything, somebody you could always count on. But him getting married? He would have a family of his own, they would automatically become the most important people in his life and you would be put on the backburner. Somehow that thought leaves you more unsettled than the possibility of him not liking you back.

But then you play back the way his eyes went to your hands linked with Sungho, how he stared when you whispered something into your fake boyfriend’s ear and it just doesn’t make sense. He invited you here, he said he needed you here and yet, he’s being lovey-dovey with his wife-to-be as if he didn’t need you at all. It makes you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Why is he confusing you?

“I just can’t imagine my life without him,” you say and grimace at your own words because they sound pathetic no matter how true they are. Or maybe that’s exactly why. Sure, you’re not those kind of friends who text or call everyday but he’s the first person you tell if something happened. Okay, maybe second because Sungho is usually there.

You rub your lips together after applying the bold lipstick and give yourself one last look in the mirror. Your life might be a mess but at least you’re looking like a hot mess while managing it all.

“Anyways I need to find some time to talk to him, just the two of us. He sounded different over the phone when he asked me to come, so I want to know what that was about,” you say, mostly to yourself to keep yourself accountable, before leaving the bathroom you have occupied in the last half an hour to get ready for the cocktail party.

Sungho is doing his tie, his brows furrowed, face focused, when you step out the bathroom in one of the new dresses Haerim told you to get. When he lifts his head, his fingers freeze in the middle of a knot and he gapes like fish in a market.

“You look…”

“Ridiculous, I know. But Haerim said the party’s theme is hydrangea blue or whatever, so it is what it is. At least it’s super soft,” you sigh, smoothing down the lines of the baby blue material. It’s technically not uncomfortable, and if you really wanted to, you would have told Haerim you’re not wearing this (though she seems like somebody who would weaponize her doll eyes), but it’s rare for you to dress up like this, so it feels weird.

Not to mention, you feel strangely self-conscious about it in front of Sungho, who has mostly seen you sporting business casual or just everyday casual looks at work. The last time he commented on your outfit, it was because he recognized the 10 Things I Hate About You quote on your T-shirt and you ended up discussing the movie as expected of two nerds who work in the film industry.

“I was about to say that you look pretty,” Sungho mutters, looking down at his tie again. It takes him three attempts to find the front loop and secure it around his neck.

You feel your cheeks flush at the compliment, not knowing how to react to it. He isn’t supposed to just say things like that. Not when there’s nobody to perform to.

“Thanks. You don’t look half bad either,” you wave in his general direction, suit and tie and all, trying to get over this weird awkwardness in the air. You have never been like this before, why start now? “Uhm, can you…?”

You turn around, pulling your hair away from your back to reveal the halfway stuck zipper. Asking for help is not your forte but once again you’re not well-versed in the art of putting on intricate dresses either. Luckily, Sungho understands what you want without you having to spell it out.

“Oh, right,” he clears his throat and steps closer. You can feel his laboured breathing on your shoulder just before his fingers gently brush against your spine and air gets stuck in your throat. His warm touch leaves goosebumps behind as the zipper smoothly slides upwards and his fingers linger on your nape just a moment too long before he steps back. You exhale shakily.

Now, that further complicates things. Gosh.

The garden cocktail party is in full swing by the time you arrive. Haerim mentioned that some relatives and close friends arrive just in time for that but when she said some, you thought of maybe four or six, not a dozen. So introductions are in place and you try your best to remember every face. Gahyun, Haerim’s best friend, makes it especially easy after she looks at you like you're a hazardous risk. At least now you know for sure that you have a reputation.

Two colourful, sweet drinks later you’re determined to make sure you deserve whatever they made up in their minds about you. It’s quite petty but once you start, you just can’t stop, not when it’s so easy. You have years worth of stories with Jaehyun and it seems innocent enough to mention a few here and there, just to remind Haerim that you will always know him better. That she might be in Jaehyun’s bed now but you have been there first no matter how platonic that was. You mention family visits, vacations together, anything you can think of whenever random people ask about your friendship with the fiance. You make it sound casual, just an old friend reminiscing about the past, but you pay close attention to Haerim and how she’s listening even when she’s talking with others.

“Come on, dance with me. It’s our song,” Sungho smiles, very much charming and convincing, excusing you from the table in the middle of a college party retelling Haerim’s brother seems particularly interested in. You pout but let Sungho take your hand and pull you towards the flower-surrounded dancefloor in the middle of the garden. Only then you realize that the slow song that plays is indeed the one you ever danced to together, the first night you ever saw Sungho drunk during an overnight company outing because he kept losing the games. Back then it was you who pulled him to the dancefloor and giggled at his sleepy eyes. You wouldn’t have thought that he even remembered.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, lowering his voice as he leans closer, his breathing fanning over your ears.

He sounds incredulous, like he can’t believe what he’s witnessing. To your ears it sounds like a scolding, so you shrug like a reluctant child. Then you realize you’re just standing in the middle of the dancefloor, so you slide your arms around Sungho’s neck and start swaying from side to side.

“Did you see how Gahyun looked at me? She’s a much worse actress than Haerim is. They hate me. I want to see Haerim’s nice girl act break too.”

You knew it was all too good to be true: Haerim and how much of an open arms she welcomed you. None of Jaehyun’s ex-girlfriends were that excited to meet you and you can’t blame them. In a culture where female-male friendship is rare, your longwithstanding friendship with Jaehyun is enough to make a romantic interest feel threatened. Especially if they know how clingy Jaehyun could get with his friends.

“It honestly looked like you’re just desperate for attention,” Sungho whispers, finally letting his hands rest on your wrist after what feels like an internal battle. His touch feels grounding; both his presence and his closeness. So maybe that’s why the comment doesn’t hurt, because coming from him it’s not judging. You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, to confirm there’s no disappointment there, and Sungho looks back at you with the same gentle eyes as always.

“Maybe I am,” you say, defiant. With a sigh, you lean your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes scan the people at the table you just left. “We have been here for two days and Jaehyun hasn’t even tried to talk to me.”

It’s silly because you have seen him each day. It’s also greedy. He’s busy, you know he is, but you miss your best friend and you want to know if he missed you too. If his determination to marry has been shaken by any measure with you here.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have told him that you have a boyfriend,” Sungho, ever the voice of reason, points out what changed since your phone call with Jaehyun and you give it a thought.

“Did he say anything about it? When it was just the two of you?”

“He told me that he will make my life hell if I break your heart,” he says, amused, but his pause is too sudden, so you wait for him to continue. Eventually he does. “I told him it’s more likely that you will break mine. He agreed. That’s about it.”

The concept of breaking Sungho’s heart is foreign. You have never seen him in love or heartbroken, he never really talked about that kind of stuff even though the company dinner was just one occasion of many when you saw him getting numbers.

“So you both think I’m a heartbreaker, huh. What a slander,” you click your tongue pseudo-offended.

“I mean I saw you reject that heart-eyed intern…”

“I’m not into younger guys and he confessed in public! I hate that kind of thing,” you huff with a little shove at Sungho’s shoulder. He lets out a laugh as he dramatically stumbles backwards and the sound of it echoes in your ears. You have always liked his unguarded laughter.

When the song ends with Sungho dipping you, his palm secure on your waist and his smile matching yours, somehow you forget about Jaehyun watching.

One more cocktail and a long-winded discussion with Haerim’s K-drama obsessed aunt about the film industry later, you’re back in the hotel room actively trying to become one with the soft blankets.

Sungho is in the shower when there’s a knock on the door, so you have to be the one to get it even if you want to do nothing less. A groan escapes you as you push yourself up since you’re just tipsy enough for your head to not appreciate the sudden movement. At least you get to the door without stumbling, that’s a win, and when you open it, the sight in front of you is sobering enough.

“Hey,” Jaehyun smiles sheepishly, his right hand stuck halfway between a knock and an awkward wave. He looks two seconds away from fleeting as he glances behind you. He must be expecting Sungho. “Are you free for a bit?”

“Yes, of course,” you nod without thinking and step out to the corridor, pulling the door closed behind you.

“I remember that concert,” Jaehyun points at your chest and you glance down automatically. You have an old merch tee on, one you had since college because its soft cotton material is perfect for sleeping. You bought it at an indie band gig you had gone to together with Jaehyun because he hadn’t wanted you to go alone.

“We had the time of our lives that day,” you look up with a smile as nostalgia washes over you. “I’m pretty sure you enjoyed the concert more than me even though you hadn’t even heard about the band before.”

“Yeah, well, I think I mostly had fun because you had fun,” Jaehyun says and there’s something there in the way he says it, something so subtle you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. There’s a playful grin playing on his lips but there’s a shade of melancholy in his eyes. You aren’t ready to address it though, not yet.

“I miss those times when we could just show up at each other’s dorm like this and hang out. Living so far from each other sucks,” you end up saying instead and slide down by the wall to sit on the cushioned corridor floor. It’s a weird thing to do in a fancy hotel but it’s more awkward to just stand there while you’re in your pajamas and Jaehyun is still in his suit-and-tie outfit, his blue necktie (that matched Haerim’s dress) crooked slightly. He doesn’t even question your actions, doesn’t tell you to get up. No, he has always been with you when you did silly stuff like this and it seems like it’s something that hasn’t changed.

“But you love living in Busan,” he points out after he sits down, his shoulder lightly brushing yours. Something coils in your stomach at the accidental touch.

“More than I expected actually. It has city vibes and chill beaches too,” you muse out loud, thinking of those exhausting days when after work you and Sungho go down to the sea with a can of beer in hand and suddenly everything feels better.

“And it has Sungho too,” Jaehyun adds to your list. It makes you pause for a moment, confused, wondering whether you said that last part out loud, but then you just shrug it off.

“Yeah, I guess it has.”

Sungho with his crisp Seoul dialect is even more of an outsider in the beach town than you are, so even though you met him there, you don’t associate him strongly with the city. But you’re glad he’s there with you, that’s true. He’s a good person, his level-headedness balances out your impulses and he’s supportive enough to come with you for this wedding just because you asked. He’s even willing to play your boyfriend just to save your dignity. He has seen your drama queen moments and he’s still here.

“But I still miss you, you know?” You turn your head towards your best friend, tasting ache on your tongue as the too-honest words leave your mouth.

“I miss you too,” Jaehyun replies automatically, the smile on his lips turning mellow. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you tell him and you mean that. Even if you never imagined him getting married – not really, not even with you despite that inner joke of yours – it’s still true. You would want to be there at every important event of his life.

Silence settles between you, or at least as much of a silence as it’s possible in a hotel full of guests. A baby cries a floor away and a couple is arguing in front of the elevator just down the corridor. But in the middle of it all, you realize with startling clarity that it’s the first time it has been just the two of you, just how you wanted. It’s nice, cozy, but it misses the butterflies one would expect from having a crush nearby. Is it because it’s been so long since you’ve seen each other?

Jaehyun is nibbling on his lower lip, a nervous tick of his, so you know there’s more he wants to say he just doesn’t know how. Of course, he has something to say, he has come to your room to specifically seek you out, but here you are getting lost in nostalgia on the floor. Anticipating builds in your guts seeing Jaehyun’s hesitancy and when he speaks up, you can only blink in surprise.

“Haerim and I… we don’t even have a song, you know. Is that a bad sign?”

You think back to Sungho stealing you away for your song, to Jaehyun’s eyes following you, to all the years when you thought that down the road you would be the right ones for each other without having to say anything.

“Are you having second thoughts?” You ask cautiously.

It’s exactly what you wanted to hear before you came to Jeju, you wanted him to have doubts, but it’s not as satisfying as you hoped it would be.

“I’m afraid she’s just settling with me and she will regret it,” Jaehyun mutters, staring at his polished shoes and the implications of his words boil your blood.

“Hey, come on! You’re such a catch! Anybody would be lucky to have you,” you don’t even care how loud your voice gets as you rush to protest because what? Somebody regretting being with Jaehyun? They would have to be mad. “Is it the money? Is that what makes you feel this way?”

You lower your voice because that’s the only reason you can think of. Does he feel pressured to provide Haerim the princess lifestyle she has grown up in? Did she or her family ever make him feel less because of his middle class background?

“No! That was never the issue with us. I don’t know… Sometimes I just feel like I’m not enough. Or that I’m actually too much,” he sighs, looking down at your hand over his, the first thing you could grab on in your vehement reactions. Your fingers tremble. “Before Haerim, you were the only person I was this comfortable with. But I held back even with you.”

“You did?” Your voice breaks as the arrow pierces deeper into your heart. Jaehyun looks into your eyes with a sad smile playing on his lips. In his eyes, you see a younger version of yourselves, naive and wild. Stupid.

“You never liked being held for long. You never liked hearing ‘cringe’ things like I love yous.”

Point well made. You were also always quick to argue with strangers who mistook you for a couple. When Jaehyun flirted, you flirted back twice as hard, going along with his mischief because he did that with all his friends, girls and boys alike, but you always treated it as a joke, even when it didn’t sound like one. It felt safer that way. Those I love yous though, they were as platonic as they could get and you rarely said it back. As if articulating them out loud would have changed everything.

“But… just because I’m not saying it out loud, it doesn’t mean I don’t–”

Surely he knows, he has to know. You have been friends for almost a decade. He’s one of the most important people in your life.

“I know, but Y/N… sometimes people need to hear it,” he whispers and there’s a moment there, suspended in time and space, as you look into his always warm chocolate brown eyes that you almost give in. Your heart feels like it’s on the verge of splitting open and spilling your guts. All the ugly parts, right here onto the pristine hotel corridor.

But then something buzzes and Jaehyun rips his gaze from you, his hand slipping from under yours to get his phone.

You clear your throat and look away, exhaling shakily.

“Uhm… I have to go. Haerim needs me,” your best friend excuses himself with worry evident in his voice and you wipe off the non-existent dirt from your clothes as you get up from the floor. 

“Yeah, of course, you should go,” you force a smile onto your lips.

“Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy that things are working out for you and Sungho. I know you don’t like excessive PDA and he seems to be similar in that sense which is great,” Jaehyun adds in a hurry, as if it’s an afterthought from your previous conversation.

It leaves you feeling gutted but you can do nothing but watch him walk away, back to his fiancée.

Sungho doesn’t say anything when he opens the door to you. He doesn’t even scold you for forgetting to take a key card with you. He doesn’t ask what you were doing out there in your sleepwear, but you have a feeling that he knows. He just puts away the book he has been reading and switches off the bedside lamp when you slip under the covers next to him.

It’s dark and quiet but sleep doesn’t come easy. After a few long minutes you give up.

“Sungho?”

He hums half-asleep.

“Was I mean? At the party?” You whisper, thinking back on your attitude and that maybe it was too much, maybe you made Haerim cry and Jaehyun will hate you for it when she tells him.

The question is followed by silence for long enough for you to think that Sungho might have fallen asleep in the meantime.

“No. You were just hurt,” he answers eventually with some tired rowdiness in his voice but his words wash over you like a balm you didn’t know you needed. If asked, you would blame your next actions on the sentimentality of the moment, on feeling seen and understood, but you damn hope nobody will ask why you snuggle close to your fake boyfriend, why you mold yourself against his side when you have a huge bed.

You feel Sungho tense against you, his body going rigid for a moment before relaxing. You half-expect him to laugh, to call you a child, to pull away–

But when he moves, it’s only to slide an arm under your head and hold you close.

Neither of you says anything and you close your eyes, your thundering heart calming down.

Even in the dark, there’s something comforting about Sungho’s closeness. He smells like fresh laundry and the hominess of movie dates. Like something loved and familiar.

You drift to dreamland within what feels like seconds.

2 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING

On Wednesday, you’re checking out the wedding venue. It’s decorated with lisianthus and tea roses and even though you have no idea how to tell apart one white flower from another white flower or tea roses from normal roses, Haerim felt it was important to point that detail out.

Jaehyun and she walk in the front, following the event manager, while Sungho and you are a few steps behind them. You really don’t get why you’re here though, not until the couple doesn’t agree on a color or a seating arrangement and suddenly, your opinion matters. Temporarily at least because at the end, Jaehyun will go with whatever Haerim wants anyways and she kisses him on the mouth for that. Whenever that happens, something uncomfortable brews in your stomach. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy, envy or something else entirely.

Admittedly, the cake tasting is the best part of the day’s itinerary. You take a picture of all six options to send them to Sanghyuk later, so he knows what he’s missing out on just because he couldn’t cancel his dance classes ahead of a competition.

“Here, try this,” Sungho holds out a forkful of the white chocolate vanilla cake for you while you’re angling your phone over another dessert. Without thinking, you lean in to let him feed you. You don’t really realise how corny it is until you notice Jaehyun’s surprised face, but even then you focus on Sungho beaming at you.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks with sparkling eyes and white-dusted mouth, his childlike enthusiasm endearing.

“Yeah, it’s really good,” you agree after swallowing. Then you reach out to wipe off the sugar powder from the corner of his lips. It’s a subtle action, you don’t really think much into it but color fills Sungho’s cheeks and you can’t help but think that it’s a good look on him.

On your way back you spontaneously end up at a noraebang. It’s Sungho’s idea because apparently he and Jaehyun promised to do a duet one day and it’s as good of a time as any. Haerim seems clearly uncomfortable with the idea of singing, so you tell her that it’s okay, she doesn’t have to come. The moment you tell her that though, something like determination flares in her eyes and she decides to join the fun anyways. Of course, she wouldn’t leave you alone with her fiance now, would she? You smile at her as if you didn’t see through her and tell her that she will be the first one to sing then.

It’s a mistake because Haerim comes over her discomfort halfway through the song but you have to listen to an IU song’s totally debauchered, off-key and zero rhythm version until the end. Nothing is sacred anymore. Not to mention how Jaehyun coos at her and tells her how well she did and you can just sit there and drink your soju like this performance didn’t traumatize your eardrums. Luckily, Sungho’s rendition of ballads and Jaehyun’s hip hop song covers raise the bar of the night.

The biggest surprise of the night comes later though, when after finishing your second bottle of peach flavoured soju, you go to the restroom and Haerim’s suddenly there by the time you open the door to the handwash area.

“Jeez,” you put a hand on your chest to ease the fright she caused while she just giggles, clearly more drunk than you are.

“Unnieee~ I’m so glad you’re here,” she mumbles as she half-hugs you from behind while you wash your hands, pressing her rosy cheeks against your shoulder. It’s almost unsettling because her clinginess is very Jaehyun-like. It’s cute. Not to mention, there’s nobody to fake niceties for there nor does she look like she’s in the state to do so, so she must actually mean it. You don’t know how to feel about that. “It’s so fun. I have always wondered how Jaehyun was at college, what it would have been like to be there together.”

“You didn’t miss out on a lot. Both of us were a mess at college,” you shake your head and close the tap. Haerim finds your answer quite funny because she’s chuckling right into the material of your shirt.

“Jaehyunnie is still a mess sometimes, but shh…” The girl’s head lulls to the side as she puts a finger against her lips. “I love  him a lot. He’s my mess.”

“Alright, he’s all yours,” you mutter, tasting the sharp bitterness of alcohol on your tongue as you peel her off your back, help her empty her stomach into the toilet bowl while holding her hair and walk her back to the karaoke room, so that your best friend can coddle her. You don’t miss the worried look on Sungho’s face as you sit down next to him. Somehow it makes you want to laugh… or cry. Or both.

Soju hits you harder than those cocktails from two days ago. You reach this conclusion on your own as you sit on the toilet lid in your hotel bathroom, feeling strangely emotional.

“They are perfect together, aren’t they?” You whisper, your bottom lip wobbling. It’s not a real question, you know the answer. “Whenever I watch them, I feel like a villain from a Disney original.”

Sungho moves smoothly around you, fluid like water. He doesn’t seem tipsy at all as he gets a makeup wipe from your bag and crouches down in front of you to assess the situation. You smile at him slowly, mellow before closing your eyes and only flinch a bit when the wet material touches your face. Sungho whispers sorry immediately as if it was his fault.

“I’m not jealous though. At least I don’t think so. Is it envy? That I think we could have had that?” you mumble, the words spilling out like something broke inside you. “Or maybe not. Is it weird that I only realised I have a crush to begin with when I moved away and couldn’t see him regularly? I didn’t even think about it until you asked.”

Sungho doesn’t answer, just continues to wipe away all the makeup products until your face is bare and glowy with your favourite night serum. He smoothes out the frown on your forehead with gentle fingers and when you blink your eyes open, you find his almond eyes bore into yours like he never wants to look away even if it hurts him.

“I think you need closure,” he says and from his mouth it sounds so simple, so logical. “Tell him how you feel and if he rejects you, at least you can move on.”

If he rejects you, he says as if you still had a chance, as if you didn’t spend the last four days watching the couple behaving disgustingly lovey-dovey. You shake your head vehemently.

“I can’t tell him. He will choose Haerim. Why wouldn’t he? She’s kind and pretty and rich. She’s perfect.”

Actually it’s not the rejection that scares you, you aren’t the type to take such things to heart. Losing your best friend is the scariest part of all.

“Y/N…” Sungho’s voice is soft like a lullaby as he calls your name and his thumb caressing your cheek is ever so gentle. “People don’t care about perfection when they fall in love. They just fall.”

You want to ask him if he’s familiar with the feeling. Of falling without knowing there’s a safety net. But exhaustion blankets your body like an invisible weight and your forehead drops onto his shoulder. Half-asleep, you hear him murmur something about you being a handful but it sounds terribly fond as he slides a hand underneath your knees and carries you to bed. You scrunch your nose at the tickling feelings of something in your face but soon your breathing evens out to the rhythm of fingers raking through your hair.

1 DAY UNTIL THE WEDDING

The day before the wedding starts with you dealing with the consequences of your drinking habits and making bad life decisions. Just the usual.

When Sungho gets back from the gym, you’re eating the hangover soup he has left behind with a sticky note on your bedside table. (You really don’t deserve his unwavering kindness; you owe him big time when you get back to Busan.) He greets you casually and heads to the bathroom only to make a double take and turn back around.

“Y/N… Why are we having a wedding dress in our room?” He asks suspiciously as he stares at the two garment bags hanging from the wardrobe’s doors, one of them unmistakably containing white silk material.

Well, about that…

“You stole Haerim’s wedding dress?” Sungho’s voice rises higher as realization dawns onto him.

“I can explain! I panicked,” you throw up your hands in defence and really, it wasn’t like you had planned it. It just happened.

You were still very much half-asleep and fighting demons (a headache) when the dress shop called saying that they could have your last dress delivered because they finished with the fitting. It was the shop assistant who brought up Haerim and how they couldn’t reach her earlier this morning. It just slipped out that they could deliver her dress to your hotel as well. You were just trying to be helpful until you realized this was the perfect opportunity to stir drama.

“So… let me get this straight: you want to test whether Haerim would throw a fit over the missing dress? Because if she doesn’t she might deserve your best friend?” Sungho tilts his head, confused. You don’t blame him. Your explanation was like 3 stars at best. Two and half for the effort probably.

“Exactly!”

Sungho stares at you in disbelief for five long seconds and just when you think he will let out a disappointed sigh or shoot you a judgemental look (you wouldn’t blame him for either), he bursts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing he has heard lately.

“You keep surprising me,” he shakes his head with an amused smile still playing on his lips before turning back towards the bathroom like he originally intended.

“That’s a good thing, right?” You call after him and even when the bathroom door is closed between you, you just raise your voice. “Right?”

You never get a verbal answer but Sungho doesn’t act differently while you get ready for the tea ceremony, so that’s good enough for you. When he gets your purse that you left behind and you fix his crooked tie, it’s actually awfully domestic. Maybe all those years studying film did both of you a favour because at this point you could win outstanding rookie actor awards.

By the time you make it to the gorgeous hanok house, the guests are already piling up. You recognize some from the cocktail party but see new faces too. Introductions are rushed though because the ceremony is starting with Jaehyun and Haerim in the front in traditional hanboks. Everybody has a tray of supplies in front of them and you all follow along with the instructor. Once it’s done and everybody enjoys their herbal tea, the event turns more flexible with most of the guests talking in the garden. With your awfully bitter tea in hand, at least you can’t get swayed by alcohol. You really should not drink because you keep getting yourself into ridiculous situations. But honestly, you’re good at making nonsense decisions even sober.

That’s why you play it safe after Sungho joins in on a conversation about FIFA with Haerim’s brother and rather look for familiar faces in the sea of people. You end up dissing the ex-boxfriend of one of the cousins you talked with a few days prior and the drama of it actually takes your mind off the craziness surrounding you for a bit. Then after putting down your empty cup in the kitchen area, you spot Jaehyun’s mother alone in the inner garden, admiring a small pond with koi fish. 

“Eomonim!” You greet her with a wide smile as you run up to her. The woman embraces you with all the motherly love she has to give. You never understood how Jaehyun could be so generous with his love and kindness even towards strangers, but after you met his family, it was easy to see. He had grown up surrounded by love and all of its forms. “How are you doing these days? Are your migraines getting better?”

“Yes, dear, thank you for asking. What about you? How is life in Busan treating you?” Jaehyun’s mother smiles, all warmth and familiarity. She’s genuinely interested when you tell her about the preparations for the upcoming BIFF festival. She has always been supportive and treated you like a daughter she never had. You remember Jaehyun coming back from winter break to the dorm with extra food for you as if your own mother didn’t send some.

“...so yeah, we will be pretty busy with Sungho,” you wrap up your yapping about the big annual project at your workplace. You’re excited because you genuinely love being involved in film-related events, so it’s something you like about your job even if it can be a pain in the ass a lot of times.

“Is Sungho the good looking man who came with you?” The woman nudges your arm playfully and you chuckle at that obviously teasing tone of hers.

“Yeah, that’s him,” you mutter hoping that she won’t ask details about your relationship because explicitly lying to Jaehyun’s mother would feel like a new low when she has been nothing but kind to you.

“I see. It’s funny now but for a while I thought that maybe you and Jaehyunie would… you know. Silly, I know, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” she says goodheartedly and the words lodge something in the back of your throat. You force a smile, hopefully a convincing one instead of one that says ‘you and I both, eomonim’.

The woman’s words stay with you even later, they follow you like a haunting ghost. You practically feel their effect whenever you catch a sight of Jaehyun smiling somewhere in the crowd. It’s half a cup of bitter nostalgia of could have beens and a splash of anger because were you really that delusional when you thought even just for a moment that he looked at you differently from how a best friend would? Was it that wrong of you to hope? You never liked being wrong.

You’re so deep in your thoughts that at first the cold drops on your shoulder don’t even register in your mind. Then suddenly like somebody opened a tap, it’s not just a few droplets anymore, it’s pouring against the bright summer sun’s backdrop. The guests yelp and scatter inside the hanok to save themselves from the rain. It’s a bit cramped like this, you only find a spot right under the roof where rainwater tickles down to a jar.

“Muffin, no! Come back here!” Somebody yells and you look around to see what’s the commotion about.

It turns out to be about a small Pomeranian running out to the rain probably chasing a butterfly or something. The elderly lady whose dog it must be however looks so distraught that she would definitely get up and go after the dog if Haerim’s aunt wasn’t stopping her. A little rain probably won’t hurt the puppy but if the gates are open and it goes out to the road…

You step out into the rain without thinking. You grab at your skirt to not step on its hem as your heels click on the cobblestone. It’s a warm early summer day, the raindrops feel almost refreshing against your skin, so you don’t mind it that much even though you can feel it soak the material of your dress and it starts uncomfortably sticking to your skin. You brush the wet strands of hair out of your face almost triumphant when rounding the hanok, you spot the cute dog waving its tail and staring at the wind chime by the gate. You let out a relieved chuckle as you approach it carefully to not spook it.

“Hey, Muffin, that’s not a toy, let’s go back,” you crouch down, smiling when the Pomeranian lets out adorable barks. Then the puppy starts sprinting straight towards you and a moment later you have an armful of fluffy cuteness. By the time you make it back to the hanok, your dress is drenched and stamped by muddy paws. It’s not a see-through material and laundry services exist for a reason, so you’re not worried too much but Haerim’s aunt and the dog owner lady are horrified, so they usher you towards the restroom in the back.

You’re halfway there, dripping all over the fine tiles despite the dry blanket somebody draped over your shoulders, when Jaehyun steps out to the corridor too. He has that concerned look on his face, the exact one he always had on when you did something stupid, something he would have also done if he were you, the one where you have always wondered: do friends look at each other like this? His mother’s words echo in your ears again but now they spur you on, to do something, to–

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Sungho steps right in front of you seemingly out of nowhere and startled, you halt in your steps to look up at him, at the clear worry in his eyes, his furrowed forehead and the jut of his lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of rain, I’m not made of sugar,” you tell him, aiming for lighthearted but there’s a strain in your voice you can’t help as you see Jaehyun stop short just a few steps behind him. Suddenly you don’t want him to come closer.

“You will catch a cold,” Sungho mumbles and he sounds exasperated as if you being sick was the worst thing that could happen on Earth. It’s sweet, the way he cares, and your breath hitches when he tucks your wet hair behind your ear and wipes the rain droplets from your face with a tissue. He’s a bit clumsy with it because he’s being overly careful. It’s as endearing as annoying because he’s getting nowhere like this. You reach up to take the tissue from him but instead, your fingers just curl around his hand and in that moment you both freeze.

Looking into his widened eyes forces you to re-evaluate the situation: the intimate closeness and the heat radiating off his body against your slightly shivering one. His fingertips tremble against your cheeks and deja vu hits you square in the chest, flashes of memories of him worrying and taking care of you. Not just here in Jeju but back in Busan too. You like to think that you’re independent, that you can handle anything on your own and you probably could but it’s nice to have somebody who is always there when you need it. You realise only now just how long he has been that person for you.

“Sungho,” you mumble, his name tasting sweet on your tongue as you take a shaky breath.

You’re distantly aware that it’s like those highlight moments of the romantic movies he likes, a scene you usually grimace at for being too cliché and cringe. Now, it feels like neither. Now, the pit-a-pat of rain in the background sounds like the echo of your heartbeat and everything around you seems dull except him: that unruly strand of hair falling into his eyes, the way his lips part and how the concern in his eyes turns into something softer. Something like a wish upon a star.

It almost happens in slow motion: you let your hand fall and it settles on his shoulder instead. You use it for balance when you push yourself up to the toes of your heels and give in to the urge to do something stupid like kiss him.

“Y/N?” Sungho’s breathless voice breaks the bewitchment when you’re barely a hair’s breadth away. You can even feel his hot breath on your mouth. “What are you doing?”

He sounds bewildered and it feels like a slap. The rejection stings more than you would have expected if you ever entertained the thought. Because it is a rejection, isn’t it? He could have just closed the distance instead of asking stupid questions. You feel yourself flush in embarrassment as you take a much needed step back to put some distance between you. For a moment you feel nauseous like you woke up with a hangover. You want to bite out a sarcastic answer like what does it look like? but end up swallowing it back and looking for a believable reason. An excuse that doesn’t make you feel cracked open, vulnerable, that doesn’t showcase just how much it hurt that he stopped you.

“Jaehyun watches, so I thought we could make him jealous,” you blurt out because it’s the easiest excuse, the stupidly obvious one because really, why else would you have tried to kiss your best friend who is also your temporary fake boyfriend if not so your supposed other best friend could see it and get jealous? It’s exactly the kind of plan you would have come up with. It’s a movie cliché, so Sungho should have seen it coming but instead you watch his face fall in real-time. You watch him gulp and his face morph into unrecognizable seriousness.

“Y/N… I’m a man too, you know?”

“Of course I know that,” you snort because how could you not? He might have a face prettier than the entire guest list of this wedding but at the end of the day he’s a guy. A guy who barely a minute ago looked like he wanted to kiss you. What were you supposed to think? And why does he suddenly think that you don’t view him as a man? It just doesn’t make sense.

“No. You don’t get it,” he says, firm and devastating. It sounds almost sad and you are so confused. The corner of Sungho’s mouth twitches like he wants to say something more but eventually talks himself out of it. He doesn’t say anything, just turns on his heels to walk out to the rain, leaving you shivering in the corridor.

“Did you two just have a fight?”

You jump a little in surprise when Jaehyun appears by your side. You kind of forgot about him with the whole almost kiss ordeal.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble because you never fought with Sungho before. Sure, you bickered a lot (mostly about movies and romance, or how you should take better care of yourself, or him not knowing how to loosen up, normal stuff like that, friends stuff) but this time there was no playful undertone to it. Normal friends don’t get into situations like this, do they?

“This really isn’t our day,” Jaehyun says wistfully and hands you a towel. You take it automatically and realize that it must have been why he approached you to begin with. It makes you want to laugh hysterically. Did you really almost think more into a towel?

“What’s wrong with yours?” You raise an eyebrow as you turn to him.

The tea ceremony was gorgeous and fancy and even the rain didn’t kill the mood. Everything looked perfect as an outsider. They will probably have the most beautiful wedding imaginable tomorrow and you will sit in the front row watching it happen because no amount of embarrassing stories of your best friend could apparently change Haerim’s mind nor does it seem like Jaehyun is having second thoughts. It’s exactly the kind of romance he has always wanted and you’re not selfish enough to take that away from him.

“I thought I lost the ring this morning and Haerim got mad about it. Luckily I found it but now she doesn’t have her dress because the assistant who handled the delivery is on vacation and they somehow don’t know where it was sent, so she’s panicking,” Jaehyun sighs and you try not to choke on thin air.

Shit. You kind of forgot about that too, that you have an entire wedding dress lying around in your hotel room. What sounded like the perfect kind of plan this morning, now doesn’t make you feel good at all. Especially because it just added to the pile of worries they already have about the wedding.

“Is she mad at you about that too?” You ask tentatively. Because him losing the ring is one thing but the dress… he has nothing to do with that.

“No. She thinks it’s her fault,” Jaehyun clarifies and you make a mental note about asking somebody at the hotel to take the dress to Haerim, saying it was mistakenly delivered to your room. You can at least solve one problem that easily.

“I’m sure it will be sorted out,” you pat Jaehyun’s slumped shoulder a bit awkwardly but he shoots you a grateful smile nevertheless.

“You should make up with Sungho. Or just tell me if you want me to give him The Talk again,” he grins, clearly joking because you never needed his intervention with your boyfriends but you appreciate his attempt to cheer you up. Well, aren’t you two a pair?

There’s cold medicine on your bedside table when you make it back to the hotel but Sungho’s nowhere to be found. His bag and clothes are still in the room, so he didn’t elope like a romance movie heroine. You knew he wouldn’t, he’s too much of a good person to turn his back on you even if you messed up, even if you could make up an excuse why he needed to go back to Busan.

You text him asking him where he is, trying to not sound like a worried – or worse, a possessive – girlfriend. In the meantime, you handle the wedding dress mishap as discreetly as you can, so there’s no evidence of your crime by the time Sungho eventually gets back.

You sit up straight in bed when the keypad chimes and the door opens, an unmistakable wave of awkwardness pulling you tight on strings like a marionette. It’s weird, being nervous around Sungho. He gives you a tight-lipped smile but goes straight to the bathroom without saying anything and in bed, he lies with his back to you for the first time since this whole sharing arrangement. The back of your throat itches with all the unsaid things burning inside. You can’t take this silence, especially because you know you’re the one to blame.

“Sungho…”

You try to make things right but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,” he says and it just feels wrong. Aren’t you supposed to be the one who apologies? And ‘snap at you’? Was it really that? He needs to work on his snapping skills if he wants to get that message across.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask quietly in the darkness of the room because you need to know, and you need to know how to make it up to him. You can't lose him over something like this. A silly misunderstanding, isn’t it? 

“No,” he says without a hesitation. It doesn’t sound like a lie but he still doesn’t turn around, so it doesn’t really ease the pressure on your chest.

“I’m sorry that I tried to kiss you,” you utter and just like that it’s out there. Bolded. Underlined. Acknowledged out loud. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter that you thought that it was mutual, that he was okay with it, you still feel bad for making him uncomfortable.

The sound Sungho lets out is an unfunny laugh, a little choked up.

“Y/N, it’s not…” He pauses then takes a deep breath like he’s preparing himself for something inevitable. “I’m not mad about that.”

You hold your breath but for three long seconds there’s nothing but silence. Even the hum of the AC quiets down and then–

“I’m mad because I wish it wasn’t just for the show.”

“What?” You mutter dumbly and your eyes widen in the dark even though you see nothing more than the silhouette of Sungho’s broad shoulders in an arm’s length.

“Good night, Y/N,” Sungho’s voice turns carefully neutral and firm. His dismissal sounds final and you respect him enough to give him the space he clearly asks for.

The hotel bed has never felt so huge, so cold. You lie awake, mulling over his words, until exhaustion drags you down just before the sun rises.

WEDDING DAY

As one of the universe’s unchangeable laws probably states: Sungho was right.

You hate to admit it but you do need closure. You need to close this chapter of your life because you can’t be hung up on Jaehyun. You want him to be happy more than anything and if Haerim makes him feel that way, that’s good enough for you, you will wish them nothing but happiness. But before that, you need him to know the truth. You are best friends after all, you can’t have a secret like this fester between you like a wound.

So yeah, first you deal with Jaehyun. Then, Sungho.

You knock on the slightly open bathroom door and wait for Sungho’s hum before you push it further. He stands in front of the mirror in the well-fitted white t-shirt he wears to sleep, shaving foam on his face and razor in hand.

“Uhm, I have a salon appointment with Haerim and the bridesmaids. And I… I also need to talk with Jaehyun,” you say, somehow nervous, which is ridiculous, but Sungho barely acknowledges the statement as he glides the razor blades across his jawline and your throat goes dry. Holy moly, since when have you found shaving hot? You quickly clear your throat. “Let’s meet at the reception before the wedding?”

“Yeah, okay, see you there,” Sungho agrees easily and you slip away before you could catch his eyes in the mirror following you.

The moment you step out of the hotel room, you text Jaehyun asking if he has time to meet you for a bit. You almost make up an excuse of going over your to-dos as his best woman as if you didn’t have a whole rehearsal two days ago but then decide against it because the Jaehyun you know isn’t the type who would only spare some of his time if it’s about the wedding, not even on his wedding day. When he texts back that he’s dropping Haerim off at the salon, suggesting to meet there, you agree in relief. It’s as good of a place as any.

By the time you get there, Jaehyun is already waiting for you. He has an extra cup of coffee in his hands and a smile on his face. The morning sunlight is hitting him just right and it reminds you of your college days when he would sunbathe while leaning against the brick walls on campus waiting for your class to end. You have always thought that he looked like a main character of a college romance drama but still rolled your eyes when girls walking by giggled at his sight. Now, he looks more mature – he’s wearing a tucked in dress shirt for god’s sake and not an oversized tee with baggy jeans – but his smile is the same, all teeth and wide enough to make his eyes narrow.

“Thanks,” you mutter and take the coffee he got for you. Iced Americano just how you like it.

Your nails dig into the plastic cup and the condensation dripping all over your fingers almost makes you forget that your palms are sweating for a reason that has nothing with the June weather. You need to get this over with.

“Let’s sit down. I have something to tell you,” you point towards the little park across the street. There’s no reason to prolong this anymore. It has already been too long.

“What’s going on? You’re scaring me,” Jaehyun says jokingly but he still follows your lead and sits down on the first bench you come across.

You take a deep breath and turn towards him, dozens of scenarios running through your head, dozens of what ifs that might drive you crazy. Funny how you’re the rational, T-type friend between the two of you but when it comes to Jaehyun, you’ve never been able to rationalize.

“Remember that silly promise we had? About marrying each other if things don’t work out?” You start off with an itchy feeling in the back of your throat. It’s like scraping at the edge of a plaster, getting ready to rip it off, mentally preparing for the pain.

“Yeah…”

“Well, it turns out I took it more seriously than I expected. I didn’t even realize how much until your invitation,” you let out a little laugh and it should be embarrassing but Jaehyun has lived through too many embarrassing things with you for the shame to really settle. “I know it’s too late to tell you now and it’s not like I expect anything but I need to get this off my chest.”

This is the moment. The summer sun paints a halo around Jaehyun. You squint to look at him and he stares back wide-eyed, not joking anymore. You wonder whether you ever stood a chance even before saying anything. Maybe you have already wasted it.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

It’s out. Clear as the sky, no room for misunderstanding and it feels–

Underwhelming.

You’re not even nervous about Jaehyun’s answer because you know what he will say and somehow you’re okay with it. Not disappointed or angry, just… relieved.

But the first thing he asks is: “What about Sungho?”

“We don’t date for real. We just faked it to make you jealous,” you wince as you say that last part out loud, the ice clinking loudly against the plastic cup in your hand, so you put it down. Suddenly, fake dating sounds like a worse thing to do than confessing to somebody soon-to-be married.

“Well, it kind of worked. I envied him for knowing you better now than I do,” Jaehyun says with no judgement in his eyes but his voice turns to that softer version of itself when he tries to comfort somebody. “But Y/N..,”

“You love Haerim. I know,” you cut him off with a half-smile because somehow the knowledge doesn’t hurt.

“There was a time when I could have loved you like that. But… it wouldn’t have worked with us,” Jaehyun says, pensive, melancholy seeping through his vowels, and the worst part is that you know he’s right. You’re too different. You would have said something harsh that only ended up with him being hurt or he wouldn’t have given you space when you needed it and the frustration of it would have driven you apart. It would have had a bitter end. You would have lost him eventually.

“I know,” you mutter but Jaehyun doesn’t seem quite finished.

“We have known each other for so long, Y/N, so let me be honest with you. I think you’re afraid to be vulnerable with somebody new and possibly get hurt. I don’t think you are really in love with me. I’m honoured if you are but… I think you just believe it’s safe. Loving me. Especially now,” he says and if it wasn’t him, you would probably feel annoyed having your feelings invalidated. But Jaehyun is one of the few people out there who really gets you. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s why it was surprisingly easy to accept the truth after you confirmed that Haerim loves him too. Maybe that’s why the whole thing with Sungho got so messy.

“That’s the most creative way anybody rejected me,” you sniffle with a chuckle stuck in your throat because for once you can’t help it. This feels like the end of something. Oh gosh, when did you become so emotional? It’s really unlike you.

“Come here,” Jaehyun opens his arms with a smile and even now he respects your boundaries, letting you come to him on your own terms. Can anybody really blame you for being a little bit in love with him?

“I’m sorry. For everything I did. The embarrassing stories, the– uhm, the wedding dress… I just… I was scared of losing you,” you murmur into his shoulder, feeling much lighter now that everything is out and you don’t have to pretend anymore or keep secrets.

“You won’t lose me. I will always be here. As your best friend. Or at least one of them,” Jaehyun promises, his hand’s pat-pat on your back a bit coddling. It makes you smile but the gesture freezes onto your face the next moment when you see Haerim next to their car and how she takes in the sight before turning on her heels.

You swear under your breath and stumble to your feet, peeling yourself out of Jaehyun’s arms.

“Haerim,” you explain simply when hurt starts showing in your best friend’s eyes and then he’s on his feet too, whipping his head towards the salon and his fiancée’s disappearing figure.

“Let me talk with her,” you stop Jaehyun with a hand on his chest before he could sprint after her and instead you’re the one running. It’s funny because you didn’t think you would actually chase somebody down like this. Ever. Normally you can’t even be bothered to run after the bus. Lucky for you (and your joke of a stamina), Haerim doesn’t actually run far. She has an appointment to have her hair and makeup done for the wedding after all.

“Haerim, wait!” You call after her after the salon’s automatic doors open for you and you see her round the corner. You don’t care about the receptionist who’s clearly annoyed that your loud ass interrupted her doomscrolling on Tiktok. At least, Haerim falters enough for you to catch up with her.

You aren’t sure how you expected her to react. She knows how touchy Jaehyun is with his friends, so the hug couldn’t have surprised her that much, but after everything you have done? Maybe she had the reason to be wary or angry or hurt. But when she turns around there’s only quiet confidence and determination in her eyes.

“What?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and raises her chin. Gone is the bubbly, excited girl and it feels shitty to know that you kind of deserve why she’s acting like this.

“I have something to tell you,” you say, getting ready for another rehearsed monologue you had time to put together during your restless night but Haerim doesn’t seem impressed.

“About why you took my wedding dress or is there something else I should know about?”

Oh.

“You knew?” You blurt out dumbly while the audience around you gasps at the information. Great, now your issues are broadcasted to an entire salon of girls getting their hair done.

“The staff told me they sent it to you, I just didn’t want Jaehyun to know,” Haerim explains and now it makes sense why the reason Jaehyun recited about the lost dress was so weird. But at the same time, the fact that she made it up just so your best friend wouldn’t know about your schemes is something you never expected.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I hoped you would return it,” she admits and her expression softens. “Look, I know you’re not a bad person. You went after my grandma’s dog, you comforted my cousin who got broken up with, you held my hair when I was sick and you are a big part of Jaehyun’s life whether I like it or not. But you have to understand that I don’t know where this puts us.”

Haerim casts her eyes down as she lets out a frustrated sigh.

Yeah, you get that. Jaehyun has always been ‘your person’ and you can’t imagine life without him. But now suddenly, there is another person in his life who is just as important as you if not more. It must have been weird on her end too, to accept a girl best friend who has been so deeply intertwined with Jaehyun’s past as you are.

“When he told me that he invited you I was scared because every time he talked about you he smiled. Sometimes randomly he mentioned you when something reminded him of you and I was afraid that maybe he was more attached than he realized. Of course, I was jealous and then you came and started telling me all these stupid things as if I cared that he didn’t shower for 3 days once in college or that he used to cuddle with you during horror movie nights.”

“I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea,” you mumble, ashamed because your attempts to draw them apart suddenly sound ridiculous. The strangers around you murmur amongst themselves though as if this was the best hot gossip they could have imagined. “Actually, I’m sorry for all the hurtful, embarrassing things I have done in the last few days. I have no better excuse than I was afraid that it would change everything between Jaehyun and me. He’s my best friend and I didn’t want to lose him. But I also want him to be happy. And it looks like he is. With you.”

You thought it would hurt to admit it but it feels a lot like relief. Like closure. Haerim seems to consider it. You and your change of heart, then she smiles a bit shyly and you can’t help but think that she’s cute.

“I really do love him, you know? I would have married him in a potato sack too if I had to. I don’t really care about the dress or this whole thing,” she waves around in the salon but she probably means everything else. Not just the professionally done hair, makeup, nails but also the fancy destination wedding, the detailed itinerary, the expensive cake, the flower arrangements and hundreds of guests. All that flitter and gold and carats on her ring finger. “Because I love him and if he wanted, I would run away with him.”

Somebody coos loudly at the romantic declaration from the background and for once, you don’t find it cringe because this is exactly the kind of love your best friend deserves. 

“I know we started off on the wrong foot. Mostly because of me. But if you would still like me as a sister, I would be happy to be one for you in the future. I mean it,” you promise and suddenly you have an armful of Woo Haerim with her doe eyes teary and lower lip trembling. It takes you a full five seconds to reciprocate the hug and not just stand there awkwardly.

Surprisingly it’s Gahyun, Haerim’s I’m-not-even-trying-to-pretend-to-like-you best friend, who saves you from dying from hug overload.

“Are you two coming or not?” She asks, shooting you a wary look which you kind of deserve. Haerim wipes her tears and links her arms with both of you and pulls you towards the hair dresser stations. Somewhere between getting your hair curled and sharing intel about the cute hotel receptionist guy with Gahyun you remember to send Jaehyun a text that it’s all good and for the first time you set foot on Jeju island you really think so.

At the wedding venue, a porter opens the orange taxi’s door from outside and offers you a hand. You have to lift the pink tulle skirt to avoid stepping on it as you get out and walk down the path framed by flowers. The material of your dress floats around you in the wind as you take the stairs up to the reception area. You spot Sungho in an elegant suit right as you pass through the floral arch and you see the moment he notices you too. His jaw goes slack for a moment, eyes widening in something akin to half-surprise, half-awe before he collects himself and walks up to you.

“You look… wow,” he whispers and his not quite eloquent compliment makes you smile. He must really be impressed because otherwise he’s usually more put together.

“Thanks but don’t get used to it. I can’t wait to put my normal shoes back on, these stiletto heels are killing my ankles,” you tell him with a lowered voice as if you were sharing a secret. It’s not really a secret though, not really, since he knows how you usually dress. Now, you feel a bit like Cinderella, all dolled up and everything. Sure, it feels nice to be pampered like this once in a while but it’s still a bit weird. The amount of hair and setting spray you have on has sent you to a coughing fit already.

“Anyways you look great too. I like what you did with your hair,” you reach up mindlessly to touch the blond strands now brushed out of his forehead. Then suddenly you remember that you aren’t quite okay now, so you retrieve your hand quickly.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. The gel feels weird,” Sungho cracks a smile and you let out a relieved chuckle. Maybe you will be okay after all.

“Touché.”

When he offers his hand, you don’t even hesitate to take it. You tell yourself that even though Jaehyun knows now that you aren’t dating for real, the rest of the guests don’t, so why not keep up the act? But deep down you know it’s for a much more selfish reason because having Sungho close is a privilege you used to take for granted.

The wedding is beautiful beyond words.

Haerim is even more gorgeous than when you last saw her in the dress. Now, she has this glow around her, a contagious happiness that spreads like a virus, so the ugly feeling of jealousy doesn’t come when you see Jaehyun beam at her. He actually tears up the moment he sees her walk down the aisle and Sungho has to hand out tissues to the ladies sitting on his other side during the vows. You and Sanghyuk are too busy documenting Jaehyun’s reaction for future blackmail purposes, of course.

Sanghyuk’s best man speech contains a few dad jokes only half the guest list appreciates – Sungho is one of them, so they get along well quickly. When it’s your turn as the best woman (because why not have one of each, right?), you wish Jaehyun and Haerim only happiness from the bottom of your heart and threaten your best friend that you will take his wife’s side if he messes this up. He promises he won’t and you believe him.

It’s ironic how a few days ago you were dead set on breaking them up, convincing yourself that what they had was fake but now you look at them and you get it, what Jaehyun meant when he said he just knew.

Too bad for you, you’re not that in tune with your feelings.

Too bad because it means your nosy best friend will take the matters into his own hands.

He catches you just when you managed to escape the ahjussis on the dancefloor.

“You know, Sungho is a great guy.”

You snort. Not because Sungho is not a great guy, admittedly he is, but because Jaehyun says it in that tone. The matchmaker one. Now that he’s married suddenly he’s giving you relationship advice, how ridiculous is that? 

“He’s just a friend,” you shoot him a side-glance and take a sip from the champagne glass you lifted from a passing waiter's tray.

“Like we were just friends, too?” Jaehyun wiggles his brows playfully and you want to call him out on the callout, to tell him it’s too soon for joking about that, that it’s a sensitive topic but somehow it’s not. You have always been easygoing friends. “You deserve happiness and I’m not saying you need a guy for that because hell no, but… maybe give him a chance. He looks at you like he has been waiting for one.”

“You’re hallucinating,” you roll your eyes but against your better judgement you let your gaze linger over Sungho awkwardly dancing with Jaehyun’s twelve-year-old cousin to a song from the 2000s.

It’s warm out here in the garden despite the shade the tent provides, so you can’t even blame Sungho for leaving his jacket at your table. But like this, with his rolled up sleeves his forearms are out in the open and you realize once again that you’re just a woman. Your throat feels suddenly dry.

“Am I?” Jaehyun raises a brow at you challengingly like he knows something you don’t. “Where do you think he was yesterday evening?

You freeze in the middle of a sip.

“Was he with you? What did he tell you?”

Your best friend has the audacity to shrug and ignore your burning questions. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“Argh, you’re the worst best friend ever,” you groan because it’s unfair how your two closest friends suddenly seem to have teamed up against you.

“You love me,” Jaehyun singsongs and not so subtly pushes you back towards the dancefloor after successfully stealing the champagne glass out of your hand. You barely manage a hissed yah before you stumble (stupid long skirt!) and suddenly there’s a warm hand on the small of your back to help you with balance.

“You good?” Sungho asks gently, soft concern lacing his vowels, and your heart flutters. It's almost like it cannot stop now that you have seen him in another light. Now that you allowed yourself to. Gosh, you won’t survive this last night in the hotel room with him. You will overthink sleeping next to him and make it weird. And of course, he will notice and it will be awkward again.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter, letting him pull you upright. His hand lingers on your waist a bit more, then he clears his throat and steps back. You miss his warmth already.

You need to be alone with him for a bit. You can’t do this (talk about feelings and such) in a room full of people. You could wait until the end of the party, until you’re both back at the hotel room but you don’t trust yourself to keep your courage and not use alcohol as a substitute if you have to wait for that long. Then tomorrow morning you fly back to Busan and go back to work on Monday, so everything will go back to normal. It’s now or never.

“Uhm, should we take a photo? To commemorate this crazy week? I think I saw a photobooth somewhere,” you blurt out the first idea that comes to your mind thinking about secluded places and point towards the quieter reception area. Sungho seems to consider it for a second, his eyes flitting towards that general direction before focusing back to you. At first, you think he will say no, that he will stop entertaining your whims, but then he chuckles like he can’t believe himself.

“Yeah, sure,” he says and follows you to the vintage style booth Haerim had rented for the event.

It’s cute, beige curtains and wooden walls, and most of all, narrow. You realize exactly how small it is after paying for two classic strips of photos and stepping back, your shoulder bumps into Sungho’s chest. When he immediately pulls away to give you more space like a gentleman, practically plastering himself against the wall, it stings a bit. For once, you don’t want space.

The first shutter catches you both off guard and you scramble to turn towards the camera and pay attention to the countdown of the second. The poses you come up with are awkward, generic V-signs and forced smiles. That simply won’t do, you decide, so in those ten seconds until the next shutter you do exactly three things:

Turn towards Sungho.

Take a step towards him.

And when he backs up against the wall, looking at you with wide eyes, you put a hand against the booth’s side next to his head like those ridiculous drama male leads do in the scenes where they tower over the female lead. Your heels might give you some boost but not that much, so you have to hope that Sungho’s heart rate is going up for all the right reasons even without that.

“Y/N?” He utters your name shakily, a bit breathless, and you think the way he says your name might be your favourite version to hear.

“We should talk about that almost kiss,” you say with forced nonchalance because it’s clearly the elephant in the room. You could probably leave and never bring it up again, acting as if it was just a fever dream, and then nothing would change between you but… haven’t things already changed?

“Now?” Sungho sounds bewildered, the third camera shot catching his surprise in real-time. Neither of you really pay attention anymore. 

“Isn’t it as good of a time as any?”

“I guess it is,” he agrees with a gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing, which shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. He doesn’t argue with you. You two argue a lot about small things but rarely do when it matters.

“I lied,” you blurt out, ripping off the bandaid, and at the confused look on Sungho’s face, you clarify. “I lied when I said it was because of Jaehyun. It wasn’t.”

You watch it closely, how the realization slowly dawns on Sungho about what it means. There are a lot of different emotions in his eyes only illuminated by the small booth’s even smaller screen but you would like to think one of them is hope or at least relief.

“Oh. That’s… good,” he mutters, a bit dumbly but he can even pull that off. He looks cute while doing so.

“I talked with him too. I told him everything and then he said something that made me realize that maybe I just treated him as an excuse to avoid real feelings. Maybe he was right and it was never really that kind of love. Otherwise I couldn’t be this genuinely happy for him, could I? So I was thinking–”

“Are you two done?” Somebody yells outside of the booth, effectively cutting off your ramble but they must reinforce their point by knocking on the booth’s wall beside the curtain. Sungho looks like he’s about to go out and apologize, which is absolutely not happening.

“No!” You yell back and quickly pay for another set of photos.

You turn back to Sungho now all fired up. You can’t believe you’re here. In Jeju, at this wedding, in this photo booth. That he came as your plus one, even went along with your fake dating scheme and comforted you when you were at your lowest. He’s either a pushover or you’re the luckiest girl out there.

“I keep thinking about what you said about wishing it wasn’t just for the show,” you admit, take a deep breath and bite the bullet. “Park Sungho… do you like me?”

It sounds unreal to your ears but you swear you can see his cheeks redden even in this shitty lighting. He casts his eyes down with a little giggle he always does when he’s embarrassed and it’s so fricking endearing you can’t believe you didn’t notice earlier.

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“You should know by now that I’m not good with feelings,” you grimace because that’s putting it lightly. But after this you will take Jaehyun’s advice and make sure the people who are important to you know it too.

“So… is this the part where you tell me you’re not ready for a relationship?” Sungho asks tentatively, looking a tad bit confused about the purpose of this discussion and well, okay, maybe you went off track from your original plan. Right, the kiss, taking a leap of faith and all that.

“No. This should be the part where I tell you that you deserve better. Look what I dragged you into. I’m a terrible person,” you sigh because you still feel bad about the entire Haerim incident and how you initially reacted to Jaehyun’s marriage news. Shouldn’t you first work on being a better friend before you could be anything else?

But Sungho is not having it, you being unkind to yourself.

“No, you’re not. A bit crazy? Yes. But you have a big heart. And frankly, I don’t want anybody else,” he gently tilts your head up with a tap on your chin, so he could look into your eyes and with sudden clarity you remember him telling you that people don’t fall for perfection. Even through your tipsy state, you remember how he looked at you then. Or when he wiped away the raindrops from your face. It didn’t make sense then but now you understand.

He’s holding back.

He’s just one push from the edge.

“Come on, you hate martyrs in movies. Don’t reject me because you think I’m better off with someone else. Reject me properly. Tell me you want to focus on yourself or that you need time to move on from Jaehyun. Tell me that you don’t see me as a man and that you can’t ever like me like tha–”

Sungho stops talking when you lips meet his. His eyes are comically wide for a long moment before he melts against you. You smile into the kiss as you let your heels touch the ground, knowing that Sungho will follow you down.

You pull away, mouth still grazing his, just to ask: “Did it seem like a rejection?”

Your hopefully-not-fake-anymore boyfriend smiles and kisses you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and gasp when your back hits the side of the tiny booth. Right, it’s probably not the most ideal place to do something like this.

“Can you two stop hogging up the photo booth to make out?” The same voice from before complains again and now Sungho looks mortified. He apologizes with cast down eyes the moment you pull the curtain to the side. You’re about to make a comment about envy to the impatient girl but Sungho knows you too well and he drags you away before you could make an even bigger scene. He also remembers to grab the four cut photos you snatch from him on the way back to the tables.

“This one’s definitely my favourite,” you point at the last little square which managed to capture perfectly the moment of your first kiss. “Maybe we should ditch the rest of the party and actually make out since we were rudely interrupted?”

You mean it as a joke because you should probably talk properly and because Sungho seems like the type who takes things slow. But he literally trips on his own foot and lets out a scandalized noise at your suggestion.

“Y/N!” He hisses and looks around to see if anybody heard. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not? We still have a fancy hotel room for tonight,” you wink and watch him go beetroot red. Oh, you’re gonna love making him blush. “But first, come on, let’s dance more. We need more songs for our playlist.”

It’s safe to say that your plan to stop this wedding epicly failed. But at least it got you a boyfriend who is also your best friend. Maybe one day you will marry him too. Not before you turn twenty-eight, but when you’re ready.

For now, it’s enough to just be happy.

END NOTES. originally i leaned more into the movie storyline, sungho would have been the fiance and it would have had a bittersweet ending (or i had a version with haerim actually planning to avoid an arranged marriage by marrying him) but 2k in when i started writing the scene in which originally the mc asked jaehyun to be her plus one for the wedding, i was like… wait, the fake dating potential! so i ended up re-writing the first two scenes and here we are. it was still fun to use the movie plot beats in this version. also i'm not sure i managed to get that across but mc liked sungho back in that flashback scene! she just thought it would be better to not ruin their co-worker friendship thing because of his reaction to the jaehyun picture. and because she's avoidant when it comes to feelings.

header pic from Hollywood Action MV Behind Sketch

☆ BOYNEXTDOOR masterlist

💌 askbox

ㅡ chapter 0/intro: hey guys lets make a separate chat and bet on his demise

ㅡ chapter 1: ur not getting the heart back

ㅡ chapter 2: wh lock tf in the game has started

ㅡ chapter 3: the "babe" incident