Fanfiction>>>reality

“That was two months ago.”

“It’s still fresh.”

He pauses, licking his lips like he’s holding something back. “I know. But Mark’s wedding is in a month. He’s our best friend, Y/N. He’s counting on us—me as best man, you as a guest. You think he’s not gonna notice something’s off?”

She leans back, arms crossed. “He should notice. It is off.”

“I’m not asking you to get back together,” he says, tone suddenly sharper. “I’m asking you to act like it. Just until the wedding. Just so Mark doesn’t spend his happiest week stressed about his two best friends falling apart.”

Y/N stares at him. Hates that he’s right. Hates the memories threatening to flood back: the nights she fell asleep on his chest, the fights that kept escalating until one day—he walked out.

“…What does this fake relationship even involve?”

His eyes flick up. “Nothing until the resort. Wedding week is when we’ll be expected to share a room, hold hands, laugh at each other’s jokes—basic couple shit. Until then, we just need to keep up appearances. If people ask what we’ve been up to, we need our stories straight. That means checking in, texting. Occasionally hanging out. Just enough to sell it.”

She snorts. “You want us to hang out?”

“Not like that,” he mutters. “I mean—text me if you go out of town. Let me know if you change your hair. We need to be believable, Y/N. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And then after the wedding?”

“We go back to not talking,” he says simply.

There’s a beat of silence.

“You really think you can pretend to love me again?” she asks.

His gaze flickers.

Then softly, like it hurts, “Again?”

Her heart stutters.

She looks away, jaw clenching. She should say no. She wants to say no.

But she thinks of Mark. Of the seven years of friendship. Of the speeches, the bridal parties, the endless toasts. There’s no avoiding Haechan. Not unless she wants to destroy Mark’s perfect week.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m not kissing you.”

A slow, smug smile spreads across his face. “Not even a little?”

She narrows her eyes. “I swear to god—”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, hands up in surrender. “No kissing unless absolutely necessary.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he says. “But we’re in love, remember?”

--------------

Mark takes a long sip from his beer, sneakers kicked up on the balcony railing of his apartment. The city below hums quietly beneath them, but up here, it feels like another world—like a bubble where they’re still just two boys who used to skip class and dream too big.

“I’m nervous,” Mark admits, voice low and raw with honesty. “I keep thinking something’s gonna go wrong.”

Haechan glances over at him, arms crossed. “It won’t.”

Mark smiles, but it’s tight. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re marrying the love of your life. That’s the opposite of wrong.”

Mark looks at him. “And I’m so glad you and Y/N will be there. Having you two around makes everything feel…safe. Like no matter what happens, I’ve got my people.”

Haechan’s throat closes.

Mark chuckles, leaning his head back against the chair. “You guys are next, you know.”

Haechan coughs, caught off guard. “What?”

Mark grins at him. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been with her forever. You two are solid. I’m just saying…when it’s your turn, I’ll be there. Front row. Crying like a baby.”

Haechan exhales sharply, his grip tightening around the beer bottle. “Yeah… uh. Thanks. That means a lot.”

Mark turns toward him, voice soft. “So… when are you gonna propose?”

There’s a pause.

Haechan forces a smile, shrugs too casually. “Soon.”

Mark studies him for a second. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but he lets it go.

“Why didn’t Y/N come today?”

“She’s… working late. Overtime,” Haechan answers quickly, avoiding eye contact.

Mark hums but doesn’t press. He just nods, takes another sip, and lets the silence stretch.

The truth sits heavy between them.

Haechan hates how easily the lie slips out now. Hates how guilty he feels watching Mark be so sure of something that ended in flames weeks ago. But he can’t undo it—not now. Not when the tickets are booked, the rooms are assigned, and Mark is smiling like the world’s finally perfect.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” Mark says eventually, patting his shoulder as he stands.

“Yeah. See you.”

Haechan watches him go, the weight of the lie crushing his chest as the door shuts behind him.

------------------

Y/N’s wheeled suitcase clips her ankle for the third time as she speed-walks through the terminal, eyes narrowing at the man beside her.

“I told you the flight was at eleven, not eleven-fifteen.”

“And I told you that I set four alarms,” Haechan replies, unbothered, sipping his iced coffee. “Not my fault my bed was warmer than you’ve ever been.”

She whips her head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Haechan, I swear—”

“Hi!” Mark’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

They both freeze.

Mark appears with his fiancée on his arm, beaming like he’s never seen two people more in love. Y/N straightens up so fast her spine cracks. Haechan is smoother—his hand snakes between them like it’s nothing, fingers lacing into hers.

Y/N stiffens.

He doesn’t even glance at her as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her temple. “There you are, babe,” he says with a warm smile. “We were just arguing about who loves the other more.”

Mark laughs, completely buying it. “God, you guys are gross.”

“Get used to it,” Haechan quips.

Y/N forces a smile, squeezing his hand like a warning. He squeezes back. Harder.

They head toward the gate together, fingers still linked, and it feels wrong. Not because it’s unfamiliar—but because it used to be so natural.

Their seats on the plane are beside each other. Of course they are. 14A and 14B.

Y/N slides into the window seat without speaking. Haechan drops into the aisle seat with a sigh, tossing their shared backpack under the seat ahead.

“You’re not still mad about the coffee comment, are you?”

“No,” she replies flatly.

He smirks. “Liar.”

The air hostess walks by, glancing at them with a cheerful grin. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but Haechan beats her to it.

“Five years.”

She turns slowly, giving him a look. He just smiles, teeth and all, like nothing’s wrong.

“Wow,” the hostess says. “Still sitting beside each other on planes? That’s real love.”

Y/N manages a tight laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She doesn’t mean to fidget. Doesn’t mean to grip the armrest like it might save her soul. But the second the plane starts rolling, her throat tightens.

Haechan notices.

Of course he does.

“You still hate flying, huh?” he murmurs.

She doesn’t answer, just stares out the window, knuckles white.

His voice drops—calm, soft. “It’s just takeoff. Statistically the safest part of the flight.”

“I don’t care about statistics,” she mutters.

“You never did.”

The plane lifts.

Her chest tightens.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Breathe in with me.”

She doesn’t move.

“Come on. In…”

She glares at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Fake girlfriend or not, I’m not letting you pass out from anxiety in seat 14A.”

Reluctantly, she breathes in.

“Now out.”

She exhales.

“Again.”

They do it three more times. Slowly. Quietly. And she hates that it helps.

When she finally unclenches her fists, she feels his fingers brush hers on the armrest. Not a hold. Just a quiet touch. A reminder.

Not real. Not anymore.

But it lingers.

-------------------

The heat hits them the moment they step out of the car. The resort is stunning—white sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying like it’s a movie set. Laughter and wedding prep buzz all around, but Y/N barely hears it.

Not when the front desk receptionist is saying, “Room 207. King suite. Welcome, Mr. and Mrs.—”

“Wait,” Y/N cuts in, blinking. “King?”

Haechan takes the keycards without missing a beat. “Perfect. Thanks so much.”

Y/N whirls on him as they step aside. “A king bed?”

He shrugs, dragging his suitcase behind him. “Did you think we’d be in bunks like a summer camp?”

“I didn’t think about it at all,” she hisses, eyes darting around to make sure Mark or his fiancée isn’t nearby. “We’re broken up, Haechan.”

“And yet,” he says cheerfully, “we’re a fake couple for the week. So get comfortable, sweetheart.”

She waits until dinner is in full swing, music playing by the pool and everyone distracted, before sneaking up to the front desk.

The receptionist looks apologetic from the second she asks. “Unfortunately, ma’am, we’re fully booked for the entire week. Every guest room is spoken for.”

Y/N nods, trying to swallow her disappointment. “Right. Okay. Thanks anyway.”

She doesn’t know he heard.

But Haechan’s been standing around the corner, half-shielded by a decorative plant, drink in hand and expression unreadable.

--------------

“Didn’t take you long to try and ditch me.”

Y/N freezes mid-unzipping her toiletries bag. “What?”

He closes the door behind him, dropping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The desk. You trying to score your own room. That’s cute.”

“I just… I didn’t remember it was a one-bed situation. I thought I called and changed it.”

He snorts. “Right. Total accident. Silly you.”

She turns, frustration simmering. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t.” He stretches out on the bed like he owns it, hands behind his head. “It’s just funny. You can sleep in the tub if you want.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Better than a coward.”

That one hits.

The room goes quiet.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Not really. But it’s out there now, and he won’t take it back. He never does.

Three Years Ago

Haechan spots her from across the deck. He’s mid-sip of his drink, but his gaze doesn’t leave her. Not once.

Mark catches him staring. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Who is that?” Haechan asks, eyes gleaming.

“My friend from uni. Off-limits.”

“Off-limits makes it sound like a challenge.”

Mark groans. “Haechan—”

But he’s already moving.

He slides up beside her casually, offering a crooked smile. “Hi.”

She glances at him. “Hi?”

“You look like you belong in a painting.”

She blinks. “Wow. Is that your opener?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

She fights a smile. “That depends. Are you always this full of yourself?”

“Only when I see something I like.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what is it you think you see?”

He leans in just slightly, his voice dropping.

“Trouble.”

She laughs—really laughs—and Haechan knows in that moment he’s completely screwed.

Back in the Present

Y/N turns away without another word, pulling her clothes from her suitcase in sharp, jerking motions. The silence between them is louder than ever.

And Haechan, lying in the bed they used to share so easily, stares at the ceiling—remembering the first time she laughed because of him.

Now he’s lucky if she doesn’t flinch when he breathes too close.

“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you.”

Y/N’s voice is firm as she yanks a blanket from the closet and marches to the small resort couch, already curling her knees beneath her. The fabric’s scratchy, the armrest digs into her shoulder blade, and the throw pillow smells faintly of sunscreen.

Haechan watches her from the bed, one arm behind his head. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No thanks,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

He sighs. “Come on. You act like I’m going to maul you in your sleep.”

She doesn’t respond.

He frowns, his voice edging sharp. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

Something shifts in him, but he doesn’t show it.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Suit yourself.”

He rolls over, facing the other way.

Hours Pass

He can’t sleep.

The bed is too big. Too cold. Too wrong with only him in it.

He stares at the ceiling, fists clenched under the covers, jaw tight with frustration. Not because she chose the couch—but because she didn’t even hesitate.

Because he hates that it still hurts.

Because he hates that it’s his fault.

Haechan swings his legs over the bed, standing quietly.

The blanket’s slipped off her shoulder, one foot sticking out like it always does. She’s curled tight like she’s bracing for something.

He grabs a spare pillow, walks over, and kneels down beside her. Carefully. Silently.

He scoops her into his arms, lifting her just like he used to when she fell asleep on the couch at his place. She doesn’t stir.

He lays her down gently, pulling the comforter over her, tucking it around her like muscle memory. One long breath escapes her lips, her face softening in sleep.

He turns away, returning to the couch without a word.

-----------------

Y/N stirs as the early sun peeks through the curtains.

Her limbs stretch slowly against the plush mattress, eyes fluttering open—

She’s in the bed.

Her eyes widen.

She sits up fast, blinking in confusion, only to spot Haechan, curled uncomfortably on the too-small couch, arms crossed over his chest, legs dangling off the end.

A tight pull tugs at her chest.

He carried her. In the middle of the night. Without saying a word.

He always does this—never apologizing, never explaining, but always doing. Fixing things quietly. Making space. Offering warmth in silence.

Y/N smiles a little, biting her bottom lip.

He looks so peaceful like that. Tired. Soft. Familiar.

Her gaze drifts down to his hands—those hands that used to know every inch of her. His arms. His shoulders. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

She wonders if his touch still feels the same.

She swallows thickly, immediately shaking her head, burying the thought.

No. Don’t go there.

This isn’t real. This is pretend. This is for Mark.

Still, she can’t help but whisper so quietly it doesn’t reach him—

“Thank you.”

The breakfast terrace is all sunlight and laughter. White umbrellas flutter in the ocean breeze, and the wedding party is already seated around a long table filled with fruit platters, mimosas, and way too many croissants.

Y/N walks up beside Haechan, forcing a smile as his hand instinctively finds hers.

It feels practiced now—his fingers sliding between hers, the subtle brush of his thumb across her skin. To anyone watching, it probably looks natural.

To her, it feels like a memory in the shape of a lie.

“You’re late,” Jaemin teases from across the table.

Haechan grins. “We were… occupied.”

Y/N elbows him lightly. “We were asleep.”

The group laughs, and the topic moves on. Conversations crisscross like a net. Wedding details. Hair appointments. Boat excursions.

Through it all, Y/N plays the part. She leans toward Haechan at the right moments. She laughs when he whispers something into her ear. She even rests her head on his shoulder for a moment during coffee, his arm draped behind her chair.

But they don’t kiss.

Not once.

And Haechan doesn’t look at her the way he used to. The way he wants to.

----------------

Mark pulls him aside, catching him just outside the patio doors while the rest of the group heads off toward the pool.

“Hey.”

Haechan turns. “What’s up?”

Mark rubs the back of his neck. “You and Y/N… you guys okay?”

Haechan blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

Mark hesitates, frowning. “I don’t know. You just seem a little off.”

“We’re fine.”

Mark doesn't look convinced. “It’s just—usually you guys are, like… inseparable. She’d be in your lap by now. You’d be kissing her hand or talking her ear off while she smiles like an idiot. You’ve barely said anything to each other today.”

Haechan forces a casual shrug, hands in his pockets. “Our neighbors are loud. We didn’t sleep great. That’s all.”

Mark relaxes a little. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Haechan lies smoothly. “Probably just tired. We’ll be back to normal tomorrow hopefully.”

Mark claps his shoulder. “Cool. Good. I was just worried. You two are like the gold standard, you know?”

Haechan swallows, something sharp pressing behind his ribs. “Yeah. I know.”

What a blessing and burden to hear that from your best friend.

Mark brightens. “Anyway—group’s heading to the private pool around two. Then drinks at the bar before dinner. Should be fun.”

“Sounds good.”

Mark grins and heads off, leaving Haechan alone with the lie still burning in his mouth.

--------------

The pool is sparkling, the late afternoon sun painting everything golden. Music drifts from hidden speakers, fruity drinks flow freely, and the wedding party is scattered across lounge chairs and inflatable rafts.

Y/N walks out in a deep blue one-piece, low-cut and clinging in all the right places. Her sunglasses are perched on her nose, lips glossy, hair damp from the quick rinse she took before coming out.

Haechan is already in the water, half-submerged and lazily floating. His hair is slicked back, droplets glinting on his shoulders and collarbones. He turns just as she walks by—

And stares.

Not subtly.

She notices.

She tries not to smirk.

“You gonna keep gawking or say something?” she murmurs, sliding her cover-up off slowly and folding it over a chair.

He tilts his head, lips twitching. “Just trying to remember how I ever let that go.”

Her smile falters for a second. But she brushes it off, stepping into the water, pretending the coolness is the only thing giving her goosebumps.

“Couples photo!” someone calls.

The bridesmaid with the camera waves them over. “You two—get together! Right in the middle. You look so good.”

Y/N and Haechan glance at each other. Silent agreement.

Fine. Let’s perform.

He wades to her, hand finding her waist easily. It burns where he touches. Her palm rests against his bare chest—too familiar, too soft, too dangerous.

“Closer,” the bridesmaid says.

They move closer.

“Maybe hold her face? Yeah, like you’re about to kiss her.”

Y/N’s heart jumps. But she nods, tilts her head like it’s all for the show.

Haechan’s thumb brushes her cheekbone. His eyes flicker to her mouth. The space between them narrows.

Too close.

She turns her head at the last second.

His lips catch her cheek instead.

Click.

“Aw,” the bridesmaid sighs. “You two are unreal. These pics look like a honeymoon catalog.”

Y/N forces a laugh. Haechan just stares at her, unreadable.

They swim apart after that, but her skin still tingles.

Y/N lounges on a towel, towel draped around her waist, drink in hand. A bridesmaid sits beside her—friendly, curious.

“So,” she says, nudging her gently. “You and Haechan… seriously. You two look like the kind of couple people make movies about.”

Y/N chokes slightly on her mimosa. “God, please don’t say that.”

The bridesmaid laughs. “Sorry. But I mean it. You still have that spark. It’s rare, you know? Five years together and you’re still all over each other.”

Y/N stares into her glass.

The bridesmaid lowers her voice. “So… when’s your big day?”

Y/N lifts her eyes slowly. Smiles. It’s small and brittle and practiced.

“Soon.”

The bridesmaid squeals, and Y/N plays along. But deep down, the word echoes in her chest like a stone dropped into still water.

Soon.

As if pretending long enough might somehow make it true.

-----------

The room is dim, sun beginning to set behind gauzy curtains. Y/N is sitting at the vanity, drying her hair with lazy motions while Haechan scrolls on his phone, pacing behind her.

He stops suddenly.

“Mark’s getting suspicious.”

She looks up in the mirror.

“He pulled me aside again,” Haechan says, running a hand through his damp hair. “Said we’re not acting like ourselves. We’re being too careful.”

Y/N sighs. “What do you want me to do? Jump your bones at breakfast?”

He gives a humorless laugh. “I’m saying we need to play it up. Laugh more. Touch more. Look like we’re still in love.”

She turns the hairdryer off, silence thick between them.

“It’s already so hard,” she says quietly.

He pauses.

Y/N moves to the edge of the bed, towel around her shoulders. Her eyes are glossy, lower lip trembling.

Haechan’s whole body tenses. “Hey… hey, don’t—”

“I’m fine,” she mutters, blinking quickly. “It’s stupid.”

But the tears come anyway. She sucks in a shaky breath, and it all starts pouring out, her voice cracking around the edges.

“This is cruel, Haechan.”

He moves closer, panic bubbling under his skin. “Y/N—”

“I should’ve been married by now. I should’ve had everything planned. My life was supposed to be happy. And instead, I’m here lying to everyone I care about with a smile on my face while my heart feels like a fucking joke.”

He kneels in front of her instinctively, like his body moves without his brain.

She covers her face with her hands, crying quietly, shoulders shaking. Haechan reaches out but hesitates—his fingers hover just above her knee, too afraid to touch.

“I walk around pretending I’m okay,” she chokes out, “but I’m not. I’m not okay. This is so humiliating”

He looks wrecked.

Utterly wrecked.

He wants to say I’m sorry. Wants to say me too. Wants to hold her like he used to, like it meant something, like he still means something.

But the words don’t come. They never do.

Instead, Y/N wipes her face and straightens up, the pain shoved behind another forced smile.

“Forget it,” she says hoarsely. “We have a show to perform at dinner, right?”

She stands, moves past him toward the closet to change. Haechan stays frozen on the floor, still kneeling.

And for the first time since they started pretending, he wishes they weren’t.

Because seeing her like that—broken and brave and still trying—shatters him more than the breakup ever did.

-------------

Dinner is a hit.

Y/N is in a soft green dress that hugs her waist and floats around her knees, her makeup glowing just enough to catch the candlelight. Haechan sits beside her, wearing a button-down she once bought for him that he still can’t let go of. Their chairs are pulled close together. His hand rests comfortably on her thigh. She leans into his shoulder like it’s second nature.

It’s a performance—but it’s flawless.

They laugh on cue. Whisper into each other’s ears. She feeds him a bite of dessert with teasing eyes. He brushes a crumb off her lip with his thumb.

By the end of it, Mark claps him on the back, beaming. "I'm glad you guys are feeling better."

Haechan forces a grin. “Yeah. Better than ever.”

Y/N nods, heart cracking at the weight of it all.

-----------------

The music slows, lights dimming into soft golds and purples. A string of couples drifts toward the small dance floor. Haechan holds out a hand. Y/N hesitates—but takes it.

He pulls her close.

Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, his arms circling her waist. They sway in time to the music, the beat lazy and romantic. It should be easy.

It’s not.

Y/N can’t look at him. Her gaze flickers everywhere—over his shoulder, at the floor, at the couple beside them—anywhere but at his eyes.

“You need to relax,” Haechan murmurs, just low enough for her to hear.

“I’m trying,” she whispers, voice tight.

He watches her for a beat, and then—she stiffens.

“Mark’s watching,” she breathes.

Without another word, she moves closer, chest brushing his. Her fingers curl at the nape of his neck as she forces a soft, adoring smile.

He mirrors it perfectly.

It’s second nature, the mask they wear.

So natural that when their faces draw near, their lips brush without hesitation.

A soft kiss.

Brief.

Automatic.

But the second it happens, Y/N’s eyes widen.

Haechan’s, too.

And then, without a word, he leans in again and kisses her.

Longer this time.

Slower.

Not gentle—intentional.

Her fingers tighten in his hair.

They start moving in sync, breathing into each other like they’ve done this a thousand times. Like their mouths still remember how to fall apart together.

Someone whistles. “Get a room!”

Laughter breaks around them. Mark’s voice carries through it all. “They’re disgustingly in love.”

Haechan grins mid-kiss, not pulling away.

“Come on,” he whispers into her lips, grabbing her hand.

The door slams shut behind them.

They don’t speak.

They don’t even pause.

He pushes her back gently against the wall, mouths crashing again—hungrier this time. Her fingers are tugging at his shirt before she can think. His hands slip over her waist, her back, anywhere they can touch.

It’s not pretend now.

It’s not even close.

Her lips part, and his tongue meets hers with a groan. She moans into his mouth, pulling him closer like she needs him to fill the hollow ache inside her chest.

He kisses her like he misses her.

She kisses him like she never stopped.

And as they stumble toward the bed, breathless and aching and wide open, neither of them dares to say it out loud—

But both of them feel it:

This was never over.

The second the hotel room door clicks shut behind them, Haechan has Y/N pinned against it.

His mouth crashes into hers like he’s been starved for years, hands gripping her thighs and hiking her up so she wraps around his waist.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he pants against her lips, grinding into her, already hard.

She moans, clutching at his shoulders, her dress hitched up, the lace of her underwear soaked through. “Haechan—”

“Yeah, baby?” he huffs, biting at her neck. “Finally gonna stop pretending you don’t want me?”

She whines when his hand sneaks between her thighs, pressing against her. “Been walking around all week in that tiny dress, no bra—knew you wanted me to see.”

She gasps, body jerking when he pushes the lace aside and sinks two fingers inside her.

“God,” she breathes. “You’re such a fucking—”

“Say it,” he growls, curling his fingers, his mouth hot on her jaw. “Come on, you wanna act like you hate me? Let’s hear it.”

She bites back a moan. “You’re cocky, arrogant—”

“Yeah?” He drops her onto the bed, pulling her dress over her head in one motion. “That why you’re dripping for me right now?”

He’s on top of her again, mouth all over her chest, sucking bruises into her skin, tugging her panties down with his teeth.

“You should see how fucking pretty your pussy looks right now,” he mutters. “Bet it missed me.”

She arches, already desperate. “Need you—”

“Yeah?” His voice is low, dirty. “You want me to fuck you stupid like I used to?”

“Yes—”

He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Please, Haechan. Just—fuck me.”

He groans, yanking his belt open and pushing his pants down. He doesn’t even get them all the way off before he’s kneeling between her legs, stroking himself as he looks at her laid out for him, flushed and trembling.

“God, I missed this.”

Then he’s pushing in—deep, fast, no warning.

She gasps, nails clawing at his back.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Still so tight for me.”

He sets a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into hers, one hand wrapped around her throat just enough to make her shiver. He watches her come undone, dragging filthy praise out between each thrust.

“Just like that, baby. Look at you—taking it so fucking good.”

“God, you feel so good, I—”

He grabs her leg, hiking it over his shoulder, pushing deeper. “Yeah? You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

“Yes—yes—Haechan—!”

She comes hard, clenching around him, body shaking. He fucks her through it, chasing his own release until he spills inside her with a rough grunt, face buried in her neck.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he kisses her.

Slowly.

Softly.

Like he forgot they weren’t supposed to feel anything anymore.

------------

Later, after they’ve both calmed, they lie tangled in the sheets, her hand absentmindedly tracing lines down his chest.

Neither speaks.

Not yet.

Then he shifts above her, cups her jaw, and leans in again. This kiss is different. No heat. No urgency. Just… longing.

When he enters her again, it’s slow.

Purposeful.

Their eyes stay locked.

He moves deeper, grinding gently, his forehead resting against hers.

“You still feel like home,” he whispers, almost to himself.

She doesn’t answer—but the way her arms wrap around his neck says enough.

There’s no filth this time.

Only murmured names and stuttered breaths.

His mouth finds her shoulder. Her fingers stroke through his hair.

Every thrust is tender, like he’s trying to remind her of something.

Like he’s saying everything he can’t admit out loud.

She whimpers when she comes again, face buried in his neck. And when he finishes with a soft gasp of her name, he stays inside her for a long time.

No one moves.

Eventually, he brushes a strand of hair from her face and kisses her temple.

Neither of them says what this means.

But both of them know—

This wasn’t part of the act.

-------------

The morning air was warm and gentle.

But nothing about the weight in Y/N’s chest feels light.

She stirs first—Haechan still fast asleep beside her, one arm slung across her waist, their legs tangled, bodies flushed with last night’s heat. His lips are parted slightly, lashes soft against his cheek. Peaceful. Like nothing's wrong.

But everything is wrong.

She stares at the ceiling for a beat too long before carefully peeling his arm off and sitting up, the blanket falling from her bare chest. She groans under her breath, dragging a hand through her hair.

"This never should’ve happened," she mumbles.

Before she can retreat to the bathroom, there’s a loud knock.

“Room service!” a voice teases on the other side of the door.

They freeze.

Another knock. “Oh my God, are you two seriously still in bed? Breakfast was an hour ago!”

It’s one of the bridesmaids—Minji, too nosy for her own good.

Y/N curses, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her body just as the door cracks open.

Minji pops her head in—freezes.

Her eyes go wide, her mouth already forming a smirk as she sees them both disheveled, clearly just out of bed. Haechan’s still shirtless under the covers, hair a mess, a faint bite mark peeking out from his collarbone.

“Oooh,” Minji grins. “Well, someone had a good night.”

Y/N groans again, burying her face in her hands. “Minji, go away.”

Minji laughs, already backing out. “I knew you two were still crazy about each other. You can’t fake that chemistry. Don’t worry—I’ll tell everyone to give you some alone time.”

Door shuts.

Silence.

Y/N lets out a long, exhausted sigh, standing and padding to the bathroom without another word. The blanket drops from her shoulders right before she slams the door, and a second later, the sound of the shower starting echoes through the room.

Haechan stays exactly where he is, staring at the ceiling now. His chest rises and falls in a slow, heavy rhythm.

Last night flashes in his mind in fragments.

Her moaning his name. The way she clung to him like she’d break if he let go. That second kiss when they were dancing—not for the show. Just for them.

He runs a hand over his face, jaw tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

How did something so perfect—so easy and right—end up like this?

He should get dressed. He should get up and fix this.

Instead, he lies back down, eyes still on the ceiling, listening to the water run and wondering when pretending stopped being enough.

-------------

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Haechan sat on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone, one leg lazily bouncing over the other. He didn’t even look up when Y/N came out of the bedroom, her expression tight, arms crossed like she was holding herself together.

She stood there for a moment, waiting—maybe hoping he'd notice. Say something. Ask what was wrong.

He didn’t.

So she spoke first.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

That got his attention. He looked up, blinking, confusion flickering in his eyes before settling into something unreadable. “What?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

“You’re always busy. I’m always second-guessing. It feels like we’re just…” she sighed, voice cracking a little. “Like we’re just passing time.”

He stared at her for a long time. Too long.

And then—he nodded.

No fight. No denial. No please don’t do this.

Just a quiet, “Okay.”

Something in her chest broke.

She blinked quickly, trying not to cry in front of him, not wanting to seem weak or desperate. She thought he’d at least argue. Tell her she was wrong. Tell her he loved her.

But he didn’t.

She tried to keep her voice steady. “We’re not even trying anymore, Haechan.”

“Maybe we stopped trying a while ago,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “Maybe this was coming.”

She stared at him, heart thudding in her ears. “That easy, huh?”

He hesitated—just a second—but it was enough to confirm it. “I don’t want us to end badly.”

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Because it was so calm. So final.

She gave a small, bitter laugh, looking away. “Guess there’s nothing else to say then.”

She walked over to the door, grabbing her coat with trembling fingers.

And still—he didn’t stop her.

Didn’t ask her to stay.

Didn’t say he loved her.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, back to him, holding in every word she wanted to say.

And then she left.

Back in the present, her hand grips the edge of the bathroom sink.

Steam curls around her as she stares into the mirror, heart pounding.

She touches her lips, remembering how it felt last night. How it always felt. Like home.

But he let her walk away once. Without a word. Without a fight.

So she’d be damned if she let herself believe that kiss meant anything more than a mistake.

Even if it still hurt like hell.

-------------

The sun is already high when they meet the others for the day’s excursions—brunch, followed by some kind of boat tour. Haechan’s dragging his feet a little, tired but content, lips tingling from the memory of her kisses, her moans still echoing faintly in his head.

But when Y/N arrives, sunglasses perched on her nose and a light breeze tugging at her sundress, he stops breathing altogether.

She greets him with a smile that nearly knocks the air out of him. “There you are, baby,” she coos sweetly, sliding her arms around his waist.

He stumbles slightly, blinking. “Y/N—”

She silences him with a kiss. Quick. Sweet. Confident.

“Sleep well?” she asks, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

He nods dumbly. His chest tightens at how soft she’s being.

During brunch, she leans into him, tracing shapes on his knee under the table. She feeds him bites off her plate, laughing at everything he says, stealing sips from his drink, wiping a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth and sucking it off her finger like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Even he forgets for a moment that it’s all fake.

“God, you guys are gross,” Mark says with a fond roll of his eyes. “Can you save some PDA for the honeymoon?”

“Sorry,” Y/N says, flashing a smile that could melt glaciers. “Can’t help it.”

She kisses Haechan’s cheek, her lips lingering. “You’re just too cute.”

And he swears, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant it.

But the second they’re walking ahead of the group, falling behind in the hallway as the rest head toward the docks, her hand slips from his. The smile fades. And when he tries to talk—

“Hey,” he says, reaching for her wrist. “That was…”

“Don’t.” Her voice is flat, cold.

His stomach twists. “Y/N, come on. What was that this morning—last night—?”

She keeps walking. “Nothing. We have a role to play, remember? Let’s not screw it up.”

“But you kissed me—”

“Yeah,” she says sharply, stopping to face him. “Because Mark was watching.”

Something in her eyes is dark, unreadable. She adjusts her sunglasses and walks away like he’s nothing.

And for the rest of the day, it’s a knife to the chest.

Because she keeps doing it. Touching him, whispering sweet things in front of the others, stealing kisses, hugging him like she can’t bear to be apart.

But the second they’re alone—on the boat deck, in the corridor, at the edge of the group—she shuts down completely.

Dry. Distant. Unreachable.

It’s like whiplash. Her sweetness feels like a trap now, and Haechan realizes with a sick twist in his stomach—

She’s punishing him.

And he doesn’t even blame her.

Because he let her go once without a fight. And now she’s showing him exactly what that felt like.

------------

The air is cool, laced with the sound of ocean waves and music drifting from inside the reception room. Fairy lights glow warmly above, laughter echoing from the tables. Y/N is dazzling as always, leaning against Haechan’s arm as someone snaps a photo. Her hand is on his chest again. Her laugh is practiced. Her lips brush his jaw in a lingering kiss that makes his heart ache.

But the second no one is looking, she lets go of him like he burns.

She walks ahead, socializing with the others effortlessly, never looking back.

Haechan barely has time to process the hollow in his chest when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder.

Mark.

“Hey,” Mark says quietly, pulling him toward the side of the balcony. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Haechan blinks. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”

Mark smiles. “Yeah, just… I’ve been thinking. Y/N’s been super lovey-dovey lately. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see it—I was worried there for a bit—but…” He shrugs. “You ever think about proposing?”

The question hits Haechan square in the chest. He stares at Mark, throat tightening.

Mark laughs. “I’m serious, man. She clearly loves you. You two have been together forever. Maybe all this wedding stuff is getting to her. You should go for it.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Haechan reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his worn leather wallet.

Mark watches, confused—until Haechan slips a small velvet box from the hidden pocket inside.

“…What the hell?” Mark’s eyes widen.

“I bought this a year ago,” Haechan says quietly. “I was going to do it last spring. Had everything planned.”

Mark stares at the box, stunned. “Then why didn’t you?”

“You proposed,” Haechan replies simply, flicking the box open to reveal a delicate ring, the kind Y/N always said she wanted—thin band, oval diamond, nothing too flashy. “I didn’t want to take the spotlight. Figured I’d wait a while.”

Mark lets out a breath. “Dude. That’s…”

“I was just waiting for the perfect time,” Haechan continues softly, looking down at the ring. “But it never came.”

Mark wraps him in a tight hug. “Man, I’m so damn happy for you. I mean that. You’re gonna make her so happy.”

Haechan forces a smile, patting his best friend on the back. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But when Mark walks away, humming to himself, Haechan doesn’t move. Just stands there, staring at the ring in his hand.

He swallows hard, the bitter twist of irony cutting deeper than anything.

Because now all he can think is— “What the hell do I do with a ring when the girl I bought it for won’t even look at me anymore?”

He slips it back into his wallet, into the same pocket it’s been hidden in for over a year.

And for the first time, he wonders if it’ll ever come back out again.

---------------

Y/N is perfect.

Too perfect.

Her laughter is golden. Her hand fits neatly into Haechan’s. She’s feeding him bites of fruit from her plate, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin like he’s the center of her universe. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at him—so lovingly, so convincingly, it almost makes him believe it.

Almost.

Because the second someone else is speaking, the second they’re not the focus of attention—she withdraws like he’s invisible.

Won’t look at him. Won’t touch him. Doesn’t say a word.

It’s driving him mad.

When the group disperses after brunch, he grabs her wrist and pulls her down the hall, into a quiet corner near the linen closets.

“Y/N,” he hisses, closing the door behind them. “What the hell are you doing?”

She blinks at him, all innocent surprise. “What do you mean?”

He exhales sharply. “You’re being cold. You act like you’re in love with me when people are watching and then you treat me like a stranger the second we’re alone.”

She just shrugs. “I’m acting like you did.”

That lands hard. He flinches.

She crosses her arms, her voice calm and cruelly steady. “You’re getting a taste of your own medicine, Haechan. You made it look so easy. All smiles in public. All distance in private. I’m just following your example.”

He stares at her, chest heaving.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that,” he says finally. “I was… scared.”

She scoffs. “Of what? Of trying?”

“No—of fighting for you and still losing you,” he says, voice cracking. “Because if I begged you to stay and you still walked away, then I’d know for sure you didn’t want me. That you didn’t love me anymore.”

He looks at her like she’s the only thing he’s ever cared about.

“And that would’ve destroyed me.”

Y/N blinks, throat bobbing. “It destroyed me anyway,” she whispers.

Silence settles between them like a fog.

“I’m sorry,” Haechan says, voice raw. “I should’ve fought harder.”

She holds his gaze for a long moment.

Then she smiles sadly. “I’ll always want you.”

And she walks away before he can say a word, heels echoing down the hall, leaving him leaning back against the wall like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

---------------

The evening sparkles with fairy lights, champagne, and the soft clinking of silverware. Everyone is dressed to the nines. But no one looks as devastating as her.

Y/N walks in like a dream—floor-length silk clinging to her curves, hair pinned perfectly, lips glossed and eyes shimmering. Haechan watches her from across the room in his black suit and navy tie, jaw flexing slightly when her eyes lock with his.

She doesn’t smile.

She just looks at him. All knowing. All heat.

And it’s enough.

The night starts with practiced poise. Toasts. Speeches. Laughter.

But the pull between them is magnetic. Electric.

Y/N perches beside him at the long table, her bare shoulder brushing his suit jacket. She leans in to whisper something to someone else, and her lips ghost past his neck. Haechan’s hand slides beneath the table, fingers brushing her thigh just once. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Until dessert is served and he lifts his fork to her lips, feeding her a bite of cake. She hums, slow and sweet.

He cuts her meat without a word.

She places her hand over his on the knife, deliberately brushing her fingers along his knuckles.

No one around them notices how his mouth finds the curve of her shoulder under the pretense of a whisper. How she turns her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw.

They look like a couple in love.

But to them—for tonight—it almost feels like love again.

She lets him wrap his arm around the back of her chair. Her hand stays on his thigh.

She laughs with him, smiles at him, rubs her thumb along his jaw after he makes a joke.

The mask drops without effort.

It’s the most natural thing in the world. 

By the end of the night, they’re tangled around each other under the pretense of comfort and champagne, but there’s a glimmer in their eyes—haunted, warm, and wanting.

Because for the first time in forever, they aren’t pretending.

They’re just them again.

Even if it’s temporary.

The wedding is tomorrow and all she can think is 'is this it? is the last time I'll be able to touch you and see you smile?' 

Little does she know Haechan is thinking the exact same thing,

-------------

They don’t say anything when they enter the hotel room. Y/N turns the lock behind them, drops her clutch, and spins on her heel. Haechan barely gets a breath in before she’s fisting his tie and yanking him down into her mouth.

The kiss is filthy. Teeth, tongue, and months of pent-up longing.

He groans into her, stumbling forward until her back hits the wall. Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard as she kisses him like she’s starving.

He breaks away for just a second, panting against her lips. “You’re unreal,” he breathes, eyes blown wide. Y/N smirks, tugging his tie again. “Shut up and fuck me.”

They leave a trail of clothes from the bed to the bathroom, kissing and fumbling through their laughter. Her dress slips off her shoulders, pooling to the floor. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned when she grabs his belt and backs into the shower, turning on the spray as the steam instantly begins to rise.

Water pours down their bodies, hot and slick. She presses him to the tile, dropping to her knees on the wet floor. Haechan gasps when her mouth wraps around him, his hand flying to the back of her head.

“Fuck, baby—god, your mouth—always knew it’d ruin me.”

She gags and moans at once, hand stroking what she can’t fit as he throbs on her tongue. Her eyes stay locked on his, daring him to fall apart.

He nearly does.

“Get up,” he pants, pulling her back to her feet, pinning her to the foggy glass wall. “You want it rough? I’ll give it to you rough.”

He hooks her leg around his waist and thrusts in all at once, swallowing her strangled moan with his mouth. The sound of skin slapping echoes through the shower, the water cascading over them as he fucks her hard and deep, hips snapping like he means to make her feel this tomorrow.

“Missed this pussy—fuck—you’re still so tight for me,” he growls against her throat. “You missed this too, didn’t you?”

She whines as he pounds into her, head dropping back.

“Say it, baby. Say you missed me fucking you like this.”

“I missed you,” she gasps, nails digging into his back. “I missed everything.”

He kisses her fiercely, hips stuttering as she clenches around him.

“I’m gonna—shit—inside,” he groans.

“Do it,” she breathes, legs locking around him. “I want it.”

He slams into her once, twice—then groans her name against her lips, spilling inside her as the water continues pouring down their trembling bodies.

They stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other, steam thick around them, the taste of desperation and memory still on their tongues.

But then he starts to move again—hands sliding down her back, lifting her slightly.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmurs, voice husky and low. “Not even close.”

He kisses her slower this time—soft, deliberate—as he sets her down gently, turning her so her front presses against the glass wall.

“Let me love you properly now,” he whispers, positioning himself again.

And round two begins—slower, deeper, emotional.

The kind that makes her close her eyes and bite her lip because it’s not about lust anymore.

It’s about them.

She doesn’t know how they end up like this—bodies tangled beneath the heat of the water, her chest pressed to the fogged-up glass as he rocks into her from behind.

It’s slower now. Controlled. Like he’s savoring her.

His palm smooths up her spine before he curls his fingers into her damp hair, pulling gently to tilt her head back.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against her ear. “How perfectly you fit around me?”

Y/N chokes on a gasp as he thrusts again, long and deep. She feels every inch of him, her walls fluttering as he presses in and stays, grinding slowly.

“No one else gets you like this,” he growls, dragging his mouth along the curve of her neck. “No one else even fucking compares.”

She clenches around him at his words, a soft whimper spilling from her lips.

Haechan smiles against her skin. “Yeah… I know you missed this. You missed me. Missed the way I stretch you open—fill you up so good you forget your own damn name.”

She’s shaking, hands braced flat against the slick glass, her head hung low, biting back cries that sound too much like love.

“You were made for me, baby,” he pants. “You think I don’t know it the second I’m inside you? This pussy’s mine.”

Y/N doesn’t argue. She can’t. Not when she’s holding on so tight she feels like she might fall apart.

Not when every slow drag of his cock has her seeing stars.

Not when her heart feels like it’s being ripped in two.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he whispers, slowing down even more. His thrusts now feel like declarations. Gentle. Intentional. “Tell me you still need me.”

Her voice breaks when she finally speaks.

“I never stopped.”

His breath stutters in his chest.

“I tried to move on,” she admits, voice raw. “But no one was ever you.”

He groans softly, leaning forward to kiss her temple, her jaw, the corner of her mouth as he continues fucking her with those slow, perfect strokes that leave her gasping.

“You’re everything, Y/N,” he says, hands smoothing over her hips, her waist, her breasts. “You always have been.”

And god—she wants to believe him. Wants to believe this means something more. That when this wedding is over, they’ll figure it out. That she’s not just a last taste of something that used to be.

But tomorrow, they’ll go back to pretending. Tomorrow, someone else is getting married. Tomorrow might be the last time she ever sees him.

That fear bubbles up and makes her cling tighter to him, arms reaching back to pull him down until his chest is against her back, her hands cupping his jaw, her cheek turning just enough to kiss him blindly, messily.

“Please,” she breathes, breaking apart under him. “Don’t make this the last time.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms lock around her, the way his hips start to move faster, and the broken noise he lets out against her skin—it tells her everything she needs to know.

They fall apart like that—pressed together, soaking wet, hearts racing, holding on like the world might pull them apart at any moment.

And maybe it will.

But for now… he stays inside her, buried deep, refusing to move even after he’s spent.

Because leaving her now would be too much.

Too final.

--------------

Haechan stands in front of a hotel mirror, straightening Mark’s bowtie as the groom paces behind him like a caged animal.

"I'm sweating through my shirt," Mark mutters, wiping his palms down his slacks. “Do I look pale?”

"You always look pale," Haechan smirks, giving him a slap on the back. "You're good, hyung. Breathe."

Mark tries, chest rising and falling too fast. “You’ve got your speech, right? I didn’t dream that part?”

Haechan chuckles, adjusting his own tie now. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “I’ve been ready.”

But when Mark turns around, distracted again by the tie he swears still looks crooked, Haechan’s smile fades. His fingers slide into his pocket, brushing over the velvet box he hasn’t taken out since yesterday.

He leaves it there.

He has a speech ready. But not the one he wrote down.

The ceremony.

The sun filters through the trees in soft golden rays, casting a warm glow over the outdoor venue. Strings swell in the background, violins playing as the guests hush and rise to their feet.

Haechan stands beside Mark, hands clasped in front of him, eyes straight ahead—until she walks in.

Y/N, in a soft blush dress that hugs her waist and flutters at her ankles as she walks down the aisle.

Her eyes meet his instantly.

And it’s like the world stills.

Her lashes are heavy with mascara, her lips painted soft pink—but it's the way she looks at him that unravels everything. Open. Raw. Like last night is still playing in her head, just like it is in his.

She takes her seat. Haechan tears his gaze away.

The bride enters, radiant and beaming.

Mark is crying.

The pastor begins to speak.

“Marriage is a promise—a vow made not just in words, but in action. It is choosing someone, again and again, through every season.”

Haechan’s jaw tightens.

His gaze flicks to Y/N. She’s already looking at him.

“Marriage is not perfect. It requires patience, forgiveness, understanding… and above all, love.”

He thinks about her laugh. Her silence. Her warmth. The way she trembled in his arms just hours ago, whispering that no one compared.

He thinks about how easily he let her go the first time. How afraid he was to lose her—and lost her anyway.

Y/N blinks slowly, her expression unreadable now.

But she’s still looking.

Still holding on.

The bride and groom exchange vows.

Cheers erupt as they kiss.

Everyone claps.

But Haechan’s hands don’t move. Neither do Y/N’s.

Because both of them are still stuck in a fantasy where it should’ve been them.

--------------

The lights are dimmed low, strung fairy lights casting a soft, romantic glow across the reception hall. Guests murmur in excitement as the clinking of glasses dies down and the DJ taps the mic.

“The best man would like to say a few words,” he announces.

Haechan steps up to the microphone in his suit and tie, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding his glass of champagne. He clears his throat, gaze sweeping the room once before settling on the newlyweds at the head table — then lingering just a second longer on Y/N.

He smiles.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Haechan. I’ve known Mark since we were eleven and I saw him get pantsed at soccer tryouts. True story.”

The room laughs. Mark groans.

“But from that moment on, we’ve pretty much done everything together. High school, heartbreak, karaoke competitions, bad hair phases—”

Another laugh.

“—and then one day, he met someone. And that was it. That annoying, all-consuming, ‘can’t stop texting her even during boys’ night’ kind of love.”

Mark blushes, squeezing his new wife’s hand. Haechan chuckles softly, his voice going a little quieter now.

“It’s funny, watching someone find their soulmate. It changes them. Softens them. You look at them and you just… know.”

He turns slightly now, his eyes locking on Y/N across the room. She’s frozen.

“And thanks to Mark, I found mine.”

A hush falls.

“I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t looking for it. But there she was. Smart, stubborn, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She makes fun of me constantly, she takes up more than half the bed, and she always steals my fries even when she said she wasn’t hungry.”

A few people laugh again. Y/N doesn’t move.

Haechan swallows.

“But she’s it for me. The one. And I love her. So much.”

Y/N’s lip trembles.

“One day… that’ll be us up there.”

She breaks.

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, covering her mouth and hurrying out of the hall. Murmurs rise. Mark looks confused, concerned, but assumes she’s just overwhelmed.

Only Haechan knows better.

He hands the mic back off, not saying another word, and leaves his glass on the table. Without thinking, without explaining, he walks out after her — heart racing.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

But he knows he can’t lose her again.

The music is still faintly playing inside, laughter and clinking glasses filtering through the walls. But out here, it’s quiet. Moonlight washes over the garden in silver. Y/N stands near the edge of the stone path, arms wrapped around herself, trembling.

Footsteps approach.

“Y/N—”

She spins, eyes glassy with tears. “That was cruel.”

Haechan stops dead.

She blinks fast. “You knew we were broken up. You knew this—this whole thing was fake. And then you go and say that? In front of everyone?” Her voice cracks. “Why would you do that to me?”

Haechan shakes his head, jaw clenched. “It wasn’t fake to me.”

She laughs bitterly, wiping under her eyes. “God, I’m such a loser. I actually went along with this whole charade. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could hurt you the way you hurt me—” Her voice breaks. “But all I did was hurt myself.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” he says quickly, stepping forward. “You’re not a loser. Don’t ever say that again.”

She sniffles and looks away.

“I meant every word,” he says. “Every single one.”

Y/N opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but then—

Haechan reaches into his jacket pocket.

He pulls out a velvet box.

Her breath catches.

“I bought this a year ago,” he says quietly. “I was going to propose. I was just waiting for the right time.”

She stares at it. Frozen.

“But then Mark proposed, and I thought… I should wait. I didn’t want to steal his moment.”

He looks up at her, eyes burning. “And then we broke up. And I didn’t fight. Not because I didn’t care—” His voice cracks. “But because I was in denial. I kept telling myself we were just taking a break. That you’d call. That I’d show up at your place and everything would go back to normal.”

He swallows. “But it didn’t. And I lost you.”

Silence stretches between them, thick with all the words they’ve held in for too long.

“You’re it for me, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you this whole time. I never stopped. And I know you haven’t either.”

She finally looks up at him—really looks.

Her voice is barely a whisper. “You hurt me.”

He nods, pain twisting in his expression. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I made you think I didn’t care, and that’s the biggest mistake of my life.”

Her eyes fill with tears again.

“I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I do,” he says. “Every single day. In every small, stupid, tender way. You’re the love of my life, and I’m not letting you go again.”

She’s crying. Silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she presses a hand to her lips, as if trying to hold herself together.

Then, after a breathless pause—

She throws herself into his arms.

And he catches her like he’s been waiting forever.

Haechan pulls her in, hands cradling her face like she’s made of glass. Their lips meet in a kiss so full of longing, history, and love that it steals the breath from both of them. It’s messy, wet with tears, but it’s real—the kind of kiss that says I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.

Neither of them wants to let go.

A sudden noise behind them.

They break apart, just in time to see Mark stepping out of the venue, tux jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened.

“Hey,” he says gently, eyeing them with concern. “You guys okay?”

Y/N sniffs, quickly wiping under her eyes, pulling herself together. “Yeah,” she says with a small smile. “I just got a little emotional. But I’m fine.”

Mark nods, then pulls her into a warm hug. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers. “It means the world to me.”

He turns to Haechan, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And thanks for that speech, man. You crushed it.”

Haechan smiles, a little breathless still. “Anytime, bro.”

Mark grins and heads back inside, humming along to the soft music playing from the speakers.

Silence settles over the garden again, peaceful now.

Haechan turns to Y/N. “Can we start fresh?” he asks, hopeful.

She smiles softly, shaking her head. “No.”

He blinks, caught off guard.

She steps closer, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t want to forget any part of our story. Not the good, not the bad. We made it here. That’s what matters.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Okay. I like that better.”

He takes her hands in his. “Then let me ask you this, for the first time again—will you go out with me?”

Y/N bites back a smile, pretending to think.

Then—“Yes.”

Haechan beams.

Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling.

And just like that, it begins again.

Not a fresh start—but a better one.

Together.

-----------------

He didn’t offer a hand. Just a name, like it was enough.

The bartender appeared, and without looking away from her, Haechan ordered something—something expensive, judging by the slight raise of the bartender’s brow. Then he turned the glass toward her instead of himself.

“You strike me as someone who could use something stronger than… whatever that is,” he said, nodding at her drink.

Normally, she would have bristled. But there was something about him that made her lean into it instead of away.

One drink became two. Two became three. By the time they were leaning in close, shoulders brushing, his hand resting dangerously near her thigh, she’d stopped wondering why her pulse wouldn’t slow down.

When he finally said, “Wanna get out of here?” it wasn’t even a question.

They didn’t speak much on the walk to the hotel. The silence wasn’t awkward—if anything, it was charged. Y/N’s heels clicked against the pavement in quick rhythm, but Haechan’s steps were slower, confident, like he knew exactly where this night was going and didn’t need to rush.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, his hand was already at her waist, pulling her in until her back met the mirrored wall. His breath was warm against her ear when he spoke.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want me to ruin you all night,” he murmured, his tone low, dangerous.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t get the chance to answer—his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. His hands roamed like he had every right to touch her, sliding over her hips, gripping the curve of her ass through her dress. She gasped into the kiss when he squeezed, and he used the opening to lick into her mouth, deep and claiming.

When the elevator dinged, he pulled back just enough to smirk at her swollen lips. “Room 804. Move.”

She barely remembered the walk down the hall before they were inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

Haechan was on her instantly, spinning her so her back hit the door, his hands braced on either side of her head. “You like giving control away, sweetheart?”

Her pulse jumped. “Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.” His hand slid up her thigh, dragging the hem of her dress with it. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and his grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.

The dress was gone before she could think about modesty, pooling at her feet while he drank in the sight of her. He didn’t bother hiding the hunger in his eyes as he pressed her against the door again, his thumb grazing her already-damp panties.

“Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “So wet for me already. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she said again, her voice breaking slightly.

“Not good enough.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. “Say it like you meanit.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

That earned her a kiss so deep it stole the air from her lungs. He pulled her toward the bed, stripping off his own jacket and shirt on the way. His body was lean, toned, and every movement screamed cocky self-assurance.

When she reached for his belt, he caught her wrists, pushing her down onto the mattress. “Uh-uh. You don’t touch unless I say you can.”

He knelt between her thighs, dragging her panties down slowly, like he wanted her to squirm. When he tossed them aside, he spread her knees wide, his gaze dark and heavy as it roamed over her.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The words made heat pool low in her belly. She obeyed, and he smirked like she’d just handed him the win. His fingers were on her first—slow at the start, teasing—then rougher, curling deep until her back arched off the bed.

“Such a good little thing,” he murmured, watching her writhe. “You take my fingers so well. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.”

When she was a mess beneath him, he finally freed himself, the sight of him making her mouth go dry. He didn’t rush, just stroked himself lazily while looking her over like she was something he owned already.

Then he was over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else.”

And he was right. The thrust was deep, hard, making her cry out. He fucked her like he had something to prove, his hips snapping against hers, each thrust punctuated by filthy praise and taunts—telling her how tight she was, how perfect she felt, how she was made for him to use.

When she clawed at his back, he caught her wrists again, pinning them above her head. “Stay still. Take it. That’s all you have to do.”

Her moans filled the room, mixing with the slap of skin and his ragged breathing. He bent down to bite her neck, licking over the mark after. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes—oh god—”

“Do it. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

When she did, it was intense, shattering, her body tightening around him in pulsing waves. He fucked her through it, groaning when he spilled inside her, his thrusts finally slowing.

He kissed her once more—slow this time—before pulling back, that smirk returning. “Told you. Ruined.”

Y/N woke to an empty bed.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the dent in the pillow where his head had been. The sheets smelled like him—clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker she couldn’t quite place. The memories from last night flashed back in sharp, heated fragments: the elevator, his hands, his voice in her ear telling her exactly what to do.

Her thighs ached in the best way.

Rolling onto her back, she caught sight of the clock. Late. She groaned, dragging herself up and finding her dress crumpled on the floor. There was no note. No phone number. Just the echo of his smirk burned into her brain.

By the time she slid into a booth at the little café near her apartment, her best friend, Mina, was already there—iced coffee in hand and a knowing grin on her face.

“You’re late,” Mina said, eyes dropping to Y/N’s oversized hoodie and messy hair. “And… you look like you just rolled out of bed. From someone else’s bed.”

Y/N bit her lip, sliding into the seat. “Okay, so… I might have had a night.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice even though the café wasn’t crowded. “Met him at the bar. Tall, hot, this stupid cocky smirk that should have been illegal. He bought me a drink and—” She stopped, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Mina, it was… the best sex of my life.”

“Oh my god.” Mina covered her mouth, then dropped her hand. “Details. Now.”

Y/N looked around once more before continuing. “He was… rough. But perfect. Said all the right things, like he could read my mind. At one point—” She paused, shivering at the memory. “At one point he looked at me and said ‘open up for me, sweetheart’. And I did. Like instantly. I didn’t even think.”

Mina fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, keep going.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch him unless he said so,” Y/N admitted, smirking a little. “And when I came, he—god—he told me he wanted to feel me fall apart around him. It was filthy. I loved every second of it.”

Mina shook her head, grinning. “So when’s round two?”

Y/N’s smirk faded just a little. “That’s the thing… when I woke up, he was gone. No note. No number. Nothing.”

Mina raised a brow. “Mysterious. Maybe he’ll pop up again.”

Y/N stirred her coffee, trying to hide how much she hoped so. “Yeah… maybe.”

But even as they switched topics, she knew she’d recognize that smirk anywhere—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find him, or if she should run the other way if she did.

-----------

The sizzle of garlic in the pan filled her small kitchen, the scent curling warm and familiar through the air. Y/N moved lazily between the counter and the stove, wooden spoon in hand, humming faintly to herself. The TV was on in the living room, volume low—background noise she barely paid attention to most nights.

“…in other news, police are still investigating the underground street racing gang suspected in a string of high-end car thefts across the city…”

She half-listened, tossing the pasta into the pot, steam clouding up in front of her.

“…the group is believed to be highly organized, with members able to bypass advanced security systems in minutes. Authorities have yet to identify any suspects, but earlier this week, surveillance audio captured what they believe to be the gang’s leader…”

Her hand froze on the spoon.

“…the voice was recorded whispering something to himself while working to unlock a car. Investigators say it could be a personal quirk—possibly a code phrase. We warn viewers, the clip is faint but clear.”

She turned toward the living room without meaning to, her brows knitting together as the reporter continued.

And then—

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t grainy enough to hide the tone. That deep, low rumble. The way the word sweetheartcurled at the edges, dripping with command.

Y/N’s whole body went rigid, the steam from the stove curling around her as her mind stuttered.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

But the moment it hit her ears, her body remembered. The weight of him above her. The heat of his breath against her ear. That exact same line, whispered while she lay beneath him, trembling, her back arching into his touch.

Her knees felt unsteady.

The anchor kept speaking, explaining how police hoped the clip might lead to tips from the public, but she barely heard a word. Her heart thudded in her chest as they played it again.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

She stumbled toward the couch, grabbing the remote with shaky fingers, rewinding. Playing it again. And again. Every repetition sent a sharp shiver down her spine.

It was him. It was Haechan.

She sank onto the couch, her dinner forgotten in the kitchen, the only thing she could hear was his voice filling the quiet apartment—over and over—until it was impossible to deny the truth.

The man who’d given her the best night of her life was the leader of a gang the police couldn’t catch.

And she knew that voice better than anyone.

-----------

The garage smelled like motor oil and adrenaline. The hum of a stripped-down Nissan idled low in the background, the hood up, exposed wiring glinting under the harsh white lights. Haechan was crouched beside it, a smudge of grease on his forearm, his focus razor-sharp on the delicate lock bypass he’d been perfecting.

The metallic click of the door opening announced Mark before his voice did.

“They got your voice on tape,” Mark said flatly, stepping inside.

Haechan didn’t look up right away, just kept working, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Cops get lots of things on tape. Doesn’t mean they know what they’re listening to.”

Mark leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “This time, they’re playing it on the damn news.”

That made Haechan pause. Slowly, he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let me hear it.”

Mark pulled out his phone, scrolling, then hit play.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The voice—his voice—rolled out into the garage, low and intimate even in the grainy recording.

And Haechan froze.

Because he remembered saying it. Not here. Not to himself over a lock. But to her. Weeks ago, her knees open under his hands, her eyes glassy with need, the little breathless yes she’d given him right after.

Heat flared low in his gut, memory slamming into him so hard it stole his breath.

Her soft gasps as he slid into her. The way she squeezed around him, so fucking tight it had him gritting his teeth. The sight of her arching under him, mouth falling open as she obeyed every filthy word he gave her.

He hadn’t been able to hook up with anyone since. Not for lack of trying—he’d had offers. But every time he touched someone else, it felt wrong. They weren’t her. They didn’t make his control slip the way she did.

He tossed the rag onto the bench and grabbed his jacket.

Mark blinked. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” Haechan said, already heading for the door.

“That’s it? You’re not even gonna—”

“Lock up the garage when you’re done,” he cut in, not slowing.

Mark’s voice followed him out. “You’re not telling me something.”

Haechan didn’t bother answering. He was already in the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life. His mind wasn’t on the job, or the risk, or the cops—it was on Y/N. On the way she’d looked up at him that night. On the sound she’d made when he told her to open up for him.

And if she’d seen that news clip…

He pressed harder on the gas. He needed to see her.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came.

Y/N froze halfway through brushing her teeth, the sound echoing through her quiet apartment. No one came by this late. No one except—

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t need to look through the peephole. There was only one person who would knock like that—three firm raps, a pause, then two more.

She pulled on her robe, tying the belt tighter as she stepped into the hall. And there he was.

Haechan stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, hood up, shadows hiding half his face. But his eyes… she’d know them anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low but steady.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You know why I’m here.”

She crossed her arms, the robe tugging tighter across her chest. “Do I?”

His gaze sharpened. “I know you know it’s me. It’s all over the news.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “The second I heard it… I knew.” She swallowed, fingers tightening on the robe belt. “It was you.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“But I’m not going to tell anyone,” she continued. “I don’t care what you’ve done… it’s not my business. But it means we can’t—” She hesitated, the words catching. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe, or defiance. Then he stepped closer, close enough for her to smell the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.

“You really think I’m going to walk away that easy?” he murmured.

Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, pulling a sharp gasp from her before she melted against him. Her hands were at his chest, meaning to push him back—but instead, they curled into his jacket as his tongue slid against hers, his body crowding hers into the doorframe.

She kissed him back. Hard. Like she’d been starving for it.

When she finally broke away, breathless, her hand pressed lightly to his chest—not shoving, but holding him there. “You have to stop coming here.”

He didn’t move for a beat, eyes locked on hers, lips curved in that infuriating smirk. But when she stepped back, he let her go.

She turned, retreating inside without looking back, the door clicking shut between them.

In the dark of her bedroom, she lay staring at the ceiling, heart still pounding.

What the hell was going on in her life?

----------------

The night air was thick with gasoline, smoke, and bass-heavy music that rattled the cracked pavement. Y/N stood near the edge of the crowd, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, watching the chaos unfold.

Mina had dragged her here, bright-eyed with her new boyfriend in tow, gushing about how “street racing is way more fun than it sounds.” Y/N had almost said no. But maybe, she thought, it was time to put Haechan firmly in the past. Maybe she could meet someone new tonight. Someone who didn’t vanish after wrecking her self-control, and definitely someone who wasn’t a walking red flag.

Engines roared at the starting line, headlights flaring against the dark. Y/N let her gaze wander over the lineup—sleek bodies of metal and chrome, paint jobs that gleamed under the scattered floodlights.

Then one particular car rolled forward.

It was impossible not to notice. Low to the ground, jet black with tinted windows that hid the driver completely—until the glass began to roll down.

Her stomach dropped.

Haechan.

------------

there were exactly a thousand guests in attendance tonight. family, friends, business partners, celebrities, investors, socialites, industry executives from every corner of asia, people whose names appear in magazines and headlines and billion-dollar reports. the ballroom itself looked almost unreal – dripping crystals suspended from the ceiling, white roses woven into towering arrangements, soft gold lighting reflecting against polished marble floors. every detail had been curated to perfection. fitting for the wedding of the heirs to two of the most influential beauty empires in the country.

“we have been waiting for this union for years now,” mrs. zhong continues, and somehow every person in the room hangs onto each word she says. she has always had that effect on people.

“my one and only son, chenle…i am very happy and excited as you take on this next chapter,” her eyes land on him briefly, full of pride, “i know you will be extraordinary, as you are in everything you do.”

a wave of soft applause spreads through the room. chenle beside you gives a polite nod, composed as ever. 

then her attention shifts entirely to you.

“and of course, my beautiful daughter in law, y/n zhong…,” the warmth in her voice softens you completely. the last name making your heart flutter. you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing it.

“i’ve always wanted you as my real daughter,” she says with a small smile painted in her signature crimson lipstick,  “and now i can finally say you are.”

your chest tightens in the best way possible. you smile back before you can even think about it, eyes sparkling beneath the lights as emotion swells quietly inside you. because unlike the cameras and contracts and business articles surrounding this marriage…this part felt real. 

lili zhong was someone you had admired long before you ever understood what admiration truly was. 

you can remember it as if it was yesterday – being seven years old inside the towering headquarters of zhong cosmetics, your tiny dress shoes squeaking against the floors as you and chenle ran through the halls without a care in the world. the building had felt gigantic back then, less like a corporate empire and more like your personal playground. you remembered hiding beneath reception desks with chenle while assistants searched for the two of you in panic. remembered spinning around in leather office chairs worth more than most people’s rent. remembered sneaking into empty conference rooms just to press random buttons on expensive remotes.

and then lili zhong walked out.

and the entire atmosphere shifted the moment she appeared. not much different from how it is now. employees straightened immediately. conversations stopped mid-sentence. people moved aside for her without being told to. she carried herself with grace and effortless authority, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, heels clicking sharply against the floor like a metronome everyone unconsciously followed. but what fascinated you most wasn’t the fear or respect she commanded. it was how composed she looked doing it. 

you remembered watching from next to chenle as she reapplied her lipstick using the reflection of a glass wall, precise and graceful like second nature. one smooth swipe of red. cap clicked shut. then immediately back to discussing quarterly projections as if perfection came as easily as breathing. prim. proper. poised. she was untouchable. and you had been completely mesmerized. 

from that moment on, you’d wanted to become the kind of woman lili zhong was – respected, strong, confident – the type of woman who could walk into a room and have the world rearrange itself around her. and now, standing beneath thousands of glittering lights with the zhong diamond resting heavily on your left ring finger and her son beside you, you suddenly wondered if this was the closest you had ever come to becoming her. 

“i wish you both a fruitful marriage,” she says with a subtle wink in your direction, a wave of laughter spreading softly through the ballroom. your face warms instantly because everyone here understands exactly what she means. not just the merger between zhong cosmetics and yü skincare. not just the billions this marriage would bring. not just the headlines already flooding social media tonight.

but heirs too. children with the zhong name. future successors beautiful enough to belong on campaign billboards before they could even walk.

“may it always be filled with prosperity and success,” mrs. zhong continues, lifting her glass slightly, “and may the two of you continue bringing honor to our families and our companies.”

camera flashes explode around the room like lightning. you can already imagine tomorrow’s articles.

THE GOLDEN COUPLE OF BEAUTY

CHINA’S MOST POWERFUL MARRIAGE!

LOVE, LUXURY, AND LEGACY.

“this country has not seen such a beautiful couple before.”

the applause is immediate. a thousand guests rise to the toast without hesitation, crystal glasses lifting beneath the chandelier light. from the stage, the entire ballroom looked dipped in gold. 

“to mr. and mrs. zhong.”

“to mr. and mrs. zhong!,” the crowd echos. 

you lift your champagne glass with a smile so genuine it almost hurts. because despite everything, despite the pressure and expectations and business contracts hidden beneath layers of silk and diamonds – you were happy. maybe pathetically so. 

you have loved zhong chenle for most of your life. 

before the magazines started calling him the future of luxury cosmetics. before investors nicknamed the two of you the golden couple. before marriage turned into obligation instead of possibility.

and there was a time, too. a time when chenle used to reach for your hand first. a time where the two of you spent entire afternoons running through corporate buildings while your parents attended meetings. a time where he’d steal your desserts at dinners and complain when other boys talked to you at events. a time where marriage jokes from your families made both of you groan dramatically before dissolving into laughter. 

back then, it had felt harmless. like something far away. until you both turned eighteen. when meetings became serious. when contracts replaced teasing. when your families stopped asking and started deciding. 

that was when everything changed. 

because every time chenle looked at you after that, it was no longer with warmth – it was resentment.

you became the physical reminder of every choice he would never get to make for himself. the life he would never get to live. the love he would never get to experience freely. 

somehow, the public never noticed. that was the worst part – chenle was terrifyingly good at pretending. like right now, with one hand resting against the small of your back, he looked every bit like the devoted husband he wanted the media to believe him to be. calm smile. soft gaze. protective touch. 

the perfect heir beside his perfect wife. 

and the cameras adored him for it – “mr. zhong, look here!” “mr. zhong, one more picture with your wife!” “you two are stunning together!” 

his fingers flex lightly against your waist as another round of flashes goes off, and anyone watching would think the gesture is affectionate. loving, even. but you know chenle well enough to recognize performance from sincerity. his hand only ever lingers when people are watching. once they turn away, he lets go like touching you burns. 

still, your heart betrays you. every. single. time. because some part of you still remembers the boy before all of this. the boy who used to grin at you with missing front teeth and tell everyone you were his favorite person in the world. 

the boy you always pictured on this day.

“i can’t wait for this to be over,” chenle murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips. to everyone else, it probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“perfect!,” someone gushes behind a camera, “they look crazy in love.”

the irony nearly makes you laugh. 

chenle turns toward you then, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with such practiced tenderness that several people nearby audibly swoon. you hate how your stomach flips. 

he’s beautiful at pretending to love you. 

sometimes beautiful enough that you can almost pretend with him. 

the reception continues in a blur of diamonds, champagne and endless congratulations. one by one, some of the most influential people in the country approach your table to greet the two of you personally, every gift placed before you looking absurdly expensive. 

chenle smiles effortlessly but if someone looked closely enough, they would notice you speaking far more than he was, carrying conversations, thanking guests, asking about their families and businesses with perfectly timed warmth. prim. proper. poised. you had learned from the best. every time chenle’s expression dulled slightly, you stepped in before anyone could question it. when his attention drifted you redirected conversations smoothly. when his smiles became visibly strained, you compensated with your own brightness. and you’re convinced no one notices his lack of sincerity. or maybe they do and simply choose not to acknowledge it. because appearances mattered more than truth in a room like this. 

“you two truly are perfect together,” an older woman sighs while admiring the two of you, “just look at how attentive your husband is.”

“he always takes good care of me,” you reply quickly, smile never faltering, the lie sliding off your tongue so naturally it almost scares you. chenle glances at you briefly after that comment. you can’t tell if he’s irritated or grateful. perhaps both. 

minutes pass like that. more smiles. more photos. more toasts. more champagne. your cheeks begin aching from smiling so much but you endure it anyway. this was your wedding day. everything is supposed to be perfect. until–

“excuse me,” chenle suddenly says beside you after another round of greetings, “i need to use the restroom.”

you immediately nod before anyone else can react, “of course.”

one of the investors chuckles knowingly, “already escaping from married life, mr. zhong?”

a ripple of laughter follows. chenle gives them a charming grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, “just five minutes. i'll be right back.” he leaves with calm steps, posture still immaculate beneath his suit. you continue smiling after he disappears into the crowd. 

five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty. people begin noticing. 

“where’s your husband?” someone asks casually. 

you let out a soft laugh, “probably being dragged into another business deal somewhere.” they laugh with you easily. and you cover for him again. and again. and again. 

by the thirty-minute mark, you can practically feel whispers beginning to bloom around the ballroom like perfume in the air. so you straighten your spine further, lift your chin slightly, and you smile brighter. if chenle was going to disappear from his own wedding reception, then you would make sure no one noticed the crack forming underneath the surface. you continue greeting guests alone, accepting congratulations with elegance polished into your bones. 

mrs. zhong watches you from across the ballroom, sharp eyes lingering knowingly on your solitary figure. she says nothing. because she knows her son. how loud his resentment has been years,  months, weeks building into this. but she also knows you. and she trusts you’ll be perfectly fine. that’s why she chose you for her son anyway.

chenle finally returns before he hit the forty-minute mark. your eyes find him immediately across the ballroom. his tie is slightly loosened now, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to catch instantly. his expression remains composed. but the second he reaches your side – you smell it. whiskey. strong enough to linger beneath his cologne. 

and truthfully? you don’t really mind. chenle was always easier when he drank. looser around the edges. less cold. less careful about keeping distance between the two of you. sometimes…he even looked at you like he used to.

and after disappearing for almost forty minutes, he was going to have to sell this act twice as hard. 

“there you are,” you say smoothly as another cluster of guests approaches the two of you. before you can even fully turn toward them, chenle’s hand settles against your waist. firm. far more natural than earlier. 

“sorry,” he says quietly near your ear, voice lower now, slightly roughened by alcohol, “got cornered.”

you hum in acknowledgement, not bothering to call him out. he was lying, obviously. but this version of chenle was infinitely more tolerable than the sober one who treated your marriage like a prison sentence. 

“mr. and mrs. zhong!” another investor greets excitedly, approaching with his wife beside him, “we were just saying you two look unbelievable together tonight.”

normally, chenle would give a polite smile, a practiced nod, maybe rest his hand on your back for exactly five seconds before pulling away. instead, he pulls you closer. 

“thank you,” he says easily, “my wife makes it difficult not to stare.”

your breath nearly catches. it was the first time he’d call you that. his wife. and you hate how much you loved hearing it. 

the investor’s wife practically melts on the spot, “oh, he adores you.”

you knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. chenle’s just performing harder now. making up for lost time. and annoyingly enough, he’s very good at it. throughout the next hour, he barely left your side. and you’d be lying if you said it didn't affect you. drunk chenle was dangerously convincing. this version of him looked softer around the edges, dark eyes warmer beneath the ballroom lights. he smiled more. touched you more. occasionally leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed yours naturally instead of mechanically. like right now-

“you’re doing that thing again,” he murmurs quietly, only for you to hear. 

“what thing?”

“over-smiling,” his lips twitch faintly, “your cheeks are probably hurting.”

the fact he noticed at all sends something uncomfortable fluttering through your chest. 

“i’m fine.”

“mhm,” his pointer finger lightly grazes your cheekbone, soft and careful, “liar.”

your heart stumbles embarrassingly fast. you hate that alcohol makes him kinder. or maybe not kinder. just more honest with his attention. 

another camera flash bursts in front of you both. another perfect photo for the headlines tomorrow. you wonder if anyone would still call the two of you the golden couple if they knew chenle only touched you this much after drinking enough whiskey to blur the resentment out of him.

you enjoyed the rest of the wedding reception. or maybe endured was the more accurate word. either way, you played the role of the perfect wife flawlessly. enough to fool an entire ballroom full of billionaires. by the time the reception finally ended, your cheeks ached from smiling and your feet hurt from hours in heels. 

still, there was a strange warmth sitting inside your chest because despite everything – you had married the boy you love. even if he no longer loved you back.

⚜️ THE MARRIED LIFE ⚜️

the drive home is quiet. chenle sits beside you, his gaze lost outside the window. he doesn’t look at you once. the alcohol from earlier seems to have worn off already. funny how quickly the warmth disappeared from him too. 

eventually, the gates to the mansion slid open. your mansion now. your home for the rest of your life. the estate stood enormous against the night sky, lights glowing warmly throughout the property. it was less of a house and more of a private villa, complete with a fountain in the middle, sprawling gardens, balconies overlooking the endless green landscape, rooms neither of you would probably ever step foot in. beautiful but cold.

the car comes to a stop and before the driver can even fully open the door, chenle steps out first. you follow shortly after, one of the maids helping you with your dress as you stepped inside the mansion. the grand foyer stretches high above both of you, chandelier light reflecting against polished floors. 

chenle was already halfway up the left staircase. “night,” he finally says. flat. automatic. not even turning around. like the two of you didn’t just celebrate a once in a lifetime event people dream of. 

he disappears down the left wing leading to his bedroom without another word. you stare after him for a moment before quietly turning toward the opposite staircase. right side. your side. your room.  

lili zhong had arranged this mansion for the two of you a month before the wedding, insisting that it would help ease the transition. she genuinely believed that if the two of you lived together beforehand, chenle would eventually come around, that proximity would soften him, that he’d remembered the closeness you once had. you remembered how hopeful she sounded while showing you around the estate.

“give him time,” she had told you gently, “chenle’s stubborn, but he’s a good boy.”

you wanted to believe her. you really did. so for a month before the wedding - you tried. you asked him about work. about basketball games you knew he loved. about the restaurants you knew he liked. you sat beside him even when he barely acknowledged you were there. you tried being patient. understanding. gentle. it didn’t work. and in the end, your efforts never mattered anyway. because whether chenle liked it or not, the wedding was always going to happen. 

now that it had, the distance between you felt even larger. married yet sleeping in separate bedrooms like strangers forced under the same roof. it’s whatever, really. the mansion had far too many empty rooms anyway.

three months pass like that.

the routine becomes almost mechanical. you wake up separately. leave for work separately. return home separately. 

real conversations only happen at the office. meetings. sale projections. marketing campaigns. brand collaborations. like business partners instead of husband and wife. which, you probably should have expected. 

at home, chenle barely spares you a glance. he doesn’t sit beside you on the sofa. doesn’t ask about your day. doesn’t linger in rooms you enter. dinners are eaten across opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, silence filling the space where conversations should’ve been. sometimes the only sounds are the clink of silverware against plates and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

and at night, the lights still glow beneath two different bedrooms. you’ve never stepped into his this entire time. and he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the colors of your walls were. sometimes you wonder if he stays awake as long as you do. 

one night, you walked into the living room to find him watching basketball. for the first time in weeks, he actually looked alive. completely relaxed against the couch, eyes fixed on the television while quietly reacting under his breath. stephen curry had just made an impossible three-point shot and chenle actually laughed softly, shaking his head with genuine enjoyment lighting his face. you had almost smiled seeing it. because it reminded you of the boy he used to be. then he noticed you standing there and immediately, everything disappeared. his posture straightened. his expression flattened. he watched the rest of the game in complete silence, pretending not to care when curry hit the game winning shot minutes later. pretending he hadn’t been enjoying himself at all before you arrived – that one hurt more than you expected. you realized then that your presence drained the life out of him. he physically could not relax around you anymore. 

so eventually – you stopped trying to fill the silence. stopped asking if he wanted dinner together. stopped lingering in shared spaces hoping he might speak first. 

if chenle wanted distance that badly, then fine. you would give it to him. even if the loneliness of this massive mansion swallowed you whole because of it. 

⚜️ THE OTHER WOMAN ⚜️

you couldn’t help it though. every night, no matter how much you told yourself to stop caring, you still waited for the sound of chenle’s bedroom door shutting. just to make sure he came home. 

some nights he came home early, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion before midnight. other nights, he returned a little later, long after you were supposed to be asleep, the distant sound of his shoes against the floor enough to finally let the tightness in your chest loosen.

he never knew you waited. or maybe he did. either way, neither of you acknowledged it.

but tonight was different.

the grandfather clock in the foyer had already struck two a.m. nearly fifteen minutes ago, the sound heavy and hollow throughout the massive estate. 

chenle has never been out this late.

you glance toward the entrance again before lowering your gaze to the untouched cup of chamomile tea in your hands. it had gone cold almost an hour ago, when you first realize how late it was and your husband was nowhere to be heard. 

“did chenle say where he was going tonight?” you ask the maid standing nearby.

“no, mrs. zhong,” she answers carefully, “but he did call for the driver around twenty minutes ago, he should be making his way back.” 

and it’s ridiculous, really, how your maid knows more about your husband's whereabouts than you do. 

“okay,” you nod gently, setting the untouched tea aside, “go ahead and get some rest,” you offer her a smile despite the exhaustion sitting heavily behind your eyes, “i’ll wait up for him.”

“are you sure, mrs. zhong? i could wait instead.”

you wave her off, “it’s a wife’s duty to take care of her husband.” 

she smiles politely at your response, “okay mrs. zhong, i’ll be here when you need me.” 

“thank you,” you say genuinely. 

she bows her head slightly before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with the silence again. the moment she’s gone, your smile fades. slowly, you rise from the sofa and make your way toward the grand staircase. more specifically  – the left staircase. chenle’s staircase. the one you never use.

the mansion had been designed almost absurdly symmetrical, splitting the house in two. like the house itself understood the distance between you. 

you settle onto the second step quietly, smoothing the fabric of your silk pajama dress beneath you, waiting for him to come home. your eyes drift across the foyer absentmindedly – the massive chandelier overhead, the single round table with the antique vase filled of flowers you didn’t even like, and the wedding portrait hanging near the entrance your mother-in-law gifted. it always made your chest ache a little. you looked so happy in it. chenle looked convincing.

you wonder if this is what arranged marriages are supposed to feel like. waiting around in silence for someone who never notices you waited at all. you lean your head lightly against the staircase railing. maybe he was working late. maybe he was drinking. maybe he didn’t want to come home anymore. the last possibility settles the heaviest. 

your mind drifts despite yourself, back toward the beginning. a time when chenle used to text you constantly whenever he went anywhere. texts that were as silly as:

look at this ugly dog i found

watch basketball with me, i have popcorn

and others, that always made you smile and your heart race:

just tried the new restaurant down the street from our favorite tea place. i have to bring you there..it will make you cry tears of joy.

i saw this dumpling plushie and it reminded me of you, so guess who has a new dumpling plushie

let’s go on trip this weekend, just me and you…already got the flight tickets 

my mom’s annoying me. come save me. please. 

where are you? i’m picking you up

you used to be the first person he looked for in every room. now you barely knew what was going on in that mind of his. a soft laugh escapes you suddenly, quiet and humorless. if the tabloids could see you now, they’ll realize just how easy it is to create fake gold.

another thirty minutes pass when headlights appear through the front windows. your body straightens instantly before you can stop yourself, heartbeat quickening embarrassingly fast. 

the front doors open moments later, chenle walking in. his tie hangs loose around his neck, dark hair slightly messy like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly. he smells faintly of alcohol, expensive cologne and perfume that definitely wasn’t yours. your stomach drops before you can even process it fully. it’s sweet, floral, feminine – not familiar. 

chenle freezes the second he notices you sitting on the staircase. for a brief moment, genuine surprise flashes across his face. 

“what are you doing up?” he asks, voice rough and tired. 

you force your expression to remain soft, normal, “waiting for you.”

something unreadable flickers in his eyes. guilt. maybe. or irritation. you can never tell with him anymore. whatever it is, it disappears almost instantly.

“go to bed, y/n,” he says with a sigh, already sounding exhausted by the conversation before it even begins. then he walks past you. just like that. and something inside you finally snaps. 

there were many things that you could let slide. chenle ignoring you. chenle barely speaking to you unless necessary. chenle looking at you with those cold eyes sharp enough to cut skin open. chenle hating you for a life neither of you truly chose. 

but this? coming home way past midnight smelling of alcohol and another woman’s perfume while wearing lipstick marks on his neck like he didn’t even care enough for you to hide them???

a wife could only take so much. 

you could only take so much. 

before you know it, you’re standing abruptly and following him up the staircase. his staircase. your slippers hit the marble harder with every step as anger burns hotter beneath your skin. he pushes open his bedroom door and you follow him inside immediately, shutting it sharply behind you, the sound echoing through the room.

it’s your first time entering his bedroom in the four months you’ve been married. that realization alone feels pathetic. it’s cleaner than you expected. dark walls. dark sheets. expensive furniture. floor to ceiling windows overlooking the green landscape, similar to yours. it looked less like the room of a married man and more like a luxury bachelor suite. nothing about it felt like there was space for you. 

“are you fucking cheating on me?!” you demand, voice coming out harsher than intended, anger cracking through the polished composure you spent years perfecting.

chenle groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking his shoes off carelessly, “i don’t want to fucking talk about this right now.”

you ignore him completely, hurt and fury already boiling too violently inside your chest. 

“is this why you hate me so much?,” you ask, voice rising, “because you’re already in love with someone else?!”

that catches his attention instantly. his head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you.

“what?”

you let out a bitter scoff, “oh my god, chenle!,” you gesture toward him angrily, “you have her scent all over you, there’s lipstick all over your neck–i’m not fucking stupid.”

your voice gets louder with every word. so much for grace. so much for being poised. right now you’re just angry. hurt. humiliated. 

chenle stares at you for a second before rubbing both hands down his face tiredly, “i’m not fucking in love with someone else,” he mutters. 

“then what the fuck is this?!”

silence stretches for half a second.

“i needed to get laid.”

chenle laughs once humorlessly, “if you haven’t noticed,” he says coldly, “i’ve basically been fucking abstinent for four months and i just…needed a release.”

it’s almost sickening how that makes you feel better. your anger doesn’t disappear but the crushing feeling in your chest eases slightly knowing there wasn’t some other woman holding his heart while you sat here playing the perfect wife. it was just sex. not love. 

you step closer before you can think better of it. chenle’s brows furrow slightly at the sudden closeness. 

“if you need to get your dick wet, you come to my room.” 

his expression changes instantly, genuine shock flashing across his face. you continue before he can interrupt. 

“no one else’s.”

your chest rises sharply with each breath.

“i’m your wife now, for fuck’s sake.”

chenle just stares at you like he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.

“i don’t care if this marriage was arranged for business,” you snap, “you do not get to cheat on me…again.”

that room falls silent after that. you can practically see the conflict moving behind chenle’s eyes now. because he hates this. all of it. the marriage. the expectations. the loss of freedom. but you can also tell he didn’t expect this reaction from you. didn’t expect you to claim your place beside him so bluntly. 

“besides,” you add bitterly, “we need to have a child eventually, as our parents love to remind me,” your laugh comes out hollow, “you’d be doing me a fucking service.”

irritation flickers in chenle’s face immediately. but you don’t stay long enough to examine it. you turn sharply and walk out before he can say anything else, your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears as you cross to your side of the mansion. 

⚜️ THE BEST FRIENDS ⚜️

the two of you never talk about that night again. it got buried beneath the same routine. work meetings. silent dinners. passing each other in hallways without speaking. but something had changed after that. because you opened a door that night. and whether or not chenle chose to knock was entirely up to him. 

it takes another month before he finally does. 

chenle can’t believe he’s actually considering this. he stands in his bedroom, staring at the half empty whiskey glass in his hand. this was insane. he was about to walk into your room and what? sleep with his wife? his best friend? except he’s not even sure that title still belongs to the two of you anymore. 

best friends didn’t look at each other the way he looks at you now – like you were both the wound and the knife that caused it. best friends didn’t spend five months barely speaking despite living under the same roof. best friends definitely didn’t resent each other enough to split a mansion into separate lives. 

chenle exhales sharply before taking another shot. not enough to get drunk, just enough for that liquid courage to settle into his bones, silencing the voice in his head that told him this was wrong and allowing himself to knock on your door.

he knows this is so hard to do because of him. he knows he’s been irrational. resenting you for decisions neither of you truly got to make. taking every ounce of frustration and grief and anger about his life and placing it onto your shoulders because it was easier to have someone to blame than to accept that this is his reality. 

and yet despite all of that – the only thing you had ever truly asked of him during this marriage was to not cheat on you…again. you could’ve demanded affection. attention. a real marriage. instead, you simply looked him in the eye and told him to come to you first. that memory hasn’t left his head since. 

another sigh escapes him before he sets the empty glass down and finally walks out of his room. the hallway separating your bedroom feels strangely longer tonight. every step making him question himself again. this was a terrible idea. he should turn around. go back to his room. pretend this impulse never happened. but fuck, he needs to get laid…right now. 

the knock startles you instantly. you glance up from your bed in confusion. it’s almost midnight. no one ever knocks this late and the maids only enter when called. for a second, you wonder if something’s wrong. 

slowly, you slip off the bed and walk toward the door, your silk, short pajama dress flowing around you. and there he is – standing in the hallway looking strangely tense beneath the dim lights.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. then chenle says flatly–

“i want to have sex.”

simple. direct. like he’s discussing a business proposal instead of standing outside his wife’s bedroom at midnight. your chest tightens painfully because somehow, even after everything, a part of you still hoped he’d come here for another reason. that maybe he missed you. maybe he couldn’t sleep either. maybe tonight, after months of silence, he finally wanted to talk to you like he used to.

but of course not. he wasn’t your chenle anymore. and this was your marriage - transactional. carefully detached. emotionally hollow.

“okay,” you answer softly after a second, stepping aside to let him in. 

chenle walks past you quietly, eyes scanning your room almost curiously. unlike his bedroom, yours actually looked live in. warmer lighting. books scattered across tables. skincare and makeup products lining the vanity. blankets thrown carelessly across the couch near the windows – and trinkets, gifts, specifically from him – scattered around different parts of the room. 

the dumpling plushie he got you when you were fifteen all because it reminded him of you.

the vintage camera on your shelf he bought behind your back when you were sixteen because you had mentioned once, only once, that you loved taking pictures because it made moments feel permanent. he remembers showing up the next day with your dream camera like it was nothing. “don’t say i never support your hobbies,” he teased. 

even those damn crybaby figurines he bought you when you were seventeen were lined carefully beside your bookshelf. every single one from the collection you obsessed over years ago. you had a frown on your face over not getting the rare one from a blind box once and chenle spent nearly two weeks secretly hunting every figurine down until your collection was complete. you used to tell him he was insane for it. he used to think seeing you happy made the effort worth it. 

suddenly the room feels suffocating. because there are pieces of him everywhere in here. small reminders scattered throughout your life of proof that before everything fell apart – chenle used to love you loudly. maybe not romantically. maybe not in the way you wanted. but enough to memorize the smallest things about you. enough to notice every passing comment and quietly turn it into something real. 

chenle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before finally looking at you fully and for the first time in months – he doesn’t look angry when he does. if anything, he looks shaken. then he clears his throat.

“we don’t have to make this…” he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, “more than what it is.”

“okay,” the answer leaves your mouth too quickly. too easily. like you’ve already accepted that this was how it was always going to be. 

he nods, leading the way as he reaches for the buttons of his pajama shirt. you look away the second the fabric slips from his shoulder, the room suddenly feeling warmer. chenle drops his shirt onto the chair near your vanity while you remain frozen beside the bed, fingers nervously toying the hem of your pajama dress.

neither of you knows how to start this. that becomes painfully obvious almost immediately. there’s no romance here to guide the moment. no affection softening the edges. just tension and awkwardness. 

finally, because if you stand there any longer, you think your heart might actually burst through your ribs, you reach beneath the fabric of your dress. with shaky fingers, you hook the elastic of your underwear and slide them down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving it on the floor. you keep the pajama dress on through, the thin material clinging to your curves. 

the room goes still. chenle's eyes lift instinctively toward you, tracing the silhouette of your body before darting away almost immediately. and somehow that reaction hurts more than if he’d stared openly. because this feels like restraint. like guilt. like he is forcing himself not to want you.

you climb onto the bed quietly, trying desperately to appear calmer than you feel. 

“you can turn the lights off if you want,” you murmur softly. 

and maybe that was better. maybe if he couldn’t see you, he could pretend you were just another one of his one night stands. maybe the darkness would erase the history between you, leaving only the physical need. darkness settles over the room instantly, softened only by the lights outside filtering through the windows. 

chenle approaches the bed slowly afterward, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, leaving enough distance between your bodies. neither of you speaks. there’s nothing comforting to say. just the sound of breathing filling the dark room. 

then, he finally reaches for you. his hand settling against your waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of your dress. he pulls you toward him and your breath catches immediately. and it’s sad, really, that despite the coldness, despite the hate, you’ve wanted this for years. you want him so badly it feels like a physical ache in your chest. 

you close your eyes as he shifts closer, the last fragile layer of distance between you finally disappearing. he doesn’t lift the dress, simply just bunching the fabric up around your waist, exposing your hips and thighs to the cool air. he doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t whisper your name. he simply positions himself, his cock hard and pressing against your entrance…and he thrusts in. 

“fuck,” chenle groans under his breath, his hand gripping your waist harder instinctively, digging his fingers into your skin, “you’re so fucking tight.”

your breath catches painfully at the stretch, a sharp, searing pressure tearing through your center as your body struggles to accommodate the sudden intrusion. your fingers unconsciously claw into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as a gasp of genuine pain escapes your lips. it hurts – more than you expected it to. there was no slow build up to soften any of this. no tender words whispered against your skin to ease the transition. this wasn’t lovemaking. 

for chenle, this is only a physical release, a way to drown out the noise of his own sadness and the crushing weight of his expectations. for you, it was simply duty. the possibility of giving both families the heir everyone expected from the moment your engagement was announced. just two emotionally exhausted people trying to fulfill a role they’d been pushed into years ago. 

chenle notices your pain immediately. you know he does because his movements stall, his body freezing inside you for a beat. in the dim light, you see his brows furrow, a flicker of something – hesitation, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he used to be – crossing his features. he gives you a moment to adjust, his chest heaving against yours, but. neither of you say anything. 

what would even be the point? there are no sweet words to be exchanged here. no declarations of love. only uneven breathing filling the dark room and the occasional strained sound slipping from both of you despite yourselves. 

chenle keeps his eyes fixed downward, jaw tense like he’s trying not to think too hard about any of this. about you. about the way you feel wrapped around him. about what this act actually means for the two of you.

your fingers loosen from his arm eventually, your grip shifting to the silk sheets beneath you, bunching the fabric in your fists as the initial, blinding ache slowly dulls into a manageable throb. but as the physical pain recedes, a different kind of agony takes its place – one that is far more suffocating, your mind cruelly reminding you that this is the boy who used to hold your hand while crossing the street to make sure you were safe. the boy who bought you random gifts because they reminded him of you. the boy you had loved with a purity that now felt like a joke. and now, here you are, beneath him in a silence so heavy it felt suffocating. 

he doesn’t try to make it last. he doesn’t try to find your pleasure or bridge the emotional divide between you. he simply drives into you with a mechanical, rhythmic intensity, his movements devoid of affection.

he lasted six minutes before it was finally over. 

chenle curses softly under his breath as he paints your walls white. his forehead drops briefly near your shoulder, breathing unevenly before finally stilling completely. the room falls quiet almost immediately afterward except for both of your breathing. 

then, chenle carefully pulls away. he begins to shift back but freezes mid-motion, his eyes dropping toward the sheets beneath you, the air in the room vanishing – small, vivid spots of red stain the white sheets. 

“shit,” he breathes, his entire expression changing instantly. the detachment he had maintained through the act vanishes, replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm, “are you okay?”

the concern in his voice catches you off guard more than anything else. real, genuine concern that you haven’t heard from him in years. the same boy who used to worry if you’d scraped your knee. 

still trying to steady your breathing, you blink at him tiredly, “what?”

“you bled,” he says immediately, eyes darting back toward the sheets before the realization visibly crashes into him. his face tightens, jaw locking as the implication sinks in. 

“fuck, y/n…,” he exhales sharply, “are you a virgin?”

you stare at him for a long second, the silence stretching between you. you feel empty, raw and utterly exhausted. you shrug lightly, “well,” you mutter dryly, “as of a couple minutes ago, i no longer am.”

chenle looks at you like you’ve just punched him in the chest. there’s disbelief there. guilt. and worst of all – pity.  you hate it instantly. you aren’t a porcelain doll. you are the owner of an empire and you had walked into this encounter with your eyes wide open. 

“don’t look at me like that,”  you scoff, reaching for your blanket and pulling it over you, “it’s not a big deal, chenle. it was gonna happen one way or another.”

he lets out a frustrated sound immediately, dragging both hands through his hair, “why do you keep saying that?!,” he snaps suddenly. 

you blink, startled at the sharpness in his tone, the sudden eruption of emotion, “because it’s true.”

“no, it’s not,” his brows pull together harder, frustration and disbelief bleeding into his voice, “and this is a big deal. i just took your virginity.”

“and?!” you shoot back instantly, emotions finally cracking open.

“it was always yours to take!”

silence. thick. heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. chenle stills completely. the lights spilling through the windows cast shadows across his face, but you can still see the shock there clearly. he looks haunted, as if you’ve just revealed a truth he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“what?” he asks quietly. 

“unlike you,” you say bitterly, your chest rising sharply, “i never thought marrying my best friend was something so repulsive.”

the words hit hard enough that chenle just stares at you. stunned. because he genuinely cannot understand it. 

when he found out about the arrangement years ago, it felt like his entire life stopped belonging to him. suddenly every conversation had contracts hidden beneath it, every family dinner felt staged, every interaction between the two of you became another reminder that his future had already been decided before he even got a say. he panicked. rebelled. slept with girl after girl trying to desperately prove to himself he still had freedom. he still belonged to himself. still had choices before marriage locked him into a life he never asked for. 

but you – you just accepted it. 

you didn’t run. you didn’t scream. you didn’t burn the world down to get away.

he remembers sitting in those meetings, hating every single second of it and every single time he looked at you – you were just sitting quietly beside him. calm. composed. nodding along politely whenever someone addressed you. you never argued. never pushed back. never looked angry enough. 

and chenle convinced himself that meant you didn’t care. that maybe this really was just business to you, too. he resented you for it. resented the way you accepted everything so easily while he felt like he was suffocating. resented the way you let your parents decide both of your lives without fighting harder beside him. resented how fake everything started feeling after that. like your friendship had never really belonged to the two of you. like it had been another transaction always meant to happen. 

just like tonight. 

just like this bed. this room. your first time. 

the reality settles sickeningly into his chest. because despite all his anger, despite all the resentment he carried for years – this should have been special. not because virginity itself mattered to him. but because you did. somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness, the boy who loved you was still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that he is the one to turn this moment into something cold. another deal to complete. another box to check.

for the first time in months, chenle genuinely feels ashamed standing in front of you. 

you slide beneath the blankets completely, turning away from him. your voice goes cold again. controlled. composed. your expression slowly shutting down. piece by piece. the same way it always does whenever he hurts you. it’s a practiced defense, a wall built from years of his indifference.

“i’ll have the maid clean the sheets tomorrow.”

chenle opens his mouth slightly. then closes it again. because there’s nothing he can say that fixes this. nothing that gives you back the moment he just ruined. he cannot un-take your innocence.

“if you’re done here,” you murmur quietly, “you should just go.”

the guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his insides as he stares at your curled-up form. yet, chenle walks out anyway. 

⚜️ THE MOTHER IN LAW ⚜️

you get your period two weeks later and it annoys you far more than it should. the second you see the faint streak of red, disappointment settles heavily into your chest before you can stop it. pathetic. you actually let yourself hope that one night would be enough. that somehow, despite how cold and emotionally disastrous it had been, it might’ve at least resulted in something tangible. something that would finally make this marriage feel like it’s moving forward instead of rotting quietly in place. something that would finally make this mansion feel like a house. 

you’re afraid of the possibility it won’t happen again. not after the way things have been recently. 

it’s gotten worse between you and chenle. at least before, when he looked at you, there was fire there. albeit, not the good kind…but fire, nonetheless. 

now, it was just stone cold. and every now and then – guilt. it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. and every single time you notice it, sorrow settles deeper inside your chest. guilt isn’t love. you don’t want him feeling sorry for you. you want – no. you force yourself to stop that thought before it finishes.

wanting things from chenle only ever leads to disappointment. 

“y/n, dear, how are you and chenle?” mama li’s voice breaks through your thoughts. she’s sitting elegantly across from you in the living room, posture perfect even in something as simple as afternoon tea. sunlight pours through the massive windows behind her, catching the gold resting against her fingers as she lifts her teacup gracefully. 

she’s beautiful in the same terrifying way chenle is. composed. sharp. impossible to fully read. sometimes looking at her hurts because all you can see is him. 

she asked the question gently. but there’s always command hidden beneath her voice, years of power woven naturally into every word she speaks. 

“uhm,” you hesitate, “i don’t know, mama li,” the nickname leaves your lips naturally. it always has, “i don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way we used to.”

for a moment, genuine sadness flickers across her face. she exhales softly before offering you a small smile, “just give it time,” she says gently, “you know he’s always loved you.” 

your chest tightens painfully. it’s what everyone says. your parents. his parents. family friends. employees who watched the two of you grow up together. everyone insists chenle loved you once. maybe still does. but lately, you’re not so sure anymore. maybe everyone simply misunderstood him all these years. maybe being comfortable around someone your entire childhood wasn’t the same thing as loving them. 

after all – chenle himself has never actually said it. not once. 

mama li studies your expression carefully before continuing, “chenle has always been difficult with his emotions,” she says with a quiet sigh, “but that boy would follow you around everywhere when you were younger. you were the only person who could calm him down whenever he got upset.”

you force out a faint smile, “that was a long time ago.”

“feelings don’t disappear that easily,” she replies smoothly. 

you wish you believed that. instead, you take another sip of tea to avoid answering. 

“even so, my dear,” her eyes linger meaningfully on you, “i hope you’re not forgetting your duties.” 

there it is. the real reason behind this conversation. behind her visit.  

children. heirs. you suddenly feel exhausted. you don’t know what to say. you’ve only slept with chenle once. and considering the fact you got your period this morning, you’re very aware you are not pregnant. still, you can’t exactly tell his mother that her son barely touches you. so instead, you straighten your posture slightly and force your voice to remain calm. 

“we’re trying.”

mama li’s expression brightens immediately, genuine excitement sparkles in her eyes, “well, that’s wonderful news,” she says warmly, “we have to continue our legacies after all,” she adds with a soft smile, lifting her teacup once more. 

legacy. sometimes you wonder if anyone in this family actually understands how lonely that word feels. 

⚜️ THE DRUNK WIFE’S PINKY PROMISE ⚜️

it’s been a month since mama li’s visit. and half a year since you and chenle got married. he hasn’t touched you once since that night. not even accidentally. no lingering touches while passing each other in hallways. no brushing shoulders. no quiet midnight knocks at your bedroom door. absolutely…nothing. 

and lately, the restlessness sitting inside you has started turning into panic. because six months into marriage and you still weren’t even close to being pregnant. your parents ask constantly. mama li asks so often that your stomach knots every single time. even the public has started wondering. the media hasn’t said anything outright yet, but you’ve seen the headlines. 

WHEN WILL THE GOLDEN COUPLE ANNOUNCE THEIR FIRST HEIR?

A BOY OR A GIRL? IT SHOULD BE ANY DAY NOW.

and worst of all — people at work were starting to notice things too. the whispers had gotten louder these past few weeks:

why do you never arrive together? why do you leave separately? why do the two of you never eat lunch together despite literally being married? were you both simply that professional??? or did you secretly hate each other???

the stress had been eating at you slowly. you feel like you’re being watched even more so than usual. 

so tonight, for the first time in months, you finally leave the mansion for something other than work. with your best friend - yizhou ning-qian. if anyone understood arranged marriages, it was her. except for the obvious difference that her husband, kun qian, absolutely adored her. even with their seven year age gap, they worked. somehow effortlessly. which honestly made your own marriage feel even sadder by comparison. 

“have you tried initiating it?,” yizhou asks casually, sipping her tequila.

the two of you were tucked away inside one of the private rooms at a high-end bar where membership alone cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. dim lights glowed against velvet seating while soft jazz echoed faintly beyond the closed doors. 

you stare at her, “yizhou,” you say flatly, “i can’t even get close enough to try.”

she snorts immediately, the sound sharp and mocking of the situation.

“every time i walk into a room,” you continue, “he leaves. immediately.”

"man,” she sighs, shaking her head, “chenle seriously needs to grow the fuck up.” you can’t even disagree. “this was always going to be our lives,” she continues, taking a quick sip of her drink, “and honestly? it’s not even that bad.”

another tequila shot arrives at the table. she pushes it toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

”i mean,” she giggles, “we’re literally billionaires! it can’t get better than this.”

you burst into laughter with her despite yourself, the alcohol finally beginning to warm your chest pleasantly. 

“exactly!,” you groan dramatically after downing the shot in one go, “all we have to do is marry someone else rich and pretty yet chenle thinks the world has ended.”

yizhou nearly chokes, laughing, “god, he’s just been too spoiled.”

the two of you dissolve into another fit of giggles. and if it was any other person, you’d feel awful for trash talking your husband. but she was your best friend, one of your safe spaces. and it feels good to laugh. you haven’t done that in a while. 

yizhou wipes beneath her eyes dramatically before leaning back against the couch, “if anything,” she says, still grinning, “you guys are the luckiest out of all of us.”

your smile falters, “and why’s that?”

”you married someone you already know…someone you already love.”

the words silence the laughter instantly. the love you carry for chenle is a heavy, aching thing – a devotion that has survived his coldness and his resentment. but love is a two-way street. and chenle has shown it loud and clear that he didn’t share those same feelings for you. 

“he doesn’t love me, yizhou,” you say quietly. 

for a second, she just stares at you. then suddenly, she bursts into even louder laughter. ”yeah,” she says sarcastically between giggles, “and my husband is fucking poor!”

you shove her shoulder weakly while laughing. considering kun was literally one of the ten wealthiest men in the country, the statement sounds ridiculous. 

her expression softens after laughing, “y/n,” she says more seriously now, “that boy has loved you since before we even knew what love was.”

“you don’t know that,” you whisper, chest tightening painfully as you shake your head immediately.

“oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “everyone knows that.”

you sigh into your drink. you wish people would stop saying that. it just lets the hope linger longer. just reminds you of the boy he used to be. just makes the man he has become feel more like a tragedy.

”seriously,” she continues, leaning forward now, “he just needs to wake up from whatever self-pity hole he dug for himself.”

you stare down at the amber liquid in your glass quietly. 

“i mean, come on, he has to know that it could be worse,” she adds. 

“how could it be worse than this?”

”jaemin’s literally arranged to marry someone he actually hates,” she points out, “and even he isn’t acting as childish as chenle,” she reaches for your hand then, intertwining her fingers through yours. 

“it’s not your fault, y/n.”

your throat tightens at her comfort, the alcohol heightening the vulnerability of your emotions. 

“and sooner or later,” she says softly, "chene's going to realize that too. he’s going to realize that while he was busy hating the arrangement, he was losing the only person who actually gives a damn about him.”

you drank a lot more than you should’ve. at first, it was just to loosen up. but somewhere between the expensive tequila, the soft jazz playing in the private room and yizhou’s ridiculous stories, the warmth spreading through your body started feeling addictive. every shot made things quieter. lighter. your thoughts blurred around the edges. your chest stopped hurting so much whenever chenle crossed your mind. for the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about the empty side of your dinner table or the way your husband avoided looking at you like eye contact physically pained him. 

you were just laughing. drinking. existing. and maybe that’s why you didn’t realize how much time had passed until yizhou was shoving your purse into your hands while laughing at your completely incoherent attempt to put your heels back on. 

by the time your driver finally pulls into the mansion’s driveway, it’s nearly three in the morning. the second the car door opens, cold air hits your face and you instantly regret every decision you made tonight. 

“mmm,” you groan softly while stepping out drunkily, “why is the ground moving?” you complain.

“the ground is not moving, mrs. zhong,” your maid says gently while helping steady you. you squint suspiciously at the marble steps leading toward the front door. you manage to stumble inside the mansion without face-planting into the floor. barely. if it wasn’t for your maid’s help, you’d be on the ground. 

“its uh–kay,” you mumble as your maid carefully tries helping you remove your coat, “mmm okay, i can take care of myself. i’m a professional. i’m a…ceo of being okay!”

you absolutely are not. your words are slurring into a thick, honey-like mess and you nearly take out a priceless vase with your shoulder before you finally collapse onto the bottom step of the right staircase. 

upstairs, chenle hears your voice immediately. he had been awake. waiting. though he’d never admit that out loud. usually, when he came home from work, your bedroom light would still be visible through the tiny crack beneath your door. 

tonight, it had been dark. 

and when he checked downstairs earlier under the excuse of getting water, you hadn’t been in the living room either. and for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely, it unsettled him. so tonight, he intentionally left his bedroom door slightly cracked open. just enough to hear when you returned home. 

and now here you were. sounding very, very drunk. 

chenle exhales sharply before stepping out into the hallway. he makes his way downstairs quietly only to stop midway down the staircase at the sight in front of him. you’re sitting on the bottom step of your staircase now with your head slumped against the railing while your maid looks one second away from panicking. 

“i said i’m okayyyy,” you groan. 

“sir zhong,” the maid says immediately in relief the second she notices him. 

your head snaps upward clumsily at her voice, eyes unfocused as you follow her gaze. chenle stands halfway down the staircase dressed in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hair looking unbelievably soft. he looks unfairly handsome for three in the morning – a devastatingly beautiful statue carved from ice and moonlight. 

“mrs. zhong is drunk,” the maid explains carefully.

“i’m not drunk,” you counter immediately. then your body sways sideways slightly and she catches your shoulder before you topple over completely. 

she turns back toward chenle helplessly, “i’m trying to help her up the stairs, sir. she might hurt herself without guidance.”

chenle’s jaw tightens slightly. then he nods once. “i’ll take care of it, you may go.”

she bows politely before quickly disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone. silence settles briefly. chenle walks down the remaining stairs slowly before stopping in front of you. 

“you drink now?” he asks flatly, clearly not amused. 

you squint up at him from the floor, “wow,” you mumble, a small, crooked smile playing on your lips, “judgmental much? mr. perfect.”

stubbornly, you attempt standing on your own. terrible decision. the second you rise, the world spins 360 degrees. chenle reacts immediately, one arm hooking firmly around your waist and hauling you flush against his chest. the contact is electric. it’s the first time in months he's touched you with any kind of intent, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your breath hitch. he is solid, warm, smelling of expensive soap and something uniquely him.

you blink up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach out, poking his chest weakly with a finger, “you’re not the only one,” you whisper, your voice losing its playful edge and becoming raw, “who wants to forget.”

the words come out quieter than intended. more honest too. you’re too drunk to notice the way his face softens for half a second. deep down, he’s always known it. he just never wanted to acknowledge it – the fact that you were hurting, too. 

he reaches forward, his hand cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout. his brows furrow, gaze scanning your flushed face, “you know you’re not good with alcohol.”

you sway weakly at his wrist with a dramatic scoff, “psh, whatever.”

then you wriggle yourself fee from his hold before turning toward the staircase again, “i’m a big girl now,” you mumble stubbornly as you begin walking upwards, “i can do it.”

chenle hums behind you, not convinced in the slightest. you make it about five steps before the world starts tilting unpleasantly again. he was right. you were never good with alcohol. your head feels heavy. your feet hurt from the heels you still haven’t taken off and suddenly the stairs look impossibly long and all you want to do is fall asleep right here.

with a defeated sigh, you finally turn around. and only then do you realize how close chenle actually is. he’s standing just two steps below you. close enough that if you slipped backward even slightly, he’d catch you instantly. it softens you immediately. the way he still followed you. your expression crumbles into something smaller, softer.

“lele,” you mumble quietly, the nickname naturally slipping from your lips. you haven’t called him that in years. not since everything between you became sharp and complicated. 

chenle visibly freezes. the air in the stairway seems to solidify, trapping him in the space between who he is now and who he used to be.

your lower lip juts out slightly as you blink at him tiredly, “i need help,” you admit finally, your voice small and stripped of all its corporate armor.

his heart stops. he swears the world stops moving. because you sound exactly like her. not the polished corporate heiress version of you who sits through board meetings with perfect posture and calculated smiles. not the wife who carefully measures every word around him now. 

you sound like the girl he used to know. the one who used to cling onto his arm after getting tired at amusement parks. the one who cried dramatically over a barely scraped knee and demanded he carry her because “best friends are supposed to help each other.” the one who looked at him as if he were the only source of light in a dark world.

you sounded like the girl he loves. 

before business meetings hollowed everything out between you. before his own resentment poisoned every room you shared. 

chenle exhales slowly through his nose, a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. he sighs, and for the first time in years, the sound isn't one of annoyance, but of defeat.

“come on, you big baby,” he mutters. 

the tease slips out so effortlessly it surprises both of you, a sudden echo of a decade ago. your eyes widen slightly, he hasn’t sounded like that with you in a very long time. before you can even respond, chenle bends slightly and hooks an arm beneath your knees. you let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. instinctively, your hands grab onto his shoulder, settling against his chest automatically as he starts carrying you up the stairs properly this time. his warmth surrounds you immediately, steady and safe, your alcohol fogged brain melting into it without resistance. 

chenle tries very hard not to think about how natural this still feels. how your body still fits against his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle designed by a higher power. he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, a subconscious grip that mirrors the way you used to hold onto him when you were children. years ago, this would’ve been normal. he used to carry you all the time. after you fall asleep in the car rides home. after twisting your ankle once trying to impress him at basketball. after you threw a dramatic tantrum at sixteen because your heels hurt during some charity gala. back then, touching you was easy. now it feels dangerous. 

he pushes your bedroom door open with his shoulders before walking inside. carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress. but the second he starts pulling away, your hands grab onto him tighter. 

“not yet,” you mumble immediately, tugging him downward with surprising strength until he half falls onto the bed beside you. your arms wrap around him instinctively, face burying against his chest, holding him close. 

chenle freezes for half a second. then exhales slowly. because fuck. he missed this. he missed you. not the tense silence between board meetings. not the careful distance. not the version of you that flinches emotionally every time he looks at you now. but this – warm and soft and clinging onto him like he was still your safest place in the world. 

your hugs always used to calm him down faster than anything else. even now, after everything, his body relaxes embarrassingly quick the moment your arms tighten around him. he lets himself stay there for a little while. just a little. his hand settles carefully against your back as your breathing slowly evens out. 

eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you properly, brushing your hair away from your face gently, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary. 

“why’d you drink so much anyway?” he asks softly. 

and maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the exhaustion. or maybe you simply miss your best friend too much to keep pretending you don’t. because suddenly, you start talking to him like he’s still that person. 

“my husband won’t touch me,” you mumble sadly.

the words hit him directly in the chest. especially because you say it like your husband and the man currently holding you are two entirely different people. his eyes widen slightly, heat creeping into his face almost instantly and he’s almost grateful you’re drunk enough not to notice. 

“and everyone keeps asking me about children, lele…” your voice grows smaller, “it’s just–it’s too much,” you pout slightly afterward, eyes glossy and tired. 

chenle’s guilt continues to grow. he knows all of the pressure has been landing on you. his mother stopped bringing children up around him months ago. your parents tread carefully too. everyone gives him space, shows him more grace. he think’s it’s because everyone is afraid that if they push him too hard, it will make him snap completely. make him finally leave. no one realizes he never actually could. not when the thought of a world where he wasn’t with you, even in this broken, tragic way, felt more impossible than the marriage itself.

“do you even want a child?” he ask quietly, not sure why he keeps this conversation going. maybe because this is the most honest the two of you have been with each other in years. 

you shift, turning on your side to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, you instinctively seize his hand again. without a second thought, you tug his arm around your waist, pulling him flush against you until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. the position nearly wrecks him. because this used to be normal too. movie nights. sleepovers. lazy afternoons tangled together on couches while studying. you always used to curl into him naturally like he was home. and he used to hate having to leave, always wanting more time with you.

“it wouldn’t be that bad to have one,” you admit softly, your fingers playing absentmindedly with his, tracing the lines of his palm, “i mean…we have all the money in the world.”

chenle huffs quietly through his nose, a small, dry sound. it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the money. the wealth. the legacy. the gold-plated chains that bind you together.

“we could have twenty and still have plenty left over,” you add with a sleepy, whimsical giggle.

that actually almost makes him laugh. the image of the two of you with twenty children running around this mansion sounds absolutely insane. he can barely handle one drunk wife right now. still, his chest feels strangely warm hearing you talk like this – domestic, hopeful, almost dreaming. it stirs something in him that he thought he had buried under layers of corporate coldness.

chenle doesn’t even know if he wants children. at least, not like this. not because families and investors expect it. not because it’s another duty to fill. 

suddenly, you shift again, turning in his arms to face him fully. your movements are slow, languid, you lift your hand, fingers grazing his jawline with a touch so light it’s almost a hallucination. you caress him carefully, your eyes searching his with a heartbreaking intensity.

“give me a baby, lele,” you whisper. 

his entire body stills. every muscle locks. he knows its the alcohol talking. 

but, fuck.

the way you’re looking at him right now could ruin him. chenle would give you anything. money. houses. companies. his entire fucking life if you asked for it. just – not like this. not when it would feel like another transaction instead of something real. 

his hand slides carefully into your hair instead, “why do you want a baby so badly?” he asks quietly, voice strained.

you shrug faintly. then your expression softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable. 

“i just don’t want to be so lonely anymore.”

his heart breaks instantly. completely. it’s his fault. he is the one who built the walls. he is the one who turned this house into a gilded cage. 

“so…” you mumble sleepily, eyes barely open now, “will you give me one?”

hope flickers across your pretty face so softly it nearly kills him. 

he swallows hard, “not right now, y/n,” he says gently. your expression falls immediately and the guilt twists violently inside him again. so he adds.. quietly…“maybe someday.”

your eyes lift toward him again slowly. then, you raise your pinky between the two of you.

“you promise?” 

chenle stares at it and suddenly he’s thirteen again. you don’t link pinkies the way others do. you once declared that it “felt fake” and that crossing fingers didn’t feel lucky enough for important things. so, the two of you had invented your own ritual. your own secret language of loyalty.

carefully, with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, chenle takes your hand and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the very tip of your pinky finger.

“i promise.” 

your sleepy face brightens instantly. you grab his hand and softly kiss the tip of his pinky too. 

a promise sealed.  except this promise wasn’t as simple as the ones before. 

eventually, your body relaxes fully against his chest while his fingers continue stroking slowly through your hair until you fall asleep in his arms. chenle stays there longer than he should, watching you sleep peacefully against him, finally not hurting for a little while. once he’s sure you’re completely asleep, he carefully slips out of bed. but before leaving, he gently pulls your heels from your feet one by one. then he places a glass of water and two pieces of tylenol on your nightstand. the same way he used to after parties years ago. for a while, chenle just stands there staring at you. then quietly, he turns the lights off and finally lets the night end. 

⚜️ THE DEATH GUMMY ⚜️

another month passes. and things were starting to shift subtly. you’re not entirely sure what happened that night you got drunk. honestly, most of it is blurry fragments in your memory – warm arms, soft whispers, the feeling of safety you hadn’t felt around chenle in years. 

whatever happened though, it softened chenle a little. just a tiny bit. 

he still doesn’t initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary. still keeps most of his thoughts locked tightly behind careful expression. still retreats into himself more often that not. but he doesn’t leave rooms as soon as you enter anymore. and slowly, he starts joining you for dinner again. you ate silently, still on opposite ends of the table but at least he was there now. 

then, one night, you found him in the living room watching an episode of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. normally, you would’ve turned around to avoid making him uncomfortable. instead, chenle glanced at you briefly, eyes soft, not leaving, not telling you to go away either. so, cautiously, you sat on the opposite end. the two of you watched an entire episode, occasionally laughing at the same jokes. at one point your laughter overlapped and both of you went awkwardly still afterward. but even that tiny moment felt precious. more than you could ask for. 

maybe everyone was right. maybe chenle simply needed time. 

today, the two of you are at yü skincare headquarters. a product development meeting. one of the company’s biggest launches planned for next year. your team had spent nearly eleven months developing a new type of vitamin e supplement. and because you took your work seriously, you always insisted on testing products yourself. if consumers were putting your products into their bodies, then so would you. 

the testing room buzzes quietly with concentration. there are only five people here today – you, chenle, your assistant, mark lee – head of the vitamin research development team, and another researcher seated nearby typing notes rapidly into a laptop. 

mark steps forward excitedly, holding the newest batch carefully, “today is mainly flavor testing,” he explains, “we finally stabilized the texture, so now we just need to ensure the taste is actually enjoyable for the mass market.” he places one small green chewable into your palm. then another into chenle’s, “we infused it with natural fruit extracts to eliminate the vitamin aftertaste.”

you nodded absentmindedly, your mind already drifting toward the logistics of the rollout. you trusted mark implicitly – he was one of the best in the industry.

without a second thought, you and chenle both placed the gummies into your mouths.

and that’s when everything goes wrong.

your throat locks almost instantly. your eyes widen violently. for half a second, you think you might have swallowed wrong. but then your airway starts closing. fast. 

you can’t breathe. 

in a blind surge of terror, you slapped your hand hard against chenle’s arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. his head snapped toward you, and every ounce of color drained from his face. he watched, in horror, as you began to turn a terrifying shade of red, your mouth opening desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come. your eyes were wide, filled with a raw, primal terror.

chenle reacted before anyone else could even process what was happening. he lunged forward, gripping your shoulders with a strength that nearly knocked you back, facing you fully.

“Y/N?!” his voice was tight, laced with immediate alarm.

your lips parted, but no sound emerged – only a wet, wheezing struggle. you clawed at your own throat, your nails digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to open the airway.

a wave of pure, unadulterated terror hits chenle, his eyes darting around the room frantically, searching for the cause, mind racing through every possibility.

“what the fuck happened?!," he roared, voice echoing off the sterile walls.

the room froze. everyone stood paralyzed, their faces masks of confusion and sudden fear. no one answered. no one has answers. the silence was suffocating, broken only by the horrific, whistling sound of your struggle to breathe. chenle’s gaze snapped to the tray of green gummies. he pieced it together then.

“we’re there kiwis in these?!” chenle demands sharply.

mark blinked, nodding quickly, his voice trembling, “uh–yes, sir. we infused it with concentrated kiwi juice because it–”

“SHE’S ALLERGIC!,” chenle’s voice cracks through the room so loudly everyone jumps. 

you were deathly allergic to kiwi. not mildly allergic. not uncomfortable. deathly. a single slice of the fruit in a room could make your throat itch, a concentrated extract delivered directly into your system was a death sentence.

his breathing turns uneven instantly as fear floods his system. you’re not coughing anymore. you’re struggling. really struggling. your body starts slumping sideways in your chair and chenle catches you immediately before you hit the floor.

“hey–hey, stay with me!” his voice shakes. 

for the first time in years, he completely loses his composure in front of other people. he was no longer the cold heir, he was a terrified boy watching the only person he truly loved slip away.

“her bag,” he barked, the command slashing through the chaos, “someone get me her fucking bag now.”

your assistant rushes forward immediately, handing your bag over. another employee is already yelling for medics outside the room. everything becomes chaotic around him. but chenle barely hears any of it. all he can focus on is you. the violent red of the reaction was fading into a ghostly, terrifying pallor. your lips were tinged with a bruised blue, and your head kept dipping weakly, your consciousness flickering like a dying candle. your hand, resting against his suit jacket, felt colder with every passing second. for one horrifying, timeless moment, he genuinely believed you were dying.

“look at me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent and wrecked. he gripped your face, his fingers trembling against your cheeks, trying to force your unfocused eyes to lock onto his. “y/n, look at me! stay with me!”

your eyelids fluttered, your pupils blown and hazy. you could see him – the panic in his eyes, the sheer, unadulterated terror – but you couldn't reach him. you were drowning on dry land.

“fuck—!” he let out a choked sound, his hands shaking violently as he dove into your bag. he tossed aside your wallet, your phone, a lipstick, his movements frantic and clumsy, “where is it–where the fuck is it–”

then finally – the epipen. you always carried it for emergencies. 

relief crashed through him so hard it was almost physical, a wave of adrenaline that surged through his veins. he didn't hesitate. he didn't even remove your clothing, he slammed the injector hard against your outer thigh, the needle piercing through the fabric of your trousers with a sharp, clinical click.

“stay with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, “please, please stay with me.”

the seconds that followed were an eternity of agonizing silence. chenle held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, watching your face for any sign of life. then it happened – you let out a sudden, violent gasp, a broken, desperate inhale that sounded like a sob. it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. oxygen flooded back into your lungs, and the sudden rush of air brought a torrent of tears that spilled from your eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

chenle exhales shakily like he forgot how to breathe too, his forehead nearly dropping against yours from relief, his eyes closing tight.

“that’s it,” he whispers frantically, his voice a breathless wreck, “that’s it, baby, breathe.”

he doesn’t even realize what he called you. he only cared that your hand, though weak and trembling, was curling around his fingers, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth. chenle grips tighter immediately, as if letting go would allow the death that had just brushed past you to return and take you away. 

“you’re okay,” he keeps repeating, “you’re okay. i’ve got you, i’ve got you.”

his breathing is uneven. his eyes are glossy. everyone in the room is staring now because they’ve never seen zhong chenle like this before.

but chenle doesn’t care about appearances anymore. not when he thought he was about to lose you forever. 

⚜️ THE ONLY CHOICE HE’S EVER MADE ⚜️

chenle never visits you in the hospital.

the first day, mama li told you he was busy dealing with the fallout at work, there were investigations happening now, meetings with legal teams and a very furious chenle. the second day, you waited. by the third day, you stopped expecting him entirely.

your private hospital suite overlooks the city skyline, expensive and pristine in the way only billionaires could experience. fresh flowers arrive every morning from companies and family friends. assistants rotate in shifts outside your door. nurses practically hover around you like you’re made of glass. everyone treats you like you almost died. which, to be fair, you technically almost did. still, you feel fine now. a little tired maybe. but alive. 

your father is currently standing near the windows watering the ridiculous amount of plants someone sent earlier when the question finally slips out of you quietly.

“has chenle come by?”

he pauses mid-motion before looking over his shoulder at you. then slowly, he shakes his head, “sorry, sweetheart.”

you look down at the blanket pooled over your lap, “you were right, dad,” you admit softly, your voice sounding hollow in the vast room.

his brows furrow, “i’m right about a lot of things…but what is this one about?”

you force out a weak laugh, “maybe it would’ve been easier to marry someone i didn’t love.”

that makes him stop completely. he places the watering can onto the nearby table before he walks toward your bed. your father has never been particularly good with emotions. he showed love through stability, protection and business lessons disguised as life advice. still, he takes the seat beside your bed quietly. 

“sweetheart,” he says carefully, “there are positives and negatives in every situation. and sometimes…the choices we make can hurt more than we expected them to—but you already made your decision,” he sighs softly, “and just like every good business deal, you have to commit to it fully.”

you almost smile. trust your father to turn emotional comfort into a corporate lesson. 

“trust your instincts,” he adds quieter this time, his hand patting yours awkwardly. it’s probably the closest thing to emotional reassurance he knows how to give. it helps a little. 

“thanks, dad,” you murmur. 

he nods once before leaning down to kiss the top of your head gently, “get some rest.”

then he leaves you alone again. the second the door shuts, the loneliness creeps back in. because despite his words – the only person you actually wanted to see was chenle. 

unbeknownst to you, chenle visits every single night.

always after midnight. always once he’s certain you’re asleep. he slips into your hospital room quietly, dressed in dark clothes and exhaustion. the first night, he genuinely thought you looked dead. too still. too pale. fear hit him so hard he crossed the room immediately just to place a trembling hand near your face and make sure you were still breathing. only after feeling your warm breath against his skin did he finally relax. after that, it became routine. every night he checks your breathing first. sometimes, he sits beside your bed for hours in complete silence, staring at you while guilt slowly eats him alive from the inside out. 

because you could’ve died.

and worse–

you could’ve died believing he hates you. 

chenle doesn’t think he would’ve survived losing you. that realization was a cold, jagged blade, cutting through the carefully constructed armor he had worn for years. it terrified him more than anything else. for years, he convinced himself the opposite, that you were the reason he felt trapped, the reason his life no longer belonged entirely to him. the reason everything started feeling planned and suffocating. but the second your breathing stopped sounding normal – none of that mattered anymore. all he remembered feeling was pure, violent fear. 

the memory keeps replaying in his head every night no matter how hard he tries to shut it out. your hand grabbing his arm desperately, your face turning red, the sound of you struggling for air, the way your fingers slowly weakened in his grasp, the horrifying weight of your body slumping against him and worst of all – how cold he felt. like someone had dumped ice water directly into his chest. 

he hates that it took a near-death experience to shatter his delusions. he hates that he had been so blind. fear like that doesn't stem from obligation. you don’t unravel, you don’t scream into the void, and you don’t beg a person to breathe if all they ever were to you was a responsibility — he hates how almost losing you made him realize that everything he felt for you had always been real. not planned. not arranged. not a script written by two powerful families to ensure a monopoly on the cosmetic industry.

because long before contracts existed. before business meetings and inheritance talks and engagement announcements – chenle loved you. 

he loved you when you were thirteen, sealing promises with kissed pinkies. he still remembers the first time you came up with it. the two of you had been sitting on the rooftop terrace of your parent’s vacation house, legs dangling over the edge while sharing melted popsicles in the middle of summer. “crossing fingers feels fake,” you complained dramatically after he broke a promise to watch a movie with you the week before, “people break pinky promises all the time.” he laughed, “so what? we sign contracts now?” you rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. then, with complete seriousness, you pressed a tiny kiss against the tip of his pinky finger. “there,” you said proudly, “now it’s permanent.”  after that, every important promise between the two of you was sealed that way. he never broke a single one. 

he loved you at fifteen when you attended every single one of his basketball games with his number painted proudly across your cheeks in bright blue despite both your parents immediately scolding you for putting “cheap toxic paint” on your skin. you didn’t care though, you sat front row, screaming, “that’s my lele!,” every time he scored. he used to pretend to act embarrassed in front of his teammates while secretly searching for you in the crowd every few minutes just to make sure you were still there. you always were. and after the games, you’d rush toward him, still wearing his jersey, eyes sparkling. no victory ever felt as good as seeing you proud of him. 

he loved you at sixteen when your vintage camera became permanently filled with blurry pictures of him. half the photos were terrible – his face cut off, him mid-yawn, him glaring because you kept shoving the camera into his face while he was trying to eat. but mixed between those were softer ones too like him asleep in the car with his head tilted towards you, him laughing with his head thrown back, pictures of the two of you together. he once asked why you took so many pictures of him and you shrugged like it was obvious, “because you’re my favorite person.” he thinks maybe that was the first time his heart ever genuinely stuttered inside his chest. 

he loved you when you were seventeen, in a moment so sudden it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. he remembered the weight of the shopping bags in his hands, the handles digging into his palms, and the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from you. you had spent weeks in a state of mourning over your crybaby figurine collection, devastated after failing to pull the secret rares. you hadn’t asked him for help – you never did – but chenle had watched your disappointment from the sidelines, and it had felt like a physical weight in his own chest. he spent nights contacting resellers behind your back until he found every missing figurine himself. when he finally handed you the completed set, the expression on your face had been blinding. you had looked at him as if he were the center of the universe. without a second thought, you reached up, grabbed his face in your small hands, and pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek. “i love you the most!” you squealed, your voice high and breathless with excitement. chenle remembered the way the blood had rushed to his face, a heat so intense it felt like a fever, while you remained blissfully oblivious, already turning back to admire your figurines. in that moment, he had realized that your affection was a drug, and he was already hopelessly addicted.

and deep, deep down, he knows he loved you at twenty-four. especially on the day you became his wife. the moment those heavy doors opened and you stepped inside wearing that white dress you spent months carefully choosing – he forgot how to breathe. everything around him blurred instantly. time slowed to a crawl, yet he felt his entire future rushing toward him at the same time. all he could see was you. the slight tremble in your hands, the way your eyes shimmered with a mixture of hope and fear, and the way you looked at him as if he were still your favorite person in the world, despite everything. you looked beautiful. not in the polished, public way magazines later described. not like “the perfect heiress.” you looked devastatingly you. and chenle wanted so badly to reach for you, pull you close, wanted this marriage to be real in every way that actually mattered. when the officiant gave the command to kiss the bride, his chest ached with a sudden, sharp grief. it felt cruel that this – a choreographed moment in front of a thousand witnesses – was your first kiss together. he remembers leaning down slowly, your lashes fluttering, lips soft and warm and gentle against his. and for a second, chenle forgot there were a thousand people surrounding you both. forgot cameras existed. forgot he was angry. kissing you felt terrifyingly natural, like a missing piece of his soul finally clicking into place, a homecoming he should have claimed years ago.

but the truth was, he had loved you long before he even had a word for it. back when the two of you were six years old and accidentally broke expensive glass tubes inside one of the zhong cosmetics labs while playing tag in the rooms. assistants had panicked instantly, someone yelled, another employee nearly cried seeing the shattered equipment all over the floor. you got scared immediately, eyes filling with tears as adults crowded around the two of you. and without even thinking, chenle stepped in front of you protectively, “it was my fault,” he lied. he remembered the feeling of your watery gaze on the back of his head while he stood there, taking the brunt of the scolding from every adult on the floor. he hadn't cared. the only thing that mattered was that you weren't crying anymore. later that evening, you had secretly slipped half of your dessert onto his plate, whispering that “heroes deserve rewards.”

everything else in his life had been a predetermined path. the schools, the internships, the board meetings, the carefully curated image of a successor. his life had been a series of checkboxes marked by people who didn't care about his heart.

but all those moments – the pinky swears, the blue paint on your cheeks, the secret figurines, the shared dessert – those belonged entirely to him. entirely to the two of you.

loving you was the only choice he ever truly made on his own. 

it had happened naturally, quietly, and without permission. he had built this love in the secret spaces of his heart, and in his desperate, panicked attempt to protect his freedom, he had almost destroyed the only thing that had ever actually set him free.

he hasn’t forgiven himself for any of it yet. not for avoiding you all these years. not for making you lonely inside your own marriage. not for turning your first time into something cold and painful. not for the way your face looked when you admitted you just didn’t want to be lonely anymore. and definitely not for freezing in that meeting for even half a second before realizing what was happening.

which is exactly why he can’t face you while you were awake right now. he physically can’t. because the second you look him with those eyes of yours, he’s terrified he’ll completely break apart in front of you. he imagined himself sobbing at your bedside, begging for a forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved.

and everyone keeps reminding him stress is bad for your recovery. the irony was a bitter pill to swallow. chenle knew he was the primary source of stress in your life. so, he remained a shadow, visiting only in the dead of night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. it was pathetic. it was cowardly. but it was the only way he knew how to love you without hurting you further.

by the third day, your regular hospital meals suddenly disappear. instead, trays arrive with your favorite comfort foods – steaming siomai, all types of dumplings, wonton noodles – all warm and prepared exactly the way you like them. you can’t hide your smile when you see them because there is only one person in the world who knows your comfort order by memory, a relic of a childhood where he used to sneak you treats when you were sad. you stared at the tray fondly. chenle might not have visited you, but this feels like proof he still cares anyway. 

and by the fifth day, you’re completely over it. everyone is being ridiculously dramatic. you feel so energized already. bored out of your mind. still, every doctor insists your body needs more recovery time after the severity of the reaction. your parents refuse to let you leave early and the only person who actually has the authority to pull you out, your husband, isn’t taking that risk either.

you end up staying in the hospital for two more days before finally coming home. 

⚜️ THE AIR ⚜️

when chenle got home that afternoon, he’s exhausted. the past week had destroyed him more than he let anyone sees. he barely slept. barely ate. and every single time his phone rang unexpectedly, panic seized his chest before he could stop it. 

he loosens his tie tiredly as he walks through the mansion doors, mentally preparing himself to go to the hospital to pick you up. but as he walks into the kitchen — he freezes. 

you’re standing there, alive and healthy, wearing one of your silk pajama sets while leaning casually against the island, sipping water and scrolling through your phone like nothing happened.

for a second, he thinks he’s imagining you. you weren’t supposed to be released for another three hours. then again, you were stubborn enough to convince almost anyone to do what you wanted eventually. no one ever really knew how to tell you no when you looked at them with that specific, determined glint in your eyes.

“you’re home.” 

the sound of his voice quickly diverts your attention from all the emails you were catching up on to him. you glance up and in his eyes – you see the difference. the armor he usually wore wasn't just cracked – it was gone. his eyes were wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with a relief so profound it looked like pain. slowly, you place your phone down on the counter, smiling at him gently. 

“i’m home.”

for the first time all week, he remembered how to breathe again. like he had given you all of his air and it’s now finally being returned to his own lungs. 

the briefcase he was carrying hit one of the glass tables with a loud, jarring crash. he didn't care. he didn't even look at it. he crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and collided with you, pulling you into his arms so suddenly and with such force that the air left your lungs in a small gasp.

chenle hugs you tightly. desperately. like he needs physical proof you’re still here. still warm. still breathing. 

your eyes widen in shock, breath hitching against his shoulder. then, slowly, you let your guard down and wrap your arms around him, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart against your ear.

“i thought i was gonna lose you.”

his voice cracked, the sound raw and jagged against your hair. the confession was stripped of all pride, all resentment, and all the distance he had spent years cultivating. the fear was completely exposed, leaving him naked before you.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, though you stayed in his arms. the sight of him broke your heart. there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looked sallow from lack of sleep. and then, a single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his cheek.

you froze. in all the years you had known him – from the boy who chased you through the labs to the man who ignored you across the dinner table – you had never seen chenle cry. not once.

with tenderness, you lifted your hand and brushed the tear away, your fingertips lingering on his skin, impossibly soft.

“zhong chenle,” you murmur softly, voice trembling with a mixture of ache and affection, “you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

his eyes close briefly at your touch like your fingers can undo the pain inside him. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t joke, doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or distance or that cold indifference he perfected over the years. instead, chenle just pulls you back into his arms again, holding you tighter this time. and for the first time in years, you let yourself lean into him fully. 

eventually though, reality settles back between the two of you. chenle slowly loosens his hold first. the second he realizes how tightly he’s been clinging to you, his expression shifts immediately. he clears his throat quickly and takes a half step back like distance might help him regain control again. 

“i’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly, guarded again.

before you can even process the moment properly — he leaves. just walks out of the kitchen entirely, leaving you standing there alone trying to understand what the hell just happened. 

none of that made sense.

chenle has spent the last six years hating you. yet, for a few minutes, he had held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. you stare at the doorway long after he disappeared through it. confused. hopeful. terrified. you didn't want to read too much into a moment of panic-induced weakness, but the ghost of his heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.

until your phone buzzes nonstop, dragging you back to reality, life continuing on like your world hadn’t just tilted.

⚜️ THE MISTAKE THAT ALMOST TOOK YOU FROM ME ⚜️

the next day you’re back at the office like nothing happened. your heels click softly against the marble flooring of yü skincare as staff members greet you nervously on your way toward your office.

you settle into your executive chair with a quiet sigh, immediately scanning through the pile of reports waiting for you. the vitamin incident had already become a nightmare with legal teams involved, quality control investigations and public relations teams working overtime to keep information contained. 

you press the intercom button lightly, “send mark lee in.”

less than a minute later, the heavy door to your office swung open to huang renjun, human resource manager. his posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, yet there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes that immediately set off alarm bells.

your brows furrowed as you continued flipping through a document, “where’s mark?” you asked, your voice cool and professional, “i need the updated reports on the supplement.”

renjun coughs awkwardly, the sound immediately making you look up, something about his expression feeling off, “ma’am…” he hesitates, “he’s no longer with the company.”

your hand stills completely against the papers, “…what?”

“he’s been terminated.”

“i didn’t receive a resignation letter, nor did i authorize a termination,” you pointed out calmly, though your eyes narrowed, “explain.”

renjun uncomfortably shifts beneath your gaze, “sir chenle fired him.” you stare at him for a moment, trying very hard to not let your surprise show too obviously. renjun clears his throat again, “he actually fired everyone involved in the vitamin project.”

your mind raced. chenle was many things – arrogant, distant, and emotionally stunted. but he was never impulsive when it comes to business. he was a strategist who weighed every risk. for him to wipe out an entire department without a single consultation, without even a courtesy to call you, meant he had completely lost his composure.

you force your expression neutral anyway, “i see. you may go, renjun.”

renjun bows quickly before practically escaping your office. the second the door shuts, you lean back into your chair slowly. you should be angry. technically, you are. chenle had overstepped every professional boundary, sabotaging your chain of command and stripping you of your most experienced researchers. but beneath the irritation, a treacherous warmth bloomed in your chest. for the first time in six years, chenle had been emotional. he had been protective. he had burned down a project just because it had dared to hurt you. it was a violent, impulsive gesture of care, wrapped in the guise of corporate cruelty.

that night, you leave your office long after most employees have already gone home. the building is quieter now. the endless clicking of keyboards and ringing phones reduced to distant murmur somewhere far below. through the massive windows lining your floor, the city glows beneath the dark sky, millions of lights flickering like stars against the glass. 

you wrap your blazer tighter around yourself before stepping out into the hallway. your heels echo sharply against the tiles as you make your way toward the glass bridge connecting yü skincare headquarters to zhong cosmetics tower beside it.

the bridge had always fascinated everyone. two billion dollar companies physically connected in the middle of the skyline. a symbol of merger. of power. of the marriage between you and chenle. you used to love walking through it. now it just feels symbolic in the cruelest way possible — close enough to see each other yet still separated by glass. 

you knew these buildings like the back of your hand. every hallway. every hidden office. ever late-night corner where you and chenle used to sit as teenagers avoiding meetings your parents forced you into. the memories follow you all the way across the bridge tonight. 

by the time you reach the executive floor of zhong cosmetics, the receptionist has already gone home. only chenle’s personal assistant remains seated outside his office. the man immediately stands and bows politely the second he sees you. 

“mrs. zhong.”

you nodded once, your gaze fixed on the closed doors. “is he busy?”

his assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the clock. “yes, ma’am, but… you may go in.”

you don’t bother knocking, simply pushing the doors open and walking inside. his office is dim except for the warm lighting near his desk and the city lights pouring through the windows behind him. chenle sits in his massive leather chair, sleeves rolled up slightly while scanning through documents with quiet concentration. he doesn’t look up immediately, probably assuming it’s just his assistant.

“you fired mark lee?” your voice cuts cleanly through the room, chenle’s attention snapping upward instantly. for a fleeting second, relief flickers across his face, like part of him still instinctively checks whether you’re okay every time he sees you now. then the expression disappears again, turning into something neutral. 

“who’s that?”

you exhale slowly through your nose, already irritated, “chenle,” you say flatly, “mark lee. head of the vitamin research team.”

understanding clicks across his face immediately, but it isn’t accompanied by apology.

“ahh,” he leans back slightly in his chair, “yes. that guy. how could i forget.”

the dismissiveness in his voice immediately annoys you further as you walk deeper into his office, “you cannot fire my people without consulting me first.”

chenle finally sets the file in his hands down, “your people are my people,” he says coolly, “that’s the whole point of this marriage.”

you ignore the sting in that statement – the reminder that in his eyes, you are just another asset to be merged.

“i want him back on the team.”

his jaw tightens almost instantly, “no. y/n.” 

the answer comes too quickly. too firmly. 

you stop dead in front of his desk now, arms crossing, refusing to back down, “chenle,” you say, your voice carefully modulated, fighting to keep the anger out, “mark lee has been employee of the month for seven consecutive years. he’s one of the best researchers in the industry. he’s valuable to this company and firing him is a strategic mistake.”

"valuable people don’t almost kill my wife."

the room goes still. your heartbeat stumbles slightly at the sharpness in his voice, at the way he says my wife. the possessiveness of it nearly undoes you, but your frustration and stubbornness is stronger.

“for fuck’s sake, chenle,” you snap, the poise you’ve spent years perfecting finally cracking, ”it was an accident!”

his expression hardens immediately, “an accident?”

"yes, an accident!," you throw your hands up, “he didn’t even know i was allergic to kiwis!” 

which was true. almost nobody did. allergies were weaknesses and weaknesses were dangerous in industries like yours. information could be weaponized to easily. chenle knew that better than anyone. 

suddenly, he stands, furious enough that his chair rolls backward sharply against the floor. his palms slam loudly on his desk, a sound that cracks through the office. 

“an accident that almost took you from me!”

his voice hits the room heavily — raw, furious, terrified — completely unraveled in a way you’ve never heard before. you stare at him across the desk, chest tightening painfully before anger rushes back to protect you from the hope that can completely blind you.

“oh please,” you scoff bitterly, rolling your eyes, “i bet you’d be jumping up and down if i actually died. it would have been the perfect exit strategy for you wouldn’t it? no more obligations, no more arranged marriage.”

the second the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere changes completely. the heat of his anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, suffocating stillness. chenle freezes, his eyes locking onto yours, hurt plastered all over his face.

“what?” he whispers.

your own emotions spill over immediately afterward. because you’re angry too. and hurt. and most of all, confused. you don’t know what he wants anymore. he needed space, you gave him space. you offer him a physical relationship that benefits him, he barely even touched you. and now – now he’s acting like he cares.

“you’ve spent the last six years making it very clear that you hate me,” you say, refusing to let your voice shake, “you’ve avoided me, ignored me and treated me like a burden. so don’t suddenly start playing the caring husband because i almost died. don’t pretend you have a heart now just because you’re scared of the paperwork a death certificate would cause.”

his expression breaks even more. the anger is gone, replaced by a look of such profound devastation that it almost feels like a crime to feel the way you do.

“i don’t hate you.”

and he sounds painfully, devastatingly honest.

you stare at him from across the desk, your heart beating so loudly it almost drowns out the silence filling the office. chenle doesn’t look away from you. the room feels too small now. too full of things neither of you know how to say. 

“you don’t get to say that now,” you whisper finally, your voice cracking, “not after all these years.”

he looks down sharply, jaw tightening hard enough for you to see the muscle twitch. then he laughs once, a miserable, dry laugh. 

“i know.” the words come out rough. he drags a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself back together. it doesn’t work. “i know,” he repeats weaker this time, sounding small and hollow. 

you watch him carefully now, even more confused. zhong chenle never falls apart. not publicly. not privately. not ever. he is the gold standard of control – composed, untouchable, a man carved from ice and expectation. yet, standing before you, he looks like he’s seconds away from total collapse. 

your anger starts cracking around the edges as you look at the boy in front of you. you were always weak when it came to him. if there were a list of your weaknesses, he’d be right there, on top of that damned fruit.

“chenle…”

he suddenly shakes his head. he physically can’t let you comfort him right now.

“do you know what i thought when you stopped breathing?”

the question hangs in tha air as you hold your breath. 

“i thought,” he exhales shakily, “i thought the last thing you were ever going to believe…was that i hated you.”

he finally looks at you again then, completely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a grief that has been simmering for years. 

“and i couldn’t fucking breathe,” he admits quietly, his voice trembling, “because all i could think was that you were going to leave me believing i didn’t love you.” 

the world feels like it stops spinning. love. he said love. not care. not obligation. love. your lips part slightly but no sound comes out. chenle laughs bitterly again before shaking his head. 

“you’re right. i spent years blaming you for everything because it was easier than admitting i was scared,” he confesses, his gaze searching yours, “scared that none of my choices were mine anymore. that my entire life was a script written by our parents,” he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, “but loving you…that was the only choice that was actually mine.”

that brings tears to your eyes instantly. chenle looks at you helplessly now. he doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions spilling out of him anymore. 

“and i ruined us anyway.”

he moves then, walking around the desk quickly, finally removing the barrier that always sat between the two of you. you think he’s going to stop in front of you.

instead – he drops to his knees. 

“what are you–”

before you can even process the gesture, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, forehead pressing against your stomach and finally — he breaks completely. you feel the shuddering breath leave him in a great, racking sob, his grip tightening almost painfully around you, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“i’m sorry.”

the words come out cracked. wrecked. nothing like the polished man the world knows. 

“i’m so fucking sorry.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a sob of your own, even though you could already taste the salt from your own tears. this is the same boy who never apologizes unless forced to. the man who would rather bleed out than let people see weakness. and here he is, kneeling at your feet, clinging onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. 

“i’m sorry for all of it,” he gasps, his voice breaking, “for hurting you, for making you feel lonely, for making you believe i hated you when i—,” his voice breaks completely. 

slowly, tentatively, you thread your fingers through his hair. the moment your touch meets him, chenle exhales a shaky, broken sound against your stomach, his entire body shuddering. even a small gesture of comfort from you is enough to undo him.

“stop that,” you whisper, voice trembling.

your heart is breaking for him, for the boy who spent years pretending to be a monster so he wouldn't have to admit he was a prisoner. you can't stand to see him like this – on his knees, apologizing as if he is something broken and discarded at your feet, rather than the person you’ve loved for all of your life. 

you gently tug at his hair, coaxing him to look up. when he finally does, his eyes are swimming with tears, his expression completely defenseless. in this moment, everything else feels distant and irrelevant. there is only one overwhelming realization pouring through your chest:

chenle loves you. 

the boy you spent years mourning while standing right beside him this entire time still loves you. your heart feels too full for your body. before you can overthink it, before the fear and doubts can return, you slide your hands down to his face, pulling him upward carefully.

“get up,” you murmur through your own shaky tears. chenle obeys immediately, still staring at you like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real. your hand slides slowly against his cheeks, wiping his tears away before settling on his jaw.

“you really love me?” 

the question is a fragile thing, barely a whisper, floating between you like glass that could shatter at the slightest breeze. you sound disbelieving, your voice trembling with the weight of six years of silence and cold shoulders.

chenle’s expression dissolves. the hardness in his eyes, the armor he’s worn since he was eighteen, it all melts into something so painfully tender it nearly wrecks you. 

“i always have,” he confesses. 

that’s the final blow. the last shred of distance, the last wall of resentment.

you kiss him first.

but chenle returns it immediately, kissing you back like he’s been starving for it, years of tension snapping instantly. his hands come up to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, enough to pull a gasp from you while your fingers tangle tightly into his hair. 

this kiss feels nothing like your wedding day. it’s not polite. not careful. 

it’s desperate. it’s the sound of two people drowning and finally finding air. all the years you spent silently loving each other crashing together at once. he kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every moment he wasted. every cold shoulder. every lonely dinner. every time he walked away instead of reaching for you. 

your back bumps lightly against the edge of his desk. he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead pressing against yours, both of you panting, breaths mingling in the charged air.

“fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his voice a wrecked, needy rasp, “i missed you so fucking much.”

the words makes your head spin. you don't let him breathe, pulling him back down, your mouth seeking his with a hunger that matches his own. his grip on your waist tightens, and in one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the desk. papers scatter, sliding across the desk and fluttering to the floor. he doesn't give a damn about the reports. the only thing that matters is the heat of you.

you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him into you as he steps between your knees. he crashes his lips back onto yours, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive urgency. this isn't just lust, it’s an exorcism. he is purging years of loneliness, and you are drinking him in, fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your very souls.

“do you know-,” he groans, his voice sounding almost angry at himself, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your jaw, “-how long i've wanted to do this properly?”

“stop talking then,” you tease, your voice breathy and laced with desire. you reach down, hooking your fingers into his belt loop, tugging hard, dragging his hips flush against your center.

chenle lets out a grunt as he grinds his cock firmly into your clothed core, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through both of you. he freezes, a shudder racking his entire frame, his breath coming in jagged hitches.

“wait... wait, baby,” he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he forces himself to pull back just an inch.

“what’s wrong?” 

“i really, really want to do this,” he rasps, “but...not here.”

you laugh softly and it almost undoes him. almost makes him take back what he just said. with a tiny smile on your lips, you nod, “okay.”

then you glance around the wreckage of his desk, your smile turning into something playful, “do you need help finishing up those reports first, then?”

“are you crazy?” he asks, though his tone is fond. he doesn't let go of you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips one last time before he helps you down.

“we’re going home...right now.”

the ride home is a blur of friction and heat. for the first time in your marriage, you don't sit in separate cars. you spend the entire journey tangled together in the backseat, the partition slid up to shield you from the driver’s view. you can’t stop kissing him. you can’t stop laughing into him, feeling the giddy, overwhelming rush of being loved back.

chenle is just as relentless, his mouth roaming all over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that claim you as his. every time you try to catch your breath, he finds a new spot to kiss, his hands roaming your curves.

the air in the car is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and arousal, the silence of the ride punctuated only by the sound of wet kisses and the shaky, happy sighs of two people who have finally come home.

⚜️ THE MASTER BEDROOM ⚜️

as you step through the front door, chenle is practically jumping beside you, a boyish grin plastered on his face. he looks at you with a hunger that is now subdued by an overwhelming sweetness.

“race you to the top!,” he shouts.

before you can even process the challenge, he’s already bolting up the left staircase, his laughter echoing through the foyer.

“lele! this isn’t fair! i’m in heels!” you squeal, your voice sounding lighter than it has in years. you run up the right staircase anyway, feeling like a kid again – the version of you that loved him without fear, and the version of him that followed you everywhere. 

by the time you reach the top, breathless and flushed, he’s already there, leaning against the railing with a smug, sparkling expression. 

“that was not nice, you should’ve given me a head start!,” you complain, crossing your arms and pouting, a childish expression you haven’t dared to show him in a lifetime. he chuckles then, stepping forward, his presence enveloping you as he pulls you back into his arms. 

his finger lifts your chin to tilt you face up to his, “and what does the winner get?,” he asks, eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and adoration. 

you lean back slightly, a playful, daring glint in your eyes, “hmm…you get to choose.”

he quirks a brow, gaze dropping to your lips, “choose what?”

“my room or yours?” you say with a smile that looks innocent but tastes like a provocation. 

a slow grin spreads across his face, “how about ours?”

“ours?” confusion flickers across your features. 

without a word, he takes your hand and begins leading you. he doesn't turn toward the left wing or the right…instead, he guides you toward the central hallway – the one you’ve spent months ignoring. it was the dead zone of the house, a place too painful to acknowledge because it represented the void in your marriage. the hallway that leads straight to the master bedroom.

as you walk, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight back hug, pulling your back flush against his chest. he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath hot and steady as he pushes open the two grand double doors.

you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. the room is breathtaking. grand and dipped in gold. 

“wow,” you whisper, stepping inside, “i haven’t been in here since your mom gave me the tour…i thought it would’ve collected cobwebs by now.”

“it did,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with a sudden, piercing apology, “i had the maids clean while you were in the hospital. i wanted it to be perfect for when we finally came home together.”

you turn in his arms, looking up at him. a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips., “maybe i should’ve eaten that kiwi a lot earlier.”

chenle’s grip on your sides tightens, his expression shifting into one of genuine panic, “don’t joke about that, baby. please.”

you giggle, the sound soft and melodic. he scolds you, though his eyes are softening, “it’s not funny, y/n.”

“i’m not smiling because of the kiwi,” you reply softly, your voice barely a breath.

“then why are you smiling?” he asks, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

you look away for a second, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “i just…i really like it when you call me baby.”

chenle’s heart is practically audible in his chest, his gaze intensifying as he tips your chin up gently, making you look into the depths of his devotion.

“i love you,” he declares, the words sounding like a vow.

“i love you, too,” you whisper back.

he kisses you then – not the desperate, starving kiss from the office, but something slow, sweet, and profoundly tender. it’s a promise of a future. a seal on the new life you’re starting.

then, without warning, he breaks the kiss and sweeps you off your feet. you let out a startled gasp, clutching his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style. he carries you across the room with effortless strength, eyes locked on yours, matching smiles on your faces before placing you carefully in the center of the massive king-sized bed.

as chenle looms over you, the playful energy morphs into something more deeper. he moves with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if he wants to memorize every single inch of you, making up for every second of the years he spent pretending he didn’t want you. 

he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts as a whisper and grows into a demand. his tongue swirls against yours as you moan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, “how long i’ve dreamed of kissing you.”

his hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. he undresses you with a reverence that borders on worship, peeling away the fabrics slowly, pausing to kiss the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder, and the middle of your breast. when you’re finally bare beneath him, he pulls back for a moment, his eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you.

“you're so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze heavy with adoration. 

he descends slowly, lips finding your breast as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the mattress. the sensation is new – a focused, searing heat that radiates from your chest down to your core. he alternates between soft licks and deep, demanding suctions, moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wet, burning kisses across your ribs.

“lele…oh, god,” you whimper as he continues trailing lower, his tongue tasting the skin of your stomach, circling your navel and teasing the very edge of your underwear. you can feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin mixing with the luxury of the room, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches.

you’ve only known one kind of intimacy ever – that cold, transactional night with him that left you feeling empty. this is different. this is a slow burn, a deliberate awakening.

as he slides your underwear down your legs, he settles between your thighs, pushing them wide. you feel a surge of vulnerability, a sudden flash of inexperience that makes you shy away slightly.

“wait, chenle…i've... i've never…” you start, your voice trembling.

chenle looks up at you, a tender, knowing smile on his face, “i know, baby. just relax. let me take care of you.”

the first contact of his tongue against your clit pulls a soft moan out of you, a sensation you weren’t prepared for. the feeling of pleasure, making your hips instinctively jerk upward, arching off that mattress in a desperate search for more. he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a slow, rhythmic motion that targets the most sensitive part of you.

“do you like that?” he mumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl against your wetness, the heat of his breath sending fresh shivers racing down your spine.

“yes…” you whisper shyly, voice trembling. you try to keep your eyes open, wanting to witness the sight of him. but you don’t get to watch for long before your eyes begin to roll back, lids fluttering as he begins to feast on you with a sudden, hungry intensity. he’s no longer just tasting you – he’s consuming you. his tongue flickering rapidly, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, pointed pressure that makes your toes curl. when he suddenly sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a powerful vacuum of pleasure, your vision blurs into a haze of white and gold. you are completely undone. the tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter, building into a frantic crescendo that makes you feel like you're vibrating.

“chenle, i’m… i think i’m…” you gasp, your fingers clutching the silk sheets until they bunch up in your fists.

“go on, baby. give it all to me,” he encourages, his voice thick with desire. he works his tongue faster and harder, driving you relentlessly toward the edge.

as he does, he glances up, his dark eyes focusing on the sight of you – your head rolled back, your mouth parted in a silent, desperate gasp, your body arched, your nipples peaked.

he reaches up, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours, anchoring you to the bed. you squeeze his hand with everything you have, clinging to him as the world finally shatters. you cum hard, your clit pulsing against his tongue in a series of intense spasms that leave you sobbing for air. the release is so overwhelming that it feels as though you're floating in a void of pure euphoria, a level of pleasure you never knew existed. you collapse back into the pillows, panting heavily, chest heaving as the aftershocks continue to ripple through you.

chenle slowly lifts his head, your pleasure glistening on his lips. he looks at you with a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated love. he crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

you reach up then, your fingers hooking on his tie. it’s already loosened from your earlier desperation. you tug on it firmly, finally removing it. 

with a low, needy sound against his lips, you sit up, beginning to undress him, your movements hurried and clumsy with eagerness. buttons pop and fabric slides until he’s completely naked, his skin warm against yours. 

your breath hitches in your throat. you hadn’t seem him fully the first time – but now, in the soft glow of the bedroom, you can’t seem to look away. your gaze drops to his cock.

driven by a sudden, bold curiosity, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his shaft. 

chenle lets out a sharp, strangled whine, his hips jerking towards your touch instinctively. the sound is so visceral, so unlike the composed man the world knows, that you freeze, your eyes widening.

“did that hurt?” you whisper, looking up at him with genuine concern, as if you've just discovered a secret vulnerability.

a small, breathless smile tugs at his lips, though his eyes are clouded with lust. he shakes his head slowly, his voice a strained rasp, "no, baby... fuck, it feels so good. you drive me insane–,” he kisses you again, pulling back just an inch, forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your skin, “-but you need to stop,” he groans, the sound vibrating in his chest, “i need to be inside you.”

he carefully guides you back to lay on the bed, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to him. he spends a long moment just looking at you, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin and swollen lips.

“i’m sorry about before," he whispers, “i promise i’m going to make up for every single second of it,” he says, voice thick with emotion before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your pinky. and before he can let go, you pull his hand towards you, returning the kiss to his pinky too – not the innocent promise of children, but a mature, desperate vow of devotion. chenle’s breath hitches, the small gesture acting like a catalyst, snapping the last thread of his restraint.

he doesn't rush though. he moves with a slow, reverent precision, parting your legs with a gentle nudge of his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, slick and searing hot. you gasp, your hips instinctively arching upward, seeking the friction. chenle lets out a shaky exhale, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. he enters you in one slow, agonizingly steady glide.

“oh...chenle,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. you’ve never felt so full.

he freezes for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, a low groan escaping his throat, “you're so tight... so warm. i can't believe you're actually mine.”

then he begins to move, and it is nothing like the clinical urgency of the first time. this is a dance. he pulls back until he is almost out, only to plunge back in with a slow, heavy thud that makes you cry out. every thrust is deliberate, designed to make you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, and the sheer intensity of his love.

“chenle... please,” you whimper, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, “right there... don't stop.”

“i've got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips leaving searing trails of heat.

he picks up the pace slightly, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. then he reaches down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, thumb circling your swollen nub, perfectly timed with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. the combination is electric. you feel that same tension building again, faster this time, a coil of pleasure tightening with every stroke. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any remaining space between you.

“look at me,” he commands softly. you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, “tell me you feel it. tell me you know how much i love you.”

“i feel it,” you sob, your voice breaking, “i love you...i love you so much, chenle."

the words breaks something inside him. his movements become more urgent, more passionate, though he never loses that sweetness. he begins to whisper things against your skin – promises of a future, apologies for the past, and raw admissions of how much he craved this specific moment.

as the climax begins to crest, you feel your walls clamp down on him in tight, rhythmic waves. you gasp his name, body shuddering under the force of a release that feels like a spiritual cleansing. chenle lets out a guttural, strangled cry, his body stiffening as he delivers a few final, powerful thrusts. he pours himself into you, his own release consuming, his head falling at the crook of your neck as he gives in to the euphoria, collapsing onto you, his chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, crushing embrace. for a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating in the same rhythm.

“i love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice exhausted but certain.

⚜️ THE REST OF YOUR LIFE ⚜️

you wake up to the sound of light snoring from your husband, his arms locked firmly around your naked waist, your back flushed against his bare chest. the warmth of skin on skin is electric, but it’s the prominent, hard bulge of his cock pressing firmly into the small of your back that makes your breath hitch.

you pinch your arm, a sharp sting that confirms this isn't a fever dream. 

then you shift gently in his embrace, turning in the circle of his arms to face him. as you move, his cock slides against the curve of your hip, dangerously close to your core. the proximity makes your pussy clench instinctively. you’ve always loved chenle but this kind of hunger was new - a desperate need to be consumed by him.

“stop staring at me, you creep,” he teases, his voice thick with sleep.

you let out a breathless laugh, swatting his shoulder. the sound of your own laughter feels foreign yet right.

it hits you then – the terrifying, beautiful ease of it all. like the past six years of coldness, the resentment, and the silence were just a bad dream, easily erased by the heat of his body.

sensing your sudden silence, chenle opens his eyes. the gaze he meets you with is soft, searching, and filled with an intensity that makes your heart race. 

“what are you thinking about?” he asks softly, his hand drifting up to thread his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.

“just… thinking about how nice this is,” you whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah?” he lets out a playful hum, his eyes shimmering with complete adoration, “think you could do this with me for the rest of our lives?”

you lean in then, kissing him softly, “yes,” you murmur against his lips with absolutely no doubt, “you’ve always been the only person i could ever do this with.”

chenle’s heart stutters. he had thought his love for you had reached its peak, but every time you surprise him with your tenderness, the feeling grows, expanding until it feels like he might burst.

“do you think this would still be nice with twenty kids?”  he teases, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

you recoil slightly, a look of genuine horror flashing across your face. “what?! i’m not giving you twenty kids, chenle! are you insane?!”

he bursts into a loud, genuine laugh, his eyes disappearing into crescents, his kitten-like smile whiskers prominent. as he calms down, he smirks, leaning closer, “i’m not the one who wants twenty kids. i’m pretty sure it was my beautiful wife, coming home drunk a month ago and begging me for a baby.”

you groan, your face flushing a deep crimson as you try to rack your brain for any memory of such a confession. but you don’t remember anything.

“i was drunk! i wasn’t in my right mind!”

“hmm,” he draws the word out fondly, his hand sliding down from your hair to trace the curve of your hip,  “how many kids do you actually want then?”

“two,” you admit shyly, looking away.

“only two? baby, this mansion would go to waste,” he teases, a playful smirk on his face.

“okay… three then,”  you say, trying to hide the smile growing on your face.

“what if one of them feels left out?”

“four. and that’s it!” you exclaim.

in one fluid motion, chenle rolls you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight, his eyes dark with lust, his hard cock hitting your thigh with a heavy thud. 

“guess we should start getting to work then,” he smirks.

you giggle underneath him, pulling him in for a quick kiss before murmuring against his lips, “can you do that thing you did last night first, though?” you ask, cheeks burning.

“what thing, baby? i did a couple of things.”

the embarrassment is overwhelming, but the craving is stronger. you bite your lip, unable to say it aloud.

“c’mon, mrs. zhong, owner of two beauty empires,” he teases, his voice a low, sultry drawl, “you can tell your husband exactly what you want.”

“go down on me again, chenle,” you whisper.

he grins, a predatory yet loving expression, “of course, baby… but you do know that’s not how babies are made, right?”

you groan, shoving at his chest, “i really don't care.”

he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest before he slides down your body. he doesn't stop until his face is buried between your thighs, letting out a low moan at the scent of your arousal, his hot breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue makes a slow, wet sweep from your bottom to the top, tasting every drop of your longing.

⚜️ THE OFFICE ⚜️

when you get to the office later that day, arriving in the same car, and walking through the lobby of yü skincare together – the atmosphere shifts. you can feel the collective intake of breath from the staff, the employees practically vibrating with curiosity, eyes darting between you and chenle, trying and failing to hide their sheer shock. you don't blame them. for seven months, your marriage had been spent apart. to see him not only accompanying you to your door but looking at you with an expression of raw, unfiltered adoration is enough to send the office gossip into overdrive.

your eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar figure – mark lee is back at his desk, focused and working. a surge of triumph rushes through you. you’ve won.

the moment the heavy door to your private office clicks shut, the professional facade vanishes. chenle doesn't waste a second. his hands are instantly back on you, grip firm and possessive as he spins you around to face him, pinning you lightly against the edge of your desk.

you grin, your eyes dancing with mischief, “i see mark lee is back,” you say teasingly.

chenle huffs a small, amused breath, his forehead resting against yours, “yeah, he’s back. but tell him he’s walking on a very thin line,” he murmurs, though there’s no real heat in the threat. you laugh, a genuine, light sound, and shove his shoulder playfully. 

his expression shifts, the playfulness melting into something achingly sincere as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a reverence that makes your heart stutter. 

“you know i’d give you everything you want, right? just say the word and it’s all yours.”

it’s not just a statement – it’s another confession, a continuation of the vow he’s been making since you woke up. 

“i told you,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, “i’ll spend the rest of this life, and every single one after that, making it up to you.”

you let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, “when did you become such a sap?” you tease, reaching up and winding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down.

the kiss is slow, languid, and deep – a sweet contrast to the hunger of the morning, but filled with the same desperate need to be close. as your tongues slide together, the corporate world outside the door ceases to exist, there is only the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming realization that you are finally, truly, loved.

⚜️ THE FULFILLED PROMISE ⚜️

it didn’t take long after that before you finally got pregnant.

you and chenle fucked all the time. and it wasn’t even to conceive – the two you just physically could not get enough of each other. the mansion became your personal playground. you were pretty sure there wasn’t a single square inch of the estate that hadn’t felt the heat of your bodies. 

like that one time when you both got home after a charity gala. you had worn a red dress that hugged every curve, the slit climbing dangerously high up your thigh. all night, chenle had been a predator in a tuxedo, his gaze burning into you, hand possessively gripping the small of your back, whispering filth into your ear while you smiled for the cameras. he didn't want to network, he wanted to rip the dress off your body. the moment the heavy doors of the mansion clicked shut behind you, the facade crumbled. he didn't even let you take off your heels. chenle grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up with a grunt of effort and placing you down onto the large, circular marble table that sat centrally between the grand staircases, not even caring about the priceless antique vase sitting on top of it. he didn't waste time with foreplay – he reached down, bunching the red silk upward, exposing your lace panties and with one violent tug, he ripped the lace aside, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the vast foyer. “i’ve been thinking about this since the moment you put this dress on,” he growled, voice raw. he freed his pulsing cock, already leaking pre-cum, and shoved it into you in one deep, punishing thrust. you moaned his name so loud, back arching off the marble, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. the sound of your shared moans bounced off the high ceilings, filling the foyer with the raw noises of pleasure. he fucked you desperately, hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that could be heard all around the mansion. you knew the maids were nearby, you could almost feel their shocked eyes on you, but the thought only made you wetter. you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his tuxedo jacket, sobbing his name as he hammered into you, driving you toward a shattering climax that left you shaking and drenched.

then there was the discovery of the billiards room. it had been a forgotten wing of the house, dusty and silent until you both stumbled upon it during a lazy afternoon. the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted. the green felt of the billiard table looked like an invitation. chenle didn't even let you stand still. he lifted you up the billiard table, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs wide. “you smell so sweet,” he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. he didn't hesitate, burying his face in your pussy. his tongue was your favorite  weapon – broad, wet, and relentless. he licked your folds, swirling around your clit, making your toes curl. he fingered you with his other hand, two fingers sliding deep inside your soaking walls, stretching you while his tongue continued to drive you insane. it was an intense combination. you were sobbing, fingers clutching his hair. just as you reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and dripping. he didn't give you a second to whine about it, grabbing your hips to help you down then bending you forward until your chest was pressed against the green felt. “look at you,” he whispered, his voice a dark caress, “always so ready for me.” he entered you from behind, his cock filling you completely over and over again. the friction of the billiard table against your skin and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge. he fucked you ruthlessly, his hand reaching around to pinch your nipples over your pajama dress, his chest heaving against your back. every thrust was a claim, a promise that you belonged to him, until he finally groaned, filling you with a hot, thick surge of cum that left you both breathless and spent.

and also that one time in the hot tub, it wasn’t even night time…it was pure daylight, the sun was out, illuminating every inch of the outdoor sanctuary. the risk of being seen by the gardeners or the staff was immense, but the adrenaline only fueled the fire. you were draped across him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rode him. the warm, bubbling water splashed around you, clinging to your skin. chenle’s hands were everywhere – one gripping your ass to keep you steady, the other reaching up to grab your breast. he leaned in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. you threw your head back, your moans echoing across the open terrace, completely uninhibited. you could feel the vibration of the water and the rhythmic slide of his cock deep inside you. every time you sank down, you felt him hit your cervix, a sensation that made you whimper and cling to his shoulders. “who cares if they see?” he gasped, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a mixture of lust and adoration, “let them see who you belong to.” he gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. the splashing grew more violent, the water churning as the pace increased. you rode him with a frantic energy, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone with every downward stroke. when the climax hit, it was explosive. you screamed his name into the open air, your walls clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, while he groaned, thrusting one last time and flooding you with his cum under the bright, midday sun.

and then there was that one week honeymoon that chenle insisted on, saying that he never got to give you a proper one. you two spent a week in the most luxurious private resort in hawaii. the resort is beautiful, open to the tropical air and the rhythmic crash of the ocean, but you barely saw the view. you were too occupied by your husband. for seven days, the world ceased to exist. there were no board meetings, no family expectations, and no corporate rules – only the sound of wet, slapping skin and the desperate gasps of two people becoming one. he fucked you in the private pool, the warm water swirling around your hips as he held you against the edge, his cock sliding in and out of you with a frictionless ease that made you scream into the salty air. he fucked you on the outdoor daybed, under the moon, the linen sheets soaking through with your combined juices. he would spend hours worshipping your body, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, before driving himself into you with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name. 

and of course, eventually, you fucked in both of your offices. the two of you tried to keep it professional at first but at one point, you just couldn’t stop yourselves. i mean, no one can fire you anyway. and the two of you spend so much time at work it just makes sense. your favorite routine involved the desk — when you were the one who gets to play, disappearing from view while chenle continued a conference call. the contrast was intoxicating, his voice, cool and commanding, discussing quarterly projections, while your mouth was wrapped tightly around his cock. you would suck him with a focused intensity, swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as deep as your throat would allow, listening to the slight hitch in his breath and the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. when he finally hangs up, he would haul you out from under the desk by your waist and slam you down onto the edge of it, “my little slut wants to play, huh?” he’d growl against your lips as you cling to the desk for dear life, heels digging into the carpet. he took you right there in the center of his power, filling you to the brim.

but still...nothing beats fucking in your shared bedroom, this was where the real intensity lived, especially on the nights when chenle’s gaze turned dark and determined. on those nights, he didn't just want to fuck you – he wanted to possess you completely. he would start by flipping you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees in doggy style. he loved the view of your arched back and the way your ass looked spread wide for him. he would grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and thrust into you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your cheeks echoed through the room, a raw, primal beat that drove you insane. he would reach forward to pull your hair back, whispering filth into your ear about how much he loved the way you took him. then, he would flip you onto your back, hoisting your legs up high,  sometimes draping them over his shoulders, so that he could penetrate you at the deepest possible angle. in this position, there was no escape. he drove himself in until he hit your cervix, each thrust a heavy, thumping blow that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. “look at me,” he would command, his eyes burning with an obsessive kind of love, “tell me you're mine.” the friction and the intensity pushed you toward a peak you had never experienced before. in the heat of those nights, you discovered the sensation of squirting – your pussy drenching the sheets and leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of losing control, of your body literally overflowing with pleasure, sends chenle into a frenzy. he would fuck you even harder, driving you through multiple, shattering orgasms, his own release coming in a hot, thick flood that filled you completely, leaving you both tangled in the damp sheets, hearts racing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute devotion.

now, a year into marriage and you were two months pregnant with your first child.

it hasn’t been easy, your baby was stubborn – which you honestly should’ve seen coming knowing how stubborn its father is (and you, too). 

the pregnancy had stripped away your usual composure. for a woman who navigated the cutthroat world of billionaire cosmetics with a steady hand, the loss of control was infuriating.

your morning sickness wasn't just “morning”sickness – it was a rolling tide of nausea that lasted the whole day. you had spent the last few weeks throwing up everything from expensive lobster to plain crackers. to add to the misery, your breasts had swollen, becoming agonizingly sore to the touch.

you were, in a word – grumpy. a whirlwind of mood swings, snapping at assistants and sobbing over the smallest of things, existing in a state of perpetual irritation. which was especially unfortunate considering you had never been particularly good at dealing with discomfort. you are a billionaire. struggle is not your forte.

still, chenle had been unbelievably sweet and understanding through all of it. he spent his days balancing both companies and his nights massaging your back or holding your hair back while you retched into the toilet, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that still made your heart ache.

today, you were plagued by a craving so specific, so visceral, that it felt like a physical hunger. you wanted a tomato-egg dish. but not just any version. it had to be right.

chef sung ahn, a culinary genius, was currently in the midst of a crisis — seven bowls of the dish sat on the marble island, each one a slightly different variation of seasoning and texture. and yet, none of them were right.

you pushed the seventh bowl away with a pout, your lower lip trembling. you knew you were acting like a spoiled child, but as you rested a hand over your still-flat stomach, you reasoned that you were carrying what is about to be the most spoiled heir in the country. it only made sense. 

the heavy thud of the front door announced chenle’s return. he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie, his eyes immediately landing on the scene.

“baby,” he murmured, stepping behind you and pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

his scent, expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a long day at the office, usually calmed you, but today you were too frustrated to be fully appeased, “what’s going on in here?”

you let out a dramatic groan, leaning back into his chest, “your stupid baby wants a certain taste, and the chef can’t do it!" you complained, pouting up at him, “nothing tastes right, chenle! everything is wrong!”

chenle looked from your frustrated expression to the exhausted but patient chef sung ahn, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“i’m so sorry, chef. she’s been incredibly sensitive since the pregnancy started. i think we're dealing with a very demanding little one.”

chef sung ahn smiled knowingly, unfazed by the seven wasted bowls. he was paid far too much to be offended by the complaints of a pregnant billionaire.

“that’s perfectly alright, mr. zhong. my wife was exactly the same way. i remember a week where she nearly kicked me out of the house because the toast was too loud.”

the two men share a low chuckle while you try not to roll your eyes. his wife was valid and you know it. 

“i think i know exactly what she wants, though,” chenle said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming soft and confident.

"i’ll take care of it. thank you, chef. you can head out for the day."

as the chef departed, chenle took his place, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his forearms. you remained seated on the bar stool, watching him. there was something hypnotic about the way he moved – the precision of his knife, the way he cracked the eggs with one hand, the sizzle of the tomatoes hitting the pan.

as the aroma began to waft through the air, something happened — for the first time in hours, the nausea in your stomach vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense surge of appetite.

your mouth watered. the scent was an exact match – not to a michelin-star recipe, but to a memory. a flash of nostalgia hitting you. you were seventeen again, shivering under a duvet in your room, delirious with a fever. chenle visited you with a simple, home-cooked tomato-egg dish. it hadn't been fancy, but it had been made with a quiet kind of care that had spoken louder than any words.

you looked at your husband – the man who had once been your best friend, then your cold stranger, and now the love of your life. a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. your baby, barely the size of a fruit, was already exerting its will, bypassing the expertise of a world-class chef to demand the specific, nostalgic touch of its father.

god, you thought, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him plate the food. the baby already has a favorite. what a traitor.

chenle finished the dish quickly, the steam curling upward, carrying that precise, comforting scent that had finally silenced the storm in your stomach.

he slid the bowl in front of you, the colors vibrant and the aroma intoxicating. as you picked up the spoon to take a bite, he stepped towards you. 

“how is it?” he smirks teasingly. because he knows you. and he knows it’s exactly what you needed. 

you let out a soft, involuntary sigh of contentment, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal compliment just yet. instead, you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. without warning, you reached out and gripped the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in your fist and tugging him towards you as you burrowed your face into chest.

“you’re not allowed to go to work anymore,” you mumbled against his shirt, “you’re staying with me. every second of every day.”

a low, vibrating chuckle erupted from his chest, the sound echoing against your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you, hands splaying across your back.

he adored this version of you – the spoiled, demanding, vulnerable woman who only wanted him.

“i’m perfectly okay with that,” he whispered, his voice dripping with fond adoration. 

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering. the stubbornness was still there, but it was softened by a deep, aching affection.

you reached up then, hooking your arms around his neck to pull him down toward you for a soft, lingering kiss filled with tenderness and love.

⚜️ THE END ⚜️

an: weeee!!!! did i spend my entire weekend glued to my computer writing this like a loser? yeah…i did. but i had to ride on the high of inspiration and delusions before i lose it or else this would take me months to finish lmao. anyways, i loved writing this! and i’m also realizing it’s very easy for me to write for chenle idk it’s always so fun for me!!! fun game: can you guess what kind of dad chenle is!! aka can you guess the gender of the baby??? put in the comments what you think! 😉 (i do have the answer). and please let me know your thoughts! thank ü for reading, much love to ü 💛

EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY

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The first meeting between you two happened when you were mere children. You were taller than him, by a handful of inches of course but it still mattered to him. Donghyuck didn’t like it. The adults teased him relentlessly while you were oblivious to it.

“What a cute pair!” His grandfather would say. You had your usual gummy smile when you heard that, simply accepting the truth. You liked Donghyuck. You think he was smart, confident and cute. You were his best friend and he was yours. If all the adults had the same opinion about you two being a perfect match, the only consensus to your younger self is that it must be true.

Donghyuck, ever the boy, would openly frown at any sweet comments about the two of you but when it was just the two of you, things were different. He would fix your pigtails when it came loose. When you came over to his house for a play date, he would surprise you with a dress up doll. His actions were confusing but that didn’t deter you. It felt like a secret between the two of you. The way he quietly showed you care and concern made your tiny heart swell. It was enough if it meant keeping Donghyuck by your side.

When you reached your tween years, the meetings naturally grew lesser. From seeing him once every season to seeing him annually, your relationship had shrivelled but your hope hadn’t. The yearning had always lingered at the back of your chest. It was an ache you ended up growing up with.

Polite smiles and cold gazes are exchanged and beneath it all was your longing. Every change does not go unnoticed by you. Donghyuck has grown taller, brazen. He has his own group of friends that hangs around him during year end parties while the rest of the crowd can only stand in the sidelines, admiring their presence. His laughter is more interesting than the crowd.

It stays the same for a few years up until you turn seventeen. You had wished for a quiet celebration with your loved ones but your mother had insisted on a bigger celebration. She had rented out a popular restaurant in the heart of the city. It had an open rooftop concept and the party was swarming with guests, majority had been decided by your parents. Your own friends and relatives were there, thankfully.

You stuck with your new best friend for moral support. It was much needed when Donghyuck walked towards your table. He carried his usual self with suave, a complete difference from the panic rising in your chest. You leaned in closer to your cousin when your best friend Yizhou says, “I’m not drunk am I? That is Lee Donghyuck.”

There is barely any time to recover from your shock. Donghyuck saunters to the table. Your mother is overjoyed, her face splitting into a wide smile as she gets up to greet him. Your father joins her and you force yourself to rise, slowly approaching them. You barely notice the friends he had brought with him, your eyes are glued onto him.

Donghyuck finally turn towards you and you hope the hitching of your breath isn’t audible. “Happy birthday,” he says as he extends a wrapped present to you.

“Thank you.” You mumble, stiffly accepting the gift. Your mother forces a laugh as if to compensate for your lack of emotions.

“Go. Enjoy the party boys!” Your mother tells him and his friends.

“It’s so nice of him to show up.” You hear your father say.

When Donghyuck disappeared into the crowd, you confronted your mother. “Why did you invite him?”

She takes a sip of her wine, fixing you with a smirk. “It’s your birthday dear. Everyone is invited.” While you love your mother, her ambition has always been bigger than your own interests. The worst part is that you can’t find it in you to be whole heartedly mad, the little girl in you is pleased by Donghyuck’s presence. It makes you feel pathetic. You thought that once you had grown older, you would have grown out of your affection for him. Clearly you were wrong.

It’s your birthday party but your attention has drifted towards Donghyuck. It should tick you off that he is the centre of attention at your party but you’re relieved to have this small chance to collect yourself.

“Hey, I need a toilet break.” You inform Yizhou as you pass your gift to her. Your cousin overheard you and tried to call after you, but you waved her off, rushing to the bathroom.

It’s times like these you wished you picked up smoking. You settle for gently patting your face down with water. Your hands are pressed against the sink, staring down at your own reflection. In a matter of hours, your birthday glow has faded and you’re back to the lovesick girl you used to be.

The thought brings tears to your eyes. “Fuck, no.” You refuse to cry over him, not when he’s a few feet away from you. You can’t even hate him. It is not his fault that you harbour such helpless feelings for him.

Looking at your reflection again, you try to smile. It comes out small and uncertain and you can’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all. You feel more like your usual self, taking it as a sign to join the party again.

You push the door ajar and the person behind it yells, “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh my god!” You try to shut the door again, eyes clenching shut but you’re met with resistance. You slowly peel your eyes open and meet the victim of your actions. The only intelligent reply you could come up with is prolonged silence.

Donghyuck clears his throat and gently tugs the door handle towards him, urging you to step out of the bathroom and into the corridor. “Right, I am sorry about that. Thank you for holding the door and um,” you pause, doing a once over at his appearance. “Are you hurt?”

His soft laughter surprises you. “I’m okay.” The grimace from your face doesn’t fade so he adds, “Didn’t you used to say that I was strong? I can handle a door.” Donghyuck winks as if to prove a point.

Your eyes dart towards the direction of your party, ignoring the flutter in your chest. You side step Donghyuck, getting out of the tiny corridor. The reason for your brief escape just had to appear right before you.

“Were you going to the men’s? You should go. I am leaving too.” You ramble, already walking away.

“No.”

Your steps halt and you slowly turn around. “Huh?”

There’s a decisive look in Donghyuck’s eyes and the way your stomach churns tells you that whatever is going through his mind, you will inevitably cave into his whims.

“I saw you leaving your party so I followed you.” He takes a step toward you. “I– Do you wanna dance with me?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

There’s a redness that fans his cheeks but Donghyuck remains confident, even going as far as offering you his hand. The music is fainter in this part of the rooftop but even then, the scenery felt perfect. The potted trees were decorated with fairy lights to illuminate the area, along with the warm lights installed along the trees.

As far as your imagination goes, having Donghyuck willingly giving you his sole attention is much better than anything you have ever imagined.

“Are you sure? Don’t you miss the dance floor? I know it calls your name.” You tease.

At your remark, Donghyuck affectionately rolls his eyes. “The dance floor could use a little breather from my presence.”

You break into a shy grin when you slip your hand into his. “Okay. Then let’s take a breather together.”

It’s like the whole night was leading up to this moment. The song transitions to a slower beat, giving you the opportunity to sidle up Donghyuck and try to relax.

His mouth brushes the side of your head. “Follow my lead,” he softly instructs. It is as good as a warning you got from him. Donghyuck pulls you close so that you’re chest to chest. His free hand rests slightly above your hips, merely holding you but the reaction for you instant. It feels like his warmth is burning through the expensive material of your dress. Your eyes nervously dart around his figure.

Donghyuck’s voice softens. “Look at me.” Your eyes slowly shift towards his face. It starts at his forehead where stray strands of hair effortlessly frame his head, then it lands on his arched brows. They’re perfectly shaped because of course, the heir of the Lee’s has a beautician to tidy up his god sent feature. You purposely avoid his eyes, moving onto the slope of his nose and his inviting lips.

Bad move. You make a misstep and Donghyuck holds you firmer than before, his hand pressing into your hips to support you. You clutch onto his back a little tighter, probably leaving wrinkles in his pristine suit. This time you do meet his eyes, albeit apologetically. “I‘ve never done this before,” you tell him.

Donghyuck smiles and he slowly dips you, letting you lean back onto his sturdy arm as he brings his face to yours. “You have done this before though.”

You almost missed his reply. Your mouth part in confusion, a question already leaving your lips. “When?”

He brings you back to your proper position but this time, you feel caged in. Your brows are furrowed and Donghyuck’s humour dims. “You really don’t remember at all?”

When you shake your head, Donghyuck sighs wistfully. “It was my uncle’s wedding. You were seven and I was eight. We danced on the dance floor that day.”

You squint at him as you try to jog your memories. Slowly, bits and pieces of your earlier memories from your shared childhood comes back to you. It was an outdoor wedding on a sunny day. You were appointed as the flower girl and Donghyuck was the ring bearer.

“Wait,” you said as the memories came flashing in. “You were the ring bearer and you tripped on the carpet at the end of the aisle. Oh I remember now!”

You were grinning widely but Donghyuck wasn’t all too pleased. “Seriously? You couldn’t remember our dance but you remembered my embarrassing moment?”

You shrugged sheepishly. “Help me remember more of that day.”

Donghyuck laughs. “We weren’t really dancing, just swaying like this,” he says before changing the pace to an uncoordinated rhythm, causing you to squeal.

“Are you sure?” You exclaimed as you latch your chin over his shoulders.

Donghyuck suddenly stops. “Still don’t remember?” You lift your head to look at him and he’s already staring you, an unspeakable thing glimmering in his eyes. You shake your head.

“I spun you around.” You take it as a queue to pull back from his chest until you’re eye to eye. The first spin comes, with his arm raised above your heads. You try your best to follow his lead and you end up resting your hand on his chest, a bubble of laughter erupting from within you.

“That was clumsy of me.” Donghyuck agrees with a smile. “Try again,” he softly says. This time you are prepared and when you spin, you barely even trip. You beamed brightly as you look up at Donghyuck for approval and he nodded encouragingly.

Your smile drops a little when you tell him, “Unfortunately, I still don’t remember the wedding.”

“Hmm?” There’s a lilt in his voice that you didn’t expect. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

A soft peck lands on your cheek, taking you by surprise. You look at Donghyuck and he’s blushing when he pulls away. The tension between the two of you is palpable, your faces inches away from one another. It would be so easy to lean upwards and close the distance between you but you remained rooted in your spot.

“I think I’ll remember this better than our first dance from a decade ago.” Your voice comes out as soft as a whisper, barely heard above the noise.

Donghyuck releases you from his hold and he takes a step back, withdrawing himself from your shared space. You try to school your features to hide your hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you at the end of the year. Happy birthday Y/N.” There’s a guarded look in his eyes and you want nothing more than to scream at him but you don’t. You can’t. A lot of unsaid words were stuck in your throat and endless thoughts running through your mind as you watched Donghyuck turn his back on you, walking away from you with your fragile heart in his hands.

You didn’t tell any one of that sacred incident, opting to keep it to yourself. When you returned to your party, Donghyuck was long gone even though his friends stuck around. You ignore the skeptic glance they sent your way and plaster a smile for the rest of the night.

That same night, your dreams took you back to a forgotten memory, one where you’re dancing with your childhood best friend. His grip in your hand is warm and clammy but you didn’t mind, flashing him a smile. You’re still taller than him but even you can admit that Donghyuck is catching up to you in terms of height difference. The rest of the wedding-goers fade away and Donghyuck is leaning in. There’s alarm bells going off in your mind but you let it happen, his soft lips leaving a chaste peck on the apples of your cheeks. Donghyuck is saying something but it sounds garbled. You try to focus on his shy smile as the dream sequence slowly slips away from your consciousness.

When you wake up, you dart straight for the pile of gifts in the corner of your bedroom. You dig through the stacks of presents and take the wrapped gift that Donghyuck had given you. You’re sitting on your calfs, carefully tearing at the wrapping paper to unveil a sleek red box with gold embossing on it.

You cover your mouth with your hands, staring at the gift in disbelief. Inside the box, a gorgeous Baignoire in gold sits in there, waiting to be worn. You want to reach for your phone to send Donghyuck a text but you realised that you don’t even know if you had his number to begin with.

Amidst your shock, you finally notice the card that came with the present. You take the card to read what was written on it.

I can’t believe you’re 17 now. Time surely flies by when you’re busy growing up. I know you’ll wear this well.

lee donghyuck x

You don’t realise you’re crying until a stray tear lands on the back of your hand. You quickly wipe away the tears and gather his gifts in your arms before going to your storage trunk. In it is your most valuable possessions. It has started when you were young and you had developed an obsession with pirates. Donghyuck would always use it as his hiding spot for hide and seek.

You’re hit with a wave of nostalgia when you open up your trunk. There’s plenty of room for more possessions that you hope to collect in years to come. You carefully set the card down and put the jewellery box on top of it, just to hide it from any potential prying eyes. With a heavy heart, you will yourself to close the trunk.

“It’s his twenty first, you should be there!”

“I dunno,” you say as you turn the party invite around in your hands. Your thumb caresses the family crest embossed into the card. It has been ages since you had received an invite to Donghyuck’s birthday. To say you were curious would be a lie. “Besides, why would he have a party at his parent’s house? Shouldn’t it be at a club?”

Yizhou shrugs. “I don’t know? The Lee’s run a tight ship I guess with him being their heir and all that stuff. It would be safest to host a party at their estate.”

You’re not fully satisfied but her logic makes sense. “Your family got an invite too?”

“It was addressed to me, just like how your invite has your name on it.” Seeing as how you’re not convinced, Yizhou tries a different approach. “A masquerade sounds fun doesn’t it?”

“Yeah but it’s Donghyuck’s. Something isn’t quite right.”

“Then come to the party with me. Find out whatever it is that you’re suspecting him of.”

Without meaning to, you glance over at storage trunk situated at the end of your bed. It has been almost three years since you had received the priceless gift from him. It remains untouched by you.

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Okay?”

You nodded, holding the urge to take your words back. Yizhou squeals. “Yes! Thank you!”

You pull your best friend in for a hug, smothering Yizhou as she struggles against your strength. Your bright laughters carry through the night and your unease sits at the back of your mind.

And so, you’re left with a moments notice to scramble for an outfit. You have been to plenty of parties but a masquerade is a whole new ballgame. There’s a slight thrill behind the anonymity of the event and it serves as a comfort for you to lean into. Your mother is beyond thrilled to hear that you had accepted the invite. She had given you free rein on your choice of outfit and in a small act of rebellion, you decided to find yourself a vintage dress worthy of your mother’s credit card.

All that’s left was the mask. You browsed countless websites for a mask suitable to your likings and one finally caught your eyes. That purchase had also gone onto your mother’s credit card.

Even though it was not expected of you, you still wished to bring Donghyuck a present. Yizhou and your close cousins were of no use so you turned towards your father for help.

“Could you help me find out from Mr Lee what Donghyuck would want for his birthday?”

Your father tilted his head sideways. “Are you sure you came looking for the right parent?”

You walked further into the study room and dramatically dropped onto the vacant seat. “I don’t want to ask Ma for help. She will end up taking control of the gift and probably terrorise Mrs Lee.”

Your father snorts in agreement. He takes in your dejected mood and his face softened. “I don’t think me or Mr Lee would be of much help. Whatever the gift is, I know Donghyuck would appreciate it because it came from your heart.”

His words were true. You had been trying to avoid personalising your present but a meaningless present would be pointless for the both of you. “He grew up well,” your father suddenly says.

“What do you know of him? We only see him once a year.” You can’t help but challenge your father, curious as to what he thinks of your childhood best friend.

He clicked his tongue in disagreement. “No, you and Ma only see him at the end of the year. I have seen him socialising at the country club.”

Donghyuck is charming and has ambition which makes him a threat in your societal pool. While you typically choose to distance yourself from society, Donghyuck was rising through it, making all the right connections one handshake at a time. As far as you know, he was still in college. To think that he was juggling his ambitions on top of school was impressive to you.

“What does he do there?”

“He mostly plays tennis.” You hummed thoughtfully. It’s enough of a lead for a perfect gift. You thank your father and take your leave, occupied with a mental list of potential gifts for Donghyuck.

The day finally arrived. You went through your day slowly, not wanting to rush into it for fear of your nerves getting to you. By the time you were finished scrubbing yourself clean, you were left with sufficient time to get ready and head to the Lee’s estate.

Your family driver drove you to the party and you spent the majority of the ride stuck in your head, fiddling with the rings you had slipped on. You look downwards and gaze at your wrist, where a simple chained bracelet sits. The thought of wearing the watch Donghyuck gifted you had crossed your mind but you weren’t sure if you wanted him to notice you tonight.

“Y/N?” You’re startled out of your daze by your family driver. He turns in his seat, sporting a deep frown on his face. “Y/N, are you unwell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure because I can take you back home and–”

You cut in, “I am fine. I promise. I just had my mind elsewhere.”

The frown on his face loosens and he nods, respecting your wishes. “I’ll bring the car around at midnight but if you wish to stay here longer, or wish to leave earlier, do call me.”

You smile, grateful for the loyalty of your family’s employees. “Got it.”

Your hand reaches for the car door when your family driver hurriedly adds, “I think Mr Lee will be pleased to see you tonight.”

“What?”

“You are stunning. Even a mask cannot hide your brilliance and he would be a fool not to know that.”

It was what you needed to hear, a firm push to get you out of the car and into the party. You tied your mask onto your face and gathered your handful of belongings in your hands. Security and a staff checks your party invite and you hand over your gift at the entrance hall before being escorted into the main room.

You hadn’t known what to expect but Mrs Lee’s party planning blew your expectations out of the water. Waiters walk around the room with a tray of drinks and by the corner, there’s a buffet table with an assortment of sweet treats.

A masked stranger walks up to you, stealing your attention away from the party decor. “Fine evening Miss.”

You awkwardly smile, thankful to be able to hide behind your mask. “Hi. You don’t have to be formal with me.”

His laughter is warm, a low timbre that is surprisingly pleasant. “I’m sorry. I guess I got nervous given the fact that half of the room is looking at you.”

Confusion clouds over your eyes. “Me? You probably meant us.”

He shakes his head. “You,” he repeats with more emphasis.

Slowly, you look around the room and notice the crowd has grown bigger during the time of your conversation. Maybe the masks serves as a shield for everyone tonight. People barely shy away from your gaze, comfortable to watch you from afar behind the safety of a mask. Your skin prickles uncomfortably and your smile grows tight. “I dont understand.”

The lights in the room brightens up and the murmur of the crowd increases. Donghyuck enters, gliding into the room. “Come on,” the kind stranger beckons and you follow, the two of you moving through the crowd to get closer to Donghyuck.

He’s donned a silky blouse in a shade of baby blue. The blouse leaves little to no imagination, a bold opening at his chest and the strings were barely tied together. His trousers are just as tight. You kept your gaze on his mask. It’s intricately designed and it helps distracts you from your wandering thoughts.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. My parents, who aren’t here tonight, bestowed this party onto me for my twenty first.” Donghyuck pauses and the crowd chuckle. “However, I am thankful for the overwhelming turn out. I want to keep it short and sweet. I wish everyone has an enjoyable night." Anyone who was holding a drink raised their glasses in the air, toasting to Donghyuck's speech. You watch him as he smoohtly downed a flute of bubbly. The ones nearest to him hoots and hollers at his bravado, some even patting him on the shoulder.

The crowd had disperesed but your gaze remains on Donghyuck's figure as you finally piece your thoughts together. This man is a stranger to you, just as much as you are a stranger to him.

A soft touch to your arm pulls you away from your thoughts. You look at your companion who was patiently waiting for you. "Do you mind if you were to keep me company tonight?"

Seeing as how you have yet to find Yizhou, you accept his kind invite. You offer him your hand and he gladly accepts it. "I'm Jung Sungchan, by the way."

You vaguely remember hearing his name in passing though you cannot recall his face. "And I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

His face brightens, probably with recogniton but he doesn't press on about your identity which you are glad for. "Have you taken a proper look around the room?" Sungchan asks you and you shake your head. He breaks out into a wide grin, almost conspiratorial. "I'll show you which dishes to avoid."

The night takes a pleasant turn. You and Sungchan tried various food and drinks, stuck in your own bubble and genuinely enjoying each others company. You find out that Sungchan used to play soccer with Donghyuck in the little leauges, a past time you hadn't known Donghyuck had gotten involved with. In exchange, you tell Sungchan that you're Donghyuck's distant family friend.

His company was much needed and you hadn’t realised it. Sungchan makes you laugh when he breaks out dance moves that mismatch the beat of the song. Sungchan makes you laugh when he spins you around on the dance floor. Sungchan makes you laugh when he properly showcases his dance skills.

“You are such a fucking liar!” You yell over the music. Your tongue is looser than your usual poised self. Thanks to the unsupervised crowd, the two of you shared several glasses of alcoholic drinks. Now, the alcohol courses through your veins, leaving you a little unguarded. “You can dance! Hell! You probably invented dance!”

Sungchan chuckles and gently pulls you in. “You are drunk. Let’s get you some water.”

You reluctantly follow him, letting Sungchan pull you through the throng of partygoers. He stops in front of Donghyuck, quickly greeting him.

“Hyung! Happy birthday!” Sungchan greets.

Donghyuck looks at Sungchan then at the masked girl standing close to his back. Their fingers are loosely wrapped together and Donghyuck smirks. “Picking up a girl at my birthday party?”

“What? No!” Sungchan insists. “Y/N’s tipsy. Or drunk? Either way, I’m bringing her out for some fresh air. We’ll be back though!”

He takes a proper look and recognition dawns over him. “Y/N?” Donghyuck’s confusion gets drowned by the noise. Sungchan successfully pulls you through the crowd and you two disappear from Donghyuck’s sight. He belatedly notes that you didn’t acknowledge him. A sudden heaviness weighs on his chest as he realises that you’re at his party, spending time with his close friend.

Outside, you take in a deep breath. Sungchan had guided you into the Lee’s estates gardens. It felt like you had stumbled into a forgotten memory having been ages since you had last stepped foot in there.

You undo the tie of your mask and blindly toss it onto the bench behind you. Sungchan does the same. He chuckles, amused by your drunken behaviour. “Do you know who I am?”

You open your eyes and look at him. “Surprisingly, I do and I am drunk.” You decidedly plop down on the empty bench.

“Can you stay put? I need to go back in and get you some refreshments, maybe scavenge for whatever snacks there are left.”

“Okay but while you’re at it, can you find Yizhou and bring her to me?”

Your request is silly, you don’t even know if Sungchan knew her but Sungchan indulges in it. “Sure. I’ll be back.” Sungchan spins on his heels and takes his leave.

For lack of better things to do, you begin riffling through your purse. You take your time to fix your makeup then unlocking your phone to take some selfies. After a series of blurry pictures, you give up and start taking pictures of the garden.

“What are you doing?” The unexpected interruption causes you to let out a shrill scream, nearly dropping your phone in the process. You turn to glare at your intruder. Donghyuck is standing at the end of the bench, staring at you unapologetically.

“What the hell,” you cussed instead of answering his question.

He wordlessly offers you a mug. It’s nothing like the fancy glassware that is being used at the party. Your eyes narrow in suspicion. Donghyuck sighs deeply. “It’s warm water. I heard you’re drunk.”

“No I’m not.” You say rather petulantly as you accept the drink. “Thanks,” you quickly mutter before taking a sip.

Without your invite, Donghyuck settles down into the empty space beside you and you glare at him again. He merely ignores your childish reaction.

The warm water helps and gives you a little clarity but you don’t want to admit it out loud to Donghyuck so you remain silent, clutching the mug close to your chest. You decided to keep your gaze straight ahead, focusing on a bush of roses.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” He quietly admits after some time.

“Of course I did. We’re still friends even though we haven’t acted like one in a long time.” You replied, equally as quiet.

The obvious distance between you two can no longer be ignored. You can’t help but ask. “Why did we stop being friends?”

Donghyuck surprises you. “I guess I wanted to see if I could be a big boy and live my life without you circling in it. Make my own choices instead of trying to live the life everyone wants for me.”

The corner of your lips twitches, partly amused by his raw honesty. “And are you doing well?”

You turn to look over at Donghyuck and you note the dozens of emotions swimming in his eyes. He seems lost and your heart aches for him.

“No, I am not.” Donghyuck shakes his head, “I am not worthy of you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches. You’re instantly sobered up. Even without explicitly saying it, you know what Donghyuck is referring to. You feign ignorance. “What are you on about?”

“Y/N… You are a remarkable woman. Don’t get tied down to me. You deserve a chance to find someone else, meet other people. Anyone you end up marrying would be lucky enough to have you as their partner.” Donghyuck chooses his words wisely, deliberately rejecting you before you’ve even gotten a chance to try.

“And so? You want me to marry someone else just because you’re insecure?” Your words sting Donghyuck and he visibly flinches away from you, seeking comfort in the distance between you two.

“That’s not it,” he tries again but you’re not having it. “Then what is it Donghyuck?” You ask, exasperated by his confusing nature.

“It’s not fair because neither of us has a say in this marriage agreement.”

You shakily inhale. “Does the fact that I want you scares you?”

Your heart lurches to the bottom of your stomach. His silence is deafening, a reply in itself. You turn your head away from him, refusing to let Donghyuck see the beginnings of a breakdown surfacing onto your face.

“Donghyuck, I didn’t come here tonight to beg for your attention. I only came because I was intrigued by the fact that I had received an invitation. Whether it was your decision or your parents, I don’t care anymore. You don’t want me here? Fine, I’ll leave but you terribly confuse me. Why did you come here to take care of me at your own party? Why did you tell me not to leave? Why did you dance with me and kiss me on the cheek only to run off? Why did you get me an expensive gift and a handwritten card for my birthday just to ignore me? I don’t get it.”

Donghyuck’s mouth parts open to say something, anything, but the words are caught at the back of his throat. He’s never seen you this devastated before and he is the cause of it. Your high strung emotions had finally snapped and it came out pouring out of your mouth, no longer able to push it down.

You abruptly stood up from the bench. “At least now I know what you think of me. I am just a burden from your past and I’ll stay there. I will get out of your way.”

Every step away from Donghyuck hurt more than you’d like to admit it. You wanted to look back at him. You wanted him to chase after you. You wanted him to comfort you.

You’re so caught up in your greed and hurt that you don’t notice two figures hiding behind the nearest pillar. A clothed hand reaches out and pulls you into their hiding spot. You recognise Yizhou through your blurry vision. “Ning,” you manage to croak out before bursting into tears.

Yizhou pulls you into a comforting embrace and Sungchan moves, covering you with his broad figure. Your heartbreaking cries are loud enough for anyone nearby to hear but you couldn’t care less. You fail to notice Donghyuck standing a couple of metres from the three of you, an anguished look on his face. Sungchan glares menacingly at him and Yizhou fixes him with a look of disappointment.

Donghyuck returns to the kitchen through the staff entrance, mug in one hand and your masquerade mask in another. He is too dazed and he doesn’t notice the whispering staffs as he passes through the house, decidedly ditching his own party. Donghyuck carefully places your mask on his nightstand before falling into bed, recounting the night before everything went wrong with you.

Life moved on, making it feel as though nothing had changed between the two of you. You had no idea what ran through his mind and decided that it was not worth fixating on. Again, you grew up without him by your side. You went off to college and moved out of your parent’s place much to your mother’s dismay. There was still one thing in your life that she could control which was your marriage prospects.

Over the years, the Lee’s hadn’t hinted any change in uniting your families in matrimony and you had no interest in finding a prospective marriage of your own. It is the only reason why you allow your mother to meddle.

One day, your livelihood had changed under the guise of your monthly family dinner. Instead of your usual spot, your parents told you to meet at a fine dining restaurant nestled in the heart of the city. Your clothes were rumpled from running around campus the whole day. You were sure that your hair had lost its curls over the course of the day.

“Y/N? You wore this the whole day?” Her thinly veiled judgment was not out of the ordinary but your suspicions should have been raised when she subtly spoke with the hostess.

Too bad you hadn’t noticed because your father was speaking with you. He brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “You look beautiful. Your mother is just on edge tonight.”

“For what?” You frown as the two of you trailed behind your mother.

“We have guests tonight.”

Before you could press him for more answers, the hostess stops in front of a pair of sliding doors. You have no choice but to brace yourself for whoever is waiting behind those doors.

The door slides open, revealing a married couple and their son. “Please come in! We’re so glad you could make it to dinner.” Mrs Lee says.

Your parents naturally step forward into the room, greeting their friends. You wish to stay rooted in your spot but the hostess is looking at you funny. You slightly bow to them and make your way inside, standing closely to your parents.

“You remember Y/N?” Your father asked the Lee’s.

“Of course!” Mrs Lee answers. You offer her a shy smile and she returns it by enthusiastically pulling you down into a warm hug. Mrs Lee, just like your parents, had grown too old for socialising at year end parties. Your generation had taken over the scene which meant that the last time you had met the Lee’s was over five years ago. She still wore the same perfume and you relaxed into the hug, now wearing a genuine smile on your face.

Mrs Lee lets you go and you turn to greet Mr Lee. “Thank you for the invite Mr Lee.”

He casually waved you off. “No need for the formalities. You seem like you’re doing well, Y/N.”

“I am. I hope you are doing well.”

From behind, you heard Donghyuck’s voice. “Mr Y/L/N. Mrs Y/L/N. It’s so great to see you again.”

You finally turn towards him. While your mother showers him with compliments, you stay silent, observing Donghyuck. He smiles and laughs appropriately, even bantering back with your mother.

Mr Lee addresses the room. “Let’s settle down. We’ll catch up over the courses.”

The elders easily settle into their seats which leaves you no choice but to sit next to your father, the seat that is directly across from Donghyuck’s. You keep your gaze down.

After the first course is served, conversation picks up amongst the elders. You keep your reactions to yourself and train yourself not to react whenever Donghyuck speaks.

Mr Lee changes the flow of the conversation. “And Y/N, are you in your final year of college?”

You lift your head and look directly at Mr Lee before replying. “Yes. I came from school. I was writing my dissertation and consulting with my professor.”

Mrs Lee chuckles. “You’re so hardworking. I don’t even remember Donghyuck working this hard during his final years of college.”

The table laughs and Donghyuck says, “Knowing Y/N, she’s probably working ten times harder than necessary. I am not lazy. Y/N is just an overachiever.”

Donghyuck is already staring at you when you bring your gaze over to him. Your eyes are clouded, a stark contrast to the practiced smile that has graced your face. Your mother swoons. “That’s our Y/N. You still know her well.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “I had great memories with you.”

It’s terribly awkward and you are all too aware of the adults listening in on your conversation. “We did. How could I ever forget my childhood companion.” You say and quickly take a sip of your drink, desperate to end the interaction between you two.

Thankfully the next course is being brought in and you channel your focus onto the waiter clearing your dishes. The door slides shut and Mrs Lee speaks up. “It is good that you kids go way back. It does make your future look promising.”

The elders exchange furtive glances, leaving you and Donghyuck in the dark. Luckily, Donghyuck is impatient enough to ask them the million dollar question. “What future?”

Mr Lee places a reassuring hand over Mrs Lee’s. He turns to look at his son for a second, before turning over to you. “The two of you are to be wedded.”

It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of you. You’re almost certain that you heard wrong but the sound of Donghyuck’s chair dragging across the floor confirms that your present situation was real. Donghyuck stands, taking the cloth and throwing it into his seat.

“I wish to be excused.” He’s out the door before you even realise it. Tension hangs over the room upon his departure. You’re baffled by the way Donghyuck had chosen to flee the scene, leaving you alone at a time of crisis. Hurt blooms in your chest but you tamper it down.

You face Mr and Mrs Lee, putting on your practiced smile. “I am honoured that you think so highly of me. Thank you for your generous consideration but clearly this will not work out.”

“It’s already been decided.” Mrs Lee states.

A blank expression takes over your face before you could stop yourself. You hear your mother force out a laugh. “After decades, you still hold onto our promise. Your family is loyal and we are grateful.”

Your father adds on. “Thank you for accepting Y/N as your daughter.”

The elders are back in good spirits, raising their glasses for a toast. Meanwhile, your clouded gaze darts over the empty space in front of you, wondering the outcome of your shared fate.

His rejection is still fresh in your mind. It replays on loop without your consent, distracting you from your priorities. The sting that has long been associated with Donghyuck’s name returns but this time, there’s extra pressure pressing onto your chest. Your pride is bruised by the fact that your chance has been taken away from you again. Donghyuck hadn’t even given you a second thought before storming out of the room.

Were you really that unappealing to him after all these years? You weren’t madly in love with him anymore but the impact is still as painful as it once was.

You didn’t want to tell Yizhou or any of your cousins so you called up your last option.

“Y/N! What’s up?” Sungchan greets you.

The only positive outcome from that particular memory was your friendship with Sungchan. He quickly got over his initial crush on you and the two of you forged a strong friendship. Your mother had attempted to make you two a couple but you firmly stopped her each time.

You sit up from your bed. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Not really. I’m running right now.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re crazy.” Sungchan laughs and you continue, “I need to talk. Can you find somewhere to sit?”

After a brief pause, Sungchan returns to the call. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to break the news. “I’m getting married to Lee Donghyuck.” A beat of silence passes through and you begin to worry about Sungchan’s wellbeing. “Hello?”

“No, I’m still here. Sorry I just– What?” Sungchan stumbles over his words. Normally you would laugh and tease him but the situation is too grave for you to crack a smile.

“Yeah. I got ambushed yesterday by both my parents and his parents. He was there too.”

Sungchan quietly asked, “And he accepted you?”

The sting of rejection returns but you keep your voice levelled. “No. He stormed out of the meeting. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Sungchan makes a noise of frustration and cusses. “What a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I need to tell somebody before all hell breaks loose.” You brush your hair through your hands, already imagining the widespread effect of your marriage announcement. Yizhou would fly back to Seoul in a matter of hours.

“Okay. Just keep me updated, yeah?”

You nodded. “Of course. Thanks Sungchan.”

The call ends and you drop your phone onto your bed, watching it bounce around. Despite your tarnished history with Donghyuck, getting married to him is the best outcome for your family’s wellbeing. You’re capable of compartmentalising your feelings but you can’t say the same for Donghyuck.

Worry etched onto your face. You throw yourself into your fluffy pillows, smothering your face in it while letting out a frustrated scream. Whatever it is that Donghyuck throws your way, you must overcome it.

You did not know whether to be worried or amused. You had walked into your apartment lobby, surprised by the sight of Donghyuck in the lounge area. He looks up from his iPad when he hears the doorman greeting you.

“Finally,” Donghyuck mutters as he gathers his belongings. From the looks of it, he had set up a makeshift office in the lobby. You come to a stop in front of him, the front of your shoes narrowly touching his.

“What are you doing?”

“I came here to find you. We need to talk.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who stormed out before we got the chance to talk.”

The security guard behind the counter looks on curiously, wondering if he should intervene. Donghyuck closes his eyes to compose himself. “I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” You said and then turned your back on him, strutting towards the lift.

You can hear Donghyuck scrambling and you smile to yourself. “Wait!”

The security guard reaches you first, putting distance between you and Donghyuck. “Ms Y/L/N, is this man harassing you?”

“Ha– Harass?” Donghyuck sputtered out as if he couldn't even fathom the idea of him causing trouble. “No, I am not a harasser!”

The security guard throws a cold look at his direction and Donghyuck shrinks slightly. The lift arrives and you make your decision.

“Come with me Donghyuck. This is your only chance.” You announce. The security guard seemed reluctant to let Donghyuck near you but you gently assure him, thanking him for his service. The ride up is silent much to your surprise. You walk ahead of Donghyuck and he trails behind you, like a dog with his tail tucked behind his legs.

It feels oddly natural to have Donghyuck follow you into your apartment. He lined his shoes beside your shoe rack in a neat manner and you passed him a clean pair of house slippers to put on. As you make your way into your apartment, Donghyuck marvels quietly at the decorations on display. Upon entering your living room, you hear the unmistakable sound of the camera going off and you stop to turn around. He looks guilty but he clutches his phone tightly.

“What did you do?” You try to intimidate him.

“Just getting some inspiration.” He lies.

You take a step closer to Donghyuck, an attempt at asserting dominance. “This is your first and last time here. Now, spit out whatever it is that brought you here in the first place.”

Donghyuck pockets his phone. “Here’s the deal. I can’t marry someone who hates me.”

“I am lukewarm about you, at most.” You deadpanned.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “There’s no way you don’t hate me. Are you sure you haven’t submitted my name to an Etsy witch?”

“My life stopped revolving around you for a long time now. You’re good.” The tips of Donghyuck’s ears redden at the implication of your words but you maintain your nonchalant stance. “This marriage would be good for my family and if you really detest it then take it up with your parents, not me.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Did you plant the idea in my parents head?” His tone is accusatory which causes you to snort mockingly.

“I haven’t spoken to your parents in ages. Find someone else to blame your misery on.”

It’s written on his face, the way Donghyuck doesn’t seem satisfied with his findings. He sighs heavily and his shoulders sink into his figure. A tired man remains standing in his place and you almost feel sympathetic for him. Almost, if not for the fact that he has been trying to pin the blame for your shared situation entirely on you.

You gently comb your hair back with your hands as you speak up, “I am not going to beg for you to marry me but just know that I will not fight against anything. Not marrying you is a bigger loss to me. I hope you know where I stand.”

Donghyuck meets your gaze, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Is it really that easy?” He asks. His question surprises you but you try your best to conceal your shock.

“Yes.” The air in the room shifts and it was at that moment you knew that you could only keep up with the act of lying to yourself for a little longer. Impending doom lingers in the air but you ignore it and usher Donghyuck out of your life, for now.

The days leading up to your engagement ceremony was emotionally bearable but the day itself was bad enough to dampen your spirits. Your engagement was a quiet affair, as if your relationship was meant to be kept under wraps from the public eye. Whether it was up to Donghyuck or his parents, you don’t know but it didn’t matter because your own feelings were never considered in the first place.

It’s an odd experience to finally get engaged to Donghyuck. His best friends keep a polite distance from you, looking at you as if you were some stranger barging into their lives and not Donghyuck’s childhood best friend. Your own family were scattered in the hall based on a seating chart created by your future mother in-law. At least from your seat, you could easily see Yizhou and Sungchan three tables away from yours. You stuck out your tongue playfully to silently express your gratitude.

Your father had prepared a speech, bringing you to tears and the crowd cooed at you, warmed by your reaction. Much to your surprise, Donghyuck gets up from the seat beside yours and takes the microphone from your father. The room quietens and the attention shifts onto your fiancé, yours included.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. Thank you to my father and future father in-law for the speeches,” he pauses with a light laugh. His gaze sweeps around the room as he resumes his speech, “I am glad to share this momentous occasion with all of our loved ones. As much as I want to keep it brief for everyone, I also want to make it memorable for Y/N. I don’t know where our future will take us but I am willing to build a forever with you.”

Your face burns as the whole room looks at you again. You stare ahead at Donghyuck, a strong mix of emotions riding in your chest nearly breaking your composure. Knowing that everyone was waiting for your reaction, you settled on blowing Donghyuck a kiss. The room bursts into cheers when Donghyuck catches it.

The dinner carries on smoothly but there is an unspoken tension stringing between the supposedly happy couple. Your moves were controlled and you kept your physical touches to a minimum. It took every ounce of effort to not tug harshly on Donghyuck’s arm when you slid your hand into his. Your fingers were loosely wrapped around his arm, barely clinging onto the fabric of his suit. The facade you had on cracked as soon as you stepped into his car.

The engine revs to life and your seat belt clicks into place. “Why’d you do that?” You accuse him.

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What?”

You match his annoyance. “You heard me.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “My parents told me to make a speech.”

“And you dedicated it to me?”

“Why are you mad at me? I thought this was what you wanted? I thought you wanted to marry me?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I do but why are you starting our marriage with empty promises! Building a forever with me? If you wanted to lie and perform you should have just gone all the way and said ‘I love you’ to seal the deal.” You rolled your eyes.

He scoffs in retaliation. “Seriously? And what about you and your fake kiss?” It was a pointless bicker but Donghyuck’s anger still rose, causing him to heavily breathe out of his nose. His hand on the wheel tenses.

“Everyone was expecting something from me because of you.” You punctuate the end of the sentence, every word hitting him heavily.

A pause fills the space between you two, every ticking moment ringing loudly in your ear. Donghyuck says, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The engagement band on Donghyuck’s finger glimmers as the streetlights pass through the car windows. The overwhelming feelings from before return and your stomach clenches. Your voice weakens. “I want you to be real in our marriage.”

The car falls silent again and the only sound comes from the traffic outside. You don’t know if Donghyuck had heard you and you’re too prideful to repeat yourself so you remain silent, waiting for him. The car slows to a stop in front of a red light and Donghyuck’s breathing evens out.

“Tell me nicely next time instead of starting a fight, will you?” Your heart jolts at his unexpected reaction. “We could start by setting some boundaries. I was serious about my speech, Y/N. Let’s not make this any more difficult.”

His kept his voice was low and firm. The soft thrum of the engine keeps you calm as you process Donghyuck’s words. It sounds like he’s compromising with you based on the circumstances of your situation. They seem sincere enough for you to believe even though it’s unexpected of him. When Donghyuck drives into your apartment, you gather up your senses to apologise.

“I am sorry,” you loudly confess. Your eyes are cast downwards. The engagement band on your own finger is too hard to ignore at a time like this. “If you have time, you can come up and we can discuss such boundaries.” Your voice trails off at the end.

“I can’t.” Your gaze snaps towards his face, a small frown on display. “Not today but maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You nod but remain seated in place. Now that it was time to leave, you find yourself wanting to stay with him longer. All fight has left you and the newfound peace is inviting as ever. You don’t know if you’ll be able to maintain it with him.

“Y/N,” Donghyuck says before he’s leaning in across the console, his lips lightly brushing against your cheek. You go completely still. “Text me when you’re in your apartment.”

You blindly reach for the door, seatbelt still strapped in and you can see Donghyuck giggling at you from your peripheral view. You glare at him and unbuckle yourself, tearing the passenger door opening and jumping out of the car. Donghyuck has the cheek to unwind the window, revealing a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I’m leaving. See you tomorrow I think,” you announce as you spin on your heel and the echoes of Donghyuck’s laughter ring from behind you.

When you’re kicking your shoes off, you unzip your bag to take your phone out. You click on your chat with Donghyuck and send a simple thumbs up emoji. The message receipt changes immediately but you don’t get a response. Donghyuck clearly is still a menace who enjoys teasing you. You lock your phone and go about your night, ignoring the way your heart seems to race at the thought of your fiancé.

You hadn’t planned far enough.

While you knew you were getting married to Donghyuck, you still hadn’t made up your mind on whether you should fall in love with him again or protect your own heart. There’s a constant war of push and pull within you and you are not ready to let your pride down. Whenever you find yourself feeling the tiny bit giddy about Donghyuck, you immediately reel yourself in and remind yourself that your marriage will be built on camaraderie, not romance. Boundaries, rules, protocols. These were not norms of a couple romantically involved.

A soft knock on your workspace door interrupts your flow of thoughts and you look up to find Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. You slightly close your laptop to give him your attention.

“Wanna eat?” Donghyuck simply asks, holding a lunchbox above his head.

You quickly tidy up your work desk and Donghyuck makes himself comfortable, singing under his breath as he unpacks the contents of his lunchbox. You catch the melody of his favourite song. It sounds sweeter when he’s singing it.

The table is filled with comforting side dishes and your mouth waters at the sight of it. He saves the final box, pushing it towards the centre and cheekily glances over at you. “Hope you’re hungry because this is going to blow your mind.”

What Donghyuck doesn’t know is that you have been eating less than usual in the past week. You could barely count a banana and multiple cups of coffee as a meal but it was enough to keep you powered through your reports. Your stomach grumbles loudly, the savoury scent of chilli oil and chicken broth infiltrating your senses. Donghyuck had made steamed dumplings.

“Tada! The viral lasagne dumplings. All for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I ate the first batch at home. It was too good to pass on.”

You quietly raised your brows as you picked up a clean set of chopsticks. He’s watching you intently, hands tucked under his chin and his elbows are resting on the table. You ignore him and focus on the food.

“Is it good?” He asks. You’re frowning as you chew. Looks like you found another unfair quality Donghyuck upholds, his ability to cook.

Your frown deepens. “This is amazing.”

Donghyuck laughs. His glasses slip from the bridge of his nose as he throws his head back. “You look so angry but you’re actually happy with my cooking.”

“This is my happy face,” you tell him.

“Right,” he shakes his head fondly and pushes the side dishes closer to you. “Eat up.”

You had thought your meal would be filled with endless chatter from Donghyuck’s end but a phone call suddenly takes over his attention. He stands at the edge of the table, phone in hand as his body leans against the table for support. You sit through your meal taking peeks at him and scrolling on your phone, catching familiar words but not fully grasping the situation. Your name is mentioned a few times followed by some hush remarks.

“Can’t you and Jeno lead the meeting? What do you even need me there for?” A tight expression draws upon your fiancé’s face. His eyes meet yours and you see a flash of anger in it. You quickly cast your eyes downwards and feign ignorance. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The room is expectantly silent and you break it by sending him away. “Go. Whatever it is, it needs your attention.”

You’re not looking at him. You keep yourself busy by cleaning up the table. Donghyuck exhales. “I’ll see you around.”

Your will is stronger than expected. As he takes his leave, you make sure not to look at him. Donghyuck’s grip on the door falters and you don’t even notice. The door falls shut and tension in your body releases. You could hardly comprehend what had transpired between the two of you but you knew better than to let Donghyuck in. It’s clear that you will not be a priority to him and you will treat him the same.

As soon as the investors left the table, Donghyuck slumped into the seat. Chenle glared at him. All the niceness at the table had dissipated along with their investors.

“We almost didn’t close the deal because you’re distracted.” Chenle coldly remarked.

Donghyuck cocks his head. “You got what you wanted. Why complain?”

Jeno shakes his head. “We know you have a lot of things going on at home but Donghyuck, we need your one hundred percent commitment. Not unless you want this endeavour of ours to fall apart.”

Donghyuck takes a swig of his drink. The burn of the alcohol smoothly slides down his throat. Chenle challenges, “Are you done playing house?”

“Chenle,” Jeno says warningly.

“You’re letting Y/N cloud your priorities. Leaving work early just to see her? Hanging around a college campus to see her? Trying to ditch an investor’s meeting? Dude, it’s an arranged marriage. Why are you trying so hard? Stop wasting time–”

“I’ll have to stop you right there. You guys don’t know the full story because I choose to keep some information to myself.” Donghyuck straightens up and leans forward, maintaining a steady gaze on his friend’s faces. “Talk shit about me all you want but not my marriage and definitely not Y/N. I don’t care how unhappy you are with me. That is not an excuse.”

Chenle dryly scoffs. “Sure. Fine. I’m sorry for that.”

“Thank you.” Donghyuck nods. His shoulders drop and he offers them a small smile. “I’ll try to be more proactive. Just bear with me a little. Y/N’s important to me.”

Chenle and Jeno share a silent look, Jeno wordlessly urging the younger to tone down his anger towards Donghyuck with a raise of a brow. Chenle sighs and waves a hand in the air. “You get one more chance to talk about Y/N for tonight and that will be the last!”

Donghyuck’s face splits into a wide smile as he leans forward. “Have I told you guys about the time when we went on a holiday to her family’s ski lodge?”

The past few years for Donghyuck had been a blur. While you went on to make a future for yourself, Donghyuck had found himself stuck in the past.

By the time he tried to put a name on his feelings, time had passed and the distance between you two had grown wider than before. He did not know how to cross it, if you would even let him shorten the gap just for him to offer up an apology. Ignoring your existence was easier than reaching out to you.

When his parents had hinted that they were arranging a marriage for him, he wasn’t all too happy but he conceded with their decision. His life was never his to begin with even though his heart longed for yours.

Maybe Donghyuck was naive or maybe he didn’t want to accept the truth when you walked into the room. He let his polished persona take over to distract himself from his impending panic. You hated him. You wouldn’t even look him in the eye and Donghyuck can’t blame you. After all, he had inflicted hurt upon you. Donghyuck can tell from the hardened gaze you throw his way and your closed off body language that you wanted nothing more than to run off from the dinner meeting.

The pretense of the meeting had unveiled itself. Ultimately, his father uttered the words that would trigger his fight or flight instincts. Donghyuck stupidly fled the scene. Tears clouded his visions as he fumbled with the car handle. The girl who had once loved him, the same girl who got hurt by his avoidant nature is now betrothed to him. What a horrible twist of fate.

Donghyuck took a strangled breath in and collected his emotions, at least enough for him to drive to Mark. Aside from Yizhou and Sungchan, Mark was the only other person who knew of the tragic end of your friendship. His hands are shaking but he manages to connect Mark to his car speakers.

“Mark hyung,” Donghyuck rasps out.

“Yo, shit?” Mark immediately replies. “What’s wrong?”

Donghyuck restlessly drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.” He presses harder on the pedal. “I’m coming over.”

Mark wordlessly led a tear-stricken Donghyuck into his living room. He came back with a mug of warm water but it remained untouched by Donghyuck. Mark sits upright in his own chair, observing his best friend. “What happened?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to try and speak but the words don’t come out. His tongue darts out as he sighs heavily. “I’m getting married to Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t deserve her. I never did. I never will. I am total fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “Wait. This whole time your parents were set on getting you two together?”

“Turns out the future partner they were looking for me had always been there. Y/N.” Donghyuck laughs dryly at the circumstances of his life. He threads his fingers through his hair, channeling his frustration into messing his hair. “I’m so afraid that she’ll resent me even more. I realised my feelings for her too late. I did not even try to understand my feelings. I did not want to fall into the expectations surrounding us. I thought I could choose my own destiny but our fates were always going to be entangled. I was too foolish to grasp that.”

Mark stays silent as he allows Donghyuck’s words to sink in. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Did Y/N say outright that she hates you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you adamant that Y/N hates you?”

“I see it in her eyes.” Donghyuck firmly says. “We have spent so much time apart in our formative years. We are basically different people now. I feel so inadequate to be her lifelong companion. People don’t get it. She doesn’t get it.”

Mark, ever so earnest, grows frustrated with his best friend’s stubbornness. “To be frank, I don’t get why you’re having an inferiority complex over Y/N. You are doing great things at your father’s company and your own independent business as well. The name you are building for yourself is remarkable. What more could impress Y/N?”

Donghyuck throws a hand in the air. “Maybe an emotionally intelligent guy who doesn’t suppress his emotions.”

“Then be that man!” Mark urges him. He stands up and walks over to Donghyuck. “Go and initiate things with her. Make things better between you two. Let it start with you.”

“You really think I can do that?” Donghyuck asks him in a small voice.

Mark grins encouragingly. “Sitting around here and moping about the girl you love is not enough. Go chase after her.”

Donghyuck feels his heart thudding in his chest, a surge of hope coasting through his body. “Well, maybe not today. I am kinda burnt out from this rollercoaster of emotions.” He says lightheartedly.

And so he tries because in spite of your strong demeanour, he can feel the gap between you two bridging slowly. You entertained his small talks with wordless gestures such as a quirk of your lip or twitch of an eye. You sent him an emoji every time you made it home after a meeting with him and his parents. And ever since the engagement ceremony, your dynamics have settled into a comfortable pace, similar to a partnership between two business partners.

Your boundaries had been laid out for him and Donghyuck feels hopeful about your marriage. He hadn’t realised how much his friends disapprove of your presence in his life until that dinner experience. If only everyone knew how Donghyuck treats you with utmost care because he wants to make it up to you for hurting you all those years ago. It wasn’t just him that was holding onto that memory. Donghyuck can still recall the curt smile Sungchan gave him at the engagement ceremony, obviously still holding a grudge against him.

The indifference you show him is subtle to others but Donghyuck can read you even after all those years apart. You barely show any reaction to his quips and your facial features are controlled to reveal just a fraction of emotions. He silently cusses Jeno and Chenle out for causing the setback in his progress.

You two are having dinner at the Lee’s estate. You’re seated on his left hand side, ever so poised and mannered. You only muttered one word replies to Donghyuck since he picked you up from your apartment. His mother leads the conversation and Donghyuck is grateful for that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but your friends are Jung Sungchan and Ning Yizhou?” She suddenly asks.

You nod your head as confirmation. “Yes, why? Is there anything wrong?”

Mrs Lee laughs cordially. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that for a while, before we approached your parents about your marriage, we were all under the impression that you were being courted by Jung Sungchan.”

Donghyuck tenses. He remembers his mother prodding him about you and Sungchan and he mindlessly waved her off. It was pretty known that you two were close friends and it was natural for speculation to arise. He himself had believed in them at one point.

You nearly choke on your bite of food. Donghyuck panics and passes you your glass of water which you graciously accepted. “No. Not once have we ever been involved. I can assure you,” you say after collecting yourself.

“It’s not me you have to assure,” Mrs Lee finishes off with a hearty laugh.

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the crack in your composure, the side glance casted in his direction as he stares at the interesting patterns on the ceramic plate.

His parents retire to their room and only the two of you remain. You finish the last of your dessert, gracefully dabbing your napkin on your lips. Donghyuck had been unexpectedly silent. He barely looked at you for the rest of the night. The elephant needed to be addressed. “You were worried about me and Sungchan?” You causally questioned him.

Donghyuck shyly raises his gaze to meet yours. “No.”

“No?” You echoed.

His eyes draw away from yours as he replies, “I mean, my mother was asking about you. I just told her what I thought– what everyone thought.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you almost pleadingly but you remain firm, wanting to hear him admit it out loud. Donghyuck concedes in a small voice. “You and Sungchan? Everyone thought you were involved.”

“And you were worried.” You reminded him, your tone was steadier compared to his.

“I– I was not. Intrigued? Maybe.” He stuttered out.

Clearly you were unconvinced. You smirk at his flustered expression, leaning comfortably into your seat. It was a sight to see Donghyuck embarrassed but the humour only lasted briefly. “Just so you know, nothing happened between me and him. Nothing will happen in the future. We’re bound to each other now.” You tell him, hoping you sound as sincere as possible.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer but you can tell from his body language that he’s partly relieved. Donghyuck still looks at you with a heavy gaze, as if he’s thinking deeply about you while you’re seated inches away from him. You raise a brow at him, the most expression you’ve given him lately. He’s so transparent. You can see it on his face when he loses his internal battle.

“Y/N, do you remember those questions you asked me on my birthday?” Donghyuck quietly asks. Maybe it was meant to be a rhetorical question but the shift in mood made it hard for you to believe so. You nod stiffly. “I found the answer for it. I won’t tell you now but one day, I will.” His shoulders are squared like a soldier who’s ready to walk into battle. Suddenly, the gravity of his words hit you.

A promise? Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. If you were understanding his vague statement, it would mean that Donghyuck had figured out what you meant to him. It sounds terrifying and you are slightly grateful that Donghyuck was willing to delay the conversation a little longer.

Even tossing and turning in bed didn’t help soothe your anxiety. You itched to ask him outright and revisit the conversation from that night but it is still too emotionally taxing for you to revisit it.

Instead, you let yourself focus on wedding planning. You frequently met up with your mother, future mother in law, fiancé and the wedding planner. It took up a good chunk of your attention which managed to keep your sanity at bay. You give a lot of input considering the fact that it’s the only time you’ll ever be wedded in this lifetime. You even managed to negotiate with the elders to find a bridal dressmaker of your choice. Slowly, your dream wedding came to life. You had the groom you had always wanted even though the circumstances were not ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Yizhou eyed you warily.

The two of you were seated on the patio of a café, lined along the alleyway of hipster buildings. Yizhou was back in Seoul for business and you had barely managed to squeeze in a meet up with her. You caught her up with your stale love life and now she’s staring at you with apprehension.

You nod sagely. “I’ve accepted the truth long ago.”

“Do you still love him?”

You hum thoughtfully, carefully picking your words. “It’s hard to say honestly. He meant the world to me. I think Donghyuck will always leave a deep mark on me. As long as nothing romantic happens between us, I’ll be fine. My feelings for him will remain dormant.” His promise crosses your mind as you speak but you decided to ignore it, resolute in your own words and beliefs.

“But you’ll be married forever. How can you be so sure nothing changes between the two of you?” Yizhou had a valid point and you didn’t have a proper answer for it.

You offer her a shrug and a half-hearted grin. “I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge if I ever get there.”

Wedding planning has been going well. You were set to marry a week after your last submissions, a terribly packed period for you but one that worked in favour for both parties. It was right before the fourth quarter of the year which gave you a chance to be introduced as a wedded couple during year end celebrations.

You had been cooped up with your assignments all week long but your appearance was needed for the venue viewing. The grease in your hair had built up over time and you dragged yourself to the shower, indulging yourself to a relaxing hair wash. The most put together outfit you have worn this whole week was a stained sweatpants and a tattered concert tee.

You had just stepped out of the shower when your phone buzzed with a message from Donghyuck, notifying you of his arrival. You grimaced and you plucked your phone from your nightstand. You immediately called him.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, I need you to park. I just got out of the shower.”

Donghyuck feels his mouth go dry. “Hmm?”

“Just park by the side and tell the guards that you’re coming up.” You tell him as you stand in front of your closet, eyeing your options with your phone lazily positioned close to your face. Donghyuck has yet to disconnect the call and you can hear him making his way to you, a soothing constant sound you needed to fill your room.

The tale-tell sound of the lift lobby resounds through your phone. “I’m entering the lift,” Donghyuck mutters.

You grab a long sleeved dress and hurriedly pull it over your body. You still have to dry your hair and do your makeup. You were plugging in your hair dryer when Donghyuck spoke up again. “Hey, I’m outside your door.”

You rattled off your code without a second thought. From your room, you could hear the door being unlocked and his successful attempt to let himself in. “Y/N?” Donghyuck called out.

“In here!” You replied, knowing that you had left your door ajar.

Your heart thrums with anticipation but you keep yourself focused on your task at hand. A soft knock on the door followed by Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. It’s quite the sight and you find yourself staring at him through the mirror. You turn the hair dryer off.

“Come in,” you invited him.

He freezes for a second and you nodded encouragingly, coaxing him into entering your room. “I need ten more minutes.”

Donghyuck glances at his wrist. You guys would inevitably be late but Donghyuck doesn’t mind the wrath his mother might incur on him. “That’s okay,” he says as he stands in a random spot by the door. You can see the clear restraint on his face which makes you laugh.

You turn in your seat, looking him in the eyes. “You don’t have to stand there. You can sit on my bed or look around my room.”

Donghyuck pointed towards the bed for confirmation and you nodded. While you are occupied with your hair and makeup, Donghyuck sits on the edge of your bed, simply taking in the details of your room. Your bookshelf is filled with books of all kinds of genres. He squints at a dark red box by the shelf above your bed frame. It sits underneath a stack of DVDs, titles of albums he doesn’t recognise. There’s several other memorabilia like a figurine or a photo frame on the shelf. It’s soothing to be in your space and having your presence nearby. He can imagine it, a near future where he’s all moved in, sharing mundane moments with you. He wants it all.

“Okay, I’m done.” You announce, snapping Donghyuck out of his reverie. You finally get a proper look at Donghyuck and realise how your outfit complements his. There’s something dizzying about the way Donghyuck stared at you. You subconsciously fix your hair.

“Wow,” he mumbled.

Not wanting to be swayed by Donghyuck’s reaction, you choose to glare at him. “We’re late! Let’s go.”

He giggles, knowing that your glare has no real heat to it. You break out into a matching smile having given up on being serious. “Come on.”

Donghyuck was in a good mood. His phone was ringing with incoming messages from his mother and a call quickly came along. He gestured at you to pick it up, knowing that if his mother heard your voice, she would be kinder.

“Lee Donghyuck, where are you? Did you know we’re running twenty minutes behind schedule?”

You cringed but worked up the courage to answer. “Hey Mrs Lee, it’s Y/N. Donghyuck is driving.”

“Oh! Y/N,” Mrs Lee perks up. She laughs offhandedly, “My Donghyuck is a troublemaker. Are you okay?”

“Actually, I was the one who was running late. I am sorry but we’re nearby. I promise! I think we’re five minutes away?”

You glance over at Donghyuck for help and he chuckles, leaning over to speak into the microphone. “We’re ten minutes away. Just calm down and sip some wine.”

“Yah, Donghyuck.” Mrs Lee starts and your eyes widens, panic creeping in.

Donghyuck mouths, “Hang up. Now.”

You do as you are told and the car lapses into silence for a brief moment. You were the first one to burst into laughter, crouching forward in your seat, eyes tightly closed as all you can think of was Donghyuck feeding into your future mother-in-law's anger.

“What?” Donghyuck asks, a lilt to his voice. He has not seen you unpoised in so long. Your bright laughter and relaxed posture is rare to him.

“Nothing,” you finally say as you straighten yourself out. You shake your head almost fondly. “Nothing really.”

Your smile remains on your face which betrays your attempt at being composed. Donghyuck sneaks a glance over to admire the sincerity of the moment and he decides to stay silent, afraid of disturbing your newfound glee.

By the time you two arrived at the venue, you had already calmed down enough. There’s the remnants of your smile on your face and only Donghyuck knows the details behind it. The thought sends a thrill up his spine.

Maybe your joy was infectious enough for his mother’s bad mood to disappear or perhaps Mrs Lee was relieved to see her future daughter-in-law finally feeling settled in the arrangement. Whatever annoyance Mrs Lee harboured disappeared when she happened to witness the way you and Donghyuck looked at each other. The mirth in both of your faces was similar to your childhood memories. She pulls the wedding planner to her side, happy to give the engaged couple some privacy.

The phone call comes while Donghyuck wraps up his report. Your name flashes on the screen and he jumps for his phone, waits for a second and then answers the call.

“Hyuck,” you drawled into the phone. The background of the call is loud but Donghyuck is more distracted by the old nickname.

“Y/N?”

“Everyone’s teasing me. They want you here.”

“They? What about you? Do you want me to come?” He asks even though he’s already digging through his pocket for his car keys.

You gasped dramatically. “You can’t ask that!”

An overlap of voices cut through the call and Donghyuck can vaguely hear you scolding your friends. You cuss them out before returning to the call.

“Sorry, my faculty mates are so nosy.” Your voice is clearer now, like you had stepped out to talk to him.

Donghyuck stands by his car. “Should I come over?”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. “I want you here.”

“Share your location with me?”

He finds you seated alone in the outdoor seating of the bar. “Y/N!” Donghyuck calls out as he gets out of his car. You spot him, waving enthusiastically at him from the other side of the road.

He jogs over to you. “Why are you out here alone?”

You tilt your head to the side, not quite understanding the worried undertone of his voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Donghyuck steels himself to remain firm with you. A pout had formed on your lips. You’re irresistibly cute when you’re drunk, even now as an adult. He softens his tone, “Thank you for waiting out here but I don’t think it's safe that you’re out here alone. Maybe next time ask a friend to keep you company, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

You remember your friends teasing you relentlessly about Donghyuck and your eyes widened at the memory. “Wait.” You grab his hands, pulling him and he stumbles into your space. “Everyone thinks you’re my secret partner. They think we’re madly in love with each other. My classmates, they don’t know what we know.”

Donghyuck blinks as he processes your words. He nods slowly. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

You distractedly play with his hands, pressing your own palms against his. It’s warm to the touch. Your smooth slender fingers splayed over his thick roughened fingers. “Last time we held hands like this, we were still kids,” you offhandedly remarked.

“Y/N…” Donghyuck’s pained tone urges you to look up. “What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet but his plea is loud enough for you to hear.

The corners of your mouth twists with contemplation. Deep within you, the last walls that contained your affection for your fiancé, have cracked open. There’s too many thoughts running through your head and you’re not sober enough to confront them. It hurts to pretend you don’t notice the expectant look on Donghyuck’s face but it’s better than acting rashly.

“Can we just go inside? I’ll introduce you to my friends.” Donghyuck concedes with a nod of his head. You laced your fingers with his in one hand and slowly let go of the other. Throwing on your best smile, you look over your shoulder and try to lift the mood. “You’re going to love this place. There’s a pool table I want to show you.”

Embarrassing doesn’t even cut it.

Maybe the Lee’s estate is a homeground of your embarrassing moments like this one, where you wake up in the guest room of their estate as a disheveled mess. You wake up sprawled across a pillow with the Lee’s family insignia on it, the cursive font in the significant family colour. The longer you squeeze your eyes shut, the more memories you manage to recover. Nursing a hangover at your future in-law’s house is a terrifying situation you have landed yourself in.

You look around the room and thankfully, your phone is on the nightstand, plugged into a power outlet. Donghyuck’s name sits at the top of the list of notifications. You quickly read it, thankful that Donghyuck texted you to call him when you had woken up.

You have a small window of time to freshen up before facing him. Standing in front of the sink, you study yourself. You look put together for a person who had a chaotic night out. Your makeup has been removed, your hair a little tangled from sleep and you’re wearing a comfortable pyjamas set. The Lee’s family insignia is subtly embroidered into the collar of the shirt.

You’re in the midst of brushing your teeth when a soft knock comes from outside. Just like before, Donghyuck cautiously peers into the room before letting himself in. You step out of the joint bathroom to lean against the frame of the door, uncaring that your toothbrush was still hanging from your mouth.

“You’re up earlier than expected,” Donghyuck muses. You give him a small glare and hold your hand up before disappearing into the bathroom to rinse your mouth.

He’s seated on the bed by the time you get back. “Are your parents home?”

Donghyuck raised a brow. “They left this morning for church and whatnot but they know you’re here. Nothing ever stays a secret in this house.”

Your eye twitches. What a horrific impression you have made of yourself. “Why didn’t you send me home? You know my code!” You practically yell.

He raises his voice back. “I tried to! Wha– Wait. You don’t remember?”

You’re stumped. Hadn’t you recalled everything that happened last night? “Remember what?” You carefully asked.

Donghyuck’s hesitant response could not prepare you for the truth. “You wanted to follow me home. That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh, fuck.”

A deep frown settles on your face. You can only remember getting into Donghyuck’s car, the rest of the ride was a blur. You can’t think of a reason why Donghyuck would lie to you which meant that you were the clingy person you vowed not to be.

If he were being honest, Donghyuck was scared of you. Would you be mad at him and push him away? After last night, Donghyuck only wants to hold you closer to him. He’s seen before how much hurt he can unravel. He can only hope that things turn out differently.

You lightly tug at your hair, stressed out by the turn of events. “I’m going home.”

“Let me drive you home.” Donghyuck stood up. You didn’t try to fight him. Instead, you walk around the room trying to find your clothes from the night before but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s my clothes?” Donghyuck pads across the room and opens the wardrobe, revealing your outfit from last night. Your top and jeans were hanging separately in a tidy manner. You stood a few inches behind Donghyuck. “You did this?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry though, my helper did the difficult job of undressing you.” Donghyuck grabs your clothes and offers it to you.

You scoffed to hide your embarrassment. “Difficult?”

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically silent and when you look at him, you find that he’s red in the face. He’s definitely recalling something that you did last night. Probably something embarrassing and life ending information that makes you wonder if you even wanted to gain back those memories. You narrowed your eyes and let out a harrumph, making a show out of walking past him and heading off to the bathroom.

The staff greet you and Donghyuck each time you pass them, completely blowing any sense of discreetness you tried to uphold. At the very least, his parents were still out which helped you save your last strand of dignity.

The car ride is mostly silent save for the occasional sound from Donghyuck when he sings under his breath. Your favourite song comes on shuffle and Donghyuck turns the volume up. You look at him, having not expected him to remember such a specific detail about you. You had thought you were the only one who held on tightly to your shared past but Donghyuck’s natural reaction says otherwise.

You’re still deep in thought when Donghyuck reaches the entrance of your apartment. He waits quietly, knowing better than to interrupt you. He’s staring blankly ahead and wonders about the weight you’ve been carrying alone, if you’re ready to put it down.

“Hey, I’m not sure what I did last night but thanks for putting up with me.”

He turns to you and sees that you’re shyly tucking your hair before your ear, looking down at your lap instead of him. Donghyuck couldn’t help himself from saying, “Do you think you’re a burden to me?”

This causes you to look up, shock written across your face. “What? Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t put up with you, Y/N.” His voice is soft but firm. “You’re going to be my wife. We both agreed to this. You are a priority in my life.” You nervously chew on your lower lip. Again, you’re not in a proper mindset to be having such a heavy conversation with him. Despite that, you’re still affected by Donghyuck’s confession, leaving your stomach fluttering.

Your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Donghyuck breaks out into a small smile, an underlying melancholy to it. “You don’t have to say anything. I needed you to know that, that’s all.”

It doesn’t seem right to leave wordlessly so you lean across the console, craning your neck to leave a peck on his cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away. The wistfulness from the two of you was palpable and you weren’t completely relieved from it. The crack in your walls grows wider and you don’t know if you’re ready for them to fall.

In a room full of people, Donghyuck would rather be alone with you.

He’s at a party with his friends but he’s not participating. Donghyuck has chosen to stick to the walls to watch his friends shake hands with potential business partners.

“You look mad.” Jaemin siddles up to him, his usual charming smile on full display.

“You could say that.” Donghyuck nods in acknowledgement.

“You miss her,” he says to Donghyuck as a matter-of-factly. Donghyuck stares at him with suspicion. He has never confided in Jaemin regarding you and he knows Mark would never gossip about him. Jaemin snorts. “Chill. I can tell because you’re miserable and you can’t stop playing with your ring.”

Donghyuck instantly stops fidgeting, his finger resting against the cool metal of his engagement band instead. He was not fully aware of his own actions. How can it be that Jaemin had managed to see through him?

“I think it’s nice.” Jaemin adds offhandedly.

Donghyuck drops his hands to his sides. “What’s nice?”

“That you’ve found someone to cherish. To love.”

The way you pleaded with him while you were drunk plays like a constant loop in his mind. A glimpse of your younger self had shone through that night before your matured self took over, demanding that you be taken back to the Lee’s estate. Even in your drunken state you were able to outsmart him by claiming that it is your marital right to stay there. Donghyuck smiled fondly. “She’s always been there. I just had trouble seeing what was in front of me all along.’

“Can I ask what made you come to a realisation? I think the Donghyuck I knew never really cared about settling down.”

“I didn’t just hurt Y/N. I crushed her.” Donghyuck looked down, collecting his thoughts to put it into perspective. “It was scary to see her devastated because of me and I hadn’t realised that I had inflicted hurt onto her. I care for her so much to the point that I didn’t even understand it until she walked away from me.”

His face crumpled up without meaning to and Jaemin takes a good look at his friend. Anyone can see the remorse eating away at him. Jaemin lays a comforting hand over Donghyuck’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Give yourself a chance to be forgiven.”

And Jaemin was right. All the hesitation could not prolong any more.

The sky is bright and cloudy, the perfect weather to be out enjoying the sunshine with the presence of another but you’re cooped indoors. You should be at home, the deadline for your dissertation inching closer day by day but as of late, your time has been occupied by your wedding. The only consolation is Donghyuck being there with you.

You had your first meeting with the bridal atelier of your choice two months back and now you’re back for the try on. The flutes of champagne remain untouched. Your fingers thrum against your thigh, feeling restless as the tailors prepare the dressing room for you. Donghyuck wordlessly slips his hand over yours, grounding you to the present moment. You peek over at him and he’s already looking at you. There’s an unspoken devotion in his gaze. You wonder when he had started looking at you with stars in his eyes.

“Ms Y/L/N? We’re ready for you.” You jump away from Donghyuck, clearing your throat. You offer him a small smile and he nods.

You’re careful when you try on your wedding gown, still in great disbelief about the fact that your dream dress has come to life. The assistant showered you with praises as she zipped you up. You let out a gasp as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

“Absolutely gorgeous. He is a lucky man.” The assistant said from behind you, startling you out of your reverie. “I’ll give you a moment. Let us know if you need anything.”

You touch the fabric of your gown with reverence, thumbing the rich silky fabric elegantly draped across your figure. A smile finds its way onto your face and you set your shoulder back to meet Donghyuck.

Donghyuck looks up from his phone when he hears the curtains open. His jaw goes slack when he sees you stepping into the room. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo, stray pieces of hair framing the sides of your face. You’re looking at him with hope and Donghyuck can see the rest of your lives playing out before his eyes.

He rises to his feet. “Wow. That doesn't even cut it.”

You fold your hands in front of you. “Hyuck,” the old nickname slips out of your mouth, “stop. Be honest. Is it alright?”

“Alright?” He gawks. “Y/N, you're drop dead gorgeous!” Donghyuck exclaims before collapsing into his seat. Your laughter carries through the room, filling it with light.

“Whatever you say, Hyuck.” You giggle.

“You don’t believe me! Come here.” He beckons as he walks over to you. Donghyuck meets you halfway to stand face to face with you. “I cannot wait until you say the words ‘I do’ and I become yours.”

You’re blushing furiously but you don’t want to run away from the moment. Taking a leap of faith, you reach out for his hands, guiding it to rest on your waist. His hands are splayed firmly against the bodice of the gown, pressing into your body as a constant reminder that you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t know what to say.” Your voice is quiet as you confess to him.

Donghyuck shakes his head gently, leaning downwards to be closer to your face. “Just say ‘I do’ when the time comes.” And in that moment, you felt the final crack in your chest, the once impenetrable walls that had protected you, crumbled upon the promise of a loving future. You simply cannot wait.

You’re staring at your ring, letting yourself get distracted by it. Your mother is talking your ear off about wedding preparations while the rest of the table waits for Donghyuck’s arrival. You have never thought you’d be praying for his presence to offer you respite from your mother’s overwhelming chatter.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You shoot up in your seat at the sound of his voice. After a long day bent over your laptop, you needed to see a comforting face.

Donghyuck goes over to your parents first. A firm pat to his back from your dad and a tight hug from your mom. He flashes you a glimmering smile when he gets to you and you feel your face redden under his attention. You turn in your seat to greet him and Donghyuck bends to your level, leaving a peck on your cheeks in greeting. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

You know your parents are watching but you still try to keep your voice low enough for Donghyuck’s ears only. “Better now that you’re here.”

His eyes flicker to your mouth and back to your eyes. “Yeah,” Donghyuck thoughtlessly replies.

Across the table, your father coughs and Donghyuck scrambles into the empty seat beside you. You avoid his eyes and keep your head ducked, allowing your father to lead tonight’s dinner.

“I was just talking about the wedding. We’re so close to the date.” Your mother beams.

Donghyuck casts a glance over his shoulder and notices your dampened mood. He takes a small sip of water. “There’s always so much to prepare and on top of it all, Y/N is working hard on her dissertation.”

Your father smiles softly as he speaks, “That’s right. How’s it going honey?”

“I’m almost done. If my upcoming consultation with my professor goes well, I might be able to turn in my paper sooner than expected.”

“That’s great news darling,” Your mother says as you share the good news with them. She continues, “I’ve been worried that school was going to delay everything.”

Your smile dims and your eyes flicker over to Donghyuck, wishing if he could disappear. You hate moments like these with your mother as she dismisses your hard work, giving you backhanded praise as she priorities her pride over your emotions. The closer the wedding gets, the more remarks your mother makes and she’s clearly stopped holding herself back around Donghyuck. Your face grows red in embarrassment and you feel yourself go mum.

Donghyuck shifts in his seat. He gives your mother a stiff smile as he says, “I would wait however long to marry Y/N. We are to be wedded for life. A brief delay means nothing to me if it’s to ensure Y/N’s happy.”

You see the whiplash your parents experience from Donghyuck’s assurance. Your brows are raised but you choose to remain silent, happy that someone else is protecting you for once. Donghyuck’s shoulders are squared and his eyes are full of unapologetic pride. He slides a hand to grab yours from under the table, offering you silent assurance.

“Glad to know that Y/N’s your priority. Let’s make sure to keep her happy.” Your father says in a rather diplomatic manner. He casts your mother a side glance and she nods along, keeping silent. Under the concealment of the table, you squeeze Donghyuck’s hands in appreciation, all while maintaining a casual expression in front of your parents.

Your dissertation was ready to be submitted earlier than scheduled but you didn’t want to tell your parents yet. Instead, you wanted to initiate a night out with your friends.

Or at least you were trying to. Yizhou was out of the country again and Sungchan was dealing with business outside of Seoul. Your clothes had been picked out. Your preferred club already in mind. All you needed was friends to go with. You scrolled through your contacts and realised the only other person you were comfortable calling up was your fiancé.

After contemplating your options, you caved in and called Donghyuck.

“Are you busy tonight?” You asked him, keeping your voice light. After all, it was a random weekday. He is a busy business man with plans stacked in his calendar.

“Not particularly. What’s up?” Not the answer you were hoping for. You had no choice but to bite the bullet and ask him out. “I was wondering if you’d go out with me tonight. I have good news and I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate? Where?”

“The clubs.” You coughed into the phone. Donghyuck makes a sound of disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead with him, pulling out a desperate move. “Are you in or are you not?”

Donghyuck giggles and you know you have him onboard. Even when you were kids, your pleadings were persuasive enough for Donghyuck to give into you. “Should I meet you and your friends there?” He asks.

“Actually, none of my friends can make it tonight.” Your voice pitches to a loud tone as you try to play it off. “I want to go out though, so I called you.”

“Just a crazy idea that I’m throwing out here,” Donghyuck slowly says, already thinking about dragging his friends out of the comfort of their homes. “What if I invited my friends? You have never met them properly and this seems like a good time to introduce you.”

You think back to all the times you’ve had the opportunity to be in the same room as Donghyuck’s friends. Not once have they ever treated you in a friendly manner outside of the forced pleasantries that were expected of them. You can’t help but grimace. “No offence Hyuck but I think they hate me.”

“What! No!” Donghyuck says unconvincingly. You did not need to know that you had once been a topic of argument within his friend group. He rubs his temple, thinking of a solution. “Okay, Mark will be there and he is a great social lubricant.”

“Uh-huh.”

He senses the distrust in your voice and considers his options. “You trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. I think it will go well or at least improve the coldness between you guys.”

“And whose fault is that?” You ask half jokingly.

“Mine. Sorry,” he replies in a small voice.

Your wedding was inching closer and meeting his friends would be an unavoidable experience in the long run. “That’s okay. Go ahead and invite them. I’ll give them a chance as long as they’re willing to do the same.”

Donghyuck grins, already cooking up ways to convince his friends for a night out. “I’ll see you soon.”

After pleading with Mark to help him be the voice of reason, Donghyuck manages to get all of his friends to agree to meet up. Renjun even offers to contact his close friend to get a couch reserved in a popular club. He instructs one of the family drivers to fetch you and you’re the last one to arrive. Donghyuck waves you over as he stands in a circle of his own, surrounded by familiar faces. From afar, they look rather intimidating and you have half the mind to turn around and run off but you steel your nerves, forcing yourself to get the meeting over and done with.

“Hi guys.” You offer them a small wave. You’re awkwardly standing alone and fortunately, Donghyuck slides up to you to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The tension in your body slightly ebbs away. Jaemin gives you two a long stare and smiles wickedly wide. It’s slightly off-putting but you offer him a friendly smile despite your apprehension.

Mark clears his throat as he takes a step towards you. “Great to finally meet you.” Mark sticks a hand out and you firmly accept it.

A rather fashionable fellow who you recognised as Renjun comes up to you guys. He flashes you a charming smile. “Our table’s ready so let’s move inside and we can have a proper chat!”

“Table?”

“Oh, your man here has gone all out for you.” The rest of the group murmured in agreement which led you to look at Donghyuck for help. He merely shrugs, choosing to maintain indifference.

Renjun decides to pull you out of Donghyuck’s hold, guiding you to the very front of the group. “Just enjoy it. You should take his card and go crazy,” he leans in conspiratorially as he loops your arms together.

Behind you, Jeno snorts, making his presence known. You both exchange friendly smiles. “Hope you enjoy your time tonight, Y/N.”

Your group breeze through security with a flash of a smile from Renjun. It makes you wonder how well-known Donghyuck’s friends are. You have heard of the notorious wait list for this particular club which was bad enough to fizzle out your interest in coming down.

You are led to a table beside the dj booth. The expanse of the couch is much larger than expected. It could probably hold double the amount of people present at the moment. You stand by the sidelines. “Uh, are we expecting people?”

Everyone turns to look at Donghyuck who’s sporting a sheepish expression. “It was either this or we would have to stand at the tables. I’m not making you stand for the entire night.”

Your jaw dropped. Chenle hollers from where he’s seated. “Get a room, you love birds.”

With his eyes still trained on you, Donghyuck flips Chenle off. The table breaks out into snickers but you’re still hung up on the fact that Donghyuck had spent an incredible amount of money on you. “Are you mad?” He asks.

“No?” You shake your head. “I just– we could have gone elsewhere? I don’t know, I want to make your money’s worth.”

Donghyuck frowns. “You are worth every dollar I have.”

You blinked in surprise, not having expected Donghyuck to take the conversation to a personal level. You stepped forward to slip your arms around his, gently tugging him closer to you. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow,” you say before planting a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for being thoughtful.”

Donghyuck can feel his cheeks reddening and he’s glad that the lighting in the club makes it hard to see. You disappear from his side, welcoming the chaos with open arms as you approach the table. Donghyuck watches you as he silently nurses a drink in one hand. His eyes danced around your figure, the confidence radiating off you was magnetic and it felt like a treat to be in your presence. Donghyuck focused on the little things like the way your nose scrunches when the alcohol hits too strongly for your liking or the way your body folds, laughing gleefully at whatever stories his friends tell you. He barely notices the music or his friends sharing wordless looks throughout the night.

Jisung scoots down the couch to be next to Donghyuck, lightly knocking their knees together for his attention. Jisung offers his hyung a small smile before leaning in, “You should ask her to dance.”

“What?”

“You look like Jay waiting on Daisy,” Jisung giggles drunkenly, head thrown back as he leans back into the leather couch. “Just go up to her.” He says encouragingly.

At that moment, you look over your shoulders and lock eyes with Donghyuck, flashing him a shy smile. His heart stutters in his chest as he rushes to his feet to move towards you like a lovesick fool in a trance. Donghyuck downs his drink, setting it down as he passes the table before finally reaching you. You never once looked away from him. Mark’s chatter comes to a halt when he senses Donghyuck’s presence and he makes a silent escape, sensing the shift in the air.

To Donghyuck’s surprise, you beat him at making the first move. “Let’s dance!” You cheered.

You had slipped your hand into his and led him onto the dance floor. Donghyuck naturally stands close to your back but the crowd pushes him into you. While you seemed unaffected by the skin on skin contact with passing strangers, Donghyuck had a frown on his face that seemed to grow deeper whenever a stranger did a double take at you. It was as if you could feel the anger radiating from behind you. You manoeuvred your joint hands to your stomach, forcing Donghyuck to stay pressed against your back.

He barely registers the close contact that’s happening between you two when you stopped walking, seemingly satisfied with the spot you had chosen. You lean your head backwards to smile up at Donghyuck. It’s a little lopsided but still full of energy. He wants to kiss you. The moment is cut short when the music transitions to an upbeat tempo. Your back is facing Donghyuck again as you move to the beat, still holding onto his arm which leaves him no choice but to stay close to you.

The alcohol he’s consumed barely compares to the intoxicating feeling of having you in his arms, bare skin brushing against each other while fully immersed in the moment. It’s not the same feeling as when you two first danced as kids or during your birthday party. There’s an underlying current of tension that’s building between you two, one that’s growing tauter as the wedding day approaches.

Donghyuck leans forward, his mouth inches away from your ear. “You never told me what we’re celebrating tonight for?”

You suddenly spin to face him and Donghyuck tightens his hold on you. “I never told you?” He shakes his head, his lips curling upwards. Donghyuck is absolutely smitten by you. “I finished my dissertation early!”

“Y/N!” Donghyuck cheers as he embraces you. You squeezed him tightly, happy to share your achievement with someone who cared about your wellbeing. “I’m so proud of you.” He presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. You don’t know if you were meant to hear it but you nuzzle your face in his shirt for a moment longer than necessary, allowing yourself to indulge in Donghyuck’s presence.

When it’s time to end the night, Donghyuck books a ride to your apartment. You’re slumped over his shoulder, a tired smile on your face but you’re still dazzling to Donghyuck. He gently touches your cheek. “Sleep,” he commands.

Your power nap was interrupted by a melodious voice, stirring you awake. You slide your hands into his while muttering farewell to the patient driver. Donghyuck follows from behind, enjoying the way you drag him around, leading him into your apartment. He watches you kick off your shoe on your own, holding onto the wall for support. After watching you fail, he decides to close the distance by kneeling in front of you, sliding the other shoe off your feet.

Your face burns and you dart your eyes away from him. “Thanks, Hyuck.”

You set a second pair of house slippers for him, staring at him expectantly. Donghyuck toes his shoes off at record time and slides into the house slippers. You offer him a satisfied grin and reclasp your hands with his. “Stay the night.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widened. “Sure? I’ll put you to bed.”

This earns a surprised laugh from you. “I don’t need your help!”

He shakes your joint hands, whining petulantly. “Let me win. I just wanted an excuse to take care of you.” You roll your eyes but the smile on your face never fades. Donghyuck knows he has won and he childishly celebrates with a hurrah.

You lightly tug his arm. “Take me to bed then.”

You’re happy that this time, you’re sober enough to be in the moment. You get the chance to admire the attention Donghyuck holds for you. The comforting feeling of seeing Donghyuck in your space helps you relax. He’s kneeling on your bed while he has you sitting cross legged in the middle, gently wiping away the makeup from your face. Every swipe from him is full of utmost care. You have never been gentle with yourself. It makes your heart flutter from such a simple gesture.

“That’s all of it,” Donghyuck says, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

“Thanks.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re partly entranced by him but another part of you is distracted by your growing affection for him. It’s times like these you wished things were simpler between you two.

He pulls away first, giving you the chance to make your escape however you choose to linger by the entrance of your en suite bathroom. You stared at him expectantly. “Stay the night, yeah? I need to get you something clean to sleep in.”

“I’m sure I’ll make do with whatever.” He gestures to his outfit and you raise a brow, unconvinced.

“Wait here,” you instructed softly as you walked off to your guestroom.

You come back to see Donghyuck seated by the edge of your bed, his body angled towards the door as he anticipates your return. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he beams at the sight of you.

“Here.” You pass him a stack of clean clothes. He eyes it suspiciously, accepting it with a pout playing on his lips.

“This doesn’t belong to an ex boyfriend right?”

“No.” You snorted. “It belonged to Sungchan,” you offhandedly answered.

The look of surprise on Donghyuck’s face was priceless. His jaw tensed, torn between anger and shock while his eyes were openly showcasing his stirring emotions.

You laugh in his face. It was too good of an opportunity to tease him. “I’m kidding! Oh my god!” The stony expression on his face has yet to crack so you scoop his hand into yours, offering him assurance. “I swear on our lives, the shirt belongs to my dad. As for the pants, they were too big for me and I was too lazy to return them.”

Donghyuck squeezes your joint hands and the prior anger melts away. “Okay,” he mutters before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. His lips graze your skin and your body tingles from the heat. “Thank you.”

You gently pull your hand out of his hold, eager to put some space between you two. You press the clothes into his chest and spin on your heels, making a swift escape to the bathroom.

After an unnecessarily long time in the shower, you decided to bite the bullet and face Donghyuck. You thought you had steeled yourself enough but the sight of Donghyuck standing in the middle of your room has you jumping in surprise.

“Donghyuck!” You yelled, a hand pressed to your chest.

He looked equally surprised. “I’m sorry, I was just coming in to set a glass of water and painkillers.”

Your shoulders dropped and your eyes moved behind him, catching sight of your nightstand. True enough, Donghyuck had brought in a bottle of medicine and your favourite mug.

Donghyuck purses his lips, his eyes moving towards the door. “I’ll be in your guestroom if you need anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? If you need someone to hold your hair back while you’re bent over the toilet, just wake me up.” He teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward. “Get out,” you demanded but the ghost of your smile still remained.

Donghyuck holds his hands up in surrender. “Goodnight Y/N.”

You stayed rooted in your spot, offering him a small wave. “Goodnight Donghyuck.”

Silence enveloped your room and you didn’t mind it, knowing that Donghyuck was rooms away from you. You gingerly sat down by your bedside, gripping your mug as you tried to make sense of your heart. You were without a doubt, falling in love with Donghyuck all over again and you had no intention of ever stopping.

The morning of your wedding was a blur. You were first introduced to the beauty and styling team that you hired for the wedding. The day progresses quickly and the bridal room is open to visitors who file in and out like a constant stream, eager to bless you with their well wishes. A lot of small talk and hugs occurred and you could barely catch up.

Sungchan drops by to greet both you and Yizhou, the three of you enjoying a round of champagne and taking many pictures. Sungchan gives you a tight hug as he leaves.

Moments before you’re scheduled to walk down the aisle, you’re finally left alone. The silence that surrounds you weighs on your shoulders. Your eyes subconsciously drift to your ring finger, knowing that this is the last time it’ll be empty for the rest of your life. A mix of emotions cloud your mind. You reach for your bouquet when a loud knock resonates through the door, signaling that your time has arrived.

You loop your arms around your father’s as you walk to the back of the line. “Y/N,” your father softly muttered. He waits for you to look at him and you note the tears brimming around the corner of his eyes. “I hope I made the right choice. I hope he makes you happy.”

You clutch the bouquet of flowers closer to your chest. It was a bundle of sunflowers, hydrangeas and primroses, a mix comprising both of your favourite flowers. “You did.” You assured your father, confident of your answer.

The wedding march had begun and you quickly gave your father a peck on the cheek right before your veil was lifted over your face. Your cousin walks out first, joined by Jaemin. You watched from the end of the line as Yizhou accepted the arm Mark offered her. They reach the altar and finally, it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

Upon your first step, the piano notes shift into a different melody. Your eyes land on Donghyuck who has a small smile on his face. It comes as a genuine surprise to you once you register the melody of the song. Your heart thuds against your chest and you’re torn between breaking down into tears or leaping for joy. It is evident that Donghyuck hadn’t forgotten dancing with you at your birthday party all those years ago, the same song playing as you walk down the aisle towards him.

It’s a big cliche but you never stopped looking at Donghyuck. Not now, not when he’s openly staring back at you. There’s a matching secret grin that only you two understand. You can’t look away, you simply refuse to. Your father offers your hand to Donghyuck and he accepts it with so much tenderness, his fingers enveloping yours as he guides you to stand in front of him. You’re toe to toe, aligned with each other.

Time seems to move differently when you’re standing in front of Donghyuck, forced to look at him through a veil. There’s an undercurrent of want flowing not just in you, but Donghyuck as well. You try to soothe him by gently brushing your thumb against his palm.

Mark steps forward with the rings and you wet your mouth, eager not to mess up your exchange of vows.

“Do you, Lee Donghyuck, take Y/L/N Y/N as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

He looks you in the eye, certain as ever. “I do.” The ring slips onto your finger, cool to the touch which leaves goosebumps in its wake. The significance of the ring is setting in.

“And do you, Y/L/N Y/N, take Lee Donghyuck as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

You blindly reach for Donghyuck’s ring, too eager to complete the ceremony. Mark pushes the cushion into your hand and you pick up the ring. “I do,” you say as you slide the ring over Donghyuck’s ring finger. The ring sits perfectly below his knuckles. You squeeze his fingers tightly.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Donghyuck tightly squeezes your hands before releasing them. He’s already reaching for your veil when the minister says, “You may kiss the bride.”

The church roused with applause and cheers as your veil was thrown over your head. Donghyuck sneaks his hand to the back of your neck, pressing against it as he leaned forward to capture your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to your first kiss with Donghyuck. It’s a hard press to your lips. Nothing too indecent for a sacred occasion but heavier than the shy peck you had expected from him.

You pull away to rest your nose against the slope of his, unable to tame the smile on your face. No coherent thought could come out of your mouth as you gaze into Donghyuck’s eyes.

“Onto forever.” He says it loud enough for you to hear. You nodded and he moved his hand to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in before you embarked on the mad dash down the aisle. One hand looped around Donghyuck’s neck and the other tightly clutching onto your bouquet, you couldn’t have imagined a better way to leave the church as a newly wedded couple.

It’s date night with your husband.

Three weeks have passed since the wedding and life has adjusted back to normal for everyone else. Meanwhile, you and Donghyuck were still balancing the newly wedded lifestyle. He had gone back to work and you were taking time to unwind from the stressful year that had passed.

Donghyuck had made a reservation for dinner and you had agreed to meet him there. You spend the whole day sitting in your jittery feelings, wildly anticipating seeing him.

Dinner was a lovely affair. You were sitting in a fancy restaurant, situated on the rooftop of an esteemed hotel. Conversation flowed between you two, from anecdotes of Donghyuck’s day at work to recounting the cherished memories of the wedding.

The hostess politely interrupts, carrying a plate of brownies topped with ice cream. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Here’s a complimentary cake from us. Congratulations and cheers to your future.”

The two of you eyed the plate, surprised to see a message written on it. Congrats to the love birds. You cover your face with your hands and Donghyuck laughs in disbelief. “This is crazy,” you said.

“No one taught us how to maximise our marriage.”

You slowly pulled your hands away and discovered that Donghyuck had been recording you the whole time. Shit. “Hyuck!”

“What?” He asks, chuckling from behind his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god. Delete that.”

“Why? You look gorgeous.”

You frown at him but it fails to make an impact on Donghyuck. He takes one last picture of you before putting his phone away. “I wanted pictures to remember this by.” Donghyuck confesses as he takes a sip of his drink.

Your features softened and you were no longer annoyed by him. Taking a clean spoon, you cut into the brownie, scooping a big portion and lifting it to Donghyuck’s face. “Here.” You offered.

He looks from the spoon to your face, face heating up from the attention you were giving him. Donghyuck cranes his neck forward and accepts the offer, taking a bite from the spoon.

“Is it good?” You asked. Donghyuck hopes he doesn’t have any bit of chocolate smudge on his lips as he nodded wordlessly.

He hadn’t expected you to use the same spoon, licking at the remnants of chocolate before diving into the brownie to get a taste for yourself. Donghyuck grows slightly dazed, knowing how unaffected you are by the intimacy. His mouth grows dry at the thought of your lips. It has been three weeks without your kiss after all. He knows he’ll have to keep waiting for a chance to kiss you again.

You lightly nudge him out of his trance, your foot hitting him under the table. Donghyuck looks downward then at your face. You offer him a cheeky smile and he’s back with you, pushing aside any distractions.

It’s a beautiful night and the sky is clear enough to gaze at. You suggest going for a drive near the Han River. It was a refreshing experience for you. You and Donghyuck never had the chance to hang out casually, having missed each other throughout your adolescent years and your early twenties. Now, as husband and wife, you two have the chance to bask in the silence together.

You shiver slightly as the wind blows, your hair falling over your face. A jacket is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you gripped the fabric tightly. “Are you sure?”

“I have to take care of my wife.” You can’t deny that his intentions made you feel warm all over. You accepted his offer without much fight and slid your hands into his jacket, engulfed by Donghyuck’s lingering warmth. You could even smell the remnants of his cologne when you lean closer into the jacket.

Another lapse of comfortable silence passes when you felt a drop of water on the top of your head. You turn to Donghyuck with a frown. “Did you feel that?”

He sticks his hand out and you watch expectantly. Donghyuck jumps in surprise when the droplets of rain land on his palm. He laughs. “Oh shit, we have to go.”

In a matter of minutes, the sky is covered with thick clouds and the rain begins to fall steadily. The car park is a reasonable distance. All around, the trees begin swaying as you two rush to the car. You stopped in your tracks and Donghyuck slowed down to yell at you. “Hurry!”

You fumble with his jacket and create a makeshift cover, running up to him. “Get under.”

He joins you, one arm reaching for the sleeves of his jacket and the other wrapping around your shoulder to pull you close to him. The rain pours down on you two and you couldn’t help but laugh at your current predicament. Your glee was contagious and Donghyuck laughed along, melting into the sound of the downpour.

He ushered you into the passenger seat of his car before running over to the driver's side, his hair completely drenched. Donghyuck starts the engine and you blast the heater, adjusting the angle to blow towards Donghyuck.

“Aren’t you cold?” Even when his teeth are chattering and he’s visibly shaking, Donghyuck still tries to look after you. You rolled your eyes fondly. “You sacrificed your jacket for me. Just defrost a little, okay?”

You don’t miss the smile that’s tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuggles into the driver's seat, giving up his fight. When he deems himself warm enough, he begins the drive to your apartment. You keep your gaze on his profile, staring unabashedly. Donghyuck stares back several times. He can’t quite tame the feelings blossoming in his chest. He clenches the steering wheel, eager to make it back to your apartment.

Your intertwined hands keep each other warm. He follows you through your apartment and as always, he’s happy to have you pull him in whatever direction. You bring him into your room and grab two fresh sets of towels.

“Go in here. I’ll use the spare shower.” You hold the stacked towels and Donghyuck apprehensively glances at it, reluctant to separate from you. His eyes rove back at you and his eyes widen into a pleading look. You frowned. “What is it?”

“I want to stay with you.” Donghyuck shamelessly answered.

Your cheeks heat up and you push the towel to his chest, causing him to stumble backwards. “Don’t be stupid. We are both drenched and will fall sick. It is faster this way.”

His pout is still present but he finally accepts the fresh towel, your hands freed from his. The cold immediately replaces his warmth. “Go. I’ll need to find something you can fit in while waiting for your clothes to dry.” You tell him, keeping yourself away from the thoughts running through your head.

Donghyuck looks at you longingly for one last time before conceding to your instructions. You let out the breath you were holding when you heard the lock on the bathroom door, slouching against the wall to calm your nerves. After laying out the spare clothes you had stolen from your fathers closet, you quickly grabbed your own clothes and rushed to the spare shower.

Alone, surrounded by the tiled walls of your shower, you’re given some reprieve from your racing feelings. You didn’t mean to take a long shower but the stream of hot water was what you needed to unwind. By the time you returned to your room with a towel wrapped around your head, donning an oversized shirt and sweatpants, Donghyuck was already waiting for you on the edge of your bed.

You blinked at the sight. His hair was fluffy after a shower and your fathers shirt sits loosely over his frame, making Donghyuck look cuter than usual. Donghyuck has a sheepish look on his face as he obediently waits for your return.

“Come here,” you say as you walk over to your dressing table. You’re pulling out your hair dryer when Donghyuck stands beside you. You grinned at him. “Sit. I’ll dry your hair.”

Again, Donghyuck easily follows your direction as he settles down in front of the vanity. You work quietly as you dry his hair, brushing it with utmost care reminding you of your younger days, when he would let you style his hair. You gently apply some hair oil to your hands and run it through his soft strands. Standing close to him, you can smell the fragrant scent of your shampoo lingering on his hair. You inhale deeply.

Donghyuck breaks the silence as he murmurs softly, “Your turn.”

The tranquility that sits between you and him is too enjoyable to ruin so you let him have his way, inwardly pleased to have Donghyuck take care of you. He removes the towel from your head and begins working on your hair. Donghyuck is practically a magician. He expertly massages your head as he rubs your hair products into your hair. You’re content with the silence between you two as he brushes your hair before drying it.

When he’s done, Donghyuck tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear. “You’re stunning.”

You meet his eyes through the mirror and you immediately grow shy, looking away and getting up from your seat. “Thanks,” you mutter as you busy yourself with tidying up the vanity.

Thankfully, Donghyuck gives you some space as he steps back to watch you. You can feel his eyes on you even with your back turned to him. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Once you’ve kept all of your things, you are forced to face Donghyuck again. You slowly turn on your heels to face him and he is already looking at you. Donghyuck’s stare has been fixed on you the whole time and you grow nervous under his stare, the weight of it starting to unnerve you.

Donghyuck’s gaze grows deeper as he straightens his posture, looking you dead in the eye. His resolve has hardened. It was a foreboding moment in which you were powerless to stop but you still tried. “Y/N, I love–”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Stop. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.” You point at him accusingly.

His gaze falls to the distance between you two, unable to fathom how he ended up in this position when moments ago, you were inseparable. “Why? Are you scared?”

You part your mouth in disbelief. He wasn’t mocking you. Donghyuck was genuinely trying to get through you. The pressure of it all has you cracking under it. “Because I don’t know what’s going on between us anymore! You treat me with so much tenderness and affection, crossing the boundaries we have set, ever so often. My rationality flies out the window when I’m with you. I have a reason to be scared because the last time you treated me this way, you rejected me!” You exploded.

Donghyuck can see the way you’re shaking, a similar visual to the night of his birthday party. Even as the tears begin to gather in your eyes, he forces himself to stay calm for your sake. “I was a fool, Y/N. I am sorry but I get it now.”

“Are you sure you’re not just caught up in the moment?” You ask as your gaze drops to the ground. Donghyuck frowns deeply. You have become so small in the short span of your conversation. It hurts him to see you this way.

“God, no. Never.” He pleads as he steps into your space, one hand gently cupping your head, lifting your chin upwards to look you in the eye. “I love you. I have loved you forever ago and I’ll love you forevermore.”

Your vision blurs completely. “I love you,” you whispered into the hushed silence. Donghyuck slowly leans forward to bring your foreheads together. You blink away at the stray tears that pooled in your eyes. “I love you, Lee Donghyuck,” you repeated.

He nodded and closed his eyes, uncaring when your tears fell on his face. “I love you,” Donghyuck whispers as he holds you close, finally catching you as you fall apart in his palms.

Between job hunting and apartment hunting, your honeymoon couldn’t have been a better excuse to leave the world behind.

The sun shimmers in the sky. You’re leaning against cobbled streets that have been around longer than your existence, when Donghyuck comes over jogging to you. You chided lightly. “Slow down. I don’t want you to fall.”

Donghyuck almost crashes into the wall but he plays it off with a coy smile. “I love falling for you.”

You scrunched your nose, cringing at his joke. “You’re terrible.”

“Too bad. You’re married to me for life.” Donghyuck teases.

“Indeed, I am.” Your eyes flit to the ring on his finger and you smiled softly. “Hey, what took you so long?”

Donghyuck perked up. “I asked the receptionist for some help. He told me a few nights ago to visit a particular bakery. Thought we could venture out before lunchtime.”

You wrapped your arm around his, interlocking your fingers together. “Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

Savoury treats, sweet drinks and good company is all you needed and Donghyuck eagerly met your needs. The moonlight reflects on the cobbled stones of ground, a soft glow leading the way around the city. His fingers shyly brush yours after every few steps. It’s only been two months since the confession and Donghyuck has demonstrated impeccable patience with you. You knew this trip was a way to finally start returning the favour.

You timed it correctly, firmly pulling his fingers into your hold and intertwining it together. You can feel the surprise jolting through Donghyuck which elicits a giggle from you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, aiming for a relaxed tone but ultimately, you can hear his underlying worry.

“I felt like holding hands with my husband.” You lift your gaze to smile at him, “I know you like this.”

Just as you had expected, Donghyuck starts blushing. His composure doesn’t break much to his credit. He remains collected and squeezes your hand tightly. “I do. I do like this and I like you.”

“Like?” You asked, voice lilt in an attempt to push Donghyuck’s buttons.

You hear Donghyuck muttering under his breath and you laugh gleefully, knowing he has fallen straight into your trap. It’s too easy to tease Donghyuck. It’s a skill that never faded away even after all those years apart.

“I’m the luckiest girl alive. My husband likes me.” You said loudly. Some passersby give you a quizzical look as Donghyuck’s face burns with mild embarrassment.

“I don’t like you.” His face is red but his eyes are filled with determination. You’ve seen this version of Donghyuck many times under various circumstances. He’s standing his ground. Donghyuck looks at you, maintaining a steady grip on your hand.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” He declares.

You slowly reach out to gently cup his cheeks, caressing it ever so softly. Hearing him say it still makes your world spin round, giddy with joy and excitement. Standing on your toes, you inch your head upwards to give him a peck on the lip.

Donghyuck squeaks out of surprise and the kiss ends as quickly as it happens. His eyes are rounded, seemingly frozen and fixed on you. You smiled sheepishly as pink dust the apples of your cheeks. “I love you,” you said.

Donghyuck blinks and suddenly you’re being pulled into his body, stumbling over your feet as you land on his chest. You exclaimed softly and he wrapped his slender arms around your waist, grounding you.

“You can’t just do that.” His eyes are roving across your face. It’s clear that his restraint has stretched thinly. You pulled your lips into a smirk as you confidently met his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?”

Your eyes fall shut as Donghyuck presses his lips against yours, this time with more pressure than your attempt. He takes his time with you, kissing your breath away, bathed underneath the moonlight. Your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and Donghyuck groans.

The kiss breaks and you’re smiling wildly at him. “I’m yours, Hyuck. I’m not going anywhere.”

You trail your other hand up his chest, pressing it flat against his shirt to feel his heartbeat. You look at him in awe and he leans down to rub his nose against your cheekbone. Donghyuck utters, “And I’m yours. Forever and always.”

a/n: Happy birthday to my favorite boy ever. Happy Hae Day!!!!!!! This is based on the lyrics of drop dead by Olivia Rodrigo. I’ve been loving this song so much and with Haechan’s birthday coming up, I wanted to combine the two. This is very rushed (life’s always busy) but I tried my best!! If you see any mistakes, I’m sorry in advance. This is also my first time posting smut SO PLEASE BE NICE THANK YOUUUUU that’s all. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Hope you enjoy 🤍

Donghyuck had a plan. On June 6th, he would sleep in, lounge around all day, have his brothers over, order delivery, and then game the whole night. Cake too, if he remembers.

Na Jaemin has a different plan.

A plan that Donghyuck is unaware of until now.

The birthday boy’s original plans had gone accordingly throughout the day. He woke up at a time far past morning and continued to stay in bed even later. Any other weekend, he’d have plans, appointments, places to be, but today is his day. No one and nothing to answer to unless he wills it.

Donghyuck smiles when he hears the doorbell ring- those would be his brothers, friends he’d known for the better part of a decade, the only people he wants to spend his birthday with.

He strolls up lazily to his front door, phone already open to a food delivery app.

However. When Donghyuck opens the door and sees Na Jaemin’s big smile, he feels his heart drop, dread washing over him.

He knows something is wrong when he steps back and really observes his friends.

Why is Renjun wearing his clubbing boots? Why are Jisung and Chenle holding two six packs of beer? Why is Jeno avoiding his gaze? Why is Mark wearing his good leather jacket? And, why is Jaemin looking at him with the most shit-eating grin he’s ever seen?

“What are you wearing?” Donghyuck starts, eyebrows raised so far you might think they’ll float off his face.

Jaemin claps back immediately, “What are you wearing?”

Donghyuck looks down at the sweatpants and old t-shirt he’s currently adorned in.

“I’m wearing clothes appropriate for a nice night in of pizza and gaming. Why the hell are you all dressed like that?”

Jaemin hums and they all push past the birthday boy, stepping into the apartment like they own it.

(With how much they stay over, they basically do at this point.)

The sound of the front door closing shocks Donghyuck out of his astonishment and he follows his friends into the kitchen.

“We’re going out. Tonight.” Jaemin says like it’s obvious. The friends work quickly around the space, pulling out glasses and bottle openers.

“No we’re not.” Donghyuck says sternly.

“I assure you, we are.” Jeno speaks up with a sigh, against the idea of going out in the first place but what Jaemin, Renjun, and Chenle want- they get.

“I’m sorry?” Donghyuck says, growing more frustrated by the minute. “Did you forget whose birthday it is today? I don’t want to go out.”

Jaemin walks over to face him directly.

“Baby,” he starts, to which Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “You only turn 26 once! You are a young, handsome bachelor. Why are you wasting your 26th birthday inside?”

Donghyuck steps back and rebuts- “It’s not a waste if it’s what I want to do.” Jaemin hums, point taken. But, he won’t give up. He refuses to let his friend stay home on his birthday.

“He’s not gonna take no for an answer, Hyuck. Let’s just go out tonight and we won’t bother you tomorrow.” Mark speaks up, snacking on some chips he found in his pantry.

The birthday boy scoffs. Closing his eyes as he weighs his options.

He wanted to celebrate with his friends. If his friends want to spend tonight at a bar, he guesses that’s okay.

Just as he’s about to surrender, Jaemin speaks up again.

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a pretty lady and she can make the whole night for you,” eyes wiggling suggestively in his Jaemin manner.

Donghyuck groans and turns to walk out of the room. “Fine. I’ll go get ready.”

He only hears the echoes of cheers as a response.

-

An hour later, Donghyuck emerges back into the kitchen. Hair slightly damp from his shower but still swept back with a light gel. A nice t-shirt compliments his frame and the leather jacket he wears on top accentuates his shoulders. Bootcut dark-wash jeans elongate his legs. Tying it all together is a pair of black boots. He looks good , even if he doesn’t feel like it.

Chenle whistles and Jaemin ‘woo-hoos’ when they see the man of the evening has returned in appropriate bar attire. Donghyuck shakes his head and reaches for a beer. God, he needs a drink.

Thankfully, they ordered pizza while he was getting ready. Eating and drinking commence while camaraderie takes place around him. He listens to Mark and Renjun have a debate about the best hotpot ingredients; he watches Jisung lose drinking games again and again to Chenle while Jeno and Jaemin (and himself) watch fondly.

The beer and pizza loosen him up a little bit and he feels better about the prospective of going out tonight. It could be fun, he supposes.

7:30 p.m. comes and the group starts getting ready to go- Chenle mentioning something about Jaehyun saving them a table.

Everyone is a little tipsy and in good spirits, even the birthday boy.

-

Soon enough, their taxi pulls up to a lively bar. Donghyuck had never been here before.

“Is this place new?” He wonders out loud.

“No,” Chenle answers for him, “But, Jaehyun recently took over the management and he really revived the place.”

Donghyuck could do nothing but agree. Groups gather at every table outside the bar, drinks on tables and in hands, cigarette smoke wafting through the warm summer air, but not enough to overwhelm you. The chatter is joyful and lively- you could tell good stories are being shared all around. Lamps extending from the brick exterior of the building give enough light to see in front of you but leave enough darkness to hide an intimate moment if you wanted to.

That thought give Donghyuck chills.

He follows his friends inside the bar, feeling relief that the good energy follows as well. The inside matches the outside, except a little louder as the chatter was now contained within four walls. Stone floors, wood paneling, tables, and chairs, warm lighting, small paintings decorating the walls- it reminds him of an English pub he visited during a boy’s trip to London a few years ago. The memory warms him inside.

Chenle finds Jaehyun soon enough. The older man’s face lights up when he sees the group has arrived. He moves from behind the bar to greet them properly.

“Donghyuck!” He shakes his hand.

“Been a while.” He replies with a smile. It has been a while since he saw his friend. Jaehyun graduated a few years before him, and post-grad life kept them busier than they anticipated.

“Happy birthday man!” Jaehyun claps him on the back affectionately. “I saved a booth for you guys.”

He leads the way and the younger men follow him like ducklings. Their table is a little tucked away from the main scene, to which Donghyuck feels a little relief- it’s just a bit quieter and it gives the group a chance to be with themselves. There’s only one other table- a high-top table where three young women sit, seemingly wrapped up in their own friendship too.

Once they get settled and order their first round of drinks, Donghyuck feels more at ease. Him and his friends carry on their own lively conversation. Sharing memories, inside jokes, teasing each other- the friendship flowed effortlessly between them. Donghyuck realizes that this is all he wanted- whether it was in his own home or in the bar, the company with him is all that matters.

He stands up to help Renjun with the next round of beers- he’s strictly prohibited from paying for any round tonight- but he’ll help carry the drinks as a thank you.

Falling into conversation with Jaehyun, Donghyuck didn’t even notice another figure appear next to him. Didn’t notice until-

“Can I get three pints of Kloud please?” A sweet voice interrupts.

Nothing could prepare Donghyuck for the vision he sets his eyes on.

Is he so far gone that he’s seeing angels now?

You lean forward on the bar with a smile that matches your sweet voice. Somehow there are stars in your eyes that compliment the flush in your cheeks.

Donghyuck can’t breathe for a second- mind and body too busy taking you in- the way you look just like heaven. The conversation with Jaehyun and the beers in front of him long forgotten.

“Are you ever gonna try anything else?” Jaehyun teases you with a playful grin, preparing your pints nevertheless.

“We know what we like, nothing wrong with that.” You play back. Your smile grows and it makes Donghyuck very nervous.

Thankfully, you hadn’t noticed the silent stranger whose eyes were glued to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looked away for a moment. Unfortunately, the stranger’s friend behind the bar did notice Donghyuck’s sudden quietness.

When he takes your card from you, he nods his head toward the man next to you.

“It’s my good friend’s birthday tonight.”

Donghyuck looks away quickly to not be caught staring at you. He stares down an old water stain on the bar top while his cheeks fail to hide his blush.

When your eyes do land on the dark-haired boy, warmth rushes over you. In the moment, you’re keen to blame it on the alcohol.

It’s amazing how someone who looks so cool can simultaneously be so shy.

You feel endeared toward him and you’ve not yet spoken a word.

“Happy birthday.”

Your honey voice sounds like music to his ears and when he looks up to meet your gaze, an entire symphony erupts.

Are everyone’s eyes so pretty? How are you so pretty?

“Thank you.” He hopes you can feel his genuineness and when your smile grows just a bit more, he has a feeling you do.

Your eyes break away from his and move to the drinks sitting in front of him, “Surely you’re not paying for your own drinks tonight.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, no. My friend would never let me pay tonight- they’d hide my wallet if they could.”

You giggle in response and he feels his confidence returning. Thank god. He’d never forgive himself if he fumbled that bad in front of you.

“You have good friends.”

“Yes, I do.” He agrees. You two then fall into easy conversation, how you each know Jaehyun, your jobs, where you’re from, your current neighborhood- not the most exciting conversations but Donghyuck makes it fun anyway.

Pints and beers long forgotten in front of you, swept up in the company beside you.

“I just moved a few months-“

“Donghyuck-ah!” comes the booming voice of Zhong Chenle. The man in question flinches, praying to any god listening that this younger brother won’t embarrass him.

“Why are you taking so long? The beer must be- oh.” Chenle stops his complaint as soon as he sees what- rather who- has kept Donghyuck from returning to their table. A teasing smile immediately appears on his face as he glances between you two. Donghyuck adorns a tight lipped smile while you smile as if you’re not bothered at all. Matter of fact, you’re curious about Donghyuck’s friend.

“I see.” Chenle says, mostly to himself. It’s taking every thing in him not burst into giggles.

“I’m sorry I kept your friend and your beers.” You shoot Chenle a smile, but the playful glint in your eyes tells everyone that you’re not really sorry.

“No, no. Not a problem at all.” He says, big goofy grin on his face. “I’m Chenle.” He holds his hand out, which you shake. Irritation grows in Donghyuck’s chest. He was perfectly content getting to know you within your own bubble.

“I’m Y/N.”

“It’s his birthday.” Chenle nods toward Donghyuck, mimicking Jaehyun’s actions minutes earlier.

“I’ve heard.” You grin, turning back to the handsome boy whose cheeks are flushed once again.

“You know he didn’t even want to come out tonight.” Chenle starts; he can’t help but being a shit-stirrer, even on his friend’s birthday.

You feign shock before sending Donghyuck a sweet smile. “Well, I’m very happy you did.”

“Me too.” He admits. Chenle grabs the beers and leaves the two of you, alone once again.

Just as you’re about to continue your conversation, a familiar melody starts playing through the bar. Donghyuck wishes he could capture the way your face lights up and frame it forever.

“Just Like Heaven” by The Cure- one of his favorite songs.

“I love this song!” You exclaims.

One of yours too it seems.

You start singing the lyrics, and Donghyuck joins in, unable to resist.

You wish you had a tape recorder so you could capture his sweet voice and listen to it on repeat forever.

No one pays attention to you both- well except for the two tables of friends who are already planning all the jokes they’ll make about the two of you. But, you pay no mind to them. You’re lost in your own world.

“You

Soft and lonely

You

Lost and lonely

You

Just like heaven”

When the song finishes, your eyes meet Donghyuck’s; and though out of breath, you both burst into a fit of giggles.

“I think we’ll deserve a drink after that.” He declares, already pulling out his wallet.

“Oh no.” You place a hand on his arm, making Donghyuck freeze. “I can’t let the man of the hour pay for a drink on his birthday.”

He shakes his head and takes out his card anyway. “Since it’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want. And, what I want is to pay for a pretty girl’s drink. What would you like? A pint of Kloud?”

You’re grateful he’s turned his head away from you so he can’t see the blush that graces your cheeks.

He’s thinks I’m pretty.

“Yes, please.”

With drinks in hand, Donghyuck offers to walk you back to your table. Initial disappointment weighs on your chest. Is this where it ends? A handsome stranger charms you to a blushing mess, buys you a drink, and now he’ll walk you back to your table and….leave you alone for the rest of the night?

No. Something inside tells you that it’s not over yet. A gut feeling. An intuition.

“Where’s your table?” Donghyuck puts his hand lightly on your lower back to help guide you through the still-crowded bar. He hopes you don’t feel the way it shakes.

“It’s in that corner back there.” You point. When Donghyuck follows your gesture, he realizes it’s the high top right next to his booth.

“Oh you’re right next to mine!”

When you get closer, you realize that you do recognize Chenle at Donghyuck’s table.

You pause in front of the tables, looking at him, hopeful that this won’t be where you part for the night.

“So, we’re here.” You prod. He can practically see the hope shining in your eyes.

“Thanks for talking with me tonight. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening with your friends.”

Donghyuck winces at this own response. He can’t believe he just said that. He’s too out of practice, too sober, to think of a flirty, clever way to talk to you more. He shifts his gaze to avoid seeing your disappointment, but is unfortunately met with the disapproval of his friends. Renjun sighs and Jisung shakes his head.

“I hope you have a good birthday.” You say softly before walking back to your table.

As soon as Donghyuck returns to his seat, the scolding begins- though at low whispers as to not be heard by the neighboring group.

“Are you stupid?” Jaemin scolds him in a whisper-shout.

“Oh my…” Mark mutters to himself.

“Even, Jisungie is better at flirting than that.” Renjun sighs out again.

“What do you guys suggest I do? Hm?” He exhales, looking at his friends expectedly. If they were going to nag him, the least they could do is offer him some solid advice.

However, as he suspected, the table grows quiet. “Exactly. Let’s keep our comments to ourselves.” Then, he takes a long sip of his beer.

Camaraderie ensues again, but Donghyuck can’t stay focused. His eyes keep moving back to you. The way you’re leaned on the hightop table, fully focused on the story your friend is telling, and how your eyes somehow sparkle in the low bar lighting- he thinks you’re so pretty.

You catch him staring at you a few times, but before you can hold the eye contact, he looks away, as if embarrassed.

“This is your chance.” Jaemin mutters to Donghyuck, snapping him out of his daydream.

“Hm?”

“Her drink. It’s empty. Offer to buy her a new one and then ask you if can talk more privately.”

Donghyuck thought for a moment. It’s actually a good idea. What’s the worst that could happen? You could laugh in his face and tell him he missed his chance.

But you wouldn’t do that.

He stands up, his own empty beer glass in his hand, and walks around to your table. He feels even more pleased with his decision when your face lights up seeing him in front of you.

“I see you’ve got an empty glass. Care for a refill?”

“Who’s paying?” You prod with a teasing grin.

“It’s on me if that’s okay with you.”

“More than okay.”

Donghyuck is sporting a full toothed grin now. Feeling brave, he holds his hand out. When you take it, he feels on top of the world. A simple gesture has him flying.

He leads you back to the bar, pays for your drink as promised. Comfortable silence comes over you while you watch Jaehyun pour your beers.

“I’m not sure how much longer you’ll be staying but I wanna talk with you more, away from my nosy friends.” He says as confidently as he can.

You blush- you were right to listen to your heart. This is not over. “I’d like that a lot actually. You know I was a little disappointed when you went back to your table.”

Donghyuck throws his head back and groans, “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” The dramatics make you giggle.

“It’s okay. I’ll just go let my friends know.” Donghyuck watches you walk back to your tables. He’s entranced by you, completely. Taking a deep breath, he prays that tonight goes in his favor.

It’s his birthday after all.

Not even minutes later, you return.

“Let’s go to that table over there.” As he follows you, he finally notices that the bar has considerably cleared out. Soft jazz music now plays through the speakers. A mellowed out vibe compared to an hour earlier. This puts him more at ease.

You both slide into the booth, only centimeters separate you. You’re practically sitting shoulder to shoulder, feeling the heat radiate off him.

Conversation between you both begins again, flowing like it never stopped. You talk about the friends here with you tonight, your go-to coffee orders, your travels- if he’s ever been to Japan or France. Everything and anything in between.

Somehow you’ve both drifted closer to each other, shoulders now touching. You’re leaning into him as he is into you. Beer glasses still half-full- too caught up in the company next to you to care.

You can hardly focus on anything at this point. His proximity makes your head spin- or maybe that’s the alcohol still in your system you’re not sure. All you know is you can hardly focus on anything but the way his lips move as he talks. They look so soft. How would they feel moving against yours?

“….That’s when I told Jeno he was absolutely crazy. Are you even listening to me right now?” He teases.

You can only hum and nod as your reply, too dazed and entranced by him to properly say yes. Even so, it’d be a lie. You were not listening; you were just staring at his lips and begging any higher power listening that they would whisper to Donghyuck that-

“Y/n….can I kiss you right now?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper as if he’s afraid he’ll pop the perfect bubble you’re in right now.

Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes

You nod and before you know it, he’s leaning in.

You expected fire- hot and heavy that makes you flinch if it burns too long. But, the moment your lips meet Donghyuck’s, it’s warm. Not sparks, a steady flow of electricity that makes you feel alive. His lips are as soft as they look. He applies the perfect amount of pressure that doesn’t push you away but still leaves you wanting more. His hand comes up to cup your jaw and bring you closer together. Your mouths move more fervently and one hand comes up to rest on his chest to keep you steady. You’re starting to squirm, that electric flow awakening other parts within you. If he stops now, you might drop dead.

To your dismay, he pulls away, leaving you both breathing heavy. He smiles, a mix between embarrassment and satisfaction.

“You know the bar closes at 11.” He mutters. You turn to check the wall clock.

10:45

“Maybe, if you never finish your beer. We’ll never have to go.” You joke, but there’s a hint of sadness in your voice. You’re worried once you exit the walls of this bar, you’ll go back to being strangers. Then, you’ll spend the rest of your life missing that one handsome man you met at a random bar in your twenties.

“I don’t think Jaehyun would like that.” He says while patting your head affectionately as you pout in response.

“It’s getting late. Let me take you home.”

Such a simple statement stirs butterflies in your chest. You’re still feeling buzzed from the kiss you just shared.

“My apartment’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Lead the way pretty girl.”

You both bid goodbye to Jaehyun who is already starting to clean up. If you two weren’t so caught up in yourselves, you would’ve read the phone messages your friends sent you that they’ve gone home.

You don’t know when your hands connected after leaving the bar but you’re more than happy they did. The action warms your heart more than the alcohol tonight ever did.

You swing your hands together almost childlike as he walks you home. The light to guide the way are the street lamps. But, you’re not scared. Not with Donghyuck by your side.

“What did you do for your birthday today? Before the bar?”

“Hmm,” He thinks for a minute, “I slept in really late and stayed in my pajamas most of the day until my friends took me to the bar.”

“You didn’t do a lot..” You murmur.

“It’s exactly how I wanted it to go.” He raises your intertwined hands and kisses the back of yours. Donghyuck of course leaves out the part that his friends had to practically drag him out of his apartment to this bar. He figures you don’t need to know that.

“Did you have any cake at least?”

“Hmm. Nope. No cake.”

You completely stop in your tracks. He walks a few steps before feeling a tug on his hand.

“You didn’t have any cake?” You ask incredulously, eyes practically bugging out of your skull. Donghyuck chuckles to himself at the sight. You’re so damn cute, and dramatic.

“I guess we just kind of forgot.” He shrugs.

“We have to fix this.” You shake your head. “There’s a convenience store the block before my apartment. Let’s see if we can find something in there.”

He doesn’t argue with you, letting you pull him forward. Donghyuck doesn’t know you well but he has a feeling once you set your mind to something, there’s no convincing you otherwise.

Sure enough, after walking a ten more minutes, you’re stood in front of a 24 hour conveniences store. The bright light glowing from the sign almost makes Donghyuck squint.

The bell rings as you push yourself inside, dragging the birthday boy behind with your intertwined hands.

The clock reads 11:07. Plenty of time.

You scan the aisles diligently; Donghyuck follows like a lost puppy (he practically is one in this moment). Finding a pack of two basic candles, all that’s left is a cake, or something close to.

“All they have is a big chocolate cookie or a cup of strawberry ice cream.” You frown. Donghyuck feels the temptation to kiss it right off you. He refrains for now- you’re on a serious mission after all.

“Whatever you want pretty.” He says, moving his thumb across your hand absentmindedly. Donghyuck truly doesn’t mind- he’s not even sure he wants a sweet treat. But, you’re so determined, he can’t say no to you.

“But it’s your birthday. I want you to choose.” You whine.

“Ok. Let’s do strawberry ice cream and we can share it.” You smile in satisfaction before taking the both of you to the register.

“Oh! Do you have a lighter?”

After he shakes his head, you take one off the shelf and start to pay. Best believe, Donghyuck insisted he pay but, you argued back that he payed for your two drinks and it’s a gift for his birthday. He conceded in the end.

Next thing you know- you’re sat on the curb outside of the store. You prepare the impromptu birthday cake, carefully placing the two candles in the very small cup of ice cream.

“Ready?”

He nods, giving you the okay to light the candles.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..”

Your voice is so sweet. He wants to drown in the honey. He wants to freeze this moment. Just between you and him, and the bright convenience store lights.

“Make a wish!” You whisper.

He closes his eyes and really wishes.

He wishes for more moments like this with you. He wishes that this isn’t the end of your journey together. He wishes that by the end of the night he’ll be brave enough to get your number. He wishes this, whatever this is, will blossom into so much more.

Donghyuck will never say any of this out loud though. He won’t risk anything for his wish to not come true.

He opens his eyes and blows out the candles. You cheer and watch the smoke dissolves into the summer night.

11:35 perfect timing.

“Happy birthday, Donghyuck.” You smile at him shyly. He wants to eat you alive. How can you have such a hold on him? Not even four hours ago, he hadn’t even known you. He never wants to go back there again.

You both dig into the ice cream. Granted, you each only get about four full bites in before the cup is finished.

“Best birthday cake ever.” He says, and you giggle in reply. He hopes you know that he means it though. Silence settles over you. It’s disgusting- the hearts that are coming out of both your eyes. Anyone would become sick looking at the two of you.

Donghyuck brings a hand up to your cheek. “You have a little something here….” And, he’s kissing you again. It’s sweeter this time- the lingering taste of strawberry on both your lips. In sheer desperation, you grab his shirt to pull him closer. He opens his mouth in response to you, his body telling you that he wants you as much as you want him. Your tongues dance together, in perfect sync. Breathing in each other’s air, you’re bordering on exhibitionism.

Maybe, not that far.

But, if he keeps this up, you might ask him to take you right here on the curb.

“Please take me home.” You whine, breaking away, an unfortunate but necessary communication.

“Okay, yes, okay.” He stands up, helping you in the process. You’re a giggling fluttering mess, practicing skipping the rest of the block to your apartment. Donghyuck follows close behind, extremely amused and equally as happy.

His hands are on your waist as you come to your front door. You fumble with the keys, from both nerves and giddiness

As soon as the door opens and closes, he’s on you again. Arms wraps around your waist to pull you close and your lips connect again, moving with more passion than before. It’s quite a haphazard scene- the two of you walking backward in the dark completely unaware and uncaring about your surroundings.

Eventually, Donghyuck taps your thigh. You hop up and wrap your legs around his waist, fully supported by him now.

“Where’s your bedroom sweet girl?” He detaches for a moment and then continues kissing down your neck, waiting for your reply.

“To the left, down the hall.”

He walks with haste; you appreciate it. Pushing open your bedroom door, he sets you down, now hovering over you.

“I should prep you baby. What do you want?” He says, searching your eyes. You look like a dream- face flushed, hair laid out around you like a halo. The moonlight that shines through your window seems to make you sparkle.

You blush at the question. What do you want? Your mind is too clouded by him . That’s the only answer you have.

“Just want you.” You murmur. He hums and thinks.

“Really want to be inside you. How about my fingers? I’ll eat you out another time- I’ll do it slow and properly next time. Is that okay?”

You nod frantically. You’d have him in anyway; it didn’t matter to you.

“Need words.” He whispers, hardly a centimeter from your face.

“Please fuck me, Donghyuck.” You practically whine out, growing patient. If you weren’t such a horny mess, you’d be more appreciative at his thoughtfulness.

With the green light, he helps to strip you, throwing the clothing across your room.

God, you’re a sight. He could come just looking at you.

He full crawls on top of you, connecting you lips once again. One arm braces himself over you while the other one snakes down your torso. You whine into his mouth when his hand stops at your hip. Your body tries to take initiative when your hips buck into him. He chuckles into your mouth.

“Okay, okay.” He relents. Donghyuck didn’t mean to tease you- he was trying to savor the moment.

Once his fingers prod your entrance, all is forgiven. It’s overwhelming- how he stimulates your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. He curls his fingers in just the right way. Your body reacts to him so well- like you’ve known each other for years.

That familiar coil starts to wind in your stomach. You’re close. He knows it, you feel it.

“Want you inside me.” You whimper. He happily obliges to your request. Taking his fingers away from your core- you whine at the loss of contact, even though that’s what you just asked for. Donghyuck takes his fingers up to his mouth and you watch, with lust-filled eyes, him put his fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean from your slick.

He moans at the taste. “You taste so sweet, baby. I promise I’ll fuck you with my tongue next time.”

After completing stripping himself, he lifts your leg and bends it, exposing your core. Donghyuck starts to nudge himself inside- the feeling making both of you close your eyes in pleasure.

You could feel him pulsing inside your walls; he no better, barely holding his sanity together.

“You’re so tight babygirl. Fuck.” He grunts.

“Move please, Hyuck.” You whimper. When he does start rocking his hips against yours, you feel euphoric all over again. The rhythm, the angle- he’s hitting all the right spots. His head is buried in your shoulder, willing himself to not come just yet.

But, something about you makes it hard for him to control himself. His movements turn frantic, chasing that high for both of you.

“I’m close.” Your grip on his arm tightens as you’re about to come undone.

“Yeah? Come for me baby.”

He leans down to connect your lips again. It’s with such passion, adding to the stimulation. Overwhelming but welcome nevertheless.

You unravel under him. Donghyuck winces when he feels you come around his cock. He rocks inside you a little more, helping you ride out your high before pulling out and finishing on your stomach. Collapsing next to you, he’s silent for a minute, catching his breath and recollecting himself. You’re doing the same. The perspiration on your skins makes you look like you’re glowing. Some could argue it’s a post-sex glow; Donghyuck argues it’s also from pure happiness.

Not long after you’ve both finished, he starts to get up- the urge to take care of you ever present. You murmur sleepily where your washcloths and pajamas are. Donghyuck is now on a mission.

First, he sneaks into your kitchen for some glasses of water. Then, he stops in your bathroom to prepare a washcloth to clean you up. His final destination is your closet where he finds a soft old t-shirt and new underwear for you to sleep in.

Once he cleans you up, he lays down next to you, pulling you into his chest. You’re so sleepy and far gone, you could think this is a dream. The last thing you feel is Donghyuck’s steady heartbeat before you’re pulled into a deep sleep.

-

It’s sunlight that pulls Donghyuck into consciousness. The light shining through your windows prods his eyes open. Then, he registers a weight on him. You’re sprawled out across him, left leg draped across his body and arm curled on his chest. He relishes in the feeling.

Donghyuck doesn’t know what time it is, if you have plans today, or how you’ll feel when you wake up. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to leave your warmth.

He doesn’t have to wonder long as he feels you start to stir as well. The way you nuzzle into his shoulder makes him melt.

“Morning.” You murmur, still refusing to open your eyes to the sunlight.

“Hi pretty girl.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Better than ever.” He grins.

“Good.” It’s quiet for a moment. Maybe, you’re feeling brave, or maybe it’s the sleep clouding your brain, you dare to ask, “How long can you stay?”

Forever, Donghyuck thinks.

But, he squeezes your waist instead and offers an answer much less overwhelming, “I have no plans other than you, baby.”

Let’s go steady.

Let's go out

And tell the whole damn world how….

Bang Chan

Lee Know

Changbin

Hyunjin

Today, on your day off, you grabbed an early dinner after volunteering.

Chris was already there, sitting at the wooden table tucked away in the corner. The spot you'd shown him years ago. The one you'd both kept coming back to.

He wore a simple black hoodie and basketball shorts. No Stray Kids logo. No stage persona. Just Chris.

You smiled when you saw him. "Hey, sorry. Things ran long at the center."

Chris stood immediately, pulling you into a hug. "You're good. I'm glad we could meet."

"Yeah." You stepped back. "I'll eat with you, but I want to head home after. I'm beat."

His expression softened. "Okay." He didn't ask questions.

After dinner, he offered to drive you home. For once, you handed over the keys without arguing. The ride was quiet. Music played softly through the speakers while city lights drifted past the windows. Every so often, he glanced your way. You looked tired. Not the kind that a nap would fix. Tired from weeks, maybe months. Like you were emotionally drained.

You let him inside your apartment.

It was small but comfortable. Photos of friends, a few struggling houseplants, mismatched cushions on the couch. There were no pictures of him anywhere amongst the ones of your friends.

Maybe because neither of you knew where this stood.

You filled a glass with water for him. You tried to, but the glass slipped from your hand and hit the tile with a sharp crack. The glass shattered and water spread across the floor.

You froze, then immediately bent down. "I got it." Your voice came out tighter than you intended.

Chris crouched beside you. "Y/N."

"I said I got it." Your hands were shaking like you were trying to hold your own pieces together.

Before you could grab another piece, he gently took it from your fingers and set it aside.

"Hey. C'mere." His hand cradled the back of your head. A hug that tried holding all of it: grief, fatigue, loneliness. “C’mere.”

That was all it took.

A small, choked sob escaped you first. Then another. And then the dam cracked.

You buried your face into his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like an anchor as weeks—months—of running finally caught up to you. No dramatic sobbing or screaming. Just tears that shook your whole body and came from somewhere deep and raw where all the pain had been stuffed down for too long.

Chris didn’t flinch, didn't pull back. He just held on tighter.

[...]

The apartment was quiet now. Just the soft sound of glass being swept into a dustpan. Chris moved carefully, not wanting to make noise and disturb you.

You had ended up on your sofa, curled under a blanket while he cleaned up in silence. Swept the glass fragments and made sure there were none left. Because he knew you liked walking around barefoot.

“Please be careful with the glass,” you finally spoke.

He looked up at the sound of your voice. It was hoarse from crying. He gave a small nod, his expression gentle.

"I'm being careful," he spoke back—not too loud because he knew your head probably hurt from crying so much.

He came back to you when he was done; kneeled like it was nothing, and petted your head with so much love. Like you were precious and fragile, like this wouldn't blur the lines even more.

"I think we should talk about it." He whispered.

You looked away. "Nothing to talk about."

His hand paused. "Y/N."

"I'm fine."

He gave you a look that made it obvious he didn't believe you. "You cried over a broken glass."

"I got overwhelmed."

He exhaled quietly. "You're working two jobs. You're volunteering on your only day off. You're exhausted all the time." He sighed. "I hate seeing you do this to yourself."

"So what?" You laughed bitterly. "Should I just sit around feeling sorry for myself because I'm alone?"

"No." His answer came immediately. "You just shouldn't have to carry everything by yourself." You swallowed hard. Chris held your gaze. "You deserve someone who checks if you've eaten. Someone who worries when you're tired. Someone who cares." His voice softened. "I'm here, Y/N."

You shuddered, looking anywhere but at him. "I-I don't think you know what you're saying."

"I do." He said with a certainty that made your heart stutter. "I want to be the person you call when things get hard. Don't act like you don't know how I feel."

Of course you knew. That was the problem.

"Y/N?"

You closed your eyes. "I don't think I can love anyone right now."

Something flickered across his expression. But he didn't look away. Instead, he reached for your hand and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I don't need you to. I just want to be here while you heal."

Tears burned behind your eyes again.

"That's not fair."

"Why?"

"Because I can't love you back." The words came out broken. "I can't think about anything except being tired."

For a moment, he looked hurt. Then he pulled you closer. Until your forehead rested against his chest. "That's okay."

You shook your head. "No, it isn't."

"It is." His arms tightened around you. "You don't have to be ready. I haven't asked for your love." His hand moved gently through your hair. "I've only asked you to let me stay."

The apartment fell quiet. Just Chris cradling you in his arms.

"And if all you can do right now is let me sit beside you," he murmured, "then that's enough."

“Wanna go again?”

But his cock was already rubbing against your sensitive clit when he whispered in your ear. The ragged breath that followed made his question sound more like a desperate suggestion.

Beneath him, you were still evening your breath from the burst of blissed out sensation he’d brought upon you just moments ago. Your eyes closed and lips parted and legs trembling, his release trickled out of your cunt onto his car seat. With the pads of his forefinger and middle finger, he rubbed the thick fluid and smeared it gently over your clit, making you squirm at the sensation.

In the cramped space of the backseat where there was little to no extent to stretch your legs and arms, your body had become weary and stiff, and yet as if enchanted, “yes… yes, please…”

Carefully he parted your legs more to make room for him to move. His strained grunts fanned against the side of your face as he sank the tip of his cock into the warmth that enveloped him leisurely just less than twenty minutes prior. Your whines dammed up his ears as he slid in his length all the way to the base into your warm walls, the thin ooze of your juice made it easy and pleasant.

“You even said please,” he stared at your lips for a moment, before shaking his head to leave the thoughts behind, and kissed your blushed cheek instead, “my pleasure, darling.”

…

THUMP!

A chain of curses flew out of Changbin’s lips as he rubbed the back of his head to ease the sting. It was the umpteenth time he got distracted and bumped his head against the hood of the SUV he was working on since early that morning.

The erotic images from a couple nights prior constantly crept into his mind like a stubborn colony of ants crawling up at the smell of a bread crumb. He snorted at his own incapability to drive away that memory.

What he had with you was nothing more than a sexual arrangement he had shamelessly and half-jokingly proposed on a random movie night after an accidental makeout. Being childhood and long-time best friends, he hadn’t expected you to say yes, let alone so easily as if it was an arrangement for another movie night. Twice a week you both ended up seeing each other to satiate your lustful needs, which progressively intensified to a regular agenda he came to anticipate the more he got to have a taste of you.

But the reminiscent of those passionate nights had begun to take up too much space in his everyday life. He pictured how your body writhed under him, how you called his name time and time again, how your hands reached to caress his neck and bring him close, how your hair was damp with sweat, how effortlessly beautiful you were naked.

He wondered if it would affect him the same if he were to pleasure someone else—someone he wasn’t falling in love with.

Damn that arrangement. If only he had been a little braver that day to propose something more romantic than occasional sex. A relationship, for an instance. But he was too cowardly, afraid that the decades of friendship would shatter just because he looked at you as somebody so much more than just a friend.

His train of thought was cut short by a familiar ragged engine sound in the distance.

Changbin wasn’t a tad bit surprised when he saw a familiar old blue sedan nearing and lining up in the lot of the Car Wash and Auto Detailing where he spent most of his days. Through the wide open windows Keshi’s ANGOSTURA pierced through the warm spring air. The bluetooth he had put in the old car’s stereo two months ago seemed to work fine.

He dropped the wrenches and walked over to greet the driver he had gotten bored of seeing.

“At this point just tell me you can’t stand being away from me too long,” he said when you climbed out of your car. He wiped the grime remnants off his fingers with a washcloth that was already besmirched with stains of motor oil. “But we’re fully booked today. Come back in a week.”

“Is that how you talk to your loyal customer?” He couldn’t hold his grin when you clung to his arm, wearing your fakest heartbroken pout and woeful eyes to get him taking your car in for repair. Again. This was the third time in the last two months.

The car was well nigh crumbling. At first he had always thought there was too much work where it wasn’t worth the sweat he and his team shed and definitely not the large sum you set aside from your paycheck. But the car was one of the last of your brother’s possessions he let you have before he passed away nine years ago. Changbin knew you wouldn’t give up on the ancient vehicle before it totally gave up on you first. And giving up on you was what the car had been doing hence the amount of repairs it needed in a short period of time. It was only a matter of time until the car succumbed to its demise. Until then, Changbin was willing to fix anything there was to fix for you.

But where’s the fun if he didn’t playfully insult the junk you treasured most?

“You’d be faster on foot.” Changbin remarked with a snort after a quick check.

You weren’t aware of the dirty smudges from his coveralls smearing your pleated skirt and white pullover as you kept on pestering him by clinging to his arm. In spite of his indifference, he discreetly relished in every second of that physical contact.

“I’m always on time,” you pleaded, “so please?”

“Chan got himself this antique convertible car of his dream but his carport is too small for two cars to squeeze in,” he spun on his heel and headed off to the repairing station, nodding his chin in the direction where a shiny red Hyundai sedan, Chan’s old car, was parked in the corner, “he wants to get rid of her as soon as possible. What do you think?”

Changbin knew you wouldn’t give a damn. But Chan asked him to talk you into purchasing the car just in case.

As predicted, you gave the red Hyundai an uninterested glance before stalking behind him towards a customer’s car he mended. He pulled out a wrench from the pocket of his coveralls and bent over the SUV’s engine. He added half-heartedly, “save the money and save more from your monthly paycheck for four to five months. I’ll talk to Chan if you’re interested.”

“Or you can take the money and fix my car for me,” you insisted, looking over your shoulder at a black mustang parked in the lot reserved for the staff. A majestic vehicle that was the silent witness of a number of obscene activities shared between you two. “Besides, you haven’t paid your car off yet, have you?”

“No,” he replied casually, getting a little too entertained by your persistence, “but I’m taking care of that just fine, so your point is?”

You leaned against the SUV’s door with folded arms, “you're not very friendly right now.”

Changbin chuckled, “I don’t think we’ve been very friendly to each other these days.”

“Meaning?”

At the sight of your innocently curled eyebrows, Changbin bursted out laughing. His mouth ran faster than his brain sometimes. No regrets. But he was relieved you failed to grasp what he meant. “Forget it.”

“So how long does my car need to be in the workshop?”

He placed both hands on his hips, fingers hooked onto his coveralls pockets.

“A week maybe,” he glanced at your sedan, a mischievous glint flashed in his gaze when he looked back at you, “but like I said we’re fully booked right now and I don’t suppose we’d get even a tad bit available for the next couple of weeks. I’m gonna need more people to fix every troubled part of your car if you want it back faster, that means we’re gonna be short-staffed at the carwash station.”

It was supposed to be a mindless joke that shouldn’t be taken into consideration.

You were supposed to climb into the passenger seat of his mustang.

He was supposed to give you a ride home as usual.

But then you asked if there was a spare uniform and where the locker room was. Changbin laughed and shooed you away to your next agenda, even almost took off his coveralls and drove you home, but Jisung and the other staff in the carwash station had been in fact overwhelmed with the queue of customers even before Changbin could drag some of them into the repairing station to help fix your car.

“I don’t have anything to do at home anyway,” you insisted, winking an eye at him.

He thought it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands.

Until you came out of the staff room and he gave himself a mental punch in the face because the only spare uniform was impossibly tight.

One could say the same thing about his coveralls that not only did its tight fit flaunt his impeccably sculpted pecs, it was also parading his perfectly round ass and his bulging arms that the short sleeves could barely provide a cover for. It was safe to say he had attracted a good number of loyal customers with his build alone. Adding his sexy brain and charming nature to the mix, he became a target of flirting remarks and dinner invitations. The workshop had easily dodged financial crisis, happy ending.

But this time it wasn’t about him.

The polo top of the carwash team’s uniform was so tight around your neck that you left the top buttons undone. The hem of the shirt barely covered your waist and couldn’t be tucked into the waistband of the shorts that there was a good portion of skin every time you bent over. And the shorts… they hugged your ass nicely. Way too nicely that it left a pinch to imagination—to his imagination precisely.

Apart from sneaky glances of curiosity, the other staff gave little to no further interest and focused on their respective chores. But that was mainly because they knew who they were going to deal with if they stared too long. Changbin was already hard to please, so fishing out even a little bit of his wrath would be like digging their own grave.

The hood of your sedan was opened. Changbin bent over to check the engine. He tried, because his gaze kept straying away towards the carwash station. It would’ve been better if Jisung had offered spare coveralls. It was getting harder to look away especially from the shorts because he knew what was beneath—

THUMP!

How many more times did he have to bump his head against a car hood? He internally scoffed at his questionable professionalism in your presence.

“You okay?” Chan was approaching with his usual essential tools in hand. “You’ve been very distracted.”

From the grin stretching on the older’s face, it was safe to assume Chan knew exactly what—or who—had caused that distraction but chose to tease the younger either way. “I wonder what makes her terribly oblivious when you’re this obvious.”

“Mhm,” Changbin agreed, “but I used to hide it very well.”

Chan opened the door and checked the dashboard warning lights, before immediately sliding out again. He looked in the direction of the carwash station where you and Jisung were guiding the cars into, “I’m surprised your possessive ass didn’t run riot when she came out in that. Our customers are very pleased with the view, you see.”

Changbin knew what Chan was talking about, but Jisung wasn’t assigned—as per Changbin’s own request—beside you to solely ensure you did your part well. Changbin trusted the younger could stave off anyone who crossed the line.

“My advice,” said Chan, settling a creeper in position, “don’t wait too long.”

Changbin snorted, and Chan slid under your car.

You were spraying excessive dirt off of a jeep as it was loaded into the wash. Jisung pointed at the spots that needed an extra cleaning while spraying dead bugs off of the windshield himself.

As soon as you were done and Jisung was guiding the jeep to steer into the wash, the driver instead rolled the window down and spoke to you.

Changbin didn’t have to come closer to catch the jock’s eyes falling to your lower half more often than they should. You laughed at something the driver had said, whipping your head around and looking directly at where Changbin was no longer bending over and was instead standing by the bumpers of your car with folded arms.

He didn’t want to jump into conclusions and thought you were speaking about him to the man as you could’ve talked about your wrecked car or about Chan on the creeper under your car or perhaps even something else entirely different. It wasn’t until the man offered him an awkward grin and a flash of annoyance before rolling up the window and entering the wash.

Changbin wasn’t curious about what you might have told that man at first. But seeing Jisung busted a gut beside you and shook his head while looking at him, Changbin couldn’t help but internally enquiring what could be so funny.

…

The sun had almost set and the majority of the staff had gone home. After showering, Changbin scurried over to his car. He organised his belongings on the backseat and wiped the leather seat clean (that was already clean). He did the same to the front passenger seat. Then he sat behind the wheel, waiting.

An overwhelming scent of musk from his perfume occupied every nook of the interior of his mustang, and wearing perfume wasn’t part of his routine going home. Usually he would only give his body a quick rinse to wash off the grime and dust after having spent the whole day grappling with stinky engines, and settle on a proper shower at home. Not this time.

He didn’t wait long before the passenger door swung open and you rushed inside with your own bag and a chunky looking tote on your lap. The floral scent of your perfume mixed with his musk made the smell inside his car a little dizzying, like walking in the aisle of an endless row of perfume shops.

“Do you not have anything less bigger?” You tried to adjust the hem of the black hoodie that buried your frame in its thick fleece. There was a reason why you had bolted from the shower room to the parking lot... “And maybe some pants?”

Changbin leaned over to you all of a sudden, causing you to recline back onto the seat in surprise. The back of his hand subtly grazed over your bare thigh when he fastened your seatbelt.

“You look amazing.” He teased, starting the engine and departing to the main road.

The chunky tote bag was borrowed from Jisung for your half-wet pullover and skirt. Changbin had tried to wash the motor oil stains off of your clothes earlier with soap and baking soda, and while the remaining light brown patch, like tea stain, wouldn’t have been noticeable on any darker fabric, it was a different case when it came to white clothes. Of course.

“Sorry about your clothes. I’ll buy you prettier ones.” Said he when you tossed your bag and the tote onto the backseat.

“Partly my fault for hugging you and wearing white to the workshop, but I’ll take the offer. I’m free tomorrow.”

He briefly glanced at you with an annoying wriggle of his brow, “is it a date?”

“What else? Field trip?”

He giggled.

“By the way, the jeep driver,” he cleared his throat, “what did he say to you?”

“Just some stuff about his dick,” you shrugged, then your eyes narrowed in a teasing manner, “you already stared when I looked. Why?”

“Gotta make sure you do your job right.”

“So you were definitely not staring at a particular pair of cheeks?”

His crooked smile was enough of a confession.

He slowly pushed the brake as the vehicles around were beginning to move slower. “And what did you say to him?”

“I said,” you beamed, gaze intently affixed on the smooth outline of his face, trying to catch even the subtlest changes in his expression at your response, “it’s hard to satisfy me when the inside of my cunt is already reshaped into the shape of my boyfriend’s big dick.”

Changbin subconsciously clenched his jaw. Something twitched down there.

“Jisung thought it was funny,” you added, “but then he actually asked if I was serious about your cock’s size. He wasn’t the least bit interested in whether or not you’re really my boyfriend…”

“Everybody thought I am.” He said.

“…or whether or not we actually fuck. Is it way too obvious what we do behind closed doors?” You chuckled.

“Chan and Jisung know I’d be with you most of the time when I don’t have work, and according to Jisung I smell like you sometimes. It’s not rocket science for them to piece things together.” Now Changbin wasn’t sure what he felt when he said these things. It was always obscure to him. He got turned on at the thought that you’d willingly use him whenever somebody tried to flirt with you, but at the same time, the way you talked about these things so casually cracked his ego a little bit.

He was going to say something but you beat him to it.

“I gotta tell them that you start everything most of the time because look, a little compliment for your dick and there it is,” Your eyes dropped to the tent he didn’t realise had formed in the middle of his sweats, “let me help you with that?”

Grey sweats were not made to hide a bulge. Not that he was embarrassed, not after you had so casually praised his cock when you knew all too well how it would affect him. But the thing was, he couldn’t possibly say yes to your kind offer in the middle of traffic, could he?

He could. His needs overpowered his common sense and it showed when he took your hand and placed it over his erection.

You smiled in triumph, giving his clothed cock soft strokes with your palm, deliberately pressing your hand over what felt like the head of his half-erected cock. Your hand slipped inside through the waistband, holding the warm girth in your palm. A couple of gentle strokes later, your thumb rubbed over the tip, playing with the sensitive flesh until not long after there was an evident wet patch on the grey fabric indicating his precum. Just a little more… you could see it from his face and muffled groans.

But your hand slipped out.

“Baby…” Changbin clutched your wrist, stroking your skin with his thumb, “just a little more, please. I’m almost there.”

“I know,” you cooed, “I’ll make you feel better, promise.”

The vehicles barely moved, the sun was dipping below the horizon. The golden hour ebbed into nightfall quickly, guaranteeing secretion now that there wasn’t any more sunlight.

Changbin gave in to the heat of infatuation that would have him overthink once he was no longer affected by your intoxicating touches. He preferred your apartment, or at least the backseat of his car for a proper sex, but it wasn’t the time where he could push you away when you were this good.

In the meantime he had to be satisfied with sitting helplessly in the driver seat while you did all the work.

He clutched the wheel tightly, trying to remain intact into the seat despite the slow pace of your head bobbing up and down as your mouth devoured his girth, eager to swallow all the way down to the back of your throat although it was a difficult feat given the size of his length.

You kept your ass in the air and knees nailed to your seat, the hem of the hoodie rolled down and pooled around your chest. If the car windows weren’t layered with privacy films, the pretty view of your panties and firm ass would’ve been a pleasant entertainment amidst the stress of the rush hour traffic. Changbin wouldn’t have liked it.

While one hand gripped the wheel a little more loosely, the other one slithered across the arched plane of your back and further up to where he felt your wet panties. You whimpered at the touch of his fingers against your clothed cunt, making his fully hardened length twitch in your mouth at the vibration.

You sucked his cock delectably and forced yourself to swallow just a tad bit more until you could feel his tip made contact with your throat. His sweet grunts and gentle caresses on your hair were enough of praises for you, “feels good, take me so well, you’re so good…”

His fingers slipped beneath your panties, one digit sliding up and down your wet folds. He gasped when you pulled your head away completely and swirled your tongue around the head of his length, licking the precum that spilled from the slit. Instantaneously his hand clutched a handful of your hair, pushing you down to swallow his cock again, he was so fucking close at this point you could see the tip of his cock the colour of blood.

“I’m sorry, love,” his fingers ran through your hair softly as an additional apology.

You suckled his cock with a hum, too preoccupied to process what the apology was for.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he reclined back into the seat, subconsciously ramming his hips up until the head of his cock nudged the back of your throat over and over again.

Your scalp began to sting at his grasp, you whined. The sudden vibration once again sent an electric bliss to the pit of his stomach. His cock twitched inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

Tears formed in your eyes before they flew down at the intensity. Changbin’s cock grew a little bigger indicating his release, but you tried not to graze your teeth. He didn’t even realise he was holding back just to feel you longer, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

The muscles of your mouth contracted in greedy suck, your palm squeezed firm around the base of his cock that couldn’t go into your mouth, sensing how close he was to climax.

A swirl of your tongue was all it took for him to topple over. At the peak of ecstasy, he closed his eyes tight and humped his hips to feel more of your warmth and how it was drawing more and more of his release. His growls were hoarse, savouring the pleasant shockwaves you were bringing upon him.

The car behind beeped the horn at the time he slipped back to reality.

There was quite a wide gap between the bumpers of his mustang and the trunk of the sedan upfront.

“Hey…” he stroked a hand on your head, helping you off his cock and settling you back into the passenger seat, even fastening your seatbelt back on. One hand tugged at the waistband of his sweats to rest around his hips again, the other hand held the wheel and narrowed the distance with the car in front.

After managing a safe distance, he checked on you. He leaned over, ridding off the messy strands out of your face and combing your dishevelled hair.

Maybe he regretted it.

Because the tears rolling down your cheeks, the mixture of his cum and your spit gleaming in the corner of your lips, your lazy blinks, could be the sole reason for yet another climax.

That was an exaggeration of course, but his cock did twitch.

“Was I too rough?”

“No,” you sighed, smiling, “I liked it a lot.”

As all the cars seemed to move little by little, Changbin’s foot lingered in the air atop the gas pedal when he noticed a spacious gap between the cars on his left. In a matter of seconds he had reached a decision. He drifted his car into the wide gap and to the gate of a hotel.

“You’re not planning to reserve a room here now, are you?” After Changbin parked his car in the very far corner, you glanced around at the vast outdoor parking of the facility with only a few cars in sight, and looked up at the contemporary architecture of the hotel.

“We have enough space here,” he chuckled, but added quickly, “unless we’re planning on doing this all night then I’ll surely book us a room.”

“Just a quickie please,” you giggled, unbuckling your seatbelt, “but can you stay the night at my place? We can just cuddle and watch a movie and sleep.”

He agreed in a heartbeat, “I thought you wouldn’t ask.”

He unfastened his own seatbelt and reclined your seat all the way down, catching you off guard. He lifted your legs and spread them to make space for him to settle in between. Your panties were soaked.

He slid your panties up and let the fabric hang around your ankle, putting your cunt on display. Mirroring his impatience, you pulled his sweats down, his hard cock stood proud against his stomach as if he hadn’t just released pretty much a big load just moments before.

You pouted, your whine sounded more sensual than intended, “wanna blow you again so bad.”

He rubbed his cock against your folds, “what, you want me to retract back to my seat now?”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer to you. He smiled, “that’s what I thought.”

A wrap was fished out of the dashboard. He rolled the latex around his length.

“You can suck me later all you want,” he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead while his hand guided his cock to align with your entrance, “we’re not in a hurry anyway.”

Changbin thought he might have to keep your car longer in his workshop and make you sit pretty in the passenger seat of his car every day. He wouldn’t mind driving you to work and picking you up if that meant to see you every day.

As the pace of his pounding was progressively getting frantic, his lips moved more affectionately. He left kisses on your shoulder and your collarbones and your neck, making sure to give your skin light sucks until they were adorned by several possessive red marks.

When his lips hovered over your face, he stared at your parted lips. So plump and inviting. He looked up and you were already looking, giving away that you knew where he had been staring.

“Can I?”

It broke the rules.

Kissing on the lips is strictly forbidden as long as the benefits are strictly sexual.

You wanted to give it to someone who shared mutual romantic feelings, you had said the day when the arrangement had been made. Changbin agreed. It was too much to ask anyway.

So, it broke the rules. To make it worse, this wasn’t some sort of a romantic lovemaking where he slowly undressed you on the bed with a night skyline view and a classic love song in the background. This was a lustful quickie as a result of a mind-blowing blow job you had given him earlier.

But you cradled his face in response and he swallowed your moans in an impassioned, wet kiss. His tongue played, and it was rather rough, and yet you could feel it in the kiss that he meant it. That it wasn’t just a kiss he initiated for fun. He wanted it, and so did you.

He could’ve come at the delicious clench of your walls around his girth, but more than that, he felt his heart throbbing abnormally and his stomach tight with pleasure just because your hands cupped his hot cheeks and your thumbs swept gentle strokes on the blushing skin. It was his first kiss with you, and Lords, was it amazing.

Changbin reluctantly pulled away from the kiss to let you breathe. “Okay? Was I too rough? Too much?”

Your lips were a little swollen at this point. “I love it.”

Burying his face in your neck, he grunted, half-high, “gotta satisfy you, yeah?” His thrusts slower but deeper, “gotta reshape your walls into the shape of your boyfriend’s big dick like what you said to that man?”

Something flashed in your eyes, Changbin couldn’t make out what that meant. But you smiled at him, pulling him closer with your legs, hugging him. When he thought you weren't going to say anything, your voice tickled in his ear in a whisper, “my boyfriend’s dick.”

Your cunt swallowed his length all the way to the base. He let you feel the uncontrollable throbs of his cock. He wished he wasn’t hearing things. Boyfriend, you emphasised it.

He rolled his hips a little, making you whine all the more desperately because his cock was pressing right into the spot that gave your stomach a pleasurable knot.

The car seat was wet, stained with your release. At the same time his hips squirmed as he filled the latex with his seed.

He caressed the side of your face, lips planting kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

Boyfriend. He thought to himself. Did you mean it?

a/n: woah it's finally here... i'd put off rewriting this fic for so long. some of you who found me through insta and have read this before, might remember that this was originally leaning more towards pwp, if not very little plot, but since a lot of readers back then wanted a part 2 i thought it'd be better to add more plot. hope you guys enjoyed reading this!