Shadows and Echoes

Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: Join here!

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@mggv97 @tea4sykes

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

It had been six months since your last visit to Korea, and this time, everything felt louder. The air. The stillness. Your own heartbeat. But coming back, specially to the Island, was like coming back from a long blur of nightmares, finally being able to wake up.

Busan was close, home was close.

Home.

You squinted against the bright sunlight as you stepped out of the small port, pulling your suitcase behind you. The early summer breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, a welcome change from the thick city air you’d just left behind in France. You adjusted your sunglasses and scanned the supposedly pickup area.

A car honked twice, loud and scandalous as the girl inside left the car on and she left it in the road.

“Y/N!”

You turned just in time to see a blur of black and wild hair fly toward you. Soojin— your best friend since you were ten years old— practically tackled you in a hug before you could even react. You laughed, muffled into your friend’s shoulder, and hugged her back just as tight. Happy to see her again after some time. Even happier to feel that warmth of knowing someone was here with you.

“You’re here! You’re finally here!”

“I am,” you said, pulling back. “God, you’re glowing. You look… like someone who’s about to spend way too much money to promise eternal love in front of a hundred people.”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. Eternal love is cheap. It’s the matching table settings that are bleeding me dry.” she shook her head. “I’m gonna need you to send me no-less than a 10k check as a wedding gift.”

“Babe, the only thing you’ll be receiving from me is a smile and my hate for making me stand next to you for an hour” you joked.

She burst out laughing, and you did the same. Not because the joke was funny but because you had missed each other.

The two loaded your suitcase into the trunk of the rental car, an absurdly cute white convertible that screamed bride on a mission, before sliding into the seats. As soon as you two pulled out of the port, you took in the vibrant green landscape, volcanic rock walls, and tangerine trees that dotted the island roads.

Soojin was your best friend, ever since you were practically in diapers-or at least that's how it felt. She had known each of your facets and had decided to love you equally, just as you had decided to love her equally. You had gone to the same university together in Busan, she majoring in economics and you in art history. You had been there when she tried to be a dancer for fun, when she decided to be a painter, a singer and a nun— crazy story—, and you had been there she got her dream job at HYBE as an accountant, you were there when she met her husband in company party, you had been there every step. And so was her with you, she was there when you got fired as a waitress for bad service, when you broke your leg trying to do snowboarding, she was there when you got your first art gallery, when you got your dream job in Paris and she had been there for you in every breakup of yours, including the last one.

You were sisters, an unbreakable bond.

“How was the flight?.”

“Exhausting” you nodded. “But I’m really excited to see you and your family so I might push the jet lag for today.”

Soojin smiled. “I can’t believe it’s been half a year since I last saw you,” she said, eyes on the road but voice softening.

“You literally went to Paris two months ago,” you snorted. “I literally had to clean all your shit for two weeks straight.”

“I was being sentimental!” she complained before giving you a side eye, “You’ve been missed.”

“I missed you too” you admitted. “And your family, can’t wait to see your mom.”

There was a comfortable silence for a beat, until Soojin added, almost too casually, “Do you feel weird being here?.”

“Not really” you denied. “It’s home, always. I’m so glad to hear Korean. I was so happy to order food.”

Your friend chuckled and you leaned your head against the window, watching the scenery blur past. “I still can’t believe you are here.”

“Just for the week.”

“Mmhmm,” Soojin hummed, skeptical.

You gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to say anything.”

You two shared a grin, and then Soojin let out a small sigh. “You know he’s going to be there.”

You closed your eyes for a second. “Yeah. I know.”

She didn’t say his name, not yet. It lingered in you like a held breath, you couldn’t say it either, you haven’t been able since you left.

“I thought you’d try to back out,” Soojin added quietly.

You gave a dry laugh. “I almost did. Twice. But I promised you I’d be your bridesmaid when we were twelve, and I meant it.”

“My dream wedding is real now” Soojin reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. For coming. For being here.”

You squeezed back. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Even if the world includes a certain worldwide famous ex-boyfriend?”

“Even then.”

You two laughed again, but you could feel the twist in your stomach tighten.

“It’s been six months,” she said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“You guys ended things… okay, right?.”

“As okay as you can be when you’re breaking your own heart on purpose,” you said, forcing a smile. “It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t angry. It just… didn’t work anymore. We tried, but between the time difference and the jobs and the late-night calls turning into missed calls and stress fights—”

You had talked to her about it, but talking with your best friend was always repeating the same story over and over again, like it was new. It always was, though, specially when talking shit.

“You ghosted him.”

“I blocked him.”

Soojin snorted. “Same thing.”

“It wasn’t out of spite! I just… I needed distance. I knew if I didn’t cut everything off clean, I’d keep going back. Texting. Calling. Wondering. And that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”

Soojin gave you a look. “Still sounds like ghosting.”

You groaned. “Fine. Emotionally mature ghosting.” you admitted before shrugging. “But it doesn’t really matter, I know he didn’t try to contact me, it was mostly for me.”

“Ghosting.”

You both laughed again, and Soojin turned the wheel, guiding you down a narrow road lined with stone walls and bright yellow flowers. The sea glimmered in the distance.

“But it was… amicable?” she asked. “Would you be able to see each other again without tension?.”

You hesitated. “It was heartbreaking. But yeah. We didn’t fight it that much. I think he knew I had already made up my mind. And he didn’t want to be the one to ask me to stay.”

“You think he’s still mad?”

“He wasn’t mad, we were literally breaking down. It was just sad,” you said slowly, “Maybe he’s still hurt. But not mad. Yoongi was never the angry type.”

Soojin didn’t answer right away, almost fighting with herself if she should say the next thing: “Minjae says he’s been quiet lately. Like, really quiet. Kept to himself. Didn’t even want to come to the wedding.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “He didn’t?”

“Nope. Minjae had to basically bribe him with free drinks and guilt-tripping about best-man duties.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The hotel came into view, nestled along the cliffs with a panoramic view of the ocean. It looked like something out of a movie, all white stone and vines, warm wood and long balconies overlooking the crashing waves. Soojin pulled into the roundabout, a valet already jogging toward them.

“Ready?” your friend asked as she put the car in park.

“No.”

She grinned. “Too bad.”

You both stepped out, and you looked up at the sweeping building, your heart beating far too fast for your liking. One week. Just one week of rehearsals, dinners, awkward glances, and maybe— if you were lucky— some closure.

Or something else entirely.

The hotel smelled like fresh linen, citrus oil, and sea breeze. The cool marble floors echoed faintly with footsteps and the gentle hum of suitcases being wheeled across the lobby. You stood still for a moment beneath the wide glass ceiling, letting your eyes travel up to the light spilling down from the elaborate chandelier shaped like a cascade of pearls. The reception area was open and warm, with touches of soft wood and hanging greenery that made the entire place feel like some dreamy blend of luxury and comforts, it even had a fountain. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, reflecting on the adorned furniture. Outside, you could just glimpse the blue stretch of sea meeting the horizon, like it had been waiting for you.

Soojin had already raced ahead, calling to the front desk about room keys and confirming details about welcome drinks later that evening. You took your time, trailing your fingers lightly over the polished surface of a console table, breathing in the quiet hum of the hotel.

This was happening.

The clerk handed you a keycard with a cheerful smile and a, “Room 407, Miss,” before Soojin whisked you away with a promise to let you settle before the chaos of pre-wedding events began. You two rode the elevator in silence, both a little breathless from the travel and the sheer weight of anticipation. When you reached the fourth floor, Soojin squeezed your hand again and whispered, “my mom will probably come to see you, don’t mind her.” before disappearing down the hallway to her own suite.

You rolled your eyes with a smirk and walked toward your room.

Your heels clicked softly against the hallway’s muted carpet, patterned with delicate waves in pale blues and creams. The keycard beeped, the door clicked open, and you stepped inside. It was beautiful. Soft ivory walls framed a large canopy bed dressed in crisp white sheets and linen throw pillows. A small balcony faced the ocean, the doors left slightly ajar to let in the salty breeze and distant lull of the waves. On the side table stood a welcome note in gold script with your name, next to a vase filled with white tulips and baby’s breath.

You exhaled slowly, setting your suitcase down by the dresser and slipping out of your shoes. The room was still, almost sacred in its quietness. You walked to the balcony doors and leaned against the frame, letting the wind push gently against your face. The horizon stretched endlessly ahead, and for a moment, you let yourself feel everything.

Six months. That was all it had been since your life split in half. Since you and Yoongi said goodbye. But it felt like a lifetime. You didn’t regret leaving. Not really. The job abroad had been the opportunity you’d worked for all your twenties. And yet, as you stood there now— surrounded by everything familiar but changed— you couldn’t help but wonder if the price of it had been something you couldn’t get back. Everything had went down when you took that job a year ago, everything was too much. But you couldn’t not follow your dreams, not something you did.

There was a knock at the door. Three short taps, followed by a longer one, like a secret rhythm from childhood.

You smiled before you even stood up. You padded barefoot across the room and opened the door to find Mrs. Han, Soojin’s mom, standing there with her arms already outstretched and a bright pink sun hat perched dramatically on her head.

“Yah, you little brat!” Mrs. Han declared, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled like peonies and expensive hand cream. “One year, and I don’t even get a text? What, are we strangers now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, melting into the hug. “I missed you too, Auntie.”

Mrs. Han pulled back just enough to look at your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “You got skinnier!,” she frowned. “No one is feeding you abroad? Ugh. I told Soojin you needed someone to follow you with a rice cooker.”

“I’ve been eating fine, I promise,” you said, grinning.

“Hmph.” But Mrs. Han’s eyes were twinkling as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “I brought you something. I knew hotel food would be fancy nonsense. Soojin says your room has a kettle.”

She pulled out a small thermos and handed it to you like it was treasure. “Seaweed soup. I made it this morning. You still like it with lots of sesame oil, right?”

You blinked, then smiled a little too fast, heart tight. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered,” Mrs. Han said, setting the thermos on the desk like she’d just blessed the room. “You used to sneak into my kitchen more than my own daughter.”

You laughed as you flopped onto the bed. “That’s because your kitchen always had better snacks.”

“That’s because my daughter has no taste.” Mrs. Han sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh, smoothing down her crisp linen pants. “But you,” she pointed, “you always knew what was good for you.” There was a small pause. And then, casually, Mrs. Han added, “Except when it came to boys.”

You groaned and stuffed a pillow over your face.

“Come on—”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Mrs. Han said, patting your leg. “I’m not judging. I liked Min Yoongi. Polite, smart, always cleaned his plate. That’s the minimum, but these days? That’s already rare.”

You peeked out from behind the pillow. “That’s your standard? Clean plate?”

“He never made you cry in front of me. That’s already more than your high school boyfriend,” she quipped. Then, a beat. “But he did make you cry when he let you go, didn’t he?”

The teasing tone softened slightly, and you exhaled. “Yeah,” you admitted. “But it wasn’t like that. We just… couldn’t figure it out. The time zones, the jobs, the pressure. It was too much.”

Mrs. Han nodded knowingly, then gave a small shrug. “Love isn’t always about timing, little brat. But if you’re lucky, sometimes it waits for you anyway.”

You blinked. “That was… weirdly profound for someone who once told me to date a dentist just for the insurance.”

“Love and molars, my two areas of expertise,” Mrs. Han said with a wink.

You both laughed again, the moment warm and easy. It was so simple, sitting here, joking like old times. For a second, you didn’t feel like a woman with a weird heart in a wedding hotel full of ghosts. You just felt like Soojin’s best friend, back home with people who loved you.

Mrs. Han, always so close to be yours. She was there when you had your first period, she was there to get you drunk for the first time, she was there when you ran away from home because of your dad and when you went back because you missed him. She was there when he was too busy to take care of you making money to sustain the house. She was there when he died, she hold you when you broke down. She was there every moment, like a mom you never had the chance to met.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Han stood and straightened her blouse. “You’ll be fine. You’re still the prettiest one here. Even Soojin said so, and she’s the bride, so that’s basically a crime.”

That wasn’t true.

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

“No, you won’t,” Mrs. Han pointed at you, like a threat. “Now go eat that soup and put on some blush. You never know who’s going to be waiting at the welcome drinks.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled the whole way to the door as you walked her out.

When she was gone, the room felt softer somehow. Familiar. Maybe not all ghosts were painful.

Some of them just brought soup.

The welcome drinks were held just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden haze over the gardens of the oceanside hotel. The venue was a sprawling modern hanok-inspired resort nestled along the cliffs of Jeju Island, the kind of place where even the air smelled expensive— salt, citrus, and blooming night jasmine. String lights crisscrossed above the open patio, swaying gently in the breeze like stars strung on wire.

You stepped onto the stone path in a satin slip dress the color of a soft violet, its delicate straps catching the light as you walked. The dress hugged your figure in a way that was effortless, simple, clean, but undeniably elegant. You wore your hair pulled back in a soft low bun, a few strands brushing your cheekbones and neck. A pair of small gold hoops glinted when you turned your head. You’d debated for far too long what to wear, there was something about seeing him again that made everything suddenly feel like a test. But now that you were here, you were determined to float through the night like nothing had changed.

Your heels clicked softly as you walked into the courtyard, already full of chatter and laughter. A waiter passed by with a tray of sparkling wine and you took a glass, letting the cold stem sit in your fingers for a moment before lifting it to your lips. Your nerves buzzed underneath the calm exterior, but you weren’t about to let anyone see that.

“Little shit!.”

The voice came like a burst of sunshine and wind. You turned just in time to catch a blur of navy linen and the smell of aftershave. Soojin’s fiancé, Minjae, wrapped you in a dramatic bear hug that lifted you halfway off the ground.

“Fucker” you laughed, bracing yourself against his shoulder. “Put me down before I spill this on your fancy $20 shirt.”

He set you down but didn’t let go completely. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back looking like a Vogue cover.”

“Stop,” you warned with an amused smile. “You’re just saying that because Soojin would kill you if you didn’t.”

“That too,” he winked. “But mostly because it’s true.”

You looked up at him fondly. Minjae had always been the charming one, effortlessly warm, the type who remembered birthdays and your fish’s name and how you liked your coffee. He and Soojin had been together for almost fours years but it felt like a lifetime already. They always felt like an old married couple, everyone knew they were going to end up together. Specially because Minjae was actually just a good guy, kind and patient for someone like her, loud and anxious.

“You look happy,” you said sincerely, adjusting the collar of his shirt like a sister might. “Marriage suits you.”

He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “You think? I still feel like I’m going to trip walking down the aisle.”

“You won’t,” You said. “But if you do, at least you’ll be legally bound to someone who loves you.”

“God, don’t make me cry before the wedding.”

You laughed and sipped your drink again, letting your eyes skim the crowd. No sign of Yoongi yet, but you weren’t going to ask and Minjae since— as a good best friend of him— wasn’t going to say anything. Not just yet.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you gently by the wrist. “Soojin’s been pacing by the wine table waiting for you like a feral cat. She said if I didn’t bring you in the next five minutes she’d start biting guests.”

“That sounds about right.”

You both walked into the heart of the garden together, weaving through small clusters of guests in pastel dresses and pressed shirts. Laughter floated through the air, the kind that felt easy and new. But your pulse still beat a little faster than it should. Because next to your best friend in this sea of celebration and tulle and toast… Yoongi was here too.

And you hadn’t seen him, really seen him, in exactly one hundred and eighty-three days. And you were already too close to them to turn back. Too close to pretend you didn’t seen him.

Your smile faltered. Your gaze had already moved past Soojin, to the figure standing just beside her. Yoongi. He was holding a glass of something golden in one hand, standing just a little too straight, a little too still. He was listening to Soojin joke about the drinks, laughing politely, but you saw it. The moment he noticed you. How his whole body shifted almost imperceptibly, like gravity had just tilted in your direction.

Like he was yours.

He wasn’t anymore.

You four stood in front of each other. Minjae was about to say something trivial to Yoongi and you stood there uncomfortably, feeling his gaze not moving from yours, not really paying attention to his friend. Soojin must’ve felt it too, because she cleared her throat suddenly.

“Uh— we’re gonna… go check on the dessert situation,” she said quickly, grabbing Minjae by the arm.

“What? I—”

“Now.”

They disappeared into the crowd.

You blinked after them, deadpan. “Well. That wasn’t obvious.”

Yoongi stepped a little closer. “Do you think they rehearsed that?.”

“I’d believe it.”

A pause.

You turned to him fully. There it was again—that soft, tight pull in your chest. The one you hadn’t been able to shake since Paris. His face was too familiar. You hated how familiar. You hated that you remembered the exact way his lashes curled, or the way he always had a hand in his pocket like he didn’t know what to do with himself when things got too quiet, too real.

“Hey,” he said finally.

“Hey,” you echoed, and smiled before realizing it might’ve come out too fast, too forced.

You both stood like that for a second, both pretending the crowd around was far more interesting when it was actually too quiet and too out of reach.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight,” Yoongi admitted.

“Why?” you asked. “You think I’d skip this amazing welcome drinks just to avoid you?”

He looked at you, like he knew you better. “You did block me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. He had noticed “Touché.”

Another beat passed. You took a sip of your drink, letting the bubbles fill the silence.

“You look well,” he added, after a moment.

“Well?” you raised an eyebrow. “What is that, the diplomatic way of saying ‘I thought you’d look more miserable’?”

Yoongi gave a small, helpless laugh. “Maybe.”

“Maybe I was.” you looked at him, your voice dropping just slightly. “You just didn’t get to see that part.”

His smile faded, but not in a painful way, just thoughtful, a little distant.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“No. You don’t,” you admitted. “Not exactly. It was no one’s fault.”

“But you still blocked me.”

You snorted and he almost smiled. You gave a half-shrug. “It wasn’t for you, I needed to do that for me.”

Yoongi nodded slowly. The conversation stretched, quiet but not empty. People laughed and clinked glasses around, a hum of distant joy that felt oddly far away.

“Did you ever want to call?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “All the time.”

“I would’ve picked up.”

A silence. You felt your heart clenched in pain, almost too afraid to keep going. Too afraid to say something else, but you didn’t denied him.

“I know.” you smiled, sad and real. “That’s exactly why I didn’t.”

That silence between you both shifted, less sharp now, more familiar, like a bruise being pressed just gently enough.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You look more… grounded now. Like you’ve been breathing different air.”

“Different time zones help,” you said. “Plus, Paris has great bread. Hard to be sad with a croissant.”

He chuckled. “You’re still the same.”

“And you’re still dramatic.”

“Only when provoked.”

You smiled again, then took another slow sip of your drink. Your fingers brushed the rim of the glass. Then you looked up at him, eyes clearer this time.

“So…” you started, teasingly, “friends?”

“Terrible idea” Yoongi’s head titled. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

You shrugged. “I figured it’s the safest option. You’re the best man, I’m the bridesmaid. They are our best friends, we’ll see each other in parties and dinners. And we’ll be around each other all week. It’s either friendship or… cold war.”

“Tempting,” he smirked. “But I’ll go with friendship.”

“Look at us. So mature.”

You both laughed quietly.

Then something in the air settled again. Between the drinks and the distance, the words unspoken still hovering just beyond your reach. For now, you would hold that fragile truce.

“Alright, friend,” he said, tilting his glass toward you. His tone almost sounding mockery. “Cheers for that.”

He clinked his glass against yours. Your fingers didn’t touch, but the electricity? Still there, still humming.

The late morning sun was already warming the wide wooden deck of the seaside hotel, where tables were being set with white linen cloths and freshly polished silverware. Bougainvillea climbed the railings and spilled over the corners, their bright petals dancing in the soft breeze. Beyond the terrace, the ocean shimmered in endless shades of blue, lazy and calm.

You squinted as you stepped outside, still adjusting to the sunlight after a rushed morning. The welcome drinks the night before had gone later than you intended, but it was different that day. It was quiet, today was better. You and Yoongi were okay, now you could forget the tension and months of anticipation of seeing him, now you knew it would be okay.

Just friends.

You could be that.

“Finally!” Soojin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “I thought you would sleep through the whole rehearsal brunch and leave me to drown in family politics.”

You waved, still pushing your sunglasses up your nose. “You know I don’t function before ten. I made an effort.” Your voice was a little rude, sleepy. “Now, what the hell is the emergency? I already hate being a bridesmaid.”

“Barely an effort” Soojin looped an arm through yours. “C’mon. We’ve got a crisis. Or five.”

“Tell me someone eloped and we can cancel everything,” you said, jokingly.

“I wish. No, the place cards got shuffled during the windstorm last night. Minjae tried to fix them but now Auntie Hye-sook is seated next to my college roommate who thinks marriage is a capitalist scam.” she groaned.

“That sounds like he did it on purpose.”

You both made your way to a long table stacked with name cards, some organized, many scattered like confetti from a paper explosion. And standing beside the chaos, like he’d been there all morning, was Yoongi next to the groom. Both silently laughing about something.

Your breath caught slightly, but you forced your face into an easy smile as he looked up. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and he had a stack of cards in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear like he belonged to the wedding staff.

“Morning,” he said simply.

“Morning” you replied.

Silence, a little uncomfortable.

Soojin raised an eyebrow between you both. “Should I leave?”

“I think we should record,” Minjae joked.

Friends.

You were friends now. Not more uncomfortable moments, you had to make your part.

“Please don’t,” you said quickly, giving Yoongi a tight smile. “I need backup in case he starts monologuing about the furniture and alcohol.”

He seemed to notice your intentions, a smirked grew on his face. “Only if you start complaining about the humidity first.”

Soojin backed away slowly, hands in mock-surrender. “Okay. We’re going to… check on the brunch. You two, try not to knife each other with the dessert forks yet.”

“Yeah, sadly we still need you two to be on the brunch later” Minjae pressed his lip together, trying not to laugh.

As soon as they were gone, you glanced down at the cards on his hands.

“You’re actually helping?” you asked.

“Volunteered,” he said. “I was promised mimosas.”

“You’ll do anything for free alcohol.” You tilted your head, “you do remember you’re rich, right?.”

“I love free things” Yoongi shrugged. “Especially when it comes with table drama and watching you pretend you’re not annoyed I’m here.”

You gave him a look, lips twitching despite yourself. “I’m not annoyed.”

“No?”

“I’m… cautiously neutral.”

“Big words from the girl who blocked my number six months ago.”

“I already said that was for my healing,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act like you were texting me daily.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, a true came out. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

You both stayed in silence.

You realized, some things will be harder to pretend. You both knew the tension between you wasn’t gone, it had simply been disguised by the daylight, by fake cordiality to survive the week. Like waves beneath the surface, always there. Always pulling— but you still both worked side-by-side, shuffling names and scanning Soojin’s seating chart. The tension between you crackled, not hostile, but unresolved. Familiar in a way that made your skin hum.

Later something called your attention. You reached for a card, and his hand brushed yours at the same time. You pulled back quickly but he didn’t comment on it.

“Okay. Who’s sabotaging my seat? I was supposed to sit next to Soojin.” you frowned. “I don’t want to sit next to Minho, that fucker is annoying.”

“Is that the guy who flirted with you on my birthday last year?” He remembered.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Minjae sucks at this job.”

“He changed it because he wanted his other cousin to sit next to him” Yoongi explained.

“And I have to pay the price,” you clicked your tongue. “Whatever, I guess at least we have mimosas. Right?.”

“It’s just this brunch, you’ll survive.” He shrugged.

“I’ll try,” you pointed the table. “Since we’re finally done. Can you tell Soojin everything is good?. I have a date with two mimosas before surviving this”

Yoongi chuckled. “Enjoy that.”

“Thank you.”

Two mimosas later you had to go back.

The brunch terrace overlooked the sea, warm sunlight spilling across white-clothed tables arranged in soft curves along the edge of the hotel’s garden. A light breeze carried the scent of lavender and citrus. Everything looked effortless, magazine-perfect. The weeding would be perfect. You went around some people to say hi, greeting the ones you knew nd having a small chat about what you’d been up to.

After some minutes you decided to take a seat and suffer. Your stomach twisted the moment your eyes landed on the place card at the table.

Your name.

And next to it: Min Yoongi.

You stood still for a moment, blinking. No way he had just to change it. Was he trying to create more uncomfortable moments?.

“Surprised?” came a familiar voice at your shoulder.

You turned and found Yoongi, now wearing a light button-down and that same calm, unreadable expression that used to drive you insane.

“You moved the cards,” you said flatly.

He smiled, hands in his pockets. “Guilty. You’re not mad, are you?. You did say you would hate seating with that guy.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you did all this from the kindness of your heart?.”

“That. And I don’t want to hear Minjae’s brother talk about politics again.”

You snorted softly and slid into your seat. “You’re lucky I already drank two mimosas.”

He took his seat next to you.

After a couple minutes, other guests arrived, filling the seats around you. Soojin’s cousins, a few out-of-town friends, some older relatives. The buzz of small talk and clinking glasses filled the air, but to you, everything seemed to slow just a little with Yoongi beside you. It was strange, how easily he could shift the atmosphere, like slipping into an old rhythm even after months apart.

A waiter appeared behind you two, pen poised over a notepad, taking everyone’s order of the short menu that the couple-to be marry had chosen.

“I’ll have the smoked salmon toast and the fruit platter,” Yoongi said, then— without missing a beat— he added, “And she’ll have the scrambled eggs, the sourdough, no butter, and the orange juice, no pulp.”

You blinked.

The waiter nodded and moved on before you could say anything else. You stared at Yoongi, amused.

“I—what—did you just order for me?”

He looked sheepish for a second, almost afraid. But then he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Sorry. Reflex.”

You shook your head with a half-laugh. “You really just autopiloted my breakfast order.”

“It’s a skill,” he said with a grin. “I take pride in my muscle memory.”

You reached for another mimosa. He did the same, and your fingers brushed on the glass stem. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Still the best drinks for a brunch,” you muttered with a smile.

He gave a soft laugh. “Nothing says emotional morning repression like champagne and orange juice.”

“Amen.”

You both shared a grin, and you hated how warm it felt. How normal.

He picked up his fork, examining his glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “So… Jeju. A week of wedding festivities. Trapped in paradise with your ex. Sounds like a great romcom setup.”

“Oh yeah,” you said, slicing into a piece of quiche. “Especially the part where we will be avoiding eye contact during every group activity.”

He tilted his head. “We’re talking now.”

“Sadly.”

He snorted and you felt a little proud about it.

“I missed this,” he said quietly after a moment of silence.

You didn’t answer at first. Just took a slow sip of your drink, then looked out toward the water. “Don’t get sappy on me, Yoongi. We still have six more days to survive.”

“Right,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We should pace ourselves.”

“Uhm.”

You two lapsed into silence for a moment, the sun warming your faces, the light chatter of the brunch continuing around you both. It wasn’t the same as before. How could it be?… but it wasn’t bitter, either. Just tentative. Like standing at the edge of something you’ve already fallen from once before.

“You look good, by the way,” he said after a beat. “Healthier. Happier.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You say that like I was miserable before.”

“I say that like someone who knows how hard you worked to get here.”

Your throat tightened slightly, but you pushed the emotion down with a small, practiced smile. “You too. You look… calm.”

“Therapy,” he said with a smirk. “And I bought a rice cooker that changed my life.”

You burst into genuine laughter then, the kind that caught you off guard. The kind you didn’t realize you missed.

“You needed it. Ordering food every single day was killing you.” Your voice was softer, less fake. “I’m glad you’re happy. I like seeing you that way.”

His expression changed. And, for a minute, he wanted to tell you how he wasn’t. How he had been dying to see you again, to call you, to touch you, to hear you.

But he didn’t. He nodded slightly before adding in a mockery: “Thank you, friend.”

You gave him a long look. Something flickered behind his eyes, something unresolved, something still soft.

Breakfast came. And you both felt into silence again.

Nine months ago. Busan.

The room was dim except for the warm, golden glow from the lamp on Yoongi’s nightstand. Rain pattered softly against the windows, washing the city in a blur of light. You lay curled on your side, one hand beneath your cheek, the other resting where your bodies touched under the blanket. Yoongi was still awake beside you, his fingers tracing absent circles on your bare shoulder, like he was memorizing you in real time.

“You’re not sleeping,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to waste time,” you replied, voice soft.

“With what?”

“With you.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “Cheesy.”

“Truthful.”

You both went quiet for a moment. The silence between you two was never heavy, just full. Full of breath and warmth and everything unsaid. You turned to face him, brushing your knuckles along his jaw.

“I have to fly out next week,” you said quietly.

He gave you a weak nod. “I know.”

“I don’t know when they are going to let me have another week off.”

“I know.”

You searched his eyes. “I don’t want this to get hard.”

“It already is,” he said. Not accusing, just honest. “I have a tour next month.”

You blinked and looked away. Your chest tightened in that way it did when you felt the future creeping in, uncontrollable, unkind. The clock ticking down on something that still felt new.

“I could maybe call sick for another week,” you offered, but even as you said it, you both knew it was a lie you couldn’t fully commit to.

Yoongi kissed your forehead. “Don’t do that. Don’t start shrinking.”

You closed your eyes again, trying to breathe through the ache. “I just want to be in two places at once.”

“You want to live the life you’ve worked for and still be in this bed with me.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled sadly, pulling you close. “I get how you feel, it felt easier when you were here in Korea and I was the only one moving around. But now you moved, and I’m so proud of you.” He kissed you fully in love and you wanted to cry of sadness. “Doesn’t matter how long we’re apart. I’d wait, you know. If I had to.”

You didn’t answer.

And neither one of you said it then, but both were starting to feel the quiet truth: that sometimes love wasn’t enough. Sometimes timing wins. Sometimes it tears even the strongest things fall apart. But that night, in the quiet glow of the city, you let yourself believe you were the exception. That you could stretch across continents and work schedules and late-night phone calls and still find each other intact.

That you’d always be able to come back to him.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the beachside pavilion where the wedding guests had gathered for an afternoon of games and laughter. Soojin had organized a basketball game to get everyone moving and break the usual stiffness of formal gatherings. You tugged at your two braids, trying not to look too competitive. Your team had already won on volleyball so you were planning on winning this one too.

Except, this time someone decided to join.

Yoongi.

The group split into two makeshift basketball teams on the sand-covered court near the beachside pavilion. Shirts were tied around waists, sneakers kicked off, and everyone was laughing except you, you were narrowing your eyes across the sand to see him.

“We’re gonna win.” Soojin said next to you.

“We’re not. He knows the game,” Minjae whispered behind her, pointing at Yoongi as he spun the ball casually on one finger.

“Yeah, we’re losing. That fucker always win in this.” You muttered, annoyed. He caught you looking and offered a little smirk and a wave. “You see,” you scoffed. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Minjae handed you a red bandana to tie around your wrist. “Relax you two. It’s just a game.”

“Tell that to the human highlight reel over there,” you mumbled.

“I’ll destroy him.” Your friend whispered and you snorted.

The whistle blew, and the game started.

For the first few minutes, it was manageable. You managed to dodge around players and even scored once… though Yoongi made a show of clapping slowly, which earned him a sharp glare. He was pulling your strings, stressing you. The fist few minutes he expend it showing off, playing around you, almost touching your face and sometimes even pushing you softly so you couldn’t touch the ball.

But as the game picked up, so did Yoongi’s energy. He weaved through his defense like he was barely trying, tossing quick passes and launching three-pointers with that maddening ease. You huffed and sprinted to intercept a pass, only for the ball to bounce off the rim and slam— really hard— into your face.

It had happened to quickly.

The world blinked out for a second. Your both hands flew to your eye.

“Oh my God— y/n!” someone shouted.

“Hey, hey. Hold on— move!” Yoongi was already running over you, screaming at someone.

You blinked rapidly, that one eye already watering. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice was shaky.

He stood in front of you, hands moving around you to get a better view of your face. “You’re not,” he said. “You’re holding your face and swaying like a drunk flamingo.”

“I’m not swaying,” you snapped, still cupping your eye with one hand. “And did you do that on purpose?”

Yoongi stared at you, dumbfounded. “What? Of course not!”

“You’re out here acting like we’re in the NBA finals—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, holding up his hands. “Let’s get you ice before you accuse me of attempted murder.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the group who stood up making sure you were okay. You showed them a thumbs up, giving Soojin a glare when she smiled slightly when Yoongi grabbed your hand to lead you across the sand and into the cool, shaded hallway of the resort building. The noise of the game and laughter faded behind you.

Inside the lobby, the air conditioning hit your skin like a blessing. Yoongi guided you toward a small side room near the concierge area where an ice bucket sat beside a drink station. He grabbed a cloth napkin and wrapped a few cubes in it.

“Come on. Sit.”

You dropped into the cushioned bench by the wall “This sucks.” you muttered, “If I have a black eye for the wedding I will murder you.”

Yoongi kneeled in front of you. “I didn’t meant to. I got too much in to it. Also, why were you standing just down the rim?.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now?” He snorted and you frowned. “I forgot how good you were at basketball.”

His face became softer “Here,” he said, holding it out the ice to you. “Press it gently. You’re already turning purple.”

You took it with a small wince. “Wow. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

He smirked. “What can I say? Honesty first.” You rolled your eyes, dabbing the ice gently over your left eye. “Should I apologize again, or are you going to accuse me of targeting you in cold blood one more time?”

“I’m still considering pressing charges,” you muttered, adjusting the ice. “But I’ll let it go if you admit you were showing off.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “I was definitely showing off.”

You peeked at him through one eye. “I knew I was right.”

“Unfortunately.” He gave a slight shrug. “There’s something about competition that gets me in trouble.”

You snorted. “And here I thought you were a reformed man.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “Only partially. The other part’s still an idiot.”

You smiled at that, leaning back against the wall. Your eye still throbbed, but the cold helped. And somehow, sitting there with him, you two alone, out of the reach of your friends and the pressure of the week, felt strangely… nice. Familiar, in a way that made your chest ache a little.

“I can’t believe you hit me in the face,” you said eventually.

“I didn’t mean to!,” he exclaimed , dramatically defensive. “The ball ricocheted off the rim. Physics did that. I’m innocent.”

“You threw it hard enough to break sound.”

“It was a bounce pass!”

You squinted at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t cry.”

“I would’ve carried you off the court like a tragic princess.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking you head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you laughed,” he pointed out, grinning.

“I’m concussed. My judgment is impaired.”

That made him laugh again. It was a real one, quiet and warm. He dropped onto his feet across from you, elbows on his knees as he looked over.

“So… are you really okay?” he asked, tone a little gentler.

You lowered the ice. “Yeah. Just sore. I’ve taken worse.”

Yoongi’s jaw twitched, like he wanted to ask more but didn’t. A beat passed.

“You still have that thing,” he said, nodding toward your eye.

“What thing?”

“That look you get when you’re trying to downplay something. This like—” He squinted at you. “—stoic but slightly annoyed face.”

You stared at him. “I do not have a face like that.”

“You absolutely do.”

You snorted. “Maybe I wouldn’t make that face if people weren’t hitting me in the face.”

“Fair point.”

Silence stretched again, but not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Charged in the way things get when words don’t cover the air between people who know each other too well. Outside, someone shouted about water bottles. The game was still going, the world still moving. But in there, everything felt still.

“I forgot how easy it is to talk to you,” you said suddenly, needing to get it out of your system.

Yoongi blinked, eyes full of sentiment, something you couldn’t read just yet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even when you’re being a smug basketball menace.”

He smiled at you. “You forgot?”

You looked down at the ice in your hand, voice going lower, vulnerable. “I had to. For a while.”

There was a beat. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. But you felt the way he was looking at you and your throat tightened.

“I missed this,” he said quietly. “Not—this, like, you getting injured. But… us. Talking like this.”

Your lips curled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Me too.” You nodded, looking at him with less tension. “I’m glad we can do it again. I like being friends.”

There was a puse, he looked at you, restrained. And then he chuckled, almost sarcastically. “Right. As friends.”

You both sat in it for a moment. Neither reaching. Neither pulling away.

“Should we go back?” You asked softly, after a beat.

“Eventually,” he said. “But I’m not rushing. You’re injured. Needs proper recovery time.”

You smiled, just a little. “So this is your guilt talking.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I just like the excuse.”

That made you look over, your eyes meeting his. Something caught there. Not heavy, not quite flirty but warm, soft. Meant to do. And he held your gaze for a second longer than he should’ve.

And you let him. Just a for second.

Then you stood, pressing the ice pack back to your face. “Alright. Let’s go. But if someone throws the ball at me again, I’m suing.”

Yoongi stood up too, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Fair. I’ll be your lawyer. I’ve watched Suits twice.”

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, but as you did, he fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it had always been.

13 months ago. Busan

It had been raining all day.

Not the dramatic kind of storm that clashed against windows and roared down rooftops, but the soft, persistent drizzle that blurred the city into grayscale. Outside their little apartment, Busan looked washed-out and sleepy. Inside, it was warm. Still. You lay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that had seen better days, your legs tucked beneath you. A book rested open on your lap, but your eyes had wandered long ago. The smell of ginger tea and instant ramyeon drifted in from the kitchen.

Yoongi was at the counter, his back to you, hunched over two bowls of steaming noodles. He was wearing one of your sweatshirts— the navy one that said “Korea University” even though neither of you had gone there— and it hung loose over his frame. His hair was messy, damp from his earlier dash to the convenience store.

You watched him in silence for a moment, your heart full in that inexplicable way it got when life slowed down enough for you to feel it.

“You’re not using enough sesame oil,” you said lazily.

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t buy triangle kimbap and call it a day.”

You smiled. “I would’ve forgiven you.”

He brought the bowls over and handed you one, then sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like he always did.

“I like days like this,” he murmured, poking at his noodles. “No pressure to go anywhere, no calls, no pretending we’re not tired.”

You were waiting for one call. One important one. One that would change your life.

You rested your chin on the top of his head. “You pretend you’re tired all the time.”

“And you think it makes me look cool,” he said with mock seriousness.

“I think you’re annoying,” you replied. But your fingers were already running through his hair, soft and absentminded.

You both ate in silence for a bit, save for the occasional clink of chopsticks or the muted sound of rain tapping the windows. Your book slipped to the floor, forgotten.

After a while, Yoongi tilted his head up to look at you. “Marry me.” You laughed. Not because it was a joke, but because of how casual he made it sound. He grinned. “What? I’m serious. We could run a ramyeon shop and live above it. You’d read books all day, I’d burn things in the kitchen. Perfect.”

It was stupid. One, because he wasn’t going to quit music anytime soon. Two, because you weren’t going to leave a good job opportunity just to marry.

So you rolled your eyes, but your hand paused in his hair. “What if we burn out?”

“Then we burn out together,” he said. And even if he hadn’t meant it entirely seriously, the way he looked at you— quiet, steady —made your chest ache in hope for a moment. A life that could happen if you believe it enough. But it really was a throwaway line. A rainy-day joke. But something about that moment, the warmth, the way time slowed down and wrapped around you two— it stayed.

You would remember that day long after it ended. When it was all too quiet. When you were too far apart. When it rained again.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The late afternoon sun dipped low over Jeju, casting a soft golden glow across the open garden of the resort. Rows of white chairs had been set up in front of an arched trellis woven with greenery and pale peonies, still half-wrapped in ribbon and waiting to be fluffed for the ceremony. The ocean lay behind it all, quiet and calm in the distance, the breeze bringing in the scent of salt and citrus.

You shaded your eyes as you took it all in, standing near the edge of the setup with a plastic cup of iced tea in one hand. You had drank already four mimosas so now you were trying to keep it classy and not ruin the rehearsal dinner.

Everything was perfect, painfully so. And chaotic in the best way.

Soojin was rushing around barefoot in a white linen sundress, waving a clipboard and yelling lovingly at people to “look alive! This is a WEDDING, not a kindergarten play!” Minjae, ever the calm to her storm, just grinned and trailed behind her with two paper fans and a backup itinerary folded in his shirt pocket.

“I’m starting to think you’re her personal assistant” you joked as Minjae approached, his shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and face flushed with heat.

“You think she’d survive this alone?” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “She’s making the planner cry. You’re next if you’re not careful.”

You laughed. “I’m not afraid of Soojin. I’ve survived summer exams with her.”

“You say that, but she’s already assigned you a speech,” he added with an innocent shrug.

“I know, she texted me about it three weeks ago in all caps. Then again last night just to ‘remind me gently,’” you said, air quoting. “I think she means to ruin me.”

“Just keep it short and emotional, or long and mildly embarrassing. Either way, she’ll cry.”

You both turned to watch Soojin adjusting someone’s boutonnière like her life depended on it. You both loved her dearly.

“I’ll be the one crying,” you muttered. “Or maybe I’ll black out halfway through.”

“She’s counting on the emotional damage. Speech isn’t for her, it’s for the drama.”

“Of course it is.”

Minjae smiled and nudged you again before slipping off to join the group by the arch. You lingered a little longer, sipping your tea, watching the bridal party rehearse their positions. There were bridesmaids and groomsmen practicing where to walk and when to pause, some of them slightly tipsy from the welcome drinks earlier.

And of course, there he was.

Yoongi stood off to the side, helping one of the groomsmen fix his tie. He was in a light white button-down, sleeves rolled, dark pants. Easy, confident, that effortless kind of handsome that still made your stomach twist a little. He didn’t look at you, not yet. And that made you feel oddly braver.

Soojin finally spotted you. “Y/n!” she called, hands in the air. “Let’s go, your practice moment of fame is coming.”

You chuckled and made your way over, the grass soft beneath your sandals. You passed the rows of chairs, imagined them filled with people, all dressed up and whispering about the speeches, the love, the vows.

The rehearsal continued in a blur of laughter, corrections, and Soojin almost tripping on her own excitement. You went through the motions, standing in your place as bridesmaid, watching Soojin and Minjae exchange teasing glances as they practiced the ceremony part. The joy between them was palpable, infectious. You found yourself smiling so much your cheeks hurt. And later, when the sun began to slip below the horizon and people scattered for drinks or rest to the bar inside, you stayed a little longer, staring at the altar, picturing what you might say the wedding day.

You didn’t want to overthink it. You wanted it to be honest. From the heart. But somewhere beneath that, there was something else tugging at your chest. A different kind of ache.

You wondered if Yoongi would be listening closely. If he remembered the promises you never got to make.

The light from the rehearsal garden faded into twilight as the bridal party funneled inside, trailing laughter and the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass into the resort’s lounge bar. Inside, warm lighting pooled over polished wood floors, the soft hum of conversation and glass clinking filling the space. Someone connected a phone to the speaker system, and a slow, summery playlist began to drift into the air.

You stepped up to the bar, still slightly flushed from the rehearsal. Your hair had loosened from its clip, and you reached up to re-pin it absentmindedly as you waited for your turn to ask for a drink. Soojin was holding court near the back of the room, seated between two cousins and already halfway into her cocktail.

“Whiskey soda, please,” you said to the bartender. You didn’t look around much. There were too many familiar faces and only one you weren’t sure how to handle.

“Didn’t peg you for whiskey,” came a voice beside you. Not loud, but close enough to make you glance.

Yoongi stood just a step away, not looking directly at you, more like reading the chalkboard list of drinks overhead.

“That’s because you never did the pegging.” Yoongi blushed furiously when the bartender choked, trying to give you your drink. You accepted the glass with a nod and turned toward him. “Too much?”

“Yes, change the subject.”

You snorted. “How was the rehearsal for you?.”

“Chaotic. But it’ll be beautiful tomorrow.”

Yoongi relaxed. His lip twitched, but he didn’t push it. He ordered a beer and leaned slightly on the bar, arms crossed over his chest. You both stood in silence for a moment, letting the bustle of the party crowd fill the quiet between them.

“I don’t know how Soojin hasn’t collapsed,” you muttered, scanning the room. “She’s been running off pure willpower and white wine.”

“She thrives on this,” Yoongi said. “Didn’t you tell me she used to plan fake weddings in middle school?”

You snorted. “She made me be flower girl for three different scenarios.”

“That tracks.”

Another pause settled. Not awkward, not quite easy. Just… there.

You glanced around the bar again. “Kind of loud in here.”

Yoongi turned to you, like had been waiting for that comment all night. “Wanna steal a bottle and head down to the beach?”

You considered it for a second… the party noise, the steady ache behind his eyes, the fact that everyone already seemed two drinks ahead. “Yeah,” you said, quiet but sure. “Okay.”

He grabbed a pack of soju from the counter behind the bar, raised an eyebrow at the bartender, who just gave a wave like he’d seen it all before. You two slipped out through the side doors with barely a glance back.

The night air was cooler now, brushed with ocean breeze and the faint scent of the pine trees that grew along the shore. The resort lights shimmered behind as you two walked across the wooden path toward the beach. You took off your sandals when the sand began, letting it shift beneath your toes. Yoongi held the pack of 4 bottles loosely in one hand, his other shoved into his pocket, like it didn’t weight.

“Still can’t believe they’re getting married,” you said eventually, your voice carried by the rhythm of the waves.

He nodded. “It suits them. Somehow. Minjae’s steadiness, Soojin’s chaos… it balances.”

You let out a small laugh. “Years ago I couldn’t imagine Soojin being anyone’s wife.”

“You’d be surprised,” Yoongi said. “She started yelling at me to moisturize the second I walked in.”

“That’s her love language.”

A beat.

Yoongi glanced at you sideways. “You nervous about your speech?”

You let out a long breath. “Terrified. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I lied and said I already wrote it, I’m sure she knows I haven’t.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, handing you a bottle. “You always do.”

You took it from him, unscrewed the cap, and sipped. The ocean whispered in front of you. You both didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked toward the edge of the shore, shoulder to shoulder, letting the sound of water and wind speak for you two. You two sat down where the sand dipped gently toward the shoreline, just far enough from the tide. The stars above were beginning to stretch across the sky, and the moon hung low and pale over the ocean like a watchful eye. The pack of Soju bottles rested between you both, half-buried in the cool sand.

You curled your knees to your chest and took another small sip before making a disgusted face.

“Still hate the original Soju,” you muttered, he smiled .

“I only brought it because I figured you’d complain.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

You two sat in comfortable silence for a while. The waves rolled in, unbothered by the awkward tension that still hovered faintly.

“You remember when we went to Jeonju that weekend?” Yoongi asked suddenly. “Right before you left.”

You gave a dry laugh. “When the guesthouse lost our booking, and we ended up sleeping on that sagging couch from the 80s because you thought paparazzis were following us?.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And the ajumma kept insisting I was your husband.”

You snorted. “Because you called her ‘eomma’ by accident.”

“I was nervous!”

You laughed then, a genuine one, tilting your head back. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“No, you didn’t. You brought it up every time someone said the word ‘husband.’”

“Well, it’s a top ten moment of our relationship!”

Yoongi chuckled and took another sip. “That was a good trip.”

“It was,” you agreed, quieter now. “I didn’t think about work once.”

“Until the morning we left, and you answered three emails in bed” he pointed out.

“Okay,” you said, elbowing him lightly. “Let’s not rewrite history to make me look like the villain.”

“You were always working after Paris,” he said, not accusing, just stating. “Even when you were supposed to be on vacation with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. The truth settled in the air, not heavy, just honest.

“I think I was afraid of stopping,” you said finally. “Like if I slowed down, I’d realize I wasn’t good enough for them and I had already leave everything, couldn’t risk it.”

Yoongi nodded, understanding. “And I think I was afraid to ask you to.”

You didn’t look at each other. Just kept your eyes on the sea.

After a while, two more bottles down, you asked, “Do you still go to that bar near your old apartment? The one with the bad lighting and weird jazz playlist?”

He laughed. “Sometimes. They still make that horrible cucumber cocktail you loved.”

“It wasn’t horrible.”

“It tasted like shit.”

You smiled again, soft but real. “I missed this.”

“What, your terrible drink opinions?”

“No,” you said. “You— talking like this. I missed us. Not the romantic stuff. Just… us.”

Yoongi nodded, feeling the same. “Yeah. Me too.”

A sharp breeze swept in, making you shiver. You rubbed your arms and side-eyed him. “You forgot to bring a jacket for me, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t planning on walking a mile down the beach,” he said. “But you’ve always been dramatic.”

You smirked. “And you’ve always been underprepared.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to date me.”

You rolled her eyes, then nudged him with your shoulder. “Well. You had a nice face.”

Yoongi grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

The moon was high now, casting a silver glow over the water. The air smelled of salt, woodsmoke, and faintly of flowers from the hotel garden and there were no more bottles of Soju.

“It’s weird being back.” you said later.

“I figured,” Yoongi said. “First time in how long?”

“Six months, since we—” You cut yourself off, then shrugged. “Anyway.”

Yoongi didn’t press you. Instead, he said, “The guest rooms are nicer than I expected.”

“Still pretending you’re not bougie?”

“I’m selective.” He raised an eyebrow. “But how is Paris?”

“Incredible most of the times,” you nodded. “I make a lot of money and I met a lot of great people. I also pretend I don’t miss rice and convince myself an espresso and a cigarette is enough for breakfast.”

“The European life,” he nodded. “Mrs. Han said you were skinnier and you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

You snorted. “I know, she came with soup and had been feeding me with anything she can every time she sees me. I know I’m going to gain weight if I stay longer than a week with her.”

“She cares for you.”

“And I do for her.”

“Good.”

A wave broke further up the shore, scattering foam toward your feet. You didn’t move. Your throat felt tight. It felt different the shift, the change of tension. You wanted him with you like this, always.

You pulled your knees closer, resting your chin on them and looking at him softly. “I think we’re doing the right thing.”

“What?” his voice came soft, kind.

“Being friends,” you whispered, intimate. “I like having you in my life.”

He looked at you, eyes with no spark and a nonchalant look that almost felt like an attack. But he didn’t tell you how he really felt. He nodded and smiled. “I like you in my life too.”

A long silence passed between you. Not heavy, not angry, just filled with the ache of what you were too late to change. Of what you had lost. Now maybe a new beginning.

Then you reached out, pointing out at his expression. “You still overthink everything.”

He sighed “And you still drink too fast, even drinks you don’t like.”

You held up the empty bottles, wiggling it. “We’re out.”

“Good.”

“Boring.”

He laughed and you stood up, brushing sand off your clothes. Yoongi rose too, stretching slightly, brushing his hands clean. You two stood there, both watching the tide a little longer before turning back toward the hotel.

“You wanna sneak in through the garden path?” he asked, gesturing toward the side.

You raised an eyebrow. “Still avoiding crowds?”

“You still know me.”

You did.

You both started walking, shoulders close but not touching, steps in sync even without meaning to. Behind you two, the sea whispered to the shore. In front of you two, the lights of the hotel flickered softly like stars that had settled down to rest.

Friends.

Six months ago. Busan.

The front door clicked shut behind you, and for a second you stayed there. His apartment was the same as when you left. A few more takeout containers stacked near the trash. One of your scarves still draped over the back of the chair. You just stood there in the narrow hallway, shoes and coat still on. You hadn’t been in this apartment in two months, but it still smelled the same. Soap, coffee, his cologne, the quiet scent of home. You missed this, you missed him. Your heart clenched and you wanted to cry immediately. Everything felt so wrong, so broken.

Home.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice came from the living room. Warm, surprised. Hopeful.

You turned the corner and saw him standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower, like he’d wanted to look casual but not like he hadn’t tried. His eyes lit up when he saw you, just for a moment. Then they dimmed, like he remembered. Like he knew why you were there. He did, he felt it. It had been coming since too long ago. Since you left.

“Hi,” you said, soft.

He crossed the space between you two quickly and wrapped you in a hug before you could resist. And for a second— for a cruel, aching second— you let yourself melt into it. Into him. His arms were strong and warm and familiar. You had dreamed of this. Waking up in this apartment. Waking up next to him. Waking up thinking everything could be better. Thinking that everything would be okay.

You pulled back too fast for his liking.

“You want tea?” he asked, like it was any other night.

“Yoongi.” Your voice, almost breaking.

He paused. Then slowly nodded. “Right.”

He knew.

“I’m sorry—”

“I thought maybe you’d come back for good,” he said after a minute.

Your heart dropped. “I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

“So you’re just here to say it’s over?”

“I’m here to do it right. To not end it over the phone and disrespect you, not like a coward.”

“We were cowards the minute you left,” he snapped, suddenly.

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice rising. Choosing anger over sadness. “You left, y/n. You packed up your life and went to Paris like it was that simple.”

“It wasn’t simple,” you said, trying to stay calm and understand his anger. “You know it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you.”

“And would you have come?”

“Yes.”

You laughed, bitter and broken. “Don’t lie to me now.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, raising his voice. “You didn’t give me the chance. You just made the decision on your own.”

“I waited for you to say something!” you shouted, rising your voice too. “You were too busy with your label, with your tour schedule, with everything else—”

“I was working, Y/n!. Music was my dream!”

“I know your dream matters,” you said, breathless, angry tears filling up your eyes. “But so does mine. I got that opportunity and I took it. You would’ve done the same.”

He turned away from you, hands on his hips, head bowed. “I would’ve figured out a way to make it work. I wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

“You think I gave up easily?” your voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Every morning waking up alone. Working late just so I wouldn’t feel the silence in that goddamn apartment. I missed you in everything. My first opening. My birthday. When I got sick and nobody knew how to make my stupid soup—”

“I sent flowers.”

“I didn’t want flowers!” you screamed. “I wanted you!”

He stared at you then. Both of you breathe hard, like you’d just run miles to get here.

“I was there a thousand times” he kips formed a pout, his eyes forming tears. “I was waiting for you to come back,” he said, barely audible.

“And I was hoping for you to visit more.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“And now we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi looked down before falling to the floor. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face in pain, sobbing. “I can’t— I love you.”

“I love you too.” You cried, kneeling in front of him. Your tears were running now. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He put his hands down and looked at you. His tears running down his face. Yoongi’s face twisted. He brushed a tear from your cheek, but you turned away. It hurt too much.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, crawling back like the words were a slap. “Why?— I love you.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Then stay.”

You looked at him. His eyes were red now too. His voice was cracking. And for the first time, you saw that he wasn’t angry… he was breaking.

“Yoongi,” you said, your soul breaking too. “If we keep going like this, we’ll hate each other. We’re always fighting, we didn’t talk for a week.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He just looked down, like not seeing you could make the ache in the room go away. You gaze at him, broken, tired. Watching the man you loved try not to fall apart more.

And then, the quietest heartbreak, he whispered, “I would’ve waited for you.”

You closed your eyes. Breath hitching. “I know.”

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sky was a dusky gradient of purple and peach as the last light dipped below the ocean. Lanterns swayed gently on strings overhead, casting a warm golden glow across the courtyard garden of the hotel. Tables had been arranged in a circle, with candles flickering between scattered polaroids of Soojin and Minjae through the years. Laughter echoed into the night air, glasses clinked, and the scent of grilled food drifted softly through the breeze.

Soojin and Minjae had decided, predictably, to throw their bridal and groom showers together. “Why would we want to be apart?” Minjae had said earlier with a shrug, grabbing her fiancée hand and flashing her engagement ring like a weapon of joy.

It had been you and Yoongi’s job to plan it. You two had become in impromptu party planners, after Soojin cornered you with a, “You two used to throw the best birthdays. It’s basically fate.” So now you stood near one of the long tables now, smoothing down a blue linen tablecloth while Yoongi adjusted the playlist from his phone. A jazzy cover of a 2000s R&B song filtered out of the speakers, soft and upbeat.

“She’s going to cry,” you said, arranging a little handwritten place card in front of Soojin’s seat.

“She’s already cried. Twice,” Yoongi replied, not looking up. “Third time’s the charm.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over a childhood photo of Soojin stuck in the center of a candle arrangement. “I can’t believe she’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Minjae’s already looking nervous,” he said, glancing toward the couple across the courtyard.

Minjae was sipping from a beer bottle, looking oddly pale for someone so tanned. Soojin was holding court with two aunties and laughing in full volume.

“He’s going to cry during the vows,” you said knowingly.

“I bet he cries before she even walks in.”

“I bet you cry before the end of the night.”

Yoongi turned to you with a mock-serious face. “Why would I cry?”

You gave him a knowing look. “Because you pretend you’re nonchalant but you’re actually a really soft, romantic—”

“And emotionally well-adjusted person?”

“Sure. That.”

“Shut up.”

The teasing fell away for a brief moment, replaced by something gentler as your eyes met. There was a stillness in it, an ease that had started to return between you two over the past days. Not quite old love, not yet new. Just something tender hanging in the in-between.

“I like this,” you said after a beat, looking out at the party. “I like seeing them happy. I like being here.”

“Me too.”

Before you could say more, Soojin waved you both over from the firepit, gesturing wildly like she was pulling invisible ropes. “You two! Party planners! Come sit with the royalty!”

You and Yoongi made your way over, settling into the low wooden chairs around the fire. Soojin immediately leaned her head onto your shoulder, her wine glass still balanced perfectly in her other hand.

“I love you,” she mumbled.

“I know. I love you too.”

Minjae grinned across the flames. “I’m pretty sure she just said that to me earlier.”

“She means it more now,” you deadpanned.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, taking the bottle opener from Minjae and cracking open a cider for Soojin. “To the start of a new page of love.”

Soojin lifted her glass. “To the best wedding party ever.”

Minjae raised his. “To friends who know us better than we know ourselves.”

You clinked yours last. “To being able to walk to the altar tomorrow.”

They all laughed.

The conversation eased into memories, jokes about how Minjae once thought Soojin’s little sister was her daughter, or how Yoongi spilled champagne at their engagement party and then tried to play it off with a dance move. The fire snapped gently. Laughter drifted out into the wind.

And later you glanced at Yoongi while the others chatted, catching the way the firelight softened his features. There were lines around his eyes now, maybe from stress, maybe from smiling. He was leaning back in his chair, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen since before everything. Before the distance. Before the silence.

He looked over at you at the same time.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling. “You just… look happy.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “I think I am.”

You didn’t say anything back, but something about the moment stayed in your chest like a held breath.

Soojin sighed dramatically. “I don’t want tonight to end.”

Minjae reached over to squeeze her hand. “It won’t. We’ll remember this.”

You hope you all will.

You had fun that moment of the night, between friends and family you remember why Korea was your home, why you love it so much. A reminder of everything that made you, you.

The bridal shower had been a success. Soojin was tipsy and glowing, carried off by Minjae a good thirty minutes ago with one shoe in hand and her veil tied around his neck like a cape. The rest of the guests had wandered back to their rooms in twos and threes, arms slung around shoulders, voices loud with inside jokes and win. The place was littered with the soft remains of celebration. Empty glasses perched precariously on every ledge. Candles flickered low, melted to wax puddles, and someone’s forgotten shoe sat like a monument to the chaos of the night. Music still drifted from a speaker someone had abandoned hours ago— faint, warbly, and a little offbeat.

The night was a success. The guests were already, at least most of them, gone.

You wandered toward the pool barefoot, holding your heels in one hand and the last of your drink in the other. Your cheeks were flushed from laughter and cocktails, and the salt-sticky wind swept your hair into messy waves. The moonlight glazed the surface of the pool like silver syru.

And then you saw him.

Floating on his back in the water, shirt half unbuttoned, and of course with his tie tied around his forehead like a menace bachelor, was Yoongi.

You barked a laugh before you could stop it. “Are you dead?.”

Yoongi cracked one eye open and grinned, lazy and slow. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bridesmaid. Care to join the drowning club?”

You perched on the pool’s edge, dipping a toe into the water. “You know, that tie on your head is a crime against fashion.”

“Thanks. I was going for ‘annoying drunk guy at a wedding.’ How am I doing?”

“Impressive. Truly suits you.”

He flipped onto his stomach, treading water closer to you. “How much have you had tonight?”

“Enough to tolerate you.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How about you?” you asked. “How much have you had?”

He held up four fingers, paused, then added a fifth with a shrug. “Somewhere between reckless and philosophical.”

“Dangerous zone.”

“Only if you’re not here to supervise me.”

There was a beat of silence. Just the ripple of water, the chirp of night insects, and your shared drunkenness stretching out into something that felt both familiar and dangerous. And Yoongi stood in the pool, almost touching your leg, looking at you.

“You’re still wearing that stupid tie,” you said, before tearing that tie from his forehead and putting in on the side.

“You liked this tie,” he protested. “You picked it out for your birthday last year.”

“I liked it when it was on your neck and not trying to strangle your forehead.”

He smirked, pulling himself to the edge near you. “You’re still bossy.”

You glanced at him sideways. “You’re still a mess.”

“Coming from the woman who insists on wearing six-inch heels to a beach wedding.”

“I look good.”

“That you do.” He hissed, like it was something wrong. “Sorry. Am I allowed to say that?” he added, trying to shrug it off with a lopsided grin, “I mean, we’re friends now, right?”

There was a sharpness to the word. A bite under the drunk smile. You stiffened, only slightly, but Yoongi caught it.

You gave him a look, your voice low. “Don’t say that like it’s a joke.”

He looked at you for a moment, something tightening behind his eyes. “It is a joke.”

You blinked.

“No—”

“I never wanted to be your friend, y/n,” Yoongi said, and now his voice wasn’t playful at all. “I didn’t come here to laugh across brunch tables or talk about weather in Paris, I hate it. I didn’t come here to pretend to be your friend when you know I can’t.”

Your heart thudded. “Yoon…”

“I didn’t let you go because I stopped loving you. I let you go because you told me to. Because you wanted something bigger, and I didn’t want to be the thing that held you back…”

You stood up suddenly, water sloshing as you pulled your legs from the pool. Yoongi was quickly to leave the pool too, grabbing your wrist so you wouldn’t go, so you would look at him.

“Don’t do this now,” you said, letting go of his hold and grabbing your shoes like a shield. “Not here.”

“Why not? We’ve been doing this fake smiling thing all week. Let’s just say it.”

You could see him now. He stood in front of you, wet and mad. Almost too mad to cover his sadness from you.

“I didn’t leave you. I left the country. I left for a job I worked my whole damn life for—”

“And you didn’t think we could make it work?!” his voice became louder.

“We tried! For six months we tried!” you exclaimed back.

“You didn’t try. You planned your future without me in it. You made every decision like I was already gone.” he spat it out, furiously trying to contain his tears, trying not to break again.

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true.”

You laughed bitterly. “Coming from you? You think I didn’t notice how easy it was for you to be gone all the time too? You were always on a set, on a shoot, chasing your next project.” you shook your head “. So only you can be the one who has to follow his career?.”

“So now it’s my fault you walked away?”

“No. But don’t stand there like you waited around with your heart in your hands. You moved on too.”

“Not from you. Never from you.”

That stopped you. It winded you, it hurt you. But you hated that he wasn’t able to understand that no one of you could break your job to be with each other, it was too much. A sacrifice that wasn’t not necessary, not worthy to lose.

“This a lost fight—”

“I still love you, y/n,” he interrupted, quieter now but no less raw. “Even when I try not to. Even when you sit next to me and laugh like none of it happened. I still want you, I still break for you.” Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. There were too many words stuck in your throat. He formed tears in his eyes. “And I hate that,” he added, voice breaking. “I hate that I can’t stop loving you.”

You stepped back, your heart breaking for the second time with him.

“We can’t make it, I don’t want to hate you.”

“I don’t know what to do” he sobbed. “I don’t want to lose you— I don’t want you to leave your job, I don’t want to leave mine but… ” his tears ran down his face. “I can’t stop loving you, I don’t know how to.”

“Then don’t make this harder, Yoongi.”

You two stared at each other. Neither moving. Both wrecked.

Then you turned, without another word, walking barefoot back toward the hotel, your shoes swinging at your side like anchors. Your heart breaking for the second time in the worst way. When he couldn’t see your face, you let tears fall down.

And Yoongi stood by the pool, dripping, shaking, watching you go.

Again.

The soft morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a calm glow across your room. Outside, the distant hum of the island waking up carried through the open window. The steady crash of waves, birds greeting the day, and the faint murmur of voices starting to prepare for the celebration ahead. You sat quietly on the edge of your bed, staring at the delicate dress laid out before you. The fabric shimmered softly in the light, but your mind was tangled in a knot of uncertainty and regret.

This day was supposed to be simple, joyful, even. A celebration of two lives joining together. But for you, it was anything but simple.

You thought about the past months, the decisions that had led you here, and the quiet spaces between memories that seemed impossible to fill. The distance, the missed chances, the silent breaks in conversations. The ache that came with knowing some things just couldn’t be fixed—no matter how much you wanted them to be. No matter how much you wanted for things to be easier, life to be kinder.

I still break for you.

I hate that I can’t stop loving you.

Your breath caught at the thought of Yoongi, not because of what you shared, but because of what couldn’t be. The timing, the circumstances, the lives you two built apart. It wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about the weight of everything that stood in the way. The compromises, the sacrifices, the tangled webs of responsibility and love and fear. Everything that couldn’t be sacrificed for love

You shook your head softly, as if trying to clear the fog clouding your heart. Maybe some stories aren’t meant to have perfect endings. Maybe some loves aren’t meant to last forever…

A gentle knock on the door pulled you from your reverie.

“Little brat. Are you awake, or are you hiding from the madness that’s about to start?” Mrs. Han’s warm voice floated through the door before coming in, closing the door behind her.

She entered with her usual grace, her presence comforting like a soft hug. She had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember, more like family than just a friend’s mother. Her kindness was something you leaned on now more than ever.

You chuckled softly. “Neither. Just trying to figure out how to squeeze years of love and Soojin’s past into one page of speech.”

“Ah, I remember those days. You can add a the time Soojin accidentally locked her heel in the hotel bathroom of you guys prom party and we had to rescue her like some sort of awkward fairy tale rescue party.”

You laughed, the memory vivid. “And also how you tried to bribe the staff with those ridiculous snacks you smuggled in.”

Mrs. Han grinned. “Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. But those were good times, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “Simple, even if chaotic.”

The room quieted, the playful mood gently giving way to something more tender.

Mrs. Han sat beside you on the bed. “You know, y/n, I’ve watched you grow up more than you realize. From scraped knees to scraped hearts.”

“Oh, no. You’re getting emotional” you complained when you received a punch in your head. “Sorry, go on.”

You looked up, your smile slowly fading as you saw the woman in front of you looking more softer, more motherly.

“I see so much of myself in you,” Mrs. Han continued. “Strong, stubborn, but with a softness you try to hide. You’ve been through a lot… and love—love hasn’t always been kind.” You swallowed, the weight of unspoken things settling between you two. Your throat tightening and the same goes to your heart. “I want you to know,” Mrs. Han said quietly, “I want you to find a love that doesn’t hurt. A love that lifts you up, not drags you down. A love with no difficulties that break your heart.”

You shook your head slightly, a bitter laugh escaping. “Sometimes I wonder if that kind of love even exists. Or if it’s just a story people tell.” you grimaced. “At least, Soojin found it.”

“Love can find you in different ways. But even if I want you to find a love without difficulties. For some people… fighting for them, between all, is worthy.”

“Sometimes love is not enough.”

Mrs. Han reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. “I see you, y/n. And I see the walls you’ve built. But walls can come down. You just have to believe there’s something better waiting on the other side.” Her voice softened, full of genuine care. “I don’t just say this as Soojin’s mom. I say it as someone who loves you like a daughter. You deserve happiness. You deserve to be loved without conditions.”

Your eyes glistened, and you nodded slowly. “I want to believe that. I really do.”

She smiled, squeezing your hand. “Then start with this day. No matter what happens, let it be a step forward. You’re not alone.”

You took a deep breath, the knot inside you loosening just a little. You glanced at the wedding notes on your bed, the speech you had to give soon.

“I should start working on this,” you said softly.

She stood, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You got this. I’ll see you later.”

You nodded and Mrs. Han left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. And the promise of a new chapter waiting to unfold.

A little later you find Soojin.

The soft rustle of fabric and gentle clinks of jewelry filled the bridal suite as you knelt beside Soojin’s chair, carefully fastening the intricate buttons along the back of her wedding gown. The delicate lace shimmered in the afternoon light streaming through the window, and Soojin sat still, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Minutes away from walking to the altar.

“You’re glowing,” you said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Soojin’s ear. “Are you nervous?.”

She smiled, a mix of excitement and jitters flickering in her eyes. “Terrified. And thrilled. And… overwhelmed. But mostly I just can’t believe this day is finally here.”

You grinned. “I remember when you dragged me to that weird art gallery on a whim. Who knew it’d lead us here?”

Your friend laughed softly. “Yeah, you were so suspicious of that artist. Said his paintings looked like he painted with his eyes closed.”

You laughed along. “Maybe I was just jealous. You always had better taste than me. And this was my career.”

The two shared a warm smile, a quiet comfort in their years of friendship.

Soojin’s eyes softened. “Thank you for being here. For everything. Even when I was a bridezilla.”

You nudged her playfully. “Hey, you were only a little bridezilla. I think I’ve earned honorary bridesmaid of the year.”

“You really did.” Soojin’s laughter echoed through the room, light and free.

As you stood to grab the veil, you caught Soojin’s gaze and felt a sudden rush of affection. “You’re going to be amazing today.” you immediately said. “You’re the most beautiful bride ever.”

Soojin reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “I love you”

Your best friend was getting married.

The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of warm apricot and soft lavender. Gentle waves whispered onto the shore, their rhythmic hush mingling with the quiet murmurs of guests gathered on the sand. White chairs were arranged in neat rows, facing a simple wooden arch draped with flowing white fabric and delicate wildflowers, framing the endless stretch of ocean beyond.

At the altar, Minjae’s eyes glistened with tears even before Soojin appeared, the weight of the day pressing gently on his shoulders. His hands trembled slightly as he straightened his tie, but his smile never wavered. Soojin approached with a radiant smile, her bare feet leaving faint imprints in the sand. She reached your side and squeezed your hand reassuringly. Despite the warmth of the evening sun, a cool flutter of nerves danced in your chest.

You stood behind Soojin, toes sinking slightly into the cool sand, the salt-kissed breeze playing with strands of your hair. The distant cry of seagulls and the soft chatter of the guests felt both grounding and surreal, as if time had slowed just for this moment. The officiant’s voice rose softly over the sound of the waves, speaking of love, trust, and the promise of a shared future. When it came time for the vows, the world seemed to hush.

Soojin’s voice was steady but tender, filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I promise to be your anchor when the seas get rough, and your wings when you need to fly.”

Minjae’s voice broke as emotion overwhelmed him, but he pressed on, “I vow to walk beside you, through calm and storm, and cherish you with every breath I take.”

Their eyes locked, filled with love so palpable it seemed to ripple through the air. The officiant smiled warmly, then stepped back.

Minjae took Soojin’s hands, leaning in close. “With this kiss, I give you all I am.”

They were so cheesy you wanted to throw up. Instead, you teared up.

Their lips met softly, the ocean breeze carrying the moment across the shore, a perfect seal on their promises as the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the sand.

They were married now.

As the sun disappeared fully beyond the horizon, soft fairy lights strung between driftwood posts began to glow against the deepening dusk. The reception area, nestled just above the beach on a wooden deck, was transformed into a dream of golden lights, soft linen, and sea breeze. Long tables were arranged under a canopy of stars, adorned with glass vases full of wildflowers, flickering candles, and handwritten name cards tucked into seashells. Lanterns swayed gently above them, casting delicate shadows across smiling faces.

You sat at the table, next to Mrs. Han, still in your bridesmaid dress, hair slightly windswept, cheeks sun-warmed and flushed. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional cheer from a table, the comforting clatter of shared meals being passed around. Soft jazz hummed from the speakers, and the scent of grilled seafood and fresh herbs floated through the warm night air. Soojin and Minjae sat at the middle, holding hands under the tablecloth, whispering and smiling at each other like no one else existed. You couldn’t help the way your chest tightened a little watching them—proud, moved, and perhaps just a little haunted.

The emcee tapped the microphone again and announced, “And now, a few words from our lovely bridesmaid, and lifelong partner-in-chaos, Y/n.”

Ah, shit.

There were cheers and claps as you stood, smoothing your dress, cheeks flushed from the wine and the lingering emotion of the wedding. You picked up the mic with a slightly exaggerated sigh and narrowed your eyes playfully at Soojin. Soojin, already shaking her head in anticipation, whispered something to Minjae that made him grin.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Hi, I’m Y/n. For those who don’t know me… I’m sorry. For those who do— I’m sorry too.”

There was a few chuckles around. You shrugged.

“I’ve known Soojin since we were nine. And by ‘known’ I mean I once hit her square in the face with a dodgeball during gym class. To be fair, it was an accident. But she still came to school the next day with a swollen cheek and two friendship bracelets. That was the moment I realized Soojin was either an angel… or slightly mentally challenged.”

The room erupted in laughter. Soojin groaned, covering her face with both hands.

“She’s been my person ever since. I mean—we’ve lived through it all together. Our emo phases, terrible group projects, my first heartbreak, her first heartbreak, though that one lasted all of three days because he couldn’t spell her name right in texts.”

Soojin shouted through her laughter, “I told you not to bring that up!”

“Oh I’m just getting started.” you winked. “She also once dragged me on a blind double date where my date turned out to be gay. He came out right after kissing me.”

The crowd laughed, but slowly, your tone shifted.

“But through all of that, and I mean all of it, Soojin never wavered. She is, without question, the most loyal, fiercely loving, and quietly brave person I’ve ever met. She has this way of making you feel safe, even in chaos. And when Minjae came into her life, it was like… she finally got a taste of the safety she always gave others.”

You looked at Minjae then, and your voice softened more. A knot in your throat.

“Minjae came along. And somehow… it was like he’d always been part of our lives. Like he knew the rhythm of us already. He slotted in like the missing piece. And I knew, when I saw the way he looked at her— and how she let herself be looked at like that— that she was safe. That he would love her not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.”

Soojin cleaned her tears and you pouted a little.

“I’m glad you’re the happiest when you’re with him.” you nodded. “And I know people love to talk about love as something wild and passionate and filled with drama, but honestly? The most beautiful part of what they have is how easy it feels. How steady. How natural. Like they’ve been choosing each other in every lifetime before this one. And I just want to say,” you added, glancing at the your best friend, “I’m so proud of you. For opening your heart. For letting someone in. And for letting me be beside you today, like I always promised I would.”

A quiet beat passed. Your voice broke slightly, but you held on. A breath. A glance at both of them, beaming now, tearful.

“To Soojin and Minjae,” you said, lifting your glass. “To choosing each other. Every day, every version, every mess. May you always find your way back.”

Everyone lift their glasses.

“Also— If you do anything wrong I will literally rip your balls out, Minjae.”

The crowd burst into laughter one more time as glasses clinked and you handed the mic back. Soojin was already wiping away tears. When she reached for you in a hug, it was tight, long, and full of everything you’d survived together. From across the reception, you caught Yoongi’s gaze. His expression was unreadable but his eyes were soft. And still, somehow, knowing.

Now it was his turn.

The host tapped a glass and invited the next speaker up. When Yoongi stood, straightening his black linen jacket, a round of light applause followed. He smiled, genuine but a little nervous, and took the mic.

“Hi everyone,” he said, his voice warm. “I’m Yoongi. Most of you know me as Minjae’s best friend—and Soojin’s reluctant wedding planner assistant.”

Laughter bubbled across the tables.

“I’ve known Minjae since our second year of high school, where he convinced me to skip class with him for the first time by promising there would be free food involved. There wasn’t. But I stuck around anyway.”

More laughter. You sipped your wine, watching him, trying not to smile too widely.

“We’ve been through it all. Bad haircuts, worse relationships—” he glanced pointedly at the groom, who gave a mock glare, “—and somehow, along the way, he went from being that guy who stole my fries to someone I call family.” His tone shifted, softening. “Seeing him today, looking at Soojin like she’s the only person in the universe… it reminds me that love isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just quiet certainty. Choosing someone over and over, even when life gets messy. Especially when it gets messy.”

He hesitated just a beat.

“And… for some of us, sometimes love doesn’t work out the first time. Or the second. But you keep believing in it anyway. Because when you’ve seen it… when you’ve felt it… it stays with you.” His eyes flicked briefly to you, just a flicker, and moved on. He raised his glass. “To Minjae and Soojin. May your love be the kind that stays. The kind that holds fast, even when life tries to shake it loose.”

Always, good with words. A lyricist.

“Cheers!”

The guests echoed him, glasses raised in the warm night air.

Your hand was still curled around the stem of your wine glass, your heart louder than the music now. You didn’t look at him, but you felt the weight of his words settle in your chest like something old and uncomfortable, something hurtful.

A love that holds fast.

The night had settled like velvet over the sea, dark and warm, humming with the low rhythm of waves and laughter from the wedding reception still going strong behind. Fairy lights strung through palm trees glowed gold against the inky blue sky, and the clinking of glasses and soft music carried from the terrace where the dinner was winding down into dancing.

You slipped away quietly, barefoot now, heels hooked by the straps in one hand as you walked down a narrow path toward the darker edge of the beach. Yoongi’s speech had gone better than everyone thought it would. Too well, maybe. Everyone had cried. Even Soojin’s dad, who famously hadn’t teared up since 1987. You hadn’t expected the hollowness that crept in afterward, though. The way your chest felt both full and aching. It wasn’t sadness exactly. Just… weight.

You stood still near a quiet bend of the shore, letting the wind cool your cheeks, eyes on the soft roll of the tide. The party felt distant now, muffled like a memory.

“You always did like a dramatic exit.”

You didn’t turn, but a faint smile curved your lips. “I thought I earned it tonight.”

Yoongi stepped up beside you, his tie finally removed, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his shoes left somewhere behind. He looked relaxed—at least on the surface.

“You did,” he nodded.

“Speech of the night” you commented. “You made everyone cry. Me included.”

“I think I made myself cry.”

That made you laugh, and finally, you turned your head to look at him. He was watching you, but gently this time. Not with the fire from the pool, not with the quiet ache from earlier in the week. Just… him. Familiar and careful.

“It was that good.”

He kicked at the sand lightly with one foot. “I wanted to say sorry. For the other night. The yelling. The drama. Not really my usual vibe.”

You snorted. “What, drunk poolside confessions aren’t in your brand?”

Yoongi smiled, then turned serious. “I meant what I said, though. Just… maybe not like that.”

“I know.” you nodded, your fingers curling tighter around the heels in your hand. A beat passed between you two, quiet and heavy. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you said softly. “About us. About why it didn’t work.” He didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “We tried,” you continued. “We really did. But it just… hurt, all the time. When we were apart. When we tried to force time into places it didn’t fit. And I don’t want to resent you. Or have you resent me for chasing something we can’t hold.”

Yoongi’s jaw flexed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Because he knew what you meant. The last couple months of your relationship had been fight after fight, downfalls. It was dying.

“I used to imagine us older,” you whispered. “Still trying to match time zones and canceling dinners and waking up next to an empty pillow. That kind of love… it starts to rot when it’s always a race.”

He looked out at the ocean, then down at the sand, then finally back at you. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hated being so far and feeling like I wasn’t doing enough. I hated feeling like I was losing you in inches.”

Your throat tightens, you swallowed hard. “It’s not about love,” you said. “That’s the thing. There was never a moment I didn’t love you.”

His voice was quiet. “Still?”

You paused. “Don’t ask me that.”

Yoongi let out a slow breath. “I won’t.”

The waves rolled in, curling white foam at their toes.

“So,” you said after a moment, “we go back to friends?.”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Terrible idea.”

You laughed, the sound catching somewhere between sad and sweet.

“But maybe we keep… being kind to each other,” you offered instead. “No expectations. No plans.”

“Just here,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded. “Now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile. “You were always better at the endings.”

You met his gaze fully, for once without flinching. “That’s because I never really believed in them.”

The night stretched around you two, quiet and vast. Neither of you moved. Neither said goodbye. Not really wanting to

You love him, so much.

The night ended. And the wedding was over.

The petals had blown off the sand, the lights taken down from the trees. What was left of the celebration was about to be pack into cars, hug into photos, or wave away on the morning ferries. The week felt like a strange dream now.

The sky was still a soft lavender when you stepped out of your room, suitcase wheels clicking softly on the stone path. The scent of salt lingered in the air, clinging to your coat, your skin, your memories. The resort was hushed, heavy with the kind of quiet that follows a celebration too big for words. Most guests were still asleep. A few scattered sandals lay forgotten near the pool. Fairy lights still blinked weakly from trees, tired from a night of laughter and vows and late-night drinks.

You thought you had made it out without running into anyone. That had been the plan, no big send-off, no watery hugs or over-promises. That’s how you left for Paris, except Soojin decided to do a big goodbye party even after. But you hated that, you were sure you were going to see each other again so you didn’t need those kind of celebrations, maybe actually afraid of having your heart too vulnerable. You were good at that kind of thing, leaving. They all knew it. Even Soojin had just texted you a series of crying emojis and a blurry selfie the night before, maybe already knowing you were going to leave without telling her.

But as you turned the corner toward the reception, you spotted a figure on the bench by the fountain in there. Minjae. Tie loose, hair messy, cup of vending machine coffee in hand.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pausing in your tracks. “You’re up?”

He looked up and grinned. “You’re not sneaky, little shit.”

You rolled your eyes and dragged your suitcase closer, sitting down beside him with a sigh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Minjae took a long sip from his cup before extending it to you. “We had bets going that you’d ghost us before breakfast. Soojin owes me ten bucks.”

“Tell her to pay you in snacks. You need to eat something that isn’t from a machine.”

You huffed, grabbing the coffee to take a sip. You made a disgusting face and he grabbed the cup back to him dramatically. “This is gourmet caffeine.”

“This is shit.”

You two sat for a quiet moment. The fountain trickled gently beside you. Somewhere, a bird called. The island was waking slowly, like it didn’t want to break the spell of the wedding just yet.

Minjae nudged you with his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“You looked happy this week. Not just wedding happy. Like…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Warm.”

“You’re getting weirdly poetic in your old age.” you smiled faintly.

He sighed. “Must be all that married life hitting me already.”

You snorted, looking over at him. “You and Soojin… you looked perfect yesterday.”

He softened. “We’re not perfect. But we choose each other. That’s the magic trick, I think.” You blinked, then looked away, swallowing a knot in your throat. Minjae continued, quieter now. “I know things with Yoongi are complicated. I’m not here to lecture. Just… I’ve known him a long time. And I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

You kept your eyes on the floor, quiet, thoughtful.

“I know,” you said eventually.

“He’s not great at saying it. But he doesn’t really hide it either.”

You smiled sadly. “We loved each other.” Minjae nodded, letting the silence stretch. “But love doesn’t always mean it works,” you added, more to yourself than to him.

“No,” he agreed softly. “But sometimes it just needs a different kind of time.”

You turned to him, eyes glassy. “You’re really pulling out the wisdom this morning.”

“I had three bottles of champagne and two hours of sleep. I’m basically a monk now.”

You laughed, wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your coat. Minjae stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Come on. Before you make me cry and embarrass myself in front of the wedding staff.”

You took it and stood. “Tell Soojin I love her. I’ll see her next month.”

“You better text her later or she’ll send death threats.”

You smiled before punching him away to the hallway. Just before he left, Minjae leaned in with one last word.

“For what it’s worth… he never stopped.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a small nod because you knew. Because it was the same for you.

Minjae raised a hand in farewell and you watched him go down the hallway to his wife, your best friend. Your heart full of too many things to name.

You walked away, doing your check-out before leaving. You stood at the edge of the hotel lobby, your bag slung over your shoulder, passport tucked into the worn paperback you’d brought but never read. Your flight back to Busan was in three hours. From there… Paris. Your other life. The one that had kept moving even when your heart had hesitated. But it was yours. Life was going to move in Korea too.

You wouldn’t know much about Yoongi. Soojin and Minjae would be going to her honeymoon in Bali. Everything would be back to normal, a normal in Korea that didn’t belong to you anymore…

A voice behind you interrupted the quiet, your thoughts.

“You’re early.”

You turned.

Yoongi stood with his own small bag, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a soft sweatshirt and the tired look of someone who hadn’t slept much. He looked… normal. But then again, he always did when your heart was spinning.

You offered a small shrug. “I didn’t want to say too many goodbyes.”

He walked up beside you, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “You didn’t say mine.”

“I figured we already did.”

Yoongi looked at you, head tilted. “We did?”

A bell dinged behind you. Somewhere inside, some noises, a car horn echoed. The island had started to breathe again without the wedding buzz. It felt slower. Quieter.

A beat.

He took a few steps closer, his shoes dangling loosely. “I meant what I said. The other night.”

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“I wasn’t trying to trap you with it. I just… I needed to say it.”

You nodded. “And I needed to hear it.”

He searched your face, every line of you a memory. Your lips, your eyes, your hair tangled in the way you always used when you were nervous.

“Paris is far,” he said.

You smiled sadly. “Seoul isn’t close either.”

“I meant the space between us,” he murmured. “Not the cities.”

You let out a breath. “I lied, I’m not good at endings.”

“I know.” A long pause. Not uncomfortable—just full “I booked the same ferry as you,” Yoongi said casually, glancing toward the hotel.

You looked up, surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he echoed.

The corners of your mouth twitched. “So you’re stalking me now?.”

“Reflex,” he teased gently, and that line made your heart twist in that familiar, stupid way.

A car stopped in front of you two, Yoongi looked at you. And it took you a minute before nodding. You two walked side by side to the car waiting. No dramatic declarations. No begging. No fighting. Just silence that said more than noise could.

When the engine started and the hotel faded behind you two, neither looked back.

The sea passed quietly beside the road.

“Have you been working on anything new?” you asked softly after a while.

“Yeah. A couple demos,” he said. “I keep starting things and not finishing.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds familiar.”

Yoongi chuckled under his breath. “I might finish one now.”

You turned to him. “You should.” Another pause. “If you’re ever in Paris again…” you started, then stopped.

Yoongi turned to you. “Yeah?”

You didn’t say anything at first. But then you added softly: “There’s this café near the river. You’d hate the coffee, but you’d love the view.”

He smiled. “Text me the name.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He looked ahead again, sun starting to crest above the low hills as the car reached the port. The ferry was already docked, people boarding slowly.

As you both stepped out together, he still held the door open for you.

“So friends?” you said lightly.

Yoongi looked at you, unreadable for a moment. And then a knowing look sparkled in his eyes. Because he knew what you were doing. And he did, he knew you. He just knew.

“Terrible idea.”

But you smiled.

And he smiled.

And neither of you walked away.

first yoongi fic with an open ending!! literally wanted to be perfect because hes my bias and it’s the first time i write about him so - again - if you see any mistakes NO YOU DIDNT.

please let me know if you like it >_< and if you finish it because i know it was long as hell// nothing is accurate to koran culture so don’t address me 😓🙏🏼

Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.

It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.

His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.

That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.

Yoongi is quiet.

Painfully, unnervingly quiet.

While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.

You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.

But then your mind drifts again.

Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?

The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.

Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.

You don’t want him to know.

You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You start faking it.

A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.

“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.

Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.

His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.

You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.

“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.

Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.

You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.

You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.

When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.

Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.

He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.

A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”

You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”

The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.

“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.

But sleep doesn’t come for you.

You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.

Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.

The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.

You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.

“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”

You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.

Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”

You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”

Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”

She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”

The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.

When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”

She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”

You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

-

That evening, you chicken out completely.

The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.

Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.

For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.

You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.

As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.

Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.

The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.

You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.

Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.

For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.

Then he moves.

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.

The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.

Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.

You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.

“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.

Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”

Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”

He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”

The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.

“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.

He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.

“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”

The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”

You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.

The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.

You open for him instantly.

The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.

Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.

You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.

Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.

Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."

The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.

You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”

You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.

“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.

You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”

You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”

Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”

Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.

You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.

Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”

He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”

Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.

He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.

“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”

You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.

You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.

Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.

You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”

His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.

You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”

You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.

“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.

Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.

Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”

Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”

He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”

You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”

Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.

“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.

Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.

One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.

Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.

Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.

The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.

In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.

You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.

Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.

He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.

“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”

You love it. You love every second of it.

The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.

Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”

He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.

Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.

Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”

He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”

You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”

The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.

Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”

Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.

“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.

Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Yoongi follows right behind you.

A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.

He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.

Your body gives out completely.

You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.

You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.

When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”

You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.

The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.