RED AND FUZZY

Seungcheol sighs, and you know he kind of hates being the foreman with a crew of people he grew up with. Jeonghan doesn’t really respect Seungcheol as a boss, nor do Soonyoung and Seungkwan, who can be a hassle most of the time.

The only people who come to work, put their heads down, and do their jobs, are you and your roommate Mingyu.

The tall man stands on your right, and he nudges you as Jeonghan and Seungcheol get into an argument over wages. “Thanks for waking me up this morning.”

You’d felt like death when your alarm went off at 4 am, and when you realized Mingyu’s phone was blaring right next to his head but he was sleeping through it, you’d been forced to shake him into consciousness… which had taken at least five harsh pushes of his broad shoulders.

It’s 5 am now, and you don’t feel amazing, but you don’t feel as bad as you did an hour ago.

This summer has been exceptionally hot, so being outside in the cool air while the sun starts to rise over the horizon is kind of special. No one else is awake, the roads were clear, and part of you is kind of excited about the idea of working in the morning, getting a midday nap, then going back to work for another four hours.

You’ll get through this, you’re sure of it.

After all, it’s just one week.

Two:

You know the moment you step into your apartment that something is wrong. Usually in the summer, Mingyu and you choose to keep the apartment at a nice 20 degrees Celsius (68 Fahrenheit)... but this is not the usual temperature.

“Did you forget to turn on the AC?” you ask, hot and bothered from working and now even hotter and more bothered with annoyance.

“I never turned it off last night,” Mingyu responds, clearly dumbfounded as you both throw down your work gear and head to the thermostat.

“Wait, it’s not on,” you say, puzzled as you hit the power button.

The thermostat that controls the air conditioner does not turn on.

“Are you pushing it?” Mingyu questions.

“Of course I’m pushing it!” you snap, feeling bad almost immediately at your short fuse, but the anxiety is creeping in. “Mingyu, you try,” you insist.

He presses the power button, but the screen remains blank.

“Is it broken?” he asks.

You feel like you can’t breathe, and your body is covered in dirt from working landscaping, your shirt still damp from sweat. You feel uncomfortable already, and this thermostat issue is not helping. “I’m having a shower then I’ll call the landlord,” you decide.

“I’ll keep fiddling with it,” Mingyu responds. “Maybe one of the wires is messed up.”

He’s in school part-time to get his electrician’s certification, and you hope to God as you head to the one shared bathroom that this is a wiring issue. You run the water cold in the shower, wincing a little at the temperature, but you’re determined to completely cool yourself off if the thermostat is indeed broken.

You can’t even imagine what today - what this week - will look like if your air conditioner has decided to die on you. 

Ten minutes later, you’re exiting the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your body, your hair still damp with cold water and refreshing you as you walk through the already warming apartment.

You notice as you call your building manager that Mingyu has closed all the blinds, which is a start to keep out the heat.

As you talk with the building manager, he explains that this isn’t an issue anyone else has been having yet, so it must be specific to your unit. He’s an older man, to fit the older building the two of you have lived in since you started college five years ago. You’ve been through a lot living here, and your building manager has never been helpful.

“I’ll send someone to come look at it, but they might not be able to get there until Thursday, our usual handyman is on vacation,” your building manager explains.

“What?” you gasp, locking eyes with Mingyu. “But it’s a Monday and a heat wave! We can’t wait until Thursday!”

“Then call someone else,” your building manager says simply.

With a groan, you hang up on him. “Mingyu, do we know anyone who works with air conditioners?

He looks as at a loss as you feel, and after half an hour of calling Seungcheol, asking around, and looking up the company that supplies the air conditioner and thermostat, you’re dismayed to realize that every person who works on air conditioners and thermostats is already booked up for the week. One man offered to come as an ‘emergency favour’, but he wanted to charge you five hundred dollars just to look at the issue, not even for the work, which you can only assume would also be severely inflated when the bill finally came.

You collapse on the couch with Mingyu. “What do we do?”

“I think… we try to ride it out,” he sighs.

“Mingyu, we’re a south-facing unit. We get full sun all day.”

“I know.” He lets out another deep breath. “Maybe we can try to get some rest and sleep through the worst of it?”

“I mean… we can give it a try.”

Three:

You had woken up not three hours into your nap with your skin covered in sweat and your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your body. Try as you might to fall back to sleep, you simply couldn’t, and with a sigh, you’d gotten up to go to the kitchen, which is where you found Mingyu standing with an ice pack on his neck.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he had asked.

After a brief debate, you had called Seungcheol, and he had invited you to come siesta at his apartment where he has a private building pool as part of the amenities list.

So here you are, the only two people braving the heat just in order to submerge yourself in water that had gone from cold to lukewarm within an hour.

“Isn’t the pool supposed to be temperature controlled?” you ask, adjusting the hat on your head to shade more of your sunscreen covered skin.

“Supposed to be.” Mingyu groans, his shoulders already turning pink despite all the protection he’d lathered onto his body. “This week is going to be Hell.”

You agree with him, and while you’re staring at the sunburn developing on his broad shoulders, you feel the heat making your mind fuzzy. You can’t pull your eyes away from his body, how chiselled he is. The way his perfect muscles ripple along his chest and biceps…

Working in landscaping this summer has done wonders for him, not that he wasn’t jacked already.

You and Mingyu had met as children in first grade, and you’ve been best friends ever since.

Sure, you know that objectively he’s extremely attractive, but he’s the best friend someone could ever ask for, so you’ve held yourself back all of these years in the hopes of keeping him by your side in any capacity.

“What are you looking at?” Mingyu asks, pulling your attention from his form.

Your skin heats up even more, and you submerge yourself all the way to your neck in the water. “Your shoulders are burning,” you tell him, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Fuck.”

Four:

“Okay, so the building manager is sending the repair guy on Thursday,” you sigh as you exit Mingyu’s truck at the fifth hardware store in search of a portable air conditioner.

The parking lot is black asphalt, and it has this distinct smell of petroleum perfuming the scorching air. It’s so hot that the road is fucking offgassing, and it makes your nose scrunch up as you and Mingyu hurry into the store. 

As soon as you’re through the doors, you’re hit with the cooling AC, and it makes you both groan a sigh of relief.

You navigate to the portable air conditioners aisle, and you’re shocked to find the shelves empty, which is when Mingyu waves over a worker in an orange apron.

“Excuse me, sir,” he smiles. “Are there any portable air conditioners left?”

“Unfortunately we’re sold out,” the man frowns.

“Okay, I understand, but this is the fifth store we’ve been to,” you say, voice choking a little as defeat washes over you. “Everywhere is empty on portable air conditioners, and the last place said you might have some in stock.”

“Sorry, miss,” the man says, turning his attention to you. “We have full air conditioners, not the portable kind, and we could have someone drop it off and install it in two days if you’re interested.”

Two days from now is Thursday, which is when your handyman is coming to look at your thermostat and air conditioner anyways. Besides which, you can’t afford to buy a completely new air conditioner.

You let out a groan, and Mingyu is quick to smooth things over. “Sorry for her, our AC broke yesterday morning, and no one is willing to come out and look at it. We’ve been driving around all afternoon and nowhere has any portable units. Is it possible you could show me on the computer if any of the other locations of your store have any in stock?”

You can’t believe Mingyu is keeping his cool, and you walk around like a zombie as he chats with the sales rep. After a while, he comes back, shaking his head, and you plop down onto a piece of promotional outdoor furniture.

“What now?” you ask.

“Now,” Mingyu sighs, sitting down next to you, “we walk through the aisles here, and kill some time before we have to go to work again at 5 pm. At least they have air conditioning here.” 

Five:

It’s night two, and try as you might to open all the doors and windows, the air outside isn’t even that cool. You have a wet cloth on your chest, but the droplets are gliding down your skin to your sheets and making damp spots that annoy you as you toss and turn.

The irritation is palpable, and from the irritation comes a need for distraction. 

You flip onto your back in annoyance, staring at the ceiling and imagining Mingyu in the pool. You feel dirty even considering your best friend in a sexual light, but fuck it, you can’t help yourself. Every muscle in your body feels tight and wound up, and for the first time in two days, you feel a touch of relief as your own hand glides down your stomach, under your thin sleeping shorts, and makes contact with your core.

God, your pussy is hot, your fingers are hot- 

You groan a little, throwing your head back and adjusting the wet cloth to put it over your face, hoping to muffle your sounds a little and cool the skin of your burning cheeks.

Rubbing your clit distracts you from the heat if you focus hard enough, so you put all of your energy into that. You feel yourself start to relax a little, but you’re sweating where your forearm is resting along your hip. 

You can only get yourself so close to the edge without getting annoyed, so you pull your hand from your shorts with a sigh of frustration.

You lie there for a couple of minutes, and then you furiously get out of bed, stomping to your door to head to the kitchen.

You raid the freezer, finding some ice, and you plop a cube into your mouth while you begin to drag another across your body, groaning a little at the feeling of cold water dripping down your skin as the ice melts from the heat of you.

This could work… but it would be a mess, especially if you took it to your bedroom. Would the hardwood floors ever recover from multiple drip spots?

Another groan of annoyance has you collecting a bowl of ice and taking it to the tiled bathroom, where you sit on the edge of the tub and start rubbing your skin again in the dark.

You just feel oversensitized, and the shitty light in the bathroom wouldn’t do you any favours, so you relish the darkness, where you slowly find reprieve through the ice you drag across your body.

You tease your collarbones, enjoying the way that water drips down the front of your shirt, tantalizing your nipples and making them pebble.

You throw your head back, drawing the ice along your neck as more beads of water cascade down the front of your shirt, like dripping diamonds from an expensive necklace.

That’s when the door creaks open and you jump.

“Oh,” Mingyu stops. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here… what are you doing in here in the dark?” 

“Don’t turn the light on-”

It’s too late, he’s already flipping the switch, and then your best friend is staring at you sitting on the edge of the tub, your white tank top wet and clinging to your chest where your pebbled nipples press against the fabric.

“I’m just trying to cool off,” you explain, quickly covering your chest and choking on the ice cube that you still have in your mouth.

“Why don’t you have a cold shower?”

“I was working up to it,” you sigh with annoyance.

“And why are the lights off?”

“I’m overstimulated!” 

“Am I asking too many questions?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

Mingyu stares at you, and you notice the way he swallows thickly. You see his gaze dip a little toward your chest, and your skin heats all over. 

Is he… checking you out?

You know the heat is making you feel some kind of way, but is it affecting him too? 

Mingyu turns off the lights again. “I uh… I should leave you alone.”

“I mean, did you need to use the bathroom?” you ask, not wanting him to go just yet.

“I was considering a cold shower,” Mingyu admits sheepishly.

Your muscles tighten, and you feel very much like a cat waiting to pounce. Is now the time to rip the band-aid off? You’ve spent years holding in your attraction to your best friend… is a heatwave the time to express yourself? When tensions are as high as the nonexistent temperature on your stupid fucking broken ass thermostat? 

“Mingyu?” you ask.

“Yes?” His response is quick, too quick, and you notice the way he’s fidgeting, his eyes fixed on yours as if he wants to look elsewhere - perhaps down at your chest - but is trying very hard to fight the urge.

“Maybe… we should have a cold shower together,” you tell him, your entire body heating up again despite the cold ice cube wedged in your cheek.

“Together?” he chokes out.

“Listen, maybe it’s the heat making me… irritated, but I just… I can’t pretend right now that I’m not attracted to you. And I know you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend in the entire world, and I know this jeopardizes that, but fuck, I’m so hot, and you’re so hot, and fuck it, maybe we should give this a shot.”

The words come out of you before you can stop them, a jumbled mess. All of your emotions have just been poured out to your best friend, and all he can do is stand there and stare at you.

“You think I’m hot?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“I have eyes, Gyu,” you laugh.

He fidgets. “Why did you never say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to wreck our friendship, and… based on how you’re reacting, now I’m getting scared,” you cough awkwardly.

“Don’t be scared,” Mingyu tells you, letting out a sigh and running a hand through his hair. “I just… I wish one of us would have spoken up sooner.”

“Huh?” You gape at him in shock.

“You were my first crush, when we met on the playground when we were like six,” Mingyu admits, and even in the dim light of the bathroom, you can see his ears turning red. “And then we became friends and I realized you were also the best person I knew, so I just… never said anything, and was happy to be just friends.”

“I was your first crush?” you squeak.

“It sounds kind of lame,” he says awkwardly.

“Mingyu, you were my first crush, too. Have we both been into each other this whole time but holding back for the sake of friendship?” Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, and you stare up at your big best friend. “Are we both stupid or something?”

You can’t help but laugh, and he joins you with a chuckle of his own. “I think we’re both just cautious and respectful, that’s not a bad thing.”

“So… you’ll have a cold shower with me?” you grin, standing up, and swallowing the tiny shard of ice that was still in your mouth.

“I’ll do more than just shower with you, if you want,” Mingyu responds, swallowing thickly.

You hold out your hands for him, and Mingyu lets you tug him toward you. He looks down at you, and in the shade of the bathroom, you can still see the apprehension, the longing, in his expression. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his face.

His cheek is warm, and Mingyu lets out a sigh, pressing against your palm, which is when you realize this is the hand you’d been dragging ice across your body with, so your skin must be cooler and nice against his hot form.

You watch his tongue dip out to wet his lips, and then he leans forward, closing the minuscule distance that’s kept you from each other for so many years.

Mingyu releases a groan immediately, and it’s as if the flood gates burst open. Suddenly, you’re both all over each other, tongues fighting, hands grabbing.

All of the lust that has built up for your best friend comes crashing down on you, filling your body with a fire that rivals that of the heatwave.

His hands find your bare thighs, and he lifts you up, forcing your legs around his hips while he kisses you desperately.

God, the sounds he’s making go straight to your throbbing core, and you clutch onto his shoulders. He sets you down on the sink vanity, and you keep your legs wrapped around him, unwilling to let go despite the heat that is beginning to rise between your forms.

You sense Mingyu reaching for something, and when something cold makes contact with your collar bone, you realize he’d seen your bowl of ice. He traces it along your body, making you sigh with relief, your head tilting back to give him more access.

Then, Mingyu does something unexpected, he puts a piece of ice between his lips too, and uses that to drag along your throat. You gasp at how good it feels, threading your fingers through his hair to keep his head close to your neck, where he continues to stimulate you.

Meanwhile, his hand drags the ice down, and the water droplets it leaves in its wake drip down your shirt.

Your nipples are pebbled again, and you arch your back, pushing your chest toward your best friend. 

Mingyu reads you like the back of his hand, and he tugs down your tank top, finally exposing your breasts.

He drags the ice along your nipple, circling it and making you whine desperately.

Mingyu groans as he continues on your throat, but the ice in his mouth is small enough now that he sucks it into his own cheek, his cool lips now pressing kisses along your neck. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, grabbing at his own shirt, which he allows you to tug off of him.

The brief moment where you separate to remove the fabric has your desperation going into overdrive, and you immediately latch onto each other again, your lips meeting in a fiery kiss whose flames are muted by the ice still in his mouth.

Fuck it feels good to be kissing cool lips, and the contrast of hot and cold has your core getting wetter by the second.

Mingyu continues to fondle your breasts, and you moan against his lips, beginning to wiggle your hips as an invitation.

Just like every other time he’s read your mind through your wordless motions, Mingyu pulls away, gasping.

Then, with his eyes locked on yours, he sinks to his knees against the tiled bathroom floor.

With one rough tug, he tears your sleeping shorts off your body, so now the only thing covering your form is your thin white tank top.

You stare down at him, heart racing at the view as he begins to kiss up your legs with cold lips.

When his mouth reaches your core, you begin to pant from the feeling of his breath on your most sensitive area. Then, Mingyu licks your pussy, and your entire body surges with pleasure.

You throw your head back, reaching down and tangling your fingers in his hair, anchoring him to your core.

Mingyu clearly doesn’t mind your somewhat forceful motions, and he groans as he dives in to eating you out.

He’s always been a foodie, but you didn’t realize his love for eating would be applicable in the bedroom - or bathroom in this case - as well. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp when he begins to suck on your clit, his cold tongue flicking your sensitive bud deliciously.

It’s been a long time since you had sex. You had tried dating once or twice throughout high school and university, but it was always made impossible due to your need to compare every romantic partner to Mingyu. Your best friend has always treated you so well that no man has ever been able to stand next to him in that way, and now, you realize no man has ever eaten you out like this either.

It’s yet another mark on Mingyu’s resume of being the best man you’ve ever met, and it makes your heart swell as your best friend eats you out like his life depends on it.

“I’m close,” you whimper, panting as your muscles tighten.

Mingyu’s fingers grip your thighs tighter, and he sucks on your clit with even more fervour. You can feel sweat beginning to accumulate on your clavicle, but there’s something so erotic about having sex with your best friend for the first time during a hot and sticky heatwave.

“Fuck, fuck-” you bite at your lip, hardly able to contain your whimpers as you tip over the edge. Your pussy throbs desperately, clinging around nothing while Mingyu laps you through your high.

Your toes curl from the intensity of it, your body shaking as your muscles scream at you to pull away from this mind numbing pleasure, but you refuse to push Mingyu away, you want the full sensation of him, after all, it took you both long enough to get to this situation.

You’re gasping when Mingyu finally pulls away, and he stands up, looking down at you.

“Cold shower?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

He reaches for his shorts, and you reach for your shirt. A moment later, you’re both fully naked, and one look at you has Mingyu practically growling. He’s on you again before you can blink, his lips hot and desperate against yours.

Your thighs wrap around his hips, and your hand sneaks down to grab his cock, which you can feel is aching in your palm.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, biting at his bottom lip as you line him up with your wet hole. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Mingyu groans, panting as he rests his forehead against your own. Then, with one motion, he slowly begins to slide into you.

You gasp at the stretch, your hands flying to his shoulders to keep yourself steady while your body tries to acquiesce to such a massive cock.

“If it’s too much-” he chokes.

“No, push it all the way in, fuck, I need you so bad,” you whimper, on the verge of tears from all the emotions flooding through you.

“Okay.” He nods, swallowing a lump in his throat as he slowly sinks all the way into you.

You both groan when he’s fully sheathed, and you pull his lips to yours again, letting him eat up your sounds of pleasure.

Mingyu wraps an arm around your lower back, one hand finding your thigh, and then he lifts you off the sink vanity, carrying you to the shower while balls deep in your aching core.

Even amidst the kisses, he’s able to turn the water on, and after testing it with his fingers, he steps into the enclosed space, holding you tight to his burning body.

You let out a squeal when the cold water hits your form, but within seconds, it’s a welcome reprieve. The shower is a contrast to Mingyu’s body, which radiates heat as you kiss, and he presses you back against the tiled wall, which also helps cool you down.

He pins you in a way that makes it easy to use leverage, and then, he begins to thrust.

You can feel your pussy stretching with each motion, and you are unable to hold in your whines and moans as he fucks you. You can see him losing control, and you can feel it in the way his thrusts become erratic, as if he’s chasing a feeling he never thought he’d be able to obtain.

You thread your fingers through his hair, gasping when his lips make contact with your throat.

“Feels so good, Gyu,” you whimper.

He groans in response, and you realize he has a thing for praise.

“Fucking me so fucking good,” you continue, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of pleasure already beginning to bubble up inside of your core again.

“I love your sounds,” Mingyu moans, his lips moving to your ear where he sucks your lobe between hot lips. 

You release a whimper, clinging desperately to his shoulders.

“This is better than I ever imagined,” he admits, and there’s a hint of vulnerability in his tone that makes your core tighten around him. “You have no idea.. How long… how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Me too, Gyu,” you assure him, nuzzling against his cheek to prompt him to pull back and look at you. “And now, we never have to go back to holding ourselves away from each other. We can do this as much as we want.”

Mingyu’s lips part, his thrusts faltering slightly, and then he pulls out of you, setting you on the slippery shower floor and turning you so your back is to his chest.

“There’s always something I’ve wanted to try,” Mingyu groans in your ear, and he grabs the removable handheld shower head he’d installed two years back. He pushes you slightly over, entering you from behind, and then his free arm braces across your chest to keep you standing while he brings the shower head to your clit.

The cold water stimulates your sensitive bud, making you cry out and grasp his forearm like an anchor keeping you standing.

“Feels good, baby?” he asks, his breath ghosting past your ear and making you shiver as cold water droplets drip down your body.

“So good, Gyu,” you cry out, your eyes clenching shut when he begins to fuck you again, using the shower head as a type of vibrating water pressure tool on your clit.

“I only ever want to make you feel good,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your throat.

Your body jolts, your core tightening, and you can’t find the words to tell him you’re close to an orgasm, but you don’t have to. His pace increases, his moans getting louder in your ear, and the two of you are so in tune with each other, that the moment your pussy clamps down on his cock, your orgasm ravaging through your body, you feel him reach his release as well.

The two of you cum together, gasping and clutching at one another, the cool water unrelenting on your aching, hot core.

It’s the best, most unexpected and imaginative orgasm you’ve ever had, and it makes your legs feel like jelly as Mingyu finally stops thrusting.

The two of you are panting in the dark shower, and his grip on you in the only thing keeping you upright.

“Here,” Mingyu says, swallowing a lump in his throat as he slowly pulls out of you.

Your legs continue to shake, and he holds you while he uses the shower head to wash you off, any fluid remnants remaining in your body washing down the drain as he carefully provides aftercare.

You can’t find words yet, so you simply let him take care of you, helping you out of the shower once you’re both clean so he can wrap a towel around your form.

He even carries you back to your room once he’s dried you off, and you collapse onto the bed. Curling up against his chest makes you realize you’re both sufficiently cooled from the shower, his skin a pleasant temperature as you cuddle close.

Mingyu strokes your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head while you find your voice.

“Gyu?” you ask finally.

“Yeah?”

“Is it too early to say I love you?”

He laughs. “No, because I love you too.”

“Thank fucking God,” you chuckle, and with that, you doze off into the most peaceful sleep you’ve had since the start of this whole ‘curse of Mother nature’ heat wave fiasco. You’re at peace knowing that this feels right, there’s no apprehension, no risk of the two of you losing each other.

You can be with your best friend, fully, the way you’ve always wanted to be with him, and all it took was a once-in-ten-years, global warming meets bullshit old air conditioner.  

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! meant to post this a touch sooner but life has been busy as heck

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🔮 preview.  The first time you’d had sex, water and temperature had been key elements, and tonight is the first official night of your honeymoon, so it feels fitting to be submerged in a hot tub amidst a frozen forest when you begin kissing your husband’s skin.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, outdoor sex, hottub sex, exhibitionism, pining, body worship, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, manhandling, big dick!Mingyu, newlywed honeymoon sex, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.1k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

You’d finally expressed your deepest feelings to Mingyu during a heatwave, so when you begin to plan your honeymoon in the wake of an engagement, it feels counterintuitive to choose somewhere tropical.

You’ve both grown a slight disdain for locations that are simply too hot, and there’s something charming about the winter wonderland cold destination honeymoons you look up online.

“Are you guys seriously going to fucking Norway for your Honeymoon?” Seungcheol asks one day while you drink and hangout in his apartment.

“Norway, Sweden, and Finland,” Mingyu corrects. 

“Think Northern Lights, igloos, dog sledding, that sort of thing,” you chime in with a grin, cuddling closer to your official boyfriend of four years.

“Sounds horrible,” Soonyoung groans. “I’d much rather go to Bora Bora or something.”

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He knows what’s happening now, he’s seen this play out again and again over the past two weeks whilst Yongsoo has been finalising her wedding plans and so with that, the seating plan. You’re certain that when you told him your friends had a habit of seating you with the kids at their weddings, he thought you were joking. But now it’s clear that it seems that someone being single, in your friends’ eyes, goes hand in hand with free childcare.

It did used to be you and Minhyun, an old friend from university but he decided to become an OnlyFans streamer and so your friends, ultimately being prudes, decided he wasn’t allowed to sit with you and the ever-growing brood of children.

You had asked him if you could star in a video with him, but he said your bosses probably wouldn’t like it. That and he was very much still as gay as ever and so unless you grew a key appendage, he wasn’t interested.

Discrimination. That’s what it was.

And so now all you have to look forward to this weekend, at your bestie's wedding, is being the entertainment for the kids.

“Yeah, right babe, like ____ has found anyone. She never leaves her office.”

Mingyu glares at your phone but you shake your head to tell him to ignore them, you’re used to it. They don’t mean it in a horrible way, they just don’t understand that you enjoy your work. You enjoy designing things and seeing people love them, to create their homes and families in the buildings you’ve designed. And it isn’t like you haven’t had boyfriends, you have, but they just were equally as dedicated to their work and so they’ve always fizzled out.

Their need to get married and have kids is great for them, it’s not even something you’ve ruled out, you’re still young. But it’s just not something you want now, and they find that whole idea foreign.

“You’ll die alone if you don't start living your life!"

Well, that’s just fucking harsh.

“Actually, I’ll be coming with her.”

You stare at Mingyu. He’s leaning over your desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, speaking into the phone that now has nothing but a stunned silence on the other end of it.

“____? Who’s that.”

You can’t speak. What the hell is he doing?! It’s one thing to go alone. It’s another to turn up with your assistant. You can hear it now, “Oh _____, the only man you can find is your assistant?” or “oh my god, are you paying him?”.

Before you can even answer them, your brain only just catching up to what he’s said, he speaks for you.

“I’m her fiancé.”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

“What the fuck?!” You hear them shout in unison at the end of the phone, such is the shock of you having a fiancé.

You can understand it, you didn’t know you had one until about ten seconds ago.

You hear Yongsoo asking a question, but Mingyu cuts her off.

“Sorry!! We can’t talk right now! We have dinner reservations. Bye!”

You stare at your phone, the screen illuminating with messages from Yongsoo and within a couple more seconds, your group chat, her probably having told the rest of your friends what just happened.

“Sooooooo…you need anything else? Or am I ok to head home?”

Did you imagine what just happened? You must’ve done because he’s just acting like it hasn’t just happened. That he hasn’t just announced to your whole friend group, basically, that he’s your fiancé.

Does he think it’s a joke? He thinks you’re a joke? That he can just set you up like this and then laugh at the fact you have to arrive there alone and explain that your own assistant thinks you’re a fucking joke?

You didn’t think Mingyu was like that, he’s always been kind and caring, making sure you work more as a team than as an assistant and boss. He’s your eyes and ears in the office to make sure your team work well and he makes sure you eat, sleep, even drink water, when you’re heading for a deadline and panicking.

So why has done this to you now?!

“Have I done something to annoy you?”

He stares at you, standing in front of your wide glass desk like a deer caught in headlights.

“No, boss.”

He doesn’t seem to be lying. But then he’s also acting like what he’s just done, hasn’t happened.

“Then why have you set me up like this, Mingyu?!”

You lean back in your chair, taking in the man in front of you. What doesn’t help is the number of dreams you’ve had where the adonis of man you call your assistant, is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. But he has a girlfriend and he’s never shown any interest in you like that anyway. It wouldn’t be right, you’re his boss. Nothing could ever happen. It doesn’t stop you thinking about it a lot. Particularly on nights where it’s just you and your rose toy. But it could never happen. Never will.

And you hate that you feel bad for shouting at him. You hate that little pout he does.

“They were being dicks to you _____! I couldn’t just stand there and let them laugh at you like that!”

“They were just being how they normally are, it’s a running joke!”

“Well, it’s not very funny!”

Why is he getting annoyed about this? He’s caused this!

“And how funny is it going to be when I arrive there on my own and have to explain that the fiancé, they didn’t know about, has disappeared?! Fuck Mingyu…..my parents will be there. All my friends. Why the fuck have you done this?!”

“I just panicked!!”

“It was nothing to do with you!!”

He looks pissed, his usually handsome features tarnished with frown lines as he glares at you.

“I thought…..I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You rub your temples, thinking of a way to get round all of this. “Just go home Mingyu, I’ll hire someone or something.”

He doesn’t move though. He just stares at you.

“Hire someone?”

“There must be apps where lonely women can hire a man for the day.”

“Like a prostitute?”

“I don’t want to sleep with them. I just want…” you gesture your hands trying to think of how to put it, “company!”

“You’re going to ring up a random man and pay him for company? And you don’t think that they’re going to think you’re paying them for sex?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with him. But he does have a point about that, you suppose.

“Or I could go to a bar. Find someone there.”

You need to do something because the prospect of turning up there without the fiancé Mingyu has just made up, makes you want to throw up.

No. You’ll find a man and then in a couple of months, he’ll very sadly be hit by a car. Not literally of course. It might actually work out well, they’ll leave you alone about finding yourself a man, because you’ll technically be in mourning. Mingyu may have inadvertently done you a favour here.

“I’ll come with you.”

It’s the perfect plan really, it’s. Wait. What did he just say?

“Pardon?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Where? I don’t really want to go to a bar with you when I have to meet someone. They might think we’re a…..”

“No. I’ll come with you to the wedding.”

You stare at him. You’re sure there’s several reasons human resources can pull you into an emergency meeting because of the suggestion he’s just made.

“You’re my assistant.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

You can tell he’s enjoyed using your own line against you, his smug grin threatening to break free as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll come to the wedding with me? And how do I explain where my fiancé is?”

“He’ll be there. I’ll be him. It’ll only be for a weekend anyway.”

Your heart both leaps and cracks at that. What you wouldn’t give to be in his girlfriend’s position.

“I can’t ask you to do that Mingyu, that goes way past being professional.”

“You’re not taking a prostitute or some random drunk you find at a bar looking to make a quick buck. At least if it’s me, you’re safe.”

“Hyejin won’t mind?”

Mingyu looks perplexed, your question obviously having caught him off guard. You know he thinks they’re both being sneaky, but it’s clear as day to you that they’ve been dating a long time now.

“No? Why would she mind?”

“I guess it’s just work,” you nod, more to yourself than Mingyu. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And you’ll tell human resources that it was all your idea, if they ever find out?”

“I will.”

You’ve got a bad feeling in your stomach and in your heart about this, but he’s not really left you much choice.

“Ok.”

“Perfect,” he smiles, “I’ll bring my over night bag with me tomorrow and we can leave straight from here after work.”

“O-ok.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything though, just happily walks out of your office like this little plan is the most normal thing in the world.

“Haven’t you filled that damn diary with ‘I love ____’ yet? How have you still got shit to write?”

Mingyu slams his diary shut when he hears his friends enter the staff room. The last time his friends got hold of it, they spent the next two weeks laughing at his drunk ramblings about how the love of his life doesn’t even care that he spends his nights planning their wedding.

“I’m just writing a couple of rules for this weekend that’s all,”

“Oh shit have I forgotten game night again?! I swear I’m not playing if she still hasn’t learnt the rules.”

“Oh does ickle Wonwoo not like losing?” Hyejin squeezes Wonwoo’s cheeks together much to the disgust of Wonwoo.

“I just don’t like losing to someone who cheats.”

“Prove it bitch.”

Just before Wonwoo can gear up to have yet another argument about Hyejin’s wavering loyalty to any game rules, Mingyu interrupts.

“I’m going to pretend to be _____’s fiancé for the weekend.”

Silence. Hyejin drops the finger she was aggressively pointing at Wonwoo and stares in horror at Mingyu.

Shit, he was hoping they’d be a little less shocked and a little more ‘oh that’s weird but totally normal and in the realms of what an assistant should do for his boss.’. But instead, he’s met with a look of disgust and utter confusion.

Because of course he is, none of this is fucking normal.

“You’re going to…..” Hyejin looks at Wonwoo who just shrugs before they both look back at Mingyu, “you’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé? For….. what reason? Have you banged your head and got a concussion? Let me see that diary, have you been drinking?”

“NO!” He pulls his diary away and puts it under his ass.

“You’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé?”

Is that not what he said? Why are they just repeating it back to him?! He knows what he said, he just needs to know how to get through it.

“It’s her best friend’s wedding and they normally just use her as free childcare because she’s the only single one, which is so fucked up.”

“Oh well you should have said that sooner, now it makes perfect sense!”

“Exactly,” Mingyu nods.

“NO, YOU IDIOT.” Hyejin shouts causing Wonwoo to snort but Mingyu to jump about a foot into the air, “You cannot think this is a good idea. How did she even agree to it?”

“I didn’t really leave her much choice. I just said it to her friends when she had her phone on speaker.”

Wonwoo can’t control himself at this point, he all but falls to the ground in laughter.

He wishes he’d never told them. Assholes.

“Mingyu, seriously, you’ve been in love with her since the day you started working for her. Your puppy dog eyes follow her around any room she’s in. And she’s fucking oblivious to it, how is any of this going to end well?”

“It’ll work. I can do it, she shouldn’t be treated the way they treat her because she’s single.”

“I agree. She’s a badass with a great ass,” Wonwoo nods along with Hyejin, Mingyu tries to not let the jealously of others commenting on your ass get to him. His opinions on your ass stay between him, his hand and his 3 am ramblings in his diary, “but that doesn’t mean you have to make it awkward for both of you. How does she explain where you are at other gatherings? Or is this a long-term acting job?”

“I don’t know, she can say we broke up or something. I just thought I was helping her.”

The true horror of what he’s done is only just catching up with him, his head lands on the table of the staff room as he lets out a deep groan.

“Is it too late to back out?”

He knows it’s bad because Hyejin never shows her caring side all that often and now her hand is rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even Wonwoo gets up to make him a raspberry tea to try and calm him down.

“We’re leaving after work.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“What were your rules? You said you’d written rules.”

“Don’t kiss her and don’t tell her I love her.”

He hears them chuckle but to their credit they don’t out right laugh at him.

“They’re pretty solid rules I guess, make sure you stick to them.”

“I will,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat, “there’s no way someone like _____ would ever be interested in someone like me.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”

“_____, I’ve driven your car more than you have. Just sit back and relax.”

He’s right, he does drive this car more than you. Every few weeks you panic that he feels more like a chauffeur than an assistant, but he more or less tells you to shut the fuck up and get in the car.

“Thanks for doing this,”

You must’ve thanked him ten times today already but now you’re actually on the road, it feels more real. Like there’s no going back.

“It’s cool. It’ll be fun to finally meet your friends, I hear enough about them.”

That warms your heart, you know he’s probably just saying it but the fact he cares enough to try and put your worries at ease, helps a little.

To say you felt a little embarrassed about this whole thing would be an understatement. You spent most of last night tossing and turning worrying that he thought you were pathetic or that you couldn’t find a date on your own, so he’d taken pity on you.

You’re aware you’re not ugly but when every single woman you’ve come across recently looks like she should be walking a runway, and you’re stood there just bigger than them in general, it can knock your confidence.

Even last night your normal routine would’ve been to orgasm your worries away, but your mind always wanders to Mingyu. Which on a normal night would only tip you over the edge quicker. But with your mind plagued with worries that he thought you were just some desperate woman who couldn't find a date, it felt almost like you were insulting him to use the image of him in your mind, to get yourself off. Like he’d take it as a personal offence that someone who wasn’t as hot as him would think about him that way.

“Which one?”

“What? Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I could tell that,” Fuck there’s that smile again that makes you go weak at the knees, this weekend is already seeming like a massive mistake, “I was saying do you want the crispy potato or the chicken skewers from the service station. I think I’ll get both because it’s like a three-hour drive and it’ll be late when we’re arriving at the hotel. Oh! And some of those little doughnuts then we’ve got a sweet treat.”

He looks so happy rambling on about what food he wants. Does he even realise what an amazing person he is? He probably doesn’t, you just hope Hyejin tells him every now and again.

The thoughts from last night are still in your mind, and you just can’t seem to shake that he must think you’re this joke that he has to humour. You're not even sure you could eat even though you are hungry.

“I’m good thanks.”

You look out the window, ignoring the look on Mingyu’s face. Is the way he’s clenching his jaw now the same as he does when he…..

“You need to eat something _____.” he interrupts your thoughts.

“I’m still full from lunch.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that “you have something! Use my company card.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll wait till we get to the hotel, then we can both eat together.”

You wish your heart didn’t flutter when he says together. And you hate that he’s called out your bullshit in the kindest way possible.

Even though Mingyu is your assistant, you had shared a bed a few times. When you’d had to travel for work, and hotels had made an error, which had happened at least five times from what you can remember. So, you weren’t overly phased about sharing a bed with him now. Presumably Hyejin was ok with it, you can’t imagine he hadn’t mentioned it to her and if she was ok with it, then you could be too.

The room was exquisite, but then you’d expect nothing else from Yongsoo, since you were children, she’d been planning her perfect wedding and so you knew it would be nothing less than incredible. You weren’t a bridesmaid, she had asked but her sister was the other bridesmaid and you'd still not forgiven her fully for making out with your college boyfriend, add that to having to stand in front of room full of people? No thank you. Yongsoo understood, she didn’t agree, always telling you about the many men that look at you, but she respected your feelings and didn’t push it. She did make sure though that you had all the perks of a bridesmaid, a suite for yourself and various little gifts saying how pleased she was she was spending her wedding with her oldest friend.

For all their bitching and joking about your love life, in all other respects your friends were your rocks, and you know they just wanted you to be happy.

As soon as you got to the suite, you rushed to take a shower, hoping all of the bad thoughts and worries would be washed away with the stinging hot water.

And they were. That is until you’re confronted with Mingyu, taking the cloches off the room service in shorts and a tight vest. How does he just look like that on a daily basis? Muscles rippling, broad golden shoulders flexing whenever he moves, he’s like every woman’s perfect fantasy. He is your perfect fantasy. You’re suddenly pleased you’ve changed into baggy sweats and sweater, the less he can see of you, the better.

“Feel better?”

His dazzling smile lights up when he sees you walking over to the dining table in the corner of the suite.

“Yeah, much better. Thank you again for driving.”

“No problem. I hope you’re finally hungry now, I think I went a bit overboard.”

He scratches the back of his neck and all you can do is desperately try not to stare at his biceps, so you avert your eyes.

In doing that though you realise just how much food he’s ordered.

“Are we expecting guests?”

“No, I just didn’t know what you’d feel like, and I could eat a literal horse and so yeah…. hence all this food.”

You nod and take a seat. He doesn’t speak, when he said he was hungry, he wasn’t lying. You’ve never seen one person inhale a burger in two mouth fulls, but somehow, he manages it.

It’s only when you’re both finishing off the two sundaes he’s ordered, desperately trying not to watch him bite into a strawberry, trying even harder to not to watch as a little trickle of juice falls from his lip and down his chin.

You need to stop thinking of him like this, he’s taken and not interested.

“Are you sure Hyejin doesn’t mind all of this.”

He pauses, spoon in his mouth and eyes wide, like he’s been caught out. Does he really think it’s not obvious about them? They’re always together.

“Why do you keep asking about Hyejin?”

“Well…..I can see you’ve been trying to keep it low key but….”

“Keep what low key?”

“Your relationship?”

He stares at you and you find yourself wanting to shrink into your seat. For a man with such a beautiful smile, his stern face can be a little unsettling, to say the least.

“S-she’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? Sorry, I just noticed it and I know I’m both of your boss but honestly, I don’t see a problem with workplace relations….”

“She’s my best friend.”

“That’s sweet,” you try to smile through the fact that they have that kind of perfect relationship, where they call each other their best friends, as well as partners. It’s what you’ve always wanted to be honest.

At least he has that, he deserves it. And that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself to make yourself feel better.

“_____, she’s my best friend. No offense, but we’d kill each other if we were in a relationship. Plus, you’re much more her type than me.”

Oh.

Well shit.

“I’m sorry! Shit I’m so stupid. I just thought because you spend so much time together.”

“I spend a lot of time with Wonwoo too. I’m not dating him either.”

“True. Sorry…..Not that it’s any of my business anyway. Sorry.”

“It’s ok, boss.”

You wish he wouldn’t call you that. It’s just another reminder that you’re just his boss to him.

Mingyu can clearly see there’s something on your mind, but he presumes it’s about the mix up that’s just happened and not because you’re literally in love with your assistant.

He leans forward a little bit to try and catch your eye, you looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s ok,” fuck his voice is so soft, like he actually cares more than employee should or would.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, you just need to get through this weekend, and things will go back to normal.

“I think I’m going to go find my parents room, I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Cool just let me get my shoes.”

You freeze as you get up from the table to get your own shoes, why had you not even thought about him having to meet your parents properly?

“You’re coming with me?”

“I mean, it’ll be weird when they think you’re bringing your fiancé, if I don’t come with you?”

“Oh. Yeah, true.” You try to remain calm but already the idea of having to lie to your parents doesn’t sit well with you.

He just smiles at you as he makes his way to the suite door, holding it open for you like the gentleman he is.

Luckily, he’s put a hoody on over his vest, otherwise you’re not sure you’d make it through the rest of the night.

The universe really has a way of being spiteful. Why would it put you in a position where the man of your dreams is pretending to be your fiancé and then it turns out that your parents actually like him?

Your dad hasn’t liked a single boy you’ve brought home since you were a child. He’s always been overly protective and didn’t want any boy in your room, even if it was your gay best friend from high school. He even threatened an ex-boyfriend once for the mere suggestion that you’d be sharing a room over the holidays when you visited them. Whenever he was introduced to ex- boyfriends he’d sit and glare like something out of a mafia film until eventually they left.

But Mingyu? He must be some sort of parent whisperer because your dad is currently telling him all about the fishing retreat he’s booked with his friends. Your mom has said four times what a “charming young man” he is and already planned out what she intends to cook for him when you both go to visit. At this point it’s hard to tell who’ll be more upset when you and Mingyu call off this fictitious engagement, you or your parents.

“You should come with us! I’m sure there’s an extra room in the cabin.”

You smile at how kind your dad is being and you don’t want him to be disappointed, but you know there’s no way Mingyu can go. Why should he even want to?

“I’d love that! What were the dates?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls up the calendar on his phone, looking to see if he’s free or not.

“Don’t look so horrified _____! Your dad and his friends won’t bite!” Your mom chuckles, before she goes back to watching your dad and “fiancé” plan their, now joint, fishing trip.

What the hell is he even thinking about, agreeing to go on a trip with your dad. It’s one thing to do this whole fucking performance for the weekend but it’s another to drag your parents into it. This is already hurting you. You don’t want them to get hurt in the process.

An hour passes by and you note it is getting pretty late. And it isn’t like you’ve gotten a word in anyway, Mingyu has gone down a storm with your parents and although it warms your heart that he seems to like them as much as they like him, it’s pissing you off how careless he’s being.

But is it even carless? It feels more like spite to be honest. He knows none of this is real, it’s going to make the whole thing so much harder to deal with when you have to tell them that you’re not together.

That you’ve broken off the engagement that never was.

You hug your parents goodbye, Mingyu holding the door for you, smile faltering slightly when he realises that your smile drops as soon as you’re away from your parents, a look of simmering anger replacing it.

If you weren’t so hell bent on getting back to your room and finding out what the hell his game is, you might have heard what your parents said behind you.

“It’s not like you to like a man she brings home.” Your mom mumbles.

“I wanted to hate him. Wanted to obliterate the fucker for not even asking permission to propose. But he seems a great guy and……did you see the way he looked at her? As soon as they walked in, I could see it in his eyes.”

“He loves her.” Your mom nods, both then retreating into the room.

“He does.”

You walk ahead of Mingyu back to your room, you’re not sure how you’re feeling because you don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. It’s seeming more and more like this is all a game to him, that he doesn’t care about what happens after this weekend with your friends and family, because he doesn’t need to be involved in the aftermath.

He gets a free weekend away, in a nice suite, free food, free drinks and then gets to go back to his life and you have to watch your dad be upset because Mingyu isn’t going away with him and his friends.

You can take your emotions being played with. But not your family’s.

You wish you hadn’t showered when you’d first arrived because now you’ve got no way of getting away from him for a little while. You’re not even sure what you want to say to him. You’re caught between your heart feeling like he’s sticking tiny pins in it to break is slowly and wanted to strangle him for being so careless where your parents are concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look up from your phone to find him sitting on the bed next to you.

“Nothing.”

You turn your eyes back to your phone. You’re not even doing anything, you’ve been staring at the same email confirmation for the past two minutes.

“Don’t lie to me, boss.”

There he goes with the boss thing again. Is he going to say that tomorrow, in front of your friends? Just to reaffirm that you’ll never be with someone like him, not in reality anyway.

“Could you just decide what your fucking angle is with this whole thing?”

“What?” You can tell he’s confused, but you don’t care.

“You keep calling me boss. Are you going to do that tomorrow too? It’s like going from one extreme to the other Mingyu. You go from whatever the fuck that was with my parents to calling me boss? It’s hardly going to be very convincing is it.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever the fuck that was with your parents’?! I liked them! They liked me!”

“You liked them? That’s why you’re messing with their feelings?! We’re not together Mingyu and you’ve led my dad to think he’s taking you on a fucking fishing trip! Do you know how many men he’s hated, not even given the time of day to, and then he meets you and likes you so much he opens up his heart to you like a father would a son in law?!”

“So, you’re mad your parents liked me?” He frowns.

“YES! Because now it’s playing with their feelings as well as m….. As well as being confusing for us.”

Your hearts pounding in your chest. Nearly telling him that it’s playing with your feelings would have made this whole thing even more embarrassing.

“As well as what?” He presses, eyes burning fierce.

“As well as nothing.” You dismiss, “I get my words mixed up when I’m stressed.”

“I’ve seen you stressed. You don’t get words mixed up then.”

Fuck him for knowing you so well.

“Well, I did this time. Is this all a joke to you? I’m a joke to you?”

Now he does look pissed, he stands up quickly, staring down at you whilst you’re still sat cross legged on the bed.

“Why would it be a joke to me?!”

“Why else would you be here Mingyu?! What, you think I’m that pathetic I need you to do this for me? I bring the seemingly perfect man whose way out of my league, he makes my family and no doubt friends fall in love with him. And you don’t expect me to wonder what he’s getting out of all of this?! It’s just fucking cruel. It’d have been kinder to just laugh at me like my friends do!”

He’s silent for a moment, shock masking his usually kind features. It breaks your heart a little more that he doesn’t deny he’s out of your league.

“You think I'm like that? That I'd treat you like that?!” Him shouting so loud makes you jump in your seat.

“I didn’t until you just dragged my parents into this!”

“What was I meant to do?! Say no? Tell your dad to fuck off?!”

“I don’t know! Just not that! It’s going to make it even harder when they never see you again!”

A flash of hurt crosses his features before he just scoffs and walks off to the bathroom.

Leaving you alone. Again.

You should be used to this feeling by now. But sadness washes over you when you realise once again, he’ll never see you as anything more than his boss.

By the time he comes back from his shower, you’re pretending to be asleep on the very edge of the bed. He doesn’t come to bed straight away and you wonder if he’s going to sleep on the sofa. But instead, you open your eyes enough to see him, he’s writing in a pink and purple diary, stuffed with extra pieces of paper and looking like it’s more than well used. Your heart aches a little when your spiralling thoughts try to tell you that that diary is probably filled with thoughts about you. About how pathetic you are and how much he hates being here or even working for you.

Once he’s done, diary secured in his bag, you feel the bed dip as he gets in.

You fall asleep pretty quickly once he’s there with you. There’s just something about him that makes you calm even when you’re heartbroken.

Thank god Yongsoo booked a suite, you and Mingyu had managed to avoid each other somewhat for most of the morning. You showered whilst he still slept, when he went in the shower after you, you went to catch up with Yongsoo before the wedding. When you came back, he was changing in the bathroom into his suit and so you took the opportunity to change into your dress in the suite’s dressing room.

You’d chosen your dress before all your insecurities around Mingyu reared their ugly head. You loved it, a sky-blue slip dress which had a small matching string belt to accentuate the small of your waist. You weren’t thrilled about the thin straps, feeling somewhat exposed but you felt sexy and confident in it none the less. Or you did. Now you just feel like shit, having to pretend to be the fiancé of a man who sees you as nothing more than his boss.

You put your final thin silver necklace on, deciding to layer your two favourites, one was from your parents and one from Yongsoo on your last birthday, deciding they matched quite well with your bangles and simple pearl earrings. Your makeup was simple, classic you could say, minimal base, a small smudge of light pink blush, a simple shimmer on your eyes and your old reliable soft pink gloss. You wore your hair down, not really feeling the need to do some fancy hair do, being just a regular guest rather than a bridesmaid, so soft curls were the easy answer.

If this had been the you of two days ago, before Mingyu decided this was a good idea, you’d have been proud of how you looked. But now? After yesterday? You hated everything about it.

But today isn’t about you. It’s about your best friend. The best friend who took you to the emergency room when you were in university because you’d fallen off a bar table, drunk. The best friend who you’d move heaven and earth to make sure was happy.

You had to man up and do this.

You take one last deep breath, grounding yourself by holding the cool doorknob, before you finally leave the dressing room.

He doesn’t notice you when you first leave the room, you being quiet as a mouse and him being once again engrossed in his diary.

And you’re pleased he doesn’t because the second you see him, your soul bids you farewell and launches itself off the balcony. He looks, for want of a better word, beautiful. The type of man every woman thinks about when they picture their perfect man. He wears suits to work but nothing like this, this one looks like it’s been fitted just for him rather than off the rack, and to your surprise he’s paired it with a black dress shirt and black tie. If he’d have described it to you before today, you’d have reminded him this isn’t a funeral, but seeing it? There’s no hint of morbid around this outfit choice. It’s suave and sophisticated and if he’d just let you, you’d happily climb him like……

“Hey,” he interrupts your thoughts once he spots you standing by the dressing room door.

You swallow heavily when he runs his eyes up and down your body. You’ve never wanted to run away and hide more in your life, you’re caught between wanting his opinion on your look for the wedding and never wanting to hear a single thought he has about your body in your life.

“You look b…….”

“Shall we go?”

You interrupt him, you’d just feel like an even bigger fool hearing whatever pitiful compliment he was going to offer you.

“S-sure.”

He rushes to put his diary in his bag as you head for the door. You walk side by side but a stoney silence follows you all the way to hall which the ceremony will be held in.

You quickly find your seats next to your parents, them greeting Mingyu almost as warmly as they greet you.

You take in the scene around you, it’s opulent and exactly how you’d imagined it to be. Luscious fabrics adorn the chairs, rose petals are scattered along the aisle and candles are lit on every surface you can see. Yongsoo has really done herself justice with this, five-year-old her would be squealing with joy at what adult her has managed to achieve.

“I meant to ask last night,” your mom murmurs to you, not wanting Yongsoo’s nosey aunts in front of you to hear what she’s saying, “where is your ring? You’ve surely not said yes without a ring.”

Shit.

Why didn’t you think of this?! Of course, engaged people have rings!

You stare at your finger, hoping somehow an answer will appear to help you.

“My mom always promised me my grandmothers,” Mingyu leans forward to speak to your mom, “and I haven’t been able to get home in a few months. I didn’t trust her mailing it because, well, we all know what the mail service is like at the moment. So _____ said she’d be happy to wait until we manage to visit in a few weeks, then I can give it to her properly.”

Your mom looks fit to burst with happiness at that answer, a proud smile plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to tell me! Three weeks I’ve been waiting for my new engine for my train!”

“Your train?” Mingyu looks at you and your mom, a little confused.

“It’s his train set.” Your mom huffs in disgust.

You can’t help the sheepish grin as you watch your parents knowingly, as they carry on with their same old argument. Your mom hating his train set and your dad believing it’s his most prized possession.

Mingyu watches it play out, sending you a smile as he settles back into his seat.

You wish that smile didn’t shoot right into your heart, somewhere between happiness and crushing pain.

“Thanks for that, I didn’t think about the ring.” You say for only Mingyu to hear.

“No problem, boss.”

You don’t respond, just sit in the broken pieces of your heart as he once again calls you boss. Another rotten reminder that you’ll never be anything more.

The ceremony passes by in a blur of muffled sobs from family members and vows that sounded more like poetry than any who’ve heard before. But you’re not really paying much attention, you’re not even sure how you came to be stood at the side of the dance floor watching your best friend and her now husband share their first dance.

“Should we d…..”

“Should we get a drink?”

This time you don’t mean to interrupt him, but you’re relieved you did. You’re not sure you could cope with being so close to him, him being that close to your body, holding you.

“I’ll go get us some,” he rushes, probably relieved he doesn’t have to spin his boss around the dance floor, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

He’s gone as quick as he says it as you happily watch all the in love couples strut their stuff on the dance floor, now the music has become slightly more upbeat.

Five minutes pass and no Mingyu.

10 minutes and you begin to wonder just how long the queue for the bar is. You avert your eyes but quickly spot him. Leaning against the bar, Yongsoo’s sister hanging on his every word and her hand on his bicep.

You feel your last scrap of confidence wither and crumble. This is history repeating itself. Only this time, he’s supposed to be your fiancé and not your dead-beat university boyfriend.

You’ve no idea why but your feet move of their own accord, different thoughts throwing themselves at you with every step you take.

Of course he’d like her, she’s gorgeous. Why did you think this was a good idea? What happens when your parents spot him flirting with some other woman?

This whole thing has just been a lesson from Mingyu in how to embarrass someone and ruin their life. Has he been like this the whole time you’ve worked together? You didn’t think so but then you don’t truly know him.

You thought you did. But you didn’t.

It’s only when you end up at your feet’s desired destination, do realise you’ve brought yourself to the children’s table. Old habits die hard and, to be fair to them, they always inflate your ego, them all thinking you’re very cool building great big buildings.

“_____!”

They also say excitedly, one of them knocking over their fake pink plastic wine glass of soda.

“I couldn’t miss out on the fun, could I?” You huff as you throw yourself in a seat at their table.

Has Yongsoo just decided they can look after themselves? Surely, they need someone.

It’s just as you’re pondering Yongsoo’s lack of care for the little terrors that you spot her grandfather, fast asleep and with a moustache drawn on his face.

“Who’s work of art is that?”

“Mine.” One of the little boys says proudly, knowing you’d never tell any of them off.

“I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10, good work.”

His proud smile warms your heart, at least they’d never judge you and make you feel like an idiot.

“Why aren’t you with your furniture?”

“Fiancé.” You chuckle, happily letting Jiyoung sit on your knee.

“He’s talking with some people.”

You don’t know what takes over you, you really don’t.

“Never trust a man Jiyoung. All they do is break your heart and disappoint you.”

Well, that’s great, now you’re mentally scaring the younger generation and making sure their parents will be asking you some very odd questions when they inevitably snitch on you.

“Is your heart broken? I could try and fix it, if you like.”

She truly is the kindest little girl you’ve ever met. Sadly, you’re too far gone in your wallowing and not even her looking at you like you know everything in the world, stops your rant.

“You can’t break a heart that was already in a million pieces.”

Way to dampen the mood _____.

“I broke something into a million pieces once.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my mom bought a glass photo frame, and I knocked it off when I was being spiderman.”

“That’s cool.” You and the other five-year-olds all agree.

It’s only when you’ve finished re-braiding Jiyoung’s hair that you spot Mingyu looking round the hall.

“I just need to make a call.”

“I just got comfy!!”

“You’re a big girl Jiyoung, I’m sure sitting on a chair won’t hurt your bum.”

She moves but not before glaring at you.

“Don’t frown, the wind might change and your face will stick like that.”

She smiles begrudgingly as you make a quick dart away from the table.

“What shall we tell your fridge?”

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just say I went back to the room, he probably won’t ask.”

“Will you come back though? We normally dance together.”

You never thought you’d miss the children’s table, but you now realise how much fun you have entertaining them.

“I’ll be back for that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And” you stop to look at Yongsoo’s grandfather before you leave, “he could really do with something rude written on his forehead.”

“LIKE POOP?!”

“Good idea! You do that and I’ll make my call.”

This softens the blow of you leaving, all of them rushing to write poop on the poor man’s forehead. It’s lucky you know him and know he’ll see the funny side. If it was her grandmother, you’d all be grounded for two weeks. Even you.

“Why are you in here?!”

Shit, you hadn’t even heard him come in the room. Why does he look so pissed?

“I just needed a break.” You stand up from the sofa.

“From what? You’ve barely spoken to anyone, apart from your fellow children.”

“Fellow children? What the fuck is that meant to mean?!”

“You’ve been acting like a child all day. Sat in a mood and pouting. Do you know how many people have asked me if we’ve had an argument?”

“Not many, I expect. I’ve only seen you talk to one person.”

He stares at you, breathing ragged like he is genuinely pissed off at you.

“This can’t all be about your dad and that fishing trip.”

“It is about that! That and the fact it’s fucking embarrassing having to be the woman that can only pretend to mean something to someone like you. And then I see you flirting with her and I thought, what’s the point? She’s already stolen one boyfriend off me, why not a fictious fiancé.”

Your stomach drops. You didn’t mean to say that. Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out as he stares at you with an unreadable gaze.

You presume he’s going to say something but instead he rushes past you to his bag.

Is he leaving? How the fuck do you explain that?

You hear the shuffling of pages before he rushes back to you.

“Read that.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order.

Your eyes scan the page.

“There was no need for them to bring April into the show, it ruined the flow and stunted…..”

“NOT THAT PAGE SHIT.” He snatches it back and skips forward a couple more pages. “That’s from my rewatch of Gilmore Girls. Read that.”

He shoves the diary back into your hands.

“Don’t kiss hot boss. Don’t tell her you love her.”

The world stops around you, you can feel your heartbeat all over your body. Your first thought is that it’s a joke, but why would he write it in something nobody ever sees?

He loves you? Mingyu. Loves…..you?

“You.....” you stare back at the page, “you love......me?” you point at yourself. “What?!”

He startles slightly at you shouting but slowly takes the diary off you and places it on the table.

He edges closer ever so slightly, like he’s not sure what reaction he’s going to get.

“That whole diary, well most of it anyway, is filled with every little thing about you that makes my heart flutter and melt. About how much I think about you every day.....and every night. About how much I want you. Need you. More than I’ve ever needed anyone. How you’ve had my whole heart since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tears well in your eyes, heart trying to break free of it’s cage.

“If you skip forward a few more pages,” he points back to his diary but makes no attempt to get it, “it’ll say how fucking pissed off I was with you last night for saying you’re not my type or not in my league. I know my type. My type is you. Just you.”

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, arms folding over you out of shame.

“I think you’re the only one that didn’t. Your dad caught me just as I came to find you to say that he could see it in my eyes how much I adored you. Fuck, when I told Hyejin about this weekend she was worried I’d even make it through it, laughing at me because apparently my eyes follow you around every room like a lost puppy.”

You chuckle a little at that and he finally sees that as his sign to move a little closer.

“I didn’t think you’d like so......”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence if you’re going to say what I think you are. You’re perfect. Pick up that diary on any page and there’ll be something written about how perfect you are.”

“Any page?” you challenge, remembering his rant about Gilmore Girls.

“Well. Almost any page.”

“I spoke to your friends.” 

“She’s not my friend.” You snap.

“Not her, she didn’t stay for long when all I spoke about was how beautiful you looked tonight,”

“But she touched your bicep.”

The words leave you before you can stop them. Your cheeks heating a little at your jealously bubbling over.

“She did. And I asked her to move her hand. Told her there was only one woman I wanted to touch me.” 

Your body tingles at that, though you try to remain calm.

“And I meant your other friends. The ones that are about 3 feet tall.”

“They’re all liars.” You dismiss with a shake of your head. “Famous for it.”

“Are they?” He grins, moving so he’s standing as close as possible to you without touching.

“Hm-mm.”

Your eyes are transfixed by him, your mind and body frozen in his whole aura.

“So she was lying when she told me you’d said all men do is break your heart?”

You scoff, a nonchalant act trying to shield your embarrassment.

“Or that you didn’t suggest that they write something on that poor old man’s forehead?”

“Did she just tell you everything I’ve ever said?! When I get hold of her,” you shake your head. “She’s lost her dancing privileges with me.”

“Good. Maybe I can have them instead.” 

You can’t help but smile, your heart now doing somersaults.

“Can I take all of this to mean that you might just feel the same way I do?”

Your eyes dart across his face, trying to find the tiniest hint of a lie on his features.

“I feel the same way you.” You say quietly.

He doesn’t even give you chance to say anything else, his big hands cover your cheeks as he connects his lips with yours. Any shock that may have been there disappears when his hands move off your cheeks and onto your waist, bringing you flush against his chest.

His kiss is desperate, filled with need and longing, his soft lips moving against yours easily as his fingers dig into your skin. His tongue prods at you, begging for entry and you happily accept it. It’s wet and needy, his tongue roaming around every part of your mouth it can. His tongue swirls around and around, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, when you tug it slightly your pussy tingles at Mingyu’s moan that vibrates on your tongue.

He moves you back towards the bed, lips never leaving yours and tongue continuing it’s assault on your own.

It’s only when the backs of your knees hit the mattress that your brain catches up with your pussy.

“What are you doing?” 

“I didn’t get breakfast because someone was acting like a five year old,” he ignores your horrified face, instead deciding to drag his tongue along your tits. A satisfied chuckle leaving him when you arch slightly into his touch. “so I’m pretty hungry.”

You know where this is going. But you need a couple more seconds to build up the courage to show someone, even Mingyu, your body after a shit couple of days in your own head. So you stall him.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Your breath hitches when he bites the soft flesh of your right breast.

He raises his head to look at you.

“Please, let me taste you. Please, I’ll be so good for you.”

Fucking hell he looks so pretty when he begs. You always wondered if he’d be some sort of hard dom or the type to whine when he came. Now you know and you can’t help yourself.

“Well when you ask so nicely.” 

You kiss him once more as he guides you back onto the bed, making sure you’re comfortable with your head resting on the pillows.

He moves onto the bed after you, eyes eating you up, as he moves closer. It’s only when you try to spread your legs for him you remember how tight the dress is over your thighs.

“Can we move this up?” 

You take a deep breath.

“Ok.”

He smiles at you for trusting him as your lift your bum for him to hitch your dress up over your thighs and ass, it bunching pretty messily around your waist.

You’re suddenly plagued by the same thoughts as this morning, the tightness of the fabric around your waist making it even more obvious you’re not flat and toned and sexy like the women he’s probably used to.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, you look beautiful in your dress.” He looks up and his smile falters when he sees worry on your face. “What’s wrong _____?” he leans over you, thumb stroking your cheek.

You almost lose your train of thought when you feel something hard poking your thigh.

“Just. I don’t want you to see me and change your mind. The past two days since we decided to do this, I felt like I was playing at someone you’d like. I always thought you’d be with someone.....smaller?” your heart skips a beat when he clenches his jaw, “just even during the night when I’d normally....”

You slam your mouth shut. That is absolutely not something he needs to know.

His dark eyes snap to yours.

“During the night what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me ______.”

“I-i. Normally......when I can’t sleep I........”

“Masturbate?”

“Well you don’t have to say it like that.” You frown.

“How else should I say it? You finger yourself? You tease your clit again and again until you cum undone and finally go to sleep?”

Your mouth hangs open at his words. Not really sure how to answer it.

“Do you think of me when you do it?” 

You nod.

“So what was different about the other night? After we’d made this plan?”

“It felt like I was insulting you. Using thoughts of you to get myself off.”

You say it quietly but see no reason to not tell him the truth. He says he loves you, after all.

“Insulting me?” His gaze looks down the bed, taking in your exposed lower half, “someone with the greatest tits I’ve ever seen? With an ass that literally mesmerises me every time I’m behind you. Fuck I could’ve murdered Hyejin when she said you had a great ass the other day. I hate the idea of anyone seeing you. And it’s a shame you weren’t playing with yourself the night before we came here. Because I was thinking of you, thinking of how much I want to fuck your incredible thighs until I’ve cum all over them.”

Well shit. You’re not sure what’s more wet, the tears streaming down your cheeks or the ones that would be streaming down your thighs if not for your, probably now ruined, panties.

“I don’t ever want to hear you question how much I want you. How much I need you. I think you’re the hottest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I think the same about you. B-but man I mean, hottest, most beautiful man.” 

He laughs, eyes glittering as he looks down at you.

“You know what’s stupid. We’ve both been sat thinking the exact same thing? I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me.”

He can’t be serious. He’s like something out of a high-class porn film!!

“Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Guess we’re both stupid then.” He shrugs. “Now. Can I please get on with what I wanted to do?”

He’s almost whining, fuck his eagerness only makes you wetter.

“Be my guest.” You say smugly, legs opening as he settles between them.

The second he spots the wet spot on your panties it’s like he’s been possessed. He rolls your panties down your thighs, putting them in his pocket and takes off his suit jacket and tie. Him rolling his sleeves up shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does but it’s like he’s preparing himself, wanting to make sure he has no barriers stopping him from getting to you.

Mingyu lays on the bed, tiny, teasing kisses being placed up your leg until he reaches your pussy. He stops for a second to truly take in the beauty of it, staring in awe at how wet you are. He gives you one quick glance before he dives in. His finger and thumb spread you open, his high-pitched moan making your clench around nothing, when he sees truly how wet you.

He licks a long stripe from your aching hole to your clit before twirling his tongue around the tiny bud before his tongue sets back down on its journey down to your hole, again.

Your hand comes down into his hair, pressing him a little closer and your hips buck slightly when you notice just that first taste of you has him rutting his hips into the mattress.

You’ve never been one to take charge in the bedroom but the way he’s sucking on your clit like he’s desperate and his hips are humping the bed, you have a sudden burst of confidence.

Not in the ‘I’m going to dominate him' kind of way, although maybe one day, but in the talk him through it a little bit, kind of way.

“Does it taste good Mingyu? Does my,”  you moan when he sucks harder upon hearing your voice, “does my pussy taste good?”

“Hm-mm,” he nods, humming into your pussy, the vibrations on your clit making your mind spin.

“It’s feels really good baby,”

The pet name has him pressing his face further into you, tongue twirling up and down your pussy before carrying on sucking your clit.

You’re hypnotised by the way his hips move with every sucking motion on your clit. Shit, he really wasn’t lying when he said he wanted you, needed you.

Two big fingers prod at your entrance, as though he’s silently asking if he can slip them into your sopping hole. You don’t answer him, just move your hips slightly so the tip of his fingers stretch you open a little.

Your head throws back onto the pillows as he moves them slowly, easing them into you at a tantalising teasing pace. When he thinks you’ve adjusted, he moves them quickly in and out of your clenching pussy as his tongue now flicks over your bundle of nerves again and again.

Your moans are quiet compared to Mingyu’s. If someone was to walk past the room they’d think he was being fucked into next week. The fact he’s making those noises just because he’s pleasuring you, only makes you wetter. The room is filled with his moaning, bordering on whining, and the sounds of your sopping cunt as his two fingers plunge in and out of you.

You grind your pussy down onto his face, the need to cum on it ever increasing, causing the hand he has on your thigh to ripple into your skin. His hips move quicker the more you pull and tug on his hair keeping him exactly where you need him as you basically ride his face.

“I’m really close,” you manage to get out before a strangled moan takes over when he adds a third finger, that taunting tongue never stopping on your clit.

You can feel your heart beat in your ears as your hips keep grinding onto Mingyu’s face, his fingers being sucked into your greedy pussy every time it thinks he’s leaving it. It takes a couple more flicks off his tongue before he sucks hard and you come undone on his face. You hear a strangled moan from him which only makes your pussy clamp down on his fingers, as they try their best to keep finger fucking you through your orgasm.

Your whole body twitches, heat spreading through every fibre of your being, his big hand on your thigh the only thing reminding you that you’re not floating. His tongue slows, gentle twirls replacing the harsh sucking action as his fingers finally leave you. You continue to twitch slightly as he licks up every last drop of you that he can, before begrudgingly leaving your pussy and sucking his fingers clean whilst he’s still between your legs.

You’re both catching your breath, fingers running through his hair as he rests his forehead on your thigh.

“You’re really good at that.” You whisper, a chuckle escaping when you feel him huff out a breathy laugh against your thigh.

“Thanks.” He mumbles into your soft flesh before he kisses it gently.

“Did you....”

“Hm-mm.”

You stare at the ceiling, a goofy smile on your face at the idea of going down on you making Mingyu cum in his own pants.

“Are you laughing at me?” he challenges, moving up your body and looking down at you.

“No,” you smile up at him, moving his hair back off his forehead, “just feeling.... I don’t know...... Proud?”

“Proud?” his eyebrows draw together in confusion, though his smile remains.

“It’s not very often you make a man cum in his pants.”

He rolls onto his back then he doesn’t collapse on top of you with his laughter.

“What can I say, I finally got my head between the thighs I’ve admired for so long, what’s a man to do?”

He wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his chest.

“I don’t normally speak like that during sex,” you admit, it just now catching up with you that you’d been bold enough to even ask a question like that, “I hope it wasn’t weird.”

He draws back to look at you.

You decide there and then you hope he always looks at you with so much love in his eyes.

“It was perfect. You’re perfect. Everything about it.”

You grin and kiss his lips once more before settling back into his arms.

“I need to change my underwear before we go back down to the party.” 

He wants to go back?! If you’re being honest with yourself you were hoping to see what exactly was poking against your leg, not that long ago.

Your face must say as much because he laughs into your hair.

“I believe you promised a certain little lady a dance and I’m owed several dances. Plus. Now I can show you off properly, like the couple they think we are.”

You freeze.

“We’re not....we haven’t been on a date yet Mingyu!”

You sit up and look at him, ignoring the way your dress digs into the soft flesh of your stomach. Your body is covered in goose bumps when he sits up with you, fingers slightly soothing the skin you were so wary to show him, with nothing but affection. 

“They don’t need to know that do they! But we’ve both said we love each other. Well. I.....”

He freezes in horror when he realises you never said it back.

“I love you too.”

He sighs bringing you into his arms, both of you sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Then they don’t need to know we’re not engaged. People take years to get married, we both work and stuff, by the time we do get married they’ll never know we weren’t engaged here. And plus...... Now I can finally hold your hand down there, like I’ve been wanting to all day. I swear people were starting to wonder why we were barely stood near each other.”

“I’m sorry for yesterday.....”

“Hey now, I get it. You were protecting your parents. But I am going on that trip, I’m pretty excited to be honest.”

You look at him skeptically.

“I am! I really like them and they seem to like me.”

“I meant what I said, my dad has hated every man he’s ever met. I think that’s why I got so annoyed because he’d have been so upset when you flaked on him.”

“Well that won’t be happening. Come on, we need to get back down there.” He stands, grimacing slightly when his underwear feels sticky.

“I’ll change my underwear and then we can go,”

He turns to leave so you can sort yourself out before you head back.

“Hold on! You’ve got something of mine!”

You stand, pulling your dress down, trying to smooth the creases.

“What?” 

“My underwear.”

He looks you up and down, tongue poking his cheek before a smug grin forms on his lips.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep them.”

He walks off, leaving you staring after him in horror.

“I’ll just put fresh ones on then!”

“I wouldn’t bother!” he hollers as he enters the bathroom with his fresh Calvin’s, “As soon as we’ve stayed a polite amount of time, you’ve paid your dancing debts and I’ve eaten actual food, they’re coming straight off!”

“Fuck.” You mumble, willing your pussy to not start dripping.

“Exactly.” He smiles when he comes back in, having changed in record time. “Now.” He looks down at his suit trousers, “have I got cum on these?” 

You can’t help but laugh as you wander over to him, now you’ve got your shoes back on.

“Mingyu?” 

He looks up at you straight away.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He pulls you into him, kissing you dramatically before letting you go.

“I love you too.”

He takes your hand to leave but you pull him back one last time.

“Please never call me boss again.”

“Yes.......boss,” he winks before he drags you out of the room.

“It’s my turn!!!!”

Jiyoung ignores Mingyu as he stands, whining next to your dancing bodies. You’d been jumping around, twirling her in your arms for the past three songs.

“I think it is his turn Ji.”  

“Tough. He was eating instead of being a good fridge.”

Mingyu frowns at her as you try not to smile.

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said!” She rolls her eyes again, just like earlier.

“You know. I heard they’re going to throw the bouquet soon. You don’t want to miss that, do you? If you leave now, you’ll have a good spot for when the dancing finishes!”

“REALLY!!” She stops mid-jump, a look of wonderment on her face. “BYE _____, I HAD A REALLY NICE TIME!!” She shouts as she runs off.

The music changes into something slow as Mingyu finally gets his hands back on you.  A proud smile on his face as his hand lands on your waist, the other holding your hand, as you both begin to move to the music.

“You don’t want to try and catch the bouquet?”

“I already have a fiancé.” You smile proudly. “I don’t think he’d be very happy if I went knocking over five years olds to catch a bouquet.”

“Damn right he wouldn’t. Not that bouquet anyway,” he looks over at a flower arrangement in disgust, holding your waist a little firmer, almost possessively, “the ones I’ve picked out are much more elegant.”

You freeze, feeling his body tense under your fingers.

“The ones you’ve picked out?”

“W-well,” he shrugs, “I had a lot of free time on my hands when the woman I love was utterly oblivious to it, so I’ve pretty much planned out the wedding.”

His cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink when you throw your head back in laughter, though he does pull you even closer to him

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I need to see more of that diary."

“You wait until you see the corseted lingerie I’ve drawn for the wedding night. Your tits will be falling out of it as I fuck you again and again until you’re crying.”

He whispers it right into your ear, snickering a little when he hears the tiniest of moans leaving your mouth.

You don’t get a chance to reply, your parents fast approaching from the dining area.

“We’re heading up to the room ______ , my nights of dancing the night away are behind me and your mother says her bunion is agony.”

“I DID NOT SAY THAT!” She slaps his shoulder.

You and Mingyu end your dance and turn to face them, him holding your waist so you’re as close as possible to him.

“I’m really happy for you, munchkin.” Your mom says proudly, kissing your forehead. “Don’t leave it too long until you visit, we could go to a spa or something whilst they go fishing.”

“I’d love that, thank you mom.”

“You make a beautiful couple,” she adds, moving to hug Mingyu goodbye, “look after her. She’s our most treasured posession, even more than the trainset.”

You roll your eyes but laugh along with the three of them anyway.

Your dad hugs you goodbye before moving to shake Mingyu’s hand.

“You make sure you always look at her like you did last night and we won’t have a problem. And I’ll email you about the fishing retreat.”

“When did you exchange emails?” You frown.

“Come on dear,” your dad rushes off whilst you stare at Mingyu, “lets leave the love birds to it!”

“We swapped emails earlier.”

“But we were fighting earlier.”

“Last night, after what you’d said, I decided I’d finally tell you how I felt when I was brave enough. It was the first time I felt like you’d given away that you felt the same way as me. And so I figured I’d be going on the fishing trip.”

“That’s very cocky Mingyu.”

“What can I say. I always knew we were meant for each other.”

He kisses you to stop you arguing back.

“Have we stayed a polite amount of time?” you mumble against his lips.

“I reckon so.” He grins, shamelessly looking at your tits.

“Eyes up here Mingyu.”

His eyes flit up to yours, nothing but mischief in them.

“Yes, boss.”

You're about to head back to your tiny little office (it was a closet, but you converted the pastoral office into your liquor and other storage—because taking an old church and turning it into a pub was scandalous enough to get people to come visit that official opening day) when Mingyu looks over. He grins, though it could hardly be at you because this man is always smiling. He gestures for you to join them behind the bar.

It's tempting.

He is always tempting.

But you shake your head, forcing a friendly smile to your lips so he knows that it isn't him (it's kinda him, but that's not his fault), before you quickly move away from the festivities for the relative calm and quiet of your office.

The books don't do themselves, sadly.

You're caught up in numbers that need to reconcile (why has the price of tonic water increased?) that you haven't noticed that the music is no longer bright and twangy, it's now gloomy and twangy.

"Hey."

His voice rolls over you, thick and sweet. You take half a second to school your face into being a normal business owner face before you look over at him.

"We okay out there?"

Mingyu takes that as invitation to come in and plop himself on the arm of the only other chair in the room than the one you are currently in. It's an old armchair, faded brocade and a lumpy seat cushion. Sitting on the arm is the more comfortable choice.

"We're fine now. Soonyoung is getting teary, so I asked Kook if he'd switch to something less sad. 'He Stopped Loving Her Today' is not going to keep people here." He pauses for a moment. "We could maybe use a third, but not for an entire shift."

You nod. "I'll fill in until I think we can handle another hire. Someone who doesn't want to work a solid eight hour shift." You do another one of those—I can be totally normal about how you look, hair messy from the hat, clinging to your skin, cheeks flush from the heat of the bar and patrons—smiles. "Thanks."

"Of course, madam boss."

"Do not call me that."

He laughs and says your name, and honestly that's worse.

"I think themed nights would be a hit."

"I'll consider it, Mingyu," you say cautiously. "It's probably overly stubborn of me, but I had a particular vibe in mind when I started this place. Themed nights…were not part of it."

He smirks as he stands up. "A change in plans can be fun, madam boss. Like, instead of holing yourself up in the office on Sunday, your one day off, you could come out with me and Kook and some others for a couple hours at the arcade. Let off some steam?"

You watch him even though you know better. No one does sincerity better than Mingyu. His looks would make a person think he's incapable of being genuine, but if you learned anything in the two years of running this place, and he being part of that, is that Kim Mingyu is a kind person. A thoughtful one.

You sometimes wish he was an arrogant asshole like his handsomeness should indicate.

"I'll think about it."

He pouts. "You're like a parent when you say that. It always means no."

You try not to bristle at his words. He is not only your employee, you're older than him (not that you could be his parent or anything, unless a person is having children at four years old!); a fact you cannot forget despite where your brain goes when you think about him.

"You know you can give me some of the admin stuff to do. I'm a pretty quick study."

God, he's the absolute worst.

"I know. I appreciate that. It's not unmanageable right now. If it ever gets so, I'll—" You make a face at your own words. "—think about it."

His smile is a little defeated, but he nods. "You do that. And like…take a break and come see people out there. They like you, you know. That's one of the reasons they come."

"Not you or Jungkook?" Your dead-pan delivery makes him giggle. Which is stupidly cute.

"Well…you did hire the best bartenders in a hundred mile radius."

"I did. Your incredible genetics have nothing to do with our steady customers."

"Madam boss, you flatter me."

You eye him as scolding-like as you can. He's still grinning, the reddened cheeks likely now from your mild compliment.

"Go on, don't leave Jungkook to wallow in all the admiration by himself."

"Like he's bothered by it," he quips before disappearing out the door and back to the bar. You doubt either man is bothered by the attention, though Jungkook definitely preens more than Mingyu when customers fawn.

Like clockwork, you leave your somewhat quiet and calm office space with twenty minutes until close. If you stare at numbers and lawyer-speak for another minute, you believe your brain might melt.

Front of house is dwindling down. Yes, it's a Saturday night, but it's also Carats Ridge which is not metropolitan in any sense. People have less than a twenty minute walk to their home, or ten minute drive by the two taxis in town. Sometimes you get the stubborn drunk who won't want to leave, but you have a decent relationship with the local force and can get them down here for stronger persuasion quickly.

You start on picking up empty glasses on the tables and various other nooks that patrons seem to find easier than just returning them to the bar. You can stack about five before the precarious nature makes you nervous. Mingyu can stack like twenty. You're sure that has more to do with how tall he is than skill.

"You know," Jungkook comes up behind you, relieving you of those glasses. "The perks of being boss means you don't have to help."

"That's not the kind of boss I ever want to be, Kook," you retort, taking the glasses back and side stepping him toward the bar. "Besides, if I do this, you can handle that." You nod toward the very drunk and sleepy-looking Soonyoung who looks like he's waiting for someone, but keeps teetering before catching his balance.

"He won't leave without Jihoon," Mingyu says as he takes the glasses from you and sets them one by one in the dishwasher behind the bar. "Which is good because I don't think he'd make it home in that state."

You tug off one of the rags over Mingyu's shoulder and start wiping down the back counter, lifting bottles and wiping them down.

"Kook's right. It's our job to clean up."

"Well, with my help, we'll close faster and then I'll get to bed sooner." You grin, looking up at him.

"An exciting Saturday night planned?" he teases and you don't bristle. Perhaps it's the fact that it's late, and you're thinking of taking him up on his offer about the arcade tomorrow.

Maybe you really like how he looks at the end of a shift; hair more frizzy than curly. Smile still bright, but softer from exhaustion. There's a sheen to his skin from the work of the bar.

You wonder how you acquired some of the most beautiful men to tend your pub.

You glance over to see Jungkook ushering Soonyoung and Jihoon out the front door. You turn as he sticks his head out the door to speak to someone before he shuts it and turns the look.

"Floor's mine!" he yells as though anyone wants to sweep and mop. You and Mingyu laugh at the enthusiasm.

"He never gets tired."

"Energizer bunny, that one," you murmur, lifting the bottle of Midori with a wrinkled nose. "Who is drinking this? I have to get more."

"That would be Jun."

"Do I know him?"

"Runs the pet store."

"Ohhh. He seemed more like a Negroni guy."

Mingyu hip-checks you as he moves to the other side of you, placing hot clean glasses on the top shelf (so freaking tall). "He drinks that too. But for whatever reason, he likes Midori on Saturday nights. Over ice."

"Gross."

"How'd you know he likes Negronis?"

You shrug. "People have all kinds of vibes. I pick up on the liquor ones."

"Yeah? That's how you knew I'd like a sour that when you interviewed me?"

"You remember that?" You lift the bottle of Jägermeister. "Jäger Bombs again?"

"Yep, we'll need more Red Bull. And Fireball."

"For?"

"Soonyoung really likes Oatmeal Cookie shots."

"I'm offended that more people don't drink our Guinness."

He laughs. "Purist."

"Speaking of." You set the Jägermeister bottle back down and slip by him to grab a glass and pour yourself a half pint of Guinness.

"For all employees?" Jungkook asks, pleading puppy eyes in full effect. He rests his elbows on the bar, chin in hands. "It'll make doing the floors so much more pleasant."

You don't usually, but again you're feeling a bit more loose tonight. You can feel Mingyu's eyes on you as you pour a 10 year Redbreast Irish whiskey for Jungkook. He whoops and points at you. "The best boss ever!" Before he takes his glass and heads toward the back for the broom and mop.

"For you?" You turn to look and Mingyu. He's refilling the dishwasher (a constant thing tending bar). "We don't have sours on tap."

"Half a pint of Guinness sounds good."

"Really?"

"I can handle a stout." He's pouting and you are delighted.

"Of course you can." You pour him one and hand it over. As he takes it, your fingers touch and you pull away too quickly to be casual.

You are such a mess sometimes.

He doesn't say anything but takes the tiniest sip of the beer. You laugh at the face he makes.

"Come on, I'll make you something you like. Cocktail? Something not too sweet or too strong." You think. "Paloma."

"i wouldn't mind a little sweet."

"Then I'll make it with the grapefruit soda instead of grapefruit juice." You take the barely drank Guinness from him, and set up a quick Paloma for him. He leans his hip against the back bar, watching.

"Why don't you bartend too? You're good at it."

"I don't like people."

"You do so."

You pour the drink and hand it over to him. He sips it. "Good?"

"Really good."

You take the Guinness with you as you slide past him to continue wiping down the bottles. As you take another swallow, you see him glance over, odd look on his face.

"What?"

"That's…that's the one I was drinking."

Your face heats, but you shrug quickly. "Can't waste Guinness. It's against my religion."

He laughs before leaving the bar to gather the few plates and non-glasses to take to the back. You look at the Guinness.

It's not that weird, right? It's not like you have the biggest crush on someone who works for you and drinking from his glass is the closest you'll ever get to kissing him.

It's not like that.

The rest of closing runs smoothly, perhaps too well as you succumb and let Jungkook have another two fingers of whiskey. The man is thrilled.

"I'll lock up," you say when the floor is clean, still damp from the mop, the counters no longer sticky, and the lights all off but the emergency ones. You note that both your employees are heading to the front door and not the back. "Mingyu…"

He turns back to you as Jungkook opens the front door.

"What is it, madam boss?"

You open your mouth to tell him that you will meet them at the arcade tomorrow, but then you notice that Jungkook went out the front door for a very specific reason.

Waiting, laughing and looking more beautiful than you will ever pull off, are two women, dressed much more in line with a proper nightclub than a pub like yours.

"Hurry up, Gyu!" Jungkook calls, and the two women echo him. It strikes you, not unlike the anvil in classic cartoons, that Mingyu has someone waiting for him; to be social, to flirt, to most likely sleep with him.

He probably asked you to the arcade out of pity. You don't scream 'social butterfly'.

He says your name when you don't say anything, while you absorb your foolish thoughts and humiliation, even if it's only in your head.

"I, uh, wanted to say thank you about the invite tomorrow. But I can't." You force your eyes from the open door to him. "Go on. Have a good night."

He clicks his tongue, like there's something he wants to say, but the mini crowd outside calls for him again.

"Better get going. Don't want to keep them waiting."

"If you change your mind," he begins, walking backward toward the door, fiddling with his ridiculous cowboy hat. "You'd be welcome."

You nod before letting out a long sigh when the front door is finally closed. You hurry to it and turn the bolt lock. You hear laughter and talking on the other side. It's life, fun and social and interesting.

You push away from the door, latching the chain and knob lock. You walk toward your office and the back door, setting the alarm before you exit.

It's not like you plan it. You mean to run your errands in the main part of town, at least not hole yourself up in the office like Mingyu accused you of. Groceries, odds and ends for the week ahead. Maybe even the bookstore for something to take your mind off everything.

The bookstore, a couple doors down from the arcade.

You don't think you could lie to yourself so well, but you can. You definitely could have taken a different path through town to get to The Bookery. But here you are, walking oh so normally past the arcade in the early afternoon on Sunday.

You hear his laugh, and Jungkook's 'die!' with delight. There are other laughs and shouts above the din of digital game music and crashing sounds.

You allow yourself one look over through the open doors. It's too dark to see much, the lights from all the games and consoles disturb any sort of clear visual.

You turn back to the sidewalk. Just as well.

You're well past the arcade, and you can see the bookstore on the corner when you hear it.

Your name.

In his voice.

You keep walking because you're sure you've lost your mind some time in the recent past, and maybe you're just hearing him now.

But then he runs in front of you, halting your path toward the bookstore.

"Hey." He accentuates that greeting with a run of his hand through his hair. He looks so good, you want to shut your eyes and pretend he's not there. Black jeans, white t-shirt, so simple and yet so hot.

"Hello Mingyu, bye Mingyu," you stutter out, trying to go around him. He grabs your arm and you freeze. It's not like working in close quarters means you have no contact with him. But it's minimal. Professional.

It's not his whole hand encircling your forearm.

"Hey, where you off to in such a hurry? Come play skeeball with me?" He's grinning down at you, looking perfectly relaxed and casual.

"Can't. Sorry." You try and tug away, but he doesn't let go. His smile falls and he ducks his head to look more closely at you.

"You can't spare one game?"

"I need to go. I don't…"

His face is nearer than it needs to be. He knows the power of those big brown eyes, that slight pout.

It's so entirely frustrating.

"I don't have time to spend with my employees." You pull back so hard you dislodge yourself from his hold and he stumbles, eyes widening at your rising voice. "Okay? I don't know why you want me to hang out. It's not like you're lacking in company. I see the women you and Jungkook take home. You don't need your employer hindering your conquests."

"What are you talking about?"

It's exasperating, how naive and clueless he seems. How stupidly sweet and beautiful he always is.

"I don't want to hang around a fuckboy, alright?"

You don't mean to say it. You really don't. You actually pride yourself on filtering your thoughts before they come out of your mouth.

You wish you could take it back. The moment you see him half-laugh without joy, like he's bewildered by your words. A shake of his head.

And then quiet.

"Okay." His voice is whisper-soft, but you can still hear it among the passing cars, and talking behind you. "Yeah. Okay." He walks around you, hands tucked into his pockets.

You force yourself to not watch him, but continue on your way. You walk brusquely and enter the Bookery with a decided air.

Jeonghan, who works there nearly every day looks up. "Welcome—"

And you sit right down on the floor.

Mingyu only works Wednesday through Saturday at the pub, which in some ways is great. You get a breather from his presence, how he makes you think both endearing and naughty things. It's not great because you continue to relive the argument you had with him outside the arcade.

You wanted to talk to someone about it. But you're weren't kidding about not really liking people. These past two years have been spent starting up the pub and making sure it's a profitable venture, which leaves little time in which to be social outside of work. You know those who come in for a drink on the regular (Carats Ridge isn't a big town after all), the cooks in the pub kitchen, and your bartenders.

Jeonghan at the bookstore, was kind enough when you first came in, but when you tried to explain what had happened, he looked amused and annoyed (he can do both simultaneously very well).

"No one wants to be called a fuckboy, not even actual fuckboys."

"I know, it's stupid. I was so frustrated that he wouldn't just let me be and—"

"He's not, by the way."

You stare at Jeonghan for far longer than socially acceptable. "What?"

"Mingyu. He's not a fuckboy."

"I—"

"Jungkook is. Like completely. Festival season for him is like Halloween for kids." He shrugs as he straightens up one of the genre tables.

"But they're friends."

"Are you exactly like your friends?"

The question is perfectly understandable, but it reminds you again that you have spent the last two years much more focused on work than play.

"Point."

"Okay then. Now if you're not going to buy or turn in anything for credit, go…do whatever it is you do on a Sunday."

Charming to the last.

You're nervous once Wednesday comes around. You haven't received any communication from Mingyu, though that is not unusual. You don't talk outside of work, no matter how often he tries to get to you to do anything social.

But the lack of interaction makes you jittery.

You're in the store room, checking inventory when you hear the back door open. It's Jungkook chatting and you tune out his words, though you're listening for a second voice.

You don't hear it.

"Hey!" Jungkook pops his head in. "Need a hand?"

"I'm good." You glance at him, looking for the taller. "Mingyu with you?"

"Yeah, he's already prepping at the bar. Have fun." He laughs, carefree as always and leaves, disappearing toward front of house.

So Mingyu is here, but didn't greet you.

No big deal. He might not have noticed you in here, or didn't feel friendly today. It's not a requirement, of course, that they greet you.

It's just he always has.

You keep taking inventory, marking down what seems to be getting used the fastest and start toward your office. But you detour to the front.

No reason.

You push through the employees-only door to see Jungkook moving the chairs off the tables as Mingyu slices up fruit and vege for garnish.

He glances up when the door closes with a swish. Eyes meet and you watch as no smile graces his lips, nor do his eyes sparkle.

He nods in greeting before returning to the cutting of limes.

"All good?" you ask, wincing at how your voice sounds. It's a little shaky. Maybe that's exhaustion from moving bottles for the last hour.

Sure.

"All good."

There is no 'madam boss' or even your name.

Jungkook sees you. "Need anything?"

"No, um, no. Just know that the Red Bull shipment hasn't come in yet, so yager bombs might be a no go after awhile."

"Got it." Cheerful, always cheerful JK. The brief time you spoke, you 've watched Mingyu, who never changes rhythm.

"Heard." Mingyu nods again, but doesn't look up.

You really don't have a reason to stay out here, so you turn and head to your office, with inventory sheet in hand.

Logically, it could be anything. Even Mingyu can have bad days. But except for one or two that you can think of…he's never been like this.

It's definitely your fault.

You should apologize. Obviously. That's the thing to do.

But, you think as you sit at your little metal desk with the big dent in the side from a wayward keg, is that a good idea? You've spent these last two years attempting to put boundaries in place between you and your employees. You've been a manager before, but not an owner. You want to be friendly those who work for you, but you know the consequences of lines being crossed.

If Mingyu keeps his distance from you, isn't that better? That way you aren't as affected by his kindness, humor, and sizzling charisma. Better to have him treat you professionally.

Even if you really should apologize.

You spend most of the evening in your office, working through some ideas, some numbers, and general bills. Wednesday nights aren't known as a hopping night for the pub. Tuesdays are trivia, Thursdays—ladies night, and of course the 'it's the weekend' vibes for Friday and Saturday.

You have yet to figure out anything to do with Wednesday nights.

You can hear Mingyu's plea for themed nights in your head and you shake it, as though that can rid you of him.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning at yourself. A contradiction in every way. You want him, but you don't. You like him, but he frustrates you.

God, you annoy yourself.

You groan again before letting your head fall to the desk with a light thud.

"You okay?"

You look up, half-convinced maybe you imagined his voice because he's always in your mind. But no, there he is, at your door, looking concerned.

He dressed simple tonight. Black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. You will yourself not to take any more stock of his appearance.

"Yeah, of course," you say, straightening up and standing quickly at his presence. He nods, the concern fading until you get the almost blank expression from earlier. "You guys good?"

"Gonna grab a few bottles."

"I can grab them." You move toward him and the door. He doesn't get out of your way.

"I got it. We aren't slammed."

"But—" You look up at him since he isn't moving. "I can help."

"I'm good." Then he moves, stepping back and walking toward the store room. The physical distance feels immense as you watch him go.

Fuck it.

"Mingyu."

He stops at the store room door, looking back.

"I'm sorry."

He tilts his head to the side before walking into the store room when you don't say anything more. You follow, hoping that Jungkook is perfectly fine manning the front without either of you.

Mingyu sticks a bottle of vodka and rum under one arm as he moves to another shelf.

"I'm sorry."

"I heard you." He doesn't even look over at you.

"You don't believe me?"

"I can't say as I do when I'm not really sure what you're apologizing for." The voice is steady, not cold necessarily, but there is a strong lack of his usual warmth.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you on Sunday."

He turns at that, glancing before grabbing another Triple Sec. "Okay."

You know what to say. Why are you being so stubborn about this? Honesty is the best policy, but you don't want to say too much.

He doesn't need to know everything.

You step into his path, right in front of the door so he can't escape easily. You think that, but he could probably shove you aside and not drop a single bottle.

"I'm sorry I yelled. And I'm sorry I called you…" It's embarrassing to even use the word. "That I called you a fuckboy."

He stares for a few seconds, long enough that you get fidgety.

Can he just forgive you?

"What, Mingyu? What else can I say?" That you're obsessed with him, and it's not fair to him because any overture of friendship he makes means too much to you? That his general kindness you're afraid will go to your heart and head?

"Do you really think I'm a fuckboy? Cause i gotta say, that hurts way more than you yelling at me. I can handle you yelling."

There it is. Under the calm voice, and serene face: the hurt. It colors his words, and paints melancholy on his skin.

You wish he was mad. It'd be easier.

"No. I'm sorry. I don't think that. And even if I did, it's not my place to say anything. I'm your boss and—"

"You could be my friend."

It's your turn to stare at him.

"I—I don't know. That can get…dicey."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I'm your boss. And I have the power to fire you. Or make your work life miserable."

"But you wouldn't. I mean, you wouldn't fire me unless I did a fireable offence. Which fair. And you'd have to work really hard to make this job miserable." He takes a step toward you. "I don't see why we can't be friends."

The eyes. The doggamn gorgeous eyes looking at you like you matter. You thank whoever is in charge that Mingyu decided to be a bartender and not a politician. The evil he could have wreaked with that kind of power.

"You make a good argument, Kim."

He smiles now. "Yeah? My folks would love to hear that. They wished I'd gone into law." He shifts one of the bottles and you realize you have definitely held him up for way too long. Shuffling out of the way, you reach for the precariously held Triple Sec. He lets you.

"Come on, madam boss. You can make Jun his Negroni."

As you follow him back to the bar, you don't think that you've actually resolved anything. The unpleasant tension between the two of you, sure. But your one-sided tension, of another nature entirely, is still in full effect.

But he can never know.

You see Jeonghan at the bar when you walk out with Mingyu. He has a small glass of a dark red. You keep a bottle of port just for him.

He lifts his glass when he sees you. With a pointed glance at Mingyu (who is unaware and trying to take the next round of orders), he wriggles his eyebrows once you make eye contact. You shoot him a look, but it's not like he's wrong.

You hope Jeonghan with his weird intuitiveness is the only one who can see how smitten you are.

The next time you're invited out by your bartenders, you say yes. This time it's to the bowling alley for a couple games. Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung are also in attendance. You eat obviously once-frozen pizza and drink mediocre beer, but you laugh a lot. You're on a team with Soonyoung and Jungkook; the first who is worse than you are at hitting the pins and the second who makes up for both your and Soonyoung's failures.

The other team, of Seokmin, Seungkwan and Mingyu, are much more evenly matched. Pins are hit and only a few gutter balls.

You're laughing when Seokmin dances chaotically after hitting two pins, like it's a feat of epic proportion. Mingyu plops down next to you, offering you the second beer he holds. You take it, purposely ignoring that your fingers brush his in the exchange.

"Having fun?" he asks, close because the Carats Ridge bowling alley is loud.

You point to your face. "What do you think?" Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You haven't thought about the pub in nearly an hour. That's a record for you.

He grins, tapping your beer glass with his. "It's nice seeing you laugh so much." He leans back in the plastic seat. "Pretty."

Your smile freezes. "What?"

He looks over. "You're pretty when you laugh." He chuckles when you don't say anything. "That can't be new information to you. You're always pretty, but I like it best when you're happy." He doesn't say anymore, but gets up as it's his turn to bowl.

Pretty? He calls you pretty like it's normal?

You take a swig of beer. You won't survive this 'friendship'.

You are sweating. Just down right sweating in not appealing fashion (is there any appealing fashion?). Mingyu laughs at you and your panting.

"It's only one small box."

"It's labeled books, Kim, so fuck you."

It goes to show how much hanging out with Mingyu, Jungkook, Seokmin, Soongyoung, and Seungkwan has loosened you up because you would never say that to someone you employed normally.

But moving Seungkwan into his new loft in Carats Ridge downtown with all of you helping with the absurd amount of stuff he owns changes things. And you aren't weak by any means. Owning a pub means moving boxes of liquor bottles regularly, but that's work.

This is off time and includes stairs.

You loathe stairs, particularly the ones you are traversing right now.

You grumble your entire way up the three flights, all the while Seokmin is excitedly telling a story about fishing or something to Mingyu, and Jungkook is whistling. When you make it again to the apartment, after Mingyu has set down his two boxes (the showoff) he reaches for yours.

You let him. And he winks at you.

Seungkwan is making lemonade in his new kitchen, so you beeline to grab a glass to hide your fluster.

You've been doing so well. You work with him, hang out with him…surely there would be a tolerance built up.

But apparently not.

You do enjoy this change in dynamic. The bowling, the arcade, the coffeeshop, the late nights closing the pub with your friend. You know Jungkook better, too (and yes, Jeonghan was right, he really is a complete fuckboy). You know your patrons better; Soonyoung is chaos, Seokmin is sunshine, and Seungkwan is sass.

You know him better. Mingyu is still the most attractive man you've ever seen, he's still a hard worker. He's still sweet, but now you know that he's sweet to his friends too, not just you. You know that he and Jungkook finish each other's sentences when drunk. That he didn't want to do university because he likes being active and sitting in classrooms was not for him. That as a side gig, he does photography, both artistically and for promotions around town. That he's touchy with those he's cares about; hugs, squeezes of the shoulder and arm.

And that includes you.

"Uhhhh, you finished that glass really quick," Seungkwan says when you pour yourself a bit more. "You thirsty?"

You glance over at the rest of guys trying to figure out how to put together the entertainment center that Seungkwan bought. Soonyoung has ditched his shirt, as has Jungkook. Seokmin tied his around his forehead to catch sweat.

And Mingyu? He's just in a tank, arms all out like it's open season.

"Yeah. Really thirsty."

"Madam boss, come over here. We need your tiny hands!"

You set your glass down with a look at Seungkwan. "Stupidly thirsty."

"Kook and I are finished."

You look up from the spreadsheet on your computer screen. Mingyu is half in your office. He's holding the doorframe with one hand, leaning in like a kid about to go play hooky. You smile even though the spreadsheet does not make you happy.

He does.

"Okay. Just make sure the front is locked. I'll lock up everything else."

He comes all the way in, sitting in his usual spot on the arm of the other chair. "It's almost one am, madam boss."

You mock-glare at him. "I can see that very clearly on my computer screen, Kim Mingyu."

He smirks. "So you won't argue that you should just come with us now?"

"I'm almost done. Go on. I'll see you Wednesday."

He doesn't get up, but pulls out his phone and taps on it.

"Mingyu."

"Madam boss."

"What are you doing?"

"Telling Kook to go on without me. That I'm gonna stay."

You try and send another glare his way, but you doubt it's remotely effective.

"And he's okay with that?"

"See you!" You hear outside your office door before you hear the back exit open and shut.

"Apparently."

"I rarely see you two without the other."

He stands now and comes up to your desk. "Give me something. Something I can do to help."

"This is just bookkeeping."

"Okay. Give me something else then."

You let your chin sit in your hand, looking at him as leans his hands on the edge of your desk. He's clearly as or more exhausted as you are. Saturday nights behind bar are not for the faint of heart.

"You sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

You take a deep breath and move to grab one of the boxes of papers near your desk chair. You lift it and offer it to him.

"It's dumb work."

"I can handle dumb work."

"I need it in order, chronologically. Divide by vendor, and put it in order by date, oldest at the bottom to most recent."

"You got it." He moves with the box, sitting on the floor, using the other chair as a backrest. You think to offer him your spot, but the computer is here and it wouldn't make much sense.

You go back to numbers on your screen. You fiddle with your browser, putting on some quiet instrumental music. He smiles when it starts to play, glancing at you before going back to the many many papers crammed in that box.

"Mingyu?"

He looks up, surrounded by stacks of papers.

"It's after two am. We should go."

"But I'm not done." The almost-pout is there and you laugh, though it's mostly air with no sound. Your body aches as you stretch when you stand up before saving all your work and shutting down the computer.

"But you've done a lot."

"I could come in on Tuesday? Finish it up?"

"No."

He stands up as well, all six-feet-plus of him. "Why not?"

"Because helping me right now probably put you in overtime. No more."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you continue.

"But thank you. It's a good start."

He makes a face. "You don't have to pay—"

"No. You are not saying that. That's not even an option." You point at him threateningly. "Stop arguing. We need to go."

He huffs a sigh, and you smile at the petulance. You gather you purse, and zip-up hoodie. He pushes his hair back, sliding on a cap backwards and follows you out as you turn off the lights and check the kitchen, then that the store room is locked.

"Check the front?"

"Yep."

You lock your office and he comes back, half-jogging.

"Kook can be trusted. It's locked."

"Have you logged out?"

"I did before I walked into the office." He holds up his hands preemptively. "Don't get mad. I knew I was off the clock."

"I will add it manually when I do payroll." You open the back door and wait for him to walk out.

"You don't—"

"Yes I do."

He waits behind you as you set the alarm and open and shut the door before locking it. He leans against the building as you turn the key.

"It could just be a favor. As a friend."

"I do not ask my friends to help me with work, as a favor." You start toward your car, feeling him keep up with you. "Mingyu, I walk to my car on my own every night you aren't here."

"Don't tell me stuff like that. I'll worry now."

"It's Carats Ridge." You open your car door and toss your purse into the passenger seat before shutting the door and looking up at him.

"Still dangerous."

You roll your eyes and pat him on the chest. "Thank you anyway."

He covers your hand with his, making you still. "You're welcome." He leans down so your faces are nearly the same level. "Text me when you're home?"

"No."

"Stubborn."

"Independent and a full grown adult."

He shakes his head like you're the difficult one. His hand is still over yours on his chest. He squeezes it before straightening up and letting go, so your hand drops to your side, tingling from the prolonged touch. He starts to walk away and you realize something.

"Wait." The parking lot is empty save your car. "Are you walking?"

"It's not far."

"It's kind of cold." And he's wearing a thin jacket. "I'll drive you. Don't argue with me." You open the passenger door you just shut and grab your purse before walking to the other side with it and sliding into the driver's seat. You set your purse in the back behind your seat as he gets in and shut his door.

"You really don't have to."

"Just like you really don't have to help me out with office mess, but here we are." You turn on the car, let it heat up for a bit before putting it in reverse to leave the lot. He gives you his address. "You and Jungkook always carpool?"

"We share a place."

"Oh. That makes more sense." You stop at one of the few stoplights in town even though no one is out at this hour. "How long you two been friends?"

"Kindergarten."

"Wow."

He laughs. "I know. We've seen the best and the worst of each other. Hard to find someone who will put up with you for that long."

"Yeah, cause you're such a trial."

You can feel his eyes on you as you drive. "You've only known me a couple years. I could be a nightmare."

"There's no way. You're way too nice. That nature is inherent. There's no way you've been anything but a sweetheart your whole life."

"You think I'm a sweetheart?"

You turn onto his street as you curse yourself for your careless words. You're exhausted and he's so much easier to talk to when you aren't thinking as hard.

"Yeah. Of course." If you say it confidently, he won't know you messed up. You pull up to the curb, putting the car into park. "Nice apartments."

He undoes his seatbelt before looking over at you. His gaze is thoughtful. Which worries you.

"Go on. Go away so I can go home and sleep."

He doesn't move.

"What?" You force a laugh, like his attention isn't making you nervous. It always does. He leans over, face not far from yours. He's smirking.

"You think I'm a sweetheart."

"We've established this. Now get out of my car."

"But you haven't asked what I think of you."

"I don't want to know."

"You sure?"

You laugh again, jumpy from his nearness. "I'm sure." You push his arm. "Go. I'll see you later."

His lips brush your cheek.

Is that your heartbeat you can hear?

"Okay. See you later." He moves back to open the door.

You press your hand to your cheek like you imagined it. Your brain is too filled with how soft his lips were to notice that he hasn't gotten out of the car yet.

"Hey."

He leansover the middle console, closer than seconds ago.

"Was that crossing a line?"

His voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Um…"

"I should have asked. I'm sorry." The puppy eyes.

"It's okay. You're okay. Just surprised me." You rub your cheek as though it'll keep that feeling there for longer. "We're both tired. It's okay." How many times can you say the word 'okay'? You pat his cheek playfully. "I could kiss you and then it wouldn't be weird?" You're joking.

"Sure."

You weren't serious, you don't think. With him looking at you like that, and how quiet it is in the car. Like you're the only two who exist in this moment.

"Kiss me." There's teasing in his voice. Like he doesn't think you'll do it. It makes you bristle, it makes you stubborn.

You take him by the chin to turn his face to the side before pressing your mouth to his cheek. You feel him tremble, unless that's you. You pull back, his scent overwhelming in the best way.

"See. we're fine." The waver in your voice is less convincing.

He doesn't say anything, but leans in again, carefully, as though giving you time to pull away.

You don't.

His mouth touches yours so lightly, you could pretend it was a dream. But then it lingers, presses harder. His hand cups your face, and you shakily hold on to his forearms as he kisses you again.

"Mingyu." You don't mean to say anything, but it slips out, a sigh of his name. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck, and you feel his tongue. Obeying the nonverbal request, you open your mouth and he slides in. You revel in how he tastes like he smells; so fucking good.

His other hand cups the other side of your face and he maneuvers you, so the angle of the kiss changes, dives deeper.

Your hand slides along his arm to his shoulder before drawing along his jaw. It's a delightful journey in topography, warmth radiating through his shirt and jacket, firmness of his muscles, slight roughness of minimal beard at his chin. The delicacy of the skin at his neck. This time, you know it's him that shudders. He nips at your bottom lip and you make an desperate sound.

When he draws back, he murmurs. "Good night."

"Night."

He's gone before you've fully opened your eyes. You watch him walk up to the apartments, unlocking the main door and walking in. He looks back at you through the glass door. You think he smiles and waves before disappearing farther into the building.

You don't remember the drive home.

© yoongihan 2026. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. seventeen belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

You're about to head back to your tiny little office (it was a closet, but you converted the pastoral office into your liquor and other storage—because taking an old church and turning it into a pub was scandalous enough to get people to come visit that official opening day) when Mingyu looks over. He grins, though it could hardly be at you because this man is always smiling. He gestures for you to join them behind the bar.

It's tempting.

He is always tempting.

But you shake your head, forcing a friendly smile to your lips so he knows that it isn't him (it's kinda him, but that's not his fault), before you quickly move away from the festivities for the relative calm and quiet of your office.

The books don't do themselves, sadly.

You're caught up in numbers that need to reconcile (why has the price of tonic water increased?) that you haven't noticed that the music is no longer bright and twangy, it's now gloomy and twangy.

"Hey."

His voice rolls over you, thick and sweet. You take half a second to school your face into being a normal business owner face before you look over at him.

"We okay out there?"

Mingyu takes that as invitation to come in and plop himself on the arm of the only other chair in the room than the one you are currently in. It's an old armchair, faded brocade and a lumpy seat cushion. Sitting on the arm is the more comfortable choice.

"We're fine now. Soonyoung is getting teary, so I asked Kook if he'd switch to something less sad. 'He Stopped Loving Her Today' is not going to keep people here." He pauses for a moment. "We could maybe use a third, but not for an entire shift."

You nod. "I'll fill in until I think we can handle another hire. Someone who doesn't want to work a solid eight hour shift." You do another one of those—I can be totally normal about how you look, hair messy from the hat, clinging to your skin, cheeks flush from the heat of the bar and patrons—smiles. "Thanks."

"Of course, madam boss."

"Do not call me that."

He laughs and says your name, and honestly that's worse.

"I think themed nights would be a hit."

"I'll consider it, Mingyu," you say cautiously. "It's probably overly stubborn of me, but I had a particular vibe in mind when I started this place. Themed nights…were not part of it."

He smirks as he stands up. "A change in plans can be fun, madam boss. Like, instead of holing yourself up in the office on Sunday, your one day off, you could come out with me and Kook and some others for a couple hours at the arcade. Let off some steam?"

You watch him even though you know better. No one does sincerity better than Mingyu. His looks would make a person think he's incapable of being genuine, but if you learned anything in the two years of running this place, and he being part of that, is that Kim Mingyu is a kind person. A thoughtful one.

You sometimes wish he was an arrogant asshole like his handsomeness should indicate.

"I'll think about it."

He pouts. "You're like a parent when you say that. It always means no."

You try not to bristle at his words. He is not only your employee, you're older than him (not that you could be his parent or anything, unless a person is having children at four years old!); a fact you cannot forget despite where your brain goes when you think about him.

"You know you can give me some of the admin stuff to do. I'm a pretty quick study."

God, he's the absolute worst.

"I know. I appreciate that. It's not unmanageable right now. If it ever gets so, I'll—" You make a face at your own words. "—think about it."

His smile is a little defeated, but he nods. "You do that. And like…take a break and come see people out there. They like you, you know. That's one of the reasons they come."

"Not you or Jungkook?" Your dead-pan delivery makes him giggle. Which is stupidly cute.

"Well…you did hire the best bartenders in a hundred mile radius."

"I did. Your incredible genetics have nothing to do with our steady customers."

"Madam boss, you flatter me."

You eye him as scolding-like as you can. He's still grinning, the reddened cheeks likely now from your mild compliment.

"Go on, don't leave Jungkook to wallow in all the admiration by himself."

"Like he's bothered by it," he quips before disappearing out the door and back to the bar. You doubt either man is bothered by the attention, though Jungkook definitely preens more than Mingyu when customers fawn.

Like clockwork, you leave your somewhat quiet and calm office space with twenty minutes until close. If you stare at numbers and lawyer-speak for another minute, you believe your brain might melt.

Front of house is dwindling down. Yes, it's a Saturday night, but it's also Carats Ridge which is not metropolitan in any sense. People have less than a twenty minute walk to their home, or ten minute drive by the two taxis in town. Sometimes you get the stubborn drunk who won't want to leave, but you have a decent relationship with the local force and can get them down here for stronger persuasion quickly.

You start on picking up empty glasses on the tables and various other nooks that patrons seem to find easier than just returning them to the bar. You can stack about five before the precarious nature makes you nervous. Mingyu can stack like twenty. You're sure that has more to do with how tall he is than skill.

"You know," Jungkook comes up behind you, relieving you of those glasses. "The perks of being boss means you don't have to help."

"That's not the kind of boss I ever want to be, Kook," you retort, taking the glasses back and side stepping him toward the bar. "Besides, if I do this, you can handle that." You nod toward the very drunk and sleepy-looking Soonyoung who looks like he's waiting for someone, but keeps teetering before catching his balance.

"He won't leave without Jihoon," Mingyu says as he takes the glasses from you and sets them one by one in the dishwasher behind the bar. "Which is good because I don't think he'd make it home in that state."

You tug off one of the rags over Mingyu's shoulder and start wiping down the back counter, lifting bottles and wiping them down.

"Kook's right. It's our job to clean up."

"Well, with my help, we'll close faster and then I'll get to bed sooner." You grin, looking up at him.

"An exciting Saturday night planned?" he teases and you don't bristle. Perhaps it's the fact that it's late, and you're thinking of taking him up on his offer about the arcade tomorrow.

Maybe you really like how he looks at the end of a shift; hair more frizzy than curly. Smile still bright, but softer from exhaustion. There's a sheen to his skin from the work of the bar.

You wonder how you acquired some of the most beautiful men to tend your pub.

You glance over to see Jungkook ushering Soonyoung and Jihoon out the front door. You turn as he sticks his head out the door to speak to someone before he shuts it and turns the look.

"Floor's mine!" he yells as though anyone wants to sweep and mop. You and Mingyu laugh at the enthusiasm.

"He never gets tired."

"Energizer bunny, that one," you murmur, lifting the bottle of Midori with a wrinkled nose. "Who is drinking this? I have to get more."

"That would be Jun."

"Do I know him?"

"Runs the pet store."

"Ohhh. He seemed more like a Negroni guy."

Mingyu hip-checks you as he moves to the other side of you, placing hot clean glasses on the top shelf (so freaking tall). "He drinks that too. But for whatever reason, he likes Midori on Saturday nights. Over ice."

"Gross."

"How'd you know he likes Negronis?"

You shrug. "People have all kinds of vibes. I pick up on the liquor ones."

"Yeah? That's how you knew I'd like a sour that when you interviewed me?"

"You remember that?" You lift the bottle of Jägermeister. "Jäger Bombs again?"

"Yep, we'll need more Red Bull. And Fireball."

"For?"

"Soonyoung really likes Oatmeal Cookie shots."

"I'm offended that more people don't drink our Guinness."

He laughs. "Purist."

"Speaking of." You set the Jägermeister bottle back down and slip by him to grab a glass and pour yourself a half pint of Guinness.

"For all employees?" Jungkook asks, pleading puppy eyes in full effect. He rests his elbows on the bar, chin in hands. "It'll make doing the floors so much more pleasant."

You don't usually, but again you're feeling a bit more loose tonight. You can feel Mingyu's eyes on you as you pour a 10 year Redbreast Irish whiskey for Jungkook. He whoops and points at you. "The best boss ever!" Before he takes his glass and heads toward the back for the broom and mop.

"For you?" You turn to look and Mingyu. He's refilling the dishwasher (a constant thing tending bar). "We don't have sours on tap."

"Half a pint of Guinness sounds good."

"Really?"

"I can handle a stout." He's pouting and you are delighted.

"Of course you can." You pour him one and hand it over. As he takes it, your fingers touch and you pull away too quickly to be casual.

You are such a mess sometimes.

He doesn't say anything but takes the tiniest sip of the beer. You laugh at the face he makes.

"Come on, I'll make you something you like. Cocktail? Something not too sweet or too strong." You think. "Paloma."

"i wouldn't mind a little sweet."

"Then I'll make it with the grapefruit soda instead of grapefruit juice." You take the barely drank Guinness from him, and set up a quick Paloma for him. He leans his hip against the back bar, watching.

"Why don't you bartend too? You're good at it."

"I don't like people."

"You do so."

You pour the drink and hand it over to him. He sips it. "Good?"

"Really good."

You take the Guinness with you as you slide past him to continue wiping down the bottles. As you take another swallow, you see him glance over, odd look on his face.

"What?"

"That's…that's the one I was drinking."

Your face heats, but you shrug quickly. "Can't waste Guinness. It's against my religion."

He laughs before leaving the bar to gather the few plates and non-glasses to take to the back. You look at the Guinness.

It's not that weird, right? It's not like you have the biggest crush on someone who works for you and drinking from his glass is the closest you'll ever get to kissing him.

It's not like that.

The rest of closing runs smoothly, perhaps too well as you succumb and let Jungkook have another two fingers of whiskey. The man is thrilled.

"I'll lock up," you say when the floor is clean, still damp from the mop, the counters no longer sticky, and the lights all off but the emergency ones. You note that both your employees are heading to the front door and not the back. "Mingyu…"

He turns back to you as Jungkook opens the front door.

"What is it, madam boss?"

You open your mouth to tell him that you will meet them at the arcade tomorrow, but then you notice that Jungkook went out the front door for a very specific reason.

Waiting, laughing and looking more beautiful than you will ever pull off, are two women, dressed much more in line with a proper nightclub than a pub like yours.

"Hurry up, Gyu!" Jungkook calls, and the two women echo him. It strikes you, not unlike the anvil in classic cartoons, that Mingyu has someone waiting for him; to be social, to flirt, to most likely sleep with him.

He probably asked you to the arcade out of pity. You don't scream 'social butterfly'.

He says your name when you don't say anything, while you absorb your foolish thoughts and humiliation, even if it's only in your head.

"I, uh, wanted to say thank you about the invite tomorrow. But I can't." You force your eyes from the open door to him. "Go on. Have a good night."

He clicks his tongue, like there's something he wants to say, but the mini crowd outside calls for him again.

"Better get going. Don't want to keep them waiting."

"If you change your mind," he begins, walking backward toward the door, fiddling with his ridiculous cowboy hat. "You'd be welcome."

You nod before letting out a long sigh when the front door is finally closed. You hurry to it and turn the bolt lock. You hear laughter and talking on the other side. It's life, fun and social and interesting.

You push away from the door, latching the chain and knob lock. You walk toward your office and the back door, setting the alarm before you exit.

It's not like you plan it. You mean to run your errands in the main part of town, at least not hole yourself up in the office like Mingyu accused you of. Groceries, odds and ends for the week ahead. Maybe even the bookstore for something to take your mind off everything.

The bookstore, a couple doors down from the arcade.

You don't think you could lie to yourself so well, but you can. You definitely could have taken a different path through town to get to The Bookery. But here you are, walking oh so normally past the arcade in the early afternoon on Sunday.

You hear his laugh, and Jungkook's 'die!' with delight. There are other laughs and shouts above the din of digital game music and crashing sounds.

You allow yourself one look over through the open doors. It's too dark to see much, the lights from all the games and consoles disturb any sort of clear visual.

You turn back to the sidewalk. Just as well.

You're well past the arcade, and you can see the bookstore on the corner when you hear it.

Your name.

In his voice.

You keep walking because you're sure you've lost your mind some time in the recent past, and maybe you're just hearing him now.

But then he runs in front of you, halting your path toward the bookstore.

"Hey." He accentuates that greeting with a run of his hand through his hair. He looks so good, you want to shut your eyes and pretend he's not there. Black jeans, white t-shirt, so simple and yet so hot.

"Hello Mingyu, bye Mingyu," you stutter out, trying to go around him. He grabs your arm and you freeze. It's not like working in close quarters means you have no contact with him. But it's minimal. Professional.

It's not his whole hand encircling your forearm.

"Hey, where you off to in such a hurry? Come play skeeball with me?" He's grinning down at you, looking perfectly relaxed and casual.

"Can't. Sorry." You try and tug away, but he doesn't let go. His smile falls and he ducks his head to look more closely at you.

"You can't spare one game?"

"I need to go. I don't…"

His face is nearer than it needs to be. He knows the power of those big brown eyes, that slight pout.

It's so entirely frustrating.

"I don't have time to spend with my employees." You pull back so hard you dislodge yourself from his hold and he stumbles, eyes widening at your rising voice. "Okay? I don't know why you want me to hang out. It's not like you're lacking in company. I see the women you and Jungkook take home. You don't need your employer hindering your conquests."

"What are you talking about?"

It's exasperating, how naive and clueless he seems. How stupidly sweet and beautiful he always is.

"I don't want to hang around a fuckboy, alright?"

You don't mean to say it. You really don't. You actually pride yourself on filtering your thoughts before they come out of your mouth.

You wish you could take it back. The moment you see him half-laugh without joy, like he's bewildered by your words. A shake of his head.

And then quiet.

"Okay." His voice is whisper-soft, but you can still hear it among the passing cars, and talking behind you. "Yeah. Okay." He walks around you, hands tucked into his pockets.

You force yourself to not watch him, but continue on your way. You walk brusquely and enter the Bookery with a decided air.

Jeonghan, who works there nearly every day looks up. "Welcome—"

And you sit right down on the floor.

Mingyu only works Wednesday through Saturday at the pub, which in some ways is great. You get a breather from his presence, how he makes you think both endearing and naughty things. It's not great because you continue to relive the argument you had with him outside the arcade.

You wanted to talk to someone about it. But you're weren't kidding about not really liking people. These past two years have been spent starting up the pub and making sure it's a profitable venture, which leaves little time in which to be social outside of work. You know those who come in for a drink on the regular (Carats Ridge isn't a big town after all), the cooks in the pub kitchen, and your bartenders.

Jeonghan at the bookstore, was kind enough when you first came in, but when you tried to explain what had happened, he looked amused and annoyed (he can do both simultaneously very well).

"No one wants to be called a fuckboy, not even actual fuckboys."

"I know, it's stupid. I was so frustrated that he wouldn't just let me be and—"

"He's not, by the way."

You stare at Jeonghan for far longer than socially acceptable. "What?"

"Mingyu. He's not a fuckboy."

"I—"

"Jungkook is. Like completely. Festival season for him is like Halloween for kids." He shrugs as he straightens up one of the genre tables.

"But they're friends."

"Are you exactly like your friends?"

The question is perfectly understandable, but it reminds you again that you have spent the last two years much more focused on work than play.

"Point."

"Okay then. Now if you're not going to buy or turn in anything for credit, go…do whatever it is you do on a Sunday."

Charming to the last.

You're nervous once Wednesday comes around. You haven't received any communication from Mingyu, though that is not unusual. You don't talk outside of work, no matter how often he tries to get to you to do anything social.

But the lack of interaction makes you jittery.

You're in the store room, checking inventory when you hear the back door open. It's Jungkook chatting and you tune out his words, though you're listening for a second voice.

You don't hear it.

"Hey!" Jungkook pops his head in. "Need a hand?"

"I'm good." You glance at him, looking for the taller. "Mingyu with you?"

"Yeah, he's already prepping at the bar. Have fun." He laughs, carefree as always and leaves, disappearing toward front of house.

So Mingyu is here, but didn't greet you.

No big deal. He might not have noticed you in here, or didn't feel friendly today. It's not a requirement, of course, that they greet you.

It's just he always has.

You keep taking inventory, marking down what seems to be getting used the fastest and start toward your office. But you detour to the front.

No reason.

You push through the employees-only door to see Jungkook moving the chairs off the tables as Mingyu slices up fruit and vege for garnish.

He glances up when the door closes with a swish. Eyes meet and you watch as no smile graces his lips, nor do his eyes sparkle.

He nods in greeting before returning to the cutting of limes.

"All good?" you ask, wincing at how your voice sounds. It's a little shaky. Maybe that's exhaustion from moving bottles for the last hour.

Sure.

"All good."

There is no 'madam boss' or even your name.

Jungkook sees you. "Need anything?"

"No, um, no. Just know that the Red Bull shipment hasn't come in yet, so yager bombs might be a no go after awhile."

"Got it." Cheerful, always cheerful JK. The brief time you spoke, you 've watched Mingyu, who never changes rhythm.

"Heard." Mingyu nods again, but doesn't look up.

You really don't have a reason to stay out here, so you turn and head to your office, with inventory sheet in hand.

Logically, it could be anything. Even Mingyu can have bad days. But except for one or two that you can think of…he's never been like this.

It's definitely your fault.

You should apologize. Obviously. That's the thing to do.

But, you think as you sit at your little metal desk with the big dent in the side from a wayward keg, is that a good idea? You've spent these last two years attempting to put boundaries in place between you and your employees. You've been a manager before, but not an owner. You want to be friendly those who work for you, but you know the consequences of lines being crossed.

If Mingyu keeps his distance from you, isn't that better? That way you aren't as affected by his kindness, humor, and sizzling charisma. Better to have him treat you professionally.

Even if you really should apologize.

You spend most of the evening in your office, working through some ideas, some numbers, and general bills. Wednesday nights aren't known as a hopping night for the pub. Tuesdays are trivia, Thursdays—ladies night, and of course the 'it's the weekend' vibes for Friday and Saturday.

You have yet to figure out anything to do with Wednesday nights.

You can hear Mingyu's plea for themed nights in your head and you shake it, as though that can rid you of him.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning at yourself. A contradiction in every way. You want him, but you don't. You like him, but he frustrates you.

God, you annoy yourself.

You groan again before letting your head fall to the desk with a light thud.

"You okay?"

You look up, half-convinced maybe you imagined his voice because he's always in your mind. But no, there he is, at your door, looking concerned.

He dressed simple tonight. Black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. You will yourself not to take any more stock of his appearance.

"Yeah, of course," you say, straightening up and standing quickly at his presence. He nods, the concern fading until you get the almost blank expression from earlier. "You guys good?"

"Gonna grab a few bottles."

"I can grab them." You move toward him and the door. He doesn't get out of your way.

"I got it. We aren't slammed."

"But—" You look up at him since he isn't moving. "I can help."

"I'm good." Then he moves, stepping back and walking toward the store room. The physical distance feels immense as you watch him go.

Fuck it.

"Mingyu."

He stops at the store room door, looking back.

"I'm sorry."

He tilts his head to the side before walking into the store room when you don't say anything more. You follow, hoping that Jungkook is perfectly fine manning the front without either of you.

Mingyu sticks a bottle of vodka and rum under one arm as he moves to another shelf.

"I'm sorry."

"I heard you." He doesn't even look over at you.

"You don't believe me?"

"I can't say as I do when I'm not really sure what you're apologizing for." The voice is steady, not cold necessarily, but there is a strong lack of his usual warmth.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you on Sunday."

He turns at that, glancing before grabbing another Triple Sec. "Okay."

You know what to say. Why are you being so stubborn about this? Honesty is the best policy, but you don't want to say too much.

He doesn't need to know everything.

You step into his path, right in front of the door so he can't escape easily. You think that, but he could probably shove you aside and not drop a single bottle.

"I'm sorry I yelled. And I'm sorry I called you…" It's embarrassing to even use the word. "That I called you a fuckboy."

He stares for a few seconds, long enough that you get fidgety.

Can he just forgive you?

"What, Mingyu? What else can I say?" That you're obsessed with him, and it's not fair to him because any overture of friendship he makes means too much to you? That his general kindness you're afraid will go to your heart and head?

"Do you really think I'm a fuckboy? Cause i gotta say, that hurts way more than you yelling at me. I can handle you yelling."

There it is. Under the calm voice, and serene face: the hurt. It colors his words, and paints melancholy on his skin.

You wish he was mad. It'd be easier.

"No. I'm sorry. I don't think that. And even if I did, it's not my place to say anything. I'm your boss and—"

"You could be my friend."

It's your turn to stare at him.

"I—I don't know. That can get…dicey."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I'm your boss. And I have the power to fire you. Or make your work life miserable."

"But you wouldn't. I mean, you wouldn't fire me unless I did a fireable offence. Which fair. And you'd have to work really hard to make this job miserable." He takes a step toward you. "I don't see why we can't be friends."

The eyes. The doggamn gorgeous eyes looking at you like you matter. You thank whoever is in charge that Mingyu decided to be a bartender and not a politician. The evil he could have wreaked with that kind of power.

"You make a good argument, Kim."

He smiles now. "Yeah? My folks would love to hear that. They wished I'd gone into law." He shifts one of the bottles and you realize you have definitely held him up for way too long. Shuffling out of the way, you reach for the precariously held Triple Sec. He lets you.

"Come on, madam boss. You can make Jun his Negroni."

As you follow him back to the bar, you don't think that you've actually resolved anything. The unpleasant tension between the two of you, sure. But your one-sided tension, of another nature entirely, is still in full effect.

But he can never know.

You see Jeonghan at the bar when you walk out with Mingyu. He has a small glass of a dark red. You keep a bottle of port just for him.

He lifts his glass when he sees you. With a pointed glance at Mingyu (who is unaware and trying to take the next round of orders), he wriggles his eyebrows once you make eye contact. You shoot him a look, but it's not like he's wrong.

You hope Jeonghan with his weird intuitiveness is the only one who can see how smitten you are.

The next time you're invited out by your bartenders, you say yes. This time it's to the bowling alley for a couple games. Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung are also in attendance. You eat obviously once-frozen pizza and drink mediocre beer, but you laugh a lot. You're on a team with Soonyoung and Jungkook; the first who is worse than you are at hitting the pins and the second who makes up for both your and Soonyoung's failures.

The other team, of Seokmin, Seungkwan and Mingyu, are much more evenly matched. Pins are hit and only a few gutter balls.

You're laughing when Seokmin dances chaotically after hitting two pins, like it's a feat of epic proportion. Mingyu plops down next to you, offering you the second beer he holds. You take it, purposely ignoring that your fingers brush his in the exchange.

"Having fun?" he asks, close because the Carats Ridge bowling alley is loud.

You point to your face. "What do you think?" Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You haven't thought about the pub in nearly an hour. That's a record for you.

He grins, tapping your beer glass with his. "It's nice seeing you laugh so much." He leans back in the plastic seat. "Pretty."

Your smile freezes. "What?"

He looks over. "You're pretty when you laugh." He chuckles when you don't say anything. "That can't be new information to you. You're always pretty, but I like it best when you're happy." He doesn't say anymore, but gets up as it's his turn to bowl.

Pretty? He calls you pretty like it's normal?

You take a swig of beer. You won't survive this 'friendship'.

You are sweating. Just down right sweating in not appealing fashion (is there any appealing fashion?). Mingyu laughs at you and your panting.

"It's only one small box."

"It's labeled books, Kim, so fuck you."

It goes to show how much hanging out with Mingyu, Jungkook, Seokmin, Soongyoung, and Seungkwan has loosened you up because you would never say that to someone you employed normally.

But moving Seungkwan into his new loft in Carats Ridge downtown with all of you helping with the absurd amount of stuff he owns changes things. And you aren't weak by any means. Owning a pub means moving boxes of liquor bottles regularly, but that's work.

This is off time and includes stairs.

You loathe stairs, particularly the ones you are traversing right now.

You grumble your entire way up the three flights, all the while Seokmin is excitedly telling a story about fishing or something to Mingyu, and Jungkook is whistling. When you make it again to the apartment, after Mingyu has set down his two boxes (the showoff) he reaches for yours.

You let him. And he winks at you.

Seungkwan is making lemonade in his new kitchen, so you beeline to grab a glass to hide your fluster.

You've been doing so well. You work with him, hang out with him…surely there would be a tolerance built up.

But apparently not.

You do enjoy this change in dynamic. The bowling, the arcade, the coffeeshop, the late nights closing the pub with your friend. You know Jungkook better, too (and yes, Jeonghan was right, he really is a complete fuckboy). You know your patrons better; Soonyoung is chaos, Seokmin is sunshine, and Seungkwan is sass.

You know him better. Mingyu is still the most attractive man you've ever seen, he's still a hard worker. He's still sweet, but now you know that he's sweet to his friends too, not just you. You know that he and Jungkook finish each other's sentences when drunk. That he didn't want to do university because he likes being active and sitting in classrooms was not for him. That as a side gig, he does photography, both artistically and for promotions around town. That he's touchy with those he's cares about; hugs, squeezes of the shoulder and arm.

And that includes you.

"Uhhhh, you finished that glass really quick," Seungkwan says when you pour yourself a bit more. "You thirsty?"

You glance over at the rest of guys trying to figure out how to put together the entertainment center that Seungkwan bought. Soonyoung has ditched his shirt, as has Jungkook. Seokmin tied his around his forehead to catch sweat.

And Mingyu? He's just in a tank, arms all out like it's open season.

"Yeah. Really thirsty."

"Madam boss, come over here. We need your tiny hands!"

You set your glass down with a look at Seungkwan. "Stupidly thirsty."

"Kook and I are finished."

You look up from the spreadsheet on your computer screen. Mingyu is half in your office. He's holding the doorframe with one hand, leaning in like a kid about to go play hooky. You smile even though the spreadsheet does not make you happy.

He does.

"Okay. Just make sure the front is locked. I'll lock up everything else."

He comes all the way in, sitting in his usual spot on the arm of the other chair. "It's almost one am, madam boss."

You mock-glare at him. "I can see that very clearly on my computer screen, Kim Mingyu."

He smirks. "So you won't argue that you should just come with us now?"

"I'm almost done. Go on. I'll see you Wednesday."

He doesn't get up, but pulls out his phone and taps on it.

"Mingyu."

"Madam boss."

"What are you doing?"

"Telling Kook to go on without me. That I'm gonna stay."

You try and send another glare his way, but you doubt it's remotely effective.

"And he's okay with that?"

"See you!" You hear outside your office door before you hear the back exit open and shut.

"Apparently."

"I rarely see you two without the other."

He stands now and comes up to your desk. "Give me something. Something I can do to help."

"This is just bookkeeping."

"Okay. Give me something else then."

You let your chin sit in your hand, looking at him as leans his hands on the edge of your desk. He's clearly as or more exhausted as you are. Saturday nights behind bar are not for the faint of heart.

"You sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

You take a deep breath and move to grab one of the boxes of papers near your desk chair. You lift it and offer it to him.

"It's dumb work."

"I can handle dumb work."

"I need it in order, chronologically. Divide by vendor, and put it in order by date, oldest at the bottom to most recent."

"You got it." He moves with the box, sitting on the floor, using the other chair as a backrest. You think to offer him your spot, but the computer is here and it wouldn't make much sense.

You go back to numbers on your screen. You fiddle with your browser, putting on some quiet instrumental music. He smiles when it starts to play, glancing at you before going back to the many many papers crammed in that box.

"Mingyu?"

He looks up, surrounded by stacks of papers.

"It's after two am. We should go."

"But I'm not done." The almost-pout is there and you laugh, though it's mostly air with no sound. Your body aches as you stretch when you stand up before saving all your work and shutting down the computer.

"But you've done a lot."

"I could come in on Tuesday? Finish it up?"

"No."

He stands up as well, all six-feet-plus of him. "Why not?"

"Because helping me right now probably put you in overtime. No more."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you continue.

"But thank you. It's a good start."

He makes a face. "You don't have to pay—"

"No. You are not saying that. That's not even an option." You point at him threateningly. "Stop arguing. We need to go."

He huffs a sigh, and you smile at the petulance. You gather you purse, and zip-up hoodie. He pushes his hair back, sliding on a cap backwards and follows you out as you turn off the lights and check the kitchen, then that the store room is locked.

"Check the front?"

"Yep."

You lock your office and he comes back, half-jogging.

"Kook can be trusted. It's locked."

"Have you logged out?"

"I did before I walked into the office." He holds up his hands preemptively. "Don't get mad. I knew I was off the clock."

"I will add it manually when I do payroll." You open the back door and wait for him to walk out.

"You don't—"

"Yes I do."

He waits behind you as you set the alarm and open and shut the door before locking it. He leans against the building as you turn the key.

"It could just be a favor. As a friend."

"I do not ask my friends to help me with work, as a favor." You start toward your car, feeling him keep up with you. "Mingyu, I walk to my car on my own every night you aren't here."

"Don't tell me stuff like that. I'll worry now."

"It's Carats Ridge." You open your car door and toss your purse into the passenger seat before shutting the door and looking up at him.

"Still dangerous."

You roll your eyes and pat him on the chest. "Thank you anyway."

He covers your hand with his, making you still. "You're welcome." He leans down so your faces are nearly the same level. "Text me when you're home?"

"No."

"Stubborn."

"Independent and a full grown adult."

He shakes his head like you're the difficult one. His hand is still over yours on his chest. He squeezes it before straightening up and letting go, so your hand drops to your side, tingling from the prolonged touch. He starts to walk away and you realize something.

"Wait." The parking lot is empty save your car. "Are you walking?"

"It's not far."

"It's kind of cold." And he's wearing a thin jacket. "I'll drive you. Don't argue with me." You open the passenger door you just shut and grab your purse before walking to the other side with it and sliding into the driver's seat. You set your purse in the back behind your seat as he gets in and shut his door.

"You really don't have to."

"Just like you really don't have to help me out with office mess, but here we are." You turn on the car, let it heat up for a bit before putting it in reverse to leave the lot. He gives you his address. "You and Jungkook always carpool?"

"We share a place."

"Oh. That makes more sense." You stop at one of the few stoplights in town even though no one is out at this hour. "How long you two been friends?"

"Kindergarten."

"Wow."

He laughs. "I know. We've seen the best and the worst of each other. Hard to find someone who will put up with you for that long."

"Yeah, cause you're such a trial."

You can feel his eyes on you as you drive. "You've only known me a couple years. I could be a nightmare."

"There's no way. You're way too nice. That nature is inherent. There's no way you've been anything but a sweetheart your whole life."

"You think I'm a sweetheart?"

You turn onto his street as you curse yourself for your careless words. You're exhausted and he's so much easier to talk to when you aren't thinking as hard.

"Yeah. Of course." If you say it confidently, he won't know you messed up. You pull up to the curb, putting the car into park. "Nice apartments."

He undoes his seatbelt before looking over at you. His gaze is thoughtful. Which worries you.

"Go on. Go away so I can go home and sleep."

He doesn't move.

"What?" You force a laugh, like his attention isn't making you nervous. It always does. He leans over, face not far from yours. He's smirking.

"You think I'm a sweetheart."

"We've established this. Now get out of my car."

"But you haven't asked what I think of you."

"I don't want to know."

"You sure?"

You laugh again, jumpy from his nearness. "I'm sure." You push his arm. "Go. I'll see you later."

His lips brush your cheek.

Is that your heartbeat you can hear?

"Okay. See you later." He moves back to open the door.

You press your hand to your cheek like you imagined it. Your brain is too filled with how soft his lips were to notice that he hasn't gotten out of the car yet.

"Hey."

He leansover the middle console, closer than seconds ago.

"Was that crossing a line?"

His voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Um…"

"I should have asked. I'm sorry." The puppy eyes.

"It's okay. You're okay. Just surprised me." You rub your cheek as though it'll keep that feeling there for longer. "We're both tired. It's okay." How many times can you say the word 'okay'? You pat his cheek playfully. "I could kiss you and then it wouldn't be weird?" You're joking.

"Sure."

You weren't serious, you don't think. With him looking at you like that, and how quiet it is in the car. Like you're the only two who exist in this moment.

"Kiss me." There's teasing in his voice. Like he doesn't think you'll do it. It makes you bristle, it makes you stubborn.

You take him by the chin to turn his face to the side before pressing your mouth to his cheek. You feel him tremble, unless that's you. You pull back, his scent overwhelming in the best way.

"See. we're fine." The waver in your voice is less convincing.

He doesn't say anything, but leans in again, carefully, as though giving you time to pull away.

You don't.

His mouth touches yours so lightly, you could pretend it was a dream. But then it lingers, presses harder. His hand cups your face, and you shakily hold on to his forearms as he kisses you again.

"Mingyu." You don't mean to say anything, but it slips out, a sigh of his name. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck, and you feel his tongue. Obeying the nonverbal request, you open your mouth and he slides in. You revel in how he tastes like he smells; so fucking good.

His other hand cups the other side of your face and he maneuvers you, so the angle of the kiss changes, dives deeper.

Your hand slides along his arm to his shoulder before drawing along his jaw. It's a delightful journey in topography, warmth radiating through his shirt and jacket, firmness of his muscles, slight roughness of minimal beard at his chin. The delicacy of the skin at his neck. This time, you know it's him that shudders. He nips at your bottom lip and you make an desperate sound.

When he draws back, he murmurs. "Good night."

"Night."

He's gone before you've fully opened your eyes. You watch him walk up to the apartments, unlocking the main door and walking in. He looks back at you through the glass door. You think he smiles and waves before disappearing farther into the building.

You don't remember the drive home.

© yoongihan 2026. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. seventeen belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

The attention towards your spending habits as a couple came to light when one evening, Mingyu decided to surprise you with his own take of said fried chicken. Being the amazing cook that he is, he nearly outdid Mrs. Kwon’s recipe. You immediately looked through the receipts, did a calculation and total of all your spendings. To your horror, you sat your husband down to tell him that you could have saved nearly 700,000 KRW if you had just had some self-discipline.

So, you sell the eyesore of a coffee table, use the money to get a good deal for both a new coffee table and shoe rack from IKEA. You get your own espresso machine later and make use of the tumblers your cousin bought you for your wedding day.

What you've both discovered with budgeting was, there were certain items you could save up on by simply doing it yourselves. Initially, you were hesitant about the prospect of doing a terrible job with DIYs that you end up spending more for the damage than saving. Luckily, Mingyu is very good with his hands. Any task or skill he'd put his mind into would always come out great.

You've both started baking your own bread for example. Just last week you've learned to culture your own yogurt.  Mingyu, on the other hand, took up some carpentry classes for the sake of custom-building furniture in the odd corners of your home. In the beginning, you thought it was a stretch, not really keen on competing with Nara Smith. But considering that you were both starting on your savings goal for a new home, you let him.

Nearly a year into marriage and budgeting for two had been an adventure, and you've learned it at times didn't have to be strictly practical. You had fun with it too.

Tonight, for example, you gave into your week-long urge to dye your hair and your husband offers to do it for you.

"I never do these steps when I dye my own hair," you mutter, Mingyu scoops a generous dollop of vaseline on his fingers. The rough pads of his fingers smooth the product over the skin near your hairline.

"Yeah, me either," he whispers as if his concentration would break if he was any louder.

You snicker, imagining seventeen-year-old Mingyu and his chestnut brown hair that earned him a suspension and that one picture Wonwoo showed you of Mingyu at twenty-years old with the box-bleach hair fail.

Your husband immediately knew where your mind went with that sparkle of mirth in your eyes. He groans with a pout, "Don’t. "

You giggle once he reaches the back of your ears, "I didn’t even say anything!"

“Your face carries all the subtitles,” he huffs out before carefully applying towards the last few areas of skin the hair dye would touch.

It's incredibly endearing, you think, that Mingyu chose to do this extra step so you'd avoid the annoyance over the stains on your skin without the protection of the vaseline.

"Thank you, babe," you shoot him a dopey smile as he secures a plastic bag over your (his) old t-shirt. The man only smiles, quickly pecking your nose before slipping gloves over his hands. He looks over the bathroom counter. Plastic over the tiled surface, mixed hair dye, a brush, a comb, and towel.

You help him out by sectioning your hair and setting up a show for you both to watch from your phone. You don't even watch him brush the hair dye on to the first locks of hair. Simply setting your eyes on the show playing on your screen with full trust.

"It doesn't smell...strong or chemical-y," you note, briefly glancing at the mirror to see that your husband has covered half of your hair.

He smirks proudly, tapping at the box, "It's ammonia free~"

"Cool," you say, raising a disbelieving brow at him towards the mirror, "How'd you know about this stuff?"

"Only two failed hair-dyeing can teach ya."

"Oh, I'm starting to think you shouldn't be doing this."

“Please, that’s the exact reason why I should be doing this.”

You give him a look but let him be. You know how careful Mingyu is when it comes to you anyway.

An hour later, you’re drying your hair while your husband cleans up the bathroom of all paraphernalia and stains from the dye. True to his word, the color looks promising, a little darker than expected and you notice a section that’s uneven but you didn’t mind, it was at the back of your head anyway. It still scratches the itch for a new look without anything drastic. You catch Mingyu glancing towards the mirror from time to time, like he’s anxious you’ll hate it as if you didn’t choose the color and do this to yourself. You find it cute.

You also find it cute to tease him too, so you keep your expression neutral and finish up drying your hair.

Mingyu looms behind while you brush your hair and mindlessly style it to frame your face. You love it. The longer you look at it, the more the darker shade grows on you that you decide you love it more than your first choice.

You don’t say anything though, even when your husband compliments you. You only hum and after a while, release a deep sigh. His eyes hold that glassiness in them like it does when he’s worried and he gnaws on his bottom lip a little.

“You don’t like it?”

You tilt your head, doing your absolute best not to crumble at the way his voice sounded so small. But you stifle your smile and pull out the uneven section of hair, “Well…you missed a spot.”

A low whine escapes the back of his throat and he looks at you through the mirror while brushing his fingers through your hair. Wrapping his arms around you, he nuzzles his face into your neck in apology.

“But you look really pretty,” he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Would it help if we dyed your eyebrows too?”

That’s when you burst out in giggles unable to resist his pout—which grows 10x worse once he realized your ploy.

“Bully,” he pinches your side. You squeal, tilting your head up and reaching with one hand to cup his face and kiss the corner of his mouth. Then you keep pressing kisses anywhere your craned neck could reach till his mock offended expression falls away.

“Sorry, babe,” you smile, “I love it. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Of course, baby,” Mingyu kisses the top of your head, a pleased smile stretching across his lips when his choice of brand of dye doesn’t smell of chemicals but rather a soft scent of a fruity conditioner. “The color really brings out your eyes.”

You laugh a little, endlessly amused and endeared how Mingyu speaks to you like he’s your girlfriend. You both take a few seconds to admire his handiwork. He hasn’t let go of you yet, swaying your bodies from side to side while you put away your things. 

“Do you think our kids will have your eyes?” your husband asks.

You nearly drop your hairdryer along with the sudden swoop of your stomach at the question. You pause and sputter out a quiet, “What?”

Looking back at the mirror, you notice that he has that far off gaze in his eyes. He shrugs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I mean, I’d love it if they would, y’know? Or your nose—especially your smile,” there’s a ghost of a cheeky smirk on his mouth, “But if they got my height though. Oh, the world is not prepared.”

A flush creeps up to the back of your neck and even while your brain is trying to process the conversation, you answer him dumbly, “Yeah…sure.”

You talked about kids before you got married. Only in passing and mostly in light hearted conversations such as:

“Imagine if our kid sees this photo then calls it vintage.”

“Hope the clumsiness isn’t genetic. I’d hate that for our kid.”

“Babe, can you imagine Soonyoung wants a whole ass baseball team? Think we can top that?”

Those count…right?

With the way Mingyu talks about children, sends you random cute baby reels, and plays with his little cousins—you know that he’s great with kids and that he’d probably want them in the future.

Still, that was when you were dating.

Being married makes the prospect even more real and nearer than you thought. And maybe Mingyu was right that your face carries all the subtitles because he suddenly pales.

“Oh baby…we…sorry...we never talked about it, haven’t we?” he composes himself and loosens his hold because it looked like you wanted to hurtle towards the toilet and vomit.

“I-…yeah …I guess?” you manage to mumble.

It was not like you and Mingyu couldn’t talk about serious topics. It just caught you off-guard and quite frankly you were still trying to imagine what it would be like to have child with the current set up you have now. Everything was just so easy with Mingyu but the idea that you’re married and doing life together after years of self-preservation--it was still something you’re getting used to. Now if you think about having a child to the mix—

You meet Mingyu’s eyes in the mirror, eyes naturally drawn to the glint of his wedding ring from the hand he has on your bicep.

Then your shoulders relax.

When you had your first heartbreak, you had thought that this wouldn’t be possible for you. No one could care for you better than you could care for yourself. And while your parents did their best for you, their marriage was not one you’d want for yourself. Coupled with having unhappily married co-workers and speaking with divorced ladies that constantly warned you about the woes of marriage—you unconsciously villainize the concept of union. Besides, the only happy marriages you personally know of are ones that don’t have kids.

You didn’t want to be spending evenings, exhausted after work explaining how the stove works. You didn’t want to be the one deciding which color fits the kitchen or argue over the difference between titanium white and eggshell white. You didn’t want to endure the broken doorknob for two weeks all the while you nag and remind your husband to get it fixed. You didn’t want to be that one exhausted mother with a newborn having to explain to her husband how to prepare a baby formula when all you want is a five-minute shower.

You weren’t keen on being on your own in a marriage when you’ve done better being self-dependent your whole life.

But then there was Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu and his blanket hogging tendencies. Mingyu and the random songs he belts when he potters around the apartment. Mingyu and how he inhales your three spoons in one go. Mingyu and his low whiny voice that increases in 1.75x speed when he’s convincing you to humor him. Mingyu and him risking getting his tongue burnt when he’s too excited to try something you’ve made. Mingyu and his stupid little urgent waddles and cheers from the counter to the freezer when he’s purchased your favorite ice cream.

Being in love with Mingyu was easy. He was the easiest ‘yes’ and the easiest ‘I do.’ Mingyu made marriage look easy and fun.

Because Mingyu beats you to your alarm to cook breakfast when he knows you prefer slower mornings. Mingyu, who proactively listens to you ramble about how you should re-do the kitchen and take you to trips to IKEA and Costco all the while sharing his preferences. Mingyu, who always cleans up and never leaves the dishes out until they’re all piled up because to him it’s an eyesore. Mingyu, who makes every grocery trip interesting and fun because he’s simply giddy with the thought of purchasing things for your home together. Mingyu who notices how often you scoot towards his pillow in your sleep then purchases the same exact kind for your own side of the bed.

Mingyu is always paying attention even towards the things you don’t know you need.

All of the sudden you realize; marriage was fun because it was him.

He was a good man, a wonderful husband—and without a doubt, you know he’d make an incredible father.

“Baby?”

“Mm?”

“Were you listening to me?”

You don’t realize that you weren’t listening to him nervously ramble at all. Your husband’s gnawing his bottom lip, voice softer and lower than usual. The same tone he uses when he’s unsure. Is this okay? Did I do good? What do you think of this color? Do you like it? 

Taking a deep breath with newfound reassurance, you spin in his hold and drape your arms over his shoulders. You look up at him with adoring eyes, quietly apologizing before asking him to repeat it.

“ ‘S okay, honey,” Mingyu squeezes your waist, “I just… asked how you felt about having kids? I know we haven’t been married for long. But you…make me love life more. I love everything about you and I love everything about us. You make me feel like we can do anything.” 

 Your husband’s eyes stare deeply on your own and he swallows, licking his lips, “Of course, whatever your answer is, it won’t change that fact.”

You play with the collar of his shirt, “And what about you?”

There’s a sweet smile that quirks up the corner of his lips, and even when he doesn’t tell you, you know what his answer is. He’d rather just not say in fear of pressuring you to agree with him.

Everything about this used to feel like a task, a call that revokes your freedom, and takes away your happiness.

But then there was Kim Mingyu.

Before him, you realize that you didn’t think you’d get married because you were too afraid of neglect and unfulfillment that you ultimately depend on your own. Before him, the thought of bringing life into a world where you’d exhaust everything for them only to have your partner do the bare minimum would be unfair for the child. 

It wasn’t a question of what you want but rather the unease of slipping back into relying on yourself for these big responsibilities.

Yet of all the people you could choose to share them with, you were glad it was him.

Because with Kim Mingyu all those fears remain  “before him.”

A child, half you and half him—it fills you with a foreign warmth you can’t name. You feel your cheeks ache at the thought of a mini version of yourselves, running around and picking up on your habits. You try to put a face on them and while you know your husband thought it first–you wish they’d have his kind eyes. And it's bizarre how there exists a love for a life that has yet to exist simply because they’re yours –and Mingyu’s.

So you shoot him a bashful grin before pecking his chin because the poor guy looked like he would faint if you kept him on edge like this. 

“Yes, Gyu.”

The answer doesn’t make sense and you belatedly realize you don’t know how to answer his question. But his eyebrows raise and he blinks, “Really?”

His smile stretches out into a full grin as you nod and he just keeps asking you over and over again if you were serious.

And with how casually and out of the blue he’s brought the topic, you think it's only fair to answer just as chaotically. You reach for the drawer behind you, pull out the packets of your birth control pills, and toss them into the bin, all the while you maintain eye contact.

Mingyu’s surprised giggles fill the bathroom. The kind of giggle you’d never expect from a man his size, shoulders shaking and reaching the high pitched tone when he’s giddy and flustered.

The comfort and peace you felt over something so life changing has never left your mind. You’re a little freaked out with how easily you had given into the idea of being a mom rather than the idea of being a mom itself. Well, with Mingyu as the father, it does make sense. Especially with how he had cradled your face, kissed your forehead and told you that you were both in no rush. That everything will happen in its own time. The last thing he wanted was for you to pressure yourself to deliver (literally and figuratively) when it was something you both should enjoy. 

Still, it was good to be prepared as you adjust your budget once more to start saving up on a house and funds for raising a child.

The longer the idea of family sits between you and the more open you both are talking about it, you quickly realize how you had nothing to worry about at all. Because between your conversations and how adoringly and consistently cares for you, he’s always viewed this life together as a partnership. Not in a corporate way but rather he never found the dishes or cleaning to be solely one person’s job but both of yours. You never had to go through it alone.

Every task had always been shared. A seamless dynamic that moved like clockwork. You knew when Mingyu was too tired to cook that you’d take over dinner. Or when it's both late and you’re both exhausted, Mingyu has delivery on the way. When you took trips across town, you had fun with it by playing rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to be passenger princess for the day. Daily cleaning was a must by Mingyu’s standards, such as vacuuming, wiping down surfaces, and putting away the dishes. They were easy, you find that it leaves your mind less cluttered too, more relaxed. The laundry was when either of you noticed first if it was full. The folding however, was another story. It was a task you both weren’t very fond of, so it either went through another game of rock, paper, scissors or a bribe to vacuum the car’s interior instead. 

It felt nice and it felt right, knowing you felt capable but also supported. You loved doing life with Mingyu and you just know your worries of feeling alone or becoming a ‘married single mom’ will never come into fruition. 

Of course, it has not always been easy and you always lived by love not being enough. But being with Mingyu further proved your point. Because it was not only love that sustained you both throughout. So did consistency, communication, consideration, empathy, wisdom, and friendships that further nurture what you had.

You distantly wonder if that will still be enough when you find yourself five months later, in your workplace’s bathroom, staring at the striking two lines on your pregnancy test.

Between Mingyu starting his new position over his workplace, and your own week off, you’ve had enough time to get another test at the doctor’s and process the same positive results that you are indeed five weeks into pregnancy.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering how your conversation in that bathroom coaxed a more feral and shameless side of Mingyu in bed. He took the whole breeding kink to the next level, pounding you into the mattress like it was nobody’s business. While his stamina has always been crazy, you’re still in awe of how easily he came and how much he had to give. And for the first time in your whole career, you had used up your sick leaves simply because your legs were too sore and knees wobbly.

Your husband had been apologetic about it, making sure to dote on you in ways you’d sometimes find obnoxious with how shamelessly whipped he was. 

Though you don’t miss the smug edges of his smirk when you waddle to the warm baths he draws for you.

The nerves settle into excitement and you’re searching up creative ways to tell your husband that you are pregnant. 

Wrapping up the test as a present–gross, you peed on that thing.

Placing a bun in the oven–it won’t be fun, not with how you can predict yourself explaining the pun to Mingyu.

Gifting an infant’s onesie–that’s more of something you’d rather do for your parents and his. 

Writing over your belly with a washable marker–instant no, you don’t have the patience to mirror your writing.

You sigh, slumping on the couch contemplating between letting one of your mutual close friends know or stubbornly keeping on the idea that your husband should be first to know. There were too many ways to tell him and you just want to make it special.

Then it clicks.

Maybe you didn’t have to have only one big reveal. 

You don’t have a meticulously curated step by step plan. The goal was to simply drop vague hints until Mingyu eventually gets it. It’s perfect since it was fun to tease your husband and though he’s the most observant person you know, he has his oblivious tendencies that were both infuriating and amusing.

And this morning, as your nails dig into the bathroom tiles and you empty your stomach of its contents–in spite of the nauseating sensation– you think this could be your opportune moment to drop your first hint.

“You’re okay, baby, breathe,” Mingyu whispers, voice low and rough with sleep while he holds your hair back and runs a big palm up and down your spine. 

It pushes you to curl over the bowl and retch. At this point, all you have left is bitter liquid and it tells you there’s nothing more to expel. It leaves you lightheaded as you lift your head, weakly swiping the spit that spilled down your chin. Your husband’s soothing touches ground you–his hand rubbing up and down your arm, the other coming up to brush the sweaty strands of hair clinging to your forehead and neck. 

He softly kisses your temple, “Don’t fight it if there’s more.”

Something about the gesture, his raspy sleepy voice, and patience makes you a little teary-eyed. 

“Sorry,” you croak. 

Mingyu tsks, a sound of protest as he squeezes your arms, “Why are you apologizing, baby? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

The apology comes as an instinct by now, the guilt of inconveniencing people deeply ingrained in you. Even after years together, it’s still something you’re learning to unlearn. 

The smell of your vomit makes you suddenly gag, and Mingyu is quick to reach over and flush its contents. He’s back to rubbing your back, encouraging you to release if there was more. Slowly, the twisting in your stomach quells, and your breathing regulates as you lean back against his chest, the warmth of him calming you down.

After a few moments, once he’s sure you’re fully okay, he kisses the top of your head again. 

“Think you can stand up and gargle for me? I’ll get you a cup of water.”

You hum, scared that if you nod, you’d get dizzy. 

Washing your hands and rinsing your mouth makes you feel significantly better. The heavy footsteps of your husband fill the hall and he appears beside you in the mirror. He sleepily smiles, brows dipped in worry and his hair fluffed up and sticking in odd directions. His old t-shirt is rumpled and the collar is tugged to one side in his haste to stumble after you when you had quite literally jumped out of bed. It’s probably around 2AM by now, judging by the lack of light outside and how it's only been a few hours since you went to bed.

He must have noticed the apology in your eyes because he cuts you off once your mouth opens.

“Baby, don’t. Please.”

You sigh and nod, taking the glass from his hand and letting him love you, letting yourself be okay with being sick. Well, not the exact reason why you’re this way but the side effects of pregnancy was definitely feeling sick.

Mingyu cradles your face, thumb rubbing over your clammy cheeks. His eyes have always been expressive and you can see the disquiet in them. “This is the third time this week, I’m bringing you to the doctor’s this afternoon.”

The sudden panic nearly swings you back to nausea because you didn’t want him to know the real reason why you’re like this. At least not from the doctor but from yourself.

“No, i-it’s…I mean,” you fumble a little, “I already went the other day actually.”

Mingyu’s brows furrow, not recalling you ever telling him you did. He looked a little confused, you always told him where you went and while he’s not particularly the type to monitor your every movement, he’d expect that you would at least tell him something as important as a doctor’s appointment.

Before he could ask further questions, you’re quick to explain, “It’s nothing serious, babe.”

“Baby…”

Oh, boy, he’s pouting now.

You bite your lip, trying not to fiddle with your fingers to give away your white lie, “It’s just…a stomach bug.”

“A stomach bug?”

“Yeah, I…have a stomach bug.”

Stomach bug. You inwardly flinch a little and apologize to your unborn child that you likened them to a sickness…a bug.

 Mingyu’s searching your face, not fully convinced but you do your best to keep your expression neutral. He could easily read you, he’s always paying attention to you and you’re hoping you're somewhat achieving your goals here. Not that soon but just enough to keep him on his toes. You guess that it's the exhaustion on your face and his own that makes him acquiesce to your reasoning.

He sighs, rubbing your hips before he’s ushering you back to bed.

“Okay, honey, but will you remember to tell me about these next time?” 

You flush a little, feeling flustered over his worry and a slight guilt that you did it on purpose. But you nod and apologize, he shakes his head planting a firm kiss on your mouth before he snugly tucks you in. He doesn’t settle in bed though, promising you he’ll be back as he heads out of your bedroom.

You listen to his shuffling in the kitchen, the refrigerator and cabinets opening, then the light bumps here and there that are typically Mingyu. Sleep takes over you quite fast, you don’t know if it's the gradual changing of your body or if you’re truly exhausted. He joins you later, out like a light and softly snoring. 

The next day, you nearly give in and tell your sweet husband the big news when you learn that he went through your whole pantry to check the expiry dates and freshness of your foodstock, clearing out any potential food that could have made you sick.

“Do you think it was the kimchi?”

“Huh?”

“I think I might have over fermented the kimchi…now it gave you a stomach bug.”

“Uh…yeah, probably?”

“I’m really sorry, babe. I should have thrown it out earlier.”

“Oh, Gyu…this isn’t your fault.” (technically, it was.)

“It is…now you’ve got some weird kimchi monster making you sick.”

“Hm, you’re right. I should name it little Kim Chi, ‘cause y’know…the father is Kim Mingyu.”

“Ha ha.” 

You’re at the grocery store a week later, watching your husband effortlessly reach over the top of the shelf for toilet paper. You’ve always enjoyed these trips with him, never growing tired of the thought that you’re both caring for yourselves and your home together. It’s mundane, it’s routine, but somehow it always feels special.

Mingyu’s mumbling out loud and counting calculations while he compares two brands of toilet paper–one being your usual and the other being on sale. That is usually your forte, something he’s quickly picked up on but you’re content watching him furrow his brows, lips jutting out as he calculates the tax. He must have said something you missed because he’s tilting his head over to you now, and coming around the cart to where you’re leaning on the handle.

“Hm? Sorry, babe, what’s that?” you lift your head from your arms. 

“You look tired,” he says with a worried frown. He places an affectionate hand over your head before he gently nudges you away from the cart with his hip. “C’mon, just a few more on the list and we’re done.”

He takes over your self-assigned role as the ‘cart-driver’, while you stand there dumbly before following after him. You tuck your hands into your pocket and sigh. 

You knew pregnancy would change your body but you don’t realize it comes up in ways that you don’t even recognize or even this early on. Like just ten minutes ago, you had to speed through the produce aisle cause you could not stand the smell of citrus. Then suddenly, everything about you feels so sluggish which didn’t make sense considering you just had the week off.

All the while your husband obviously thinks that it's simply due to your little stomach bug—little Kim Chi.

On your way to the personal hygiene aisle, you both find yourselves going through the baby aisle. Your eyes gloss over the nappies and baby formulas while your footsteps slow into a halt. Something in you twists and blooms into warmth when you think about how you’ll be finding yourselves here more often very soon. 

With a quick glance over to your husband who’s busy cupping his pockets for your rumpled grocery list, you smirk and call him over to look at what’s caught your eye.

“Gyu, look here. Glass baby bottles…don’t you think that’s dangerous?”

Mingyu blinks, processing your question then scrutinizing the row of bottles you point at. 

“I dunno, babe. All the stuff they put in plastic bottles kinda freaks me out…okay, I feel like a crunchy mom saying that and we don’t even have kids.”

“Not yet, anyway,” you add, leaning your cheek against his bicep while he picks up one out of curiosity.

“Oh? You wanna have my kids?” Mingyu tilts his head over to you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes and huff, “Gyu, we’re married and we’ve literally talked about this.”

Plucking the bottle from his grasp and taking another one in a pastel yellow shade to go with it, you walk towards your cart and place it there. You fight off the flush creeping up your neck, seeing the tiny baby bottles amongst the stacks of produce, seasonings, toilet paper–all things for your home.

Puzzled, your husband asks, “Why are you putting baby bottles in the cart?” 

“I dunno,” you shrug, resisting the urge to break character and giggle, “Maybe it’s for when we have one. I’ll tell her that Eomma had her planned for a while.”

“Her? What makes you think it’ll be a girl?”

“You’re so girl dad coded, babe. I can see it now. She’ll put pigtails and pins on your hair and you’re crouched uncomfortably in her play set with a tiny teacup in your hands-”

“Are you ovulating?”

You cross your arms and shoot him your deadliest glare, “Wow, ask that louder why don’t you?”

Poor Mingyu, his cheeks are stained pink and he’s looking at you with wide eyes as he stammers, “I–I’m just saying! You never talk about babies like this, much less come into this aisle. We don’t even have a kid, honey.”

Your gaze falls to the ground, finding the scuffed up edges of your sneakers interesting, “We could though…”

Your husband takes note of your flustered state, distantly wondering whether you’re pressuring yourself into giving him children. He reaches a careful hand toward your arm, pulling you to his side.

“I mean, yeah, we could…in time,” he quickly pecks your head in reassurance, “But even then, we wouldn’t have to be here for a couple of months. Put that back! Weren’t we aiming for budgeting wisely–especially, for our future baby?”

You plant your feet firmly, blocking your husband from the cart as you look up at him with a pout you know he can never resist, “B-but, it's such a cute color! Imagine holding your newborn in butter yellow!”

It’s working, you know it, you can tell with how quickly he’s turning red and the sparkles in his eyes that he loves that idea as much as you do.

“There’s no newborn yet! Jeez, babe, was last night and this morning not enough tell you, I’m working hard to make that happen…pun intended-”

“Gyu, that’s nasty!”

“So was the way you were all over m-”

“Kim Mingyu!”

He chuckles as you weakly slap his chest, “What I’m saying is…we can always come back when we do have a baby.”

“Or…we can buy it now.”

“Honey.”

“Mingyu.”

The man stares you down. You’re rarely this whiny that he’s quite frankly stunned that it's this very topic that coaxed this side of you.

He sighs, then makes a poor attempt to look strict by scowling, “Fine, fine. But just this and don’t pin this on me the next time you go through our budget then call it a waste of money.”

You smile, satisfied and victorious. You lean up on your tippy toes to kiss the corner of his lips that resist the urge to stretch into a fond smile. 

“Call it planning for the future.”

The days flew by and so do your hints over Mingyu’s head, each one being more obvious than the last. 

He doesn’t question you when there’s a set of baby blankets you’ve carelessly left by the laundry basket. Or that one time he’s gone shopping with you  and you’ve been extremely particular and vocal about keeping the fit around the belly area loose. Or that you requested for your bottoms to be twice your normal size. He’s only ever freaked out over a package of parenting books by your door before shrugging then picking up a volume to read, chucking it off to future planning.

If he only knew how much present that was.

You don’t know if it's the hormones or that you’re not being obvious enough, but you’re starting to feel restless over keeping your whole pregnancy to yourself for nearly three weeks after you’ve received your results. You’re nearing your eighth week now, and the solo doctor’s checkup earlier makes you feel odd that Mingyu isn’t there with you. Sometimes you’re giving into the urge to just toss a dinner roll over his head and yell that there’s a bun in the oven! But even then, you’re sure he’ll just rush over the oven and ask you where? 

And while you’re cuddled up to his side, watching some boring nature documentary of the deep sea, you deduce that you’d much prefer this annoyed feeling over anxiety of how this news will change the trajectory of your lives. 

It makes you smile to yourself, the thought that you’re just so secure and safe with Mingyu as your husband and a soon-to-be-father. There’s a fluttering in your chest you can’t suppress and you grin even wider. You snuggle deeper into his chest and Mingyu, who’s been scrolling through his phone, sets it down to look down at you.

“Wow, you must really like watching how the octopus eats its mate.” 

You blink, readjusting your focus to the scene playing out before you. You’re a little startled to see that it was indeed a female octopus mauling a smaller male octopus. You feel your husband’s chest rumble and he knows you were simply zoned out. He lowers the volume, scooting back into the couch and running his fingers up and down your arm.

“What’s on your mind babe?”

There’s a mesmerizing shot of a jellyfish, floating and drifting through the deep blue current. The sunlight above it penetrates through its blushing hues. You’re entranced for a moment, feeling the steady rise of your heartbeat before you speak.

“You ever wonder what life is like inside a bag of water?”

Mingyu hums in thought, and you’re once again, endeared by how easy it is to have silly conversations with him. “You mean like…a fish going home from a pet store?”

“Or…back in the womb.”

“I don’t think I’d wanna be there again. I’m too large.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, an intrusive image of this 6’2’’ man fitting himself inside a belly. 

Shaking your head, you add, “It’s also dark.”

“I hate the dark,” he agrees, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “It’s spooky.”

“Do you think the baby likes it?”

“Considering that it’s their first–” he pauses, processing your wording, “...what baby?”

“Our baby.”

You feel every muscle that holds you start to stiffen and seize up. You will yourself to stay calm and as nonchalant as you can, hoping that this time–your husband understands what you mean.

After a beat, Mingyu slowly pulls back to look at you. His eyebrows furrow, 

“Our baby?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with an expectant gaze and soft smile before you nod. You watch him unravel: his brow relaxes and his pink lips part–the gears in his head clicking and turning. His eyes are shimmering as they scan your face. 

“You mean,” he licks his lips, mouth dry, “You’re…we have…one?”

You nod again, the edges of your vision blurring. 

Mingyu twists his body, tenderly cupping your jaw. Pink dusts his cheekbones and his own eyes are teary and  hopeful as they gaze into yours. You feel a warm shaky hand brush over your tummy, “You…have one…in there?”

You burst into a watery laugh, “Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.”

There’s a strained wheeze at the back of his throat and Mingyu all but throws himself into your arms. You grunt at the sudden weight off him, falling back into the cushions behind you. Your husband tucks his face into your neck, giggling and nuzzling beneath your jaw. Just as you’re about to return his enthusiastic embrace he pulls himself off, standing up and throwing his hands over his head. It’s like he’s overwhelmed, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands as he paces in nonsensical patterns, running a hand over his head.

“I’m…I’m going to be a dad? And you’re going to be a mommy?” he asks breathlessly, eyes wide in wonder. 

“Yes, Gyu, we’re going to be parents,” your cheeks hurt so much from grinning. 

Never did you think that breaking this kind of news would feel this way–overjoyed, and giddy. And you certainly didn’t expect the high pitched giggling your behemoth of a husband has while he bounces on his feet. His grin is bright, eyes crinkled into beautiful crescent moons as he stumbles back into your embrace. You can literally feel him vibrating and soon enough, you feel dampness gather into your collarbones. 

“Aw, Gyu,” you coo, tenderly rubbing his head.

“I’m so happy,” he croaks into your skin, “I love you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The warmth this man envelops you in, his soft cries, his joy and tenderness—they tell you that marriage, pregnancy, and starting a family, all things that you were terrified of were not scary at all. They were beautiful only because Mingyu’s presence allowed it to be. What you have is so filled with love that you can’t wait for your little one to thrive in it. You don’t know what they’ll be yet but you promise yourself that they will not lack the love they deserved. 

They’d grow up with a mommy and daddy who’d dote on them, who’s comfortable with their affections, and who’s willing to give them better than what they once had. You vow to always pay attention, to never dismiss their excitement, and to unlearn the ways you’ve been raised. 

They’d be with a wonderful man as their father, the kind that would make silly breakfast pancakes, the kind who’d crawl on the floor with them and risk a backache for their pretend tea parties, and the kind that would show them how big the world is but there’s nothing to fear—because mommy and daddy would be there. 

You ball your fists. Don’t cry, don’t cry. But you can’t help how in love you are with your husband and a child you’ve yet to meet.

“I love you,” Mingyu repeats, lifting his head to kiss your damp cheeks. He smiles at you, eyes still glossy with tears as he slides onto the carpeted floor. Gently resting his forehead on your tummy that is yet to show, he presses a sweet kiss just above your belly button, “And nice to meet you, stomach bug.”

You crinkle your nose. With a chuckle, you correct him, “Little Kim Chi.”

Your husband shakes his head with a grin before he lays his cheek against your stomach.  He whispers his own promises to the child you're yet to meet--the only thing you hear however,

“I love you, little Kim Chi”

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Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.

"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"

Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.

“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.

Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”

The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”

Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”

“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”

“How do you know they were for my class?”

You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.

“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.

“If you need paper, ask!”

Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?” 

“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”

“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.

Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.

—

“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”

The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.

“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”

A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”

Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”

They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.

“What's this about?” you ask.

Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.” 

“You’re kidding.”

Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.

“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”

“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.

Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.

The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.

“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”

The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.

“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.

Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.” 

Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.

So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.

Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”

“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.

“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”

Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”

Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.

“Meet at the tree during recess.” 

The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.

A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.

Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.

Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.

Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.

Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.

“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.

The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.

“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.

The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple. 

“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.

The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.

‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’ 

You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention. 

“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.

“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.” 

“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”

“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”

Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.

You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.

When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.

Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.

Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper. 

With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’

“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks. 

You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”

“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”

“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”

“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”

You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”

Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book. 

You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.

Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note. 

The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.

We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer

As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.

Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday. 

Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.

You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”

“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.” 

You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.

I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer

None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful. 

“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.

A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself. 

He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.

Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”

More screams bounce off the walls.

“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.

The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.

You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.

“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.

“Creative strategy,” he argues.

Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks. 

Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time. 

“We finished first!”

“No, we did!”

“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”

The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.

The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.

“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.

“Pasta salad.”

“Wanna trade?” 

“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.

“Pasta salad.”

You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.

—

After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.

Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.

“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”

“I was just…going to the bathroom!”

“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”

“It was gross!”

Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.

“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.” 

You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.

“Arin, what are you doing?” 

“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”

Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.

Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.

You jump back up.“What the—”

“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.

“Arin, what is going on?” 

“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.

“And why are you trying to scare me?” 

Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.

Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K

“Hana! What are you doing?”

“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.

Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.

“Sit. Now.”

They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.

You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.

Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.

“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”

“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.

Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.

“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.

“Thought what?”

“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”

“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”

They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’

Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.

“We can tell!”

“You’re perfect for eachother!”

“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”

“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.

It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”

“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.

Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.

“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”

“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.

“Me too.” 

You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.

“How about we get you two back to class?”

“But what about Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”

“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”

The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.

“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”

All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own. 

“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”

Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders. 

You’ll explain everything later.

You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’

Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.

But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.

It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.

His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”

“Seriously?” you choke.

The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee. 

Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.

—

Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.

He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.

“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks. 

Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.

So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.

Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”

“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.

“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”

Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”

“I–My friend does!”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods.

“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well that's tough.” 

“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”

“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”

“Did she run fast?”

The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.

“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”

“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”

“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”

“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”

“Poof?”

“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”

“What happened after that?”

“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”

“She knew you liked her?”

Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”

“So I should try and tell her I like her?”

“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.

Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”

“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”

Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench. 

“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”

Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?” 

“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”

“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure. 

Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you. 

Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.

“They think I have a crush on you too.”

You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago. 

You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Do I, what?”

“Have a crush on me?”

“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”

“Damn right you do.”

Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.

Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door. 

“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”

“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”

“It had to be them!”

They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.

Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout. 

Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by. 

“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”

“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about. 

An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.

Who on earth?

As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.

“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.

You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.

“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”

He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.

“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.

Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!” 

“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.

Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.

A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors. 

Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit. 

But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.

You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.

When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.

Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.

Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.

-

Fic taglist: @tacosandbitch @leechanniee @syprosight @prettygyuuu @itza-meee @cottoncheol @ashluvy @jkslvsnella @xuimhao @vanishingboots @miujunhui @viciousdarlings @imprettyweird @akeminy @sana-is-ms-rmty @jayfrvr @watermelonsugawara @bouclesdefeu

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@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu

you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.

you’d been on dates.

enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.

enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.

enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.

you’d slept with some of them, too.

sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.

you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.

you just didn’t have it in you anymore.

the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.

so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.

you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.

you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.

maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.

being alone didn’t scare you.

what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.

every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.

it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.

you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.

tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.

your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.

you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.

until it buzzed again. then again. and again.

you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.

mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.

“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.

“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.

you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”

fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.

“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.

“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”

a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”

you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”

“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.

your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”

despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”

the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.

“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”

you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”

“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.

“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.

his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”

the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.

his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.

“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”

“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.

his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.

“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.

“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”

there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.

“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”

your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”

“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.

you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.

“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.

you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”

“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.

“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.

“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”

“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”

“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”

you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”

his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”

you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”

“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”

“that was emotional,” you defended.

“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”

“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.

“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”

you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”

his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”

he ended the call before you could get another word in.

you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.

your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.

eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.

you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.

the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.

you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.

you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.

the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.

piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.

none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.

you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.

you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.

you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.

you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.

it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.

the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”

you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”

“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”

he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.

it was just shoes. nothing more.

except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.

the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.

you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.

with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”

“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.

he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”

he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.

“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”

“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.

he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”

“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”

“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”

“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”

he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.

there was no hesitation. no second thought.

only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.

if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.

yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.

he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.

without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.

he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.

you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.

the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.

every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.

before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.

he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.

he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.

it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.

yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.

you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.

your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.

your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.

it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.

he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.

when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.

the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.

a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.

a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.

there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.

too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.

you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.

the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.

most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.

with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.

something in you gave way the longer you watched him.

it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.

suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.

you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.

the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.

by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.

“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”

you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.

he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”

“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.

he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”

your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”

your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.

he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.

the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.

you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.

“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”

you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.

he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.

you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”

your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”

“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”

“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.

“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.

your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.

“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.

“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.

your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”

mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.

you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.

the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.

even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.

you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.

without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.

you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.

every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.

your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”

“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.

“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”

he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”

your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”

“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”

you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.

your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.

by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.

his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.

“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.

“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”

you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”

he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”

“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”

he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”

“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”

he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”

“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”

he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.

at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”

he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”

“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”

his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”

“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”

your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”

his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”

you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”

he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.

he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.

“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.

“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”

his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.

you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”

he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”

you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.

“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.

he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”

“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”

his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.

“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”

“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.

he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.

you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”

he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.

your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.

the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.

you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.

he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.

the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.

your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.

your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.

the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.

the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.

every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.

his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.

a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.

the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.

you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.

he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.

his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.

the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.

the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.

his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.

every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.

his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.

his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.

his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.

the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.

“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”

your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.

you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.

“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”

his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.

“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”

the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.

his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.

your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.

he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.

your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.

he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”

“still with you,” you whispered.

he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.

he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.

his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.

he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.

the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.

“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”

your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.

his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.

his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.

his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.

he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.

he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.

your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.

his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.

you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.

he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.

your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.

your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.

“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”

you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”

his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”

you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”

he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”

you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”

his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”

he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.

his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.

his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.

you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.

“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.

your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.

“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”

his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.

his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.

he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.

he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.

he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.

“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.

his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.

the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.

every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.

his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.

his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.

“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”

his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.

your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.

“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”

your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”

he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”

the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.

“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”

his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.

“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”

instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.

“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”

“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.

he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.

“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”

your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.

“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.

his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.

“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.

he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”

you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.

“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”

his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.

the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.

his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.

he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.

he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.

each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.

your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.

“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”

your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.

he didn’t let you finish it.

his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.

the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.

your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.

he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.

the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.

your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.

he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.

heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.

you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.

“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”

he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.

he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.

your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”

another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.

pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”

your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.

his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.

“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.

he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”

your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.

when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.

your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.

your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.

each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.

by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.

his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”

a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”

his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.

“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”

he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”

his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.

what began tender turned restless in seconds.

his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.

his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.

it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.

a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.

you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.

“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”

“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.

you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.

he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.

“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.

your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.

heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”

“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”

a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.

your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.

“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.

as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.

before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.

“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”

you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”

his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”

the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.

“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.

“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”

he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.

a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.

“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”

he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.

his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.

“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”

your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.

his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”

your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”

he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”

he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.

the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.

after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.

“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.

your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”

he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.

“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”

your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.

“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.

he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.

“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”

your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.

the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.

he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”

he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”

“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”

desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.

you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.

he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.

his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.

“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.

your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.

his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.

your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”

the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.

he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.

“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.

“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”

his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.

“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”

your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.

“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”

your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”

“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.

“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”

his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”

you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”

“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”

your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.

he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.

there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.

when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice.

he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.

his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.

“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”

your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.

he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.

the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.

by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.

the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.

at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.

you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.

sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.

a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.

sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.

your heart sank.

what if this was that moment?

what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?

what if you’d just ruined everything?

before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.

“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.

you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.

his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.

your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”

you tried to smile, but it wavered.

“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”

a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.

he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”

his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.

you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.

no one had ever done this for you before.

the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.

but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.

“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”

he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.

he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.

as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.

he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.

“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.

you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.

you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”

your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”

you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”

the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.

“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”

you froze, but he continued nonetheless.

“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”

“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.

his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”

“gyu…” you whispered.

he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.

“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.

his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.

“how easy you are to love.”

you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.

“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”

your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.

“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”

he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”

you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”

“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”

tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”

“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”

he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”

his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”

titty obsessed! mingyu who sucks on your nipples every chance he gets. it doesn’t even have to be sexual. he’ll just nurse on them like he’s under a spell. he won’t budge till he has lathered your breasts with his saliva. it gets you so wet and horny, needing his cock to satiate you. but then, he’ll leave you high and dry (well… wet ig,) with your tits, fully soaked and your panties soiled. 

titty obsessed! mingyu who goes feral from marking up your tits. it is 100% assured that all your makeout sessions will have him lapping at your tits and marking them up. he sucks and bites on your skin as he goes down, leaving blooms of hickeys on your chest. expect him to have his mouth on your nipples the entire time, you're riding him. (he LOVES you riding him. he sloppily makes out with your breasts while you ride him.)

titty obsessed! mingyu who rushes home, after you send him a pic of your tits. but, it’s not just a normal one. you wrote his name on your chest with his favorite lipstick of yours. (he adds it to the folder that he has just for your tits along with another pic which is the same picture except with his cum decorating your tits.)

titty obsessed! mingyu who’s greedy (and a bit dumb), trying to fit your entire tit in his mouth. like- the entire thing. (for my small titty girlies, no worries, he’ll still do the same thing, trying to suck on the entirety of your chest at once.)  

titty obsessed! mingyu who loves rubbing his tip on your nipples. he loves the feeling of your bud teasing his slit. he also loves having your chest pressed up against his. especially, if your nipples rub against his, then he starts fucking you like he’s in a rut. 

titty obsessed! mingyu who’ll have his face squished in your boobs, no matter what. he’s sad? squish. he’s happy? squish. he’s horny? squish. he’s mad? squish (+ a rough fuck session.) like he’ll die happy if he can die with his face buried in your chest. and, your tits are his stress-relief balls. he’ll always have his hands inside your shirt, squishing away at them. 

“is this heaven?” he grumbles, and looks up at you, grinning. “it definitely is. I see an angel. ;))”   

bonus; bras are no-go for him lol. he demands you be braless around him always. and, if asked why, he’ll say he’s advocating for your boobs. “your honor, they deserve to breathe and live freely, too.” but, if he does find you wearing one at home, he goes through 5 stages of grief. 

his hands find your breasts like they usually do, but he finds that they’re arrested in your bra (his words). his eyebrows shoot up, his eyes widen, and his mouth gapes before he pouts, and his eyebrows knit together. (and, this all happens in slow-mo btw.) he acts like a kicked puppy till you undo your bra, and fling it on his face. then, he goes back to his hyper-puppy mode lol.  

“This is ridiculous. You only fight for this topic with such fervor because you’re on the team,” you say through gritted teeth. “Nobody cares about you riding a broom and catching the Golden Snitch, Jaehyun.”

“You’re kidding me, right? It’s the only thing that people care about here. Besides, you make it sound asinine, like it’s child’s play. Quidditch is an art, and anyone who’s ever witnessed a match would understand-”

He stops, and you squirm in place when he puts the pieces together.

“You’ve never seen a match.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your books and standing up to leave. “This is a waste of my time,” you complain, but before you can get very far, he’s inches away from you, staring in disbelief.

“This can’t be possible. You’ve never seen a match?”

“Quidditch matches are beneath me,” you bite back. “And they’re not for the good of the Gryffindor community. My decision is final.”

You storm out of the library with Jaehyun hot on your heels.

“We have a match this weekend. You need to be there,” he rambles frantically, attempting to convince you. “I cannot in good faith let you graduate Hogwarts without ever seeing a Quidditch match.”

You scoff. “It’s not going to happen, Jeong. Give it up.”

“You know, the Sorting Hat almost put me in Ravenclaw. You know what that means, right? I love a challenge.”

And he proves it to be true by relentlessly bothering you with details of the game all week. He bribes the Hufflepuff who normally sits next to you in Charms, sliding into the seat and detailing the difference between a Beater and a Chaser. You pretend not to hear him, focused on the lesson.

He seeks out your study spot in the library, throwing his books down with a loud thump that has nearby students glaring at him. He lectures on the significance of the Quidditch World Cup until you’re thrown out from the noise.

He dines with you in the Great Hall with Johnny and Jungwoo. Since all of them are also on the Quidditch team, they pitch in as Jaehyun tries to persuade you.

“It’s a demonstration of love in Hogwarts like you’ve never seen before,” Johnny says with exaggerated hand gestures. “We collectively gather to celebrate the art of the sport. Whether you wear red or green, it doesn’t matter! Everyone’s there for the same thing — a good match.”

“Even the shyest of Hufflepuffs make it out to the Quidditch pitch,” Jungwoo chimes in. “No one would dare miss an event as important as this one!”

You drive your fork into your plate of food angrily. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Jaehyun leans in closer, sitting across the table from you. He’s smirking, and you hate the part of you that fawns over how handsome he is.

“The best part of Quidditch is seeing me play. I’m the most talented in Gryffindor, it’s well known.”

Johnny nods. “Even I’ll concede to that.”

You stand and sneer down at him. “Get your head out of your ass, Jeong.”

He makes one final plea hours before the game, dressed head to toe in his gear. He should be warming up on the pitch already, but instead, he lingers outside your room, begging for your attention.

“Just this once, please? If you don’t like it, I won’t force you to come again.”

You sigh. “Why is this so important to you? Do you want me to approve of Gryffindor hosting more Quidditch matches that badly?”

He pauses, dipping his head shyly. “I just- I just want you to see me play, okay?” His ears bloom a bright shade of red. “Is that such a bad thing?”

You chew on your lower lip. He’s never been this vulnerable in front of you before. You start to feel bad for rejecting him so heavily.

“I have nothing to wear.”

His head snaps up before his mouth stretches into a grin. He pulls a spare jersey from his back pocket, and you loathe the thought of wearing his last name across your shoulders, but you power through it.

He gives you a few minutes to change before leading you to the Quidditch pitch. He continues to talk animatedly about the match, hoping it will finally stir up a spark of excitement in you now that you’re dressed for the occasion.

“I promise it won’t even last that long. I’m great at finding the Snitch, you see. Once it’s in my hands, the game’s over,” he says, nearly bouncing on his feet. Other girls in your year pass you by, fluttering their eyelashes at Jaehyun and admiring him in his uniform. He doesn’t indulge them, keeping his eyes trained on you. “Gryffindor throws a huge celebration party in the common room after we win. You must’ve been at one of those, right?”

You shrug. “I have essays to complete on the weekends.”

He gapes at you, astonished by the difference in your lifestyles. He isn’t offered much time to interrogate you further, for the moment he steps on the pitch, Johnny is bunching up the back of his robe and tugging him towards the center of the field.

Jaehyun points to the stands while he’s being dragged away.

“You can sit there! I’ll find you after the game!”

You awkwardly perch next to a few first-year Gryffindors, whose eyes sparkle as they ready themselves for the meet. They speak excitedly about the statistics of the players and how likely Gryffindor is to beat Slytherin.

“Of course we’ll win! We have Jeong Jaehyun on our team!”

Could Jaehyun actually be that good? You swore he was exaggerating, but as the younger students discuss his victories over the other houses, you wonder how many tournaments he’s won.

When the game starts, you have no idea where to focus. The pitch is a blur of figures propped up on brooms, battling for the Quaffle, which you recall Jaehyun telling you is the main scoring point for Chasers. You spot Jaehyun hovering above them all, scoping out the field for the gold Snitch that will lead his team to victory.

He looks more… mature like this, invested in a sport that he clearly holds near his heart. He doesn’t look like the boy who would pull aside Slytherins in the hallway just to mock them and insist their house was evil.

When did Jeong Jaehyun grow up?

Actually, the more important question is, when did Jeong Jaehyun get hot?

You lean against the railing and watch as Mingyu swims toward the boarding ladder of his yacht, the thick ropes of muscle in his back glistening in the dying sunlight and flexing with each pull of the water. He takes his time, a soft smile on his lips as he enjoys his last moments in the sea. You left him down there half an hour ago in favor of the sun deck, where you've been anxiously trying to figure out how much your birthday is costing him.

There’s the staff he has to pay to man the boat. The endless food and drinks said staff kept offering you earlier as you laid out in the sun, insisting you were fine. The white gold Bulgari necklace he presented you with upon boarding (and insisted you continue to wear in the water despite your fear of losing it because he can “just get you another one”). The yacht itself.

You aren't by any means poor, but you are so far out of this tax bracket, you can't even tell if estimating that all of this cost millions of dollars is a wild exaggeration or a cute guess that would make the man you're dating giggle. It makes your stomach twist.

Mingyu disappears behind the boat as he finally reaches the boarding ladder and you sigh, pushing yourself away from the railing and plopping back down on one of the lounge chairs miserably. You only started dating two months ago, and you knew he was considerably rich, but this is the first seriously extravagant display of his wealth you're experiencing. It's making you queasy.

You grew up knowing that on the rare times your family was at a restaurant, you weren't allowed to order a drink aside from water and that your meal would come from the appetizer section of the menu. “We have that at home” or “I can make that myself” were mantras of your mother's. The trash bag full of your older cousin's hand-me-downs was your version of the mall. Your friends all balked at the idea that you didn't have an allowance, a fact that kept you excluded from several social events as a teenager.

But you do incredibly well for yourself now. You graduated from school debt-free thanks to your scholarships and part-time jobs. And after a decade of experience, you're finally at a company that pays you well enough to have paid off your parents’ mortgage, bought yourself a new car, and most importantly, keeps all your savings accounts stuffed full. You considered yourself very well off. 

Until you met Kim Mingyu.

There was no way of knowing the stranger hitting on you in the ridiculously long line of the cafe by work came from old money. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt on a Tuesday morning for god's sake. In fact, when you agreed to a date with him, your dumb ass had the audacity to worry if he was jobless, maybe perusing the business district for a wealthy girlfriend to mooch off of.

You laugh humorlessly at the idea now. It's painfully clear who's mooching off of who in this relationship, and you've just barely come to that conclusion now. On your birthday. In the middle of the ocean.

“Hey, pretty.”

You crane your neck up to see Mingyu approaching your lounge chair, his hands in two fists around the towel draped over his shoulders—the towel that seemingly did nothing since he still has drops of water running down his golden brown skin, squeezing in between every line, curve, and corner. 

He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips, drops of water falling onto you as he does but you don’t mind. You can tell from the peck that it's meant to be a quick greeting, but he pauses just after his lips meet yours, and he lingers a little longer and kisses a little slower. His mouth opens against yours—tongue slides against yours—and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, still cold from the water. It feels like he's kissing you after having missed you for weeks.

“Hello to you too,” you mutter, a little dazed when he finally pulls away and grins boyishly. “How was your swim?”

“Oh, riveting,” he says dryly. “I love being abandoned by my girlfriend in the middle of the ocean.”

“Well, that's dramatic,” you scoff as he takes a seat on the lounge chair next to you. He situates himself on the edge so that he's still as close to you as possible, and he grabs your hand before leaning his elbows on his knees. “You seemed to be having a lot of fun.”

You actually wouldn't know. You were kind of dissociating as you watched him swim around. It was hard to be surrounded by this kind of extravagance and not feel lost.

“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully, maintaining intimidatingly stable eye contact as he studies you. “Are you okay? You seem a little… I don't know. Tired, maybe? Bored?”

You shake your head quickly, a little panicked that Mingyu has the idea he spent all this money on you just for you to be bored. “No! No, that's not it. I am definitely not bored, baby. I'm having fun!”

He stares at you blankly like he knows that's not true. It's been such a short amount of time dating, but his read on you is hardly ever wrong. Mingyu doesn't say anything, obviously waiting for you to explain what it is as opposed to what it isn't.

You sigh. “I'm just… this is… a lot,” you admit. His eyebrows twitch into the tiniest of frowns and you rush to continue to avoid a miscommunication. “I love it! And I'm having fun! I'm just surprised is all. Like, I obviously knew you had money, but… I didn't know you had yacht money. Or Bulgari necklace money. Tiny welcome chocolates with 14K gold flakes money.”

He snorts, shaking his head at that. “Okay. I do have money for all that, yes. Does that… make you uncomfortable…?” he asks. 

To his credit, he passes as levelheaded, but you've gotten good at reading him yourself, and you see the way his eyes narrow a little like he's struggling to understand something. The way his lips turn down in the corners and his tongue pokes at his cheek anxiously.

“I'm just not used to someone spending like this on me,” you say instead of directly answering the question. You don't know what you are. “I could work until I'm 100 years old and never be able to afford to buy you these kinds of gifts. I—”

“I don't expect these kinds of gifts. I don't expect any gifts.”

“Sure, but—”

“Baby,” he starts, suddenly standing. 

He forces you to scooch over on your own chaise so that he can lay next to you, and you oblige even though there's really nowhere for you to go. The two of you barely fit, but after he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tight to his chest, you're comfortable knowing you won't fall off the edge. 

“I did this because I want you to feel special on your birthday, okay?” he assures you, the worry on his face dissipating immediately when he realizes what the issue is. “I never expect anything back when I spend money on you.” He pauses to think before adding: “Except maybe a kiss or two.”

You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile that grows on your face.

“I don't need gifts. I can buy myself anything I want. The only thing in the world that I want—actually, desperately need—that I can't buy is you and your time and your attention and your l—” He stops to clear his throat, and your heart skips a beat. Neither of you have said I love you, and you want to believe love was the word he wanted to say next. Because it's true. He has your love. You just haven't found the courage to say it. “You being around is more than enough, okay? Besides, I plan to have you around for a long time. You should probably get used to spending my money haphazardly.”

“Mingyu!” you slap his abs, resting your hand there and smiling at the way his muscles feel under you. 

“What?” he laughs, shrugging. “I'm serious. Let's not dwell on what we can and can't give each other. What's mine is yours.” He rubs your arm comfortingly and plants a kiss against the crown of your head. “This is all I want. I don't need anything else.”

You lift your head off Mingyu's chest and look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows a little at the abrupt movement, but it's still plain to see he looks happy, calm, relaxed. Everything a man in love would look like, and you see that he's being sincere with you. 

“I'm sorry,” you sigh, making him frown. “I just let my insecurities get the best of me. I'm so grateful for all this, I really am. But I hope you know that I don't need any of this either. I agreed to go out with you fully thinking you were an unemployed loser looking for a sugar mama.” Mingyu huffs out a laugh of disbelief. “Your money is the least interesting thing about you.”

“Wow, an unemployed loser, huh?” he repeats, still laughing. “Was it the flip flops?”

“I mean… yeah?”

He barks out his laughter then and it's contagious, making you grin. When it subsides into a happy sigh, you decide it's a sound you'd like to hear forever. You want to stop wasting time.

“Mingyu, I love you,” you say quietly.

His smile falls right off his face and his eyes widen. You'd be worried if his arms didn't press you even tighter to his still wet body. After several moments of silence, you're about to reassure him he doesn't have to say anything back, but before you can, his hands are circling around your arms and yanking you up the chaise to meet his lips. 

Mingyu kisses you more voraciously than he ever has, lips and tongue moving desperately like he wants to swallow the three words himself. It sends a dull ache straight to your core, and you fight the urge to grind your bikini clad cunt right against his thigh. His large hand comes up to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing it while his fingers sink into your hair. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to them desperately like you might disintegrate if you don't.

“Mingyu,” you sigh as he breaks away and starts trailing kisses down your neck. “Mingyu, I—”

“I love you,” he says, his voice hazy with desire. 

He repeats it over and over again with each press of his lips against your skin. You put enough space between the two of you to stop his flurry of kisses. You look down at him, and you're knocked breathless at the reverence he watches you with. You have absolutely no doubt in the world that Kim Mingyu loves you.

You smile and surge forward to kiss him once, twice, three times before giggling like a kid. “I love you,” you say again. 

He laughs too, his hands coming to your back and rubbing up and down slowly. It's how you realize you're practically on top of him now, the only part of you still on the chaise being one leg. 

Your smile slowly slips off your face and you crawl up his body until you're straddling him on the lounge chair. You both have been patient with one another, not pushing sex before the other was ready, but it feels like a day for firsts. Mingyu must think the same because he sits up, arms wrapping around your middle as he tilts his chin to look up at you with big, shiny eyes.

You keep a hand on his shoulder, bring your other to his face, and without breaking eye contact, you wordlessly roll your hips into his. His next breath is a sharp inhale through his nose as you watch his pupils dilate. You feel your lips curve up into a smile as he begins to harden underneath you, straining against his wet shorts in mere moments. 

“Um, I—are…” he blinks several times as you continue to grind against him, and when he clearly can’t find the words he’s looking for, his hands clamp down on your waist to stop your movement. “Are you—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Were you going to ask if I wanted to finally have sex?”

He snorts. “No.” You look at him flatly. “Okay, yes.”

“Still yes then.”

He reaches up to brush your hair away from your face, and he pulls you down by the nape of your neck to kiss you. You're a mess of lips, saliva, and hands—feeling everywhere you can touch while simultaneously keeping away from the one place you need each other. You break away in a gasp when he slips his hand under the back of your bikini and squeezes your ass hard. 

You tilt your head back as he kisses down the middle of your throat, and to your horror, you find an employee coming up the stairs of the sun deck with a platter of champagne.

“Oh shit!” you shriek as you scramble off Mingyu’s lap, settling for awkwardly sitting between his calves at the foot of the chaise. 

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you’ve run out of time to warn him. He must hear the footsteps as the yacht staff member approaches, though, because he quickly crosses his legs and very conspicuously cups his hands over his crotch. If the staff member notices, they’re well-trained to ignore it. 

“The champagne you requested from the swim deck, Mr. Kim,” the young man announces, lowering the platter so that you both can easily take your own flutes. Neither of you waste a moment grabbing one. 

When the employee doesn’t depart, you realize he’s waiting for you both to take a sip and make sure it’s to your liking. You go to toast Mingyu quickly, but he stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” he says, hand on your wrist from where he’s keeping you from toasting him and getting rid of the staff. “Happy birthday. I hope it’s the most amazing one yet, and I can’t wait to spend so many more with you.” He’s almost shy when he smiles and finishes with: “I love you.”

“Oh, Mingyu,” you pout before smiling widely and leaning forward to kiss him, almost completely forgetting about your bystander. “I love you too. Thank you for everything. Cheers.” 

You clink glasses, and you sigh in relief when the employee takes that as his moment to exit. He sets the ice bucket and bottle of champagne down on the table nearest to your chaise before he smiles brightly at you both. 

“Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“No!” Mingyu says too loudly and too quickly. You choke on your first sip of champagne. “I mean,” he lowers his voice considerably, “no, Chad. Just… we’re good. Please let the staff know to leave us alone for the rest of the night. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he responds without missing a beat, smiling brightly before making his exit. You watch him disappear down the stairs as you rub your chest, your coughs finally subsiding. 

“Have you fucked girls on your yacht before?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to take his champagne down the wrong tube. “What?”

“Why does ‘leave me alone for the rest of the night’ seem like normal protocol?” you ask, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you watch him struggle with the question.

“I have not fucked girls on my yacht before,” he denies it petulantly. He clears his throat. “But a ton of people do all kinds of questionable things on boats.” You make a mental note to ask him for stories later. “Yacht staff are all trained to be… discreet. So.”

“So Chad knows we’re fucking tonight.”

Mingyu smirks into his glass, taking several gulps until it’s completely empty. You raise your eyebrows at him. “If he doesn’t, he definitely will in a few minutes.” Your cheeks warm at the implication and he nods at your flute. “Hurry up and finish that. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

You gasp, tears slipping out of your eyes and past your blindfold as you struggle against the ropes Mingyu tied around your wrists. They’re tied to the headboard of the bed in his stateroom, rendering you absolutely helpless as his tongue massages your clit, his hand already two fingers deep inside you and beckoning an orgasm closer. 

“Mingyu,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs open even though there’s nowhere they could possibly go anyway. Your boyfriend’s grasp on each thigh is pressing them down and open mercilessly, determined to keep you from interrupting his meal. 

“What is it, baby?” he asks, licking quick stripes up your slit between every few words. “Too much for you? We can stop.”

“No!” you shout quickly, whining when you hear his breathy laughter follow. “It’s not funny. I’m… I…” Your words devolve into a mess of moans as he decides he’d rather eat than talk. His fingers work against the spongy spot inside you, his mouth closing over your clit as he starts to lick and suck with more fervor than before. “Oh god. Please!”

“Please what?” he asks against you, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through your cunt. 

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For the last half hour now, Mingyu has been pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with just his mouth alone. There’s nothing else you could possibly ask for, but still, all you know how to say is “please.”

You gasp, hips bucking as your orgasm shoots through your entire body, causing you to shudder and writhe almost uncontrollably at the overstimulation. You don’t have much space to move, though, with your hands restricted like this. 

“Gyu!” you shriek, shamelessly grinding up and into his mouth. His fingers pump in and out of you quickly, your pussy giving no resistance anymore now that he’s made a mess out of you. “Oh my god.”

“I think you’re ready,” he says, smiling against you. 

More tears escape as you cry in what you think is relief. He told you there would be a lot of foreplay. He warned you that he was big and that he didn’t want to hurt you—that the only way he felt comfortable doing this was once you were thoroughly prepared. You just didn’t realize it meant having his head between your legs for so long, you’d lost feeling in both feet and gone cross-eyed with pleasure. 

Before he leaves his residency, he lowers his chin and stiffens his tongue, shoving it into you as far as it’ll go, his entire face pressed against you. The sensation elongates the orgasm enough that you’re sure it’s started a whole new one as Mingyu licks you clean from the inside out. When he’s done, he kisses your clit before moving around on the bed. 

“Hi,” he whispers, voice suddenly right next to your ear. You struggle to catch your breath as his hands run up your sides. 

“Hi,” you respond pathetically. 

“Don’t cry, darling,” he tells you, voice soft and gravely. You wish you could see how he looked right now. You wish you could know if he looked just as fucked up and fucked out as you felt. If his face matched his voice. “I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”

“Too good,” you breathe, not sure you can say more than two words at a time. 

He snickers as his fingers slip under your bikini top, the last piece of clothing you have on before he has you completely naked. He massages your breast under the fabric, thumb running over your nipple several times. He presses his lips against your sternum, his weight resting against you as he does, and you realize he’s catching his breath too. You can feel his heartbeat against your stomach, going almost as fast as you think yours is. He continues kneading your tit like it’s his own personal stress ball for several minutes, leaving kisses across your skin absentmindedly. 

“I think you were made for me,” he mutters after a while.

“I hope you were made for me,” you respond when you think you’ve finally relaxed enough to have coherent thoughts again. “Because what do you mean you own a yacht and want to eat pussy for the better part of an hour? You’re literally my dream man.”

His hand pauses against you as he laughs into your chest, shaking the bed as he does. You smile at the sound. 

“Mingyu?” 

“Mmm.”

“Can you remove my blindfold?” you ask quietly. “I want to see your face.”

He removes his hand from your chest, placing the bikini back where it was as if you aren’t already entirely naked from the waist down. He moves up the bed and his fingers work at the knot he made behind your head, undoing it quickly. You blink a few times as you adjust to the already dimmed light of the room. 

“Hi.”

He looks so blissful. His eyes are half-lidded like he just woke up, and his mouth is curved up into the slightest, laziest, most content smile. He looks down at you like he truly believes his own words—like he truly believes you were made for him. 

Your wrists don’t let you far enough up to kiss him, but he knows exactly what you want and he gives it to you. You taste yourself on him, and the thought that Mingyu loves it enough to go at it for so long makes you impossibly wetter. 

“Are you ready?” he asks when he pulls away to kick off his shorts and shove them somewhere toward the foot of the bed. You look down at what you’re dealing with, and you realize Mingyu definitely knew best when he said you needed to be patient. You nod. 

“Mhm.”

“I’m going to untie you, okay?” he asks gently even though he roughly shoves your top up your chest, your tits bouncing out. He groans, burying his face between them before taking a nipple in his mouth. 

You arch into his body, exhaling softly at the warm feeling. He releases you with a pop and quickly rips the top completely off, throwing it over his shoulder before  caging you in with his legs and crawling up the bed to work on the ropes on your wrist. His dick rests against your stomach as he works, thick and heavy and staring you in the face. Your mouth waters. 

“Hurry, Gyu,” you whisper. He laughs softly. 

“Impatient.”

You bite back a retort because at that moment, the ropes give way and your wrists are freed. Without thinking twice, you have both hands wrapped around Mingyu’s dick immediately, eliciting a gasp from him. You shimmy down on the bed, one hand pulling at his waist. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as he tries to keep his balance at your incessant pulling. 

“I think it’s your turn” is all you say, releasing him once you’re low enough on the bed. His huge fucking cock hangs in front of you—intimidating and scary and glorious. You lean back and prop yourself on your elbows before looking up at him. 

He peers down at you with a confused look on his face. All you do in response is open your mouth wide. His eyes practically bulge out of his head when he realizes what you want him to do. 

“Are you sure?!” he asks in disbelief. “I’m—I—you—”

“Fuck my mouth, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, taking himself in his hold and pumping a few times before gently laying his swollen tip on your tongue. He curses under his breath. 

“Let me know if it becomes too much, okay?” he reminds you. You don’t bother responding as you take more of his length in. “Holy shit. Fuck!”

It doesn’t take more than three thrusts until tears are collecting in the corner of your eyes, but you don’t care. Because you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter than Mingyu on top of you, fucking your mouth with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s begging a god out there to keep him from coming on the spot. You bring one hand up to his balls, massaging gently and the sounds it pulls out of him are downright heavenly. 

“Baby,” he gasps. “Oh my god.”

You’re a mess of precum, drool, and tears, but you remind yourself to enjoy the burn in your shoulders from propping yourself up like this, the ache of Mingyu’s cock abusing the back of your throat, and the sting where his hand has become a fist in your hair because it could last your entire life and you think it would still be over too soon—being able to see how good you can make him feel. 

His thrusts slow to a gradual stop and he takes his cock out of your mouth, sitting back on the heel of his feet as he catches his breath, staring at you like you invented blowjobs just for him. You smile at him as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before plopping back down on the bed, your shoulders screaming in relief. 

He situates himself back between your legs, and without breaking eye contact, he lifts one up and over his shoulder. He kisses your calf, then your knee, and then he pushes forward until your thigh is pressed up against your shoulder and you feel his tip at your hole. 

Wordlessly, he pushes in gently, and even with all the orgasms you had, you gasp at the way he stretches you open. He groans, head hanging as he watches himself slowly, slowly, slowly disappear inside you. He breathes evenly and deliberately like his control relies solely on him staying as calm as possible. You don’t quite have the same composure, fists tight around his bedsheets as you whine and whimper underneath him. 

“Shhh,” he breathes, another kiss ghosting the inside of your knee. “You’re doing so well, baby.” You moan at the praise. “Doing so fucking well for me.”

“Gyu,” you gasp when you feel him bottom out. If his hands weren’t planted firmly on either side of your head, you’re sure he would’ve completely collapsed on you as he exhales a heavy breath, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto your stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you know he’s sure he won’t come immediately. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay, baby.”

“Good,” he breathes, nodding as he leans forward and pecks your lips. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you.”

“I’m going to move now, okay?” 

You fight to keep from giggling at how endearing he is, even during sex. “Okay.”

His first few thrusts are so shallow, you’re not sure he’s even pulling out at all. The only reason you know he is is that each thrust back in makes the delicious ache in your stomach grow. It isn’t until you slip your leg off Mingyu’s shoulder and lock your ankles together behind him and pull him in closer that he starts to really pick up his pace, increasingly intense until he’s slamming into you with a frenetic energy you feel like you can choke on. 

Being fucked by Mingyu is unlike being fucked by anyone else. It’s in the way he watches you closely, searching for any signs you’re no longer enjoying or in pain. The way he keeps whispering how much he loves you—like saying it for the first time tonight broke a dam wide open and he can no longer keep the three words in. The way he blushes each time you reach up to pull him down and kiss him. The way his body starts to thrash and tremble the closer he gets to his orgasm. It’s the way he fills you up with his cum so thoroughly and completely, you know there’s no way you can ever be anybody else’s but his. It’s in the way he holds you for so long after, you fall asleep in his arms and only wake up when he’s carrying you into the restroom to help you clean up. 

At the end of the night, Mingyu wraps you up in his blankets and himself as the yacht docks at the marina, zero desire to leave even though you’re back at land. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers one last time.

“Best birthday ever.”

But just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, can never admit that he something more to you than you care to acknowledge beyond just that – something more. 

And just as easily as those flowers of yours were picked, they were tossed. Once they died, they served no value. You’d watch the petals fall onto your desk for a while, dried and crisp; before inevitably swiping them into the trash can and dumping the dirty water into the sink. The vase waited, empty (like you,) to be refilled once Mingyu swung by for his bi-monthly fix. 

It wasn’t always like this. 

You used to save some of the petals, some of the flowers themselves. Press them in wax paper between heavy books and forget about them until you read the books again. You’d toy with the dried petals, before they eventually became littered around your apartment – in the form of coasters, framed on the walls, even a pair of earrings you once made at a crafts class. 

Because in the beginning, in the very beginning – Mingyu was just your friend. 

He was your very nice, very attentive friend that brought you gorgeous bouquets from his florist friend’s shop, always picked out by Mingyu himself – down to the colorful paper wrapping and satin bow. You’d rarely see him more than once or twice a month as it was, because Mingyu is a very busy man – so the flowers were always accompanied with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to your cheek. You’d make dinner together, or he’d cook for the two of you; his presence warm and inviting even in your own home.  

He’d serve you a glass of wine or three, plate your dinner like you’re at a nice restaurant and hand you extra silverware in case one of you fell victim to his butterfingers – and he knew your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew you like the back of his hand. 

Then, you kissed. 

One time. By complete and utter accident. 

You had moved into his typical cheek kiss in greeting, the both of you springing away almost immediately when you felt each other’s lips. You both spewed apologies like geysers, talking over one another before you both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“No more kisses, got it. Could’ve said something earlier, you know.” He joked, but finally greeted you with a warm hug paired with a mumbled it’s so nice to see you that made your stomach flutter for the first time ever. You were wide eyed as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his body, in the soft feeling of his cashmere sweater that you’d given him for his birthday many moons ago. 

Unfortunately, the attempt to make dinner together was awkward. You were both anxiously trying to keep things level, trying to crack jokes and talk about your lives outside of each other when you just sighed; your hands on your hips as you glanced at him in your pink apron that was much too small. 

And he kissed you – this time, with purpose. He held your face gently between his hands, your own fisting the stupidly expensive cashmere sweater that left you without eggs and bread that month.  

Dinner wasn’t homemade, after all. He’d turned the stove off in your frenzy to pull his belt off, his hands holding you flush to him as he led you both to your bedroom – where he’d shown you exactly why his ex-girlfriend can’t leave him alone, and why your ex-boyfriend constantly felt inferior to him. He made it clear he wanted you, even if it was just for the night – and he wasn’t about to fuck up the only potential chance he’d gotten. 

You both fell asleep before either of you could say anything about the missed dinner, and the morning after was full of shy stares and a silent agreement – after you asked him if he’d even wanted to be your friend, if this was his plan all along. He admitted honestly that he’d never anticipated something like this and he never secretly wanted you, either – that he’d been your friend because he loves you, because you’re sweet and funny, because you’re you. 

Twice a month. Dinner. Sex. Repeat. Just to get the taste of each other off your tongues, to fill the void of feeling someone next to you while you’re sleeping. 

Eventually, you realized that things between you and Mingyu had grown to be just that – a fix. A bi-monthly, sometimes tri-monthly, fix; where he came to your apartment and still yielded those beautiful flowers. He’d gotten more into making dinner on his own, and you’d choose somethnig to watch – and you’d spend an hour or so filling each other in about your time apart over the warm meal and some stupid movie, if not Gilmore Girls. 

Until one of you leans in for the first kiss of the tumble, and the illusion of romance shatters at your fingertips. 

Not because Mingyu isn’t romantic; if anything, the guy could drown you in romance. In soft touches, in mood lighting, in catering to your every need while still meeting his own with little intereference. He’s kind and gentle, with an edge that makes your skin prickle when he works you over with his tongue between your thighs after peeling your clothes off with needy hands. He’s a bitch when his teeth nip at the skin of your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move; and you can feel the way he smiles against you as he brings you to the first orgasm of the night. 

He’s yours when he kisses you like you mean everything to him, when he holds your knees to your chest while you cry on his cock. He’s yours when he holds you close, massaging your hips and kissing the expanse of your bare shoulders. 

And you are his. 

You are absolutely, irrevocably his when he slips inside you for the second time that night – his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder at how sensitive he is but he loves the way you feel. Shuddered whimpers will fill the room, murmurs of missing you when he’s gone as he nibbles on your earlobe; he leaves a mess between your thighs, snugly wrapped in your walls as you both drift to sleep. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Maybe it’s not all that romantic. 

Maybe it’s just...sex. Casual sex that convinces you it’s more the moment you press your lips to his because you’re so certain Heaven is a place on Earth – and it’s in Kim Mingyu’s arms. 

That’s where it all ends, anyway. He’s gone in the morning without much conversation; you’ll shower together like real couples do and he’s started keeping a few changes of clothes in your apartment. You’ll brush you teeth together like real couples do; he’ll even rub lotion on your back before kissing the back of your neck and asking if you want breakfast. If you say no, he leaves. 

If you say yes...he’ll make breakfast, an entire spread. He’ll make coffee, and he’ll sit right next to you in the cute breakfast nook that sold you on your apartment three years ago – right after you’d broken up with that ex-boyfriend that never liked Mingyu. For who he was, what he stood for or what he could provide...you weren’t all that sure. 

But you don’t really care, either. 

Mingyu helped decorate your apartment. He helped you make it yours and even slept on the floor of your bedroom with you when you were too scared to be alone on the first night. He didn’t complain about his very obviously sore neck the next morning, only giving you a quick hug goodbye as he left to his apartment six blocks away for a shower – and returning within two hours to help you paint your bathroom. 

They say that friends to lovers is the best way to go. Friends that know each other’s coffee orders by heart, turning into lovers that deliver said coffee with a kiss on the lips. Friends that help each other pick an outfit for a night out, becoming lovers who take said outfit off at the end of the night with their lips running down each other’s shoulders and other unnamed places. 

Lovers, who mean it more than words can explain, and the warmth of a fire could never rival the true heat behind it – the three little words that linger on your tongue. 

That stupid, stupid I love you. 

But you are you, and Mingyu is...well, he’s Mingyu. 

You’re not sure what you are. You’re certainly not friends, but you’re not lovers...you’re just Y/N and Mingyu, in limbo. No label, no questions and consequently, no answers. 

And you want an answer. You want to know what it’s like for him to hold you closer when you move away to slip out of your bed in the morning. You want to know what it’s like for him to flip you onto your back and kiss you despite the morning breath, what it’s like to be Mingyu’s, eternally, and never have a way out. 

But...you are you. 

And you know better. 

IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT WHEN YOUR PHONE PINGS ACROSS APARTMENT. 

You move out of the kitchen, making your way to it and grabbing it off the coffee table before flopping onto your couch. 

NEW! (3) Messages From: Mingyu ♡  [4:21 PM] hey, y/n  [4:21 PM] just a quick question, are you free this friday?  [4:21 PM] no pressure 💘 

You’re aptly draped across the couch for a distressed sigh as you read the messages. You throw your arm over your eyes, your heart beating just a little faster – there's a pot of stew heating up on the stove, and the whole house smells delicious as you close your eyes, knowing exactly how this could go. 

He’ll show up at your doorstep, ten minutes before he said he’d be there. He’ll be wearing one of his nice shirts – maybe it’ll be that baby blue one that you love – maybe it’ll be the dark red that he always tucks neatly into slacks. Maybe he’ll be dressed down, something you don’t to see all that often – sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, but he’ll still be carrying that stupidly large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine. He’ll kiss you hello again, but it won’t be on your cheek – no, he’ll kiss your lips. 

He’ll kiss your lips and hold your waist gently, pulling you into him. He’ll nip at your lower lip, inching his way into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before setting the flowers down on the foyer table and pulling away. He’ll say it’s nice to see you, that he missed you, that he wants to hear about your day before kissing you breathless. 

Because he’s Mingyu. 

“And I’ll fall for it every damn time,” you sigh, staring at the screen. Your fingers move quickly, typing a singular ‘sure’, only to see his read receipt pop up before you can even sit up. Like he’s waiting for you to answer – sat at his desk, the one that’s shoved in the corner of his office and way too cramped for a guy his size. The one that’s piled high with confidential documents, that he eats his lunch at that he packs himself early in the mornings. 

The one he’s sent you a few suggestive pieces of media from, the image of his silver watch moving up and down your screen still burned into your mind. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:26 PM] hm, don’t know if i liked the way you answered that.  [4:26 PM] are you okay? 

Are you? 

You don’t get much of a chance to reply before he’s calling you. You quickly decline it, texting back with the excuse that you’re in the shower. 

NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡  [4:27 PM] you’re literally laying on your couch. you don’t shower until six.  [4:28 PM] this is your ‘lazy girl’ time, you’ve told me. i know. 

“Curse your memory, Kim Mingyu,” you grumble, fumbling around to call him on Facetime. He picks up on the second ring, putting his AirPod in – but he’s not dressed the way he usually is after work. Or rather, during: he’s still got thirty minutes to his workday. 

But you’re not complaining at the sleeveless white shirt, feeling your cheeks hot as he raises a brow at you through the screen. 

“What are you doing?” You prop yourself up on a throw pillow, only for Mingyu to flip the camera and show the inside of your favorite grocery store, “what are you doing there? It’s Wednesday, you should be at work.” 

“And you should tell me what’s got you so pouty.” He says pointedly, propping you up in the cart as he grabbed a bag for tomatoes. You’re silent as you watch him pick them out carefully, gentle fingers you miss wrapped around your throat squeezing the fruit softly. You blink as the thought leaves your mind, your mouth dry as you shake it off while he ties the plastic bag expertly. 

“So? What’s got you so iffy?”  “Nothing.”  “You’re a horrible liar.” 

Mingyu gives you a stern look as he hunches over the cart, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the store for the next item to take him. Maybe peppers. Maybe a tub of soybean paste. 

Maybe someone else to fill his bed, his heart. His stomach, with delicious meals he never lets you cook for him anymore because, in his words – you're tired. You work so hard and you’ve had a long day, sweetheart. Just sit on the island and keep me company. 

“Need an answer sooner rather than later, sweetheart.” His voice is gentle as he grabs your attention again, only making you scoff as you wave him off with your hand. 

“Seriously, I’m fine.”  “I dunno. First, you give me a one-word answer. Never in our six-year friendship have you responded to me that way, even when you’re in a bad mood.” 

You tongue your cheek as he stops the cart in the snack aisle, your eyes floating immediately to the cinnamon biscuits right next to his head. He reaches for them, tossing the box into his cart without a second thought before reading the ingredients on a box of almond cookies, “next, you lie to me. A bold-faced lie, and to my face, at that.” 

“I lied to your phone screen, dramatic ass.” You mutter, watching the way his fingers drum against the yellow box. He’s wearing the ring you’d given him for Christmas last year, the white gold snug on his thumb as he hums. He puts the box back, grabbing another with a click of his tongue. 

“That I pay the bill on, mind you. So, you’re wasting time and money instead of just telling me what your deal is.” 

“There is no deal, Mingyu. I’m not BOGO.” You snort, shifting on your couch and resting your arm under your head. He looks at the phone, tossing the cookies into his cart, “I should be glad, BOGO of you would kill me. You’re more like buy one, get one half off.” 

“I think I’m more of a buy-two, get one free.”  “That’s even worse. One of you is more than enough. And that’s coming from me, someone who gets all of you regularly and happily, at that.” 

“‘All of me’ is a technicality.” You roll your eyes, only watching the tips of his ears turn pink as he analyzes yet another box. Crackers this time, cheddar ones. Not your favorite, and infinitely inferior to the Parmesan ones. 

“Be realistic, there’s no one but me. You’re just for me.” He murmurs, but the microphone catches it anyway. You tongue your cheek as he puts the box back, instead grabbing the Parmesan ones and throwing them in the cart. Your cheeks heat slightly as he nibbles on his lip, likely deep in thought as he looks over his cart. 

“Even if that’s true, you could still be nice to me.” 

“I’m so nice to you! I make you dinner, I buy you flowers, and I check in with you regularly. I get you gifts, I fixed your leaky faucet, and I rewired your entire gaming system after you moved into your apartment and didn’t want to figure it out. I’m the nicest guy ever, especially to you.” He huffs, and you let out a chuckle that makes his lips twitch. He masks it by sucking his teeth, and you shrug with an amused look on your face. 

“You cook me dinner because you want to, you buy me flowers because you feel guilty and you check in with me because your job keeps you from actually seeing me more than once or twice a month. You get me gifts to make up for the fact that you’re not around as often, you fixed my leaky faucet because I practically begged you to, and you rewired my gaming system because you and Wonwoo wanted to play GTA for six hours.” You point your finger at him, watching the way he nods before picking up his phone. The camera pauses, the sound of Left Right by XG playing in the store the only sound coming from his end. 

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:10 PM] i also go down on you because i want to, and i fuck you because i want to. but i don’t hear you complaining about that, hm? 

“Because I want it, too.” You ignore the heart surging on your cheeks as you watch the message bubble pop up again.  

NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡  [5:11 PM] then be nice to me before i stop doing that for us, pillow princess. 

“I am not a pillow princess! You just never let me do anything!” 

The camera unpauses, showing Mingyu rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest before he sets the phone back down, “tell me what’s up or I’m coming over impromptu. I won’t give you time to tidy up, either.” 

“You wouldn’t do that; you probably have a nice steak in your basket. You wanna go home and cook it and text me all about how I’m missing out because I live six blocks away and won’t walk to your place because those heels I wear make me too tired.” You snicker, watching the way he mimics you and moves his hand in a talking motion. You only laugh harder, “Mingyu!” 

“Little louder, sweetheart. The neigbors know my name, anyway.”  “Kim Mingyu, I am a lady.” 

“A loud one,” he snorts, sucking his teeth as he makes his way down the liquor aisle. “Are you free on Friday or not? Enthusiastically free, happy-to-see-your-Mingyu free. Not that sure shit, have some respect.” 

“My Mingyu?” You smirk, but it’s a front. Your stomach is fluttering like crazy and you watch the way he bites back his smile to raise a brow at you. 

“You know any other Mingyus?”  “Park Mingyu from the finance team that has had the hots for me since before you moved to the city.” 

“He doesn’t count, he’s in finance. You’d get bored in two days.” He rolls his eyes again, “yes or no, sweetheart? My schedule fills up fast and I’m actively trying to get you in.” 

“More like you’re trying to get in me.”  “That too, but all I’m hearing right now is that you hate me. That’s not all I have you around for, you know.” 

You roll your eyes, sighing. He’s raking his eyes over you through the camera, grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf as if it’s muscle memory. The label reads EISA Cabernet – your favorite. Particularly, when he makes you a thick steak with scalloped potatoes and asparagus that almost guarantees you fuck him within an inch of his life. 

And he never complains. 

“What’s wrong with you?”   “Nothing, Gyu. I promise.” 

He crosses his arms, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Then don’t.”  “You hate me.”  “Sometimes, when you make my steak too rare or you pull out.” 

“Haha, so funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and you can tell by the signs on the ceiling that he’s moving to the checkout line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up with you?” 

“What do you want me to say, Mingyu? That I’m in distress? That I’m having a bad day?” You joke, before pouting exaggeratedly, “oh, please, Mingyu. I’ve had such a long, lonely day. Come over, I need you.” 

“Stop that.” He huffs, crossing his arms as he leans on the cart. You laugh again, running your hand through your hair as you feel his eyes trailing you. You raise a brow as his eyes stop on your chest, and you dramatically cover the bit of cleavage your V-neck sweater shows. He scoffs, tonguing his cheek as he gets a register, carefully parking the cart. “Tilt the camera to your face, I don’t need strangers seeing your whole chest.” 

“It’s not even my chest, dipshit. It’s my necklace at best.”  “Necklace I gave you.”  “Never pegged you to be a jealous, possessive man, Mr. Kim.” 

“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” he shrugs, and you stick your tongue out at him as he scans his things. He shakes his head as you watch him, your eyes shamelessly trained on his arms as he moves about, before he snaps his fingers in front of the camera, “must you eye fuck me like that?” 

“Listen, friends can admire one another’s beauty. That’s part of it.”  “Sure, sweetheart. Friends also tell each other what’s bothering them, but I guess we’re not all that of friends, hm?” 

The double entendre makes you scoff as he swipes his card, his receipt printing loudly as he makes faces at you. You don’t speak as he takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket, listening to him sweetly thank the aunties at the exit as he leaves with his cart. He whistles, “so? What’s wrong with you?” 

You don’t reply, simply turning onto your belly and resting your cheek against the heel of your palm. You prop your phone up against the armrest of your couch, making a show of pulling your sweater down enough that it shows the white lace of your bra. 

“Tease.” He chides as he pops the trunk, “come on, tell me. Because you’re gonna piss me off and then we’re both in a mood.” 

“I’m really fine, Gyu. I’m tired, I’m gonna eat some leftovers...maybe watch a movie. It's just one of those days, you know?” You shrug, “it’s not like anything is particularly wrong. I just feel weird, and that’s okay.” 

You’re lying through your teeth, but he doesn’t look all that convince anyway as you hear the timer in your kitchen start going off. You give him a quick smile, “my food’s ready, so I gotta go but I’ll see you on Friday, Gyu. I promise I’m excited to see you.” 

“Well, you’d still need the context of what’s happening on Friday, but sure.” He shrugs, “just...are you sure you’re okay? I can cancel. I’ll work around you, honey, just let me know.” 

You smile inwardly, pushing off the couch and taking your phone with you into the kitchen. You prop it up against your toaster as you reach for a bowl on your tiptoes, “I would say no if I didn’t want to see you, Mingyu.” 

“I know, but—” 

“Mingyu, baby, please.” You set the bowl down, putting your hands on your hips. He’s in his car now, pulling his seatbelt on as he balances you on the steering wheel. He’s pouting, “expect that impromptu visit anyway.” 

“You never follow through with those, so I will not be cleaning my apartment tonight and I will be in my PJs by nine.” You respond, crossing your arms on your chest as you watch him roll his shoulders back – the fabric of his shirt taut against his chest. He catches you staring at him, his ears tinging pink once more as you smile cheekily, “I’ll see you on Friday. Drive safe, okay?” 

“I will. I’ll see you later, baby.” 

The call ends before he can see you process the petname. Your cheeks are hot as you stare at your home screen, a picture of you that Mingyu took at a burger joint after you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. You had a smear of ketchup on your cheek and Mingyu’s fingers pinching the other – he'd taken you out because you had been the one to break things off after yet another jealous fit about you being friends with Mingyu. 

When you think about it, he ended up being right – just six months after the breakup, you’d slept with Mingyu for the first time.  

Jaehyun had always been iffy about Mingyu, but you didn’t understand it then, or ever. The two of you had been dating for six months when he met Mingyu, your friend of two years at that point. They met at your birthday party, and Mingyu had been incredibly sweet – he'd greeted him with a firm handshake, complimented his shirt and watch, and asked what he was drinking. Jaehyun had stiffened slightly, likely at the way Mingyu towered over him; but his face soured when Mingyu greeted you next, the way he always had. 

With that damn cheek kiss. 

His aftershave was particularly minty that night, and it made something in your stomach lurch but you ignored it. Jaehyun was quiet that entire night, even later when you were both in bed together and he was on top of you – he murmured it, effectively killing your buzz and starting a fight. 

“I don’t like that Mingyu guy.” 

Your relationship was no more than two years of weird jealousy afterwards. Jaehyun, however, was worse than you were in the weird terms and conditions of dating these days – he still followed his ex-girlfriends on social media and frequently engaged with their posts (you didn’t care.) He still talked to his most recent ex-girlfriend's mother, who he claimed said that he was like a son to her (again, you didn’t give a shit.) 

It seemed to bother Jaehyun that you did not care what he was doing with his ‘friends’ of the opposite sex. He seemed annoyed that you could frequently hang out with your friends without caring about what he thought – posing in photobooths for pictures with your life-long friends Kwon Soonyoung and Lee Seokmin, getting dinner with your old coworker (and BFF-by-proxy) Hansol Chwe, taking shots with said BFF Boo Seungkwan at your favorite bar to celebrate his birthday... 

Posting pictures of you and Mingyu at a farmer’s market the autumn before the breakup, trying spiked apple cider and pumpkin soup that you ended up bringing home for him to try. 

Jaehyun didn’t like that you had friends he didn’t like. He didnt like that you had male friends period, but you simply did not care and especially not when he went on and on about Mingyu like he had a crush on him. You listened to his jealous rants about Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol silently, merely peering up at him through your lashes and sipping whatever drink was closest. However, he really amped it up when he met Mingyu – and went as far as saying he was sure Mingyu wanted to sleep with you. 

Only for you to find out in two weeks time that Mingyu had been across town that same night, breaking up with his girlfriend for saying the exact same thing about you. 

She was so sure you wanted Mingyu. 

And the truth was, you’d never thought about it – ever. You’d met Mingyu in grad school, through Seokmin – and your first memory of one another was at a horrible group interview for an internship that neither of you got. You stayed in touch following the months after graduation, only getting closer as Mingyu moved to your city a year after and needed friends to hang out with. 

You were almost always one of those friends. If you couldn’t make it, he still made it a point to swing by your place and bring you something from wherever it was that he’d gone. Sometimes it was a thick slice of chocolate cake, sometimes it was an entire baked potato that he’d ordered to-go so you’d have something for lunch the next day. Sometimes it was just a handful of butter mints he’d stolen from the register attendant along with a colorful toothpick. 

Mingyu is just like that. Sweet and caring and he is a good man. A Good Man, even, with capital letters and capital claim on your heart. 

You sigh, turning your phone off and leaving it on the counter as you limply serve yourself your dinner. The stew isn’t as filling as it would’ve been had Mingyu made it, but you don’t let your mind linger on him too much as you eat on your couch and watch a YouTube video dissecting Pretty Little Liars. 

Because thinking about Mingyu is bad for your heart. You can’t close your eyes when you do it, either – or his body flashes in your mind, the sounds he makes when he’s got your hands pinned to the mattress, the way he calls you baby between kisses that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You can’t close your eyes without remembering the smell of his aftershave filling your nostrils, his fingers tugging at your clothes or the way he coos when you beg him to touch you anywhere. 

Or...it’s worse, and you remember how good a boyfriend he would be. How good of a husband he would be – always having a spare change of shoes for you in his trunk for those times you’d go out to dinner or to hang out. Always offering his jacket, always holding your hand when you cross the street, always pulling you close when someone thinks it’s okay to get too comfortable with you. How he smooths a hand over your hair out of nervous habit as you worm through farmer’s markets and malls, how he’s easily thrown you over his shoulder several times when you’re throwing an embarrassing fit at a pub or a bar. 

When he kisses you slowly, in his car that smells like him and you before you both get down. How he thumbs at your earrings when you’re sitting next to him at a restaurant or the movies, and his arm is draped over your shoulders. How he speaks to you softly and listens to you intently – actively interested in everything you have to say and what it means to you. 

How he cares. 

It has to be torture, being involved with Kim Mingyu the way you are. 

But is it torture, at hands so gentle? Lips so soft, words so sweet, a heart so full? 

You don’t think so. 

9:32 PM. 

You’d finished dinner hours ago, and your television was quietly playing some random Spotify playlist. The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars is filling your ears as you trill your lips dramatically and scroll on your work laptop, finalizing a presentation while sprawled across your couch.  

Against your better judgment, you’d cleaned your apartment haphazardly and you took a long shower – but like any girl awaiting potential company, you put on yet another sweater and a skirt (that you dug out of the back of your closet; one that you’d caught Mingyu staring at you in ages ago.) Your pajamas laid neatly folded on your pillowcase, and you told yourself you’d get in bed by 9:45. 

It’s unlikely that Mingyu will come by. You checked his location ten minutes ago, and he was at his apartment – likely cuddled up in his bed with all six of his pillows. Mingyu rarely leaves the house after eight on weekdays, anyway...unless he’s seeing you. 

The time barely ticks past 9:33 p.m. when you hear a soft knock at the door – making you jolt up so fast, you feel something pinch in your neck. You still – glimpsing at the time on your laptop before checking your phone for any potentially missed messages. Mingyu usually texts you if he’s actually coming over...so it can’t be him. 

No lights are on in your apartment but your stove one, so it only makes the atmosphere more tense. You stand up quietly and set your laptop down on your coffee table before hearing another knock – louder this time, the clink of metal on glass making you jump. 

“Y/N, open this damn door.”  

Mingyu’s voice on the other side makes all fear in your body dissipate in favor of annoyance, and you make your way over; unlocking the door quickly and huffing as you open it. He’s leaning coolly against the frame, holding a bouquet as usual – but you put your hands on your hips as you look up at him.