Thing’s haven’t been great lately. Your boyfriend broke up with you. You failed two classes in a row. You haven’t spoken to your parents in weeks due to a falling out. Everything seemed be slipping through your fingers at the moment. Even yourself. With so many things falling apart, you felt like you barely knew who you were anymore. 

“There you are.” Soonyoung’s voice is accompanied by the sounds of your balcony door closing softly. His blonde hair is strewn over his forehead, eyes tired, turtleneck pulled over his chin. “We tried calling you.” 

You sigh. About an hour or two ago, you’d left the party you’d been at with your best friend. Your eyes fall back onto the night sky, still dark. Everything there, Hoshi, your mutual friends, the music, the happiness, it had felt suffocating in that moment. So you left. And in your state of eerily quiet disarray you might’ve forgotten to send him a text. 

“Hey,” his fingers gently graze your shoulder. “Are you okay?” He’s beside you, presence warm in the cold. Hoshi’s always been here with you, always. To many he might seem unsteady, rowdy, the partaker of many on-and-off relationships—he simply doesn’t know what he wants yet. To you however, he is the most constant thing you’ve known. 

Yet you can’t find it in yourself to answer him honestly in that moment. “Yeah.” 

Suddenly, his fingers clasp over yours that hold your mug, directing it towards himself. He takes one whiff of the liquid before pulling away with his nose scrunched up. “Oh my god. You are not okay. Is that whiskey?” He pushes the mug back towards you, “Where did you even get that?”

“I might’ve stolen it from Cheol,” you state flatly. “Don’t tell him.”

He nods. “If you tell me what’s going on.”

Normally you’d fight him, not tonight. “Soonyoung I don’t have the energy to bargain with you.” You stop to take another sip from your drink, feeling your throat constrict right before you speak again. “And I don’t have the energy to explain,” you croak. 

Soonyoung quietly nods again. He’s closer, chest pressing against your arm as he winds his around your shoulders. “Okay, I’m here.” 

And you crack. Whatever effort you’d put up to hold back the floodgates dissipated into thin air. His affection is your undoing. You lean your head forward, first tears dripping down your chin. Your crying is silent, and somehow it hurts more, but you can’t find the energy to make a sound. Eyes pressed closed, no help in holding back your tears. Your shoulders shake against your best friend. Your best friend, whose fingers soothingly rub along the back of your neck. He too is quiet. It makes the void in your chest all the more apparent. You ache for him to fill your silence with himself the way he always does.

It’s when you look up at him, that you let out your first sob. His eyes, those ever kind eyes, filled to the brim with tears he can barely hold back. 

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling you into his chest fully. Soonyoung is warm, and he smells like home. He always has. 

Your arms circle his waist, his lips briefly brushing along your temple. You can feel his tears against your skin. “Why are you crying?” you mumble, voice hoarse. 

He cups the back of your head, squeezing you tight. “I hate seeing you like this. I hate it.” There’s something on the tip of his tongue, you can tell from his tone alone. He swallows it. Buries it against your hair, where he kisses you. Once, twice, thrice, maybe a few times too many. You don’t care. You’ll grasp on anything to soothe the ache in your chest. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“So am I.” 

The apologies are empty yet overfilled. You don’t know why you’re apologising, why he is, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters and yet everything does and it’s so overwhelming that you feel more tears spill past your lashes. You wish you could turn it off. That you could be fine. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel right now. It’s just your best friend, and for now, that will be enough. 

He’ll be here to hold you. He’ll sit with you while you pull your pieces together. He’ll hold your broken heart in his hands until you want it back. He has so many times before. Sometimes you wonder if it just belongs with him. He’s taken better care of it all those times than you ever have. He’s told you so in the past. “Take better care of that fragile little heart of yours,” he had whispered in the dark of your room, “it deserves so much better, love.” A nickname used once, and never again. Just that one time. A core memory to you. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, chin rest on his shoulder. 

Soonyoung sways you from side to side, before releasing you just a bit. The hand on your waist makes you shiver, the one that gently grazes your wet cheek makes you feel warm. “You don’t have to thank me.” His eyes scan your features, wiping away more tears. “Not for this, love.” 

He doesn’t even usually get drunk, as he’s often already passed out before he gets to that point. But there’s something about tonight that compels him to keep on throwing back drinks over drinks even though Jihoon is already looking at him in worry and Chaeyoung is trying to stop him from getting more.

But of course, drunk Kwon Soonyoung is even more hard headed than normal Kwon Soonyoung and Jihoon eventually tells the younger girl to just stop trying because perhaps the guy needs it.

After all, Jihoon knows Soonyoung has been regretting his decision to end… whatever it is he had with a certain someone and he hasn’t had the chance to properly throw himself a pity party that it’s probably been eating him inside out for the past week.

“Why the fuck did I…” He mutters to himself, not even caring that two of his friends are there worried out of their minds. He eventually kicks them out an hour later because he can only handle so much pity being thrown his way in his own fucking house. 

He’s pitiful–pathetic, he knows, but it doesn’t make things any better and he does need this to (hopefully) make peace with whatever stupid decision he made last week to end things with you.

You’re not even his girlfriend–and whose fault is that?–he swallows another shot bitterly. And yet suddenly not having you any longer feels more painful than the last time he broke up with his ex-girlfriend.

Is it simply the alcohol, bubbling thoughts into his mind? Amplifying the pains even though it’s not really all that?

He glares at his phone, silent with nonexistent notifications from you. And then he looks at the mirror and glare at himself for pushing himself into such a situation.

Why did he think it was a good call to cut you off his life when it was him who talked to you first, asked for your number, begged you for a chance to go on dates, and now grovelling in his own room because he told you that he thinks it’s better to stop seeing each other when you’re not even yet in a relationship.

What was there to end, really?

A possibility, perhaps. 

Love that was possibly growing in your heart that he cruelly plucked when it hadn’t even bloomed.

Is that a good thing, then?

Would it hurt more for you if your feelings had grown deeper than what you currently harbour towards him?

He takes his phone and scrolls through your old texts once again. He can probably recite them in his sleep at this point, but he doesn’t care because he misses you and he wishes he still has you–your texts, your laughter, your touch, your voice–you. 

🧡: look at this dumb dog lmaoooo

how can u call him dumb :(

hes cute u meanie :(

🧡: //youre/// dumb🙄🙄

🧡: you know i dont mean it like that 😠😠😠😠

🧡: how dare you make me a villain against dogs!!!!

He takes a deep breath as he plays the video you sent for the nth time, still having it in him to smile at your small dog trying to jump into the sofa even though you had laid out a perfectly new dog stairs right next to it.

He presses his lips together at the sound of your laughter in the background, probably the only way he’s still able to hear it now. 

It’s only been a week. He knows it’s only been a fucking week. But he’s already wondering how you’re doing and who’s making you laugh, if you get to eat that dumpling that you’ve been wanting to try since last month, if you’re sending your dog videos to someone else now, if you’re still watching the drama that you were watching with him.

…If someone’s holding you because, maybe… and just maybe… you’re also as sad as he is.

He hopes you’re not though. He doesn’t wish this wrenching feeling in his chest upon you.

He hopes you don’t like him enough to be as sad as he is.

He hopes you don’t like him enough to drink yourself to sleep–to numb the pain and silence the voices inside your head.

Closing his eyes, he contemplates on calling you. But he remembers that it was him who rids himself of that choice.

“Hello?”

Fuck. He’s even imagining your voice now.

“Hello?” Your voice calls once again, and Soonyoung grips his phone tighter because it’s getting too real and perhaps it is time to stop drinking. “Soonyoung? Are you there? Are you okay?”

He jumps when he realises it’s actually you, panics when he realises he accidentally presses call when he’s too deep in his thoughts. For someone who contemplated on calling you just not too long ago, he’s suddenly hyper aware of the situation and no longer sure what to say.

He opens his mouth to say something, but a violent cough makes it out of his lips–enough for him to hit his chest because it feels like he’s about to vomit though there’s nothing in his throat.

He hears you panic from the other side, and as much as he wants to tell you not to worry and apologize, he couldn’t do it because his head is spinning and a part of him wants you to know that he’s hurting and he’s regretting. 

You already hang up once he’s calmed down.

And it’s thirty minutes later someone knocks on his door, his eyes widening in shock when he finds you on the other side, seemingly running out of your place in a hurry because you simply have a jacket over your pajamas. 

“Are you okay?” You look up in worry, your hand already busy trying to see his temperature. It’s when you realize that Soonyoung has been looking at you in silence that it finally hits you that you’re not supposed to do this.

That he… he breaks up with you before you even begin dating and you’re probably out of your fucking mind for thinking that you should rush to him the moment you think he might need help.

Mistaking his silence as resentment, you quickly retract your hand and apologize. But before you can even turn away, Soonyoung pulls you into his place and closes the door and then wraps his arms around you.

You can’t even begin to comprehend what’s happening, but when you feel his body shaking and hear him trying to hide his tears on your shoulder, you decide it doesn’t matter.

For whatever reason, Soonyoung is hurting.

Whether he’s hurting because of you or some other reason, he’s hurting and he’s looking for comfort in you if the way he holds you so tight that it hurts a little and the smell of alcohol on him says anything.

You hug him back and Soonyoung cries harder. 

[ - - - ]

©wonwoonlight – all rights reserved. I don’t allow any reposting, translation, and any other kind of redistribution of this fic. Please tell me if you’re aware of anyone doing this without my permission.

your stomach rolls uncomfortably at the implication that you didn’t care enough about your ring to keep it safe. it wasn’t like you did it on purpose. you know how much that ring means to Hansol especially, having been a family heirloom that has been passed down from generations.

but you worked at a hospital, and had no choice but to take it off each time you walked into a surgery. Hansol knew that, but it seemed you needed to remind him. “Don’t make it sound like that, Hansol,” you say briskly, wiping your cheeks. “You know how much I have to take it off, I just refuse to keep it at home because I want it with me at all times.”

He scoffs, “Well, look how that turned out for you.” and your face crumples miserably at his words.

he goes to grab his keys, and you reach for his arm instinctively, “Where are you going? You’re just going to leave while we’re in the middle of something serious?”

he looks you in the eye, giving you a blank stare as he gently removes your hand from his arm. always so soft, even when he’s angry, you think sadly.

“I think we’ve discussed everything needed already. I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m still upset,” he sighs, and you’re not sure what expression shows on your face, but if it’s anything close to how you feel then you’d assume it is the epitome of heartbreak.

“I’m just going to hang out with Shua today, I’ll see you later tonight, okay?” he says, kissing your forehead when you nod brokenly. and with that, he’s out the door, and you finally allow yourself to collapse into sobs.

how could you have been so stupid? misplacing his mother's ring, the most cherished item Hansol has; something he had given to you, entrusted to you. you ignore the incessant tears cascading down your cheeks and think of what you can do. you need to fix this; you need to find the ring.

-

“Dude, you know you’re not being fair with her, right? You know her profession, she literally has no choice but to remove all the shit from her hands.” Joshua reprimands from his place in his kitchen, Hansol sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee.

He blows on it softly, watching the steam disappear before returning. “I know, I know, but you have to understand why I’m so upset too. That ring meant so much to my mother, so much to me. She showed it to me when I was a child and told me it was meant for the one I love most.” he feels his frustration building again and takes a gulp of his drink.

Joshua walks out of the kitchen, coming to sit on the couch next to Hansol. “I get it, I really do, but don’t you think Y/n is also upset about losing it? You’re making it seem like you are the only person who’s upset and who had an attachment to the ring,” he clicks his tongue, “and I know Y/n loved that ring just as much as you did, otherwise you would’ve never given it to her.”

Hansol sits there processing his words, before putting his mug down on the coffee table in front and rubbing his hands on his face. he knows Joshua is right, and now he feels like an ass. “Fuck, okay. You’re definitely right but I kind of- well I did, invalidate her feelings while talking with her.” he looks stressed when he lifts his head, facing Joshua. “I need to apologize.”

“Well, that much is clear.” Joshua nods, patting his friend on his shoulder comfortingly. “Listen, Y/n is quite literally fucking whipped for you. I have never seen someone so in love,”

Hansol smiles at his words, butterflies erupting in his stomach at the thought of your adoring eyes. Joshua giggles at Hansol's smitten expression, “You just need to apologize and reassure her that she is worth more than that ring, because from what you’ve told me, your last conversation made it seem like you had your priorities fucked.” he shrugs.

“Plus, you leaving instead of reassuring her probably made things worse; in fact, she’s probably crying right now.” he points out, eyeing Hansol’s face and waiting for a reaction; and a reaction he gets.

Hansol immediately stands up, throwing on his sweater and grabbing his keys before running to Joshua and hugging him from the couch, “Thank you so much, Shua. I literally don’t know what I’d do without you.” he mumbles. Joshua pats his head softly, “I know, no need to thank me. Just go get your girl, Nonie.”

Hansol nods and flashes him a gummy smile before slipping on his shoes and running out the door.

Joshua shakes his head from the couch, chuckling to himself, “These kids.”

-

Hansol struggles to get the key from his pocket, balancing a bouquet of pink Lilies in one hand and your favorite food in the other. He manages to get the door open and attempts to be quiet as he places the items on the dining table.

the apartment is silent; he squints his eyes in confusion. “Baby? Y/n?” he calls, opening your bedroom door and finding the bed neatly done without you there.

his eyes scan the entire room before he bolts to the living room, frantically looking for you and realizing you’re not there. he immediately fumbles for his phone and clicks your contact. he puts it to his ear, “Pick up, come on Y/n pick up,” he whispers.

“Hi, sorry, you’ve reached my voicemail-”

he hangs up the phone and decides to text you.

To: y/n<3

[06:30]

Baby??? Can you pick up please? [Unread]

I’m sorry for earlier, but I’d like to talk about it now if that’s okay. [Unread]

[07:30]

I’m trying not to do the over protective boyfriend stuff but i’m getting a little anxious, my love. [Unread]

I would understand if you’re mad at me, but would you please just call me back? Please? [Unread]

[08:25]

You’re worrying me, just tell me you’re okay. [Unread]

Let’s talk about it, please? I’m not mad anymore, I just want you to respond, I’m getting worried baby. [Unread]

[09:00]

Y/n, I’m begging you to just tell someone you’re okay. I’ve called around and no one knows where you are. [Unread]

If you don’t want to come home, that’s fine, but please let us know that you’re safe. [Unread]

Hansol is two seconds from leaving his apartment and physically searching for you himself before the front door opens. his head snaps up, watching you sniffle and hang your coat up, placing your keys on the counter with a sigh.

he walks to you with quick steps, and you jump, startled when you look up and he’s right there. you open your mouth to speak, but he grabs your waist gently, pulling you into him.

“Where were you?! You didn’t pick up any of my calls, I was so fucking worried, Y/n.” he cards a hand through your hair, trying to soothe not only you, but himself.

you overcome your shock and place your hands on his arms, moving away so you can look at him, “I’m sorry, Nonie. My phone died and I didn’t have anyone else’s to use.”

Hansol makes a face at your words, staring at your appearance. your hair is messy, your eyes are swollen, and you look utterly exhausted; Hansol wants to cry at your disheveled look. “Baby, you can’t just go out for hours on end without telling a single person where you’re going, and then not respond to any of your calls or texts.” he flicks your forehead softly and you pout in response.

“I… was thinking about our conversation earlier,” you murmur, and Hansol's face softens. “I had misplaced the ring before an eight-to-ten-hour surgery.” tears fill your eyes again as Hansol cups your face, wiping them before they can fall. “I was so tired, and it was a little boy and I just… my head wasn’t there and I forgot where I placed the ring beforehand.” you sniffle, looking at Hansol's chest to avoid his eyes.

he lifts your face gently with the hand cupping your cheek and pecks your lips once. “I am so incredibly fucking sorry. you did nothing wrong, I was being an unreasonable ass.”

you stare into his irises, bottom lip pushing out as he swipes over it, “It’s okay, Nonie,” you whisper. but he shakes his head in response, “It’s absolutely not okay. You’re allowed to be really freaking mad at me right now, baby. You’re too forgiving.” he smiles, kissing your temple, “But that’s one of the many things I love about you, I guess.”

“You guess?!” you scrunch your nose at him, and he laughs, gums peeking out adorably as he kisses your nose. “I love everything about you, you know that.” your cheeks redden, and you look away with a faux sulk. Hansol is momentarily distracted by the very cute face you are making, when he remembers what he’s been worried about for hours.

“Okay, I understand why you lost the ring, and really, I’m not mad about it anymore, but that doesn’t really explain where you’ve been all these hours.” he reminds gently, tucking your hair behind your ears.

you look up at him somewhat abashed, “Ah… right. So after our conversation, I decided to… look for the ring?” you squeak out the last part, and Hansol looks at you incredulously, “You’ve been searching for the ring for hours?” he shouts, and you shrink in on yourself at his tone.

Hansol sighs when he looks at your expression, lowering his voice, “Baby, I’m really not mad, at least not at you.” he ruffles his hair with one hand. “I’m just so pissed at myself for letting you think you had to go search for it for hours. I wish you didn’t have to put yourself through that.”

he cups your face, drawing you closer as your noses touch, “No ring in this entire universe is worth as much as you. I can replace a ring, heirloom or not; but there is only one you, and I would give up everything for you.”

you can’t help yourself and drag your hand up his neck, into his hair as you pull his head down, lips touching his. he kisses you with fervor; with love, and you smile into the kiss, prompting Hansol to do the same. when you part, he pecks you over, and over again, until you’re giggling and pushing him away as he laughs.

with bright eyes, he grabs your hand and drags you to the couch, forcing you to sit down. you look up at him questioningly, “I bought your favorite, wait here and I’ll reheat it.”

you nod with a smile and he kisses your cheek before running to the kitchen.

that night, Hansol reassures you with more kisses and cuddles, promising you all the love he has to offer. the two of you go to bed, your face tucked into his neck as you breathe in his soft cologne, staring at the pink Lilies sitting in a vase beside you.

you fiddle with the ring on your finger as you smile into Hansol's neck, eyes drooping on the verge of sleep. well, you could surprise Hansol with the ring tomorrow, you supposed, after all, he was yours and you were his, regardless of any ring.

you’re crossing the room slowly, picking your way carefully through the lego pieces strewn over the floor. hugging a cardigan to your chest too — probably set the thermostat too low again, jeonghan thinks fondly. you never think to just raise the temperature.

“i like it.” you nod towards the plastic car he’s half-finished with as you sit yourself down on the sofa.

“thank you, baby. couldn’t sleep?” he leans back from where he’s been sitting on the floor; twists to brush lips over your cheek, and pick a thread off your jumper as he does so.

you hum incomprehensibly, already sprawling comfortably on the couch, draping a fluffy grey blanket over yourself. you glance at him once, a quick meeting of the eyes, and you look away, speaking shyly. “just… wanted to be nearer to you, i guess.”

the sentiment makes him a little warm on the inside. all sorts of gummy, syrupy feelings that bubble around happily when you say things like that. so casually and innocently loving.

“i could’ve moved there,” he remonstrates, soft and gentle when he brushes a hand over your cheek.

“s’okay,” you yawn, curling up to watch him with those gorgeous, sleepy eyes. “i’m perfectly happy over here.”

an / inspired by me being so so soooo sleepy. going to bed directly after posting this goodnight❣️ been doing such WEAK writing this past month (sorry i am just not with it recently)

Soonyoung hugs your water bottle hostage against his chest, dark blue hiding in the crook of his elbow, bright against the pale pink sweater he wears. It’s an unusual choice for him, normally clad in baggy jeans and loose t-shirts. Still, the color highlights his new hair, blonde bordering on white. Hardly the first time he’s done something insane for a bet. 

“Please! I’m desperate!” He cries again, stepping closer, though he keeps a firm grip on your water bottle. You never should have told him how emotionally attached you are to it; you should have known it would be held against you. 

“No,” you say. You sling your backpack on, just in case he gets any other ideas. The other students shoot dirty looks at you, actually in the library to study (like you were, until Soonyoung arrived). So you grab him by the arm, rolling your eyes at how he jerks the water bottle out of reach. 

“Walk and talk, we’re not doing this here,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Come on, how hard can it be?” Soonyoung asks. “It’s just a test.”

“Just a test?” You snort. “Soonyoung, you are aware that most people don’t apply to law school on a dare?” 

“I don’t have to get into law school!” He says, “just get a 179 on the LSAT.” 

As if that makes it any better. You eye Soonyoung and his tight grip on the plastic. Maybe it’s a lost cause and you should just swing by the bookstore to get a new one instead. But that water bottle has butterfly stickers that have survived since freshman year and a dent from the time Jun tried to use it as a weapon in a fight against Jihoon (that was declared a draw when the bottle busted open and doused both of them equally); it holds memories better than water and you’ll be damned if you let Soonyoung hold it hostage. 

“That’s actually harder,” you mumble. From the corner of your eye, you can see him tucking the blue bottle under his right arm, farthest from you. This won’t be easy, especially since you saw the poorly disguised thirst trap of him and one of his frat bros at the gym: those arms are not to be underestimated. 

“I’ll pay you!” 

“With what money?” 

Soonyoung pauses. You’ve reached the exit by now, sunlight warming you through the glass doors. He turns to the sunlight, and you know he’s pretending to be a main character from an artsy film (not that he’s ever seen on). He takes a deep breath, as if he already regrets what he has to say next. 

“Okay, I’ll offer you the only services I have.” He turns to face you, eyes on the floor. 

“Oh my god, Soonyoung!” You shove his shoulder. “You are not selling your body for a test!” 

“But it’s all I know!” He says. He pokes your arms. “You could have so much muscle if you lifted just twice a week.” 

“Oh.” You blink at him. “You meant working out?” 

“What did you think I meant?” 

You feel heat rush into your cheeks. You push the door open, praying Soonyoung doesn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, not daring to check if he’s following. “I don’t have time to workout.” 

“Then what do you want?” Soonyoung asks. He stays just out of reach, adjusting his grip so that the water bottle hangs from his hand. “Please, I’ll do anything!” 

“Why do you need me?” 

“Because you’re the smartest person I know,” he says without hesitation. In the three years of your friendship, you’ve learned that the only time Soonyoung isn’t serious is when he flirts. 

“You are,” he insists. “Plus you’ve already taken it, so you’re my best chance. My only chance, it’s not like I have a good track record with tests.” He gives you a lopsided smile as he tries to pretend like he’s joking. But Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You see the sparkle in his eyes dim, and you remember freshman Soonyoung–when he failed the midterm and holed up in his room in the frat house for two full days, not even venturing out to drink. It’s that damn sparkle that gets to you. He isn’t paying attention anymore, water bottle hanging loosely from his hand, but you can’t bring yourself to snatch it. 

“You can pass it,” you say with a sigh. “It’s about studying correctly.” 

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve never really studied.” 

“Well, that’s what I’ll teach you.” 

Soonyoung freezes, grabbing your arm. “Seriously?” When you turn to face him, his smile is so bright it warms you from the inside out, hotter than the actual sun on your skin. He throws his arms around you, wrapping you in a hug so tight he lifts you off the ground. Your heart does this strange thing where it hops into your throat. Your arms come up as a reflex but his embrace is too tight for you to even hug him back.  

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He shouts. He doesn’t let go, even when he sets you back down. He loosens his arms just enough to look at you, the full force of his smile directed at you. “I swear you’re welcome at the frat house any time, I’ll buy you anything you want when I have money, I’ll drive you wherever you want if I can get Seungcheol’s car, I’ll do whatever, just thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

You know you should answer, or say something, but thinking is too much when he’s so close you can smell the strangely sweet combination of laundry detergent, cologne, and sweat. You push out of his arms, snagging your water bottle on the way out. 

“It’s whatever,” you mumble. Though his arms aren’t around you anymore, you feel strangely hot, like your blood is boiling, and your heart still pounds. 

“It is not whatever,” Soonyoung declares. “I swear, whatever you want, I’ll do it.” He holds a hand over his heart and if it was anyone else you’d think they were joking but it’s Soonyoung: he’s deadly serious. 

You can’t handle his gaze anymore, turning to study your beat up sneakers. “Really? You’ll get my first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice from Jun?” 

“I’ll get that book back.” He glances at you. “It is a book, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Though there’s been some good adaptations.” 

“That’s the one with the zombies?” 

“Zombies?” You frown. “Oh my god, do you mean Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” 

“That’s not the original book?” 

“No,” you say, laughing. “The original is Jane Austen, in the 1800s.” 

“Oh,” Soonyoung says. 

“I’ve actually never seen that one,” you say. “It’s the only adaptation I haven’t seen.” 

“How many movies are there?” 

“Well, there’s the 1940 adaptation, the BBC series that’s widely regarded as the most faithful adaptation, the 2005 Kiera Knightley movie that’s iconic, plus the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is a vlog-style Youtube adaptation. Then of course there’s Jane Austen’s other works, like Persuasion, which, the new one, for the record, was a terrible adaptation.” You stop when you realize you’re dangerously close to going on what Jihoon calls ‘an Austen tirade.’ 

“I liked the movie,” he says after a pause. “I don’t know if it was that good, or close to the books. But it was fun.” 

“I’ll have to watch it, then,” you say. “I know it’s the obvious choice, but Pride and Prejudice really is my favorite Jane Austen novel. Good luck getting it back from Jun though. He’s studying abroad this semester.” 

“He’s the friend from your history class?” 

“No, that’s Jihoon, my roommate,” you say. “Jun was in my language class.” 

“I thought you hated everyone in that class.” 

“Oh, I did,” you say. “But Jun is friends with Jihoon, so he sort of just became my friend too.” 

Soonyoung hums, saying nothing else. You don’t recognize the song, though you tend to mostly listen to classical music when you study or whatever Jihoon blasts from his room, so it’s not that surprising. The melody is nice, though. Well, Soonyoung’s voice is. 

“I really am grateful,” Soonyoung says. “I know I was begging, because I don’t think I can do this without you–well, I don’t know if I can do it with you, but you’re my only hope and–I’m rambling again.” He flashes a smile. “The point is, thank you.” 

You shrug, feeling shy under his gaze. “It’ll help me study anyways,” you say. “You learn a lot when you teach.” 

“I thought you already took it?”

“I only got a 150,” you say, sighing. “I need at least a 165.” 

Soonyoung nods, forehead creasing like it always does when he’s lost in thought. “Thank you anyway.”

“Well, you swore to do whatever I tell you,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “Don’t think I won’t abuse that.” 

“Oh, YN,” he says, “I’m counting on it.” He even winks. 

You cough, choking at the outright flirting. Soonyoung hasn’t tried a line on you in so long you thought he’d used them all. He isn’t serious–it was engraved in his DNA the second he became a fully fledged member of Sigma Beta Tau but it’s not like many people flirt with you, so it’s hard to stop your heart from jumping. 

You check your phone, unable to look him in the eyes. It’s 2:18 now, prime naptime if you can get back to your apartment before Jihoon gets back. But if it’s past two, unless he lied to you at the start of the semester, that means Soonyoung should be in his data ethics class. “Hey, don’t you have class right now?” 

Soonyoung glances at the time on his phone. “Shit.” He takes off, sprinting across the grass, dodging three picnics and narrowly avoiding getting rocked in the back of the head by a frisbee. He pauses at the edge, turning back around to wave wildly at you. 

“Thank you!” He shouts. The picnickers glance between you and him and you can feel the blush returning. Soonyoung doesn’t notice all the eyes on him, waving like a goofball one final time before sprinting off again. Like a whirlwind, he’s gone again, leaving you to stroll across campus and wonder what you just signed up for. 

.

.

Soonyoung’s brow furrows into a frown, lips pulling together in a pout. He rests his chin on his hands, looking up at you from the table like a puppy that knows he’s in trouble. “That bad?” 

“Your analytical reasoning was good!” You say, not wanting to destroy him just yet. “The logical analysis wasn’t that bad either, you just need practice.” 

“Wasn’t there a third section?” 

“The score for reading comprehension was pretty bad.” Horrendous, actually, but you can’t tell him that, not when he’s deflating faster than a balloon at a knife throwing contest. He sits back, head knocking lightly against the back of the stiff library chairs. 

“We can work with this! It’s really not that bad,” you say. You reach out instinctively, wrapping your hands over his hands. Your thumb rests against the soft smooth skin of the back of his hand, the rest of your fingers brushing lightly against his calloused fingers. You jerk back when you realize what you’re doing, patting his hands once and grabbing the workbook in front of him as if it’s what you meant to do all along. You study the upside down words, not daring to look at the disgust that’s probably painted on Soonyoung’s face. 

“You can start with practicing the logic problems,” you say, flipping through the work book. “I’ll figure out a strategy for the reading portion.” 

Soonyoung heaves a sigh, sitting up and hunching over the workbook. You flip open one of your old workbooks and try to pretend like you’re not trying to melt away from embarrassment. 

“This isn’t very much teaching,” Soonyoung says without looking up. “Lots of problem solving.” 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing either,” you say. “I just watched a lot of youtube videos when I was studying last year. I should have known better than to take it over the summer, though.” 

Soonyoung glances up. “How come?” 

You chew on your lip. You’ve known Soonyoung for a while now, but you’ve never talked to him like this, mentioning any real things other than complaining about roommates. Soonyoung would listen, probably say the ‘right’ things, but it’s a study session, so you just say, “Just not good timing.” 

He nods, returning to his humming. You turn to your own workbook, trying to figure out how to get Soonyoung to actually read the passages for the reading comprehension. Twenty minutes pass in an instant and Soonyoung drops his pencil, sliding his journal with the answers back in front of you. You flip to the answer key, scanning between the two. 

“When are you taking it again?” Soonyoung asks while he waits. 

“Just before Halloween,” you say. Exactly 38 days from now, according to the IMPENDING DOOM countdown clock on your phone. 

“That soon?” 

You shrug. “I wanted to give myself time to take it again in case I bomb it and it had to be before midterms, so, yeah.” 

“Is it really that bad to take all your tests at once?” Soonyoung asks. 

“I mean, finals week pretty much kills me every semester. I actually thought I was cutting it close with only two weeks between it and midterms.” 

“Is November cutting it too close?” 

“Depends on when in November you plan on taking it,” you say, “though you probably won’t be able to take it again if you don’t like your score.” 

“Not a problem for me,” Soonyoung says. He doesn’t waver against your raised eyebrow. “I’m getting that 179, first try.” 

“You’re that confident?” 

“In you.” He winks. “Also the bet is off if I don’t get it on the first try.” 

You nod. “Yeah, that makes more sense.” You glance at your calendar. “

“November 18th.” 

“That’s not too bad, you dodged between midterms and finals, there should be plenty of cram time.” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I just scheduled it so that I would get the results before the Christmas party.” 

“I didn’t think you would be the religious type.” 

“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “The frat has this annual post-finals party before people go back home for holiday break, usually on the last day of finals. There’s no way I’m letting Seungkwan get away with my hard earned Playstation, and there’s no way he’d miss the party.” 

“You can’t just buy your own game?” 

“It’s a console actually,” he says, “and that’s not the point.” You prepare for some lecture about honor or frat code or something overly dramatic and inspired by any of the countless war propaganda movies he loves, but he closes his mouth. 

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” you say. You turn back his sheet, half the answers marked with a dark blue X because red feels too cruel. “You’re clearly committed.” 

He sighs at the answers, flipping back to the first question and frowning. You think the conversation is over, but without looking up from glaring at the right answers, he says, “You should come.” 

“To?” 

“The Christmas party.” 

You stare at the top of his head but he doesn’t seem to notice. You wonder how he manages to keep his hair so blonde without ruining his scalp but you don’t see any dandruff. “Me?” You finally say. 

“You said you’d come, like, freshman year,” he says. “You never did.” 

You did promise, back when you saw him for class every day. But frat parties weren’t your scene back then. They aren’t your scene now. Nothing about blasting music and binge drinking appeals to you, and yet Soonyoung peeking at you from his notebook makes you feel guilty anyways. He looks at you like he really doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go.

And that’s the worst part: for Soonyoung, you would go. When he looks at you with the damn Soonyoung Sparkle, you’d do anything. 

“I’ll… think about it,” you finally say. 

He looks at you for a moment longer, then nods, like he didn’t really expect you to say yes. You try not to feel like you’re letting him down. 

“Can you explain this one to me,” he asks, turning the book so you can see it from across the table. 

You skim the question, which turns out to be a series of questions about stained glass windows. You take a moment to glance between Soonyoung’s answers and the correct ones. 

“Walk me through your process,” you say. 

“Okay, I start with…”

.

. 

“Soonyoung, are you even listening?” 

He blinks at you, lifting his head from his arms. “Something about strategies? For reading?” 

You snap the book shut, shaking your head. You open your mouth, speech on responsibility and studying on the tip of your tongue but one look into Soonyoung’s Sparkle Eyes (patent pending) and all the words are gone. You really need to figure out how to get around that super power. 

“Come on, it’s so nice out,” he says. “We should be outside.” He grabs your hand. “This is not studying weather, this is dating weather.” 

“Soonyoung your test is in two months, you seriously want to skip?” You don’t dignify the second part of his complaint with a response. The idea of Soonyoung on a date makes your stomach flip. 

He sighs. “No, but it’s October, we won’t get many more nice days, so can we at least go outside?” 

You hesitate a heartbeat too long and Soonyoung jumps up. He closes the workbook, knocking loose papers off the table and sending highlighters of every color flying in every direction. The chaos earns a couple side eyes from the people around you and a full on glare from the person directly next to him, but Soonyoung, as Soonyoung as ever, doesn’t seem to notice. He picks up the papers and highlighters, shoving them into his backpack without a folder and slinging it over his shoulder. You can only follow him, grabbing the drinks before he tries to carry them along his laptop. When it comes to Soonyoung, mixing liquids and technology is more dangerous than mixing alcohols. You haven’t forgotten The Coffee Incident, flooding his backpack at 8 in the morning. 

He drags you out of the library, though you don’t put up much of a fight. Soonyoung makes you want to relax, just a little, and when he smiles back at you as soon as he steps out of the sunlight, you find you don’t regret a thing. 

Soonyoung pulls his emergency blanket out of his blanket, passing it to you. He’s more prepared for naps than any class he’s ever taken but the thin fabric is soft so who are you to judge? He heads straight for the quad, which is already filled with people, some groups of friends, too many obvious couples with heads in each other's laps or arms wrapped around each other. Soonyoung settles down in a relatively unpopulated corner, taking the blanket back to shake it out the blanket a few times before laying it flat on the ground. 

Soonyoung groans when you pull out the workbooks as soon as you sit down. “There isn’t anything more fun to study?” 

“Soonyoung, it’s the LSAT,” you say. “It’s not really meant to be fun.” 

“But–” 

“You’re the one that wanted to go outside,” you remind him, tapping his arm with a pen. “If you’re too distracted we’ll have to go back into the library.” 

He gazes at the other people laughing for a long moment before turning to face you again. You raise your eyebrows and he takes the workbook from your hands, flipping it open to the sticky-note bookmark. 

The next twenty minutes are relatively quiet, the only noise coming from the chatter of the people around you, too far away to clearly hear, and Soonyoung humming while working through practice problems. You’re not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, though he bobs his head slightly. You wonder what Soonyoung is like when he isn’t trying to get out of studying–even outside of the party invites you’ve avoided, you rarely see him on campus (because you aren’t on campus when you don’t have to be). You almost went to dinner with him to celebrate passing the business class freshman year where you met him, but you got food poisoning and he never rescheduled. 

It’s for the best, though. Even like this, tutoring him minus payment of any kind, you can tell that spending too much time with him will be dangerous. He flirts so easily it feels genuine, and even though he can be ridiculous, he’s never been anything but lovely to you. And it doesn’t help that he’s hot. He glances up, as if he can feel you staring, but he just flashes a smile at you and ducks his head again. Damn frat bros with endearing charms that melt you like the perfect grilled cheese. 

Perfectly blue without a cloud in sight, the sky is an empty canvas above you. The air is just the right temperature, just between hot and cold, the sun ensuring that it never dips into the latter. Just the slightest breeze kisses your skin, lifting the edges of the papers but never flipping them. Soonyoung was right: the perfect date weather. 

“Soonyoung?” You turn your head to see a dark haired man standing over you. Wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and sides ripped open, you figure there’s a 80% chance he’s one of Soonyoung’s frat brothers. 

“Seokmin?” Soonyoung frowns. 

“You were actually serious?” Seokmin asks, gesturing to the books. “You know Seungkwan said it as a joke, right?” 

“Yeah, but a bet is a bet,” Soonyoung says. “And I really want his Playstation.” 

Seokmin snorts. “You know he only said it because he knows you can’t do it.” 

“I’m not like I’m losing anything by trying.” Soonyoung sets his lips in a sharp line of determination (which you recognize from the dining hall when he sweet talks his way into free cookies). Seokmin raises his eyebrows at his aggression but eventually decides it’s not worth the fight. Instead, he plops down on the blanket, making a little triangle between the three of you. 

“You must be YN,” he says, extending his hand. His easy smile and the way he sat down without waiting for an invitation reminds you of Soonyoung. Unlike the faux blonde, it feels foreign and you shift a little closer to Soonyoung instinctively. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you lie. Seokmin’s eyes curl into little half moons when he smiles, apparently not noticing your awkwardness. You can’t help but feel like he’s intruding as he turns to Soonyoung and asks him to explain what he’s doing. Soonyoung explains it well, though it helps that he was working on the analytical reasoning section. 

It’s because he’s interrupting Soonyoung’s studying. That’s why it bothers you that he’s here, even though Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind and Seokmin seems genuinely interested. Unfortunately, the revelation doesn’t stop you from wishing Seokmin would just leave.  

“I don’t know how you do any of this,” Seokmin says after Soonyoung explains the next problem. 

“It’s easy!” Soonyoung says. “Half the time the answer is in the question, you just have to know where to look!” 

“Quoting me?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Well I did learn from the best!” 

“So cliche,” you mutter but the compliment gets you smiling anyway. You look up to find Seokmin looking at you. He has a strange look on his face, frowning, but not angrily. He looks a little bit like when Soonyoung can’t decide between the right answer and the second best option. He doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. 

“What?” 

He pauses a long moment before answering, as if pondering how to answer. Finally, he says, “I like you.” 

You stare at him. Soonyoung had been diligently working on practice problems but his head jerks up at the words. 

“I mean, you’re a cool person,” Seokmin quickly says. “Good tutor for Soonyoung.” After hearing his name, Soonyoung grins and turns back to underlining in the workbook. 

“Tutor?” You say. “I really don’t think I’m doing all that much.” 

Seokmin shrugs. ”I don’t know many people that would spend this much time with someone if they aren't helping. Besides, either way, I’ve never seen Soonyoung this dedicated before.” 

“That’s because you don’t dare to bet against me,” Soonyoung says without looking up. 

“He might have a point there,” you say. Soonyoung takes a moment to smile at your support. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re cool,” Seokmin says. 

“Thank you?” You wait for him to say something else but he sits back and rests his hands behind him, stretching out in the sun a little more. Sighing, he tilts his head toward the sun. 

“Seems like the weather will turn cold soon,” he says. “This might be the last warm day of the year.” He glances at Soonyoung. “And you’re spending it here instead of pre-gaming the Tau party.” 

Soonyoung’s pencil freezes. He peeks up at Seokmin, then at you, then shrugs. “I take my bets seriously.” 

“Whatever,” Seokmin says. He lays back fully, half of his body sticking off the blanket into the grass. “What are the Ke$ha lyrics? ‘The party don’t start ‘til Soonyoung walks in?’” He doesn’t wait for a correction. “I think I’ll wait until you're finished and we’ll tear it up together.” 

Soonyoung glances at you, then unsuccessfully tries to hide his laughter at your expression. You don’t mean to be rude, but Seokmin really just invited himself all on his own and crashed your picnic. Study date. Outdoor study session. The name doesn’t matter, what does matter is it’s only supposed to be you and Soonyoung. 

“He’ll fall asleep in about five seconds,” Soonyoung whispers. “He doesn’t actually care about the party, he just likes my nap blankets.” On that point you can’t really blame Seokmin. 

“As long as it doesn’t disrupt your studying,” you say. 

“Right,” Soonyoung says, more to himself than you. “That’s what’s important.” 

You aren’t so oblivious that you miss his bitterness, but you are enough of a coward to decide not to ask about it. How do you even ask about something like that? You can barely answer his questions about the LSAT, so feelings? No chance. 

You flip open your own workbook and set a pencil case down to keep the book open and ignore the soft snores from Seokmin. Soonyoung hums, the soft breeze carrying the gentle tune to you and easing you into a false sense of comfort, planting the idea that it’s always been like this and it always will be. But Soonyoung will take the LSAT in November and you will graduate in the spring and there won’t be any more excuses for seeing him, let alone laying out in the sun with him. Letting yourself enjoy this moment has dangerous consequences for your heart. 

And yet you enjoy the warm sun on your skin and hum along with Soonyoung anyway. Seokmin is right: this kind of day won’t last long. 

.

.

You jump awake at the sound. It takes you a moment to register where you are, to blink the sleep out of your eyes and recognize the stiff library chairs, the yellow tinted lighting of the study rooms on the third floor. Built like a prison cell with no windows and stained linoleum floors, you aren’t entirely sure how you fell asleep. The last thing you remember is working on your essay on Sense and Sensibility, which was rather difficult since you haven’t had the time to finish rereading it. Your book rests on the table next to your open laptop, screen dark. 

A second knock reminds you why you woke up in the first place and you turn to the door. Through the glass door you see a student with a backpack hanging off their shoulder, half smiling. They turn the knob, opening the door just enough to stick their head in. 

“Hey, sorry, I think I have the room scheduled,” they say. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say, slamming your laptop shut and shoving everything into your backpack. To their credit, the other student doesn’t rush you, even apologizing and telling you to take your time. But if you’ve lost the room, that means the two hours you had booked the study room for–the two hours you designated for writing the essay and doing problem sets–were spent asleep, which means the LSAT cram schedule has been completely thrown off with only three days before the test. 

You groan as you step into the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The farther up, the more intense the quiet levels get. Hopefully it won’t be so quiet that you fall asleep, but since you got a nap, you should be able to power through an all-nighter. It wouldn’t be the first time. You brace yourself to check your phone for the time, though being kicked out of the room means you already know your fate. 9:08 means that you have a little less than three hours until the library closes. You’ve done more with less time. 

The first couple desks are occupied by students but you don’t stray, heading for a familiar corner, ignoring the empty desks that line the stacks. Your corner, that you found freshman year during finals season when you couldn’t find an empty desk, is perfect: hidden behind the encyclopedia shelves with a light directly above it, only three dicks carved into it–all on the underside (discovered on a particularly bad day where you found it most comfortable to lay underneath and rethink your entire life). You smile at the small comfort, striding through the stacks with Sense and Sensibility still in your arms. 

You nearly drop the book when you see the backpack, abruptly turning despite the fact that it must have been obvious to whoever stole your corner that you were headed there. You feel rage boiling up and threatening to spill. You close your eyes, reminding yourself that the corner isn’t actually yours. Still, as you settle into a desk facing a giant window that reveals the dark campus, you can’t help but feel bitter. Your thoughts stray to the desk that should be yours, even as you pull out your computer. 

BATTERY LOW

The words light up your screen, mocking you before the screen falls dark again. You dig in your backpack for your charger that you always slip into the main pocket. You feel your underused pencil pouch, the single journal since you keep most of your notes on your laptop, LSAT prep book, your three folders, and no charger. Even when you look inside and lay the entire contents of your backpack on the desk in front of you, the only charger you find is for your phone. Which means the longer laptop cord is probably sitting on your desk, all the way back at your apartment. 

A twenty minute walk back, twenty minutes less for writing your essay. You can start it on your phone, maybe, though the thought of switching between reading the Sparknotes and typing already exhausts you. It’s moot anyways, since all you can do is sit and stare at the desk, covered in the contents of your soul. This is what your life has become: a stack of paper that weighs less than the digital universe on your laptop that’s all contingent on a $15 charger that abandons you when you need it most. 

In the end it isn’t the rage that gets to you. It’s the hilarity of it all, how silly it is that your life is dictated by something so stupid. 

The fifth floor decrees silence, so you make sure that your sobs don’t make a noise. You can’t control the tears but you can hold your breath. When your head starts to feel light and your lungs are desperate for air, you can breathe through your mouth and inhale as slow as you can to keep the shakiness to a minimum. You can do everything you can to hold it together, even when you’re falling apart. 

Someone taps you on the shoulder. You lift your head, ready to face a tired librarian kicking you out but instead you see bleach blonde hair and a forced smile over a furrowed brow. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, glad for the quiet because you don’t trust your voice to support you. 

He holds up a thick, leatherbound book. LSAT for Dummies. “Extra reading couldn’t hurt, right?” 

You blink at him. The only times you’ve seen Soonyoung in the library on his own has been with a thick blanket and closed eyes (it’s how you know he sleeps with his mouth open, just a little). You can’t quite believe he’s in front of you and yet he takes a step closer and doesn’t vanish. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks. 

“Shhh,” you say, holding your finger to your lips to get him to quiet down, even though there’s no one in sight. “Quiet floor.” 

He nods, looking around as if he’s waiting for someone to kick him out. He turns to look at your desk, the contents of your backpack still strewn about. He tilts his head but doesn’t dare raise his voice to ask. You know he hasn’t missed the tears, still wet on your cheeks. 

You done? He mouths. 

Not even close, you think, but you nod anyways because it’s the easier answer. Soonyoung doesn’t hesitate, gently closing your laptop and sweeping everything into your backpack. You watch as he dumps it all into the biggest pocket, zipping it up and slinging it onto his back. He tucks the law book under his arm and holds out his other hand for you to take. 

“Come on,” he whispers. And you take it, let him pull you out of your chair. The walk to the elevator; out of the library; toward the edge of campus; nothing feels far when Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your hand. You follow him in a daze, clinging to his hand in the off-chance that all your luck rides on him–like if you let go, you’ll lose your tether to this planet. 

Soonyoung rarely walks in silence and today is not an exception. He rambles about the only member of the frat capable of cooking that apparently can’t do anything without creating a giant mess. Even as he complains about the guy, Soonyoung can’t help defending him, explaining in mouth-watering detail how good his food is. 

“One time he crowd sourced some steaks and did a grill for the new pledges and they all thought it was a prank or something and nearly cried when he actually let them eat them. I think they burnt their mouths from eating it too fast, afraid someone was going to take it away from them.” Soonyoung stops at the edge of campus. He glances at you, a question in his eyes. Where are we going? 

“Soonyoung,” you say. Squeezing his hand feels natural. “I don’t really want to go back right now.” 

He nods, squeezing your hand back. “You want to go for a ride?” 

“You have a car?” 

“Nope.” Soonyoung fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. You can only hear Soonyoung, who says, “I need a ride,” and “Pick me up by the duck statue,” and then he hangs up. 

The edge of campus that Soonyoung drags you to is right next to the athletic fields, which explains why there is a giant statue of the mascot that towers over you. It has three of its own personal spotlights and shiny claws from fans rubbing them for good luck, despite there being no official tradition. You only went to one game, mostly to confirm you would rather be anywhere else (except maybe the bathroom of the stadium). Either way, the only thing you do know about the statue and mascot for your school is that it is not a duck. 

“That’s a raven.” You point at the statue. 

Soonyoung frowns between you and the hunk of metal. “Oh, Larry?” 

“It has a name?” 

“Well, there’s the official name, which is like, Midnight Rain or something, and the frat name.” 

“And the frat name is Larry?” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I didn’t choose it.” 

“And you call it a duck, too?” 

“It looks like a duck.” 

You study the statue. You aren’t an ornithologist, but you’re pretty sure ducks have webbed feet instead of talons, and different beaks. Plus you’ve never seen a pure black duck. But you’ve spent enough time with Soonyoung to know it doesn’t have to make sense when the frat is involved (in fact, you’ve found sense is rarely involved in their decisions). 

“We just call it the duck. Or Larry, when we want to be formal.” Soonyoung jumps at the honk of a horn. You turn around with him to find an obnoxiously red convertible parked against the curb. The driver’s smooth black hair is styled to look effortless, hair falling just above his eyes, and he wears sunglasses despite the fact that the sun went down three hours ago. He might be attractive, if he wasn’t trying so hard. You never thought you had a type, but someone like Soonyoung, who wears clothes that he likes and sticks his hair straight up because he thinks it looks funny–that’s more your style. 

“Here’s our ride,” Soonyoung says. He starts walking, pulling you with him, still holding your hand. You aren’t sure if he even realizes, but you’re in no hurry to remind him. 

“Hey Josh,” he says. 

Driver (Josh, apparently), finally pulls off his sunglasses. “Soonyoung, you have a friend.” 

“I’m YN,” you say, wishing your voice didn’t sound so scratchy from crying. 

 “Oh, I know,” he says, a twinkle in his eye that flirts between danger and fun. “I’m Joshua.” You try not to feel unsettled by it. He raises an eyebrow as Soonyoung slides into the backseat and you sit beside him. “Am I just an Uber to you?” 

“Seungcheol is out and I knew there was no way you would let me drive your car,” Soonyoung says. 

“So, yes?” 

Soonyoung shrugs and laughs at Joshua’s expression. 

“Where are we headed?” He asks with a resigned sigh as if he’s used to Soonyoung’s antics. Has he done this before? You frown. Why does it matter to you if he’s done this with someone else? You’re so busy with the internal war, you miss Soonyoung’s answer. 

“Seriously?” Joshua asks. “It’s a weeknight.” 

“Like that’s ever been a problem for you.” 

Joshua glances at you. “You’re okay with this?” 

You pause. You don’t actually know where Soonyoung said to go. But it’s Soonyoung, your heart says. You're inclined to agree with it tonight. “Yeah.” 

He shakes his head and mutters something you don’t catch and kicks the car into gear. Before long, you are flying down a two lane road you didn’t even know existed. The wind starts to pick up with the top of the car down, blasting your face. Though your nose is still stuffed from crying, the air fills your lungs, tasting like dead leaves and unnatural warmth courtesy of climate change. For the first time tonight, you can breathe. 

.

.

The clock reads just shy of 1 am by the time the car stops. As soon as the rumbling engine cuts out, another noise takes over, drowning everything else out. Crashes too rhythmic to be thunder, the blows softened by tall dunes illuminated by the car’s headlights that Joshua didn’t turn off. 

Soonyoung turns to you with a grin. “Ready to have some fun?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, jumping out of the car instead of opening the door, ignoring Joshua’s shout. He sprints toward the crashing waves. 

Joshua shakes his head, opening his door and ushering you out from the back. He even closes the door behind you, folding his arms over his chest and walking slowly to the beach with you. The headlights cut out but the moon and stars shine enough to see where the boardwalk ends and the sand begins. Soonyoung’s movement gives him away more than any light, running alongside the water and dancing with the tide. 

You clear your throat. The ride cleared your head enough for you to feel properly embarrassed about meeting someone right after sobbing. You shudder to imagine how terrible you looked when he first picked you up, clinging to Soonyoung like he was the only thing keeping you alive. A blush forms just at the thought of it. 

“So, you do this often?” You ask. 

“Do something truly insane because of Soonyoung? All the time.” Joshua laughs. “We don’t usually end up this far away though, and usually someone’s life is in imminent danger.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say, watching Soonyoung strip his socks and shoes off and toss them behind him. One sock gets caught in the wind and blows back toward you and Joshua. 

Joshua stops before the two of you can catch up to him. You turn to look at him. It’s difficult to read his expression in the moonlight but he frowns like he’s not sure he should say something. Eventually he says, “I’m going for a walk down the boardwalk.” He glances at Soonyoung, then back at you and smiles. “Have fun with him.” 

You watch him turn around and trudge back up the sand, wondering if all of Soonyoung’s friends are this strange. Maybe it’s just being in a frat. You grab Soonyoung’s sock and set it with his shoes, smiling when he turns around and waves like a maniac. 

“It’s the ocean!” He shouts over the crashes. 

“You’re soaked!” You shout back. He glances down and apparently finally realizes his shirt is wet, clinging to his shoulders already. He strides back toward you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer. 

“My shoes are not coming off!” You warn him. 

“Just come closer!” He says. “It’s amazing!” You stand with him at the edge of the water, watching it rise in the darkness and draw closer and closer. It crashes on the sand first, a violent move, kicking up wet sand and mixing it with white water. The frothy white water creeps forward, until you have to dance backward. Soonyoung stays in the water, letting it wash around his feet. 

“It feels better like this,” he says. 

“My feet are covered in enough sand,” you say, though he does look like he’s having fun. The water must be freezing this time of the year–it would feel so nice running over your skin. But you’d end up with wet socks and even more sand in your shoes to clean out. 

Soonyoung holds out his hand. “You’d like this.” 

You chew on your lip. Normally you’d laugh in his face and say ‘not a chance.’ But normalcy has never been running three hours away to the beach in the middle of the night when you have class at 9 in the morning. You pull off the sneakers without untying them and pull your socks off, setting them next to Soonyoung’s and joining him at the edge of the water. His hand isn’t out by the time you return but he slips it into yours when you join his side. 

Another wave crashes and you watch the water creep forward, faster than you expect it to be–and you’re right, it’s freezing, but Soonyoung’s right too, it sends an icy shock throughout your body that sends a tingly rush up from your toes to every nerve in your body, setting them on fire. You squeeze his hand and laugh. 

“Good?” He asks.

“I love it.” 

You don’t know how long you stand there, holding onto Soonyoung’s hand and letting the water wash over you. After a few waves, it doesn’t feel cold anymore. You stand until your feet are buried in wet sand, each wave sending you lower and lower. 

“My feet are freezing,” Soonyoung eventually says. 

“Mine, too.” You lift your feet reluctantly, already missing the coarse sand and cold water. You have to let go of Soonyoung’s hand to put on your socks and shoes, shuddering at all the sand in your socks. The cotton became damp from sitting too close to the water, your shoes faring the same. Yet you don’t regret a second of it. 

You stand up and stretch, feeling your spine pop. When you turn back around, you almost scream. You manage to contain it to a gasp, a wheezing Soonyoung’s name. He blinks at you innocently, like he isn’t standing in front of you with his shirt in his hand. 

“What are you doing?” You choke out. 

“We’re at the beach,” he says. “I have to take pictures.” 

“And you need to take off your shirt for that?” 

“Why? Does it bother you?” He smirks. 

Muscles have never been a selling point for you. The “people” you’ve crushed on have all been smart or kind, crushes of intellect rather than bodies. His toned abs, sculpted shoulders, the way his body curves gently as he allows you to stare at him–normally it wouldn’t get to you at all (other than the embarrassment of being this close to a shirtless man for the first time in a long time). But it’s not just the muscles. It’s Soonyoung, your Soonyoung who calls you at four in the morning to tell you about the movie he just finished and is too endearing for you to truly be annoyed at. It’s the Soonyoung that gets lost in the Engineering building even as a senior. It’s the Soonyoung that drags you to the beach in the middle of the night just to make you smile. Yes, it bothers you. No one should be this incredible and hot. 

“No,” you mumble, failing to convince yourself of the lie. 

Soonyoung seems to be done teasing you, dropping his shirt into your hands. He walks a little closer to the waves, apparently not bothered by the chilly ocean breeze. He starts to pose, then raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to take pictures?” 

“Where’s your phone?”

“The camera’s broken,” he says. “Just use yours and you can send them to me.” He continues to pose, flexing his arms as subtly as he can which isn’t particularly subtle (though the muscles are even more impressive in person). You are tempted to reach out and feel the tension, before you realize you are staring again. 

You numb to Soonyoung in this half-dressed state as you take the pictures. The frat must have a professional photographer or something, because Soonyoung knows how to pose. Despite some of the angles and positions seeming awkward, each picture comes out as if from a photoshoot. He only gives you a few instructions on taking pictures, and compliments you way beyond your talents. 

“Just like that!” Soonyoung says, breaking his model face to grin at you. “You’re really good at this.” 

“You can’t even see the pictures,” you say. You bite your lips so you don’t smile. Apparently that doesn’t matter, because he keeps posing. It’s a good thing you just upgraded your phone storage because you estimate at least a thousand pictures are taken for each pose. 

“Are you guys done?” You jump at the voice next to you. Apparently Joshua returned from his walk, sneaking up using the crashing waves as cover. “We should head back soon if you want to make your morning classes.” 

“Definitely want to,” you say. You haven’t gotten any work done, but that’s no excuse to skip class. Soonyoung pouts but doesn’t argue. 

“Perfect!” Joshua claps his hands together. He shoves you toward Soonyoung and grabs your phone. “One more picture together and we’ll go.”

Being at a distance worked perfectly fine but those muscles have you frozen in place again. Soonyoung throws an arm over your shoulders and grins like you do this all the time. His biceps press through your jacket, the flex of the muscle exactly as you imagined it, not that it stops your heart from thundering. 

You can’t help but steal a glance at Soonyoung. Despite feeling like you’ll malfunction at any second, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Soonyoung’s features look soft this close, even the sharp cut of his jawline. You want to study every line of his face, each curve, memorize it until the way his lips slowly curl into a smile is carved into your heart. Spending the rest of your life here doesn’t seem too bad. 

“Let’s go,” Joshua says, breaking whatever magic froze time for you. You are left with cold toes and sand in your sneakers as you march up the dune and back to Joshua’s car. 

“I just cleaned it,” he groans, looking at all the sand you and Soonyoung tracked in. 

You mumble an apology but when you try to offer to clean it for him, he shakes his head. “Nobody touches my baby.” 

You glance at Soonyoung, who followed you into the backseat again. He rolls his eyes at Joshua, smiling in a way that you know means he isn’t serious. You smile back at him and click your seatbelt into place. 

“Address?” Joshua asks, handing you his phone. You punch it in and hand the phone back. 3 hours and sixteen minutes. 

Joshua whistles, seeing the arrival time of 4:53. “Remind me never to do this again.” 

“The beach was your idea,” Soonyoung says. His words slur a little. 

“Just go to sleep already,” Joshua says. The engine rumbles on and he pulls away from the empty boardwalk. 

“‘m not even tired,” Soonyoung says, fighting a yawn. He slouches and leans against the headrest, rolling his head to look at you. “You have class in the morning?” 

“Not until nine.” 

“That’s good.” He doesn’t succeed in fighting the yawn this time. His blinks become longer and longer, eyes closing more than opening. It’s like watching the energizer bunny shut down. 

“Soonyoung?” 

He opens his eyes and you think maybe he’d wait for the rest of his life for you to say something. 

“Thank you.” 

“Always.” He smiles lazily. “I swore I’d do anything.” 

His sworn loyalty. It should be fun, having a boy like him dedicated to fulfilling your wishes. But what would it be like if he wasn’t sworn to you? If he did these kinds of things just because he wants to? 

You didn’t think you were tired but the next thing you know, Soonyoung gently shakes you awake. 

“We’re here,” he says in a quiet, very un-Soonyoung voice. 

You blink at him, trying to figure out why your neck hurts so much, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings. From the rear view mirror, Joshua watches you. Right, instead of writing your essay, doing the problem sets, or any of the readings, you went to the beach. You wait for the guilt to set in but it doesn’t come. None of the anxieties from earlier in the evening (the technical part of your brain reminds you it was the night before) overwhelm you. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Your mouth tastes nasty but before you can say anything, Soonyoung hands you a water bottle. You take a sip before saying thank you. 

Soonyoung unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’ll walk you up.” 

You nod, grateful you don’t have to ask him. The night has been a full adventure on its own yet you aren’t quite ready for it to be over. At least you aren’t ready to say goodbye to Soonyoung. 

There’s still something you want to tell him. You want to tell him that you like his blonde hair, even though everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. You want to tell him that you lied earlier, you nearly lost your mind seeing him shirtless. You want to tell him that you feel proud when he gets the right answer on the first try, that you think his concentration frown is cute, that you’ve never enjoyed studying like you do when he’s by your side. You want to tell him that on your worst days, days like today, just being Soonyoung makes it better. 

But you learned a long time ago tired ramblings and drunk confessions are siblings. They both end in heartbreak and twelve packs of ramen. 

So you ride the elevator with him and watch the lights flicker. You never cared when Jihoon brought his friends (well, Jun) over, but the carpets that look dirty no matter how many times they’re cleaned and beige walls are even worse tonight. You can stand to live in a boring apartment, but not a dirty one. 

“This is me,” you say, gesturing to 808. You turn your back on the door, facing Soonyoung instead. He looks radiant under the fluorescent hallway lights, which really isn’t fair. They make his bleach blonde hair look natural, highlight the blemishes on his skin, easy to see when he’s this close. 

You should go inside and he should go back down but neither of you move. For the second time tonight, you are frozen in time with Soonyoung. 

The floor creaks and you jump, turning around at the same time, accidentally knocking into Soonyoung’s chest as you turn to face the noise behind you. Jihoon, gym bag over his shoulder, frowns at you across the hallway. 

“Are you seriously just getting back now?” 

Shit. You never texted him. “Um, Jihoon, this is Soonyoung,” you say. He waves behind you. “Soonyoung, Jihoon.” 

Jihoon folds his arms. “I’ve heard about you.” You glare at him, which he ignores. “You’re taking the LSAT on a dare?” 

“You’re the one that wants to be a music producer?” 

Jihoon raises his eyebrows and looks at you. “You’ve mentioned me?” 

“Only the worst,” you say, smiling at him. 

“I thought you were at the library all night?” Jihoon says. 

“We went on an adventure,” you say. You show him your sandy shoes. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he knows he interrupted something, but the stubborn asshole doesn’t move. 

You turn back to Soonyoung. “Goodnight,” you say, resisting the urge to hug him. 

“It’s morning,” Jihoon says. 

“Goodnight,” Soonyoung says, glancing at Jihoon. He pauses and fidgets with the hem of his shirt but finally gives you a half hug that feels more like a bro hug than anything else. He disappears into the elevator then pops his head out a final time “Send me the photos!” 

You turn to Jihoon. “I forgot to text you.” 

“I figured I’d wait until the morning to call,” he said. “Even if you were kidnapped there’s still a 90% chance you’d figure out a way to show up for class on time.” He turns the key in the lock and strides into the apartment. You’re too tired to argue back, especially when he’s right, so you just follow him into the apartment. 

“I like him,” Jihoon says before you vanish into your room. 

“Should I find you a wedding dress?” You say. “Soonyoung is single.” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes and grabs a protein shake from the fridge. “Why do I even bother?” 

You don’t wait for him to leave first, peeling your shoes off in the entryway where you can sweep up the sand and practically fall into your room. It’s race to change into an old t-shirt before you collapse onto your bed. 

You set an alarm for 8:30 and check fifty times to make sure it’s actually set. Then you open your camera roll, shaking your head at the countless pictures. You choose twenty non-blurry ones before your eyes start to droop. You scroll to the bottom and click on the pictures Joshua took. Soonyoung grins for the camera, his easy smile as captivating on your phone as it is in person. You are staring at him, a soft smile on your lips and hearts practically bugging out of your eyes. It’s so ridiculously obvious how you feel. You send him his thirst traps and keep that picture for yourself. 

It takes a week for you to realize Soonyoung never posted the pictures. 

.

.

The weight of the world has the decency to wait until you’re home to fall on your shoulders. You hold your keys up and can’t push it into the lock. If you didn’t do well today, it means the past two months have been a complete waste–all the studying, the assignments you got low grades on because you were studying, the nights you spent at your desk–wasted and doomed to repeat. 

All but the time you spent with Soonyoung. Even if you fail (again), he should at least score decently, and you can’t consider that a complete waste. 

You raise your key to insert it into the lock but the door flies open. Jihoon glares at you, arms folded over his chest. “What the hell is taking you so long, your boyfriend is here.”  

You peer past him and find Soonyoung lounging on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table. He sits up when he sees you, grinning and waving. You wonder if he’s been there since you told him you were finished. You make a mental note to get Jihoon his favorite protein shakes. 

“How did you know I was here?” 

“Me and your boyfriend heard you shaking your keys in front of the door for like twenty minutes,” Jihoon says.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mutter, praying Soonyoung didn’t hear either of you. You push past Jihoon, letting him lock the door behind you. Soonyoung jumps off the couch as soon as you drop your bag, almost tackling you in a hug. You pretend not to hear Jihoon’s scoff as he locks himself in his room again. 

“How’d it go?” He asks, squeezing you one more time before letting go. You try not to feel disappointed about it. “I mean, I know you did amazing, but how do you feel? Was the room super hot or super cold? Did the proctor give you the evil eye when you turned in your paper because they were secretly trying to sabotage you?” 

“No?” You frown. “And the room was fine, I felt pretty good about it, but I felt good last time, so I don’t really know, I just really don’t want to take it again.” You sigh. “I know you want to know as many details as possible for your test, but I really, really don’t want to think about it right now.” 

Soonyoung grins and pulls out a package of White Claws and a bottle of vodka from a plastic bag that you just noticed sitting on your coffee table. “That’s perfect because I brought a gift from the whole frat.” 

“That seems pretty on brand,” you say. 

“And a gift from me.” He digs again and pulls out a DVD. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. 

“You’re kidding.” You say. “I think I have to be drunk to watch that.” 

“You don’t have faith in my taste in movies?” Soonyoung asks but he pops open the first drink and slips something shaped concerningly like a knife out of his pocket and stabs the can, chugging it before it can really spill on your carpet. Before you can register what he did, he tosses the empty can on the coffee table, immediately scrambling to straighten it. “Sorry, force of habit.” 

“Soonyoung, I don’t think I can keep up with you,” you say, sitting slowly onto the couch. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m a lightweight,” he says. “I definitely should not have chugged that.” 

“I guess I better catch up,” you say, unscrewing the vodka and pouring a shot in the little paper cups that Soonyoung brought. The acrid scent curls your lip but you knock it back as fast as you can, forcing it down when you miss the back of your throat and it burns your tongue. Soonyoung hands you a can, the lime flavored seltzer pushing the nasty flavor out of your mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m terrible at that,” you say. 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I’m not one to judge. You should have seen me as a pledge.” 

You grin at the mental image of Soonyoung wearing a fake toga made of bedsheets. “I bet you were adorable.” You take another sip of the drink (which tastes significantly worse when you aren’t comparing it to straight vodka) and miss Soonyoung scrambling for words. 

“I can’t drink this,” you declare, setting the can down. You cross the room to the fridge, opening it and studying the contents. Soonyoung follows you, resting his chin on the door and glancing inside. 

“Jihoon does most of the cooking,” you say, feeling self-conscious. Not much populates your fridge, a package of chicken breast and a carton of eggs. A couple containers of take out that are either two days or two weeks old sit in front, and the drawer of fruit that is filled with apples from Jihoon’s mother definitely smells funny. 

“I live in a frat house, this is heaven.” 

You flash him a smile and grab the orange juice, shaking it as you grab a glass from the cabinet (thank god Jihoon did the dishes last night). Soonyoung follows you back to the couch and waits for you to pour a glass and add two shots of vodka. You raise the glass and he takes your rejected White Claw and clinks it. 

“Cheers,” he says, sipping this one instead of chugging it. He sets it down and leans against the armrest so that he can face you. “How did you meet Jihoon, by the way? He seems like a pretty reserved dude.”

“Yeah, sorry if he was short with you, he isn’t half as mean as he pretends to be,” you say. 

“We actually talked a lot.” He pauses, tilting his head as he thinks about it. “Well, a lot about working out. I think I could turn him into my gym buddy with enough pressure.” 

“I would pay to see that,” you say. Jihoon tried to bring you to the gym exactly once, and you have regretted it ever since. The soreness haunts you, but you think Soonyoung might be one of the few people on the planet that could keep up with him with those arms. 

“I didn’t know you were into that,” Soonyoung says with a giggle. You roll your eyes. 

“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant,” you say, “and to answer your question, we lived in the same dorm freshman year. He was next door, and both our roommates were psychotic, so we ended up trading. We’ve been living together ever since because I’m the only one that can put up with his annoying ass. Also he cooks and keeps me alive during finals.” 

“I can’t believe I was a dorm assignment away from living with you.” Soonyoung shakes his head and pretends to sigh. “Fate isn’t on my side.” 

“Don’t you live in a frat house?” 

“Semantics,” Soonyoung says. He pauses. “Semen-tics.” He starts to laugh and though the joke is far from funny, you find yourself giggling too. 

“You’re drunk,” you say. 

Soonyoung points at you. “I’m pretty sure you’re drunk too.” 

You tilt your head from side to side, trying to think at first but the motion feels nice, toeing the line between dizzying and comfortable. Right, you were checking if you were drunk. You have your answer, but you don’t want to stop spinning just yet. 

“Do you really want to be a lawyer?” Soonyoung asks. You freeze with your head on your right shoulder, frowning at him. “I mean, like, how do you know?” 

“It makes good money,” you say. “Well, corporate law does. Everything going according to plan, I’ll be out of debt before I’m thirty, retiring at 65.” 

“But how do you know that’s what you want?” Soonyoung asks. You wonder if he’s asking you or himself. You think about the first day you met him. 

It was the first day of your sophomore year, 8 in the morning in the worst classroom in the Armhayer Building at the end of a dead end hallway with no windows. The business program had a required career building course and some cruel administrator decided to make the other available class clash with the other required business class for the year, so half the class was people you were stuck with for the full year. Despite its reputation, the business school at the university seemed to only accept idiots. 

You settled for a long semester of biting back your eye rolls and yawning through class, choosing a seat in the front so that at least you won’t have to look at anyone else. And for fifteen minutes, you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Then Soonyoung walked in. 

He was out of breath, telling the professor that he got lost several times and someone gave him the wrong directions. You didn’t really pay attention to him until he dropped into the seat next to you. Fully prepared to give him a side eye and judge him for the rest of the semester, Soonyoung flashed a smile at you and apologized for disrupting you. He was so obviously not your type, yet when his head dropped on your shoulder, you didn’t wake him up. Two classes later when the professor told the class that you would be in a semester-long partner project, you didn’t hesitate to say yes when Soonyoung asked you. 

Soonyoung hadn’t ever taken the class seriously, going through the motions and doing the bare minimum for most of the assignments. You never paid any attention to it, but you realize that he never actually told you what he planned to do with his life, always asking you what you planned to do with your copious amounts of money. Now you wonder if it was because he really doesn’t know. 

“I want stability,” you finally say. “This plan is stable. Safe, as long as everything goes according to plan. I guess it’s not as cool as dreaming about being an astronaut or whatever, but it’s what I want.” 

“I think it’s cool. Knowing what you want to do.” Soonyoung says with little enthusiasm. 

“You don’t have any idea?” 

He shrugs. “I have to be smart to do the things I want to do.” 

“You are smart.” 

“You don’t have to pander to me, I’m not looking for your pity.” 

“Soonyoung.” You wait for him to look you in the eyes. “You are smart. This isn’t pity. Sure it takes you a little longer to read things, and you have to work a little harder to answer some questions, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. You’re just as capable as me, more capable when it comes to emotional intelligence. Have you ever noticed that wherever you go, someone is always waving to you? I don’t think there’s a single person in this world that doesn’t like you. Don’t downplay how important that is.” 

He chews on his lip and you know he doesn’t believe you. How many people have told him he’s dumb? You want to drag every single one of them here and make them apologize, make them realize how special the boy in front of you is. Eventually he shrugs. “I’ll just end up being an intern, and then I’ll be so charming they’ll promote me without realizing I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ll become a CEO that pays people to do the job for me.” 

You smile and shake your head. “We can vacation together in the Bahamas.” 

“Please, that’s where the semi-rich people go,” Soonyoung says, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “We’ll have our own islands and sail past each other.” This time when he smiles, the sparkle glints, just a little. His bleach blonde hair sticks in strange angles from rubbing against the couch, looking a little like a fuzzball. You reach a hand out and pat it down, except the hair is fried from being bleached so many times and almost breaks under your hand. 

When you pull your hand down, Soonyoung is staring at you. Except staring isn’t the right word. He looks at you like no one else ever has, a thousand unsaid words behind his eyes, a language like no other that maybe only you can understand. Those dark eyes, so soft and warm, begging you to drown in them. He’s a siren, luring you in with a song of desire that only you can hear. 

You don’t realize you’ve leaning closer until you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. Soonyoung’s hand flies to your waist, moving so fast it must have been reflex. 

“Sorry,” you mutter but you don’t get off him. Resisting his eyes from this close is impossible. Soonyoung blinks at you, frozen. It occurs to you that you’re almost kissing him. All you have to do is lean forward, press your lips against his. Would his lips be chapped? Would he kiss you back? Would he make fun of you for being a terrible kisser? You hold your breath, wondering if you are about to find out. 

You jump at the bang of a door slamming shut. You push off Soonyoung’s chest, back to your side of the couch until your back slams against the armrest. The pain is almost enough to sober you up and you realize exactly what you were about to do. You can’t bear to look at Soonyoung staring at you so you look at Jihoon instead, who doesn’t seem to realize that he interrupted anything by walking into the kitchen, headphones blasting music so loud that you can hear it. He grabs one of the takeout containers from the fridge and finally notices you and Soonyoung staring at him. 

“What?” He shouts over his headphones. You shake your head and he stares at you all the way back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to make you jump again. 

“We should probably start the movie,” you say, turning to face forward, anywhere but Soonyoung. “I’ll get my laptop.” He doesn’t say anything but you can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you as you jump up. Ignoring the spinning in your head, you walk to your room. You lean against the door as soon as it shuts behind you, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. 

You wish you could blame the idiocy on the alcohol, but you aren’t drunk enough for that. Besides, regardless of the reason, it was a mistake, it would be a mistake, to kiss Soonyoung. No matter how badly you want to do it. 

Your computer sits on your desk. The longer it takes for you to get back, the stranger it will be, so you grab it and return to the couch. Dizziness gives you an excuse to peer at the floor, perfectly valid reason to avoid Soonyoung’s eyes. 

“Are you ready to have your mind blown?” He asks when you insert the DVD into your laptop. 

You raise your eyebrows but still don’t have the courage to face him. “It’s that good?” 

Soonyoung laughs easily, as if nothing happened. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” 

You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He faces the computer, sitting back against the couch. Other than his red tinted cheeks, you can’t tell he’s drunk at all. You have no idea what you’re in for, he said. He has no idea how right he is. 

.

.

You hold Soonyoung by the shoulders, staring him down. Your eyes begin to water but you hold them open, determined not to lose. Soonyoung squints, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You just have to hold out a little longer, but your eyes begin to ache and the air pierces into them. 

“Damn!” Soonyoung cries, throwing himself back onto the couch and squeezing his eyes shut. You let go of his shoulders and resist the urge to rub your eyes, settling for blinking as fast as humanly possible. Your eyes burn but you smile anyways, wiping tears away with the back of your hand. 

“How are you so good at that?” Soonyoung asks. He gives into the impulse, hands pressed against his eyes. 

“I’m really not, I think you’re just bad at staring contests,” you say. “Now hurry up, you lost so you have to answer.” 

He sighs as if he didn’t beg you to help him study. With only a day before his test, you’re not sure how much this is really helping, but at least he isn’t partying with the rest of his frat (who do a pre-finals bar crawl, apparently). Instead, Soonyoung is on your couch, again. You try not to think about the last time he was here. Not productive thoughts, especially not when Soonyoung is one day away from taking the most important test of his life. 

“Is it B?” 

“Are you asking or telling?” 

“I hate when you say that.” He peers at the paper, eyes moving slowly as he rereads the line. “No, it’s C! Wait, no, B. No, A!” 

“Pick an answer.” 

He chews on his lip. You have to force yourself to keep your focus on his eyes. “B,” he finally says. 

You’re tempted to drag it out and make him wait but he puts on the Soonyoung Sparkle so you go ahead and nod. 

“I knew it! Trust your gut!” 

“You’re quoting me now.” You pretend to wipe tears from the corner of your eyes. “You’ve grown up so quickly.”  

If it were Jihoon, he’d roll his eyes but Soonyoung perks up, as if you’ve given him a real compliment. He pauses before asking his next question, eyes flickering to the papers separating you from him. 

“You really think I’ll do well?” He asks softly. 

You study him, the way his unnaturally blonde hair has been strategically gelled to stick up in all the right places, the way his plain white t-shirt hangs loose on his shoulders. You wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror because the way he sits now, waiting for an answer as if you’d actually say no, breaks your heart a little. He really has no idea how brilliant he is, in every sense of the word. You don’t know how to make him see it so you just take his hand and wait for him to look you in the eyes. 

The second the glittering dark irises meet yours, you see the desperation. He tries to smile, to hide the fear but Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You fight the urge to brush your fingers against his cheek. 

“Soonyoung.” You squeeze his hand. What you feel isn’t a passing crush, you’ve known that for a while now. Admitting it doesn’t give you the bravery to do anything except pull the shield of cowardice around your heart a little tighter. “I’d be an idiot if I said I didn’t.” 

He holds your gaze a little longer, until it almost looks like he believes you. Then his eyes light up. “I have a surprise for you!” 

He digs into his backpack, pulling out a blanket (not the one he used when it was still warm enough to sit outside in the grass), a plastic water bottle half-full of bright green liquid, three crumpled flyers for events on campus, and finally, a small rectangular item, carefully wrapped in paper towels. 

“I was a little worried it would get damaged in my backpack,” he says. “I really, really tried to walk gently and didn’t bring it near any coffee.” 

You choose not to point out the unnatural liquid in the plastic water bottle, instead appreciating his efforts to protect whatever your surprise is. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t try. He carefully pulls the paper towels off, revealing a navy blue leather bound book with gilded lettering. Not just any book. 

“You got it back?” You cry. Soonyoung pulls the rest of the paper towels off to reveal the intricate design on the cover, the golden pages, with Pride and Prejudice inscribed on the spine. “My baby!” 

You hover over the book, not wanting to ruin it with the dirt and oils from your hands but so desperately wanting to caress the beautiful book. It’s just as you remember it, down to the tiny dent on the front cover where you accidentally knocked it against a railing. You can’t wait to put it back on your bookshelf where there has been an empty space ever since Jun managed to snag it. You remember Soonyoung is there when you hear his laughter. 

“You like it that much?” 

“Of course,” you say. “It’s my baby.” 

“It’s a book.” But he smiles and you know he’s just teasing. So you figure, why not? 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His frat-bro instincts must take charge because he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back, pulling you against his chest and squeezing you like he’s the one getting a gift. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“This is my thank you,” he says. You can feel his voice rumbling in his chest, a strange sensation that sends butterflies tumbling around between your stomach and your heart. “It’s the least I could do for you. 

The awkward position isn’t exactly comfortable, twisting your body to face him with your shoulder overtop of his forcing your face into his neck but you don’t want to let go. You give yourself five more thundering heartbeats before you let go, turning to study your book again so you have an excuse to avoid his eyes. 

“How did you get it back?” 

“Same way you lost it,” Soonyoung says. “I made a bet.” 

“On what?” 

Soonyoung shrugs, turning to look at the book that still sits in his lip. He gently places it into yours, using the paper towels to prevent smudging with his fingers. 

You frown. “How? Jun is in another hemisphere.” 

“Don’t underestimate the power of video calls and express shipping,” Soonyoung says. “By the way, I’m wearing your friends down. Pretty soon they’ll like me more than they like you. 

“Oh really?” You raise your eyebrow. You ignore the vole gnawing at your gut whispering that he might just be right. 

“I got Jihoon to go to the gym with me and I got him to admit I was friends with you before he was,” he says, holding a finger out. “Jun says that he wants to meet me the second he returns to the country.” A second finger goes up. “Who else can I add to the list?” 

He’s only joking. He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but your skin wants to crawl inside out. The truth is, they are pretty much your only friends. Jihoon, Jun, and Soonyoung, the latter two having wormed their way into your life. My only friends. 

“You’ve got to start going on the offensive,” Soonyoung says. He avoids your eyes and you know he didn’t miss your discomfort. Great, now he pities you. “I’m serious, Seokmin and Joshua have been asking about you, and Seungcheol keeps complaining that he hasn’t met you yet.” 

You snort. “They’re frat bros, they just want more people to party with.” 

“I’m a frat bro,” he says. 

“Yeah, but…” But what? He’s Soonyoung? Once again, you wonder why he is so different to you–why the epitome of frat boy chaos doesn’t repulse you like he should. But he isn’t some one-dimensional steroid-infused party boy, not the type to bully the freshman trying to join just because he can. He gets drunk after two shots and makes his pledges follow him for 24 hours a day as “hazing,” only to take them for a dinner he can’t afford and skips his own classes so they don’t miss theirs. 

He’s not a typical frat boy. But Soonyoung loves his frat, and you can’t find a way to tell him this without making it sound like you are looking down on the rest of the members. 

So you just say, “Isn’t this supposed to be a study session?” 

Soonyoung sighs, pulling the book in front of him and staring at the words. Even though you can see that he isn’t reading, he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Your test is tomorrow,” you say. 

“Yeah, I know.” He doesn’t pick up the pencil. 

You’ve never struggled to read Soonyoung. He can’t hide when he’s upset, shoulders slumping, a little pout forming over his lips. He doesn’t fully frown but his eyebrows comes together, just a bit. And it’s usually easy to figure out what’s wrong–he’s tired, or wants to be at a party instead of studying. But now? He was fine just a moment ago, even while he was cramming earlier. 

“Is something wrong?” You don’t know why you’re so scared of the answer. 

“I just thought that… nNever mind.” He sighs again. “You’re right, this is a study session. I should be studying.” He doesn’t look at you and you can’t help but feel like you messed up. But Soonyoung eventually picks up his pencil and asks you to check his answers and the feeling slowly fades. 

Will the rest of your feelings fade when you aren’t with him like this anymore? When he takes his test and has no reason to see you every day? Will your heart still beat at the mention of his name? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking about all the almosts with him? Or will it fade until Soonyoung is just a boy that you helped because of a silly bet?

Even as you consider it, you know the answer. He isn’t just a boy, and he never will be. Maybe that’s what really scares you. 

.

.

You glare at Soonyoung. “Do you know what time it is?” 

Jihoon glances at his watch. “7:43.” 

Soonyoung grins beside him, arm over his shoulder. Both boys stand in your bedroom doorway looking far too composed for this ungodly hour. 

“It’s a Saturday.” Just two minutes ago you were in blissful sleep. Okay, maybe not blissful, since you stayed up until three in the morning because you couldn’t fall asleep, and you were having a weird dream where you were looking for something and ended up by the stadium staring at a giant duck statue instead of the raven. But the point is you were asleep until two fists banged on your door so loud you thought it was going to fall apart. 

You can’t even be that mad at Soonyoung, not when he smiles like that. So you glare at Jihoon.

“Honestly, I figured you would be up,” he says. “You were the one that said you didn’t think you were going to get any sleep.” 

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung says. “I really just wanted to help distract you for the last hour.” Right. The last hour until your entire future would be determined by a triple digit number. No biggie. 

“Let me get dressed,” you say. They step back before you have the chance to slam the door in their face. You’d like to be able to dress up nicely, but you’re already shivering, so you grab your comfiest sweatpants and the sweatshirt Soonyoung lent you (that still smells like his cologne). You dart into the bathroom and meet the two boys in the doorway of the apartment, pulling on your sneakers. 

You pull the hood over your messy hair and tighten the strings. Soonyoung grins at you and taps your nose. 

“Ready to go?” 

“How did you get out of bed this early?” 

“Oh, I never got in,” he says. “Long story, but we gotta go, they won’t wait much longer.” 

“They?” You ask but Soonyoung doesn’t hear you. He turns to Jihoon, waving. 

“See you tomorrow!” He says, throwing an arm over your shoulders to pull you out the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes!” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” But he looks at you and smiles. “It’ll be fine.” Before you can thank him, he shuts the door. 

Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your side, pulling you to the elevators and squeezing you against him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I should be asleep.” 

Soonyoung smiles, as if your grumpiness is funny. You decide it’s moot since there’s no way you could fall asleep now that you are an hour and seven minutes away from finding out the results of your future. 

“I figured I’d save you from wallowing in worry,” Soonyoung says. “We can do fun things while we wait. I planned out the whole morning, we have options! There’s going to the gym, or for a job around campus, breaking into the science lab and petting the rabbits, going to Barb’s for breakfast–”

“Breakfast,” you say. You aren’t a huge fan of getting in trouble with the college when you have just over a semester before graduation and though you aren’t sure if your stomach will accept food, working out is a guarantee for throwing up. Besides, a hot cup of coffee could clear a little of the fog in your brain. 

“Barb’s it is,” Soonyoung says, practically bouncing on his toes. He really seems to only have two settings, and today he’s at 120%. 

He lets go of your side when the elevator opens and you step to the ground floor of your apartment. You rub your arms and pretend like the chill is from the weather even though the lobby is still warm. He holds the door for you pretending to be a doorman, bowing and gesturing with his arm for you to pass. You turn so that he doesn’t see that the silly gesture made you smile. 

Parked outside is a white jeep that looks larger than normal, and is apparently the asshole that’s been blasting their music for the past ten minutes. You aren’t surprised in the slightest when Soonyoung strides up to the car.  

“I don’t have a car,” he says, belatedly apologetic. The two men in the front seat don’t seem to mind, though you suspect they have been up all night along with Soonyoung as soon as the door opens and you hear their voices singing off-tune over the blasting music. 

“Boy, you got my heartbeat runnin' away,” The driver cries, using a water bottle as a mic. You recognize Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s descriptions, half from his voice and half from the back of his head. The person riding shotgun is also familiar, a mess of dark hair that must be Joshua. He doesn’t look much different in daylight, sunglasses resting on his forehead. Thankfully they turn the music down a little and stop singing when you get it. 

Seungcheol grins at you through the mirror. “So I finally get to meet the infamous YN. You know, you still haven’t shown up to any parties.” 

“I’ve been busy,” you say, glancing at Soonyoung who focuses a little too much on his seatbelt. 

“Hi, YN,” the passenger up front says, waving at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Joshua,” you say. “Get into life and death scenarios with Soonyoung recently?” 

“Well, Soonyoung jumped out of a car window.” He pauses. “It wasn’t moving,” he adds when Seungcheol jerks his head towards him. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“I have done it before,” Soonyoung says solemnly. It takes him a moment to realize everyone is staring at him. “It was a dare.” 

“Why am I not surprised,” Seungcheol grumbles, turning back around and putting the car into drive. Though you were thinking something along the same lines, the way Soonyoung deflates a little makes you wish Seungcheol hadn’t said anything. 

The rest of the drive is quiet–at least in terms of conversation. Seungcheol cranks his stereo up to the loudest setting and blasts the Spice Girls until Joshua starts singing along. Apparently car karaoke for “Wannabe” is sacrilegious to the frat leader. 

You can hear yourself think again when the car pulls into the parking lot and he finally cuts the engine. A few cars line the parking lot of the 24 hour diner that sits on the outskirts of campus. The giant neon red Barb’s that hangs over the entrance flickers in the cloudy morning light teeters the line between quaint and electrical fire waiting to happen. 

The workers, a host and three waitresses, wave at the boys, and do a double take at you. You swear you hear the host whisper “Is that really them?” to Joshua as he leads the group to a table in the corner but Soonyoung distracts you with the menu. 

“I had this thing memorized since freshman year, I can’t believe you’ve never been here. The pancakes are my favorite for hangover cures, not that I’m hungover by the way, I’m actually running on my third energy drink.” He taps the picture, a golden stack of perfectly fluffy pancakes that can only be photoshop. 

“Aren’t energy drinks bad for your heart?” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “Joshua invented this to get through finals, you mix Red Bull, Bang, and Coke and it keeps you up for three days straight. Great for when you’re nervous because you physically have to do something about it.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say. “Wait, why are you nervous?” 

“Your test results come out today,” he says too quickly.  

You consider debating with him but a waitress approaches, wearing a fifties frock and a high ponytail with a ribbon that probably looked like a bow at the start of her shift but has drooped down and now just looks sad. Her face is a mask of emotions, not a smile, not a frown, just emptiness, a contrast to the button clipped to her collar making her “Happy.” 

“The usual?” She asks, pausing at you. She tilts her head and you can see the mask twisting at the edges, a frown almost forming on her brow. She glances at Soonyoung. “Is this who I think it is?” 

“Who do you think it is?” Soonyoung asks at the same time that Joshua and Seungcheol say, “Yes.” 

The corner of Happy’s lips turn into a tiny smile that seems to be her equivalent of a grin. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Okay, haha, very funny,” Soonyoung says. “Stop harassing my friend. We’ll order when we have a chance to look at the menu.”  

Happy raises her eyebrow just slightly at the word “friend,” but closes her notepad. She returns to a pastel pink bar where you can clearly see her whispering and gesturing to you. 

“Why do so many people know me?” You mutter, shrinking into the corner of the booth. 

“The thing about Drunk Soonyoung is that he doesn’t really shut up,” Seungcheol says. 

“That’s being gentle,” Joshua says. “One time he spent four hours describing Finding Nemo. That’s longer than the actual movie.” 

“It’s a good movie,” Soonyoung says. 

“The point is,” Seungcheol says, glaring at Joshua, “he tends to talk when he’s drunk. Usually about good things, things that he… Well, things that he likes.” 

You turn your head to look at Soonyoung, who is once again pretending to study the menu. “You like studying for the LSAT that much?” 

Joshua unsuccessfully tries to hide his laugh with a snort while Seungcheol gains slightly more success with a fake cough. Soonyoung doesn’t react at all, staring at the painted flowers on the menu. Eventually, he shrugs. “I’m dedicated to the bet.” He points at a stack of pancakes covered in bananas and chocolate. “That’s what I usually get.” 

“Isn’t against all rules of gym core and muscle building to eat decadent things?” 

“Did you just call working out ‘gym core?’” Seungcheol asks. 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Nope!” Soonyoung says brightly. “And cheat days are a thing, so do you want to split it or not?” 

“You know I can’t say no to bananas and chocolate.” 

“And pancakes!” He waves down the waitress and points to the stack. 

“Ah, the new Soonyoung,” she says. “You guys getting your actual usual?” 

Joshua and Seungcheol nod and she doesn’t bother to write any of it down. Then again she already knows their orders. Except she called Soonyoung’s “new.” Before you can ask what she meant, a shout makes you jump. You turn around to see a stream of boys entering, enough of whom you recognize that you realize at least half the frat has rolled into the diner. The waitresses roll their eyes and groan but somehow they don’t look all that upset. 

“Mr. President!” The tallest boy, Johnny according to Soonyoung’s Instagram tags, holds a fist over his heart and pounds it a couple times. Seungcheol nods and greets each of the boys, most of whom seem to still be in various stages of inebriation. Almost all of them glance at you and whisper to each other, and you get the feeling they know exactly who you are. 

Just what has Soonyoung said about you? 

“How are we doing on time?” One of them calls out. 

“46 minutes,” Joshua says. You frown. 46 minutes… until 9? Do they all know about today? 

You tap Soonyoung on the arm. “What’s going on?” 

“You see, the thing is,” he says, “apparently I was nervous?” He tries to fake a laugh but it sounds strained. “I don’t really know but the guys made me tell them about today and then I didn’t really know what was happening but I guess they followed us here? Thought you might like moral support, or something.” 

You peek out at the booths crowded with frat bros and cringe back into your seat when they grin at you. “They’re all looking at me.” 

“Well, I guess I do talk about you a lot,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. He won’t meet your eyes. 

Ask him why. You want to be brave. You want to be right about the answer you think he’ll give you. You chew the inside of your cheek. 

“Because of the bet?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer for a moment. “I guess.” 

Coward. 

“Why are we whispering?” Joshua asks, leaning across Soonyoung towards you. “Are we gossiping?” 

Soonyoung pushes him off. “Butt out.” 

“Just telling Soonyoung that I’ve never had an army of drunk guys rooting for me before,” you say. 

“Could have had it sooner if you came to a party,” Seungcheol says. 

“You really want me at a party that bad? We just met.” 

Seungcheol glances at Soonyoung, who shakes his head. He sighs. “If only I could tell you why you need to come.” 

You frown between the three men. “I don’t like when people talk in circles over me.” 

“Just promise you’ll come to the Christmas party. It’ll all make sense then,” Seungcheol says. You’ve heard a lot about Seungcheol from Soonyoung, and the more you listen to him, the more you believe it. He’s a strange man. 

“I’ll think about making an appearance.” 

“Really?” Soonyoung whips around to face you and you know that you have to come now. You haven’t seen him this excited since you let him skip studying to party. No, he’s even more excited now. “You’ll come?” 

You can’t stand his gaze so you study the placemats. “Maybe.” 

He grabs your hand until you meet his eyes. “Please?” 

The Soonyoung Sparkle. You never win against it. “Fine.” 

“Get a room,” Joshua says behind a very fake cough. You pull your hand back into your lap and pretend like you aren’t embarrassed. 

“How long now?” You shout out.

“40 minutes,” someone answers. You groan and lean back into the sofa. Studying was hard enough but waiting makes you want to pull out each individual hair on your head. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide if the stain looks more like a horse or a flower. 

“Look at this.” Soonyoung passes his phone in front of you, forcing you to look down. His Instagram is open to a picture of a kitten looking drunk, face covered in milk. Such and obvious attempt to distract you but you smile anyway. 

“Sweet,” you say and even you aren’t sure if you mean the cat or Soonyoung. He shows you cat pictures until the food finally arrives (33 minutes to go). You have to wait another five minutes because Soonyoung insists on having a photoshoot, despite your protests that you look like you just woke up (he raises his eyebrows at that). You stop fighting when Joshua makes him cut a piece of the pancake and feed it to you. Chocolate nearly drops in your lap but Soonyoung shoots his hand out at the last second and catches it. 

“Okay, can we please just eat,” you say. Joshua and Seungcheol shrug and pretend like they weren’t instigating the pictures and telling you and Soonyoung how to pose. 

Soonyoung was right about the bananas and chocolate. Rich and decadent, they’re delicious. When he cuts you a slice and pushes it toward you, you can even forget the countdown to the end of the world. Or, more accurately, the end of the world doesn’t mean anything to you when Soonyoung smiles at you like that. 

You eat slowly enough to bring you to the ten minute mark. Fear mixes with the dessert for breakfast in your stomach, twisting it until it threatens to jump out of your throat. Soonyoung takes your hand under the table and holds it. You don’t run away this time. 

He holds you to the planet again, keeps you from floating away and disappearing before you can reach the stars. It’s Soonyoung that keeps your heart beating. Always Soonyoung. 

Seungcheol and Joshua chat, Soonyoung piping in a few times, but their words don’t reach you. Stuck somewhere between crushed beneath the weight of the world and floating away, you focus on the clock, watching the seconds tick closer and closer. 

“Last minute!” Someone behind you finally shouts. Soonyoung squeezes your hand. You pull up the website on your phone and put in your login information and hover over the SUBMIT. At thirty seconds, they start shouting it out. 

“Ten!” 

“Nine!” 

“Eight!” 

“Seven!” 

“Six!” 

“Five!” 

“Four!” 

“Three!” 

“Two!” 

“One!” 

Half the guys start cheering already, probably forgetting the count down doesn’t mean as much as the results themselves. You hit SUBMIT and watch the little wheel spin around and around and around until it finally refreshes. The number stares back at you, impossible to read right in front of you. 

169. 

“Congratulations!” Soonyoung shouts, throwing his arms around you and squeezing while you try to comprehend what that means. 169. The number should be all you can think about but Soonyoung holds you, shouting how proud he is, how he always believed in you. 

“169!” Seungcheol shouts, miles away from your bubble. You can hear the guys break out into cheers, hear them chanting the number (which turns into 69) but it’s just you and Soonyoung. The world didn’t end and Soonyoung is still by your side. 

The rest of the morning is a blur. Every member of the frat insists on congratulating you, which mostly means a lot of hugs, though one of the more drunk guys tried to spin you around on his shoulder. You laugh when you’d usually frown and find your way back to Soonyoung’s side like a magnet. 

Maybe it’s the euphoria that gives you courage. 

“Hey Soonyoung?” 

“Hm?” 

You say it before you can think too much. “Maybe just the two of us next time?” 

He grins before you can finish speaking. “I’d love that.” 

.

.

You have the courtesy to let Soonyoung sleep in as much as he wants. You wait for him at Barb’s, trying to figure out how to call this a date. 

You’ve seen him a couple times since you got your score back, but you needed to study for finals and he had to make up for missing a lot of frat activities. You’ve only seen him in passing, nothing to fill the Soonyoung shaped hole in your heart. But today that will change. You will celebrate together and you will tell him how you feel. And then… you have no idea. 

It’s just Soonyoung there’s nothing to be nervous about. Too bad your body doesn’t agree with you. Every nerve stands at attention, jumping at the bell that rings when the door opens. You don’t worry when Soonyoung doesn’t get to Barb’s by 8:30 like he said he would. Even at 8:45, you aren’t worried. 

It’s only at 8:55 that you really start to wonder where he is. Maybe you should have picked him up. Knowing him, there’s a 50% chance he’s lying in a ditch after a failed attempt to recreate an impossible stunt from Fast and Furious. At 9, you call him. Between each silence in the ring, you wait for his voice but it never comes. He uses the automated voicemail, so you don’t even get his voice telling you to leave a message. 

The anxiety turns to fear while you wait. The door rings and you see a fluff of bleach blonde hair and jump up. But though you recognize the face, it isn’t Soonyoung. 

Chan, one of the younger members of the frat, with Mingyu and a guy whose name you forgot. They all have the same look in their eyes when they see you, far too much like pity. 

“You’re YN, right?” Mingyu asks. “You’re supposed to meet Soonyoung?” The two guys with him, easily identifiable as frat members between their unkempt hair and sweatshirts plastered with Greek letters, stop mid conversation and glance at each other. 

“Is he okay?” You ask, still standing in the awkward position in the booth. 

“He’s got his score back,” Mingyu says. 

“We were supposed to–” 

“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says. “It was a 167. You should really talk to him yourself.” He pauses, glancing at his frat brothers but they shrug. “He’s at the house. See if you can talk some sense into him.” 

You’re too afraid to ask any other questions so you just watch Mingyu and the other two walk past, and pretend that they aren’t whispering and stealing glances at you. 

Going to a frat house was never on your bucket list but your feet travel without guidance. You find yourself in front of a rather nondescript house. No bodies hang out from windows, no one is passed out in the yard. Then again it’s a weekday. 

You pause at the door, wondering if you should knock. You tap your hand on the door and it slides open, the latch bolt pushed completely in. You step inside tentatively, peeking around but it’s quiet. You turn the corner to find an open room and Soonyoung sitting on a couch, glass with a bright liquid in his hand. He doesn’t even look at you. 

“Are you seriously drunk right now?” 

Soonyoung just shrugs, taking another sip from the glass. Even from here you can smell that it’s more tequila than fruit punch. 

You shake your head, crossing the room sitting beside him even though he didn’t invite you to sit down. He was considerably cuter the last time you saw him drunk. You’ve gotten used to the power of Soonyoung’s facial expressions, his smiles, his frowns, the way his eyes glaze over when he’s bored, the way they gleam when he daydreams; they’re as precious to you as Soonyoung himself. But his face is a clean slate now, not a smile, not a frown, just a blank stare. 

“You know a 167 is still insanely good, right?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Soonyoung.” He doesn’t look at you, so you grab his drink. Any other day and you would have failed miserably but his alcohol-impaired senses make him slow enough for you to get a hand on the half-empty glass. He glares at you but you don’t yield, tightening your grip and pulling the bottle even harder. 

“Let go,” you growl. “Talk to me like a normal human.” 

He shakes his head, pulling on the glass so you yank back, except you overestimate how weak he is like this, and the glass flies out of his hand, the contents spilling all over you. The red liquid sinks into your blue sweater, soaking you through all three layers. 

“What the hell?” Soonyoung says. 

“That gets your fucking attention? Spilling your drink?” You say. “You know, I really thought you were different.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re acting like a child. So you didn’t win the bet. Who fucking cares? Do you know how hard it is to get higher than a 160? Soonyoung, you are smart, and you worked so hard for this. You could go to law school with that score. You could graduate above a 2.3 if you stopped acting like a stereotypical fuck bro and actually studied. 

“You know, you could actually be something if you wanted. You don’t have to get a degree and work at a corporate job that sucks your soul away until the Soonyoung that actually matters is gone. I know it’s easier this way, but if you actually tried to dream, you could do something. I don’t get it, honestly. Because everyone thinks you’re an idiot you act like one? Is that what it is?” 

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t think the same thing.” 

You snort. “I don’t, but clearly you won’t believe me. You think that if you have to work for something then it’s not worth it when you could be so much more.” 

“Why do you even care?” Soonyoung asks, looking you in the eyes for the first time. For a moment, you think you might actually be wrong, because all you see in his eyes is pain. A physical force that constricts your heart and makes you weak in the knees, Soonyoung looks at you like he’s been fighting a war you never knew about, like he’s been suffering in silence for a lifetime. He looks at you like you’ve broken his heart. 

Why do I care? You could scoff. Because I’ve been in love with you ever since you fell asleep on my shoulder. I’ve been fighting this stupid crush for so long that I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know who I am without you. I care because every day the world proves that we aren’t worthy of this planet, that love can’t solve all problems yet you make me question it all. You don’t just bring light into my life, you make it glitter. And I can’t tell you any of this. 

“I don’t know.” The lie tastes bitter but it’s still sweeter than rejection.

“Then why are you here?” Soonyoung looks away. Without his eyes pinning you down, you can breathe again, but every inhale still drags against your heart. You stand up. Afterall, you don’t have an answer for him. 

“I take it back. You are an idiot,” you mutter over his head as you walk past him. You make it to the corner of the street before the tears finally spill over your cheeks, and all the way back to your room before you can’t breathe. 

.

.

Without the distraction of finals, you are left with your own thoughts, your words and Soonyoung’s floating around your head. You have always been something of a hermit but you’ve become J.D. Salinger himself, only leaving your room to sneak into the kitchen and scrounge for scraps of junk food that Jihoon hasn’t thrown away yet. You watch so much reality TV that you start to dream about it. 

Every episode the people, a family living on a homestead that just happens to dress in brand name clothes and drive a Benz, fight and cry and make up. You yell at the mother when she forces her daughter to change because she didn’t think polka dots are appropriate and cry along with the daughter when she starts to sniffle in her confessional, wondering if her mother would ever approve of her choices, whether it was clothes or the people she wants to date. 

You bet your confessional would be a hit if it was ever filmed. Tears run down your cheeks as you practice it in the mirror, choking out an apology for calling him an idiot and telling the whole world what you aren’t brave enough to tell him. 

Jun calls but you can’t answer. He leaves three voicemails: an apology, a goofy one telling you he’ll be back soon, and a final one, yelling at you to pick up or at least let him know you’re alive. You text him an apology you don’t know if you mean. He says thank you anyway and doesn’t call again. 

You have no plans to change your schedule (wake up, steal food, cry, sleep) but on the third day you run out of goldfish and can’t find anything in the kitchen that doesn’t make you nauseous. To make matters worse, despite the fact that it’s seven in the morning (the earliest you’ve woken up since the Fight), Jihoon catches you. 

You’ve successfully avoided him and his inevitable lecture, slamming your door shut and ignoring his knocks but he catches you off guard today. He sneaks in from his morning workout wearing a black t-shirt and slides that he somehow manages to walk stealthily in, scaring you when you close the fridge and find him standing where the door was. 

“Are you done hiding?” 

“I’m not hiding,” you mutter. 

He folds his arms. 

“Fine,” you say. “I’m not done hiding.” 

“Well too fucking bad,” Jihoon says. You try to step past him but he holds his arm out. You’ll never beat him in a physical fight so you step back, shaking your head. 

“Have it your way. Go ahead.” You wave your hand. “Get it all out. Yell at me or lecture me or whatever, I don’t care. You’re going to tell me that I’m an idiot? That I shouldn’t be so afraid of rejection, that I’m blind to how he feels? 

“Or are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t trust someone like him? That I shouldn’t be crying over a goddamn frat boy, I’m better than this, I’m better than him.” You choke back a sob, not sure what words are coming out anymore. You wipe at the tears in your eyes and are so focused on trying not to cry that you don’t notice Jihoon walking away. You do see him come back, blurry shape coming into focus as you blink away the tears. He holds something in his hand, a navy blue square. A throw pillow from the couch? 

He shifts it in his hand until he holds the corner with the zipper, swinging it a couple times back and forth. Then he yanks his arm back and arcs the pillow in a wide loop, landing directly on your head. 

“Ow!” You cry but Jihoon just swings again, hitting your arm this time. He hits you so hard it knocks you off balance, sending you to the floor. Jihoon doesn’t hesitate, swinging the pillow into you again and again, every inch of you. 

“You. Are. An. Idiot.” He grunts out each word with a blow. “You really think you’re better than him?” 

He finally pauses, not even breathing heavily. You shake your head to answer him. “Of course not.” 

“Good,” he says. Then he hits you again and again and again. 

“Ow, Jihoon, what the hell?” You bury your head in your knees and hold your arms over you, trying in vain to protect yourself. 

“I’m not your babysitter,” he says. “I’m not your father, or your brother, or any of that shit. I’m your best friend and you’re being an idiot and I’m not going to stop hitting you until you get some sense knocked into you.” He freezes, as if realizing exactly what he said. “Wait, no–that’s not what I mean, shit, sorry, but–” 

You peek out from your arms and find Jihoon opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. He looks like a fish out of water, and it occurs to you he is a fish out of water. He’s never had to comfort you before, probably never had to comfort anyone. No wonder he’s so bad at it. 

You wouldn’t laugh at him and borderline abuse, but your emotions are beyond fried, and he just looks so funny standing over you with a pillow raised, still sputtering half apologies. You try to stop the laugh before it comes out but it turns into a snort and then you can’t stop laughing, tears that you tried to push back falling freely. You lay back on the floor and laugh until your sides hurt, only vaguely aware of Jihoon laughing above you. Eventually he joins you on the floor. 

“You know what I meant,” he says. The pillow rests on the floor between his legs, all the fluff on the far end from the one-sided pillow fight. 

“I knew what you meant without the pillow.” 

“Too bad,” Jihoon says. “I’m tired of listening to the theme song of that god awful show. You could at least watch something like–” 

“I swear if you bring up an anime, you’ll feel exactly how hard that pillow can hit.” 

Jihoon laughs, patting it a couple times. “I saw him the other day. He looked tired.” He pauses but you don’t dare speak. “We didn’t speak. I don’t even think he saw me. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not the one he needs to talk to.” 

“I know,” you say. 

“Then why are you still on the floor?” 

Because you’re scared. Because it would be easier to just give up now, for once to ignore putting in the hard work and just let it pass. But just because it’s the easy option doesn’t mean it’s the right option. At the very least you need to apologize to him. 

“What if he hates me?” 

Jihoon snorts. “Then he’ll get some pillow violence too.” He pauses. “He doesn’t, though.”

“It doesn’t mean that it will turn out okay.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Jihoon says. “But no matter what happens, you’ll deal with it. And even if it absolutely sucks in the moment, eventually it will be over, and it sure as hell will be better than that stupid fucking show.” 

You nod, setting your chin on your knees. Your stomach turns in anticipation for what you will have to do, but he’s right. It’s time to stop running. Tonight is the Christmas party, and you were never formally uninvited. Somehow you doubt Seungcheol will throw you out. It’s time to get off the floor and get ready. 

“Have you ever thought of being a life coach?” 

“Hell no.” 

.

.

What am I doing here? You fake a smile at Seungcheol and swallow the shot as fast as you can, grimacing as the vodka burns everything from the inside of your mouth to the depths of your stomach. You should have just stuck to your mixed drink only policy but Soonyoung always has you breaking your rules. Even when he isn’t with you. 

Seungcheol disappears as soon as you take the drink, and you don't see anyone else you are comfortable enough to chat with, though that list is quite short. You do a turn of the house, which looks marginally better than the last time you saw it ,the benefit of bad lighting. It’s already crowded with more people than you’ve ever seen on campus. You make your way through each room on the lower floor, finding more than a couple bleach blondes. None are who you’re looking for. You stop in the living room, where you saw him last. 

“He isn’t here.” You turn at the voice. An unfamiliar boy stands next to you, holding a half-empty Smirnoff Ice. “He went to visit family or something.” He pauses, looking you up and down. “At least that’s what he said.” 

You nod. You find it doesn’t surprise you that he seems to know who you are. You suppose you’ve grown used to it, just one of the side-effects of being close with Soonyoung. Though it’s still strange, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable anymore. Or it wouldn’t, if you didn’t think this stranger is implying that it’s your fault Soonyoung isn’t at the ‘Party of the Year.’ 

You can’t stand his gaze so you make your way back towards the drinks, grabbing the first bottle you could find and chugging half of the lukewarm drink. It tastes like a fruit you can’t recognize and carbonation and the more you drink the harder it is to swallow but you force it down. 

You came to apologize. He isn’t here, so why do you stay? Because you promised him? Do you really miss him that much? That you would come here and suffer through all this chaos, just for the memory of him? It doesn’t make any sense but you think that might be a side effect of the alcohol. You get another drink just in case you’re still sober. 

.

.

Your head pounds, the aching feeling of the stage between drunk and sober. Normally you’d like to be sound asleep by now, or at least in the comfort of your home, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. It’s hot and sweaty, the music is way too loud, and you can’t find water anywhere, but you stay anyway, because you’re an idiot that fell in love. 

You curl up on the couch, opposite of a couple making out as if the room isn’t full of people, waiting for just a glimpse of him that will never appear. Even drunk, you think it’s pitiful, but you can’t stop. 

You didn’t think you could fall asleep in all the noise but you open your eyes when you feel the world tilt sideways. You’re vaguely aware of the arms underneath your legs and back, cradling you against someone’s chest. No, not just someone. 

Because you aren’t enough of an idiot, you can tell it’s him, his sweet scent, maybe even just his arms. Soonyoung carries you out of the living room and up the stairs, the blaring music fading only slightly. 

“I thought you weren’t here,” you mumble. 

Soonyoung frowns down at you. “You okay?” 

You shake your head, suddenly realizing there are tears in your eyes. No, I’m not okay, I love you, you want to say. He squeezes you a little tighter, trying to hug you while still carrying you. 

With your head resting against his chest, you can fully appreciate his beauty. His hair is black, which suits him even though he looks nothing like your Soonyoung anymore. You reach up and trace the lines of his face that are unchanging, the sharp straight line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his nose, his soft eyebrows. You drop your hand when you realize he’s staring at you, belatedly realizing you never got to his lips. You can only imagine how soft they’d be, soft like Soonyoung himself. 

“You’re crying,” Soonyoung says softly. You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or not. He pauses in front of a door, struggling to open it without dropping you. Finally the door swings open and he sets you down on a bed, taking a deep breath and sitting beside you. 

He brushes the tears from your eyes, as Soonyoung as ever. Sweet as ever. Sweet and Soonyoung. They should be the same word. You make a mental note to email Merriam-Webster’s dictionary and make the suggestion. 

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just watching you with those perfect eyes. His hand rests on your face even though the tears are long gone, thumb tracing shapes on your cheek. 

“You swore you’d do anything for me,” you say. 

“Anything,” Soonyoung repeats. 

You turn to the walls, knocking his hand off your cheek, not daring to look him in the eyes. Even drunk, you are a coward. He’s put up pictures on his wall, a couple Polaroids but mostly printed pictures, with the frat, some childhood pictures, and one that you recognize. The picture of the two of you at the beach that you thought you didn’t send, where you are looking at him with all the love in your heart. You trace his smile, blinding even in paper form. 

“Could you maybe try loving me back then?” You mumble. Your eyes feel heavy between the alcohol and the tears and you’ve said what you needed to say, so you let them take over, closing your eyes and letting the blasting music from downstairs drown out any thoughts. And because it’s so loud and you’ve already drifted off to sleep, there’s no way you could hear his answer. 

“I already do.” 

.

.

The first thing you do when you wake up is throw up. You make it out of the bed but not to the bathroom, mostly because you don’t actually know where it is. You grab the nearest bucket-shaped item, which happens to be a mostly empty trash can. You lean away as soon as you’re done, breathing through your mouth and looking away from the mess. Belatedly, you realize someone is patting your back, brushing hair out of your face. 

“Better?” Soonyoung asks. His knees rests against your lower back, one hand resting on your back, the other caressing your face. Thank god you already threw up because looking at him makes your stomach twist again and if there was anything in you, it would come up again. If you could throw up your heart, you would. As it is, the organ is trying to climb its way up your throat, whether it’s guilt or heartbreak you don’t know. 

 You nod in answer to his question, letting him help you up. Your head pounds and though you know you won’t throw up again, your stomach flips. Right, your policy of mixed drinks is definitely reinstated after this. 

“Sorry I threw up in your trash can,” you say. 

“Believe me, that is not the worst that trash can has seen,” Soonyoung says. “Wait, that sounds bad, I didn’t mean it in a weird way, I just mean–” He stops himself, shaking his head. “It’s a frat house.” 

“It’s your room,” you say softly. With sober (albeit heavily hungover) eyes, you take in the room again. It’s tiny, one bed pushed against a wall with a desk set right next to it. Unsurprisingly, it’s stacked with protein powder and a pile of frat flyers, laptop balancing off the edge, not a paper in sight. Except for the one next to his bed, the walls are bare, an ugly shade of beige except for a circle filled with white plaster that looks suspiciously like the reformed crime scene of a fist going through drywall. It must be from whoever owned the room before Soonyoung. 

The wall next to his bed is covered in pictures. You remember being amazed by them last night. Your eyes zero in on the picture of the two of you, right next to the pillow that’s still dented from your head. 

“Did I steal your bed?” You frown except the movement hurts your head. 

“I slept in Johnny’s room since he’s decided to disappear off the face of the planet instead of accepting the fact that he graduates next semester,” Soonyoung says. “I actually just came in here for some clothes, which reminds me.” He rummages through a drawer, pulling out a wrinkled t-shirt and handing it to you. “If you want a change.” 

You glance down and feel like throwing up all over again. Your favorite shirt is covered in stains, alcohol, vomit, and something you definitely don’t want to name. If you weren’t feeling so terrible already, you’d cry that Soonyoung is seeing you like this. 

“I’ll get you a toothbrush, too,” he mutters, disappearing and leaving you to scramble to switch shirts. The white dri-fit is meant to be a workout shirt, though it’s clear that it would be oversize on Soonyoung. Either way, the soft fabric is gentle on your skin, much better than the jeans you slept in. Too bad you’re stuck in them until you get back to your apartment. 

You could run away right now. Soonyoung probably wouldn’t be surprised. But he’s being nice to you, so much nicer than you deserve. Sweet and Soonyoung. But you came here to apologize, and though last night got derailed, you can’t keep running from it. Besides, it’s not like the morning can get much worse. 

So when Soonyoung comes back proudly brandishing an unopened toothbrush that he may or may not have stolen from Seungcheol’s bathroom, you accept it gratefully. You stare yourself down in the bathroom, fighting nausea and an impending migraine because you have a mission to achieve, a real mission unlike last night. It’s still a haze, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget how gently Soonyoung cradled you against his chest, the brush of his fingers on your cheek. If he didn’t show up this morning, you’d think it was a dream. 

Soonyoung’s door is open when you finish but he isn’t in his room. You grab your bag from the floor and venture down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. There’s a couple people passed out in the living room, and one person snoring softly in the kitchen, head folded in his arms in a position that must be incredibly painful for his neck. But it’s where you find Soonyoung, digging through the fridge and finally pulling out a water bottle. He hands it to you, along with a bottle of pills. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, not even bothering to check the label for the brand. You take a couple and chug half the bottle, gaslighting yourself into believing that it will instantly revive you (it doesn’t work and your head still pounds). 

“Are you hungry?” Soonyoung asks. He opens the fridge again, this time wide enough to show the shelves that are filled with beer, vodka, and White Claws. There’s a pizza box and some eggs, but not much else. 

“How are any of you alive?” You ask softly, glancing at the snoring person on the counter. 

“Yuta can sleep through an apocalypse, don’t worry about him,” Soonyoung says, waving his hand. He closes the fridge, leaning against it. “And most of us keep our actual food in mini-fridges. I just cleared mine out for break, so I don’t have anything in it.” He doesn’t say anything else about vanishing. 

“I’m pretty sure that pizza has been in there since the start of the semester and I’ve never seen eggs in here before though, so I don’t think you should risk any of this,” Soonyoung says. “McDonald’s fries are a far superior hangover cure, they’ve never failed me.” 

“There’s a McDonald’s nearby?” 

Soonyoung grins, pulling keys out of his pocket and spinning them around his fingers a couple times, except they fly off and clatter on the floor. The man asleep on the counter, Yuta apparently, stirs but doesn’t move. You can’t help but smile as Soonyoung scrambles to retrieve them from the floor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. 

“There isn’t one,” Soonyoung explains, leading the way to the door. “But I have the keys to Seungcheol’s car.” 

“I’m not really comfortable with grand theft auto,” you say, though you don’t stop following him to Seungcheol’s giant white Jeep. 

“He gave me the keys last night when I walked in,” Soonyoung says. “Something about owing me. He was pretty drunk.” He darts around to the passenger side before you can, opening the door for you. He waves his hand when you frown at him, as if you’re the one acting strange. Thinking with this headache is too hard so you just get into the car and strap the seatbelt on. 

“I can’t believe you thought I’d steal a car,” Soonyoung says. He turns the engine on and scans the front of the car before finally settling his right hand on the gear shift. 

“You have driven this car before, right?” 

“Of course,” Soonyoung says a little too fast. You grab onto the door handle and hope that your stomach really is empty. 

Soonyoung’s driving isn’t the worst you’ve ever experienced; that title goes to Jihoon, who was banned from touching car keys after his Mario Kart driving. That said, you think he’s a good second place. He slams on the gas and the brakes too hard and drives altogether too fast. He blasts the radio and sings along purposefully off key. You should be terrified but it’s the most fun you’ve ever had riding in the passenger seat. 

“I’m never riding with you again,” you say, breathless from laughing. He pulls to a stop at the red light, the Golden arches of your destination still one light away. “You know yellow lights mean slow down right?”

“I stopped at this one!” Soonyoung says. “I’ll have you know I haven’t been in an accident.” He pauses. “Since I was nineteen.” 

You nod, pursing your lips to stop yourself from smiling fully. “That’s what I figured.” You peek at Soonyoung and he’s smiling too. 

So different from the last time you saw him. You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be able to laugh and joke around with him so easily, not when you still haven’t apologized. And Soonyoung shouldn’t be looking at you like that, genuine fondness in his eyes. 

“The light’s green,” you say. His smile fades a little when he turns his head and drives ahead, stepping lightly for once. You’re so close now, but a car going straight in the right lane prevents him from turning. 

The pain medicine must have kicked in because your headache is slowly fading, replaced by heartache that no medication can cure. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt out. 

The blinker beeps a steady rhythm in the empty silence. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Nothing’s ever obvious with you, Soonyoung,” you say softly. 

“Oh.” The light turns green and he guides the car slowly into the parking lot, stopping in a spot instead of pulling up to the drive through. As soon as the car is in park, he turns to face you. There’s a crease in his forehead that you recognize from the rare occasions that he would actually talk to you seriously. “YN, I genuinely thought I was being clear about this from the beginning, but if you still really don’t get it, then I’ll say it straight up: I like you. I’ve liked you since the day we met and then I fell in love with you. 

“Did you know you’re the first person that’s ever genuinely believed in me? I mean, I know I have friends, and my family means well, but they always get this look in their eye whenever I talk about trying for things, like it was cute that I was trying, but they never actually believed in me. And I started to believe them too. I started to believe that I couldn’t believe in myself.” He frowns. “That makes no sense. The point is, you are the reason I started to believe in myself again. 

“No one’s ever looked at me like you do. No one’s ever told me to get my shit together–well, they have, but you’re the only one that told me it was because I could be better. 

“You say it wasn’t obvious, but I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times. I flirted, I tried to ask you on a date so many times, and I finally accepted that you’d never see me like that, so I was a dick. I told you off, even though you were right. I’m so sorry for that, and I’m sorry I ran away, and I’m sorry it took me so long to apologize.” 

“Stop,” you say. Soonyoung’s eyes widen, tears welling up, and you realize he thinks you’re rejecting him. “Stop apologizing!” His brow creases in confusion, an adorable frown. Summoning all your courage, you reach out, resting your hand on his. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t have any right to judge you and the choices you were making, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you when I knew how much the bet meant to you.”

You squeeze his hand, closing your eyes. “And I think I was a little oblivious on purpose. I’m not the kind of person that has crushes, let alone crushes that like me back, so I freaked a little and missed all the signs.” You open your eyes and grin at him. It’s easy to feel brave when he smiles back at you. “But I like you, Soonyoung. I like you so much, I don’t have enough words to express it. My whole life has been about my future, my career, and it’s exhausting, but being with you makes it all exciting again. Like, no matter what happens, if you’re with me, it won’t just be okay, it’ll be fun.” 

Soonyoung beams. “Really?” 

You squeeze his hand. “I like you.” Like the first time you took the LSAT, you can’t think of a single word, except instead of damning your future this feels like the start of it. Soonyoung sits across from you and you don’t need words. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, but reality sets in when your stomach growls. You glance outside the window and remember where you are. “Did you just confess to me in a McDonald’s parking lot?” 

“Better than drunk in my own bed.” 

“I didn’t!” You let go of his hand to hide your face. 

Soonyoung grins. “You were cute!” 

“I don’t remember it, it doesn't count!” 

“Whatever you say,” Soonyoung says, leaning over the center console. He gently pulls your hands away from your face, hand circling your wrist gently. You instinctively hold your breath, though you don’t lean away. Soonyoung leans a little closer, forehead resting against yours. 

“This okay?” He whispers, breath kissing your lips, and you remember that less than an hour ago, you were throwing up. Your head still aches and your stomach is still queasy and your whole body feels disgusting. 

“We are not having our first kiss in a McDonald’s parking lot,” you say, leaning back. Soonyoung sighs, but he sits back in his chair, settling for grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Fine,” Soonyoung says. He rubs his thumb back and forth, and when you meet his eyes, you see a familiar glint of trouble. “You know I’m still sworn to you. Whatever you want.” 

The words go straight to your heart. You could live a thousand lives and never meet someone as genuine as Soonyoung. You know that he means it, heart and soul, that he’d do anything for you. And it should be terrifying that he’s willing to bear his heart for you, that you are willing to do the same. But it’s Soonyoung. It’s easy to trust him with it, because even though he breaks half the computers he touches and can’t hold onto a pencil for his life, he won’t ever drop your heart. 

I love you. One day you’ll be able to say it, one day you’ll scream it like you so desperately want to. But until then, you settle for his certified brilliant smile and the gentle brush of his lips on the back of your hand, only letting go to turn the engine back on. 

“Let’s get you some fries,” he says. “Then kisses?” 

You shake your head and laugh, slipping your hand back into his. 

Before he can put the car into gear, his phone rings. He stares at the screen for a moment, frowning like he can’t decide whether he should answer it or not. Finally he slides the green across, turning on speaker. 

“Hey Seungcheol, I’m with—” 

“Where the hell are you? And where is my car?” Seungcheol’s voice is somewhere between angry and concerned. “You think it’s okay to vanish and then show up only to steal my car?” 

“First of all, you gave me the keys,” Soonyoung says. He glances at you. “And I’m at McDonald’s because YN desperately needed a hangover cure.” 

“Hey,” you say so Seungcheol knows you’re there. 

The line is quiet for so long you think Soonyoung’s phone has finally given up on him but eventually he says, “You’re with YN?” 

“We talked,” he says. “And we’re good.” 

You snort. “That’s how you’re going to describe it?” 

“Are we not good?” 

You glance at your hand still intertwined with his, the Soonyoung Sparkle glittering back at you when you look him in the eyes. Good? There’s not a word to describe how you feel right now. 

“We are beyond good.” 

.

.

“Are you crying?” You whisper. Soonyoung shakes his head, chin brushing against your head but when he inhales again, he sniffles. You reach up to pat his cheek and are entirely unsurprised when it’s wet. On screen Elle Woods continues her speech, for once not wearing pink. 

“She’s just so cool,” Soonyoung says. You lift your head off his chest so you can look him in the eyes. The temptation to tease him is hard to resist but he pouts his lips and you see another tear slip out. You kiss his cheek, out of habit more than anything. Strange how much can change in two weeks, how something you’ve never imagined doing has become natural. But being with Soonyoung is just like that. New and old at the same time, the kind of comfort that has you planning how to make this last a lifetime. 

Soonyoung wraps his arms around you tighter, so you nestle back into his chest, turning away from the end of the movie to close your eyes and breathe in his cologne. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” you whisper, lips brushing against his neck. “The whole bet was based on a movie you haven’t seen.” 

“You’re missing the end,” he says. His voice rumbles in your ear, drowning out his heartbeat. 

“I’ve seen it before.” Your bed really isn’t built for two people to lay down together. You are laying more on Soonyoung than the mattress but it’s not the first time. From the way he holds you, you doubt it’ll be the last. 

The credits roll too quickly, but Soonyoung still doesn’t let go. He pulls you up so that your head is next to his, nose centimeters away from yours. 

“So am I officially qualified to go to law school?” He asks. 

“You are Elle Woods certified,” you say. “But you’re sure that’s what you want?” 

“I mean I have to get in. But I figure if I’m going to waste away at a desk, I might as well do it for something I believe in.” He pauses. “With someone that believes in me.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, breath tickling the sensitive skin. You can’t help but sigh. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s what you want,” you say, after several heartbeats of struggling to think. 

“I want…” His words “To be with you. However you’ll have me.” His arms loosen, hands sliding down to your waist. 

“Still not answering the question,” you breathe out but you can’t even remember what the question is, not when he’s shifting to lay on top of you, lips inching their way up your neck. He kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips, then stops, pulling away and meeting your eyes again.

The Soonyoung Sparkle. The grinch has nothing on you–your heart swells so large it feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest–Alien style. Does he know what he does to you? How he’s made everything in your life shine? How happy you are when he’s with you? 

“I love you,” you whisper. 

Soonyoung blinks at you. “You…” 

“I love you,” you say again, this time with more confidence. “I really, really love you.” 

Soonyoung grins, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, moving like the world outside has stopped. He makes a bubble around you again, or maybe it’s your own heart; either way the only thing that exists is the way his hands inch up your shirt, the way his lips begin to press harder against yours. You give up on coherent thoughts, settling for wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“I love you, too,” Soonyoung whispers between kisses. “If that wasn’t obvious.” 

Soonyoung who always treated you like you were enough already. Soonyoung who does everything with 100% of his heart. Soonyoung who has always been sincere with you, from the first day you met him. Soonyoung, who you are so lucky to be loved by. 

You don’t know how to say any of this in a way that makes sense so you let his fire melt you until you are putty in his arms. He pulls away, and the Soonyoung Sparkle burns, your personal stars flickering back at you.  

“You want to–” Soonyoung starts to say, but the door slams open. Then Soonyoung falls on you, pillow rolling off his head. 

“I’m taking this back!” Someone shouts while you hear Jihoon cursing. 

“Read the room, idiot!” Soonyoung pushes off of you, sitting up and pulling your shirt down as smoothly as he can. You sit up, trying to decide if you should be embarrassed or angry. Facing Jun, frozen midstep with his jaw hanging open a little and Jihoon in the doorway with his arms folded, shaking his head slightly, you opt for the latter. 

“Does no one knock in Colombia?” You frown at him. “And when did you get back? Why didn’t you call?” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. “And you were supposed to be alone, according to my sources.” He glares at Jihoon. 

“YN didn’t say he was coming over,” he says with a shrug. 

You turn your frown to him. “You walked in halfway through the movie, I literally shouted ‘Soonyoung’s over.’” 

“I had my headphones on,” he says, though he’s avoiding your eyes too. Typical of your friends, never claiming responsibility for their actions. 

“So this is Soonyoung,” Jun says, turning to face him. Soonyoung moved to the edge of the bed, too far away for your taste but probably an appropriate distance for your friends, especially compared to what they walked in on. Jun tilts his head. “You dyed your hair.” 

“Yeah,” Soonyoung scratches the back of his head. “Spur of the moment thing.” You miss the blonde, surprisingly fitting considering it isn’t his natural color. But the black suits him too, and probably will help him with law school interviews. Then again, knowing Soonyoung, this color won’t last long either. Good thing there isn’t a color you don’t think suits him. 

“We should do this properly,” Soonyoung says. “Go out for dinner or something.” 

“Hey, I didn’t get dinner,” Jihoon says. 

“You want to get dinner with me?” Soonyoung perks up. 

“No, I’m protesting unfair treatment.” 

“It’s not unfair, I’m just clearly his favorite,” Jun says. 

“Can you guys stop fighting over my boyfriend?” You say. 

Jihoon and Jun stare at you. When Soonyoung turns to face you, he grins, eyes sparkling. 

“What?” 

“You just called him your boyfriend,” Jun says. 

“Well… he is.” You feel your cheeks flush. “Why are you guys making it weird?” 

“It’s not weird,” Soonyoung says. He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s cute,” he whispers in your ear. “Adorable.” This only makes you flush even more. 

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just grab this and you two can get back to… whatever.” Jun takes a step towards your bookcase. You grab the pillow that he threw at Soonyoung and nail him in the chest, earning a laugh from Jihoon. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

“The book is mine, Soonyoung never fulfilled the bet!” Jun says. You stand up, blocking him from your Pride and Prejudice. 

“Hey, I followed through!” Soonyoung says. “We’re dating!” 

“I remember the bet stating that you had to ask YN out after you took the LSAT.” Jun turns to him. 

“And I did,” Soonyoung says. “You never said it had to be right after.” 

Jun eyes him. “That’s cheating.” 

“That’s being a lawyer,” you say. “And I think he’s going to be really good at it.” 

Jun glances between you and Soonyoung and shakes his head. “Whatever, I’ll get my book back another day.” 

You step closer to Soonyoung and he links his pinky with yours. You glance at your friends. “Are you going to stand there forever or are we getting dinner?” 

“You two don’t want to get back to what you were doing?” Jihoon asks. 

You slip your hand into Soonyoung’s. He meets your eyes and he’s only been your boyfriend for two weeks but looking at him is like looking home. There’s no need to rush. 

“Sounds like someone doesn’t want to pick where we go.” 

“We should make them pay, too,” Soonyoung says. 

You grin at him. “You are the smartest person I know.” 

Thing’s haven’t been great lately. Your boyfriend broke up with you. You failed two classes in a row. You haven’t spoken to your parents in weeks due to a falling out. Everything seemed be slipping through your fingers at the moment. Even yourself. With so many things falling apart, you felt like you barely knew who you were anymore. 

“There you are.” Soonyoung’s voice is accompanied by the sounds of your balcony door closing softly. His blonde hair is strewn over his forehead, eyes tired, turtleneck pulled over his chin. “We tried calling you.” 

You sigh. About an hour or two ago, you’d left the party you’d been at with your best friend. Your eyes fall back onto the night sky, still dark. Everything there, Hoshi, your mutual friends, the music, the happiness, it had felt suffocating in that moment. So you left. And in your state of eerily quiet disarray you might’ve forgotten to send him a text. 

“Hey,” his fingers gently graze your shoulder. “Are you okay?” He’s beside you, presence warm in the cold. Hoshi’s always been here with you, always. To many he might seem unsteady, rowdy, the partaker of many on-and-off relationships—he simply doesn’t know what he wants yet. To you however, he is the most constant thing you’ve known. 

Yet you can’t find it in yourself to answer him honestly in that moment. “Yeah.” 

Suddenly, his fingers clasp over yours that hold your mug, directing it towards himself. He takes one whiff of the liquid before pulling away with his nose scrunched up. “Oh my god. You are not okay. Is that whiskey?” He pushes the mug back towards you, “Where did you even get that?”

“I might’ve stolen it from Cheol,” you state flatly. “Don’t tell him.”

He nods. “If you tell me what’s going on.”

Normally you’d fight him, not tonight. “Soonyoung I don’t have the energy to bargain with you.” You stop to take another sip from your drink, feeling your throat constrict right before you speak again. “And I don’t have the energy to explain,” you croak. 

Soonyoung quietly nods again. He’s closer, chest pressing against your arm as he winds his around your shoulders. “Okay, I’m here.” 

And you crack. Whatever effort you’d put up to hold back the floodgates dissipated into thin air. His affection is your undoing. You lean your head forward, first tears dripping down your chin. Your crying is silent, and somehow it hurts more, but you can’t find the energy to make a sound. Eyes pressed closed, no help in holding back your tears. Your shoulders shake against your best friend. Your best friend, whose fingers soothingly rub along the back of your neck. He too is quiet. It makes the void in your chest all the more apparent. You ache for him to fill your silence with himself the way he always does.

It’s when you look up at him, that you let out your first sob. His eyes, those ever kind eyes, filled to the brim with tears he can barely hold back. 

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling you into his chest fully. Soonyoung is warm, and he smells like home. He always has. 

Your arms circle his waist, his lips briefly brushing along your temple. You can feel his tears against your skin. “Why are you crying?” you mumble, voice hoarse. 

He cups the back of your head, squeezing you tight. “I hate seeing you like this. I hate it.” There’s something on the tip of his tongue, you can tell from his tone alone. He swallows it. Buries it against your hair, where he kisses you. Once, twice, thrice, maybe a few times too many. You don’t care. You’ll grasp on anything to soothe the ache in your chest. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“So am I.” 

The apologies are empty yet overfilled. You don’t know why you’re apologising, why he is, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters and yet everything does and it’s so overwhelming that you feel more tears spill past your lashes. You wish you could turn it off. That you could be fine. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel right now. It’s just your best friend, and for now, that will be enough. 

He’ll be here to hold you. He’ll sit with you while you pull your pieces together. He’ll hold your broken heart in his hands until you want it back. He has so many times before. Sometimes you wonder if it just belongs with him. He’s taken better care of it all those times than you ever have. He’s told you so in the past. “Take better care of that fragile little heart of yours,” he had whispered in the dark of your room, “it deserves so much better, love.” A nickname used once, and never again. Just that one time. A core memory to you. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, chin rest on his shoulder. 

Soonyoung sways you from side to side, before releasing you just a bit. The hand on your waist makes you shiver, the one that gently grazes your wet cheek makes you feel warm. “You don’t have to thank me.” His eyes scan your features, wiping away more tears. “Not for this, love.” 

"What about this one," he murmurs into the silence, rubbing his thumb slowly over the soft skin of your wrist. "It's so tiny; I never noticed it before."

And the scar in question is tiny, smaller than a grain of rice, nestled right in the center of your wrist.

The story behind it, though, is so much bigger.

For the first time all night, your first instinct is to lie — to make something up and brush it off and clutch at the secret you've kept tucked away in your chest for so, so long. Excuses like oh, it's no big deal - it's nothing - I don't even remember all sit ready on the tip of your tongue. But you bite them back.

You stare at Soonyoung, marveling at how soft he looks in the warm lamplight — trusting the small but fervent corner of your quickly-beating heart begging you to be completely honest for once in your life, whispering that you can trust him with this.

He keeps tracing his thumb in gentle arcs across your skin, and you breathe in — slow — breathe out — steady.

“It’s from a knife,” you say at last, calm, and not at all like this is the first time in the ten years since it happened that you’ve told anyone. A buzzing has started under your skin, anxiety humming through your veins at a frequency you’re sure Soonyoung must be able to hear.

But he just wrinkles his brow in adorable confusion, lower lip jutting out just enough to form a soft, worried pout. “A knife?”

“Yeah.”

You can trust him with this.

You gulp and bite the bullet. “I was sixteen and... and I came really close to killing myself.”

A beat, and the world stops.

Your breath feels trapped in your lungs as you watch him blink, his thumb freezing as he processes your words. And for a moment, his face is blank.

But Soonyoung has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and you can easily read the emotions that start flashing across his face. First, a silent shock that bleeds into disbelief. His eyes find yours, searching, searching, yearning to find a falsehood somewhere in your words — a soft kind of horror dawning like a rain-soaked morning as realization sets in.

His grip on your wrist tightens, fear and worry evident in the way he takes a deep, steadying breath, and he pulls your hand to his chest and clutches it there, almost desperately. His other hand reaches out to cradle your face, stroking reverently, even as his exhale is shaky. It doesn't seem to be enough, though, because a moment later, he's scooting forward the foot of space between you and bringing your forehead to his. You lay like that for a moment, two, and then he's pulling you closer still, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder so that he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze.

You squeeze back, telling him with everything but your words that I'm not gone, I'm still here. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. You let yourselves have this moment, burying yourself into his embrace as he holds you like you'll disappear if he lets go.

"I'm okay, Youngie," you murmur eventually.

His fingers curl into the back of your shirt. "But you weren't." His voice is a whisper, thick with the threat of tears. "You weren't okay."

You sigh, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head and gently scratch at his scalp. "No. No, I wasn't then. But that was a long time ago, now."

Between one blink and the next, he's pulling out of the embrace just enough to be able to cradle your face between his palms. He's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes, and you feel something crack in your chest.

"You'll tell me, right?" he asks. "If you're ever not okay again? You'll tell me, or someone, or—" He huffs a frustrated breath before pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. For a moment that feels like your own eternity, he lingers there, lips against your skin — an invisible tattoo pressed into every thought floating around in your head. "Please promise me you'll tell someone, jagi."

"I will." You seal your vow with a kiss of your own pressed to his lips. "I promise."

And he must hear the truth of your words because you can feel the tension bleed out of him like he's a deflating balloon, and you deflate right along with him. You press another kiss to his lips, soft and chaste and full of all the reassurance you have.

"Hey, Youngie." You wait until he's looking at you, and then you let all of the warm, gooey feelings of hope and love and life bubble over into a beaming grin. "I love you, and I'm so happy that I'm here with you."

The smile he gives back could rival the sun's, you think.

~~~

And maybe it was this realisation that made him view the people around him differently. All of a sudden, couples seemed to surround him wherever he went. The pair of girls he always saw chatting at the café he worked at? Suddenly he was a witness to the kisses they shared in the corner seat. The guy living across the hall from him in the dormitory? Giggling and kicking his feet after his girlfriend fixed his hair as they left for their 8 am class. 

Heck, even Vernon was in a relationship, buying two to-go cups of chai tea from the café every Wednesday, a love-sick smile on his face, before heading to the park to share them with a woman the rest of their friend group could only theorise the identity of. 

If Vernon out of all people could find someone, why couldn’t he?

Then, as if the universe had heard the silent cries of Jihoon’s heart, he met you. 

Assigned to the same semester-long group project, he quickly realised that you were the only person other than him to actually do the work. It started with looks of exasperation shared across the library table the six of you gathered at, and then the two of you had no choice but to start talking. 

Talking – right, that was the first real step. At first about schoolwork – about the research questions of your project, about other courses, about complaints about your professors. Then, barely a week into knowing him, you broke the thin ice.

He could still vividly remember the way you tugged on the sleeve of his jacket just as he was about to walk away after a meeting. You smiled at him – a real smile rather than the tired polite one he had grown so accustomed to – and asked, “So, what kind of movies do you like?”

As soon as he managed to utter the words “I guess… superhero movies?” out of his mouth, you were once again tugging at his sleeve, this time dragging him in the direction of a nearby cinema. You ended up only allowing him to pay for the popcorn (and he had to beg for even that much) because it seemed you were dead-set on treating him like a prince.

That was your first date: after classes, in the darkness of the cinema, with Spiderman swinging by on the giant screen. He barely had any time to pay attention to the plot, too busy relishing in your presence and the sound of your laughter at the corny jokes. And then, as MJ and Peter Parker shared a kiss on the screen, he felt something warm on his hand – your fingers curled around his own and he couldn’t help but give them a squeeze back, his ears as red as Spiderman’s suit. 

The impromptu date was followed by another, then another, and another, until you finally had enough and pulled him to the side after class.

“Do you like me?” you asked him, a little frustrated with how slow things were going and with how awkward he still seemed.

His ears flushed red again. “Of… of course I do.” (He preferred to imagine his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle of the sentence.)

Your scowl remained. “Then be my boyfriend.”

When he nodded, you smiled and took his hand again – he told himself he’d never let yours go. 

But unfortunately, his lack of romantic experience made it difficult to gracefully slip into the role of your boyfriend. He was almost jealous of the way the role of the girlfriend came so easily to you, taking his hand so easily every day, when he spent hours at night contemplating whether he should kiss your forehead or not when you’d part ways on campus the next day. 

On one of those nights, he decided you deserved better. You deserved a better him. 

So, he grabbed his phone and texted the one friend he trusted with his life. 

[i need advice.]

[how can i be a better boyfriend?]

[YJH: that’s easy! carry her bag for her! girls love that!]

When Jihoon met you on your way to a 12 pm class, he hesitated to follow Jeonghan’s advice. Countless what-ifs floated in his head: what if you thought that it was rude, what if you wanted to carry your own things, what if you tried to carry his bag instead… Did boyfriends outside of fanfiction and romantic movies even carry their girlfriends’ things for them?

Doubts hurried out of his mind soon enough, making way for worry when he saw you adjust the tote bag on your shoulder with a grimace. He inwardly panicked at the sight of your discomfort. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?” you wondered as if completely oblivious. 

“Is your bag heavy?” His brows furrowed. Before you could take another step, he slipped the bag off your shoulder and onto his own. Your grimace made sense all of a sudden. His frown deepened, but not because of your confused stare. “What do you have in here? An entire drum set?”

You laughed. “No, just my laptop and some snacks.”

Even as he bounced on his spot to test the weight, his frown remained. He glared at the bag. “Your laptop’s not that heavy.”

Your face scrunched up. “My laptop kind of broke yesterday, so I had to revive the old, heavy one.”

Jihoon’s frown disappeared. He stared up at you in surprise, and then, unable to stop himself, he offered, “Do you want me to take a look at it? Maybe I can fix it.”

“Nah,” you shrugged, “I’ll just take it to get it fixed tomorrow. My friend recommended this shop–”

“Don’t be silly,” he scolded you and continued the journey to class. “You know that the shop will take three weeks to even look at your laptop and then another three to order the necessary parts and then another five to actually fix it. You might graduate before they get it fixed.”

“Yeah?” you laughed, following after him, your hand naturally coming to rest around his own. “And you’re faster?”

“Faster, more reliable, cheaper,” he counted on his fingers before offering you a cheeky grin. When you didn’t seem too convinced, he sighed and added, “You can ask any of my friends and they’ll tell you I can do this. I’ve done this before. I fixed Junhui’s laptop just a few weeks ago; got a 5-star review.”

At that, you sighed. In the few weeks of being his girlfriend, you had learnt that he was as stubborn as he was kind. In fact, he was even more stubborn when he was being kind: you had been a first-hand witness to Jihoon physically pinning Kim Mingyu to the ground to put a bandage on a fresh cut on his cheek, all the while cursing the friend under his breath for not being more careful. You shuddered at what Jihoon might do if you continued to refuse his laptop-fixing offer.

You finally sighed again and nodded. “Should I bring it over to your place?”

“Yeah,” he agreed easily, his lips curling into a victorious smile, “I’m free this weekend so I can probably get it done before finals.”

You grinned at the thought. “If you manage to do that, I will literally marry you. You’re the best.”

He could only pray you wouldn’t mention the way his ears undoubtedly turned red again as he adjusted your bag on his shoulder and led you to your lecture room.

[YJH: help her do research for her essay] 

Jihoon let out a soft huff as he placed your bag on a seat at the library before gently pulling you to sit in the seat next to it. He let himself fall into the chair across from yours. 

“Thank you!” your chipper voice was almost enough to rid him of the muscle pain your pain caused. 

He offered a smile and a blink so slow you began to wonder if he took you for a cat. “You’re welcome.”

Then, just like a cat himself, he just sat and watched you set up on the desk. His eyes sharply followed every movement you made, sometimes lingering here or there if something particular caught his eye (your oddly fluffy pink pen was one of those particular things). “So, what are you going to be working on?”

You groaned audibly. “Research for this mythology class I’m taking. We’re supposed to make a big wiki as a class effort. Each of us got a different topic to write about. But, like, it’s more of an actual small research paper: citations, references, quotes…” You pouted. “If you weren’t here, I’d be crying by now.”

He didn’t like the sound of that at all – the crying part, because he actually quite enjoyed mythology. Though he hesitated just a little before saying it, he offered, “If you need a hug, just tell me.”

“You’re so cute.” You reached over the table to give him an affectionate pat on his head, effectively both praising him and fixing his windswept mess of hair. “Have you gotten around to fixing my laptop yet?”

Relaxing in his chair, he began, “I’m waiting for a part, but it’s almost fixed otherwise.”

You blinked. “What part?”

“A battery.”

“I don’t think it was a battery issue, though,” you mumbled while avoiding his eyes, not wanting to insult his competence. After all, you were pretty sure the issue was with the graphics – why else would your laptop screen flicker like a rogue disco ball?

As if reading your mind, he chuckled and pulled out his phone to check the package tracking website. “I almost fixed the main issue already, but I noticed that the battery was acting weird, so I figured I might as well fix that too.”

When he looked up from his phone again, you were staring at him with stars in his eyes. His heart thumped a little louder at the sight. “... What?”

You shrugged and turned back to your work. “Nothing.”

He pursed his lips at that and put his phone away again. In his head, he went over all the assignments he had to finish for the following week. Deciding there weren’t any that took priority (a bold lie to himself), he cleared his throat. “So, what do you have to research?”

“Greek mythology.”

“But…” He tilted his head to the side in thought – maybe you wouldn’t want his help? There he went again, he realised: hesitating. He frowned and shook his head clear before smiling at you again. “What exactly?”

“Some mythological creatures. I thought that would be more fun than the usual famous characters.”

“Creatures like… harpies and sirens?”

“Yep.” 

Realising you were already deep in the world of research, he decided to not bother you with any further questions. Instead, he slowly and as quietly as he could (but still louder than he would’ve liked) slid his chair back and headed further into the library. 

“Mythological creatures,” he mumbled to himself as he wandered between the seemingly endless shelves. Before long, he found what he was looking for. He returned to your table barely ten minutes later, placing a heap of books on it before slumping back into his chair with a deep sigh. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him open the first book and flip through the pages like a man on a quest. You smiled at the sight before focusing back on your work. Even so, you heard the scribble of his pencil and the familiar sound of a sticky note getting ripped out of its block. 

Just as you stopped paying attention to him, you felt a book being pushed towards you. When you looked away from your laptop, you found the book you had just seen him read, now laid open on your side of the table, turned to face you. 

Light pink sticky notes between the closed pages and a few on the open ones: the book invited you to read. The notes carried Jihoon’s neat handwriting, retelling the contents of the page. Better yet: these were notes about mythological creatures described in the book: 

‘Chimera. pg 6: Daughter of Typhon and Echidna. pg 18: lion's body and head, snake for a tail, breathes fire?’

When you glanced back at him, smiling brightly, he was already nose-deep in a different book, paying you no attention.

[Y.JH.: watch a porno together 😉]

Jihoon stared at his friend’s message for a total of five minutes. He then decided that he should stop taking advice from Jeonghan. 

He turned to the group chat for help instead.

“You’re going to drive yourself insane before finals even start,” he warned you with a fond smile as you flipped through your worksheets, thoroughly checking each and every one to make sure you hadn’t missed anything.

You offered him a tired glare and turned back to your task. “I’m already halfway there, might as well commit.”

[X.MH.: take her on a walk. enjoy the weather.]

Minghao’s suggestion rang in his head as he watched you. After all, he himself often went on ridiculously long walks in the park when he ran into a metaphorical wall with his work and studies, as did many of his friends. Perhaps it would help you too: romance and relaxation in one – a win on two fronts.

“Do you—” He hesitated. Why did he always hesitate? Even he himself was starting to get annoyed by it. He shook his head to clear his mind and fix his hair before trying again, “Do you want to go on a walk?”

You froze. “A walk?”

He hummed. “To clear your mind. Some fresh air might be good for you. Resets your brain and what-not.”

You mulled it over in your head: assignments versus your adorable boyfriend?

“Fine,” you finally huffed, feigning annoyance, “but I’m going to pet every dog I see and you can’t stop me.”

He laughed at the idea, already imagining it in his head, and got up from the floor before extending a hand to help you up as well. “You’d have to try to stop me first. I’m known for attracting random dogs.”

You took his hand and stretched. “I wonder why.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and handed you your jacket before shrugging on his own. He tried not to think about how your jackets matched – almost like a couple’s item.

Soon, the two of you were walking side by side in the park, laughing at everything and nothing and Seokmin’s attempt to fit in a kids’ swing that you saw in the passing. 

As always, your hand found Jihoon’s before he could find the courage to seek your affection. Fingers squeezing together, his skin blissfully on fire against yours – he wondered why he never dared to make the first move and reach for your hand. But if he wasn’t the one to initiate, he at least had an excuse to not let you go.

“How come I’m your first girlfriend?” you wondered, searching his face for answers.

He shrugged. “You just are.”

“You really never had anyone else before?” He shook his head. “Not even a fling?” Another shake of his head. “A hook-up?” He blushed and shook his head harder. You frowned in confusion. “How? You’re, like, perfect. Other girls must have swarmed around you like bees around honey.”

“Don’t be silly,” he denied in a hushed voice, avoiding your eyes so he could act like his ears weren’t redder than the late autumn leaves. 

“I know I wanted you to be mine the moment I saw you,” you mumbled with a pout, offended on his behalf. “So, why were you single all this time then?”

Jihoon shrugged once again, his lips in a tight line of awkwardness. “I just wasn’t interested, I guess. Too busy studying.”

“Then,” you hummed in thought before turning to him again, this time eyes shining with mischief, “have you ever kissed anyone before?”

He paled. “I– Uh– Technically…”

“Technically?” you pressed eagerly.

He cleared his throat. “Technically I’ve been kissed by one person.”

“Technically?!” You were scandalised, baffled, puzzled, curious beyond belief. He could only laugh hopelessly as you stopped him and grabbed him by the shoulders to stare at him, your mouth agape. “Who was it? Was she pretty?”

“Pretty?” He grimaced. It was too late to lie now – might as well commit to his honesty streak. “In his own way, I suppose–”

“HIS?!” Your jaw dropped even more as he avoided your eyes. 

“Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything–”

“No, I need the truth,” you laughed, almost maniacal with both joy and curiosity. You gripped his shoulders, promising to not let him go until you got the answers. “Who was it? Jihoon, you have to tell me.”

He sighed deeply. His head tilted back so he could stare towards the sky, calling for an extraterrestrial life-form to abduct him. He had been doing so great so far… Why did he have to be damn honest with you?

After thirty seconds, he accepted that the aliens hadn’t found his calls appealing enough. He sighed and slumped before you, head lolling forward as he confessed, “Do you know Kwon Soonyoung?”

You burst into laughter, jumping away from him to bounce in joy (Jihoon wondered if maybe the impending sense of finals’ season doom was too much for you) as you repeated, “Kwon Soonyoung? The tiger guy?”

“Of course that’s what you know him for,” he mumbled under his breath, hand reaching up to rub at his eyes so he could avoid eye contact a little longer. “Just so you know, it was nothing serious: he just decided to kiss me on the playground in, like, 6th grade one day.” He sighed deeply at the memory, still unsure how he felt about it after all these years.

But you were too busy giggling to acknowledge his dismay. “On the lips?”

He grimaced. “On the lips.”

“Full on?”

“Full on,” he sighed.

Before he could scold you to not tell anyone else (not that it mattered anyway: Soonyoung had taken it upon himself to share the tale with every person he met anyway), you were in front of him again, still smiling brightly. His scowl melted into a gentle smile at the sight – he sucked at being mad at you.

“Like this?” You leaned forward, placed your hands on his cheeks, and pulled him in for a kiss of your own. 

All of a sudden, Jihoon swore he was floating. He wrapped his arms around your waist to anchor himself as he leaned further into you, unwilling to part from your lips. Even as you attempted to pull away, he chased after your lips, unsatisfied until you melted back into the kiss. 

When he finally ran out of air, you began giggling, a shy glow on your cheeks as you looked at his still-closed eyes. “So?”

“What?” he wondered, slow to open his eyes, and even when he finally did, his eyelids drooped like he was still waking up from the sweetest of dreams. 

“Was the kiss historically accurate?” you joked, leaning closer to brush your nose against his.

He was unable to even laugh. Only a dopey smile appeared on his face as he whispered, “No, it was so much better.”

[H.JS.: surprise her with flowers]

[i dont know what kind of flowers she likes tho??]

[W.JH.: unless she’s allergic, i dont think it matters]

Despite still being unsure whether the group chat was helpful or just plain useless, Jihoon followed their advice like it was the law. 

Flowers? He could find flowers. Easy. They’re sold almost everywhere. Surely, he could figure out something as simple and universal as flowers. 

Wrong.

The moment he stepped into the flower store, he felt like a five-year-old left unattended in a new city. He hadn’t even realised there were so many options. He gulped. 

“Can I help you?” an oddly familiar voice called out to him and he whipped his head around in search of the speaker. He found Wonwoo staring back at him, his eyes shining with mischief upon recognising his new customer.

Jihoon grimaced. “I– Nevermind.” 

But when he tried to leave, Wonwoo grabbed him by the hood of his white sweatshirt and dragged him further into the store. “Are you going to buy your girlfriend flowers? Like Joshua suggested?”

“I– No– Why would I–” Jihoon’s resolve broke under Wonwoo’s knowing glare. He lowered his gaze to the floor and sheepishly nodded. 

Wonwoo let out a small sound of victory before asking, “So, what kind of flowers do you want to get her?”

“That’s the thing,” Jihoon sighed deeply, “I have no clue what to get.”

His florist friend hummed in understanding. “Is she more of a daisy or a rose girl?”

Jihoon offered him a confused look. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve only dated her for a month.”

“Roses may be a bit much then,” Wonwoo concluded with a squint of his eyes before heading somewhere in the store, once again grabbing Jihoon by the hood and dragging him along. 

Jihoon could only whine quietly in protest. “Can you stop doing that?”

“No.” The answer was plain, clear, and left no room for argument. “I think tulips are the way to go.”

Jihoon had no further complaints as Wonwoo began piling flowers into his arms. Once he was satisfied, he led Jihoon to the counter – by the hood, once again, as if he was a cat mom carrying her kitten – and began arranging them into a bouquet. 

“Do you want me to tie a bow for them?” he asked but Jihoon gave him no answer.  When he looked up again, his love-sick friend was staring at the newly-complete bouquet in awe.  Wonwoo smiled and handed him the flowers. “There. Do you think she’ll like them?”

“I– How did you know… ?”

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Was I right?”

Jihoon could only nod before fishing his wallet out. “I seriously owe you one. You’re good at this.”

On the way to your dorm, he couldn’t stop staring at the bouquet. The tulips were exactly the colours he associated with you, as if Wonwoo had read his mind and translated it into flowers. Now he could only adjust them a little and pray you’d like them as much as he did.

A deep breath. A soft knock on your door. 

Your roommate opened the door, her eyes lighting up with excitement upon recognising him and noticing the flowers in his arms. She practically dragged him inside while calling out to you, “(Y/n), your Prince Charming arrived!”

Before he could say anything, she patted his shoulder and leaned over to whisper “She’ll love them” before all but bouncing out the front door, offering him one last cheeky wink before she left. 

“Jihoon?” he then heard you call out from a distance. “Is that you?”

He called back a confirmation before following your voice to your room. Just as he often did, he found you seated on your bed, your (newly fixed) laptop in front of you, surrounded by endless pages of homework and research. He smiled at the familiar sight.

“Are you busy studying again?” he wondered, his voice impossibly soft just like his heart was for you. “Should I come back later?”

Without looking up, you shook your head. “No, no, please stay. I just have to finish this table and then–” Your gaze lifted to meet his by habit, at which point your jaw dropped. Soon, a smile forced itself onto your face. “Jihoon!”

He feigned ignorance, his lips quirking. “Why?”

“Did you–” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, unable to find the words as tears of joy gathered in the corners of your eyes. Pursing your lips to will yourself to not cry, you got up from the bed and walked over to hug him. You held him tight while he just laughed fondly. 

“Why?” he asked again, his free hand reaching up to caress your cheek. 

You pouted. “You got me flowers?”

When you stepped back, he lifted up the bouquet and asked, “What? This?” You nodded and he laughed again, so completely endeared by your reaction. “Do you like them that much?”

“I love them,” you said and took the flowers from his hands, already rushing to the kitchen to fill a vase with flowers. Despite not leaving your room, he could hear you mumbling, “Oh my god, you’re really going to make me cry at this rate.”

Upon returning with a vase full of water and beautiful flowers, you placed it on your desk by the window. The afternoon light hit them just right and it made you want to cry even more. 

You turned to him again. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers like this before. They’re so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you,” he spoke before his mental filter could catch it. He bit down on his tongue the moment he closed his mouth, unable to believe he let the words slip without even thinking about them. 

To his relief, you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the carelessly spoken compliment made you glow even more. You laughed in joy and pulled him to sit with you on the bed. He could barely find his balance on the soft mattress before your lips were on his. 

He decided he’d gift you flowers more often if this was the thanks he earned.

On a sleepless night, Jihoon came to an embarrassing realisation: he had never once initiated a kiss with you. In fact, when it came to physical affection, he hadn’t initiated anything. 

The realisation was greatly aided by Boo Seungkwan’s 2 am reply to another one of Jihoon’s cries for help. 

[B.SK.: kiss her, you idiot!]

“Kiss her?” Jihoon re-read the message the next day before grimacing in anxiety. He couldn’t even hold your hand without blushing – how was he supposed to initiate a whole kiss? Knowing him, he’d probably accidentally end up kissing your nose or, even worse, ear. The thought made him want to cry so he curled up on a random beanbag on campus, hugging his backpack to his chest, and glared at the message Seungkwan had sent him. 

“Who made my Jihoon upset?” your voice carried through the hallway. He looked up to find you walking towards him, a bright smile on your face. Catching his gaze, you smiled brighter before adding to your joke, “Should I go beat someone up? Who was it? Mingyu? Soonyoung?”

“Seungkwan,” he mumbled against the fabric of his bag as you approached him and pressed a kiss to his temple. He could practically feel his ears betraying him and squeezed his eyes shut to will the blush to leave. 

Your hand found his hair, stroking it gently. “Seungkwan? The guy who hosts almost every campus event?” He nodded solemnly and you scoffed. “I can take Seungkwan. He should be afraid of me.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought, opening his eyes to glance up at you. He didn’t dare to move with the way you were still stroking his dark hair, looking at him so fondly. What if you were startled by his movement and never played with his hair again? No, he couldn’t risk it. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the feeling. 

Without even realising it, he leaned into your embrace like a pet looking for warmth. Soon, his head rested against your chest, your fingers still in his hair while his own curled into the fabric of your blouse. He wished this moment lasted forever and then some more. 

“So, what did Seungkwan do that you’re like this?” you wondered and he felt the rumble of your voice. He suddenly found he liked it even better this way. 

With a small smile on his face, he whispered, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” you wondered. “He must’ve done something.”

“He’s just annoying.” If it hadn’t been for your questions, Jihoon would’ve fallen asleep right there, pressed against you like a tired child. But instead, he came to an annoying realisation. “Do you not have a jacket today?”

“Nope,” he heard you reply.

He hissed at that, gently slapping your side as punishment for crimes against yourself. “It’s cold outside.”

“I run hot,” you made an excuse.

He scoffed. “You whined you were cold the last time you came to my dorm, even though it’s only, like, two degrees colder there than yours.”

You stayed silent at that. He basked in your warmth for a little longer before sitting back up straight and glaring at you. He then fidgeted with the sleeves of your blouse for a moment before scoffing and standing up to pull off his black hoodie. Unceremoniously, he shoved it to you, paying no mind to the puzzled look on your face.

“Put it on,” he finally told you when you made no move to read his mind. “I won’t baby you if you get sick.”

“I won’t get sick–” you began to protest only for him to roll his eyes, grab the hoodie, and pull it over your head himself. 

His hands gently guided your own through the sleeves before reaching down to pull the rest of the hoodie down as much as he could. (He made a mental note to invest in a longer hoodie for next time.) As a final touch, he reached up to pull the hood over your head, tying the strings into a neat bow below your chin once he had pulled the fabric around your head – tight enough to make you look just a little bit goofy. 

Surprised by his actions, you were frozen in place in front of him. With your cheeks squished by the fabric, you looked just so damn adorable. Jihoon didn’t even think before leaning closer and pressing his lips against your slightly pouted ones. 

He pulled away, nodded and smiled – satisfied with his handiwork. The realisation of his actions wouldn’t hit him for another hour.

[W.JH.: i heard her class is having a big seminar this wednesday. maybe you should cheer for her?]

[how would i do that…?]

Jihoon never received a reply to his question. Odd, and incredibly annoying. But he guessed it was only fair: his friends couldn’t give him all the answers. Some things he’d have to figure out himself. 

Just as he was contemplating on what to do, his phone buzzed. Hoping for a late reply from his friends, he immediately reached for his phone. To his surprise, it was a message from you instead:

[Y/N: if u never hear from me again, assume i had a heart attack in front of the classroom]

[Y/N: god, i hate seminars so much]

Jihoon paused. Is this what Junhui had meant? He took a deep breath and typed a reply.

[where are you? i’ll come to you.]

He was halfway out of the building by the time you answered.

[Y/N: linguistics building, seminar 321]

Despite never having been to the linguistics’ building before and having close to zero clue where he would even find this room, he ran to where you said you’d be. His lungs were burning from lack of air by the time he got to you and yet his heart ached even more than they did: all it took was one look at your shaky hands as you paced back and forth outside of the seminar room. 

“Are you… Are you okay?” he asked through his laboured breaths once he reached you, his hand immediately reaching for yours to ease the shaking. 

You sighed in relief at the sight of him. “Jihoon…”

“I’m here,” he whispered with an encouraging smile before letting you burrow into his embrace. On most days, he would have much rather dug a hole and crawled in there than let anyone show him this kind of affection in public. But he was willing to make an exception for you.

Then he spotted the familiar baffled face of Soonyoung from the corner of his eyes and cringed: he would never live this down.

“I’m so nervous about my presentation,” you whispered into his jacket and all of his attention was back on you as if by magic. 

He scoffed out a laugh, unable to believe your words. “Are you kidding? You’ll be great.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen you give presentations before,” he reminded you with a gentle pat on your head. “You did great the last time, I doubt this time will be different.”

You wanted to cry at the memory, completely unable to see it the way he did. “I stuttered the entire time and mixed up the slides.”

“Yeah, but it was still fine.”

“It was so embarrassing.”

“It was endearing,” he argued immediately. “Besides, you laughed it off and you still got the maximum grade. Sometimes mistakes happen, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be the end of the world.”

You leaned out of his embrace to chuckle hopelessly. “I can’t decide if you’re really good or really bad at giving motivational speeches.”

“But do you feel better?” You nodded and he grinned brightly. “Then that’s all you need. Now go on in and show them what they’re missing in— What class is this?”

“Environmental Anthropology,” you answered with a sigh and he grimaced: it sounded far from appealing and he didn’t even dare ask if it was an elective or a mandatory subject.

Deciding to just go with it, he forced on a smile (his eyebrows still high on his forehead as half of his brain tried to figure out what that course even dealt with) and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Go get them, tiger.”

You laughed at his expression and nodded, feeling a little better already. You turned to head into class, but turned on your heel at the last moment, catching his eyes. He raised a single brow in question and you asked, “Can we go out to eat after this?”

He frowned, eyes saddening. “I wish I could. I have work in an hour. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

However, he could never stand the look of disappointment that grazed your face every once in a while. And when it made an appearance once again, he wanted nothing more than to comfort you. “But,” he started and you seemed to lighten up already, “you could come to the café and hang out with me there. My treat,” he promised before pointing an accusatory finger at you, “but only if you ace that presentation.”

“I… I can do that,” you nodded, more to convince yourself than him. “Yeah. I can definitely do that.”

Jihoon spent the next two hours panicking on your behalf. 

Even as he took orders and made cup after cup after cup of coffee, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He couldn’t help but feel like he could’ve done more to boost your confidence. Hell, who wants to hear they were ‘endearing’ during a presentation they felt like they messed up on? 

When the third hour of waiting began, he was half-sure you wouldn’t come to the café. Perhaps you had failed miserably or maybe you really did have a heart attack in front of the classroom. Jihoon was on the verge of spiralling.

“Okay, you’re going to burn your hand at this rate,” Seokmin scolded before ushering him away from the espresso machine. “Just man the register. I’ll deal with the coffee. God, what’s up with you today?”

Jihoon let out a soft whine of protest but followed the orders, waddling over to the register. It was a slow day and he was still messing up – what were you doing to him?

“So?” Seokmin asked again after delivering a customer’s flat white. 

“What?” Jihoon was barely even paying attention to the fact that he was being spoken to. His eyes were constantly stuck on the door. 

Any moment now. Any moment you’d walk in, a smile on your face, telling him you passed. Any moment.

Seokmin raised a brow. “What’s bothering you? Seriously, you’re not usually this aloof. Why are you staring at the door?”

“(Y/n)” was all Jihoon managed to mumble.

But it was enough for his friend. Seokmin laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“What if she isn’t?” Jihoon whispered, still stuck in a dazed mix of anxiety and hope. “What if I messed up?”

Before Seokmin could even begin to comfort him, Jihoon felt like he could breathe again. There you were, practically running towards the café in your rush to get to him. He didn’t even realise he was leaning further and further towards the door, leaning against the countertop under Seokmin’s amused eyes. 

“Jihoon!” you called out once you made it to the café, dashing up the counter to pull his face to yours and press your lips against his. After pulling away again, you smiled brightly. “Guess what?”

He forgot all the vocabulary he had acquired over his life. Your name was the closest thing to a word in there. He was just glad to see you again.

You rolled your eyes at his silence but still laughed. “Jihoon, I told you to guess.”

He cleared his throat and prayed his ears weren’t too red before he found his voice. “You passed?”

“I passed,” you confirmed with an excited fist pump in the air, “and the professor said I had the best presentation in the whole course.”

“Whoa, go, girl!” Seokmin cheered, bumping his fist against yours in celebration.

Jihoon matched your bright smiles and told you, “I knew you could do it. Come on, pick what you want to eat. My treat.”

As you excitedly went to check out the cake options, Seokmin stared at him in awe. Jihoon shrugged. “What?”

“How come you never treat me?” his friend sounded almost offended.

“You never asked.”

Seokmin frowned and turned to you. “Did you ask him to treat you?”

“Nope.”

He turned to glare at Jihoon again. “Favouritism. Clear favouritism. I’ll remember this.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jihoon argued with a puzzled frown of his own.

[W.JH.: tie her shoelaces]

Walks in the park or even just around the campus became a routine for the two of you very quickly. More often than not, your shared study sessions in the library would lead to a shared knowing look, standing up in silence, and heading out the door for a break. Always hand-in-hand, like puzzle pieces.

The weather was windier than usual that day, blowing dead leaves and hats around the park grounds. Who knows how long it would be before snow would join the items flying in the wind – the temperature of the air certainly suggested it would happen soon. 

Jihoon barely managed to catch your scarf before it fell victim to the wind. 

“Maybe not the best day for a walk,” he concluded with a sheepish laugh while wrapping the scarf around your neck a little tighter than before, making sure it wouldn’t fly again. 

You laughed along. “Yeah, maybe we should’ve gone to the café instead.”

He sighed deeply – as a joke – before narrowing his eyes at you. “Just say you’re dating me for café discounts. Admit it.”

“Well,” you hummed, “your staff discounts are definitely a bonus.”

He chuckled and nudged your side. “Do you want to go to the café then? Maybe some cocoa could warm you up.”

“But some fresh air might be good for you. Resets your brain and what-not,” you repeated his own words back to him with a mischievous smile.

“Is that–?” His jaw dropped. “How do you even remember that?”

“It was a very memorable quote by my favourite author,” you joked and pinched his cheek before grabbing his hand to lead him to the café.

You barely made it two steps before he was tugging you to a stop, his gaze lowered. You blinked. “Did something happen?” 

He didn’t reply. A message from Junhui flashed in his mind. Was he allowed to follow his advice like that? And if so, what was the best way to go about it? Crouching down? Leading you to a bench and making you lift your foot? Fully kneeling in front of you like the simp he was? 

Ears burning under your questioning stare, he finally leaned down onto one knee, his fingers reaching for your shoelaces. 

Your heart skipped a beat as realisation hit. 

With what you could only assume was practised grace (because who knows how many times he had repeated this exact gesture for his friends – Soonyoung alone must have accounted for at least twenty), he gently pulled your foot closer to himself and gently double-knotted the laces. He decided to re-do the other shoe as well if he was already on task. 

Once both shoes were undoubtedly tied and unable to come undone without permission again, he hummed in approval and stood back up, brushing the dirt off his knee before his gaze lifted to meet yours. He offered a sheepish smile at the dazed look on your face. 

“Why?” he laughed.

“You’re seriously–” you began but never finished, reaching for his hand instead. 

[K.MG.: give her a nickname]

Jihoon wasn’t very fond of nicknames. He wasn’t like Jeonghan who could come up with a new dumb nickname for every person he met or like Soonyoung who could react to any nickname thrown his way. Jihoon was just Jihoon and his friends were just his friends – no nicknames needed.

So, when he read Mingyu’s message, he froze. A nickname for his girlfriend? It felt like such an enormous task.

Stuck in an endless loop of processing even weeks after, Jihoon still couldn’t come up with a nickname that felt like you. Nothing sounded quite as pretty or as melodious as your name. Nothing came even close in his mind. When he thought of you, it was always just (Y/n). 

And it wasn’t like you had given him a nickname either. He would’ve noticed if you had – he noticed everything you did. 

If anyone saw into his brain, they would’ve seen a suspicious number of facts and quirks of yours. They would’ve thought he was a spy trying to steal your identity. But he was nothing of the sort. The only thing he aimed to steal was your heart (and maybe a kiss, or two, or two hundred).

Frankly, Vernon was sick of the sound of Jihoon’s pen rolling back and forth, struggling between gravity and Jihoon’s strength, on the slanted desk of their shared room. If having to contemplate cheesy pet names with a distraught Jihoon was the answer, Vernon was willing to sacrifice a bit of his sanity for a different background audio. 

“Maybe see if a pet name would work,” he suggested upon seeing his misery. 

Jihoon blinked. “Pet name? Like Fluffy?”

“No, like–” Vernon’s brows furrowed. “Dude, are you okay? Should I call a doctor?”

Jihoon only groaned and slumped over his desk, fully resting his cheek against it now. 

“I meant nicknames like babe and sweetheart and the sort,” his roommate explained, brows still set in a concerned frown. “Why would you call her Fluffy?”

“At this rate, I might as well.”

Vernon was scandalised. “Call her Fluffy?!”

Jihoon sat up straight to frown at Vernon. “No, see if I find a pet name I like for her. What is wrong with you?”

“You started it!”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. So, what do you have to offer?”

“Let’s start with the basics,” Vernon suggested, leaning back on his bed happily now that the pen was no longer obnoxiously rolling. “Babe?”

“Gross.”

“Baby?” 

“Even worse.”

“Sweetheart.”

Jihoon hesitated. “I– Maybe? Let’s put that under maybe.”

“Great! That’s progress,” Vernon cheered with a smile before resuming his position. “Then, what about dear?”

“Sounds so old-fashioned. I don’t want to sound like an English grandma whenever I call for my girlfriend.”

Vernon froze before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you definitely have a point there.”

They were both tired of the guessing game by the time fifteen minutes passed. They bid each other farewell and headed their separate ways. It was only noon.

The solution? Non-existent. Jihoon still didn’t know what to call you.

And to add to his problems, he soon realised he hadn’t heard from you all day. Your chat was no more full than the previous evening, his call history was even worse off. He hadn’t even seen you on campus. 

Worry got the worst of him and now he was taking the first step instead of you. His worry won over his hesitation and he called you, lifting his phone to his ear all the while glancing around campus anxiously.

You didn’t pick up the first call. Nor the second. Before pressing on the screen to call a third time, he silently swore he’d run through all of your usual spots if you left him hanging like this. Heck, he might even call the police.

“Jihoon?” he then heard your voice through the phone and a stone fell off his heart.

He sighed in relief. “(Y/n), are you okay? I was worried.”

“Dorm,” you whispered meekly into the mic, elaborating no further no matter how much he prompted you. 

His frown only grew with every passing moment of silence on your part. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Please,” you whispered once again and then he heard the most heart-breaking sound: a soft sob. You were crying. 

He cursed under his breath. You were crying and he wasn’t there. “Hold on a little longer, I’ll be there.”

He wasted not a second more and sprinted to your dormitory. With his hands shaking from both worry and exhaustion, it took him two tries to get the door code right, but once the door clicked open, he dashed up the stairs and to your room. 

The door of your room was unlocked and ajar when he arrived and he just about fell through it in an attempt to lean against it for a quick breath. He stumbled into your room and his heart dropped some more, so close to shattering.

“(Y/n), darling,” he whispered before practically throwing himself into the spot next to you, already pulling you into his embrace, “what happened?”

You didn’t say anything, quietly crying into his sweater instead. Jihoon almost wanted to cry with you. “Talk to me. What happened? What can I do to make it better?”

“I fought with my roommate,” you whispered eventually. “I might have to move out.”

“Move out?” he wondered. “Was it that bad?” You didn’t answer, only letting out another soft sob as you further burrowed into his arms. He sighed. “Oh, darling.”

You remained in his arms for a while, stuck between crying over a lost friendship and relishing in his comfort. “I thought she was my friend. God, I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he protested immediately, perhaps even a little too forcefully for your fragile emotional state. He sighed once again, deeper, before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Do you want me to help you find a new place to stay?”

“I could just ask to be assigned to a different dorm,” you mumbled. “It’s no big deal.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to get your own apartment though?”

“I mean… It would be nice.”

“I can help you pay the deposit,” he offered. He wasn’t sure if he was always this kind or if seeing you so broken made him overcompensate more than usual – come to think of it: there was clearly a pattern forming.

Either way – he mentally ran over the numbers in his bank account –, he could afford to help. 

You sighed. “You don’t have to, Jihoon, it’s fine–”

“Don’t argue with me,” he warned half-jokingly. “Do you want to get your own place or not?”

Still leaning into his chest, you looked up at him. “You’d– You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he shrugged as if he had only offered you a candy bar. “Besides, if you get your own place, I benefit too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Vernon not letting you sleep in again?”

“I’ve never wanted to strangle someone so bad,” he whispered while squeezing his eyes shut. “And he’s so messy. I need a break every once in a while.”

“So, your only condition is that I let you sleep over?” you chuckled and kissed his cheek which promptly turned red. “Why not just move in with me then?”

He blushed harder. “I think it’s too early for that. Maybe in a few months.”

You pouted at that. “You’re so mean. I was so ready to celebrate moving in with my boyfriend. Tsk.”

“Give me a few months,” he whispered – promised. “I’ll be with you in just a few months, darling.”

[J. WW.: take her on a picnic in the park during your free period. i hear the cherry trees are blossoming.]

Sandwiches, cake from the café, a thermos full of your favourite tea, a blanket – was anything missing? Well, other than his courage, because he had been staring at the basket for at least half an hour now as if his feet were nailed to the kitchen floor. 

Even Vernon, as patient as he was, had begun to contemplate how to unglue Jihoon so he could freely access the fridge again. 

“Dude,” he finally sighed, “can you move? I’m hungry.”

“There’s food on the stove,” Jihoon mumbled off-handedly, still in a panicked daze. Vernon glanced towards the stove and found nothing on it. 

Why was he so panicked anyway? It was one thing to hesitate before kissing you, but this? This was worse. He was paralysed by fear and he didn’t even understand why.

It’s not like this was your first date.

“Have you never taken a girl out on a date before?” Vernon wondered, brows furrowing as he attempted to make sure his roommate hadn’t been replaced by a faulty android or a hologram.

And just as the words left Vernon’s mouth, Jihoon seemed to wake up. His eyes widened. “I’ve never taken a girl out on a date before.”

Vernon blinked. “You’ve been dating her since, like, fall.”

“Yeah, but she initiated everything,” Jihoon whined, suddenly hyper aware of the way his knees felt like jelly and his hands trembled. 

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“First date?”

“She took me to the movies.”

“First kiss?” 

“She went in first.”

“Who asked the other one out?”

“She asked me.” Jihoon let out another whine. “God, I’m so bad at this whole boyfriend thing. Isn’t there, like, a manual or something?”

“If there is, you’d probably be better off,” Vernon pointed out with a chuckle. “Dude, if she’s stuck with you this long, then she’s not going to break up with you over you taking her on a picnic.”

“But what if she’s actually busy or it rains or–”

“What’s with you and all those what-ifs? Just get out there, take her hand and have a picnic.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jihoon whispered and hung his head in shame.

“Because it is that easy.”

It was not, in fact, that easy. Jihoon tripped almost three times just on the way to meet you at the park – that’s how nervous he was. And it’s not like he was afraid of you or your reaction. 

He just wanted everything to be perfect. Because you were perfect. And if he couldn’t be perfect with or for you, what was even the point?

Still, even as his nerves threatened to make him throw up in a nearby garbage can, he braved through the anxiety and made his way over to you. He forced on a smile as he approached you, but it soon melted into a genuine one upon seeing your excited grin.

“Hi, darling,” he whispered before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Did you have a good day?”

“It’s barely afternoon,” you joked. Jihoon grimaced: first strike. Two more and he’d pay someone to throw him off a bridge. (He noted that Seungcheol or Joshua seemed like a good choice for that.)

“So,” you rubbed your palms together after helping him set the blanket on the ground, “what are we eating?”

He breathed out shakily before opening the basket. “So… there’s sandwiches – I didn’t know which ones you’d like more so I made a bunch of everything, but if you don’t like any, I’ll run to the store and–”

“Jihoon,” you stopped him with a stern smile and a pat on his cheek – strike two –, “baby, stop acting like it’s the first time we’ve interacted. There’s no need to be shy with me. I love you regardless.”

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“Stop apologising.” Strike three – might as well decide on a bridge now.

“I just want everything to be perfect for you,” he admitted with a sad smile, “but I guess I get too in my own head about it and then–”

You leaned forward and kissed him before he could go any further. When you leaned back, his eyes were wide in disbelief. 

“You– Why did you do that?”

“You were rambling too much.” You smiled at him again, sweeter this time, before kissing him once more. “Everything is perfect already. This picnic is perfect. The weather is perfect. This moment is perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t worry so much. Just breathe and enjoy.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours once again: a gift because you always knew exactly what to say.

“So,” your smile never seemed to fade, “can you stop worrying about everything now?”

He breathed out a defeated sigh and nodded, earning a cheer from you. 

As the two of you began eating, he made conversation, “So, how’s your apartment search going?”

You shrugged. “I’ve found two places. I’m going to see the second one tomorrow, but the first one is very nice. Like, way too nice for that price.”

“And that’s bad somehow?” He laughed.

“It’s way below market rate. It’s too good to be true,” you told him with a soft sigh, closing your eyes as he mindlessly reached to play with your fingers. “I wonder what the quirk is. Like, why is it so cheap? The landlord seemed like a sweet woman and all, but there’s bound to be something weird about that place, right?”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” he joked, making a ‘scary’ face as he stared at you, only to prompt a laugh. 

“Will you come and save me if it is?”

He grimaced. “Hell no. Ghosts are scary business. You’d have to find a different boyfriend.”

“Fine, fine,” you laughed and patted his cheek, “leave all the saving to me instead, then. I’ll protect you.”

“My hero,” he swooned, a hand over his heart. 

You stared at the ceiling of your new bedroom, practically vibrating with anxiety about the day to come as well as the added responsibilities of adulting outside of a dorm. 

Jihoon, having agreed to stay a few nights for mental support (and a Marvel movie marathon), gave you a weird look.

“Sorry,” you apologised and willed your body to stay still, sure you had annoyed your boyfriend into leaving, “I guess I’m just more nervous about tomorrow than I thought.”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” he chuckled and leaned over to brush a stray hair off your forehead. “It’s just a seminar. You’ve been to those before.”

“Yeah, but this one’s in a foreign language,” you whined and rolled over to hide your face in his chest. “You know my French sucks.”

He scoffed but was thoroughly amused. “I’ve never even heard you speak French.”

“Exactly. Point proven. Now let me suffer in peace.”

Jihoon sighed and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer and pressing his lips to your head. “Is there any way I can help you feel better?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and burrowed further into the comforting darkness his sweater provided. You had no interest in being comforted – what you needed was to go to sleep before 3 am and not wake up with nightmares. Unfortunately, Jihoon couldn’t do that for you, as amazing as he was.

He was just as stumped, but less in the mood to give up. In fact, he was rarely in the mood to give up. 

Still feeling you shaking in his arms, he reached his free hand to get his phone and text the group chat once again, begging for help as he had done so many times before. The help came faster than ever before, as if his friends had a shared 7th sense for Jihoon’s girlfriend troubles.

[C.VN.: bro, arent u good at singing? have u sung to her?]

[but… what do i sing?]

[K.SY.: a song.]

[whaT SONG?]

[X.MH.: you’re literally a music major, i’m sure you can think of a song or two??]

[i’m a uni student, not a jukebox??]

With sleep still unwilling to claim you, you sighed deeply. There was no room to further burrow into your boyfriend’s comforting embrace. An idea hit: maybe a cup of nice peppermint tea could calm you down. 

“Ji, can we go make–” you quietly began but were interrupted by a soft rumbling of his chest. And then you heard it: he was humming. You lifted your head to watch him, unable to tear your eyes from the way his lips oh-so-gracefully parted to sing to you, even as he was still searching for the lyrics on his phone.

Suddenly realising you had said something, he paused, eyes widening as he looked at you. “Sorry, did you say something?”

You shook your head no and continued staring at him. 

Awkward under you gaze, his ears flushed red. He avoided your eyes and turned back to his phone, scrolling through it as a distraction: ads had never looked so interesting before.

“Keep singing,” you whispered to him, hoping he’d hear your plea and fulfil your wish.

He took a deep breath, his hand freezing on the tiny screen. And just as you had hoped, his lips parted again. This time, he really sang, lyrics and all. His voice carried through your room, echoing back from the yet-to-be-decorated walls and filling the space in a comforting manner.

As you listened to him, you realised he had never sung to you before. He had hidden this part of himself for so long. And yet you were already enamoured with it. 

When he finished one song, his lips pursed back together and he hummed a mysterious melody that you could only suspect he had come up with on the spot to fill the silence. Then he began a second song, then a third.

By the fifth song, you were blissfully unaware of your daily troubles and the seminar waiting for you at 10 am. You were deep asleep in his arms, feeling the safest you ever had.

Upon realising you had finally succumbed to the call of dreamland, Jihoon chuckled and locked his phone. His newly free hand reached to stroke your cheek. 

“Little Miss Can’t Fall Asleep falls asleep a lot easier than she claims,” he joked to noone in particular and craned his neck to press another kiss to your temple before settling back down and closing his own eyes. 

[S.SC.: go shopping with her. i’m sure she needs some things for her new place. she might appreciate the company.]

“I still don’t understand how you don’t have a car,” you started up the topic for the third time this hour. 

Jihoon had never considered you annoying before – not even to the mildest extent – but he was slowly starting to get annoyed. He sighed. “Getting a licence seems like such a hassle.”

“It’s freeing,” you argued, amused by your new-found ability to annoy him even the tiniest bit. “You don’t depend on public transportation or your friends anymore. It’s great.”

“I can get everywhere on foot just fine.” He rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to cover your mouth as you began to speak again. “Didn’t you say you needed new towels? I’m pretty sure we walked straight past those.”

Unable to form proper words under the weight of his hand, you just hummed and let him lead you back to the towel aisle. It was only once you were there that he removed his hand again, wiping it against his hoodie. “Why do you need new towels anyway? It’s not like the ones you’ve used so far are contaminated.”

“It’s the principle, Jihoon,” you told him while scanning through the options. “New place, new me – that type of deal.”

“Sounds like a trick of capitalism,” he joked and leaned his torso forward against the shopping cart you had already half-filled with baskets, blankets, cushions and pillows of all shapes and sizes. 

You turned to glare at him. “Are you my boyfriend or my financial advisor?”

“Both, if you pay me well enough.”

“Whatever. What colour towels should I get?”

He shrugged. “I’m a big fan of the colour black.”

You sighed. “That’s so boring. How about blue?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “I could be persuaded.”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” you sang and picked up two of the larger fluffy blue towels – one lighter and the other darker in shade. You barely managed to fit them in the cart before your eyes lit up with a new quest in sight. “Oh, we need slippers too.”

He only hummed and swiftly (or as swiftly as one can move a shopping cart that clearly has never been maintained in the 10 years it's been in use) manoeuvred the cart to follow after you. Once he finally found you in the footwear aisle, he was confronted by two pairs of slippers – one black, the other baby pink – in his face. He tilted his head to offer you a confused look.

Without any malice behind it, you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Pick a colour.”

“Black.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know you’re waiting for me to tell you ‘pink’ and I’m not giving you nor Mingyu that satisfaction,” he countered before nodding towards his colour of choice again. “Black.”

“Fine,” you sighed in defeat and placed the pink ones back, only to pick up a different size of the same colour and place it in the cart. 

His eyebrows rose. “What are you–?”

“What size slippers do you wear?” 

“Me?” He frowned. “Why would my opinion on any of this matter? It’s your apartment. Why are you making me choose the colour of the towels and the shower curtain and the–” 

He fell silent, his mouth still ajar in wordless awe as the realisation hit. You tried your hardest to act cool under his disbelieving stare.

“I– I’m not moving in with you,” he whispered, his eyes softening as he reached for your arm as if to comfort you. “We talked about this. I still need some time.”

“I’m not asking you to move in yet,” you laughed sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “I just thought it would be nice if you could visit without worrying about bringing your things. You’re my boyfriend. I just want you to be comfortable when you come over to stay the night or when you don’t feel like going back to your and Vernon’s place after a long day and–”

Your words faded to the background as he continued staring at you. He was so used to being the one full of hesitation, overthinking his actions, trying to act nonchalant when he finally committed. Seeing you do the same? His heart grew two sizes larger and suddenly he couldn’t contain himself. 

Without thinking about it, he pulled you into a hug, effectively silencing your doubts and rambled justifications just like you had done for him so many times before. 

“You should’ve just said so, silly,” he laughed and held you even tighter.

[C.VN.: u know, i heard study dates are popular with the girls]

[you’re just trying to get me out of the dorm, aren't you?]

[C.VN.: u cant prove anything]

Sitting across from him in the living room, you watched in silence as Jihoon tapped away at his keyboard. His fingers seemed to fly across the keys at the speed of light, typing out a word and then deleting it. He did so a thousand times before huffing out a sigh and leaning his head back to glare at the ceiling.

“Have you tried taking a break?” you asked him softly, wanting not to scare or irritate him.

His head lolled back to a normal position and he offered an unamused raise of his brows. “Have you seen me take any breaks?”

You grimaced. “Then maybe it’s time to take a break now.”

“Sorry, darling,” he sighed and shook his head, “I need this essay finished by midnight. I’ve been putting this off for too long as it is.”

 You glanced at the clock. “Midnight’s still 10 hours away though. You have time to take a break.”

He rolled his eyes and glared at his laptop screen. A blank page with only the title ‘Western Philosophy 101 Final Essay’ mocked him. “A break from what? I haven’t even done anything.”

“You’ve been thinking hard.”

“Darling, I don’t think you understand how essay-writing works. There’s no use in thinking if no writing comes out of it.”

You reached over to take his hands off the keyboard. His fingers instinctively wrapped around yours, squeezing them just enough to comfort the both of you. “Writing will come out of it if you just relax and just take a break, I promise.”

Jihoon wanted to argue, he really did. But then he looked up from the screen and into your eyes, tempting him to just agree. And while he wasn’t one to give up easily, he was definitely someone who wanted fulfil every wish his loved-ones ever made.

And so, he gave up this time. Defeated, he slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Alright, what do you have in mind?”

“How long do you have?” you asked, feeling mischievous all of a sudden. 

He glanced at his watch before shrugging. “An hour, maybe.”

That was all you needed to pull him towards yourself by the hands. He stumbled a little, just about falling into your lap with a whine of protest before settling exactly where he landed, too tired to care further. His eyes fell closed the moment he felt your warmth against himself.

Without even thinking about it, you reached down to play with his hair. The silky strands ran through your fingers with ease and Jihoon could only hum in appreciation at the gesture. While this wasn’t the cuddle position you had had in mind, you couldn’t say no to the rare chance to dote on your otherwise independent boyfriend.

“This is nice,” he sighed softly and nuzzled his face against your belly, happy to hide from his horrible philosophy final. He lazily opened one eye to look at you, admiring you with the same love as you did him. “We should do this more often.”

“I would love to,” you told him with a sweet laugh and he was glad that he was lying down because his knees felt a little weak all of a sudden. “See, I told you you needed a break.”

He hummed in agreement, closing his eye again. “I feel like I might fall asleep though. And then who will finish my essay? You?”

“How about I just wake you up in, like, 40 minutes instead?” you offered.

With a cheerful giggle, he hid his face further into the fabric of your shirt. His voice sounded muffled as he spoke, “You don’t like philosophy either?”

“Cried my way all the way through the midterms and swore to never take anything philosophy-related again.”

“That’s good. I should do that,” he slurred his words and before long, all you heard were his soft snores. 

Jihoon liked to think he wasn’t particularly clingy. He didn’t need constant assurance from his friends that he was still loved and wanted – he knew they liked and wanted him around. He knew that you liked and wanted him around.

But when your near-hourly updates about the randomest things you had seen and done were replaced by radio silence, Jihoon grew more and more anxious. Though he knew it was silly to think so, he couldn’t help but worry he had annoyed you into leaving him.

Throughout the day, he kept glancing at his phone. Even just a single message – heck, even an emoji – would make his day infinitely better. When he wasn’t staring at his phone, begging for any notification with your name on it, he was looking at the people around him in the hopes of seeing your familiar face among them.

The day went by without as much as a sign from you.

He felt silly. He felt dumb. He felt like he was going to cry very real tears if you didn’t respond to his text before midnight. 

He let out a loud sigh of relief when your nickname finally popped up on his screen. The tears gathered in his eyes dissipated slowly as he shakily unlocked the phone and tapped on your newest message.

[darling ♡: oh my god. i’m sorry for not answergi !! so sorry!!!]

Jihoon blinked away the remnants of his anxious tears and smiled at the sight of your words. You hadn’t left him just yet. He still had a girlfriend who cared for him.

[it’s okay. did something happen?]

[darling ♡: yeah hahah funny story actually…]

[darling ♡: i think i caught something and i’ve been trying to sleep it off haha]

And just like that, his anxiety was back. Jihoon straightened in his seat, one hand still typing while the other blindly searched for his jacket. 

[youre sick?,??m???]

[darling ♡: a little bit…]

[i’m coming over-]

Before you could send a message of protest, he shrugged his jacket on and headed out the door. Even though he realistically knew that he wouldn’t be much help and would just end up sick himself, he couldn’t just let you suffer all alone.

As he practically galloped down the stairs from his 3rd floor dorm, he texted the group chat for help and assurance.

[L.SM.: she’s sick?! make her dinner! what’s her favourite soup??]

Jihoon paused mid-step. What was your favourite soup?

He arrived at your apartment just ten minutes later, a bag in hand. You greeted him at the door, bags under your eyes, skin dull and lips dry. Jihoon couldn’t help but pout at the sight. 

“What happened to you?” he asked, reaching up to brush his thumb across the cracked skin of your lips. “Have you been drinking water at all?”

“The fridge is too far from the bed,” you told him with a defeated sigh before practically melting into his embrace. “I told you not to come.”

He scoffed out a laugh and began rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. “Well, I’m here anyway. And I’m making you food. How does tomato soup sound?”

“Like you don’t know how to make chicken soup,” you answered with a suspicious squint of your eyes. 

He laughed at that, ears turning red at the way you had caught onto his scheme. “Alright, I think you should go back to resting.”

“You should go to sleep too,” you argued. “It’s past midnight already and you have classes tomorrow.”

“I can skip a day.” He said it with such ease and carelessness that you couldn’t help but wonder who this man was because your boyfriend hadn’t skipped any classes in the entire time you had been together. 

Still, you were too tired to care. Soup sounded better than sleeping on an empty stomach for another 12 hours. 

“Can I at least help you cook?” you practically begged, hanging onto his arm as he began preparing in the kitchen. 

A little taken aback by your affection, he laughed nervously. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I think I’m starting to feel better actually,” you half-joked, watching with starry eyes as he expertly washed and then chopped the tomatoes. “Seeing you has recharged me with energy.”

“Yeah?” He hummed in thought before offering you a mischievous smile. “Then do you have enough energy to go and rest a little?”

Your face dropped. “Why can’t you just accept my love?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you’re feverish and standing up for long won’t do you any good, darling,” he whispered before pressing a swift kiss to your cheek and returning to his task. “So, go rest on the sofa. I can go get your laptop so you can watch something, if you want.”

“But what if I want to cuddle?”

“Cuddle a pillow.”

“You’re cruel.”

He rolled his eyes at your dramatic antics. Clearly the fever was affecting you worse than he had feared. “When I literally ran across the district to come here and make you soup at midnight?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Fine, you can stay,” he paused and gave a warning glare, even if it looked far less threatening with the smile playing on his lips, “for now.”

You let out a soft cheer and cuddled back into his side, resting your cheek on his shoulder as he made you soup. You marvelled at the graceful movements of his hands. You couldn’t help but wonder how many of his friends he had made food for. For now you were just glad to be one of them.

“I hope I recover fast,” you whispered. “Or maybe I should just stay sick forever.”

“Why?”

“I have a stupid presentation next week. I haven’t even started reading to prepare for it.” You buried your face into the fabric of his hoodie. He took a moment to press his cheek against your head in an act of assurance. You sighed and mumbled a final, “Stupid finals.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll get you some medicine tomorrow so you can recover fast.”

With a groan, you straightened up a little again to side-eye him. “Can’t you just leave me here to suffer? Or help me fake my death? What kind of a boyfriend are you?”

“The kind that wants his girlfriend to be healthy for our end-of-the-semester date night,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

His confidence really made you wonder if you had forgotten about this clearly existing tradition between the two of you. But no, you were pretty sure he had just made this up. Or perhaps you were too loopy from paracetamol to remember. 

Either way, you let yourself get carried away into a fantasy of sharing a date night with only your boyfriend and no university stress. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

The end of the semester came faster than Jihoon or any of his friends would have liked. It snuck up on them between the despair and sleepless nights of the exam session. And he could not have been happier about it.

Once he had submitted the final essay of the semester – the very last graded project he’d have to submit before a well-deserved break –, he slammed his laptop shut and looked at you, still hunched over your laptop on the bed, re-reading the last paragraphs of your own essay.

“Hold on,” you told him upon feeling his eyes on yourself, “I’m almost done.”

“No rush,” he replied with a sweet smile before letting out a soft giggle of relief and falling back onto your mattress, his arms spread out as if to soak in the freedom.

As if the sight of your boyfriend basking in the glow of no more exams had motivated you to finish sooner than you planned, you hurriedly rushed to upload your final assignment. A green check mark appeared on the screen to indicate that you could finally join your boyfriend. 

With a loud cheer, you closed your own laptop and crawled over to where your boyfriend was lying. Immediately you burrowed into his side and sighed happily. “This semester sucked.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders like he had done so many times before. “But at least it’s over now.”

You hated to be the wet blanket but… “Unless one of us fails.”

He groaned and used the same arm to roll you away from him. “I hate you. Go away.”

You laughed at the way he scrunched up his face in distaste as if he had swallowed bitter medicine. “I’m just saying. We’re not safe yet.”

“We’re safe enough,” he declared and waved your negative thoughts away. “God, I hate you, now you’re making me anxious.”

“You don’t actually hate me,” you sang and rolled back over to him, settling right on top of him, your nose against his own. “In fact, you like me.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasped and sat up, resting your hand on his chest as you leaned upright to glared at him. “Unfortunately?!”

He laughed at your theatrics, giggling with his whole body, shaking so hard in the process that you lost your balance and fell back right on top of him. His arm came to rest around your shoulders again. Once he was out of giggles, he continued smiling and caressed your cheek. “You’re so freaking cute. It’s unfair.”

“Take back that ‘unfortunately’ and I might get even cuter,” you told him, a suspicious glare set on him. 

His smile never faded as he leaned up just a little, resting his entire body weight on one arm just to press his lips to yours. “I take the word back.”

“Good,” you decided and joined in his laughter before kissing him again, “because I kind of love you, actually.”

He froze. His eyes widened just a fraction, his lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise.

He stayed like that for long enough to make you worry you had made your move too fast. He liked to take it slow – you knew that. He had been taking it slow all this time. And now you’ve confessed and he probably thought you were ridiculous and dumb and–

“Darling…” His lips curled into a smile, his eyes turning into joyful crescents, and then he leaned in again. 

His hands came to rest on your cheeks, squishing them just a little as he pulled you to his lips. He kissed you again and again and again. 

He kissed you until you were dumb. He didn’t stop kissing you until you were sure you couldn’t form a single word that wasn’t his name. 

Then, eventually, with both of your lips swollen and eyes dazed, he leaned back and nuzzled his nose against your own. “I love you so, darling, I really do.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was saying. He had kissed you so dumb that you could’ve sworn he was speaking in another language. But finally, your brain caught up with the situation and a smile appeared on your face, bright and proud and full of adoration for your boyfriend. 

“You should kiss me like that more often,” you told him, teasing, trying to see what he’d do. 

He replied with a playful roll of his eyes and another kiss, a single one but much longer than the last twenty. 

“I love you,” you whispered again against his lips.

His smile only seemed to brighten even more at that. “I love you too.”

But as he was about to go in for another kiss, a loud vibration sounded from somewhere in the sheets. The two of you glanced around as the vibrations continued, breaking you from the romantic daze.

“Is someone calling you?” he wondered. 

“My phone’s been on silent since the dawn of time, babe,” you told him easily and helped him look for his phone. “It must be yours.”

Just when you said those words, the vibrations abruptly stopped. And then another vibration came, short and gentle this time. 

You found his phone under the pillows, Soonyoung’s contact name appearing alongside the missed call symbol and a minimised text message on the screen.

“It’s your tiger friend,” you told Jihoon and turned to hand the phone to him when the phone vibrated again with a new message coming in. 

It wasn’t your fault that the whole screen flashed to life with the message – what were you supposed to do? Not read it? 

[K.SY.: oh, nonie said u’re with y/n?]

And then another message arrived before he could take the phone from your hands. 

[K.SY.: have u told her u love her yet ??!?!!]

[K.SY.: the chat is rootin for u!!!! u’ve been good at following our advice this far. u’ve got this!!]

A mischievous smile appeared on your face as you read the message. Jihoon didn’t realise what made you react this way until he took his phone and read the message minimised on his lockscreen. He groaned as the realisation hit.

“Don’t start–”

“You told your friends that you loved me,” you beat him to it, reaching over to squish his cheeks and kiss his nose. “And you asked them for advice? You’re so goddamn cute.”

His ears got progressively more red with every word. He quickly swiped the messages off his screen and threw his phone as far away as he could without potentially breaking it. “It wasn’t like that–”

“I’m just teasing, baby,” you laughed and pulled him into a comforting hug. Poor man was mortified. “I do have to ask though: what kind of advice did you get from them?”

“Well,” he hesitated as you looked at him expectantly, “I wanted to be a good boyfriend, so… I asked them how to be a better boyfriend…”

You pressed your lips to his. “You’re a good boyfriend, Jihoon, I promise. You’re the best, actually.” 

“I had to ask my friends for help just to get the courage to initiate a kiss,” he confessed, squeezing his eyes shut as the urge to cringe and hide away under the bed overcame him. “I’m a mediocre boyfriend, at most.”

“I strongly disagree,” you told him and pulled him in for another kiss, “but we’ll work on your confidence, my love.”

But he believes as much as it’s a mutual decision to start a relationship, it’s also a mutual decision to end it. He certainly still loves and cares for you enough not to simply leave despite your refusal to end the relationship; but what he has for you is not something he thinks he should be feeling for a girlfriend.

He misses that spark. That thrilling sensation and the way his heartbeat would pick up at the sight of someone’s–your–smile.

And, unfortunately, it’s practically nonexistent now and, at some point, he hates himself for losing it because you still look at him like he holds the universe while he simply feels a pinch in his heart because he feels bad.

His phone lights up with notification, a picture of you and him grinning at the camera flashing before the screen turns black again. He sighs as he takes another sip of his drink, the alcohol burns his throat the same way your smile burns his heart.

Jeonghan’s right. He needs to be stern and stop dragging this more than necessary. The both of you deserve better; him, to finally stop feeling guilty because he can’t leave you behind, and you, e to find someone that will love you like you deserve to be loved.

At some point, Seungcheol knew the role was his to fill, but that’s no longer the case and prolonging this would only hurt the both of you in the future.

Like the two of you aren’t hurting on your own already now.

He bites his lip as he imagines the hurt in your eyes and the forced smile you’d give him.

Fuck.

He downs the shot and orders another.

*

Seungcheol imagined you’d be pressing your lips together as you suppress your tears, shoulders tense and jaws tight when he tells you once again he thinks it’d be better for you two to break up.

After all, that was your reaction the first time around.

What Seungcheol did not imagine, however, are your empty eyes and the way your hands limply stack against each other; your shoulders hunch in defeat and a corner of your lip twitch a faint smile for a millisecond before it turns straight once again.

Like you know it’s coming.

Like you’ve been bracing yourself for it.

There’s a painful squeeze in his heart at the way you’re not meeting his eyes, and he fights fights fights the urge to take your hands and apologize because he’s the one that’s ridding himself of that right.

How is he supposed to handle you like this?

Then again, isn’t this an attempt to let go of that responsibility? Because he doesn’t know anymore how to handle you without the romantic filter over his gaze towards you?

He’s starting to think it would be much better if you had been crying instead.

“Okay.” You say softly, voice barely even a whisper. But it doesn’t matter because he’s heard it and his eyes widen because he doesn’t think you’d agree so easily after the fight you put out last month. “But… Can I ask you one last favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take me to that camping ground we went to two years ago?”

He blinks, not expecting it at all.

“The one we went to for our first anniversary?”

For the first time in so long, the smile you give him doesn’t make his heart lurch with guilt.

He suddenly tries to think back when was the last time you actually, genuinely smiled at him with happiness in your eyes.

You always have that fond look in your eyes–something so soft and full of love–even after he asked for the break up last month. You still look at him that way after that and even right this second.

But happy?

When was the last time you laughed happily in his presence?

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go back but don’t really have any reason to…” You frown to yourself, your lips purse in a way that makes him want to squish your cheeks like he used to. “A farewell trip… if you will. Is it okay?”

“Sure.” He says without thinking. That’s the least he can do for you; he hasn’t exactly been the best boyfriend nor even person in general the past month, and the fact that he’s staying with you out of obligation because he doesn’t know how to break it off after your argument has been eating him inside out. If this is what you need to finally let him go, he doesn’t see why it would be a bad idea.

He still cares for you. Just not in the way people in a romantic relationship should.

For you, he’d still do anything if it’s within his reach.

For you, he'd still do anything to make sure you're happy again.

You’re still his friend before anything and Seungcheol always always tries to do his best for his friends.

“When do you want to go?”

“This weekend is fine if you’re free.”

“It’s Mingyu’s birthday, I already promised we’d go out for a drink. Is next weekend okay?”

“Sure. Do you want me to make the booking?”

He shakes his head. Perhaps it’s him wanting to compensate, but if this is going to be a farewell trip, might as well do everything for you so he can convince himself it’s okay to let go of the guilt he’s been holding over himself if only a little.

“I’ll do everything. You just wait and be pretty, okay?” He smiles cheekily, which you can only smile back in return despite the way your heart cracks little by little at how easy the words tumble out of his lips.

And he wonders why you find it hard for you to let go.

*

“Why are you brooding like your screen has personally offended you?” Jeonghan asks, plopping on the sofa next to Seungcheol.

It’s game night, something he and his friends promised to hold at least once a month. It’s Jeonghan’s turn to host the night, and Seungcheol has come almost two hours early only to focus on his macbook and barely even says anything to him, the owner of the place.

Not that it’s a rare occurrence, Seungcheol does have the tendency to do this from time to time. Just barge into his place, grunts a greeting, and leaves after an hour or two.

“I’ve been trying to book this spot in the camping ground but it’s not available.” He sighs.

Jeonghan tilts his head, interested. Seungcheol hates planning with passion, yet he's apparently doing a very thorough research for some reason.

He looks at the amount of tabs open on his laptop, and when he asks about them, Seungcheol simply says he’s making an itinerary and is currently checking all the possible places he might visit around the camping ground. He points out some places, says their pros and cons and where he currently stands about visiting them.

“Who’re you going with again?” When he mutters your name, Jeonghan can’t help but get more interested. “Didn’t you say you’re breaking up with her?”

“Yeah. She said she wants to go there one last time… I don’t know. For old time’s sake, maybe? Anyway, I don’t see anything bad about it so I guess why not.”

“You’re breaking up with her.”

Seungcheol sighs and puts away his laptop. His best friend can get like this sometimes and, at the wrong times, it really gets on his nerves.

“I am. It’s a goodbye trip of some sort, okay? She said we’ll break it off after that. Just one last trip, that’s what she asked; how can I not give her that?”

“Why would you go on a trip with someone you’re breaking up with? Isn’t that kind of the point? To stop seeing each other?”

“Look, I’ve been with her for three years, almost four, even. And it’s not like we’re breaking up because we’re fighting or what–I fell out of love. It’s on me. And I still care about her and treasure the time I’ve shared with her. If there’s anything I can do to make this breakup bearable for her, I would.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw at the way Jeonghan is looking at him; his eyes calling him stupid and pathetic at the same time without his lips saying anything.

“You’re just compensating because you feel guilty, then.”

“And it’s wrong for me to do that?” He fumes, not getting where his best friend is going with the talk. If he thinks this is one of those days when it’s fun to push all his buttons just for the sake of it, Jeonghan definitely chose the wrong topic to do so. “Why are you complaining, anyway? It’s not like I’m making you come with me. Do you not like the idea of me giving her closure? Do you secretly dislike her all this time?”

Jeonghan looks at him sharply, daring him to say more about how he feels about you. He knows Seungcheol threw the last sentence just to spite him, because of all his friends, you’re closest with Jeonghan and the feeling is pretty much mutual. Of all the partners Seungcheol has had, you’re the one that clicks with him the most; you seem to care about Seungcheol’s friends the same way you would your own friends. If there’s anything Jeonghan appreciates, it’s loyalty.

Always loyalty.

He’s sure he would also be devastated due to your break up with Seungcheol if it means he might lose someone he treasures as much as you.

“It’d only be harder for her, you asshole.” He grits his teeth. “Why would you give her hope by doing this much preparation for a fucking goodbye trip?”

“Because she asked for the trip!”

“What you’re arranging is a romantic getaway not a goodbye trip!”

Seungcheol falters a little at this, and before he can say more, the intercom beeps, signaling the other guys’ arrival. They share one last look with each other before Jeonghan gets up and opens the door, Mingyu’s rowdy voice followed by Wonwoo and Seokmin immediately dissipates the tense in the living room.

A few hours later, it’s still a little awkward between Seungcheol and Jeonghan, Wonwoo and Seokmin approaches them separately, and when the only thing they get is a set of reassurance that they simply had a disagreement, they let it go and decide it’d be best not to bring it up for now.

“By the way,” Seokmin opens the talk as Mingyu puts down cans of beer on the table. Seungcheol immediately reaches for one and the others wait for Seokmin to continue talking. “Is your girlfriend okay? I saw her in the hospital today.”

The way Seungcheol immediately chokes on his drink would’ve been funny otherwise. He wants to make sure that it’s his girlfriend Seokmin is referring to, but he’s currently one of the only two people with a partner in this room and one of them is Seokmin himself.

“I–what?”

“Oh… you didn’t know?” The younger guy winces, though he thinks it’d be best to tell Seungcheol anyway. No matter how small it might’ve been, he would want to know if his girlfriend somehow had to visit the hospital. “I was visiting a friend and I saw her walk out of the building but she didn’t see me and she was already too far away for me to call for her.”

“She didn’t say… I didn’t even know she went to the hospital.”

Jeonghan holds back a snicker, of course he wouldn’t know. Seungcheol hasn’t exactly been attentive to you since the moment he realized he’s falling out of you, head too deep in guilt and his own thoughts that he forgets to actually take a look at what’s in front of him.

The conversation goes elsewhere, and once Seungcheol is sure the attention is no longer on him, he whips out his phone and texts you to ask if anything happened.

[20:31] did you go to the hospital today? seokmin said he saw you

[20:44] 💜: oh, yeah. severe cold case, no worries tho! Is seokmin ok?

[20:45] you literally said severe, how am i supposed not to worry?

[20:35] why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you to the hospital

[20:47] 💜: it’s still just a cold haha. i simply got checked just in case. but they made sure it’s nothing but cold.

[20:47] Calling 💜

“Please stop trying to make it look like you’re not sick.” Seungcheol cuts immediately into the case, standing in the kitchen where it’s less noisy. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was with you a few days ago.”

Huh. Wait.

Was that why you looked a little out of it?

He closes his eyes in contempt and curses himself for not noticing. No wonder you looked so lethargic. So much for a boyfriend.

“It’s really just a cold, Cheol.” You try to reassure him, though your strained voice nor the cough that follows right after aren’t really doing a good job doing so. “You know the weather has been crazy these days.”

“Still. Why would you go to the hospital alone?”

It’s not easy for you to blink back your tears as you press your lips together, hoping Seungcheol would mistake your heavy breathing is due to your cold. You wonder if Seungcheol does all of this purposely. What a cruel man he is, asking you to break up with him and then scolding you for not telling him you’re sick, that he’s worried and asked if you want him to come over tonight.

Does he or does not want to cut ties with you?

“Cheol… Look–I… I simply thought you’re busy and it’s no big deal. I should be fine after a few good night sleep, they didn’t even prescribe me that much medicine and that should say something, right?”

Something stirs in him at how exhausted you sound, and he imagines you’re laying down in your room by the sound of rustling he hears across the phone.

“Have you had dinner?” He asks instead, looking at the digital clock on Jeonghan’s fridge.

“Not yet. Maybe later.”

“Alright, I’ll just wrap it up here and come over.”

“What?” You immediately sit up, not exactly pleased with the way this conversation is going. “No, Cheol. Just hang out with the guys, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sick, why would I be here?” He argues.

You sigh, not sure anymore the cause of your headache.

Is it your cold?

Is it him?

Probably both.

Why is Seungcheol so adamant in taking care of you when he has asked to break up last month and then asked once again not even a week ago?

Why couldn’t he be a jerk and just leave you alone?

Why does he feel the need to make sure your feelings are still intact when he has, according to himself, no longer felt the same intensity he thought one should have when they’re in a relationship?

It’s really your fucking fault for asking for him to reconsider. But, then again, you didn’t expect him to accept it at once–what was even the point of asking for a break up if you’re going to crumble after one refusal?

You didn’t know what to say the first time he asked for it. Because you know… you know it’s coming. You’ve felt the way he’s been pulling away, the way he’s been less and less interested in what you have to say, and how he’s been enjoying his time not talking to you than the other way around.

It hurts.

It hurts so much because this is the person who used to listen to you like you personally hang every single star in the universe by yourself, one that used to stare at you and pay attention to everything you say because he said he doesn’t want to miss anything only to miss half the things you’re saying because he’s too busy staring at you.

And when he asked the second time… you pretend to cough to hide your sniffle, wiping the tears that have managed to escape your eyes before you try to hurriedly hang up the phone.

“Cheol, I need to–”

“I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

He arrives in thirty, fusses over dinner and your air conditioner system and forces you to rest even after you relay what the doctor told you; that you should be okay in a few days.

It’s 1 in the morning when he leaves your place, and he only does so after you pretend to be asleep in hope he’d go home instead of staying over.

You feel him caresses your cheek softly and pats your head before he leaves, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him staring at you for a good three minutes before you hear your front door click.

You fall asleep an hour later because you’re too exhausted from crying and your head is pounding because of the same reason.

"What about this one," he murmurs into the silence, rubbing his thumb slowly over the soft skin of your wrist. "It's so tiny; I never noticed it before."

And the scar in question is tiny, smaller than a grain of rice, nestled right in the center of your wrist.

The story behind it, though, is so much bigger.

For the first time all night, your first instinct is to lie — to make something up and brush it off and clutch at the secret you've kept tucked away in your chest for so, so long. Excuses like oh, it's no big deal - it's nothing - I don't even remember all sit ready on the tip of your tongue. But you bite them back.

You stare at Soonyoung, marveling at how soft he looks in the warm lamplight — trusting the small but fervent corner of your quickly-beating heart begging you to be completely honest for once in your life, whispering that you can trust him with this.

He keeps tracing his thumb in gentle arcs across your skin, and you breathe in — slow — breathe out — steady.

“It’s from a knife,” you say at last, calm, and not at all like this is the first time in the ten years since it happened that you’ve told anyone. A buzzing has started under your skin, anxiety humming through your veins at a frequency you’re sure Soonyoung must be able to hear.

But he just wrinkles his brow in adorable confusion, lower lip jutting out just enough to form a soft, worried pout. “A knife?”

“Yeah.”

You can trust him with this.

You gulp and bite the bullet. “I was sixteen and... and I came really close to killing myself.”

A beat, and the world stops.

Your breath feels trapped in your lungs as you watch him blink, his thumb freezing as he processes your words. And for a moment, his face is blank.

But Soonyoung has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and you can easily read the emotions that start flashing across his face. First, a silent shock that bleeds into disbelief. His eyes find yours, searching, searching, yearning to find a falsehood somewhere in your words — a soft kind of horror dawning like a rain-soaked morning as realization sets in.

His grip on your wrist tightens, fear and worry evident in the way he takes a deep, steadying breath, and he pulls your hand to his chest and clutches it there, almost desperately. His other hand reaches out to cradle your face, stroking reverently, even as his exhale is shaky. It doesn't seem to be enough, though, because a moment later, he's scooting forward the foot of space between you and bringing your forehead to his. You lay like that for a moment, two, and then he's pulling you closer still, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder so that he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze.

You squeeze back, telling him with everything but your words that I'm not gone, I'm still here. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. You let yourselves have this moment, burying yourself into his embrace as he holds you like you'll disappear if he lets go.

"I'm okay, Youngie," you murmur eventually.

His fingers curl into the back of your shirt. "But you weren't." His voice is a whisper, thick with the threat of tears. "You weren't okay."

You sigh, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head and gently scratch at his scalp. "No. No, I wasn't then. But that was a long time ago, now."

Between one blink and the next, he's pulling out of the embrace just enough to be able to cradle your face between his palms. He's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes, and you feel something crack in your chest.

"You'll tell me, right?" he asks. "If you're ever not okay again? You'll tell me, or someone, or—" He huffs a frustrated breath before pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. For a moment that feels like your own eternity, he lingers there, lips against your skin — an invisible tattoo pressed into every thought floating around in your head. "Please promise me you'll tell someone, jagi."

"I will." You seal your vow with a kiss of your own pressed to his lips. "I promise."

And he must hear the truth of your words because you can feel the tension bleed out of him like he's a deflating balloon, and you deflate right along with him. You press another kiss to his lips, soft and chaste and full of all the reassurance you have.

"Hey, Youngie." You wait until he's looking at you, and then you let all of the warm, gooey feelings of hope and love and life bubble over into a beaming grin. "I love you, and I'm so happy that I'm here with you."

The smile he gives back could rival the sun's, you think.

~~~

it was fun, at first. entertaining, even, sneaking out with him at night, speeding down your small town roads in his car, going absolutely nowhere. sneaking back in, muffling your giggles and waving him off from your window so he knows you’re inside okay.

ice-cream, sticky fingers, sandals on hot pavement; firework shows, drive-in movies, mall shopping. and through it all, undeniable tension lacing your every interaction with him. the feeling’s addictive — you could get drunk on it, the way the very air seems to crackle when the two of you are together.

the thing about addiction is that the highs don’t last long.

your sister calls it a situationship; your best friend calls it a pain in the fucking ass; your other friends call it a fear of commitment form both sides.

whatever it is, it’s starting to eat you alive, and you think you might just be the one to lose. not to cave, because you’re not stupid enough to actually confess to choi seungcheol; but you’re stupid enough to feel the need to.

especially on nights like tonight, where he rolls the windows down, lets the wind blow through his hair, sends you soft smiles every few minutes. seungcheol always has music playing in his car, you’ve noticed, but then, he’s been like that since you guys were in high school, three, four years ago. seventeen year old seungcheol was always getting in trouble with the teachers for having headphones in, among other things.

you were the opposite. invisible — quiet, one of those pleasure to have in class students. seungcheol was more than visible, he was noticeable. everyone noticed him.

“remember when you flipped all the chairs in mr daniels’ classroom, back in school?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

a slightly smirk tilts his lips. “i didn’t know you knew about that.”

you scoff. “please. everyone knew about that.”

“he was an asshole,” seungcheol shrugs, instead of denying it. “he had it coming.”

“some might say you were an asshole back then,” you counter, and he whips his head to face you for a moment, before turning back to the road.

“who would say that?” seungcheol demands, but you can tell by his tone that he’s only joking, and he knows you’re joking too. “surely not you,” he adds. “we never even spoke in high school.”

which is true. your worlds hadn’t collided until well after high school — until last summer, when you were both twenty, through a friend of a friend of a friend, or something of the sort. now, you’re twenty-one, and he’s sneaking you out your parents’ house practically every night just for “a drive”.

these drives are slowly becoming self-destructive, because you’re falling deeper and deeper into him. he’s a flame and you’re the moth, running straight towards him blindly — and getting shocked when you get burnt.

“yeah, but i at least knew who you were back then!” you retort immediately, pulling yourself back to the present conversations.

“i knew you too!” seungcheol defends indignantly, his jaw dropping slightly.

“sure, cheollie,” you snort, patting his free hand.

he grabs your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you have to remind yourself to breathe, he’s just doing it to emphasise a point, this isn’t real, this isn’t more. “i did!” he insists. “we had the same english class. you sat in the second row from the back, right beside the window, and you had a clear pencil case and pastel highlighters, and at lunch you sat with your friends under the tree by the basketball court, and you had this ring” — he taps one of your favourite rings — “on almost all the time. and back in freshman year, you were nominated for class president and you turned it down. every time you had to introduce yourself and say a fun fact, you’d say your name and your favourite colour.”

you’re speechless, and seungcheol is enjoying it. “i told you,” he says cockily. “i did know you.”

“i stand corrected,” you say finally, breathing in deeply, thanking the stars above that he’s just pulled into your street, and you can freak out about this later. because everything about him — his earnest brown eyes, those stupid, beautiful dimples — makes you want to scream.

and you’re so lost in repressing this scream that you don’t realise he’s stopped the car opposite your house, and is looking at you in concern. “___?” he questions. “are you okay?”

you force a smile, already unbuckling and opening the door. “i’m fine! don’t worry!”

the next day, you get absolutely wasted.

you’re out without seungcheol, for once; with old friends from high school and newer friends from college, which is an odd mix, but once everyone’s downed a few shots, it doesn’t really matter.

you’re downing more than a few — fuelled mostly by the thoughts of a certain brown-eyed, dark-haired boy, which keep seeping into your mind; a never-ending stream of oh, he likes this whiskey!, and ahh, he loves this song! and a billion other things that remind you of him. ironic, that you go out to drink, cancel on him and his plans, in order to forget him, but all you can think about is him. you see him in everything; you miss him when he’s not near; and you come to the drunken conclusion that you’re falling a little too far into a summer fling, and you don’t know how to stop yourself.

and when it’s time to leave, your friends don’t quite know what to do with you. all you can whine about, against the judgement of that small sober corner of your mind, is cheollie, i miss him~, janeese, can you call him for me? and janeese, bless her patient soul, does exactly that.

he comes quickly. he always does when you call. but usually, you’re not drunk off your ass outside a bar — usually, you don’t greet him with a delighted gasp and a squeal (“you came! i knew you’d come for me!”). but he catches you when you fling yourself against him, steadies you and smiles against your shoulder. “hey, pretty,” seungcheol says, in that smooth, soothing voice of his, lips against your ear in a way that makes even your drunken self stir a little. “let’s get you home, yeah?”

you don’t say much of anything coherent until he’s trying to buckle you in the car, at which point you lift your drooping eyes and stare at his figure leaning over you. “you’re so handsome it makes me angry,” you accuse suddenly, brows furrowing in a way that makes seungcheol laugh — surprised, but endeared, as he tugs on a strand of your hair and pulls away.

“thank you,” he pronounces, with a mock bow, before shutting your car door and getting in on the other side.

he’s barely left the street when you start crying.

he doesn’t notice at first, only when you start sniffling — at which point his head whips towards you: “holy sh— baby, are you crying?”

“yes!” you wail, rubbing at your eyes furiously. his eyes are flicking rapidly between you and the road, one hand reaching out to grasp yours.

“what’s wrong? what happened?”

“you happened!” you choke through a dramatic sob, pushing his hand away. “you’re so mean. you’re mean to me, seungcheol.”

“mean— what did i do?” seungcheol’s worries features pull into a frown, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “tell me, baby, i’ll fix it. i swear.”

“that, for starters! the baby thing!” you declares, waving your hand with a grimace. “you make me all mushy inside and that’s mean — and you ask me if i’m fine and i say yes and i’m lying, by the way, so i guess i’m mean too — and you’re so pretty and — i don’t know! is this a game? am i a game?”

seungcheol had started pulling over halfway through your speech, and now he turns to face you properly, hands reaching towards you, and then faltering — he starts saying something, something brilliant and comforting and sweet, you’re sure, but you’re already cutting him off in your drunken fervour.

“i think,” and you hiccup here, sniffing weakly and turning away from him, “i think i might start loving you soon, and i just — i thought — maybe you could like me back, even a little, you know.”

this time, seungcheol does reach out for you, cupping your face, turning your face towards him slowly. “i do, baby,” he says softly, “more than a little, okay? much more.”

you lean against his tender touch with a weak sniffle and pitiful eyes gazing at him. “a lottle?”

a smile curves his lips. “yeah,” he agrees gently. “i like you a lottle.” he pauses, thumbing away your tears with delicate touches. “so don’t cry, okay? i don’t like seeing you sad — and,” he adds suddenly, like he’s just remembered, “i don’t like it when you call me seungcheol, okay?”

“that’s your name,” you say weakly. “what else do i call you?”

“cheol,” he suggests, “cheollie. baby.” he pauses, looks at you for a moment. “boyfriend.”

“okay, boyfriend,” you say, giggling suddenly. “take me home.”

an / this is requested by an anon as part of my 1k celebration event! prompt was the song cruel summer by taylor swift <3

★ SMUT TAGS; implied drunk sex, married sex, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink, creampie

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @ldkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere

★ SERIES TAGLIST; @ophelia-enthusiast - @hanniemylittlelamb - @ryusha-rose - @thesunsfullmoon

P.S. i reserve the right to refuse to add you to my taglist if you don’t have any age indicators in your profile regardless of whether this work is sfw or not :^)

Closing time is possibly your favorite time of the day.

The pub is always teeming with noise once the evening patrons arrive and while you find yourself enjoying the easygoing commotion, the peace that closing time affords you is a gift like no other. 

Most of tonight’s customers have already seen themselves out—drunkenly slurring the songs that the veteran performer, Seokmin, graced them with today. The knights who spent their day off helping themselves to your signature Oak Walker were some of the last to leave. They gave a hefty amount of money as payment for their food and drinks and you figure that they must’ve secured their paychecks recently with how generous they are with the tips.

Now, it’s just you—clearing out tables and polishing glasses—and another person who’s more or less part of the pub’s employee roster with how frequently he lingers after hours. 

“What a day.”

At the sound of his voice, you turn to Jihoon with a tired smile. “You can say that again. I thought Seokmin was going to break his vocal chords from the number of songs the two of you played tonight.”

Jihoon, the one in charge of musical accompaniment for the pub’s most popular singer, chuckles before seating himself across one of the barstools. In turn, you pour him a drink despite having already cleaned most of the glasses lined up beneath the bar.

“As much as I’d like to limit our songs to five max per night, I can’t do anything about Seokmin being a people pleaser,” he sighs, bringing the glass to his lips for a sip. “That idiot… We were supposed to take a carriage back to our neighborhood together, but then he decided he wanted to chase after skirts tonight. Saw him leave with two ladies hanging off his arms.”

You spare him a chuckle. “Well, you musical magic users have been racking up the female market more than you think. Kazuha’s been crushing on one of her teachers at the Academy—some guy named Chris if I remember correctly. I’m not sure. All I know is that he teaches musical theory and that he’s way too old for her.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Speaking of, isn’t your coworker too young to be working here?” 

“She’s the owner’s daughter. I don’t really have much of a say about her employment, even if it’s borderline illegal.”

“Point taken.”

The silence sets comfortably inside the empty pub as Jihoon finishes the rest of his drink. He isn’t much of a talker anyway—that’s Seokmin’s area of expertise. The only reason the musician struck up conversation was probably out of the need to be polite. You want to tell him that you’re used to closing up the pub alone so he doesn’t have to worry, but choose not to interrupt the peace and quiet that the two of you have been craving all night.

Once you’re done, you lean against the counter to let your eyes wander for a bit—mentally listing what liquor needs to be restocked, what finger food won’t be available the next day, among other things. The sound of the rain coming down outside makes your contemplation all the more immersive, and you’re just about to wonder if you should invite another singer for tomorrow—considering Seokmin’s…activities tonight—but Jihoon interrupts your train of thought with an odd question.

“Have you heard about the recent news?” 

You flash him a puzzled look. “There’s a lot going on in the royal capital, Jihoon. You need to be more specific.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about the youngest prince’s failed engagement. It’s been the talk of the entire pub all evening. I wasn’t surprised because the entire kingdom was plunged into madness when they announced that the wedding was going to be postponed. I don’t quite get the fanfare, though. What royals do with their love lives isn’t anyone’s business but theirs.”

If he notices the way you stiffen at his words, Jihoon doesn’t show it. You clear your throat, the relaxed expression on your face refusing to falter.

“Well, since they were so public about it, I guess us commoners have the right to at least scrutinize what they show us,” you offer. “But I totally understand not getting why they’re so worked up about it. I don’t pay much attention to those kinds of things either.”

“Right?” Jihoon sighs, exasperated as he takes a longer swig of his drink. “There are a lot more problems that people like us deal with everyday than the engagement of a little prince. Besides, isn't his older brother betrothed to some princess from another kingdom? They’re acting as if the royal bloodline is at risk of extinction.”

“You know, for someone who seems apathetic towards this whole mess, you’re awfully informed.” You flash him a teasing smile. “I didn’t even know Prince Jeonghan was betrothed in the first place. I thought all he did was terrorize the neighboring kingdoms while Prince Joshua cleaned up after him.”

“Our circle of musicians is full of gossip-mongers. I just happen to be there whenever they whisper about it amongst themselves instead of rehearsing,” he explains and you decide to let him off the hook with that one despite sounding just a tad defensive.

Jihoon gets up to make his leave once he finishes his drink—saying something about the rain not letting up anytime soon, so he should just pack up before it gets worse. But just when he’s about to reach for his wallet to pay—

“No need,” you insist before plucking the empty glass off the counter. “This one’s on the house. You worked hard today.”

His brows furrow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just take care out there. Seokmin would be devastated if his partner got struck by lightning.”

“On the contrary, I think he’d be elated to know that he won’t have to come into work while I’m out of commission,” he chuckles before gesturing with a curt bow. “I’ll be heading out then. Thank you for the drink and take care on your way home as well.”

Jihoon hefts the strap of his guitar case over his shoulder before making his way to the door as you busy yourself with cleaning the last glass to put back on the shelf. His footfalls are calm against the polished wood and it’s another sound you appreciate with the rainstorm buzzing faintly in the background. 

However, before he can reach for the knob, the door opens all the way—revealing a cloaked figure holding a stack of newspapers above his head. A makeshift umbrella, probably, but it did little to salvage him from the onslaught outside. Jihoon immediately recognizes him despite his disheveled state and lets out a long-winded sigh.

“Hey,” he calls the newcomer’s attention. “The pub’s already closed.”

The man ignores him, his damp cloak fluttering with his movements as he strides towards the bar. Jihoon sighs again, muttering something about bratty royals just doing whatever the hell they want before stepping out into the rain. 

You only realize that you’ve got new company when Jihoon pulls the door shut behind him—breath hitching at the sight of a very familiar face as he pulls off his cloak and tosses it on top of the counter along with the newspapers in his grasp.

“Your Highness?” you greet him half-heartedly. “What brings you here?”

It’s not a complete secret that Prince Joshua drops by for the pub every now and again. While not every one of your regulars is aware of his frequent visits, most of the staff have been informed of his tendencies to spend his time here. They’ve been sworn to secrecy, of course. 

It’s been over two months since Joshua last showed his face around these parts, however—busy with all the necessary preparations for his wedding, you bet. But from the sullen look on his face, you have a feeling that whatever gossip Jihoon has gotten wind of might have some weight to it.

He doesn’t answer your previous question, so you switch up tactics with, “What are you having tonight?”

“Jihoon said it was already closing time,” he mumbles.

You hum in affirmation. “But you went ahead and made yourself at home despite knowing that anyway, right?” 

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly but the smile quickly vanishes. Your chest tightens at the sight of it.

“I guess you’re not wrong,” Joshua laughs quietly before carding his fingers through his rain-soaked hair. “Fix me up a good old Oak Walker, will you?”

You’re not sure if it’s for the best to serve him a glass of the pub’s finest aged whiskey, but a sympathetic part of you says there’s no harm in indulging him. 

Joshua nurses his drink across the bar in silence—the ever-present backdrop of rain ringing in both of your ears. His lack of anything to say is mildly off-putting because you’re used to him being all smiles and laughs as he shares the royal ventures that took place after his last visit. More so the royal ventures he had with his fiancée. 

To say that you’re itching to ask him about how things are going on with her is an understatement, but you’re no idiot who can’t read the room. 

He stays for about twenty minutes, so deep in thought that you’re convinced that he’s forgotten you were there with him at all. Apart from a few sighs of defeat, you don’t hear even the slightest peep out of the prince. Sure, he was never one to be excessively talkative during his visits, but even a stranger can tell that something’s wrong.

Gods. Just how bad is it?

Joshua gently lays down his glass on the counter once he finishes his whiskey—all those etiquette classes easily setting him apart from regulars who slam them down before heaving their obnoxious laughter. He slides his payment across the surface; an amount that comes with change worth more than the drink itself. But before you can tell him the same thing you told Jihoon earlier, he’s already sliding his cloak back on. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, adjusting the hood so it somewhat conceals his face. “I really needed that drink.” 

…Was it selfish of you to hope he’d say something else? Like he needed your company, for example? It probably is. 

Because who are you to have the prince needing your company for?

Joshua’s boots fall heavy against the wooden floor—a far cry from Jihoon’s easygoing strides. As your eyes stay glued on his retreating form, you bite the inside of your cheek. You want to call out to him, ask him what’s wrong, and let him know that you’re there to listen. Just like all the times he’s talked to you about everything he’s come to appreciate about the common realm. 

But your voice fails you—just like it did many times before.

It’s only when Joshua is long gone and you’re slinging your satchel over your shoulder that you notice that the Prince left something behind. That stack of newspapers he brought with him when he came in earlier. Most of the flimsy material has been soaked through, but the text was still legible enough to read. 

When your gaze catches on the title of the headline, however, you nearly drop it out of pure shock.

WHERE HAS THE RUNAWAY PRINCESS GONE?

On the first day of spring, the shock of a lifetime befalls the ears of every citizen of not only the capital, but the entire kingdom of Seraphia. The youngest Crown Prince, Joshua, invited scribes from all across the land into the great halls of the royal castle to finally address the previous week’s hot topic: the postponement of his wedding ceremony with future Princess-Consort Hyejin, who was dubbed as the kingdom’s sweetheart by the general public over the past year. 

The blossoming romance between the royal couple charmed thousands of Seraphians, which vastly contributed to the sizzling anticipation for their marriage. It was due to take place in the courtyard of the royal castle once the snow has thawed and the kingdom is able to welcome spring with open arms. Needless to say, it would’ve been the perfect setting for a perfect celebration!

However, it was announced by the Queen herself a fortnight ago that the ceremony had to be postponed for reasons that would be disclosed in the future—causing quite an uproar amongst the populace. Not a word of input was heard from both Prince Joshua and Hyejin themselves and any information regarding the topic was put on tight reins. Some speculated that there were merely a few inconveniences that had to be sorted out first before the royal couple could officially tie the knot; others assumed that one or either of them fell ill and were simply waiting for swift recovery.

But today, we learned that not all fairytales have happy endings. Prince Joshua officially announced the complete dissolution of his engagement to Hyejin as well as the retraction of all previous news of the matrimonial ceremony. 

If the postponement caused an uproar, the latest update on our favorite couple’s situation has ignited chaos of insurmountable levels. The scribes that were present in the impromptu press conference begged for more details about the matter, but Prince Joshua requested for the citizens to remain calm about the entire ordeal—saying it was a mutual decision that he and Hyejin had come to make together. He also pleaded for the public to give them the privacy they both direly needed in such a trying time with the reassurance that the couple simply agreed that they were not fit to be each other’s spouse, despite Hyejin being eleven months into her royal assimilation period.

Several conflicting opinions have since sprouted about the latest scoop on the previously renowned royal couple. Speculations of third parties came into light, especially since Hyejin has yet to make a public appearance to address all these issues herself. 

Has the Princess-Consort really run away? Find out more in next week’s issue of the Daily Tribune!

As you read over the last paragraph, you notice frost starting to gather at your fingertips—a manifestation of your emotions. 

You’re quick to shake your head and retract your magic before you end up freezing the entire stack of papers with your touch alone. Not without cursing the gods for giving you an elemental affinity that’s painfully in tune with your emotional constitution, of course.

You decide to throw the newspapers in the trash—figuring that Joshua must place little importance in them if he left them in the state they were in. He’ll come across dozens of copies in the plaza if he ever wants another one anyway.

When you get home that night, you immediately treat yourself to a nice, hot bath before heading straight to bed, not seeing any incentive in staying up overthinking the recent news. But no matter how many blankets you bury yourself under, no matter how much wood you toss into the hearth…

Your fingers remain startlingly cold. 

The first time Prince Joshua showed up in the bar, it was raining as well. In fact, it was storming.

Business was slow. None of the regulars wanted to hassle themselves by braving the storm just to get their daily fix of alcohol and the owner couldn’t even convince any of the usual singers to show up that night. 

So it’s just you and the owner’s children, Kazuha and Yuta.

“Do you think something interesting’s going to happen today?” Kazuha sighs, drumming her fingers across the counter with a bored look. “Father shouldn’t have opened the pub when I told him multiple times that the weather is going to be like this.”

Yuta snorts from the other side of the bar, passing small crackles of lightning between his hands before getting up to pour himself a drink. “You know the old man is going to grab every opportunity to turn in some profit. Even if only a single customer goes through those doors tonight, he’d consider it worth sending three employees into a storm.”

“If that’s the case, we should just sneak a few banknotes in today’s order tally and call it a day,” Kazuha huffs before turning to you. “You’re with me on this, right?”

Pursing your lips, you raise your hands up in a gesture of indignation. “Don’t come dragging me into your schemes, Zuha. I have no intention of getting prematurely fired.”

Kazuha groans and Yuta snorts before handing you a glass of bourbon. 

“The least the old man can do is treat us to a few drinks, whether or not he knows about it,” he snickers as you take the glass from his hand. “Cheers?”

“What, so she gets a drink but your little sister doesn’t?” Kazuha scowls. “I get that you’ve got no one else to use your cheap pick-up lines on tonight, but how could you flirt so shamelessly in front of me?”

You placate her with an apologetic smile. “You know Yuta will have an aneurysm if he doesn’t express interest in anyone from the female population that isn't family. I’m just keeping one of my boss’ kids from keeling over.”

“Harsh as ever,” Yuta sighs before you clink your glasses together. “No wonder you have ice magic.”

“Say that again and I’ll freeze your entire drink, lover boy.”

As you continue playfully bickering with the siblings, you start to consider Kazuha’s suggestion a bit more seriously. It’s nearly time to close up shop and not a single soul has gone through the front door and it doesn’t seem like the rain is going to let up any time soon. Which is all sorts of strange because it rarely ever rains in Seraphia in the middle of summer.

But that’s exactly how the youngest prince walked into your life—like a summer rainstorm. 

He’s soaked all over, tracking water all over the floorboards with a shiver to his posture. You don’t recognize who he is at first—all bundled up in his cloak—but when the newcomer pulls off his hood, you and the siblings end up gaping at him like fishes out of water.

Because what on earth is Prince Joshua doing in some dingy pub in the middle of the night when it’s raining buckets outside?

“Hello,” he says kindly, not a breath out of beat despite the fact that he’s dripping from head to toe. “One of the knights told me this place sells the best whiskey in the capital.”

Surprisingly, Kazuha is the first out of the three of you to snap out of your collective stupor—putting on her best smile before replying with, “You’ve heard right. Would you like a glass, Your Highness?”

The formal address seems to fluster him and you find it slightly amusing to see a perfectly put-together royal’s ears turning red. “Please, no need to call me that.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be marching at the gallows if we called you by your first name, Your Highness,” Yuta interjects, grabbing a glass before heading over to the whiskey kegs. “You’re just in time, actually. We were just about to close early.”

“I figured,” Joshua chuckles before hanging his damp cloak on the rack by the entrance. “I didn’t think this place would be open, actually. Every other pub I’ve passed was closed for the night.”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “You have the owner to thank for that.”

The siblings easily accommodate the prince himself as if he was just another customer they served on any other night. You suppose it comes from practically growing up in this place when their father still manned the bar. But still, how could they act so normally around someone as important as Joshua?

Then again…

They don’t know him the way you do.

“Hey,” Kazuha whispers when you flutter off to the side, letting Yuta entertain tonight’s esteemed guest with his lightning magic. “You’re acting a little weird. I get he’s royalty and everything, but this isn’t the first time we’ve had to cater to nobles. Father’s pub is well known for a reason.”

You take a deep breath as your eyes momentarily flicker to the prince who’s awed by Yuta’s little display. For someone who was just out in the rain, he still looked unfairly breathtaking. His damp hair is somewhat slicked back, tiny droplets dripping down every now and again. And even if his clothes—made from the finest of textiles, no doubt—haven’t been spared by the rain, his poise makes it seem as if he didn’t just rush out of a storm. 

You’ve spotted Prince Joshua whenever there are festivals in the city every now and again. He’s a benevolent royal that likes spending time with commoners—not one to mind the class divide like other nobles. But you’ve never seen him this close in a while.

The sight of Joshua now reminds you of several years before. 

Memories of a rushing river and a runaway pup. Of a young prince and flowers given to the brave. They all come back to you like these events happened yesterday and not more than a decade ago. 

But with all those fond memories also comes a firm reminder.

You and him are on opposite ends. You...should keep that in mind.

“Hello? You’re spacing out on me again.”

Finally, you snap out of it and catch Kazuha staring at you with a look of concern. Your coworker even flattens a palm across your forehead to feel for your temperature. “Are you sure you’re okay? Not running a fever or anything? You can go home early if you need to. Yuta and I can take care of him just fine.”

You’re about to insist that you’re fine, but before you can get a word out, you hear Yuta calling your name from the other side—a no good smirk on his face as he gestures for you to come over.

“This is our number one bartender and resident Ice Queen,” he introduces and you scowl at him immediately. “She might concoct the best drinks in the entire district, but she’s got an ice cold heart! Don’t try to flirt with her or she’ll turn your drink into a block of ice.”

“Weirdo. I’m only like that to you,” you hiss.

Yuta giggles and you want nothing more than to smack him. “Oh? So does that mean I’m special?”

“No. That means you’re the only one irritating enough to get a rise out of her,” Kazuha backs you up with a sigh before turning to Joshua. “Sorry about these two. They can’t sit in the same room for five minutes without a fight breaking out.” 

Thanks to both siblings, your earlier hesitation to let the prince even perceive you dissipates in a flash. You cast Yuta an annoyed stare before finishing the rest of the bourbon he’d poured for you earlier. “Well, no fights would be happening if Yuta stopped basing his entire personality off of being a playboy.”

“Gods, it’s not that deep, Ice Queen. Chill out.”

“I’m going to put arsenic in your next drink. Mark my words.”

While you and the eldest son of the owner are neck and neck, you hear Joshua stifle a laugh in his seat. You and Yuta turn to look at him abruptly, wondering what’s so funny.

“Sorry, I just found it amusing how easily such threats come from either of you,” he muses, swirling his glass so that the ice crinkles inside. “If anyone said that to me in the royal castle, even in a jest, they’d be thrown in the dungeons immediately.”

“And that’s why we’re going to be civil whenever His Highness is around, aren’t we?” Kazuha flashes the two of you a thin smile. Despite being the youngest out of your trio, she’s definitely the most level-headed.

“Of course,” Yuta responds coolly. “Prince Joshua doesn’t have to worry about Ice Queen here poisoning his drinks. She was starstruck the moment he set foot inside—ow!”

Kazuha clicks her tongue as Yuta rubs the spot on his head where his little sister just clocked him. “What did I just say about being civil?”

Sparing the siblings another laugh, Joshua then turns his attention to you. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Pray tell, why is he calling you Ice Queen? You seem like a warm enough person to me.”

You don’t know if it’s the unusually chilly air or his comment that makes the blood rush to your cheeks, but either way, you attempt to mask it by coughing into your hand before giving him an answer. 

“Um, that’s just Yuta being Yuta.”

“No, she practices ice magic,” the little bastard interjects. “Hate how she’s so good at using it too ‘cause whenever she says she’ll freeze my drinks, half the time, it isn’t a bluff.”

Kazuha stares at him flatly. “Only because you deserve it.”

“See, now she’s turned my own blood against me!” Yuta whines. 

The prince chuckles to himself again, taking another sip. “So all three of you are magic users as well?”

Yuta nods. “Mhmm. I’ve got lightning magic, Ice Queen’s got ice magic, and Kazuha’s got wind magic. Little sis can actually tell when there’s a storm coming, too.” 

“Oh? So you anticipated that the weather would be like this?” 

The siblings both groan in unison—clearly recalling how their father insisted for them to open the pub despite the atrocious weather. 

Joshua is immediately immersed with Kazuha explaining the technicalities of her magic and the prince gives his own input on how being able to predict the weather would benefit not just the royal capital, but the entire kingdom of Seraphia.

It’s so…like him to apply the things he learns to such an altruistic cause.

“I’m acquainted with a few wind elementals, but none of them have tried anticipating the shift in the weather like you do,” the prince comments, quite impressed, before turning to Yuta. “I suppose you have a similar ability as well?”

Your coworker shakes his head vehemently. “I can only feel a thunderstorm when it’s already here. If you want someone who can pick up even the slightest changes in the weather, Zuha’s your girl.”

Despite the rare praise from her brother, Kazuha merely scoffs. “It’s all useless if Father will tell us to open up shop in the middle of a storm anyway.” 

“I suppose so,” Joshua agrees with a sigh. “How about you? What do you use your magic for?”

It takes you a moment to realize that he was talking to you. “Pardon?”

The grin that spreads on his face is bright enough to light up a storm-ridden evening. “Your magic. I’m sure you don’t just use it to freeze Yuta’s drinks, now do you?”

Yuta snorts into his drink while Kazuha elbows him in the stomach. You keep yourself from letting out a laugh of your own. You can trust Kazuha to have your back all the time.

“Well, aside from that and enchanting the ice in our customers’ drinks so they won’t melt too quickly, I…don’t use my magic that much,” you admit, scratching the back of your head out of mild embarrassment. “Ice magic isn’t as versatile as water magic. It doesn’t have a lot of everyday uses. Plus, I could accidentally kill someone if I don’t keep my emotions in check.”

For the first time tonight, Joshua’s pearly white smile falls. “What do you mean?”

When you feel the skin of your fingertips prickling with a chilly sensation, you immediately ball your fists at your side—not wanting to give the prince a firsthand demonstration of your…magical affliction just yet.

“Elemental magic is easily influenced by the user’s emotions,” you murmur, purposely avoiding Joshua’s scrutinizing gaze. “But…mine has always been a little on the unstable side. I don’t use it a lot because if idiots like Yuta rile me up too badly, I might end up launching an icicle through his chest without thinking.”

“Hey!” The pub’s resident player complains. “That example is a little too scary. Couldn’t you have gone with ‘I might give him frostbite all over’ first?”

Kazuha glances at him bizarrely. “Isn’t that worse?”

Joshua hums contemplatively, taking another swig of whiskey. “Hmm. We’re on the same boat then. I don’t use my magic very often either.”

“You don’t?” you ask incredulously. 

“Yes. The royal family as a whole doesn’t rely on magic much. We have the royal mages to take care of anything involving the practice altogether,” he explains, pouting a little when he realizes his glass is empty. You move to pour him another round, but the prince shakes his head. “Instead of attending the Academy like most children our age did, my brother and I were thrust into the world of diplomatic relations at the ripe ages of twelve and fourteen. After all, you don’t need magic when you’re locked in a battle of wits in the royal court.”

Yuta and Kazuha nod in understanding, but the expression on your face is the exact opposite.

“But…your magic is so pretty,” you muse absentmindedly. “Why shouldn’t you use it? Especially when there’s lots of people who look up to you?”

You can feel Kazuha shooting you that reprimanding stare she constantly gives to her brother, but you can’t help it. Not when you’ve witnessed the prince’s magic firsthand—even if it was a long time ago. 

“They don’t look up to me because of my magic, sadly,” Joshua chuckles, seeing no offense in your question. “But…I find it more amusing that you say that as if you’ve seen my magic. It’s been years since I last used it, much less shown it to another person.”

Three pairs of eyes flicker to your form expectantly and you can feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. Fuck. 

“U-Uh, I just remember seeing it during your coronation ceremony,” you stammer. “When you conjured an entire bouquet out of thin air to give to the Queen as thanks.” 

You’re not exactly lying since you did see the youngest son of the royal family showcase his magic once he was hailed as the second Crown Prince. It was a joyous occasion for the royal capital—as Joshua held promise where his older brother Jeonghan did not. 

“I see. You have an amazing memory then,” Joshua commends with a smile that makes your heart flutter traitorously. “I didn’t think anyone would remember that.”

You have half the mind to tell him that you remember a lot more about him than just that. But the same words echo inside your head—over and over like a dreadful reminder of the striking reality you were born in. 

You and him are on opposite ends. 

You’re not certain if you should feel happy or not about the growing frequency of Prince Joshua’s visits.

He doesn’t really do much in the pub. For someone who grew up being the center of attention, Joshua actually does a good job at blending in the crowd unnoticed. The prince is merely an observer—quietly sipping his drinks as your patrons let chaos loose all around him. 

You and the siblings manage to keep his undercover visits discreet for about a week at most until the pub’s regular performer, Seokmin, finally notices the cloaked figure that always takes a seat at the bar whenever he drops by. 

“So the fabled Prince Joshua can actually drink cheap liquor,” the singer chuckles once the last of the regular patrons have left, clinking glasses with Joshua as if he was just another one of his drinking buddies. “Here I thought royals only had fine wines imported aaaaall the way from the vineyards of the next kingdom over.”

That earns him a smack upside the head by his fellow musician, Jihoon. “Keep talking loosely like that and you might just get thrown into the dungeons.”

“And our drinks are far from cheap,” Yuta adds with an eyeroll.

As usual, Joshua dismisses all their concerns with an easy laugh, insisting that there’s no need for anyone to be afraid of being imprisoned for being casual with him.

“When I’m here, I want you all to think of me just like everyone else,” he says with a smile so genuine, not a single staff member could even hope to refuse him.

Since he’s quite exceptional at keeping a low profile, it was mutually decided by everyone to just let the prince do as he pleases—soaking in all the noise and bonding over conversation with you and the other staff members after hours. It’s an unlikely interaction and an even unlikelier friendship, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Kazuha even joked that there’s no harm in seeing a pretty face every now and again. While you completely agreed, she doesn’t have to know that. Not at all.

He sticks around through the scorching hot summer and even the bleakest of winter. It’s gotten to the point that none of you are baffled by his constant presence anymore. By the time spring is upon Seraphia, Joshua still lingers by the sidelines.

Then comes the day the royal family announced that they were looking for wind elementals interested in becoming the kingdom’s first Stormwatchers. Yuta’s first reaction upon hearing the news was to put his little sister up for the job, but since Kazuha is yet to graduate from the Academy, she immediately shot down his encouragement. 

Along with that is the city-wide notice of an upcoming music festival. Similar celebrations aren’t rare in Seraphia, but one dedicated solely to singing and dancing in the streets of the capital is the first of its kind. Seokmin and Jihoon’s circle of musicians practically implodes with glee at the news—your two regular performers immediately asking for a few nights off in order to make the necessary preparations for the festival.

With so many things sprouting in everyone’s agendas, it’s no surprise that you don’t see Joshua for a while either. You have an inkling that all these new updates from the royal family have something to do with the things the prince has learned during his time hanging out in the pub. 

You’re not sure whether that’s a good thing or not, but the mere thought has you sighing dreamily like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Oh, it’s been a while.”

Stopping by the Jeon Flower Emporium isn’t something you get to do a lot given the nature of your job and the biorhythm it forces you to operate on. The owner, Wonwoo, is one of your long-time friends. He typically opens up shop at the crack of dawn and packs everything away an hour before dusk. When you do get to drop by, it’s typically on your days off—much like today.

“Good morning, Wonwoo.” You smile at him before letting your eyes drift onto the bouquet he’s putting together by the counter. “How has business been faring?”

Wonwoo cracks you a grin that would make any maiden swoon as he ties the flowers together with expert hands. “A bit slow, if I’m being honest. But I am hopeful for more customers now that the royal family announced a music festival coming up. Those kinds of things bring in more tourists to the capital than you’d think.”

The two of you exchange quiet laughs before Wonwoo tells you about a rather complicated order he received a few days ago. 

“An entire plant box full of flowers,” he chuckles. “I haven’t done any orders like that before, but this client is sort of a big deal, so I couldn’t really refuse.”

“I’m sure you won’t disappoint,” you encourage him. “My mother doesn’t consider you her favorite florist for nothing, you know.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “My mother is Auntie's favorite florist. Don’t go mixing things up just to flatter me. Oh, by the way…”

“Hm? What is it?”

Your friend leaves the bouquet he’s been putting together for a moment before walking off to one of the many shelves inside his shop. Wonwoo hums a song that you could’ve sworn you’d heard Seokmin sing a few nights ago before his eyes light up once he finds what he’s looking for.

“I received a shipment of these from Ancarra yesterday and I immediately thought of you,” he says, gesturing for you to come closer.

Curiously, you pad over to Wonwoo’s side, taking a look at what he wanted to show you. The moment your eyes catch on a beautiful patch of daisies, however, you feel your mouth go dry.

“I still remember the time Auntie asked my mother to preserve the little daisy you found back then,” Wonwoo murmurs all while caressing the flowers with his gloved hand before shifting his spectacled gaze towards you. “Do you still have it?”

If Wonwoo sees the way you hesitate to answer his question, he doesn’t show it. “I do. It’s in my parents’ house though. I feel like if I took it with me to my place, it would die in three business days despite the preservation magic.”

“Nonsense,” Wonwoo laughs. “You’re always so hard on yourself. Just because you have ice magic, doesn’t mean that every plant you touch will freeze up and die.”

“You don’t know that.” 

Your friend rolls his eyes. “I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a second because—”

“Oh. Fancy seeing you here.”

You nearly jump out of your own skin when you hear that familiar voice calling out from behind you. Unlike yourself, Wonwoo isn’t even fazed by the sudden arrival of one Prince Joshua inside his shop. In fact, he even beams at the unexpected(?) visitor. Does everyone think meeting royalty like this isn’t a big deal anymore? 

“H-Hello, Your Highness,” you stammer, trying not to get too distracted by the way he carries himself so gallantly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him out of his usual disguises whenever he stops by the pub. You would’ve appreciated a heads up from the gods so you can at least mentally prepare yourself for this.

“I often stop by here to admire Wonwoo’s flowers since there aren’t a lot of them in the castle.” Joshua smiles—that pearly white smile that could easily bring you to your knees—before turning to face Wonwoo. “Well…that and I have a pending order from our resident florist here.”

So he’s the one who booked Wonwoo for that order he was talking about earlier. 

“I see…” You muse, forcibly taming your heartbeat into normalcy. “But, can’t you just grow them yourself? Or have someone else grow them for you? I’m certain your servants would be more than happy to do it for you.”

You half-expect Joshua to downplay your words like he usually would whenever someone in the pub brought up something concerning the castle. He’s a man who likes deflecting things like that easily, never one to talk about complicated topics. 

But for some reason, Joshua’s smile falls just a little before he lets out an airy laugh.

“Haha, I wish I could.”

Wonwoo eventually excuses himself because he still has an order to put together before his client comes to pick the flowers up. You want to tell Wonwoo not to leave you alone with Joshua because you might just melt into a puddle right there on the floor of his shop, but alas, your friend sees no problem in doing just that.

You fear that it would be too awkward to bear. This is the first time you’ve been around the prince without anyone else pitching into the conversation. Would he think you’re not worth talking to? Would he think you were strange for not being casual with him like everyone else seems to be? 

The flurry of questions that surge inside your head sort of angers you because…you never overthink your interactions with other people to this extent. You’re a bartender, for gods’ sake. It’s your job to talk to people. 

“So how do you and Wonwoo know each other?” 

You perk up at the prince’s question. It’s not that you didn’t expect him to initiate—because of course he would—but you’re mildly thrown off guard by the inquiry.

“Our mothers were best friends,” you explain, tucking your clammy hands behind your back.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Were?” 

“Oh, uh, Wonwoo’s mother passed away a few years ago.” Glancing over his shoulder, you watch Wonwoo quietly work on the bouquet with an easygoing look on his face, making sure your voice won’t reach him. “She used to own this shop, but Wonwoo has been manning it ever since her passing. He even quit the Academy just so he can keep the business afloat.” 

From the looks of it, this seems like news to Joshua. “I’m— I’m sorry. The question was somewhat out of turn. Forgive me.”

You shake your head. “There’s absolutely no need to apologize, Your Highness. Wonwoo is perfectly happy with continuing his mother’s legacy like this. I’m sure you’ve seen it for yourself.”

“Hmm… He is very passionate about his work,” Joshua notes with a small smile. “I wouldn’t have commissioned him to arrange my order if that wasn’t the case.”

“Speaking of…” Your voice trails off, recalling the details that Wonwoo imparted earlier about an entire plant box full of flowers. “If I may ask, what’s the occasion? Are you perhaps ordering the flowers for the music festival?”

Joshua blinks in nonplus, as if taken aback by your inquiry as well. Still, his posture doesn’t falter and he shakes his head with a chuckle—a tinge of red dusting both his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

“No. It’s for someone I’ve had my eyes on for a while now,” he admits and you feel your heart sink at the shy manner he says it.

Someone he’s had his eyes on…

It shouldn’t surprise you that someone like Prince Joshua could arrange such grand gestures for the person who makes his heart race. But the fact that he has a person like that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. 

You’re happy for him. A person who constantly looks after the people as often and as earnestly as Joshua does deserves a person he can lean on from time to time, too. But you can’t deny the ugly feeling that coils in your chest at the knowledge no matter how badly you want to.

Fortunately, Joshua is quick to change the topic before you can force yourself to voice out your well wishes for his pursuit of a lover. 

“Now that you mentioned the music festival though, I’m glad the news has reached you,” he laughs softly. “It took me a while to convince the old crones in the royal court to put the show underway. The gods know how stubborn they can be when it comes to making what they think are unnecessary expenses. But I thought it would be a good avenue to bring together not just the nobles and commoners of the capital, but also the kingdom’s musicians.” 

You don’t know how to react first—be endeared at the thought that he thinks so fondly of his constituents or laugh at the fact that the epitome of princeliness himself called the elders of the royal court ‘old crones’. In the end, you decide on neither and just appreciate the fact that he’s comfortable enough to tell you all of this.

“You got that right,” you tell him. “Yuta, Kazuha, and I were getting sick of the old traditional festivals. I’m pretty sure I can say the same for the rest of the people in the city, so it’s good that you decided to spice things up a little. What’s more is that you’re inviting people outside the capital for the festivities.”

Joshua nods as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Well, everyone within the borders of Seraphia is our people. It wouldn’t be fair for anyone to confine the celebrations here.”

Gods. How were you supposed to not fall for someone like him?

“That said, may I do the honors of inviting you and the others back at the pub?” He offers up another handsome smile. “Seokmin and Jihoon already signed up as performers along with a couple of other musicians all across the kingdom. I figured that all of you would appreciate getting front row seats to the show.”

Pushing away any and all unsavory thoughts about the prince and his would-be muse, you muster up a smile that, admittedly, doesn’t really reach your eyes.

“Well, if it’s a personal invite from the prince himself, we’d be heathens not to accept.”

You part ways with Joshua and Wonwoo a few moments later, saying that you still have some errands to run in the market. Definitely not because it stings to stare at someone who you never had a chance to have for even a second longer. 

But before you’re even ten steps away from the front door of the Jeon Flower Emporium, someone forcibly yanks on your arm—making you whirl around with equal parts confusion and surprise. When you realize it’s Joshua, you’re even more flabbergasted than you already are.

He pants as if he just sprinted out of the shop just to catch you—his princely demeanor making way for something bordering on desperate, but not really. Though you can’t pay his constitution that much mind because you’re hyper focused on the way his warm fingers enclose your wrist. 

“I-Is anything the matter, Your Highness?”

Joshua startles at the question as if he was in a trance himself. He takes a second to gather his thoughts before straightening out—clearing his throat awkwardly with his fist before offering you something in his other hand.

A daisy.

“I swear I’m going to pay for that when I go back to the shop,” he clarifies with a sheepish look.

With hesitance shining on your face, you accept his gift, trying not to collapse in a heap of tears in the middle of town. Joshua’s eyes seem to light up when you take it from his hand and you will your magic not to ruin the moment—to let you have something nice for once.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unable to help the way your face reddens. “But…why?”

“Why?”

“Why’d you give this to me?”

The pleased look on Joshua’s face morphs into confusion and then…embarrassment. 

“I…” His voice trails off as if he’s struggling to find the words. “I just thought even the Ice Queen deserves to receive flowers.”

If it was Yuta who said those words to your face, you would’ve blasted him with a hit from your ice magic. But this isn’t Yuta, it’s Joshua.

The prince you’ve been in love with since you were ten years old.

You don’t know the rhyme or reason behind his choice to pluck one of Wonwoo’s freshly imported daisies off the shelves; to run after you—a complete nobody—out of the shop before you can go any farther. But you bring the dainty little flower to your chest, cradling it carefully in your hands like you’re afraid it will vanish in an instant.

Instead of going to the market like you initially planned, you make a detour to your childhood home near the outskirts of the capital. You catch your father chopping wood in the front yard while your mother prepares lunch inside the house. Needless to say, your parents are more than happy to see you back home.

After having a quick meal with them, your father goes back to making enough lumber for the neighborhood while you ask your mother, “Can I see the flowers again?”

A puzzled look graces her face, but she nods anyway—leading you to the back where she grew flowers the same way she raised you.

“Have you seen Wonwoo lately, dear?” she wonders as she lets you marvel at the garden that continues to grow every time you visit. “He always asks about the little daisy his mother enchanted back then. Saying he’s concerned her preservation magic might fade away, but he keeps forgetting she used to be one of the best plant mages in the entire kingdom. That boy, seriously…”

As your mother drones on and on about Wonwoo’s concerns, your heart warms at the sight of a small pedestal that your mother bought to place the flower in question. 

It’s a little daisy just like the one Joshua handed to you earlier today. But what makes this one different is that, not only is it enchanted with the preservation magic of Wonwoo’s late mother, but it was given to you once upon a time by the same prince that still makes your heart flutter to this day.

Ten year-old Prince Joshua fashioned it with his own hands, with his own magic before giving it to you as a gift. 

For being braver than anyone I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes.

You place the brand new daisy right next to it in the pot—despite knowing that it probably won’t take root anymore and that the preservation magic won’t extend to it as well. Your mother watches your every move with a confused look on her face, but asks no questions.

You hoped she wouldn’t. Especially since you still live by the things she told you when you were still younger.

You and him are on opposite ends. You must keep that in mind.

“Anything interesting going on at work?” 

That’s the first thing she asks when you head back to the living room to gather the rest of your things. You humor her with a noncommittal hum. 

“Not really. Why?”

She pouts. “Really? No suitors at all?” You groan, but your mother just continues. “Wonwoo could be a good choice, dear. He’s always such a sweetheart. Maybe even that singer you keep telling me about…Seokmin? Oh, but aren’t you getting along well with your employer’s son, too? What’s his name? Yuta?”

“Mother,” you plead—nearly balking at the idea of being romantically involved with any of the men she just mentioned. (Okay, maybe Wonwoo isn’t too bad of a choice, but that’s not the point here.)

She ends up giggling like a socialite who just heard the juiciest gossip from her friends, but in the end your mother resorts to just smoothing her hand comfortingly across your back.

“I know, I know. It’s just that you’re at marriageable age now, dear. You should start thinking about these things sooner rather than later.”

Sooner rather than later, huh…

Even as you make the trip back to the city to run the errands you’ve been putting off, your mother’s words echo inside your head over and over.

In hindsight, you could’ve fallen for the childhood friend who owns a flower shop, the singer who takes the stage of the bar every other day. Hell, even the owner’s flirtatious son could’ve been a better choice. 

But you can’t really help it if your heart longs for a prince who’s in love with somebody else.

It doesn’t take long before Prince Joshua’s engagement is announced.

The kingdom is in high spirits—talk of the youngest prince finally tying the knot like he deserves fills every nook and cranny of the capital for days to come. He’s going to be wed to a commoner from the far east by spring next year and when Kazuha read the headline about it out loud one night at the pub, you try your best to act as supportive as you wished you were.

A commoner. He’s going to be marrying a commoner—not some socialite from high society, not a royal like himself, but a commoner. 

Someone like you, but at the same time isn’t because you doubt you’d be able to charm someone like Joshua in the next life either. It’s a bitter thought that simmers in the back of your head, but you’re smart enough not to dwell on it too much.

As expected, Joshua’s visits start to grow few and far in-between after that. Apart from his engagement with a woman named Hyejin, he’s tasked to venture off to the neighboring kingdom of Ancarra for the purpose of strengthening diplomatic relations. The gossip mongers in the pub whisper about how his older brother Jeonghan is accompanying him as well since his rumored fiancée is of Ancarran royalty but you can hardly vouch for the credibility of your alcoholic regulars.

That said, it’s become somewhat…lonelier in the pub. 

A few months after Joshua’s engagement, Kazuha was required by the Academy to venture far north to train under a wind mage rumored to be hundreds of years old. But you can’t really trust anything that Yuta says, so you simply sent her off with a bottle of aged wine to enjoy during her stay in case she misses you too much.  

Then there’s Yuta, your arch-nemesis. The bastard actually went ahead and got himself a day job at the local swordsmith’s shop. Though the need for weaponry has decreased over the years since there are no longer any wars to fight, he seemed very optimistic about his new occupation, so you didn’t say a word—not even in playful spite—when he broke the news. To his credit, he promised to hire additional staff to compensate for the loss in manpower, and that he’d still drop by the pub whenever he isn’t too exhausted. 

“So that you won’t get too lonely without us,” Yuta snickered before you froze his champagne before he could even take a sip. 

With both Prince Joshua and the siblings preoccupied with their own lives, that leaves you with less company than you’re used to. The new hires that Yuta promised offered more help than he ever did in the pub, but Shotaro and Sungchan are still too nervous to speak to you casually, much less squander time with you after hours. They’re out of the doors once they’ve helped clean up for closing time—leaving you with only Jihoon and Seokmin to hang out with in the rare chance that they still have energy after a long night of performing.

Every now and again, you catch a whiff of gossip in the wind—just some insignificant updates about Joshua. Both for his engagement and the constant back-and-forth trips he makes between Seraphia and Ancarra. 

Rumor has it that the royal family is hosting a ball after a while to mark Hyejin’s sixth month into her royal assimilation. It would be her first public appearance as Joshua’s fiancée, so it would make sense that more than half the citizens in the capital are highly anticipating it. 

The news doesn’t bother you as much as the engagement did. By now, your attraction to the prince is water under the bridge. Who cares if you were close enough to befriend him at one point? To let him become someone even more, if you’re pushing your delusions into the light? You’re content with having him as a friend and those nights you spent with your rowdy bunch in the pub are things you’d definitely spend years cherishing from the bottom of your heart.

In fact, you actually started to consider your mother’s advice recently. Though you’re nowhere near old, you’re not getting any younger either. Maybe you should start being more proactive with looking for a lover to settle down with in the future.

The first candidate is Wonwoo. 

He’s handsome enough that even noble socialites would ogle him by the window of his shop—going as far as purchasing bouquets just for a chance to speak with him. Plus, you practically grew up with him. If you were to pursue the man, you’d be past the awkward phase of getting to know each other. 

But you also remember Wonwoo bringing up that he isn’t really looking for anything romantic. He mentioned wanting to focus on the shop and provide for his father and younger brother at home. This happened before you started considering him as a prospect of your future affections, so that definitely saved you the time and effort and sheer trepidation that comes with switching things up with your childhood friend. Besides, you never really saw him that way.

The next is Seokmin. 

You’re not really sure why your mother even brought his name up when listing your potential lovers. Sure, you and him would dance around the pub after hours once both of you have had a drink too many, but things between you and the veteran singer never really bordered on anything more than platonic. Plus, Seokmin has a habit of sleeping with different women every week. It’s not that you have anything against that, but it just goes to show that he’s definitely not ready to settle down either.

Last is…Yuta.

Out of all the men your mother considered having as a son-in-law, he was definitely the last one you’d choose. Not only does he push all of your buttons and piss you off for the hell of it, but he’s even worse than Seokmin when it comes to his playboy tendencies. 

What makes it worse is that he’s so discreet about it, too! Most of the pub’s patrons simply know Yuta as the owner’s cool son with equally cool lightning magic. Despite how he looks, surely he wouldn’t be the type to break a poor maiden’s heart after one passionate night with them, right?

The answer to that is: no. 

You and Kauzha have dealt with dozens of ladies acting as if Yuta scorned them because the bastard just left without a word in the morning after a night of debauchery. Seokmin at least has the decency to say goodbye to his paramours and sets clear boundaries. There’s absolutely none of that with Yuta.

Which means you’re definitely smart enough to not get involved with someone like him. You’ve already set Prince Joshua as the standard. Surely, you wouldn’t find yourself in a situation where you have to pick the bar off the floor, right? For a man who you’d rather throw into a pool full of eels than say a polite good evening to, no less.

The answer to that is…

Also no.

In your defense, you were drunk. And lonely. And you never really denied the fact that, for all his irritating glory, Yuta is still objectively attractive. 

Besides, it’s not like the two of you went all the way. You merely confided your lack of a love life to him one random Saturday evening since Kazuha was already away for training. You wouldn’t dare admit it to his face, but Yuta was actually good at holding a decent conversation once the both of you got your heads out of your asses. 

You told him about Joshua, about your mother’s advice, and about how you feel like you’re going to die all alone in the world. He snickered, saying you’re overreacting again, but he doesn’t make any snide quips about the way you felt. 

Instead he propositioned you with, “How about this: let me kiss you. If you don’t feel anything—not even a single spark—then you might as well cross me out of your list of potential lovers.”

You remember staring at him incredulously before slurring, “But you can always just shock me with your magic, asshole. Don’t try to cheat your way into my heart.”

“You really think I’d cheat over something like this?” 

He sounded so serious when he asked, you didn’t have the heart to bite back with a snarky reply. Instead, you let your eyes drift to his grimacing lips. 

Yuta isn’t Joshua—he’ll never be.

But you’ll never be with the prince either, so you took the leap of faith, fisted the front of Yuta’s shirt, and kissed him.

Part of you is convinced that night changed the way things were between the two of you, despite his insistence that it’s alright, Ice Queen. I’m just not your type, and that’s not a big deal at all. Maybe it was what made him get a day job so he’d have an excuse to see you less—to talk to you less.

But you never really liked making things about you so you never really said anything when you watched Yuta walk out of the pub that night—with a slump to his shoulders that you can’t quite forget about. 

Thankfully, things seem to have reverted back to normal when he visits tonight, giving Sungchan and Shotaro a run for their money with how many mugs of beer he’s ordering for the friend he brought with him.

“That’s it, stuff this guy full before he avoids me for an entire year again,” Yuta barks out a grating laugh as he slings an arm around his friend, a fire elemental named Chan. “This bastard went all the way to the southern cities to train just like Kazuha’s doing right now and he didn’t even bother telling me!”

You’ve met Chan a few times in the past. He and Yuta are drinking buddies, but you’ve stopped seeing him around the time Joshua started hanging out here. Even if you barely knew the guy, it’s nice seeing another familiar face.

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, calm down,” he laughs before downing another mug and wiping the moisture off his lips. “Although I did come here with an ulterior motive.”

Yuta hums. “Came here to chase skirts or something? Sorry to say but half the women in this place are wrapped around Seokminnie’s finger. You can’t even seduce ‘em if you tried.”

Chan snorts before punching Yuta’s chest playfully and for a moment, your eyes catch on something around his pinky. A ring? No… It looks like a small blue flower tied around the base. 

“Don’t lump me in with you,” Chan complains, snapping you out of your momentary fixation. “I meant to ask Kazuha to be my plus one for this ball that our town’s royal mage is telling me to attend. But then you said your sister is all the way up north.” 

“Zuha’s way too young for you,” Yuta points out with a huff before gesturing to you. “How about Ice Queen over here? She could probably use the time to unwind and meet more people.”

You bring down his drink in front of him with a glare. “Don’t just go volunteering other people without their consent, douchebag.”

Yuta snickers before taking his first sip, and though you refuse to let it show, you’re somewhat glad that he’s back to grating on your nerves as usual. “Okay, fine. I’ll let Chan do all the asking then.”

You’re convinced that Chan wouldn’t really jump the gun right away and ask you just like Yuta suggested. After all, even if you do have mutual friends, you barely know each other. It would be wise to invite someone he’s more acquainted with for an important function like a ball.

But he continues to surprise you by bringing his hands together and bowing his head—pleading almost desperately. “Please be my plus one! I don’t know who else to ask and I’ve only got tonight left to find someone.”

“Tonight?” you echo disbelievingly.

Chan lifts his head to nod sullenly. “The ball I was asked to attend is the one that’s going to be held at the royal castle tomorrow. You know, for the first public appearance of Prince Joshua’s fiancée?”

Silence hangs between the three of you, eclipsing the rowdy background noise from the other patrons. You don’t dare look in Yuta’s direction—afraid that he realized how attending an event where Joshua would be present would affect you. 

Your first instinct is to decline. After all, you’ve done so well for the past few months. Joshua is but a dream that you can’t attain, and it’s growing easier to accept that with each day you don’t see him. He’s better off on his designated pedestal in the royal castle—dazzling, but completely far out of reach. You’re afraid that seeing him again would make everything you worked so hard for crumble to dust in a second.

But another part of you—the more foolish one, unfortunately—longs to see him again. His kind smile. His gallant posture. Everything.

So of course it’s a no-brainer when you say:

“Yes. I’d love to come with you.”

Okay, maybe agreeing to be Chan’s plus one is more of a hassle than it’s worth.

First of all, you had a dress to worry about. Where the hell can you get a dress that’s worthy of being worn to an important royal celebration at such short notice? It’s not like you had the extra cash to spare for something like this either. 

The next is the dawning realization that you’re going to be surrounded by nobles for the entire night. While Chan reassured that he himself is a commoner too, and that other commoners were also invited here and there, it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have enough exposure to high society to know how to act.

“Yuta’s told me a lot about you already, and I know for a fact that you’ll do just fine,” your partner reassures with a smile. “Just…don’t accidentally freeze anyone or their drinks and you’ll be alright.”

…The revelation that Yuta talks about you to Chan aside, his words do prove to be somewhat reassuring. He also promised to pay for your dress, makeup and overall styling at his superior’s expense (“Are you sure he even knows you’re spending his money?” “Relax, I’ve got it all under control.”) All you had to do was show up tomorrow at the inn he’s renting a room a few hours before the party starts.

However, these pre-celebration anxieties pale in comparison to the nerve-wracking jitters that intermittently seize you in the ball itself.

You’ve never been to the castle before—much less, the massive ballroom inside. Seraphia is a kingdom with centuries’ worth of history written into the land and part of that history is the countless celebrations held by the royals of old. You can’t help but feel jarringly out of place somewhere like this. In a room full of lavishly dressed guests—majority of which are nobles—you’re pathetically inferior.

It’s kind of comforting to know that Chan might just be feeling the same way.

“Gods, this place is making me so nervous,” he admits as he leads you to the table serving refreshments and champagne by the arm. “Parties were never really my thing.”

“That makes two of us then,” you chuckle softly, hoping the other guests in the vicinity won’t overhear. “Do you know anyone else here? 

Chan shakes his head. “Right now? No. But she’ll come out later though.”

Now that piques your curiosity. “She?”

Your partner’s face immediately flushes at the realization that he just ratted himself out. He sighs, carding his fingers through his hair as he lets his eyes drift towards the orchestra in the far end of the room.

“You know the prince’s fiancèe, right? Hyejin?” he asks and you nod. “Well, we…live in the same town. We grew up together, she’s my best friend. But I haven’t seen her in a long time since she’s been confined at the castle for her assimilation and I trained for a few months in the southern cities.”

Chan absentmindedly twists the floral ring around his finger as he says the words. A nervous tic, maybe? There’s also a twinge of fondness in his voice that you vaguely recognize. It’s the same way your mother talks about your father. The same way Jihoon talks about his music. 

The same way Joshua talks about the things he does for Seraphia.

You don’t voice out your suspicions, aware that though you and Chan have developed some level of camaraderie as people who both feel out of place here, you’re not close enough to pry about his friendship with Hyejin. 

Besides, the ball is already beginning before you can even have a chance to contemplate doing so.

The royal family comes out one by one. First, the king and queen themselves—greeted by the loudest of applause by their loving people. You don’t see them very often, but it’s clear that the years are starting to catch up to them. Though the royal couple still looks stunning as always, no one can deny the graying streaks in their hair and the waning youthfulness on their faces. 

It’s no wonder everyone is anticipating Joshua and Hyejin’s wedding. 

The next is the eldest prince, Jeonghan. He emerges from the doors of the ballroom with confidence oozing in every stride. You’re certain that he's well aware that he’s easily the most controversial person inside this room, but this man just does not give a single damn. You find yourself admiring the way he carries himself—so similar to the way Joshua does, but not at the same time. 

And then…there’s the stars of the night.

You haven’t been counting time between now and the night you last saw Joshua, but it’s as if the months flit past you in mere seconds. If you haven’t realized just how much you actually missed him earlier, you do now. 

Joshua’s hair is longer, dipping in swift curls just above his eyes. He’s radiant—almost blinding in the way he smiles and waves at the crowd with his fiancèe in his arm. 

His fiancèe… Hyejin.

She’s easily the most gorgeous woman you’ve laid your eyes on today. There’s a hint of shyness on her face as she periodically nods at those they pass by to congratulate them, but there’s also a firm conviction that would reassure any onlooker that she knows exactly who she is and what she came here for. 

It’s one thing to overhear the rumors and gossip circulating around the city, but it’s another to actually see the intended couple in the flesh.

However, in the middle of the queen’s opening speech, you notice that Chan hasn’t said a single word to you since the ceremony started. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, intent on asking if he’s alright. But then you realize that his gaze is completely trained on Hyejin—completely enraptured by the sight of her. 

The way his hand tightens around the flute of his champagne glass isn’t lost on you, but you don’t comment on that either.

Next thing you know, the opening dance led by the next royal couple is starting, and you force yourself to watch despite how much it physically makes your heart ache.

Joshua and Hyejin are in perfect sync. Like two people who have known each other all their lives. They move fluidly to the music of the orchestra, eyes never leaving each other as they traverse the dance floor.

You vaguely remember hearing that Hyejin also practices plant magic, like Joshua used to years ago. It’s no wonder how in tune they are to each other’s movements. Their elemental affinities already make them such a perfect match.

Time passes by far too slowly and you’d almost consider watching the love of your life dancing so gleefully with someone who isn’t you another form of torture. Once the first song ends and all the other guests prepare for the exchange dances, you can’t help but breathe out a sigh in relief. 

Surprisingly enough, the idea of dancing with nobles you don’t even know doesn’t make you as nervous as you thought it would. With how much drunken dancing you’ve done with Seokmin and Yuta in the pub, you figure that this wouldn’t be that much different. You just have to keep yourself from stepping on anyone’s toes, probably. 

Of course, Chan takes up the title of being your first partner—doing a ceremonial bow that has you rolling your eyes at him before melting into a fit of laughter. You try to push down the visceral emotions that coiled in your chest only minutes before and let yourself enjoy the privilege of being invited to such an exclusive event. 

You’ll never have Joshua—this, you already know. And you’re not about to waste any more of your time moping over something that’s already set in stone.

The dances pass by in a blur. You get passed around to several gentlemen who are actually more amicable than you thought nobles would be. The partners get switched up so quickly, you barely get their names before parting ways. But you do recall dancing with a fellow who calls himself Haechan for two reasons:

The first is that he just would not stop boasting about the things his parents have done in their town, the affluence his family affords him, and the “fact” that women back home trip on their skirts chasing after him. 

The second is, while you’re busy awkwardly nodding and smiling at Haechan’s endless monologue, you spot Chan in the crowd of dancing guests—hand in hand with Hyejin herself.

If you thought she and Joshua were in sync, it’s as if Hyejin shares the same heartbeat with Chan with how they move together. They’re completely enraptured in each other. Despite the obvious banter going on between the two of them mid-dance, it’s as if they’re in their own little world—not a single care given to the people around them. 

You don’t know if you should feel happy for Chan or not because if your hunch is right…

Then that just means he’ll be forced to watch the love of his life marry someone else in a few months’ time—just like yourself.

By the grace of the gods, you’re finally liberated from Haechan’s clutches and into your next partner’s arms. But right after curtsying before him, you nearly trip on your own feet when you realize who it is.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Joshua greets, repeating the same words he told you back in Wonwoo’s shop a lifetime ago with the same smile that you see even in your dreams.

You can’t find the words. You can’t even muster up the courage to say hello or anything remotely similar. The words stick to your throat like cotton, despite the fact that you’ve spent countless nights imagining what you would say to the prince in the off chance that you’d get to speak to him again. 

Thankfully, Joshua is more attentive than you are and immediately gets into position once the next song starts playing. 

You try not to think about how warm the hand resting on your hip is; how perfectly your fingers seem to slot between the spaces his other hand the two of you sway to the beat. Because the more you think about it, the more you’ll remember. 

The more you’ll remember, the more you’ll hope.

And you’ve known for the longest time that hope is a fickle, fickle thing.

“Can I ask how you wound up on our guestlist, dear Ice Queen?”

Your magic doesn’t react very kindly to Joshua’s teasing, and you immediately feel the flesh of your fingers drop several degrees. Joshua seems to notice the sudden chill and laughs before twirling you around.

“I’m here as someone’s plus one, nothing else,” you explain with a sigh before forcibly retracting your magic. The last thing you want to do is accidentally kill the most influential person in this room next to the king and queen. “But…you could even say I missed you a little, Your Highness.”

What the hell? 

You have to fight the urge to cover your mouth with your hand because of the utter shamelessness in your words. But to your relief, Joshua seems to take it in stride—his handsome smile never ceasing.

“Forgive me, things have been…very hectic as of late,” he confesses with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to just stop showing up like I did but believe it or not, I’ve had very little free time since the engagement.”

You shake your head at that. “Why are you apologizing? You don’t owe us any of your time, you know. We’re happy to have served you before, and we’ll still be happy to do that even if it takes you fifty years to drop by again.”

“Now don’t be so obtuse! I’ll make sure to pay you a visit once things start mellowing out again. That’s a promise.”

Pay you a visit… 

You know he means everyone back in the pub as a whole. But that stupidly foolish voice in your head insists that you should let yourself dream sometimes—no matter how impossible.

“Don’t go make promises you can’t keep or everyone will be very disappointed, Prince Joshua,” you chuckle, willing any halfwitted thoughts away.

The prince shakes his head before reaching up to tuck a loose tuft of hair behind your ear. You aren’t able to school your surprise into something less pronounced in time, and you’re sure as hell he saw the way your eyes widened at the gesture.

“One thing you should know about me is that I always keep my word,” he murmurs so softly, you barely catch the words over the music. “Always.”

…Why is he doing this?

Why is he unknowingly stringing you along with a false sense of hope? Why is he acting so outlandishly affectionate in the company of a hundred other nobles who might see what he was doing? With his fiancèe in the same room, no less?

But for once—for goddamn once—you give in to the foolish part of your brain. To all the false hopes. To all the delusions. 

Just for one night, you let yourself believe that perhaps, if things were a little different, if you’d been just a little braver when you had the chance…

Joshua would’ve loved you back.

The song comes to an end and so does your brief daydream of a happy ever after. You spot Hyejin scurrying through the crowd in search of her fiancè in no time, and you lean closer to Joshua’s ear to let him know.

It shouldn’t surprise you how his face lights up. How quickly he turns around to see his intended for himself. And you shouldn’t feel as heartbroken as you do when all he does in farewell is give you a minute nod before reuniting with his future wife.

As you stand there, amidst a sea of nobles in a place where you don’t belong, the reality check you so direly needed finally dawns on you.

You’ll never have Joshua. Not in a million years. 

But you damn wish you could. 

As the head bartender of the pub for a few years now, you like to think that both your regulars and the new faces you see around have come to trust you easily. Aside from being able to mix and serve a spectrum of drinks off the menu, it’s implicit in your job description to be an empath. Sure, you can always just serve them their drinks and go about your day, but that transactional type of behavior doesn’t make people keep coming back for more, it’s your hospitable personality.

From puppy crushes to marriages ruined by third parties, you’ve been on the receiving end of countless stories from countless customers. While you’re no expert when it comes to love, it still pays to lend a willing ear to someone who direly needs it. Talking to people about their problems is easy; all you have to do is offer some comfort at the right time. 

So why are you suddenly so clueless when it comes to Prince Joshua’s predicament?

You thought you wouldn’t be seeing him again after that rainy night. That he’d drift out of your orbit like he usually does just when your heart starts to delude you into thinking he’s finally within reach again. But it’s as if the past year hadn’t happened at all, and the next thing you know, he’s back to visiting the pub disguised as a commoner all over again. 

You’re no fool, though. Despite the fact that Joshua seems to have settled back into his habit of observing others whilst nursing a glass of his favorite Oak Walker, things are far from the way they were back then. 

You often catch him lost in thought, staring so deeply into space that you’re almost always compelled to ask if he’s alright. But you don’t because you know he’s not alright and you intend to respect that by giving him the time and space he needs. 

But while you busy yourself concocting the orders of other patrons, a sinister voice in the back of your head whispers the foulest things. How the gods finally gave you another chance to have the prince to yourself. How the stars have surely aligned for Joshua’s engagement to come to an end just when you thought all hope was lost.

You ignore all these ridiculous thoughts. You’ve already accepted a long time ago that the prince would never see you the way he saw Hyejin. And you’re not so wicked that you’d take advantage of his state of vulnerability for your own gain.

After all, you’re his friend before anything else. If the day ever comes that Joshua would confide his sorrows in you, you’d tell him the words you think he needs to hear and offer just enough solace like you have with your past heartbroken patrons. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

Except he doesn’t do that. Joshua doesn’t say a single word about how and why he and Hyejin split ways. Instead, he comes into the pub one night and the look on his face makes you feel like something just…changed. The lines on his face make you think that he still carries that ever-present sadness in his heart, but tonight, you notice that he’s at least learned to smile again. 

It’s not the pearly white grin that he’d crack whenever Yuta makes a tactless joke, or the one he showed the day he ran into you in Wonwoo’s shop. But the fact that Joshua still has it in him to make the corners of his mouth turn up into a gentle smile reassures you that maybe you haven’t lost him to his grief just yet.

“I heard that there’s a group of traveling thespians visiting the capital for a while,” Joshua tells you while you’re in the middle of mixing a gin and tonic. “My brother adores the shows put up by theater troupes all over the continent so he got himself tickets to the show.”

“Okay,” you start, shooting him a curious look to let him keep going.

He hesitates for a sliver of a moment, which is odd because Joshua is someone who’s always sure of himself. Almost awkwardly, he clears his throat—averting his eyes before continuing.

“But it just so happens that Jeonghan had to rush over to Ancarra to deal with a little problem. He won’t be in the capital once the troupe arrives, so he gave me the tickets instead.” Joshua pauses and chews the inside of his cheek. Then, he quietly adds:

“Would you like to accompany me to the show?”

If you were the same person you were a year ago, you probably would’ve dropped the glasses you were just about to hand to Sungchan. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen and all your younger coworker does is ask if you’re okay before you reassure him that it’s nothing he should worry about.

When Sungchan is out of earshot, you glance at Joshua once more. “Come again?”

“I asked if you wanted to go to the show with me,” he says point-blank, the smile on his face widening ever-so slightly. “Of course, there’s absolutely no pressure for you to accept. It’s just a waste of another ticket if I don’t bring anyone else with me to enjoy it.”

…There it is again—that traitorous flare of hope sizzling in your chest. 

How could you not feel it when Joshua makes it sound like, if you ever refuse, he won’t even try asking any of his other friends and acquaintances to go with him? To even consider anyone else other than you as a worthwhile companion to a show that costs an arm and a leg just to see? 

You should hate it; this push and pull you constantly suffer through when it comes to him. The most logical choice is to refuse. But, though you’re loath to admit it…

You’re nothing if not a hopeless fool for him. 

“Sure thing,” you tell him with a face as smooth as butter. “What time does the show start?”

The traveling theater troupe is one of the best you’ve seen. Contrary to your expectations, the tickets didn’t, in fact, cost an arm and a leg. Their group is apparently very well known as thespians who make their tickets affordable for all walks of life. The audience wasn’t confined to a bunch of nobles with extra cash to burn, and the sight of common people like you being able to occupy seats in the capital’s amphitheater warmed your heart more than it should.

Their play is about two would-be lovers who met in their childhood only to meet again eventually as adults. A typical romance between a commoner and a noblewoman that you’ve heard about in every cheap pocketbook that Kazuha likes to read in her spare time. But despite how cliché the story is, the actors easily brought forth a spectrum of emotions that you wouldn’t be able to fully invest yourself in from reading books alone. 

When the male lead was about to die in his lover’s arms, you were already in tears—not even having the hindsight to wipe the moisture off your face as you’re too entranced with the show. But the sound of your companion’s low laughter snaps you out of the momentary surge in emotions. 

You whip your head to face Joshua with a puzzled look, scrambling to dab away the tears in your eyes before asking, “W-What’s so funny?”

The prince shakes his head beneath the hood of his cloak—still disguised for his own safety—before reaching a hand out to gently scrape his knuckles across your damp cheek. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you’d feel so strongly about the story. I was afraid you were growing bored, actually.”

It takes you a moment to process what he was saying to you because your brain is hyper focused on the way his skin feels against yours. Joshua doesn’t just wipe the tears away. He even pats the side of your face with unfamiliar tenderness before retracting his hand back to his side.

Your heart feels like it’s slowly climbing up your throat before finding its place in the roof of your mouth. It would be easier to down five consecutive shots of vodka than fight back the urge to reach for his hand again, but you force yourself to hold your ground. You have to.

“I’m glad to see that you’re enjoying,” he murmurs, brown eyes riveting back to the actors on stage. “Jeonghan spoke very highly of this particular troupe, so I wouldn’t really question the quality of their performances. But seeing them for myself is…an experience.”

“It really is,” you can’t help but murmur in agreement.

(Un)fortunately for you, that’s not the end of it.

The prince’s invitations grow even more frequent as the weeks pass by. If he’d just asked you to share a few drinks together at the pub after hours, you would’ve been able to handle it just fine. Your workplace is comfortable enough for you to forget the fact that Joshua is someone you’re still in the process of getting rid of your feelings for. But for him to ask if you’re free to accompany him in places other than the pub? In broad daylight, no less?

You’re not sure how to feel as a platoon of knights flank you on both sides while Joshua leads you back to an orphanage. He’s telling you about how this place has been under close watch by his brother for years now and that Jeonghan asked him to check on the kids living here from time to time. While you’re glad that he’s back to busying himself with some princely duties, you can’t help but notice the way the knights would glance at you every so often.

You can almost picture the question going through their heads: how could Prince Joshua spend time with another woman when it hasn’t been that long since the engagement was called off? The mere thought of being perceived as some sort of replacement for Hyejin makes you sick to your stomach. You feel the familiar dregs of frost tingling across the skin of your palms, a chill running down the length of your spine. 

That’s another reason why you don’t want yourself to pursue Joshua. You don’t want to be branded as an opportunist of some sort—both by the general public and yourself.

But once you finally make it inside, Joshua instructs the knights to stand by at the courtyard, not wanting to frighten the children by their presence. You’re convinced that at least one of them would protest, but they all receive the prince’s order with surprising obedience. Being freed from their intent stares definitely makes things easier for you.

The orphanage isn’t as massive as you initially thought. Joshua further explains that the director is the daughter of one of Seraphia’s many royal mages. After her father’s passing, she repurposed their family manor into a home for children abandoned by their parents—giving them a more favorable future than they’d otherwise have in the streets.  

From what you can tell, the orphans residing here have been raised with love and care when you meet them. What’s more is that many of the children can already practice their own magic, and it’s for that reason that the royal family—particularly, Jeonghan—is keeping tabs on this place. 

“They’re the next generation of mages that will make the kingdom prosper one day,” Joshua says, quoting his brother. “I don’t stop by here very often, but even I can tell that the mentors Jeonghan hired have been very effective with their teachings.”

As if on cue, two of the children shuffle forward with meek strides. The girl introduces herself as Eri and the boy, Iseul. They flash you and Joshua vibrant smiles before placing a string of vibrant wisterias around both of your necks. 

“Prince Joshua, you’re back!” Iseul giggles with a toothy grin. “But…where’s the other miss? Weren’t you going to marry her?”

The abrupt question makes Eri scowl at Iseul in disbelief. “I-Iseul, don’t be rude!”

“But I was just curious,” the younger boy sulks. 

An uneasy feeling settles in your chest at their words. That could only mean Joshua has brought his ex-fiancée here before, right? Then again, why wouldn’t he? If Hyejin is as benevolent as the newspaper clippings from back then suggested, she wouldn’t be past visiting orphans at least once in her life.

“The miss from back then is fine. She’s already with the person she truly loves,” Joshua explains with a kind smile, crouching down to ruffle Iseul’s hair. “Don’t worry about her. I’m still making sure she’s safe even if we’re no longer in contact.”

The prince’s quiet admission has your eyes widening a fraction. You can’t tell if he’s simply feeding the children a little lie to pacify them, but that’s much too specific a coverup to not have some truth veiled behind it.

As Eri and Iseul scurry back to where the other children are playing, you let your thoughts scatter for a moment. You distinctly recall the time you last went to the royal ball as Chan’s plus one; that brief moment where you saw him and Joshua’s ex-fiancée dancing together as if they’re the ones who were engaged.

Once the pieces finally click, you have to stifle a gasp.

She’s already with the person she truly loves

It all makes sense now.

“Eri made these herself, you know.”

You decide to think of Hyejin and Chan’s relationship some other time, glancing at Joshua inquisitively before perusing the fragrant flowers around your neck. “Really? How?”

“Using the same magic you saw me use all those years ago,” the prince explains with a small smile. “Eri always hesitated with her conjuring magic the last time I was here, but it seems like she’s growing more comfortable with using it day by day.”

“How about you?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

You swallow thickly, unsure if you’re even in the position to ask him this. “I mean… Aren’t you comfortable with using your own magic? Just like Eri is?”

The silence that settles between the two of you is eclipsed by the gleeful noises from the children playing in the wide living area. Joshua’s face is unreadable as he considers your question, and you fear that you might’ve touched up on something that you definitely shouldn’t have.

“...Well, if I’m being honest,” he begins, “I’m not. I haven’t used my magic in years, and I’m afraid that even little Eri is better at conjuring flowers than I’ll ever be.”

You snort. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“It still doesn’t change the fact that I don’t really have any use for it,” Joshua sighs before raking his fingers through his hair. “Me and my brother grew up being taught that we can always just rely on the royal mages if we end up needing to use magic.”

“But don’t you miss it though?” you wonder. “My magic isn’t the most…convenient, but I can’t imagine living without it. It’s…part of me, you know? I just don’t like thinking about how you’re repressing something that’s clearly a part of you, too.”

Never in a million lifetimes did you think that you’d be speaking about your magic in a positive light. The ice has always been difficult to deal with—especially in times when your emotions are all over the place. But despite that, you wouldn’t be who you are today if it weren’t for your magic.

“I…” Joshua’s voice trails off as he stares at you with wide eyes. “I never really thought about it that way.”

“That’s because you’re too busy being the perfect prince for the people,” you scoff before lightly punching him in the shoulder. “Think about yourself for once, will you?”

“Myself, huh…”

He falls into another bout of silence as if what you said reminded him of something. You don’t pry this time though, letting your eyes drift back to the children instead. But part of you hopes that he’ll take your words into consideration and start being less strict with himself.

Once you both leave the orphanage and Joshua dismisses the other knights, he asks if you want to stop by the Jeon Flower Emporium before he walks you home—an invitation that you’re flattered to receive, yes, but…

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you insist frantically. “I don’t want to take up more of your time than I already did. Besides, I’m familiar with this part of the city, and it isn’t even dusk—”

“What sort of gentleman would I be if I just let the person I invited out for the day go home by herself?” Joshua chuckles softly before flashing you a reassuring smile. “I promise it’s no big deal. It’s not like I have anything of dire consequence to attend to these days.”

Those last few words have you thinking for a moment. You have noticed that Joshua has a lot more free time to spend wandering around the capital than you’re used to. It makes you wonder if the royal family is giving him much needed time to recuperate from what happened with his engagement. 

The knowledge puts you at ease somewhat. Joshua definitely deserves a break after everything he’s been through for the past few weeks.

“Fine,” you relent. “My mother’s been asking me to check on Wonwoo anyways.”

Your childhood friend is in the middle of closing up the shop when you and Joshua arrive. But when Wonwoo’s bespectacled gaze catches sight of the two of you, he immediately stops what he’s doing to meet you by the entrance.

“It’s been a while since you stopped by. Both of you,” Wonwoo comments with a surprised look. 

Joshua laughs. “Well, things have been a little—no, very busy. I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of their sockets at the nonchalant manner that Joshua addresses the proverbial elephant in the room. All this time, you kept yourself from encroaching on the topic out of fear that it would be a sore spot for him. Yet here he is, bringing it up just like he would the weather.

Wonwoo, the most polite person you know, meets your eyes as if asking for silent confirmation. Is this really okay? He seems to wonder and all you can muster is an awkward smile of your own.

“I…have heard the news,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m very sorry for what happened, Your Highness.”

The prince shakes his head. “Please, don’t be. We mutually decided on it for both our sakes. Although that aside, I know you’re already closing up, but is it alright to place an impromptu order?”

You and Wonwoo have the same expressions on your face when you both stare at Joshua incredulously. The prince looks one hundred percent serious about his request though, making you wonder why on earth he’d need to purchase flowers all of a sudden.

“Um, of course.” Wonwoo recovers from the stupor fairly quickly before dusting his hands on his apron. “What would you like, Your Highness?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, the smile on Joshua’s face is something that borders on…mischievous. It’s a look you’ve seen Jeonghan wear in the rare chance you do get to meet the eldest prince in person. But you can’t even begin to wonder what would prompt Joshua to flash Wonwoo the same expression. 

Although you do find out shortly after.

“I refuse.”

“Why? You seemed to like it the last time I gave you flowers.”

“Flower. It was just a single daisy, not a whole bouquet!”

“Is it so bad if I want to give something as a token of appreciation? For letting me drag you all over the place even if it’s inconvenient?”

“Oh, so you are aware it’s inconvenient for me?”

“Hence the reason I’m expressing my utmost gratitude.”

Of all the ways you could’ve imagined today turning out, being gifted a bouquet that Wonwoo put together by Prince Joshua is the last thing that would come to mind. Your old friend didn’t seem to have any problems with catering to the sudden request and happily agreed to prepare it while you and Joshua waited in front of the shop.

“You don’t get it, Your Highness,” you sigh exasperatedly, embarrassment prickling the back of your neck. “You can’t just buy flowers for everyone you’re grateful for! Especially after… Ah, whatever! People might get the wrong idea, you know!”

Joshua pouts a little—very unprincely of him, but still disarmingly adorable. “While I take the citizens’ feelings to heart, I don’t see how my personal gifts to you are any of their business.”

Your jaw nearly drops at his admission. Is he being real with you right now?

The next moment, you feel several eyes on your form again—boring their judgemental stares deep into your skin until you can feel the oncoming chill of your magic reacting to them. You let your eyes dart around for a moment, and just like Joshua’s knights from earlier, you spot several passers-by sneaking glances at you and Joshua. 

Given that the trip to the orphanage was an official royal visit, the prince chose to forego his usual disguises. Now here he is, out in the open—bickering with some commoner who’s definitely not the woman he was engaged to just a month ago.

Fuck. You can already see your name plastered on next week’s Daily Tribune.

“An order of daisies to go?”

Wonwoo’s reappearance manages to salvage you from your spiraling train of thought. Joshua steps in before you can even utter another protest, handing him the payment for his purchase before cradling the flowers in his arms.

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” the prince utters with a small nod. “We’ll be heading off now. Take care on your way home.”

Your bespectacled friend doesn’t respond right away. His gaze is trained on the beautiful bunch of daisies he expertly put together. You think he was simply admiring his own handiwork, but then Wonwoo’s eyes flit to Joshua, and then to you. 

His lips curl into a smile that implies he might know something you don’t.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Thank you as well for your patronage.”

Despite your repeated objections, Joshua ends up walking you home anyways. 

He may be the kingdom’s most esteemed gentleman, but the prince will insist on something he wants to the ends of the earth if he can help it. It’s a good thing that Wonwoo’s shop isn’t very far from your own house, saving you the sheer embarrassment from having to carry a bouquet of flowers with Prince Joshua himself by your side.

“Guess that concludes another eventful day,” he chuckles as you fumble for the keys. “A day well spent indeed.”

You let yourself glare at him for a moment before jamming the key to the front door in the hole. “You’re going to be the death of me one of these days. I genuinely wonder why I’m such a good friend to you.”

Before you can even twist the key to turn the locks, the prince suddenly takes a hold of the hand not holding the bouquet of daisies. You startle at the contact, but before you can even call him out for surprising you like that, Joshua brings the back of your hand up for a kiss.

You can barely feel the brush of his lips on your skin—much too mesmerized by how those honey brown eyes never leave your face as he does it. The gesture lasts for barely a moment, but it feels like lifetimes have unspooled before he peels himself away and lets your hand fall limply by your side.

“I wonder that, too,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile hovering across his face. “I’ll be going now. Good night, Ice Queen.”

Joshua doesn’t even give you any room to respond. The prince merely straightens himself out, directs another curt nod your way before turning on his heel.

Later in the evening, you lay in bed with Joshua’s flowers sitting in a vase by your nightstand. Even as you stare at the ceiling of your room, the faint fragrance still manages to waft to your nose.

That night, you dream of a time you think you’ll never forget. Of rushing rivers and a runaway pup. 

Of a young prince and flowers given to the brave.

“You’re what?”

That’s Kazuha’s first reaction when you brought her up to speed about everything that transpired while she was gone. As much as you want to celebrate her return and the success of her training in the northern regions, going months without anyone to directly confide in does things to your brain.

“Shhh,” you hiss, glancing around the bar frantically in case there were any eavesdroppers. Then, you lean closer, lowering your voice when you say, “We’ve been…going out quite frequently for the past two months. ”

She gasps as if that was the most scandalous thing she’s heard all day before taking a moment to take a sip of her ale. “Going out…like, romantically? You’re going out with the same person you’ve been mooning over for the past two years?” 

“No!” you immediately retort. “I-I have not been mooning over Prince Joshua! And I wouldn’t say that the nature of our…get-togethers is romantic! He’s just comfortable around me is all.”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “Please. Yuta has been keeping in touch with me through letters. You know my older brother is an even bigger gossip-monger than our regulars in this place. He says you always look at the prince as if he hung all the stars in the sky!”

“Could you please not broadcast that where everyone can hear?” you plead, resisting the urge to pour yourself a mug of beer while you’re still on the clock. “And is there anything else that Yuta told you that I need to know?”

You partly mean that in jest, but a bigger part of you is worried that Yuta must’ve told his sister about…the fooling around you did with him several months prior. But when Kazuha says, “Not much. He just goes on and on about his new job and asks how training is going,” you let yourself breathe out a sigh in relief.

“Speaking of Yuta though, he hasn’t visited in a while.” You let yourself think about when exactly Yuta last dropped by the pub, but you’re drawing blanks. Not even Shotaro could give you an answer when you flagged him down from bussing tables to ask.

But all thoughts of your arch-nemesis are promptly forgotten when Kazuha diverts the topic back to your…interesting ventures with Prince Joshua.

“Aren’t you happy?” she asks. “You finally have a chance to get with the man you so obviously harbor feelings for. I might be a little idiotic for not noticing sooner, but it’s better late than never to be supportive, right?”

While your first instinct would have been to deny any and all allegations about having feelings for Joshua, her question has you thinking.

Ever since Joshua bought you that bouquet from Wonwoo’s, his behavior has changed drastically. You understand why Kazuha would jump to the conclusion that your excursions have some romantic undertone to them from hearing the stories alone because the way the prince has been treating you lately has you second-guessing everything you’ve ever known.

He always buys you thoughtful presents no matter how much you insist he doesn’t have to. He always lingers long beyond closing time in the pub just to make sure you get home safely. Even the way he looks at you has changed. There’s always this…fondness in his eyes that wasn’t always there. 

If one of your patrons came up to you and told you a similar story, you would’ve told them that the other person involved is definitely head over heels in love. But…this is Joshua. Prince Joshua. The man you’ve long resigned yourself to never being more than friends with.

The man you can never have.

Speaking of the devil, the doors to the pub are pushed wide open by two newcomers. You’re not surprised by the first one—Joshua always makes time to visit you at work at least once or twice a week. But you’re very much taken off guard by the identity of his companion.

“So this is the place my little brother has been boasting about non-stop,” Prince Jeonghan comments with an impressed look, eyes roving across the crowd that’s just as stunned with their entrance as you are. Even Seokmin paused from his live performance just to gawk at him. “Well? We’re no strangers here, everyone. Just keep going about your night like always.”

Your patrons all glance at each other warily before doing just as the eldest prince told them to. The usual din of the pub fades back into your ears in no time, but that doesn’t make you any less surprised with their visit.

“Hello,” Joshua greets with a sigh as he slides in his usual seat at the bar, just next to Kazuha. “Forgive me. Jeonghan has been pestering me about where I’ve been sneaking off to all the time and it just so happens that he decided to tail me tonight.”

Jeonghan snorts before taking the vacant seat on Kazuha’s right, the brothers flanking the poor girl on both sides. “As much as I’m pleased to know that Shua is no longer distraught over what happened with our dear Hyejin, you can’t blame me for being curious about the reason why.” 

“Brother,” the younger prince groans. 

Of course, Jeonghan all but ignores Joshua’s pleas to be discreet. “Can you whip us up your best drinks off the menu? One of the knights told me about this pub’s famous Oak Walker in passing.”

“Coming right up, Your Highness,” Kazuha quickly responds, hopping out of her seat before taking her rightful place behind the bar. Before you can even protest, she shushes you with a finger to your lips. 

“Go entertain our very high-profile guests,” she whispers. “I’ll take care of the rest with Sungchan and Shotaro. Just keep them occupied enough, okay?”

You can only nod in defeat.

So that’s how you end up occupying the stool that your coworker was sitting on five minutes prior. You still feel bad for unwittingly making Kazuha work on her first night back in the capital, but you have to admit that it’s nice seeing her back in action again. She expertly maneuvers around the bar like she hasn’t been gone a day.

“What brings you here, Your Highness?” You decide to break the ice before your nerves can get the best of you once Kazuha serves the three of you one glass of Oak Walker each. “Prince Joshua mentioned that you weren’t a fan of drinking in crowded places, so it’s…really surprising to see you here.”

Jeonghan chuckles and props his elbow on the wooden counter—resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Like I said, I was simply curious about Shua’s trysts. Here I thought he was getting frisky with some maiden in the middle of the night, but…maybe I’m not all too far off after all.” 

His tacky response earns him another groan from Joshua. “Jeonghan, I only agreed to bring you here tonight because you promised not to stir things up.”

“I’m not stirring things up! I’m simply stating things as I see them,” the older prince laughs before taking his first sip. “Oh. The knights weren’t lying. This is some finely aged whiskey you’ve got here.”

“It’s a family recipe that’s been passed on for decades,” Kazuha quips behind the bar with a proud smile. “Although our head bartender over here has done most of the tweaks and improvements to the mix. You’ve got her to thank for the astounding flavor.”

Jeonghan nods before helping himself to another gulp. “I’d expect no less for someone who’s caught Joshua’s eye.”

“Jeonghan.”

…Caught Joshua’s eye? In what way, exactly?

“Alright, alright. I’ll tone it down with the teasing,” Jeonghan finally relents with a simper before turning to you. “So you’re the infamous Ice Queen, eh? Do I want to know what you’ve done in the past to warrant such an…interesting nickname?”

“That’s just something one of the other staff members calls her in jest,” Joshua sighs before halving the contents of his glass in one go. The way he slams it back down on the counter would’ve made you laugh, but you’re too high strung because of Jeonghan’s presence to even crack a grin. 

“Oh, my dear Shua, I wasn’t talking to you. Didn’t you learn in our many etiquette classes that it’s rude to talk over other people?” Jeonghan tuts. “Anyway, Miss Ice Queen, care to give us a quick display of your magic?”

You blink for a moment before letting your eyes catch Joshua’s. The younger prince flashes you an apologetic smile, mouthing the words I’m sorry before you turn to Jeonghan with a deep breath. 

As much as he intimidates the living hell out of you, you’re not very keen with the way he’s pushing your friend’s buttons so…

“Sure thing,” you say, trying your best to offer up a convincing enough smile…

Before wrapping a hand around Jeonghan’s glass and turning his drink into a cylinder of amber ice.

Joshua lets out an unbecoming snort to your left and Jeonghan’s jaw drops at your blatant display of petulance. You force yourself to hold the smug look on your face in an attempt at getting your point across. No one gets to mess with Joshua on your watch, even his older brother.

“I like you, Ice Queen,” Jeonghan cackles as he turns his glass upside down—the frozen drink staying solidly in place. “But please tell me this comes with a complimentary replacement? I might not look like it but I’m actually parched.”

It’s the first time in literal months that the pub started to feel like home again. Not only did Kazuha return from being out of town for months, but you found a new friend in Prince Jeonghan himself. The eldest prince took it upon himself to pay for everyone’s orders for tonight—earning the immense favor of your patrons. Jeonghan even bought a few rounds of drinks for Sungchan, Shotaro, Jihoon, and Seokmin once closing time came around. 

The only thing missing from the equation is…Yuta. 

You wonder where he is right now.

“Well, I best head out now,” Jeonghan announces just when Shotaro finished serving Jeonghan’s treat to everyone who stayed behind. “Unlike my little brother, our parents don’t know me as some fiend who has his share of nightly ventures. I best head back to the castle before anyone notices I’m gone for too long.”

Joshua snorts into his drink—a tinge of scarlet on the tips of his ears indicating some degree of inebriation. “You’re just worried that the princess will kill you if you leave her alone in her room for even a minute longer.”

Now that makes you pause. 

Princess? As far as you know, Seraphia hasn’t had a princess since the queen got hailed as…well, the queen. But you’re a little too tipsy to make sense of the logic behind the royal family tree.

“Must you single me out the same way I do with you, Shua?” Jeonghan sighs before making his way to the door. “You kids enjoy the rest of your drinks. Make sure to get home safely, all of you.”

“You’re only two years older,” Joshua points out.

“Old enough to buy the entire pub several rounds of drinks.” 

“With the king and queen’s money?” 

“Hey! I’ll have you know that the royal family’s money comes from the people’s hard-earned taxes!” Jeonghan balks. “I’m simply giving back to our beloved constituents.”

“Gods above, just leave!” Jihoon bemoans in his seat from where he nurses a cup of coffee instead. “And I thought Yuta and Kazuha’s bickering couldn’t get any worse.”

Jeonghan lets out one last chuckle before swinging the door to the pub open—letting the late autumn air breeze inside the pub. 

“Ah, there’s nothing more that I love than people who aren’t afraid to tell me off,” he chuckles before letting the door click shut behind him.

After the last round, Jihoon and Seokmin hail a carriage in the late night streets as their neighborhood is a bit of a ways away from the pub. Sungchan and Shotaro both promise that they’d bring Kazuha safe and sound back to her father’s house, despite the fact that the young servers can’t even walk straight. And Joshua takes up the mantle of the one who walks you home like always. 

If you’d been just a bit more sober, you would’ve noticed the way Seokmin and Jihoon shared A Look when Joshua announced that he’ll be chaperoning you. The way Kazuha’s lips were upturned into a mischievous yet supportive smile. But you don’t take note of any of this—simply looping your arms around the prince’s waist as he keeps you from stumbling into the pavement.

“Gods, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten drunk on someone else’s expense,” you hiccup all while trying to blink the spots out of your vision. “Is Jeonghan always that generous to people he’s just met? I don’t get why he’s so unpopular if that’s the case.”

Joshua chuckles as he untangles your arms around his waist so he can heft one over his shoulder to maneuver you around more comfortably. “No. He only does that for people he likes. Which aren’t a lot. He’s a very good judge of character though.”

“Did he know, then?”

“About what?”

“About Hyejin loving someone else?”

Despite the silence that settles into the night, the sound of your footsteps beating across the cobblestone rings loudly in your ears. Your mind doesn’t quite process just how long it takes for Joshua to respond. You simply find yourself attentively listening when he answers with:

“Yes. He did know. It’s hard to keep things from someone like Jeonghan.”

You snort. “Even your little visits to the pub?”

“Even those,” Joshua agrees with a small smile.

After walking in silence for a few minutes more, the cold evening air starts to seep through your clothes—making your body tremble with an involuntary shiver. You frown, unsure why the chill is affecting you the way it is now. You’re fully aware that winter is coming to Seraphia very soon, but the onset of it never once made you feel this off-kilter.

Oh, well. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“Say, Your Highness…” 

Joshua glances at you just as you both round a street corner. “What?”

You struggle to keep your wits about you as you stare at his handsome face. Though he’s marginally less intoxicated than you are, there’s still a tinge of redness speckled across his cheeks. Cute.

“Why are you such a good prince?” you wonder. “Back then, you were always doing the things Jeonghan’s supposed to be doing… It’s like you’re the older brother.”

“That’s not true,” Joshua responds quickly as he helps you step over a pothole in the road. “He’s…someone who likes working behind the scenes. But I can’t deny that Jeonghan sometimes likes to jeopardize his own reputation for reasons even I don’t completely understand.”

“But why are you working so hard in the front lines anyway?”

Another pause. Your eyes briefly catch on the way Joshua’s throat bobs. 

“Because I want to be king,” he murmurs.

You arch an eyebrow, guessing that it is natural for someone like Joshua to want that when he’s technically second in line for the crown. But…there’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t seem as sincere as you thought the words should sound like.

“Okay. Why do you want to be king?”

He glances at you again, rightfully confused, but the look melts into soft, gentle laughter. The sound reverberates deep in his chest and it somehow warms you up amidst the cool evening air.

“Do you want the answer I tell my parents and the rest of the royal court or the actual answer?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully bump your knee against his leg. “Of course I want the actual answer, idiotic prince.”

“Alright,” he relents surprisingly quickly. “Well…it’s because I want to keep helping more people. If I have the power and authority of a king, I’d be able to do that on a much larger scale than what I’m currently capable of now.”

Your face scrunches up at his line of reasoning. “But…you can still help a lot of people even if you’re not king, right?”

“Yes, but I’d have a better chance at helping everyone if I was—”

You let your body move before your thoughts could completely catch up to what Joshua is trying to say. One of your fingers rests against the plush give of the prince’s lips as you silence him, supporting your wobbly stance by placing your other hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Prince Joshua, not even the gods can save everyone,” you slur, shaking your head vigorously. “You’re not a child anymore, so I’m sure you know that very well. And don’t lie. I’ve been hanging out with you long enough to know that you don’t like the idea of becoming king at all. You just want to help people ‘cause you’ve got a heart of gold. That’s it.” 

…Maybe you shouldn’t be making baseless assumptions about what Joshua wants and doesn’t want to do with his life, but you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing him willingly put the expectations of other people on his shoulders.

Sick of seeing him think of everyone but himself.

Then you do something you never would’ve had the guts to do without the liquid courage coursing through your system. You pull Joshua down into a tight embrace that causes him to make a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“I told you to stop being so selfless, didn’t I?” you grumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck as your own face starts to heat up. You have a hunch that it’s probably not because of the alcohol. 

“Let yourself live a little. No thinking about other people. No altruistic agendas. Just enjoy your life just like you’ve been doing for the past few months.”

When you lift your head back to meet his eyes, there’s a look in Joshua’s honey browns that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. 

It dawns on you just how close you are—bodies pressed together amidst the oncoming winter chill. His breath comes out a little unevenly, gaze smoldering with an emotion you can’t quite pin down. 

Never in your wildest dreams could you have dreamed of the prince who’s the epitome of the perfect gentleman looking at you the way you’ve been looking at him for years now.

Like he wants something he shouldn’t.

You don’t know how it happens, why it happens but you somehow end up with your back pressed against the wall of an alley right next to the bookshop you often pass by on your way home. Holding you in place is none other than the prince himself.

Your brain is seemingly absent when you feel the heat of Joshua’s mouth enveloping yours as his fingers dig into your spine—pressing you closer even if there’s no longer any distance to separate the both of you.

His touch rakes so impossibly hot against your clothes that you can’t find it in your heart to care when your embarrassing mewls are muffled by his lips. It doesn’t help that Joshua has his knee pressed between your thighs, effectively inching your legs apart as he kisses the life out of you underneath the glow of an old streetlamp.

The prince pulls away for only a moment—pressing his forehead against yours as earnest eyes bore into your soul. Joshua’s breath fans across your face in a way that makes your skin tingle with corrosive desire and you fear that you won’t be able to go back from this anymore. Not when he’s given you a taste of something you’ve been unknowingly craving for the longest time. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispers. “You haven’t the slightest clue.”

Part of you wants to tell him that you do. That he demonstrated just exactly what you do to him. But there’s not enough space in your frazzled mind to tease the man you’re so hopelessly in love with. 

Instead, you pull him in for another mind-numbing kiss, fingers tangled in his rich brown tresses as Joshua devours you like he’s been starving his whole life. 

All this time, you felt as if you’re walking on thin ice with him—careful to not break the surface. The friendship you’ve cultivated was easy. It offered you the security of his constant presence with no room for uncertainty.

But right here, in a dingy alley with no one but the stars that Joshua himself hung in the sky to bear witness, you realize it’s so much easier to just let yourself drown in him.

It’s filthy. It’s beautiful. 

It’s all you’ve ever wanted and more.

But you should have known it was too good to be true.

Just as all dreams tend to, the one you shared with Joshua ended in the morning with a raging migraine making itself at home deep in your skull. 

The sheets are cold, so is the stale air that lingers inside your bedroom. When you stare at the spot your nighttime lover had occupied when you both tumbled into blissful slumber, you find it empty. No sign of him anywhere inside your house. No notes left explaining where he went without waking you. 

You’re all alone with a trail of clothes littering your bedroom floor. None of them belonging to a certain honey-eyed prince.

You let yourself wallow in denial for a while—thinking that the reason Joshua left in a rush was because he had to reassure those back at the royal castle that he hadn’t been abducted in the middle of the night. 

He’d come around in a few days with a string of apologies prepared in advance. Maybe you’ll even spot him rushing into the pub later tonight—another one of his many gifts in hand as he expresses his utmost contrition. 

But the prince doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after that. And the night after that.

The days eventually bleed into weeks and you hear absolutely nothing from Joshua the entire time. 

You’re convinced that you managed to play it off as casually as you can. Either that or the rest of the pub’s staff is just good at not asking questions they have no business asking. The way that Kazuha occasionally looks at you with a worried look on her face when she thinks you don’t notice proves that the case is definitely the latter.

It’s not a big deal. This is just one of the many scenarios you’ve heard a few patrons tell you about—being left in the morning after by someone they’ve given their entire world the previous night. You always tell them that it’ll get easier in time.

But you don’t want it to get easier in time. You’ve wasted enough of that—investing years’ worth of love into a man who’ll never truly be there to reciprocate your feelings the way you want him to. It stings like a million arrows to the chest, like being stampeded by an army of knights riding into war.

Loving Prince Joshua was never easy, but this is the first time it ever truly hurt.

“Hey.”

You’re in the middle of cleaning a bunch of glasses when your ears perk up at a familiar voice you haven’t heard in a while. 

Yuta takes a seat in front of the bar with his usual mirth startlingly absent. Given how long since he last showed up around these parts, you at least expected him to have that stupid smirk plastered across his face when he finally drops by again. 

But all he greets you with is an uncharacteristically serious look that reminds you of the time he propositioned you for a kiss.

“Hey yourself,” you greet him back. “Kazuha’s not here, by the way. She’s dealing with some extra requirements needed to confirm her graduation from the Academy—”

“I know that,” Yuta deadpans. “She’s the one who asked me to come here.”

You make a face at that. “Why?”

Your old coworker rolls his eyes. “Can’t you at least pretend to be happy to see me again?”

Annoyed, you conjure up a tiny blunt icicle to launch into his face, but Yuta evades it swiftly with a scowl. “Wow, now you’ve resorted to attacking me, too?”

“That’s my way of saying I missed you, moron,” you grit out before bringing out two empty mugs from the shelves. “So what are you having tonight, Mister Swordsmith?”

While you and Yuta catch up, you ask Shotaro to man the bar in the meantime—a request that the younger man is nervous but happy to accept. That gives you enough time to finally speak to the one person you never thought you’d ever want to catch up with in the first place, given your consistent track record for pissing each other off.

But then again, Yuta has always been full of surprises.

“What?” 

Rage colors the tone of his voice when he asks, but you know perfectly well that Yuta heard every word you just said. You feel the pricks of shame in your chest as you attempt to drown it with a generous gulp of beer. The you from a year ago would’ve been mortified at the idea of spilling your most recent tryst with the man you’ve loved for more than a decade, but it is what it is.

Nonetheless, you repeat yourself anyway. “I…slept with the prince, and he was gone when morning came. Haven’t heard from him in almost a month and I’m not about to go looking for him either.”

You absentmindedly glide your finger along the rim of your glass, trying not to wallow in self-pity as Yuta processes the words in his head. But the reverie lasts for only a few seconds before your friend lets out a long, deep sigh.

“You know you deserve better than that, right?” 

You shrug. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But what’s the use of knowing what I deserve when I can’t really do anything about it anymore?”

“I knew you were an idiot, Ice Queen, but I didn’t think it was this bad,” Yuta makes another exasperated noise before taking another swig of his drink. 

Now it was your turn to scowl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Yuta leans forward on the table, making sure his eyes are leveled with yours as he stares you down with a look that would’ve intimidated everyone else but you. 

“You always think so little of yourself. Just because that guy is some hotshot royal, doesn’t mean he can get to walk all over your feelings like that. You’ve gotta learn how to assert yourself better,” he lectures. “Try acting around Prince Charming the way you act with me, sometimes. You were never afraid to set things straight whenever my jokes go a little too far, when you’re tired of me sleeping around with a bunch of our customers. 

“So what in the nine hells is stopping you from marching up to the castle and demanding a proper conversation from him? You’ve been hung up on the guy for fuck knows how long. The least he can do is give you a goddamn explanation for leaving you all alone that day.”

You’ve never liked Yuta’s very crass way of talking, but right now, the harshness of his words is probably what you needed all along. For a few minutes, you let the ambiance of the pub taper your restlessness into clarity—internalizing everything Yuta just told you the best you could.

“But…what if he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore?” you mumble. “If he really cared about me still, wouldn’t he have reached out by now?”

“That’s because men are idiots, Ice Queen. I thought you already knew that,” he points out before folding his arms across his chest. “The dumbass probably thinks he’s doing you a favor by giving you space and waiting for you to come to him when you’re ready. But his silence is pretty much doing the exact opposite, am I right?”

You nod sullenly. 

“God. I’d electrocute that fucker if only the price I had to pay wasn’t death by the gallows,” he grumbles. “Anyway, the point still stands. If he won’t come to you, then just go to Prince Charming and let him know that you’re not gonna tolerate his shit anymore.”

For a moment, you let yourself chuckle at how strongly he feels about this. “Gee, Yuta. You’re awfully supportive for someone who’s made it his life’s purpose to mess with me every chance he gets.” 

“I can be serious when I have to be,” he bites back. “Now promise me that you’ll talk to him and set things straight first thing tomorrow. You’ve made Kazuha worried enough.”

“Are you saying you’re not worried about me?” you tease.

“Watch it or I won’t show up here for another year.”

After wrapping up your conversation with Yuta, you excuse yourself for a moment to get some fresh air outside. He waves you away with a dismissive air to his posture before finishing the rest of his drink.

Then, Sungchan walks up to him with a sigh.

“You’re so weird,” he mumbles as he clears out your empty glass. “What idiot would just let the person he loves flutter off to someone else like that?”

Yuta simpers with a shake of his head, willing away the pain that lances through his chest at the verbal reminder. 

“An idiot like me, maybe.”

You’re going to talk to Joshua.

You will. You promised yourself the moment Yuta talked you into it the previous night. But it’s as if your body doesn't want to let you feel the relief of certainty just yet. 

When you wake up the following morning, your limbs feel heavier than the kegs back in the pub when they’re newly refilled. The headache you’re suffering from isn’t so different from the one you had the morning after Joshua left you all alone, but you’re fairly certain this isn’t because of a nasty hangover.

Kazuha drops by your place when you don’t show up at the pub only to see that you haven’t climbed out of bed after getting yourself a glass of water earlier in the day. She immediately realizes that you were running a high fever—one that was probably brought about by the change in seasons.

“I’m going to get you some medicine and food, okay?” she sighs, smoothing a cool washcloth across your forehead. “Is there anything else you want me to get for you outside?”

You snuggle yourself further beneath your blankets, letting your body soak in the heat as you shiver from the cold air of the room. 

Ironic how an ice elemental gets sick first thing in the winter.

“Mother’s soup…” you whisper sleepily. “That always makes me feel better.”

That’s the last thing you remember saying before drifting back into slumber.

Life at the castle has been uptight for as long as Joshua can remember.

The royal court has always been strict with upholding tradition and the ways of old. Where other children would dream about getting to grow up in the lavish halls and high ceilings of the castle, Joshua has always longed to be liberated from it. 

Time dedicated solely for leisure was scarce. He and Jeonghan were immediately taught to put their royal studies and etiquette classes first before anything else. His older brother never stood by these regulations though—always the first to rebel against the rules the elders and their parents have set. 

Joshua admired Jeonghan’s courage. Yet he knows he can never really emulate it for himself.

So he decided to be the one who follows the royal court’s every whim. The obedient prince that everyone would come to deem as perfect with how compliant he is to what everyone tells him to do. 

But then came the day when the king of Ancarra sent a present for his brother. Their parents told both of them it was a gift of goodwill, and that Jeonghan absolutely cannot refuse even if the elders of the royal court were against it. 

Jeonghan pulled him to the side once the king and queen were out of earshot—saying that the ‘gift’ is nothing but an avenue to secure his betrothal to the Ancarran princess. Joshua didn’t know what that meant at the time, being barely ten years old, but he simply went with it.

He always agrees with what he’s told after all.

To his surprise, this so-called gift is actually a puppy. 

Joshua always wanted one. A knight once told him about a loyal dog waiting for him at home, which is why he rarely took any overtime shifts at the castle. The youngest prince has wanted something to look forward to going home to ever since he heard the tale. 

As Jeonghan let his new pet explore the castle gardens, he didn’t miss the way Joshua’s eyes lingered ever-so-fondly on the small puppy. It’s for that reason that he took it upon himself to gather the hapless animal in his arms, flashing his little brother a warm smile.

“How about we take care of him together?” Jeonghan asked. “This pup is yours as much as he is mine.”

That was the first time Jeonghan saw Joshua’s eyes light up so brightly, it’s nearly blinding. And it’s also the moment he decided that he’d do virtually anything to preserve that sparkle in his little brother’s eyes.

The youngest prince did an excellent job at helping raise the puppy. It took a while for him and Jeonghan to give it a name, but it came to them one summer afternoon right after they finished giving him a bath.

“Hwan,” Jeonghan mused before laughing as the pup shook itself to dry off. “Let’s call him Hwan.”

When Joshua asked him what the name meant, Jeonghan simply patted his head—saying that he’ll know when he’s older—before continuing to towel dry their newly named pup.

Hwan brought color to their once-stale life at the castle. The servants adored him and the knights would even play with him if they ever caught sight of the little rascal bounding down the hallways. 

About two months after Hwan arrived in the castle, Joshua took him out for a quick walk all by himself. No nannies. No guards. Just him and the little pup on a leash. 

Jeonghan reassured that Joshua could do what he wanted as long as he didn’t wander off too far, and knowing that his older brother was there to cover for him made Joshua’s first real attempt at rebellion easier to execute.

The castle wasn’t located in some remote area or anything like that. Joshua quickly spotted a bunch of children his age playing amongst themselves just a short distance from the gates. 

He had intended to maintain a short distance so as to not disturb them, but when one of the kids spotted Hwan, the rest of them came flocking over like a bunch of doves. 

That’s how he ended up befriending several children that would make the royal court’s elders frown at his actions. It’s not that he’s forbidden to interact with them, but those crones always did like maintaining the class divide between nobles and commoners. 

But, having been so distracted by the game they were playing, Joshua failed to realize that Hwan was no longer tied to the tree he’d last left him in. 

The young prince frantically broke the news to the other kids, saying that Jeonghan was going to kill him if he found out he’d lost their dog. But one of them told him that a girl whose name he didn’t quite catch already went after Hwan before they could notice he was gone. 

“She chased after him in the forest I think.” 

Joshua didn’t need any further explanations. He immediately bolted to the direction of the forest without another thought. 

To his relief, it didn’t take long for him to find the person who went after Hwan in his stead. The young prince spotted you by the riverbank that bypasses a clearing in the forest—crouched low as you attempted to reach for something he couldn’t quite see.

But when Joshua shuffled just a bit closer, he realized that Hwan somehow wound up in the middle of the stream—shivering on top of a rock that didn’t hold promises of holding out for very long. 

“Come on, it’s okay,” he heard you coo. “I’ll catch you. I promise.”

 The prince couldn’t help but interfere. “H-Hey! That’s dangerous. You could fall in!”

Startled, you glance behind you with an annoyed look. “Stop shouting! The little puppy’s already scared as it is. And doesn’t he belong to you?” 

“Yes, but we can just call the knights so they can get him for us,” he reasons. “Don’t lean so close into the river! You might fall in!” 

Your lips spread into a frown. “But…he’s family, isn’t he? You can’t just leave him like that. What if he falls in the water while we waste our time calling the knights?”

He wanted to insist that, despite that being a very real possibility, it’s still much safer to call on an adult. That’s what he was taught, after all.

But Joshua was unable to find the words. Instead, he watched in complete silence as you attempted to reach Hwan without falling into the rapid stream. 

You managed to save his pup in the end—not without tumbling into the water, of course. 

The sight of you plunging into the stream once your balance was tipped made Joshua fall into a frenzied panic. He nearly ran back to the castle to call the guards for real, but you quickly broke through the surface of the water and started swimming against the current and towards the rock Hwan was shivering on.

There you were five minutes later, soaked from head to toe as you cradled the poor puppy in your arms. You were so invested in scolding Joshua for being very irresponsible with his pets that you never quite noticed the way he looked at you with adoration in his eyes.

It was the first time he’s seen someone do something so idiotic and brave and selfless with his own two eyes. 

Joshua has heard stories about warriors who fight in wars for the sake of peace. But he never would have thought that his first encounter with someone else’s bona fide bravery would be in the form of a ten year-old that wanted to save a stranger’s puppy from drowning in a river.

Then, he recalled reading about daisies in an old picture book his mother gifted. How those frail little flowers could bloom even in the bloodiest of battlefields. As you droned on and on about hammering the importance of family into his head, Joshua pictured a lone daisy in his mind’s eye. 

He wanted to give one to you. To show that he’s grateful for what you’ve done. But there weren’t any flowers blooming in this part of the forest—much less, a daisy. 

Yet, when he lifted one of his hands up, there it was.

A frail little flower for a brave little girl.

Joshua doesn’t know what to expect when he drops by the pub after almost a month of avoiding it. He knows that the chances of you having him thrown out have increased exponentially since the last time he was here, but he couldn’t take it anymore.

The night he spent at your house, doing things he never even once pictured himself doing with his ex-fiancèe, he was at cloud nine. It was the first time he’d let himself loose; selfishly thought about what he wanted at that moment with not a single thought spared for other people but you. 

Yet when the sun broke through the horizon the next day, the gravity of his carelessness dawned on him. He’d just jeopardized a friendship he’d been so careful to preserve. You were one of the very few people he could fully trust and lean on, but he decided to throw that all away for a night of debauchery.

The prince felt disgusted with himself. He didn’t deserve to see how you dozed so peacefully in the comfort of your bedroom. How you smiled in your sleep when he brushed a few strands of hair off your face. 

So instead of apologizing to you like he definitely should have…

He ran away like a coward.

Now here he is, back to the place where it all started.

He hoped to see you behind the bar like usual, mixing drinks with a hospitable smile as you entertained the evening’s patrons. But the prince is surprised to see a person he hasn’t gotten a glimpse of in a long, long while.

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here,” Yuta snarls as he shoots Joshua down with a glare. “What do you want?”

Joshua breathes evenly through his nose and out through his mouth. 

He’s got this.

“I wanted to talk to her,” he explains simply. “Do you know where she is?”

He fully expects Yuta to not give him the answer as easily as he’d like him to. Joshua isn’t blind. He’s seen the way he looks at you. Nor is he stupid because the prince is well aware that Yuta resorts to playful banter to cover up the fact that he’s enamored by you.

Takes one to know one, he guesses.

But to Joshua’s utter surprise, the owner’s son doesn’t tell him to get lost or find someone else to bother. 

“She’s sick,” he mutters. “That one hasn’t been able to come to work since yesterday. Maybe you would’ve known that sooner if you actually gave two shits about her.”

Joshua takes all his snarky comments in stride, knowing full well that isn’t even half of what he deserves after what he did. But the fact that you’re sick rightfully concerns him. Were you alright? Did you have someone looking after you?

“Her mother’s soup.”

The prince glances at Yuta quizzically. “I’m sorry?”

It’s as though Yuta’s face has a grimace perpetually etched onto the surface, but Joshua doesn’t let it faze him. “She always asks us to bring her mother’s soup when she’s sick. If you want to make it up to her, you better do that sooner than later.” 

“Where does her mother live?” Joshua wastes no time asking. “I can go to her right away.”

An unreadable expression crosses Yuta’s face, as if assessing if Joshua’s worth telling it to after what he did to you. In the end, the owner’s son merely sighs—carding his fingers through his mussed hair.

“Follow me, Prince Charming.”

Meeting the parents is something that never really fazed Joshua before. Then again, he was already acquainted with Hyejin’s father years before he proposed to her. Meeting your parents is something that makes the prince want to jump to the bottom of an ocean, never to be seen again. 

Because how could he possibly face the people who raised you after what he did? How thick-skinned could he be to introduce himself when he chose to be a coward when he should’ve been brave?

But your mother was a dear. Your father was rightfully apprehensive of his presence, prince or not, but they both welcomed him into their home—the place where you grew up—with open arms.

“That child. She never mentioned being friends with the prince, of all people,” your mother stresses with a sigh as she prepares her signature soup. “Did you know that she’s admired you for a long time now? It’s mellowed down over the years, but she always did have a soft spot for you.”

…You’ve admired him for a long time?

Joshua has only been acquainted with you for roughly two years. Perhaps the admiration your mother speaks of is the same way citizens would admire royals who actually do their job. Given his reputation among the citizens of Seraphia, it’s no surprise to be on the receiving end of something like that.

But when she tells Joshua she wants to show him something in the garden while they wait for the soup to simmer, he’s startled by a groundbreaking revelation.

The youngest prince hasn’t used his magic in years—this much still rings true to this day. But it’s just like you’ve said: his magic is a part of him. It’s something he can’t completely erase no matter how much he tries to suppress it. 

So when Joshua sees a potted daisy sitting idly in your mother’s garden, his magic instantly reacts. 

He’s felt the pulling sensation before. After his official coronation, when he created a bouquet of roses for his mother to express his gratitude, she kept the flowers on display in the great hall of the castle. It remained there until it inevitably wilted, despite the fact that royals were heavily discouraged from using their magic. 

Joshua always felt as if the roses he fashioned with his own magic called out to him every time he passed by. As if the flowers were alive and happy to see the person who created them.

The little daisy sitting right in front of him calls out to Joshua the exact same way.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but you were the one who gave that to her,” your mother chuckles. 

What?

“This is the one I gave to her a few months ago?” he mutters. “She…kept it all this time?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No, Your Highness. That one wilted fairly quickly. This little daisy…is the flower you made and gave to my daughter when she was ten years old. It perseveres to this day because of an old friend’s preservation magic. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Preservation magic…?  

Moreover, it’s something he created with his own magic? One he apparently gifted to you when you were only ten years old?

Joshua takes a moment to jog his memory, parses through a catalog of names and faces he’s come to acquaint himself with over the years. 

Then, it hits him.

He remembers his first dog, Hwan and how he nearly lost him to a rushing river all those years ago. If it weren’t for the girl who was courageous enough to swim across the stream to save him, Joshua was certain it would’ve been the end of it. 

And that girl—the one who made him decide that he loves people who are brave; people who are selfless…

It was you.

But why haven’t you said a single word about it?

“That child… She’s much too sentimental for her own good, you know? I’m afraid that sentimentality could be a detriment to her one day, but—” your mother startles all of a sudden.  “Y-Your Highness?”

Joshua doesn’t usually cry. Hell, he doesn’t make it a habit to wear his emotions on his sleeve. As a political figure that thousands of people across the kingdom are looking up to, he’s expected to embody poise and composure at all times.

But for the first time in his life, the youngest prince lets the tears fall in front of a mother that isn’t even his own.

When you get up to answer the door, you fully expect it to be Kazuha—carrying more food than you know what to do with and another bottle of medicine even if the last one she bought is yet to run out. 

You love her, really. She’s almost like a second mother with how much she fusses over you when you’re feeling under the weather. Thanks to her tender love and care, you’re more or less feeling much better than you were yesterday. Maybe you can even show up to work by tomorrow, too.

“Zuha, you really don’t have to keep checking on me anymore. I’m al…right?”

Except it isn’t your coworker who greets you. 

It’s Joshua, looking just as handsome as the last time you saw him—if not more. But before you can question if the person in front of you is just a mirage, you notice that he’s wearing familiar looking kitchen mitts and holding an even more familiar cooking pot by the handles.

“Hello,” the prince greets sheepishly. “May I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds longer, wondering why on earth he has your mother’s kitchen paraphernalia before cracking the door open wider. 

When have you ever said no to Joshua?

An air of awkwardness hangs above you like clouds over your heads as Joshua serves you some of your mother’s beloved soup. You insisted that you were well enough to do it yourself, but the prince was having none of it—making you sit down on the dining table as he concentrated on not having anything spill off the ladle as he transferred the soup into a bowl.

He somehow manages to mess even that up though, splashing a few drops all over the polished wood with a silent curse. You can’t help but stifle a laugh. This is a man who obviously hasn’t served other people in ways outside of his duties as a royal prince.

But then you suddenly remember how you felt when you woke up that day—nothing but empty sheets and a heavy heart to keep you company.

“Why are you here?”

The words come out so quietly, you doubt Joshua would’ve heard them if it wasn’t so quiet inside your house. But his eyes slowly rise to meet yours before he walks over to you and places a bowl of warm soup in front of you on the table.

Then, Joshua flashes you a shy smile. “Let’s…talk for a while, yes?” 

Both of you help yourselves to generous servings of your mother’s cooking for a while. The rich flavor easily reinvigorates you more than you thought it would, and you find yourself even slightly missing home again. Maybe you should pay your parents a much-needed visit.

“So…how have you been?” 

Right. You still have much to discuss with the prince himself.

“Do you want the answer I tell everyone else or the actual answer?” you muse, quoting something similar he asked you a while ago. From the way the tips of Joshua’s ears redden at your words, he recalls them just as vividly.

He scoops another spoonful of soup into his mouth before letting out a quiet sigh. “The actual answer.”

You manage a tight-lipped smile. “Miserable then.”

Joshua nods once, the grip he has on his borrowed spoon tightening ever-so slightly. He opens his mouth a few times, as if wanting to say something but being unable to form the words. 

“How about you, Your Highness?” you ask. “How have you been?”

He frowns. “You…you don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“Why?” Cocking an eyebrow, you help yourself to more of your mother’s soup without breaking eye contact. “You’re the prince and I’m just some commoner you got tired of playing with. It would be improper for me to address you as anything else.”

You know you’re speaking somewhat out of turn. It’s obvious that he paid you a visit in the same house he left you in to make amends, but you were sick of playing the understanding, lovesick fool. Pricks of anger start to dot your chest the longer you think about that day, and suddenly Yuta’s suggestion sounds so much more appealing.

All these months Joshua spent stringing you along with your heart in the palm of his hand, only for him to leave it for dead…

You were done taking his shit.

“I know that a million apologies won’t make up for what I did, but I’ll try anyway,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for just leaving without an explanation. Waking up next to you was easily the happiest moment of my life and I’d want nothing more than to experience it again. I…didn’t know what came over me.”

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “You’re lucky that you saw me first thing in the morning, that you had the happiest moment in your life. When I woke up it felt like I never even mattered to you.”

Your heart feels like it’s on the verge of exploding with how much emotions courses through it in a single second. Joshua remains rightfully silent, head lowered as he takes in your words. 

So you decide to say even more.

“Not that I expect you to remember, but I’ve loved you since we were children. I was perfectly fine with the fact that you’ll never love me back—even when we became friends, even when you caved that evening and kissed me.” 

You pause for a moment, letting yourself breathe despite your throat starting to constrict with each passing second. The feeling of your magic creeping up in chilly dregs across your fingertips doesn’t make the entire ordeal any easier.

“I was going to let the fact that you just left like that slide because I was so convinced that you’d come around the next day to give me an explanation. That you’d at least give me some clarity because I deserve that in the least, don’t I?

“But you didn’t. You never told me why you suddenly thought I wasn’t worth clearing things up with. And now you’re here, saying that waking up next to me was the happiest moment of your life? Don’t you think you’ve already hurt me enough?”

“Because I was afraid,” Joshua interjects, much louder than you expected. “All my life, I’ve done what everyone tells me to do because I’m the perfect prince, the obedient one, the only one they can control.”

You grimace. “How is that my problem—”

“It isn’t. It never was and it never will be your problem. It shouldn’t have to be…” He sighs, dragging a palm over his face as he stares up at the ceiling. “You deserve someone who loves you without fear, without reservations. Someone who wakes up next to you everyday and won’t bolt right out of the door because he suddenly remembered he’s the prince of the kingdom.

“I want…so badly to be that person for you. But that morning, I stared at the person who’s the embodiment of everything I shouldn’t want.”

You bark out a harsh-sounding laugh. “Someone you shouldn’t want? Because I’m a commoner? In case you’re forgetting, only a year ago, you were supposed to marry a commoner, too. Why is it that when it comes to me, you suddenly don’t want to take that risk? Why do you have to continue lying to my face when you can just tell me outright that you don’t fucking love me—”

“I’ve loved you more in the past few months than I ever loved Hyejin in the entire decade I’ve known her,” Joshua rasps and you don’t miss the way his voice nearly cracks. “It fucking scares me because I’ve never loved someone this deeply. Never wanted something for myself as much as I want you. 

“I love you so much that I was ready to give everything up. Becoming king and helping others just like I dreamed—all of that didn’t matter that morning. When I realized just how tight of a hold you actually have on me, I was fucking terrified.”

For the first time tonight, you’re at a loss for words. You stare at Joshua with trembling lips, wondering a million times if you heard him right.

He…loves you?

“Ironic how the girl who taught me what bravery looks like when we were children is the same one I was too much of a coward to face when I realized how I felt about her.”

Wait a minute—

“What do you mean?” you whisper incredulously.

Joshua breathes in sharply before the tension in his shoulders visibly ebbs away. He fishes something out of his pocket for a few seconds…

Only to show you the small, frail daisy being kept alive with preservation magic.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he murmurs, twisting the stem in his fingers. “If I’d known you were the one who saved Hwan back then—”

“What, you would’ve let yourself love me sooner?” you ask sharply. “Well, I’ll have you know Your Highness, that I didn’t want to come off as some gold-digging fiend who throws herself at you. Nor do I want you to love me because you think of me as some sort of symbol for bravery or whatever bullshit noble reasoning you’ve got going for yourself.

“I wanted you to love me as I am now. Is that so hard to understand?”

You don’t tell him that you were just as cowardly as he was. That you’ve been sticking by your mother’s words since she imparted them. 

You and him are on opposite ends. 

Joshua is a prince and you’re nothing but a lowly bartender. That’s the thought that helped keep your love for him at bay for the longest time. 

But what do you do when the same prince who was always out of reach lays all his feelings bare? What do you do when you find out that he isn’t completely unreachable after all?

The room remains painfully silent for about three stuttering heartbeats before Joshua lays the daisy that started everything next to his bowl of cold soup. The prince gets up from his seat and you watch in rapt attention as he goes down on one knee. 

“What are you…?”

Before you can even complete that sentence, Joshua does something he hasn’t in years. 

You don’t think you can forget how he conjured a bouquet of roses for the queen during his coronation. That was the second and last time you’ve ever seen him use his magic. 

Yet now, the youngest prince is weaving the most beautiful bunch of daisies out of thin air. The blossoms look even more vibrant than the bouquet he’d purchased for you at Wonwoo’s. You don’t even realize you were holding your breath until Joshua pushes the flowers closer to your face and takes your hand in his.

You hate how he’s able to bring warmth to your cold, cold hands even after everything. 

“I know we got off on a very, very rough start, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness just yet but…” He breathes and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him so nervous. “Can we try this again? Not as the girl who saved Hwan and as the prince you’ve loved for years, but just as you and me in the present.”

“No.”

Joshua blinks. “S-Sorry?”

“I said no, Joshua,” you huff, crossing your arms together as you push away his flowers. “You think I’m going to make things easy for you after what you did? I might be catastrophically in love with you, but I’m done being a fool. You have to earn my forgiveness first before I let you—mmph!”

You’re too slow to stop him when Joshua tosses the flowers on the table and lunges in for a kiss. 

“Y-You idiotic prince,” you gasp into his mouth, glaring straight into his honeyed eyes. “Kissing me without my consent isn’t going to make me forgive you any faster!”

“You called me Joshua.” He grins, and if that isn’t the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen, you don’t know what is. “You never call me by my name.”

Joshua pulls you in for another. And another. And another. You don’t have it in you to resist him and keep up the vengeful façade when the love of your life has finally deigned to return your feelings for him.

Maybe you’ll just punish him some other time.

For now, you let yourself bask in this small bubble of genuine happiness. 

“An Oak Walker, please. I heard that the king himself considers that as his favorite.”

You let out a quiet laugh as you list down the pub’s most recent order. “I wouldn’t say it’s his favorite—”

“Oh, it definitely is.”

At the sound of your husband’s rebuttal, you find yourself rolling your eyes. Joshua brings out a glass from the shelves before filling both of them with a fresh batch of whiskey straight from the kegs. The idiotic prince doesn’t even flinch when you glare at him.

The customer you’re serving—an Ancarran diplomat named Soonyoung—cackles in his seat. He’s a face you’re starting to see more frequently around the pub, and Joshua told you beforehand that it’s because he’s the new queen’s closest friend. The man spends a lot more time bar-hopping in the capital of Seraphia than actually doing his job in his own homeland.

“Always a treat to see the king’s little brother being a menace to his wife,” Soonyoung comments as Joshua serves him his drink. “No wonder I haven’t seen you around the castle much. You’re too busy pushing her buttons, aren’t you?”

“Hmm, not really. That’s the owner’s job,” Joshua replies with a smile. “I only like to tease her from time to time.”

“Why are we suddenly talking about the owner?”

As if on cue, Yuta eases himself into the conversation with one brow raised. It’s always surreal to think about how he took up the title of the pub’s owner after their father’s passing. But it’s still nice to have one of your dear friends around even after so many years.

It’s been roughly six years since your marriage with Joshua. Lots of things have changed since then, but there are others that remained the same.

For one, Kazuha is no longer part of the bar’s regular employee roster. Right after graduating from the Academy, she was immediately scouted to be a Stormwatcher by the royal family itself. She spends much of her time in the castle, studying various weather patterns prevalent in the kingdom and other neighboring lands, but she still visits from time to time.

Seokmin and Jihoon still hold the occasional performance at the pub whenever they’re in the city, but they’ve long decided to join a traveling group of musicians to spread their songs to places other than Seraphia. No matter how long they’re gone for though, you always make sure to reserve at least two glasses in case they come by.

Speaking of singers, Sungchan and Shotaro have been promoted from the pub’s usual waiters to regular performers. Both of them turned out to have hidden talents for singing, and your patrons were more than happy to enjoy the shows they put on every night. 

Wonwoo, your ever-present childhood friend has decided to hire more staff to manage the store before enrolling back into the Academy again. He’s always had the same kind of magic as his mother and he told you that he wanted to invest some time into cultivating it just as she had when she was still alive. Of course, you were supportive of the decision—promising that you’ll still buy flowers from his shop even if your husband can make an entire garden for you with a snap of his fingers.

Much more recently, Jeonghan has taken up the title of Seraphia’s seventeenth king and ended up marrying his not-so-childhood sweetheart. Both his coronation and marriage were an even bigger mess than what you and Joshua had to go through, and both you and your husband don’t particularly like dwelling on it very much.

As for the things that aren’t all that different…

You take the time to quietly watch Joshua as he tells Yuta about a child that burst into the pub earlier—a child that has Yuta’s scowling face and potent lightning magic. Your friend shakes his head, wondering how long his wife is going to scold him for bringing their son to work again. 

Yuta still calls you Ice Queen sometimes. Joshua is still very much a prince of Seraphia. 

And you’re…still you.

“You have a letter again.”

Joshua glances at you from the front door of your shared home as he hangs his coat on the rack. You were in the middle of sorting the mail you’ve received today and saw that one of them is addressed to Joshua. 

Even without a return address, you’ve been with your husband long enough to know it was from his ex-fiancée. 

As the two of you prepare for bed, Joshua quietly reads over Hyejin’s letter with a fond look in his eyes. You try your best not to feel envious because he’s your husband, for gods’ sake. What’s more is that Hyejin is already with Chan. Neither of you know where they went after the two of them ran away from Seraphia, but Joshua still feels responsible for covering their tracks so no one could ever hope to disturb them.

He’s always been caring for others, after all.

“What’s wrong, snowflake?”

Joshua asks the question when you’re both already under the covers. When you first got together, he opted to call you snowflake instead of Ice Queen—saying that he wants to address his lover in a less demeaning way. You thought it to be ridiculous at first, but now you can’t help but melt at the endearment.

When you don’t respond, he sighs, taking your cold hands in his own. Curse this man. He knows you too well.

“Are you bothered by Hyejin’s letter?” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Just a little,” you answer honestly. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid, I know—”

“It’s not stupid. Don’t dismiss your own feelings so quickly like that.” Joshua pouts. “Does my wife need me to remind her that she’s the one I married in front of thousands of people six years ago? The one who screams my name in our bed every night?”

Scandalized, you smack him in the chest. “I do not scream your name! I have more courtesy for our neighbors than you might think.”

Your husband nods as if merely playing along, shoving the covers off your form before nuzzling the crook of your neck. “Yes, yes, of course. But you can’t deny that you moan it so prettily every time we lie together like this.”

Gods… Was he this infuriating when your love was still one-sided?

He strips you down like he’s already done countless times before. The two of you are bare in no time—clothes strewn all over the floor as your husband lowers himself on the bed and hooks your legs across his shoulders.

Husband. 

It’s so surreal that the idiot who left you all alone that fateful morning several years ago is the same man who’s made you the happiest wife for the past six years. 

“My, you’re much wetter than I thought you’d be,” Joshua teases with a breathy laugh, tracing your glistening slit with one of his long, thick fingers. “Here I thought you’d kick me out of the bedroom for trying something when you were in the middle of sulking.”

“I wasn’t sulking.” 

“Sure you weren’t, snowflake.”

Then, his mouth was on you—making you forget about letters from past lovers and everything else in between. 

Joshua tugs your thighs even closer as he feasts on your cunt, lathering his tongue in your essence before licking a long stripe across your seam. You let out a breathless whimper, hands immediately tangling themselves in his hair. You can feel him smirk against your sex but before you can make any side remarks about his cocky attitude, Joshua seals his lips over your clit and sucks on the sensitive nub. The effect it has on you is immediate—hips thrashing around as your husband relentlessly continues his ministrations. 

“S-Shua,” you sigh, toes curling as a steady stream of pleasure continues to pulse into your core. “So good… Your mouth feels so good.” 

He hums appreciatively before switching things up a little. You whimper in protest when his lips part from your clit, but he easily makes up for it by licking across your wet cunt in quick, repetitive succession. Your devil of a husband couples the amazing sensation with his fingers, quickly sliding in two of his digits because he knows you can take anything he gives you. 

“Such a good little wife for me,” he chuckles as he buries them to the knuckles, delighting in the way you purr out his name again when he curls them just so. “I’ve done a tacky job at reminding you how much I love you these days, haven’t I? Can’t have you getting jealous over a bunch of letters when I should just make you come like this, hm?”

You can’t even process what he’s saying right now—too focused on pinpointing the release he’s slowly but surely building up. 

Joshua continues murmuring a string of praises along your inner thighs, making sure to leave his mark across your skin. His love bites bloom like violets across your flesh and before you can let yourself revel in the sentiment of it all, he’s back to assaulting your quivering cunt with his sinful mouth.

“Joshua, please,” you cry out as he amps up the speed of his thrusts. “W-Want more.”

Your husband hums again but doesn’t have the heart to part with your delicious cunt, pulling his complete focus on your clit as he slides in a third finger. The stretch isn’t unfamiliar, but it burns a little. Overall, the sensation simply adds on to the growing fire inside your belly.

When your orgasm crests, you have to muffle an undignified moan with your hands—letting yourself ride it out as Joshua continues licking and slurping at your juices like a man starved.

You take a while to get your wits about you again, a breathless mess on the mattress as your husband pulls himself back up. When your brain is finally there again, the first thing you notice is how Joshua’s rock hard cock strains against his chiseled stomach.

“Always taste so fucking good, snowflake,” he chuckles, grabbing your chin with the fingers that were just inside you. “I could live off eating you up like this for the rest of my life.”

“You’re being ridiculous again,” you mutter shyly, warmth blooming across your cheeks.

Joshua laughs again and it’s such a beautiful sound, your heart flutters when it hits your ears. He gently presses his lips onto yours, letting you taste the tangy flavor of your release before sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

You’ll never get tired of kissing Joshua. It felt so inexplicably good to kiss him the first time in that lone alley, but every single one you shared after you can finally call him yours felt twice as better, and several times sweeter. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. “I’ll never regret choosing to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You chuckle, pressing your forehead against his. “Even if I refused to assimilate into the royal family? That’s the main reason why you couldn’t be king, right?”

Joshua simpers. “To hell with being king. The crown has always been Jeonghan’s to begin with. And I’d much rather spend my time pleasuring you like this than shoulder the biggest responsibility in the kingdom.”

“Mhmm. You chose right then.”

Your husband is mildly startled when you maneuver around to push him back on the bed. But Joshua doesn’t seem to have any plans to voice out his complaints when you prop yourself between his thighs—taking his hard, leaking cock in your small hand and giving it a few experimental pumps.

“Fuck. You look so good, darling,” he moans. “I won’t ever get tired of seeing you like this.”

You shake your head incredulously, a traitorous smile finding its way on your face. “Always such a sweet-talker. Pray tell, do you take eloquence classes as part of your upbringing as a prince? You never seem to run out of smooth things to say.”

“Well, we do have something similar to—”

Joshua’s words abruptly morph into a choked out sound when you take him into your mouth, letting your tongue slide across the vein jutting around his length. Your husband watches ravenously as you take him to the hilt—not once choking on his size with how many times you’ve already done this prior.

Despite how gentlemanly he is on the outside, you know Joshua likes his head sloppy. So you make sure to lather enough saliva around his cock as you bob your head up and down, wrapping your fist around the parts you can’t quite reach. The sinful sound of your lips working on his throbbing length is nearly enough to drive him to the pinnacle, but Joshua does his best to hold out for as long as he can.

When you feel his fingers in your hair, you let him push your head into his navel—delighting in the deep moan he lets out when he feels your throat constricting around the head of his cock.

“Pretty woman with a pretty mouth,” Joshua sighs pathetically as you look up at him with teary eyes. “But as much as I’d love to come down your throat and make you swallow it all…”

You let out a tiny squeak when Joshua lifts you off his cock and back onto the mattress. 

“I want you to take all of my seed in this sweet cunt of yours instead,” he chuckles evilly, lining his cock up against stomach as if measuring just how deeply he’ll penetrate you. 

The thought has you mewling with need.

“Joshua,” you mewl, lacing your fingers around his neck to pepper his face with quick, desperate kisses. “I need you inside me. All of you.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me come in this tight cunt?” he growls as he slides the head of his cock along your ruined slit. “Fuck you dumb and fill you up with my come? We can do it all over again once you’re dripping with me, you know? Just so we’re sure that my seed will take.” 

“Yes,” you moan aloud as he finally slides into you. “Want your come. Want your children, Shua.”

Just as he’s buried himself to the hilt, Joshua pauses to stare at you with a look of disbelief. You don’t really blame him.

Though you’ve been married for quite some time now, the topic of starting a family hasn’t really crossed your minds yet. Joshua wanted to spend as much time as he could showing just how much he loves his wife. But discussions about having a child or two have come up every now and again—though most of it was in half-jest. 

Now, though, you’re completely certain. 

“Did you not hear me, dear husband?” you laugh, despite the way your walls clench around his hot length. “I want your children. How can you give me that when you’re busy gawking at me like you are now?”

Joshua doesn’t need to be told twice.

He quickly throws your legs over his shoulders, introducing an angle so delicious, it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head even when he has yet to move. Joshua breathes out a strained groan at the sight of you—hair fanning against the pillows with a wanton look in your eyes. 

How could he not fuck you until you’re with child?

The first snap of his hips is brutal. It sends you forward on the bed and you feel every inch of him bypassing the tight ring of your hole. Your cunt squelches with every thrust, rendering you a panting mess beneath your husband of six years and hopefully more. Joshua leans down to pepper your chest with the same love bites he’s left between your thighs and you think fondly of the fact that your husband can still conjure flowers of his own without using his own magic.

“My gorgeous. Fucking. Wife,” he growls as he takes a handful of your breasts in his large, warm hands. “I’ve waited for so long for you to tell me you’re ready. Waited so long to fuck my seed so deep into you, you’ll be feeling me for days. You want to help me sire a bunch of little royals now? Let the entire kingdom know you’re mine?”

“I-I’ve—” You gasp when he grazes against that patch of spongy flesh inside you that makes you see stars. “I’ve always been yours, Shua. Always.”

Your husband smiles against your skin before pressing a long kiss on your lips. When you dare to look in his deep brown eyes again, you nearly lose yourself in the love reflected back.

“That’s right, snowflake,” Joshua sighs. “Mine to breed. Mine to fuck.”

“Mine to love.”

His tender words are your last straw. You spiral from the edge again as stars burst in the back of your eyelids, letting the rush of pleasure surge through your system as Joshua continues fucking himself into completion. Your husband is murmuring a string of sweet nothings as he chases after his own high, but you’re much too lightheaded to make sense of the words.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you babble senselessly as his cock hits the deepest parts of you. “I’ll never want anyone else but you, Shua.”

“So will I, love,” he confesses as his hips snap into a stuttering halt. You let out another broken moan when you feel his thick, hot emission paint your trembling walls in the white of his release—feeling so blissful, you nearly forget your own name.

“So will I.”

Joshua doesn’t stop there. Even when he knows you might need a minute to recover, he flips you over on the mattress, pulls your ass up in the air and continues fucking his spend even deeper inside you. Though you want to croak out in protest, you’re much too delirious with pleasure to voice it out. 

“Need to make sure my seed takes, right, darling?” he breathes out as he smooths his large palms across the swell of your ass. “I can’t wait to see you heavy with my child. Don’t you ever think you’ll become any less beautiful than you are now when that does happen. Because I’ll continue reminding you just how unbelievably gorgeous you are.”

You want that too. More than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life.

It takes several more rounds for you to sate your primal need for each other. Joshua collapses into a heap right next to you on the bed and you try not to laugh—convinced that doing so would make his come trickle out of your poor, abused cunt.

“Hello,” your husband murmurs once he’s caught his breath. 

You giggle. “Hi.”

As he engulfs you in the endless heat of his embrace, your eyes catch on the collection of beautiful daisies on your nightstand. It’s the very same bouquet Joshua had given to you the night he came to apologize for his mistakes—enduring the passage of time with Wonwoo’s freshly honed preservation magic.

The cold of winter outside continues to seep into the room even when Joshua has already dozed off by your side. You glance at him lovingly, remembering him say that he’s grown to hate the season when Hyejin broke off their engagement in the middle of the snow.

But both of you are at that point in your lives where you don’t need to bury yourself in a mountain of blankets nor do you need to toss too much wood into the hearth. As long as Joshua remains by your side, you’ll always be warm.

⟢ end notes: i hope to god that tumblr won't crash when someone reblogs this monster lmfao. thank you for making it til the end! heads up that i might take a break from this series for a while bc writing this expended so many of my brain cells, i just have to step away for a while. i hope you'll still be looking forward for the third and final installment of the series hehe jeonghan's going to be getting his own spotlight very soon~

✘ smut tags. dacryphilia, fingering, semi-public sex, praise kink, petnames (baby, good girl, crybaby), brief condescension

You’re a crybaby—there’s no simpler way of putting it.

Glossy eyes and sticky cheeks are no stranger to your everyday life. Your parents thought you’d grow out of it, even when the tears followed you through middle school and were the root of some fucking embarrassing moments in high school.

Surely university would change things. Surely it’d teach you that the big girl world has no room for your whimpers. Surely you wouldn’t end up crying to your childhood friends, Jeonghan and Jihoon, because you tripped over your own laces even now that you’re in your twenties.

You learn that the thing about being a crybaby is that you never really stop being one.

So yeah. Here you are, in your twenties, knocking on Jeonghan and Jihoon’s door, as you try to hold back the tears that threaten to spill because you tripped over your shoelaces in front of the lobbyman on the way up to their apartment.

You were supposed to meet up with them and a couple other friends from your little circle, but of course you just had to mess things up for yourself, silently reprimanding yourself for letting something as silly and stupid as this get to your head.

You’re expecting Jeonghan to open the door—he’s usually the one by the door—so it’s safe to say that you’re just a little surprised when you see Chan open the door.

Chan runs in your friend circle—he’s a good friend of Jihoon’s, so naturally you see each other often. Though, you wouldn’t exactly call the two of you close. Chan’s a bit … intimidating. Tight lipped and narrow eyes, he doesn’t speak to anyone much, let alone you.

That doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy him; after all, Chan is a nice guy, and he’s patted your back and soothed your tears on multiple occasions before. You’ve had some fun conversations here and there, usually when you two are the first to get to a spot and sit and wait for the others to show up.

Chan is also … handsome. Intimidating and kind and handsome—an odd mix, really, but it has your gears turning whenever you’re around him, so rest assured you’re at least a little frazzled when he opens the door instead of Jeonghan.

He glances at you as you furiously wipe away your tears and frowns. “What happened?”

You choke out a small laugh as your breaths finally even out, shaking your head as you move to the side of the couch so he can have some room to sit. “Embarrassed myself in front of the lobbyman,” you mutter, finally letting your hands drop from your face and by your side.

Chan just hums and nods, not prying any further, telling you, “I’m sure he didn’t notice,” before stepping to the side so you can shuffle into the room. With burning cheeks, the two of you make your way to the living room, and you’re grateful that Chan was the only one to arrive before you, so the only others in the room are Jeonghan and Jihoon.

Jihoon catches the sight of your tear streaked cheeks faces first, sighing as you sit down next to him. You can tell he’s about to ask you what happened, but you hold up your hand to stop him. “Don’t ask, it was embarrassing,” you mutter, sinking into the cushions.

Jeonghan clicks his tongue but pats your head from the armchair next to the sofa as Chan sits on the ground across from him. The four of you fall into conversation pretty quickly, and you soon forget all about your stupid laces and stupid tears and laugh along with your friends as the others begin to show up.

It’s how it always goes: the tears and then the laughter that always follows. You’ve grown accustomed to it, and as you adjust to the so-called big girl world, you learn that if your habits can’t be dumped, you might as well learn to live your life around them.

Your friend Soyeon greets you at the tattoo parlor the next day. Smiling, she waves you down to her counter, peeling her eyes away from the screen to look up at you. “Hey,” she says with a smile as you adjust the bag over your shoulder. “Was waiting for you to finally stop by.”

You chuckle and shake your head, looking down. “I know, I know … I’ve been saying I want to get something done since forever but I just never had the time or the cash but I finally caved,” you explain.

Soyeon’s a good friend of yours, and she works as a piercer at the parlor by your apartment complex. You figure she doesn’t have any appointments now, which is why she’s working at the reception, and to be honest, you’re glad it’s her and not some stranger who’s helping you out right now.

“You short on cash?” she asked with a brow raised as she scrolls through the screen, presumably looking through appointments. You reach into your bag and hand her a paper of the design you want. It’s simple, and small, and she examines the image before nodding and handing it back to you.

You shake your head. “Well, I’ve been saving up to see TWICE, so I was just being cautious but now that I’ve got the tickets, I can breathe easy now.”

“Hmm, yeah that makes sense. If you’re still interested in a discounted price though, you can book an appointment with the apprentice.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Who?”

Soyeon chuckles, and points at the design on your paper. “You know, a new tattoo artist. Like, the one we got has been doing it for almost 2 years now so he’s pretty good, but it’s still lower cost than if you got this done with the regulars. And since you have a really simple design, you can trust that nothing’s really gonna go wrong.”

“Really? That’s great!” you say, bouncing excitedly as you nod your head before pausing. “Like, is there a chance it might go wrong?”

“Hmm, I doubt it. Our guy is actually great, and like I said, he’s on his final leg of his apprenticeship anyways so I’d be surprised if he messes this up, honestly.”

“That’s nice then, can you book me for an appointment with him?”

“Yeah sure,” Soyeon replies, scrolling through the computer before holding a finger up. “He should be free two days from now in the evening right before we close. That’s when he usually works, but he doesn’t have a booking for that day … does that work?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” you agree, and Soyeon smiles as she pulls out a clipboard and a paper.

“I’ll write you down for six then. Sign this waiver, and then just come in then.”

You smile and nod. “Sounds good!”

It’s the next evening, and you’re pressing your back into a wall wondering how you got yourself into this situation. One overly sweet drink in a cup held close to your chest, people dancing and playing games, talking and screaming over the loud music that blasts into your ears and straight down to your heart, you stand in a corner twiddling with your fingers.

you: hey where r u?  [8:43 PM] you: kinda worried … ur still coming right?? [8:45 PM] you: jihoooon hello? [8:50 PM] jihoon: hey i’m rly sorry [8:56 PM] jihoon: i can’t go today [8:56 PM] you: what why?? [8:57 PM] jihoon: i forgot i promised jj that i’d go over to his tonight [8:57 PM] jihoon: i’m rly sorry [8:57 PM] you: :/ it’s okay [8:58 PM] jihoon: sorry again [8:59 PM] jihoon: i know chan and jun are there, stick w them , i’m sure they wouldn’t mind [9:00 PM]

Fat chance with the latter, since Jun is in the corner of the room with a girl grinding down on him as they eat each other’s faces off.

you: yeah, i’ll just go look for chan [9:02 PM]

And that’s what you do, clutching the red solo cup to your chest as you let the situation sink into your skin. You’re a little upset, of course. Jihoon didn’t intend to flake on you, you know that for sure, but it doesn’t really help the fact that he still did it.

Needless to say you’re feeling … oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. Not this again. No way you’re going to start crying in the middle of a fucking college party because one of your friends didn’t tag along. You’re not even alone—there’s that nice girl from your chem in the kitchen and she looks perfectly sober and ready to hold a decent conversation, there’s the goofy guy from your freshman orientation group smoking in a corner and you’re sure he wouldn’t mind catching up, and then your eyes land on Chan, relief hitting your body in recurring waves.

He’s on the couch, dark hair pushed back so they don’t fall over his eyes as he sinks into the cushions. He looks relaxed and calm, and looking at the joint that sits between his fingers, you have a feeling you know why. His other hand holds his phone, and under the glaring artificial light of his phone and the alternating colors of the led lights that train the wall, he looks handsome.

The tears that poked at your eyes just moments ago seem to die back down as you approach him, glad to see a much more familiar face—one that isn’t being sucked off by another girl at the moment.

“Hey,” you murmur, sitting down next to Chan on the worn-out sofa (you’re pretty sure you knocked over someone’s drink as your feet shuffle on the ground, but you’re a bit too much in your feels to say anything about it). You think you see Chan’s eyes narrow at you when he looks up from his phone, but you can’t quite tell.

“What’s up?” he asks, voice low and gruff as he looks back down at his phone. You remember Jeonghan saying something about how they played basketball together today so you think he’s just a bit, yet you can’t help but feel that ugly knot tie up in your throat again.

(Are you just oddly vulnerable in this moment, or does Chan look at you with something a little more demeaning than just fatigue?)

“Uh—” Fuck, there’s that stupid feeling in your throat. The one that, no matter how many times you try to gulp down, it comes bubbling back up hotter and harder to avoid until you feel your eyes sting and face grow warmer. You want to forget about Jihoon and his stupid text that you let ruin your night, and you want to tell Chan that you like his shirt because that might be the only thing that stops the hot drops from pooling in your lash line and—

“Are you going to cry?” Chan asks you flatly.

If your chances of crying were fifty-fifty one moment ago, they’re definitely one-hundred-to-one now.

“What?” All creaky and hoarse, the words come out as a strained whisper—Chan doesn’t even need to look at the fat tears that are already rolling down your face to know the answer.

You expect him to sigh heavily. To give you a ‘I knew it’ sorta look, but without the meanness. To pat your shoulder and tell you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Chan scoffs at you, and you come to the conclusion that this is easily the worst night of your life.

He could’ve stopped there. The damage was most definitely dealt and as you hold your breath and try to hold back the tears amidst the crowd (it won’t work, it never does, but you’d be a fool to not at least try), you hold onto what shreds of dignity you have left and hope he doesn’t continue.

Because again, Chan could’ve stopped there. He was right. Those five words made their point, and the grief stricken look on your face is enough to tell him that you’ve gotten his message.

Chan could’ve stopped, but he doesn’t.

“Seriously like—” he scoffs again, running a hand through his thick dark locks before shoving his phone in his pocket and turning to face you.

Oh.

There’s that face; eyebrows knitted together and jaw taut, a sharp gaze and lips almost curved into a sneer. Chan is annoyed, and he’s annoyed with you.

Oh.

You think you’d get used to it by now: the snotty tears and soft hiccups for air as you try to breathe in a room filled with so many people while feeling so alone. You guess the funny thing about being a crybaby is that no matter how many tears you waste, you’re always pushed back to square one after each time.

“—D’you ever not cry?” You think Chan intends for the words to come out as a mean joke, and through the wavering thoughts and emotions that flood through your brain and send a rush through your ears, you commend him: mission accomplished, because this is one hell of a mean, mean joke.

“Chan—” It’s a fruitless attempt, you’re starting to realize, to try and stop him.

“Like is there a single day that goes by where you aren’t bursting into tears over every damn inconvenience? Fuck, it’s so annoying.” He huffs loudly when your mouth opens agape but fails to let any words out, reaching for the joint that sits on the coffee table in front of you. Chan holds the roll close to his lips, not bothering to even glance your way as he inhales heavily. The blow of smoke from his lips moments later fogs between you two, and for a second you’re grateful that he won’t be able to see your face.

“If you want someone to wipe your tears like a baby, go look for Jeonghan or Jihoon or something,” he says finally, the smoke clearing up and fading into the crowd of people in the room. Chan leans back into the sofa, black shirt clinging close to his skin, and you can tell that this is his way of telling you to get out. “Whatever you do, leave me out of it.”

You think about Chan’s words more than you should, honestly. And you cry over it, of course. (When do you not cry about it?) You don’t tell Jeonghan or Jihoon anything about what happened that night, which is a first. Then again, it’s not every day that someone you’d confided in, someone you’d trusted, someone you’d cried to, holds an impromptu announcement of his irritation with you.

Jeonhgan would hear this and correct you, saying, “Channie isn’t annoyed with you, he just … doesn’t like how you cry often,” to which you would say that this is you! This is who you are and if Chan doesn’t like that, then he can’t ever like you!

Jihoon would hear this and tell you that Chan was just high off his mind, to which you would argue that words said under the influence always do wear a ring of honesty. They don’t bear the barrier of a filter that the sober mind does, and you would go even further to say that the words Chan spat at you that night were as true as they come.

Still, you try not to dwell on it, mainly because you fear you’ll cry if you think about it too much, and that would just be proving his point. Instead, you focus on your plans for this evening: getting your first tattoo.

It’s exciting, really, as you put on a cute skirt and simple top, skipping down the street to make your way to Soyeon’s parlor. Maybe this is a new phase of your life, you tell yourself as you slip into the parlor. It’s quiet, and you recall your friend telling you that she booked your appointment near closing time.

“Hey!” she greets you happily when you walk through the door. “You look cute.”

Smiling bashfully, you look down at the outfit. “Yeah, thanks,” you reply with a giggle.

“You excited? You’re getting your tattoo cherry popped today, right?”

“Yeah! I’m a little nervous, but I’ve also been really wanting to do this for a while,” you admit.

“That’s great to hear … the guy who’s doing your thing is just cleaning up his area, and he’ll take you to his room in just a sec …”

There are a few thudding footsteps that you hear in the distance, and when you see who approaches from behind Soyeon at the counter, your heart drops.

Of course. Of fucking course.

“Hey Chan, you ready to take her to the back?” she asks, turning around to face the one person who you’ve been trying so damn hard not to think about. Clad in a tight fit white t-shirt and dark jeans, Chan looks up from his phone, eyes landing on you in an instant.

The evening sun beams on his skin and for a moment he glows. The memories of the night before flood back to you though, and suddenly it all seems dull.

“Uh …” It seems he’s just as surprised as you, and you can only thank the gods that Soyeon is looking at him instead of you, because god knows that he is doing a much better job at hiding it. He nods his head, near-black hair wisping over his forehead as he gestures to a room in the far end of the parlor. “Yeah, everything’s set up, so it should all be good now.” Fuck, how is he able to act so normal?

“Okay great, you two can head on back there. How long you think it’ll take?”

Chan shrugs—he’s too nonchalant, and you can’t seem to read him. “Uh, like an hour. I can close if you want.”

“Nah, it’s chill,” Soyeon replies. “I gotta stock up on some packages anyways, so I’ll be here for a while.”

Chan nods, and then for the first time he meets your eyes. “C’mon,” he waves you over when he turns around, and silently you follow him through the hallway and to a door near the back. “Didn’t know tattoos were your thing,” he says as you walk into the room. The walls are light blue and most of the equipment is dark and steel—it feels sterile, and the cold distance between you and your friend (?) is not helping to ease your nerves.

“They’re, uh, just something I’m trying out. Th-this is my first one.” Shit, this is so awkward.

Chan only hums and nods, closing the door and walking over to a desk space on the side that’s littered with equipment, ink, a laptop, tissues, a couple bottles of god knows what, and some papers.

“This is what you want?” he asks finally, breaking the heavy silence as he holds up a stamp with the printed shape of a crescent moon.

“Uh—yeah,” you say quietly as he gestures towards the chair beside him.

“Cool. It’s simple, so it shouldn’t take more than an hour with all the prep and clean up,” Chan tells you when he sits down on his own swivel chair next to the larger stationed one where you’re perched by. He moves back and forth as you settle down, and he soon brings over the temporary tattoo to your arm. “Show me exactly where you want it.”

It’s a few moments of you two going back and forth, pressing the stamp over different areas of your arm before settling it on a spot just above your elbow that you like. The setting is … oddly professional, although you’re not sure if you’re happy or upset about it.

Chan and you are friends—at least you thought you were until last night—so now you wonder how things would’ve gone today if he hadn’t been honest with you last night. Would you have sat in this same chair, laughing along to jokes or catching up on your lives? Would you have voiced your nervousness, and would he have comforted you?

You don’t know, and you realize that you’ll probably never find out.

After the final position is chosen, he transfers the stamp onto your skin to create the temporary template, cleaning the area on your arm and disinfecting his needles in the process. He doesn’t really talk to you, only letting a few words slip to let you know what he’s doing, and what he’s going to do next.

Are you overthinking things? This is a purely professional setting so there’s no reason for either of you to bring up what happened last night, and Chan’s made it pretty clear he’s not interested in your feelings anyways, so maybe you should let this all go.

Your mind fills with a race of thoughts despite your desperate attempts to tell your brain to shut up, and so naturally you find yourself fidgeting in your seat.

Chan watches you from the corner of his vision. As much as he hates to admit it, there’s something … endearing about the way you squirm in front of him. It sets his heart ablaze when you avert your gaze every time the two of you make eye contact, and Chan isn’t quite sure if it’s because he wants you to hold it or if it’s just because he finds your apprehension irritating.

“We’re gonna start now,” he says finally, slipping on two black gloves and holding up the buzzing tattoo pen. “It’s gonna hurt and all, ‘m sure you know,” he hums, holding your arm and scooting forward in the rolly chair so his face is dangerously close to yours. “Let me know if you want a break, yeah?”

Strictly professional, you remind yourself when you nod, helping him adjust the angle of your arm for his ease. Taking a deep breath, you watch carefully as Chan holds the need close to your skin.

It’s a small pinch at first, and then it burns. You bite down hard on your bottom lip and press your eyes shut tight as you silently curse yourself for not preparing yourself any better for this before. Oh well, there isn’t much backing out of this now.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts, and you choose to look away because actually seeing the needle pressed against your skin makes you feel a bit more dizzy than you’d like. You enjoy the few moments where Chan takes a break, fixes something with the gun, before going back in with a few short and warning words. It’s after a few moments that the pain returns, and you slightly jerk as an instinctive reaction.

“Calm down.” Chan’s voice is deep and low, but you can hardly hear it through the rush in your ears when a hand presses over your thigh. Fuck. Fuck. Why is his hand so warm? Is he burning or are you burning and—fuck. It’s so big, and splays over the plush of your thigh so nicely and— “I can’t do this if you keep fidgeting.”

“S-sorry,” you reply quietly, peeling your eyes away as he lifts off his hand. You’re half convinced there’ll be a burn spot in the shape of his hand from where it was placed. You two are awfully close, and if you weren’t so fucking vulnerable right now you might have basked in the pretty view that is his face.

Chan feels your tears first, hears your soft sniffles second. Dropping onto his forearm that sits under your face, when he glances up at you, you’re already wiping them away and turning to look at the wall on the other side.

There it is again. That weird feeling in his chest that he always gets when he sees you tear up, and now more than ever, Chan wonders if it’s something more than discontent.

“Sorry,” you whimper, biting down on your bottom lip hard. Fuck, this is embarrassing. You can feel the burn of his eyes on you, and you’re growing more and more impatient as you wait for him to turn away. It’s a heavy few moments, although it feels like hours until he finally lifts his hand off your thigh.

“It’s okay,” he finally says, his voice lower and quieter than you expected. “Is it the pain?”

“Y-yeah,” you admit bashfully once the tears have finally stopped falling. “I have a low pain tolerance but I thought I’d be able to handle without—”

“It’s okay,” he says again, and his tone is surprisingly soft, forcing you to look down at him as he holds your arm gently. His brown eyes are wide and kind—has he always looked at you so fondly? “Calm down, we’re almost done.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly, and Chan senses the anxiousness in your voice. He battles himself in his mind, before telling himself that if he doesn’t give in now, he might regret it forever.

“Here,” he murmurs, easing one hand onto your lap. “Hold my hand.”

“W-what?”

“Hold my hand,” Chan repeats, a little bit firmer, but he still shyly averts his gaze, as if he too is aware of how out of character this is. “And, uh, you can squeeze it when it hurts.”

Steadily, you nod, slotting your hand into his. A perfect fit, you both seem to think as he encases his fingers around yours, but neither of you comment on it as Chan brings up the needle to your arm again, pressing it to your skin.

You aren’t sure if it’s because he’s holding you now, or because of the sheer intensity in the way he looked at you, but the tense knots in your muscles seem to relax even though you’re in pain. Tears prick at your eyes once more, but this time you make no effort to wipe them away.

You whimper a few times, and you swear on everything that Chan grips your hand a little tighter, but in your dizzy haze you can’t quite pinpoint why.

It’s a bit of a roller coaster for Chan himself. Your hand is just so … cute in his, and the soft sniffles and cries that he thought he loathed are making him second guess everything he’s ever thought about you, and as he’s finishing up drawing the little moon on your arm, he’s hit with epiphany.

Chan never hated you, and he never hated your tears. When you shift under him, press the pads of your fingers into his palm and knit your eyebrows together in an attempt to keep quiet … Chan fucking loves it.

Whenever he saw you in tears, he never hated you for crying, he hated that you were crying for any reason other than him, and he hated how you went to Jeonghan and Jihoon to wipe your tears away instead of him.

It’s a sickening thought, really, that he let those venomous words pierce your skin the night before instead of realizing his own fondness for you. His fondness for the flush of your cheeks and the pout of your lips, your fidgeting figure and wide, glossy eyes.

“Almost done …” he mutters, and it only takes two more minutes before he lifts the needle and looks up at you, still clasping your hands together.

“Is it done?” you ask meekly, tightening your grip on his fingers as you anticipate your answer. When Chan nods up at you, he watches your shoulders deflate in relief, and the light that overtakes your tear streaked face sends his heart in a frenzy.

“Just gotta put the ointment and wrap.”

You chew on your lip, and Chan thinks he might just pass out. “Is it gonna hurt too … ?”

“A little, but then it’ll feel really good,” he says honestly, giving your hand a light squeeze before letting go and taking his gloves off so he can grab some stuff from the table. You miss his warmth, but wonder if it’s for the better. Chan may be acting rather … lovingly right now, but you also never noticed his irritation with you earlier, so you don’t think you can really trust your senses.

You watch him bring out a tube, pushing out a clear ointment onto his fingers before bringing it up to your hand and smearing it over your skin. You make a disgruntled sort of sound when he does, unaware of the initial sting it came with, quickly pressing your lips together when you realize Chan is still here.

He hums, not looking up at you but still murmuring, “Good job,” as he slides the ointment over the little symbol. “So good for me …”

Fuck, this is so dirty. It’s so dirty and so sexy, and even though every bone in your body is telling you ‘no! no! no!’ you can’t help but let the little depraved whimper that escapes your mouth at the praise. Chan hears it, and he definitely feels your desperation in the air. It’s suffocating in the best way possible, to say the least.

So, to test the water, he eases one hand back onto your thigh, slightly close to your knee as he uses his other hand to pull out the clear film. “It might hurt while I put it on but it’ll feel good afterwards, ‘kay?” And when his voice is so tender and sweet, how can you do anything but look at him shyly and nod, bottom lip clasped between your teeth.

As he places the sheet over the fresh tattoo, he lets his hand inch up your thigh. Your arm stings as the film sticks to your skin, but none of it compares to the flame he lights across your skin with his gentle touch.

Oh. Oh.

This is real. This is happening.

“Chan,” you whine, and then Chan knows it in his bones.

“Does it hurt?” he asks innocently, smoothing his fingers over the film to make sure it sticks before turning his attention to the hand back at your thigh. It’s awfully close to the hem of your skirt which is already ridden up to the max, brushing dangerously close to your core.

“Not really,” you murmur, finally meeting Chan’s gaze. He’s still sitting down now, right by your chair and head a bit under yours so you can see the white light reflect against his brown eyes as you both sit in the silence.

You could hear a pin drop, and the only thing you’re focused on is the shattering touch of Chan against you, so when he whispers, “You okay?” you know he’s asking something else. Is this okay?

When you whimper as his hand slips beneath your skirt, Chan gets his answer.

“Quiet baby, quiet,” he shushes, lips ghosting over your arm as he presses a thumb against your clit roughly, toying with the nub through your panties. “‘m gonna take care of you, but you gotta be quiet, okay?”

“S’hard Channie,” you whine before slamming a hand over your mouth. “Don’t think I can …” Chan gives you a warning look before sighing and starting to gain speed.

“Soyeon’s gonna hear you,” he murmurs, rubbing circles over your panties as he starts to stand up. It has your vision going blurry—the way his fingers are so methodical and his gaze is intense on your form as he now looks down at you from above.

You don’t even have time to think about what this moment means for the two of you because Chan is leaning down and using his unoccupied hand to grab your face, smashing your parted lips against his. 

You kiss him sweetly, and Chan feels himself melt right into your touch with the way your tongue plays around shyly with his. Holding one of your cheeks, he feels the moistness of your tears under his touch, only fueling his vigor as he licks into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums against your lips as he pulls away, grazing his fingers over your clothed cunt. You jerk against him, using one hand to grab his firm bicep, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Channie,” you pout, swiveling your hips in the squeaky chair as you chase for more relief. Chan hums, leaning down to graze his teeth over your neck before biting down lightly. Mewling at the pleasurable sting, you sink your nails into his arm tighter as you feel a warmth boil in your tummy.

“Promise you’re gonna be quiet, baby,” Chan murmurs into your skin as he peels your panties off and to the side of your slick core, exploding the fluttering folds to the cold air of the room.

“I—” you hiccup of your own moan, a few stray tears falling when Chan eases one finger into your pulsing cunt, his thumb still toying with your clit, “—I promise,” you tell him, as quietly as you can when you blink up at him.

“That’s my girl,” he mutters when you whimper as he slips in another finger, finding a rhythm when he fucks them in and out of you at an increasingly fervent pace. They’re long and thick, finding all the spots inside of you that have you writhing in his chair, curling his fingers into them until you’re biting down on your lip so hard you might have drawn blood.

Chan watches you carefully as a fresh mark blooms at the base of your neck, a filling sense of pride overtaking him when he sees your own tears fall on the mark. “Fuck,” he groans, drinking in your choked moans that break free, despite your obvious attempts to keep quiet. You’re trying so hard for him, it’s admirable and fucking adorable. “Crying already?” he croons, starting to grind the palm of his hand against your clit in tune with the swiveling of your hips.

“C-can’t help it,” you whimper, digging your face into his chest as a futile attempt to calm down your breaths even as you approach your inevitable high. “Feels s’good,” you confess bashfully, pulling away so you can crane your neck up to look at him.

Your lashes are stuck together and your under eyes are shiny, and Chan doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything hotter. His jeans feel ten sizes too small with the way his hardness is pressing against them, and he aches for nothing more than to stick it in and fuck you until you don’t know how to cry about anything but him.

Fuck, he’s in deep. So, so deep.

Here you are, panting into his chest as he finger fucks you into oblivion, whispering words of endless praise into your ear—the two you of don’t know how things ended up like this, but you’re sure neither of you are complaining.

“‘m gonna cum,” you whine, thankful that his shirt muffles at least some of the noise. If Soyeon were ever to hear this, you might just have to never speak to her again. “Fuck, I’m so close Channie.”

It’s the way you call for him—Channie—so sweetly and with such mind numbing passion that Chan starts to lose control. He told himself he’d take his time with you, working you up to a heavy orgasm but you’re already muffling sobs into his chest and he hasn’t even stuck it in yet. It’s a sight too pretty, too cute, and Chan can’t help but indulge in you, speeding up his fingers until you let out a squeak and more tears, cunt pulsing and clenching around his fat fingers.

“There you go, baby,” he praises, curling his fingers into all the right spots as you grow limp beneath him, sobbing through your orgasm. “There you go, fuck yourself on my fingers … feels good right? Made you feel good?”

“Good,” you slur, body drifting back so you lay against the headrest of the chair, Chan’s fingers still inside of you as overstimulation replaces desperation. You look at him as if he holds all the answers in the words, shiny eyes that are blown out, sweat stuck to your skin so it makes you shine and fuck, Chan thinks you look so sexy. Legs spread and skirt ridden up when he finally slips two fingers from your dripping core, slick coating the chair and the insides of your thigh.

“Messy girl,” he chides, and you whine at both the words and the loss of him inside of you. Your breaths are shaky still, recovering from the orgasm that wracked through your body, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of this situation.

Thoughts buzz through your mind at a million miles per hour and you aren’t sure what’s more dizzying—that Can possibly likes you or that he just fingered you in a tattoo parlor. Eyes glossing over your figure, you catch the way he looks at you with pink cheeks and a tent in his jeans. Oh god.

“Can we—”

“Yes,” he breathes out. “I just—” For once, Chan looks like he’s lost. You always thought Chan to be well composed in all situations. Cool. Chan was cool, and he was intimidating, and he was hot, but now he looks at you like he wants to lay with you forever and melt into your bones, and without a second of hesitation, you know that you want to do the same.

He kisses you with a new found vigor, as if to remind you that he’s still here, wiping away the tears that still linger on your face before easing one hand around your waist, running up and down along the side of your body. “Gonna make you cry,” he grunts, turning your body so your legs hang over the side of the chair instead of the front. Pushing himself in between your legs, they instinctively part and wrap around his waist, drenched panties pressing against his crotch.

“Shit,” you hiss at the friction, glancing up at him as you flip your skirt up so you can both watch the way your hips connect. “I—”

You’re cut off by knocking on your door, all your muscles tensing when you hear Soyeon’s voice. “Hey Chan, I actually think I’m gonna head out now,” she calls out. Chan doesn’t turn around, his eyes firmly set on you under him, and he tentatively juts his hips forward, pressing his erection against your clothed core even harder.

You almost moan. Almost. You narrow your eyes up at him, but the hint of a smirk tugs at his lips before opening his mouth and saying, “Yeah, go ahead. We still got …” Chan’s eyes glaze over you, and something in them darkens as he watches you struggle not to make a sound. “We still got stuff to take care of,” he tells Soyeon through the door. “I’ll close up, just leave the keys in the box.”

“Are you sure, because—”

“Yeah,” Chan says, a bit louder and firmer this time, causing you to twitch beneath him, reaching out for a hand to hold. Chan watches you fondly as you do so, fingers going in a grabbing motion towards him, and something inside him melts when he slots one hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. “Just go Soyeon, I’ll take care of everything. Just go.”

You can hear Soyeon mutter something about Chan being an asshole as her footsteps fade away, but neither of you care after Chan looks down at you again. “Fuck,” he mutters, letting go of your hand and grabbing the back of your neck, smashing his mouth on yours as he grinds into you.

“Wan’ it now, Chan,” you moan as you fruitlessly gyrate your hips, the action proving to be difficult when your legs are locked around Chan’s torso.

“Fuck, me too baby,” he grunts, pushing your shirt upwards so that they bunch up over your bra. You help him out, unclipping the flimsy material and throwing your bra off to the side. Chan takes this time to unbuckle the black belt secured around his waistband, wasting no time to shove his jeans down to pool at his knees, leaving him in nothing but boxers that are starting to look painfully tight.

His bulge is basically staring at you, and you feel your mouth water at just the thought of what hides behind the thin fabric. Growing impatient, you reach forward and help him out, tugging down his boxers as he fondles one of your tits with a large hand. A soft gasp escapes your lips when his cock is freed, springing up and against your hand, smearing precum all over your palm.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Chan groans when you wrap your hand around the base of his fat length, steadily jerking him off as you admire how pretty he is. You look so enamored with him, and Chan feels himself growing dizzy. Fuck, this is happening. This is really happening.

Firmly yet carefully, he pushes your shoulders back and then smooths a hand over your thighs before finally pulling your hips closer to his. He traces his touch over your soiled panties, admiring the wet stain and the way you jerk against him when he brushes a finger over your clit.

You hear the rip first. The feeling of cool air against your sopping pussy hits you a second later, and you gape up at Chan who yanks your now torn panties right off of you. You can’t control your moan this time, the depraved noise ripping through your throat as you lean backwards.

“You ready baby?” Chan rasps out, shuffling forward so the pretty pink head of his cock brushes against your folds.

“Oh god,” you whine at the contact. “Yes,” you blabber. “Ready, ‘m so ready Channie.”

Chan chuckles, moving his hips ever so slightly so the tip pushes into your throbbing cunt only barely before leaving you empty again. He’s teasing you, you can feel it, but watching the lust overtake his features, you know he won’t be able to hold out much longer. “I believe you baby,” he says quietly, securing one hand by your neck and the other at your waist. “Think you can take it?”

“Yeah,” you almost scoff. “‘course I can take it, I—oh.”

Shit, he’s so big, stretching out your pussy as his cock bullies its entire length into you until his balls are pressed to your skin. “What were you saying baby?” Chan chuckles again, using his grip on your neck to pepper kisses by your collarbone as you hiccup.

“Channie,” you gasp out as he stills inside of you. You’ve never felt so full of anything before, and it’s numbing all your senses, a burn exploding through your entire body as your eyes sting.

“Oh baby,” he coos condescendingly, when he pulls away and looks at you. “My poor baby,” he murmurs, rocking his hips into yours so slightly but it still punches moans out of your lungs. “My poor, poor baby—crying already?”

“C-can’t help it,” you whimper, eyes shut tight as Chan starts to pull out further now, leaving you empty around halfway before filling you right back up. You really, really can’t help it—the way the tears flow from your eyes as if that’s all you were made to do: cry for Chan and his words that are so mean yet so nice.

“I know baby …” he huffs out, the strain in his own voice apparent. Your cunt is sucking him and and he wonders how you could be so perfect, crying beneath him from just a few strokes and dirty words—you were fucking made for him. “My little crybaby … looks so cute when she cries.”

You don’t know why, but his words only make you cry harder, choking over your own strangled moans and broken pleas as you tap his forearm and intertwine your fingers with his again. Chan thinks this is it for him—he’s fucking into you, thrusting so mean, but here you are mewling his name and gripping onto his hand like it’s a lifeline.

“Perfect,” he growls, using the hand on your hip to push you down so he can jam his hips into yours faster. “You’re so fucking perfect—my pretty crybaby.”

Your gummy walls pulse around him, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tight your vision starts to grow hazy. Your tears fall onto your shirt and something about the small stains has Chan going into a frenzy, snapping his cock into you so hard you swear it kisses your cervix every single time.

“So-o-o full,” you gasp out, feeling tears drop on your lips. Chan leans down, capturing your wet lips in a hot kiss, licking the saltiness right from your mouth. “I—I can’t wait!” you cry out when he curves his thrust into that spot.

“Channie making you feel good?” he groans, your wetness starting to drip down his pelvis, a squelching sound filling the room from every slam of his hips.

“Amazing,” you choke. “Love it, love it so much.”

“So much it makes you cry, huh baby?” Chan whispers through his own heavy pants. “Love it, love it when you cry for me …”

You can’t think, you can’t feel anything except for his cock hammering down onto you as you bury your face into his chest. “Only you, only for you, Channie!”

“Fuckin’ better be. Only I get to see you like this, right baby? My pretty crybaby. Say it.”

“Yours! Your pretty cry baby!” you cry out as you clench down on him so tight Chan thinks he might bust on the spot.

“Fuck, yes baby, yes—that’s my good girl, crying on my cock.”

“Channie—Chan! ‘m gonna—ah!”

It hits you like a truck. When you cum, it’s with tears soaking his shirt as you blubber for the impending release, your cum fully creaming his cock and making an even bigger mess between your lower halves, as he fucks it all into you. The squeezing of your gummy walls around him is more than enough for his own eyes to be rolling to the back of his head and once he’s sure you’re fucked through, he slips out of you and wraps a hand around the base of his cock.

Your face is aflame and your mind buzzes but something about the way Chan’s hands looks so prettier around his even prettier cock as you shuffling to the ground and on your knees in front of him. Still sniffling from the onslaught of stimulation, you close your eyes and hold your tongue open for him as his cock twitches.

His seed hits you in thick ribbons of white, warm as some lands on your lips and tongue, some mixing with the rest of the wetness on your cheeks. As he cums, Chan mumbles your name under his breath in broken and whiny syllables, the sound echoing off the walls in a beautiful pattern.

As he looks down at you, his cock successfully milked dry, he thinks he might just pass out.