Ollie

I. “ARE YOU EVEN PUSHING?” 

You grunt as you shove the other end of the giant cardboard box containing your very unassembled couch through the doorway of your apartment. 

“Dude, I am pushing.” Hana complains, holding the other end. “This thing is bigger than both of us combined,” 

With one final heave, the box slides across the hardwood floor before coming to a stop in the middle of the still-empty living room. 

“One more piece of furniture and I’m never moving again,” You say as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“You said that after the dining table.” 

“I mean it this time.” 

Before either of you can catch your breath, loud voices echo down the hallway. 

“Incoming!” Hongjoong appears in the doorway carrying two moving boxes stacked to his chin and half his height, San trailing behind him with another three balanced like they weigh absolutely nothing. Mingi brings up the rear, dragging a suitcase that definitely has wheels. 

“You know,” Mingi says between exaggerated sighs, “people usually hire movers.” 

“Why would we need to pay extra when we have our big brother and his even bigger friends?”

Hongjoong ignores you, setting the boxes down before pulling a box cutter out of his pocket. 

“Mom and Dad stopped by their friend’s place,” he says, “They’ll come back later to help.” 

“I think they’re just excited to be empty nesters.” 

“Empty nesters?” you scoff. “They’re free. We’re the ones stuck living across from this gremlin.” you point at Hongjoong who gasps dramatically. 

“This,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “is how you thank your amazing, handsome, hardworking older brother who found you a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles that is not only close to your office but also thirty minutes from Hana’s university?” 

“You barely did shit, you forced us to live here,” Hana scoffs. She and Hongjoong continue to bicker as they go through your boxes, getting a head start in unpacking. 

The plan had been simple: stay in Seoul, climb the corporate ladder at the marketing firm that hired you fresh out of college, and eventually, build a life there. 

Except, two years later, you’d burned out spectacularly. You’d say that staying close to Hana while she started university was an excuse to move back home when actually you couldn’t stay at the firm any longer before you started ripping your brains out. 

Hongjoong, being Hongjoong, had taken that as a personal challenge to find an apartment for both of you. His standards, unfortunately, were less about amenities and more about distance.

“I can literally see your front door from ours,” he’d proudly announced over FaceTime after sending you the listing. 

You couldn’t say no, not when it had been too long since the three of you somewhat lived in the same space again. The rent was also within your budget, and it was convenient, despite having to live close to an annoying big brother. 

“I deserve compensation,” Mingi sets himself on the floor with a groan as he hands San an Allen wrench for your couch. 

“You got breakfast,” Hongjoong replies. 

“I deserve financial compensation.” 

“You barely did anything.” 

“I deserve emotional compensation.” 

“You need therapy.” 

Hana lets out a snicker beside you. “They’re exactly how you described them, Joong.” 

“They’ve somehow gotten worse.” 

“Hey! I heard that!” 

As the bickering continued, you finally let out of your thoughts and began peeling away the packing tape of the box labeled ‘Kitchen’. 

Maybe moving back hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all. 

The apartment was small but cozy. Afternoon sunlight poured through the wide living room windows, warming the hardwood floors.

Although you’d have to live directly across the hall from your insufferable older brother, you actually could see yourself living here. 

Hongjoong had warned you that you wouldn't just be gaining a neighbor, you’d be inheriting his roommates, too.

 San and Mingi were Hongjoong’s closest college friends. You’d met them before, loud voices in the background while you had your weekly siblings FaceTime. San was exactly like the gentle giant that Hongjoong had described while Mingi was exactly as shameless. 

The third roommate was nowhere to be seen. Your brother had mentioned that he was out running an errand and would stop by afterward to help finish up the rest of your boxes.

So when Hongjoong said there was a third roommate, in your head, he was just another one of Hongjoong’s friends. You haven’t bothered to ask who it was yet, since you were busy with moving in from Seoul. 

“Sorry,” a familiar voice called from the hall. “The line downstairs was ridiculous.” 

Another figure stepped into your apartment.

You haven't seen Jeong Yunho in years. 

The paper bags in his hands crinkled as he adjusted his grip, his eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise before settling into that same easy smile he always had. 

“YN,” he greets you. Your eyes met. He looked older, yet had the same broad shoulders, same clean haircut, and was still ridiculously tall. 

“Yunho-oppa!” Before you could say anything, Hana barreled straight into him. 

“Hana! You’re all grown up now!” Yunho barely had time to shift the paper bags to one arm before she threw herself at him, letting out a laugh. 

“Yo, where the fuck have you been man?” Mingi asks beside where you stood frozen, watching Yunho and your sister catch up.

“Got coffee, I know how cranky you guys get without it.” 

Mingi lets out a sound somewhere between a cheer and a sigh of relief and steals the bag from him.

“I forgive you.” He disappears into your kitchen, already handing out drinks like he owns the place.

It’s Hongjoong’s turn to greet Yunho now, peeling Hana off him so he could stand up properly. 

“Alright, alright. Let him breathe.” 

Hongjoong moves his gaze over to you, as if only just remembering. 

He gestures lazily toward Yunho. 

“I totally forgot to tell you he moved back in.” 

Your brows knit together. You’d assume he was only around to visit. 

“Moved back in?” 

“Yeah.” Hongjoong shrugs. “Shit happened, so he took the spare room a few months ago.”

“You know my sister already.” He points to you. “You remember YN, right?” 

Yunho’s lips twitch into a small smile. 

“Of course I remember. You’re back from Seoul?” His gaze finds yours again.

“Yeah, decided to move back,” you reply. 

Yunho nods once. 

“Welcome back.”

“Alright,” San calls from the living room carpet, waving his wrench in the air.  “You’ve got the rest of the lease to catch up, one of you idiots come help me assemble this couch before I accidentally invent a new piece of furniture. Mingi, what are you doing?”

San’s plea was met with a chorus of groans from your brother and Mingi. 

“I’m already doing the bookshelves,” Mingi whines from the kitchen, sticking a straw through his coffee. 

“You’ve been looking at the bookshelves,” Hongjoong shot back. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“It is if I look hard enough.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Yunho sets his bag beside the front door and shrugs off his jacket. 

“I’ll help.” 

“Finally,” San muttered. “Someone competent.” 

You quietly slipped back into the kitchen, pretending the kitchen boxes urgently needed your attention. It was strange seeing Yunho again after all these years. Stranger still was the tiny flutter in your chest. You hadn't thought about your old crush on Yunho in years. Seeing him again, however, seemed determined to remind you.

Yunho and San were kneeling beside the couch, arguing over which piece was labeled “B.”. 

“It says B.”

“It says eight.”

“It’s literally a letter.”

“Not from here it isn’t.” 

You smiled despite yourself. Hana, who you just noticed has been beside you all this time, catches it immediately, choosing not to say anything but smiles mischievously. 

“What now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“You have that look.”

“What look?” 

“The one you used to have in high school.” 

“I’m smiling because San thinks the alphabet ends at seven,” you defend, tearing your eyes away from your neighbors. 

Hana hums, “if you say so.” 

Before you could ask her what she meant, Hongjoong calls your name from the living room. 

“What?” 

“Can you settle something?” 

You walked over, grateful for the distraction. 

“What now?” 

“San says the couch should face the window.”

“Then won’t it be awkward watching TV?”

“That’s what I said!” Hongjoong exclaims.

“Why are you listening to her?” San grumbles.

“I live here,” you replied the same time Hongjoong says, “She’s my sister.”

As Hongjoong and San shuffled your TV across the room, you stepped around scattered boxes, only to bump into someone coming the other way.

"Oh—"

A warm hand steadied your elbow before you could lose your balance.

"Careful."

Yunho. 

His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had landed.

"Sorry," you said at the exact same time.

You paused. Then, somehow, you both laughed. It was the first genuine sound either of you had made to each other all afternoon.

In the chaos of moving boxes and misplaced screws, no one noticed Yunho's eyes follow you as you stepped around the clutter after you had regained your balance. Years hadn't changed one thing, you were still just as clumsy as he remembered. He shook his head with an amused smile before reaching for another box, acting as though he'd been looking at the couch the entire time.

When you looked up, Yunho was looking towards your way. Not intensely. Not long enough for anyone to notice, before he gives you a small smile and goes back to what he was doing.

You’d only been living here for an hour. Maybe moving to Los Angeles wasn’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped.

II. IF THERE WAS ONE THING YOUR BROTHER WAS EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD AT,

it was coming home with extra mouths to feed. 

The first time it happened, you were eight. 

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, notebook in hand, as you drew.

You barely looked up when Hongjoong burst through the front door yelling that he was home—until you heard another pair of footsteps behind him.

The boy standing in the doorway was tall for his age, clutching the straps of his backpack like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be there.

"Mom, I brought Yunho."

Your mother welcomed him inside before Hongjoong dragged him upstairs to play, but not before he caught your eye.

"Hi, YN!" he greeted with an easy smile.

You gave a timid wave from behind your notebook.

For reasons your eight-year-old self couldn't explain, you hoped Hongjoong would bring him over again.

He did.

After that, Jeong Yunho somehow became a permanent fixture in your house.

Whenever Hongjoong came home from baseball practice, Yunho was usually right beside him. He stayed for dinner often enough that your mother stopped asking if he'd be joining. Weekend sleepovers turned into blanket forts upstairs, afternoons at the park became bike rides home together, and before long, he'd somehow become part of your family too.

Unlike Hongjoong, who insisted your drawings looked "weird," Yunho always asked to see whatever you'd been working on. He'd sit beside you on the floor flipping through your sketchbook with genuine interest, tell you your art was cool, and remind you to keep drawing whenever you doubted yourself. If Hongjoong stole the last snack your parents left out, Yunho somehow always made sure you still got half.

Looking back, it was probably inevitable.

Your first crush didn't happen because of one grand moment.

It happened quietly, over hundreds of ordinary ones.

Growing up changed things.

By the time you started high school, Hongjoong and Yunho were on the varsity baseball team. Practices ran later, tournaments filled their weekends, and conversations that used to revolve around cartoons and video games slowly shifted toward college applications, baseball, and whichever girl had slipped a note into Yunho's locker that week.

You had your own friends by then. Your own clubs. Your own life.

Without anyone really noticing, the afternoons you spent with them became fewer and farther between.

Somewhere along the way, your childish crush quietly tucked itself away, becoming one of those things you only remembered when someone brought up middle school.

It wasn't anyone's fault. Life simply got busier. You had your own friends now, your own clubs after school, your own homework that seemed to multiply overnight. Some days Yunho would still come over for dinner, other days you'd only catch glimpses of him as he and Hongjoong disappeared upstairs, laughing about something that happened at practice.

Life scattered all three of you in different directions after that.

Hongjoong left for college first.

Then Yunho.

A few years later, you left for Seoul.

By the time you moved back to Los Angeles, Jeong Yunho had become someone you mostly heard about through your brother's stories—a familiar name attached to someone who no longer felt like part of your everyday life.

III. “I KEEP TELLING YOU, STOP EATING OUR FOOD.” 

Hana screams at your brother, who was currently rummaging through your cabinets. 

It’s been a week since you moved in, and today was your first day at work, while it was Hana’s first day of freshman year.

The dynamic hadn’t always been like this. For the first couple of days, you and Hana mostly stayed at the apartment, trying to feel more at home. Hongjoong would pop in every now and then and made sure you were adjusting well, even cooking dinner for the three of you in your new kitchen. You barely saw his roommates as Hongjoong said they were waiting for you to get accustomed to living at the apartment before they could start hanging out with you.

Naturally, that lasted all of four days. 

First, it was San, who wanted to borrow your clothes steamer since his broke. Then, it was Mingi, who only really came over to check out the snacks you had just bought at the grocery that day. Hongjoong had stopped pretending he knocked before entering. Sometimes you’d regret giving him the door code because whenever you came home from running errands he was already lounging at his designated spot on the couch, eating chips with Mingi. 

The only one who never seemed to invite himself over was Yunho. You’d catch him in passing every now and then. Sometimes he’d stop by with Hongjoong after work to ask how unpacking was going.Sometimes you’d exchange a few words in the hallway. Like nothing has changed. 

“Don’t you boys have food over at yours?” Hana continues her rant, while Hongjoong makes himself a sandwich. 

To be fair, he'd shown up with coffee for both of you, reminded Hana three separate times not to forget her student ID, and insisted on checking whether you'd packed lunch. So maybe he was entitled to one sandwich.

You had just finished getting ready, making sure that your clothes were neat and your makeup looked good. You were just about to leave before Hongjoong and Hana started bickering. Hana’s first class didn’t start until 10, which is why you were leaving an hour earlier than she has to. Hongjoong, on the other hand, had an irregular work schedule which comes with his assistant directing job, which meant he was there early to terrorize you. 

Hongjoong looked over. 

“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?” 

“I’m literally leaving,” you say, slipping your shoes on. “Try not to burn the apartment down.” 

“No promises!” you hear as you close your front door, the melodic chiming of the door lock filling the empty hallway. 

You round the corner to the elevators and find Yunho already waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey,” he greets you. “First day today?” 

It suddenly occurred to you that unlike the others, Yunho also worked a regular nine-to-five. Hongjoong had mentioned he was in finance, which meant the two of you would probably be leaving for work around the same time every morning.

You nodded, shifting the strap of your work bag higher on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. New office, new team.” You smiled sheepishly. “Trying not to embarrass myself on day one.” 

"You won't."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard.

Yunho glanced at you before looking back at the elevator doors.

"You're good at what you do."

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

"How do you know that?"

He shrugged, almost as if the answer was obvious.

"Hongjoong talks."

You let out a laugh. "He does?"

"All the time."

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. He lets you go in first, before stepping in and standing beside you, facing the doors.

The elevator’s empty, save for the both of you. There’s an awkward pause, the both of you trying to think of ways to fill the space. 

“So how was Seoul? We never really got to catch up after we left for college,” he asks, while you watch the numbers on the wall go down. You guess this was how he decided to break the silence, straight into it. 

“Um,” you hover. “It was a lot.” you let out a chuckle. 

“A lot good?” 

“A lot everything.” you reply. “I mean, the job was great, I learned a lot from my seniors and it was great being in a new environment, but it really does take a lot out of you. So when we found out Hana got accepted to college here, I decided to apply for a job in L.A.” 

The doors open again, this time a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller steps in, standing in front of both of you. But Yunho decides to keep talking. 

“You know, I was surprised when Joong told us you were moving back.” 

“You were?” 

“I thought you liked it there.” 

“I did.”

He looked at you then, eyebrows knitting together. The baby in the stroller lets out a small whine. 

“I also liked sleeping.” 

That earned a laugh. 

“It just felt like time,” you added. He gives you a nod at that. 

“I get that.”

The elevators slide open. You both get out then, muttering a polite “excuse me”, as you step around the woman and her baby while the both of you get out to the parking. 

“I was also surprised you were Hongjoong’s roommate again. He told me before you moved out like a year ago,” you say, as you walked toward the parking lot.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Ah. Yeah. Things didn’t work out where I was staying so I decided to move back.” 

You nod, not really knowing what to say. 

You stop in front of your car, unlocking it with your keys. 

“This is me. I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Good luck today, YN,” Yunho smiles again, and you clutch at your keys a little harder. 

“You too.” 

He waves you off before walking to his car a few feet down. When you get in, you look at yourself at your rearview mirror and let out a big huff of air you didn’t know you were holding. 

Your first day at the Golden Hour Marketing Firm went surprisingly well. You spent the rest of your 20-minute drive to work, practicing introductions so you wouldn’t shit yourself in front of your new team. Your manager had introduced you warmly, filling you in on your role and showing you around. 

By lunchtime, you’d already learned the names of most of your immediate team, survived HR orientation, and only gotten lost twice trying to find the pantry. On your break, Hongjoong sends you a text. 

joongie 🐲

baby sis has been sent off and on her way

she insisted i do NOT drop her off, unfortunately

mission complete regardless, boss 🫡

yn 🧚‍♀️

noted, with thanks 

don’t tell me you’re still at our apartment 

joongie 🐲

mingi thinks you should change your curtains 

yn 🧚‍♀️

i think mingi should get out of my house

joongie 🐲

too late we’re watching yt on ur tv now 

have a great day at work byeeee

yn 🧚‍♀️

me and hana are changing our door code when we get home 

Brand marketing has always been your thing. Growing up, you had a creative side. You were crafty, and always looking for inspiration. But somewhere along the way, that creativity evolved into something more strategic. You found yourself fascinated by what caught people's attention, what made a campaign memorable, and why some brands connected with people while others didn't. Over the years, you worked hard trying to build a career for yourself. You were good at your job.

Seoul had taught you that much.

The pace had been relentless, the expectations impossibly high, and more nights than you cared to admit had been spent asleep at your desk rather than in your apartment. But it had also shaped you into the person you were today.

Moving back to Los Angeles didn't feel like starting over.

It felt like finally giving yourself permission to breathe.

The first thing you noticed when you got home, toeing off your heels by the doorway, was the noise. You'd heard laughter and the clatter of pots and pans before you even unlocked the door.

The moment you stepped inside, Yunho looked up from the counter.

"How was—"

“You’re home!” Hana runs over to give you a hug before Yunho could finish his sentence.. 

Out of the three of you, she’s always been the most affectionate, giving you kisses on the cheek and hugs every now and then. Hongjoong sometimes acts like he doesn’t like it, but when he picked you up with your boxes when you first moved in, he was the first to hug her. 

“How’s your first day?” she asks, still clinging on to you.

“It was great,” you slipped off your heels. “I actually made a work friend today. “

 "See?"

Hana grinned.

"I told you."

You looked around.

San was stirring something on your stove while Hongjoong tosses vegetables in a bowl. Mingi, as you expected, is sitting on your couch, watching some kind of documentary. 

You last notice Yunho standing right by the kitchen, looking like he had just gotten home as well. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his suit jacket slung over one arm, and his work bag sits abandoned by Mingi's feet.

“Why are these people in our apartment?” you say as Hana lets you go. 

“Dinner party!” San announced.

“Hyung and I wanted to cook you guys dinner to celebrate your first day.” He points to Hongjoong. 

“We’re celebrating!”

“You, how was your first day? Meet anyone new?” you ask her. 

“Eh, it was okay. My classes are cool though. Some guy in my class asked me for my number,” she shrugged. 

“What.” Hongjoong freezes, gripping the bowl. 

“You didn’t tell me that earlier!” Hongjoong crosses his arms.

Hana huffs in annoyance. “Because I knew you’d act like this.” 

“Did you say no?” 

“I gave him my Instagram instead.” 

“You WHAT?” A couple of decibels higher and San would have to physically hold Hongjoong back. 

“My dear big brother, I’m eighteen,” Hana whines, “let me live.”

“You can start living once you're forty-five.” 

The argument continued without either of them expecting to win. Yunho shook his head with a quiet laugh as he reached over to take the bowl from Hongjoong before he accidentally crushed the lettuce in his grip. 

“She is eighteen, Joong.” 

“Don’t encourage her.” 

“I’m encouraging you to breathe.”

“Need any help?” you ask, as you walk over to the kitchen. 

“We’re good, you can sit over by Mingi and relax. It was your first day,” San says, pointing over to where Mingi was sitting. 

“I’d rather not, he’s watching something weird. I think it’s a documentary about Bigfoot.” 

The three of you, while your siblings chase each other in the background, talk about your days. You learn that San works from home in a tech company, and Yunho got home around five minutes before you did. 

In the middle of your conversation, you felt a gentle hand brush your shoulder. You turned just in time to see Yunho lifting the strap of your work bag off your shoulder before setting it on one of the dining chairs. You hadn’t even realized you still had it on you. 

“You’ve been carrying it this whole time,” he said simply before returning to the cutting board. 

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice,” you muttered. 

“No problem.” He turned back to the cutting board as if it hadn't been worth mentioning.

You reached for one of the bowls in the cabinet, clearing your throat before calling out for Mingi.

“Hey Bigfoot! Come set the table with me.”

Dinner ended up being louder than the cooking. Mostly because Hongjoong refused to let Hana tell the story about the guy from her class without interrupting every five seconds. Your conversations drifted from work to college to Hongjoong’s latest nightmare of a film set. You exchanged laughs every now and then, at one point, Mingi spilling on himself. By the time dinner was over, the sun had disappeared beyond the apartment windows. 

You offered to wash the dishes since the boys had cooked. As you carry a stack of plates in your arms, Yunho strides in beside you without a word, carrying the rest of the dishes with his sleeves rolled up. 

You settled into a comfortable rhythm—you washed while he rinsed.

“Hana seems like she’s adjusting pretty well,” Yunho breaks the silence. 

Across the room, Hana, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi had abandoned the dining table in favor of the coffee table, where an Uno game had quickly turned into a shouting match.

(“THE RULES WHERE I PLAYED IS YOU CAN ONLY PUT DOWN DRAW FOUR IT ONLY IF THERE’S ALREADY A DRAW FOUR CARD.”

“I DON’T CARE. DRAW SIX .”

“Both of you shut up. Hongjoong, draw six,” San says.) 

You smile to yourself, handing him another plate. “Yeah. I was worried she’d have a hard time moving to a new city. But she’s always been brave. And I think she just really missed her big brother.” 

“She missed you too, you know,” Yunho said after a beat. 

“Hmm?” you glanced up. 

“When Hongjoong and I came back home to visit, she always talked about you.” Yunho said, setting another plate on the drying rack. “Every summer she’d try to convince Hongjoong to take her to Seoul.” 

“She never told me that.” 

“Hongjoong probably missed you two the most, though. The first night you guys moved in? I walked into the apartment to look for him and found him sitting on your couch after you guys went to bed.” 

“I thought he had already gone back to yours,” you giggle. 

“Nope. I asked him and he said he was standing guard in case someone tried to break in,” he laughed. 

“That’s stupid, the only people breaking into this apartment are him and Mingi.” 

There’s another comfortable silence. 

“Hey, YN?” 

“We may act like a bunch of old idiots,“ He nodded toward the living room, where Hongjoong was accusing San of cheating at Uno. 

“But if you ever need anything, you know can always come over, right?”

Something in your chest softened.

"I know. Thanks, Yunho."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The water continued running between your hands as another plate passed from you to him.

Somehow, standing here with him felt... easy.

Not because the awkwardness had disappeared.

It hadn't.

But because, for the first time since moving back, you weren't trying so hard to fill every silence between you.

Some silences, it turned out, didn't need filling at all.

IV. EVERY MORNING, AROUND 8:15, YOU LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT. 

Every morning, around 8:15, Yunho is somehow already waiting for the elevator. 

The first couple of days, you assume it’s a coincidence. By Thursday, you’re not so sure. 

Sometimes he’s already waiting. Sometimes he steps out of his apartment just as you lock yours. On Thursday morning, Yunho is waiting with two plastic cups of coffee. 

“San got a new coffee machine,” he says, handing you one. “He made too much.” 

You eye the cup, taking it anyway. “Tell San thanks.” 

“I will.”

As the elevator arrives, you miss the tiny smile that pulls at the corner of Yunho’s mouth. 

The rest of the weeks go by like this: 

You’d find Yunho waiting by the elevator, always with a second cup of coffee for you. The elevator rides became longer conversations, mostly about his roommates’ latest antics and the office romance brewing between two heads of your department.

You’d walk over to your cars side-by-side. On the drive to work, sometimes you’d catch Yunho’s car beside you at a stoplight, letting out two beeps, lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a lazy salute before the light turned green.  

You’d gotten close with your brothers’ other roommates too. As much as you hate to admit it. 

San had also started treating your apartment like a second home. Sometimes he'd stop by just to water Hana's plants while the two of you were out, claiming, "You'd be surprised how many people accidentally kill succulents."

Mingi, in particular, only ever texted you when he needed rescuing.

The first time it happened, it was barely three weeks after you moved in. Your phone buzzed in the middle of a Saturday morning. 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

yn 

yn kim 

what do you want

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

sos 

yn kim 

you’re alive enough to text 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

girl i need ur help

yn kim 

???

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

the girl i brought home last night won’t leave 

could u come over and pretend ur like my crazy ex or something 

yn kim 

absolutely not 

ask san 

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

PLEASE

the boys left to play pickleball 

she wants us to have breakfast 

yn kim 

then get breakfast with her? 

mingi jfc it’s 8 in the morning

mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤

i NEVER have breakfast w my hookups

pls ill buy u boba for a month

yn kim 

deal

Ten minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of his apartment, questioning whether this was worth the boba. 

The door flew open before you even had a chance to knock.

"I owe you my life."

He stepped aside to let you in before lowering his voice.

"She's in the kitchen."

It happened again.

And then again.

By the fourth time, you no longer asked questions.

You'd simply knock on their apartment, sigh dramatically, and say,

"Where is she?"

Mingi would point toward his room.

"Thank you for your service."

On Friday nights, your group somehow always ended up at the same Korean barbecue place a few blocks away. San and Yunho usually took over the grill while Hongjoong argued that he could cook the meat just as well. Mingi would inevitably declare he was "too full for dessert," only to be the first one ordering boba ten minutes later.

It wasn't long before you met the rest of their circle, too. There was Yeosang and Jongho, San's coworkers who somehow always ended up as the voice of reason; Wooyoung, whose favorite pastime seemed to be irritating San just to get a reaction; and Seonghwa, an old college friend of your brother's who, much to your amusement, was one of the few people capable of making Hongjoong visibly nervous.

Most nights, it was just the six of you, drifting between your apartment and theirs as if there was no real distinction anymore. Someone would inevitably pull a movie from the ever-growing stack Hongjoong had collected over the years, and before long, all six of you would be crammed onto whichever couch had enough space, arguing over what to watch before inevitably settling on something everyone had already seen at least twice.

It was the little things as well, that showed how you all cared for each other like a real family. San and Hongjoong somehow made it their mission to pack yours and Hana's lunches every morning. Mingi, surprisingly, had become self-appointed host of girls' nights, barging into your apartment with face masks, a tub of ice cream, and the announcement that "the boys are pissing me off again."

And then there was Yunho.

It wasn't anything grand. At least, you didn't think so.

He was simply thoughtful.

If your hands were full, he'd take whatever you were carrying without asking. If everyone went out for coffee, yours somehow always ended up paid for. When movie nights stretched past midnight and one of you started nodding off on the couch, he'd throw a blanket over you. You’d seen him do it to San and Mingi once, patting their heads before he settled back in his seat.

You told yourself he was just like that.

So you tried not to think too much about the way you'd occasionally catch him looking at you whenever one of Hongjoong's movies made you cry, or how he always seemed to notice when work had worn you down before you'd even said a word.

Your routine quickly settled into place. Until one Monday, it wasn’t. 

You unlocked your car, tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, and turned the key. 

Click. 

“...No.” 

You tried again. 

Click. 

Your shoulders slumped. 

“No, no, no.” 

You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel. You were already running late, instead of your usual 8:15, you came rushing out of your apartment by 8:30, and Yunho, bless his soul, was still waiting by the elevator by the time you arrived. 

A car stops by your parking spot, Yunho rolling down his window. 

“You okay?” 

“My car chose violence this morning.” 

He laughed quietly, before sliding out of the driver’s seat and coming to your side. “Can I try?” 

You stepped out, handing him the keys. 

He slid into the driver’s seat and gave the ignition a try.

Click. 

Once. 

Twice. 

“I think your battery’s dead.”

You groaned. 

“Great.” 

"Could be worse."

"Could it?"

"You could've found out halfway to work."

"Don't say things like that."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He reached through the open passenger door of your car, grabbing your work bag before picking up the coffee you'd abandoned in the cup holder.

You blinked.

"What are you doing?"

“Good thing your office is right by my route, and I’m also the best person in the world,” he says.

“Pardon?” you ask. 

“You’re riding with me. Get in if you want to make it before work.” 

“I can just call an Uber."

"You can."

He started walking toward his car.

"Or..."

He held up your bag.

"...you can save forty bucks and let me drive you. Hongjoong would kill me if I left you here to book an Uber."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile as you climbed in.

"You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

He closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.

As he started the engine, he glanced over.

“We’ll call the mechanic during lunch and have Hongjoong meet him. You gave him the spare key, right?” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” 

He pulled out of the parking garage. 

“But I was going to anyway.” 

When you were on the main road, neither of you spoke anymore. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware that you'd never actually been alone with Yunho like this before. Usually there was Hongjoong in the passenger seat, Mingi yelling from the back, or Hana changing the music every thirty seconds.

Sensing the awkwardness in the air, Yunho reached toward the center console. 

“You can connect your phone if you want.” 

“You sure?” 

“As long as you don’t play any Taylor Swift. Mingi likes to sing in the shower.”

You laughed. 

“Of course he does.” 

You plugged your phone in, scrolling through your playlists before settling on one you’d been listening to on repeat lately. 

As the music flows in the car, Yunho taps the steering wheel in time with the music while you look out the window, watching the city blur past. 

The rest of the drive slipped by easily. 

You talked about work. 

About Hana mentioning another guy from one of her classes, nearly giving Hongjoong a heart attack.

About Mingi somehow bringing the same girl over for the third time despite insisting he "wasn't looking for anything serious."

By the time Yunho pulled up outside your office building, you were surprised you’d already arrived. 

He shifted the car into park. 

“What time do you get off?” 

“Six.” 

He nodded once. 

“I’ll pick you up.” 

“You don’t–” he cuts you off. 

“Nope, I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

“Okay,” you smile.

You clear your throat and reach for the door handle. 

“Thanks Yunho. See you later.” 

You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Just as you reached the sidewalk, his window rolled down.

"YN."

You turned.

"I'll see you at six."

By the time six o’clock rolled around, your brain felt like mush.

The first full Monday of campaign planning had consisted of three meetings, two brainstorming sessions, and an alarming amount of coffee.

When Yunho comes to pick you up, you could barely keep your eyes open. 

“For YN Kim?” Yunho says as you sit in the passenger seat, in a perfectly practiced customer service voice.

You looked at him.

"...Yes?"

"Destination?"

You deadpanned.

"Home."

He nodded solemnly.

"Excellent choice."

"Driver, I'd also like to request silence."

"Unfortunately, this ride includes complimentary conversation."

You laugh silently as Yunho drives the car back on the road. 

“Long day?” 

You let out a dramatic sigh. 

“You don’t even wanna know. I sat through three meetings that could've been emails.”

He winced sympathetically. 

“You can nap for a bit if you want, it’s sushi night at our place. You know how Hana and Joong get when there’s sushi involved.” 

“Ugh, I forgot about that. Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Yeah. We’ve got twenty minutes before we get home.” He shrugged. “I’ll wake you up.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him turning the volume down on the console. You said nothing, pretending not to notice.

By the time you got home, Yunho had woken you up with a gentle nudge to your shoulder, and a soft “we’re here” before you could even adjust to your surroundings. 

In the middle of dinner, while you were all having different conversations, San’s suddenly looked up from his sushi.

“Yunho, I have a bone to pick with you,” he says seriously, pointing a chopstick at him. You supposed he was feeling tipsy, if not for the soju bottle he split with Mingi. 

“That sounds ominous,” Hana says, stealing a piece of salmon from Hongjoong’s plate. 

“What did I do?” Yunho asks. 

“You finished my coffee beans.” 

“...Again?” Hongjoong sighs. 

“Again.” 

“Wait,” you interrupted. “I thought you always made too much coffee.” 

San frowned, “Those are Guatemalan beans, YN. I don’t just make ‘too much’.”

"Then why has Yunho been bringing me coffee every morning?"

Yunho answered before San could.

"I just make an extra cup while I'm there."

You nodded as though that explained everything.

"That makes sense."

"Does it?" Mingi asked around a mouthful of rice.

Yunho shot him a look.

"What?"

"Nothing." Mingi raised both hands in surrender.

Across the table, San quietly met Yunho's eyes.

Yunho looked away first.

Before the silence could linger, Hongjoong reached across the table and stole the last piece of nigiri from Hana's plate.

After that dinner, you found yourself thinking about the coffee more often than you cared to admit.

Every morning Yunho still handed you a cup without fail, and every morning you caught yourself wondering whether he'd actually been making an extra one... or whether he'd been making one specifically for you all along.

It was a dangerous train of thought.

So you stopped letting yourself think about it.

V. ‘THE BITCH IS BACK’ IS PLAYING IN YOUR EARPHONES WHEN YOU PUT THE LAST ROLLER ON YOUR HAIR.

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh, the bitch is back…” You sang quietly under your breath, swaying to the music as you leaned closer to the mirror you'd dragged onto the kitchen island. You were currently getting ready in your kitchen, rollers in your hair, and makeup on the counter. 

Your coworker, Johnny, had asked you out for an annual marketing forum that your firm sponsored. He didn’t have to, because you were planning on going anyway, but it was nice to get asked out again after a while. 

Your dress was laid over the couch as you sat on one of the kitchen stools in your underwear and a robe hanging off your shoulders, because you couldn’t risk getting powder on it before you could even wear it. 

You stood up, grabbing the tube of mascara that had rolled onto the floor, singing the rest of the chorus, and swaying along dramatically.

You were so into it that you didn’t notice your front door beeping. 

“It’s the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh!” 

“Oh shit.” 

When you turn around, you didn’t expect to see Yunho standing frozen in the doorway. You let out a surprised gasp, tying the strings on your robe. Yunho just saw you in your underwear, and you were acting like an idiot. 

He also hadn’t expected anyone to be home. When Hongjoong told him the door code, he was told you would’ve been gone by now. 

His eyes met yours and immediately darted somewhere over your shoulder. 

“I, uh, sorry.  Hongjoong told me you were gone, I came to pick up his hard drive that he left here.” 

“Why didn’t he get it himself?” You say, your face flushed. Yunho’s ears had turned red.

Cute, you thought. 

“He’s in the middle of editing,” Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He asked me to grab it since I was already heading out.”

“I think it’s over there,” you gestured vaguely towards your coffee table. 

“Right.” 

Neither of you moved. 

Yunho cleared his throat before keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table as he crossed the room. He found the hard drive almost immediately.

Silence.

You couldn't remember the last time the apartment had felt this small.

He turned to leave before hesitating.

“Hongjoong said you have a work event today?” he asks, while you go back to your seat. 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go alone but my coworker, Johnny, asked me to go with him.” 

Yunho gave a slow nod.

"Johnny."

"Mm-hmm."

"From work?"

"Creatives."

"Is he nice?"

You let out a small laugh.

"Why are you interviewing me?"

"He's moving kind of fast."

You let out a laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"No, say it."

Yunho shifted awkwardly, gripping the hard drive a little tighter.

"I'm just saying... asking someone out after a month."

"It's not a date."

"Isn't it?"

You shrugged.

"I don't know. It's a work event."

"Just the two of you?"

"...Yes?"

"So..."

He trailed off.

"That sounds like a date."

“Maybe.”

For the first time since he'd walked in, Yunho genuinely looked stumped.

Like he'd asked himself the same question and didn't have an answer.

He looked away.

"Forget I said anything." You raised an eyebrow. 

“Um, I should go,” he says after a beat. 

You nod, smiling. 

He turns back around with a hand on the knob,”YN?”

“Yeah?”

“You look beautiful by the way.” 

Your smile softened.

"I haven't even put the dress on yet."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I know."

Another beat.

"Have fun tonight."

Before you could say anything else, he slipped out the door.

What was that? 

When Yunho gets back to his apartment, he makes a beeline for Hongjoong’s door. 

He knocks, quite aggressively, three times before letting himself in. 

The sight of Hongjoong hunched over his desk and tweaking with the film he’s working on one of his three monitors greets him. Headphones are over his head while he has a hand on his chin. 

If he wasn’t working, Yunho might’ve smacked his hard drive on his head. 

“Hongjoong.” He shoves his shoulder with the hard drive. Hongjoong flinches before realizing it’s him, and takes his headphones off

“Here,” he grumbles. 

“What’s up with you? It took you like five minutes to get back from across the hall.”

Yunho’s supposed to be heading out, but he figures there’s no use anymore, embarrassment clouding his mind and a deep motivation to strangle the man in front of him. 

“YN was there, idiot. You told me she’d be gone.” 

Hongjoong glances at the clock on his desk, “Oops, I think she said Johnny was picking her up at six, not five.” 

“Well, I walked in and she was home.” He closes his eyes for a second. “And I might have embarrassed both of us.” He sighs.

“Did you catch her singing Elton John again? She loves to do that when she gets ready,” Hongjoong says, plugging the hard drive on his computer. 

Yunho nods. He decides not to tell him that he caught her in just her underwear and a robe, though. He’d seen how Hongjoong gets over his sisters. 

“Did you know she was going on a date?” He asks instead. 

“Yeah, some work guy named Johnny.” Hongjoong replies, monotonously. 

Hongjoong clicked through his editing timeline before speaking again.

“Is she done getting ready yet? I told her to send me and Hana pictures before she left.” Hongjoong adds. Yunho’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. 

“You’re okay with YN going on a date?” he asks. Just the other day, Hongjoong launched a 5-minute tirade about Hana going to a college party that mostly talked about “NO BOYS”. 

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You practically put Hana under house arrest because some guy asked for her Instagram.” 

Hongjoong scoffs, “That’s different. Hana is a baby. She enjoys making my blood pressure spike.” 

“How is that different?” 

“Listen, I know I’m the eldest, but YN spent years taking care of everyone else and raising Hana. All she does is work alongside being a good sister, the least she deserves is to get pretty, go out with a coworker on a date, and have fun,” Hongjoong says with a fond look on his face.  

Hongjoong studied him for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face.

"...Why do you care so much?"

Yunho's head snapped up.

“I don’t. I was just asking.” Hongjoong smirks.

 “I’m serious.” 

“You know YN doesn’t date much. So I know Johnny isn’t really her type.” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair. “She'd rather spend years getting to know someone than jump into something because they asked.” 

“And you know her type?” 

“I’ve been her brother for twenty-six years.” 

Yunho doesn’t speak a word after, his eyes to the floor. 

“I’ll let you figure that out.” 

The date went well. Johnny was easy to be around. Confident, funny, effortlessly sociable. He made conversation with everyone he met, pulled you into group photos, and by the time your workmates migrated to the after-party, he'd somehow convinced half the room onto the dance floor. 

You thought it would be enough to distract you from your thoughts and whatever’s going on at home. But you think all Johnny could ever be to you was a friend. 

If anything, he’d been thoughtful and easy to talk to. But he wasn’t the problem. The problem was that somewhere over the last few months, you’d grown used to a different kind of kindness. One that was quiet and consistent. 

The sort that remembered how you took your coffee, carried your bag without asking, and turned the television down when you looked tired without another word. The kind that would pay attention if you weren’t feeling well, or knew everything about you. 

By the time you get home, you realized you hadn't spent the evening getting to know Johnny. 

You spent the entire night wondering what it would’ve been like if Yunho had been there instead. 

VI. WHEN MONDAY ROLLED AROUND, YOU NOTICED YUNHO HAD CHANGED.

The Monday after you went on a date, he'd ask how your weekend was. When you told him, you don't think Johnny and you could be more than friends, he stifles a grin and nods in understanding.

He still waited for you by the elevator and handed you another cup of coffee without a word. 

There was still the coffee (When has it ever stopped?), the elevator conversations, and small smiles you’d throw at each other. 

But you also noticed, the line between being neighbors and potentially something more started to blur. 

It was subtle at first, a hand on your back when you left the elevator, or instead of separating as soon as you got to your car, he would wait until you closed your car door. But then you noticed he kept making excuses to be close to you, to touch you. 

Whenever it was movie night, he’d go as far as shoving Mingi to the other end of the couch just so he could sit next to you. 

(“You didn’t have to shove the poor guy,” you whisper as he grabs a handful of the popcorn on your lap.

“He’s fine. He was taking up too much space on the couch.”

“Mingi’s pouting.”

“Shh. Just let me sit next to you.” 

“Jeong Yunho!” Mingi shouts, throwing a pillow at him. 

By the end of the night, your head, however, had somehow found its way onto Yunho's shoulder.) 

After dinners together, he'd linger just enough to fall into step beside you while everyone else walked ahead. Whenever you crossed the street, his fingers would wrap loosely around your wrist—or sometimes your hand.

"Cars," he'd explain every single time.

As if that answered everything.

As if he wasn't still holding your hand long after you'd reached the sidewalk.

Even though Hongjoong had gotten your battery replaced, Yunho started insisting you carpool with him to work. He’d made a pretty good argument, that gas prices were crazy high and it would be better for the environment now if you rode to work together.

He’d open the car door for you, be at your office at six on the dot, and always let you choose a playlist. He’d have a different excuse every day like if you were carrying too many things, or if Hongjoong needed both of you to drop by at the store. You would've said yes regardless. 

If your friends noticed, they didn’t say a thing. They watched as you and Yunho cooked dinner together, bumping shoulders and sharing looks that definitely meant that there was something there. When you would get home and start complaining about work, Yunho would drop everything and listen to you. 

(“I don’t think they realize we’re still here,” Mingi whispers. 

“They’re in their own world at this point, I could set myself on fire and Yunho would still be making heart eyes at her,” San grumbles, watching you and Yunho laugh by the couch. 

“Do you think they know?” Hana says. 

“Nah. They’re both idiots. And slow. But I’d let them figure it out.” 

“Figure out what?” Hongjoong asks as he steps out from the bathroom. 

“Nothing.”) 

You know things are changing. And as you hate to admit it, the crush you had on him years ago came back and has evolved into something deeper. Whenever he’s close to you, you’re painfully aware of his presence, your heart beats a little bit faster, and you find yourself looking for him in every room you enter. 

Almost six months after you moved in, and a little over a month since you and Yunho have settled into dangerous territory, your brother announces he’s been chosen to direct all on his own. Suddenly, you and your friends (except for Hana who’s not only underage but had a late night dance practice that day) end up at a bar after Hongjoong’s celebratory dinner.

“DIRECTOR BABY!” San screams, after taking a shot, and kissing Hongjoong’s cheek, and laughing when he gets pushed away. 

You’ve been sitting in a booth for about an hour, when the next round of beers come in. Wooyoung had dragged Mingi with him to the dance floor by the second round, while Yeosang and Jongho sat across from you, whispering to each other. San and Hongjoong were absolutely gone. San had turned red by the first shot, and Hongjoong downed at least five after you learned that Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to come. 

It ran in the family though, because you were second to being absolutely gone as well. 

“Here,” Yunho came back to your booth with a glass of water and hands it to you. 

“Thanks.”

You hadn’t meant to get drunk, but you were celebrating, and then too many shots came and Yunho was so close, you kept thinking of kissing him. So you kept up with the shots and now you feel dizzy, your head spinning. Yunho, being the nicest person ever, stayed completely sober since you arrived.

He put an arm around you when you lean a bit too far to your side. You wish he wasn’t this close because you might actually kiss him this time. You take a sip of the water as you try to focus on your surroundings.

“If you stopped blubbering like an idiot every time Seonghwa talked to you, maybe he would’ve come,” San teases Hongjoong with a matching hiccup. 

“He’s so pretty. Did you know he’s so pretty San?” Hongjoong cries, hand reaching out to grab another shot.

“Yep, okay that’s enough,” Yunho says from beside you and dragging the tray of shots away. “All of you are officially cut off.”

You hear groans coming from the two drunk men in front of you but as you turn your head to look at him like this, serious but with an expression of someone who is used to taking care of people and the sharp tick of his jaw, you think fuck, you really like him. And he’s so pretty.

He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the top three  left unbuttonned and dark slacks that highlight his long legs and tiny waist. His hand that’s rubbing along the side of your shoulder is cold from the silver rings on his fingers. 

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. 

“What?” he laughs.

“You’re so pretty, you’ve always been pretty,” you repeat, feeling more confident after all the alcohol has kicked in. 

“You really are Hongjoong’s little sister,” he whispers, his wide grin fading into something smaller, the kind that’s only reserved for you. Little sister. You thought with the way he was looking at you, it wouldn’t hurt. But there’s the familiar pang in your chest when you hear it. 

Before you could ask him what he meant, Wooyoung and Mingi come back to your booth.

“What am I looking at here?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at you and the two friends in front of you. You stop looking at Yunho then, leaning your head back on the couch while your eyes start drifting slowly. 

“They’re drunk off their minds. I think it’s time to go home,” Jongho says, pointing to the three of you, with a tone so clear you wouldn’t think he’s had more to drink than you. 

You all clear out the booth then, Yeosang and Mingi with their arms on Hongjoong and San, while Wooyoung and Jongho trailed behind. Yunho helped you get to your feet with an arm around your waist and your bag in his hands. 

The air is cold when you step outside, and the sidewalk feels gummy as you struggle to stand up. It was early in the morning, you assumed around 3 am. You were so out of it, your mind going back to little sister, while the boys around you figure out what to do with the drunk ones. 

“Hyung, stop squirming or I’ll call Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, the only other one who was sober, as he tries to get Hongjoong to stand. 

“Do. Not. Call. Him.” Hongjoong says in between hiccups, yet doesn’t make any move to stand up straight. 

“Yunho, did you bring your car?” Yeosang asks. Yunho nods. 

“Okay, I’ll take these guys with me home, could you–“ Yeosang gets cut off.

“I got her.” 

“Great, because Hongjoong looks like he’s going to puke any second from now and my car’s right up here so we’ll get going.” Yeosang sighs, as he struggles to lift your brother up. 

Mingi and Wooyoung stay behind at the club, something about wanting to dance more. 

By the time your brother and the rest get settled in Yeosang’s car, you and Yunho end up alone on the sidewalk. 

“Come on, YN, let’s go,” he says, steadying you with an arm. 

“It’s okay, I-I can just call an Uber,” you say with conviction, despite the pounding in your head.

“YN, I’m not letting you get into an Uber. My car’s just right up the street.” 

You wanted to say more, to ask him why he called you that earlier, but your head really hurt and you wanted to get home, so you nod. 

“Can you walk?”

“I can.”

You absolutely cannot, and Yunho can tell because he holds you even closer so you don’t fall onto the floor, leading you to his car. 

He helps you get into the passenger seat and clicks your seatbelt into place.

As he drives you home, it’s silent. You struggle to keep your eyes open, as you watch Yunho tap on his steering wheel rhythmically. Neither of you speak, had it been a work day,  you’d be talking each other's ears off. 

When he parks the car in your apartment complex, you wake up when he’s opened your door. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “we’re home.”

The elevator ride up is the most daunting thing to ever exist. The alcohol hasn’t worn off, but it pushes you to decide to break the silence anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath as you hold on to the elevator railing.

“When are you going to stop being so confusing?” 

“What are you talking about?”

You sigh, letting the words flow out of you before you could tell your brain to stop. 

“You do all these things,” you wave vaguely between the two of you. “You look at me like,” like you’re in love with me.  “Then call me Hongjoong’s little sister at the end of the night.”

“YN.”

“I wish you’d stop reminding me whose sister I am.” 

He stares at you, speechless.

“Because every time you say it…” Your voice softens. “…I feel stupid for thinking maybe you meant something else.”

“I–,” 

The elevator dings.

Before he can finish, you hurry out, nearly tripping over your own feet as you make your way down the hallway. You bump your shoulder into the wall once, then again, before finally stopping in front of your apartment.

“Where the fuck are my keys?” you mutter, patting every pocket of your dress in growing frustration just as Yunho catches up beside you.

“You don’t have keys, your door uses a code,” he says.

“Oh.”

When he unlocks the door, you stumble into your room, Yunho following close behind. 

“YN, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“God, my feet hurt,” you deflect, tearing off your heels and throwing it in random directions.

Yunho closes the bedroom door behind him. 

“YN.” 

“Don’t.” you sigh. 

“Can you just look at me?”

You shake your head.

“If I look at you, you’re going to explain it away.”

He falls silent.

“Explain what away?” You laugh, but it comes out tired.

“Everything.”

He frowns.

“You keep doing things that make me think…” You stop yourself, rubbing at your face. “Nevermind.”

“No. Finish.”

You finally look up at him.

“You look at me like I’m important.”

His expression flickers.

“Then you call me Hongjoong’s little sister.”

Silence.

“Do you know how unfair that is?”

Yunho opens his mouth, then closes it again.

You continue, “I want to believe that the way you look at me is not how you look at everyone else, but you say things like that, and I don’t know anymore.” 

There’s a beat. 

“I need to lie down,” you say, while Yunho stood frozen. 

You shift and lie down on your bed, closing your eyes. Maybe he’d disappear from your room if you closed your eyes hard enough. 

As you try to drift to sleep, you hear Yunho come closer to your bed. 

Carefully, he kneels in front of the bed and slips your heels farther underneath it so you won’t trip over them in the morning. He reaches for the throw blanket folded at the foot of your bed, unfolding it gently over you.

“I "I don't do any of that for everyone," he says quietly. "I don't wake up early just to make coffee for everyone. I don't wait by the elevator hoping I get ten extra minutes with someone. I don't come up with excuses to drive people to work or sit next to them whenever I can." His eyes meet yours, steady this time. "I do those things because they're with you. You don’t even notice how much I look at you, do you?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t open your eyes. 

He sighs. He’d say more, explain things clearly, but he’d rather have you sober before you forget everything he said. 

“Good night, YN.”

There’s a pause, and you think he might’ve actually left, when you feel a pair of lips on your forehead. 

When Yunho quietly closes your bedroom door behind him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Hana is sitting on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, lazily sipping from a glass of water.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Well.”

Yunho presses a hand to his chest.

“Jesus, Hana.”

“I came back from Joongie-oppa’s, they got home a bit earlier than you two.”

“Is he okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, Seonghwa’s coming over to take care of him because he kept whining about him, so I left and came back here to wait for my sister.” There’s a grin on her face. The kind that she’d put on when she was up to no good. 

“Imagine my surprise, big brother,” she trails off. “When you two come home, don’t even notice me standing in the kitchen, but disappear into her room in the middle of what appears to be a lover’s quarrel?” 

“It wasn’t–“ he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. It’s complicated.” 

She studies him. 

“Did she finally say something?”

Yunho doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t have to because Hana could already tell. 

“Huh.” she shakes her head. “So she finally noticed.” 

Yunho looks up.

“Noticed what?”

Hana just laughs.

“Nothing.”

She walks past him toward your bedroom with a cup of water and painkillers that were on the coffee table.

“Good luck, big brother.”

She pauses at your door without turning around.

“You’ll figure it out.” 

VII. WHEN YOU WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE WORST HEADACHE EVER,

you decide that you are never leaving the apartment again. 

You remember bits and pieces of last night. You remember taking too many shots, Yunho’s arm around you, Hongjoong calling for Seonghwa, the way Yunho looked at you then called you a little sister. You remember the elevator ride and the forehead kiss he left on you before you drifted away to sleep. 

It was a Saturday, so thankfully you didn’t have to see Yunho today. But your mind goes back to everything you said last night and hoped you hadn't scared him off. 

You spent the rest of the day on your couch, nursing your hangover with soup you had delivered and reruns playing on your TV. 

Hongjoong comes over by the end of your fifth episode, sporting the same headache and squeezes next to you on the couch. Apparently, he’s in the same situation as you. 

“Seonghwa,” he sighs, when you ask him what’s up with him. You don’t ask why, as you two watch TV together.

You’ve been like this for three hours, before Hana comes to intervene. 

“What did we learn?” she says, standing in front of the both of you like a military captain with her arms behind her back. 

Your brother, wearing sunglasses indoors, raises a weak hand.

“Never mix beer and tequila.”

“Wrong.”

She looks at you. 

“To never drink again.”

“Also wrong.”

“The correct answer,” Hana says, “is that none of you are allowed to make decisions after your third shot.” 

“What are you talking about? You weren’t there,” Hongjoong grumbles. 

“You drunk-dialed Seonghwa so many times he had to come here to take care of you and when he got here you puked all over his slippers,” Hana says without missing a beat. She turns to you.

“And you. You’re sitting here with your hopeless brother instead of dealing with whatever happened with Yunho last night.” 

You almost choke on your ice cream. 

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

“Something happened with you and Yunho?” Hongjoong turns to you.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. “Yes,” Hana says at the exact same time. 

“What does Hana know that I don’t?” 

“None of your business.”

“I’m serious. What happened?” He’s using his big brother voice, the kind that made you stop lying, and you sigh. 

“I… might’ve asked him to stop being so confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“He—” You hesitate. “He called me your little sister.”

Hongjoong blinks.

“…That’s it?”

“No, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t get it.”

You set your spoon down.

“He spends all this time with me. He drives me to work, insists on carrying my groceries, steals San’s coffee every morning, practically kicks Mingi off the couch so he can sit next to me…” You gesture helplessly. “Then the moment I think maybe I’m not imagining things, he reminds me I’m just Hongjoong’s little sister.”

He sits with what you say for a moment, nodding. 

“Can I say something?” 

You shrug, gesturing for him to go on.

“I didn’t see it before but he definitely doesn’t treat us like he treats you. I’ve known Yunho my whole life, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act the way he acts with you.” 

You grip the bowl in your hands.

“He told you that, didn’t he?” he continues. You nod with a sigh. 

“What if I just made everything weird?” You ask.

“Did he look uncomfortable?” 

“No.”

“Then go talk to him.” 

“Joong—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been my sister for twenty-six years. I know when you’re overthinking.”

He nudges your knee.

“If Yunho really did something that hurt you, then tell him.”

A beat.

“And if he didn’t…”

He smiles, small and tired.

“Then stop making each other miserable. I know for a fact he’s feeling as bad as you are.” 

Hongjoong stands to join Hana, and they each grabbed your hand before it dragging you to your room. 

“You’re doing this now,” Hana says. 

“What?”

“If you don’t do it now, you’ll spend the whole weekend on the couch and eat your feelings in ice cream.” 

Three minutes later, after changing into an oversized sweater and convincing yourself at least seventeen times that this was a terrible idea, you stand in front of your apartment door.

“What if he’s mad at me?”

“Yunho?” Hongjoong lets out an incredulous laugh. “That guy couldn’t stay mad at you if you ran over his foot.”

You take one deep breath and pull the door open before you could think about what to say to him. 

To your surprise, Yunho is already standing on the other side, his fist raised mid-knock. 

You both freeze.

“Oh.”

“…Hi.” 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“I…” A laugh escapes you, equal parts relieved and disbelieving. “I was actually just about to come over to yours.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back.

Hongjoong and Hana are peeking shamelessly from behind your still-open front door, both giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

You sigh.

“Not here.”

Yunho follows your gaze and immediately understands.

“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “Definitely not here.”

The two of you walk to the very end of the hallway, where a large window overlooks the city and a couple of chairs make a small sitting area. It’s close, but also out of earshot, so you don’t have to worry about your roommates eavesdropping. 

The silence stretches between you until Yunho finally speaks.

“I guess you remember everything?” 

You nod. He lets out a slow breath. 

“Yunho, I—“ You’re about to tell him that you were sorry for messing things up when he interrupts you.

“I owe you the truth.” You say nothing, as he looks at the view from the window before looking at you in the eyes. 

“I called you Hongjoong’s little sister because you told me I was pretty. When you said that, I panicked. Hongjoong calls Seonghwa pretty because he’s in love with him but is too scared to admit it,” he says, brushing your hair away from your face. “I guess he and I have that in common.” 

“What?”

“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” 

“Yunho.”

“Every time I got too close to you, every time I caught myself looking at you for a little too long…” He exhales. “I’d remind myself you were Hongjoong’s sister.”

“Because if I didn’t…” His voice catches. “I’d want things I had no right to want.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs.

“Then you moved back.”

A small smile finds his face.

“And suddenly you were everywhere again. Last night made me realize, I’d probably been in love with you longer than I thought. Maybe since the day you moved in.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. From the window, the sun starts to set, casting a warm glow on Yunho’s face, as he holds your hands into his.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally says. 

You understand now, how it feels to have the one thing you’ve ever wanted, show you that it hadn’t been all in your head.

“You’re an idiot.”

His face falls. 

Before he could apologize, you grab the front of his sweater and kiss him. 

His hands automatically find their place on your waist while he pulls you closer. He tastes like coffee, which you thought tasted better on his lips than in the coffee cup you had every morning. He smiles into your teeth when he realizes you wouldn’t let go, with everything he’d spent months holding in. 

You pull away from him for a moment, him looking at you more clearly now, without hesitating, like he’s loved you all his life. 

“I’m in love with you too, you know.” You grin. “I thought it was obvious.” 

“I was hoping you’d say something dramatic, like you loved me since you were eight,” he jokes. 

“I thought you were cute when I was eight.” 

“Only cute?” 

“I was eight. I just kissed you, Yunho. We’re in love with each other,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, quieter this time.

Instead of answering, you rise onto your toes and press your lips to his.

“Ahem.”

The two of you spring apart.

Standing a few feet away is Mingi, a trash bag hanging limply from one hand.

He blinks once.

“Am I interrupting?”

Yunho closes his eyes for a brief second.

“Mingi.”

“No, no.” He holds up his free hand. “Please. Continue. I’ve only been waiting…” He checks an imaginary watch. “…roughly six months for this.”

“Mingi, don’t start,” you say, eyes pleading.  

Before either of you can stop him, Mingi is already halfway down the hallway.

“SAN!”

“WHAT!”

“We should go before everyone on the floor finds out,” Yunho whispers. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE KISSING?”

San’s voice echoes through the hallway.

“Too late.” 

The next Monday morning, you don’t have to walk to meet Yunho by the elevator anymore, because he’s already at your door the second you open it. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. 

“Morning.” 

He’s holding two cups of coffee. You eye them suspiciously.

“Did you use San’s coffee beans again?”

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I bought my own,” he puffs his chest, a proud look on his face. “I figured my girlfriend deserves more than stolen Guatemalan beans.” 

“Girlfriend?” you laugh, taking one of the cups. 

“Yep, girlfriend. I don’t care if your siblings are staring me down now.” 

His eyes leave your face and move to look behind your head, to see Hana eating cereal with a furrow in her brows, Hongjoong beside her at the dining table with the same expression.

“You two are gross,” Hana mutters. 

Yunho ignores her, casually slipping a hand into yours. 

“You know they’re still watching, right?” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They’re judging us.”

“I know.”

“You don’t care?”

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

“Not even a little.”

END.

A/N: I don’t know how this happened, but I listened to swim by bts on repeat while writing this entire fic. If you can somehow hear that song in the vibe of this story, now you know why. this was so fun to write, I may write part two if someone wants to request it cause I kind of have ideas. btw, so far, this is my longest fic I’ve written for this blog 🎉 so enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed!

“Fuck!”

You threw your bag down on the ground in frustration, sinking to your knees before pulling out every last item.

Your keys were not in there.

You lent your garage opener to your cousin.

“Oh my god, this can’t be happening!”

For a moment, you refused to believe it, frantically searching for keys you knew weren’t there.

“What are you screaming for?” A familiar voice asked from behind you.

The last voice you wanted to hear in this stressful predicament.

Turning your head, you found him standing there.

Jung Wooyoung, your irritating neighbor.

His mere presence made your skin crawl. The last thing you needed was his cocky attitude pissing you off more or his rude, mocking remarks about the situation when you already felt dumb and embarrassed.

You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m locked out.”

“Okay, drama queen. Call your aunt or your cousin. Relax.”

“Thanks for the tip.” You replied sarcastically.

Asshole.

You collected your belongings off the ground and put them back in your purse before sitting on the porch steps. Wooyoung stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at you. It was off-putting and gave you too much time to study him.

His sparkling green navel piercing, his toned abdomen beneath that tight baby tee hugging his muscles—

No!

You focused on your phone instead, quickly texting a friend about possibly coming over. Anything to free you from whatever this was.

Why was he even still here?

“Is there something I can help you with?”

He flinched, as if the anger in your voice had surprised him. His stunned expression morphed into an arrogant grin, shrugging his lean shoulders nonchalantly. God, he was annoying.

“Didn’t know it was a crime to stand somewhere, princess.”

“You can stop with the little nicknames now.”

“You get in touch with your people?” He said impatiently, like you had begged him to come check in with you and wait.

Checking your notifications, you read the incoming message from your friend who said she was with her boyfriend and his family at his house. Your plan was foiled. There wasn’t anyone else you could text.

Disappointed, you clicked your phone closed.

“My cousin went out of town. My aunt is at work.”

“Wow. You really managed to lock yourself out with no escape route. That’s almost impressive.” There’s that tone again.

No help. No advice. Just disparaging comments. Disgusting.

If you could push him over, you would…but that wasn’t you.

“Anything else you’d like to say? Please say no.”

“That would still be saying something, tsk tsk tsk.” Wooyoung chuckled under his breath, that really big smile painted on his face. His dimples carved into his high cheekbones, and your heart skipped a beat.

Fuck. You had to stop looking at him.

Silence settled between you, the tension hanging heavy in the air. The weight of his attention prickled across your skin as you did your best not to glance his way. You started thinking of ways to tell him to fuck off politely.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’m sitting here.”

“For how long?”

“Until my aunt gets home.”

“What time?”

“Late.”

Wooyoung paused. His eyes flickered from the porch to your car, then back to you.

Even keeping your responses vague and short, he kept prying. What was his problem? He didn’t like you, you didn’t like him so what’s with the fifty questions. If you couldn’t shoo him away gently, maybe putting in your AirPods would do the trick.

“…You’re serious.”

“Yes, and I’d like to do it quietly if you don’t mind.” You showed him one of the airpods and placed it in your ear.

“Jesus, just come to my place.”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your ears. What reality were you living in?

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not gonna spend my evening watching you sit out here for hours looking pitiful,” He shook his head as though trying to shake the thought away. His blonde and blue hair shimmered in the sunlight, “…and if my older brother comes home and sees you, he’ll kick my ass.”

“Yay, can I watch?”

“Not funny.”

“I’d rather sit here.”

“No, you’d rather be stubborn.”

“They’re the same thing.”

“They’re really not.” Wooyoung scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, a little bit of the tattoo inside his forearm showing. “You really want to sit out here with no bathroom, no water?”

You were genuinely shocked. Was he actually concerned for your well being?

Nonetheless, he was right.

It would get dark, you have no bathroom or water. You could sit in your car with the doors locked, but that still didn’t solve the piss or dehydration problem. The more you thought about it, you really saw no other option.

Goddamn it.

“Ugh, fine,” you stood to your feet in a huff, dusting off the back of your skirt before pointing a finger at him, “but if you think this means we’re friends—”

“Trust me, princess, that’s not what I’m worried about.”

Trailing behind him, he led you through the grass and past the fence. Wooyoung opened the side door to the house which confused you.

“Why aren’t we going through the front?” You whispered, being overly skeptical and a powerful laugh escaped his throat, booming in your eardrums.

“No one is home, you don’t have to whisper.” He closed the door and began walking down the wooden steps next to it, “My room is down here, not gonna walk through the whole house.”

He said it like it should be obvious to you and you regretted agreeing to this right then. You continued following him into the basement, fear crept through you as the darkness swallowed the staircase, until the last visible step disappeared under your feet.

“Wait here. This is difficult terrain in the pitch black.” Wooyoung warned in an exaggerated wildlife-documentary voice, and your teeth caught your lower lip as you held back a chuckle.

He wasn’t funny—least of all charming.

Then, he strutted into the darkness. You squinted, trying to see at least his silhouette but all you could hear was his feet shuffling somewhere ahead and you refused to move from the spot where he left you.

It was already strange enough you even went along with coming into his house, let alone going where you shouldn’t.

The sound of a drawstring being pulled echoed through the room, followed by a click. Suddenly, there was light. Your pupils widened, grateful you hadn’t taken another step. Only then did you notice the second staircase leading the rest of the way down.

Wooyoung stood there at the bottom step, waving at you to come down. As you rounded the corner, he turned on more lights and his “room” was actually its own separate apartment attached to the house.

The two of you walked between the kitchen and dining table before entering the den. A large blue L-shaped couch was on your right, with a large plasma TV across from it on the opposite side of the coffee table. To the left there was a ping pong table with a door behind it.

“That’s a bathroom but the toilet’s broken so you’ll have to use the one in my room, down the hall there.” Wooyoung pointed down the narrow corridor past the table.

He padded around the couch and clicked the television on, surfing channels until he landed on baseball.

“You can come sit down, ya know?” He giggled to himself, amused by your demeanor, as he stood there mindlessly typing on his phone.

Ignoring his tone, you stormed the path he went earlier and sat down aggressively on the sofa. Soon after you whipped your phone out, scrolling on Twitter while paying him no mind, hoping the hours would fly by as fast as possible.

“Did you want water?” He had moved in front of you and it startled you to look up, watching him loom over you.

“Uh, yeah sure.”

Wooyoung stayed rooted where he was, thumb lazily scrolling across his phone, though you had the distinct feeling his attention wasn’t entirely on the screen. You couldn’t concentrate on your phone with his musk and cologne wafting into your nostrils. His red jeans hugged tight to his waist. You could easily make out the deep V-line of his hips above his belt.

He eventually went to the kitchen, allowing you to breathe and shake away this light headed feeling. You were uneasy, pretending to stare at your phone, but you kept finding yourself drawn back to him.

Okay, maybe he was attractive, but his personality left much to be desired. You needed to remember that.

You turned your head to the television as he waltzed back over, handing you a red plastic cup.

“Filtered water for the princess. Don’t worry I didn’t poison it.”

You groaned, snatching the cup from him. “Thanks.”

“Gonna make myself a BLT sandwich in a bit. If you want one, you better speak up while I’m making it.”

Asshole. See? Nothing different. Same Wooyoung.

He sat down on the couch in the corner, noticeably not that far from you. If he stretched his leg, his foot could touch yours. There was plenty of room for him to sit farther away and yet he didn’t. You tried not to obsess about it, maybe that’s just his favorite spot.

The hushed commercials played in the background as you read some pages for the book on your phone you got into recently about a vampire princess and a member of her nightguard. It was sensual and dangerous, a combination you came to adore.

When your eyes drifted to Wooyoung as you took a sip of water, he wasn’t even paying any mind to the baseball game. He had a pair of silver headphones over his head, staring at his phone. It was then he glanced your way, and you instantly buried yourself back in your book.

Has he been doing that this whole time? Eyeing you when your head was turned? What’s his deal? You took another anxious sip of water.

As you set the cup on the coffee table, you glanced over and caught him flicking his gaze from you back to his phone. This was weird. He looked different today. Softer somehow, the glow from his phone caught the sharp lines of his face and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I have to pee.” You blurted out, standing straight up before you sped off down the hallway.

When you got to his room, it was so…neat. More organized than you expected. He had a cascade of band posters plastered on the far wall in a circle of sorts. A black and red guitar sat in the corner next to some amps and a weight bench. Some clothes were folded on the bottom of his comforter and there were novels stacked on his bedside table. He liked to read?

The bathroom was spotless, pearly white and squeaky clean. Wow, his space was the total opposite of how you anticipated. This was bad. He’s being somewhat of a gentleman, he took pride in his hygiene and living area. It was all a shock.

Who knew your grungy, obnoxious prick of a neighbor wasn’t who you made him out to be…

After you peed and washed your hands, you left the bathroom and went back into the den. This time you noticed the bass and drum set on the far side of the room. Wooyoung still sat in the same spot.

“Are you in a band?”

He jolted at your voice, apparently forgetting you were there.

“Huh?” He slid his headphones down around his neck.

“A band? You’re in one?” You repeated, pointing to the instruments.

“Oh, yeah. Me and two of my friends, we started a little while ago.” He shifted as you sat back down in your original spot. “Hey, you wanna hear one of our songs?”

It was the first time you’d seen him so enthusiastic about something. It was kind of…cute.

“Sure, of course.”

“It’s only the instrumental. We’ve got lyrics for the chorus but not the full song yet.” Wooyoung muted the TV and played an audio aloud from his phone. “Do you even like rock music?”

“Do I look like I only listen to classical and bubble pop?”

“You color-code your life.”

“Shut up.” The corners of your mouth curled up a little.

As the clash of guitar and drum mixed into a melodic sound, a voice singing like an angel came over the chorus. Your ears perked at the heavenly high pitched tone that sang these emotional lyrics;

Water kisses broken stone,

Carving pieces into home.

You shine bright,

Molten sunlight,

How do I outrun the tide

That carries me to you?

“Who’s that singing?”

“Me,” He said proudly, “we ended up meeting this producer one day at a club event and he gave us a session to record at his studio. It was epic.”

This was insane. You’d always heard this loud guitar playing through the walls from his house and always perceived it as noise, but hearing it woven into a full song and his beautiful singing voice, you realized your assumptions were wrong.

The music slowed before fading into silence. Wooyoung locked eyes with you, his brows lifting expectantly. Neither of you spoke.

“Well?”

“It was…” you paused, “…pretty good.”

“That’s it? Pretty good?”

“What? It was nice.”

“Nice? Oh my god,” he leaned back, rolling his eyes in irritation, “you hate me that much? Can’t even give a guy a compliment?”

“I don’t…hate you.”

“Oh, really?” He bounced across the cushions closer to your side, sitting practically on top of you and touching your knee to his. “How ‘bout now?”

What the fuck was he doing? Why was he doing it? You pressed your thighs together, clutching at your phone and not facing him even though his gaze was stuck on you.

“Still don’t hate you…you’re just not what I pictured.”

“That’s gotta sting a little.”

“I mean…not exactly,” you finally turned your head, “and why do you care what I think anyway? We’re not friends…”

“That’s true…”

It was like word vomit coming up your throat, his magnetic stare peeling back the last of your defenses.

“I loved the song…and your voice was…really beautiful.” Your shoulders squished against his, the temperature growing warmer by the second.

“Thanks.” It felt like the two of you were struggling to talk, like the tension was blocking your vocal cords.

“Don’t you…hate me?” You questioned hesitantly.

“Not in the slightest,” he revealed softly, “I mean, you’re a bit hard to swallow at times, but I like that.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his back handed compliment and he joined in, casually resting his hand on your thigh as you laughed together. A few hours ago you would've been thoroughly repulsed by his touch and slapped his hand away, but now…

Shit, what is happening? Were you into Wooyoung? It all felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. When you looked at him again, Wooyoung wore that big, stupid smile.

“What?”

“If you want to kiss me, you can.”

“Ugh, as if!”

“Stop playing around, princess. I see you looking at me.”

“Oh, the same way you’ve been looking at me?”

He held your gaze for a beat.

“I’m not denying it. Anyone with eyes can see how hot you are.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.”

He definitely was. Every inch of his expression told you so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to make the first move and kiss him. The knots in your stomach tightened as your lips parted.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

Wooyoung wasted no time grabbing your face and pulling your lips to his, and it felt electrifying. Your lips moved against his before his tongue slipped past them, rolling gently against yours as he savored the taste of you. Fuck, this was too good.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the sensation ran through you, making your toes curl. When he broke the kiss, your fingers clawed at the front of his shirt as if you were making sure he didn’t move too far away.

“You liked that?”

Even with your eyes partly closed, you could hear the smirk on his face from his tone. Still dizzy, you let out a half laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Want me to do that again?”

You quickly nodded, a bit too eagerly. He placed a finger under your chin, raising your head before he kissed you again. It was a lot slower as he gradually deepened the kiss. His hands traveled to your waist and your body shuddered. Your tongues swirled together and you loved how puffy and soft his lips were, urging you to suck on the lower one.

A sharp groan escaped from his chest as he kissed you harder. It was as though everything you’d both held back had finally rushed to the surface—impatient and hungry.

Somehow you ended up straddling him without your lips ever breaking from his. His hands were all over you—thighs, back, hips, delicately caressing every inch. He was such a good kisser, you had to have been making out some time now.

Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. When you accidentally tugged a little too hard, a whimpering moan slipped from Wooyoung’s throat into your mouth. It only made the kiss more needy and desperate, as if you could only get oxygen from each other.

This was crazier beyond belief.

Here you were, kissing the boy next door. The one you craved to get away from and now you couldn’t get enough of him.

Mid-kiss, a realization came over you. Wooyoung doesn’t live alone and his brother would probably make an appearance when you least expected. You broke the kiss and confusion wrinkled his face.

“What time is your brother getting home?”

“Huh? I don’t know.” He muttered, attempting to latch his lips back to yours but you pressed a hand against his chest to hold him back.

“Seriously, Wooyoung. What time?”

“Late.”

“Wooyoung!”

“I really don’t know, like later tonight. Don’t worry about it.”

His lips found their way to your collarbone, kissing and sucking their way up your throat. He was fucking relentless and it felt too good to stop him even though you tried to push on his shoulders with weak effort.

“Wooyoung…” You cooed for his attention, but he never slowed down or backed off a little. The bulge straining against his jeans brushed along your inner thigh and you knew nothing would get him to focus now.

“What if…your brother comes down here?”

Your eyes flicked to the steps as Wooyoung chuckled lightly along your skin.

“Believe me, he’s not coming down here. He never does. The only time he comes down here is if I borrowed something from him and forgot to give it back, or if I tell him I’ve got friends over,” he added reassuringly.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, so he isn’t gonna snoop.”

“Friends, huh? Like other girls?”

“Jealous already? Aww, that’s cute.” He pulled your hips down and ran his hands beneath the hem of your skirt, cupping your ass in his palms.

He gave your ass a hard smack and you yelped at the stinging contact. Wooyoung snorted at your reaction and you shoved him in the chest as payback.

“Now I’m leaving.”

“Oh, c‘mon don’t be like that. Y/N, I promise we’re fine.”

Despite your hesitation, you trusted him—something you never thought would happen in a million years. You latched your lips to his and he completely melted into you, drawing you closer to his body.

“But—” you interjected, tearing from him again. Wooyoung sucked his teeth and his arms fell to his sides, sulking like a puppy.

“Babe, you’re killing me.”

“I just wanted to say that we’re not having sex…not yet anyway.”

“Okay…noted. Should we schedule it? Let me get my planner.”

“Omg, shut up,” you playfully punched him in the arm, ignoring his cheesy smile.

“I just don’t want it to happen too fast and then we—”

“Hey,” he rasped, pinching your chin in his fingers, tilting your head up and pinning your focus to him, “you don’t have to explain. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with, whenever that may be.”

First, he teases you, then he shoots you with Cupid’s arrow.

Who was this guy?

Certainly not the neighbor you’ve been mortal enemies with.

His softened expression and heartfelt sentiment almost made you drop the boundary right then and there, but you held your ground. Desire was knocking, and you knew you wanted to do more than kiss him. The fact that Wooyoung wasn’t pressuring you to go any further made you swoon. His patience and tenderness were unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was…refreshing.

“Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been waiting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When you moved in with your aunt, I saw you and you gave me the cold shoulder…but I still saw you.”

Fuck. This guy has been wanting to make a move on you this entire time? Your head spun, swallowing his words harshly. If you had stopped being a stuck-up priss, this could’ve all been resolved a long time ago.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like the chase.”

God, you had to eat your earlier words. Wooyoung was, in fact, incredibly charming.

You lowered your face and kissed him, rubbing your hands along his neck. Wooyoung clutched handfuls of your thighs in his hands, squeezing your flesh between his digits. Heat built between your legs as you rutted your hips back and forth over his crotch.

The room filled with the sound of your shared whimpers.

It felt all too familiar and secure, like you were always destined to wind up here—in his house, on his lap, and kissing without an end in sight. Every nerve in your body was on fire from his possessive touch and delicious lips, blood buzzing in your ears.

Wooyoung’s lips moved lithely against yours, sucking and nipping your lips, devouring you as his bruising grip roamed behind you again, fisting your ass roughly.

Wetness leaked from your core, spreading between your folds and dampening the front of your panties as you unconsciously dry humped him. His erection twitched underneath the denim at the stimulation, poking your cunt at the perfect angle for you to thrust against.

“Fuck…” Wooyoung cursed into the kiss before his head tipped back, “…babe, you’re making it impossible to have restraint.”

How is it that you’d written him off so quickly without a second thought? This pretty boy with the pretty voice who was intoxicated by you. Every word he spoke gave him away.

Flattered by his eagerness, you hummed in amusement. Your mouth ghosted across to the corner of his lips, down his jaw to his ear, leaving tiny kisses in your wake. An affectionate lick to the earlobe and Wooyoung was like jelly in your hands.

“Maybe…” you breathed as your hand slid down his chest to the hem of your skirt, fingers fidgeting between your bodies until they curled around his belt buckle, “…we can find other ways…to satisfy each other?”

“What’d you…have in mind…princess?”

His hoarse voice gave you the sense that you had found one of his sweetest weak spots with your teeth, his body unraveling by the second as you sucked on his earlobe.

You sat up before reaching for his arm, briefly admiring the rose and thorn details on his tattoo. He watched you guide his hand to your inner thigh, bucking your hips into his ring-clad knuckles.

‘Oh,’ he mouthed silently, running the pads of his fingers over the soaked fabric. Before he could react, you were unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. Wooyoung snatched your wrist and you looked up at his face, puzzled by his reluctance.

“You don’t…you don’t have to do that.”

The gesture was sweet. Clearly he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything to appease him, and it only made your decision feel that much more certain.

“I want to, Wooyoung,” you replied kindly and he removed his hold on your arm, “unless you don’t want me to—”

“No, I definitely want you to,” he interrupted, cutting you off without a second thought. His enthusiasm left you a tad flustered. You looked at him, tracing the contours of his face. You never realized how lovely his eyes were before. They sparkled beneath the light, their slight asymmetry only making them more captivating.

As you tugged on the front of his pants, Wooyoung crushed his lips to yours, his cock springing free from its confines.

A gasp caught between your lips as you wrapped your hand around him. He was fairly…big. Bigger than what you expected. What he lacked in inches, he made up for in girth—you could barely loop your fingers fully around him.

“Thick like a coke can.” A coy grin appeared on his face.

Did he just read your mind?

“Just the most repeated comment I hear.”

“Likely story.”

“It’s true though, huh?”

You didn’t want to inflate his ego anymore, but your bashful smile certainly gave you away. Instead, your hand drifted along his shaft, and he quivered beneath your touch, swallowing hard. As you lowered your head, a wad of saliva drooled out of your mouth onto the swollen tip, mixing with the precum leaking out.

A quiet growl rumbled in his chest as you leisurely pumped him in your fist, your gut clenching from the vibrations. The veins running down his length flexed between your dainty fingers, and a strangled noise came out of Wooyoung as you picked up a steady pace.

“F-Fuck…” He stuttered, eyes heavy and dark.

He was hard—unbelievably, rock-fucking hard—twitching his hips helplessly, grasping for every ounce of the slick friction you delivered. Wooyoung shoved his hand further between your legs, sliding your underwear to the side and running his fingers between your soaked folds.

“God, you’re so wet.”

A choked moan escaped you as Wooyoung circled your aching clit, the pressure gathering in a knot lower in your belly. Your grip on him faltered as your concentration slipped, but you shook it off.

Wooyoung, however, had other plans.

He drove a finger deep into your core, hooking into your spongy walls until the sensation overwhelmed you. Cursing his name, you blinked away the searing pleasure blinding your vision. He added another finger for good measure, his rings pressing into your juicy flesh.

“S-Shit!” You cried out as his digits stretched you open.

Motherfucker.

Your dripping cunt pulsed around his fingers as he pumped in and out of you. Unable to resist, you rolled your hips into his hand, surrendering to the sweet bliss he brought you. How were you supposed to make him cum if he kept making your body tremble and your head spin?

“Does this feel good, baby?”

“Mmm…” You mewled, not registering a word he said.

How was he so good at that? He knew exactly how to put you in a drunken haze. His fingers scissored inside you with practiced ease while his thumb teased your sensitive bundle of nerves. It was exhilarating, the delicious burn wrecking you beyond repair.

He had the advantage, and judging by the smug smile tugging at his lips, he knew it.

“You look so pretty riding my fingers, princess.”

Ugh, that damn nickname. He was getting off on ruining you, breath hitching in your throat as your hand splayed across his chest, attempting to ground yourself. Wooyoung relished the sight of your head bowing forward, shaking as you babbled incoherently.

Fuck this.

All at once, you regained composure. One hand seized his throat. The other found the perfect rhythm, stroking him with raw, merciless pressure.

If you were gonna fall apart, so would he.

Wooyoung’s eyelids fluttered as his lips parted. That was more like it. His chest heaved and his fingers calmed inside your heat. You could feel his gut clenching from the fiery stimulation, signaling yet another kink of his—choking.

He was coming undone inch by inch whenever you put more weight against his windpipe, your fingers contracting around him as you braced his stiff erection.

“Oh, my g—fuck!” He gasped, gaining strength in his hand before continuing to finger your insides ruthlessly, bringing you right back to the edge.

He used his free hand to hike your skirt a little higher, giving you both a better view. Wooyoung hissed through his teeth as your nails dug into his skin, leaving small crescent-shaped marks. You were on the verge of collapse, your hold on him loosening while keeping a decent tempo.

Massaging him in your palm, your thumb swept along the underside of his cock and played with his perineum that was just below the tip. Wooyoung’s whole body jolted, a harsh yell of pleasure rushing out of him as he forcefully gripped your wrist, like he was ignited by flames coursing through him.

“Babe…if you keep that up, I’m gonna cum.”

His face was cherry red, his expression completely deadpan. The warning was genuine, his eyes pleading with you not to make him explode just yet. It was adorable, and a small laugh slipped out.

“What? I just wanted you to cum first.”

“My knight and shining armor,” he rolled his eyes and you kissed him for his chivalry, “how about we cum together, then?”

Your words sent a piercing chill down his back, and he kissed you breathlessly in response. He gave you an abrupt nod, quivering beneath you. His fingers thrust in sync with your strokes, taking each other to the edge simultaneously. As you smoothed over the frenulum, Wooyoung panted, throwing his head back.

“Fuck…fuck…I’m gonna…cum,” he murmured.

Your foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily into each other’s mouth, and it didn’t take long for you both to dissolve. Stars sparkled behind your eyes as your face fell into the crease of his neck, your orgasm splintering through you like a rocket.

At the same time, Wooyoung stilled as his release washed over him. His cock throbbed, spurting hot cum practically everywhere—across his stomach, his jeans, your arm, and your skirt. Just a mess, but you could barely care with your cunt pulsing around his hand, arousal trickling down his fingers.

Holy fuck…what the hell was that?

The white haze clouding your vision faded as your inner goddess came down from the high, and reality began to hit.

You did hate Wooyoung for making you feel this…good.

There was no way to fake the attraction, no way to fake the need for him, or act like this didn’t happen. But what if he could?

Neither of you said a word or moved for a while.

Until you finally caught your breath and sat up, avoiding his gaze.

“You got my skirt dirty.”

“Sorry, baby. I’ll get you a new one.”

Eventually, your attention found him again. His eyes were still full of lust. At least for tonight, you knew he was captivated by you. Somewhere deep down, though, you wondered how long it would last. So you’d enjoy right now with the boy next door who had you hooked like a fish.

“Hey, earth to y/n,” Wooyoung called, cupping your cheek and pulling your face to his, kissing you passionately.

He tasted like ice water on a hot day. You could sit here and kiss him forever, and maybe it was your inner goddess talking, but Wooyoung surprised you. He was different from the picture in your head. Between the books, music, and his caring demeanor, you were absolutely fucked.

“Let me get you some sweatpants and I can…clean up our mess.”

“You made more of a mess than me.”

“Wanna bet?”

He flashed you his hand, glistening and coated with your juices as he smiled, a squeaky laugh bursting out of him. You turned your head, hiding your amusement but he saw right through it, laughing harder as he grabbed your waist, nesting his lips to your ear.

“And I loved every second of it,” he purred, planting a kiss on your throat, “c’mon.”

You followed behind him as you walked to his bedroom. Wooyoung shuffled through his drawers and tossed a pair of black sweatpants on the bed. Stripping out of your skirt and panties, you put them on and noticed him sneaking glances in your direction.

“Did you want a t-shirt too?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. So you’re comfortable?”

“…You don’t want me to leave now?”

“What?” Wooyoung marched over to you, staring silently. He appeared a bit…hurt? “Do you wanna leave?”

“No.”

“Then don’t,” he grinned and went back over to his dresser, “shirt?”

“Uh, sure.”

He tossed you a red band t-shirt, for Pierce the Veil—classic.

“I’ll meet you back out there, gonna shower real quick.” He said, slipping his shirt over his head, allowing you to see the other tattoos he had on his ribs and on his upper back as he strolled into the bathroom.

The water turned on but you didn’t leave. You sat on his bed and took the book from the top of the stack, reading the summary on the back. It was a romance horror novel about a vampire lord and a human maid. How were the two of you so similar?

You only got through about four pages when a fog of steam flowed from the bathroom door as it opened, and Wooyoung stepped out with a towel wrapped around his slim waist, hair dripping wet.

God, he was unfairly attractive.

“I’ll let you borrow it when I'm finished.”

That’s when you see his bookmark sticking out of the top of pages somewhere around the middle.

“You better, I want to know where this is going.”

“Two words: bloody sex.”

Such a boy's remark. You scoffed and set the book back down with the rest, eyes glazing over Wooyoung as the towel dropped to his feet. Spit collected over your tongue while he dressed, nearly drooling as your eyes scanned up his chiseled legs to his sizable package (even flaccid), up his hip line to his stern shoulder blades.

He put on a pair of boxer briefs followed by a pair of gray sweatpants that were cut into shorts with white flowers on them and a plain black cropped t-shirt.

“You checking me out, princess?”

“Maybe…” you replied, earning a pleased hum from him as he circled the bed and stood between your legs.

Placing his hands on either side of you against the mattress, he leaned down and kissed you gently. His kisses were so warm and graceful, sending electricity down to your toes. You would never tire of this.

Wooyoung unclasped your hands in your lap and intertwined his fingers with yours before yanking you to your feet and leading you back out to the den. He guided you to his seat in the corner and you sat down next to him, still holding hands as he unmuted the TV.

“Do you like horror movies?” He asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Excellent. Squeamish people are boring.”

His comment made you giggle in approval, honored to find another thing in common with him. Wooyoung made light work of untangling your fingers and curled his arm around your neck, causing you to lean against his side.

The movie title—House of Wax—rose across the screen.

A favorite film of yours, but how’d he know?

Maybe it was one of his favorites too.

You relaxed your head against his chest, mindlessly twirling your fingers with his over your shoulder. You’re not sure when you fell asleep but you knew you were in his arms, occasionally hearing his light snores.

Someone needed to give you a crash course on how to not fall head over heels for your next-door neighbor, but it seemed that you were too far gone anyway…

taglist: @maliabobea15 • @chanscappuccino

© written by teezslvt— do not steal or claim as your own 𓆩♡𓆪

You were halfway through a yawn when you turned the corner into the narrow hallway and smacked face to chest first into Mingi. “Oof…shit, sorry….” he muttered, stepping back as your breath caught in your throat and your hand shot out to steady yourself against his chest. Bare chest. Warm and solid and way too close. His skin was still damp from a shower, short messy black hair sticking up everywhere, a towel slung over one shoulder, and he was wearing nothing but… boxers. Black Calvin Kleins. Low on his hips. Hugging his thighs like they were painted on. You’d seen him like this before. So many times. Post showers. Late nights. Early mornings. But lately? Lately, it was driving you crazy. His eyes dropped to where your hand still rested against his chest and your fingers twitched as if suddenly aware of the contact making you jerk your hand back like you’d been burned. “I didn’t think you were up yet,” you said quickly, voice still rough with sleep. He grinned, lazy and unbothered. “Didn’t think you were awake either. You usually don’t roll outta bed until after you threaten your alarm like it owes you money.”

“Rude,” you muttered, stepping past him to the bathroom, careful not to brush against him again. But Mingi didn’t move. He just stood there for a second, eyes lingering on your legs, bare beneath the hem of that shirt. That shirt he recognized, because it used to be his. You didn’t look back, but you felt it, his gaze on your thighs, on the way your hips shifted as you moved. You turned on the faucet and closed the bathroom door a little too fast and leaned on the counter, heart thudding in your chest like it knew something your brain was still trying to deny.

By the time you remerged from the bathroom, hair damp and wrapped up in a towel, the apartment had settled into its usual late morning rhythm. The AC hummed through the vents, the coffee machine gurgled in protest as it brewed something criminally bitter, and from the living room, the low buzz of the TV drifted down the hallway as you padded barefoot into the kitchen, now dressed in light blue scrubs that hugged in all the wrong places when you were running late. You grabbed a travel mug from the drying rack and poured what might have been coffee and might have been battery acid. Then you saw Mingi laid out across the couch like sin in sweatpants. Still shirtless. Still glowing from his shower. Still smug as hell. His long legs were stretched out, one ankle hooked over the other. He had a half smoked blunt pinched between his fingers, resting on his stomach like it belonged there. His hair had started to dry in messy. On the TV, some loud anime was playing, subtitles on, volume low as he looked over at you like he always did. Like he didn’t even realize how unfair he was being just by existing. “You look cute in blue,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your chest for a beat too long before dragging back up.

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sip your coffee like your face wasn’t burning. “What?” he grinned. “I meant it.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the counter, pretending to dig through the junk drawer for a pen that wasn’t there. You needed to breathe. You needed to not look at his abs. Or his chest. Or that faint little glimpse of a happy trail disappearing under the…. “I don’t get why you work mornings,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “You’re always dead inside before noon.” You rolled your eyes. “Because not all of us can grind three nights a week and come home with enough cash to pay rent and buy overpriced cereal,” you fired back.

“Jealous?” he teased, voice low and smoky as you glanced over your shoulder…. mistake. He had his arms behind his head now, which only made the cut of his biceps more obvious. The blunt dangled from his lips as he smirked around it and you had to turn back around, muttering, “I hate you.” He laughed, so sure of himself. “No you don’t.” You didn’t answer. Because he was right. And if you stayed any longer, you were going to say something stupid, like how much you liked the way he smelled in the mornings, or how the sound of his voice saying good girl during one of your dreams last week had woken you up in a sweat. So instead, you grabbed your keys. “I’m gonna be late,” you said, tossing him one last look on your way out the door. “Don’t burn the couch.” He waved you off. “No promises,” he called after you, grinning with the blunt still between his teeth.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The hospital was already buzzing when you arrived, nurses huddled over clipboards at the station, the smell of antiseptic biting at the back of your throat, and call lights flickering like a Christmas display gone rogue. You clocked in, grabbed your patient sheets, and headed to the break room to caffeinate before the chaos could fully begin. Seonghwa was already there, perched on the edge of the worn sofa like he didn’t have a single bone in his body. Dressed in his usual scrubs. black, fitted and unfair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a medical drama, not elbow deep in bedpans and IV drips like the rest of you. He looked up the moment you walked in, smirk already forming. “Late night?” You sighed. “Hardly,” you grumbled, pouring your second cup of coffee for the day. “I just had to deal with Mingi being shirtless and smug at seven in the goddamn morning.” A knowing look formed in his eyes. “Ah,” Seonghwa said, amused. “So a normal Thursday.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, and he laughed, swinging his stethoscope around one finger. “You know,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to drop a conversational grenade, “I’ve known Mingi for three years now. Worked with him every Friday night at Velvet Inferno. And I still don’t get how you’ve never seen his show.”

You stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, reaching for the coffee creamer like it would shield you. “For three years?” Seonghwa scoffed. “I work weekends sometimes.” You argued as he tilted his head. “You had last weekend off.” You stirred your coffee too hard, spilling a little. “Maybe I just don’t want to see my best friend grinding on strangers in leather pants.” Seonghwa arched a perfect brow in amusement. “Strangers? Or you?” You froze, fingers tightening around the mug as he leaned forward, voice lower now, teasing but not unkind. “Look, I’m not judging. Honestly? I think it’s kind of sweet. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. And I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching.” You opened your mouth, ready to deny everything…. but nothing came out. Because what could you say? That the idea of seeing Mingi dance…. seeing him like that…. scared the hell out of you? Because if you did, everything might change. Seonghwa smiled, leaning back. “Just come this Saturday. Just once. You don’t even have to tell him. I’ll put you in the back. No pressure. But I think you need to see what everyone else already knows.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. And you hated that a tiny voice in your head whispered you wanted to go.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sun was dipping low by the time you pulled into your usual spot in the apartment complex lot, the air thick and heavy with the scent of summer rain still lingering from earlier. Your body ached, shoulders tight, feet on fire, and your brain running on its last ounce of caffeine and spite. All you wanted was a hot shower and silence as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment and pushed the key into the lock just as the door opened from the inside. “Whoa… oh hey,” Mingi said, stopping short when he nearly walked right into you. “Timing.” You blinked up at him, a little stunned. He was in his usual off duty gear: oversized black tee hanging loose over baggy sweats, worn Vans on his feet, a crossbody slung over his chest. His hair was damp and tousled like he’d just showered, and he smelled like cedarwood and laundry detergent. Comfort and home to you. “Heading out?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. “Yeah, club night. You good?”

“Long day,” you said, toeing off your sneakers, “one guy tried to bite me. That was new.” Mingi let out a breathy laugh, keys jingling in his hand. “Your job’s wild.” You snorted. “Says the guy whose job title might as well be professional panty dropper.” He smirked. “Exotic dancer, thank you.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged up at the corners as he glanced at the clock on his phone. “I gotta run or Hongjoong’ll give my slot to San.” You waved him off. “Go shake your ass for the masses.” He saluted you as he walked out the door. “Always do.” And just like that, he was gone, door closing softly behind him leaving you standing there for a minute, the silence settling around you. Then, as you made your way to the kitchen, you paused, eyes drifting toward the living room where his hoodie hung over the back of the couch.

You’d known Mingi danced. You’d joked about it, teased him about it, supported him in theory. But you’d never actually seen him at work. Never seen what he became when the lights hit him, when the music started, when the shirt came off. You didn’t even know what he wore onstage. Just the vague idea that it was… not much. And now? Now the curiosity had claws as you opened the fridge and muttered to yourself, “What the hell does he wear?” The curiosity stayed with you as you settled in. The movie you picked was already thirty minutes in, something easy and familiar you’d seen a dozen times before. It played low on the TV while you lounged on the couch, fresh out of the shower now and buried in a hoodie that still smelled a little like your favorite fabric softener. Your legs were tucked under a throw blanket, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near the screen. It was with him still as you stared blankly at the movie, but your brain kept chewing on the same question you hadn’t let yourself fully ask until now. Why haven’t you gone to see him perform?

He’d been working there for over three years. Seonghwa did Friday nights. Hell, he’d had even joked once about how you were the only person in Orlando who hadn’t seen Mingi shirtless under a spotlight. So why? Why had you avoided it like it would ruin you? Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because you knew exactly why. It wasn’t about the fact that he danced. It wasn’t about the teasing, or the way he’d wink when you told him to shut up, or how he’d come home at 3:00 am still buzzing with energy, collapsing on the couch to eat cereal straight from the box. No. It was because you’d already seen it once. Not the stage lights. Not the show. But close. A year ago. You had just gotten home late from your first overnight shift. Quietly unlocked the door, trying not to wake him. But the second you stepped inside…… you heard it first. Low moans. Gasping breaths. The unmistakable rhythm of someone getting absolutely wrecked. You hadn’t meant to look. You really hadn’t. But you turned your head anyway, and there he was….. Mingi, shirtless and flushed, sweat slicked and panting, one hand braced against the back of the couch while the other gripped the thigh of the girl riding him.

You remembered her, she used to come by a lot. A regular at the club, you’d later find out. Gorgeous, confident, the type of girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. And she had Mingi wrapped around her like he was hers. You’d frozen in the entryway. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even notice you. Too far gone. Eyes dark, jaw slack, letting out a low groan that made your knees buckle. You’d backed out the door like a ghost, quietly closing it behind you. He never found out you saw. And you never told him. But that night had haunted you. Not because he was having sex. But because for the first time in your life, you realized how badly you wanted to be the one underneath him. And ever since then? You’d kept your distance. In all the ways that counted. Because if seeing him like that from across the room nearly broke you… what the hell would happen if you watched him onstage, knowing that, for three nights a week, Mingi wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He was fantasy. And worse? You weren’t just craving the fantasy. You wanted the real thing.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, the credits rolling over a dramatic orchestral swell you didn’t register as you sat curled on the couch, blanket tucked around you, bowl of popcorn untouched in your lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. You were thinking about him still. Of course you were. The way he looked earlier, casual, smiling, smelling like shampoo and cologne. You’d bumped into him like it was nothing, like he wasn’t your best friend, like he didn’t get up onstage hours later and become someone else entirely. Someone you’d never seen. Someone the rest of the world paid to see. And you? You kept pretending like you didn’t want to know what he looked like under those lights. But God, you did. You tossed the blanket off your lap and stood, pacing without realizing it. Every logical part of your brain was screaming don’t go. That this was a terrible idea. That seeing Mingi in his element…. seeing him be seductive, powerful, untouchable… wasn’t going to fix anything. Maybe it would even break something. But your heart had already made the call. Fuck it.

Maybe if you saw it for yourself, really saw it, you could finally snap out of this stupid crush. Put it to bed. Get over the fantasy. Even though every part of you knew that was a lie. You grabbed your phone off the charger and opened your messages, thumbing through the chaos of your shift notes until you found the thread with Seonghwa and let him know you wanted to go tomorrow night and then locked your phone and stared at the wall for a long time while in your chest, your heart thudded a little too loud, a little too fast, as you whispered to yourself, “This is probably gonna make it worse.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The street outside Velvet Inferno was packed, black ropes, velvet lined doors, sharp dressed people waiting with anticipation and lip gloss, some hoping to get in, others already drunk off the idea of it. But you weren’t waiting in line. Not tonight. Not when you were with Seonghwa, who nodded at the bouncer with a smirk and tugged you gently by the wrist. “Still time to run, you know,” he said as he led you down the side alley toward the back entrance. His tone was teasing, but there was something else in it too, like he wasn’t sure if he should be dragging you in or dragging you away. “I said I was coming,” you murmured, adjusting the off shoulder sleeve of your black corset top. “And I didn’t think you meant it,” he shot back, glancing you up and down. “Not looking like that, anyway.” You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. Your outfit had taken a solid hour of second guessing. Corset laced, form fitting black top. Wide leg dark jeans studded along the seams. Towering platform shoes that made your legs look unreal and your presence even taller than it already felt.

The hallway behind the club was dimly lit and smelled like fog machine residue and cologne. Seonghwa tapped a few beats on the staff door and the guy working security cracked it open, giving him a nod before letting you both slip inside. The dressing rooms were just ahead. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, heavy bass, muffled cheering, the rush of a crowd already half lost in the show. Mingi was somewhere in there. Completely unaware. Seonghwa led you out from the back and into the main heart of the club, bringing you towards the bar. He just grinned, lounging back as a server dropped off your drinks and you took a slow sip of yours, trying to act cool, trying not to let the rising hum in your chest give you away. Because any second now, Mingi would be on stage. And you had no idea what you were about to see. You’d only ever known him in hoodies and backwards hats, baggy sweats and sleepy eyes. That was your Mingi. But this? This was his world. And for once, you were stepping into it…..

Backstage at Velvet Inferno was a whole world of its own. Dimly lit mirrors flickered with rows of bulbs, costumes and props scattered across hooks and benches. The air was thick with cologne, sweat, body glitter, and ego. Music from the stage thumped through the walls like a second pulse, and somewhere out front, the crowd was already screaming. San was stretching, shirtless and grinning like a menace. His routine was up next. Yeosang sat on the bench nearby, buttoning a tight, sheer black shirt over his bare chest, his movements slow and precise, like every inch of him knew it was being watched even back here. Mingi was in the corner, half dressed, tugging on a pair of tight black jeans, shirt still slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t on for another two sets, but he liked being ready early. And then there was Wooyoung, draped over the bench like a cat in heat, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “God, I’m so horny,” he whined, flopping dramatically. “San and I need a third. I’m tired of rotating amateurs.”

“Maybe stop scaring them off,” Yeosang muttered, sliding on his rings and Wooyoung sat up, eyes gleaming, completely unfazed. “You know what? We should ask her.” Mingi looked up. “Who?” Something was telling him he wasn’t going to like what Wooyoung was about to say. “Your roommate,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “What’s her name again?” Mingi blinked, jaw clenching a little. “Why?” Wooyoung better not fucking say it….. “She’s hot,” Wooyoung said easily. “And if she’s lived with you this long, she’s probably used to the lifestyle. San and I need someone who can keep up. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually…. like, we light candles and everything.” Yeosang answered without looking up. “Y/N.” Wooyoung snapped his fingers. “Yes! Y/N. That’s her name.” Mingi stared at him, jaw tight. “No.” Wooyoung blinked. “No?” Mingi glared now. “No.” Wooyoung tilted his head, smile curling. “Why not?” He was antagonizing him now. “Because,” Mingi said, yanking his shirt on roughly, “she’s not like that.”

“Ohhh…” Wooyoung’s grin spread, slow and sharp. “Ohhh.” Yeosang raised a brow, glancing over. “Here we go.” Wooyoung was like a shark and Mingi’s emotions were like blood to him right now. “You like her,” Wooyoung said, pointing like it was a mic drop. “You like like her.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Wooyoung laughed, giggling and clapping his hands together. “That’s why you’ve never invited her here. That’s why you don’t talk about her. That’s why you looked like you were gonna commit a crime when I said she was hot.” Mingi didn’t say anything as Wooyoung leaned in, elbows on his knees, smug as hell. “Dude. You’re in love with her.”

“Wooyoung….”

“You gonna make a move?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. “Because she’s my best friend.” Wooyoung made a dramatic face. “That’s the best kind of person to ruin your life with!” Yeosang snorted as San popped his head in, fully dressed for his set in leather pants and a harness. “Did Wooyoung start the polyamory evangelism again?” It wouldn’t be the first time. “He tried to recruit Y/N,” Yeosang said and San grinned. “Oh damn. She’s hot.” Mingi threw his towel at the nearest locker with a loud clang and Wooyoung just laughed. “Better hurry up, lover boy. A girl like that doesn’t stay single long.” Mingi didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew Wooyoung was right. And he also knew something Wooyoung didn’t. Y/N was the one thing he could never afford to fuck up.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You were adjusting your top when the lights dimmed and a hush rippled through the crowd as Hongjoong’s voice came through the speakers, smooth, sultry, trained like velvet over whiskey. “Put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen… for your favorite little devil…. SAN.” The spotlight hit center stage and the room exploded. You nearly spilled your drink as the crowd screamed, shrill and feral, as San sauntered out under the lights. Shirtless, with a harness of course. Leather pants hugging him like they were scared to let go. A black choker glinting under the lights. Smirk full of sin. “Oh my God… “He’s really……” you whispered. “Yep,” Seonghwa replied, sipping his drink without flinching. “He’s their chaos demon.” On stage, San dropped to one knee and rolled his hips like he was summoning something dark and holy. Women screamed. Someone threw a bra and you couldn’t stop staring. Not because of San. But because Mingi was going to walk out there soon. And you had no idea how you were supposed to breathe when he did.

You sat there frozen, drink half forgotten in your hand, as the man you’d only ever seen as Mingi’s ridiculously sweet coworker turned into something else entirely under the lights. San prowled across the stage like he owned it, like he’d built it himself. His leather pants clung to every curve, every flex of his thighs as he stalked toward the front, bathed in red light like sin incarnate. The bass pounded. The fog machine kicked. A woman in the front row stood up in her seat and screamed like she was being exorcised. Seonghwa leaned toward you, voice close to your ear. “You’re lucky you missed his firefighter set last month. He had a damn hose.” You choked on your drink. San’s body was shimmering under the lights, abs flexing with every roll of his hips. And then… he jumped down off the stage and stalked through the crowd like a panther, grabbing the arm of a woman in a rhinestone dress and guiding her onto a chaise lounge at the edge of the floor. She looked like she might faint but San didn’t give her a second to recover, just climbed up beside her, straddled the seat, and slowly rolled his hips down against hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other dragging up her thigh like he was checking the strength of his own self control.

“Holy shit,” you muttered and Seonghwa just smiled, sipping his drink. “Told you.” San leaned in like he was going to kiss the girl, but stopped just short, lips hovering a breath away. Her hands were everywhere, chest, arms, back, and San let her. Even encouraged it, grinding slow and deep while the crowd screamed and tossed bills. It was chaos. It was art. It was sex with a lighting designer. And you couldn’t stop watching as San got off the lounge and winked as he pulled the woman up to her feet, gave her a playful little slap on the ass that made the whole table behind her screech, and guided her back to her seat like a gentleman. Then he walked back to the center of the stage, arms out, chest gleaming, a grin on his face that said I just wrecked your soul and I’m not even winded and then bowed as the house lights dimmed and the stage went dark. He came strutting offstage, chest gleaming with sweat and bills sticking out of the waistband of his pants. He grabbed a towel off the rack, wiped his face, and tossed it onto the bench like it owed him money.

The dressing room was a blur of movement, Yeosang doing last minute checks in the mirror, Wooyoung adjusting his earrings, Hongjoong’s muffled voice echoing the last of San’s name through the speakers. But San? He had tunnel vision right for Mingi who was sitting on the edge of a bench, elbows on knees, fully dressed in his performance gear now, black jeans tighter than sin, a mesh shirt hanging loose over his chest, and his hair styled spiky. He was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, probably blasting his pre set playlist to ignore Wooyoung. Until San kicked his boot. “Yo.” Mingi looked up, pulling out one earbud. “How was it?” San just grinned. Too wide. Too smug. Like he’d just won a bet no one else knew about. “Set was great,” he said. “Crowd’s wild tonight. I swear someone tried to lick my abs.” Mingi snorted. “Not surprising,” he muttered, standing to stretch. “You’re a menace.”

“Guilty.” San didn’t move. Just stared still grinning which made Mingi raise a brow. “What?” San grinned wider. “You’re not even curious who’s in the audience tonight?” Mingi grabbed his water bottle. “I don’t need to be. It’s the same as every week. Bachelorettes. Drunk office girls. That one lady with the glitter cane who tips like a goddamn queen.” San licked his lips, still grinning. “You sure?” Mingi paused, staring at him suspiciously now. “What?” San just tilted his head, leaning against the lockers like a man with secrets. “You really don’t know she’s here?” Mingi frowned. “Who?” San laughed then, shaking his head. “Y/N.” Mingi froze as San’s grin widened even more. “Seonghwa’s here too, but I wasn’t exactly looking at him.” Mingi blinked in denial. “Y/N’s not here.”

“Oh, but she is,” San said, stretching his arms up behind his head like he didn’t just casually nuke Mingi’s entire night. “Sitting in the third booth off center. Black corset top, jeans with studs. Platforms. She looks good. Like someone who absolutely should not be watching you do what you’re about to do.” Mingi’s mouth went dry. “You’re messing with me.” San smirked. “Am I?” Go look.” Mingi didn’t move. Just stood there, every muscle in his body coiled like a wire pulled tight. San patted him on the shoulder as he walked past, towel slung around his neck. “Good luck out there, lover boy.” And then he was gone. Leaving Mingi in a storm of adrenaline, nerves, and something dangerously close to hope.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The lights dropped low again. The bass thudded once, deep and resonant, followed by a rush of fog spilling out across the stage like the start of a storm. Hongjoong’s voice purred over the sound system, dripping with anticipation. “You’ve been waiting for him… and he’s ready to ruin you.” The crowd screamed. “Give it up for the man who makes fantasy look easy…. your headliner tonight… MINGI.” You couldn’t breathe. Not when the spotlight hit the center of the stage and he walked out like he was made for it. Not when the cheers around you turned primal. Not when the bass dropped and the music started. Because there he was. Mingi. But not the one you saw every morning in his hoodie, grumbling about cereal and half asleep on the couch. This version? This version was lethal. Tight black jeans that looked like they’d been sewn onto his body. A cropped mesh shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest, the fabric clinging to sweat slick skin and teasing every dip and plane of muscle. Thick silver rings flashed on his fingers. He moved with slow confidence, every step perfectly timed to the thump of the beat. Not rushed. Not overdone. Like he already knew he owned the room. And God, he did.

The screams rose as he reached center stage, his hand sliding down his chest as the first switch in the music hit, a slick remix of something dark and sexy, all bass and breathy vocals. You couldn’t move or look away. And Mingi? Mingi was trying so hard not to look for you. He’d known the moment the curtain parted. He felt it like gravity. The shift in his breath. The hum in his chest. The way his heart slammed once, hard, like it recognized you before his eyes even did. But he didn’t turn his head. Not yet. He started slow, hips rolling in time with the music, hands skimming down his own body like he wasn’t teasing the entire room. His movements were smooth but controlled, like he could go harder but was choosing to drive everyone mad instead. And it was working. Women screamed. Money flew. A few already stood at the edge of the stage, reaching as Mingi dropped low into a crouch, legs spread wide, one hand dragging up his thigh to his chest. His lip curled into a smirk as he popped his hips once sharp. Then again slower. But still… he didn’t look.

Your hands were clenched in your lap, knuckles white. Your drink sat untouched. Your pulse? Absolutely fucked. Seonghwa leaned closer, whispering into your ear with a grin, “You breathing?” You didn’t answer. Because just then Mingi stood and turned, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Searching. Trying to pretend he wasn’t. Trying to stay smooth. Sexy. In control. But the moment his gaze landed on you? He stopped. Only for a second. But it was enough. Enough for you to know he saw you. Enough for him to forget the choreography for a half beat before snapping back in with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. You felt it. That flicker, real Mingi, underneath the performer. And in that moment, the game changed. Because now he wasn’t dancing for the room. He was dancing for you.

He’d always been good on stage. Controlled. Smooth. A slow burn with a fuse he could light and kill at will. He could flirt without touching, seduce without a word, tease until the whole room was ready to explode and then walk off like it was nothing. But tonight? Tonight was not a normal night. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe it was the way you looked, corset laced tight, sitting back like you were trying to disappear, but your eyes were locked on him like they were chained. Maybe it was the memory of all the nights he’d come home from this stage and found you asleep on the couch, unaware of what he became after dark. Or maybe it was just that he’d waited too long to know what it would feel like to really perform for you. So he stopped holding back. He turned away from the crowd, letting the music climb into a filthy, distorted drop, shoulders rolling once, twice, before he grabbed the hem of his mesh shirt and yanked it off in one smooth pull and the screams that followed shook the walls as he tossed the shirt offstage and ran a hand down his chest, slow, like he was savoring it before he turned back around and met the crowd head on. And you.

There was no mistaking it now. He was performing for you. No more playing it safe as Mingi strutted forward, bare chest gleaming and dropped into a low squat near the front of the stage, spread his knees wide, and rolled his hips up, a deep, obscene grind that had a woman near the edge drop her drink and scream and he smiled. Then came the pants. He didn’t rush it. Oh no. He turned, showing off his back, hands sliding low over his waistband. Then…. pop, the button came undone and he dragged the zipper down slowly before he bent forward and rolled his hips. And then stood again in nothing but black briefs stretched dangerously across his thighs, low enough on his hips to make your throat go dry and the room lost its mind. Bills rained down like confetti. San’s name had gotten cheers. Mingi’s got worship. The lights followed him as he walked back down the runway, body pure heat and precision, muscles shifting under skin like he was carved to be stared at. He grabbed one of the poles, spun once, and dropped into the floor with his knees spread and thighs flexed so tight you thought you might pass out. Your nails dug into your thigh as he looked right at you as he did it and held your gaze as he popped his hips again. And again. And again.

You could feel your breath catching in your throat, your body burning under his stare. You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward slightly until Seonghwa whispered beside you, “He’s gonna destroy you.” You didn’t answer. Because right then, Mingi climbed back to his feet, chest rising and falling like a man on fire and he smiled. Smug. Sinful. Targeted. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he didn’t care if you were ready. Because you were already his.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since Mingi left the stage. Minutes? Hours? Your concept of time had evaporated somewhere around the third hip thrust. And Seonghwa had been absolutely insufferable since. “Drink some water before you pass out,” he said casually, pushing a glass toward you while lounging in the booth like he hadn’t just watched your entire soul leave your body. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes still half glazed. “Oh yeah? You haven’t blinked since he took off his shirt. Do I need to check your vitals, Nurse Y/N?” You took the water purely so you wouldn’t dump your drink on him. Wooyoung had performed next, of course, and it was exactly the chaotic firestorm you expected, leather pants, fire visuals, and a lot of tongue. Yeosang followed, graceful and untouchable, a sharp contrast that left the crowd breathless. But you? You barely saw them.

Your mind was still spinning from Mingi. From the way he looked straight at you. The way he moved like he knew what he was doing to you. And worst of all…. the way he smiled right before the lights went out. Smug bastard. And now the Hongjoong’s voice came booming back through the speakers, and the lights shifted, soft pinks, warm reds, the kind of glow that signaled one thing and one thing only. Audience participation. “Alright, alright, alright,” he purred, grinning as he walked across the stage. “You’ve seen them solo, but what if I told you there’s more?” The crowd screamed. “Oh, I know we’ve got some special people in the house tonight… where’s our bride to be?” More screaming as a spotlight snapped toward the left, landing on a girl in white with a tiara and glitter down her arms. She was losing her mind as Hongjoong grinned. “I think she deserves one last sin before the ring, don’t you?” Another round of unhinged cheering. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our bachelorette tonight… the Velvet Inferno All Stars!”

The lights dropped. The bass hit. And the entire team came out. San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and, of course, Mingi, now in a sleeveless black tank and ripped jeans, hair still wild from earlier. He wasn’t even trying to perform yet. Just walking. And somehow still ruining your life. The crowd was feral as the guys spread out across the stage, moving in sync, just a taste of choreography, enough to tease, before they surrounded the bachelorette’s chair like lions circling a meal. “Now,” Hongjoong grinned, “you get to pick who gives you the lap dance of your dreams.” The bachelorette looked like she was about to ascend as San leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then Wooyoung dropped to his knees in front of her with a wink. Yeosang stood back, arms crossed, smug and untouched. And Mingi didn’t even approach her. Not at first. Because he was scanning the crowd again. Looking for you. And when he found you? He smirked. That same dangerous smirk he’d worn earlier. But this time? He winked and your stomach dropped.

Seonghwa leaned in. “You’re not getting out of here without at least five more people knowing you’re in love with your best friend.” You didn’t answer. Because on stage, the bachelorette finally picked her dancer. But Mingi’s eyes never left yours as the crowd erupted. San let out a dramatic, fake gasp. Wooyoung fell to the floor clutching his chest like he’d been robbed. Yeosang clapped, deadpan as Mingi just grinned. Slow. Sharp. Like he’d been expecting it. He strolled forward with that lazy, lethal confidence, towering over her like a fantasy made of smoke and basslines. The bride squealed, half standing before Hongjoong gently pushed her back down into the chair at center stage. “Stay seated, sweetheart,” he smirked. “He’ll do all the work.” Seonghwa sipped his drink beside you, not even pretending to hide his smile. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” Your soul left your body again as the music kicked in, something filthy, heavy and slow. It wasn’t choreographed like the main sets. This was freestyle. Improvised. Raw. The dancers were encouraged to push the envelope. To read the room. Or in this case…. read you.

Mingi circled the chair once, eyes never leaving the bride. But you could feel it. His awareness of you as he straddled one leg of the chair and bent low, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered something that made her slap a hand to her mouth and giggle like a teenager at a sleepover. Then he dropped to his knees and placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them slowly, obscenely, before dragging them back up to her waist. She was losing her mind. Laughing. Squealing. Gripping the sides of the chair like her life depended on it. And then he climbed into her lap and you almost stood up. Instinct. Jealousy. Something primal and embarrassing that you tried to crush before it showed on your face. But of course Seonghwa noticed. “Ohhh no,” he whispered, clearly delighted. “You’re suffering.”

You ignored him as Mingi started grinding down into the bride’s lap, rolling his hips in slow, punishing waves that had women throwing money onstage like it was a religious offering. He leaned back, arms behind his head, chest on full display, eyes closed for a beat…. then he cracked one eye open and looked right at you. Still moving. Still in her lap. But his gaze? Locked. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t wink. He just stared, slow and steady, while he kept rolling his hips. You couldn’t breathe as the bride squealed again when he leaned forward and brushed his mouth along her jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to make her sob laugh and fan herself as the other dancers hyped the crowd. He stood a moment later, still grinning, and backed away as the MC brought down the lights and pulled the bride up for a round of applause. You barely clapped as Seonghwa leaned in close, eyes glittering. “He’s going to be insufferable after this.” You didn’t even wait for the lights to come back up. The second Mingi stepped offstage, you turned to Seonghwa with wide eyes and a tight jaw. “I need a drink.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. He just grabbed his jacket and his phone, tossed a few bills on the table, and followed you without a word as you slipped past the last wave of screaming fans and out into the thick Florida night air. The sidewalk was quieter out here, but your head was still full of him. Of the way his hips moved. The smug weight of his gaze. The grind in that girl’s lap and how you could still feel it on your skin even though he never touched you. You needed something cold. Strong. Preferably on fire. “There’s a place down the block,” Seonghwa said as he fell into step beside you, not even out of breath. “Divey but not gross. Some of the guys go there after shows.” You didn’t care, you just nodded. “Perfect.” Two blocks later and you were both stepping inside a bar that was comfortably dim, the kind of place that didn’t demand conversation. The music was low, the hum of quiet voices around you almost soothing. Your drink was half empty. Your walls? A little more than that. Seonghwa didn’t push. He never did. He just sat across from you, nursing his whiskey, eyes steady as you stared at the table for a long time before you said it. “He’s my best friend.”

It came out small. Honest. Like you needed to remind yourself. Seonghwa looked at you, but didn’t speak. “I mean… he wasn’t dancing for me. Not really.” You swirled the ice in your glass with a fingertip, watching it spin. “If anything, he was messing with me. Teasing. He knows I’ve never seen him perform. He probably just wanted to make me squirm a little. Mission accomplished.” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually believe that.” You kept going like you didn’t hear him. “I mean…” you laughed, short and hollow. “Don’t you think if he actually saw me like that…. saw me the way he sees those girls in the crowd, or the ones he brings home sometimes… he would’ve made a move a long time ago?” Seonghwa’s glass clinked softly as he set it down but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight. “I’ve been living with him for five years,” you said quietly. “I walk around in his shirts. I do his laundry half the time. I know what cereal he likes and what side he sleeps on and that he cries during sad movies when he thinks I’m not looking. And nothing’s ever happened. Not once.” You looked up finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach. “That means something, right?”

Seonghwa didn’t speak right away. He just watched you before finally, softly, saying, “Yeah. It means he’s an idiot. He’s also your best friend,” Seonghwa added, tone even. “Which means he probably thinks you don’t see him like that. And knowing Mingi? He’d rather suffer in silence than risk losing what you already have.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because a small, stupid part of you wanted to believe he was right. But the louder part? The part that watched Mingi grind into a stranger like she was the only woman in the world? That part couldn’t help but think…. if he wanted me… wouldn’t he have said something by now….. the bell over the bar door chimed. You barely registered it at first, still caught in the haze of what you’d just said. Still chewing on the weight of your own words, feeling them echo in your chest like you’d carved them into your ribs.

But then Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up and something about the way his posture shifted made your stomach twist. You turned and there he was. Mingi. Laughing. Loud. Glowing. Still flushed from the stage. Black jeans. Flannel shirt that clung to his chest in all the worst ways. Silver chains catching the low bar lights. His hair a mess, like he hadn’t even stopped to cool down. Right behind him, San and Wooyoung pushed through the doorway like they owned the building, talking with their hands, both laughing about something Wooyoung said way too loudly as Yeosang trailed after, calm and unreadable as always, already scanning the room. They were a unit. A storm. A problem. And they saw you immediately. Wooyoung spotted Seonghwa first, and his grin bloomed like trouble. “Ohhh shit, look who finally came out to play!” San followed his gaze and his eyebrows lifted when he saw you. Mingi was still scanning the bar casually, mid laugh, until his eyes landed on your booth and stuck. His smile didn’t drop. Not quite. But it changed. Like a curtain had lifted and he was aware now. That you were still here. That you hadn’t run far enough.

Seonghwa exhaled, drained his drink, and muttered under his breath, “Brace yourself.” Too late. The guys were already heading straight for you. Wooyoung got there first, sliding into the booth beside Seonghwa without asking. “Didn’t know this was a post show party. You guys should’ve told us you were coming here.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes as Yeosang stood at the end of the booth, nodding to you with that unreadable expression. San pulled up a spare chair, flipping it around and straddling it with ease. And Mingi hovered for a second before dropping into the seat right beside you. Close enough that his knee brushed yours. Close enough to smell his cologne. His sweat. The faintest trace of whatever body oil was still on his skin from earlier. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Figured I’d get home and you’d be passed out.” he said, voice low and a little rough. You turned to him, blinking slowly. “We just wanted a drink.” His gaze dipped to your lips. “Yeah?” You nodded, trying to stay calm. “That’s all.”

He hummed. “Did you enjoy the show?” You opened your mouth then closed it. Because how the hell were you supposed to answer that? You looked away as Mingi leaned back in his seat, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he turned to Wooyoung like he hadn’t just gutted you in one line. But you could feel it. His knee still brushing yours. His fingers resting just close enough to yours on the table to make your skin buzz…… Wooyoung slammed his hand on the table. “Tequila shots. Extra lime. We’re celebrating.” Seonghwa opened his mouth to object, but the server was already nodding and disappearing as San leaned over the back of your chair, draping his chin on your shoulder with all the innocence of a man who had just dry humped on stage thirty minutes ago. “You stayed for all of us, huh?” You gave him a tight smile. “Regretting it.” He grinned “You loved it.” He backed off just as the server returned with a tray of shots and a grave warning about their strength. No one listened as Wooyoung handed them out like a bartender on his last shift, one for each of you, no hesitation. Then he turned to you, raised his glass, and said with zero warning, “You know, Y/N… I asked Mingi if San and I could get you to be our third and he looked like he wanted to murder me.”

You choked on air. “What?” you asked, eyes going wide as Mingi tensed beside you and San coughed into his hand, failing to hide a grin. Wooyoung? Absolutely shameless. “Our third,” he repeated with a smirk. “Like… in bed. Between us. On top of us. Around us. You get the vibe.” Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I…. what the hell, Wooyoung?!” Seonghwa was straight up wheezing across the booth. Even Yeosang finally cracked a smile behind his glass as San lifted his shot like it was a toast. “For the record, I supported the idea.” You looked back and forth between him and Wooyoung. “You two are feral,” you snapped, flushing hot. “And yet,” Wooyoung sang, tilting his head at Mingi, “he said no. Real fast. Like he was ready to throw me through a wall.” You turned to Mingi who was staring into his shot like it had betrayed him personally. “Mingi,” you said slowly. “Did you actually threaten Wooyoung?” He didn’t look up. “Not explicitly.”

“He snarled,” Wooyoung added helpfully.

“I did not snarl.”

“He made a noise. It was primal. Hot, if I wasn’t scared for my life.”

You just sat there, blinking. Because what the fuck. What did that even mean? Why would he care? And why did that tiny part of you, the one curled up deep inside, drunk on heat and nerves and years of tension, feel something dangerously close to hope? Wooyoung, never one to let go of chaos, spun his empty shot glass between his fingers with a devil’s grin. “I’m just saying, Mingi told me you weren’t into that kind of thing.” You froze as more shots arrived. Seonghwa snorted under his breath. San went suddenly quiet, eyes flicking from Mingi to you with a little too much interest. Yeosang leaned back, his face unreadable, but you swore his brows ticked up a fraction as your gaze snapped back to Mingi. He wasn’t looking at anyone. Still just sitting there, jaw tight, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed hard on the table now like he could physically will this conversation into the void. And something in you cracked.

You reached out, grabbed your shot glass, clear tequila sloshing near the rim, and turned your stare back to Wooyoung. “He has no idea what I’m into.” The whole table went still. Like someone had yanked the volume knob on reality. Wooyoung’s mouth opened into a perfect O. San actually whistled. Seonghwa pressed his lips together to stop a smile. And Yeosang murmured, just once, “Oof.” But Mingi? He finally looked up. Slowly. Eyes sharp, wide, locked on you like he’d just seen you for the first time. There was something in his expression you couldn’t place. Like your words had knocked the air out of him and he wasn’t sure whether to get angry, get flustered, or get closer. You didn’t break the stare. You just tipped your shot back and slammed the glass down like punctuation. “Cheers,” you said and San immediately grabbed his own, grinning like this was the best night of his life. “To wild revelations and poor self control,” he toasted. You didn’t look at Mingi again. But you could feel him. Watching. Burning. And you knew, without a doubt, that something had shifted for real this time.

The rounds of shots had cracked something open at the table, walls lowered, filters slipping, everything a little too loud, a little too easy. Even Yeosang was smiling now, and that almost never happened without money involved. Everyone had another drink in hand, courtesy of Wooyoung, and the conversation had swerved somewhere between sex, injuries, and unhinged post show stories. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the chaos god himself struck again. Wooyoung turned to you and Seonghwa, chin in his hand, eyes gleaming. “So… be honest. You two ever get hit on at work? Like, emergency room drama plus sexual tension? Feels like it happens.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You have no idea. Hwa once got hit on while treating a girl’s dislocated shoulder.”

“She asked for my number while crying,” Seonghwa added proudly as he raised his glass. “Okay, but nothing beats the screwdriver guy.” You blinked. “Seonghwa.” San perked up. “Wait…. screwdriver guy?” Mingi tilted his head, brow twitching. “Yeah, what screwdriver guy?” You were gonna kill Seonghwa. “Ohhh yeah,” Seonghwa said, glancing at you with a wicked grin. “This guy walks into the ER with a screwdriver literally embedded in his skull. Just sticking out like a goddamn cartoon. And he still had the audacity to flirt with her.” Wooyoung gasped. “Did you say yes?” You wished the floor would swallow you whole because you could feel Mingi staring at you. “She didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa replied. “But get this…. he comes back a month later for follow up scans, totally healed, and smooth as hell. And she…” He leaned back smugly. “Ends up hooking up with him in the on call room.”

The table exploded. “No fucking way,” San cackled. “I love that for you,” Wooyoung declared, reaching across the table to cheers your glass as Yeosang blinked. “Was this pre or post screwdriver?” You groaned. “Post,” Seonghwa answered for you, already laughing as you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “You were supposed to take that to your grave.” Seonghwa shrugged, grinning. “Too good not to share.” You peeked through your fingers only to lock eyes with Mingi. And he looked… not okay. Not angry. Not sulking. But something had definitely shifted. His jaw was tight. One of his hands flexed slightly against his thigh. And his eyes? Still on you, but narrowed now, more focused. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had just gotten a new piece he didn’t like. It was a casual story. But it hit him like a loaded gun. You sat back slowly, pulse picking up as Mingi looked away.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The front door creaked open, the hinges protesting like they knew what kind of night it had been. Mingi half carried, half guided you inside, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other catching your wrist as you stumbled slightly over the threshold. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he muttered, voice low and warm as he toed the door shut behind him. You giggled into his shoulder, completely drunk and unapologetically soft, letting yourself be steered down the hall like gravity had taken the night off. Your heels were dangling from your other hand, fingers limp around the straps. Your hair was a mess. Your corset had shifted slightly, and your voice had that dreamy slur you only got when you were too far gone to care about appearances. And Mingi was suffering. He had one hand splayed against your bare waist where your corset had ridden up. The heat of your skin against his palm was killing him slowly. You weren’t heavy, but every sway of your hips against his side, every little laugh into his neck, it was all too much. “Did I thank you for not letting me fall in the street?” you mumbled as he helped you into the apartment.

“Twice.”

“You’re strong.”

“You’re wasted.”

“I mean it,” you said, looking up at him with those half lidded, glassy eyes. “You could probably carry me with one arm.” Mingi swallowed hard. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Don’t test me.” You stopped walking suddenly making him turn, confused, until he realized…. you were just staring at him, head tilted, eyes soft. Curious. Honest in the way only drunk people and small children ever were. “Mingi,” you said quietly. “You didn’t like that story.” His breath caught as your fingers brushed his wrist. “You got weird after it. The screwdriver guy thing.” He tried to play it off, forcing a small laugh. “Wasn’t that deep.” But you shook your head. “No. It was.” You reached up, hand clumsy but gentle, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “He was just some guy,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care,” he said quickly. Too quickly. And you blinked at him, swaying slightly. “Liar.” Mingi exhaled through his nose, chest tight. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”

“Not that drunk.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. Your flushed cheeks. Your parted lips. The strap of your top sliding off your shoulder. The way your body leaned into him without even realizing it. And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t say the thing sitting right there on his tongue. Because he didn’t know if you’d remember in the morning. And if you didn’t? It might break him. So instead, he whispered, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

One week later, you were one minor inconvenience away from snapping. The ER was chaos. Of course it was. Flu season had hit like a freight train, two interns were arguing about IV placement, someone spilled coffee on the med cart, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without giving you your fucking chips. But none of that was the real problem. No, the real problem was lower. Cramping. Aching. Heat blooming in your gut in waves that had nothing to do with illness. You were on your period, bloated and irritable and craving every carb known to man. And horny. Not like regular horny. Dangerously horny. The kind of hormonal spiral that made you want to climb someone like a tree, and unfortunately, that someone was currently folded into your brain like a goddamn highlight reel.

Mingi. Mingi on stage. Mingi shirtless. Mingi grinding in slow motion with his tongue poking out slightly and sweat dripping down his chest. You growled quietly and slammed a clipboard down on the counter. “Everything alright?” Seonghwa asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a chart and a little too much amusement. “No,” you snapped. “Everything is not alright.” He blinked, then gave you one long, knowing look. “Cramping or craving?”

“Both.”

He nodded solemnly. “Mingi again?” You said nothing. But your face said everything. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Not since the bar. Not since the lap dance. Not since he half carried you home and stared at you like he was dying to say something and didn’t. He hadn’t brought it up since and neither had you. And that? That was driving you insane. You were stuck in limbo. Frustrated. Sensitive. Needy in ways you couldn’t even explain. And every time your mind drifted, it went right back to him. The way his hands looked on someone else’s thighs. The way his jeans sat on his hips. The way he smelled when he was that close, cologne and sweat and something you swore was designed to break you. You clenched your thighs and Seonghwa noticed. “Y/N.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re literally sweating.”

“I said don’t.” He raised both hands in surrender, but he was laughing now. “Just saying…. maybe you need to… handle it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

You glanced at the clock, hating everything. “Because I have rounds in ten minutes, and also this is a hospital.” He gave you a slow smirk. “So no on call room hookup today?” You turned to him, eyes dead. “You are not funny.” But you were already thinking about it. Already thinking about him. And wondering how much longer you could go before you snapped completely.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The second you opened the front door to the apartment, the scent hit you first…. your favorite candles. Not one of his woodsy ones. Not one of the weird incense sticks he picked up from that crystal shop San dragged him to once. Yours. The vanilla and lavender one you only lit when cramps were killing you and you wanted to feel human again. Your throat tightened as your bag slipped from your shoulder with a dull thud against the hardwood as you stepped further in. The living room was dimmed, lamps only, no overhead lights, and the coffee table had a neatly arranged setup of your favorite snacks. A giant bottle of water. Chocolate covered pretzels you didn’t even realize he remembered you liked. A heating pad, already plugged in. And your favorite fuzzy blanket, folded on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy already queued up on Netflix.

You stood there frozen. Like an emotional bomb had gone off and you were the only one left standing. “Mingi!” you called out, voice cracking slightly. He emerged from the hallway. Hoodie. Sweatpants. Hair damp from a shower. He looked freshly scrubbed and so soft it made something behind your ribs ache. “Hey,” he said, voice gentle, like he already knew. “Rough day?” You nodded, not trusting your voice and he smiled coming over. “I set it all up. You just missed the rain too, it started like five minutes ago, perfect sad girl weather.” And that’s when you almost lost it. Your eyes burned. Your nose stung. Not because of the cramps. Not because of work. But because how could he care about you like this and not feel it too?

You dropped your eyes to the heating pad, to the snacks, to the blanket you’d once told him was your favorite two years ago, and whispered, “You didn’t have to do all this…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to.” And that was it. The thread snapped. You sat on the couch too quickly, trying to hide your face in the blanket, but your voice cracked again when you said, “You’re gonna make me cry, and it’s so stupid.” Mingi blinked, concerned now, crouching beside you. “What? Hey. No, it’s not stupid.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m just hormonal and tired and….” And in love with you. He touched your knee gently. “Y/N.” You looked at him, trying to hold it together as he smiled, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Two hours later and the soft hum of Grey’s Anatomy played through the apartment, but you weren’t really watching. It was Friday night. Which meant Mingi was working. Which meant somewhere, right now, this very minute, he was onstage. Shirtless. Smirking. Running his hands over someone else. Letting them run theirs over him. Laughing into someone’s ear. Grinding into some stranger’s lap like it didn’t mean anything. Because to him, it probably didn’t. But to you? It felt like a slow stab to the chest. You sat curled on the couch, fuzzy blanket pulled around you like armor, a half eaten bag of chips crumpled beside you and your phone screen lit up every so often from some irrelevant notification. Your heating pad had long gone warm instead of hot. But your thoughts? They were scorching. You hated how vivid your imagination was. How easily your brain conjured it. The way his thighs looked when he moved. The roll of his hips. The way his fingers looked tangled in someone’s hair the night of the bachelorette set. The way he looked at you while grinding on someone else like he wanted you to feel it. And God, did you feel it.

Even now, alone in your apartment, the jealousy crawled up your spine like a fever. You didn’t want to care. You really didn’t. He’d been dancing long before you ever stepped foot in Velvet Inferno. You’d known what he did. Hell, you supported it. Encouraged it. But seeing it? Feeling it? Knowing he was out there right now with hands on him that weren’t yours? It made your chest ache. Made your throat tight. Made your eyes sting. And worst of all, you couldn’t do anything about it. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything. Just his roommate. His best friend. The one he made soup for when you were sick. The one he knew better than anyone. The one he carried home drunk and tucked into bed like she was something precious. But still… Not the one he touched like that. Your jaw clenched as your hands curled in the blanket. You tried to focus on the TV, but the tears were already pressing against your lashes.

And suddenly…. you just missed him. Even though he’d only been gone a few hours. Even though he’d come home eventually. Even though he wasn’t really yours to miss in the first place.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The music was finally dying down. Velvet Inferno had started to clear out, lingering bachelorette groups giggling out the doors, dollar bills scattered like confetti across the stage, the haze of sweat and body spray still thick in the air. Staff moved in practiced rhythm, cleaning, counting, cashing out. Mingi sat backstage in his usual spot, toweling off the last of the sweat from his neck, his black tank clinging to his chest. The adrenaline had faded, but he was still wired. Not from the show. From thoughts of you. He hadn’t been able to shake you all night. The way you looked curled on the couch before he left. That soft, tired smile. The heat pack in your lap. The blanket around your shoulders. You’d barely said anything when he left, just mumbled “have a good night” without looking up from the TV. But he’d felt the shift. The distance. And now? Now he just wanted to get home.

He was sliding on his jacket when he heard a voice behind him. “Heading out already?” Mingi turned and looked at her. Daphne. Same long legs. Same red lipstick. Same skin tight dress she always wore on Friday nights when she came to watch him work. The same girl who used to be a routine. Who never asked for anything more than what he gave, and who gave exactly what he used to want. Used to. “Yeah,” he said casually, zipping up his jacket. “It’s late.” She smiled, slow and familiar. “Wanna come back to your place?” He blinked. “What?” She smirked at him. “You said you were heading home. I figured…” She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest. “It’s been a while.” Mingi gently removed her hand. “Nah,” he said, voice quiet. “Can’t tonight.” She tilted her head, a flicker of irritation passing behind her eyes. “Why not?”

“Y/N’s home,” he said simply, not even thinking about it and Daphne’s brows lifted. “Your roommate?” Mingi nodded. “Yeah.” And my best friend. The woman I love. Daphne laughed. “So? You’ve had girls over when she’s home before.” He flinched slightly but didn’t answer. Didn’t explain that he didn’t do that anymore. Daphne took a half step closer. “Okay, fine. Come back to my place then.” He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough for her to see it. “Mingi,” she said, a little sharper now, “you and I both know this doesn’t have to mean anything.” Now his patience was growing thin. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.” Candace blinked, thrown as Mingi adjusted his bag and nodded toward the exit. “I’ll see you around.” And then he was gone.

Outside, the night air hit him hard. But it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver. It was the image of you, curled on the couch, waiting for him. And the ache in his chest that told him the only place he wanted to be was home with you.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Two weeks later and the ER was slow that day, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and Seonghwa’s relentless nagging being the only consistent sounds in the small break room. You were sipping on lukewarm coffee, flipping through a clipboard when Seonghwa burst in with all the dramatics of a Broadway curtain call. “Please, please, please come tonight,” he begged, leaning on the desk like the fate of the world depended on your attendance. “It’s my birthday. I’m literally performing to Pony just for you. And I got you on the guest list. VIP. No excuses.” You rolled your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re trying to bribe me with Ginuwine?” He gasped. “How dare you disrespect a classic.” You laughed, trying not to cave too fast, but truth was, part of you wanted to go. Even if it meant risking seeing Mingi onstage again. Especially after that first time when the sight of him dancing for someone else nearly cracked you in half. But it was Seonghwa’s birthday… and damn it, you did miss that energy. “Fine,” you groaned, “but only because it’s your birthday.“ Seonghwa grinned like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t regret it.”

When you got home, your bare feet padded across the wood floor as you dug through your closet like a woman possessed. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for until your fingers brushed the silky fabric, pulling out that black dress. The one with the daring cutouts, gold clips, and the power to make any man forget how to spell his own name. You hadn’t worn it in ages. You barely remembered buying it. But something in your chest tightened as you held it up to your body in the mirror. Let him look, you thought. Mingi was in the shower, steam rolling under the bathroom door as you shimmied into the dress, adjusting the straps and making sure the clips were perfectly in place. The door creaked open behind you and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. You heard his steps pause. “Where are you going?” came Mingi’s voice, low and casual but with that distinct edge only someone who just walked past your door in a towel and saw you in that dress could have.

You turned slowly, watching him lean on the doorframe, towel slung low on his hips. You met his eyes, cool and effortless. “It’s Seonghwa’s birthday. He begged me to come to the club again. Said he’s dancing tonight.” Mingi blinked once. Then again as you turned back to the mirror like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “You’re wearing that dress?” His voice was low, unreadable and you shrugged. “Yes.” Mingi didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you like you weren’t real. Like the air had gotten punched out of him. You tilted your head, a little amused. “Why?” His tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek and you saw it hit him. The memory. You saw it in the way his throat bobbed. The way he blinked like he was trying to snap himself out of something. Because you had worn that dress once before, two years ago, at his birthday party. The rooftop one with the string lights and the terrible punch. You’d shown up late and he’d been halfway through a drink when he saw you across the crowd in that exact dress. He hadn’t lasted ten minutes. He’d walked straight out. Claimed he had to take a call and never came back.

His fingers twitched at his sides and his gaze dropped again, slower this time, heavier as you shrugged, smoothing the fabric again as you turned slightly in the mirror, checking the back. “Hwa said dress slutty.” Mingi huffed out a laugh but it wasn’t amused. It was breathless. Frustrated. His hand dragged through his still damp hair, and he muttered something under his breath in a tone you couldn’t quite catch. “Something you wanna say?” you teased lightly, not looking at him. He stepped back, eyes still locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked. “Nah,” he said eventually. “Just… I remember that dress.” You finally met his eyes through the mirror. “So do I.” For a moment, neither of you said a word as the air between you thickened, warm and electric and dangerously unspoken. Then he cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you there.” And just like before, Mingi turned and walked away. Except this time, you heard his breath catch the second he rounded the corner.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The club was already packed by the time you got there. Friday nights were always heavier, more tourists, more regulars, more people celebrating birthdays they’d never remember by tomorrow morning. The line outside wrapped around the block, but you didn’t wait in it. You knew better. You slipped through the side entrance like you’d been there a thousand times before, heels clicking against the hallway tile as the muffled bass grew louder with every step. And then you stepped out into the main room and every set of eyes in the place might as well have turned your way. Especially the women. It was subtle at first, side glances, a few narrowed eyes, a whisper behind a manicured hand. But the closer you got to the front, the more obvious it became. Your dress wasn’t designed for subtlety. Black. Clinging. Cut in ways that defied logic and modesty.

You sank into the velvet chair, legs crossed, ignoring the judgmental looks from the women at the bar. Let them look. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why, for the first time ever, Mingi wasn’t behind the curtain doing shots or smoking a blunt or hyping himself up for his number. Because Mingi wasn’t hyped. Mingi was pacing. Mingi was sweating. Mingi was seconds from walking onstage because he knew you were already here. In that dress. The lights dimmed just as you settled deeper into your seat, the chatter fading into a hush as a smooth, bass heavy track spilled from the speakers and a spotlight flared to life, and there he was. Yeosang. Golden skin, dark eyes, lean muscle dressed in all black and leather. His entrance was smooth and practiced, dripping with that quiet confidence only he had. The crowd responded immediately, cheers, catcalls, a few high pitched moans from the row behind you but you just smiled and sipped your drink as you watched him move with surgical precision, hips rolling, fingers dragging down his chest as he danced for the women at the edge of the stage, grinning when one of them tried to reach for his belt but Yeosang winked and stepped back just out of reach. Your gaze moved to the door behind him, the one leading backstage.….

Mingi was sitting on the edge of the couch backstage, bouncing his knee like it owed him money. Shirtless, sweat already misting his collarbones as he glared at the floor like it had personally offended him. That fucking dress. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Not the current version of you in it, though that was bad enough. No, what was really wrecking him was the memory of it. You, two years ago, walking into his birthday party without a clue what you were doing to him. Hair loose, smile innocent, body hugged tight in that goddamn black fabric. He remembered the exact second he saw you, how the world tilted, how the air left his lungs, how he had to walk out because if he didn’t, he was going to do something that would’ve ruined everything. And now? Now you were wearing it again.

“Bro, if you bounce your knee any harder, the floor’s gonna crack.” Mingi looked up to find Seonghwa zipping up his pants in the dressing mirror, shaking his head with a smirk. “She wore that fucking dress,” Mingi muttered. Seonghwa paused. “What dress?”

“The one ruining my existence.”

Seonghwa let out a low whistle and turned back to the mirror. “Well. Guess I’m not the only one getting a present tonight.” Mingi groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna combust.”

“Don’t. I need you alive. You’re after me.” Across the room, San was pressed against the wall with Wooyoung in his lap, both of them shamelessly making out like they didn’t care it was a shared dressing room. Which, to be fair, they didn’t. Wooyoung’s hands were already halfway up San’s shirt, and neither of them looked like they had plans to stop. “Do they have to do this right now?” Mingi grumbled. “Have you met them?” Seonghwa said without turning around as Hongjoong pushed through the door, headset in place, clipboard in hand, his expression all business until he saw Seonghwa. “Alright, birthday boy. You’re up next, and your set’s been extended. Two full songs instead of one. You good?” Seonghwa blinked. “Wait….. what?” Hongjoong grinned. “It’s your birthday. Consider it a gift. Work the stage, soak it in. And wear the silver chains tonight, make the old women in the back row faint.” He turned and disappeared before Seonghwa could protest, leaving him staring at the mirror in disbelief. “Well,” Seonghwa said, glancing at Mingi. “Guess I’ve got more time to keep her warm for you.” Mingi rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The lights changed again, darker now, drenched in purple and silver, bassline deep and sultry as the Hongjoong announced the next set. “Ladies and gentlemen… for the birthday boy himself…” You leaned back with a smile, just as the music kicked in, slow, smooth, something with a wicked little rhythm. And then Seonghwa stepped into the spotlight and the audible gasp from the crowd was immediate. You could hear someone behind you whisper “holy shit,” and you didn’t blame them. Seonghwa looked good. Silver chains draped across his chest, the open black blazer showing just enough skin to make knees buckle, his hair styled back but a few strands rebelliously falling forward. You sipped your drink, half listening to the screaming around you. If only your coworkers at the hospital could see him now. Confident, clean, seductive, the kind of controlled performance that made everyone pay attention.

Seonghwa didn’t beg for the spotlight. He commanded it. He hit every beat with sharp precision, giving attention to each side of the stage, a knowing smirk curling his lips. Until he found you. Your eyes widened a little as he walked toward your side of the stage, fingers tracing his chest before he pointed directly at you, hips grinding to the beat. You groaned and laughed, covering your face for a second before looking back up at him with a smirk, mouthing, “You’re ridiculous.” Seonghwa winked and didn’t break rhythm for a second.

“Someone’s enjoying herself.” Wooyoung was peeking out from the side curtain, chin resting on Mingi’s shoulder, both of them hidden in the shadows just past the curtain near the stage entrance. Mingi didn’t say a word. He was standing like stone, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. You, in that dress. You, laughing and glowing and completely unaware that you were slowly ruining him. Wooyoung whistled low and let out a chuckle. “Goddamn… if you don’t finally make a move tonight, San and I will.” Mingi didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t even breathe. And Wooyoung, always a menace, grinned. “You’re on next, lover boy. Better figure it out quick. I don’t think that dress is gonna last the night.” Seonghwa’s performance ended to deafening cheers, the crowd still buzzing as the lights shifted and another playlist took over the speakers for the brief intermission. You clapped and whooped with the rest of them, smiling when Seonghwa blew a kiss toward the audience before disappearing behind the curtain.

You needed a drink. Not just because it was hot in here, not just because Seonghwa had turned the place into a damn sauna, but because the momentary flutter in your chest, the one you really didn’t want to acknowledge, was starting to feel familiar. You weaved your way toward the bar, still getting looks. A few women gave polite smiles. A few didn’t bother hiding the fact they were sizing you up. The bartender handed you your drink, vodka soda, extra lime, and you sipped slowly, watching some of the staff rearrange props on stage for the next set. You’d just started heading toward the back when the line for the restroom came into view, and you groaned. Of course. You took another sip and slipped into the hallway anyway, heels clicking softly against the dark floor. It was quieter back here, the sound of music muffled by the heavy curtain and door. You were mid scroll on your phone, waiting for the next stall, when you saw her. Daphne. She was across the hall, leaning against the wall by the lounge door, laughing at something on her phone. She hadn’t changed much. And even if you hadn’t clocked the flirty body language and the way her lipstick was too perfectly smudged, you’d know that face anywhere. Because it was her. The girl you’d walked in on with Mingi.

You took another slow sip of your drink, shoulders straightening, not meaning to eavesdrop. You were just waiting your turn for the restroom, but then she laughed, a sharp, airy little thing, and it drew your attention before you could help it. She’d been joined by two other women, both dolled up in the kind of designer clubwear that screamed I’m not here for drinks, I’m here for backstage. You couldn’t help the sideways glance as Daphne sighed dramatically. “I swear to god, he gets hotter every time I see him,” she said, tossing her hair back like she was still center stage. One of the other girls giggled. “You mean Mingi?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Who else? That man could make me forget my own name. I swear, if he so much as glanced at me tonight, I’d be backstage with my legs in the air before he finishes his set.” That earned a chorus of laughs from the others. “He’s got that energy,” another one chimed in. “Like, the moment he touches you, you know. I still think about that one night….. his hands? Unreal.”

“Please, I could still feel him the next morning,” Daphne said, sipping her drink with a smug tilt of her lips. “He knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t talk much, either. Just grabs your throat and owns you.” Your stomach tightened, a strange, cold twist curling low. You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. It didn’t matter. They could talk about the way he fucked them all they wanted. What you had with Mingi was different. It had always been different. Still, you couldn’t help the small flicker of something in your chest, some stubborn, possessive ember sparking in the dark. You made quick haste in using the restroom before sliding back into your seat, smoothing your hands down your thighs, trying to push the unease out of your chest. The voices from the bathroom still lingered, too clear to forget. Daphne’s obnoxious giggle, one of the other girls saying something about how fast he always pulled her into his lap, and someone else laughing, “Mingi’s a slut, but like, in a fun way.” You knew better. You’d known him since you were thirteen. You’d seen every version of him, from the awkward middle schooler who used to trip over his own feet to the man now regularly grinding on stage under heavy lights. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

You crossed your legs, sitting straighter, chin up like you weren’t affected at all, even though your stomach still felt off as the lights dimmed suddenly, shifting the attention back to the stage, and the low thrum of bass pulsed through the club. Hongjoong’s voice came over the mic, smoother than the whiskey he drank. “Alright, alright… try to keep your hands to yourself for this next one. You know who he is.” A moment of silence passed, followed by a mischievous grin. “And judging by how loud some of you get when he so much as breathes…. yeah, I know you know.” The crowd laughed, whistles already rising. You blinked, heart kicking a little harder despite everything. “Put your hands together for the one and only…. MINGI!” The lights exploded in a rush of violet and gold as the music shifted. And there he was. Mingi barely looked at the crowd when he stepped out…. except for the split second his eyes found yours. A quick glance. But it landed like a punch to the chest. No wink. No smirk this time. Just that unreadable look that made it impossible to tell if he was affected by your presence… or trying hard not to be. The music started slow, deep bass with a teasing rhythm, and the screams erupted around you, the kind of shrieking only Mingi’s hips could cause. You swallowed thickly, crossing your legs tighter as he started moving, rolling his shoulders and swaying to the beat with that devastating ease he was known for.

You tried. You really tried not to stare. He was your best friend. He was also wearing pants that looked spray painted on. And you were only human. Your gaze flicked away, anywhere else, anyone else. But of course, it landed on her. Daphne. And her little fan club. Clustered just a few seats down, leaning forward in their chairs like they were watching their favorite scene in a movie. Daphne had one hand resting under her chin, eyes locked on Mingi’s chest like she already had plans for it, while one of her friends whispered something and giggled behind her hand. Jealousy rose in your throat like smoke. Stupid. Stupid. You had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You’d never even kissed him. But you had seen the way he used to smile at you in high school when no one else got him. You had been the first one to know about his audition. The first to hug him when he got the job. The one who helped him with his first eyeliner wing and teased him for crying during Pixar movies. And now here he was, grinding on stage in front of everyone. Including them.

You blinked hard, forcing your eyes back to the stage as he dropped to his knees and ran one hand up the inside of his thigh, his mouth parted just slightly like he knew exactly what he was doing. No. No, you were not going to fall into the Mingi trap again tonight. Even if you already had. The second verse hit, and the lights dimmed to a smoky red, casting long shadows over Mingi’s body as he stalked down the stage with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes swept over the crowd like a predator picking his target, and you felt your breath catch when, just for a second, they landed on you again but he didn’t do anything. He just kept going. There was something different tonight. His usual energy was there, the raw confidence, the way his body moved like he knew it was a weapon, but he wasn’t pushing it as hard as he usually did. He wasn’t playing up to the crowd, no shirt ripping dramatics, no licking his fingers before dragging them down his chest. It was… restrained. Controlled. Almost like he didn’t want to give it all away. Still, the screams got louder when he rolled his hips in time with the beat, running one hand through his hair and letting his head tip back. His shirt was already long gone, tossed somewhere into the lights during the first chorus, and now his hands moved to the buckle of his belt, slow and showy but still somehow not cocky.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as the pants hit the floor. Black underwear. Tight. Low. Dangerous. Your heart pounded in your ears. The club was electric. One of the girls near Daphne squealed, clutching the other’s arm, while Daphne herself sat there smugly, eyes dragging up Mingi’s thighs like she owned them. You had to look away. You had to. But your eyes didn’t listen. Mingi moved to the edge of the stage, kneeling at the end of it, sweat glistening down his chest as the music hit a low, pulsing bridge. His hands slid slowly down the tops of his thighs, just barely skimming over the elastic of his underwear, and he let the tension sit there, soaking into the air like heat. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. And he hadn’t even touched himself yet. Because he was holding back. He wasn’t here to blow the crowd away tonight. He wasn’t here for the loudest cheers or the biggest tips. He wasn’t performing like a man who wanted the world’s attention. He was performing like a man who already knew exactly whose attention he had. And he was being careful with it.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Backstage was chaos. Sweat, laughter, leftover glitter, the low buzz of someone’s portable speaker still playing the tail end of the track Mingi had just walked off to. But he didn’t really hear it. His pulse was still racing, muscles tight, lungs catching on a breath that had nothing to do with dancing as he ran a towel down his chest, flinching a little when the fabric passed over the still damp waistband of his underwear. God. He barely remembered stepping off stage. His mind was stuck on the time your eyes locked with his….. “Mingi!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise like a shot. “You good? Or did someone forget it was Seonghwa’s birthday?”

Mingi blinked. “What?” Wooyoung crossed his arms, tilting his head with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “That performance? That was, like, 70 percent. Maybe 75 if I’m being generous.”

“I hit every step,” Mingi muttered, still towel drying his hair like it would help him avoid this conversation. “Yeah, yeah, the steps were there. But the filth? The drama? The tongue and hand action?” Wooyoung held up his fingers like a checklist. “Gone. Missing. On vacation.” Mingi threw the towel at his face. “Get out of my business.”

“I would…. if your business wasn’t being all tense because a certain someone’s sitting out there looking like a sin in heels and barely even glancing your way.” Mingi froze. “She glanced.”

“Oh, she glanced,” Wooyoung agreed with a smirk. “But the other girls? They drooled. And you didn’t even give them a good reason to.” Mingi dragged a hand down his face with a frustrated sigh, ignoring the heat curling in his chest. “It’s Seonghwa’s night.” Wooyoung grinned. “Exactly! Which means you should’ve been out there slutting it up in his honor.” He threw a dramatic hand to his chest. “Instead, you came off like a sad stripper who’s in love with his best friend but trying to hide it by pretending he’s not thinking about her in that tiny black dress.” Mingi narrowed his eyes. “That was weirdly specific.” Wooyoung gave him a slow blink. “Am I wrong?” Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because Wooyoung already knew.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The final song boomed through the club, the kind of bass heavy anthem that had drinks sloshing, phones up, and the floor vibrating with heat and sweat. San and Wooyoung had just finished their performance with the kind of chaos only they could pull off together, shirts missing, glitter somehow everywhere, Wooyoung mouthing something obscene into a camera someone definitely had on him. The rest of the guys had joined them on stage, shirtless, glistening, hyped, all of them catching their breath as Hongjoong stepped forward with a mic and that dangerous glint in his eye again. “Alright, alright!” he yelled, breathless, cheeks flushed from champagne and adrenaline. “It’s that time again….. lap dance giveaway!” The crowd screamed. Phones shot higher. Someone whistled so loud Hongjoong flinched. “So here’s how it works,” he grinned, gesturing behind him. “All our lovely dancers are up here. But you, the audience, get to vote who gives the final lap dance of the night!” The crowd erupted into cheers again, hands shooting up, chants starting. Names were shouted, screamed, begged for, Seonghwa, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang. But then someone yelled Mingi’s name. Then someone else. And another. Until it turned into a wave. “Mingi! Mingi! Mingi!”

“Alright!” Seonghwa suddenly cut in, grabbing the mic from Hongjoong. His voice was full of playful command. “It’s my birthday, which means I get to pick who the lucky recipient is.” That brought fresh noise from the audience, whooping in anticipation as Seonghwa turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the room like a spotlight until it landed on you. He didn’t say your name. Didn’t need to. Because every single person in the room watched his eyes land on you. Watched that wicked birthday smirk spread across his face. “I pick…” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, still staring dead at you, “her.” The spotlight followed his gaze, landing on your stunned, wide eyed face as Wooyoung literally turned around on stage, hand clamped over his mouth, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Because your expression? Stunned. Borderline panicked. And Mingi? He looked like he’d just been told to walk a tightrope over a pit of lava with you on the other end. “Oh, this is so much better than cake,” Wooyoung wheezed under his breath, turning just enough to glance back at the two of you. “Happy fucking birthday, Seonghwa.”

San’s hand was warm as it wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet before your brain could even catch up to what was happening. “Come on,” he grinned, voice low in your ear. “Don’t make me carry you.” Your legs moved on autopilot, your heart slamming behind your ribs as the crowd parted and Yeosang appeared like some smug ass magician with a sleek black chair, placing it center stage with a little bow like tada. Your knees nearly gave out when San guided you to sit. The spotlight was on you, heat prickling down your spine, adrenaline crashing through your bloodstream. Somewhere in the fog of music and shock, you became vaguely aware of more movement behind you. A couple of the club staff were rolling out a cart with a glowing birthday cake lit up in white and gold, sparklers shooting off on either side with Seonghwa’s name scrawled across the top in elegant frosting. You could barely register the cake though. Because your eyes found Mingi. He hadn’t moved. He was standing off to the side, jaw locked, eyes dark, arms loose at his sides like he was trying so hard not to look at you but failing miserably.

And then he did look at you and it was like the whole club disappeared. Every person, every scream, every spotlight. Just his eyes on you as your thighs clenched automatically under his gaze, heat crawling up your neck because fuck, your best friend was about to give you a lap dance. In front of everyone. At Seonghwa’s birthday show. With Daphne still watching. And you still weren’t sure if this was a dream or a fever or both as Mingi finally moved and stepped in front of you, and for a moment… he didn’t move. His hand flexed at his side. His jaw clenched. The song pulsed through the air, but he stayed frozen, just looking at you like you were a loaded gun aimed right at his chest. You tilted your head, a teasing smile trying to save you both from this moment, from whatever this was turning into. But Mingi didn’t smile back. He exhaled through his nose, low and slow, and finally stepped closer and the screams got louder. But you could barely hear them. All you saw was Mingi, hesitant, trying to remember how to perform when his best friend was the one looking up at him in that dress, legs parted now just enough to flash bare thigh under the dim red lighting. He moved to the beat, slow, calculated, his fingers dragging across his chest, down the sculpted lines of his stomach. But it was cautious, more controlled than usual. Like he was holding back. Because he was. This wasn’t just a show anymore. This was you. And Mingi didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to pretend anymore.

Each step was perfectly timed, but you knew him, knew when his movements were real and when he was playing a part. And this? This was him half there, his body moving on autopilot, hips swaying gently as he circled behind you. The crowd didn’t care though, they were eating it up either way, but you felt it. That barely there tension in his hands as they hovered just above your shoulders. The stutter in his breath as he leaned in, but didn’t touch. It was the hesitation of a man trying not to cross a line he’d drawn for himself a long time ago. But then your hand lifted. Just a little as you reached behind you and placed it lightly on his thigh. And that was it. That was all it took. Mingi snapped. The second your hand pressed against his leg, his hands dropped to your shoulders, firm now, grounding himself on you as his body rolled into yours from behind like instinct had taken over, dragging his hips against the back of the chair, down the curve of your spine as the crowd screamed louder, but it sounded distant to you still, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears as Mingi’s hands slid down your arms, gripping your wrists gently and placing them on his chest as he stepped around to face you. His eyes locked with yours, full of something raw and deep and buried far too long. You didn’t even know where to put your hands until he guided them, keeping his over yours as he rolled his hips forward, grinding down just slow enough to feel obscene and your legs fell open allowing his knee to push between them. And when the chorus of Happy Birthday to you hit Seonghwa’s name, Mingi dropped it low.

One of his hands braced on your thigh, the other sliding up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he rocked his body into yours like he wasn’t surrounded by people, like you were the only one in the room. Because to him, you were. And Seonghwa, bless him, just laughed, clapping along, fully aware his birthday performance had officially been hijacked by a man realizing far too late that he he should of said too long ago that he was in love with his best friend. The music pulsed louder now, slower and dirtier, like it knew what was happening. And so did he. Mingi didn’t hesitate anymore. His hands, once careful, once unsure, were everywhere now. Gripping your waist, skimming your hips, dragging up your sides like he had permission now. Like he’d finally allowed himself to stop pretending this didn’t mean something. And you weren’t any better. Your fingers slid up his chest, nails grazing the skin at his waist as your head tipped back, eyes half lidded as you let him move against you. Let him show you exactly how good his body could feel pressed this close, this tight, this intentional. It wasn’t a performance anymore. Not really. It was foreplay. The way he rolled his hips, slow, deep, then faster, grinding into your inner thigh like he needed the friction. The way your nails dug into his back, pulling him down just enough that your lips brushed his jaw. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just feeling. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, the way the room spun a little every time his hand gripped your thigh and squeezed. And the crowd? Still singing. Still cheering. But quieter now. Because something was happening on stage they weren’t meant to see as Mingi leaned in, his mouth grazing your ear as his breath fanned hot across your neck. “You look like a fucking dream in this dress,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse, possessive. “You know that?” Your breath caught as you looked up at him, your best friend. Your Mingi. Except not the same Mingi you knew. This was the one who couldn’t hold back anymore as his hand slid between your thighs, not quite touching, but just hovering, the ghost of contact making your whole body ache and your thighs to press together, chest rising, eyes locked with his right as the final beat hit.

Then the music ended and the lights dimmed. And for just one breathless moment, the two of you stood frozen in the silence. Mingi’s hand still on your thigh caught between the clench of them, heat pulsing between you like the crowd never existed. The spell didn’t break until San whooped and slapped Mingi on the back like he hadn’t just dry humped his best friend in front of the entire club. Laughter exploded around the room, cake was smeared across Seonghwa’s cheek, but Mingi didn’t laugh as he looked at you. And you knew…. he felt it too. That nothing between you would ever be the same after tonight.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The bar glowed in warm amber light, crowded but cozy, the bass of the music low enough to talk over, the laughter loud enough to ignore the awkward silences. You were still buzzing from the show, from the attention, from Mingi’s hands on you. But now, seated across from him at the long booth table, all that heat had simmered down to a prickling awareness. Every time you looked up, he was already looking at you. Every time he looked away, you wanted to ask why. But neither of you said a word. Wooyoung, of course, had no such filter. “Okay, okay…. but remember when Hongjoong walked in on me and San with that guy backstage?” he grinned, already snorting into his drink before the story even started. “Like pants around ankles, San’s hand halfway to heaven, and Joong just… deadpan. Completely dead inside.” Yeosang choked on his beer as San just threw a napkin at him. “You promised you’d never bring that up again.” Wooyoung sing songed. “Oops,” Seonghwa leaned over, grinning lazily. “Honestly, I’m just mad I missed it.” They all laughed as Wooyoung looked to you and Mingi with a devious look. “What about you two? You ever accidentally walk in on each other?” You felt your heart stop for a second as Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said instantly, like it was a dumb question. “Never.” You hesitated. It was maybe half a second but Mingi noticed. Wooyoung noticed too, but he just raised a brow and took another sip, letting the silence stretch. “Wait,” Mingi said slowly, leaning forward a little. “Why’d you pause?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. And maybe it was the lingering jealousy. Maybe it was the feel of his hands on your thighs still haunting you. Or maybe it was just time. You set your drink down carefully and met his eyes. “A year ago,” you said, voice calm. “I came home…. You were…on the couch.” His brows pinched together for half a second. “Wait…. what?” You took a long sip of your drink, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “You were on the couch. With Daphne.” The name hit the table like a dropped glass. Yeosang’s chewing stopped. San blinked. Seonghwa looked between you and Mingi like he was watching the opening act to a car crash as Mingi sat back slightly. “You never said anything.” You met his gaze. “What would I have said? Hey, saw you getting rode last night, looked busy?” Wooyoung snorted hard. “Oh my god. You’ve been holding onto that?” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to remember.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “You… how long were you there?” You shrugged not meeting his eyes. “Long enough.” It was quiet for a long moment before Seonghwa raised his glass with a smirk. “Happy birthday to me. Damn.” The table chuckled. But Mingi’s gaze didn’t leave you. You didn’t say anything else. Just slid out of the booth and made your way toward the bar, your dress hugging every curve like it knew Mingi was watching. Because he was. Everyone was. But he looked wrecked, jaw set, brow furrowed, eyes tracking you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“Bro.” Mingi didn’t look away from where you stood now, leaning your elbows on the bar. Wooyoung leaned in, voice louder this time. “Bro.” Mingi blinked, barely glancing at him. “What?” Wooyoung leaned across the table like Mingi was two seconds from being smacked upside the head, “you practically fucked her onstage. I had to turn around.” Mingi ran a hand down his face, groaning. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.” Yeosang snorted into his drink. “Yes you did. Now you’re just too scared to do anything about it.” Silence settled for another moment before Mingi stood and the rest of the guys just watched him go, heads tilted like they were watching a soap opera in real time as Wooyoung raised his glass. “Godspeed, idiot.” You were mid laugh, fingers lightly curled around the straw of your drink as the bartender leaned just a little closer than necessary. “On the house,” he said smoothly, sliding you another cocktail you hadn’t asked for. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay.” You were about to respond, something between polite and dismissive, when a body moved in behind you, warm and familiar, towering enough that the bartender’s cocky grin faltered.

“Didn’t know we were offering free drinks for anyone,” Mingi said, voice calm but edged. His hand slid along the bar beside yours, not touching you but close enough your breath caught as the bartender gave a chuckle. “Club policy for regulars.” Mingi tilted his head. “She’s not a regular.” You finally turned your head, trying not to look startled by how close he was. “Hey.” He looked at you, not the bartender. “Hey.” The air shifted. Dense. Charged. “I was just…” you started, but the bartender cut in. “She was telling me about a cake. Big party. You guys always go this hard?” Mingi didn’t smile. “Only when it matters.” His eyes dropped to the drink the bartender had slid over to you. “You sure you want that one?” You raised a brow. “It’s just a drink.” Mingi stepped a little closer. His chest almost brushing your back. “Some drinks have strings.” You felt the words low in your stomach as the bartender, sensing the tension, awkwardly wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’ll, uh… check on the other side.” Mingi nodded. “Good idea,” he said flatly but he didn’t move even after the guy disappeared down the bar. You turned to face him fully, chin lifted “Subtle. You just scared off the bartender.” Mingi shrugged like he didn’t care. “He was flirting with you.” You snorted. “I know.” Mingi stepped closer, crowding into your space like he had every right to be there. “And you were flirting back.” You swallowed hard, your voice a little softer now. “What if I was?” His eyes dropped to your lips. “Then I guess I’m done pretending to be just your best friend.”

You stared at him, heart stuttering in your chest like it couldn’t decide whether to leap or freeze. “What?” The word came out small, not because you didn’t hear him but because it hit you like a damn freight train. Mingi didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t try to play it off. There was a pause thick enough to cut, bass from the music thumping through the floor beneath your heels, laughter echoing from the other side of the bar, none of it touching the two of you though as he said it, voice low and rough at the edges, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way we did tonight.” Your breath caught. He wasn’t smiling. There was no teasing in his eyes. Just truth. Hot, heavy, terrifying truth. “You wanna go home?” It was simple. But it wasn’t. Because home didn’t mean your shared apartment anymore. It didn’t mean crashing on the couch with takeout and reruns of shitty reality shows. It didn’t mean what it usually did. Not tonight. Tonight, it meant crossing a line you’d both been toeing for years. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your throat like it was trying to answer for you. “Yeah,” you said softly, throat dry. “Let’s go.” Mingi nodded, sharp, determined, and gently took the drink from your hand to set it on the bar behind you, fingers brushing yours, just barely, but it was enough to ignite sparks that raced up your spine. You didn’t even look back as he led you toward the door.

Seonghwa, still nursing a half melted cocktail, watched with narrowed eyes before smirking around the rim of his glass. He set it down with a little clink and looked at the rest of the guys. “Finally,” he muttered, like he’d just won a long running bet with the universe. Yeosang grinned. Wooyoung practically choked on his drink and leaned into San as the doors opened and in walked Daphne with two friends flanking her like backup singers. She spotted Mingi immediately, a slow smirk curling on her face. “Well, well,” she purred, walking right into his path, tilting her head. “Didn’t expect to see you leaving so early…” Mingi didn’t even break stride. He didn’t even look at her. He just tightened his grip on your hand and led you straight past her like she was nothing but background noise.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet thud echoing through the apartment louder than it should have. Neither of you said a word as you toed off your shoes slowly, one heel, then the other, the soft tap of them hitting the floor sounding way too intimate in the silence. Mingi did the same, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch, his eyes never once leaving you. The room felt heavier now. Warmer. You stood there, still dressed like temptation, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than usual as Mingi’s jaw twitched, watching you, like he was trying to keep a leash on something, something coiled deep and tense behind his eyes. “Nineteen,” Mingi finally said, voice low, like it physically hurt to get the word out. His eyes didn’t waver. “Nineteen. We were nineteen when I realized I was in love with you.” Your breath stuttered. “Eight years,” he went on, stepping closer, slowly, like he was afraid if he rushed it, you’d disappear. “Eight years pretending I didn’t want you. Eight years burying myself in other people, eyes closed, pretending it was you.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding, knees wobbling slightly from the weight of his confession as Mingi let out a shaky laugh, no humor in it. “This dress,” he murmured, gaze dropping for the briefest second before dragging back to your face. “First time you wore it, I left my own birthday party. Because if I didn’t, I was gonna drag you into the back room and rip it off you.” You stood there stunned, lips parted, head spinning. And Mingi? He just looked like a man who’d finally stopped running.

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Do it. Mingi blinked, confused. “What?” You stepped forward, slowly, your eyes locked on his. “Rip the dress off me.” For a second, he didn’t move, like he was trying to make sure you really said it, like maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But then his jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and something in his expression shifted, snapped. “You…” he started, voice cracking. “You can’t say shit like that unless you mean it.” You didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Mingi surged forward, grabbing you and crashing his mouth onto yours like he’d finally lost the battle with himself. His hands cupped your face at first, tender despite the heat between you, lips hungry and frantic as years of tension detonated all at once. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, the kiss turning messy, deeper, desperate. When you gasped into his mouth, his hands dropped, skimming down your body until they gripped your hips tight and he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breath ragged. “Last chance,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” But you didn’t. Instead, you slid his hand up the side of your dress, resting it right at the seam with your thigh, and whispered, “Rip it.” His fingers curled into the fabric, and with one hard pull, the dress tore with a sharp rrrrip, seams splitting clean down the back. It slid from your shoulders like it had been waiting to fall off you, pooling around your feet as the air hit your bare skin and his eyes darkened, swallowing the sight of you whole as he stood there, chest heaving, his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time, not his best friend in a towel, not the girl who’s lived in oversized shirts and underwear on lazy Sundays, not the one he’s caught glimpses of a hundred times in shared spaces and never touched.

This was you. Naked, save for the thin scrap of panties clinging to your hips. Wanting him. And he was completely undone. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, almost in disbelief. “You’re gonna ruin me.” He wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively hooking around his waist as his mouth found your breast the moment you were against him, hot and hungry, tongue dragging over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. One hand held you firm while the other palmed up your spine, fingers splaying against your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you. You gasped, your hand tangling in his short hair as his teeth grazed your nipple. He didn’t stop walking. He carried you down the hallway, dimly lit by the soft glow of the living room behind you. He passed his room and paused in front of your door before kicked it open gently, not even looking, his focus locked entirely on the way your body trembled in his arms, the way your breath hitched every time his mouth moved. He lowered you onto your bed like he was setting something sacred down, carefully, slowly, even though his chest was tight and his pulse wild. His mouth never left your skin, lips still wrapped around your breast, tongue swirling as he sucked and teased. The second your back hit the mattress, he settled between your legs, one arm braced beside you while the other slid down, tracing your side, your hip, dragging goosebumps in his wake.

You arched into him when his hand finally slipped between your thighs and the soft, wrecked sound that escaped him when he felt how wet you were….. “Shit…” he groaned against your chest, breath hot. “You’re soaked.” His fingers teased over the damp fabric, tracing you slowly, reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. Then he pressed down just enough to make your hips twitch and pulled his mouth from your breast to look up at you. “All that… from me?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “From that dance? From touching you?” A moan escaped you as you met his gaze. “Both,” you whispered, breath hitching and Mingi groaned like it punched the air from his lungs, raw and low in his throat. His fingers curled into your panties, dragging them down just enough, his gaze flicking between your face and where his hand disappeared. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. And then, finally, his fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your wetness before pushing inside. “Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to your chest as he curled his fingers and felt you clench around him. “You feel like this for me? All night?” You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair, your thighs parting wider as your hips tilted to chase the pressure as he started moving them, slow at first, deep, curling with every stroke as your body arched under him. “Mingi,” you gasped, and he shuddered, biting down gently on your breast as he pumped his fingers faster. “Say it again,” he growled.

You grabbed his jaw, hard enough that his lips parted, his eyes snapping to yours like you’d just yanked a leash. “Fuck me with your fingers,” you ordered, dragging his face closer, your thighs tightening around his wrist. “Make me come like I’ve wanted you to for years.” Mingi’s eyes darkened, and something unholy snapped behind them. He growled, a sound from deep in his chest and then his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping skin as his fingers slammed back into you, no more teasing, no more hesitation. He curled them hard, rough, filthy and perfect, pumping into you with the kind of rhythm that made your hips lift and your moans fall apart. “Like this?” he rasped into your throat. “Is this how you want it?” You barely managed a nod before your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his arm, every nerve ending on fire. And he wasn’t stopping. Not until you screamed for him. Your fingers dove into his hair again, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your skin as you yanked his head back just enough to meet his eyes, eyes that were already glassy with lust, lips slick from the path they’d traced across your chest. “Don’t stop,” you panted, grinding down against his hand, riding his fingers like you owned them. “Fuck…. just like that, Mingi. God, you feel so fucking good… why the hell did we wait so long?” Your voice was wrecked, dripping filth and fire, every word going straight to his already aching dick. He swore under his breath, low and guttural, his jaw clenching as your wetness coated his hand and wrist. “You have no idea,” he growled, fingers curling harder, deeper. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” You leaned in, lips brushing his as you whispered, “Then shut up and ruin me.”

Mingi’s whole body tensed, he was gone. Absolutely gone. Nothing about this was best friends anymore. Nothing about this was safe. Not with you saying things like that, not with your body soaked and begging for him, not with the way your thighs were trembling around his wrist as your orgasm started to crest. He’d never been more turned on in his life. “Fuck,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he watched you tremble around his fingers. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take you like this, soaked, panting, eyes glazed over with need and begging for more. He pulled his fingers out slow, slick dripping down his knuckles, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even finish the sound, he was already dropping between your thighs. “Spread for me,” he muttered, breath hot against your core as he hooked his hands under your knees and pushed them wide. Then his mouth was on you. Hot, hungry and possessive. His tongue slid through your folds like he’d been starving for you, moaning into you as if he’d just tasted salvation. He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow at first, teasing the way he knew would drive you insane and when you gasped and tried to grind into his face, he growled, locking your hips down with his arms. You could feel how messy it was, his spit, your arousal, his tongue working like he was trying to memorize every part of you. And the worst part? He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t giving you room to breathe. “Mingi…” you gasped, thighs shaking, hands flying back to his hair. But he still didn’t let up. He just moaned again, eyes dark and locked on yours from between your legs as he devoured you like he was never letting you go.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, both hands gripping as you ground yourself against his mouth, chasing every wicked flick of his tongue. You could feel him moan into you again and again, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your clit as your hips rolled harder. “Just like that…. fuck, Mingi, don’t stop…. your mouth feels so fucking good,” you gasped, voice breathy. “Always wondered how that pretty mouth would feel between my thighs…. look at you, baby, making me so goddamn wet.” Mingi let out a desperate sound at that, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on your thighs tightened. You felt him rock forward slightly, and when you glanced down, the sight had you gasping all over again. He was rutting against the bed. Still fully clothed, still eating you out like it was the only thing keeping him alive as his hips grounded down into the mattress, trying to get even the smallest bit of friction as he moaned with every move you made. Your back arched, hands fisting tighter in his hair. “Fuck, you’re gonna make yourself come like that?” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Humping the bed like a needy little thing while your tongue’s buried in my pussy?” His growl vibrated right through you and somehow, impossibly, he started devouring you even harder before he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen, the look in his eyes feral. You were trembling beneath him, but it didn’t stop him, his fingers slipped right back in, two thrusting deep into your soaked heat while his thumb dragged slow, tight circles over your clit. You barely had time to gasp before he added pressure, angling just right…. and then you felt it. A smaller finger, his pinky, teasing your other hole. “Mingi…. fuck…”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice ragged with need, “I got you, baby, just feel me.” It was overwhelming, his fingers stroking deep, his thumb rubbing perfectly, his pinky pushing in so carefully it made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only chase the high he was pulling from you so ruthlessly. You reached for him without thinking, fingers tangling in his hair again, dragging him up to crash your mouth into his. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, but it grounded you just enough right before it hit. Your whole body tensed as you came hard, crying out against his mouth, your thighs clamping around his hand as you squirted, soaking him, the sheets, everything and Mingi moaned into the kiss, swallowing every sound you made as he worked you through it, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he just did to you. Like he wanted, needed, more. He barely had time to catch his breath again before you shoved at his chest, pushing him back until he sat at the edge of the bed, hands bracing behind him, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. “Strip.” Your voice was low, wrecked, but laced with command making him blink once, then grinned, slow and sinful. The kind of grin that always came out on stage when the beat dropped and the lights hit just right. Except now it was for you and only you. “After all,” he murmured, fingers already moving to the hem of his shirt, “it’s my job, isn’t it?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because Mingi was already peeling his shirt up over his head, revealing that strong, lean torso you’d seen a thousand times but never like this. Never with that fire in his eyes, never with your slick still glistening on his fingers. His pants followed, slow and deliberate, teasing. And when they hit the floor, and he stood there in nothing but tight black briefs, hard and straining, the outline of him unmistakable, you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted restlessly on the sheets. “Tell me,” he said, voice a little breathless, “do I take these off too, or do you want to do it?”

You slid off the bed, the air thick between you as you sank to your knees in front of him. Mingi stood there, chest rising, lips parted, watching your every move as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his briefs, and he let out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward before he caught himself. You dragged the fabric down slowly, his briefs slipping past his hips, your eyes widening just slightly because he was big. Thick, heavy, already flushed and twitching, curving just a little toward his stomach. The kind of big that made your mouth water and your thighs press together. “Fuck,” you whispered without thinking. Your hand wrapped firmly around the base of him, and when you looked up, your voice was low, teasing and daring. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Mingi’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His mouth opened but nothing came out at first, just a flush creeping up his neck, dark and undeniable. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, nearly a groan. “So many fucking times.” You tilted your head, your grip giving just the slightest squeeze, and his abs tensed. “Show me how much,” you whispered. “Show me everything you’ve been holding back.” Mingi’s hand slid up, fingers curling under your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “Open,” he said, voice low and wrecked. And you didn’t hesitate, just smirked, lips parting slowly, eyes locked on his as your tongue teased the air between you. The sound he made was pure sin, one of his hands bracing atop your head as the other guided himself to your mouth, slow and deliberate. He let the tip brush your bottom lip, and your tongue flicked against it, dragging a ragged groan from his chest. “Fuck,” he breathed, as he began to slowly push in, the heat of your mouth making his jaw clench, every muscle in his body drawn tight with restraint. You started slow, the heat of your mouth wrapping around him as your tongue teased lazy circles. Mingi’s hand twitched at his side, fighting the urge to grab your hair, his breath already uneven. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Don’t tease…” But you didn’t listen. You sank down just a little more, then pulled back with a filthy pop, smirking up at him like you had all the time in the world. Like you weren’t seconds away from wrecking him. And then you hollowed your cheeks and the groan that ripped out of Mingi’s chest was downright desperate as you took more of him, hands sliding up to grip his thighs for leverage. You let your nails dig in just enough to make him twitch, then started moving, slow, controlled strokes at first, lips gliding, tongue working every inch of him with practiced ease.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hand finally tangling in your hair. “You…. fuck, baby…” But you had control now. And you didn’t let up. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, mouth full of him, and let him see the exact moment you relaxed your throat and pushed deeper, your grip on his thighs tightening as you urged him to move. And he did. Thrust by slow, shaking thrust, Mingi began to fuck into your mouth, his rhythm building as you moaned around him, the sound sending shivers up his spine. His other hand joined the first in your hair, voice broken as he whispered your name like a curse and a prayer all at once as you moaned around him, the vibration making his knees nearly give out. His grip tightened in your hair as he rutted into your mouth, breath ragged, jaw slack. You let him use you, let him fall apart like he had no control left, taking him deep, your moans growing louder, wetter, filthier. He was close. Too close. And then he groaned, a rough, strangled sound, and pulled out, chest heaving, dick glistening as it twitched in the air between you. “Fuck…” he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to drop to his knees or throw you onto the bed and ruin you. “Not yet.” His voice was thick. “Wanna be inside you when I come.” He reached down and pulled you up with ease, one hand on your hip, the other sliding around your waist like he was ready to take control, like this was going to go the way it always did for him. But he had no idea. You pushed against his chest, hard, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling back onto the bed. “What….” Before he could finish the question, you were crawling up after him, slow and purposeful, your eyes locked on his, a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips as you straddled his hips. “Mingi,” you purred, hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him twitch, “you really thought you’d be the one in charge tonight?” He swallowed hard, pupils dilating, the realization sinking in as you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Lie back. Be good. And let me fuck you.” You didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, you lowered yourself slowly, lips brushing his chest, the line of his ribs, the dip of his stomach, every kiss deliberate, a tease and a promise all in one as Mingi’s breathing turned ragged beneath you, his muscles tense under your mouth, but he didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

You reached his hips, sitting up, your nails dragging lightly along his sides as your eyes met his again. His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white as you finally reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already soaked and ready. You took your time, just the tip at first, the stretch enough to make you both exhale. Then, with one slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you sank down onto him, inch by thick inch, until he was buried inside you. Mingi’s head fell back with a choked moan, his hands flying to your thighs but stopping short of grabbing, like even now he was waiting to see what you’d let him do. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel….. fuck.” You smiled, starting to move, slow and deep, claiming him like you always should have. You rolled your hips in tight circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you open. Then you picked up speed, bouncing harder, riding him faster with each thrust. Your thighs flexed as you slammed down onto him, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter. “Look at you,” you breathed, voice thick with heat. “Taking my pussy so fucking good.” You pounded down onto him, your ass meeting his thighs with every drop as your grip on his throat tightened and you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You see what you do to me, Mingi?” You pulled him up by the throat so he could watch, his eyes going wide at the sight of you coating his dick, creaming him, strings of it stretching every time you lifted off and slammed back down.

He whimpered, the sound raw and broken, hips twitching up to meet you as you kept fucking him, relentless, your walls gripping him tight. “You gonna come for me, Mingi? You said you pictured me while you were buried in someone else…” your grip on his throat tightened again, pulling yourself all the way up before slamming back down onto him. “now look at me as you come.” A broken “fuck” tore from his throat as his dick jerked inside you as he did, cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses as his body shook under you. But you didn’t stop riding him, milking every drop while your hand stayed locked around his throat. “You’re mine,” you growled, squeezing tighter. Your free hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers rubbing fast circles over your swollen clit and pleasure slammed into you hard making you cry out, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you came gushing out around him. Before you could lift off, Mingi’s hands locked around your waist and he sat up in one fluid motion, still buried inside you, grabbing your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, holding you up like that, your back arched, his dick angled deeper. “Clench me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. You obeyed instantly, your pussy squeezing around him in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t move at first, just held you suspended, feeling every squeeze. Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate lifts that dragged his dick almost all the way out before sinking back in. The pace building gradually, each thrust deeper, harder, until he was fucking you with full force and your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he took complete control, pounding up into you while you hung onto him.

“Such a good girl,” he praised between thrusts, voice strained. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.” Your orgasm crashed over you again without warning, squirting hard around him, soaking his abs and thighs. Mingi pulled out just enough to watch the mess, holding you up so he could see your pussy pulsing and dripping before he flipped you onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide. His tongue dragged through your soaked folds, licking up the mess you’d made, sucking at your clit before kissing his way up your spine and flipped you again onto your back, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sank back into you with one smooth thrust. He sucked at one of your nipples, tongue swirling over it while he started fucking you slow and deep. One hand grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other braced beside you, hips snapping harder, pace picking up. Sweat slicking your bodies together. “I love you,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you.” You were too far gone to form words at first, just moaning and gasping as he fucked you relentlessly. “Come for me,” he growled. “Fuck…. you’re mine. Mine. I’m yours.” Your orgasm ripped through you, body shaking as you cried out, “I love you too” and Mingi followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and filling you once more, his dick throbbing as he groaned your name and stayed inside you, rocking gently through the aftershocks, both of you panting and clinging to each other. The room smelled like sex and sweat, your bodies joined, hearts pounding in sync as he kissed you, hands finally releasing your wrists so he could stroke your hair, whispering how perfect you felt around him, how long he’d wanted this, how he never wanted to let you go and you stayed wrapped around him, legs locked at his back, his cum leaking out around his softening dick while you both caught your breath, the intensity of everything you’d just done settling into something warm and possessive between you.

You stroked his back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Then you could think. The thought of him now after everything, onstage, not the stripping part, but the touching other women. The lap dances…. the thought made you surge with possessiveness. “No more lap dances.” It took a moment for Mingi to register but when he did, he laughed softly into your neck. “I promise from now on I will only grind on you.” He lifted his head and looked down at you. “No more sex with hot patients who flirt with you.” You laughed this time, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him back down, your other hand moving to stroke his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “I promise from now on….” You kissed him. “You’re the only one I will fuck in an on call room.” You both laughed at that. Snuggling into each other.

Still best friends.

And now also so much more.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @seungminniemin @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess @prchiquita8 @dreamgirlevilera @booposaurusrex @onecursedkitty @dvrktvnnel @atinynoona @metalheadatiny @uchihabbynic @eggielix @dodot04lover @thenumberoneangelcollection-blog @navydotz @auxiny

Back in late 1999, everyone in Seoul had been terrified of the Y2K bug, fearing planes falling from the sky, power grids collapsing, and digital history erasing itself at the stroke of midnight. People had hoarded canned goods and bottled water. But midnight had come and gone, the digital clocks had rolled over smoothly into the new millennium, and life had simply moved on.

To anyone else, Jeju was a paradise of recovery. To Choi Soobin, it was just a beautiful, inescapable cage.

He had been making this exact trip every single summer for as long as he could remember. When he was five, it meant scraping his knees on rocks and catching tiny crabs in tidal pools. When he was fourteen, it meant suffering through long, damp afternoons with zero reception on his digital pager, reading old comic books until his eyes blurred. Now, at twenty-two, it felt like an annual exile.

"Make sure you grab the heavy suitcase from the carousel, Soobin-ah," his mother’s voice broke through his thoughts as the plane taxied down the runway. She was already unbuckling her seatbelt the second the chime sounded, fixing her hair in a small compact mirror. "Your father packed those heavy ginseng sets for your grandparents. Don't let them drag on the floor."

"I know, Mom," Soobin muttered, stretching his legs as much as the cramped economy seating allowed.

He pulled his embroidered baseball cap lower over his eyes, following his parents through the bustling terminal. The airport was suffocatingly alive, packed with domestic tourists in bright linen shirts, families holding hands, and couples carrying matching straw hats. Everyone was vibrating with the frantic energy of a vacation, celebrating a new century that felt safe after all.

But Soobin wasn't on vacation. He was just relocating his stress.

As they walked through the automatic sliding doors of the arrivals terminal, the Jeju summer hit him like a physical wall. It wasn't the dry, baking heat of Seoul's asphalt jungles; it was a heavy, suffocating moisture that instantly glued his oversized grey t-shirt to his back. The air smelled thick—thick with salt, rotting seaweed, and the sweet, heavy scent of overripe tangerines from the gift shops lining the exit.

His father flagged down a white Hyundai Sonata taxi, speaking to the driver in a familiar, comfortable cadence. Soobin slid into the back seat, pressing his shoulder against the door as his parents filled the rest of the space. The air conditioning in the older car hummed loudly, blowing a weak, lukewarm breeze that smelled faintly of cheap hazelnut air freshener and old cigarette smoke.

As the taxi rattled away from the neon signs of Jeju City, heading toward the quiet eastern side of the island, the landscape began to shift dramatically. The small island was a place untouched by the heavy commercial tourism that would define its future. It felt raw, ancient, and deeply quiet—an island shaped entirely by wind, water, and volcanic rock.

Soobin rested his chin in his hand, staring out the window as the modern buildings faded into the background. In their place rose the island’s signature feature: the stone. Low, meandering walls called batdam—made from porous, pitch-black basalt rocks piled loosely on top of one another without a shred of mortar—weaved through the landscape like dark ribbons. They separated the narrow dirt paths from small patches of vibrant green garlic and sweet potato fields, a striking contrast of midnight-black stone against the emerald earth.

The taxi sped past rolling, undulating slopes that bled toward the sea. The iconic oreums—the small, extinct volcanic cones that dotted the countryside—rose like soft, grassy shoulders against a sky so blue it looked painted.

Because it was June, the fierce, biting winter winds had softened into a thick, salt-heavy breeze that slammed into the side of the car. Everywhere Soobin looked, the island was blooming. Patches of wild, bright yellow canola flowers still lingered in the ditches, and the deep green leaves of the tangerine orchards hung heavy over the stone walls, the tiny, unripe green fruits hiding like marbles among the foliage.

For his parents, this road was a return to roots, a nostalgic escape from their busy lives in the capital. For Soobin's older siblings, it was an obligation they had successfully dodged this year, both of them flying off to Europe and Japan with their respective partners. Soobin, being the youngest and still stuck under the thumb of a brutal engineering curriculum at Korea University and his parents, hadn't been given a choice.

“You look like a ghost, Soobin,” his mother had told him over fried chicken in their Seoul apartment just two days ago, her voice echoing in his memory as she chatted amiably with the taxi driver. “You’ve done nothing but stare at those thick problem sets and computer text for six months.”

As the car rounded a long bend, the coastline suddenly came into view. The black volcanic cliffs met the sea with a restless, rhythmic violence. The water wasn't the murky grey of the capital’s Han River; it was a brilliant, translucent turquoise near the shore that deepened into a moody, bottomless indigo further out. There were no massive luxury resorts or crowded high-rises here yet. Instead, the coastline was dotted only with the small, brightly colored buoys of the haenyeo and the occasional weathered wooden fishing boat tied to a concrete pier.

Soobin pulled his bulky, silver Samsung folder phone from his pocket. He flipped it open with a satisfying clack, checking the tiny screen.

No signal.

He couldn't even send a text message to his classmates back at Korea University, who were likely drinking beer in Anam-dong or listening to the latest g.o.d or Yoon Mi-rae tracks on their MP3 players. He held the phone up toward the window, twisting his wrist to the left, hoping to catch a single bar of reception from a distant tower. Nothing.

He let out a soft, defeated sigh, letting his head drop back against the vinyl headrest. The sun was high, baking the road until the heat shimmered over the asphalt. The island seemed to vibrate with a quiet, overwhelming presence that reminded him, with absolute certainty, that he was trapped. Two months of this. Two months of sun, silence, and absolutely nothing to do.

When the taxi finally pulled up to his grandparents’ home, the silence of the village was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic, distant roar of the ocean and the shrill, metallic buzz of cicadas hidden in the hackberry trees.

"Our student has arrived!"

His grandfather stood by the wooden gate, his face weathered and dark from a lifetime under the island sun, but his smile was wide and genuine. Before Soobin could even set the luggage down, his grandmother emerged from the kitchen, her hands dusted with flour. She immediately reached up, her small, wrinkled hands patting Soobin’s cheeks with enough force to make his teeth click.

"Look at you," she lamented, shaking her head. "So tall, but so thin. Do they not feed you at that fancy university? You look like a beanpole."

"I eat well, Halmeoni," Soobin smiled faintly, dimples showing as he leaned down so she didn't have to strain her arms.

"He does nothing but study," his mother chimed in, dragging her own bags into the courtyard. "He needs to clear his head. He's going to turn into a calculator if he stays in Seoul any longer."

Within an hour, his parents and grandparents were settled into the main room, the sliding doors thrown open to catch the faint sea breeze. A large watermelon had been cracked open, its red flesh sweating on a glass platter. The conversation flowed easily between the adults—gossip about distant relatives, the price of garlic, the upcoming typhoon season.

Soobin sat on the edge of the wooden veranda, his long legs dangling off the side. He held a slice of watermelon, staring blankly out at the courtyard.

"Don't waste your youth staring at nothing," his grandfather called out from inside, raising his glass of barley tea. "Go wash your face. If you're bored, take a walk down to the main road. The village hasn't moved an inch since last year."

Soobin closed his eyes, the heavy scent of his grandmother’s drying radishes filling his nose, wondering how on earth he was going to survive until August.

The heavy scent of scorched rice and boiling fish stew began to drift from the kitchen, mingling with the salt-sticky air of the courtyard.

"Come inside and eat before the food gets cold," his grandmother called out, slide-shuffling across the polished wooden floor of the main room.

Soobin pulled his long legs up onto the veranda, carefully ducking beneath the low wooden doorframe to slip inside. The center of the room was dominated by a heavy, low-lying wooden table that was practically groaning under the weight of the spread. There was a steaming pot of braised hairtail fish bubbling away, surrounded by an army of small side dishes: kimchi, japchae, salted squid, and a massive bowl of cold cucumber soup with ice cubes bobbing on top.

"Sit, sit," his grandfather instructed, gesturing to a floor cushion.

Soobin managed to fold his 185-centimeter frame into a cross-legged position, his knees awkwardly high. No sooner had his butt hit the cushion than the questioning began.

"Your mother says you’re studying how to build bridges and dams," his grandfather started, scooping a generous portion of the fiery red fish onto Soobin’s stainless-steel rice bowl. "Is that true? At that big school in Seoul?"

"Civil engineering, Hal-abeoji," Soobin corrected gently, lifting his chopsticks. "We're mostly focusing on fluid mechanics and material sciences right now."

"A calculator," his grandmother summarized with a firm nod, pouring him a glass of icy barley tea. "That's what I said. But tell me, Soobin-ah, do they even let you sleep up there? Last summer you had cheeks. Look at you now, your jaw is sharp enough to slice a radish. Are you skipping meals to buy those fancy computer books?"

"No, Halmeoni, I eat three times a day, I promise," Soobin said, his dimples peeking out as he took a big bite of the savory fish. The taste was instantly nostalgic—rich, spicy, and distinctly of the sea. "The coursework is just a bit heavy this semester. I had to stay up late for the design finals."

"And what about a girl?"

Soobin nearly choked on his radish. He coughed into his fist, his face instantly flushing a light pink that matched the watermelon rind.

His mother let out a loud laugh from across the table. "Oh, Mother, don't even ask. He spends all his weekends in the library or at the internet cafe looking at blueprints. I don't think he even knows what a girl looks like anymore."

"A young man at Korea University with no girlfriend? Absurd," his grandmother clucked her tongue, leaning forward and squinting at his face as if inspecting a piece of produce. "He has a good face. Clear skin. Tall like his uncle. You should be holding hands and walking under the cherry blossoms, not staring at computer screens. What about that girl from next door? The one who used to live next door with you?"

"Halmeoni, she’s married and has a kid," Soobin said, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from his nonexistent love life.

"See? Everyone is moving fast in the new century," his grandfather chuckled, pouring a small shot of local green-bottle soju for Soobin's father. "You city boys think too much. You analyze the wind instead of just feeling it. That’s your problem. You come down here, you need to empty your head. Stop calculating."

"He can't help it, Father," his mother sighed, though her eyes were warm. "He got his stubbornness from you."

For the next hour, the small room was a cacophony of clinking metal chopsticks, loud laughter, and the relentless barrage of grandparent trivia. They wanted to know if he was able to finish his internship, if he still listened to that "noisy music," and what his plan was after graduation.

Soobin mostly kept his head down, smiling and nodding, stuffing his mouth with food whenever a particularly difficult question about his future career path arose. It was overwhelming, suffocating in that uniquely loving way that only family could manage.

By the time the table was cleared, the afternoon heat had reached its peak. The adults, heavy with food and the humid air, began to doze off. His father was already snoring softly against a wooden armrest, and his mother was flipping through a local supermarket flyer.

Soobin slid back out onto the veranda, his stomach completely full but his mind feeling more restless than ever. He pulled out his silver folder phone again. He flipped it open. Still no service. Just the digital clock staring back at him: 02:14 PM.

The whole summer stretched out before him, vast, empty, and entirely unscripted.

The mid-day heat of early June didn't just rise; it stagnated, pooling into the low valleys and stone-walled courtyards of the eastern village until breathing felt like inhaling hot steam.

Inside the house, the atmosphere wasn't much better. Five days of rural confinement had officially broken Soobin's spirit. The initial novelty of his grandmother’s cooking had long since worn off into a numbing, humid routine, and the summer heat had only intensified, settling over the coastal town like a damp, heavy wool blanket. The menu today was cold kongguksu—a thick, creamy soy milk broth that tasted heavily of toasted sesame seeds, with ice cubes loudly clinking against the stainless-steel bowls, topped with a sparse, colorful heap of thin julienned cucumbers.

Soobin sat in his usual spot near the open sliding doors, slumped over so low his chest nearly touched his knees. He dragged his chopsticks through the thick, pale white broth, swirling a single ice cube around and around with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner marking days on a dark cell wall.

"Look at him," his grandmother said, pausing with her spoon halfway to her mouth. She didn't look at Soobin; she looked directly at his mother, pointing a sharp, silver-ringed finger at his miserably slumped shoulders. "Five days he’s been here, Seon-young. Five days of moping around the courtyard like a wet dog. His father asked him to go up the oreum to check the garlic patches—no. His grandfather asked him to go out on the boat to catch some mackerel—no. He just sits on the veranda, flipping that silver plastic toy open and closed. Clack, clack, clack. It’s driving me crazy. I'm going to throw that folder phone into the water if he doesn't stop."

"I have a remote design project due right when the autumn semester starts, Halmeoni," Soobin pleaded softly, his deep voice sounding muffled in the small room. He didn't lift his eyes from the soy milk. "I'm trying to mentally draft the stress analysis for a reinforced concrete retaining wall. If my calculations are off by even a millimeter—"

"Stress? You're twenty-two, what stress do you have?" his grandfather barked from the head of the table, though his heavily wrinkled eyes were twinkling with old-man amusement as he chewed a piece of salted squid. "In my day, stress was when the summer typhoon took the thatch roof right off the kitchen and we had to sleep under a fishing tarp. You sit in an air-conditioned room in Seoul and look at numbers on a glowing screen, and you call it stress?"

They clearly don't understand the engineering jargon, Soobin thought.

"Exactly," his grandmother clucked her tongue, lifting a massive heap of fiery, red radish kimchi from a stoneware dish and dropping it straight into Soobin’s bowl, splashing a tiny drop of white broth onto his grey shirt. "You need to be out doing things. Sweat it out! Look at the Choi family’s boy down the road—Yeonjun! He’s in his second year at Seoul National University now. His mother won't stop bragging about him at the morning fish market. Says he’s studying finance up there. And the Jeon's daughter? She’s up in Seoul too, top of her class. Everyone is doing something out in the world except our KU engineer, who looks like he’s practicing to become a stone statue."

Soobin closed his eyes, taking a long, slow sip of the cold broth to keep from groaning aloud. Yeonjun. He remembered Choi Yeonjun from the summers he has spent in Jeju. Hearing that he was at SNU now just felt like a personal, calculated attack from the universe.

"He's just tired, Mother," his mother defended him weakly, though she kept her focus entirely on her own bowl, picking out a stray sesame seed. "The Seoul air is full of yellow dust this year. He's just detoxing from the city."

"Well, he can detox while being useful to his elders," his grandmother said. She set her stainless-steel spoon down against the table with a definitive, heavy clack that signaled the absolute end of lunch.

She stood up, her small knees popping slightly in the quiet room, and shuffled over to the varnished chest of drawers sitting in the corner of the main room, right beneath a framed calligraphy scroll. When she turned back around, she was cradling a heavy, highly precarious stack of thick paperbacks against her apron. The spines were deeply creased, the edges yellowed from years of salt air and thumbing, and they gave off a strong, unmistakable scent of old ink, cheap glue, and basement dust.

"Since you're determined to do absolutely nothing but catch flies with your mouth open, walk these down to the main road," she instructed, dropping the heavy stack right next to his empty bowl. The wooden table shook, making his spoon rattle. "They’re historical epics about the Joseon dynasty. Five volumes in total. And they are nearly two weeks overdue."

Soobin blinked up at the mountain of paper, his engineering brain momentarily failing to process the sight of physical card-catalog sleeves sticking out of the tops. "A book rental shop? Halmeoni, it's 2001. Who still rents books?"

"The Liu’s rental shop has been sitting on that corner since before your father courted your mother, Choi Soobin," she cut him off cleanly, giving his broad, city-softened shoulder a firm, maternal slap that echoed through the room. "And he will give me a vicious earful at the town meeting this Friday if I keep them any longer. It's just past the intersection on the main street. Dongbaek Book Rental. Go on, get some sun on those pale shoulders before you blend into the wallpaper. And don't you dare lose the index cards inside them!"

Realizing there was absolutely no escape from the matriarch of the Choi family, Soobin let out a long, defeated sigh that puffed his cheeks out. 

The heavy wooden frame of the screen door slid shut behind Soobin with a hollow clack, cutting off the immediate drone of his mother and grandmother arguing over who would handle the leftover soy milk.

He stood alone in the narrow gravel courtyard, and the blinding June sun hit him like a physical blow to the chest. The light was flat and white, bleaching the color out of the old tiled roofs. The concrete under his shoes was baking, radiating waves of dry, shimmering heat that made the horizon look wavy. He shifted the heavy weight of the five volumes, the sharp cardboard corner of Volume Three digging right through his thin grey t-shirt into his ribs. They smelled heavily of his grandparents' house.

"Dongbaek Book Rental," Soobin muttered under his breath, his thumbs catching the bottom edge of the books to keep them from sliding onto the gravel.

He nudged the rusty iron gate open with his hip and stepped out onto the narrow village path. The silence of the early afternoon was absolute, heavy, and dead. In the peak heat of the day, even the village stray dogs had crawled deep beneath the shadows of the low basalt stone walls to sleep. The only movement was the occasional shimmer of a black dragonfly, and the only sound was the crunch of his own sandals on the dirt road, drowned out by the metallic, rhythmic scream of the cicadas hidden high in the hackberry trees overhead.

He walked down the sloping path, his tall frame casting a short, blocky shadow on the dry earth. To his left, past the low-slung batdam stone walls, the vibrant green sweet potato fields rolled out in waves toward the jagged shoreline, where the turquoise edge of the sea met the dark volcanic rocks. On any other day, a tourist might have stopped to take a photo with a disposable camera, but right now, a thick bead of sweat was trickling down the back of Soobin's neck, tracing the line of his spine before soaking into his waistband.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against his silver Samsung folder phone. He flipped it open out of pure habit.

No Service.

The digital clock on the small outer screen read 01:42 PM. He let out a soft, defeated sigh, letting his head drop forward as he turned the corner onto the village's single, two-lane asphalt strip.

The main street was entirely empty, saving for a rusted blue farm truck parked outside the hardware store. He passed the tiny local pharmacy with its faded green cross sticker peeling off the glass, then the small agricultural market where a few crates of bruised, early-season tangerines sat melting in the sun. Finally, tucked tightly between a silent barber shop and a shuttered rice mill, he found it.

Above the low doorway, a hand-painted wooden sign hung crookedly from two rusted metal chains: Dongbaek Book Rental. The red camellia logo was heavily weathered, the paint flaking away in small spirals from years of salt-heavy winter storms. A small wooden chalkboard stood by the entrance, though the previous week's rain had smeared the old chalk text into ghostly, illegible white streaks across the slate.

Soobin took a deep breath of the hot air, shifted the heavy mountain of novels to his left arm, and pushed the heavy glass door open.

A small brass bell chimes overhead—a crisp, clear ring that seemed to instantly cut through the heavy, vibrating noise of the cicadas outside.

The air inside the shop was a shock to his system. It was instantly cooler, trapped behind thick, vintage concrete walls and shaded by heavy, dark green velvet curtains that blocked out the midday glare. It didn't smell like the sea or the dirt outside; it smelled intensely of ink, cheap binding glue, aged wood pulp, and a faint, lingering hint of dried lavender sachets. Shelves made of dark, mismatched timber lined the narrow walls from the floor all the way to the water-stained ceiling, packed tightly with comic books, old martial arts serials, classic literature, and endless rows of thick, bound Korean manhwa. It was small, chaotic, and completely analog.

Soobin walked carefully down the narrow aisle, his shoulder accidentally brushing against a tall stack of Slam Dunk comic books piled precariously on a plastic stool.

"Hello?" he called out, his deep voice sounding strangely loud in the small, paper-packed room.

He approached the high wooden counter at the very back of the shop. The desk was a graveyard of old-world habits: a vintage blue stamping pad, small wooden boxes filled with alphabetized index cards, a half-empty glass of iced barley tea sweating profusely onto a newspaper crossword puzzle, and a mountain of returns waiting to be sorted.

Behind the counter, half-hidden by an open copy of a thick thriller novel, sat a girl.

When the bell chimed, she didn't rush, but she didn't ignore him either. She cleanly finished the sentence she was reading, slid a pressed green bookmark between the pages to hold her place, and set the novel down with a soft, careful touch.

When she lifted her head, Soobin’s breath caught slightly in his throat.

She was beautiful, but it wasn't the sharp, artificial, heavily styled beauty of the girls he usually saw crowded around the cafes in Sinchon or the Korea University campus. Her beauty was soft, radiant, and entirely unbothered by the heavy summer heat. She had warm, clear skin that held a very faint, healthy glow from the coastal sun, and her dark hair was pushed back in a headband, a few stray, wavy tendrils framing her face and the nape of her neck. Her eyes were large and clear, crinkling at the corners into a small, welcoming expression as she took him in.

She noted his height first, her eyebrows lifting slightly in mild surprise, before her gaze drifted to his clean Seoul clothes and the massive, clumsy stack of historical fiction novels cradled precariously in his arms.

"Hi there," she said, her voice surprisingly bright, carrying the gentle, melodic lilt of a partial Jeju dialect that sounded soft rather than harsh. "Can I help you return those?"

Soobin cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very large and very awkward in his oversized clothes. "Uh. Hello. Yeah. I'm here to return these for my grandmother. Choi Sun-ja?"

"Oh, Halmeoni Choi!" Y/N smiled, and the change in her face was striking. Her whole expression softened, a small, genuine smile showing near the corner of her mouth. She pulled one of the wooden index boxes toward her, her slender fingers flipping through the alphabetized cards with practiced ease. "I was wondering when we'd get these back. She’s the only one around here who can clear through a five-volume royal court epic before the month even ends."

She reached out across the counter. Soobin quickly dropped the heavy stack down, the wood groaning slightly. As she steadied the top book to keep it from tumbling, her fingers lightly brushed against his thumb. Her skin was cool despite the heat, smelling faintly of the lavender sachets tucked into the bookshelves.

She opened the back cover of the top volume, checking the paper sleeve where the little white stamped card lived. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she did the quick math in her head, her lips parting slightly.

"Ah," she said softly, looking up at him with a look of genuine, apologetic sympathy. "They’re about fourteen days overdue. The system automatically fixes it at... seven thousand won in late fees. I'm sorry, our system is kind of strict about the old classics."

"Seven thousand?" Soobin blinked, rubbing the back of his neck, though he couldn't even find it in himself to complain because she looked so genuinely apologetic about it. "Wow. Okay. For books that look like they survived the war."

Y/N let out a small, melodic laugh that sounded like a wind chime, her eyes curving into sweet crescents. "Hey, don't insult our treasures and the late fees are basically what keeps our single lightbulb from flickering out." She gestured up to the humming fluorescent tube overhead, giving him a playful, good-natured look.

Soobin smiled faintly, his own dimples finally making an appearance as he dug into his back pocket. He pulled out his leather wallet and flipped it open, only to feel a sudden jolt of dry panic. He had spent his last ten-thousand-won bill on a pack of gum and a drink at the airport kiosk. His wallet held nothing but his university debit card and a couple of Seoul subway tokens.

"Do you... take card?" he asked, holding the piece of plastic up sheepishly.

Y/N winced slightly, her expression incredibly sweet as she pointed to a little cracked plastic basket on the desk. "Ah, I'm so sorry. We really want to get a card terminal, but my dad says the line rental costs too much. We're cash-only for payments. There's a little dog sign right there."

Soobin looked down at the hand-drawn sign, which was mostly covered by a fading cartoon sticker. He felt a sudden wave of heat rush up his throat. "I don't have a single bill on me. Is there an ATM nearby?"

"The closest one is at the agricultural coop down by the main bus terminal," Y/N said, looking out the window at the blinding, white-hot street before looking back at him with an expression of pure pity. "But it's a twenty-minute walk in this sun. You'll completely melt before you make it halfway there."

Soobin looked down at his useless folder phone, then back at her warm, expectant face. "Can I... bring it by tomorrow? I promise I'm not running away. My grandparents live right up the lane."

Y/N paused, looking at his big, anxious eyes, and then she let out a soft, comforting hum. She reached under the counter and pulled out a large ledger bound in black electrical tape, flipping to a page marked with a neat, handwritten C.

"Tell you what," she said, picking up a blue ballpoint pen. "I’ll just write down that Halmeoni Choi’s very tall grandson promised to pay it tomorrow. That way, my dad won't see a missing balance on the daily sheet, and you don't have to get heatstroke walking to the coop." She looked up, flashing him a reassuring, warm smile. "Sounds fair?"

Soobin felt his heart give a strange, unfamiliar little thud against his ribs. "Yeah. Yes. Thank you. That's... really nice of you."

"Don't worry about it," she said smoothly, writing the note in neat, elegant cursive. As she finished, she leaned her elbows on the counter, resting her chin in her hands as she looked up at him with curious, friendly eyes. "So, you're visiting from Seoul? You definitely look like a city boy."

"Is it that obvious?" Soobin muttered, suddenly self-conscious about his grey shirt and pristine cap.

"In a village where everyone wears orange sun hats and rubber boots? Yes," she teased gently, her eyes sparkling. "Very obvious."

Soobin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his long arms suddenly feeling empty without the heavy stack of books. Through the glass door behind him, the external world looked completely bleached out by the midday sun, the air visibly shimmering over the asphalt. The mere thought of stepping back out into that stifling, salt-heavy heat made a fresh wave of sweat break out along his collarbone.

He looked back at Y/N, then glanced down at the cool, shaded concrete floor of the shop.

"Um," Soobin began, his voice dropping an octave into that soft, hesitant register he used whenever he was stepping outside his comfort zone. "Would it be okay if I... just looked around for a little bit? Your AC is really nice, and honestly, if I go back out there right now, I think I actually might melt."

Y/N’s eyes crinkled into a warm, amused line, her dimple reappearing instantly. She straightened up from her elbows, gesturing generously toward the rows of dark wooden shelves that filled the narrow space.

"Of course," she said, her voice carrying that gentle, rhythmic Jeju lilt. "Stay as long as you need to cool down. My dad spent half of last year's earnings fixing that wall unit up there, so we might as well get our money's worth out of it. Just ignore the rattling noise it makes."

"Thank you," Soobin said, letting out a genuine sigh of relief that made his shoulders drop.

He took off his baseball cap, running a long hand through his dark hair to loosen the flattened strands, and stepped into the first aisle.

The transition from the blinding exterior to the dim, paper-scented labyrinth of the shop felt like diving underwater. The air here was perfectly still, cooled by the ancient, humming machine tucked high in the corner. As he walked deeper into the narrow rows, the walls of text seemed to swallow him up, muffling the distant, metallic scream of the cicadas outside until they were nothing but a faint, rhythmic pulse.

He wandered slowly, his large frame making the tight spaces feel even tighter. He had to tuck his elbows close to his sides to keep from knocking over loose stacks of old literary magazines.

To his left were rows upon rows of serialized martial arts novels, their covers boasting dramatic, ink-brushed illustrations of swordsmen. To his right were the comic books. He ran his index finger lightly along the spines of a complete set of Full House, the glossy covers slightly tacky from years of humid summer air and the fingers of countless local kids. Further down, he found the classic literature section—thick, heavy volumes with faded gold lettering on the spines, sitting quietly in the deepest shadows of the shop.

It was entirely different from the sterile, fluorescent-lit engineering library at Korea University, where every book was bound in uniform plastic and smelled of industrial adhesive. This place felt alive, every single cover bearing the invisible history of the people who had held it before him.

As he reached the end of the third aisle, he paused, looking through a gap between two loosely packed shelves.

From this angle, he could see back to the counter. Y/N had already reopened her thick thriller novel. The soft, golden light from a small desk lamp caught the side of her face, highlighting the delicate slope of her nose and the soft. She looked completely at peace, entirely unbound by the frantic, time-crushing anxiety that seemed to dictate every single life back in Seoul.

She turned a page, the crisp slip of the paper echoing softly in the quiet room.

Soobin pulled his eyes away, a strange, quiet warmth settling into his chest.

The heavy, suffocating humidity of the afternoon finally cracked as the sun began its slow descent behind the jagged purple silhouette of Hallasan Mountain. In its wake, the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas of deep tangerine, violet, and dusty rose, casting a warm, copper glow across the volcanic stone walls of the courtyard. A cool, salt-laden evening breeze swept in from the coast, rustling the thick leaves of the hackberry trees and bringing the first real relief of the day.

With his father and grandfather still out at the village community center dinner was a much quieter affair.

Soobin’s grandmother had set up a small, portable butane stove on the wooden veranda patio. A thick, seasoned iron grill plate sat over the blue flame, sizzling loudly as strips of thick-cut, local black pork belly rendered down, sending a mouth-watering, smoky aroma into the twilight air.

Soobin sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his long legs tucked out of the way of the hot grease. He picked up a crisp piece of lettuce, spreading a dollop of savory ssamjang onto it before adding a perfectly grilled, sizzling piece of pork and a sliver of roasted garlic. He popped the whole thing into his mouth, his eyes closing in brief bliss.

"See? I told you the island air would bring his appetite back," his mother said, turning over another strip of pork with a pair of metal tongs. Her face looked soft and relaxed in the warm glow of the sunset. "He never eats like this in Seoul. Up there, it's just instant ramyun and cold coffee over his plates."

"It's because he actually did some work today," his grandmother clucked, sitting comfortably with her legs stretched out to the side as she fanned herself with a traditional paper fan. She peered at Soobin over the rim of her reading glasses. "Well? Did you make it down to the main road without fainting, my big-city scholar?"

Soobin swallowed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Yeah. I returned them, Halmeoni. All five volumes."

"And? Did you see the owner's daughter behind the counter?" his grandmother asked, her sharp eyes twinkling with a sudden, mischievous curiosity that made Soobin pause mid-reach for his honey iced tea. "Did you talk to Y/N?"

Soobin’s hand hovered over his glass. Y/N.

The name sounded soft, rolling out in his grandmother's thick Jeju cadence, but it instantly brought back the vivid image of the girl from the afternoon—the way the dim golden light of the desk lamp had caught the soft curve of her nose, the scent of dried lavender clinging to the dark wooden shelves, and the bright, melodic sound of her laugh when he had stood there holding his useless debit card.

"I... I don't know," Soobin muttered, his cheeks warming slightly. He quickly took a sip of tea, hoping his mother would just mistake his red face for the heat radiating from the grill. "She didn't tell me her name. She was... really nice, though. She let me stay inside to cool down because of the AC."

His mother and grandmother exchanged a swift, knowing look across the sizzling grill. A collective, identical smirk bloomed on both of their faces.

"Oh, look at him," his mother teased, leaning forward and nudging Soobin’s arm with her elbow. "A girl lets him sit in the air conditioning for ten minutes, and our boy is already blushing."

"She really is a lovely girl," his grandmother chimed in, thoroughly enjoying the way Soobin was desperately trying to avoid their eyes by hyper-focusing on a piece of kimchi. "Her family has had a hard time keeping that shop open since the turn of the century, but Y/N works so hard to help her father. She’s smart, too. She’s starting her first year of university this August."

Soobin blinked, finally looking up from his bowl. "University? Where?"

His grandmother’s grin widened, delighted that she had successfully re-engaged him. "Right up in Seoul! She got into a good school up there… though i forgot which one was it. Her father was bragging about it at the market last week. She’s spending her very last summer here running the shop before she leaves the island."

"See? She'll be a freshman just as you're starting your final year," his mother added, nudging him again, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You two will be in the same city. Maybe you should offer to show her around Seoul. You know, since she was so nice to let you use her AC."

"Mom, please," Soobin mumbled, his dimples peeking out despite his best efforts to maintain a straight face. He felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest. The thought of the quiet, pretty girl from the bookshop navigating the crowded, chaotic subways of Seoul felt completely surreal.

"She told me I could pay the overdue fee tomorrow," Soobin said softly, trying to steer the conversation back to logistics, his deep voice almost lost beneath the steady, rhythmic chirping of the evening cicadas. "Since I didn't have any cash on me."

"Well, then you'd better not be late tomorrow, Choi Soobin," his grandmother warned, though her voice was entirely fond as she reached over to pat his knee. "And wear a nicer shirt this time. Don't go down there looking like a wet noodle. You have a reputation to uphold!"

Soobin let out a soft, embarrassed laugh, letting his head drop as the two women laughed at his expense. He looked out past the courtyard wall, where the very last string of golden sunlight was dipping below the ocean horizon, leaving behind a deep, star-speckled indigo. For the first time since he had arrived on the island, the thought of tomorrow didn't feel like a chore.

The morning heat arrived early and heavy, baking the volcanic earth until the air smelled faintly of hot pine and dried sea salt. Soobin stood in front of the small vanity mirror in his room, pulling a crisp, short-sleeved cotton button-down over his shoulders. He hesitated for a second before smoothing down the collar, his grandmother’s playful scolding from the night before echoing in his ears.

With crisps, seven 1,000-won bills tucked securely into his front pocket alongside his grandmother’s neat library card, he stepped out onto the sun-bleached main road.

The walk down to the book rental shop felt different today. Yesterday, he had been dragging his feet under the oppressive weight of the sun, desperate to just finish an errand. Today, despite the sweat already beginning to bead at his temples, his pace was light. The rhythmic, buzzing drone of the cicadas didn’t sound quite as grating.

When he reached the weathered wooden storefront, the heavy glass door was propped open a few inches with a smooth black basalt rock to catch whatever stray breeze rolled off the ocean. The old, boxy air conditioning unit was already chugging away, its steady, rhythmic rattle acting as a low bassline to the quiet morning.

Soobin pushed the door open, the small brass bell above him chiming softly.

The transition into the dim, paper-scented sanctuary immediately washed over him. Standing behind the dark wooden counter was Y/N. She was in the middle of stacking a fresh delivery of comic books, her hair pinned up today with a tortoiseshell claw clip that let a few soft, dark strands fall around her jawline. She wore a simple, light linen blouse that made her look perfectly suited for the coastal summer.

As the bell rang, she blinked up from the stack, her eyes landing on him. A slow, genuine smile broke across her face, her signature dimple making an immediate appearance.

"Oh," she said, her voice carrying that light, melodic Jeju lilt. "You actually came back. And you’re early."

"I promised I would," Soobin said. He stepped closer to the counter, suddenly hyper-aware of how tall he was in the low-ceilinged room. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the folded bills and the card, sliding them carefully across the polished wood toward her. "The 7,000 won for the late fee. And my grandmother’s card."

Y/N looked down at the crisp cash, then up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You even flattened the bills. How diligent." She picked them up, her fingertips brushing lightly against his palm for a fraction of a second. The contact was brief, but it sent a quiet, electric warmth straight up his arm.

She opened the heavy, black-taped ledger, neatly scratching out the red ink beside his grandmother’s name with a fluid stroke of her pen.

"My grandmother told me last night that your name is Y/N," Soobin said softly, his deep voice sounding incredibly resonant in the quiet, empty shop. He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint pink hue touching the tips of his ears. "She... she speaks very highly of you."

Y/N’s pen paused for a second before she closed the ledger with a soft thud. She leaned her elbows on the counter, resting her chin in her hands as she looked up at him, her smile turning a bit mischievous. "Your Halmeoni is my favorite customer."

"Oh by the way, my dad told me this morning that your grandfather was bragging at the community center about his 'genius Seoul grandson' who goes to Korea University." she laughed, the sound bright and clear. 

She straightened up, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "August is coming up fast. I'm actually moving up to Seoul myself for university. It’s... a bit intimidating, honestly. It looks so massive on maps."

Soobin looked at her, seeing a flicker of genuine, quiet vulnerability behind her bright eyes. The confident, grounded girl who commanded this ancient bookshop suddenly looked a little small at the prospect of leaving her island behind.

"It is big," Soobin said gently, his tone shifting into something steady and reassuring. He leaned against the edge of the counter, dropping his shoulder to meet her eye level. "And it’s really loud. But... it’s not so bad once you find your own corner. If you ever get lost, or if you just need someone to show you where the good, quiet places are."

Y/N tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushing a soft, delicate pink that rivaled the Jeju sunset from the night before. She looked down at the counter, a small, private smile playing on her lips.

"I might just take you up on that," she murmured, looking back up to meet his gaze. 

The quiet, paper-scented sanctuary of the book rental shop was entirely replaced by the chaotic, sun-drenched noise of the local morning market.

The village square was a maze of brightly colored plastic tarps, wooden crates, and umbrellas flapping in the salt-heavy sea breeze. The air was a thick, sensory assault—the sharp tang of fresh-cut hairtail fish, the earthy scent of wet garlic bulbs, and the sweet, heavy perfume of summer fruits ripening under the July sun.

Y/N sat on a low plastic stool next to her mother behind a mountain of wooden crates filled with summer Hallabong oranges, her hair pulled back into a quick, practical braid to keep it off her neck in the thirty-four-degree heat.

"Smile a bit more, Y/N-ah," her mother scolded gently, sorting the fruits into neat, small pyramids. "People won't buy oranges from a girl who looks like she’s auditing a tax ledger."

"Mom, it's scorching, and we've been here since five in the morning," Y/N murmured, though a soft, dutiful smile tugged at her lips anyway. She picked up a small mesh bag, ready to pack the next order.

"Aigoo, look who it is! Seon-young’s boy!"

The loud, unmistakable voice of Halmeoni Choi pierced through the market chatter from just a few yards away.

Y/N’s shoulders stiffened slightly. She tilted her head up, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a familiar, towering figure.

Soobin was navigating the narrow aisle between a vegetable stall and a dried-squid vendor, looking spectacularly out of place. He was practically a lighthouse in the middle of the crowded square, his tall height forcing him to duck under the low-hanging canvas tarps of the stalls. Today, he wore a simple, clean white t-shirt and loose navy shorts, carrying a woven grocery basket on his forearm like a clumsy armor shield. His grandmother was marching ahead of him, gripping his elbow tightly as if she were parading him through the village.

"Halmeoni, please, everyone is looking," Soobin muttered, his deep voice carrying over the noise, his cheeks already flushed a deep pink as he tried to pull his baseball cap lower.

"Let them look! A handsome boy helping his old grandmother carry radishes—there's no better advertisement for a good upbringing," His Halmeoni declared proudly, stopping right in front of the fruit stall.

Soobin officially looked up from his sneakers, his eyes instantly locking onto Y/N sitting behind the mountain of oranges. He froze, his hand tightening on the handle of the woven basket.

Y/N looked up at him from her low stool, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before a soft, amused expression washed over her face. Seeing the cool, logical engineering student from Seoul looking entirely helpless at the mercy of his grandmother was a view she hadn't expected.

"Oh, Sun-ja-ya!" Y/N’s mother greeted warmly, standing up from her crate. "Is this the famous grandson from the city? My goodness, he’s grown so tall! He looks like a movie star."

"Doesn't he?" Halmeoni Kim beamed, giving Soobin’s broad back a firm, proprietary swat that made him wince. "Soobin-ah, say hello. This is Y/N's mother, and this is Y/N. You returned my books to her the other day, didn't you?"

Soobin cleared his throat, his dimples flashing briefly out of sheer, panicked politeness as he bowed low, nearly knocking his cap against a stack of oranges. "Hello. I’m Choi Soobin."

"Hello, Soobin-ah," Y/N’s mother smiled warmly, then nudged her daughter's shoulder. "Y/N, give them the best oranges we have. Don't weigh them on the scale, just fill the bag."

Y/N stood up from her stool, her eyes meeting Soobin's as she reached for a yellow plastic bag. Up close, without the dark wooden counter of the rental shop separating them, he felt entirely too tall, his shadow completely blocking out the harsh morning sun above her.

"Hi," she said softly, her melodic Jeju lilt slipping out naturally. Her dark eyes sparkled with a quiet, shared amusement as she looked at his crimson ears. "I didn't expect to see you out here. I thought you'd be hiding from the heat today."

Soobin’s eyes shifted frantically to his grandmother, who was already deep in a passionate conversation with Y/N’s mother about the quality of the summer radish crop, then back to Y/N. He let out a quiet, flustered breath, adjusting the strap of the heavy grocery basket on his arm.

"My grandmother dragged me out at six in the morning," he whispered back, leaning down slightly so his deep voice wouldn't carry over the market roar. "She said if I stayed in bed any longer, my brain would turn into mush from my lifestyle."

Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh, a sound he had been thinking about for the past forty-eight hours. She began picking the largest, brightest oranges from the crate, her slender, fruit-stained fingers moving deliberately as she dropped them into the plastic.

"Well, you don't look completely melted yet," she murmured, leaning slightly over the crate, her eyes slanting into a teasing line. "Though I have to admit, seeing the city boy carrying a basket of radishes is a pretty good view."

Soobin rubbed the back of his neck, his dimples flashing briefly as his blush deepened. "Don't look too closely. I already dropped a bunch of green onions two stalls back."

Y/N smiled, folding the top of the heavy paper bag neatly before handing it across the crate to him. "Here. Tell your Halmeoni these are on us. And... since you're already out, are you coming by the shop later? A new batch of comic books actually came in this morning."

Before Soobin could answer her question about the comic books, Y/N’s mother cleanly cut back into the conversation. She patted his grandmother’s arm, but her keen, bright eyes were locked straight onto Soobin.

"Don't let him spend all his time locked up in that stuffy house, Sun-ja-ya," Y/N’s mother said, her voice easily carrying over the rumbling engine of a nearby delivery truck. She looked back at Soobin, her smile warm and completely open. "You know, our Y/N is moving up to Seoul this August for her first year of university. She doesn't know a single soul up there, and she’s already a bit nervous about navigating those massive subway lines."

"Mom," Y/N mumbled under her breath, her face instantly heating up to match the bright orange color of the Hallabongs in front of her. She gave her mother's apron a sharp, desperate tug. "He doesn't need to hear about that."

"What? It's true! It's a huge city," her mother declared playfully, waving a hand dismissively. She looked back at Soobin, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Since you're already up there and you know the layout, you two should exchange numbers before the summer ends. Look after her a bit when she gets to Seoul, okay? Show her where the safe streets are."

Soobin’s entire face flushed a brilliant, undeniable crimson that traveled straight down to the collar of his white t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck, his dimples flashing out of sheer, suffocating embarrassment as his grandmother proudly nodded along in total agreement next to him.

"I... I can definitely do that," Soobin mumbled, his deep voice dropping an octave as his eyes flicked shyly toward Y/N. "I'm usually on campus anyway."

Y/N quickly pushed the heavy plastic bag of oranges directly into his large hands to stop her mother from saying anything else, though she couldn't hide the soft, helpless smile pulling at her lips.

The afternoon heat had been thick enough to breathe, a heavy, static weight that hung over the coastal road as Soobin took his stroll. He had ventured further than usual, his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, his eyes tracked on the horizon where the open sea met a line of dark, bruised clouds.

He didn't notice the sudden shift until the wind changed. A sharp, cool gust swept in from the water, smelling heavily of ozone and salt. Before he could even look for a sky to read, the heavens simply cracked open.

It wasn't a gentle drizzle; it was a violent Jeju summer downpour.

Soobin ducked his head, his long legs eating up the asphalt as he bolted toward the only structure on this stretch of the road—a small, weathered concrete bus stop jutting out against the rocky edge of the coast. He burst under the rusted tin roof, panting, his white t-shirt already dotted with heavy, dark circles of rainwater.

He wiped the spray from his eyes, shaking his head like a dog, only to freeze when a soft, clearing throat echoed from the corner of the small shelter.

"You're going to catch a cold if you stand right in the splash zone like that."

Soobin blinked, pushing a wet strand of hair from his forehead.

Y/N was sitting on the narrow, faded wooden bench built into the concrete wall. She sat up straight, her feet planted firmly on the ground and her hands resting neatly in her lap. She was wrapped in an oversized, lightweight cardigan, while her small canvas tote bag sat securely beside her.

"Y/N," Soobin said, his deep voice caught in his throat as he stepped further under the awning. "You're here too."

"I was on my way back from delivering a box of historical novels to Mrs. Jeon up the hill," she explained, shifting her legs to the side to make room on the bench. She patted the worn wood. "Sit. The wind is kicking the rain sideways. If you stand there, you'll be soaked in five minutes."

Soobin hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the bus stop was. When he sat down, the wooden bench creaked under his weight, his tall frame naturally forcing him to slouch so his head wouldn't hit the low tin roof. Their shoulders didn't touch, but the space between them was close enough that he could feel the faint, radiating warmth of her skin against the damp chill of the storm.

In front of them, the view was entirely open to the sea. The horizon had completely vanished, swallowed by a massive, gray wall of falling water that violently churned the dark blue waves below. The rhythmic, deafening roar of the rain hitting the tin roof above them created a strange, isolated pocket of absolute privacy. It felt like the rest of the island had been completely erased.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. They just watched the storm.

"Do you get rains like this in Seoul?" Y/N asked softly, her voice low but clear over the steady drumbeat of the roof. She didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the white foam crashing against the black basalt rocks below.

Soobin turned his head slightly, watching the side of her face. The gray, muted light of the storm caught the delicate slope of her jaw and the dark, wet lashes of her eyes.

"Sometimes," Soobin replied, his voice dropping into that steady, grounding register. "But it feels different up there. In the city, when it rains like this, everyone runs into subways or department stores. You just see a sea of umbrellas and people looking irritated because their shoes are ruined. It feels... claustrophobic."

He looked back out at the vast, roaring ocean. "Here, it just feels like the island is taking a breath."

Y/N turned her head, a soft, thoughtful expression in her eyes as she looked at him. "You say very beautiful and poetic things, Choi Soobin."

Soobin’s dimples flashed briefly, a faint, flustered pink touching his ears despite the cool breeze. He idly rubbed his palms against his knees. "It's just logic. Everything has a rhythm. You just notice it more when there aren't any buildings blocking the view."

Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh, her shoulders relaxing as she swayed her legs. "I used to hate the rain here when I was little. It meant the bookshop smelled like damp paper, and nobody would come down the road for hours. It felt so lonely."

She paused, her fingers idly tracing a knot in the wooden bench between them. "But sitting here now... with you... it doesn't feel quite as empty."

The admission was quiet, slipping out so naturally into the roar of the storm that it took Soobin a beat to process it. He looked down at her hand on the bench, just inches from his own. His heart gave a distinct, heavy thud against his ribs, a sudden spike of warmth rushing through him that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

"I'm glad I took a stroll today then," Soobin murmured, his voice incredibly gentle, his dark eyes locking onto hers as she looked up.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a soft, delicate pink, her gaze holding his for a long, breathless moment while the rain continued to wall them in from the rest of the world. A small, private smile played on her lips, and for the first time, the upcoming month of August didn't feel like a hard boundary—it felt like a continuation.

The sheet of rain grew even denser, transforming the sea into a blurred slate of charcoal and frothing white. The heavy droplets didn’t just fall; they slapped against the asphalt road, creating a low, dancing mist that hovered a few inches above the ground. The sharp, metallic scent of the rusted tin roof mixed with the deep, earthy perfume of the wet soil from the sweet potato patches behind them. Every few seconds, a particularly fierce gust of wind would drive a spray of fine, icy mist under the awning, speckling Soobin’s bare shins and the hem of Y/N’s oversized cardigan with cold beads of water.

Y/N shivered slightly, pulling the sleeves of the cardigan down completely until only her fingertips peeked out.

"Are you cold?" Soobin asked immediately, his eyes shifting down to her tucked-in frame. He instinctively shifted closer to the edge of the bench, using his broad shoulders to block the open side of the shelter where the mist was blowing in.

"Just a little," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. The sudden shift in his position brought him so close that she could smell the clean, laundry-detergent scent of his t-shirt beneath the heavy smell of the rain. "But it's a good kind of cold. It makes you feel awake."

Soobin rested his elbows on his knees, his large hands loosely clasped together as he stared at the puddles forming at their feet. Y/N watched the way his long frame seemed to take up almost the entire shelter, his presence grounding the small space against the roaring storm outside.

"How long have you actually been coming down to Jeju?" she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the steady thrum-thrum of the rain above their heads. "I mean, I know your grandparents live here, but did you use to visit a lot when you were younger?"

Soobin turned his head slightly, a small, nostalgic smile lifting the corner of his lips. "Since I was a kid. My parents used to drop me off here every single summer vacation. I’d spend two whole months running around the docks, getting sunburned, and helping my grandfather sort his fishing nets."

Y/N tilted her head, a thoughtful expression in her eyes as she did the mental math. With him being twenty-two and a senior in university, and her turning nineteen and preparing for her freshman year, their paths felt like they should have crossed at some point on this tiny island.

"That's funny," she murmured, her dark eyes reflecting the cool, gray light of the afternoon. "If you've been coming here that long, we must have been running around the same square. But I don't remember seeing you at all until this week."

"Well, think about it," Soobin said, his deep voice carrying a soft, amused rumble. "When I was fourteen and trying to look cool riding my grandfather's rusty bicycle down by the pier, you were probably an eleven-year-old running around the elementary school playground with ice cream all over your face."

Y/N let out a bright, indignant laugh—that clear, wind-chime sound that temporarily erased the damp chill of the storm. She reached out from her long sleeve and lightly nudged his arm with her elbow. "Hey! I was a very dignified eleven-year-old, thank you very much. I was already helping my dad alphabetize the fiction section by then."

"See? We were in completely different worlds," Soobin smiled, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as he accepted the playful nudge. "By the time you were old enough to actually hang out at the pier, I was already in high school up in Seoul, preparing for university exams and spending my summers trapped in academy classrooms."

Y/N’s smile softened a bit, her chin drifting back down to rest on her knees as she looked back out at the churning gray waves. "I guess three years feels like a big gap when you're younger. You probably would have thought I was just an annoying kid back then."

"Probably," Soobin teased gently, though his eyes were warm as he looked at her. He shifted slightly on the bench, his shoulder brushing against hers for a fleeting second. "But we're both heading to Seoul in August now. The gap doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

Y/N turned her head back to meet his gaze, her cheeks warming with a soft, delicate pink that had nothing to do with the cool mist of the rain. A small, private smile played on her lips, the steady rhythm of the storm creating a quiet world where it was just the two of them, finally catching up on the time they'd missed.

"Though," Y/N murmured, her voice dropping into a softer, more reflective tone as she watched a heavy droplet trace a jagged path down the concrete wall, "it's weird to think that while you were up there getting used to the massive crowds and the tall buildings, I was still right here. Watching the same tide come in and out."

Soobin followed her gaze out to the water. "Do you think you'll miss it too much?"

"I think I'll miss the quiet," she admitted honestly. She uncurled her legs slightly, letting her sneakers tap against the damp floor. "Here, if I want to think, I just walk until I hit the sand. In Seoul, where do you go when your head gets too loud?"

Soobin leaned back against the concrete wall, his head tilting up toward the dark tin roof. "You find small pockets. A quiet corner in the university library after 9 PM. A bench by the Han River when it's freezing cold and no one else wants to sit outside. Or..." He paused, turning his head to look at her profile. "You find a person who feels like home."

The words hung in the space between them, weighted and clear against the roaring backdrop of the heavy rain shower.

Y/N’s fingers stilled against the rough wood of the bench. She turned her head slowly, her dark eyes locking onto his. The playful banter from a few moments ago had entirely evaporated, replaced by a thick, magnetic stillness.

"And did you?" she asked softly, her breath catching slightly. "Did you find a person like that up there?"

Soobin looked at her—at the damp tendrils of hair framing her face, the oversized cardigan that swallowed her frame, and the steady, unblinking gravity of her gaze. His heart gave a sharp, heavy thud against his ribs.

"No," he said, his voice dropping into a low, completely honest register. "Not yet."

A sudden, fierce gust of wind rattled the tin roof violently, throwing a heavy spray of cold ocean mist right across the open front of the shelter. Y/N blinked, instinctively shrinking back from the wet chill.

Instead of reaching out to touch her, Soobin simply shifted his weight. He planted his sneakers firmly on the concrete floor and leaned forward, his broad back and shoulders acting as a physical wall against the open side of the bus stop. He caught the brunt of the cold mist across his own arm and t-shirt, completely blocking it from hitting her side of the bench.

Y/N looked up, realizing what he was doing. She looked at his damp shoulder, just inches away from her face, and then up at his jawline, which was tight with a sudden, nervous tension.

"You're going to get soaked if you keep doing that," she murmured, though her voice carried a soft, undeniable warmth.

"I'm bigger," Soobin muttered, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead as his ears turned a bright, furious pink. "I can take the hit."

Y/N looked down at her lap, a small, genuine smile pulling at her lips. She didn't say anything else, but she didn't shift away from his shadow, either.

Outside, the heavy bounces of the droplets were finally beginning to thin out, the violent drumming on the tin roof slowing down into a quiet, rhythmic patter. A faint, pale streak of silver light broke through the edge of the charcoal clouds, casting a glassy reflection across the wet asphalt.

"The rain is stopping," Y/N whispered, breaking the quiet space between them.

Soobin looked out at the breaking sky, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as the wind died down. For the first time all week, he found himself genuinely wishing a Jeju storm would last just a little bit longer.

"Yeah," Soobin murmured, his deep voice carrying a quiet note of regret as he looked back down at her. "It is."

The next afternoon, the book rental shop was quiet, trapped in the lazy, thick lull of a mid-July heatwave. The heavy glass door was propped open with a brick to let in the faint, salt-tinged breeze, but the air inside still smelled deeply of aged paper, old glue, and the faint, sweet scent of the barley tea Y/N’s father had brewed that morning.

Y/N sat behind the high wooden counter, the slow whir-clunk of an old green electric fan oscillating back and forth across her face. She was idly running a stamp over a fresh stack of library cards, the rhythmic thud-thud of the rubber against ink the only sound in the room. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun today, a few stray hairs curling at the nape of her neck from the humidity.

The shadow that suddenly blocked out the bright afternoon sun in the doorway was too tall to belong to any of the neighborhood kids.

The small brass bell above the door gave a light, familiar chime.

Y/N looked up, her hand pausing mid-stamp.

Soobin stepped into the shop, letting out a long breath as the cold air hit him. Today, he looked thoroughly dressed for the coastal heat—wearing a baggy, short-sleeved linen button-up shirt in a soft cream color, left open over a plain white tank top, paired with loose khaki shorts that hit just below his knees. 

When his gaze landed on Y/N behind the counter, a small, involuntary smile pulled at his lips, his dimples flashing briefly in the dim light of the shop.

"Hi," he said, his deep voice sounding incredibly soft in the quiet sanctuary of the room. He let the door close gently behind him, stepping onto the worn wooden floor.

"Look who it is," Y/N murmured, setting the rubber stamp down on the desk. A slow, teasing smile crept onto her face as her dark eyes locked onto his. "Hey city boy, I see your shoes aren’t muddy anymore."

Soobin rubbed the back of his neck, his ears instantly warming with a faint pink tint as he walked closer to the counter. "I scrubbed the clay off my sneakers last night. My grandmother threatened to make me sleep on the porch if I brought the hill mud into her living room."

Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh as she leaned her elbows on the dark wood of the counter, propping her chin in her hands as she looked up at him.

"Well, thank Halmeoni for saving your shoes," she said, her voice dropping into a softer, playful register. "So, did you actually come to browse, or are you just hiding from the sun again?"

"I came for the new comic books," he said softly, his dark eyes holding hers, a quiet, steady confidence behind them. 

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, her heart giving a small, unexpected skip before she quickly recovered her usual playful demeanor. She slid her chin out of her hands and stood up straight, turning toward the small rolling metal cart parked right behind the counter.

"Well, you're in luck," she said, her voice carrying a light, proud note as she lifted a thick, glossy graphic novel from the very top of the stack. "They arrived in the morning crate. I haven't even had the chance to put the plastic protective sleeves on them yet, but I figured I'd save the first read for our VIP customer."

She turned back around and set the book down on the counter between them. The cover was bright and colorful, a stark contrast to the old, sun-faded romance novels lining the walls of the shop.

"Volume four," Y/N murmured, tapping the glossy cover with her index finger, her eyes slanting into a teasing line as she looked up at him.

Soobin looked down at the book, but his eyes quickly drifted back up to her face, a warm, helpless smile breaking across his features. His deep dimples cut into his cheeks as he leaned his forearms against the cool wood of the counter, bringing himself a little closer to her eye level.

"Don't just stand there blocking the aisle," Y/N murmured, a playful glint in her eyes as she patted the empty space on the counter right next to her ink pad. "Pull up that stool from the corner. You can read right here while I go over the overdue member cards. I need someone to keep me awake anyway."

Soobin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't hesitate. He grabbed the high plastic stool and settled in right beside her, his long legs tucked under the ledge.

For the next hour, the shop fell into a comfortable, easy silence, completely sealed away from the humid June heat outside. Under the steady, cool flow of the air conditioner, the only sounds were the crisp slip of Soobin turning the pages of volume four and the soft rustle of Y/N sorting through the thick yellow index cards.

Slowly, the rhythmic sorting of the cards began to drag. The cool air hitting Y/N's face felt a little too comfortable, and her eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute. Eventually, her head began to droop. Giving in to the afternoon slump, she crossed her arms over the cool wooden counter and let her head rest sideways on them, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Soobin reached the end of a chapter and went to turn the page, but the sudden, total absence of any shuffling cards beside him made him pause.

He glanced over.

Y/N was fast asleep, her face nestled into the crook of her elbow. The gentle breeze from the AC vent above was catching a few loose strands of hair that had escaped her bun, blowing them softly across her cheek.

Soobin froze, his hand hovering over the edge of the comic book page. He stared at her for a long moment, his chest tightening with a sudden, hyper-aware nervousness. The shop felt entirely too quiet now. A slow, helpless smile tugged at his lips, his deep dimples appearing as he looked at how soft and relaxed she looked.

Careful not to make a sound, he gently reached out and picked up the heavy ink pad she’d left open, snapping the lid shut so it wouldn't dry out. He then slid the stack of overdue cards a few inches away from her arm so she wouldn't accidentally wrinkle them in her sleep. He didn't want to wake her, but he also didn't want to stop looking at her.

Yielding to the heavy, lazy atmosphere of the room, Soobin carefully folded his own arms on the counter, mirroring her position. He lowered his head onto his sleeves, turning his face toward her so he could quietly watch her sleep while the afternoon hours drifted away.

But the rhythmic, quiet sound of her breathing and the cool air of the shop were too comforting. Within twenty minutes, Soobin’s own eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off right beside her.

Another hour slipped away in the quiet sanctuary of the shop.

When Y/N’s eyelids finally fluttered, she let out a long, groggy breath. Her mind was still trapped in a thick fog, her cheek pressed warm against the soft knit of her cardigan sleeve. She slowly blinked her eyes open, her vision blurry as she adjusted to the soft, shadowed light of the room.

As the blurry shapes sharpened, her breath caught entirely in her throat.

She was looking directly into Soobin’s face.

Because they were both laying flat on the wood, they were completely face-to-face, barely a few inches of space separating them.

Soobin was still fast asleep. His eyelashes were completely still against his cheeks, and a few loose, dark strands of hair had fallen over his forehead, shifting gently with the steady rhythm of his breathing. Without the nervous, shy tension he usually carried around his broad shoulders, his face looked incredibly soft and boyish.

Y/N didn't move an inch. She stayed completely frozen, her heart suddenly executing a loud, erratic thud against her ribs that felt loud enough to wake him. She just stared at him in the quiet, air-conditioned bubble, taking in the sharp line of his nose and the faint, relaxed curve of his lips.

The sharp shriek of the stool never happened. Instead, the quiet of the shop remained entirely unbroken.

When Soobin’s eyes slowly blinked open, he didn't instantly scramble back. He couldn't. His brain was still heavy with sleep, and the view directly in front of him—Y/N looking right back at him with her soft eyes—felt less like reality and more like the tail end of a very good dream.

Neither of them moved.

The space between them was so small that Y/N could feel the soft, cool puff of his breath against her cheek every time he exhaled. She stayed perfectly still, her hands tucked securely under her arms on the wooden counter, her heart hammering a fierce, loud rhythm against her ribs. She braced herself for him to jump up, to turn bright red, to apologize—but he just stayed there.

Soobin’s gaze drifted lazily from her eyes down to the small, to the tip of her nose, then down to her lips, before rising back up to hold her gaze. The shy, nervous wall he usually kept up during the day was completely gone, melted away by the deep afternoon slumber. There was only a heavy, magnetic stillness left in its place.

Slowly, the sleep began to clear from the edges of his eyes, but he still didn't pull away. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his plush lips, his left dimple making a faint, shallow appearance against the dark wood of the counter.

"Hi," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a thick, incredibly low rasp that vibrated right through the wood between them.

Y/N’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her sleeves. A delicate, warm flush crept up her neck, but she didn't look away either.

"Hi," she whispered back, her voice barely louder than the hum of the air conditioner above them.

They stayed like that for a long, suspended moment—just two people level with each other on a worn wooden counter, quietly sharing the cool, shadowed air while the rest of the island baked in the June sun outside.

The heavy ticking of the wall clock seemed to slow down, marking the seconds in the quiet room.

Soobin didn't break eye contact. Slowly, carefully, as if testing whether he was allowed to, he shifted his arm forward just a fraction of an inch on the smooth counter. His large knuckles grazed the edge of her father's oversized cardigan sleeve. It was a tiny, tentative point of contact, but it sent a sharp, electric jolt straight through the sleepy haze between them.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly as she looked down at where his hand met her sleeve, then back up to his face.

The silence stretched, shifting from comfortable to a sudden, thick tension that made the cool air in the shop feel entirely too warm. Soobin’s ears began to catch up to his quiet confidence, a slow, deep pink spreading across the edges of them, but his gaze remained steady, anchored completely to hers.

Finally, the brass bell above the front door let out a loud, sudden chime as the glass door swung open.

"Y/N-ah! Are the morning newspapers still—"

The booming voice of Mr. Lee from the hardware store next door cut through the sanctuary like a thunderclap.

Soobin sat up so fast his head nearly clipped the low-hanging menu board above the register. His chair scraped back with a loud, awkward thud, his large hands immediately flying to his face to rub at his eyes, trying desperately to look like he hadn't just spent the last two hours napping.

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her face burning a brilliant, undeniable crimson as she smoothed down her skirt with trembling hands. "M-Mr. Lee! Yes! They're right here!" she called out, her voice a full octave higher than usual as she reached blindly for the stack of papers on the side desk.

Mr. Lee walked into the air-conditioned room, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, completely oblivious to the thick, breathless atmosphere he had just walked into. He looked between Y/N’s bright red face and Soobin, who was currently staring intensely at the cover of the comic book as if it held the secrets to the universe, his entire neck flushed dark red.

"Whew, it's freezing in here," Mr. Lee muttered, tossing a few coins onto the counter. "You kids look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong, is the AC too strong?"

"No!" Y/N and Soobin blurted out at the exact same time.

Y/N quickly handed over the paper, her eyes darting sideways to Soobin, who finally chanced a look back up at her through his dark fringe. As Mr. Lee took his papers and walked back out into the July heat, the bell chiming behind him, a small, helpless laugh bubbled up in Y/N’s throat.

She looked at Soobin, whose shoulders had finally slumped in total, flustered defeat.

"Well," Y/N murmured, her dimple peeking out through the blush still lingering on her cheeks. "Did you... actually finish the book? Or did you just use volume four as a pillow?"

Soobin let out a low, embarrassed groan, burying his face in his large hands for a brief second before looking up at her through his fingers. The tips of his ears were still entirely crimson, but a shy, helpless smile broke through his flustered expression.

"I finished it," he promised, his deep voice still holding a bit of that thick, raspy edge from sleep. He cleared his throat and carefully pushed the graphic novel a few inches closer to her, his long fingers tapping the glossy cover. "Every single page. Right up until the main character got to the city."

Y/N leaned her hip against the counter, crossing her arms to try and steady the lingering flutter in her chest. "And? What did you think?"

Soobin looked up at her, his dark eyes softening as the initial panic of being caught by Mr. Lee finally began to fade. He rested his chin in his hand, looking up at her from his stool with a quiet, steady warmth that made the cool air of the shop feel incredibly still again.

"It was good," he murmured softly. "But I still think the author made a mistake."

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes slanting into a curious, playful line. "A mistake? Why?"

"Because," Soobin said, his deep voice dropping into that quiet, grounding register that always made her heart skip a beat. "He spent three whole chapters showing how terrifying and lonely the city is. But he forgot to mention that if you have the right person going up there with you... it doesn't really matter how big or loud the place is."

Y/N’s chest tightened, a familiar, bright warmth blooming all the way to her cheeks. She bit her lower lip to suppress a smile, leaning back slightly against the counter and tilting her head to look down at him.

"Is that so?" she teased softly, her voice carrying a playful, skeptical lilt despite the erratic fluttering of her heart. She tapped her lip thoughtfully with an index finger. "I didn't realize you could be such a romantic, Choi Soobin. Are you sure you weren't reading from the romance section while I was asleep?"

Soobin’s eyes widened slightly, and he instantly looked down at the counter, a helpless, bashful chuckle vibrating in his chest. His deep dimples cut hard into his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck, his ears flaring that beautiful, telltale pink again.

"I'm just stating a logical fact," he mumbled into his shoulder, though the soft, affectionate look he shot at her through his dark fringe entirely gave him away. "It's simple logic—"

Ring-ring!

The sharp, loud jangle of the old plastic landline telephone on the wall behind the counter cut him off completely.

Both of them jumped slightly, the sudden noise breaking the quiet, heavy tension that had settled between them once more. Y/N blinked, shaking off the spell of his gaze, and quickly turned around to grab the heavy green receiver off the hook.

"Hello? Dongbaek Book Rental," she said into the mouthpiece, smoothing down her skirt with her free hand as she tried to make her voice sound completely professional.

Soobin stayed on his stool, his shoulders relaxing as he quietly watched her back. He traced a slow, idle circle on the glossy cover of the comic book, his mind still entirely replaying the way she had looked at him just seconds before, a soft, permanent smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

A little while later, after the shop duties were wrapped up, Soobin was finally about to leave.

Y/N stepped out onto the narrow wooden porch with him, instantly greeted by the thick, heavy blanket of the evening July humidity. The village was quiet, bathed in a deep, bleeding orange sunset that cast a warm glow over the coastal road. The breeze blowing off the nearby coast carried the faint, salty tang of the sea, rustling the low leaves of the trees bordering the gravel path.

They stood near the steps, giggling and smiling softly at each other over a silly inside joke about his long afternoon nap, completely lost in their own little bubble.

"Oh, Soobin-ah! You're still here?"

The warm, familiar voice broke their bubble. Y/N’s mother was walking up the narrow path, holding a heavy plastic grocery bag in each hand. Having already met him at the bustling market yesterday, she offered him a bright, instant smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Liu," Soobin blurted out, his laughter cutting off as he quickly dropped into a rigid, perfectly respectful ninety-degree bow that nearly sent his graphic novel flying from under his arm.

Mrs. Liu set the heavy plastic grocery bags down on the bottom step with a soft, tired exhale, the crinkling sound loud in the quiet evening air. She looked between the two kids, her sharp eyes instantly catching the soft, lingering curve of Y/N’s smile and the sheer, deer-in-headlights panic that had taken over Soobin’s towering frame. A deeply pleased, knowing smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"I just came back from the market with three massive crates of summer radish and napa cabbage," Mrs. Liu continued, lifting a hand to wipe the sheen of sweat from her brow. "Halmeoni and I are planning to spend the entire morning putting together a big batch of summer kimchi. My back is already aching just thinking about wrestling those heavy earthenware jars around the yard."

She turned her gaze fully onto Soobin, her eyes twinkling with a thoroughly transparent, matchmaking energy.

"You have such good strength, Soobin-ah," Mrs. Liu said smoothly, her tone a perfect blend of maternal warmth and subtle calculation. "Why don't you come over around one tomorrow afternoon? Help us move the heavy jars, and you can stay for dinner. I'll make sure you get a massive plate of fresh, bossam and warm kimchi. What do you say?"

Soobin blinked, his brain momentarily short-circuiting under the sudden invitation. His heart gave a nervous, erratic flutter against his ribs—not just from the pressure of wanting to be helpful to Y/N’s mother, but at the thrilling, terrifying prospect of spending an entire day at her house. His dark eyes darted frantically past Mrs. Liu’s shoulder, silently begging Y/N for a lifeline.

Y/N stood a step behind her mother, her face burning a brilliant, undeniable crimson that rivaled the sunset. Her heart was hammering a furious rhythm against her chest as she frantically shook her head, her hands making small, desperate chopping motions in the air. You don't have to say yes! she mouthed silently, terrified her mother was going to tease them to death.

But Soobin, ever the polite, eager-to-please boy from the city, couldn't possibly bring himself to refuse. Looking down at Mrs. Liu, a helpless, incredibly endearing smile broke across his handsome features, his deep dimples cutting sharp lines into his cheeks. The tips of his ears flared a bright, telltale pink against his dark fringe.

"I would love to help, Mrs. Liu," Soobin said softly, his deep voice dropping into a respectful, gentle register. He bowed his head low, the glossy comic book still securely clamped under his arm. "Thank you for inviting me. I'll be here at one sharp."

Y/n’s mother beamed, highly satisfied with her recruitment, while Y/N let out a quiet, defeated groan, covering her burning face with both hands as the warm June evening swallowed up the last traces of the sun.

Mrs. Liu’s smile widened, her eyes crinkling into small, triumphant crescents as she picked up the crinkling grocery bags from the step.

"Wonderful," she declared, her tone thoroughly satisfied. "Make sure you come with an empty stomach, Soobin-ah. I don't tolerate light eaters in my house, especially not boys who are working hard."

"I have a great appetite, Mrs. Liu, I won't disappoint you," Soobin promised quickly. He gave another small, polite nod, his posture still impossibly straight, though a soft, boyish chuckle escaped him.

Mrs. Liu shifted the bags to one hand and gave his broad shoulder an affectionate, firm pat as she stepped past him onto the porch. "I’m holding you to that. Now, go home before it gets entirely dark. Y/N, come inside and help me unload these before the ice cream melts."

"Coming, Eomma," Y/N murmured.

As her mother disappeared inside the shop, the screen door bouncing shut with a soft clack, the heavy twilight silence settled over the porch once more.

Y/N lowered her hands from her face, her cheeks still radiating a deep, stubborn heat. She looked up at Soobin, who was standing at the bottom of the steps now, looking up at her through his messy dark bangs. The deep orange of the sunset had completely bled into a soft, dusky purple, making the shadows around his sharp jawline look incredibly soft.

"You really didn't have to say yes," Y/N said, a helpless, quiet laugh bubbling up in her throat. "My mom is going to put you to work like a rented mule, and Halmeoni will probably make you chop garlic until your fingers turn numb."

Soobin let out a low, grounding chuckle, his shoulders relaxing completely now that Mrs. Liu was out of sight. He took a half-step backward down the gravel path, but his dark eyes remained fixed on hers, holding that same warm, magnetic stillness from the counter earlier.

"I wanted to say yes," he confessed softly. His deep voice carried a gentle, honest weight that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat all over again. He lifted the graphic novel slightly, a shy, dimpled smile playing on his lips.

Y/N bit her inner cheek to hide how fiercely her heart was reacting to his words. She leaned against the wooden railing, looking down at him. "Alright. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you're carrying fifty-pound stoneware jars across the yard tomorrow."

"I think I can handle it," he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He gave her one last, lingering look, his thumb tracing the edge of the book cover. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Soobin. See you tomorrow."

She watched him turn and walk down the quiet coastal road, his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette slowly blending into the summer shadows. Only when he disappeared around the bend did Y/N finally turn around to head inside, a permanent, breathless smile tugging at her lips.

The sticky heat of mid-June didn't ease up even after the sun dipped below the horizon. Outside the Liu household, the cicadas kept up their relentless, buzzing chorus, while inside, the old electric fan in the corner of the dining room turned its head from side to side with a rhythmic, familiar rattle.

It was later that same evening, just an hour or so after Mrs. Liu had extended her vibrant invitation to Soobin on the porch. Now, the house was quiet again, the front door locked for the night. The family had gathered around the heavy oak table for dinner—just Y/N, her mother Meiling, her father Min-jun, and her grandmother Halmeoni.

The table was filled with a comforting, familiar spread. At the center sat a steaming platter of boiled pork belly alongside a bowl of well-fermented kimchi from their previous batch, its spicy, garlic-heavy aroma filling the warm room.

"Eat more, Y/N-ah," Her halmeoni commanded, plopping a succulent piece of pork directly onto Y/N’s rice bowl. Her sharp eyes blinked behind her reading glasses. "You’ve been looking so thin lately and you were sweating all afternoon in that shop."

"I'm eating, Halmeoni," Y/N murmured, lifting her chopsticks. Her mind was still completely preoccupied, her cheeks still holding a faint, residual warmth from the way Soobin had looked at her on the porch just an hour ago.

Meiling beamed from her seat, pouring a glass of cold barley tea for her mother. "That city boy, Soobin, really has wonderful manners, doesn't he? He didn't hesitate for a second when I asked him to help with the earthenware jars tomorrow. He's got a good heart."

Y/N kept her eyes glued to her rice bowl, biting her inner cheek to hide a rising smile. "He was just being polite, Eomma."

Meiling smiled gently, leaning forward a bit as she watched her daughter's flustered reaction. "When I saw the two of you out there on the steps... you were smiling a way I haven't seen you smile since your graduation. And that boy... heavens, I thought he was going to trip over his own feet because he couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Eomma, please," Y/N whispered, her cheeks flaring with a sudden, betraying heat as she tried to keep her voice down in front of her father and grandmother. "He’s just being nice."

"A city boy who didn't hesitate for a single second to spend his precious summer vacation moving heavy jars for an old woman, just because your mother asked him to," Meiling countered, her voice dropping into a tender, teasing register. "He has a good, pure heart, Y/N-ah. Anyone can see it. And he looks at you like you're the only quiet spot on this entire noisy island."

While the women talked, Y/N’s father, Min-jun, sat quietly at the end of the table. He smiled faintly at his wife's enthusiasm, but his eyes carried a heavy, lingering exhaustion that felt starkly out of place amid the cheerful clinking of dishes. He had been quiet all evening, merely picking at his rice, his mind clearly miles away.

Min-jun set his chopsticks down against the porcelain rest with a soft, deliberate click. The sudden, clean noise from his end of the table made the rest of the family gradually taper off their conversation.

He looked across the table at his wife, then turned his gaze gently toward Y/N.

"Meiling, Mother, Y/N-ah," Min-jun began, his voice low and raspy, carrying the gentle weight of a man who had spent his entire life surrounded by old books. He took a slow breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I think... after this summer, we’re going to be closing the book rental shop for good."

The room went completely still. Even the heavy clinking of Halmeoni’s side-dish bowls stopped mid-air.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, a sudden, cold weight dropping straight into her stomach. She stared at her father, her fingers gripping her own chopsticks so hard her knuckles turned white. "Appa... what do you mean? Closing it? After summer?"

"We’ll stay open through June and July, Y/N-ah," Min-jun explained softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and profound exhaustion. "I want to honor the current lease until the end of the season, and it gives us time to catalog the inventory. But once the autumn hits... we won't be reopening the doors."

Meiling lowered her glass of tea, the cheerful energy completely draining from her face, replaced by a sudden, tense worry. "Min-jun, is it really that bad?"

Min-jun sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "The rent is going up again in July, Meiling. And with the new digital reading apps everyone uses in the city now, the younger kids on the island just don't come in to rent paper copies anymore. We’ve been operating at a loss since the spring. It doesn't make sense to keep fighting it. It’s time to let it go."

Y/N felt a thick lump form in her throat, the cozy warmth of the dinner completely evaporating. Her mind instantly flashed back to the afternoon—to the quiet sanctuary of the shop, the comic book on the counter, and the deep, raspy sound of Soobin's voice telling her that the city wouldn't feel lonely if they went together.

But as the reality settled in, the ache in her chest grew even heavier. The rental shop wasn't just a place where she shared quiet, stolen moments with Soobin. It was the very backdrop of her entire life. She had literally grown up between those towering wooden shelves. She remembered hiding under the front counter as a toddler, listening to the chime above the door sound whenever a customer walked in. She remembered the specific smell of the aged paper that had comforted her through childhood fevers, and the pencil marks on the back room doorframe tracing her height over the years.

Losing the shop didn't just mean losing a summer job or a place to see Soobin; it felt like her entire childhood was being packed up into cardboard boxes. Just as she was finding her rhythm in that quiet little space, a final countdown clock had been initiated, ticking away the final days of the only world she had ever truly known.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Meiling’s voice broke through the suffocating fog in Y/N’s mind. Her mother’s hand reached across the table, warm and laced with a deep, maternal worry that only made the stinging behind Y/N’s eyes worse.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to force down the hot, thick lump in her throat. She looked at her father, whose shoulders seemed smaller than they ever had before, weighed down by the silent defeat of a man losing his life's work.

"I'm fine," Y/N lied softly, her voice trembling just enough to give her away. She forced a faint, watery smile, trying to comfort him instead. "August is... we still have the whole summer. We can make the most of it."

Min-jun’s eyes softened with a mixture of profound gratitude and guilt. He reached over, briefly squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Y/N-ah. I know how hard this is for you."

Halmeoni let out a quiet, rare sigh, setting her bowl down with a muted thud. For once, the sharp-tongued matriarch had no corrections, no stubborn retorts about how things used to be. She merely picked up her glass of barley tea, her gaze fixed out the window, staring into the dark June night as if mourning the loss of the neighborhood's anchor right alongside them.

Dinner wrapped up in a subdued, mechanical quiet. The clinking of porcelain felt heavy, almost sacrilegious in the silent house. Min-jun quietly retreated to the small living room, pulling out the worn leather-bound ledgers to begin the grim task of cataloging, while Halmeoni slowly headed to her bedroom, leaving Y/N and her mother alone in the kitchen to handle the dishes.

The heavy, rhythmic splash of cool water and the scrape of the sponge filled the space. Y/N stood by the old stainless-steel sink, mechanically scrubbing a ceramic side dish, her eyes staring blankly at the swirling white suds. Her mind was a chaotic storm. She kept seeing the shop—not as it was today, but in fragments of a decade ago. She saw herself skinning her knee on the corner of the fiction aisle at age seven; she saw her father dusting the top shelves while humming an old folk song. It felt like a physical ache in her chest, a slow tearing away of her identity.

"You're going to scrub the glaze right off that plate if you keep going," Meiling said softly, breaking the silence.

Y/N blinked, realizing she had been rinsing the exact same small bowl for nearly five minutes. She quietly set it on the wire drying rack and wiped her damp hands on her apron, her shoulders slumping as a long, shaky exhale finally escaped her. "I just... I can't imagine the corner without the sign, Eomma. I can't imagine what the street will look like when it's dark."

Meiling stopped wiping down the heavy oak table. She walked over to the sink, leaning her hip against the counter and looking at her daughter with a gaze full of deep, intuitive tenderness. The kitchen light cast a soft, amber glow over her face, highlighting the worry lines that had etched themselves there during dinner.

"Your father has held onto that shop for as long as he could, mostly because he knew it was your sanctuary," Meiling murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. "But things change, Y/N-ah. The world outside this island gets bigger, louder, and faster. It’s hard for an old book rental to keep up with the digital age."

Y/N bit her lower lip, looking out the kitchen window into the pitch-black night. "I know. It just feels like everything is disappearing at once. I'm supposed to go to the city in autumn, and now... the shop won't even be here to come back to."

Meiling smiled gently, her expression shifting slightly as she remembered the flush on her daughter's cheeks from earlier that evening on the porch. "Not everything is disappearing, Y/N. Some things are just finding their footing."

Y/N looked up, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Soobin," Meiling said smoothly, a tiny, knowing glint returning to her eyes despite the somber mood of the house. "When I saw the two of you out there... you had a look on your face I haven't seen in a very long time. And him... heavens, he looked entirely captivated. He was practically vibrating with nerves trying to be polite."

Y/N’s cheeks instantly flared with a sudden, betraying heat, the heavy sadness in her chest momentarily eclipsed by a sharp, fluttering panic. "Eomma, please. We're just friends."

"A friend who didn't hesitate for a single second to spend his precious vacation making kimchi for an old woman, just because he wants to," Meiling countered, her voice dropping into a tender, teasing register. She leaned in a fraction closer, her hand resting over Y/N’s. "He has a good, pure heart, Y/N-ah. Anyone can see it. And he looks at you like you're the only quiet spot on this entire noisy island."

Y/N looked away, her heart hammering a fierce, chaotic rhythm against her ribs. She thought of Soobin’s deep, grounding voice from the afternoon—how he had said the city wouldn't feel terrifying or lonely if you had the right person going up there with you.

"The shop closing is going to be hard," Meiling whispered, her expression turning incredibly soft as she squeezed Y/N's hand. "But don't let the sadness of losing one room make you close your eyes to the person who is trying to stand right next to you in the next one. Make sure not to stay up late, I need your help early tomorrow morning to get the basins from the storage."

By one o'clock in the afternoon, the backyard had been transformed into a full-scale battleground of spice and salt. The thick, oppressive heat was at its absolute peak, baking the gravel yard, but nobody was paying attention to the thermometer anymore.

Soobin was currently sitting on a ridiculously small, blue plastic stool that Y/N had found for him in the shed. Because of his towering height, his knees were practically pushed up to his chest, making him look like a giant bunny. He had his oversized white sleeves rolled up past his elbows, revealing the tense muscles of his forearms, which were now completely stained bright red with chili paste.

"No, Soobin-ah! Not like that!" Halmeoni barked, leaning over from her own stool and swatting his forearm with a salted cabbage leaf. "You're just slapping the paste on the outside like you're painting a fence! You have to lift every single leaf and rub the spice mix deep into the core. Gently, but firmly!"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Halmeoni," Soobin blurted out, his eyes widening in pure panic. He quickly dropped into a flustered bow, nearly losing his balance on the tiny stool. A streak of red pepper paste immediately transferred from his gloved hand straight onto his cheek, right near his dimple.

Y/N, who was sitting across from him working on her own batch of cabbage, let out a loud, breathless laugh at the sight. "Hold still," she giggled, leaning across the giant stainless-steel basin separating them. She used the clean edge of her apron to gently wipe the spicy smudge off his face. "If you leave that there, your skin is going to burn all day."

Soobin froze completely under her touch, his breath catching in his throat. Up close, the tips of his ears were burning a vibrant, unmistakable crimson that had absolutely nothing to do with the red pepper flakes. He offered her a helpless, bashful smile, his deep dimples cutting sharp lines into his cheeks. "Thanks," he mumbled softly, his deep voice dropping into that quiet register that always made Y/N's chest flutter.

"Don't distract my worker, Y/N-ah!" Meiling teased from the outdoor sink, where she was rinsing the last batch of radishes. She shot her daughter with a highly amused, knowing look. "Soobin-ah, don't mind my mother. You're doing a wonderful job. Look at how well he moved those heavy jars earlier, Mother! Min-jun’s back would have broken in half."

From the shade of the porch, Min-jun chuckled, lifting a cold glass of cola in Soobin's direction. "She's right, son. You saved my life today."

"It was really no trouble at all, Mr. Liu," Soobin said quickly, sitting up as straight as his tiny stool would allow. He turned back to the massive basin of cabbage, his expression turning intensely focused. Determined to get it right this time, he carefully lifted a crisp leaf of napa cabbage, minding Halmeoni's instructions as he meticulously massaged the bright red, garlic-heavy paste into the very core.

Y/N watched him work, the heavy ache in her heart from last night's announcement about the shop closing at the end of August momentarily lifting. The scent of fresh ginger, fish sauce, and toasted sesame filled the heavy summer air. Looking at him right now, the future didn't feel quite as lonely.

By the time the final head of cabbage was packed tightly into the last massive earthenware jar and stored away, the fierce afternoon sun had finally dipped below the horizon. The sticky heat softened into a warm, heavy twilight, and the rhythmic, familiar rattle of the old electric fan in the corner of the dining room hummed to life.

Inside, the rich, savory aroma of boiled pork belly had been drifting from the stove for the last two hours, completely taking over the house.

"Everyone wash up! The bossam is ready!" Meiling announced from the kitchen.

Soobin tried to stand up from the porch steps where he had been resting, but his long legs had been worked so hard that his knees gave a loud, agonizing crack. He stumbled slightly, a low, embarrassed groan escaping his lips as he fought to find his balance on his numb feet.

Y/N quickly caught him by the elbow, stabilizing his towering frame. "I told you Halmeoni’s boot camp was no joke."

Soobin looked down at her, a helpless, dimpled smile broke through his exhaustion. "My legs feel like jelly," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a tired, raspy edge that vibrated right through Y/N’s hand. "But I think I passed the test. Halmeoni didn't hit me with a cabbage leaf for the last hour."

"That’s practically a gold medal in this house," Y/N teased, her heart doing a familiar, erratic little skip at how close he was standing before she reluctantly let go of his arm.

The indoor dining room felt like heaven. The heavy oak table was practically groaning under the weight of the night's feast. At the center sat a towering platter of the bossam—succulent, thick slices of pork belly boiled to a perfect tenderness with ginger and soybean paste. Next to it was a large earthen bowl filled with a sampling of the fresh summer kimchi they had just spent all afternoon making.

As they all sat down, Halmeoni immediately took the chopsticks and piled a mountain of the bright red kimchi right on top of Soobin's steaming bowl of rice.

"Eat," Halmeoni commanded, though her sharp eyes were noticeably softer than they had been that afternoon. "A boy who works like a horse needs to eat like one."

"Thank you, Halmeoni," Soobin said, bowing his head respectfully before taking a massive, perfectly constructed wrap of tender pork belly, fresh kimchi, and rice. He stuffed the entire thing into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out completely as he chewed, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss spreading across his handsome face.

Min-jun laughed warmly from the head of the table, pouring Soobin a tall glass of ice-cold cola. "Slow down, son, there’s plenty more in the kitchen."

Y/N watched the scene unfold, her chest tightening with a bittersweet ache. She looked at her father, whose face looked brighter and less burdened than it had last night, momentarily distracted from the impending closure of the shop by the joy of a full house. Then she looked across the table at Soobin, who was currently receiving an earful from Meiling about how he needed to take a massive container of kimchi home to his own family.

The shop that had anchored her childhood was still going to close at the end of the summer. That reality hadn't changed. But looking at the way Soobin seamlessly fit into the loud, chaotic, garlic-scented rhythm of her family, Y/N felt the heavy, suffocating fear of the future begin to ease. The sanctuary she grew up in was slipping away, but a new one was quietly being built right in front of her.

The initial clattering of chopsticks gradually slowed down to a comfortable, relaxed rhythm as the mountain of pork belly finally dwindled. Soobin was on his second bowl of rice, looking thoroughly content despite his aching muscles.

Min-jun leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid of his barley tea. He looked over at Soobin, his eyes carrying a gentle, curious warmth. "Soobin-ah, your grandmother mentioned to me at the market last week that you’re studying at Korea University. Engineering, wasn't it?"

Soobin carefully swallowed his bite, setting his chopsticks down with his usual textbook politeness. "Civil engineering, yes, Mr. Liu. I’m actually about to start my fourth year this coming autumn."

"A senior already. That’s a heavy year," Min-jun nodded with deep, genuine respect. "The campus in Seoul must be beautiful, but I imagine the coursework keeps you incredibly busy. It’s an elite school afterall."

"It can be a bit overwhelming," Soobin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears tipping into a faint pink at the praise. "The pressure is quite high, and the city moves so fast. That's why my grandmother insisted I come down to the island for the summer before my final year starts. She said my brain was going to short-circuit."

Meiling smiled warmly, placing another piece of pork on his plate. "Your grandmother is a very wise woman. Seoul is no place to be trapped in during the heavy summer days anyway." She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face as she looked at him. "You know, Soobin-ah... did you come down to visit Jeju at all last year? Because I swear, I haven't actually seen your face around the village since the summer festival back in 1999."

Soobin let out a soft laugh, his dimples catching the light. "No, Mrs. Liu, I couldn't make it down last year because of an internship. But you're right, 1999 was probably the last time I stayed for the whole summer."

"Ah, I remember," Meiling chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "You were always attached at the hip to that little pack of boys. What happened to them? Yeonjun was one of them, right? Heavens, he was one of the smartest students Jeju had ever seen. Everyone knew he'd go far."

Soobin offered a slightly wistful, candid smile. "To be honest, we haven't really kept in touch. I know Yeonjun went up to Seoul for college, and I think Taehyun did too, but we haven't actually spoken in years."

"And what about that other one?" Halmeoni chimed in, setting her teacup down with a sharp click. "The loud one. The one who nearly knocked over my radish bins on his bicycle."

"Beomgyu?" Soobin fielded the question with a soft chuckle. "I only know through my grandmother he’s staying in Daegu right now. But again, it’s been a long time since we ran in the same circles."

Meiling tapped her chin thoughtfully, looking over at him. "And what about the youngest one of your old group? Kai, right? He was always such a shy, sweet boy. Heavens, he’s grown up so handsome now, but he's still so quiet. I barely see him around the village anymore. Ever since his close friend... the Jiang's daughter... moved away, it feels like he hasn't gone out much at all."

Soobin paused, his chopsticks hovering just inches from his bowl. He looked up at Meiling, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. "Wait... really?" He blinked, a wave of sudden concern overtaking his face. "I had no idea. I knew his friend moved, but I didn't think... I just assumed he was busy with his own life. We haven't spoken since we were kids, so I'm completely out of the loop."

"Oh, it's quite sad, really," Meiling sighed softly, shaking her head. "He completely keeps to himself now."

"They all went up to the big city, or stayed locked away," Min-jun murmured softly, his eyes drifting toward the dark window for a brief moment. The quiet melancholy from earlier touched his features. "Everyone goes up to Seoul eventually, or things change. It's where the world moves now."

Y/N watched her father, her heart giving a quiet, painful throb. She knew exactly where his mind was wandering back to the reality that their quiet little paper-book rental couldn't compete with the fast-moving, digital world anymore. She bit her lower lip, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate, terrified that her face would give away the secret she was keeping locked tight in her chest. Soobin didn't know yet that the shop was closing in August.

And ironically, August was the exact same month Y/N was supposed to pack her bags and leave for the city herself, finally starting her first year as a fine arts major.

Soobin, still looking slightly troubled by the news about Kai, seemed to sense the sudden, heavy shift in the room's atmosphere. He looked from Min-jun’s distant expression to the way Y/N was suddenly staring intensely at her rice bowl. Though he was curious, he politely tucked his questions away, knowing it wasn't his place to pry into a family's private matters.

Instead, he turned back to Min-jun with an earnest smile, trying to lift the mood. "The island has been a wonderful break, Mr. Liu. Honestly, your book rental shop has been my favorite place since I got here. It’s so quiet, and it has a warmth that you just can't find in any library in Seoul."

Min-jun blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the sincerity in the young man's voice. A genuine, touched smile finally broke through his tired expression. "Is that so? Well... I'm glad our little shop could offer you some peace."

"It really does," Soobin murmured softly, risking a quick glance across the table at Y/N.

As the tension melted away into the fan-cooled air of the dining room, Y/N let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She looked at Soobin, grateful for his quiet intuition, knowing that the heavy countdown to August was still ticking—but for tonight, the room was full of warmth.

After the final dishes were dried and tucked away into the cupboards, the heavy, garlic-scented warmth of the kitchen was replaced by the cool, salty breeze of the coastal night.

Y/N and Soobin slipped out the back door quietly, careful not to disturb her parents, who were already huddled in the living room over the store's massive ledgers, or Halmeoni, who had retired to her bedroom with a radio humming low.

They walked side by side down the narrow gravel path leading away from the house. The village was completely dark now, illuminated only by the occasional amber glow of a streetlamp and the brilliant, scattered stars overhead. The intense, oppressive heat of the afternoon had finally broken, leaving behind a soft, balmy air that smelled heavily of sea salt and wild grass.

For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the synchronized crunching of their sneakers against the loose stones and the distant, rhythmic crash of the tide hitting the shoreline a few hundred meters away. Soobin walked with his hands jammed deep into his shorts pockets, his tall shoulders slightly hunched as he looked down at his feet.

"Are your legs holding up?" Y/N broke the silence, glancing up at him with a small, teasing smile. 

Soobin let out a soft, raspy laugh, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the quiet night air. He shook his head, the dark bangs that had been damp with sweat earlier now lifting slightly in the ocean breeze. "They’re still a little numb, honestly. Your grandmother really doesn't hold back. I think I used muscles today that I didn't even know existed."

He paused, looking out toward the dark horizon where the black sea met the star-lit sky.

"But it was nice. It’s been a really long time since I felt that kind of tired. In Seoul, you're just... tired from sitting at a desk or staring at school work."

Y/N nodded slowly, her fingers lightly tugged at the edge of her oversized cardigan. "My family can be a lot. Thanks for being so patient with them and for helping my dad with the jars. He really needed it."

"I liked it," Soobin said sincerely, stopping near an old wooden guardrail that overlooked the rocky shore. He leaned his forearms against the weathered wood, looking down at the white sea foam swirling below. "Your family is really warm, Y/N. At dinner, when your mother was talking about the old days... it made me realize how much I've missed since I left."

Y/N leaned against the rail next to him, keeping a comfortable, friendly distance between them, though her eyes remained fixed on the dark water. "You seemed really surprised about Kai."

Soobin sighed, a faint, troubled line forming between his brows. "I was. We really were just kids who played arcade games and threw rocks into the ocean back then. We didn't talk about our feelings or anything. When I went back to Seoul, we just... stopped calling. To hear that he's so isolated now... it feels weird. Like the village I remembered is changing, and I didn't even notice."

He turned his head to look down at her, his dark eyes searching her face in the dim light of a distant streetlamp. "Everything feels like it’s shifting. Your father looked so tired at dinner when we started talking about Seoul like the city was some kind of shadow."

Y/N felt a familiar, sharp pang in her chest. She looked away from his gaze, staring down at her own hands gripping the guardrail. The secret of the shop's closure in August felt heavier than ever, burning a hole right through her silence.

"The city is a shadow for him," Y/N whispered softly, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. She took a slow, steadying breath, deciding maybe he would understand. "He's closing the rental shop, Soobin. At the end of August."

Soobin froze. He didn't say anything for a long moment, the news hanging in the dark space between them. "Closing it?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping into a lower, gentler register. "For good?"

"The rent is going up, and nobody buys paper books or rents comics anymore because of the digital apps in the city," Y/N explained, her throat tightening as she forced the words out. "We’ve been operating at a loss since spring. August is our last month."

She swallowed hard, looking up at the sky to keep the tears from spilling over. "I've lived in that shop my entire life and now... it's just going to be gone."

Soobin didn't offer any empty platitudes. He didn't tell her it would be fine, or that change was good. Instead, he slowly shifted his position, turning fully toward her. He kept his hands in his pockets, but his gaze was full of a deep, intuitive empathy.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said softly, his voice steady and grounding. "I know I've only been going there for a little while, but I can tell that place isn't just a store. It's... it's you. It has your peace in it."

Y/N let out a shaky, breathless laugh, looking down at her sneakers. "And the irony is, August is when I'm supposed to leave for Seoul too. For my first year of art school. It feels like everything I know is disappearing all at once, and I'm being pushed into this giant, loud city that I'm terrified of."

Soobin watched her, his expression softening until his deep dimples faintly showed in the shadows. He gave her a small, reassuring nudge with his shoulder—a familiar, comfortable gesture between friends.

"You don't have to be terrified," Soobin murmured, his raspy voice steady against the ocean breeze. "Seoul is loud, and it moves way too fast, yeah. But it's not a shadow if you have a place to anchor yourself."

He offered her a warm, genuine smile. "I'll be up there. I'm entering my final year, so I know the city pretty well by now. When August comes, and everything here closes down... you won't be entering that next chapter alone. I've got your back. I'll be right there."

Y/N looked up, meeting his eyes. The suffocating weight that had been pressing down on her chest since last night didn't completely vanish, but as she looked at Soobin the terrifying expanse of the future suddenly felt a little smaller and a little safer.

The walk back to his grandmother’s house felt longer than usual, his numb legs working on pure autopilot while his mind replayed the quiet conversation by the guardrail. The night air was peaceful, but his chest felt heavy with the realization of how fast the world was changing for everyone on the island.

As Soobin approached the front gate of the traditional courtyard house, the warm, amber light from the living room windows spilled onto the gravel. Even before he unlocked the heavy front door, the muffled sound of familiar voices and bright, collective laughter drifted outside. His parents, who had come down from Seoul to join his grandparents for a brief family visit, were clearly right in the middle of a lively late-night conversation.

He stepped inside the entryway, the cool linoleum floor a welcome relief.

He leaned against the wooden wall, sliding his feet out of his dusty sneakers. He carefully placed them on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack by the door, making sure they were aligned perfectly out of habit.

As he stood up, he fished his bulky folder phone out of his pocket. In the year 2001, getting a decent signal anywhere near the coastal cliffs of Jeju was a daily miracle. He flicked the phone open, the tiny green-lit screen casting a dim glow over his face. He held it up slightly, watching the signal indicator dance before it finally settled on a single, fragile bar.

A rapid succession of high-pitched electronic beeps suddenly pierced the quiet entryway.

Because he had been off the grid all afternoon doing manual labor, the backlog of SMS messages from his engineering friends up at Korea University had finally pushed through. His screen was flooded with a dozen unread texts—mostly his classmates panicking about upcoming registration dates for their fourth-year, or complaining about the stifling Seoul humidity while asking when he was coming back up to the city.

"Soobin-ah?" his mother called out, her voice cutting through the laughter as she poked her head into the hallway.

Seeing him standing there with his blinking phone, she smiled and waved him into the living room. "Come inside, why are you hovering out there in the dark? How was it?"

Soobin snapped his phone shut, the sharp clack echoing in the small space, and slipped it back into his pocket. He stepped fully into the warm light of the living room, offering his family a tired but genuine smile.

"It was good, Mom," his deep voice carried a soft, slightly raspy edge from the long day. "I helped move all the heavy onggi jars, and then we spent the whole afternoon making the kimchi. Y/n’s Halmeoni only swatted my arm a couple of times at the beginning, so I think I did okay."

"A couple of times?" his father teased, looking up from his newspaper with a grin. "That's a passing grade from Halmeoni Sun-hee, son. You survived."

"They even fed me a huge bossam feast for dinner," Soobin added, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears tipped into a faint pink. "They really took care of me."

His mother looked at him closely, her maternal instinct picking up on the quiet, lingering look in his eyes and the subtle exhaustion in his posture. "Well, that was very kind of them. You must be completely exhausted after all that lifting. Go wash up and get some rest, okay? Your shoulders look incredibly tight."

"I will," Soobin nodded respectfully.

He excused himself and headed down the quiet hallway toward his small room. After closing the door behind him, the distant sound of his family’s chatter faded into a soft hum, leaving him in the peaceful, cool stillness of the space.

Soobin didn't turn on the main light. Instead, he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, staring out the window. The dark, rolling waves of the Jeju sea were visible under the starlight, and the rhythmic sound of the tide washed over the room, carrying the faint, clean scent of salt and wild grass.

He pulled his folder phone out once more, the green screen blinking with those urgent, demanding texts from Seoul about graduation, senior seminars, and the fast-approaching autumn. Up until yesterday, that had been his only trajectory—the expected, predictable path of a fourth-year engineering student.

But tonight, as he looked at those messages, a sudden, fierce ache tightened in his chest.

For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he could grab the hands of the clock and hold them perfectly still. He didn't want the calendar to flip to August. He didn't want to pack his bags, leave his grandmother's quiet garden, or watch the paper-book rental shop close its doors for the last time. He just wanted to freeze time right here, where he was finally learning what it felt like to be a person again.

Soobin slowly closed the phone, letting the green light die out completely, and set it face-down on the desk. He leaned his elbows on the windowsill and rested his chin in his hands, watching the distant sea and silently wishing, with everything he had, that this summer would never have to end.

The heavy afternoon heat was at its peak when the little bell above the rental shop door let out a sharp, metallic jingle.

Y/N looked up from the wooden counter, where she had been using a damp cloth to wipe down a stack of old, sun-bleached romance novels. Soobin was standing in the doorway, the bright glare of the Jeju sun framing his towering figure. He looked distinctly out of place compared to his usual neat appearance.

In his right hand, he was clutching a round, translucent plastic container with a bright red lid. In his left arm, he tucked a stack of three thick comic books he’d pulled from his own bedroom shelves.

"Soobin-ah?" Y/N asked, setting the rag down. "Is everything okay? You look like you're on a mission."

Soobin closed the door behind him, the sudden silence of the fan-cooled room swallowing the distant cicadas outside. He walked over to the counter, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the wooden floor. He set the container down carefully, though his fingers lingered on the plastic lid.

"I... I wanted to ask you a favor," he said, his deep voice dropping into a hesitant, quiet register. He rubbed the back of his neck, his ears already tipping into a faint pink. "I’m going to check on Kai. My grandmother gave me his address this morning, and she practically ordered me to take this japchae over to his house."

Y/N nodded slowly, recalling the heavy, quiet look that had crossed Soobin’s face during dinner the night before when her mother mentioned the boy's isolation. "That’s really nice of you, Soobin. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it."

"The thing is..." Soobin paused, looking down at the stack of comics in his hand, his thumb tracing the worn edge of the spine. "I’m terrified of going alone. We haven't spoken in so long. If I just show up on his doorstep out of nowhere." He said letting out a helpless, self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm worried I'll scare him off. He was always so shy."

He looked back up at her, his dark eyes carrying a vulnerable, earnest appeal. "I know he doesn't know you, and it's a lot to ask... but I was wondering if you could come with me? Having someone else there might make it feel less like an interrogation and more like... a normal visit. You have this way of making spaces feel safe, Y/N. I could really use that right now."

Y/N stared at him, a warm, quiet flutter stirring in her chest at his words. It was the first time he had explicitly acknowledged the comfort she tried to provide, and seeing this tall guy look so genuinely nervous about facing a childhood friend made him feel incredibly real.

"Let me just tell my dad," Y/N said softly, a small smile breaking across her face. She stepped into the back room. 

"Let's go. Lead the way!"

The walk to the northern edge of the village was entirely different from their moonlit stroll the night before. The sun was blazing, turning the dirt paths into dusty, shimmering trails. Soobin kept a steady, protective pace beside her, holding the container flat against his chest to keep anything from spilling.

"I don't even know what I'm going to say," Soobin admitted as they turned down a particularly quiet, overgrown lane where the houses were spaced further apart. "What if he doesn't even want to see me? A sudden visit might just feel like an intrusion."

"It won't," Y/N reassured him, her voice a steady anchor against his anxiety. "Even if he's shocked at first, knowing that someone remembered him means something. Just breathe, Soobin."

He took a slow breath, nodding as they finally stopped in front of a rusted iron gate. Despite the weathered metal of the entrance, the yard inside was beautifully well-kept, overflowing with vibrant summer flowers. Neatly trimmed bushes framed rows of blooming hydrangeas and colorful wild lilies, their sweet fragrance cutting through the thick, salty afternoon air. The stone walkway was swept completely clean of dirt, creating a sharp contrast against the traditional house itself, which looked completely asleep—its heavy wooden doors and paper-screen windows firmly shut against the outside world.

Soobin swallowed hard, stepped through the creaking gate, and walked up to the low wooden porch. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before knocking firmly three times on the thick wood.

Y/N stood a few paces back near the edge of the porch, keeping her hands tucked into her cardigan pockets, intentionally giving Soobin the space to be the primary focus.

For a long, agonizing minute, there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the grass. Soobin looked back at Y/N, an anxious line forming between his brows, his shoulders tensing as if he was ready to turn around and apologize for wasting her time. But just as he shifted his feet, a soft click echoed from inside, and the heavy door creaked open a few inches.

Kai stood in the dim light of the entryway. Y/N’s mother hadn't been exaggerating—the boy had grown up incredibly handsome, with sharp, delicate, foreign-tinged features and large, expressive eyes. But he looked entirely fragile, his shoulders hunched inside an oversized, faded gray sweatshirt despite the summer heat. He blinked rapidly against the sudden, harsh glare of the afternoon sun, his gaze shifting from the wooden floor up to the towering frame in front of him.

Kai's eyes widened, a thick note of disbelief washing over his face. "Soobin-hyung?"

"Hey, Kai-ah," Soobin said. His voice instantly dropped into that warm, incredibly gentle register Y/N had heard him use with her grandmother—completely devoid of pressure. He offered a small, hesitant smile, his deep dimples popping out. "It's... it's been a really long time. My grandmother told me you were still here, and she made way too much japchae yesterday. I also remembered you used to read these specific comics when we were kids, so... I thought I’d bring them by."

Kai stared at the plastic container, then down at the books. His fingers gripped the edge of the wooden door so tightly his knuckles turned white. He looked completely overwhelmed, his eyes darting briefly over Soobin's shoulder to where Y/N was standing. He didn't know her, and the sight of a stranger made him instinctively shrink back into the shadows of the hallway.

Sensing his hesitation, Y/N gave Kai a small, incredibly polite nod from her spot on the gravel, keeping her expression entirely neutral and unthreatening, letting him know she was just there as a quiet observer.

Soobin noticed the shift and immediately stepped slightly into Kai’s line of sight, drawing the younger boy's attention back to him. "She’s a friend from the book rental shop down the road," Soobin explained softly, keeping his tone light. "You don't have to worry about us, Kai-ah. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

The sincerity in Soobin's voice seemed to cut through the heavy, protective walls Kai had built around himself. Kai looked at the fresh kimchi, then back up at Soobin’s face—noticing the sweat on his forehead and the dirt on his shirt. Soobin had actually worked for this, just to see him.

Slowly, hesitatingly, Kai pushed the door open a few inches wider, the old hinges letting out a faint groan.

"Do you... do you want to come in?" Kai whispered, his voice small and raspy from disuse. "My mom is out, but... I can make some cold iced tea."

Soobin let out a quiet, invisible breath of relief, the tension melting from his broad shoulders. He risked a quick, grateful glance back at Y/N, a silent thank you shining in his eyes, before turning back to the younger boy. "We’d love to, Kai-ah. Lead the way."

Kai gave a small, hesitant nod and turned into the dim, cool hallway of the house. The interior smelled faintly of dried herbs and floor wax, a quiet, preserved space that felt entirely removed from the blistering mid-afternoon heat outside.

Soobin stepped over the threshold first, carefully sliding out of his sneakers at the entryway. He glanced back at Y/N, waiting an extra half-second to ensure she was following close behind, before leading the way into a modest, sunlit sitting room. The screen doors were slid back just enough to let in the scent of the hydrangeas, though the room itself remained entirely still.

"Please, sit," Kai whispered, gesturing vaguely toward a low wooden table surrounded by neatly placed floor cushions. He didn't wait for them to answer before disappearing into the adjacent kitchen, his oversized sweatshirt swallowing his frame as he moved.

Soobin took a seat on one of the cushions, his long legs folding awkwardly as he tried to find a comfortable position. He set the plastic container down neatly on the polished wood of the table. Y/N sat down a comfortable distance beside him, smoothing her cardigan over her knees.

"You did great out there," she murmured softly, leaning in just enough so her voice wouldn't carry into the kitchen.

Soobin let out a breathy, quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears were still a faint shade of pink. "My heart was beating so fast I thought he’d hear it. But... seeing him now, he really hasn't changed that much. He's just so quiet." He looked toward the kitchen doorway, a look of soft, brotherly concern returning to his eyes. "I’m glad I came. I’m glad you made me come."

Before Y/N could reply, the soft pad of footsteps announced Kai's return. He carried a small wooden tray holding three glasses filled with amber iced tea, condensation already pooling at the bases. He placed the tray down with meticulous care before sliding onto a cushion across from them.

For a moment, a heavy silence settled over the table. Kai kept his gaze fixed firmly on the condensation rolling down his glass, his fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Soobin, sensing the younger boy's stifling awkwardness, decided to handle the silence gently. He slid the plastic container forward a few inches.

"My grandmother wanted to make sure you got this while it was fresh," Soobin began, his deep voice incredibly soft and grounding in the quiet room. "And honestly... I wanted to come see how you were doing. I know it’s been years, Kai-ah. But when my mom told me you were still around the village, I kept thinking about how we all used to spend our summers down by the arcade."

Kai’s eyes shifted from his glass to the container, and then up to Soobin. A tiny, fragile look of recognition passed over his face. "The arcade," he murmured, his voice slightly stronger now. "The one with the broken joystick on the fighting game."

"Exactly," Soobin said, his dimples finally showing fully as he relaxed into a warm smile. " Yeonjun-hyung used to lose his mind when we ran out of coins, and Beomgyu would always try to shake the machine to get a free game until the owner chased us out. Taehyun was the only one smart enough to just sit back and watch us get in trouble."

A faint, incredibly brief smile tugged at the corner of Kai's lips. It was small, but it was there—a tiny fracture in the heavy walls he had spent the last few years building. He looked up from the table, his large eyes shifting from Soobin over to Y/N, no longer shrinking away quite as much.

"I remember," Kai whispered softly, looking back at Soobin with a quiet, lingering vulnerability. "Yeonjun-hyung always bought the melon popsicles afterward."

"Only because Beomgyu begged him until he gave in," Soobin replied gently, his broad shoulders relaxing as the ancient familiarity of their friendship began to spark back to life. He risked a quick, deeply grateful glance back at Y/N, a silent thank you shining in his eyes, before turning all his attention back to the younger boy.

The amber afternoon sun eventually dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and burnt orange as twilight settled over the quiet courtyard. The sliding doors remained open, letting in a cool evening breeze and the rhythmic, distant sound of the tide.

Over the course of the afternoon, the thick, suffocating awkwardness that had filled the room completely dissolved. As the hours slipped by, Y/N and Kai became well acquainted, the initial tension giving way to an incredibly easy, comfortable dynamic. Y/N was completely shocked to learn that Kai was actually studying marketing at a university in Busan, a choice that felt entirely unbelievable for someone so naturally shy. Kai explained that while the fast-paced energy of Busan forced him out of his shell during the semester, he usually flew straight back to Jeju during holidays, needing the absolute quiet of the island to recharge.

Listening to them talk, Soobin relaxed completely against the chair, a proud, brotherly warmth settling into his features as he watched his friend open up.

By the time the room grew dark, shadowed by the fading twilight, it was clear they had stayed far longer than intended. Realizing how late it had gotten, Soobin and Y/N reluctantly stood up to gather their things and say their goodbyes, promising not to let another long stretch of silence grow between them.

As they stepped back out through the rusted iron gate and onto the dark dirt path, a deep, peaceful contentment hung in the air. Soobin looked down at Y/N, the heavy anxiety that had locked his shoulders together that afternoon completely gone. He didn't say a word, but the soft, lingering curve of his dimples in the starlight told her everything.

They walked down the narrow, sloping path toward the shore, the sound of the ocean growing louder and heavier with every step. The sand was cool beneath their feet, slipping over the edges of their shoes as they navigated the dark beach until they found a flat, dry spot far away from the reach of the tide.

Soobin pulled his lightweight jacket off, laying it out over the sand for Y/N to sit on. Once she was settled, he sank down directly onto the sand beside her, pulling his long legs up and looping his arms loosely around his knees to mirror her posture.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The sheer scale of the Jeju night sky was breathtaking; without the blinding neon of the city, the Milky Way was a faint, glowing ribbon of violet and silver cut right across the ink-black dome. Millions of stars flickered with a quiet, ancient intensity, casting a soft, pale light over the dark surface of the rolling sea.

"I forgot how many there were," Soobin whispered, his deep voice barely carrying over the steady roar of the waves. He looked completely mesmerized, his head tilted back as the starlight reflected beautifully in his wide, dark eyes. "In Seoul, if you look up at night, you're lucky if you see three. You forget that the rest of the universe is even up there."

Y/N rested her chin on her knees, watching him side-by-side. Sitting right next to him like this, she could feel the faint warmth radiating from his shoulder, his towering frame looking relaxed and small against the vast backdrop of the dark ocean. His expression was entirely soft, stripped of the heavy academic pressure and expectation that usually followed him.

"My dad says the stars here don't change," Y/N said quietly, turning her gaze back to the sky. "No matter how many shops close or how many people leave for the city, they stay exactly like this. I think that's why I like coming down here when I'm overwhelmed. It feels like a promise."

Soobin turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes dropping to the way the starlight caught the edges of her hair and the soft cotton of her cardigan.

"A promise of what?" he asked softly.

"That some things will always be waiting for you," she replied, turning her head to meet his eyes. "No matter how far away you go."

The space between them felt entirely charged with a quiet, heavy sincerity. Soobin didn't break eye contact. The distant, urgent texts waiting on his folder phone in his pocket felt a million miles away, completely powerless against the slow, steady rhythm of the Jeju tide and the girl sitting right beside him.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, Soobin shifted his hand on his knee, his fingers dropping onto the sand, just inches away from where her hand rested on the edge of his jacket.

"I don't think I'm going to look at the sky in Seoul the same way after this," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable whisper that made her heart skip a beat. "I'll just be looking for this view. Every single night."

The silence that followed his words wasn't heavy; it was thick with a sudden, breathless weight that seemed to push the sound of the crashing waves into the far background.

Y/N didn't pull away. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on his, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the absolute sincerity radiating from him. The space between them suddenly felt entirely too small, yet agonizingly wide. Every small detail seemed magnified in the dark—the faint, steady rise and fall of his broad chest, the way his dark bangs brushed just above his eyes, and the quiet warmth radiating from his shoulder where it nearly touched hers.

Soobin’s gaze flicked down to her lips. It was a brief, fleeting look, but it stayed there a beat too long before rising back to her eyes, carrying a silent, hesitant question. He was an overthinker by nature, always analyzing, always keeping his composure, but right now, his throat visibly swallowed. The steady, predictable rhythm he usually relied on was completely gone, replaced by a restless, heavy gravity pulling him closer.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the distance began to shrink.

Soobin unlooped his arms from his knees, his movements deliberately slow, as if he was afraid a sudden breath might shatter the fragile glass of the moment. He shifted his weight, his large frame angling toward her on the sand, effectively blocking out the cool ocean breeze and trapping her in the sudden, concentrated warmth of his shadow.

He didn't rush. He leaned in an inch, then paused, his dark eyes searching hers in the starlight, giving her every opportunity to blink, to laugh it off, or to turn away. The scent of the salty tide mixed with his familiar, clean scent, filling the tiny space left between them.

Y/N’s fingers twitched against the sand, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She didn't move back. If anything, she tilted her face up just a fraction, a silent invitation that broke through the last of his carefully held restraint.

A soft, shaky exhale escaped Soobin's lips, his gaze locking completely onto hers as his head tilted slightly, his shadow finally falling over her face entirely.

He closed the final remaining inch, his lips brushing against hers with a gentle, agonizingly slow hesitation.

The kiss was entirely low-key and quiet, yet it carried the immense weight of every unspoken thought he’d held back since arriving on the island. It was a soft, tentative pressure that gradually deepened as the initial nervousness melted away, filling the space between them with a profound, consuming warmth.

Slowly, lifting his hand from his knee, Soobin reached up. His long, slightly trembling fingers brushed carefully against her jawline before his palm came to rest against her cheek. His skin was warm, a stark and comforting contrast to the cool night breeze. His thumb swept across her cheekbone in a feather-light, reverent caress, a gesture so tender it made the rest of the world completely fade away. It was their very first kiss, and the gentle touch of his hand seemed to anchor her to him, letting her feel just how much he was treasuring the moment.

The world around them completely dissolved—there were no distant city pressures, no looming expectations, just the steady rhythm of the Jeju tide, the soft stroke of his thumb, and the solid, reassuring reality of his presence.

When Soobin finally pulled back, he didn't move far. He stayed close, his forehead resting gently against hers for a fleeting second, his breath hitching as he tried to catch it.

As he slowly sat up and the starlight hit his face, Y/N could see the sudden, frantic rush of crimson flooding his cheeks and tipping the tops of his ears. The composed, towering boy who had calmly navigated the afternoon was completely gone, replaced by someone entirely flustered. He let out a breathless, incredibly shy chuckle, his hand dropping from her cheek to rub the back of his neck as a deep, helpless dimple carved into his cheek.

"I... I've been wanting to do that day we got stuck at the bus stop because of the rain," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a sweet, sheepish note. He looked down at his lap, his fingers nervously tracing a pattern on his knee, before looking back up through his dark bangs with a quiet, happy vulnerability. "I hope that was okay."

Y/N let out a breath she didn't realize she’d been holding, a soft smile breaking across her face. "It was more than okay, Soobin-ah."

In her words, the tension completely melted from his broad shoulders. He let out a quiet, relieved laugh, his hand finally dropping from the back of his neck. Still a bit flustered, he reached down and carefully slid his hand over the sand until his fingers found hers, tentatively weaving them together. His grip was warm and firm, his thumb immediately starting a slow, rhythmic sweep across the back of her hand.

He shifted his posture, pulling his knees back up toward his chest but staying close enough that his shoulder remained firmly pressed against hers. He looked back out at the vast, ink-black ocean, the steady roar of the crashing waves filling the silence between them.

"I was really anxious about coming back here," Soobin admitted softly, his deep voice dropping into that quiet, grounding register. "I thought everything would feel too different, or that I’d just feel like a ghost walking around my old life. But today... with Kai, and now out here..."

He paused, turning his head to look down at her. In the pale starlight, his dark eyes were incredibly soft, stripped entirely of the exhaustion and academic pressure he usually carried around.

"It’s the first time in a really long time that I’ve felt like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be."

Y/N leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, feeling the solid, comforting weight of him bracing against her. "Jeju has a way of doing that," she murmured, watching the stars flicker above the horizon. "It waits for you to realize what actually matters."

Soobin let out a soft chuckle, the low vibration rattling pleasantly against her head. "Then I guess I should thank my grandmother for making too much japchae. And for making me walk down to that book rental shop."

They sat together on the cool sand for a long time after that, their intertwined hands resting between them. The cool night air swirled around the empty beach, but wrapped in the quiet warmth of his presence, Y/N had never felt more grounded.

The night deepened around them, the temperature dropping just enough to make the warmth of Soobin's shoulder against hers feel like a shield against the chill. Neither of them seemed to notice the time passing, completely content to let the steady, rhythmic crash of the tide dictate the pace of the evening.

Slowly, Soobin lifted their joined hands, his eyes tracing the contrast between their fingers before he gently brought the back of her hand up to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was so quiet and natural that it sent a fresh wave of warmth straight to Y/N's chest.

"We should probably start heading back before my grandmother sends out a search party," he murmured, though his voice held a distinct reluctance. He didn't make a move to get up, his thumb still tracing slow circles against her skin.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shifting her head from his shoulder to look up at him. "Is the formidable village elder really going to come looking for you?"

"Oh, absolutely," Soobin said, his dimples peeking out in the starlight as he smiled sheepishly. "She still treats me like I’m ten years old. If I’m out past nine, she starts pacing the porch. And if she finds out I stayed out late because of you, she’ll never let me hear the end of it."

"In a bad way?"

"No," Soobin chuckled, his eyes softening completely as he looked down at her. "In a 'when are you bringing her over for dinner' kind of way. She already likes you more than me, I think."

With a soft, collective sigh, they finally moved. Soobin stood up first, his towering frame stretching out before he reached back down to offer Y/N his hand, effortlessly pulling her to her feet. He picked up his lightweight jacket from the sand, giving it a quick shake to clear the loose grains before draping it over one arm.

As they turned back toward the sloping path that led away from the shore, Soobin didn't let go of her hand. He kept his fingers securely locked with hers, guiding her through the dark, uneven terrain with a quiet, protective focus.

Leaving the beach behind, the vast canopy of stars seemed to follow them, casting a pale glow over the quiet village streets. The heavy, lingering doubts Soobin had carried with him from Seoul seemed to have been washed away by the tide, replaced by a simple, grounding certainty. As they walked side-by-side into the quiet night, the future felt less like an impending weight and more like an open horizon.

Four days slipped by like a quiet, sun-drenched dream, the fast-paced rush of the outside world completely fading into the background of the island.

It was a brilliant, warm afternoon. High up on a grassy hilltop overlooking the sparkling expanse of the Jeju sea, a massive, ancient tree spread its thick canopy wide, casting a perfect, dappled shadow over the ground. The gentle afternoon breeze swept up the hillside, rustling the leaves overhead and carrying the crisp, salty scent of the ocean below.

Spread out over the grass beneath the shade was a soft, oversized blanket. Underneath the canopy, Soobin was completely relaxed. He was laying down with his long frame stretched out across the fabric, his head resting comfortably right in Y/N’s lap. In his hands, he held an old comic book he’d borrowed from the rental shop, his eyes scanning the pages with an easy, unbothered focus. Every now and then, his lips would twitch into a faint smile, completely at peace.

Y/N sat propped against the sturdy trunk of the tree at the edge of the blanket, a sketchbook resting against her knees. She was wearing a light, flowing sundress that bunched up softly beneath him, the fabric cool and soft under his head. With a charcoal pencil held lightly between her fingers, she was intently focused on the boy in her lap, trying her best to sketch his profile.

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes darting from the sharp line of his jaw to the page, carefully trying to capture the soft, relaxed way his dark bangs fell across his forehead.

"Stop moving your face," Y/N murmured softly, tapping the top of her pencil against the edge of the sketchbook. "Every time you turn the page, your facial expression shifts."

Soobin didn't look up from his comic, but a deep, helpless dimple immediately carved into his cheek. "I'm barely moving. You’re just taking too long because you’re distracted by how handsome your model is."

"Keep talking and I'll draw you with giant cartoon ears," she teased, though a small smile broke across her own face as she leaned back, squinting at the paper to smooth out the shading around his eyes.

Soobin let out a soft, low chuckle that vibrated right against her legs. He finally lowered the comic book slightly, tilting his head back just enough to look up at her upside down. The pale afternoon light filtered through the leaves, catching the warm, affectionate glint in his dark eyes.

Slowly, he reached up, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face before his hand dropped back down to rest against his stomach.

"Fine, I'll be perfectly still," he whispered, his voice warm and incredibly sweet as he held her gaze. "Capture my best side."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, the sound bright and light in the quiet afternoon air. "I'm trying, but my model keeps making faces at me."

She went back to her sketch, the soft scratch of the charcoal pencil filling the space between them. For a few minutes, Soobin actually kept his promise, remaining perfectly still as he stared back up at the comic book. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient tree above them, sending a dance of light and shadow across the soft fabric of her dress and his stripes shirt .

But Soobin’s attention span for the comic was clearly waning. His gaze kept drifting upwards, tracking the subtle movements of her wrist, the focused knit of her brows, and the way her lips slightly parted whenever she was working on a difficult detail.

Without warning, he closed the comic book with a soft thud and set it face down on the blanket beside him.

"Okay, I'm done reading," he announced, shifting his head slightly on her lap to get more comfortable. He reached up, his large hand gently wrapping around her left wrist—the one not holding the pencil—and tugging it down until her hand rested against his chest. He loosely interlaced his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing the back of her knuckles. "Show me."

Y/N defensively tilted the sketchbook toward her chest, a playful, protective look in her eyes. "No way. It’s not finished yet."

"Come on," Soobin pleaded, his voice dropping into that soft, whiny tone he only used when they were completely alone. He looked up at her through his dark bangs, his big, puppy-like eyes practically begging. "Just a sneak peek. Let me see how the ears look."

"They're absolutely huge," she teased, but she slowly relented, angling the sketchbook down so he could look at it upside down from her lap.

Soobin quieted, his eyes scanning the rough charcoal lines. Y/N had captured him perfectly—the soft curve of his nose, the relaxed set of his mouth, and the exact way he looked when he was completely at ease, far away from the rigid structure of his life in Seoul. A genuine, incredibly tender smile spread across his face, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.

"Wow," he whispered, his tone shifting from playful to entirely sincere. He looked up from the paper to meet her eyes, his gaze heavy with an affection that made her heart do a sudden flip. "You're really good at this. It actually looks like me."

"Of course it does," Y/N said softly, setting the sketchbook down on the blanket next to them. She reached down with her free hand, her fingers gently combing through his soft, dark hair, brushing it away from his forehead. "I had a pretty good view."

Soobin's smile softened, his eyes locking onto hers as he enjoyed the quiet sensation of her fingers in his hair. The glittering Jeju sea stretched out endlessly beneath their hilltop, but right here under the shade of the tree, neither of them was looking at the horizon.

He leaned into the touch of her hand, closing his eyes for a brief, content moment as her fingers moved through his hair. The warmth of the sun and the steady, rhythmic rustle of the leaves overhead made the entire world feel incredibly slow.

"I don't want to go back to Seoul," Soobin murmured softly, his eyes opening just a fraction to look up at her. The playful teasing from earlier had completely melted away, replaced by that raw, quiet vulnerability he only showed her. "A few days ago, I was counting down the hours until I could leave this island. Now, I feel like I'm going to leave a piece of myself behind if I go."

Y/N paused her hand in his hair, her thumb resting gently against his temple. "You aren't leaving it behind, Soobin. You're just taking a different piece of it back with you."

Soobin let out a breathy, quiet chuckle, shifting on her lap so he could look at her fully. He reached up, his large, warm hand coming to cup the side of her neck, his thumb resting right along her jawline. The contrast of his cool fingers against her sun-warmed skin made her breath hitch slightly.

"I think the piece I'm taking back is you," he whispered, his voice dropping into a deeper, lower register that felt entirely intimate.

He didn't wait for her to answer. Sliding his hand up slightly to anchor his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, Soobin pulled himself up just enough to close the distance.

The kiss was slow, tasting faintly of the sweet mandarin juice they’d shared earlier and completely filled with the lazy, golden warmth of the afternoon. It wasn't the hesitant, trembling first kiss they had shared on the dark beach four days ago. This one felt certain, grounded, and deeply affectionate—a quiet promise spoken in the shade of the ancient tree. His other hand found her waist, his palm pressing against the soft, flowing fabric of her dress, pulling her just a fraction closer.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't move his hand from her neck. He just rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as a soft, helpless smile broke across his lips.

He let his head sink back down into her lap with a soft, contented sigh, his long frame stretching out completely across the blanket. His fingers lazily intertwined with hers, his thumb tracing the back of her hand in a slow, comforting rhythm.

"Since we're both going to be in the city soon..." Soobin began, his voice dropping into a warm, curious murmur as he looked up at her through his bangs. "I realized we've been so wrapped up in the island that I still don't know the exact specifics. Which university are you attending?"

Y/N smiled down at him, her free hand coming up to gently comb through his soft, dark hair, brushing it away from his eyes. "Seoul National University," she said softly.

Soobin’s eyes widened, his thumb freezing against her knuckles. A sudden, brilliant look of genuine surprise and pride broke across his face, his deep dimples instantly popping into his cheeks.

"SNU?" he echoed, his voice lifting with an incredibly proud, impressed tone. He shifted his weight, turning fully onto his side in her lap so he could look at her face properly. "Wow, Y/N-ah. That's incredible. Do you know how hard it is to get into the transfer program there? You're a genius."

Y/N felt a sudden flush of warmth hit her cheeks at his unreserved praise. "It took a lot of sleepless nights and way too many iced Americanos," she admitted, laughing softly as she nudged his shoulder. "But the paperwork finally cleared last week."

"This is amazing," Soobin murmured, his eyes shining as he stared up at her. The daunting weight of returning to his own chaotic university schedule suddenly felt entirely manageable. "My campus is at Konkuk, so we’re not even that far apart. On weekends, or even after classes, I can just hop on the subway and meet you. We can study together. Or, well..." He smiled sheepishly, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "I can just distract you while you try to study."

"I think you're already doing a pretty good job of that," Y/N teased, gesturing down at the sketchbook lying abandoned on the blanket beside them.

Soobin chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated pleasantly against her legs. He reached up, his large palm resting gently over her knee, the soft fabric of her dress moving slightly under his touch. "I'm serious, though. Seoul can feel really big and overwhelming, especially when you first move there. It gets so loud, and everyone is always rushing. I was genuinely dreading going back to that rhythm."

He paused, his gaze softening completely as he held her eyes, his thumb gently smoothing over the fabric of her dress.

"But knowing you're going to be there... knowing I can just call you up when the city gets too loud... it changes everything."

It was the last week of June, and the heat of the Jeju summer had settled in completely—thick, hazy, and smelling of salt and sun-warmed grass. Over the past few days, Y/N and Soobin had become completely inseparable. Every morning started with a text, every afternoon was spent exploring hidden corners of the island, and every night ended with lazy walks under the stars. It felt as if they were trying to stretch every single second of June, knowing that the real world was waiting for them once summer ended.

Today, they had claimed a completely secluded, rocky cove that Soobin knew about.

They spread their oversized blanket across a patch of smooth, dry sand nestled between the tall coastal rocks, just out of reach of the rising tide. The summer sun was blazing, making the crystal-clear, turquoise water look irresistible.

Soobin stood at the edge of the blanket, pulling his oversized cotton t-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sand, leaving him in just his dark swim trunks. His pale skin caught the bright sunlight, and he looked out at the rolling waves with a bright, boyish grin that Y/N had come to love more than anything else over the past week.

"The last one has to buy the spicy rice cakes tonight!" Soobin shouted, turning back to flash her a mischievous look. Without giving her a chance to protest, his long legs carried him in a dead sprint across the sand, splashing fearlessly straight into the surf.

"Soobin! You always start running before you even finish talking!" Y/N laughed, quickly unbuttoning the light sundress she wore over her swimsuit. She kicked off her sandals and chased after him, the cool, shocking shock of the Jeju sea hitting her skin and instantly erasing the thick summer heat.

By the time she waded out, the water was up to her waist. Soobin was already completely drenched, his dark bangs slicked back from his forehead as he shook water from his eyes like a giant puppy. The moment Y/N got close enough, she lunged forward, using both hands to send a massive wave of water straight at him.

Soobin gasped, laughing loudly as the water hit his face. "Oh, so it's a war now?"

He didn't hold back, using his massive hands to scoop up walls of water, sending them splashing right back at her. The cove echoed with their breathless laughter and the crashing of the waves. They swam until their limbs felt heavy, floating on their backs side-by-side, watching the occasional white cloud drift across the vast blue June sky.

At one point, a sudden, larger swell caught Y/N off guard, making her lose her footing on the sandy floor. Before she could go under, Soobin’s long arms securely wrapped around her waist. With an easy, effortless tilt of his strength, he lifted her up over the crest of the wave.

He kept his hands locked on her waist even after the wave passed, holding her steady against him. The water swirled around their waist. Y/N rested her hands flat against his damped, warm shoulders, catching her breath. Soobin looked down at her, his eyelashes sparkling with sea droplets, a soft, incredibly tender smile resting on his lips. In the bright afternoon light, with the ocean breeze blowing her damp hair across her face, he looked at her like she was the only thing on the entire island.

Eventually, shivering slightly as the late afternoon breeze began to pick up, they waded back to the shore.

They collapsed onto the blanket, wrapping themselves in big, fluffy towels. Soobin dragged the picnic basket closer, his damp skin glowing in the light. He popped open a chilled container of sweet, freshly cut watermelon that they'd brought along.

Picking up a dripping piece, he held it right to her lips, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Here. Fuel for the person who lost the race and the water war."

Y/N leaned in and took a bite, the sweet, icy juice a perfect contrast to the salty air. "I only lost because you have an unfair height advantage in the water," she mumbled around the fruit, making him let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

Soobin ate the rest of the piece, leaning back on his hands as he looked out at the glittering sea, his shoulder pressed warmly against hers. "Maybe," he murmured, turning his head to look at her, his dimple cutting deep into his cheek. "But I think this whole week has been a win."

When Soobin slipped off his shoes at the entryway of his grandmother’s traditional house, the rich, savory scent of a freshly finished dinner—garlic, soy sauce, and sesame oil—still lingered heavily in the air.

He stepped inside, the dark wooden floorboards cool under his bare feet. Walking into the living room, he found his grandmother and his mother sitting together on the floor around the low wooden table, chatting comfortably. The dinner dishes had already been cleared away, replaced by a simple pitcher of ice cold water and a small plate of peeled fruit.

His mother, who had arrived from Seoul earlier that evening to help with his grandmother’s summer arrangements, paused mid-sentence. Both women turned their heads simultaneously to look at him.

"Look who finally decided to come home," his mother said, her tone a mix of mild exasperation and fondness. She scanned him from head to toe—his messy, damp hair, the slight sunburn dusting the bridge of his nose, and his oversized cotton t-shirt that smelled faintly of the sea. "We waited to eat, but your grandmother said you'd probably be out until the sun went down completely. Where have you been all day, Soobin?"

Before he could offer a carefully rehearsed, casual answer, his grandmother let out a soft, knowing chuckle. Her wrinkled eyes crinkled into wise little crescents as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"Oh, let the boy breathe," his grandmother murmured, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "He was out making the most of his summer. Though, looking at how pink his ears are, I don't think it was just the sun that kept him out so late."

Soobin’s ears instantly turned an even brighter, betraying shade of crimson. He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight as he tried to look completely unbothered, though a helpless, faint dimple threatened to poke through his cheek.

"I was just... down at the cove with Y/N," he mumbled, his voice dropping an octave into that deep, shy register he used whenever he was flustered.

"We know, honey. We know," his grandmother teased, leaning forward on her elbows with a giant, satisfied smile. "You two have been practically attached at the hip all week. Since she's moving to Seoul soon too, you really should bring Y/N over for dinner. Let me cook something proper for her."

Soobin’s mother raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile breaking across her face as she looked at her son's utterly flustered expression. "I'd love to finally meet her, too. Your grandmother hasn't stopped talking about how sweet she is."

"She is sweet," Soobin muttered softly, looking down at his toes to hide the massive, proud smile that was currently taking over his entire face. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "I'll... I'll ask her tomorrow if she wants to come over."

Two days later—the very first day of July—the heavy summer heat had mellowed into a breezy, golden evening. Y/N stood in front of the familiar wooden gate of Soobin’s grandparents' house, her heart doing a nervous little flutter against her ribs. In her hands, she carefully held a heavy, neatly wrapped basket of fresh, plump Jeju melons and sweet mandarins—a strict mandate from her own grandmother, who insisted she couldn't dare show up for dinner empty-handed.

Taking a small breath to steady her nerves, Y/N knocked on the gate.

Almost instantly, she heard the frantic, heavy thud of familiar, long footsteps rushing across the courtyard. The wooden gate swung open, and there stood Soobin. He was wearing a soft, oversized cream cardigan over a plain tee, looking incredibly handsome, though his dark hair was slightly tousled. The moment his eyes landed on her, a massive, instantly relieved smile broke across his face, his deep dimples cutting into his cheeks.

"You're here," he breathed, his deep voice carrying a wave of nervous excitement. Before he could even step aside to let her in, his eyes dropped to the heavy basket in her arms. "Oh, what is all this? You didn't have to bring anything, Y/N-ah. I told you my grandma was cooking everything."

"My grandma would have skinned me alive if I walked in empty-handed," Y/N laughed softly, the tension instantly melting from her shoulders at the familiar sight of him. "They're fresh melons and mandarins."

"Here, let me take it," Soobin said quickly, his large hands carefully wrapping around the handle of the basket, his fingers brushing against hers with a reassuring warmth. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes soft. "Don't be nervous, okay? They're already obsessed with you."

He guided her through the quiet, traditional courtyard and out into the spacious backyard.

The scene that greeted them was the absolute definition of a cozy mid-summer night. A low, long wooden table had been set up on the grass, surrounded by soft cushions. In the center, a portable gas grill was already sizzling loudly, thick, marbled slabs of samgyeopsal (pork belly) rendering beautifully and filling the air with an incredibly savory, mouth-watering aroma.

Around the table sat Soobin's entire family. His grandfather was expertly flipping the meat with a pair of long tongs, while his grandmother and mother were busy arranging an endless sea of side dishes—crisp lettuce, seasoned green onion salad, pickled radishes, and homemade ssamjang. His dad was sitting back, happily pouring cold barley tea into cups.

"Look who's here!" Soobin’s grandmother called out the moment she spotted them, her wrinkled face lighting up with a radiant smile. She immediately stood up, dusting off her linen apron. "Oh, our Y/N-ah! Come in, come sit down!"

Y/N bowed politely, a warm smile on her face. "Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for inviting me. My grandmother sent these fruits for the family."

"Oh, look at that! Your grandmother is always so thoughtful," Soobin's mother said, stepping forward with a kind, elegant smile. She took the basket from Soobin, giving Y/N a warm, approving look that instantly made Y/N feel welcome. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N. Soobin has told us so much about you."

"Mom," Soobin groaned softly, his ears instantly turning a bright shade of pink as he guided Y/N toward the empty cushions at the table.

"What? It's true," his dad chimed in with a booming, good-natured laugh, looking up from the grill. "The boy has been spacing out and smiling at his shoes for a week. Welcome to the family dinner, Y/N. Sit, eat before the meat gets too charred."

Soobin quickly pulled a cushion closer for Y/N, sitting down right beside her. His long frame practically shielded her from any overwhelming attention, but he couldn't hide the shy, incredibly proud smile on his face as he looked between her and his family.

"Here," Soobin whispered, immediately picking up his chopsticks the second his grandfather deposited a perfectly grilled, crispy piece of pork belly onto Y/N's plate. He expertly wrapped it in a fresh lettuce leaf with a bit of rice and ssamjang, holding the perfectly constructed ssam out to her with a proud, dimpled grin. 

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up under the gaze of his entire family, but she accepted the bite, the savory, smoky flavor absolutely perfect after a long day in the salt air.

"See how well he takes care of her?" his grandmother remarked to his mother, completely delighted. "At home, he just waits for the food to fall into his mouth, but look at him now."

"Hey, I help," Soobin protested, though his ears were burning a bright, betraying red. He quickly stuffed a piece of meat into his own mouth to hide his embarrassment, his shoulder pressing warmly against Y/N's as he sat protectively close to her.

His dad laughed, pouring a fresh glass of cold barley tea for Y/N. "Don't mind them, Y/N. They're just happy Soobin finally brought a guest over who doesn't just eat all our meat and run away like his school friends do."

"So, Y/N," his mother spoke up, her voice warm and genuinely curious as she leaned forward on her cushion. "Your grandmother mentioned you’re preparing for a big move up to Seoul later this month. How are you feeling about it? It’s quite a change from the island, but at least you still have the whole month of July to enjoy the peace here."

Y/N swallowed her food, smiling politely. "I'm a little nervous because it's so big, but I'm really looking forward to it. I'm glad I still have this month to mentally prepare, though."

"Well, you don't have to worry about a thing," his grandfather chimed in, pointing a pair of long metal tongs at Soobin. "This giant boy over here knows the city like the back of his hand. If he doesn't show you around and carry your bags when the time comes, you just call us and your grandma. We'll set him straight."

Soobin swallowed his food quickly, looking at his grandfather with wide, earnest eyes. "Grandpa, of course I'm going to take care of her. I already told her I'd meet her at her campus."

His mother chuckled softly at how defensive and serious he instantly got. She looked at Y/N, her expression incredibly gentle. "It really is a relief to know you two will have each other up there when summer ends. Seoul can feel lonely, but it’s much better when you have a piece of home with you."

Under the low wooden table, out of sight of his teasing parents and grandparents, Soobin’s large hand found Y/N's. He gently slid his fingers between hers, squeezing her hand with a steady, reassuring warmth that sent a thrill straight to her chest.

He didn't say anything out loud, but as he turned to look at her, the soft glow of the patio lights catching the deep indentation of his dimple, his eyes held a quiet, happy promise for the long July weeks ahead—and everything that would follow.

"He really means it, too," Soobin’s mother added, her eyes crinkling with a soft, deeply amused smile as she watched her son's face burn a fresh, dramatic shade of crimson. She set her chopsticks down and leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hand as she looked across the sizzling grill at Y/N.

"You know, Y/N, it is incredibly fascinating for us to see him like this," his mother continued, her tone dropping into a warm, conspiratorial murmur. "Before you came along, this boy practically treated women like they were a different species. He would barely look a girl in the eye, let alone talk to one. If a female classmate so much as asked him for a pencil at school, he’d turn into a statue, give a tiny nod, and look like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole."

"Mom! Please," Soobin choked out, his voice cracking slightly in sheer desperation. He nearly dropped his tongs back into the cabbage dish, his entire face, ears, and neck now a uniform, vibrant shade of pink. He looked at his mother with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging her to stop exposing his absolute lack of game.

His dad let out another booming laugh, clapping a hand on Soobin's rigid shoulder. "She's not lying, son! Remember your middle school graduation? That poor girl tried to give you a bouquet of flowers and you bowed so fast and so low you nearly cracked your forehead against hers, then ran away to the car."

"I was just... polite!" Soobin mumbled defensively, hiding his face behind his large palm as he looked down at his rice bowl, his shoulders slumping. A tiny, helpless dimple poked through his flushed cheek anyway, showing he was more flustered than actually upset.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly, looking over at Soobin shrinking into his seat 

"It's true, Y/N-ah," his grandmother chimed in, placing a beautifully grilled, juicy piece of pork belly directly onto Y/N's plate with a fond nod. "Our Soobin has always been a quiet, gentle soul. He keeps his heart tucked away safely. So we knew you must be someone incredibly special."

The brilliant July stars were completely out by the time they finally left the warmth of the backyard. The air had cooled down significantly, carrying a crisp, refreshing breeze that rustled through the dark leaves of the village trees.

Soobin walked a little slower than usual, matching his long strides to Y/N’s smaller ones. He had his hands buried deep in the pockets of his soft jacket, his shoulder brushing gently against hers with every few steps. For the first few minutes, they just walked in a comfortable, quiet rhythm, listening to the steady chorus of the summer cicadas.

But as they turned onto the narrow, stone-walled lane that led toward her house, Soobin noticed how quiet she had become. She was looking down at her sandals, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her dress.

He stopped walking, turning his body toward her. "Y/N-ah?"

Y/N paused, looking up at him. In the dim, warm glow of the yellow streetlights, Soobin’s dark eyes were full of a quiet, intense focus. He stepped a little closer, taking one hand out of his pocket to reach for hers. His fingers wrapped around her small hand, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle over her knuckles.

"You've been really quiet since we left the house," he murmured gently. "Are you okay? Did my family overwhelm you?"

Y/N let out a small, heavy breath, the cool night air suddenly making her feel incredibly small. She looked away from him, staring at the shadows on the stone wall, before finally pulling her hand away from his grip completely.

"Soobin... hearing your mom talk about Seoul, and your grandpa... it just made it all feel so real," she said, her voice tight with a sudden surge of anxiety. "The first day of July is already here. After this month, the summer is over."

Soobin blinked, caught off guard by her pulling away. "Yeah, but we'll be heading up there together. I'll be right there to help you settle into the campus—"

"What if I don't go?" Y/N interrupted, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop them.

The silence that followed was absolute. Soobin froze, his hand remaining suspended in the air for a second before dropping slowly to his side. His brow furrowed, his entire demeanor shifting from tender comfort to complete, stunned confusion. "What do you mean, what if you don't go? Your application to SNU is already approved."

"I know, but I’m just... I’m really not so sure about Seoul anymore, Soobin," she argued, crossing her arms tightly as she looked up at him, her defenses flaring because of how scared she actually was. "I've lived on this island my whole life. Everything here makes sense to me. Seoul is massive, crowded, and terrifying. W-What if I just stay in Jeju? I could just find a university here, stay close to my family, and..." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "And just stay where I know I fit in."

Soobin stared at her, a rare flash of hurt and sharp defensiveness coloring his features. He stepped toward her, his tall frame cutting off the light from the streetlamp, his jaw tight.

"You're talking about completely throwing away your dream because you're scared?" he asked, his deep voice dropping into a sharper, more intense register than she had ever heard from him before. "You've been working toward this for a year. We've been talking all week about what we're going to do when we get to the city."

"It's easy for you to say it's just 'being scared'!" Y/N shot back, her frustration boiling over. "You grew up there, Soobin! You have your family, your friends, your entire life waiting for you. For me, it's starting completely over from scratch. What happens when you're busy with your own life and your own classes? Am I just supposed to sit in a tiny dorm room wishing I never left home?"

"That’s completely unfair!" Soobin said, looking genuinely wounded. He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, pulling at the roots as he looked away from her for a brief second to catch his breath before looking right back into her eyes. "You think I’m just going to leave you to fend for yourself? You think I view you as some fling for the summer? I was finally excited to go back to Seoul because you were going to be there. But now it feels like you're using Jeju as an excuse to pull away from me before we even get there."

The accusation hung heavily in the cool night air, the steady, rhythmic chirping of the July cicadas suddenly sounding entirely too loud in the space between them.

Y/N stared up at him, her breath catching in her throat. Seeing Soobin—who was always so compliant, so careful with his words, and so endlessly patient—looking at her with such raw, flashing hurt in his eyes made her anger instantly evaporate, leaving behind nothing but a cold, hollow ache.

"I'm not trying to pull away from you," she whispered, her voice trembling as the defensive walls she’d built up over the last ten minutes completely crumbled. "Soobin, how can you think that? You’re the best part of being here."

Soobin didn't answer right away. He kept his jaw clenched so tight the sharp line of it caught the edge of the yellow streetlamp. He took a long, heavy breath through his nose, his broad shoulders rising and falling under his cream cardigan as he tried to swallow down the sudden spike of emotion. He looked down at his shoes, then out at the dark lane, refusing to meet her eyes for a long, agonizing moment.

When he finally looked back at her, the sharp defensiveness was entirely gone, replaced by a quiet, vulnerable exhaustion.

"Because that’s what it feels like," he said softly, his voice dropping back into that deep, gravelly register. He closed the small distance she had put between them, though he didn't reach out to touch her just yet. "It feels like you’re ready to completely rewrite your entire future—throw away a dream you worked so hard for—just to stay in your comfort zone. And it makes me feel like I’m not enough of a reason for you to want to take that leap."

"It's not that you're not enough," Y/N murmured, looking down at the gravel, her chest aching. "It's just... Jeju is safe. Out here, I know who I am. Up there, I'm just nobody."

"You're not a nobody to me," Soobin insisted, stepping even closer until the warm, familiar scent of his laundry detergent and the sea completely enveloped her.

He reached out, his large, slightly trembling hand gently catching her wrist before sliding down to lock his fingers securely with hers.

"You think I’m not terrified of going back?" he admitted, a bittersweet, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Y/N, I hate crowds. I hate how fast Seoul moves. Half the time I'm up there, I just want to lock myself in my room and hide. I was dreading the end of summer because it meant going back to all of that."

He squeezed her hand tightly, his dark eyes entirely bare and full of an intense, quiet sincerity.

"But then I met you. And for the last week, every time I thought about Seoul, I wasn't dreading it anymore. I was actually excited. Because I kept imagining showing you my favorite quiet spots, walking across the campus to meet you after your classes, and having a piece of home—a piece of this—with me. If you stay here, yeah, you’ll be safe. But you’ll always wonder 'what if.' Don't let fear make your choices for you, Y/N-ah. Especially not when I'm right here ready to catch you."

The honesty in his voice cut right through the remainder of her anxiety. Y/N looked up at him, realizing that in her fear of the unknown, she had completely overlooked how much strength he was drawing from her, too.

Slowly, she let out the breath she’d been holding, her shoulders relaxing. "I'm sorry," she whispered, leaning her forehead lightly against his chest. "I'm just so scared."

Soobin let out a soft, defeated sigh, the tension finally bleeding out of his tall frame. He let go of her hand only to wrap both of his long arms completely around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, rocking her slightly from side to side under the warm glow of the streetlamp.

"I know," he rumbled gently against her skin, his grip tightening as if he could physically shield her from her doubts. "I am too. But we still have all of July left. Let's just focus on being right here, together, and we'll figure out the rest when the time comes. Deal?"

Y/N nodded silently against his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his jacket. The steady, comforting beat of his heart under her cheek did more to quiet her racing thoughts than any logic could.

"Deal," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

Soobin held her like that for a few more long moments, his fingers gently tangling in the hair at the back of her neck, just holding her steady against the weight of the future. When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He kept his hands resting lightly on her waist, looking down at her with a soft, slightly tired but deeply affectionate smile.

"Good," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a trace of relief. He reached up, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away a stray tear she hadn't realized had slipped down her cheek. "Because I can't let my mom and grandma think I made you cry on our very first official family dinner. I'll never hear the end of it."

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, swatting playfully at his chest. "You did make me cry. You were using your scary voice."

"My scary voice?" Soobin’s eyes widened in genuine shock, his head tilting back as a breathless laugh escaped him. His deep dimples popped back into his cheeks, completely erasing any lingering tension from their argument. "I don't have a scary voice! I was just... passionately communicating!"

"You sounded like a strict teacher," she teased, finally smiling fully as she looked up at him.

"I was defending my honor," he protested softly, his expression turning incredibly tender again as his gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. He stepped in closer, his chest pressing against hers as he slid his hands down to find hers again, weaving their fingers together. "Seriously, though. Don't hide it from me when you feel like that, okay? Even if we argue. I'd rather know."

"I won't," Y/N promised, squeezing his large hands. "I'm sorry I took it out on you."

"Forget about it," Soobin murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss right to the top of her head. He smelled like the smoky sweet scent of the backyard grill and the cool night air. "Come on, let’s get you home before your dad comes out here with a broom to see what's taking so long."

They walked the final few meters to her front gate in a much lighter, sweeter silence, their joined hands swinging gently between them. The anxiety about Seoul hadn't completely vanished—the city was still massive, and August was still coming and nothing was going to make time freeze—but as Y/N looked at Soobin waving energetically from the bottom of the lane, his giant, dimpled smile lighting up the dark July night, she realized the unknown didn't feel quite as lonely anymore.

The rest of July dissolved into a sun-drenched, blurry haze of the best days Y/N had ever known. True to his word, Soobin didn't let a single afternoon go to waste.

Once the anxiety of the future was tucked away, they lived entirely in the present. They spent hours down at the hidden cove, Soobin’s long legs dangling off the rocks as he watched Y/N swim, always ready with a dry towel and a warm embrace the second she shivered. They rode his scooter through the winding, emerald-green roads of the island, the salt wind whipping through their hair while Y/N held tightly to his waist. There were quiet afternoons spent on the floor of his grandmother’s porch, splitting frozen water ice bars in half, and late-night walks under the vast July stars where they talked about absolutely everything and nothing at all.

But summer, no matter how deeply you try to hold onto it, always has an expiration date.

Suddenly, it was the final week of July. The lazy, endless days caught up to them, and the reality they had successfully avoided for a month settled back into the air. Tomorrow morning, Soobin was leaving for Seoul with his parents.

That final evening, the sky over the island turned a bruised, dramatic shade of violet and gold. They didn't go to the cove or the bustling town; instead, they walked up to the ancient, sprawling tree on the hillside that overlooked the ocean—the place where so many of their quietest promises had been made.

The July breeze was warmer now, heavy with the scent of upcoming late-summer rains. Soobin sat with his back against the thick trunk of the tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Y/N sat between them, leaning her back securely against his chest. His large arms were wrapped loosely but completely around her waist, his chin resting gently on the crown of her head.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They just watched the distant, tiny lights of the fishing boats out on the dark water begin to twinkle one by one.

"My bags are packed," Soobin’s deep voice finally broke the silence, vibrating softly against Y/N’s back. It sounded heavier tonight, grounded in a quiet, reluctant sadness. "My dad wants to leave for the airport at five tomorrow afternoon."

Y/N reached down, placing her hands over his arms, her fingers tracing the soft cotton of his sleeve. "It feels weird. The whole month felt like it lasted a year, but today went by in a second."

Soobin tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer, as if trying to memorize the exact way she fit against him. He let out a long, slow breath that brushed through her hair.

"I don't want to go," he whispered, a rare admission of vulnerability. "I hate thinking that tomorrow night, I'll be in my room in Seoul, and I won't be able to just walk down the lane to see you. I won't be able to hear the cicadas like this."

Y/N turned her head slightly, looking up at him through the twilight. The sharp, handsome profile of his face looked solemn, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon. The fear she had felt at the beginning of the month didn't flare up this time; instead, seeing him look so reluctant to leave gave her a strange, quiet wave of strength.

"It's only for a few weeks, Soobin-ah," she said softly, reaching up to gently touch the edge of his jaw. "Two weeks will pass. And then I'll be right behind you."

Soobin turned his head, his gaze dropping to meet hers. In the dimming light, the intense, unwavering devotion in his eyes made her breath catch. He caught her hand from his jaw, bringing her palms to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her knuckles.

And then, his gaze dropped to her lips.

The space between them seemed to shrink to nothing as he leaned down, his large hand shifting from her knuckles to gently cup the side of her face. His thumb brushed softly over her cheekbone, tilting her chin up just a fraction. When his lips finally met hers, the kiss was soft and slow, tasting faintly of the sweet summer air and carrying all the heavy, unsaid weight of tomorrow’s departure.

It wasn't a rushed goodbye, but a deep, lingering promise. Soobin sighed into the kiss, his other arm tightening around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as if he could physically print the memory of her into his skin to carry back to Seoul.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch or two, his forehead rested against hers. Both of them were breathing a little shallower now. In the quiet dark of the hillside, with his eyes closed and his hands holding her so securely, the massive, terrifying city of Seoul didn't feel like an ending anymore—it felt like a beginning.

"Two weeks," he murmured again, his voice lower, rougher, and completely certain against her lips. "I'll see you in Seoul."

Two weeks later, the intense, sticky heat of a Seoul mid-August hummed through the glass panes of Incheon International Airport—the bustling hub for domestic flights coming in from the island.

Inside the terminal, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the quiet, slow-paced lanes of Jeju. The late afternoon air was thick, filled with the loud hum of old-school floor fans, the clatter of analog arrival boards flipping their plastic letters, and the chatter of travelers carrying heavy vinyl duffel bags and strapped luggage.

Standing right at the edge of the metal barrier, completely oblivious to the chaotic rush around him, was Soobin.

He was hard to miss—his tall frame easily towered over most of the crowd. He was dressed casually in an oversized, faded blue short-sleeve button-up shirt and dark trousers, looking every bit like a boy straight out of a classic retro film. For the past forty-five minutes, he had been shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his large hands nervously gripping his foldable phone. Every time the heavy doors of the domestic arrivals gate swung open, his shoulders would tense, his dark eyes instantly scanning the emerging faces with intense focus.

To say he had been restless for the last fourteen days was an understatement. He had practically scratched the days off his wall calendar at home, and his room in Seoul had felt entirely too quiet without the sound of the ocean—and without her.

Then, the doors swung open yet again.

Through the crowd of arriving passengers, a familiar figure pushed through, rolling a heavy, boxy suitcase out into the terminal.

Soobin’s entire posture locked up. The moment his eyes landed on Y/N, the anxious, tense expression he had been wearing for an hour completely vanished. A massive, radiant smile broke across his face, his deep dimples carving instantly into his cheeks.

Forgetting all about his usual shy, reserved nature in public, he lifted a long arm and waved frantically over the heads of the crowd.

"Y/N-ah!" he called out, his deep voice easily cutting through the airport noise.

He didn't even wait for her to navigate past the waiting crowd. Soobin eagerly stepped over the divider line, his long strides eating up the distance between them in seconds. Before Y/N could even properly lift her hand to wave back, he was already right in front of her.

He lifted her seamlessly, his large hands anchoring firmly at her waist as he spun her in a slow, sweeping princess twirl right there in the middle of the crowded terminal. Y/N let out a breathless, surprised gasp, her hands instantly flying up to clasp tightly around his neck as the busy airport blurred around them, the retro signs and humming fans fading into a background hum.

When he finally set her back down on her feet, he didn't let go. His arms looped loosely around her waist, keeping her anchored flush against his chest. He leaned down, burying his face into the crook of her neck for a long, quiet second, just breathing her in. He smelled like his familiar laundry detergent, but underneath it was the distinct, crisp scent of the city—he really was a Seoul boy.

"You're actually here," Soobin mumbled against her skin, his deep voice vibrating straight through her.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her face, his eyes shining with an almost overwhelming amount of happiness. His dimples were cut so deep into his cheeks they looked permanent. He reached up, his large, warm hand instantly cupping her cheek, his thumb sweeping over her skin exactly the way he used to under the streetlamps in Jeju.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, completely ignoring the busy travelers navigating around her boxy suitcase. "Two weeks felt like two years. I kept staring at the clock all morning."

Y/N leaned into his palm, the last lingering trace of her anxiety about the massive city completely evaporating the moment his arms had wrapped around her. "I missed you too. Did you really wait here all morning?"

"Of course I did," Soobin said softly, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss right to lips. "Come on. I have my dad’s car parked in the parking lot, and I promised my mom I’d bring you straight to the apartment for dinner. But first..."

He stepped back, effortlessly grabbing the handle of her heavy suitcase with one hand while using his other to firmly lock his fingers with hers, squeezing tight.

"Let's get out of this crowd. Welcome to Seoul, Y/N-ah."

The mid-August dusk settled over Seoul not with the quiet, fading gold of the Jeju coastline, but in a sudden, electric blaze of neon and concrete. Stepping out into the city streets, the sheer, crushing scale of the capital was nothing like the island. Where Jeju was defined by the endless blue horizon and the rhythmic, grounding sigh of the ocean, Seoul was a towering maze of grey stone, steel, and a dizzying web of overlapping telephone wires cutting the sky into jagged pieces.

The air here carried no trace of salt or wind. It was thick and heavy, radiating the metallic warmth of roaring city buses, the rich, spicy steam of tteokbokki from roadside stalls, and the humid exhaust of a metropolis that never slowed down. Everywhere, a relentless sea of strangers moved with hurried, serious strides across the asphalt, their voices swallowed by the overlapping din of car horns and analog billboard lights humming to life in vibrant shades of green and red. It was loud, chaotic, and entirely overwhelming—a sprawling jungle that made the quiet, stone-walled lanes of her village feel like a distant dream.

Yet, as the rushing crowd blurred past on the wide sidewalk, the vastness of the city shrank to the space of a single heartbeat.

His large, warm hand remained firmly locked with hers, a solid and unyielding anchor against the frantic pulse of the city. Towering over the rush of commuters, his familiar presence completely blocked out the intimidating skyline, his dark eyes reflecting the glow of the first evening lights with the exact same quiet devotion from the hillside tree. With a slow, breathtakingly tender smile that brought back the soft warmth of summer, he squeezed her fingers tight, pulling her just a fraction closer to his side.

The city was massive, terrifying, and completely foreign. But as they turned together into the vibrant, crowded streets of Seoul, the unknown no longer felt like a place to get lost—it simply felt like the next place they would walk through, hand in hand.

Jeju was far behind her, and the massive, unfamiliar capital stretched out as far as the eye could see. Yet, looking up at him as the neon signs began to blur together, the lingering fear finally dissolved into the humid evening air. Jeju hadn't been her home because of the sea, the tide, or the quiet, stone-walled lanes.

She realized then that home was no longer a fixed place on a map or a quiet village frozen in time. It wasn't defined by geography at all. Home was the sound of his laugh, the safety of his arms, and the unwavering devotion in his eyes. Wherever he was, that was where she belonged.

In the middle of this massive, chaotic city, Soobin had become her home.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

permanent taglist @nanilis, @flytomyro0m, @fairfootedflekk, @swangyu, @frostymatcha, @starlami, @jellyybelly, @bakudon, @twinklefairyland, @monosung, @bamgeutori, @pageraf, @wonniiz, @soohashits

The moment you stepped onto the floor his attention automatically found you. His eyes followed your path through the office, taking in the familiar sight of you weaving around desks and associates with barely a glance in their direction. His jaw tightened slightly as the skirt moved with every confident step, forcing himself to look away before someone noticed him staring at your ass. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. Because apparently seven years wasn’t enough time to get over a crush. Not law school. Not graduation. Not working together for almost three years. Nothing helped. If anything, seeing you every day only made it worse. Far worse.

A sharp knock pulled him from his thoughts as his assistant stepped into the office. “Jeong, the Montgomery files.” Yunho looked down at the documents in front of him. “Thanks.” The assistant left and Yunho immediately looked back toward your office. Pathetic. Actually pathetic and he knew it. His father knew it. Half the damn firm probably knew it. Yet there he was. Still watching. Still hopeless. Still completely screwed. Then his mood darkened. Because Danny appeared. The new associate. Fresh out of Northwestern. Too eager. Too friendly. And unfortunately very interested in you.

Yunho watched as Danny crossed the floor carrying two coffees. One for himself and one for you. His jaw immediately clenched as Danny stopped outside your office just as you reached your desk. You looked up from your laptop and he flashed a smile, said something Yunho couldn’t hear. Then handed you the coffee and your smile appeared. And Yunho nearly snapped the pen in his hand. The worst part wasn’t even that Danny liked you. Everybody liked you. That wasn’t new. The problem was Danny had the confidence to actually do something about it. While Yunho had spent years pretending he wasn’t completely obsessed.

From your office, you accepted the coffee with a grateful smile and Danny laughed at something you said and you laughed back. And across the floor, Yunho looked one minor inconvenience away from committing several felonies. A moment later his office door opened and his father stepped inside carrying a folder. One glance out the glass wall was all it took and older man sighed. The sigh of a man who had watched this exact situation unfold for years. “Morning, son.” Yunho didn’t answer as his father followed his gaze. Saw Danny. Saw you. Saw the coffee. And immediately understood. “Still haven’t told her?”

Yunho’s eyes never left the scene outside. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right.”

“Not a clue.”

His father nodded then placed the folder on the desk. “You know, most people simply ask someone out.” Yunho finally looked at him. “I’d rather jump off the roof.” His father laughed. “That’s probably easier than whatever it is you’re doing now.” Outside, Danny said something else that made you smile again and Yunho looked away immediately. Because for some reason, that smile had always been his biggest weakness. And unfortunately for him, you had absolutely no idea.

Yunho’s father didn’t look particularly sympathetic. In fact, the older man looked far too entertained for someone standing in the office of a man currently contemplating murder. Outside the glass walls, Danny was still lingering beside your desk, leaning casually against the doorway while you sorted through emails. Whatever he was saying earned yet another laugh from you and Yunho’s eye twitched.

“You’re glaring.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re glaring while working.”

“I’m multitasking.”

His father snorted. “Very professional.” Yunho finally dragged his attention back toward the folder sitting on his desk. “What do you need?” The smile his father gave him instantly made him suspicious. Twenty seven years old and it still worked. Every time that smile appeared, it meant trouble. His father slid a folder across the desk. “New case.” Yunho opened it and froze.

First came confusion. Then disbelief. Then something dangerously close to hope. His father watched every emotion happen in real time.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

Yunho flipped through the first few pages. Major client. Corporate litigation. Huge account. Millions at stake. The kind of case that could make careers. His eyes landed on the staffing page then stopped. Because directly beneath his own name was yours and for a second he forgot how to breathe as his father folded his arms. “Surprise.” Yunho read it again. Then again just to make sure. Still there. Your name. Partnered with him. For months. Potentially longer. Depositions. Strategy meetings. Client dinners. Travel. Late nights. Court appearances. The entire package.

Slowly, his father sat down across from the desk. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Yunho tossed the folder onto his desk and his father grinned. “You two will be leading it together.” Yunho groaned, putting up that front of his. Denial. False annoyance. “Why?”

“Because you’re my two best associates.”

Yunho immediately narrowed his eyes. “That sounds fake.”

“It’s not.”

“It sounds fake.”

His father laughed. “It is a little fake.” Yunho rolled his eyes. “There it is.” The older man leaned back in his chair. “The client requested our strongest team.”

“And?”

“And unfortunately the two of you are extremely good together.”

Yunho hated that. Not because it wasn’t true. Because it was. You fought constantly. Argued over strategy. Disagreed on nearly everything. But somehow every case the two of you touched ended in a win. The entire firm knew it. Which only made it worse. His father studied him for a moment then sighed. “You know this is probably healthy.” Yunho already hated where this conversation was heading. “Healthy?”

“Yes.”

“Working sixty hour weeks is healthy?”

“No.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

His father pointed toward the bullpen. Toward you. “The time together.” Yunho immediately looked away. “Absolutely not.”

“The kind of time where you’re not obsessing over her from behind glass.” Outside, a group of associates walked past your office while Yunho stared at his father like he’d just committed a crime but the older man just continued. “Maybe you’ll actually have a conversation.”

“I talk to her.”

“You argue with her.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

Yunho rubbed a hand over his face. His father was enjoying this far too much. “You’re being dramatic.” His father nearly choked laughing. “Me?”

“Yes.”

The older man pointed at the floor to ceiling windows. “Son, you’ve spent the last ten minutes watching her drink coffee.”

“That’s not true.”

“You literally stopped listening when she smiled.” Yunho opened his mouth and closed it. Opened it again. Then gave up. Because unfortunately that was exactly what had happened and his father looked positively delighted. “Seven years.”

“Stop.”

“Seven.”

“Please stop.”

“Years.”

Yunho groaned as his father stood and straightened his jacket. “You know, normal people would’ve asked her out by now.”

“I’m not normal.”

“Clearly.” His father moved toward the door then paused and gave one last glance over his shoulder. One final bullet to the head. “Try not to scare her off.” The door closed behind him and Yunho stared at it. Then immediately looked across the office floor straight toward your office. As if sensing it, you looked up and your eyes met through the glass. And for a brief second. One tiny second. Before you rolled your eyes and went back to work….. Yunho felt something in his chest do a complete backflip. Then Danny reappeared carrying another stack of files and just like that, his mood was ruined again.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The rest of the morning passed exactly how most mornings at Jeong & Partners passed. Chaotically. Emails. Phone calls. Research requests. Partners demanding updates. Clients demanding miracles. By noon, you had almost forgotten about the conversation you’d overheard between two associates discussing some major litigation assignment being announced later that week. Almost. Unfortunately, one particular blond attorney seemed determined to make sure you didn’t forget.

Across the floor, Yunho had spent the better part of the last three hours pretending to work. The keyword being pretending. Because every time he looked up from his desk, he could see your office. Every time he glanced through the glass walls, there you were. Typing. Reading. Arguing with opposing counsel over the phone. Running a hand through your hair when frustrated. And every single time, he had to force himself to focus on something else. The problem was now he knew. Now he knew you’d be working together. Months. Possibly longer. Which meant his already fragile self control was hanging on by a thread. And the worst part? He was excited.

Which was exactly why he needed to be an asshole. The asshole persona was safe. The asshole persona couldn’t accidentally confess he’d been in love with you since constitutional law. The asshole persona couldn’t accidentally admit he remembered what color dress you’d worn to graduation. So the asshole persona stayed and by lunchtime, you were gathering your things. Your laptop disappeared into your bag. You grabbed your phone. A few files. Your wallet. And finally stood from your desk. But the second you stepped into the hallway, a familiar voice appeared like a curse. “Going somewhere?”

You stopped walking and closed your eyes. Counted to three then turned. Yunho stood a few feet away looking irritatingly perfect as usual. The charcoal three piece suit fit him like it had been stitched directly onto his body. His tie had disappeared sometime during the morning, the top button of his white dress shirt undone. The silver blond hair he’d been bleaching for as long as you’d known him fell across his forehead in a way that should’ve looked ridiculous. Instead, annoyingly, it worked. You hated that it worked. You hated that your brain occasionally noticed things like that. Mostly because it was easier to be irritated by him when he wasn’t walking around looking like the human embodiment of an expensive magazine ad of your exact type. “What do you want?”

His mouth immediately twitched. “You know,” he said casually, sliding one hand into his pocket, “most people start conversations with hello.”

“Most people aren’t you.”

“Ouch.”

“Tragic.”

Yunho looked positively delighted and you hated that too. Then again, he always seemed happiest when annoying you. Which honestly said a lot about his mental stability. “So,” he said.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I know enough.”

His grin widened. God, you wanted to throw something at him. “Did you hear the news?” You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “What news?” For a brief moment something flashed through his expression. Excitement. Then it disappeared beneath the usual cocky smile as Yunho pulled a folder from under his arm and held it out making you frown as you took it and opened it. And immediately froze. Your name. His name. The case assignment. The same realization hit you that had hit him hours earlier. “Oh no.” Yunho laughed. The bastard. “Oh yes.” You looked up. Then back at the paperwork. Then back at him. “No.”

“Afraid so.”

“There has to be a mistake.”

“There isn’t.”

“Your father hates me.”

“My father loves you.” You blinked and Yunho blinked. And for one horrifying second neither of you moved. Then he recovered. Far faster than you did. “Professionally,” he added quickly and your eyes narrowed. “Right.”

“Obviously.”

Neither of you seemed entirely convinced as Yunho cleared his throat. Then leaned slightly closer. Not enough to invade your space. Just enough to be annoying. His favorite distance. The distance that made you aware of him. Made you notice things. Like the expensive cologne. Or the sharp line of his jaw. Or the fact that his eyes always seemed to be looking directly through people. Except when he looked at you. Then they felt entirely too focused. Entirely too attentive. And entirely too dangerous.

His grin returned. Slow and cocky and infuriating. “Looks like you’re mine for the next few months, sweetheart.” You stared at him as you slowly closed the folder and smiled. The kind of smile that made junior associates run. “Oh, Jeong.” Yunho’s stomach immediately dropped. Because that tone never meant anything good. And he hated how it made his dick twitch. “What?” You stepped forward. Close enough to pat his shoulder. Close enough to watch his stupid confident smile falter slightly. “If you call me sweetheart one more time…” Yunho looked amused as you smiled wider. “I’m going to make sure every minute of this case feels like a personal attack.”

For a second silence hung between you. Then Yunho laughed. A real laugh. Low. Warm. Entirely too attractive. And to your absolute horror, the man looked thrilled. Like you’d just promised him a vacation instead of a threat. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes and walked away toward the elevators and behind you, Yunho watched you go. Watched until the elevator doors closed. Watched until you disappeared completely. Then let out a slow breath. Because working with you every day for months was either going to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or the thing that finally killed him. And honestly? He wasn’t sure which outcome was more likely.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time you returned from lunch, your irritation had somehow gotten worse. Which was impressive. You’d spent nearly forty minutes convincing yourself you were overreacting. Convincing yourself that being assigned to a case with Yunho wasn’t the end of the world. That you were both professionals. That you’d survived law school together. That you’d survived three years working in the same building. You could survive one case. Then you’d walked back into the office and the first thing you’d seen was Yunho leaning against someone’s desk laughing about something. The second thing you’d seen was him noticing you. The third thing was that stupid grin appearing immediately. And suddenly all your progress had disappeared.

Now you stood outside the managing partner’s office. Mr. Jeong’s office. The largest office in the building. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked downtown Chicago while shelves lined with legal awards and framed photographs occupied nearly every wall. Most people were intimidated walking in here. You weren’t. Mostly because you’d known the man for years. The door was already open and Mr. Jeong looked up from a stack of documents when you appeared and a smile immediately pulled at his mouth that looked too much like his son’s. Which should have been your first warning. “Ah.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t ‘ah’ me.” His smile grew. Definitely a warning sign. “Good afternoon, Y/N.”

“You put me on a case with your son.”

“Yes.”

“No explanation?”

“No.”

You stared and he stared back completely unbothered as you dropped into the chair across from his desk. “Why?” The older attorney set down his pen. “Because you’re both excellent attorneys.”

“That’s the official answer?”

“It is.”

“I want the real answer.”

His eyes sparkled and you immediately regretted asking as Mr. Jeong leaned back in his chair. “You know, when you ask a question like that, it makes it sound like working with Yunho is some terrible punishment.”

“It is.”

The man laughed. “That’s harsh.”

“You raised him.”

“I tried my best.”

“You failed.”

“I know.” Another laugh and honestly, it was annoying how much amusement he got from this. You crossed your arms. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Mr. Jeong.”

He sighed dramatically. Then folded his hands on his desk. “The truth?”

“Yes.”

“You two are the best litigators I have.”

You opened your mouth but he raised a finger. “And before you argue, let me finish.” You immediately closed it. Mostly because he was giving you the same look he gave witnesses right before destroying their credibility. “The two of you disagree on everything.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why you work.” You frowned as he continued. “Yunho sees details nobody else sees.” You hated how true that was. “You see angles nobody else sees.” Unfortunately also true. “You challenge each other.” You rolled your eyes. “We annoy each other.”

“That too.” The older man smiled. “But every single time I put the two of you in the same room, the work gets better.” You couldn’t immediately argue. Which was irritating and Mr. Jeong noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. “You know what your biggest problem is?”

“I have several.”

“You assume things about my son.” The sudden shift caught you off guard. “What?”

“You assume you already know who he is.”

You leaned back. “And I don’t?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. Without hesitation. Without doubt. And for some reason that bothered you. Mr. Jeong glanced toward the windows. Toward the city beyond them. “He works harder than anyone in this building.” You opened your mouth but he raised a hand again. “I know exactly what people say. Founder’s son.” His voice was calm. “Nepo hire.” Your expression shifted slightly. “Everything handed to him.” The older man smiled. A sadder smile this time. “They’ve been saying it since he first started law school.” Something uncomfortable settled in your stomach. Because if there was one thing you knew about Yunho… he never defended himself. Ever. He’d make a joke. Deflect. Smile. Move on. But he’d never actually defend himself.

Mr. Jeong looked back at you. “The reason I’m putting you together is because I trust both of you.” You nodded slowly. That answer at least felt genuine. Then the older attorney ruined it. “I also think it’ll be entertaining.” You groaned. “Seriously?”

“Very.” The man grinned again. “You should’ve seen his face when I told him.” Your eyes narrowed as Mr. Jeong looked entirely too pleased with himself. “What face?” His grin widened. “The kind that suggested he was trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t happy.” Now you looked suspicious. “Happy?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Why?”

The older man suddenly became fascinated by a document sitting on his desk. “Oh, who knows.”

“Mr. Jeong.”

“No idea.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“It never does.”

You stared at each other. And the older man looked remarkably smug as you stood. Because you weren’t getting anything useful out of him. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You moved toward the door, reaching for the handle. Then his voice stopped you. “Give him a chance, Y/N.” You paused as Mr. Jeong’s expression had softened. Only a little. But enough. “A chance to what?” His smile returned. Smaller this time. “To genuinely surprise you.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you walked out. But for the rest of the afternoon, as annoying as it was, you couldn’t quite get those words out of your head.

Because for the first time in years, a tiny part of you wondered if maybe there was more to Yunho than the arrogant smartass who spent half his life trying to get under your skin. Unfortunately, that thought lasted exactly seven minutes. Because the moment you got back to your office, there was a sticky note on your monitor in familiar handwriting.

Don’t forget our strategy meeting after hours tonight, sweetheart. ❤️

You stared at it long and hard. Then immediately started plotting his murder.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By five thirty, the office had settled into its usual evening rhythm. Some associates were packing up and heading home. Others were just beginning the second half of their day. The litigation department lived on caffeine, spite, and impossible deadlines, and today was no different. You had spent the last two hours buried beneath discovery documents, deposition transcripts, and a growing headache that felt suspiciously like the beginning of a migraine. Which was why you eventually abandoned your office in search of salvation. Specifically, a Red Bull.

The break room was mercifully empty when you walked in. At least for the first ten seconds. You opened the refrigerator. Found the can you’d stashed there that morning and immediately heard a familiar voice behind you. “Please tell me that’s not your dinner.” You glanced over your shoulder. Danny. Of course. He stood in the doorway carrying a stack of files under one arm. His tie was loosened and his sleeves were rolled up. The picture of an overworked attorney trying very hard to impress someone. Namely you.

“It has vitamins.”

Danny laughed. “That’s not how vitamins work.”

“It is when you’re desperate.”

“You know, normal people eat food.”

You cracked the can open. “Normal people aren’t handling four cases and a psychotic partner.”

“Fair point.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation while you leaned against the counter sipping your drink. Danny was nice. Maybe a little eager. Maybe a little obvious. But nice. The kind of guy who remembered birthdays and probably called his mother every Sunday. Unfortunately for him, he had made the mistake of developing a crush on someone who worked directly across the hall from Yunho. A mistake Yunho was becoming increasingly aware of. Because at that exact moment, Yunho stepped into the break room and stopped.

The sight before him made something unpleasant settle in his chest. You standing beside the counter. Red Bull in hand. Skirt riding up a little. Laughing. And Danny standing entirely too close. Smiling entirely too much. Looking entirely too interested. For a moment, Yunho considered turning around. Walking away. Being mature. Then Danny reached over and brushed something off your sleeve and suddenly maturity became significantly less appealing.

“Well.”

Both you and Danny turned as Yunho stood in the doorway. One hand tucked into his pocket. Expression casual. The kind of casual that usually meant trouble and you immediately sighed. “No.”

“No what?”

“No whatever you’re about to do.”

His smile widened as Danny looked between the two of you. Confused. Concerned. Possibly afraid. Smart man. Yunho ignored him completely. Instead he walked directly toward the coffee machine. “You know,” he said, “I was wondering why productivity suddenly dropped on this floor.”

Danny blinked. “What?”

Yunho pressed a button on the machine. “Oh, nothing.” The machine whirred as you narrowed your eyes. Because you knew that tone. “So what was the cause?” Danny asked and Yunho looked over his shoulder. Smiling. “Apparently extended social visits during work hours.”

You nearly laughed despite yourself. Danny looked offended. “I was grabbing files.”

“Mm.”

“I was.”

“Of course.”

Danny frowned again. “You got a problem?” Dangerous question. Very dangerous question. Because Yunho’s smile never slipped. Not even slightly. “I don’t think I said I did.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied many things.”

Danny’s jaw tightened as you pinched the bridge of your nose. Because this was exactly what you didn’t need. Two men posturing in the break room like they were in a nature documentary. Somewhere a narrator was probably explaining mating rituals as Yunho finally turned around. Coffee in hand. Expression pleasant. Far too fucking pleasant. “How long have you worked here now, Danny?” The younger associate frowned. “Four months.”

“Interesting.”

Danny looked even more confused. “What is?”

Yunho took a sip. “The confidence.”

You closed your eyes. There it is. There was the antagonizing. Subtle enough that nobody could technically accuse him of anything. But sharp enough to draw blood. Danny folded his arms. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Yunho grinned. God, he was annoying when he grinned like that because he looked even more attractive. “It means four months is impressive.” Danny stared. You stared. Even Yunho seemed amused by his own answer. “You’re impossible,” you muttered and immediately his eyes found yours. And just like that, all his attention shifted. The irritation. The jealousy. The possessiveness he’d been fighting all afternoon. Hidden again. Buried beneath that infuriating grin. “You say the sweetest things.”

You rolled your eyes as Danny looked between the two of you. Then realization slowly crossed his face. Not complete realization. But enough. Enough to notice something was off. Enough to notice that Yunho watched you differently. Enough to notice that Yunho had entered the room focused entirely on him and somehow ended up focused entirely on you. Yunho noticed the realization too. Which was exactly why he smiled even wider. A warning disguised as amusement. Danny wasn’t stupid. “Right,” Danny said awkwardly, gathering his files. “I’ve got to finish those motions.”

“Good luck,” Yunho said as he left and silence settled over the room as you slowly turned toward Yunho. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I really don’t.”

“Liar.”

Yunho leaned against the counter beside you. Close enough to annoy you. Far enough to remain technically innocent. His favorite game. “I was getting coffee.”

“You were antagonizing Danny.”

“He seems sensitive.”

Yunho took another sip of his coffee as you took another sip of your Red Bull. The silence between you wasn’t comfortable. It never was. Not because it was awkward. Because it always felt like something was happening beneath it. Some current neither of you acknowledged. Some invisible tug of war that had existed for years. You were glaring at him and Yunho seemed entirely unbothered by that fact.

“What?” you asked.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

His mouth twitched. “I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“Maybe you’re just distracting.”

You groaned immediately. “There he is.”

“There who is?”

“The world’s most annoying attorney.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

You rolled your eyes. A habit he was personally responsible for. For a moment neither of you moved. Then Yunho’s expression shifted slightly. Not enough that most people would’ve noticed. But you knew him. You’d known him for years. You knew when he was about to say something annoying. You knew when he was about to start a fight. You knew when he was about to push your buttons just because he could. And right now? Something else flickered behind his eyes. Something sharper.

His gaze drifted toward the door Danny had disappeared through. Then back to you. “You know he’s wants to fuck you, right?” You nearly choked on your drink. “Jesus fucking Christ Yunho.” The room felt smaller all of a sudden. The air heavier. Like something had shifted. You could feel it as Yunho pushed away from the counter and took a step closer and you took another drink from your Red Bull. Mostly to give yourself something to do. Yunho’s coffee had long been forgotten. It sat abandoned on the counter while he leaned against it beside you.

His gaze drifted over your face before he suddenly asked, “What happened to Kevin?” You blinked, furrowing your brows. The question caught you completely off guard. “What?”

“Kevin.” He shrugged. “The boyfriend. Haven’t seen him come by in a while.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you know his name?” Yunho immediately realized his mistake. Because he absolutely shouldn’t know his name. Not with the confidence he’d just said it. Not unless he’d been paying attention. A lot of attention. Which unfortunately he had. For years. His recovery came quickly. “He picked you up from work like fifty times.” That was fair. Kevin had practically lived in the firm’s lobby for a year. “Why?” Yunho looked down at his coffee. Acting casual. “No reason.”

“He’s gone.”

Something sharp flickered behind Yunho’s eyes at your answer. Gone. As in gone gone. “When?”

“Months ago.” That got his attention. “Months?” You nodded. “Five.” Yunho stared at you. Five months. You’d been single for five months. And somehow he was only finding out now. For a brief moment he wondered if he’d actually died and nobody told him. Then he remembered he was supposed to be acting normal. So instead he asked, “What happened?”

You sighed. The kind of sigh that carried old irritation. “He cheated.” Yunho’s jaw tightened. Not because he was surprised. He wasn’t. He’d known. Hell, he’d been the one who made sure you found out. An anonymous email. Photos attached. No name. No explanation. Just evidence. Enough evidence that Kevin never had a chance of talking his way out of it. To this day you had no idea who sent it and Yunho intended to keep it that way. “He cheated,” you repeated, shaking your head. “A year and a half together and apparently that wasn’t enough.”

Yunho looked away. Because if he looked directly at you right now he was going to say something reckless. Something honest. And honesty around you had always been dangerous. “You have terrible taste in men.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and you laughed. A genuine laugh. The first one he’d heard from you in a long time. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”