becca

"look who's finally up," he says, approaching the bed with a glass of water in his hands. "it's almost 1pm, heathen."

you groan, covering your face with your hands as you try to sink further into the mattress. "why are you so loud today?"

"this is my normal volume?"

"your normal volume is loud."

"hmm, could this be because last night you knocked back an entire bottle of soju and then some and therefore you have a raging headache right now?"

you blink, still delirious from the night before. it's obvious that the alcohol hasn't completely left your system and minho is right. there's a pounding in your head and you wish it would stop.

you ignore his sassy quip, trying to recall what happened. "how did i get home?"

it was supposed to be a cozy night in with your friends. you'd been looking forward to last night for weeks because all of you had been so busy with your respective lives, and a fun girl's night was desperately needed. to catch up, to gossip about your partners, to escape your tiresome realities for a few hours.

and of course, to unwind and drink. not to the point of being blackout drunk; just to de-stress a little.

"how do you think?" minho asks, holding out the water for you until you muster enough strength to sit up and take it from him. he watches as you greedily gulp down the liquid to satiate your dry throat, giving him back the empty glass when you're done and lying back down again. he sets the glass on your bedside table before he joins you under the covers. "boyfriend of the year went out in the middle of the night to drag your ass home."

"you took me home?"

"i just said boyfriend of the year, didn't i?"

despite his smartass attitude, minho still snakes an arm around your body to pull you close to him, until your head is lying on his chest while he strokes your hair gently.

"it was just soju. plum soju!" you try to justify your actions, throwing a leg over his and snuggling further into the warmth of his body. "only thirteen percent!"

minho scoffs. "that's how they get you. the fun flavors make you think that you're gonna be fine if you do just a couple more shots. next thing you know, you're sending your boyfriend gibberish messages at 2am."

to emphasize his point, minho shows you his phone, goes straight to the text thread you two share.

you mostly sent him nonsense, seemingly a lot of keyboard smashes and blurry drunken selfies of you and your friends. then came the last few messages.

you: oh naue why rom sponnign you: i wsntto go homrr you: mimo tskeeee me homeee

"oh." you purse your lips. "drunk me was a moment."

"no, she was a lot of moments actually. you stayed up for almost two hours after i brought you home."

"doing what?"

your boyfriend looks down at you, an unimpressed look on his face before he rolls his eyes and sighs, recanting the story of how you exhausted him just hours prior.

"stop squirming," minho said, trying to keep your head from lolling to the side as he wiped at your face with a cotton pad doused in micellar water.

but you kept giggling, kept trying to hold his cheeks so you could kiss him. "mimo, you're so pretty. my pretty, pr-" hiccup! "pretty mimo."

it took him thirty whole minutes just to take your makeup off, then another forty five to go through your skincare routine.

-

it was an entire struggle to get you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear because apparently, the feeling of him tugging your blouse over your head and sliding your jeans down your legs tickled that amorous part of your brain - your horndog side, if you will.

you instantly latched onto him, climbing on top of him to sit on his lap, attempting to trail kisses along his neck when all minho was trying to do was put your t-shirt on.

"not now," he scolded you lightly, pushing you away by your shoulders before he held your arms up just long enough to slip the shirt over your body.

"whyyy not?"

"mostly because you're about ten seconds away from passing out."

but that wasn't something that your intoxicated brain could comprehend. all you understood was that your boyfriend didn't want to have sex with you, that he was rejecting you.

you went quiet all of a sudden, your lips pouting, your eyes turning glassy before you practically sob, "you don't want me anymore."

minho could only sigh.

-

"what now?" he had finally managed to get your restless ass into bed, thinking you'd surely knock out within seconds of hitting the sheets. but when he returned to the bedroom five minutes later, having cleared away your clothes to be put in the washer in the morning, minho found you lying on your side, your eyes glued to your phone, your face illuminated by the blue light coming from the device. "why aren't you sleeping?"

you were going through your camera roll, watching your old videos like they were your favorite tv show. videos of you and him, videos of him and the cats, or just random videos of him that you took when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

it was cute how you were so immersed, how you kept giggling and making heart eyes at the version of minho captured on your phone. it made him smile, just standing there and watching you like that.

it was beyond endearing, but it was also fucking 4:18am.

minho snatched the device away from you and put it somewhere you couldn't reach before he settled into bed with you.

"i miss my mimo," you whined. "give me back my mimo."

he knew there was no use in telling you that you didn't need to miss him when he, the object of your affection himself, was lying next to you. instead, he just yanked you closer, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and holding you tightly so you couldn't move, hoping that it would eventually lull you to dreamland.

"your mimo is right here. now go to sleep, you menace."

"and not to mention you kept-"

"nope." you put a hand over minho's mouth so he would shut up. "i've heard enough."

he pushes your hand away. "i deserve compensation for what i had to go through last night."

"the satisfaction of taking care of your wonderful girlfriend wasn't enough for you?"

"no," he says. then, you both just stare at each another for a few minutes.

"fine," you relent. "i'll make it up to you with one hundred kisses."

"i want a cat tower."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken

“I’ve watched you make Miles circle Harlem Station enough times to memorize the entire layout. If it wasn’t in there the first time, why do you think it’ll be there now?”

Your character pauses mid-run as you turn to scowl at Minho, the quest prompt taunting you on the left side of the screen.

He blinks like he’s asked an innocent question, like he didn’t just state the obvious to rub salt further into your pathetic wound. “I’m trying to cover all of my bases here, Min. What if I missed something?”

“You know, most people who discover they have superpowers take it as a sign to do something impactful with their life. Become a hero. Start a crime syndicate. Something.”

“But…?”

“But not Miles Morales. No, he figures he wants a silly purple suit and wages psychological warfare on innocent people with nothing better to do. Inspiring, really.”

You groan, picking the controller back up as Minho prods at your side with his foot. “You’re so unhelpful.”

You’ve been at it for a while now, perched on the edge of Minho’s bed, taking up residence in his room while he doom scrolls on his phone, splayed out against his pillows.

Your hangouts are quiet for the most part. But then again, that’s how it’s always been for you and Minho—mutually shared silence. More comfortable with each other as you both coexist in the same space than anywhere else.

It also just so happens that Minho has a PS5 and you don’t. Something about it being a Christmas present from his very rich, very financially irresponsible roommate who thinks anything expensive is a good gift, even if Minho has never so much as touched a console a day in his life.

You made a joke about it back then, something along the lines of “Hey, do you think Changbin needs a girlfriend that he can buy another one for?” to which Minho had thrown you an unreadable look and mumbled that you could come over and use it whenever you wanted. You would never ask him to do that, because you’re a good friend. So thankfully, he’d offered on his own.

Minho is a good friend too. He lets you come over, lets you grab at your hair in frustration while he watches, and even looks things up for you when you really need it. Not that you ever do, because you’re a firm believer in finishing games with integrity rather than pulling up a wiki on how to do it step by step.

But hey, if Minho throws you a very helpful, very not-looked-up tip every once in a while, who are you to complain?

Miles Morales is pretty busy as a teenager. In between learning how to be Spiderman, going to school, and fighting crime, he seemingly always has another side mission for you to do.

You throw yourself back into the game, searching high and low for the sound samples that you need to complete the quest while Minho’s phone spews facts about the molting process of komodo dragons somewhere behind you. Probably another one of his animal life documentaries.

Another hour passes, the sky completely dark outside the window above Minho’s desk. You’ve circled Harlem Station another five times, searching all the same spots, running into walls and alleyways along the street in hopes that something, anything will turn up. Your back is starting to cramp, shoulders tense, so you roll your neck a few times and stretch your arms above your head.

You yawn and lean backwards, fully expecting a pillow to catch you on the way down. Except you fail to remember just how small Minho’s bed is, especially with two people on it, and collide with his chest.

“Shit, sorry,” you say quickly, sitting back up, “Didn’t know you were behind me.”

“It’s okay.” Minho mumbles, voice tired. “Come here.”

There’s no time to react, no time to process what’s happening before Minho’s arm is wrapping around you and you’re being guided back down into his chest.

Your body goes rigid, but then you realize that’s probably weird, so you force yourself to relax. Minho doesn’t say anything, just keeps his attention fixed on his phone screen, footage of a baby red panda rolling around in a pile of bamboo sticks playing at a low volume.

You and Minho don’t do this. You’ve never done this.

You and Minho are best friends. When you were younger, the people in your neighborhood even went as far to call the two of you soulmates. Always attached at the hip, never separated. But even after all of that, all the years of hangouts and sleepovers and taking up space in each other's lives, you and Minho have never cuddled.

Is this cuddling?

You brave a glance in Minho’s direction just to find that he’s still locked in on the documentary. If you focus too hard, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the rhythmic beating of his heart between your shoulder blades.

This doesn’t have to be weird. It’s fine, really. You and Minho are more than qualified as friends, best friends, to do this. Absolutely.

You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as you count to four, and reach for the controller again, allowing yourself to fully relax into Minho.

For a split second you can’t help but think that this is definitely better than laying against pillows. Minho is broad, his shoulders wide and chest big enough for you to melt into one side comfortably. Pillows are lumpy and inconsistent and definitely don’t radiate heat the way Minho is right now, soft puffs of air hitting the top of your head as he breathes.

To no surprise, you find it hard to get back into the game. Miles is running into walls and missing all of his web shots as your brain struggles to keep up, lagging because of the way Minho’s body is firm beneath yours.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts when Minho shifts, his elbow coming up to rest against your shoulder and—oh.

Minho slides his fingers into your hair without a second thought, blunt nails dragging against your scalp as they card through leisurely.

Your stomach twists and turns as an unfamiliar fluttering feeling settles deep within your gut. It’s so unfair, the fact that you feel like your heart is about to sprout wings and fly out of your chest while Minho scrolls through instagram like this is a normal Friday night activity for him.

To make things worse, Minho decides he’s going to rest his cheek against the side of your head, the contact adding the overwhelming feeling of—whatever it is that you’re experiencing.

“Doing okay?” Minho asks after a while. His eyes glance over at where Miles is standing in the middle of the street, salsa dancing after sitting idle for the better part of five minutes. You jerk the joystick quickly.

“Yup!” You say a little too quickly. “Yeah, great, good.”

“Tired? I can drive you home.” His hand is still moving softly against your head, slow strokes that make it hard to fight the sleepiness nipping at the back of your mind.

“‘S okay, Min. I can walk.”

Minho’s brow furrows as he shifts to look down his nose at you. You turn your head up at the same time, and it’s then that you realize just how close your faces are.

“You’re funny if you think I’m gonna let you walk. I have a car, come on.” He says, sitting up and pushing you with him.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure.” He smiles, grabbing his keys off the nightstand. “Anything for you, yeah?”

The drive to your dorm is quiet. Changbin and Minho live an easy two blocks down from campus. Although Minho is still in school, he was quick to jump at the opportunity to get away from dorm life. Anything to ease the hole that his parents were no doubt burning into their pockets to send him to school in Seoul.

You really could have walked. It takes less than five minutes for Minho’s car to roll to a stop in front of your dorm building, a few students passing by as they return from the library.

“You’re coming over again tomorrow?” He asks, turning to look at you. His left hand grips the steering wheel, and you can’t help but notice how even in the dark his eyes still have that same shine.

“Oh, you—do you want me to?”

Minho snorts, glances forward for a second before returning his gaze back to you. “‘Course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

You fiddle with your hands in your lap. It’d be weird to say “I don’t know I just thought that you might be weirded out that we cuddled” in a situation like this, right?

“I just thought—” you stop, shaking your head, “Nevermind. Yeah, I’ll—yeah. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Minho watches while you get out of the car, eyebrows furrowed as he follows your every move. Not so much confused, more worried than anything.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, leaning down to peer up at you through the window.

“Yes, I promise. Goodnight, Min, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Minho blinks a few times before giving up. He breaks out into a grin, and you ignore the smattering of butterfly wings in your chest.

“Night.”

You and Minho cuddle now. It’s a thing. Has been for weeks since that first time.

Every night is the same: you play for a bit, Minho watches his documentaries, and somehow in the middle of it all you find yourself pressed against his chest while he plays with your hair.

You’ve learned how to effectively handle the rapid beating of your heart every time too. Minho, still as casual as ever, hasn’t mentioned it even if he’s noticed.

Tonight is no different. You’re still looking for the stupid sound samples. Miles is running through back alleys in between brick buildings and graffitied walls, nothing to show for it.

School has been shit, too. The past few weeks have brought an increase in assignments and finals are just around the corner, which means you’ll no doubt be typing out multiple page papers in no time. All you want to do is beat this stupid game so you can have some sort of achievement to quell the misery you’ll be subjected to in about a week’s time.

It’s also become increasingly hard to ignore the shift in you and Minho’s relationship. If you can even call it that.

On the surface level, nothing has changed. But there are little things here and there, little moments that are so small they almost go unnoticed.

When the two of you go out, the touches he leaves on your arms or waist linger for longer than they used to whenever he passes by. There’s glances stolen and smiles shared that leave your cheeks flushed pink and his ears red. And, to top it all off, you’ve realized that you’re more anxious whenever you’re not in Minho’s arms, a result of knowing how it feels to have him so close and being unable to forget even after he’s gone.

Because when you’re in Minho’s arms, the world ceases to exist. Stars align and burn so bright that you feel like your entire body is on fire.

Minho’s arms feel right.

Your feelings about Minho have always been clear. He’s your best friend, your other half, someone you’ve never once had to question about his place in your life.

Minho is a constant, steady reminder that no matter what happens you’ll always have a place to run to, a place to be.

That’s what makes this so scary. The tightening of your heart when his hands find purchase in your hair, petting and scratching and making you feel things you’ve never felt before. The warmth of his chest against your back as the two of you exist together inside the walls of his bedroom, no one to judge you or make you feel like you need to think about anything other than Minho, Minho, Minho.

You’ve had crushes before. You’ve dealt with the dizziness of attraction and longing. Not with Minho though. Not like this. And because of that, it feels wrong.

There’s no way Minho feels the same, no way he’s doing this every night because he also can’t sleep once he’s in bed, his mind full of thoughts that include you and the lingering feeling of your touch on his skin or the scent of your shampoo in his nose. Not the way yours is.

Minho’s last girlfriend was named Yeji. She had hair the color of fire and a sparkle in her eye that made you feel like maybe you didn’t have it all figured out the way she did. She kept herself wrapped around his arm and looked at him like he hung the stars. Her love for Minho was fierce and explosive and his for her all the same.

You’ve never been the jealous type, but thinking about it now you realize that maybe whatever feelings you’re harboring for Minho have always been there—if your annoyance during their relationship was anything to go by.

It was hard for you to be around when he was with Yeji; sometimes you’d leave gatherings early, or you’d decline invites to hang out. At one point, Minho had to corner you in front of your dorm building because you’d stopped answering his texts to come over.

It wasn’t your fault though. It was unfair for him to expect you to want to be around them, to sit and watch as he held her hand or planted kisses on her head, to be subjected to feeling like you’d never be able to find something similar to what they had. Absolutely impossible, like squeezing water from a stone.

But regardless, you powered through it. Bit the bullet and stuck it out because you knew that at the end of the day if the only way you’d be able to have Minho by your side was by being nothing more than a friend then you’d take it. Because at least then it would—

Fuck.

Fuck.

You’re in love with Minho.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Miles is salsa dancing in the middle of the street, taunting you.

“Stop that.” Minho says, his eyes burning holes into the back of your head.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking. I can hear it from all the way over here.”

“Sorry.” you mumble.

“Want to talk about it?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “It’s nothing, really. I just—I have a lot on my mind.”

It’s not a lie. You do have a lot on your mind. You’re just leaving out the part where you mention that it’s him.

“Hmm,” Minho hums like he knows. Like he’s experiencing the same thing. Maybe he is. A part of you dares to hope. “Do you want to cuddle? Will that help?”

You swallow around a lump in your throat as his words carve out the inside of your chest, leaving you hollow.

So you have been cuddling. You were scared to call it that out loud, weren’t sure if you were allowed to.

Already beside yourself, you nod, scooching towards him.

Minho shifts upwards on the bed, his back against the pillows, and parts his knees. You stop, confused, until he’s grabbing your arm and guiding you in between his legs, your back against his chest. He lets his chin rest on the top of your head, one hand resting on the side of your thigh and the other holding his phone.

“Better?”

No. You think you’re going to die. “Yes, thank you.”

Minho starts playing with your hair, just like he always does. He scrolls through instagram where you can see, stops on a post, double taps, keeps scrolling. When a funny video comes up, he laughs and waits for you to laugh too. It’s so intimate, so unlike the two of you, but for some reason it feels normal. Unlike your frazzled brain five minutes ago, Minho’s hold brings forth a sense of clarity that you’re certain you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Minho makes you feel seen, warm, safe.

And you’re undeniably in love with him.

When he notices you squirming, he steadies you by pulling up his knees to incase you into him further.

“I can sing you a song. You used to like that, yeah?” He asks, bumping the tip of his nose against the crown of your head.

You did use to like that. You still do. But it’s been so long since Minho last sang to you, maybe since middle school, so you never had the courage to ask.

“Only if you want to.”

“Anything for you, remember?” Minho says with conviction, like he doesn’t have to think about it twice. His certainty knocks the air out of your lungs.

Minho’s chest rumbles when he starts to sing, his voice taking on a soft cadence that makes you feel like you’re floating on air. Unlike his higher pitch when you were younger, Minho’s voice is deep and rich and hits every note with practiced ease.

Minho’s voice was always your favorite. You could listen to any song, try and distract yourself with music and a pair of headphones, but nothing ever worked quite like Minho’s singing did. And now, as you sit between his legs, his hand tangled in the strands of your hair, you don’t think that anything will ever be able to compare.

You’re completely melted into him by the time he’s done, your bodies alloying together in a way that makes your insides twist and turn. Minho continues his motions through your hair, humming softly, and then, “Was that okay?”

“More than okay.” You sigh. “Loved it. Love you.”

The confession hangs in the air, leaden and haunting. You don’t process what you’ve said until the damage is already done. Your ears fill with static, your blood running cold.

Minho’s hand stills, so does his chest, like he’s no longer breathing.

No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is his fault. His stupid singing. His stupid warmth. Him, him, him.

Minho, Minho, Minho.

You sit up quickly, trying to hide the tremble of your voice when you manage to squeak out a few words. “I should get going.”

Miles is still salsa dancing on the tv. Minho blinks a few times as you scramble to grab your things, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So much for not wanting to make things weird. So much for trying to be normal. Way to fucking go.

The sinking feeling in your gut worsens when Minho doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother to say anything. He just watches, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to stop you but he can’t find it in him to do so. You don’t blame him.

You’re halfway out the door of his bedroom when he finds his voice again. The same voice that was just filling your ears not too long ago, except this time it’s strained.

“Wait, don’t—”

“I’m not sure if I’ll be over tomorrow. I have to study.”

Minho’s hand stops where it was beginning to reach out for you. He lets it fall to his side, his eyes shifting to the floor. Part of you wants to hear him out, wants to see if maybe he’s not as repulsed as you think he is, but the other part of you knows you can’t handle any of that right now.

“Oh,” he whispers, “Okay. You’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” You lie. “Sorry.”

Minho looks up, something like hurt flickering across his face, and that’s all you need to see before you’re bolting out the door and into the night air.

The tears begin to fall as soon as Minho’s apartment is out of sight. It feels like someone’s reached inside your chest and grabbed your heart in their fist, twisting and twisting until the pain becomes unbearable. All those years as friends, all the effort you put into making sure nothing would ruin your relationship with Minho down the drain in a millisecond.

You find yourself in a secluded corner of the courtyard near your dorm building, eyes swollen and red as you cry and cry until you feel like you can’t anymore. There’s no one around, only the soft whistling of the wind as it whips past your face. You wish you hadn’t left, wish that you were back in Minho’s arms so you could parse through every feeling clawing at your brain.

You’re not sure how long you stay out there, but by the time you’re dragging your feet into the dorm lobby the student worker at the front desk is half asleep. The elevator ride up is miserable, your red-rimmed eyes staring back at you in the reflection of the ceiling. Your head hurts, your heart hurts, everything hurts.

You’re about to turn the corner when you hear Minho's voice, frantic and pleading.

“Y/n, just, let’s talk okay? I know you’re in there, please open the door.”

He’s standing with his forehead pressed to the wood, hand above his head as he knocks weakly. All it takes is one hesitant step forward for him to catch sight of you in his periphery.

“Minho?” You strain, the lump in your throat growing again. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes go wide when he turns to face you, his cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling as if he just finished running a marathon. “I didn’t—I thought that you—” He glances back and forth between you and the door.

You let your eyes travel down his body, stopping when you notice his feet clad in nothing but his house slippers. He’s not even wearing a jacket, his t-shirt uneven at the neck, hair wild from the wind.

“I ran here.” He says once he notices your stare. “I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. I was stupid.”

You force yourself to look up after the last word leaves his mouth, your eyes searching his. “Min—”

“Are you okay?” He cuts you off, rushing forward. He wraps one hand around your wrist, lifting your arm to inspect for damages. When he doesn’t find any, he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, brows furrowing when he notices how puffy your eyes are.

“You’ve been crying.”

“I haven’t, it’s just windy out there.”

“Stop lying.” He mumbles. “You can’t lie to me.”

“It’s fine.” You try to say, stepping back. His hands fall back down to his sides. “It’s nothing. I just need to sleep.”

You shoulder past him, keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the tears that are already starting to form. You’d rather not look more pathetic than you already do. There’s nothing he can say to fix this, this is your problem. Something that you’ll have to live with and move past even if it hurts.

“I love you too.”

The world around you stops moving. There’s a ringing in your ears, static spreading throughout your entire body. If it wasn’t for your death grip on the door handle, you probably would’ve fallen to the floor.

You turn, painfully slow, and come face to face with Minho’s similarly fearful eyes.

“If you meant it the way I think you did, I love you too.”

“You’re just saying that,” you whisper, “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, okay? It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said it. I got too caught up in my own head and I accidentally—”

“Don’t.” Minho croaks, eyes glossy. “Don’t tell me it was a mistake. Don’t bullshit me.”

“What are you—”

“Actually, no, fuck it.” He sighs, closing the distance by a few steps. “You got your turn, now it’s mine. I meant what I said even if you didn’t. I love you. I’m in love with you. I’m sorry I let you leave without saying it back. I froze up because I never thought that I would hear you say it first.”

It’s your turn to open and close your mouth, words lost. Minho is looking at you like you might disappear if he even so much as blinks. His voice is thick, like there’s a layer of fear coating his throat as he forces the words out one by one.

“I thought I could live with it, I thought that I could stand never being able to tell you. But then I got a taste of how it felt to have you so close to me and, God, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Every night after you leave feels like an eternity until you come back the next day.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why do you think I haven’t just given you my console? Why do you think I force myself to focus on youtube videos whenever you’re over? I needed a reason to keep asking you to come back. I needed something to distract myself from wanting to hold you close and tell you how badly I want you to stay.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving up and down like he’s just finished running a marathon.

“I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong. Maybe you didn’t mean it like that, maybe you just want to be friends. But these past few weeks of having you with me every night, of being able to hold you and pretend for just a moment that you’re mine, have made me so unbelievably happy. You have no idea. So, please, if this isn’t what you want, tell me. But I need you to know that I love you, too. And I’m sorry that I didn’t say it back when I had the chance.”

Minho looks at you like you’re holding his heart in your hands, broken and bleeding. He doesn’t know that he’s owned yours since the moment you met, since he flashed you that lopsided grin and you knew that you were always going to be his.

“I meant it.” You say slowly, watching as he swallows hard. “I meant it the same way you did. I love—mmmnfgh!”

Minho’s kissing you before you even get the chance to properly say it back. He brings his hand up to rest on the back of your head, holding you in place while he slots his lips together with yours. It’s soft, gentle, almost as if he’s scared he might break you. If he really wanted to, you’d let him.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours and drops his hands to your waist.

“What does this mean?” You whisper into the space between your lips.

Minho sighs. “It means that I love you, and you love me. We can figure out the rest later. Together.”

That’s all the permission you need to pull him back into you by the collar of his shirt, smashing your lips together in a kiss much more urgent than the last. You let him push you backwards into your dorm, kicking the door closed with his foot as soon as you’re inside. Minho walks the two of you in the direction of your bed against the far wall, and you silently pat yourself on the back for saving up to afford the single room this year.

You let out a noise when the backs of your knees hit the bed and you go tumbling backwards, Minho landing on top of you with a grunt. Your lips are still attached, almost like you’re glued together, and Minho grins.

“Stop smiling,” you mumble, “I can’t kiss you when you’re smiling.”

He pulls away, trailing kisses up the side of your cheek, over your nose, down the other cheek, laughing. “We can’t have that can we?”

The third time Minho kisses you is different. His movements are slower, more sensual, and you gasp when his tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You let him in, a strangled moan escaping when he slots his leg in between yours, applying pressure.

“Min—”

“Fuck. Sorry.” He says quickly. “We don’t have to—I should’ve—”

“No,” you say, sitting up. He blinks at you a few times, watches as you place your hands on his chest, run them down the length of his torso until they reach the hem of his shirt. “I want this. I want you.”

Minho’s eyes darken as he brings a hand up to your face, hooking his thumb and forefinger just below your ear as he cups your jaw. “You,” he breathes out, touching his nose to yours, “You drive me crazy.”

“Good ‘crazy’ or bad ‘crazy’?” You ask, letting him guide you back down until you’re flat against the bed. He plants his knees on either side of you, drops his body until you’re chest to chest, and starts placing open mouth kisses along your neck. You squirm beneath him, squeezing your thighs together as the desire in your stomach builds.

“Good.” He mumbles against your skin, sucking at the spot just above your collarbone. “So fucking good.”

Minho lets you pull his shirt over his head, the dip between his shoulder blades visible when he drops back down to remove your sweater, mouthing between the peaks of your breasts as soon as it’s off. You arch your back into him, groaning when he reaches around to unclasp your bra.

“This okay?” he asks, throwing it to the floor.

“More than okay,” you whisper, “Feels good.”

Minho wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling the other one between his fingers as you writhe beneath him, your lower half looking for some sort of friction. He brings his knee back in between your legs, presses his thigh against your core and clenches the muscle.

“Use it,” he mumbles, teeth biting at the flesh of your chest, “Let me feel you.”

A broken whine escapes your lips when you grind down onto his thigh, the pressure making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You’re so wet already, clenching around nothing as Minho continues to lick and suck at your breasts.

“Min.” You moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Not enough. Need you. Please.”

“Fuck.” Minho growls, propping himself up on his elbows. He stares into your eyes, lips swollen and pink. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me.” You plead, your vision going blurry when one of his hands behind stroking the side of your stomach. Minho’s fingers are slender, soft to the touch, and you think you could get the shape of them tattooed as a reminder that the two of you existed in this moment in time together.

“I’ve been thinking about you forever. More in the past few weeks, but, you’ve always been there. Always in the back of my mind. You’re so pretty. The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I—” he laughs, ducks his head for a moment before looking back up, “I never thought I’d be able to have you like this.”

His hand slips beneath the waistband of your pants, and you bite your lip to stop the moan from leaving your lips when the pads of his fingers dip into your folds.

“Like I said, you drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted someone, anything, the way I want you. I—fuck, y/n.”

“I’m here now. I want you. Need you. Have me, Minho.” You moan, clenching when he pushes a finger in.

Minho swears under his breath, kisses you through the process of removing both of your pants, the loss of his fingers leaving you empty as you throb with want, with need.

“Do you have—”

“Top drawer.” You cut him off, jerking your head in the direction of your night stand. Minho smirks before reaching over and pulling out a condom. He takes a second to roll it on, your mouth pooling with spit at the sight of him.

He’s big. Unbelievably big. You swallow when he lines himself up at your entrance, lowering himself as he cages your head in between his elbows. “I’ll go slow,” he whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, “Want to take my time, remember this forever.”

“Sap.” You giggle, gripping his shoulders.

He kisses you again, smiling into it. “Only for you. Anything for you, remember?”

“I remember.” You grin. He kisses you, messy and wet until you’re melting into the mattress, and then Minho pushes the head of his cock inside.

“Oh God,” you whine, burying your face into his neck. Minho brings a hand down to sooth you by rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb as you mumble into his neck, broken noises escaping your throat as he pushes himself in further.

“That’s it, baby, just like that. You feel so good, let me hear you.” He grunts, picking up a steady pace.

It’s so much all at once. The feeling of Minho’s cock filling you to completion, the warmth of his firm chest against yours, the iron grip he has on your hip, probably bruising. You hope it bruises. Hope that it’ll stay, a permanent mark just like the one he has on your heart.

Minho is so beautiful like this, hanging over you with his hair dangling in his face as he gives you his all—gives you the world. You’re dizzy with want. With love.

Minho thrusts into you like you’re his, taking you apart from the inside out. He touches you with fire in his fingertips and leaves a trail of ice in their wake. His moans are broken, strained, falling from his lips like a mantra as he says your name over and over again with every snap of his hips.

“You’re incredible.” He says against your lips, your teeth clacking together. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Will always be you.”

You let him wrap his arms behind your back completely, gasping when he pulls you upright, your body pressed against his chest as he sets you both in a sitting position. He leans his head back, moans when you angle down into the kiss, bouncing slightly to meet him halfway as he continues thrusting upwards into you.

It’s so much—everything you’ve ever wanted and more. The feeling of Minho beneath your fingertips, your hands exploring every inch of him, from his chest to his back, stopping at the base of his neck as you moan into his mouth. You’re not sure if you’ll ever recover, not when you've gotten a taste of what heaven feels like.

Minho falls back against the pillows, letting his hands find purchase on your waist as he helps lift you up, his hips smacking into yours at a pace that has your head spinning.

“Min—ah. I’m so close.” You cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Fuck, me too. You’re so beautiful. So, so, beautiful. The most beautiful person in the world. Let go for me. Be mine.”

Abdomen clenching, completely filled, you cum with a sob of Minho’s name, him following right behind as he spurts into the condom. Minho whispers reassurances into your ear the entire time, rubs soothing hands up and down your back as you both ride it out until you collapse against his chest.

“Baby,” Minho croaks, sliding his fingers into your hair. “Jesus, y/n—”

“Was that okay?” You ask. “Are you regretting it?”

“What? No.” Minho soothes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Of course not. I would never regret that, would never regret you.” There’s an air of finality to his voice. He’s sure.

You stay pressed together for a long while after that. Eventually, Minho moves to clean up, and you allow yourself to be wiped down and dressed in the same t-shirt he came in. When he’s done, Minho pulls you into his bare chest, fits your head under his chin so that he can nuzzle his face into your hair.

“Hi.” He whispers, taking a deep breath.

“Hi.” You say back, closing your eyes.

“This is kind of a mess, isn’t it?” You ask when he starts drawing circles into your hip bone.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “It doesn’t feel real. I’m scared I’m gonna wake up and you’ll be gone.”

Minho tightens his arms around you, drops a firm kiss on your forehead. “I would never. And as far as it being a mess goes, I don’t care. I’m happy as long as you’re happy. This is whatever we want it to be. At the end of the day, it’s you and me. Mess and all.”

You smile into his neck, brushing your lips against his skin. “Promise?”

Minho nods, lets his chin knock against the top of your head. “Promise.”

“I love you, Min.” You say with certainty this time, wanting him to know that you mean it. You vow to yourself that you’ll never let him go without knowing again.

“I love you, too.”

“Min! Look!”

Minho’s entire body jolts awake, phone flying out of his hand and tumbling off the bed. You’re too ecstatic to care that you’ve just woken him up, not when you’ve finally gotten that stupid purple suit.

“The last sound sample! I did it!” You exclaim as you throw yourself at him. He laughs lightly, kisses your cheek as you giggle over the sounds of Miles’ uncle finally gracing him with the Purple Reign suit.

“Only took you, like, a month.”

“Shut up.” You groan, swatting at his chest. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Minho asks, his brows disappearing into his hairline. You stretch yourself in between his legs, your chin coming to rest on his stomach as you look up at him with a pout.

“It’s hard to find time to play when my boyfriend is so needy.”

“Oh I’m needy?” Minho laughs, pinching your cheeks on either side.

You retaliate by biting his thigh, not expecting the groan that he immediately lets out. You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking when you notice the slight bulge in his pants. “See what I mean?” You ask, squealing when he reaches down to pull you up towards him, flipping you over so he can press you into the mattress with a kiss.

Seen, loved, warm. Minho makes you feel like you’re the luckiest person in the world. He holds you like he’s scared to let go and loves you harder than you’ve ever been loved before.

Soulmates. Attached at the hip. Two imperfect halves of the same perfect whole. It’s always been Minho. You’ve known since the start, ever since you first laid eyes on him.

Game over.

“oh, i love this song,” you perk up in your seat and turn up the volume, expertly dodging his hand when he tries to flick you away from the console. he hated when people messed with his settings, even just a little bit. 

“it’s not even christmas anymore,” he complains, but pushes the volume up by two more clicks for you. 

“it’s still the 25th!” you argue back, letting the christmas bells in the background fill your heart with that familiar ebbing feeling of the holidays. 

“you’re ridiculous,” he rolls his eyes fondly, nothing but soft affection and tenderness exuding from his gaze. 

“take me for a ride, i’ll be your vixen,” you ignore him to sing along to the song filtering through jeongin’s old car speakers. your intertwine your hand in his free one as he drives down the streets littered with barren trees, continuing to croon at him along with the radio. the sparse streetlights make his curls glow golden and his eyes seem almost supernatural as they pass by. 

he cuts the gas once you reach your apartment complex, flecks of snow just starting to make themselves known as they fall onto his windshield. the lack of heat from the vents makes you shiver, and you tighten your hand in his. 

“let me come warm you up,” he tugs you to him, helping you across the middle console until you were settled into his lap. you lean into him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you press your lips to his, cherry scented lip balm hitting your tongue. 

“looking at you got me thinking christmas,” you mutter against his lips. 

“you’re my wishlist,” he goes along, mouthing the words of the song as he slides his hands under your jacket to rest on your hips. 

—

“it’s just a ten minute walk,” you smile, fondness threatening to burst out of you when you take in his genuine worry. “i’ll be okay.”

“just don’t complain to me when you’re sniffling tomorrow,” he says, pouting like a petulant child. it was as if you were taking his favorite toy away from him. he reaches over and takes your hands in his, playing with your fingers between his own. “will you let me walk you home? i’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice.”

“what, so i can listen to you complain about the cold the entire way?” you giggle, raising your linked hands to your mouth to press a series of kisses to each of his knuckles. “i’ll be okay, baby.”

he relents, standing up and dragging you with him to where you had discarded your coat. he helps you into it, buttoning it up all the way to your neck and patting it down so he could make sure every inch of you was covered. you reach in to give him a goodbye hug, but he interrupts you with a -

“wait!” he straightens up, dashing out of the room and leaving you standing with your hands outstretched. you blink once before dropping your hands, rolling your eyes - he would do anything to keep you to stay, right?

he comes back with a bundle of crocheted items, a smile on his face and pink dusting his ears. 

“have my hat and my gloves and my scarf,” he tucks the hat and scarf under his arms so he could pull the gloves onto your hands, carefully tucking your fingers into each section. “they’ll protect you.”

he wraps the scarf around your neck, tying it around and using it to pull your towards him once he was done. you stumble into him, glaring at the little giggle he lets out. he puts the final touches on you, securing the hat on your head, making sure your ears were properly covered. 

“gosh, your lips look delicious,” he says, eyes transfixed on you. “can i have one more kiss for the road?”

“pushy,” you tease, leaning in to press one, two, three kisses to his lips. it sends warmth tingling up and down your spine, more so when he presses his palm to the small of your back to keep you against him. 

“baby, it’s cold outside,” he murmurs against your lips before pulling back. “text me when you get home, please?”

—

You stood under the head of the shower, cold water sprayed unceremoniously from it and washed down your face. The sun was barely rising outside. Your radio played no noise from the bathroom counter. 

Silence. 

It had been years - but you still hadn’t gotten used to the silence. You covered your face in your hands, pushing your fingers into your hair, and the water ran down your skin. All the time in the world rested in your palms. You could breathe. 

And yet, you still felt cornered in the medical tent. Bodies around you, blood thick over your legs and screams for help. Time moved too fast, no moment of tranquillity was available at war. 

You closed your eyes and ran your hands through your hair, knots caught on the pads. The water was cold, you needed warmth, but it wouldn’t wake you up. Had you slept that night? You were sure a few moments occurred, but you always woke fast. 

Those dreams didn’t stop. You didn’t know which ones you hated more. The memories of war or the weird stasis you would awake in, your mind in another body filled only with rage. They would leave your heart pounding either way. 

It was too cold. You turned the hot water on a bit more, though the faucet already was at its limit. So cold — you were always cold. Minho helped that. He was hot. A burning fire. You were never cold around him. Minho and his scorching fire always made your skin tingle in warmth. 

Minho. 

A week. 

Time moved far too slowly outside of war. Outside of him. You hadn’t gone a week without him before. In fact, you hadn’t even gone a day since you first met. Steam bellowed around you in the shower. The water was like ice on your skin. 

Still, no noise came from your radio. Not even a crackle of static. You combed your fingers through your hair and rinsed the soap from it. The water continued to run over your body, the bubbles of soap mixed with it on the journey down. 

You slowly moved your fingers to your neck, tingles burst through you. Still, you could feel Minho’s lips, even after seven days, and the teeth that grazed along your skin. He had left a mark there. It faded since then — you wanted it back. 

You wanted Minho back. And you hadn’t even had him to begin with. 

It was why you knew better than to give in. He brought out things you couldn’t control within yourself. That dangerous edge, it affected you. It allured you. 

Why did you have to give in? Even for a single moment? You couldn’t focus on anything else because you were too focused on him. Dangerous. Addicting. You wanted him. 

You turned the water off, but steam still surrounded you. Under the cold air, you shivered. The sun was still rising, it shone on the mirror through the small window. You wrapped a towel around your body, looking over the radio. 

It wasn’t even on. You were still in silence. A few hours until the car would arrive to take you to the races. Already you knew it would be a long day. The feeling stirred in your stomach. 

The house was quiet, you couldn’t hear any snoring from your sister’s room like usual. You walked past slowly, holding the towel tight to your chest to stop it from uncurling around you. Still silent. All you could hear was water dripping from your hair to the wooden flooring.

“Shit!” You leaned back in surprise at the shouted word. It came from your sister’s bedroom, but it wasn’t her voice. You opened her door slowly, looking in as quietly as you could. 

It wasn’t her. It was Eui. She stood over the vanity, a container of blush dropped in front of her. There were other makeup cases along the wooden vanity, as well as tools for hair care. “What are you doing?”

She turned with a surprised expression, her eyes wide before they settled along with a grin. Her smile seemed to shine under the candles lit around your sister’s bedroom. “Setting up!”

You walked inside and looked around. It was empty beside you both. “Where is Nari?” Your sister should be there. She should be fast asleep and snoring so loud that it kept you awake. But the bed was empty and freshly made.

“She decided to stay at Soobin’s.”

“In the middle of the night?”

Eui nodded with a hum, fixing the dropped container of blush with a wipe of her hand. “Yeah, she left soon after you went to bed.”

You took a step closer and tightened your hand on the towel. In the corner sat Nari’s favourite chair, your mother had moved it into her bedroom at Nari’s request almost immediately. Hung over it was your dress for the day, the dress Minho had bought for you and had Jisung deliver. 

It had upset you when it was Jisung instead of Minho you found with the dress, but you hadn’t let it show. Instead, you took it with a stiff smile and watched Jisung leave. 

“And Jin-Ae… well, you’d assume she would be good at secrets considering how private her life is,” Eui giggled to herself as she pulled back the chair of the vanity. She stood behind it, smiling at you and gesturing to the chair for you to sit, “but she is quite obviously with Changbin tonight.”

You hesitantly walked forward and sat down in the chair. It made Eui smile even wider as she pushed the chair into the vanity, having you face the vanity. You watched her reflection through the mirror, her happiness sparkled in her eyes. “Then why are you here?”

Eui grabbed a hairbrush and ran it through your hair, it caught on more knots despite the wet state of it. “I want to be here.”

“You could be with Hyunjin.”

“I know,” she ran the brush through it again, “but I know you don’t like it when you’re alone. Or when it’s quiet. Plus I want to be here with you and help you get ready for today.”

You bit your inner cheek and stared stoically at her. She was humming to herself and still brushing out the remaining knots — as if she hadn’t spoken such words. You did like being on your own, you really did, but it was silence that got you. She was right about that. 

Were you obvious about that? Was it easy for everyone to see how easily unnerved you could get or was Eui simply different? You wanted the latter, it would be humiliating for anyone else to know that about you. 

You didn’t say anything about it, though. Eui was doing a kindness by helping you get ready for the day of the races, she didn’t know the fear her words struck in you. “Thank you.”

“Oh my, there’s no need to thank me. We are friends after all!” 

Friends. 

The last person you admitted was a friend was Hyunjin. Back when you were teenagers. There was no time for friends anymore. You had to focus on work, the monster, your family and the business you were attempting to maintain in the privacy of the dark. 

Was Eui your friend? She was certainly a business associate. You had given her a home as well as a job and she gave you information from that job — then there was how you’d introduced her to Hyunjin. Was that what friends did? 

No. Friends did that for unselfish reasons. You didn’t deserve friendship, you were already too busy with everything else in your life. You were too selfish to worry about friendship. 

You looked down at the vanity. Next to the eyeshadow was the diary you were reading. The one you found in the forest. Eui must’ve noticed your attention to it and brought it in while you showered. She was a good person. You were not. 

“Oh! Nari wanted you to wear these shoes with the dress! She said they didn’t fit her anymore,” Eui gestured to the dark red pump heels on the floor. They would match your dress, that was certain. You would have to thank her when she returned home. Your heart clenched as you recalled that she left without a goodbye. It was unlike her. “I thought she got them only last week but I’m probably wrong.”

You ran your fingers over the old diary, they itched to open and read it. Every spare moment you found was dedicated to reading it only. It was full of lovesick notes about your ancestor’s fiancé. How she couldn’t wait to share her home with him. 

It intrigued you. If it was only those types of words, then there would have been no need to hide it. Yet your grandmother buried it behind magic in the forest. Something was inside of it — you were desperate to find it. 

“They will match the dress well.”

Eui hummed and put the brush down, picking up the hairdryer in its place. “Minho has very good taste, the dress will look beautiful on you.” She turned on the dryer, it was loud in your ears and cold on your skin. You welcomed the noise, it silenced your thoughts. “It’ll match your makeup as well.”

“I was only going to wear lipstick,” your usual red stain. The same colour as the dress and shoes, without the black lace bodice overlaying it. You had already tried on the dress when it first came, it made you feel beautiful. You hoped it would fit the suit Minho would wear. 

You pushed your fingers into your palm hard enough to make you grimace. You needed to stop that thought there. Get control. “I heard you talking to yourself about it last night, I know you want to look nice.”

How embarrassing. You had been going through the makeup you owned to find any that would make you look nice. A moment of weakness. It was absurd that you chose to focus on your appearance when you were going to the races for business only. 

Yes. Business. 

You ignored the fleeting vision of Minho’s tattoo. You hadn’t seen it in reality, you had no certainty that it was even real. But, you still wanted to trace it with your finger and make him groan. 

“It’s okay to want to feel pretty,” she squeezed your shoulder and smiled at you through the mirror. You clenched your jaw and lifted your head to watch her back. Of course, it was okay, you knew that, but you had to focus on more. You were taught to prioritise family and business. Not romance and appearance. 

She continued to dry your hair, you kept your head still for her. Your fingers still itched for the diary, you thumbed at the corner of it. “Would you mind if I read this, Eui?”

A smile. She always smiled. Did she ever frown? “Go ahead. I’ve got a vision for your look today so let me work my magic.”

Her over-dramatic wink made you chuckle. Eui had that aura about her. She could make many people happy even if she wasn’t. It was a good quality. You enjoyed that within her. 

While she continued to do your hair, you opened the diary to where you last read. The cursive lettering seemed ingrained in your mind. The dramatic curve in each ‘s’ and the long hanging curl in every ‘g’ was what you saw whenever your eyes closed. 

The current passage continued to speak of her fiancé. About his upcoming boat trip with his best friend and crew. He was a pirate, it was told in explicit detail many pages earlier. Your ancestor wrote about her excitement because she and his best friend’s partner would be joining them. 

The passage ended with her usual sign-off. Love, Mi-Sook. You could faintly recall your grandmother’s lesson about Mi-Sook, but the lesson was short, she only told you that Mi-Sook was talented with her magic. Powerful. 

You turned the old, withering pages for the next diary entry. But it was gone. Pages were ripped out. Ten pages total. You were sure the confusion was evident on your face as you ran your finger down the ripped edges that remained on the book's spine. 

Everything around you melted away into darkness. You weren’t sitting. Not anymore. You were standing. The diary still in your hand, quill in your fingers — writing. 

Was it you? You couldn’t control your body, but your mind was fast in its thoughts. Faintly in your ears, you could hear the loud hair dryer, but you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. 

It was another dream. But, you were wide awake. 

There was a burning glow in front of you. Your body looked up, and a hateful grin formed on your lips. You didn’t want to — you wanted to scream and run. It was a large fire, burning smoke into the dark night sky. 

Come to me, child. 

It was so big. You felt like your skin was melting from the proximity you had to it. It couldn’t have been too far before you, just a few steps from the burning ship. A ship? You didn’t know how you knew what it was. 

Smoke invaded you. You wanted to cough and choke on it but instead, you stood stoic and watched the ship burn on the ocean dock. The sail caught alight and made the fire roar in the wind. 

Your hand moved. Inside of it, clenched tightly, was a flint and steel. It left your palm dirty but you didn’t care. Did you care? All you felt was fury, a desire for vengeance. 

Make the deal. 

You threw the flint and steel onto the boat. Smoke billowed from the fire. It coated you and left dark sludge on your dress. So smokey. You couldn’t breathe. You were drowning in it. 

Thoughts plagued you. Thoughts not of your own. Was it the body’s? No. The thoughts had a voice. Dark, dirty, cold. It shook you to your core. 

Come. 

Your body turned to where the voice came from. Nothing was there — just darkness. Your instincts told you to run, only danger lurked in the dark, but your body walked toward it. 

I can help you. 

A hand touched your shoulder and you turned with a deep breath. It was Eui, her smile was gone and her eyes were downcast with worry. You looked around, you were back in the room. Your sister’s bedroom — Nari’s bedroom. 

“Are you okay?” Her voice was quiet and hesitant. She removed her hand slowly as you shook yourself to reality. The diary was still in your hands, your fingers held tight on it, almost clawing the paper out. “You froze.”

“I… I don’t know.” The honest words fell from your mouth before you could control them. You weren’t sure what was happening to you, no amount of research you’d done explained it. “I think I’ll be fine.”

Eui cupped your cheek and pouted at you. “Okay.”

You could still hear that dark voice calling in your mind, willing you into the shadows. Those words it said played in your mind.

She turned you back to the vanity mirror, and a slow smile grew on her lips. Always a smile. She never frowned. Even with all the adversity she faced. There was always a fucking smile on her face. 

Eui held a pin in her hand, she pulled parts back from your face and pinned it. You had expected her to tie your hair up, perhaps add a few red feathers to go along with the colour scheme. But she only pinned the sides from your face. 

She curled some hair around her finger and let it fall over your shoulder. You were still in the towel — you would need to change. Through the drawn curtains, you saw the sun. It shone brighter. You were sure it would be fully risen now. Which meant the car Mr and Mrs Yang sent would arrive soon. 

A swipe of eyeshadow went across your eyelids. Her finger blurred it and lessened the pigment. “How are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think about it. You opened a single eye and saw her smile, brighter than the sun outside the curtains. 

Though the smile faltered slightly under the harsh question. “Pardon?”

“You always smile. Even when you’re sad, you smile.” Jealous. That’s what you were. She always had a beautiful smile on her face. Even when she was on the streets, Eui smiled at you whenever you passed. “How?”

Emotional stability, you assumed. “I’m not sure,” Eui giggled to herself and added eyeshadow to your other eye, “I just… I always know better things will come. I mean, before I had nothing and no one. Now I have a place to live, a job and people I care about. And those people care about me.”

You would have looked down glumly if your eyes were open. She was unlucky, that’s what people knew her for, yet she found happiness everywhere she looked. There was something admirable about that, but your stomach churned in jealousy again. 

Happiness. Sadness. Anything, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel it. You weren’t taught that way. You thought it was a good thing when you were younger, you thought it allowed for a good businesswoman. A warrior. 

All it did was hinder you, you knew that now. 

Eui drew on your favourite lipstick, that blood red stained your lips as you always loved it too. “That’s admirable,” you finally whispered, looking away from her and to your dress. People would like how you looked in it, you were sure of that, but you only cared for one opinion, “don’t lose that.”

“I’ll try my best,” she winked and wiped her nail under your lip to clean it up. You looked in the mirror, and your mouth fell slightly agape. 

You did look beautiful. Red lipstick, dark shadow and the faintest of blushes along your cheeks. Your hair looked better than you had ever done it, mostly because Eui took proper care of it for you instead of your usual ‘brush and done’ method. 

The dress was easily put on. Three buttons in the back that Eui helped you connect, and it slid on. Black lace overlayed the red material of the bodice beneath it. The sleeves, very short ones that just managed to cover your shoulders, were only lace. The skirt of the dress was only red, slightly billowed from your waist. 

Eui had offered to cover the scars on your back, the lace did not hide them completely, but you denied her. No one would care, and your hair would hide the rest. She helped you put on the shoes, your sister’s pair fit perfectly. The heel wasn’t too tall either. You preferred it that way. 

Nerves wrapped around your throat by the time you finished getting ready. It astounded you how anxious you were, it was a day filled with rich people, yes, but it wasn’t for fun. You were there for business. Only business. 

“Good luck today,” Eui went to hug you, but stopped halfway, her arms partially open. You knew she was someone who enjoyed physical contact, and she knew you weren’t. But, she helped you. You wanted to try. 

You pushed toward her and gave her an awkward hug, your arms were stiff and she was frozen in surprise. “Thank you,” you quickly pulled away and coughed to yourself. When was the last time you had initiated a hug? You were ten, if you remembered correctly, “for helping me today.”

She smiled, so wide. “You’re welcome.”

Not just business, you realised. You had to properly discuss things with Minho. Even if you knew that the way you worked within yourself wasn’t correct, you couldn’t jeopardise your mission. Not yet. When the beast was killed — then you would be with him. But for now, you needed to discuss the past week of avoiding each other. 

[—]

“You’ve aged.”

“Mortals tend to do that.”

“Oh hush the pair of you,” Mrs Yang, Areum as she had insisted both when you were a child and now, waved her hand in the air. Her nails were long and painted black, though her dress was a pale blue colour. It matched her husband’s tie, “you are absolutely stunning, dear child. Please spin.”

You followed her orders, spinning slowly in place for her. 

She may have looked younger than you, her mortal age was, in fact, a year younger than your own, but she was not. Areum had lived centuries, she had witnessed cities burn alongside Jeongin, but she still had the human spark inside her eyes. 

Not many humans who were turned into creatures could completely lose that curiosity. They certainly couldn't lose the idiocy as well. 

Areum clapped softly with a bright grin on her stained lips, her sharp teeth glinted under the sun. Jeongin stood behind her, his hand around her waist and his face stoic despite the dimple in his cheek. He looked more serious than you could remember, the vampire was notorious for being mischievous. 

It was why your family had a lasting deal with him. Vampires weren't meant to aid other creatures, especially witches, but that was exactly why Jeongin did so centuries back. Not that you would complain, the annual vial of vampire blood he would send was incredibly helpful for your business. 

“I must say that the driver took his time delivering you here! Jeongin and I have been waiting far too long!” Areum walked toward you and linked her arm to yours. She was taller than you, most likely in heels much higher than yours, and her head stood up high — it left her long pale hair falling back gracefully. She looked whimsical, almost ghostly. “I know business shall be discussed later but I would love to learn about why you're helping a man.”

Her tone was teasing, cheeky, it matched her husband’s usual attitude. There was no secret that witches and men were bad luck, it was incredibly rare for one to have a successful relationship with any man. Your mother was adamant about that rule more than anyone else, though you were sure that came from her heartbreak. 

Being left by the same man twice will do that, you assumed. Especially when he would leave you pregnant and practically alone. Your grandmother had taken care of him the second time, and your mother said that if you ever dared to meet him, simply visit the wishing well deep in the woods of your old home. 

You never dared. 

“We found that it would be mutually beneficial for us to exchange in business. I would help Mr Lee with medicine and deals while he would ensure my sister’s protection and aid in hunting.” Jeongin led you both into the building holding the races. Though, unlike the rushing crowd in homemade dresses and mismatched accessories, he guided you to the right — to the exclusive area. 

Already you could see some members of the Peaky Blinders scattered about. Felix had tipped his hat to you with a smile as he sipped on beer, but it seemed the others were maintaining a cover. They acted like shadows to the guests, who all drank and cheered for the horses without care. 

Minho, however, was hidden. You couldn’t see him despite how your eyes searched for him. 

Your stomach dropped as Jeongin opened the large mahogany doors for both you and his wife. There was no chance of Minho missing the event, it was too important that he make a deal with Jeongin, and his men were all there for the secondary mission. He wouldn’t sacrifice that simply to avoid you. 

Ice wrapped around your heart and left its cold burn in your throat. Fear. You hated feeling scared, especially over something so petulant. He wouldn't miss it. You knew that. But that dark feeling of ‘what if’ had your breathing increase in speed. 

Areum unhooked her arm from yours and lovingly took the hand that Jeongin offered her, which he kissed with a loving gaze in his eyes. They had been married for decades, and yet they still acted dumb in love with one another. You doubted they went anywhere without the other. 

You hated how that left you yearning for it yourself. To have someone who is hopelessly in love with you… though you would prefer for it to be expressed more in private. Public affection was fine, but you found it far too dramatic. 

Minho would share the sentiment, you were sure. He always carried himself with calm stoicism in public, yet when it was just the two of you he got far more intimate. You could imagine that he would prefer to simply keep a hand on his partner’s waist in public and then leave the rest for private. 

“Let’s go, Red, you have far too much to do today.” Jeongin’s eyes flashed a dark red, similar to that of blood, and his cheshire grin returned. He suited the chaotic smile far more than the cold demeanour Minho held. With his spare hand, Jeongin offered you his aid in walking down the long staircase to the centre of the room. 

You took it, adjusting your sunglasses as you did. Vampires couldn’t be wholly trusted to not look into the mind of their prey — even Jeongin. He already had just to see your nickname, you couldn't risk him seeing the rest of your thoughts. The scattered mess that involved Lee Minho. 

It wasn't that he would use it against you. It was more that Jeongin would tease you far worse than his wife ever could. You weren’t sure which situation you preferred. 

With both of you in his arms, Jeongin walked down the stairs with his fox-like smile glimmering under the chandelier. Loud music played from the band on stage, the singer harmonised into the microphone, and the rich people throughout the room all danced and shouted over one another. 

A drunken mess of people, all perfect to be stolen from. You could recognise some from the city, the two women at the bar with their hands around a martini and the man with his chest hovering over his wife. The women had sent many glares of disgust toward you and your store, the elder one had even attempted to destroy it shortly after the war. The man had once attempted to seduce you at the bar, and when you denied him he attempted to pursue you regardless. 

The scar along his cheek, deep and long, would remind him not to do that again. 

None of them looked toward you, not that you minded. They were insignificant to you, just familiar faces in a crowd of strangers — none that mattered. Only three people inside the building mattered, and you stood with two of them. 

“I’ve always wanted to properly attend the races, my dear child,” Areum lit a cigarette between her lips and gingerly inhaled from it. Her voice was quiet under the noise of music, dancing and talking, you were surprised you could hear it so clearly. “Jeongin had always promised to take me but the timing was always awfully.”

Jeongin rolled his eyes playfully and turned toward a short, empty, table by the side of the room. “It is not my fault that our mating schedule overlapped with the race you always wanted to attend.”

“Oh, I am not complaining, my love,” she wistfully ran her finger down the arm she held, cigarette puckered in the corner of her lips. “We cannot control the moon, after all.”

You looked across the room for the familiar fire you missed, the conversation between the couple silent in your ears. They discussed much more graphic things when you were just a child, you would not react because of a simple mating cycle. He wasn't there, you couldn't see his head in the crowd and you couldn’t feel those warm eyes staring you down. 

Perhaps, he hadn’t shown up. And left you to look like a fool. Made you waste the time of two powerful vampires simply because of… what? You still didn't know why he avoided you all week, it was so unlike him. 

The man with the scar you had generously given him years earlier moved through the crowd, allowing you to see the people lined up by the side of the racetrack. A special box for those rich enough to afford it. One that held neverending champagne and special tips from those who ran the event. 

You were expecting to see Kang Taehyun there. He owned this whole operation after all. But it wasn’t him who stood there in the middle. You could feel that fire lick at the skin of your cleavage. He wasn’t even facing you, he was far too focused on the whisky in his glass and the race about to begin. 

Lee Minho. 

“I shall go get Mr Lee so that you all can discuss your business.” The excuse tasted foul on your tongue, and the look from Mrs Yang even showed it had failed to convince her. Jeongin was far more focused on admiring her to focus on you, not that you minded. You preferred he ignore any other horrid excuse that falls from your lips. 

You left the table and walked toward where Minho stood, an unlit cigarette between your lips waiting for the match to strike it. The added weight was not its usual feather-like feeling. It felt like the anchor to a pirate ship had attached to your bottom lip, dragging you down into the depths of the ocean. 

You found that the same feeling stirred in your stomach. That heavy weight… suspense. You were nervous. The closer you got to Minho’s stoic frame, the further that weight grew on you. When you closed your eyes for a brief moment, you were certain you could hear your rapid heartbeat between your ears. 

But then, he turned around. Those fiery eyes found you through the crowd. And it all melted away. 

It was as though the crowd around you slowed while you walked as calmly as you could to the balcony where he waited. He didn’t move, just stood still and drank you in with slow, lingering eyes. The fire licked at the exposed skin of your body. 

Minho lifted his short glass of whiskey to his lips and you followed it with a long gaze. The colour of his tie matched your dress. He must have planned that, he did choose your dress after all, but it made your heart thump. A simple show, one that was smart to avoid unnecessary questions, but it seemed your heart had fallen for the trick. 

You clenched your right fist, nails right into your palm, and bit down on your inner cheek. You were still learning to be better — but that could wait for less public situations. Only, you doubted that you would be able to wait. Minho made you far more impatient than anyone else. 

He was barely a few steps away. You could smell his cologne. While it was mixed with the other sickly kinds from men around you, his cut through them with ease. Clear and warm, your senses had wholly adapted to just him you were sure. It was such an alluring smell, your head felt soft under it. 

Minho’s nostrils flared and his eyes stayed on you. The fire had moved back up to your face, his brown eyes meeting yours in a tense lock. One week. It had felt like an eternity without seeing him. You were sure that it would have been the same even if you’d parted on better terms. Though, you were unsure why. 

There was a girl in the past. One who you had admired from the shadows. She was so kind, despite the serious demeanour that she held. Every day she would stop by the apothecary and give you a flower when your mother wasn’t looking. 

You only spent one real night together, after a year of pining for one another. The next day she was gone, and you hadn’t seen her since. Even then, you hadn’t felt such a longing for someone. Such pull for a person over a short period of time. 

“You look beautiful,” he took your hand and helped you up the singular step to the balcony. The heat from his palms burnt through your skin and left your hand tingling for more. Your brain was not in a much better state, it felt as though your thoughts were all in a rushing state refusing to stop. 

He thought you looked beautiful. Lee Minho thought you were beautiful. 

The railing of the balcony was short, it met your waist with a rough, flat ledge for glasses and cigarette trays. Minho’s hand went to your lower back, softly settling on the fabric above your ass, and he placed his drink down. You looked forward to preparing horses for their run, you couldn’t trust yourself to do much more in that moment. 

A fire, a literal fire, strikes beside you. Minho brought the match to your unlit cigarette, catching the tip in its flame. “Thank you,” your voice was small and quiet, it was all you could muster that didn’t include stutters and mismatched words. The first puff of smoke calmed your nerves, and that loud heartbeat in your head grew silent. 

One look. You could handle one look. 

You turned to Minho, finding those eyes already on you. Watching you. Scrutinising you. Detailing you. The match was discarded in the closest cigarette tray and his drink had returned to his hand. 

Three ice cubes. You hadn’t seen him drink with any less or any more. They clunked together in the glass as he sipped the alcohol, eyes open and staring into you. 

You turned back to the horses, his gaze was still right on your cheek, burning hot. It left you tingling. “Would you like to share just which horse I should bet on? Or is the Scarlet Number in a later race?” Yongbok had told you of the newest horse purchased by Minho, well, by the Peaky Blinders. Already trained, mostly, but rumoured to have been jinxed with powder by Mrs Jung. “I know we have business to conduct today but a winning bet would be rather nice.”

“Since when did you believe in small talk?” Minho leaned down onto the ledge, his elbows pressed into the stone and his hands still around the drink. His hair glimmered under the wind and sun, his eyes shone like liquid gold. “Why not just ask about the weather instead?”

You turned back to him — never had you noticed the faint scar along his neck. Short and thick, like a knife had stabbed through it. Your finger twitched along the cigarette on your lips, the contrast of the rough scar on his soft skin would feel nice. There had to have been many others he held hidden under his clothing. 

Each with their own story you were desperate to appreciate. 

“Would you rather I question why you have avoided me this past week?” You blew the cigarette smoke from the corner of your lips, watching him with a sharp gaze. He slowly turned to you from his hunched position, parts of his hair had fallen against his forehead from the brief blows of wind. “Or should we go back to the horses?”

Slowly, he stood from the position and tapped the pad of his ringed finger against the glass. “We can discuss anything you like, Red,” Minho leaned in and took the cigarette from your fingers, smoking it himself. His eyes fluttered shut for a mere moment as he inhaled. He looked at peace just for that slight second — you wanted that to always remain, “Just say the word.”

“Then, answer my question, Minho,” despite the hesitation in your mind, you took the short glass of whiskey from his hand, sipping from it. He stepped even closer, there wasn’t much room between you both, but you revelled inside of it. The heat that he emitted, the hungry look in his eyes and those soft lips that you could still feel biting on your neck… you tapped your finger along his hips. “Why did you avoid me?”

Minho placed a hand on your cheek, gently running his thumb along your skin. Despite the people all around you, drinking and betting like the rich always do, you couldn’t find enough care within yourself to stop it. 

It had been a long week without talking to Lee Minho. Not even your rules, the ones you had always followed and were taught for generations in your family, were enough of a reason. You simply wanted to melt under Minho’s flame for this one moment. You wanted to allow yourself just one more mistake with him. 

“For reasons I am still learning,” you slightly leaned your head into his hand, but you were sure Minho noticed it. A light shone in his eyes once you did it, and you felt his hand freeze for a single moment. “Things that I have always known are being questioned because of you, doll…”

You slowly nodded and thumbed at the vest of his suit, mimicking the movements his thumb made on your cheek. “There is no need for you to tell me those reasons now,” the confusion, the slight pain that creased along his brow, it was enough of an answer. Knowing that he didn’t detest you for any reason was enough reassurance to your heart. “All I ask is that you share some with me when you’re ready.”

“I promise. The moment I am certain of everything, you will be the first that I tell.” The look in his warm eyes, it felt familiar in your body. Like a faded photograph of someone lost. Your heart thumped in your chest, you were sure Minho could feel it, all you could hope was that he too was going through the same cycle. 

Minho inhaled from the cigarette again before turning it and gently putting it back against your lips. His movements were slower than they typically were, almost hesitant, but the slowest was the removal of his hand from your cheek. 

He mustn’t have wanted to part just as much as you. 

You placed the alcohol along the ledge and ran a finger along the rim of the glass. “I’ve already seen a few men of yours around, they do know who to pick from, yes?”

“They’ve been told to go for the rich, only. Surely you aren’t doubting my morals, Red,” his tone was light, you enjoyed it. He was a serious man, just as you were a serious woman, it was why you both worked well together — but seeing this light side of him was new and completely welcomed. 

So long as he would remember time and place. But, you doubted that Minho would let anyone outside of you both (and perhaps his family) see him in such a way. Many people considered it a weakness, and you knew that Minho wouldn’t let anyone think of him as such unless it was merely a strategic movement. “They have been taught how to identify the rich people here, correct?”

“The only people here who aren’t, are those who are working.”

You pursed your lips and finished your cigarette, pushing the end into the tray on the stone ledge. “I would’ve thought you read about it in the papers this week, Minho. A large collection of people here were given tickets for free,” you pushed the glass of whiskey back over to Minho, “apparently Mr Kang lost a bet.”

Minho slightly paled along his face. He didn’t know. He was caught unprepared. You had unfortunately been in that situation more than once throughout your life, and you knew how he must have been focusing on the questions in his head. It was easy to fall through those holes and remained trained on only those questions instead of the things around you. 

You pointed across the ledge, where the general audience all stood. There were still rich people there, but many of them were not the target of the plan. “You can tell by what they wear. Someone who was gifted a ticket today will surely have a more homemade attire. Or one that is older and more worn than another.” Minho followed your finger to an older woman. Her hair was done as well as her makeup, but her dress had missing stitches and aged material. Anyone rich enough to go here would buy new. “Then, of course, jewellery is another easy tell. The more jewellery someone wears, they are far more likely to have wealth.”

You moved your finger to a couple, husband and wife you assumed, that stood to the sides with a sneer. Not rich enough to make it into the elite clubhouse you currently stood in, but too rich (in their own opinion) to be mingling with those around them. The woman was adorned in pearls and wore the most recently released gloves from your favourite fashion line. The man continued to look down at his watch, almost drawing attention to it so the people they spoke with would see. 

“Though, if you want to avoid risk altogether, just send them to this room. Only the richest of people are allowed in here,” you leaned in close to his face. The colour had returned to his face and his jaw had relaxed from shock and stress. “You and I are simply outliers.”

He turned away from the area you had been gesturing toward and looked at you. “We should thank Yang Jeongin then.”

You smiled slightly, “I’m sure we can do far more than that. Jeongin is always wanting some chaos.” The old vampire knew of the Peaky Blinders' secret attendance at the day’s races, and you were sure he wanted to watch it unfold himself. You could still recall how he and Areum discussed how exhilarating they found it when you were a child. “As long as your men don’t steal from him, I’m sure he will eagerly help.”

A moment of silence nestled between you both. Filled with you both watching one another while the betters shouted over the band that the next race would begin soon. It all sounded muted in your ears, muffled and quiet. His eyes were quite beautiful. They could kill like volcanic lava but carried such a careful sensitivity. A love for things hidden behind that persona he was infamously known for. 

“If I am completely honest,” Minho walked away from the edge of the viewing balcony, allowing two drunken men to jeer for the horses lining up on the track, “I was more anxious to see you than any of the business I had to conduct today.”

You felt like melting at his words, but you held your head up. He offered his hand to help you down the slight step off the balcony, you took it without hesitation and followed him down from the viewpoint. “While I will remind you that you should not feel that way around me…” his grip was tight on your hand, fingers laced together. You could feel the cold of his rings — you tightened your grip on his hand. “I do understand it. I, unfortunately, felt that same fear this morning.”

“Did you?” Minho stopped and turned back to look at you. Even with your sunglasses on, it felt as though he was staring right through them and into your body. Into your soul. The grip on your hand was tighter than before, you enjoyed it tremendously, and the people around you simply ignored you both. “You should never feel that around me.”

“I could say the same.” He squeezed your hand, the cold rings pressed into your skin and the pads of his fingers followed. You gently rubbed your thumb against his hand. It was a small gesture, one no one around you would notice, but it was enough for you both. 

Minho was good that way. In public, he adored the small invisible acts as much as he loved the large ones in private. Just like you. Your heart thumped at the brief idea of getting to continue the patterns with him, being allowed the chance to see his romantic side — being the only one to see it. 

“We must go,” you looked over to where Jeongin and Areum still sat. His head was snug on the neck of his wife, you could not tell whether he was kissing her or talking — but you assumed it to be the former. Serum, despite the hand she had knotted in her husband’s hair, was staring down the room and right at you. She had on a smile, and even from far away, you could see the shine in her eyes. “They are a very physical couple, I suggest you dismiss their behaviour. It is far easier that way.”

You lead Minho to where the couple sat together, attempting to untangle your hands in the process. However, Minho’s grip was far stronger and his fingers remained laced with your own. He stood behind you, back almost flush against his chest, and he stayed there the entire walk. It left your heart rapid in your chest, racing in excitement over anything that included him. 

Once stood at their table, you had stepped to the side and allowed them, though it was mostly Areum who was focused, to see him properly. Only then did he let go of your hand, and you hid it behind your back to ignore just how cold you were without his heat. Even when he was standing right beside you, the best heat came from when you were properly touching. 

Skin on skin. 

You could feel those fingers against you again. That day in the field. How his hands wandered your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The ice of the rings when they were against you, inside you. The memory of it afterwards was like a ghost, torturing you with every moment. 

“Mr and Mrs Yang,” he offered a hand to the couple. Areum smiled widely up at him and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, the pale waves all fell against her dress. Jeongin stood up to take his hand, staring at him with dagger eyes you could never recall seeing him with. It was far too serious to suit the man you knew him as, “Thank you for accepting to meet with me.”

They shook hands and stood still for a moment. Simply staring at one another. Only when you had taken a seat beside Areum did they both join you, their faces equal in stoicism. Minho’s jaw was clenched tight, it caused his eyes to close just the slightest bit. 

Without thinking, you placed your hand gently on his thigh beneath the table. He did not react, and you did not even process the action, but his shoulders dropped from their raised stance. “I've always been intrigued about the Peaky Blinders,” Jeongin sipped from the glass of whiskey, surely his brand of it, “you should be lucky that my dear wife enjoys gossiping about my interests.”

“You would have attended the meetings either way, Jeongin,” Areum crossed her legs and messed with the skirt of her dress. Her eyes rolled at his behaviour and she cupped your cheek in her hand, a warm motherly smile on her lips. You saw them only once in person, as a child, but you had to ensure frequent communication for business. Their blood was a necessity for many potions and palms. “The chance to spread mischief and earn money is far too hard for you to resist.”

Even then, in each letter shared and every telephone call, both Jeongin and Areum treated you as a child. Not as a means of insulting you, but in a caring manner. It had annoyed you greatly at first — when your grandmother first died and you had to start doing her work as well — but over time you grew to ignore it. 

They meant well. And they were far older than you even if you appeared the same age. “You two can discuss business now,” Areum stood up with her beautiful smile, looking down at Jeongin who took her hand to kiss her knuckle. There was a golden fire in his eyes, burning with passion and love. That was what you were used to with him. The glint of gold that always appeared whenever he saw his wife, “We have matters to discuss.”

She took your arm and pulled you from the table, her martini clasped gracefully in her other hand. Minho looked over to you with furrowed eyebrows, and you were sure he caught your surprise at Areum’s behaviour. 

You fixed your expression hastily, linking your elbow with her and walking with your back tall. People around the room watched you both, you were sure they stared at the jewellery around her neck. A long, large necklace of pure gold — surely, a token from one of their adventures around the world. It caught the light from the chandelier and made her pale skin glisten. 

It was hard not to be caught by Areum’s appearance. She was beautiful, and she always had been, even without the enhanced allure that vampires all possessed. One developed centuries before either Jeongin or Areum’s birth, all to make their targets stuck in the web of desire. 

Almost like sirens, though sirens were merely a source of fantasy. None had been discovered in the world, even with all the history that had been documented on their species. You doubted they had ever existed, to begin with. 

“I was once a bartender,” Areum daintily sat on the bar stool right in the centre of the bar, her hand raised to order a second martini despite her drink being half-full. You took a seat on the stool beside her, your ankles crossed while you watched her from the side of your eyes, “though that was not the name for it then. It was even before I met Jeongin.”

She ran her finger along the wide rim of the glass, her eyes half-closed as she thought of the time. “Is that so?”

Areum nodded. “I can't completely remember it, though I am sure you already knew that.” You did. It was a curse that came with the vampire’s bite. Memory loss. A human brain in an immortal body — it was near impossible to remember both your life before the bite and your life after. Even after the bite, information not important enough simply gets forgotten with time. “I just remember certain things about it.”

The second martini arrived and was placed in front of her, she pushed it toward you without hesitation. You delicately took the drink by the glass stem, letting the rim sit along your bottom lip and grow stained by the colour. “Are you hoping for help?”

“No, I've simply been thinking about it recently,” she sipped from her drink with a stern gaze, a focused one. A century old, you were sure Areum had forgotten more than she could even remember, but you applauded her attempts to thwart it. You were sure you would be equally stubborn if faced with memory loss. “I can recall these young girls. I'm sure they are important to me… I just don't know how,” she paused again, putting down her drink, “I think I took care of them.”

The silence that formed between you both was deafening. It was as though the loud band and singer had gone silent under Areum’s confession. You felt your ears pound as though drums were beside you, and your chest grew tight. Like you were wrapped in rope that disallowed air. 

It made sense that she would take care of children. She always had a motherly warmth to her. You were sure that was even stronger when she was human. “Ahh! I completely forgot why I started mentioning that,” she laughed as though nothing had happened, breaking the silence that surrounded you in its tight grip. “I did have a question to ask you. Is it at all possible that you could help me have a baby?”

“I'm afraid that I don't possess a penis to do so.” You drank a sip of your martini, holding your nose up as you pondered the task. Vampire babies were incredibly rare — how could two technically dead humans create a living one? You could recall one who had been born centuries back, only that was the only documented story of it. 

Other than that, you doubted a vampire could be born. 

“You do have magic, though, my dear.”

“Areum, I cannot make an empty promise,” you looked over at her and saw her wide eyes. She looked ready to beg you, the pleading eyes she offered gave her away. Desperation. Sadness churned in your gut, you could recall her and Jeongin mentioning that they were going to try for a baby back when you first met them. Years ago. “You know that vampires are not born, and a human cannot be born of either of you.”

She nodded again and sat up in her seat, adjusting her posture so it was straight. “I'm not asking you for certainty. I understand how hopeless our wishes are,” her eyes grew foggy and Areum lost herself in a memory again. Most likely of the children she cared for as a human. “But I could recall Jeongin discussing with your mother about fertility aids.”

Your heart clenched for her. “There are plenty of things I could make you, though I am not sure if any would work properly on you.”  You could already think of four different drinks you could mix for Areum and seven different aids for Jeongin. They are certain for human fertility, but vampires were different. They're dead. 

However, you could perhaps adjust some ingredients… you would need to make an idea list when you were at the Yang manor. Access to their library would be useful, Jeongin often bragged about owning more books on witchcraft than your mother could ever dream of. 

Areum’s eyes were wide and her lips downturned in a frown. You weren't surprised she had lost hope. After years of unsuccessful attempts for a child, you were sure that it would break you more than you dare admit. “Look, I cannot promise success but I can try different aids for both of you that may work.”

Her lips lifted for a moment, a short broken smile. “That is more than enough.” Golden flecks grew within her eyes, mixing with the hues of brown and green. Her hand went to rest on her stomach, in hope, and you followed the movement with halted breath. “Thank you.”

You owed them. They both swore to help you with the monster — the least you could do was help them get the baby they both dream of having. You needed to do it for them. And you knew that their child would be spoiled with everything they could ever want. Treated with complete adoration by both Areum and Jeongin, praised as though the child were a blessing to their world. Which you knew that the baby would be.

“Is there anything you would not be comfortable with doing?” There was no surprise that your craft often involved more unsavoury things — things that even a creature who lived off another’s blood would find disgusting. You knew that Areum was not innocent of that fact of your life and that requesting your aid would involve such things. Even the ones for human fertility required countless grotesque things.

Areum shook her head and finished her drink, crossing her legs and looking away from your face. “We will do anything, you already know that.”

In the corner of your eye, you saw a man shadowed by the tilted hat he wore, balancing on a long cane to aid his limp. A golden lion clenched in his fist. You sneered as he walked toward the table Jeongin and Minho sat at, each thump of his cane played in your ears despite the distance. How silly were you for believing that the Inspector would ignore such an event, “I’m sure we will find a way to test that in due time.”

He sat at the table. You could feel the annoyance from Minho even with his back to your seat. It was like a vibrant glow from his body, weaving in pure red through the world. Quickly, you finished your martini and stood from the bar stool, Areum followed your movement without question. Her senses were far stronger than your own, especially if it came to Jeongin. A perk of being mates, she could feel the emotions he did.

You weren’t sure how you would have coped with such a fate. The idea was pleasant in your mind, someone who was handcrafted by the moon goddess just for you, but you doubted the reality would match. The rigidity, the jealousy, the uncontrollable urges every moon cycle — you doubted that anyone could be so perfect for you to survive it. That must have been a perk of being a witch then, you did not have a match waiting for you somewhere in the world.

Minho’s back was tense, and you were sure he had his jaw clenched. His posture was stiff and tall, and he stared toward the Inspector, who had taken your original spot. You could see his burning fire in the glimpse of his face, frustration and rage evidence in the clench of his teeth. Each step you and Areum took toward him made the anger more evident to your eyes.

Until you finally got to the table. Without a word from you, Minho turned around and looked up at you from his seat. His jaw relaxed and he curled a finger around one of yours. You couldn’t look away from his eyes, the warmth that was directed only at you. Even with that painful stare pointed at you both from the Inspector, you ignored it entirely. 

“Ahh, I have been wondering just where you were today,” you looked away from Minho to finally acknowledge the Inspector, though your finger remained locked with his beside the table. His greying moustache nestled over the lip of his wine glass, tips staining purple from the liquid as he sipped. Areum walked around him, her nose scrunched around him until she found her spot beside Jeongin. “Should I bother to ask who escorted you today?”

You sneered down at him, his eyes ran along your skin and stopped at your partially displayed cleavage. Disgusting. “Mr and Mrs Yang gave me the pleasure of a ticket to today’s races. Should I ask how you got into this room, Inspector?” You pushed your hair back over your shoulder, covering your back scar despite how it left your breasts more exposed to the wandering eyes of the man before you. If you could even call him as such, he was far closer to an ant than a true man.

That being said, at that moment you were sure the Inspector was closer to a sheep wandering into a wolf’s den. He was, after all, the only human at the table of creatures, two of whom would devour him together without a care if you asked. 

“My name carries much weight,” the drawl in his accent had the words rolling from his tongue. You could not hide your disgust from the table, your nose scrunched in distaste at him. He was a coward. The Inspector had not been able to serve during the war because of his own fear and yet he still held himself like a king, “all I needed to do was say my name to those at the door.”

Minho’s finger, still curled around your own, tightened and his stare was pointed at the Inspector. “I never took you as a betting man.”

“Not at all,” he looked away from you (and, more directly, your cleavage) and stared back down at Minho. The hand he still had clenched on the Golden head of his cane grew tight, the pads of his fingers pushed and indented the wood, “but when I hear of a plan for the Peaky Blinders to ruin a lovely day of racing… my opinion changes.”

You stepped closer to Minho, his back partially hid your torso from those around the table, and he pulled your joined hands over his shoulder, still keeping them locked together by the fingers. It brought the Inspector’s attention to how your fingers joined around one another. You could feel his stare, ice cold, along your hand. “I have no idea what you're speaking of. I'm simply here to negotiate with Mr Yang.”

“A meeting that you rather rudely interrupted.” Jeongin stared at the Inspector, his wedding ring shone from the chandelier. You could see Areum place her hand on his thigh, though, her eyes mimicked the direct gaze at the officer. Both their noses were scrunched in disgust. “Do you make it a habit to insert yourself where you aren't wanted? Or do you just enjoy doing so when it involves my friends here?”

The wine in the Inspector’s glass ran empty, and he placed it back on the table. The resounding thud of glass on wood played between the five of you, echoing amongst the silence only you all were surrounded in. The rest of the room remained loud and elated, but those noises grew mute under the situation before you. 

He turned to look at the Yangs, nose turned up and his eyes squinted. “My investigation is more important than your empire, Mr Yang,” his gaze focused on Jeongin over Areum, but you could see how she tensed when he moved to watch her. Areum looked up at you briefly, her eyes were laced with ice through the gold. “This place needs to be cleaned of people like all of you.”

“You won't survive long around here if that is how you speak,” the Inspector turned back to face you. You stared down at him, and though your sunglasses sat on the bridge of your nose, you felt cold under his stare. A shudder went down your spine at the look in his eyes, the wicked look that left your stomach churning. “Not many people appreciate being discussed like that.”

He stood up from the table, fingers adjusting the brim of his hat. The Inspector took a step toward you, and though Minho was right beside you, a sense of danger warped over you. You tensed the finger Minho held but pushed his shoulder down so he stayed seated. If the Inspector wanted to intimidate you, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked. 

“Not many people pay off the police to stay out of prison.”

His horrid breath wafted around your face and his sneer was an inch before you. The bang of his cane on the floor beside you thumped in your head. “I'm afraid you're talking out of your rear, Inspector,” you smiled calmly despite the way you felt small under his icy stare. The warmth from Minho beside you seemed to glow despite it, “why would any of us deal with the police when we have done nothing wrong? You should learn to stop mixing your personal feelings with your work.”

A step back from the man allowed you a chance to breathe. Your body screamed around him in danger, and you had known for an incredibly long time to never ignore that intuition. “We will talk later,” the Inspector whispered the words just for you, and your nose scrunched at it. Nothing in you wanted to see him again, especially when you were in a beautiful but more revealing dress. “Enjoy the rest of your meeting, gentlemen.”

He left. You let your shoulders drop and closed your eyes for a moment to breathe. Minho was tense, you could feel it in how he squeezed your finger to the extent it turned pale. “I see why you dislike him,” Jeongin had his nose scrunched, and he sipped from his drink, “he is a nuisance.”

“Unfortunately being a nuisance is his career,” you say down in the chair the Inspector left, your rightful one that he had stolen in the first place. A bodyguard, standing three feet behind the Yangs, placed a new drink in front of you. White wine. The newest venture that Jeongin had delved into with his business, “and he carries the pompous arrogance that I find in many human men.”

Areum tilted her head and snapped her fingers gently under the table, another guard brought over a fresh bottle of wine and a glass. They had been there since the night beforehand, she told you earlier, to ensure the fastest exit for the four of you. You hadn't realised they would also be used for bartenders. “Are you entirely sure that the man is human?”

Minho leaned in, his hand now free of yours pressed onto the table, fingers tapping. “You don't believe he is?” The veins in his hands flexed under the slight movements, rings glimmering. More strands of hair fell forward, complementing the detailing of his face, specifically the curve of his nose. 

You turned away from his profile to give attention to Areum once more — you had already admired him enough in the mere hour it had been, you could not continue when the Inspector was watching. “He smells human, though something else is there.”

Her hand was lifted by Jeongin, and he kissed her knuckles with those large love-filled eyes he only showed her. You were sure that if you managed to provide them with a child the baby would be shown the same special gaze. “Her scenting is more exemplary than my own,” Areum smiled at him with a blush along her cheeks, she must have feasted within the week. “My nose is nowhere near as strong as yours, my love.”

“Your eyes are completely superior to mine though, darling,” her other hand cradled Jeongin’s cheek and she gently teased her fingers within his hair. “I'm practically blind compared to you.”

You crossed your ankles and sipped from the wine before you. It tasted better than any other you'd tasted. That was their talent. “What did he smell like, Areum?”

The couple came back to reality, though their hands remained firmly locked together in unity. It was rather sweet. Your mother had always insisted that the two vampires would soon crumble with their business because of their love. Yet, she was entirely wrong. They may get intense, often, but their tedious attitudes to business and life took them both far — only amplified by each other. 

“I am not quite sure,” she swirled the wine in her glass and handed it to Jeongin to taste. She had told you as a child that, to vampires, humans smelt of cinnamon. An appetising delight, in her exact words. It has made you nervous to bake with your grandmother often, even though she and your mother chided you incredulously for such an attitude. 

Only humans will be eaten. Only werewolves will be hunted. You are neither. Don't be so weak. 

You dug your nails into your thigh as the words played through your brain. “There was that cinnamon scent but there was a tinge of something more. I couldn't describe it, I don't recall smelling something like it.” 

Minho leaned back into his chair, one cheek sucked into his mouth. As though he were upset with Areum’s answer — but you were sure he would eagerly take the chance of getting to attack the man under the guise of protecting the city. You would do the same. 

“Either of you willing to spill your blood?” You pushed your hair behind you and pursed your lips. Below the table, your leg bounced in anticipation and nerves. It was an odd request, but you knew that they both understood what vampiric blood could obtain. “I need only a drop.”

Areum nodded with her face gone of the love she held earlier. It was a talent of them both how they could go from focusing on only one another to acting much like yourself. “That is the easy part. How will you manage to get him back to taste?”

“I'll offer him a drink,” you looked down at the table and bit into your cheek. There would be no other way for him to ingest the blood without knowing. Your stomach churned, and though you were sure it would be rather easy to entice him you couldn't stand the idea of doing so, “though I cannot just outright ask him now. It is not subtle.”

“Entice him then,” Minho watched you, and you turned to stare into the molten fire of his eyes. His face was stoic, smile gone and his jaw clenched with his teeth. The fire was burning. Scalding. You doubted he enjoyed the idea any more than you did, yet it needed to be done. Before you could ask Minho for more, he stood up and offered you his hand, the rings caught the light in front of you, “Come dance with me.”

It was humiliating how fast your heart screamed to agree. “That will attract the Inspector?”

You knew it would. As did he. The Inspector had no sense of subtlety when it came to how his eyes wandered. Seeing you dance with the villain in his own story would only bring him to talk with you. “I'm sure seeing a beautiful woman dance with someone like me will annoy him immensely.”

Even if it doesn't work, you could still get a dance with Lee Minho. “I never took you for a dancer,” you took his hand and his grip tightened gently. You could see Areum talking with Jeongin in the corner of your eye and the Flint of Jeongin’s knife hidden poorly in his coat. They weren't watching either you or Minho thankfully, but you did not entirely care if they did.”

He began to lead you away from the table, parting through the crowd of drunken rich people toward the area before the band. Many people around you were dancing to the music with their partners, you could see them all smile and sigh in bliss. It didn't concern you though, your heart thumped in your chest eagerly because you were the one with Lee Minho. 

“My mother taught me and Felix to dance as children, she thought it would be important for our future,” he let go of your hand and stopped to face you. His eyes, warm and enticing, looking over you once again, before he placed his hands on your hips carefully. You, in turn, placed yours on his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck. “I never considered that she would be right about it.”

You began to sway together to the music, and your eyes never left his. It was as though if you looked away, if you blinked, it would all disappear around you. “This is important?”

“I would believe so,” his fingers hesitantly pressed into your dress, a gentle pressure that you revelled under, “I am dancing with you, Red. I doubt many could say that.”

One of his hands left your hips, and you moved a hand from around his neck, locking them together with intertwined fingers. It felt right, even though you both had not done so often. “You would be right about that, Minho. I was barely even taught to dance.”

“So I should be lucky that you haven't stood on my foot?”

He twirled you gently, it felt as though you were within the air. Each move he had was smooth and delicate with you, expertly done. “Exactly,” when you faced him again, you let him see the small genuine smile on your face. Minho’s hand tensed in yours, but he did not miss the next best of the dance, and continued to move with you, “You should thank my sister for teaching me after the war.”

“Your mother didn't teach you?” The world around you had gone, you could only see him. That was all you wanted to see, regardless. The warmth in his eyes had you falling, your face leaned in slightly closer to his own. “I will have to do so, then.”

His grin was cat-like, it made your own raise higher. “Don’t sound so excited, Minho,” you teased, despite the smile on your face caused by only him. How had you even managed to go a week without seeing him? Your heart was erratic in your chest, only moving faster when Minho leaned in slightly. “It is simply dancing.”

He turned you both in a small circle, but neither of you could look away from each other’s eyes. He was too enticing, you were being drawn further and further in. “I’d get to hold you without people giving a second look. I'm sure you can excuse me for looking forward to that.”

Your cheeks grew hot, but you did not look away from him. “Are you saying you want to hold me?”

“I've been saying that for a long time now, Red,” he leaned in closer. Your faces were close — so incredibly close. Just one push from either of you and your lips would touch. Your toes itched to do so. “Are you only now just hearing?”

Neither of you moved beyond following the dance. You swayed together but your faces remained an inch away from each other. The hand you had behind his neck moved upward slightly, playing with the hair with your fingers. “More I am only listening now.”

“How intently?”

“More than one should vocalise,” 

“Say the word then.”

You paused, your heartbeat was high in your ears. The band fell silent to each thump of the heart in your chest. “Kis-”

“Might I interrupt?” You hadn't needed to turn to know that it was the Inspector beside you both. His accent was as strong as the smoking pipe tucked between his lips. Unfortunately, the plan had worked, just at the time you least wanted it to do so. 

Minho looked over at him first, his face was disciplined and stoic, gone of the mischief he showed you. Part of you was flattered knowing that only you got to see that side of him. “Of course, Inspector,” his hands let go of you and he took a step back, leaving you cold.

Before either could make another move, you stepped toward Minho and delicately kissed his cheek. It left a faint mark of lipstick, and you wished to smile at the sight. “Thank you for the dance, Minho.”

He walked away then, and the Inspector hastily placed a hand on your waist and one on your own. He smiled, though it resembled more of an uncomfortable sneer. You felt frozen, nipped at by frostbite during a snowstorm. The only aid you felt was the heat from Minho’s eyes, burning into the back of your body as he went to the table. 

“We need to talk, Miss.”

You kept your face emotionless despite the bile that threatened to churn in your stomach. “And a dance floor is the best place to do so?”

“No one expects business to be discussed on a dance floor.” The Inspector’s eyes trailed down to your chest once again. You held your head up and ignored it despite the urge you felt to leave him bloody. “I know you know where the guns are.”

You shrugged, “That's correct.”

“Tell me where.”

“Nice try.”

The Inspector looked back up to your face and his sneer turned to a frown, though the frustration was easy to see beyond it. “Lee Minho will only get you and your loved ones into trouble. You'll be lucky to survive such a deal.”

He spun you, far less gracefully than Minho had. You noticed Areum as she walked back to the table, her right hand wrapped in a loose bandage. The blood was ready. “I'm sure you're correct about that,” a weird truth you realised. Business with Minho was more often dangerous than anything else. Though you didn't care. Your sister was safe. She had Soobin, and she had the two bodyguards that ate your entire kitchen supply with ease. 

“Then why continue?”

You looked into the Inspector’s eyes and smiled falsely. It felt hollow within, but you doubted the Inspector had noticed. “Would you like to discuss that over a drink? Yang Jeongin has gifted me a bottle of his newest wine, and I’ve been told you're a connoisseur.”

[—]

Humanity. 

As a child, you were always curious about how the humans around you could display the same behaviours so drastically different. The arrogance many held was astonishing, yet never earned, and their hypocrisy was just as delusional. Only humans managed to hold such beliefs despite the lack of knowledge they had about the world. 

That being said, you were unsure why it had surprised and upset you that the Inspector was in fact, human. He followed the same attitude of many human men you had encountered in the past, presumptuous and idiotic, and yet when his eyes had failed to glow, your heart had sunk. 

Perhaps you were letting your prejudice guide you. It would be much easier if he were the beast, then you could simply kill him and eliminate two issues you were faced with. 

Still, what a complete waste of vampire blood. None of your questions were paired with the answers you desired. You were at least thankful that Yongbok had robbed the man blind in his mask, as well as ripping the golden head of his cane off. That was a nice sight before the four of you left the races. 

The Yang holiday manor was as extravagant as every other building they owned. The main foyer was decorated with gold and the floor was polished and pristine — you nearly hesitated to step onto it. Workers (some bodyguards, some maids, and some you were sure just to keep the couple entertained during sex) stood around the room waiting for their orders. 

Minho seemed just as uncomfortable as you were to walk through the foyer. You both stood alone at the archway entry, detailed in gold of course, while Jeongin and Areum went to the long couch in the centre of the room. Areum gestured to the three armchairs, matching the couch, opposite her. “Come on in, you two.”

“Actually,” you took a step toward them and looked around the foyer. Many paintings were hung along the walls, you could recognise them as Hyunjin’s. Your heart warmed seeing his talent appreciated by more people, “I was hoping I could use your library.”

Jeongin smiled and his dimples came to display. “Of course! Akira will take you.”

A person to your left walked toward you, their head held up with a slight grin. Their hair, just below their ears and curled to their jaw, was a dyed blue. You hadn't seen many people use hair dye, only Yongbok, especially in such extravagant colours. However, it suited their dark skin tone and made their eyes brighter. 

Snake-like eyes, you realised. The black slits between the colours intrigued you — no humans had such a thing and it was rare a species of creature would have one. You could only think of the sirens, though your grandmother always said there was no real evidence they existed. Mrs Jung disagreed though, you could recall times as a child when she would tell you of her years as a siren on a hidden Island. 

“Lovely to meet you, Akira,” they wore a more fitted dress, black and long. Their lips lifted to a smile, their teeth were slightly sharper than any humans. They stood in front of you, still silent, and you noticed the long scar along their nose. 

Very intriguing. 

“Come with me, Miss.” 

Akira led you from the foyer, and a quick glance behind you showed that Minho was fine.  He went toward the couch and you were sure that the couple was questioning him or arranging more with their united businesses. When Akira turned down the first hallway to your right, you had to look away from the foyer, and instead, you focused on them. 

First, their outward appearance was not entirely human. But you knew that the Yangs only hired humans, or humans turned into something. It was more for if they were sick and needed human blood, and that if they decided to turn anyone, it was far safer than if they were human, to begin with, not anything else. But, Akira held attributes of different creatures. 

Second, they had a limp. It was subtle but you could see the slight hobble and each heavy step they had. Most likely missing a leg, you had seen many soldiers who had to get a wooden prosthetic have the very same walk as Akira. 

“How long have you worked for the Yangs?”

They looked over their shoulder and smiled brightly at you, it made their eyes shine. “Since I was seventeen. Areum found me on the streets and insisted I go with her…” They paused for a moment, walking coming to a stop as you caught up to them, “I didn't go at first but eventually I got too hungry to refuse.”

You stood side by side with Akira. Their eyes were Misty in the memories, you didn't find it within yourself to interrupt. You couldn't be surprised that was the story of how they arrived there, Areum tended to care for everyone she saw. Like a mother. 

You hoped you could find a way to give her the baby she deserves. 

“That was years ago, but Areum wanted me to be her personal worker.” You both walked down another hallway and down it there was only one door, at the very end. Large and with fine gold etchings along the arch. Candles stood in large caged candelabras along the walls with more portraits hanging. In one, you were sure the child looked like yourself, though the child was slightly older than you had been when you last saw the couple. “I owe them everything if I’m honest.”

Akira hobbled toward the door and opened it for you. Though the doors creaked, it opened to a beautiful library. Walls and walls of books, a large ladder on wheels to reach them all, and a table in the centre with chairs for research. There was a fireplace to the left of the room, already lit and ready for you, with two armchairs opposite it. “Are they the ones who gave you your leg?”

It was a complete estimate, but you held off the sigh of relief you wanted to make when Akira nodded at your question. “I was born without it, and I didn't have anyone to help — until the Yangs.” They lifted their leg into one of the seats at the table and pushed back their dress. It was standard wood, though some golden lines personalised it, and it reached halfway to their thigh where the harness sat. “It was the first thing Jeongin gave me when I first went with them.”

“I can make it more comfortable if you like,” you walked toward one of the shelves and ran your finger down the spines, collecting faint dust on the pad. It would take you some time to find the book you were searching for. “I can enchant it for you.”

“What would that allow me?”

“You could control it like a standard leg, and still remove it when you want,” you looked back to Akira. They were already facing you with intrigue, their face leaned toward you slightly and faint eyebrows lifted. “It is a simple spell but it would grant you more freedom.”

Akira remained silent for a moment, lips pursed and their eyes wandered around the room. “It wouldn't be a proper leg, but it would act like one?” You nodded and turned back to the books, reading the titles. Alphabetical order. You celebrated that, it would make finding the book far easier. “How long would it take you?”

“Not long at all. I have everything to do so at my home, all you need to do is arrive.” You were currently looking at the ‘K’ section of books, you lifted your head to look at the higher shelves. That is where ‘H’ was likely to be. “Come by tomorrow if you like.”

“Thank you,” Akira quickly left after that, to await their next orders, you were sure. 

That was fine. You could work with only the sound of the crackling fire. It meant you could devote your entire mind to the purpose. 

And even after an hour, your research came up nearly empty. You had found the book you needed, and read through the majority of it, and yet none of the detailed creatures inside of it resembled the monster you were hunting. 

Jeongin had warned you that it was out of date, it was centuries older than even him, which meant it was both missing creatures and some of the attributes of the listed ones were just wrong. The ‘fact’ that faeries could only be found within the forest was disproven decades before you were born. Not to mention the completely idiotic knowledge of witches…

… but it did annoy you that the book dared to suggest that witches followed the dark god. As well as how apparently everyone who practised witchcraft were, in fact, witches. Complete fallacies. 

You'd gotten onto the pages about trolls when the library doors creaked open. No words needed to be said — you knew that it was Minho. The heat from his eyes, the smell of his addictive cologne, maybe just hoping that it was him all told you of that fact. 

His silhouette approached you at the table, one hand landed to your left on the wood while the other gently played with your hair as it ran down your back. “Did you discover anything?”

You let your shoulders roll back along with your head as you looked up at Minho. His suit vest and jacket were both missing, leaving him in only his white shirt and the matching red tie. The tie itself was undone and still hung around his neck, under the collar, and his shirt was pulled to bunch at his elbows. His face was almost expressionless, but the slight lift in the corner of his lips let you know of good news. 

“Not at all,” you could have moaned just seeing how the veins in his arms flexed without him intending to. The hand that played with your hair moved to your cheek, thumbing at your skin as always, “I'm assuming you settled negotiations with Jeongin.”

Minho nodded and his warm eyes seemed to shine under the low-lit candles. “Free alcohol for all our bars including access to the newest branches, and all my men and I must do in return is run the errands he cannot care to do.” Both of you knew what that meant. Jeongin was a man who enjoyed chaos. It was why when he ate humans he would play with them like a game, even if he did grow out of that behaviour as he got older. Tasks Jeongin wouldn't do were unsavoury ones, or ones he simply couldn't risk being caught attempting. “Then the Yangs would only require a ten per cent wage of the alcohol poured.”

Kidnapping, perhaps some assassinations. You would sleep well at night knowing Jeongin only tends to go the extreme route on bad people. Areum had told you as a child of how when she first met Jeongin he had saved the town she stayed in from creatures. 

“And I have you to thank for that far too generous deal.” he smiled slightly down at you and you looked back up at him with a plain expression, your chest poking out slightly. “Should I ask why?”

You leaned into the hand on your cheek and kept staring up at him. “He and my family have had a long-running deal. As well as my doing more extreme tasks for them both.” Without looking down at it, you closed the book and pushed it to the other side of the large table. You could read it more in-depth when home with your family journal of beasts. “It was most likely a thank you.”

“Yet I’m the one he is thanking?”

“We are in business together,” you stood from the chair and moved it to the empty space beside you, turning to face him chest-to-chest. You had hoped Minho would get a good deal with Jeongin, but you hadn't expected him to completely say part of it was your doing. 

Areum. She would have noticed how you and Minho stood. How you both talked and watched one another. She always was a hopeless romantic. 

Part of you was mortified at the idea that it was emotions that created a benefit for Minho. You were never someone who could outwardly show emotions, especially in a public setting, your sister Nari always chided you for such an attitude. Though you had made numerous gestures with Minho, small ones that not many would notice, you should have known Areum would. 

“They may have simply believed that it would help strengthen our own deal.” 

“Really?” he stepped toward you and you took a step back, your legs hitting the table almost immediately. You ended up sitting on the table itself and Minho continued to walk closer to you. He settled between your legs, where your chests almost touched. Your breathing grew fast and shallow as he looked over you with the fire you ravished under. “I would say it helped our deal heavily.”

You could still faintly see the lipstick stains on his cheek and your body screamed to leave more. Down his cheek, to his neck, under his shirt along his chest. “How so?” You did not care to chide your voice under how shaky it was. There was no point in it, you knew Minho would catch onto any little thing concerning you. 

“Because I relearned something today,” your heart was stuck within your throat. His eyes were alluringly dark, a bright dagger of danger still managed to entice you. Both of his hands went to your face, gently holding your cheeks and ensuring you wouldn't look away. “I still really want to kiss you.”

Still. Relearned. Meaning he had wanted to beforehand. Before the week apart. 

“Kiss me then.” Your family rules. They were always meant to be broken. Everyone in your bloodline had at some point, it was time you allowed yourself the chance to do it. 

You weren't sure what it was you expected. A soft and sweet kiss, a rough and fast passionate one — though what you received was neither, yet both. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he delicately pressed his lips to yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you put your hands on his shirt, bunching it in a fist to bring him closer. Something in your gut exploded with glee and your heart continued to beat within your throat, you were sure Minho could feel it. 

It was slow at first, but desire was locked within it. His lips were incredibly soft against yours and the way he kissed was like how he danced. Fluid like he was within water. Graceful. Passionate. Everything in your body cheered. Your mind had resigned and joined in the gleeful celebrations. It felt right. Nothing had resembled that feeling within you. 

Two puzzle pieces finally connected together. 

He made a soft noise into the kiss, a blissful one that left your head spinning, and you placed a thigh around his hips to bring him closer. Minho’s chest, his crotch, all of him, was flush against you. Your body shuddered feeling the erection within his pants. 

His hands moved from your head to your thighs, pushing up the material of your dress so that it bunched at your hips. A faint cool rush of air hit your panties and the wet spot that had formed along them. You pulled him closer, the feeling of his erection was even more tantalising. 

The lips you had fantasised about continued to kiss your mind into delirium. You pulled at his shirt, hastily unbuttoning each one and revealing more of his chest. He pulled away from the kiss for a moment, letting his lips trail down your jaw and neck, teeth grazing your skin. You used the moment to ogle his chest as the shirt fell separate on his torso. 

You ran your fingers down his skin, tracing the tattoo above his heart while you pushed your hips forward. “I didn't know…” you trailed off as Minho bit down on your skin. You moaned and dug your fingers into his skin, you could feel his smile against your neck, “… you have a tattoo.”

“Got it after my service,” he muttered the words against your neck, his hands hastily working at the buttons of your dress. The top grew looser until eventually, your breasts fell free of the material. His lips kissed down your skin until he reached your tits, one hand fondling the other and pinching gently at your nipple, “with Felix.”

Your breathing grew faster and your head fell back slightly. “I like it,” you felt his cock twitching in his pants against you, and you whimpered at the feeling, “looks good.”

His lips continued to torture you with every movement. You moved your hands to unzip his pants, palming at his erection through his boxers. He groaned against you, hips bucking to your touch. 

Minho pushed himself further against you, and you leaned slightly back toward the table, your back arched to keep your chest in his face. His finger hooked in your panties and pulled them down to your thighs, nearly ripping them in half during the process. In turn, you pushed his pants down along with his underwear. 

Which was when you pulled him close, his erection right against your wet cunt. You moaned at the feeling of him, your hands moved to his hair and pulled at the strands. “Please, Minho,” you whimpered. 

His hands trailed your back, pushing through your hair to trail your skin. You push your hips against him and tighten your legs around his body. “What’s this?”

Minho pulled back and his eyebrows furrowed. You were confused at first, but slowly nodded in realisation. “Just some scars I got as a kid.” You didn't see the big deal, they were old, and unfortunately long. 

You tried to pull him closer by your legs but he remained steadfast in his stance. Both his arms pressed against the table and held his body upward, while his shirt acted like a jacket, keeping you hidden from the world. “They're big.”

“They're from a werewolf so of course they're big.” Red eyes. They flashed within his usual brown ones as he pulled away. 

You felt frozen under it, the colour burning in your mind as Minho continued to step back and away from you. “I…” his bottom lip wobbled. You hadn't felt so exposed the entirety of your time with Minho, even when he had fingered you in the middle of the forest, “… I’m so sorry.”

Not only had you been in a deal with the city enemy, Lee Minho. But you had been intimate with your species' first enemy. A witch, from one of the reigning bloodlines, and a werewolf. 

Minho ran away. You were left alone in the library, half nude and parts of your clothes ripped. You moved from the table and sat on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest to try and hide your body from the shadows. 

It was so silent, that not even the crackle of the fire could be heard in your ears, and you felt frozen to the touch. Cold. Alone. And in complete and utter quiet.

⎯⎯ notes ‣‣‣ no one hurt me please uwu im just a lowly writer and is my birthday so I deserve to not be injured by people upset with the ending 😭 I hope you all enjoy the chapter!!

if you're able to support me and my writing, you can buy me a coffee here ♡

You mortals think gods have it all. We don’t. You gotta stop spreading false information.

When you say god, you think about the big boss, which means there is a plethora of myths out there now. I’ll take the liberty of doing the literal god’s work and debunk some of the bullshit so that we can set the record straight.

Fact—we are not ubiquitous. Yes, it takes a blink of a human’s eye for us to travel wherever at will, but we can’t be at all places at once. Only the big boss gets to do that. 

Fact—we are not almighty. Again, you’re thinking of the big boss. We do possess certain abilities you don’t, but gods are much more flawed than you think. You know how you say “I’m only human”? That kinda goes for us as well.

Fact—I have no idea who the fuck came up with this one, but we can’t read minds. Yes, our intuitions are superior to humans’, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I can know everything that goes through your mind all the time. Do you even know how fast thought travels? Faster than the speed of light. That’s how Levv ended up with all his screws loose. God of thoughts, my ass. 

Talk about picking the wrong major.

Here’s how it actually works.

There is no such thing as a born god. No pre-loaded innate abilities and what have you just because we’re higher beings. This is a career, for the lack of a better term, and everything needs to be earned. First, a standard set of powers is bestowed upon a select few for their exceptional servitude by the big boss under strict probation. You need to culminate a track record demonstrating flawless command over your abilities and non-illicit use since prospective gods are entrusted with autonomy. If you can prove your commitment to the Ether League, only then do you earn the right to declare the godhood you wish to claim. The only downside of that is no two gods can rule over the same thing since no one is looking forward to another Titanomachy showdown, so you need to work with whatever is available. You are to serve your subjects, living, dead, or inanimate, as much as they serve you, but you are allowed to punish them as you see fit in the case of disorderly conduct.

I’ll give you an example. Venenum oversees the nature underworld. She is the one responsible for creating new life above the earth out of all the death in the soil to preserve balance and honor the sacrifices and prayers she receives, but she’s not known to be one of the more merciful gods when it comes to disrespect. If you blaspheme against her in any way, she will take your literal breath away. Her heathens are known to depart the mortal realm as a result of strangling at best, throwing up thorny poison ivy leaves at worst, a disease commonly known as poison breath among humans.

Gnarly, right?

A god has all the power it needs to rule over their claimed domain, but if you’re tempted to go astray at any point, good luck with your eternal torment, which is not burning in fires like another myth humans love perpetuating. It’s literally one hell of an experience that makes your insanity go insane, intricately designed by the big boss, so no one even dares after what happened to Vitria. 

Now we get to the crème de la crème a.k.a yours truly. 

Let’s establish something once and for all first. I’m the shit. I’m the best at what I do.

I have a tendency to get bored easily, but I’ve developed a particular fascination with your kind as a result of my intimate experiences. It’s what truly makes me feel like a god.

When it was time for me to declare my godhood, I knew I wanted to do something related to the mortal realm, but my nature is not exactly fit to do wholesome shit. While I can call myself passionate, I curse a lot, I’m jealous, I hold grudges, and I don’t take rejection well at all, so it left me with only a handful of choices. It didn’t take me too long to realize that humans are total infatuation junkies, so I called dibs on it despite the incessant protests from certain somebodies. I was fully aware sex and lust were taken, but it’s not my fault that there is a loophole in the claim process now, is it?

My absolute favorite thing to practice is sensation manipulation aimed at pleasure. I can touch you and make you hear colors if I want to. It was an unfortunate accident when I tried that on a human for the first time without using proper protection. I know what you’re gonna say, but it was an honest mistake due to inexperience. I didn’t comprehend the magnitude of what I possessed, so I couldn’t really calculate they would go insane like that.

Whoops…

I know I’m the shit, but we have a little bit of a recognition problem here. I will never admit this to his face, but I’m mad jealous of Eros, I’m not even gonna lie. The fucker has a whole ass day he claims is dedicated after him, and it enrages me to no end.

What about me?!

Make this make sense to me—everybody gets infatuated while only a small number of people fall in love, you ever thought about that? Even if you have zero feelings for someone, you have to feel attracted to them first to be aroused.

You think she’s incredibly beautiful? That’s me. 

You really want to fuck him? That’s me.

You think it’s love at first sight? It’s meant to be?

There is no such thing you blithering idiot, all of that is ME!

Yet all the credit still goes to Aphrodite and her bastard son because of a technicality. They get to make a name for themselves. They get all the prayers freeloading my hard work.

News flash: they are true love purists that talk a lot of shit behind your back and shame you. Maybe think about that the next time you make a sacrifice to bind someone’s soul to yours. You mortals will even go to some whatsername witch for your sick love matters rather than coming to me. 

You don’t even know I exist, do you? 

I’m being framed here, hello?

Well, I told you I hold grudges. I’m petty as fuck. You should have known better than seeking help from the mother-son duo that has the most fucked up Oedipal relationship I’ve ever seen.

Have you ever thought about why you get the urge to cheat? Yup, that’s also me. It’s a very natural concomitant to infatuation. Hope you have the best time writhing in agony when your one and only dumps your ass because of a moment of weakness. You bet your ass I’m throwing all the weaknesses your way for the rest of your life, and you’re gonna crack every… single… time.

My personal beef aside, I can’t escape being the laughing stock of the god club. No such club exists, by the way, I’m just trying to make a point. Apparently, if I like humans so much, I should just stay as one because, and I quote, “How dare I call myself a god when not a single soul worships me?”. Now I can’t sit with them.

And this is where my story begins.

The big boss got wind of my subject situation and was not happy at all. My immediate exile was ordered, and I was tasked with finding one human to devote to me if I wanted my full godhood back. The catch is I’m not allowed to directly manipulate them into worshipping me, so I need to be subtle about it. 

Trapping me in a human body and sending me to exile is not actually the kinda punishment they think they’re giving me. I love being in human form. It’s so easy to fascinate you. You have a sense of wonder the peeps downstairs don’t really have. Maybe that’s why you’re into magic tricks so much. The mysticism of it all. The unknown. The other dimension.

You’re asking to experience things that you’re not really ready for, though, so it’s so much fun to watch you freak the fuck out. 

I think you know how I am with loopholes by now. I wasn’t given a specific deadline to carry out this mission, so yes, I abused the shit out of it and took my sweet time. Apparently, that was one of the agenda items in the latest Ether League council meeting. Why do I still walk around with my abilities, among humans for that matter, if I’m currently on probation et cetera, et cetera. 

If I corner that Eros motherfucker, it’s on sight, I swear to fucking big boss.

I made my case arguing that if I’d be able to get a worshipper without my powers, then all human race needed to be promoted to higher being status, and thankfully I won. However, things aren’t looking very peachy for me.

I’ve made several attempts so far but successfully failed all of them. I told you I don’t take rejection well. Disappointment after disappointment would frustrate anybody, and I get mad when I’m disappointed.

You have something called mulled wine. It works with blood, too, if you were ever curious.

I have been given until the end of the month. If I fail, my banishment will be permanent and I’ll be demoted to a human.

Here I am now, in a city I’ve never been to before, about to take my new body out for a spin. I gotta break it in. The façade I’ve crafted looks great in the mirror. Even I would want to fuck myself if I was human. One last night of palate-cleansing fun, then I’ll get down to business.

I fucking love hunting for sport.

The smell of napalm in the morning. The smell of a faded club at night. They are the same for me. The first stop in my new place of residence is a Halloween party. No, I did not plan for it; the days just happened to coincide.

This is where I do my most magnificent work. 

Look at this. Everyone is fucking gone. Who the fuck knows what they ingested, but the conditions are optimal to make some mistakes.

I scan the area without a drink in my hand for a hot minute, trying to dodge some futile advances in the meantime, and at long last, I notice a condensing energy exuding from the bar area. Target acquired.

Hey, you.

You’re the only one without a costume and you’re alone. You’ve sipped on two glasses already but you’re rejecting everyone that approaches you. Are you waiting for a date, or are you just enjoying turning people down? 

Or are they simply not intriguing enough for you?

I think we can have some fun together. Sorry for what I’m gonna do to you later tonight in advance, but look on the bright side. At least you’ll die feeling extremely good.

Turn around. Turn around and look at me. Perceive me. I guarantee you you’ve never seen something like this in your life.

You’re pulling me to yourself like a magnet. My feet are moving on their own. I can’t flat out pay attention to you. That’s just going to blow up in my face. My pride can’t have that. I gesture to the bartender and place my order instead.

“Whatever she’s having.”

You turn to my direction. When I sense your movement in my peripheral vision, I finally lay my eyes on you, and the moment I do, a buzz of electricity jumps from your gaze to mine.

Oh, wow, okay. You’re… You’re pretty. Fuck pretty, you’re beautiful. Are you in exile, too, by any chance? You look like the Aphrodite whore’s distant cousin or something.

You feel it too, don’t you? Something is happening between us right now.

There is something in your eyes. You’re looking at me differently. You like what you see, right? Well, I can’t reciprocate the sentiment because that would be a huge fucking insult to your beauty. If you were a god, that would be a punishable offense. You would be entitled to kill me if you wished. And I think I’d like that.

I wanna throw up. I wanna punch myself in the face. I’m so overwhelmed, this is too much.

“Hi.”

The club is loud, but I can hear you perfectly. Thank fuck it’s dark because I can feel all the blood rushing to my crotch. I have one question, though, what the hell is up with your voice? Do you practice illicit magick or something? You’ve barely said a word, it qualifies as more of a sound than a syllable, yet all of a sudden I feel consumed?

I need to calm the fuck down.

“Hey.”

“I know why I’m not wearing a costume,” you point at my clothes, “Why aren’t you in one?”

Would you look at that? We have so much in common already. I got my foot in the door, now I gotta make you open it wide and invite me in.

“Don’t you think a shirt is much easier to take off of me?”

You’re checking me out. Now that I’ve planted the seed in your brain, you’re actually picturing yourself undressing me. You’re wondering what I look like naked. 

I look fucking fantastic, by the way.

“Are you always this cocky?”

“On occasion,” I respond, “It’s a reflex that comes out in the presence of someone I really want.”

“Does that ever work for you?”

“I don’t see you leaving.”

You don’t want to enjoy this but you do. You roll your eyes, but a smile forces itself out no matter how much you’re trying to hide it.

I’ve almost had a fucking heart attack. 

There is no way you’re an ordinary human. How do you smile like that? I felt that shit in my bones.

“What’s your name?”

“Minho.”

I’ve changed a lot of bodies over the course of time, but the name I chose for myself stays the same. I’m attached to it for some reason. I find it fucking ironic that it means vast sky considering—

Wait, I’ll get to that later. This isn’t about me.

If I can be brutally honest, I don’t think whoever named you did you justice, though. They should have called you the singular object of everyone’s desire or something. The lust wrangler. The unmaker. 

Minho’s gorgeous plaything would also work, but I digress.

“You don’t look like you’re from here,” you look me up and down while chewing on the straw in your drink, “Where are you from?”

You’re gonna think I’m fucking with you if I tell you the truth, but my official registered address is pretty close to what you refer to as hell. 

Get the irony about my name now?

“Around,” I give you a very unsatisfactory answer, but I can clearly see your interest is piqued.

“What do you do?”

“Sorta in between jobs,” I spit out a bold-faced lie, “You?”

“I’m a hitwoman,” you answer me. 

You’re being very nonchalant about it. I don’t think you’re being truthful, but I get a kick out of the fact that I can’t really be sure. I don’t ask any follow-up questions. Your grin grows wider. So does mine.

I like you. I like you a lot. 

You’re fascinating. It seems like it would be an utter waste to spend you for nothing. Pretty, enthralling, devil-may not-care. There is a little sinister vibe coming from you, and I fucking love that.

I think a change of plans is on the horizon. 

“Wanna dance?”

Your response to me is getting off the stool and walking towards the dance floor. We disappear into the crowd of sweaty bodies. The key of the song is sultry. The rhythm is sensual. The kicks are hard, the drops are low, and the lyrics are obscene. 

I’m turning you on, I can feel it. Your eyes are all over my face. You’re staring at my lips while licking yours. You’re wondering what they taste like. You’re wondering what it feels like to cum on them. You’re wondering how I like my eggs in the morning.

Scrambled with cheese, by the way. Not that I wouldn’t eat poison from your hands.

Your arms are around my neck. My hands are on your waist. They slide down your hips, and you let me. I’ve had my fair share of intimacy with humans, but you’re something else. I feel pathetically weak, getting this feral urge to fuck you right here right now.

And you know.

You turn around, lean into my chest, and wrap my arms around your waist again. I get much harder when you start grinding against me. You tilt your head to the side and expose your neck for me. I’m looking at that pulsating artery like a vampire about to turn a human.

You want me. 

You need me.

I have to get you addicted to me, and I know just the way to bend you till you break.

Wanna die with me?

I give you what you want, but I pump the breaks. Gotta ease you into it. I just peck your skin, but even this much is enough for you to throw your head back. If it wasn’t this loud, I know I’d be able to hear that moan you just let out.

You turn around again and grab me by the collar of my shirt. Your breath is warm in my ear, and you speak very clearly, not even slightly slurring for me to suspect any intoxication.

“Take me to the alley where the staff entrance is.”

Damn, you don’t fuck around. I love a woman that knows what she wants. 

And gets it.

Before I can do anything, your fingers are already intertwined with mine, and you’re dragging me to the exit with firm steps. Like you know what you’re doing. Like you’ve done this before. As if we came here together in the first place and now we’re leaving together again.

The fog machines loudly hiss and emanate some aromatic smoke as we walk past them. The stuffy air that clings onto us disperses once we walk into the night. There are people outside, chatting, smoking, waiting to get in at this godforsaken hour in their costumes. We look like narcs next to them. You pull me into the alleyway. We barely take five steps into the narrow, dark path. You lean against the fire brick wall right next to the green iron door and hastily reach for my belt.

“Not so fast, pretty,” I immediately stop you. 

“Why the fuck not?!”

Your frustration is so cute. I’m not rejecting you, gorgeous. Why would I follow you here if I had no intention of ruining everyone else for you? I just have too many tricks up my sleeve, and I don’t want you to freak the fuck out right from the get-go.

You don’t know the power I hold, and you best believe I’ma make it look so easy.

“Feisty,” I press my palms on the cold wall and trap your body against mine, “You just don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

The distance between us is closing. You’re laser-focused on my face, trying to calculate the exact moment my mouth is going to be on yours. Your lips are wet, but your throat is dry. You’re trying to brace yourself, but little do you know nothing can prepare you for what’s about to happen.

Now watch this.

My hand slides down and pours all the chill from the wall into your body. You shiver. I slither further down and wrap my arm around your waist. My other hand is on your cheek, caressing your face with the back of my fingers. I know you’re getting impatient, but I promise it’s going to be worth it.

I take your lips in between mine. You contently hum. I kiss you like I’m stripping you. I kiss you like we’re slow dancing in a burning room. You kiss me back. My fingers explore the outline of your body. You are holding onto my shoulders for dear life. Your breathing escalates. I kiss you deeper. You kiss me back. We exchange the bare minimum of bodily fluids as you moan in my mouth. Your fingertips dig deeper into my skin. You shudder. You pant.

You cum. 

You’re visibly confused whereas I’m very amused. This is clearly a first for you, and you’re trying to discern between reality and a dream.

“Just with a kiss?” I can’t help my chuckle. 

The matter of the fact is I can do one-tenth of what a human does with ten times more impact.

But you don’t need to know that.

Your cheeks are flushed. Your pupils are shrinking, but the fire inside your eyes is not completely out. Your reasoning finally kicks in, and you realize you want a little more than a quickie with me.

As you should. 

“You’re coming with me.” 

You don’t ask me if I want to come home with you. You’re telling me you’re taking me home, and that’s it. I’m getting a little weak in the knees. You grab my hand once again and drag me towards a cab this time. You give the address. I take a mental note. Your hand caresses my thighs the whole way back. I don’t try to hide my erection at all.

I like what you’ve done with the place, but I can’t even say it out loud. Two seconds after we cross the threshold to your apartment, we’re all over each other. A part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you in this hallway against a wall. Another part of me wants to overstimulate you beyond the limits you can handle. 

Then there is this secret third part of me that just wants to love you all night. Make you cum with kisses only. Your lips. Your neck. Your abdomen. By the time I get to your pussy, I want you to be embarrassed by how much you wet the bed, and maybe even let a 143 slip out.

Would you…?

“Shh, don’t rush,” I barely manage to slow myself down, “We got time.”

You take it down a notch, but you don’t stop. You kiss me as you pull me to your bedroom. It smells so nice here. Exact same notes that come from your neck.

Not your perfume. It smells like you.

We strip each other. Not too hastily, but not unbearably slowly, either. You refuse to let go of my lips while inviting me to your bed. I get a strong urge to make you cum again, but I don’t want to loop the same song all night. Nor do I want to show you everything at once tonight. I kiss your collarbones instead, and when you see me work my way down, your anticipation peaks. You’re holding your breath waiting for my tongue to swipe against you.

You’re soaked.

Your clit is swollen, and you’re clenching. I take one look at your face, and the sight chars itself behind my eyelids like an afterimage. You’re sinking your teeth into the flesh of your lips, and your hands are in my hair.

I’ve been desired before, but what I’m feeling right now is…

I kiss your clit first and descend further down. When I finally get to your dripping entrance, I say fuck it to suspense and lick a very long drag all the way back to your clit again. A very sharp moan rips from your throat. 

Fuck, your taste…

“You like that?”

“Please, don’t stop!”

Please. Did you just… beg? I heard that correctly, right? You said please.

You set my entire body on fire. 

I hug your legs and repeat the exact same motion on your cunt. One-way licks. Your hole. Your folds. Your clit. From the top. Your hole. Your folds. Your clit. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. The more you dissolve on my tongue, the harder you tug on my hair. I can tell how good it feels from the way you’re clenching your thighs around me. Your slick smears all over my chin. You feel overwhelmed. 

Shit, I can cum just listening to you moan like that.

Two-way licks. Even slower drags without any punctuation marks. Five. Six. Seven Eight. I wrap my lips around your clit the way I’m wrapped around your thighs, and two sucks later, you cum again.

It probably felt like a long time for you, but I was less than ten licks in.

Now for the grand finale…

I get on my knees and spread your limp legs apart just a little more. You’re still trying to recover from the impact, but I have no intention of letting your feet touch the ground. You’re so wet even just on my tip, I can’t even imagine what it’s going to feel like when I—

Oh, FUCK ME!

This feeling… It’s been a while. 

My moans are melting into yours now. I’m only halfway in, but I feel drunk. I almost share Levv’s fate when I completely sink into you. It’s maddeningly satisfying. So warm and wet, wraps around me perfectly.

I can’t believe I actually considered killing you earlier tonight. Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck willingly gives up the one thing that makes them feel complete like that?

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m going to make it up to you, just don’t hate me.

As if you’ve heard me, you put your hands on my waist. Your thumbs brush on my skin. Gently. Delicately. Whispering silent I forgive yous to me. Your eyes are smiling at me. They are saying something to me. You’ve touched me. You’ve loved me. 

My heart skips a beat.

I can’t control the magnitude this time, I’m really really sorry. This one’s going to be even faster. I start moving inside you, but all I can register is how wet you are. You clearly can’t resist me. Every time I want to take something from you, you just hand it to me. So willingly.

“Give me one more,” I urge you to let loose, “Now.”

The amount of pleased I am is indescribable with words. You’re floating in ecstasy because of me. I slow down and try to give you a breather. I know it all happened too fast, but you liked it, didn’t you? 

We can do this every day and night. I got nowhere else to be.

Once you open your eyes again, I pick up where I left off at a faster pace, but you suddenly grab my wrists.

“No!”

There is urgency in your voice. It concerns me. Did you not forgive me? Did I do something to upset you? Are you not enjoying my company?

“Everything okay?”

I’m trying to be as subtle as I can here, but it feels like you just said ‘We need to talk’ to me. My chest is tightening. What is it? What is it?

“Switch with me,” you demand.

“What do you—?”

You kiss me. You kiss me hard. You inhale sharply like you want to breathe me in. Oh, I love this. I fucking love this. 

“I want to make you cum.”

You give me a quick peck, and I suddenly find myself on my back, watching you descend between my legs. 

I’m used to people just lying there and letting me do all the work. I’m not used to this. Nobody has ever wanted to please me in return. Not once.

Now you’re telling me you’re willing to exert effort to make me feel good. Me. Just me. Not as a byproduct of pleasuring yourself or anything. You kiss all over my crotch. It makes my cock twitch when you trace my veins with your tongue. Your darkened eyes pierce holes in me when you look at me.

Then you take me in your mouth, and a part of me experiences second-hand death. 

A couple of us gatecrashed heaven once. There is this sensation that envelops you right upon entering. 

My cock in your mouth feels exactly like that.

Not even a shred of shame exists within you. Everything about you is nothing less than pornographic. How your tongue moves. How your lips tighten around me. How you take me even deeper when I grow bigger inside your mouth. The lewd wet sounds you make. I’m not touching you. I’m not doing anything to you, but you’re still moaning while pleasuring me.

Have you ever wondered what a god’s cum tastes like? 

I’m not gonna give you a heads-up. If you’re a swallower, you’re in for a fucking treat. That’ll be your reward.

I can’t control how loud I moan anymore when you spit on my balls and start playing with them. Everything is wet. Your tongue, your lips… You’re everything. You’re fucking beautiful choking on me all disheveled. Your gaze shifts to me one last time, and that’s when I erupt in your mouth. You don’t let me go. You wait until I can catch my breath again. 

And you swallow every single drop.

We lie side by side with dumb as fuck smiles on our faces for some time. When I come back to my senses, I realize how late it is. You’re about to drift to sleep, but I can’t ask to stay the night. This is only our first encounter. I slowly get up from the bed to not disturb you, but you open your eyes again when you feel the movement in your bed.

“Do you take some enhancements or something?”

“Enhancements?” I question with a smile, “Why?”

“Your cum tastes like bitter chocolate.”

Told you you were in for a treat. Now I know the taste you’re most fond of, and I’m totally using that when I make pancakes for you someday. In the morning. After fucking you for five hours straight.

“Maybe you’re imagining things,” I dodge the question, “Can I give you my number?”

You scour your purse to find your phone and hand it to me. I text myself, then put my clothes back on. Ever the graceful host, you put on a robe and you walk me out all the way to your front door.

“Call me whenever,” I urge you before I leave, “I could use a guide to show me around.”

“Whenever,” you echo with a knowing smile on your face, “Don’t complain when I call you in the middle of the night then.”

Real talk, I’ll be offended if you don’t.

When I walk out of your apartment building, I light a cigarette and take a long drag. The avenue you live on is busy—it’s lively even at this hour. There is traffic, lights, and radiation everywhere. The building right across yours catches my attention. 

You live on the thirteenth floor. The lights on the thirteenth floor are on in the building across, as well. I’ve noticed you have no curtains on your windows. The thirteenth floor doesn’t have it either. I can clearly see what’s happening inside. A guy. His desk is right in front of the window, so when he looks up, the first thing in his vision is your apartment. 

I think someone needs to fucking move out.

I shove my left hand in my pocket, and a couple of the hair strands that I stole from the brush on your nightstand cling to my fingertips. I’m sure you’ll understand. I need intel. This is how I’m going to listen to you later on. Yes, just with hair strands. It’s so endearing the way they are stuck to my fingers. This is not static electricity, your atoms are fucking longing for me. 

I break into a smile remembering the absolute bombastic night we’ve just had. My acute onset violent thoughts fade away. I’ll take care of the moving-in situation later. I blow out the latest puff of smoke filling my mouth, crush the cigarette butt under my combat boots, and leave. I think about you the entire way back. This is your destiny.

Slowly but surely. 

You’re gonna be mine.

「To Be Continued in Tape II」

「© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations rewrites, or reposts permitted」

What’s in a name?

Vast amount of textile knowledge. Impeccably dexterous hands that transformed rolls of fabric into pure elegance with unmatched finesse. A fine art passed from father to son like the reigning throne, yet nowhere near as graceful with all that callus adorning the skin due to the immense dedication to their craft. Generations of tailors, the family tree of which even included overseers of the royal wardrobe at one point.

That was what it meant to be a Lee. 

The name might have carried a reputation, but at the end of the day, it was the reputation of a mere merchant. The Lees didn’t come from old money. Even though their financial well-being granted them a social standing of slightly above common folk, they were by no means a member of the higher class, which meant no fancy schooling, no manners training, no socialite gatherings, none of that. They knew their place—if they dared get carried away, they would immediately be reminded of it anyway.  

…which was why the only son of the Lees had a problem with these brandy-drinking, business-debating, rent-collecting spoiled brats in the first place. He despised aristocrats with his whole entire soul.

They might have inherited all that land or those factories from their great-grandfathers who actually knew the value of manual labor, but it was the working class they looked down upon that kept them wealthy. Put these snobs in the middle of a field, and they wouldn’t know jack shit about harvesting the produce they were famous for. Their wives? No perceptible skills other than being china dolls and ordering the estate staff around, playing palace in their manors just to get a little taste of queendom.

Then again, these people were the ovens of bread and the barrels of butter to his family, so…

“Keep your mouth shut, Minho!”

If he could maybe give a pass to one family, that would be Lord Bang and her ladyship. They were the exception to the rule who treated the rest of the mortals like actual human beings, and they brought huge business to their atelier with the seasonal banquets they threw every three months. 

Damn, were those a big deal. It could quite literally make or break you.

Solely receiving an invitation was considered a huge honor by the socialite, let alone attending. These extravagant evenings were the place to be to retain status as well as for the freshly-turned-eighteen debutantes to be introduced to the public for marriage prospects, or to ‘flaunt themselves to procreate blue-blood inbreds’ as Minho would call it. While most estates would have their in-house dressmakers, throwing large sums of cash for a bespoke gown sewn by the renowned seamster of the town was a sign of…

They called it prestige, but Minho knew they meant something else.

It was that time of the year again. The atelier was buzzing like a beehive with all the gowns needed to be made for the upcoming Spring Banquet. Even though catering to a bunch of demanding ladies and their overindulged daughters was not his favorite thing in the world, Minho still clenched his teeth and worked his magic out of the endless respect he had for his father. Once the Spring Banquet was over, he could at least work with more decent people who were truly appreciative of his craft since summer was usually the wedding season. Six more weeks of this hell, then he could take genuine pleasure in his work again.

Nevertheless, life always had a way of derailing plans for better or worse.

“Mother, stop it!”

“This is the first time we have received an invitation, and we are going!” the woman dragged her daughter into the shop while turning several heads in her direction and flashed a forced but syrupy smile at Minho, “Good afternoon. We would like to have a gown made for this pretty young lady here and immediately, please. Money is not an issue.”

Immediately. Sure. As was common knowledge, money had the magical power to make one work faster and much more efficiently.

“I understand, my lady, but I’m afraid the earliest immediately I can offer you is four weeks,” Minho calmly responded.

“I don’t think you understand, young man,” the woman clenched her teeth through her smile and widened her eyes psychotically, “This is for Lord Bang’s banquet.”

“Mother!”

“So is everything else we have underway,” Minho pointed at the large leather-bound notebook on the counter filled with names of customers and the specifications of their orders.

“Now you listen to me,” the woman took two slow steps towards him and spoke menacingly, “This is going to be my daughter’s debut in the high society, and if she makes a poor impression because of your incompetency, I will burn this place down with you in it.”

Sure. As was common knowledge, money was the number one instrument of arson.

Minho’s blank eyes watched you leave the shop and wait outside as soon as this pretty on the outside rotten on the inside lady’s sentence was punctuated. Not only were you clearly dying of embarrassment, but also you couldn’t have been more reluctant for this unlike literally everybody else who came in for a banquet gown. He took a deep breath to muster a little more patience and explained.

“The banquet is in May. Simple math would dictate the gown shall be finished by the time of the event, but you have the liberty of seeking an allegedly faster seamster, my lady. You will end up here when you’re utterly unsatisfied with the results anyway, but by then it will be too late to have everything ready in due time,” he went behind the counter and grabbed a pen, “Four weeks. Would you like to put your name down?”

The woman muttered something under her breath and gave him the details he requested regarding fabric choices and style. Once Minho was done scribbling with his less than legible cursive, he glanced outside the shop window again and saw you petting a stray cat. 

A cat. A furball that velvet-loving ladies wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, but it was rolling around in your lap as you were tickling it, not giving a damn how your skirt was getting ruined. He smiled to himself.

“Please have the young lady come here tomorrow at noon for her measurements.”

“Tomorrow?” the woman cocked a brow, “I thought you said four weeks.”

“That’s when you will receive the end product, my lady.”

“Oh,” she finally grasped what this subtly insolent tailor meant all along, “Very well then. I shall send her along.”

As she was leaving the shop, she let out a loud shriek seeing all the fur on her daughter’s dress, and scared the life out of the poor kitten. All Minho could do was snort, having no idea why he was this amused.

The next day you were a no-show at the agreed-upon time, and after waiting for maybe five minutes out of courtesy, Minho sent the staff away for lunch, refusing to have them bend to someone’s whim just because they were a paying customer. When you finally showed up five more minutes later, rather than the delicate elegance of a maiden, you barged into the shop with the manners of a delinquent.

“Please… excuse… my tardiness!” you managed to utter some muffled words while panting and took a minute to catch your breath.

Judging by the hair in slight disarray and the beads of sweat on your forehead, you’d obviously been running. Minho reached for the copper water jug on his desk and poured a glass for you.

“Are you always this punctual to all your appointments, my lady?” he attempted to pass his annoyance as humor while handing you the cold drink to rejuvenate yourself. You downed the entire thing in three large gulps.

“I had to make a little detour to buy some liver for the little guy outside,” you heaved a deep sigh and handed the glass back to him, “I’m actually in a hurry. Can we get this over with, please?”

So you technically missed your appointment that you almost didn’t get in the first place… because of a cat?

Really?

“I’m afraid we don’t have any of our female staff available right now,” he informed you, “If you prefer, you could come in after—”

“Just take the damn measurements so that my mother can shut up, will you?”

Huh?

Minho didn’t know what to be befuddled over first—your complete disregard to proper language or your nonchalance over the prospect of a man semi-intimately touching you. He would have to help undress you so that he could take precise measurements over the corset, and just thinking about it was…

“I can’t possibly do t—”

“Yes, you can,” you interrupted him and looked at him with pleading eyes, “Listen, I have somewhere I really need to be, and I have to make it look like I was here the entire time. I’m certainly not after damaging your reputation, so I beg you to help me with this.”

“What can possibly be more important for a young lady than the Spring Banquet?” Minho creased his brows in confusion.

“Madame Laurent.”

“Who?”

“Madame Laurent!” your eyes gleamed with childlike wonder, “She’s coming all the way from France to give a lecture about feline health at the university hall, and I really don’t want to miss it. Please.”

Well, that connected a lot of dots for Minho, and a part of him was utterly endeared. He was used to the high class acting like they owned the goddamn place wherever they went and making life decisions based on what was going to happen to their last names. Then there was you, sneaking around to go to some cat class. He bit inside his cheeks to stop himself from laughing.

“Fine. Follow me, please,” he led the way towards the back.

The small room you entered looked like it functioned as half a storage unit and half a changing room with rolls of fabric stacked on top of each other, various instruments laid on a large wooden desk, and a tall Cheval mirror in one corner. There was also a neatly made mattress on the floor in stark contrast with the overall untidiness of the place. Minho placed his notebook on the table, picked up a measuring tape from a drawer, and proceeded to undo the ribbons on your back, hesitant as to how not to make this awkward.

“Care to divulge your name?” you attempted small talk to diffuse the condensing tension in the room.

“It’s Minho, my lady.”

“Minho,” you echoed his name, “Do you live here?” 

“For the time being,” he responded, “There is so much work to do for the next couple of weeks, so I don’t want to waste time commuting.”

You could tell he was trying to be mindful to the best of his ability, standing as away from you as he could, not even directly touching your skin but over the measuring tape. An utter professional. You caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror as he was doing his job. Very stern expression like he was angry and his lips slightly pouted due to how focused he was, yet still extremely good-looking. You forgot why you were there and what you were doing for a second, and just admired his sharp features with the tiniest of butterflies flapping its wings in your stomach.

Meanwhile for Minho, this was hell on earth with how hard he was repressing every unholy thought riddling his brain to prevent having an erection right behind you.

“All done,” he tied the last ribbon on your back, “You can come back in a week for your first fitting.”

“I won’t forget this,” you impulsively kissed him on the cheek and dashed towards the front door, “Thank you!”

Minho felt a hard kick inside his ribcage, and the small piece of skin you pressed your lips on burned for days.

Your encounters outside the atelier, however, were limited to mere coincidences. 

The first time, Minho ran into you in the town market where he had no business being other than overhearing your mother telling you to buy spices during your fitting one day. The second time, you spent an unnecessarily long time at a haberdashery because the owner said something about Mr. Lee’s son dropping by sometime in the afternoon to pick up a package.

Then Minho started regularly visiting the university hall to check if they were holding any lectures about anything remotely related to animals because you seemed to be attending every single one of those. He would wait for you outside just so he could see you from afar as the circle of ladies surrounding you kept knowingly giggling while nudging you.

Then you started passing by the tavern garden every Friday evening just because Minho’s friends loudly asked if he was coming to their usual Friday gatherings one time. You couldn’t do much besides making prolonged eye contact, but the gentlemen at the table were having the time of their lives smacking Minho’s back with rowdy teasing laughter.

The one time you unknowingly crossed paths was at the park on a warm June evening. Minho wanted to unload his mind watching the swans after a long day at work whereas you were on your way home walking through it. Having complete tunnel vision on you, floating much more gracefully than all the swans in the pond, he blurted out without thinking.

“My lady!”

Your heart skipped a beat hearing his voice. There was no one around, and even though you were in public, it felt more secluded than the dressing room at the atelier. After exchanging pleasantries, it was so obvious you were both trying to come up with a conversation topic so that nobody had to leave just yet.

“We didn’t have a chance to talk after the banquet,” Minho finally found one and held onto it for dear life, “I hope I was able to do a decent job dressing you.”

“Please, decent would be an insult to your magnificent work, but I’m not sure if I was able to carry it well enough during all that waltzing,” you spoke while internally reciting every prayer you knew that he wasn’t able to hear how fast your heart was beating, “Do you know how to waltz, Minho?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Yes, you do!”

You suddenly grabbed his hands and pulled him close, showing him the very basic steps as he clumsily followed along. You were laughing so much that his heart was about to give out.

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

But…

Even when your steps came to a halt, he couldn’t stop staring at your face. At your eyes. At your lips. Curled into a bright smile that rendered him too stunned to talk.

“Are you waiting for me to ask?” you finally pierced the silence.

“Ask what?”

“To kiss me.”

Don’t say that. Don’t say such things, or I’ll take it seriously.

“That would be highly inappropriate,” he averted his eyes instead.

“It would, wouldn’t it, my good sir?” you faked a gasp and carried on with exaggerated manners, “Yet you’re waltzing with a fair maiden where no one can see you. What ulterior motives must you harbor?”

His cheekbones raised ever so slightly, but he was visibly blushing even under that pastel dusk. Well, if he wasn’t going to make a move for fear of being highly inappropriate, then you could be inappropriate enough for the both of you. You would gladly take the matter into your own hands. You would gladly take his beautiful face in between your hands.

And kiss him.

“May you have a pleasant evening,” you casually spoke after that lightning-fast peck, “I certainly will have one.”

All he could do was touch his lips as he watched you walk away. What a woman, he thought to himself, Beautiful. Fearless. Nothing like the rest of her kind.

The last name Lee might have carried a reputation, but at the end of the day, it was the reputation of a mere merchant. Minho knew his place. A case in point, a lady and a seamster could never end up together. He was fully aware of that and had to act accordingly.

Yet nothing was able to stop him from falling hopelessly in love with you. More and more with each season. It was summer, fall, winter, then spring again.

You were due for a visit again.

Minho was at least guaranteed to intentionally meet you four times a year. You were the first to arrive at the atelier every couple of months for a new banquet gown, yet always late for your measurement appointments so that no one would be around.

And he was getting a little less professional with each encounter. 

No more over-the-tape touching. It was only the silhouette of his fingertips, but it was still skin-to-skin, and you were shuddering when he touched you. You would steal glances from each other in the Cheval mirror, trying to see the other’s reaction to the subtle baits you were throwing at one another. Sometimes you would tilt your head to the side, and he would inhale that flowery essence you loved wearing. God, you smelled so good.

He just knew you tasted good, too.

“Tell me something. You’ve been going to these banquets for a year now,” Minho uttered while working on your waist behind you, “How come no one’s asked for your hand in marriage yet?”

“Because I tell them I’m not a virgin,” you leisurely shrugged.

“WHAT?”

You burst out laughing loudly at how scandalized he was, more or less the same reaction you would elicit from the young lords trying to approach you.

“Calm yourself, I’m as untouched as a cactus,” you clarified while wiping the tears from your eyes, “but nobody needs to know that.”

“Why would you even do that? Your reputation—”

“If your appendix burst, it wouldn’t damage your reputation, would it? Why do I not get the same treatment, then?” you continued more seriously, “If I get married, they will chain me to some manor, and I’ll be treated as a breeding factory. God forbid if a woman has aspirations…”

“Do you have aspirations?”

“Yes,” you smiled at him in the mirror, “I would like to study veterinary medicine.”

Why was he even surprised? Of course, you did. You lost your entire mind whenever you saw a stray animal on the street. You were religiously following the university hall lectures while your peers were at a church listening to Sunday sermons. Minho felt his heart swell to the point of combustion. 

But all of those wholesome feelings instantly disappeared when he kneeled before you. 

His face was directly in front of your crotch, and he noticed a familiar scent emitting from you. Tangy. Not quite sweet, but carried those notes nevertheless. A bit intense. He instinctively looked up at you trying to read your face. You weren’t showing any color, but your pupils were blown wide.

He swallowed.

His urges started running wild. Even you knew they did with how his breathing became slightly irregular. The thought of getting under your skirt and burying his face between your legs was rapidly consuming him.

Maybe it was for the best that the loud ringing of the phone echoed in the atelier to scare the life out of both of you, but it at least managed to clear the reddish-pink haze that was about to fill that tiny dressing room to the brim.

After he closed the shop that day, Minho sat on the pavement and let the kitty he now named Grape climb onto his lap, thinking to himself how he could let you know about his feelings for you while petting him. He had to do something since they were getting a bit more untameable with each passing day. Maybe you would go to the park again. Maybe he could take you to some lecture on human emotions or something. Maybe Grape could be his accomplice, but how was he supposed to go about this? Say he made his little confession, then what? Would you accept it? What would your family say? You were a little rebel, but did you have it in you to stand up to them if he promised to be by your side through everything?

Minho couldn’t sleep that night even though he exhausted himself with a hundred different scenarios, but little did he know his world was about to shatter before he got to do any of that.

Merely several days after the Spring Banquet, a small crowd of people dropped by the atelier with you among them. Minho knew one of the women accompanying you—that was Lady Seo without a doubt, but something wasn’t right at all.

You weren’t supposed to be here for another few weeks. Why were you—?

Your eyes were puffy and the skin around them was raw red like you were harshly rubbing it, the perfect evidence of you crying over something. There was resentment written all over your face. Concern spread throughout his body, and Minho started burning with the early shades of rage.

“A little earlier than usual for the next banquet, I see,” he calmly greeted the circle of women, “To what do I owe the pleasure, my lady?”

“Oh, we’re here for a much joyous occasion this time,” Lady Seo chirped and lifted your hand for Minho to see better, “The young lady is joining the Seo family, and we wouldn’t have anything less than a wedding dress carrying the Lee signature.”

You were staring at the floor blankly like you’d given up all hope. The second Minho caught a glimpse of your ring-adorned finger, he felt his heart being ripped apart.

“A… a wedding dress.”

“Yes! Mr. Lee couldn’t speak highly enough about his son’s niche, and we simply have to have the best for our future bride.”

Future bride. Minho was in complete disbelief that those words were referring to you. Deep inside he knew this day was going to come, but it still felt like…

It felt like this was his fault for being too late.

“Certainly,” he forced a smile to the best of his ability and turned his gaze on you, trying to stay still while he was stabbing himself in the chest with his own words, “Does the young lady have anything in mind, or would she like to receive recommendations?”

You finally looked up at him, bloodshot eyes utterly grief-stricken like you had just come back from a funeral. It was a funeral if you thought about it—a forced visit to Dr. Yang to prove you were lying and your hymen was in fact very much intact. All your dreams, all your hopes, all your love for Minho were mercilessly slaughtered by a conversation that took place between two families, and you had absolutely no say in the matter.

“Do you make black wedding gowns by any chance, good sir?” you asked through the most broken of smiles lacing all your features.

“She’s joking,” your mother let out a loud laughter while pinching your arm and loudly whispered, “This is barely appropriate. Stop offending your mother-in-law.”

“I’m sure whatever you come up with will more than suffice,” your voice cracked as you slightly bowed your head at Minho, “I’ll be in your care.”

Care? In his care? This was not how he wanted to take care of you. You were going to go to school. He was going to wait for you and take you to the park afterwards, then ask you to tell him all about it. He had the utmost faith in you that you would be giving lectures on feline health someday. He wanted to take you to Paris when he saved enough money so that you could meet Madame Laurent again, and maybe ask you to marry him while he was at it.

Yet the reality was colder than the harshest winter.

“Then I will work on some patterns today, and we can discuss them tomorrow with the young lady,” he scribbled your name in his notebook and uttered emphatically, “At noon.”

You’d done this many times before. You knew what it meant at this point.

Come five to ten minutes later when nobody’s here.

The next day you arrived at the atelier to allegedly get your measurements taken when there was absolutely no need. Minho already knew everything by heart; he just wanted to touch you again.

Maybe for one last time.

You didn’t even exchange pleasantries because there was nothing pleasant about any of this, and just proceeded to the dressing room in deafening silence. Minho wanted to ask you so many things, but all the words he couldn’t utter formed a gigantic knot in his throat. If he so much as made a sound, he was afraid he was going to break down crying.

And he didn’t cry that easily.

It was a simple and professionally required act, measuring. Measuring your chest. Measuring your waist. Measuring your inseams for whatever reason as though bridal gowns came with dress pants, but he was measuring anyway. That seemed to be the only way to carve the exact outline of your body into his mind forever. Get indecently close to you, memorize the notes of your scent, kneel in front of you with begging eyes as if he was about to hit you with another proposal, and importantly…

Most importantly…

Watch the way goosebumps broke on your supple skin every time he touched you.

Each time you were in this room, the distance Minho kept between you two was noticeably shrinking, and this time around there was nothing left to shrink anymore. You had never felt him this close to you, flush against your body as he was measuring your bust from behind you. You could feel his body temperature seeping through you. His scent. His cologne. 

His entire existence. 

You leaned back into his chest and touched his hand while holding his gaze in the mirror. The room was so quiet that you could hear the screaming heartbeats of each other perfectly clearly. You watched how his hand reached for your chin in the reflection to turn you around. It hurt so bad when you looked into his deep brown eyes. It hurt so good when he brushed his thumb on your cheek.

You were dying in agony when he pressed his lips on yours. 

Much different than that one kiss you stole from him all those months ago. It felt like sinking in a bottomless ocean. Deep. Slow. Wet. Neither of you had the courage to open your eyes, and the darkness made it feel like you were kissing for hours. It was supposed to be an innocent show of affection maybe, but it was deteriorating way too rapidly. A little deeper, a little harder, a little quicker, and a little wetter. Minho was burning and so were you and you were letting him touch you and he was trying so hard to abstain, but…

He was a man. He was a man in love.

He dropped the tape tangled around his fingers and harshly pulled you in, throwing gallons of gas on the fire that was barely containable as it was. You felt the coldness of the wall he pressed you against on your back, giving you instant shivers, but you didn’t care. You had dreamed about this for so long. He had dreamed about this for so long. Touching you, kissing you, tasting every inch of your skin until he diminished you into panting moaning mess, desperate to feel him in the worst ways and—

One touch between your legs, and reality hit Minho like a freight train about to be derailed.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,” he jolted in his place and backed away, “I– I couldn’t help it.”

You didn’t know what exactly it was you were feeling. Sadness? Anger? Disappointment? A nauseating concoction of them all?

”Do you… not want me?”

“No, it’s not that! It’s never that!” 

Minho was between a rock and a hard place. He knew what he wanted, but there was also the undeniable truth. What was he supposed to do? Disregard everything all at once, or be a decent human being and…

Let you go?

“You’re… engaged,” he managed to say with an almost inaudible voice.

All this time, you hoped. You hoped he would protest to making this godforsaken dress. You hoped he would ask you not to go through with this. You hoped he would tell you that he loved you. Maybe you even foolishly thought he would want to marry you instead.

But apparently, you’d hoped in vain.

“A fact you should have remembered before initiating, don’t you think?” you scoffed with disdain.

“Please…”

“If you’re done with the measurements, I’ll take my leave,” you quickly put your linen dress back on and walked out without looking at him to hide your tears threatening to fall, “I won’t be back again until the day of my final fitting.”

When the front door closed, the four words Minho couldn’t say out loud to save his life turned into a fist, and declared his throat as its residence for the foreseeable future.

Please don’t leave me.

He was losing sleep, and you were haunting his every waking thought. Every piece of fabric he cut was another breath taken away from him. Every stitch he sewed was another wound inflicted on his skin. The day of delivery was fast approaching, but Minho felt like his life was ending.

On the day of your final fitting, he was expecting you to come around noon again, but you were nowhere to be found. You didn’t show up in the afternoon. You didn’t show up in the evening. He never thought he would feel this way about seeing you in a fucking wedding dress, but he was getting worried.

“I need to run. Take care of the place,” Minho entrusted the shop with one of his apprentices, “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Lock the door and leave if I’m late.”

He scoured all the places he could think of. The park. The market. The tavern area. Even the university hall to see whether there was one of those beloved animal lectures of yours. You weren’t anywhere. His last resort was to pick up the dress and go to your estate to check on you with some excuse. He was going to make something up on the way. 

But before it even came to that, seeing you by the closed shop door, Minho was so relieved that his knees almost gave way. 

“There was a lecture series today,” you looked at him with blank eyes, “About loss.”

He wanted to say something. He needed to say something, but Minho forgot all the words he knew. You weren’t talking. You stood there in front of the atelier for god knows how long, and it seemed like it fell upon you to break the silence once again.

“I came for my fitting.”

Minho’s gaze slowly turned from your face towards the floor, and his shoulders drooped in resignation. You proceeded in silence. He fished for the keys in his pocket and opened the door, locked it from inside after you walked in, then led the way to the dressing room. Your gown was neatly pressed and placed on a hanger. He gave you some privacy to change, and when you opened the door again to signal him to come in for the final adjustments, Minho felt like he was walking towards a gallows tree. There you were, in all your glory, shining like you never had in pristine whites. Minho took slow steps towards you and knelt before you to check the length of the hem of the skirt.

God, you were beautiful.

You were in a wedding dress. A wedding dress. If he didn’t do something, you were going to slip away. Forever.

He’d been such a coward ever since he lent his heart to you, never having the courage to do the things he was yearning to do, yet you were… you were nothing but…

Minho had enough.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered.

It was a whisper, but he may as well have screamed at you. His eyes were fixated firmly on the hem. You were stunned like a bolt of lightning just struck you, incredulous at what you just heard. 

“Don’t get married,” his voice quivered like he was on the brink of crying as he hugged your legs, “Please.”

As if he was controlled by some unknown entity, his hands slid your skirt up. He finally looked up at you. You met his gaze, not knowing what to anticipate. You didn’t want to hope; he could step back at any moment like he did the last time, but a part of you just couldn’t help it.

“Minho…”

That was enough for him to risk it all.

He began to place little kisses up your thighs. Your skin was even more supple than he had always imagined. You heaved a very deep sigh and closed your eyes while leaning against the wall.

It didn’t feel that cold this time around. 

Minho was in a complete trance. Just kissing, kissing, and kissing everything his lips came across. Your legs, your thighs, the barely noticeable wet trace on your underwear. His fingers clutched the waistband of the thick fabric and slid it down, and down, and down, in disbelief that he was actually looking at the most intimate part of you fully exposed for him. Soft. Warm. Inviting.

There was no turning back from this anymore.

“I love you,” he whispered against you and closed his mouth on your cunt.

You felt those three words everywhere on your body.

Your fingers were tangled in between his silky locks, guiding his head instinctively. The amount of pleasure you were feeling was in lethal doses, much more intense than anything you were able to provide yourself. So wet and slippery, much warmer compared to your own fingers.

Minho, on the other hand, was dying.

He had an inkling about what you would taste like when your scent dissolved on his tongue, but he never thought it would be this savory. This condensed. This right. Unable to get enough, he was sinking deeper into your pussy, thinking he could maybe feel you like he was supposed to if he occupied the same space as you.

You clasped your hands on his shoulders and pulled him up, tasting yourself on his mouth as he swirled his tongue around yours, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to see what he looked like naked. You wanted to feel him inside you. You wanted to belong to him, and Minho wasn’t stopping this time.

“Can we…?” he took one look at his mattress on the floor then at you again.

“Yes.” 

You placed your hands on his beautiful face and felt how much he was trembling under your touch. From anticipation. From excitement. From nerves. 

“I love you, Minho,” you stressed the word while looking deep into his eyes.

That was the moment he said a mouthful of fuck you to everything.

You stripped each other as fast as you could, never leaving each other’s lips alone. Sitting on the mattress, you ran your hands on Minho’s bare torso and admired his naked figure for some time.

He was so beautiful it made you want to violently cry. 

He laid you down on your back and quickly descended between your legs to pick up where he left off, locking his arms on your legs, too afraid to let you go. His tongue glided all over your folds first, making sure he replaced all your slick with his saliva before his lips trapped your clit. He was slurping on the engorged bundle of nerves with lazy swirls of his tongue, ears intently listening to how deep your moans were coming from. The harder he sucked, the more you were tugging at your own hair. The uneven ground your sounds of pleasure were stacked on eventually collapsed, and you found yourself arching into his mouth with cries ripping through your throat, wet mess staining all over his chin and glistening under the dim light of the room.

“Touch me,” Minho pleaded while hovering over your body, “Please.”

Then and only then did you notice the abysmal condition he was in, and it tickled you inside that he wanted you this much. So concerningly hard you could trace the veins on his cock. Tip flushed dark pink and about to leak. Utterly mouthwatering. You held him in a firm but careful grip and listened to his quiet moans when he made you stroke his girth. If you kept it up, he was actually going to cum before… before he could even…

He guided his cock to your soaked entrance and pressed his tip against you, proceeding with very shallow thrusts to make sure you were comfortable with his pace. His thumb was gently caressing your clit to compensate for the mild discomfort as he paved his way into you. More. A little more. Halfway in. Just a bit more. Almost there.

Then a cul-de-sac.

You felt like a long-lost piece of you clicked into its place whereas Minho almost lost his mind when he disappeared into you completely. The sensation was too intense. 

“Not enough,” he lowered his face down to kiss you and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’m finally inside you, but it’s just not enough.”

How could it ever be enough when you violently loved someone from afar for that long? How could it ever be enough when all the I love yous you were able to utter to their face were in your dreams? How was he ever going to be able to avenge all the lost time if not by desperately making love to the love of his life, sweaty, loud, drowning each other in kisses?

“Be my wife,” he spoke into your lips, “I swear on everything good and pure I’ll spend the rest of my life to make you happy.”

Too consumed with desire. Too overwhelmed with emotion. You were on the brink of happy tears, trying to produce a single word, but your mind wasn’t cooperating.

“Marry me,” he beseeched while quickening his thrusts, and buried his face in the crook of your neck, “Marry me. God, I love you!”

You held him in your embrace as tightly as you could and let him run towards his high however fast he wanted. Minho barely managed to pull out at the last second, and finished on your chest, shooting milky white drops to trickle down your breasts. You were both so deliriously happy in each other’s arms, not being able to get enough of one another at any cost. 

Just kissing. Kissing. And kissing some more while waiting for your feet to touch the ground.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do from this point on,” Minho intertwined his fingers with yours, “but do you want to start by ripping your dress to shreds?”

You uttered the words you’d been practicing so hard to come across as convincing, but without having to pretend for once.

“I do.”

You kissed into each other’s smiles again. You knew what kind of obstacles you needed to face before you could be at peace, but it wasn’t scary. You had Minho, and he had you. What mattered at the end of the day was how much you loved each other.

Longer than tomorrow.

Further than forever.

「© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

sure, it’s minho’s fault that chan is one second away from jerking off to the sight of you getting fucked into oblivion by his best friend, the grainy pixels leaving little to nothing to his imagination. your moans sound tinny from the low quality speakers, minho’s grunts accenting the sounds coming from your mouth as he fucks you up against the studio mirrors. your breath is fogging up from where your face is pressed against the glass, sweaty handprints from the both of you staining the surface. minho better have cleaned those mirrors after that, chan’s delirious mind supplies as he continues watching the footage he should have turned off minutes ago. 

the video is from the same angle as their dance practices, the same walls on display and oh fuck chan doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life. that’s the room that he dances in, he’s leaned up against that exact mirror, panting and overexerted, he’s been yelled at by minho for messing up the choreography in that exact place. 

he tries. he tries so hard to forget what he saw, to get the image of you shaking apart when you came out of his head. to stop thinking about the way your skin went white from where minho was gripping it. to restrain from gripping his cock in his hand under his blanket with his eyes screwed shut and the symphony of your combined noises playing in his head like a song he couldn’t get off of repeat. 

but how could he when he had to go back into that rehearsal room just a few days later to practice? what excuse could he possibly give his members about why he wanted to switch rooms from this one? the room that’s full of their most precious memories, full of laughter and tears and piles of sweaty cuddles on the floor? no, he couldn’t. what he could do was avoid that spot like it was poisonous, standing on the farthest edge of the room after practice was over, chugging water and thinking about how you both have probably fucked on the floor there, or those couches, or by the closet door. 

he doesn’t notice you at first, sliding into the room to hand minho a cold water bottle and press a kiss to his cheek. the other members were slowly trickling out, passing tired greetings to you as they shuffled past, eager to go home and shower. when only minho and him were left, you went to approach him only to find his eyes already on you, glazed over at you but not really seeing. 

he looks at you and all he can see is the way you were pressed up against the glass, your tits squished but somehow still bouncing, the screwed up features of your face when you were overwhelmed in pleasure. all he can hear are those metallic sounding moans, all he can feel is the urge to fall at your feet-

“bang chan,” minho snaps, jerking chan out of his fantasy. “where is my camera? you’ve had it for a while, i wanted to record the new choreography.”

“oh!” chan is starting to panic, he didn’t think that minho would ask after the camcorder so soon. he didn’t have time to prepare, didn’t have the energy to create an excuse. “there was too much storage on it, so i didn’t get to record what i wanted and i forgot to ask you about it.”

he’s biting his tongue now, cursing himself for saying too much. couldn’t he just have said he would give it back tomorrow?

“i didn’t think about the storage,” minho starts, not sounding like he had anything to hide. did he truly not know about what he had left on that camera for chan to find? “did you see anything interesting?”

he knows. he knows. chan is beginning to sweat, he can feel it in his hair and under his arms and he wants to bury a hole by his feet so he can jump into it and never climb out. 

“haha, no,” he says, packing up the rest of his bag so that he didn’t have to look at minho. or you, who’s been silent since you walked in, watching him carefully. for all he wasn’t scared of minho and his adorably empty threats, he was terrified of you. “i didn’t even look. just saw that the storage was full, you know?”

he sounds awkward. he is awkward, right now. 

“chan,” you trail a finger down his arm, speaking for the first time since you arrived and he’s gone, your touch leaving raised hairs in your wake. you should be angry, you should be livid, why are you touching him like that- “come over tonight to mine would you? we wanted to have you over for a while, minho wanted to cook for you. and you can give him the camera back then.”

“oh,” chan is sure that his face is flushed completely red by now, but he nods anyways. “sure! i’m free tonight. i’ll be there at seven? or whenever is good for you, i’m free. wait, i said that already-”

“perfect,” minho purrs, taking one of your hands in his and laying the other on chan’s shoulder. “seven is perfect. see you then, chan.”

--

he gets to your place early and sits in his car for 30 minutes, chewing at his fingernails and tapping his leg at an alarming pace. the more he thinks about it the more he overthinks - did they just want to yell at you in private instead of at the company building? did they really not know? what if he confessed and they didn’t know? what if they never speak to you again?

he has to take several deep breaths before leaving his car, and again before he knocks on your door. he’s ushered in by you, bright smiles on yours and minho’s faces as you take the camera out of his hands, and by the time he has a glass of wine in his hand and he’s sitting on the couch while minho puts the finishing touches on dinner he’s almost fully relaxed. he’s been here so many times, your apartment being a refuge to all the boys when they wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit. this is normal. 

“let me put something on for us to watch,” you say at the same time minho asks chan if he wanted more wine, and you sneak the camcorder towards the tv while chan was distracted, sniping at minho that no he doesn’t want a second glass he’s not even halfway through the first one. you plug it in, smiling when it connected to the right input immediately. you scroll through the files, fingers calm on the remote even though you were shaking in anticipation inside. when you get to the right file you click on it, turning up the volume. 

the image of you and minho takes over the tv, sounds coming out of the tv in a much better quality than what chan had been used to. his head whips towards the tv, wine forgotten and eyes wide as he takes in the video that you put on.

“what?” he asks, almost in a gasp as his eyes flicker back and forth between the tv, you, and minho, who had finally exited the kitchen and joined you in the living room.

“we thought since you loved it so much, we would watch it together,” minho explains, much more casually than one should be when playing a video of them fucking their girlfriend in front of their best friend. “why, is something wrong?” 

“i-”, chan cuts himself off, panic choking his voice. “i’m so sorry-”

“hey,” you move towards him, sitting against his side and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “that isn’t what this is about. we don’t mind, okay?” 

“we couldn’t let him sputter on for a bit more?” minho pouts, crossing his arms at you. “it was funny.”

“min, be nice,” you scold, smiling at chan. 

“channie, i would have beat you up when i found out if i wanted to,” minho relents, siting on chan’s other side, sandwiching him between you both. “she likes that you watched it. i like it. okay? just relax and be good for us.”

minho’s words wash over chan, leaving him in a sort of daze. be good for us, minho had said. he could do that, chan was so good at being good. he melts against the couch, the heat from both of your bodies enveloping him as he takes in the video he’s seen over and over already. 

“you planned this?” he asks, breathless and mesmerized. 

“of course i did,” minho scoffs, squeezing one of chan’s thighs in his warm hand. “you think i would just let you watch that without planning it? i’m not that stupid.”

you’re not, but maybe i am, chan thinks, and he only realizes that he said it out loud when you start giggling and lean your head into his shoulder to hide your laughter. 

he wants to retort, to somehow defend himself, but then video-minho changes his angle and starts fucking video-you even harder than before and whatever words were in his throat stayed behind the lump there.

“do you want to do that to her?” minho asks, hand trailing up chan’s thigh, leaving behind phantom pinpricks of sensation. he lets his blunt nails rake over chan’s leg, the delicate material of his workout pants providing no protection. 

“can i?” chan breathes out, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“please,” you wiggle your legs open a bit, a clear invitation. his hand comes to rest on your thigh and it’s so big, so much bigger than minho’s. he slides it up, to the hem of your oversized shorts, dipping his fingers closer to your panties and -

he stops. 

“but, i also want…” he ducks his head down, trying to hide his flush before glancing at minho through his lashes. minho’s brow furrows, confusion clear on his face before he puts it together. 

“oh, my channie,” he coos, running a hand through chan’s hair. “we can do that too, i promise. but my girl has been waiting so long for you, you don’t want to make her wait even longer, do you?”

chan shakes his head, entire body swaying with the force of it, reenergized by minho’s promise of more. he turns towards you and you feel your breath leave your body as you turn weighless for a moment, landing back on earth to find yourself straddling chan’s lap. 

“you’re strong,” you praise, feeling up his biceps as you get comfy in his lap, ignoring minho’s indignant yelp next to you. chan beams up at you, both of his hands cupping your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer into him. his dick is hard in his pants, poking against your crotch, and you both let out lewd moans when you grind into him a bit. he glances at minho, a little insecure and still kind of uncomfortable, but minho just pulls him in and kisses him deeply. it’s a sight to see, like a movie playing out right in front of your eyes, the love of your life and his best friend making out right in front of you. chan tenses a bit but melts into the couch even faster, letting minho lead him into blissful submission as he cups his face and moves it right how he wants it. 

when they part, chan’s lips are cherry red and so wet, glistening in the light from the lamps decorating the room. you can’t help but kiss him too, licking minho’s essence off of him and reveling in the way he bucks up into you like he can’t help it. 

chan slides his lips to the right, peppering kisses to the corner of your lips, across your jaw and down your neck. he sucks at the spot right under your ear that makes you see stars, heat bursting in your lower belly. he was utterly intoxicated by your scent, your clean, floral body wash taking over his senses until he was all but panting into your neck. 

it almost hurts to pull back from him, it’s like a stab right to your heart when he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, but you need more from him. any thoughts that you might have had of seducing him, of wining and dining him and showing him how much you really wanted him, died out once you felt his hands on you. you’ve been crushing on this man for almost as long as you’ve been crushing on minho, and you weren’t going to give this opportunity any time to ruin itself; you knew chan, knew how his self-consciousness and second-guessing worked, and if you wanted him you needed to take him now before he changed his mind. 

you reach for the drawstring on his pants, pulling it open and sticking your hand in, rubbing him through his boxers. next time you’d have more decorum, you’d suck him off until he was right on the edge and make him sob when you refuse to let him come, you’d let him fuck you into the mattress and let him pin you down, but not right now. 

“on the couch?” chan asks, eyes wide as they flicker back and forth between you and minho. 

“you know we’ve done it in worse places,” minho says, humor lining his words as the lust takes over his eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. a burst of affection takes over you as you look at him, your perfect soulmate who understood you and your desires and shared them with you like you shared everything else. 

“never knew you were such an exhibitionist,” chan snipes back at him, gasping when you tug him out of his pants and boxers, the stretch of his waistband making it easy. you only have to stroke him a few times until he’s fully hard, his cock red and leaking where it curves into his lower belly. 

“minho, help me,” you ask, blinking at minho through your eyelashes, and he knows what you want immediately; he hooks his fingers through your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down to your knees, just far down enough for you to be able to rub your bare pussy against chan’s cock.

“god, you’re so wet,” he curses, throwing his head back and sighing in time with the movement of your hips.

“for you, channie,” your voice cracks when his cock catches on your clit, and both of them are smart enough not to say anything about it. minho moves though, ever impatient, and lines chan’s cock up against your hole with practiced ease. 

“thought about this a lot, did you?” you tease, knowing very well that both of you thought about this a little too much, sharing fantasies in hushes whispers when you were supposed to be asleep. . 

minho clicks his tongue and presses himself up behind you, still fully clothed even though his dick was rock hard in his jeans. he places his hands on your hips and pushes you into chan, driving his cock deep into you. you collapse against chan’s chest, a surprised yelp leaving you at the unexpected fullness. chan echoes you, burying his face into your neck with a shudder. 

“tease me again and see what i’ll do,” he says darkly, hands still in a death grip on your waist. you take his threat for what it is, knowing that he would follow through with his words, and you start grinding into chan in slow circles. his hands circle your waist, fingers tangled with minho as they let you set the pace. 

“please,” chan whimpers, his breath tickling your neck. you want to tease him so badly, but how could you when he asked so politely? you shift your knees further onto the couch, gaining leverage so you could lift your hips higher up. you drop back down onto him and you both moan in unison. 

you lift back up and drop down, again and again and again, finding a rhythm that fits both of you perfectly. it’s like a dance, moves that feel practiced and eased, spurred on by minho’s soft whispered praises towards the both of you. the video playing on the tv had reached its end, and every sound coming from you was heightened. 

“what a pretty show, all for me,” minho moves away and finally takes his cock out of his jeans, fisting it and immediately starting to stroke himself off at a fast pace. you can’t see him, you miss the warmth of him against your back, but chan can’t take his eyes off of him, transfixed by the sight of his best friend jerking himself off to him and you as you’re bouncing on top of him. 

you’re shaking apart on top of chan before you realize it, orgasm taking over you as you continue to ride him. you clench around him hard, and he’s spilling into you a second later, jerky little thrusts shaking your body on top of his. minho curses as he comes a moment later, too keyed up to extend his pleasure for long. this wasn’t about him anyways; at least, not this time. 

you lift off of chan with a hiss, sending him a look of sympathy when he shivers in overstimulation. you don’t make it far, pulling him down to lay against you, your back pressed up against his front. both of your pants are still halfway off, but you can’t be bothered to care right now - you’re utterly exhausted, even from just one orgasm. 

the both of you barely register minho draping a blanket over you before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning his head on the couch right by where chan’s hands were around your stomach. it’s so domestic, the three of you drifting towards one another so naturally that it just feels right. later, you’d get up and eat the now-cold dinner minho had painstakingly prepared, but for now you were content to lay in comfortable quiet.

“wait,” chan breaks the silence, and you have to resist the urge to groan at him. “how did you know that i watched it? what if the storage really was just full?”

“please, you’re too obvious,” minho teases, voice soft and drowsy, and you can hear the smile in it. “plus, you were watching it in the dorms, idiot. you’re lucky it wasn’t jeongin that caught you.”

--

Okay, maybe not technically the middle of nowhere. But a shitty dive bar surrounded by nothing for miles upon miles isn’t really something to write home about. You know it could be worse- at least here you have access to unlimited alcohol and mozzarella sticks. But a quick look around tells you that’s not enough to redeem it for you.

The place is undoubtedly small, pool tables and red leather booths housing most of the space. Where there’s vacancy at the tables, the servers haven’t bothered to clean up yet, passing by stacks of dirty plates and silverware to serve guests sitting at other tables. A group of men chatter amongst themselves at one of the pool tables, and a single man is sat at the open bar.

You settle on a spot at the open bar, sitting two barstools away from the man and drying your feet on the rug below you.

“What can I get you?” A voice overhead says dryly, and you respond without looking up.

“Just a Coke, maybe? Diet, please.”

You hear the man scoff a little as he retreats, and then you finally look up, slightly offended at his reaction.

He’s walking away from the bar when you see him, only the back of his head visible from behind the counter where you’re sat.

As he disappears into the back to grab a coke, you pull your cell phone out of your bag. You wipe raindrops off the screen with the sleeve of your sweater, pushing the lock button to catch up on unread texts. There are only two, both from your parents, warning you about the rain and requesting you turn back for the night.

You shoot them back a text, assuring them you’ve found someplace safe to stay, and that you won’t be driving in this rain until the storm blows over. But the truth is, you’re rather unsure of that yourself. Your phone currently reads at 26% battery, the storm is predicted to go on for several hours, and there are seemingly no hotels nearby to stay the night. Chances are, you’re going to be here for a good while.

A veiny hand places an iced glass of your Diet Coke in front of you as you finish sending the texts, and you look up to lock eyes with the bartender.

He’s rather tall, with light brown hair that falls just above his soft round eyes, totally contradicting the sharpness in his jawline and nose bridge. The man is dressed formally in a white button-up shirt and a black tie, rolled up halfway at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone to reveal just a glimpse of his broadened chest.

“Is that it?” He asks. His stare is cold and serious, and you find yourself a little intimidated in this proximity to him.

“Yes, thank you. Do you happen to have a phone charger?”

He scoffs again.

“This isn’t a convenience store.”

“I’m aware,” you reply with narrowed eyes. “I just need to make a few calls.”

“There’s a pay phone in the back.”

It’s your turn to scoff. He’s calculated with his words, like he’s trying his best to get you to leave the bar. But you’re as stubborn as they come, and it’ll take a lot more than rude customer service to make you leave in this storm.

“Look, I’m not using a pay phone unless you’re supplying quarters. You don’t have an iPhone charger?”

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t have an iPhone charger. And I’m not supplying you with anything- this isn’t a convenience store. Unless you want a vodka sprite or some chicken wings, I think we’re all done here.”

Before you can reply, he turns on his heel, making his way back to the kitchen and disappearing behind the double doors once again.

The doors swing in and out a few times before coming to a halt, and you stare through the circular window as he resumes cooking something in the kitchen.

Unpleasant- the personalities of everyone in your parents’ neighboring town, miles away from your apartment in the city. It reminds you precisely why you seldom visit these parts.

“Don’t take it personal,” a voice from beside you says. He shifts to face you from his bar stool. “He’s always like that.”

The stranger is well-dressed in a coat and slacks, his black hair styled neatly out of his face.

“Surprised he keeps any business at all with an attitude like that.”

“The locals don’t get the worst of it,” he continues. “Mostly us city-dwellers he despises.”

A small smile forms on your face. “You’re from the city too?”

“Yeah!” he replies enthusiastically. “I’m just passing through for the weekend.”

“Me too! Though I got stuck on the way back home. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to leave for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah,” the man says. “It’s really bad out there.”

You shift your attention to the large window at the back of the bar- the rain is still coming down in sheets over the glistening black pavement, nothing visible beyond the blurry traffic lights as the trees melt into an abyss of darkness. The roads appear empty and the parking lot seems fuller than usual for a bar like this.

“I’m Jisung, by the way,” he says finally.

You turn back to him and nod once. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you.”

*

As Jisung indulges you in conversation about city life, you learn he’s a businessman who visits the area on Saturdays when he gathers in the town with old friends. He also lives alone in a high-rise apartment, he’s single, and he comes to this particular dive bar for the chicken wings. Ones he insists you have to try, so you waive over the bartender to place another order.

“Excuse me, could we get an order of chicken wings?”

The bartender scribbles something and walks away quickly, hardly acknowledging you the way he did earlier.

“You know,” Jisung says. “Maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been talking to the prettiest girl in this bar for the last 30 minutes. Beats being stuck in traffic any day.”

You feel your whole face turn a bright shade of crimson as he grins flirtatiously. Of course, the other way around stands true, too; his features resemble that of a model’s, and you're pretty sure the other girls in the bar have been eyeing him since you walked in.

Before you can respond, the bartender returns, setting a plate down in front of you and some silverware.

“Enjoy,” he says plainly, and he blinks a few times before leaving again.

“Jeez, it’s like he doesn’t even want to work here,” you tell Jisung.

He says nothing in response- he simply slides the plate over to you, ushering for you to choose a piece.

And you do, carefully balancing the saucy cut between your forefinger and thumb as Jisung taps his against yours.

“Cheers,” he says happily. “To the rain.”

The chicken is the best you’ve had in a while- in fact, you can’t recall having better food at any bar before this.

“Wow, you were right, Jisung. this is phenomenal!”

“It’s Minho’s recipe,” he replies with a mouthful of food.

“Who’s Minho?”

Jisung nods in the direction of the bar, where the bartender is cleaning off a glass with a white towel. He raises his eyebrows once at you, as if to confirm he’s indeed the topic of conversation, and you turn back to Jisung.

“It’s really good,” you say loudly, with the intention of Minho hearing your compliment.

But Minho doesn’t respond, instead sauntering over and refilling your Diet Coke. His eyes visibly avoid yours, guarded, like you might instigate another quarreling match with him at any given second. But he also blinks rapidly as he pours your beverage, almost as if he’s trying not to say something himself. You analyze his mannerisms briefly, before brushing them off and enjoying your food again. He’s probably just still peeved from earlier.

“Do you want to play a round of pool?” Jisung interrupts your thoughts. “Not to scare you, but I’m kind of terrible at it.”

His eyes form little crescents as he laughs loudly, and the gloomy vibe in the bar seems to brighten from the sound alone.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Three rounds in, Jisung is practically sober again, reeling off the high from winning three times against you. He might be terrible, but you’re evidently far worse than he claims to be.

“If I win this match, you let me take you out on a date. How does that sound?” Jisung says through laughter, though he’s entirely serious about the proposal.

Your cue stick prods at his ribs as you smile back in agreement. “And if you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” Jisung retorts. “Might as well pick a restaurant now.”

It’s a failure already, Jisung having only two stripes left while you’re still stuck with all 8 solids. He takes his aim at the cue ball, halting his laughter briefly to position his cue stick, and then cheering loudly as the ball disappears into its nearest hole. You watch with bated breath as he repeats the process, only this time, he misses.

“Hey,” you whine. “You only brought up our proposal midway through this round. At least I deserve a chance card!”

He scoffs. “Pick a chance then. I doubt it’ll get you 7 balls closer to your competition.”

You scan the room in deep thought, one hand resting under your chin and atop the cue stick; and then, the idea hits you.

“He’ll play for me,” you announce, nodding toward the direction of where Minho is wiping down the counter with a rag. He looks up momentarily, furrowing his brows when he notices the shared looks of you and Jisung.

“Get over here!” Jisung shouts, and a few patrons of the tables nearby encourage the invitation, cheering and applauding.

“No,” Minho says as he shakes his head shyly. “I’m busy.”

“There’s literally no one around,” Jisung retorts. “Come on, I know you can try at least once.”

“He’s scared he’ll lose,” you chime in. “And then you’ll have to take me out on a date.”

You swear you see Minho’s eyes narrow, and then he dries his hands with the same rag before setting it down.

“One round only. If I win, you tip double.”

“Deal,” says Jisung, and you watch Minho strut over to the table.

He’s taller than you assumed, towering over you in a black pair of slacks that lengthen his muscular legs. In preparation, Minho cuffs up his sleeves a few more times, buttoning them at the forearm and loosening his collar. You try your hardest not to stare, but it’s a seemingly impossible task, you quickly realize, as he takes your cue stick and positions himself over the table. One loose strand of brown hair falls into his face, and you resist the urge to move it out of the way for him.

The tables nearby are quiet as Minho pulls back, and then aims, the first of your solids rolling into the hole with ease.

“Oh fuck you,” Jisung groans, and Minho positions himself over the next target. Aim, roll back, perfect shot.

Tables around you begin to gather around yours, watching silently as Minho repeats his method. Aim, roll, shoot. The heavy sound of a solid rolling down the velvety surface, and the satisfying plink as it finds its home inside the hole.

Only two solids remain, and Jisung rests his head on his cue stick as Minho takes aim again. “I can’t watch. Someone tell me if he gets it.”

Aim… roll… and double plink- both solids disappear into the hole beneath them, effectively ending the match between the two. The patrons clap and cheer loudly, and Jisung throws his hands in the air, groaning in annoyance. “Fuck, man! You didn’t say you knew how to play pool?”

Minho shrugs, not a hint of a smile on his face as he retrieves the balls and organizes them on the table again. Jisung slides him a twenty, and he shoots you a quick glance, nodding once as he leaves the table and disappears back into the kitchen. You wonder again what he’s thinking about, briefly worried you’ve annoyed him by pulling him away from his work.

“Hey,” Jisung says, snapping you out of your tranced state. “Did you want to… maybe… get out of here? I know a hotel just a few blocks from the bar. We can walk fast.”

You think it over momentarily, weighing your options. The rain has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and you’re dying for a shower at this point. You’re also persuaded by the idea of a warm bed- not to mention, a warm body, for the night.

“Sure! I’m just going to run to the bathroom, I’ll meet you outside.”

*

The reflection in the mirror looks rough, staring back at you like this, desperately fixing the smudged makeup to the best of your ability and spritzing perfume. It’s been a while since you hooked up with a random person- especially one from a dive bar like this, but somehow you trust him. He’s funny, sweet, and he’s undoubtedly attractive. Plus, maybe a hookup will distract you from the current state of things.

When you exit, you make your way past the barstools, thanking Minho briefly. His lips curl up into a hint of a smile, and you can’t help but feel bad for him- he’s stuck in this shitty bar regardless, dealing with obnoxious patrons seeking shelter from the storm and cleaning up after their drunken messes. He may be a little rude, but it’s deserved, you think, as he cleans off your dishes.

Finally exiting the bar, you look around for Jisung, shielding your eyes from sheets of rain and squinting against the dark sky. The only source of light is a hanging light beside the wooden bar sign, and it illuminates nothing past your immediate eyesight.

“Jisung?” You call, being met only with the sounds of heavy rainfall and swaying leaves.

“Jisung?”

The wind blows violently, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering against the brutal cold. A man enters the bar beside you, keeping the door open and ushering you inside. And you do enter again, marching straight to the bar to search for Jisung.

*

“Excuse me,” you say to Minho, who is busy preparing a beer on tap for another patron. “Did you see the man who was here earlier? Tall, black hair, suit?”

“You mean Jisung?” He says without looking at you, and you perk up at his name.

“Yes! Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,” Minho replies dryly. “I told him you changed your mind about him.”

“You- what?”

Minho says nothing again, filling another mug of beer and sliding it across the counter to a patron.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“He’s bad news,” Minho shrugs.

The words circle in your head for a good minute while you make sense of them. Minho ruined your chances at going home with Jisung- because he’s “bad news”? What does he even know about him?

“Why do you say that?” The question escapes your lips before you can ponder a more insightful one.

“I know him,” he replies casually. “Like I said- bad news.”

Frustration builds up steadily inside of you, turning your ears a bright shade of crimson and knitting your brows together in pure confusion.

“Who are you to determine that? You’re just a bartender! It’s none of your damn business who I leave with!”

He slaps a palm on the counter, not particularly hard, but enough to startle you a little.

“Actually, it is. I have a legal obligation to ensure my patrons don’t leave here inebriated behind a vehicle, or with strange men. And I saved you from the latter. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” You scoff. “Since I walked in here you’ve been nothing but a complete douche! There’s nothing to thank you for.”

“Then don’t,” Minho says. “I did my part either way.”

You stutter momentarily, settling on silence as he exits back to the kitchen and leaves you standing at the counter. The current state of things feels much like they did when you first entered- drenched from the rain, frustrated, and annoyed with the bartender. Only now, you can add cockblocked to the list, all thanks to Minho.

*

Two hours past the incident, your phone is completely dead. It’s just past 11 when the rain stills just for a little bit, and hoards of patrons file out of the bar to complete their short trips home. You remain stuck however, knowing the rain will pick up again if you attempt the six hour drive back right now. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, only two people sat at a far table, and the quiet swing of jazz music is now audible from your little booth. The peeling leather of the red seats below you is rather itchy, and the dim lantern hanging over you gives an orange-ish glow to the wooden table beneath you. You scribble mindless doodles on a stack of napkins in front of you, trying your best to pass the agonizing time spent here.

As you finalize the petals of a messy flower drawn on the napkin, a plate is set down in front of you, along with a glass of what you presume is Diet Coke. The smell instantly makes your mouth water- a cheesy omelet coupled with a side of french fries, steam still wafting off the plate and up into the glow of the booth’s lighting. You look up to see none other than Minho, and before you can protest, he slides into the booth across from you, setting a fork down on your napkin.

“You should eat,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s on me,” Minho emphasizes, and you finally look up from your drawing.

“Look,” he begins. “Jisung has been coming here for years. He’s a cool dude, I get it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly like I have a chance with him anymore,” you turn back to your drawing.

“He’s also married,” Minho finishes.

At that, your head snaps up at him, eyes widened in shock.

“What? But he said-”

“Yeah, that’s what he always says. It’s kind of his thing- picking up girls from the bar and taking them to that one hotel. I told you, he’s bad news.”

Silence washes over the booth as you swallow nervously. He shrugs apologetically, fiddling with his fingers as you begin to speak.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. I just didn’t want you to come back here crying tomorrow morning like the last girl did.”

It hits you like a ton of bricks- Minho really was looking after you. You’d almost left this strange dive bar, in the middle of nowhere, to sleep with a married man in a sketchy hotel. In hindsight, it was stupid you ever agreed.

“At least eat some fries,” he says, and you remember the plate in front of you. You comply with his request, taking a bite of the still-warm fries which almost melt on your tongue.

“These are really good,” you tell him. “He was right about the food, at least.”

“I’m kind of a big deal here,” Minho says as he leans back. He smirks- the first time you’ve seen an expression on his face tonight.

“I’m sure. How did you get so good at pool, anyway?”

“I work at a dive bar,” Minho says. “Girls ask me to play with them all the time.”

“Do they now? Your reluctance earlier says otherwise.”

“Oh they do,” Minho says. “When they’re as shitty as you, I’m the chance card.”

“Hey!” You shout. Minho giggles, his head thrown back as his eyes form little crescents in amusement. His laugh makes you laugh, too, the musical sound of it making your heartbeat quicken a little. It’s melodic and lighthearted, and you almost forget you’re stuck with him in this hell of a bar. There’s a glow to him at this time of night.

“Run it back,” you say as his laughter dies down. “And I’ll show you I’m not entirely terrible.”

“Better hope you don’t lose,” he says. “You won’t have a chance card this time.”

*

You still suck at pool. Minho clears the table in two quick rounds, and you’ve barely had time to practice with your cue stick because it’s hardly ever your turn.

“Alright,” Minho says. “I’ll let you have this turn. It’s boring watching you stand there all night.”

You approach the table, positioning your cue stick and taking aim at your first solid of the match.

“Use your thumb on the front hand,” he chimes in.

“Like this?”

“No, it should be between your thumb and pointer finger.”

“Like I’m pinching it?” You ask confused, and Minho chuckles.

“Here.”

Before you can adjust your cue stick again, Minho is behind you, one hand finding yours at the front of the cue stick and positioning it between your thumb and pointer finger like he explained. His hands are cold to the touch, and you’re intimidated having him this close to you. The other hand gently grips your elbow, moving it back a little as he scans the current trajectory. His face is dangerously close to yours, hair falling beautifully into his eyes as he moves, lips parted in concentration and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

“There. Try now.”

You do as he instructs, rolling back and taking aim at your solid. Aim, shoot… and the familiar roll of your ball across the table. Only this time, it’s followed by the satisfying sound of falling into its respective hole.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim. “That’s only the third one I’ve gotten tonight!”

Minho chuckles, amused with your ardent reaction. “Your aim isn’t bad at all. It’s just your positioning.”

He turns to smile at you, momentarily unaware of how close he is to you. He’s towering over you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin as your eyes glimmer, still reeling off the high of scoring. For a brief second, your eyes flicker down to his lips, maybe a little too obviously, and then back up at his eyes.

“I should probably get back to the kitchen,” Minho says nervously. “I think that table ordered drinks like one round ago.”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little hurt that he’s leaving again. “I’m pretty tired, anyway.”

“You want something else to eat?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Good luck with work, though!” You avert his gaze fully now, mentally tracing the pattern on the rug below you.

When Minho leaves, you can’t help but mentally scold yourself. He’s just a bartender- one whose job is to serve you drinks and keep you out of trouble here. Not some friend to stand around and play pool with, regardless of how good he is, or hypnotizing it feels when he touches you.

*

At 1am, the bar is officially empty. The last few patrons leave after a round of gin vodkas, somehow getting an Uber despite the storm and leaving home for the night. You debate getting a room at the nearby hotel, but there’s no way you’ll be able to reserve a room this late, and your phone is still dead. It would probably be smart to attempt some method of getting home, but a part of you strangely doesn’t want to leave the bar anymore. It feels like a vessel into another universe, like time doesn’t exist here, like the storm or the ride home aren’t important as long as you’re sat in this little booth. You’re well aware the bar closes in an hour, but you’d rather wait until the hour to decide what to do.

Of course, part of it could be the bartender. You don’t want to like Minho, but you can’t quite make sense of him, either. He’s attractive, but reserved. He’s outgoing, but he has his guard up. And his walls break down when he’s enjoying himself, but he builds them up quickly again, and you can’t understand what triggers it. He’s much like the bar is- safe and homely, yet mysterious and alluring.

As you take a sip of your Diet Coke, neck craned to watch the show playing on the tv above you, a familiar face scoots into the booth across from you.

“Subway,” he says.

“What?”

“Jeopardy. Restaurants by slogan: Eat Fresh. It’s Subway.” He's referring to the episode of Jeopardy you’ve been watching for the past half hour.

“Everyone knows that,” you say with a smile.

You expect him to defend himself, but instead he laughs and shakes his head.

“Either our diet cokes are really good, or you’re not in any rush to get home.”

You sigh, swirling your straw around your third can of Coke and shrugging.

“I can’t make it home in this rain. The roads are closed going my direction, anyway.”

“Where’s home?”

“Far from here. In the city.”

Minho sits back comfortably now, arms crossed in front of him as he listens to you speak.

“City girl. I guessed it.”

“What gave me away?” You ask with a smile.

“iPhone charger request. And you drink Diet Coke exclusively.”

“I don’t like to waste my calories!” You argue.

“You’re in a dive bar.”

The two of you share laughter at your admission, and you can feel your cheeks heat up again. He sure knows how to make you laugh.

“I’ll probably get a motel room for tonight,” you say. “I think there’s one walking distance from here.”

“The nearest one is a shithole. I’m pretty sure someone died there, like, a few months ago.”

You exhale deeply, poking around at your drink with your straw.

“I have work on Monday. I have to get some shut-eye or I won’t be able to get home even if it does stop raining.”

Minho glances around the bar, observing the vacant tables and empty parking lot.

“Yah, Jeongin-ah!” He shouts suddenly, and a figure appears around the kitchen door, peering over at your table.

“Yeah?”

“Clock out,” Minho says. “We’re closing an hour early.”

“An hour? But what if-”

“No one else is coming in this rain. Just grab your stuff And get home safely. I’ll handle the rest of the tables.”

Jeongin’s gaze darts over at you quickly, and then back to Minho, as he nods without saying another word. He disappears into the kitchen once again, presumably to gather his belongings.

“You don’t have to close on account of me,” you say finally, a little unsure of his motives. “I can walk to the motel from here.”

He scoffs, sliding out from the booth and gathering a stack of dirty dishes from the table beside you. “I told you, it’s not safe. You can chill here for the next hour while I do closing procedures, and if it’s still raining, I can at least give you a ride there.”

“Why should I trust you?” You ask, hint of sarcasm present in your voice, but still cautious.

“Technically you shouldn’t,” he says with a smile. “But you’re free to call the cops on me whenever you want.”

“Nice try. My phone's dead.” You shoot him a smile, knowing he’s just messing with you, but wanting to entertain his little game nonetheless.

“Back room, third drawer in the file cabinet. There should be a phone charger there.”

You gasp and scoff. “I thought this wasn’t a convenience store!”

“It’s not,” Minho says, flashing you a toothy smile as he makes his way to the kitchen and calls out over his shoulder. “It’s a dive bar. My dive bar.”

*

Minho scrubs grease off the plates while you dry mugs on the counter adjacent to him and arrange them neatly in a row.

“So you haven’t left this town in years?” You ask Minho, continuing the conversation you’ve been having with him for the past 45 minutes.

“I drive to the city probably once a year,” he replies. “Hate it.”

“Why?”

“It’s too busy. I prefer simple. Simple people, simple places. A simple life.”

“How can you say that when you’ve never experienced it the other way around before?”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Experienced a simpler life. Outside of the city.”

“Well… kind of. I mean, I moved out the second I turned 18. Grew up in the suburbs, but I traveled to the city every chance I got. I always knew I wanted to be there.”

“So you’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible?”

“I guess not.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I grew up in the city.”

“You did?”

“Hated it,” Minho says.

“Why’s that?”

“I was… easily distracted. Got involved with a lot of bad crowds. Never knew what I wanted. Worked as a private chef for a while, actually.”

You stop drying the mug you’re working on and look at him in utter shock.

“You?”

“Me,” he affirms with a chuckle. “I quit one random day five years ago and moved out here with every penny I saved. Obtained ownership of this bar and haven’t looked back since.”

You nod at his words, resuming your task as he shuts off the water.

“Takes some courage, I’ll give you that.”

Minho leans back against the counter and rests his hands on the table behind him. He smirks at you knowingly, and you can feel his eyes pierce through you out of your peripheral vision.

“What?” You say with a blushing grin.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You make a good employee here.”

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, lining up the last mug on the counter and turning around to face him.

“I’d probably start a fire with running water or something crazy.”

He laughs again, shaking his head as you cross your arms.

“I need to close up the registers,” Minho says. “You want to hang out here until I’m done?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he bows slightly.

“I’ll try to be fast.”

Minho leaves to the back office as you wipe your hands with a dish rag, smiling in a daze.

*

While Minho counts change in the office, you explore the place a bit, making your way around the pool tables to the back of the bar. It’s then that you notice a tall staircase almost hidden away in a back corner. You slowly make your way up the stairs, tip-toeing so as not to startle Minho while he’s in the office closing up for the night. The creaky wooden stairs are muffled by the sound of the rain outside.

When you reach the top, you lean on the banister, looking down on the bar and taking in the view. It looks especially charming like this, illuminated only by the golden neon sign hung over the bar counter and reflecting off the big glass cabinets. Entrance through a small doorway leads to a single, dark room, and you turn on the dim light to explore the room.

There are only two things in the room- another pool table, visibly much older than the others downstairs, and an old arcade game. Upon closer inspection, you find that the game is a run-down version of Pac-Man, one of your favorite arcade games growing up. The giant yellow display is decorated with whimsical little drawings of Pac-Man and ghosts, and you can’t help but crack a smile at the sight, remembering the days you used to play as a kid.

You try the on switch, being met with a buzzing noise and the glow of red marquee lights, but nothing appears on the screen. Bummer, you think to yourself.

“It’s never turned on,” a voice says behind you, and you let out a shout, startled at the sudden noise.

When you turn around, Minho is standing with his hands in his pockets, a black blazer thrown over his button up shirt and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Got it as a donation a few months ago and it’s lived up here ever since. I think it’d be a hit, if it actually worked.”

You turn back to the machine, observing the gentle hum from the static on the monitor display.

“It’s probably something with the PCB,” you reply, and Minho turns to look at you.

“The what?”

“The printed circuit board,” You repeat, setting your purse down on the floor beside you. “You have a screwdriver?”

Minho’s brows furrow together in confusion, but he nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

He leaves momentarily and returns with the requested tool, watching as you drop to your knees and unscrew the door to the cabinet.

“The lights turn on, which is a good thing,” you explain to him. “Means the monitor is still in good condition. So It’s probably just slowed down with general wear.”

When the cabinet door is off, Minho leans back against the pool table and observes as you pull out little parts from the myriad of pieces along the circuit.

“I figured,” You say, sitting back with a tissue in hand. “The EPROMs and ROMs are all warped.”

You pull a bobby pin out from your hair, gently wiggling the pins back in place before cleaning them off with a tissue.

Minho is lost as he watches you, mouth agape at the level of focus in your expression, tongue poking out between your lips as you move with purpose and determination. He realizes he may have undermined you this whole time, thinking secretly you’d crave a simpler life, when all along it was your intelligence and wit that drew you to the city. You’re as complex as the city, he thinks. You can’t be confined within the safety of these four walls like he can. And maybe he’s complex, too. But he’s not sure of himself the way you seem to be.

When you’re finished wiping down the acronyms of pieces, you fit them back in and screw back on the door. Minho watches curiously as you plug in the machine again, reaching around the frame for the switch and flipping it on.

The familiar hum of the screen starts up again, only this time it flashes a bright white color, and then displays PAC-MAN as soft music begins to play.

“Holy shit,” Minho says with a breathy chuckle. “That would've been thousands to get repaired.”

“Take it as a thank you,” you say. “For helping me out tonight.”

You hoist yourself up on the pool table and gesture to the display as he stares in awe. “Try it!”

Minho presses the red START button, chuckling when the familiar tune starts up and the game begins. He makes it through a few rows before getting eaten by a pixelated ghost, groaning when the game flashes GAME OVER and starts up another round.

But he doesn’t resume playing, instead turning around to face you with an unmoving expression.

“It’s drizzling,” he says, looking past you out the little window.

“Mhm,” you reply, though you’re not registering a word he's saying anymore. He’s dangerously close to you again, eye-level with you while you’re sat atop the pool table and not taking your gaze off him.

He seems to be trembling with anticipation, his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, hoping you’ll notice the motion and do something, anything with it.

“We should probably get going,” You say in a whisper.

He swallows cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Right now that the rain is a little lighter.”

“Yeah,” he says again, though neither of you make any move to leave.

“Thanks for tonight,” you reply, your eyes fully locked on his lips now.

Minho begins to say something, but his voice hitches in his throat, instead opting to swallow and and take a single step forward. And before you can say another word, his face tilts in front of you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

He kisses you gently, but he doesn’t waste any time, hands caressing your waist in his embrace and pressing up against you. He tastes like mint, his tongue mixing the flavor with the taste of Diet Coke still in your mouth. When he pulls away, he says nothing, searching your expression for a sign of how you’re feeling. You say nothing, too, eyes flickering over his serious gaze and waiting for him to break the silence.

When he still doesn’t talk, you reach out to grab his collar, pulling him toward you again. You kiss him first this time, slipping your tongue inside his parted lips to taste him fully, gripping his collar like you might lose him if you let go.

“Fuck,” Minho says, pulling away and breathing heavily. He squeezes his eyes shut, a nervous expression tugging at his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t do this,” Minho replies. “With patrons. I just… I don’t know what got into me…”

His words trail off as you work little kisses down his jawline and neck, nibbling over his clavicle and humming greedily against him.

“What if I wanted you to?”

Minho stares at the ceiling as you work him, breath hitching in his throat as you trail even lower.

You pull away from him, tilting his gaze down to meet yours with a hand on his cheek.

“Say you don’t want to kiss me again,” you clarify. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes narrow, piercing through yours as his hands rest gently on your upper thighs.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says seriously.

Your heart drops instantly, the anticipation that had built up pending his answer quickly fizzling as his words pierce through you. Your throat is dry, dozens of questions circling your mind, but nothing that comes to fruition amidst your disappointment. Guess it wasn’t the way you’d read into it all night.

“Okay.” Your voice is shaky, doing nothing to mask your disappointment.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says again quickly, his thumbs tracing circle patterns on your thighs. He leans in again, lips just barely grazing over yours as he speaks in a whisper. “I want you right here, on this table, right now. I want to do a lot more than just kiss you.”

Your heartbeat resumes, pulsing wildly as he scans your face for a reaction. You don’t grant him one through your facial expressions- rather, you pull him in by his collar once again, closing the gap between you and kissing him even harder this time. You can feel Minho smirking into the kiss, amused with how desperate you are at the simple admission.

His hands snake up your sweater, grabbing desperately at your lower back and pressing into you with his hips. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, neck craned to the side for easy access while he begins to work kisses down your neck now.

“You really suck at pool,” Minho says as he smiles against your skin. His lips find yours again, giving you repeated chaste kisses as you tangle your hands in his hair. His lips feel familiar on yours- almost like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You can’t imagine a version of him you weren’t kissing like this.

“You’re calculated,” you say, smiling as you loosen the black tie around his neck.

“How so?”

“No phone charger, you only agree to play pool when a date with Jisung is on the line, and you’ve gotten me to stick around this long? You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Minho throws his head back a little, his eyebrows arching as he laughs loudly.

“You might be a genius at fixing arcade games, but you don’t have everything figured out the way you think you do.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He pulls away again, completing your task of loosening his tie, and then discarding it completely on the table beside you.

“It stopped raining 15 minutes ago,” he says slyly. “And suddenly you’re in no rush to go home anymore.”

His eyebrows are raised as his hands caress your thighs, moving higher until he’s grazing your hip bones with his fingertips. You don’t reply, suddenly hot at his words, and knowing he’s in fact entirely correct about it. It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting around for all night- a break in the rainfall to get back to your car and make it to a hotel for the night. But paired against the other opportunity right in front of you- the one wearing nothing but a loosened white shirt and a devilish smirk on his face, you can’t do much but resort to the latter.

“You gonna spread for me?” Minho asks in a gentle teasing tone, his voice much quieter than before as your breath hitches in your throat. You nod, disregarding his first statement and doing as you’re told, slipping off your jeans and opening your legs just enough so that he can move his fingertips to graze your inner thighs. It feels dirty like this, so sinful for your skin to make contact with the velvety table below you. But you’re too dazed with lust, completely encapsulated by his movements to do anything except obey him.

“Good girl,” Minho replies, and your heartbeat quickens at the praise.

His hands dance in gentle back and forth motions along your thighs, gradually getting closer to your core, until his middle finger rests gently atop your clothed clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hand briefly, waiting desperately for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“Look at me,” Minho says.

And you do, making eye contact again with his cold stare, piercing salaciously through your doe eyes.

Another smirk grows on his face as he crouches lower, and lower, dropping to his knees until he’s eye level with your aching pussy.

“Please…” you say, resting your weight back on your palms and spreading your legs further for him. Your breaths are labored, eyebrows arched up at just the thought of his tongue on you.

“Please what?”

“Please, would you… eat me out?” You request quietly, somehow internally panicked that he’ll decline.

But he doesn’t- instead he loops a finger through your underwear, pulling down in a sudden motion, eyes widened at the sight of you like this. You’re swollen with arousal, clit visibly quivering at the proximity of his breath against your folds. Your pussy is deliciously sopping for him, glazed juices painting your cunt all for him.

“God,” he breaks the silence. “You’re soaking. I could probably put it in now and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t answer him, tucking strands of hair behind your ears and looking down on him with anticipation.

“Okay,” Minho says with a slight chuckle. “Just relax for me.”

And without wasting another minute, his hands find purchase on your knees, scooting you closer to the edge of the table before finally burying his face in you. His tongue licks a long stripe along your pussy, smiling at the taste, before his lips latch themselves around your clit and suck harshly.

Your eyes roll back almost instantly, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds like a starved animal. His plump lips remain latched to your clit, suckling with lewd wet noises and basking in the flavor of your arousal for him. As your legs tremble with pleasure, your hands quickly find themselves tangled in his hair, grinding him up against you and using his face to satisfy the delicious ache between your legs. Minho is well aware of your desperation, pulling away mere centimeters to grin at your reaction.

“Don’t stop,” you say, massaging his tresses in encouragement to keep going. Minho chuckles, this time latching on to your bundle of nerves with a gentle graze of his bunny teeth. He nibbles tenderly, eyes rolling up to watch your reaction as you sense the shift in his actions.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out frantically. “That feels so fucking good."

Minho smiles into your pussy, giving one small lick with his tongue before utilizing his velvety lips on your clit once again.

“Mmh…” he hums into your pussy, sending divine vibrations that tickle your arousal and instinctively make you moan for him.

“You taste so good,” Minho says between suckling. “I wanna make you cum for me.”

You nod down at him, rubbing little circles on his scalp and throwing your head back when he dips his tongue into your entrance.

“Oh god!”

At first he takes little kitten licks at your entrance, coming back up to kiss your clit repeatedly while you wait in anticipation. And then he brings a hand up to your entrance, sliding one finger in and working it around your pussy as he continues the unwavering attention on your bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, just like that,” you encourage him.

“You like it when I do both at once?” Minho inquires with a knowing smile.

“Yes, fuck” you can hardly answer him between the high-pitched moans that fill the dark room.

“Like when I fill you up?” A kiss on your clit. “Like when I taste you?” He laps at your folds. “Like when I fuck you like this?” Two fingers pump in and out of you now, smearing your arousal back on your clit which he wastes no time lapping up on his tongue.

“Yes, fuck Minho! Please, I’m gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Want you to make a mess on my face.”

His fingers pump at an even faster pace while he sucks your clit between his teeth and emits a deep moan against your wetness. The vibration of his voice gives attention to the rest of your aching pussy, which finally contracts desperately around his fingers as you leak cum on his tongue. Minho licks you clean, chuckling against you when he takes your clit between his teeth again and hears you gasp in overstimulation.

Both of you say nothing as he stands back up, eye-level to you once again, his chin glazed in your juices. He rests his hands on your thighs as he did before, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on your lips and smile against you. Your hands toy with his belt buckle, tracing the pattern in your fingertips before slowly undoing the buckle and snaking the belt out from the loops on his trousers.

“Let me return the favor?” You ask against his lips, and he takes a sharp breath when you unzip his pants.

“Can I be honest?” Minho replies, and you pull away to look him in the eyes. His round eyes are dark, hooded with lust and curiously peering back at you.

He grins sheepishly, massaging your thighs with the palms of his hands as he speaks. “I think I’ve been hard for you the second you walked in here.”

The words make your heart flutter, suddenly much more aware of his contact against your skin, an insatiable desire to satisfy him and let him do whatever he may please.

Maybe you were the one mistaken all night- maybe Minho’s curt attitude and cold demeanor wasn’t in fact discourteousness at all. Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. And now here you are, each drawn to the other like moths to a burning flame, eager to explore and make the fleeting moment last in any way you could.

You laugh at his admission, moving strands of hair out from his face and tucking your face in the crook of his neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to your temple through nervous laughter of his own.

“Yeah?” You say finally. “What are you going to do about it?”

Minho narrows his eyes with a challenging expression, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the table, where he now towers over you and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Turn around,” he orders candidly. Your heart flutters again at the implication- him ordering you around like this when he’s already satisfied you once. But the tone he maintains is both sweet and inviting, and you know his intentions are the same as yours.

You follow his command, facing the pool table as he presses you against the edge, arms wrapping around your waist and peppering your shoulders in little kisses.

His hands snake up your sweater, where he now cups your breasts in his large palms and unclasps your bra. Once you’re bare, you hear him pull down his trousers, the muffled sound sending chills down your spine. If you weren’t dripping with anticipation before, you certainly are now. Minho latches his lips onto your throat, suckling just enough to mark purple bruises along your neck and collarbones. Part of you wants to deny him the little pleasure, reminding him that you have work on Monday and you can’t show up looking like you spent the weekend at a frat party. But the way his skewed front teeth nibble at your flesh stings delightfully, and you can’t bring yourself to protest it.

It’s then that you feel him behind you- his erection pressing into your upper thigh. He pushes into you with force, grinding softly on your skin and moaning against your neck when he feels you lean back into him.

One of your hands reaches out to palm him over the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a soft whimper at the contact.

“Jesus,” he says “I can’t wait anymore. Prop your leg up for me, baby. On the- yeah, just like that.”

He guides you with one hand, moving your thigh up so that he has better access to your cunt as he palms himself more with his other hand.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, now freeing his cock from his boxers and tapping gently at your entrance. The sensation of his bare flesh against yours has you in a daze, desperate to be filled up by him.

“Mhm,” you say, drunk off the feeling of him behind you like this.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing heavily as he jerks himself a few times. And without another minute to spare, he’s sliding himself inside of you, bottoming out almost instantaneously as your pussy takes him with ease.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You’re so big.”

Minho smiles against your neck, pressing one chaste kiss and gathering your hair out from in front of your face.

He starts with gentle thrusts, panting in your ear and letting his hands wander all over your body as he moves. Your eyebrows arch up in pleasure, mouth agape as he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of his thrusting teeming all around you.

“God, you take me so well,” Minho breathes. “You’re so wet for me still.”

You can barely respond to him, one hand reaching up to tilt his jaw toward you so you can kiss him on the mouth again, your lips drooling with saliva and fucked-out with pleasure.

“I’m close,” Minho says into your mouth, pausing his thrusts momentarily to then pick up the pace again, much faster and with even more force.

“Ah- me too.”

As he moves in and out of your sopping cunt, one of his hands sprawls out across your tummy, pushing down with gentle pressure as he thrusts. You feel your insides contract at the sensation, now much closer to your release.

“Fuck, M-Min I’m gonna,”

He smiles against your neck again, amused with your reaction to the little move.

“Let go,” he says breathlessly into your ear. “I know you can give me a second one.”

His hand pushes down a little more, now tickling your insides with the constrained sensation against your abdomen.

And between his thrusts, you feel yourself let go around him, letting out a series of breathy moans as you cum on his still-moving cock. Only this time, you let go of everything, trickling fluids over him and the edge of the table, soaking the floor with remnants of you.

Minho’s orgasm follows just seconds after, breathing out melodic whimpers and moans as he feels you squirt, shooting ropes of his cum inside of you and fondling your breasts through his orgasm. He thrusts every last drop back into you, pulling out when he feels you shudder from overstimulation once again.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses as he pulls out. “You made a mess for me, baby.”

When you’re both finished, you’re quick to dress yourself, pulling your sweater back over your head and buttoning your jeans once again. Minho turns around while you get dressed, well aware that he was inside of you just minutes ago, but wanting to respect your boundaries now that you’re no longer being intimate. He gets dressed too, observing through the little window how the rain hasn’t started again in the entirety you’ve been up here. When you’re done, he turns back around, shooting you a little smile as you fix your hair.

“What?” You inquire, mirroring his expression as he stares back at you.

“Where have you been?” Minho asks simply.

“Hm?”

“Where have you been all my life?”

You cock your head a little, not missing the way he blinks nervously a few times after asking the question.

“Not the suburbs,” you reply with a smile. “That’s for sure.”

*

The gentle lull of jazz music rings through Minho’s ears as he wakes, glancing around to take in his surroundings. He’s sprawled out on the dingy red couch in the back room, still wearing last night’s clothes, hair glued to his forehead under a sheen layer of sweat. The clamoring of dishes startles him, and he furrows his brows together in annoyance as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Minho?” A voice says, and he shuts his eyes preemptively at the inquiry. “Did you…sleep here?”

When his eyelids flutter open again, he’s met with Jeongin, who’s already showered and dressed for his noon opening shift, clutching the till in both hands as he observes Minho’s disheveled state.

Beside him, the little folding table is in disarray, empty bottles of coke and peanut shells scattered everywhere. His mind goes back to last night- the arcade game, kissing you in the spare room upstairs. Fucking you over the pool table at ungodly hours of the night.

After you’d both finished, you agreed to stay in the back room downstairs until daylight when it was a bit safer to be on the road again. You and Minho chatted over diet cokes and a game of cards, between makeout sessions and desperate groping at each other in the dim light of the room. He wanted so badly to make love to you all over again, resisting the urge only because he didn’t want you to think all of this was just for sex. And maybe it started that way, when he fled back to the kitchen after helping you adjust your cue stick during a round of pool in an attempt to hide his raging hard-on. But somewhere along the way, he was also encapsulated by you- by your endearing obsession with Diet Coke, your ability to carry a conversation with a total stranger in these circumstances, and undoubtedly, your unique talent at fixing things.

It was just past 5 when you left, doing a double-take at Minho’s snoring figure to ensure he was actually asleep. You wanted to thank him- in fact, you stood over him for several minutes, playing the conversation in your head of how this would go.

“I’m leaving now- thanks for the life-changing sex and the free sodas. Call me if you’re ever in the city you despise.”

There was no good way to go about it- any which way, you knew that the two of you were destined for very different things, to live completely separate lives.

“You’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible,” Minho had said to you earlier, and you knew he was right, even still longing to one day get out of this province, and maybe even this country. A simpler life scared you- exactly what Minho chased after. And perhaps by extension, chasing after Minho scared you, too.

The dive bar suddenly feels suffocating to Minho, still looming with the rotten scent of cigarettes and beers. For the first time ever, he feels boxed in, much too confined by the four walls and the foggy window at the back.

“I’m leaving,” Minho says, quickly gathering his bag and his blazer from off the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jeongin asks, still holding the till and scanning Minho with a worried expression on his face.

Minho isn’t sure where- in fact, he’s not quite sure about anything right now. All he knows is that you’ve sparked something in him, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. The days of working as a private chef paint vivid memories in his mind, days which he still had passion within him, trying new recipes late through the night and never ceasing to better his methods. A time that now feels one lifetime ago, much more complex in juxtaposition with this new life. Except maybe simple wasn’t the solution all along- for once, he’s determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.

“I’m going to the city,” Minho says, combing through his hair with his fingers.

“The city? I thought you hated it there?”

Minho says nothing, sauntering to the door and fishing his car keys out of the drawer by the register.

“Oh, and Jeongin-ah?”

“Yes?”

“Call someone to move that arcade game downstairs.”

“The Pac-Man one? It doesn’t work-”

“It does now,” Minho replies. “Just promise me it’ll be down here when I get back.”

“Sure thing. But- how’d you get it to work?”

And without looking back, Minho approaches the double doors, keys in hand, no particular destination in mind. The gray clouds have nearly cleared up by now, fresh hues of blue painting the vast sky that overlooks the day ahead. The city calls out to him from afar, bustling traffic and busy roads clouded in pollution. But this time, he answers, in hopes you’ll be there, too.

Summer is here.

The sun is shining so brightly on the clear blue sky and the air carries the smell of flowers along with its pollen, good thing that you're not allergic.

Another good thing is tomorrow is the beginning of summer break and you can put a hold on the stress of being a university student.

The bad thing is you don't have any plans on how you're going to spend it.

However, for tonight, you have a plan and you have to go home so you can get ready for it.

Your apartment is only a few blocks away from the university complex, you always ride your bicycle to and fro. You put your bag and books on the basket of your bicycle before unlocking the chain lock.

"Congratulations on getting the highest score on the quiz!" Someone says.

Even from how dark the shadow is and the insinuating tone in his voice, you can tell who it is.

You put both the lock and the chain inside the basket before turning around to see him, "Minho, should I be relieved or scared that I can't hear the slightest bit of sarcasm in the way you congratulate me?"

Minho is an enemy because the two of you are competing to be at the top of the class and everyone knows that. His smirk implies that it's the latter.

"I'm trying to be nice and you should too. Buy me drinks tonight?"

You also consider Minho as a friend since he's the only one who knows the pressure of being a devoted student and a great drinking partner.

"I can't. I have to meet Rina's new boyfriend," you tell him.

Minho knows you well enough that he understands right away. Another common thing you have with him is he also rides his bike to campus.

"Who is she dating this time?" He asks while backing the bike out of the rack.

You do the same and walk the bike out of the station, it's not safe to start riding it with people walking around.

"An artist and that's why she wants me to meet them at an art exhibition," you reply.

It's so nice riding through the warm, pleasant breeze and knowing that you don't have to study for weeks. You're paddling your bike slowly and savoring every second passed in freedom with Minho riding his bike next to you.

"Do you have any plans for the summer?" He suddenly asks.

You keep your head looking straight ahead, "Nope but I know I'll be seeing you in the library."

You glance at him and laugh, "It's the only way you can keep up with me," you add with a shrug.

Minho scoffs and slows down as both of you reach the intersection, "Be careful. Next thing you know I'll be steps ahead of you," he coyly taunts you.

You can't tell if he holds his handlebars so hard or if the veins on his arms are always evident like that when your eyes unknowingly land there.

You sneer and say, "That doesn't sound like a threat at all."

The lights turn green and this is when you go separate ways with him. He's turning right while you're going straight.

Before he makes a turn, he turns at you and says, "Just remember. You still owe me drinks!"

As much as you want to beat each other academically and have the same level of competitiveness, you both keep it fair and clean.

And that's why you consider Minho as the frenemy.

-

The outfit you're wearing is appropriate and appropriate is enough.

There are no limitations in art so seeing the other people dressed for the art exhibition doesn't surprise you at all. What surprises you is how old Rina's new boyfriend looks but you guess it's because of all the facial hair he has.

"I'm Joe," he introduces himself.

"Nice to meet you, Joe," you say with a nice smile.

"Have you looked around?"

"Not yet. I think Rina can show me around," You reply while sending signals at her with your eyes.

"Ah, sure, show her around, babe," he says to Rina, letting her go from his side.

Once you both out of his earshot, you grab Rina's elbow and ask, "How old is he?"

"Oh my God, I'm old enough to date whoever I want," she answers while grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray.

"No, but seriously, how old is he?"

She hands you a glass and sips her drink, "He's only 31. Relax!"

You have mixed feelings about her dating a guy 10 years older than her but she's right, she's old enough to make a decision on her own.

After one sip of wine, you trick your brain that it's going to help you relax and it works like usual.

"This is his artwork," Rina says with a proud smile.

It's a puddle of mud on a canvas. You're raking your brain for a good minute and still have zero ideas of what it is about.

His boyfriend calls for her from across the room and Rina answers like the good girlfriend she is, "Wait, I have to—"

"It's okay, you can go," you tell her and you are more than relieved to be left alone.

You look at it again and try to make the meaning of this messy piece of artwork when someone takes a stand next to you.

"Do you like it?" The stranger asks.

"Not... really," you doubtfully answer.

Maybe it's because you're a left-brained person, you're more adaptable to logical and orderly things that you can't see what it's all about.

"I understand paintings," you share, quietly tapping the floor as you speak, "but artworks like this..."

You dryly laugh at your incompetence and you know for sure Minho will have a good laugh at it if he knows but not this man, he's only staring back at you, waiting for you to finish talking.

"For example, I understand Dali's Persistence of Memory but The Lobster Phone? That, I'll never get it," you share another embarrassing thing about yourself, unprovoked.

It's better to stop talking and further embarrassing yourself. You look back at Joe's artwork and stare at it hoping to find nothing but to pass the time.

When you thought he would turn away and leave this awkward moment, he asks, "How about photographs?"

"Photographs?"

He nods, "I can show you some."

There's no harm in seeing some photographs, you may not get it but it's better than seeing a puddle of mud. Plus, this stranger seems nice and not judgemental.

"I'd love to see some photographs," you say.

He leads you to the other part of the gallery, walking through two big black curtains to enter a whole different exhibition.

The room is dark. The only source of light is coming from the lamps casting lights on each framed black and white photograph hung on the black-painted wall.

It's somehow atmospheric and intimate, it's quiet except for the low chatter of people discussing these photographs.

You saunter to the first photograph you see while he's there walking next to you, watching you taking a look at it with awe in your eyes.

It's just so pleasant to look at and maybe that's just what art is, it doesn't have to be boxed into one thing. You just meant to feel it, profoundly.

"It's amazing," you say with a dreamy sigh.

He senses that you're being earnest about what you said and smiles. He lets you take a look at it long enough that you start to immerse yourself in it.

"Perhaps, do you know what happened to Sisyphus?"

That gets you completely puzzled because why would he ask about a figure in Greek mythology out of the blue?

"Well, it's safe to say he's still rolling the boulder up the hill," You answer with a soft laugh.

He stays quiet for a while and sweetly smiles at you, a smile that makes him somewhat familiar like you've seen it before.

"I'll leave you to figure it out," he says, walking backward until his figure is engulfed by the darkness of the room.

You start to spiral, going over everything you said to him and trying to guess what triggers him to suddenly lose interest, you come down that it has anything to do with the answer you gave him.

You're greatly familiar with Greek mythology to know that he's condemned to infinitely roll a boulder up the hill for cheating the death twice. Must admit that Sisyphus is a slick guy but what has it got to do with all this? Is this his way of flirting? Is he even flirting at all? Who is this stranger?

To keep your mind distracted, you continue your tour around the exhibition and admire each photograph for capturing not only moments but so many emotions.

When you turn to the last wall, you only realize now that you don't know the name of the artist. You bend down to read the card under the photograph.

Kim Seungmin, it says on it and you swear you heard this name before.

You successfully recollect some of your earliest memories from when you were a kindergartner. You had a classmate named Kim Seungmin, he wears glasses and fluffy hair.

You laugh at it because it couldn't be that Kim Seungmin, right?

There's only one way to find out. You talk to someone who might have known him since she's deep in conversation with someone about the photographs.

"Excuse me, but is Kim Seungmin, the artist, perhaps here? Attending the exhibition?" You politely ask.

She seems to be displeased that you interrupt, she looks at you with eyes widening and says, "I'm pretty sure I saw you walked in with him earlier."

"Oh, you mean the guy—" You stop talking altogether as it hits you.

Sisyphus! The Sisyphus he meant is the name of the rabbit you pet together in kindergarten. This only verified that he is the Kim Seungmin you know.

You look around the room for him but can't find him, you exit the exhibition to bump into Rina.

"I've been looking for you!" She says.

"Have you seen a guy with fluffy hair and he's wearing a leather jacket, cute but also cool at the same time?" You ask while craning your neck to spot him in the crowded room.

"That sounds like my boyfriend but he's not wearing a leather jacket so..." Rina answers.

You hold yourself back from groaning. It's typical Rina in love, so smitten, so all over him, and next thing she knows, she finds solace in a bucket of Ben and Jerry's cookie dough ice cream.

"Let's grab some more wine and have another—"

Rina's voice becomes faint as you keep walking around the room hoping to see him again so you can tell him about Sisyphus the rabbit, that he died one year after Seungmin moved away. Unfortunately, there's still no sign of him.

"Rina,"

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I leave early?" You ask, "You know how I feel about being in an event like this."

She knows that she's the extrovert and you're the introvert, your friendship is based on opposite attraction. She nods in understanding and says, "Be careful on your way home!"

You give her a hug and mutter, "Thank you!"

You make your way out of the gallery after saying goodbye to Rina's new boyfriend and see a group of people smoking outside and none of them is Seungmin.

The sound of someone revving the engine of a motorcycle startles you as you put on your cardigan. Your head snaps to the source of the sound and see that it's Seungmin.

You walk to the side of the road and open your mouth to call him, immediately refrain as he hands a helmet to a girl and most likely to get a ride from him.

So much for a sweet reunion! You can only watch as he drives away on his motorcycle.

The night takes a turn and you don't want to go home wallowing in this unexplainable feeling alone in your room. You pull out your phone to call someone.

The dialing tone is ringing as you walk to the side of the road and hailing a cab for you.

"I haven't slept yet but my worst nightmare is already calling," Minho says.

You can't see him but you bet he's smirking as he speaks, "I know it's past your bedtime but remember the drinks I owe?"

He catches up on your intention right away and with an exaggerated heavy sigh, he says, "Well, if you insist."

A taxi stops right in front of you and you open the door to the backseat, laughing as you say, "See you there!"

-

This is how your summer break starts: with a hangover.

The moment you open your eyes, you realize that that is not the only worst thing you do. You wake up and recognize that you're not sleeping on your bed.

A nerd recognized another nerd's bedroom from a shelf of books and another stack of them is on the bedside table.

"Ugh," you groan while rubbing your temple.

You can see the owner of the bed you're in standing, leaning against his desk sipping his coffee.

"What did you do to me?" You ask as you sit up on the bed.

He takes a small sip of his coffee and delightfully gasps, "Nothing but taking care of a drunk fellow."

You scoff and brush your hair to the back, can't think of what happened last night, "I mean, how did you get me drunk?"

He crosses his arms together in front of him and calmly responds, "You were the one who wanted to get drunk last night, not me."

The more you try to remember it, the more your head spins and turns your stomach queasy, "Can I have anything you're having right now?"

"We use the magic words here," he says with a sneering smile.

You sigh and put on a forced smile, "Please?"

Minho smiles in satisfaction and heads to the kitchen. You've been here before so you can navigate your way from bed to the bathroom to wash up. One of his cats aggressively meows when you accidentally cover her with the duvet.

"Sorry, cat!" You mutter, not quite remember their names since there are three of them.

Another cat walks past you as you open the bathroom door and you wash your face, not realizing there's a writing on your forehead until you see the reflection in the mirror.

Minho must had some fun writing "loser" on your forehead with a black marker, you rub it over with soap and water to clean it.

"You don't want to know what I would do to you if it was a permanent marker," you scold as you walk to the kitchen.

Minho is chuckling as he turns and places a plate of breakfast on the small dining table, "I may be mischievous but I'm not diabolical," he says.

It surprises you that he also cooked you scrambled eggs with toast when you only asked for a cup of coffee he was having, "This is not what I expected," you innocently comment as you pull a chair and sit on it.

"You asked whatever it is I'm having, right?" He refills his cup with more coffee.

You start with a sip of coffee and you can feel that the caffeine slowly works its magic, "I thought your usual breakfast would be Russian literature and the economic section of today's newspaper because you know...you're boring," you say with a scornful gaze.

Minho approaches you and puts one hand against the table, displaying his veined arms at you again.

"I'm offended that you said Russian literature is boring," he says, taking your eyes back to his face again.

You forget about what he said once you have a spoonful of the breakfast he made you, it's just egg but it's so good.

Another one of his cats jumps onto the table and nuzzles its head at Minho, asking to be petted and purring when he finally gives what it wants. He checks the time on his watch and says, "I'm afraid you have to finish your breakfast quickly!"

You bite your toast and glance at the clock on the wall, "It's summer. The library won't be open until 10."

He picks up his jacket from the coat hanger, "It's the first day of my summer internship and I can't be late."

Your mouth is full of food to properly speak but you don't want to skip the chance to tease him, "What? You have a Zumba class?"

He dryly laughs and puts his coffee cup into the sink, "I'll be working as Kim Edison for the summer."

"It can't be Kim Edison the columnist who recently won the journalism prize, right?" You ask with an uneasy smile.

Minho doesn't answer but gives you a suck-it smile that is a combination of smirk and evil smug and you hate it so much.

"I give you five minutes!" He shorty says.

With the little time he gives you, you shove as much food as you can and take a long gulp of steaming hot coffee, almost getting your tongue burnt in the process.

You regret having breakfast as Minho rides his bicycle fast as you sit on the back. You get queasy again from the bumpy ride as your hands hold onto the cardigan that you're using to cover your head.

Most of the students are away for the summer break but you don't want to risk being seen riding a bike with him while wearing last night's clothes.

"Stop fidgeting!" He scolds in front of you.

"I almost fell off to the back!" You scold back.

He makes a harsh turn and sends you tilting to the side, you reflexively holding on to his waist from letting that happen.

"You look faint," he cheekily says as he stops the bike right in front of your apartment building.

You can't feel your legs once you get off the bike, "ugh... thank you," you mutter, too nauseated to respond to his teasing.

He checks his watch again and grips the handlebars, "I have to go. Bye!"

Minho doesn't wait for your reply but paddles his bicycle as fast as he can. Guess, he's serious about the internship thing, and that makes you one step behind him.

New plan for the day besides curing your hangover: Find a summer internship.

"It's too late to find one," Rina says, breaking your spirit as you ask her if she knows anyone who needs an intern or something. She's very well connected in the social scene well, that's what an extrovert does best.

"Why are you still dressed in last night— oh, are you...?" She squints her eyes at you.

You would love to deny it but then you would have to tell her where you slept last night, keeping quiet is the best option.

"Why are you packing?" You shift the topic, seeing her packing her clothes into a suitcase.

"I'm going on a trip with Joe," she says with that stupid grin people in love have.

"You've been dating him for only a week, Rina!" You try to put some sense into her.

"So what? Things are going great and it's not like we have a plan for the summer anyway," she says.

"Then what about our movie marathon, having ice cream by the pier, and feeding ducks at the pond?" You list the things you like to do together besides hanging out in your shared apartment for the summer.

"Feeding the ducks is your thing," she says while rolling a folded towel.

She's right and when you think about it again, you can do those things not only in the summer. You should get on your laptop and find a summer internship because who knows?

"At least, tell me where you're going?" You ask as a good friend.

"We're going on a road trip and you know how it is with an artist, we're going to figure stuff out as we go," she gives you a concerning answer.

You bite your tongue to hold yourself back from saying harsh things with good intentions and choose to step back, "Well..." You think of something cheerful to say instead, "Take a lot of pictures and have fun!"

Rina smiles at you as she shoves her makeup into a pouch, "Thank you, babe!"

You're about to leave her bedroom when she remembers something, "I think I know a friend who needs a cat sitter," she says.

Your spirit descends again and before you can make it to your bedroom, the doorbell rings. You drag yourself to open it and are still surprised by his bushy facial hair.

"Oh, hi Joe!" You put on a smile.

"I came to pick up Rina," he says with a fatherly smile or maybe it's because you can't shake the thought that he's ten years older than both you and Rina.

"She's still packing in her bedroom," you open the door wider to let him in, "Come in, please!"

He steps inside and looks around the room, probably scanning for any artsy pieces in an apartment occupied by two college students.

"Coffee? Water?" You offer.

"I'd like a cup of coffee before hitting the road," Joe replies.

There's coffee left in the pot and you pour a cup for him, bringing it for him as he sits on the dining table. Something pops in your head as you hand him the coffee.

"Thank you," he says.

"Hey, Joe..." your palms are already sweaty even though you haven't asked anything.

He looks up after sipping his coffee, "Yes?"

"Do you perhaps know any of your artists' friends who needs... uhm, like an assistant or an intern for the summer?" You sound so awkward but he already gave you a weird look once he saw you're still wearing the dress from last night.

"Oh, I'm not sure but," he pauses to look at the contacts on his phone and scrolls down fast, "I'll ask around."

You hold your hands up at him, "Oh, no, no, no, it's okay if you don't know any I'm just..." you catch someone's name flashes on his contact list.

"You have Seungmin's phone number," you naively blurt out.

"The photographer? Yes, of course, we held the exhibition together," he says.

You hesitate to ask for his numbers and awkwardly smile at him.

"Do you know him?" He asks.

"He was a friend of mine. We went to the same kindergarten but he moved away, well, he and his family moved out of town, and last night, we met again after years and—" You stop yourself from rambling on and on.

"That's so sweet. Here, let me give you his numbers so you can reconnect," he says, giving you his phone so you can send it to your phone.

"Thank you," you mutter while handing him his phone back.

After almost an hour and an impromptu make-out session by the doorway of her bedroom, Rina and his boyfriend finally leave the apartment.

She's dragging her big suitcase with her downstairs and you watch from upstairs as she waves at you before getting into the car.

"I'm leaving. Don't miss me. Don't forget to get out of the house," Rina knows how to embarrass you and make you feel sentimental all at once.

"Okay, Mom," you playfully respond and return her hand kisses.

-

The cold shower helps with the hangover but it doesn't help with the internship search.

Is everyone going out of town in the summer and leaving their pets because there are a lot of people looking for someone to take care of their pets?

For this once, you have to admit that Minho is one step ahead of you. He's deep in your head and you blame it for getting drunk last night.

You know what? You'll do what Rina told you to do and get out of the house to feed the ducks. You get up but sit back down on the chair as you glance at your phone.

You've been contemplating whether to call Seungmin or not. If you call, what are you going to say to him? Tell him that you asked for his numbers without his consent.

There you go again, overthinking things when you can tell him what happened to Sisyphus. You hit the call button right away, not leaving a second for your anxiety to slip in again.

Your heart is pounding while you're listening to the dialing tone... then it clicks and you hear the rustle of someone picking up the call.

"Seungmin?" You call his name right away just to confirm it's him and not the man with the same name as him.

"Sorry, who is this?" It's a voice that you don't expect to hear: of a girl.

"Oh, I must've called the wrong—"

"No, you're right. It's Seungmin's phone but he's currently busy," she explains.

You should be happy that you are calling the right number but your spirit deflates instead, "Oh, that's okay, I'll just— have a great day!"

You abruptly end the call and decide to settle on texting him about Sisyphus, he can use that information as he pleases. Well, you'd be disappointed if he didn't call you back but you try not to put too much hope on it.

Maybe you should have chosen to get out of the house and feed the ducks.

-

Something is weighing your chest as you get awakened by the sound of your phone ringing. You stare down and see a book resting on your chest, you must've fallen asleep while reading.

The room is dark, you're too lazy to turn on the lights so you grope around your bedside table for your phone to pick it up.

"Yes, hello?" You croak.

"It's me," Seungmin says.

Your eyes instantly snap open and you lift yourself to sit up on the bed, your fingers brushing your hair as if Seungmin were there and could see you.

"You called me earlier," he says.

"I hope you're not mad that I got your numbers from Joe, he's a boyfriend of my friend, he—" You shut your eyes to keep your mind on track.

"I'm sorry I called you," you apologize even though you're not sure why.

"No, I'm glad you called and I'm glad you asked for my numbers," his voice sounds light and airy through the phone, pleasant to the ear.

You think of something to say without getting awkward, "You were busy when I called so... not sure if you're happy with that."

"Yeah, I was in the middle of doing a photo shoot," he explains with a low sigh.

"I'm sorry," you sincerely say. You were too focused on the girl who answered the call than the real reason why Seungmin couldn't pick up the phone himself.

"Stop apologizing," he says with a low laugh.

"Okay," you say with a smile.

"Can I pick you up for dinner?"

The offer comes so suddenly that you don't know how to respond to it. Frankly, you would say yes right away but you don't want to sound eager.

"I'd love that," you say.

"Send me your address and I'll pick you up."

Unlike you, Seungmin is not afraid to show how eager he is. "Now? Like right now?" You ask for confirmation.

"Yeah. Why?"

You check the time and it's 20 past midnight, you break into laughter because it means one of you is disoriented, "Seungmin, it's late."

There's a pause and then he lowly gasps, "Ah... I've been working all day and didn't notice the time."

"I mean I would love but you've had a tiring day already so..." you hate to reject him but you only need to be the one with initiative.

"How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds great," he shortly replies.

"Do you still want me to send you my address?"

"Yes, that would be helpful."

He sounds sweet that your head is already filled with daydreams, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"See you tomorrow," he repeated.

"Okay."

"Okay."

A part of you don't want this to end but you have to leave room for him to fill himself.

"Goodnight, Seungmin."

"Goodnight."

Technically, the day has turned into tomorrow and you can't go back to sleep knowing that in mere hours, you'll meet him again on a summer day.

-

It's dinner so you have planned out what time you should shower, and do your make-up and hair, you already picked a dress to wear so that's one less thing to worry about.

Except that Seungmin came earlier than you thought and you were in the middle of doing your hair when he called, telling you that he's outside your apartment building. You dash to the window and look for him.

There he is, standing and holding his helmet in one with the afternoon sun shining down on him, making him look like a dream.

You awkwardly wave at him from the window and Seungmin smiles as he looks up at you.

"Come upstairs!" You tell him on the phone.

"Okay."

Did he grow a few inches since you met or... he just that tall and you only realize it now as you find him standing there behind the door.

"You're ready to go?" He brushes his hair that's already messy yet somehow it's only making him more attractive.

You snap yourself out of it and look away, "I just need to change."

"Okay," he says, sounding calm as usual.

You let him wait inside as you excuse yourself to change in your bedroom. You're already in the dress you planned on wearing but it's most likely that he's taking you on his motorcycle, you change into jeans and a peasant blouse for the sake of comfort.

"Okay, I'm ready now," you announce with a smile.

It will be the first you're riding a motorcycle, it doesn't have that much difference with riding a bicycle, right? Except that the other is with engine and not eco-friendly.

Seungmin hands you a helmet, the same one he lent to the girl that night at the exhibition but you are a grown-up and not going to act petty by refusing to use it.

"Let me help you," Seungmin helps you clip the straps together under your chin.

He fixes the hair covering your face and tucks it inside the helmet, "Safety is sexy!" He says with a flirty smile that flashes at you.

Seungmin gets on the motorcycle and turns on the engine, sending it roaring alive. He offers his hand as support as you climb on the motorcycle behind him.

It's like riding a bicycle, you remind yourself but all that is running through your head is of Minho giving you a ride home that morning.

You almost fall off to the back as Seungmin launches the motorcycle forward, only slowing down when there's an intersection ahead.

"You might want to hold on to me," his voice is muffled by the helmet he's wearing.

"Yeah," You can't hear what he says with the helmet wrapped around your head so tight and the sounds of traffic.

Seungmin takes your hand and puts it around his waist, "Hold on to me," he says louder.

"Okay," you nod to let him know that you can hear him this time.

With how fast he rides and your hand is fisting the front of his leather jacket, the gap between your bodies is close to nonexistent. Sitting behind him, letting you adore his square shoulders and you wish you could just rest your head on his back.

Instead of that, your helmet hits his as he brakes hard at the traffic lights, sending your body crashing into his back. You hurriedly scoot farther to the back.

Seungmin holds your hand before you can let go of your hold on his leather jacket, he holds on to it as he waits for the light to turn green.

He slows down as he rides through the suburban area, taking you somewhere you've never been even though you have lived in the city for years.

It feels nice to ride on a summer afternoon with the air softly caressing your cheeks and the sun feeling warm on your skin.

"I am gutted to know that Sisyphus died," Seungmin says in between bites of dinner.

"The homeroom teacher brought a rabbit that looked like him but I knew that it wasn't Sisyphus," you share and shove a spoonful of mashed potato into your mouth.

"Because he had that black dot on his nose, right?"

You cover your mouth to not let him see you talking while eating, "oh, my God! You remember!"

"Of course," he coyly says, "He was our child. How could I forget our child?"

Our child? Seungmin remembers that too. You and he used to play parents for Sisyphus. But you're going to blame the summer heat for making your cheeks heat.

"So uhm... how did you become a successful photographer?" You shift the topic or else your cheeks are going to explode.

"I sort of... going into it by accident. I was studying abroad for law then I joined the photography club and everything happened," he concisely explains with the always calm yet cool facial expression.

"Everything happened," you repeated with a low laugh.

He takes a sip of water and reclines on his chair, "Just like we happened to meet again."

There is the smile again. It's sly yet nice, flirty yet sweet. He makes you all kinds of things with just one smile.

"I'd love to take your pictures," he says out of the blue.

You shake your head and shyly laugh, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I think it's the best idea," he makes it sound like it's not a request but an order.

The early dinner you had allowed you two to spend the rest of the night walking in the park, enjoying the sunset from the top of the hill and catching up on each other's life.

Seungmin didn't finish his law school, he went on trips around the world to take pictures and do exhibitions. It's compelling listening to him talking about photography, well, he is at his most attractive talking about the thing he's passionate about.

When it comes to your turn to talk about your life, you realize you have your nose tucked in books instead of exploring the world like him.

"Compares to your my life sounds so boring," you say with a sneer.

"You can't compare your life to mine," he says.

He stops on his track and leans against the railing on the edge of a parking building, looking at you, "You get to finish your school and that's a win for you."

"I'm not there yet," you say, standing next to him and looking at the sun sinking lower on the horizon, leaving the day in a beautiful burst of golden rays.

The sunset passed in a comfortable silence, it's like watching the sun slowly tucked in for the night. You turn to the side and see Seungmin basking in the warm glow of the last slivers of sun.

"Ready to go home?" He asks.

Honestly, you don't want to go home yet but what can you say? Seungmin is working during the summer unlike you. The night air is cool and it's helping you relax on the bike ride home. You're holding on to the side of the jacket instead of his waist to stay appropriate.

Seungmin realizes it as he stops the bike at a traffic light, he pulls your hand and puts it inside the pocket of his leather jacket. You can feel his gloved hand but he looks over his shoulder, "Don't let go!"

You nod instead of verbally answering him against the noisy city sounds. Not sure if you're slowly forgetting your way around the city but Seungmin is heading nowhere near your apartment building.

It's when he takes his bike into a different apartment building that he's certainly not taking you home. After taking off his helmet he helps you take off yours in the dimly lit room of an empty parking basement.

"I thought we were going home," you fix your hair quickly with your fingers.

He puts the helmet on the handle of his bike, "But I didn't say which home," he says.

It's only right for you to get nervous, not only that you in Seungmin's studio slash apartment but he wants to take pictures of you too.

"This is a bad idea. I–I'm awkward," you stammer, clasping your hands together in front of you.

He takes your hand and leads you to the sofa, telling you to sit while he walks to a big collection of cameras from analog to digital and dozens of lenses in various sizes.

"Just relax," he says as he finally settles on his choice of camera.

"Act normal, you know, get comfortable," he picks a lens and carefully attaches it to the camera.

That's the problem. You're not normal in the first place and you're not confident unless someone is talking about your favorite books but weirding him out with your book talk is not the way to charm him.

He takes a practice shot and you suddenly shrivel up, turning rigid on the sofa.

"Relax those shoulders," he says while taking steps closer to you and keeping his finger busy clicking the camera.

You're trying to relax but knowing that the camera is taking pictures of you at every angle. It's so obvious that Seungmin puts down his camera and walks up to you.

"Shoulders down," he says with his hand on your shoulder and gently massages it.

"Sit as you like, make yourself comfortable."

You look up at him and nod as he speaks, helping you to loosen up by rubbing down your eyes. But it's the way he looks at you that convinces you that he means no harm.

"You can put your legs up if you want," he encourages.

You shake your head and shyly laugh, "I can't do that but can I borrow one of your magazines?" You point at the stacks of magazines and newspapers on top of the cabinet.

Seungmin must have taken a hundred of pictures already but that won't stop him. He puts his camera so close instead of using his expensive lens to work, making you giggle at how he leans so close.

His hand reaches your face to tuck a hair behind your ear and calmly, he says, "You have beautiful eyes."

"Oh, no, it's getting ridiculous now," you bashfully say as he goes to the back of the sofa to take a picture.

You're following him, tilting your head to the back while covering half of your face with the magazine you're hardly reading.

Seungmin puts away his camera and then leans down as he pushes the magazine away from your face. Then the next you know is his hand caressing your face and slowly he leans in.

It's as simple as putting his lips on your lips but inexplicably it feels like something you've done a million times already. It's easy, pure but the urge in the way he brushes his lips over and over again also makes it feel like such a long time coming.

You close your eyes as his hand slides down from your jaw to your exposed neck and it stays there until he slowly pulls away from the kiss.

Seungmin smiles as you foolishly stay there and stare at him with your mouth parted open, still reeling from the kiss. He continues taking pictures as if nothing happened.

You compose yourself as fast as you can and look down at your lap once Seungmin is done taking pictures, carefully putting his camera back in its place.

The city view at night reminds you that it's getting late and you might have overstayed, "I'd better—"

Again, Seungmin is ready with his hand outstretched at you to help you get up from the sofa. Once you're on your feet, he puts his arm around you and pulls you close so that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

"You'd better what?" His eyes are piercing right into yours.

He makes you nervous but in a good way, "I'd better—"

Seungmin kisses you again and he doesn't hold back this time. His tongue skillfully pries your mouth open and slithers in the second you let him in, invading your mouth to taste more of you.

The kiss is fiery and sets your body ablaze, explosive.

Even though your lungs burning for oxygen, you let out a whimper when he breaks the kiss. You didn't think that he would hear it.

He puts his other arm around you and asks again, "Is there anything you'd better do than this?"

It's amusing to him asking you a question that he damn knows the answer to.

With your lack of knowledge and the sex expertise on a road trip with her older boyfriend, you're left with no choice but to figure things out as you go.

You do the same every time Seungmin takes off a piece of his clothing until they're all littering his bedroom floor. The only thing that's left on you is the white underwear you're wearing, it's not a flattering one but for an unplanned sexy time, you hope it will do.

You hugging yourself while Seungmin keeps kissing you with his hands roaming your body, guess he's trying to make you calm but you're just so aware of yourself and your appearance.

Seungmin sees that so he holds your face in his hands and presses a soft peck on your lips, "Don't hide from me."

He glides his hands down to your shoulders and his eyes are following them as they take your hands away from covering your bare chest.

His one hand is straying from the course and goes down your chest, splaying his hand on your sternum then softly sighs.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he speaks so low yet it's echoing in the dark of his room.

"Are you scared or excited?" He asks as he shifts his eyes back at you.

You swallow air and answer, "Both."

Seungmin smiles in response. Keeping the hand on your beating heart, he presses another kiss on your lips, long and lingering.

He then continues the kisses down your neck, collarbone, chest, and the valley of your breasts and keeps going until he kneels on the floor.

Seungmin looks up as he places a kiss on your abdomen, his lips take a right turn, and kisses your waist and down to your hips. His other hand is hooked on the elastic band of your underwear and he's pulling it down as he places kisses down your inner thighs.

"You're so beautiful," he says while still kneeling on the floor, looking at you with wonder in his eyes like he's seeing of divine.

That inexplicably makes you feel like a goddess and he's on his knees worshipping you. Your hesitant hand makes it to his cheek and he keeps it there, pressing on it then kisses your wrist.

You offer your hand for him this time and help him get up from the floor after getting a boost of confidence from the way he's looking at you.

Taking a step closer, you embrace yourself and this moment, letting him in and take you places.

The kisses he planted all over your body are searing and you feel hot all over especially when he kisses you close to where you wanted him to be.

Both of you wanted it so much and your bodies can't hide it anymore. Without looking, you know you're drenched and his erection is hard to miss.

He pulls a condom out of his bedside drawer and you take it from him, wanting to do him this favor just so you can say it back to him once you roll the rubber down his length.

"And that's why safety is sexy," you say with a sly smile.

Even with your lack of experience in the sexual field, you can tell that it's not always about the performance. Not that Seungmin has problems with that, he's doing it very well, he's fucking you so hard that your body shakes with every thrust but it's the way he softly gazes into your eyes.

You don't even try to make your brain work, you just gaze back into his eyes and all of a sudden, he hastily kisses your open mouth.

"What are you thinking?" He asks with a tender caress on your cheek.

"Nothing," You shake your head and then blatantly say, "It just feels so good."

You don't even try to impress him, your brain is shutting down so everything you say is unfiltered, and that only amuses him more.

Seungmin takes both of your hands and interlaced them together, pinning them on each side of your pillow. With or without him picking up the pace, you're already on the brink of your climax.

"I think I'm—" You barely finish your sentence when you get hit by waves of pleasure.

You're whining against his lips as he keeps holding your hands tightly in his and puts them around his neck so you can hold him as you relish your orgasm.

A few kisses later, you have Seungmin spooning you from behind and his hand is freely exploring your body while he keeps your mouth busy with more kisses.

"Can I have you again?" He softly asks and you nod without thinking.

The sight of his member makes you feel intimidated at first but you surprised yourself at how well you took him earlier. The intimidating feeling is now being replaced by the craving to have him inside you again.

Seungmin holds your thigh still as he pushes his cock from behind and you whine as you feel him entering you little by little.

"Oh, you're so hard," you mindlessly blurt out again.

Seungmin tolerates you so much but instead of getting offended, he brings his mouth close to your ear.

"That's how much I want you," he shamelessly admits at the same time he launches his cock deep inside you.

"Oh!" You moan and muffle yourself with the back of your hand.

He takes your hand away from your mouth, "Keep making those noises for me, baby."

-

It's like a dream or maybe it is and the worst part of dreaming is that it stops the moment you wake up.

If it wasn't for the morning sun that forces you to wake up, you'd still be living in your dream. Alas, you prepare yourself to be disappointed but when you open your eyes, you realize that it's not a dream.

You're naked under the cover and you're sleeping on his bed,

It happened so that means Seungmin is... you roll to the other side to find the space next to you is empty except for the crumpled sheet.

"I'm here," Seungmin must have seen you looking so disoriented on the bed.

You smile out of embarrassment and lift yourself while clutching the duvet close to your chest. You watch as he makes his way to the bed carrying two mugs of what you assume is coffee from the heavenly smile of it.

He sits on the edge of the bed and sweetly greets, "Morning!"

You're about to say it back to him when he presses a quick peck on your lips. It takes you a while to reel yourself back from the kiss and finally reply, "Morning!"

He finally hands you one of the coffee mugs and you take it with both hands, inhaling the heavenly smell of it before taking a small, careful sip.

Seungmin brushes your hair away and puts it behind your ear, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder before taking a sip of his coffee.

"What do you usually do in the morning?" He asks.

"Not much. Just breakfast, coffee, check emails, reading the news," you regret telling him your boring mundane things and stop yourself from embarrassing you more.

"How about you?"

"I wake up, toast and coffee. I go back to sleep when I don't have work to do," he calmly answers with his hair looking fluffy and inviting you to touch.

"Are you working on something?" You curiously ask since he seems so laid back or maybe it's just you who likes to keep yourself busy at all times.

"Not really but I'll be working on a few things this summer," he replies and puts away his coffee mug, "It's summer break, isn't it?"

"Yes," you shortly reply.

Seungmin places his hand on your back shoulder and draws lazy circles on the skin with his finger, "Do you have any plans for summer break?"

You stall by taking another sip of your coffee before embarrassing yourself again, "No."

His fingers trail down your spine as he softly sighs, "Then you're going to spend the summer with me."

You are usually opposed to a spontaneous idea like this. You need plans, you need orders yet you turn your head to the side to look at him, then say, "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats and leans in to kiss you.

And just like that, a plan is made.

-

Time is relative.

When you spend the day on your own, it feels like forever but when you spend the summer with Seungmin, a month passes by so quickly.

In conclusion, Albert Einstein was always right.

With Seungmin, you're living the dream life. You're wearing his clothes, living in his place, sleeping on his bed, riding on his bike to explore new places together, you're spending your time with him in your wake and you still miss him in your sleep. Gosh! You're getting loopy in the head.

Seungmin has work to do today, he offered to take you with him but you have to check your place, you're responsible for taking care of it while the other occupant is away on a road trip.

He drops you off outside your apartment building, taking off his helmet just so he can properly kiss you before letting you go.

"I'll pick you up later," he says.

"Okay. Be careful!" you place a long kiss on his lips for the last time, watching him ride further away from you.

The good news is the place is still intact and tidy just like the last time you see it. You clean up the place knowing that it's collecting dust, packing some clean underwear and clothes for you to take to Seungmin's place.

Not sure what time Seungmin will be done with work but seeing a stack of books abandoned for weeks, you decide to return them to the library before getting fined for it.

It feels strange not coming to the library for weeks and the smell of books hits you with a wave of nostalgia. You take your books out of your bag to the librarian lady who's just as surprised to see you when she usually gets sick of seeing you.

"Haven't seen you in a long time," she says while fixing her glasses.

You politely laugh and keep it low remembering that it's a library, "I suddenly have a different plan for the summer."

You're waiting by the desk as she thoroughly checks if there's any damage to the books when someone injects himself into the conversation.

"And the so-called plan is slacking off the whole summer?" Minho says, carrying a stack of books in one hand that makes the veins on his arms pop on his skin.

You turn around and sneer at him, "I'm trying this new thing called 'Get-A-Life' and I think you should try it too."

Minho puts the books down on top of the desk with a low thud, "I'm actually on this thing called 'Get-A-Summer-Job' and I think it works wonders on me."

You look away from him and secretly make a mocking face. The librarian lady pushes a form for you to sign and your phone beeps with a new message.

She glares at you for forgetting to put your phone in silent mode, "I'm sorry."

You hurriedly open to check a new message from Seungmin that he'll be done in two hours and you write a quick reply telling him you'll be waiting for him.

"You know I started to get concerned that you may have decided to give up," Minho says as he keeps the door open for both of you.

The stinging rays of the sun greet you as you step outside, reminding you to stay indoors or look for a shade to shelter in.

"I may be slacking off but once the summer ended, you know that I have never left my place," you tell him with eyes squinted from the bright sun.

Minho slings his backpack on one shoulder, "and that is behind me."

You sigh and shield your eyes with your hand, "It's summer break and you meant to be slacking off on summer break."

And you have two hours to spend on your own before Seungmin can pick you up, unless...

"You're supposed to have fun, you know and I can show you how," You suggest an idea with a grin.

He unlocks his bicycle from the rack and backs it out, he's probably analyzing your intention with his piercing stare, "What do you have in mind?"

You blank out for a moment from being under the sun for too long, "You and me, cold beers?"

"You mean, 'you and I'," he fixes your grammar.

You hold yourself from snapping at him and exhale air, "You know what, I'll just—"

"Okay. But you're paying," he immediately changes his mind.

There's a dive bar nearby where students usually go whenever they need to hit the snooze button on stressful university life and it's way cheaper than the other bars in the area.

You're having a sandwich aside from the cold beers while Minho settles on a tray of chips for the snacks.

"You can just tell me you need someone to accompany you having lunch," he says.

As expected, he's too smart to miss a thing. Not that you're afraid to have lunch by yourself, he happened to be there so why not?

"You can have a sandwich for lunch too," you tell him.

He shakes his head and pulls out a book from his backpack, "I had lunch."

You shrug and take another bite, "Then order as many cold beers as you want."

Minho starts reading his book, sticking his sharp nose in between pages and taking a sip of his beer once in a while.

"Where have you been though?"

You look up from your meal and wipe your mouth with a napkin, "Pardon?"

"I thought I'd be seeing your missing poster on the morning news," he says as he flips a page.

You know he's joking but his calm expression tells you otherwise, "Oh, my God! You're officially diabolical," you shriek.

He puts his book down and looks at you, "Have you ever thought I'd be most likely the one being asked about your whereabouts?"

"I've been going around the city with someone and I know that you don't care but he's an old friend of mine," You recline on your seat and cross your arms together in front of you.

"You can stop worrying about what you're going to tell the police if I went missing," you tell him with a smirk.

Minho takes the information for a moment as if it were a piece of information that needs to be thoroughly processed before going back to his default setting of being a nonchalant being.

He rests his back on his seat and picks up his book to continue reading.

After receiving a text that Seungmin is on the way to pick you up, you paid for the food and beers. The day is warm with the sun almost disappears for the day.

"Do you need to 'Get-A-Ride' too?" He pokes fun at you as he walks his bicycle.

"You must have waited hours to say that back to me," you say with a sigh.

"I can give you a ride home. Just like that morning," he smirks as he gets on his bicycle.

"No, thanks, Minho. I'm getting myself a ride home," you tell him.

He stays on his bicycle with his hands on the handlebars and looks at you, "Do you want me to wait with you?"

Minho actually knows how to be a gentleman, he just chooses to act snobby and cold around you.

"No, it's okay. He'll be here in a minute," you assure him.

He contemplates for a while before putting his foot on the paddle, "Okay, then. Thank you for the beers!"

You smile and wave your hand at him as he rides his bike in the direction of his apartment building.

A few minutes after Minho leaves, Seungmin appears with the sound of the roaring engine of his motorcycle. You're smiling as you're seeing him getting closer and closer.

He takes his helmet off and stays on his bike, watching you walk up to him.

"Hey," you say with a smile.

"I'm sorry, I have a girlfriend," he jokingly says.

You stop on your track, but seeing the sly smile on his face, you know he's playing with you, "Well then, can I get a ride?"

He gestures for you to come closer so he can whisper into your ear, "Oh, you'll get a ride for sure."

As the bike stop at a traffic light, Seungmin would either hold your hand or bring it close to his mouth to kiss it. Tonight, he chooses to rest his hand on your thigh with his gloved finger rubbing the skin.

When the lights about to turn green, he puts both of your hands around his waist. You hold him tight with your head resting on his back as he speeds up, sending the bike gliding through the city streets.

The ride gives you a new kind of high.

Seungmin knows how to get the engine hot and ready, using his hands or his mouth to get you even wetter than you already are. His touch is searing and firm, calculated to make you roar in pleasure. His mouth is hotter than the sun on a summer day, setting you ablaze every time his lips touch your skin.

He knows when to slow down and to speed up, he knows how to brake before sending you to your high early. When he knows that you're close though, he accelerates, he's going all in and freely riding on your body.

Faster and faster, knowing no limits, not stopping until both of you crash and break into smithereens, floating in immense pleasure.

The rush, the adrenaline, the ragged breath of life and death. There's nothing like it.

The ride is worth the high.

-

When Seungmin isn't working you spend the days exploring new places together.

He's been lending you one of his cameras so you can take your own pictures on the trips you take together on his bike. He taught you how to develop films in his little red room, he's patient enough to teach you every step of the process and not let you touch dangerous chemicals without him watching.

Seungmin also takes your pictures at every chance he gets, doesn't matter if you've just woken up or in the shower, sleeping, or eating a toast on the bed. Pretty sure he's running out of films just taking that kind of picture of you.

It's only fair that you take pictures of him too.

The first thing Seungmin does in the morning is make coffee and he takes his coffee seriously. He grinds the coffee beans himself, he boils the water until it hits the perfect temperature of 205 Fahrenheit before pouring it and he lets the coffee drips into a glass pot.

For you, Seungmin looks the sexiest when he's putting on a serious face. His jaws tensed, making his facial bones more defined and his mouth is slightly pouting without him realizing it. You have taken, at least, a dozen pictures of him looking like that in your camera.

As he waits for the coffee to be ready, he will come to the bed for some cuddles with you or discuss which part of the city you're going to explore today.

Today his routine slightly changes after handing you your coffee, "I'll be away the whole day for work."

"Another photo shoot?" You wildly guess.

He blows over his coffee before taking a sip, "Got invited to a photography club," he vaguely says.

Seungmin invited you when he wanted you to come with him but he didn't today so you guess he wanted to go by himself. It's time for you to get some clean underwear anyway.

"Okay," you answer with a smile.

"How are you going to spend the day?" He asks with a soft caress on your cheek.

"Well, there's not much to do without you," you say with a pout, "I think I'll just go home and get a few things."

Seungmin smiles and presses a kiss on your lips, "Don't bother packing any underwear. You're hardly wearing one around me."

You break into laughter, "Well, thanks to you."

"Are you going to wait for me?" He softly asks, twirling a strand of your hair around his slender finger.

"Always," you answer without a beat.

"I'll pick you up later?"

"Yes, please."

The photography club is doing an outdoor session and it's in the neighboring city, Seungmin leaves after taking a shower and kisses you while you're still snuggling in bed.

You leave Seungmin's apartment in the afternoon, waiting until the day is a little cooler before getting out. You take a taxi to avoid the heat and come home to find that someone is in the apartment.

Taking a cautious step, you peer inside Rina's bedroom which you always left the door closed at all times is wide open. You spot the bathroom door is open as well and decide to check it by tiptoeing until you're right next to the doorway.

Slowly, you peer inside and find Rina in the tub. You barge your way inside and shout, "Rina!"

She's just as surprised as you that she's sloshing water out of the tub, "Fuck! You scared me!"

You hurriedly put a towel for the puddles of water on the bathroom floor, "why are you here?"

"I live here," she innocently replies.

"Yeah, I know but there's still a week left on the summer break," your eyes shift to the box of macaroons on the side of the tub and you can tell right away that the answer is not going to be good.

"Joe and I broke up," she says and shoves a whole macaroon into her mouth.

You kind of saw it coming but you don't want to be in her face saying I-told-you-so. You choose to be a good friend and sit on the closed toilet, "Oh, no, what happened?"

She shakes her head and stuffs her mouth with more macaroon, "That jerk dropped me off in the middle of nowhere!"

"Oh, my God! He's the worst!" You say while disgustingly looking at the crumbs of the macaroon floating on the surface of the water.

Rina has always been the brightest and the most confident out of you two. It's saddening how miserable she looks right now when she can get any man who's twice better than Joe.

"Why don't we get drinks tonight?"

Rina gives you a puzzled look, "You once said it's a bad idea to turn to alcohol in times like this."

You meekly nod because you did say that to her but that was coming from the you who hasn't met Seungmin, "It's true but... why not, you know? As long as I'm there watching over your alcohol intake, I think we'll be okay."

Rina can't get out of the tub faster than this, she doesn't even bother putting on a towel and walking to her bedroom naked.

"What happened to you?" She asks after taking three shots of Jägerbomb as a starter.

"Nothing happened. Just met a guy, not much," you nonchalantly answer and take just a tiny sip of your first shot.

"Met a guy? That means a lot coming from you," she says, chasing after her tequila shots with a glass of coke and rum.

You would be offended if she wasn't a friend but she's always been an outspoken person, "I'll introduce you to him someday."

That reminds you to send a text to Seungmin telling him you'll be sleeping in the house tonight and most likely take care of Rina's hangover the next morning.

"For your information, this guy drives a motorcycle," Minho appears out of nowhere carrying his drink in his hand, and plops down next to you.

"Oh, Minho! I miss seeing your pretty face," Rina half-heartedly says.

"And I miss seeing you drunk," he says back.

You elbow his side and stop him from spoiling more about Seungmin, not the right time to tell Rina about him when she's heartbroken and halfway drunk.

"What's going on, Rina?" Minho coyly asks, ignoring your warning glare.

She lets out a heavy sigh and stacks her hands on the table before resting his chin on it, "Never fucking date artists," she gives him an irrelevant answer.

"They're cocky, they think they're mighty and right and know the world better," she rambles on and on.

Rina gulps her drink and not even wince at the bitter aftertaste, "Fuck them and their free-spirited shit."

Minho holds his drink with one hand even with the drops of the condensation rolling down his hand, "Once the free spirit has taken hold of a man, there's no way of getting it out of him."

Rina looks at him with unfocused eyes then raises her glass at him, "Damn right!"

It doesn't mean that all artists in general. Even though Seungmin is an artist, it doesn't mean that he'll act the same as Joe. He's kind and caring, he's intuitive. He may be spontaneous to the point of almost impulsive, but he's great. You don't know why you should feel called out with what Rina has said.

Minho kindly offers his help to walk Rina up the stairs until you get her to her bed. You take off her shoes and cover her with the duvet.

"Want a glass of water?" It's the least you can do for him after helping you carry drunk Rina.

"Yeah, please," he still catches his breath when he answers to you.

"How do you know the guy I'm seeing drives a motorcycle?" The question just sort of pops into your head.

Minho drains the glass of water before answering, "I saw you and him at the intersection the other day."

Seungmin has been giving you rides to and fro, it'll be impossible if Minho hasn't seen you on the street once. You walk him to the threshold and watch as he walks out the door.

"Thank you for the help," you mutter.

"No problem," he coyly says.

A moment passes just you and him looking at each other as he stands there with a line drawn in between.

"Goodnight, Minho," you say for the last time.

"Goodnight," he says back with his voice low.

-

Rina's words are lingering in your head after not getting a reply from Seungmin the whole night.

Maybe he forgot or his phone died. There are so many possibilities but he is your Seungmin, you knew him from kindergarten, he may have gotten rid of the glasses and the braces, but it's Seungmin.

One thing for certain is to avoid talking about Seungmin, especially his profession when Rina is still in this state, a mix of hangover and still completely heartbroken.

"I bought you soup," you murmur as you brush her hair while she's still sleeping on her bed.

Rina is slightly stirring in her sleep and snuggling to her pillow.

"Heat it before you eat it okay? It'll help with the hangover," you tell her again.

She hums in reply and clutches at her duvet even though the day is warm since it's almost noon. You quietly leave the apartment to go to Seungmin's place.

You smile the second you see him standing next to his camera collection while cleaning one of them with a small cloth.

"I miss you," you murmur as you hug him from the back.

Seungmin carefully puts down the camera, then pulls your hand, turning around on his feet to see you. He looks at you up and down, then flicks his eyes back at you.

Oh, you forgot how meticulous he can be. He probably notices that it's the same dress you were about to wear on the first date.

He cups your jaw in his hand and compliments, "You're beautiful!"

Oh, that's not what you expected him to say but it's good. Maybe it's because you've been wearing jeans a lot with him that he finds you looking different in a dress.

"Now, give me a twirl!" He orders as he takes one of the cameras.

"You want me to–" you ask for confirmation before you're embarrassing yourself as usual.

"Yes. Spin for me!" He has his camera ready and aimed at you.

You take a step backward and spin on your feet for him, sending the hem of your dress floating around you. You keep spinning as he endlessly takes pictures without stopping.

"I'm getting dizzy," you tell him while half laughing.

Seungmin is also laughing and he finally stops taking pictures, he walks up to you to wrap his arms around you. He stares into your eyes for a moment, then softly kisses you on the lips.

"I miss you too," he says against your lips.

You don't want to sound demanding but seeing Rina going through her heartbreak reminds you to be cautious about who you're giving your heart to.

"You didn't reply to my text," you tell him with your hands on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he simply apologizes.

That should be enough. He knows he's at fault and he apologizes for it, that should be enough to put your mind at ease. Or so you thought.

"I have something for you," he takes you to the bedroom and sits you down at the end of the bed.

Seungmin is rummaging inside his backpack to pull out something, it's something familiar, a pack of jelly candies. You can confirm as he opens it right in front of you and he takes one of the ring-shaped jelly.

"Do you remember this?"

You stare at it and remember this is how you and him became parents to Sisyphus, you got married at the playground with him putting on the same jelly ring on your thumb because your fingers were too small for it back then.

You nod as the memory is playing in the back of your head, "Of course."

Seungmin smiles and puts the jelly ring on your ring finger, kisses it after. You and him look at each other and somehow it feels like you're getting transported back in time to when you were both still five years old.

"I'm happy that we meet again," he intertwines his hand with yours on your lap.

"Me too," you say with a gentle squeeze on his hand.

Meeting him again feels like fate and for once, you're not going to search for any logical reasons behind it. You want to let go, you want to set yourself free.

You close your eyes and lean in until your lips meet the softness of his lips, melting them together into a kiss that breaks your heart open.

Seungmin lays you down on the bed and then he lays down next to you, his hand trailing the side of your body while his lips endlessly brushing over yours.

"It's crazy how I can't stop kissing you," he mutters with his lips glistening wet and red.

Hearing that only makes you want to kiss him more. You overlap half of his body with yours, your leg is hooked around his leg as his hand now resting on the arch of your back.

He draws his hand back to the nape of your neck to find the zipper of your dress, then he pulls it down slowly. The zipping sound echoes in the room that is now flooded with the afternoon sun.

After parting it open, he wastes no time to slip his hand and touches your skin. He reluctantly lets go of the kiss and props his elbow against the mattress as you stay lying on your stomach next to him.

With only his fingertips, he lightly touches your skin before replacing them with his lips, making a trail of kisses down your spine.

You lowly moan for every wet kiss he plants on your skin and moan as he crashes his lips on you again, kisses you so hungrily. When you think his hand will stop where the zipper ends, it keeps going until it stops on the back of your thigh, right where the hem of your dress is.

"Gosh! You're so soft..." he speaks so low it's almost like a whisper.

Seungmin puts his hand under and gently squeezes on the flesh on the back of your thigh, his finger is teasing the lacey fabric of your underwear.

Your hand makes its way to the collar of his shirt, popping the buttons open by yanking at it while trying to keep up with his kisses.

He's palming your ass cheek in his hands long enough until he can't help himself, he parts your legs open to make a space so he can touch you there.

You're moaning into his mouth as he slides his finger inside you, he pulls it out only to add another finger into you. You feel full with two digits inside you but that's because he knows what to do with them.

"Oh, Seungmin..." you sigh with your eyes fluttering shut.

You have to actively tell your brain to drag your hand down his bare chest and touch him there, doing the same favor for him.

His semi-hard cock sprung out of its confine the second you pull his underwear down, wrapping your hand around it and slowly stroking it, up and down as slow as the way he kisses you right now.

With the bright daylight, you can see that his cock is red and veiny, pulsing with so much desire in your hand. Using your thumb, you rub the tip in slow, circular motions.

"I can feel you clenching around my fingers," his lips brush yours as he speaks.

You giggle in response and that only exhilarates him more that he tugs at your lower lip and gently bites at it, "I'm so impatient to be inside you."

You hastily kiss him with tongue and all, "Want you inside me too," you whine.

Sex used to be something that makes you anxious and falls apart from the inside. However, with Seungmin, it's so easy and natural, that you're not afraid to ask for what you want, where you want to be touched, and how you want to be touched.

Most times you believe it's not the sex itself that makes the whole experience good but it's the way he treats you during and even after the sex.

Seungmin turns to your neck, littering the sensitive skin with hot and wet kisses. Each kiss is longer than the previous until he pulls away with a low gasp.

"I have to tell you that we run out of sexy," he suddenly shares.

You look at him in confusion, "Huh?"

He softly kisses your jaw and then your lips, "We're running out of condoms."

With how often you have sex, it's no surprise that the two of you blow a big budget on condoms. But you're always taking your birth control even when you're not that sexually active and you trust Seungmin to do it without the second layer of protection.

"We can do it without," you tell him.

Seungmin looks like he has just received a piece of news that's hard for him to comprehend. He only looks at you with eyes wide and filled with unexplainable glints.

"Are you on birth control?" He asks for confirmation.

"Yes."

"Is it okay with you?"

"I trust you," you earnestly tell him.

Seungmin softly smiles hearing your words before leaning in, kissing you ever so softly like he's kissing the wind.

Taking his position by hovering above you and you're still lying on your stomach under him, he lifts the hem of your dress, then pulls your underwear down.

He throws away his shirt and takes his time to tease your entrance with his cock, either he does it to prepare you or himself.

You look over his shoulder to see that Seungmin is putting on a serious face, "We can take it slow."

He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, "I like slow."

The speed is not the issue here, a raw groan rips out of him as he pushes his hard cock inside you. Without the layer of protection, his cock becomes sensitive and he can fully feel you, how your walls wrapped so tightly around him.

He curves his hands under yours and buries his head in your neck, taking a moment to adjust himself inside you. You guide his hand to fondle your clothed breasts together with him.

"You feel good inside me," you mewl as he plants his mouth on your shoulder.

His cock feels incredibly good and hard, you can feel it throbbing as you said those words to him. It's like having sex for the first time again.

"Oh, you have no idea," he sighs with a haste kiss on your lips.

Seungmin is thrusting into you just as he promised, slow and steady. You crumple the sheet under you as you're cumming already around him, not sure if he knows as he keeps the motion of his hips going.

He pauses to change positions, turning you over to lay on your back this time, and this way, you can see how magnificent he looks under the sun.

The broad shoulders, the tousled hair, the clenched jaws, and the muscles on his body, oh, Seungmin is just perfect.

"You're perfect..." you say with a dreamy sigh.

He can see the admiration in your eyes as you stare at him with your hands turned up on the bed, he softly smiles and leans in to kiss you.

"No, you're perfect," he says back with his face only inches away from yours.

Seungmin knows how to take control as he adds speed to his thrusting, sending you close to your second orgasm. He loses control a little after you cum, holding your hands by the wrists and pinning them on each side of your head.

"Mmh, yes, yes..." you moan, getting closer and closer to your climax.

From the way he's throbbing inside you, you reckon he's close to his high as well. He's not stopping even after you're cumming for the second time, he keeps chasing and chasing...

"Oh, fuc—" his curse falls short as he collapses on top of you.

"You're cumming inside me, mmh?" Your hand is tangled deep in his soft locks.

That reminds him of what he should have done, pulling out of you as he planned but you stop him, holding him close as he's coming down from his high.

"Stay inside me," you say as you hold the side of his face and let him crumble into your arms.

The two of you spending the rest of the afternoon nestling on the bed, cuddling and talking, passing time like this with him feels even more intimate than sex.

Seungmin takes your hand and makes a trail of kisses down your inner arm, stopping when his lips meet your knuckles. He takes your finger adorned with the jelly ring and puts it into his mouth, taking the jelly ring with him and chewing on it.

"You eat our wedding ring!" You blurt out.

He pecks your lips, "I'm hungry. Let's order something!"

There's only one week left to summer break and you want to enjoy every second you get to spend with Seungmin, even though you have to lie to Rina about the guy you're staying in with, you're not going to let anything get in the way of your happiness.

After dinner, you both take a shower together. Seungmin offers to wash your hair for you, his fingers applying gentle pressure on your scalp and meticulously washing the suds off your hair before moving on to wash your body for you.

He stands behind you, one hand holding one side of your waist while the other is slowly lathering your skin with a bar of soap.

Even though you're taking a cold shower, it doesn't stop the temperature from rising inside the shower. His lips taste cold and warm when he kisses you, his hands are slippery yet firm, and the heat his body is emitting seeps into you as he holds you close against him.

The second both of your naked bodies hit the bed, it's instant coziness. You feel snug and content lying so close to him under the cover.

"I don't want summer to end," you sadly tell him.

"Me too," he seconds your remark.

Keeping your head still with his hand holding your chin, he slowly kisses you with his eyes closed, "Goodnight," he softly murmurs.

You give him a long peck on the lips in return and say it back to him, "Goodnight."

-

It's almost 1 a.m. The summer night is peeking through the windows with the stars winking at you and the warm breeze slipping through the cracks of the windows caresses your cheeks. You can't sleep. You are happy.

Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

Lee Minho is a morning person. He loves waking up early, making breakfast, playing with his sleepy cats, and watching movies. But most importantly, he loves kissing you awake.

Whenever the sunlight makes its way through the curtains and pries his eyelids open, Minho is more than happy to be greeted by your sleeping figure. It's the greatest way to start his day. He still remembers the first time you woke up next to each other—the day your little tradition began.

It was the morning after Minho had finally moved into your apartment. You had fallen asleep in your now shared bed, his arms embracing your body and pulling you to his chest. When he woke up, you had moved further away from him, not so much that you were no longer cuddling, but just enough so that he could see your face. The side of your face was buried into the pillow, squishing your lips into a slight pucker. Your hair was sticking out in multiple directions and your shirt was twisted. He thought it was the cutest sight in the world. Lord, he's whipped.

He watched your sleeping figure with so much love in his gaze, mapping out your entire face to store in his memory forever. As his eyes trailed over your every feature, they halted at your lips, taking extra time to admire the curve of your cupid's bow.

Slowly, Minho found himself leaning in, pressing a kiss as light as air onto your soft lips. 'More,' he thought, 'I need more.' He moved his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek, then to your jaw, smothering your entire face in featherlight kisses.

"Baby, what are you doing?" you asked in a soft, sleepy voice. Minho had been pressing kisses to your collarbones at that point, but upon hearing your voice, he stopped and buried his face in your neck. Embarrassed, he mumbled, "Nothing..."

You giggled as he hid away and you teased him more. "Oh, you're sooo in love with me aren't you?" Minho groaned. "You just have to kiss me 24/7, huh? You love me so much you can't keep your lips off me."

"Shut up, shut uppp," he whined into your neck, making you laugh even more.

"How about you make me?" You pulled him away from your neck, staring into his eyes as if challenging him to do something. He took you up on that challenge, crashing his lips into yours, shutting you up like you asked.

Ever since then, Minho has woken you up by peppering kisses all over you every morning with no fail. Sometimes, when you call him out on it, he'll just ignore you and continue kissing your body, too busy to do anything else.

It was a gloomy morning. In contrast to the bright, shining light that usually woke Minho up, the light pitter-patter of the raindrops on the window forced him out of his slumber. He opened his eyes to your back facing him. Your oversized shirt, which was originally his, was hanging off your shoulder, presenting him with a new opportunity. He pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, slowly trailing up to the back of your neck.

"Mmm, that tickles, baby," you whispered as he kissed the sensitive spot on your nape, but he wasn't paying attention to you, too preoccupied to process the words coming out of your mouth. Only after he was done pressing kisses to your backside did he greet you a good morning, but could you blame him? He just loves giving you kisses!

Every single day, Minho wakes up before you and peppers your face with several kisses like his life depends on it. At this point, it's become a necessity in your daily routine.

One morning, you miraculously woke up before your boyfriend. His hair was disheveled and his lips were parted ever so slightly. As he lay on his side, facing towards you, you couldn't help but notice his eyes. His long, pretty eyelashes were so perfectly scattered among his closed eyelids. You leaned in, your warm breath gently blowing against his lashes. You softly kissed his under his eye, your lips tenderly brushing his face. Slowly, you peppered more kisses around his face, starting around his eyelids, then moving to his nose, then to the corner of his mouth. As you were about to connect your lips with his own, Minho opened his eyes, making contact with yours.

"Honey?" Your lips were mere centimeters apart. "This is usually my job." You closed the gap and kissed him. Minho sighed sleepily into your mouth, and you could feel a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Pulling away, you returned his smile. "I thought I'd mix things up," you kissed him again. "Why, do you not like it?"

Minho laughed a bit as you continued kissing around his face. "No, I don't like it," he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "I love it, and I love you."

This became your little tradition. Every morning, whoever woke up first would pepper kisses all over the other, starting the day with giddy smiles fixed on your faces. Even if you had fought the night before, it was all forgotten the moment you felt Minho's lips on your forehead, or the moment he felt your lips on his cheek.

Today, however, Minho woke up to your side of the bed empty. He furrowed his brows, disappointed at the unusual absence of your lips all over his face. He dragged himself out of your shared bedroom, plodded around the apartment to look for you, and let himself fall back on the couch when he couldn't find you.

After about a half-hour, the front door opened and you entered your home, holding grocery bags in both hands. You set them down on the kitchen counter, peeking into the living room to see Minho watching something on the TV.

"Hi baby, did you sleep well?" You shouted from the kitchen, putting away the groceries. No response.

"Babe? Are you okay?" Nothing.

You walked over to where your boyfriend was sitting. His eyes were glued to the TV, not even sparing you a glance.

"Lee Minho," you said in a half-joking, half-serious voice, "did I do something wrong?"

Finally, he looked at you, lips contracting to a pout. He mumbled something so softly, you couldn't understand what he said. You sat next to him, taking one of his hands in your own. "Could you repeat that, baby? I can't hear you."

Pouting even harder, he repeated louder for you. "You didn't do the pepper thing."

You shot him a confused look, making him roll his eyes playfully. "The pepper my face with kisses thing! I woke up and you were gone, and you didn't give me any kisses at all."

You laughed incredulously. "Seriously, that's all you're sulking about?"

Unimpressed, Minho pulled his hand away from yours, crossing his arms. "It's a very serious matter, actually. You broke our morning tradition! You betrayed me!"

"I'm sorry, for leaving without honoring our tradition," you smiled as he continued to pout at you, "but I went out to buy you some ingredients so I could make breakfast for you. And, I even bought more of the new pudding you really like."

Though his eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite snack, a pout was still plastered on his face. "Okay, then. But you still have to make it up to me."

"Yeah? And how do you propose I do that?"

Minho looked you dead in the eye. "Do the pepper thing."

Still giggling, you placed your hands on either side of Minho's face, squeezing his cheeks and forcing his lips from a pout to a pucker. You kissed his forehead, then under each of his eyelids, then on the tip of his nose. "Feel better now?"

Shaking his head, Minho replied, "Not quite yet." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He pulled you by your waist, bringing you to his lap. You combed your fingers through his hair, tugging it slightly to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. Pulling away to breathe, Minho had a lovesick expression written all over his face. "Now I feel better."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

The plan for the day was simple. You both would collect the guns from your old family home, and hide them. Minho insisted he would do it alone. You implied that if he tried, you would tell the Inspector - a lie. Thus, a simple solution. 

The fewer people who knew the location of the guns, the better. You wouldn’t risk the card of safety the weapons provided to you and your family. And Minho certainly wouldn’t risk it when it is his men being targeted in the inspection. So, only the two of you would know. 

The journey to your old home was long, but it felt fast with his company. Minho was a serious man, but he left the atmosphere light. You wondered if he knew something was wrong in your heart. He did tend to read you well. 

At first, the conversation between you both was strictly regarding that of business. Discussions regarding where you would hide the guns and the best form of doing so. It remained like that for a while, the atmosphere between you both tense. 

It made you feel odd. Yes, tense was a word you would associate with Minho, however, the tension between you both was never as such. It was always charged with fire, the one between you both in the car was different. You decided it came from the fact that he did know you were feeling wrong and that you were still embarrassed that Minho revealed he already knew about supernatural beings. 

It made things both easier and harder. If he already knew of the monsters that roamed at night, hunting one would be much easier and you wouldn’t need to explain nearly as much. However, it also meant that Minho couldn’t be trusted. It was rare that humans just knew these things. Someone had to have taught him. 

Or he was inherently born with the knowledge… though that idea left your stomach churning. Lee Minho was a high individual who controlled the city, no one got there through sheer coincidence. He was not a man of luck, he was one of strategy. Every encounter with him confirmed that in your mind. He shouldn’t be trusted, and yet he had earned that favour.

Not overly so, but enough for you to overlook parts of him. Like a fool. You did not know much about Minho, and yet you had engaged with him more over a week than you had your own family and coven. Your mother would be ashamed. Though, you told yourself that there was no world where Yongbok would be related to someone bad. Someone you couldn’t trust.

Yes. You would have to convince yourself of that. Though your stomach still churned at the what-ifs which refused to leave your mind. 

Minho’s hands clenched tight around the wheel of the car. Silver rings laid against his fingers. The veins below his skin protruded, knuckles dusted in faint purple. Bruises. A few small cuts along the skin. They were more prominent on his right hand, though the left still held many. “I never took you for someone that partook in physical violence.” It made more sense for Jisung to carry the wounds. He enjoyed fighting and you knew the stories of his strength. Yongbok had informed you of the trust they put in Jisung to torture people for information if so required.

Odd, in your opinion. If the gossip regarding Han Jisung’s life at war were true, the last thing you would want to surround yourself with was more torture. Though it would manage to take out any aggression he would feel. 

“I’m not.” You would agree. It was far too animalistic for him. Minho carried pride and intelligence, neither came with physical violence. Fighting was for weaker men. Men with points to prove. Which Minho did not. He carried a gun, you knew he had killed both during and after the war, but that was different. It wasn’t personal. It was swift.

Punching would slow the process of torture and death. It did not suit Minho. The slight glimpse of danger, the idea of scars, that did suit him, you enjoyed staring at it. “Then would you explain the bruises on your knuckles?” Experience as a nurse told you that the wounds were fresh from that morning or the previous night. The bruises weren’t vibrant, the scratches looked only slightly scabbed over, but they already seemed to be healing.

Either he had simply not punched hard enough, or you would need to enter a new game with Lee Minho. You didn’t entirely understand why you hoped it was the former. You decided it was because that would be less embarrassing for your ego.

Minho was quiet for a moment. His hands tensed more on the wheel, face unturning from the dirt road.  There was no one around you, no buildings or parks. Just landscapes. It had been a long time since you travelled the stretch of road. “A wall,” he finally answered, “I punched a wall.”

You were unsure what to say. It was raw. Wild. Chaotic. It wasn’t like him. The fire behind a punch, the passion, it was like what he elicited inside you. Emotions, wild and uncontrollable. A fire too bright to be extinguished. “Do you know why?” was what you settled on. You crossed your ankles in the car, feeling your overnight bag heavy on your heel.

The trip to your childhood home was long, and the physical labour would take a toll on you both. It was agreed you’d spend the night there. You had warned him that there was only a single bed in the house, but Minho assured you it would not matter. From what you felt simply within close proximity to him, you were unsure if it would be calm on your end. It was hard to control yourself around him, even with the distrust in your stomach. Even then, it only made him more appealing, which you hated to admit. 

“The cunt of an inspector arrested three of my men.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping them to get out of prison?”

“They have a job first. Then, Felix can handle it.”

Yongbok had often complained to you about Minho’s tight hand on the gang. He would moan about the lack of responsibility that Minho trusted him with. It played on your mind as you pondered Minho’s words. He left a duty to his brother to handle. From what you’d heard, he had never done so before. Not with something as important as that.

You turned away from him, looking out the window to the roaming landscape scrawling past. It would not be much longer until you were in your old town, your old home. You could recognise one of the farms of cows and sheep, you’d sneak off there while your mother would rest for her pregnancy. From what you’d last heard (many years ago) the owner you could recall had passed away, and the town took part to look after the farm. 

Your heart thumped as you thought of your old friend. It had been years since you last saw him, at his daughter’s birthday She would be six now, you realised. A young girl. You could recall her birth, Wooyoung and his late wife trusted you to handle the birth. You’d missed much of her childhood, because of your own stubbornness.

The realisation upset you. Wooyoung, after all, had trusted you to raise Jongsook in his death, yet you hadn’t visited in years.

“What’s wrong, Red?” you turned back to look at Minho. He wasn’t watching the road, not entirely. His brown eyes were on you, watching as he drove. The car bounced slightly as the wheels met the rocky paths. You doubted that the emotion was cast on your face, and your behaviour was the same as it had been the entire car ride. 

It unsettled you further. Did he just know you well or was there something more he hid? Neither option appealed to you. You took pride in understanding the intricacies behind Minho’s mind, but you didn’t want it to be mutual. Though you did already know that, it still off-put you greatly. 

Either way, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to lie. You did not enjoy lying, unless absolutely necessary He would not need to know of your fondness for Jongsook, nor of the man you once lived beside. Wooyoung was like Hyunjin, yet another friend you had hurt and betrayed. “I haven’t been here for a long - turn left here,” you didn’t finish your sentence, and instead watched with a racing heart as your old home came into view.

It was as burnt as you could remember. What was once a grand, three-story home your family had occupied for generations, resorted to a crumbled and ash-filled piece of architecture. Not much of the house was left standing since the night of the fire, the attack your mother’s voice chided, but one room had. 

Your childhood nursery.

Your grandmother had converted it into a home, a bedroom with an outhouse for a bathroom. She hadn’t wanted to leave the area, nor the burnt remains of the home. You could recall the arguments between your mother and grandmother. The only reason she gave in and agreed to move with you both to the city was because of your sister, still two months away from her birth. She would travel out to the old house often, employing Wooyoung to expand on the house using the burnt and frail structure there.

Now, the house was three rooms large. Your old bedroom (more your grandmother’s) a bathroom and a living space. Weeds and vines grew up the walls and across the flat roof, the grass overgrown dramatically. The place looked abandoned. Forgotten to history.

It made sense, your sister was never taken to the old house, only taught the history of it, while you never bothered. You could barely remember days living in the place, you couldn’t even remember the attack that caused its downfall. You never found a point. Even in the later years when you travelled to the town, you would stay with Wooyoung.

There was something about the area that made your skin crawl. Just as it did so now, overlooking the car as you sat inside it. It felt cursed. Haunted by your own family’s history. 

Minho sat beside you, also staring at the house. You were sure it was more him watching the burnt scaffolding around the makeshift home. Your grandmother never got rid of it, she said too many memories were in the wood. 

“This is it?” He questioned, hesitantly letting go of the car steering wheel. His doubt was evident in his voice, waiting for you to turn around and inform him it was a joke. “Are you sure?”

You leaned down and grabbed your overnight bag, “Yes, Mr Lee, I am sure that this is my old home.” 

“What happened?”

You opened the car door, ignoring the sting along your back and shoulder blades. More memories that you refused to acknowledge, or even remember. Your mother would chide you for entertaining the idea of telling him what happened. Your grandmother would have warned you of better. 

Yet, you still wanted to tell him. Though not the entire truth, you needed to sort out your mind more first. He wasn’t entirely trustworthy, though your gut did not warn you otherwise. 

When your feet hit the overgrown grass of what once was your front yard, an ice-cold feeling struck your spine. A cold burn that made your legs wobble and your fingers tense. “There was a fight and the house was caught in the crossfire.” 

You ignored the feeling and instead walked closer to the home. The windows that remained were broken, some covered in wood and barred off from the world. The property was secluded from the town, a small wood of trees between the major town and your old home. 

Looking through part of the broken window, you could see into your old nursery. It was fitted with a large bed, your grandmother was a particular woman after all, and a small sofa to read on. From what you could see, the wooden panels on the floor were askew, just as you told Nayeon they would be. 

“Come,” you walked inside the front door (what was originally the door to your bedroom) and Minho followed. You found yourself admiring the details of the painted walls, drawings of animals and trees along the bottom of each wall. Faintly, you could recall doing them. But many were ruined with scorch marks. 

Other than that, the room looked completely untouched by the fire. 

The other rooms were all joined to this, with no walls between them. There was a small kitchen, another sofa and thankfully a room divider between the rest of the room and the bathing area. They were all much newer, the walls unpainted and untouched by fire. Still, each object was layered in dust, you doubted anyone had been there since your grandmother. Except for Nayeon, at your word. 

“So, your home burnt down yet all this looks fine.” He ran a finger along the sofa, a clear line of dust lifting from the piece. You grimaced, as did he. “Not fine, actually.”

You went toward the bed, where one of the wood panels that made the floor was crooked. It wasn’t always that way, you were sure Nayeon just forgot to put it on properly. A beginner's mistake, but no one went to this house anymore, you would not blame her for it. 

Using your foot, you lifted the wood with a whining creak. More panels, stuck together by your grandmother long ago, lifted with the first - revealing the large hole. More importantly, the guns that you instructed Nayeon to place there. 

You grabbed the bag of weapons and dropped the wood back to his place. Your grandmother was a superstitious woman, she had hiding places all over your current and old home. Often, she would use them to hide treats from your sister and her girlhood diary from you. This one was odd, it was large enough for a person. 

Not for a person to be comfortable, but you were sure that you would fit in there snugly if you had to. 

“Quite a few secrets here, huh?” Minho walked over, hand ready to take the bag from you. You retracted your hand and the bag away from him, a smirk on your lips. Did he think you would trust him with the guns so easily? “I didn’t realise this was a game, Red.”

“It’s not,” you smiled and walked away from him, keeping the guns by your side. The house returned to silence and Minho turned away from you to watch out one of the windows. A sudden movement, a peculiar one, but you didn’t question his choice. 

It made sense he was like that. You knew he had suffered in the war. Everyone came back different, and those more exposed were far worse. Minho was one of them. The accolades he earned did not come easy. 

His senses most likely adjusted to the time in the trenches. You certainly had your days when you’d jump at every sudden movement. It was hard to grow out of that habit, not after so much time in the face of danger. You weren’t envious of Minho. 

He walked outside, leaving you alone in the house. The atmosphere was different without him there. More cryptic. Cold. You needed his fire, you realised, a chilling thought. 

Was that fire you felt from Minho not to be trusted? Had he been providing you a comforting, warm, illusion this whole time? 

The bed had a quilt laid atop it, the familiar stitching and style comforted your thumping heart. It was your grandmother’s. She had taught your sister the same patterns, they both would stitch each piece so intricately. The quilt was large, it would work better as a tarp than a simple blanket, and overly colourful. Squares of colours lined together to create rainbows. 

You thumbed at it, the worry left your mind. You could recall the times she attempted to teach you the same trade, only you could never grasp it as well as your sister. She told you it was okay, that your talent would be found eventually. 

She’d been right. You found your talent eventually. 

But, you doubt your grandmother had hoped your talent would fall with manipulation. 

There was a scream outside the home, shrill and loud. Shouting accompanied the panicked cries, a single voice angry at something. Your stomach stirred, already sure that Minho somehow was involved. 

He wouldn’t be the one yelling or screaming, but he would certainly be there. That was his talent. You often overlooked that. His touch was too sweet. 

You returned the guns to the original location under the floor, acting as silently as you could. If he was in trouble, Minho would acquire assistance, though you doubted he would admit to needing it. Though, that was if he was in trouble. 

Lee Minho was trouble more often than not. 

More screaming from the high-pitched voice. Desperate cries slurring any spoken word. You couldn’t understand what it was saying, nor could you understand the words yelled from the raging voice. But, you could understand the click of a gun. 

It made the screaming louder and the yelling more shocked. You decided it would be best to go outside and settle everything before Minho went drastic. He did think with his head, that was something you admired, but Yongbok told you how protective he was. 

His business was in jeopardy with those guns, and witnesses would not suit his plans for the future. You were fortunate to hold dealing cards against Minho, but these two people did not. You were sure that Minho would protect his business to the end of the line. 

The cold feeling on your spine remained as you walked outside, knife hidden in your palm on the chance of attack. It came with the grass, you rationalised, overgrown and thick with mystery - anything could be hidden beyond the dirt. Overgrown grass was never a sign of good, abandoned things such as the old home behind you showed that. 

Though, the feeling tingling in your spine tightened its frozen hold on you when you realised what was happening. That shrill voice was no woman nor man. It was a young girl. A child. 

It was Jongsook. With her father, your old friend, Wooyoung clutching her to his leg and shouting. 

Minho has his gun raised and pointed at your friend. His face was stoic, a tense click in his jaw. The eyes you always found a fire in looked frozen as he stared them down, haunted and glazed over in darkness. His hat was turned down, a cigarette on his lips, grey smoke billowing into the air from it. 

“I asked you a question.”

His voice was so dark. You’d never heard it quite like that before. Had he even noticed you were behind him? Wooyoung had, his panicked eyes urged you to do something, but Minho seemed ignorant of your appearance. 

He was often much more aware of you. Usually, his eyes always found you in the crowds and the dark. You revelled in that. But the darkness over him stopped it, it threw him through time. 

Wooyoung wasn’t a father in front of him. He was an enemy. Jongsook wasn’t a little girl. She was an enemy. 

Despite your greater knowledge of such, you placed your twitching hand onto Minho’s shoulder. Your mind was furious with the act, preparing for your death, while your heart urged it was correct. It thumped in your chest as Minho turned to look at you. 

The darkness in his eyes, the frost, melted. You saw the fire grow behind his brown eyes, reality joining and shaking the darkness away. The gun in his hand was still cocked, still pointed at Wooyoung, but his hand lowered slightly. 

“They are friends, Mr Lee,” you should have prepared him for a sudden appearance. You had organised for Wooyoung to appear that day, you simply thought it would occur that night. You were naive to think you had time. “Put the gun down.”

Though the fire was back, his face remained tense. Protectiveness. Self-preservation. You let him stew in the emotion, stepping away from him and going toward the two. You ignored the ice that went through your hand without the heat of his shoulder. 

Odd. 

Jongsook, cheeks stained with tears, smiled at you. She let go of Wooyoung’s leg, the wrinkles on his trousers still evident without her hold, and ran to you with a giggle. Two teeth were missing from her smile. “Auntie!” You took her in your arms and squeezed, a small smile of your own formed. 

You’d missed her quite a lot. She had grown far too much without you there to witness it. Your own fault, but you still wished to have seen it. “Sweet girl, look at you! I’ve missed you so much!” You swing her in your arms, a tight squeeze around her body kept her safe. 

Behind you, you could feel the heat of Minho’s stare and the weight of a cocked gun still pointed forward. “They are your friends, Red. I don’t know them. I don’t trust them.” He spoke as though his teeth were clenched. 

You stopped and looked at him, Jongsook still warm in your arms. Her legs were around your torso and her little arms were around your neck. “If I have been able to trust your men, surely you can trust some of mine.”

“I don’t trust him.” Despite his words, Minho lowered the gun and lifted his nose. You had to remind yourself to not act with your heart — though that would raise the question of whether you’d slap him across the face or simply kiss him. He put the gun away in the holster around his back, covering it with his trenchcoat. 

His eyes stayed on you and Jongsook the entire time. Wooyoung seemed to be ignored by his gaze. You had no idea if that was good or bad. 

“How’ve you been, love?” Wooyoung put an arm around your back and pulled you to his chest, a hug with Jongsook in the middle. You stayed stiff in the hold, the fire staring into your body seemed to burn brighter. Like it had the previous night. “We’ve missed you.”

“Me more!” Jongsook giggled into your neck. Her fists had moved to the collar of your dress, tightly scrunching the material. “It’s been a long time, Auntie.” There was a lisp to her words, from the missing teeth. 

You pulled her tighter and pushed some hair from her face. “I’ve been very busy in the city, I’m sure you’ve heard about the happenings.”

Wooyoung nodded with a cold face, stoic despite the sad look in his eyes. “It’s been in the papers. I assumed you would be trying to help.”

“There is only so much help I can offer when a beast breaks its tradition.”

Minho walked toward you three, his warm hand went to your lower back. His nose was still raised in the air and his eyes dark as he stared at Wooyoung, his cigarette was gone now. Jealousy. You’d seen him plagued with it before. It made your heart thump and your legs slightly weak. 

He had rather awful timing, but some part of you adored the attention. The mere idea that Lee Minho enjoyed your company enough to be jealous of others was riveting. The fact he wanted you enough to be jealous was even better. 

Jongsook hid her face in your neck at his approach. “I have been aiding her,” the gruff voice from earlier was back. Though the dark cloud in his eyes had stayed away. It left the burning fire still bright, raging through his body. You could feel it in the small tapping of his fingers on your back. 

Addicting heat. 

You put the young girl back down and she ran to her father, clutching Wooyoung’s pants tight as she silently watched Minho beside you. The hand on your back slid to your waist, pulling you close. “I’ve been told.” Wooyoung was blunt, a good approach for the fire beside you. 

He knew you well, that was what came with being a childhood friend. Wooyoung looked between you and Minho, gaze still stoic. You’d told him the previous night that you would be going to the house, that you required shovels. 

Perhaps you also should have told him that the person you would bring had a short fuse. A second mistake on your behalf. 

“Do you have the shovels, Wooyoung?” He nodded and threw a large bag onto the ground before you and Minho. It clanged as it dropped, metal on metal. You dropped down to unzip the bag, inspecting it. Inside were two shovels, a pickaxe and what looked to be a few hammers. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” his gaze moved past you and Minho to the house. He probably hadn’t been there since your grandmother died, there was a wistfulness to his eyes. 

Minho held a similar emotion in his eyes, one from the past, though there was nothing happy to be seen. He stared at the bag, nostrils flared and chest heaving at a slow, deep, pace. The hand on you clenched at your waist, grip tight. 

You put your own hand atop the one on your waist, not sure of how else to wake him from the past. His rings were cold on your fingers, the position awkward for you to achieve, but your heart stuttered in glee at the feeling. You laced your fingers down and knotted them between his own. 

“You decided what to do with the place?” Wooyoung’s voice brought you to reality, and you looked over your shoulder to admire the house with him. If admire was the word you could use, at least, you felt that you were merely scrutinising it instead. 

The dread struck your spine once more. 

Minho squeezed your fingers closer. 

It disappeared. 

“Destroying it,” you finally answered, turning back to Wooyoung, “there’s nothing for me or my sister here. Just bad memories.”

Your back and shoulder blades stung as though to remind you of such. It was a good thing your sister had never lived a day in the home, she was born months after it burned down. The legacy of bad luck behind the home did not need to continue with her. 

You were just meant to suffer with differences to her. You accepted that. It was not fair, but nothing in the life of a witch was ever fair. She deserved better than that. She deserves a normal life. 

A thickness in your throat built, like sap, that slowly slid. You’d taken parts of her normal life. Giggling was not something you ever knew her to do, even when your mother doted on her every need. That idiotic sergeant made her giggle. You didn’t allow that. 

Selfishness and personal spite. That was what controlled your last night. That was what took over your mind. You didn’t care that your sister was genuinely happy — you cared that she had a life while you were stuck without. 

Minho squeezed your hand again, softly, you almost doubted it had happened. “I am happy to sell you the land if you would like, Grandmother always said it was fertile for vegetables and herbs.”  She used to grow them, you could faintly remember running through the garden with Wooyoung, but your mother always chided you for doing such. 

It will affect the ability. You hadn’t a clue what she meant then, but you learned later that growing herbs were easily manipulated. Your running and laughing could overpower it, which would create disastrous effects. Though, at the time you’d only cared that she stopped your fun. 

Bad memories. That’s all the house was. 

“I may take you up on that,” Wooyoung picked up Jongsook, her wide eyes still focused on Minho. The man himself hadn’t looked her way, you could feel him watching you. His eyes felt like a loving fire each place they followed, “but, another time. Good luck with your work, love.”

He gave a final look to Minho, stern and thick. You would do the same if you were him, having a gun raised to your young child was horrific. But, you knew that Wooyoung was not as frustrated as he would have been years before, he had served in the war. You were sure he recognised the cloud that raged in Minho’s mind. 

They left and Jongsook shouted her goodbyes with a dramatic wave. You offered her a small one, a smile that matched the little action. She was sweet — you missed her. You missed them both. “You didn’t tell me you’d told someone to arrive.”

“I hadn’t expected you to raise a gun to him and his daughter.” His head bowed and his hand tightened in your own, fingers squeezed together. There was such emotion on his face, your heart yearned to comfort him. There was guilt and regret in his eyes, a sternness tucking in his jaw… stubbornness. “It will be fine. But, I suggest you keep your gun hidden from now on.”

“Do you not like guns, Red?”

You nodded. “I detest them. They’re far too impersonal. When I kill the beast, I intend on making it personal. Knives.”

You let go of him at that, your hand cold without his to hold. The thought left you flustered. He had power over you, just his touch had you ready for more. His actions told you to stay away, his status of infamy warned you further, he even spoke brutality and yet you yearned for him. 

I’m a beast. 

He said it himself. Yet, you couldn’t see him that way. Your gut trusted him, your heart was flustered by him and your mind was mixed. Many people would, and have, considered your kind a beast — that did not make you so. Surely it would be the same for him. 

“Guns are far more practical, Red. I’ll teach you to shoot,” his voice was tight and he returned his hand to his pocket, eyes dark as he watched you. “Even if it is less personal, I will sleep better knowing you are better equipped.”

Though, that was if he was human. No humans thought of themselves as beasts even after the war. It left that lingering thought in your mind, the question you were scared to ask aloud and scared to learn the answer to. 

“Fine,” you eventually said, walking back to the house. “You may teach me once we rid ourselves of this mess.”

What was Lee Minho?

Though, there was no proper time to ponder the question. There were things to do, the guns had to be hidden and apparently, you now had to learn to shoot a gun. A tedious task. You didn’t see the appeal of guns, you never had. 

The time at war only amplified such. Too many men had died to guns, fighting a worthless cause. And then, it was a plain death. If people had to die, there should be emotion in it. Not numbness. 

You would kill the monster without a gun. You would make it feel the agony of all the women that had fallen. Guns couldn’t offer that. Torture and magic did. 

Throughout the entire time you and Minho hid the guns — a horrifically long two hours — neither of you spoke. Many things needed to be said, you could feel the words built in the air between you both, yet he stayed silent. You, certainly, wouldn’t start the conversation, even when his stare burned into your head as you dug a grave. 

Your own grave. You doubted that all of you would be the same once your business with Lee Minho was complete. 

It was like he had spent the whole time waiting for you to crack, waiting for a stutter in your step. You didn’t let him catch such. Though his stare made you freeze internally, the fire warmed your heart to a dramatic thump. The silence between you both was loud, your throat felt tight from it, but you did not break it. 

Not even to ask him about his aversion to the pickaxes. The entire time he avoided the tool, he just dug the hole while you worked the stone. That was when he looked his most serious, lips in a tense line and that dark cloud returned to his eyes. You didn’t like it — but you didn’t question it. 

Only when the weapons were completely buried did the silence break. His shoulder against your own, heat emitted from his skin and left your back shivering. There was a chill in the air, it grew under his words, but you basked in his heat. “No one will know, correct?” His face was illuminated by the lantern you brought, the sky already dark around you both. 

“This place was only known to my family. The guns should never be found.”

“And if they are?”

You dropped the tip of the pickaxe to the dirt, resting your elbow on the upside-down handle. “Then, you do as you see fit.” It would never happen anyways, your sister didn’t know of the house and anyone who knew your hiding place in the forest was dead. Not even Nayeon or Wooyoung knew of it. “But, I will ensure that the Inspector finds it if you try something, Mr Lee.” 

His hand wrapped around the handle of your pickaxe, a slow motion that looked pained on his face. When his hand settled, Minho looked as though he sighed a deep breath. “There is nothing to try — our business together is too beneficial to risk.”

Minho pulled the tool from your hold, but the action left your hand sliding. Until it landed atop his own. It was something that should have done nothing, you’d touched him skin-to-skin many times before. 

But, it was not. Instead, a surge went through your body that left your skin tingling. The world around you disappeared in mere moments, replaced with dark, long tunnels. The only light from a candle too far away to properly illuminate the area. 

It was such a small area, you felt trapped inside of it. You tried to move and pushed upward on the tunnel, but nothing happened. Your breathing picked up as you looked down each long cavern of the tunnel, a loud clang falling in an even rhythm from the right. 

You followed it. The noise got louder and the light darker, you were sure the tunnels even grew tighter. There was someone ahead of you, covered in muck and lying on their stomach. A pickaxe in their hand, thumping the metal on the rocks ahead. The noise was so loud, you felt it burrow in your head. 

The urge to cover your ears was large, but you couldn’t move your arms — only crawl forward toward the man. But, a noise stopped you. A loud explosion, not too far behind you. 

It sent you hurtling back to the present, your hand still on top of Minho’s as his eyes looked at you with slight worry. Had any time passed? You doubted it, he was still pulling the pickaxe from your hold, but the look in his eyes unsettled you. Did he know? Did he sense it?

What was there even to sense? You bit on your cheek and looked away from Minho, wiping your sweaty palm on the skirt of your dress. It only made dirt coat your hand but you ignored it and continued wiping. You’d never done that before, you’d never had anything similar happen before — especially without attempting. 

You’d never muttered a curse, never spoke a spell or created a potion. It just happened. Because you touched his hand… was that Minho? Was Minho the man you saw in the tunnels?

It made sense. You doubted that you’d be launched to a vision of a complete stranger when you touched Minho’s hand. It had to be him. Your mouth tasted foul as you looked back to Minho, he’d thrown the pickaxe and shovel over his shoulders with ease. 

He was a tunneler. 

How had you not heard that before?

“You good, Red?” you stopped wiping your hand and just watched him, other hand clenching the lantern handle. His eyebrows were laced in concern, the fire you adored in his eyes was dim. Had you done that? You hoped not. You attempted to pick up your nose, fix your face to the usual look you carried, but you couldn’t properly do it.

The digging in your mind was too loud. You could still hear each hit of the pickaxe on stone, the explosion in the dirt… it didn’t stop. You clenched your hand into a fist and took a deep breath, “Fine, Mr Lee. I'm fine.” He didn’t look convinced, you didn’t even sound convinced, but Minho did not press the topic. You were thankful for it, the foul taste of your lie was too strong already. “Are you still going to teach me to shoot? Or will you trust me with my knives?”

The change of topic made part of the concern melt from his face, the fire was alight in his eyes once again. Minho dropped the tools to the forest floor slowly and stepped toward you. He was close, you much preferred the closeness he gave than the tightness of the tunnels. 

“I trust you, Doll, with or without a gun.” Thick air. That was the best way to describe it. His gaze was as strong as always, you replicated it as your heart stammered. Your fingers felt tingly, itching to touch his hair under the hat. “But, you would be safer with one.”

I’m a beast. 

I’m a beast. 

I’m a beast. 

“Safe from what, Mr Lee?” The monster was not human, a gun would do nothing to stop it even if you wished as such. Threats such as it could be managed if they came for you personally. A perk of magic. 

His hands met your cheeks, warm against your cold skin. You stayed there with him in the present, you were glad even though the glimmer in his eyes was serious. “From everything.”

Beast. 

Beast. 

Beast!

“Men like me aren’t to be trusted, Doll.” 

Your rationale shouted the fears you’d already had about him. The doubts you were too scared to acknowledge, too embarrassed to admit. But, your emotions had already buried that sense with the guns, you simply didn’t want to listen to it. 

The lantern in your hand burned hot, the candle inside growing brighter. It made his face glow under the warmth, a burning contrast to the dark trees and sky. The shine in his eyes looked sad, you wanted that emotion gone from him. 

“We,” he paused with a breath, eyes closing in time, “I am not a good man.”

Your heart thumped and the metal handle burned. You only held it tighter. “I am not a good woman.”

There was a click behind you, like a door slowly opening by the knob, but you didn’t turn away. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was so raw and his expression so pained. You wanted to make him feel better. 

With your other hand, you cradled his cheek. The tops of your fingers knotted between the silk of his hair — incredibly soft, like you always thought — and you stroked your thumb on his cheekbone. Minho leaned into your palm, eyes still closed. 

I’m a beast. 

You couldn’t believe such a thing. Beasts did not allow such softness. “You are perfect, Red,” his words made your heart clench and your eyes queen in surprise. He was exaggerating, you were far from perfect in any category, but the compliment left you flustered. His eyes were still closed, you continued to stroke his cheek, “Far too kind.”

“You are the only person to believe that, Mr Lee,” you chuckled slightly, to ignore your own raging emotions. The lantern was almost too hot to hold but you refused to let it go, even as the candle's light burned brighter through the glass windows. 

His eyes opened, but he continued to lean into your hold. You quite enjoyed that, providing him comfort, even slightly, was good. You hoped that it remained that way. “Allow me to be the only person then,” your heart thumped — the metal of your lantern burned your skin, “they don’t deserve you.”

“And you do?” A stutter nearly fell from your lips, you couldn’t tell if you were glad about it or not. He was being so vulnerable, you wanted to show some in return. It was hard to force it. You didn’t want to force it. 

Minho shook his head and combed his fingers through your hair, pushing it from your face. Your sunglasses were still on, but you felt bare. It was nice. The rationale was screaming that he couldn’t be trusted, and yet you wanted to take your protection off. Be as vulnerable as him. 

As though he sensed it, with his thumb Minho pushed your glasses back up your nose to properly protect you. “I’ll never deserve you, Red.” Your mouth felt dry, his stare was so intense. You adored it. 

He leaned forward and your breath caught in your throat. Your noses touched, gently, and his lips were a mere movement away from yours. So close, had he been this close before? No. You’d remember. You needed him closer. 

Just a bit closer. 

Though that closeness you desired didn’t come. His lips moved back, and his forehead moved forward. He rested his head on yours, noses nudged together. Your bottom lip wobbled, heart in your throat, but your eyes were wide. 

His, however, were closed. A peaceful expression along his face. You admired him, though the closeness made it hard, and the metal in your hand burned further. You were sure it was searing your skin. 

The moment didn’t last long enough. Once his adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes fluttered open and he pulled away. You felt so cold, even the lantern was freezing, but you kept your composure. “I’m sorry,” he cleared his throat, “I will meet you back at the house. We can do the training another day.”

You just nodded, any words you wanted to say dead on your tongue. He walked away, head down on the ground, the light of the lantern was practically gone — if not for the moon, you’d be in complete darkness. 

You checked the lantern, opening the casing. The candle had completely melted, and scorch marks burned along the roof of it. There were faint marks along your palm from it. 

Without caring much, you waved your hand across the candle and it relit. Though the wick was mostly burnt, you would not have much time. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad. 

Could you handle being around Minho? The thumping of your heart and the desire pooling in your gut urged you that no, you couldn’t. 

Under the light, free of Minho’s shadow, you noticed an open hatch at the stump of a tree. It was subtle, moss and grass covered it enough for it to be overlooked. You would have seen it, both you and Minho would have seen it earlier. The clicking from earlier. It must have opened. You walked toward it, hesitantly pushing it open. 

Inside, laid a book. Old and withering, but cared for. The leather casing was falling apart and the pages were yellowed beyond belief, dust coated the exterior. Inside the hatch, you could see a familiar emblem. The family emblem. Your mother had taught you tediously to remember it. 

Another place your grandmother hid things, you assumed. 

You wiped off some of the dust and read the name along the case. A diary. The diary of a long-dead ancestor. You remembered her name, you had to learn the family history, after all. 

Though, you did not know what made her so special that your grandmother hid her diary from the world. Yet another thing to do, you had to understand why. 

You closed the door to the hatch and walked from the woods back to the makeshift home. Being around Minho would be awkward, but you needed the light to read the first of the yellowed diary pages. You chose to ignore how your heart leapt at the realisation that you’d be sharing a bed with him. 

It had been well known for you both. But, you couldn’t help but feel it may be different, something had changed. Whether it was your resolve or his own — you knew it would be a hard night. 

[—]

Rage. It was something you felt often, whether you allowed it or not. Festering, bubbling rage that toiled beneath your skin and waited to burst at the first victim. Rage was dangerous. It was why you kept it hidden. 

But, never had you felt such rage before. Not until you were faced with two silhouettes kissing against a wall. Your hands — no, they weren’t your hands, but they looked similar — clenched into fists and the eyes you watched through burned with tears. 

Rage was uncontrollable. It could only grow and grow until everything went wrong. You felt it bubble in your gut, a burning red washed across the image in front of you. The person, the one whose mind you found yourself in, was angrier than you’d ever felt. 

This person was seething. You could feel their want of revenge, their blood lust, but you could do nothing to control it. You couldn’t stop it. Each movement wasn’t your own, each emotion and tear wasn’t one you should’ve felt, but you were rocked with the power of it. 

They weren’t your own, but your heart felt the same fury as this person. You wanted revenge. You wanted these people to pay — but you’d never even met them. 

You stormed to the kissing pair and pulled them apart, fingers clawing into them both. It felt like you were doing it. You were controlling it. But, each movement was preplanned. You had no choice. Did you want a choice? 

The rage was burning inside you. You didn’t know why, you couldn’t understand why this person was so mad. Your fingers were so tightly forced into this person’s, a man’s, shoulder, it ripped the shirt. 

His eyes looked into yours — into this person’s. Dark, haunting, broken, guilty. 

So familiar.