I ❤️ SVT

You hum, feeling the shuffle of the mattress as Jeonghan slides under the comforter behind you, then you feel his hand curl hair from your cheek, almost sensing how he leant over you, “Are you sleeping?”

“‘M trying,” You murmur back, feeling Jeonghan press his lips to your cheekbone, holding, his arm slipping to your waist, “Hannie, cameras,”

“I don’t care,” Jeonghan whispers back, hair tickling your face so your nose scrunches, head turning so when you open your eyes, you’re staring at him,

“What do you want?”

Jeonghans face drops in mock offense, “I come here with all my love, and this is how you treat me?”

“They gave me permission to sleep on camera, and you’re ruining it,” You grumble, hand on his forehead, before it drops to the jacket on his chest, “Why are you wearing this? It’s so loud,”

Jeonghan giggles, sitting up long enough to tug the jacket off so he remains in a white sweater, your head turning to bury your face in your pillow,

Jeonghans arms move back around you, tugging your back flush against his chest, lips pressing to your shoulder, “It’s cold,”

“Blanket, Hannie,” You yawn, Jeonghans arm lifting long enough to pull the blanket up to your shoulders, his hand sliding beneath your hoodie so you hiss, “Yoon Jeonghan, cold!”

Jeonghans cackle causes you to heave a sigh, fingers curling over top of his hand on your stomach firmly, “Sleep,”

“‘M not tired,” Jeonghan grins against your shoulder, then lifts his head so his chin rested instead, “Tell me a story,”

You exhale, again, twisting to lay on your back so Jeonghan laid on your pillow, thumb gentle on the skin of your hip, “You’re usually the one who’s tired all the time,”

“I’m just messing with you, honey,” Jeonghan soothes, tugging your side closer, so you hum, eyes fluttering shut,

“Can I sleep now?” You whisper, Jeonghan humming back, tilting his head to allow your foreheads to touch.

You feel him instantly relax, fingers gliding across your stomach, your own hand smoothing up his forearm, “Night, Hannie,”

“Night, honey,”

. . .

“Sweetheart,”

You lift your head, Seungcheol rounding the corner to the large area you were in, moving towards the couch you were curled up on,

“Gyu and Josh are starting dinner,” Seungcheol leans over the back of the couch, ignoring Soonyoungs loud singing into the karaoke machine, “What do you want?”

“Noodles?” You blink with a small pout, Seungcheols face moving closer so your noses touch, his free hand not holding himself steady cupping the back of your neck,

“Need something more besides noodles, sweetheart,”

You hum, in thought, lifting a shoulder to shrug, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, Cheol,”

Seungcheol hums back, leaning forward to peck your lips, “Come downstairs with me? You can not be enjoying this,”

Both of your heads turn to Soonyoung, who has dropped to his knees during the emotional line of his song, your giggle light, “Carry me?”

“Aish,” Seungcheol sighs, rounding the couch, and he leans down to lift you, bridal style, your arms looping around his neck, “Carats will think I’m soft,”

“You are,” You grin, looking over Seungcheols shoulder to the camera man behind you, pointing at it, “You seeing this? Princess treatment,”

“Sweetheart,” Seungcheol warns, glancing over his shoulder to the camera, but grins, head shaking as he rounds the same corner he came from earlier, out of the cameras sight.

. . .

“We need to get up, sweetheart,” Seungcheols murmur is quiet. You can hear the clanking of dishes downstairs, where surely Mingyu was preparing breakfast, but you only drag your fingers further into Seungcheols hair, pulling his lips back down to yours,

“They said no cameras today,” You breathe, breath hot against Seungcheols mouth, and you feel his hand squeeze at your hip, “They won’t bother us,”

“Gyu will, eventually,” Seungcheol feels his body fight back against his own choices, sinking further to where he was nearly laying on top of you, teeth catching your bottom lip playfully before grinning, “You know how he is,”

“Gyu can mind his own business,” You huff, firm as you tug at Seungcheols hair, “Please, Cheollie?”

“If we get caught, sweetheart,” Seungcheols lips move to your ear, hand sliding down so his fingers could tease the edge of your shorts, “You get to deal with them,”

“You-,” You pause when the door pushes open, startled, Seungcheol instantly leaning further over you to shield before spotting Jeonghan, relaxing almost as quick when the male at the door raises an eyebrow, scoffing,

“This is why you’re not up yet?” Jeonghan steps forward, clicking the door shut behind him, and Seungcheol backs away enough to let Jeonghan climb on the bed on your other side, letting your hand curl into his shirt and pull his lips down to yours, “Mm. Hi, honey,”

“She’s needy,” Seungcheol grunts, moving to toss the duvet off his legs and stand up, “You’ve trapped yourself now,”

“Sorry for wanting to love on you,” You scoff, pouting, Jeonghan smiling where he leans over you, pecking your cheek,

“You can love on us after you eat, honey,” Jeonghan leans back, tugging on your wrists, grinning when you whine, “C’mon, Mingyu made your favorite,”

. . .

“Think she’s awake?”

The group of seventeen stand outside the hotel door- thirteen band members, NA PD, and three camera men, Seungkwans whisper quiet in the dimly lit hallway,

“She was knocked out when I checked on her a couple hours ago,” Seungcheol shakes his head, half leaning against Mingyu where he stands on his crutches, recent from knee surgery, “So I doubt it,”

“Let me make sure she’s decent,” Jeonghan mutters, moving to the front so he could grasp the doorknob, the rest of the group silent when he slips into the dark room,

He finds you easily, you’re curled under the thick, white duvet, breaths slow when he reaches you. Hes hesitant when seeing your bare shoulders, reaching up to curl the blanket up to your collarbone, turning his head to nod where Soonyoung had his head poked in,

The light flicks on, and Jeonghan almost laughs when you don’t budge. “Honey,” His hand raises to card through your hair, and you exhale a heavy breath, nearly leaning into the touch, “Gotta wake up,”

“Han,” You mumble, eyes now pinching to avoid the overhead light, “Why?”

He giggles, again, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress just when Seungkwan crawls from the other side, hands on your shoulders, “We’re going to Italy, Noona. You gotta get up!”

“What is he yapping about?” Your murmur is quiet, Jeonghan able to hear you since he’s leaned down to kiss your cheek, his grin wide against the skin,

“We’re going to Italy, honey,” He repeats, leaning back just enough for you to furrow your brows, eyes fluttering, and Jeonghan can see the alarm on your face when spotting your members, hands frantic to keep the duvet close to your chest,

“Italy?” You breathe, taking the hoodie Seungcheol holds out to shrug it on, Jeonghan careful in making sure you stayed covered, “It’s four in the morning,”

“You all get ten minutes to get dressed, and pack whatever you can,” NA PD speaks up, laughing when everyone suddenly rushes to their own hotel rooms,

“Italy?” You repeat, Seungcheol shuffling to sit on the bed, his smile light,

“I won’t be going with you guys,” He states, your frown heavy as you crawl from under the covers, arms sliding around Seungcheols shoulders, knees digging into the mattress,

“Get dressed, sweetheart,” Seungcheol slides one arm around your back, free hand guiding your face forward to press a firm kiss to your cheek, “Let’s get you ready for Italy,”

. . .

“Y/N, come here!”

Your whole group falls silent almost instantly. Jeonghans brows knit where he is walking into the kitchen of the AirBNB, phone in hand, “What?”

“You called her by her name,” Seungcheols voice speaks from said device, Jeonghans eyebrows raising in realization, “Sweetheart, c’mere,”

“Am I in trouble?” You lower the mixing bowl you held, eyes briefly glancing to the table when Seungkwan laughs, once,

“You’re not in trouble- you’re spoiled!”

Your eyes move back to Jeonghan, pressing your cheek to his shoulder to look at his phone screen, where Seungcheol was on FaceTime, voice lowering as your group continues to giggle, “Hi, baby,”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Seungcheol tilts his head, “How’re you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that,” You slide your arms around Jeonghans, leaning further into him tiredly, “I’m okay. Stomach settled after Shua gave me some soup,”

“Good,” Seungcheol murmurs, smiling when Jeonghans cheek tilts to rest on your head, “If it starts to bother you again, try some bread. It can help with the nausea,”

You pluck Jeonghans phone from his hand, free hand reaching up to take his fingers, tugging him back into the hallway and away from the noise, “I will. I promise. How’s your knee?”

You allow Jeonghan to wrap himself around you, his arms sliding over your waist, face against your neck as you both now stand in silence, your hand holding the device turning to show Seungcheol both of you,

“As good as it can get,” Seungcheol exhales, deeply, shifting on the screen, “For three days post surgery,”

You offer him a small smile, raising your free hand to entangle in Jeonghans hair, “We miss you. ‘M sorry you couldn’t come with us,”

“Have fun,” Seungcheol orders, “Don’t forget about me,”

“As if,” You scoff, eyes drifting downwards to Jeonghan, “Hannie, it’s too early to be falling asleep,”

“You’re comfy,” Jeonghan mumbles, Seungcheol huffing a laugh so Jeonghan smiles, tightening his arms to tug you flush against him, “Sorry, Seungcheollie, but I’m gonna have to steal honey for the night,”

“Yah,” Seungcheol protests, “You have her for the next four nights,”

Jeonghan sticks his tongue out, your eyes rolling, “We love you, baby,” You remind, “I’ll call you in the morning?”

“Call me whenever, sweetheart,” Seungcheol nods, smiling, “I love you, too,”

. . .

“Hi, honey,”

It’s day three of the NANA Tour, and NA PD had announced this would be a rest day, so your group was allowed to do whatever they pleased.

You can hear Chans loud laughter now that the door is open, but its soon muffled when Jeonghan closes it, moving towards the bed you’ve decided to occupy into the late morning,

“Hi, Hannie,” Your murmur is just as quiet as his greet, and when Jeonghan climbs into the bed, he sees your phone resting on your chest, a FaceTime call on screen,

“He’s still sleeping?” Jeonghan teases, tilting his head to get a better look at Seungcheol, whose face is buried into his pillow, breaths steady,

“Leave him alone,” You scold, tilting the phone up so you could check on your boyfriend, “He’s healing. Let ‘em,”

“Is today rot in bed day?” Jeonghan then asks, curling closer to you to press his cheek to your shoulder, hand smoothing over your stomach under the sheets before settling on your hip, “Cause I’m down for that,”

“Mm, might get up once Cheol does,” You whisper, head tilting to rest against his as you both stare at the screen, “I’m still upset he couldn’t come,”

“I know, honey,” Jeonghan turns his head to press a slow kiss to your bare shoulder, “But knowing him, he’s been playing video games and sleeping. He’s resting,”

“I know,” You echo, “I hate to say it. I can’t wait to be home,”

“Two days,” Jeonghan hums, “Then he can steal you away from me,”

. . .

Seungcheol knew you were coming home tonight. But you knew once he stopped responding to your texts, that he had fallen asleep.

You’re careful as you slip into his dorm room, Jeonghan close behind, and you’re also careful in climbing onto his bed, hands sliding up Seungcheols shoulders before cradling his jaw, “Cheol, baby,”

His hum is weak, eyebrows lifting as his eyes peal open, and he smiles, hand lifting to hold your hip, “Hi, sweetheart,”

“I missed you,” You murmur, leaning down to press a slow kiss to his lips, moving to then kiss his cheek, “I’m having Cheollie withdraws,”

“C’mere, then,” His arm then slides fully around your back, letting you climb under the sheets to press against his side, Jeonghan smiling when Seungcheol turns his head to rest his lips to your forehead, “I missed you both. Have fun?”

“Mhm,” You hum, “I went on a hot air balloon,”

“Without me,” Jeonghan scoffs, moving to crawl onto your other side, arm across your hip to rest on Seungcheol as you huff a breath,

“You didn’t win it, Jeonghan,” You twist your head, Seungcheols hand then lifting to your hair to guide your attention back to him,

“No arguing, sweetheart,” He murmurs, “You just got home,”

“Sorry,” Jeonghan giggles, cheek nuzzling against your shoulder, “Honey, tell Cheollie about Wonu hiding my recorder,”

Your gasp and short laugh makes Seungcheol grin, and suddenly you’re sitting up, hand on his chest, “He took the recorder apart and hid it around the house, Cheol. Three pieces!”

“Evil,” Seungcheol snorts, eyes gazing at Jeonghan before flicking back up to you, “Why’d he have a recorder?”

“It was his mission,” You answer, “He had to play a certain song? I think? I don’t know, my mission was to make Channie laugh twelve times and I almost won, he laughed eleven times before the timer went off,”

“Anything can make Chan laugh, how’d you lose?” Seungcheols brows pinch, Jeonghan grinning so Seungcheol blinks, “What’d you do?”

Your eyes then move to Jeonghan, taking in his expression, before you lean over, shoving his chest, “You told him? Yoon Jeonghan!”

“Hey! I said no arguing!”

. . .

“Sweetheart,”

You’re surprised you heard Seungcheol over all the shouting and clicking of cameras. You glance to your right, where Seungcheol stood, dressed in a dark grey, robe like suit, hand extended,

You stand in your own outfit, also gifted by Boss as is Seungcheols, a floor length gown that matched his in color, a cloak like fabric covering your shoulders, hiding your arms if you were to keep them at your sides.

Your hand reaches out, taking Seungcheols fingers, and you allow him to guide you closer to him, his hand then sliding to your lower back, “You were too far, sweetheart,”

“Sorry,” You murmur, eyes skimming the cameras in front of you before meeting his eyes, “‘M nervous,”

“Me, too,” Seungcheol exhales, free hand in the pocket of his dress pants, doing the same look around as you then looking back to you, “But we’ve got this. We’re doing good,”

“We’re on the Red Carpet, Cheol,” You keep your voice between you, lifting your chin in a smile when a cameraman waves your attention, “The MET Gala. Who would’ve thought?”

“I like this look at you,” Seungcheol murmurs back, your eyes looking up to find his already on you, your lips pulling up, “There it is,”

“There what is?” You huff a laugh, Seungcheols hand tugging you a step closer, so your free hand reaches up, fixing the fabric of his shirt,

“Your smile,” Seungcheol points, “Not forced,”

“There’s just-,” You sigh, and you both pause to smile at the next wave of cameras, “A lot of people here. And we’re the center of the attention. I’m used to the guys being with us in these situations, Hannie, too,”

“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” Seungcheol promises, briefly glancing to the side where the stairway began. He releases you to side step, beginning up the stairs, and he holds a hand out for you to take.

You take said hand, your other lifting the edge of your dress, eyes on your heeled feet. Lord forbid you trip in front of everyone.

You hear the camera clicks grow louder, biting back a smile when you glance up, finding Seungcheol staring at you, smiling once your gaze meets his,

“Good?” He questions once your feet are on solid ground, your nod light, “C’mon, I wanna get some pictures of you for Jeonghannie,”

. . .

You knew you should’ve checked with staff first. “There’s no peanuts in this, correct?” Is usually your go-to, but for some reason, today, it had completely slipped your mind.

As soon as you hear a crunch in your ice cream, you pause. Your eyes flick down, wide, to your small cup, spoon pushing the ice cream around until you finally see the peanuts, your chest squeezing in alarm.

“Vernon, don’t eat it!” Your hands shooting out startles Vernon and Seungkwan, both staring wide eyed, Jeonghans expression matching where you’ve dropped your cup into the grass,

“Why?” Vernon’s on high alert instantly. You were the first to start eating the sweet treat, so you knew exactly what was wrong.

“Call Seungcheol and tell him to turn around,” You push a hand onto Jeonghans shoulder, and his brows pinch as you push to stand up from the blanket, spitting out the melted ice cream and peanut chunks into a napkin,

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Jeonghans phone raises to his ear, your hand wildly gesturing between the cups,

“There’s peanuts,” You cough, once, and Vernon can now see the flush on your face, “I ate it. My-my bag is in the car and they just left,”

“Holy shit,” Seungkwan mutters, Jeonghan rushed as Seungcheol finally picks up, repeating your words to turn the fuck back around,

“What’s going on?” Seungcheol asked, roughly, immediately picking up on Jeonghans panic,

“Does anyone have an epi-pen?” Vernon’s call to staff members startles Seungcheol to reach over, grabbing Wonwoos arm where he was driving the car,

“Turn around,” Seungcheol orders, Mingyus brows pinching from the back seat as he leans forward, hoping to listen in into the phone call, “Jeonghan-ah, what’s going on?”

“Y/N ate peanuts,” Jeonghan breathes, Seungcheols eyes meeting Mingyus, “Her bag is in your car. With her epi-pen,”

“Fuck,” Seungcheol twists in his seat, spotting your black bag on the floor board, grabbing it before digging inside, grabbing the orange tube from the bottom, “I’ve got it, we’re ten minutes out,”

“Paramedics are fifteen,” Vernon has the phone now, watching as three staff members helped you lay back down, your chest heaving, “Shit, hyung. I didn’t even think to bring mine or we could’ve had a backup,”

“How is she?” Seungcheol silently thanks Wonwoo for speeding up, also thankful the road was nearly empty, “She hasn’t had a reaction in almost six years,”

“Honey,” Jeonghan moves to sit behind your head, hands cradling your jaw as your eyes pinch, “Hey, don’t panic, honey. Try to take slow, deep breaths,”

You cough is rough, wheezed as you push to sit up, hand rubbing at your chest as Jeonghan scoots forward, arm around your back protectively, “They’re on their way, honey. I promise,”

“Hannie-,” Your inhale is sharp, eyes blurred as your knees curl up, alerted by Mingyus shout. When Jeonghan looks up, Mingyu has broken into a sprint, orange tube in hand, Seungcheol and Wonwoo close behind him,

“I got it, I got it,” Vernon now holds the epi-pen, hand forcing your knee down, and your eyes pinch when Vernon pops the lid from the tube, the pinch of the needle going into your thigh causing you to jolt,

“Breathe,” Vernon demands, your lips parting to suck in a deep breath, feeling your body fall slack into Jeonghans chest, “Good. Good, you’re good. Steady breaths, N/N,”

“Who the hell gave her peanuts?!” Seungcheols yell is loud, Jeonghans eyes leaving you to watch your shared boyfriend stand by the staff and camera crew, “You’ve known us for ten years and can’t remember her single allergy?!”

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan demands, voice firm, watching the man turn on his heel, face relaxing, moving to sink down at Jeonghans side,

“Sweetheart,” Seungcheols hand cradles your cheek, not pressed against Jeonghans chest, thumb brushing the flushed skin, “You’re okay, sweetheart. We’ve got you,”

“Seungcheol-ah,” A staff member hovers close behind the leader, “Paramedics are here. They want to take her to the ER for examining,”

“I’m going with her,” Seungcheol is gentle in pulling you from Jeonghan, lifting you with one arm around your back, the other cuffed under your knees, thankful when you slide your arms around his neck, “Quit filming, film without us, I don’t care,”

. . .

“Honey?”

Your hum is light in the quiet dorm. You’re hovering by the stove, hands steady as you flip a pancake, satisfied when finding both sides evenly cooked,

“I got my enlistment date,”

Jeonghan startles when you nearly drop the pancake where you were transporting it to a plate, your eyes wide as you finally face him, grip tightening on the spatula, “When?”

You can see Jeonghan pause, “The 26th,”

“Of this month?” You squeak, briefly turning to shut off the stove then spin, and Jeonghan hates the tears in your eyes, “That’s- not even two weeks away, Hannie,”

“I know,” Jeonghan breathes, finally moving forward with his hands out, and it’s slow as you set down the spatula to step into his embrace, his cheek to your hair, “Hey, I’ll be home in a month, just after training,”

Your exhale is heavy, nod weak as you lean back, his hands catching you by your cheeks so you blink, “I know,”

“Honey,” Jeonghan coos, when a tear slips, “Hey…Four weeks. Then I will be coming home to you two, every night. Yeah?”

You nod, again, blinking rapidly as you cough out a weak laugh, hands raising to run through his hair, “I don’t think I’m ready to see you bald,”

“That’s all you’re worried about?” Jeonghan laughs, sudden, head leaning down so his forehead knocked yours. You sniffle, arms wounding around his shoulders.

“Of course not,” You murmur, Jeonghans head tilting with a small smile, “I just…I’m just not prepared, I guess,” You scoff, pulling away to throw your hands up, “Gosh, I’m not even the one going and I’m the one crying!”

“And that’s okay,” Jeonghan soothes, hand catching one of yours to tug you back, free hand cradling your jaw so you pause, letting him press a slow kiss to your lips, “It’s okay,”

You pull back, “Does Cheol know?”

Jeonghans nod is light. “He found out the date first. Told me this morning,”

You release a slow, long breath, nodding back. “Then I better keep you to myself for the next two weeks,”

. . .

The stage is blooming with life. You’re soaked, by sweat and by the numerous bottles of water the eleven guys around you have thrown, but you’re smiling, jumping to the beat of Aju Nice

You figured you’d be exhausted- you flew in to Japan this morning from the states, a month long schedule for the filming of a small show, and only got an hour nap in before soundcheck

You blame the adrenaline, though, Mingyu coming up behind you to dump a- you’ve lost count- bottle over your head, and his giggle at your defeated stance is enough for him to run off,

Then the crowd is screaming, louder, and your eyes scan the stage in search for the source, but where you stand at the edge of the left side, fans shout, your eyes looking back to see them pointing behind you,

That’s when you turn, and there, on the bright LED screen, stands Jeonghan, dressed in a cap and a white mask, waving where the camera had found him in the nosebleeds,

You blink once, twice. You knew Jeonghan had finally came home to Korea from basic training, halfway into your month long schedule, but for him to fly to Japan to watch your groups show?

Hands grab your waist, then, and you turn on your heel to see Seungcheol, his smile wide, almost as wide as your eyes, “Surprise, sweetheart,”

“Can I go see him?” You ask without thinking, glancing over your shoulder back to the screen, “Or do I have to wait?”

“Dry off a little, first, sweetheart,” Seungcheol laughs, and you now see the towel he holds, wrapping it around you before playfully and aggressively patting you semi-dry, “There’s a guard waiting by the barricade, go,”

You take off before Seungcheol can blink, his second laugh softer as he turns, watching you rush down the steps of the stage to meet said guard, and you allow him to lead you up the long stairway to the top of the stadiums seats,

Jeonghan moves to stand up once he spots you, your hands wildly moving to pull the towel off your shoulders, “I’m soaked,” You breathe, eyes wide and shining, “I’m soaked, I’m sorry,”

“I don’t care,” Jeonghan breathes, reaching out a hand just when you lunge at him, arms around his shoulders to tug him down to your height, one of his arms wounding around your waist as the other cradles your matted hair, “Hi, honey,”

“Hi, Hannie,” You breathe against his shoulder, and you feel the base of his cap bump your own, “I’m so glad you’re here,”

“You were gone when I came back,” Jeonghan teases, squeezing your lower back, “I had to come see you,”

“‘M sorry,” You whisper, leaning back to cradle his jaw, eyes flicking across his face, “The scheduling was shit,”

“It’s okay,” Jeonghan smiles, hands squeezing your waist when you hear shouting, and you both glance out to the stage, finding yourselves on screen,

“Go, honey,” Jeonghan murmurs, “I’ll meet you guys back stage once you’re done. Go have fun,”

“Promise?” You whisper, eyes flickering back up to his, and you hear the people around you scream when Jeonghan tugs down his mask, pecking your lips,

“Promise,”

And promise he did, as forty five minutes later you’re rushing down the steps to the back stage, Jeonghan smiling wide, free of his mask, and he allows you to rush back into him, his exhale heavy as he relaxes,

“Honey, you’re acting like you love me,” He teases, softly, your scoff light as you tilt your head up,

“I do, asshole,” You tug his cap off, hand cupping the back of his neck to press a softer kiss to his lips, “Welcome home, Hannie. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,”

“Stop stressing,” Jeonghan orders, hands sliding to cradle your face with a small smile, “We’re here now, all that matters, honey,”

“Can you come back to the hotel with us?” Your question is shy, hopeful as your fingers glide over his torso to curl into his shirt, eyes watching Seungcheol move to stand next to Jeonghan,

“He gets every weekend off, sweetheart,” Seungcheol answers for the other, “So yes. He’ll be flying home with us in the morning,”

Your smile is wide, Jeonghan mindlessly pushing back pieces of wet hair from your face, “Let’s get you into dry clothes, first, yeah?”

. . .

“And then Mingyu dumped at least two water bottles on me, after Jun had already done it!”

Your voice is the only thing to be heard in the hotel room. You’re finishing up your skin care, hands animatedly moving as you speak, Jeonghan and Seungcheol both laid back on the hotel bed,

“She is aware I saw everything, right?” Jeonghans mutter causes Seungcheol to grin,

“Let her rant,” He mumbles back, just when the bathroom light clicks off, and you move towards the bed, climbing from the end until you could lay in the middle, instantly pressing yourself against Jeonghans front,

“Missed me, huh?” Jeonghan teases, lips pressing down to your damp, freshly washed hair, arm curling around your shoulders to pull you closer, “Don’t worry. I missed you, too, honey,”

Your exhale is heavy against his chest, Jeonghan can feel your arms lightly loosen from his torso, ear pressed firm to the fabric of his t-shirt,

“She’s exhausted,” Seungcheol murmurs, hand sliding to hold your hip, “Gyu wore her out with all the running and chasing,”

From a seat at the kitchen island, you chuckle at his recovery position, (one hand on the railing, one hand still clutching his sock, and one leg just sticking out in the air,) hiding your wide smile behind a coffee mug which proudly asserts you as world’s best dad.

Seungcheol’s mouth drops open. “You’re still home?”

Nodding, you take a sip from your (or his; or Jeonghan’s; or Joshua’s) mug. “Nothing going on for me today.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Seungcheol pouts as he finally slips on his sock.

You push yourself from the counter and make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “It’s been such a long week for you. I thought you could use the rest today.”

His pout deepens, but his arms can only do one thing when you’re near him, and that’s holding you close. “But…”

“I already called Inho,” you explain, bringing your hand up to play with the hair that hangs in front of Seungcheol’s eyes. “He said he’s got everything sorted for the morning but told me to tell you, Mr Everything Has To Be Perfect, that he knows you’ll want to give the final say on the… what was it? The Hsu contract?”

About to nuzzle his face in your neck, Seungcheol jerks back. “Wait? The Hsu— That should’ve been closed yesterday—!”

You chuckle again, twisting away to swipe a set of car keys off the counter. “I need the Blueberry today, so I’ll drop you off, yeah?”

You hand him a thermos that he knows contains coffee just the way he likes it, and just like that, he’s off to his office with you at the wheel.

“The twins—” he says when the caffeine finally sets in.

“Are at their summer camp,” you tell him, cool as a cucumber in the freezer. “It's butterfly day today, so Joshua made sure they brought their watercolours with them.”

“Chan—” he says.

“Went with Jeonghan to visit grandma and grandpa Yoon. Hayoung is making yakgwa, which I'm sure Chan will be ecstatic about.”

Seunghcheol bristles only a little, glancing at himself in the side view mirror and tucking away the pout he didn’t know he was making until he saw his reflection. “I like Hayoung eomoni’s yakgwa…” he mumbles, totally nonchalant.

“Do you?” Not taking your eyes off the road, you smile. “Hm. I didn’t know that. Maybe they can bring some back for you.”

Seungcheol bristles again, but only because he takes great pride in being Yoon Hayoung’s favourite. Well. Okay. After Chan, Seungkwan, and Vernon… Hayoung’s fourth favourite. Shit, wait, fifth after you. Maybe sixth after Jeonghan. But solidly sixth, at least, ever since the great kitty escape of 2022.

Suck it, Joshua.

Wherever his standing, Hayoung eomoni knows he loves her yakgwa — almost to the point where you had to confiscate them a few years ago, lest he get a heaven-disguised devil of a stomachache.

Don’t you remember that? You’re usually so attentive.

“I wouldn’t say no to an extra piece,” he says casually. “Or two.”

You grin. “Or ten? Or a hundred?”

Turning to you again, he narrows his eyes. “So you do remem—”

“Well!” You throw the Blueberry into park right in front of his building. “Have a great day at work, babe. Joshua will come pick you up when you’re done, okay?”

And just like that, Seungcheol is standing in front of his office building, thermos of coffee in one hand and his attaché in the other. He watches you drive off, but in the back of his mind, he can’t help thinking something isn’t right.

He gasps.

“The Hsu contract!” Seungcheol dashes through the front doors, vaulting up the stairs two at a time towards his office. For some reason, the floors leading up seem abandoned, but none of that registers to him while his brain tunnel-visions on the contract that was supposed be done and over with by now because he wasn’t even meant to have to worry about anything today because it’s—

Seungcheol’s entire body freezes right as he uses two fingers to grab the door handle to his office.

Oh. It’s his—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The door in front of him swings open, revealing all the missing employees from the other floors crammed into his office. Confetti flutters over him, and people in colourful conical hats start singing while simultaneously chuckling at his dumbfounded expression.

Still in a state of shock, Seungcheol zones in on one specific man in the room, who’s leaning on his desk with a huge smile. “Inho,” Seungcheol mutters. “The… Hsu contract?”

This causes Inho to laugh, and he pushes himself off Seungcheol’s desk so he can walk up to him. He puts an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulders and leads him further into his office, where a black forest cake with way too many candles sits where his keyboard normally is. “Now, what kind of right-hand man would I be if that wasn’t signed and delivered exactly as planned?” He puts his free hand over his heart and pouts. “Do you have so little faith in me?”

“No— no, I just…”

Inho laughs again and pats Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I’m just playing with you. Your partners said it’d be a surefire way to get you here without suspecting anything.”

Seungcheol’s brows scrunch together just as the crowd around him cheers him on to blow out the fire hazard on top of his cake. After waving away the resulting smoke, he looks back up at Inho. “You… conspired with my partners?”

“All in good fun, of course,” Inho defends playfully. “I may be your right-hand, but I obviously don’t know you as well as they do. I mean— I never would’ve guessed it. I thought there was no way you’d forget it’s your own birthday.”

⭒-⭒-⭒

“There’s no way they forgot it’s your birthday,” Joshua tried to placate him to no avail. Seungcheol was already drunker than he’d be if you were here at the bar & grill they’d chosen for his party, and that was saying something.

The unfortunate thing was that Seungcheol was not typically a sulky drunk. He could get sulky enough with zero percent alcohol in his system, anyway. On any other night dedicated to fun and letting go and drinking until all the problems of being twenty-something disappear, (at least until morning,) Seungcheol would be the giggly drunk. He’d be standing on top of chairs and patting his friends’ backs and yelling, “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” all the way into the witching hour.

But he wasn’t, and he hated how both Joshua and Jeonghan, who had said almost the exact same thing as Joshua an hour ago (when Seungcheol had questioned for the fourth or fifth time where you were,) knew exactly why he was sulking in a lonely booth.

Said booth wasn’t part of their reservation, but Seungcheol could tell that the lady who ran the grill didn’t want to approach him, the pity in her eyes making Seungcheol feel all the more pathetic.

He didn’t bother responding to Joshua’s words because he knew it to be nothing but the truth. There was no way you forgot it was his birthday. He would never admit it out loud — because that would just ruin the bit — but he was always annoying about it. He’d spring a pop quiz on stuff like it: his likes and dislikes, his middle name (trick question!), et cetera et cetera, every once in a while. And even if you didn’t realize it, he cared the most whether you got the answers right over anyone else. You always did, though. Somehow, you knew him better than anyone, and even though you did know his birthday and the way he liked his eggs and that he hated acupuncture shoes despite wearing them because he had to acknowledge their merits, you knew one thing above all.

He cared that you cared.

His call went straight to voicemail again, and he had to stop himself from throwing his phone onto a burning grill.

Joshua sighed and held out his hand. “Give me that.”

Pouting already, Seungcheol held his phone, suddenly precious to him, tight against his chest. “No.”

“Their phone must be dead,” Joshua reasoned, wagging his fingers for him to hand the thing over. “You know how they are. I got them that stupid expensive power bank, and they still manage to forget it every time. C’mon, give it here. You’re only gonna bum yourself out.”

Seungcheol just scrunched his shoulders, shielding himself by turning further into the empty booth. “No…”

“Seungcheol—”

“They’re coming,” Jeonghan interrupted. He stepped up to the table beside Joshua and grabbed the half-empty soju bottle sitting on top of it. If Seungcheol wasn’t so busy protecting his phone from Joshua’s greedy fingers, he would've snatched it back, but instead, his eyes lit up as he looked at his friend.

As soon as his hope flared, though, hurt flared just as bright. “They told you?” he asked, and all three of them could hear his subconscious thought.

And not me?

“No,” Jeonghan quickly amended. “I just know them. And so do you.”

Joshua nodded despite the concerned look on his face as Jeonghan continued.

“They wouldn’t miss your birthday, and besides, they’ve still got—” He glanced at his watch, a simple black piece save for the worn out devil emoji sticker only the four of you know is stuck to the underside of the face. “—at least forty-five minutes before midnight hits. You do know it’s still the seventh, right?”

Seungcheol shook his head, brows furrowed. “Just because it’s not my birthday doesn’t mean it’s not my birthday…”

“You’re drunk, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan ruffled his hair like he would to a dog he’d just denied human food to. In kind, Seungcheol snarled and swatted his hand away.

It wasn’t the best his hair had ever looked. Overgrown jet black roots flowed into a faded silver-ish blond, but when his natural hair colour had started growing back, you’d said it was hot on him. It was just one of your every day sort of throwaway compliments, but still. Seungcheol kept putting off setting another hair appointment for some reason.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Finally able to catch him distracted, Joshua snatched Seungcheol’s phone and stashed it in his back pocket. “Go have fun with all the friends we invited here for you and stop sulking over whether or not they’re coming because they will.” He put a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “You trust them, don’t you?”

He did.

But your absence still weighed down on him, even when he rejoined everyone at the table and managed to get another beer. Especially when he noticed Wonwoo’s eyes darting around, caught his gaze, and then had to get up and sit somewhere else when Wonwoo shyly asked if you were coming.

Wonwoo wasn’t a bad guy. Not by far.

But sometimes Seungcheol would catch him looking at you in a certain way that made his completely unrelated chest pain act up.

So even though it was nearing midnight, and his whole thing was getting all wound up about people not wishing him happy birthday as soon as the clock hits 00:00, Seungcheol decided he needed a breather. He stepped outside, absently listened to the cheerful gabbing that leaked from the bar and grill, and wondered if — like the guy outside of the restaurant across the street — cigarettes were what he needed at a time like this.

(But you hated the smell and coughed like a sickly Victorian child when you got too close to a lit cigarette, so maybe not.)

Instead, Seungcheol patted at his pockets for his phone, only to remember that the little shit Joshua stole it. He looked at his watch — 23:54 — and sighed, tilting his head back to look at the night sky. There were no stars in sight, not in a big city like this.

Next birthday, maybe he’ll go past the outskirts, just so he can make a wish. It’ll be quieter, with fresher air, and he won’t get drunk. He could just lay back and admire the starry expanse of the August sky. (And check for birthday messages in the morning.)

He could bring you.

But would you even come? Maybe his birthday didn’t mean as much to you as he wanted it to.

No, he shouldn’t think like that.

Or should he?

23:58

Inside, voices arose in search of him, but Seungcheol shifted sideways so he couldn’t be seen through the front windows. He didn’t know why, exactly, he didn’t want to be part of his own celebration, but his eyes were drawn downhill, following the street in the direction of your place. His shoulders rose and fell with another sigh, his hands in his pockets, and the noise inside the bar went up in volume. Someone shouted his name, calling him the grandpa of the group, which he knew would haunt him until Jeonghan’s birthday in October, and okay, maybe he should just go back.

“Seungcheeeooooool!”

Your voice enraptured him immediately, and he whipped around in the opposite direction of your apartment to see you rushing down the slanted street. Too fast.

(The bar and grill’s placement on a steep street had caused many a drunken tumble in the past, but the food was so good and so affordable that it was a mainstay for you and his friends.)

Without thinking, Seungcheol opened his arms and braced his legs, grunting when you slammed into him. His arms wrapped around you, but your head pulled back, and he saw your out-of-breath expression right when you said, “I didn’t miss it, right?”

Using one hand on his chest to balance yourself, you grabbed at his left wrist, lifting it to check the time. A couple seconds from midnight. “Aha!” You grinned like a madman, keeping your eyes on his watch as it counted up. As soon as the seventh turned into the eighth, your smile widened, and you met his gaze again. “Happy birthday, Seungcheol.”

He kept his right arm exactly where it was. For a second, all he did was blink. “Where were you?”

“Getting your gift!” You brought up the hand that had held his wrist, and he finally noticed the patterned bag hanging from your elbow. “Remember that signing event you couldn’t get into?”

“The what?”

“You know… the soccer one.” There was a spark of pride in the way your lips quirked up, and Seungcheol’s eyes widened.

“You mean— no way.”

Stepping back, you slipped the handles of the gift bag down to your hand and held it up right in front of him. “See for yourself.”

Unable to help himself, Seungcheol snatched the bag from you as you giggled at his enthusiasm. He quickly and then carefully scooped out an encased, display quality soccer ball — his soccer ball that his mom told him must’ve gotten lost when she did her spring cleaning months ago. And smack dab in the middle of it was a black sharpie signature.

“No fucking way,” he whispered. “Son Heungmin signed my ball?” He looked up at you, incredulous. “You don’t even like soccer. That event sold out in seconds.”

You shrugged, tilting your head and swaying in that sort of yeah, I’m a pretty big deal manner. “I have my ways.”

“But…” Seungcheol turned the case around in his hands, still a bit unable to believe it. And even then, for some reason, it wasn’t the most important thing to him at that moment. “That was supposed to be a week ago.”

He stopped himself from asking why you were almost late. You were allowed to be. You weren’t his.

Unfortunately, you could read him like a neon sign. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer with a regretful look on your face. Your hand came up to lightly touch his arm. “The signing got pushed back a week because the guy got sick, and the only return flight I could book was already cutting it close. Then my phone died — I can’t believe I forgot Joshua’s power bank again — and the cabbie never heard of this place and I couldn’t look up the address… I just gave him the nearest street I could think of and ran. But hey, I still made it, right?”

Smiling, you patted his arm almost like it was another apology. “I guess I missed a lot, though. And you guys were probably worrying about me because I couldn’t answer my phone.”

Seungcheol didn’t miss the fact that you weren’t only talking about him, but Jeonghan and Joshua too. For some reason, his chest started hurting again.

“Hey, okay, okay.” You must’ve noticed his expression and mistook it for his usual sulking. To placate him, you stepped even closer and wrapped both your arms around his torso, careful not to knock over the soccer ball still balanced on one of his hands. “How about I give you two gifts. This one—” You nodded at the ball. “—for your birthday, and whatever you want as my apology. An extra birthday wish.”

He held his breath. You were so close that he could count your eyelashes.

“Hm?” You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows, and Seungcheol could feel himself getting dizzy. “Got anything in mind?”

Slowly, Seungcheol nodded, letting his free hand drift back to its place around you. His eyes glanced downward.

“Seungcheol?” you whispered.

He leaned closer.

“Devil.”

Almost too innocently, you pulled away, tilting to the side to see Jeonghan exiting the bar, unsurprisingly followed by Joshua. 

“What happened to you?” Jeonghan asked. He stepped up to the both of you, draping an arm over Seungcheol’s shoulder. He couldn’t quite tell, but it almost felt like Jeonghan was trying to hold him back, all the while not looking away from you. “We’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

You let out a soft breath and smiled. “It’s a long story.”

Joshua jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Come on in. I ordered your favourite.” His gaze switched to Seungcheol. “You too old man.”

“Yah, who are you calling old?”

You laughed, and Jeonghan chose to hang himself off you instead, pulling you toward the restaurant. Joshua followed. 

Seungcheol stayed rooted to his spot, but he felt himself unfreeze when you looked back at him and held out your hand. He took one last look at the starless sky.

Next year. On his next birthday, he’ll make his wish.

⭒-⭒-⭒

“So?” Joshua smirks as soon as Seungcheol gets into the Blueberry’s passenger seat. “Have you thought of this year’s wish?”

He crosses his arms and makes a point of looking out the window. “Maybe that my partners don’t trick me into thinking a huge deal is about to fall through.”

“Oh, c’mon. That was funny and cute and you know it. Besides, your favourite person basically plotted the whole thing, so if you’re gonna get all sulky, you should do it at them.”

Brow raised, Seungcheol peeks over at Joshua as he drives. “It wasn’t you and Jeonghan?”

A small laugh escapes Joshua’s nose, and as if just the thought of you is warm, his smile softens. “I know you love us too, but only they’d be able to fool you with that little ruse. You’re way too wary of us.”

Well, he can’t argue with that.

“Speaking of,” Joshua says, “Obviously you know what’s going on, but you gotta prepare your shocked face for the boys. They learned what surprise parties are yesterday, and they’ve practically been bouncing up and down in excitement.” He glances over at him and smirks again. “Maybe you should practice now.”

Wary — because of course he is — Seungcheol eyes the blackbox camera of the car. “Are you recording me?”

⭒

The boys yell, “Surprise!” and jump out from behind various furniture, dashing toward Seungcheol as he crouches down to pull the little misfits into his arms. They laugh at his shocked expression and “oh my gosh I had no idea!” and the way he pretends to fall over from their affection until their cheeks go red, and Chan only lets go to run over to the kitchen, grab a bowl of homemade yakgwa from your outstretched hands, and bring it back to Seungcheol with a proud smile.

“For you!” he cheers, lifting the bowl with both hands. Seungcheol ruffles his soft black hair as thanks and then tosses a piece in his mouth, taking a moment to look up at you.

As you watch the whole exchange from the sidelines, you lean against the kitchen counter with a look that you only wear when everyone is together. Happiness comes in many forms for Seungcheol’s family, but he loves this one on you a lot. 

Chan almost drops his precious bowl when Joshua mentions making a “special surprise birthday lunch,” but Jeonghan swoops in to save both the bowl and Chan from tumbling to the floor. He and Joshua hype up making sandwiches to the kids — Seungkwan wants icing on his and Vernon wants baked beans — but it’s clear that the ulterior motive is to get Seungcheol a tiny reprieve with you. A little gift from the two of them.

“Happy birthday,” you say softly as soon as he nears, wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He gladly returns the embrace. “That was a mean prank,” he whispers.

“Was it?” You tilt your head with that smile he loves so much. “But you were so cute this morning.”

He pulls you closer. “Still. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“You’re the one who didn’t know, silly.”

His lips purse into a pout, and you chuckle, tightening your arms around him.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make it up to you. How about an extra birthday wish? Got anything in mind?”

“You know what I’m going to ask for.” He pinches your side.

Flinching with another chuckle, you lean just a little bit closer. “Maybe. It’s just the only thing you’ve used your wishes on since… how long ago now?”

He doesn’t know off the top of his head, and to be honest, it doesn’t matter right now. All he cares about is knowing he’s going to get his wish again, and next year, too. And on every birthday of his from now on.

“So?” you tease. “What’s your wish?”

He pulls you snug against him, right where you're supposed to be, and Seungcheol smiles with all the love he has to give.

“Kiss me.”

→ READ PART 1 ⟡⋆⟡ SERIES MLIST ←

Last night was a wake-up call. Seungcheol can’t let himself be completely derailed just because of the gravitational pull he feels toward you. Right? That would be crazy…

And yet, as if the universe wasn’t done tormenting him (he still can’t believe the timing of that phone call) he’d gotten another gut punch soon after you took Kate’s call. A text from Mingyu.

Hey, don’t forget about the open spot at Station 17. Interview’s yours if you want it. Come crash with me until then.

In the heat of the moment, still spiraling from nearly losing control with you, Seungcheol had said yes. Told Mingyu he’d be there by tomorrow, which is, technically, today.

Now, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, he wonders if that was the right move. Or if he’s making a huge mistake by leaving.

Or, worse, if staying would be an even bigger one.

…

You wake up alone, not that you expected Seungcheol to climb into your bed during the night, but still, waking up to some slow, lazy morning sex wouldn’t have been the worst thing.

Instead, the only thing greeting you is the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. You smile, stretching as you sit up. Nothing better than breakfast together… and then finishing what we started last night.

With that thought lingering, you climb out of bed and head to the kitchen, excitement bubbling in your chest.

"Morning," you say, sliding onto a stool at the island, watching as he flips the last pancake onto a plate. You expect him to turn, grin at you, maybe tease you about last night, maybe even pick up where you left off.

But he doesn’t.

Something’s off. He seems stiffer than usual, his movements too careful. Your stomach twists.

It’s only when he finally turns around and sets a plate of pancakes in front of you that he drops the bomb.

"I'm leaving today."

You blink. "What?"

"I…figured some stuff out, and I have to be somewhere in a few hours."

You stare at him, waiting for something more. An explanation that makes sense. A reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit. Because while you believe him, you also know this has everything to do with last night. And that realization stings.

But you won’t ask. You won’t embarrass yourself like that.

Your pride flares, masking the disappointment sinking into your bones. "I don’t want your pity pancakes," you mutter, pushing the plate back toward him. "Have a safe drive wherever you’re going."

Then, without another word, you turn and disappear into your room, slamming the door behind you.

Part of you hopes he’ll come after you. That he’ll barge in, apologize, explain himself. The other part just wants to be left alone to lick your wounds in peace.

But when you finally gather the courage to come out for an adult conversation, you’re met with nothing but silence.

And an empty house. He left. Without saying goodbye.

Mika whines by the front door, already missing him too.

2 Days Since Seungcheol

The longest two days of your life.

You don’t know if you’re more pissed off or hurt. One minute, you wish you could scream at him "Are you a fucking idiot?" Another part of you wishes you could say "I've fallen so hard for you." Then, you’re convincing yourself that he’s not worth the energy. If he wanted to explain himself, he would’ve. If he cared as much as you do, he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

But then your brain betrays you, reminding you of every touch, every look, every fucking moment that made you feel alive in his presence. And just like that, you’re back to square one, seething, heartbroken, and in desperate need of a distraction.

Unfortunately, waiting for a response from your team isn’t the ideal way to keep your mind occupied. You sent over the latest chapters last night with a simple message: This is the creative direction I’m going with. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to learn to. Otherwise, I’ll take my books elsewhere.

The most assertive you’ve ever been. It felt good to take control, to stand your ground. You channeled all your frustration over Seungcheol into that email, and now all that’s left to do is wait.

Since Kate and Jun are supposed to be arriving sometime today, you’ve spent the last few hours cleaning. Anything to keep yourself busy. The kitchen is spotless, the living room dust-free, and now you’re finishing up in the bedrooms.

As you strip the sheets off the bed, a familiar scent lingers in the fabric. Cedarwood and a subtle musk.

Seungcheol.

You freeze, the breath knocked out of you by something as simple as a goddamn bedsheet. It still smells like him. You close your eyes for a moment, gripping the fabric tighter. As much as you want to erase every trace of him, the idea of washing this last piece of him away feels... unbearable.

“Goddamn it, Cheol,” you whisper, voice trembling.

You shake yourself out of it, throwing the sheets into the hamper with more force than necessary. He left. You need to get over it.

But as you grab fresh linens from the closet, your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Your heart stutters.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe he got your number from Jun and he’s finally come to his senses, finally realized what a complete asshole move it was to disappear like that.

You practically lunge for your phone, but when you see the sender, your stomach drops.

Not Seungcheol.

Just your editor.

And the message?

A single thumbs-up emoji.

You stare at it, heat rising in your chest. After everything, after putting your foot down, after fighting for your creative vision—this is their response?

No feedback. No acknowledgment. Just a fucking thumbs-up?

A new kind of anger burns through you, one that has nothing to do with Seungcheol.

Needless to say, by the time Kate and Junhui step through the front door, the house is spotless. You’ve spent the last several hours scrubbing, dusting, and organizing—anything to keep yourself from spiraling.

“Hi! I’ve missed you!” Kate beams, pulling you into a tight hug.

You cling to her for a second longer than usual, grounding yourself in the comfort of familiarity.

“What have you been up to? And where’s Seungcheol?” she asks, glancing around as if expecting him to walk out of the kitchen at any moment.

Your stomach twists. They don’t know.

“He left,” you say flatly. “The next morning after you called last.”

Jun sets their bags down, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a look you can’t quite decipher. It’s not surprise, not exactly. More like…concern. Like he already knows there’s more to the story than he’s willing to share.

Kate, however, is instantly thrown. “He what?” Her brows knit together as she takes in your expression, your tired eyes, the way you’re hugging yourself. Realization dawns, and before you can blink, she’s pulling you into another hug.

“Oh honey, come here.”

The warmth of her arms around you, the softness in her voice, it’s enough to break whatever fragile hold you had on your emotions. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the whole story spills out.

Every last detail.

From the way he kissed you like he was starving, to the way he pulled away like you’d burned him. The way he left that morning without so much as a goodbye. The way you woke up thinking—no, hoping—you’d get another chance, only to figure out he already made plans to leave.

Kate listens intently, nodding along, her expression shifting between shock, outrage, and deep-seated frustration.

“Okay,” she says finally, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…maybe he left because he does care.”

You blink. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jun, who has been quietly watching from the sidelines, finally speaks up. “I mean, it sounds like he panicked. Like he felt something real and it freaked him out.”

Kate nods. “And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he ran.”

You scoff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well, he could have at least said something instead of disappearing like a coward.”

“True,” Jun agrees, “but maybe this isn’t over. If you want to get in touch with him—”

You shake your head. “No. He made his choice. And I’m not going to sit around waiting for him to un-make it.”

Kate studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay. Then let’s get your mind off of it. You need a distraction.”

Jun grins, raising a bottle. “Lucky for you, we brought wine.”

Kate settles onto the couch, shooting her husband a sideways glance as he pours three generous glasses. “Oh, and by the way,” she says casually, “when you text Coups next, tell him I think he’s an ass.”

“Kate!” you groan, your head snapping up.

“What?” she shrugs. “He is.”

You sigh, turning to Jun. “Please don’t say anything to him. I’m already mortified about the whole situation. Clearly, I misread everything, and there’s no need to harass him about it. Really.” You drop your face into your hands. “In fact, I’d love to just forget it ever happened.”

Kate rubs a soothing hand over your back, but you don’t miss the way she exchanges a knowing look with her husband.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, her voice gentle but far too agreeable. “Whatever you want.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Kate…”

“What?” she says innocently, sipping her wine.

Jun clears his throat, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

They’re definitely going to discuss this later.

Five Days Since Seeing You

Seungcheol completed his interview earlier this week, though the term interview is generous. He was practically a shoo-in for the open position. It was more of a formality, a final box to check before officially signing his contract. And just like that, he became the newest firefighter at Station 17.

The guys have been great; they’re so welcoming and easygoing, treating him like he’s been there for years. The transition has been smooth, the work familiar, the routine comforting.

Everything is going great.

And yet, he can’t shake this feeling weighing him down.

Because as much as he should be excited about this new chapter, all he can think about is how much he wants to tell you about it.

He knows he fucked up by leaving. He was panicking, and in the moment, it felt like the only way out. Staying meant inevitably hurting you in the future. Leaving meant hurting you now. Either way, you’d get hurt. He’d hurt you by breaking a promise, something he can’t afford to do right now. Not with his previously delicate state. Not when he’s just finally started to heal.

With a sigh, he leans back in his truck seat, staring up at the office sign in front of him.

He’s really not looking forward to today.

To finalize his transition onto the team, the fire chief required a mandatory meeting with a therapist, a standard “head check” to ensure he was mentally fit for duty.

Normally, he’d be seeing the station’s staffed therapist, Dr. Xu Minghao, but apparently, his schedule was packed this week. So instead, Seungcheol was assigned an outside source for evaluation.

He runs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

Of all the things he wanted to do today, sitting in a sterile office, talking about his feelings with a stranger, ranked dead last.

Stepping out of his truck, he locks it and waits for the remaining car to drive by before crossing the road.

“Wow, someone’s gonna slip on that, they should put some salt out,” he says to himself, noticing how icy a section of the sidewalk is, hidden from the sun.

He sighs again, realizing he’s trying to find anything to avoid heading inside.

Get it done and over with ‘Cheol.

With one final groan, he forces himself to step into the office.

The session is more exhausting than he expected. The therapist is sharp, reading between the lines of everything he says, sensing the weight he refuses to fully unpack.

He shifts uncomfortably as she prods at the fire that still haunts him. The way the smoke had swallowed the house. The way the screams had cut off too soon. The way he’d clawed through debris, lungs burning, only to come up short.

She listens, nodding as she takes notes, before finally meeting his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

That’s what everyone tells him.

But he knows better. He wasn’t the one who set the fire, but he could have tried harder, could have pushed his limits just a little more. Maybe then…

His throat tightens.

“You can blame yourself for life, and they’ll still be dead, Seungcheol.” The therapist’s voice is firm but not unkind. “You can either accept that, grieve, and learn how to move forward. Or you can let this tear apart your life. It’s up to you.”

He looks away, jaw clenching.

After a pause, she signs off on his paperwork. “I’m clearing you for duty, but I highly recommend biweekly follow-ups with Dr. Xu.” She meets his eyes again, unyielding. “I’ll reach out to your chief myself, so don’t think you’re getting out of this. You need this, Seungcheol. You need to deal with your PTSD before it deals with you.”

His fingers tighten into fists on his lap. He nods once.

Seungcheol picks up the papers and drags himself out of the therapy room, his mind heavy and clouded, the weight of the session still pressing down on him. He heads toward the reception area, and that’s when he sees you. His heart lurches in his chest.

You’re a few steps ahead outside the door; maybe it’s the way the tension between you both always seems to linger, or maybe it’s just instinct, but something causes you to turn around, and your eyes meet his.

For a split second, time seems to freeze, and Seungcheol’s heart pounds in his ears. He’s not prepared for this. He has no idea how you’ll react, no idea what to say or do. The regret he feels for walking away hits him like a wave, but there’s no time to address it.

As his thoughts spiral, his eyes dart down. He sees the icy patch on the ground just in time, but it’s too late. You’re already stepping onto it, your foot slipping from under you.

Everything happens in slow motion as Seungcheol’s breath catches and his warning dies in his throat as you fall, your body jerking violently before gravity yanks you down. Your head hits the pavement with a sickening crack, and all the air rushes from his lungs.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathes, scrambling to your side, hands already reaching for you. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

You blink up at him, dazed, and then like flipping a switch, your eyes harden into sharp slits.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap, shoving his hands off. “I’m perfectly capable of standing up on my own.”

His stomach twists at your hostility, but he backs off, hands hovering just in case.

You manage to push yourself upright, wincing as you touch the back of your head. Seungcheol clenches his fists to keep from reaching for you again.

Then, as if just processing the situation, you narrow your eyes even further. “What are you even doing here?”

Seungcheol swallows. He wasn’t prepared for this. Not now, not like this. But he can’t exactly lie, not when the evidence is all around him.

“I had an appointment,” he admits, voice low.

Your brows knit together. “Here?”

He nods.

Realization dawns across your face, and for a second your expression softens. Then it’s gone, replaced by guarded skepticism.

“Right,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Of course.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask if you’re okay, wants to reach for you again, but he can feel the walls between you, thick and impenetrable.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head once more before muttering, “Whatever. See you around, Seungcheol.”

Hearing you use his actual name and not one of your creative nicknames stings more than he’d like to admit. You turn on your heel, walking away from him without a word, leaving Seungcheol standing there in the cold, his heart heavy in his chest. He watches you take a few steps, but then, just like that, you stumble again.

Before you even have a chance to catch yourself, Seungcheol is by your side, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you really should get checked out. You could have a concussion, or worse,” he says, his voice more insistent than he intends it to be.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not going to the ER or urgent care. I’ve got enough on my plate today without wasting hours in a waiting room.”

Seungcheol doesn’t back down. “Then at least come with me to the station. I’ve got guys there with more medical training than I have. They can take a look at you.”

You sigh heavily, frustration clouding your expression. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope,” he says firmly, meeting your gaze, his tone softening just a touch. “You’re not leaving my sight. Not until you get checked out.” And even after that.

…

The ride back to the station feels suffocatingly silent. Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles pale from the tension. His mind is a chaotic whirl of worst-case scenarios; brain bleeds, fractured skulls, aneurysm. Every time he glances at you, his stomach twists in anxiety.

He’s brought you to the station, not because he wants to, but because he has to make sure you’re okay. He can’t live with the idea that something’s wrong, something he missed. The place he’s been trying to settle into now feels like a blur as he focuses only on getting you seen by someone qualified.

“We need someone to look her over right now,” Seungcheol says as he helps you inside, his voice clipped, his urgency clear.

Within seconds, someone rushes over, immediately assessing the situation. He’s dark-haired and familiar, locking eyes with Seungcheol.

“She slipped on an ice patch and hit her head pretty hard. She was unsteady after,” Seungcheol explains, the worry still evident in his tone.

You recognize him immediately, it’s the same man who had been there during your power line incident. He offers a small, knowing smile as he addresses you.

“You must have a thing for danger,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, his voice warm. “Alright, follow my finger for me, yeah?”

You nod, rolling your eyes in a way that lets him know you’re not in the mood for jokes, but you follow the instructions anyway. Mingyu finishes checking you over thoroughly, testing for the usual concussion symptoms. His hands are steady as he works, and he even checks for a few other things just to put Seungcheol’s mind at ease.

Through the whole process, you can feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you, his body tense and watchful as he waits for the all-clear.

“Well, good news, no concussion,” one of the firefighters says, giving you a reassuring smile. “But you’re probably going to have a killer headache for the rest of the day, at least.” He stands up and nods, "I’ll grab you some pain relievers and an ice pack."

You almost beg him not to leave. You don’t know if you can handle being alone with Seungcheol right now. The tension is too much, and there’s so much left unsaid. But for some reason, none of the words feel right.

As the firefighter leaves, you can feel the weight of the silence. You don’t want to, but you have to say something.

“Sorry I was so short with you earlier,” you start, your voice quieter than you intended. “I was surprised to see you again. You left so suddenly, and I... I just assumed you wanted to forget everything that happened between us.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, his expression tense and worn. He sighs heavily, his eyes dark with regret. “I didn’t want to leave,” he admits, his voice low and heavy with the burden of unspoken words. “I thought it would be best, though. I just… I didn’t want to make promises to you that I couldn’t keep.” His gaze flickers down to the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again, filled with vulnerability and uncertainty. “I’m not sure what I want, and I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

The admission hangs in the air between you. The walls that you built to keep him distant start to crumble, but it’s not enough to tear them down entirely. Not yet.

“I missed you,” Seungcheol says, the words slipping out before he can stop them, vulnerable in a way you haven’t heard from him before.

You meet his eyes, feeling the familiar ache twist in your chest. The urge to reach out, but you hold yourself back.

“Well…what now?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended, unsure where things go from here.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes softening as he looks at you. “I’ll leave it up to you,” he says. “Can I see your phone?”

You hesitate for just a moment, then dig around in your purse, your fingers brushing over the edges of your phone. You unlock it, hand it to him, and watch as he taps away at the screen.

When he hands it back to you, your heart skips a beat.

He’s added himself to your contacts. Cheolie now sits with a flame emoji beside his number. You stare at it for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.

“There,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You have my number. You can use it if you want...or you can pretend you’ve never met me.” His eyes search yours, a hint of hope behind the layers of uncertainty. “But I’m really hoping it’s the latter.”

You laugh softly, a mix of relief and confusion washing over you. “I don’t think I could forget you, even if I wanted to.” You glance down at your phone again, the flame emoji burning a little brighter than it should.

The sun is shining brightly today, casting a golden glow over the city. Its warmth seeps into your skin as you stroll down the sidewalk, Mika prancing ahead, her tail wagging with every step. The fresh air fills your lungs, momentarily easing the tension that’s been sitting in your chest all week.

It’s been seven days since you last saw Seungcheol. Seven days since he handed you the reins, giving you the choice of whether to reach out.

You haven’t wanted to.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. You’ve definitely wanted to. You’ve hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d like to admit, especially late at night when the loneliness creeps in.

But texting him just because you miss him doesn’t feel like the right move. You both need a real conversation, and between book cover meetings, deadlines, and endless revisions, the right time just hasn’t come up yet.

You sigh, wondering if you should just break the ice and say hi.

Then, suddenly, your phone rings. Always interrupting your thoughts. You glance at the screen and answer, barely getting out a greeting before a clipped, professional voice cuts through.

"We’d like to see you this afternoon to discuss your book."

You blink, caught off guard. Getting called into your publisher’s office unexpectedly isn’t usually a good sign. Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you push it down. You can handle this.

The only problem? You’re downtown, window shopping with Mika, and you know you can’t bring her inside. One of the admins has a severe dog allergy, and there’s no way they’ll make an exception.

You quickly fire off a message in your friend group chat, hoping someone can watch her for an hour.

Hey, urgent favor! Can anyone watch Mika for a bit? Got a last-minute meeting.

One by one, the replies roll in. Busy, sorry, stuck at work, wish I could.

Ugh. This is not good. You glance down at Mika, who looks up at you with wide, trusting eyes. An idea creeps into your mind—one you immediately push away.

No. You can’t.

Can you?

You chew on your lip, staring at your phone like it holds the answer. After a deep breath, you sigh and send a quick message before you can second-guess yourself.

A quick twenty minutes later, he rounds the corner. Your heart does an embarrassing little flip when you see Seungcheol, who looks just as effortlessly handsome as ever.

Mika notices him at the same time you do, her tail wagging frantically as she yaps in excitement.

“Hi,” he says, stepping close, his lips brushing your cheek in a brief but familiar gesture.

You exhale, tension leaving your body just a little. “I’m so sorry for asking, but thank you for showing up. You’re literally saving the day, thank you so much.”

His eyes soften. “I’ll always show up,” he says simply, taking Mika’s leash from your hand. “Here, let me take her.”

You hesitate for just a second, watching as he effortlessly soothes Mika, scratching behind her ears.

“Good luck in your meeting,” he adds, his voice warm.

As you turn to go, you glance back once more. He’s already walking off with Mika, talking to her like she understands every word. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, something warm, something dangerous.

Shaking your head, willing yourself to focus. You have a meeting to get through. But damn, that man makes it hard to think straight.

You walk the short distance to your publisher’s building, each step making your heart beat a little faster. The elevator ride up feels both too quick and too slow, carrying you to a floor you’ve spent countless hours on.

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile. “Hi, Miss Y/N. Let me gather the team and let them know you’ve arrived.”

You nod, offering a polite smile as she picks up the phone. Within moments, she gestures toward the hall. “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Here goes nothing.

You take a steadying breath and walk down the familiar hallway, knocking lightly before stepping inside. “Hi, everyone, thanks for waiting,” you say, slipping into a chair. Your hands rest on the table, steady despite the nerves buzzing under your skin. “I know we have different ideas about how this book should play out, but as the main creative in the room, I want to emphasize that I want this to work just as much as you all do. So let’s discuss.”

You brace yourself for pushback, but instead, the head editor at the head of the table smiles.

“Thank you for making time to see us in person,” she begins. “We have a very important update to share with you.”

You straighten in your seat, anxiety prickling at your spine.

“We gave the draft of your book to a subgroup of readers to get their initial reactions…” She pauses, dragging out the suspense. “And you were right.”

Your breath catches.

“Almost everyone had the same thing to say, this book is somehow even better than the first. And that’s not something we get to say often.”

For a second, all you can do is blink.

They…loved it?

The weight that’s been pressing on your chest for weeks suddenly lifts, leaving you lightheaded.

You let out a breathless laugh, barely able to contain your shock. “Wait, really?”

The editor nods. “Really. We still have a few minor tweaks to discuss, but overall, the response was overwhelmingly positive.”

Relief floods through you, mixing with a spark of pride. You fought for this version of the story, for your vision, and it paid off.

“Basically, we just want to confirm some plot details and fix potential inconsistencies, and then you’re free to finish writing. The sooner, the better, I might add,” your agent says with a knowing wink, her subtle way of saying she’s proud of you for standing your ground.

You blink, still processing. “So, just to make sure I’m hearing this right… you don’t want me to scrap the chapters and start over?”

“Of course not,” the editor reassures you. “Based on early reviewer notes, we strongly believe sales will surpass expectations.”

She slides a thick stack of papers across the table. It’s filled with feedback, page after page of praise from the test readers.

Your heart pounds as you skim the first note.

If you thought the first book was otherworldly, you’re in for a big surprise with this one. The characters have grown so much, and I truly felt like I was right there in the fight with them.

Another one reads:

I can’t wait for this to be released so I can buy several copies. So dang good.

You exhale sharply, overwhelmed. Looking up, you find a room full of expectant gazes, waiting for your reaction.

“Wow, I—uh.” You shake your head, speechless. “Wow.”

The team chuckles, clearly pleased.

“We figured you’d like to read those,” your agent says warmly. “Feel free to take them home.”

You nod, gripping the papers a little tighter as if they might disappear.

“How about we go through our questions now and then leave you to it?”

You square your shoulders, a fresh wave of determination surging through you. “Sounds good.”

This is really happening.

…

Seungcheol sits on the park bench, one arm draped over the backrest as he scans the path for you. Mika sits obediently at his feet, tail thumping against the ground every so often as she watches the world go by.

He wasn’t expecting your message earlier. After your last conversation at the fire station, he figured you needed space, maybe even a clean break. But when you said you needed help, he didn’t hesitate to figure out what he could do. He would’ve done just about anything.

Watching Mika on his day off hardly counted as a favor. Plus, even if he had been working today, he would’ve just taken her to the station. The guys all love dogs and Mika? She’d eat up the attention.

Then, finally, he sees you.

You’re walking toward him with a bounce in your step, that breathtaking smile stretching across your face. His heart clenches at the sight, he hasn’t seen you like this in a while.

“Hey,” he says, standing up as you approach. “How’d the meeting go?”

Before he can react, you launch yourself into his arms.

He barely has a second to process before instinct kicks in. His arms wrap around you securely, lifting you off the ground like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly in his hold, it makes his chest ache.

“It went so well! Oh my god,” you gush, your excitement bubbling over. “They gave the rough draft to some readers, and they all loved it!”

Your arms tighten around his neck, and he holds you just a little closer, just a little longer, savoring the moment as long as it will last.

“Of course they loved it,” he says, setting you down gently once you finally loosen your grip. His hands linger for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let go.

Mika, not one to be left out, jumps up against your leg, her little paws pressing insistently as if demanding her fair share of attention. You laugh, bending down to scratch behind her ears before turning back to Seungcheol.

“Thanks again for helping out,” you say, sincerity laced in every word. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Anytime,” he replies easily, then adds with a smile, “I missed my girls.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You hesitate for a second before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, giving you his full attention.

“That thing you said the other day—about not being sure what you wanted and not wanting to drag me into it—was that just in general? Like, you weren’t sure about anything in your life? Or were you talking about a relationship specifically?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, clearly impressed by your directness. Then he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Damn, woman. Straight to the point,” he teases, picking up Mika’s leash in one hand. With the other, he reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers effortlessly as the two of you start walking out of the park.

He takes a breath, carefully choosing his words. “At first, I thought it would be better if we just stayed friends,” he admits. “I told myself it’d be easier that way. Safer for the both of us.”

A pause. A small squeeze to your hand.

“But the more I’m around you, the more I realize that’s impossible. I’m so unbelievably attracted to you. And it’s not just that, you see me. And honestly?” He turns to look at you with a knowing smile, his voice dropping into something softer, more certain.

“The thought of you going on more dates with losers who don’t deserve you makes me want to throw hands.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, sending a shiver up your spine. “Especially when we both know I’m the only one for you.”

He hadn’t exactly planned on being that brutally honest, but if you were going to be vulnerable with that direct of a question, the least he could do was return the favor.

Because the truth is, he knows he’s the only one for you. Just like you’re the only one for him.

“Does hearing me say that freak you out?” he asks, searching your expression, hoping you’re not about to bolt.

“No.” You shake your head, exhaling softly. “Actually, it’s relieving to hear.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “I think I’d probably go a little crazy if you started seeing someone else too. I don’t like the idea of you being the hero in someone else’s story.”

His chest tightens, something warm and fierce settling in his ribs.

You reach your apartment building and climb the steps to the front door before turning to face him. “This is me.”

He nods, glancing at Mika, who wags her tail happily.

“Do you want to come up?”

“Just to let Mika inside,” he starts, but then hesitates, shifting on his feet. He rubs the back of his neck before meeting your gaze. “I know it’s last minute, but…I’d love to have dinner with you. Unless you already have plans tonight?”

Hope flickers in his eyes, cautious but steady, and suddenly, you know exactly what your answer is.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, unlocking your door with a growing smile.

Mika bolts inside, immediately rummaging through her toys before dragging her favorite one onto her bed.

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms without hesitation, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scan your apartment; it’s cozy, well-kept yet lived-in, aside from Mika’s spilled toy bin. It’s very you.

Your smile grows even bigger. “Okay, wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

You disappear into your bedroom, and when you return, you have a cardigan draped over your arm. “Just in case it gets cold later.”

But before he can respond, you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you came to save me earlier today,” you confess against his mouth.

His hands find your waist as he pulls you in for another, this time deeper, slower, and time stops. Nothing else exists in this moment.

His lips move against yours in a way that leaves you breathless, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep yourself upright.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests lightly against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“C’mon,” he says, voice low and warm, “I know a great sushi place.”

Dinner feels easy, like slipping back into something familiar yet exciting. The conversation flows effortlessly as you both catch up.

Seungcheol tells you about his week, most of it spent training, pushing himself harder than ever. “The meeting with the therapist was the last step so I could start going on calls with the team,” he explains, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed the action. The change in pace will be good for me.”

You nod, genuinely happy for him. “That’s great, Cheol. I can tell you’re excited.”

“I am,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s been a long time coming.”

You take a sip of your drink before offering your own update. “Kate and Jun came home earlier than expected,” you tell him, watching his reaction. “And, uh… Kate might hate you just a little bit.”

His grin falters slightly. “Yeah…she might have sent me a rather interesting text about personally castrating me the next time she sees me if I haven’t apologized to you before she finds me.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I told her I was already working on a plan to win you back.”

“Oh? And what’s the plan?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Can’t spoil the surprise,” he teases. “But let’s just say it involves a lot of groveling.”

You laugh, then add, “Well, don’t forget about Mika. You have to make it up to her too.”

He leans back in his chair, smug. “Oh, Mika already forgave me. We shared some blueberries earlier while you were in your meeting.”

Your mouth falls open in mock betrayal. “She never shares her blueberries with me.”

“What can I say?” He smirks, shrugging. “She and I have an understanding.”

“Unbelievable,” you huff, though the amused smile on your lips betrays your true feelings. You love that he adores Mika just as much as she adores him.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both focus on your meals. The restaurant hums with the growing chatter of other diners, the clinking of glasses adding to the cozy atmosphere. The food is delicious, and the company is even better.

You take a sip of your drink, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “So, I have another question for you.”

Seungcheol lifts his gaze, his eyes warm with curiosity as he picks up another bite. He gives you a small nod, silently encouraging you to continue.

“As you might have figured out by now, I’m the kind of person who needs clarity. If I don’t have all the details, my brain starts filling in the gaps, and that never ends well.” You exhale, rolling your drink between your hands. “I also know it’s probably way too soon to bring this up, but if I don’t, I’ll overthink it until I drive myself crazy.”

Seungcheol finishes chewing, setting his chopsticks down as he leans forward slightly, giving you his full attention. “First of all, you don’t have to hesitate to ask me anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’d rather talk things through than have you overthink and stress yourself out.”

His words soothe some of your nerves, but the anticipation is still there.

Seungcheol tilts his head, his expression soft but attentive. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, picking up on your nervous energy.

You sign, then take the plunge. “Are we…dating now? Or starting a relationship?”

His brows furrow slightly. “Is there a difference?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I mean…yeah, kind of? But I guess it depends on who you ask. Some people see dating as casual, while a relationship is more serious. I just—” you pause, suddenly aware that you’re rambling. “I don’t need some big, grand definition. I just want to know where your head is at. About us.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel your chest tighten. The ‘what are we’ conversation has never gone well in your past relationships, and despite how comfortable Seungcheol makes you feel, the fear of rejection still lingers.

He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know much about modern dating labels, but if going on dates, wanting to kiss you all the time, and spending as much of my free time in your presence as possible means that we’re dating, then yeah, we’re dating.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“But more than that,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours, “I want us to be something real. I don’t want to waste time playing guessing games or pretending we’re something we’re not. So if you’re asking whether we’re in a relationship?” He tilts his head slightly, considering. “I’d say we’re at the beginning of one, if that’s what you want too.”

The knot in your stomach eases, replaced by something warm and fluttery. You don’t even try to hide the smile that breaks across your face.

“That’s how I feel too.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go this time.” His grin mirrors yours, warm and full of certainty. Then, after a brief pause, his expression turns just a touch more serious. “Actually, I have a question for you in return.”

You lift your eyes and meet his, intrigued. “Yeah?”

He leans in slightly, his eyes staying locked onto yours. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

“I’m asking because I take this seriously. And also,” his lips twitch into a smirk, “so that pretty little brain of yours doesn’t fry.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“Well?” He lifts a brow, waiting.

You don’t need to think twice. “Yes, Cheoliepop. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His smirk softens into something sweeter, filled with sincerity and promise. "Good," he says, voice low and warm. But then, his expression shifts as his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, his eyes flicking to the screen. "Shit," he mutters under his breath.

He looks up at you, his face tinged with regret. "Sorry, that’s my pager app for the station."

You raise an eyebrow, already knowing what’s coming. "Gotta go?"

"Yeah," he exhales, frustration flickering in his eyes. "I’m really sorry, but I have to head out now. They need a lot of extra hands. Can I call you later?"

You smile, trying to hide the slight pang of disappointment. "It’s okay, really. And yes, please do."

Standing up, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. He takes a wad of cash out of his wallet and leaves it on the table.

"That’s not necessary," you protest, shaking your head. "I’ve got it, go save the day, or night, whatever."

He shoots you a look that says, don't even think about it and shakes his head. "My girl never pays," he says firmly, his grin returning. "Bye, baby."

With a wink, he heads out, leaving you to watch him go, your heart doing a little flutter at the way he treats you.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Mingyu teases as Seungcheol rushes into the locker room, pulling on his gear with impressive speed.

"It’s been 8 minutes since I got paged," Seungcheol shoots back, his voice laced with amusement. "I think that’s pretty damn good, considering." He quickly straps on his helmet. "First one already leave?"

"Yeah, Engine 13 rolled out a few minutes ago. We’re just waiting on Wonwoo and the Rookie. None of us were supposed to be on call tonight, but a shopping center across the city has an unnoticed gas leak that’s now a full-on blaze. Two other stations are already there and called for backup."

Seungcheol nods, tugging the zipper of his overalls up and stepping into his boots. His focus sharpens as he prepares himself mentally for what’s to come.

“There you are,” Mingyu says, pointing at Wonwoo and Vernon as they practically sprint to their lockers.

Yunho, one of the station’s firefighter engineers, whistles as the last of them gear up. "Let’s move, crew!"

Within moments, everyone loads up into the truck. The sirens blare to life as they race toward the fire, the adrenaline already kicking in.

"You haven’t stopped smiling since I got here tonight," Vernon observes, squinting as the red hue from the flashing lights dances across his face. "Just that happy to see me again so soon, or because you finally got cleared earlier today?"

"You wish," Seungcheol teases, bumping his shoulder against Vernon’s, who’s sitting next to him.

Wonwoo tilts his head; thinking as he reads, and recognizes, Seungcheol’s face. "Who is she?"

"Who’s who?" Seungcheol asks, his grin betraying him, making it impossible to hide the obvious answer.

Mingyu laughs, pointing a finger at Seungcheol. "It’s the girl he brought here after she slipped on the ice, right?"

"Ahhh," Wonwoo says with a knowing look, "I thought I sensed something there."

"Yeah, well, we made it official tonight," Seungcheol admits, the satisfaction clear in his voice.

Mingyu kicks Seungcheol’s boot with a grin. "Good for you, man. You deserve to be happy."

Seungcheol smiles, grateful for the support, but his focus shifts as the fire engine pulls up to the scene.

The building is ablaze. Flames roar up to the sky, swallowing the structure whole.

Their fire chief, already standing with personnel from the other stations, breaks away from the group and heads toward the newly arrived team. He quickly briefs the firefighters, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding in front of them. Seungcheol’s focus sharpens as he steps forward, ready to jump into action.

"Everyone who was scheduled to work tonight has been accounted for," the fire chief announces, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them. He surveys the scene, the flames still raging high, a testament to the severity of the situation. "The only concern we have now is a potential person who might’ve been waiting on a delivery out back. We have no confirmation, but it’s a possibility. There's a service entrance on the south side of the building, and I want two of you there to check it out immediately."

Seungcheol stands at attention, nodding as he quickly glances at Mingyu and the others. "I’ll go," he volunteers, already moving toward the south side.

"I’ll go with you," Mingyu replies without hesitation, catching up to him as they head for the back of the building.

The chief doesn’t waste time. "The rest of you, let's join the others and focus on knocking down these flames from the front. We need to contain the fire before it spreads further. Get in there and hit it hard."

"Got it, Chief," Wonwoo responds, his voice firm but calm. He slaps his gloves together, ready to move. Vernon, standing beside him, gives a quick thumbs-up, and the pair heads toward the front of the building, their steps steady and synchronized.

The team moves quickly, and efficiently, their skills are evident in every step they take. Seungcheol can feel the adrenaline surge through him as he secures his face mask, the weight of it grounding him, bringing clarity amidst the chaos. The sirens blare in the background, but his focus is on the building ahead; the flames, the smoke, the crackling heat that pulsates from the structure.

As Seungcheol and Mingyu move further into the danger zone, the heat begins to creep toward them as they reach the service door. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to get it open. He kicks it a few times, the metal groaning under the force, and they step inside, immediately hit by a fresh wall of heat and smoke.

The air is thick, stinging with the mixed smell of burning wood, plastic, and metal. Seungcheol’s vision blurs from the smoke, but the fire-resistant gear does its job. His breathing is steady, his focus unbroken. There’s no time for hesitation, no space for doubt. He’s seen fires like this before, and the weight of each decision bears down on him as he forces his body to move faster, his senses heightened to every crackle and shift in the air around him.

"We need to check every side room back here," Mingyu says, his voice low but urgent as they near the entrance. "Make sure if anyone's in there, they know we’re here."

Seungcheol nods, motioning for Mingyu to follow. They’re already scanning for signs of life, flashes of movement, any indication that someone might still be inside. They move swiftly through the dimly lit back hallway, their flashlights piercing the smoke. Each door they pass is carefully checked.

"Nothing yet," Seungcheol mutters, though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The building creaks ominously, and the heat intensifies as they round the corner.

Mingyu splits off, his figure disappearing into the haze of smoke. Seungcheol’s heartbeat quickens. He knows the risks; fire, smoke inhalation, the unpredictability of a building on the verge of collapse. But this is what he’s trained for.

As he moves deeper into the building, he calls out, "Hello? Is anyone in here? We’re here to help!"

Suddenly, a muffled noise, like someone’s cough, pierces through the roar of the fire. Seungcheol’s heart races.

It sounds like it's coming from the storage room ahead. He quickens his pace, adrenaline surging as he approaches the door to the storage room. It’s slightly ajar, and the sound of coughing grows louder.

"Hello?" Seungcheol calls out, his voice firm, commanding.

A faint reply, weak but unmistakable, echoes back. "Help… please."

The heat intensifies, but he pushes forward, moving debris out of his way. His flashlight cuts through the darkness, landing on shattered glass, scorched furniture, and the faintest outline of a figure near an overturned file cabinet. His pulse spikes.

"Mingyu! I’ve got someone!" Seungcheol shouts into his radio, and then yells out, "Over here!"

Mingyu’s voice crackles through the radio, "Copy that. I’m on my way."

As he gets closer, Seungcheol sees that the person is covered in dust and soot, struggling to breathe. Seungcheol’s heart lurches, but he doesn’t waste time.

He rushes toward the figure, carefully lifting them into his arms, feeling the weight of the person’s body. It’s a woman, unconscious but breathing, her skin warm but not burned. He calls out again, voice urgent, but steady.

“Mingyu, she’s alive! I’m getting her out!"

"Got you," Mingyu replies, quickly appearing from the smoke like a shadow, ready to help. He moves to the other side of her, offering his shoulder for support.

Together, they move swiftly, holding the woman between them as they maneuver through the building, dodging debris that falls from above. The sound of the fire crackling is deafening now, but they don’t stop. There’s no time to waste.

As they approach the door, Seungcheol hears the loud, alarming sound of the building creaking, and the ground shifts beneath his feet. The structure is weakening.

"We need to get out now!" Mingyu says, his voice sharp.

They make it outside just as the first signs of the building’s collapse start to echo through the air. The woman is handed off to the paramedics waiting outside with a stretcher. Seungcheol takes a deep breath, grateful that they made it out in time.

"Nice work, Cheol," Mingyu says with a grin, his voice filled with relief.

Seungcheol nods, wiping sweat from his brow, though it’s hard to tell if it’s from the heat of the fire or the weight of the mission. Despite the exhaustion, there’s a quiet pride in Seungcheol’s chest. She’s alive.

The team is still working at the front, battling the flames as the building begins to crumble. Seungcheol and Mingyu make their way back, and the fire chief nods in approval. Seungcheol lets out a long breath, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“Good work,” the chief says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You guys did great.”

Seungcheol doesn’t have time for celebration. His eyes are already scanning the burning building, making sure his team is safe and the fire is under control.

But as the flames begin to die down, and the last of the smoke starts to clear, Seungcheol allows himself a brief moment of relief. They’ve done their job. They’ve saved a life tonight. And that’s what matters most.

“Can we get a table on the patio? It’s too nice to be stuck inside,” Kate asks the hostess as you both approach the cute, bistro-style restaurant. The woman nods with a polite smile, grabbing two menus before leading you to a cozy table in the fenced-in patio area.

The space is adorned with string lights and various colored potted plants, offering the perfect blend of a trendy atmosphere and eclectic style. From here, you have a prime view of the street, ideal for people watching as pedestrians stroll past, some lost in conversation, others in a hurry.

“This was a great idea,” you say as you settle into your chair. “I’m starving.”

Kate grins, flipping open her menu. “I’m just glad you were free for lunch today. Feels like we’ve barely had time to breathe since getting back.” She sighs, leaning back slightly. “I can’t believe it’s already been almost a month since the heart attack. It feels like everything’s been stuck on fast-forward.”

You nod, completely understanding where she’s coming from. It’s been a nonstop whirlwind since everything happened. It’s nice to take a break and relax, even if it’s just for an hour.

The waitress arrives with two glasses of water, the condensation beading along the sides as she sets them down. “Are you ready to order?” she asks with a friendly smile.

After quickly scanning the menu one last time, you both place your orders, opting for fresh, light dishes that match the warm afternoon. The waitress jots everything down before disappearing inside, leaving you and Kate to continue your conversation.

Your talk meanders effortlessly from one topic to the next; updates on work, the latest drama in your friend group, and Kate’s lingering frustration over unpacking all her things after getting home. It’s easy, natural, the way it always is with her.

When the food finally arrives, Kate practically beams. “God, this looks divine,” she says, wasting no time in picking up her sandwich and taking a big bite. Her eyes flutter shut briefly in appreciation before she gives you a satisfied nod of approval.

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you eat, occasionally breaking it to point out stylish outfits worn by pedestrians passing by. For the first time in a while, life is going pretty well.

Excuse yourself for a bathroom visit, you make your way inside, relieved to find no line. After washing your hands and taking a deep breath, you head back toward the patio, ready to enjoy the rest of your lunch.

Just as you step outside, a tall figure moves in front of you, blocking your path. You stop short, and as you lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sun, your stomach twists with recognition.

Daniel. Your ex.

“Hi,” he greets smoothly, a smile on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

You arch a brow, unimpressed. “Wish I could say the same,” you deadpan, stepping to the side in an attempt to move past him.

He shifts just as quickly, blocking you again.

From your table, Kate catches sight of the interaction, her expression hardening as she starts to push back her chair. You give her a quick shake of your head, silently telling her you’ve got this.

She hesitates but stays put, eyes locked on Daniel like she’s already planning how to rip into him if he tries anything.

“About?” You scoff, already exasperated. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He exhales like he’s been rehearsing this moment. “I miss you. I wish things could go back to how they were.”

A humorless laugh escapes you. “Oh, you mean when I was blissfully unaware of your cheating? When I spent a week crying after I caught you? Yeah, no thanks. I think I’ve wasted enough time on you.”

You shift your gaze away, your patience wearing thin. That’s when you spot a familiar figure across the street, broad shoulders and that confident stride you’d recognize anywhere.

Seungcheol.

He’s just stepped out of an apartment complex, following a couple of other firemen. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his head lifts, scanning the area. The second he spots you, a smile tugs at his lips. You wave, instantly tuning out whatever nonsense Daniel is still rambling about.

Seungcheol’s smile falters as his eyes flick to the man standing a little too close to you. His jaw ticks, his easy going demeanor shifting into something more guarded. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the tension; your standoffish stance, Daniel’s pleading expression. Seungcheol can tell there’s history there, and though he trusts you, a flicker of jealousy ignites in his chest.

Without hesitation, he starts making his way over.

“Hi, baby,” Seungcheol grins, leaning over the short patio fence to kiss you. He’ll admit he might have lingered a little longer than necessary, just to make a point. A point that says, She’s taken. Move along.

His lips press firmly against yours, warm and sure, the faint scent of smoke clinging to his uniform. It’s familiar, comforting. When you finally pull back, you glance around only to realize Daniel is gone. Good.

Seungcheol follows your gaze, catching sight of your ex retreating into the restaurant. His brow lifts in silent question, but he doesn’t push. He knows you’ll tell him if it matters.

Instead, he asks. “Can I come over later?”

“Sure,” you muse, tilting your head with a playful smirk. “But only if you bring dinner. I’ll take care of dessert.” Your voice is light, but the meaning behind your words is unmistakable, the teasing glint in your eyes makes sure of that.

Seungcheol’s gaze darkens just a fraction, his smirk growing. “Dangerous offer, baby,” he murmurs, voice dipping low enough that only you can hear. “Deal.”

Kate clears her throat, dragging his attention away from you. He finally acknowledges her with a lazy grin. “Hi, Kate. Bye, Kate.”

She waves, practically buzzing with amusement. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here for the entertainment. Five stars, by the way.”

The firetruck rounds the corner from where it must’ve been parked, sirens off but lights still flashing. Mingyu leans halfway out of the passenger-side window, grinning like he just caught Seungcheol red-handed.

“Come on, lover boy! We’ve got another call!” he shouts, his voice carrying across the street.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, shaking his head before turning back to you. “Guess I gotta go,” he says, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Stay safe,” you murmur, already missing him.

“Always.” He flashes you one last smile before jogging toward the truck and hopping in. The moment the door shuts, Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows at him, and the truck pulls away, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a silly smile.

Seungcheol shows up at your doorstep with burgers and fries, the scent of crispy, salty goodness filling the air. Your plan for the night had been simple; share dinner, maybe find a movie to watch, and ease into the evening.

But the second you see him, every ounce of restraint flies out the window. His white tee hugs his broad chest, jeans slung low on his hips, and hair slightly tousled from the night air.

You barely give him a chance to say hello before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him inside, your lips finding his the moment the door clicks shut. He lets out a surprised chuckle, but quickly recovers, kissing you back with just as much urgency.

The forgotten bag of food lands on the table as he wraps his arms around you, allowing you to guide him toward the bedroom. The second the back of his knees hit the mattress, he pulls you down with him, flipping you underneath him with ease.

“So much for dinner,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning.

You tug him closer, breathless. “You can have me first. Then the burger.”

Luckily, he feels the same way. This moment is long overdue.

Seungcheol’s hands explore your body with a slow, tantalizing touch. His fingers trailing over your skin as he eases your shirt over your head. His gaze darkens with desire as he drinks you in before shrugging off his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles you adore.

Your hands find his broad shoulders, pressing against the firm warmth of his skin. He shivers under your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers trace over the hard lines of his body, mapping every ridge and dip like you want to memorize him.

He rolls his hips into yours, his voice thick with want. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give you exactly that.”

Your breath hitches as heat pools low in your stomach. “I want you to kiss me,” you murmur, guiding his hand lower before whispering, “here.”

His darkened eyes flick up to yours, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “My pleasure.”

He tugs your pants down with ease, eyes darkening when he sees the damp spot already forming on your panties. His fingers trace over the fabric, teasing, before applying the slightest pressure. The friction makes you gasp, your body arching toward him on instinct.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You want me to taste you that bad?”

Your desperate nod is all the encouragement he needs. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he slides them down, groaning at the sight of you bare beneath him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his tongue slowly up your slit. The first stroke makes you shudder, a whimper past your lips.

He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. “So perfect,” he praises, spreading you open. His tongue works expertly, flicking, circling, teasing. The pressure of his nose against your clit makes your thighs tremble as he devours you like he was made for this.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your back arching as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. “God, that feels so good, Cheol,” you moan, thighs threatening to clamp around his head.

But he doesn’t let up. Not when he knows you’re close, not when he’s determined to make you unravel beneath him, again and again.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. The vibration sends a jolt through your body, and you can’t hold back the broken moan that escapes your lips. Your hips roll against his mouth, desperate, chasing the pleasure that’s building so intensely it’s almost unbearable.

And then, pure, white-hot bliss. The coil inside you snaps, pleasure rippling through your body like a shockwave. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

But Seungcheol isn’t done.

He holds you in place, hands gripping your hips as his tongue continues its merciless assault. He’s ravenous, devouring every wave, every twitch of your body, every moan that falls from your parted lips.

It’s overwhelming, too much. But somehow not enough, and just as you try to catch your breath, another orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the last. Your body clenches, vision goes dark for a moment as you cry out his name. “Seungcheol!” you gasp, your voice wrecked from pleasure.

When you finally go limp, your body spent and trembling, Seungcheol presses one last kiss against your inner thigh before resting his head there. His dark eyes flick up to yours, filled with emotion. His nose and chin glistening with your release as he smirks, his voice husky and dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re unreal.”

He leans up, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and intoxicating that it leaves you breathless. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, only adding to the fire burning between you. Arousal thrums through your veins as you reach between your bodies, palming his stiff length through the rough denim. The heat of him, even through the fabric, makes you ache with need.

“My turn,” you purr, pushing him back until he’s sitting up, your mouth watering at the thought of taking him deep.

But Seungcheol only grins, dark and full of mischief, before flipping you effortlessly onto your back again, caging you beneath him. “Nuh-uh,” he teases, his voice low and dripping with promise. “Tonight is all about you. I’ve got some making up to do, remember?”

His lips find yours once more, kissing you slow and deep before trailing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in his wake. When he reaches your chest, his hands skillfully slip behind your back, unhooking your bra in one smooth motion.

He groans as your bare skin is finally revealed to him, his gaze darkening with hunger. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before taking one of your hardened peaks into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue swirls around you, sucking just enough to make you arch into him, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

His free hand slides down your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin as he worships you, intent on unraveling you piece by piece.

You grab his arm just before his fingers can slip between your legs, your grip tight, your breathing uneven. “As much as I’d love to feel your fingers there,” you pant, your voice desperate, “I need your cock in me before I lose my mind.”

Seungcheol hesitates, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His mouth opens, as if he’s about to protest, but you don’t give him the chance.

“Please, Seungcheol,” you plead, your voice dripping with need. “Fuck me. I need you so bad. I’m going crazy.”

His grin is slow and teasing, his dark eyes flickering with amusement and pure desire. “You’re supposed to make me work for it,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, savoring your impatience.

“Fuck that,” you whimper, your hands already undoing his pants, shoving them down his hips with urgency. “I already know it’s going to be so good, and I can’t wait any longer. I’ve needed you since that night in the hot tub. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your confession makes his cock throb painfully. The memory of that night, your soaked skin, the way you had looked at him, only fueling his desire. He swears under his breath, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself between them.

He strokes himself twice, eyes never leaving yours, drinking in the way you shudder with anticipation beneath him. “I’ve needed you since then too,” he groans, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you just for a second longer.

Then, without further hesitation, he thrusts into you, burying himself in one deep, slow stroke.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he groans, voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as your walls clench around him. "I promise."

“You stretch me so fucking good, oh my god,” you moan, your head tilting back against the pillows as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you, filling you to the hilt.

Seungcheol groans, the sound guttural, his jaw tightening as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly. So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect. His hands roam over your curves before gripping your hips, using them as leverage to thrust even deeper.

The flames between you grow hotter, consuming you both as your bodies move in perfect sync like you were made for this, made for each other.

His breathing is heavy, lips brushing against your jaw before he captures your wrists in one strong hand, pinning them above your head against the mattress. “Hold still for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with command and lust.

You whimper at the sudden control, your walls clenching around him in response. “Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tightening just slightly as his hips snap against yours with increasing intensity.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching beneath him. The slick sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with the symphony of your moans and his groans.

His free hand trails down your body, his fingertips ghosting over your skin before pressing firmly against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles.

“Cheol—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in your core, the tension threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps, his lips brushing over your parted ones. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

Your body obeys his command, trembling as pleasure surges through you. Your walls tighten around him, milking every inch of his cock as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Seungcheol groans, his grip tightening on your wrists as he slows his thrusts, guiding you through the aftershocks, keeping you grounded while you catch your breath.

He watches you, completely wrecked beneath him, your body glowing with satisfaction, your chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. And yet, the way your eyes meet his, filled with hunger, tells him you're not done.

“Come in me,” you whisper, voice dripping with desperation, fingers curling into his biceps. “I’m all yours to claim.”

His body tenses at your words, his restraint snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself inside you. The heat of his release floods through your center, your walls fluttering around him as he spills every drop.

He collapses over you, supporting his weight on his forearms, pressing his forehead against yours as he tries to steady his breath. A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in, deeply kissing you.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, possessive.

You hum in agreement, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Yours.”

You lay there together, limbs tangled, basking in the lingering warmth of each other's bodies. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. And the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing is the only sound filling the quiet. Seungcheol presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pouring unspoken emotions into it.

Eventually, he pulls away with a soft sigh and sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. He disappears into your bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth, kneeling between your legs. His touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully wipes away his release spilling from your folds, making sure you’re comfortable before tending to himself.

You watch him, your heart swelling at the quiet intimacy of it all.

When he’s finished, you sit up slowly, a blissed-out smile stretching across your face. “That,” you begin, “Was so worth the wait.”

He chuckles, tossing the washcloth aside. “Glad to know I met expectations.”

“Please,” you snort, standing to grab a clean pair of panties. You swipe his discarded t-shirt off the floor and throw it on, the hem skimming your upper thighs. “You surpassed every single one.”

Seungcheol smirks, eyes trailing your frame as you move around the room. You catch his gaze and raise a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he muses, leaning back on his hands. “Just admiring the view.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you grab his hand and tug him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I need a french fry in my life. You wanna eat out here, or should I bring it back to bed?”

“You can’t eat in bed,” he scolds lightly.

You shrug. “I do it all the time.”

He shakes his head but follows you out anyway, pulling his boxers back on.

Once the burgers and fries are plated, you both settle on the couch. You hand him a plate before digging in, barely pausing between bites. Seungcheol watches you with amusement, but when you’re not looking, he sneakily drops a fry down for Mika, who’s curled up in her favorite blanket. The pup wags her tail and happily munches on her secret treat.

“Post-sex burgers kinda slap, I’m not gonna lie,” you say, taking another big bite.

Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, too busy watching you with an expression so soft it borders on devastating. He knows he’s in deep, he has been since the moment he met you. Loving you this much is dangerous, but fuck, it’s so worth the inevitable heartache and future pain he’s setting himself up for.

The following morning, Seungcheol stirs awake at the faint rustling of movement beside him. Still half-asleep, he instinctively reaches out to pull you back into his arms. It’s way too early to be getting up, but his hands find empty sheets. His brows furrow as he cracks his eyes open, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

You're standing by the dresser, slipping on a pair of leggings, your hair thrown up into a clip.

“Good morning, Seungshine.”

His heart swells at the nickname, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Mmm, morning. Going somewhere, gorgeous?” His deep, raspy morning voice sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Just a quick run to the pharmacy. I’ll be back in a few.” You lean down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Don’t get up.”

He hums against your lips but narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What for?”

You straighten, grinning. “Well, if you recall, we ended the night with a big bang, no puns intended. But I don’t take my birth control as consistently as I should, so just to be safe, I’m grabbing a Plan B.”

The realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes widen as he sits up abruptly, pushing the covers off. “Shit—I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to ask last night.” He scrambles for his jeans. “I’ll come with you—and I’m paying for it. Obviously.”

You chuckle at his flustered state, shaking your head. “Cheol, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he insists, standing and pulling his jeans on. “That should’ve been a conversation before we went at it like animals.” He runs a hand across his face, exhaling sharply. “I feel like an asshole.”

You step closer, moving his hands to cup his face in yours. “You’re not an asshole. We got caught up in the moment, it happens. But we’re handling it now, and that’s what matters.”

He studies you for a moment before sighing, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Still. I wanna come with you.”

You arch a brow. “You sure you wanna be seen in public, bright and early, in the pharmacy aisle buying Plan B?”

He deadpans, “I’m a firefighter, babe. I run into burning buildings for a living. You think I’m scared of the contraceptive aisle?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fair enough, but you really don’t need to come. I begged for it. And, honestly? I’d beg you to come inside me again because that was so fucking hot.” You give him a teasing grin before adding, “But yeah, just to be safe, I’ll pick one up. Don’t worry, babe.” You flash him a reassuring smile. And the truth is, you’re not upset about it. Shit happens. You wouldn’t change a thing about last night.

But Seungcheol’s face softens with concern, and he shakes his head. “It’s not right, no. If I wasn’t in such a rush last night, I would’ve remembered the condoms in my wallet. But I didn’t, so I’m gonna take care of this and fix it.” His voice carries a mix of guilt and determination, and you can see it’s eating him up inside.

You gently touch his arm, trying to ease his frustration. “Cheol, seriously. There’s nothing to fix. It’s okay.”

His jaw tightens, frustration falling across his features. The sound of him exhaling sharply fills the room. He feels like he’s messed up, and it’s killing him. But then, seeing the look on your face, he softens, his anger shifting to self-recrimination. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I don’t mean to argue. I’m just frustrated with myself. I should’ve used protection, that won’t happen again.”

You step closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his stiffened posture. He doesn’t immediately return the hug, his muscles tight with guilt.

“Cheol, get out of your head,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his back. “We’re good. I’m not mad at you. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Sorry,” he breathes out, his voice full of self-disappointment. “I don’t like messing up.” He pulls away slightly, looking at you with a half-hearted smile. “I’m gonna head to the gym and blow off some steam before my shift. Call me later?”

You nod, offering him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course.”

He gives you one last, lingering kiss on the forehead before grabbing his gym bag and heading for the door. His footsteps fade, but the weight of his thoughts lingers in the room. You just hope he knows that everything is okay.

…

Seungcheol arrives at the station early, eager to clear his mind with a good workout. As soon as he walks in, he spots Vernon already warming up, and they exchange a quick greeting before diving into their routines. Seungcheol starts with his usual heavy dumbbell reps, the weight feels almost too light as his mind drifts away from the frustration of earlier.

His focus sharpens as he moves onto sprints on the treadmill, feeling the burn in his legs, and finally finishes with some deadlifts. Each rep clears a bit more of the tension from his shoulders, his thoughts slowly settling into a rhythm.

It’s only when he checks his phone to switch the song playing through his headphones that his heart drops. There’s a text from you, simple and straightforward: Got the pill, already took it.

The frustration from earlier resurfaces instantly, a knot tightening in his chest. His jaw clenches as he finishes the last set of deadlifts, his mind whirring with thoughts of how to fix things, but also realizing that fixing things isn't always the solution.

“Dang, dude,” Vernon whistles from across the room, clearly noticing the shift in Seungcheol’s demeanor. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Seungcheol lets out a frustrated breath, wiping his face with a towel before flinging it over his shoulder. “You could say that,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Y/N and I argued this morning. She wasn’t having it when I tried to fix something, solve a problem, whatever you wanna call it.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow, setting down his weights. “Oof. Sounds like you’ve met your match, man. Mr. Fix-It’s getting his ass handed to him by Miss Independent, huh?”

Seungcheol runs his hand across his neck, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Yeah, and it’s infuriating sometimes. She’s clumsy by nature, which I absolutely adore, but she won’t ask for help, even when I offer. I don’t mind helping. I want to. If a problem arises I want to jump in and solve it. Hell, I’d love to do anything to make her day easier, but she just won’t let me. It drives me crazy. I’m trying to be a good boyfriend, but she’s just...so stubborn.”

Vernon chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s all women for you.”

Seungcheol shoots him a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vernon leans against the wall, looking over at him with a knowing smirk. “You’re learning the hard way. It’s like, no matter how much you want to help, they’ll still want to do it themselves. It’s part of the charm...and the frustration.”

Seungcheol snorts, running a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like she wants to carry the weight of the world herself, even if I’m standing right here, ready to take some of it.”

Vernon pats him on the back, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “Dude, you’re gonna have to accept that. It’s just how it goes. Just try not to lose your mind over it. You’re not gonna win this one, so don’t let it eat you up.”

Seungcheol nods, letting the advice sink in. Maybe Vernon’s right, maybe this is just one of those things he has to let go of. But damn, it’s hard when all he wants to do is help, especially when he’s so used to fixing everything around him.

Your latest meeting with your publisher went better than you could’ve ever imagined. Over coffee downtown, she told you the great news: your editor approved the final draft of your novel, and it's officially being sent to the press.

In three months, thousands of copies will be printed, bound, and sent out to stores across the world. The feeling of seeing your work finally come to life is overwhelming, and you can't wait to share the news with Seungcheol.

You rush to the station, eager to surprise him. As soon as you walk in, you spot the sweet receptionist at her desk and flash her a bright smile.

“Hey, Y/N! Seungcheol’s in the garage.”

“Thanks!” you call back, your excitement bubbling up as you head toward the garage.

“Mika!” comes the familiar chorus of voices from the station’s crew. Everyone loves your husky, and she loves their attention. She prances around, soaking up the affection before running straight for Wonwoo, ready for a round of frisbee. He takes her out back, tossing the frisbee with a grin as she happily chases it down.

You walk into the garage just as Seungcheol is finishing up something on a truck. Before you can get his attention, he’s already spotted you. He moves swiftly, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. His lips find the spot just below your ear, planting a soft kiss there.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “I didn’t think I’d see you until after I finished this 48-hour shift.”

You can’t help but laugh, the happiness of the moment bubbling out of you. “Well, I couldn’t wait to see you. I have some huge news!” You tilt your head to catch his gaze. His smile widens at the sound of your enthusiasm.

“What’s that?” he asks, clearly intrigued.

“The book’s officially being printed,” you say, the excitement rushing out in a stream of words. “They approved it, Seungcheol. In three months, it’ll be out in stores!”

Seungcheol freezes, his arms tightening around you as the realization sinks in. “No way.” His voice is filled with awe. “You did it, Y/N.” He turns you around, looking you in the eyes, a thrilled smile on his face. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You beam, feeling the weight of everything you’ve worked for finally come to fruition. His words only make it feel more real. “I couldn’t have done it without your support. You’re the one who told me to write for myself.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, his hands sliding down to rest at your waist. “So, what’s the next step? Are you gonna do a book tour or something?”

You shrug playfully. “I’m still figuring that part out, but for now, I just wanted to celebrate with you and share the news.”

His grin is sinful, full of mischief and raw desire. “Well, I think I know the perfect way to celebrate.”

Before you can ask what he means, Seungcheol takes your hand and tugs you between two fire trucks, tucking you into the dimly lit space where the shadows provide just enough secrecy. Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his expression. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire body practically radiating heat.

The second you’re in position, he crashes his lips to yours His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper against his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, tilting your head to take even more of you.

Then, using his pure strength, he lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the cool, hard metal of the fire truck. You gasp at the contrast between his burning body and the icy steel. His hips press between your legs, and you can feel him, thick and heavy, even through the layers separating you.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groans, his voice rough with restraint.

Your head spins. “Here?” you whisper, glancing to the side, your nerves and excitement blending together.

He pulls back slightly, his breath fanning over your lips. “Only if you want to.”

God, it’s reckless. You could get caught. But something about the idea of Seungcheol taking you right here, in the middle of his workplace, with his crew just yards away, has arousal pooling between your thighs. It’s like a scene ripped straight from one of your books, and you can’t help but bite your lip, nodding frantically.

A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “That’s my girl.”

His hands slide under your skirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs before pushing the fabric up to bunch around your hips. You shiver in anticipation as he unzips his pants, the sound sharp in the quiet space. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and tucking them into one of his pockets.

The cool air hits your damp heat before his fingers find you. He lets out a low curse. “So wet for me already.” His voice is pure sin, dripping with desire.

Then, he reaches into another zipper pocket, pulling out a small foil packet. He rips it open with his teeth, grinning as he rolls the condom onto his aching length.

“As wild and unpredictable as you are, I’ve learned my lesson.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are dark. “So, I always keep a condom on hand. This is my surprise sex stash.” He taps the pocket he pulled it from.

A breathy laugh escapes you, the absurdity of it making your stomach flutter. “That’s so hot, but also so funny.”

He chuckles, “What can I say? I like to be prepared.” Your laughter quickly turns into soft mewls as he rubs his cock through your folds.

And then, without warning, he thrusts into you, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that has you gasping against his lips.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenched tight as he bottoms out inside you. His breath comes out in a ragged groan as he mutters, “Always a perfect fucking fit.” The praise sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your walls fluttering around him in response.

Then he starts to move. Hard, fast, relentless. His hips snap into yours with an intensity that has your head falling back against the truck, the metal vibrating with each powerful thrust. The pleasure is overwhelming, every nerve in your body is on fire, and you can do nothing but take it, your body molding to his as he fucks you into oblivion.

The sounds of your wetness mixed with his grunts echo dangerously in the garage, and a sudden thrill shoots through you at the realization of how exposed you are. Anyone could walk in. Any second now, someone could round the corner and—

A strangled moan tears from your lips, loud and uncontrollable.

Seungcheol reacts instantly, his free hand flying up to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate sounds threatening to give you away. His other hand remains firm on your waist, guiding your movements as he thrusts deeper, angling perfectly to brush against that sweet, devastating spot inside you.

“Shh, baby,” he rasps against your ear, voice thick with arousal and amusement. “Unless you want them to hear how good I’m fucking you.”

His words send a violent shudder through your body, your nails sinking into his shoulders as you cling to him. His pace only grows rougher, more desperate, like he needs to push you over the edge. And with the way his cock is slamming into you, dragging against your most sensitive spot with every stroke, you know you won’t last much longer.

Your muffled whimpers vibrate against his palm, your body trembling as that familiar coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

“Fuck,” he grunts, thrusts growing erratic. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You’re right there, teetering on the edge, the tension in your core threatening to snap at any second.

And then—he thrusts particularly deep, his name slipping from your lips against his palm as you shatter around him, your entire body convulsing as pleasure washes over you in overwhelming waves.

Seungcheol tenses, a deep groan tearing from his throat as his release crashes over him. His hips stutter, pressing flush against you as he spills into the condom, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs.

His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “I swear, it’s better every time.” He kisses you, slow and deep, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.

Gently, he lowers you back onto your shaky legs, steadying you with firm hands as he smooths down your skirt to cover your still-throbbing core. You blink up at him, dazed, before holding out a hand expectantly. “My panties?”

Seungcheol’s grin turns downright wicked as he pulls his pants back up around his hips. “Nope. Those are mine now.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Consider them a souvenir.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Fine. But only because my legs are too wobbly to fight you for them.” You shake your head, still trying to regain some semblance of composure. “How the hell did you even hold me up for that long? Guess I gotta start calling you Swole Cheol.”

He throws his head back in laughter, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Damn right, baby. Now, let’s get you out of here before someone starts wondering why you look so thoroughly fucked.”

He watches you walk away, a satisfied smirk lingering on his lips as you glance back with a knowing look. Once you're out of sight, he releases a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before making his way to the locker room.

With a sigh, he disposes of the soiled condom, shaking his head at himself. You’re insatiable, Choi Seungcheol. But who could blame him when it came to you? His body already aches for another round, the memory of your warmth and the way you came undone around him burned into his mind.

Unfortunately, that will have to wait until tonight. For now, a very cold shower is in order.

After finishing his grueling 48-hour shift, Seungcheol finally gets to clock out. But instead of heading straight home to crash, he shoots you a text.

Come over?

You don’t hesitate. Obviously.

You haven’t seen his place yet, and curiosity buzzes through you as you drive over. When you arrive, he’s already waiting at the door, wearing nothing but gray sweats you silently pray he never gets rid of, and a tired smile that still somehow makes your stomach flip.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, stepping aside to let you and Mika in. His place is warm and inviting, all dark wood and soft lighting, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

You barely get a chance to take in your surroundings before he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you slow and deep like he’s been starved for you.

You don’t make it past the couch. Neither do your clothes.

He lays you down, hovering over you, taking his time worshipping your body. It’s sweet and slow, his lips tracing every inch of your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he sinks into you, rocking into you with a steady rhythm that has your toes curling.

Then, for the next round, he carries you to his bed. Where you take control by straddling him, rolling your hips just right. His hands roam your body, his praises spilling from his lips like he can’t help himself. “You ride me so fucking well,” he groans, his grip tightening as he watches you fall apart above him.

And just when he thinks he’s spent, you pull him into the shower, pressing your chest against the cool tile as he takes you from behind, water cascading over both of you.

By the time you tumble back into his bed, tangled in the sheets, your limbs are heavy with exhaustion. Seungcheol pulls you onto his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

He presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hum sleepily, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “At least you’ll go happy.”

With a breathy chuckle, he tightens his arms around you. Sleep takes him quickly, and you follow soon after, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

You sleep soundly for the next couple of hours, wrapped in warmth, the steady rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest beneath your cheek lulling you into the deepest rest you’ve had in weeks. His scent surrounds you; fresh soap, faint cologne, something inherently him.

But then, movement stirs beside you.

A restless twitch. A sharp inhale. A quiet, broken, “No.”

Your brows knit together as you lift your head, immediately sensing the distress rolling off him in waves. His muscles tense beneath your palm, his fingers gripping the sheets as his breaths grow shallow. Another boom cracks through the night, lightning flashing across the room, illuminating the crease in his brow, and the tremble in his lips.

Then he whispers it, his voice thick with anguish.

"Please don’t be dead."

Your heart clenches. You realize what’s happening in an instant, he’s trapped in another nightmare, reliving something dark, something that still haunts him.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur softly, placing your palm over his racing heart. “You’re dreaming. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

But then another crack of thunder rattles the walls, and his body jerks violently as his eyes snap open, wild and unfocused. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps, and for a moment, he’s not here. He’s somewhere else, somewhere terrible.

“Cheol, it’s me,” you say quickly, sitting up beside him. “I’m here.”

His gaze darts around the room as if searching for danger, for confirmation that the horrors of his dream weren’t real. Another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, and you see it, the sheer panic in his eyes, the way his entire frame trembles.

Without hesitation, you press your hands over his ears, shielding him from the roaring thunder. He lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans into your touch. Slowly, gently, you guide him back down onto the bed, keeping your hands in place, anchoring him.

“It’s just a storm,” you whisper. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He listens, inhales deeply, exhales slower. Again. And again. Until the tremors in his body ease, until his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm.

Minutes pass before his grip on you loosens, before his exhausted body succumbs to sleep once more. You stay like that, curled against him, watching over him, your fingers trailing soothing patterns on his skin.

…

The morning light filters softly through his windows, casting a golden glow over Seungcheol’s bare shoulders as he sits across from you at the kitchen table, fingers curled around his coffee mug. The night’s storm has long since passed, but the weight of it still lingers in the air between you.

You take a careful sip, watching him as Mika eats the last of her breakfast. He hasn’t said much since waking up, just his usual quiet “Morning, gorgeous” and a kiss to your forehead before brewing your coffee exactly how you like it. But there’s a tension in his shoulders, a faraway look in his eyes that hasn’t faded since last night.

You set your mug down. “You were really freaked out last night,” you say gently. “Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you aren’t ready to.”

He exhales through his nose, his grip on the mug tightening. You see the war happening in his head, his instinct to protect you from the darkness in him battling against his desire to be honest with you. To not keep things hidden.

Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“That storm...the thunder, the lightning, it took me back,” he admits, voice rough. “There was this wildfire a few months ago. A lightning strike started it. We had barely any warning before it spread out of control.” He pauses, jaw tensing. “A family refused to evacuate. I begged them to go, promised I’d do everything I could to protect their home. But the wind...it changed direction so fast, faster than anyone could’ve predicted.” His knuckles whiten around his cup. “By the time we got back there...it was too late.”

Your heart clenches at the raw anguish in his voice, the way his eyes flicker with a pain so deep it’s nearly unbearable to witness.

“They didn’t make it?” you ask softly.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “No one did,” he murmurs. “When we found them, they were still holding onto their baby.” His voice breaks on the last word. “I broke my promise.”

Tears prick your own eyes at the thought, at the unbearable weight he’s carried with him all this time. You reach across the table, placing your hand over his.

“Cheol,” you whisper, squeezing gently. “You did everything you could.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, red-rimmed and filled with regret and guilt. “Did I?” he rasps. “Because I should’ve convinced them. I should’ve been able to make them leave. I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“They chose to stay,” you remind him softly.

“They didn’t know any better,” he counters, voice thick with guilt. “They were scared, and I should’ve—” He stops, dragging a hand down his face as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill. “I live with that every damn day. Knowing I couldn’t save them. That I had to carry their bodies out instead.”

The silence between you is heavy, but you don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you shift your chair closer, wrapping your arms around him. He stiffens for half a second before melting into you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You carry so much,” you murmur, fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. “More than anyone ever should. But you’re human, Cheol. You can’t save everyone.”

He exhales shakily, nodding against you. “I just wish I could.”

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. “And that’s what makes you you.”

For the first time that morning, he lets himself break. And you hold him through it all.

You refuse to let him go, arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders as he holds you just as fiercely. His breath is steadying now, though his heartbeat still pounds beneath your fingertips. You don’t say anything; just stay there, grounding him, letting him know he’s not alone.

Then, a sharp alarm cuts through the air. Seungcheol’s phone buzzes insistently against the table, and the moment ends. He exhales deeply, hesitating for just a second before he pulls back to check the screen. His brows knit together, and his entire demeanor shifts.

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, jaw tightening. “House fire.” Uncanny timing.

His movements are swift as he grabs his keys, slipping on his jacket quickly after. He kisses you once, lingering just a little longer than usual, before crouching to ruffle Mika’s fur. “You stay here and keep your mom company, okay?” The husky wags her tail, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” he tells you, pausing at the door. “Though...I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, something heavy. Like a part of him isn’t sure he’ll be back at all.

“That’s okay, I have to pick up my new car at some point today. Be safe,” you whisper, and he nods before he’s out the door, disappearing into the early morning light.

When Seungcheol arrives at the station, the usual buzz of activity is nowhere to be found. Instead, the air is thick, weighed down by everyone’s mood. They move in near silence, expressions grim as they gear up. There’s no room for jokes or casual banter this morning.

The fire must be bad.

It doesn’t take long before the trucks are roaring down the streets, sirens wailing. Seungcheol watches the city blur past through the windshield, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the strap of his harness. His mind drifts back to the wildfire, to the storm, to last night’s memories clawing at the edges of his mind.

Not again.

The moment they arrive on the scene, it’s clear just how dire the situation is. Flames engulf the upper floors of a residential building, thick black smoke pouring from shattered windows. Panicked screams echo through the street as people scramble outside, clutching children, pets, whatever they could grab before escaping.

“Two confirmed still inside,” their Chief barks as they hop off the truck, already securing their oxygen masks.

Seungcheol’s pulse kicks into overdrive.

Two people.

That’s all it takes for him to lose his grip on rational thought.

Adrenaline surges through his veins as he storms toward the entrance, ignoring the heat licking at his skin. The radio crackles in his ear with orders, but they barely register. He has one mission.

Get them out.

“Coups, wait—” someone calls behind him, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the inferno.

Inside, it’s a warzone of collapsing debris and searing flames. Visibility is nearly zero, but he pushes forward, relying on instinct. His breaths come in controlled, measured gasps as he scans the smoke-filled hallway.

A cough. A desperate sound.

There.

He finds them huddled in a bedroom, an older woman shielding a teenage boy with her body. Their faces are streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “I’m getting you out of here.”

The woman clings to him as he hoists the boy onto his back, securing his grip before turning toward the exit. But just as they reach the hallway, an explosion rattles the structure, sending a shower of debris crashing down below them. The floor beneath them groans ominously.

“Shit,” he grits out, adjusting his hold. “Hold on.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Breaking protocol entirely, Seungcheol barrels forward, his mind laser-focused on getting the trapped family to safety. He moves quickly, weaving through the fiery chaos, dodging falling beams and blistering flames that seem to reach out for him. His breath is ragged, adrenaline coursing through his veins, but nothing will stop him—nothing. Not the heat, not the smoke, not even the ever-encroaching collapse of the building around him.

Then, a massive beam crashes down onto his shoulder, the impact so brutal that a sharp cry of pain is forced from his lips. He staggers but pushes through, gritting his teeth, refusing to let the pain slow him down. His shoulder burns like hell, but he won’t stop, not when the woman’s terrified eyes are locked on him, desperate for his help.

“Cheol!” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the fog of pain, and Seungcheol knows what’s coming even before his friend is fully in view.

“Do you have a death wish?” Mingyu barks, his tone sharp with concern as he catches up, the rest of the unit trailing behind him.

Seungcheol grits his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“You guys shouldn’t be in here,” he growls, eyes scanning the wreckage. The staircase is gone, replaced by nothing but broken wood and twisted metal. He shifts the woman in his arms, her fragile weight barely noticeable compared to the responsibility pressing down on his chest.

“Neither should you,” Wonwoo shoots back, annoyance lining his voice as he surveys the scene. “We wait for orders then comply, remember? Protocol.”

Seungcheol shoots him a scowl, shaking his head. “Then why did you follow?” He’s out of breath, but his tone is still biting. The words tumble out without thinking.

“We weren’t going to let you die in here,” Vernon huffs, catching the woman in his arms with a grunt, before nodding to Seungcheol. The teenage boy is next, and Seungcheol carefully lowers him down to safety.

The unit works quickly, their frustration visible, but they all know this is the harsh reality of their job. As Seungcheol is helped down next, Mingyu’s eyes stay fixed on his shoulder, unable to ignore the way Seungcheol’s fingers are tightly gripping his own arm, gloves tight across his knuckles from the pain he's clearly trying to hide.

Seungcheol catches his stare, his expression darkening. The warning is clear in his eyes. Don’t fucking say a thing.

Mingyu swallows hard, but he says nothing. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t push the issue. Seungcheol’s pride, his reckless courage, has always been part of him. And right now, no amount of scolding will change what’s already been done.

The fire rages behind them, a constant roar of destruction, but Seungcheol keeps his focus, pushing through the pain in his shoulder. The family is safe, that’s all that matters. For now, anyway.

As they burst through the door, the mother and son gasp for fresh air, the paramedics rushing in to attend to them. But Seungcheol barely registers the relief in their faces before the harsh crackling of his radio fills the air. He tenses, hearing the fury behind it, and before he can react, a voice booms from behind him.

“Choi Seungcheol, what the fuck was that?” He turns sharply to see Captain Namjoon storming toward him, absolutely livid.

“You ignored a direct order, you reckless idiot—”

But Seungcheol doesn't flinch, doesn't care. Not when he glances back at the boy, clutching his mother, both of them alive and safe. That’s what matters to him.

The Chief interrupts, his voice cold and authoritative as he steps in front of Seungcheol. “You willingly put yourself and your unit at risk. Disciplinary action will be discussed tomorrow in front of a panel to decide your reprimand for misconduct. You’re dismissed. Get back to the station.”

Seungcheol’s heart sinks, but he knows better than to argue now. What’s done is done.

A slight worry settles in your gut as you glance at the clock, noting that the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. You haven’t heard from Seungcheol since he left early this morning. You know his job is demanding, but the silence gnaws at you, twisting your thoughts into worst-case scenarios.

You try to distract yourself. You’ve run all your errands, picked up your new car from the dealership, and taken Mika on a long walk in the park. But now, there’s nothing left to occupy your mind. The restlessness builds, gnawing at your thoughts until you can’t sit still any longer.

You decide to drive to the station, thinking that maybe if you wait there, you’ll see Seungcheol when the trucks return. At least then you can breathe a little easier. You leave Mika safely tucked in your apartment, lock up, and head for the station. The closer you get, the more your nerves spark.

But when you pull up and see the big garage doors closed, your stomach drops. That means the trucks are already parked back inside.

Your pulse quickens as you lock your car, your mind racing with questions. You rush through the door, barely noticing the soft murmur of voices inside. When you round the corner, you bump into Mingyu just outside the locker room door.

His eyes meet yours, his usual laid-back demeanor momentarily replaced by a flicker of concern. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asks, concerned about your current state, even though his exhaustion is evident.

A flood of worry surges through you as you look at Mingyu, your mind racing with a thousand different scenarios. “How long have you guys been back? Did Seungcheol get mandated to stay for overtime? Or is he hurt?”

Mingyu gives you a look, one that’s part confusion, part understanding, as he puts the pieces together. He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard from him?” he asks, his voice softening as he realizes the depth of your concern.

You shake your head quickly, panic creeping in. "No. He didn’t text me like he was supposed to.”

Mingyu pauses, processing the situation. “He returned from the call this afternoon,” he finally says, his tone thoughtful. “The rest of us got back around dinner time and he was already gone by then. I assumed he was already with you.” He pulls his phone out, texting someone quickly. “Let me check with a few people. We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

His attempt at reassurance does little to ease the anxiety knotting in your stomach. You let out a breath as he directs you to sit down, and you follow him into the rec room. The worn-out chairs and tables, so familiar to Seungcheol’s coworkers, suddenly feel out of place in the heavy silence hanging between you. Mingyu sits across from you at the table, his fingers drumming anxiously on the surface.

“Why was he the first one back?” you ask, trying to piece together the timeline in your head.

Mingyu’s eyes shift away for a moment, his face tightening, and you can see the hesitation on his features. “I—” He stops himself, clearly uncertain of how much to say. After a long pause, he meets your gaze again, the heaviness in his eyes unmistakable.

“What is it?” you press, your voice rising with urgency. You can feel it now, a gnawing sense that something happened, something bad. “Is he hurt?”

Mingyu’s fingers hover over his phone as he glances down, hesitation clear in the tightness of his posture. After a tense moment, he finally meets your gaze, his voice softer than usual, almost reluctant.

“He…he wasn’t in the best shape when he got back,” he starts, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “They had to take him to the infirmary. Just a minor shoulder injury…” His voice trails off, as if he’s holding something back.

Your heart skips a beat, but you can’t help pressing for more. The knot in your stomach tightens as dread creeps into your thoughts. “There’s more?” you ask, your voice shaky with worry.

Mingyu sighs, his expression unreadable as he shifts in his seat. “He pulled a reckless move today,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to his phone again. “Chief forced him to leave after breaking orders. Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to go in like that. He didn’t wait for backup, didn’t follow the plan…” He sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Vernon answered, he’s with Coups right now. They’re at Shooters. The bar on Fifth.”

Shooter’s. The last place you ever expected to hear about when Seungcheol’s name was involved, especially after what Mingyu just told you.

“Should I go to him?” you ask, standing up as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Your legs feel like they’re made of lead, but your heart is racing. All you can think about is getting to Seungcheol, making sure he’s okay, whatever happened today.

Mingyu looks at you, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you should. Don’t push him too hard though. He’s not exactly in the best mood.”

You nod, already grabbing your keys from your bag. You’re out the door before another thought can settle in, your mind only focused on reaching Seungcheol.

When you walk in, the thumping rock music and the rhythmic clink of glasses vibrate through the air, filling your ears as you scan the dimly lit room. Your gaze lands on Seungcheol immediately, his broad frame slumped against the bar, his head hanging low as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Beside him, Vernon sits quietly, his eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol, sensing the brewing tension before it even fully settles.

“Hey, Y/N,” Vernon greets you with a small smile, but his eyes flick to Seungcheol, reading the situation before it can spiral out of control.

As soon as Seungcheol hears your name, his head jerks up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes glaze over with a mix of exhaustion and frustration, meet yours, and you can tell he doesn’t want to deal with you right now.

But there’s no way around it. You’re here. And you’re not leaving without talking this through. Vernon takes one last look between you two before silently slipping away, giving you both space to talk.

You sit next to Seungcheol, your presence undeniable, and cross your arms as you wait for him to acknowledge you. He doesn’t.

“Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” you ask, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended.

Seungcheol doesn’t even look at you, lifting his glass to his lips and taking another long swig of whiskey, his silence only making your frustration boil over. "No," he finally grunts in response, not even bothering to meet your eyes.

“Mingyu let me know you were here,” you continue, your voice now firm, cutting through the tension between you two. “After I went to the station, worried because you didn’t come home. And he kindly informed me that you’ve been back from that house fire call for hours."

At your words, Seungcheol’s grip on the glass tightens, his jaw clenched as if he’s trying to hold back the storm. The non-answer he gives you only stokes the fire inside you, and you can feel your patience wearing thin.

His stubbornness frustrates you more than anything, but you refuse to let this go.

“Did you act out today because it was another family? Do you feel like you owed it to the universe to save them, no matter the cost?”

His glare could cut through steel. “Don’t,” he snaps, his voice low and hard.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Seungcheol, it’s not your fault. They chose to stay behind. You can’t carry that burden. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, especially when it’s out of your hands.”

But as you watch him, his arm in a sling, the frustration bubbles up inside you. It’s like he’s determined to destroy himself for a past he can’t change.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, frustration edging into your voice. “Why did you forget all rational thought? You never break orders. You know the risks. You could’ve died today. Along with that mother and her son, since you were too focused on your own guilt to consider the usual risks, like weak spots. What if she’d fallen through the floor? What if her son had to watch her die right in front of him because you were in such a rush to right a wrong? Sure, you saved them this time, but what you did was just as reckless as it was selfish. You made it about yourself, Seungcheol. You let your past mistakes dictate your actions and put everything else on the line. You put your team, your friends, and your own life in danger.”

The words hang heavy between you, your chest rising and falling with the weight of them. You wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on.

“Was it worth it? Do you feel better now?” you bite out, anger and hurt lacing your tone. “I already know the answer to that, seeing you sitting here, ignoring me.”

His fist slams down on the counter, the sound sharp and final. “Enough!” His voice cracks with the tension, and the glass in his hand shatters into pieces on the counter.

Instinctively, your hands reach for the broken glass, not thinking, but the jagged edge cuts through your skin before you can pull away.

"Shit" you mutter, more to yourself than him, as you suck in a sharp breath, pressing napkins to the small wound on your hand. The blood stains the white paper, and you can feel your emotions boiling over.

Seungcheol's voice erupts, raw and jagged, his words like acid. “See? This is exactly what I mean,” he spits. “You’re pissed at me for saving lives today, for doing my job, but look at you. You can’t even get your own shit together! You want to lecture me, but you’re over here falling apart at the smallest thing. How many times do I have to save you, huh? You always come to me with your problems, needing me to fix everything for you. And what do I get in return?”

His hands slam against the bar, his knuckles turning white as his gaze hardens as if he’s trying to bury his emotions behind the anger. "Just go away, Y/N. I can't fix you right now. I can't fix anything about you or me. So just go.”

His words are like a slap, cold and unforgiving, making you recoil. And they leave a burning sting in their wake. The sting isn’t just from the cut; it’s from the weight of his accusation. You take a breath, steadying yourself as you step back, holding the napkin tighter against your palm, trying to hold back the tears.

Without another word, you turn and leave, feeling the heat of the moment suffocating you. He can clean up his own damn mess, because you’ve done all you can.

Seungcheol’s disciplinary panel finally came to a decision today. The verdict hits him hard. Two weeks without pay, and he's benched from responding to fires for the same period. He knows it’s deserved—hell, he was honestly expecting more.

But it still stings. It’s a reminder of how far he pushed everything, how much he screwed up. But deep down, he knows it could’ve been worse. It’s not the worst punishment he could’ve gotten, but it sure as hell feels like a taste of it.

What stings even more, though, is that you’ve been gone for three days. Three days where you won’t answer his calls, won’t reply to his texts, won’t answer your door. He leaves each attempt feeling worse than the last.

And it’s his fault. He knows it. The words he threw at you, the way he pushed you away…he deserves this. He deserves you leaving him, walking away, because he fucked it all up.

He heads to lunch in a haze of guilt, dragging his feet, already dreading the conversation with Jun. He agreed to meet him, mostly because he couldn’t avoid it anymore. But Jun, as usual, knows more than he’s letting on.

Seungcheol is surprised that Jun has Mika with him

“What’s with the dog?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he sits down.

“I’m watching her while Y/N and Kate are away for the weekend. A resort and spa,” Jun starts, his voice low, careful. “After everything that happened, she needed a break. A well-deserved one.”

Seungcheol's stomach drops, a sickening feeling twisting inside him. “You heard?”

Jun’s gaze softens a little, before nodding.

He hesitates for a split second before the truth spills out. “Yeah, I was working at the hospital when Y/N was getting stitches.”

Seungcheol’s entire world shifts. The air leaves his lungs as his mind struggles to process what Jun is saying. “What?” The word comes out as a whisper, hoarse, the shock of it hitting him like a physical blow. “What happened? She…she got hurt?”

“She cut her hand. On the glass. From the broken drink you threw.”

The words cut through him like a knife, deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. He can feel the weight of his actions, the damage they’ve caused, crashing into him all at once. His breath hitches as he imagines the moment you had to deal with that—alone, after he pushed you away, after he made you feel small.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking down at the table, unable to meet Jun’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Jun’s gaze hardens, but his tone is gentle. “I know, man. But you need to figure out how to make things right.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, frustration clawing at him. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s gone up in fucking flames.” His voice cracks slightly, the weight of it settling in his chest like concrete. “She has to know I didn’t mean it. Right? She has to understand. She’s never too much for me to fix. I’m not… I’m not like this. I never meant to hurt her.”

Jun studies him for a long moment before he asks the question that Seungcheol hasn’t fully allowed himself to think about yet.

“You love her, don’t you?”

The question hits him like a shot to the chest, a truth he’s been running from but can’t escape. Seungcheol exhales sharply, his eyes drifting to Mika, who’s sitting at his feet, head tilted in confusion. “Yeah,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I love her. And I’m scared…I’m scared I’ve lost her for good this time.”

…

The scent of eucalyptus and lavender fills the air, meant to be soothing, but it does nothing to settle the storm raging inside you. The spa worker carefully places cooling eye masks over your lids, letting the skincare seep into your skin, and for a moment, you try to ease yourself into relaxation.

But it’s useless.

You shift restlessly on the plush lounge chair, arms crossing and uncrossing, letting out sharp, annoyed exhales every few minutes. At first, the sadness was all-consuming, a crushing weight that settled deep in your chest. But now? Now, you're just pissy.

It’s not like you ever asked Seungcheol for constant help. If anything, you’ve proven that you can handle things on your own, pushing back every time he tried to coddle you. You told him, over and over again, that you weren’t some helpless damsel in distress. That you didn’t need fixing.

And yet, that night, he made it seem like you were a burden. Like you were too much. Like he was exhausted from having to save you.

Your fingers twitch into fists at the thought, and if he were standing in front of you right now, you’d be seriously tempted to kick his ass.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Kate drawls beside you, not even bothering to lift her eye mask. “You’re getting more worked up by the minute. This is supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

Her voice is teasing, but you know she gets it. She knows how badly you want to scream, to shake Seungcheol and make him understand just how much he hurt you. Hell, Kate probably wants to kick his ass, too.

Frustrated, you rip the eye masks off, only to immediately wince as pain flares through your palm. Your stitches pull, a sharp sting running through your hand. You glance down at them, at the neat, dark lines slicing across your skin. A physical reminder of just how much things have spiraled.

You swallow hard, jaw tightening as Mingyu’s words echo in your head.

Don’t push him too far.

But you did.

And now, you don’t know if there’s anything left to fix.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the lounge chair. The plush robe feels suffocating, the scent of essential oils dizzying rather than calming.

“I’m heading back to the room,” you announce, already reaching for your slippers. “I can’t relax in here. I need to watch some trashy reality TV to feel better about my life.”

Kate lifts her eye mask just enough to peek at you, one brow arching. “You sure? We’ve got a whole hour left. The hot stone massage is next. You want me to come with you?”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “No, no, you stay and enjoy the rest of the appointment. You actually deserve this.”

Kate sits up slightly, skepticism written all over her face. “Y/N—”

“I just need to clear my head,” you cut in gently. “I’ll be fine. I just…need a break from all this self-care happy mindset crap.”

She huffs a laugh, but you see the concern lingering in her eyes. “Fine. But if you start drafting an angry text to Seungcheol, I will come drag your ass back here.”

You hold up your injured hand. “Hard to text when my dominant hand is stitched up.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of an angry, one-handed rant,” she quips, settling back into her chair. “Now go, enjoy your reality TV, and for the love of God, don’t think about your emotionally constipated firefighter ex for at least an hour.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head as you make your way toward the exit. But as you step out into the hallway, the weight of everything crashes back down, pressing into your chest like a vice.

You’re not sure if an hour—or even a whole weekend—is going to be enough to stop thinking about Seungcheol.

…

Seungcheol had never been above swallowing his pride when it truly mattered, and right now, nothing mattered more than seeing you.

So he begged. Literally begged Junhui to drive him to the resort. He didn’t care how pathetic it made him look, all he needed was a chance. The smallest sliver of hope that he hadn’t completely destroyed everything between you.

Jun, with his soft heart, eventually caved, wanting everything to work out in the end. Forever the optimist. He muttered something about how Kate was definitely going to chew him out for enabling this, but deep down, he wanted to believe that maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. That maybe Seungcheol could fix what he broke.

And so, Girls’ Weekend was about to be crashed.

As soon as they pull up to the resort, Seungcheol wastes no time heading inside. His pulse pounds with every step, his injured arm stiff in its sling, but he doesn’t let it slow him down.

And then, just his luck—he runs right into Kate.

She’s standing in the hallway, waiting for the elevator, arms crossed the moment she spots him. Her eyes narrow into sharp, unforgiving slits.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” she demands, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Actually—how are you even here?”

Seungcheol, already bracing himself for impact, exhales sharply. “Jun drove.”

Kate’s gaze flicks past him, and when she spots Jun lingering a few feet away, looking guilty as hell, her glare sharpens. “Seriously, Jun?”

Jun shrugs. “He begged.”

Kate rolls her eyes before turning her wrath back on Seungcheol. “Unbelievable. You do realize this is a spa weekend, right? As in, a Seungcheol-free weekend?”

“I just need to talk to her,” he says, voice raw with something dangerously close to desperation. “Please, Kate. Just tell me where she is.”

Kate scoffs, arms tightening over her chest. “Oh, you think I’m just gonna hand her over to you after everything?” She shakes her head. “Not happening.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw, frustration and regret simmering in his chest. “I know I fucked up. But I need to see her. I need to—”

“What you need is an ass-kicking,” Kate cuts in sharply, stepping closer with fire in her eyes. “And maybe a damn class on how to properly handle your emotions instead of acting like a fucking toddler.”

Seungcheol flinches but doesn’t argue. He knows she’s right.

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. “You’re right,” he admits, his voice rough with defeat. “I handled everything wrong—worse than wrong. But please, Kate, I need to fix this. I can’t wait another day without telling her how sorry I am.” His voice wavers, raw and unguarded. “And how much I love her. How much I don’t want to live without her.”

Kate’s sharp gaze falters, just for a second.

Her arms are still crossed, her stance still firm, but there’s the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

She wants to stay angry. Seungcheol knows that, but he also knows Kate isn’t heartless. She’s seen how much you’ve been hurting, but she can also see it now—the weight of regret pressing down on him, the exhaustion in his face, the way his hand fists at his side like he’s barely keeping himself from falling apart.

She sighs, exasperated. “God, I hate you for making me feel bad for you right now.”

Seungcheol exhales, not quite relief, but something close.

Kate’s eyes dart away, toward the hallway leading to your room. Then she looks back at him. “She’s pissed at you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“She’s been trying not to think about you.”

“I know.”

Kate sighs again, this time heavier, before rubbing her temples. “If I send you to her room, and you fuck this up any worse, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Seungcheol nods without hesitation. “I know.”

Kate looks him over one last time, eyes narrowing. Then, begrudgingly, caves.

“Room 413,” she mutters. “Good luck.”

Seungcheol doesn’t waste another second.

The knock at the door startles you. You quickly wipe away the lingering tears, sniffing as you straighten up. You’re expecting Kate, probably coming to check on you, and the last thing you want is for her to see you crying again. You’ve already done enough of that.

Forcing a smile onto your face, you pull open the door—

—and freeze.

Seungcheol stands on the other side, looking as wrecked as you feel. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and regret etched deep into the lines of his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

Your stomach twists violently. Especially when you notice his shoulder sling.

Before you can react, before you can slam the door like every part of you is screaming to do, he speaks.

“Before you close the door in my face,” he says, voice tight with desperation, “please—just let me apologize.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even if you don’t want to hear it, even if you never want to see me again after this, you deserve a face-to-face apology for how I treated you that night.”

His voice wavers, raw and unguarded, and for a second, just a second, your heart wants to soften.

But then the memory of his words that night…How many times do I have to save you? Those words claw their way back to the surface, and the anger simmers all over again.

Your grip on the door tightens, but you don’t close it.

Seungcheol takes that as a good sign, and he clings to it like a lifeline.

His voice trembles, raw and unguarded, as he begins. “I am so sorry. There’s nothing I can say that will erase what I did, the cruelty of my words, or the way I made you feel that night. But I can tell you this—I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

He swallows hard, eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing about you needs to be fixed. Nothing. You are perfect exactly as you are, and I hate myself for ever making you feel otherwise. I love everything about you. Your clumsy quirks, the way you refuse help even when you clearly need it, the way you care so much, sometimes more than you should.” He exhales shakily. “I love you. And if you let me, I will spend forever proving it to you, making sure you feel as loved and seen as you always make me feel.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Seungcheol reacts instinctively, his thumb brushing it away before he cradles your face in his palm. His touch is warm, familiar, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I know I hurt you. And if you need time, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes because I know you are the only one for me.” His voice cracks, a tear slipping from his own eyes now. “If it’s not you, it’s no one.”

His hand falls away as he takes a step back. Shoulders slumping, he turns, ready to walk away.

And that’s when you realize, you can’t let him go.

“Wait,” you choke out, the word escaping before you can think twice.

Seungcheol halts, spinning around just as you launch yourself into his arms. He barely has a second to react before you’re clutching onto him with everything you have, burying your face into his neck as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

His free arm wraps around you instantly, holding you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a fraction. His entire body relaxes, melting into yours as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath.

Without a word, he lifts you off the ground, carrying you back inside your room before the door closes and locks you both out.

Because this time, neither of you are walking away.

“I love you,” he breathes, and then his lips are on yours. desperate, searching, like he’s been starving for this moment. And maybe he has. It feels like an eternity since he’s last kissed you, since he’s last held you like this.

The warmth of his words sinks into your heart, dissolving the last remnants of anger, replacing them with something softer. Something inevitable.

“I love you too,” you confess against his lips, your hands framing his face, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones as you pull him back in.

Your kisses grow frantic, heated. All the tension, heartbreak, longing, all of it crashes into this moment. Seungcheol groans as he presses you back against the nearest surface, his fingers digging into your waist after he slips off his sling. He’s nearly recovered anyway.

You suddenly pull back, breathless. “Wait,” you pant, your hands still fisting the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes flicker with concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You glance around the room. “Where’s Kate?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “She left with Jun. He was my ride here.”

Relief floods through you, followed immediately by something more electric. “Good,” you murmur, and before he can say another word, your hands find the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it aside.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before you’re pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his with renewed desire. He groans against your mouth, his hands roaming over your back, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

He carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with a gentleness that contradicts the sheer desperation in his touch. His lips barely leave yours as he presses his body against yours, hands mapping the familiar curves of your skin like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again.

Your movements are frantic, both of you tugging at clothes with a sense of urgency like you need to feel each other, skin to skin, to truly believe that this is real. That this is happening.

But then, just as things are escalating, Seungcheol suddenly tenses. “Wait,” he rasps, his forehead dropping against yours as he forces himself to pull back. “Fuck, wait.” His breathing is ragged as he lifts himself off you, every muscle in his body straining with restraint.

You blink up at him, dazed. “What—?”

“As much as I would love to continue, I don’t have a condom on me,” he admits, voice thick with frustration. He runs a hand down his face, clearly cursing himself. “I wasn’t even sure you’d speak to me. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”

For a split second, he braces himself for frustration or disappointment from you. Instead, a small, amused chuckle slips past your lips.

He frowns. “What’s funny?”

You tilt your head toward your purse, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I have some in there.”

His eyes dart to the bag, then back to you, skepticism flashing across his face. “In your purse?”

You nod. “Yes, Cheol. In my purse. Feel free to check.”

Still looking slightly suspicious, he reaches for the bag and unzips it, peering inside. His brows shoot up when he spots a neatly lined row of condoms tucked away in an inner pocket.

“Why the fuck do you have a whole stash in here?” he asks, holding up the small strip like it personally offended him.

You laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “For unplanned moments like this,” you tease, eyes twinkling. “So you can knock that look off your face.”

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “And what look is that?”

“The one where you’re wondering if I’ve been using them with someone else.” Your expression softens as your hand dips down between your legs, his eyes following the movement. Your fingers tease your entrance and you say, “I’m yours, remember?”

Something in him snaps at that. His grip tightens around the condom packet before he tears one away from the rest, tossing the strip back into your bag. The way he looks at you; like you’re his entire world, like he’d burn the earth down if it meant keeping you, sends a wave of heat directly to your core.

He growls in approval, ripping the packet open with his teeth before rolling it on in record time. Then, he’s back over you, caging you beneath him, his lips crashing onto yours once more.

And this time, there’s nothing stopping him.

Seungcheol’s hips move against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sinking into you with a hunger that mirrors your own. His hands find yours, lacing his fingers into yours, holding you in place as if he never wants to let go. His lips trail a path of fiery kisses down the side of your neck, each one a whispered confession of the feelings he’s been holding back, of the love he’s been desperate to give you.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, his voice low and thick with desire, the words dripping with meaning as he presses into you again, as if trying to prove it with every inch of his body. “So fucking much.”

His pace quickens, rolling his hips into yours again and again, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. “The way you touch me, the way you always know exactly how to make me feel,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “Your generosity, your kindness, how innocent you can be at times despite writing absolute filth in your books.” A wicked smirk crosses his face as he feels the heat rise in your cheeks.

“The sounds you make when I make you feel good, the way your body responds to mine,” he continues, each word punctuated by a shift of his hips, a shift that leaves you breathless, wanting more. “But most of all,” his voice drops to a whisper, eyes locking onto yours as his thumb gently brushes your knuckles, “the way you love me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ll ever need.”

Each word, each touch, each kiss seems to bring you closer to unraveling. The coil winds so tight within you, each movement of his pushing you closer to the edge. His body presses into yours, the rhythm of his hips matching the frantic beating of your heart.

His voice, low and rough, murmurs against your ear, words of devotion, each one sending jolts of electricity through your body. He moves with purpose, each thrust taking you higher.

And then, just as the tension reaches its peak, everything explodes in a rush. You come, your body tensing, every nerve igniting as your eyes stay locked on his. You watch the way his expression shifts, the way his breath catches, and in that shared moment, it feels like time itself pauses—just long enough for the two of you to fully experience the depth of your connection.

His grip on you tightens, the intensity of the moment reflected in his eyes, and with a final, desperate thrust, he follows you, his own release washing over him. His name escapes your lips, soft and breathless, and in that instant, there’s no room for anything else but the overwhelming wave of closeness, of love, of pure, shared bliss.

And as the world slowly comes back into focus, you both remain tangled in each other’s arms, hearts still racing, breaths still shaky. The chaos of everything outside, the unresolved tension, the emotional fires that once threatened to destroy you both; none of it matters anymore.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, holding each other like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t care. There are no unspoken words, no distance between you, just a quiet understanding that everything you need is here, in his arms.

It feels like the safest place in the world. Where it’s just you and him, imperfectly in sync.

→ READ PART 1 ⟡⋆⟡ SERIES MLIST ←

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→ READ PART 2 ⟡⋆⟡ SERIES MLIST ←

“No, no, no! Oh c’mon! This can’t be happening right now,” you whine, twisting your body so you can see the damage done after hearing the dreadful sound of fabric tearing.

Yep, your pants just ripped. Want to know what’s even worse? Your pink hello kitty underwear is showing right through the large tear on your left butt cheek.

You curse under your breath and pull your shirt down, trying to cover up as much as you can. This would have never happened if you just said no to your best friend and older sister, Kate.

See, Kate is in a very committed, loving relationship, and has been for the past four years. Unlike you, who has been on at least fifty horrible first dates, sometimes even second dates that never seem to go anywhere, in that same time frame.

She set you up with this supposedly amazingly hot, ultra-rich, single and ‘ready to commit’ guy she knew through a friend of a friend, blah blah blah. You should have known then how tonight was going to go. Of all the blind dates you had been on, this one easily became the worst.

It started alright, with a cute Pho restaurant in the middle of downtown being the meeting place. Seojoon waited outside for you with an umbrella since it had started to sprinkle, and even held open the door and helped you in your seat once inside.

But his good manners stopped there. For the rest of the night, he was extremely rude to the wait staff and condescending toward you, making it a miserable experience.

Needless to say, he deserved what you did. After you finally had enough, you not-so-accidentally let a ‘my god, shut the fuck up already’ slip out of your mouth. And yeah, you might have told him he has the emotional intelligence of a toad (and even that was too kind compared to what you really wanted to say).

Quickly after, you excused yourself and were more than ready to leave. But then you saw them. The perfect couple seated in the front half of the restaurant; your ex and the woman he left you for.

Which is why you ended up hiding in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, before deciding that escaping through the small window would be the best option. You used the toilet at leverage to boost yourself up (that was the easy part), gripped onto a nearby tree branch to pull yourself out the window, and then jumped out. It was during the ‘jumping out’ part when your pants got stuck on the branch and proceeded to rip.

The plan wasn’t perfect but it got you out of there, with ripped pants, but what the hell. At least you’re on your way to your car now, rather than being stuck in there with the three most odious people you have ever suffered through knowing.

You make it maybe three blocks before giving up on trying to cover your ass. Whatever, you’re almost back to your car now anyway.

“Oh, what now?” you sigh, digging through your purse for your phone that’s ringing somewhere in there. Your sister’s face lights up the screen; she’s probably calling to see how your date went.

“I hate you,” you grumble while unlocking your car, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What? Why?” Kate questions, “I was calling for a favor. I didn’t even get to that, so you can’t hate me yet.”

“Tonight was my date with Seojoon and it ended with me climbing out the bathroom window.”

“Oh, Seojoon is so old news. Actually, I should have set you up with–”

“No, I’m stopping you right there,” you say, interrupting her. “I’m not going on any more blind dates with terrible men that you barely know.”

“But–”

“No.”

Kate sighs on the other line, “Okay, fine. I’ll drop it for now. Can we jump to what I was calling about?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Jun’s father had a heart attack and we’re on the way to the airport, can you house-sit for the next two weeks?”

You hesitate to answer and she uses the opportunity to persuade you.

“I know it’s a lot to ask but our food is obviously free game, we have the coziest living room for movies, the hot tub just had its routine maintenance, and I’ll even let you bring Mika. Please, please, please!”

Mika is your sweet but sassy husky, and Kate usually can't stand all that hair. So she must be pretty desperate if she’s letting your energetic furball mess up her peaceful mountain cabin.

“Okay, yeah. I should be able to make that work. Maybe I can finish my next book while I’m up there.”

“Oh thank god!” she celebrates, relieved that you can help out. “You’re the best. I love you so much.”

“You better,” you remark.

“I have to go, so I’ll make it quick. There’s a note on the fridge with some house rules because I know you’d say yes. I’ll text you when we land. Okay, bye! Thank you!” She rushes, quickly hanging up on you before you have the chance to change your mind

It didn’t take very long to grab Mika, some clothes, and the essentials once you had gotten back. In less than half an hour, you had the car packed and ready to go.

You’re now about an hour into the drive up to Kate and Junhui’s mountain home. Your sister’s house-sitting favor couldn’t have come at a better time. You finally feel like you can write again.

A couple of years ago you self-published a fantasy romance book, and out of nowhere, it went viral on BookTok. It’s been nice living off the royalties from its success, but you know your readers want another. The problem is you’ve lacked focus lately; always finding an excuse or something else to do in your free time.

But that’s going to change in the next few days.

"Is that...snow?" you mutter, squinting through the windshield as tiny white flecks swirl down in front of you. It’s basically spring in the city and you haven’t seen snow in weeks, forgetting that the temperature is colder up here. With the high elevation, though, it makes sense.

Mika barks from the passenger seat, her tail thumping excitedly as the flakes fall heavier, dotting the windshield. She presses her nose to the passenger window, eagerly watching the world turn white. Unlike you, she loves the snow and all things cold.

You sigh, imagining yourself on a beach somewhere, basking in the sun, with the hint of frost in nowhere sight. But yet, here you are driving through a surprise snowstorm with a husky who’s living her best life.

You ease up on the gas, knowing that the roads are probably going to get icy soon. Mika’s barks become louder and more frequent.

"No, Mika-Ika-Poo," you say, using one of her many ridiculous nicknames. It's a habit of yours to give everyone, pets and people alike, the most absurd nicknames possible. "You have to be quiet now."

Naturally, your attempt at shushing her only makes things worse. Mika tilts her head, lets out an even louder bark, and then starts whining excitedly as if your words were some sort of encouragement. You can’t help but smile; it’s impossible to keep her quiet, especially when she senses snow.

“You are so sassy today.” You reach an arm over to scratch her neck, she’s just being a dog after all.

Glancing back at the road, you slam on the brakes as you go around the next bend. A truck has crashed into an electricity pole, leaving live power lines strewn across the icy road. But it's too late to stop in time. The road is too slick, and you're already sliding forward.

Your car glides helplessly into the downed lines, tires screeching on the black ice. Before panic can even set in, the front of your vehicle erupts in flames, fire licking up the hood. Smoke quickly surrounds you, blackening the windows until visibility is gone. The stench of burning plastic fills the air, and the heat becomes unbearable. Everything around you vanishes in the thick, choking cloud, leaving you trapped in a suffocating haze.

Shit. Now what?

As Seungcheol drives along the winding road ahead of him, a thin wisp of smoke catches his eye, curling up through the trees ahead. It snakes its way into the sky, growing darker and thicker as he approaches. The distant haze drifts ominously, making his pulse quicken. Something’s definitely wrong up ahead.

He comes to a halt, taking in the scene before him. Twenty-foot flames engulf a car, tangled in the chaos of fragmented power lines, flickering wildly against the night sky. To the left, a pickup truck is smashed against the base of an electric pole, which has split and fallen over.

“Are you good?” he hollers to the truck driver; he’s outside of the vehicle and on the phone with what he assumes is emergency services. The man nods and points back to the car frantically, “Help her! I don’t know how to get her out!”

Seungcheol rushes back to his own vehicle and pulls out a fire extinguisher from his backseat. He chuckles to himself, he knew it would come in handy one day. Call it firefighter’s intuition.

He throws on his spare flame-resistant jacket and heads back towards the fire. If the gas tank leaks, things could go very, very wrong.

He pulls the pin on his fire extinguisher and sprays the car, aiming for the engine which is where he believes the fire began.

“Are you alright in there?” He asks once getting the situation mostly under control.

“No, I am not alright! My car is on fire in case you haven’t noticed?”

“Besides the car, are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t think so? Mika looks okay too.”

“Your baby?” His heart races, stomach bile rising in his throat. Not again.

“My dog.”

Seungcheol calms himself. It’s a dog. It’s just a dog.

“Can I get out? Is my car going to blow up?” the woman asks with a shaky voice.

“Um, that’s a good question. I’m not sure. But I don’t want you to worry. I’m a trained firefighter and we’re going to figure this out, okay?

“What do you mean you aren’t sure? Aren’t you supposed to know what to do in this situation?”

“Not really, I fight fires in the mountains, not usually cars that drive across active lines,” Seungcheol jokes.

“Of course, the universe would send me an incompetent firefighter in this situation.”

Seungcheol huffs, “I’m not incompetent, I was kidding. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, Y/N. I’m Seungcheol. I need a few minutes to think about the safest way to get you out, in the meantime I want you to remain calm.” He hears the faint wail of sirens in the distance. Help is almost here, but he can’t wait. The anxiety is clawing at his neck. He needs to save you. You can’t die too.

The thought of rescuing you from the vehicle feels like a dangerous gamble. One wrong move, and you could step on a live wire and electrocute yourself to death. Seungcheol’s mind races through everything he’s heard about accidents like this: stay in the car, don't touch metal, don’t risk it.

But he also knows that it’s only a matter of minutes until you’re out of safe breathing oxygen in the cabin, and time feels like it’s slipping away. He glances at the ground surrounding your car, finding the safest path for you.

“Okay, I have a plan,” he says, after going over it in his head. “Are you able to crawl to the backseat?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He listens to the sounds of your shuffling, “Okay, I’m in the back with the dog.”

“Good, I’m going to break your driver’s side window. Then I want you to climb back into the front and I’ll help you out.”

“No, I’ll give you my dog first.”

“Alright, the dog goes first. Listen, there’s a chance that when I break the window the airflow and pressure change might cause the fire in your engine to ignite again. I will take care of it, I don’t want you to worry.”

With a surge of adrenaline, he smashes the car window with the end of the fire extinguisher. Shards of glass scatter onto the seat, and the dog whines from the sudden noise.

He leans down and peeks his head inside, his eyes immediately locking with yours. You're huddled in the backseat, arms tightly wrapped around your large dog, seeking comfort. Your light brown hair is tousled, strands falling across your face, but it’s your vibrant green eyes that stand out, even in the dim light. There's a mixture of exhaustion and relief in them.

He gently takes the leashed dog from your arms. "I’ll be right back for you," he promises, stepping cautiously away from the car, avoiding wet spots, and keeping a wary eye on the live wires.

The police are the first to arrive. “Pop your backseat open, I’ll put the dog in there,” he says, and the officer quickly obliges, opening the door for him.

As he turns to head back for you, the fire and rescue team pulls up, jumping into action. He heads toward the firefighters who are assessing the power line situation.

“Look who it is,” a familiar face grins, walking up to hug his old friend.

“Mingyu, it’s good to see you.” Seungcheol hugs him back.

”I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. Always in the middle of the action. I gotta ask, are you interested in a job? We’ve got an opening if you’re sick of roughing it in the wilderness.”

“You know me well,” he smiles. “I’m on leave right now. Gotta work through some things. You know how it is.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” Mingyu agrees, knowing all too well and definitely knowing better than to ask. “Let’s grab a drink one of these nights while you’re still around.”

“Sure thing, have fun dealing with, well, all of this,” Seungcheol chuckles, motioning at the mess surrounding them.

By the time he heads back toward you, you're already out of the charred vehicle, the rescue team guiding you into the backseat of the cop car.

He watches from a distance, realizing that once again, he didn’t get the chance to keep his promise.

The rescue team moves swiftly, pulling you from the wreckage and checking you over to make sure you aren’t hurt, even though you insist you aren’t.

“Ma’am, I know you say you’re fine, but it’s my job to check.”

“Sorry,” you grumble, “I’ve just had a shit day and I’m worried that Mika is scared.”

“Your dog? Don’t worry, we can head over there right now.” They gather your belongings from the trunk of your sizzling car before guiding you to the safety of the squad car where your dog is already waiting, tail wagging despite the chaos.

Now that you're out of danger, you finally take in the scene around you. It's far worse than anything you could have imagined. The devastation is overwhelming, and the air is still heavy with smoke.

A wave of gratitude washes over you for the stranger who helped calm your nerves when everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. Without his reassurance, you’re not sure how you would’ve kept it together.

You spot him; he’s standing among the firemen, deep in conversation. His tall frame towers over most of them, and the broad set of his shoulders makes his jacket seem almost too small. The sparking power lines cast flickering shadows across his face.

Unlike the others, his jacket has a different department name stitched across his back, making him stand out from the crowd even more. There's something about the way he carries himself all calm and controlled, like he's seen this kind of devastation too many times before, that piques your interest.

Like he senses you looking him over, he glances over toward the patrol car as it pulls away from the accident.

You sink into the seat next to Mika, feeling the warmth of her fur against your side, grateful she’s okay. You’re relieved but still shaken, and with the smell of smoke still clinging to your clothes, are desperate for a nice hot shower to wash off this horrible day.

The officer pulls up to your sister’s house and helps carry your bags to the door. Before leaving, he hands you a copy of the accident report and the business card for the tow company that hauled off your car.

"Take care now," the older man says with a nod, waving from the driver’s seat as he reverses down the driveway.

“Thanks!” you return, Mika also joining in with a quick yap.

Using the spare key your sister gave you years ago, you unlock the door and step inside. Mika bolts down the hallway, likely heading for the living room to claim her favorite nap spot on the couch.

Kate’s house rules will have to wait. Right now, all you care about is scrubbing off the sticky residue of smoke that clings to your skin. Mika, meanwhile, seems unbothered. Her rolling in the snow earlier did wonders for cleaning up her fur. She’s back to her usual gray-and-white self, but you’ll still have to wrangle her into a bath at some point. You don’t have the energy for that battle tonight.

Dragging your bags toward the bedrooms, you drop them on the floor inside the master. You rummage through the top duffel, fishing out an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants for after your shower. Clothes in hand, you head for the attached bathroom.

Peeling off your smoky clothes, you turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up. Steam begins to fill the small space as you step beneath the heavy spray, the warm water washing away the grime and some of the day’s tension.

The face of the stranger from earlier flashes in your mind as you shampoo your long locks. Maybe you should have waited to say goodbye to him, and say thank you, before leaving the scene. You were in too much of a panic state to think about the proper way to handle anything. Hopefully, he understood that.

You’re just about done with rinsing off the remaining bubbles of the divine body wash your sister has in the shower when Mika runs into the bathroom and starts whining.

“I’m almost done, Mika Mouse” you comfort her through the glass wall, thinking her nerves are probably just acting up after today.

She whines again, slinking behind the bathroom door with her tail tucked low.

‘That’s odd’, you think, turning off the water and stepping out. ‘Maybe she doesn’t feel well?’

You wrap yourself in a thick towel, still worried about her behavior when a dull thud echoes from the far end of the house.

Mika peers up at you with wide, nervous eyes, the look clearly saying, ‘Don’t even think about asking me to check that out.’

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Of course not. So much for being a big, tough dog, huh?”

You tip-toe carefully toward the noise, the cool air against your damp skin making you shiver. The sound is coming from the kitchen, and Mika creeps along behind you, practically glued to your leg.

“You’re no help, you know that?” you whisper, glancing down at her. “What if I need backup?”

Mika simply stares at you, her blue eyes wide and unblinking, as if to say, ‘You’re on your own, Mom.’

Another louder crash stops you in your tracks. Your pulse quickens as you peek around the corner. There, in front of the open refrigerator, stands a stranger.

Adrenaline floods your body as you grab the nearest weapon (a spatula from the island counter), you let out a war cry and charge.

“Hey! What the—OW! Stop hitting me!” the intruder yells, raising his hands to shield himself.

“Who the hell are you?” you demand, swinging the spatula one last time for good measure.

“Wait! I—Ouch! What is wrong with you?” He twists around, finally revealing his face. And recognition slams into you like a brick wall, it’s the hot firefighter from earlier.

“You!” you hiss, lowering the spatula but not your guard. “Why are you here? Did you follow me here?”

“What? No! I’m staying here!” he snaps, rubbing his arm where you hit him.

“Uh, no you’re not. This is my sister’s house,” you say, crossing your arms. The movement makes you suddenly, painfully aware of how little you’re wearing.

He blinks at you, then gestures vaguely between you and the kitchen. “You’re Kate’s sister?”

“How do you know Kate?” you demand. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Seungcheol. I’m one of Jun’s friends,” he explains, looking somewhat flustered. “He told me I could crash here for a few days. Kate agreed and said it was fine.”

You frown, your brain scrambling to make sense of this. “Well, nobody told me.”

“I thought they were here. I figured... maybe they were in the shower,” he says, his eyes flicking to your dripping hair. “But I guess that was you. Where are they?”

“They’re out of town,” you mutter, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. “And clearly, no one thought to clue me in on their little hospitality arrangements.”

“I just spoke with Jun yesterday. He didn’t say anything about being out of town,” Seungcheol says, his brows furrowed.

“Well...it was sort of last minute,” you reply, hesitating. You’re unsure how much you should share, but curiosity about his reaction nudges you to continue. “His dad had a heart attack. They asked me to house-sit while they went to be with him.”

Seungcheol’s face shifts from confusion to alarm, genuine concern washing over his features. “Oh my god, Mr. Wen had a heart attack? Is he okay?” His eyes search yours, desperate for answers.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I haven’t heard any updates yet. I was hoping Kate would call once they got there.”

He nods slowly, processing the news, then looks back at you.

“So...how do you know Junhui?” You cross your arms, still skeptical.

“We grew up together and are still good friends,” he says simply, holding your gaze.

You narrow your eyes, trying to read him. He seems genuine, but the whole situation still feels a little too coincidental.

“Look,” he says, sensing your doubt, “I can prove it. I’ve got old photos of us on my phone. Or, better yet, check the living room. I’m pretty sure there’s a framed photo of us from a beach trip we took a few years ago. It was on the mantle the last time I visited.”

You pause, weighing his words. There’s something about his tone that makes you think he might actually be telling the truth. Still, you’re not ready to let your guard down just yet.

“Fine,” you say. “But if I find out you’re lying, I’m coming back with something worse than a spatula.”

“If you’re anything like Kate, I wouldn’t doubt it,” Seungcheol says with a chuckle, now leaning up against the kitchen island.

You shoot him a look before walking over to the fireplace, where Kate displays all her smaller framed photos. It doesn’t take long to spot the beach photo he mentioned, and sure enough, a younger Seungcheol is standing next to Jun, both grinning under the sun. He looks leaner in the picture, less muscular than the version currently smirking from the kitchen.

“Well?” he calls from the island, his tone teasing. “Did I pass the test?”

You place the photo back on the mantel and turn to face his direction. “Don’t move. I need to get dressed and call Kate.”

“Not going anywhere,” he replies with a shrug, clearly amused by the whole ordeal.

You hurry back to the bedroom, finding Mika burrowed under the covers on the bed, probably retreating there after your spatula ambush.

“Coward,” you huff, stepping over your bags. Reaching the clothes you set out earlier, you quickly throw them on, silently cursing yourself for choosing the frumpiest option. But how would you have known you’d need to look cute and presentable for... company? Comfort had been the only thing on your mind.

Grabbing the towel draped over the vanity, you cover the base of your skull and twist your damp hair into a quick headwrap. Fixing your hair can wait, sorting out this unexpected houseguest with Kate takes priority.

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you march over to your bags and rummage through them until you find your purse. Digging inside, you finally fish out your phone, silently pleading with the universe that your sister will pick up.

This was the last situation Seungcheol had expected to find himself in tonight. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staying rooted to the spot as promised. It’s not hard to keep his word, he figures moving any closer might make things worse.

He gets why you’re being cautious. Honestly, he’s glad you are. Still, it bothers him a little that you don’t feel entirely safe around him. He’d even stepped away from the fridge, putting himself by the island within your line of sight, hoping it might ease your discomfort. Given the circumstances, though, your reaction is understandable.

The sound of soft footsteps echoes down the hallway, announcing your return before he even sees you. When you step into view, his breath catches. You look ridiculously cute with your hair twisted up in that towel, even if you’re frowning. Not that he’d admit it, but he preferred the towel’s previous location—wrapped around your damp, glistening body.

Damn it, ‘Cheol. Not the time.

“I can’t get ahold of Kate or Jun,” you say with a frustrated sigh. “They must still be on their flight.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to slip into problem-solving mode like it’s second nature. Anything to erase that frown from your face. “If it helps, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. It’s far from the bedrooms, and you can barricade your door if that makes you feel better. I swear, I’m not a threat.”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, your voice laced with doubt.

Without missing a beat, he responds, “Would you like to talk to my mom?”

“What?” you blink, your expression equal parts skeptical and confused.

“I’ll call my mom,” he says, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “She can vouch for me. Would that make you feel better?”

You tilt your head, clearly debating it. Before you can respond, he’s already tapping the screen a couple of times before holding the phone out to you.

“It’s ringing.”

“Hello? Cheolie, dear?” a warm, motherly voice answers.

“Um, hi,” you say awkwardly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Oh, hello! Is my son there?”

“I’m here, Mom,” Seungcheol calls out, loud enough for her to hear. “Y/N has a question for you.”

“Alright, dear,” she replies, her tone curious. “What’s the question?”

You glance at him, then back to the phone. “I’d like to know if Seungcheol is...honest and trustworthy,” you say, your eyes narrowing slightly as you study his face.

“Oh, well, that’s an easy one!” his mom chirps. “My Cheolie is a sweetheart! Did you know he’s a firefighter? Some might even call him a hero. He’s one of the most honest and trustworthy people you’ll ever meet.”

“Right,” you murmur, trying not to smile. “So, you’d say it’s safe to sleep under the same roof with him?”

“Well,” she chuckles softly, “that depends on whether he remembers his manners. But I’d bet good money my son has plenty of self-restraint—”

“Okay, Mom, that’s enough. Thanks!” Seungcheol interjects quickly, his ears burning. “I’ll call you later. Love you, bye!” Ending the call, he looks up to find you grinning.

“Cheolie?” you tease, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Don’t call me that. Ever,” he warns, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “So... what’s the verdict?”

You give him another once-over, still weighing your options. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom. I’ll take the primary. Most of my stuff is already in there anyway.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind the couch,” he offers sincerely.

“It’s fine,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “You did save me earlier, after all. I’m not going to kick you out in the middle of the night when it’s storming. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow when it’s not so late.”

“Thanks,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay, by the way. Did the rescue team check your throat for smoke inhalation? And what about your dog? Wait—where is your dog?” His head swivels as he realizes he hasn’t seen Mika.

“She’s hiding in the bedroom, like the coward she is,” you say with a huff. “And yeah, we both got checked out. The worst of it was my car... and my clothes.” You glance at the clock on the wall. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed. Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I know my way around. I’ll grab some water and call it a night too.”

“Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You disappear down the hall, leaving him standing in the kitchen, feeling oddly better than he had all day.

Seungcheol’s hand trails across your jaw, his tough is light yet as his eyes sear into yours. His fingers trace the delicate curve of your face before slipping into the hair behind your ear, his grip gentle but possessive as he leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and inviting, sending a shiver down your spine. The kiss is tantalizing and slow, yet perfectly in sync, drawing a soft sigh from your lips as you melt into him.

And then—buzz.

Wait. Are his lips...vibrating?

A second buzz jolts you further from the haze of your dream, and before you can process it, another vibration tickles your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, reality crashing in as you realize your phone is pressed between your face and the pillow. You must have dozed off without setting it on the nightstand.

Blinking heavily, you grab the device, squinting at the screen. It’s your sister.

You swipe to answer, your voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“Shoot, were you sleeping? I’m sorry,” Kate says, already sounding guilty.

“For waking me up or for forgetting to mention the house guest you invited to stay here?”

“Oh my god.” A beat of silence, and then she groans. “Y/N, I am so sorry. Everything happened so fast with Jun’s dad, and it completely slipped my mind that Seungcheol was coming to visit. Is he there now?”

“Yeah. And I might have whacked him a few times thinking he was breaking into the house.”

Your sister snickers on the other end, clearly picturing it. “You attacked him?”

“We’ve resolved it. Mostly.”

Kate bursts into laughter, and you roll your eyes, already regretting telling her.

"I bet he loved that," Kate snickers. "Seriously, though, I just wanted to call with an update, except there isn’t much of one. The doctors are running every test they can to figure out why he had a heart attack in the first place. Basically, we’re stuck in a waiting game for now.”

Your stomach twists. “How’s Jun handling it?”

She lowers her voice, the weight of concern evident. “I think he’s scared. But he’s putting on a brave front for his mom. She’s beside herself right now.” A pause. “Actually, the doctor is coming now. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Give Jun a big hug for me. Keep me updated. Love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Bye.”

The line goes dead and you glance at the time, it’s just past 8 a.m. Mika stretches beside you, yawning dramatically before perking up, her bright blue eyes locked onto you. Now that she knows you’re awake, there’s no stopping her. She’s practically quivering with morning energy, and it won’t be long before she starts pawing at the door, demanding her outdoor time.

You sigh, already mourning your sweet slumber and the very interesting dream that had been so rudely interrupted.

Mika whines before hopping off the bed and trotting to the door, tail wagging expectantly.

Cracking it open, you peek into the hallway. Seungcheol’s door is still closed. Good, at least one of you gets to sleep in.

Tip-toeing toward the entryway, you slip into your winter gear before heading toward the back deck. The crisp morning air nips at your face as you slide the glass door open and Mika dashes past you in a blur of fur, instantly prancing through the fresh snow.

She lives for the cold, yet somehow refuses to do her business unless she has a bare patch of ground. An interesting quirk of hers. With a resigned sigh, you find a shovel nearby and clear a small area for her.

While she tunnels through the snow, occasionally popping her head up like a mischievous little arctic fox, you shove your gloved hands into your pockets, bouncing on your heels to stay warm.

Once she’s finally done playing and has taken care of business, you barely have to say the magic word, breakfast, before she’s bounding back inside, tail wagging like she just won the lottery.

She sits patiently, her tail sweeping across the floor as you prepare her usual breakfast, dry kibble topped with blueberries and salmon. The combination makes your nose wrinkle, but to her, it’s a five-star meal. She lets out a soft huff, urging you to hurry up, and the second you place the bowl down, she dives in enthusiastically.

As you watch her eat, the weight of yesterday’s events settles over you. The bad date, the phone call, the fire, and the unexpected houseguest. Despite all the chaos, there’s a lingering sense of gratitude warming your chest. Things could have been so much worse.

Deciding you want to thank Seungcheol, you rummage through the pantry and fridge, gathering everything you need to whip up a nice breakfast for yourselves. It’s the least you can do for him.

With your favorite indie playlist humming through the speakers, you settle into the rhythm of cooking. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as the french toast sizzles on the stove. Lost in the process, you sway a little to the music, waiting for the perfect moment to flip the slices.

Until something in your peripheral catches your attention, and when you glance up, your breath hitches.

Seungcheol steps out of the guest room, still half-asleep, his dark hair tousled in an unfairly attractive way. But that’s not what has you flushing, it’s the fact that he’s shirtless, with his toned chest and defined abs on full display. The gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips aren’t helping your already scattered thoughts.

Your gaze lingers a second too long. Maybe three. Or five…

By the time you snap out of it, his smirk is already forming. Oh, he definitely caught you looking. The heat creeping up your neck betrays you, and his smirk deepens.

“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

You clear your throat, quickly turning back to the stove. “Morning. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Smells good,” he muses, stepping closer. “Need any help?”

You swallow hard, focusing on flipping the french toast before it burns. “You know what would be helpful?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the pan, not on him.

“What’s that?” he replies, stretching his arms above his head.

You steal one last glance, just a quick one, watching the way his muscles ripple with the movement. Damn it. Get a grip.

“If you’d go throw on a shirt, Rolie Polie Cheolie.”

His laughter is instant, loud and unapologetic. “Wow. That nickname is uncalled for.” He runs a slow hand down his chest, smiling smugly. “Is this too much for you? I totally understand why.”

Your grip tightens around the spatula as you flash him a sickly sweet smile, waving it in your hand as a reminder. “Should we revisit last night?”

His smile falters, eyes darting to the spatula like he’s considering his odds. “Damn, woman. Okay.” Still chuckling, he lifts his hands in surrender and backs away. “I’ll go find a shirt. But for the record…” he pauses in the doorway, glancing back at you with a knowing grin. “You didn’t have to stare.”

Your cheeks burn as you turn back to the stove. This man is going to be the death of you.

It’s day three of surviving Seungcheol.

You don’t know when you started keeping track, but at this point, it feels necessary. Every glance, every smirk, every damn stretch of his ridiculously sculpted arms even when he’s innocently putting away the washed dishes after a meal, chips away at your resolve.

Kate hadn’t helped. Last night, after calling with an update, she’d gone there*.*

“If you’re looking for some fun*,* Seungcheol is definitely the way to go,” she’d said, voice full of mischief.

You’d nearly choked on your water. “Excuse me?”

“He’s so fine. Not as fine as Jun, of course, but Seungcheol is a man if you know what I mean.”

Your gaze had drifted traitorously toward him. He’s comfortably sprawled in the corner chair, book in hand, looking every bit like a romance novel cover come to life.

You’d hissed into the phone, “Shut up,” even though he’d need superhuman hearing to catch onto what she was saying.

“All I’m saying is, you never know what might happen over the next few days. Have some fun.”

Heat crawls up your neck as you rise to grab a drink from the kitchen. Why is it suddenly so warm in here?

“Nothing is going to happen,” you’d whispered back, firmly.

“Boo. You’re no fun.” She’d let it go after that, moving on to say they’d likely be home by next Wednesday. Nine more days. That’s all you have to survive.

Nine days without making a fool of yourself.

Nine days without giving in to the way he makes your pulse stutter.

Three down and nine to go. Twelve total…You can do it. Right? You just need to focus. Like on your book.

Yes. Writing. That’ll keep your thoughts free of Seungcheol.

After your usual morning routine of walking Mika, enjoying breakfast, and tidying up, Seungcheol casually mentions that he’s heading out for a run.

Jogging in the cold sounds like actual torture to you, but you still offer him a small smile. “Have a good run!”

“Thanks,” he says, rolling out his shoulders as he stretches. His muscles flex with the movement underneath his tight zip-up, and you have to remind yourself not to stare. “When I get back, I’ll cook us dinner.”

That certainly piques your interest. “Oh? Do you cook often?”

“You could say that. Plus, I wouldn’t want you starving under my watch,” he teases with a wink before heading out the door.

You narrow your eyes at the space he just vacated. Has he figured out that your culinary skills barely extend beyond breakfast foods? Maybe the fact that you reheated frozen leftovers twice yesterday tipped him off.

Once he’s gone, you settle into your writing space with a hot tea nearby and your laptop open, fingers poised over the keyboard. The hardest part is always getting started, but once you do, the words tend to flow. Today, they’re flowing especially well.

You’re making great progress on the prologue, recapping the last book’s events and weaving in the setup for the new characters. But as you flesh out the love interest, describing his dark, chocolatey hair and toned physique, a realization hits you.

You’re using a certain someone as inspiration.

The realization makes your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. Seriously? You shake your head, trying to brush off the thought, but it lingers, settling into the back of your mind like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

Your main character’s love interest is supposed to be effortlessly charismatic, strong, and just the right amount of a cocky attitude. Traits that, annoyingly, align all too well with the man currently out on his run. The way he smirks when he catches you looking, the deep timbre of his voice, the way he makes your heart race anytime he’s within touching distance.

You groan and drop your head onto the table. This is ridiculous.

Maybe Kate was right. Maybe your subconscious is betraying you, channeling all that pent-up energy into your writing instead of…well, other things.

Before you can spiral further, you take a deep breath and push those distracting thoughts out of your mind. Focus. You force your attention back to your screen, determined to channel this energy into something productive.

You finish fleshing out the details of your character, the way his eyes darken when he’s deep in thought, the way his presence commands a room without effort. You tweak a few lines, refining his dialogue until it feels just right.

Satisfied, you move on, letting the story take shape one sentence at a time. The tension between your characters simmers, the chemistry practically leaping off the page. It’s electric, intense…and maybe, just maybe, a little too familiar.

You shake off the thought and keep writing, ignoring the way your mind keeps circling back to a certain firefighter with a teasing smirk and frustratingly perfect timing.

“Whatcha working on?”

You nearly jump out of your seat. A damp towel hangs around Seungcheol’s shoulders, his hair still wet from a shower. He’s also wearing different clothes than earlier, a fresh pair of lounge pants and a fitted black tee that does nothing to hide the way his broad shoulders and toned arms fill it out.

When did he even get back? You didn’t hear him come in, let alone get undressed and shower.

“You were so engrossed in whatever this is,” he motions to your laptop screen, “that you didn’t even hear me say I was hopping in the shower.”

Your heart is still trying to recover from the surprise, and maybe from the sight of him standing so casually in front of you, all post-workout and freshly showered.

“W-what?” you stammer, snapping your laptop shut on instinct. “I was…just writing.”

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. “About what?”

Absolutely not. There is no way in hell you’re telling him the truth.

“Um, I’m an author. I have a book due soon as part of my contract.”

Seungcheol nods, clearly waiting for you to elaborate. His gaze makes you hesitate, do you dive into the full truth about writing romantasy smut or keep things vague? A simple character plotting excuse could work, but something about the way he’s watching you makes you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“It’s, um, about a warrior heiress whose assigned protector is a human hybrid. He can morph into a giant guardian dog at will. And, well…she kind of falls for him.” You pause, watching his reaction, then, without thinking, add, “Do you know what knotting means?”

The second the words leave your mouth, you want to crawl under the table.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shoot up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Do I want to know?”

Your face is on fire. Abort. Abort. You shake your head rapidly. “No, probably not.”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your panic but merciful enough to let it slide. “Alright then,” he says, using the towel to dry off his hair some more. It’s enough to distract you.

Little do you know, he’s definitely planning on looking it up later.

“How was your run? And shower?” you babble, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Both were good,” he replies smoothly, eyes still holding a trace of interest in the previous topic of conversation. “But I’m starving now. How about you?”

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus. “Well, I won’t say no to food,” you say, standing up and stretching, trying to act casual.

Seungcheol smirks like he knows exactly where your mind wanders. “Good. Because I plan on impressing you.”

“Oh? Bold of you to assume I’m easily impressed.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not up for the challenge,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You want to help, or are you still lost in your little fantasy world?”

The teasing in his voice makes your eyes narrow. Without hesitation, you snap your laptop shut before he can read another word. “I’ve hit my goal for the day. Put me to work, chef.”

He laughs, “Wow, such enthusiasm. Almost convincing.” He slings the damp towel over his shoulder. “Let me toss this in the laundry hamper, and then we’ll get started.”

As he disappears down the hall, you exhale, pressing your palms against the cool surface of the table. Seungcheol has no idea what you were writing, but the thought of him finding out makes your stomach twist. And not necessarily in a bad way.

By the time he returns, you’ve found an apron and slipped it on, attempting to tie the strings behind you. He stops mid-step, taking in the sight of you. His grin is slow and approving. “Look at you, all dressed for the part.”

You place your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously. Now, Super Couper, what’s on the menu?”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair before shooting you a playful glare. “How many more ridiculous nicknames do you have up your sleeve?”

You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “An endless amount.” Your smile is far too triumphant. “It’s a habit of mine. And lucky you, you get to be the exclusive recipient for the next several days.”

He shakes his head at the new ridiculous nickname, but the grin on his face gives him away. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” you tease, adjusting the apron strings behind your back. “Now, tell me what I’m chopping, stirring, or burning.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. His hands brush over yours as he takes over and ties the apron for you, pulling the strings snug. The warmth of his fingers lingers even after he steps back. “We’re making spicy kimchi fried rice with seared steak.”

Your stomach growls in approval, and he smiles. “I’ll handle the steak since I don’t want you to accidentally ruin it,” he teases. “You’re on chopping duty. Can I trust you with a knife?”

You scoff, grabbing a knife. “Duh.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with amused eyes. “We’ll see.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your pulse skips as you start slicing. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two adults cooking together. It’s definitely not a big deal that you can feel his body heat every time he moves past you, or that his deep, husky chuckle makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t admit it, but you’re totally impressed by the way Seungcheol moves around the kitchen with ease, like he was born to do this. He’s completely in his element. You find yourself wondering why he became a firefighter instead of a chef at some high-end restaurant.

Seungcheol watches as you slice into an onion, “Here, let me show you how to hold it properly—”

“I know how to do it,” you huff, gripping the handle tighter. “I’m capable of chopping vegetables, Seungcheol.”

He raises a brow at your defensive tone, then softens. “Of course you are,” he says gently. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Something about his concern makes your stomach twist. Maybe it’s the way he automatically took over, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s right, but either way, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. He seems to realize it too because he steps back, letting you finish on your own without another word.

The tension lingers as he takes the chopped veggies and tosses them into the pan, sautéing them before mixing them with the rice. You know it’s ridiculous to hold a grudge over something as small as knife skills, but the silence stretches between you as you both eat, neither wanting to be the first to break it.

Even Mika, who’s happily munching away at her dinner, doesn’t offer a distraction from the lingering silence.

Seungcheol wouldn’t know this, but people have been stepping in to ‘help’ you your whole life, whether you wanted them to or not. Being a little clumsy means that, more often than not, others take over, deciding you’re too slow, too messy, or just better off watching.

You’ve fought to prove yourself capable in small ways, learning things at your own pace, and taking pride in figuring them out on your own. You know Seungcheol didn’t mean it that way. His help wasn’t condescending, it wasn't just let me do it move like you’ve experienced before.

Finally, you exhale, deciding to move past it. No point in sulking over it.

“So,” you say after taking a drink of your water, “Can I ask you something?”

Seungcheol glances up, mid-bite, eyebrows raising slightly. “Of course.”

“You seem really comfortable in the kitchen,” you pause, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. “Why firefighting? Why not something food-related?”

“I spent some time in culinary school, but I like doing things my own way. It wasn’t for me.” He leans back slightly, twirling his fork between his fingers. “Firefighting is…different. It’s this rush of energy that takes over your body. You assess the situation, cut the wildfire off from its resources, do everything in your power to stop it from growing. It’s intense, but it’s rewarding.” He exhales, his gaze momentarily distant. “But I’m not sure it’s exactly for me anymore either.”

“Oh? Really? Why’s that?”

He hesitates for a beat, then shrugs. “I have a few things to figure out, some important decisions to make. That sort of thing.” His tone makes it clear he’s not ready to elaborate, so he shifts the conversation instead. “What about you? Have you always liked writing?”

“God, no,” you say with a short laugh. “I’ve always been an avid reader, but I kept looking for a specific type of book that either wasn’t well written or didn’t exist. Eventually, I just decided to write it myself.” You glance at your mostly empty plate. “I’m still new to it all, this is only my second book, but I like it.”

Seungcheol nods, offering a small smile. “That’s good.”

You let the comfortable quiet settle between you as you both take the last few bites of dinner.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” you say, getting up to take your dishes to the sink.

“Thanks for helping.”

Day Five of Surviving Seungcheol

Yesterday wasn’t particularly eventful, just another day of coexisting with the infuriatingly perceptive man currently occupying your space. The most eventful thing that happened was Seungcheol shoveling the driveway and front steps after the snowfall, which, for Mika, was basically an invitation to turn the entire ordeal into a game. She chased after flying clumps of snow, leaping at them mid-air like an overexcited puppy, completely unbothered by the cold.

Unlike you.

Even though the sun shined for most of the day, the mountain air bites sharper than usual, cutting through every layer you’ve thrown on. No matter how many sweaters or blankets you bundle yourself in, warmth remains elusive. And now that the sun has gone down, the temperature seems to have dropped again.

“God, I miss the warm weather,” you mutter, pushing off the couch in search of yet another blanket.

Seungcheol frowns, his eyes tracking you as you disappear down the hall. He already turned up the thermostat earlier when he noticed goosebumps on your arms, and you’ve thrown on a sweater since then. He sets his nearly finished book down, rolling his shoulders as he stands.

By the time you return, arms wrapped around the thickest blanket you could find, the unmistakable crackle of fire fills the living room.

You stop in your tracks, eyes flicking to Seungcheol, who’s crouched near the fireplace, adjusting the logs. The warm glow of the flames casts flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the quiet concentration in his features.

Somehow, he always catches onto things and does them before you even think to ask.

“It should warm up in here pretty fast now,” he says, meeting your eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Do you, uh…want to watch something while you write, or would that be distracting?” he asks, unsure.

“I could use some background noise. Put on whatever you want.”

Seungcheol grabs the remote and flips through the options before settling on the latest action movie. It’s loud, fast-paced, and (at least in theory) should hold his attention.

Except it doesn’t.

He’ll admit, he hasn’t got a single clue what’s happening on the screen. Explosions, car chases, intense fight scenes; they all blur together as his focus repeatedly drifts to your laptop.

It’s not his fault. Really.

He had every intention of watching the movie. Based on the description, it seemed like something he’d enjoy. But the moment his gaze flickered toward your screen, all thoughts of entertainment evaporated. His curiosity got the best of him, and now he’s stealing glances, completely distracted by the way your fingers move over the keys with effortless ease.

And after reading a line, all rational thought leaves his head.

Dash looks up at me with fire in his eyes. “You’re mine. Your heart, your mouth, your sweet cunt—it’s all mine.” A deep growl vibrates from his chest as he pulls me onto his lap, his hardening length pressing against me through his pants.

Seungcheol swallows hard, eyes darting between the flashing scenes on the TV and the words on your laptop. Jesus Christ. He stiffens, willing his expression to remain neutral. But it’s impossible to unsee the words, impossible to ignore the way his brain short-circuits at the imagery.

Dash shreds my corset with his claws, discarding the tattered fabric like it’s nothing. His mouth latches onto my nipple, his hand cupping the other, his touch rough yet reverent. I whimper as he spreads my thighs, lifting my skirt to reveal—

He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping his head back toward the TV. Nope. Nope. Nope.

But now he’s hyper-aware of you sitting beside him, completely unbothered as your fingers move effortlessly over the keys. You’re so focused, so immersed in crafting this sinful scene like it’s just another day at work.

He wants to laugh. He wants to tease. He wants to ask you what the hell kind of research you’ve been doing for this book, but more than anything, he kinda wants to know what happens next.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to enjoy a smutty book,” you muse, lips curling into a knowing smirk. You should probably be embarrassed that he’s been sneakily reading, but watching the initial shock on his face shift into reluctant curiosity is far too entertaining.

Seungcheol’s head snaps toward you so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Shit. I’ve been caught.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out before you can stop it. Eventually, Seungcheol joins in, shaking his head in amusement. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. You’re good, though. I can see why your last book sold so many copies.”

Your brows lift in mock surprise. “Ah, have you been doing a little research on me?”

He smirks, completely unapologetic. “Maybe just a little. I didn’t realize I was sharing a house with the beloved BookTok queen.”

That makes you laugh even harder, the sound ringing through the room. Seungcheol watches you, taking in the way your eyes squint when you laugh, how your whole face lights up. Damn, he thinks, you’re gorgeous.

Seungcheol pushes himself up from the couch, partially to hide his growing hard-on and partially to grab a snack. He’s so attracted to you, more than he ever expected to be. “Feel like popcorn?”

“Yum, yes! That sounds fab,” you say, already diving back into your smut scene.

A few minutes later, he returns with a freshly popped bowl of popcorn and two cold beers. “Wasn’t sure if you drink, but I can grab you some water instead if you prefer.”

You smile at his thoughtfulness. “Nah, beer is great. Thanks.”

The two of you settle in, watching the last half of the movie together. Not that you’re paying much attention, you’re pretty sure Seungcheol isn’t either, as you keep stealing glances at each other. Plus, the plot is all over the place, and you both seem equally lost.

Then, just as things finally seem to be wrapping up, one of the love interests dies. And just like that, you’re completely checked out. If there’s one thing you cannot stand, it’s an unhappy ending. You’re a die-hard Happy Ever After lover. What was the point of all that buildup if they were just going to rip it away?

Seungcheol stretches, letting out a deep yawn as the credits begin to roll. “That felt longer than I thought it would.”

“Sleepy?” you ask, hoping maybe he’ll say no and you can keep hanging out a little longer.

But he yawns again, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, surprisingly, I am. I better head to bed.” He shoots you a tired smile. “Sweet dreams.”

…

Seungcheol hesitates for half a second before nodding and retreating to his room. As he shuts the door behind him, your expression lingers in his mind. There was something there, just for a moment. Maybe he imagined it.

He shakes his head. Don’t be stupid. He won’t get his hopes up about you having any sort of feeling for him. And he refuses to put you in that position.

Exhaling deeply, he climbs into bed, exhaustion weighing on him. Sleep comes quickly, but the comfort is short-lived.

The memory that haunts him returns, just like it always does. His body tenses, breath shallowing as he’s yanked back into the nightmare that never leaves him alone.

Fire. Smoke. The metallic taste of fear coating his tongue.

He tosses and turns, jaw clenched, fingers twitching as though trying to dig through rubble that isn’t there. His face contorts in distress, beads of sweat forming at his temple as the scene replays, relentless and unforgiving.

No.

He sprints toward the smoldering wreckage of what was once a home, his heart pounding harder than his boots against the ashy ground. The house was still standing only hours ago. He told them to leave, practically begged them to, but the charred remains of their car in the driveway tell him all he needs to know.

Still, he digs. His hands work frantically, shoving aside collapsed beams and shattered drywall, hoping—praying—that he won’t find what he’s looking for. That his gut feeling is wrong. That by some miracle, they made it out.

But then, he sees them.

A pair of burned bodies curled around something small. No, no, no, no…

His stomach twists violently as he stumbles back. The infant cradled in their lifeless arms, the baby he promised would be safe, is gone too.

His breath catches. The awful taste of failure coats his tongue, choking him.

You had planned to sleep hours ago, but the book you’re reading is just too good. Mika is curled up at your side, warm and comfortable, and you’ve convinced yourself that one more chapter won’t hurt.

Just as you shift under the covers, a faint noise catches your attention.

You sit up, ears straining. Was that… talking?

At first, it’s too muffled to make out. Maybe Seungcheol is on the phone? But then, clearer this time, desperate and pleading.

“No! No, please no!”

A shiver runs down your spine. That wasn’t the voice of someone having a casual conversation. That was pain.

You rush out of bed, heart hammering, and press your ear against the guest bedroom door. Faint whimpers slip through the painted wood, his distress clear even from the hallway.

“Seungcheol?” You crack the door open slightly, hesitant to intrude. “Is everything alright?”

But then he lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Screw privacy.

You rush to his side, your hand finding his trembling shoulder. “Hey, it’s just a bad dream,” you say gently, settling onto the bed beside him. His breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, his face twisted in agony. You shake him, not too hard but firm enough to pull him from the nightmare’s grip. “Seungcheol, wake up. You’re safe. It’s alright, everything is alright.”

His eyelids flutter, his gaze unfocused as he blinks up at you. “Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, heavy with exhaustion and something else, perhaps something raw like grief.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your touch instinctively soothing as you rub slow circles along his back. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

His ragged breathing gradually evens out, his body loosening as the tension melts away. Just as you think he’s fully drifted off, you start to move, planning to slip away quietly.

But before you can, his arms tighten around you.

You stiffen, every muscle locking up as he pulls you back down, tucking you against his chest.

The warmth of him is immediate, wrapping around you like a cocoon. He moves on instinct, tossing the blanket over you, his hold protective, unconsciously seeking comfort.

You fit perfectly against him.

You try not to think about it. About how steady his heartbeat sounds beneath your ear. About how his breath brushes against your hair. About how ridiculously pretty his eyelashes are up this close. Or how full his lips look, even now, parted slightly in sleep.

You tell yourself you’ll stay just a few minutes. Just until he’s completely settled. But your eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of his embrace lulling you into quiet surrender.

And before you know it, you’ve slipped into slumber beside him.

A few hours later, sunlight peeks through the blinds, lighting up your face as you stir awake. You blink against the brightness, momentarily disoriented until the empty space beside you registers.

Seungcheol is gone.

You sit up quickly, heart stuttering. Shit. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. You should’ve woken up first and slipped out unnoticed, so you could pretend like nothing ever happened.

Did he realize you stayed? Of course, he realized. You were next to him when he got up.

Swinging your legs off the bed, you brush a hand through your hair and take a steadying breath before padding out into the main part of the house.

Through the window, you spot him outside with Mika. He’s already shoveled a bare patch for her, ensuring she doesn’t have to trudge through the deep snow just to do her business.

Your heart gives an inconvenient little patter.

Of course, he would remember to do that. He’s always so considerate, always catching onto things, even if you don’t realize he does.

You quietly retreat back to the primary bedroom, rifling through the duffel bag of clothes you brought. If you’re going to pretend last night didn’t happen, you might as well do it while looking cute. You settle on a cozy but flattering outfit, then jump into the shower, hoping the hot water will help clear your head.

By the time you emerge, refreshed and dressed, Seungcheol has come back inside.

“Morning,” he greets, looking up as you approach.

You hesitate, searching his expression for any hint of last night’s events, of waking up tangled together, of his unconscious grip pulling you closer.

But he doesn’t mention it. Huh, interesting.

“Hi,” you reply, forcing a casual smile. “Good morning.”

And just like that, it’s as if nothing ever happened. You keep your expression neutral, though a tiny pang of disappointment lingers. Pretending was your plan, so why does it sting a little when he beats you to it?

“I noticed the kitchen faucet was dripping this morning,” Seungcheol says, before drinking the rest of his coffee. “Tried fixing it, but I think it needs to be replaced. I’m gonna run into town to grab a new one. Want to escape for the day? We could grab lunch while we’re out.”

A break actually sounds nice. You haven’t gotten much writing done anyway, and the weight of waiting for feedback from your agent and publisher is pressing heavier by the hour.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I sent in my rough outline and a few chapters yesterday, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I think the suspense is killing my creativity.”

He nods in understanding. “Makes sense. Want to get ready first?”

“Yeah, give me five minutes.”

Back in your room, you sift through your bag before settling on your favorite pair of jeans and a cropped crewneck that sits just right at your waist, warm enough for layering under your winter coat. You twist your hair into a claw clip, swipe on some mascara and lip gloss, then take one last glance in the mirror before heading out to meet him.

When you return, you find Seungcheol has changed too. He’s now wearing a flannel, dark slacks, and a ball cap. You squint, trying to make out the embroidered words. Dude’s Bait & Tackle.

“Who’s Dude?” you ask while slipping on your boots.

“My brother.”

Your head tilts slightly. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a few years older than me. I probably don’t visit him as often as I should.” He shrugs, grabbing his jacket and the note he jotted down with the faucet’s dimensions. “Not that he minds, he’s not much of a people person.”

You nod, filing that little detail about him away. “Ready when you are.”

Grabbing your purse, you turn to Mika, crouching down to scratch behind her ears. “Be good, we’ll be back soon. I love you so much. Make good decisions, okay?”

Seungcheol fights back a laugh, secretly charmed by the way you treat Mika like a tiny, furry human. Instead, he simply shakes his head and opens the front door for you, following you out to his truck.

Without hesitation, he moves ahead to open the passenger door for you too.

Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling a little guilty for making him go out of his way.

“I know,” Seungcheol replies easily, offering his hand to help you up into the seat. “But I was raised to be a gentleman.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Plus, I don’t mind helping a pretty girl.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, so if I was ugly, you’d just slam the door in my face? That's what you’re saying, Coupcake?”

His smirk deepens as he shakes his head, then suddenly leans in to buckle your seatbelt for you. Your breath catches, he’s close, so close. You catch a hint of his cologne, warm and woodsy, and your cheeks heat despite the cold air outside.

After clicking the buckle into place, he tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I need to start writing these down. You’ve got some good ones.”

“Don’t encourage me, or I’ll have to pull out the big guns,” you tease, lifting a brow.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he steps back and shuts the door. A second later, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat beside you, the corners of his mouth still tugging into a smile.

And just like that, the day suddenly feels like it will be a lot more interesting.

Seungcheol wakes up feeling more rested than he has in a long time. A rare kind of warmth settles deep in his bones, the kind that makes him want to stay in bed just a little longer. He takes a slow breath in, and his senses are instantly flooded with you. Vanilla, soft and sweet, mixed with something else he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

His arms tighten around you instinctively before his brain fully catches up. Why are you in my bed? He doesn’t remember. But fuck, he’s not complaining.

Snuggling in a little deeper, his palm glides over your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist. You fit against him perfectly, your body molding into his like you were meant to be there.

And then you shift.

A small, unconscious movement, but it sends your ass pressing right against his already half-awake length, making him inhale sharply through his nose.

Shit.

He freezes, willing his body to relax. Don’t ruin this for me right now, he thinks to himself, demanding his body to behave. Clenching his jaw, he wills little Coups to calm the fuck down before this gets embarrassing.

And for a second, he thinks he has it under control. Until you shift again, this time pressing even closer, your warmth seeping through the layers of fabric between you.

Then, in the softest murmur, barely above a whisper, you breathe his name.

“Mmm, Seungcheol.”

His stomach clenches. His fingers twitch against your skin.

Holy. Fuck.

Yeah. He needs to get up. Right now. Before time reverts and he’s turned back into a horny teenager, about to embarrass himself in ways he will never recover from.

Carefully, Seungcheol pulls away from your warmth, slipping out from beneath the covers with as much stealth as he can manage. You barely stir, completely unaware of the hold you have over him. Over his mind, his body, his every last ounce of self-control.

He needs distance. Immediately.

Making his way down the hall, he beelines for the bathroom at the far end of the house, somewhere safely out of range, where he can get his shit together before he does something unbelievably stupid.

Like pinning you against the bookshelf in the living room and fucking you until you scream his name.

Or bending you over the kitchen counter, pushing your hair aside so he can bite down on your shoulder as he takes you from behind.

Or his personal favorite—his absolute fucking favorite—you on top of him, sinking down onto his cock inch by inch, gasping as you stretch around him. Maybe even making that same sinful little sound you let out the other night at dinner, when you were upset with him but still savoring every bite.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

And finally, finally, he shoves his boxers down and wraps a fist around his aching cock.

Seungcheol drags his thumb over his needy tip, a shudder rolling down his spine. His body is desperate, pulsing with heat. He pulls his hand away just long enough to spit into his palm before wrapping it back around his aching length.

Shutting his eyes, he delves into the fantasy, one that feels so damn real he almost swears he can still smell your vanilla scent clinging to his skin.

In another world, he wouldn’t have left that bed. Wouldn’t have forced himself to walk away. No, he would’ve pulled you closer instead, arm tightening around your waist as his hand slipped beneath your sleep shorts. His fingers would have teased their way down, brushing over your clit before dragging through your folds, already damp and so warm. The moment he pressed inside, you’d gasp, surprised, shifting in his arms but not pulling away. Never pulling away.

His strokes quicken, his breath growing uneven.

You’d turn toward him, sleep-heavy eyes blinking open, and without a word, your thighs would part just a little wider, it’s an invitation. A plea he’d answer by curling two fingers deep inside you, coaxing those needy little pants from your lips, watching as your face melted with pleasure.

His grip tightens. His hips jerk up into his hand.

He knows exactly how it would go. Knows that soon enough, you’d be begging—please, Cheol, more—and fuck, he’d give it to you. He’d slide your shorts down, tug that tiny tank top over your head, confirming what he already knew. That you have the most perfect fucking tits. And then he’d sink into you without hesitation, stretching you open, watching your mouth fall open as you take him. With every thrust, your body would give, your back arching, your breasts bouncing, your nails digging into his skin as he buried himself deeper.

Seungcheol groans low in his throat, head tilting back against the wall. His hand moves faster, chasing the high that feels so close.

Jesus fuck.

You’d let him know you were close, breathless and needy, voice barely more than a whimper. Cheol, I’m gonna—

And just to push you over that perfect edge, he’d press his thumb to your swollen clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, slow and deliberate. He’d swirl it in tight circles, watching your body tremble, feeling your walls flutter around him as you gasped his name. And that would be it.

The way you’d squeeze around him, your body tightening, back arching as you came apart beneath him…it would wreck him completely. He’d follow you down, groaning against your skin as his own pleasure took hold, spilling deep inside—

Seungcheol’s stomach clenches as the tension finally snaps. A low, strangled curse leaves his lips as his release spills into the wad of toilet paper in his hand, his whole body shuddering with relief.

For a long moment, he just breathes. Letting the fantasy slowly fade, leaving only the lingering heat and the undeniable truth that settles deep in his chest. You have him wrapped around your fucking finger.

The worst part? You don’t even know it.

And if this morning was any indication, this sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time he nearly loses it in front of you.

He cleans himself up and steps out of the bathroom, only to be met with Mika sitting in the hallway, staring at him with what can only be described as judgment.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “I’m not admitting to anything,” he mutters, sidestepping her as he grabs his boots.

Carrying his boots over to the sliding glass door, he slips them on before letting Mika outside. The mountain air is sharp and bracing, biting at his exposed skin, but he welcomes the chill. He needs it to clear his head, to get his damn hormones in check before he faces you.

His eyes land on the shovel propped against the railing, right where you left it. With a quiet sigh, he picks it up and starts clearing a spot in the snow for Mika. It’s a small thing, but he knows she won’t go until she has her designated space. He’d caught onto the routine not long after watching the two of you in the mornings, your sleepy voice murmuring to her, the way she’d nuzzle against your leg as you shoveled.

It’s second nature to you. And now, somehow, it’s becoming second nature to him too.

On his way back inside, he peeks into the bedroom. You’re still curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing soft and even, completely oblivious to the chaos he just put himself through. He swallows, shaking his head, and reaches for his sweatpants that are flung haphazardly over the dresser. He tugs them on before heading into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee pot. As he fills it with water, his gaze catches on the steady drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet after he’s turned it off.

Perfect.

It’s a small issue, easy to fix, but also the perfect excuse to escape the house with you for a few hours. Get out. Get some air. Act like a normal human being who isn’t fantasizing about his housemate every time she so much as breathes.

It’s a genius plan, really.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

And when you wake up, stretching with a sleepy yawn, he casually tosses out the idea. Just as he predicted, you happily agree. Now all he has to do is behave in public. Where other people are watching.

…

In the hardware store, Seungcheol notices how you’re walking closely by his side, the subtle shift in the space between you making his pulse quicken. He casually scans the aisle signs, looking for the one he needs, but his mind isn’t entirely focused on faucets. He feels the need to linger, to have you near just a few seconds longer.

Without overthinking, he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you toward the right aisle. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels significant. He pretends to inspect the faucet options, even though he already knows exactly which one he’s going to grab, but he takes his time, savoring the small moment.

While he’s there, he picks up a couple of tools he might need, he’s pretty sure the surgeon doesn’t have much in the handyman tool department. Junhui’s first aid kit, however, is incredible, containing everything from bandages to advanced trauma gear. All of which is perfectly organized. As a first responder, Seungcheol can respect it.

As he heads toward the checkout counter, his gaze drifts to a box of dog toys. He adds one to his pile without a second thought, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he imagines Mika tearing into the new toy with her usual enthusiasm.

…

At lunch, you get a ding on your phone, and Seungcheol notices the frown that appears on your face.

“Everything alright?” he asks, thinking it might be a not-so-good update from Kate.

“I don’t know, it’s an email from my publishing team.” He watches as your eyes pan back and forth as you read the message, noticing the slight slump of your shoulders. “They want to have a call tomorrow morning to go over what I’ve submitted. That can’t be good.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, his concern growing.

“They think I’m not exactly meeting expectations…” you sigh, hesitating for a moment before opening up. “I’m struggling with writing what they want versus how I see the story unfolding. I’m not sure the direction they’re pushing me in is the right one.”

Seungcheol leans back, thinking for a moment. “You should just write what you want. Forget about what your readers expect, forget about what your team suggests. Focus on what you want the story to be.”

You take another bite of your meal, letting his words sink in. A part of you feels the weight lift just a little, even as you continue to grapple with the balance between creative freedom and external pressure.

“I’m not sure how much help I’d be, but if you’d like me to read over what you have so far, I’d be happy to give you an outsider’s opinion,” Seungcheol offers.

You hadn’t expected him to offer, and it caught you off guard for a moment.

“Feeling a change of heart compared to the other day?” you tease, remembering how flustered he got after sneaking a peek at the spicy scene you were writing. “It’s alright. I’m sure after tomorrow I’ll at least know what they’re thinking. It’ll be good to talk it out.”

He shrugs with a slight smile. “Okay, but the offer still stands.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely appreciating the offer. “Now, it’s your turn, Cheol Chops. Tell me something about your life to make me feel better about mine,” you half-joke. “Got anything you need to vent about?”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “On a scale from zero to Junhui, how good are you at giving advice?”

You both know that Jun is the king of advice. He’s logical and always happy to provide a pro/con list. You smile at the thought. “Probably about 50% Jun, but I lean more towards emotional advice rather than logical. So, take that as a fair warning. What’s up?”

Seungcheol sighs, his voice quieter as he opens up. “I broke a promise that I can’t take back, nor can I fix it. It’s caused some issues at work, and my fire chief put me on temporary leave so I can work through it. But now I’m really thinking about what I want to do next.”

You listen intently, noticing the weight of his words.

“I mentioned the other day that I don’t think wildland firefighting is something I can keep up with. But I don’t want to give up firefighting entirely, so I’ve been considering transferring to an inner-city station. I’d still get the rush of helping people, but it wouldn’t be as physically or mentally demanding. I’d be working in shifts, and the change in scenery could be good for me.”

His eyes drift down, clearly conflicted. “I was really hoping to talk to Jun about it, but I didn't want to bother him, considering everything going on right now. I’m just not sure what the right choice is. What do you think? Should I go back after my leave and risk more trouble, or try something new and potentially fail at it?”

His question hangs in the air, a mix of uncertainty and hope. You can see how much he's wrestling with it, and you want to help him make the decision that feels right.

“I’d say try something new,” you reply thoughtfully, meeting his gaze. “Otherwise, you might find yourself back in the same place, struggling again. Plus, if you give the city option a shot and it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know. It’s not a failure; it’s just learning something about yourself. And that’s always a win in my eyes. It takes courage to step into the unknown.”

Seungcheol feels a slight weight lift off his chest, a warmth spreading in his chest hearing you say that. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to give him a bit more clarity, a bit more peace to make that upcoming decision.

Day Seven of Surviving Seungcheol

Sleep was impossible last night. You were too tangled in anxious thoughts to get any actual rest, and now the nerves are eating you alive. You’re jittery as you sit in front of your laptop, the glow of the screen casting a faint light on your face. The meeting is about to start, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Every second that ticks by feels like an eternity, your hands nervously tapping against the edge of the desk as you wait for your team to join the call.

You sit up straighter after the familiar faces appear, trying to shake off the anxiety in your chest as your agent speaks, his voice steady but distant through the screen. You can feel the tension coiling inside you, your nerves prickling with each word.

“Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice,” your agent continues, giving you a polite but businesslike smile. “I know you mentioned being out of town, so we appreciate you making time for us virtually.”

You nod, offering a weak smile in return. “Of course. I’m glad we could make it work.” Your voice comes out a little more strained than you intend, but they don’t seem to notice.

The conversation moves into expectations. They want ‘less dense material, more filler and fluff between the spicy scenes,’ your agent explains, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your heart sinks. Fluff? You don’t want to write a story full of empty space. You’ve poured your soul into creating a rich world, with real characters and stakes, and now they’re asking for less of that?

You can feel the frustration bubbling up, but you push it back, trying to keep your voice steady. “So, you want me to cut out the fantasy aspects? Completely?”

Your agent shifts, clearly trying to soften the blow. “Not entirely. Maybe just scale it back. We think a more erotic romance-focused direction will make the story more accessible. It’ll be easier to market.”

The words sting. You’ve always known writing was a business, but this? This feels like a betrayal of everything you’ve worked toward.

“But that’s not what my reader base expects,” you argue, leaning forward. “They’ve followed me for the story, for the world-building. They expect something more than just... fluff.”

Your agent presses on, oblivious to your concerns. “Look, we think this could broaden your reach, and gain thousands of new readers. We’re just thinking of your career in the long run.”

You feel a knot forming in your stomach. Thousands of new readers? As if the thousands you currently have aren’t enough? The idea of broadening your reader base sounds nice on paper, but what about the readers who’ve supported you from the start? What about the integrity of your work?

“But what about the people who’ve been with me since the beginning?” you ask, voice shaking slightly. “Don’t they deserve to see the series grow, not change into something...plain and unoriginal?”

Your agent’s expression tightens. “Without this kind of direction, there won’t be another book in the series. We can’t keep moving forward unless we adapt.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you struggle to hold it together. The meeting wraps up soon after, but it feels like you’re in a fog, your thoughts spinning. You want to fight back, to defend your story, but the weight of their words crushes you.

You slouch in your seat still just as confused as you were before. What now?

Whenever something bad happens in your life, you’ve always used writing as an escape. But what are you supposed to do when writing becomes an issue?

Sighing, you open your document, eyes scanning over the words you once felt so confident about. Even now, despite everything, they still feel right. And as you reread where you left off, the next scene unfolds effortlessly in your mind.

You lose yourself in your draft, letting Seungcheol’s words echo in your head—write for yourself, write what you want. For the first time in a while, the words flow without hesitation, without second-guessing. Hours slip away unnoticed as your fingers dance over the keyboard, lost in the world you’re creating.

When Seungcheol returns from his run, you hesitate. The weight of your earlier meeting lingers, but you don’t have the energy to explain the looming uncertainty of your novel. How, depending on what happens next, either your team will break your contract, or your readers will revolt over a boring porn-only sequel. Instead, you keep typing, pushing the thoughts away, if only for a little while longer.

Seungcheol doesn’t need words to know something is wrong. He can sense it. The weight in your shoulders, the distant look in your eyes, the way your fingers hover over your keyboard as if second-guessing every word. It doesn’t take much to assume that your meeting didn’t go well.

He wants to ask, but he also knows you well enough after your short time together to recognize that, right now, you’re not ready to talk about it. Still, that doesn’t mean he won’t do something about it.

He hates seeing you like this. If he could, he’d take your burdens onto his own shoulders without hesitation. He’d do anything to lift your mood, to see your lips curve into a genuine smile again. And if you cried, fuck, if they made you cry? He’d burn the whole damn world down just to set things right.

For now, though, he settles for something smaller. Something simple. He disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for. A few minutes later, the scent of freshly made hot chocolate drifts through the air.

He returns with two full mugs, topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows. He sets one of the mugs beside you without a word before sinking into the chair across from you.

You sigh, closing your laptop before reaching for the mug. The warmth seeps into your fingers as you take a sip, letting the rich aroma settle some of the unease twisting in your chest.

The two of you sit there in silence, but it’s the comfortable kind. No pressure, no expectations, just the quietness of passing time and the mesmerizing sight of snow falling beyond the window.

When your drinks are finished, Seungcheol takes both mugs to the sink. As he rinses them out, he casually suggests, “You should take a break from writing, clear your head a little.” Then, he turns toward Mika, who’s curled up on the floor. “Mika, wanna go play outside?”

She springs up immediately, her tail wagging as she yaps her answer. He grins. “Tell your mom to get dressed. We wanna play in the snow.”

Mika barks again, turning toward you as if relaying the message. You can’t help but smile.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

Bundling up in your winter gear, the three of you step outside into the crisp mountain air.

Mika takes off instantly, rolling in the fresh snow, kicking it up into the air like a puppy experiencing winter for the first time. She’s gonna be so sad in a few days when it’s time to leave the mountains and head back to the city where it’s already spring.

You laugh, watching her antics until something cold smacks into your side.

You blink, looking down at the splattered bits of snow before turning toward Seungcheol. He’s standing there, hands tucked innocently behind his back, lips pressed together like he’s trying to suppress a smirk.

“Oh, it’s on,” you warn, crouching to scoop up a handful of snow. You bunch it together in your mittens before launching it at him. It hits him square in the chest, and he stumbles back slightly, eyes wide with surprise at your strength

“Cheolmate,” you declare triumphantly, playing on the word checkmate.

His surprise quickly shifts into a determined grin. “Alright, you asked for it.”

Snowballs fly back and forth as laughter fills the backyard. Mika jumps between you both, snapping at the falling snowflakes and occasionally catching a snowball in her mouth, only to crunch it into oblivion.

Eventually, she loses interest in the fight altogether and gets the zoomies, tunneling through the snow and popping her head up every few feet, like a giddy little groundhog.

Seungcheol pauses mid-throw, watching her with amusement. “Your dog is ridiculous.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed from the cold and the playful chaos. “Yeah, but she fits right in.”

Seungcheol chuckles, moving to stand beside you. Watching you smile, hearing your laughter, it’s everything to him. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners as you watch Mika, the way your dimples deepen with each laugh, the way your entire face lights up with unfiltered joy when you meet his eyes. It’s mesmerizing. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

This is exactly what you need. And if he has anything to do with it, he’ll make sure you keep smiling like this. Always.

The snow begins to fall heavier, dusting both of you with a delicate layer of white. Mika is still running circles in the snow, but your focus is on each other now.

Without thinking, Seungcheol pulls off one of his gloves and reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over your face as he wipes away the snowflakes clinging to your eyelashes. His touch lingers, warm against your chilled skin, and his thumb instinctively strokes your cheek.

Your breath catches when his eyes flick down to your lips, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intense.

Neither of you move for a moment. You stare into each other's eyes as the world around you fades, except for the quiet inhale you take when he slowly leans in.

Before you even realize it, your faces are close enough that his breath fans across your lips.

And then, he finally closes the distance.

His lips press softly against yours; he’s testing the waters and savoring the moment. But the second he feels you respond, the hesitation vanishes. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, laced with emotions neither of you have dared to voice. His hand cradles your face, fingers brushing along your chilled skin as he tilts your chin, pulling you impossibly closer.

It’s warm, intoxicating, perfect.

Your arms wind around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. He responds in kind, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, drawing a sinful little moan from deep within you.

Seungcheol smiles into the kiss, reveling in how effortlessly you melt into him. How he somehow knows exactly what you like, what you crave. It’s instinctive, effortless like you were always meant to be right here, in his arms.

The world around you ceases to exist. The snowfall, the cold, the rest of the universe, it all fades into insignificance. There is only him. Only the way he kisses you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the crisp air. Your heart stammers wildly in your chest as a terrifying, undeniable truth settles in.

Shit.

Day Nine of Surviving Falling For Seungcheol

Ever since you accepted the fact that you have feelings for Seungcheol (very strong feelings, the kind that makes you want to do crazy, reckless, and borderline courageous things) you haven’t been sure how to act around him.

The past two days have been an absolute disaster. You’ve been a clumsy fool, tripping over your own feet, your words, your thoughts. Which, to be fair, isn’t all that different from any other given day. But now? Now it’s worse, because he’s here witnessing it all, and probably very aware of the fact that he’s the one doing it to you.

Yet, Seungcheol is acting completely normal. Like nothing happened. Like that kiss, the one that turned your entire world upside down, didn’t affect him at all.

Unless...it really didn’t affect him.

And in that case, you’re utterly and completely screwed.

You’re not exactly avoiding each other, but neither of you seems willing to make the first move. Or, technically, the second. It’s a silent game of waiting to see who will cave first.

You want to say screw it and just kiss him again. But what if it was a fluke? What if he only kissed you to make you feel better? Then again, who does that? Who kisses someone just to cheer them up? There had to be something behind it. Right?

You don’t know when it happened or how, maybe it was when he pulled you from your wrecked car, or when he made you coffee that first morning, or when he looked at you like that after your kiss.

Or maybe, just maybe, you've felt this way all along…

After helping clean up dinner, you busy yourself putting away the clean dishes. Watching Seungcheol cook is one thing, but watching him do something as simple as washing dishes? That’s an entirely different level of unfair. The way his forearms flex, the way his hand veins pop out as he scrubs a plate clean, it makes you want to throw all logic out the window and climb him like a tree.

Boyfriend material. Without a doubt.

You need to get a grip.

Sensing your stare, he glances over his shoulder, one brow slightly raised, and you immediately whip your head away. Play it cool. You suddenly need a distraction, so you head to the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water—except, of course, the one you want is just out of reach.

Before you can even debate climbing onto the counter, Seungcheol is there, stepping in behind you without hesitation.

“Here, I got it.”

He moves in close, his chest nearly brushing against your back as he stretches over you. One hand instinctively finds your waist to steady himself, his fingers warm even through the fabric of your shirt. The brief contact sends a jolt through you, but before you can dwell on it, he grabs the bottle and hands it over.

You barely have time to mutter a thanks before your grip fails you and the cold bottle slips from your fingers, tumbling to the floor.

With a sigh, you bend down to retrieve it only to realize that Seungcheol hasn’t stepped back as far as you thought. Your ass brushes against his thigh, and the accidental touch sends a shockwave through both of you.

Startled, you jolt upright, only to whack your head against the counter.

“Shit—are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, immediately reaching for you.

“I’m okay, really,” you insist, waving him off despite the way your face flames with embarrassment.

…

Seungcheol feels bad, really bad. He can’t shake the thought that this is his fault. You seem so uncomfortable around him now that you’re practically injuring yourself just trying to avoid him. At least, that’s what he assumes.

Every time he speaks to you or even just walks by, he notices the way you tense up, how your responses are shorter than usual, like you’re trying to keep him at arm’s length. And it kills him.

But a part of him, a hopeful part, wants to believe that you’re not uncomfortable because you regret the kiss. Maybe you’re feeling the same way he does, wanting more but unsure how to ask for it.

He’s trying to be considerate, giving you space, not wanting to pressure you into anything. But at the same time, he’s starting to second-guess everything. Are your subtle reactions just in his head? Is he reading too much into the way your eyes linger on him, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close?

Or is he not imagining it at all?

He’s gotta do something to figure you out. That’s his only option at this point. If you’d just give him the smallest hint that you want him, he’ll take the lead—gladly. He’ll show you exactly what happens when you both stop tiptoeing around whatever this is and finally give in.

“You know,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence, “Besides the fact that we’ve been stuck together for the last week, we don’t actually know a whole lot about each other.”

Seungcheol finishes rinsing out the sink, dries his hands on a dish towel, and turns to lean against the counter. He crosses his arms before suggesting something, “Huh, you have a point. Maybe we should change that. Let’s play a game.”

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare,” he says, failing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

You huff out a laugh. “Really? That’s what we’re going with?”

“Yep. Unless you’re scared.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. You go first, then.”

“Dare.” He doesn’t hesitate.

You think for a moment, then grin. “I dare you to call your mom so I can talk to her again. I’m sure she’s got quite a few stories of you to share.”

One of his eyebrows arches before he lets out a chuckle. “Or?”

“Or, if you pass, you have to take a drink.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head. “Hand me a drink then, hun.”

It slips out so naturally, so effortlessly, that he doesn’t even try to recover from it. Why should he? You’ve got an entire arsenal of nicknames for him, what’s the big deal if he throws one back?

His eyes trail down your backside as you turn to the fridge, returning with two beers. He watches the way you move, how your shirt lifts up just slightly when you grab the bottles, revealing a little slice of skin where he’d like to place his lips.

Seungcheol swallows hard and extends his hand out for one of the beers when you turn back around. “Under any other circumstances, I’d let you chat with my mom,” he says with a teasing smile. “But not tonight.” He cracks open the bottle, his gaze locked on yours as he lifts it to his lips.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink to settle your nerves.

“Alright, your turn now.”

“Truth,” you say, chickening out.

He grins, sensing your hesitation. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

You groan, “Oh god. The day we met, actually. I ripped my pants escaping through the restaurant’s bathroom window, that’s how bad the date was.”

Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head. That absolutely sounds like something you’d do.

“Kate set me up with the guy, and it was a total disaster. He was rude, his manners were just for show, and it felt like every nice thing he did came with an expectation. Like if he opened the door for me, I owed him something in return, you know?”

Seungcheol's grip tightens around his beer bottle. He does know. And the thought of some guy treating you like that makes his blood boil.

“Okay, your turn again.”

“Truth.”

“Why did you kiss me?” you blurt out.

Seungcheol meets your gaze, his expression is soft but unwavering. “Because I really wanted to,” he admits, remembering every little detail of that kiss. Like how warm you were, how perfectly you fit in his arms, how he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.

Your breath hitches for a moment, but you quickly recover. “Dare.”

A wild thought crosses his mind, and once it’s there, he can’t shake it. He leans in slightly, watching you carefully. “I dare you to finish your drink and then join me in the hot tub.”

The challenge in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. Without hesitation, you tip your head back, downing the rest of your beer. Then, without breaking eye contact, you peel off your shirt, revealing the sheer bra underneath.

“You coming?” you ask playfully, tossing your shirt aside and heading toward the backyard.

Seungcheol just stands there for a second, his brain short-circuiting. He was expecting a little resistance, maybe a joke, but this? Oh, this is so much better.

Swallowing hard, he follows you onto the deck, where you’re slipping off your pants. Fuck. He quickly removes the hot tub cover while you turn it on. The air might be a little chilly, but his body is running hot.

And then you bend over to test the water temperature, still in nothing but your bra and panties, and Seungcheol has to force himself to look anywhere else. If someone had told him earlier today that by nightfall, he’d be out here with you, watching you strip down like it was the most natural thing in the world, he’d have laughed.

But now? Now, he’s just thanking whatever divine force made this his lucky day.

He tosses his shirt aside, then his pants, barely paying attention to where they land. What he does pay attention to, though, is the way your eyes rake over him, the way your breath quickens for just a second. Another perk of being a firefighter is that the hard training keeps you in shape. All those workouts? Yeah, they were worth it just for this moment, just to see you looking at him like that.

“Help me in?” you ask, reaching out.

He takes your hand without hesitation, steadying you as you step up and lower yourself into the steaming, bubbling water. His grip lingers for just a second longer than necessary before he follows you in, sighing as the heat works into his muscles.

“This is nice,” he says, settling in, tilting his head back against the edge. The jets work at the tension in his lower back, but the real relief is sitting across from him, grinning like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Mmm, it really is,” you hum in agreement. Then, with a mischievous, playful glint in your eye, you remind him, “It’s your turn, by the way.”

Oh, right. The game.

“Dare,” he says, smirking, willing to test just how far you’re willing to push this thing between the two of you.

Your grin deepens. “Take off your boxers.”

He arches a brow, amused but not remotely hesitant. Maintaining eye contact, he lifts his hips just enough to slide the soaked fabric down his legs and tosses them onto the deck with the rest of his clothes. The water swirls around him, warm and teasing, but nothing about this feels as thrilling as the way your smile slowly spreads, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you watch him.

“I didn’t think you actually would,” you tease.

He leans in just a little, voice low, teasing right back. “One thing you should know about me, sweetheart,” his smirk turns positively sinful, “I never turn down a challenge.”

You roll your eyes and splash water in his face. "Coupsie Daisy, my bad," you half-heartedly apologize, even though you’re anything but sorry.

Seungcheol wipes the water from his face slowly, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he stares at you with darkened eyes. The playful banter between you shifts into something heavier.

Without overthinking, you move. Climbing onto his lap, your knees press into the seat on either side of him, your barely-there panties doing nothing to hide how hard he already is beneath you. A shaky breath leaves your lips at the contact, and you feel the way his grip tightens on your waist, the way his fingertips begin to trace the curve of your spine.

There’s no pretending now. No more second-guessing. Your bodies are reacting on instinct, drawn to each other like it’s inevitable.

His voice is lower when he finally speaks, his breath warm against your lips. "Are we really going to do this?"

“That depends,” you whisper, rolling your hips just enough to make his fingers dig into your skin. “Is it a dare?”

His jaw clenches. “Do you want it to be?”

“No,” you breathe, tilting forward, your lips brushing against his. “I just want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Seungcheol crashes his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp as his hands roam your back, pulling you in until there’s no space left between you.

This kiss is nothing like the last. That one had been sweet and gentle. But this? This is fire, hunger, and need all wrapped into one.

You moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, sending a shiver straight to his cock. The reaction is immediate, and he twitches beneath you, hard and heavy against your core.

You roll your hips again, relishing the way he groans against your lips. “Fuck, you feel so big,” you murmur between feverish kisses, your voice laced with desperation.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, deepening the kiss as his fingers reach behind you. With practiced fingers, he unclasps your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders and down your arms before it disappears into the water.

Seungcheol pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry as it rakes over your bare chest. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

Then, without warning, he dips his head down, capturing one in his mouth. The heat of his tongue swirls around the sensitive nub before he sucks, making you arch into him with a soft whimper. He moves to the other, giving it just as much attention, his teeth grazing teasingly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Your fingers sink into his damp hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you pant, “Cheol, I need more.”

Your hand drifts between your bodies, wrapping around his stiff length beneath the water. The moment your fingers curl around him, a deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest. And that’s when he just about loses it.

“Wait,” he rasps against your lips, pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours. His breath is ragged, his self-control hanging by a thread. “Wait, baby. Not here.”

His fingers grip your hips, keeping you steady as he stands, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck as he carries you inside.

His lips find yours again as he moves, each step purposeful. He’s determined. The cool air of the house is a stark contrast to the heat rolling off both of you, but it only makes you cling to him tighter.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Then, with a wicked smirk, he lays you down on the bed, hovering over you with darkened eyes full of promise.

"Now," he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, down your neck, "Let me show you how much I want you."

His lips reconnect with your breast, tongue tracing delicate circles over your sensitive skin, while his hand continues its descent. His fingers skim over your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your soaked panties before slipping beneath them.

A small gasp leaves your lips when he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers sliding effortlessly through your slick folds.

Seungcheol pulls back just slightly, his heated gaze locked onto your face as he curls his fingers into you, slow and deliberate. He watches the way your brows furrow, your mouth parting in a silent moan, completely captivated by how responsive you are to him.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he repeats, voice thick with desire as he leans in, capturing your lips once more.

The pressure in your core builds rapidly, his fingers coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. Every movement, every stroke, brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your whole body tightens in anticipation. You’re right there—

Suddenly, the sharp chime of your ringtone cuts through the air, breaking the spell between you both. Your breath is still ragged as your eyes snap to your phone on the nightstand, Kate’s photo lighting up the screen.

Seungcheol tears away from you like shrapnel, realization washing over him as he runs a hand through his damp hair. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and for a moment, he just stares at the phone, then back at you, still spread beneath him, panting, needy.

“You should probably answer that,” he says, voice rough as he clears his throat. He hesitates for only a second before adding, “Maybe we should call it a night.”

Before you can protest, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, as if to ground himself, before stepping back and leaving you sitting there, exposed and still trembling from the almost earth-shattering orgasm you were supposed to have.

With a deep breath, you shake yourself out of your daze and reach for the phone.

“Hello?” you answer, voice still breathless.

Kate doesn’t seem to notice. “I have good news! Surgery went well, and we should be home sooner than we thought. I’ll know more tomorrow, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

She continues explaining the procedure, detailing what the surgeons discovered and their plan moving forward, but you’re only half-listening.

Your body is still buzzing, your mind stuck on the way Seungcheol had just touched you, the way he looked at you like you were something he wanted to consume entirely.

And worse than that? The way you still want him right this minute.

“That’s great news. I’m sure Jun is relieved.”

“He is,” Kate says, her voice lighter than it has been in days. Then, after a brief pause, she adds, “Now, want to tell me what took you so long to answer? I called twice.”

Your stomach flips. “Oh, um. I was just busy doing…chores…” you lie, hoping she doesn’t catch the slight tremor in your voice.

Kate is silent for a second, and you can practically hear the smirk forming on her lips. “Oh really? Chores? Is that Cheol’s newest nickname?”

Your mouth falls open. “Shut up,” you grumble, face burning.

She just cackles. “Mm-hmm. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

“Bye! And don’t forget to use protection!” she sings before hanging up.

You groan, tossing your phone onto the bed, and flopping down beside it. Of course, she figured it out. Sisterly intuition should be illegal.

After a deep breath, you drag yourself up and crack your door open, peeking into the hallway. Seungcheol’s door is shut. He’s probably already asleep.

With a sigh, you change into your pajamas, leaving your door slightly ajar. Not just for Mika when she finally decides to come to bed, but for him, too. You know, just in case.

But the house stays quiet, and the only visitor to your room that night is Mika, who hops onto the bed and curls up at your feet.

Still, as you settle under the covers, your mind drifts back to the heat of Seungcheol’s hands, the weight of his body, the hunger in his gaze.

You fall asleep thinking about all the ways he could satisfy you. would satisfy you, if only you’d had just a little more time.

→ READ PART 2 ⟡⋆⟡ SERIES MLIST ←

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Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to. 

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly. 

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve. 

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play. 

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him. 

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes. 

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you. 

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled. 

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave? 

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again. 

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.”

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me. 

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes. 

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips. 

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me. 

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her. 

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised. 

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot. 

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me. 

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again. 

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry. 

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him. 

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically. 

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight. 

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe. 

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away. 

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels. 

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching. 

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him. 

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth. 

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish. 

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention. 

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion. 

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly. 

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you. 

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes. 

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise. 

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly. 

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other. 

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately. 

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper. 

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing. 

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him. 

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut. 

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him. 

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself. 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. 

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her. 

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years. 

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently. 

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again. 

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want. 

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice. 

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit. 

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze. 

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no. 

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol’s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in. 

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway. 

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

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ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(