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Masterlist
Muted Hearts - Choi Seungcheol x f!oc x Xu Minghao
Iridescent Clouds - Moon Junhui x f!oc x Kwon Hoshi

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"Make sure you clean your face before coming over, i want my seat clean"
Hyung line MAKNAE LINE
The Thread That Knots Our Hearts
Pairing: Joshua x reader
Genre: Romance [nsfw]
Words: 6.3k
Synopsis: Joshua walks in his lover wearing his shirt for the first time and he can't help but tease you if you would be stealing his last name next.
Smut tags: Unprotected pwp, mention of horny teenagers but nothing crazy, begging, choking, hair pulling, dry humping, thigh riding, lots of praises and dirty talk, piv, creampie, overstimulation and multiple rounds of sex.
Note: This work is a gift for the celebration of Selenophy's First Writing Anniversary! Mdni divider by @/renyanovyn and bow divider by @/cursed-carmine.
You lean against the counter of the open kitchen, engulfed in your boyfriend's shirt, its fabric brushing your skin for the first time. The blue cloth floods down to your knees, covering your shorts along the way. Joshua pads into the living room, his eyebrow arching up in amusement as he lets out an appreciative whistle.
"Wow, you stole my heart first and now you have confiscated my shirt... What's next? My last name?"
"Is that a teaser?" You twin his arched eyebrow.
He grins, pulling you closer by the hem of his own stolen t-shirt.
"Oh, absolutely. But only because someone keeps giving me such good material to work withâfirst my hoodies, now this?" He playfully tugs at the collar of his shirt, which engulfs you before softening into a fond smile. "Though... if weâre being honest? I wouldnât mind sharing more than just my wardrobe."
You stay silent merely to provoke him.
"Wow. Cold as ice today, arenât we? And here I was just about to suggest a little field trip⊠yâknow, for research purposes." His eyes spark with mischief as he leans in slightly. "Ever seen what our last names look like side by side? Because I haveâand letâs just say⊠it fits."
"Absolutely not, they sound weird," you rib him just to earn another kick out of him.
He feigns offense as his lips fold down in exaggeration, resting his hand on his hip.
"Rude. And here I was, thinking you loved me. Turns out it was just for the convenient shirt supply all along."
Joshua tries to hold his faux-pout for a few moments longer, but a smirk eventually wins out. Instead, he reaches forward, tugging playfully at the sleeve of the shirt that's drowning you.
"Damnit, you caught onto my endgame," you huff good-naturally.
A rumble of laughter escapes him, his smirk curving into a wider, affectionate smile. He pulls you in closer, curling his arms around you and resting his chin on the top of your head.
"You know, for someone who's supposed to be the smart one in this relationship, you're shockingly transparent." He teases gently, his fingers ruffling your hair.
"Well, enjoy the privileges while they last," you smirk.
He heaves out a mock sigh, dramatically nuzzling his face against your head.
"Oh, I plan to, don't you worry. After allâ" his grip on you tightens fractionally, pulling you even closer "âI have no intention of letting you go. Ever." He murmurs, the words firm yet soft.
"When did the genre switch to horror?" You quip.
Joshua chuckles at your goofy response, leaning back slightly to look into your eyes. He imitates offense once more.
"Horror? Me? You're being dramatic." He coos melodramatically.
He leans forward again, continuing in a playful whisper. "Besides, the real horror story here is your habit of stealing all my clothes."
"No, that's a thriller," you retort.
"A thriller? Are you implying Iâm a mystery? Because let me tell youâ" his grin turns wicked as he leans in more, "âI donât think thereâs anything left to solve. You already stole my heart, my clothes... and now the plot twist?"
He pauses for dramatic effect before muttering: "Turns out⊠I never wanted it back."
"Shocker."
Joshua throws his head back with a loud, delighted laugh before pulling you into a tight hug, swaying slightly like heâs savoring the moment.
"Shocker? Nah. Just fact." He murmurs warmly in your ear. "But if weâre doing plot twists now⊠how about this one?"
He abruptly lifts you off the ground in one smooth motionâgrinning down at your startled face as if daring you to protest. "Turns out I also plan on stealing yours forever," he coos.
"If you are going to rob it, then at least do it smoothly."
He lets out an amused huff, carefully setting you back downâbut not before spinning you once just to show off. Then he leans in, hands sliding up to cradle your face with exaggeration of a theater.
"Fine. Smooth it is." His voice dips into a low octave, and a playful purr as his thumbs brush over your cheeks. "No more robbery⊠just graceful acquisition."
A beat passesâhis eyes flicker down to yoursâbefore he grins once more and whispers: "Still keeping the t-shirt though."
"Fine, you can keep it on credit for the ring," you loll your head, setting a condition.
A delightful laugh frees from his chest.
"Credit, huh? Sounds like you expect me to propose at some point," he teases.
Joshua's gaze shifts from gaiety to something more serious; his smile tenders more. "Don't worry, you'll get your ring. But for nowâ"
He tugs playfully at the collar of the 'stolen't-shirt. "I'll keep the collateral."
"You are going to keep your own shirt as collateral?" You raise a brow, huffing out an amused snicker.
He grins down at you with a lively glint in his eyes, one hand still resting at your hip as the other continues to tug gently at the collar of the oversized t-shirt.
"You're clever, y'know that? But don't try to worm your way out of this one," he warns.
Leaning in more, his voice drops back down to an indistinct murmur. "This isn't just a random t-shirt anymore. It's a symbol of your crimes... and my undeniable, irresistible allure."
He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your cheek.
"Mrs. Hong I believe I need to assist collateral valuation of this shirt," he purrs in your ear, his fingertips sneaking under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles on your abdomen as his layered insinuation is crystal clear, making your breath hitch in your throat.
The test is definitely going to be long.
Blow the bow is the free extended version as a gift for my first writing anniversary!
A jovial, throaty laugh escapes him at your reactionâhis fingers still teasing under the hem of his shirt on you as he bends back just enough to catch your flustered expression.
"Oh? Did I finally manage to crack that infamous cool-girl act?" He smugly wiggles his brow, lips curving into a wicked grin. "Took me long enough... but damn if it wasn't worth the wait."
A beat passes before he tugs you flush against him again, nose brushing yours playfully. "Still wanna talk about collateral valuations?" He asks in a goading manner.
"You are crazy. Who asks for their own shirt as collateral?" You scoff, though a fading snicker lingers in your tone.
He laughs again, shrugging nonchalantly as his fingers continue their lazy, maddening circles against your skin.
"An opportunist, that's who," he grins foxily.
One eyebrow of his arches in challenge, his smile only widening at your flushed state and the hitch in your breath.
"Besides..." He pauses as he draws closer, his voice pitching to a teasing whisper. "You look damn good in my clothes." He leans in more, "and much better off with them."
"Hey!" you retort, red blossoming on your cheeks.
Your reaction makes him grin more, and he holds your hips closer. He advances, and the little space between you nearly vanishes.
"Aww, now look who's blushing," he coos.
Joshua gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your earâtrailing his fingers along your jawline and down your neck before continuing. "You're cute when you blush, y'know... and even cuter than that when you're flustered. And I'm just getting started."
He lets out a breathless chuckle, his hands sliding up to cradle your face once moreâthumbs brushing over the heat in your cheeks as he grins down at you.
"Oh no. Now she remembers?" His voice drips with playful arrogance. "Guess Iâll have to double down on my criminal activities then."
A beat passes before his expression softens into something warmer, and more genuine. His forehead presses lightly against yoursâhis next words are barely above a whisper:
"Lucky for you? I donât plan on stopping anytime soon," he purrs.
His fingers skim across the side of your neck, tracing over the flutter of your pulseâa small sigh escaping him as he leans in a little more, his breath warm and steady against your skin.
"Besides..." he mutters, his teasing tone making a comeback that always makes you give in, "there's no point trying to stop me, not when you're so damn cute when you're all worked up."
His hands slide back to your hips, pulling you snug against him. "Like you are right now."
He effortlessly picks you up, making you sit on the countertop. "So are you up to being an accomplice, Mrs. Hong?" He smugly arches an eyebrow.
"To-be Mrs. Hong," you correct him.
His lips curves up, and his eyes sparkle as he adjusts your position on the counterâhis hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gently parting them so he can get closer by stepping between them.
"To-be Mrs. Hong, huh?"
Joshua laughs softly as he leans in, brushing a feather-light kiss over your lips before murmuring against them, "I like the sound of that."
His digits continue their teasing journey up and down your thighs, his thumbs tracing small circles on the sensitive inner skin as he leans in again. This time his kiss is more insistentâdeeper, and hungrier.
You can't help but melt against him, your arms sliding around his neck as you press yourself flush against his body. The edge of the countertop is digging into the back of your thighs, but it's the last thing on your mind right nowânot when his lips are on yours and his hands are all over you, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You can feel the way his heart is pounding, matching yours beat for beat, as he pulls you even closerâhis touch both gentle and hungry at once.
He breaks the kiss with a stifled gasp, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging in just a little as he tries to catch his breath.
"You have no idea what you do to me." His voice is hoarse and rough, his words punctuated by hot, ragged breaths against your skin. He presses a line of kisses up the side of your neck, pausing at the sensitive spot under your ear to murmur:
"You drive me insane." He pants against your lips.
"I could ride you insane if you insist," you offer raunchily, not knowing where you mustered up that courage from.
He chokes on a laughâhalf shocked, half absurdly delightedâas his grip tightens around your thighs. His pupils are blown wide when he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.
"Oh? Now whoâs the criminal mastermind?" He stretches a smug grin; his voice laced with pure sinful amusement, fingers digging in as he leans closer againâlips brushing yours with every word: "Because I am absolutely insisting."
A beat passes before his hands slide up to cup under your knees, hiking them higher around his waist as he grins against your mouth. "Better make good on that threat then."
"Don't forget to give five stars and leave a sexy review," you wink.
Joshua lets out a sharp bark of laughter, pulling away just enough to look at you with a mixture of disbelief and hilarity.
"You're unbelievable, you know that? Even now... you still manage to make me laugh."
He pauses, his gaze roving over you with a new intensityâhot, almost feral. His hands slide back up to your hips, gripping them tightly and pulling you close to the edge of the counterâcloser to him.
"But believe me... the only review I'm interested in is the look on your face when I take you apart."
Your breath hitches at his dirty words, a fresh wave of heat pools low in your stomach as he presses against you again. You can feel the evidence of his desireârock hard against your thigh, and it sends a current of shivers down your spine. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to claim his lips in a hungry kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist.
He moans into the kiss, his hands gripping your thighs as he grinds against youâhis whole body taut with need. He presses your back further against the counter.
He captures your mouth again, his tongue demanding entrance as he deepens the kissâhis hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm against yours. He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Is this the kind of attention you wanted?" He asks, panting.
"Maybe you could make me see those stars of the review," you drawl raunchy with a wink.
His eyes glint with lust at your words, pupils blown wide with desire. "Oh, you want stars, huh? I'm gonna make you see galaxies." He grips your thighs harder and spreads them apart, rubbing his denim clad thigh against your crotch.
Joshua captures your mouth again in a bruising kiss, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He sucks on your tongue, swallowing your moans as he continues to grind against you with his thigh, applying pressure right where you need it most.
He pulls back just enough to look at youâyour lips swollen and wet from the kiss. He sees your eyes glazed over with lustâand it nearly undoes him. "You like that? My thigh rubbing against your pussy?"
The only reply you manage to give is a breathy exhale.
He swallows hard as he watches your face closely. Your silent response tells him everything he needs to knowâyour body arching slightly, inviting more contact. He presses his denim-covered thigh harder against your core, applying subtle pressure right where he knows you're sensitive. "So fucking pretty," he praises.
Your fingers curl around his arm, contemplating between pulling him closer or away from the sheer amount of pressure.
He loves seeing you like thisâcompletely undone by something so simple. He continues the steady pressure against your core, knowing the rough denim must be driving you crazy. "You're getting so wet through your shorts... I can feel it," he murmurs against your mouth.
He presses his thigh harder against you, creating delicious friction right against your clit. "Want me to stop?" He asks even though he knows the answerâyour hips are moving subtly against him now, seeking more pressure.
"No!" you protest with a scratchy wail.
Joshua smirks against your lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. "Good girl," he coos and continues the steady pressure, his hand moving to grip your hip roughly as he pulls you down harder against his thigh. "You're getting off on my thigh, aren't you?"
You whine, rubbing yourself against him more.
He watches you with lustful intent, his eyes glued to your face as you chase your pleasure against his leg. "Fuck, look at you... So fucking needy." He bites down on your lip hard, sucking on it gently before letting go. "Use my fucking leg like a good girl."
And you doâthoroughlyâdeliciously grind against his jeans.
His eyes nearly roll back at the sight of you riding his thigh like it's your personal sex toyâyour shorts soaked through with arousal. He spreads his legs wider to give you better access while keeping one hand firmly gripping your hip to control the rhythm. "That's it. Get yourself off," he encourages you.
You're vigorously thrusting against his leg, trying to reach climax. He's never seen anything so fucking hot in his life. "Look at you. Using me like your personal toy," he drags his words raunchily as he smirks against your mouth.
You quiver out a moan, rutting against him shamelessly with no self-regard left in your system. Your lips nip at the expanse between his shoulder and neck, making him mirror out a moan of his own.
The remaining thread of his self-control snaps at the feel of your lips and teeth grazing his neckâhis body shuddering with pleasure and possessiveness. "Fuckâbabyâstop," he pants but doesn't pull away; his hand on your hip grips you more firmly and pulls you even closer, letting you grind harder against him.
His head falls back, giving you full access to his neck as you mark him like an animal. He loves it. His other hand leaves your hip and slides to your ass, pulling you tighter against him as he begins thrusting his thigh upwards to meet your movements.
The friction is insaneâyour soaked shorts rubbing against his denim thigh at a perfect angle, rubbing against your clit with every thrust upwards. He becomes extremely aroused by watching you ride his clothed thigh. His digits squeeze your ass cheeks roughly. "Come on my thigh. Get yourself off just like that," he coos between messy and tough-curling kisses.
"Fuckâfuck," you stammer as your rhythm becomes irregular with the band in your abdomen close to snapping.
He can feel you're right on the edgeâyour movements becoming jerky, your moans turning into desperate sounds for the building up release. He spreads his thighs wider, giving you even more friction right where you need it most. "That's it. Fuck my leg. Come for me."
Your body suddenly tenses, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a loud moanâyour orgasm crashing over you like a heightening wave of flood. He watches with bated breath as your face contorts with pleasure, your body wracking with spasms as you ride his thigh mindlessly through your orgasm.
Joshua holds you close, letting you ride out your orgasm on his thigh. The sight of you losing control is the most erotic thing he's ever seenâyour face flushed, your mouth open in silent moans, your body trembling against him. He watches the rapid rise and fall of your chestâfuckâhe's never been more turned on in his life.
Once your body stops trembling, he spreads your legs wider around his thigh and gently pulls your soaked shorts aside with his fingers. He rubs his denim clad thigh directly against your sensitive clit. "Good girl. Came so prettily for me," he praises, kissing your neck gently.
He can feel your juices soaking through his jeans nowâyour orgasm was that intense, and he loves the fact that he made you drench his cloth. He gently nips and presses kisses along your jawline and neck, letting you come down from your high. "Look at you... completely destroyed from just dry humping my leg."
"Fuck, I need you," you pant for more, your digits clawing at his belt.
His breath catches in his throat at the leaking desperation in your wordsâhis cock throbbing painfully against his zipper. He grabs your wrists firmly but gently to stop you from unbuckling his belt. "Wait... Baby, wait." He kisses you deeply to distract you from your urgent need. "Not yet."
"Why?" you ask, whining and pouting.
He breaks the kiss to look at youâyour pupils blown up, and lips painted red and swollen from his kisses as your chest heaves. You look utterly wrecked and adorable. "Because I want to savor you," he says, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "I want to make love to you slowly."
"Fuck that," you grumble as your lips fold down. "You want to make love on this counter? I say we roast it crisp."
His eyes subtly widen at your sudden, aggressive, and dirty suggestion. He swallows hard, his mind immediately picturing you bent over the counter, his length slamming into you from behind. "Jesus Christ... You're not even giving me a chance to be romantic here," he complains.
"Save that for some other time," you whine, getting more and more impatient by the minute.
Joshua looks down at youâhis shirt riding up to your mid-thighs, your breasts pushed against him, your hair messy from his hands and heated kisses. He realizes arguing with a horny, post-orgasmic you is pointless, so he unbuckles his belt slowly.
He watches your face as he slowly unbuttons his pants and pulls out his rock hard length. You lick your lips unconsciously at the sightâyour hands reaching out to grab it immediately. He slaps your hand away gently. "Patience," he reminds sternly.
"Tch," you sulk instantly.
He chortles at your adorable impatience, his cock throbbing at the sight of you practically begging for it. "You're like a cat in heat right now," he smiles and wraps his hand around his shaft slowly, giving it a few steady pumps.
He lifts you up suddenlyâyour legs automatically wrap around his waist. He presses you further back on the icy surface of the counter, his length nestled between your thighs but not entering you yet. "Alright, alright. We'll do it your way," he gives in and begins grinding against you roughly, mimicking sex.
"This is not my wayâ"
"Shut up," he interrupts your complaint by kissing you deeply, his hips thrusting harder against your core. You moan into his mouth, and he smiles against your lips. "You want me to fuck you right here on this counter? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Fuck, I love horny you," he groans, reaching down to part your lips and positions his head at your entrance. "You're not even letting me put on a condom," he complains.
He knows he should probably stop and put on protectionâbut oh fuck, the idea of being inside you bare is tempting enough to throw caution out of the window. You're so wet that he slides right against your slit easily without entering. "Baby. We need a condom," he reminds you.
Joshua watches your faceâyour eyes glazed over with lust, your mouth open and breathless. He knows you're not thinking straight, and neither is he. He tests your wetness againâhis length sliding easily against your folds. No condom. He decides quickly.
He pushes his hips forward abruptlyâhis thick head popping inside you instantly unprotected. You both groan loudly at the feelingâhim at the tightness and warmth of your walls wrapped around his length, and you at the sudden fullness. "Fuck... So tight," he groans again. He slowly starts a steady rhythm, getting used to the bare feeling.
Joshua grabs your legs and throws them over his shouldersâgiving him deeper access. His hips pound into you roughly, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's bare inside youâfucking you raw on the kitchen counter like an animal. "Is this what you wanted?" He asks with a low grumble.
"Yeahâfuckâjust right there!"
His lips curves up at your desperate pleaâhis thrusts picking up pace. His hips rub your sweet spot deliciouslyâhis bare length feeling every inch of your tight gummy walls. He pulls out almost completely before slamming back inâmaking you yelp loudly.
Joshua wraps his digits around your throat firmlyânot squeezing but keeping you in place as he fucks you barbarously. He leans down to bite your nipple through the shirtâmaking you scream his name. "Louder," he demands as his hips snap against yours relentlessly.
He feels your pussy starting to flutter around his lengthâyour orgasm approaching quickly. He wraps his free hand around your waist to hold you in place as he starts jackhammering into youâhis pelvis hitting your clit with every thrust. "You're getting close. C'mon baby, spill on my dick." He growls against your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin.
Your moans fill the kitchen as you come undoneâyour pussy clamping down on his bare length like a vice. His hips keep pounding into you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're a sobbing mess beneath him. "Good girl," he praises, slowing down his thrusts to gentle circles against your G-spot.
Joshua watches you shatter apart beneath himâyour eyes rolling back, your legs trembling, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the counter. Your walls milking his bare cock relentlessly. "Fuck. So close." He pants as the bare sensations overwhelm him. "I'm gonna come inside you," he warns.
He slams into you one last timeâhis bare length pulsing and releasing deep inside your unprotected pussy. His semen coats your insides, mixing with your own juices. He stays buried inside you as his hips twitch slightly as he finishes emptying his load.
He stays buried inside you for a long whileâhis softening length still nestled deep in your painted walls. He presses his forehead against yours as both of you pant heavily. "We just had unprotected sex," he says, making you laugh weakly.
"Fuck it," you pant out.
"We just did," he points out.
You both share a silent look, then burst into laughter.
He pulls out gentlyâboth of you look down at the mess he's left behind. His semen leaks out of you, running down your thighs. He watches this with a lustful yet impressed smirkâproud of his handiwork. "We really fucked."
"Filling me up on the counter. What a chief," your lips curve up.
Joshua chuckles and swats your ass playfully. "Shut up. You loved every second of it," he points out, grabbing some paper towels and starts cleaning you up gentlyâwiping away the evidence of their unprotected encounter.
As he's cleaning you up, he can't help but notice how natural this feelsâhow right it feels to be taking care of you after fucking you senseless on his kitchen counter. He throws the paper towels away and pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head.
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who's completely fucked up right now," he murmurs softly, holding you tighter against him. His hand gently rubs your back in soothing circles. "Because, holy shit. We just had bare countertop sex like two horny teens."
"Well, horny teens don't stop at round one. They keep the show going," you drawl raunchily, your fingertip trailing down his navel.
His body tightens as your digits travel lower. He knows you're rightâhormonal teens would keep going until they were completely spent. He captures your hand and brings it to his lips, sucking on your fingertip. "Is that an invitation?" He hums against your skin.
"Would you accept it?" you counter back cockily, arching an eyebrow.
Joshua releases your finger with a pop and grins wolfishly. "Abso-fucking-lutely," he lifts you up suddenly, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist once again. He pads towards the bedroom with you in his arms. "Round two it is then."
He doesn't get to make it to the bed as you start peppering kisses against his neck and grinding against himâand suddenly he's pressing you against the wall next to the bedroom door, lifting your leg over his hip. "Fuck being gentle," he grumbles.
He slams his hard length back into your still-dripping and swollen pussy without a warning. You both groan loudlyâyour foreheads pressing against each other's as he begins rutting against the wall like an animal. "This is what you wanted, right? Fucking like horny teenagers?" He asks in a lower octave.
"Yeah, wild and rough," you agree, heaving out.
Your words make him go feral as he begins pounding into you savagely against the wallâhis hips snapping forward violently. Your tits bounce with each thrust, and he leans down to bite one roughly through his shirt that you're still wearing. "Fuck, you're still so damn tight," he groans.
He starts mauling your tits with his mouthâbiting, sucking, marking them through the fabric. His cock hits your cervix with every brutal thrustâmaking you scream in intense, painful pleasure. "Look at you, taking my big dick so well," he praises gruffly, reaching down to swat your ass hard.
You yelp.
Joshua slaps your ass againâloving the way it jiggles and turns beet red from his palm. He wraps your legs tighter around his waist and starts lifting you up and down on his cockâusing the wall for leverage to fuck you even deeper and harder. "Hold onto me, baby."
You wrap your arms around his neck tightlyâyour nails digging into his shoulders as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass with each thrustâmaking a wet slapping sound. "We're gonna fuck the fucking."
His dirty talking and rough handling send you over the edge quickly. You come undone around him immediatelyâyour pussy squelching and contracting on his length as you climax loudly. He grunts in satisfactionâloving how wet and noisy you are when you come. "That's it," he coos.
His hips keep fucking you through your orgasmâdrawing it out until you're a sobbing, panting mess against the wall. He pulls out suddenlyâhis cock glistening with your juices and his own semen from earlier. "Turn around," he orders roughly, spinning you around violently.
He presses your cheek against the wallâyour ass sticking out. He runs his hands over your bruised hips and slapped ass cheeks possessively. "Damnit, you look like a sin in my shirt," he groans and thrusts back into you abruptlyâmaking your tits slap against the wall.
Joshua spreads your cheeks apart and pulls out almost all the way before slamming back inâhis balls hitting your swollen lips with each forceful thrust. He leans forward, pressing his chest against your back and wrapping his arms under your thighs to pull your legs back and spread you wider.
You're completely opened up and helpless against the wallâcompletely at his mercy as he uses you ruthlessly for his pleasure. Your pussy is dripping and messy from both orgasms that his cock makes sloppy sounds as he fucks into you.
You moan, mewl and scratch against the wall from sheer pleasure.
Joshua notices your legs trembling and hears your desperate mewlsâknowing you're completely overwhelmed by his rough handling. He spreads your cheeks wider and starts fucking you at a brutal paceâhis hips slapping loudly against your ass. "Take it," he grunts.
Your pussy makes the lewdest noises as he pounds into your walls barbarouslyâyour juices coating his shaft and making everything slippery and drip. He reaches around to pinch your clitâknowing another orgasm will make everything even messier.
You cry out as your orgasm draws closer, but your senses are beginning to get fried out.
Your overwhelming sensations make you even more attractive to him. He realizes you're completely mindless and sensitiveâone big erogenous zone. He starts snapping his hips brutallyâhitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. "Fucking sensitive little thing," he grumbles.
Your legs completely give out as another mind-numbing orgasm washes over you. Joshua catches you before you fallâholding you up against the wall as he continues to fuck you through it. Your pussy is completely wrecked nowâcompletely swollen and dripping down your legs.
He groans loudly as he feels your ruined walls clenching rhythmically around his length. His digits spread your cheeks wide to watch his cock slamming into your gaping hole. "Shit."
He's never seen anything sexier than youâcompletely fucked out by him. Your tits bounce wildly against the wall, your legs tremble violently, and your pussy makes disgustingly loud noises as he fucks into it. "I'm gonna come inside you," he grunts.
You let out a broken cry, a mix of a plea for him to fill you up again and a warning that you're overwhelmed.
Your broken cry ignites a new wave of heat in his abdomen. He wraps his arms around your waist tighter and pulls you even flush against himâhis hips moving like a jackhammer as he chases his release. "I know, baby," he coos, trying to soothe your fried nerves.
"Fuck!âtoo muchâah, right there!"
His length rubs that sweet spot inside you that cuts off a circuit in your brain completely. Incoherent babble flutters out of youâyour words turning into desperate mewls as he drills into you savagely. Your pussy starts gushing uncontrollablyâsoaking around him. "Fucking hell."
His eyes roll back as you drench himâyour body going limp and overwhelmed. He loses control completelyâhis hips snapping forward violently as he empties himself inside you for one last time. His hot release mixes with your excessive fluidsâdripping down your legs.
He holds you up against the wallâboth of you completely spent and destroyed. Your pussy is absolutely ruinedâgushing and leaking floods of his semen and your own juices down your thighs. He's never seen anything more erotic in his life. "Shh, baby. I gotcha," he hums.
You pant, melting in his arms. Your mind is all mushy, and you're goneâfrom frequent rounds of delicious pleasure.
Joshua peppers your neck with soft kisses, bracing you firmly as he feels your body go limp against him. He knows you're completely spentâoverloaded with pleasure and completely satisfied. He pulls out slowlyâhis cum dripping out of your ruined hole as he carries you to the bed. "My poor girl," he coos, patting down your spiked strands.
He lays you down on the bed gently, tucking you under the covers to keep you warm. His eyes watch you for a momentâyour face flushed, your mouth open, and your body completely relaxed. He can't believe how fucking adorable you look and completely fucked out.
Joshua begins cleaning you up, wiping away the mess between your legs with a warm cloth. He gazes at the angry bruises on your hips and the red handprints on your ass cheeksâproof of how roughly he took you. He kisses each mark gently. "So damn perfect," he praises.
He climbs into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms and wrapping the blankets around both of you, and holds you closeâhis heart racing from the intense sex and his love for you. He buries his face in your hair and inhales your distinct scent. "I love you so fucking much," he murmurs softly, kissing your forehead gently.
"So when are you giving me your last name?" You ask suddenly.
He laughs softlyâamused by your ability to be coherent enough to joke around after being fucked into oblivion. "Are you seriously thinking about marriage right now? Your pussy is still leaking my cum and you want to talk wedding plans?" He smirks, raising a brow.
"Why not? Your fill reminded me of a wedding dress... y'know, they're both white," you blabber, trying to make your weird comparison sound coherent while your brain is still floating.
Joshua bursts into laughterâyour logical comparison between wedding dresses and his semen is hilarious to him. He pulls you closerâhis hand automatically going between your legs to feel the mess he's made inside you. "Baby... Your mind is broken," he grins, kissing your forehead again.
"Are you even going to marry me?" You ask as your lips fold down.
Joshua gazes down at youâhis expression softens at your pout. He knows you're half-joking, but he can also sense a hint of insecurity deeply layered underneath your words. He rolls you over onto your back and hovers over youâhis hands framing your face. "Of course I'm gonna marry you, you idiot," he says seriously.
"You better," you squint your eyes at him.
He chuckles, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. He is aware you're just playing around, but he also knows that deep down, you're serious about this. "I'll give you my last name the second you let me put a ring on that finger," he murmurs against your lips.
"I never stopped you from putting one," you say, darting from his eyes, choosing to stare at his jaw, where your digit trails.
He notices your evasive gaze and the way your finger is tracing his jawline. He grabs your hand firmly and brings it to his lipsâkissing your fingertips softly. "Then why am I still not married to you, huh?" he asks teasingly, nipping at your fingertip.
"Because you still haven't asked me properly," you retort, biting your inner cheek.
He chortles, rolling his eyes playfully, knowing you're right. He's never actually proposed properly. It's always been joking around or spontaneous moments. "So you're saying you want some big, romantic proposal?" He asks, his mind already racing with ideas.
"No, I just want you. Your last name and ring on me."
Joshua swallows thicklyâhis heart warming at your simple yet heartfelt response. He knows you don't need some big, flashy proposalâyou just want him, and that's more than enough. "Then you'll have it," he promises softly.
You cast him a small, shy smile. He wants to tease you more, but your brain is still fogged up from intense rounds of sex, and it's really not the right time to discuss such a serious topic right now.
"Go to sleep now," he coos, kissing your temple.
You nod drowsily, already feeling your eyes fluttering shut. His arms wrap tightly around you and adjust the blanket up over both of you again. He knows you're exhaustedâboth physically and mentally. He also knows that you're the only woman he's ever wanted to marry.
He spoons you from behind, pecking your shoulder. He smiles knowingly to himself as he looks at the framed picture of you two resting on the shelf. It captures the happy couple surrounded by lush greenery. His arm rests on your waist and you make the peace sign, both of grinning in the frame but what Joshua smiles about right now is not the picture of your first anniversaryâit's about a small box cozying a ring hiding behind it on the shelf.
Author's Note:
Is it obvious I pretty much gave up on this one lol?
Anyways
This you? đ€š
Muted Hearts - Epilogue
It's too much to mend You're the hug that had to end Though I've tried to hold on And if you knew me at all You wouldn't try to keep me small Who would do that to a friend Let alone the one you love?
Xu Minghao, 2028
Paris has a way of making people believe theyâre living inside a photographâsoft edges, cold air, everything washed in a pale shade of blue. But walking alone along the Seine, I realize the city only feels romantic when your heart is quiet.
Mine isnât.
The river glimmers under the winter dusk, rippling like itâs carrying memories I tried to leave behind years ago. I lean against the railing, let the iron bite into my palms, and breathe out slowly.
Three years. Three years since Sua left for Paris. And somehow, the ache hasnât shifted an inch.
I thought time would dull it. I thought distance would turn everything into a harmless story.
Instead, standing here, I feel exactly like I did at twenty-oneâyoung, unsure, holding my breath without realizing it.
Funny, how easily the past returns.
One moment Iâm staring at the river, and the next Iâm remembering her at twenty-six: small, loud, a little chaotic in that way only she could pull off. She had a way of filling rooms with noise, hands always moving, laughter spilling out before she even finished a joke. And her laugh stayed with me.
And now sheâs thirty-one.
Older than me by two years, glowing in a way that comes from surviving life rather than escaping it. She moves differently nowâcalmer, more certain, like she finally learned how to inhabit her own skin.
But when she laughs⊠itâs the same sound. Light. Familiar. A quiet door opening inside my chest.
I close my eyes because the realization stings more than it should: Iâm not over her. Iâve never been.
â
People think my life got simpler after she left. That her departure was just a footnote in the chaos of fame.
But the truth is far messier.
When Sua disappeared to Paris, the fallout didnât hit me firstâit hit Seungcheol.
Hyung doesnât break loudly. He crumbles the way old paper doesâquiet, slow, unavoidable. I saw pieces of him fall every day.
The way he stopped humming before rehearsals. The way he lingered in empty practice rooms after everyone left. The way he stared at his phone like he was waiting for a call he already knew wouldnât come.
And on one of those nights, long after the others had gone home, he finally admitted, in a voice that barely carried:
âShe was the calmest part of my life.â
It felt like he was confessing to a betrayal he couldnât name.
And I⊠I felt something I shouldnât have.
Relief.
Because if he was losing herâ
Did that mean I had a chance?
I hated myself for thinking about it. For wanting something that hurt someone I respected so deeply.
But feelings are rarely polite. And mine had been waiting too long.
â
Eventually, I push myself away from the river and start walking without direction, letting the city guide me the way it always does when Iâm overwhelmed.
I donât even realize where my feet have taken me until Iâm standing in front of Dior.
The windows glow golden against the blue evening, warm and soft, like theyâre inviting me to forget everything for a moment.
Maybe thatâs why I walk in.
The scent of expensive perfume greets me, clean and floral. Soft music hums in the background. A staff member bows, recognizing me but keeping it discreet.
I move without thinking, past the bags and coats, toward the accessories where silk scarves drape like water.
I reach out and touch oneâpale cream, faint gold threads, delicate enough to feel like a secret.
Sua would look beautiful in this.
The thought appears naturally, like breathing.
Too naturally.
My chest tightens.
Itâs ridiculous. I shouldnât be standing here thinking about her like this. I shouldnât be imagining how sheâd look in something I picked, or how sheâd scrunch her nose before refusing the gift, claiming itâs too much.
I can practically hear her voice:
âMinghao, no. Are you crazy? Iâm not wearing a Dior scarf.â
And I can hear mine, tooâtired, amused, trying not to smile:
âCome on. Itâs cheap. Iâm a superstar.â
I swallow, suddenly aware of the sting forming behind my eyes.
Great. Perfect. Of all places to cryâa Dior store.
I clear my throat, grab the scarf, and carry it to the counter.
âGift wrap it,â I say.
The employee smiles gently. âA special someone?â
I hesitated for only a moment.
ââŠSomething like that.â
They wrap it in black and gold, tie a ribbon so flawless it almost hurts to look at. I take the bag, feeling its weightânot heavy, but significant.
When I step back outside, Paris feels colderânot the air, but something inside me settling into clarity.
Because standing there on the empty street, clutching a gift for a woman who may never accept it, the truth finally lands, soft but devastating:
I never moved on from Jang Sua. Not three years ago. Not last year.Â
Not even yesterday.
And worseâ This time, I want to fight for her.
Even if it makes me selfish. Even if it means standing against fate, against hyung, against the history I was never part of but always felt.
Even if she doesnât choose me in the end.
For once, I want to try. Not as a patient friend. Not as the younger one who watched from afar.
But as the man Iâve become.
And if that makes me the villain⊠then so be it.
â
The air inside MusĂ©e dâOrsay always feels different. Quiet in a way that feels⊠intentional. Like the walls were built to absorb noise and leave only breath behind.
Sua walks in first.
And Paris light does her a favor. Again.
It pours through the massive clock windows, soft and golden, and it hits her hair in this angle that makes me want to punch the sun for trying to show off. She tucks a strand behind her ear, the motion familiar, the same as years agoâbut something about her is completely changed too. Stronger. Calmer. Like sheâs grown into her own silhouette.
She glances at me over her shoulder. âCome on, Hao. I know exactly which hall youâll like.â
Itâs stupidâhow her voice still does this to me. Like itâs brushing dust off memories I didnât realize Iâd kept so carefully.
I follow her past marble sculptures and high arches. Iâve been here a dozen times, but today the museum feels new. Maybe because sheâs the one leading me. Maybe because Iâm watching her, not the art.
She stops in front of a massive canvas.
A Degas.
Of course itâs Degas.
Muted colors, soft brushwork, dancers frozen mid-motionâall things I love. But for a moment, the painting might as well be a blank wall, because all I can focus on is the way Suaâs eyes soften when she looks at it.
She steps closer, hands clasped in front of her.
âI always liked this one,â she murmurs. âItâs messy up close. But if you step backâŠâ
She takes two small steps back, demonstrating.
ââŠit makes sense again.â
I could tell her thatâs the same way I feel about her. Up close sheâs too muchâtoo bright, too brave, too honest. But when I step backâ She makes sense of every chaotic thing in my chest.
I donât say it.
Instead, I watch the way her lashes flutter when she leans closer to study a brushstroke, the way her breath hitches softly, the way her brows knit as she tries to decode the artistâs intention.
Sheâs been here a thousand times, but she looks like sheâs seeing it for the first time.
And I⊠Iâm not looking at Degas at all.
Iâm looking at her.
She must feel it, because she suddenly stills. The air around us shifts.
Slowly, she turns her head.
Her eyes meet mine.
And itâs over for me.
Completely over.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â she asks softly.
I swallow, but it does nothing to loosen the tightness in my throat.
âSorry,â I murmured. âI just⊠havenât seen you this close in a long time.â
Her breath catches. Just slightly. But I see it.
Her gaze flickers downâto my mouthâthen back up. Itâs fast, subtle, but Iâve spent years learning how to read tiny details in people.
She knows. She feels this too.
I step closer.
The museum is quiet enough that I can hear her inhale. Quiet enough that the space between us suddenly feels like a live wire.
âLook,â she whispers, motioning at the painting again. âThe layering here isââ
She doesnât finish.
Because I lift my hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like Iâm touching something sacred.
My fingers hover for a secondâ God, I didnât expect to be this nervousâ and then I slip two fingers under her chin.
Just enough to guide her face upward.
To the painting.
To me.
Her lips part. She freezesâbut she doesnât pull back.
Her skin is warm under my touch, soft in a way that feels unfair.
I lower my voice.
âThere,â I murmur, pointing at a delicate brushstroke with my other hand. âThe texture. You used to notice this before I did.â
She doesnât even look at the painting. Sheâs looking at me.
And ohâ her eyes.
Theyâre exactly the same as the day when we first met. Wide, curious, easy to read if you knew how. But now thereâs something deeper under it. Something heavier.
I step closer. Close enough to feel her breath on my jaw.
Her eyes flicker to my lips again.
Itâs small. Barely a twitch. But itâs enough.
I lean in.
Just a little. Just enough that the world blurs behind her.
Her breath catches. Her hands tremble.
She moves in too.
Slow. Careful.
Like weâre both afraid to scare the moment away.
Our noses almost brush.
Almost.
Almost.
And thenâ
She steps back. Just half a step. Small enough to look accidental. Big enough to break me.
ââŠHao,â she whispers, voice unsteady. âDonât start something we canât finish.â
The sting is instant. Sharp. Precise.
But I donât show it.
Instead, I smileâa soft one, the kind that tries to hide an entire storm behind its edges.
âIâm not starting anything,â I murmured. âIâm just⊠catching up.â
Her eyes soften.
She knows what I mean. She knows exactly how much Iâve missed her. How much I shouldnât want her. How much I do anyway.
She looks down at her shoes, cheeks flushed.
Silence fills the space between us againâ but this time itâs heavier. Charged.
I drop my hand from her chin slowly. Carefully. Like letting go of something Iâm not sure Iâll ever be allowed to touch again.
She exhales shakily.
And for a momentâjust oneâ I swear she leans toward me again.
But she stops herself.
Of course she does.
Because Sua is careful. Because Sua thinks ahead. Because Sua is the kind of person who knows that hearts are fragile and timing is cruel.
And Iâ Iâm the idiot who still hopes anyway.
â
We leave the museum quietly.
Not awkward. Not rushed. Just⊠thoughtful.
The winter air hits firstâcold, crisp, carrying the kind of Paris dusk that looks like it was made for confessions. Streetlights blink on one by one, washing the pavement in soft amber.
Sua rubs her palms together. âCold,â she mutters.
Without thinking, I slip my hands into my pockets so I donât reach for hers.
âLetâs get dinner,â I offer, keeping my voice light. âYou pick. You know the best places here.â
She smilesâsmall, shy, still a little shaken from what almost happened.
Almost. God, that word is going to kill me one day.
âOkay,â she says softly. âI know a place.â
â
The bistro Sua chooses looks like it was built out of candlelight and nostalgiaâeverything gold-tinged and a little cramped, tables pushed too close together like everyoneâs secrets are meant to overlap. My coat brushes hers as we sit, knees grazing. I pretend thatâs normal. I pretend Iâm not hyper-aware of every centimeter between us that doesnât exist anymore.
It feels like Paris is playing a prank on me. Like the city is whispering, oh, you think you moved on? Cute.
The waiter drops off wine. A deep red that smells like regret aged in oak barrels. Sua swirls hers slowly, looking at it like itâs a fortune teller.
âI forgot how early you start drinking here,â I tease.
She nudges her glass toward mine. âI forgot how early you used to judge me.â
We toastâsoftly, the way people do when theyâre scared of shattering something fragile.
The first sip hits warm. Too warm. Maybe itâs the wine. Maybe itâs her. Probably her.
âSo,â she says, leaning back. âThree years. Tell me everything. Start with something normal. Like⊠howâs your mom?â
My chest tightens. Thatâs the thing about Suaâshe always goes for the heart first, like itâs the most obvious entry point.
âSheâs good,â I say, fingers tapping my glass. âStill sending me videos of random cats she finds on the street. Still pretending she doesnât know how to use AirPods.â
Suaâs smile is immediate, soft. âShe still asks about me?â
âEvery time she sees a scarf she thinks youâd like,â I admit. âShe⊠really loved you.â
Suaâs gaze dips. She traces a finger on the condensation of her glass, drawing circles that disappear as fast as they form.
âI loved her too,â she says quietly.
The wine suddenly tastes heavier.
Thereâs a pauseânot awkward, just⊠dense. Like weâre standing at the edge of a memory we donât know how to walk through without falling in.
âYour turn,â I say. âHowâs Paris been treating you?â
Sua laughs, but itâs small. âHonestly? I donât know. Some days I think Iâm living the dream. Some days I think Iâm running away. And some daysâŠâ She trails off.
âSome days?â I prompt.
âSome days I wake up and think of home. And I donât even know what âhomeâ means anymore.â
Her voice is too honest. Honest in the way it used to be at 2 a.m. on rooftops when we were younger and dumb and thought the world was a little kinder.
âI get that,â I say.
She looks up sharply. âYou do?â
âYeah. I spent the last three years watching everyone heal in different waysâŠâ I swallow. âAnd me somewhere in the middle.â
Suaâs breath catches. She tries to hide it with another sip of wine.
I continue, because if I stop, I wonât say it at all.
âYou know what was the worst part?â I ask. âWhat?â âFeeling like the only person who wasnât allowed to break.â
Her face shiftsâsomething like guilt, something like tenderness.
âMinghaoâŠâ
âI had to watch two people I cared about fall apart,â I say. âAnd when I almost fell too, there was no one to catch me.â
She reaches across the tableâinstinct, reflexâthen freezes halfway. Her hand hovers there, midair, like sheâs afraid of her own impulse.
I force a smile. âItâs fine. Thatâs old news.â
But my voice cracks on old.
Sua slowly retracts her hand, but her eyes stay on me, searching, like sheâs trying to read the parts of me she forgot existed.
âYou know,â she says softly, âyou look different now.â
âOlder?â I tease.
âStronger,â she corrects. âQuieter. Like you carry things but donât tell anyone.â
âThatâs not new.â
âNo,â she says, âbut the weight is.â
And she says it so gently I almost forget to breathe.
We fall into conversation after thatâdrifting between old memories and half-jokes, talking like people who used to know each otherâs schedules down to which day theyâd skip lunch.
We talk about art. About performing. About stupid gossip from home.
She tells me about the older woman at her workplace who mothers her too much. I tell her about Seungkwan panicking every tour season. She chokes on her wine laughing when I show her a picture of Dokyeomâs newest plant.
Itâs easy. Too easy. Like slipping back into a hoodie you thought you lost.
She laughs so hard her eyes disappear, shoulders shaking, hand hitting the table. GodâI forgot how much I loved that laugh.
And every time she leans closer, brushing my arm by accident, something in my ribs flickers like itâs trying to remember being alive.
Then she asks about it.
Because of course she does.
âSo,â she says teasingly, eyes glinting over her wine glass, âhow about you, Mr. Superstar? Have any girlfriends since I left?â
Itâs playful. Light. But her shoulders go tense, like sheâs bracing herself.
I could lie. I could laugh it off.
But Iâm too tired for halfway truths.
âI tried,â I say.
Her smile falters.
âBut no one ever felt like you.â
The words come out quiet. Almost conversational. But they land between us like a confession.
Sua freezesânot dramatically, just a tiny, startled halt, like someone hit pause right when her heart was mid-beat.
Her eyes widened just a little. Her fingers stop playing with her glass. She inhalesâbut forgets to finish it.
And I know that look. I remember it from years ago. Itâs the look she gets when she wants something sheâs not supposed to want.
âMinghaoâŠâ she whispers.
Her voice isnât angry. Or smug. Itâs shaken.
âWe shouldnât talk like that,â she says. âWeâre⊠older now. Wiser.â
I smile, soft. âAre we?â
âNo,â she admits, and it breaks something open inside me.
We sit there, drowning in things we wonât touch.
She looks down at her hands like theyâre betraying her. I look at her and try not to reach across the table again. She exhales slowly, like sheâs deflating.
For one suspended moment, with wine warming our bones and Paris humming outside, she almost looks like she might reach for me again.
But she doesnât.
And I pretend I donât feel the ghost of it.
â
The staircase to the rooftop complains with every stepâcreaking, rattling, betraying us to whatever security guard is probably sleeping downstairs. But Sua climbs it like she owns the place. Like she owns gravity. Like she owns me, honestly.
âSua,â I hissed under my breath, trying to keep my voice down even though laughter is already threatening to leak out. âThis is definitely private.â
She waves her hand backwards without looking. âEverythingâs public until someone tells you no.â
Of course she says that. Of course I follow her anyway.
The door at the top clicks open easilyâlike the universe is enabling her crimesâand suddenly weâre on a small rooftop that looks forgotten by time, by renovations, by humans in general.
Just one old bench. A few winter-killed plants. A railing that looks like it was installed by someone who trusted too much.
And beyond all of that: Paris. A thousand lights smeared like watercolor across the horizon.
She steps out first. The wind tugs at her hair, slipping a strand across her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear slowly, almost absent-mindedly, eyes drifting across the skyline like sheâs scanning for memories.
She shiversâbarely noticeable, but I catch it.
My jacket is off my shoulders before I even think.
She turns, startled when I place it over her. Her fingers catch mine for half a second. Warm. Soft. Familiar.
âYouâve changed,â she says, tilting her head, that teasing lilt back in her voice.
I swallow. âNot enough, apparently.â
Her breath catchesâjust barely. Like she wasnât expecting honesty.
We sit on the little iron bench, close because the bench is small, but closer than we need to be. Our knees brush. Itâs nothing. Itâs everything. The wine bottle sits between us like a dangerous middleman.
She leans back, staring up at the sky.
âI forgot how pretty Paris is,â she murmurs.
I look at her profile, the way the city lights turn her eyes honey-warm. âYeah,â I say softly. âMe too.â
She groans dramatically. âOkay, that was cheesy.â
âBut it's true.â
âStill cheesy.â
But she smiles as she says it, and my chest feels like someone lit a candle in it.
We talk again, about the kind of things people only talk about when theyâre sitting too close and pretending nothing is happening.
She tells me about a bakery near her apartment that she swears has âlife-changing croissants.â I told her the tour messed up my internal clock so badly I can sleep standing up now. She confesses her coworkers are scared of her. I tell her Iâm still not convinced she isnât intimidating on purpose.
Her laugh comes easier with every minute. Looser. Warmer. Like wine trailing down the spine.
At one point she leans inâjust a centimeter too closeâand her laugh brushes my jaw. My pulse betrays me instantly.
Then it happens.
She glances at my mouth.
Fast. Instinctive. Like she didnât mean to, but her eyes just⊠went.
She freezes. I freeze harder.
The air goes thickâthe kind that feels like destiny inhaling sharply.
Her gaze flicks up to mine again. Her smile falters. Something shiftsâsomething tender, hesitant, unbearably familiar.
âStop looking at me like that,â she whispers, trying to tease, but it comes out breathier than she intends.
âLike what?â My voice is low, rough in a way I donât hear often.
She opens her mouthâcloses itâtries again. âI donât know. Like IâmâŠâ She swallows. âLike Iâm yours.â
Her words hit something old in me. Something bruised. Something that never healed right.
âSua,â I breathe.
But she shakes her head, tiny, fragile. âDonât,â she whispers. âNot if you donât mean it.â
I look at herâreally lookâand the wind feels louder suddenly, the city quieter.
âI always mean it,â I say.
Her breath stutters. Her hand movesâsmall, unconsciousâtoward my sleeve. Not grabbing. Just⊠touching. Like sheâs letting herself remember the shape of me.
We sit like that for a moment, suspended, both terrified to speak in case the spell breaks.
Then the wind blows again. She shivers.
I lean in without thinking. Not enough to kiss. Just enough that our foreheads almost touch.
âCold?â I murmur.
She shakes her head. âNo.â
But her voice trembles in the middleâjust once.
She looks at my mouth again.
Longer this time. Softer.
Like sheâs studying it. Like sheâs trying to decide something that scares her.
I feel her breath mix with mine. She leans inâbarely, but enough that heat curls low in my stomach.
I donât move. Iâm terrified if I do, sheâll pull away.
Her gaze flicks up. Our noses graze.
And then, quietlyâ âMinghao,â she whispers, voice cracking on the second syllable, âI⊠donât know what Iâm doing.â
âMe neither,â I admit.
Her lips quirk into the saddest, smallest smile.
Thenâ
Very slowly, like sheâs giving herself permission inch by inch, she lifts her hand to my jaw. Her thumb barely touches my skin.Â
A whisper of contact. The kind that says Iâve missed this more than Iâll ever admit.
I exhale shakily.
She leans inânot fully, not confidently. Just enough that I can feel the trembling in her breath, the uncertainty, the wanting.
âHaoâŠâ My name breaks on her tongue.
And then she moves.
A small, soft, terrifying kissâ Barely pressure. Barely time. Just her lips against mine like a secret she finally let slip.
I kiss backâgentle, careful, terrified that if I move too fast sheâll disappear.
One second. Two.
Then she pulls away, chest rising too fast, eyes wide like she just stepped off a cliff.
âWe shouldnât have,â she whispers.
Maybe. Sheâs right. Probably.
But her lips are still parted. Her hand is still on my jaw. And sheâs still leaning toward me.
ââŠBut you kissed me back.â
She closes her eyes. Pain flickers through her expression. But so does something else.
Wanting. Remembering. Considering.
âI know,â she breathes, voice shaking. âI know.â
â
The kiss still lingers on my lipsâwarm, trembling, unfinishedâwhen Sua pulls away. Her eyes wonât settle. Her breathingâs uneven. Her hand is still on my jaw, like she forgot to put it back.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Paris waits below us, glittering like itâs holding its breath on our behalf.
Then she pulls back. Slow. Like sheâs trying not to wake something.
âI shouldââ she begins.
I know what sheâs going to say. That she should go. That she shouldnât have kissed me. That this was a mistake.
I can already feel my chest tightening, preparing to hear it.
But the word never leaves her mouth.
Instead, she just swallows hard, blinking fast.
Sheâs not ready to say it. Iâm not ready to hear it.
So I take a step toward herânot close enough to the corner, but close enough she knows Iâm choosing her over fear.
âCome with me,â I say quietly.
She startles a little. âMinghaoââ
âJust⊠ten more minutes.â I breathe out, steady. Honest. Bare.
âIâm not ready to say goodnight.â
The wind moves around us. So does something between us.
For a second, she just looks at meâreally looks. Like sheâs searching for the trap, the danger, the thing that will make this make sense.
But thereâs nothing. Just me. Just her. Just tonight.
She hesitates.
Then nods.
Not big. Not confident. Just a small, fragile nod that still makes something in my chest bloom painfully wide.
We walk down the old staircase againâquieter this time. Our footsteps sound softer. Like the kiss stole all the sharp edges out of the world.
Outside, Paris feels colder. Brighter. More unreal.
We drift toward the river instinctively, pulled by the kind of gravity that doesnât need words. The Seine glints like silver ribbon under the city lights, and the stone path beside it is quiet except for our muffled steps.
We donât hold hands. But our shoulders brush every few seconds. Like punctuation marks. Like reminders.
Sua keeps her eyes on the river, but her mind is clearly miles away. Her breaths come uneven, like sheâs thinking too fast to breathe right.
I steal a glance at her.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold. Her lipsâgodâstill look soft, still look kiss-warm. She bites the corner of her mouth once, like sheâs trying to reel herself back in.
âAre you okay?â I ask gently.
Bad idea. She freezes.
âYeah.â Her voice cracks around the word. Then she clears her throat. âYeah. Iâm justâthinking.â
âAbout?â
She laughs onceâshort, shaky. âEverything.â
She doesnât say names. But I feel the ghost of one in the air anyway.
I swallow, trying to soften my voice. âYou donât have to pretend youâre not overwhelmed.â
âIâm not pretending,â she says. Then quieter: âOkay. Maybe a little.â
We walk in silence for a few seconds.
Her shoulder brushes mine againâ Not by accident this time.
She doesnât pull away. Neither do I.
The lamps along the river reflect in her eyesâthin streaks of gold that make her look almost undone. Like one more soft touch would make her spill everything sheâs been holding in.
She exhales shakily.
âMinghaoâŠâ
âMm?â
She slows her stepsânot stopping, just easing her speed like her thoughts got too heavy to carry at full pace.
âWhat⊠what are we doing?â
Her voice barely reaches me. Itâs small. Young. Afraid. Hopeful.
My heart squeezes.
âI donât know.â I shrug gently. âBut it feels⊠right to be here with you.â
She looks at me quicklyâlike she wasnât expecting me to say something that earnest.
Then she snortsâgod, I missed that soundâthen nudges me with her shoulder.
âDonât you dare.â
The river glimmers beside us. The city hums softly. And between usâwarmth, aching and quiet, stretching thin like a thread neither of us wants to let go.
Finally she says, âI keep thinking about the kiss.â
I choke on my breath slightly. âYeah?â
She nods, eyes on the ground. âYeah.â
My heartbeat becomes a full percussion ensemble.
âAnd?â I ask, softer.
She takes a breath. Then another.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
âAnd I didnât⊠want it to stop.â
The world tilts. Just a little.
I donât grab her hand. I donât pull her to me.
I just walk beside her, letting her confession settle in the air between us, warm and trembling.
âYou knowâŠâ she says after a long, shaky exhale, âI thought seeing you again would feel like closure.â
âAnd?â
âIt doesnât,â she admits. âIt feels likeâlike a book I thought I finished, but suddenly there are new pages.â
My throat tightens. Dangerously.
âSuaâŠâ
She shakes her head quickly. âNo. Donâtâdonât read into it. Iâm not⊠choosing. Iâm not making promises.â She glances up at me, eyes raw. âIâm just⊠telling you how it feels.â
I nod. Slow. Honest.
âThatâs enough for me.â
Our shoulders brush againâ This time lingering for a beat too long.
We donât say anything else for a while. We just walk. The dark water beside us. The city around us. The kiss behind us. Something new ahead.
Ten minutes, I said. But the night stretches on and neither of us says goodnight.
Not yet.
Not when everything feels like this.
Not when weâre both afraid of what going home alone will force us to admit.
â
The walk back to her apartment should be ten minutes. Paris makes it feel like two.
We donât talk. We donât touch. But our shoulders brush every few steps, like gravity keeps forgetting weâre not allowed to want each other.
And Godâ every time her sleeve whispers against my arm, my heartbeat trips like it wants to fall forward.
We stop at the turn to her street. The corner lamp spills a halo of gold over her, and she looks⊠not drunk. Not tipsy. Just overwhelmed. Like sheâs been carrying something for too long, and tonight loosened her fingers around it.
She exhales once. Slow. Watching the breath disappear into the cold.
I should let her go. I know I should.
But tonight⊠Tonight I was allowed to imagine another ending. A life where she laughed like that for me. Smile at me. Leaned toward me. Choose me.
I canât let the night end without asking. Even if I already know.
âSua,â I say, voice low.
She turns, eyes soft, too soft. The kind of soft that ruins a man.
I swallow. âCan youâjust⊠wait a second?â
Her brows knit together. Concerned. Curious. Afraid.
I take one breath. Then another. Then I ask the question thatâs been clawing at my ribs since she kissed me first on that rooftop:
âIf I ask you to choose me tonightâŠâ My voice cracks. I force it steady. ââŠwould you?â
The city goes quiet. Even the river holds its breath.
Sua doesnât answer. Not for five seconds. Not for ten.
She just stands there, eyes glimmering, mouth trembling like sheâs trying to keep herself together.
Then her gaze drops to the groundâ like sheâs ashamed of the truth sheâs about to say.
Her voice is barely air when it comes out.
ââŠI want to.â
My heart actually stutters. Stops. Starts again too fast.
But thenâ She looks up.
And thereâs a crack in her expression, thin and sharp and final.
âBut I canât.â
The words unravel me.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just quietlyâ cleanlyâ the way a thread snaps when itâs been pulled too tight.
She steps closer, like sheâs trying to fix it, even though we both know she canât.
Her fingers hover near my sleeve, almost touching, not quite.
âMinghao⊠I donât want to hurt you.â
I laugh once, soft, broken. âThatâs the funny part,â I murmur. âYouâre the only person who could.â
Her breath hiccups. She actually looks like she might cry.
Everything in me wants to reach for her. Pull her close. Tell her itâs okay. That I can wait. That I can be patient again. That I can survive on crumbs again.
But I canât. Not this time.
Because I love her too much to let her half-choose me.
And she loves him too much to fully choose me.
She whispers, âIâm sorry, Hao.â
I shake my head. âNo. Donât be. I knew.â My voice slips. âI knew before I asked.â
The air between us thickensâ heavy, aching, familiar.
Then I do something stupid. Or maybe brave. Or maybe just inevitable.
I lift a hand. Slow, so slow. Give her time to pull away.
She doesnât.
She leans into the touch like sheâs been waiting for it for years.
My palm cups the side of her face. Warm skin. Wet lashes. A tremble in her breath.
âCome here,â I whisper.
She steps into me. Her forehead touches my collarbone. Her hands clutch my coat like she canât stop herself.
I hold her. God, I hold her like sheâs everything I ever wanted and everything Iâm about to lose.
Her shoulders shake once. Barely.
I press a kissâ gentle careful almost reverentâ to her forehead.
She freezes.
Then exhales like the sound itself is breaking her apart.
I pull back just enough to see her face.
âThen I hopeââ My throat closes.
I will try again. âI hope whoever you choose makes you happy. Really.â
Her lips part. She looks devastated. Like she wants to say something but canât. Like the universe swallowed her voice.
If I stay one more second, Iâll ask her again. And sheâll hesitate again. And maybeâmaybeâ sheâll say yes.
But she shouldnât. Not like this. Not when her heart is still somewhere in Seoul wearing a black hoodie and a guilty, desperate smile.
So I step back.
One step. Two.
Her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me.
I smileâ the saddest smile Iâve ever wornâ and whisper,
âGoodnight, Sua.â
Then I turn away. I walk first.
Because if she walks away from me, Iâll chase her. And if I stay, Iâll kiss her again. And if she asks me to stay, Iâll stay forever.
So I leave.
Not because I want to. But because loving her sometimes means walking away before she has to watch me break.
Behind me, she doesnât call my name.
But I hear her breath hitch. And thatâs enough to ruin me all over again. ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ HI GUYSSSS OMG ITS BEEN SO LONG!!!! I finally get used to all the chaos around me and managed to find some free time to finish this!! Pls enjoy and see u soon! Oh, and, to read the first episode of Muted Hearts, please click here <3
PLS BRING BACK THIS HAIR đđđ

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Muted Hearts - Epilogue
It's too much to mend You're the hug that had to end Though I've tried to hold on And if you knew me at all You wouldn't try to keep me small Who would do that to a friend Let alone the one you love?
Xu Minghao, 2028
Paris has a way of making people believe theyâre living inside a photographâsoft edges, cold air, everything washed in a pale shade of blue. But walking alone along the Seine, I realize the city only feels romantic when your heart is quiet.
Mine isnât.
The river glimmers under the winter dusk, rippling like itâs carrying memories I tried to leave behind years ago. I lean against the railing, let the iron bite into my palms, and breathe out slowly.
Three years. Three years since Sua left for Paris. And somehow, the ache hasnât shifted an inch.
I thought time would dull it. I thought distance would turn everything into a harmless story.
Instead, standing here, I feel exactly like I did at twenty-oneâyoung, unsure, holding my breath without realizing it.
Funny, how easily the past returns.
One moment Iâm staring at the river, and the next Iâm remembering her at twenty-six: small, loud, a little chaotic in that way only she could pull off. She had a way of filling rooms with noise, hands always moving, laughter spilling out before she even finished a joke. And her laugh stayed with me.
And now sheâs thirty-one.
Older than me by two years, glowing in a way that comes from surviving life rather than escaping it. She moves differently nowâcalmer, more certain, like she finally learned how to inhabit her own skin.
But when she laughs⊠itâs the same sound. Light. Familiar. A quiet door opening inside my chest.
I close my eyes because the realization stings more than it should: Iâm not over her. Iâve never been.
â
People think my life got simpler after she left. That her departure was just a footnote in the chaos of fame.
But the truth is far messier.
When Sua disappeared to Paris, the fallout didnât hit me firstâit hit Seungcheol.
Hyung doesnât break loudly. He crumbles the way old paper doesâquiet, slow, unavoidable. I saw pieces of him fall every day.
The way he stopped humming before rehearsals. The way he lingered in empty practice rooms after everyone left. The way he stared at his phone like he was waiting for a call he already knew wouldnât come.
And on one of those nights, long after the others had gone home, he finally admitted, in a voice that barely carried:
âShe was the calmest part of my life.â
It felt like he was confessing to a betrayal he couldnât name.
And I⊠I felt something I shouldnât have.
Relief.
Because if he was losing herâ
Did that mean I had a chance?
I hated myself for thinking about it. For wanting something that hurt someone I respected so deeply.
But feelings are rarely polite. And mine had been waiting too long.
â
Eventually, I push myself away from the river and start walking without direction, letting the city guide me the way it always does when Iâm overwhelmed.
I donât even realize where my feet have taken me until Iâm standing in front of Dior.
The windows glow golden against the blue evening, warm and soft, like theyâre inviting me to forget everything for a moment.
Maybe thatâs why I walk in.
The scent of expensive perfume greets me, clean and floral. Soft music hums in the background. A staff member bows, recognizing me but keeping it discreet.
I move without thinking, past the bags and coats, toward the accessories where silk scarves drape like water.
I reach out and touch oneâpale cream, faint gold threads, delicate enough to feel like a secret.
Sua would look beautiful in this.
The thought appears naturally, like breathing.
Too naturally.
My chest tightens.
Itâs ridiculous. I shouldnât be standing here thinking about her like this. I shouldnât be imagining how sheâd look in something I picked, or how sheâd scrunch her nose before refusing the gift, claiming itâs too much.
I can practically hear her voice:
âMinghao, no. Are you crazy? Iâm not wearing a Dior scarf.â
And I can hear mine, tooâtired, amused, trying not to smile:
âCome on. Itâs cheap. Iâm a superstar.â
I swallow, suddenly aware of the sting forming behind my eyes.
Great. Perfect. Of all places to cryâa Dior store.
I clear my throat, grab the scarf, and carry it to the counter.
âGift wrap it,â I say.
The employee smiles gently. âA special someone?â
I hesitated for only a moment.
ââŠSomething like that.â
They wrap it in black and gold, tie a ribbon so flawless it almost hurts to look at. I take the bag, feeling its weightânot heavy, but significant.
When I step back outside, Paris feels colderânot the air, but something inside me settling into clarity.
Because standing there on the empty street, clutching a gift for a woman who may never accept it, the truth finally lands, soft but devastating:
I never moved on from Jang Sua. Not three years ago. Not last year.Â
Not even yesterday.
And worseâ This time, I want to fight for her.
Even if it makes me selfish. Even if it means standing against fate, against hyung, against the history I was never part of but always felt.
Even if she doesnât choose me in the end.
For once, I want to try. Not as a patient friend. Not as the younger one who watched from afar.
But as the man Iâve become.
And if that makes me the villain⊠then so be it.
â
The air inside MusĂ©e dâOrsay always feels different. Quiet in a way that feels⊠intentional. Like the walls were built to absorb noise and leave only breath behind.
Sua walks in first.
And Paris light does her a favor. Again.
It pours through the massive clock windows, soft and golden, and it hits her hair in this angle that makes me want to punch the sun for trying to show off. She tucks a strand behind her ear, the motion familiar, the same as years agoâbut something about her is completely changed too. Stronger. Calmer. Like sheâs grown into her own silhouette.
She glances at me over her shoulder. âCome on, Hao. I know exactly which hall youâll like.â
Itâs stupidâhow her voice still does this to me. Like itâs brushing dust off memories I didnât realize Iâd kept so carefully.
I follow her past marble sculptures and high arches. Iâve been here a dozen times, but today the museum feels new. Maybe because sheâs the one leading me. Maybe because Iâm watching her, not the art.
She stops in front of a massive canvas.
A Degas.
Of course itâs Degas.
Muted colors, soft brushwork, dancers frozen mid-motionâall things I love. But for a moment, the painting might as well be a blank wall, because all I can focus on is the way Suaâs eyes soften when she looks at it.
She steps closer, hands clasped in front of her.
âI always liked this one,â she murmurs. âItâs messy up close. But if you step backâŠâ
She takes two small steps back, demonstrating.
ââŠit makes sense again.â
I could tell her thatâs the same way I feel about her. Up close sheâs too muchâtoo bright, too brave, too honest. But when I step backâ She makes sense of every chaotic thing in my chest.
I donât say it.
Instead, I watch the way her lashes flutter when she leans closer to study a brushstroke, the way her breath hitches softly, the way her brows knit as she tries to decode the artistâs intention.
Sheâs been here a thousand times, but she looks like sheâs seeing it for the first time.
And I⊠Iâm not looking at Degas at all.
Iâm looking at her.
She must feel it, because she suddenly stills. The air around us shifts.
Slowly, she turns her head.
Her eyes meet mine.
And itâs over for me.
Completely over.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â she asks softly.
I swallow, but it does nothing to loosen the tightness in my throat.
âSorry,â I murmured. âI just⊠havenât seen you this close in a long time.â
Her breath catches. Just slightly. But I see it.
Her gaze flickers downâto my mouthâthen back up. Itâs fast, subtle, but Iâve spent years learning how to read tiny details in people.
She knows. She feels this too.
I step closer.
The museum is quiet enough that I can hear her inhale. Quiet enough that the space between us suddenly feels like a live wire.
âLook,â she whispers, motioning at the painting again. âThe layering here isââ
She doesnât finish.
Because I lift my hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like Iâm touching something sacred.
My fingers hover for a secondâ God, I didnât expect to be this nervousâ and then I slip two fingers under her chin.
Just enough to guide her face upward.
To the painting.
To me.
Her lips part. She freezesâbut she doesnât pull back.
Her skin is warm under my touch, soft in a way that feels unfair.
I lower my voice.
âThere,â I murmur, pointing at a delicate brushstroke with my other hand. âThe texture. You used to notice this before I did.â
She doesnât even look at the painting. Sheâs looking at me.
And ohâ her eyes.
Theyâre exactly the same as the day when we first met. Wide, curious, easy to read if you knew how. But now thereâs something deeper under it. Something heavier.
I step closer. Close enough to feel her breath on my jaw.
Her eyes flicker to my lips again.
Itâs small. Barely a twitch. But itâs enough.
I lean in.
Just a little. Just enough that the world blurs behind her.
Her breath catches. Her hands tremble.
She moves in too.
Slow. Careful.
Like weâre both afraid to scare the moment away.
Our noses almost brush.
Almost.
Almost.
And thenâ
She steps back. Just half a step. Small enough to look accidental. Big enough to break me.
ââŠHao,â she whispers, voice unsteady. âDonât start something we canât finish.â
The sting is instant. Sharp. Precise.
But I donât show it.
Instead, I smileâa soft one, the kind that tries to hide an entire storm behind its edges.
âIâm not starting anything,â I murmured. âIâm just⊠catching up.â
Her eyes soften.
She knows what I mean. She knows exactly how much Iâve missed her. How much I shouldnât want her. How much I do anyway.
She looks down at her shoes, cheeks flushed.
Silence fills the space between us againâ but this time itâs heavier. Charged.
I drop my hand from her chin slowly. Carefully. Like letting go of something Iâm not sure Iâll ever be allowed to touch again.
She exhales shakily.
And for a momentâjust oneâ I swear she leans toward me again.
But she stops herself.
Of course she does.
Because Sua is careful. Because Sua thinks ahead. Because Sua is the kind of person who knows that hearts are fragile and timing is cruel.
And Iâ Iâm the idiot who still hopes anyway.
â
We leave the museum quietly.
Not awkward. Not rushed. Just⊠thoughtful.
The winter air hits firstâcold, crisp, carrying the kind of Paris dusk that looks like it was made for confessions. Streetlights blink on one by one, washing the pavement in soft amber.
Sua rubs her palms together. âCold,â she mutters.
Without thinking, I slip my hands into my pockets so I donât reach for hers.
âLetâs get dinner,â I offer, keeping my voice light. âYou pick. You know the best places here.â
She smilesâsmall, shy, still a little shaken from what almost happened.
Almost. God, that word is going to kill me one day.
âOkay,â she says softly. âI know a place.â
â
The bistro Sua chooses looks like it was built out of candlelight and nostalgiaâeverything gold-tinged and a little cramped, tables pushed too close together like everyoneâs secrets are meant to overlap. My coat brushes hers as we sit, knees grazing. I pretend thatâs normal. I pretend Iâm not hyper-aware of every centimeter between us that doesnât exist anymore.
It feels like Paris is playing a prank on me. Like the city is whispering, oh, you think you moved on? Cute.
The waiter drops off wine. A deep red that smells like regret aged in oak barrels. Sua swirls hers slowly, looking at it like itâs a fortune teller.
âI forgot how early you start drinking here,â I tease.
She nudges her glass toward mine. âI forgot how early you used to judge me.â
We toastâsoftly, the way people do when theyâre scared of shattering something fragile.
The first sip hits warm. Too warm. Maybe itâs the wine. Maybe itâs her. Probably her.
âSo,â she says, leaning back. âThree years. Tell me everything. Start with something normal. Like⊠howâs your mom?â
My chest tightens. Thatâs the thing about Suaâshe always goes for the heart first, like itâs the most obvious entry point.
âSheâs good,â I say, fingers tapping my glass. âStill sending me videos of random cats she finds on the street. Still pretending she doesnât know how to use AirPods.â
Suaâs smile is immediate, soft. âShe still asks about me?â
âEvery time she sees a scarf she thinks youâd like,â I admit. âShe⊠really loved you.â
Suaâs gaze dips. She traces a finger on the condensation of her glass, drawing circles that disappear as fast as they form.
âI loved her too,â she says quietly.
The wine suddenly tastes heavier.
Thereâs a pauseânot awkward, just⊠dense. Like weâre standing at the edge of a memory we donât know how to walk through without falling in.
âYour turn,â I say. âHowâs Paris been treating you?â
Sua laughs, but itâs small. âHonestly? I donât know. Some days I think Iâm living the dream. Some days I think Iâm running away. And some daysâŠâ She trails off.
âSome days?â I prompt.
âSome days I wake up and think of home. And I donât even know what âhomeâ means anymore.â
Her voice is too honest. Honest in the way it used to be at 2 a.m. on rooftops when we were younger and dumb and thought the world was a little kinder.
âI get that,â I say.
She looks up sharply. âYou do?â
âYeah. I spent the last three years watching everyone heal in different waysâŠâ I swallow. âAnd me somewhere in the middle.â
Suaâs breath catches. She tries to hide it with another sip of wine.
I continue, because if I stop, I wonât say it at all.
âYou know what was the worst part?â I ask. âWhat?â âFeeling like the only person who wasnât allowed to break.â
Her face shiftsâsomething like guilt, something like tenderness.
âMinghaoâŠâ
âI had to watch two people I cared about fall apart,â I say. âAnd when I almost fell too, there was no one to catch me.â
She reaches across the tableâinstinct, reflexâthen freezes halfway. Her hand hovers there, midair, like sheâs afraid of her own impulse.
I force a smile. âItâs fine. Thatâs old news.â
But my voice cracks on old.
Sua slowly retracts her hand, but her eyes stay on me, searching, like sheâs trying to read the parts of me she forgot existed.
âYou know,â she says softly, âyou look different now.â
âOlder?â I tease.
âStronger,â she corrects. âQuieter. Like you carry things but donât tell anyone.â
âThatâs not new.â
âNo,â she says, âbut the weight is.â
And she says it so gently I almost forget to breathe.
We fall into conversation after thatâdrifting between old memories and half-jokes, talking like people who used to know each otherâs schedules down to which day theyâd skip lunch.
We talk about art. About performing. About stupid gossip from home.
She tells me about the older woman at her workplace who mothers her too much. I tell her about Seungkwan panicking every tour season. She chokes on her wine laughing when I show her a picture of Dokyeomâs newest plant.
Itâs easy. Too easy. Like slipping back into a hoodie you thought you lost.
She laughs so hard her eyes disappear, shoulders shaking, hand hitting the table. GodâI forgot how much I loved that laugh.
And every time she leans closer, brushing my arm by accident, something in my ribs flickers like itâs trying to remember being alive.
Then she asks about it.
Because of course she does.
âSo,â she says teasingly, eyes glinting over her wine glass, âhow about you, Mr. Superstar? Have any girlfriends since I left?â
Itâs playful. Light. But her shoulders go tense, like sheâs bracing herself.
I could lie. I could laugh it off.
But Iâm too tired for halfway truths.
âI tried,â I say.
Her smile falters.
âBut no one ever felt like you.â
The words come out quiet. Almost conversational. But they land between us like a confession.
Sua freezesânot dramatically, just a tiny, startled halt, like someone hit pause right when her heart was mid-beat.
Her eyes widened just a little. Her fingers stop playing with her glass. She inhalesâbut forgets to finish it.
And I know that look. I remember it from years ago. Itâs the look she gets when she wants something sheâs not supposed to want.
âMinghaoâŠâ she whispers.
Her voice isnât angry. Or smug. Itâs shaken.
âWe shouldnât talk like that,â she says. âWeâre⊠older now. Wiser.â
I smile, soft. âAre we?â
âNo,â she admits, and it breaks something open inside me.
We sit there, drowning in things we wonât touch.
She looks down at her hands like theyâre betraying her. I look at her and try not to reach across the table again. She exhales slowly, like sheâs deflating.
For one suspended moment, with wine warming our bones and Paris humming outside, she almost looks like she might reach for me again.
But she doesnât.
And I pretend I donât feel the ghost of it.
â
The staircase to the rooftop complains with every stepâcreaking, rattling, betraying us to whatever security guard is probably sleeping downstairs. But Sua climbs it like she owns the place. Like she owns gravity. Like she owns me, honestly.
âSua,â I hissed under my breath, trying to keep my voice down even though laughter is already threatening to leak out. âThis is definitely private.â
She waves her hand backwards without looking. âEverythingâs public until someone tells you no.â
Of course she says that. Of course I follow her anyway.
The door at the top clicks open easilyâlike the universe is enabling her crimesâand suddenly weâre on a small rooftop that looks forgotten by time, by renovations, by humans in general.
Just one old bench. A few winter-killed plants. A railing that looks like it was installed by someone who trusted too much.
And beyond all of that: Paris. A thousand lights smeared like watercolor across the horizon.
She steps out first. The wind tugs at her hair, slipping a strand across her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear slowly, almost absent-mindedly, eyes drifting across the skyline like sheâs scanning for memories.
She shiversâbarely noticeable, but I catch it.
My jacket is off my shoulders before I even think.
She turns, startled when I place it over her. Her fingers catch mine for half a second. Warm. Soft. Familiar.
âYouâve changed,â she says, tilting her head, that teasing lilt back in her voice.
I swallow. âNot enough, apparently.â
Her breath catchesâjust barely. Like she wasnât expecting honesty.
We sit on the little iron bench, close because the bench is small, but closer than we need to be. Our knees brush. Itâs nothing. Itâs everything. The wine bottle sits between us like a dangerous middleman.
She leans back, staring up at the sky.
âI forgot how pretty Paris is,â she murmurs.
I look at her profile, the way the city lights turn her eyes honey-warm. âYeah,â I say softly. âMe too.â
She groans dramatically. âOkay, that was cheesy.â
âBut it's true.â
âStill cheesy.â
But she smiles as she says it, and my chest feels like someone lit a candle in it.
We talk again, about the kind of things people only talk about when theyâre sitting too close and pretending nothing is happening.
She tells me about a bakery near her apartment that she swears has âlife-changing croissants.â I told her the tour messed up my internal clock so badly I can sleep standing up now. She confesses her coworkers are scared of her. I tell her Iâm still not convinced she isnât intimidating on purpose.
Her laugh comes easier with every minute. Looser. Warmer. Like wine trailing down the spine.
At one point she leans inâjust a centimeter too closeâand her laugh brushes my jaw. My pulse betrays me instantly.
Then it happens.
She glances at my mouth.
Fast. Instinctive. Like she didnât mean to, but her eyes just⊠went.
She freezes. I freeze harder.
The air goes thickâthe kind that feels like destiny inhaling sharply.
Her gaze flicks up to mine again. Her smile falters. Something shiftsâsomething tender, hesitant, unbearably familiar.
âStop looking at me like that,â she whispers, trying to tease, but it comes out breathier than she intends.
âLike what?â My voice is low, rough in a way I donât hear often.
She opens her mouthâcloses itâtries again. âI donât know. Like IâmâŠâ She swallows. âLike Iâm yours.â
Her words hit something old in me. Something bruised. Something that never healed right.
âSua,â I breathe.
But she shakes her head, tiny, fragile. âDonât,â she whispers. âNot if you donât mean it.â
I look at herâreally lookâand the wind feels louder suddenly, the city quieter.
âI always mean it,â I say.
Her breath stutters. Her hand movesâsmall, unconsciousâtoward my sleeve. Not grabbing. Just⊠touching. Like sheâs letting herself remember the shape of me.
We sit like that for a moment, suspended, both terrified to speak in case the spell breaks.
Then the wind blows again. She shivers.
I lean in without thinking. Not enough to kiss. Just enough that our foreheads almost touch.
âCold?â I murmur.
She shakes her head. âNo.â
But her voice trembles in the middleâjust once.
She looks at my mouth again.
Longer this time. Softer.
Like sheâs studying it. Like sheâs trying to decide something that scares her.
I feel her breath mix with mine. She leans inâbarely, but enough that heat curls low in my stomach.
I donât move. Iâm terrified if I do, sheâll pull away.
Her gaze flicks up. Our noses graze.
And then, quietlyâ âMinghao,â she whispers, voice cracking on the second syllable, âI⊠donât know what Iâm doing.â
âMe neither,â I admit.
Her lips quirk into the saddest, smallest smile.
Thenâ
Very slowly, like sheâs giving herself permission inch by inch, she lifts her hand to my jaw. Her thumb barely touches my skin.Â
A whisper of contact. The kind that says Iâve missed this more than Iâll ever admit.
I exhale shakily.
She leans inânot fully, not confidently. Just enough that I can feel the trembling in her breath, the uncertainty, the wanting.
âHaoâŠâ My name breaks on her tongue.
And then she moves.
A small, soft, terrifying kissâ Barely pressure. Barely time. Just her lips against mine like a secret she finally let slip.
I kiss backâgentle, careful, terrified that if I move too fast sheâll disappear.
One second. Two.
Then she pulls away, chest rising too fast, eyes wide like she just stepped off a cliff.
âWe shouldnât have,â she whispers.
Maybe. Sheâs right. Probably.
But her lips are still parted. Her hand is still on my jaw. And sheâs still leaning toward me.
ââŠBut you kissed me back.â
She closes her eyes. Pain flickers through her expression. But so does something else.
Wanting. Remembering. Considering.
âI know,â she breathes, voice shaking. âI know.â
â
The kiss still lingers on my lipsâwarm, trembling, unfinishedâwhen Sua pulls away. Her eyes wonât settle. Her breathingâs uneven. Her hand is still on my jaw, like she forgot to put it back.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Paris waits below us, glittering like itâs holding its breath on our behalf.
Then she pulls back. Slow. Like sheâs trying not to wake something.
âI shouldââ she begins.
I know what sheâs going to say. That she should go. That she shouldnât have kissed me. That this was a mistake.
I can already feel my chest tightening, preparing to hear it.
But the word never leaves her mouth.
Instead, she just swallows hard, blinking fast.
Sheâs not ready to say it. Iâm not ready to hear it.
So I take a step toward herânot close enough to the corner, but close enough she knows Iâm choosing her over fear.
âCome with me,â I say quietly.
She startles a little. âMinghaoââ
âJust⊠ten more minutes.â I breathe out, steady. Honest. Bare.
âIâm not ready to say goodnight.â
The wind moves around us. So does something between us.
For a second, she just looks at meâreally looks. Like sheâs searching for the trap, the danger, the thing that will make this make sense.
But thereâs nothing. Just me. Just her. Just tonight.
She hesitates.
Then nods.
Not big. Not confident. Just a small, fragile nod that still makes something in my chest bloom painfully wide.
We walk down the old staircase againâquieter this time. Our footsteps sound softer. Like the kiss stole all the sharp edges out of the world.
Outside, Paris feels colder. Brighter. More unreal.
We drift toward the river instinctively, pulled by the kind of gravity that doesnât need words. The Seine glints like silver ribbon under the city lights, and the stone path beside it is quiet except for our muffled steps.
We donât hold hands. But our shoulders brush every few seconds. Like punctuation marks. Like reminders.
Sua keeps her eyes on the river, but her mind is clearly miles away. Her breaths come uneven, like sheâs thinking too fast to breathe right.
I steal a glance at her.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold. Her lipsâgodâstill look soft, still look kiss-warm. She bites the corner of her mouth once, like sheâs trying to reel herself back in.
âAre you okay?â I ask gently.
Bad idea. She freezes.
âYeah.â Her voice cracks around the word. Then she clears her throat. âYeah. Iâm justâthinking.â
âAbout?â
She laughs onceâshort, shaky. âEverything.â
She doesnât say names. But I feel the ghost of one in the air anyway.
I swallow, trying to soften my voice. âYou donât have to pretend youâre not overwhelmed.â
âIâm not pretending,â she says. Then quieter: âOkay. Maybe a little.â
We walk in silence for a few seconds.
Her shoulder brushes mine againâ Not by accident this time.
She doesnât pull away. Neither do I.
The lamps along the river reflect in her eyesâthin streaks of gold that make her look almost undone. Like one more soft touch would make her spill everything sheâs been holding in.
She exhales shakily.
âMinghaoâŠâ
âMm?â
She slows her stepsânot stopping, just easing her speed like her thoughts got too heavy to carry at full pace.
âWhat⊠what are we doing?â
Her voice barely reaches me. Itâs small. Young. Afraid. Hopeful.
My heart squeezes.
âI donât know.â I shrug gently. âBut it feels⊠right to be here with you.â
She looks at me quicklyâlike she wasnât expecting me to say something that earnest.
Then she snortsâgod, I missed that soundâthen nudges me with her shoulder.
âDonât you dare.â
The river glimmers beside us. The city hums softly. And between usâwarmth, aching and quiet, stretching thin like a thread neither of us wants to let go.
Finally she says, âI keep thinking about the kiss.â
I choke on my breath slightly. âYeah?â
She nods, eyes on the ground. âYeah.â
My heartbeat becomes a full percussion ensemble.
âAnd?â I ask, softer.
She takes a breath. Then another.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
âAnd I didnât⊠want it to stop.â
The world tilts. Just a little.
I donât grab her hand. I donât pull her to me.
I just walk beside her, letting her confession settle in the air between us, warm and trembling.
âYou knowâŠâ she says after a long, shaky exhale, âI thought seeing you again would feel like closure.â
âAnd?â
âIt doesnât,â she admits. âIt feels likeâlike a book I thought I finished, but suddenly there are new pages.â
My throat tightens. Dangerously.
âSuaâŠâ
She shakes her head quickly. âNo. Donâtâdonât read into it. Iâm not⊠choosing. Iâm not making promises.â She glances up at me, eyes raw. âIâm just⊠telling you how it feels.â
I nod. Slow. Honest.
âThatâs enough for me.â
Our shoulders brush againâ This time lingering for a beat too long.
We donât say anything else for a while. We just walk. The dark water beside us. The city around us. The kiss behind us. Something new ahead.
Ten minutes, I said. But the night stretches on and neither of us says goodnight.
Not yet.
Not when everything feels like this.
Not when weâre both afraid of what going home alone will force us to admit.
â
The walk back to her apartment should be ten minutes. Paris makes it feel like two.
We donât talk. We donât touch. But our shoulders brush every few steps, like gravity keeps forgetting weâre not allowed to want each other.
And Godâ every time her sleeve whispers against my arm, my heartbeat trips like it wants to fall forward.
We stop at the turn to her street. The corner lamp spills a halo of gold over her, and she looks⊠not drunk. Not tipsy. Just overwhelmed. Like sheâs been carrying something for too long, and tonight loosened her fingers around it.
She exhales once. Slow. Watching the breath disappear into the cold.
I should let her go. I know I should.
But tonight⊠Tonight I was allowed to imagine another ending. A life where she laughed like that for me. Smile at me. Leaned toward me. Choose me.
I canât let the night end without asking. Even if I already know.
âSua,â I say, voice low.
She turns, eyes soft, too soft. The kind of soft that ruins a man.
I swallow. âCan youâjust⊠wait a second?â
Her brows knit together. Concerned. Curious. Afraid.
I take one breath. Then another. Then I ask the question thatâs been clawing at my ribs since she kissed me first on that rooftop:
âIf I ask you to choose me tonightâŠâ My voice cracks. I force it steady. ââŠwould you?â
The city goes quiet. Even the river holds its breath.
Sua doesnât answer. Not for five seconds. Not for ten.
She just stands there, eyes glimmering, mouth trembling like sheâs trying to keep herself together.
Then her gaze drops to the groundâ like sheâs ashamed of the truth sheâs about to say.
Her voice is barely air when it comes out.
ââŠI want to.â
My heart actually stutters. Stops. Starts again too fast.
But thenâ She looks up.
And thereâs a crack in her expression, thin and sharp and final.
âBut I canât.â
The words unravel me.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just quietlyâ cleanlyâ the way a thread snaps when itâs been pulled too tight.
She steps closer, like sheâs trying to fix it, even though we both know she canât.
Her fingers hover near my sleeve, almost touching, not quite.
âMinghao⊠I donât want to hurt you.â
I laugh once, soft, broken. âThatâs the funny part,â I murmur. âYouâre the only person who could.â
Her breath hiccups. She actually looks like she might cry.
Everything in me wants to reach for her. Pull her close. Tell her itâs okay. That I can wait. That I can be patient again. That I can survive on crumbs again.
But I canât. Not this time.
Because I love her too much to let her half-choose me.
And she loves him too much to fully choose me.
She whispers, âIâm sorry, Hao.â
I shake my head. âNo. Donât be. I knew.â My voice slips. âI knew before I asked.â
The air between us thickensâ heavy, aching, familiar.
Then I do something stupid. Or maybe brave. Or maybe just inevitable.
I lift a hand. Slow, so slow. Give her time to pull away.
She doesnât.
She leans into the touch like sheâs been waiting for it for years.
My palm cups the side of her face. Warm skin. Wet lashes. A tremble in her breath.
âCome here,â I whisper.
She steps into me. Her forehead touches my collarbone. Her hands clutch my coat like she canât stop herself.
I hold her. God, I hold her like sheâs everything I ever wanted and everything Iâm about to lose.
Her shoulders shake once. Barely.
I press a kissâ gentle careful almost reverentâ to her forehead.
She freezes.
Then exhales like the sound itself is breaking her apart.
I pull back just enough to see her face.
âThen I hopeââ My throat closes.
I will try again. âI hope whoever you choose makes you happy. Really.â
Her lips part. She looks devastated. Like she wants to say something but canât. Like the universe swallowed her voice.
If I stay one more second, Iâll ask her again. And sheâll hesitate again. And maybeâmaybeâ sheâll say yes.
But she shouldnât. Not like this. Not when her heart is still somewhere in Seoul wearing a black hoodie and a guilty, desperate smile.
So I step back.
One step. Two.
Her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me.
I smileâ the saddest smile Iâve ever wornâ and whisper,
âGoodnight, Sua.â
Then I turn away. I walk first.
Because if she walks away from me, Iâll chase her. And if I stay, Iâll kiss her again. And if she asks me to stay, Iâll stay forever.
So I leave.
Not because I want to. But because loving her sometimes means walking away before she has to watch me break.
Behind me, she doesnât call my name.
But I hear her breath hitch. And thatâs enough to ruin me all over again. ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ HI GUYSSSS OMG ITS BEEN SO LONG!!!! I finally get used to all the chaos around me and managed to find some free time to finish this!! Pls enjoy and see u soon! Oh, and, to read the first episode of Muted Hearts, please click here <3
S.COUPS DAZED Photo Shoot Sketch
"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you canât name."
â§ moon junhui x f!oc
â§ kwon hoshi x f!oc
â§ summary: She came to Seoul to escapeâwhat she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.
â§ word count: 6k
â§ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut
â§ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes
Chapter 14
The mornings didnât hit the same anymore.
Jun woke up like he always did: too early, too tired, too aware. His alarm hadnât even rung yet, but the shadows on his bedroom ceiling already told him what time it was. 6:32. Again.
His apartment was a glass-and-concrete shell. All warm white and expensive stillness. Too big for one person. Too silent. His toothbrush sat by itself in the holder. The kitchen sink held a single used mug from last nightâhalf-drained instant ramen broth and a water ring where his soju glass had been. The air purifier hummed like it had more to say than he did.
He moved on autopilot. Shower. Shirt. Shoes. Wristwatch. No tieâhe stopped wearing those weeks ago. No reason. Just felt like choking.
The walk from his apartment to The Parc was only ten minutes, but he stretched it out like punishment. One more block. One more red light. One more chance that maybeâjust maybeâheâd forget she worked in the same building.
Of course, he didnât.
Quantix occupied the 17th and 18th floorsâsharp suits, brutal deadlines, silent elevators. Artois lived on the 10th, all creativity and noise. Their offices never overlapped. But the building did. The cafĂ©s. The lobby. The elevator banks. The goddamn foodcourt arena.
Thatâs why he waited until 9:13 every morning to scan his badge. Long after the Artois teamâs usual clock-in time. Long enough to make sure her friends were already inside. Long enough to avoid her perfume in the elevator.
But it never really worked.
Today, like every day, he ducked his head and moved fast through the lobby. The LED directory glowed with building-wide announcements, reflecting briefly on the floor-to-ceiling glass. Artois' newest campaign was one of themâmuted pastels, dreamy text overlays, andâ
He didnât look long enough to confirm.
He didnât need to.
Instead, he slipped into the tiny cafĂ© in the back corner of the buildingâone that smelled like roasted almond syrup and overheard meetings. The barista, a sleepy-eyed guy with long bangs, raised a brow in recognition.
âSame?â he asked.
Jun hesitated.
âNo,â he said finally. âNutmeg latte. Medium. No lid.â
The barista blinked.
Jun almost laughed. He didnât even like nutmeg.
But sheâd once said, half-laughing, âThis tastes like a blanket made out of hugs,â and ever since then⊠he chased that warmth like a sick dog chasing a shadow.
He left with his drink, hands warming against the cardboard cup, and took the elevator alone.
17 floors. 13 seconds. Not long enough to forget.
â
Quantix was clean. Too clean. Rows of glass offices, silent keystrokes, white noise from desktop fans. He slipped into his seat and opened his laptop. Pretended to care.
But the truth sat heavy in his ribcage. Sloshed around like old wine in a forgotten bottle. He hadnât seen her in weeks. Not properly. Not without ducking behind a pillar, or skipping a lift, or pulling his hoodie up and pretending to scroll his phone.
But even if he didnât see herâ
He saw her.
Saw her oatmilk order change. Saw the way she laughed in the reposted Stories. Saw the new intern she mentored, the one who wore too much cologne and clearly worshipped the ground she walked on.
She was in his algorithm. His building. His bloodstream.
She might as well have been on another planet.
He sipped his nutmeg latte. It did taste like a hug.
But not the one he wanted.
â
The elevator ride to the seventeenth floor was only twelve seconds long, but Jun counted every second like he was holding his breath underwater.
He didnât even mean to start doing that. But sometime after week two of dodging Min Ahâs presence in this building, his body developed its own rituals. Breath in, breath out, no eye contact with the 10th floor. Pray the elevator doesnât stop. Donât look at the mirrored walls. Donât check the time. Donât even think about the timeâbecause he knew Artois clocked in around nine sharp, and he knew Min Ah had a habit of running two minutes late with an iced oatmilk latte in one hand and a tote bag slipping off her shoulder.
He didnât need to know that.
He just did.
It was stupid. It was humiliating. It was also too late.
Because once youâve memorized someoneâs silhouette, their laughter, the way they scrunch their nose when annoyed, or the little âmmphâ they make when sipping something too hotâyour brain doesnât forget. It just replays them in loops. On silent. Without asking.
And Jun was stuck in that loop now. Like a badly edited highlight reel. One that skipped the good parts and emphasized the ones that hurt.
He stepped into the Quantix lobbyâsteel-blue carpeting, frosted glass meeting rooms, the usual scent of cold brew and quiet tensionâand dropped his keys onto his desk with a little too much force. The sound was small. But it felt violent.
Mingyu glanced up from the couch across the room, already halfway through a bagel, laptop balanced on his knees.
âRough morning?â he asked, mouth full.
Jun grunted. âFine.â
Mingyu arched a brow. âNutmeg again?â
Jun looked down at his coffee cup.
Three sips in, it was already too sweet. Too creamy. The nutmeg lingered like an echo of warmthâfake warmth, if he was honest.
He used to hate drinks like this. Used to scoff at people who added nutmeg to coffee like it was some kind of emotional balm.
But Min Ah had made it sound so sincere.Â
So he took another sip anyway.
â
Around 11:04, Jun made a conscious decision to skip the usual break and stay glued to his desk. He even pretended to review the same spreadsheet for the fourth time, just so he could avoid going downstairs for lunch. Just in case.
Because somewhere around noon, the Artois team would be swarming the cafĂ© in the lobbyâhe knew their schedule. Thursdays were âMarketing Treat Days.â Dahyun usually initiated them. Eunji always picked up something with way too much sugar. Min Ah⊠well. She will go for the plain Americano.
How did he know that?
He wished he didnât.
â
It started innocently enough.
Just a few skipped encounters.
A small change in his routine here and there. Going to the gym an hour earlier. Using the back stairwell instead of the main elevators. Quiet mornings. Quieter exits.
But then it became a pattern.
And then it became a habit.
And now it was practically choreography.
Every step Jun took was calculated around not seeing her.
Like a dance he wasnât invited to anymore.
He remembered once standing outside the cafĂ© in the lobbyâcoffee already in hand, just waiting for his meeting to startâand spotting her through the glass.
She was laughing at something Eunji had said. Her scarf was slipping off one shoulder. She looked tired, a little sleep-deprived, but so alive. So Min Ah.
Jun panicked.
Heâd ducked behind the column beside the pastry shelf.
Mingyu, walking in right after, had stopped mid-step. âHyung,â he said flatly. âWhat the actual fuck.â
âShe didnât see me, right?â Jun muttered, heart thudding.
âYouâre hiding behind a pillar like Sweeper from Dora the Explorer.â
âI just didnât want it to be weird.â
âItâs already weird, bro.â
And then Mingyu just walked off. Like it was any other Tuesday.
Jun had stayed frozen behind that pillar for thirty-six full seconds.
â
Later that week, he overheard a snippet in the hallway. One of the Artois girls, Dahyun maybe, chatting with someone else near the vending machine.
âFeels like the Quantix boys disappeared lately, huh? Do they even work here anymore?â
The words werenât sharp. Just casual. Offhanded.
But they stuck.
Because yeah, Jun had disappeared.
Heâd ghosted the entire floor.
Ghosted her.
And despite all of it, despite the silence and the rerouting of his entire life to avoid crossing her shadowâ
He still knew too much.
He knew sheâd started carrying two pens again, after swearing sheâd go full digital in October.
He knew the new intern she mentored wore cologne so aggressively it left a trailâlike invisible breadcrumbs of âthis is what fresh-out-of-college confidence smells like.â
He knew sheâd been wearing earrings again. Little ones. The kind she used to wear when she was nervous before a pitch.
He knew all this not because he meant to spy. Not because he was still trying to be part of her world.
But because⊠he didnât know how not to care.
How do you unlearn someone?
How do you forget a voice you once thought in?
â
Somewhere mid September
Seungcheolâs apartment was the kind of place that looked like it came with its own LinkedIn endorsement. Sleek furniture, expensive light fixtures, coffee table books no one ever readâmostly because Mingyu kept using them as coasters.
It was a Saturday. Technically a day off. But nothing about Jun felt âoff-duty.â Not the way he dressedâblack hoodie, joggers, and sunglasses like a shield. Not the weight in his steps. Not the half-there look in his eyes.
When he knockedâtwice, then pushed the door openâhe was met with a wave of smells: overcooked eggs, leftover cologne, a whiff of takeout from someoneâs midnight cravings, and the crisp scent of Seungcheolâs lavender diffuser that he refused to admit he re-ordered monthly.
Inside, the rest of the Quantix boys were mid-chaos.
âBro, I swear, thatâs not how the trade works!â Mingyu was waving a spatula around like a weapon, his phone screen held up with his other hand. âYou canât offer me a wide receiver and a broken running back and call it a deal!â
âIâm offering strategy, not just stats,â Joshua replied coolly, perched on a barstool, peeling a mandarin orange with surgical precision.
âYouâre offering me a loss,â Mingyu shot back.
âBoys,â Seungcheol warned from the corner, not looking up from the French press he was handling like it was mission-critical. âOne more sports argument and Iâm making you both do yoga with me next weekend.â
âAgain? My glutes still hurt from last time,â Jeonghan chimed in lazily from the couch, tossing popcorn into his mouth and missing.
It was the kind of scene that used to feel comforting to Jun.
Today, it felt like walking into someone elseâs memory.
âHyung?â Wonwoo noticed him first. Just a glance up from his bookâof course he brought a book to brunchâbut it was enough. The room shifted.
The noise dropped a decibel.
Mingyu turned. âWow. Youâre not a hallucination. Thatâs wild.â
Jeonghan snorted. âHe looks like one. Whatâs with the Matrix cosplay?â
Jun shrugged off the comments, sluggishly dragging himself toward the couch. His limbs felt like rubber. His skull pulsed. He dropped into the cushions like gravity had tripled just for him.
âRough night?â Joshua asked, voice flat but not unkind.
Jun just grunted. âDidnât sleep.â
âDidnât text, either,â Mingyu mumbled, pouring eggsâstill slightly too wetâonto a plate.
Jeonghan cocked his head. âDid you even shower?â
âI did. Just didnât rinse off the shame.â
A beat of laughter. Awkward. Quick. But then it faded.
They could all feel it. The weight in the room. The unspoken something sitting heavy between them, bleeding out like a slow leak.
Seungcheol passed Jun a glass of water without asking. âDrink. You look like youâve been dating dehydration.â
âIâve been seeing worse things,â Jun muttered.
It was supposed to be a joke. But no one laughed.
Wonwoo leaned back, closing his book. âYou gonna talk about it?â
Jun didnât answer.
âOf course not,â Jeonghan sighed. âBecause avoidance is hot now.â
âYou canât keep doing this, hyung.â Mingyu finally spoke, more serious this time. âYou ghosted her. Then you ghosted us. Now you just⊠show up when your fridge runs out of soju?â
âI didnât ghost anyone.â
Joshua raised an eyebrow. âYou disappeared. Thatâs the same thing, just with extra drama.â
Jun sat back, let his head hit the cushion. The dull ache in his chest had been a constant for weeks. It throbbed harder when they talked like thisâwhen they cared too loudly.
âI needed space,â he said quietly.
âSpace from what?â Jeonghan snapped. âFrom a woman who actually gave a damn about you? Or from the reality that you fucked it all up?â
âMingyu.â Seungcheol turned toward the kitchen. âThat bottle of chili oil on the top shelf? Please throw it at Jeonghan.â
Mingyu didnât move. âNah, heâs right though.â
Jun closed his eyes.
âLook,â Seungcheolâs voice was calmer now, measured. âWeâre not trying to beat you up. But weâve been sitting here for weeks watching you unravel in slow motion.â
âHalf the time you text us at 3AM just to say ânevermind,ââ Wonwoo said.
âOr show up drunk and crash on my couch,â Mingyu added.
âYou havenât smiled since August,â Joshua said. âAnd your coffee orders changed. Thatâs alarming.â
Jeonghan raised a hand. âExhibit A: Jun used to drink iced Americano with foam and three exact cubes like a lunatic. Now he drinks nutmeg lattes. Thatâs love-induced insanity. Someone help him.â
Jun chuckled. Just barely. âShe said it tasted like a hug.â
âAnd now youâre addicted to fake affection in a cup,â Jeonghan deadpanned. âHow poetic.â
Silence.
It stretched again.
And then Mingyu said it.
âYou should call her.â
Jun blinked.
Mingyu wasnât looking at him. Just flipping the eggs on a new pan, his voice steady. âYou should call her, hyung. Or at least admit why you havenât. Because Iâm tired of pretending your heartbreak isnât splashing all over my hallway at 2AM.â
Jun exhaled through his nose. âItâs not that easy.â
âOf course it isnât,â Seungcheol said. âIt never is.â
âThen why does it feel like Iâm the only one who canât breathe?â Junâs voice cracked, finally. He looked at themâat his boys, his brothers, the only ones left who still held pieces of himâand let the weight drop.
âI didnât know what I wanted,â he admitted, barely above a whisper. âI didnât know what I was doing. I kept telling myself sheâd be safer without me. That Iâd only mess it up. That if I left first, she wouldnât get hurt as bad.â
Jeonghan sat forward. âThen youâre a coward.â
Jun didnât flinch.
âAnd if thatâs the case,â Jeonghan continued, softer now, âyou shouldnât have taken her heart as a placeholder.â
The room held its breath.
Jun nodded once.
It was the only thing he could do.
He had no rebuttal. No witty line. No dramatic defense.
Just that truth.
That silence.
That pain.
The brunch went on. Scrambled eggs got cold. Toast burned in the corner. Someone turned the music up to distract themselves.
Jun sat among them. In the middle of everything. And yet still miles away.
He was surrounded by the loudest love he had left.
And stillâ
He felt alone.
â
He didnât even like clubs.
Too loud. Too bright. Too full of people pretending to be happier than they were. Jun always felt like a shadow in those places â the kind of person that didnât show up on film, even if you tried to take his picture.
But he went anyway.
Because Yujin had asked.
Because she looked at him like she already knew the answer would be yes.
And because the silence of his apartment was getting too loud again.
Hwang Yujin had been a convenient mistake.
He met her at a rooftop mixer he barely remembered â one of those industry things that blurred into one another after a while.
Someoneâs clientâs plus-one. PR, or something close enough. Always in black. Always unreadable.
He had noticed her because she didnât try to impress anyone. She had a voice like velvet and eyes that made him feel like she saw straight through people.
And when she came home with him that first time, she didnât ask questions.
Not about the boxes still unopened by the hallway.
Not about the extra toothbrush that sat alone on the sink.
Not about why Junâs playlists were still filled with girl group tracks heâd never added himself.
She just slipped out of her heels, kissed his collarbone, and took what she wanted.
And he let her.
It became a rhythm. A quiet kind of disaster.
Sheâd stay some nights, then disappear for a week. They didnât text unless it was to ask âyour place or mine?â
She was sharp, clever, controlled. And he liked that she didnât pretend it was love.
But even Yujin could tell when he wasnât really there.
âStill thinking about her?â sheâd asked once, casually, while buttoning her shirt in his bedroom.
He didnât answer.
âYou should call her, you know,â Yujin said as she stepped out of his room, saying a lazy goodbye as usual.Â
â
Last weekend of October
The club was already packed when they arrived.
Strobes sliced through the air like blade light. The floor was sticky. The ceiling was glittery.
And Jun was already regretting coming.
Yujin leaned into him, her voice cool against his ear.
âLetâs dance.â
He followed her to the floor, hands on her waist.
She moved like water â smooth, sensual, practiced.
But he wasnât watching her.
His eyes had already found something else.
Someone else.
Min Ah.
She was across the room in a pink sweater and pleated skirt, red bow bouncing with each step.
Her hair⊠seems like she is going all out for tonight. She wore a wig that surprisingly suits her, doesn't even look fake.
Just like... her.
Her eyes were glittered. She looked â
God.
She looked like every second heâd spent trying to forget her had failed.
She was laughing.
Worse â she was laughing with him.
Hoshi.
That damn grin. That dyed-pink hair. That too-perfect costume.
Yuji Itadori in the flesh.
Too bright. Too kind.
Too close to her.
Jun had never liked Hoshi.
Not because he was annoying â though he was. Not because he was everywhere â though he was.
But because when Min Ah looked at Hoshi, she didnât look like someone waiting for something that would never come.
She looked like she had already found it.
âJun,â Yujin said, tilting her head. âYouâre somewhere else.â
He shook it off. Loosened his shoulders. Forced himself to smirk.
âIâm here.â
The DJ dropped something sultry. A slow reggaeton beat that thumped under the skin.
Yujin slid closer. Her arms looped around his neck.
He let her press against him, let her move them in sync.
But his eyes kept drifting.
Back to the girl heâd left behind.
Min Ah was alone now. Hoshi had disappeared somewhere â the bar, probably.
And she was dancing.
Not for anyone.
Not with anyone.
Just herself.
She moved like music poured straight from her bones.
Jun knew that rhythm. Knew how her shoulders swayed, how she tilted her head when the beat hit just right.
His body remembered her like a language. His hands ached.
And then â
She opened her eyes.
They met his.
It felt like the club cracked open.
Everything fell away â the lights, the noise, the heat â until it was just them.
Across the crowd.
Two ghosts haunting the same heartbeat.
Jun couldnât breathe.
He didnât blink.
He didnât move.
And neither did she.
Yujin turned slightly, noticed the freeze in him. She followed his gaze. Her lips parted â not in jealousy, but in recognition.
She wasnât stupid. She knew the difference between a fling and a ghost someone never buried.
But before she could say anything â
Hoshi returned.
He brushed against Min Ahâs hand. Said something.
Jun didnât hear it.
Because in the next breath â
Min Ah kissed him.
Junâs world ended.
He stood there, still holding Yujin like she meant something, while the only person heâd ever truly wanted kissed someone else like it was the easiest decision in the world.
And the worst part?
She looked okay.
Yujin stepped back.
Her voice was level.
âYou should go outside.â
Jun didnât argue.
Didnât say thank you.
Just turned and walked out of the club, one hand on his chest like he was keeping his ribs from cracking open.
â
The night air was colder than he remembered.
Jun had forgotten to bring a jacket. Or maybe he hadnât meant to stay long.
Or maybe, deep down, heâd known this night would end like this â and dressed like someone prepared to be punished.
He didnât make it far.
Behind the building, under a flickering back-alley light, he dropped to his knees and threw up.
The acid burned, but not as much as the sight of her lips on Hoshiâs.
Not as much as the smile she gave him after.
He sat on the curb behind the club, head bowed, elbows on knees. One hand cradled his forehead, the other clenched into his coat pocket like it was holding something in.
He wasnât crying. Not exactly.
But his face was wet, and he couldnât tell if it was from sweat, or rain, or whatever emotion was leaking out of him without permission.
The buzzing from inside the club felt miles away now.
The music thudded through walls and concrete â muted, like a heartbeat he didnât want to belong to anymore.
Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm wailed and died.
Jun didnât move.
He hadnât said goodbye to Yujin.
She hadnât chased him.
Maybe she understood.
Maybe she was relieved.
His chest felt split open â like something sacred had been scooped out of him without anesthesia.
He tasted bile in his throat. Shame on his tongue. Her name carved into the roof of his mouth like a prayer he wasnât allowed to say.
And then â footsteps.
Heavy ones. Familiar in their lazy confidence.
Jun didnât lift his head, even as a shadow fell over him.
Mingyu exhaled.
Not a question. Not even a greeting.
Just that tired, quiet sigh that only friends whoâve seen you at your worst can make.
He didnât sit down right away. Just stood next to him, hands in pockets, like a bodyguard for a man who didnât want saving.
Jun blinked slowly, eyes stinging.
Still no words.
Eventually, Mingyu lowered himself to the curb beside him. Elbows on knees. Close, but not too close.
Like he knew Jun might shatter if someone touched him.
They stayed like that. For what felt like forever.
Junâs voice cracked when it finally came out.
âShe kissed him.â
Mingyu nodded. âYeah.â
âI didnât even move. Just watched like a goddamn idiot.â
Silence.
âI was stupid. I thought â I donât know. That maybe I still had time.â
Mingyu didnât speak for a while.
âYou didnât lose her tonight, Jun. You lost her a long time ago. You just didnât want to admit it.â
Jun swallowed.
His hands trembled, tucked into his sleeves. He swallowed hard.
âI thought⊠I thought maybe she stillâŠâ
The sentence didnât make it.
He shut his eyes. Tried to breathe. Failed.
His breath came out shaky. Shallow.
Mingyu didnât ask him to finish. Didnât tell him sheâd come back. Didnât lie.
He just waited.
Eventually, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle of water. Opened it. Handed it over.
Jun took it like it weighed ten kilos.
He drank one slow sip. Then another.
It didnât help.
Nothing would.
Finally, Mingyu said, âLetâs go.â
Not a suggestion. Not a command.
Just a way to keep Jun from drowning.
Jun didnât argue.
He stood like someone walking away from a funeral.
â
The clock read 01:42.
Jun didnât realize how long heâd been lying thereâflat on his back in bed, one arm over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach, phone screen dimmed to preserve whatever scraps of his retinas were still intact. He wasnât really scrolling. Just... moving. Thumb dragging up, up, up, like maybe if he kept going long enough, he'd find a version of the world where he felt less like a leftover.
He hadn't spoken to anyone in hours.
He hadnât needed to. The silence was good at talking back now.
The apartment around him was dark, save for the cold blue glow of his phone screen and the faint amber shimmer of the streetlight bleeding through his blinds. Even his plants had started wilting from neglect. The cactus on the windowsill looked particularly offended.
He could almost hear her voice in his head. That careful softness. That biting laugh when he got too pretentious. That way she used to say his name like she was rolling it over her tongue just to make sure it tasted the same every time.
He opened Notes.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted.
He sat up slowly in bed, the sheets cool against his back. Fingers shaking slightly, phone screen blinding now in the dark.
Finally, without thinking too hard, he opened a new note and let the words spill out in lowercase:
i know you donât want to hear from me.
i know you donât owe me anything.
but i saw you today. and you looked happy.
and thatâs good.
thatâs really, really good.
i miss you.
god, i miss you.
even when iâm not thinking about you, iâm still kind of thinking about you.
i hope your coffee was warm this morning.
i hope your boss wasnât too annoying.
i hope you laughed at something dumb today and forgot me for a second.
He stared at it for a long time.
Read it once. Twice.
Then deleted it.
Just like that.
Gone.
He placed the phone face down on his bedside table, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. He could still see her. Could still feel herâlike she was hiding under his skin, tangled in his veins like something he forgot how to get rid of.
Jun leaned his head back against the wall.
Whispered into the quiet:
âI miss you.â
The room didnât answer.
And even if sheâd heard itâ
Would it matter?
â
âI miss you.â
The words slipped out like steamâbarely formed, barely real.
Jun didnât mean to say them out loud. Didnât mean to hear his own voice tremble in the quiet. It startled him, honestly. How soft it sounded. How small. Like it belonged to someone else.
The air felt too still after that. As if the room itself was holding its breath for a response that would never come.
He sat there for a while. Phone facedown. Lights off. Spine curved like a question mark. His fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie, gripping tightâlike if he could hold something hard enough, he wouldnât unravel.
But the unraveling had already begun.
It was slow.
Quiet.
The kind of heartbreak that didnât screamâit settled. Heavy. Dense. Like ash after a fire.
And then he did what he always did when he couldnât stand being inside his own head.
He moved.
Got up.
Paced the room once. Twice. Three times.
Opened the fridge. Closed it again.
Went to the sink. Stared at his own reflection in the dark window, distorted by the city lights outside.
His eyes looked⊠dull. Tired. The kind of tired that sleep didnât fix.
He whispered again, this time to the reflection.
âWhy did I let you go?â
No one answered.
Of course not.
Min Ah wasnât here.
She hadnât been here in a long time.
There was still a book of hers on his shelf, though. A dog-eared poetry collection she lent him months ago, spine cracked, cover smudged with coffee stains. Heâd tried to return it once. Got as far as walking to her floor, then turned around the second the elevator opened.
Coward.
He was such a coward.
He reached for it now, fingertips brushing the bent corner sheâd once folded.
Inside, there was a note. A stupid sticky tab with her handwriting on it.
 This poem feels like your brain, I think.
He didnât even know what that meant. He didnât ask when she said it.
He shouldâve.
He slid down to the floor, book in hand, back pressed against the kitchen cabinet.
Read the poem again. Didnât remember the words. Didnât care.
He could see her instead.
The way she used to lie across his bed, legs tangled in the sheets, arguing with him about fonts.
The way she always picked up his call, even if it was 2AM and she was mid-mask with cucumbers on her face.
The way she looked at him when he wasnât being clever or charming or composed.
Just him.
Just Jun.
Raw. Open. Terrified.
And she still looked. Still stayed.
Until she didnât.
Because he pushed her out.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not because she wasnât enough. But because maybeâdeep downâhe wasnât.
He rubbed his chest. Right over the spot where it ached.
It didnât help.
He closed his eyes.
He imagined it.
Not a fantasy. Not a dream.
Just⊠a memory reloaded through grief-colored glasses.
He imagined walking into The Parcâs lobby tomorrow. Seeing her by the cafĂ©. Laughing with someone else. Maybe with Hoshi. Maybe with some new guy whose laugh didnât sound like it was carved out of regret.
He imagined her smiling. Really smiling. The kind she used to reserve for him.
And he imagined standing there, invisible.
Watching.
Wanting.
Bleeding quietly under his skin.
The thought gutted him.
So he got up. Again.
This time, he walked into the bathroom.
Washed his face. Watched the water drip from his chin into the sink.
His breath came short.
He pressed his palms to the counter. Hung his head.
And whispered, barely audibleâ
âDid you ever love me?â
His own voice echoed off the tiles, hollow.
He didnât expect an answer.
He wasnât sure he wanted one.
He stayed there, in the bathroom, until his knees gave out and he slid to the cold floor. Phone still in the other room. Mind stuck on a loop.
Min Ah laughing somewhere without him.
Min Ah dancing in a club with glitter in her eyes and someone elseâs lips on hers.
He dug his nails into his thigh just to feel something real.
He didnât cry.
Jun wasnât the kind to cry.
But God, he wanted to.
He wanted to cry until his chest stopped hurting. Until the weight lifted. Until the ghosts got bored and left.
But they didnât.
So instead, he laid there. On the cold tile floor. Heart ticking wrong. Mind filled with static.
And somewhere, in the back of his head, her voice whispered:
âYou type too loud.â
He laughed. Or maybe he sobbed. It came out as both.
Because that voice wasnât real anymore.
Just like her.
â
Second weekend of November
The city was quiet in that eerie, cruel way only 2:17 AM could offer. The hour where even the taxis seemed to yawn, where the glow from The Parcâs lobby lights felt less like a welcome and more like a surveillance spotlight. Jun sat on the edge of his bed, the room dim except for the bluish hue of his phone screen. His apartment, always too clean, now felt like a cageâsterile and silent, like it was daring him to feel something.
He shouldnât be awake. He shouldâve been asleep hours ago. Shouldâve ignored the notification. Shouldâve put his phone down after scrolling through Mingyuâs chaotic group chat photos of brunch plates and fantasy football scores.
But then he saw it.
A repost. Gone in six hours. Probably Dahyunâs account. Maybe Eunjiâs. He couldnât remember now.
A blurry photo taken on a busâcramped seats, window fogged with breath and autumn. In the center of the frame, Min Ah. Asleep. Slumped gently against a shoulder that wasnât his.
Hoshiâs.
Of course it was Hoshiâs.
Her head rested like it had always belonged there, lips parted just slightly, a wisp of her hair stuck to the corner of her cheek. Hoshi was half-asleep too, eyes barely open, chin tilted just slightly toward her crown. As if he was guarding her even in his dreams.
It was cozy. Domestic. Intimate in a way that made Junâs teeth ache.
He stared at the image too long. Tried to go back, tap, replay the Storyâbut it had vanished. Instagramâs algorithm, cruel and efficient, replaced it instantly with sponsored ads and influencer reels.
Junâs thumb hovered above the screen, stuttering between hesitation and obsession. And then he did the thing heâd promised himselfâagain and againânot to do.
He typed her name.
@melodyminah.
Her page was still open to him.
She still followed him. That detail hit his chest like a slow bullet. It felt like mercy. Or punishment.
But no likes. No comments. No traces. Just silence.
Min Ah had always been warm like spring sun on a frozen lakeâgentle, patient, melting him slowly. But Jun had never learned how to swim in warmth. Only how to hold his breath until it burned.
He scrolled through her feed. Stills from recent campaigns, behind-the-scenes reels with Artois team members, blurry selfies from coffee runs. In one, she posed with her fingers making a peace sign near her cheek, eyes puffy but bright. She looked tired. But she also lookedâŠokay.
He wasnât part of that okay.
Jun clicked her tagged photos. One had her at a gallery opening, standing beside a painting that reminded him of her: abstract but personal, layered and textural like she was thinking a thousand things but choosing silence instead.
He closed Instagram. Opened Notes.
You used to fall asleep on me like that, too. Except I never let myself relax. I was always scared Iâd wake you up if I breathed too loud.
Deleted.
Typed again:
I donât think I ever deserved you. But I miss you so much it makes me nauseous.
Deleted.
His fingers hovered. Again. Again.
This was the part that always broke himâthe wanting to say something and knowing it wouldnât change anything.
Somewhere between breath and breakdown, Jun closed his eyes and let the silence swell.
In his head, she was still telling him about the nutmeg latte.
âItâs stupid-good,â sheâd said once, leaning against the cafĂ© counter at The Parc, eyes dancing with mischief. âTastes like November in a cup. Youâll love it, you just donât know it yet.â
He did love it. Still drank it, almost ritualistically. Every morning. He hadnât even told the barista to memorize the orderâjust wanted to say it out loud each time, like reciting a prayer no god was listening to.
He didnât like sweet things.
But heâd liked it when she said it tasted like a hug.
And maybe heâd wanted to know what a hug really felt like.
Jun leaned back against the headboard. The room was too quiet. No sound of keys in the bowl. No whisper of music from her phone speaker. No laughter bouncing off the hardwood floors.
Growing up, silence had always meant safety. His childhood apartment had been full of itâcold and perfect and graveyard-still. No warmth. No clutter. Conversations happened in questions like, âDid you study?â and answers like, âYes.â Affection wasnât practiced. It was passed over like bad weather.
So when Min Ah had filled his space with chaos and breath and tiny complaints and dumb TikToksâheâd smiled. But also, deep inside, heâd flinched.
Because joy wasnât familiar. And closeness? That had always felt like standing too close to a fire in clothes soaked with gasoline.
Heâd wanted her. Deeply. Madly. But wanting and knowing how to keep were two different things.
And Hoshi? God. Jun hated how easy the man made it look. Always orbiting Min Ah like he was made of gravity. Unbothered. Steady. Good with people. Good with her.
Jun didnât hate him because he was annoying.
He hated him because he fit.
Jun didn't fit anywhere. Not into families. Not into routines. Not even into his own body, sometimes.
He reached for his phone again. Typed for the third time.
I miss you.
This time, he didnât delete it.
He just didnât send it.
He whispered the words into the half-dark like it might travel on dust particles, like the walls might remember.
âI miss you,â he said, againâquieter. âI really, really do.â
There was no reply. Just the hum of the refrigerator. The static in his lungs. The grief that made a home somewhere behind his ribs.
Jun placed the phone on his bedside table. Screen down.
Then curled in on himself.
Because some people sleep to escape.
But he just wanted to forget he was still awake.
â
OMG FINALLYYY CHAPTER 14 IS UP!!! I've been trying to update since wednesday but tumblr wont let me??? it keeps failing idk why. but here u go! enjoy!!
Omg I've tried to post Chapter 14 and keep failing????
"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you canât name."
â§ moon junhui x f!oc
â§ kwon hoshi x f!oc
â§ summary: She came to Seoul to escapeâwhat she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.
â§ word count: 4k
â§ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut
â§ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes
Chapter 13
2:37
Discord ping echoed from everyone's device
One single, unassuming notification in the #general channel. From the one, the only: Dokyeom.
Team Artois, assemble! Urgent 5-min huddle at 3PM. Trust me, youâre gonna love this (mandatory).
Mandatory.
And yet it had the vibes of an unhinged reality show twist.
Min Ah stared at the message like it was a personal attack. Her fingers paused mid-typing. Her brain? Immediately in crisis.
âWhat is he up to now,â she muttered, narrowing her eyes.
Eunji rolled over in her chair like a harbinger of doom. âPlace your bets. Last time he said âyouâre gonna love this,â we ended up doing a week of TikTok content strategy in VR goggles.â
Min Ah groaned. âI still get migraines when I hear the word âmetaverse.ââ
Meanwhile, across the office, Hoshi was trying so hard not to look at her that it physically hurt. His jaw was clenched, his cursor blinking on an empty Notion page. The scent of Min Ahâs grapefruit perfume had reached him approximately ten minutes ago and he had not been okay since.
They hadnât talked about it. Wellâokayâthey had. Briefly. In the awkward, hungover haze of Sunday morning, followed by the Monday-of-all-Mondays in the office. But everything since then had been... careful. Cautious. Every conversation felt like walking a tightrope over a pool of unresolved sexual tension and emotional confusion.
And Min Ah?
Oh, she was losing it. Quietly. Slowly. Spectacularly.
Because somehowâsome howâshe had woken up in his bed and not regretted it.
No, scratch that. She regretted the chaos. The lack of memory. The part where she said Yuji Itadori in bed. She would never emotionally recover from that, in like, forever.
But him?
She hadnât minded waking up next to him.
Sheâd minded it too little. And that was the problem.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Eunji:
[My Eunjinji]
bets on whether dokyeomâs surprise is a weekend getaway or human sacrifice?
[min ah]
what if itâs both
Dokyeomâs voice snapped them all to attention. âEVERYONE! MEETING TIME!â
He stood near the whiteboard like he was hosting the Hunger Games.
The marketing team trickled in: Min Ah, Eunji, Dahyun, a couple of interns, and Hoshiâwho kept a whole extra chair between himself and Min Ah like they were at Catholic school mass.
Manager Kim arrived last, clutching a cold brew and already sighing.
Dokyeom beamed. iPad in hand. Suspicious twinkle in his eye.
âSo!â he announced. âWeâve been absolutely crushing it, team. Insane engagement numbers. Client love letters. Even that chaotic Halloween reel went semi-viralâshoutout to Hoshiâs choreography and Min Ahâs wig sacrifice.â
Min Ah visibly flinched. Hoshi stifled a grin.
Dokyeom flipped to a slide titled:
GLAMPING TRIP: TEAM BONDING 2025
The room exploded.
âGLAMPING?!â
âThis WEEKEND?!â
âAre there bathrooms??â
âIs this going to be like Squid Game?!â
Dokyeom raised his hands like Moses parting the Red Sea. âItâs all handled! Weâre going to a curated glamping site in Gapyeong. Domes. Heaters. Projectors. Mood lighting. And of courseâteam bonding activities!â
Eunji snorted. âAre you trying to kill us or make us fall in love?â
Dokyeom winked. âWhy not both?â
Min Ah choked on air.
âWait, Gapyeong? Like autumn foliage, fairy lights, romcom energy Gapyeong?â she asked weakly.
Dokyeom nodded. âThatâs the one. I already booked the place. Bus leaves Saturday at 7AM sharp.â
A small sound escaped herâhalf gasp, half soul-leaving-body. She felt Hoshiâs gaze flick toward her. She didnât look back.
âTeams and tents will be randomly assigned,â Dokyeom added gleefully. âSo no one can rig it to bunk with their crushâIâm watching you, Dahyun.â
âExcuse me?!â Dahyun shouted.
Eunji leaned over and stage-whispered to Min Ah, âHeâs not wrong though.â
Min Ah wanted to sink into the floor.
âAnyway,â Dokyeom grinned. âPack warm clothes, snacks, and a winning attitude. Dismissed!â
As the team shuffled back to their desks, Eunji was already complaining about the cold, the bugs, and the possibility of sharing a dome with Manager Kim.
Dahyun wiggled her eyebrows at Min Ah. âSo. You, me, campfire horror stories, and thermoses full of wine?â
Min Ah forced a smile. âOnly if you promise not to livestream my mental breakdown.â
â
It was too early to be awake, too cold to be cheerful, and much too soon to be making eye contact with Hoshi in broad daylight.
Min Ah pulled her hoodie tighter around her neck as she stood on the sidewalk in front of The Parc lobby, surrounded by a sleepy, semi-conscious gathering of coworkers. The team looked like a very specific breed of hungover penguinsâeveryone bundled up in mismatched hoodies, sneakers, and the occasional very questionable pajama pant.
Dokyeom, naturally, was wearing sunglasses and fingerless gloves. He raised both arms like Moses parting the Red Sea when the bus arrived. âChildren of capitalism! Your carriage awaits!â
The Artois team let out a collective groan.
Min Ah was about to climb up the steps when Eunji nudged her sharply in the ribs. âYouâre sitting next to Hoshi.â
âWhat?â Min Ah blinked, mid-step.
Eunji grinned, whispering like an agent of chaos. âI made sure of it. I told Dahyun I get motion sickness unless I sit in the front, and then I told Jaemin Iâd save him a seat in the back. So the middleâs wide open⊠just for you two.â
âThatâs manipulative.â
âYou're welcome,â Eunji beamed.
Min Ah turned around, ready to protest, but thenâof courseâHoshi appeared behind her. Hoodie, sweats, sneakers, coffee in hand. His hair was still damp from a rushed morning shower, and when their eyes met, he smiled that awkward, too-polite smile that meant Iâm still thinking about that thing weâre pretending didnât happen.
âMorning,â he said.
âMorning,â she replied, clutching her backpack like it might shield her from reality.
The bus door hissed open.
They climbed aboard.
And just like Eunji orchestrated, the only two seats left in the middle were right next to each other. A little too close. A little too fate.
Min Ah slid in first, mumbling something about âwindow seatsâ while already feeling her cheeks burn. Hoshi followed, settling next to her with just a hint too much space between their thighsâlike he was trying not to touch her, and somehow that made the air even thicker.
The bus roared to life. They lurched forward.
And so began the quietest, most deafening 90 minutes of her life.
Min Ah tried to focus on the trees outside. Hoshi kept sipping his coffee like it was the only thing anchoring him to this realm.
A few rows back, Dokyeom whispered something to Eunji and they both snorted. The guy from finance Jaeminâs obnoxious laugh echoed off the windows. Dahyun was already asleep, earbuds in, neck pillow secured like she was entering hibernation. The vibe on the bus was pure chaos-meets-naptime.
Min Ah stole a glance at Hoshi. His hood was down now, and a soft tuft of dark brown hair stuck out awkwardly at the back. He looked peaceful, if not slightly constipated with anxiety.
Suddenly, a small bump in the road sent them joltingâand his thigh bumped into hers.
She stiffened.
So did he.
âSorry,â he said quickly, retreating an inch.
âItâs okay,â she replied, voice tighter than her backpack straps.
Silence.
More silence.
Thenâ
âYou brought snacks?â Hoshi asked, eyes flicking to her tote bag like it was the most interesting object in the universe.
âUm. Dried mango,â she said, digging through it. âAlso seaweed crisps and those weird lemon gummies from Japan.â
He perked up. âThose slap.â
She handed him one wordlessly.
He took it with a shy grin. âThanks.â
They chewed in awkward synchrony. The gummies tasted like citrus and tension.
Eventually, the bus quieted. Heads tilted back. Curtains drawn. Someone played a lo-fi playlist from their phone. The mood shiftedâsoft and sleepy.
Min Ah yawned.
Hoshi leaned his head back against the seat.
Their shoulders barely touched.
She shouldâve pulled away. Really, she shouldâve.
But it was warm. And comfortable. And⊠okay, sue herâhe smelled good. That familiar faint trace of laundry detergent and aftershave and something distinctly him. Not romantic. Not emotional.
Just⊠human.
Min Ahâs eyes fluttered closed.
Somewhere between Seoul and Gapyeong, she fell asleep.
â
It started as a soft weight.
Something resting against her head.
Min Ah blinked slowly awake, disoriented.
Sheâd slumped sideways, and her cheek was now pressed against a solid, warm surface. Her nose brushed against fabric.
Her pillow had abs.
She froze.
Hoshi.
Sheâd fallen asleep on Hoshi.
Correction: with Hoshi. Because he, too, was completely knocked outâhead tilted slightly to the side, lips parted, breathing slow. His face was so close. Too close. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was dreaming of something confusing. Maybe how they ended up like this. Maybe how she ended up like this.
Min Ah was about to moveâabout to gently slide awayâwhen a loud snap echoed through the bus.
Eunjiâs phone camera.
No.
âEUNJI,â Min Ah hissed, too late.
Eunji turned around from two rows back, holding her phone like a prized PokĂ©mon. âSorry, but I had to. You two look like a couple in a Netflix K-drama promo poster.â
âDELETE IT.â
âToo late. Itâs already in the Artois group chat. Dokyeom added emojis.â
Min Ah groaned. She buried her face deeper into Hoshiâs hoodie-covered chest, fully giving up on the idea of dignity.
Hoshi stirred. âHmm?â he mumbled.
She looked up, flustered. âSorryâIâuhâyou wereâsleepingâIââ
He blinked, dazed. âYou smell like lemon.â
âWhat?!â
âI think I drooled on your hair,â he added, half-asleep, totally shameless.
Min Ah stared at him, mortified.
But he just smiled, eyes fluttering shut again.
âFive more minutes,â he whispered. âThen we face the consequences.â
â
By the time the bus rolled into the glamping site, chaos had fully reawakened.
Eunji was telling everyone about the âaccidental couple pic.â Dokyeom had changed his KakaoTalk profile photo to a blurry zoom-in of Min Ah curled against Hoshiâs chest. Jaemin made an offhand comment about how âcozyâ they looked, waggling his eyebrows until Dahyun smacked him with a pillow.
And Hoshi?
Hoshi just walked beside Min Ah like nothing happened. A calm in the storm. Like he didnât even know they were slowly becoming the plot of a Tumblr fic.
Min Ah hated how steady he looked.
Because she was not steady.
Her brain was still catching up.
With the night they didnât talk about.
With the morning they tried to laugh through.
With the fact that she had just spent ninety whole minutes sleeping against someone she had accidentally, emotionally, and physically tangled herself with.
And the worst part?
She hadnât hated it.
Not even a little bit.
She glanced at Hoshi out of the corner of her eye. He caught her. Smiled, soft.
Her heart did something stupid.
âWelcome to Ga-blemping Heaven!â Dokyeom declared, arms wide as they stood at the edge of the forested site. Rows of beige canvas tents glowed under the early afternoon sun. String lights hung from pine trees. There was a firepit, a grill, a small stage with a karaoke mic already plugged in. Fairy lights twinkled like they were ready for romance and ruin.
âLet the bonding begin,â Eunji said ominously.
Hoshi elbowed Min Ah gently. âStill time to fake an injury and go home.â
Min Ah shook her head. âNah. I think I want to see where this disaster goes.â
He looked at her a moment longer. âMe too.â
The glamping site was, objectively, disgustingly aesthetic.
Like someone had curated a Pinterest board titled âAutumn Cozy Forest Romance, But Make It Corporate Retreatâ and then manifested it with unlimited budget. Rows of cream canvas bell tents lined a gravel path, string lights looped between trees like warm halos, and fairy lights blinked lazily above fire pits and bean bags. There was even an espresso cart. With a barista. Wearing a beanie. In the forest. Capitalism had officially won.
Min Ah looked around with cautious awe, tugging her overnight bag higher on her shoulder. âWhy does this feel like an Instagram influencerâs wet dream?â
âBecause it is,â Eunji muttered beside her. âI checked the geo-tag. This place is a wedding venue on weekends.â
Dokyeom clapped his hands loudly from the center of the clearing, drawing everyoneâs attention. âAlright, Artois troops!â he said with far too much energy for someone wearing socks with Birkenstocks. âLetâs do the rooming assignments!â
A collective groan echoed through the crowd. Everyone knew the horror of room assignments during overnight company events. The drama. The betrayal. The unspoken wars.
âDonât worry,â Dokyeom said, waving a crumpled paper. âIâve randomized it. Equal gender distribution, two per tent. Very fair.â
Min Ah narrowed her eyes. That sounded⊠suspiciously too fair.
One by one, people were called up to receive their tent numbers.
âEunji with Dahyun.â
âManager Kim with Senior Seo.â
âHyunwoo with Hyojin.â
The line moved. Bags dragged. People scattered. Tents filled up.
Min Ah waited, rocking on her heels. Hoshi stood a few paces away, hands in his coat pockets, eyes on the ground. They hadnât really talked since the bus incident. Since the nap. Since her head accidentally landed on his shoulder and stayed there. Since someone took a photo of it and now it lived in the group chat as everyoneâs favorite new meme.
âAnd that just leavesâŠâ Dokyeom paused, scanning the remaining names. His eyes lit up like a man watching chaos bloom.
ââŠHoshi and Min Ah.â
They both froze.
Min Ah blinked. âWait. That canât be right.â
Hoshi straightened. âNo no, thereâs gotta be someone elseââ
âNope,â Dokyeom said cheerfully. âWe had an odd number of both guys and girls. Math is math. Tent 9. Enjoy the bonding!â
And just like that, he walked off.
Min Ah stood there, blinking, brain buffering.
Hoshi turned to her slowly. ââŠI swear I didnât plan this.â
âDid I say you did?â
âYou looked at me like I set the tent trap.â
âWell maybe you did in your sleep while snoring on my shoulder.â
âI do not snoreââ
âYou absolutely do.â
They stared at each other.
Silence.
A squirrel ran past.
Somewhere, a leaf dramatically fell.
âOkay,â Hoshi said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. âWeâre adults. Itâs just one night.â
âRight. We shared a bed before and lived to tell the tale.â
He coughed. âBarely.â
She looked away. âTent 9?â
âLead the way.â
As they made their way toward Tent 9, Min Ah could feel the looks.
Not in a scandalous wayâjust the quiet, knowing glances exchanged between coworkers who knew just enough to guess something spicy might be going on. Eunji gave her a grin that said weâll talk later. Manager Kim looked like he had bet on this pairing and was winning money in a secret Slack channel.
Tent 9 stood at the very edge of the campgrounds. A little more private. A little more removed. A little too romantic for something that was definitely not supposed to be romantic.
Inside, it was deceptively cute.
Two twin fluffy heated mattresses. A little lantern hanging from the ceiling. A woven rug. Even a fake potted plant in the corner like a passive-aggressive decoration from Hoshiâs apartment.
Min Ah dropped her bag with a thud and immediately sat on the left bed. âThis oneâs mine. No negotiations.â
Hoshi flopped onto the other bed. âFine. I didnât want to sleep near the fake ficus anyway.â
She tossed him a look. âYouâre weirdly good at this.â
âAt what?â
âThis. The⊠acting normal. Like we didnâtâlike nothing happened.â
His face twitched, just slightly. âDo you want me to act differently?â
âNo,â she said too quickly. âI meanâyes. No. I donât know.â
He smiled faintly, eyes on the ceiling. âWe could always build a wall of pillows.â
âA Berlin Wall of Shame.â
âExactly. Keep the Cold War vibes alive.â
She snorted, then sighed, sinking back into her mattress. The tent was quiet except for the muffled laughter of their coworkers outside, and the occasional rustle of leaves.
Min Ah glanced sideways.
Hoshi had one arm slung over his eyes. His mouth was tugged in a smile that didnât reach his cheeks. His other hand rested on his stomach, fingers twitching.
Her heart twisted.
The dream had felt like Jun. The aftermath had felt like grief.
But this?
This just felt like⊠a beginning she didnât know how to name yet.
Outside, someone shouted that dinner would be served soon. The crackle of a bonfire started somewhere near the main pit.
âLetâs just get through tonight,â she said softly.
Hoshi peeked over at her. âSurvive now, overthink later?â
She nodded.
He smiled again. âSignal received.â
She rolled her eyes.
But her chest felt a little lighter.
Like maybe this wasnât a mistake.
Maybe it was just⊠step one.
â
If there was one thing worse than tent-sharing with your very confusing almost-hookup-almost-crush coworker, it was publicly pairing up with said coworker for trust-building exercises led by a man in cargo shorts with an actual whistle.
âAlright, Artois troops!â Dokyeom yelled, hopping onto a tree stump like a deranged camp counselor. âNext up in our magical glamping bonding journey: team activities!â
A collective groan echoed through the trees.
Hoshi muttered, âWhy does he sound like a PE teacher on crack?â
Min Ah elbowed him. âShut up or heâll assign you to the three-legged race with Manager Kim.â
That shut him up real fast.
The group was herded into a clearing near the edge of the forest, where several suspiciously cute activity stations had been set up. A macramĂ© rope swing. An obstacle course made from string and pool noodles. A stack of hula hoops andâgod help themâa blindfolded trust-walk zone.
âPick a partner!â Dokyeom called out. âWeâll rotate later!â
Everyone scattered like cockroaches.
Dahyun sprinted toward Eunji. Soobin grabbed Jisoo. Even Hyunwoo and Manager Kim had some weird synchronized nod thing going.
Min Ah turned around, scanningâ
Only to find Hoshi already standing beside her, hands in his pockets, awkward little smile blooming on his face.
ââŠGuess itâs us,â he said.
Her heart did that annoying little skip. âGuess so.â
They were assigned to the trust fall first. Classic. Cruel. Criminal.
Hoshi stood behind her, arms out. âOkay. Just lean back. Iâve got you.â
Min Ah eyed him suspiciously. âPromise you wonât let me die?â
âI swear on my glasses collection.â
ââŠWow. High stakes.â
She took a breath. Closed her eyes. And fell.
His arms caught her with ridiculous easeâstrong, steady, warm.
âSee?â he murmured. âSafe.â
Her heart stuttered. Stupid heart. âYeah.â
She stepped away quickly, cheeks burning. âYour turn.â
He raised an eyebrow. âYou gonna catch me?â
âDonât flatter yourself.â
He smirked. âYouâd catch me. You like me.â
âExcuse meââ
But he was already falling back.
She yelped and lunged forwardâcaught him with a startled oof, his weight slamming into her arms.
âSEE?â he grinned upside down. âYou like me.â
âI hate you,â she gasped, laughing. âYouâre so heavyâwhat the hellâare you carrying trauma in your pockets?!â
âI carry my issues everywhere. Itâs my gym routine.â
She shoved him away, still laughing, and they moved on to the next station: the hand-tied maze. Basically, their wrists were bound together with a rope, and they had to navigate a path without letting go.
It was a disaster.
Every turn, every tug, every misstep brought them closer. Hoshi cursed under his breath when he almost tripped, dragging Min Ah down with him.
âStop pulling!â
âYouâre the one zigzagging like a drunk pigeon!â
âYou smell like glitter and shame!â
âYou said I smelled good yesterday!â
âThat was before I remembered you put my wig in a microwave!â
They finally stumbled out of the mazeâsweaty, breathless, and tangled.
A few claps came from their coworkers, but mostly everyone was just filming for future blackmail.
Min Ah collapsed on the grass, tugging at the knot on her wrist. âWho even designed this? A sadist?â
âProbably Dokyeom,â Hoshi said, panting beside her. âThis has his chaotic evil fingerprints all over it.â
She leaned back on her elbows, watching the clouds shift lazily overhead.
Hoshi looked over at her.
She glanced at him, "What?"
âI didnât hate that.â
âWhich part? The falling? The insults? The rope burn?â
He smiled. âBeing stuck to you.â
âŠSilence.
She looked away. âYouâre such a flirt.â
âIâm not flirting,â he said, softer now. âNot really.â
She didnât answer. But her fingers brushed his for just a second. Light. Uncertain. Real.
Then someone called out: âBONFIRE IN FIFTEEN! BRING YOUR CHAOS ENERGY!â
The spell broke.
Min Ah stood up and dusted off her pants. âBetter get ready.â
Hoshi stayed seated, looking up at her like she was made of starlight and static.
âHey,â he said.
She looked back.
He smiled, lopsided. âYouâre really pretty when youâre annoyed.â
Her face flushed. âYouâre lucky I donât push you into the lake.â
âWorth it,â he said.
As they walked back toward the tents, side by side, brushing shouldersâ
The air between them buzzed with everything unsaid.
And neither of them knew it yet, but the fire that night?
Wasnât just coming from the bonfire.
â
The stars above were shy tonight, ducking behind the clouds as if even they didnât want to witness the disaster unfolding below.
The bonfire cracked, sending embers dancing into the crisp night air. Fairy lights strung from tree to tree glowed like twinkling secrets, barely lighting the circle of chaos about to begin.
Dokyeom stood in the center, arms outstretched, ladle in one hand, the glint of evil in his eyes.
âAlright, delinquents!â he shouted. âThe time has come. The game that will either bond us for life or completely destroy our dignity: Spill or Kiss!â
A few people groaned.
Soobin whispered, âHeâs drunk on power. Someone stop him.â
âToo late,â Dahyun said, popping a marshmallow into her mouth.
The group started forming a loose circleâsome sat on plaid picnic blankets, others on camping stools or straight on the gravel, bundled in hoodies and blankets. Hot chocolate steamed in mugs. Someone had brought an acoustic speaker softly playing retro K-pop in the backgroundâTwiceâs Signal, of course, as if the universe was in on the joke.
And just like fate had been doing all weekend, it struck again.
Min Ah ended up next to Dahyun.
And Hoshi.
Again.
The universe was not subtle.
âOkay, rules are simple,â Dokyeom beamed, dramatically clicking his pen. âOne personal, mildly soul-crushing question. If you donât answer, you kiss the person to your right. You must do one.â
âWaitâmust?â Jisoo frowned.
âYes,â Dokyeom said. âYou cannot escape. This is a legally binding game in the woods.â
âGreat,â muttered Min Ah. âThis is how we die. Publicly. Emotionally.â
They started clockwise.
The first few rounds were hilarious. Dahyun was asked if she ever stalked her ex on LinkedIn (âobviously,â she said, sipping hot cocoa). Soobin got grilled about the weirdest thing heâs ever Googled drunk. (âHow many raccoons can I legally own in South Korea.â)
Manager Kim was asked who in the office heâd fire if he could. He stared at Soobin for a full 10 seconds before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. âToo dangerous,â he said.
Then it happened.
Eunji turned, oh-so-innocently, toward Min Ah.
âMin Ah,â he said sweetly, as if he wasnât the human embodiment of chaos. âYour turn.â
Min Ah blinked. âOkay. Hit me.â
Eunji's smile sharpened.
âDid you ever sleep with someone from the office?â
The bonfire might as well have exploded.
Gasps. Laughter. Someone choked on their drink.
Min Ah stared at him, mouth hanging open.
âWHAT?!â
Eunji threw her arms up. âItâs a fair question!â
âTHATâS A MINEFIELD,â Hoshi hissed beside her, already paling.
Min Ahâs brain went into a tailspin. Her hands started sweating. Her soul left her body, hovered above the glamping tent, and said, this is why we donât go on company retreats, babe.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She could feel Hoshi freeze next to her.
She looked at Eunji. âIâm not answering that.â
âRules are rules,â Dokyeom sang. âKiss the person on your right~â
The world tilted.
Min Ah turned her head slowly. Met Hoshiâs eyes.
The firelight danced across his featuresâhis skin flushed, lips parted slightly, like he couldnât decide whether to run or pass out.
The rest of the circle leaned in as one.
âWell?â Dahyun whispered, eyes gleaming. âLetâs goooo.â
Min Ah licked her lips. âThis is stupid,â she mumbled.
Hoshi gave a breathless little laugh. âYeah.â
Beat.
âYou okay?â she whispered.
He nodded, just once. âYeah. You?â
Min Ahâs voice was barely there. âI think so.â
She leaned in.
So did he.
And thenâ
Their lips touched.
Not for long. Not deep. But not nothing.
It was soft. Still.
Like time had slipped out of gear and for one perfect second, everything just... paused.
Her lips trembled against his.
His handâsomehowâfound her knee. Gentle. Grounding.
When they pulled back, the air between them shimmered.
And thenâchaos.
âAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!â
âDID YâALL SEE THAT?!â
âWAIT HOLD UPâTHAT WAS NOT A GAME KISS!â
Eunji actually threw her cup in the air.
Dahyun screamed into a pillow.
Soobin clutched Manager Kimâs sleeve and whisper-yelled, âOH MY GOD SHE DID SLEEP WITH SOMEONE IN THE OFFICE.â
Min Ah immediately hid her face in both hands. âI want to die.â
Hoshi choked on his own breath, eyes wide. âThat wasânoâthatâs notââ
âYou put your hand on her knee, bro,â Dokyeom said smugly, sipping cider like tea. âItâs over. Just elope now.â
âIâM NEVER PLAYING THIS GAME AGAIN,â Min Ah shrieked.
Eunji pounced on her. âWait wait wait wait waitâWAS IT HIM?!â
Min Ah yelped. âNO COMMENTââ
âOH MY GOD IT WAS HIM.â
Hoshi made a noise like a dying duck. âIâm deceased. This is my funeral.â
But beneath all the panic and teasingâ
Min Ah risked a glance at him.
He was already looking at her.
Their eyes met.
And this timeâŠ
They didnât look away.
He mouthed: You okay?
She gave the smallest nod. You?
He smiledâcrooked, nervous, warm. Better than okay.
Her stomach flipped.
Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted. Somewhere across the fire, Eunji was still interrogating her with aggressive marshmallows. And somewhere in her chest, a feeling that started as chaosâŠ
Was starting to feel like something else.
Something dangerous.
Something real.
â
The fire had died down to coals, and the night had sobered into stillness.
No more cheers. No more music. Just the soft rustle of wind threading through the trees, and the occasional muffled giggle from tents where the Artois crew was still probably sharing ghost stories or meme recaps of the day.
Min Ah lingered at the edge of the firepit like she was stalling time.
Her heart had stopped doing backflips about fifteen minutes agoâbut now it was pacing. Cautious. Unsure.
Because she still felt it. That kiss.
Not the pressure of it, or the sparkâit hadnât been some steamy, cinematic, fireworks-exploding kind of kiss. But it had landedâlike a small asteroid quietly crashing into the planet she called her emotional stability.
The truth was, it didnât feel like acting.
And that scared the living hell out of her.
She tightened her cardigan around herself and turned toward their tentâtheir shared tent, because of course fate would trap her overnight with the same man sheâd kissed in front of all their coworkers.
The tent looked cozy from a distance. Soft lantern glow seeping through the canvas, shadows swaying gently inside. A cream bubble of forced intimacy.
Her palms were sweaty.
Min Ah took a breath and unzipped the flap.
âZrrrp.â
Hoshi was sitting up inside, cross-legged on a rolled-out sleeping mat. He looked up immediately. Like heâd been waiting.
âOh,â he said. âHey.â
His hair was still fluffy from the wind, his hoodie half unzipped. He had taken off the cat ears from earlier, but a faint glitter trail still clung to his jaw. The soft light made him look warm. Real.
Too real.
Min Ah stepped in and zipped the flap back up behind her. It was quieter instantly. Just the two of them and the hum of air.
âHi,â she said.
They both just⊠stood there.
Or ratherâhe sat, she stood, awkward like someone caught in a very polite home invasion.
âYou can sit,â he said, clearing his throat.
âOh. Right.â
She eased down across from him, sitting a bit stiffly, pulling her knees up like a protective fortress. The blanket underneath them was soft and smelled like detergent and forest. Their shoulders werenât quite touching. But her body felt hyperaware. Every shift of his weight. Every exhale.
A minute passed. Maybe two.
ââŠSo,â he said eventually. âThat happened.â
Min Ah glanced at him. âYou mean the group-wide public workplace HR scandal that was our lips touching for five seconds?â
Hoshi huffed a quiet laugh. âThat one, yeah.â
They both went quiet again.
Min Ah reached down and picked at a loose thread on the hem of her pants. âIt didnât⊠feel like a game.â
Hoshi turned slightly toward her. âNo,â he said, voice low. âIt didnât.â
She looked down. âI think thatâs what freaks me out the most.â
He nodded. Not pushing. Just listening.
âI thought it was going to be, likeâjust a dumb dare. Haha, funny, wow, scandalous. But then I kissed you and it felt like my body didnât get the memo that it was a joke.â She paused. âIt felt like my body⊠already knew yours.â
Her voice faltered at the end, like the truth had snuck up on her mid-sentence.
Hoshi didnât speak for a moment.
âYeah,â he said softly. âSame.â
She lifted her head slightly.
âIâve imagined it before,â he admitted, not meeting her eyes. âNot like in a gross wayâokay sometimes in a gross wayâbut also⊠like this. Quiet. Real. Like weâre just⊠here. Talking about it.â
Min Ahâs breath caught.
He added quickly, âYou donât have to say anything. Iâm not asking for anything. I justâ I donât want you to think it was nothing. Or that I kissed you just because of the game.â
Her throat felt tight.
âI didnât hate it,â she said quietly.
Their eyes met.
That changed the air.
It got heavier. Not tense, not badâjust charged. Like something was finally stepping into the room between them and refusing to pretend it didnât exist anymore.
âI donât know what to do with all this,â Min Ah said honestly. âIâm still kind of in this⊠grief haze. And the Jun stuff, itâsâGod, itâs still there. I havenât moved on. I donât even think Iâve really started to. And then I go and do thisâsleep with you, kiss you, laugh with you like weâre fine, and I donât know if itâs real or if Iâm just looking for a bandaid.â
Her voice cracked at the edges.
Hoshi listened. Like really listened. Like he wasnât bracing for rejection, just⊠letting her be messy.
Min Ah wrapped her arms around her knees. âBut I donât regret it.â
That surprised her even as she said it.
âI thought I would,â she continued. âWhen I woke up in your bed, I thought Iâd want to disappear. But I didnât. And tonightâI didnât kiss you because I was pretending. I kissed you becauseâŠâ
She trailed off. Bit her lip. âBecause it felt good. To want someone and not have to hurt for it.â
Hoshi exhaled slowly, like heâd been holding that breath the entire time.
â
They sat in it. The quiet. The admission. The flicker of something that wasnât quite peace, but wasnât panic anymore either.
After a moment, Min Ah smiled faintly. âAlso, your lips are really soft.â
Hoshi looked scandalized. âExcuse me?â
âLike unnaturally soft. Are you using a gloss? Is it Fenty?â
âI will neither confirm nor deny my allegiance to Rihanna.â
She laughed, head falling to her knees.
He watched her like she was the only light in the room.
Outside, the fire had gone out. The wind picked up, rustling the trees in that way that made it feel like the forest was whispering secrets. Inside the tent, it was quietâtoo quiet.
Min Ah shivered.
Just slightly.
But Hoshi noticed. He always noticed.
âYou cold?â
She shrugged. âIâm fine.â
Hoshi tilted his head. âYouâre visibly trembling.â
âI said Iâm fine, Captain Sweatpants.â
âIâm trying to be a gentleman, Min Ah, not a heater.â
âMaybe try harder.â
But her teeth chattered right at the end, betraying her entirely.
Hoshi sighed, then looked toward the two single beds lined up against opposite sides of the tentâperfectly reasonable, perfectly HR-safe. Then he looked back at her, and the universe collectively held its breath.
ââŠDo you want to come here?â he asked, voice cautious.
She blinked. âCome where?â
He patted the space beside him. His sleeping bag was half-zipped, his body already curled up in a heap of blanket and warmth. His sweatpants peeked out beneath the edge, and for some reason, that made everything feel ten times more dangerous.
Min Ah stared at him.
Then at the other bed.
Then back at him.
She crossed her arms. âThis is a trap.â
âItâs literally not.â
âYou say that, but then you pull out the lip balm and suddenly Iâm compromised.â
âMin Ah.â
âHoshi.â
Another gust of wind howled outside. The fabric of the tent flapped slightly, and her shoulders curled inward.
She groaned. âIf I wake up in your arms again, Iâm suing.â
âNo comment.â
Slowlyâso slowlyâshe crawled over, dragging her blanket like a defeated ghost. She flopped onto his bed and immediately sighed at the warmth.
ââŠDonât make it weird,â she mumbled, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
âMe? Make it weird?â Hoshi said. âNever. Iâm the pinnacle of platonic behavior.â
âUh-huh.â
They lay like that for a momentâawkward, stiff, two human icicles trying to defrost without igniting something irreversible.
Eventually, Min Ah shifted. Her arm brushed his.
Hoshi froze.
Then he shifted, too. Their legs tangled slightly, socks brushing. She kicked him onceâlightly.
âYour feet are cold,â she muttered.
âSo are yours,â he shot back. âThis is a hate cuddle now.â
âYouâre lucky Iâm too tired to murder you.â
âYouâre lucky Iâm letting you freeload my body heat.â
âShut up and hold me.â
That came out before she could think about it.
Hoshiâs breath caught.
And thenâhe moved. Gently. Tentatively. One arm sliding around her waist, the other adjusting the blanket so it cocooned them both. She nestled into his chest, her face pressed somewhere near the crook of his neck.
His heartbeat was loud.
So was hers.
This was a mistake.
This was a terrible idea.
This wasâŠ
âŠkind of perfect.
âI canât believe weâre doing this,â she whispered.
âI can,â Hoshi replied, voice low. âIâve kind of wanted to for a while.â
That made her look upâjust slightly. Her eyes met his in the dark.
âYou're an idiot,â she sighed.
She could kiss him right now.
He could kiss her.
But they didnât.
Instead, she pressed her forehead to his collarbone and whispered, âLetâs just sleep.â
And he whispered back, âOkay.â
They lay like thatâtangled, warm, too awareâand somewhere between heartbeats, Min Ahâs last thought before sleep found her again was:
You didnât kiss me like someone pretending.
And maybeâŠ
She didnât kiss him like that, either.

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Jun + Moon
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Author will be taking a break until further notice due to the recent posts from user sound_of_coups đđ»
golden boy âš
"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you canât name."
â§ moon junhui x f!oc
â§ kwon hoshi x f!oc
â§ summary: She came to Seoul to escapeâwhat she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.
â§ word count: 4.4k
â§ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut
â§ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes
â§ MINORS DNI
Chapter 12
The sheets were warm.
Not just warmâscalding. Wrapped around her like honey, sticking to her skin in the softest, heaviest way. Every breath she took dragged through molasses, thick with heat and memory. Min Ah couldnât moveâdidnât want to moveâbecause a voice was in her ear, low and breathless and familiar.
âMin Ah,â he murmured.
Jun.
Her mind whispered his name before she could stop it.
He kissed her neck, slow, reverent. Like prayer. Her back arched into his touch instinctively, lips parting on a silent gasp.
The room was dark. Not pitch blackâthere was a light somewhere. Moonlight? City glow? Or maybe just a dim, blue shimmer leaking in from memory. Her eyes fluttered open, catching glimpses of bare shoulders, the outline of a jaw she knew too well. That soft, unreadable expression he always wore when he looked at her like thisâlike he didnât know if he was allowed to love her, and did it anyway.
She was under him now.
Legs parted. Breath caught.
His body hovered above hers like a secret waiting to be confessed.
She reached up, fingers trembling, and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it. Closed his eyes. Pressed a kiss to her palm.
âAre you sure?â he asked, voice hoarse.
It broke her.
Because he always asked.
Even when she hated him. Even when he deserved it.
She nodded, blinking through tears she didnât remember inviting. âJust pretend,â she whispered. âJust for tonight. That Iâm the one you want.â
Jun flinched.
But he didnât run. Not this time.
Instead, he kissed her. Hard. Desperate. The kind of kiss that didnât taste like romanceâit tasted like regret, like memory, like everything they had tried to forget and failed to bury. His hands found her thighs, thumbs digging into soft flesh. Her hips rose on instinct, andâ
He was inside her.
No warning. Just a smooth, slow push that made her gasp, clutching at the sheets. Her whole body arched, back lifting off the mattress as he filled herâfamiliar and deep and devastating.
She moaned. Loudly.
Jun's mouth found her collarbone. âYouâre so warm,â he murmured. âSo good. I missed you.â
She wanted to believe that. She did. She dragged her hands through his hair, tugged him closer. Their rhythm was unhurried, but intenseâlike drowning together in slow motion. He thrust into her with a kind of reverence that made her ache everywhere. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
âMin Ah,â he breathed against her mouth, âsay you still want me.â
She didnât answer. She couldnât. Because suddenlyâhis voiceâ
It wasnât right.
Still breathless. Still familiar.
But just a little... off.
She blinked again, andâ
Just for a second, the face above her changed.
Softer features. Brown eyes.
âDonât stop,â she whispered.
He kissed her forehead.
âYouâre safe,â he said.
Wait.
That voiceâ
Her eyes flew open.
â
Min Ah gasped and bolted upright, heart hammering, a scream lodged in her throat.Â
What the hell was that? A dream? Great, now my body starts betraying me too.
A beam of light slicing across her face, bright and blinding. Her head throbbedâtemples pulsing with every second like a ticking bomb. Her mouth was dryâher tongue felt like sandpaperâand her limbs were tangled in warm sheets that didnât feel like hers.
Groggy and confused, she slowly sat up.
Something tugged at her neck. A choker.
She blinked. Her green earringâstill hanging on her left ear.
Oh no.
She looked down. No shirt. No bra. No skirt. Nothing.
Min Ah was completely, utterly naked in an unfamiliar bed. Her fingers curled into the sheets on instinct, tugging the fabric to cover herself. Her brain scrambled, clawing through fractured images from the night before. The glitter. The club. The drinks. The dancing.
The pain between her legs throbbed sharply as she shifted. She gaspedâa soft, involuntary sound that escaped her lips.
That⊠that couldnât meanâ
No. No way. Noâ
She turned her head slowly, afraid, already regretting everything she might see.
A man lay beside her, on his side, back turned to her, apparently shirtless. Broad shoulders. Brown hair.
Brown hair.
Her blood turned to ice.
Jun?
No. It couldnât be.
âPlease,â she whispered to herself. âPlease, please donât let it beââ
The man stirred, let out a soft, sleepy grunt, then rolled over.
Min Ah screamed.
âAAAH!â
He screamed too. âAAAHHH WHAT?!â
They stared at each other, horrified, breathless.
âHOSHI?!â
âMIN AH?!â
âWhat the fuck?!â
âI DONâT KNOW!!â Hoshi clutched the blanket to his chest like it would protect him from the sheer shock searing through both of them. His hair was tousled in every direction. There was a glitter smudge on his temple. His voice cracked as he panicked, âWaitâwaitâwhatâwhat happened?!â
âI donâtâoh my godâare weâdid weââ Min Ah couldnât even finish the sentence. Her mouth flapped uselessly.
They both looked around, desperate for clues. And there it was. Min Ahâs braâpink and lacyâhanging from the doorknob like a mocking flag of surrender.
Hoshiâs face went pale.
âOh my god,â he muttered.
Min Ah scrambled to sit up more, immediately regretting it. The dull ache between her legs pulsed again. She whimpered.
âYou okay?â Hoshi asked quickly, inching closer before thinking better of it. âDo you⊠hurt?â
She nodded mutely.
âIâllâget something. I meanânoâwaitâdo you want water? Should I get you clothes? My god, this isâwait, are we naked? I mean, obviouslyâbut likeâOH MY GOD.â
Then something small fell off the bed as Hoshi movedâlight, crinkly.
An empty condom wrapper.
Silence.
Hoshi picked it up. Blinked.
âOh,â he whispered. âAt least we were⊠safe?â
Min Ahâs face turned beet red. âWhy are you saying it like itâs a question?!â
âIâIâm panicking, okay?!â
She buried her face in her hands. âThis is not happening. This cannot be happening.â
âI swear, I didnât plan thisâlike, obviously. I didnât even think youâd end upââ He stopped himself. âOh my god, I sound like a creep.â
âNoâno, Iâm sure we were both drunk out of our minds,â Min Ah said quickly, trying to stay calm, even though her heart was beating wildly. âItâs not just on you. I was there. Iâoh my god. We had sex?!â
Wait, does that mean⊠my dream was⊠real?
Hoshi flailed toward the edge of the bed. âIâm getting you clothes. You canât stay naked like that. I mean, obviously. Not that Iâm looking. IâM NOT LOOKING.â
He stumbled to the wardrobe, still stark naked, then yelped and grabbed a towel from the floor to cover himself. He tossed her a massive blue-and-white striped T-shirt. It smelled like detergent and something warmâsomething like him.
She slipped it on quickly while he found some shorts and pulled them onâneon green, so aggressively bright it hurt her already bruised feelings.
Once they were both semi-dressed, they stood awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom, avoiding each otherâs eyes.
Silence.
Min Ah wasnât sure if her legs were shaking from the hangover or the emotional whiplash. One second she was waking up naked in Hoshiâs bed, screaming bloody murder, and the next, she was wearing a blue-and-white striped oversized T-shirt that reached halfway to her knees, padding barefoot behind Hoshi down the hallway of his apartment like a ghost in a haunted house.
A very hungover ghost.
âDo you want water first orâŠâ Hoshi turned back, his voice a bit hoarse, scratching the back of his neck. Heâd pulled on a neon green pair of shorts that clashed painfully with his very existence. His pastel pink wig from last night was nowhere to be found, but somehow, he still looked like a walking fever dream.
âCoffee,â Min Ah croaked. âOr⊠maybe just a holy intervention?â
âRight. Coming right up.â
They stepped out into the main living space, and it hit them both like a wall.
The apartment looked like the aftermath of a very specific natural disaster: Category 5 Drunk Sex Hurricane.
â
Min Ahâs bob reddish-brunette wigâher beloved Momo Ayase crowning gloryâwas stuffed inside the microwave, the door left slightly ajar as if someone had attempted to heat it like leftover fried rice. A long white thigh-high sock dangled from the ceiling fan, somehow twisted around one of the blades. Her green circular earring was submerged inside a shot glass on the counter, next to an empty bottle of soju with a party straw still sticking out of it.
âOh my God,â Min Ah repeated, covering her face.
Hoshi squinted toward the balcony door, stepping over what appeared to be a trail of sparkly stickers, maybe from someoneâs costume.
âWaitâwhy is my wig out there?â
He slid the glass door open, and sure enough, the pastel pink Itadori-style wig lay in a tragic heap on one of the balcony chairs, tangled and half-blown away like a lost toupee. Beyond it was an empty bag of shrimp chips and what looked like Min Ahâs fake school ID badge with the name âAyase Momoâ scribbled in pink pen.
âI donât even remember coming out here,â Hoshi muttered.
Min Ah just stood in the middle of the living room, her face a canvas of horror. âI think we mightâve⊠marked the apartment. Like wild animals.â
âI mean, if that sock on the ceiling fan doesnât say primal instinct, I donât know what does,â Hoshi joked, a little too brightly.
Min Ah gave him a look.
âToo soon?â
âToo soon.â
She turned and walked toward the kitchen table, needing something to hold on to. But even that betrayed her. Her pink cardiganâsomehow crumpledâwere draped neatly over one of the dining chairs like a damp towel. Her bra was still hanging from the bedroom doorknob, swinging slightly from where the door had opened.
âOh my God,â Min Ah whispered again, this time unable to stop the laughter bubbling in her chest.
She turned back to Hoshi, her mouth falling open, eyes wide with disbelief.
âWhy is my wig in your microwave?â
âI donât know!â Hoshi half-yelled, throwing his hands up. âYou said you were cold and I said, âwarm your hair,â or something like that, and youâGod, I donât know! Why would I let you do that!?â
Min Ahâs laugh burst out of her before she could stop itâsharp, disbelieving, and utterly unhinged. Hoshi blinked, then started laughing too.
And just like that, they were both doubled over in the middle of the mess, cackling like lunatics.
It was the kind of laughter that came from embarrassment, confusion, and the tiniest relief. Laughter that scratched at the surface of panic and guilt and didnât quite fix anything, but made it momentarily survivable.
âYou had a condom,â Min Ah wheezed, face flushed, body shaking from laughter. âThank God you had a condom!â
Hoshi flopped backward onto the couch, hand to his forehead. âI didnât even know I had condoms. I thought those expired in 2022.â
âGreat,â she gasped. âIâm glad my impulsive breakdown sex came with a side of maybe-expired protection.â
He peeked at her from under his hand, grinning sheepishly. âIâll Toss you for Plan B if it helps.â
They both cracked up again.
Then slowly, as the laughter faded, the weight returned. Like gravity finding them again after a few minutes in space.
The room was silent except for the quiet hum of the ceiling fanâstill spinning with her sock.
â
Min Ah sat stiffly on one side of the couch, knees pulled close, Hoshiâs oversized striped tee swallowing her frame. Her hair was a mess, and she clutched a glass of cold water with both hands, as if hydrating might bring back her sanityâor at least the missing pieces of last night.
Across from her, Hoshi sat with his elbows on his knees, still shirtless and wearing a violently neon green pair of basketball shorts. His legs bounced. His fingers twitched. He looked anywhere but her face.
Theyâd spent fifteen minutes stumbling around the apartment, collecting their dignity in fragments. They hadnât said much beyond panicked whispers and accidental âSorryâno you go firstââ while navigating the disaster.
Now they were both still. Wordless. Drenched in hangover and humiliation.
Min Ah took a small sip, throat dry. Her eyes flicked to Hoshi, then away again.
He leaned back finally, scratching his neck. âDo youâŠâ he hesitated, voice raw, ââŠremember anything?â
Her fingers tightened around the glass. âBits,â she admitted quietly. âYou?â
Hoshi exhaled, slow and shaky. âYeah. Bits.â
They sat in it, the space between what they did and how theyâd gotten here. Thenâ
A sudden flash:
Min Ahâs back hitting the hallway wall, breathless from laughter. Hoshiâs arms around her waist. His mouth clumsily finding hers, then pausingâ"Are you sure?"âand her answering with a tug on his shirt.
Fuck. Thatâs what it is?
Then, another flash.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted her onto the kitchen counter, knocking over a bowl of Halloween candy. Neither of them noticed. The countertop cold against her thighs, the soft rumble of Hoshi whispering, âYouâre soâfuck, youâre so pretty like this,â before kissing her again.
A blurry image of her face, half-lit by the city lights filtering through the blinds. Her fingers curled into the sheets, eyes glassy.
Sheâd whispered somethingâ
âDonât stop.â
And Hoshiâhis voice raspy, concernedâhad kissed her forehead and said, âYouâre safe.â
Now, in the morning light, her heart twisted painfully.
Min Ah pressed the glass against her cheek.
âI said that, didnât I,â she muttered.
Hoshi glanced over. âWhat?â
She looked at him. âI said âdonât stop.ââ
Hoshi froze.
For a moment, his expression dropped into something serious. Wounded. Then, just as quickly, he offered her a crooked half-smile.
âYou did. More than once.â
âJesus,â Min Ah whispered.
They both laughedâbut it came out jagged. Off-key. Not quite funny.
Min Ah groaned and sank further into the couch. âWhy didnât you stop me?â
âI tried!â he argued. âI asked if you were sureââ
âOh my God, I said I was sure, didnât Iââ
âYou said,â Hoshi mimicked, falsetto, ââIâve never been more sure of anything in my life, Yuji Itadori.ââ
Min Ah dropped her face into her hands and groaned so loud, he laughed despite himself.
âThatâsâ Thatâs not okay. Thatâs illegal.â
âI know,â he said solemnly. âIâm calling the police on myself right now.â
Min Ah groaned into the pillow, but a laugh still slipped outâhalf wheeze, half disbelief. The room fell quiet again, the kind of quiet that doesn't feel awkward⊠just full.
Hoshi leaned back against the couch, eyes unfocused, like he was rewinding something in his head.
Then, softerâcarefulâ âYou said⊠âJust pretend. Just for tonight. That Iâm the one you want.ââ
Her breath caught.
He didnât look at her. âI knew what you meant. I knew who you meant. I said okay anyway.â
She set the glass down on the coffee table with a shaky clink. Her voice, when it came, trembled. âYou should hate me.â
âI donât,â he said simply.
âBut I used you.â
âNo,â he said again, firmer now. âWe used each other.â
Silence thickened around them again, but this time it wasnât empty. It was fullâof truths unspoken, of touches remembered, of kisses shared not out of love, but out of need.
âI think I cried after,â she said suddenly, her voice cracking at the edges. âNot during. But⊠after. In your arms.â
Hoshi nodded once. âYou did.â
Min Ahâs eyes filled with tears, but they didnât fall. âWhy didnât you push me away?â
âBecause Iâve always wanted to be close to you,â he said. âEven if itâs just to hold the pieces.â
That broke her. Not loud. Not dramatic. But a single tear slipped down her cheek as she turned her face away.
âIâm a fucking mess.â
âSo am I,â Hoshi said. âBut hey, at least weâre messy together?â
She huffed a laugh that was half-sob, half-snort. âGod, youâre such a dumbass.â
âAnd yet, you slept with me.â
Min Ah looked back at him, eyes shining. âI really did, didnât I.â
He giggled. âCorrection: Kwon Soon Young and Song Min Ah didn't sleep together, Yuji Itadori and Momo Ayase did.â
âOh my godââ she moaned, curling up and pressing the pillow to her face. âI want to die.â
âSame,â Hoshi said cheerfully. âBut at least I died doing what I love.â
âYou are insufferable.â
âAnd yetâŠâ he teased, raising an eyebrow. âYouâre still wearing my shirt.â
She peeked out from under the pillow and stuck her tongue out at him.
Another pause.
More gentle this time.
Min Ah slowly sat back up, rubbing her face. The morning sunlight streamed through the window now, catching on the glitter still dusted across her collarbone, like leftover stardust from a disaster.
âI think I need a shower,â she mumbled. âAnd a lobotomy.â
âBoth are available,â Hoshi said. âBathroomâs down the hall. Lobotomyâs DIY though.â
âPerfect,â she sighed, then hesitated. âHey⊠Hoshi?â
He looked up.
She met his gaze, something unbearably soft in hers. âThank you. For being kind to me. For not making this worse.â
He just smiled. Not with his usual grin, but something quieter. Something real.
âAlways.â
â
She nodded slowly, pressing her lips together, then rose to her feet. The oversized T-shirt swayed with each step, brushing the tops of her bare thighs as she padded quietly down the hall. Hoshi watched her goâsilent, unreadableâuntil the bathroom door clicked shut behind her.
The small bathroom was dimly lit, washed in the warm glow of sunrise filtering through the frosted glass window. Min Ah turned on the light, blinking against the sudden glare.
It looked⊠normal. Stupidly, heartbreakingly normal.
A toothbrush holder shaped like a milk carton sat by the sink. There were two half-used face washesâone labeled âFor Oily Skinâ and the other âFor Sensitive Skinââlike he couldnât commit to either identity. A Spider-Man hand towel hung crooked on a silver bar. And next to the mirror, resting proudly on the sink like a relic of war, was a bottle of hand soap shaped like Iron Man.
She stared at it. Snorted softly. Of course.
She caught her own reflection in the mirrorâmessy hair, glitter-smudged collarbone, bruised lips. Her eyeliner had mostly given up somewhere between "hot" and "haunting." The green earring still dangled from her left ear like a drunk little witness.
Her eyes met her own, and for a moment, she didnât know who she was looking at.
Min Ah placed her hands on the sink, leaning forward. The porcelain was cold against her palms. The silence swelled around her like a tide.
And just like thatâthe memory bled back in.
Junâs voice. âAre you sure?â
Her own whisper. âJust pretend. Just for tonight.â
The way it feltâraw, aching, too real for a dream. How his weight pressed into her. How he kissed her like she was the last chapter of a story he couldnât finish. How sheâd let him in, let him break her open again.
Her breath hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut. God, she missed him.
Not just the sex. The himness of him. His quiet hesitations. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasnât watching. The ache he left behind, curling like smoke in the hollow of her chest.
And yetâ
She opened her eyes again. Looked down at the shirt she wore.
Hoshiâs. Soft cotton. Faint detergent. A little too big, a little too comforting. A safety blanket wrapped around a mistake that didnât feel like one.
And when sheâd woken upâwhen the dream crumbledâshe hadnât screamed because it wasnât Jun.
She screamed because it was Hoshi.
But she hadnât run.
She hadnât regretted him.
Min Ah inhaled shakily and touched the edge of the mirror, her fingers brushing the cool glass like it might tell her who she was now.
âIâm so fucked,â she whispered.
Then she grabbed a towel, wiped the glitter from her neck, and turned on the shower.
â
Monday morning at Artois had never felt so loud.
Not in the literal senseâno, the office hummed with its usual sounds: keyboards clicking, coffee machines whirring, the occasional thud of Manager Kimâs forehead against his desk. But to Min Ah, every little thing seemed magnified.
Hoshiâs laugh three desks away? A siren in her ear. The smell of his cologne when he passed behind her chair? Like a landmine going off in her brain. The memory of his mouth on her skin? Impossibly louder than any Slack notification pinging her laptop.
And still, they were trying. Trying so, so hard to act normal.
âHey,â Hoshi said that morning, passing her desk with a coffee in each hand and a slightly-too-casual grin. âGot you your usual.â
âOh,â Min Ah replied, voice a half-octave too high. âThanks.â
She reached out and their fingers brushedâjust for a secondâand it was like someone hit rewind on her entire weekend.
Suddenly she wasnât in her ergonomic office chair anymore. She was in his bed, half-sobbing into his neck, clutching at him like the night might swallow her whole. She blinked and looked down at her coffee like it had personally betrayed her.
âSmooth,â Eunji whispered from the next desk, clearly catching none of the backstory but all of the vibes.
Min Ah sipped the coffee to cover her face. Hoshi had already walked off, but she could feel his presence like a magnet two cubicles away.
And of course, just to make things worse, the sweater incident happened an hour later.
Min Ah had just returned from the printer and was settling into her chair when she caught movement in the corner of her eyeâHoshi, tugging his sweater over his head in one quick motion. Heâd worn a white T-shirt underneath, but the damage was already done.
She froze mid-sit, gaze involuntarily tracking the stretch of his arms, the flash of skin at his waist, the sound of fabric brushing over his hair.
She had seen him without a shirt. Scratch thatâshe had seen him in ways HR could never prepare her for. And now, his shirt rode up just enough to remind her that yes, he did, in fact, have back dimples.
Min Ah dropped her pen. Right off the desk. It clattered to the floor dramatically, like even the universe was like, âGirl, get it together.â
She bent to pick it upâand behind her, Hoshi looked over just in time to see her leaning forward, the hem of her blouse riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin above her waistband.
He choked on his coffee.
âBro, you good?â Eunji asked, glancing over.
âHot coffee,â Hoshi croaked. âWent down the wrong pipe.â
Meanwhile, Min Ah was internally screaming.
By 2 PM, they were both jumpy enough to startle at the sound of someone typing too aggressively.
By 3:30 PM, Hoshi had rewritten a single sentence on a brand strategy deck six times because Min Ahâs laugh from across the office kept echoing in his brain.
And by 4 PM⊠it happened.
Dokyeom strolled into the pantry like he owned it, cradling a microwaved sweet potato and wearing the most suspicious smile on Earth.
Hoshi was already inside, refilling his water bottle and praying to the gods of professionalism.
âAfternoon,â Dokyeom chirped, too casually.
âHey, man,â Hoshi said, glancing up.
âYou look⊠well-rested,â Dokyeom said, biting into the sweet potato. âWhich is impressive, considering how late you left the party.â
Hoshi froze.
ââŠYeah, it was a late night,â he said carefully.
Dokyeom leaned against the counter, eyes gleaming with danger. âFunny. I donât remember you calling a cab.â
ââŠBecause I didnât?â Hoshi offered weakly.
âNo,â Dokyeom grinned. âBecause I drove you.â
Hoshi dropped the water bottle.
It clattered dramatically to the floor, and if this were a cartoon, little cartoon sweat drops wouldâve popped up around his head. âYouâwaitâwhat?â
âYou and Min Ah,â Dokyeom said, voice full of delight. âSat in my backseat. Whispered. Laughed. Giggled.â
âWe did NOT giggle.â
Dokyeom raised an eyebrow. âDo you want me to go through how you insisted on carrying her to your apartment like a newly weds while holding her hand, hmm?â
Hoshi practically combusted. âIâNOâI MEANâNOTâokay wait I need a secondââ
He lunged for his phone and typed furiously.
â
Two minutes later, Min Ah arrived at the pantry, looking suspicious as hell.
âEmergency?â she hissed as soon as the door swung shut. âI was literally in a meetingââ
âDokyeom knows,â Hoshi whispered, eyes wild.
She blinked. âKnows whatâOH.â
âYeah. Apparently he drove us.â
Min Ah stared at him. Then at Dokyeom. Then back at Hoshi.
Dokyeom waved with his sweet potato. âHey, Min Ah.â
ââŠHi,â she said weakly.
âYou two have a fun little afterparty?â he asked sweetly.
Min Ah immediately turned red. Hoshi groaned into his hands.
âWe didnâtââ she started.
âNothing happened,â Hoshi added at the same time.
Dokyeom grinned. âRelax. Iâm not judging. I just enjoy watching you both suffer.â
âDokyeom, I swear to godââ
âIâm not gonna tell anyone,â he said, laughing now. âBut Iâm open to being⊠persuaded.â
Min Ah narrowed her eyes. âPersuaded?â
âI donât know,â he said casually. âMaybe you cover my coffee budget for the next month?â
Hoshi gaped. âBlackmail?â
Dokyeom winked. âI prefer the term⊠Emotional leverage.â
Min Ah sighed. âFine. You get coffee.â
âAnd pastries,â Dokyeom added.
âDonât push it,â she warned.
âOkay, okay,â he laughed. âBut seriously. You guys good?â
That caught them both off guard.
Min Ah blinked. Hoshi looked up.
ââŠWhat do you mean?â Hoshi asked.
Dokyeom shrugged, suddenly softer. âJustâwhatever happened, I know youâve liked her for a while. And Min Ah, youâve been⊠not okay, since that guy.â
They both winced.
âIâm not here to start drama,â Dokyeom said. âBut just⊠donât hurt each other. Alright?â
Min Ah looked at Hoshi.
Hoshi looked at her.
And for a second, the noise of the office faded.
Then Dokyeom ruined the moment by saying, âAnyway, I have a date with an Excel sheet. Try not to bang on the copy machine.â
âGET OUT,â Hoshi shouted, throwing a napkin at him.
â
After he left, they stayed there in silence.
Hoshi leaned back against the counter. âSo. That happened.â
Min Ah groaned. âGod, I forgot about the car ride.â
âWe were holding hands?â he said, glancing at her.
âApparently.â
They both flushed again.
âI mean,â Hoshi said. âIt wasnât⊠bad.â
âNo,â Min Ah agreed softly. âIt wasnât.â
She looked up at him. âThanks. For not freaking out.â
âThanks for not running away.â
They stood there awkwardly, smiling like idiots, hearts pounding.
Then the microwave dinged somewhere in the hallway and they jumped three feet apart.
ââŠWe should probably go back to work,â Min Ah said.
âYeah. Before Dokyeom starts charging rent for pantry time.â
As she walked past him, he caught a whiff of her perfume and barely managed to not faceplant.
And when she looked back at himâsmiling, blushing, a little braveâhe knew this wasnât over.
Not even close.
â
Okay, so now, theyâre back on their desks.
The thing about pretending nothing happened? It only works if you can stop remembering everything that happened.
Min Ah stared at her laptop, eyes glazed over, fingers frozen above the keyboard. The campaign deck in front of her made no senseâlike she was reading a foreign language through a fish tank. Hoshi sat two desks to the left, separated by nothing but a small cactus and the crushing weight of unsaid things.
He hadnât looked her way since they returned from the pantry.
And yetâshe could feel him.
The way his leg bounced restlessly under the desk. The way he tugged at his sleeves like he wanted to disappear inside his own shirt. The faintest inhale every time she shifted in her chair. It was like their bodies were still stuck in yesterdayâs gravity, orbiting the echo of tangled sheets and whispered names.
Min Ah tried to focus. âSlogan options: fast, fresh, fearlessâŠâ she muttered aloud. Then stopped.
Fast. Fresh. Fearless. That sounded like a condom brand.
She slapped her hand over her face with a groan.
From two desks away, Hoshi coughed. Not a real cough. One of those poorly-disguised laugh-coughs people do when theyâre trying not to explode.
âShut up,â she muttered without looking up.
âI didnât say anything,â he said, voice strained.
She looked over. His shoulders were shaking. His face was red. He was laughing silently like some deranged mime.
âYou are the worst,â she hissed.
Hoshi raised his eyebrows and smiled⊠No, grinning ear to ear, as if heâs trying to say, âYeah, whatever that lets me get my Momo Ayase back to my bed.â
Min Ah grabbed the nearest objectâher staplerâand held it threateningly. âDonât test me. I will staple your lip shut.â
âPromise?â he whispered.
âHoshi.â
Eunji glanced over the cubicle wall. âWhy are you two whisper-fighting like raccoons in a trash can?â
Min Ah shot up in her seat. âNothing! Weâreâfine. Totally normal. Healthy workplace rapport!â
Eunji narrowed her eyes suspiciously. âYou look like you saw a ghost.â
Hoshi coughed again. âThatâs just the fluorescent lighting. Brings out the trauma in all of us.â
Min Ah collapsed into her chair like a marionette with its strings cut. She was going to combust. Spontaneously. Right here in her ergonomic chair with lumbar support.
Thenâher Discord pinged. [HORANGSHI] i canât stop thinking about your sock on my ceiling fan do you want it back or should i auction it
She turned red so fast, her ears went hot.
[MinMine] Die in a microwave like my wig
A beat later:
[HORANGSHI] is typingâŠ
Then it disappeared.
Then he typed again:
iâd do it all over again. just maybe with less tequila and more⊠clarity.
Min Ahâs chest twisted.
She looked up.
He was already watching her.
Softly.
Like maybe he meant it.
And for once⊠she didnât look away
â HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHE HI GUYS :) pls help me to decide the endgame AAAAAHHH I CANNOT
HELP!
Song Min Ah - Wen Junhui
Song Min Ah - Kwon Soon Young
Two endings, one for each
Open ending
"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you canât name."
â§ moon junhui x f!oc
â§ kwon hoshi x f!oc
â§ summary: She came to Seoul to escapeâwhat she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.
â§ word count: 5.4k
â§ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut
â§ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes
â§ I personally don't recommend this chapter to whoever that is going on a bad break up.
Chapter 11
Seven days since Jun last texted her. Seven long, dragging days since his name had lit up her phone, since his dry humor filled her notifications like smoke curling beneath a door. She didnât realize how quiet her world had gone until the silence started to scream.
At Artois, life moved as fast. Meetings, briefs, punchy presentations about skincare branding and fall campaign timelines. The room buzzed with mid-August heat and iced Americanos. Dahyun was sketching with a stylus, Eunji snacked on spicy chips mid-slide show, and Mr. Kim was spinning his phone like a fidget spinner, waiting for a client reply.
Min Ah was thereâbut only just.
She sat, eyes half-focused, nodding at all the right moments. But her head was somewhere else. Still stuck in Junâs apartment two weeks ago, when they cooked together and he kissed her so slowly she forgot what loneliness felt like. Still playing back that quiet Sunday morning when he kissed her bare shoulder before she left, murmuring, âNext time, you cook.â
Sheâd smiled so wide at that. It had felt like a promise.
Now it felt like a punchline.
âMin Ah?â Mr. Kimâs voice cut into the hum of her memory.
She looked up. âHmm?â
âAny ideas on the visual angle? For the autumn rebrand?â
âUmââ She blinked. âWarm tones. Slight grain, natural shadows. Something⊠real.â
He nodded, scribbled a note.
The conversation moved on. But Min Ah didnât. Her gaze dropped to the table, where her pen sat still on the page. She hadnât written a single thing.
The weight of absence pressed hard against her chest. She didnât cry. She didnât sigh. She just sat there with her heartbeat thudding unevenly and a growing ache between her ribs.
She opened her mouth before thinking.
âShould we go out this weekend?â
Dahyun paused mid-doodle. âHuh?â
Min Ah pushed a smile onto her face. âItâs been a while, right? Since we went out? Club again?â
Eunji perked up immediately. âSay less. Iâve been waiting for someone to say it.â
âOh hell yes.â Dokyeomâvisiting from finance againâpumped his fist. âShots on me.â
Mr. Kim blinked. âThatâs unlike you, Min Ah. You okay?â
âYeah, just⊠felt like dancing.â
Everyone cheered. Laughed. Someone already made a group chat to organize it. They thought it was a whim. A joke. A summer Friday night plan.
Only Min Ah knew the truth.
She didnât want to party. She wanted to rewind. Rewind to the weekend when she and Jun locked eyes across a club floor, when he reached for her like he couldnât help it. Maybe if she went back to that same place⊠maybe if the lights flickered just right and the song hit just hard enough⊠maybe heâd show up again.
Maybe he missed her, too.
That night, her apartment was quiet except for the soft flick of a match.
She lit a candle Jun once complimented â vanilla, sandalwood, something warm and nostalgic. She stood in front of her wardrobe for what felt like an hour, holding dress after dress against her frame. Rejecting each one.
Too bright. Too plain. Too much.
Finally, she pulled out the one.
Dark blue silk. Thin straps. Fitted. She remembered Junâs look the first time he saw her in it. His mouth had opened like he wanted to say something, but he never did. He just reached for her.
She slipped it on.
She curled her hair loosely, pinned one side up with a gold clip. Applied perfume to her collarbone â the one he used to kiss. Lined her lips in soft mauve, traced gloss over them slowly, carefully.
The girl in the mirror didnât look heartbroken.
She looked beautiful. She looked sharp. She looked like she was about to get what she wanted.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Min Ah turned so fast her heels squeaked against the floor.
But it wasnât him.
Just the group chat: Eunji sending outfit options. A blurry selfie from Dokyeom holding three bottles of soju. Dahyun saying she might be late because of a family dinner.
No Jun.
Still no Jun.
She stared at the mirror again. At the girl who looked nothing like someone waiting. But she was.
She was still waiting.
She turned off the light. Let the candle glow against the wall. A faint silhouette of herself shimmered in the reflection of her window, the cityscape behind her blinking like a million distractions.
âMaybe heâll be there,â she whispered, one last time.
Then she grabbed her bag and walked out into the night.
â
The same club. Same heat rolling off the walls. Same beat pounding beneath their feet like a shared pulse. Artois Marketing descended like glittering chaos, glitter and gloss and perfume clouding the air around them. The neon sign above the booth still flickered at the corners. Someone had already popped a bottle of champagne before the rest had even sat down.
Min Ah had tried not to expect anything.
She told herself she just wanted to dance. Be with her friends. Forget the week, the silence, the ache. But the moment she stepped inside, the lie cracked like glass under pressure.
She was looking for him.
Eyes darting toward the entrance almost reflexively. Every time the bouncer moved, every time the door cracked open to let in more heat and bass and strangers â she looked. Too fast. Too hopeful.
He wasnât there.
Not yet.
âMIN AHHHHHHHHH!â Eunjiâs voice pierced the hum of the club as she wrapped an arm around her waist, cheeks already flushed.
Min Ah forced a smile. âYou started without me?â
âDokyeom bought us three rounds before 11,â Eunji yelled, throwing her head back in a laugh. âHeâs in a mood.â
Min Ah looked over. Dokyeom was dramatically dancing with a waitress holding their bottle service tray, much to Mr. Kimâs horror.
Hoshi appeared beside her not long after. âYouâre late,â he said, nudging her shoulder lightly. âYou miss the free stuff.â
âIâll drink double,â Min Ah replied, tone light, though her eyes flicked past his shoulder again. The entrance was still empty. Still no sign of him.
She tried to loosen up. She really did. They ordered cocktails, danced to two songs, posed for blurry selfies with cheeks pressed close and lipstick-stained glasses in their hands. The floor thumped beneath them like a promise. Dahyun tried to drag her into a dance circle; Min Ah laughed and shook her head. âLater,â she said.
But even as she said it, she was glancing back again.
The door opened. A group walked in.
Not him.
Again.
Drink. Smile. Dance. Glance.
Rinse. Repeat.
âWhy do you keep checking the door?â Hoshi asked at one point, voice low and a little too close to her ear.
Min Ah blinked. âWhat?â
âYouâve looked over there like, thirty times.â
She fumbled. âJust⊠habit, I guess.â
Hoshi didnât press. He just handed her another drink and said, âMaybe you need to dance more.â
She did. She danced with him. With Dahyun. With herself. She danced like she meant it. For a moment, the music was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Her hips moved without thinking. Her arms rose, hair clinging to the back of her neck with sweat. The lights painted her in strobes of pink and violet.
But every time the beat dipped, every time a new song started, she found herself turning back.
Still not there.
Still not coming.
Time passed strangely. The kind of stretch and blur only alcohol could explain. At some point, she ended up back at the booth, surrounded by empty glasses and laughter that didnât reach her.
âWater,â Mr. Kim announced, dropping a bottle in her lap like a concerned older brother. âYouâre cut off.â
âRude,â Min Ah muttered, unscrewing the cap.
âYou were just trying to pour tequila into Dahyunâs shoe,â he said. âYouâre done.â
She didnât remember that part.
She sat still as the rest moved around her â people dancing, posing, shouting over the music. The club blurred into noise and haze. Her dress clung to her skin, hair messily stuck to her temples. Someone dropped into the seat next to her, but she didnât register who.
Her eyes were still on the door.
Why hadnât he come?
Did he forget?
Did he not care?
Did he know she would be here?
Was she that obvious?
The questions churned like water in her stomach, unsettled and sour.
When someone next to her tried to pull her up, she shook her head and slumped deeper into the couch.
âIâm good,â she mumbled.
âYou okay?â Dahyun asked gently.
âFine,â Min Ah said. Her voice felt hoarse. Her mouth was dry.
She closed her eyes for just a moment. The pounding music faded into the background. Her fingers curled around the cool water bottle like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.
The world spun lazily. Softly.
No Jun.
She told herself not to care.
She told herself maybe next week.
â
Monday was the hardest.
Not because she expected a long message or a grand gestureâMin Ah wasnât that naĂŻve anymore. But she thought, at the very least, Jun would ask if she got home safely. That was something he always did. No matter how complicated things became between them, heâd never once forgotten that simple check-in.
Except now he had.
She woke up with makeup still smudged on her face and the echo of last Saturday ringing in her head like the final beat of a song no one clapped for. Her limbs were sore, her voice scratchy, and the realization hit as she brushed her teeth: she hadnât dreamt any of it.
Sheâd waited all night, and Jun never came.
She checked her phone before work. Nothing.
Opened Instagram. No new stories.
She told herself he was just busy.
Told herself again when she passed by the lobby cafĂ© and didnât see him grabbing his usual iced Americano with three ice cubes, oat milk foam, cinnamon dusting, and no lid.
Told herself again when she rode the elevator with her team and her phone remained motionless in her pocket.
At her desk, she opened her inbox and forced herself to work. Deadlines. Campaign drafts. Social copy revisions.
But by lunchtime, she was sitting in the corner of the break room, typing a message she didnât have the nerve to send.
I miss you.
She stared at it. Backspaced.
Typed it again.
Deleted it again.
Saved it in her notes.
Tuesday was quieter.
She didnât wear makeup. Didnât curl her hair. Threw on a hoodie over a midi skirt and told herself it was âeffortlessly casual.â No one commented, except Dahyun, who offered her a piece of chocolate and didnât ask anything else.
There was still no message from him.
Min Ah typed another one.
Can we talk?
Backspace.
Are you okay?
Backspace.
She threw her phone on her bed and forced herself to do laundry just so she wouldnât retype it again.
By Wednesday, she knew better.
She didnât check her phone every hour anymoreâonly every other hour. She ate lunch with the team, laughed when Dokyeom recited bad copy headlines like poetry, made faces at Eunji across the table when Mr. Kim tried to flirt with the new girl from legal.
She was getting better at pretending. Practiced smiles. Planned distractions.
But Hoshi wasnât buying it.
She could feel his eyes on her sometimes. Not in a heavy way. Justâwatchful. Gentle. Like he was waiting for her to come up for air and say something, anything, but knew better than to pry.
He didnât bring it up.
He didnât say Junâs name.
But when she laughed at something Dahyun said, and Hoshi caught the flicker in her eyes that didnât match the sound, he didnât look away.
Thursday, she dressed like she used to. Soft pastel blouse, wide-leg jeans, tinted lip balm.
The world spun forward. It always did.
Still no message.
Still no call.
She opened the chat bubble and stared at his name for a long time before locking her phone and placing it face down.
This time, she didnât even write it out.
She already knew he wasnât going to reply.
â
On Friday, everything felt⊠still.
It was one of those unremarkable afternoons that felt like it might dissolve into nothing. Artois was quieter than usualâcampaign timelines were stabilizing, client meetings slowing down before the next big pitch. The floor buzzed gently with keyboard clacks, distant laughter, the occasional ring of an intern's phone.
Min Ah was sitting at her desk, adjusting font sizes on a mockup she barely cared about, when Hoshi leaned on the divider between them.
âHey,â he said casually. âBig plans this weekend?â
Min Ah looked up. âNot really.â
He sipped from a juice boxâstolen from the office fridge, no doubtâand raised an eyebrow. âWe havenât gone out in a while.â
She tilted her head. âWe literally went out last week.â
Hoshi studied her for a second, then bumped his knuckles gently against her arm. âCome on. Just for a few hours.â
There was a pause.
Min Ah hesitated.
Then, before she could change her mindâbefore she could start overthinking like she always didâshe nodded once.
âWhy not?â
âHell yes,â Hoshi grinned, pushing off her divider. âWe party responsibly now, remember. No getting dragged home by Eunji this time.â
She laughed, more genuinely this time, and rolled her eyes. âNo promises.â
But that night, when she got home, it was all quiet again. Her room. Her thoughts. Her heart.
The club would be loud tomorrow.
She hoped it would drown everything out.
Because Jun still hadnât messaged her.
And that silence was starting to sound a lot like goodbye.
Second weekend in a row.
Another Saturday. Another round of Hoshi yelling in the group chat, âGet dressed, club rats!â
Another bottle of glitter sprayed into the air like champagne.
Another night of Min Ah dressing up for someone who never showed.
She chose a halter dress this timeâshorter, tighter. Something she wouldnât normally wear. Her hair was messier, lips stained cherry red, lashes curled to perfection. It wasnât for Jun. Not anymore. It was for her. For distraction. For survival.
Thatâs what she told herself in the mirror.
But as soon as she stepped into the clubâs velvet heat and felt the bass crawling up her legs, she caught herself scanning the crowd. Again.
Maybe tonight.
Maybe this time.
Theyâd gotten the same table in the same corner. Like muscle memory. Like ritual. Artois didnât question it. Eunji was the first to order shots. Dahyun followed with a round of highballs. Hoshi waved at the DJ. Mr. Kim made friends with the bartender again.
Min Ah was already on her second drink when the first one hadnât even kicked in.
âWhew, slow down, alcohol machine,â Dokyeom teased as he returned with a tray of drinks, nearly spilling half on her lap.
Min Ah just grinned, eyes glassy. âDonât challenge me.â
The nickname stuck. Alcohol machine. Eunji had called her that the week before too, when Min Ah downed a tequila shot like water and then danced with someone from HR without remembering his name.
No one brought up Jun anymoreânot directly.
They all knew.
They saw the way she flinched every time someoneâs phone buzzed. The way she laughed too loud and never looked down at hers. The way she kept glancing toward the entrance every five minutes, thinking she was being subtle.
She wasnât.
But no one teased her. Not like they usually would.
It wasnât pity. It wasnât awkwardness.
It was something softer. Something like: We know, and weâre giving you space to fall apart the way you need to.
Min Ah hated that even more.
So she drank.
And danced.
And when Dahyun dared her to kiss Mr. Kimâs cheek after he boasted about being voted âmost dateableâ in his university yearbook, she did it without hesitation.
It wasnât even about being reckless. It was about pretending. Pretending she didnât care anymore. Pretending she wasnât still checking the damn door. Pretending she wasnât still wearing perfume she knew Jun liked.
The music pulsed louder. Lights flickered like flashbulbs.
Min Ah leaned back against the booth, one hand slung lazily over the edge of the couch, eyes half-closed. She could feel the thrum of bass in her throat, like a second heartbeat. She could also feel the weight of a gazeânot heavy, not forcefulâjust there.
She opened one eye.
Hoshi.
He was standing by the edge of the booth, arms crossed, drink in hand, watching her like he was waiting for a sign she didnât know how to give.
His hair still looked foreign on himâdarker, neaterâbut he had stopped fussing with it lately. It suited him now. Made his gaze seem more grounded, even when he was teasing Dahyun or stealing sips from other peopleâs cocktails.
He didnât smile this time. Just raised his glass a little. A quiet you good?
She nodded. A small shrug. Iâm surviving.
That was enough.
He slid into the booth beside herânot too close, not far. Just there. Solid. Unmoving. Someone she could lean against, if she wanted.
She didnât. Not yet. But she could.
âLetâs dance again,â Eunji slurred, dragging Dahyun with her.
Min Ah blinked toward the dance floor. Swirling light. Sweat-slick limbs. Spilled beer.
She didnât move.
Instead, she took the neon green drink someone had left behind and chugged the rest without thinking. It tasted like liquid candy and battery acid.
âChrist,â she gasped, laughing afterward.
âDo you even know what that was?â Hoshi asked, raising an eyebrow.
âJoy,â she said simply, tilting her head back against the booth.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Just sitting. Just breathing.
Around them, the party raged. Artois screamed lyrics to songs they only half-knew. Eunji climbed onto the couch to yell at a man who spilled vodka on her heels. Dokyeom somehow acquired a pair of sunglasses he hadnât come in with.
And Min Ah?
She closed her eyes and tried to feel nothing.
But the song that came on next betrayed her.
It was soft. Hypnotic. Twisting through the speakers like smoke curling under a locked door.
âIf you saw my tears, would you touch meâŠâ
Her eyes snapped open.
The lyrics hit her in the gut. She felt it in her throat. Her chest. A pressure building behind her ribs.
She didnât cry.
But she wanted to.
âI hate this song,â she whispered.
Hoshi glanced at her, but didnât say anything.
Because she didnât hate the song.
She hated what it reminded her of.
â
They left past two in the morning.
Dahyun and Eunji were singing something off-key. Mr. Kim was arguing with a taxi driver about a coupon. Dokyeom was trying to bribe someone with soju to get one last hot dog.
Hoshi walked beside her the whole way to the curb.
âDid you have fun?â he asked gently, like he wasnât sure she remembered any of it.
She nodded.
Lied.
He opened the car door for her when the taxi pulled up.
And for a second, she thought he might say somethingâsomething real. Something about Jun. About the way sheâd looked tonight. About how he didnât like seeing her drink like she was trying to forget the world.
But he didnât.
He just smiled, the kind of smile that knew how to wait.
âSleep well, Min Ah.â
And she did.
Sort of.
â
Time blurred into something soft around the edges.
Min Ah didnât realize when it became easier to laugh at Hoshiâs jokes.
A nudge on the shoulder when he teased her about the ridiculous fonts in a client brief. A louder laugh than she meant to let out when he impersonated Mr. Kim panicking over engagement stats. An eye roll that turned into a grin when he offered her half his banana milk and told her it was âbecause you looked particularly tragic today.â
She wasnât healing.
She was... floating.
Pretending.
Somewhere between forgetting and remembering.
And Hoshi, sweet Hoshi, didnât push. He just stayed near.
At first, it was breakfast runs. Then it became habit.
Some mornings, sheâd step out of her apartment building and see him there, leaning against his car with a takeaway coffee in each hand. No announcement. No pressure. Just, âThought youâd want one. You always forget breakfast.â
He drove her to work like it was normal. Like this was something theyâd always done.
He never asked why her eyes looked tired. He never asked if sheâd heard from Jun.
And she never offered.
But every time she sat beside him, she felt the warmth of his presence spread just enough to get her through the day.
There were nights, too.
Late ones, when the glow of her phone screen was the only light in her room. When her fingers hovered over Junâs name in her contacts.
She didnât delete him. Couldnât.
But she stopped expecting anything back.
One night, she typed:
did i do something wrong?
Backspaced it all.
Never sent.
Then the phone buzzed.
Not Jun. But Hoshi.
hey
u awake?
this meme looks like mr kim when he reads our pitch decks
And just like that, she smiled. A real one. Not big. Not lasting. But there.
She replied.
And for a while, that feels enough.
â
The office felt different now.
There were no more questions about Jun. No more stolen glances toward the Quantix table at lunch. In fact, they never even saw them again, not even Mingyu. No more teasing from the team. The storm had passedâor maybe, everyone had just accepted the weather. Dokyeom had a theory that the whole Quantix team was just an illusion created by The Parc. Actors hired to cheer these low-paid worker daily. Min Ah laughed, maybe he's right.
Maybe whatever she had with Jun was just an illusion.
But how strong an illusion have to be to even be able to ruin her days?
Sometimes, sheâd forget what she was typing halfway through an email.
Sometimes, sheâd stare too long at the desk calendar, realizing another week had passed with no word from him.
Sometimes, when the others were loud, laughing, bickering over lunch ordersâsheâd smile and nod and laugh with them, but feel utterly, terrifyingly alone.
Hoshi filled the silence.
He made sure she wasnât the last to leave. He offered her the last shrimp tempura.He memorized her favorite side dishes and made fun of her when she dipped her fries in mayonnaise.
âYouâre a menace to society,â he declared once.
âYouâre just mad because Iâm right,â she shot back, mouth full of food.
âRight about being gross? Sure.â
And they laughed. Loud and unfiltered. Even Eunji snorted across the table, covering her mouth like she couldnât believe she laughed, too.
In moments like that, Min Ah thoughtâ
Maybe I could love him. If I let myself.
But at night, when the lights were off and the city buzzed outside her window, her mind betrayed her.
The memory returned.
The song.
The party.
The ache.
The hope.
She saw herself againâred lipstick, silver heels, a stupid sparkle eyeliner that Hoshi said looked like stardust.
Waiting. Always waiting.
And Jun never came.
â
By the third week, she stopped checking her phone every morning.
Instead, she checked her reflection. Fixed her hair. Chose earrings she hadnât worn in months.
âWho are you dressing up for?â Eunji teased one Thursday.
Min Ah paused. âMyself.â
It wasnât entirely a lie.
She felt... different now. Not better. Just different.
More detached. A little emptier. A little more numb.
But also: more controlled.
She didnât cry anymore when she heard a song that reminded her of him.
She didnât stay up past midnight hoping his name would pop up on her screen.
She didn't let herself rewatch the videos they took at his apartment. She deleted them. Eventually.
Instead, she clung to the new rhythm of her life.
Wake up.
Go to work.
Laugh at Hoshiâs jokes.
Pretend she didnât remember Junâs laugh too.
Eat lunch.
Skip dessert because it reminded her of their first weekend.
Say she was tired when Hoshi asked if she wanted to hang out.
Go home.
Play music.
Lie on the floor and imagine what she'd say to Jun if she saw him again.
The script changed every night.
Sometimes, sheâd scream at him.
Other times, sheâd kiss him before she said a word.
Sometimes she saw him crying. Sometimes she cried.
But mostly, she saw herself walking away.
Finally walking away.
But she didnât. Not really.
Because part of her still waited.
â
Friday, October 31st. Halloween night.
The moment Min Ah walked into the club that night, it felt like she'd stepped into a glittery fever dream.
It was loud..
Neon strobes swept the dance floor in erratic pulses of green and gold. Confetti rained from nowhere. The ceiling shimmered with disco balls and tangled black streamers. Dahyun had outdone herselfâagain. Somewhere near the bar, Eunji was screaming about how her Sailor Mars wig kept sliding off her head. Mr. Kim was doing Jojo poses. And Dokyeom was already shirtless, having lost half of his Inuyasha costume in what he claimed was âan unfortunate hallway transformation sequence.â
Min Ah had lost count of the parties by now.
Club night had become routineâher new weekend religion. Another week without Jun? Another excuse to forget. To drink. To scream into the void with a cocktail in one hand and glitter smeared under both eyes. This was the Artois way, after all: if life kicks you, kick back harderâwith your heels on, if possible.
She adjusted the red bow on her chest and tried not to trip over her oversized socks. Her Momo Ayase look had come together scarily well. Pleated navy skirt. Soft pink sweater. The black choker with the emerald circle. Even the earrings matched.Â
And beside her?
Hoshi, grinning in a custom-made Jujutsu High uniform, hair pastel pink and sticking up in all directions. Yuji Itadori, in the fleshâand maybe slightly too sexy for someone supposed to be fighting curses.
âStop looking so cute,â she grumbled, elbowing him as they made their way through the crowd.
âI canât help it,â he beamed. âThis wig does things to me.â
They laughed, and she meant it. She really did. Until her chest ached again, quietly. Like it always did lately.
They reached the table where the rest of the team had collapsed. Dahyun was already two shots in and trying to summon anime theme songs. Mr. Kim, dressed as Kakashi, was adjusting his headband while flirting badly with a Genshin cosplayer. Even Eunji, whose tolerance was scary, was looking a little glossy-eyed in her red skirt and heels.
The night was young, and Min Ah was already tipsy.
Someone shoved a drink into her hand. A glowing blue concoction. She didnât ask what it was. She never did anymore.
âShould we go dance?â Hoshi asked, eyes flicking to the floor.
âGod, yes.â
Min Ah smiled and followed him. Her feet already moved with muscle memoryâlike she belonged here, like the club was the only place her body didnât hurt.
They moved easily, instinctively. Hoshi led the rhythm with his hands up and eyes closed, spinning once just to make her laugh. Min Ah followed suit, head thrown back, skirt twirling. For a moment, she felt light. Almost free. Like she could float out of her skin.
The DJâs set shiftedâbeat slowing down, bass smoothing into something softer, sexier.
A Brazilian track? Maybe reggaeton? She couldnât tell. All she knew was the rhythmâit pulsed like a heartbeat. Hot and low and slow.
Hoshi told her heâs getting another glass. She just nods.
Now sheâs alone.
Min Ah let her eyes close. Feeling herself. Letting go of everything.
Her body moved without thought. Shoulders swaying, hair brushing against her neck, fingers still curled around her half-empty glass. Everything blurred into movement, into heat.
Then she opened her eyes.
And froze.
Across the dance floor, through a sea of moving bodies and flickering lightsâJun.
Her heart didnât just drop. It shattered.
He was there. Just like sheâd imagined for weeks. But not how she imagined.
Jun stood close to a girl Min Ah didnât recognizeâtall, sleek, red lips, dressed in a velvet-black backless dress. Her dark sleek glinted under the lights. His hands were on her waist, their bodies swaying slowly in sync with the music.
The girl laughed.
And Jun looked up.
Straight at Min Ah.
Their eyes locked. Like magnets. Or knives.
For a second, neither moved. Not him. Not her. The music blurred into static.
Min Ahâs chest felt like it was caving in.
She couldnât breathe. Couldnât blink. Couldnât move.
Junâs expression shiftedâlike someone waking up from a dream they werenât supposed to be in. Guilt? Shock? It flashed, then vanished.
He turned his head, said something to the girl. His hands didnât leave her waist.
Min Ahâs stomach turned.
And thatâs when Hoshi appeared.
He came up behind her, laughing, slightly breathless, his hand brushing hers. He leaned in to say somethingâsomething stupid, probably, about how she danced like a fever dreamâbut the words never landed.
Because Min Ahâspinning, burning, breakingâdid the only thing her body seemed to understand in that moment.
She turned around.
And kissed him.
Hoshi stiffened for a heartbeat. Then melted into it.
His hands found her waist, carefully. He kissed her back, warm and soft and just a little hesitant.
Min Ah didnât close her eyes. She didnât need to.
Because she wasnât really there.
She was kissing Hoshi.
But watching Jun.
Jun, who stood frozen in place.
Jun, whose eyes never left her.
Jun, who suddenly stepped back from the girl, mouth tight, hands gone cold.
Jun, who disappeared into the crowd a second laterâtaking all the air with him.
Min Ah pulled away.
Hoshiâs cheeks were flushed. âDidnât see that coming,â he murmured, eyes still wide.
She laughed. It came out cracked. âNeither did I.â
They walked back to their table together. Her hand still in his. Hoshiâs steps were lightâglowing.
He didnât notice how tightly Min Ah gripped her glass when they sat.
Didnât see how fast she reached for the vodka.
Didnât see the tears clinging to her lower lashes.
Didnât know her lips still burnedâbut not from him.
And when the DJ played âParty 4 Uâ two songs later, she smiled.
But it didnât reach her eyes.
She was dancing in a crowd of laughter, wrapped in glitter, surrounded by noise.
And still, somehowâ
Utterly alone.
â
The song slithered its way through the noise, slow and sticky like honey left too long in the sun.
"I only threw this party for you..."
Min Ah heard it and didnât move. Her head leaned back against the crushed velvet wall of the booth. Her eyes fluttered shut. But the tears didnât fall. Not yet.
Hoshi was beside her, rambling about someoneâs dance moves, too buzzed to notice that her soul was slipping quietly out the back of her body.
Eunji was sprawled across the booth with one leg on Dahyunâs lap, drunk-whining about Mr. Kimâs Naruto headband poking her eye earlier. Dokyeom was at the bar, probably trying to get them one last round even though they didnât need it.
And Min AhâMin Ah was curled up small, empty glass in her hand, cheeks flushed and damp, heart caving in on itself.
Jun was gone.
Again.
But not really. He was still lodged somewhere in her lungs. Breathing for her. Hurting her.
She opened her eyes and stared at the chaotic kaleidoscope of the club. Glitter on the floor. Flashing strobes. People laughing so hard they couldnât stand straight.
She looked down at her hands.
They were shaking.
And she wasnât even cold.
Hoshi turned toward her, said somethingâsweet, maybe even tenderâbut she only heard the music.
"Party on you, party on you, party on..."
Min Ah smiled, slow and sad. She wasnât even sure he was still talking. Her hearing had started ringing anyway.
She leaned her head on Hoshiâs shoulder.
He stiffened for a second, then settled, resting his chin gently against her hair. Maybe he thought it meant something. Maybe she wanted him to think that.
Because it was easier than telling the truth.
Easier than admitting that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jun.
Easier than facing the part of her heart that still waited like a fool.
Maybe Jun didnât even remember her laugh anymore.
Maybe he didnât care how much she drank to drown it all.
Maybe he never loved her to begin with.
The thought scratched at her ribs like a rusty nail.
She blinked once. Twice. Swallowed.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, drowned out by the song, by the chaos, by her own heartbeatâ
If I break myself enough times, maybe Iâll stop feeling it.

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"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you canât name."
â§ moon junhui x f!oc
â§ kwon hoshi x f!oc
â§ summary: She came to Seoul to escapeâwhat she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.
â§ word count:4.9k
â§ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut
â§ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes
Chapter 10
Junâs apartment smelled like garlic, sesame oil, and green onions⊠a comforting, layered aroma that wrapped around Min Ah like a blanket. The sun streamed through the wide windows, soft and sleepy, reflecting off Junâs polished floors and the stacks of paper and open books on the dining table. He'd moved them aside earlier to make space for breakfast.
Min Ah was standing barefoot in his kitchen, sleeves of her oversized shirt rolled up to her elbows, her hair messily tied with a pastel scrunchie. Jun had woken up late, hair still sticking up slightly, quietly watching her from the couch, his long legs folded under him, a mug of coffee in his hand.
She turned and caught him staring. âYouâre creeping again.â
Jun blinked. âIâm admiring.â
Min Ah rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed anyway. âThen help me plate the dumplings, Mr. Admirer.â
He stood with a lazy stretch and padded over. Their fingers brushed when he reached for a dish, and she instinctively smiled. Sundays like thisâquiet, slow, safeâhad become her favorite. A small part of her feared just how easily she'd started to crave them.
Jun handed her the soy sauce bowl and leaned against the counter, watching her work. âYou didnât have to cook.â
âI wanted to,â she said, voice soft. âYou cooked last time. And youâve been working so much. This is nothing.â
Jun hummed in response, noncommittal. His hand reached up to her back, tracing small circles without thinking. She leaned into it, like always. But there was a hesitation in his touch now, subtle and featherlight. Min Ah didnât notice at firstânot fully.
They brought the food to the table, filling their plates with pork and chive dumplings, stir-fried bok choy, and rice. Jun poured her tea without asking, and Min Ah added chili oil to his plate without being prompted. It was a rhythm they had fallen into so easily.
âSo, Mr. Finance, how many emails are you ignoring today?â she teased between bites.
âOnly eighty,â Jun replied, deadpan.
âImpressive.â
âI deleted thirty already.â
Min Ah grinned. âProud of you.â
They ate in silence for a while, the quiet between them never uncomfortable, at least not until today. She noticed he wasn't really eating, just pushing rice around with his chopsticks. His eyes would drift toward her, then away, then toward the window. His smile didnât reach his eyes.
She tilted her head. âAre you okay?â
Jun glanced at her. âYeah. Just... tired, I think.â
Min Ah nodded. She didnât push. But the air had changed slightly, like something fragile had been bent out of shape, just a little.
After breakfast, they cleaned up together, Jun drying dishes while Min Ah rinsed them. Their arms brushed often, and she would occasionally nudge him with her elbow. He responded with a small smile each time, but never with the usual flirtatious glint in his eyes. She caught herself frowning once or twice, unsure of what she was sensing. Distant? Distracted? Or was she just overthinking?
Junâs phone buzzed from the counter. He looked at it, didnât touch it, then walked away.
They ended up on the couch, her head on his lap, his fingers combing gently through her hair. She was scrolling through her phone lazily while he stared out the window again.
âLetâs go to Yeonnam next weekend,â she said. âThat new dumpling place opened, remember?â
Jun took a second too long to respond. âHmm? Yeah. Maybe.â
âMaybe?â
âI donât know if Iâll be free.â
She tilted her head to look up at him. âWork?â
He nodded, but his jaw was tight.
Min Ah dropped the subject, returning to her phone. But her stomach sank slightly. This wasnât the first âmaybeâ this week.
Later, they played a few rounds of a dumb mobile game she downloaded. Jun wasnât even pretending to try hard, she beat him every round and he just smiled whenever she cheered.
âAre you letting me win?â she narrowed her eyes.
âMaybe,â he said again.
He kissed her after that, a soft kiss on her forehead. She leaned up for more, catching his mouth in a slow, quiet kiss. He kissed her back, gently, carefully, as if he was afraid to hold on too tightly. And something about that unsettled her more than if he had pulled away.
They didnât have sex that morning. Not because the mood wasnât there, but because Jun excused himself for a shower and stayed in there longer than usual. When he returned, she was curled up on the couch, playing her game again, pretending not to feel strange.
They spent the rest of the afternoon watching a movie, but neither of them remembered what it was about.
When it was time for her to leave, Jun walked her to the door, holding her bag like he always did. She reached for his hand, and he let her hold it, but his grip wasnât as firm. It was warm, but it felt⊠unsure.
âIâll text you,â he said quietly.
Min Ah gave him a small smile. âOkay.â
She stepped into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her.
She didnât ask, âWhen?â
And he didnât say, âSoon.â
Inside, Jun leaned against the door, eyes shut. In his pocket, his phone buzzed again. He pulled it out this timeâjust work messages. But he didnât open them. His screen stayed dark.
He could still see the image from Wednesday, Min Ah sitting in the café, laughing with Hoshi, her eyes soft, her head tilted slightly, like it did when she felt safe. He remembered the ribbon in her hair. The dress that hugged her waist. The way Hoshi looked at her. The way she looked back.
Nothing happened, he told himself again. They're coworkers. Friends.
Still, the image wouldnât leave him.
And he hated that part of him wanted to ask her about it. Hated that he didnât. Hated more that he might not want to know the answer.
So he did what he always did when things felt too much.
He backed away slowly.
â
Monday morning came with light rain tapping on the office windows, the type of drizzle that made the world look like it had been softened with watercolor. Min Ah arrived ten minutes earlier than usual, a warm cup of soy latte in one hand and her phone in the other.
Sheâd woken up to a message from Jun.
Good luck today. Donât skip breakfast.
Min Ah smiled to herself the way people did when no one was watching, her fingers brushing her phone screen lightly as if trying to absorb the warmth of his words. She sat at her desk, cheeks still faintly pink, sipping slowly from her coffee.
By noon, she sent him a reply.. A sticker of a bear typing frantically on a laptop with the caption:
Monday mode đ”âđ«.
An hour passed. Then two. No reply.
By late afternoon, her phone buzzed.
Fighting. Hope the rest of your day goes smoothly.
Maybe heâs just tired, she thought. Or overworked. Monday blues. Maybe itâs nothing.
It wasnât cold. It wasnât even short, objectively. But it didnât feel like him.
Not like the Jun who used to send voice notes of his coffee order just to make her laugh.
Not like the Jun who used to ask what she was eating for lunch, even if he already knew.
Not like the Jun who held her hand across his kitchen table like she was made of something he didnât want to lose.
Tuesday morning, she woke up determined to be warm first.
She picked one of her favorite memesâa sleepy duck dragging itself to workâand sent it at 7:55 a.m., with the caption:
This is me. Pray for me and my 9AM sync.
No response.
At 12:38, her phone buzzed just as she sat in the small breakroom, eating rice balls and miso soup.
Not by 9AM.
Not by 11.
Youâll do great. Donât stress too much.
Should she reply? Ask if he was okay?
Again, kind. But it felt... templated. Like a canned message.
She stared at it for a full minute, thumb hovering above her keyboard.
No.
She placed her phone face-down.
Her appetite was gone anyway.
Her phone stayed silent.
That evening, she didnât text. She waited.
Waited through a walk home in cloudy dusk, waited through folding her laundry, waited through brushing her teeth.
Wednesday came.
The ache in her chest wasnât sharp. It was dull and spreading, like something left too long in the cold.
No message.
No meme.
No Did you eat lunch?Nothing.
By lunchtime, Min Ah hadnât touched her phone since she walked into the office. Not because she wasnât thinking about itâshe was. Constantly. But her pride was a stubborn thing.
She looked less like herself that day. Her lipstick was a bit off, the top corner not filled in properly. Her hair tied in a slightly lopsided ponytail.
Nothing major, but enough for someone observant to notice.
Eunji noticed.
The Artois team had gathered briefly in the pantry area, half-standing, half-sitting around the bar counter while they waited for the microwave to stop whirring. Dahyun was explaining some TikTok trend. Mr. Kim, as always, was trying and failing to understand it.
Everyone was laughing.
Everyone, except Min Ah, who was smiling but absent.
âWow,â Eunji suddenly said, loud enough for the group to hear. âNo phone-checking every thirty seconds today?â
Eunji watched her from across the counter.
Min Ah was pretending to scroll through something on her phone, but her screen hadnât moved in minutes.
Min Ah looked up, blinking.
Eunji raised an eyebrow. âEverything okay with Mr. Quantix?â
Dahyun glanced over.
Mr. Kim paused mid-chew.
Min Ah forced a chuckle, tucking hair behind her ear. âHeâs⊠busy..â
Her voice was even, but soft. Controlled.
Eunji didnât smile, but her gaze softened just slightly. She didnât press.
The silence stretched for a beat too long, then Dokyeom walked in, dramatically announcing he was starving and breaking the tension with his usual flair. People laughed again.
But Eunji kept her eyes on Min Ah for a second longer.
She didnât say Iâm sorry. She didnât say Are you okay?
But in that lingering look, something shiftedâa quiet offering of truce, or maybe understanding.
The wall wasnât gone, but it had cracked.
Min Ah returned to her desk after lunch with her chest feeling heavier than before.
She opened her messages. No new texts.
Her chat with Jun was buried five threads down now, under a flurry of team notes and food group orders.
But her hand hovered over her phone more than once that afternoon.
She didnât open it.
Didnât text again.
Didnât know what sheâd even say if she did.
Nothing.
Her eyes kept flicking to the time.
3:12.
4:20.
5:07.
It was as if someone had switched the lights off on something that used to shine.
Min Ah walked home under gray skies. It wasnât raining, but it looked like it might.
The wind pulled at the hem of her coat, and she pulled it tighter around her, heart and hands cold.
And when she curled into bed that night, phone face-down again, she told herself she wouldnât cry.
She didnât.
But she didnât sleep much either.
â
It was nearly 10:43 AM on Thursday when Hoshi finally wandered into the Artois pantry.
Heâd just wrapped up a painfully long budget alignment call with a client who kept saying âpivotâ like it meant something, and he was in desperate need of caffeine, and not the nice kind, but the ugly, canned convenience store kind that tasted like regret and MSG but got the job done.
He cracked the top open with a satisfying hiss, leaned his elbow against the counter near the coffee machine, and took a long, slow sip.
Thatâs when he saw her.
Min Ah was already there, staring blankly at the drip tray of the machine as if waiting for a miracle. She was in a pale beige cardigan today, oversized and soft, with her hair tied in a messy half-bun that somehow still made her look like she belonged in a commercial for artisanal soap or something.
But something was off.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Her fingers clutched her phone like it owed her money. And her coffee, half-filled and lukewarm, sat untouched on the counter beside her.
âYou look like someone canceled your birthday party,â Hoshi said, voice soft but teasing.
Min Ah blinked and turned toward him. She smiledâit was automatic, practiced, polite. Too practiced.
âNah,â she replied. âJust⊠didnât sleep well.â
Hoshi raised an eyebrow, watching her for a beat longer than necessary. âWas it bad dreams, or just doomscrolling until 3AM?â
Min Ah let out a small laugh, one that fizzled before it could settle. âSomething like that.â
There was a pause. She glanced down at her phone again. Then back at her coffee. Then nowhere at all.
She wasnât going to say anything else.
Hoshi took another sip of his drink and leaned a little closer, not enough to be obvious, but enough to let her know he wasnât going anywhere.
He could see it nowâthe slight smudge under her eyes that concealer hadnât fully erased. The way her shoulders were pulled inward, her body curling around itself like she was trying to be smaller.
She wasnât wearing lipstick today.
That fact stuck with him more than it shouldâve.
âNeed anything?â he asked gently. âWant me to ask Dokyeom to fake a client emergency so you can go home early?â
Min Ah chuckled. âAnd let him think I owe him a favor for the rest of my life? No, thank you.â
They both smiled.
But it didnât reach her eyes.
Another pause. Longer this time. The kind that sits heavy in the chest.
Hoshi looked down at the rippled metal surface of the counter and said nothing.
Because what could he say?
He could ask her. Ask what was wrong. Ask if it was Jun. Ask if heâd stopped replying again, if heâd pulled back, if he was hurting her without even realizing it.
He could offer his shoulder, his time, his warmth.
But instead, he just leaned back against the counter and took another sip of canned coffee.
âDo you ever think about dyeing your hair again?â Min Ah asked suddenly.
Hoshi blinked. âWhat?â
She nodded toward his head. âThe brown looks good. Just⊠wondering if you ever miss the blond.â
Hoshi tilted his head, pretending to ponder. âHmm⊠I donât know. I think the brownâs growing on me. Easier on the eyes, right?â
âIt makes you lookâŠâ She hesitated. â...grounded.â
He laughed. âWhat, like a tax accountant?â
âNo,â she grinned faintly. âLike⊠more settled. Less neon energy.â
âWow. Attacked at ten in the morning.â
She bumped his elbow gently with hers. âYou know what I mean.â
He did.
He just didnât know how to answer without telling her that every time he looked in the mirror lately, he saw someone who was trying a little too hard to be someone else.
Without telling her that part of the reason he stopped wearing pink blazers and checkerboard pants was because she once said Junâs style was âquiet but sexy.â
Without telling her that heâd stood in the aisle of the hair dye section for fifteen minutes before picking dark brown, thinking maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel a little less like the loud friend, the chaos mascot, the silly one who got left behind.
âI like the brown,â she said softly. âIt suits you.â
Without telling her that being near her hurt sometimes.
Especially like this.
Especially when she looked so lost.
âThanks,â Hoshi replied, voice gentler than usual. âYou look nice too. That cardiganâs a weapon.â
Min Ah blinked. âWhat?â
âLike, dangerously soft. Iâm shocked HR hasnât issued a warning.â
She laughed again. Really laughed, this time. It sounded like her.
But only for a moment.
Then her phone buzzed on the counter. She looked at it. Lit up, screen unlocked. Read the notification. Didnât smile.
And then she locked it again without replying.
That was all Hoshi needed to know.
His heart dropped a littleânot out of triumph, but out of something that felt a lot like helplessness.
So this was it.
Jun was doing it again. Pulling away. Leaving her dangling in the middle of nowhere. Making her wait. Making her question herself. Making her small.
Part of Hoshi burned with quiet rage.
Another part felt this dark, ugly bloom of hope rising inside his chest.
He hated himself for thinking it.
Maybe this was the opening.
Maybe, if she could just seeâreally seeâthat she didnât have to feel like this, that there was someone who noticed everything, who never made her wait, who never disappeared...
âMin Ah,â he said suddenly.
She looked up.
He hesitated. The words were there, just past his tongue, but he swallowed them back down.
âYou should eat something.â
Min Ah tilted her head. âWhat?â
âItâs already 11. Your coffee looks like it died thirty minutes ago.â
She smiled, gently. âYouâre probably right.â
âIâm always right.â
He tossed his empty can in the trash and straightened up, hands in his pockets. âCome on. Iâll walk you to the lunchroom. Letâs see if Eunji left any snacks unclaimed.â
Min Ah hesitated. Then nodded, sliding her phone back into her pocket. âOnly if you promise not to lecture me the whole way.â
âNo promises,â Hoshi said, grinning. âBut Iâll try.â
They walked side by side down the hall. Their arms brushed once, then again.
Neither of them moved away.
And as Hoshi glanced sideways at herâat the cardigan, at the slight puffiness under her eyes, at the way she was still pretending she wasnât checking her phone every three minutesâhe felt the hope rise again, uninvited.
But somewhere, deep in his chest, the words pulsed quietly like a drumbeat:
He didnât speak it aloud.
Didnât dare.
Maybe I still have a chance.
But if I do⊠this time, Iâll wait. Iâll stay close. Iâll be good.
â
Even if she never looks at me the same way.
Even if she still loves him.
Iâll be here.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet, in that distinct way only big spaces get when there's no one else to fill them. Outside, the city flickeredâlights blinking across high-rise windows, traffic humming somewhere twenty floors below, the occasional red pulse of a passing aircraft blinking against the foggy skyline.
Jun sat on the couch in the dark, still in the clothes heâd worn to work. His blazer had been discarded somewhere hours agoâmaybe the armrest, maybe the floor. He wasnât sure. He couldnât really move. His back curved forward slightly, elbows on knees, hands limp between them.
His living room was dim except for the soft light that spilled through the windows, illuminating the outline of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the deep furrow between his brows.
On the coffee table in front of him sat a takeout box. Unopened. Cooling. Forgotten.
His phone lay beside it, screen facing up.
It lit up every few minutesâemails, work reminders, a message from Mingyu asking if he was coming in early tomorrow for the investment briefing.
Not her.
Not once.
Jun exhaled through his nose, sharp and soft at the same time.
His thumb ghosted toward his phone again. Hovered above it. Didnât touch.
He hadnât texted her in five days.
He knew that.
He was counting, even if he told himself he wasnât.
She hadnât texted either.
And that was the part that made him feel like he couldnât breathe.
Then he saw her.
The image kept playing over and over in his mind.
Last week. Friday. After lunch. He had been tired from an early client meeting outside the office, hungry and a little grumpy when he decided to detour through the lower ground of The Parc for something quick.
No, he saw them.
Hoshi leaned in as he spoke. She leaned in too.
It looked like it belonged in a commercial.
Like they belonged together..
Her. With someone else. Looking lighter than she ever did around him these days.
â
He rubbed his face with both hands now, letting them drag down slowly. Then stared at the floor.
âShe looked so happy,â he whispered to no one. âLike she didnât even think of me.â
She belongs with someone who doesnât have to be convinced to stay.Someone who doesnât disappear.
That thought wasnât fair. He knew it. But once the spiral began, it didnât care about fairness.
His brain started feeding him more. Louder, sharper.
Someone who doesnât carry so much goddamn weight inside his chest that even breathing sometimes feels like work.
Jun leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion, eyes closed now.
In the darkness behind his lids, the image changed.
Not Min Ah laughing.
But Min Ah curled up in his bed. That morning weeks ago when she stayed through the weekend. The way she leaned into his hand when he touched her cheek. The way she fell asleep mid-sentence because she trusted him. Because, for a moment, she really thought he was choosing her.
Wasnât I?
But hadnât he started pulling away again, little by little?
Fewer texts. Quieter calls. Canceling lunch on Monday because he was âslammed,â and skipping Tuesday altogether. He hadnât even given her a reason for today. Just⊠didnât show up.
And she hadnât called him out.
She never did.
That made it worse.
That made it feel like maybe she was already adjusting. Already letting go. Maybe this was just her soft exit.
Jun sat forward again, elbows back on knees.
His fingers curled into loose fists.
This was exactly what he promised her he wouldnât do.
He remembered her voiceâsoft, right before she left his place that Sunday morning.
âDonât disappear on me again.â
And here he was.
Vanishing in real time.
Even though she never did anything wrong.
Even though all she did was exist and be kind and want to love someone the way she deserved to.
Even though this timeâthis timeâhe swore heâd be better.
His phone buzzed again.
Mingyu, again. Followed by a message from the Quantix group chat. Something about a new pitch.
Jun stared at the screen. Still nothing from her. He thought about texting. Just something simple.
âHi.â
Or maybe, âHow are you?â
But then his brain snapped again, fast and cruel.
She doesnât want to hear from you.
She has a whole team who actually talks to her.
She has Hoshi, who doesnât make her wait.
Jun dropped the phone back onto the table, face down this time.
His mouth was dry.
The silence of the room shifted. It wasnât peaceful anymore. It was suffocating.
He stood up slowly, walked toward the window, and stared out.
The city glittered like it was mocking him.
Every time he told himself heâd do better, something pulled him back down. He wanted to be someone who could love without fear. But he wasnât. Not really. Not yet.
He had spent so long surviving, protecting, controlling his solitude that the moment someone reached for him with tenderness, it felt like a threat.
Min Ah didnât deserve that.
And yet, she stayed.
For a while.
Until now.
â
Jun placed a hand against the cool glass of the window.
She hadnât told him about the coffee run. That wasnât a crime. They didnât have to share everything. But the thought of her and Hoshi, sitting across from each other, laughing like they used toâit stuck.
It made Jun feel ten years old again. Small. Replaceable.
He exhaled shakily and turned away from the window.
Then sat back on the couch. Picked up the takeout box. Opened it. Put it back down after one bite.
His phone buzzed again.
He didnât look this time.
He just sat in the dark, letting the city keep moving outside, wondering how long he could stay frozen like this before she finally stopped waiting.
â
It had been five days.
Five days since Jun pulled away.
Again.
No calls. No texts. No little green bubble lighting up her phone to say, âIâm thinking about you.â Not even a âbusy todayâ or a ghost of a meme he thought she might like. Just⊠silence.
Min Ah lay on her bed, still in the wide-legged pants and soft blouse she wore to work. The only light came from a half-burned candle on her windowsill, flickering weakly like it, too, was running out of energy.
The room felt untouched. Still. Like it didnât know whether to hold on or let go.
Her phone sat beside her pillow. Blank screen. No vibrations. No pings. No buzz that made her heart skip for one stupid second.
She hated how trained sheâd becomeâhow her body still reacted to hope even when her brain already knew better.
Min Ah rolled onto her side, pulling her knees toward her chest. The sheets were cool. The air smelled like fabric softener and the faint trace of the takeout she didnât finish. A kimbap roll, picked at then abandoned. The soy sauce container had tipped, dark liquid staining the paper bag it came in. She hadnât had the energy to throw it out.
Her mind looped the same lines like a stuck song:
Did I say too much? Did I stay too long?
Should I have asked what we were?
Was that it? Did I ruin it by being happy?
The spiral was gentle at first. Not the kind that screamed or shook her by the shoulders. But soft. Like a blanket she wrapped around herself without realizing it was suffocating her.
She could still remember the way Jun looked at her the last time he touched her.
They were in his apartment. She was sitting on his kitchen counter, laughing about how their fried rice turned out too salty because she accidentally double-measured the soy sauce. He just stood there, smiling, face close to hers, hands warm against her thighs.
That look.
That warmth.
It felt real.
It was real.
Wasnât it?
Min Ah sat up slowly, her hand reaching for her phone before her heart could catch up.
She opened their chat. The last message was from her, four days ago.
He never replied.
The read receipt sat there, like a bruise.
She scrolled up. Looked at the thread that once overflowed with shared Spotify links, blurry pictures of their food, random observations like âthe office printer is making a haunted house noise again.â Those little, intimate fragments of dailiness that made them feel more than just something undefined.
Now, it was like someone hit pause.
No. It was worse.
Someone had turned off the sound entirely.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen.
Looked at it.
She typed:
Hey. Is everything okay?
Stared.
Read it again.
Then deleted it.
If he wanted to talk to her, he would have. If he wanted her, heâd make it known.
Didnât he say it himself?
âI wonât disappear again.â
Min Ah scoffed, quiet and bitter. Her eyes stung, but no tears came. Not yet. She was too tired to cry. All that lived inside her now was the ache of something unfinished.
She turned her phone over, screen down, and set it back beside her.
The silence swelled.
She reached up and rubbed at her temples, brushing strands of hair away from her face. Her fingers were cold.
Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Busy. Exhausted. He was always inside his head.
But hadnât he been⊠off?
Ever since that Wednesday, something in her chest had been off-kilter.
Jun hadnât called. Hadnât texted. Not even a lazy meme. The silence was heavy, familiar in the worst way.
Min Ah found herself wonderingâWhat if heâs just over it?
What if she wasnât interesting enough? Pretty enough?Â
Enough, period?
What if Jun had someone else now? Someone less complicated. Someone who didnât come with ghosts of family wounds and work crushes.
Maybe he was never hers to begin with. Maybe all she was⊠was a warm weekend and a temporary comfort.
The thought clung to her skin like smoke, impossible to shake.
Or maybe that was just another excuse she was making to give him room to vanish.
Min Ah wrapped her arms around herself.
She thought sheâd stopped doing thatâjustifying men who couldnât give her what she needed. She thought Jun was different. And in many ways, he was. But that didnât mean he was ready. Or able.
Or willing.
A car horn echoed down the street outside. She stood slowly, legs heavy beneath her, and padded barefoot to the window. The candle flickered behind her.
From the 12th floor, the city looked soft. Blurred. Lights melting into one another like watercolor. A plane blinked red in the distance. Some office tower still had lights on. People still working. Or maybe just forgetting to shut things down.
She leaned her forehead against the glass, eyes wide but unfocused.
Somewhere in the city, Jun was staring into the same sky.
She was sure of it.
Maybe he was sitting in his living room again, with the lights off and dinner untouched, thinking about her. Maybe he was tired too. Maybe he wanted to call.
But he didnât.
He never did.
And Min Ah was tired of being the one who waited.
The one who made room. Who excused. Who softened herself until she forgot what her own edges looked like.
âWhy does it always end like this?â she whispered, voice barely audible above the hum of her fridge and the city outside.
The candle gave one last flicker, then went out.
â
OK so I'm entirely open for two different ending since I can't choose at all between Jun and Hoshi................. what do you think?
im gonna bite him
It's either me or him tbh